I carefully lifted Julia’s pillow to pull out a small, transparent, re-sealable plastic bag. Inside was one of her two front teeth, and a short note to the Tooth Fairy that read:
“Dear Tooth Fairy,
“I want P20.00 for my tooth… I Love You, Tooth Fairy.
“Love, Julia”
I quickly scribbled a note in my most feminine handwriting:
“Dear Julia,
“You have beautiful teeth. I am giving you P150.00. P50.00 for this tooth, and P50.00 for each of the two teeth that your Dada lost.
“GOD BLESS YOU!
“Love, the Tooth Fairy
“P.S. – I Love You too.”
I folded the note and, together with P150.00, placed it inside the little plastic bag. Then I carefully put it back under Julia’s pillow.
The next morning, Julia opened her eyes to find me staring at her.
“Mama told me she pulled out your tooth – did it hurt?”
She shook her head sleepily at first. Then, realizing that it was already morning, her eyes just opened up wide, she suddenly exclaimed: “The Tooth Fairy!”
In one smooth motion she literally dived under her pillow! She re-emerged a few seconds later – her big, boogly eyes staring in disbelief at what she held in her hands.
“Oh no!” Julia gasped, “I asked her for P20.00 – and she left P100.00!” (she did not notice the P50.00 bill folded within the P100.00 bill yet)
“Dada, how will I return her change?”
I was surprised at this reaction – oh she was happy alright – happy that she received the money for her all too precious tooth.
But she was also concerned that she received more than what she asked for – and that she had to return what she knew was not hers in the first place.
Honesty.
From a seven year old with a missing front tooth.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Tips for Living Life - Tip 4: Play in the Rain
It was raining hard yesterday.
What a way to spend a "special holiday". Now don't get me wrong - I like rainy days. It allows me to catch up on my much needed sleep - or on my viewing (believe it or not, I have not seen Transformers 2 yet).
Yesterday, I chose the former. So I curled up in bed underneath a warm blanket and just let the raindrops lull me to sleep.
And then she came.
She tugged at me and asked me one simple question: "Dada, can I take a bath in the rain?"
I got up and followed Julia Amaris into the kitchen, where she spun around and looked up at me with her "begging look" and pouting lips.
"Pleeeease?..."
It was raining hard enough, so I gave in and simply told her to be careful.
The joy immediately showed in her face as she skipped out the door.
I followed her outside to watch her. A couple of other kids up the street were already playing in the rain, and Julia Amaris was just enjoying herself right in front of our house.
"Why don't you play with them?" I asked her.
"No, I want you to play with me, Dada" was her reply. At first I said I'd just watch her instead, but before I knew it I found myself fetching a pail and tabo and filling it with water. When Julia Amaris saw what I was bringing, her face lightened up even more.
Yes, I ended up playing with Julia - in the rain!
I'd chase her with a tabo-full of water and try to drench her even more (though I stayed in the garage most of the time). Julia would challenge me to wet her if I could, and would just run up and down the street in front of me.
A while later, Jeng came outside, bringing with her a basin of ice (she was defrosting the freezer), and she started tossing ice shavings at Julia, who'd scream with delight everytime she got splashed with water and ice shavings at the same time.
As the rains started to subside a little I told Julia Amaris to come back inside to take a warm shower.
She obeyed without protest.
As she came in, she gave me a big, soaking wet hug. As she did, she said "Dada, I wish there was more ice and water". I said that she had had enough, and that surely she was feeling cold already.
Julia Amaris hugged me tighter and said, "I know. But if I'm feeling cold, then you will hug me more to keep me warm..."
Yes, it was raining hard yesterday - but there was a warmth that just couldn't be dampened by any amount of rain.
What a way to spend a "special holiday". Now don't get me wrong - I like rainy days. It allows me to catch up on my much needed sleep - or on my viewing (believe it or not, I have not seen Transformers 2 yet).
Yesterday, I chose the former. So I curled up in bed underneath a warm blanket and just let the raindrops lull me to sleep.
And then she came.
She tugged at me and asked me one simple question: "Dada, can I take a bath in the rain?"
I got up and followed Julia Amaris into the kitchen, where she spun around and looked up at me with her "begging look" and pouting lips.
"Pleeeease?..."
It was raining hard enough, so I gave in and simply told her to be careful.
The joy immediately showed in her face as she skipped out the door.
I followed her outside to watch her. A couple of other kids up the street were already playing in the rain, and Julia Amaris was just enjoying herself right in front of our house.
"Why don't you play with them?" I asked her.
"No, I want you to play with me, Dada" was her reply. At first I said I'd just watch her instead, but before I knew it I found myself fetching a pail and tabo and filling it with water. When Julia Amaris saw what I was bringing, her face lightened up even more.
Yes, I ended up playing with Julia - in the rain!
I'd chase her with a tabo-full of water and try to drench her even more (though I stayed in the garage most of the time). Julia would challenge me to wet her if I could, and would just run up and down the street in front of me.
A while later, Jeng came outside, bringing with her a basin of ice (she was defrosting the freezer), and she started tossing ice shavings at Julia, who'd scream with delight everytime she got splashed with water and ice shavings at the same time.
As the rains started to subside a little I told Julia Amaris to come back inside to take a warm shower.
She obeyed without protest.
As she came in, she gave me a big, soaking wet hug. As she did, she said "Dada, I wish there was more ice and water". I said that she had had enough, and that surely she was feeling cold already.
Julia Amaris hugged me tighter and said, "I know. But if I'm feeling cold, then you will hug me more to keep me warm..."
Yes, it was raining hard yesterday - but there was a warmth that just couldn't be dampened by any amount of rain.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Tips for Living Life - Tip 3: Pick Somebody Up... Everyday
I still remember that day. Not the exact date - but the events of that day.
My first day in college.
The first part of freshmen orientation was done, and we had all been sent to have our lunch. I was not really familiar with the Manila area, but I knew there was a mall a short walk from my university. Since I had no friends yet, I decided to take a stroll down to the mall for some lunch.
A few meters from school, an elderly lady blocked my path and stopped me in my tracks.
"I need your help, please", she started to say in a forced American accent.
"I locked my keys in my car and I have no way to get them. Can you please give me P50.00 so i can go home and get my spare keys? Please?" She pointed to a car parked on the side of the road: a sleek black Mercedes Benz.
"Please?" She said. "I pay you two P50.00 when I get my keys from the home. My wallet - it is inside of the car also..."
Dressed in what could only be described as "useful rags" and continuing to jabber on in broken, sometimes undecipherable english, I couldn't seem to get her out of my way.
What was worse was the fact that I did not know how I should say "No" to her. I knew it was a scam - I didn't know how to let her down.
"Please... please... you help me, okay? Please..." she continued.
Suddenly, two men came along side me, one on each side, and in one scoop, they literally picked me up. My feet were off the ground and they held me up by my elbows.
Quickly carrying me past the old scammer, one of them just said "Walang pera 'to..." ("This guy has no money).
A few more feet onwards, my feet were on the ground once more, and the two gentlemen let me go.
My "friendly abductors" turned out to be a couple of my new classmates - blockmates, actually - from school. "Are you okay?" one of them asked in Pilipino. I laughed and said I was, and thanked them for "picking me up" when they did.
"Stick with us - you'll survive Manila if you do" the other one said.
I suddenly found myself with a couple of "friends" to have lunch with.
As I write this now, I laugh at the thought of what would have happened if my friends had not "picked me up" when they did. I would have most probably handed the old scammer a fifty peso note just to get away from her.
Today, I still try to find ways of "picking someone up", be it by encouraging words, a pat on the back, a smile of assurance or by literally "picking them up" when they fall.
It gives me a sense of peace and fulfillment.
And it gives the other person that glimmer of hope that there still exists other people who are willing to give others a helping hand.
My first day in college.
The first part of freshmen orientation was done, and we had all been sent to have our lunch. I was not really familiar with the Manila area, but I knew there was a mall a short walk from my university. Since I had no friends yet, I decided to take a stroll down to the mall for some lunch.
A few meters from school, an elderly lady blocked my path and stopped me in my tracks.
"I need your help, please", she started to say in a forced American accent.
"I locked my keys in my car and I have no way to get them. Can you please give me P50.00 so i can go home and get my spare keys? Please?" She pointed to a car parked on the side of the road: a sleek black Mercedes Benz.
"Please?" She said. "I pay you two P50.00 when I get my keys from the home. My wallet - it is inside of the car also..."
Dressed in what could only be described as "useful rags" and continuing to jabber on in broken, sometimes undecipherable english, I couldn't seem to get her out of my way.
What was worse was the fact that I did not know how I should say "No" to her. I knew it was a scam - I didn't know how to let her down.
"Please... please... you help me, okay? Please..." she continued.
Suddenly, two men came along side me, one on each side, and in one scoop, they literally picked me up. My feet were off the ground and they held me up by my elbows.
Quickly carrying me past the old scammer, one of them just said "Walang pera 'to..." ("This guy has no money).
A few more feet onwards, my feet were on the ground once more, and the two gentlemen let me go.
My "friendly abductors" turned out to be a couple of my new classmates - blockmates, actually - from school. "Are you okay?" one of them asked in Pilipino. I laughed and said I was, and thanked them for "picking me up" when they did.
"Stick with us - you'll survive Manila if you do" the other one said.
I suddenly found myself with a couple of "friends" to have lunch with.
As I write this now, I laugh at the thought of what would have happened if my friends had not "picked me up" when they did. I would have most probably handed the old scammer a fifty peso note just to get away from her.
Today, I still try to find ways of "picking someone up", be it by encouraging words, a pat on the back, a smile of assurance or by literally "picking them up" when they fall.
It gives me a sense of peace and fulfillment.
And it gives the other person that glimmer of hope that there still exists other people who are willing to give others a helping hand.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tips for Living Life - Tip 2: Say Goodnight in Prayer
We pray at night.
My wife, my daughter and I.
We gather together and sit on the bed and join each other in prayer.
I lead the prayer, then my wife joins in - and finally our seven year old daughter raises her prayers up last. Then we kiss each other and lay down for the night.
Last night, though was slightly different.
When it came time for Julia Amaris to say her prayer, she started slow.
"Papa God...(pause)...uh...Dear Papa God...(another pause)..."
And then we heard her sniff.
Then she continued her prayer as she began to weep.
"Papa God, please help me to be a good girl to my Mama and Dada..."
She was crying by now, and you could feel the sincerity of her prayer. My wife and I looked at each other as we listened to her prayer.
"...sometimes I am not a good girl... when I do not obey them and do not do my homework or my Kumon."
"Please let me be a good girl because I love my Mama and Dada and they love me..."
Her last words just trailed off as she continued to sob from the heart. I bent over, touched my forehead to hers, and whispered "Amen".
"Amen", Julia Amaris said with a sniff.
I kissed her forehead and lay her down to sleep. She curled up into a little ball beside me and I held her as her crying subsided.
"You're a good girl, Julia", I assured her. My wife reached over to hug her too.
Assured of our love, she fell asleep peacefully.
And so did we.
My wife, my daughter and I.
We gather together and sit on the bed and join each other in prayer.
I lead the prayer, then my wife joins in - and finally our seven year old daughter raises her prayers up last. Then we kiss each other and lay down for the night.
Last night, though was slightly different.
When it came time for Julia Amaris to say her prayer, she started slow.
"Papa God...(pause)...uh...Dear Papa God...(another pause)..."
And then we heard her sniff.
Then she continued her prayer as she began to weep.
"Papa God, please help me to be a good girl to my Mama and Dada..."
She was crying by now, and you could feel the sincerity of her prayer. My wife and I looked at each other as we listened to her prayer.
"...sometimes I am not a good girl... when I do not obey them and do not do my homework or my Kumon."
"Please let me be a good girl because I love my Mama and Dada and they love me..."
Her last words just trailed off as she continued to sob from the heart. I bent over, touched my forehead to hers, and whispered "Amen".
"Amen", Julia Amaris said with a sniff.
I kissed her forehead and lay her down to sleep. She curled up into a little ball beside me and I held her as her crying subsided.
"You're a good girl, Julia", I assured her. My wife reached over to hug her too.
Assured of our love, she fell asleep peacefully.
And so did we.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tips for Living Life - Tip 1: Wake Up and say "Goodmorning!"
I woke up at around 4:00 this morning to the stirrings of my daughter. For some reason, she was awake early, and she was just tossing and turning in bed.
Sensing I was already awake, she reached over with her right arm and pulled me to her.
"Good morning, Dada..." she whispered in a sleepy voice.
"Good morning Sweetheart..." I whispered back, giving her a kiss on her cheek.
"You're up early... why don't you go back to sleep?" I asked.
"I want to be with you before you go to office" she said.
I hugged her and gave her another kiss.
"You know, this early, we can go watch the sun wake up and say 'Good morning" to all of us. First the sky will be a little red, and then it will become orange and then you will see the sun waking up. Do you want to see it?"
"Yes! Yes!" came the obviously excited reply.
So we both got up and peeked out the window. 'Twas then that I noticed that my wife had already gotten up and out of bed. She wasn't in the room though.
Julia and I stared out the window watching the surroundings slowly but surely brighten up.
"Wow! The sky is becoming red already!" Julia whispered excitedly. "God will say 'Good morning' to us already!"
She watched intently as the skies did brighten up little by little. No, it didn't turn red and then orange and then yellow with the light of the sun - the makings of a low pressure area kept that from happening.
But Julia somehow still saw the very faint hints of red and orange and yellow.
"Dada looooook! It's changing colors alreadyyy! God is awake!"
"Good morning Papa God!" she whispered with a smile.
By then my wife walked in with breakfast. Seeing us both at the window, she asked what we were doing.
"Saying 'Good morning" to the sun and to God" came my daughters' reply.
Everything went on as usual: I took my shower and got dressed for work; we had breakfast together (Julia tipped her plate over and soiled the floor with her food) and then we kissed each other goodbye for the day.
But somehow - and for some specific reason, the day seemed to start off far happier than usual, traffic seemed to be far more tolerable and the entire days' work already seemed to come into perspective that early.
All because of a cheerful and sincere "Good morning, Papa God!"
Sensing I was already awake, she reached over with her right arm and pulled me to her.
"Good morning, Dada..." she whispered in a sleepy voice.
"Good morning Sweetheart..." I whispered back, giving her a kiss on her cheek.
"You're up early... why don't you go back to sleep?" I asked.
"I want to be with you before you go to office" she said.
I hugged her and gave her another kiss.
"You know, this early, we can go watch the sun wake up and say 'Good morning" to all of us. First the sky will be a little red, and then it will become orange and then you will see the sun waking up. Do you want to see it?"
"Yes! Yes!" came the obviously excited reply.
So we both got up and peeked out the window. 'Twas then that I noticed that my wife had already gotten up and out of bed. She wasn't in the room though.
Julia and I stared out the window watching the surroundings slowly but surely brighten up.
"Wow! The sky is becoming red already!" Julia whispered excitedly. "God will say 'Good morning' to us already!"
She watched intently as the skies did brighten up little by little. No, it didn't turn red and then orange and then yellow with the light of the sun - the makings of a low pressure area kept that from happening.
But Julia somehow still saw the very faint hints of red and orange and yellow.
"Dada looooook! It's changing colors alreadyyy! God is awake!"
"Good morning Papa God!" she whispered with a smile.
By then my wife walked in with breakfast. Seeing us both at the window, she asked what we were doing.
"Saying 'Good morning" to the sun and to God" came my daughters' reply.
Everything went on as usual: I took my shower and got dressed for work; we had breakfast together (Julia tipped her plate over and soiled the floor with her food) and then we kissed each other goodbye for the day.
But somehow - and for some specific reason, the day seemed to start off far happier than usual, traffic seemed to be far more tolerable and the entire days' work already seemed to come into perspective that early.
All because of a cheerful and sincere "Good morning, Papa God!"
Monday, June 8, 2009
One Big Happy Family
A few weeks ago, my daughter and I were driving along the Alabang-Zapote Road when we spotted a "street family": a man and his obviously pregnant wife with their three children - one looked like he was around five or six years old, the second around three and the youngest maybe a year old at the most.
From the looks of it, they had been living on the streets for quite some time: dirty, tattered clothes, grimy faces and arms, and well-used cartons sheets on which they were obviously preparing to go to bed on. I had feelings of anger more than pity at what they represented to me: irresponsible parents who knew they had no place to live and hardly any source of income to feed their family, and yet found time and reason to bring fourth another life into their already dreary-world.
But then my daughter's voice brought me back to my senses. In her happiest tone, Julia simply said "Look Dada, they're one big happy family!"
I didn't have much time to give them a second look, but I did see that the two older kids were playing together, while the father gave the youngest a "horsey ride" on his leg. The mother watched the two older kids with obvious enjoyment.
They may not have had what I thought they needed - but at least at the moment I saw them, they had what they wanted: a happy family.
An office mate had earlier asked me how many people live in big houses but have incomplete families? Absentee parents or no parents at all?
I was amazed at the insight of my daughter. Actually, I believe it was more of my daughter's lack of adult insight that made her wiser beyond her years. She didn't see the street family through the eyes of a biased adult such as myself - she saw the happy family through the eyes of a child whose innocence still makes her believe that there is beauty in this dreary world.
No judgment. No hypocrisy. No biases.
Not the faintest hint of sarcasm or pessimism at all.
Just the simple and happy belief that this is still a beautiful world to live in.
I looked at Julia, and she looked straight back at me with the smile created by the scene of that "one big happy family" still radiantly displayed on her face.
From the looks of it, they had been living on the streets for quite some time: dirty, tattered clothes, grimy faces and arms, and well-used cartons sheets on which they were obviously preparing to go to bed on. I had feelings of anger more than pity at what they represented to me: irresponsible parents who knew they had no place to live and hardly any source of income to feed their family, and yet found time and reason to bring fourth another life into their already dreary-world.
But then my daughter's voice brought me back to my senses. In her happiest tone, Julia simply said "Look Dada, they're one big happy family!"
I didn't have much time to give them a second look, but I did see that the two older kids were playing together, while the father gave the youngest a "horsey ride" on his leg. The mother watched the two older kids with obvious enjoyment.
They may not have had what I thought they needed - but at least at the moment I saw them, they had what they wanted: a happy family.
An office mate had earlier asked me how many people live in big houses but have incomplete families? Absentee parents or no parents at all?
I was amazed at the insight of my daughter. Actually, I believe it was more of my daughter's lack of adult insight that made her wiser beyond her years. She didn't see the street family through the eyes of a biased adult such as myself - she saw the happy family through the eyes of a child whose innocence still makes her believe that there is beauty in this dreary world.
No judgment. No hypocrisy. No biases.
Not the faintest hint of sarcasm or pessimism at all.
Just the simple and happy belief that this is still a beautiful world to live in.
I looked at Julia, and she looked straight back at me with the smile created by the scene of that "one big happy family" still radiantly displayed on her face.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Tempus Fugit
Time flies. For those of you who find that staying busy is therapeutic, this is an understatement.
A couple of weeks ago, I told my family -- my wife, daughter, mother and siblings -- to make sure that they get up early on Sunday morning.
"I'll pick you up at 5:30", I told my mother and siblings, as my wife eyed me suspiciously, "We can't be late".
When they asked what for, I actually did not know what to say, so I blurted out the first thing to come to mind: "We'll all hear Mass in Tagaytay, then we'll have breakfast at 'Bag of Beans'" (a personal favorite).
On the way home that night, my wife asked me when I had planned this early morning trip.
"Just a few minutes ago" I replied. She just smiled, and we planned the trip.
Now I'm not really an impulsive person. I think things through as much as possible. I do like taking risks - but calculated risks, that is.
But every now and then, we just have to take the plunge, don't you agree?
Life was meant to be lived! God meant it to be that way.
When he created Adam and Eve, God told them: "Now listen here: you've got this entire place to yourselves, so you go around and enjoy what you can because this is for you!"
But in His wisdom, God added a few rules. In fact, there was just one rule. "Obey me. Everything in this place is for you - everything, that is, except the fruit of that one tree over there. That is off limits".
Other than that, it was all good.
What else would you do in a paradise where you were allowed dominion over all things? I can imagine Adam and Eve in their early days: "Hey Honey! Come and look at this! This is one creature you've got to see!" "One moment Dear, I'm just finishing up with my exotic, all-natural, geothermically induced mud bath..." "That's okay, it swam away already. When you're done, want to take a dive into the Atlantic? We can swim with the whales..." "That would be great, just as soon as we bungee off that beautiful cliff the Lord made for us over there..."
Now THAT would've been living life. Enjoying all that God has given us - simply because it was there.
Hence the impulsive decision to just get up very early one Sunday morning, travel all the way to Tagaytay to hear Mass and then spend the rest of the morning enjoying a lazy breakfast and wonderful company -- all on a whim.
All simply because it was there to be enjoyed.
In this fast world, the Lord allows time outs.
He wants us to stop long enough to see that, amidst all the clutter that our own faulty human nature has brought in around us, there is still the beauty of that thing called "life".
Learn to enjoy your journey through life. Choose to enjoy your journey, and all those around you will smile with you. And before you know it, they will be planning and enjoying their lives just as you do.
A couple of weeks ago, I told my family -- my wife, daughter, mother and siblings -- to make sure that they get up early on Sunday morning.
"I'll pick you up at 5:30", I told my mother and siblings, as my wife eyed me suspiciously, "We can't be late".
When they asked what for, I actually did not know what to say, so I blurted out the first thing to come to mind: "We'll all hear Mass in Tagaytay, then we'll have breakfast at 'Bag of Beans'" (a personal favorite).
On the way home that night, my wife asked me when I had planned this early morning trip.
"Just a few minutes ago" I replied. She just smiled, and we planned the trip.
Now I'm not really an impulsive person. I think things through as much as possible. I do like taking risks - but calculated risks, that is.
But every now and then, we just have to take the plunge, don't you agree?
Life was meant to be lived! God meant it to be that way.
When he created Adam and Eve, God told them: "Now listen here: you've got this entire place to yourselves, so you go around and enjoy what you can because this is for you!"
But in His wisdom, God added a few rules. In fact, there was just one rule. "Obey me. Everything in this place is for you - everything, that is, except the fruit of that one tree over there. That is off limits".
Other than that, it was all good.
What else would you do in a paradise where you were allowed dominion over all things? I can imagine Adam and Eve in their early days: "Hey Honey! Come and look at this! This is one creature you've got to see!" "One moment Dear, I'm just finishing up with my exotic, all-natural, geothermically induced mud bath..." "That's okay, it swam away already. When you're done, want to take a dive into the Atlantic? We can swim with the whales..." "That would be great, just as soon as we bungee off that beautiful cliff the Lord made for us over there..."
Now THAT would've been living life. Enjoying all that God has given us - simply because it was there.
Hence the impulsive decision to just get up very early one Sunday morning, travel all the way to Tagaytay to hear Mass and then spend the rest of the morning enjoying a lazy breakfast and wonderful company -- all on a whim.
All simply because it was there to be enjoyed.
In this fast world, the Lord allows time outs.
He wants us to stop long enough to see that, amidst all the clutter that our own faulty human nature has brought in around us, there is still the beauty of that thing called "life".
Learn to enjoy your journey through life. Choose to enjoy your journey, and all those around you will smile with you. And before you know it, they will be planning and enjoying their lives just as you do.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
"Let Go and Let God!"
The Lord is risen! Satan's plans have been thwarted, and hope has been renewed -- Happy Easter to all!
Truly God continues to change the hearts and minds of those who are willing to "let go and let God". And when we give in to His plans by sacrificing our own - the rewards are beyond compare.
While going through pictures in my brother's bedroom a couple of weekends ago, I came across some pictures from my high school days. I almost forgot how thin and lanky I looked back then, and seeing the pictures of myself in a polo barong together with good and real friends just made me smile.
As I shuffled through the stacks of pictures, I got to a picture of Reyniel Catabian, Ruter Agati and myself inspecting the progress of the construction of what was to become the St. La Salle Multi-Purpose Center in Pasong Makipot, Muntinlupa City. Ruter was sifting through scrap wood donated by parents of fellow students from La Salle Zobel, Reyniel was chatting it up with a construction worker, and I was just taking in the entire scene altogether.
The picture was taken sometime in the schoolyear of 1989. It was at the site of our Scout Units' second adopted community. Not many know of it anymore, but I believe it is safe to say that for Reyniel, Ruter and I - as well as for a few of the other Scouts back then - it changed our lives.
It all started at the start of the schoolyear 1988-89. We were in our third year of high school, and over the summer I had decided that I wanted to leave a legacy with the school. I came to know of the Magnolia National Youth Achievement Awards, and I planned to gun for that. I approached our Scout Master (Mr. Ruben Deseo - true green La Sallians from Zobel would know him) and told him my plan: a massive tree-planting project on the slopes of the Scout Reserve on Mt. Makiling. I had the finances planned and had already contacted a seedling bank.
He asked me one question: "Do you really want to make a difference?"
I said I did.
A week later, Mr. Deseo, together with my four patrol leaders and I went to a remote barrio in Binan, Laguna: Barrio Loma. We met with the barrio elders and told them our goal: we wanted to provide adult-literacy classes, child-literacy classes, livelihood programs and the such to the barrio folk. At that time, an average family from the barrio had to live on no more than Php200 to Php300 a week - if they were lucky.
I don't know what convinced them, but the barrio elders accepted our offer of help.
Now, seriously: "what could a bunch of 35 high school students do to augment and uplift the lives of an entire community?"
Reyniel, Ruter and I pushed those thoughts to the back of our minds and just did what we set off to do. Reyniel looked into livelihood programs. Ruter took charge of the LRC and child literacy. I handled adult-literacy and catechism programs. Other Scouts worked together on sports and recreation, socials and other activities.
I spent every single weekend of our third year in high school living in Barrio Loma. I had a different patrol with me every weekend. Before I knew it, the fruits of our labor was starting to grow ripe right before our very eyes. Barrio folks got more involved in working together to raise poultry to augment their income from the rice fields; barrio elders got together to re-organize the residents into stronger units that would cooperate in the ongoing projects. I had 20 students taking up typing lessons three days a week (thanks to Mr. Guzman who patiently taught us how to type), five of whom later on found jobs as secretaries in small businesses in the town proper of Binan. Barrio youth came together to form a formidable youth group - and an entire new Scout Unit was even formed.
By August, the St. La Salle Health and Learning Resource Center was built. Materials were provided by parents of students from Zobel - but the work and the workers were provided by the beneficiaries. I didn't know it then, but it had the makings of today's Gawad Kalinga altogether.
Dr. Antonio Tamayo worked with us by providing medical teams from the Perpetual Help Hospital every month to conduct free medical and dental clinics at the Center. His son, Anthony Tamayo, was also a student at Zobel.
On their fiesta, there was a procession in honor of Mary Immaculate - their Patroness. The procession was so long and so well attended that houses were actually left unattended such that a thief would have had a looting spree. "Mang Ehser", the barrio captain commented that never had so many people joined the processions before.
By the end of the school year, we were already looking into adopting a second community - the community shown in the picture I mentioned earlier.
What started as a selfish dream of winning a national award turned into a real act of community development, spiritual enlightenment and nation-building.
What began as a project with only 35 Scouts turned into an effort of the La Sallian Community, as De La Salle University provided certificates to those who finished a Basic Electrician's Course in Pasong Makipot.
What was once the project of a single Scout Unit became a project of the World Bureau of the Scouting Movement after a representative of the World Bureau flew in from Switzerland to inspect the projects - and then later grant La Salle Zobel some funds to augment the project even more.
What was once a weekend project of 35 high school students later became a project that involved parents, teachers and students from all grade levels.
There were trade-offs for me, though.
I never did go to either my Junior or my Senior Prom (good thing too - I don't dance anyway).
And I never did get that National Award from Magnolia. Heck, I never even applied for it.
But today, as I look back, there are living rewards that I can be proud of. Soon before our graduation in 1990, Reyniel and I received the news.
Two boys were born to two families in Barrio Loma.
One was named Reyniel. The other was named Tyne.
What could be better than that?
Truly God continues to change the hearts and minds of those who are willing to "let go and let God". And when we give in to His plans by sacrificing our own - the rewards are beyond compare.
While going through pictures in my brother's bedroom a couple of weekends ago, I came across some pictures from my high school days. I almost forgot how thin and lanky I looked back then, and seeing the pictures of myself in a polo barong together with good and real friends just made me smile.
As I shuffled through the stacks of pictures, I got to a picture of Reyniel Catabian, Ruter Agati and myself inspecting the progress of the construction of what was to become the St. La Salle Multi-Purpose Center in Pasong Makipot, Muntinlupa City. Ruter was sifting through scrap wood donated by parents of fellow students from La Salle Zobel, Reyniel was chatting it up with a construction worker, and I was just taking in the entire scene altogether.
The picture was taken sometime in the schoolyear of 1989. It was at the site of our Scout Units' second adopted community. Not many know of it anymore, but I believe it is safe to say that for Reyniel, Ruter and I - as well as for a few of the other Scouts back then - it changed our lives.
It all started at the start of the schoolyear 1988-89. We were in our third year of high school, and over the summer I had decided that I wanted to leave a legacy with the school. I came to know of the Magnolia National Youth Achievement Awards, and I planned to gun for that. I approached our Scout Master (Mr. Ruben Deseo - true green La Sallians from Zobel would know him) and told him my plan: a massive tree-planting project on the slopes of the Scout Reserve on Mt. Makiling. I had the finances planned and had already contacted a seedling bank.
He asked me one question: "Do you really want to make a difference?"
I said I did.
A week later, Mr. Deseo, together with my four patrol leaders and I went to a remote barrio in Binan, Laguna: Barrio Loma. We met with the barrio elders and told them our goal: we wanted to provide adult-literacy classes, child-literacy classes, livelihood programs and the such to the barrio folk. At that time, an average family from the barrio had to live on no more than Php200 to Php300 a week - if they were lucky.
I don't know what convinced them, but the barrio elders accepted our offer of help.
Now, seriously: "what could a bunch of 35 high school students do to augment and uplift the lives of an entire community?"
Reyniel, Ruter and I pushed those thoughts to the back of our minds and just did what we set off to do. Reyniel looked into livelihood programs. Ruter took charge of the LRC and child literacy. I handled adult-literacy and catechism programs. Other Scouts worked together on sports and recreation, socials and other activities.
I spent every single weekend of our third year in high school living in Barrio Loma. I had a different patrol with me every weekend. Before I knew it, the fruits of our labor was starting to grow ripe right before our very eyes. Barrio folks got more involved in working together to raise poultry to augment their income from the rice fields; barrio elders got together to re-organize the residents into stronger units that would cooperate in the ongoing projects. I had 20 students taking up typing lessons three days a week (thanks to Mr. Guzman who patiently taught us how to type), five of whom later on found jobs as secretaries in small businesses in the town proper of Binan. Barrio youth came together to form a formidable youth group - and an entire new Scout Unit was even formed.
By August, the St. La Salle Health and Learning Resource Center was built. Materials were provided by parents of students from Zobel - but the work and the workers were provided by the beneficiaries. I didn't know it then, but it had the makings of today's Gawad Kalinga altogether.
Dr. Antonio Tamayo worked with us by providing medical teams from the Perpetual Help Hospital every month to conduct free medical and dental clinics at the Center. His son, Anthony Tamayo, was also a student at Zobel.
On their fiesta, there was a procession in honor of Mary Immaculate - their Patroness. The procession was so long and so well attended that houses were actually left unattended such that a thief would have had a looting spree. "Mang Ehser", the barrio captain commented that never had so many people joined the processions before.
By the end of the school year, we were already looking into adopting a second community - the community shown in the picture I mentioned earlier.
What started as a selfish dream of winning a national award turned into a real act of community development, spiritual enlightenment and nation-building.
What began as a project with only 35 Scouts turned into an effort of the La Sallian Community, as De La Salle University provided certificates to those who finished a Basic Electrician's Course in Pasong Makipot.
What was once the project of a single Scout Unit became a project of the World Bureau of the Scouting Movement after a representative of the World Bureau flew in from Switzerland to inspect the projects - and then later grant La Salle Zobel some funds to augment the project even more.
What was once a weekend project of 35 high school students later became a project that involved parents, teachers and students from all grade levels.
There were trade-offs for me, though.
I never did go to either my Junior or my Senior Prom (good thing too - I don't dance anyway).
And I never did get that National Award from Magnolia. Heck, I never even applied for it.
But today, as I look back, there are living rewards that I can be proud of. Soon before our graduation in 1990, Reyniel and I received the news.
Two boys were born to two families in Barrio Loma.
One was named Reyniel. The other was named Tyne.
What could be better than that?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Crossing the Street
“You have to go to Tita Beng – it’s an emergency. And you have to go alone”.
This is what my brother told my six-year old daughter.
Just half an hour earlier, my brother JV picked my daughter up from her Kumon classes. She was going to spend the weekend at Mamita’s once again.
When they got home, my brother prepared lunch, and then asked Julia to “call Mamita” to eat. Julia went into my mother’s room and returned a few seconds later telling my brother that “Mamita was not answering and she was not waking-up.”
Mama was recently diagnosed as being diabetic. JV – who has been an insulin dependent diabetic for over two decades now – became very strict with my mother’s diet and sugar intake.
He realized immediately the Mama was unconscious due to low blood-sugar.
JV took her blood-sugar count – and indeed it was a deathly low 25. Being alone at home, he had to go get help, but he also had to stay with my mother. That’s when he told Julia that she had to cross the main road alone to get to our neighbor’s house.
“I can’t, I’m scared”, Julia said.
“Julia, you have to. Mamita needs help, and I can’t leave her. You have to go.” JV then started to prepare some sugar-water to try to administer as soon as my mother hopefully regained consciousness.
A few seconds later, JV heard the gate close and when he looked behind him, Julia was gone.
A few minutes after that, Tita Beng (mother of Felice Fernandez) and Tita Linda walked in. By then JV had already called a few people, and my sister-in-law Lanie was on her way to the house, as was Kit, a childhood friend of ours. My other brothers and I were likewise rushing home.
Mama is okay now, and as I type away, she is sleeping soundly and comfortably in her bed.
No offense to Mama, but this isn’t about her really.
It’s about Julia (again). And about all of us as well.
Sure, Julia is six, and a lot of six-year olds walk and cross streets alone. Lots of kids Julia’s age do so many things alone.
So this isn’t really about her crossing the street to get help in an emergency situation either.
It’s about her crossing the street when she was absolutely sure she couldn’t do it because she was scared to do it.
Julia faced her fears when she had to – and in so doing she actually and literally helped save the life of her grandmother.
And you know what else is amazing about it?
It was no big deal for her. As far as she is concerned she crossed the street because Mamita needed her to do so.
That’s it.
She found a reason to overcome herself and her fear.
I know of many adults – my age and older – who have not yet overcome their fears nor themselves.
There are those who shy away from relationships because they were hurt once or twice.
Those who put off doing what they want to do because they failed at it once too often.
Those who wallow in their sorrows because they feel no one would be interested to listen to them.
Julia faced her fear because she wanted to help Mamita.
Want to be in a meaningful and fulfilling relationship? Then work on it.
Want to achieve something great in your life? Then take the first step – and then the next.
Want to find comfort and a reason to move on? Seek the comfort of the people you call your friends.
Our Lord came into the world for one reason: to give his life so that we would have life.
He came into the world because of the future he wanted for us, not because of the past.
So when faced with your fears, forget the past.
And look into the future you want to achieve.
Then take the first step until you finally cross the street.
P.S. - I wasn't able to publish this earlier, as things were quite busy during the days Mama was in the hospital. Thank you to all who prayed for and with our family; thank you to all who visited and called. Like I said in one of my emails, GOD IS GOOD not only because he has watched over Mama and us, but also because he gave our family people like you. GOD BLESS!
This is what my brother told my six-year old daughter.
Just half an hour earlier, my brother JV picked my daughter up from her Kumon classes. She was going to spend the weekend at Mamita’s once again.
When they got home, my brother prepared lunch, and then asked Julia to “call Mamita” to eat. Julia went into my mother’s room and returned a few seconds later telling my brother that “Mamita was not answering and she was not waking-up.”
Mama was recently diagnosed as being diabetic. JV – who has been an insulin dependent diabetic for over two decades now – became very strict with my mother’s diet and sugar intake.
He realized immediately the Mama was unconscious due to low blood-sugar.
JV took her blood-sugar count – and indeed it was a deathly low 25. Being alone at home, he had to go get help, but he also had to stay with my mother. That’s when he told Julia that she had to cross the main road alone to get to our neighbor’s house.
“I can’t, I’m scared”, Julia said.
“Julia, you have to. Mamita needs help, and I can’t leave her. You have to go.” JV then started to prepare some sugar-water to try to administer as soon as my mother hopefully regained consciousness.
A few seconds later, JV heard the gate close and when he looked behind him, Julia was gone.
A few minutes after that, Tita Beng (mother of Felice Fernandez) and Tita Linda walked in. By then JV had already called a few people, and my sister-in-law Lanie was on her way to the house, as was Kit, a childhood friend of ours. My other brothers and I were likewise rushing home.
Mama is okay now, and as I type away, she is sleeping soundly and comfortably in her bed.
No offense to Mama, but this isn’t about her really.
It’s about Julia (again). And about all of us as well.
Sure, Julia is six, and a lot of six-year olds walk and cross streets alone. Lots of kids Julia’s age do so many things alone.
So this isn’t really about her crossing the street to get help in an emergency situation either.
It’s about her crossing the street when she was absolutely sure she couldn’t do it because she was scared to do it.
Julia faced her fears when she had to – and in so doing she actually and literally helped save the life of her grandmother.
And you know what else is amazing about it?
It was no big deal for her. As far as she is concerned she crossed the street because Mamita needed her to do so.
That’s it.
She found a reason to overcome herself and her fear.
I know of many adults – my age and older – who have not yet overcome their fears nor themselves.
There are those who shy away from relationships because they were hurt once or twice.
Those who put off doing what they want to do because they failed at it once too often.
Those who wallow in their sorrows because they feel no one would be interested to listen to them.
Julia faced her fear because she wanted to help Mamita.
Want to be in a meaningful and fulfilling relationship? Then work on it.
Want to achieve something great in your life? Then take the first step – and then the next.
Want to find comfort and a reason to move on? Seek the comfort of the people you call your friends.
Our Lord came into the world for one reason: to give his life so that we would have life.
He came into the world because of the future he wanted for us, not because of the past.
So when faced with your fears, forget the past.
And look into the future you want to achieve.
Then take the first step until you finally cross the street.
P.S. - I wasn't able to publish this earlier, as things were quite busy during the days Mama was in the hospital. Thank you to all who prayed for and with our family; thank you to all who visited and called. Like I said in one of my emails, GOD IS GOOD not only because he has watched over Mama and us, but also because he gave our family people like you. GOD BLESS!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
"You're My Happiness"
Julia has been staying with "Mamita" (my mother, her grandmother) since Thursday this week. "Mamita" always loves having Julia around -- and Julia loves being around her too. You see, like every grandmother (or grandparent, for that matter) my mother spoils Julia no end.
"It's my job to spoil her... and your job to discipline her..." she always tells my wife and I.
Last night, while having dinner with my wife, my brother sent me a text message saying "Please call, Julia wants to talk to you".
And so I called.
As soon as she got on the phone, she started sniffing: "I want to go home now..." she cried.
"But I thought you wanted to stay with Mamita till Sunday?"
"No, I want to go home now -- because I miss you..."
"We'll be together again on Sunday when we pick you up."
"But I miss you... I want to be with you..."
I then said "Remember you promised Mamita that you will stay with her till Sunday? What do we do when we make promises?"
"We keep them", Julia answered.
"Don't you like being with Mamita?" I asked, pleased that I was making progress into getting her to calm down and stop crying.
"I do! But I want you to be with me" she said, still crying.
"I'm here -- and we'll be together again on Sunday. If you like being with Mamita, what's wrong then?" I asked.
"I want you to be with me because you're my happiness!"
My wife noticed that I had to choke down a tear or two.
Somehow, I finally got her to calm down and agree to stay with Mamita till Sunday.
"Julia, you're our happiness too. But you are also Mamita's happiness. You know she loves you... you know you bring her happiness. I want you to be her happiness too"
"Okay. We'll share our happiness" Julia replied between sniffs.
After that, we put down the phone.
"She told me the same thing earlier" my wife said. "She told me I was her happiness."
All we could do then was smile at each other and choke down a couple of tears of happiness and humility.
So here I am, doing what my daughter told me: "...share our happiness".
Hope I made you happy.
"It's my job to spoil her... and your job to discipline her..." she always tells my wife and I.
Last night, while having dinner with my wife, my brother sent me a text message saying "Please call, Julia wants to talk to you".
And so I called.
As soon as she got on the phone, she started sniffing: "I want to go home now..." she cried.
"But I thought you wanted to stay with Mamita till Sunday?"
"No, I want to go home now -- because I miss you..."
"We'll be together again on Sunday when we pick you up."
"But I miss you... I want to be with you..."
I then said "Remember you promised Mamita that you will stay with her till Sunday? What do we do when we make promises?"
"We keep them", Julia answered.
"Don't you like being with Mamita?" I asked, pleased that I was making progress into getting her to calm down and stop crying.
"I do! But I want you to be with me" she said, still crying.
"I'm here -- and we'll be together again on Sunday. If you like being with Mamita, what's wrong then?" I asked.
"I want you to be with me because you're my happiness!"
My wife noticed that I had to choke down a tear or two.
Somehow, I finally got her to calm down and agree to stay with Mamita till Sunday.
"Julia, you're our happiness too. But you are also Mamita's happiness. You know she loves you... you know you bring her happiness. I want you to be her happiness too"
"Okay. We'll share our happiness" Julia replied between sniffs.
After that, we put down the phone.
"She told me the same thing earlier" my wife said. "She told me I was her happiness."
All we could do then was smile at each other and choke down a couple of tears of happiness and humility.
So here I am, doing what my daughter told me: "...share our happiness".
Hope I made you happy.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Swan Love
Last night, my wife, daughter and I were watching a new show on a local television channel. It was a show that featured the strong similarities between man and animal, and the very first animal they featured is a long-time favorite of mine: the swan.
It was a short feature about a real-life swan that fell in love with a swan-shaped pedal boat, similar to those pedal boats one finds on the waters of Burnham Park in Baguio.
Day and night, the live swan would stay beside the swan-boat. It swam beside the boat, it slept beside the boat, and it ate beside the boat. It literally lived beside the swan-boat.
At one time, the park authorities decided to take away the swan-boat. The live swan followed noisily as the swan-boat was brought out of the water and loaded onto a pick-up. The video showed the live swan raising a ruckus about the abduction of its’ “oversized inanimate lover”.
And while the swan-boat was away, the live swan supposedly did not seem to want to live the life of a regular swan.
And so the park authorities decided to bring the swan-boat back, and sure enough, as soon as the live swan saw the swan-boat, it followed it from the pick-up back into the water, and the two “paddled off into the sunset”.
The live swan and the human pedaled swan-boat.
Ironically, the swan is also the symbol of true, unconditional love.
Sadly, there are many people in similar situations.
People who choose to “love blindly” – often beyond all acceptable reason.
There is a world of difference between “blind love” and “loving unconditionally”.
At the onset, they may seem the same, but believe me, they are very, very different.
Loving unconditionally means loving a person despite and in spite of his or her past, present and future. Loving blindly is, just simply, loving blindly.
The first kind of love requires a knowledge of the other persons’ past, present and future. The second kind of love requires none of that.
Many people live the lives of the live swan. They waste their time pouring out their love and attention on people and in situations that will obviously not bear fruit.
They choose to love for the wrong reason. Often, their love is without reason at all. Like the live swan, they fail to see the other live swans swimming just around the corner, or across the lake or, in some cases, right beside them. Without their realizing it, they are actually depriving themselves of the love that may actually be waiting for them if only they would wake-up from the dream that they have created with the object of their misguided affection.
I have seen many cases such as this. I have counseled many in such situations. And, unfortunately, I have seen many lives wasted because of such inanimate love.
On the other hand, I have also seen the best of love.
I have seen those whose continuous love for another has brought about the miraculous change needed for love to flourish. I myself am a result of how true, unconditional love between people of different faiths resulted in siblings whose love for God is uncompromised.
In my work, I have seen how love has healed sick children, and how love has eased the passage of a person from this life to the next.
I have seen how love for family has provided employees with the strength and commitment to work long hours just to see a project through or to earn that extra hour or two of OT pay.
Jesus loves us unconditionally.
He loves us – despite and in spite of our past, our present… and our future. Just because he loves us despite our sins does not mean that he loves blindly. It means that he has decided to love us even in our sin.
But loving does not mean that we become exempt from the consequences of the choices we make. It is exactly because Jesus loves us that he allows us to choose the path we take. Whether it be his path or not.
But it is our choice.
To love in a manner that will set us free and bring out the best in us.
Or to love in a manner that will just lead our souls towards an inanimate future.
It was a short feature about a real-life swan that fell in love with a swan-shaped pedal boat, similar to those pedal boats one finds on the waters of Burnham Park in Baguio.
Day and night, the live swan would stay beside the swan-boat. It swam beside the boat, it slept beside the boat, and it ate beside the boat. It literally lived beside the swan-boat.
At one time, the park authorities decided to take away the swan-boat. The live swan followed noisily as the swan-boat was brought out of the water and loaded onto a pick-up. The video showed the live swan raising a ruckus about the abduction of its’ “oversized inanimate lover”.
And while the swan-boat was away, the live swan supposedly did not seem to want to live the life of a regular swan.
And so the park authorities decided to bring the swan-boat back, and sure enough, as soon as the live swan saw the swan-boat, it followed it from the pick-up back into the water, and the two “paddled off into the sunset”.
The live swan and the human pedaled swan-boat.
Ironically, the swan is also the symbol of true, unconditional love.
Sadly, there are many people in similar situations.
People who choose to “love blindly” – often beyond all acceptable reason.
There is a world of difference between “blind love” and “loving unconditionally”.
At the onset, they may seem the same, but believe me, they are very, very different.
Loving unconditionally means loving a person despite and in spite of his or her past, present and future. Loving blindly is, just simply, loving blindly.
The first kind of love requires a knowledge of the other persons’ past, present and future. The second kind of love requires none of that.
Many people live the lives of the live swan. They waste their time pouring out their love and attention on people and in situations that will obviously not bear fruit.
They choose to love for the wrong reason. Often, their love is without reason at all. Like the live swan, they fail to see the other live swans swimming just around the corner, or across the lake or, in some cases, right beside them. Without their realizing it, they are actually depriving themselves of the love that may actually be waiting for them if only they would wake-up from the dream that they have created with the object of their misguided affection.
I have seen many cases such as this. I have counseled many in such situations. And, unfortunately, I have seen many lives wasted because of such inanimate love.
On the other hand, I have also seen the best of love.
I have seen those whose continuous love for another has brought about the miraculous change needed for love to flourish. I myself am a result of how true, unconditional love between people of different faiths resulted in siblings whose love for God is uncompromised.
In my work, I have seen how love has healed sick children, and how love has eased the passage of a person from this life to the next.
I have seen how love for family has provided employees with the strength and commitment to work long hours just to see a project through or to earn that extra hour or two of OT pay.
Jesus loves us unconditionally.
He loves us – despite and in spite of our past, our present… and our future. Just because he loves us despite our sins does not mean that he loves blindly. It means that he has decided to love us even in our sin.
But loving does not mean that we become exempt from the consequences of the choices we make. It is exactly because Jesus loves us that he allows us to choose the path we take. Whether it be his path or not.
But it is our choice.
To love in a manner that will set us free and bring out the best in us.
Or to love in a manner that will just lead our souls towards an inanimate future.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Raindrops
There really isn't much that you can do when you're stuck in traffic on Ayala Avenue and it starts to rain.
Not much but wait for the lights to change, the cars to move, pedestrians cross and time to just pass you by.
And then again, you could watch the rain.
It wasn't a heavy downpour this morning. It was more of a light and continuous shower -- just a little stronger than a drizzle.
As I sat in the back seat of the cab, I took special notice of the beads of rain that fell and clung onto the glass of the window. These little "orbs of water" ranged in size from less than a millimeter to probably two or three millimeters in diameter.
I noticed something that has always been right in front of me everytime it rained.
Every once in a while, a single bead would start to move down the glass surface. Whether caused by gravity, another drop of rain, the wind or the mild surface vibration brought about by the vehicles’ engine wasn’t important. The fact is, a bead or two would start to slide downwards.
Then it would eventually hit another bead – and they would merge into one and slide further downward, slightly faster this time, until it hit and merged with another bead, and then another, and then it would be much bigger than the original bead, and gravity would just do the rest and pull the “now enlarged” bead quickly down the rest of the way.
And then there were the other beads of water.
Some were just so big and heavy on their own that they slid down the glass surface almost as soon as it hit the glass. Others, for one reason or another just “clung” onto the surface and never seemed to be affected by other beads, the wind, the vibration or just about anything else that caused other beads of water to slide down the glass slope.
Amazing how people are much like these beads of water.
We all have our problems – some face bigger problems than others – but they are problems nonetheless. BUT, how we allow these problems to affect us – AND other people around us – is the source of our similarity with raindrops on a glass surface.
Some people are the beads of water that start their downward journey. They have problems that just seem to keep weighing them down. For them, life seems to have no “brighter side”, and every turn is just another slide further downward. When these kind of people start to unburden themselves upon others, they somehow take the other person down with them. In their depression, they seek the help and comfort of friends and family, but because of their own stubbornness, instead of accepting the encouragement of others, they take down with them those whose help they sought out in the first place.
Which leads us to the next group of people and the second kind of bead of water: the beads that somehow find themselves in the downward slope of the problematic? These are people who always seem ready to listen and to extend a helping hand – always with good intent.
But if these people are not deeply rooted in their faith – if they are not strongly convicted in their ways – not only will they not be of help, but sooner or later they will find themselves being pulled down by the very people they tried to help in the first place.
There are also those people who get in the way of the hopelessly problematic. They aren’t really involved, but just because they are in the way of this beads’ downward slide, they become victims who soon find themselves being pulled down by the first bead’s problems – often against their will. These are the victims of circumstance: the bystander who gets shot in crossfire between police and car thieves; the depositor who gets shot by robbers holding-up a bank; or the unborn child killed in the womb of a woman who gave in to desperation at becoming pregnant out of wedlock.
And then there are those who have found their place on the glassy slope – and stayed there.
They may listen and sympathize with the problematic – but they know how to keep enough distance so as not to join the downward slide of the hopelessly depressed.
They are those who can withstand the problems and trial brought about by the wind, the vibration brought about by the vehicles’ running engine or, for some reason, do not get hit by other raindrops.
These are the people who have rooted themselves well in their faith, and who have chosen to learn from their own trials and have chosen to “be firm and steadfast”, thus possessing the land on which they stand.
People are the raindrops. The glass surface is life. The wind, rain and engine vibration represent the trials, tests, problems and challenges we face as a result of our own or another persons’ or peoples’ mistakes.
Which raindrop would you be?
Not much but wait for the lights to change, the cars to move, pedestrians cross and time to just pass you by.
And then again, you could watch the rain.
It wasn't a heavy downpour this morning. It was more of a light and continuous shower -- just a little stronger than a drizzle.
As I sat in the back seat of the cab, I took special notice of the beads of rain that fell and clung onto the glass of the window. These little "orbs of water" ranged in size from less than a millimeter to probably two or three millimeters in diameter.
I noticed something that has always been right in front of me everytime it rained.
Every once in a while, a single bead would start to move down the glass surface. Whether caused by gravity, another drop of rain, the wind or the mild surface vibration brought about by the vehicles’ engine wasn’t important. The fact is, a bead or two would start to slide downwards.
Then it would eventually hit another bead – and they would merge into one and slide further downward, slightly faster this time, until it hit and merged with another bead, and then another, and then it would be much bigger than the original bead, and gravity would just do the rest and pull the “now enlarged” bead quickly down the rest of the way.
And then there were the other beads of water.
Some were just so big and heavy on their own that they slid down the glass surface almost as soon as it hit the glass. Others, for one reason or another just “clung” onto the surface and never seemed to be affected by other beads, the wind, the vibration or just about anything else that caused other beads of water to slide down the glass slope.
Amazing how people are much like these beads of water.
We all have our problems – some face bigger problems than others – but they are problems nonetheless. BUT, how we allow these problems to affect us – AND other people around us – is the source of our similarity with raindrops on a glass surface.
Some people are the beads of water that start their downward journey. They have problems that just seem to keep weighing them down. For them, life seems to have no “brighter side”, and every turn is just another slide further downward. When these kind of people start to unburden themselves upon others, they somehow take the other person down with them. In their depression, they seek the help and comfort of friends and family, but because of their own stubbornness, instead of accepting the encouragement of others, they take down with them those whose help they sought out in the first place.
Which leads us to the next group of people and the second kind of bead of water: the beads that somehow find themselves in the downward slope of the problematic? These are people who always seem ready to listen and to extend a helping hand – always with good intent.
But if these people are not deeply rooted in their faith – if they are not strongly convicted in their ways – not only will they not be of help, but sooner or later they will find themselves being pulled down by the very people they tried to help in the first place.
There are also those people who get in the way of the hopelessly problematic. They aren’t really involved, but just because they are in the way of this beads’ downward slide, they become victims who soon find themselves being pulled down by the first bead’s problems – often against their will. These are the victims of circumstance: the bystander who gets shot in crossfire between police and car thieves; the depositor who gets shot by robbers holding-up a bank; or the unborn child killed in the womb of a woman who gave in to desperation at becoming pregnant out of wedlock.
And then there are those who have found their place on the glassy slope – and stayed there.
They may listen and sympathize with the problematic – but they know how to keep enough distance so as not to join the downward slide of the hopelessly depressed.
They are those who can withstand the problems and trial brought about by the wind, the vibration brought about by the vehicles’ running engine or, for some reason, do not get hit by other raindrops.
These are the people who have rooted themselves well in their faith, and who have chosen to learn from their own trials and have chosen to “be firm and steadfast”, thus possessing the land on which they stand.
People are the raindrops. The glass surface is life. The wind, rain and engine vibration represent the trials, tests, problems and challenges we face as a result of our own or another persons’ or peoples’ mistakes.
Which raindrop would you be?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Temple or Marketplace?
Today is the third Sunday of Lent.
The Gospel focused on one of the few incidents recorded in the Bible when Jesus displayed an emotion we call "righteous anger".
Upon entering the synagogue grounds, Jesus is awed and stressed at seeing how the temple grounds, once considered absolutely sacred, had been demonetized to a state no more noble than your local provincial wet market or palengke.
Where worshippers once walked piously to and from the temples' many doorways leading to the worship halls, animal traders, tax collectors and other hawkers of various goods and "prayer necessities" set up tables and stalls in front of cages of animals ranging from cows to goats to pigeons. What once was a quiet plaza where worshippers began to contemplate their prayer hour at the temple was transformed into a noisy den of thieves and cheats, all using religion as the basis for their businesses.
Well, this kind of irked the Lord, and what follows is well narrated in your trusty Bibles.
Unfortunately, not much has changed.
Literally.
Notwithstanding the "physical church": the structure and building where we go to worship the Lord -- our "personal temples": our very own hearts and souls -- have changed little in becoming the temple of the Holy Spirit that it was and still is meant to be.
If the Lord were to walk into the grounds of our temple, what would he find there?
A true Spirit of worship?
Or a den of thieves bent merely on providing oneself with the semblance of worship, when there is really nothing more than the desire to fulfill one's needs.
When we come to church just to fulfill an obligation, we are no better than the tax collectors who are there to remind worshippers of their obligations.
When we come to church just because it has been a practice we have become accustomed to, we are no better than the hawkers who go not to worship, but because it has become a routine for them to be there to sell their goods.
When we come to church with anger, hatred, hurt, unforgiveness, bitterness or any other ill-feelings or intent towards others for whatever reason, then we are no better than the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Zealots and Scribes who hide behind holy garments that do little to hide their true and often hypocritical natures.
More than a clean structure and a beautiful facade, Jesus seeks the purity of our inner temples.
What would Jesus find in your heart?
A Temple?
Or a Marketplace?
While you contemplate this, I'll be sweeping up my grounds.
The Gospel focused on one of the few incidents recorded in the Bible when Jesus displayed an emotion we call "righteous anger".
Upon entering the synagogue grounds, Jesus is awed and stressed at seeing how the temple grounds, once considered absolutely sacred, had been demonetized to a state no more noble than your local provincial wet market or palengke.
Where worshippers once walked piously to and from the temples' many doorways leading to the worship halls, animal traders, tax collectors and other hawkers of various goods and "prayer necessities" set up tables and stalls in front of cages of animals ranging from cows to goats to pigeons. What once was a quiet plaza where worshippers began to contemplate their prayer hour at the temple was transformed into a noisy den of thieves and cheats, all using religion as the basis for their businesses.
Well, this kind of irked the Lord, and what follows is well narrated in your trusty Bibles.
Unfortunately, not much has changed.
Literally.
Notwithstanding the "physical church": the structure and building where we go to worship the Lord -- our "personal temples": our very own hearts and souls -- have changed little in becoming the temple of the Holy Spirit that it was and still is meant to be.
If the Lord were to walk into the grounds of our temple, what would he find there?
A true Spirit of worship?
Or a den of thieves bent merely on providing oneself with the semblance of worship, when there is really nothing more than the desire to fulfill one's needs.
When we come to church just to fulfill an obligation, we are no better than the tax collectors who are there to remind worshippers of their obligations.
When we come to church just because it has been a practice we have become accustomed to, we are no better than the hawkers who go not to worship, but because it has become a routine for them to be there to sell their goods.
When we come to church with anger, hatred, hurt, unforgiveness, bitterness or any other ill-feelings or intent towards others for whatever reason, then we are no better than the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Zealots and Scribes who hide behind holy garments that do little to hide their true and often hypocritical natures.
More than a clean structure and a beautiful facade, Jesus seeks the purity of our inner temples.
What would Jesus find in your heart?
A Temple?
Or a Marketplace?
While you contemplate this, I'll be sweeping up my grounds.
Friday, March 13, 2009
My Morrie
Morrie.
Mitch Albom had "his" Morrie.
Everyone should have his own "Morrie" -- someone who you could sit with for hours on end, not necessarily talking, but just enjoying each other's presence.
I had my own "Morrie". His name was Emerardo Ladrera.
Rev. Fr. Emerardo Ladrera.
"Father", as everyone called him of course, was a short (less than 5 feet tall), old, charming priest whose thoughts and philosophy were way beyond his already advanced years. He used to be the Chaplain of the Faustino Legaspi Uy Colleges (also known as the Las Pinas Colleges), and he lived in a little room right beside the colleges' big chapel.
He was already technically retired as a priest, but since he knew of no other better way to live his life, he had gotten permission to continue celebrating Sunday Masses at the college chapel. My family and a few other families gathered together to support him by hearing the Masses he celebrated. I always served as his "sacristan", and sometimes doubled as a lector/commentator.
Father was a man with a very strong and charismatic personality -- somehow, one would always find oneself drawn to Father. I know I was. So much so that I found myself visiting him at least three times a week. It came to be a routine for us that everytime I got to his place, he was already sitting on the porch, waiting for me.
And there was always an empty chair right beside him.
We'd sit for hours. He'd teach me all about the church: Her history; Her best and darkest hours; Her mistakes and triumphs. He taught me about the Faith itself. I learned more about Christianity from him than from anybody else.
But it was not always about the church.
We'd talk politics. History. Relationships. Parents. Siblings. School and the educational system. Life. And Love.
We also talked a lot about ME: who I was, and who I could be.
Our talks always ended just as the first star started to shine in the sky. At this point, he would lean towards me and say "Now, make your confession..." And I would.
Father Ladrera always sent me home with a sense of peace and hope. Amazingly, I always had something to confess and seek forgiveness for.
And Father Ladrera knew this. And he was always ready to listen, to accept... and to forgive.
We all need a Morrie in our lives. Someone who you could sit down with and talk to and open up to.
Someone who would never judge you -- who would teach you without actually trying.
Someone who would give you a sense of peace and hope for things to come.
Father has long passed away, but sometimes, I swear that I could feel him lean over to me and whisper "Now, make your confession..."
And soon after that, I swear that I am overcome by an amazing sense of peace and hope.
I have a new Morrie now. My wife, Jennifer.
How about you? Who is your Morrie?
Mitch Albom had "his" Morrie.
Everyone should have his own "Morrie" -- someone who you could sit with for hours on end, not necessarily talking, but just enjoying each other's presence.
I had my own "Morrie". His name was Emerardo Ladrera.
Rev. Fr. Emerardo Ladrera.
"Father", as everyone called him of course, was a short (less than 5 feet tall), old, charming priest whose thoughts and philosophy were way beyond his already advanced years. He used to be the Chaplain of the Faustino Legaspi Uy Colleges (also known as the Las Pinas Colleges), and he lived in a little room right beside the colleges' big chapel.
He was already technically retired as a priest, but since he knew of no other better way to live his life, he had gotten permission to continue celebrating Sunday Masses at the college chapel. My family and a few other families gathered together to support him by hearing the Masses he celebrated. I always served as his "sacristan", and sometimes doubled as a lector/commentator.
Father was a man with a very strong and charismatic personality -- somehow, one would always find oneself drawn to Father. I know I was. So much so that I found myself visiting him at least three times a week. It came to be a routine for us that everytime I got to his place, he was already sitting on the porch, waiting for me.
And there was always an empty chair right beside him.
We'd sit for hours. He'd teach me all about the church: Her history; Her best and darkest hours; Her mistakes and triumphs. He taught me about the Faith itself. I learned more about Christianity from him than from anybody else.
But it was not always about the church.
We'd talk politics. History. Relationships. Parents. Siblings. School and the educational system. Life. And Love.
We also talked a lot about ME: who I was, and who I could be.
Our talks always ended just as the first star started to shine in the sky. At this point, he would lean towards me and say "Now, make your confession..." And I would.
Father Ladrera always sent me home with a sense of peace and hope. Amazingly, I always had something to confess and seek forgiveness for.
And Father Ladrera knew this. And he was always ready to listen, to accept... and to forgive.
We all need a Morrie in our lives. Someone who you could sit down with and talk to and open up to.
Someone who would never judge you -- who would teach you without actually trying.
Someone who would give you a sense of peace and hope for things to come.
Father has long passed away, but sometimes, I swear that I could feel him lean over to me and whisper "Now, make your confession..."
And soon after that, I swear that I am overcome by an amazing sense of peace and hope.
I have a new Morrie now. My wife, Jennifer.
How about you? Who is your Morrie?
Monday, March 2, 2009
"Blast from the Past"
Last night, my wife and I chose to watch a movie that has been a long-time favorite of ours: Brendan Fraser's Blast from the Past. We had seen that movie countless times, and we still find it amusing and funny - and with a good lesson too.
Last night, one particular scene got my attention: it was the scene when Brendan's character Adam Webber steps out into the world for the first time and sees the sky. He stares at the sky and a broad, satisfied and awed smile breaks across his face.
A passer-by approaches him from behind and asks "What are you looking at?"
"The sky", he answers, a bit bewildered that the stranger even asked him that question.
"Where?", the stranger asks.
"Up there" Adam answers.
"I don't see anything", says the stranger as he seemingly struggles to see what Adam sees.
"Just look at it", Adam says.
He then moves on and other passers-by look up to get a glance at what has obviously awed and entranced Adam. A mother and daughter walk by, and as the mother strains to see "the sky", her little daughter smiles and says "I see it!"
When we were young, everything looked so much bigger: the classrooms we sit in, the gym we play in, the roads we ride our bikes on -- why, even the comfort rooms at my grade school and high school Alma Mater used to look so much bigger back then.
Even the "little-over two month vacation period" between March and June seemed to last longer than it really was.
People were friendlier, candy was cheaper and roads were safer. Village streets had kids playing patintero, taguan, habulan, tumbang-preso, touch-ball (actually dodge ball) and every street corner had it's own basketball half-court with a ring and backboard installed on your friendly neighborhood MERALCO street post.
But then we grew older - and friends gave way to corporate enemies and competition, candy was replaced by expensive and little-filling health food, and road-rage became a drivers' best defense against other drivers.
Blast from the Past suddenly meant more than just plain nostalgia to me: it suddenly represented the death of innocence, as many of us have lost the "awe" that Adam Webber had at the sight of something as simple as the sky.
We need more of these.
More "Awwww..." moments; more "Oooohhh" and "Aahhhh" and "Wow" and "Aha!" moments.
I'm not telling you to revert to ignorant innocence (though sometimes ignorance of the worlds' troubles does have its advantages) -- but I AM telling you not to lose the innocence that has inspired us to wake up every morning just to see the sun come up over the horizon; to step out early enough each night to catch a glimpse of and wish upon the first star, and to sit on a corner and watch the clouds change shape from a fluffy rabbit to a running horse (I never did see that horse no matter how hard I looked).
The world is in a bad shape -- some say it's in the worst shape it has ever been.
But all is not lost.
There are still so many glimmers of hope: so many awe-inspiring people and personalities; countless images of beauty amidst the concrete jungle, and still so much unfathomable depths of love and understanding in the hearts of those who have chosen to be inspired and to become inspirations.
"Just look...", and you will see what I am writing about.
Last night, one particular scene got my attention: it was the scene when Brendan's character Adam Webber steps out into the world for the first time and sees the sky. He stares at the sky and a broad, satisfied and awed smile breaks across his face.
A passer-by approaches him from behind and asks "What are you looking at?"
"The sky", he answers, a bit bewildered that the stranger even asked him that question.
"Where?", the stranger asks.
"Up there" Adam answers.
"I don't see anything", says the stranger as he seemingly struggles to see what Adam sees.
"Just look at it", Adam says.
He then moves on and other passers-by look up to get a glance at what has obviously awed and entranced Adam. A mother and daughter walk by, and as the mother strains to see "the sky", her little daughter smiles and says "I see it!"
When we were young, everything looked so much bigger: the classrooms we sit in, the gym we play in, the roads we ride our bikes on -- why, even the comfort rooms at my grade school and high school Alma Mater used to look so much bigger back then.
Even the "little-over two month vacation period" between March and June seemed to last longer than it really was.
People were friendlier, candy was cheaper and roads were safer. Village streets had kids playing patintero, taguan, habulan, tumbang-preso, touch-ball (actually dodge ball) and every street corner had it's own basketball half-court with a ring and backboard installed on your friendly neighborhood MERALCO street post.
But then we grew older - and friends gave way to corporate enemies and competition, candy was replaced by expensive and little-filling health food, and road-rage became a drivers' best defense against other drivers.
Blast from the Past suddenly meant more than just plain nostalgia to me: it suddenly represented the death of innocence, as many of us have lost the "awe" that Adam Webber had at the sight of something as simple as the sky.
We need more of these.
More "Awwww..." moments; more "Oooohhh" and "Aahhhh" and "Wow" and "Aha!" moments.
I'm not telling you to revert to ignorant innocence (though sometimes ignorance of the worlds' troubles does have its advantages) -- but I AM telling you not to lose the innocence that has inspired us to wake up every morning just to see the sun come up over the horizon; to step out early enough each night to catch a glimpse of and wish upon the first star, and to sit on a corner and watch the clouds change shape from a fluffy rabbit to a running horse (I never did see that horse no matter how hard I looked).
The world is in a bad shape -- some say it's in the worst shape it has ever been.
But all is not lost.
There are still so many glimmers of hope: so many awe-inspiring people and personalities; countless images of beauty amidst the concrete jungle, and still so much unfathomable depths of love and understanding in the hearts of those who have chosen to be inspired and to become inspirations.
"Just look...", and you will see what I am writing about.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Love and Forgiveness
A couple of nights ago, I had to stay late at work, so I called home to check on my daughter.
As usual, I could hear Julia's voice even before she picked up the receiver to talk to me, and when she did get on the receiver, she started telling me about what she did in school.
Somewhere between her telling me of her perfect score on her seat work in Math and the next story, she suddenly whined "Dada, you come home now"
I answered that I had to work late, and that her mother would be there shortly.
Then she cried, and in between sobs, she told me how my wife had scolded her earlier.
"Mama got mad at me kanina..." she said. When I asked why, Julia answered "Kasi I did not do what she told me to do... I studied outside in the dining room and my cousins were bothering me..."
"So why did Mama get mad?" I asked.
"Because she told me to study in the room so my cousins will not make gulo me while I studied..."
What she said next struck me: "Dada, I'm so sorry...", and she started to cry again.
When I had gotten her to settle down, I asked her why she was apologizing to me.
She said very simply "Because I was not obedient to Mama..."
I guess most of us have a little bit of a Julia inside us. Let me re-phrase that: I know everyone of us has a little bit of a Julia inside us.
We know what God expects of us. From the time we started to form an active, living concept of God, we were told, taught, trained and raised -- either directly or indirectly -- knowing God's laws, commands and expectations of all those He calls His children.
And yet, we hardheadedly (or ignorantly, at times) do what we want, even if we know that it is being disobedient to God.
The first sin of any of Gods' creations was pride. Ask Satan: he deemed himself to be God's equal.
But the first sin of Man was disobedience. And after that one act of disobedience, everything else followed.
But the good news is that God loves us too much to hold this disobedience in front of us forever. All we need to do is sincerely tell Him that we are sorry, and prove it by trying hard not to be disobedient again. He knows that there is a very high probability that we will disobey Him again in one way or another, but He has made it clear that His love and forgiveness is always there for our taking -- all we need to do is accept that which He has already given: Love and forgiveness.
Julia knows this too. She not only knows that she was disobedient, but she clearly knows how she became disobedient. And she knows that we would readily forgive her, and that when we get mad, we get mad because of what she has done and not because of her.
Knowing your fault is the first step towards forgiveness. Admitting it is the next. Seeking pardon starts the reconciliation, and accepting forgiveness completes the cycle.
I told Julia that it was alright, and that Mama was mad at her disobedience and not at her specifically.
"Okay" is all that she could say between sniffs.
After disconnecting the call, I decided to shut down and go home.
A few minutes later, as I stepped out into the reception area, the reception guard called my attention: "Sir, your daughter is on the phone"
I picked up the receiver and asked "What's up, Baby Girl?"
Laughing and half screaming, Julia said "Dada I love you! You go home now!"
Amazing how love and forgiveness can change ones' mood in minutes.
Even more amazing is how a child is able to quickly forget the hurt, accept the forgiveness -- and then start sharing so much love after that.
As usual, I could hear Julia's voice even before she picked up the receiver to talk to me, and when she did get on the receiver, she started telling me about what she did in school.
Somewhere between her telling me of her perfect score on her seat work in Math and the next story, she suddenly whined "Dada, you come home now"
I answered that I had to work late, and that her mother would be there shortly.
Then she cried, and in between sobs, she told me how my wife had scolded her earlier.
"Mama got mad at me kanina..." she said. When I asked why, Julia answered "Kasi I did not do what she told me to do... I studied outside in the dining room and my cousins were bothering me..."
"So why did Mama get mad?" I asked.
"Because she told me to study in the room so my cousins will not make gulo me while I studied..."
What she said next struck me: "Dada, I'm so sorry...", and she started to cry again.
When I had gotten her to settle down, I asked her why she was apologizing to me.
She said very simply "Because I was not obedient to Mama..."
I guess most of us have a little bit of a Julia inside us. Let me re-phrase that: I know everyone of us has a little bit of a Julia inside us.
We know what God expects of us. From the time we started to form an active, living concept of God, we were told, taught, trained and raised -- either directly or indirectly -- knowing God's laws, commands and expectations of all those He calls His children.
And yet, we hardheadedly (or ignorantly, at times) do what we want, even if we know that it is being disobedient to God.
The first sin of any of Gods' creations was pride. Ask Satan: he deemed himself to be God's equal.
But the first sin of Man was disobedience. And after that one act of disobedience, everything else followed.
But the good news is that God loves us too much to hold this disobedience in front of us forever. All we need to do is sincerely tell Him that we are sorry, and prove it by trying hard not to be disobedient again. He knows that there is a very high probability that we will disobey Him again in one way or another, but He has made it clear that His love and forgiveness is always there for our taking -- all we need to do is accept that which He has already given: Love and forgiveness.
Julia knows this too. She not only knows that she was disobedient, but she clearly knows how she became disobedient. And she knows that we would readily forgive her, and that when we get mad, we get mad because of what she has done and not because of her.
Knowing your fault is the first step towards forgiveness. Admitting it is the next. Seeking pardon starts the reconciliation, and accepting forgiveness completes the cycle.
I told Julia that it was alright, and that Mama was mad at her disobedience and not at her specifically.
"Okay" is all that she could say between sniffs.
After disconnecting the call, I decided to shut down and go home.
A few minutes later, as I stepped out into the reception area, the reception guard called my attention: "Sir, your daughter is on the phone"
I picked up the receiver and asked "What's up, Baby Girl?"
Laughing and half screaming, Julia said "Dada I love you! You go home now!"
Amazing how love and forgiveness can change ones' mood in minutes.
Even more amazing is how a child is able to quickly forget the hurt, accept the forgiveness -- and then start sharing so much love after that.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My Two Women
The women in my life.
I have two of them.
And last night, I -- as on all other nights -- shared my bed with both of them.
Remarkable. They looked so alike as they slept side by side. From their breathing to their actual position, they were so much alike. I loved them both -- and they loved me. And they had no qualms about sharing one man between them.
We go on dates. Sometimes it's I and one of them, on other occasions it's I and the other -- but more often than not it's all three of us.
There's no jealousy, no envy and no insecurities from either of them.
And me? Well, let's just say that any man will be proud to have two women by his side any day.
As I watched them sleep last night, I couldn't help but be awed by the gift and blessing that they both bring into my life every single day.
Because of them, I get up early every morning.
Because of them, I work long hours.
Because of them, I brave the weather and the traffic.
Because of them, I work late into the night.
Because of them, I get up early on weekends when all the world is still sleeping to make sure they have breakfast to start their day.
Because of them, I miss out on some gatherings of old friends.
Because of them, my schedule becomes erratic every now and then.
Because of them, I spend less for myself and more for each of them.
Because of them, I set aside the work I bring home to see to their needs, only to have to cram late into the night to finish that same work.
Because of them, life is unpredictable -- and surprises await me at every turn.
Because of them -- all that I do has meaning.
Because of them, I have meaning.
Because of them, my schedules get messed up, my work is delayed, I sleep late at night to catch up on those delays, get up every morning to get my work done and earn an honest day's work to make sure I have breakfast to prepare every weekend morning while all the world stays in bed late.
Life couldn't get better than this. Having two women to live for. Having two women make life worth every minute.
My two women.
My wife and daughter.
If only I knew how to tell them I loved them both oh so much...
I have two of them.
And last night, I -- as on all other nights -- shared my bed with both of them.
Remarkable. They looked so alike as they slept side by side. From their breathing to their actual position, they were so much alike. I loved them both -- and they loved me. And they had no qualms about sharing one man between them.
We go on dates. Sometimes it's I and one of them, on other occasions it's I and the other -- but more often than not it's all three of us.
There's no jealousy, no envy and no insecurities from either of them.
And me? Well, let's just say that any man will be proud to have two women by his side any day.
As I watched them sleep last night, I couldn't help but be awed by the gift and blessing that they both bring into my life every single day.
Because of them, I get up early every morning.
Because of them, I work long hours.
Because of them, I brave the weather and the traffic.
Because of them, I work late into the night.
Because of them, I get up early on weekends when all the world is still sleeping to make sure they have breakfast to start their day.
Because of them, I miss out on some gatherings of old friends.
Because of them, my schedule becomes erratic every now and then.
Because of them, I spend less for myself and more for each of them.
Because of them, I set aside the work I bring home to see to their needs, only to have to cram late into the night to finish that same work.
Because of them, life is unpredictable -- and surprises await me at every turn.
Because of them -- all that I do has meaning.
Because of them, I have meaning.
Because of them, my schedules get messed up, my work is delayed, I sleep late at night to catch up on those delays, get up every morning to get my work done and earn an honest day's work to make sure I have breakfast to prepare every weekend morning while all the world stays in bed late.
Life couldn't get better than this. Having two women to live for. Having two women make life worth every minute.
My two women.
My wife and daughter.
If only I knew how to tell them I loved them both oh so much...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Backyard Camping
I am a Boy Scout. Always have been, always will be.
I have two other best friends who are Scouts: Ruter Agati and Reyniel Catabian. We were so good at being scouts that we were actually exempted from High School CAT because of the ranks we held in Philippine Scouting. We were therefore spared from marching under the hot sun on Friday afternoons, and taking orders from batch mates who formed part of the Corps of Cadet Officers of the De La Salle-Zobel CAT Program.
But we were not totally free of any activity. While our classmates marched to the cadence called by other batch mates, Reyniel, Ruter and I (La Salle Zobels' Scouting Triumvirate, as we have been called) -- together with another batchmate, Enrique "Rico" Manuel -- handled Cub Scouts from the lower grade levels, one troop each.
One of the two highlights for Cub Scouts (3rd, 4th graders and 5th graders) was the annual backyard camping (another was the annual Father & Son Camp). On the weekend of the camp, our troops would try to outdo each other in scouting skills and abilities.
That year, the camp had an extra challenge: the weather. It had started raining on Friday afternoon, just as school had already ended and as the troops were already starting to pitch their tents. Since they were kids, we couldn't have them camping on the rain soaked grounds (there was no storm, mind you, but enough rains to soak the campgrounds (where the swimming pool is now located)). Despite all this, the kids didn't want to go home.
They wanted to sleep in tents. They wanted to grill their hotdogs on sticks over a camp fire. They wanted to use their brand new sleeping bags, and eat their Spam from the can.
And we wanted them to experience all this too.
So we made sure that they did.
When the rains started, everyone moved into Gym 1, each one hoping the rain would stop. But it didn't stop. It didn't get stronger, but it didn't stop.
So... Reyniel, Ruter, Rico and I divided the gym into four sectors -- one sector for each troop -- and we started pitching our own tents on the concrete floor of the gym. We couldn't use pegs, so we made do with rocks to hold up our tents and poles. Soon enough, the Cub Scouts were doing the same thing. In no time at all, we had transformed the cold floor of Gym 1 into a camp ground worthy of any Jamborette.
As the kids excitedly started to unroll their sleeping bags and put stuff inside their tents, we found a large piece of corrugated metal and brought that into the center of the gym. And then we had Cub Scouts gather wood for the camp fire that night.
In short, the kids slept in their bags inside their tents and they got to experience the traditional lighting of the camp fire complete with the story of the "Four Winds". They also got to cook their hotdogs on sticks, and fry some eggs and Spam in their camp cook kits. We did everything you'd do at a regular camp, except drive the pegs into the ground.
Everyone went home happy on Sunday afternoon.
I realized then that life throws us a curve ball every once in a while. More frequently for some. What we do with that pitch is all up to us.
We can either: 1) watch the pitch go by; 2) take a blind swing at it and miss, or; 3) keep the ball in sight and hit it with all your might.
I've learned that options two and three are always the wisest choices.
You may not be able to drive the pegs into the ground (the favorite part of every Cub Scout who has ever pitched his own tent), but if you take stock of what you have around you and decide to make things work, that'll probably be the only thing you will miss.
And believe me, the fun and fulfillment you get from choosing to make do with what you have will far outweigh peg-driving any day.
I have two other best friends who are Scouts: Ruter Agati and Reyniel Catabian. We were so good at being scouts that we were actually exempted from High School CAT because of the ranks we held in Philippine Scouting. We were therefore spared from marching under the hot sun on Friday afternoons, and taking orders from batch mates who formed part of the Corps of Cadet Officers of the De La Salle-Zobel CAT Program.
But we were not totally free of any activity. While our classmates marched to the cadence called by other batch mates, Reyniel, Ruter and I (La Salle Zobels' Scouting Triumvirate, as we have been called) -- together with another batchmate, Enrique "Rico" Manuel -- handled Cub Scouts from the lower grade levels, one troop each.
One of the two highlights for Cub Scouts (3rd, 4th graders and 5th graders) was the annual backyard camping (another was the annual Father & Son Camp). On the weekend of the camp, our troops would try to outdo each other in scouting skills and abilities.
That year, the camp had an extra challenge: the weather. It had started raining on Friday afternoon, just as school had already ended and as the troops were already starting to pitch their tents. Since they were kids, we couldn't have them camping on the rain soaked grounds (there was no storm, mind you, but enough rains to soak the campgrounds (where the swimming pool is now located)). Despite all this, the kids didn't want to go home.
They wanted to sleep in tents. They wanted to grill their hotdogs on sticks over a camp fire. They wanted to use their brand new sleeping bags, and eat their Spam from the can.
And we wanted them to experience all this too.
So we made sure that they did.
When the rains started, everyone moved into Gym 1, each one hoping the rain would stop. But it didn't stop. It didn't get stronger, but it didn't stop.
So... Reyniel, Ruter, Rico and I divided the gym into four sectors -- one sector for each troop -- and we started pitching our own tents on the concrete floor of the gym. We couldn't use pegs, so we made do with rocks to hold up our tents and poles. Soon enough, the Cub Scouts were doing the same thing. In no time at all, we had transformed the cold floor of Gym 1 into a camp ground worthy of any Jamborette.
As the kids excitedly started to unroll their sleeping bags and put stuff inside their tents, we found a large piece of corrugated metal and brought that into the center of the gym. And then we had Cub Scouts gather wood for the camp fire that night.
In short, the kids slept in their bags inside their tents and they got to experience the traditional lighting of the camp fire complete with the story of the "Four Winds". They also got to cook their hotdogs on sticks, and fry some eggs and Spam in their camp cook kits. We did everything you'd do at a regular camp, except drive the pegs into the ground.
Everyone went home happy on Sunday afternoon.
I realized then that life throws us a curve ball every once in a while. More frequently for some. What we do with that pitch is all up to us.
We can either: 1) watch the pitch go by; 2) take a blind swing at it and miss, or; 3) keep the ball in sight and hit it with all your might.
I've learned that options two and three are always the wisest choices.
You may not be able to drive the pegs into the ground (the favorite part of every Cub Scout who has ever pitched his own tent), but if you take stock of what you have around you and decide to make things work, that'll probably be the only thing you will miss.
And believe me, the fun and fulfillment you get from choosing to make do with what you have will far outweigh peg-driving any day.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
"Wear your Cap"
I got into baseball by virtue of the fact that I was literally raised by an American – Robert Ray Hollingsworth from Atlanta, Georgia.
“Uncle Ray” found his way into our family after having hired my late grandfather as his lawyer for a civil case he had here in the Philippines. He lost almost everything he had to his Filipino business partners who cheated him out of the business he started with his late wife.
Uncle Ray got me into baseball at an early age, such that I was on the Little League Team of our school by the time I was in Grade 3. I practiced after school every day, and came on Saturdays for whole day practice.
“Wear your cap!” Uncle Ray would always tell me. I don’t know how or when caps became known as “bull caps” today, but back then they were very simply (and clearly) “ball caps”.
So, I put on my cap whenever Uncle Ray was around. And since I wasn’t a catcher, I was forbidden to wear it the way catchers did: with the visor turned all the way around. Catchers wore their caps that way because they couldn’t wear their face masks if the visor were positioned in the front.
So anyway, there I was on a Saturday afternoon, warming up with an older player (Brian Ang, a batch mate of my older brother Jad). We went through the stretching and the jogging as a team already, and Brian and I were passing the baseball back and forth, taking a step back with every toss.
That afternoon, I DIDN’T wear my cap. Uncle Ray just couldn’t convince me enough (or I was just plain too hardheaded).
The throwing got stronger and stronger as Brian and I moved farther and farther away from each other. It was a relatively small field (it was the vacant field where the Angelo King Center for Performing Arts Building is now located). As we passed the baseball back and forth, I was talking with another player on my side of the field. Between catches and throws, I’d look around to the other players.
And then it hit me.
It literally hit me.
Next thing I knew, I was looking up at the face of Uncle Ray, and Brian Ang was standing behind him. Apparently I had looked away at the wrong time, and Brian had already thrown the ball in my direction. A good throw too, as it hit me in the left eye.
A few minutes and several ice cubes later, I was sitting up again. The whole team was laughing it off, and I, still in a daze, could just manage a dizzy smile.
After making sure I was okay, Uncle Ray said “I told you to wear your cap, but you wouldn’t listen”.
The cap’s visor would have certainly deflected the ball, and had I been wearing it then, I may have gotten just a little bump on the head instead of a whack in the eye.
The Lord also reminds us to put on our caps. In fact, in Ephesians 6, St. Paul tells the Church in Ephesus to “Put on the armor of God so that you may be able to stand firm against the tactics of the devil. For our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens. Therefore, put on the armor of God, that you may be able to resist on the evil day and, having done everything, to hold your ground. So stand fast with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate, and your feet shod in readiness for the gospel of peace.” (Eph. 6:11-15)
In our everyday lives, we find ourselves distracted by many things: problems, debts, illness, trials, common everyday fears. Even normally good aspects of life may become distractions: work, children, spouses, friends and even triumphs and joys. In many of these cases, we fail to remember that beyond the day-to-day struggle for survival is the never ending struggle for eternal life. It is a struggle already won for us by Jesus’ death on the cross – all we need to do is to accept and live in this victory, and to do so triumphantly means that we should protect ourselves.
Only if we put on this armor will we be truly ready to enjoy playing this game called life.
I learned this the hard way. And for a few days after that, I had the black eye to prove it.
“Uncle Ray” found his way into our family after having hired my late grandfather as his lawyer for a civil case he had here in the Philippines. He lost almost everything he had to his Filipino business partners who cheated him out of the business he started with his late wife.
Uncle Ray got me into baseball at an early age, such that I was on the Little League Team of our school by the time I was in Grade 3. I practiced after school every day, and came on Saturdays for whole day practice.
“Wear your cap!” Uncle Ray would always tell me. I don’t know how or when caps became known as “bull caps” today, but back then they were very simply (and clearly) “ball caps”.
So, I put on my cap whenever Uncle Ray was around. And since I wasn’t a catcher, I was forbidden to wear it the way catchers did: with the visor turned all the way around. Catchers wore their caps that way because they couldn’t wear their face masks if the visor were positioned in the front.
So anyway, there I was on a Saturday afternoon, warming up with an older player (Brian Ang, a batch mate of my older brother Jad). We went through the stretching and the jogging as a team already, and Brian and I were passing the baseball back and forth, taking a step back with every toss.
That afternoon, I DIDN’T wear my cap. Uncle Ray just couldn’t convince me enough (or I was just plain too hardheaded).
The throwing got stronger and stronger as Brian and I moved farther and farther away from each other. It was a relatively small field (it was the vacant field where the Angelo King Center for Performing Arts Building is now located). As we passed the baseball back and forth, I was talking with another player on my side of the field. Between catches and throws, I’d look around to the other players.
And then it hit me.
It literally hit me.
Next thing I knew, I was looking up at the face of Uncle Ray, and Brian Ang was standing behind him. Apparently I had looked away at the wrong time, and Brian had already thrown the ball in my direction. A good throw too, as it hit me in the left eye.
A few minutes and several ice cubes later, I was sitting up again. The whole team was laughing it off, and I, still in a daze, could just manage a dizzy smile.
After making sure I was okay, Uncle Ray said “I told you to wear your cap, but you wouldn’t listen”.
The cap’s visor would have certainly deflected the ball, and had I been wearing it then, I may have gotten just a little bump on the head instead of a whack in the eye.
The Lord also reminds us to put on our caps. In fact, in Ephesians 6, St. Paul tells the Church in Ephesus to “Put on the armor of God so that you may be able to stand firm against the tactics of the devil. For our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens. Therefore, put on the armor of God, that you may be able to resist on the evil day and, having done everything, to hold your ground. So stand fast with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate, and your feet shod in readiness for the gospel of peace.” (Eph. 6:11-15)
In our everyday lives, we find ourselves distracted by many things: problems, debts, illness, trials, common everyday fears. Even normally good aspects of life may become distractions: work, children, spouses, friends and even triumphs and joys. In many of these cases, we fail to remember that beyond the day-to-day struggle for survival is the never ending struggle for eternal life. It is a struggle already won for us by Jesus’ death on the cross – all we need to do is to accept and live in this victory, and to do so triumphantly means that we should protect ourselves.
Only if we put on this armor will we be truly ready to enjoy playing this game called life.
I learned this the hard way. And for a few days after that, I had the black eye to prove it.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Selamat Pagi!
I never did march at my college graduation.
On the day of the ceremony, I was on an airplane to Indonesia. Immediately after my last academic day at the UP, I was invited to work as a full time missionary worker (a "fulltimer", as we were lovingly called) for Singles for Christ and Youth for Christ -- a dream come true for me, as it still is for many young SFC and YFC members.
It would be my first trip outside of Philippine territory. On the plane, I dreamed of truly heroic missionary things to do: preach the Gospel, convert non-believers, defend the Catholic Church and the Christian Faith, stand-up to those who lambasted Christianity, die a martyrs death...
Okay, so the last one was a fleeting thought more than a prolonged daydream.
At any rate, I spent the hours on the plane writing letters to my parents and siblings, praying the rosary and reading the Bible. For some reason, I came across the story of the Tower of Babel.
And then it hit me.
I did not speak a word of Bahasa Indonesia!
Suddenly, my dream of preaching to hundreds showed me speaking gibberish on a street corner in downtown Jakarta, and non-believers were suddenly offering sacrifices to their gods to drive away the evil that had me speaking gibberish in the first place.
So much for defending the Catholic Church and preaching the Gospel of Christ.
"Selamat Pagi..." said the voice over the planes' intercom. That's all I remember, everything was, well, gibberish to me. Apparently we had started our decent towards Soekarno Hata Airport -- this was confirmed by the English translation of the first announcement.
If I were to preach anything, it would have to be through a translator. I wondered how that would be like. I have been giving talks for years before this very mission, and I have never had to speak through a translator.
"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways..." the Lord said in Isaiah 55:8
It is impossible to even begin to understand the complexity and greatness of God's Being. It is impossible, that is, by every human way.
But not by God's way.
God, in His love for us, sent us his messengers: preachers, priests, ministers, elders and other such learned people. By His Spirit these people have become enlightened such that they now serve to translate God's Word into our everyday lives. By listening to God's Word spoken through them, we become enlightened, and we become translators for those to whom the Gospel is yet to be preached and taught.
The way of the Lord is to send His Spirit upon those who seek Him, such that we become enlightened to and by the Word.
No dream -- no matter how noble -- of martyrdom or sainthood becomes a reality without the leading and guidance of the Spirit.
We must want to know God "with all our heart, with all our soul and with all our mind". Only then will we begin to become enlightened by the Spirit such that we become worthy to preach the Gospel in our everyday lives.
As my fellow missionaries met me at the arrival lounge, I greeted them all a warm and sincere "Selamat Pagi!"
I spoke through translators for most of my talks then -- and believe me, aside from delayed laughter after cracking a joke, God's Word got through.
His way. Not mine.
On the day of the ceremony, I was on an airplane to Indonesia. Immediately after my last academic day at the UP, I was invited to work as a full time missionary worker (a "fulltimer", as we were lovingly called) for Singles for Christ and Youth for Christ -- a dream come true for me, as it still is for many young SFC and YFC members.
It would be my first trip outside of Philippine territory. On the plane, I dreamed of truly heroic missionary things to do: preach the Gospel, convert non-believers, defend the Catholic Church and the Christian Faith, stand-up to those who lambasted Christianity, die a martyrs death...
Okay, so the last one was a fleeting thought more than a prolonged daydream.
At any rate, I spent the hours on the plane writing letters to my parents and siblings, praying the rosary and reading the Bible. For some reason, I came across the story of the Tower of Babel.
And then it hit me.
I did not speak a word of Bahasa Indonesia!
Suddenly, my dream of preaching to hundreds showed me speaking gibberish on a street corner in downtown Jakarta, and non-believers were suddenly offering sacrifices to their gods to drive away the evil that had me speaking gibberish in the first place.
So much for defending the Catholic Church and preaching the Gospel of Christ.
"Selamat Pagi..." said the voice over the planes' intercom. That's all I remember, everything was, well, gibberish to me. Apparently we had started our decent towards Soekarno Hata Airport -- this was confirmed by the English translation of the first announcement.
If I were to preach anything, it would have to be through a translator. I wondered how that would be like. I have been giving talks for years before this very mission, and I have never had to speak through a translator.
"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways..." the Lord said in Isaiah 55:8
It is impossible to even begin to understand the complexity and greatness of God's Being. It is impossible, that is, by every human way.
But not by God's way.
God, in His love for us, sent us his messengers: preachers, priests, ministers, elders and other such learned people. By His Spirit these people have become enlightened such that they now serve to translate God's Word into our everyday lives. By listening to God's Word spoken through them, we become enlightened, and we become translators for those to whom the Gospel is yet to be preached and taught.
The way of the Lord is to send His Spirit upon those who seek Him, such that we become enlightened to and by the Word.
No dream -- no matter how noble -- of martyrdom or sainthood becomes a reality without the leading and guidance of the Spirit.
We must want to know God "with all our heart, with all our soul and with all our mind". Only then will we begin to become enlightened by the Spirit such that we become worthy to preach the Gospel in our everyday lives.
As my fellow missionaries met me at the arrival lounge, I greeted them all a warm and sincere "Selamat Pagi!"
I spoke through translators for most of my talks then -- and believe me, aside from delayed laughter after cracking a joke, God's Word got through.
His way. Not mine.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Love and Death
This story took place in the year 2000, when I was still an Employee Relations Supervisor with a known semiconductor manufacturing and test facility in Sta. Rosa, Laguna.
We had a machine operator in her early 20's. Coming from a poor family, her father worked himself day and night driving a tricycle just to make sure she was able to complete her vocational studies. While working, the "Girl" continued to pursue her dreams of becoming a technician - something that would augment her salary quite substantially, thus allowing her to help out in the financial needs of the family.
To make a long story short: the Girl took the exams for would be technicians - and passed! But the victory was short-lived.
The Girl was soon diagnosed with terminal cancer, and she spent the rest of her days in and out hospitals. Our HMO coverage allowed her to avail of good services, but still there was no denying the fact that she was soon leaving this earth.
On her last day, I went to the hospital for DW: death watch - one of the duties I performed as needed. I arrived at her room at around 9:00AM, and sat with the Girls' parents. I talked with one relative to another, comforting them and ensuring them that things were alright. I spoke to the doctors and nurses when there were concerns.
At around noon, the doctors came in looking for the Girls' parents. They stood up, and I stood up with them. We went into an adjacent room. There the doctor told them that there was nothing more they could do. And that they needed a decision.
I took the folder the doctor had and sat down with the Girls' parents. I explained to them that they needed to decide what to do in case the Girl stopped breathing. In Tagalog, I explained "This is the DNR Form - Do Not Resucitate. If you sign this, it means that if she stops breathing, you are saying that you will let her go peacefully. If not, the doctors will try to revive her. But if they do, they cannot ensure that she will live longer".
"What do I do?" the Girls' mother asked me in Tagalog, "What should I do?"
I took a deep breath - and told her this: "Sign it. Your daughter deserves to rest. She has provided for you while she was alive, and she will look over you when she is in heaven." I knew that I was virtually asking her to sign her daughters' death certificate.
She smiled faintly, and then signed the DNR.
The Girl looked far different from the young lady from the manufacturing line. She was deathly thin, save for her stomach that bulged as if she were five months pregnant. She was on a respirator, and her eyes were half shut, half open, but unmoving and non-responsive. You could hardly make out her breathing.
At around 1:00PM, a young man entered the room and approached the family. The Girls' mother hugged him and they both cried. Siblings greeted him and aunts told him to approach the Girl, which he did very slowly. He was the Girl's boyfriend, and he seemed genuinely in love with her AND with her family - and the family loved him back.
I was seated less than five feet from the bedside, and I could see everything that went on with the Girl.
The young man reached for the Girls' hand. And then he bent over to kiss the Girl on her forehead. And then he whispered in the Girls' ear.
Suddenly, for the first time since 9:00AM, there was movement. The Girls' hand clasped the young mans' hand. And the Girls' eyes -- those eyes that were half-shut and half-open but unmoving and non-responsive -- they suddenly shut fully closed. And her breathing, faint as it already was, came to a stop.
I watched her heart rate drop until it flat lined. All you could hear was the beep of the machine and the soft crying of the family.
Everyone left the room one by one. I had our driver bring the family home, and I assured them that I would take care of everything. An aunt and a sister stayed with me to watch the preparation of the body.
What I had witnessed was a triumph of Love over Death.
There was no reason for her to last that long that day. But she did. I believe that it was only when she heard the voice of the one she loved did she feel that everything was complete - and that she could pass on peacefully.
Her parents were there.
Her siblings were there.
Her friends and office mates.
And the one she loved the most was there too.
She was complete.
Love kept her alive up till the last moment when love spoke in her ear, giving her the assurance that all was well, and that -- up to her dying moments -- she was loved well.
We had a machine operator in her early 20's. Coming from a poor family, her father worked himself day and night driving a tricycle just to make sure she was able to complete her vocational studies. While working, the "Girl" continued to pursue her dreams of becoming a technician - something that would augment her salary quite substantially, thus allowing her to help out in the financial needs of the family.
To make a long story short: the Girl took the exams for would be technicians - and passed! But the victory was short-lived.
The Girl was soon diagnosed with terminal cancer, and she spent the rest of her days in and out hospitals. Our HMO coverage allowed her to avail of good services, but still there was no denying the fact that she was soon leaving this earth.
On her last day, I went to the hospital for DW: death watch - one of the duties I performed as needed. I arrived at her room at around 9:00AM, and sat with the Girls' parents. I talked with one relative to another, comforting them and ensuring them that things were alright. I spoke to the doctors and nurses when there were concerns.
At around noon, the doctors came in looking for the Girls' parents. They stood up, and I stood up with them. We went into an adjacent room. There the doctor told them that there was nothing more they could do. And that they needed a decision.
I took the folder the doctor had and sat down with the Girls' parents. I explained to them that they needed to decide what to do in case the Girl stopped breathing. In Tagalog, I explained "This is the DNR Form - Do Not Resucitate. If you sign this, it means that if she stops breathing, you are saying that you will let her go peacefully. If not, the doctors will try to revive her. But if they do, they cannot ensure that she will live longer".
"What do I do?" the Girls' mother asked me in Tagalog, "What should I do?"
I took a deep breath - and told her this: "Sign it. Your daughter deserves to rest. She has provided for you while she was alive, and she will look over you when she is in heaven." I knew that I was virtually asking her to sign her daughters' death certificate.
She smiled faintly, and then signed the DNR.
The Girl looked far different from the young lady from the manufacturing line. She was deathly thin, save for her stomach that bulged as if she were five months pregnant. She was on a respirator, and her eyes were half shut, half open, but unmoving and non-responsive. You could hardly make out her breathing.
At around 1:00PM, a young man entered the room and approached the family. The Girls' mother hugged him and they both cried. Siblings greeted him and aunts told him to approach the Girl, which he did very slowly. He was the Girl's boyfriend, and he seemed genuinely in love with her AND with her family - and the family loved him back.
I was seated less than five feet from the bedside, and I could see everything that went on with the Girl.
The young man reached for the Girls' hand. And then he bent over to kiss the Girl on her forehead. And then he whispered in the Girls' ear.
Suddenly, for the first time since 9:00AM, there was movement. The Girls' hand clasped the young mans' hand. And the Girls' eyes -- those eyes that were half-shut and half-open but unmoving and non-responsive -- they suddenly shut fully closed. And her breathing, faint as it already was, came to a stop.
I watched her heart rate drop until it flat lined. All you could hear was the beep of the machine and the soft crying of the family.
Everyone left the room one by one. I had our driver bring the family home, and I assured them that I would take care of everything. An aunt and a sister stayed with me to watch the preparation of the body.
What I had witnessed was a triumph of Love over Death.
There was no reason for her to last that long that day. But she did. I believe that it was only when she heard the voice of the one she loved did she feel that everything was complete - and that she could pass on peacefully.
Her parents were there.
Her siblings were there.
Her friends and office mates.
And the one she loved the most was there too.
She was complete.
Love kept her alive up till the last moment when love spoke in her ear, giving her the assurance that all was well, and that -- up to her dying moments -- she was loved well.
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