tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9592794343992038482024-02-19T15:21:20.928+08:00PER AGRUM AD SACRUM"Per agrum" are the root words of "pilgrimage." It literally means "through the fields." If life is essentially a continuing, ongoing pilgrimage towards being whole and holy, there is no skirting over the "agrum" or the rough, uncharted terrain that life in this world entails. The reward, however, that awaits us all is literally "out of this world." Per agrum ad sacrum ... ad astra per aspera ... To the holy, through the rough terrain of life ... To the stars, through difficulties!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-65812445055406312072015-09-25T20:55:00.001+08:002015-09-25T20:55:14.866+08:00UPK is Genius on Air episode of Sept. 25, 2015: Stories of my Father<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lSTWNDWKIMs" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-35278901626126870332015-05-09T07:54:00.001+08:002015-05-09T07:54:20.885+08:00UPK 5th Episode [DWBL 1242] Usap Pang Kabataan - May 8, 2015<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4oOo0Ar9Qkc" width="459"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-72309839358813181592014-02-10T11:00:00.001+08:002014-02-10T11:00:02.548+08:00Bicentenary Year of the Birth of Don Bosco<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/0i0PlLWdwo4" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-59009512932292585092010-02-12T12:13:00.008+08:002010-02-12T12:24:24.711+08:00LAISSEZ LES BONS TEMPS ROULER!: Reflections of a First-Time Visitor to New Orleans<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyo8ILiZAQLt-VVnSqjleIbwgI66weZnytSL-hPzenDb694psvoSomD6EAtfUKZC2qaQ6nL_ShmNTGBOF_pb3_btgR85MpXE5tgrms03ldqgW0eFpovbul-QC5AqQDB-zUSgyL9vjsFyo/s1600-h/DSCN1116.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyo8ILiZAQLt-VVnSqjleIbwgI66weZnytSL-hPzenDb694psvoSomD6EAtfUKZC2qaQ6nL_ShmNTGBOF_pb3_btgR85MpXE5tgrms03ldqgW0eFpovbul-QC5AqQDB-zUSgyL9vjsFyo/s400/DSCN1116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437207154973271554" border="0" /></a>Bourbon Street coming to life at dusk
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4trs0Tt3ETCuHcWt6eGn1qnfnm5CDKqj-1j0PjLM4bWAqZ0RhE7gVS3A9AjbDt9ww1TiilD7tXNHsOY-Bc7ZJuwd9EQibL5eaUnMgawfly-1p5aZVeqsdw3fAbMdPwl-KH6cWmCMFv48/s1600-h/DSCN1107.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4trs0Tt3ETCuHcWt6eGn1qnfnm5CDKqj-1j0PjLM4bWAqZ0RhE7gVS3A9AjbDt9ww1TiilD7tXNHsOY-Bc7ZJuwd9EQibL5eaUnMgawfly-1p5aZVeqsdw3fAbMdPwl-KH6cWmCMFv48/s400/DSCN1107.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437206606427007906" border="0" /></a>
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<br />The Mardi Gras parades starting one week early
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5YPqOI1QJnQIjdTbbAHpasrPvSMXWWX3DSSLJvvwwR-dZrZGHBpFF6bfiaDu4LoHTk_m31EDxGDwqm-xiAEZs51UoM1jCkG-gGWglod6u6lRBvkbKyuPOiNnM_GUvD0OycniFoujVes/s1600-h/DSCN1101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5YPqOI1QJnQIjdTbbAHpasrPvSMXWWX3DSSLJvvwwR-dZrZGHBpFF6bfiaDu4LoHTk_m31EDxGDwqm-xiAEZs51UoM1jCkG-gGWglod6u6lRBvkbKyuPOiNnM_GUvD0OycniFoujVes/s400/DSCN1101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437205553469257762" border="0" /></a>
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<br />The St. Louis Cathedral at Jackson Square
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<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The “Good Times” and “New Orleans” are two concepts that<span style=""> </span>seem to dovetail neatly with each other. This much, I saw first hand, in my first trip to “the Big Easy” early this month, less than 5 years after a double tragedy put the proud and fun-loving city to its knees. Hurricane Katrina, followed a month after by hurricane Rita exposed the soft under belly of America. More than 1,500 people perished, and thousands and thousands more lost all they had.</p><p face="trebuchet ms" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p face="trebuchet ms" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">I really had no reason to be anywhere near the city where French, Spanish, English, Italian, Cuban, German, and American cultures are all rolled into one. The famous “French Quarter” was not always French all the way, for starters. The Calle Real, what is now known as Royal street, still bears the Spanish street sign. But Bourbon Street, though, spelled in French, really had to do with the Spanish Borbon dynasty of yore.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">But I think that nowhere else is this happy mélange of cultures seen as in the food that the locals seem to be very proud of … fusion cuisine invented even before the term came to be known the world over! A seafood mecca, the city loves oysters, on the half shell, grilled or fried in a motley manner to become succulent gustatory delights. It was my first time to see and taste “po-boy” sandwiches filled with shrimps or other seafood, battered and deep fried, always with a touch of hot chili and spices that literally give a bite to whatever one bites into and sinks one’s teeth into. The “gumbo” – steaming hot and often spicy hot stew seemed to me the perfect accompaniment to oil-spattered deep fried sandwich fillings that would make the heart skip a beat<span style=""> </span>in these TFA (trans-fatty acids) scare days and times.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">But I was there for a few days … an unplanned trip that coincided with a conference on leadership organized by the National Catholic Educational Association. Since this has to do with precisely what I am trying to steer the school I work in to, I had to decide quickly early last month to go.</p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">And I must say I have no regrets about spending a few days there. The first day, though, was a dampener. It was raining cats and dogs – the very same rain brought about by a developing storm that became the headache and the problem upper north, in the mid-Atlantic states, that dumped inches and inches of snow from Washington, DC, Virginia, to Maryland, to Pennsylvania, to New York.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">Groggy and disoriented from a more than 24 hour trip from the tropics, I came to New Orlean’s sub-tropical climate that boasted of rains that I am most familiar with. The temperature ranged from a comfortable low to high 50s, but the downpour brought flooding that wet my feet as we wended our way to Mass with the Archbishop Gregory Aymond, a New Orleans native, recently transferred from Austin, Texas (in the same Cathedral where just two years ago, I attended and took part in a wedding Mass of a nephew).</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I came at a time when feverish preparations are under way for the Mardi Gras celebrations, another well-known event associated with the “Big Easy.” Actually, I was told that it really started right after the Feast of the Epiphany. Although, I won’t be there next week when Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras) actually takes place with all the pomposity and pageantry that only New Orleans can pull off, with the possible exception of Rio de Janeiro’s own Mardi Gras, I saw a preview of what was to come … small parades replete with costumes galore and goblets that overflowed with champagne and wine, carried by medieval attired characters that all had one message in common … Laissez les bon temps rouler! Let the good times roll!</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">I am happy for New Orleans. As I watched with all the rest of America the Super Bowl games at Miami, Florida, with the New Orleans Saints slugging it out with the Indianapolis Colts, there was no doubt in my heart that I rooted for the underdogs – the Saints. But I knew deep in my heart, too, that I did not root for them because I did not like the Colts. I found out later that for a Filipino deeply rooted in Spanish influenced Catholic culture, there was simply a whole slew of reasons why I felt like rooting for the Saints.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">They are a resilient people, to start with … like us Pinoys, who have seen more than our fair share of Katrinas and Ritas back home. We had a double whammy late last year – Ondoy and Pepeng – that literally inundated our best dreams and our mighty hopes to take our rightful place under the Asian sun of national respectability and honor.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">New Orleans suffered a big blow from Katrina and Rita. Much of the city remains to be rehabilitated. Much of what they lost remains to be restored. But in the conference, I heard stories of magnanimity and far-ranging vision … like the story of Holy Cross School that was literally wiped out by the floods. They had to relocate, without sure resources forthcoming, without certain funds and unalloyed support from everyone. It was almost, then, a hopeless dream, an impossible undertaking. Today, less than five years after, the 95 million project that is the renewed Holy Cross School, is well on the way towards forging new heights, literally and figuratively. They have risen, not from the ashes like the Phoenix, but risen above the doldrums of hopelessness, indifference, and inertia.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">As I listened to the stories of those who made it happen, my thoughts got back to home base, back in tropical Philippines, where dreams and hopes lie battered and bruised by a dysfunctional political system that breeds storms and stresses far worse than Katrina, Rita, Ondoy, and Pepeng – the curse of a corruption-ridden, patronage, and personage-based politics that is the bane and shame of a once-proud people, cultured in the fineries of religion and spirituality, who also know how to celebrate, with Sinulogs, Dinagyangs, Masskara, and all …
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<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Who dat? Who dat say dey will beat dem saints?</i> This was the mantra and chant that the whole city (and perhaps the whole state) would sing, shout, and proclaim in the run-up to the Super Bowl. Their dream since Katrina and Rita brought them to their knees paid off. It became a reality last Sunday in Miami, Florida. Their hopes fondled with care and a lot of hard work since 2006 were fulfilled. They won. And how!</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">Boy, was I glad to be part of the excitement! And was I glad to be part of the exhilaration after the victory! To savor it all, I tried the famous gumbo and the red beans and rice (spicy like most everything). I tasted the much-vaunted beignets at Café du Monde, over at Decatur St. – at the French market. The café au lait might not have been that good as claimed (for a self-styled coffee connoisseur that I claim myself to be!); the chicory flavor might actually have ruined the coffee for me who simply wants the taste of coffee plain and simple – and – unadulterated; the beignets might not have been nothing more than just donuts minus the hole, but they sure came with a generous dose of confectioner’s sugar, and served with a lot of panache and hometown pride. And that made all the difference!</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">Again, as I slowly savored the beignets and sipped my chicory flavored coffee, and as I watched the steady flow of crowds who all wanted to get generous helpings of beignets smothered with snowy and sugary delight, my thoughts raced back to home base faster than the white powder could raise my blood sugar levels, and I thought that what we needed, apart from believing in ourselves as a people for us to get out of the doldrums of underdevelopment, is to have simple, honest, and well-deserved sense of pride in what we have, what we can do, and what we are best at doing, as a people.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">One of them happens to be similar to what people at the Big Easy seem to be experts at … partying for a good cause! They sure know how to party…. Yes! But they sure know too, how to work so as to deserve a party.</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">Laissez les bon temps rouler! Let the good times roll!</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-72106813807384363762008-10-31T11:52:00.004+08:002008-10-31T15:48:36.839+08:00GOLD, NOT JUST GLITTER, IN THE CITY OF GOLDEN FRIENDSHIP<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjebrw_6i1LdW_FkuXBlLhZnLWDQT5vnpBCwrAi_Ive25ZsFLlQbk2VOKRf7XPi2hD0QyFujWjSvS5Gda5QWrNbcv1pfTuLRk3rzoMaufqvn_aKn1o9_FYRhtGWPH6ZMJjtRJPcLe_UuWQ/s1600-h/DivisoriaCDO2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjebrw_6i1LdW_FkuXBlLhZnLWDQT5vnpBCwrAi_Ive25ZsFLlQbk2VOKRf7XPi2hD0QyFujWjSvS5Gda5QWrNbcv1pfTuLRk3rzoMaufqvn_aKn1o9_FYRhtGWPH6ZMJjtRJPcLe_UuWQ/s320/DivisoriaCDO2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263221709341183826" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />First timers in any city are always in for big surprises.<br /><br />I have always wanted to be in Cagayan de Oro city ever since I learned – of all places, in Vancouver, BC, Canada, ten years ago that the Philippines, through GenSan and CDO was actually, then, the world’s top exporter of tuna.<br /><br />My friends were then taking me for a stroll through the port area of Vancouver and we happened to pass by the fish market. As we were approaching one of the stalls, a tall, white and lanky Canadian man, suddenly called out to us in perfect and very polite Tagalog, “Ano ho ang hanap nila?” I was stunned. After the initial shock, I engaged the man in conversation and asked him how come he spoke so good Tagalog. “Matagal ako tumira sa Batangas at saka sa Mindoro,” was his answer. But that was not the best surprise. As we made known our desire to buy some “sock-eye salmon” for me to bring home to California, he quipped: “I bet you didn’t know that the Philippines is the number one exporter of tuna in the world!”<br /><br />Indeed, I didn’t know … just as I didn’t know – up till now – that Boracay’s beaches are actually better, if not, on the same footing, as the best that Bali in Indonesia, and Pattaya in Thailand, could offer, at least if we are talking about their natural, pristine state. Once, when my siblings treated me to a cruise from Los Angeles to Encinada, Mexico, I bumped into a group of Caucasians who have been to Boracay. The conversation veered towards the topic on beaches. One of the men asked me point blank: “Have you been to Boracay?” “No, I haven’t unfortunately,” I answered. And then he asked me, “Then what are you doing here in Encinada?”<br /><br />There was hardly anything worth anyone’s while in Encinada. It was pathetic, just as it was pathetic to see Caucasian tourists back in Monterey in California, to wax so enthusiastic and appear so surprised to ogle at nothing but the gently rolling surf where enterprising marketing experts have put up a sign that said: “The Restless Sea.” Dozens of them were having their picture taken alongside the sign. Coming as I do, from a country surrounded by sea everywhere, I could not understand how so many people could be so enamored by the sight of something so ordinary as the rolling surf glinting in the morning sun by the seashore.<br /><br />I write as I await my flight back to Manila at Lumbia National Airport. The airport itself is nondescript, a little too small for a city that prides itself now as the gateway to Mindanao. But the location of the airport itself is welcome sight to travelers. Nestled on a plateau surrounded by undulating hillocks, covered with bright green and lush foliage all around, it clearly reminded me of how blessed the place and the people who live there are with relatively rich vegetation all around. I was told that the only setback to the airport sitting on hills was the fact that on foggy days, flights have to be diverted to Cebu a little further north. I thought the airport itself was just a little better and bigger than the one in Ozamis City, Misamis Occidental.<br /><br />My five day stay in CDO was a welcome respite from the monotony of first semester classes, teaching, preaching, and celebrating Masses daily for others. A national seminar-workshop of counselors under the auspices of the Philippine Guidance Counseling Association, Inc. was what brought me there. When I came, it was surprising to note that the whole city was abuzz with visitors as several national events were being held there. All the hotels were booked solid and all the humble “motorelas” (what is known in the north as tricycles) appeared poised and ready for the influx of riders.<br /><br />The first day saw almost 800 of us cramped in the biggest ballroom of Grand Caprice Hotel, attached to LKK (Lim Ket Kai Mall). The 2nd and 3rd days saw us, still cramped and uncomfortable, in various rooms of Capitol University, a privately owned university that appeared to be the closest competitor to the other Jesuit owned school, Xavier University.<br /><br />The whole short stint that made me see nothing more than hotel, school, audio-visual rooms and listen to speakers, was, honestly, an enlightening experience. It was good to see a city with a lot of gold, albeit devoid of glitter usually associated with it. I saw it in the mostly courteous and honest taxi drivers I happened to associate with. Although not all were such, my experience with two of them, who were both locals, was enough to write off what appeared to me as less than honest dealing shown by one who happened to be from the Tagalog region up north.<br /><br />I saw gold, too, in the relatively better preserved greenery in the city. I saw gold in the smart, courteous, and unassuming service provided by hotel staff and orderlies who dutifully made the rounds of the rooms. Whilst the room I had was not the best in terms of comfort as compared to what one finds in the US, for example, or even in other wealthier Asian neighbors, I could not have asked for more in what simple things they could offer. I saw gold too, as I strolled leisurely at the Divisoria area in what they call the “night café.” There was music. There was mirth. And there was gentle soothing massage over at the park from blind women and men, who were there, each night, providing a cheap way to instant relaxation and stress-relief with their agile hands and fingers.<br /><br />They say travel makes for a good teacher. One learns a whole lot more in shorter a time, than one can learn poring through books and sitting through lectures. This trip to CDO was no exception, as was my trip a few months ago to Pagadian City, also in Northern Mindanao.<br /><br />The world we live in is caught, for the most part, in a culture of having rather than being. If the mad rush for skin whitening lotions and concoctions is a sign of anything, I believe it has to do with that passionate search, for form, and not necessarily for substance., for appearances, and not for the essential invisible realities that matter the most in the long run.<br /><br />We see manifestations of such everyday … from the bombastic grandstanding antics of the “trapos” (traditional politicians) whose tribes seem to increase by the day, to the mostly and primarily cosmetic changes that seem to characterize all the projects associated with that much hated pork barrel funds of the so-called honorable congressmen and senators.<br />The list is legion. Time and again, the police engage in token busts and token arrests to show they do their work. Occasionally, one hears of arrests being made, of shabu factories being raided, and small-time criminals facing the long arm of the law. But one wonders why no big fish are ever apprehended, and why only small fry land in jail at all. And if high profile and big fish criminals land in jail, why, they get pardons and reviews faster than you can utter “I am sorry for what I did.” One high profile criminal even went through the charade of presidential pardon, but who never ever even accepted he was guilty of anything! How on earth does one pardon anyone who professes innocence?<br /><br />Whilst it is true that not all that glitters is gold. All that glitters nevertheless can pass off as gold for many people, at least for a while. In a world where appearances seem to count the most, ingesting drugs that produce temporary and erstwhile self-esteem via the right and desired color and skin tone, takes primacy over the big possibility of harmful, and permanently debilitating health issues associated with such drugs. In one media report after another, we have been apprised of individuals who succumb even to death on account of their overweening desire to acquire that much coveted body form, and skin color and complexion. Gold is mistaken for the superficial glitter.<br /><br />I have seen a lot of glitter in my numerous trips all across the United States and Europe, especially in cities like Las Vegas, Reno, Atlantic City, and New York. But one does not have to go too far to see gold, sans the glitter, sans the glamor. I saw it in many varied, simple, and humble ways at Cagayan de Oro, the city of golden friendship. And how I wish the same were true all over this country, whose image has been so torn and tarnished by so much shallow politicking, a whole lot of divisive political posturings of “trapos” who, while claiming to do public service, only have the glitter and the glamour that come from it primarily in mind.<br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-53002868863505668122008-08-17T03:14:00.004+08:002010-02-13T10:28:10.701+08:00KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD! (PILGRIM PATHWAYS, PART V)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCt3PKK9GzaYMjkvskOmKHyjyIxUk-EGvpyQhWFJ3RkPCz3NvjtwBBxnXgiMl-csklV16fXf_NLLXc2KDYdRdmTeH3_3J2g7tPcptPOxcibAZDaiI6R4RetSEh5cwE6WAz82RE8M6AL3g/s1600-h/DSCN0071.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCt3PKK9GzaYMjkvskOmKHyjyIxUk-EGvpyQhWFJ3RkPCz3NvjtwBBxnXgiMl-csklV16fXf_NLLXc2KDYdRdmTeH3_3J2g7tPcptPOxcibAZDaiI6R4RetSEh5cwE6WAz82RE8M6AL3g/s320/DSCN0071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263222881783551906" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" >KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:trebuchet ms;" ></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I write from the city that takes its common pride from a rather “weird” popular motto: “Keep Austin weird.” Come to think of it, there is nothing weird about the drive for individuation that the motto seems to stand for. There is nothing weird about not following the bandwagon and trying to keep its identity distinct and separate from other “run-of-the-mill” cities that America seems to become more and more of. There is nothing weird about a city that, among others, bases its main identity on the presence of a university that is the 2nd biggest university in the US in terms of student population (University of Texas, with about 60,000 students). There is nothing weird about a city defining its character by a passionate dedication to music, the arts, and culture.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">A Trip Down the Fabled 6th Street</span><br /><br /><br />Austin is weird for many reasons. It seems to be a very educated city, given the presence of 60,000 university students. But it is weird also owing to the very same students making it possible for several blocks off 6th street coming to life at night, what with all its live musicians giving free rein to creativity and popular culture in all its bars and night clubs that sit right next to each other on 6th Street. It is weird on account of the fact that its capitol building towers 15 feet higher than the capitol building of Washington, DC. It is weird in the sense that it is very much an American city but where it wouldn’t be uncommon to hear individuals code shifting in the same breath between English to Spanish, with absolute ease. It is weird on account of the fact, that, whilst remaining to be a relatively livable city, it is home to a number of big commercial successes that America is replete with. Michael Dell started his own business enterprise that now is a household name all over the world. Austin, too, is home to Matthew McConnaughey, Sandra Bullock, and Kevin Costner, among others.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Wells and Domestics?</span><br /><br /><br />A quick look-see the first evening I was in Austin over at 6th Street gave me a feel for the local thrills of Austin by night. A brief stop at a local watering hole revealed a group of African Americans providing entertainment to patrons, seated, standing, or lolling about while nursing a bottle or a mug of either a beer that comes from a “well” – that is, tap beer, or what they call “domestics” or locally manufactured beer brands. They were singing the signature southern “blues” with that special rhythm that is at one and the same time, jazzy and emotionally fuzzy – at least to me.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Individuation and Self-Differentiation</span><br /><br /><br />“Keep Austin weird,” for me, is a lesson on individuation. It appears to me a telling lesson on the need for individuals – and communities and cities, for that matter – to define themselves, not in terms of comparing themselves with others, not in terms of what others are, or are not, but in terms of what they want to become.<br /><br /><br />The city, for me, offers a good illustration of what it means to have a solid self-identity in a world that seems to be dead bent on making everyone follow the bandwagon dictated by the forces of globalization, postmodernity, and the uniformity and mediocrity that both seem to engender, ultimately.<br /><br /><br />It stands at least for me, as a model of a city and people who would rather assert themselves in terms of their own vision, rather than defining themselves on the basis of how they are similar to, or different from, other cities.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Self-Differentiation at the Bottom of Many Issues</span><br /><br /><br />Back home, I see a different picture. The political circus that provides a never-ending telenovela-like story to a people already telenovela crazed, is almost something that would make anyone want to laugh or cry – or both at once – at the mere sight of the pathetic system that makes for the best reason why there is so much dysfunctionality – and massive poverty – in Philippine society. With politicians whose best vision rises no higher than the pathetic level of a politics of pillage and plunder, personage and patronage, with everyone trying to outdo one another, not exactly for altruistic motives, where individualism is understood as trying mutually to destroy each other, healthy self-differentiation goes out the window of political opportunism.<br /><br /><br />With a more than just lively opposition, waiting to pounce on the next opportunity to lunge for the throat of their political enemies, precious little energy is left to do what they love to mouth all the time – public service – never mind if most of that same public service is really self-serving on the long and short haul.<br /><br /><br />The same principle is pretty much at work everywhere – yes, including religious communities and church congregations. What we all love to call as “pastoral ministry” or “mission work” is oftentimes tainted with a whole lot of personal issues unacknowledged, unaccepted (that is, denied), and therefore, unprocessed. How else does one explain the all too common tendency to undo what the previous one did, or to simply ignore the achievements of the administration that one replaces? How else does one explain the build and destroy syndrome, that seems to be the hallmark of parishes and catholic schools everywhere in the country, where things that an earlier administration has put up are summarily destroyed by succeeding administrations?<br /><br /><br />Self-differentiation – or the patent lack of it – seems to be at the bottom of so many of our problems as a people and nation. Far too many of us are caught up in the burning desire to define who we are in terms of what others are, or are not, or in terms of what others have, or have not, achieved. It is self-definition at the cost of healthy individuation or healthy self-differentiation.<br /><br /><br />Classical Christian spirituality calls this pride – a certain inability to define, let alone accept, one’s own God given uniqueness and personal dignity. Where pride reigns, where lack of proper self-definition is the rule of the day, a lot of mutual self-destruction won’t be far behind.<br /><br /><br />Austin teaches me a lesson or two to bring home to the place I call home, by choice, by decision – for better or for worse. Keep Austin weird. Keep oneself healthily self-differentiated, without falling into the trap of either joining the bandwagon, or trying mightily and futilely, to use a phrase popularized by Kahlil Gibran, “to build a wall by trying to destroy a fence on the other side.”<br /><br />Y’all take care now … and keep Austin weird!<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-32232632084036864702008-07-01T17:21:00.006+08:002010-02-13T10:29:37.649+08:00PILGRIM PATHWAYS: PART IV<p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnofBES2I2SlSIBKmJiOoDoaT3aHJnvcv6g3UWjdkw-IRIQbkW6WabnDNH7jkIkRUn0OHjBVfA2KAilvIJtBrRBjPN-w451DkRrvearPSixOjBFw4X4Ov0tec831FxQJSo0VxOmHoiNKs/s1600-h/Pagadian+Trike1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnofBES2I2SlSIBKmJiOoDoaT3aHJnvcv6g3UWjdkw-IRIQbkW6WabnDNH7jkIkRUn0OHjBVfA2KAilvIJtBrRBjPN-w451DkRrvearPSixOjBFw4X4Ov0tec831FxQJSo0VxOmHoiNKs/s320/Pagadian+Trike1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263505685916534066" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">PIEN’ D’UMANITA IN FONDO ALL’ANIMA<o:p></o:p></p><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"> </div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I write as I listen to the soothing music and the soul-stirring lyrics of an <i style="">Il Divo</i> hit entitled <i style="">“Nella Fantasia.”</i> They sing of a dream, very much like the dream of Martin Luther King of yore. They dream of souls who live together in peace and in honesty, and who are always free (<i style="">sono sempre libere</i>) like the clouds in the sky (<i style="">come le nuvole che volano</i>).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Even as I write, I share the growing anger and frustration of so many people, hapless and helpless victims – as much of nature’s wrath shown in typhoon Fenshen (Frank in our local nomenclature) – as of a culture of greed, selfishness, corruption, and a sore lack of professionalism in many, many aspects of our communal lives, in and out of government. People grow angry and desperate even as the owners and management of Sulpicio lines keep on doing what they are best at (having become experts in it as three other ships they owned figured in almost identical accidents over the two past decades) – deflecting responsibility and dumping it on others every step along the way, to the total disregard of the suffering and the grief of thousands of relatives of the more than 700 people that perished in the capsized so called unsinkable ferry (which by the way is all of 24 years old!), the <i style="">M/V Princess of the Stars</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>How very true the gently lilting tune and lyrics of this <i style="">Il Divo</i> masterpiece do ring for us now! <i style="">Io sogno d’anime chi vivono in pace e onesta come le nuvole che volano, pien d’umanita, in fondo all’anima</i> … I dream of souls who live in peace and sincerity like the clouds in the sky, full of humanity deep within!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I take it the writer of the song expresses what we all need to be reminded of in our times – the pressing need for hope – at a time when we are enveloped by what Robinson (2004) refers to as “contours of hopelessness.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Hopelessness and cynicism takes many and varied forms and disguises in this country and beyond. It shows in the desperation of so many who peg all their hopes on the lotto, whether the illegal (jueteng) or the legal variety (STL or small town lottery). It shows in the way so many are now willing to make a fool of themselves by submitting to the antics of TV hosts during noontime shows, doing as they are told, gamely trying to keep up with the pace just to get a lucky break somehow. It shows, too, in the many ways just about everybody tries to cut corners just to make a few more bucks on the sly, capitalizing on the ignorance and desperation of so many who don’t and won’t know any better. It shows in how traffic aides and policemen everywhere try to show a semblance of being hard at work, safeguarding the common good, by inventing traffic violations at every turn, every corner, and every intersection.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The latest tragedy of M/V Princess of the Stars highlights the growing menace of this lack of dedication to the call of professionalism in our basic services like mass transport. Whilst it was immediately attributable on the short haul to the fury of typhoon Fenshen (Frank), a whole lot of other potential and real factors surely came into play that made it a tragedy that, on the long haul, could have been preventable – if all the needed safeguards, safety procedures, and a great dose of good, old prudence were applied.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>For one, prudence would ordinarily dictate that in a country of more than 7,000 islands, surrounded by open seas and turbulent straits in between islands, setting sail while knowing that they were on the path of a raging typhoon would be inadvisable. Secondly, cutting corners on maintenance seems to be the run of the day all over the country. Two big trucks stalled two days in a row at EDSA in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Makati</st1:place></st1:city>, thus slowing down the already chaotic and stalled traffic even more. The culprit? … poor maintenance of vehicles … overloading … and similar tales that happen once too often everywhere in the whole archipelago.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><b style=""><i style="">Pagadian</i></b></st1:placename><b style=""><i style=""> <st1:placetype st="on">City</st1:placetype></i></b></st1:place><b style=""><i style="">, A Clear Case in Point</i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><b style=""><i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Last June 17-19, I was in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Pagadian</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">City</st1:placetype></st1:place>, Zamboanga del Sur to solemnize a wedding of a former student. It was my first time in that part of northern <st1:place st="on">Mindanao</st1:place>. Whilst the lush vegetation of Mindanao struck me, along with its rich and verdant mountains and hills surrounding a picturesque bay that separated Occidental and Oriental Misamis provinces, I felt sad that the same story of lack of city planning, lack of foresight and forward looking vision that is wholistic and integral, that takes into consideration the need for development that is sustainable, and at the same time aesthetically and environmentally sound, seem to be the same unfolding reality in the last frontier of the Philippines.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The reception was held in the main road of Pagadian, at a third floor restaurant that could be reached via a very narrow staircase, and an equally narrow main – and only – door. Apart from being narrow, the door opened in, not out. Given the number of guests that easily could have been 150 to 200, that staircase, and that narrow doorway simply jutted out like a sore thumb, when one looks back at the repeated tragedies that befell similar establishments in Quezon City – fires that gutted every burnable material and killed scores of people who were trapped in narrow doors that also opened in.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>One would think that given the experience, and given the fact that the city is not yet that crowded, city planners and city authorities would be a little more armed with lessons well learned from experience. But no! … One contour of hopelessness in this country is just to raise up one’s hands in surrender, and<span style=""> </span>follow the bandwagon called “kahit ano, puede na” mentality (anything goes).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Cynicism: Tell-tale Sign of Desperation</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>We’ve heard it before … all the hand wringing and the finger-pointing … all the blaming and the brazen denials of people from both sides of the fence. No one seems to admit responsibility to anything. For the next two or three months, I expect a lot more of the same in the frenzied media. There will be a lot of post-mortem analyses of the tragedy. There will be a lot more of accusations and counter accusations. But unless I got it wrong in the past 52 years of my life, literally nothing will come out of all this “sound and fury.” When the tears of the sorrowing have dried, and enough telenovela shows have been shown to wet viewers’ eyes again, and more showbiz personalities hug the center stage of people’s attention, the tragedy will most likely lie buried together with the hundreds of those who died uselessly, needlessly, and quite preventably.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Given the reality of an election-crazed nation gearing up for national elections, already with so many wannabes campaigning without really trying too hard (nor admitting that they do, what with all the billboards and commercial advertisements that hog the airlanes and the humongous commercial towers all over the country), the Filipino people with such short memories will most likely forget sooner than we can reasonably expect.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The miners and loggers, in the meantime, have all the reasons and the data to deflect responsibility for the flooding and all the topsoil that came cascading down valleys that used to be high and dry in decades past. Owners and operators of all the floating coffins in the archipelago are having a heyday trying to parry every imaginable blow from <span style=""> </span>all fronts. National leaders and politicians who fiddled while Rome burned, figuratively – while watching the bout of the only pride the Philippines can reasonably boast of – Pacquiao, will be very busy talking of “national interest” when they get back to their constituents. It will all be a similar story of something “full of sound and fury, yet signifying nothing.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>In the end, it is poor Juan de la Cruz, who is left holding an empty bag. It is he who still has to nurture the last vestiges of an eroding hope for a country that seems to have successfully earned the moniker (for the nth time), of being the most corrupt nation in southeast Asia. In the end, it is he – not those who give privilege speeches – who will move this country forward, albeit so slowly, but definitely surely. It is Juan de la Cruz<span style=""> </span>- the likes of Manny Pacquiao, and so many nameless individuals who, by their dedication to work and family, have consistently saved the whole country from total bankruptcy. The gambling lords, jueteng lords, and all those who lord it over others in this status-conscious country, who surrounded Manny Pacquiao in Las Vegas have only themselves to blame if the adulation of people all go to Manny Pacquiao. He comes home with hard-earned and honestly earned money. And what he has promised to dole out in charity for the typhoon victims, is money that did not come from pork barrels and other perks that come with lofty offices that in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Philippines</st1:country-region></st1:place> we all love to refer to as “public service.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>In the final analysis, it is each one of us nameless and faceless individuals in the stage called life that has to keep the music playing, and the flag of hope flying. It is each one of us who, in the long run, can keep more than just the music playing, in and through our performative hope, that runs deep … <i style="">in fondo all’anima</i>!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-79488669807273206332008-06-12T04:03:00.001+08:002010-02-13T10:31:13.416+08:00PILGRIM PATHWAYS: PART THREE<span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">More and More of Less and Less</span><br /><br /><br />In writing, as they say, less is more. In life things may be just a wee bit different, depending on the situation. Sometimes, getting more is definitely a plus in every way; sometimes getting less translates to being more. The key word, of course, has to do with either having or being. And the focus on one or the other spells the difference between merely being satiated or being truly satisfied. Not all the filled are really full, as our experience teaches us. Being filled is really having more and more, but being full is being plain and simple, being satisfied, being happy, not primarily with what one gets, but being happy with what one does have. It is about being what one ought to be; a condition, not of want, but of never being in want despite the lack, despite many things always falling short of expectation.<br /><br /><br />I write this piece whilst I am traversing the Pacific – whilst the plane goes north, and then veers toward the west, in order to go the east! I have not been good at any time with directions, but there is something curious about how northwest airlines charts their flights from the US mainland towards what they call the orient. As I write, the plane skirts above the Pacific northwest, traverses the Russian Kamchatka peninsula, and then eventually will find its way towards Korea and onwards to Japan. Whilst it is true that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, obviously, in a world that is round, the best and shortest path from California to Tokyo, Japan is not to draw a straight line right across the Pacific, but to more up north where the globe tapers off, and traverse the distance therein.<br /><br /><br />But this makes me veer off course the chosen topic …<br /><br /><br />I write because there is not much else to do. I cannot sleep on planes, generally. I have just finished watching two movies, the second of which bored me stiff. The seat, with all the squirming and the turning around a very limited area, after some hours, does become – excuse me – a pain in the butt. Add to that a growling stomach that, after what is passed off as dinner fare a few hours ago, has been burnt and digested, with the next meal still hours away.<br /><br /><br />All airlines all over the world and especially in America, are losing a lot of money on account of the skyrocketing prices of oil. Given the fact that about 40% of their operational expenses go to jet fuel, all airlines simply have to be very creative in finding ways and means to make more money. Today, I have been had, in a sense. I had to shell out an extra 50 dollars for me to be assured of an aisle seat. The worst thing that can happen to me is to be wedged for 12 to 14 hours in between a few rows of seats, or worse, to be at a window seat, and having to squeeze oneself out of those rows every time one has to relieve oneself.<br /><br /><br />There is more and more of less and less in what airlines offer the economy passengers. Having been travelling to and from both sides of the Pacific since 1984, and having boarded several airline companies in all those years, I surely have enough data to work with informally in terms of assessing what once was, and what now is reality.<br /><br /><br />For one, the choice of preferred seats is no longer free. Exit seats and even aisle seats are not there anymore for the asking. No … they are there for what they call a modest fee. Snacks on board domestic flights all over the continental US are there, too, for a modest price. And don’t even think of changing your flight date unless you are prepared to pay more than a tenth of the whole round trip ticket price.<br /><br /><br />I predict that if the rise in oil prices goes unabated, blankets and pillows will be the next to go. Already, the food carts have been made less heavy. Winglets in many airplanes have been added to boost lift. American airlines has begun imposing a one-luggage limit per passenger, and even charging 25 d0llars on that one bag allowance. All other airlines will follow suit in the next few coming months, and the old weight allowance of 70 pounds will be pared down to about 50-60.<br /><br /><br />There is more and more of less and less … In Israel, they were forced to develop a state of the art desalination process because the old supply of fresh water, the “Sea” of Galilee’s level is falling faster than the price of oil rises all over the world.<br /><br /><br />Happily, things are changing ever so slowly in terms of consciousness. In many airports, one begins to see signs that remind people to get only what they need. Two things that by and large, the American society wastes so much of, are paper and water. Paper, incidentally, takes so much water to produce, and water is something that is fast becoming a “casus belli” ( a case for war) in many places all over the world. The much coveted Golan heights in Israel that links Israel with Syria has not been a disputed territory only in terms of military strategy. It sits right on top of what was once their only precious water reservoir – the Lake of Galilee!<br /><br /><br />But despite the reminders, the whole world is still pretty much wasteful all over. Old habits die hard, and the most difficult habits to eradicate are those that cater to our tendency toward more and more creature comfort. SUVs in the US are in for a rough ride ahead. People are going to be forced to say good-bye to them, not because of what Al Gore said, but because the trip to the fuel pump is getting to be more and more painful to consumers.<br /><br /><br />Flying and traveling is indeed, educational and formative. But so is the reality of human experience. With more and more of less and less becoming the order of the day, perhaps the whole world will eventually learn the hard way, how to be satisfied with less and less, do without more and more stuff, and become more in the long run. In this case, then the high school and college composition teachers were right all along … Less is more!<br /><br />NW 027 – SFO to NRT<br />June 6, 2008<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-76018327277679616992008-06-04T10:11:00.003+08:002010-02-13T10:32:17.579+08:00PILGRIM PATHWAYS: Part Two<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:lucida grande;" >Set Apart, or Treated Differently?</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />I saw it in Athens, over at Piraeus port, a sign that was as striking as it was incongruous … a sign in both English – and – hold on to your seat – in Tagalog! The sign says: “Please do not take away chairs from here.” But that was not all. Below was a Tagalog translation of the same thing in big, bold letters: “Sa Tagalog: Bawal alisin at ilipat ang mga silyang ito!” Hmmm …<br /><br />This morning as I was boarding a flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul en route to San Francisco, over the Northwest counter, another sign reminded me of what I saw in Athens: For Manila flights only! Apparently, there are check-in counters and there are check –in counters … some for the regular guys and one for Filipinos! Hmmm …<br /><br />A friend from Dubai once told me something similar. A sign in some of the shops at Dubai airport said once in English and in Tagalog: “Shoplifters will be prosecuted.” Translation in Tagalog right below it said: “Bawal magnakaw dito.” Hmmm …<br />My friend jokingly told me. Well, that sign is placed there for other nationalities, not me.<br /><br />Four years ago, I was invited to do the invocation at the Philippine Independence Day celebrations at Marriott Hotel in downtown Washington, DC. I was privileged to have been seated together with former consuls who worked for some time in Manila, and other personages who had business to do with Filipino Americans. One of them asked me at some point: Father, could you please tell me which among the many groups who claim to speak for Filipino Americans we need to deal with directly? I could not give a ready answer. For around me were a multiplicity of groups all with fancy names each one of them representing a group, a cause, a party, and a convocation!<br /><br />Fast forward to Jerusalem … over at Renaissance Hotel, the first day we were there, there were not too many signs other than what told people where to go, in what section of the restaurant to go to, depending on which group one belonged. The next day, a sign was placed conspicuously at the buffet table: “Please do not take food out of the restaurant.“ Hmmm … Of course, there were Filipinos checked in at the hotel, and that, of course, included me. Whoever took food out of the restaurant should be easy guess work for you. And your guess will most likely be not too far off the mark.<br /><br />Back track to Madrid’s Barajas international airport. We were just walking off the tube towards the arrival area. The plane was full of mostly Caucasian travellers. Who do you think would the guardia civil stop on his tracks and to check on his passport? Well, it was me. I did not take offense, but surely, you would agree with me that there is something about being Filipino that would sometimes make you at least suspect we are being profiled. No one else was stopped on his tracks but me.<br /><br />When we had to navigate our way to the new, huge, and sprawling airport terminal to get to where our flight back to Washington-Dulles international airport was, at the security check, what do you think would the airline staff at the gate would do, but to thumb through my passport and pass his fingers through the US visa page as if to check whether my visa was genuine or not?<br /><br />Are we set apart, distinguished, renowned, or are we being treated differently? Your guess is as good as mine.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" >The Rising Fuel Costs and the Falling Standard of Living in America</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />The trip that took me from the third world, to the new world and to the old world and back to the third world in less than a month’s time has taught me some precious insights. In the US, big wholesale shops like Costco, Sam’s club and others have begun controlling the number of bags of rice they can allow people to buy, something that never happened before. Apart from the obvious fact that prices have risen drastically, supply is carefully monitored. There are unverified media reports that a number of business people are hoarding the rice, too!. So what else is new? Many Chinese businessmen in the Philippines, including Chinese tourists in the country have been at it before original sin was discovered!<br /><br />But despite the rising costs of fuel, America’s love affair with the automobile has not gotten any less intense. The world famous freeways and expressways and turnpikes (and a whole lot of other fancy names for the same thing) that made America the trendsetter all over the world are all getting clogged, like they do in all parts of the world. Slow moving traffic is no longer the monopoly of third world countries. At the capital beltway, I-495, rush hour traffic could be a bore. The same is true in the beltway around Baltimore, the I-695, with some very young and very impatient drivers learning to do the swerving technique that Filipino drivers have long been famous for. And let us not speak about LA!<br /><br />I write this blog piece aboard a Northwest flight from the Midwest, en route to SFO. The more than four hours trip from O’Hare to Minneapolis/St. Paul and on to San Francisco is devoid of any meal that once upon a time was the hallmark of all US airlines. No … each one buys snacks or meals for oneself. All they give now is a drink. People allergic to peanuts can at least rejoice. No more signs of peanuts in the air. No tiny pretzels, no nothing! The trans-Pacific flight from Tokyo to SFO and back can boast of the barest minimum to keep body and soul together. You won’t die of starvation, but you won’t alight from the plane satisfied either. Almost all airlines seem to have become very creative in making more money to offset for the rising prices of oil which accounts for more than 40% of the airlines' operating costs.<br /><br />The experience of Europe and Israel was another eye opener. Americans and the rest of the world whose currency is pegged to the dollar now feel poorer as compared to the Europeans. The buying power of the dollar has fallen. Whilst officially the exchange rate is something like 1.6 something for every Euro, the reality in Europe is far different. In effect, every Euro now almost costs two dollars! That means that a simple essential lunch that in America would cost people no more than 10 dollars, could amount to something like 16 dollars or more, especially in Israel. There, our guide was boasting that the NIS (the New Israeli shekel) is among the top 15 strongest currencies in the world. Well, I believe them. But after our stay there, where we were literally forced to eat and buy where they wanted us to, I did not have to wonder why their economy is damn good. It almost seemed like we were being fleeced every step along the way, including the use of toilets for minor necessities that would set you back by 50 cents or a dollar in some places.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:lucida grande;" >Grace, Gift, and Gratitude</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />Pilgrimages are a Christian long standing tradition. Back in the day, they used to walk and go through rough uncharted – even dangerous – territory. That, indeed, is the root word of pilgrim – the name of this blog – <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">per agrum</span>. It means exactly that – to go through the fields – for a deeper reason and purpose. This pilgrimage on my 25th has been a grace-filled event. It is so primarily because it is gift … given to me and made possible by friends who believe in the gift of priesthood, and the ministry it can offer them. Whilst I shelled out something, what they spent for me towers higher than what I eventually could contribute.<br /><br />This blog entry, like my first issue of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pilgrim Pathways</span>, is for them. I acknowledge this singular grace from God, as part and parcel of the graciousness that God has always shown me, and has been showing me since I got ordained 25 years ago. I acknowledge this as gift, along with so many other gifts I have received and continue to receive, albeit unworthily. I am filled with gratitude. I end with something I heard so often in Greece – a word that all of my readers should very easily understand: <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Eucharisto. Eucharisto. Eucharisto</span>.<br /><br />NW 675, June 3, 2008<br />37,000 feet above sea level<br />USA<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-60521620412505323182008-06-02T23:12:00.001+08:002008-06-02T23:58:40.166+08:00PILGRIM PATHWAYS<span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Being Some Place Again for the First Time</span><br /><br />My pilgrimage began with some work to do … a recollection to preach to Fil-Ams in Hayward, Northern CA, a 50s era once progressive city that sits nestled below, or on the foothills of the now brown and barren heights of the Bay area. That was May 3, Saturday, just two days after I arrive from a rather long and tiring trip that took me from the cramped NAIA to Tokyo’s spacious and quiet airport of Narita. (Actually it is not anywhere near Tokyo, but it belongs to another Prefecture which is some two hours away by train from Tokyo city proper).<br /><br />The topic and the reason for the recollection is not new to me. I have seen the issue everywhere I was asked to work with and for Filipinos whether home grown or raised some place else in this whole wide world. I saw it two years ago as I preached in New Jersey. I saw it in Italy, in Rome in particular. I saw it in Baltimore, Maryland. I see it back home where I am based. I see it in every institution, every organization made up of Filipinos (which includes me, by the way).<br /><br />The issue whereof I speak is unity, the capacity to feel a sense of oneness and belongingness to a bigger group, to a greater body, to a greater whole. How many times have we heard of big groups including convenanted communities breaking up after some time? How many times have we seen otherwise very successful groups being fractured, fragmented and divided after so many years of untold success?<br /><br />This is I think part of what James Fallows unflaterringly calls a “damaged culture.” This for my part is what I refer to as the unevangelized aspects of our culture that still needs to see the light of Gospel good news.<br /><br />The day after, May 4, I preached to almost all Masses and presided over three of the Sunday Masses. The best was reserved for the 12:30 Mass which was the Filipino Heritage Mass. The best of our culture was on parade and on display. It was kind of incongruous to hear Filipino songs being sung by a Filipino American musician, all to the beat of Brazilian drums and Brazilian rhythm. I could not join the singing of “Salamat sa Iyo, Panginoong Jesus” as I could not accept the hybrid of melody and rhythm that were worlds apart from each other. (It was accompanied by blaring jazzy trumpets).<br /><br />The second part of the working tour brought me to Northern Virginia. I was asked to do a refresher talk on pastoral planning to the core group of leaders of the Fil Ministry of NOVA.<br /><br />I was back again to a situation and place that I was treading on for the first time!<br /><br />My pilgrimage began with things familiar and things unknown – pretty much uncharted terrain that frightens, as much as it bewilders and challenges me. I am back to what I have learned to accept over the past 25 years as a priest. Things are both the same and never the same. The French have a beautiful way of putting it: “Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.” The more things change, the more they remain the same.<br /><br />Life being what it is, a perpetual journey, it is both new and old. Forrest Gump was right. “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna git.” Take it from me … I have been there, done that … One could be very much up there in people’s estimation many years, and something happens, or someone spreads false rumors about you and you’re down there in the gutters (at least in some people’s estimation). You could be looked at highly for some time, and some people who do not know Joseph take the leadership and you suddenly become a pariah of sorts.<br /><br />The talks I gave both in Northern Virginia and in California were pretty much reminiscent of what I gave two years ago in Jersey area. And the questions are all very familiar … how to mould our people into one, how to make them see the bigger picture and the greater whole … It all sounds old and yet so new.<br /><br />Following (Some) of the Footsteps of St. Paul<br /><br />I am privileged to antedate the international year of St. Paul in some respects. We did the pilgrimage trying to follow where St. Paul trod. But the intrepid missionary is impossible to duplicate. We did it in relative ease and comfort. What made my hair stand on end is to see that little harbor where Paul landed in Pergamum, a harbor so tiny from my vantage point one could not even see the tiny opening that was enough only for small boats that Paul must have used in 58 AD.<br /><br />Another place that really got me all excited was Ephesus. The big theater where Paul spoke to 37,000 people is still very much extant and in a high state of preservation. The arena could ordinarily contain only 25,000 but the crowds swelled because it was Paul who spoke. Tiny man though he was, according to reputable tradition, he was a mighty man with a stentorian voice, and a powerful message.<br /><br />The highlight of Ephesus, of course, was Meryemana, the house of Mary Virgin and Mother, that is, the house of St. John where he took Mary after the crucifixion. We were privileged to say two Masses in a row in that holy place.<br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-72549963205594567332008-04-04T21:05:00.001+08:002008-04-04T21:21:14.864+08:00PRE-ELECTION MUSINGS OF A TEMPORARY RESIDENT IN THE U.S.<span style="font-family: lucida grande;">N.B. What follows are snippets of thoughts penned down during election fever in the US 4 years ago, when I was residing in Baltimore, MD.<br /><br />February 11, 2004<br /><br />Dear friends,<br /><br />I thought I should be less formal and tell you my thoughts, news, and views by way of a letter – or at least, one that looks like one. Been raring to tell you a whole lot of stuff … To sum it all up, for a starter, I thought I’d tell you that there is a big difference between being an occasional “tourist” in America, and being a more or less long-time “resident,” which I have sort of become over the past 7 months.<br /><br />America looks different from a visitor’s point of view, especially if all one sees are airports, resorts, theme parks and the relative comforts of some relative’s or acquaintance’s home. But when all that “fun” takes a back seat to the reality of a complicated weather system during winter, having to drive around in less than ideal conditions, (and using a less than “new” car), trying to keep afloat owing to so many checks and security measures adopted by a government that has become more than paranoid after 9/11, having to assure oneself through hard work that one’s meager funds would extend all the way to the end of the course, having to deal with an occasional (though rare, I must say) case of very subtle racial discrimination (or some level of non-acceptance owing to differences in culture and ignorance more than bad will), all you have is a very real longing to be back where you have gotten most used to – the familiar sights and sounds of home that perchance one has taken for granted in many ways.<br /><br />I believe that those of us who have opted to stay here really are caught in a love-hate relationship with America they have chosen to call home, whether they realize it or not. (The home-grown kids and young adults are a different story). There sure are a lot of advantages about being here: a steady source of livelihood that assures one a decent living for less stress and less effort on the whole; a relatively greater possibility of a healthier lifestyle; affordable housing and education, financial security, to name just a few. But I believe that in exchange for such “essentials” a whole lot more is expended in terms of high prices to pay: the separation from kin that is the hallmark of Filipino culture; the loss of that support structure that is the close-knit extended family system that Filipinos hold on to, especially in these past years of political turmoil after political turmoil; a sense of identity as a Filipino that one need not be defensive for back home, nor feel touchy about.<br /><br />I must tell you that I basically enjoy preaching here in the U.S. Since they are generally straightforward, they give you feedback and tell you their appreciation or their reservations, as the case may be. One of my avid listeners and admirers happens to be a four-term senator for the federal government, and former secretary of health during the term of Ronald Reagan. She religiously and dutifully attends the First Friday Mass and all-night adoration where I have to deliver two homilies, and an occasional extra talk during the course of the night.<br /><br />In the Philippines, I have learned to be a bit wary of people who come up to you after Mass. While 99 per cent of them would do so to commend you and congratulate you, or at least ask for some clarifications about what I said in the homily, occasionally, you get to have some crank who comes up to argue with you. Invariably, they would start by asking what appears to be an innocuous question. But it would not take long for you to realize they have come not in search for the truth, but in search of an argument. They have come to convert you to their brand of truth. They have an axe to grind against something the Church teaches, and something I have said in the homily that supports it. A Filipina lady came up to me after Mass at World Bank in D.C. the other week. She starts out by asking me if she could ask a question. Why yes, I said. Then she began perorating. I think that many people are unaware about something that you should be preaching about, she said. What about? I asked. So many people do not know that they have to do their morning offering everyday. I told her I am not sure about whether everyone, everyday ought to pray the Morning Offering. What I do know is that all Christians have to have a daily prayer routine which may or may not include the formula she was talking about (I am familiar with this as this prayer is said daily in most parishes in the Philippines.) At that point she became agitated and began insisting that I teach everyone the absolute need to recite the Morning Offering everyday. There was “passion” in her eyes, and as a trained observer of human behavior, I knew that there was even a tinge of anger and disappointment.<br /><br />There is simply a whole lot for me to share about the reality I see here in America – the fact that it is so multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, multi-religious. It is also a fertile breeding ground for so many newfangled teachings and religions. In America, you can sell anything and everything provided you are market-savvy and you know how to tickle your potential buyers’ ears and make inroads into their hearts. What else explains the fact that “gurus” from India who find it so hard to even have a decent following in their own country suddenly become “proprietors” of big, booming economic empires here in the U.S.? What else explains the fact that New Age doctrines and practices use the American society as springboard to get to the rest of the world? How does one explain the fact that here an endless variety of sects and new religions thrive?<br /><br />Intelligence alone is not sufficient for anyone to get by in life with a perfect sense of balance… By no means. There is a whole lot of psychological deficits in people’s lives that traditional and mainstream religions like Catholicism are ill equipped to cater to. Given the nature of the Catholic Church as both institutional and charismatic, with the former as mistakenly being seen as the essential and more important aspect, individuals with “object relations” deficits of whatever type or intensity, or people with relational deficits in childhood, as in the case of individuals who never quite learned to bond with a parent in childhood, are perfect candidates for conversion to such warm and cuddly and artificially caring (at least initially) religious groups. The proverbial search for the “father figure” whom one ironically may have rejected growing up as a child, comes back to haunt the individual, and the emotional deficit, more often than not, is supplied for by a guru who preaches a very person-oriented brand of a very deep spirituality – the very thing that is lacking in the person’s life. Spirituality is basically a relationship in its essence, and unfortunately, this is not the kind of thing that the institutional Church seems to be a great model and preacher of, at least in the minds of so many whose knowledge of the Church is so superficial.<br /><br />I feel very sad that so many fall for the antics of these false prophets who capitalize on the “emotional illiteracy” and the various forms of psychological deficits of so many whose attachment to what appears to be a primal authority father figure that is the institutional Church is, indeed, tenuous, and intermixed with so much “parataxic distortions” that the very same people who fall for them are not even conscious about.<br /><br />This is, indeed, a big challenge for pastors and educators like us. Incidentally, I have always wondered why the institutional Church, contrary to her tradition, does not emphasize the Church as mother! There is so much of patriarchy in current theological thinking, which needs to be balanced by a lot more of the maternal element especially in the area of pastoral theology.<br /><br />Incidentally, the problems some religious face vis-à-vis authority figures, the relational problems members of various congregations face, the crises they find themselves into… why, even the squabbles and “tampuhans” within our covenanted communities - all these could use a little more help from the science of psychology. Too bad, Freud has been getting a very bad rap all these years (for right reasons, I must say), but too bad, too, that people have thrown the baby with the bath water. A lot of later followers of Freud who revised his theory have a lot to say about us and about our complex human behavior without subscribing to his deterministic and patently sexual instinctive/drive theory. There is a whole lot to be investigated in each one’s “object relations” in infancy and childhood which may well stand at the bottom of so many of our issues as priests and religious, and as ordinary Christians. Over here in the US, I am fascinated by a parish priest who, true to that category we refer to as “soft-liberals,” always has to say something negative against the Vatican, the Holy Father, his bishop. He laments the fact that unfortunately, when a priest gets promoted and puts on the miter, his head disappears. (He means the guy ceases to think rightly once he puts on the miter!) Poor Church... People are confused because of the so many direct and indirect attacks against orthodoxy, mostly coming from confused pastors.<br /><br />I have a lot more thoughts to spare a penny for. I end with a few funny vignettes. Three young adults woke up at dawn to steal money from a 7-11 store. They succeeded. They got all the money from the register. But the following morning, they were collared. Reason? It just snowed the night before and all the police needed to do was to follow their tracks in the virgin snow. Simple? Another… a 21 year old man shipped himself to Texas by air, putting himself in a wooden box and was delivered right before his mother’s doorstep. He said he wanted to save money on the plane fare. He spent more than a thousand dollars for the shipping. The cost of the actual plane fare first class to Houston? 400 something dollars! Only in America! The founder of the Atkins diet, that which tells you to eat as much meat and fat as you like while avoiding carbs has been dead for well over a year now. Now reports are saying he died overweight at 72. The diet has become the latest craze all over the U.S. Even fast food joints like Subway have began offering stuff like “Atkins-friendly wraps” and the like. People go gaga avoiding carbs like pasta, bread, potatoes, etc – exactly what a decade ago they were saying they should stuff themselves with! In a country where 130 million are overweight, and 60 million are pathologically obese, one long-standing obsession has to do with the great big diet debate. In the last three decades that the debate has see-sawed from one extreme to the other, in the meantime, the average amount of calories people here are ingesting everyday has steadily increased – and counting.<br /><br />A group has filed a suit against the fast-food industry. Guess who make up that group? The obese who complain that their obesity was due to the fast-food chains who have been serving high-fat, high-salt, and high cholesterol food all these years! Only in America!<br /><br />Doctors here now are no longer the supercilious and proud people they once used to be.<br />Their incomes have shrunken considerably, partly because they have to pay unbelievably high malpractice insurance rates, in many cases to the tune of a hundred grand a year. Few doctors now want to be ob-gyn who deliver babies. That is where most litigations happen.<br /><br />The presidential primaries as they call it here, are in full swing. Over here, it is mostly politics of ideas, not personalities. Over there it is a different ballgame altogether. Whatever the outcome over here would be, life is expected to remain pretty much the same; the engine of capitalism and rugged individualism gets the upper hand, in the long run. In our case in the Philippines, unfortunately, the single greatest obstacle to national progress has been politics plain and simple, abetted by the Church’s anemic evangelization that, for all its sound and fury during PCP-II, never quite took off the ground as expected.<br /><br />Well, to end this, maybe I need to ask you pointblank as did that lady after my Mass … do you do your Morning Offering everyday? If we are to follow her way, the solution to all the world’s problem is this and only this: people ought to do their morning offering!<br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-3789591095594385282008-03-15T11:59:00.001+08:002008-03-15T12:00:54.309+08:00SOMETHING TO REFLECT ON DURING THESE CONFUSING TIMESDear friends,<br /><br />As a priest, pastor, counselor, teacher, and preacher, I uphold the passionate search for truth in justice and charity. As a teacher of moral theology, when faced with moral dilemmas, such as what the nation is confronted with now, I counsel and uphold the process of moral discernment, especially if what we are tempted to do is another action that has enormous consequences on our total well-being as a nation and people, on issues that pertain to the common good, and on our basic sense of trust and mistrust on institutions, including the Church. Whilst I am sympathetic to calls for moral reform, I am wary of knee-jerk reactions that may come, not from a careful, prudent, and objective reading of events, but from a carefully calibrated and orchestrated media blitz that may stand in the way of due process. I don't ask you to believe all that is contained in what is enclosed. All I ask for, as I always say, is sobriety.<br /><br />As a moral theology professor, I often speak of the need for all of us to be media prosumers, at the very least ( and not just consumers), if we cannot be media purveyors. In this age marked and marred by so many tempting and seemingly cogent calls of the so-called "media moment" - full of memorable sound bytes and quotable slogans, that end up reducing basically complex events and realities to "one liners" and simplistic issues of "right versus wrong," where media can tend, not only to report events, but also, to create events; where individuals can be made or unmade, reduced to being despiccable non-entities, or catapulted to near divine status, one would be well-advised to pause, and perhaps choose to follow the beat of a different drummer.<br /><br />I am one with you all in condemning corruption in the strongest possible terms. My personal suspicions resonate with much of what is being noisily touted over the air lanes and the world of print. I am one with you in my desire to get to the bottom of things, uphold moral truth, and I cry passionately for justice, on behalf of the voiceless and countless poor who only stand to lose the most if things go on as before, if the same elitist, exploitative political system goes on its merry way.<br /><br />But my passionate dedication to truth is not the only value I uphold. I also value the common good. Faced with a moral dilemma as I personally am, given the tempting calls before me of what we have, unfortunately, gotten a bit too much used to doing, that is, mount another people power, no doubt with very valid and legitimate concerns, I am led to weigh "goods" and weigh "consequences." I want the truth alright. I want justice too. But when faced with the far ranging consequences that another people power would most likely cause, I am held back. I want truth, but not at all costs. I want justice, but whilst we all should work together for it, in the spirit of performative hope, I am not too sure, another people power would guarantee both. For last thing I heard is, those issues are as old as Adam and Eve - with their hemming and hawing, with their denials and deflection tactics, with their basically gross act of disobedience to God. That I am sure, you are willing to concede, is also what is basically at stake, and at the bottom of all this brouhaha.<br /><br />I am not a politician. I am, as our Bishops say, not supposed to tell government and civil leaders what to do. But I am not about to pass off my right, privilege and moral duty to enlighten the people of God, (or at the very least, those whom I encounter somehow in both the physical and cyber world). So, one with our pastors, I offer what I feel is our line of expertise - moral guidance to assist us in the process of discernment. And I would like to echo what the Bishops taught last 26 February. They defined the basic moral issue at stake - the culture of corruption on all levels of our sick society. They called everyone to task: the President, the Senate, the so called "opposition," the Media, and all of us individually and collectively. We are all in this together.<br /><br />I support the passionate pleas for truth of all sectors in our society, yes ... including all those who happen to ride on the issue because they really are after something else. As a psychotherapist, I know -as everyone else does- what immense damage ulterior motives that are sugar-coated with seemingly innocuous and even valid intentions and concerns, can do to oneself and others. Declared intentions are always good. But the underlying motives beneath those declared intentions that we ourselves may not be aware of, are ultimately more damaging in the long run. I support truth. The Church supports truth. Right now, with too many declared and undeclared intentions and motives from both sides, with both sides guilty of doing so called dirty tactics, with ultimate goals as many as there are groups in the rainbow coalition of forces asking for change, I know I would be well advised, not to jump with the bandwagon of powerful forces, who have already decided on what truth to uphold and to claim, or whose truth to side with.<br /><br />This is the reason why I call for sobriety. The media frenzy does not support sobriety. They can tend to be inflammatory, like the fiery speeches of those who have stuck their necks out a bit too prematurely with one side or the other. I see lurking dangers. I sense danger in the rapid erosion of trust in institutions. The Senate does not trust the Supreme Court. The legislative department does not trust the Executive. The list can go on. In such an unfolding scenario, given the fractious disunited, and even wrangling picture projected by the only institution that ought to remain trustworthy - the Church, then, precious little shred of human - lesser - hope, remains for us. We might as well throw the rule of law out the proverbial window forever! And then people power becomes the end all and be all of our political lives. It becomes the supreme arbiter of all our political immaturity and a testament, perhaps to what we have for so long been maligned with - a damaged culture.<br /><br />Thanks for bearing up with this lengthy piece. You owe it to your children and grandchildren to be committed towards helping make this country rise up to the challenges of our mostly self-inflicted problems. We all are part of the problem. We all can be part of the solutionAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-81022429288677987372008-03-05T16:06:00.002+08:002008-03-05T16:09:58.648+08:00ANOTHER MODEST CONTRIBUTION TO OUR ONGOING SAGA FOR TRUTH AND JUSTICE<div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" >N.B. I WOULD LIKE TO REITERATE MY CALL FOR SOBRIETY AND LEVEL-HEADEDNESS IN THE FACE OF ALL THE CONFUSION THAT LEADS THIS COUNTRY TO THE BRINK OF CHAOS. I AM REMINDED OF A LINE THAT IS SO CLEAR IN THE CURRENTLY SHOWING FILM "THE FLOCK." ONE WHO TRIES TO DO BATTLE WITH MONSTERS MUST TAKE CARE, IT SAYS, THAT HE DOES NOT BECOME A MONSTER HIMSELF.</span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" ></span></span></b></div> <div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" >TOGETHER WITH ALL THOSE WHO CRY FOR TRUTH, I ALSO BEG FOR THE TRUTH. I ALSO CRY OUT AGAINST CORRUPTION ESPECIALLY THE KIND PERPETRATED SHAMELESSLY BY PEOPLE ON TOP. BUT MY CONCERN FOR THE COMMON GOOD AND THE FUTURE OF THIS COUNTRY IS GREATER THAN MY DESIRE, NO MATTER HOW PASSIONATE AND INTENSE, THAT THIS COUNTRY IS RID OF ALL THESE HIGH PROFILE THIEVES IN OUR SOCIETY AT THE SOONEST POSSIBLE TIME AND AT ALL COSTS.</span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" ></span></span></b></div> <div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" >WE WANT THE TRUTH. ACTUALLY WE ALREADY KNOW THE TRUTH, EXCEPT THOSE WHO ARE BUSY TRYING TO HIDE BEHIND THE CLOAK OF LEGALITY TO DENY THE TRUTH. WE KNOW THE EVEN MORE GLARING TRUTH THAT WE AS A PEOPLE ARE A SINFUL AND CORRUPT NATION, STARTING FROM THE HIGH PROFILE CROOKS WHO RUN THIS COUNTRY, YES, INCLUDING THOSE WHO ARE SO VOCIFEROUS IN INVESTIGATING THE SO-CALLED TRUTH. CORRUPTION PLAGUES OUR CULTURE MUCH WORSE THAN DENGUE IS ENDEMIC EVERYWHERE IN THE PHILIPPINES. BUT THIS BATTLE IS BIGGER THAN GMA, BIGGER THAN ALL OF US PUT TOGETHER, NAY MORE, BIGGER THAN LIFE ITSELF.</span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" ></span></span></b></div> <div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" >WE HAVE TO BE LEVEL HEADED BEFORE WE ALLOW THIS MEDIA FRENZY AND THE GROWING THIRST FOR BLOOD TO TAKE THE BETTER OF US, BEFORE WE PLUNGE IRREVERSIBLY TO CHAOS, THANKS TO THE HIDDEN AGENDAS OF THE POWER PLAYERS BEHIND ALL THIS, WHO JUST WANT TO HOLD THE REINS OF POWER. WE NEED TO TAKE A STEP BACK, AND DISCERN WHETHER OUR DESIRE TO BUILD THE FENCE OF TRUTH-TELLING REALLY BOILS DOWN TO DESTROYING THE WALL OF OUR COMMON WEAL, AND A BETTER FUTURE FOR ALL OF US AND THE PEOPLE COMING AFTER US.</span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" ></span></span></b></div> <div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" >I SEE ESPECIALLY THE DANGER BEHIND THIS MEDIA MOMENT, CAPITALIZED MOST ESPECIALLY BY THE HERO OF THE DAY, J LO, AND HIS RABID HANDLERS AND SUPPORTERS. NOT THAT I DON'T BELIEVE IN WHAT HE SAYS. IT IS JUST THAT BY SAYING TOO MUCH, BY ENGAGING IN SO MANY "PA CUTE ANTICS," WITH A LOT OF HELP FROM NUNS AND SEMINARIANS, WITH A LOT OF HELP FROM MEDIA HOOPLA GONE WILD, WE MAY BE DOING A GREAT DISSERVICE, NOT TO THE TRUTH PER SE (VERACITY), BUT TO THE PROCESS OF TRUTH-TELLING ITSELF (VERIDICITY).<br /></span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" ></span></span></b></div> <div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 127);"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;" >WE ARE FIGHTING A BIG AND HORRIBLE MONSTER. LET US NOT FALL INTO THE TRAP OF BECOMING MONSTERS OURSELVES!<br /><br />I WOULD LIKE TO APPEND AN ARTICLE THAT IS WORTH REFLECTING ON. WHILST I DON'T AGREE WITH EVERYTHING HE SAYS, THERE ARE THINGS THAT OUGHT TO MERIT OUR CLOSE SCRUTINY.<br /></span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:gray;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;color:gray;" ><br /></span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"> <b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:gray;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;color:gray;" ><br /></span></span></b></div><div class="text-box" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:78%;color:gray;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:8;color:gray;" >MEN & EVENTS </span></span></b><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"><br /> </span></span><b><i><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:9;" >By Alito L. Malinao </span></span></i></b><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"><br /> </span></span><b><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 102);font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 102); font-weight: bold;font-size:13;" >The role the Church must play</span></span></b></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:12;"></span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"><br />The Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) has been pilloried for refusing to join the mob calling for the resignation of <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1204694059_0">President Arroyo</span>. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Among the most disappointed by the CBCP action, or inaction, were the civil society groups, political opposition, militant organizations and a giant television network whose greatest passion is to work for the downfall of the Arroyo administration. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">The insidious plot of the triumvirate in the CBCP, composed of Jaro, Iloilo Archbishop Angel Lagdameo, CBCP president, Caloocan City Bishop Deogracias Yniquez, Jr. and Dagupan-Lingayen Archbishop Oscar Cruz, was obviously trounced by the bishops from Mindanao who maintained that allegations of corruption in the Arroyo administration have not been proven in court and, therefore, the call for a "brand-new people power" against Mrs. Arroyo is unjustified. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">As a result, Butuan City Bishop Juan de Dios Pueblos is spearheading a move to oust Lagdameo as CBCP president for allegedly allowing himself to be influenced by Cruz and other radical bishops.</span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:10;" >Hidden agenda</span></span></b> </div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Fr. Bel San Luis, SVD, is a long-time friend of media and is himself a media person writing a column at the Manila Bulletin. I have heard the mild-mannered Father Bel several times because he is always invited to say mass at the National Press Club whenever an NPC member dies or when there are religious functions at the club. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">In his latest column, Father Bel said today there is no longer any distinction between prayer rallies and political rallies, and holy or unholy masses. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">The good father said that many prayer rallies and masses have become "forums and launching pads for political attacks under the guise of religious activities." And the best example could be the so-called interfaith rally held last Friday in Makati City . </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Then he asked: "How can they be religious when their hidden agenda is motivated by hatred and mob rule aimed at ousting the President and destabilizing the country?" </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Indeed, it is high time for the Roman Catholic Church to reexamine its priorities and motives. Is the Church still the voice of reason and moderation? Or is it now engaged in sowing hatred among its flocks? What happened to the basic Christian values of love and compassion for others? </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <b><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:10;" >Moratorium on politics</span></span></b> </div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">We still believe in the huge influence of the <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1204694059_1">Catholic Church</span> in our lives. But while it is correct to condemn the "continuing culture of corruption" in our country as it had done in its latest pastoral letter, the Church could have done more.</span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">And since its main function is to provide moral and spiritual guidance to the faithful, the Church could have: </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;"> </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">1. Called for a moratorium on all political activities for at least one year. This would definitely ease tension and help bring stability and progress to our country. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">2. Started the process of true national reconciliation by initiating a dialogue among the warring political factions and groups, thus preventing the deterioration of the already-precarious situation. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">3. Urged the Senate to stop all its investigations on alleged irregularities in government and let the courts decide on the charges so that the "august chamber" can attend to its legislative functions. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">4. Persuaded former President Cory Aquino to calm down and not exacerbate the people's restiveness. After all, Aquino herself has been the subject of several resignation calls during her term, some even made through the bloodiest coup attempts in our history. But </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">did she resign? </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">5. Reminded former President Joseph Estrada that it was <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1204694059_2">President Arroyo</span> who saved him from life imprisonment. Estrada is now calling Mrs. Arroyo an illegitimate president, forgetting that as an illegitimate president, her act of granting him pardon is null and void from the start. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">6. Stopped the "canonization" of Jun Lozada by some religious factotums now that he is unmasked not just as corrupt as the people he has accused of corruption but is also morally-flawed having admitted that he has another family. </span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">7. Told the Makati business leaders to concentrate on making money instead of joining the chorus for Mrs. Arroyo's ouster. After all, despite the "sins" of the Arroyo administration, they are now raking in huge profits as a result of the improved economic conditions in the country.</span></span></div> <div class="bodytext" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">8. And purged the CBCP of the Pharisees whose actions betray their ingrained hatred for<span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1204694059_3"> <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1204695008_3">President Arroyo</span></span> and thus do not have the moral ascendancy to preach reconciliation and Christian love. </span></span></div> <span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:10;">It is not too late. The <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1204694059_4">Catholic Church</span> can still redeem itself. And if it will do this, then it can be a true vehicle for peace and reconciliation among our people. And the epiphany that we have sought in our hearts for so long can be ours finally.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-32841297987708870232008-02-27T11:12:00.002+08:002008-02-27T11:42:10.087+08:00MOVING BEYOND EDSA: A CALL TO COMMUNAL ACTION<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" >It has been my quiet desire to write something on the current political situation of our country. I would like to share a few lines with you. I beg the indulgence of my foreign readers who may not be aware, let alone interested, with what's going on in the Philippines these days. I address myself to fellow Filipinos here and abroad.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" >February 27, 2008<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>MY DEAR FRIENDS,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I HAVE BEEN A SILENT, IF AGGRIEVED, OBSERVER OF ALL THAT HAS BEEN GOING ON OVER THE RECENT PAST. I HAVE LONG BEEN WANTING TO WRITE ON IT, BUT HAVE FOUND NEITHER TIME NOR ENERGY FOR IT, BUSY AS I AM WITH TEACHING, PREACHING, AND COUNSELING.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I WOULD LIKE TO LAUD THE BISHOPS FOR THEIR WISE, PRUDENT, & PASTORAL STATEMENT THAT GOES BEYOND MERE MORALIZING AND MORE OF THE SICK FINGER-POINTING THAT HAS APPARENTLY BECOME THE SICKENING HALLMARK OF OUR CULTURE (APART FROM, AND DISTINCT FROM, THE PERVASIVE CULTURE OF CORRUPTION IN ALL LEVELS AND SECTORS OF OUR SOCIETY).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I THANK THEM FOR NOT SUCCUMBING TO THE TEMPTATION OF AN EASY SOLUTION (WHICH IS REALLY A NON-SOLUTION) CALLED FOR BY CERTAIN SECTORS WHO THINK THAT ANOTHER EDSA PEOPLE POWER REVOLUTION (SIC) WOULD MAKE THE PROBLEM GO AWAY. I LAUD THEM FOR NAMING THE REAL ISSUE AT BOTTOM AND THAT IS THE DEEPLY EMBEDDED CULTURE OF CORRUPTION IN AND OUT OF GOVERNMENT, IN THE VERY FABRIC OF OUR PERSONAL AND SOCIAL LIVES. I COULDN’T AGREE MORE WITH THEM IN CALLING FOR THE DISMANTLING OF EVERYTHING THAT OBSTRUCTS TRUTH. TOGETHER WITH THEM, I MAKE A PASSIONATE PLEA TO EVERYONE TO DESIST FROM PROSTITUTING EVEN THE VALUE OF TRUTH-TELLING ITSELF FOR THEIR OWN SELFISH AND SINISTER ENDS. I SUPPORT THEM IN REITERATING THE CALL TO “COMMUNAL ACTION” WHICH IS NOT REDUCIBLE TO ANOTHER NOISY, MANIPULATED MOB AT EDSA, ROUSED POSSIBLY TO NON-THINKING AND NON-REFLECTING STATUS BY<span style=""> </span>A PARTISAN MANIPULATIVE MEDIA WHO. MISLEAD, MISGUIDE, & MISEDUCATE THE MASSES THROUGH WELL CALIBRATED SOUND BYTES & THE PRESENTATION OF CAREFULLY SCRIPTED AND CRAFTED GRANDSTANDING BY POLITICIANS (CROOKS ALL!) WHO STAND TO PERSONALLY GAIN FROM ALL THIS FRENZY OF FINGER-POINTING AND BLAMING!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I MAKE A CALL FOR PRUDENCE AND SOBRIETY – PRECISELY WHAT THE BISHOPS MOST LIKELY MEAN BY “COMMUNAL ACTION” BASED ON PRAYER AND REFLECTION – AND ONLY THEN – ACTION!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I SUPPORT THE BISHOPS FOR ADDRESSING THE ROOT ISSUE OF THIS CRISIS WHICH IS, AT BOTTOM, A MORAL AND NOT PRIMARILY, A POLITICAL CRISIS.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I MAKE A PERSONAL PLEA TO ALL FILIPINOS TO GO BEYOND EDSA, BEYOND THE MASSIVE PULL OF THE CAREFULLY ORCHESTRATED “MEDIA MOMENT” AND THINK ABOUT THE BIGGER PICTURE, THINK ABOUT THE COMMON GOOD, AND REFUSE TO JOIN THE BANDWAGON OF KNEE-JERK REACTIONS (TO BORROW FROM KAHLIL GIBRAN) “TO BUILD A FENCE, BY DESTROYING THE WALL ON THE OTHER SIDE..” I SUPPORT, NOT THE EMPTY RHETORIC OF A SOUR-GRAPING TRAPO WHO MOUTHS THE CALL FOR A MORAL REVOLUTION – A FACETIOUS SLOGAN COMING FROM ONE WHO SHOULD HAVE STARTED WITH HIMSELF FIVE TERMS AGO!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I MAKE A CALL TO EVERYONE IN GOVERNMENT WHO HAS BEEN IMPLICATED IN SCANDAL UPON SCANDAL OF MASSIVE PROPORTIONS. <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">KUNG MAY NATITIRA PANG HIYA SA PUSO NINYO</span>, PLEASE MAKE THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE BY BOWING OUT OF YOUR SO-CALLED “PUBLIC SERVICE.” PLEASE DO NOT INSULT OUR INTELLIGENCE AND WHAT LITTLE IS LEFT OF OUR NATIONAL SELF-RESPECT BY HIDING BEHIND THE CONVENIENCE OF EXTERNAL LEGALITY, PUTTING ON A SEMBLANCE OR CHARADE OF YOUR HONORABLE STATUS, AND WORK ACTIVELY SO THAT TRUTH PREVAILS, AND JUSTICE SERVED.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I MAKE A CALL TO EVERYONE WHO IS ALREADY DROOLING FOR THE TOP OFFICES OF THE LAND, WHO MAKE MAXIMUM USE OF THE MEDIA MOMENT TO PROP UP THEIR ILL-CONCEALED AMBITIONS, NOW PLAYING THE GOOD GUYS IN COMPARISON TO THE EVIL WOMAN AND THE FAT GUY AT THE RESIDENCE BY THE PASIG RIVER … THE PEOPLE LIKE US WHO BELONG TO THE SILENT MAJORITY ARE WATCHING. PLEASE DO NOT ADD MORE INSULT TO OUR ALREADY JADED AND FADING HOPES. WE DO NOT NEED GRANDSTANDING HEROES. WE JUST NEED HONEST PEOPLE WHO ARE SINCERELY OUT TO SERVE THE COMMON GOOD, NOT TO INVENT GRANDIOSE PROJECTS, LOAN OODLES OF MONEY, AND STEAL EVEN BEFORE THOSE QUESTIONABLE PROJECTS CAN EVEN TAKE OFF THE GROUND! STEALING IS BAD ENOUGH. BUT ROBBING FUTURE FILIPINOS OF THEIR RIGHT TO NATIONAL SELF-RESPECT IS A CRIME THAT CRIES OUT FOR JUSTICE TO HIGH HEAVENS!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>TO ALL OF YOU ALREADY CAUGHT WITH YOUR DIRTIED FINGERS IN THE COOKIE JAR … NOW IS YOUR TURN TO SALVAGE WHAT LITTLE DIGNITY IS LEFT IN YOU BEFORE THE PEOPLE’S COURT. RESIGN AND DO YOUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN SOME GOOD. TO ALL OF YOU POISED TO DIP THOSE VERY SAME DIRTY FINGERS IN THE SAME COOKIE JAR OF DISHONESTY AND CORRUPTION … DESIST … AND BECOME THE UNSUNG HEROES OF GOSPEL FAME, THE POOR OF YAHWEH WHOM THE LORD DECLARED AS “BLESSED.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>AND TO EVERYONE LIKE ME, FRUSTRATED AND ANGERED BY SO MUCH BRAZEN DISHONESTY, CORRUPTION, AND HYPOCRISY … PAUSE, REFLECT, AND PRAY “FOR THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD, GO I” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p>I AM ENCLOSING HEREWITH AN <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold;">ANONYMOUS LETTER FROM A FELLOW FILIPINO</span>. I SHARE HIS SENTIMENTS … I COULD NOT AGREE MORE WITH WHAT THIS LETTER SAYS. THESE ARE <span style=""> </span>WORDS I’D LIKE TO MAKE MY OWN.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style=";font-family:";color:blue;" >To all Filipinos Everywhere:<br /><br />I used to think that corruption and criminality in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Philippines</st1:place></st1:country-region> were caused by poverty. But recent events tell me this isn't true. It is one thing to see people turn into drug addicts, prostitutes,<br />thieves and murderers because of hunger and poverty, but what excuse do these rich, educated people have that could possibly explain their bizarre behavior? And to think I was always so relieved when petty snatchers got caught and locked away in jail because I never fully realized that the big time thieves were out there, making the laws and running our country. Can it get any worse than this?<br /><br />Every night, I come home and am compelled to turn on my TV to watch the latest turn of events. I am mesmerized by these characters. They are not men. They are caricatures of men - too unreal to be believable and too bad to be real. To see these so-called “honorable” crooks lambast each other, call each one names, look each other in the eye and accuse the other of committing the very same crimes that they themselves are guilty of, is so comical and appalling that I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It is entertainment at its worst!<br /><br />I have never seen so many criminals roaming around unfettered and looking smug until now. These criminals wear suits and barongs, strut around with the confidence of the rich and famous, inspire fear and awe from the very citizens who voted them to power, bear titles like "Honorable", "Senator" , "Justice" , "General" and worse, "President." Ironically, these lawless individuals practice law, make our laws, enforce the law. And we wonder why our policemen act the way they do! These are their leaders, and the leaders of this nation Robin Hoodlum and his band of moneymen. Their motto? "Rob the poor, moderate the greed of the rich."<br /><br />It makes me wonder where on earth these people came from, and what kind of upbringing they had to make them act the way they do for all the world to see. It makes me wonder what kind of schools they went to, what kind of teachers they had, what kind of environment would produce such creatures who can lie, cheat, and steal from an already indebted country and from the impoverished people they had vowed to serve. It makes me wonder what their children and grandchildren think of them, and if they are breeding a whole new generation of improved Filipino crooks and liars with maybe a tad more style but equally negligible conscience. Heaven forbid!<br /><br />I am an ordinary citizen and taxpayer. I am blessed to have a job that pays for my needs and those of my family's, even though 30% of my earnings go to the nation's coffers. Just like others in my lot, I<br />have complained time and again because our government could not provide enough of the basic services that I expect and deserve. Rutty roads, poor educational system, poor social services, poor health services, poor everything. But I have always thought that was what all third world countries were all about, and my complaints never amounted to anything more.<br /><br />And then this. Scandalous government deals. Plundering presidents pointing fingers. Senators associated with crooks. Congressmen who accept bribes. Big time lawyers on the side of injustice. De Venecia ratting on his boss only after his interminable term has ended, Enrile inquiring about someone's morality! The already filthy rich Abalos and Arroyo wanting more money than they or their great grandchildren could<span style=""> </span>ever spend in a lifetime. Joker making a joke of his own "pag bad ka, lagot ka!" slogan. Defensor rendered defenseless. Gen. Razon involved in kidnapping. Security men providing anything but a sense of security. And it's all about money, money, money that the average Juan de la Cruz could not even imagine in his dreams. Is it any wonder why our few remaining decent and hardworking citizens are leaving to go work in other countries?<br /><br />And worst of all, we are once again saddled with a power-hungry president whose addiction has her clinging on to it like barnacle on a rusty ship. "Love (of power) is blind" takes a whole new meaning when PGMA time and again turns a blind eye on her husband's financial deals. And still blinded with all that is happening, she opts to traipse around the world with her cohorts in tow while her country is in shambles.<br /><br />They say the few stupid ones like me who remain in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Philippines</st1:place></st1:country-region> are no longer capable of showing disgust. I don't agree. Many like me feel anger at the brazenness of men we call our leaders, embarrassment to share the same nationality with them, frustration for our nation and helplessness at my own ineffectuality. It is not that I won't make a stand. It is just that I am afraid my actions would only be futile. After all, these monsters are capable of anything. They can hurt me and my family. They already have, though I may not yet feel it.<br /><br />But I am writing this because I need to do something concrete. I need to let others know that ordinary citizens like me do not remain lukewarm to issues that would later affect me and my children. I want to make it known that there are also Filipinos who dream of something better for the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Philippines</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I want them to know that my country is not filled with scalawags and crooks in every corner, and that there are citizens left who believe in decency, fairness, a right to speak, a right to voice out ideas, a right to tell the people we have trusted to lead us that they have abused their power and that it is time for them to step down. I refuse to let this country go to hell because it is the only country I call mine and it is my responsibility to make sure I have done what I could for it.<br /><br />Those of us who do not have the wealth, power or position it needs to battle the evil crime lords in the government can summon the power of good. We can pray. We can do this with our families every night. We can offer petitions every time we celebrate mass. We can ask others to pray, too, including relatives and friends here and overseas. And we can offer sacrifices along with our petitions, just so we get the message to Him of our desperation in ridding our nation of these vermin. After all, they cannot be more powerful than God!<br /><br />I implore mothers out there to raise your children the best way you can. Do not smother, pamper, or lavish them with too much of the material comforts of life even if you can well afford them. Teach them that there are more important things in this world. I beg all fathers to spend time with their children, to teach them the virtues of hard work, honesty, fair play, sharing, dignity and compassion "right from the sandbox" till they are old enough to go on their own. Not just in your homes, but at work, in school, everywhere you go. Be good role models. Be shining examples for your children so they will learn to be responsible adults who will carry and pass on your family name with pride and honor.<br /><br />I call on educators and teachers, we always underestimate the power of your influence on the minds of our youth. Encourage them to be aware of what is happening in their surroundings. Instill in them a love of their country, inculcate in them the value of perseverance in order to gain real, worthwhile knowledge, help us mold our children into honorable men and women. Encourage our graduates, our best and brightest, to do what they can to lift this country from the mire our traditional politicians have sunk us into. The youth is our future and it would be largely because of you, our educators, that we will be able to repopulate the seats of power with good leaders, presidents, senators, congressmen, justices, lawmakers, law enforcers and lawful citizens.<br /><br />I ask all students, young people and young professionals everywhere to look around and get involved in what is happening. Do not let your youth be an excuse for failure to concern yourselves with the harsh realities you see. But neither let this make you cynical, because we need your idealism and fresh perspective just as you need the wisdom of your elders. YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU! Let your voices be heard. Do what you can for this land that gave you your ancestors and your heritage.. Use technology and all available resources at hand to spread good. Text meaningful messages to awaken social conscience. Try your best to fight moral decay because I promise you will not regret it when you become parents yourselves. You will look back at your past misdeeds and pray that your children will do better than you did.<br /><br />Remember that there are a few handfuls who are capable of running this country. You can join their ranks and make their numbers greater. We are tired of the old trapos. We need brave idealistic leaders who will think of the greater good before anything else. I voted for Atty. Martin Bautista and his team and I sure hope they will run again. Do your utmost to excel in your chosen field. Be good lawyers, civil servants, accountants, computer techs, engineers, doctors, military men so that when you are called to serve in government, you will have credibility and a record that can speak for itself.<br /><br />For love of this country, for the future of our children, for the many who have sacrificed and died to uphold our rights and ideals, I urge you to do what you can. As ordinary citizens, we can do much more for the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Philippines</st1:country-region></st1:place> than sit around and let crooks lead us to perdition.<br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style=";font-family:";color:blue;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">We owe ourselves this. And we owe our country even more</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-55581834124423102712008-01-21T11:49:00.000+08:002008-01-22T15:37:48.189+08:00PIT SENYOR: CONJECTURES OF A CONVERTED REVELER<span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;font-family:courier new;" >On the Cebu Sto. Nino Devotion and Celebrations</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:courier new;" >N.B. I write on my experience as a first-time Sinulog reluctant but converted reveler on the last day of my stay before I return to Manila.</span><br /><br />The plane that brought me to Cebu was already, in itself, a foretaste of what was to come. Exactly a week ago, 14 January, I took one of PAL’s early flights from Manila to Cebu. It turned out to be what I observed to be a connecting flight of Balikbayans from some place colder at this time of year. Judging from the semi-sleep starved, but at the same time, excited looks on the faces of more than middle-aged couples with younger versions of themselves in tow, a number of whom sported complexions and hair colors that the miracles of glutathione and Vicky Belo-ish attempts at extreme makeovers just could not have possibly done, I was in an international flight that was bringing home Sinulog revelers and Sto Nino devotees from many miles away the world over.<br /><br />I did not mind being crammed in a packed Airbus 320 … no … the smell of mixed plebeian and otherwise expensive perfumes did not bother someone who is allergic sick to scents of any kind. I joined the bandwagon of excitement that filled the airplane’s main cabin.<br /><br />It was obvious that people were not merely going to Cebu, like I was … They were going home … home to a city and a province madly in love with the Senor Santo Nino and what it has come to represent and mean for all of them – something that I would not see and discover until yesterday’s climactic and hair-raising experience of Sinulog fever!<br /><br />As curious as I was a little incredulous, I did a little research. In between talks I had to give, given the wired connectivity of the Sisters I was preaching to, I surfed the internet for information. And what I saw surprised me. What I saw began my ongoing education about the religious and cultural richness that Sinulog has become over the past more than 20 years!<br /><br />For one thing, the legends and myths that are attached to the miraculous image that Cebuanos so dearly love, have to do with an avowed dedication to home, a fervent attachment to what el Senor Santo Nino has always considered “home” – Cebu. Legends have it that for a number of times, the authorities then thought of bringing the statue to Manila. They tried to … and failed at least three times. They even cut off the limbs at some point … but in vain. The statue stayed stolid and stable right where it chose to consider its permanent home.<br /><br />And home is where it has stayed for 422 years. And home is where planeloads and shiploads of devotees and revelers, including fake, converted Johnny-come-latelies like this writer, is where they decided to do a grand homecoming of sorts.<br /><br />The high point of the celebration took place on the day itself. Prepared for fittingly with novenas and round-the-clock Masses in, around, out, and in joyous sympathetic celebrations with the Basilica Minore, its real home for good, Cebu flared out in a burst of colors, sounds, and explosions of passionate religious dedication, revelry, singing and pageantry that only Cebuanos could do. A fluvial parade framed picture perfect by two bridges that connected Mactan to Cebu mainland, gave the opening salvo to the massive outflowing of devotion-cum-secular celebration the day before. Prior to that, dawn masses, dawn processions, and well-celebrated Masses everywhere hammered on the theme chosen, and drove people’s expectations and spirit to the hilt.<br /><br />The Sunday, the day of the feast itself, was a big fiesta that was a “sulog” as “dako” as one could not imagine. It was a big wave (sulog) threatening to engulf all those who worked so hard, and prepared so much to realize, such that if it were not to happen, a huge wave of intense celebrations would inundate Cebu province and city all the same. And indeed, despite all the rains that poured and water that rendered every nook abd cranny of Cebu sodden and soggy, the wave of enthusiasm and the spirit of celebration had become one unstoppable huge wave of human pathos and panache that simply had to take place – come rain or shine, come hell or high water.<br /><br />This converted reveler joined the surging waves of humanity late in the day. Going to Abellana sports stadium was World Youth Day 1995 experience overwhelming me with a sense of déjà vu. I felt squeezed, pushed, and pulled from and on all sides. It was one great experience of “sinulog” in the literal sense of being carried by the waves of teeming humanity from all walks of life. Together with novices who were supposed to take me there, I was literally brought there by a swell of human emotions of excitement and determination, with thousands and thousands vying for the same exact precious spot – a much coveted seat in a stadium that could seat only 12,000 people, with perhaps hundreds of thousands, milling around, hovering around, or otherwise inching their way closer and closer to where the floats, the props, and the very colorfully dressed contingents were supposed to pass.<br /><br />I managed to squeeze myself somehow. The Johnny-Come-Lately of sinulog revelers and believers, found a standing room only spot up in the highest pinnacle of the stadium bleachers. I missed a good number of contingents, but what I saw made my hair stand on end, and brought tears to my eyes. There were those that simply stood out. The contingent from Carmen was a pleasure to behold. I thought it was well planned, well choreographed, and well-executed. But when the Lumad Basakanon came, they simply brought the house down. They did not steal the show. They must have had it right from the beginning. For people waited with hushed expectations. But I thought that the group from Ilongos, Leyte, despite being first-time contestants, also made the crowd roar, rave and rump about for utter appreciation. The group’s Broadway style antics and props, all artfully and skillfully executed, would have been enough reason for me to be there.<br /><br />The highlight of the celebrations at the stadium ended with a flair – with not just a touch of Broadway and Las Vegas. Replete with gowns, top hats and long tails in white and blue of various shades, contrasting with red and gold and a flair of feathers galore, the grandstand burst out into a vicarious and real giant partying place. To the tune of Broadway hits like “there’s nothing like show business,” the retinue swayed and sashayed artfully and gracefully, segueing at some point, almost unnoticeably, to the traditional but stylized Sinulog music that showed everyone in the whole world, that all this was happening, the fever and all, in honor of the Holy Child Jesus, represented by that tiny miraculous statue that the whole world now loves.<br />And I mean this. As a converted reveler, I know that what all this fanfare and revelry that only Cebuanos could put up, has become a world-class festival and something worth being carried away by huge waves of devotion for.<br /><br />Nahuman na ang sinulog, kapuy kaayo ku. Way na koy umoy pang mo mokuyug sa tanang mga concerts ug street shows sa ciudad. Mibuswak ang Cebu sa katawhan, bisan diin … sa Ayala, sa Fuente, sa Jones … Cebu and the rest of the world came out in full force. Tanang dalan, naay daghang tawo. Nigamay ang Cebu tungod sa Sinulog. It was bursting at the seams for love of Jesus, the Holy Child … and in return, El Senor Santo Nino … hinigugmang Sugbu!<br /><br />Pit Senyor!<br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-78474571133582491522008-01-18T11:01:00.000+08:002008-01-18T11:08:45.294+08:00CELEBRAR EN TIERRA DE SOMBRAS!<span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Conjectures of a Pensive Bystander on the Sinulog Celebrations</span><br /><br />I write from Cebu, now caught in the frenzy of <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Sinulog</span> fever! Preparations are under way for the greatest event of the year at the center of the nation-wide celebrations and fanfare associated with the <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Feast of the Santo Nino, the Holy Child Jesus.</span><br /><br />Last New Year’s eve, there may have been fewer firecrackers (the explosions and colors bursting up in the skies lasted a mere 15 minutes, at the most, in most places), and thus, fewer wounded revelers, fewer fireworks, and fewer noise and mirth-making, but you can’t take it away from the Filipino to celebrate all the same. With or without explosions and fireworks galore, the Filipino can – and does – celebrate with more than just panache and passionate dedication.<br /><br />Just look at the heavy turn-out of so-called “devotees” to the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Senor Nazareno</span>, the Black Nazarene of Quiapo, January 9 last! Organizers and kibitzers alike were right in predicting a more than normal outpouring of people. A whopping 3 million people were expected! They were wrong by only a few hundred thousands. A total of 2.6 million came to join the festivities, leaving behind a total of 14 truckloads of trash the morning after. Funny, but the devotees go by the appellation as people with <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">“panata”</span> – a Tagalog word that means a vow, a promise, a pledge to the Black Nazarene, to passionately and personally be there during the most-awaited procession <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">en masse, en grande, en tout cas, une merveille touristique! Vraiment! Sans doute! </span>Not exactly <span style="font-style: italic;">sans souci</span>, and neither an activity done with a lot of <span style="font-style: italic;">sang froid</span>! No … there is a lot of passion put into it, a lot of emotions ran thick in the hearts and veins of all those whose dream in life is to go there and touch that blessed rope that gave them instant connection to the Nazarene. No … this time, I don’t agree with Miguel de Unamuno, who once wrote, that “if a man says he loves God, yet has no red blood of passion flowing through his veins, he only loves the God-idea, not God himself.”<br /><br />Allow me to explain <span style="font-style: italic;">tout suite </span>… the 2.6 million who came armed with <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">panata</span> (does it make you wonder that it sounds almost like fanatic?) didn’t do that with an air of sang froid. They weren’t there only for a walk in the park. They weren’t there only to sip cool drinks and watch the world go by placidly. No … they were there with red blood flowing through their veins. They were there filled with a lot of love and passion. They were there on the strength of a personal promise to the Lord Nazarene, never mind if that promise holds good only for the 9th of January, never mind if all the rest of the year, that panata never crosses their minds as they go through their work-a-day life in a world filled with so much “sweat and care and cumber; sorrows passing number.”<br /><br />The beauty and the tragedy of the Filipino soul … the beauty of a people so blessed, so loved by a God of promises, and a God of fulfillment … the beauty of a people so easily taken in to anything remotely related to a God who came in flesh, a God incarnate in Jesus Christ, present, here, now, there, all ways, all days and for always.<br /><br />But the feast of the Black Nazarene, and together with it, the noisy and raucous feast of the Santo Nino, also exposes the soft underbelly of the seeming tragedy of the Filipino soul, so caught up in the shallow, superficial world of fiestas that are celebrated with absolute panache and revelrous abandon … <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">sans souci … sans doute … sans penser a tous lesquels s’agiront cette devotion, cet amour, et tous ces emotions!</span><br /><br />What does all this revelry mean for us as a people?<br /><br />Two and a half years before national elections, the fiesta atmosphere has begun. The Olympics that happens every 3 or 6 years in the Philippines, otherwise known as local or national elections, have come to full swing. The campaign season has begun. The most talked about word in the Philippines as of this time is the word that has become, at least for me, <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">addiritura, una parolaccia</span>, is “re-election.” Pundits and lawyers are having the time of their lives debating on what it means, and whether or not that most famous convict who never served time, could really run again for office.<br /><br />I live in a country of fiestas, sinulogs, ati-atihan, Nazarenos, imahens, and countless Milagros! I live in a country described by the most hated writer 20 years ago, James Fallows, as a “damaged culture.” I live in a beautiful country, populated by beautiful people, but deeply immersed in a culture of corruption, a culture of politics that has become, a big structural evil.<br /><br />I live in a country different from the country I was born in. When I was born, I would like to think, that there was more civility, more honesty, more dedication to good, old, hard work, and more national self-respect and international respectability. Alas, all that seems to have gone down the drain much too fast.<br /><br />I am preaching a series of retreats while here, caught up in the sinulog fever in Cebu. I am awed by the genuine devotion of so many, who take part in the prayers and the liturgical celebrations that abound in the center of it all. I marvel at what Cebu becomes during Sinulog time, a haven for foreigners, gawkers, kibitzers, devotees, panata armed hordes and fanatics alike, who are out to make the day a real religious one – for whatever it is worth.<br /><br />I preach to a group of unheralded heroes who do not make it to Sun Star Cebu, nor make it to the headlines. I preach to a group who has taken it their lifetime mission to take care of whom society ignores, and looks down on – the mentally sick, the psychically infirm. My duty is to explain to them their General Chapter documents, their tradition, their culture. They gave me half a dozen books to study (in Italian and Spanish and English). I fell in love with their Founder long ago, in an earlier retreat preached to the same group in Manila. I fell in love with one of their beautiful, soul-stirring document entitled <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">“pastoral en el mundo de sufrimiento psiquico.” </span><br /><br />And what I fell in love with, I share today. We live in a world that PCP II calls a world of “lights and shadows.” We are a land and people filled with beauty and tragedy. We live in a world of pain, of suffering, of problems many of them self-inflicted courtesy of a “damaged culture” and a political system gone wild, gone sinful, and raving mad – a structural evil, no less.<br />But as the Sisters’ document teaches, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">“somos llamados a celebrar en tierra de sombras.”</span> We are called, as Christian believers, to a life of celebration in a world filled with all sorts of shadows. A pesar de todas las tinieblas … a pesar de todas las sombras, nosotros creyentes Cristianos, podemos celebrar sin prenos, sin preoccupaciones, porque el Senor, El ama a nosotros sin frontieras.<br /><br />Having taught social theology for so long, this document of these unheralded heroes who work quietly <span style="font-weight: bold;">a pesar de todo</span>, convicts me and reminds me of what I have talked of so often, so passionately, and yet only half-convincingly: <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">“We live in the worst of times. We live in the best of times.” </span>(PCP II) But only if we are willing to make these times into kairos … God’s time, God’s own sweet, good time. In His time, He makes all things beautiful, in His time … In the meantime, it is good to remember that “<span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">somos llamados a celebrar en esta tierra de sombras” </span>…. We are called to celebrate in a world filled with shadows.<br /><br />Pit Senyor! Hala Bira!<br /><br />Fr. Chito Dimaranan, SDB<br />Maria Josefa Recio Therapeutic Center<br />Talamban, Cebu City, Philippines<br />January 18, 2008<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-6491168936403028932007-12-17T20:04:00.000+08:002007-12-17T20:05:28.569+08:00KALAKBAY AT KATOTO<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Kalakbay at Katoto</span> ... This is how I see and describe myself as teacher, preacher, counselor, and writer. Thirty years is a long time to be in teaching work. If there is anything I learned in those years, it is the humbling realization that lifelong learning is as much my need as my students'. Teaching may be what teachers like me do, but learning is what everybody needs to do. Teaching is unidirectional, but learning is bi-directional. Teaching is optional, but learning is an imperative for everyone.<br /><br />Lifelong learning is a journey, and even a perpetual learner like a teacher can never do it alone. A teacher may consider his/her job done once the course of instruction is completed. A lifelong learner, on the other hand, is on a pilgrim-journey with fellow learners.<br /><br />When I look back at the past three decades, I am happy to see myself as a teacher. But when I give a deeper look at life beyond those thirty years, I am awed at what I see. And what I see is the glaring truth that, at bottom, there is precious little for me to teach others, but a whole lot more for me to learn from them.<br /><br /> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Kalakbay at Katoto</span> conjures up images of one in journey with others, in this pilgrimage of faith and life. <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Kalakbay</span> connotes someone who simply journeys with others. <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Katoto</span>, on the other hand, which comes from the same Tagalog root word "<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">patoto"</span> or "path," connotes someone who, not only journeys with others, but one who shares the same pathways, onwards to a common goal, a common destination, a common calling. I have encountered so many in my little more than half-a-century of life in this world who, at some point, journeyed with me. But few among them share the same paths as I still do. I have taught and journeyed with so many past students. Somewhere along the way, they moved on, pursuing different paths in their own, ongoing life journey. I was once upon a time, their "<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">kalakbay</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">,</span>" but no longer their "<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-style: italic;">katoto</span>."<br /><br />And yet, the Gospel ideals of the journey to Emmaus continue to pose as a challenge to me as a pilgrim and as a learner. The Risen Lord did not just journey with two distressed and probably depressed disciples on their way to the uncertainties of Emmaus. He was not simply an erstwhile "<span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">kalakbay</span>." He became truly and thoroughly, their "<span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">katoto</span>." Jesus not only showed them the way. He led them to a common path of discovery and enlightenment. And that path led, not to Emmaus, but to what Emmaus stood for.<br /><br />After thirty years of "teaching," twenty-five of which were spent as a priest, I thank all those who journeyed with me and, therefore, also taught me. In a most special way, I thank all those who, by submitting themselves voluntarily to my guidance, gave meaning and substance to what I still hope to continue on becoming ... <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">KALAKBAY AT KATOTO</span>!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-8075088484033207022007-11-28T21:25:00.000+08:002007-11-29T12:54:34.590+08:00A STORY WORTH SHARING<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:12;" >I would like to re-post verbatim a story forwarded to me today. I thought that even if my regular readers may have already come across it, this anonymous piece is worth everyone's while ...<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:12;" ><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:12;" >From a Cebuano.<br /><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande;">The Basureros (From a Cebuano)<br /><br />Ever since it was diagnosed that I am having a possible heart enlargement in the last APE, I have exerted more effort to do physical exercises.<br /><br />I do jogging during week days and do long - ride mountain biking every Sunday.<br /><br />But this Sunday is a special Sunday to me. While I was on my way to<br />the mountains of Busay (cebu) hoping to strengthened my heart by this exercise, instead, I personally encountered a heart-breaking scene that changed me.<br /><br />I already passed by the Marco Polo Plaza (formerly Cebu Plaza Hotel) when I decided to stop to buy bananas at a small carenderia located along the road. I haven't taken any solid food that morning so I need fruits to have the needed energy to get to my destination - the mountain top.<br /><br />I am almost done eating with the second banana when I noticed two children across the street busily searching the garbage area. "Basureros" I said to myself and quickly turn my attention away from them to sip a small amount of water. I cared less for these kind of children actually; to make it straight, I do not like them, and I do not trust them even more.<br /><br />You see, several times I have been a victim to these kind of children who are pretending to be basureros looking for empty bottles and cans when in fact the 'plangganas' , 'kalderos', and 'hinayhays' are their favorites.<br /><br />I remember one afternoon while I was watching a Mike Tyson fight when I noticed that the TV screen suddenly became blurred. I checked outside and saw two young basureros running away with my newly installed antenna.<br /><br />Hatred may be a little bit stronger word to describe my feeling towards these basureros, but I do not like them honestly not till I met these three children.<br /><br />I was about to embark on my bike again when I heard one of the two children, a girl of about 7 or 8 of age saying aloud to the other, a 12-yr old boy, "kuya si dodong kunin mo kasi tumitingin sa mga kumain, nakakahiya, only then that I noticed a small boy standing near to me biting slightly his finger.<br /><br />He's a few inches shorter if compared to my 5 years old son (but I knew later that he's also 5 yrs. Old).<br /><br />Though he did not asked for food to anyone in the carenderia, the way he looked at the customers who were eating , enough to convinced me that he intensely craving for it. The older boy then quickly crossed the street and gently pulled out the little one who politely obeyed. As I watched the two crossing back the street to the garbage area, I heard the tindera saying "kawawa naman yung mga batang yun mababait pa naman. I learned further from the carenderia owner that the children are from a good family , both<br />parents were working before, and that their father got a stroke 3 years ago and became partially paralized and their mother died of heart attack while their father was still confined at the hospital. The parents were still in their early forties when the catastrophe happened, and the children became basureros since then to meet their daily needs and for their father's medication.<br /><br />Deeply moved by what I heard, I went to a nearby bakery and bought 20 pesos worth of bread and gave it to the children who initially refused including the little boy. "Sige lang po, salamat na lang, bibili na lang po kami mamaya kung makabenta na kami, the young girl said to me.<br /><br />I explained that they need to go home because it started to rain.<br />"Nasanay na po kami, the girl answered again.<br /><br />Again, I explained that the rain can make them sick and if they'll become sick there's no one to take care of their father. Upon mentioning their father, they nodded and accept the bread but I noticed that the older boy did not eat.<br /><br />When I asked him if he does not like the kind of bread I bought for them he smiled but as he's about to explain, the little girl, who is the more talker of them interrupted, "Linggo po kasi ngayon,pag sabado at linggo hapon lang po sya kumakain, kami lang po<br />ang kumakain ng agahan pero di na po kami kakain pagdating ng hapon si kuya lang po. Pero pag lunes hanggang biyernes, kasi may pasok, si kuya lang po nag-aagahan, kami hapunan lang pero kung marami kaming benta, kami pong lahat (kumakain) she<br />continued. "bakit kung kumain kayong lahat, hati-hatiin nyo na lang kahit kunti lang ang pagkain?<br /><br />I countered.<br /><br />The young girl reasoned out that their father wanted that her older brother to come to school with full stomachs so he can easily catch up the teacher's lessons. "Pag nagkatrabaho si kuya, hihinto kami sa pamamasura, first honor kasi sya, the little boy added proudly.<br /><br />Maybe I was caught by surprise or I am just overly emotional that my tears started to fall.<br /><br />I then quickly turned my back from them to hide my tears and pretended to pick up my bike from the carenderia where I left it.<br /><br />I don't know how many seconds or minutes I spent just to compose myself; pretending again this time that I was mending by bike.<br /><br />Finally I get on to my bike and approached the three children to bid goodbye to them who in turn cast their grateful smiles at me. I then took a good look at all of them specially to the small boy and pat his head with a pinch in my heart. Though I believe that their positive look at life can easily change their present situation, there is one thing that they can never change; that is , their being motherless. That little boy can no longer taste the sweet embrace, care, and most of all , the love of his mother forever. Nobody can<br />refill the empty gap created by that sudden and untimely death of their mother. Every big event that will happen to their lives will only remind them and make them wish of their<br />mother's presence.<br /><br />I reached to my pocket and handed to them my last 100 peso bill which I reserved for our department's bowling tournament. This time they refused strongly but I jokingly said to the girl, "suntukin kita pag hindi mo tinanggap yan. She smiled as she extended<br />her hand to take the money. "Salamat po, makakabili na kami ng gamut ni papa, she uttered.<br /><br />I then turned to the small boy and though he's a few feet away from me, I still noticed that while his right hand was holding the half - filled sack , his left hand was holding a toy ? a worn out toy car. I waved my hands and said bye bye to him as I drove towards the mountains again. Did he just found the toy in the garbage area or the toy was originally his - when the misfortune did not took place yet? - I did not bother to ask. But one thing is crystal clear to me, that inspite of the boy's abnormal life, he has not given up his childhood completely. I can sense it by the way he held and stared at his toy.<br /><br />My meeting with that young basureros made me poorer by 100 pesos. But they changed me and made me richer as to lessons of life.<br /><br />In them, I learned that life can change suddenly and may caught me flat footed. In them, I've learned that even the darkest side of life, cannot change the beauty of one's heart. Those three children, who sometimes cannot eat three times a day, were still able to hold on to what they believe was right. And what a contrast to most of us who are quick to point out to our misfortunes. In them, I've learned to hope for things when things seem to go the other way.<br /><br />Lastly, I know that God cares for them far more than I do. That though He allowed them to experience such a terrible life which our finite minds cannot comprehend, His unquestionable love will surely follow them through. And in God's own time they will win.<br /><br /></span><br /></span></span></p><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:12;" ><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span><br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-77891183592130026832007-09-27T19:35:00.000+08:002007-09-27T20:04:19.079+08:00COME ON UP, FRIEND, TO A HIGHER PLACE<span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">I have been neck deep with work and commitments this first semester. Much as I would like to write my take on the raging issues of the day - most especially the focus of our national shame - the NBN project racked with so many shadowy and intriguing deals hatched, not in smoke-filled backrooms of the corridors of power, but in the fairways of Manila and Shenzen, I simply don't have the leisure time to get around doing it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">I post a rehashed letter I wrote to friends back in 2002 ... for a change from all this serious and spiritual talk that I have on my three other blogsites.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">COME UP, MY FRIEND, TO A HIGHER PLACE!</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">June 16, 2002</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br />The largely uneventful week that brought back the stifling heat of summer was punctuated by a talk I accepted to give to a prayer group in a nearby parish in Las Pinas City. It was supposed to have been a talk on the Sacred Heart. Thinking it was a sophisticated group, I prepared my piece in English, complete with scribbled notes. As I found out later, it was an overkill. I would have been killed if I delivered my peroration in English. The crowd was as simple as can be. So I did what I think I do best at: extemporize in the language I grew up with. The makeshift lectern that could use a few more planks and nails to give more stability, more than represented how I felt at the start of the talk, with several individuals whispering to one another audibly, providing initial competition to what I was trying to say. Like the lectern that tittered and tottered on its unstable base, I was the picture of instability. I thought to myself: why on earth did I accept this talk anyway? The lady who was very active as she goaded and cajoled everyone to share in the initial portion of the meeting, a picture of ebullience and enthusiasm as she held the microphone and stood in front of the assembly, suddenly metamorphosed into a tired, expressionless heap of a face ensconced in the front pew as I took the floor. You know the type… <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">OK sila pag sila ang bida</span>. Give them the microphone and put them in the limelight and, for as long as they are the center of it all, they will be the epitome of active and enthusiastic cooperation. Take them away from center stage, and they fold up all of a sudden, unrecognizable, totally different from what they portrayed themselves to be just minutes earlier. Individuals, they are, whose ideal selves have grown faster than their real selves; their <span style="font-style: italic;">personas</span> brilliant and their true selves taking a back seat somehow.<br /><br />And then there was the recollection of the staff of Don Bosco Academy, Mabalacat, Pampanga. Soon after the talk ended at about 10 pm, I was brought home to meet with the driver who was to take me to Pampanga. I got to Mabalacat at half past midnight, straight to bed in a corner room that had funny venetian blinds that did not quite fit the windows they were supposed to cover. Somebody obviously did not do his measurements right. Pampanga may be widely known for its people’s skills and craftsmanship in terms of construction, masonry and carpentry works, but whatever Pampanga is famous for is surely not found in the convent of the SDBs in Mabalacat. Door jambs did not quite fit the doors some of which kept on jamming, for lack of precision in measurement. Tiles in the bathrooms seemed to have been laid by unsteady hands and corners and edges are, well – rough.<br /><br />I talked to the staff about <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Duc in Altum</span>, the watchword popularized by Pope John Paul II in his <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Novo Millenio Ineunte </span>of January 6, 2001. It is, of course, a topic dear to my heart, one which really strikes close to my personal experience since 1994 when we, at Canlubang adopted the motto <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">AD MAIORA NATUS</span>.<br /><br />It is, indeed, a vast ocean to which we are invited by the Lord to put out into…the deep, the vast arena of the educational apostolate. It is a call to go deep, not to remain in superficialities. It is a call to cast the nets far and wide. One wonders how our traditional works could be defended vis-à-vis this call so grand, so wide, so far-reaching. One wonders too, how, - given the mediocrity of our school apostolates, given the lack of professionalism in all aspects of Salesian works, as shown for example in the appalling lack of respect for tradition, for what went before, for what has been done before painstakingly, for the most part, given the mania of so many of us to change the face of the earth as soon as we get into power, - we shall ever move forward at all! This has been a sore point of issue decades ago, even as young practical trainees, we already saw this insane culture that equates the system with the person in charge. Change the person; change the system. Never mind the sensibilities of lay people who are after all, also part of the whole enterprise. I wonder if in future, individuals who will be given the same tasks will still have the energy to think ahead, plan and work so hard only to be sorely disappointed because one’s valiant efforts will only be thrown out the window of selfish pride and misguided individualism. Understandably, power and a good dose of the former (pride and individualism) are a dangerous combination. If service is to be equated with trampling on people’s dreams and unilaterally defining the course of history, then I would not even want to know what leadership is. And yet, you see those two 64 dollar words emblazoned all over – servant leadership! God help us with iconoclasts who pass themselves off as servants and leaders. In this fatherless generation, what we need is not so much a servant and a leader as a father who communicates, a father who listens, who guides and inspires. Technocrats who have no heart have been the bane of Philippine society for so long… for far too long…<br /><br />I write this reflection/entry to my diary on Father’s day. I got not a few thoughtful greetings to mark the day. I even got a doubly memorable advanced celebration of father’s day last June 4. <span style="font-style: italic;">Nakakataba ng puso…</span> It feels good to be affirmed precisely on that aspect of my personal vision-mission statement that has to do with paternity – something I guess that comes naturally with one’s human nature. It feels good to be reminded just how one has influenced others for the better. It feels good to be recognized for what one has been trying to do all these years – to be acknowledged as a mentor by the very persons one has been trying to mentor. Mentoring… this has been what I have been trying to do… to make a difference in people’s lives…by journeying with them in faith and life…<br /><br />The good Lord has been more than good to me. I feel – and I know He has journeyed with me all along. I thank God for the years of scouting in <span style="font-style: italic;">Mandaluyong</span>. I thank God for the countless camping trips, the innumerable “good night” talks to campers in the field, the hours spent trying to decipher the stars and the planets on a clear sky framed in a dark night, perhaps atop the foothills of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Banahaw</span>, or – undeniably the ultimate – star-gazing up on the summit of the Philippines’ second highest peak – <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Mt. Pulag</span>, on close to freezing point temperature on a January night, or a few minutes of reflection with, and for, a small group of college students up on lowly <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Maculot</span>, that for its humble stature, gave the best and most stunning view of <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Lake Taal</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Tagaytay</span> ridge on one side, and the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Batangas</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Laguna </span>plains down below on the other – all in one stupendous, breathtaking and panoramic gaze. These were unparalleled moments for me to help the young clarify their visions and dreams in life. These were precious moments for me to help them see the world and reality from different vantage points. They had been moments of deep interpersonal communion among them, between themselves and me, and with their God. They were, indeed, very literally and figuratively, moments of peak human experience. The 13 Philippine mountains that I have climbed, one of them – Banahaw – for more than 10 times, and Pulag, four times, stand as eloquent witness to what every human person, at bottom, aspires and pines for – as epitomized by a friend’s (Sid) apt paradoxical – if, poetic – statement: <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">“I climb a mountain I do not see; I run after a dream that chases me.”</span><br /><br />Who among us has not thought even once about chasing after the end of the rainbow? Westerners speak about a pot of gold sitting at the rainbow’s end. Filipinos are less materialistic. We never thought of rainbows in terms of pots of gold, did we? But all the same, we chased after the mysterious point of contact between the earth and the vast colorful bow that adorned the big blue sky on occasion. Fond of mysteries, Filipinos prefer to look at rainbows as unfolding an endless list of potential surprises for the ardent seeker. We Filipinos are still seeking for that nameless surprise. We are still searching, all over…Is it any surprise that we Filipinos are found in more than 90 countries all around the globe, including the vast and utterly cold icy steppes of Alaska? Is it any wonder that we Filipinos, ever so hopeful, ever so patient, could still afford to wait and wait with a smile for something to turn up, at the end of a long fight with cancer, at the end of a long struggle to get a degree, to finally get our rightful niche under the sun, even in places where the sun never shines? Is it any surprise that we Filipinos are ever so resilient, so optimistic? Is it any surprise that for us, for many of us, hope springs eternal in a very real sense? How else could literally millions of Filipinos with hardly anything, bear up with so much hardship and discomfort and utter want – and still be capable of smiling? How else explain the sight, repeated in so many places all over the country almost to the day, of a young emaciated mother waiting patiently umbrella in one hand, and her sick child on the other, out in the open in the oppressive heat of a summer’s day, hoping against hope, that her employer would happen to pass by, perchance to rescue her child who has been suffering diarrhea for all of five days? Can anybody tell me how, with all our problems as a people, we can still afford to set aside time and precious little money for prayer and celebration?<br /><br />Every Filipino, like me, is climbing a mountain he does not see. We all pine for something more; something better; something nobler. That same longing chases us; that same dream goads us on. I would like to think this is all about the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">DUC IN ALTUM</span>, the Holy Father is talking about. It sits right there in the heart of every Filipino. It definitely is present in the heart of the 8 or 9 million Filipinos overseas. This is what <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">AD MAIORA NATUS </span> is all about, too. It is all about forging ahead; moving on; dreaming on; burning on. It is all about hoping as every Filipino can – and does!<br /><br />As I write, my thoughts race back to the many who have journeyed with me through all the mountains of my life: real and figurative, including one who, at one very treacherous point in <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Kabayan</span> coming down from <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pulag</span>, back in 1989, I had to slap because he was demoralizing the group with his openly expressed fear fast turning into panic. I look back at the so many who have given me a hearing despite their initial lack of understanding perhaps. I think about all those who chose to follow me closely as I shared with them my own homespun brand of life technology. Life 101, the first of a series of courses on meaningful human living – the kind of life technology I, too, learned at the feet of the mentors of my youth in <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mendez, Makati, Bacolor, Canlubang, Mayapa, Mandaluyong, Rome</span> and the <span style="font-weight: bold;">US</span> was what I strove to pass on, up on Pulag’s summit, or down in the cramped conference rooms of Canlubang, to the young boys, now turned into men of integrity and responsibility in their own right. It is now their turn to do their own brand of mentoring, of leading, of opening up a whole new world of visions and dreams that would make for a better world, a better life, a nobler existence and a deeper communion with the supreme master and leader who once told us: <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">“Come up, my friend, to a higher place!”</span> (Lk 14:10)<br /><br /><br />%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Duc in Altum</span>. It literally means, <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">“Put out into the deep.”</span> It is taken from the Gospel passage from Luke that recounts the disciples’ unsuccessful attempts at catching fish all through the night. In the early morning the Lord showed himself and told the disciples to cast the nets once more for a catch, out in the deep. The disciples did catch a big number of fish after they followed the Lord. Duc in Altum, was the watchword suggested by Pope John Paul II in his apostolic letter <span style="font-style: italic;">Novo Millenio Ineunte</span> of Jan. 6, 2001. At a reenvisioning of the Don Bosco Seminary early in 2001, the staff and the seminarians adopted the same as the motto of Carreno House (Don Bosco Seminary). The same motto was adopted later by Bishop Francesco Panfilo, SDB when he was appointed Bishop of Alotau-Sideia of Papua New Guinea.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ad Maiora Natus</span>. This literally means “born for greater things.” At an institutional reflection held at Don Bosco College Seminary in 1994, this motto was adopted for the school, principally at the suggestion of yours truly, as I was instrumental also for the adoption of <span style="font-weight: bold;">PRO DEO ET PATRIA</span> for Don Bosco Technical College, in Mandaluyong, back yet in 1987. This last means “for God and country.”<br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-76439963783196019202007-08-16T21:28:00.000+08:002007-08-16T21:33:36.162+08:00CHICAGO! CHICAGO!<span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">N.B. I am posting a journal entry I wrote on August 13, 2003 in Chicago, a little before I left for Baltimore, MD.</span><br /><br /><br />The great “Windy city,” the seat of two of the world’s tallest buildings, the famed city by the Lake of Michigan, immortalized in verse by Carl Sandburg, has some connections with what Manila once upon a time was known for – the place by the historical Pasig river, the place to be seen in for anyone who was somebody in times past. Those were glorious days for Manila, as Chicago once had, for the two cities which shared a common reality of being originally built to fit the contours of a river, were both planned by the same great city planner by the name of Burnham, the same name from whom the once famous park in Baguio takes its name.<br /><br />Escolta in Manila, the other wide avenues leading to it, and the once beautiful bridges crossing the Pasig were reminiscent of the road and bridges that line and cross the meandering route of the Chicago river,<br /><br />Alas, the great windy city has left Manila huffing and puffing for dear life, unable and unwilling perhaps to run alongside its great Burnham counterpart, after the latter steadily kept up decades of planned and disciplined development which have catapulted Chicago to the level of a world-class city that it is now, and has been for many, many years.<br /><br />The first time I saw Chicago was 19 years ago. I got back to it seven times more since I first set foot to it in the autumn of 1984. Already great by then by any standard, I thought it paled in comparison to Tokyo in a number of aspects, including the fact that, then, old, big and decrepit looking cars still plied the expansive roads and expressways that crisscross the huge city. The elevated railway system, obviously the forerunner of the more modern, more quiet and more efficient light rail system, known simply by Chicagoans as the L, perched as it was on ugly steel pylons, already then, struck me as making such a racket when it passes, making enough noise for it to be featured in that great American play “12 Angry Men.” Right inside the so-called “loop,” that set of blocks in the heart of downtown Chicago where the L makes a tortuous and rackety path, encompasses what used to be, and still is, the posh financial district of the city, where Old St. Mary’s Catholic Church once stood, proudly, albeit forlornly, dwarfed as it was for decades by high rises that date back to the 19th century and early 20th century. Old St. Mary’s along with the Paulist fathers who took pastoral care of the very fluid parish community, recently bowed down to the march of progress. They moved farther down south of the romantic and beautiful Michigan avenue, thus effectively moving away from the loop. De Paul University has recently acquired the land and building. It is almost sure that the old structure, ugly now by modern standards will soon pave the way for a more modern edifice worthy of the neighborhood.<br /><br />Chicago now has gone light years ahead of Manila. Faithful to the far-ranging vision of its planner, Burnham, the city has kept up the ante of a city with political will and a sense of healthy pride to put its best foot forward all the time. State street, that divides downtown between east and west, now is all lined with a median that is abloom with flowers all through the year except winter. The wide sidewalks on both sides of the main thoroughfares belong to who ought to have them in the first place – the pedestrians. This summer, as in every summer, hordes of walking tourists and city dwellers saunter about in peace, knowing that the sidewalk belongs only to them and to one else. Seeing-eye dogs, who guide the blind, are just the only welcome competitor, most of the time, belonging to my favorite breed, Labrador retrievers, who seem to enjoy working for their beloved master, guiding them through the maze of streets and people and bistros and dogs of other breeds.<br /><br />The sight of it all made me pine for the city I used to look forward going to – Manila by the bay…Manila by the river, more specifically that place where Berg’s department store was, Escolta. It was then a city that had enough self-esteem to bring out the best in its inhabitants and visitors alike. Streets were clean. People, as a matter of principle, did not spit out onto the pavement continuously. It was the place to enjoy simple but tasty fare in any of the clean eateries that dot Avenida and Carriedo nearby. The river was not polluted as it is now. And yes, the sidewalk belonged to the lowly, but respectable pedestrian. Manila was a glorious walking city by choice, or need, where everyone and anyone could enjoy a piece of whatever it was that the big city could offer.<br /><br />Chicago has gone from good to better in these 19 years! A big cosmopolitan city, one sees and hears various colors and tongues from every corner of the world. It was a surprise for me to note that Hispanics now openly speak Spanish everywhere. Asians chatter and gesticulate in the language they grew up with. Even police officers, once the guarded turf of tall and true-blooded Caucasians, now include in their ranks considerably shorter and less fair complexioned members,<br /><br />For all this, Chicago did not lose its political will to grow and glow!<br /><br />Enjoying a city such as Chicago does have its downside… I am reminded of its exact antithesis back home. Chicago represents what Manila could have been, could still be, but is very clearly not so. It is heartening to note, however, that the present administration, obviously endowed with the same worthy dream, vision, and a lot of healthy self-love and self-respect, tries its best to lift the “ever loyal city” of Manila from the doldrums of neglect and disorder.<br /><br />The battle is a gargantuan one of galactic proportions. The greatest battle, needless to say, resides in the hearts and minds of the teeming millions who now reluctantly think and speak of Manila as their home.<br /><br />This pilgrim learner, part of whom seems to belong and part of whom seems not to belong, is even more challenged and encouraged to go back home where I really belong, there to be part of a growing number of individuals who now take up the cudgels to help make the city worth its name. The ongoing circus at the Senate, the most likely circus that will take place in Congress, sooner or later, the endless vicious cycle of coups and self-serving ambitions that go under the guise of unalloyed love for God, country and people, all these funny crimes whom nobody pays for in the long run … nothing of all these can discourage or disparage the well-meaning army of visionaries and dreamers who, like Burnham, still go on dreaming and working – and pay very steep prices for their dreams.<br /><br />Chicago! Chicago! That is what people here shout out with pride. Manila! Manila! This is what, we, too, cry out in hope!<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-65910901664512340702007-07-23T20:45:00.000+08:002007-07-23T20:49:05.241+08:00PADRES, FRIARS, FREEDOM, AND FREE ENTERPRISE<span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">N.B. I am posting a journal entry I wrote back yet on July 8, 2004, a part of a collection which I collectively called "JULY JAUNTS."</span><br /><br />July literally rocks! It opens with more than just a bang. It flashes, and shines, and glows as all of America celebrates its more than two hundred years of independence. Fireworks galore, as only Americans can put up, explode simultaneously in many cities of the United States on July 4, in a flurry of bursting lights and colors, accompanied by a flourish of bands, symphonies, and concerts star-studded by all available popular icons of the big entertainment center that is America. Hotels, casinos, beaches, restaurants, parks, bayside and seaside boardwalks, and just about any available temporary refuge away from home, work, and worries are booked solid and filled to overflowing.<br /><br />I must say I had been part of the crowds that clogged the freeways, and added to the mountains of trash created by those who took advantage of the long week-end getaway.<br /><br />With my last early summer course over and done with at Loyola, with the cool, nippy spring weather fading into a distant memory in muggy and humid Baltimore, I definitely deserved a break from all the feverish studying, reading and writing. The timing was perfect. My niece was due to cap her fourteen years of violin lessons, and six years of formal piano lessons with a concert-recital, an occasion that was timed with her 18th birthday celebrations last June 26. It was a perfect opportunity for a quick swing off to sunny but comfortably cool Northern California, a good 5 hours direct flight away from BWI (Baltimore-Washington International Airport).<br /><br />The traditional Filipino Hispanic inspired cotillion waltz that opened the debutante’s dinner-party was a sight to behold. The members of the court were all Americans save three who have some kind of Filipino heritage. Seeing them in their jusi barongs (a native formal attire for men) and native-Filipino-inspired gowns (all specially tailored and stitched in Paranaque), had an air of odd, but pleasant, and welcome incongruity. It was a perfect example that friendship knows no cultural nor racial barriers. The wonder is that they all endured the many long and tedious hours of rehearsals under the capable direction of a Filipino-American couple whose passion is dancing. My niece’s members of the “court,” along with other friends, prevailed upon her to put up the “cotillion de honor,” after having seen a video tape presented by her in class in a course that talked about different cultures and practices all over the world. In exchange, they promised to be faithful to the rehearsals and to help set up the party.<br /><br />Put it up magnificently and well, they did. From an observer’s viewpoint, however, their performance of the Todo, Todo line-dancing sequence leaves much to be desired in terms of gracefulness, but all the same, it was worth all the long hours of practicing and pirouetting.<br /><br />After the party, my niece was scheduled to join the annual Music Teachers’ Association of California convention, one of the 1,500 out of 30,000 music student-participants from all over the state who applied and passed the competitive exams, held at San Diego, CA.<br /><br />That was another opportunity for me to tag along and be part of the mass exodus of long-weekenders for the Independence Day celebrations.<br /><br />The trip down Highway 5 to southern California seemed less exciting than previous ones done years back. Somehow, the road seemed more bumpy, less taken care of, and the drive less pleasant. (Does all the money go to finance the Iraq and Afghanistan wars? What happened to the famed American clock-work efficiency at maintenance?) What made it exciting though, was the possibility of making a swing for Simi Valley, where just two weeks before, Reagan was buried right on the grounds of his Presidential Library. Of course, the library is opened only for serious researchers with a purpose, not gaping tourists like everyone who flocked to it seemed to be! The museum was not particularly interesting. They were just memorabilias and a massive collection of trinkets associated with Ron and Nancy Reagan’s closely intertwined lives. As an avid reader and a writing aficionado, though, I felt a certain emotional affinity with Ronald Reagan, whose speeches and personal letters definitely show a man who was very articulate, well-read, and who had a certain flair for writing. He, indeed, lived the epithet ascribed to him as the great communicator in more ways than one. Incidentally, during his state funeral, I was struck by the undeniable fact that both Thatcher and Mulroney read very finely written eulogies, delivered with perfect oratorical cadence, and couched in excellent, elegant prose that overshadowed the very plebeian, amateurish pieces delivered by Bush, Sr. and Bush, Jr. (oftentimes referred to rather disparagingly as Dubya). The highlight of the museum, at least for me, was the exact replica of the oval office, arranged exactly the way it had been during his eight years as President, down to the last details, including the view from the windows.<br /><br />Approaching the sprawling city of LA, what surprised me were the new “developments” taking place in what I thought would not become residential areas – steeply sloping hills that used to be dotted, not by upscale residential homes, but by sparse vegetation usually found in the semi-arid conditions of southern California. The trip through the Highway 405 that hugged the coastline and crisscrossed the entire city reminded me of the traffic conditions of EDSA. We spent almost three hours just getting through 405 on the way further south to San Diego. For all the much ballyhooed freeway system of California considered as among the most extensive of its kind in the world, congestion remains a formidable challenge in one of America’s most traffic-clogged cities (along with Chicago, New York, Washington, DC, Dallas, and others). Incidentally, in Baltimore, I see that there are drivers who behave more like Filipino drivers in Manila. At the 695 beltway that rings the city of Baltimore, where traffic ordinarily gets congested during morning and afternoon rush hours, there are drivers who are learning the art of “cutting” and “weaving in and out” of lanes – practices that Filipino drivers (especially jeepney, taxi, and bus drivers), have elevated to the level of skilled artistry, if not an Olympic sport in the Philippines.<br /><br />I have always maintained that human behavior is for the most part dictated by need. Space being basically limited, the solution to the traffic problem depends upon the availability of more space, more resources, and more money. But more resources lead to more and bigger cars. Development necessarily entails the need for more and more roads. The vicious cycle goes on.<br /><br />This model just cannot go on forever. No, not even in America, as the growing traffic problems everywhere seem to suggest. The paradigm simply has to change. Mass transit will have to part of the planning now, not in the future. But will America put a stop to its love affair with the automobile that is the modern symbol of its culture of rugged individualism, personal freedom, and mobility? Will America learn from the growing phenomenon of more and more places saying no to the dumping of garbage in the technically flawed system of landfills? Not in my backyard … even if trash is created right within people’s homes.<br /><br />San Diego … a city that sits on sloping hills, a city of towering and crisscrossing highway interchanges, a hotel-studded entertainment and convention center that hugs the Pacific coastline that used to be part of what was known as Alta California (as distinct from the Baja California that belongs to Mexico), is also home to the 48 year old, but still awesome aircraft carrier USS Midway!<br /><br />Hotel Circle, a cluster of well-known and lesser known hotels just a few miles south of downtown was abuzz with excited musicians from all over California that Independence Day long weekend. Watching the whiz kids banging on the piano keyboard with absolute panache and self-confidence was entertainment enough for me. It was a wonder to me whether they were doing anything more than piano playing. What struck me most was the egregious fact that the great majority of them were chinky eyed children of Asian descent. Among us, we jokingly remarked that some of those might have been tied to their pianos by their parents to make them practice for five hours a day.<br /><br />Just a few miles further south of San Diego is National City, the turf of Jollibee, Chowking, Red Ribbon, PNB, and other familiar joints in the Philippines. But this is America! National City, a short hop away from the navy ports, naturally and gradually became the enclave of Filipino US navy men and their families. As we munched on chicken joy with rice (the portions here are bigger than back home), we watched as cars passed by the main thoroughfare. We saw only an occasional Caucasian at the wheels or in the passenger seat. Most of those who passed by were – you guessed it right – pinoy at pango, like us. Banners hanging on lamp posts featuring the American flag are emblazoned with “Welcome” and “Mabuhay.” And yes, posters in the Filipino eating places announce the forthcoming concert of Dolphy and Zsa-Zsa Padilla. We ended up in Jollibee after a futile search for the restaurant named “Manila’s Best.” What we found was a “turo-turo” whose fare, like almost all Filipino restaurants in America, did not look appetizing. Food oozed or was literally smothered in grease, haphazardly placed in warmers that stood behind glass lined counters. I swore that for a while, I thought I was in Cubao, or Pasay near LRT stations, desperately wanting a hot meal after a long drive in Manila-like summer weather. Hindi bale na lang!<br /><br />San Diego happens to be the site of the first Catholic mission started by the prolific Franciscan missionary named Junipero Serra. Mission San Diego de Alcala definitely brought character and color to San Diego, vestiges and signs of which are still evident nominally, at least. The baseball team calls itself the San Diego Padres. Roads and places betray the religious origins of the city: Escondido, El Centro, Friars’ Road, Coronado Island, and a whole lot more.<br /><br />Few people who live now in San Diego, or for that matter all over California, are now willing to give credit to Junipero Serra’s vision and mission. The ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), an ultra liberal and anti-Christian group recently succeeded in removing the cross from the emblem of LA county. They also have managed to remove the ten commandments from a court in Alabama. Now they want to remove the “San” from San Pedro, Santa Clarita, Santa Rosa, San Francisco, San Luis Obispo, San Pablo, San Jose, etc. all in the name, at least overtly, of the doctrine of separation between Church and State. Funny how some people could be so allergic to what they call the dogmatist church and religions, and act so dogmatically and doggedly against any external sign and show of religiosity. Curiously enough, no one among them talks about removing the image of the goddess Pomona in the same emblem. No one talks of renaming Pomona boulevard in LA.<br /><br />For all their protestations, however, history cannot be unwritten. History cannot be changed. And history shows very clearly how the very freedom they now invoke to fight against religion, was laid down in its foundations by “padres” and “friars” like Blessed Junipero Serra, even as historically, America’s founding fathers decreed the doctrine of separation of Church and state, precisely to safeguard the right of religion and religious groups to exist in what was then known as the confederate states. Take and read any history book, whether religiously inspired or not, and see the historical truth that juts out incontrovertibly. It was people like these padres, these friars, people sent as missionaries by Holy Mother the Church, that stand at the bottom, and that constitute the foundation of democratic freedom, personal liberty, and, ultimately, free enterprise.<br /><br />History does not lie. And intelligent people are not blind, except those who would not see.<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-38059914650599849952007-07-02T19:10:00.000+08:002007-07-02T20:27:53.273+08:00THE MANY FANTASTIC TRICKS WE DO BEFORE HIGH HEAVENS<span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >The much awaited "muse" does not come my way these days. I don't know why. A great many ideas about what to write on cross my mind each and every single day, but so many things stand in the way, both real and imagined.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >I want to write about my favorite pet peeve - the political shenanigans in my country. But I refrain from doing so as I get so worked up I end up raising the level of my palpitations, instead of prayerful thoughts.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >My readers will have to make do with rehashed thoughts, taken from my digital storehouse. I repost a journal entry dated March 14, 2004. I wrote it when the weather back in Baltimore, MD couldn't wait to be called spring, but, like us people who keep on hemming and hawing, pushing and pulling at one and the same time, it kept on falling back to winter, in nature's version of people who can't seem to get decided ever on what they want to be and do.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >I originally entitled it MARCH MADNESS. The heading above was originally only the sub-title. News from Great Britain these past days are full of the recent terroristic madness that this journal entry back in 2004 also partly refers to - the infamous Marzo Once! In the local scene, well-intentioned dragons raise a hue and a cry about the dress code in Catholic churches in the Manila Archdiocese. (Thanks, Kay, for writing so nicely about it!). In the parish where I celebrate Mass regularly, people consistently arrive late - mostly during the time of the readings. Some even have the nerve to enter triumphantly and with perfect insouciance, during my homily. The British are changing their tunes today. No ... those who perpetrated the dastardly explosions were not "home-grown" terrorists, like as if it really mattered whether they were home-grown or not, like as if dying would be any less cruel and meaningless if they were not home-grown! Ahh, ubinam gentium sumus!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Here's the dated entry ...</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:lucida grande;" >MARCH MADNESS:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:lucida grande;" >THE MANY FANTASTIC TRICKS WE DO</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">“Man, proud man, dressed in a little, brief authority does such fantastic tricks before high heavens, as make the angels weep.”</span> (Shakespeare)<br /><br />March, at least in the so-called temperate zone, is a ripe time for all sorts of mania and madness. The weather goes raving mad, for one, ranging from summery sweltering highs to shivering, shuddering lows; from bright, brilliant sunshines, to gloomy, lowering and gloweringly menacing clouds threatening icy rain, slush, and late sleet and snow – all in rapid succession within a short span of time.<br /><br />An epic struggle takes place between receding but proud winter, and hopeful, if excited spring, at this time of year, with the latter all raring to burst into glorious, glowing new life. A clash between the dark and dreary dead of winter on the one hand, and the light and lusty life-giving promise of spring takes place every day as the mercurial and the barometric sensors that plummet down as quickly as they shoot up all too clearly show.<br /><br />The much awaited spring is a time for renewal, excitement, promise and endless possibilities. It could, alas, also be a time for disappointment, pain, and uncertainty. Will spring make good the hope it engendered all through the cold of winter? Will spring come in and make the most awaited and popular cherry trees burst forth into breathtaking blossoms in Tokyo and Washington, D.C.? Will spring dispel the slumbering ideals of a people whose hopes may have gelled into silent cynicism and quiet desperation, turned gelid and cold by the anemic and icy dedication of people who once were live and burning flames of idealism and brilliant leadership? Will the onset of spring in late March erase forever the unsavory reputation of the “ides of March” that brought Julius Caesar to his dreaded doom? Will all the muck-raking and mudslinging that seems to be de rigueur before elections (in the U.S. and in the Philippines) lead to a May-time of gladsome thanksgiving and celebrations or to a numbingly real November that soon paves the way to another “winter of discontent?”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Madness of Marzo Once</span><br /><br />The series of well-coordinated explosions that rocked three separate trains over in Madrid, Spain on the eerily timed late winter morning of March 11, 911 days after the infamous 9/11 massacre made mince meat of a hopeful world’s best efforts at living a normal, peaceful life. The “ides of March” have once-more sealed the fate of a month now more known for madness and mania than for anything else. The cold-blooded massacre’s “success” was only surpassed by its utter madness. With all due respect to T.S. Eliot, March, not April, has become “the cruelest month,” (cf. The Wasteland) cruel in many ways more than just one. March began the war in search for weapons of mass destruction last year, a further addition to the piling reasons for mankind to do more of what, ironically, in people’s linear thinking style, war was designed to do – to keep peace. Did you get it right? To keep peace. Here we are face to face with the madness of Marzo Once. But here, we are face to face, too, with the madness that made Marzo Once and all the terroristic bombings and killings taking place all over the world, even as I write, a very attractive solution to a problem that the world has not fully defined.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">The Madness of Linear Thinkers</span><br /><br />A well-meaning father, seeing his two sons quarreling one day, asked a typical linear thinker’s brilliantly logical question: “Who started this fight?” Of course, the stronger of the two brothers, the “top dog,” immediately quipped: “It all started when he hit me back!” Linear thinking is a worldwide brain epidemic that has attacked the most intelligent people in the world: from presidents to priests, from businessmen to bums. Every problem must have a cause. To solve a problem one must root out the cause and eradicate that cause. As the two kids unmistakably show, even with adults like us, it is always somebody else’s fault. And the stronger one almost always wins, even before the fight actually starts.<br /><br />In a system, such as every family, every society, every community is, the question as to who is at fault is immaterial. In a macro system such as the worldwide society, the simplistic search for who ought to be punished and banished, at some point becomes ludicrous. Should the people in the third world now be punished for air pollution and the consequent global warming because they have no sufficient legislation in place? Should people in corrupt governments and societies replace one government after another by putting up one revolution after another, thus, creating a banana republic in the process? (as what happens in Haiti which could very well happen in the Philippines, too!) Should everyone disappointed and despondent now in both countries flee like rats would escape a sinking ship? All this reminds me of the ultimate linear question that made Mel Gibson’s movie The Passion of the Christ ultimately earn millions at the stills. “Who put Jesus Christ to death?” “Who is responsible for his being put to death on the cross?” Linear thinkers have a ready answer for it, depending on what side of the faith universe they are. The Jews wouldn’t have any part of it. The Romans, for the most part, (in Italy) have long since thrown their faith out in the Tiber to really care a hoot about who’s ultimately responsible. The media are only busy hyping the ante so that the controversy could earn them the coveted almighty dollar. The theologians and Biblical scholars have got their hands full answering the same questions put to them ad nauseam. The pseudo-theologians and the soft-liberal pastors that dot the American religious landscape all have a series of “theological issues” to raise against the movie. The extreme rightists lose no time propagating the movie, if for nothing else, to propagate their brand of Christianity that bases itself a whole lot on feelings.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Melange Mania </span><br /><br />In the mélange of culture, races, ethnic groups, religions, creeds and political groups of various persuasions that constitutes the changing face of America, every question, every issue, no matter how small and insignificant occasions, a group of impassioned supporters pro and con. People talk about the GIRM (General Instruction on the Roman Missal) but people continue doing what they think is best. The magisterium is pretty clear on a whole lot of issues, but the culture of pluralism almost forces people to adopt their own positions. The GIRM is clear on the exact manner of giving communion, but as usual, the “soft liberals” have their own version. The ultra-rightists, who appear more to be followers of the heretic Jansen than catholics have their own determined way of receiving communion, prostrating themselves like Veronica at the foot of the priest (why don’t they carry a portable communion rail?). Now, here’s hoping you don’t get me wrong. I am not a stickler for details just for the sake of details, but at the rate we are getting polarized into two irreconcilable camps (the extreme left and the extreme right) I begin to sense a lurking danger. What happens now to the living and teaching Church – represented by the official Magisterium? If every theologian of both persuasions can decide for himself what is the orthodox teaching on any topic, then what do we make of the voice of the living Magisterium?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">Polarization Madness</span><br /><br />I have always maintained that the Church is harmed immensely by both the ultra conservatives and the ultra progressives. Both have their own brand of theology. Both think that their theology is parallel to the Magisterium. Both think that they have the ultimate word on a whole lot of things. Both are rigid … and rigidity is associated with death – as in rigor mortis! When theology thinks and behaves like it is above the Magisterium, then theology loses its meaning, its purpose, its very reason for existing. For some ultra conservative groups, legitimate devotion is made a stepping stone for some strange teachings (when will these groups ever tire of re-setting the scheduled and dreaded “three days of darkness?”), substituting unhealthy fear for love of God and healthy attachment to the living community of believers. For many ultra progressives, the Holy Father is not “postmodern” enough, not in touch with reality, not in pace with the modern ways of the world, and therefore still lives in the Middle Ages, etc.<br /><br />A frightening prospect lies behind both extremes. The implication is shuddering to think of – that the guidance of the Holy Spirit promised to the living Church is no longer in what we know as the Church. Push it a little further and the ultimate implication is unmistakable … the true teaching lies now in this little, funny group who preaches the modern version of “fire and brimstone,” or that happy, fellowship-inspired group who makes of the Mass nothing more, nothing else, and nothing less than a time to sing together, a time for horizontal mirth-making, with a few “pious readings” thrown in for good measure, and please … no mention of any Papal encyclicals, for God’s sake! (And avoid all talk of those strange topics called “hell” or “purgatory” “sin,” or “abortion.” Just wait for next year’s Pro-Life march at the national Mall!) By their “additions” or “deletions” to and from the official orthodox teaching, through overemphasis on one aspect or under emphasis on some others, both groups ultimately do harm to the integrity of the faith. A scholastic philosophical dictum comes to mind here: goodness comes from the totality and badness comes from whatever detracts from that integrity (Bonum ex integra cause; malum ex quocumque defectu.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">Munching Mania</span><br /><br />The U.S. Secretary of Health made an appearance on national TV two weeks ago with this ominous sentence: “We are just too darned fat, ladies and gentlemen.” Well, he was talking to about 130 million Americans, 65 % of the total population who are, … well, just that - “too darned fat.” There was immediate response from the fast-food giants – (everything in America is “big” … ever wondered why one of the biggest food stores is called “Giant?”) something that the business world has been doing for decades now all over the world … downsizing. No more supersize fries; no more supersize soda. Afraid of being sued again for enabling people to get fatter than they would like, they made a mad rush toward more realistic portions.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Paranoid Madness</span><br /><br />Martha Stewart made the “wrong move at the wrong time.” For not telling the truth when the right time asked for it, she was booked mercilessly and stands to spend “vacation time” in jail. The multi-millionaire and undisputed “domestic diva” for more than a decade, who wanted to save a measly 51,000 dollars by dumping her stocks, now has lost millions – and still counting! Paranoid America is booking everyone for every imaginable infraction of the law. What Giuliani did to beautify and put New York City back in its former glory, federal America now is doing. A pervasive paranoia now seeps through the cultural, religious, political atmosphere. (The Church has a lot to contribute to this paranoia with the pedophilia scandal). After 9/11, one cannot anymore do whatever one wants. Travelers, including those with the once respected “laissez passer” document, can be subjected to on the spot checks, and be handcuffed, if for no fault of their own, their name matches any of the thousands in their huge data base. As a student here, I have to prove to the government that I am really enrolled full time in school. The SEVIS on-line computer tracking system for students put in place just last year has an intricate system of monitoring which makes the school accountable if one of its students has been doing other things. For me to go out of the country temporarily, I will have to “inform” the government. Going back in, everyone is fingerprinted and photographed, and once back, has to report once more to the same office.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">Mania for more Roads</span><br /><br />A recent study showed that traffic has steadily worsened in the major cities all over the United States. L.A.,Baltimore and Washington D.C. areas are among the worst. So, too, are Chicago, SFO and Houston. More roads are being planned. Again, linear thinking mode has set in. Space is basically limited and no matter how big America is, soon, with the rapid growth of population, with the lavish life style getting more and more lavish and comfort-bound, there will be more and more demands for bigger and bigger houses, bigger and bigger cars, and more and more roads. More roads will fuel more development, more trash, more demand for natural resources, for more space. Soon, we will be back to where we started. The model just cannot go on like this forever. Sooner than we think, America will have to think more along the lines of mass transit, instead of each one having a car. Fossil fuels are not increasing by the day. They are not replenishable. Already, the prices of gasoline, arguably the cheapest in all the world, has gone up steadily over the past weeks and months, and expected still to go up like mad.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Mania for Cults</span><br /><br />America is a haven for all sorts of newfangled cults whether home grown or coming from foreign shores. At this point in time, there are at least 630 known cults being watched by the FBI and by relevant Church authorities. (Ever wondered why these foreign cults love to go to the first world, and not to other third world countries? Because there’s oodles of money here, and plenty of gullible people to invite.) A number of them are no less than destructive (remember Waco, Jim Jones, and that group that all wore expensive sneakers before they all followed their leader to mass suicide?). Some others look as benign as sheep being led to the slaughter, flowing robes and all. What’s common among them is the gradual process of subtle deception that at some point makes the unsuspecting proselyte reach a snapping point after which he or she would have a progressively lower level of cult awareness. Through a variety of very smart and subtle tactics designed to work over the long haul, like meditation and prayer, they work towards a gradual involuntary form of slavery, where the candidate becomes mesmerized and enamored through the mechanism of idealization, of a leader or guru, as the case may be, who soon assumes, or is accorded, an ideal “fatherly” or “motherly” image. Emotional and psychological deficits unaddressed since childhood, get capitalized by these very smart leaders who start out by not rustling feathers. Other tactics go by the very popular low-carb or healthy options that attract immediate followers – to go vegetarian or vegan – something not bad in itself and actually healthy, but which over the long haul, may lead to the candidate’s being robbed of protein. The protracted diet then contributes to overall vulnerability and further suggestibility. Weekends of prayer meetings then turn into weeks of indoctrination, until one loses all sense of perspective about daily life and daily reality. The conditions for subtle abuse are created. Soon fatigue, loss of identity and confusion set in. The person soon becomes a card-bearing member of the cult and becomes a perfect come-on for others, who like them, may still be looking for something they missed in childhood – an ideal father or mother figure. Mind control is the ultimate aim of this very subtle cultic madness.<br /><br />Some Christian sects are not beyond using the same tactics, by the way. Once one is in, there is a very real, strong, and pervasive control system that makes it hard for the member to go against the grain or sing a different tune. (Some even have a way of checking not only a person’s weekly attendance for worship, but also how much one gives to the collection box!). Similarly, some so-called covenanted communities may also be led by very controlling and manipulative “elders” who never step down from their office, and who have a way of controlling even the feelings of their members, and certainly, their behavior. (Some ultra conservative leaders of groups in the catholic Church capitalize a lot on fear of eternal damnation, and talk endlessly of reparation for sins, thus making their hearers and followers always feel unnecessarily guilty for not praying all 20 mysteries of the rosary, or not doing the overnight adoration, or not fasting three times a week, to cite just a few examples.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">Ultimate Madness</span><br /><br />The many fantastic tricks we do before high heavens, ultimately boil down to the ultimate madness. The “who” question that wanted to put imputability and blame to whoever was responsible for the death of Christ, was really the wrong question. It was not primarily “who” but “what.” Sinfulness, such as only free human beings like us can do, along with human weakness, the “broken nature” part of our being human, is what is behind all this ultimate madness – the unacknowledged and repressed anger that shows itself as perpetual apparent goodness, the deficits that accrued from our less than perfect life history, all normal parts of growing up human but which unfortunately never reached the level of awareness and acceptance. This is the answer. Having found the answer, there is no longer need to ask the “who” question. For all of us, who “have fallen short of the glory of God,” as St. Paul puts it, have all been busy making “the angels weep.”<br /><br />Dundalk, MD - March 14, 2004<br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-46933474201957081322007-06-18T07:56:00.000+08:002007-06-18T08:02:02.158+08:00OF CACOPHONOUS CICADAS & CONTEMPLATIVE CHANTS<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Once more I am revisiting an old journal entry, written three years ago, on the Feast of St. John the Baptist, June 24, 2004. When I wrote this, cicadas made a comeback in the Northeastern portion of the United States. This year, after also 17 years, cicadas are back with a vengeance in the Midwestern portion of the US. I grew up very familiar with cicadas back home in Mendez, Cavite (when it was still heavily wooded, and when life was simpler). I am reposting this entry for posterity.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Cicadas Come and Gone</span><br /><br />This year’s (2004) northeastern U.S. seaboard’s weather has been a story of coming and going. Spring went away as fast as it came, bringing relatively warm, wet, and at times, sultry and muggy weather in its place. It was bad for people who engaged in a once-yearly battle of allergic proportions with pollen. The air was sodden with moist pollen all night and all day, bringing in its wake itchy noses, itchy eyes, and icky throats that left a sour note on the optimism of much-awaited spring. The sudden squalls and tornadoes were bad enough. But feeling sick without really being sick, tormented by free-floating pollen could be worse. For all the glories of spring spoken of by romantic poets from both sides of the Atlantic, there were people who were plain miserable as snow melted and buds went a-blossoming.<br /><br />But as people’s throats itched and their voices croaked, certain critters muzzled silent all these past 17 years, arose from their long slumber, and broke through the muffled sufferings of people just beginning to shed their heavy coats and sweaters. Cicadas, last seen 17 years ago in Maryland, given by mother nature just the right temperature and humidity, rose from their almost two decades of entombment in the soggy ground, and within days, millions of these noisy critters were caught up in a 100 decibel strong constant and organized cacophony, to the delight or disgust, as the case may be, of many people.<br /><br />The cicadas, though, were music to my ears, even as the unpredictable spring weather, with its rains, thunder and lightning, seemed more like “home” to me. It was exciting to see and hear cicadas merrily booming their loudest, especially for one who last heard cicadas (known as “kagang” in Cavite) back in 1965 in then idyllic Mendez. Having gone beyond the 100 decibel rating, the noise those cicadas made was technically illegal in America. Illegal and generally unwanted and unappreciated by most, their glorious cacophony rang sweetly in my ears, as they brought back carefree, childhood memories of the Mendez, Cavite I still kept in my heart – memories that unfortunately, now run counter to what is current reality, a tree-less, almost barren and brown, once lush countryside, now giving way to the onslaught of unplanned so-called development.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">A Flash of Reagan Magic Come Once More and Gone Forever</span><br /><br />Reagan’s passing away was characteristic of what, and who he was – the great communicator. He could not have chosen a better time, just when the leaders of the G8 nations were due for a meeting in U.S. territory. Media attention was diverted from the world leaders’ meeting to the week-long farewell fit for royalty. America was as emotional as it could get. More than 200,000 people filed past his bier lying in state both in Simi Valley, California, and in Washington’s capitol building. Millions more were glued to their TV sets, a great many of them unabashedly crying in private or in public. An actor-communicator with a perfect sense of timing, Reagan’s magic flashed and shone once more for eight days, as it did for eight years as President, and for many more as Governor of California, fading away with absolute panache in a mythical and fabled sunset burial by the hills overlooking the Pacific ocean.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Fil-Ams on the Rise: Making Waves in America</span><br /><br />The 106th Philippine Independence Day celebrations took place all over America where Filipino-Americans are present. Now officially 2.4 million strong in America (918,000 in California) alone, the many, varied, and disparate groupings of Fil-Ams came up with a series of celebrations to mark Independence Day. I was fortunate to have been present in one such Dinner Gala celebration for Fil-Ams of the Metro Washington, DC area where I delivered the Invocation. J.W. Marriott hotel at 1331 Pennsylvania Avenue became festooned with the trimmings and trappings of a barrio fiesta atmosphere, as dance troupes, singing groups, and rondallas, along with immaculately and appropriately dressed Fil-Ams in indigenous gowns and barongs vied for the best vantage point in the big lobby, prior to the official dinner program.<br /><br />As the celebrations and merry-making wore on through the evening, it was hard, at least for me, to shake off that nagging thought of how ironic everything was. There we were celebrating independence, while our honorable politicians back home reminded the whole world all too clearly how shackled and fettered the whole Filipino people still are, to an antiquated, and enslaving system of doing politics, to an equally obsolete system of conducting elections, which, I maintain, together with PCP-II, remain as an “expensive and immoral process.”<br /><br />Filipinos scattered all over the world, now more than 8 million, might be “making waves” in their adopted and adoptive home countries, but our home country, the fabled “pearl of the orient seas,” is fast slipping down the road towards becoming the basket case of Asia, with that structural evil called politics as a primary contributing factor.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Coming and Going: A Story in the Making</span><br /><br />The natural order of things in the world of creation is a recurrent cycle of comings and goings, waxing and waning, ebbs and flows, and birth and death, as sure as the sun rises and sets each day. Summer is once more officially in, and the rebirth of spring is now something to look forward to again for next year. The hordes of cicadas are now long gone and an eerie silence now fills what used to be enclaves of roaring, whirring, piercing shrillness. Having tucked their “progenies” in between crags of trees after a three-week-long existence, the cicadas just faded away gradually into the silence of perhaps another 17 year waiting time. The eggs will somehow find their way into the relative warmth and safety of the ground, where they will suck the life out of juicy roots of trees, waiting for the right time and the right conditions to once more strut their hour upon the stage of life at some time in the distant future.<br /><br />I would like to think that the Philippines, with all its myriad problems and trials, is also an ongoing story of dying and rebirth, of falling and eventually rising once more. Once known as the Switzerland of Asia, envied before by neighboring countries for its level and standard of education, second only to Japan in economic growth in the late 1950s, the Philippines has definitely seen better days. It has had its 15 minutes of fame in the worldwide arena of freedom-loving nations back in 1986, when it peacefully worked for regime change that was believed to be the start of its gradual rise towards its rightful place under the sun.<br /><br />The few weeks that cicadas roared their way into their noisy existence only to lie hidden once more under the ground for a long, long while seems to be a huge, huge waste. Their ephemeral presence has led many, many people to ask themselves: “Of what use are the cicadas in the order of life as God envisioned it?” Finding no real, concrete practical utility for the millions that serenaded a huge part of Maryland for some three to four weeks all day and all night, existing apparently only to mate and assure the species’ continued presence in the world, people waxed poetic and philosophical and waned pragmatic and utilitarian, for a change.<br /><br />Cicadas, for all the seeming futility of their short-lived existence, succeeded in teaching harried and hurried people who think that everything must have a practical and useful purpose to ever exist. For one, they made a 48 year old hopeless romantic like me, race back to a time when dragonflies, beetles, and spiders were more than enough to make children happy. Those cicadas made philosophers and pray-ers out of people who have learned to take simple things for granted, who appreciate their handiwork much more than they do God’s own. The cacophony they reveled in for three weeks taught people to listen to the voice of a God who is raring to be heard and paid attention to, a God who remains steadfast despite the waxing and waning of people’s fortunes and personal and collective stories.<br /><br />The cicadas have come and gone, even as the “grandeur that was Rome’s and the glory that was Greece’s” are long gone now. For those attentive and discerning enough, their story of coming and going is but a reflection of what human life is, “like a flower, here today, but gone tomorrow.” In their temporariness lie their greatness and power. In their glorious cacophony, we find intimations of the contemplative chants of pray-ers and philosophers who realize and understand humbly that “here, there is no lasting city,” and that “the old order must pass away” and give in to the new.<br /><br />As for me, it was well worth the wait from 1965 to 2004, from Mendez to Maryland, from mischief-maker to an adult, responsible man, to see and understand much more than meets the eye about the relationship between cacophonous cicadas and contemplative chants of worship addressed to a God who knows the ebb and flow of the tides, who is greater than principalities and powers that rose and fell in history, who remains lovingly steadfast and faithful, despite the waxing and waning of people’s loyalties, and whose Son’s dying and rising, is ultimately reason enough for cicadas to go on singing, and people like us to go on hoping.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-23925728458713184852007-06-16T08:06:00.000+08:002007-06-16T08:15:07.578+08:00A PILGRIM IN A NOT-SO-STRANGE LAND<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I am again revisiting an old entry, dated August 3, 2003. I partly speak about the infamous mutiny at Oakwood in the central business district of Makati, just a few days before I left for the US. I remember getting apprehensive about traveling then that I missed my appointment with the novices in Cebu, where I was scheduled to give a week-long formation seminar-workshop. It is ironic that one of the mutineers, after the recent national elections, will soon be included among the list of so-called “honorable” senators. So what else is new? I am, as my title puts it, a pilgrim in a not-so-strange land.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Grueling weeks and days trying to make the best of the little time available for two crash courses at the Don Bosco Center of Studies, prior to my departure for the U.S. ended July 30 with the submission of grades and the returning of my students’ papers (tests and research works) all the way up to the last hour of classes last Wednesday morning. As I gave back my students’ papers, I gave in to their clamor for me to say a few words of comment about the recent failed putsch (Oh no! Not again!). The last few weeks had indeed, been rather full. Another retreat-seminar occupied me till the last weekend of July. And the day before I left, I just had to finish all that needed to be finished, on top of everything I had to do to put a closure to some other stuff I was engaged in.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">SEEING CALIFORNIA AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME</span><br /><br />After two sleepless nights, I got to the posh and renovated SFO international airport about 40 minutes behind schedule, that is, at 9:40 a.m., the same day I left Manila, 31 July. The good thing about going transpacific from the so-called “far east” is that one gains a full day, arriving the same day one departs from Manila. The trip was uneventful. It was pretty obvious Northwest Airlines is cutting down on expenses. Food was not as plentiful as before. Portions are considerably smaller, and non-essential snacks were scrapped out. As usual, the waitresses from Manila to Tokyo were more personal and warm. Their rather older American counterparts from Tokyo to SFO, expectedly, were more rough and gruff.<br /><br />California! The place used to be the epitome of the great American dream, part of the proverbial search for the wild, wild west, for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Alas, the great Silicon Valley bubble has burst a long time ago. Gone is the euphoria that was there ten years ago, when real estate and housing shot up in prices, when the great demand for more and more from upwardly mobile computer wizards and electronic gadget aficionados was the run of the day. What remain are signs of a once upbeat rush for “new developments” that carved out huge chunks of “prime” real estate on the balding and now yellowish hillsides of Northern California east of the San Francisco bay. Somehow, the city itself that was made popular by songs like “I left my heart in San Francisco” just does not anymore show the same luster and glitter that I thought it had just 19 years ago, when I first set foot on the famed cable car city of everyone’s dreams.<br /><br />The quality of life is steadily going down in sunny California! Starbucks coffee shops dot the city slickers’ paradise. But one espies hobos and homeless people waiting for their better heeled counterparts go out of such enclaves of coffee-comfort, in order to grab the precious commodity called a Starbucks-emblazoned paper cup, empty it of the remaining contents, in order for them to go stealthily inside the milk, tea and coffee palaces, fill their cups with hot, nourishing milk from the spick and span canisters of delight, and then go out casually to drink their fill of milk, courtesy of the capitalist crowd, who would, of course, rather spend a couple of dollars for a fancy cup of coffee, rather than three scores of cents’ worth of watery café americano, found in just about any greasy spoon , hole -in-the-wall affair all across the continent.<br /><br />It was all like seeing California again for the first time! Traffic builds up daily at 880 freeway, not the way things used to be in the state where freeways are the most extensive, the most complex in all of the United States. Hybrid cars now begin to see the light of day, their drivers and owners well aware that petrol is bound to become an expensive and scarce commodity in the coming years.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">PINOY PA RIN, TALAGA!</span><br /><br />Talking about greasy spoon places … well, we got into one for lunch Saturday noon, famished after an all-morning trip to the bookstore (and more, after lunch) - a Filipino restaurant. Nothing much has changed since I first set foot into one in Chicago. They are all the same. They will never, never become what the Thai (and even the Vietnamese) restaurants are by now all over the United States. They were, and still remain, no better than a “turo-turo” affair in Avenida or in Pasay City. Professionalism, or the utter lack of it, is their undoing, as far as I am concerned. Our order of grilled chicken came with - you guessed it right - sticky and greasy knives. The waiter who took our orders, appeared to have just gotten out of bed, unkempt, uncombed, unshaven - and uncouth! He turned out to be also the cook. He disappeared in an inner room that was full of background noise. Obviously, there was more than just a kid in there who kept all the adults in the small room occupied. The other waitress was busy preparing a table for a biggish group. They gave out our orders. They forgot to give our drinks, and proceeded to eat with what turned out to be a group of relatives who apparently go there regularly. In short, the cook, the waiter, and everyone who ran the restaurant left us their customers in the lurch, alone to munch forlornly our meals. We sort of hesitated to ask for something else. The whole staff was busy having their own merry lunch in a separate set of tables. We were quite mortified as we ate our salty fare, consoled only by the blaring sound of the KTV that doled out Tagalog songs of the late 70s and early 80s - the sort that would make the fans of Anthony Castelo blush, and pine for the lilting tunes of Rico Puno.<br /><br />Somehow, the Filipino professionalism - or the patent lack of it - has invaded American shores!<br /><br />Incidentally, Thai restaurants have enjoyed quite a following and clientele from Americans and other expats. The Filipino restaurant somehow has not gone beyond being a “mom and pop” affair, capable of attracting only a handful of Filipino habitués, who go there, probably, just to get away from the usual fast-food fare or the “heat-it-up-in-the-microwave-see-you-again” fare that is the hallmark of every harried and hurried job holder in this fast-paced society that values a good credit line and equates a person’s dignity with a good credit record.<br /><br />Yesterday, admiration turned to envy when passing through the small, cute and tightly packed downtown strip of Palo Alto, just outside of the famous Stanford University campus (again, I sighed and pined for what ordinarily could not be seen back home in the Philippines), I espied three Thai restaurants and some four Italian restaurants in a strip that was not more than a mile long, spick and span, proud of their heritage, which obviously offered more than just food to customers. Again, I felt sorry for those “hole-in-the-wall” affairs that passed for an Asian restaurant that attracted only sloppily dressed and noisy customers whose main aim is to beat the nostalgia out of their minds by belting out songs of artists whom my young students now back home would not know anymore from Adam!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">STORIES THAT SHAKE; STORIES THAT SOOTHE THE SOUL</span><br /><br />I left the day Italian Job was supposed to be showing in theaters in Manila. I had been waiting for it for long. I was lucky to catch up with it over at Century Theaters at Union City. It was a story to shake the soul and once more situate it in the context of a sinful, scheming world, with little or no redeeming values to put one back on one’s spiritual track. It was as entertaining as it was draining. Its only redeeming value - the superb acting skills of favorites like Edward Norton and some others.<br /><br />But the other movie, “Seabiscuit” gave me the needed lift to save me from a growing despondency. I confess I shed a few tears as I felt so involved in the lengthy film. It was all about three individuals who needed healing, three people who needed to find meaning in their lives for one reason or another. They all found it through a horse who itself needed healing, a horse that attracted no buyer as it was slightly deformed. It was a horse that did not at all look like a thoroughbred. But it found a very good trainer, a very good jockey, and very good manager-owner, who had a passion for lost causes. All three were wounded people who had the right attitude. All three were winners at the end. All three came out victorious and vibrant despite all the odds. For they had synergy. They had flow. They had what it took to become winners!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">STILL A PILGRIM</span><br /><br />I am back in a land that is at once strange and not so strange to me. Part of me belonged here. Part of me told me I am not in the right place. But this is the land where a limping old horse probably could find the right people, the right conditions, the right frame of mind for him to become whole and help others find wholeness. Here is a pilgrim who continues to be in search, a wayfarer who still goes on dreaming to become one who would make a difference in people’s lives. Far from the people who I usually minister to, I still feel ministered to by friends and fellow pilgrims whose only wish and dream is to see me grow and glow and become the best I could be. Near the people I usually do not minister to, I feel the pull of growth and the search for depth that is the hallmark of handicapped “horses” out to win the race of a lifetime who only wants to be the instrument of others’ total healing and growth.<br /><br />It was obviously a healing journey also for Tobey Maguire who played the jockey. His life trajectory is reflected in the story. He identified himself with the real Red Pollard who healed the horse and was healed by the horse, even as the two of them healed the manager-owner and the trainer.<br /><br />We are all deeply interconnected. Our lives - our past, present and future - are all intertwined. As Thompson puts it: <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">“</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Each of us, to each other linked are, that never does a leaf fall, without troubling a star!”</span></span><br /><br />Come join me in my dream. It is no longer about horses. But it is all about our intertwined lives in which horses, cabbages and kings - and yes - even eggshell pieces - broken eggshell pieces like those of Humpty Dumpty - could make or break us!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-959279434399203848.post-45584721559605947752007-06-11T10:39:00.000+08:002007-06-11T13:41:44.997+08:00MENDEZ IS IN THE HEART<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new; font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">I am revisiting a journal entry I wrote back in June 15, 2002. It has always been my desire to write some kind of an apologia for my hometown, Mendez, Cavite. This original entry copied almost verbatim below had been sent to my friends and readers when blogging was yet light years away from my reach.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new; font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">I would like to dedicate this piece to all my fellow Mendezenians scattered all over the world. It is no secret that of all the towns in Cavite, probably Mendez has among the most relatively numerous migrants all over the world, in particular, the United States and Canada.</span><br /><br />The 10th Sunday of Ordinary time (which fell in the first half of June 2002) did not quite turn out to as be rosy as I would have wanted it to be. I will be straight to the point… I was grouchy. As I was into deep introspection, trying to find out the reason behind the negative feelings that opened my day, the same was further aggravated by commentators at mass who, for the nth time, did not quite get my family name right. Dimaranan, I guess, is long enough, and I don’t need anybody adding another syllable, or two, where he or she pleases – or, for that matter - subtracting, interpolating, exchanging, mixing up or what have you… murdering, it, to cut the long story short. The real issue here is plain lack of functional, passable literacy even among those who claim to be reading and proclaiming the Word of God in church. Why, a good number of them don’t seem to even understand what they are reading. You can sense it from the way they truncate phrases at the wrong places, from the manner with which they group together words and – my goodness, the way they mispronounce even simple words. We might as well ask the ICEL (International Commission of English in the Liturgy) to allow us to introduce a <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">CONIOTIC </span>version for <span style="font-style: italic;">da Pilipins</span>! Now, that would really be exciting! That move would make all our colegialas instant experts in language, and instant reading celebrities in church. How about that? After all, - correct me, if I am wrong di ba it’s like this na, the way they make announcements in Church?<br /><br />Ipinakikiusap po –lamang na paki turn off lang po ang inyong mga cellphones, o ilagay lamang po sa silent mode, habang nagmamass ang priest… Goodness gracious! At the rate we’re going, Papua New Guinea will soon be replaced by the Philippines as the Pidgin English capital of the world!<br /><br />But now, back to why I was grouchy… I soon found out why as I was deep in thought. The driver assigned to pick me up, who usually was rather upbeat and jolly, was beginning to pique me. I noticed, as a student of human behavior, that he was taking potshots at all the priests he ever worked for, in very many and subtle ways. Most of the priests he was referring to, of course, were known to me personally. Although I knew that this same fellow would, invariably, be also ribbing others about me in future, I was not perturbed by this. What really pissed me off was when he asked where I was born, and where I grew up. MENDEZ, CAVITE, I said. And that was when he started giving me all the best that his knowledge of social studies could muster. For one who hails from Mindanao, apparently all he knows about Cavite are the usual labels and myths attached to it: matatapang, maraming tulisan, carnappers, etc. An issue that has not been fully resolved in me surfaced once more. I held my cool. I kept silent. Those among you who know me well enough, would know what is behind this, and why I insist on us being a little more considerate by doing away with any type of cultural labels and the like. As a little boy, fresh from the boonies of Cavite, transplanted to a patently different world that was Makati then, (at that time, the only building one could see for miles on end was the DBP building. Behind, or near it was a creek that ran the length of Buendia avenue, along the fringes of the then posh Bel-Air village, where the boys of the neighborhood I was in, would spend hours catching small fishes that I guess were biya fingerlings, or just plain butete. All this done, of course, without permission! Nearby, too, was a muddy hole, a pond – it was a lake for a probinsyano 7-yr old – where we would disrobe and plunge to our hearts’ delight, again unbeknownst to the grown-ups who were busy adjusting to a whole, new brave world that was Poblacion, Makati.) Well, at that time, when teachers and neighbors would refer to Cavite as a place of hoodlums and other shady characters, I just could not understand! My innocent mind simply could not make connections between Cavite and the underworld characters they would be talking about. Mendez was a good-enough place for me. There I was happy. There I saw inherent goodness and benevolence from people who I knew worked honestly for their keeps as best they could, where with each family’s little parcels of land planted to coffee, fruits and vegetables, just about everybody was working hard for an academic degree and their rightful place under the sun. I knew of no tulisans! All I knew – and admired to the hilt – were figures of old, wise women and men (my maternal grandmother was a towering figure, easily, a cut above the rest, who would be sought after repeatedly for her prudent counsel…) who spoke with deliberate clarity and utter gentleness, whose wise and timely aphorisms would have put Socrates and Chrysostom, the man with the golden mouth, to shame. I know of some clear luminaries: Andang Juan Oldan, for one; my lola, whom we fondly and lovingly called Nanay Ipay; her pamangkin by her husband Gregorio Sumagui, Kakang Juan Sumagui; the celebrated musician and composer, Kakang Emilio Maraan. Oh, how I pine for his music, played during informal academias, some kind of a gig organized by people if for no other reason than for their love of music. There the likes of Andang Ando (Alejandro Sumagui, my mother’s uncle, and their clan) would burst into poetic discourses, and plaintive songs, singing paeans to beauty, honor and undying love and devotion. Oh, how I pine for the beauty of Alma, of Pacing, all beauties personified and immortalized in the songs of Kakang Emilio Maraan! That was the Mendez and the Cavite I knew first hand, not the Cavite painted by myths from movies and cruel legends made up by ignoramuses from Manila who got by with a superficial, - if, partial and vicarious – pseudo-knowledge of a place that was more than home to me. Mendez is in the heart! It will remain so, for Mendez has spawned all the best that is in me… All the dreams that I ever had, trace their origin in a place that was built on lofty dreams, where poetry, music and holy fear of the Lord were subjects of my daily childhood experiences. In a young boy’s heart that was filled early on, with noble ideas of hard work and dedication to duty, where the likes of Ramon Magsaysay and Claro M. Recto and – even Arsenio Lacson – would often find their way in the conversations of adults along with the likes of Pope John XXIII, there was no room for violent and shady characters that I heard of – not in Cavite, but when I left Mendez, for the so called civilized city and its suburbs. Thanks, but no thanks. Nardong Putik was as unreal to me as Darna and Valentina, for all the misguided interest they engendered in the minds of Manilans and city-dwellers. The Mendez that I knew, the Cavite in my heart, is as good as any other place, for one to learn the best that the best of humanity can offer: undying hope, courage, hard work, love and devotion to family, the unrelenting search for the better, the higher, the nobler. The Mendez in my heart spawned a wide field of dreams for me and many others like me who now are scattered all over the world, mostly roaring successes in their own right.<br /><br />And now, to get back to my story… As I got into silent mode, I was transported back in time to that one single place that made history for me and many others in the late 50s and early 60s, the <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">gulod</span>, as we called it. There, music was played; there, poetry was recited loud and clear, there, basketball games were played, without the luxury of a cemented court; there memorable <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">academias</span> were held, and rosaries were recited… saints were brought in processions, and countless dreams were woven. Those dreams, in time, would be realized one by one, in the persons of doctors, engineers, writers, civil servants, -even humble mariners, and navy men and others who now are found in just about every corner of the world.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Nardong Putik</span> has cast a shadow of notoriety to Cavite. Mendez has consistently steered clear of all this, despite the wide, encompassing umbra of bigotry, bias and ignorance that is the hallmark of less discerning minds that tend to judge wholes in terms of disparate parts. That umbra, like dark lowering clouds, actually hovers over a widening area all over the Philippines, a country fast losing its soul, because it has lost its moorings in its cultural heritage, because it has lost touch with its poetry, its songs, its music – in a word, its universe of values. In their place now are inane and artificial icons that have no connectivity with one’s past and one’s glorious heritage that is as unique as it is deeply inspiring. I pine for Mendez, now, no longer the physical place. I pine for all that it represents for me; all that it has engendered in me; all that it has produced in me.<br /><br />For Mendez, at bottom, to borrow Carlos Bulosan’s now famous phrase, “is in the heart!”<br /><br /><br />N.B. For my readers from the U.S and Canada who may not be familiar with contemporary Philippine slang, coniotic refers to that snooty, high browed set of attitudes that young people from the <span style="font-style: italic;">alta sociedad</span> in status-conscious Philippines espouse. A whole lot of elements go into that general term ranging from a type of language that is a hodge-podge of English and Tagalog that takes its origins from students of exclusive schools for the rich, otherwise known as class A and B, representing the top 5 % of the Filipino people, to a style of dressing, etc. Coniotica is the generic term to refer to all that characterizes the ways of speaking, of behaving, of comporting oneself for those who belong – or, for that matter - those who are trying very hard to be counted in. The easiest passport to this make-believe world of true blooded coniotics is to speak in a way that would make Lope K. Santos (remember him and his <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Banaag at Sikat</span>?) livid with rage, and the queen of England, absolutely stupefied and aghast at this bloody mélange of a language that, by the way, continually evolves with every new quickie movie and every new sitcom that the warring TV networks continually churn out.<br /><br />Paranaque City, June 11, 2007<br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16420066165628029187noreply@blogger.com1