PILGRIM PATHWAYS: Part Two

Set Apart, or Treated Differently?

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 …

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 …

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 …
My friend jokingly told me. Well, that sign is placed there for other nationalities, not me.

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!

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.

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.

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?

Are we set apart, distinguished, renowned, or are we being treated differently? Your guess is as good as mine.

The Rising Fuel Costs and the Falling Standard of Living in America

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!

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!

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.

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.

Grace, Gift, and Gratitude

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 – per agrum. 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.

This blog entry, like my first issue of Pilgrim Pathways, 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: Eucharisto. Eucharisto. Eucharisto.

NW 675, June 3, 2008
37,000 feet above sea level
USA

PRE-ELECTION MUSINGS OF A TEMPORARY RESIDENT IN THE U.S.

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.

February 11, 2004

Dear friends,

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Doctors here now are no longer the supercilious and proud people they once used to be.
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.

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.

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!

CHICAGO! CHICAGO!

N.B. I am posting a journal entry I wrote on August 13, 2003 in Chicago, a little before I left for Baltimore, MD.


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.

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,

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

For all this, Chicago did not lose its political will to grow and glow!

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.

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.

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.

Chicago! Chicago! That is what people here shout out with pride. Manila! Manila! This is what, we, too, cry out in hope!

PADRES, FRIARS, FREEDOM, AND FREE ENTERPRISE

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."

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

That was another opportunity for me to tag along and be part of the mass exodus of long-weekenders for the Independence Day celebrations.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

History does not lie. And intelligent people are not blind, except those who would not see.

THE MANY FANTASTIC TRICKS WE DO BEFORE HIGH HEAVENS

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.

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.

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.

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!

Here's the dated entry ...

MARCH MADNESS:
THE MANY FANTASTIC TRICKS WE DO

“Man, proud man, dressed in a little, brief authority does such fantastic tricks before high heavens, as make the angels weep.” (Shakespeare)

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.

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.

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?”

Madness of Marzo Once

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.

The Madness of Linear Thinkers

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.

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.

Melange Mania

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?

Polarization Madness

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.

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.)

Munching Mania

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.

Paranoid Madness

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.

Mania for more Roads

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.

Mania for Cults

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.

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.)

Ultimate Madness

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.”

Dundalk, MD - March 14, 2004

OF CACOPHONOUS CICADAS & CONTEMPLATIVE CHANTS

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.

Cicadas Come and Gone

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.

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.

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.

A Flash of Reagan Magic Come Once More and Gone Forever

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.

Fil-Ams on the Rise: Making Waves in America

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.

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.”

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.

Coming and Going: A Story in the Making

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A PILGRIM IN A NOT-SO-STRANGE LAND

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.



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.

SEEING CALIFORNIA AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME

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.

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.

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.

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.

PINOY PA RIN, TALAGA!

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.

Somehow, the Filipino professionalism - or the patent lack of it - has invaded American shores!

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.

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!

STORIES THAT SHAKE; STORIES THAT SOOTHE THE SOUL

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.

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!

STILL A PILGRIM

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.

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.

We are all deeply interconnected. Our lives - our past, present and future - are all intertwined. As Thompson puts it: “Each of us, to each other linked are, that never does a leaf fall, without troubling a star!”

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!