MOVING BEYOND EDSA: A CALL TO COMMUNAL ACTION

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.

February 27, 2008

MY DEAR FRIENDS,

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.

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).

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 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!

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!

I SUPPORT THE BISHOPS FOR ADDRESSING THE ROOT ISSUE OF THIS CRISIS WHICH IS, AT BOTTOM, A MORAL AND NOT PRIMARILY, A POLITICAL CRISIS.

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!

I MAKE A CALL TO EVERYONE IN GOVERNMENT WHO HAS BEEN IMPLICATED IN SCANDAL UPON SCANDAL OF MASSIVE PROPORTIONS. KUNG MAY NATITIRA PANG HIYA SA PUSO NINYO, 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.

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!

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.”

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”

I AM ENCLOSING HEREWITH AN ANONYMOUS LETTER FROM A FELLOW FILIPINO. I SHARE HIS SENTIMENTS … I COULD NOT AGREE MORE WITH WHAT THIS LETTER SAYS. THESE ARE WORDS I’D LIKE TO MAKE MY OWN.

To all Filipinos Everywhere:

I used to think that corruption and criminality in the Philippines 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,
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?

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!

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."

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!

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
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.

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 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?

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.

They say the few stupid ones like me who remain in the Philippines 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.

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 Philippines. 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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Philippines than sit around and let crooks lead us to perdition.

We owe ourselves this. And we owe our country even more.

PIT SENYOR: CONJECTURES OF A CONVERTED REVELER

On the Cebu Sto. Nino Devotion and Celebrations
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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
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.

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!

Pit Senyor!

CELEBRAR EN TIERRA DE SOMBRAS!

Conjectures of a Pensive Bystander on the Sinulog Celebrations

I write from Cebu, now caught in the frenzy of Sinulog 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 Feast of the Santo Nino, the Holy Child Jesus.

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.

Just look at the heavy turn-out of so-called “devotees” to the Senor Nazareno, 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 “panata” – 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 en masse, en grande, en tout cas, une merveille touristique! Vraiment! Sans doute! Not exactly sans souci, and neither an activity done with a lot of sang froid! 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.”

Allow me to explain tout suite … the 2.6 million who came armed with panata (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.”

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.

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 … sans souci … sans doute … sans penser a tous lesquels s’agiront cette devotion, cet amour, et tous ces emotions!

What does all this revelry mean for us as a people?

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, addiritura, una parolaccia, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 “pastoral en el mundo de sufrimiento psiquico.”

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.
But as the Sisters’ document teaches, “somos llamados a celebrar en tierra de sombras.” 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.

Having taught social theology for so long, this document of these unheralded heroes who work quietly a pesar de todo, convicts me and reminds me of what I have talked of so often, so passionately, and yet only half-convincingly: “We live in the worst of times. We live in the best of times.” (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 “somos llamados a celebrar en esta tierra de sombras” …. We are called to celebrate in a world filled with shadows.

Pit Senyor! Hala Bira!

Fr. Chito Dimaranan, SDB
Maria Josefa Recio Therapeutic Center
Talamban, Cebu City, Philippines
January 18, 2008

KALAKBAY AT KATOTO

Kalakbay at Katoto ... 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.

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.

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.

Kalakbay at Katoto conjures up images of one in journey with others, in this pilgrimage of faith and life. Kalakbay connotes someone who simply journeys with others. Katoto, on the other hand, which comes from the same Tagalog root word "patoto" 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 "kalakbay," but no longer their "katoto."

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 "kalakbay." He became truly and thoroughly, their "katoto." 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.

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 ... KALAKBAY AT KATOTO!

A STORY WORTH SHARING

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 ...

From a Cebuano.

The Basureros (From a Cebuano)

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.

I do jogging during week days and do long - ride mountain biking every Sunday.

But this Sunday is a special Sunday to me. While I was on my way to
the mountains of Busay (cebu) hoping to strengthened my heart by this exercise, instead, I personally encountered a heart-breaking scene that changed me.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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
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.

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.

I explained that they need to go home because it started to rain.
"Nasanay na po kami, the girl answered again.

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.

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
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
continued. "bakit kung kumain kayong lahat, hati-hatiin nyo na lang kahit kunti lang ang pagkain?

I countered.

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.

Maybe I was caught by surprise or I am just overly emotional that my tears started to fall.

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.

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.

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
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
mother's presence.

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
her hand to take the money. "Salamat po, makakabili na kami ng gamut ni papa, she uttered.

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.

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.

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.

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.

COME ON UP, FRIEND, TO A HIGHER PLACE

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.

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.

COME UP, MY FRIEND, TO A HIGHER PLACE!

June 16, 2002

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… OK sila pag sila ang bida. 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 personas brilliant and their true selves taking a back seat somehow.

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.

I talked to the staff about Duc in Altum, the watchword popularized by Pope John Paul II in his Novo Millenio Ineunte 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 AD MAIORA NATUS.

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…

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. Nakakataba ng puso… 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…

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 Mandaluyong. 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 Banahaw, or – undeniably the ultimate – star-gazing up on the summit of the Philippines’ second highest peak – Mt. Pulag, 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 Maculot, that for its humble stature, gave the best and most stunning view of Lake Taal and Tagaytay ridge on one side, and the Batangas and Laguna 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: “I climb a mountain I do not see; I run after a dream that chases me.”

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?

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 DUC IN ALTUM, 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 AD MAIORA NATUS 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!

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 Kabayan coming down from Pulag, 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 Mendez, Makati, Bacolor, Canlubang, Mayapa, Mandaluyong, Rome and the US 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: “Come up, my friend, to a higher place!” (Lk 14:10)


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Duc in Altum. It literally means, “Put out into the deep.” 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 Novo Millenio Ineunte 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.

Ad Maiora Natus. 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 PRO DEO ET PATRIA for Don Bosco Technical College, in Mandaluyong, back yet in 1987. This last means “for God and country.”

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!