Releasing myself, 2012

Last day of the year

At home in Iloilo

I have just listened to the loud sounds of firecrackers issuing from a CD.  Some neighbors walking by look through the gate to see what’s up kay wala man aso, ngaa may linupok? (for there’s no smoke from firelights, why the sounds of explosion?)

I have washed several pangbalay clothes after a shower for the second time this day.  With the sun shining I am hopeful I will have them dry by late afternoon even if it is noontime past now.

What’s up with whatever now?  As the year is ending.  As 2012 that’s a bit full of big changes (working in a pre-school and school for special children, living in a home not my own) and leaps into the unknown and steps toward the feared, is fading fast.

Padayon lang e. Just keep moving when my inner voice tells me to move na e.  A number of times I heeded it later than I should or I didn’t heed it at all.  Still I have to give it to me kay damu man ko hinulag, damu man ko gin-obra bisan pati kaunuran ko nagakurog sa kahadluk (for I have moved quite a lot, done things which made even my insides tremble in fear).  Also, I have allowed myself many times simply (though not at all simple to achieve) to be.

Yet it seems for some people I am not doing enough, that I am stuck, that there’s nothing doing in the world where I move around.  I guess I am projecting.  And it is really my never-say-die judgment of myself and not how some people perceive me or my life.

It is this see-saw of perception I engage in sometimes which is maddening.  Thankfully with more awareness, more consciousness, it is easier to keep going.  I have tools at my disposal which do not keep me long languishing in the pits, in the angry, envious, makakapatay mode.  It amazes me that God is so loving and abiding that I sometimes feel this unbelievable joy and peace in the midst of the most horrifying dreadful of inner states.

I am taken aback sometimes observing myself recognize and speak of my and other people’s darkness when other times I can be infuriatingly positive (although I notice as I progress I meet less and less people who scoff at my go-for-light-as-often-as-I-could choice).

What now gani?

I don’t know.

All I know is that I am already doing what I love, what I feel God and me planned for me here on dear Earth even before I was born.  I can do more of course.  What I am doing now, healing, teaching (not necessarily inside a classroom), and writing, are three things I just love to do even if sometimes I fear or get lazy to do these.  I am very grateful I have reached this point.

I can only really do for myself.  I used to aim at moving so as to make a big difference in the world.  It paralyzed me and I hated myself more for it.  More and more I let go of my grand yet poorly articulated plans for a better world.  I work on myself instead, be of help to people around me and those who ask for it, and hope the ripples work.

Thanks to you who read this post or the other ones I have written and posted here.  Whatever light issued from you for having set your eyes on words poured through me go back to me, too, enhancing my light, making it brighter.  A great gift.

Supreme Being, All-Loving, All-Merciful, All-Forgiving, All-Provident, All-Powerful, I thank you.  I love you.

Salamat sa 2012!

Hello! Come 2013.

Light passing on

13 Sept 2012  (three weeks ago)

My cousin is dead.  Shot down yesterday.  Who would have thought she’d leave in that manner?

Good-looking in a carefree way, she was very friendly, bubbly.  Almost always giggling and laughing even while she spoke, minsan nakakainis na in fact.

She lived with us in Iloilo for probably a year or so when she was in her teens.  My most vivid memory of that time is of me mean to her.  No excuse, this, but that was my early high school period, one of the most difficult for me, an angsty and angry adolescent.

But she took it like the high-minded and big-hearted person that she was.  She treated me with great understanding which at that time I did not have the wisdom to appreciate.   I guess  those times in the past thereafter when somebody, “unprovoked”, just became nasty to me, were just the natural boomerang of what I dealt her.

Tatay, ever the fair person, loving me but not condoning my asshole behavior to her, my cousin on my mother’s side, in calm tones said to me “When you meet her later (in life), she just might spit on you.”  My father did not add, “And you would deserve it” but he might as well have spelled it out.

Guilty as charged.  I believe I have already asked forgiveness for this unfortunate episode in my life and met the painful consequences of such action through time that’s why it no longer weighs heavily on me.

While with us, she excelled both in the short course she took and in winning over her classmates and teachers.  Active in extra curriculars, she shone in scriptwriting, directing and starring in  a play, delivering a declamation piece, and, needless to mention, reaping awards for herself and her group in a small school at the City Proper.

She returned to her family’s home in Pateros, Manila, studied at Philippine Normal, worked, got married, had children, lived (with her husband and children) abroad and, once back here in the Philippines, pursued a career in teaching public high school kids.

We reconnected when I studied and lived (and later worked) in Manila.  She treated me very well as she always had.  No mean bone for me.

Our last memorable meeting was a number of years ago when she returned to the country to bury her eldest son who stayed with her parents here.  My godson Popoy.  She narrated the intermingling of events and the thoughts-emotions she, a mother who was in another country when her young son drew his last breath, had.

One consolation in her passing on even a violent death for a never-say-die happy person, is that at least she is now reunited with her Popoy.

I noted from her posts on Facebook early this year that she had become quite busy with activities of the teachers’ union of which she has become an officer.

As I write this now, I feel weak.  Heat is slowly emanating from my eyes, earlier from my head.  This week I feel down for not so clear reasons.  Maybe I let myself get caught up in busyness I didn’t have time to check with myself “Wassup with you Pat?” Uncertain thought-feelings in the workplace swirl about regarding us teachers and staff’s stay in the school–Will we be asked to renew our contracts when it ends?  I tell myself it would be good to continue with what I am doing.  But there is also a letting go.  I have taught myself time and again not to be attached to my present job.  When I was applying for it, I decided not to want it too much.  I just let myself be guided.  I believe I was led where I am.  If for some reason I don’t get my contract renewed then so be it. “Whatever card is dealt me I will accept best way I can,” I heard a voice say from within me.

Ate Carmelita, you also let go of your loving hold of your eldest child Popoy when he died.  You may have been a buffoon sometimes when you laughed so loudly but you got the essence of loving with an open hand and a very short memory for offenses dealt you by people.

You may have been “put away” because you knew about irregular things in an association where you are a member of the Board of Directors.  If this is true, I believe you have already forgiven the culprits in your shooting-to-death, but I know that you would also want for truth to surface and justice to prevail.

I am sorry I did not go out of my way these past years to meaningfully connect with you or visit you in your home even if you have made it clear I am most welcome anytime.

I replied to your pangungumusta a couple of times or so on Facebook, wala lang.  That was it, tapos, tapos na.

Thank you for your understanding, patience and big warm heart.  Soon I may just hear you up there letting loose your crazy-as laughter with the angels and our relatives who’ve also gone on ahead (back).

See you whenever.  You will always be here in my heart, ironically, even more so now that you’re no longer physically on Earth.  Your passing on makes me want to at least be more caring and “there” for people especially those reaching out to me, asking me to see them.  Help me pray that I can really do this.

Madamu gid nga salamat Ate Carmelita.  And don’t reply to me in confidently delivered but awkward to listen to Ilonggo with Tagalog accent, please!  Tawa ka na naman dyan!

The Divine Kingdom dwelling in us: in praise of Jesse Robredo

27 August, Monday

The “Kingdom of God dwelling in us” means “the poor are empowered, those not-heard-before have a voice”.  This was what Jesse Robredo (Secretary of the Department of Interior and Local Government (DILG)) made possible with his work in government, according to Sr. Sonia, a Cenacle nun and Zen teacher, this morning at Our Lady of Pentecost church.

First I heard he was missing, the plane he was on crashed into the sea.

Next that his body has been found.

oHmyGod!  (I seem to be saying this a bit more lately.) Upset at the confirmation of his death yet also unsurprised.  “A man that good would not live long,” ran unbidden through my mind.  The good die young, once again given an example.  (Salamat Lord, buhay pa at tuloy pa rin sa mission nya ang Dalai Lama, si Aung San Suu Kyi, si Obama…)

Thank God his body was recovered.  Finding the body is important for the living especially his loved ones and many Filipinos who love him for what he has done for them…us, for the country in terms of “developing capacities of local governments and communities” and, significantly,  for letting the usually taken for granted or those rendered mute in Philippine society be given importance, heard.

Pero sayang.  Sayang!  At a time we really need…the country needs him, has long needed a man…a server like him.

But now he has fallen, physically.  Down in the sea depths, was he?  Then brought up.

Foul play or not, it doesn’t matter much anymore, although if it is the former, truth has to be surfaced and justice needs to be served.  (For he did step on what Winnie Monsod described as “very important, very powerful toes” of rich landowners, illegal loggers, jueteng lords and elements that block his clean up of the government agency he headed to pave the way for the daang matuwid other government officials in power seem not to have trudged on as relentlessly as he did.)

It was his image on television that gave my flagging spirits a boost on the third wearying day of the last heavy monsoon rains which devastated Metro Manila and its surrounding provinces.

“What a great idea to put Jesse Robredo on TV at this time!”  I thought, feeling lighter seeing him in his light brown (I can’t really recall its exact color) jacket, sometimes texting on his cellphone (continuing to address concerns in the affected areas, host Arnold Clavio related).  Herbert Bautista sat beside him and explained why the flooded urban poor community in front of DeLos Santos Hospital still has no power.  I didn’t care much for the mayor of the city where I live though he’s not bad.  (I do like the plants, some of which are with attractive colors and interestingly-shaped leaves, growing on meter-high plant boxes on the island running the length of Roces Avenue.  What I don’t care for much are the logos bearing his initials HB inscribed every two meters on the sides of the painted concrete plant boxes.)

In another TV channel that Wednesday morning of the monsoons, was P-Noy in a dark-color jacket with his equally somber-color outfitted entourage (except for Mar Roxas I think in yellow but in spite of his bright clothes he didn’t present cheer either).  It is good to see P-Noy but in no time, in his uber-seriousness, he appeared as drab and uninspiring as the rest of his posse’s uniformly depressing to look at outfit.

Not Robredo.

In that GMA live telecast he hardly spoke or if he did I can’t remember what he said.  But just seeing him there was like a great treat that still-quite-rainy Wednesday morning.  His ordinary looks, the lighthearted air and the lack of self-importance about him effortlessly lifted my spirits.  I turned to my landlady: “Dito na muna tayo, Ate?” referring to remaining on the same channel.

That was the last I saw of him.  At the start of and during his term, and even before he occupied a national government seat, I only heard about his actions (these were few and far between for me who is often not that current with national and domestic affairs, and, too, his work was hardly publicized) — of the good effects of what he was doing, something about institutionalizing effective practices and having these replicated in other parts of the country.

I heard his work was recognized and given awards but these seemed to him to be mere bonuses for work well done.  He seemed not to live for the accolades, simply intent on doing what has to be done to make life better for the people he serves.

Asian Institute of Management (AIM) professor emeritus Edilberto C. de Jesus wrote that Robredo related to them at AIM a conversation he had with Aika, his oldest daughter, at a time he was barely two weeks as top man of DILG.  “Pop, how long will you stay in that job?”

He replied “I don’t know, for a week, for a month, for a year, but it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Robredo continued “because I believe I’m here…just to make a difference, given the kind of training and experience that I had.”

Robredo shared the private conversation he had with his daughters to his AIM audience, De Jesus related, because “…[H]opefully, we will always remember that we are given the opportunity to lead, not because of ourselves, but because people hope that we will be in the service of others.”

So he has fallen.  But the great, deep and keen loss that many of us Filipinos feel at his passing on, I would like to believe, will inspire in quite a number of us the need to serve (na walang hinihintay na kapalit) with dedication and integrity yet without sacrificing family life.

Aika, Robredo’s daughter, lightly related in an evening news program (the day the closed coffin bearing his body was paid homage to in his hometown Naga City), that her father really spent quality time with them so that when they see him going out there to serve other people they would not resent it.

If even in small ways where we find ourselves we could emulate how you lived your life at home and at work, Jesse Robredo, we would certainly make a difference.  THANK YOU for giving us a luminous and quintessentially inspiring example.

Note:  In a much earlier post, I mentioned the good showing he was making as head of the local governments agency early on in his term.  Pls. see “No longer taking bribes” https://workinprogresspinay.wordpress.com/2011/03/05/no-longer-taking-bribes/

References:

Edilberto C. de Jesus, “Jesse Robredo: making a difference” in Business Matters, Philippine Daily Inquirer, August 25, 2012, p. A13

Solita Collas-Monsod, “Wanted: full-blown inquiry into Jesse’s death” in Get Real, Philippine Daily Inquirer, August 25, 2012, p. A12

Sunlight restored

Written Saturday of last week a.ka. week of the monsoons

“Heaven is the smell of clothes dried under golden sunlight”  I thought as I took down hangers of a shirt and a pair of  shorts off the metal grillwork of my left-door neighbor today.

I missed sunlight which I hardly saw and felt this week what with the heavy rains.  It takes the absence of brightness sky-about for some days for me to realize how important it is to my daily life and how much I have taken it for granted.

Last night my brother in North Carolina called to “what’s up” with me on the recent flooding of Metro Manila.  My brother in New Zealand this early afternoon also rang.  My brother in Iloilo City and I update each other on our situation more regularly but today my phone also rang soon as I sent a wala-lang text to him.

Yes, the water level of the creek in front of our house here in Roxas District rose and subsided, rose and fell…but only went as high as the level of the street, almost.

“Wala naglapaw pakadto sa karsada” (The water didn’t spill over to the street) unlike during Ondoy.  Then, the madly rushing creekwaters swiftly rose, reached street level and went up some more until it lapped on the lowest rung of the three-stepped concrete stairs just inside our gate.  The front of our houselot has turned virtually into sea.

Daw dagat (Like the sea).  Strange I thought that for across this “sea” is a row of mainly concrete houses of “squatters” (some of whom are seemingly more better-off economically compared with those on our side of the creek).

The drama in our neighborhood, in our street here in Roxas District these recent days of heavy monsoon rains, I learned about only second-hand, mainly through text messages from my cousin Cristy.  Ate Lina, my beloved former-neighbor’s sister who lives with her family to my right related that “Nakakatakot” (it was scary) how the creekwaters rose dangerously high, almost overflowed, rising then subsiding, then rising again and fell, and then once more.

So this time around there’s suspense thrown in. About three years ago during Typhoon Ondoy, I got paralyzed at its onset.  I could not quite believe that indeed the water is rising with so much speed, I had to be roused by a knock on my door by the son of my dear neighbor (who had at that time not yet transferred her whole family to Cainta) calling upon me to do something about my cousin’s car down on the street.  (My cousins who live in the house behind mine had gone home to Negros to bury their eldest brother.)

Not at home.  Where was I?

I have for the first time in my life a boarding house near my present workplace in the foothills of Antipolo.  It is owned by a former officemate who agreed to give me a room where I could crash during workdays.

Last Monday after work, I chose not to proceed to visit a friend at UP Diliman as I had planned because my body felt a bit heavy.  Heavy as the rain then slanting against the light grayish sky.  I turned left from the gate of the school and headed towards my boarding house within the village.

And stayed there till Thursday mid-morning when the water on the street in front of my boarding house has subsided enough I could tread on the sidewalk without getting my feet wet.

For by then I have had enough of wet.

Wet I didn’t like first came Tuesday night when about an inch of, in fairness, clear water, covered the floor of the boarding house.  Weird.  But we (my landlady and I) had reserves of unshockability and hope plus strength from lots of rest time (unexpected and a joy for feeling tired me on a work day with no work!).  We took this development in stride.  After all, during Ondoy the floodwater rose so high my landlady and her kasama sa bahay (housekeeper) had to perch on top of her huge narra cabinet for hours on end to keep dry as some of her things and appliances sashayed on the water below).

That wet that we met strongly somehow drained us.  Late afternoon of Wednesday found us muttering, “It is not yet evening, for Chrissakes!”  We both awoke from our nap (my landlady from her couch in front of the TV in the dining-kitchen area, me from my bed in a room beside a garden with well-tended plants), put our foot down towards the floor and shrieked at the cold water which greeted it.

Aaaagh! OmiGahd! Me.

Panic mode.  My landlady.

We talked a bit calmly about the water in the house this afternoon pa lang.  She shot me a question which was odd coming from her, a staunch advocate of never-leave-thy-house-even-if-it-is-flooded, “Lipat na tayo?”  (Should we transfer?)  More a plea with a hint of insistence than a question.

“Saan?”  (Where?)  I shot back meaning “Why leave now?”

She mumbled a vague answer I didn’t pursue.  I went to get water to drink and when I turned my eyes were greeted by the various activities my landlady was undertaking which can only be described as panicking big time. 

With opened umbrella shielding her from the rain, she was outside her front door hoisting small pots of plants submerged in water and hanging these through the wire on to the grillwork of her front window.  Then with a bit of frenzy to it, she kept dialing on the phone but seemed to never get through to whoever she is calling.  Next scene: with strength, she fiddled with the screen of her glass front window and succeeded in dislodging it altogether.

I mentioned the obvious to her.  She did not reply. Soon enough she sloshed in her crocs from the front part of her house to her favorite place, the couch, upon my encouragement “to keep our feet out of the water because it feels reassuring that way.”  I myself have sequestered my usual hardwood chair during meal-times and placed my rubber-slippered feet on the wooden footrest about half a foot from the floor.  (The floodwater was ankle-high at its highest.)

At one point earlier, also panicking a bit inwardly but trying not to show it, I, as calmly as I could muster, replied to another mention to leave the house, “We don’t have to leave because the weather forecast for tomorrow, a Thursday, is that there’ll be so much less rain.”  She subsided.

In my feet-out-of-the-water pose by the table, I had stacked days-old Inquirer newspapers to read.  Might as well pleasurably or at least fruitfully pass the time.

Soon I came across the column with Lotus on its logo and it has quotes on floods.  I avidly read it and found a gem which I felt I had to share on Facebook at that instant while many are suffering from the widespread flooding.  I posted through my phone: “We must build dikes of courage to turn back a flood of fear” which the columnist attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.

I shared the quote with my landlady.  Right away she admitted “Nagpanic ako kanina,” and talked at some length, relief in her voice.  I felt honored by her expression of honesty.

It rained again.  Hard.  Then just a pattering or quiet.  Then heavy downpour yet again.

But my landlady and I have by then come to a center of quiet and reassurance.  After the evening news we faced her altar of images of deities, a big photo of Our Lady of Fatima foremost, as well as the two urns of her parents’ ashes, one giant lighted candle on the rightmost side of the cloth-covered old sewing machine, and prayed the rosary.  We offered it for our safety and strength, for the same for my co-teacher and her family then in an evacuation center, for divine blessings for all those affected by the heavy rains and flooding of Metro Manila and Luzon provinces.

That very evening, when I noticed that the waters in the front and back yards have gone down I swept the floodwaters out of the house.

It was midnight when I turned in.  I slept well although I half-awoke a few times to note raining.  But I know it is going to be better tomorrow.

I woke up to quiet save for the swishing of brooms coming from the house across the street.  No rain.  The floors drier than last night.

After coffee with my landlady and washing up and learning her relatives in upper Antipolo are visiting her, I bade her bye.  I bought groceries (mainly my vegetables) at SM Masinag to buy time for the flooded part of Marcos Highway to become passable to public vehicles.  It was about noon-time when I headed for Roxas District in Quezon City.

The weekend before the heavy rains I, like a fiend, cleaned the whole house and rearranged things to my liking.  Except for a small puddle and splotches of rainwater in a room, all’s as well, clean and beautiful as when I was last in my home.

Laking pasasalamat!

Called for lateness

Written two weeks ago to the day

No one to blame (but me to accept my responsibility to be on time)

Nowhere to hide

No excuses to make

A fellow teacher, serving as the lightly righteous henchman of Sister, facilitated the “outing”.  But she’s a fair one, walang lalamang, walang tatapakan.  Libra of us all.

Put on the spot though thankfully not named, yet so obvious it was about me and another late-for- training teacher, I disintegrated both subtly and devastatingly, blushing outwardly through my brown face, hit as I was bullseye via softly spoken words gabaga with truth.

I am feeling what I am feeling!  I am connecting to my emotions and it is uncomfortable.  Quite.  I tried staying with the feeling when I noted myself wanting to withdraw into my mind, breathing through the embarrassment of being called on my weakness in front of everyone in circle formation pa mandin.

Aaarrrgghhh!!!

“Bang! Bang! You’re Jesse James, you’re dead.”

“I’m dead.”

Lines reverberating in my mind (now as I jot this hours after it happened) from an afternoon TV movie I watched with my younger brothers in our Iloilo home decades ago.

But what a worthy way to die (again).

To die to right away disconnect from unpleasant feelings that come.

To die to a stubborn self that resists being told what is ultimately helpful, inner growth-enhancing.

To die to a proud, I-know-what-I-need-to-change-in-myself-so-don’t-pamukha-it-to-me-puhleease self.

To die today and live a more loving, supportive, one with God, one with all, authentic, vibrant, full of light, very bright and responsible life.

Accepting the buko man

Written 23 April

[WARNING:  Parts of this post written in Filipino are not translated into English.  Apologies to readers who do not understand Filipino.]

What the…?!  The gall!  Baket?!  So ganito na porke’t sigurado ka na sa akin?  Dun sa bata at seksing kostumer, young and sweet buko.  Sa akin, brownish-green ang husk at makapal ang laman malapit-lapit na habulin ng pangkayod! 

What gives ba?!  Porke’t loyal customer ako, ganun, bibigyan mo na ako ng di gaanong magandang buko?! Yung pang feeling mo dumadaan lang ng Roces at di na ulit dadaan dun?!

Kainis ka!

Sige di na ako sa yo!  Akala mo…meron pa sa Sct Santiago, tabi ng fruit stand, noh?! 

Pero, hinde, ‘yokong mainis sa yo.  Patatawarin kita.  [BLEEP]! pero kainis ka eh!  How could you treat me shabbily as a customer, dun pa mandin sa time na di ko gaanong na-a-appreciate sarili ko?  Kainis ka!

Pero ayoko ngang may kaaway.  Atsaka para ba sa isang pagkakamali ay di na kita babalikan? Paliliitin ko na ang mundo ko?  Yoko rin naman ng ganyan.

Patatawarin kita,  babalik ako sa yo at bibili pa rin ako ng buko mo.

Pero truth is, there were three occasions earlier when I could have gone back to your kariton but didn’t.  And I know you saw me on two occasions rush on to Quezon Av after getting off a Roces jeep.

Serves you. 

Although I do feel for you too because ganun lang talaga tayong mga tao e, nang-aabuso sa alam nating “kuha na” natin.

Still I know I am going back to you because I want to minimize cases of  “hwag na, ayoko na dun kasi pumangit na interactions dun” in my life.

Today this morning I finally did.  Binalikan kita. 

And it was sweet. 

You gave me buko juice that tastes sweet and fresh, and the coco meat…young and just-right tender.  Para ding pakiramdam ko sa sarili ko at that time.  Haha!

Me:  “Ang dami nang umiinom ng buko ngayon.” 

You:  “Oo kasi mainit e.”

Me (thinking “hinde…”):  “Marami kasing may alam na na maganda yan sa katawan.”

Tango ka dyan.

Me looking at you choosing my words carefully:  “Alam nyo bang mabili at mahal ito sa ibang bansa?”

Tango ka ulit sabay “Sa pinagkukunan pa lang, hinihiwalay na ang malalaki e, para dun [overseas market].”

Me, impressed with you: “Kaya pala maliliit na lang natitira rito.”

“Oo.”

[Shades of many other products in our country that separates the quality ones so the “rejects” are the ones left for us here to consume.  Flashing through my mind my time living in coastal villages as researcher/development worker where the fishers hardly get to eat the big or good quality fish they catch because they sell it as it fetches a good price.]

Earlier at home as I get ready to leave the house I mulled over accepting.  People have feet of clay.  Ang magandang samahan, maayos na pakikitungo ay nagwawakas.  People make mistakes.  They will irritate me.  They will anger me.   (They will stand up to me, ouch!  They will mirror me, ARAGUY!)  They will thoroughly disappoint me.  That time comes as sure as the sun rises every morning.  It comes time and time again if I stay long enough interacting with them, having a relationship with them.

Pero pag di ako nagpatawad, not letting go of people’s “trespasses”  san ako pupulutin?  Yung kinainisan ko malamang naka-move on na…magaan na ulit, ako, nagngingitngit pa rin.  Less happy.

So forgive and accept people as they are especially their weaknesses, I tell myself.  I know I have to do this no matter how difficult it is (the more close to me, the harder).  Lahat nagkakamali.  Each one has their radiance and darkness.  Each one is trying their best (in their own way).

I, too, have done my share of irritating, angering, thoroughly disappointing people.  Many of my friends, relatives, associates have seen my muddy feet, my dark heart.  Still, many of them accept me for the person that I am.  The least I can do is do the same for them as well as others I meet along the way.

Thank you buko man for being a channel of this lesson.

Side story:  The buko man in Roces is my brother Sani’s original source of buko.  We would go to him after our early morning exercise at Amoranto Sports, mid-year 2011 (my bro’s most recent Manila visit).  In an earlier post, I wrote about the buko man who became my suki while I regularly held clinic days in a pranic healing center in front of St. Lukes Hospital QC.

P.S. (3 June)  I have gone to get buko from the Roces Av buko man several more times and each time he has given me the young coconut with quality I prefer best.  Bless his soul that flexibly learns from experience and acts accordingly.

Embracing uncertainty (even as things are becoming clearer)

When you have embraced uncertainty you are freed from great fears of what lies ahead.  

That’s paraphrasing Eckhart Tolle in a part of his book  A New Earth.  I am sure many others have experienced it, too, that a concern of the moment is answered or made sense of by what they read or hear “out there”.  Because they searched for a clarity, an understanding or a solution, there it is given wala lang, lovingly, completely.  Grace, indeed.

Yet in recent days I have been in a state of general uncertainty.  At the very least it put me at considerable unease though it seems on the surface I am okay.  Even though I tried I couldn’t find the strength to wrap myself around the unknown that lies ahead and which somewhat contaminated the present as I am living it.

Even conscious deep breathing to bring myself to my body and thus the present is a thing that many times did not come naturally.

I have to show up for my life, I read somewhere, so my life can show up for me.  That’s nice but when you at some point stay stalled somewhat paralyzed even that nice thing can have a tinge of nastiness to it, an idea mocking you.

But I am no stranger to feelings of unease, a certain down feeling, even depression.  The difference now is the increasing awareness that I am in the state I am in, whatever it may be.  This consciousness of what I am going through is the push that brings me to higher ground again and again.

I watched and was absorbed by Japanese TV films on the RED channel.  There’s lots you can get from such not at all nonsense in fact good quality small movies.  Yesterday I was riveted by a story of two best friends, outcasts both in their high school.  Yukie, the one abandoned by her mother and whose father was in jail, eventually left their village to go to Tokyo.  As the train was pulling out of the station, the one left behind ran alongside it calling out “Don’t give up” whatever happens “Don’t ever give up, Yukie-san.”  Much later as Yukie lay dying in the hospital (after falling from an overpass to avoid a bunch of bicycling boys), it is this simple statement which came up to powerfully give her courage to fight for her life.

I have been watching too many Jap films lately it seems its accumulation in my subconscious brought forth at least two dream sequences with Japanese characters in them.  As I half awoke this morning, I searched for myself among them and realized with some weirdness as well as a chuckle that I am one of the Japanese characters! Mwahaha!  There are several people or at least two persons interacting in the sequences and there are discussions and something being resolved and lots of light feeling as well as brightness especially towards the end.

The unease and uncertainty I have been facing came coupled with gradually realizing what I cannot do or want in my life anymore.  This too is a precious gift.

Due to a scarcity mindset that once in a while plague me, I resort to, even just in my mind, entertaining undertaking some things to earn an income which would require great effort on my part (even if it endows me with some prestige in some people’s eyes).  I have been given several gifts, why not come from there so it would not be a strain to express them?  It then becomes a joy to do and I earn to boot!  Freefall, I am urged.

Some people need to stay in a job or means of living that they are not so enthusiastic about for whatever purpose it serves them.  That’s okay.  Lately (for some years now, actually), I have been finding out, I do not belong to this category.  And that’s okay, too.

Breaking through myself

A day in Lent

On red band around handcrafted soap a friend gave me last Christmas is a quote from Marianne Williamson, “We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?  Actually who are you not to be?”

Today is one of the breakthrough days in a period of several breakthroughs.  I have really been challenging myself.  Though there were times I end up saying “I could have done better” even if what or how I did was already something, after all, every step taken even if it sometimes brings me backward is something to be glad about, something to celebrate.

The triumphs over myself are not solely nor mostly of my own effort.  Rather, these (whether I truly grasp this truth in all its magnificence or not) are by the grace of the Supreme Being.

I have just finished watching American Idol on TV and this batch of amazingly talented, true to themselves very young singers give me much to hope for and be inspired by–opening themselves to guidance by people who came before them, performing beyond the excellence they have already exhibited and continuing to reveal other dazzling facets of the gems that they are.

How can I slip back into doubting in or not being confident about my own talents?  How can I take long in developing these more and sharing what I could with my fellow human beings?

Each one of us here on earth has been given a set of these gifts.  And mine, what am I stalling for in further developing these, manifesting it more than I already have?  If I am awaiting praise and encouragement so I could go on, these have already been amply given time and time again.  What break do I still need to nudge me forward?

For quite some time, I notice a repetitiveness to the message I keep hearing from within.

This Lent, as outside there is a considerable lowering of noise levels (many people have left the metropolis) which I like to believe echoes that which is within me, I am paying more attention to signs and nudges telling me to clearly have a goal, write that objective, PLAN (once again), and ACT or, at least, just keep going, my dear.

I have made some notes.  Time to paint the big picture again complete with deadlines so I don’t get lost when new exciting things come along as they always do just when I am getting focused and rolling in the very thing my heart is set on.

I already know God loves me and if I truly believe in it, I can do and be anything my heart tells me to do and be.

Maya Angelou wrote

You said to lean on Your arm,

And I’m leaning.

You said to trust in Your love,

And I’m trusting.

You said to call on Your name,

And I’m calling.

I’m stepping out on Your word.

How sweet!

9^th of February

“Ang tamis!” (How sweet it is!) teen boy exclaimed, surprised.

It has been a while since I went near the buko (young coconut) juice kariton (cart) on corner E. Rodriguez Sr. and Victoria Avenues.

I missed going because I no longer go before 7am to the clinic.

There was a time I went to the usual place to get my buko juice fix only to find Kuya and his kariton of green coconuts nowhere in sight.  He must have gone the rounds of the New Manila residences.

This morning 7-ish, one of my earliest in a long while, I finally chanced upon the kariton with a stack of light green coconuts where I expected it.

Kuya usually has a young boy to assist him.  He recruits the boys (in their late teens), he shared, from the tambays (out of school youths) in his neighborhood in the Araneta Av area.

A new boy stands by the cart, calmly, quiet-confidently, under a big rainbow-color umbrella.

I expected him to call Kuya to “do” the coconut, that is, to, with a slim bolo, initially hack off the outer parts of the husk till the strategic strike of the inner husk to reveal the whitish soft meat of the buko, after which with the pointed end of the bolo a round cut is made on the exposed white coco flesh to get to the juice.  So this can then be gulped directly from the fruit or poured to a container.  (There was a time I was regularly doing the former, proud of myself that I am steering clear of using plastic straws…well, until I noticed the hard-to-remove juice stains on my white tops!)

With more flesh on his bones than his predecessors, standing straighter and blessed with a lighter air about him, he had looked to Kuya sitting across the street on the sidewalk curb by Seven-11.  Obviously given the go signal, he easily selected one from a cluster of buko nuts.

Brief flashes of the way the young boys before him had performed on the buko stage the few times they did the coconut honors (not too well) came to mind.  But I inhaled and lightly went along with him buoyed by his easy confidence.

Moments before…“Malaman?” (You want a fleshy one?) he had asked ascertaining my specifications.  “Matamis at maraming juice,” (Sweet with lots of juice) I said with certainty, glad I am more aware of what it is I really want.  I prefer one with lots of young coconut meat, not the mala-uhog type with thin watery bits of meat, but for my health needs I prioritize juice in abundance over meat.

Young boy was reducing the young coconut in size better than I expected.  With relaxed yet precise movements he is peeling off the soft husks with rhythmic hacking.

I wondered how he would manage the very usual yet when it comes always unexpected juice squirting.  When in early times I didn’t know any better, Kuya often managed to baptize me again and again with the first squirt of buko juice.

Christened with buko juice, early in the day, too, when me and my clothes are fresh and clean!  Wisened, I had learned to move out of the line of fire, I mean, water and it is the new unsuspecting customers who get it.  It always brings surprised laughter all around often except for the one baptized, who at most manage an embarrassed smile if not a smirk.

Tssst!  The strong, slim joyful squirt went straight to the young boy’s face.

Half a moment of stunned silence, then

“Ang tamis!”  (How sweet!) he chimed.

I laughed relieved he saw the beauty of the moment, a potentially embarrassment-inducing incident.

I kept chortling, glad it is indeed sweet as I had wished.

When I let him pour the juice into the mug I brought and got my first few small gulps of it, “Ang tamis nga!” (It is truly sweet!) I agreed.

He scooped out the just-right soft and plentiful coco meat.  It also tasted sweetish, fresh.

Hahaha! “Hi Kuya,”  I called out to the master buko man reading a tabloid paper meters away.  He looked up on my second louder call and nodded.

Goodbye Jen

Written upon hearing the news 12 January evening

Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

The girl with mouth-nose mask and cloth cap covering her sparse hair. Jenielyn.  Has passed on.

Judy and I healed two girls morning last Friday and ang mukhang daw mapatay na (the one who looked as if she was dying), slumped lying down on the grey sofa is still alive.

The one who sat peacefully and so presently is gone.

“kinuha n ni papa jesus ung anak namin nung 12:30 am nung Wednesday” (Jesus already took our daughter) went her mom Mary Jane’s text message less than an hour ago.

This Wednesday.  Yesterday!

Jenielyn’s mom sounded like it was a long time away.  Maybe too many things have happened since her beloved daughter’s passing, so much work to do to prepare for the wake and burial.

7 years old. Leukemia.

So peaceful so elegant so regal days before she was to leave life here on Earth.

So ready I suppose kaya ganun na lang ang serenity she exhibited.

Beside her that almost-midday at PranaLAB, her mother looked so depleted, depressed, maybe already telling herself to surrender to what seems inevitable as she comfortingly assisted Jen who was feeling pain in her stomach (yet no grimace can be seen on her face nor complaining energy can be sensed about her, just a certain paunay sa tyan).

Atta girl!

I feel mocked by how immensely calm she sailed through her already-ending journey.  I feel I have indulged myself too much in my under-par 7^th period (based on the annual kabbalistic cycle) physical-emotional-mental condition.

But no matter.

I also honor myself in spite of my weaknesses.  I suppose I honor Jen more when I do that rather than start being hard on myself.

It seems clear my encounter with her was teacher-student and quite clear who the teacher was.

Teaching me that no matter how great my challenge is, there is no call for me to whine and act like I am having so much difficulty.  Peacefully with a light heart, that’s the way to go through life even faced with challenges.

Thank you Jenielyn that from that brief  encounter with you, you gifted me with an excellent example.  God bless you, my dear! Oh, please pray for us still continuing with our journey here on Earth.  Salamat dear child.