My So Called Mid-Life Angst

Crazy Stupid

2011-02-22T02:27:00.007+08:00

It's 11:40 pm. I have a ton of work stuff to finish and I'm suddenly craving for a cig. In times like this, I find that making a list - any kind of list - helps settle me down.

One of my favorite excuses is "..because I can". Because I can, I've done some crazy stupid stuff over the years.

Here are some that I can remember

In the 80s. I grew a moustache, shaved half of it and kept it like that for most of a work-week. I remember that it was suppposed to be an act of protest about something but, for the life of me, I cant remember anymore whatever it was I was protesting. I was working in a bank at that time. I didn't stay long.

I've shared a joint twice in my entire life. The first time was my first week in college and I was diagnosed with hepatits the next day. The second time was years after in my friend's house and we all had a laughing trip. I've never really had the urge to try it again although one time in Sagada my friends and I were waiting to be offered (cause that's whats supposed to happen in Sagada) but that didnt happen. I wanted to try Ecstasy when I was in my 30's but never did.

In one of my first trips abroad, I had the bright idea of bringing home free toiletries from my hotel as pasalubong. Not content with what I collected from my room, I was caught by the chambermaid taking stuff from her cart (which was outside the door of a room that wasn't mine). In my embarassment, I put them all back and skulked away.

In the 90's, I invented this imaginary friend (Mr. Ho) with whom I would have loud, engaged conversations. In public. In front of strangers. All the time. And then it wasn't funny anymore, just strange.

A friend and I accepted a dare from other friends to have ourselves strapped to a slingtshot-like contraption that flung us hundreds of feet away from the ground. It felt like my balls were in my mouth and a scream was stuck in my throat.

On another dare, I walked around the streets of Tokyo like a duck for the better part of one afternoon.

One New Year's eve, I was so drunk I have pictures of myself lying along Ayala Avenue that I dont remember having been taken.

A few years ago, in a club in London, I started screaming Tagalog curses while in the middle of the dance floor because it seemed like a fun thing to do at that time. I was a little (alright, very) drunk but sensible enough to stop when a friend reminded me that a lot of Tagalog cuss words have Spanish or Latin origins (i.e. Puta......a) :-) might be understood by the stoned Europeans around us.

Hmm...practice kissing (with tounge of course) and howling at the full moon :-) , hurling wine glasses at the Roxas Boulevard breakwater shouting Mazel Tov in what I thought to be a French Jewsih accent (long story, I also went through a Black Russian phase, longer story)

This is most likely not a complete list, let me know of anything else that should be in it (at the risk of embarassing yourself for having been part of whatever stunt you remember me doing, haha)

I really have to go back to work now. I still want a cig.

I Survived Again !(or When Will I Evern Learn?)

2010-12-24T16:01:00.003+08:00

I had a heart attack on October 9, 2004 at 10:00 in the morning.

Having come home at 2 am from a night-out with friends, I woke up late for an early-morning appointment. I had to to meet my friend, an architect, with whom I was going to Sta. Rosa Laguna . We were going to check on the progress of a house I was having constructed.

A few minutes after getting into my friend's car (she had offered to drive), I felt back pains and a heavy sensation in the center my chest area. These were familiar discomforts as I had been experiencing the same pains intermittently over the past few weeks.

As in the past, I expected the pain to subside gradually. It did not.

I did not want to worry my friend needlessly so I tried to stay calm and take several deep breaths. When the pain remained, I realized that something was very wrong. It was at this point that I asked my friend to take me to the hospital.

While the pain was constant, it was not excruciating. And while my friend was obviously concerned about me, we both remained relatively calm and even managed to exchange a few jokes along the way. I remember thinking to myself how inconvenient this all was for me and how screwed up my schedule was going to be because of the unexpected development. More so when we took a couple of wrong turns before finding our way back towards the right direction.

Upon finally reaching the hospital, I walked myself to the ER while my friend parked the car. I told the receiving clerk of my chest pains. My blood pressure was taken. After that, everything just sort of happened all at once.

I was hooked up to several machines. Needles were inserted in my arms. Tubes were pushed up my nose. Doctors started milling and moving frantically around me. In my mind, I pictured one of those typical chaotic scenes in the medical emergency shows.

I was told I was having a heart attack and that there was a small window of time to minimize any further damage to my system. I could die within the next few minutes.

I don't remember panicking. If anything, I went into full control mode. I started organizing things in my head. As the doctors fought to save my life, I was making a list of people to call and arrangements to make.

I had to be sure that everything was going to be in order even if that was the last thing I did. At one point, I even asked my friend to take my picture with my mobile phone - me lying on a gurney smiling and waving at the camera as everything was going crazy around me. I was not going to let anyone know that I was scared. That would have been unsightly and uncool.

After my vital signs had stabilized, I was brought to the ICU for closer monitoring as I remained in critical condition.

While in the ICU, one of my visitors -a friend from work - gave me a daily devotional. "Grace for the Moment" by Max Lucado. I had received a copy of the same book about two years ago which I had hardly read.

This new copy remained unread in the hospital. A couple of days after, while waiting for the results of yet another medical test, I took the book and just listlessly opened it to the reading for October 9, the day of my attack.

The reading's heading was "A Home for your Heart". It began with Psalm 91.1, "Those who go to God Most High for Safety will be protected by the Almighty".

While those words were inspiring, the accompanying thoughts hit me like a ton of bricks. I am going to have to quote in full, as follows: " Chances are you've given little thought to housing your soul. We create elaborate houses for our bodies but our souls are relegated to a hillside shanty where the night winds chill us ad the rain soaks us".

I had my heart attack on the way to check on the progress of my house construction. God was trying to tell me something! But, na-uh, I wasn't going to be convinced that easily. Not me.

I could say that these were just weird coincidences.

It was a coincidence that I had received two copies of the same book.It was a coincidence that the reading fell on October 9, the day of my attack.

And then again, maybe not.

For several months, maybe years, I have been occupied - obsessed even - with the idea of building this house according to my specifications . I could even go as far as saying I was obssessed with living my life according to some Grand Plan.

But, in order for me to do this, I felt I had to be on top of my game all the time. I was spending almost all of my time at work. I hardly had time for family and friends. I had to have people's admiration and recognition.

So much so that, even at my most vulnerable moment, in the face of death, I was still trying to be in control. I was making calls while in the ER to make arrangements and giving instructions! I was discussing with the doctors about what was to be done with me and how I should be treated! I even had my picture taken!!!

What kind of person has his picture taken while having a heart attack?

To my shame, I don't think I prayed or asked for God's help until after there were no more calls to make or doctors to speak to.

You would think I should have learned my lesson already. I had a near-fatal car accident a few years back when I missed a sharp turn on an incline. My car summersaulted at least twice before landing upside-down at a 45 degree angle to the ground just a few feet away from a deep ravine. I was not wearing a seatbelt. I crawled out of the car without a bruise. People who saw the wreck would ask how many people had died. They would then say what a coincidence it was that, next to my wrecked car, there was a huge sign on which were printed the words "JESUS SAVES"

There were just too many coincidences to ignore.

I had to consider the possibility that God has been trying to send me a message through all these years. A message that I had been ignoring . He had had to resort to pretty drastic measures to call my attention.

After my heart attack, I opted to invest in the healing of my heart, I realized that I was, in fact, giving myself a chance to have a more meaningful life. But, first - God wanted me to start with a clean slate. He had to teach me to let go of my attachments. I realized that the house was just a representation of all the things that I had grown attached to - my pride, my worldly possessions, my ambition, my desire for recognition. I suppose in a way, God wanted me to realize how temporary these are and how they could just be taken away in one instant. He also had to teach me to be humble. While in the hospital, I was stripped bare - literally and figuratively - of my clothes and finery. I had to be totally dependent on others even for my toilet needs. For someone who is as vain and proud as I am, that was a difficult lesson to learn.

These are lessons that I would have resisted under different conditions. So, it is true - God had to take pretty drastic measures to make sure He had my attention!

I suspect He wanted me to ask myself these questions- "Why me?", "What is it that You want me to do?", "What is this all leading up to?" "What reason is there that I'm still alive?". Lying on the hospital pondering on these thoughts, I guess I half expected the answers to come to me in the form of an angel coming down from the ceiling.

Hmm...Guess again.

True to form, God hasn't me any quick answers. I don't think that is His style. Even now, several years after, I'm still trying to figure things out. Through all this, I feel an Invisible Hand intervening by presenting the opportunities to let go of my attachments and be clear on my priorities. I've made several interesting choices since then in my search for answers.

I don't think I'm any holier or more profound that I was before my heart attack. But I have noticed a few changes. I have a greater sensitivity to the things around me. I think maybe I'm just a little bit kinder , a little bit more gentle, maybe even a little bit more patient and forgiving..
Partly, I suppose this comes from a keen awareness of how temporary life is, that all this could end at the snap of a finger. But, mostly, I believe that its part of God's process.

I know I also have to learn the virtues of patience and obedience. If I had my way, I would want to fast-forward and get to the stage where I'm like super-wise and enjoying my rewards from Him for going through my experience. But God cannot be rushed. His work with me is not done yet. His lessons continue.

As 2010 comes to a close, I find myself asking the same questions all over again. What positive changes have I made in the last year? How can I make my life more meaningful in 2011?

I am thinking that I would like to simplify my life by just focusing on the essentials and letting go of everything else. I think it is fitting that I have decided to sell the house that I was having constructed when I had my heart attack. In my mind, I am going through a list of other things I should just let go of

What I do know is that the things that were so important to me before don't seem to matter as much anymore. I don't think that means I'm any less dedicated to doing my job, for example. I still take satisfaction is being able to do it well. It's just that I have a better understanding of what I can and cannot do and I accept that my work is not the be-all and end-all of everything.
I am grateful that I still feel a sense of hope and anticipation for what is going to come next. God is teaching me all these lessons to build a home for my heart and prepare me for even greater things. Not for my glory. But for His.

Merry Christmas, my family and friends. And may God continue to bless and guide us in the year ahead.

Pictures from Culion, Palawan

2010-07-07T00:33:00.002+08:00

Created with flickr slideshow from softsea.

June 30, 10:30 am
waiting for my flight back to Manila

Culion, Palawan is one of the most remote islands in the Philippines. Because of its location, it was once chosen to house one of the largest leper colonies n the world. The "outside world's" fear of contamination was so fierce that the island even had to print its own currency that could not be circulated anywhere else.

Leprosy is no longer a most dreaded disease but Culion can boast of at least one other superlative - it has to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to.

I stayed at the Hotel Maya, which is the training center for the Tourism Entrepreneurship program of the Loyola College of Culion, "the poorest Jesuit school in the Philippines".

Hotel Maya, under the leadership of Father Javy Alpasa, my new personal hero, is in the forefront of promoting Culion as a Healing Island and as an eco-tourism site.

St Francis Drake's Prayer

2010-07-06T01:34:00.000+08:00

Created with flickr slideshow from softsea.

Disturb us, Lord, when We are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.

We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

Beautiful Zambia

2010-07-05T01:19:00.003+08:00

Created with flickr slideshow from softsea.

I took in some amazing sights during my 6 month stay in Zambia. These are some of the pictures I took from October 2009 to March 2010

My New Gig

2010-05-01T07:59:00.003+08:00

Even before leaving Zambia, my friends would already frequently ask me whether I would want to volunteer again.

My answer has always been the same: Yes, but: a) it would have to be another short-term stint as I need to go back to gainful employment soon, otherwise re-volunteering will have to wait for several more years; b ) I would like to have more direct interaction with the program beneficiaries and not just be stuck behind a table drafting policies; and c) it would have to be in the Philippines as this is where I would like to make a lasting contribution.

Shortly after coming back to Manila (and in between shoving food into my mouth), a friend told me about Community and Family Services International (CFSI), a Philippine-based NGO with the mission to provide assistance to people displaced by conflict - especially those in areas like Mindanao, East Timor and Myanmar.

I got interested, asked for more information , set-up a meeting with the CEO and basically went thru a super-anal due-diligence process. It didn't take me long to decide that, if CFSI would have me and the timing could work out, this was an organization I would be proud to be a part of.

Since then, I've managed to extend my sabbatical for a few more weeks. My good fortune continues with CFSI's acceptance of my application as a short-term volunteer.

And so, the next few weeks will see me taking the MRT/LRT about four to five times a week. This way, I'm able to avoid the stress of driving thru traffic and navigating through the labyrinth of one-way streets in Pasay City where CFSI's office is located. I like.

I've met most of the people with whom I'll be working. They're all very supportive and welcoming, I know I'm going to learn a lot from them. I like even more.

The program to which I've been assigned is called the Park Avenue Initiative (PAI) after the street in which the CFSI office is located - Park Avenue. While the street name may sound posh, let me just say that the street itself is not and let's leave it at that,

The PAI program aims to protect youth and children that have been displaced from mainstream society because of various forms of exploitation - sexual abuse, child labor, prostitution, drugs. This is accomplished not just by providing a "safe place" within the CFSI premises but also by providing the kids with counseling, life-skills coaching, livelihood training and other forms of assistance and intervention

I've heard some of the kid's stories. They are heart-wrenching. Once again, I am reminded of how blessed and sheltered my life has been and how important it is to give backMy time here is limited and I'm going to have to return to regular work in a few weeks. So, I want to make sure that I'm able to do as much as I can while I can.

My responsibilities as a volunteer are still evolving. But right now, my skill sets seem to be best suited to helping PAI in resource mobilization. I network and approach individuals and organizations who may be able to support our programs (like maybe...uhhh.... mmm....hopefully...you? ) More on how you might be able to help at the end of this entry:-)

I'm also given the opportunity to participate in different community activities. For example, this afternoon, I attended a meeting where the barangay officials presented their 1st quarter accomplishments to the residents. It was raining. We were sitting under a make-shift tent in the middle of a market. There were wet dogs and little children running around. It was almost eight pm and I hadn't had dinner yet. But I was very glad to be there. Tomorrow, I'm going to be working with a group of children finalizing their script for a puppet show to highlight children's rights. I like what I'm doing.

For more on CFSI, please visit their website by following this link. Check out the tabs for Partners and Leadership - pretty impressive and an indication of the credibility and integrity of the organization.

For more on the PAI program and the children it aims to serve, please watch this short youtube video thru this link,

After going through the site and viewing the video, you might be interested in finding out how you can help or be involved.

If so, please send me a private message so I could send you more info. I can also link you with a more senior member of the CFSI management team if you want a more in-depth discussion about CFSI's various programs and how you can help.

But, just off the top of my head, following are a few areas where support or assistance (in any form - donations, scholarships, your expertise and time, introductions to potential donors, etc) are needed:

Livelihood training (especially for the older kids) i.e. cosmetology, culinary arts, auto mechanic, food processing, basic computer skills, etc.
Job matching for graduates of the livelihood training courses
Life-skills training (i.e. self awareness, collaboration, communication skills, etc)
Books and educational tools for the CFSI children's library - kids come in regularly to use the limited facilities
Computer equipment
Tutorials on elementary and high school subjects
Public relations - just getting the word out about CFSI, what it does and how it can be supported.

The above list is by no means exhaustive so if you have any ideas of how you might be able to help, please let me know so we can schedule a discussion.

Thanks very much and wish me luck so I can do good work, please!

DISTANT DRUMS

2010-03-15T20:22:00.005+08:00

As of today, I have 16 days left in Zambia. My remaining time will be spent completing a few more projects and saying goodbye to the friends I have made

The experience has been everything that I expected. It has been difficult and challenging. Oftentimes, I felt isolated and lonely.Conversely, it has also been everything I did not expect. I made a lot of new friends that I would not have been able to meet elsewhere. I learned new things, most especially about what I can do without. I look at my end-of-placement review document and, on paper at least, it seems I have done a lot in the past five and a half months. At the same time, I feel like I have not done much at all.

In the bus this morning on the way to the big city for a final workshop, I realized that It may take some time before I could process my entire experience and understand how exactly it has changed me. Maybe someday, after having made another one of my strange life choices, that is when I will suddenly realize – ah, this is what I learned in Africa, this is how Africa has transformed me.

For now, I have my curios and my experiences to remind me of the time I have spent here. When I am alone, I take out and admire the African souvenirs . I imagine how I would put them up back home or how to explain their provenance to my friends. But, a thing is a thing. I quickly get bored with this activity.

I spend more time running through my memories. I hold each one in my consciousness, considering their value against the bright light of hindsight Which ones are most precious to me? Which ones do I want to take home with me?

I could remember:

the wretchedness of a diarrhea attack in a place with limited toilet facilities (dear God, the wretchedness).

the 2 kilometer walk to get to the nearest hospital and the stench of sweat and sickness while waiting in line for my malaria test results (negative, but I was scared)

the appetizing mixture of mud and manure on which I could just not avoid stepping during rainy days

the frustrations from a work environment with limited resources and a different ethic

the feeling of helpless anger and the lost of my sense of complacent security after having my things stolen

the homesickness that was never more acute as during the cold nights when I would be shivering under a thick blanket, listening to the sound of scurrying rats in the ceiling, wishing I were home – warm, clean, stomach full - instead.

I could remember grievances, inconveniences, hardships, annoyances, irritants.

I could. But I don’t think I would want to. Even now, the details of these memories are starting to get fuzzy. How many times did I get diarrhea? Was it in November or December that I had malaria-like symptoms? What exactly were the things that were stolen from me?

I brush these memories aside. I survived. That is what matters. I have suffered thru shit, theft, stomach problems and homesickness before. They are not unique to my African experience.

Fortunately, there are many more memories from which to choose. These are the ones that will always seem like they only happened an hour ago. No matter what the future holds for me, these are the ones that will make me want to come back to this time and place.

I will remember

the many nights when I drifted off to sleep listening to the sound of distant drums, imagining people dancing around a bonfire, wondering what it was they might be celebrating.

that hot day, sitting under the shade of a tree when a hungry boy fell asleep in my arms - his rhythmic breathing against my chest, his little fingers clutched tightly around mine

that first day in Church when, after being introduced as a new member of the parish, a grandfatherly man came up to me, held my hands and said “You are home. We are your family here”

that late afternoon when, on the way home from work, I chanced upon a group of women standing at the back of a slowly moving truck. They were softly singing . The words were foreign but the melody was so evocative of sadness and longing. I was struck still in the middle of the street, suddenly remembering everything that I too have lost and miss as I watched them disappear into the dusk

the thrill of riding in a car moving carefully along a deserted road late at night, careful not to hit any elephant that may cross our way, thinking to myself, “Only in Africa”

the awe inspired by the gentle gaze of a fawn or the perfect beauty of a zebra ambling casually in front of me.

the joy in the faces of the children who would run up to greet me every single day that I have been in Kalomo. “Muzungu, muzungu”, they would shout, racing against each other in their ragged clothes, to be the first to touch me.

the simple, inspired meals cooked in small, cramped kitchens and shared happily with friends, all the more special because the occasions were so rare.

telling a group of Zambians that my hero is the ordinary Filipino in times of crisis; saying how proud I am of my countrymen who, regardless of the odds and the difficulties, still manage to laugh and to share; realizing as I was speaking how much it meant to me to be able to say this.

I will remember faces and names and smiles, each special, each distinct and separate from the other. I will remember every life story that was shared with me,.

I will remember magnificent, MAGNIFICENT, sunsets, and thundering waterfalls.

I will remember a rare rainbow seen in the faint glow of the moonlight; colorful trees that seemed to reach up to the sky; verdant landscapes dotted with settlements of mud-huts;

I will remember. Perhaps, while remembering, I might even hear the sound of distant drums again.

I have come full circle. This is Africa. This is my Africa.

Christiane Amanpour is so 5 months ago

2010-02-13T18:28:00.005+08:00

Singapore's Changi Class Magazine, September 2009 issue

Singapore's Changi Class Magazine, February 2010 issue

And that, dear readers, is what is called scraping-the-bottom-of-the-content barrel. Just doing my bit to keep this blog updated. Thanks, by the way, to Jacqueline Danam of the magazine for the feature. Going through some stuff right now but I should be able to post something more interesting in a week or two.

Perplexed-in-Zambia

2010-01-16T23:21:00.004+08:00

Dear Advice Giver:

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I toss and turn at night. What should I do about these strange feelings I’m having?

How much of a shithole am I when I spend the morning visiting malnourished children and then, later on in the day, go on a food binge because the experience depressed me?

Should I even complain about the skills of the people with whom I’m working when I’m here precisely because they recognize that they need help?

Should I feel guilty about having a rare night out with volunteer friends if what I’m going to pay for dinner and drinks is more than what a family of six from my program’s target beneficiaries spends on food for a week? Should it make a difference when I’m not in development work anymore?

Am I perpetuating the practice of sitting allowances by receiving mine without question or am I justified by spending it on necessary work-related expenses (like paper or internet connection) that I won’t be able to reimburse otherwise?

When everyone in a meeting – men and women, young and old – starts deeply probing inside their noses with their forefingers - am I the one who is impolite because I flinch, look away and still can’t accept this as normal behavior in this part of the world?

Between being a tourist and a zealot, which side of the scale am I closer to? Since I’m here for only a short while, should I be spending more of my time taking pretty pictures for my album or should I spend every single second trying to save someone, anyone? Does one choice make me a flake and the other delusional?

Should I just go ahead and offer my help when I can – especially if what’s needed isn’t something that’ll put a significant dent in my resources – or would I just be propagating a sense of entitlement and dependence that’s going to boomerang back in the future?

What am I doing here when there are millions of people in my own country who need help? How do I go back home and make this experience mean something?

And lastly, dear Advice Giver, are there more creative ways to say “No” the next time I’m asked any of these questions: “Is the Philippines in America?”; “Aren’t you from South America/ Central America/ the Caribbean ?”; “Can you give me money for my circumcision/ a water pump in my village/ carpentry tools?”; and “Do you want another helping of delicious nshima?”

Respectfully,

Perplexed-in-Zambia

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation

2009-12-30T02:05:00.006+08:00

Last Christmas, I was in New York with very close friends, a surrogate family. We had the kind of holiday of which songs are written about – the Rockefeller Centre tree, a fireplace in the Hamptons and mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

This year’s Christmas couldn’t be any more different. I've tried, as much as I can, to summon a festive mood. I've been incessantly playing the two Christmas albums in my iPod (Ella Fitz and Frank S). I've even been going around with my very own portable, collapsible Christmas tree from home.

I haven’t gotten much support. No decorations have been put up. No parties are being held. I have given a few simple gifts but I’m not expecting any in return. There aren’t even gift wrappers being sold in the stores.

On Christmas Eve, I heard mass in a small church lit only by candles. I watched a group of small children in makeshift costumes re-enact the story of the Nativity. I couldn’t understand the words and although the story was familiar, it seemed like it was being told to me the first time. At that point, I realized that the simple setting was more similar to the first Christmas than any elaborate store display could ever hope to be. As the evening’s Responsorial Psalm reminded us – “ A Savior has been born to us, He is Jesus Christ, our Lord”

Seeing the faces of the people in church , I saw such JOY at the telling of the story – untainted by the stress of traffic or shopping or the slight avarice that comes over all of us with the feeding and buying frenzy that the holiday season brings. That night, in church, I felt something familiar start to come over me in this most unfamiliar of places. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my Christmas spirit is alive and well in Zambia.

Christmas Day found me traveling by rickety minibus (summon your memory of any movie set in Africa, with a character riding a local bus and you get the picture) to a neighboring town to visit my volunteer friends, Kristen and Jacinta. The couple help the local Anglican Church run several programs aimed at assisting disadvantaged children in the area. On the day that I visited, I helped them out in one of their projects - a feeding program for kids up to 15 years old. Most of the kids are orphans, a number have been passed on the HIV virus from their parents, many – even the kids as young as four – already work with the rest of their families in the fields or in stone quarries around the area. This is the one day in the month where they can be kids again and – for most of them – the only opportunity to have a decent, balanced meal .

In the afternoon, we toured Victoria Falls, a National Heritage site and one of the natural wonders of the world before ending the day with dinner and drinks over-looking yet another fantastic Zambian sunset. In spite of a few challenges and frustrations, I know how lucky I am to be here.

I only wish you could be here to share the experience with me but you never know what’s going to happen next so who knows where we might be together Christmas next year, yes?

MID-WEEK BLENT (BLOG VENT - I THINK I MADE THAT UP). JUST GETTING THIS OFF MY CHEST

2009-12-16T10:21:00.005+08:00

I am almost halfway thru my volunteer assignment in Zambia. I have learned that it Is best to take it one day at a time. Some days though are a bit tougher than the others.

The bad days aren’t so much because of the adjustment in lifestyle and living conditions. I’ve found out that there are many things I can live without. I guess I just had too much stuff before that I didn’t really actually need.

I come across the rough spots when I begin to doubt my ability to accomplish anything while I’m here. Take last Friday – a project prioritization workshop which I had carefully planned was cancelled for the second time.

In both cases, the cancellations came about because of sudden deaths in our small town. As senior council officials, my workshop attendees had to drop everything to sit with the bereaved families because of tradition and social obligation.

If it’s not a death, then it’s something else that causes a break in my work plan – somebody has malaria, there is no money for fuel, there is no electricity and so on. In the meantime, the clock is ticking and I don’t want to find myself at the end of this assignment without having anything to show for it.

Throwing a fit is a tempting option. I could make a big thing out of time being wasted and people not taking the work seriously.

And then again (several deep breaths later ), maybe not.

After some thought – this is what I have: What to me are inconveniences and annoying disruptions are just part of daily life here in this remote rural town of Zambia. These conditions were here before I arrived and will still be here after I’m long gone.

In a country with one of the highest mortality rates in the world and where the extended family is the main support system, it’s not unusual for a co-worker to have to attend four funerals in a day. In an environment of unstable cash flows, It is my co-workers who take a bigger brunt of the lack of resources – they can go on for months without being paid. In a district where the number one cause of death its malaria and there are rumors of another outbreak, It’s not irresponsible for somebody to take time off from work to make sure that he or she is tested and treated properly .

So, who am I to complain about unused presentation materials? And what are my timelines and work-plans but merely means to an end – not the goals by themselves? If they can’t serve the needs of the people then they have to be modified accordingly. I will Zen this out, I will reschedule the workshop and make use of the additional time to improve my hand-outs. In the meantime, I will see where else I can help.

Sometimes I surprise myself with how mature and rational I can be (a bit of irony there, in case you didn’t get it. Ugh, now I’m patronizing you. Sorry. Going on…)

The district council where I work has as its mandate the provision of basic social services to a population of about 200,000 people. My visual for the resident who needs the council’s help the most is this unsmiling little girl I see sometimes on my morning walk to work . She must be – oh, maybe 10 or 11. She has a baby slung on her back and a hoe in her hands as she tends the small field in front of her family’s mud-house. I ask myself – Why isn’t she in school? Why does she look so sad? Where are her parents? Does she and the baby get medical attention? Are they AIDS orphans?

In spite of its gargantuan responsibilities, the council does its work with very limited resources. Its’ annual budget for its social programs is about equal to the sales target of a junior IT sales executive in the Philippines

My main task for the time I’m here is to identify alternative sources of funding and introduce a system and structure in place to make sure that when the funds do come, they are utilized properly. That means literally anything. So, my typical day can be spent meeting with our program beneficiaries, running computer tutorials, communicating with potential donors , running capacity-building workshops or riding on a truck distributing flyers for the hygienic use of toilets.

You know that eager-beaver guy in the office who volunteers for everything and offers a lot of unsolicited advice ? I’m that guy over here. “What’s the problem? Where do you need help? Why don’t you do it this way?” I know, I knooooow. We hate that guy but I can’t help it.

So, (more deep breaths later) do I have any good days at all?

Yes, I do. Thank you, God. One of the guys from work came up to me after church last Sunday and said – “I wish you could stay with us longer” . I was having a classic Debbie Downer moment so I, of course, had to say- “But sometimes I wonder if I’m really helping out. All I seem to do is ask a lot of questions”. And then, this guy replied – “But your questions make us think of how we could do things differently and that’s always a good start.”

That exchange kind of put what I’m trying to do here in perspective. I have to remind myself that, sometimes, trying, by itself, is already the victory . I need to stop equating accomplishment with tasks done and targets and timelines met , like I normally would.

Several recent instances make me start to think that maybe - maybe - I am able to help in some small way, after all. I was very happy last week when one of my co-workers bought himself a corporate strategy book out of his own money (costing about 5% of what I estimate his monthly salary must be). I’m taking that to mean he realizes that he has to do his part in closing in on the knowledge gap I felt like a proud parent on his kid’s first day at school when I saw him bring home that thick book.

One other co-worker made a case to the bosses to adopt a management report that we had been working on together. I take that to mean that he’s taking ownership of the project and will stay on top of it. And earlier today, I was approached to see how we could create simple Excel databases to replace the books that have been kept manually for years and years. I take that to mean, they’re realizing that there could be a better way of doing things and that they might now be ready to try them out.

In the world I want to live in, this is what is going to happen: Even after I’m gone, the people I’m working with , will build on whatever skills and knowledge I am able to share. This will help them generate more resources and then run their programs more efficiently and professionally.

At the end of the day, the beneficiaries of those programs – especially women , children and people living with HIV/AIDS, VSO’s target beneficiaries , and that little girl with the baby on her back – will benefit by having a chance at a better life.

It’s not exactly digging trenches or constructing a school but I guess we all have to start somewhere. And that’s how I’d like to think of my experience here - it’s a start.

OUT OF AFRITADA

2009-12-12T20:31:00.007+08:00

I had a farm in Africa .

Haha! Unfortunately, not. And, sorry, Isak Dinesen.

What I do have are vivid and lurid thoughts of all the food I want to eat but can’t just yet.

As I lie in bed at night, I reconstruct all the minute details of meals enjoyed in the past. And then, I conjure not only the flavors and tastes of meals yet to come but also the atmosphere and environment in which they are to be eaten (“May ambience ba ang bahay ninyo?”, as I famously asked a good friend 25 years ago )

I’ve compiled a shortlist of everything I want to sink my teeth into RIGHT NOW. Very careful consideration went into this list . In other words, cinaneer ko ’to. Entries were written in and then taken out (in some cases, written back in again) . After all, much as I’d like to, I can’t eat everything (darn).

I don’t have a particularly sophisticated palate (veal, veal ka dyan). None of these are fancy stuff (well, maybe except for the Shang and Philippine Plaza buffets, but only because they’re relatively pricey) . However, these are all food I like , made even more special since they’ve been shared at one time or another with family and good friends.

Let me know if you think I missed anything or if there’s something new I should try.

From my Kitchen (must all be eaten in one meal to experience the full extent of my culinary genius)

a) One-Taste-of- This-and-You’ll-Love-Me -Forever Lasagna - which I make with ground sirloin generously seasoned with pepper, garlic salt and random spices; I sauté this in butter with even more garlic, mushrooms, onions, carrots, bell peppers and a bit of sugar then add real tomatoes and heaps of tomato sauce. I throw in generous slices of chopped chorizo to the mix then layer with al-dente lasagna sheets, basil pesto spread, at least 2 different kinds of runny cheeses and a buttery , creamy béchamel sauce that I make from scratch. As you bite into the finished product, each layer reveals a different flavor - – tangy, nutty, gooey, creamy, meaty, cheesy.

b) Copied-from-Yummy-Magazine-and-Then-Made-So-Much-Better Sinigang na Lechon - This is hard-core sinigang, not for the faint-hearted. I put in 1 ½ the recommended souring agent to balance the richness of the lechon. After trimming off some of the excess fat, I slow-cook the main ingredients until the broth is thickened by the mashed gabi (like yam, a Philippine root crop); and the meat shreds easily when poked with a fork. While simmering, the lechon skin separates from the flesh, curls up a bit and gets a silky consistency that yields to the bite yet retains just a little bit of fight as you chew on it - a reminder of its previous crunchy glory . I add a couple of crushed chili peppers for an extra kick and throw in more vegetables (eggplants, string beans, green leafies) during the last 5 minutes of simmering. These are to give the sinigang some crunch. And because, really, I’m conscious about my diet, haha. Something is wrong with the dish if you’re not experiencing all of the following at the same time – lips puckering, forehead sweating, body tingling, face smiling .

c) I’ve-Died-and-Gone-to-Pork-Heaven Adobo . This is “dry” adobo. You simmer all the ingredients (soy, vinegar, water, sugar, pork pieces coated in garlic paste , lots of extra garlic) in a large work until most of the liquid has evaporated then you fry the pieces in their own fat (or in butter, if you want to live dangerously). You get an adobo that’s dark and sticky on the outside yet white, juicy and tender on the inside. You HAVE to pour some of the remaining adobo oil with bits of caramelized garlic residue over the accompanying steaming rice. I serve this with a side salad of tomatoes and feta cheese.

d) PASTuBaLIGUE , my own concoction of angel hair PASta tossed with spicy TUyo flakes ( salted dried fish marinated in olive oil and chili) with a dash of BAgoong (sautéed fish paste) and aLIGUE (crab fat). Italian-Ilocano-Bisaya fusion cuisine at its best. How much of a dash separates the culinary artist from the poseur.

e) Award-Winning Fried Rice (third prize last year in a prestigious New York competition with three contestants) –rice slowly simmered in chicken broth with tomato sauce, different kinds of deli sausages (or canned meat, if that’s what’s available, we’re not picky. SPAM works really well ), left-over chicken, peas, bell peppers, carrots, mushrooms, generous sprinklings of Tabasco and random spices and whatever else is in the pantry that’s no longer moving. This is a cross between paella, risotto, gumbo and Chinese fried rice. The dish becomes even better when re-heated for breakfast the following morning.

f) In lieu of dessert, fruit-flavored antacids will be served.

g) Click this link for an earlier blog entry on my attempts at cooking.

From my Family’s Kitchen

a) The Concepcion Family’s super special fruit salad (OMG, the sensuous, decadent combination of fruit in syrup with heavy cream, cheese cubes and sweet corn kernels – no one else does this like the Concepcions). You savor this treat slowly, letting each spoonful linger in your mouth for a few seconds , teasing your tongue with hints of all the goodness about to explode in your mouth , then you chew ever so slowly, not wanting to miss out on any of the flavor notes. You may have to hold on to your seat as you savor each mouthful . You’ll need to steady yourself as your body goes into throes of spasmic pleasure.

b) My Manang Juliet’s:

**Chicken Afritada - chicken stewed in tomato sauce until the meat falls off the bones and the cubed carrots and potato wedges become soft but not mushy – you eat all the meat and veggies THEN you suck all the sauce and juice that have seeped into the bones. Ending: a clean plate and a pile of dried-out, masticated chicken bones, Yum.

****Pochero with beef still attached to the bones, green leafies, saba (plantains ) and gabi (again) to thicken the broth – whats the English word na nga for gabi? Best when each bite contains a little bit of everything. So, you dip a chunk of the tender beef in a sauce made of patis (fish sauce) and calamansi. Then you add that to a spoonful of the mashed saba and gabi and rice that’s wet with the hot broth. If you’re able to add some marrow from inside the beef bones –ay, syet, ‘tangina. For some reason, this dish is best served for Sunday family lunches. After finishing two bowlfuls (sometime around 2 pm), you look for a sofa and rub your belly until you fall asleep.

**Home-Made Chicharon - pork skin with plenty of pork flesh still attached, kept it in the freezer till it’s ready for deep- frying – this makes it extra crunchy; served with Manang’s ampalaya (bitter melon) salad (crunchy, sweetish, sourish with just a little bit of the bitterness left to balance the porky goodness - always copied, never equaled). Her trick, I think, is to slice the ampalaya thinly while its submerged in cold water (she puts in ice cubes pa). The vinaigrette she pours on it is just vinegar, salt, sugar and a bit of pepper.

** Sugpo sa Gata (big prawns cooked in coconut milk and chili), you pour a bit of the hot gata on a plate of rice then you deconstruct the prawns, first taking off the head from which you flick off all the prawn fat with your forefinger for licking; then, you take the shell off the body so you can reveal the succulent, pink flesh inside which you dip in vinegar (with garlic bits) and eat with rice using your hands. I’m trembling as I write this

**Chicken Arroz Caldo , cooked with plenty of ginger and until the meat is super tender (with patis and calamansi on the side, MUST be eaten only on Christmas and New Year’s Eves; not as good on any other days)

c) The Palentinos Family’s Menudo and Embutido (like meatloaf but 1000X better, the liver spread makes all the difference)

d) Auntie Puring’s Lanie’s kinilaw (ceviche, sabi ng mga sosyal), Lola Mang’s carne frita (Montana family version), Manang Alma’s fried lechon

e) Dessert from my cousin, Mickey – whatever it is, it’ll be good cause it will be made with love :-)

From other People’s Kitchens

a) TOP of the LIST. Carla O’s Papa’s laing with extra chili. Carla’s Papa – a retired military man - painstakingly personally makes this only upon special request (Mr. P, may I make a request, hehe) , eaten with plenty of rice and several pieces of tuyo (dried, salted fish) – best eaten at home using your hands and with one foot up on your chair.

Everything else that follows is in random order.

b) Stephen B’s adobo with hardboiled eggs - when you’ve driven for hours and you’re tired and hungry and masungit– this is the dish you want to be waiting for you so you can be human again. This adobo version is “wet”, i.e. more saucy that my adobo (I suspect this is what makes Bisaya adobo different, Manang makes a similar version) but still cooked with a lot of garlic, just the way I like it.

c) Leah O’s twice-cooked adobo (must be with my version of scrambled eggs – about which, if I may so myself, wow) – best eaten for breakfast on a lazy, rainy Sunday, Disclosure: my adobo evolved from Leah O’s adobo.

d) Mimi D’s T-bone steak (and yes, Mimi, I really wanted the larger piece that time but I was too shy to ask)

e) Pearl A’s pochero with tomato sauce and pork and beans

f) Mike L’s wife’s fruitcake – very good even while standing in your kitchen feeding a 3 am snack-attack, WONDERFUL with cold milk.

g) Beng S’ Mom’s apple pie (ABSOLUTELY MUST be eaten with Arce’s Vanilla Ice Cream)

h) Renmin V’s bread pudding – made from something about to go stale, bubbling and caramel-y on the outside, soft and custard-y on the inside. Reminds me of myself, haha.

i) Erlene’s Mom’s inihaw na bangus

j) Juan C’s Mom’s pancit. I love, love, LOVE pancit. This is very good pancit.

k) Lanie L’s lamayo ( dried fish from Palawan, not as salty as its counterparts from Southern Philippines) with crushed tomatoes

From Various Purveyors’ Kitchens (all served with cold DIET COKE and plenty of ice, unless otherwise specified)

a) Kippers in Capers from Coney’s kitchen (with steamed white rice or buttered bread)

b) Sardines in Tomato Sauce from Zaragosa’s (MUST be eaten on top of steamed rice and sprinkled with parmesan cheese)

c) Chicken thighs, chicken liver, chicken butt and batchoy at Chicken Bacolod (planned to be my very first meal after getting off the Manila International Airport this April)

d) Tapsilog , king size at Tapa King (with vinegar for the tapa and ketchup for the eggs) – best eaten at 3 am before going home after a night of drinking

e) The flat pizza that you roll with arugula at Focaccia in A-Venue along Makati Avenue

f) Pinapaitan and buko juice at Chrisguard Carinderia in Pasig

g) Sausage McMuffin with egg and a large orange juice

h) Bola bola siopao with red egg from HenLin

i) Sukiyaki at that small place in Little Tokyo at the side of Makati Cinema Square that Mimi and Charlotte took me to

j) Steamed shrimps, crabs in chili sauce, inihaw na liempo, clam soup (halaan?) in any of the Dampas, but preferably the one in Metrowalk cause its near my house

k) Crispy pata, day-old lechon, stuffed chicken and pinakbet at Abe’s in Serendra

l) Radish cake, salt and pepper spareribs and salted fish fried rice at any Maan Hann or North Park branch – soy sauce and calamansi on the side

m) Lemon chicken, chop suey with quail eggs and yangchao fried rice in Emer’s in Makati Cinema Square

n) Greek-style lemon chicken adobo at Cyma’s

o) Four Seasons pizza at Yellow Cab

p) The kebab platter at Aria in Podium with the side salad in yoghurt dressing

q) The buffets at any of the Shangs or at the Philippine Plaza

r) The buffets at Dad’s and Tong Yang, this other place in SM (that’s like shabu-shabu and Korean barbecue together, same level as Dad’s, cheap-o but always hits the spot)

s) Sinampalukang Manok at O Kitchen in Libis

t) Jurassic Park and Dragon Roll sushi at Omakase in Libis

u) Chicken teriyaki, spicy tuna salad and tofu with ground pork at any Teriyaki Boy

v) Fried oysters, tonkatsu and fried rice at Sugi

w) Tomato soup and the grilled pork chops at the Dome branch behind Makati Med

x) Garlic chicken or Lechon Kawali (in fact - why not, both) at Big Brother in Legaspi Village (with Elvie at the counter, smiling)

That’s all, Thank you,

Journalizing the Journal

2009-12-05T17:07:00.006+08:00

Steve Mollman, a writer for the Wall Street Journal, introduced himself by email just before I left the Philippines. He wanted to ask questions for a piece on “executives on sabbatical” (which for some reason reminds me very much of bananas-in-pajamas).

He and I exchanged emails over several weeks and his article appeared in the November 26 edition of the paper - click here for an online version.

Steve asked some interesting questions which made me look again at my motivations and expectations about this volunteer experience I gave him long, detailed, flow- of -mind answers as if he were my new best friend . This was during my first few weeks here. I didn’t have much to do.

I am posting some of those questions along with my answers - .edited for brevity and updated with some new insights since my last exchange with Steve . If I look back at this experience several years from now, this entry would be a good counterpoint to this post.

** Are you mortified by what you're finding there? You've seen poverty before, but Africa is another level for you I'm guessing.

It is true that I have seen more poverty and sickness here than what I am used to (but that is a function of both my limited exposure back in the Philippines and the situation in Zambia). How it affects the children is especially disturbing. I am saddened, more than anything else , that there are countries like Zambia and mine which have so much natural resources yet so many of its people s are suffering .

** I see you have a lot friends on Facebook who admire what you're doing and show it through comments. Does that kind of feedback boost your spirits?

Yes. Encouragement is always welcome (sometimes, even deliberately sought) especially when you’re about to undertake something with a lot of uncertainty. But I have a confession – a few of the comments make me a little sheepish. Some friends give me more credit than I actually deserve I ‘ve been fortunate in life and I do want to do my bit but I really didn’t have to go to Africa to do that. Part of my motivation is selfish – I wanted to have an experience - to get as far away from my comfort zone as possible, free-fall and see how well I could survive. I hope I don’t look back a year from now and tell myself – I should just have taken those sky-diving lessons.

** Do you sense possible danger to yourself or others around you?

Kalomo , where I am based, is a small rural town with almost no crime rate. I’ve had to walk home alone thru deserted, unlighted streets at night with no incidents (although I always keep my pepper spray handy). I had a few small things that were stolen in a midnight burglary a few weeks ago – but the same thing - or even worse - could also have happened even back in the Philippines. The most dire warnings during our first week of training were for killer mosquitoes and attacking rabid dogs. I tell myself that New Yorkers would be happy if those were the only things they would have to worry about while walking home at night.

** Did you get negative reactions from managers or other coworkers in the office when you announced your intentions?

No, everyone’s been really supportive. As far as work is concerned, there was enough time to plan this, communicate it properly, transition and tie up loose ends. The most common reaction I’ve received – and this is true not only for co-workers but also for family and /friends - is “I wish I could do that too”. So, I suppose offering assistance or support - all of which I appreciate very much - is one way of being part of this experience

I think that, given the chance, a good number from among my circle of family and friends would have done this too. – it just so happens that my present circumstances (no family to support, some savings, supportive company) have allowed me to do this now.

** Have you met kindred-spirit executives who are taking a sabbatical in the same spirit you are?

I’ve gotten along very well with the other volunteers I ‘ve met. For one to even be willing to do this , some general character trait must be common– idealism, curiosity, a spirit of adventure maybe, some bit of foolishness definitely – and that makes the interpersonal connection very much easier.

** What exactly is your "assignment" or "work description" while there? Did you choose that role or was it chosen for you?

I am working with District Council of Kalomo, which is Zambia’s equivalent of a local government body. I am assigned to the Planning Department, which is the unit responsible for formulating the programs for poverty reduction, social services (clean water, waste management, etc) while addressing cross-cutting issues such as HIV/AIDS, gender equality and so on. The residents of the district are among the poorest in Zambia. My main task while I'm here is to help the Council identify alternative sources of funds for their programs and to introduce a system and structure in place so that when those funds come, they are used properly. I don't know how much I can accomplish in 6 months but there are other volunteers coming after me to continue the work. So, at best, I hope I can make the work easier for them by laying the correct foundations in place.

I’m currently more involved at the policy level but I’m increasingly doing more field work that involves going out and directly interacting with the beneficiaries of our programs – people living with HIV and AIDS, subsistence farmers, women leaders, etc.

** Are you having doubts about how effective you can be in helping?

Yes. I have no experience working with a local government unit or with the issues that need to be addressed by the Council . However, they specifically asked for a volunteer with a business background. And I know that, in that area, I can contribute. The challenge for me right now is to be able to contextualize my business skills/knowledge against the realities of life here so that any advice/contribution I offer is relevant.

Volunteering here also requires constant ego checks for anyone who’s used to a position of some authority. I’ve had to make a conscious effort to stop myself from just taking over some of the projects to get them to the speed and quality that I am used to The people with whom you work need to own the process and learn the skills to ensure sustainability when you leave.

** Did you do anything special financially to prepare for your period of volunteering?

For a few years, I ‘ve had vague plans about retiring early and then having the freedom to engage in some kind of NGO work (in the “someday, I will….” sense with which I think most people are familiar) so I tried to evolve my savings strategy around that. When my portfolio took a hit from the market dip last year , that extended my idea of a time frame for early retirement., I realized that I may never be able to do this. That was the point when I basically told myself - Fuck it, why wait ? I should do this now while I can.

** What were you prepared to give up financially to do this?

Am I willing to forsake everything and live simply but honorably for the rest of my life? I’m not quite there. I can’t yet afford to quit work completely so I have to go back to gainful employment after this .

My major cost while doing volunteer work is opportunity-based – in terms of lost earnings and work advancement but it really wasn’t a difficult choice giving that up for a few months. I’m looking forward to gaining in opportunities of a different kind where the marginal returns may be higher as well as gaining in experience that I can apply back home.

Fortunately, VSO has taken care of airfare to/from Zambia, provides medical insurance, accommodations and a modest stipend . However, any “extras” (i.e.-feeding my internet habit, travel around Zambia or Africa on holiday ) will have to be covered by personal funds.

-end-

Sidebar:

Steve’s article mentions several options for those of you thinking about doing short-term volunteering. I encourage you to visit the VSO websites, here and here. I’d also be happy to guide you through the process – just send me a message . Thanks

Flotsam from the Debris of my Mind

2009-11-20T03:22:00.017+08:00

1) Once upon a time, there lived a couple in a small village. Let’s call them Jerry and Ana (as usual, not their real names). Jerry’s job took him to far-away places. Ana stayed at home. Thru hard-work and perseverance they were able to build a house. Unfortunately, whenever Jerry was away, he was not faithful to Ana. Unknown to him, he had become HIV+. He came home and infected Ana. Ana become pregnant. The baby was born infected , as well. By the time, their disease had escalated to AIDS, the entire village knew.

The villagers were scared. They wanted this family out. Jerry and Ana knew no other home. They couldn’t leave. The villagers took matters in their own hands. One night, they came and torched the house that Jerry and Ana built. The couple escaped with their baby. They never came back to the village. This is not one of my stories from Zambia. This actually happened in a small village in Southern Philippines, a few years ago, as recounted to me by a fellow Filipino volunteer when we met for training last September.

Cruelty borne out of ignorance happens anywhere. It should stop.

2) The power outages are happening more frequently here in Kalomo. Last night, the lights went out at 7 pm and didn’t come back until the morning. There’s not much to do here even when the power is on, much less when it’s pitch darkness. At around 8 pm, I was sitting by my window staring at the moon. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I found myself singing….”Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone’s waiting for you…” in a trembling voice. I would have finished the song too if the dogs didn’t start barking.

3) The rains have come. Unfortunately, the downpours usually happen in the morning and early evening. It becomes really cold. I brought only one jacket so there are days when I wear it at night and then to work in the morning. I also brought one suit for just-in-case occasions so I’ve taken to wearing the suit jacket with my denims and rubber shoes on some days. What’s difficult is walking through the mud to/from work. One of these days, I’m going to fall flat on my butt (law of karma: there was this girl in the office back in the Philippines who used that excuse one day to explain why she had to go back home and couldn’t report back to work and I didn’t believe her).

4) And oh let me tell you about the locusts (I think that’s what they’re called. The lady who cleans tells me they come out during rainy weather and they can be made into some kind of local dish, I wonder if this is similar to the camaru we have back home. As I write, they’re swarming around the room . But they seem to have a pretty short life-span because I have dead ones all over my floor. I can also hear rats scurrying on the ceiling right now. From the sound, I'm guessing they're as big as toddlers. God bless all the little critters. But I still want to poison all of them with the strongest insecticide or repellants available and kick their furry filthy little carcasses as far away from me as possible.

5) I continue to be an object of fascination for the children here. When I walk to and from work, they run towards me shouting, “Hello. How are you”. I think it’s sweet so I don’t mind. What’s mildly disconcerting is that they gather outside the gate of the Drive Inn Guest House every Saturday morning to watch me do my laundry. It’s difficult to be friendly when your knuckles are red from scrubbing dried mud from your pants. If I charge money to let people watch me shower, maybe I can afford to spend more time on Internet surfing.

6) After 20+ years in the IT Industry, I can finally call myself an IT Specialist. I’ve been running computer tutorials, creating databases and doing minor hardware troubleshooting. Who knew?

7) In my 5 weeks here in Kalomo, these are among the things I’ve accomplished so far: a) revised the District Strategic Plan ; stakeholder consultations are now ongoing; b) helped draft the District Workplace Policy on HIV, AIDS and other Life-Threatening Diseases – I’m really proud of this, I think it’s a really good document; c) participated in workshops for gender-equality in the workplace, the output of which will eventually be used for another workplace policy; d) participated in monitoring meetings for the Constituency Development Funds where we spent a good amount of time talking about the health of the goats that were purchased in one village; and e) celebrated World Toilet Day today, November 19. We had a parade, a program and everything. World Toilet Day promotes proper hygiene and sanitation, especially in the rural villages.

8) This Monday, I’m conducting a workshop on resource mobilization, the first of a series, where I did the lesson plan and training materials all by myself about a subject I had previously no knowledge about. On Friday , we’re visiting Lusaka, the big city, to meet with some people whom the Council hopes to convince to invest in Kalomo so that new jobs can be created, etc. I will look for opportunities to apply what I’m learning here back home in da Pilipins

9) The big challenge has been trying to adjust to the way that things are done here and my role as a volunteer. Sometimes, things are just soooooo slow, that I just want to take over and do everything myself. But I keep reminding myself that this would defeat the purpose of my being here. At the end of the day, you want the people with whom you work to own the process and develop the skills to be able to sustain the projects on their own. It should do me good to learn to be less of a control freak.

10) The period from late November to the approach of Christmas usually is a bad time for me – too many death anniversaries and all the baggage that goes with the upcoming holidays. The rainy season and all the excess time for introspection isn’t going to help me here. On the other hand, I’m keeping busy and doing new things so – let’s see.

11) The week-end after next, I’m planning a big trip to the other end of Zambia (14 hours travel time) to meet up with some volunteer friends . And there’s the trip to Livingstone (home of Victoria Falls, supposedly one of the wonders of the natural world) which is only two hours away from Kalomo

12) Zambia being a predominantly Christian nation, I think I've found an effective way to bargain when I suspect I'm not being given the local rate. I look the vendor in the eye and say - "Are you sure you're giving me the right price? Are you sure?? God is watching us. If you're cheating me, he will punish you!" Works all the time.

13) November 17 marks Wyatt Ammon’s 4^th death anniversary. His story was among those that inspired me when I was considering volunteering. May his soul rest in peace and may God continue to give comfort to his family, Amen.

There. Those are thirttene items that could have been full-blown blog entries. If you don’t hear from me for awhile, its because I’ve run out of ideas. Or maybe the locusts flew me away cause I’m so thin already (haha, not really, not yet anyway).

P.S. The section on Italy in Eat, Pray, Love is so the wrong thing to read when you have limited food options.

A Tale of Two Nations

2009-11-08T20:15:00.013+08:00

I am so not going to be the guy who sits at the bar buying rounds of drinks for people.

I said this to myself as soon as I saw the open-spaced Drive-Inn Outdoor Bar. It is attached to the Drive-Inn Guest House where I am currently staying. I imagined having to go through the opening scene of Miss Saigon every time I went home after work or waking up to some drunken argument outside my window in the middle of the night.

As it turns out, the Drive Inn Outdoor Bar is pretty lame. And the customers? A wild bunch. They don’t stop partying until 8 pm. Woo-hoo, fun times in Kalomo.!

This bar has no music, no bright lights, no mirror ball, no dancing, no displays of flesh. From what I’ve seen, the soft-drinks (Fanta Orange is big in this part of the world) seem to go as fast as the beers (Mosi and Castle – South African brands, which are pretty good ).

Getting in and out of here is an event by itself. As it is way off the town center, it involves driving thru rough roads for those who have motorcycles or cars and for those who don’t - walking thru unlighted, unmarked roads after sundown.

The thing is: the Drive-Inn Outdoor Bar attracts a steady clientele. I suspect that its most attractive quality is simply this: in a town with limited entertainment options, it is a place to go. For the price of a drink or two, one can have some private time, take a break from his or her daily toil and dream or talk about better things, better times.

And so, people come. Alone, in pairs or in small mixed groups. They stay for a couple of drinks but keep to themselves or their small groups Everyone is gone by 8 pm and the Drive-Inn closes shop.

As for me – I get home from work at around 5:30 pm (or 1730 hours as they say around here). I dump my stuff in my room, take out a bottle of water and a couple of sticks from my precious (and dwindling!) supply of Marlboro Lights and then I stake out my space at the far end of the bar. I come for the nightly show. From where I choose to sit, I have a great view of the setting Kalomo sun. Unmarred by pollution or the obstruction of tall buildings, it is always magnificent.

The strange thing is while the other patrons don’t socialize with each other, they don’t seem to have any qualms about approaching me to start a conversation. I am , after all, one of the town curiosities. Everyone knows English since it is the official language although, much like the Philippines, everyone also knows at least one local dialect.

I’ve met some interesting people in this way. Let me tell you about one of them.

Aaron (not his real name) works for a freight forwarding company (not his real job, you know the drill, haha).

I don’t ask people for their ages but I’m guessing he is in his early 20’s. He was born in the northern region of Zambia. His father died when he was 1 and as is the local custom, he was taken away from his mother by his father’s relatives. He never saw her again.

When he was 11, he heard that she died. At 14, he decided to quit school, leave his relatives and fend for himself. He has been taking odd jobs since then. The last one has taken him to Kalomo, which is in the far southern part of the country. He has been here for three years. He doesn’t want to stay for a fourth. He is saving up to go to carpentry school. He wants to have a trade so he can set himself up and go on business on his own.

He was curious about the Philippines. What kind of lives we have. What kind of government leads us. Although he struggled a bit with the English, it was obvious that he is pretty smart. His questions and line of thinking reminded me of my friends back in my University days.

Seeing an opportunity to share something about my country, I told him that the Philippines also has its share of problems but Filipinos , in general, are smart, resourceful and hard-working. We would always find a way to survive and help each other along the way. Like any other country, I told him, we had good leaders and bad leaders but we held the bad ones accountable and we were free to express our opinions against them.

He wanted to know if we had poor people too. I said yes.

He told me about life in Zambia. According to him, an average worker earns about 500 thousand Zambian Kwacha a month (about 5 thousand pesos or 100 US dollars). With expenses for rent and food, that is hardly enough for a single person to survive , let alone a family. But, the workers are still the lucky ones. At least, they get steady income. Most of the people fall below the poverty line, relying on subsistence agriculture to survive, with a good number classified as critically poor (note: I am providing the link to substantiate the info that Aaron shared) .

In the meantime, Aaron continued, the politicians who are supposed to help the people, have no idea what it is to be poor. They live in their big houses, drive their fancy cars and sit down to lavish dinners while the rest of the country struggles.

This was getting too familiar to me. Since I wanted to keep the conversation on an upbeat note, I reminded him that everyone has a choice. Quickly doing a mental inventory of my arsenal of feel-good stories, I chose to tell him about the People Power Revolution.

I said, “Look at the Philippines. We had a president who was not serving the interest of the people. We took to the streets. Without any blood being shed, we were able to get him out and replace him with a new President”.

Just to drive home the point, I added, “And we did this not once but twice”.

It took a while for Aaron to digest this story. In the meantime, “‘Your Man in Zambia is in da haus” went like a banner ad thru my head.

I was too early with my self-congratulations.

Aaron spoke up again. He said he was amazed that something like that could happen. But he said he was almost certain that this was not possible in his country “Why not?", I asked almost peevishly. I always hate it when people don’t get the point of my feel-good stories.

Even in the fading afternoon light, I could see the effort in his face and expression to articulate his thoughts clearly to me. He said – the politicians would mess it all up. Even if the people currently running the government would be booted out, there would be too much in-fighting and self-interests from among those wanting to replace them. They will all make similar promises and then the leaders might change but the problems of the country would remain the same. He ended by saying that someday, he hopes that politics and government in Zambia could be like what it is in the Philippines

He looked at me as if to check whether I could understand this – I, who in his thoughts, come from a country so much more advanced and ahead In progress and good governance.

I could have continued the conversation. I could have told him how far-off from reality his ideal was. I could have…

But when all a man has is a dream, why take that away from him? So, I kept my mouth shut, took a deep breath and recalled this line from A Tale of Two Cities, one of my favorite stories: “It is a far better thing that I will do than I have ever done; it t is a far better place where I will go than I have ever been”

And that, my friends is, how I decided to break the promise I made to myself on my first day here at the Drive-Inn Guest House.

I bought us a couple of beers.

And then, I changed the subject to something much more undeniably ideal than politics and governance in my country,

“How about that sunset, huh?”.

Sidebars:

a) I may be staying at the Guest House for a few more weeks. The house where I am supposed to be transferring still has a huge hole in the ground where the septic tank is supposed to be. They brought me around to inspect it last week. It’s a concrete structure with a big backyard and a mango tree surrounded by a grass fence. When I move-in, I’ll be living by myself until the additional expected volunteers come in next year. The house is kinda isolated so I’m a bit concerned about security. There was a break-in at the Guest House last night. A few of my things were stolen, including my BP monitor. While I was sleeping , the the thief reached thru the open window and grabbed what he could. I have to say though that until last night, I’ve never felt threatened or unsafe since arriving. Even then, I want to think of the break-in as an isolated incident. I'm not taking any changes though. I slept with my pepper spray on the bed side last night.

b) What I am paranoid about is malaria. There was another volunteer who just left, pre-terminating her placement. In the two months that she was in the area, she got malaria twice . Having brought only one set of sheets and one towel, I’m now using the stuff she left behind – and yes I checked, you only get malaria by being bitten. Anyway, I SLATHER myself with insect repellant at night then I put on my socks, jogging pants and hoodie then I make sure the treated mosquito net is tucked-in tightly to keep the critters away. If I could take my daily phrophy-whatever (medicine against malaria) twice for good measure, I would. I don't want to go home early because I got sick. Anyway, when my tummy aches, the first thought that comes to mind is – is this the first sign of malaria? Haha, I’ll get over it and I'll probably be sleeping naked by next month (maybe not, the nights are chilly, but you know what I mean).

c) The views reflected in this blog are entirely my own and do not necessarily reflect VSO’s position on any subject. Heck, they might not even reflect my position 5 minutes after posting the entry. So, chill.

While You Were Sleeping, I Became Big and White

2009-11-02T05:35:00.009+08:00

I grew up in a small, quite town in the Northern part of the Philippines. As with many other small Filipino towns at the time, we had our share of white do-gooders - missionaries and Peace Corp Volunteers (and maybe a few CIA agents but we'll never know, will we?) . They had names like Bill, George, or Carol. .

They certainly stood out, these tall pale people. The men wore their crew cuts and short sleeved white shirts like a uniform. The women had short hair, unvarnished nails and faces devoid of cosmetics.

But, whatever they may have lacked in vanity, they certainly made up in zeal. They weren’t shy, that’s for sure. God or Uncle Sam (or maybe even both, you never k now with those Two) had brought them to the Philippine to save the Filipinos from themselves and by God (or by Uncle Sam), they would!

They approached people on the street asking for directions using the local dialect. They knocked on doors to sell bibles. They cried out to God with a megaphone in the middle of the town plaza. They spoke up in town hall meetings to share their expert opinion

When they walked by, a few kids would come up to them and greet them with “Hi Joe!” eager to practice their English or bask in the reflected glory of the local celebrities.

I would run away. It’s not that I was shy or scared. Okay, maybe I may have been a little of both. But we did speak English at home and my parents brought foreign visitors to the house every so often. Looking back now , I realize that – even at that age – it was more about my natural aversion towards people with loud voices who want to tell me what to do (to this day, I have the same reaction towards pushy tele-marketers, aggressive sales men and campaigning politicians ).

Cu to: several years after, a few days ago here in Zambia. The lady who cleans the guest house, where I am staying, was telling me about some Chinese people who had just come to town (a Chinese company had just won the contract to complete the national highway that was going to pass thru our small town of Kalomo).

She said to me, “But they’re not real muzungus, like you”. Taken aback, I asked, “Why, what am I?”. She said, “You’re white”.

I’ve been mulling over the implications of her observation. I already knew that they ‘ve been referring to me as the “Big Man” . Last week, somebody from work was telling me that there were plans to bring the “Big Man” to a field trip to the bush sometime soon. I asked who the Big Man was. It turned out he was talking about me. At the time, I assumed it was in reference to my size (I am taller than most of the Zambian men I’ve met, although – I hasten to add - not necessarily heftier).

My initial reaction was: I don’t want to be “white”. I don’t want to be the “Big Man”. I don’t want to be an object of curiosity. I’ll learn the language. I’ll eat the food. Just let me live quietly amongst you and give me the opportunity to do good work while I’m here.

And while all this whining was going on in my mind, I remembered the pale-faced strangers of my youth. While many will argue about the negative effects of what can be seen as an extended form of colonialism - we also cannot deny that a lot of good work was done. There are dams and bridges and schools and churches that exist to this day because of the efforts and smarts and sacrifices of these missionaries and volunteers. And, surely, their attempts to cross the cultural divide have helped this generation (and the next ones) of Filipinos in having a relatively balanced world-view and in being open to all sorts of new learnings and experiences.

I would like to think that majority of them had come to my country with the best of intentions. They too must have thought that by trying to learn the language and chatting up the locals, they could fit in and make the work they had come to do easier.

But, who were they kidding? They did not fit in. They could not. They were just too different. In trying to belong, they just called more attention to how different they were. We knew they were from far-away places to which they would eventually return

In the same manner, I accept – that my good intentions and best efforts notwithstanding – I will never totally fit in here either. It’s funny -coming here, I told myself I would play it down and be as inconspicuous as possible. But, I realize now that my idea of “inconspicuous” was just so totally wrong, haha. My tattoos and torn jeans and black tee-shirts (with everything from “Pilyo” to “Gurango Software” printed on them) aren’t exactly the norm here.

But, then again, maybe that’s not such a bad thing either . I hope that by getting to know me, people can come to realize that do-gooders come in various forms and sizes and colors. And while my contributions may be limited, I do hope that I am able to start something that can be continued even after I’ve finished my volunteer placement.

People will read or put meaning to what they see, depending on their own particular needs and points-of-view. Some people will see me as a representative of a big international NGO and would ask up-front for a water pump to be brought to their village (within 5 minutes of being introduced) or drop hints about getting a school sponsorship (in the course of what was supposed to be a social conversation).But that’s fine, because other people will see me as a friend or as a co-worker who may have something valuable to contribute.

Like everything else in life, it all balances out. There are opportunities to give and opportunities to receive; opportunities to teach and opportunities to learn.

All is well. And yes, I think I can live with “Big Man”. Maybe I’ll even have it printed on a tee-shirt. But, just because I can’t dance doesn’t mean I’m white. Hmm, that’ll look good on a tee-shirt too, no?.

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Sidebar:

I spent the night at my friend Ros’ house, another VSO volunteer, who works as a town planner in the next town. She’s from the UK and is retired. She came to Zambia 6 months ahead of me,. She also happens to be my first Quaker friend – so I’m sure we’ll be having a lot of discussions on spirituality and religion over the next months .

We attended the send-off party for Rosanna and Luke, also from the UK, who had just finished their 1 year placement as VSO volunteers for a youth organization focused on HIV/AIDS awareness. Luke and Rosanna are a couple. They both have longish hair and like walking around barefoot in their house and backyard. They’ve taking three months off to travel around Africa before going back home. From the testimonials during the party, both of them obviously did a lot of good for the organization they worked for. I want to be just like them when I grow up.

Anyway, it was a great party. I spied some boys spiking the drinks and there were party games with questions like “Where did you have your first kiss?”. It could have been a party anywhere in the world except for the Zambian hip-hop music and oh boy, those kids sure know how to dance.

Anyhow, the party ended close to midnight and Ros and I decided to walk back to her place, about 1 hour away. It was one of those clear, starry African nights. The temperature had dropped so it was a bit chilly. We didn’t talk much so there was just the sound of our feet touching the soft, sandy ground and crickets doing cricket sounds and dogs barking in the distance (far distance, I don’t like barking dogs). There were no streetlights, but there was the full moon to show the way. There were no street signs either but there were the big, tall trees to serve as our markers. It was great, one of my perfect memories of Africa

CRASH

2009-10-28T00:23:00.010+08:00

That loud crashing noise you hear? That’s the sound of age-old traditions and stereotypes being smashed and broken.

I don’t think it’s a bad sound. Ben and Lily don’t think so either.

Those aren’t their real names, by the way.

But, first, let me tell you what Ben and Lily have to deal with.

About 90% of the population of Zambia is Christian but it’s a Christianity that’s been mixed with centuries-old customs, practices and traditions. The mix goes increasingly in the favor of tradition as you go further into the rural districts.

Cattle ownership is the traditional form of wealth. Men's prestige and the respect they command is related to the number of women they own. Sorry, did I say women? I meant cattle. Anyway, as far as Zambian tradition goes, there doesn’t seem to be much difference.

Women in the rural areas are the ones responsible for working the lands that they are prohibited from owning. Come harvest time, its the men-folk who have absolute power to decide how the crops are used or distributed. When a woman becomes widowed, she loses whatever assets she may have earned in the name of her husband. His relatives come over to take everything, even her children. Even worse, she becomes subject to “sexual healing”, and not the kind that Marvin Gaye had in mind either. An elder male in her dead husband’s family has every right to take her to bed saying he has to cleanse and free her of the dead husband’s spirit. Nice. Some men will say anything to get laid.

That brings us back to Ben and Lily.

Ben works for the Kalomo branch office of a big freight forwarding company (not his real job either but everything else that follows is true). Ben is tall and lanky. You can imagine him as a track and field runner. He's the type who'd be grinning goofily as he crosses the finish line just because he's super happy that he's done it.

Ben helped me sort out some stuff during my first week here. He knew I was new in town and didn’t know a lot of people. He asked where I was staying. He said he would come to visit. So, ok, whatever.

But he did. The following night, he came by. He said he just wanted to check where I was staying and how I was.(Note: I would find out later that this kind of gesture is par for the course for Ben. He’s the kind of person who would get off his car to help a stranger take care of a flat tire). He said he would pick me up the following week-end to show me around the small town and introduce me to his family.

I warmed up to Ben quickly. He sort of reminds me of my Dad. When I was young, my Dad would bring a progression of foreign visitors he had met somewhere to our house (this was of course during much simpler, more innocent times). He thought they were interesting and I guess he wanted to expose us to different cultures since we couldn’t afford to travel ourselves. So, no, I didn’t think it was especially strange that I was being invited to Ben’s house quite so soon.

Last week-end, he came to fetch me at the exact time that we agreed (CRASH! I was warned about how unconscious of time Zambians can be). Ben was wearing a red blazer and a red tie. I have an orange blazer (which hopefully will fit me again when I get back home) so I didn’t think this was strange. It turns out that the red blazer is his Sunday uniform He is an elder in the Church where he worships and he had come straight from some official function.

He was driving his own car, a white Toyota that was several models old but obviously well-kept and maintained. He knows somebody who knows somebody else who helped him get it at a good price from a dealer who imports used cars from Japan.

He showed me around town. It was a short trip. There really isn’t much to see. I had a memory flash of doing the sand dune buggy ride in Dubai. Very few of Kalomo’s roads are paved.

As we approached his neighborhood, he singled out points of interest to me. That neighbor just had his house painted. That hospital is new. That’s the school where his children go.

We stopped in front of his house. It wasn’t a big house. One storey. An outhouse in the front. Clean yard. But with the dust from the unpaved roads and the unpainted outside walls, my impression was that everything seemed brown.

The inside of the house was a totally different story . The sofa was covered in bright, unfaded red slip covers. There was a huge , colourful calendar advertising Ben’s company hanging by a wall. The furniture seemed like it had seen better days but, like the outside, everything was neat and orderly. This was exactly like the kind of house I grew up in. There was a television set and a CD player. There was even what looked liked the casing of a PC CPU. It was just the casing though. Nothing inside.

Oh, did I mention that the entire neighborhood doesn’t have electricity yet? But Ben knows that they will. Very soon. Just wait and see, he says.

There was a jug of juice concentrate , a jar of water and some glasses on the table. Ben said they didn’t have a refrigerator yet but the water was cold He wasn’t apologizing, just stating a fact. Setting aside thoughts of parasites - I mixed myself a drink , said a short prayer to the Patron Saint of Clean Water and Sanitation, took a tentative sip. A couple of days later, I haven’t had the runs and I’m still alive (CRASH!. My briefing documents say that water from unknown sources will kill you!!)

His wife came out to greet me. Lily was very pretty but seemed shy. Like most women I’ve met in Zambia, she had a chitenga wrapped around her waist. Another chitenga wrapped across her upper body supported a 5 month old baby that was slung on her back. Remembering all I had read about women in Zambian culture, I thought – poor girl

Well, not really. Lily is an entrepreneur. She buys and sells “salaula” (very much like the ukay-ukay used clothes sales popular in the Philippines). Ben and Lily have decided that whatever she earns from her business ventures goes to the maintenance of their daily household expenses. As Ben and I spoke, Lily was sorting thru movie and song CDs which I assumed she would sell to diversity her product line.

After seeing how the wealth of some of his relatives were completely wiped out when disease struck their cattle , Ben promised himself that, if he had the opportunity, he would invest in property instead.

Ben’s salary goes to what he calls their “projects”. They are building a much bigger house right next door. The house will be under Lily’s name so that should anything happen to Ben, none of his relatives can claim any right over it. The second house still needs a lot of work to be completed. Ben said that, as money becomes available, he’ll have work on the house continued little by little. Once done, they are going to have this house rented out. There are a lot of people from all over coming into Kalomo. He believes that any one of them would willing to pay a good price to rent a nice house like this. The good times are just around the corner.

Ben also has a second car. That one is used as a taxi service. The earnings are invested on the completion of the second house and “other projects”. These will keep his family secure and protected. Healing, schmealing.

Higher education is expensive in Zambia. But Ben is confident that his children would have the opportunity to study. If for whatever reason, he could not send them thru school, he knows that they would find a way themselves. He’s been there. His father could support his studies only up to a point. Ben took care of the rest by working and studying at the same time.

I asked Ben how he and Lily decide how their money should be spent and which projects to invest in. He said they always discuss it carefully between the two of them, weighing the pros and cons. I asked him whether that kind of relationship was unique in Zambian culture. He said that he thought this was the norm among his circle of friends (CRASH. CRASH)

I asked him if he had any plans of seeking better opportunities outside of Zambia. He seemed surprised at the question. He did not. He said there were enough opportunities in Zambia for someone who works hard.

Lily didn’t seem comfortable speaking in English and didn’t talk much. But as I was saying goodbye – in easy confident tones - she told Ben something which Ben translated for me. I was invited to a meal sometime soon and Lily wanted to know what kind of food I like.

Ben dropped me off at the guest house. He had to go back home to attend a neighbourhood council meeting. We made plans to meet again. I waved goodbye from the gate as he drove his trusty, white car into the horizon of the fading afternoon.

I stood there a bit longer gazing at the slow descent of the red-orange sun.
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Corollaries:

I have met many intelligent, strong women in positions of leadership not only in Lusaka but also here in Kalomo. And of the Zambian brothers, I’ve met - My brother is not a chauvinist pig! My brother is not a chauvinist pig! (For the last sentence to be even mildly amusing to you, you have to be Filipino and of a certain age). However, while great strides seem to have been taken by the Zambians in the areas of gender equality and women’s rights, this is not to negate the fact that a lot of the traditions are still very much prevalent in other parts of the country.

That other loud sound you’re hearing? That’s my tummy grumbling. Subject of another blog post.

T.I.A.

2009-10-20T02:54:00.015+08:00

T.I.A. This is Africa.

I am told that this is a line from Blood Diamond (the Leonardo diCaprio move) and the line is often used by expat volunteers here in Zambia as a catch-all explanation for a situation or experience that defies the muzungu (foreigner) logic or paradigm .

Lusaka is the capital city where my intake of volunteers (all from Western Europe except me) spent one week on training. Its sights and sounds were not totally unfamiliar. I have been to Africa before. This was the Africa I knew.

Yes, we had to walk 30 minutes to get there, but there was a strip mall 30 minutes away from the dormitory where we were housed. This temple of commerce, although smaller than what I am used to back home, was familiar and comforting. How could anything go wrong if you have access to a money exchange center , a Subway outlet and a supermarket selling aromatherapy candles?

That Africa seems so far away today.

I am on my second day in Kalomo, 400 kilometers away from Lusaka. I am living in a guest house while my permanent residence is being readied. The guest house is clean and safe and the people working here have been very helpful. I shouldn’t ask for more. I don’t have to report for work until tomorrow.

This morning, I walked the dusty footpath from the guest house to the town market to familiarize myself with the place that will be home for the next six months.

As soon as the market was in sight, my senses went immeidately on overload. The heat of the late -morning sun was merciless. I could almost feel the oil on my scalp and face sizzle. The chitengas wrapped around the women’s bodies and heads were wildly vibrant and unapologetic in their mix of patterns and colors.

My nostrils were engulfed with so many new smells, not all unpleasant but each one with an in-your-face aggressiveness to demand attention . A cacophony of noises (words I do not understand, roosters crowing, trucks honking, drums playing on a loudspeaker, children shouting) surrounded me.

I had to stop to get my bearings. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still as I reminded myself where I was and why I was even here.

I looked around and realized I was lost. I didn’t know where I was or how I could get back to where I started my walk.

People were looking at me. I relaxed when I sensed no hostility. Their faces and eyes were friendly. I greeted them with the few words in the local Tongan than I have managed to learn since arriving…… Mwaboka Buti, Muliwutsi, Kabotu (Good morning, How are you? I’m fine)

A woman passed by running after a passel of young children. One young girl of about four – skin dark as ebony, pigtails tied with a red ribbon and with big round eyes - stopped in her tracks, turned around, stared and then made a sign towards me. I did not understand. The woman laughed and explained to me in English - She is blessing you. She is saying welcome.

I felt my heart tighten and my eyes sting. What else could I say but - Twalumba (thank you). The little girl laughed and ran away with the woman chasing after her.

I took a deep breath and let my senses take everything back in. I found my way back to the guest house. My clothes, shoes and face were covered with a layer of red dust.

Six months seems like such a long time. But, today, the people of Kalomo see me. They acknowledge and seem not to mind my presence, this stranger among them. I see them too, these people who will become my neighbors, friends and protectors.

For now, that is enough.

This is Africa. This is my Africa.

Your Man in Zambia

2009-10-05T00:55:00.007+08:00

In 4 days, I am finally leaving for my VSO volunteer assignment in rural Zambia. While I am excited and remain very much committed to the endeavor, I will admit to some last minute jitters.

I have no experience in grass-roots social development work. I have never lived in a rural community. While I sympathize with those suffering, I have never actively advocated for gender equality, poverty-alleviation and the rights of victims of HIV and AIDS – important issues I have to deal with in my area of placement.

I have been reassuring myself that I have my good intentions and 20 years of experience in a high-stress industry to back me up . On top of that, I have been doing a lot of studying and have been actively soliciting inputs and tips from different people.

VSO’s pre-departure trainings and expectation-setting sessions have been very helpful for my psychological and emotional conditioning. And I can’t discount all the positive juju from all the good wishes I’ve received.

But, recent events have made me realize that my best preparation is having been born and raised in the Philippines I come from a strong, resilient and generous people.

Many of the people with whom I will be working and living may not yet know of the Philippines. They will. This is what I would like to tell them :

• I left for Zambia during a difficult time for my country but I am confident that the Filipinos will overcome – even if only thru the power of sheer will and faith.

• When the system and the government fail us, we have our resourcefulness and strong sense of community and family to fall back on.

• Filipinos will find something to laugh about even under the most adverse of conditions. We laugh because we are thankful for having survived; we laugh because it is one thing we can still share when everything else has been taken from us. We laugh because life will go on.

• Filipinos are unfortunately only too familiar with the issues of crime, plunder and corruption . However, it is the heroic acts of ordinary people which tell me there is hope for my country. I will tell them about Efren Penaflorida whose organization provides basic reading and writing tutorials to street children. I will tell them about Muelmar Magallanes who saved more than 30 people from floodwaters in the Philippines before sacrificing his life while rescuing a baby girl and her mother. I will tell them about my friend Gisela Santos, who with a group of other young people, immediately harnessed and mobilized the power of technology to assist in the rescue efforts for the victims of typhoon Ondoy.I will share stories about my family and friends, whether in the Philippines or abroad, who sacrifice for those they love and who, on a daily basis, try to make a positive difference in the community around them.

• The Filipinos have shown the world that a peaceful revolution is possible if you have group of unarmed civilians united and strengthened by shared ideals, a desire to do what is right and a shared faith.

I am praying that by sharing the best of what I know from the Philippines , I can show the people in my community that great changes can come from ordinary people; that there is strength in unity and that there is always hope even in the face of adversity.

In the process of sharing what I know, I also look forward to learning a few things from my community myself. I will be open to new things. I will listen. I will ask questions. I will be humble. I will participate.

I know that this experience will be a test and a challenge. I hope to be able to come off it with a clear sense of what I can and cannot do and how I can make a longer-term contribution to society.

The Philippines will always be home. I would like to be able to make that contribution here.

Test Post (Slide Show)

2009-10-02T20:04:00.004+08:00

This is a test post on the inclusion of a slide show in a blog post. The pictures below are all from my flickr accout as of today. If this works, I hope to be able to use this feature on subsequent posts.

It works!

Gisela Santos is so cool and there's more like her where she comes from

2009-10-01T23:58:00.004+08:00

So ok, everybody's probably heard of that Filipina working in the UAE who posted disparaging comments about the flood victims on her FB page . She, or someone, has since posted a disclaimer saying that somebody else was responsible. Too much negativity, so enough on that already.

Let me tell you instead about another Filipina working in the UAE. Her name is Gisela Santos. I'm proud to be her friend.

Shortly after the extent of Ondoy's devastation become apparent - Gise - together with her friends - Serge Gregorio, Franklin Naval, Thomas Pestaño, Kaye Domingo, Jun Verzola, Eric Pestaño Smith, Vince Yamat and Jordana Calit - realized that so much information was being shared, but that it wasn’t being collated in one place.

Wanting to do something to help their countrymen even while based outside the Philppines, they established a Google “Ondoy situation map for Metro Manila”.

Realizing the urgency of the situation, the group acted immediately. Conceptualization, mobilization and execution took only a matter of hours. The site became a critical reference point for rescue workers, relief organizations and volunteers by pinpointing reports from all over the metropolis, so that , the media and officials could have a reference point to figure out what, exactly, was happening —and where help was most needed.

Theirs is not an isolated story. We've heard countless reports of other Filipinos - from all walks of life - rising to the ocassion and doing whatever they can to help. You might even be one of them.

Manuel Quezon writes about the Filipino sense of community and volunteerism in his regular Inquirer column.

These stories are so humbling but also inspiring. I am so proud of my countrymen.

There are of course other people from whom we had expected more but then again - they will have their time of reckoning. Maybe the next typhoon will wash them away.

A Canvas of Society

2009-09-19T00:56:00.005+08:00

I found this video is difficult to watch. Much in the same manner, I guess, that some realities in our society are sometimes too painful to acknowledge.

Ignoring won't make the realities go away. There are no easy answers about what we can do to change things. But perhaps we can begin by asking ourselves that question.

Please spare 20 minutes to view it. With English subtitles.

Happy Birthday to You (Yes,YOU!)

2009-09-13T23:47:00.003+08:00

I've always thought of my birthday as my very own personal Academy Awards Night I would welcome each greeting as a personal validation (i.e. Sally Field winning her second Oscar going, "You like me; you really, really like me!!!!").

I must have been doing some serious growing up recently because for this birthday, I realize with the most liberating clarity that I don't need one day of the year to get my regular fix.

In a world where there is so much uncertainty and despair, I know that joy, love and friendship also exist. On a daily basis, you reaffirm my faith in the human race and assure me that things
will be alright , that WE will be alright.

So, today, on the eve of another birthday I am happy celebrating the day YOU were born. Yes - YOU whom I've known since childhood. YOU, from the group that I met other day and YOU who came into my life sometime in between.

I am glad YOU are here in this world. I am so much the richer and better for it. Thank you for making me part of you life.

I'd like to share with you this translated text from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, one of my favorite authors. He says what I feel much better than I ever can. Think of it as my birthday gift to you because YOU ARE MY FAVORITE :-)

=================

If for an instant God were to forget that I am a rag doll and gifted me with a piece of life, possibly I wouldn't say all that I think, but rather I would think of all that I say.

I would value things, not for their worth but for what they mean. I would sleep little, dream more, understanding that for each minute we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.

I would listen when others talk, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream! If God were to give me a piece of life, I would dress simply, throw myself face first into the sun, baring not only my body but also my soul.

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show. Over the
stars I would paint with a Van Gogh dream a Benedetti poem, and a Serrat song would be the serenade I'd offer to the moon.

With my tears I would water roses, to feel the pain of their thorns, and the red kiss of their petals...

My God, if I had a piece of life... I wouldn't let a single day pass without telling the people I love that I love them. I would convince each woman and each man that they are my favorites, and I would live in love, with love.

I would show men how very wrong they are to think that they cease to be in love when they grow old, not knowing that they grow old when they cease to be in love!

To a child I shall give wings, but I shall let him learn to fly on his own. I would teach the old that death does not come with old age, but with forgetting. So much have I learned from you, oh men...

I have learned that everyone wants to live on the peak of the mountain, without knowing that real happiness is in how it is scaled.

I have learned that when a newborn child squeezes for the first time with his tiny fist his father's finger, he has him trapped forever.

I have learned that a man has the right to look down on another only when he has to help the
other get to his feet.

From you I have learned so many things, but in truth they won't be of much use, for when I keep them within this suitcase, unhappily shall I be dying.

GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUEZ

Something Smells Rotten in the State of the Nation

2009-08-30T02:13:00.003+08:00

When something like this happens in a country where this is happening....

......you have to wonder who has the real dignity?

I love my country

But there are a few people I don't like.

Please wish me luck!

2009-08-23T23:12:00.006+08:00

This is my last week of work before taking an extended leave from corporate life. I have been accepted as a volunteer of VSO International for deployment in the Kalomo district of Zambia Africa. I hope to be able to leave by the first week of October.

This is the first time for most of my friends and family members to hear about this. For their benefit, and peace of mind, I am sharing my answers to some Frequently-Asked-Questions.

Where in the world is Zambia?

Once known as Rhodesia, this landlocked country is positioned in the Southern part of Africa, and bordered by the countries of Congo (boomlay-boomlay-boom), Botswana, Angola, Namibia, Tanzania, Malawi, Mozambique and Zimbabwe.

English is the official language of Zambia but the Tonga dialect is spoken in Kalomo.

Did you have a choice in your country of placement

Early on in the process, I did mention that I was interested in a placement in Africa but did not indicate a preference for a particular country. I was considered for assignments in Kenya, Gambia and Namibia. The Zambia placement eventually turned out to be the best fit for me in terms of skills required, timing, etc.

What in the world is VSO International?

VSO International is a UK-based international NGO that aims to fight global poverty by sending volunteers to share their skills and experience with people in developing countries. More information can be found at their website .

What will you be doing as a volunteer?

The Kalomo district is a rural community with agriculture as its main source of livelihood. My placement is in line with Kalomo’s Integrated Development Plan which aims to promote economic and social progress while utilizing full community participation.

I will be assigned as a “Resource Organizer ”for Kalomo’s Gender Governance and Citizen Participation Program. My job is to help the Kalomo district council in the following areas:

Developing training and livelihood programs for the residents, especially women and children living with HIV and AIDS.
Increasing women and youth participation and leadership at strategic decision making levels.
Enhancing the establishment and strengthening of decentralised district structures.

Isn’t this a bit sudden? Have you thought about this carefully?

Actually, it’s not. And, yes I have. As some of you may know, I had been searching for a similar opportunity for quite some time. Until I found out about VSO, I had difficulty finding the right organization. I got in touch with VSO sometime in 2008. It took several months before I could be matched with a placement and then several months before I could be confirmed.

I had originally signed-up for two years. Due to budget cuts, the program was shortened to six months. I was given the option of backing-out but I decided to proceed.

What do you hope to accomplish?

When I was much younger, I thought that I had it in me to save the world from all its various ills. I have been humbled by enough experiences to know that this is not possible.

But –foolish or stubborn - I have enough idealism left in me to believe in the nobility of trying, regardless of what the end-results might be.

I believe that a sincere and full-hearted attempt to do good can, by itself, be a victory.

I want to try.

I may not be able to save the world but, in trying, I hope to find my own salvation.

And, oh yes, I really do want world peace J

Huh, what are you trying to save yourself from?

In my efforts to manage my life over the past few years, my focus and span of interest have become very narrow. Paradoxically, while my life has become very orderly and well-planned - I find myself feeling disconnected and underutilized.

This is my attempt to un-fix the order and numbing certainty of my hours and days. I hope that from the mess that is created, I could open myself up to new learnings and adventures.

What am I saving myself from? Complacency. Stagnation. My own pettiness and small-mindedness. What-ifs, should-have, could-haves. A life of waiting for things to happen. A life of making commentary but taking no action.

When this is over, hopefully I can bring back more than just the experience but a fresh take on things and a renewed appreciation of who I am and what I can accomplish .

Remind us again, why exactly are you doing this?

At the time that I was praying for discernment on whether to proceed with my VSO application - my friend, Renee, unknowingly shared a prayer with me. I took this as a confirmation of my plans.

Prayer of St. Francis Drake

Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.

We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love

Some old entries from blog may also help explain the thought process that has gone into this decision.

While some of you may have read these earlier posts, it may be interesting to revisit them knowing the full context behind these entries.

I wrote this entry when I was first considering applying to VSO

I have also written about other volunteers whose examples have inspired me.

Wyatt

Sam

Whatever. So, why do you have to volunteer so far away? Why not find volunteer work in the Philippines?

Part of my motivation is to test for myself how far my good intentions can take me For this experience, I want to go as far away from my comfort zone as possible and see how much I can accomplish without having to rely on all the easy short-cuts and ways-out that are available to me in the Philippines.

But the Philippines will always be home. I can bring back this experience with me and hopefully find local volunteering or NGO opportunities that I can look into when I come back.

What about your job? How will you support yourself during the placement and after coming back?

I will be on sabbatical from my job at Gurango Software. My last day of work is August 28, 2009. I am

expected to resume my post on May 3, 2010.

VSO will pay for air-travel. While in Zambia, basic housing facilities will be provided by the Kalomo district council and I will be receiving a subsistence allowance to cover food expenses.

What about your health? Will you have access to medical facilities?

I am going through a very thorough medical clearance procedure before departure. Thus far, I have had about 6 different vaccinations for everything from flu, rabies, hepatitis and pneumonia. I have my vaccinations for yellow fever, dysentery and malaria coming up.

While in Zambia, there is a private medical clinic within 25 minutes drive from the placement and a government district level hospital is also available within 10 minutes drive from the placement.

Is Zambia safe? What happens in case of emergencies?

Zambia is said to be one of the most peaceful countries in Africa. If , for any reason, a decision is made to evacuate its volunteers, VSO, as a UK-headquartered international organization, calls on the best available emergency services to get them to safer locations as soon as possible

How can we keep in touch with you while you are in Zambia?

Mobile phone coverage throughout Zambia is supposed to be quite good . I will bring my local Globe SIM card. If you are texting from a Philippine-based provider, you will be charged regular rates and I will not be charged for receiving. I will surely be getting a local SIM card from which I will be sending messages. I will let you know the number.

At present, the office where I will be working does not have internet access. However, there are supposed to be several internet cafe in central Kalomo . I will check that out. Please note that Zambia is 6 hours behind the Philippines.

I will try to post general updates on my facebook page or this blog.

Private emails can be addressed to tarcs@yahoo.com. I apologize in advance for any delays in response time.

Where can we find other related info on VSO and Zambia:

Pictures of Zambia -

Experiences of other Volunteers

Two minute trailer for a documentary on VSO volunteers released last year

The work done by VSO Zambia

K, bye.

The Secret Life of Nora Aunor and Michael Jackson

2009-07-04T22:40:00.016+08:00

Nine months after this photo was taken, Maria Leonora Teresa (MLT) was born.

Upon learning the true identity of her parents, MLT went into a state of shock, turned completely white and became catatonic.

Deranged with grief, Nora Aunor started bringing her petrified daughter everywhere she went, telling everyone that the poor child was just but a doll.

Tirso Cruz III, her erstwhile screen partner, was paid P50 million pesos to go along with the charade. Because of this, showbiz insiders started calling him Pipty (as in pipty million fesos), which eventually became shortened to Pip.

Pressured by his family, Michael Jackson went back to America and, shaken by the experience, wrote a song about the sordid affair.

That song was about his one night stand with Nora and his disownment of their daughter. Below is an excerpt from the original lyrics , as written by Michael , before being edited by his production company.

Nora "Nor is not my lover
She's just a girl who claims that I am the one
But the doll is not my own.

Wracked by guilt, Michael slowly began to transform himself into the image of his lost daughter

Although Michael and Nora were never seen together in public again, unconfirmed speculations on the existence of another child remain. They say that show-business runs in the blood. This may very well be true in this case as the rumored second child is no other than . . . . Weng-weng .

Abandoned as a baby, Weng-weng was adopted by a poor family who thought he would bring them luck because of his uncanny resemblance to the Child Jesus.

Nevertheless, in spite of a short but memorable brush with fame, Weng-weng died alone and penniless.

In a surreal twist to the MJ/MLT dynamic described above, Weng-weng tried to fashion himself into the image of his birth-mother.

(Last photo from http://video48.blogspot.com)

No one can tell what has happened to Maria Leonora Theresa although we do have our suspicions.

This story makes me very sad.

The end.

Feeding Frenzy in Vietnam

2009-06-14T22:12:00.007+08:00

I'm grateful that I'm able to pack up my bags and take short holidays at a moments notice. I was in Vietnam this week-end.

The idea for the trip came up because I wanted to eat authentic Vietnamese food. The idea became a plan when I came across several good deals - US$50+ tax for airfare, US$30 per night in a nice hotel in the backpackers' area.

As expected, food was good, plentiful and cheap. I spent an average of US$3 per meal. It would be impolite to ask me how many meals I had in a day.

On my last day, I went into a feeding frenzy. So little time, so much food to try.

Or - the food in Vietnam might run out, one never knows with this Socialist states - so I figured that I should take as much as I could while the going is still good.

I burned most of the calories by walking and walking under the hot sun.

I wasn't particularly after the exercise. There were ambulant food vendors every 100 meters or so and I didn't want to miss anything. My feet ached. I was sweaty and grimy. But I was a man with a mission.

In between eating, I took pictures. Check out my Flicker page for my complete Vietnam photo set by clicking here.

I stalked a monk.

Arnel Pineda on the CBS Sunday Morning Show

2009-03-16T22:16:00.000+08:00

I'm a sucker for stories like Arnel Pineda's.

If I tried much harder, maybe it can happen to me too.

Hmm, no, I don't think so.

Filipinos Ive Met Abroad

2009-03-08T13:43:00.000+08:00

I’ve noticed that living or working abroad brings out the best and worst in people. I suppose its because, having to survive on your own, you have to learn to rely on your instincts. And your instincts reveal your character and values at their barest and most real. I have met the kindest, most generous Filipinos in my travels. I’ve been fortunate to hear some of their stories – ones of sacrifice and courage and – often – success and good humor.

Unfortunately, I have also come across some of the worst Filipinos. More unfortunately, they make themselves so obvious with their loudness and crassness. No matter how much they try to re-invent themselves, one word out of them and you could immediately smell the squalid low class upbringing and fifth rate education they’re trying to hide with their artificially-accented and gramatically horrible English.

Ate Rosing and Ate Conching

2009-03-08T13:31:00.004+08:00

Back in the day, when we were still living in Pagsanjan, Ate Rosing and Ate Conching were our neighbors and my Manang's barkada. Our family would invite them over for holiday dinners and other special occasions . I was especially fond of Ate Rosing. She must have been less than five feet tall but whenever she saw me, she would reach up to give me a buss on the cheek.

They had both retired from “ the service”. They had come to town many years before from various parts of the country to work as helpers for different households. Their employers had since migrated or died or gone away. Ate Conching and Ate Rosing stayed behind, eventually sharing a small rented room together. They had been away from their own families for so long that “going back” (wherever this was) might have been like returning to strangers.

The Ates lived on selling rice cakes and doing occasional jobs for families in the neighborhood. In their spare time, they were church-ladies - part of a small army of elderly women who kept house for the parish priest and attended all the church activities. Pagsanjan had become their home. Their neighbors and friends - their substitute family. Everbody knew them. They did not lack for invitations to join neighbornnod and housenhold social occassions. And whenever someone was sick or there was a death in the community - there were among the first to commisserate and offer whatever assistance they could .

I haven’t seem them for awhile but heard about them recently. Ate Rosing is weak and slowly losing her memory. Although she remains mostly lucid, it's difficult for her to take care of herself already. Ate Conching has terminal cancer. They have to rely on the kindness of neighbors. Somebody comes to give Ate Rosing a bath once a week. Another accompanies Ate Conching to her doctor’s appointments.

There is something both sad and uplifting about this story. It is sad that f0r various reasons - each of us has to leave our families behind at some point and venture into the world alone. It is comforting that we have the ability to move on and make families of our own.

Ate Rosing and Ate Conching are quiet, simple women. Most of their lives have been spent in the service of others. But, in their quiet simplicity, they have left a mark. They will not go unforgotten.

Coming Home

2009-03-08T12:50:00.001+08:00

On the third week of an extended business trip, I’m homesick. But, I’m not sure if I can really call my pad back in Manila "home". Leaving an empty hotel room to go back to an empty house doesn’t seem like much of a homecoming . The comfort of being surrounded by one’s own familiar things doesnt seem much compared to the comfort and familiarity of returning to your family.

Flickering

2009-03-08T01:12:00.006+08:00

In yet another attempt at mid-life self-expression, I've begun to dabble in photography. Check out my flicker page to view my stuff.

Following are some of the pictures from my recent travels to Egypt and Dubai.

25 Random Things - More Useless Information About Me

2009-02-02T03:15:00.005+08:00

1. Apparently, I sleep-eat. It’s either that, or someone regularly breaks into my house in the middle of the night to raid the ref while I’m in bed Sometimes when I wake up in the mornings, there are empty food containers in the sink and crumbs on the floor that I don’t remember putting there.

2. When I was 6 or 7, I tried to kill a stray cat that my father took in. I was never good about sharing attention. One day, when no one was looking, I took the cat by the tail and tried to drown it in a tub of water. The cat didn’t die but it never came back again. And, no, I never physically hurt my sisters.

3. I took in 1 year of Japanese language lessons and was accelerated to the next level on my 4th month. Was the Teacher’s pet. I reached Level 2 of the French Language course at Alliance Francais. Was the teacher’s pet. I enrolled in singing lessons. Was not the Teacher’s pet.

4. I have Amy Winehouse, Ben Folds, Housemartins, RiverMaya and Eraserheads currently on active rotation in my iPod.

5. I’ll be spending 1 week in Egypt next month then 3 weeks in Dubai for work. The countries I want to visit next as a tourist are Italy, France, Spain, and Greece.

6. I watch out for and keep tabs on old people traveling alone in an airplane. I actually walk up the aisles just to see if they’ve eaten or are still alive.

7. My favorite things to do when in a foreign country are walking around , eating street food and watching the locals go about.

8. I enjoy buying/trying out cleaning chemical products. Among my favorite stores in the US are Walgreens, Longs and CVS. I go straight to the household section to check out what’s new.

9. I was in a major car accident 9 years ago. I miscalculated a turn on an incline. My car turned-turtle and ended up upside-down on a 45 degree angle a few feet away from a ravine and a sign that said "Jesus Saves". I had to crawl out of the car. I wasn’t wearing a seat-belt. I had no cuts, bruises or broken bones.

10. My house is cleanest when I can’t sleep. It’s not unusual for me to be scrubbing the bathroom walls or kitchen floor at 2 am.

11. I was the undisputed Oratorical Champion of Region 1 until I retired at 17 when I got 2nd place in a completion.

12. I think I might have made a good actor if I pursued that interest. I had leading roles in a few college theater productions and there were 1 or 2 standing ovations that I can recall. I enjoyed the process of getting into character and being someone else for a time.

13. This may sound contradictory but –. I’m actually very shy and insecure. It’s always a conscious and deliberate struggle to fight my natural inclination to just stand in a corner and wait for someone to approach me.

14. I enjoy buying books (going to a bookstore, leafing through the pages, smelling the books) as much as I enjoy reading them. I do most of my reading in the bathroom where the lighting is best in my house. The ones I’ve read that I like – I like giving away or sharing with friends.

15. I’ve been wanting to do volunteer/NGO work for the longest time. I wonder how my abilities and good intentions will fair under difficult conditions.

16. I think I’m a better writer than I am a speaker. I want to be very exact in what I say and writing gives me the opportunity to think through my thoughts before articulating them. Thinking aloud on the spot makes me stutter.

17. Whenever I have a public speaking engagement, I try to script everything out in advance and I rehearse to sound like it’s all natural. I also prepare an outline and write down my key points to prepare. At some point, I'm able to get my bearings and relax and then I drop the notes and just wing it.

18. I have a hard time remembering figures and formulas but I remember what I ate or what somebody wore or smelled like 20 years ago.

19. I appreciate thank-you notes. More people should do it.

20. I partially paid for my high school tuition fees by selling Readers’ Digest subscriptions. I made extra money in college by selling rice cakes door to door. I had a food catering business with friends. I had a laundry stop in partnership with another friends. The businesses failed. Most of the friendships survived.

21. I’m more generous when I volunteer something rather than when it’s asked for or demanded.

22. I’ve decided to stop buying Christmas gifts in bulk. No more candles, potpourris or key chains from me. I’d rather give you something that I’ll know you like in February or August.

23. I wonder where my best friends from freshman year in college – Eric Mole, Wrani San Juan and Abet Santos – are.

24. I can spend days in my house without going out.

25. It takes me forever to get my ass to the gym (although I live right across mine) but I actually have a good time after I get through the difficult 1st 15 minutes on the treadmill.

Manang Spends the Weekend.

2009-01-25T20:23:00.004+08:00

I haven’t had much to write about since the year began. 2009 is supposed to be a year of change and transition so I’m sure I can make up for the lack of recent posts as the year progresses

In the meantime, in an attempt to keep this blog updated, let me share some pictures from my Manang’s recent visit.

She shows off her new teeth – my Christmas gift. She wants lip collagen implants for her birthday. Kidding. But, she actually gave me a lengthy answer explaning why she's not, when I said she should look for a rich husband - which suggests to me that somewhere in her mind, anything is still possible. Good for her.

She gets her Pancit Palabok fix from Jolibee. We love. Unfortunately, there's no outlet in her village so this is a must-stop for her whenever she comes to the city.

She poses beside my car to show off to her posse back home. She jumped off her seat when the sun roof opened up. Adorable.

She’s awestruck with the choices in a city supermarket

This one isn't from her vist. But I look good in the picture and it's my blog and I can post whatever I want. So, here.

Scenes from a New York Winter

2009-01-06T01:40:00.014+08:00

My digital camera was a constant compassion during my New York trip. I have a long way to go before I get to the level of my talented photographer friends (see here, here, here and here).

But , if I may so myself, I am pretty impressed with how my photographs turned out. I find that I am drawn to shots that show contrasts (dark and light, old and new, still and moving, etc), shapes and depth.

Here are a few of my photographs (just click on the photos you want to enlarge) with some of my notes.

The shot below was taken in Central Park. The trees in the foreground have a dark, primeval quality. I like the way they contrast with the modern buildings against the blue sky. The photo seems to suggest a bright future soon to come.

This shot was also taken in Central Park. The splashes of color from the fence and the people's clothes provide a contrast to the starkness of the New York winter.

It can be lonely to live in New York. The shots below suggest how impersonal a big city can be. The tall buildings seem almost like individual entities by themselves. I can understand how they might make a person feel small and inconsequential.

This evening shot below was taken in Times Square. While the ground level was bright, noisy and busting – everything seems to fade into the darkness of night.

The shots below were taken at the West Village. I liked the vibe of the area. People stopped and greeted each other on the street. The streetlight and the fire escape made me feel that, tall buildings and neon lights aside, people – with kids and dogs and families and friends - actually made their life in this big city.

I was just going to take a shot of the fire hydrant between the two poles. As I was about to click, the yellow cab appeared in the shot. No attempts at profundity here. I just like this picture.

This was taken inside St. Patrick’s Church. I like the play of patterns and colors. The contrast I try to capture in my other shots is not in the picture but in my mind. While the shop windows outside were impressive, the grandness of the church and the lights from the votives were more awe-inspiring and brighter than any other Christmas display I saw.

Finally, the shot below. It’s not one of those I took, obviously. But, at the end of the day, New York – like any other place – is about being sorrounded by people you love and care for.

Happy New Year, everyone!

A Year End Message from Your Sponsor

2008-12-22T02:03:00.002+08:00

I’m really glad I started this blog. Writing has become my tool for emotional catharsis.

Processing my thoughts and attempting to articulate them in as concise a manner as possible is not always easy. The right words do not always come automatically. Often, I become infatuated with a turn of phrase that’s pretty but irrelevant (something I relate to personally). In these cases, self-editing becomes an agony.

I give myself weekly deadlines. Exercising the discipline to put words into paper (or screen as is the case) on a regular basis has given me a great deal of clarity on matters that would have otherwise remained in the periphery of my consciousness

What I write about is often a zeitgeist for my current emotional or mental state - my rant-du-jour, my relationships or anything else that happens to occupy mind-share at the moment (Food! Media! Travel!)

My topics are self-indulgent, if anything. I don’t think I can do this for a lving. I like the freedom of choosing my topics and not having to be accountable to anyone about what I write.

It’s been great for me to find out that people come and visit the blog regularly and like what they read. I appreciate the comments and look forward to them. I'm not shy about courting validation!

May you all have a blessed and Merry Christmas with your family, friends and the people that you love. May the coming year be one of prosperity, good health and joy! May all our dreams come true! May the name Bruno stick! May I reach 1,000,000 site visits by this time next year.

And, as always, may God continue to bless us all!

What the Pack!!

2008-12-22T01:50:00.000+08:00

2 check -in luggage. 2 hand-carry items.

4 black winter coats. 5 winter scarves. 1 pair of pleather gloves.

1 black velvet dinner jacket. 2 black dress shirts. 1 polyster black tie. 3 black turtlenecks. 3 pairs of shoes.

2 black denim pants. 1 black dress pants. Thermals. Underwear. Socks.

1 dozen bottles of bagoong and tuyo.

All packed. Ready to go.

I’m leaving for New York in a few hours. It's snowing!

I’m going to have fun. It’s going to be a great Christmas.

My Sixth Sense

2008-12-22T01:40:00.002+08:00

I was going through my archives and I realized that, without necessarily meaning to when I started this blog, a recurring topic seems to have emerged.

I write about dead people.

I don’t want to be the person who can’t move on from losing his mother, father and one sister. But, at the same time, I don’t know how I can separate the loss from the person that I am.

Every experience is somehow diminished by the knowledge that it can no longer be shared with them. Christmas and special occasions are specially difficult.

Reliving the memories is often a source of comfort and inspiration. Sometimes the memories cause pain so sharp it's almost physical. But, as in life, you can't take one without the rest.

I know that I can share new experiences with the people who are still present it in my life. And I do. I have a close circle of family and friends who are my life-savers.

I know that I should go ahead and create new memories. And I do try. That's what they would have wanted. More importantly - that's what I want for myself. There is so much left to do and try and taste and see.

But the fact remains – they’re gone. And I miss them. And I don’t want to relegate their presence in my life to the past.

I write about them because this is a way to keep their memories alive. I write about them because I want people to know that they lived, that their existence mattered.

I write about them because their influence in still very much apparent in how I now live my life.

I write about them because I know I write well. And I want to use that gift to honor them.

That's the way it is.

The Shame!

2008-12-22T00:30:00.001+08:00

Forget about the shoe-throwing incident involving Bush.

Even before his much anticipated innaguration, Obama suffers from indigestion during a secret meeting with Philippine President Arroyo.

Talbog si Tina Fey at kanyang Sarah Palin impersonation. Love ko talaga ang Filipino humor.

Bruno is My Name. Coolness is my Game.

2008-12-19T17:31:00.012+08:00

My birth name is Fermin Arcadio Concepcion Taruc III.

The name dates me. I don’t think anyone born after 1970 has been called either "Fermin” or “Arcadio”, much less both.

Had I been born a few years later – you may probably now know me as Kayne, Richard or Joshua, even – God forbid – Duane.

But,even for my time, I admit my name is unusual. I can only explain it by supposing that my parents were trying to get in the good graces of my grand-parents.

“Fermin” is my paternal grandfather. “Arcadia” is my maternal grandmother. They had no money so their good graces were not worth very much materially. This would be an entirely different post if I were Fermin Arcadio Vanderbilt or even Fermin Arcadio Ayala.

“Concepcion” is my mother’s “maiden name"(how archaic, this term, but it’s still in use apparently).

The “III” is like a transvestite’s penis - a useless organ. There is no other “Fermin Arcadio” so I cannot be “Taruc III”.

As a child, everyone called me “Jun-Jun”, true to the Filipinos penchant for doorbell nicknames, Everyone who still remembers me by this nickname is dead from old-age or close to it.

My parents called me “Sonny-boy” to their last breath. When my Dad was working abroad, his letters to me would all start with "Dear Sonny-boy:.

My grandmother still calls me "Jun-Love-First-Born-Apo" in one go, stringing the words like they were all joint together.

I never had a choice in any of these names. I always felt that none of them captured the essence of who I was or who I want to be.

“Fermin” sounds like a low-level municipal government employee who wears white socks and puts a comb in his back-pocket.

“Arcadio” sounds like somebody’s old bachelor uncle with epilepsy living up in the attic.

Nobody over 10 years old has the right to still be called “Jun-Jun” unless they were 400 pounds and still living with their mother.

Jun-Love-First-Born-Apo sounds like something my Lola would call one of her poodles.

With what I consider good reason, I have had to take matters in my own hand.

“Tarcs” is something a friend came up with about 20 years ago. It was a private joke until I decided I wanted everyone to call me by this name. Since I was shifting careers at that time, it was easy to get people to call me by my new name as they didn't have to unlearn an old one. Easy for everyone else – that is – except me. It took me a while to respond immediately when anyone called me "Tarcs". Twenty year is enough time to get used to it.

At 33, I was one of the oldest in my MBA batch back in 1996. I didn’t want my classmates to have any impression that I might be the fuddy-duddy-serious-party-pooper that “Fermin” or “Arcadio” would suggest”. “Tarcs” was fine but I was tired of it.

After much thought, I decided that I wanted to be called “Joey". The name seemed to conjure just the right images of the young, hip, easy-going, baseball-playing, gum-chewing person I wanted them to think I was before they found out otherwise (note to heckler - no, I didn't think they could tell just from looking and it's not polite to snicker) .

In all my school pre-registration forms, “Joey” was what I put in in the line across “name you prefer to be called by”. “Joey” was the name that appeared on my name-tag during the first day of class.

Unfortunately, my classmates were pretty smart. Without having to be told, I guess they knew instinctively that I wasn’t a “Joey” type. An Indian friend - due to my insistence on not responding to anything else - tried, but with his accent, what he called me sounded closer to “Jovy”.

I got the hints. I could never be a “Joey”. I stuck to “Tarcs”. Fortunately, it turned out that i had other qualities so I was still cool .

But, I’m rethinking my options. It 's time to try out a new name. I want to re-invent myself.

Looking back, it does seem like I get to do this every 10 years or so . Much less frequently than Madonna but definitely more than most normal people. But, then again, if I were normal, I would just have settled for good old "Fermin Arcadio" and you wouldn't be reading this blog.

I think I want to be called “Bruno” from now on.

“Bruno” sounds just right for somebody who shaves his head, dresses all in black, drinks Grey Goose vodka tonics and quotes Samuel Beckett.

Even if Bruno worked for a municipal government office, he would be the mayor's henchman doing all sorts of cool things with his machete. Even if he were an uncle living in the attic, he would be up there right now recuperating from being attacked by a bull in Pamplona. Even if he were 8 years old, Bruno would be the king of the playground "takin no shit from nobody, yo" with pockets bulging from other kids' lunch money.

I want to be a "Bruno". People have said I look like a "Bruno". Okay, that's settled - call me Bruno .

Try to Remember the Kind of December and Wallow..wallow...wallow...wallow

2008-12-16T01:30:00.010+08:00

I’m homesick. I want to go home for Christms. I want to go back to my Dad and my Mom and my Manang and my sisters.

I want to have one more Sunday lunch with the entire family sitting at the narra dining table.that my parents bought even before I was born.

I want one more morning when my Mom surprises my Dad on his December 24 birthday with his favorite breakfast of corned beef shaped into a heart on the plate.

I want my Dad to drop by my office again. This time I’m bringing him out to lunch.

I want one more ride in our old brown Izusu Gemini car with my Dad driving and my Mom beside him and my sisters and I singing carols at the back.

I want to nap on our old rattan sala set with the faded slip-covers that my Lola got tired of and handed down to us.

I want our 10-year-old white, dusty, plastic Christmas tree with the red poinsettia Christmas lights that my sister bought.

I want to go back to dressing up for Christmas eve and staying awake for Manang’s arroz caldo before we open our presents.

I want to go back to stressing-out looking for the perfect Christmas give for everyone and having it all worth it by seeing their faces light up as soon as they tear open the wrappers.

I want to open up all the cabinets and drawers to let all the good luck in on New Year’s eve just like my Mom said we should.

I want the familiarity and comfort of my Mom’s smell back – that mixture of perfume, lotion, powder and lipstick that is so closely attached to my memories of her.

I want to go home. I want things to be just like they were before.

Everyone is gone. The furniture has been given away. Nobody else remembers the old brown Izusu Gemini car.

I go on alone.

This is totally counter-productive behavior but what-the-fuck, you know?

Please Do Disturb

2008-12-15T00:07:00.005+08:00

My friend, Renee, posted this on her Facebook account today. I found this prayer very apt for where I currently am.

Prayer of St. Francis Drake

Disturb us, Lord, when We are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;

Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.

We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love

(photo courtesy of Forti Suarez. Please do not copy without express permission)

Wala Lang

2008-12-10T12:28:00.004+08:00

Today is my Mom's 2nd death anniversary. I totally forgot about it. Manang had to remind me this morning.

Coincidentally, last night, I was out with the same group of friends who kept me company the night she died.

Some things change. Some things stay the same. Life goes on.

I'm sad. I feel left behind.

I'm hoping that prolonged staring at my miniature Christmas tree collection will cheer me up. Not working so far.

.

Unsent Letters from a Fat Man

2008-12-06T08:31:00.008+08:00

Dear Treadmill:

Hello again. You were too much for me. I've tried to avoid you. But, now I know I need you. I'll die without you, You make me sooooo hot. Whenever I’m on you, I pump and sweat and grunt. When we’re done, I just want to roll over and fall asleep. Your big daddy’s going to see you tomorrow. I’m going to work you hard. Watch out.

Dear Size 36 belt:

You’re a control freak. You have to let me go. I need my space. I can’t breathe with how you so tightly hold on to me. You make me sick to my stomach. Goodbye.

Dear Fat:

I appreciate your loyalty. You’ve stuck with me when everyone else has left. I’ve tried to get rid of you several times but you’ve been cool – just hanging loose all over me. But, people are starting to talk about us. We have to be firm and end this now. Goodbye.

Dear Large Size Shirt:

I am so over you. Stop hanging around thinking we might go out together again – it’s not going to happen. I’ve gone on a totally different horizontal direction but you’re still stuck in our past, refusing to grow with me. I have a new size in my life right now - Extra Large. Go pack yourself. It’s over. Goodbye.

Driving Me Crazy

2008-12-06T08:11:00.008+08:00

In my spare time – of which I have a lot – I read esoteric medical journals for leisure. I need to constantly feed my superior intellectual capacity.

I wish. Actually, all I've been feeding lately is my stomach. While digesting, I do a lot of random internet surfing.

I recently came across a study that claims the the part of our brain that controls our ability to sing is the same exact part that determines our ability to drive a car, among other motor skills.

This makes perfect sense to me. I suppose millions of dollars have been spent on research to establish this correlation. What a waste of money in these times of austerity. They could just have interviewed me.

I’ve already posted on my musical ability (or lack thereof). I may also be the world’s worst driver in the over-40/has driven-for-over a- decade category.

When I was learning to drive, I went through countless instructors including my dad, a former friend who doesn’t speak to me anymore and Mang Ernie from the AI-Driving Academy. At one point, I had to politely ask him not to shout at me so loudly. Between Mang Ernie's saliva showers and my excessive sweating, the steering wheel and the driver’s seat were drenched at the end of each of our one-hour lessons.

High-strung individuals have no business riding with me. Old ladies have had to resort to praying the rosary out loudly (Hello, Tita Pining!). Little girls have been reduced to screams until they faint from exhaustion (Hello, Carla and Chuchai!). Adult men have found themselves incoherently muttering unsolicited instructions (Hello, Stefan and Kristanto!).

My sense of direction is abysmal. My idea of defensive driving is incessant honking. I can not parallel park. I do not know how to change a flat tire.

But, hey I’m not so bad. Regardless of emperical evidence and whatever the egg-heads in the science journals say, I do appreciate the convenience of having a car and, on occasion, I do enjoy driving (short distances, familiar routes, good company, no traffic, favorite CD playing). Even then, I will drive if I have to and you’re welcome to ride with me but don’t say I didn’t warn you and, for God’s sake, don’t cry.

But, if you prefer to drive, I won't stop you.

Sayang's Fiction

2008-12-02T00:26:00.002+08:00

Let me tell you my secret.

In the 1960’s, there was an international, top-secret project involving the breeding and development of superior human beings genetically designed to have the looks, skills and abilities necessary to rule the world.

I am a product of this project.

You don't know about the project because , obviously, you were never a part of it.

The laboratory site was invaded by a fleet of marauding aliens before work on me could be completed.

Deficient in hair follicles, a sense of rhythm and mathematical skills, but otherwise perfect in every way, I was able to escape.

I have since roamed the world searching for others who may have survived that horrible invasion – that I may banish the solitude of my genius.

But my enemies are never far away and I must escape them.

For protection - aside from my intellect, good looks and various skin care products - I come armed only with 36 pairs of shoes to match my various disguises.

In my wanderings, I have had to pretend to be a chef, a movie star in Japan, a teen-age dork, a model, a philosopher , an art critic and, most unfortunately, a vegetable salad.

At one point – oh the horror, the sheet horror – I even had to pretend to be a singer.

But I am weary of being a fugitive; tired of the games I have had to devise to amuse myself.

Tonight, in the cave that is my hiding place, I strip off the latex of my fat suit - my latest , most disgusting disguise - and stare into the mirror.

I see my real self - ripped, lean with a six pack abdomen with which glass could be cut.

I think of all that could be.

I sigh.

I say to myself….

“Sayang”

Frances Grace Taruc Gets Her Wish

2008-12-02T00:19:00.000+08:00

For a college assignment - she must have been 17 or 18 - my sister Grace wrote this essay:

If among us, there are those who wish to be remembered as people who have, in a simple way, given what little they have to make this world a better place – I would like to be one of them.

Many have dreams of doing something significant and momentous – making them remembered by generations to follow.

I only wish to be remembered with fondness rather than awe, respect rather than fascination and love rather than admiration by those who have known and been with me.

Tomorrow, November 28, is Grace's 18th death anniversary.

She did get her wish.

In a parallel universe, maybe somebody could play matchmaker and Grace and Wyatt could go out together or something. What do you think? :-)

Wyatt Ammon Was Here

2008-12-01T23:53:00.001+08:00

You know how it happens sometimes when you’re looking up something on the web – you come across a site that interests you; one link leads to another and, before you know it, you are where you are without necessarily meaning to be there.

I was doing some web research on the Peace Corps (long story, I’ll tell you about it sometime) recently and came across the blog of one volunteer.

His name is Wyatt Ammon

Wyatt arrived in Zambia on September 2005. He left his Project Management job in Washington DC and had committed to two years of social development work for a rural community. When asked as to his reasons for volunteering, he said, "I don't want to work for money or prestige, I want to work for change and satisfaction".

He started the blog to share his experiences with family and friends back home in the US.

On November 12, 2005 , Wyatt posted on his blog. His entry was funny and smart. It made me laugh.

No other entry followed. I became curious.

Following links on his blog, I found out that Wyatt died on on November 17, a few days after he last posted in his blog..

He was leaning against a glass window. It broke, He fell from the 5th floor.

He was 24. He had been in Zambia for only 10 weeks. He had just finished his training and was just about to begin his community assignment. How could something like this happen?

As one might expect, his close circle of family and friends were devastated.

Following one link after another, I realized that Wyatt had managed to leave an indelible impression on those who came to know him. He was loved and admired by many.

I am particularly moved by what his sister wrote in her own blog a few weeks after Wyatt was buried.

Three years after Wyatt’s death, a commemorative site his family and friends put up still continues to be active.

As with anything that catches my interest, obviously, I’ve obsessed on this subject.

Having had to deal with the death of loved ones myself, I’m relating to the pain felt by Wyatt’s family, especially since they’re all very articulate in expressing it.

When the memories are all that you have left, you want to make sure these are shared and kept alive by as many people as possible.

I know from my own experience that the pain never really goes away. I’m thinking it might be similar to having an arm or a leg amputated . Eventually I suppose you get used to the loss and you might even learn to work around it – but you’re never ever the same again.

Finding out more about Wyatt from the stories shared about him, I feel a sense of loss for the rest of the world from his passing.

He was someone who seemed to enjoy life. He had much to live for and much to give. You can imagine what else he could have done and all the good he could still have contributed.

And, in one moment, that was all taken away.

That could happen to any of us. Today - I'm writting this post or you're reading it. Tomorrow - who knows?

This makes me think about my own life and all the things I still want to do.

This is a reminder to live each day as though it might be my last – to be thankful for it, and not to waste any moment of it on regret, anger or hatred.

I don't know Wyatt Ammon or his family but, from thousands of miles away, this is my way of helping keep his memory alive. Wyatt Ammon was here in this world. I honor his memory and the life that he seems to have lived so well.

Rest in peace, Wyatt Ammon.

Quirkyalone

2008-11-25T01:07:00.001+08:00

I am. Are you?

I have the book. I'll lend it to you if you want.

Synch in the City

2008-11-25T00:59:00.004+08:00

My friend Joy was at the Happy House last Saturday to hang out.

Between her stuff and mine, we could clothe the population of a small nation. How great was it that we picked similar tee-shirts without knowing until seeing each other?

This is really not about the tee-shirts. It’s about how great friends surprise you sometimes with how in-synch you are.

Bad photo. Great moment.

Oriah, Yeah

2008-11-25T00:39:00.004+08:00

Her unfortunate name notwithstanding, Oriah Mountain Dreamer wrote this poem that I like,

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for and

if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool

for love

for your dream

for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow

if you have been opened by life’s betrayals

or have become shrivelled and closed

from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain

mine or your own

without moving to hide it

or fade it

or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy

mine or your own

if you can dance with wildness

and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes

without cautioning usto be careful

to be realistic

to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal

and not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithless

and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty

even when it is not pretty

every day.

And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure

yours and mine

and still stand at the edge of the lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon,“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me

to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up

after the night of grief and despair

weary and bruised to the bone

and do what needs to be done

to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand

in the centre of the fire

with me

and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom

you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you

from the inside

when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself

and if you truly like the company you keep

in the empty moments.

I really want to know. About you. And about myself.

But I think

I should

end this post

now.

Because

I've started

write

like

the unfortunately named

Oriah

Getting Here

2008-11-16T01:57:00.005+08:00

I am sure it is not obvious but I am given to some amount of introspection.

If you don’t see the humor in the preceding statement, you must be a first time visitor to this blog.

Or you have no appreciation for irony – in which case, you may want to be my friend but never will be (sorry) :-).

From time to time,, I indulge myself and I look back at my life. With the benefit of hindsight, I can pinpoint the areas where I could have done differently – chosen another path, taken another approach, made other choices.

But I look back as one might review earlier pages of a book being read. You do so knowing the story can’t be changed but just want to be reminded of how its twists and turns have taken you to the current page. Or sometimes, you just feel the need to revisit insights or lessons that could be applied now or at anytime in the future.

I try not to look back with regret. What is done is done. And I know that – however a life choice has turned out – it was always the best I could have made under the circumstances present then.

I no longer have any grand plans or ambitions. Whatever my aspirations were in my younger years, I've accepted that in my lifetime I will not be able to end poverty or find a cure for cancer.

I take each day as it comes. On a daily basis, I try to make the best decision I could make, no matter how seemingly inconsequential.

I lead a very ordinary life. My daily decisions will hardly determine how the world at large will fare – but many are big enough not only to affect other people and their well-being but also potentially alter my perception of the kind of person I want to be.

The choices are not always clear-cut but I try to keep my criteria consistent.

Have I considered all sides? Am I being truthful? Am I being fair? Can I live with my choices? Will the right people benefit from this decision? If this decision will cause initial harm, will it be eventually for the greater good?

And why do my questions sound like the Rotary Club's Four Way Test?

Sometimes, the answers are not needed immediately and I can enjoy the luxury of pondering But, more often, the answers are required in a split second. So, I say a short prayer, go with what my gut tells me and psych myself up to own up to my choices.

Calibrating and following my life compass in this way, one decision eventually leads to another and I sometimes find myself where I am without necessarily meaning to be there.

I do have my “Huh, how did I get here?” moments. But then again – given how the decisions that were made got me to wherever – I know that I am where I am supposed to be for the moment and I am there for the right reasons.

And, no matter what the present is, I know that the future brings with it countless opportunities for second chances and fresh starts.

No regrets. Only hope.

And this prayer.

Ads Nas-ayahanako- eum

2008-11-14T00:58:00.003+08:00

I came across these gems from other people's blogs.

Both made me smile.

From Jessica Zafra's blog, this ad for the Metro in Madrid, Spain, set in Madrid, Surigao del Sur, Philippines. The humor in this is so multi-layered, there's always some funny new thing I catch everytime I watch it. They should do something for the Harvard School of Laguna.

From Gypsy Soul's blog, this ad for the Discovery Channel. This one makes me want to hug everyone (except maybe the smelly Germans I was in the elevator with earlier)

Not Just Another Fucking Sunset

2008-11-06T22:01:00.004+08:00

I thought that Gino’s sunsets deserved a separate post.

Additional words are superflous.

Thanks again Gino for allowing me to share your photographs.

Marinduque, Philippines

Roxas Boulevard, Manila

Boracay, Philippines

Bicol, Philippines

Bali, Indonesia

Vietnam

Note: The photographs on this page are used with express consent and permission. They may not be used or reproduced elsewhere.

Don't Judge My Brother. He is Not a Book.

2008-11-05T21:31:00.010+08:00

My friend, Gino, is like a brother to me. He is one of the smartest people I know.

Aside from being book-smart, he is also very perceptive. His insights are often spot-on.

He once told me that the reason why I’m so oral (smoking, talking , drinking, eating ) is because I have such a huge appetite for life and I want to take everything in all at once. I liked it when he said that.

Of course, at another time, he also said that I had no bone in my mean body (we do enjoy our word play)

Both statements were very true at the time they were said.

Physically, Gino appears like the big-time, successful bank executive that he is. Looking at him, one might think that he was all about quarterly reports and month-end deadlines. Not so.

Gino has the heart and soul of an artist (although - let's call a spade a spade - not the body of a starving one :-) ). Like a couple of my other friends (see here and here), his chosen medium is photography.

What started as a casual hobby 5 years ago is now a passion.

Gino’s photographs immediately stop you in your tracks because of their visual impact. But you truly begin to appreciate the photos upon closer and longer inspection.

Gino does not just capture particular moments frozen in time. Through his photographs, he expresses a very clear point of view. His images are framed, positioned or lighted in such a way as to allow us to see the world from his perspective.

By sharing his vision, Gino allows us to see the extraordinary in what otherwise may appear as nondescript in our eyes. To me, some of the photographs seem almost cinematic in the way that they are able to suggest scale and movement.

I think Gino achieves this feat – not just through his imagery – but also through restraint. All of the elements in each of the photographs fit together. Each photograph has a focal point, everything else provides depth and context. Any distracting or extraneous variable seems to have been edited out. As such, nothing obstructs us from viewing the image as Gino has meant it to be seen. It is this combination of talent and discipline that makes my friend such a great artist.

Enough of my chit-chat. Here are some of Gino's photos. There's more where they came from.

Boracay, Philippines

Sea Beggars in Southern Philippines

Siblings in a train Station in Bicol region, Philippines

A bridge in Ilocos, northern region of the Philippines

Batanes, Philippines

Marinduque, Philippines

Binondo, Manila, Philippines

Guimaras, Southern Philippines

Note: The photographs shown on this page are used with express consent and permission. They may not be used or reproduced elsewhere.

He, Claudio

2008-11-02T23:00:00.000+08:00

I’ve known Mang Claudio for most of my life. He was my uncle’s chauffer.

I look at Mang Claudio as a member of the extended family. Because of the nature of his job, he’s been there for a lot of our family milestones.

He’s retired now but he still does odd jobs for the rest of the family . He drives for me from time to time. I haven't heard from him for awhile.

I got a text message from him earlier today. The message was “Asan ka na? Kumusta ka na?” (“Where are you? How are you?”).

The blues make me sluggish so it took a while for me to reply. I thought he was asking because he needed something from me.

I texted him back to say I was in Manila and I was okay.

A few seconds after, he sent back another short message, “Alam kong mag-isa ka lang sa bahay, kinukumusta lang kita kung okay ka” (“I know you’re alone in the house, I’m just checking on you to make sure you’re okay”).

I have angels watching over me. I feel really blessed

My Life as a Player

2008-11-02T22:07:00.001+08:00

I’ve never been very good at sports and we didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up (we wuz poah, y'all). But I’ve always had a great imagination.

As a result, I’ve had to be creative in devising ways to amuse myself.

Here are some of the games I’ve created with family and friends over the years.

1. “The Japanese are coming!” game - When we were young, my sisters and I would shout “The Japanese are coming!” at the top our lungs. That was a signal to run as fast as we could to get to a destination. This was inspired by stories from our parents about growing up during World War II. I do need to say that I’ve since made a lot of Japanese friends. Today, when I hear somebody shouting “The Japanese are coming!” , I’m more likely to run towards them, not away. However, the objective of arriving ahead at a destination remains the same. At least two players must participate. This can be played anytime exercise or speed is required. Or - when you all need to use the bathroom.

2. “The most painful” game – This is topping-off your friends’ idea of what the most painful thing could be. The last time I played this, the runaway winner was – "chewing on blades then gargling with vinegar". At least two players are needed. “Betrayal is not a valid answer and will ruin the game– this is about physical pain not a an existentialist discussion. While this can be great fun - unfortuantely, it can not be played too often as there are only so many ways to hurt yourself.

3. “The Houdini” game – This is tying yourself up to a post or any immoveable object and racing to see who’s able to break free first. At least two players are required with one other person to check on time and to prevent cheaters. This can be played anytime you have too much time on your hands.

4. “The mental math” game – This is a race to arrive at the product of two numbers with at least three digits each. The answer has to be arrived at mentally without the use of paper or a calculator. At least two players are required. This is great for long road trips or when you run out of conversation topics.

5. "The use-this-word" game - Occassionally, just before a big presentation to a public audience or an important client, I would ask my companions to give me any word they could think of and I would bet that I would be able to use these in -context. It's great fun to figure out how to make words like "necrophilia" or "lipstick" relevant when you're talking about software.

6. "The guess-my-age" game - When you're in a restaurant with a group of friends, you ask the server to guess how old each of you are. This is very risky and certainly not for the faint-hearted, very similar to Russian roulette. You never know what you're going to get. But, it an also be very satisfying when you're given an age lower than your real one, even if you know that the server is lying

So, who needs a stupid X-Box when you can do all of these?

(photo courtesy of Forti Suarez, may not be reproduced without prior permission)

My Preng, Pena

2008-11-02T22:00:00.003+08:00

Pena Lynn and I met each other in our first year in college. Our friends were friends and we all hung out together. She and I were both applying for acceptance to the same undergraduate program so we ended up spending a lot of time together .

Pena was the friend I would do silly things with. Some of the things I remember doing with her are:

1. During full moons, we would howl at the top of our voices in the curb just outside her dormitory. This was the University of the Philippines in the 1980’s – I don’t recall anyone stopping us – everyone else must have been busy fighting the Marcoses. To this day, Pena is still the first person I’ll think of in case there’s a full moon and there’s howling to be done.

2. We cut classes sometimes and would go Aberdeen Court, a few kilometers away from campus, for the cheap beer. We would walk back home drunk in the middle of the night. On hindsight, this was a very stupid thing to do. I could have been assaulted and Pena may not have been able to protect me :-).

3. We practice-kissed with each other so that we would have some experience when we had the opportunity to make out for real with other people.

It was all very innocent and such a long time ago. We’ve both been knocked around a few times since then but our friendship remains active and current.

Pena remains to be one of my very best friends. We keep in touch. But even if it takes months before we hear from each other, we don’t waste time re-establishing a shared context. It’s just there.

That’s she and I in the picture with both our hair shaven off, grinning at our shared coolness.

Between the two of us, Pena was the quite one. But, between the two of us, I see her as the brave and strong one. She doesn’t judge people. She accepts them for who they are even if who they are sometimes causes her pain.

She’s not afraid to follow her heart even if takes her through uncertain, dark roads. The possibility of the light at the end of the tunnel keeps her going.

Pena is now a Speech Patholigist based in Iowa. She works with kids. On the side, she practices tai-chi and makes one-of-a-kind cards that she sells over the web. She is married to Dave. Dave is a really, really good guy and a talented political cartoonist. I try not to cuss around him because he also looks like Jesus Christ. We've decided to keep him,

I’m writing about her because the thought of our friendship cheers me up.

Finding God in the Details

2008-11-01T23:30:00.003+08:00

Whenever I count my blessings, having talented friends is always high up on the list. Like Forti, another good friend, Dede, is also a great photographer.

Dede is originally from Indonesia. He is a well-travelled, successful financial analyst currently based in Japan. He was in Bali last week-end and took these pictures. Somebody said that you can find God in the details. Dede's pictures certainly prove that.

The Blues

2008-11-01T22:55:00.006+08:00

My natural facial expression is the absence of one. I can't help it. I make a great poker player but it's not uncommon for people to assume that I'm one of those insufferable people who's bored all the time and can't seem to be satisfied with anything.

But, if you get to know me, you'll know that it’s so very easy to make me happy. I get off on the smallest of things. A good joke. A good bargain. A plate of steaming rice with garlicky adobo. Any of these – or similar simple joys - and I’m grinning ear to ear or laughing out loud. I laugh a lot.

Also, I have a unique talent for recognizing and pointing out the absurd and humorous even in the most adversarial of situations. That gets me into trouble sometimes when people take me too literally. But, good friends know me enough to laugh with me. And that’s a good thing. It makes the hairiest of problems so much easier to deal with once you’re able to make light of it.

But, sometimes I get sad. Often, the mood passes right away. The sadness can be easily dispelled by any one of my simple joys - like a gentle wind blowing a dark cloud away on a sunny afternoon.

Occassionally, the sadness stays on for days – like a thick, wet blanket that’s too heavy to be shaken off. The sadness can be triggered by any number of things. A memory. A failure. A disappointment.

Or it can just come for no apparent reason – late at night when it’s quite . Or long holiday week-ends when everyone is away doing their own thing. I never lack invitations or choices for company but there are times when I don’t feel like being a guest and the person on the periphery of the photos – there but not quite there. You know what I mean.

I suppose the sadness is a function of being alone. However, I know enough from late night conversations and caffeine or alcohol-fueled discussions with friends, that “alone” can take on many forms.

I know of many other people with families and partners and children (and pets and plants) who've told me that sometimes they too feel alone. Somebody once told me ( I have to keep track of who’s said what to me so I can attribute my quotes) that the loneliest feeling is to be with someone and yet still feel alone.

They have thoughts they want to share, tentative feelings they want to process – but there’s no one who can or wants to listen. Or no one who can understand without making it about them. It’s hard to talk to people about some things that they might construe as a judgment on their own failings (i.e. "I love you so why are you still so sad. What did I do wrong this time? Why is it that anything I do is never good enough?")

I think sadness makes one more empathic, especially with those that we see as kindred spirits. Without having to throw regular pity parties, we're able to see the pain and struggle behind the jokes and the laughter. And we're able to respect and accept the sadness in others without being threatened by it.

Without this empathy, other people seem to find it easy to easy to ignore or nullify the sadness because the reasons are not clear or obvious (i.e. "You have no reason to be sad, you self pitying-wimp, so you can't be really sad. You're just making this up in your head").

Whatever. Right now, I can't really think about other people. All I know is that tonight, at this moment, I'm feeling sad. You don't have to understand it. Just accept my current state for what it is.

I’ll snap out of this, I always do.

Do you believe in signs?

2008-11-01T00:10:00.000+08:00

I got an email from my childhood friend the other day. We go a long way back. Our families have known each other forever. We’re even distantly related.

We’ve kept in touch but not regularly. So her email was a surprise. She dreamt about my Mom. In the dream, my Mom was about 50-ish years old, wearing a yellow dress and carrying a Kelly bag . It tells you about my friend that there's a Kelly bag detail in there :-) but my Mom was very particular about her bags being roomy with plenty of compartments.

Anyway, in the dream, my mom was on her way out from church but came over to my friend. My Mom whispered to her to tell me to take it easy and to let me know that she was worried about the pace I was currently taking.

That sounds exactly like something my Mom would have said.

My friend is not prone to emailing me about her dreams (first time its happened in 20+years) and I’m not one to go about looking for signs. But, when something like this comes out of nowhere, you get to thinking.

This is the trajectory my thought process has taken:

I think that our parents never stop watching out for us. I think that their love for us is so deep and strong and abiding that - even in death - they will find a way to reach out to us.

This, in turn, reminds me of a letter my Dad left for us. I found in it in his briefcase a few days after we had buried him. He must have have written it just before we brought him to the hospital for the last time.

---------------------------------------
My Dearest Mama, Jun Jun, Grace and Gina:

I feel that I may not last very long as I feel this weakness every day. I want you to know that I love you very, very much. I could not ask more from a wife and as a Father from his children. You have made me a very happy husband and father. Thank you. I could not thank the Lord enough for giving you to me.

Love and help each other always. Give glory to God in everything we do. Remember those who have been good to us……Ninang Liy, Joseph and family, Mike and Lily. Do not forget Juliet and Nonoy. Help Vina when you can.

Most of all, stay close to each other and love each other always.

Make Mama happy. She has suffered enough for all of us.

Tell Lola Mi and my brothers and sisters that I love them. Do not forget Lolo Di.

I am sorry if I have not been a very good father to you. What I know is that I love you dearly and did my best.

Papa

P.S.

As to where you want to keep my remains, I leave that to the best discretion of Mama...to a place convenient for you and you will incurr the least expense.

-------------------------------------------
I hope my nephew and nieces are able to read this so they know how special their grandparents were.

As to my friend's dream - yeah - Ok, Mom. Got that. Say hi to everyone for me.

You'll Live Longer But You Won't Have Any Friends

2008-10-27T23:20:00.001+08:00

The stink in farts controls blood pressure.

"Nuff Sad.

Beautiful Filipinas

2008-10-27T18:38:00.007+08:00

These pictures are from my photographer friend, Forti. They are from his "Beautiful Filipina" series.

He has not taken any formal photography lessons. He does not have to. He does not take pictures with his camera. He takes them with his heart. When you look at his pictures, you don't see "subjects", you see real people with real lives. Their eyes tell their stories. And Forti's photographs do not just make us look. They make us listen to those stories.

The first picture makes me mad. A girl that young should not have eyes that old. She seems to have seen and experienced more than anyone that age should have. I worry about what might happen to her.

The second picture makes me uneasy. The old woman’s eyes are hard and unflinching. She seems to have gone through countless tragedies and hardships in her life . She sees nothing but more of the same for the rest of her life. But she will survive. Because that is what she does. Perhaps this is what the girl in the first picture will look like after 70 years. But, then again considering other possibilities, only if the girl is lucky.

The third picture is of a family living off the streets. The children’s eyes do not yet seem to have lost their innocence. It makes me wonder how far their mother’s love can keep the innocence there.

The fourth picture makes me uncomfortable There are too many contradictions going on in the image. The squalor and waste of the surroundings against the freshness of the flower; the youth of the girl against the worldliness of her gaze and pose. Everything co-exists in the picture but, in my mind, there is something that is not right.

The fifth picture makes me smile. It seems familiar. I see a hint of innocence remaining in the woman’s eyes. She has known much love in her life and remains secure in the care and protection of her family. This is how we would like our mothers and grandmothers to look like.

The State of the World Economy

2008-10-26T23:01:00.000+08:00