It's Christmas

Every year, I make the mistake of commencing the preparations for Christmas depending on the events unfolding in society. I am aware that's it's wrong, but I am always affected by changes and sometimes, upheavals, that take place around me. I remember in December of the year 2000, a great year as it was the start of the 3rd millennium, I was so horrified by the scandals that rocked the country which led to the impeachment proceedings against Pres. Erap. I refused to put up the tree. But on December 21, I think, a bank executive by the name of Clarissa Ocampo, an eyewitness to Erap's signing bank records in the name of Jose Velarde, came forward and testified in the trial that was beamed on national tv. Late into the night that day, I was putting up the tree because an angel named Clarissa told me there was reason to rejoice.

This year, I promised myself that no matter what, at least the Christmas tree should be up by November 15, and that's how it's going to be from this year on.

In 1999, on our first Christmas in our new and very own home built from the ground up by my husband, Timmy bought a six feet tall Christmas tree out of her bonus as an employee of Pag-ibig. She has since moved to other jobs but the tree is still with us, standing tall, straight and proud of her services to my family. Each year, we change the color motif of the decors, beginning from the poinsettia flowers. In 2001, our 25th anniversary, I bought silver and sapphire blue decors (our wedding color motif was light blue). Then, in later years, we went gold, orange, chartreuse, red, etc. This year, I put out all the flowers in different colors and thought it looked quite good, so I had it that way, minus all other decors, like Christmas balls and ribbons.

Just this morning, the hubby found two flowers, one chartreuse and the other gold, all mashed up and tousled. It must be the handiwork of my other bunsoy - Bitoy. Instead of getting mad, I felt good because Bitoy must be feeling joyous too as we await Christmas. Next week, I will be starting on a make-over, sort of, of the house. Just a few changes in the positions of the old furniture and perhaps some new curtains ( the hubby says, "Curtains? Not again!. Christmas really makes me move my big and little bones. And it feels good!

In a few days, I will be making a mental list again of the ingredients for pancit molo, a regular Christmas table fare requested by my nieces and nephews. We will bring food and more food to share on Christmas eve. We will be thinking of more games to play before each family goes back to our own homes. Last year, Pinoy Henyo was a hit among us. We will be merry once more, because we choose to be happy even if Amang and Inang are no longer around; even if Rico and Lina are now spending white christmases in Ohio (they send goodies, anyway, LOL); even if Sam, Poy and Erick are in countries that don't celebrate Christmas (LOL again, these countries become richer because of Christmas); even if there's a chance Nad will have a night duty on Christmas eve; even if we don't have that much to spend on Christmas finery; even if some others choose not to be part of our family merrymaking because they are busy soaring up high in the sky. This time of the year is a time to be happy and merry and joyous. After all, it's the best time to think of and give thanks for the birth of The One who makes all things possible.

Merry Christmas to all of us! May this season be filled with love and joy to keep in our hearts forever.

Bunsoy

This is the first time i will be blogging with a deadline- 12:00 midnight tonight. And it's already half past nine in the evening. Today is my Bunsoy's 30th birthday and because i was caught up in so many inconsequential matters the past days, i failed to grab enough time on the computer to do what i needed to do- write about my youngest, dearest son. The whole day today, i was in the kitchen with my bff and my cousin turning up some scrumptious dishes for family and his buddies. As i write this, his titos and titas and his cousins have gone back to their respective homes, but the buddies and the birthday boy are still up in the bahay-kubo, having a blast, as if being thirty is the most significant stage in a man's life.

Ronald, my Bunsoy, was named after Ronald Reagan who won the US presidential elections on November 4, 1980. Eleven days later, Nad was born. Since his elder brother, Gerald, was named after Gerald Ford, we reckoned that, maybe, it will be more consistent if we go by that name. I am quite proud of the choices we've made for our children's names primarily because we made the choices ourselves. When I was still single, I made a vow never to let another person give the names of my would-be children. I'm glad I did not have to go through the distress of having to turn down someone who, for some reason, would be so assertive enough as to choose a name for someone not his/her child.

Among my three children, it is always Nad who makes a big deal of his birthday yearly. It is as if he was so exultant and ecstatic that he was born. And that alone makes me happy, too. When I hear other young people question why they were born, I feel sad for them because their reservations clearly have something to do with the kind of life they live. Nad is nothing like that. He loves life and he lives it to the fullest. He may not be the gifted son nor the young entrepreneur who earned his first million before he reached 30, but my Bunsoy gives me so much joy, like all other Bunsoys in the world do to the own mothers. Like his eldest sister and elder brother before him, Nad has been and is always a constant source of joy and inspiration for me to go on living, despite the stresses attendant to aging.

Nad and I have our own share of spats and misunderstandings, but one thing I will always appreciate about him is his ability to take things lightly, as if unpleasant things didn't happen at all. When it is I who have done him wrong, it does not take too much time for him to forgive and forget. Perhaps the only thing I could never make him appreciate is my being a worrier. He wants me to relax when he goes anywhere, but what can I do? I am a mother who thinks I am the only one who can protect him.

I know I owe my children so much. To this day I still cringe when I recall that on Nad's second birthday in 1982, I left him and his sister and brother in the care of a househelp and attended to a problem with a bounced check that was paid us by a customer in Pasig. All along I thought I could make it by noon time, but my aunt-in-law and I arrived back home late in the evening- with everything in disarray on the homefront. I hated myself then for being away on my son's birthday and I feel that I have never forgiven myself to this day because the memory is still fresh in my mind and the tears still flow when I recall the events of that day.

Nad was my passport to a renewed professional life when, in 1986, his first year as a kindergarten in St. Mary's, I also started my stint as a classroom teacher in the same school. I was to resign in 1998 when he graduated in high school, but was given a bonus of one more year. Many years later, Nad finished college. Many girlfriends later, Nad is still here with me, celebrating his 30th, still single and still giving me the joy only a mother could feel.

Happy birthday, Bunsoy. I love you beyond the stars!

A September to Not-Remember

This month is my birth month. Sadly, September 2010 wasn't a joyful one. On August 31, 2010, I had the thrill of redeeming my prize, a DVD-CD combo of James Taylor and Carole King's concert at the Troubador in 2007, which I got by joining a promo of the Lifestyle Network at ABS-CBN. When September slowly tiptoed in, it brought a lot of anxiety to me and the whole family.

First, Tim had to be up on her toes for the month long bar, which ended bloodily and violently for some students.( Pilipinas kong mahal, bakit ka nagkakaganito?).Then, the hubby had an accident the details of which are painful to recount. Then, there are the previous transactions with our office that are not moving in the concerned government offices, which make our clients impatient. The list goes on and on. It makes me want to just sleep and wake up when the month is finally over.

Tomorrow, October comes in. I hope it brings with it the cold wind that can calm down my nerves. Need it so desperately.

Men in Blue

PROLOGUE: This article will be published in the author’s personal blog not to initiate a never-ending debate on the police’s perceived incompetence. This is a ventilation of her ideas, sentiments and opinions on a lot of matters concerning law enforcement in the country. This piece contains both matters-of-fact and matters-of-opinion and is never intended to hurt any relative of a police officer, whether known or unknown to the author.

My family was once a victim of police abuses. That gives me the right to write this piece. I would rather not deal on the gory details of those tense, agonizing hours and the days and months following that first Sunday of May in 2008, for they are now water under the bridge. But believe me, the ghosts of that night still haunt me, thus making it hard for me to move on to more productive endeavors. I cringe whenever I imagine how a police officer pointed an armalite on my very precious, kind and adorable son just because he was getting the names of the police that detained my husband and his companion, an uncle. I cry when I recall that my daughter, present then to help my husband, was pushed down to the ground by burly police officers. My knees jerk when I recall the witnesses’ account that my husband, a lawyer, was hit by one of the police officers while in detention, because he kept on asking why they were being detained. (Incidentally, I always kiss the hand of this police officer’s mother when I see her in church, before and after the incident, since we know each other's family.) On Thursday following that Sunday, men armed with long firearms were in my next-door neighbor’s house, making sure they were visible to us, allegedly investigating the loss of their cell phone. Very funny. The events of that night caused my blood pressure to shoot up to 230/110 and I had to be confined in a hospital. The charges and countercharges filed have since been dismissed after a settlement initiated by the public prosecutor. The main reason we agreed to it is the safety of our family, relatives and friends. But to this day, when I see policemen whether in uniform or in civilian clothes, I can’t help but become tense. Then I realize that after this encounter with them, my life will never be the same again.

The events of Monday, August 23, 2010 at the Quirino grandstand over-emphasized what was obvious all along- that there is something very wrong in the country’s police institutions. The hostage crisis proved that many of our police officers are inept and that they lack the necessary system, training and equipment to deal with crisis situations. But what struck me the most about last Monday’s crisis was that point when the brother of the hostage taker, another policeman, refused to go with the team that will take him to the police district’s office. On national TV, he said to media people, “ Tulungan ninyo ako. Wala akong kasalanan. Idadaan nila ako sa likod. Wala akong tiwala sa mga yan! Mga pulis yan.” The police afraid of the police? Wasn’t it absurd? Or does it tell us we are correct in our perceptions?

If we go back a few weeks and months earlier, we will recall how the whole police force of Ampatuan, Maguindanao allowed themselves to be used in murdering more than 50 persons. Then, the Ted Failon episode showed us the kind of police work that is available to us. A few days ago, a torture video, featuring a police official and his victim, a supposed criminal, was released on television. The best word I can use to describe it is karimarimarim. The morning after the hostage crisis, two policemen were being investigated in connection with the rape of the wife of a man they were investigating. In this case, one of the officers had the guts to say that he has never met the woman before- which made her hysterical. What woman would say on national TV (Bitag) that she was raped if she wasn’t? Many years ago, police officers were the ones who took and brought a female UP Los Banos student to their town mayor who raped her. Afterwards, they took turns raping her again. When their lust was satisfied, they killed her and her companion and dumped them in a garbage site. The mayor and some of the policemen may still be in jail now but I am convinced that the lives of the families of those UP Los Banos students have been turned upside down. I can only wish that they have now accepted their fate and somehow forgotten their ordeal. The list of police abuses and brutality is very loooong. And it doesn’t seem to end, even after a very much trusted person is elected president of this country. This situation is both frightening and terrifying.

Many things have been said about last Monday’s hostage crisis. There was a blame game in the aftermath. Finger-pointing was soon followed by the washing of the hands of those perceived to have contributed to the tragic end of the daylong drama. As I write this, I am listening to the Senate investigation on both the torture video and the hostage crisis. I hear so many issues. But I believe, with full conviction, that the tragedy which put the Philippines to shame in the international community, should be blamed only in the hostage taker himself- a captain who is soon to retire. His relatives and his colleagues have described him as a kind man. Praises for his person and the awards he has received were enumerated for whatever purpose may serve his supporters. But I beg to digress. What virtuous policeman would get himself embroiled in an extortion case that led to his dismissal from the service? If he were really kind, where in the world did he get such an idea as to take hostage foreign tourists and later kill them? Kind? Sorry, the Holy Bible tells me those were not the acts of a kind person. It is very clear that this man, wanting to regain the powers he lost through his dismissal from the service, wants instant reinstatement. As for his awards, a retired policeman-friend (almost a relative) of ours says, they can be bought. In fact, he says, during their Sunday runs, those who did not want to go the distance because they are not capable (bulging stomachs, etc.) or they simply didn’t want to can have their way- if the price is right. This policeman-friend of ours even tells the story of how their superior police officials would demand weekly amounts that lead the subordinates to engage in illegal acts to raise the money. To avoid doing this, our policeman-friend decided to be just a 15-30 public servant, with a certain percentage of his salary going to his superior. A lesser evil, I suppose, but it is tantamount to stealing public funds. (We are not brave enough to tell our friend this, because his acts may not be too pleasant, but he is well mannered compared to others.)

But come to think of it, what is it that move many police officers to do such horrible acts? A brief review of our history gives us some insights on how we Filipinos handle power. We have been under Spanish rule for exactly 333 years and under American rule for more than 50 years. Our republic is relatively young. It’s not even a century-old. Filipinos are hungry for two things as an aftermath of being colonized- freedom and power. Hunger for freedom is a good thing. Hunger for power only becomes good depending on the purposes for which it is sought. The nouveau riche, having acquired enough wealth would soon become a politician. Having both money and position, he is now assured of power. Even a poor man who barely eats three square meals a day aspire to have power so much so that the relatively easiest position, such as being a barangay tanod is very attractive to him. Most Filipinos are power trippers because there is something in our blood that desperately wants to come out after being suppressed for more than three and a half centuries. Having a firearm makes a person powerful. Having a firearm wearing a uniform makes a person doubly powerful. The powers vested by law unto policemen obviously make them powerful to the point that they extend these powers beyond limits. Martial law in the early 70’s aggravated this hunger on the part of the law enforcers. As they say, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Many people say there are more upright and decent policemen than there are unprincipled and corrupt ones. I agree. I know of a policeman whose daughter was molested by a young man in their community. Instead of taking the law into his own hands, which he can very well do, he took the case to the courts of law. Very commendable. But I ask, where are the rest? Why are they failing us? If there were more good ones, how come the institution is as indecent as it is now? Can’t they do something? Can’t they overpower the bad eggs in their ranks? I wish they would do the right thing to serve and protect the people truly, justly and faithfully.

My father was a member of the Philippine Constabulary for most of his life as a man in uniform. When it was integrated into the national police, he chose to transfer to the army, where he started. I am very glad of his decision. For if he stayed in the police force, then I will become one of those who are hurt by the many criticisms generated by the bad eggs in the basket that is the national police.

We need the police. We need law enforcers. We need peace keepers. We do not need torturers, rapists, extortionists, murderers and hostage-takers in uniform.

Last Saturday, I attended the class reunion of Batch ’94 St. Mary’s Academy, Baliuag. I learned that two of my former students became police officers- a young man and a young woman. Before I went to sleep that night, I thought about them and I prayed that they may always be guided by the Catholic, Marian and Ignacian teachings that they got from their alma mater. I prayed that they may always find what they need in discharging their duties faithfully to their fellowmen. Some good things are really easy to find. We do not need to go far. They are in our hearts.

Picture taken from militaryphotos.net.

The Fourth Sorrowful Mystery

A story was told about a man who persistently prayed to God to ease him of the cross he has been carrying for years. One day, St. Peter appeared before him and said he is being summoned by God who has heard his prayers. The man went up the gates of heaven with St. Peter who later brought him to a roomful of crosses. There they were, in different colors, materials, sizes. Some were very simple and some were ornate. Some were as huge as the trees in a virgin forest and some were as small as the palm of one's hand. Then, St. Peter told the man that because God was a just and fair God, he can take a look and choose the cross which he thinks he can carry without much difficulty. The man went around the room. He paused when he saw one that caught his attention. It took a while before he chose one, got it and showed it to St. Peter. The gatekeeper asked him if he was sure it was what he wanted. After giving his assurance, St. Peter instructed him to look at what's written on the back of the cross. The man was astonished to find his name engraved thereat.

I always recall to mind this story whenever I have choices or decisions to make at this point in my life. I know it pleases my God to know that I have accepted my cross long ago, and though I sometimes feel burdened heavily, I always look forward to the promise of resurrection which would lead me to everlasting life.

I am no Bible-carrying nor Bible-quoting Christian. I just know that the story of the man who refused his cross and ended up with the same is repeated several times over in all parts of the world. Being an orphan at a very young age is a cross. Difficult mathematical equations are themselves a cross. A vicious husband, a nagging wife, a special child and sickly parents are each a cross. So are a parasitic friend, an unproductive sister and a gossipy neighbor. Even a low-paying job, a know-all-boss and an inefficient assistant are crosses one must have to bear. There are as many crosses as there are people on earth. Sometimes, a person feels s/he has a lot of burdens on his/her shoulders. It would take a lot of self-searching to discern which of the crosses we bear is the one for us. I believe this means that like the man in the story, we can bargain with God, but only on His terms.

I can't recall how many times I turned down someone in need because I know that it is a cross I shouldn't have to bear. (The times when I carried this cross far outnumbered the times I didn't.) Or the times when I refused to heed the messages sent by listen-to-me-I-know-it-will-be-good-for-you fellows, who only wanted to pass their crosses to me so subtly, they think I wouldn't know.

It is very clear to me what my cross is in my lifetime. Sure it's heavy. But I know it's mine. It manifests itself in different forms at different points in time, and when it does, it weakens and debilitates me. Good thing I am a half-full glass of milk-person. It helps a lot to carry that weight. Plus, I get a lot of help from the One who carried His cross to Calvary, and His mother, who did not leave His side.

Image lifted from yakub_israel flickr.com

Kind Hearts

KIND HEARTS ARE THE GARDEN; KIND THOUGHTS ARE THE ROOTS; KIND WORDS ARE THE BLOSSOMS; KIND DEEDS ARE THE FRUITS.- John Ruskin

They are all over. Kind spirits who inspired me as I was growing up until this time when I am already growing old. There are people I have met at some point in my life who have left such an impact in me for only one reason- they are all kind and benevolent.

First among them is my Ninang Noring ( my readers have met her in In Loving Memory). She dutifully performed her duties as my confirmation godmother during my formative years. My eyes water whenever I remember her efforts to guide me during my early years as an orphan. If only for her, I would have believed that really, all men are by nature, good. But the realities of life taught me otherwise. There are people with mean bones alongside the good ones.

My Tia Agring, one of my father's sisters, is another very kind soul. All of my father's siblings are kind and compassionate. However, it is my May Agring's life that I witnessed as it unfolded. She is everything a biblical wife should be and I'm glad I have her as a role model for her fortitude and serenity. The same is true with my Nana Subring, an elder sister of my mother. One heartache after another, she still remained strong, resilient and zealous. She has faced challenges head-on and emerged a victor. Perhaps her long life is God's reward for her steadfastness and unwavering faith.

Outside of the family, there is Tata. His first name escapes me at the moment but we initially called him Mr. Guerrero and later Tata for the duration of our stay in his cottage. He was the lessor of the first boarding house my high school classmates and I stayed in at the UP in 1970. It was a run down cottage in Area 2 within the UP campus. I remember him being an Ilocano. He was already a widower then, with four or five children. He had a very calm demeanor inspite of the palpable problems in his family at the time. Whenever I go back to his cottage from a week-end in Bulacan, I always took his hand and bring it to my forehead asking for his blessing. Sometimes, his daughters would laugh at what I did, but it has become my way of showing him my respect since he was the only authority figure I have in that house I called home for over a year.

Then there is Mrs. Nenita Ocampo, Math professor at the AS, also in UP, who owned an apartment unit in the same area, where I lived for more than three years. It was perhaps part of God's plan that I met her (and the other women mentioned previously) since she was also another biblical wife, who longed and worked for a strong marriage against all odds. Ma'am was hands-on in taking care of her three children at the same time that she taught at the university. She always had kind words for everyone. Although it was obvious that she had a lot on her mind those days, she kept to herself and never did once display rude behavior before us her boarders. She's overflowing with understanding for everyone around her. It's a pity I didn't try to reconnect with her these past years.

When we lived in Baliuag in the late 80's, Tita Elsa Sauco became our next-door neighbor. Perhaps it is better to say we became her next-door neighbor. We were the transients in the place, anyway. It did not take long for my kids to be the playmates of her children, Mayet and Hans. Tita Elsa would call on my children to go to their house during week-ends. They were there all day long and she didn't mind all five loud and lively children all over the place. At first, my husband would be hesitant because Tita Elsa wont allow them to go home to eat and instead will prepare meals for them. Every now and then, she would ask me how we are doing and at times, sensing that there is a dilemma, she would graciously offer some help. Her graciousness and congeniality was manifest throughout our more than three years stay in Baliuag. Today, we still communicate and I am glad that I have all the chances now to reciprocate all her kindness.

When I was still teaching at St. Mary's in Baliuag, I met several RVM sisters who deserved to be remembered for their compassion and kindheartedness. I met S. Cely Amper, RVM, in 1986. She was one of those who interviewed me when I applied for a teaching position in that school. I did not show up when she called for me to report for another conference sometime in February, 1986, because my husband and I were then in a mass action in Luneta to support Cory Aquino who won in the snap election against Marcos. When I reported to S. Cely a few days after, I explained the situation and she understood. That was the first of the many other incidents when I needed her understanding, the one thing she was always ready to give to anyone. Another sister, S. Paula Adaoag, RVM, was appointed as the school cashier when she was given the Baliuag assignment. At that time, I was the only one earning for my family since my husband was still in law school- an option he took after quitting a small grains business. One day, she summoned me to her office and pointed out that my pay slip reflects a very small amount every payday, owing to the many deductions, especially the tuition fees of my three children. She asked me how I am able to make ends meet and I had to let her in into my private life as a sole breadwinner with four students to support. S. Paula asked how she ( and the school) can be of help. She broached the idea of relieving me with the twice a month deductions and instead, my two months summer vacation pay shall all go to the children's tuition. Of course, I agreed. S. Paula's gesture was meant for me to regain a little more dignity as a teacher by making my pay slip a little thicker than it used to be. S. Cely's and S. Paula's names are forever engraved in my heart.

A Greek philosopher once said that kindness gives birth to kindness. In so doing, it will forever be reborn and therefore will never die. In today's world, new technologies somehow changed the landscape of social relationships. There are now fewer occasions for people to develop deep and lasting connections . We call someone a friend if s/he is in our list of friends on Facebook or Friendster. Even a close relative is now simply a friend if s/he lands on that list. But having such a list of friends can be a good start in nurturing deep affection. The first step could be a kind word thrown here and there.

How I wish my children will all encounter kind souls with kind hearts as they go through their individual lives. These souls are what maybe called models- for they say and do things that must be emulated. In contrast, fate lets us meet people whose words and deeds should never be replicated, for as Kahlil Gibran said, "they are vexations to the spirit". Between these two groups of souls, those with kind hearts should rule our lives for they live according to the rules.

Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on; 'Twas not given for thee alone, Pass it on; Let it travel down the years, Let it wipe another's tears, Til in Heaven the deed appears - Pass it on.- Rev. Henry Burton

* Heart image taken from Free-Extras.com

Everybody's Fine

Yesterday afternoon, I wanted to have a few laughs before going back to the unfinished house chores, so I chose to watch a movie that looked funny- Everybody's Fine, which stars Robert de Niro, Drew Barrymore and one of my favorite Kates in Hollywood- Kate Beckinsale. ( How I love looking at pictures of Kate Moss, Kate Hudson, Cate Blanchett and Mary Kate Olsen). Ten minutes into the movie, it turned out I won't have a good laugh. Instead, I had a good cry.

The movie moved me to tears as I imagine my family in the same situation- without me, their mother. Frank, De Niro's character, was a new widower and in the movie, he tried to reconnect with his four children who have gone on their own in different places. He took a road trip to New York, Chicago and Las Vegas with the intention of surprising his children with his visit. Instead, it was he who was surprised at the discovery of concealed truths about the lives of all his children.

There were universal truths about family life depicted in the movie. Like- why do children speak truthfully to their mothers but not to their fathers? And why do parents find it hard to let go of their children? Perhaps, Kahlil Gibran's admonition to parents in The Prophet can give some enlightenment to us parents. He said-

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

When the time comes that the arrows have flown swiftly and afar, I wish that everybody's gonna be fine.