the hero

Last Sunday, Manny Pacquiao once again emerged victorious against a worthy opponent, Miguel Cotto, for the welterweight belt. It was my first time to watch Pacquiao fight on the ring. I missed those fights with De La Hoya, and with Hatton because … well, no special reason, I am just not a big fan of boxing. I have not accepted it as a sport – I think it is quite barbaric, having to watch well-built men punch each other’s faces for the win. Admittedly though, there are millions of boxing enthusiasts out there, Hubby included. Yes, opposites do attract.

I have subconsciously gotten into the Pacman fever weeks before his actual fight with Miguel Cotto, what with dear Hubby surfing the web for hours reading the latest in boxing news, watching streaming videos of 24/7 from HBO, and scanning video sharing sites for Manny’s appearances here and abroad. He even went to see him train at Cooyesan during the press meet. (He got in with friends, I forgot to lend him my Sun*Star jersey, not that he needed it.) Anyway, so we were all exposed to that Pacman bug. I saw clips of his interview with Jimmy Kemmel and it was really something. (Jimmy: “How many people in your entourage?” Manny: “I mean, a lot.” J: “What are their assignments? What do they do?” M: “One of them cook me…another fix my room…”). Hilarious. He looked comfortable with Jimmy Kemmel, and comfortable with himself. He has millions and millions of reasons to be, I guess. Ha ha.
With the way he is known to unite the Filipino people – lower crime rate, ceasefire, no traffic, always bringing glory to our country – he is regarded by many as a modern-day hero. In some respects, probably. Our century-old heroes are still dragged into controversy up to this time so I guess no one can really conclude. I just hope he would not taint his honor and name when he gets into politics, or by surrounding himself with unlikely personas.

But what does it take to be a hero?

Do you need to make the ultimate sacrifice – your life, your happiness, your freedom – for the benefit of others? For the benefit of how many exactly, before you can be regarded as such?

I think being a hero is relative. A national hero on a national scale, or a community hero on another level, like when one saves lives during the floods, or other calamities. Or just a personal hero, making a difference to the lives of several, or the life of just one whom you “save”, in all connotations of that word. You can be a hero, even to just one person, and make a great difference in his or her life. It is an everyday occurrence.

Speaking of heroes, I hope by the time you read this you can still cast your votes. Our very own Efren Peñaflorida is one of the ten 2009 CNN Heroes. Efren organized the Dynamic Teen Company to hold “pushcart classes”, to teach children from the slums reading, writing, arithmetic and English, together with teen volunteers who are former gang members he helped reform. Log in to http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/cnn.heroes/ for the full coverage and to cast your votes to make Efren THE 2009 CNN Hero.

“A hero is no braver than an ordinary man,
but he is braver five minutes longer.”

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

sun*starbaguio.19nov09.

the nanny diaries s01 e02

PREVIOUSLY on the Nanny Diaries: I was whining and bickering about the sudden exodus of our nanny of three years. She left for All Saints’ Day weekend and did not come back as promised.

Do you remember my whining and being all sentimental last week about our lost yaya?

I don’t. Well, not exactly. I still miss Ate Dang but I’m in a much better place. I have moved on.

We found a new Ate. I have always dreaded having a new nanny, hopefully someone always better than the last one, and with background on skills she needs to help in our household. It has always been a nightmare every time you train a new helper, whom you have to teach: No. 1, care of the kids and a million things related thereto; No. 1,000,001, cleaning schedule and processes and a thousand things that come with each process; No. 1,500,999, care of dear old Fiona, our spinster golden retriever, all of 4 years old (28 years old by conversion) and happy being a 28-year-old virgin (not sure about the happy part, though); No. 1,501,000, the menu; and millions of other things surprisingly going on in that tiny hobbit-house-like home of ours.

I think one of the reasons we dread losing our nannies is the difficulty of having to start from square one, and having to train new ones again. So sometimes we just settle for nannies who have been with us for quite a while despite a so-so attitude or somewhat unpleasant conduct we just learn to deal with, so as to avoid the training nightmares.

Surprisingly, I have none of those. Our new house help, let’s call her Manang, is quite advanced in age – in her late forties, a far cry from our former nannies, who started with us when they were barely eighteen. She is so far proving that wisdom does come with age. Manang is formerly an OFW from Singapore, and read this: a workaholic. I swear. She talks to my kids in straight English, with a British twang. She has the efficiency of an excellent home manager – she tends to make me tremble with inferiority complex, home matters-wise (defensive!). She loves Fiona, and takes very good care of her. She always says “please” and “thank you”. She cooks like a chef: veggies cooked just right like those in Chinese restos, meat always tender. When I wake up late on weekends, I wake up to a table set with a plate, a spoon on the right, a fork on the left, a teaspoon above the plate, my coffee cup above the spoon, my favourite 3-n-1 coffee and evap milk/ creamer on the side. It makes me want to order continental breakfast, except that all I’m having is pandesal, coffee and blueberry yogurt (shame, shame). It’s quite scary, though, we might get used to a life like this, and after a while, when something goes wrong (knock on wood!), we’ll go nanny-less again, and cannot find a comparable replacement.

Please, Patron Saint of Nannies, let this be for real. And for long.

Oh, she is celebrating her first birthday with us tomorrow, Nov. 13. Happy birthday, Manang. Welcome to our family.

sun*starbaguio.13nov09.

the nanny diaries

WE JUST bid our yaya of almost three years adieu. She never came back from her All Saints’ Day vacation although she undertook to leave by December still. I am certain many working moms will agree with me when I make this observation: sometimes we rely too much on the presence of our househelp and baby sitters, and when they suddenly leave we feel so lost, as if a part of our body is missing. In the case of loss of househelp I guess that would be equated to the loss of another pair of hands. This reminds me of a piece of flair I have marked online, which says, “If evolution is true, mothers would have four hands by now.”

I have had my share of yaya woes and painful departures, thankfully almost always in good terms. I even remember shedding some tears when Gelai’s yaya (also of three years) left, because I found her very nice and kind. But she had to leave against her will because they have already saved up for her education. A year into her college studies there were no more funds for her tuition, and she ended up being my Mama’s private nurse for some time. She is now in her senior year in college and still gets to visit us whenever she gets a long vacation from school. We manage to keep in touch until now and consider her as part of our family. Kayla’s yaya of five years also came back to us, this time as househelp for my in-laws’ family. The ratio of those coming back to us hoping to take their job back is high, after having searched for other jobs, or other employers, and realizing (as they claim) that it is very difficult to find a family like ours. That is also one legacy I am proud to pass on to my children: respect for others, even if they are working in our service.

Sometimes I see kids being mean to their yayas, and breathe a sigh of relief knowing my kids were raised another way. Our kids remain respectful and pleasant when talking to our yaya or to any helper in another place. I was also raised that way. Even when Mama was strict with chores and very particular with the way she wanted things done, I observed that she never treated them rudely or with any tinge of disrespect. I show the same thing to my kids and thankfully they have learned by example. I think nannies and helpers are underpaid, basing on the average wages they get. They work from sun up to sun down, for monthly pay that sometimes have the same value of an expensive one time dinner out in a posh restaurant. If I were a lot richer I would want to pay my yayas so much more. They would have to wait though. But besides their pay, I think they really do appreciate the good treatment.

It seems my kids have accepted and have adjusted to Yaya Dang’s departure faster than I have. We have treated her as part of our family for three years and with her gone, it is just like losing and missing a family member. But of course, we do not own them, and eventually they have to gain their lives back, and not forever be in our service. As is always the case, I wish her only the best in her next endeavor.

sun*starbaguio.05nov09.

commemoration

I remember having watched a local talk show, where the Halloween episode featured those with the “third” eye – those who see dead people – as guests.One of them said that whenever it is All Saints’ Day or All Souls’ Day, the souls of the dead will also be there loitering in cemeteries, waiting by the gates for their loved ones who will come and visit.They will be “conversing” among themselves, and it also brings them sadness if their expected visitors will not arrive.

I watched this a long time ago, but it stuck to my mind because at the time I found it weird, and laughed (nervously) at the idea of actually being hugged and welcomed by the dead as you enter the gates of the cemetery. Prior to my Mama’s demise, there was no immediate family member buried in a nearby cemetery, so mostly we just offer general prayers and light a candle for all relatives who have died.

This year marks our second time to visit Mama on All Saints’ Day. I am praying so hard that we be spared from any weather disturbance this week that will hinder us from travelling down to Dagupan, because she might be waiting, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her. My heart goes out to those whose loved ones’ graves were destroyed by floods, and those who cannot seem to find their loved ones’ tombs in cemeteries that are no longer well maintained. I am sad for those who may not have the resources to travel far because of what they suffered during the floods, or those who will be visiting loved ones who were casualties of the recent typhoons.

It probably will still take a long while before I stop counting the All Saints’ Day commemorations, the Christmases, the summers, the birthdays, the family celebrations – all with a void that cannot seem to be filled. I am still missing her every single day. The pain is no longer crippling, but the longing still manages to burden my heart with pain. I cling on to the memories, but sometimes they tend to make me miss her all the more.

Many would probably consider All Souls’ Day as a time to slow down and take a break from their busy lives to say a prayer and light a candle for their deceased loved ones. Some would find it as a period to relive memories of the departed. Yet for others, it is again another excuse for grief and longing one more time…pretending as if that does not happen every day.

“There should be a statute of limitation on grief. A rulebook that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after forty-two days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name.”

From My Sister’s Keeper
Jodi Picault

sun*starbaguio.29oct09.

return to roseman bridge

MONTHS ago, my soul sister S gave me a very special gift. She found a hardbound copy of The Bridges of Madison County in a book sale, for an incredible P10. She gave it to me, knowing I have been in search of a copy for a long time. I could just imagine all the strength she had to muster to part with it, considering…well, the book stands proud for itself.

No justification needed. I will have a lifetime ahead being grateful for her selfless deed. Frankly if I were the one who found it for myself I might have obtained a safety deposit box (account?) and kept it there. My first copy of that book could no longer be found, no memory whatsoever as to who last borrowed it and when. (Same thing goes for my Griffin and Sabine Trilogy by Nick Bantock. If the person who last borrowed these 3 books ever reads this: Give them back. I forgive you.)

Anyway, even though S gave me the book months ago I still have not read it again. I read the book when I was eighteen, and I remember vividly, weeping after the last pages were turned. I found the story really heart-rending, and after my Mama’s turn to read she wondered how I could have related to a story of forbidden love among 40-somethings. I told her I think I was born old.

So why the hesitation? A normal person would probably jump right in and read the much-coveted book from cover to cover in a matter of hours. Not me. (Hey, some form of self-incrimination here. Be the judge.) Up until this weekend after I have given the finals, all I ever did was glance at the book, pick it up, open it to any page, savor the scent, and read an excerpt. It felt like finally having in my hand, something I’ve wanted for the longest time, yet upon having it not knowing exactly what to do. I know, that does not sound like a normal person at all. (More self-incrimination. I’m on a roll.)

The thing is, I want the right moment to savor the richness of Waller’s language. The plot actually is not that great, some even regard it as ordinary, nothing but an absurd justification of an adulterous affair. But what made me love the book is the language, the use of words in such a way that you can almost live the passion within the characters. In reading it I want to test what Jessica Zafra wrote in one of her many articles on reading: “That’s the thing about a great book: every time you read it, it’s different, because you are different. You have changed since the last time you picked it up, things have happened to you…” I wonder if I will have a different reaction, favourable or otherwise. Further, should it be cause for alarm if I love it just the same? Is it any indication that I have not matured?

I am still waiting for the right moment. This time it may not just be pure reading for pleasure but a matter of self-discovery.

To read a book for the first time is to make an acquaintance with a new friend;
to read it for a second time is to meet an old one. – Chinese Saying

sun*star.22 oct 09.

hope springs

Our trials go on and on, seemingly no end yet in sight.

A week after typhoon Ondoy ravaged most parts of Metro Manila, typhoon Pepeng overstayed in Philippine territory, causing landslides in our own province and bringing floods to Pangasinan and other Central Luzon provinces. Most of us were probably still shaking off the shock of Pepeng’s wrath, unable to fully believe the death and destruction it caused. Filipinos have not yet recovered from everything that transpired in Manila when Ondoy struck, here we are, having to deal again with the aftermath of Pepeng.

In my lifetime I have never seen as much death and destruction in one sweep. I was in senior year in high school during the 1990 earthquake, and Pepeng’s wrath brought back to memory the stench of death from the school building that collapsed nearby. That must be the case for those who live near areas where houses and communities were destroyed by landslides here in Benguet. Indeed, it would be futile to even attempt to approximate the anguish felt by those who lost their entire families to the landslides or the floods. Imagine losing not just all your belongings and your home, but more importantly your loved ones in just a matter of seconds. Such pain is just beyond articulation.

We are a few months away from Christmas season, and those gravely affected may still have no glimmer of hope in sight. There is seemingly no anticipation of a good harvest, what with fields flooded and crops destroyed. There is seemingly no optimism for a better life, what with millions having lost their homes, their properties and their livelihood.

But, for a Filipino, it seems nothing is unbearable. We are a good lot, and at this point, we do not have any other choice but to cope. Just take a glimpse of people picking up after the storm, rebuilding their homes, rebuilding their lives. Just take a long, hard look at how people go out of their way to help others in the spirit of volunteerism and cooperation. That revives my hope, a hope founded on the essential goodness of man. Some people out there make me feel otherwise, but I am clinging on to that hope for humanity the hardest I can. The sun is up; that in itself signifies a new beginning.

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you
until it seems that you cannot hold on for a minute longer,
never give up then,
for that is just the place and time when the tide will turn.”
– Harriet Beecher Stowe

sun*starbaguio.15oct09.

surreal

IT ALL felt so surreal, and not in a good way.

This can’t be happening, I tell myself. This cannot be real. Not in a country where people are regarded as God-fearing, warm, friendly and industrious; not in a country whose citizens excel in any part of the globe – whether in the academics, in the arts, in information technology or in the medical field, among others. But there it was there, glaring on national TV– people who are very hungry, crowding over trucks carrying relief goods, pushing one another – even really old women – a bit too roughly, just to get their share in the goods. I called my kids, wanting them to realize that unfinished portion of their meal means a lot to others, but they too were shocked. My second daughter, Gelai, a first grader, even asked, “Is that in the Philippines?”. I wanted so much to say no, as I myself could not fathom how we have gotten to this state. It felt so much like watching an apocalyptic fiction, where people are almost eating one another’s flesh just to survive. It gives me the shudders, much more so realizing that it may not be far from reality. It was very painful to see people – relatively younger, well-built males, pushing their way in front of the truck, hurting really old women, just to get their food. One major network even showed the ones distributing goods throw a plastic bag with uncooked rice and a can of something, probably sardines or corned beef, and it hit an old woman in the head. Talk about insensitivity, like throwing food to animals in the wild. Frustrating? Not even. The desperation is beyond words to describe.

A couple of days ago, while watching an early morning tv show, I heard this piece of news about the government eyeing a P10 billion allocation that will serve as calamity fund for Ondoy victims. Good call, but I am all go for Ms. Winnie Monsod’s take on this: We should know where this fund is going, how it will get there, and who shall be directly accountable. This requires extraordinary vigilance. I love Mareng Winnie, she does not blabber, and she always makes sense. She actually reminds me of my friend Molly, though for the record Molly exudes more sexiness. Ha ha ha. Molly would so love this piece.

Anyway, I do hope that fund gets approved and released fast, and would really be devoted to the assistance and rehabilitation of Ondoy’s victims’ lives and property. Another sad thing about all these is that many of our countrymen who lost their homes due to Ondoy are informal settlers in Manila and now they have nowhere to rebuild their homes – probably for some, no way to rebuild their lives. But they deserve the government’s help and protection as much as any Filipino citizen, so our government should really take all necessary steps to help them, not with temporary remedies like small amounts of food and some clothing (actually not from the government but from the private sector), but with long term relief including gainful employment and livelihood programs to assist them.

I hope THAT does not sound surreal.

sun*starbaguio.08oct09.

like a woman scorned

Mother Earth. Mother Nature. We associate the word “mother” with these two concepts, among others, to stress the life-giving and nurturing qualities of nature, and of the earth. We are embraced by nature, in as much the same way a mother lovingly embraces her children. We are nurtured by the richness of the earth, like a mother does to her kids. But when nature exhibits such fury as what we have encountered in the past week, it feels like Mother Nature becomes a misnomer, an oxymoron even. A mother would never hurt her child, would never cause harm, would never be angered to the core, no matter what.

We have seen such documentaries as “An Inconvenient Truth” and “The Eleventh Hour”, giving a detailed warning as to the effects of global warming. We have probably seen likewise such movies as “Waterworld”, and “The Day After Tomorrow”, and regarded the dreadful scenes as merely work of fiction and artistic license.

We were wrong. At the height of typhoon Ondoy last Saturday, we were made to realize – in a very cruel and painful way – that everything we have seen in documentaries and in films, is possible. It could happen to anyone, and it did. Seeing the aftermath, we cannot help but grief for and with those affected. There are those starting to clean up the debris, not knowing exactly where to start, or how to. There are those still searching for their family. There are those who lost not only their homes but worst of all, their loved ones. There are tales of people who had to stand the rains and the cold for more than twelve hours in the roofs of houses or branches of trees, waiting for help. It reminded me of that heartbreaking scene in Titanic where people are waiting in the middle of the sea: “The seven hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait… wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution which would never come.”

It is not surprising that no one was prepared for the heavy floods brought about by this unexpected volume of rainfall. For an ordinary Filipino citizen, it is not surprising that even if you are aware of the possibility, you may not have the resources to prepare anyway. You are burdened enough with making ends meet, figuring out how to make your salary stretch into the next payday, or how to send your kids to school, or how to provide your family three square meals a day. But what is infuriating is the lack of preparation on the part of our government translated into the lack of amphibian trucks, the lack of rubber boats, the lack of enough manpower from those entrusted with the supreme duty of service and protection of its people. Preparing is what we should have been doing when we had the chance. Not wasting time discussing some man’s porn, not spending too much valuable time investigating on the ‘correct’ tune of our own National Anthem, but preparing our plans and strategies for calamities and contingencies such as these.

But thankfully, as always, we can rely on the Filipino spirit: the spirit to reach out, the courage to save others even at risk to oneself, the spirit to rise from the wreckage and move on. For those who have lost everything, there is nothing else but hope and faith. Sometimes, that is more than enough to start again.

“Trust that today’s bad things will become tomorrow’s good things.
It’s difficult to see it that way. That’s why it is called FAITH.”
– Bo Sanchez

sun*starbaguio.01oct09.

love it, live it

When I decided to move on to civil service after more than four years in private practice with the best law firm in the city, I got a certain air of disapproval from some family members and several friends, warning that working for the government may stagnate me – that I would end up doing nothing but the same administrative, even clerical, work, day in and day out. I have to admit, practicality got the better of me. With a growing family and my Mama nearing retirement at the time, the prospect of a fixed income seemed the perfect bait, as opposed to being at the mercy of private clients who had to practically be wrestled before they even pay your minimal fees. Unfortunately in four years of law practice, mastery of the art of billing, and negotiation with clients respecting fees, eluded me. Many new lawyers (former students included) would agree with me when I say that this art or skill has to be made part of the law curriculum. But I guess there is really a lot you cannot learn within the four walls of your classroom.

I have to admit I do miss litigation, but I have likewise learned to love and appreciate my work, day in and day out. At times, I admit, it lacks action and excitement, but I have learned to appreciate that public service our way is one of the most satisfying jobs in the world. It is not easy to deal with clients everyday, especially with the more difficult ones, but providing assistance to most of them who appreciate your help with smiles and sincere gratitude is enough to make my day at work. Some clients can really be a pain in the neck, but a little patience goes a long way. This reminds me of one of the best text messages I have received years ago: “Be kind, for everyone is fighting a battle.” Indeed, you’ll never know what that other person is going through and it may just save him one way or the other if you extend him a little kindness and a tiny bit of understanding. Hope to high heavens he deserves it. And if he doesn’t, just be at peace with the law of Karma.

And so almost four years after I jumped in with much hesitation – surprisingly, I am loving my day job. It probably helps a lot that I have decided to be actively engaged in other mind-enriching activities like reading, teaching and creative writing to keep my brain cells more active. So many people may be annoyed, probably drained, with keeping the same job for years, doing the same or similar things everyday. Burnout, is what they call it. But you should love your work, or just try harder when in doubt. You need to drag yourself out of bed each morning and do not just go to work, BE at work. Our ISO-QMS (Quality Management System) speaker said: “Be HOT. Be Here now. Be One Hundred Percent. Be a Team Player.” Makes sense, right?

It is not always easy to love your job. But think about the millions who lost theirs and you will probably learn to appreciate it more. They say you have to love what you are doing to be happy. But happiness is a state of mind. You have to learn to love what you are doing, make something special out of it.

“Bloom where you are planted.”

sun*starbaguio. 24sept09.

finding neverland

Don’t worry. This is not another article on Michael Jackson. Give the guy a rest. For the first time in a long, long while he is already at peace.

Anyway, I received an interesting comment on my blog site regarding my article last September 3, 2009, entitled “Kismet”.

Yna wrote: “Since when did you grow up and let go of destiny and kismets?”

To which I replied, “At some point you have to leave neverland.”

I do not deny that I used to be a big fan of destiny, so much so that in high school I had decided that if and when I have a daughter, I will name her Destiny. Ok, not so much for the meaning of the word, but the sweet, classic way it appears on paper when written in cursive. Originally, the preferred name for my then future daughter was Density, but I started not liking Physics so, there. I settled for Destiny. But just like my old giddy ideas about finding romance by what is written in the stars, I had foregone this silly idea. Probably to the best interest of my three daughters, anyone of whom might have been the butt of telenovela jokes because of an oh-so-dramatic name if Mama stuck with the “dream” name.

This does not mean, however, that I have given up entirely on destiny and kismets. I still find the concepts magical, and highly – giddily – entertaining, at least where literature and movies are concerned. I refuse to give in to the idea that everything is pre-destined. To adhere to that idea will render nugatory the struggles we face everyday to get to where we want to be. I hope I will not be hereby dismissed as a cynic who has lost all sense of childlike magic and enchantment. Not really. Not everyday, anyway. There are just some days it seems the dementors are hard at work, and my Expecto Patronum charm refuses to take effect.

So you see…I have not exactly grown up. Not if I can help it. Not just yet. I still encourage my kids to make a wish before blowing the candles on their birthday cakes, to be good all the time to get presents from Santa, to not fear darkness because their guardian angels are nearby. There are just those days it seems your energy and spirit is being sucked out of your system, but you just remain steadfast, with unwavering faith, and the day will soon come to an end. You are given the hope of a new beginning the next day.

At some point you have to leave neverland, to face battles that refuse to go away. But so long as you keep it close to heart, you can seek refuge there anytime you feel like it.

“I guess we’re adults.
The question is:
When did that happen,
and how do we stop?”
– from Grey’s Anatomy

sun*starbaguio.17sept09.