My life is largely shaped by the stories I read, heard, and personally encountered. I grew up poor but I always had access to books, to the hushed conversations of my mother and lola in Ilocano, and to the incredible people in that perennially flooded parish where I grew up.

Once a month I would accompany my cousin Ate Julie to Cubao to drop off love letters at the post office for our relatives in California. To pass the hot afternoons, we would hangout at the huge National Bookstore building where she would browse for the “pocketbooks”. It afforded me to wander through all book aisles from second floor to the fourth floor. That’s where I developed my reading interest in a range of topics and in a large part, my interest on my faith. Later on, I would befriend children who have books like Gelo who would let me borrow Roal Dahl. Mang Romy, the parish security guard, would let me stay on his post as long as I want to read the textbooks left by students of the parochial school. Ate Jojie would let me access her private collections and borrow any book I fancy. I love her for keeping it cool even if sometimes I return her books in a very sorry condition.

In high school, I would befriend the spinsters in the library so I can hangout until it’s time to close the school. Between stolen lunch boxes and cutting classes was a collection of teachers, batchmates, and strangers who share stories in written and spoken forms.

It was in highschool too that I got acquainted with Harry Potter, beginning with the Chamber of Secrets. It is no wonder why my connection to the character of house elves has admittedly shaped one of the most profound convictions I later hold in my life. Then there was the era of blogging which gave me incredible friends (and acquaintances) who do not only write magnificently in their own ways but continues to share their stories to inform my own life choices. But it was all unconscious and I only get to connect it now, like the appearance of the dewfall.

Fast forward to today. What is my point? Pay attention to the stories you consume. Like calories, they form the basic foundation of our thoughts and beliefs. Listen to your own self and to others. Even the dull and the ignorant have stories worth witnessing. And maybe, something will stir within your gut to let you stand up, do the most loving thing, and unfold the greatest expression of your being human.

Honestly, I’m very far from that. I’m still working on becoming a better brother and son. I’m also still working on my issues with authority. But with God’s fidelity despite my most unloving qualities, I keep my socks on.

When I met her two years ago, she couldn't believe she is meeting a young boy instead of a full grown man. He was expecting that the team building facilitator is older than twenty three. One afternoon, I saw her examining santan plants looking for five-petal flowers. I helped her in this quintessential task of hers and found three and she was very happy. Before I left their retreat house, she gave me a rosary and a postcard.

An amazing lady of seventy eight, she runs a retreat facility with superb kitchen delights, does her own laundry, plays bass guitar, has planned her funeral, and single handedly oversees the formation of some seventy women who wish to follow the same vocation she leads. Natural inquisitive that I am, I asked how she planned her funeral. She told me that her plan is quite simple. When she knows it's already her time, and God forbid tell her it's her time, she wouldn't bother waking up the other sisters in the house and simply make her way - that is either by walking or crawling - to the cemetery located behind the retreat house. Kung saan ako abutan, dun ang hukay.

Her name is Sor Mariana, a jolly Dominican nun who thought seriously about her funeral arrangements. Ever ready to meet her Spouse and Maker, anytime of the day.

Gospel: Luke 17:20-25

When I started working for disaster victims, I thought it is just about providing food, constructing houses, and repairing faucets and latrines. Later on, I realized my faith drove me to uphold the humanitarian imperative that every life is sacred and must be protected.

Soon I realized that behind a newly repaired faucet is a story of dignity. That behind a newly constructed bridge is a story of hope. And in listening to the stories and company of the distress, my own longing for attention becomes insignificant.

I am an instrument, a medium. Like a flute waiting for its musician's breath to give it its meaning, its life, I let my self ready to be used. And I fearfully hope I am a flute like I always want to be.

I just returned from the clinic in West Ave to talk with the vet and get the lab results. My little girl, should she show good stool and try to eat some more, can be discharged tomorrow.

Max is a twelve weeks old dog, an aspin. I got her for two hundred fifty pesos from a woman who sold her in a shoebox in front of UPLB gate. She was tiny and feeble and cute and full of fleas when I brought her home. I brought her to the vet, got dewormed, and fed good puppy food. She became playful and clean. Zach, my sister's husky became her playmate. Max found a family.

Then when I need to keep up with the requirements of the seminary, my brother luckily offered to raise Max. That was one week ago. That was when she got the

infection.

She was dying, bleeding to death when I rushed her three nights ago. Max was about to die a sad puppy death, but I did not give up.

My housemates wonder why I chose to raise a street puppy. I am busy. I am broke. I am leaving. Should Max be a
breed dog, or should I not be leaving, will their questions change?

Motives. People always ask about that. Thinking about my actions to save one tiny puppy's life, it dawned on me. That we all sometimes need a little saving from another. And that we can all use of other's random act of love.

Max is a tiny and insignificant life. But that does not make her less to love. And this little saving is all that makes the difference.

I met a fine singer in the most unlikely place to meet a performer – a deserted street.

The time was forty five past eleven in the morning in Iligan City, outside the gate of the United Nations office. As I wait in the car for my colleague to return from picking up maps that I would need, I saw a boy wearing sando standing at the other side of the road obviously trying to peek inside the car. He is skinny and small, with a rather feminine posture. He looked towards the car and unsure of his steps, walked slowly.  Worried, I rolled the window and said hi. Voice shaking, he said in Bisaya: I sing well. Let me sing to you.

Having been in Lanao del Norte for few months, it is hard to understand a rattled boy speaking in Bisaya. With difficulty, I asked for his name and I understood as he explained that he would sing to me in exchange for anything to eat. He told his name is Jamil, fifteen years old, sophomore, and an honor student. He and his family lives in Ubaldo Laya, a barangay near the Iligan River I remember to be covered by my organization’s project.  He skipped class that day as he felt the obligation to find food because his family had not eaten for two days already.

Puzzled, I asked him why he has to sing and not directly beg since it is easier. I felt that I have offended him by asking that but instead, Jamil taught me the most important thing about dignity. I maybe hungry and desperate, but I know how to sing. It’s God’s gift to me and I will use it to find my needs. I sing well and I can assure you of that. I need your help, and I have my song in exchange.

How can this hungry child teach the most difficult lesson on dignity?

So I asked what he will sing to me. And true to his promise, he sang beautifully a difficult Regine Velasquez song. Moved by mixed admiration and uneasiness, I politely asked Jamil to stop singing. I cracked a joke saying sorry that I do not have anything to give him in return to his performance. Yet the brightness in his eyes did not fade. He replied that it was still okay because I lent my ears. Laughing, I grabbed Jamil’s hand and congratulated him for such a wonderful rendition. Regine would be jealous if she hears you. Slipping something on his palm, I told him: This is not much but you can tell your mother you have something for lunch today. You take care, sister. God bless you.

My work requires me to meet people like Jamil everyday – people who lost their hopes, homes, livestock, livelihoods, and loved ones because of disasters and conflicts. Oftentimes, I have to ride long hours in motorcycle, cross streams and rivers, and walk on paddies and makeshift bridges in order to reach their communities. And sometimes, falling off a motorcycle in a steep hill and running away from free range pigs is unavoidable. Looking back to the life I used to have in Manila working for a financial company, I realized that the tradeoff is a good deal. As a humanitarian worker, my time is not mine and home is anywhere I am assigned to. Keeping a relationship is difficult too since I cannot be in one place for a very long time. But the deal comes with a package I can never compare to anything – the smile of people’s faces, their stories, their landscapes, and their hope. And luckily, I have the best person to stick with me through and through.

Why do I write this today? I write to invite others to look within their own hearts. What makes you deeply glad? What amazes you with joy and gratitude? How do you measure the most important things?

As for me, I found the answers in that empty street in Iligan. Jamil made me realize that doing that which I am best at is the only way I can be truly happy. That it is worthwhile to offer my time for others. That though I know my actions are not enough to change the society, one significant struggle is enough to challenge the absurd. And that the inspiration we long can come from a single effort to roll the window.

George Cardinal Pell puts it this way: “Don’t spend your life sitting on the fence, keeping your options open, because only commitments bring fulfillment. Happiness comes from meeting our obligations, so we can rise to meet the harder challenges.  One mission is better than a thousand options.”

The world needs people who will give their time and energy to fight the struggle against injustice, oppression, half-truths, and hunger so that people like Jamil could sing their tune without the fear of hunger and indifference. In our today’s pluralistic society, do these things still bother you deep within? Still undecided what course you really like? Still undecided which calling to take? May God discomfort you even more.

Someone asked me, "What matters to you?" I told him two things matter to me. Purpose and meaning. He smiled and went on with asking some other few questions. I wish I had told him why.

Purpose and meaning.

I guess to these two words hung my very core. Take away these and I will be nothing. It is why I fall in love, march through the streets, go to work, and wake up every morning. To these two words lie the foundation of my faith, of my causes and my struggles. You take away meaning and I become relativist. You take away purpose and I become a mere product of evolution and chance. I pity those who say they love someone yet does not believe in a great design to which this humanity is brought forth. I pity those who fight for equality yet say there is no God, I wonder what will become of their struggle.

Meaning and purpose. I hope that my generation will not lose these and become good sounding freethinkers with empty words. That is why I join the parliament of the streets without divulging into Marxist idealism. That is why I uphold the dignity of life and morality. That is why I continue to love the same person everyday in faithful commitment. I struggle to fill meaning and purpose to my words and actions. Because I am not matter plus time plus chance.

There can be no reproach to pain unless we assume human dignity, there is no reason for restraints on pleasure unless we assume human worth, there is no legitimacy to monotony unless we assume a greater purpose to life, there is no purpose to life unless we assume design, death has no significance unless we seek what is everlasting.

-Ravi Zacharias, Christian philosopher and apologetic

Nais kong ipakita sa mga nagkakait ng karapatan sa pag-ibig sa tinubuang lupa, na kapag tayo'y marunong mag-alay ng sariling buhay alinsunod sa ating tungkulin at paniniwala, ang kamataya'y di mahalaga, kung papanaw dahil sa ating mga minamahal- ang ating bayan at iba pang mga mahal sa buhay.

-mula sa bantayog ni Rizal, Luneta

Saludo, Ka Roger.

Ipagpapatuloy ang paglilingkod sa Bayan!

In city that shrinks and circles go too interconnected
swells so much that people find it hard
to meet the right people
some boys try their luck and some
just got fucked.
Proposing A fucked B and B fucked C
ergo, A fucked C by default.
simple math, complicated food chain
untangled physics, complicated happiness
music is just black and white with rhythms


But some must stay home

to write poetry, discuss history, dance

and maybe make some weary waiting too

but they do not give up, they simply wait

and get laid

and get wrong scores too.

When roads finally turn and lead back and

wanderers managed to get home with both two hands

left inked, right free and scarred

they are no longer the boys who once 

said wait and I will return to you.

So who's A who fucked C by default?

When will B stop banging around?

and who the hell told C to quit looking around?

I show not your face

but your heart's desire.

I missed blogging. Or is it the friends I made here that I actually miss? I think it’s one and the same. I promise to be active again.

My current financial status is like that of the nation. But God never abandons his favorite sinner. I guess it's all a matter of how I deal my relationship with Him that he still doesn’t leave me empty. For whatever it is that keeps me alive and surviving, I credit it to God's grace. For who can survive a happiest summer without a generous payslip from the capitalist employer? When savings vanishes like the national budget, friends did not leave me. I cannot wait for the day that I would repay them for all their generosity.

That is my younger brother. I am glad he likes his school and his course. I hope we can talk in sign language soon or exchange some good book review :) See, even my poverty we can make a big change in someone's life. Haha.

I like to think that God breaks us to make us whole. Or if not, he breaks us so we can be everywhere that wind would take us. So we be that little piece of hope to someone else. With little that we have, still significantly paying forward.

The summer days are over. Twenty and beyond.


+ Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.

As I wearily unpacked my luggage later that day, I remembered when I was in Philosophy, oh, about 2000 years ago, and Fr. Ferriols taught us when he had fire in his eyes and fire in his mouth and fire in his fists.  And there was great honor in being under Ferriols, because the spirit of the times was that if you didn’t go through Ferriols, you didn’t quite go throughthe Ateneo.  But then, coming back to the present, I thought that dear Fr. Roque had already reached his dreams.  He should really be just resting, reading, watching tv, hearing confessions here and there, saying mass, and wish for the end of the Arroyo regime–things that a good old man should be doing after a job well done all of his life.
But the truth of the matter is: here is a priest, a man, a creature of God who goes for broke, and keeps going for broke.  Fr. Ferriols makes you wonder if at such an age you would still go for broke over something you were so very passionate for all your life–or would you just rest upon a silent rock like a dry, wet leaf and allow the seasons to slowly return you unto the earth?  Fr. Ferriols makes us wonder if there is something in our lives that we have done out of powerful love for God, that we go for broke over it–despite being mocked for it and being asked why.  Fr. Ferriols makes me wonder if I have loved God enough at any single point in my life, so that I go for broke: broken body, broken heart, broken bones and broken spirit–and yet keep inching my way towards my destination, because deep in my heart, God is still on fire.  Even when the world around me things if I would make it there on time, or if I would ever make it at all.
Go for broke, that’s what I strongly sense is the message of today’s gospel.  To give everything that we are for a particular passion for God and God’s people; to lose ourselves in that passion, so that broken pieces of ourselves fly all over the place, leaving us with hardly anything, anything except God.  Only God.  And in God, we are made incredibly whole.

-Fr. Roque Ferriols, S.J.: the man who goes for broke”: a homily by Fr. Arnel C. Aquino, S.J.

(This is for as partial fulfillment to the subject Kane harassed me to write about but I gladly did. LOL)


Saturday night. Rainy. Three boys waiting for me to join them. Apparently, stupidity kicked late. I never thought there will be a twin bar in Ortigas. Half hearted and half drunk, I went to the one nearest to me. Sorry Kane, next time I will know better.


I wore heavy perfume. Whore-y.


So my rite of initiation began when I hailed a cab to bring me there. It was past two thirty. I remembered Alicia Keys when she sang these streets will make you feel brand new, big lights will inspire you. The lights were bright. Ultra bright to be exact. I thought to myself this is where my taxes go. I laughed to the idea. No, this is not New York. This is Malate.


So the boys who will perform the rite of initiation picked me up. Jap and Aaron are fine bloggers. Fine 'nuff said. We took seats on a karaoke bar before going to the bar. I had fun listening to the beefy man who sang Whitney Houston. He deserved a half-standing ovation from everyone in the bar. They asked me to sing which is the last thing you will ask me of. They are adamant  and so insisting that it left me no choice but to think of a song to quack. I sang Next in Line. I dedicated it to highschool boys who will go after me on this place. I wish them luck. Real good luck.


After finishing my Glee-ish song performance, we went straight to Obar. Opening the door, I got blinded. No, not because of the neon and par lights. It was the crowd that overwhelmed me. Talk about overpopulation.


Several men would tease me to dance. I didn't plan to meet any other else there. I just want the feel of it. Like smelling flowers in a park. My guardians who supposed to block me from strangers and what nots decided to isolate me and do their own dancing and all that is in between. So the next sentences is about the plan screwed up. Yes ladies and gentlemen, after twenty minutes of shy dancing and corner standing without looking at anyone in particular, boy meets boy. I met his gaze and he met my accidental smile. I never knew how to do formal introductions in bar setting so to my relief, he told me his name. It is Sam. Nineteen like me. Studies in San Sebastian. Fairly good looking. Okay, cute it is. So I have a dancing buddy now. Err, more than that to be politically correct. He told me that he was in the same karaoke bar and saw me when I arrived. I told him that I cannot recognize because of my nervousness. We had good talk about his ex who cannot move on and was dancing in the other bar.


We partied til five am, did occasional kisses blah blah blah. Sam asked for my number which I gave with hesitation. So my guardian brothers asked me to wrap the night. What happened in Malate stays there said Jap. No dears, nothing happened to us after the party. He came by in the afternoon and had good conversation. See, this is me keeping my virtues. LOL


That day, I believed in subjunctive history.


I have met a fine boy in a party. I do not know if I still have M. God knows if he still reads my blog. Whichever, I am not ready for anything yet. Not just yet.


So I think I passed Clubbing 101. Let's see if Clubbing 102 next semester is something to look forward to. Or should I really have to take that too?


(Wink.)

This is to remember the dead and the living. To life, to all.

This is to remember the nameless heroes and heroines who took great leaps to serve without ceasing, to give without expecting return. To those who relied in the goodness of men, this, a thanksgiving.

A year ago, there were no Catholics nor Muslim, no richer nor poorer, just Filipinos. For this, a thanksgiving.

-----

Last night, I joined everyone is celebrating the miracle of humanity through a concert with Bukas Palad Music Ministry. Yes, I performed in a chorus. The concert is called Christify, after their new album. Christify means transforming all things to Christ, a mission everyone is called every after Mass. Because intimacy with God does not end after the Eucharist, it actually begins there. Because God is not confined in the hallowed walls, he should be known and met in the streets, on the road.

Beautiful it is to look back and move on. And learn from it. But what's more beautiful? To realize that God is with us. Hiding in thousand disguises.

Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.

Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice
So tender,
My need of God
Absolutely
Clear.
(from an ancient Persian poet, Hafiz)

Don't run from loneliness. Don't see it as your enemy. Don't look for another person to cure your loneliness.  See loneliness as a privileged avenue to depth and empathy. 

-Ron Rolheiser, OMI , The Lesson Within Loneliness

Kagabi, pinagpalit ko ang isang araw na pagkita ng syam na raang piso sa ilang bagay na hindi kayang ibigay ng pera at pagtatrabaho sa putahan.

Hindi ito ang buong nangyari pero nung hapon na yun, maski mas maaga ng isang minuto ako umalis ng bahay para magtrabaho, nahuli ako. Gawa na hindi na ko pwedeng umabsent, nagdesisyon akong tumawag sa resource para magpa-tag ng half day.

Hindi ito ang buong pangyayari pero nagdesisyon akong bumalik sa pamantasan. Pagbaba ng gusali hawak ang isang litrong karton ng gatas, nag-abang ako ng taxi na magdadala sa akin sa Katipunan. Eh may walanghiyang magnanay na puwesto sa harap ko at inagaw ang taxing pinara ko kaya naghintay pa ko ng ilang minuto. Traffic sa boni serrano, imagine otsenta pesos ang ginugol ko.

Hindi ito ang buong pangyayari nang tumambay ako sa tambayan para tapusin ang mga dapat tapusin at makilala ang mga kabatch ko sa org. Dapat babalik na ko bago mag 7:30 pero dahil nabighani ang aking gunita sa mga nakikita ay tumawag ako sa opisina, kinausap ang butihin kong amo, nagpaalam na hindi na makakapasok.

Di ito ang lahat pero kabado ako kaya nagtext ako kay erlinda, tell me: all shall be well. Tinadtad naman nya ko ng all shall be well all shall be well all shall be well. At nang dumating ang kaibigan, dumiretso kami sa sinehan ng pamantasan.

Kung mamatay ako bukas at tanungin ni San Pedro ng achievement ko, baka di ako papasukin kung hindi man lang ako nanalo kahit sa miss gay sa barangay. -bobet, muli

---------

Paanong isang pag-liban, isang larawan, isang pangungusap ay magbabago sa isang pagdedesisyon? At paano, sa mga paraan o sa isa, nagiging dakila o hamak ang mga pagtatakda ng landas o karera? May isa akong teorya. Ang tao, sa kanyang talino at pagkamapusok, ay tulad ng itik na nangarap na maging gansa. Ang imposible'y nahahanapan ng posibilidad at ang mga pangangarap ang kanyang nabibigyan ng pagdadahilan.

Saan nag-uumpisa ang isang pagbabago? Simple. Sa isang rebolusyon. Kung nakuntento ang uod sa pagiging uod, ang paro-paro sa isa lamang ideya. Nagsisimula ang lahat sa isang pag-aaklas, mahinahon o marahas, sa isang pagbaklas sa mga bakod, o sa mga pagputol ng mga masamang sanga. Ang lahat ng kung ano ang mundo ngayon ay resulta ng tao at ng kanyang rebolusyon. Ang lahat ay nasa isang proseso ng rebolusyong internal, kalaban ang sariling mga pamantayan at paniniwala.

------------

Lumabas ako ng seminaryo sa pag-aakalang mas progresibo ang partido kaysa sa simbahan. Hindi rin pala. Porket ba bakla ako ay hindi na ko pwedeng humawak ng baril? -jun, muli

Ipokrito ako kung sasabihin kong hindi ako dumaan sa isang rebolusyong pansarili. Sa katunayan, araw araw akong dumidigma sa mga pagkabagabag. Ang kaguluhang kung ano nga ba ang gusto ko, ang ako at kung ano ang pipiliin ko ay isang masalimuot na pakikipagtunggali sa mga bagay na pinaniniwalaan ko araw-araw. Walang panahong hindi ako naiiwan ng pagtataka at pagrarason. Ngunit ang isyung pansarili ay hindi isyung nadadaan sa retorika at lohika dahil di lang sarili ko ang kalaban ko. Sa paghahanap ko ng ayos at porma, unti unti kong nakikita ang malaking pagkatikwas ng relihiyon at lipunan laban sa sarili kong pagtuklas.

Relihiyon. Lipunan. Institusyon. Hindi ito ang panahon upang hanapan kayo ng dahilan sa bawat pagtutol nyo sa natural na inklinasyon ng tao. Ngunit hindi rin ito ang pahanon, o higit kaylanman, na dapat kayong parusahan sa mga hindi o ayaw nyo pang tanggaping katotohanan.

Ito ang dahilan ng pagkakasulat: Ang hamon ng panahon ko ay sya ko ring buhay. Lahat ay nilikhang malaya't hubad. Malaya't hubad din akong nais bumalik sa pinanggalingan. Walang alinlangan sa maling dinidikta ang pagiging tao ng mundo, maka-tao sa bawat pagpili ng kaligayahan. Hindi ito ang lahat ngunit tama na ang mga ito sa ngayon, hindi man ito ang lahat ngunit di rin naman ito nagkulang.

Ito ang hindi ng lahat kung kaya sa ikaw na nakababasa nito, na nakasanayan ang pag-intindi sa salimuot ng mga hinabi kong salita, na katulad ko sa pang-unawa't pagkakalantad, alam ko na batid mo ang bawat kahulugang itinatago ko sa bawat letra pagkat hindi tayo nalalayo sa estado ng pagkatao at ng pagkanilalang.

-----------
Saan nanggagaling ang inspirasyon at saan papunta ang mabuti? Syam na salitang nagtatanong.

Ito ang aking pagtutuldok sa sariling pagkamakitid. Isang pagpapakatotoo.

Kasihan nawa ako ng Dyos. Sya rin naman ang nagsabing papanatag din ang lahat.

Sulong.

I feel lighter now. While killing break time with lighted marl after the other on a rainy night, I realized life is not a box of chocolate (sorry Forrest gump). It is much like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans*, you will never know if a bean you pick is earwax or dungbomb or peppermint unless you taste it.

The wind is chilling this rainy night and the storm inside me is still whirling mad.

But I know this too shall pass.
Just like every tropical disturbances.

Thanks, Earl and Kane and Tippy. Friends are amazing creatures, really.



*Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans are a popular sweet for kids at Hogwarts. They buy them from the lunch trolley on the Hogwarts Express and from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. They give them for Christmas gifts and as gifts when someone is ill and in the hospital wing. Bertie Bott's Beans are sold in bags.

There comes a time in everyone’s life when one has to choose between roads. Often it’s a choice between a road we already know too well, and one that’s much narrower, less familiar, bending beyond what your eyes can see. The thing is, you know you must choose—lest you remain a wanderer all your life and you simply run out of roads. Each one’s road is different. But all of us are born pilgrims: We are all meant to seek that one road that will lead us home.
It’s not an easy task, but don’t be afraid.

Johnny Go, SJ

Is a terminal where everyone is just in transit, waiting and bound to another destination. Perhaps a journey. Waiting for the bus or a flight, paper or real or imagined.

Where each passenger is not for a long stay. Where one does not really belong for no one belongs to a stationary. We move. Free and wandering.

Ilang beses na naming inikot ang Academic Oval ng pamantasan. Naituro ko na ata sa kanya ang lahat ng mga bagay na only in UP na alam ko. Kumain ng isaw, kumain ng pancit canton meals, magsosyalan sa Vargas museum cafe, mamili ng maroon baller sa SC, tumambay sa AS steps, umupo sa sakto pwet benches sa Sunken Garden. Literal na pinalipas namin ang hapon at gabi na nag-uusap tungkol sa maraming bagay liban sa pag-ibig. Yun kasi ang dahilan kung bakit kami nagkita.