Last week, we took refuge in a decrepit chapel. We were greeted by women who made it their sacred duty in life to keep their faith alive despite the lack of sacraments and available priests. They know no theology, their altar bare, and their liturgy is plain.

In San Fernando, power is only available four hours a day. And if we want to bathe or do the dishes, we have to fetch water in the nearby well. And at night, the possibility of getting bitten by rats and mosquitos would not give us comfort.

But like Marta who made sure Jesus would have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, these women showed me what generosity is. In the morning, they would bring trays of eggs, fruits, fish, and breads for us. They would not charge for our transport. Simply, they take joy in knowing that they are giving out of their own need, out of their own want. How could I not miss that?

Nanay Lanie, Virgie, Lyn, Minda, Nora, Saling, Leoning and so many others in that village. The kingdom of heaven belongs to them.

Making a choice between good and bad often comes easy, as it normally employs the ability of our self to determine opposites. But I have learned the hard way that choosing between two good things is far more difficult. Especially if we are prompted to choose between a good and a greater good.

The past four weeks had been very eventful and I have witnessed so many. For starter, I've been to three birthdays and two funeral, all of people who are close to me.

I know of five friends who have been recently got sick, some diagnosed with HIV. 

I knew about five more sick people who are relatives of my friends.

My younger sister and her fiance are on the verge of breaking their engagement.

My youngest sister broke down with depression.

The list of woes seemed endless. I saw how my friends try to keep up with the loss of their loved ones. I saw how they stay strong in the midst of piling medical bills and sleeplessness. I saw how they broke into tears and how it broke my heart too but silently.

When our loving is tested especially by sickness and by death, it usually comes with a loss. We do our best to wrestle with the impossible, we negotiate with death, we want to obtain the best possible answers, the best cures, the best reasons for our loving. And we begin to put the welfare of the other before ourselves. That's when we begin to realize - beneath the pain of our love being tested - how to love genuinely. That to love others genuinely is by as we would love ourselves. Piercing. Total. Consuming. Tagos. Lubos. Ubos. We love until either the other or ourselves are consumed. Until we have nothing else to give but our presence.

Greater good. Often it is the most inconvenient and most painful choice between two good things. It demands too much sacrifice and gives very little pleasure.

So far, four brothers have left the seminary this year while another one is scheduled to leave by the end of the month. While every brother is dear to me, I cannot help but share a silent regret on their leaving. Each left with different reasons and I understand why they opted to leave. I would tell them, "As long as your decision is a product of your prayers, go ahead. Let God lead you."

A brother shared to me that he left because he would not bear anymore the incoherent lives of our formators. To be honest, many are losing their morale and confidence in formation because of the serious lack of good moral guides in the seminary. Religious (priests and brother) who are at war with each other, religious whose lives don't match with what they preach, lazy religious contented with comfortable life. So it was not very surprising to learn that my brothers are leaving one by one. In fact, it was I who has been openly joking my brothers that I might leave within the year. I have been harboring the thought of leaving not because I don't want to be a priest anymore but because I want to live a more authentic life, to follow Jesus and be guided accordingly.

With their leaving, I have affirmed my personal opinion that the seminary these days is experiencing a serious lack of zeal. It seems like the seminary has become a dumping site of lukewarm religious where in fact, as another brother pointed out, the best and the most zealous formators should be assigned to take the task of igniting the spirit of the seminarians to live the joy of the Gospel with authenticity and zeal.

I'm frustrated. Maybe to be a Augustinian Recollect is not the kind of life the Lord wants for me. But where are you leading me, Lord? I know I want to be priest, but where? What kind? Still my heart and in the churning of my emotions, lead me where my heart is without borders.

As my world become smaller, I needed a good distraction from everything and to focus my energy and thoughts on the many years that I will spend in the seminary. Good thing that there is an abandoned green house near the gymnasium and it seemed like no seminarian would like to venture into gardening. With no background whatsoever in this agricultural activity, I went ahead with a plan.

Father Prefect allowed me to take charge of the vegetable garden. So aside from Latin, philosophy, and my budding music career as tambourine player and soloist, I'm adding potato, tomato, cabbage, hot pepper, cucumber, squash, and mint to my credential.

Everything grows abundantly in this part of the country. I hope that during my stay here, my faith, too, grows just like the mustard seed in the Gospel. Tanim lang ng tanim.

I promised Ray that I would attend his ordination in Cotabato City. I forgot to book the flight and went instead to Siquijor. The island is very beautiful.

Few months after, Ray has received his first obedience as missionary priest. Together with Yoniz, they were sent to Beijing, China. Asked what their mission will be like, he simply told me "We'll be running a center for children with disability. I'll have lots of time in prayer. I'm praying for you." They flew to Hong Kong last week to learn Mandarin.

His assurance of prayer reminded me of an incident last Mother's Day. A friend's mother, who I am not very close to, replied to my greeting with a disturbing note. "Oh thanks. I have not seen you lately, are you in the seminary yet? I'm not joking. I pray that you may wear priest vestments someday real soon. But whatever that makes you happy, go for it. We only live once."

Later when I asked her about her message, she would tell me that she has been praying for me to become a priest someday. Here is a woman who I would see rarely but is praying for me.

Behind every vocation is an intense prayer of someone. In my case, it was numerous someones.

I assured Ray that I will be praying for him too. After all, China mission is not for the faint of heart. At 27, Ray's heart is set to his most passionate desires though it had brought him to unfamiliar shores. Here is man who knows courage. I wonder where my feet will take me.

At 23, I became the youngest manager in an international development organization. At 24, I was already managing a whole team responding to disasters and building resilient communities. I drive my own car, I live by myself, and I can eat as many sashimis that I want. I have traveled to many countries and cities, worked with the state and in international bodies, seen hundreds of sunsets and woke up in hundred beds that are not mine. I partied, I traveled, I drank to my limits. At 25, I'm having the best time of my life.

It was not enough. People closest to me know I never stick to one thing for a long period. I would always go for something better, something higher. I am restless.

Somewhere in my heart, I know I'm not only made to be like this person. I knew I could take this love for life to a higher level. My decision was a product of uncomfortable experiences and intense prayers. I had one month to say good bye to everyone and everything. It was difficult and very tiring to squeeze dozens of goodbye meetups while rendering extra hours at work, boxing up possessions and sending them away to different addresses, drinking and merrying and enjoying my last days as a secular man.

Thirty days ago, I made my way to Baguio. This city set in mountain ranges has a certain charm that I always like so when I was informed that the formation years will be spent in Baguio, I knew my decision was right. In exchange, my life became smaller and I don't have the remote control to everything anymore. I have to wake up daily at five in the morning, spend at least five hours in prayer, eight in studies, and the rest of the day to community activities. The food is tolerable, the accommodation minimum. I had to obey younger people and submit myself to the scrutiny of formators who may or may not decide that I shall become one of them. During the first week I had a crisis and deeply considered backing out. I don't seem to fit. I still have not fulfilled my duties to my sisters and brothers. I have big dreams and I have this insatiable proclivity to discover the world. While praying, I came across a passage that assured me. My grace is enough for you. For in your weakness, power reaches perfection. So here I am, persevering.

When Jesus asked his first disciples "follow me", sequere me, they left everything behind. Their response was radical and total. I left friends, families, possessions, a possible version of my life where I am a family man with six kids and a partner to spend the rest of my life, my little collection of everything. So now my life is being rewritten and I'm not it's author. Pray for me.

I'm happy.

Someone said we are not the sum of our conquests. That hit me. For the past few months, I was busy meeting other people, finding them and trying to appear pleasant. I tell guys I am up for dates, only to find my self naked with more than half of them. I felt validated, that I can get the type of men I would want. Conquests. But after the carnal is filled, I am still feel empty and unlovable.

Back there in a bar somewhere in Cubao where no stars fade, I saw how many men and boys were in search of affection. It could be few hundreds, a portion of thousands awake that night in many parts of the world who move and dance and drink and hope. Hope that in one strike of strobe light on their faces or in the corners dark, hope blossoms.

So what happens when I stop worrying about boys and dates and hookups? What would happen?

I don't know but I got a plan. I'll begin to look after myself more, love that person I neglected thinking he would just be okay. I'll love him more, I'll see to it he'll be more passionate with the more important things. I'll teach him being a good boy is not about how well he carries himself in a conversation but how much he means the words he says. I'll tell him to stop looking elsewhere when in fact love comes when it is ready to be received.

Unang una, huwag mo syang papaiyakin. Huwag mong hahayaang mawala ang tiwala nya sayo. Sa panahong hindi ka na sigurado sa binabaybay ng kwento nyo, sabihin mo sa kanya. Matalino ang taong minamahal mo at may katotohanan ang sabihing napakapalad mo sa pagkakakilala sa kanya.

Pangalawa, magbasa ka. Magbasa ka ng marami. Dahil malamang, hindi lamang iikot sa current events at showbiz ang usapan nyo. Sikapin mong tumula o kumanta. Bonus points kung kabisado mo ang ilang linya ni Neruda.

Yayain mo sya laging kumain. Fishball man yan sa kariton o pasta sa sosyal na resto, masayang makita kung paanong ang mga simpleng bagay tulad ng hamburger at isaw ay kayang baligtarin ang simangot nya. At kung tumaba man kayo kakakain, panatag kang sa pagtaba nyo ng sabay, sabay nyo pa ring hawak ang kamay ng bawat isa ilang libong peanut butter sandwich man ang humadlang sa inyong daan.

Ibahagi mo sa kanya ang mga hilig mo. Huwag mong ililihim na hindi mo talaga gusto ang mga kanta ng UDD. Sabihin mo sa kanya na mahina ka sa math, pero magaling ka sa kama. Sa mundong ito, may kanya kanya tayong talent. Mahalaga na alam nyo ang limitasyon at kakayahan ng bawat isa.

Tatagan ang sarili. Matutunan ang paghihintay. Matagal sya kung maligo.

Sa kanyang piling ka laging umuwi. Ipagluto sya ng sopas tuwing umuulan. Yakapin mo sya sa pagtulog at pagkahimbing, pagmasdan ang kanyang kalumanayan. Hawiin ang buhok sa kanyang noo at unti-unti, ipikit ang mga mata saliw sa musika ng dahan-dahan nyang paghinga.

Sa tahanang bubuuin nyo ikaw mamuhunan ng pangangarap sapagkat noong panahong hiningi mo ang kanyang oo, bukas-palad nya ring pinagkaloob sayo ang kanyang katauhan at iniwan ang pangamba ng ano ang pwedeng mangyari bukas. 

Huwag mong naising lisanin sya. Sa hirap at ginhawa.

Gawin mong lahat ng ito at lahat ng iba pang makapagpapasaya sa kanya. Sapagkat sa pag-ibig mo sya mabubuhay, doon mananatili, at doon rin uuwi.

At ako naman, lalaya.

Gaano katagal ang habambuhay? Mahaba. Daang taon.



O sa sitwasyon natin, isang taon at apat na buwan.

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 arrived before dawn that day expecting a cold gate and a dark alley to welcome me. That instead, I saw them heading, father and little sisters, to the chapel for the first Simbang Gabi. My father hated the church for many years. I saw him stood up and joined the line for communion. That day, after all those long years he was away, I knew he is finally home.

It is that one day I visit the family from many travels. All I remember is I was there in the kitchen fixing the fluorescent light with my father. I was there, with my heart in my mouth as I protect him from live wires.

And it dawned on me. Somehow that fixing is true. And that anything that was broken between us is fixed that day. And that we are both home.

As a humanitarian worker and Christian, I find it difficult to accept how popular media views charity. I knew what my faith teaches about charity and love but I have difficulty translating it to a medium people who ask me could understand. Then I knew about this man's story of his 30th birthday, and how everything else found its meaning and form in his advocacy. To Scott, the campaign for the right to water is actually a call to Christian charity.

"For me, charity is practical. It's sometimes easy, more often inconvenient, but always necessary. It's the ability to use one's position of influence, relative wealth and power to affect lives for the better. charity is singular and achievable.

There's a biblical parable about a man beaten near death by robbers. He's stripped naked and lying roadside. Most people pass him by, but one man stops. He picks him up and bandages his wounds. He puts him on his horse and walks alongside until they reach an inn. He checks him in and throws down his Amex. "Whatever he needs until he gets better."

Because he could.

The dictionary defines charity as simply the act of giving voluntarily to those in need. It's taken from the word "caritas," or simply, love. In Colossians 3, the Bible instructs readers to "put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness."

Although I'm still not sure what that means, I love the idea. To wear charity."

-Scott Harrison
top nightclubs and fashion endorser, founder of water:charity, an NGO based in New York providing access to water and sanitation around the globe. To find more about him and his team's work, check http://www.charitywater.org/about/scotts_story.php

It's been many months when we have decided to live together. We share almost everything from shirts to dates. We fight, we laugh, we drink, we mess up, we travel, we learn, we doodle, we forgive. We will separate ways in this life for sure but we will remain the Mahabagin boys regardless of where we are. Because our home is where the three of us are together.

“There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.” 

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Ken

Siguro nga at napako ako sa ikaw na nakilala ko limang taon ang nakakaraan. Sa panahong ang mga bagay para sa atin ay kasing dali ng pagbirit ni Charice Pempengco at ang mga bagay na pinag-uusapan natin ay ang mga sintunadong pagkanta tuwing misa o paano tatakas para uminom tuwing tapos na ang pag-aaral ng pilosopiya.

Naiwan nga siguro ako ng pagtanda natin.

Pangatlong araw ko na dito sa timog, kung saan ang kapayakan ng palligid ay nakakabighani. Ilang buwan natin itong pinag-usapan, ang pag punta rito, ngunit mag-isa akong tumawid at nabasa ng mga alon.

Hindi na nga ata kita kilala.

Dapat nga sana pala ay di ko sayo noon pinakilala si Patrick, ang ex-date ko na naging espesyal sayo. O kaya naman ay di na sana ako nagbigay ng payo sa kanya na hwag na hwag kang balikan sa kahit anong pagkakataon kung hindi nya kaya na unawain ang ugali mo. Kakaunti ang nakakaunawa sayo at pinagpapalagay kong isa ako dun. Ganon kita kamahal bilang kaibigan, ayokong sumakit ang ulo mo sa paulit-ulit na hiwalayan nyo. Sana pala minahal kita ng mas kaunti.

Nasaktan ako sa naging takbo ng pag-uusap nyo ni Patrick na natuloy sa pagbabalikan nyo. Sa pagbabalik nya, naiwan ako. Ang pakielamerong ako, ako na hindi na nagpaliwanag sa tunay na nangyari.

Ngunit maligaya ako, Ken. Sa wakas, kayo na muli ni Patrick. Kung mabasa mo man ito, nais kong malaman mong masaya ako at muli nyong natagpuan ang ayos sa relasyon nyo. Hindi na muli ako siguro makikialam sa kahit anong pagkakataon. Malaki ka na. Naiwan mo nga ako.

Edge

Naalala mo pa ba ang mga kalokohan kong sinakyan natin? Ang mga pagyakap sa mga mayayabong na puno. Ang mga food trip na nauuwi sa pandadaot sa mga di kilala. Ang paglilipat ng tirahan dahil sa praning na room mate. Ang pag-inom sa madidilim na eskinita ng Cubao. Sa liblib ng Antipolo. Sa mga biglaang road trip at island hopping. Nakilala mo ang masayang ako. Ang malungkot na ako. At sa mas maraming pagkakataon, kinilala kita.

Marami tayong bagay na di napagkakaunawaan. Napakalayo din ang mga mundo natin. Ngunit sa ilang taon, nagawan natin ng paraan na magtagpo ang mga hilig mo at ang mga kagustuhan ko. Marami na ring lihim ang nagbuklod sa atin at sa palagay ko, ang mga lihim ang naging ugat ng pagkakaibigan natin.

Di ko alam kung saan ako nagkamali pero ang malinaw, hindi na rin maganda ang pagkakaibigan natin ngayon. Ang palagay mo, ako ang may dahilan. Di ko maintindihan kung bakit. Ayoko na ring magpumilit at magdahilan. Wala akong kapanatagan. Di ako karapatdapat sa galit mo. Patawad kung ayoko.

We don't know where the future is taking us or what we will encounter along the way. We know we are leaving a lot behind, and yet that which matters most is always with us. We may be glad to be leaving some things behind, and for other things we will grieve bitterly. Yet in our hearts we know there is no way back. If we try to carry our baggage with us, we will get stuck at the first hurdle, unable to carry the weight of all that we think we can't live without... Yet, whatever has shaped our past will become the new beginning of the future. No fragment of our experience, however painful it may have felt, is lost or wasted, in the growing of God's dream. (Margaret Silf)