When I needed saving, it was family who was there. No questions, no too much probing. Just warm hugs and assurance that whatever I had been through, God is there with me. And when I mean family, it’s not just my sisters, in-laws, aunts, nieces, and nephews. They were also nuns and religious, childhood friends, Barakos, CYP, Powers, strangers, mothers, homos of every kind, ex dates, and girls and boys I never imagined I would be hoes with. Family comes in many shapes and sizes and I have been given family wherever I go.

To the people who welcomed me as their family, thank you. You know who you are. From this heart to yours is a prayer of gratitude.

(World Mission Sunday, 2018)

What does it mean to do mission today?

For the past week, I had the privilege to work with amazing people, sisters and lay, who direct the many and diverse Good Shepherd ministries in Asia Pacific region. Gathered in one place for five days are some of the maddest people I have met in my lifetime. There is Sr. Rasangi, frail looking and weighs less than fifty kilos, who lives in a small house by the sea so she can work directly with the fishing community. There is Sr. Aruna with her booming voice, lawyer by training, who has been championing better life conditions for the dalit women (the untouchables who belong to the lowest caste). There is Stella, fourth CEO in the span of two years of the programs in Australia-New Zealand and the only one crazy enough to be in her position for so long. There is Benedict from India, as big as Mr. Dursley, and Bimal from Nepal,  men with extraordinary passion in community development. And there is Sr. Lakana, with limited English in her vocabulary, working with sex workers in Thailand. From this group I remember my own colleagues and the sisters back in Philippines. We all have big dreams about the women and girls whom the society has forgotten.

We talked about how many of our ministries survive from grant to grant while some have been able to get by through diverse incomes and state funding. It is somehow true to say that the Lord gives us our daily bread, however decrepit some our shelters may look, we never lack what is necessary. God’s daily providence allows us to open development programs in communist states, operate hundreds of 24/7 safe homes and crisis intervention centers from Taipei to Colombo, free up thousands of girls from prostitution and trafficking in ports and brothels, hold demonstrations to assert the rights of disenfranchised, convince mothers that there is more to life when they dream bigger dreams, and live lives that are completely disposed to the invitation of God to be shepherds after His own heart. And the example of the sisters from the yesteryears who lived lives of constant openness and generosity have put a profound impact to me and many other lay people I have come to know as I continue working for the sisters since 2016. As I look at the faces in the room and count how many lay people have been working for the region, I am assured that the mission of the Good Shepherd started many years ago by a small daring woman in Angers, France by the name of Mary Euphrasia will continue on, with sisters or without.

It was Thursday when we went to visit the community of the elderly sisters in Negombo. The compound used to house the novitiate where they entered as young ladies full of ideals and had their training before becoming a sister. I could still see the fire in their eyes despite their infirmities. In a small room with nothing but a hospital bed, a mosquito net, a table, and few water bottles, I found Sr. Catherine, 86, who lays still and nothing but her fingers to move. For almost four decades she has been missioned to Khartoum, working with children and refugees. When she left Sri Lanka as a much younger sister, she told her superiors that the only condition she would go back is if in her physical weakness she is no longer useful to the mission. So Sr. Catherine have returned to her country only to do her final training - the arduous and beautiful process of dying gracefully. The circle of life for a Good Shepherd sister begins and ends in that novitiate. Nearby is a plot of land where many like her have been buried, their final resting place.

So if you ask me what does it mean to do mission today, it means living our lives so generously given to others that little is left of ourselves, barely recognizable, only to find final valuation in the loving gaze of God. It is not about living perfect vocations but living our chosen vocations with perfect intentions. It means being where the people are hurting the most, in places where truth is always subject to relative positions, in streets and corners of the world that need the assuring presence of the Good Shepherd who shares with our suffering and brokenness everyday.

To be a missionary today means to be broken and shared, only for God to make whole again.

If you are a missionary in any way reading this, thank you for your witnessing.

Biglaan ang dahilan ng pagpasok ko ng seminaryo, biniro ko ang Diyos na kung may bukas na seminaryo na tatanggap sa akin kahit Hunyo na ay dali dali akong papasok. Sa pagkaka-alam ko ay wala nang tumatanggap sa ganung buwan pero nagkamali ako at tinotoo ng Diyos ang kanyang biro. Naka-karton na ang mga dadalhin, nakabili na rin ng ticket na magdadala sa akin sa Baguio. Doon, magsisimula muli. Baka sakaling doon ay makakaunawa.

Lolokohin ko ang sarili ko kung hindi muna ako magpapaalam kaya lakas-loob kitang tinawagan, niyaya lumabas. Sa loob ng apat na taong naghiwalay tayo ay ako lagi ang nangungunang kumausap sa’yo. Laging ako ang una, ang laging nangungulila na kausapin ka. Kaya siguro minabuti ko na sunduin kita at maghintay. Akala ko di mo na ako sisiputin pero pagdating mo pakshet eto na, magpapaalam na ako talaga.

Dinala kita sa Intramuros, sa tuktok ng gusaling kita ang paghahalo ng ganda at yagit ng Maynila, parang feelings ko nang sinabi mo na wala kang iniibig. Pakshet again, noon din ay gusto kong punitin ang bus ticket ko at iwan lahat ng pangako ko sa Diyos. Maghunos-dili ka, Elias. Pagkatapos uminom ng isang basong tubig, naglakas-loob akong itikom ang puso ko. Hindi na pwede.

Pumayag kang ihatid kita sa inyo, katuparan sa anim taon kong hiling na malaman saan ka nakatira. Hindi mo alam na tatlong taon akong dumadaan sa Mandaluyong sa pagbabakasakaling makita kitang naglalakad. Lihim kong ikinasisiya ang maipit sa traffic sa Mandaluyong. Baka ngayon makikita ko sya. Hala tingin sa harap, tingin sa gilid, tingin sa likod. Isang beses, muntik pa akong maubusan ng gasolina. Pero sa wakas nalaman ko kung saan ka nakatira, malayong malayo sa mga dinadaanan ko. Natapos ang gabi na nahugot ang tinik na kasing haba ng tatlong taon mong pagkawala. Tinitigan ko ang mga mata mo at pawang pag-ibig na lamang ang nakikita ko dun. Pag-ibig na nagpapaubaya. Wala na ang pangungulila at pangangarap na maging tayo muli. Dun ko naramdaman na lumaya na ako. Sa haba ng pagmu-move  on ko ay narating ko rin ang dulo, ang wakas.

Kaya sa seminaryo, nagawa kong ialay ang sarili nang bukas palad, lahat lahat, todo todo. Hindi ako pumasok dahil may tinatalikuran o iniiwasan sa labas. Nemo quod non habet. Hindi mo maibibigay ang wala ka. Pumasok akong puno ng pag-ibig para maglingkod. Pero mapagbiro muli ang Diyos. Hindi ko nakita ang sarili ko na magtatagal sa seminaryo sa Baguio, kailangan kong lumipat kung gusto kong mahubog ng tama. May isa pang biro ang Diyos, May pangangailangang tugunan bilang nakatatanda sa pamilya. Ang pagpasok ko ng seminaryo na nag-iwan ng lahat lahat, eto at kailangang pulutin ko muli ang mga tinalikuran upang magtaguyod ng mga kapatid, ng pangarap ng iba, ang kumayod para sa pangarap ng iba. Hindi ba, yun din naman ang ibig ko, ang maging tao-para-sa-iba? May tunggalian sa isip ko kung ang paglabas ko ba ng seminaryo ay dahil sa responsibilidad o dahil sa pag-ibig. Paglabas ko, ang pag-ibig at responsibilidad ay may iisang mukha.

Kaya ito, nandito muli. Nandito muli sa pagsisimula. Babalik ba ako pagkatapos ng mga responsibilidad? O hahayaan ang sariling anurin ang pag-ibig kung saan man ito dumaloy at tumahan? Saka na lamang iisipin.

Sa ngayon, maghihintay, iibig.

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.

Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

"After all this time?"

"Always," said Snape.

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.

A large part of the priestly formation is the study of philosophy. Philosophy, as a discipline, is the fundamental preparation for studying theology. I'd like to believe that the level of philosophical understanding acquired by a seminarian has very significant impact on how he will deal and survive theology since philosophy exercises rational rigor and coherence which are very crucial when one begins to study divine revelations and Church teachings.

Last semester I was juggling nine units of philosophy (Metaphysics, Special Ethics, History of Modern Philosophy) along with Latin grammar and general education and research courses. While I admit that it is no easy task to teach and understand the subjects, I think I fared well. And this semester, I am taking another nine units of philosophy subjects (Epistemology, Augustinology, and History of Medieval Philosophy) along with yet another bout of Latin grammar and teaching courses.

But something worries me since the the first time I went to class: our religious formators' (priest and brother professors) pedagogy.

Not that I am concluding that I find their instruction of no worth. In fact, there are rare moments when I could say some of them really know their subjects well and there is no doubt about that (generally). My fear is that our learning is sub-optimal because their teaching method and how they manage the courses are sub-optimal too. I came to the seminary expecting a rigorous philosophical training but I find my our formators too lax and lazy. One particular priest-professor does not even prepare a course syllabus or guideline, something that is both basic and essential for any course. He's not very old but he gets away with reasons that such things are not necessary. His classroom management is totally obscure and is largely dependent to his mood. Blocking almost anything "modern" as development being introduced in our formation, he likes to say that the seminary has survived all these years without these "new stuff". And until now, like most of our religious formators, he has not yet submitted our grades from the last semester, given that their responsibilities are comparatively light. They have no additional task other than seminary responsibilities. I wonder what consumes their time which prevent them from preparing for class and computing grades.

They like saying along the lines such as "Read and study by yourself. That's the only way you will learn. Do not depend on me to learn. You cannot question my authority on this subject. If you do not understand, it's not my problem anymore. Everything has a connection, so me telling you about a totally unrelated stuff which came across my mind is still considered part of the class' lesson. The book's example is no better than what I said, so take my word instead of the book. You are asking a question out of your ignorance." Most of us do not understand, or understand only a point or two, after each lesson. Yet in the history of the seminary, very few would flunk their subjects.

Seminarians would advice the new ones with survival guides. "If you want a smooth semester and pass the evaluation, don't ask questions. Always affirm. If they mock you or belittle you, take it all, that's humility. Read in advance and try to absorb as much as you can. No one has ever said the right answer in his class. Never question their authority on the subject even if the error is glaring at your face."

It's as if we are only being taught to get by.

While everything seems bleak at this angle, I enjoy other classes whose professors give their best to the call of teaching. Such are Miss Carbonel of my psychology class and Fr. Almayo of metaphysics.

And I enjoy my prayer and community life too. Though there are some minor aspects I would like to address as well like the lack of spiritual direction.

Some seminarians think I am just an unruly and "unformable" neophyte who compares things to the "outside world", I am least worried about what they think. I was also branded as elitist. I have been very transparent with my observation and I do not hide it. But I take careful steps in expressing these.

While I worry for my own self, I am more worried for my brother seminarians. We come from different intellectual backgrounds some of us really are having a hard time catching up. And I could only do so much for them for I am only learning too. My greater worry is, with this kind of preparations we are receiving, what kind of priests and brothers will we be in the future?

It is said that philosophy is the handmaiden of theology. It is worrisome to demand so much from learning? 

For the holiday, my chapel seatmate is a 93 year old woman. You will always find her beaming and doing something. Something to wipe, something to arrange, something to put love into.

Everyday, Sr. Vitalis, this nun who is supposed to be just enjoying the perks of retirement, goes to the ube jam section to put sticker labels on every bottle she can. If God lets her, she plans to reach hundred years. "But I'm ready to go anytime."

Anytime. What a life well lived. Only few can say that.

Seeing her everyday, that's when I know what love is.

It never says enough.

My favorite animal is the salmon. Salmon spend their early life in rivers, and then swim out to sea where they live their adult lives and gain most of their body mass. When they have matured, they return with uncanny precision to the natal river where they were born, and even to the very spawning ground of their birth. This phenomenon is called “salmon run”. Most salmons are anadromous, a term which comes from the Greek anadromos, meaning "running upward". From ocean they swim and flip and flop and swoosh in waterfalls and streams just to return to their river.  All that they want to “go home”. It’s as if the salmon which grew up in the sea has become tired of the sea and its wonders, and at some point of its adult life, when it is at its peak condition, began to follow the voice within and went on the task of swimming against the current and back to where its life has started. No snack breaks, no half-way rests. With single devotion, it swims back. Back to its origin of life. A kind of homecoming. A kind of fulfillment of its purpose.

I have known the Lord from childhood. My mother, a Catholic, raised us in the beautiful traditions of the Church. My father, a Protestant convert, stimulated my aptitude for reasoning. Growing up in a myriad of different rules and living set-ups, with good role models to follow and a handful of people I swore never to be like, I have been exposed to many ideas, often times conflicting, that I need to take and digest, sift and weight. After high school, I followed my mother’s wish for me to try religious life despite my determination to study in University of the Philippines. On 2007, I entered the seminary of Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate in Quezon City. A year after, the prefect informed that I could not continue with formation as the seminary is to be transferred in Cotabato City. I went home with angst and regret but Mama assured me that God has plans. Few weeks after, she passed away. It’s thoughtful that she let her eldest son come home first before leaving this world.

At an early age I left home and went to live on my own. I enrolled in University of the Philippines. I have worked in a handful of industries to pay the bills and sustain my lifestyle but it was my entrance to the development sector that made  all the difference and impact in my life. I become a humanitarian worker, responding to crises, disasters, and conflicts mostly here in the country. I worked my way through various organizations and have progressed in my career. I worked in at least five major disasters in the region. At 23, I was the youngest in a management role in a large international NGO. At 24, I was already leading a team in Tacloban to respond to the affected populations of typhoon Haiyan. I’ve helped restore livelihoods, schools, bridges, health centers and homes in hundreds of communities. I have slept in tents and service vehicles, eaten Christmas meals on tin cans and celebrated birthdays in airplane, a fishing boat, and a ten-wheeler truck. I have spoken to ambassadors and purok leaders, dined with politicians and communists, and shared ideas with leading thinkers and children with disabilities. Some of the organizations I have been involved are IBON International, ACCORD, Center for Disaster Preparedness, CARE Nederland, Caritas Philippines, Handicap International, and the Good Shepherd Sisters’ Mission Office.

But God seems to put a vacuum in every man’s heart which only He could fill.

I drove my own car, I lived comfortably, I gained many friends from many parts of the globe. My work and my penchant for adventure brought me to strange cities and villages around the world. For someone who is barely starting to fill to the brim the love for life in a quarter of a century, I suddenly felt there must be something more than these. I was restless.

A turning point in my life was my involvement in the  Good Shepherd Sisters’ Mission Office. My work consisted of developing resources and grants for the sisters’ work on human trafficking, women and girls, and ecology. Everyday I see dozens of sisters, most of them in their seventies, all occupied with zeal to do their mission assignment despite meager resources, impossible energy requirement, and advanced age. All their energy is spent in taking care of women and girls and in working towards a more just society. It was June this year, Feast of the Sacred Heart, when I drove to their Tagaytay convent to conduct business even if it was my birthday. I did not want to disturb them in their retreat Mass so I sneaked in and found them in the chapel. About sixty nuns, some of them in wheelchairs, canes, and hearing aids, a sea of white hairs and wobbling knees, taking their time to greet each other with the sign of peace. It was the noisiest group of nuns I have ever seen and it hit me. I want whatever that which makes these women and thousands of other missionaries go on with their ministry despite everything. Right there I gave in to the Lord. I let Him catch me in the middle of my busy life. I did not hesitate and looked for a seminary right away. It was providential that school year in Casiciaco starts on August. I had few weeks to settle my affairs.

In his message to the youth gathered in a university in Rome in 2000, Saint John Paul II concretely describes that restlessness I have been feeling, the feeling that there is a vacuum in my life despite the life I was enjoying:

“It is Jesus in fact that you seek when you dream of happiness; he is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; he is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is he who provokes you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is he who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is he who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be grounded down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and more fraternal.”

Salmon run teaches something profound to me. Salmons that survive fishermen, poachers and pollution may still have to scale large dams built across rivers before eventually finding refuge in lakes and deep pools. Nevertheless they go. Some studies reveal that some very strong willed salmon even do it more than once in their lifetime. A life in religious formation, a life dedicated to discovering God’s purpose to me, is my own salmon run. While the salmon had to survive impossible ordeals, my challenge is not simply to survive but to thrive in the formation. To thrive means to find meaning in every detail of my life’s up and downs, to discover hidden lines of God’s love story in every pitfalls and trials, to search the poetry concealed in people I meet and places I go. To thrive does not only mean to remain alive after successive challenges in formation. To thrive means to grow vigorously in the process.

Nine years after my first attempt to try religious life, here I am again in the bottom of the formation process. Late that I realized that my mother’s wish has always been the life I, too, want. Often I would feel undeserving, or caught by temporal problems at home but I trust that the true, good, and beautiful God would allow me to try again one more time. That this time, despite numerous imperfections He can find something in me to use. That my scattered thoughts may find unity in His love, my doubts may find certainty in His truths, my depravities may find mercy in His goodness, and my deficiencies may find completeness in His beauty.

Three years ago, I dated Nikko, a med student about my age. I liked him very dearly and we both knew that. But it wasn't enough to transcend that friendship into a commitment. Deep within, I knew it's still him. I told Nikko about it and begged to stay as a friend. Wise enough to understand, he still let me see his life and share important moments. I would invite him to celebrate Christmas with my family and he would let me have dinner when his parents come to the city. Through the years, he'd let me know of his struggles and moments of bliss. The boys he dated, his passion in singing and dancing, the perennial fear of being not good enough. I'd like to believe that Nikko let me witness and share his life in a close encounter. He's going to take his oath as a physician in a few days. I'm very happy about that.

He has a partner now. Recently, I invited them over a charity dinner my group organized. Not seeing him for months, I was delighted to see him and his partner N. His walk was bouncy and his eyes are beaming, with a half smile I'm familiar as if telling me "Yes, that's him, Yas. My joy and all." He didn't have to say it. He's brimming with happiness.

I hugged them and for a second, my heart betrayed me.

That feeling of being vulnerable and empowered at the same time, of absolute contentment and belonging, of contradicting phenomenon of freedom and commitment all because of the presence of one person you handpicked from the rest of mankind. 

I miss that.

I miss you.

Max died yesterday morning. The vets said they did everything they could to revive my little puppy.

So buried her in a plot down the apartment, near the mango tree. There, I could easily remember her everytime I go to the balcony. With her I buried are some of my happiness. I am sure she needs some.

I am sad. Seems like I am losing so many important things without any replacements. I have no more love to give, no more ego to ask. Max, why do you have to represent so many and so little?

Baby, rest in peace. You know I did my best. I love you just the way cute little puppies should be loved.

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.

Ito ang pinaka-paborito kong oras ng gabi. Ang minuto sa pag-aabot ng hikab at pagpikit. Yung ilang sandali na tayo ay pipikit ng sabay, daang milya man ang nasa pagitan, gamit ang maraming paraaan.

Inaabangan ko lagi ang pagpili mo ng salita at paghabi ng mga pangungusap. Gabi-gabi, sabay tayong umoorder ng mga anghel para gumabay at magbantay. At sa bawat pagdampi ng hintuturo natin sa noo, sa magkabilang balikat, at sa pusod, muli't-muling mananariwa ang katotohanang napakaswerte kong lalaki nang makilala kita.

Sampu, labin-isang buwan. Akalain mo 'yun. Bukod akong pinagpala.

Kanina, binati ko ang lola ko ng maligayang kaarawan.

"Happy birthday, Amma! Kamusta?"

"Eto awa ng Diyos eh nalagpasan ang baha. Dapat nandito ka, nakita mo sana."

"Pasensya ha. Mejo napalayo ang trabaho ko. Uwi ako ng October."

"Kelan? Anong araw?"

"Di ko po alam, basta October. Papasyal ulit tayo kaya wag kang magkakasakit ha."

"Oo naman. Ako pa. Salamat sa pagbati, anak."

"Teka, ilang taon ka na ba? Bilang mo pa?"

"Singkwenta."

Amma is 82 today and her birthday falls on the feast day of St. Clare. With advancing Alzheimer's disease, she would still vividly remember the boy that was I and perhaps still. That good, obedient and faithful boy she used to bring to kindergarten class. She celebrated her birthday today in the midst of the aftermath of the high floods in our Marikina home. But no disaster can dampen the faith of this little old woman. She would speak lively over the phone, even joking about our sorry condition. For this, I am grateful that I am her favorite grandson.

Amma's life of unwavering love and service to her family bears witness to the true definition of commitment. St. Clare put it this way:

What you hold, may you always hold,
What you do, may you always do and never abandon.
But with swift pace, light step,
unswerving feet,
so that even your steps stir up no dust,
may you go forward
securely, joyfully, and swiftly,
on the path of prudent happiness,
not believing anything
that would dissuade you from this resolution
or that would place a stumbling block for you on the way,
so that you may offer your vows to the Most High
in the pursuit of that perfection
to which the Spirit of the Lord has called you.
- from the letter of St. Clare to Agnes

Happy birthday, Virginia. To me, you will always be fifty or seventy or eighty two, as you like it.

They say that coming out is the most courageous thing any person can ever do. I disagree. I think the most courageous thing any man can do is to love the same person everyday despite all the seemingly overwhelming situations. To choose the same person however difficult it is to resist temptation - that is courage beyond language and euphemisms.

Kailangan ko ba kayong isa-isahin? Mula sa planong mag-hahapunan hanggang sa nauwi sa isang party, hanggang ngayon ay iniisip ko, napaka-swerte ko naman upang mabiyayaan ng mga kaibigan tulad nyo. Sa totoo lang, wala sa plano ko ang isang party para sa higit tatlumpung tao. Gayunpaman, dumating ang lahat - kaibigan mula pagkabata, tropa nung highschool, ang mga bloggers sampu ng kanilang mga ehem, kasama.


So there, I am officially twenty one. Umamin na rin ako sa kababata ko na hindi ako straight. Pinakilala sa lahat ng maagang dumating si M, na kung babalikan ko ang pag-mumuni, ay syang dahilan at paraan ng pagiging mas totoo ko sa sarili. Baabaa, kung alam mo lang kung gano ako kasaya. Sa lahat ng kasawian at pagkabigo na naisulat ko dito, ikaw lang pala ang hinihintay upang mapawi ang mga kalungkutan.


Salamat,


Kay Nate and Little Nikki na pang-model naman ang height, salamat sa pagdating at sa dagdag alak, napatumba natin sila.


At talagang pinilit nyong magtrend ang #YasParty2012 sa Twitter. Infairness, dinikit nyo pa sa #WhiteParty ha.


Nim at Leo, kayo ang mga perky sunflowers ko pagdating sa relasyon. Salamat sa specialty nyong Baliwag chicken lechon.


Louie, hanggang sa mga susunod pa na perky days!


Ryan, pinapangako ko mas gagalingan ko ang hosting skills ko. Salamat sa chaofan java rice na blockbuster.


Jap, dad salamat sa dala mong bisita saya at cupcake. Sorry di kagad kita nasabihan na di tuloy ang tea and cupcake ceremony. It is always nice to see you.


Nox, dad salamat sa pagpunta. Alam kong effort ang manggaling ng Cavite na nakasuot ng killer outfit at may dala-dalang litro-litro ng softdrinks.


Babit, salamat. Sa susunod gagawa ako ng rampahan. Dadagdagan ko na din ang ilaw para mas feel nyo ang rampa.


Pao, salamat sayo at sa boypren. Looking at you guys sleeping together is something... I will always remember about.


Yo, ikaw na mabenta sa maraming bisita, wag ka na ulit pupunta ha. Chot. Salamat sa pagdayo mula Maynila.


Kane, akala ko pa naman regalo mo yung mga dala mo salamat sa pagpunta. It's always fun when you are around.


YJ, ikaw na reyna ng crowd. Thanks for staying and bringing laughter to the crowd.


Tropa, I will always remember that day. Through and through, you never guys left me. Isn't five years after highschool and counting?


Mahabagin friends, you are the best UP crowd I ever met. Para sa mga susunod pang inuman at adventures sa buhay!




To everyone, my sincerest thanks. Kagabi, may dinner pa kong surprise birthday celebration and I realized, I am blessed beyond I ever imagined.


Adele was writing sad love songs when she was twenty one. I don't think I will write sad lines this year. Because grace, far greater than me, is always present to sustain every sadness, longing and lacking. And speaking of grace, I thank You for being on my side throughout the storms and calm seas. You are that tiny whisper in my ears saying, "Gora, dito lang achi. Keri mo yan."


Hanggang dito na lamang at maraming salamat.


AMDG

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

"What these people don't seem to understand is that love is the only thing that can sanctify a marriage and the only true marriages are those that are sanctified by love."

Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata

The youth are the foremost victims of the Reproductive Health Bills pending in both houses of Congress. It is our generation that will face the reality of the many risks so intimately involved in this measure. It is our welfare that is on the line. It is our voice that we seek to be heard today.

We are for responsible parenthood and we, too, desire to see every Filipino family free from the burdens of poverty.  However, spending for a measure to fiddle with demographics is a gross misallocation of scarce resources. Addressing needs for quality education and opportunities for employment hits poverty at its core. Massive government spending for contraception and mandatory sex education in all schools enlivens the risk of aggravating the decline of our demographics, of eroding our values, and of reshaping our society after the designs of foreign intervention. There is no warrant against this. This is a gamble of our future.
  
We are for reproductive health and we, too, intend to shield mothers and their children from the risks of complications at childbirth. However, pregnancy is not the disease that can find a cure in contraception. Massive government spending for products with known health detriments is tantamount to a government serving our people harm.  Improving access to pre- and post-natal care, of which the RH Bills speak so scarcely about, addresses maternal mortality directly. The RH Bills, instead, advocate reproductive health by heavily promoting mismoderated use of artificial contraception, neglecting the impracticability and impossibility of “informed choice” in the poorest, most populated hospitals and health centers. This ultimately risks the rise in the number of victims of contraceptive failure, the development of a contraceptive mentality, the erudition of family values, and the eventual demand for abortion. There is no warrant against this. This is a gamble of our future.

We are for population management and development and we, too, dream of progress. However, genuine progress can never be achieved until our government invests genuinely in our people.  Our population is an asset. Government must treat it as an asset. Rural development, entrepreneurship, improved standards of education, expansion of opportunities for employment, intensified thrusts for scientific research and development, cultivation of our arts and culture – these constitute genuine investments in our people. This is the way to secure our future.

While the RH Bill posits itself as a comprehensive attempt to relieve our people of a particular ill, it is this very claim of comprehensiveness that blinds it from its cons. We cannot afford to gamble our future. We cannot afford to legislate what constitutes harm to our people.

The youth, in defense of our welfare, can and will invest our support in legislators who know how to genuinely invest in us.

In solidarity, we declare our opposition to the RH Bill. This is our voice. This is our vote.


ELIAS JAYSON TOLENTINO
College of Social Sciences and Philosophy | UP Diliman
News Writer, Philippine Collegian
Member, Center for Nationalist Studies
Convenor, UP For Life
Convening Member, UP Scholars Choose Life Coalition

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.