Toys!

One of our gifts to my son yesterday was a toy gun that shoots out soap bubbles, with blinking multi-colored lights and "outer space sounds". My son liked it. I was sure he would. I was the one who bought it. I'm a toy expert.

I'm almost 50, but I've not outgrown my love for children's toys. I still can lose myself (and lose keeping track of time) when I'm in a toy store. The ones today are especially big and with so much variety, I'm like a giddy seven-year old when facing aisle upon aisle of toys.

When I was growing up, our family was not exactly impoverished, but we didn't have much either. We just had enough, I think. My inventory of toys regularly increased during Christmas, and this is probably the reason why I still have vestiges of my child-like anticipation of this season.

All my children's toys have long been gone. Even as I shun obsessive material attachments, I regret not having kept them, not so much for their material value, as for the memories they evoke. Memories of quite long ago, when life was simpler and held more dear; when I could laugh and play all day with nary a care; when I believed I could be whoever and whatever I wanted to be when I grew up.

I stopped getting toys for Christmas when I was 11 or 12, but the magic of Christmas has remained in me. I don't mind not receiving any gifts during the holidays, as I intrinsically disfavor being the object of fussing by other people. Even more, at my age I have moved up somewhat in my tastes for gifts. I prefer definitely better ones, like love, for example.

It's amazing how a simple toy is able to bring on this wealth of recollection and emotion.

Devilish

I found it unbelievable that the principal accused in the Maguindanao Massacre of 57 people could afford to yawn during his arraignment and grin tauntingly at the man whose wife was among those he murdered. How many demons possess this man, that he can afford to exhibit an air of insouciance that enrages all those who cry out for justice? We all have our conscience but the evil among us, like this man, have become adept in becoming deaf to its guidance and inner voice. He shows an arrogance both brutish and merciless, and an ailing mind, the result of committing and witnessing too many acts of depravity and murder. He was born in a world where power and wealth are paramount, to be achieved by whatever means necessary and convenient: Land-grabbing, rape, murder, assassination, intimidation.

We, who are not among the vassals in this evil man's fiefdom, find the mass murder of 57 people very revolting. I have seen photographs of their dead bodies, some with their faces enveloped by the merciful peace of death and blood stains; some with faces so mutilated that they now have no remaining semblance to a human face, and are now simply a tangled mass of flesh, hair, and dried blood. The evil man's subjects, on the other hand, see him as some sort of overlord, a folk hero even, who provides them the privilege of living safely in his kingdom, in exchange for their loyalty and submission. They do not mind that with each passing day they become more impoverished and this evil man, wealthier and more powerful.

In this country where inequalities and injustices have strong footholds, I am fervent in my hope (although it may be futile) that the case will be concluded swiftly, lest filthy wealth and machinations, plus the national malady of the short attention span all conspire to bring to naught the search for justice.

It has been reported that the evil man is fearful of sleeping at night in his cell, where he is alone, with the lights out; and so he sleeps in a sort of antechamber that leads to his actual cell. He has said that he is afraid of ghosts. No kidding.

And so if thru some malicious legal technicality this evil man is set free and allowed to once more rule as the untouchable madman in his godless realm, he should take measures to fortify his mind and heart. For while awake he may effortlessly brush away intruding images of those he murdered, in slumber it may be a different story altogether. I hope. The mind is open and on its own when we sleep, and the ghosts of the murdered will find it opportune to torment the evil man at this time. It may well be the national hope that the gluttonous appetites of the evil man has so weakened his heart that it is now unable to handle the mangled, mutilated ghosts that have begun tormenting his mind.

Blind and Cowering

I saw the news about the judge who refused to preside over the murder trial of the perpetrators and participants in the Maguindanao Massacre of 57 people. He said it plainly that he was fearful for his safety and that of his family. It was sickening.

Actions like the judge's do nothing except embolden those who commit murderous atrocities. In this country, the ones who preside over the scale of justice are not only blind, they also cower in fear behind their respectable-looking robes.

Justice here seems to be present and available only up to a certain point, beyond which it simply vanishes. Our judges seem to relish only the sensational, show business-like cases which have the potential of elevating a judge's stature to that of a moral liberator, a freedom fighter, or a champion of the masses.

The Maguindanao Massacre, however, has clipped Justice's steadfastness. It has made a judge step out from the limelight and into the crippling shadows of fear. This crime is as of yet unparalleled in our history, its perpetrators defy logic and categorization. They show no mercy, and respect no one or nothing, except perhaps their insatiable lust for blood and power. This case and its perpetrators are indeed formidable, but the judge is on the side of justice and righteousness, two of the few remaining good things in this country drained of virtue and hope. If these be gone, what is left to look forward to or hope for?

Year Enders

Beginning this year, I have vowed not to watch "year enders" broadcast by major television networks. I do not want to relive in my mind Typhoon Ondoy's deadly floods, or the heart-rending Maguindanao Massacre of 57 people, the fires, the crimes, the poverty, the corruption, the political turncoats, etc.; all the silliness, the cruelty and the evil that men are capable of.

For the economically-marginalized like myself, anticipating another year is in itself fraught with anxieties, it will be quite foolish to add the current year's share to them. Will I have work that will put food on the table, pay the bills, keep body and soul together? Will we keep our good health? Will we remain safe? Will we keep to our dreams' path or be led astray? Will those whom we hold close to our hearts live through another year, or will some of them pass away? Simple questions by simple people, the "small fry" in our society who remain poor year in, year out, their only fault being that they labor honestly in a system populated by dishonest and corrupt government officials and businessmen.

Those who make life miserable and a living hell for the majority of us, the ones who beget their wealth through corruption and stealing, and still have the temerity to flaunt it; the ones who maim and kill without even the slightest trace of remorse or vacillation, will most probably be only concerned with whether or not they will continue to enjoy the benefits of unbothered consciences, as they continue with the finesse of their devious craft.

From hereon, "year enders" will be cast out from my New Year's Eve agenda. Though it smacks of idealism, I want to start with a clean slate, the year fresh, unencumbered by the regrets of unfinished business, and the wails of human suffering from injustices.

I find it appropriate to start the new year with prayers: That may those who labor hard and equitably, who live and love genuinely, be meted heavenly kindness and reward; may all good people's good dreams come true; and may all those who are brutal and cruel, those who have ill-gotten riches and lead ostentatious lifestyles, flaunting them in the faces of people who are poor and hopeless, with sunken eyes and cheeks arising from a lack of decent meals, be dealt a humbling blow by the hand of Divine Justice, so that for the remaining years of their lives, they may rectify the wrongs they have done by acts of contrition, generosity, kindness, and love.

Social Networking

I have a Facebook account and the longer I keep and use it, the better my perception becomes of how human interaction and social relationships have evolved and are evolving.

Yes, we have more connections with more people than ever before, but most of them are merely very casual, lacking even the semblance of significant depth and genuine commitment. We cultivate virtual farms and harvest virtual crops; we give out and receive virtual gifts; we kick virtual asses; we keep virtual pets; we try to dominate virtual ganglands. It seems as if our friendships are becoming virtual as well. We add hordes of "friends" but do we really make an effort to genuinely know and keep them?

While I have a handful of friends who post links to meaningful information by others, or their own meaningful information, the majority post trifling material that may serve their purpose of making others think that they have deep reflections and philosophies, instead of their crass, conceited selves.

Considerable numbers of photographs are likewise posted: Family events, sojourns, nature, etc., and all these give me insights to the character of the persons who post them, including their agenda. Some genuinely want to share happy or grievous occasions in their lives; others simply intend to gloat or brag. Still others post completely inane and useless visual and auditory material, betraying their personalities which may be described using the same or similar adjectives.

A number of people close to me have at one time confided that they find immense delight in seeing snapshots of the foibles, tendencies, and preoccupations of other people. I must confess that I also share in this pleasure. I would like to believe that it is in our nature as social animals (or in our instinct of self-preservation) that we have this desire to find out what other people and their other friends are up to; whether they may be hatching plots to include or exclude us; whether they are regularly engrossed in some virtual game, or taking useless quizzes, or writing gibberish (a coded language, I think, meant to be understood by gibberish people).

Having said all these, I am quite certain that online social networking is here to stay. It fulfills the human penchant to gossip, to intrude, to boast, and to generally waste time. As social animals, we have reached that level of sophistication where, in the wonderful little windows of our computer monitors, with nary a care if we have disheveled hair, smelly armpits, oily faces, or bad breath, we are able to immerse ourselves in a community, to engage stale and tasteless personalities in the majority, and the very rare gems and treasure troves of the human race.

Potentiating Effects

I have begun avoiding Cirilo Bautista now, whereas before I always looked forward to reading his columns.

When from several of his writings I detected the bitterness and moodiness of the man, I concluded that mid-life crises were at work. He considered many things as annoying: The daily traffic gridlock, the humid, sticky weather, the pollution, etc., and wrote about them as being contributory to the collective hardship of our people. All at once, I felt the perceptions I shared with this man, and my own dissatisfactions with life in this archipelago, previously accepted with resignation, now began to simmer.

In one of his paragraphs (this is my own understanding of it), he even toyed with the idea of "retroactive" possibilities: What if (I understood it this way), instead of being born in the Philippines he was born in some first-world country? I've also delved on this question as it applies to my personal circumstances, not so much for the philosophical exercise as in Cirilo's case, as for my genuine desire to try and live my life in an imagined and dreamed of better place. The result of discovering this common denominator with Cirilo has made the question a persistent, gnawing one, all the more made pronounced by daily doses of disheartening news: Floods, corruption, robberies, carjackings, rapes, massacres, murders, and other senseless killings. It is as if being born in a country made up of more than seven thousand islands shaped like a limping old man with a cane, is in itself a curse to live a life of vicissitudes.

Like Cirilo, I also see the flaws in the national psyche. As a people, we forgive and forget, and all too often, very easily. We simply do not persevere and persist enough to let justice and fairness take hold. News of crime and corruption are sensational only for days, or weeks at most. Afterwards, we simply stash them in our collective subconscious. It is only in our country where a previously disgraced and impeached president can plan and stage a threatening, fanfare-filled comeback; where a former police official suspected of "officially-sanctioned" murders can end up as a senator; where mutinous soldiers, election officials who cheat, cabinet members who steal, and businessmen who abscond with investors' money, can run for office and get elected, or otherwise spend what they have stolen to hire the best lawyers to secure for them the same rights which they have denied to multitudes of people.

Imbued now with the man's ability to force otherwise hidden or subdued issues into the limelight, I also notice, among other things, the proliferation of religious quackery in our midst. I do not worry about cults in far-flung villages and unheard of communities that exploit the ignorance of only a handful; what I do detest are the religious conglomerates that cater to the mainstream's need for spiritual security and meaning. This function is only secondary, I believe. They are no more than efficiently-managed businesses, with stocks in the form of souls and promises of salvation. They own high-value assets and are able to procure media time and space. They are mainstream faiths, as well as its fringes. They wear garish "clown" suits as well as priest's frocks. They hobnob with the rich and powerful; they profess to heal and deliver salvation, all of these in exchange for tidy sums called donations. They pray, plead, cajole, curse, and lead ostentatious lifestyles. Seemingly, they have other gods other than The God I know, The One who I try to make central in my life, and Whom I offend for countless times. During my occasions of profligacy, I lead or influence others to sin, but I do not do it mass-scale, I do not know if it is of lesser evil than these false prophets and healers who persuade many by blasphemous activities such as inverting umbrellas to catch financial goodwill from Heaven, or unblinkingly reciting biblical chapters and verses while at the same time cursing and belittling other faiths and persuasions. I leave this to the judgement of My God.

If I want a good week ahead, I skip Cirilo. I read the lesser writers who also write for the same Sunday magazine; those who write about events attended by the rich and powerful, their sons and daughters; by ambassadors, heads of states, captains of business empires, pretenders, social climbers; good-looking and nice-smelling creatures. On the other hand, if I want truths, like a face with no make-up, pockmarked and oily, I read Cirilo. But before I do, I commit to about a week's length of sulking and cynicism. I prepare to retire into a cocoon, to meditate and be over-critical of all things. He succeeds in making me feel a grain of sand in an eye, or the thickness of overpowering midday heat bouncing off a city pavement. I smell the scent of all kinds and mixtures of sweat and improperly laundered clothes on a commuter train packed like a can of sardines; the filth and grime of young and old street wanderers and vagabonds.

And to top it all off, Cirilo delivers the stark realization that life in these beautiful and exploited islands may be just this: A succession of pain, of natural and man-made disasters, murderers, rapists, robbers, opportunists, political turncoats, and a dopey-eyed, stupid-looking mayor who dances to the tune of "Nobody But You" on primetime television while bragging about his change of political alliance. This pathetic state of life (if we can call it that) is punctuated by occasions of "national happiness" (if you may allow me to call it that): The triumph of a boxer; the tv soaps religiously watched by the populace (everyone has his or her favorite); the tv gossip shows which exist solely to intrude into the lives of celebrities, and create and sow intrigue, all the while invoking the public's right to information; the home-grown reality tv shows (venues: a house and an island) which feature scantily-clad men and women (I have no objection to the latter), supposedly in natural human interaction (if knowingly done in front of a camera, hidden or otherwise, I call it acting); the town fiestas happening all over the country (each day in the calendar honors a saint's name, that's why), with its de rigueur parades featuring rambunctious gays and cross-dressers; and of course, the national elections which galvanize us all to take sides, proffer our political views, and kill each other, all in the name of our political candidate and party.

It is fortunate that I have the option of not reading Cirilo whenever I feel like having days devoid of questioning and suspicion. I want Life in its pure, unadulterated form. But images of the dopey-eyed, stupid-looking turncoat mayor strutting stupidly on primetime tv flood my mind, and I just have to see if it ever merited Cirilo's analysis. I am tempted. I succumb. I read.

I've not written for quite some time, as these days I live in a state of uneventful suspense, vacillating in the boundary between hope and resignation. I keep myself occupied with plain everyday chores and activities, which keep me sane and which give me a sense of utility and purpose. For others, this arrangement may be adequate, but for my restless soul, it isn't.

I've always yearned and dreamt for more; it is not greed, but boundless curiosity. I long to be in places where I am not right now, do things I am not doing now, know things I do not know now.

There is so much in the present order of things that makes me dissatisfied. I can be like this for the rest of my life. It will cease and end (both literally and figuratively) when I come face to face with my own grave marker, which says that I will have died. By that time the truths I pursue now will all be within reach.

Hurdle

Dear Lord, I hope that this is only a temporary setback, one that will not consign me to a lifetime of despair and failure, and which will instead set me off to better things and circumstances.

I must admit that I'm depressed, and as if I'm in a deep, dark well, with dim prospects for extrication. I've been here many times before; each time I was able to get myself out and bounce back. Would now be any different?

Incongruity

We live in a world of norms, of patterns, of rules. We are forced to conform, lest we be labelled as radicals, or saboteurs, or plain disruptive. We are allowed to dream, yes, but these dreams should be kept in our subconscious, or so we are told, never allowed to make forays into our "real" lives.

I can fully appreciate my son feeling very tortured and restrained. He is a dreamer. He has the articulateness that many covet, and the naivete we have lost so long ago. He has many ideas and thoughts that race through his mind each day, I simply cannot keep up with them and him. He has ideas with their clever simplicities hidden from plain view, and some abstract ones I cannot comprehend, try as I might.

I am guilty of ignoring him many times. He subjects me to countless and endless questioning. But what can I do? I also pursue MY own knowledge which I assume will make me better equipped. And so I deny him the opportunity to seek HIS own knowledge, and deny myself the possibility that one day he might look up to me with some measure of admiration.

I have only disdain for people who pretend they accept and tolerate those who, like my son, do not fit into patterns and conventions. It takes only the minimum of effort and analysis to find out their deep-seated prejudices. They are a dangerous breed; the kind that shows merciful eyes, extends out a sympathetic hand, and stabs you at the back with the other. I offer no other thought for their kind than to wish that they go straight to hell. Right this very instant.

Growing Old

I think that when we are still young and strong, growing old is some distant prospect that annoyingly intrudes into our lives only occasionally. We don't give it much thought or lend it credence.

After birth is a decade of childhood; another decade or so of blissful, reckless youth, followed by another two to four decades of growing up and mellowing and pursuing dreams. We then come out of these either wealthy but depraved, or impoverished but wise; or morally upright or rakish; or diseased and dying; or healthy and endowed with longevity, natural or otherwise.

We then discover that, from birth to death, life is short, and we take stock of our joys, our sadness; of those we found and lost; those who left and remained, those we hated and loved.

We take stock of many things. We sort and sift through them, and we discover that only a few really matter.

Opportunity Costs

If I thought about my statistics of missed opportunities, I surely would end up feeling very miserable. I have let good, promising things go, forever out of my grasp; I have failed to see their true worth. I have made many very bad, uninformed, hasty decisions that have put me in perilous, struggling conditions. Such is Life: We decide, we choose, and after that we either celebrate our success or wallow in dismal failure.

There are chances, however, to pick up the pieces, or to start fresh; to tap the wellspring of hope, to slow down or stop, and appreciate the things that really matter; to pray, most of all, and feel the hand of Divine Guidance.

On Friendships

As I make the journeys in my life and pursue my happiness and dreams, it takes its toll on the friendships I have. As I move on or vacillate or remain as I am, I either unknowingly or unavoidably discard friends; or they unknowingly or unavoidably discard me.

Some of my friendships had been for certain moments and situations; they never were meant to last. There were those which seemed promising, but due to my fault (or theirs), they did not make it beyond beautiful promises and expectations.

There are those which I deliberately lost (and without so much as a morsel of regret), I mean, I intentionally lost them as soon as I saw that they were in pursuit of two areas of self: Centeredness and aggrandizement. The pursuit was either theirs or mine.

I also know those which wait and watch from the sidelines. They are very polite and unobtrusive. They are all too careful not to cause offense. Where is the fun in that? In the spirit of excessive caution and propriety, these friendships miss out on the novelty, dynamism, and excitement of human liaisons.

Finally, there are the friendships which are the greatest things in our lives. They are heaven-sent gifts to a mortal race. They endure; they refuse to die; they tolerate and withstand abuse; they persevere in times of uncertainty; they are always there to walk us through the vagaries of our drab and troubled existence. These are the friendships to die for.

Partings

This evening, my wife's sister, Liza, together with husband, Philippe, and children, Kim and Greg, got on a flight to Paris, France, their home. They were in the country for their month-long summer holiday. Their last Philippine visit preceding this was four years ago.

My wife has often said that she prefers welcoming people to bidding them goodbye, and I share her sentiments. A welcome is replete with hope and expectation; it has a most genuine smile. It shows a lot of promise and makes a lot of promises. It is spontaneous, it disregards convention, it is gay abandon.

When I bid someone goodbye, I feel a sense of finality. I have dread thoughts. I fear that Fate might wield its hand and forever prevent me from welcoming that someone again. A part of me dies when I bid someone goodbye.

I envy those who can say hello and goodbye rather casually, treating them as mere words or expressions, parts of everyday common speech. They may have no conviction or commitment, but they spare themselves from the self-inflicted agonies of sentimental fools.

Justice

I truly enjoyed reading Madelline V. Romero's blog entry on February 25, 2009, titled "A Sad Sight" (http://mvromero.livejournal.com/).

Madelline, a fine young lady all of 27 years and a native of Tarlac, was a former colleague at a USAID-Winrock International program called AMORE. She writes rather well. She hit the mark, so to speak, in the blog entry I am referring to.

At a time when we reminisce and celebrate a former president's greatest legacy, i.e. toppling a well-entrenched dictator and restoring democracy, the downfall of overlords and despots, and their cohorts, is very exhilarating. Madelline's blog entry almost sent me into an adrenaline-driven fit of frenzy, much like the tarantella dance, with its feverish, wild, erotic gyrations which are supposed to be an antidote to the bite of a venomous tarantula. It also imbued me with the fresh realization that karmic laws operate in our midst. It is almost a universal belief that we reap according to what we have sown. Madelline's tyrant (who was also my tyrant for the whole of nine months) could not escape or be exempted from these "laws of life".

Revenge may be sweet, but it is morally wrong. Divine Justice is sweetest.

Farewell

Today, Cory Aquino, former president, is being laid to rest. She is among the handful of public figures who are well-loved and revered by my countrymen, and who deserve that love and respect. All other public figures outside of this exclusive circle are vile and loathsome creatures.

I must admit that probably like many other Filipinos, I've relegated the Cory persona to the back of my mind. I have my own personal daily struggles to contend with; seasons, hardships, and illnesses to endure; dreams that have to be kept lit.

I was 23 when Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, 26 when People Power swept Marcos out of power, and now I'm 49 when Cory, Ninoy's widow, is being laid to rest; a beloved human being, public servant, and mother. I'm thankful that because of my age, I'm able to fully appreciate the events of the day.

Writing about it, though, does not do justice to the gamut of emotions and sentiments that spring from these events.

Eclipses

Midmorning last July 22, my wife took out a curious keepsake. It was a simple, yet ingenious and functional "solar eclipse viewer", fashioned out of cardboard and old-school photographic film, the kind used by professional photographers before the advent of digital cameras.

The keepsake had these written on it: 24 Oct, 12:56 PM, Eclipse '95. I wrote those words almost 14 years ago. It was a providentially clear, sunny day. It was a regular school and work day, but people turned it into an impromptu holiday. Everyone who had a clear appreciation of the rarity of the phenomenon was outdoors. I was with my daughter, Denise, who was ten years old at the time.

Then the eclipse happened. It was eerily beautiful. It wasn't total, as best as I can recall, about 75% at most, but it was a sight to behold. The keepsake proved very functional. Denise and I took turns with it. I cannot remember now exactly how the eclipse looked like, but I can never forget the wonder in my daughter's eyes.

It was now Paolo's turn to be awed, and the keepsake's resurrection from storage proved opportune. This eclipse was of lesser magnificence though, but with my son's penchant for comets, asteroids, and meteors, it was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences for him. He finds delight in natural wonders, as well as man-made ones such as electronic things and gadgets.

These eclipses were for my ten-year olds. They were for their respective ages when awe and wonder remain with a person for life. We adults tend to trivialise and logicise everything. We smother both curiosity and fascination with rationale. Where is the wonder in having an explanation for everything? There are some things that we should not or never know. For some things we should always be kept in suspense. Or in the dark. This way we will remember the smallest details of events when they happen, or when thin, faint rays of hope slice through the darkness in our lives. It is like the sun coming out of an eclipse. Beautiful.

The secrets to bliss,

I believe,

are illiteracy,

simplemindedness,

a narrow,

very provincial

and constricted

outlook;

Knowledge,

while it gives one

a sense of pride,

of self-worth,

of security,

is also the source

of so much unhappiness.

-B. V. Sulit

Hope Springs Eternal

I have newfound hope. I know it still has some loose ends, but it is hope nevertheless, an antidote to frustration and despair.

I don't know for how long this hope will last, for all I know its lifespan could only be up to the time I complete my verifications, or my enquiries are answered. But I am at once passionate about it, people around me notice my upbeat-ness. I cling to it and give it my all, I lose sleep, I discuss matters like a madman.

Everything may be just a house of cards, but I don't care. A few hours, or days (I hope I can extend it indefinitely) of delectable hope is certainly much better than direction-less existence.

A Poem For You On Our 25th

Our dreams, our passions

have always been intertwined,

we simply cannot let go;
The novelty of encounters
is always there,
as well as a bit
of guilt that you are
the stranger in my fantasies;
It was only yesterday
was it not?
When we hungered,
we yearned
to be one
daily, we scrounged
for both time and place
and every bit
of opportunity,
every ruse, every excuse
to claim our dreams,
to wallow in sweet, salty sweat,
to endure,
to revel in
rapacious desires;
On our humid nights
that entice, we plead
for light not to come,
we beg to indulge unstoppable
in our gluttonies, as we will always
be each other's stranger.

To My Dad On Fathers Day

Dear Dad,

Thank you for teaching me how to ride a bicycle, and swim, and tie my shoe laces. I needed all that.

Thank you for being kind and upright, for being patient, for always being there at the doorway during each first day of school, for being a good provider, a good father and husband.

Thank you for all those Friday evening trips to Quiapo Church, the Sunday afternoons at the Luneta Park after Mass, the weekend picnics at Mount Makiling, the summers in Baguio, and the annual "visitas iglesias". I needed those.

Above all, thank you for your love and your time. If I can be even only half of what you were to me as a father, then I will be a good father to my own children and a good husband to my wife.

I love you.

From your son.

A Brief Life

Excuse me

I'm just passing through

and I wish to see

everything beautiful and ugly, too.

I want to see and be

where a mountain meets the sea

or where a swift river

empties into an ocean

or where a vast golden meadow

melts into the bluest of sky

or on a summit's solace atop cumuli.

Inasmuch as I want to see happy faces

with crow's feet and wrinkles that coax

skins into pleasant smiles

I need as well to glimpse tears

that well up and fall

into the depths of sadness and despair

grimaces, too, and the empty gazes of hopelessness.

I may need to immerse myself

in gluttony and vile

and turpitude by all names

to be indifferent

to wrinkled, begging palms

to pleading, dirty faces of street urchins

if only to be human, to be frail

to be out of grace, to be damned

to glimpse both beautiful and ugly

taste and smell delicious and revolting

experience happy and sad.

As of now I take

painfully slow steps,

at times, unsure,

towards the light of my longings,

my dreams, my pinings.

A cousin in Canada e-mailed me one time, asking if I was proceeding with my intentions of applying to become a nurse in Australia or New Zealand, as he had learned from the grapevine. I told him no, because applying to become a nurse in these countries entailed raising a small fortune, which I simply am unable to do.

I added that many nurses here are becoming despondent over things like the visa retrogression in the U.S., and the virtual absence of nursing jobs locally which complicates the need for a minimum of a year's worth of nursing experience in order to apply for eligibility abroad.

I also wrote him that given my current situation, I simply can't be picky about jobs, taking whatever comes along, even those which are not related to nursing, just to make ends meet.

My cousin, ever the person with purely good intentions, e-mailed back and extolled the virtues of life here in the islands, mostly detached from the crass materialism of life in a first-world country. He is pursuing a "minimalist lifestyle", he said.

That brought a chuckle. In a first-world country, a minimalist lifestyle is an option, but in our poor, corruption and scandal - ridden islands, it is a lifestyle forced upon the great majority of the populace. It is a way of life, a philosophy even, that seems to nicely complement the Filipinos' deep religious beliefs, amongst them that suffering is one of the paths to our rewards in the afterlife, in Heaven.

Seriously, I believe that minimalists fall under two categories: Genuine minimalists, i.e. those who are minimalists from Day One; those who have always led simple, uncluttered lives; those who probably don't know that they are labelled as such. The other one is what I call the satiated minimalists, those who have been epicures to the fullest sense of the word; those who have engorged themselves on worldly pleasures of all kinds. Now, failing health and the pangs of conscience and guilt have caught up with them, and to reclaim some semblance of good health and to save their stinking souls from eternal damnation, they throttle down their previously unbridled consumption and now call themselves minimalists.

"" For those who wish to lay claim to fame, search the deepest recesses of your soul for even the slightest sign that you deserve it. "" - B. V. S.

To My Mom On Mother's Day

Dear Mom, I want to tell you that I love you, while we still both breathe the sweet breath of Life, and not when it's too late. Of what use is it if you are unable to read the words I write?

I have many memories of you, some clear; others, vague and indistinct; some pleasant, and otherwise. But I remember them all with the fondness reserved for sons reminiscing about their great and loving mothers.

We are physically apart and God knows how much I miss a mother's tender warmth. I may have been rendered somewhat indifferent and calloused by Life's trials and disappointments, but they are precisely the same things that make me want to again run to you and have my little wounds and hurts soothed by your tender love.

I'll always thank God that we, your children, are amongst the fortunate ones to have been blessed with one of the best mothers there was, there is, and there ever could be. We can only be grateful for all that you have done and sacrificed for us, but we could never be able to pay you back even if we wanted to. Your love is priceless and beyond comprehension.

Thank you, Mom, and Happy Mother's Day.

Life is a vast ocean interspersed with isles of happiness. In-between are our lonely journeys.

I'm now officially accredited by the Renal Nurses Association of the Philippines (RENAP). I checked their website and my name is included in the list of those who passed the accreditation exam given last April 24. Thank You, Lord.

When I'm at home with no professional pursuits (like right this very instant), I'm able to catch a glimpse of depression and what it does to the human spirit. Of course, this is not the first time that I've been in this territory, but it has been a good several months since I last slipped into its depths.

This state and frame of mind make me overly critical of myself. I see my life as a constant vacillation between euphoria and despair, success and failure, with prolonged stays in the latter.

The weather isn't cooperating at all. We are having rains when it should be the thick of summer. World weather has gone awry. Sunshine and blue sky and puffy white clouds have always provided me with emotional lift, but I don't think I can count on this bit of help for the next several days.

The nurse forums I go to lately don't help, either. They confirm that nurses here are an exploited lot. Health facilities here charge nurses sums of money for hospital experience, even if we volunteer our services. Can you imagine that? There's a dearth of jobs especially for nurses my age. I know I have to acquire at least a year's worth of good hospital experience, but now I'm not so sure if I'll have even the slightest chance that I'll be able to do it.

It seems all to easy to succumb to despair and depression, slide down into its familiar depths, and be wrapped in its inviting embrace. But it's something I want to avoid right now, and so I fight back. Not with medication or anything of the sort, but with stubborn spirit and blind faith. I'm reminded of a poem I wrote several years back, when I was similarly situated, in a limbo of sorts, with uncertainties as my only faithful companions. It all comes back so clearly now, line by line...

Prayer

And this I pray: That my dreams

Stay on with me, and wedded

To my stubborn hopes shall concoct

The most potent of elixirs,

To banish each and every squall

And pall of gloom,

To consign into nothingness

The murmurs of failed causes;

To spring forth pleasant surprises

For the soul, to dab a pallet

Of colors on gray days;

That may inner strength be

At my beck and call

To foil devious hopelessness and arrest

The sinister plots of melancholy,

And this I pray: That may this prayer hold.

In God's own time
all things are wrought,

the rise and fall of nations,
the sweep of the tides,

the birth of a star,
the blooming of a flower.

My hemodialysis training has come to a conclusion. Like anything special, it has its bittersweetness. My four co-trainees and I will now continue with our respective journeys. We'll probably see each other again a few more times, and then that's it. We still have the wonders of e-mail and texting, but there's nothing like pure, personal interaction.

I learned a lot from these younger people, my co-trainees and the training staff, and I would like to think they learned something as well from this old fogey.

I shall miss our dialysis patients, the sweet ones and the grumpy ones; the philosophical ones and the resigned ones. They all make me grateful that I still have my good health, and they inspire me to keep it.

Caregiver's Prayer

I've always wanted to write a prayer for nurses and caregivers, and I've finally done it. Here it is:

Caregiver’s Prayer

Lord, please help me to give comfort, as I needed comfort, and You have comforted me,

To give understanding, as I needed it, and You have understood me,

To show kindness, as You have always been kind to me,

To be cautious, to be gentle, to be alert and possessed of wisdom,

To be compassionate and respectful, to always advocate for what is good and just,

Please help me to be all these each day, towards my colleagues, my patients,
and to everyone else I meet,

Help me give out all these good and virtuous things now whilst I am strong and able,
and free from the ravages of illness and disease,

For as Time passes inexorably, and Life is uncertain as ever,

My body shall become frail, ill and diseased, and I shall need, more than ever,
care and comfort from You, O Lord, and from those who will look after me.

Amen.

A Golden Milestone For A Wonderful Couple

04.16.2009

Today my folks celebrate their 50th year of togetherness in marriage. It makes me mighty proud. To stay married this long in this day and age is something of an anomaly, in this culture of "disposables"; but a wonderful anomaly nevertheless. It is something priceless, and the source of envy for those who have much materially but none in long, blissful relationships.

We love you, Mom and Dad. Thank you for making us, your children, witnesses to your love for each other. It has given us happy childhood memories. It was our refuge. It made us feel safe and secure through all these years, and up to the very last breaths we will take.

04.08.2009

I cannulated my very first AV fistula today. It was a success. About the only comment from my patient, Richard, was that he found me to be rather slow. I was quick to explain (and also honest about admitting that he was right) that I was being very careful about the entire procedure so that I would cause him minimal pain and discomfort. Which was very true.

I likewise confirmed that simplistic training videos on fistula cannulation techniques are just that, and that real-life cannulations are infinitely more "tricky" and dynamic. There really is no substitute for good (and substantial) hands-on experience with this procedure.

My learning curve, I observe, becomes steeper each day. I commit less mistakes (none in setting up the blood lines) in priming the lines and dialyzer, terminating the machine side of the session, and almost none when removing the fistula needles (there actually should be none as this is a phase fraught with risks of possible injury to the patient). I'm becoming more confident of myself with my newly-acquired skills.

I'm also increasing my interaction with the facility's patients, becoming more aware of their concerns (they're mostly about the financial and physical toll dialysis treatments place upon them); their diverse social strata (kidney disease does not distinguish between rich or poor, male or female, young or old); their behavioral idiosyncrasies (some are grouchy, some are stoic, some are full of exclamations during cannulation, some are so good-natured and good-humored that they are able to crack jokes during their treatment sessions). I see all of them as poor, unfortunate, brave souls who inspire me to be good in my craft so I would be able to give them the kind of care they want and need.

04.01.2009

This week I've started my hemodialysis hands-on at the Ospital ng Muntinlupa (Muntinlupa City Hospital), a government hospital. Its dialysis facility is majority owned and operated by B. Braun Avitum/Aesculap Academy on a percentage-sharing basis with the city hospital.

The facility is staffed by superb, very competent hemodialysis nurses and a technician, with cumulative experience in excess of 15 years, although the facility itself is less than a year old in operation. I would like to commit my trainers' names to memory, as I will forever be indebted to them for the initial nursing skills I'm acquiring in the specialized field of hemodialysis nursing:

Head Nurse - Angela Pitero
Staff Nurses - Elvis Ubas & Wency Rose Chua
Dialysis Technician - Edgar Santos

I, together with my co-trainees Mariel Jade, Mutya, Baron, and Nestor, am discovering that hemodialysis nursing is a mastery of nursing skills, machine, equipment, and the whole gamut of human interaction and emotions.

Setting up and priming blood lines and dialyzer are skills my preceptors can do with their eyes closed and under five minutes. I can do it in 30 minutes or more, with clamps and ports (believe me, there are many of them) still erroneously open or closed and with air bubbles still in the system!

In a facility with just three dialysis machines, and with a patient to machine ratio of 2:1 for a 10-hour shift, the hemodialysis nurse ought to be able to move with both swiftness and fluidity, and at the same time be able to provide adequate patient monitoring and care, and essential nursing interventions as called for.

My goal is to be able to do as such.

03.25.2009

I'm halfway through the didactics of my hemodialysis course. We're quite a big group, more than 40 in all and, expectedly, there are groups within this group, circles within the big circle.

It does not fail to surprise me that with our vaunted hospitality and friendliness as a people, the majority of us are intrinsically shy and aloof, not quick to strike a conversation with strangers. I myself am managing with friendly one and two-liners, professional queries to and discussions with my more knowledgeable and experienced colleagues, as well as smiles and gestures of politeness.

Our preceptors are all experienced and thorough professionals in nephrology and hemodialysis, save for one or two who are obviously neither nurses or doctors and who are markedly more into sales and public relations and which fact, as a consequence, is very evident in their discourse.

All in all, there is this eagerness to learn all there is to learn about hemodialysis which, in all likelihood and apart from our common aspiration to become full-pledged hemodialysis nurses, also stems from wanting to make the most out of our pecuniary and time investments.

03.21.2009

I am eternally indebted and grateful to all those who have taught me, from my earliest childhood scribblings and utterances, to my present-day knowledge and skills. Some, if not all, knowledge eventually becomes obsolete, but if the perpetual curiosity is there then one is set for the road to further discoveries and, consequently, more knowledge.

It is precisely the reason why I find it laborious to tolerate my son's educators in Science and English. I haven't become intellectually superior and arrogant over the years; there is still so much to learn and numbers continue to stupefy me. The truth is, my inadequacies make me humble. Pretending to impart knowledge when you actually cannot, is another matter altogether. It is a crime against knowledge itself. It is superlative crassness. It obliterates curiosity and perpetuates ignorance. If my son's educators were like viruses, they would be like the Black Death, effectively decimating knowledge by the tens of thousands.

03.21.2009

I feel guilty that at times I have to learn about other people's misfortunes first before I can have a full appreciation of the many blessings I have. I take so many things for granted.

I learned yesterday that a nursing classmate and friend lost her marriage only very recently. And to think I thought they had it all made: A nice house, beautiful children, expensive late-model cars, annual summer get-aways, etc. They had everything, or at least nearly everything. I told her I felt genuinely sorry for her, her children, and the marriage. She's a brave soul and she's optimistic. She's moving on.

My parents are celebrating their 50th this year, and my wife and I, our 25th. A wonderful coincidence! These marriages are strong and spiritually-blessed (if not materially). They are a rarity nowadays as families become besieged from all fronts by all sorts of imaginable forces which aim to tear them apart.

I already have some of the best things in life: A loving wife, two wonderful children, a family steeped in "old school" values and traditions and, most importantly, deep and relevant spiritual beliefs and commitments.

Love Poem

03.19.2009

I’ve noticed that I’m apt to be reflective and sentimental during lulls from activities dictated by necessity (my job, household chores, etc.). My views change from mundane, trivial, to one that is pure love and appreciation of spiritually uplifting and aesthetic things.

During one such lull, I was suddenly overpowered by an intense longing for those whom I hold dear, most especially those with whom I could not be with.

I wrote this poem for them:

A Love Poem

For whatever it’s worth
To declare that
I hug you in my dreams,
And summon memories
Of our togetherness
In my space and solitude;
Time is swift, and
Life is fleeting, and
I may not look into
Your eyes or hold
Your hand again;
You or I
May choose to go, or
Against our wishes,
Be called to leave,
Without so much as even
A glance back
At the ghostly trails we create
In time, or the yellowed pages
With fading words I wrote.

A time for poetry...

03.18.2009

When my cousin, Zony, died November of last year, I felt compelled to write her a poem, if only to vent my sadness. We’ve not seen each other for almost 30 years, I believe, since she left to work as a nurse in the U.S. I have many fond memories of our childhood together.

Here is that poem:

To Zony

Farewell, friend and loved one,
You left while
Some of us were having fun,
And others were
Uncertain of their tomorrows.
They all come back, overwhelmingly,
In torrents and waves,
Memories of long ago, faint
But comfortably familiar:
The afternoon games we thought
Were endless,
The beetles, the cicadas, the grasshoppers, the frogs,
The tin can phones, the rusty tricycle,
Our "Sound of Music" choir
In falsetto voices,
And Denny's black and red
Chinese checkers chips
Which I stole and hid
But for which deed I was found out!
The years and wants and needs
Took their toll on ties,
But you were just there, even
Just thousands of miles far,
But you were there, as you have
Always been tucked away
In my mind and heart.

03.11.2009

My final night at my call center job. No, they didn’t kick me out. I quit. I had to decide to advance my nursing. It’s basically now or never.

The present time is fraught with economic hardships and this job, although it doesn’t pay that much, pays regularly.

I forge ahead on faith and prayer.

02.25.2009

I completed most of my IVT cases yesterday, and made two new friends, Dennis and Karen. Dennis is a second-courser like myself, but much younger at 32. Karen, on the other hand, is two years younger than my daughter, Denise.

I see in them both the dedication to become genuine nurses, although like the majority, we have plans to leave the country. How sad! And how eloquent that our plans to pursue our dreams elsewhere speaks of our general perceptions about economic opportunities here.

We were wowed and awed by our fellow nurses at ER. They displayed such presence of mind, confidence, teamwork, and venipuncture skills. Do I still have the time and opportunity to become like them?

02.17.2009

Yesterday, Karla, our boss bade us goodbye. She was also a casualty of the economic recession. Of all the people they had to let go, I cannot understand, for the life of me, why Karla was amongst them. Those who survived the purge are, in the majority, “boot and ass lickers”, as I call them.

I can count Karla as amongst the most wonderful bosses one could wish for. She is a kind and gentle soul, always thinking of other people’s concerns. She would make a good nurse, if she chooses to become one.

Now us remnants are left to fend for ourselves. We’ll probably be broken up and redistributed to other groups. That will then be the conclusion of it all.

02.14.2009

I’ve completed what is considered a ritual “must” for nurses nowadays, a three-day intravenous therapy training course. I’ve been thrown into the company of my fellow nurses. I belonged, so to speak. Each nurse, though, still has his/her individuality. Each of us has a story to tell. Each has fears and dreams. We share a great many things, including our anxieties about causing pain and discomfort to others, which we do not want. Nurses, at least the ones I’ve known thus far, are among the gentlest creatures on earth.

02.09.2009

Today I bid goodbye to friends. No, I wasn’t going away. They were. Casualties of the economic recession. They were not healthcare workers like myself. I’m a misfit: A middle-aged nurse in a call center, working with predominantly young and younger people. I feel some pride that I’m not an economic casualty just as yet. To think that I’ve bested many of these young people gives me some additional measure of confidence. But my good feelings are short-lived. I kind of miss their annoying, juvenile quips and their seeming lack of seriousness. But they’re young! Just like I was 20 or so years ago. My friends, I really enjoyed our relatively brief time together; working with you and having a glimpse of the more personal aspects of your lives. Move forward! You’re young! The world is yours!

As for myself, I shall move on like what I’ve always done. God and my loves inspire me to go on.

02.04.2009

There are occasions when matters are simply very fluid, when much is accomplished with the minimum of effort. These are the times when thoughts or ideas race through my mind, and many are forever lost as I fail to write them down. Often I would make an effort to devise some sort of memory aid to help me remember. At times it fulfills its purpose; other times, the sought-after concepts are relegated to my subconscious, almost irretrievable until some event, be it significant or otherwise, sends them back fo the forefront of my mainstream thoughts.

01.26.2009

It dawned on me that life may be compared to being enrolled in an art class. Each one of us is given the tools of the trade, and at the end of the term we will have come up with our creations.

In this class we are given free rein to arrange and rearrange, construct and de-construct, think, compare, strategize, with the end in view of producing something which may be good or bad, ugly or beautiful, beneficial or not. Each one has to come up with something to show for one’s time in the class.

There are those of us who will produce masterpieces; some, only possible mediocrities; others, merely blobs of color of clay, proto-creations at best.

Which one will I be?

01.25.2009

Whenever I have the luxury to engage in introspective thinking, I would debate on the worth or usefulness of my collective aspirations, hopes, and dreams, and the efforts I exert and the activities I plan so that I could be met with some measure of success.

Life is quite brief and so why do I spend a great part of it aspiring for things I may never have, or trying to become what I may never be? I personally know of a handful of people who have checked out with much unfinished business, unfulfilled dreams, and unforgiven sins. What makes me think that I may fare any better escapes me.

Life spans may be on the rise but the majority still die before they become a century old. Centenarians are still a rare breed. Also, there are no guarantees that the quality of life keeps pace with its length. This is my main reason why I do not desire or even imagine myself growing too old for my own good, i.e. becoming a liability and a burden to those around me, unable to perform even the most basic of daily activities. I’d rather be dead than find myself in such situations.

Introduction

At almost half a century old, many will wonder at the wisdom (or folly) of starting (or attempting to start) a chronicle of my musings, or even why I’ve decided on a second vocation of nursing. I say each time is opportune to embark on new adventures in life, since our allotted time is brief. If I did not start anything, I may miss discovering additional beautiful and wonderful moments destined for me, like touching the lives of other people and inspiring them, and discovering new talents I was born with and didn’t know I have.

Life is truly a journey of discovery.