Lola Maria's Homecoming

Text on brittle, acidic papers

Soprano crescendo from the pious women of the church

Belting archaic hymns of the gates of heaven

And the power shuts down in a snap.

In a snap the light bulbs glare

Charged full by the day tonight they are proud

And the singing resumes

Pious women, belting archaic hymns of the 

Gates of heaven.

Words on acidic papers, sheets of hymns

They glow, they beat, they speak

To the living who sings the archaic hymns

Of the gates of heaven

Shining ever brighter than the emergency bulbs on the ceiling.

Not a verse interrupted 

When the power shut down in a snap

The pious women of the church

Resume in their high pitch singing

The archaic hymns of the gates of heaven.

And the body lies still

Doesnt blink, doesnt twitch

Impervious of the momentary darkness 

Subdued by the high pitch singing

Of the archaic hymns of the gates of heaven.

If not for the light bulbs

And the soprano singing of the pious women

I would have never understood

The archaic hymns about the golden gates of heaven.

I Found Romans In Singapore

I am currently reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. It is a fictional autobiogaphy by an elderly preacher, Reverend John Ames, in the small town of Gilead, Iowa. It is a very long love letter for his seven-year old son who will have a few memories of him. Reverend Ames knows he is dying. 

There are novels that can be read with speed reading techniques. But there are novels you don't want to end; you read the words so slowly savoring how they are placed next to each other, forgetting that they actually make sentences. They produce sound in your head just as soothing as they are felt. Gilead is one of those novels. And it makes you restless. It causes you to revisit your life and try to recount the events that lead to the present, and you dig so much more to find expression for the wandering thoughts, fears and hopes that confronted you so strongly towards what makes you up today.

I write this to do just that. It is self-serving at the outset, but it is my hope and intention that the glory that will spring out of this be bound nowhere else but heavenward. 

Romans 4:20-22

20 Abraham never wavered in believing God’s promise. In fact, his faith grew stronger, and in this he brought glory to God. 21 He was fully convinced that God is able to do whatever he promises. 22 And because of Abraham’s faith, God counted him as righteous.

I find myself in Singapore April 13, 2012. I remember I made a promise to myself and confessed to a dear friend that the first country I will visit outside of the Philippines is not going to be in Asia, with the exception of South Korea. I found myself in Singapore April 13, 2012.

Romans 5:3-5

3 Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5 And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

I am here to look for a job. 

I send out hundreds upon hundreds of applications to companies using different job boards. The days crawl into weeks. I expect the weeks to crumble so they can not form into months. I hope the months to decompose as days form into another weeks that eventually form into another month. The calendar is so imposing a tool its numbers actually tick like an impending time bomb. 

Romans 8:24

24 For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?

And so the months and the weeks and the days go on. They never take a break in reality. But they tend to slow down and accelerate depending on how you see them roll down the universe. You hope against hope that they have the moral obligation to support the rhythm that plays by your present circumstance. 

Romans 10:11

As the Scripture says, "Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame."

Two months of complete silence and a company calls. A good company calls. I take an online assesment. Success. I take a reasoning exam. Success. I do a gruelling first round of interview. Success. I prepare for a terrifying final interview. I come out of a final interview that is like a black-hole; I know scientifically that is not possible but the discovery of Higg's boson comes at this very same time I need to spell the connection just for levity to keep vivid remembrance. And to come out of a black-hole is unheard of so it is one geeky way of saying: Success! 

The day after the first Success another company calls. Another good company calls. I sit down in a less gruelling interview. Success!

Two Successes in two consecutive days and the months and the weeks and the days rejoice in their utmost as they are freed subject from the imposing pressure of a conscious soul unfairly guarding their every move.

I was here to look for a job. 

I tried to diffuse the experience in a less dramatic way, injecting ambitious humor and defiling grammar protocols. This is to take expression that while the journey was extremely trying and stretching, it was in passing just like a cherished memory: you relish the outcome more without deliberately disregarding the process. There is an inherent peace. Joy. C.S. Lewis put it down so succinctly: It is an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any satisfaction.

Romans 15:13

Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you will abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit referred to here is Christ's Spirit that has been promised to dwell within us. Christ humbly submitted himself to the Father's will in complete obedience to the point of dying on the cross only to rise again after three days. The same power in Christ's resurrection is made available to us all through faith in the finished work of Christ. 

Andrew Murray could never be more terse in writing that "the one great work of the Spirit, as the Spirit of Christ, is to make glorified Christ always present in us -- not in our thoughts or memory only, but within us, in our innermost being, in our life and experience."

My experience in Singapore thus far is not a unique experience. I have heard numerous, wonderful accounts of how they have fared, failed, succeeded and survived a common issue that besets faith or just plain ardor of ambition to many Filipinos and foreigners in this foreign land. Some ascribe to luck or unfounded, plain course of fate. 

For me, it is another story of God's faithfulness and of his mercy that is new every morning. Every morning I wake up to the sight of the most thoughtful of friends: Katrina, Jed, Diane. I read encouraging text messages from family and good, old and new friends here and back home. All these display God's grace in full splendor.

The book of Romans is Paul's letter addressed "to all in Rome who are loved by God..." written while he was in Corinth after recently coming from two to three years of hard labour in Ephesus.

I found Romans in Singapore.

Why I Love Coming Home To Kabacan

I'm not good at summoning memories of glorious experiences. And to address the threat of a failing faculty to upgrade remembrance into a confrontational encounter with packets of memories about to be discarded, I write this blog entry.

So I begin by saying that I am in Kabacan, my hometown. And I am going to write something about this town only to serve one purpose: to remember that at the exact moment I was typing this sentence, "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" of The Beatles was playing in the background, a fitting accompaniment to a realization only captured in this line - 

"Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da life goes on, brah!!!" 

Yes, emphasis on 'brah' that screams out a batallion of unexpressed battlecries. I don't care about the rest of the lyrics' contextual relevance.

I will not write that unknown to many, Kabacan is a first class municipality. It is home to an excellent state university. To walk along the University Avenue in the afternoon when the sun is about to set is to witness a commanding picture of a promising future - you would know from the heavy but happy strides of students retreating from a full day's battle. There will be smoke all over the Avenue; these are fanned smoke from barbecue stands and kitchens of cafe's and diners that have mushroomed over the years. Business is good in the avenue. And the faces of the people that walk along this path reflect simple joys and sharpened ambitions. When the sun rises the next day, the University is brewing with optimism and its colors green and gold reflect growth and harvest.

I did not want to mention that in this town, residents can spell fear in many forms. But they can sing victory songs even better. Every stone in this town acknowledges that it once trembled restlessly when the sound of canons vibrated through the walls of houses and shattered many windowsills. This town is home to people who stood still on shaky ground.

I will surely not mention that life in this town may be slow, but life's motion can never be measured by how you watch the clock tick in staccato. 

But there you go. I've said those things. I have not even made mention of family and friends. 

"Happy ever after in the market place...

Desmond lets the children lend a hand...

Molly stays at home and does her pretty face...

And in the evening she still sings it with the band...

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!...

Lala how the life goes on...

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah!...

Lala how the life goes on."

The monuments of our memories are built by our active selection of things that appeal to our subconscious. We construct stories in the past where we play the protagonist. Our ability to summon these stories back to the present can be facilitated by the monuments of our memories we once built in the past. 

And the process goes on. 

"And if you want some fun, 

Take Ob-La-Di-la-do"

Rizal X

 Ang palabas na ito ay tungkol kay Rizal. Pero hindi rin.

That's how the play started--a caveat flashed in bold letters onto a wrinkled, white tarpaulin that was quickly hauled up. Impressive start. There's something in that opening statement that sounded crisp and intelligent, and brave, more importantly. A show of defiance of some sorts. Or maybe I was just thinking too hard and got carried away. 

 

Unlike most Rizal plays that have already been staged, Rizal X is not about a loyal retelling of his novels. It is neither about his biography nor a classical portrayal of a period I can only describe in images of sepia. It is rather an ambitious effort to bring Rizal to the present -- a move so delicate that it would become painfully corny if not executed with layers of artistic candor and vision. 

Rizal X was a play, and it was also a musical; not the Les Miserables type but bordering towards Rent or Glee, or the Glee Project to be more relevant. There were green, Party Pilipinas laser lights, too, to match the rock and roll. There were occasional scenes of kundiman and an interesting hip hop number and a few fluid, contemporary dances. And oh, there was also a short film--yes, they rolled down the wrinkled, white tarpaulin. And there was so much more: dialogues, monologues, animations and the humorous and witty packets of a standard Dulaang UP production we have grown to enjoy. Of course, there was Rizal. His women. His letters. His dreams. His disappointments. His 150^th birthday. And a huge party.

And there was us. I saw myself in this play. My sister was also there; even my neighbors in the province I used to play with. I remember the pink, cotton candy I played with my tongue when I was a kid. It was smooth, tangy. It disappears, never gets through my esophagus. Was thinking about a lot of things until the actors gestured their final bow. It was active thinking; I reassured myself. 

It was a play about Rizal, pero hindi rin.

I was thinking too hard and got carried away.

Bucket List

How to see a dying a man

With eyes that open less frequently now

In his sleep you witness the throbbing chest

Rises and ebs, rises and ebs.

How to see a dying life

The one you claim your own

You only claim it your own

When you realize it's no one else's,gone.

How to see a dying soul

That dies even before the death of life

Life does not bring it back to life

What happens then if life's gone first?

To see the world in the eyes of death

Is to see death in the eyes of life

How to see a dying man

Through the eyes of a dying soul?

Into the Wild

Loneliness, if only you could talk

What would you tell me?

You are not a person who could say

Hi, hello.

To talk back to me

Yourself you betray

But what if you could

What would you tell me?

Would you tell me to look

At the shadows and

Imagine their real faces?

Oh, shove me away

There is no gravity

Only the intensity to frolick

In your silence.

But if only you could talk

You could also then listen

And capture the spirits

Of the tides, of the sun's rays in arrows.

But I will have to wait

Until you talk back

And I will wait even longer

'til I grow tired of you--loneliness.

And though voice you do not have

You have the perfect memory

To remember that I

Once asked you to talk back to me.

Marley and Me and Me

My younger brother is studying to be a veterinarian. My bestfriend is a veterinarian. I have a cousin who is also a veterinarian. And so I need to mention that I have more than 10 good friends who are all veterinarians. I once filed for a leave of absence from UP to consider studying Veterinary Medicine at the University of Southern Mindanao, a leading institute for those dreaming to be excellent veterinarians.

I never became a veterinarian, and I believe I could have forced myself to become one but my passion for the discipline could only be limited to pure academics. I do not like dogs, or cats, or rabbits and iguanas. I cringe at the sight of someone kissing a dog's mouth wet with rabid saliva. And the smell of a cat's poop, I believe, is equivalent to a thousand rafflesia. I do not understand why some people get pets when there is so much more to do in life.

Chico and Delamar of Monster Radio once had a passionate discussion over this movie called Marley and Me. I remember Chico relating to the listeners that he was all in tears watching the film. Delamar was also in full affirmation with her squeaky yet endearing and intelligent voice. Listening to them while carefully trying not to fall asleep in a packed bus in EDSA somehow got me into a serious dialogue with myself: first issue was the accuracy of the term dialogue when in fact talking to myself would have been a qualified monologue; the other one was that I should try watching that film and find out for myself if I can laugh at or share in their sentiments.

And so today I watched the film, and boy I cried big time.

It is a story of a young couple played by Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston. They got themselves Marley when they moved to their South Florida home. They eventually had children and having Marley as a difficult dog to handle only made housekeeping and child rearing extra difficult for the couple. They brought Marley with them when the head of the family had to move to Philadelphia for a new writing job. It was in Philadelphia where Marley died and got burried by the family.

But the story of Marley is not just a word in a sentence, or a sentence in a paragraph. Marley was a labrador that bore witness to the growth of a marriage and a family. He was the first child that brought joy when the couple didn't have one yet. He was the pain of the household when he would cause havoc in the family living room. He was the unnecessary inconvenience for the couple when he would run amuck in an al fresco restaurant. He was the constant odd creature that had come to be part of a family's normal daily affairs. It was not just a labrador dog, he was Marley. And when he died, he was a brother to the children, and a dead child to the couple. He was the reflection of a pursued joy when getting there was against a person's perceived satisfaction. And his passing did not terminate the valid exercise of evaluating one's true desires.

Just like John, Owen Wilson's character, I am in a state where I feel there is a serious call for introspection. He moved to Philadephia Inquirer to write reports when he was already a good and popular columnist in South Florida only to find himself convincing his boss to allow him to go back to writing columns. The part in which John's ordeal with his imagined destiny as a writer was imposed in the movie in the course of Marley's death; and the angle of John's predicament in the workplace all shrinked to a measly dot on a plane of cosmic realizations of the importance of relationships and valued memories of an orchestra of what seemed to be a chaotic parade of life's defining events.

So the next time my veterinarian friends talk about their experience of calming down pet owners who worry much beyond the expected reaction of human beings over sick animals, I will no longer laugh at their poor estate. I will have the open mind to imagine how their lives, and dreams, and dissappointments have been shaped by creatures who cannot talk and advise but can only bark, and meow and yet be more human than me.