elek na belek

From Darkness, Light

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 10:37:00 -0800

From Darkness, Light
My Pen Mates,

The age of innocence does not exist until viewed in hindsight. Those years which we label as such are products of nostalgia; glowing reminiscences of youthful years, sweetened by a seeming lack of complexity and a limitless amount of tomorrows.

Yet there were dark days even then. When one lived in the moment, periods of longing and sadness did overwhelm-- did usurp ones ability to reason, to cope, to hope. Then the moment passes. Through perseverance, faith, or both, life goes on. Sometimes grotesquely damaged, sometimes strengthened. But the tomorrows keep on coming despite our struggles. We reach that luxurious moment when we can call the past the golden years, of simple living, of freedom and energy.

When I became a parent I held no such perspective. I derived joy from the simple proximity of my family and the opportunity to be active with them, to share knowledge, nourishment and laughter. My kids are now in their teenage years and I enjoy them more than ever. But now I look back to when I was their age (due perhaps to some wisdom that comes with my personal journey to middle age), and remember that it was not so simple back then for me. It wasn't because my life was especially complicated or hard, just that I saw life through my personal prism which at that point was unfocused and yes, immature. So I had struggles which to me were far from trivial, at least with my as of yet poorly developed coping mechanism. Even my mistakes were not easily labeled as such. I believe I was not the only adolescent who lived the irony of digging deeper to find oneself, not realizing that I was creating a whole that starts swallowing me. Then the confusion and isolation sets in and the darkness overcomes. And it was sad and lonely. It was draining, boring, frustrating and mind-bogglingly senseless. Of course I did not reflect like this back then; I was trapped in my hole of immaturity and swimming in a sludge of unsettled hormones and various other chemical imbalances that floods youth. To me, it was just a series of issues and problems that bore down on me in waves I could not anticipate or figure out. I was in the dark and could not see beyond tomorrow, which as life would have it, kept coming and made me stronger and wiser. The light did come, although from where, was another question which the young will never find time to ask.

So here's the answer: in the moments when all there was was darkness within and questions without, a child who's loved remains a light who illuminates the hearts of his/her parents. Even during the dullest, most sullen moments, this child serves as a beacon whose presence reveals the shapes and figures of the rest of the world that allows the parents to navigate with hope and confidence. Even the shadows that the child's light creates assists in avoiding traps and missteps. It is this power to shed light even as they experience darkness within that allows a child, even innocent and immature, to reach tomorrow. And while the tomorrows that follow does erase the innocence, it is replaced in adulthood by an ability to see light where there seem to be only darkness. The power of a child to light up the world, is the one true gift that proves the meek are indeed blessed.

Mon

Discern

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 16:39:00 -0800

Discern
My Pen Mates,

Loaded some boxes in the back of the van this morning, bulk mail for processing for the church's Christmas collection. As I drove away, I looked at the rear-view mirror and had to do a double take; I initially thought the mirror was in the "dim" position, that which allows you to reduce the glare from the headlights of the car behind you. Reason was I could not see beyond the rear windshield because the reflection of the boxes on the floor behind the back seat filled the view. After jiggling the mirror and determining that it was in its regular position, I looked with a little more attention and things seemed okay -again. Seems like the angle of the glass and the color of the boxes plays a trick on the eye and I had to see beyond that to discern the cars behind me. For the rest of the ride, I found it curious that what I saw in the mirror depended on what I wanted to pay attention to; I could just as clearly determine if my cargo has shifted by focusing on the reflection, or whether a car is riding my gate by concentrating on the road behind me.

Now, by any measure, this is a trite observation not worthy of mention. All it is is a curious incident, one of those micro-fragments of everyone's waking moment that serves to keep the mind attentive. As pertains to how an insignificant event should be cause for reflection, I find it helpful to somehow find a simile between this and the way we look at life in general. It's nothing so deep that it's not been said before, but truly this is affirmation that what we see is a matter of choice. What draws our attention and what we choose to focus on can occupy the same space. Their mutual relevance may be non-existent, but to us as the observer, the juxtaposition can be ignored, observed, or as in this case, related to. Taking this meditation further, such is the germ from which progress grows: anyone making an association between disparate objects or ideas and finding a product of benefit is rewarded for making the connection. The mind processes it cognitively, and anyone who's ever fallen in love will admit that the heart does the same.....

Mon

Fogged In

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 12:39:00 -0700

Fogged In

My Pen Mates,

Missed my wedding anniversary, and my daughter's birthday before that. Then my birthday, and my brother's birthday came and went with nary an acknowledgment in this blog. Halloween's around the corner, so that means my parents' anniversary and my sister's birthday has come and gone; more dates I usually find time to reflect on but missed out blogging on this time around.

My NP insists my diet and exercise regimen needs a boost from the statin family; that without drugs mitigating my systemic proclivity to produce the bad cholesterol, I'm a "ticking time bomb". I could have done without the cliche.

Other things have occurred within the last three months. I've had to move the business (again) as a cost-cutting measure. Lease was up for renewal and the wise move was to cut the excessive overhead and relocate to more business friendly confines. I had to trade more room and greater privacy for better foot-traffic, but the decision was necessary. Hope it works out.

The decline in business prospects has lead to me consider a career change as well. I've been working on obtaining copies of my College Transcripts to have it evaluated by a Nursing school counselor to see if I have enough credits to make going back to school a viable project. I can't be idle, and if the time requirement looks reasonable, who knows?

Between back-breaking labor and general ennui_sprinkled over moments of self-reflection and yes, self-doubt_are periods of utter resignation and fear. The what-ifs overcame me; the imponderables nipped at my heels at every turn. When I steeled myself and focused on the positive, when I hoped beyond hope that things will change for the better, the tiny nagging smirk reminding me of the fragility of my condition still drew my attention! I meditated, I prayed, I exercised, I studied, did mental drills, ate healthy food, spent quality time with my family, performed simple manageable tasks both at home and work_ anything to take my mind off the funk it's in_ anything to mend my heart and will it to beat without distrust.

And today I'm willing myself to accept that I can overcome my trials and prevail over my challenges. There will never be an end to life's troubles_ true of my life and every one else's_ but we can choose to let go of the troubles that enslave us. We can do right by our own values and still get wrong/undesirable outcomes. It's not punishment for misdeeds, just lessons and opportunities to make better choices the next time around. And everything, everything, always comes back around.

When the fog does come descending again, maybe my experience from this current crisis of confidence will result in a faster rebound. As with time, I have to keep marching on. Age may make the knees weaker, but the march can only make the legs stronger.

I'm back to keep trudging on.

Mon

Unfulfilled Shadow

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 13:46:00 -0700

Unfulfilled Shadow

My Pen Mates,

It didn't belong there, but it was not unexpected; a shallow pool of water around a drinking fountain on a hot July afternoon. The playground's play structure just re-opened after a major upgrade, and kids from the neighborhood with parents in tow have been converging on the place every afternoon for the last three weeks. Replacing the sand lot with bouncy, shredded rubber and adding a faux rock-climbing wall, plus a separate mini-complex for toddlers to five-year-olds, made the new park a hit at every age level.

I found myself seated on a concrete bench some distance from the play structures, fifteen feet from said puddle. The seven o'clock sun is still way above the horizon and its full reflection is squarely on my face. I would have moved to another bench, but from where I sat, I get a full view of the play areas, where Lauren was gleefully engaged in meeting new friends and interacting with old ones. I could have moved to the shade of a tree too, but thought better of it after an idea came to me.

With the sun above and its reflection on the ground, it occurred to me that I have to have cast a shadow on the ground behind me, and another that's projected upward into space. I turned around and there was my silhouette on the gravel, long now because of the sun's position on the horizon. Then I look up at the sky to see if cloud cover has (at least in principle), served to catch my shadow in the air....

Blue skies.

Again, in theory, my shadow would have endlessly traveled in space until it's projected onto something to show my profile based on the reflection from the puddle.

Aimless, idle imaginings of someone who's passing time watching children play. But even as Lauren intermittently called out "Dad!" so show me her monkey-bar tricks to jolt me back to the present, I flicked back to my musings just as easily, and marveled at the myriad possibilities of existence and the number of options to contemplate the present. How for instance, I could have interpreted the moment as an exercise in physics_ when I should have avoided double exposure to the sun's rays_ is something unique to my personality. It doesn't make me intuitive or smart, it just makes me me.

But that shadow in the sky is a simile of certain things we have in life. We know a shadow would be there in principle, evidenced by the linearity of light rays through space. We may not see the actual image, but theory affirms our hypothesis. As in life, we know certain things without necessarily witnessing the proof. Loving our children for example does not produce a tangible outcome that's directly attributable to the emotion. But how they exist in the world long after we no longer have any influence, is a direct result of that "sunshine" that at one time we shone on them. That love will be projected on their object of passion, or forever travel across the vastness of humanity and touch multiple lives. Because of our mortality, we may not see that shadow which proves what we know to be there, but faith in its existence assures the heart that it's there for the worlds benefit.....

Before I knew it, the sun has gone down a bit lower in the sky and its reflection on the puddle no longer shone on me. The moment has passed. Now I can see more of the playground without the glare. I miss the experience even as I was relieved of the momentary discomfort. My shadow will be up there somewhere. I know that even without seeing it.

Mon

Crossing Paths

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 18:57:00 -0700

Crossing Paths

My Pen Mates,

The biggest deprivation when one losses freedom is the absence of companionship. Physical imprisonment and isolation takes away human contact and that punishment, the separation from the open sharing of thoughts, ideas and emotions is the bigger punishment than the temporal pain of living behind bars.

When one is inhibited from the basic human need for companionship, the craving takes on a power demanding release; not so much physically breaking out but to reach out and vent the mental energy that takes the place of actually encountering another person. We've heard of pieces of literature, manifestos, novels and books composed by prisoners. Perhaps even music has been composed that more vividly captures the human condition by people who have experienced physical isolation. Fact is that when we cross paths with another human being, we close a circuit that guarantees the continuity of harmonic existence. Like food, clothing, and shelter, part of our fiber of being exults in our owning the attention of another. Be it for a moment or a lifetime, the sense of belonging to a person, family, community, or society always percolates in our psyche. In its absence, we find or invent substitutes to fill the need.

In modern society, this translates to forging relationships even in the absence of physical contact. Cyber/on-line romances have blossomed ridiculously beyond mail/postal relationships of bygone years. Instant messaging has shrunk the time chasm; whereas pen-pals used to nurture relationships through careful and thoughtful correspondence, impulses are more readily expressed and empty assurances and promises easily expressed in real time electronically. But the fragility of the human heart has not changed despite the new dynamics. Everyone still craves for attention and longs for someone to care. Be it someone new, someone from the past, or someone completely random, a vulnerable person can be convinced through persuasion, earnest or predatory.

So it's not just the physically isolated that belongs in this trapped subset of society; the emotionally imprisoned, the recluse, neglected, or deprived of a nurturing connection __ all can find someone or something to fill the void that fulfils their humanity. All it takes is a medium that extends their reach, and someone on the other end who craves the same...

Sad.

Mon

The Burden of Clarity

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 15:35:00 -0700

The Burden of Clarity

My Pen Mates,

Like sand between the toes on a beach walk, it is calming to fall out of structure and be free of the norm_ the norm being the world expectation of production, conformity, clarity.

I watched a television commercial where the subject was in soft focus, like the whole scene was being filmed through gauze. I was drawn to the images like one is forced to conjure a picture through fog. After a while, I stopped staring and just absorbed the message in its murkiness and lack of definition. In the short span of time I watched, I realized that the way it was presented demanded not my attention, but brought down my resistance to watching it. It's the counter-logic approach where instead of challenging you and ensnaring your attention, holding on to it, and driving in a solid, intractable message, this particular add sought to first lower your resistance; prepare your mind not by hooking it with a gag or soundbite, but by withholding detail and allow the viewer to watch instead of wonder. I found it both clever and revealing, and I liked the way it made me reflect on how much everyone needs a conscious moment, when we can feel a lack of demand.

For all our waking hours, we constantly need to perform tasks requiring focus, demanding detail and undivided attention. The underlying principle being the optimization of energy, reducing loss and waste, and ensuring good relationships. We are expected to communicate clearly, work efficiently, and cause no harm to others by complying with laws and ethical principles. Those who claim to live simply are by no means simple but rather careful people who put a lot of effort to living by the rules, thereby putting on extra stress by constantly clarifying those rules. The rest of us who label them as simple are otherwise preoccupied with working around those rules and stress out covering our tracks so our weaknesses are not uncovered.

Bottom line is that while we are well aware of a need to have sand between our toes_ to have that moment when we can just stare without seeing, to be awake without being challenged_ many cannot enjoy those times even when forced to do so. Modern life has pushed us all so much to perform and deliver that we've somehow learned to expect to see harshness at every turn, and goodness in the ether. Questing to be the best, the foremost, the least flawed; and having the whole world to compete against has created the paradox of a clouded mind needing to lurk in the fog to find itself. And finding one's self does not require the artifice of diversion or artificial stimulation. The only vacation from this burden is a trip of the mind, and accept the fluidity of the human condition; that the world keeps on turning for both the strong and the weak. The herd lives through conformity but conformity is not the norm.

It takes effort to unfocus, but it's small energy spent to find that corner of the mind where the senses are marginalized, and nature is allowed to swallow the spirit that keeps the heart beating......

Mon

Hear Me Bore

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Mon, 24 May 2010 13:41:00 -0700

Hear Me Bore
My Pen Mates,

I've come to the conclusion that I bore. There seem to be no more aspect to my conversation that interests me, my friends, and worse, my family. I have zero impact in the way of modifying behavior, attitude, or perspective. In fact, there have been moments of late when I pause mid-sentence and tell myself: what's the use? It will not make a difference one way or the other.

If character is destiny, I'm sliding into a diminished capacity state that even my well-being does not matter much anymore. Trying has worm me out; talking has spent my energy, perseverance has hollowed out my resolve. I cannot make a difference with my limited talent. Neither can I properly teach or inspire. What use is setting an example when everyone has blocked you off. What relevance does good intentions command when intractable elements preclude the motive from getting across.

How did it go this way? Somewhere down the line, I misread nuances in people as promises of grand potential. I was over optimistic, naive, and singularly self-deluded in creating castles in the clouds; blind to the frailties of my genes, ignorant of the defects of my upbringing, denying the essential shortcomings of both my intellectual and physical talents. Enthusiasm can only hide so much sin, and when the mask is shed, the despair I feel with my minuscule affect is maddeningly depressing. I cannot talk anymore for I have not changed anything from talking. No amount of skillful phrasing has delivered my message of hope, my vision of a bright future, and my earnest attempt to have people share my values. Failing these, I possess no demonstrable accomplishment that people can relate to. My companionship presents no joy, my words imparts no wisdom, my entreaties moves no one, my pleadings fall on unlistening ears. There's no use in talking when you find that not only do you bore others, you are a bore to yourself.

On another morning, when I get up on the correct side of the bed, my mood might click into a different slot; perhaps it'll latch onto a happier groove. For now self-flagellation seems comforting. Hey, if it's good enough for the Pope....

Mon

Never Original

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Sat, 1 May 2010 13:03:00 -0700

Never Original
My Pen Mates,

"The only thing new in the world is the history you don't know." I've often quoted this phrase not to denigrate anyone's idea but to keep me grounded when I start imagining that mine's more special than others'. Truly, I've become convinced that the basic framework of human imagination and thought process has long been established, and all the meat we've attached to it emanate from the fundamental structure long pondered upon by Socrates, Galileo, Newton, Fleming, Gates, Lincoln, Hitler, Khan, da Vinci, Perry, Van Gogh, Mother Theresa, and all the un-named firsts, infamous and pioneers in every field of human endeavour and experience.

It does not make thinkers less special, only mostly unoriginal. I am not saying we have made no improvements, but all we've been doing is work out the nuances of the broad strokes that have been layed down before us. The minor forks in the roads and the fine-tunings that's been done over the centuries are just constant tinkerings made prominent and magnified by how much impact they have brought to the dominant human norm. There are still myriads of these nuanced analyses and micro-fields of study and research to come; many may well supplant existing thought, and more will reveal newer truths. But like the body shedding old cells so new ones can develop, nothing new is ever truly found, only an understanding of what has always existed but heretofore misunderstood or misused.

As someone before me has astutely stated, "What is before us and what is behind us, are very tiny things compared to what's within us...". We, are very hard to understand; the process of that undertaking is the consuming quest that defines our existence.

Mon

The Rest Of The World

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 05:25:00 -0700

The Rest Of The World

My Pen Mates,

I write the number 2 like my dad does. My tendency to squirrel away small amounts of money without necessarily accounting for the amount of the loot I inherited from my mother. No one in my family read as much as I did in my teens; I attribute that to having dorm mates who loved to talk about books. As an adult, I like to keep a neat kitchen counter while cooking; I'm certain I did not pick that up from anyone in my family (neatness or cooking). Relatively, I pay closer attention to my health, but that's because I was a sickly child and received a lot of medical and home care growing up. These things stick, although which and wherefore is somewhat random _ and the absorbed trait may have required mere moments of exposure, fleeting as I've come to realize.

In Teach, my preceding blog entry, I sought to inspire rather than merely educate. Here, I wish to understand what makes individual development insanely diverse, maddeningly complex, and critically important to analyze. As challenging as it is to lay out an operating principle in raising a family, all bets are off when internal family dynamics meets real world. Whatever agenda belies the core interest of a family, the skewing influence of the rest of society that each member encounters ultimately shapes the character of a normally developing adult (emphasis on normal development as a subtle exclusionary reference to physical/mental components which present more unique aspects of personal character growth). Constant exposure to a particular stimulus does alter behaviour and certain generational traits such as I described in the beginning do emerge down the line. But as a person comes to fill his/her shell as an individual, all experiences that served as prelude to his basic character allows a period of immersion and eventual absorption of selective traits that are linked together like a mutating character DNA.

In a flash, someone could pick up an interest, skill, or understanding -- seemingly without prior hint of proclivity for such. It does not come out of the blue; but all that came before served to prime the system for that moment when the "self" is ready to take off. Then there are those traits which takes years of wilful focus to accomplish, where the self is disciplined and directed towards a goal. Since not everyone is primed to stay the course in such endeavours, the positive outcomes minimally stick. It's a talent, genius, a blessing; yet through the closest analysis, we seldom account for those "accidents" that produce the outcome. The challenge of understanding the human condition and how good families raise bad children and vice-versa is that once a child becomes its own person, the choices he/she makes, whether voluntary or coerced, is ever conditionally co-opted by the choices and influences of others. Multiple exposure to this dynamic of choice and accidents create, reveal, erase, or reinforce pathways which an individual ultimately follows. Given the variety of thoughts and emotions involved, it's not surprising that some identify their courses early, some come to it by happenstance, and others never really find their path. That's not to say that lives are consummated or wasted either way; people can find joy or misery in any condition. The world is filled with seekers, wait-and-see-ers, and the never-care-ers. But hope resides in the heart that sees the "self", then respects the rest of the world.

Mon

Teach

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 00:37:00 -0700

Teach

My Pen Mates,

Like a wound up spring coil releasing its tension, an idea erupted which I couldn't quite contain. I couldn't grasp its gist quick enough to form a relatable truth so I'm certain I could not fully share its value. It has something to do with what people do; the way they express their thoughts, and the way their personality creates an expression framework that's essentially selfish and conceited.

It's quite humbling to view the way knowledge is handed down from generation to generation. Even textbook knowledge can be filtered to reflect a general bias, which can be influenced by a select few; and by that criteria, what we learn as truth can be vastly different from what we actually know and are able to impart. So when we "educate" people such as those we work with, our friends, spouses, and children, what we are sharing is our interpretation of the world as we experience it. It is the truth as we understand it, and even when we fabricate facts, the lies get intertwined with the fabric of multiple truths that makes up who we are, so people listening to us form a "true" picture of who we are as they see it.

That's why wisdom is far more valuable than intelligence. Whereas the latter is associated with learning fundamentals and an ability to breakdown knowledge into component facts, the former has a broader focus on simple but ephemeral truths such as peace, happiness, and unity. I realized with the mental flare I've just had that these per se are not transferable constants that I can give my children to help them navigate a complex world in uncertain times _ a perpetual condition in any age. Possessing wisdom, an ability to simplify knowledge to make it relatable, and disciplined focus to stay on course to advance both _ while all important and admirable traits for a teacher and speaker _ does not elevate anyone beyond a pedagogue if imparting such does not inspire. In this regard, I think I've fallen way behind in dealing with my children.

I've fallen into the classic template of parenthood, where I know I know more, that it is my duty to teach, guide, and discipline them while they'll still listen, and with certainty that what I do, given the breadth of my experience, will serve to make them better people with less of the mistakes I've already made. After all, I'm sharing the wisdom gained from forty five years of experience plus a lot of book knowledge. If they'll only pay attention, I'm showing them a short-cut, a step-up if you will, so they can pursue higher goals, forge pathways I never attained, achieve more than what I ever could hope to do.....

And therein lies my failing. I'm perpetuating the fallacy that we can share with our children something more other than good habits and good memories; that somehow we can make them into people other than what they are destined to be. It's as if we can spare them the mistakes they are destined to make (the only true teacher), with all the guidelines we set. What I should be working on is becoming the person I want them to reflect; the person they'll look at and say: I can be like that, maybe better.

It's troubling to acknowledge that this is actually what advertising does! We see happy, healthy people wearing shoes, using shampoos and deodorants, eating yogurt, making pancakes, etc., and we want to emulate them. We buy into the idea of success, joy, harmony, and general well-being if we are shown those images. Why can't I be that advertisement for my family? I want to motivate them by being a person worthy of the aspiration. There never has to be any deception, coercion, or over-involved instruction. The actions are the guidelines, and the interactions are the instructions. I can never totally shield them from the mistakes they need to make, but if I can cause them to pause at important thresholds in their lives, and cause them to reflect on what they saw in me and how to prudently move on based on their own life lessons and those observations, then I would have gone beyond teaching them. I would have inspired...

Mon

Sunny Day

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 21:25:00 -0700

Sunny Day

My Pen Mates,

Rare is the writer who writes of things beyond his sphere of experience. Even fiction writers have to draw on imagination based on life-bias and special interest; research and relationships strengthen ones' credibility, but the creative essence needs to originate from the author's experience.

Sunny days are universally shared. It's become a euphemism for optimism, hope and happy times in everyone's experience. It evokes clarity, innocence, and imperviousness to the vicissitudes of those moments when darkness prevails. It's those days that you mentally grasp on to in loneliness, when it feels the walls seem to close in.

I'm willing my self to reminisce those days more times than I care to acknowledge. A functioning adult has to have that ability to cope these days, but in my case, I need to shoe horn that positive outlook into the current moment or risk walking barefoot down streets full of blades and embers. Each sunrise is an emergence into a cascade of staggering challenges and it's all I can do to flip the sunshine switch to allow me to overcome worry and start out of bed. Mentally, I have the power to focus on the tasks at hand, regain a perspective that pushes aside irrational concerns before it forces me to curl in a fetal position. I truly think it's a gift, that the mind power this requires is necessary for one to become balanced and equipped to achieve bigger things in the world.

That's not to say that positive things never come on their own. They do, and sometimes without the filter of wilful focus. The randomness of life is a boon to the over-examined existence, as trepidations of consequences are also constantly assaulted by the refreshing winds of change. As the waves pulverize rocks that line the shore, they also wash away detritus that can foul up the beach. The balancing act never ceases; the battle rages even when all there is is silence. I manage to crawl back to bed at night, sometimes oblivious to the weight of the baggage I'm bringing into the darkness. I'm sure I fail to be thankful sometimes even on those days when the load is light and these is less weight that brings me down at night. I pray for sunny days, thankful to have even just memories of it, grateful when sunlight caresses my face.

Mon

Conversation Over a Sink

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 03:39:00 -0800

Conversation Over a Sink

My Pen Mates,

This plays out with many variations, but is one of those household scenes when the heads of the household (typically the husband and wife), at the end of the day, preparing to go to bed, will have a disjointed conversation in the washroom as part of the evening ablutions. In the midst of washing, wiping, drying, hair and tooth brushing, and changing into jammies, a discussion ensues that's usually paid little attention to but is a precious bookend to close the day. A sample exchange:

"Is she still coughing?"
'No but I'll give her Sambucol later_ can you ask your son to bring it up?__ and the dispenser too!'
"Did he ask you about the party he's invited to this weekend?"
'But he just went to one. No, not too much partying; did you tell him?'
"Yeah"

'Where's the toothpaste cap! I don't know how everyone finds it difficult to simply put it back on_ it doesn't take two seconds!'
"She was so cute earlier; I caught her looking at herself in the mirror and she turned to me and asked if I thought she was chubby"
'Careful how you answer, you don't want her to be so self-conscious this young.'
"Did your son tell you that the dog peed on the carpet? I put powder on it, remind him to vacuum once it's dry"
'Again?'
"Hmnpth"

"They liked the invitation, thanks for helping me with that."
'Who was at the meeting?'
"Mary, Nannete, Carol, I left early."
'So did you get all the details for the content?'
"I'll email them."

'Did you return the tuxedo?'
"Yeah. You know that thing about the laptop in class? I don't like that; if the reason they have them is to take notes, yet they can record the lectures with it, then they don't really have to pay that much attention while in class. They can even pretend to be taking notes while doing something else."
'What's up with that? Instead of interacting in class, they'll end up saying: - it's okay, I'll listen to it later at home -, and they'll use that as an excuse not to do anything once they get home. I don't get the thought process behind that. Besides, they're overexposed to gadgets as it is; they should learn the old school way....'
"I'm glad they don't do it in our school."
'Watch, there'll be parents complaining about their kids turning into computer addicts.'

"Gosh, there's a hill of clothes that needs to be folded in the middle of the floor!" 'Delegate.....'

'I saw the young one with the silver necklace. She wore it to school today; did you give it to her?'
"It's fancy jewelry, but I'll take it back after she grows tired of it. Can you print me something before I leave for work tomorrow?"
'How's John?'
"He's back to work; I guess he's better."
'I don't think so, but that's good for him to work while he can.'
"I'm sure he'll only get bored at home...."

"Did you like the chicken? I put a lot of mushroom."
'That was good! I like the way you do that better than your Mom's; I don't get that slimy taste in the chicken.'
"I just wash it with salt."
'You cook better than your Mom now. Can we have spaghetti tomorrow?'
"Get some garlic bread."
'Can you call to remind me?'

"Did you talk to Leslie?"
'I already have it deposited, I'll tell you the amount tomorrow; or you can check on line.'
"I don't have the password, that's okay."

'Did she practice her new piece?'
"I told her earlier; I'll remind her right now."
'Stay in the room so she gets used to being watched. She'll pay closer attention to the piece too.'
"You fold the clothes then."

"Did you like the blouse I wore today? I got it for nine bucks!"
'The green one? You look good in bright colors.'

'Tell the kids to take their fluoride tablets.'
"Come on, let's watch the Olympics!"
'Be sure to remind me tomorrow to get garlic bread.'
...........

Mon

16802

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 11:33:00 -0800

16802

My Pen Mates,

Add all the the digits to a single number and the answer is 8. It's a lucky number for Grace and I, having been married 16 years (double 8's) on 08/08/08. They say the universe can only be explained through numbers, and the Creator Himself placed everything in the heavens and on the Earth using exact, measured, and pre-determined rules which our feeble minds can only interpret through mathematical principles.

That we need to count everything like times and currencies and population and rpm's and flow rates and frequencies and calories, etc. has become the essential component of modern existence, that it can be surmised that all of history is predicated about accumulation and accounting of what's accumulated. Think about that for a moment, and look at the big picture of wars and empires, of climate change and migration, of market shifts and chromosomal DNA's, down to the last purchase you made of a sack of rice which will last your family "x" number of days. We are all on an endless quest of accounting for something wherever we are; why, even the Good Book says that on the last day, you will have to meet your Creator and account for your deeds.....

To all people my age, 16802 is the number of days you would have been alive if you lived to be 46 years old. Today is my wife's birthday. After going to church, my son (who's on Winter break) and I drove her to work (yes, she's working on her birthday) then dropped by to see my mother-in-law for a quick breakfast. Funny how these days are made memorable by mundane events. In fact, the mere fact of knowing the number of times the earth has rotated on its axis in relation to how long one has lived seem trivial, because what's important is what one does as the world turns. But perspective requires such reference. If one's life is a ride on this earth and God provided the one way ticket for the ride, I think it's fair to note the moments of sunshine and rain, and of rainbows and shadows. While the beginnings and the ends are important, everything in between fills those margins and ultimately, the question truly has to be "did you enjoy your ride?" Numbers will tend to de-romanticize the experience, but as a point of reference, wouldn't it be nice to know that on day sixteen thousand eight hundred and two, you are loved beyond measure and the world is a better place for having you? Perhaps you being on the ride is what makes the next day something to live for - for a lot of people around you...... Happy birthday wife.

Mon

The Quandaries of Parenthood, Year 15

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Mon, 8 Feb 2010 17:56:00 -0800

The Quandaries of Parenthood, Year 15

My Pen Mates,

I became a father January 31, 1995; I was 30 years old. It was the proudest I remember myself being, holding a living being from the moment light first shone on it; screaming out its first breath as if shouting to the world "I'll give back tenfold whatever I take in!".

Many times during the first fifteen years, it seems that my son has really set out to do just that. He's become his own person not because of my influence but inspite of it; and somehow I am just coming to terms with that. Within each father is, I believe, a longing to fill a mold of his imaginings. Whether that's formed by dreams unreached, goals never accomplished, or hopes unrealized, there is an image of what's "best" for a child. This is true of me, although I cannot speak for the rest of fatherdom.

But gone are the days when my child clung to every word I said, watched and mimicked every move I made, and looked to me for answers to matters that perplexed him in his ever expanding horizon. It's not because I've ran out of answers, just that he has learned to define the type of questions he's seeking answers to. I still have confidence in what I know as an adult, still sure that there are still multiple wells he can draw waters of wisdom from if he so chooses; but at fifteen, I have to restrain myself from imposing my will and wisdom. Children grow at different rates, but at this age I think they require that their parents grow with them. Rather than being observed, monitored and guided, they claim an entitlement to be listened to, be active participants in determining a path, and be unrestrained when reflecting upon choices and directions. They mostly want to be left alone but don't have the skill to say it with tack.

I have not been very good at this stage so far. While striving to hitch my wagon to this growth spurt, I mostly alternate between my old role as dictator-supreme-commander, and content spectator of a puppet show of my own creation. Hard as I try to assure myself that his formative years were sufficiently complex to allow him to forge to the new stage with intelligence and confidence, I express my anxieties by questioning his abilities. This often takes the form of dissecting his motivation and inducing him to apply himself more. Every raising-a-teen book I've read talked of this matter of teenage focus (or lack of it), and the general impression that these beings lack drive at this point of their development. Of course this annoys me or I wouldn't be reading self-help books on teens to begin with! But I'm becoming convinced that deep inside, it is my inability to evolve as a parent (old dogs, new tricks) that's eating at me. I subjected my parents to the same angst (or so they say), and though I'll claim sophistication and not label this as payback, I think it is time to face the facts.

His empty stares are actually moments of cranial realignment; his loss of hearing is because of self-absorption; his messiness has to do with priority setting; his forgetfulness is due to hyper-accelerated neural network functions; his ticks and mannerisms are outlets for excess energy; his food consumption and sleep excess creates the growth spurt and surplus energy; his rebelliousness is his identity separation mechanism; his open defiance is to test the limits of his newly discovered identity; and the hygiene, well that's just gross.

All of this I have to play catch up with given my diminished status from being a demi-God! And all before I even get to the "Girl Chapter"of the story!! So I get upset. I get annoyed. And I'm quite sure in his eyes I become unreasonable and outright intolerable. He won't reason with me because he's dealing with his confusing issues, and he can't be convincing because he's still uncertain about his personal convictions. While he's struggling with the chemical changes of this period, his reasoning is more self-centered and not well expressed. His authority figures just need to keep still and exist solely to bounce thoughts and ideas by, not to make life more difficult with a "meeting of the minds". He doesn't think I know all this because I often sound irrational in his teenage mind. But you know what? I often am irrational and it's because I'm trying to make sense of the dance that he and I have to perform. I stay sane using this perspective.

Mon

High Value Positive Impact Provider

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 00:16:00 -0800

High Value Positive Impact Provider

My Pen Mates,

I picked up the first part of this article's title from au courant designations for people of interest; either public officials who need protection, or manhunt targets we need to be protected from. Both ways, the appellation is retroactive to what these individuals have accomplished and are currently perpetuating. It's an earned title that's oddly neutral, despite its ostensibly important word juxtaposition. Strange how wordsmiths come up with these things.

Anyway, that's a glimpse into one of my weird preoccupations: looking into the thought process behind effective message crafting. But this article has to do with external influences which affect people because they were delivered by positive leaders or organizations; providers who achieved high value not by their experience, good fortune, or charisma, but by their willingness to impart their life lessons to improve the awareness of people within their spheres of influence. Sharing is positive whether its active or passive; one does not require a podium to teach, sometimes merely living clean achieves more.

When a group of people, organization, society, or nation do goodwill, it could easily be brushed aside as an imposition. When different cultures and philosophies meet and an attempt to merge is initiated unilaterally, one party is apt to wonder: "What's in it for me?" or more likely: "What are these guys up to?" Presented with opportunity, the cautious reaction is doubt and suspicion. Trust is a rare commodity; but ancient man needed an ally, making it necessary to domesticate the wolf even as it worried about being devoured. Over time, the wild animal becomes a pet and a worthy, loyal companion to its owner. It took generations of cohabitation and almost surely a lot of fits and starts (and most certainly some violence and carnage was involved), but the house dog is regarded as a good companion nowadays. They are not for everyone, but they have come a long ways from their feral relatives and are considered tame and in their own way, helpful.

That's not elevating them to a "high value" designation, but it seems that we've all learned to trust dogs more than we trust people. We set up fences more to keep out people than wildlife; we value self-protection against being violated by another human being more than an attack by a beast. So even with the best of intentions, "foreigners" get sniffed and receive the sideways look, sometimes deservedly so out of self preservation, but oftentimes at the cost of losing an opportunity to improve and be positively impacted.

I'm a believer in human goodness and that intransigent societies devolve for lack of cultural diversity. The receiver can be a giver if an environment allows for dialog and integration. Sadly, history is tarnished with tales of Trojan horses that make it hard to trust outsiders. Yet all of human progress resulted when societies and cultures collaborated and shared resources, manpower, and ideas. When pride, prejudice, or fear prevent people from communicating, positive outcomes are overrun by the easy shelter of isolationism.

So how do we assess value? What sort of vision is required to weigh the benefit of a potential relationship, and in as much as this sounds like prospecting for a potential partner, are nations and cultures subjectable to the same scrutiny as individuals? If so, then it can be as simple as the "honey versus vinegar" simile. The impact provider will be of greater value only to the extent that the subject or object makes itself accessible and palatable. Resistance obviously hinders, but even honey can repel if it's bottled. Ah, the complications of relationships; it can cause endless frustrations even with the best of intentions!

Mon

What was, What is...

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 17:42:00 -0800

What was, What is...

My Pen Mates,

Grace forwarded me an email from a high school friend and elementary school classmate. It showed pictures of Old Manila, the seaside boulevard, City Hall, major thoroughfares, sights, the Pasig river, and government buildings. Very well preserved pictures of how the city looked back when it was new, clean, and inhabited by "well dressed" and "disciplined" denizens. The pictures were accompanied with captions, snippets, commentaries, and nostalgic reminiscences of an obviously knowledgeable and presumably older observer.

The scenes were indeed pristine compared to how Manila looks now; almost foreign to someone like me who lived in the current day squalor. But for the jeepneys (not overloaded as the caption observed), the familiar bridges and buildings, and the unmistakable Filipino inhabitants and establishment signs in these shots, I would have found it hard to believe that this is Manila! Why, even the "manholes were clean" with polished covers and the streets garbage free!

What happened to this place? How and why has it so deteriorated that we all feel such a loss learning of how good it used to look? What happened to the people who were all "wearing shoes" , those uncrowded streets, and clean river water? How could such a beautiful city be allowed to reach this level of waste and decay? What sort of intervention could have kept this place in the same state as the pictures show?

Oh, it's all because of corruption. No, it's corruption due to poverty. It's poverty due to overpopulation, and overpopulation is caused by lack of education. And we all know that ignorance leads to exploitation, and exploited people remain poor. And because the "have nots" need to eat and make a living, they are the corruptible minions of the "haves". And because corrupt people are greedy, their breed is perpetuated, and sadly, entrenched.

Clear, concise, and complete. No loose ends to this logic; any sociologist will affirm this formula. This concatenation of factors will allow, if not facilitate the transformation of a once beautiful city into what Manila is at present. This much we know and have come to accept -- tragically without apology. But what really lead to this can be gleaned from the same pictures that's so evocative of the the way things were and the way they should be if we all as a society just exercised some patience.

A short 50 years after our liberation from the Spaniards, history threw us a curve with WW II and we somehow managed to get a base hit. Thus the Oldsmoblies and Packards became common sights on the streets of Old Manila, because our short exposure to the "liberators" afforded us western pathways. This was manifest in the way city planners laid out the vision of a tropical metropolis reflected in the infrastructure that mirrors developments in Hawaii, Guam, Singapore and other US "occupations". But sometime in the last quarter of the 20th century, either due to nationalistic fervor or an unfounded belief in total sovereignty (perhaps fueled by images of more oppression by another foreign power and advocated by insular, insecure but proud leaders), we wanted no more foreign presence. With little to lean on other than an inherent belief in Filipino power, we were sold out on the idea that we can do without the US, its military bases, its undue influence in our politics, and its imperialist policies. The "haves" saw this as a leadership opportunity despite a lack of appreciation of what being a leader truly means. Mixed with greed and confused by a desire for lavishness as defined by the western world, the ambitious emergent leaders easily sullied themselves down the slippery slope of power and riches. Without the precious experience we could have learned from the occupiers, we gave our leaders unregulated power. Had we taken the time to truly assimilate democratic principles, forward thinking urban/contryside development, and solid market dynamic fundamentals from a country with 200 years of experience refining it, we need not have taken the backward steps and growing pains that has landed us in this quagmire.

And still we convince ourselves that it is always darkest before dawn; that these are the necessary evolutionary pains a society needs to value progress. I say that progress comes not so much from toil as from studious reflection. Had we sat down, observed, and studied on the knees of a more advanced society (yes, advanced does not equate to historical depth but to real social progress)_ long enough to learn their system even as it strengthened our resolve to be independent, we could have built on what we received and improved upon it. We could have made their presence unnecessary by matching their power of innovation in a transient symbiotic relationship. Why cut the cord when normal gestation is not complete?

It is premature desire to take the reigns that lead us astray. It wasn't a puppet dictator, greedy foreign businessmen, western culture, and exploitation that made the streets dirty, the rivers polluted, and an undisciplined, cross-the-street-anywhere-you-want population. It was the misguided belief that we can drive the vehicle despite our unfamiliarity with the road or ignorance of the normal operation of the equipment. We bought the bill of goods peddled by the few opportunists who saw riches by kicking out the educators who could have prevented what is... Now the putrescence is widespread. The riches and progress that initially drew the populace to the big city was quickly mismanaged after casting out the foreigners. The place raised poorly educated leaders who journey back to their provinces to duplicate the poor systems they saw. The few who kept their idealism lost hope and went abroad, or stayed put and presented isolated resistance to the pervasive threat of unrivaled decay.

Can we take it back to what it was? The true answer is no. Can we redirect our course and set a vision of a brighter tomorrow? The sane answer is we have to. Chances were missed and opportunities slipped away; but the future is what we all live for, and these will come full circle in due time. Then perhaps we can will ourselves to stop wearing the label of victim, and open our minds and pay closer attention, so as not to miss the opportunities once more.

Mon

The Unknown Departed

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Thu, 7 Jan 2010 12:00:00 -0800

The Unknown Departed

My Pen Mates,

I met the family around Christmas. They had two distinct accents, the younger ones heavily British, the Mom something else, which in the course of their visit, I learned to be Swahili. They are very well-mannered adults, which lead me to think, as a normal observer might be inclined to consider, that they were well-educated.

They did have to wait to see me, and overhearing their conversation during this time, I gathered that two of them were just visiting and that the mother's husband was not well. They were frugal but knew quality. They were nice people.

A couple of days before New Year, the Mom comes back with a well dressed, tall young man_ perhaps in his early twenties. Again he projects the same elegance of a schooled person which always impresses me. Happy with her purchase, the Mom tells me that her son was going to come in soon to get his prescription filled. As it was, he places his order with my associate on a day I was off. The job was completed today so I promptly call to let them know.

The Mom answers the phone and informs me that her son was "off to duty". I let on that I had his work number and will thus contact him direct, to which she said that he is attending to funeral arrangements for his father. Her husband passed away on the 2nd and they are making arrangements to ship him back to his native land. She said this as a calm and dignified statement, that perhaps because of the accent, or maybe the disjoint between message and delivery, I was unable to process the information readily. When it did sink in that she was telling me that her husband died, I stammered my condolence and extended my well-wishes to her and her family. She then told me that the husband was hospitalized over the Holidays, and that her children and in-laws are visiting to pay respects. I can tell from the way she relates that the husband was loved and respected, but more important, that his passing on is not a deep cause of grief. It's as if he had fulfilled his role and that he was ready to leave this life. Thinking back, that's probably how I missed her initial statement. It had nothing to do with accent or tone, but with the calmness with which this woman is dealing with her loss. She ended by saying, with almost a hint of apology, that she's telling me only because "we have met", and that this might cause a delay to her son coming to pick up his order.

I don't know why this exchange affects me deeply. Perhaps it's the sharing component of it, or the fact that I was made to empathize with grief over someone I've never met. But instead of identifying with the sadness, I determine that there really was no bereavement from the survivor. Now, I don't know what the circumstances of their lives are or the relationships that exist among the family members, but I'm left with the impression that the deceased was a good person who has lived well; that the people he left behind demand no more of his existence than what he already contributed.

As we advance in years, how many of us can claim such credit? Of the people we leave behind, how many can accept our death with the same equanimity as this woman? I have images in my head of hysteria and profound grief expressed at funerals and visitations. Yes, I accept that we all deal with loss in different ways, and that we all can't possibly attain the kind of respect this man seem to be receiving. It would be nice though...

Mon

Goal Setting In An Over-Informed World

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 03:23:00 -0800

Goal Setting In An Over-Informed World

My Pen Mates,

I once watched a Discovery feature on brain function and it had a segment on the Navy Seals and their mental discipline under the most dire mental and physical challenges. The trainers had a simple formula for molding these soldiers and the way they processed information: goal setting, repetition, self talk, and controlling fear. Straightforward, self- explanatory, and yes, simple. It's about envisioning an end result, convincing oneself about its singularity, and physically working hard to accomplish it with mental strength. Of course, the products speak for themselves so it's hard to argue about outcomes.

I don't believe any of the trainees necessarily knew their lungs' oxygen capacity while submerged, or the brain's threshold for pain endurance, or what light exposure durations can cause one to be physically disoriented, etc. What they go through is a physical programming to stay focused on a set goal, and engage all their training experiences in achieving it. In other words, they are conditioned to see the big picture and a path to reaching the target despite all obstacles, and oftentimes because of them.

This can be a daunting template for the civilian functioning out of barracks who has only self, family, friends, and teachers to cause such discipline to form. I am not saying that having those influences is not enough, just that the presence of rigor such as found in military training affords the important push to perfect the mold. Imagine a teen-ager who wants to grow up to be an engineer. Even with a proclivity towards the physical sciences, he will, in the course of pursuing his dream, find multiple media diversions that can actually be detrimental to his goal. He'll very likely be playing a lot of video games which has a lot of dexterity, judgement and calculation and "science" rolled into it by its developers. Whether spending countless hours playing these (as opposed to learning how the program is written or how the developers and editors imagine how the plays unfold), affects his goal outcome does fall under the "personal choice" clause of life; but it must be noticeable to others apart from me, that there is just an over-abundance of distractions nowadays that I truly believe that what's in jeopardy are the youths' ability to grow up to be anybody at all!

As it is, I already see a troubling trend in the number of undecideds and the undeclared late-teenage and early adult learners. Not to mention the endless major shifts and multiple-major smarts who do not know what to make of themselves but know that they are smart enough to be anybody. Again, to some, this is part of the gleaning process, a necessary attenuation to determine true personal interests. But what if such uncertainty holds back progress? That knowing too much deters risk-taking and blunts innovation through constant asking without seeking solutions?

No one can un-ring the bell of progress; we are where we are as a society because our predecessors worked hard to bring about all the technology we have access to __ literally at our fingertips. Those innovators had the singularity of purpose and the discipline to realize their visions. I submit that it was possible because they lacked the distractions that permeates our existence nowadays. There was no such thing as a multi-media experience not even a generation ago! Television was for entertaining and you learned by reading and attending lectures and sharing data in symposiums. Information sharing involved formal discussions and presentations where goals are formed and mental keenness was developed with the correct queries, not constant questions. This simple format reduced the information noise which distract the innovator from the goal. It took the physics out of riding the bike, and allowed the rider to reach his goal without needless considerations.

Then maybe perhaps the generational gap is far too wide for me to jump; that my questioning the new world order signifies that it has left me behind like my father was left behind by my generation. The new purity of purpose and goal-setting paradigm could just as likely lead to beneficial results beyond my imaginings as it can lead to the squalor of my fears. Who's to question that the current batch of innovators won't bring us to the next stage working in this information Babylon?

And then perhaps the Navy Seal formula will become obsolete too....

Mon

Optimism's Blind Eye

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 06:29:00 -0800

Optimism's Blind Eye

My Pen Mates,

I once read that "there's a limit to the number of sins you can hide with enthusiasm". While it's good to harbor a "positive mental attitude" and push away negative influences which drain the "chi" from the core, it's the wise who sees things for what they are and act with practical and common sense.

To the list of things I use as mantra, I've recently added "be humble" to "be simple"; and though that may be simplistic (pun fully intended), it's an effective handle when I need to pause, consider, and choose a path in that proverbial fork in the road. Being optimistic is a natural human trait; it allows us to laugh at whatever station in life we may inhabit, and find hope in the most dire situations that our lives are bound to cross. It's as instinctual as the desire to reach the surface when submerged, and akin to pulling away from a hot kettle upon contact.

Out of the blue I found myself polishing my dark shoes the other night. It wasn't in particular need of a shine, but I thought I'd feel better walking around with bright shoes (it's been a while). So I sat in the garage and worked toe to heel until the old shoe got a feel-good polish. That evening, my wife and I attended a Christmas party in the city, and as it turned out, rain fell all afternoon. On the way home, we had to pick up Angelica from one of her classmate's home. Some yard work was being done in the front yard and the homeowner cautioned us to watch the muck that's on the walkway, which at that time seemed minor.

It wasn't until the following day when I decided to wear to work my newly shined shoes that I discovered it had a mud ring which had dried to khaki brown all around the sole! I had to double back and asked my son to get me a wet paper towel to hastily wipe the gunk which has ruined the fine job I did just the night before. On the drive to work, I smiled to myself and reflected on the irony of these events. I chuckled at the lesson the whole thing made simple: when good things happen, we tend to take them for granted. There really is no lesson learned from experiencing positive things; it just re-enforces the habits which caused it to happen. It falls under the category of "good habits of successful people", not necessarily the discipline gained from enrolling in the "school of hard knocks".

It may be a stretch to connect these things, but to me, significant knowledge and achievements are bourne of adversity more than good fortune. The mind and body need to be challenged not pampered; bruised and battered not massaged and coddled; and yes, to some degree, abused not comforted.

I read recently that auto-immune disease is a first world phenomenon; that in less industrialized nations, it's practically non-existent. The thought behind this is that uber-hygienic societies tend to be more susceptible to disease-causing elements, and people have poorly developed internal mechanisms to combat disease and infection. As a result, the body's natural reaction for self-preservation attacks cells in the system at the first sign of deviation from norm. Whereas an "exposed" individual develops a tolerance buffer for infections and foreign flora and fauna which can inhabit the bodily system, the over-sanitized modern person tend to over-react to even the most minor threat to the physiological equilibrium. Thus, the body defender cells tend to attack even healthy cells at the first sign of malfunction, whereas inoculated individuals will have a system that can localize the threat, and use a bigger arsenal of antibodies to combat a wider range of systemic threat.

Drawing parallels with my premise, it seems that the pampered ego is more vulnerable when encountering a bump in the road, whereas the battered and bruised will have a higher tolerance for these glitches; perhaps even better programmed to withstand even bigger challenges.

What has any of these to do with optimism? As my first sentence states, there's a limit to the number of good that can come from just hoping for the best. Sometimes, the lumps and bruises are necessary to embed the truly important lessons. The lessons that stick, in my opinion, are those that leave a scar; they serve as reminders of those moments when you failed, when you felt hurt and neglected, where you find yourself promising that you're not going to let it happen again. These scars are worth far more than the trophies, medals, certificates, and awards that good fortune bring. All the latter sit on the mantle, the former, you wear.

Mon

"If I twist it this way...."

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Fri, 4 Dec 2009 14:13:00 -0800

"If I twist it this way...."

My Pen Mates,

To rephrase a popular title, "The things I need to know, I learned from someone barely out of kindergarten".

It was a cold Wednesday morning; Angelica does Safety Patrol duty on Wednesdays and she needed to help set up the orange cones and man her post for the duration of the period prior to the first bell. It's a good volunteer activity, and they learn street and traffic safety in the process, so twice a week, we leave home early or come home later (for afternoon duties), so she can cover her shifts. So we are in the schoolyard before 7:35 this morning but Lauren wishes for me to stay instead of walking her to daycare. I happily obliged and parked fifty yards away from the designated drop-off area. From there, we can see Lica and the rest of the Patrol. I tried to explain what they were doing but before I could finish the sentence, Lauren interrupts "can I get out of my car seat?" Then she proceeded to explore the van's interior; first locating the positions of the heating vents and determining which buttons in the control panel caused which vent to blow the warm air. This was shortly followed with her exploring the various compartments in the dash, including the coin dispenser in the ashtray. Discovering that the slots were of varying sizes, she then sorted the loose change and informed me that the penny slot can hold five coins, and that a dime can go in the same slot because it's smaller than a penny. Then she kneels on the floor and slides the cover of the cd tray; she gives me a mischievous smile and asks if she can push the lit button. She perks up when the dispenser smoothly slides out, then went on ahead and pushed the levers on the side that eject individual cds. After some more fidgeting, she slides the dispenser tray back into the slot and pushes the cover back into place.

Thinking that there's not much left for her to fidget with, I took my eyes off her to try to see if I can spot Lica in the yard. Absently, Lauren puts both her feet on the front edge of the passenger seat, leans back, and lays her head on the dashboard. With her forehead nearly touching the windshield, I saw her look at the scapular that's hanging from the rear view mirror. I know she knows what it is; she sees it around Lucas and Lica's necks sometimes, and she knows that her Mom wants it there for "God to protect us". As she's wont to do, I expected her to ask the question that she already knows the answer to (just for the sake of keeping the conversation alive); but instead, she holds the iridescent images between her fingers and simply says "did you know that Mom likes this here so you know God is watching?". I murmured a yes and "that's right", happy that she appreciates the symbolism.

Faster than thoughts of paganism and symbol worship can cross my mind, she shifts from her perch on the dashboard, uses both her hands to grab the strings that suspended the scapular and says: "Did you know that if I twist it this way, you cannot see it? Like it disappears!". Sure enough, with the strings twisted, the scapular is hidden behind the mirror. She looks at me and held my eyes waiting for me to agree, and I realized how the child seem to have read my thoughts and in her innocence, demonstrated the simple truth about faith.

While it's easy to criticize those who pray to statues, images, and the likenesses of God, it is quite hard to ignore the powerful simplicity of a child's logic. An objective assessment of belief in a Higher Being certainly will not include an artifact to demonstrate His existence. And yet through a child's mind, the absence or presence of something involves the senses; that's how they first assess the world they inhabit.

I thought about this on the drive home, long after the bell rang and she got dropped off. If the image is hidden, then it was not watching me, and since I cannot see it, then there's nothing to remind me that I had someone watching over me. I'm certain Lauren's thought process skipped through this tortuous logic, but I am amazed that on a cold morning, a simple dialog with a child can jolt like java. It was a meaningful lesson in simplicity, and to me at least, it was an experience in kindness and humility; that though I'm old and calloused, I have yet to learn a lot.

Life seem to unfold in unexpected ways, and blessings come in many forms_ sometimes disguised. One of those blessings is our ability to forget; so wounds heal, and we continue to grow. But with forgetfulness comes loss, and innocence needs to be regained to truly appreciate life. Listen to a child today, and gain back some of that lost innocence. You might find, like I did, that when twisted a certain way, what we don't see may be something we cannot afford to forget.

Mon

I'm Thankful....

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 21:27:00 -0800

I'm Thankful...

My Pen Mates,

It's Thanksgiving morning; Angelica and Lucas are altar serving, leaving Grace and Lauren with me in the pews. The church is half full, not surprising because it's not an official church Holiday, and perhaps most are busy preparing food to feast on with friends and family.

In the middle of the offertory, I had my eyes closed, saying a private prayer when the choir leader called for hymn #310. As the first notes of the song played out through the church piano, I thought "Table of Plenty" was perhaps the most apt song for Thanksgiving. With a big sigh and a general feeling of goodwill, I continue with my silent prayer and continued on with my private retreat, conversing with God. Then paper brushes against the back of my right hand. I open my eyes and looked down at Lauren trying to get me to hold the Missal which she has opened to song #310. She held my eyes and I realized that she wanted me to sing with the rest of the congregation, and I humbly complied. I looked to my right and caught a glimpse of my wife who was singing but seemed not to have noticed my little ones' gesture.

This to me was Thanksgiving; being told by a child that beyond my self, there is a whole world of other people that needs to be joined in an expression of love. While we all have our own conversations with God, we need to join the rest of humanity in thanking Him, singing to Him, and being seen through the eyes of a six year old, that it matters that we participate in an outward way, in expressing our kinship to God through our kinship with all our brothers and sisters.

Mon

The Need for Open-Mindedness

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Mon, 9 Nov 2009 15:56:00 -0800

The Need for Open-Mindedness

My Pen Mates,

My son has hoop dreams. Influenced I'm sure by celebrity-centric media saturation, public adoration of sports figures, and powered by a healthy dose of fourteen year old hormones and adrenaline, he fancies himself playing with the big dogs. He puts in the time in practice, and spends enough time watching video footage of nice plays by good players; and he does have enough self-confidence to act out his desire.

But that's just a part of this article.

What with the great emphasis on honing one's skills, he goes to lessons, scrimmages, drills, conditioning workouts, and camps to be a better player. The trainers and coaches put great emphasis on developing great fundamentals (dribbling, passing, shooting, etc.) and learning the team concept of the sport. They run drills to demonstrate scenarios, to develop an awareness of the court and how a play unfolds. In other words, they practice to develop conditioned responses on both the offensive and defensive ends of the court. Complemented by strong fundamentals, these practice sessions are designed to optimize output and win games. Through constant drills and repetition, the object is to broaden their comfort zone so that in gametime situations, they focus more on reading the opponent and less on their ability to escape a trap, make a shot, or break a zone. By having strong fundamentals, they can run a more tactical game, mindful mainly of the plays unfolding and not too much on their scoring arsenal.

It's truly great on paper and design, except that the same coaches who are grinding this into their awareness will be the first to say that in many instances, they will have to play out of their comfort zones. And therein lies the rub.

For any good player worth his endorsement will drill that twenty-five footer given the chance; he will retrieve that loose ball given the hole; he will rotate around that pick, break that defenders ankles, thread that pass to the open guy, set the perfect screen, etc. to execute those practiced plays. But during the course of the game, there occurs an organic assortment of circumstances that make each game unique and loose -- loose in the sense that the plays and players do not adhere to the textbook expectations of how players play. Factors ranging from physical mismatches, personal physical condition among the players, coaching directives, officiating...weather.... skew the way the game unfolds. The point being that each player in any game comes with a set of skills which he wraps around and is integrated into the team's skill set. In turn the team uses this collection of skills from each player to try and defeat the other team. And despite multiple studies and breakdown of plays into their component units to either execute or defend against, plays unfold in their own way, different from every other before and after. So players need a lot of creative flexibility to improvise "on the fly". This is what is meant by playing out of ones comfort zone; that you fight the fight that's brought to you not the fight you expected to have. Not to discount the value of preparation for that certainly keeps you sharp and focused, but carrying out strict rules without flexing to the dictates of the battle zone can be both dangerous and disastrous. It's the equivalent to forging on to cross a river despite knowing that the bridge is gone.

And this goes beyond common sense; it's a lot more complicated than going to option "C" when both "A and B" are gone. It's that acrobatic shot in front of two defenders when your passing lane is plugged; the quick stab to the middle because the center is out of position; the no look pass to outwit the three on two when prudence dictates setting up a play. These split second decisions cannot be completed with grace without the practiced drills, but their necessity and urgency cannot be expunged from a fast paced game. That's what creates great athletes. For what would otherwise explain how Iverson can slash the paint and score over bigger and taller people clogging it, or Bryant escaping a baseline trap by making a turn-around fade-away basket? Strong fundamentals surely, but also great awareness, execution in the blink of an eye, and confidence in their ability to make it.

Without this awareness of a constant need to adapt and to be open to the possibility that chaos can take over an organized process, a player is ineffective and dull. Variation is constant and a "read" can only be accurate if each player, each team, expects undetermined possibilities and creating opportunities.

Mon

This Guy

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Tue, 3 Nov 2009 17:02:00 -0800

This Guy

My Pen Mates,

It never occurred to him that he was difficult, this guy. Filled with experiences different but certainly not unique among all of the people anywhere, he's gone about life and aged with a certain mindset that forms his opinions, his behaviour, and philosophy.

Like everyone else around, he operates with hardly a formed awareness of an operating principle; just going about life filled with a lifelong baggage of what goes for character -- character that's hard to fault just by the simple yardstick of ethics and morality, but certainly flawed and completely vulnerable to doubt, fear, and yes, temptation.

In other words, he is nothing but human, and his biggest fault is possessing a big dose of self-examination. How is this a detriment? one would ask. "Has it not been oft said that a life unexamined is not worth living"?, the sage would delve deeper into the issue. But you see, this guy is not smart enough to study the flower, just timid enough to stop and smell it. He is a tourist in a world where scholars abound; a photographer in a world requiring microscopes.

So he goes about life navigating the maze but not seeing through walls and unable to scale them. He ponders the next turn but lacks the capacity to indulge in learning its composition and hoping to tear down the restraints that life has presented him with. Worse, he expresses his torment and rebels against his condition by creating artificial constraints on others. He's indignant of authority for he cannot conform to their discipline. He's restrictive and over-wary of change to compensate for his temerity and insolence. Those that fall under his direct influence are held back by his closed-mindedness, substituting discipline for understanding, soliciting respect when tolerance can cement a better relationship.

So what's to make of this man? He's totally aware of being adrift yet too weak to either ask for help or paddle to shore. He's hurting inside, somewhat sick of an affliction that grew with him. He cannot rid himself of it just as he cannot strip off his skin. But trudge, trudge, trudge he goes.... living life while life goes on for everyone else who's alive....the pain is universally shared; but this guy has paid attention to it more than most. Can't everyone else see that we should suffer all the same? Not if the rest manage to find preoccupation with being scholars and wielding microscopes. We'll see how things go....

For it's never completely dark-- as there is really nothing that's absolute. Even in the deepest forest where the canopy obliterates light, one can find_ if only for a moment when the wind pushes the leaves and branches aside_ a spot above through which the sky can be seen. There come moments of clarity and calm replaces the fog of worry. It's perhaps a by-product of a tired mind, but more likely absolution for a weary soul. Either way it's welcome break for a tortured guy, whose shackles are not around the ankles but wrapped around his imagination.

Mon

A tree I cannot see...

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 17:08:00 -0700

A tree I cannot see...

My Pen Mates,

The morning rush has gone
The kids are off and I'm alone
Wife's at work but the morning's still young
Now I see what needs to be done

Kitchen counter is littered
With quickly prepared breakfast leftovers...
And snack and lunch makeovers
The sink's stacked, the stove's packed

Clear the clutter, clear the mind I say
So I start clearing and washing the disarray
Looked out the window distractedly
And noticed yellow leaves cast astray

Wind is brisk and Autumn cool I know
Just from watching leaves roll in the sun's glow
The golden accent of leaves that got my attention
Come not from any plant that I can mention

I examine the trees, the shrubs and vines
But matching the leaves on the ground I cannot find
The shape, size and texture are not common
To those of my yards' vegetation

Several more flurries and then I discover
The leaves turn a corner then flutter and hover
The golden tree up front with its leaves ashedding
That's where all this color is originating

The tree is there even though right now it's unseen
This morning I'm just appreciating its gift that's golden
The leaves are out of place and yet they belong here
Their source I do not see but it causes me no bother

A tree I cannot see has brought me a gift
A sight of beauty in the wind adrift
Soon they'll turn brown, then crimson, they gray
But this morning these lovely leaves come to my heart to play

They belong here but not of here
These sprinkles of gold from around the corner
For on this day of all days they have chosen
To be in my sight and confirm He's arisen!

Mon

My Son, My Motivator

noreply@blogger.com (Mon Urbi) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 23:29:00 -0700

My Son, My Motivator

My Pen Mates,

To the casual observer, it's readily apparent that I am very involved with my three children's upbringing; something that my wife I'm sure is happy about. It's a source of joy for me as well, perhaps not fully defined in my head, but certainly originating from my heart.

Tuesday afternoon, I resolved to end and start a new routine. More like pick up on a lost one and boost a budding interest really. It's been months since I went on a run and given recent stresses, I needed the physical exertion to flush out the negative energy from my system. At the same time, Lucas has been paying attention to his lack of stamina and need for cardio in his practice drills for an upcoming basketball tryout. What better time to address both needs than on this post-storm weather; the air is clean, the run path fresh, and the sunset pristine.

With Catholic Confirmation meeting at half past seven, I knew we had to get going almost as soon as we changed from office/school clothes to exercise shorts and shirts. I estimated that the four and a half mile route I wanted to cover will take me at least forty minutes based on my current physical shape, so that left time only for Lucas to shower and change afterwards for his class but not enough time for me. As soon as we get out of the neighborhood and on the trail, I told him that he could run ahead and don't mind me falling behind. In the encroaching darkness, I watch him jog up an incline, turn on the path parallel to the creek, and head on right to the riverside for the round trip back to our housing development. He initially hesitated and looked over his shoulder a couple of times, as if hoping that I'll keep up. It wasn't going to happen as far as I can tell, comparing his gait to mine; so I waved him off and I went at my own slow pace. Ordinarily, after this type of hiatus from exercising, I will be so out of shape that exhaustion combines with frustration and I slow down to a crawl at about mid-point. From there, I start mentally noting the distance remaining till I get home, and psyching my self to concentrate on my breathing and ignoring the pains and strains from the physical exertion.

Not tonight however. Oh, the aches and pains were there, and my lungs were protesting the elevated oxygen demand. But tonight, my mind was more concerned with getting back in time to drive Lucas to his religious class. I kept on looking at my wrist watch, giving myself a reasonable time goal, and hopefully not cause my son to be late. Ten minutes from home, I figured that he would already be showering and hoped that he can grab a fruit or sandwich before I arrived so he doesn't starve during class. I kept on mentally ticking off these activities in my head, mindless of the exhaustion and the darkness engulfing me. I get to the parkway with its streetlights illuminating the rest of the run, and realized when I got sight of the front of the house, that despite my total lack of conditioning and long layoff from running, I wasn't as tired as I should reasonably be! I guess my concern to get home in time displaced the fatigue center in my brain and somehow allowed me to focus on my goal rather than my physical condition. This was actually a very rewarding feeling!

Imagine my surprise and embarrassment when Lica opens the front door and I see Lucas walking down the hallway to the stairs, having already showered and dressed to go. He said he finished his banana when I asked if if he'd had a bite, and somehow found time to pop in his contact lenses_ having arrived all of fifteen minutes before I rang the front door bell! Of course, through sweaty eyebrows and with a towel around my back, I had to grill him all through our ride to the church about the path he ran, making sure we did run the same route. He was amused by my incredulity, but after a while perhaps slightly irritated by my inquiry. I did feel good running though, and in this instance, keeping up or trying to keep up with my son was a strong motivator. It gave me a different mindset, the necessary distraction that allowed me to focus on something other than the present activity. Knowing he was running ahead of me and that we were scheduled to be somewhere was the perfect mental diversion I needed to prod my middle-aged unconditioned bones to get the exercise I need. Without him realizing it, and I'm sure not giving it a second thought, Lucas inspired me today. I cannot aspire to be as quick and strong as he will be (for I never was at his age), but I can derive strength from knowing that my son has become a goal setter. I'm sure he's just glad that he got some cardio exercise....

Mon