Mensab Journeys

My first year (2015-2016) at The Hague University of Applied Sciences (THUAS)

2016-12-10T03:26:00.000-08:00

I was asked to write my overall impression, in more or less 400 words, of my first year working as a lecturer at THUAS. Here it is:

My first time going to De Haagse Hogeschool (HHS) meant threading the open space that gulfs between Den Haag HS station and the school. I noticed that this open space is apportioned with gutters and pavements alternately. As I ventured towards HHS, my focus was on each step I made to avoid a gutter. I was not paying attention to those who were walking along with me or those walking in opposite direction. Everyone was on the move and mindful of their action, either getting closer to the school or getting away from it. To me, it was all about not stepping onto a gutter.

colleagues

My work started like that – focused and mindful about the gutter. I know that, literally and in many respects, there is a wide gulf between the Philippines where I come from and the Netherlands where I am now. When I made my initial step to work in the Netherlands, it was more of a decision to get closer to a culture different from mine, and less of getting away from a culture that is mine. Working in a multicultural environment nurtures my disposition to broaden my field and horizon one step at a time.

After nine months here, I still walk on that open space every now and then and still try to avoid to step onto the gutter. But this time, it’s more than that. This time I walk with people, am mindful of my direction, and getting closer to school and its people. This time, when I am on that open space, I am able to look up and see the sky that connects and engulfs me into a grand parade of life’s journeys. To me, teaching is like connecting experiences with my specialized field of studies and bringing this connection to classroom discussions. As a Filipino sociologist, I become mindful of the things that connect me with others, with my surrounding, and with what’s ahead and left behind in time and space.

My Birthday Wish: Please Donate to Typhoon Victims in the Philippines

2013-11-19T16:49:00.000-08:00

Today, November 20, is my birthday. Normally, I do not announce or make a buzz about my birthday. But this year is different.

A powerful super typhoon, recorded as the strongest ever to hit land, devastated the central Philippines. Millions lost their houses and livelihood. Clearly, they need help, all the help they can get.

Last week, we were able to raise more than a hundred euro from Meet & Eat, Sunday Masses, and 5PM Sunday Mass ++ (plus+plus) events. We have received more pledges of donations for the typhoon victims. Thus, I've decided to make a video to call for more donations on my birthday. Please donate to:

Name: Simbahang Lingkod ng Bayan
Bank of the Philippines Islands (Loyola-Katipunan Branch)
Account #: 3081-1111-61
SWIFT CODE: BOPIPHMM

Thank you so much. Maraming salamat po. Dios mabalos!

Why I Still Voted

2013-05-23T14:16:00.000-07:00

I just voted. As an overseas absentee voter, I sent the ballot envelope containing my vote to the embassy in Den Haag, The Netherlands. It cost me 54 euro-cents (PhP 25), but I was happy to spend such amount for the reason I will mention here. I could only vote for the national candidates, much to my disappointment because it is in the local election where my single vote could really make some difference.

Despite the feverish pitch of May 13 national election, there is a strong sense of combined indifference and skepticism in the power of the election to change or inject hope in the plight of average Filipinos.

The common reason for the indifference and skepticism is this line: "pareho-pareho lang ang mga 'yan, korap at wala naman mangyayari eh" (everyone is the same, corrupt, and nothing will happen afterwards anyway). Then, why bother to vote?

I feel strong reasons to continue voting and participate in the democratic process of selecting political leaders. To be and take part in this process carry a tremendous honor and responsibility to one's society. To my mind, it is only through election that I truly feel my role as a member of a society. (Well, during Olympics or other games/sports, my belongingness to a certain society is also at the peak).

Reading and seeing the final national election results, I was not generally happy. The inclusion of the daughters of the current vice-president and former presidential candidate, sons of a former president and out-going senator, cousin of the current president, and wife of an out-going senator, in the final ranking of the 12 senators-elect is not a positive sign for a democratic process, in my mind.

What redeem the final results to my utter defeatist sentiment are the election of young people in the House of Senate, the high final ranking of two "independent" candidates, and the victory of four women out of the 12 winners of the senate seats.

These results have provided me more reasons to participate in the next elections, in the hope that the candidates win not because of their last names but of their capability to empower the masses through them. What I realize in the concluded election is that the Philippines seems to be very far from this stage. Like me as a student from far away place, the hope seems to be distant. But in my heart and in the hearts of those who continue to dream of a better Philippines, this hope will come, like many overseas workers who one day will come home.

I believe that hope has a home in the Philippines. Believe with me.

Faith in a secular society: A retreat reflection

2013-05-04T14:54:00.000-07:00

It was Sunday, around 2PM when we were waiting for the bus which would take us to Driebergen-Zest (those going to Nijmegen) and Utrecht Centraal (those going to Enschede, Amsterdam, and Groningen) at the Het Zonnehuis bus stop in Doorn, Utrecht. Most of the participants rushed to that nearest bus stop to catch the 2:08 schedule.

We just came from a national retreat with a theme, Faith in a secular society, organized by the International Student Chaplaincy with Fr. Avin Kunnekkadan, SVD, Rev. Edith Plantier, and Fr. Wiel Eggen, SMA. The 2-day/night (19-21 April) retreat in the villa-like Het Brandpunt in Doorn, Utrecht gathered 19 participants from 14 countries (Brazil, China, Fiji, India, Italy, Japan, Kenya, Mexico, Nigeria, Pakistan, Philippines, Rwanda, Singapore, and South Africa).

At the bus stop, there was a feeling that there were more stories left unshared. After two days of being together in the retreat, the level of trust and openness heightened and expanded among participants. The cold breeze that was sweeping our voices to reverberate in the area was doused by our joint laughters and smiles. From time to time, we looked at the direction where the bus was expected to show up. No one showed impatience and panic when no bus emerged from sight after 2:08PM. Everyone knew that in no time, a bus would show up. Everyone kept that faith.

When the bus finally arrived, many of us had no OV-Chipkaart and paid cash to the driver. Having an OV-Chipkaart, I decided to board in the bus the last. From outside, I saw that the bus driver patiently accepted cash and dispensed tickets. For about 10 minutes or so, I noticed that the cars behind the bus were slowly piling in line. There were about 15 cars waiting for the bus to move. Until I got in the bus and took my seat, I did not hear any blowing of horns from the cars nor expressions of irritation from the car drivers. In the countries where most of us came from, it was remarkable, but here in the Netherlands, it was ordinary.

How does this extra-ordinary become ordinary in the Netherlands?

While in the bus, I recalled the talks in the retreat. The first one, Secularization and internalization, by Dr. Otto Kroesen who provided the historical and systematic perspective of understanding the ordinariness of notable behaviors by the Dutch in the eyes of foreigners. According to him, the process towards secularization is Christian-inspired. He traced the origin of the distinction between secular and spiritual from the church. For example, the creation and existence of states emerged with the help of the church that bestowed authority to kings. However, the violence of small warlords at that time posed problems with the church’s work on conversion and was condemned as “secular” and temporary.

Dr. Kroesen also cited an observation of his Kenyan friend based on church attendance between a religious society (e.g. Kenya) and secular one (e.g. Netherlands). His friend had observed that there is a higher level of social trust and cooperativeness in the Netherlands than in Kenya. He argued that this was because of internalization of human virtues which are Christian-inspired. In his elaboration and rationalization of the process of internalization, he often presented three dimensions. For example, quoting Marcel Gauchet, first was the gods are behind us (e.g. ancestors); then, the gods are above us (e.g. empires, sun, stars); and lastly, the gods are among and within us (e.g. secular, in human virtues). Another three dimensional explanation is with time; first is the time of the Father (One God), then of the Son (One World), and of the Holy Spirit (One Humanity) in which we live now. In the third dimension, God is becoming invisible, but the Spirit lives and moves in and through us. In this time, the role of the Church has changed. Not anymore of continuous sowing of the seeds of faith such as talking about God, but the time for harvesting such as living in the Spirit in which love is increasing and prioritized. There may be no outward representations of God in a secular society, but His/Her presence is expressed in people’s actions and behaviors towards others. After his talk, there was a plenary sharing of several participants’ striking observations and experiences in the Netherlands.

If the secularity of the Dutch society is Christian-inspired, does this secularity have Biblical roots?

In the second talk on the Biblical roots of secular concern, Fr. Wiel Eggen offered two possibilities of discussing the theme – Faith in a secular society; 1) how to be a believer in a secular society, and 2) how to have faith in a secular faith. He contended that this world and age as a reality is negatively viewed as contradictory to Christ’s life. The contradiction is like darkness versus light (God’s kingdom) which has a connotation of not belonging to this world. Although the world, as we believe, was created by God, we experience its imperfections which need redemption. If we have faith in Jesus Christ who does not live anymore in this world, but who lives in us. He continued the contradiction by saying that we should live in this world, as if not. Our salvation is connected to the suffering of this world. Fr. Wiel urged us to make something of our lives by living according to what gives us mission and meaning in life, because we only live once (taken from YOLO which means you only live once).

After Fr. Wiel’s talk, several participants narrated their stories of the good and less good things they experienced in the Netherlands. For his part, Fr. Avin narrated his anecdote of the lost wallet. Others highlighted the high level of trust, openness, tolerance, and acceptance of Dutch society including marijuana use, same-sex marriage, and prostitution which are still largely illegal and unacceptable in most societies.

To provide us with real life stories of Christians living in a secular society, the third talk featured Rev. Rob van Essen and Mr. Norbert Abachi. Rev. van Essen, a Dutch pastor, told us that his first conversion was to Christ and the second to the world in which a community where virtues are practiced thrives. Mr. Abachi, a Kenyan with a strong religious background who has lived in the Netherlands for 13 years, intimated his dilemma. He somewhat fears of losing in time the bases of his religious practices and the separation of worship and good deeds. But he is reassured of the sense of community and structure that the Church is providing him. After their sharing, there was a short discussion on the role of the media in the society.

We noticed that the bus was approaching the Driebergen-Zeist bus stop and train station. Four of us got off the bus and waved goodbye to the others whose destination was Utrecht Centraal. There was no train schedule from Driebergen-Zest to Arnhem because of some repairs. We did not feel panicky or anything. We simply asked someone about how to get to Arnhem, and he pointed to a bus apparently commissioned by the NS-train. When we boarded the bus, most of the seats were occupied. Each of us took the available ones in various rows. When my body settled in the seat and relaxed, my eyes struggled to keep up with my mind still active reminiscing the last day of the retreat.　

On the last day which fell on Sunday, Fr. Avin officiated a liturgy. The readings, homily, and sharings were centered on the theme. After the liturgy, the groups presented their sketches depicting their experiences in the Netherlands and their Christian-inspired responses to various situations that often challenge their religious traditions and beliefs. The closing was somehow unceremonious, but it served the purpose of continuing the personal reflection on the theme, Faith in a secular society.

Back to the bus, I woke up when we were nearing Arnhem bus stop and train station. When we were walking towards Arnhem train station, Noriko asked me about my wallet. I calmly checked my wallet at my jean’s back pocket. Inside the train going to Nijmegen, we took the group seats facing each other. When the train moved, I observed that no one showed surprise why we were moving in another direction. Unlike the first day when we were on the way to the retreat, there was a tinge of panic because the train was moving towards the same direction towards Nijmegen where we came from. This time, there was none. For the rest of the train ride back home, we let things be, knowing that we were on the right track.

After the retreat, we have less questions about the secular Dutch society than ever before. We’ve grown faith in this secular society as we strive to keep our own.

Dutch Election 2012: An Observation of a Season

2012-09-28T16:26:00.000-07:00

Like a season that comes and goes, election must bring something new to our surrounding. The Dutch election, like no other season, was over with some hope for new things, and some more hope for a better future. That I was told, and that I would not know.

What I know was what I have observed in the past weeks leading to the September 12 election.

For precautionary measures, any observations are always coming from somewhere, a certain reference or basis of observations. In my case, it would be the Philippine context (what else but my country). But this is in no way a comparative presentation; nor an attempt to objectively cover the Dutch election. This is the 2012 Dutch election, in my observation.

Wooden bulletin boards of this size (2 x 3 meters) were strategically set-up in cities and municipalities to allow political parties to post their official campaign posters. Some posters have smiling faces of leaders, some simply have the name in the official color of the parties.

In the whole campaign period, I did not see any party officials roaming around Nijmegen.

And I saw this at the train station in Heyendaal, Nijmegen. Plain name and colors of the party, Groenlinks (GreenLeft), with the slogan, de tijd is nu (the time is now).

And this was near the Molenhoek train station. A picture of the leader of the Partij van de Arbeid (PvdA) or Labour Party with its slogan, Nederland sterker en socialer (Netherlands stronger and more social).

Then on election day (September 12), polling booths (stembureau) were put up in strategic public places such as train stations, schools, government buildings/offices, universities, club houses, canteens, and even houses.

In my university, Radboud University Nijmegen, the stembureau was set-up beside the refter (cafeteria). Students, faculty and staff could cast their votes right in their campus and workplaces. Well, it is because election in the Netherlands is not a holiday. It is a working day like any Wednesdays of a week.

Found this sign at the entrance of Erasmus building. No need for police to guard the polling booths and election observers to monitor the credibility of the election. No need. There was no report of election-related violence either.

The results were known after several hours. There was no protest or objections regarding the election results. The winners celebrated, those who lost seats contemplated. The Dutch had spoken to their politicians; it was time to be responsive to them in a representative government.

While the people have chosen their leaders, the two biggest election winners (conservative-liberal Volkspartij voor Vrijheid en Democratie or VVD, and PvdA or Labour Party) can start talking about forming a government. The talks may take months. Until then, a government comes around like a season where people hope new things when they know exactly what to expect.

Closer to home, An Maogmang Lugar - Naga City that gave us, Mayor Jess

2012-08-21T15:17:00.002-07:00

Ituloy ang laban ni Ninoy at Cory!

(Continue the fight of Ninoy and Cory!)

I copied and pasted the last sentence of Jesse Robredo's blog about, coincidentally, the death of President Cory Aquino. It was three years ago, August 16, 2009. Unfortunately, it was also his last blog entry.

My old blog is one of the few blogs in his blogroll or bloglist. I got links from his blog. Of course, I felt elated by that inclusion.

I came to Naga City in the 1990s. Mayor Jess (there are positions that sound so natural before names; Mayor Jess is one of them) was the new mayor of the city. I witnessed the transformations of one of the cities of Bicol to a premier city of Southern Luzon. The changes were not only in the physical and economic improvements of the city; it was social and moral as well. The people, the Nagueńos, breathed and exemplified the positive changes happening in the city.

I came to Naga City as a student. The city was my best university (No offense to Ateneo de Naga University). Through Mayor Jess, I learned that ordinary peoples such as vendors, farmers, women, public transport drivers, youth, informal settlers, senior citizens, and other disadvantaged sectors, had to be part of governance because they were the primary actors of change. They are not merely constituents, they are active partners in the development of the city. Indeed, the city's people's council represents the sentiments, needs, aspirations, and vision of the city, an Maogmang Lugar (a happy place).

I stayed in Naga City as an NGO worker. It was easy to work for positive changes when the local government shared the tasks and mission of empowering the marginalized. Mayor Jess was always our first co-worker. Mayor Jess understood the role of the national government in the local development. In 2000 until the first month of 2001, he roused the Nagueńos to stand and rise up against corrupt practices at the national government. Naga City saw several of its biggest rallies in history in the span of four months (October 2000-January 2001). Mayor Jess symbolized the opposite of what we got rid in 2001. But the country mistakenly put a variation of the same in the old regime after 2001.

I left Naga City for studies elsewhere. Mayor Jess took a cabinet post as the Secretary of the Department of Interior and Local Government (DILG) in the national government. He became Secretary Jess and suited in the job. Who else could have been a better DILG secretary? Now, President Aquino is forced to answer the question and settle for a better DILG secretary (because the best is gone).

Now I am outside Naga City. The tragedy causes me to be even closer than ever to Naga City, the city that gave you and me, Mayor Jess. It is only proper that he goes home symbolically to Naga City, an Maogmang Lugar which he tried hardest to make it so. Somewhere, there is a true Maogmang Lugar, and that is his home now.

I would end to continue the last sentence of Mayor Jess' blog - Ituloy ang laban ni Ninoy, Cory at Jess.

We know what they fought for - para sa casaraditan - for "small" people, like you and me. They made us "big." And we won big. Let us not lose what we gained from and because of them. One big fight!

'Tay Jack: A kick to my life

2012-08-10T16:29:00.001-07:00

Last August 7 (Tuesday), when I logged in to FB, I read one post stating that Jack Rombouts had passed away in the Philippines. Jack was to many a "Kuya Jack" or simply Jack to the Filipino community in Nijmegen-Molenhoek area in the Netherlands. For a few, he was "Tay Jack." And in Tagalog, it sounds like a kick ("tadyak").

That was what I felt when I read the first FB post referring to his sudden death. It was like a kick that would make me look at the culprit with surprise, shock, and questioning stare. And then minutes later, posts of the same news streamed. At that time, the kick carried some forceful weight that tagged me down. Down to the chest and exploded there. My body could hardly contain its intensity and violence inside me. I was aching for a release, to relinquish from the confined emotions weighing me down. My knees and legs gave up to the weight of the sudden loss, like a kick that was forceful and real.

Memories of him flashed.

A day before his departure from the Netherlands to the Philippines, I went with him and Ate Renna to Eindhoven to visit and have dinner with Beca and Richard. Tay Jack drove for more than an hour while Ate Renna and I were sharing stories. After a while, Ate Renna dozed off. I struggled to stay awake to keep Tay Jack a company, but I knew I lost my consciousness to dreamland for some brief moments. It was Tay Jack who did not waver in the task - to bring us to the destination safely.

Tay Jack was a steady presence in the activities of the Filipino community in the Nijmegen-Molenhoek area. I remember in the days leading to the Sinulog Festival in Molenhoek, Tay Jack was always there, supporting and helping his wife. He was very functional in the tasks before him. He simply did and delivered whatever he could do to facilitate the conduct of the event.

My first experience of snow was with him in 2010. He drove me from Molenhoek to Nijmegen for nearly an hour. We were stuck in a traffic jam because of tremendous snowfall. One of our topics was about marriage. At that time, I had just proposed with my then girlfriend, and now my wife. I asked Tay Jack, "how would you know whether or not a woman is right for you?" Tay Jack straightforwardly responded in this context, "when you met that woman with all the feelings, and you made a decision to have her in your life, the question whether she is right or not disappears. Your responsibility now is to make that decision work and to make that decision right. Do not depend on others to help you make it work and make it right. You have yourself and that woman."

Tay Jack was not able to meet "that" woman of my life. Surely now, he won't be able to in this world. But he left me a mark that was real, powerful and personal; like a kick to my life. I needed that.

Thank you, Tay Jack. Dank je wel. Dios mabalos po!

Summer Retreat in Wittem (Finding one's "way" and being a light for others to find their own "way")

2012-06-20T03:31:00.001-07:00

As a foreign student in the Netherlands, I have become accustomed to the sentimental longing for a connection with the proverbial self. There is a sense of disconnectedness, a grappling of what is familiar and meaningful in life. It seems to be more than being away from the family and unable to express the voice within oneself.

The invitation for a three-day retreat was a welcome opportunity to get in touch with oneself and to let out that voice within. The retreat venue was a monastery, Arnold Janssen Klooster, in Wahlwiller-Wittem in Limburg province. The theme, How to be a faithful professional?, put the retreat in a perspective of graduate students with work experience as professionals.

From Nijmegen, I traveled by train and bus to the retreat venue with a South African participant from Radboud University for about two hours. As the train from Heyendaal station in Nijmegen moved, the passing sceneries and shrinking view of the landscapes of the city indicated that we were going away.

To get to the monastery, we needed to walk uphill on a winding road. When we reached the vicinity, a distinct certainty dawned that we were in the right place. As if to welcome us, the entrance door suddenly opened. Inside, a smiling nun led us to the dining hall where the retreat facilitators and participants were already having their lunch. The warm reception from the facilitators, participants, and sisters marked a positive impression in the beginning. We arrived around lunchtime, and so, food and its smell and sight made the two-hour trip truly worth it.

There was a diverse group of participants coming from 10 different countries, namely, Honduras, India, Indonesia, Lebanon, Philippines, Rwanda, South Africa, Tanzania, Uganda, and Zimbabwe. After a brief introduction, we were paired with another participant for a walk around the vicinity of the monastery with assigned points to share and discuss. We were to share the things we wanted to learn from and give to the retreat, our positive and negative experiences as a professional in our home country, and the meaning of retreat for us. We were allowed to walk by pairs around the area of Walhwiller-Wittem as long as we should get back to the venue at a specified time. The area was a huge plantation field dotted by few houses and
fenced ranches bordered along walking trails. The afternoon cool breeze accompanied our walk and exchanges of personal thoughts and experiences.

When we resumed, the pairs had quite a number of things to share to the whole group. The common expectation was to have a break from the rigors of studies. Meeting new people was also mentioned. Some participants shared their positive and negative experiences as a professional in their own countries.

A member of the Missionary Sisters-Servants of the Holy Spirit (SSpS) which is the host institution of the monastery shared to the group the history, missionary activities, and spirituality of the congregation. She also intimated her vocation story including her experiences in the Philippines as a missionary. Afterwards, an open discussion on issues such as the secularism in the Netherlands and the relationship between spirituality and sexuality followed. Sister Claudia pointed out that spirituality and sexuality are like two sides of one coin; they go together. She said that in the Book of Genesis, when God breathed to give life to humankind, our body became an instrument and expression of a spirituality.

The first day of retreat concluded with a French film, Of gods and men.

There was an opportunity to celebrate the Holy Eucharist with the sisters at the chapel in the morning the next day. Then, it was the turn of the guest speaker, Erik de Jongh, Ph.D., to talk about the theme of the retreat- How to be a faithful professional? He started with the previous night’s discussion on spirituality differentiating it with religion, although the two are interrelated. Every religion, be it monotheistic, theistic, or non-religious, has a spirituality that speaks about a "way." If one does not find a way, s/he gets lost. If one does not have a way to follow, s/he is not going anywhere. He stressed the importance of knowing clearly this way or pursuing to know a way to follow for one’s life.

Erik expounded the concept of professionalism by drawing out the positive traits associated with it such as respect, enthusiasm, commitment, honesty, responsibility, etc. Then, an activity was made to focus on one positive trait and relate that with our work experiences and religious beliefs. After the group sharing, Erik highlighted to establish a disposition to serve and collaborate as a professional. He further elaborated that as a professional, certain scientific knowledge and skills are required. To contextualize the role of professionals in an ever changing society, Erik stressed the need to innovate and deal with change. This is where spirituality becomes relevant because it guides the professionals to make good decisions in given situations.

In the afternoon of the second day, we went to a nearby German city, Aachen, for a field trip. We visited the majestic Aachen cathedral and its treasury museum. Most of us were surprised to discover a German city near theborder of the Netherlands with such history and religious significance.

The day was declared free after the Aachen trip.

On the third day, the morning exercise and prayer were exhilarating. They brought back prayerful atmosphere to the retreat. Then, there was an activity to make sketches to show dilemmas in the workplace. The dilemmas at times shook our lives and we often got lost on what to do. In times like that, our spirituality provides anchor to our decisions that reflect our values, purpose and goals.

In the last activity, a time for silence was given. There were five points to reflect upon while in silence. There was also an option to talk with the retreat facilitators during this time. The last reflection point was about a message to take home after the retreat.

I remember my disposition in the beginning of the retreat. I had this sentimental longing for connectedness. When Sr. Claudia reminded me of the Book of Genesis which narrates that God breathed in me giving and sustaining me a life, I felt connected to the core of my existence.

As the train moved closer to Nijmegen after three days in a monastery in Wahlwiller-Wittem, there was a sense of coming home. The trees and landscapes seemed familiar which conveyed a voice within me that stirred my heart, mind and soul in praise, and connected me to this beautiful creation – life. I knew that there were fifteen others seeing and feeling this way and finding their way back home.

Holy Week Outside the Philippines (Remembering the life of Christ)

2012-04-05T15:20:00.001-07:00

From http://www.insanetwist.com

For the past decade, I have been out of the Philippines for most of the time. And for quite a number of times, I have been asked about the Philippines. This Holy Week, I have been asked about the penitents who get nailed to the cross in observance of Good Friday.
"Is it true? Why do you do that in the Philippines?"

I was taken aback. I did not know at first how to respond. In my own effort to provide some answers, I have replied, "Yes, it is true. But I have never done that (showing my two palms apparently unscarred). The Catholic Church in the Philippines discourages people to engage in that which has become quite a 'tradition' in the Philippines."

I heard and read stories and reports that the act of crucifixion -getting nailed to the cross, is meant to relive and experience the passion of Christ. As reported, most of the penitents have personal "panata" or pledge to Christ. These solemn pledges can range from a very religious commitment to live a changed and holy life to an act seeking forgiveness or a mundane matter such as asking big favors (passing a national test, winning in lotteries, winning the heart of a beloved, etc.).

Every year, this tradition is drawing large crowd including curious foreign tourists especially in the province of Pampanga.In the 1950s and 60s, the tradition was secluded for the locals and communities of believers. The media have made this tradition a global news. And there is no turning back from the prying, disbelieving and bewildered eyes of those outside of the Philippines.

From http://www.insanetwist.com

For Catholic Filipinos, Holy Week is celebrated in many ways in various places. It is one of those seasons (the others are Christmas, fiestas, All Saint's Day) that Filipinos return to their hometown and villages. Because of its long vacation (usually 4-5 days including the weekend), majority, I'd say, opt to observe and cultivate the religious meanings of the Lenten season. The whole country, even the smallest towns and villages, have religious activities that celebrate the Holy Week. On the side though, social and recreational activities are also held such as reunions, outings and parties.

In the midst of these activities, there is a general atmosphere that believers must do penance during this season. The usual penance is to join a procession in prayer. Abstinence is also a common practice, especially from meat which is an essential Filipino culinary (prices of fish and vegetables shot up during this season). Fasting is also practiced. However, some people do penance in extreme ways. That is, walking long distance without slippers or shoes, experiencing the suffering of Christ such as carrying of the wooden cross, scourging themselves, and getting nailed to the cross.

For Filipino Catholics outside the Philippines, Holy Week is different. I am a bit lucky that Nijmegen in the Netherlands has a university with many international students. The studentenkerk (student church) has a line-up of activities for the season such as Way of the Cross and Holy Masses. There is also a Filipino community in the neighboring areas of Nijmegen, Molenhoek, and Wijchen.

Pasion Bicol (I brought this to deepen my knowledge of the Bikol language and do the pasion this Holy Week)

This is my second time I have observed Holy Week in Nijmegen. It has made me remember Bicol. Back then and there, Bicolanos have Pasion. A group of people sing a text in Bikol language that narrates the passion of Christ for days until Easter Sunday (often it lasts 2 days without pause and stop). Then, at the end of the Pasion, there is a big celebration with food and games, a gathering of family members and relatives, neighbors in the community. That was back then and there.

More than the "tradition" of literal crucifixion on the cross, Filipino Catholics celebrate Holy Week in religious and worldly ways. However, in our human efforts to be like Christ, we do want to share in His passion for humanity, in that He suffered for it and gave up His own life for the fulfillment of a will. In these human attempts to be like Christ, the closest that penitents can get to Christ is to actually get nailed to the cross as Christ. But we know that Christ not only died on the cross, He resurrected and showed us a life of love, service, compassion, and resistance (He resisted the temptations of wealth, power, and prestige).

From http://www.epm.org

In this Holy Week here, there or anywhere, more than the crucifixion, the season brings to fore the resurrection which makes us remember the life of Christ, a life of love, service, compassion, and resistance against evils.

The Pasion in Bikol ends with this:

Jesus, cami naghagad man Jesus, we seek
con sucat maheracan, ever with pity
na cun matapus an buhay, if life ends,
samuya mo na pacamtan grant us
an Lagnit camurayan. a glorious Heaven.

AUOTPA LOGOD GUIRARAY Amen for ever more.

After A Year, Here I Am Again Nijmegen

2012-03-22T16:46:00.002-07:00

Nijmegen train station

I know I will be back. I am bound to be back.

It was cold as expected in the Netherlands. I was prepared for the nearly freezing point of 3 degrees celcius. From Schiphol to Nijmegen, the train passed familiar and welcoming sights, and yet I felt a misplaced sensation of time and space.

Am I here?"

"Or Ï am moving to where I am supposed to be?"

The moving train settled and tied my wandering thoughts and trembling senses back to my own.

Welcome! says doraemon, flower and card

And then after an hour or so of that train ride, it felt a year of travel; here I am, in the same neighborhood, flat and room.

I was welcomed by a waiting greeting card, flower and doraemon on the table. It felt that I was not away that long. The radio, couch, bed, paintings, cabinets, and the silence in the neighborhood seemed to be unsurprised to see me back.

These are what I need to see, feel to say, "Ï'm back!"

I started to unpack my things, unraveling some memories and stories in my mind. Almost every stuff I put inside the cabinet or drawer, it carried a certain weight of home; unsettling at first in a new place.

Dominic buried in snow

Excitedly, I went down to the basement to get the few things I had left behind in the flat. They were all there, anticipating my homecoming. It took me more time to open the boxes than bringing them up and inside my room. It was like unloading the past behind to move on to the things that were immediate.

The last thing that went out of the basement was "Dominic." Remember him?!

Well, Dominic survived the most severe winter. He survived the isolation, the stationary position, the dark and hidden corners of a basement. Yes he did. And he waited, and waited, for a year.

Thanks to the oil and hand air pump!

And then finally, he was out of the basement. The wind of freedom, touch of ground, and light of movement greeted its wheels.

But his tires were slouchy; they were gasping for air. The rims were rusty; they were screaming for oil.

So I asked my landlord if he had hand air pump and grease oil to revive my Dominic.

He brought those two and I tried to put more life to Dominic. And yes, Dominic came back.

Dominic and Molen together under the sun

For my first week, Dominic brought me to Uni and home. After four or five days, his tires were slowly getting heavier and losing some air. I needed to revive him, again.

My new production place (oh, they call it here office)

With this experience, I decided to have Dominic a partner. I borrowed one bike from Ate Renna in Molenhoek. And I got that bike last week. I introduced Dominic to his new companion, Molen (for obvious reason). Dominic was quiet. I reassured him that Molen will be with us for a while; look after her. She is new in the neighborhood. Then, I left the two bikes for them to have their own time together because they will be together, bound by incidence.

View from my corner

I came back to Nijmegen to do something. And here I would do much of my work - Erasmus building at the 14th floor. I got a corner space (well, four of us got a corner in a rectangular office). The view is exhilarating. The countryside of endless plains feels like inviting me to look further than the trees, hills, and what's obvious in the eyes. (Still connected with research).

Dutch says it with flowers: Welkom!

Today I'd say I do (Wedding Day Story)

2012-02-14T03:49:00.001-08:00

When I proposed in December 2010 (read my proposal here), I knew that wedding day (We-Day) would come soon.

Next year, why not?

But then, Prince William and Kate had their We-Day in 2011. So we thought that our wedding would have no chance to be the wedding of the year!

2012, why not?

But 2012 is a leap year. In the Philippines, there is a superstitious belief that any important event held this year is filled with omens. Not a good year for wedding, I suppose. And the next year is even more omenous with the number 13. I have not extended my imagination and thought on 2014 though. Too way too long to have her in my life, formally.

So 2012 remained the most viable option. We just had to leave the month that has the extra day, February.

Why not in January 2012? Talking about starting the year right. So it was January 2012.

January has 31 days. So many good days in January. But professional commitments made our options a little bit restricted. We were both occupied in the middle of the month. So we looked at the end of the month as a possible We-Day.

The last weekend was a strong choice. But there was yet another strong choice after that weekend. And so we decided to make our We-Day a gift to one important person in my life who celebrates her birthday on January 31. On that day, she would be 70 years old.

So it was January 31.

On the day, I kept telling myself, "This is it! This is it!" Convincing myself that the wait was over. It was time to let things be, to dwell in the moment, to breathe in the significance and magic of reality and exhale the illusions separating me from that reality.

I was unsteady, and yet her grip fixed me. She held my hand firmly to declare that we were into this together. That wiped off the beans of sweats rolling from my head, into my hand.

I was nervous, and yet her presence beside me was comforting. The reassuring look in her eyes, the constant smiles, those relieved me from the nerves that were uncontrollably killing me.

I knew she too was unsteady and nervous. Amidst those nerves, I tried to respond, grip by grip, look for look, smile upon smile; reassuring her that I would stand by you, here and now until tomorrow comes, grip by grip, look for look, smile upon smile.

"Yes, I do."

And so I got married, that day of January 31 in a leap year.

A big leap with her over omens, onto the promise of a wonderful life together.

(I would like to thank Liway and her crew for arranging things and making our wedding truly memorable and special. Contact the coolest crew here: http://carazuniga.multiply.com/notes).

Sheeps and lambs on my long slumber from singlehood ( Wedding day's eve countdown)

2012-02-04T01:11:00.002-08:00

Tonight, I would like to see the night slipping away. I would watch the transition from night, dawn to day.

I would let my mind wonder, wander, and discover. I would let the mighty hand of time bring me to the dearest and fondest part of my life, and feel its moment with every tick; no closure, no end in sight. Just a man facing time and his future.

It's been a long time since I have this kind of moment. My senses are killing me. I see the darkness out there blurred by glowing lights from the ground. I feel the heaviness of parents' breathing due to the suffocating anxiety of the next day. I hear the silence of the night on the workers dotting the high-rise building construction from afar. I smell the drench of the waterways flowing underneath a dead stream. I touch the tinge under my soles from the cold floor to the lively perceptive soul inside. Outside, I plunge myself to the expanse of possibilities.

A lone airplane slicing the yawning distance between those left behind and those moving forward. I sit still, in a distant horizon.

I see a man, who has submitted himself to the trials of life. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he loses. But he has words for me.

"If you are going to get married, look for a woman who understands you, not necessarily understanding you every time; who accepts you, but not entirely accepting you; who supports you and stands by you. Look for a woman whom you can communicate with the ordinariness of the day, and whom you can believe in."

Yes Tatay (father), I have met and found that woman. And tomorrow, I am going to get married with her.

And sleep comes uninvited and unwelcome, like the night after a long joyous day, surrendering to the certainty and inevitability of the next day.

My Proposal (A Year After)

2011-12-01T02:08:00.000-08:00

(Note: I have told this story many times to several people. And still, I get similar question; how did you propose? To answer the question, I write my side of the story.)

For quite some time, I kept wondering, when would be the best time to propose?

Friends suggested to do it in a romantic place. Others encouraged me to travel and go out of the familiar places, with her. I imagined it best when there is something special in that day (November 20 is very special to me).

All set (in my mind). November 2010 would be it in either Rome or Paris (where else is more romantic than these cities). Amsterdam and Brussels (Europe's capital) were also in the back-up plan.

She came to Amsterdam in the middle of November 2010. We took the comfortable train ride to Nijmegen, arguably the oldest city in the Netherlands, where my university is located.

As planned, we prepared to travel to Weeze-Rome-Paris-Brussels-Amsterdam-Nijmegen in 8 days.

In Rome, there were so many things to see and do. As a Catholic, Rome connected me to a self in awe and adoration of a faith so close and real. It was personal.

Together traveling, we discovered more our differences which led to arguments, and more arguments. For example, there was a difference in the way we viewed the trip. For me, it was a holiday wherein I could relax and sit back. For her, it was time to visit as many historical places as possible, especially the "bocca della verita." This kind of difference and argument caused me to forego the plan, in Rome.

Next stop was Paris. It was a short stop but worth every time in it. It was chilly in the city. I sensed a vibrancy in the city itself and I just let myself have a taste of life the city was offering. We rode the Paris breeze.

We ended up in Brussels in the next stop. We met my cousin and she toured us around Europe's capital. And then, Filipino dinner was served. (Thanks to Salva and Eng). Again, the plan was shelved to give way to food attack.

On the way back to the Netherlands, we almost missed the last connecting train in Antwerp. In that massive Antwerp train station, we got 5 minutes to look for the train to bring us to Roosendaal. Just in time, we did it.

Back to Nijmegen the following day, I had a meeting with the research team at Radboud University Nijmegen. After the meeting, we roamed around the university. And then we biked to the German border near Kranenburg in the afternoon.

The next day, we went to Amsterdam. I told myself that it could be the P-Day. Anne Frank house came as the priority of the day. And then, Amsterdam central. Hushed most of the day, we rushed home to save us from freezing in the cold. Again, the plan crushed to the sounds and sights of a moving train.

Last day together came, before she returned to Singapore for work. It was November 27, 2010. Talks about Sinterklaas (a Dutch celebration) and the atmosphere that went with it were all hovering in the air in the Netherlands. I was told by my host parents that prior to the coming of Sinterklaas on December 5, children put their shoes near the chimney or heater for Sinterklaas to place his gift.

I thought about it for a moment. While in the shower, the idea came and enveloped me with its warmth. The spontaneity defied all plans in my head. I just imagined things happening. It was a now or never moment, and so I thought.

As I placed the ring inside her shoe, I imagined scenarios. Ahhh.. Once she put on her shoes, she would feel something inside. And there, she would scream. I would come to her and see what in the shoes, kneeling. Then, I would pick the ring and show to her with the magic words. Perfect, was it?

What happened was that when she put her shoes on, she walked two or three steps farther. And when she noticed something, she grabbed her shoe and turned it upside down. There went the ring rolling in the kitchen, near the basement door.

Shocked, I shouted, "where is it?"
She responded, "what is it?"
I kept asking, where is it? Where is it?
And she kept replying in question, what is it? What is it?

I found it underneath the cooking range. She was beside me on bended knees. And there I said (something like this or to this effect), "In such a short time together (2 years), you have made me feel better and loved. You have made me do worthy and crazy things. You have made me believe in the ideals and noble causes of life. Ms. Noriko, I want to live a life with you for the longest time I can in this world. I want you and me in this wonderful life and world together. Would you be part of this life with me? Marry me."

In the unexpected and yet most romantic place in the world at that time (kitchen in Groesbeeksedwarsweg, Nijmegen), she hugged me saying, (what else), yes, yes, yes, many times, yes.

I was the happiest man, and still am.

Biking through the Woods in the Netherlands

2011-08-08T03:50:00.000-07:00

Coming out of the house, I met my landowner as he obviously just arrived holding his bike by his side. He asked, “Where are you going?”

“Biking.”

He smiled and said, “Enjoy the day!” as he positioned his bike to rest on a wall bordering our neighbor. He has never missed to say something every time we meet.

I unlocked my bike which was chained beside a metal fence, and replied, “Thanks, sure I will.”

It was five in the afternoon of Saturday. I started to move towards the south where my university and the forested area of Nijmegen are located. I passed rows of similarly-designed houses on both sides of the road.

I did not really have a plan where to go.

Nijmegen, as in all other places in Holland, has a specially designated lane for bicycles. It makes biking safe, practical, recreational, and pleasurable to everyone. Adults and children are riding side by side on various sizes of bikes. Biking is more than a transportation means; it a lifestyle in Holland.

As a Filipino studying in Holland, I welcome this lifestyle. Although not entirely new to me, biking is something that I am not used to doing everyday. Now I bike to go to the university and supermarket, to visit friends around the city, and tour around the city that would be my home until the duration of my studies. Oftentimes, I bike with a destination in mind.

After 20 minutes of several intersection stops and leisurely biking, I could see ahead the green tops of trees closing in on me. I was heading to the direction of Malden, a village just outside Nijmegen.

As I approached the forested area, a stream of refreshing breeze blew on my face, ear and hair. The gusts of wind went through every pore of my skin slicing away the weight of worries and concerns in my body and mind. There was a sudden heightening of senses, of life. I felt that my body opened up to perceive this awakening moment of being present in a particular time and space. My body, as it were, expanded to embrace those things that came along the ride.

Inside the woods, every pedal, left and right foot, synchronized with my heartbeat and breathing. The greeneries of the surroundings brightened the way deeper into an arching dome of trees. Tree trunks peeped from afar while those closer simply stood like guardians of the woods. Dried leaves scattered on the ground. Decaying, some leaves seemed to be part of the soil, thus feeding the earth’s soul.

My bike swooned to the twittering of crisscrossing birds from the branches. I saw another biker several meters ahead of me. He was moving slowly. I moved past him and looked at his face smiling wryly. There was a certain questioning look in his eyes. But he smiled back. Then, the straight road stretched my sight forward.

As I pedaled down the road, I recalled the biker after me. The man could be in his 50s.

That look, “Why are you rushing?”

Those steady and easy pedals could be signs that he had been to the woods several times. For him, it might not be about getting in and out of the woods. It might not simply be passing through the woods. That forested area is itself a destination.

When I looked back, I thought I lost him. Then, a tiny colored figure emerged from a distance. He seemed to add colors to the shade and tapestry of the woods.

Upon seeing the end of the road, I decided to go back, retracing the same road. This time, there would be no rush. Deep into the woods, I reached my destination.

"Find and Get A New One"

2011-07-27T04:38:00.000-07:00

Rainy days made my five-year old pair of shoes really look worn out and old. They have done me great service. Their loyalty is beyond measurement. They were with me in every step of my way, literally. Now, it is with heavy heart that I am considering their retirement from active use and out of my traveling feet. I intend to keep them for sentimental reasons. But I know I will have to face harsh comments and reactions. Why can't I just keep them?

Our society has become used with disposing what is not working and actively in use, and acquiring new things to replace the disposed one. It has become a habit, very close to becoming a rule. It is now increasingly embedded in the mentality of many in our society. The consumerist attitudes demand to keep the production, distribution, and consumption of goods going. From electronic gadgets to material goods, we easily dispose the old familiar possessions, and replace them with hippie, fashionable, and cool stuff.

Many repair shops have folded up due to this dispose-and-replace mentality. From tailor and dressmaking shops to radio/TV repair shops, they slowly have faded in our utilitarian existence. Many of us tend not to repair something old and bit damaged, instead we tend to buy and replace it with new or second-hand one.

In Bicol, there were men who roamed around calling out, "irahay payong!" (repairing umbrellas). For less than 50 pesos, they would personally and immediately fix any kind of problems of umbrellas in front of one's house. That was in the past. When I visited Bicol lately, I was unable to hear that familiar call of irahay payong. Cheap umbrellas proliferate in the local market of dry goods. Many of us do not simply care to keep an umbrella for more than two rainy and sunny seasons. Once it is broken or just a bit damaged, many of us prefer to have a new one to be our companion in the journey under the rain and sun.

Sadly, this kind of mentality has slowly sipped in our attitudes towards relationships. The recent debate on divorce bill in the Philippines (the lone country without a divorce law) may be an indication of this.

More often, we hear stories of break-up of relationships than new or make-up relationships. This is probably the reason why most of the best-selling songs and most requested songs are the sentimental heartbreak songs.

During a heated argument, we say things that hurt others. Although we do not mean to hurt the feelings of others, words can pierce and break the spirits and emotions of others more than we thought. Emotions fly high above our heads.

In my experience during these intense exchanges, I was told twice to find and get a new partner who will be perfect for my individuality. And twice I decided to ask my partner if she would be willing to take a new one in the old me. In the end, both of us decided to find and get a new partner in the old us.

Some say it is metamorphosis or transformation of sort to repair the damages of the past hurts and fix the problems of individual, gender, and cultural differences. We say it is defiance and standing up against the urge and pressures of easy way out - a mentality and disposition that demand replacements every now and then.

We say it is renewal of commitment, of the decision to journey together in life.

Our Church, Our Refuge

2011-02-10T09:04:00.000-08:00

We oftentimes see a church as a landmark. More than that, it is a refuge to many who are weary and longing for home and direction in life.

Coming from a predominantly Catholic country, I grew up in a community where it took me just seven minutes to walk to the nearest church. I studied in Naga City, Philippines where churches are part of its landscape and tourist attractions. Hence, I always suppose that a church is always within reach, anytime, anywhere in the world.

Staying in a new place is mystifying at times. The foreign and strange surroundings can unmask the deep and unsettling sense of longing for the familiar and comfortable world. This is my story when I stayed in Costa Rica and Jakarta, Indonesia.

When I went to Costa Rica for my graduate studies, the nearest iglesia or church was only 15 minutes away. That church is located in downtown Ciudad Colon. Literally, I had to walk down from my house going to the church, since my place is situated on a higher part of the town.

Like the Philippines, Costa Rica is predominantly Catholic. I even went “church-hopping” one weekend in the neighboring cantons of Piedades and Sta. Ana, and the city of San Jose. I noticed that churches in Costa Rica put a barrier after a few steps from the main entrance facing the altar. I think the purpose is to avoid disturbances and distractions from outside. Thus, from outside, no one could see the altar and pulpit. This setup discourages parishioners to stay outside while attending masses. This also somehow evokes a sense of sacredness and heavenly feeling once inside, shut from the worldly temptations outside, but welcoming the worried and restless hearts and souls inside the church.

In the Philippines, some people stay outside the church while attending Sunday Mass. This is evident in almost every church where people are spilling over the confines of the building. Crowded during Sunday masses, our century-old churches could not accommodate the growing number of parishioners. This gives reason and justification for people to stay outside while attending mass. Besides, there is no barrier a few steps from the main entrance, and there are both attractions and distractions outside.

I think that for Catholics, experiencing a new place meaningfully would not be complete without dropping by at a nearby church for a blessing, prayer or mass.

For more than three months, I stayed in a predominantly Muslim country — Indonesia. Ubiquitously, mosques are common sights in the country. As a matter of fact, behind my house, there is a mosque. Halfway from my house to the bus way, there is another one. Outside a mall, beside a hotel, across a cathedral, Muslims have plenty of choices to go to and have no reasons to miss prayer time.

As a stranger in a foreign country, I did not know exactly where to go to attend Sunday mass. That caused me to shell out Rp 17,000 (P80) or less than $2 to buy a map of Jakarta City. With a map, I searched for gerejas (churches) near my place in Mampang Prapatan, Jakarta Selatan. There was none in a circumference of two kilometers. But I saw a number of crosses in the map that indicated and marked Catholic churches. That saved me from looking further.

When I saw in the map that there is a cathedral in Jakarta (of course, there is!), I immediately planned my first weekend to visit it.

After few days in Jakarta, the Gereja Ketedral Jakarta was the first church I visited in the megacity. A one-hour bus ride and a ten minute-walk from the nearest bus station were worth all the planning and effort to actually see it. The cathedral looks magnificently imposing. Its gothic-style is a beauty to behold. Something pricked my chest when I stepped inside the church compound after having difficulty crossing the street from the opposite side. I stayed outside the majestic structure for a while, marveling its presence within my reach.

It was Saturday afternoon. There was a photo shoot in front of the church by a couple wearing wedding dresses. They looked so happy together, so natural together, in person and, I guess, in pictures too. Obviously, they felt blessed to be together.

The couple reminded me of….. ahhh.. love… it makes me wonder what I have been missing all this time.

Then, as if welcoming me, the door opened. Entering, I passed by the couple and smiled at them, appreciating their presence. At last, I was inside a church in Indonesia. My restlessness calmed down. A certain ethereal feeling enveloped me. I needed to sit. But I knelt. I was overwhelmed by the weight of my body. I had travelled for more than an hour just to reach this hallowed place. Silently, I prayed, thankful of the moment, of the whole walk, of many things, pouring my heart out to the One I long for.

Walking outside, I did not look back. Smiling wryly, I brought the cathedral with me. And my heart and soul found sanctuary in the bustling city of Jakarta, Indonesia.

Now that I am in Nijmegen, Netherlands, a Church is a community of Filipinos and students who gather on Sunday either in the Student Chaplaincy (Studentkerk) or Molenhoek Church. My Church dwells in the fellowship of this community. While it is the refuge of my weary and restless heart, it enriches and nurtures my life as well.

MyOther, My First Other, My Mother: Herstory Through a Gender and Son's Lens

2011-01-31T02:53:00.000-08:00

(Cubao Bus Terminal in Quezon City, May 2008 at around 4am) A 66-year old woman got off from the bus. A distinct joy overwhelmed me upon seeing her, my first concept of the other. It was my mother. From Bicol, Philippines, my mother came to Manila with my two nephews. I rushed to hug her. My mother hugged me back. I felt home in her arms around me.

My mother has a great and marked influence on my life. My story is intimately intertwined with my mother’s story.

In celebration of Mother’s Day, I had an intimate talk with her. At that moment, I was an awed listener of herstory, a son, and a friend. At the same time, I got to hear herstory in a new light with gender lens. With sharp focus on her being a girl, her relationships with her father and husband, and her being a mother, I was listening to herstory as it unfolded like the first time before my eyes.

I thought that writing about my mother would be a tribute to her deeds and services to me and her family. It would be a space where I would get to know more and better the person who has touched me in a special way. The dailiness and ordinariness of the life of my mother would hopefully provide a glimpse of the survival in the World War II, the struggle of growing up and getting education as a girl, the lack of control of women on decision on marriage and other matters, and the desire to be productive economically to support the children.

My story follows the developmental life cycle of my mother, from childhood to old age.

Her early and childhood years

When she was born on January 30, 1942, she was named Valeriana. It was at the height of the Japanese occupation. Her father would take the whole family to caves near Mt. Isarog in Pili, Camarines Sur to escape the Japanese. Her mother would wrap Valeriana with clothes and put amulets to dispel evil spirits inside the caves.

When Valeriana was 5 years old, just after the war, her younger sister died while being born. Her father supported the family by farming a piece of land awarded by the government through homestead. Life was starting to settle in Pili when her father’s carabao was stolen. Without his carabao, her father could not farm. Thus, her father brought them to Sabang, Del Gallego, about 90 kilometers from their house, where his relatives offered him a piece of land to till (with carabao of course).

Valeriana attended her Grade 2 in Del Gallego while her parents moved to Sta. Cruz, Laguna, about 200 kilometers away from Del Gallego, to manage a canteen. She stayed in Del Gallego to continue her studies under the care of her grandparents.

She was given a responsibility, to look after and take care of her younger brother and sister. She accepted this responsibility seriously while doing some household chores on the side.

Her adolescent and high school years

After graduating elementary education, she was stuck to the task of looking after her younger siblings and doing household chores. She was not sent to school. Her parents were having a hard time financially to be able to send her to high school.

At 16 after four years of being out of school, she was finally sent to high school.

Valeriana vividly remember her first dance in the plaza. Her mother set her up with an older man. Her mother gave her a fancy soap to wash her face. The older man incidentally became my father.

After 2^nd year high school, she was made to stop schooling. Her parents had no more finances to support her growing expenses in school. But her brother continued his studies in high school.

Early marriage, being a wife and mother

Valeriana had no plan to marry yet, but my father had his sight of the future with Valeriana. She was 18, while my father, Felino Sr., was 23 when they got married. My mother did not want marriage yet because she still wanted to go to school. But her parents persuaded her.

Her desire to go to school lasted until she had her 3^rd child. She simply wanted to finish an education degree to become a teacher.

Felino Sr. earned his income from managing a rice mill owned by his uncle. To augment the family’s income, Valeriana learned dressmaking and bought a 2^nd hand sewing machine. Consequently, things changed. “I could now earn a living for my children”, my mother quipped.

My mother is not the epitome of women in her generation. However, herstory is a glimpse of the survival in the World War II, the struggle of growing up and getting education as a girl, the lack of control of women on decision on marriage and other matters, and the desire to be productive economically to support the children, which reflect the stories of many women in her generation.

Under ordinary times, there are mothers who strive to keep their families which are the fabrics of society together, girls who lack access to education and yet remain steadfast in their belief in the power of education to liberate them from the “bondage” of ignorance and monotony of household life, women who resist the roles given to them, and young girls who dream of a better future where girls and boys or daughters and sons are equally valued and treated.

Amidst the stories of violence and discrimination against women, there are also stories of joy and triumph. The joys and triumphs of every mother are the joys and triumphs too of her sons and daughters.

My mother is my joy right now. And I would like to share my joy with you.

Happy birthday, Ma.

Go Go NGOs: Sportsfest of Partners in Development

2011-01-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

They were careful as someone crossing an iced-over stream. Alert as a warrior in enemy territory. Courteous as a guest. Fluid as melting ice. Shapable as a block of wood. Receptive as a valley. Clear as a glass of water. – Lao Tzu

In September 2000, a fitting prelude to the Sydney Summer Olympic Games was the Iriga Non-Government Organizations (NGO) games hosted by the Foundation of Our Lady of Fatima Center for Human Development (FACE) in its 25^th anniversary. Eight teams from different NGOs gathered together and participated in the most-awaited annual 3-day event in the world of NGOs in Camarines Sur. If the Olympics is a celebration of humanity in sports, the NGO games as a whole is a celebration through sports of our commitment to humanity. Same spirit, same soul, same shared goal.

NGO workers assigned anywhere from far-flung areas to office-based or combination of both doing anything including everything displayed their skills in traditional and non-traditional sports. Invariably, there were no discriminating distinctions among participants. Directors, managers, officers, clerks, organizers, all development workers played each other without these labels. Unlike in the Olympics where superiority connotes wealth and inferiority which points to poverty of certain countries, the NGO games were manifestations of equality at its culminating point. One against one; adversary in the games, partner in development work. Indeed, there was no first, just a leader and tail ender among equals.

After all the cheerings and jarrings, the frustrations of could have-been and the joy of winning the science of opposing and the art of conceding, the psychology of congratulation and consolation, the beauty of teamwork and the vanity of each team, the Ateneo group of NGOs composed of Center for Community Development (CCD), Community Development Foundation, Inc. (CDFI), and EAGLES emerged as the overall champion. While the Ateneo group brought home the bacon, others went home deserving the rest yet thinking of the next day’s report, meeting and area visit.

In the mind of the worker, there is no time to lose in pursuit of real change in the sign of our times since even little reform takes time. It is written in every action, in speech and in reason that the worker can have the time of his life so long as it accords justice, common good, and equality. The event was a welcome break for all NGO workers but the shadow of impeding work inescapably loomed in the guise of Mt. Asog.

Looking back, those three days in Iriga City were of all sorts of sports fest, a jubilee, rejuvenation, and a reunion rolled into one in the engaging social milieu of the NGOs in Camarines Sur. It is undeniably well recognized the contributions of NGOs to development efforts everywhere especially in Camarines Sur. Most often than not, they are effective and competent in their endeavors to effect change. And gradually the system is taking a form bonded by the civil society. On this hopeful note, I end with a congratulatory message to Ateneo-based NGOs.

Closure

2010-12-31T12:57:00.000-08:00

“There are certain things that you become fond of, and you welcome them and resent the new things.” – Ernest Hemingway, The Gambler The Nun The Radio

For hundreds of people from Milaor who commute everyday, going home is always a trip like no other.Understandably, after a hard day’s work, home is the place where one wants to be.

Since the abrupt closure of the old terminal in Tabuco, Naga City for jeepneys plying Naga-Milaor and its transfer to the Central Business District (CBD) and LCC, catching a ride has become as elusive as gold in the Olympics. Yet there were jeepneys that managed to squeeze through the closed down area of the old terminal, ignoring the sign and wood obstruction that interlocked the passageway. So if the Abu Sayyaf was able to escape the cordon of the military, that would not be news because people are used with getting through no matter what. Well the change of terminal is expected somehow because new things and innovations will eventually come.

(Unlike the terminal, we do not have to wait, for change. We can proactively go ahead with faith and confidence in our hearts.)

However, at this point in time, the change of terminal site has confused the people of Milaor. They are torn between two terminals; one in the CBD or LCC and the other in the old terminal in Tabuco. The choice could be plain and simple. But how I wished that come this election, our choice would be that plain and simple as in choosing between good and evil. The fact is we are always forced to choose among evils so we pick the lesser evil wishing that someday he/she would become good. Anyway, I have yet to find a genie in a battle for my wish to come true.

Because there are jeepneys willing to load commuters, they precisely continue to flock the old terminal. Not discounting, though, that the people might have developed the routine and too much attachment to the place that is why they keep on coming back. Or it might be convenience that continues to draw them to the old terminal. If not, the people might be resisting change and stick to whatever they are used to.

And this could be a case of a disconnection which is a not as effortless to let go as the goodbye kiss. Something, however, is left worthy to cherish and to keep yet the act of moving forward is inevitable.

A friend of mine taught me the essence of how to end any relationship that might have unpleasant hang-ups caused by fateful departure by one or the other. One may associate the end of relationship with healing but the two are of distinct characteristics since the latter presupposes a hurt feeling. In this case, there is no hurt feeling engendered instead a sense of attachment. End of relationship or cycle is said to be sine qua non to make progress with one’s life without unmasking the bitterness and harsh lies of the relationship. It is about the painful truths of realities – the doomed farewell, letting go of something part of oneself, unexpressed love or hate – to be able to accept those and carry on.

After more than a week now whenever I happen to pass by that closed terminal in the morning, I sense a bit of my peoples’ history. I could still hear the whispers of the town’s secret, the grumbles of life’s complaint, the surprise of meeting old friends, the amusement of various stories, the relief of finding an acquaintance, all being drowned by the resounding shout of the name of a hometown.

No matter what the reasons are why the people continue to insist in coming to the old terminal, I think what is paramount to their consideration is the significance of going home. Wherever the terminal is, the people of Milaor are not going anywhere but home.

Boda de Oro (Golden wedding anniversary of Mama and Tatay)

2010-12-15T06:40:00.000-08:00

Fifty years ago (November 24, 1960), my mother and father said to each other, "I do."

On that day, they pledged their love and commitment to be together for better or worse, for poorer or richer, in health or in sickness, to cherish their companionship until death forced them to part .

My father parted last year. He was 71.

He left behind his 68-year old lifetime partner, seven children, and fourteen grandchildren.

Had he survived until this year, he and my mother could have had a grand boda de oro or golden wedding anniversary. Very few couples are able to have this kind of celebration in their lifetimes. My parents missed it by just a year. But forty-nine (49) years of togetherness is enough reason to celebrate and be thankful for.

That togetherness produced seven children. I am the sixth one in a relatively poor family. Each day, as I remember, was a struggle to cope with insufficiencies. However, it was in those difficulties and struggles that we held each other closer to our hearts. The bonding brought about by daily challenges and shared hardships in life could never make us who we are. And yes, those times were dificult and yet meaningful to live by and with.

Imagine if the Reproductive Health Bill (RHB) that encourages a 2-child policy was enforced at that time; you would not be reading this. Primarily because I would not be here. And many of us would not be here. This is one of my major reasons why I challenge the bill. Another major reason why I resist RHB is that Filipino couples nowadays are reproducing less babies than ever before. And the trend is going down and down, even without the RHB. In 2008, the population growth rate stands at 1.8 as compared to 3.08 in 1970s. Thus, what will the RHB do to our population when our population growth rate is already going down?

To provide couples the freedom to choose their family size is the best our government can do, rather than strongly encouraging a 2-child policy . Having small or big family size has benefits and costs. Our experiences and education cause us to be wise to know what is better for us. Who else know this better than ourselves?

In my family, this is very evident in the number of children of my brothers and sisters. The most number of children in one family is four while others have either two or one. This phenomenon and/or trend is observed in communities I visited, my friends' families, and relatives.

I feel so blessed to be born in the generation without a bill that encourages contraceptions and 2-child policy. And I would like to extend this blessing to the future generations of my country in the way I know how and as long as I can. I believe each child is a gift to humanity as parents are gifts to children.

Thank you Mama and Tatay. You are such wonderful gifts to us, your children. I love you.

“We've learned by teaching”

2010-10-21T14:56:00.000-07:00

Below is an article written in 2006 about the volunteer work of Ateneo de Naga college students in a rural elementary school in Nabua, Camarines Sur, Philippines. I found it stored in my e-mail. CCD-Volts days..
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“There were also other activities I could get involved with this summer, but everything just led me here.”

This is what Pat Ursua, an incoming 4th year college student and a member of Education Honors Program of Ateneo de Naga University, said after spending a week in Inapatan Elementary School in Nabua, Camarines Sur.

Pat was one of the 64 student volunteers who opted to give a week of their summer break with some 200 kids of Inapatan, Nabua, some 45 kms. south of Naga City. The Center for Community Development (CCD) of Ateneo de Naga University organized and facilitated the activity dubbed as Tulong-Dunong which is now on its 4th year as an extension service.

The student volunteers made their own modules and lesson plans for the kids who were grouped according to their grade level in the next opening of classes. Kids got advanced lessons to prepare them for the regular classes this coming June. Instead of just playing around, the kids were treated to a variety of activities including the tutorials of subjects taught in the regular classes, basic skills in art painting, computer operations, guitar lessons, singing, modern and folk dancing, sports (arnis, volleyball, and football), and other structured-learning experiences.

“To teach young children was our main task,” Karen Bigay, another Education Honors Program's member, added. While teaching science, she discovered splendid pictures of contentment – the children of Inapatan. What amazed her was the detachment of the children on the wordly things, and yet flashing the faces and smiles of genuine human aspirations – to be happy.

For these teachers to-be, teaching kids was really challenging especially that they are still studying, and struggling sometimes, to become a real and licenced teacher someday. But it was also rewarding for them to see the kids learned, appreciated and enjoyed what they did for that one week.

At first, coming from a city and going to a rural barangay, they had a feeling of superiority since they were going to render service and teach. Then they felt privileged and fortunate to be in that position to serve. Pat shared this view. She said, “It is ironic that these children would look up to me as an “ate” or a teacher but no one of them knew that despite their age, I am learning a lot from them. The children taught me the simplicity of life.”

Likewise Karen said, “factual knowledge taught us to enrich our intelligence but it is with other people's experiences and interaction with them where we find real learning. We were not the only persons who touched their lives but they too, left marks in us.”

Pat, Karen and the rest of the student volunteers who taught the kids in Inapatan, and in the process, the Inapatan kids teaching them too a lesson or two can put the lesson plans and modules aside until they return next year for another Tulong-Dunong for the Inapatan kids. This time they will be more prepared to teach and learn too.

Pak Frans Huskens (1945 - 2010)

2010-10-12T12:36:00.000-07:00

I am privileged to have met and actually listened to a man who was esteemed for his intellectual generosity and immense and genuine human curiosity by his peers, students, and friends.

I first met Pak Frans when he came to the Philippines to interview me for a slot in the NWO-funded Ethno-Religious Conflict in Indonesia and the Philippines (ERCIP) program at Radboud University Nijmegen, Netherlands. My interview schedule was at 8:30 AM at the Philippine Social Science Center (PSSC) in Quezon City, Metro Manila, Philippines.

It was a Monday of Oct. 26, 2009. On that day, I had to report to the office in Laguna, about 55 kilometers away from Quezon City. But I was happy to have that panel interview on Monday morning.

During the interview, I remember Pak Frans was seated at the far left of a relatively long table. I was prodded to take the center seat. All throughout the interview, I noticed that Pak Frans was listening perceptively, writing once in a while on his notebook, and nodding intermittently. I remember him saying that I had a good background on theories of conflict. Of course, that made me feel good.

I believe that Pak Frans had this special gift to make people feel good about their work and themselves. He truly believed in the ability of individuals to make and do things possible and turn them into a reality, in their own volition.

When I arrived in Nijmegen from the Philippines, I received an email from Pak Frans welcoming me to his country and city. That was really comforting to have in the midst of new weather, culture, and all other things that made feel strange and isolated inside and even outside my 14-square meter room.

Then, our first scheduled meeting as a research team came. The students were supposed to submit a paper, but he said that a simple presentation of our ideas would be enough for our next meeting. He understood students' adjustments, struggles, personal situations, and pacing of writing. Or he understood us too much that he blurred the distinction between him and students.

After that meeting, in our small conversation, he wondered why Asians study Asia, why not Asians study Europe. In a way, he was challenging me. And in his words, he even encouraged me to write about Europe, to visit as many places in Europe, to enjoy my stay in Holland. "There is so much more here than your studies."

I guess he was then talking from his experiences. During his fieldwork in Indonesia and academic career in the Netherlands, he made personal ties and friendships that would last beyond his lifetime.

I remember that the first set of books that Pak Frans gave us as students were fiction books mostly by Sidney Sheldon. They were not non-fiction books, nor ethnographies. They were novels.

Indeed, there is so much more here. There is so much more.. Thank you Pak Frans.

Bullfighting, World Cup, and Libertad

2010-09-15T19:02:00.000-07:00

Bullfighting is a Spanish passion. And in Barcelona, anything in and with Spanish is unwelcome.That's why bullfighting will be banned in 2012 in Catalonia region in which Barcelona is the capital. On top of the argument that it displays cruelty to and torture on animals.

In Barcelona, there is a growing call for a Catalan "country," a separate entity and an act of distancing from Spain. In July 2010, more than a million Catalans showed up in demonstration of their desire have a greater autonomy, just short of independence from Spain. There was a strong expression of Catalan pride, apart from what is of Spain.

Then a day after that, Spain won the 2010 World Cup in South Africa for the first time. The whole country including Catalonia region celebrated the win of the biggest title of all team sports. The Catalan pride was somewhat subdued by the Spanish victory. How could Barcelona not celebrate when the core of the Spanish football team are players of the famed FC Barca (read as Barsa). It was a national feat shared by all in Spain and all that was Spanish.

Two weeks after that huge demonstration and World Cup celebration, I was in Barcelona. Conspicuous and hanging outside the buildings were Catalan flags and posters of the national footbal players. It was the peak of summer holidays. So many tourists came to enjoy what Barcelona could offer.

With an invitation from a friend, I joined him to watch a bullfight in Plaza de Toros Monumental. It was Sunday. From the Monumental train station, we walked to the popular bullfight ring arena. Just across the street opposite the arena, there was a group of protesters calling to stop cruelty to animals and bloodshed. Then on the other side along the arena, a group of supporters of bullfighting was gathered and heckling the anti-bullfighting protesters. Police officers stood on the street separating the two sides.

We went in the arena after paying 23 euros each. It was huge and an old structure. A band was playing when we got into our seats. Most of what I saw in the seats were foreigners with their camcorders and cameras. Many seats were still unoccupied when the ceremony started.

The first bull came out roaring, and looking for anything that got into its way. Bullfighters ran behind their safe cover. Except for one, he stayed and did what he was supposed to do - beat the bull and entertain the crowd.

I must admit that there were moments of excitement, thrill, suspense, boredom, and compassion. These were strong and intermittent feelings.

It was like watching Mike Tyson during his prime. We knew that Tyson would win, and yet thousands came to see him fight and millions watched him fight on TV. And thesepeople paid to see how Tyson would destroy and knockout his opponents.

Or it was like watching Michael Jordan during the Chicago Bull's championship run. We watched Jordan making shots after shots, including the game winning shots. When Jordan had the ball in dying seconds, our heartbeat rose and our breathing could hardly catch up.

In bullfighting, whenever the torero turned his back on the tired and bloodied bull in a very close goring range, I felt a certain stoppage of my heartbeat and breathing. I did not want to look, but I could not keep my eyes off.

I did not want the torero to get hurt, neither the bull. I just wanted to see the spectacle of man and animal in synchronized movements. The rising of emotions as man evades the goring attempts of the bull that keeps on trying and going. It is beautiful, sans the bloodshed. Ole!

It could have stopped at that moment. It should stop there. I did not come to see the harming and killing of bulls. I came to see the courage and grace of toreros in facing grave danger and risk, and the persistence of the determined bull to hit a target.

I would say that entertainment-wise, bullfighting tops other spectators' events. There must be a way to keep the spectacle without a bloodshed. There must be..

And I anticipate that it will come from Catalonia region. Then, libertad, from many things including cruelty to animals, will truly emerge in Catalan country. Libertad, libertad, libertad..

Rainbow friends in Ateneo

2010-08-17T17:10:00.000-07:00

I once asked my mother why there was a rainbow after the rain. She just looked at me, a look dismissing any further inquiries from a curious kid. I assumed it was another topic old folks wanted to keep only for themselves, off-limits to kids. Since then, I never knew or asked why. For me, rainbows became babies; they appeared after the howl of the skies or a pregnant woman.

Not until I met Lanie, Mgee, Armie, Den-den, Nikki, and Chilet. Through them, I came to know the rainbow I regarded as of of life’s secrets. It was like reading the last few pages of a mystery book. Questions, doubts and complexities started to simmer down leading to a point of seizing the metaphor. I came to understand its fleeting beauty, its real temporariness, its colored prominence, and its metaphysical advent. Of course, I don’t mean the scientific side of the rainbow.

They provided me the awe I once had at the sight of a rainbow. “How come all those colors find their right places every time it appears? How each one carries its own uniqueness to a larger analogy. How they make sense together.”

After the Colloquium, we have been gathering as a group in our effort to sustain the chosen ministry. How it made me feel belonging to a wonderful creation. It’s lofty and earthly at the same time. Each one shines not to outshine each other but to highlight its own shining moment. My synergetic radiance does not shade the others instead it brightens them more.

Not all after-rain scenes promise a rainbow. In the same instance that not all the opportunities and chances to meet bring up togetherness. Casual, by chance meeting, we have to be content with that. In fact, we seldom meet now. Yet each meeting provides and/or revives the rainbow feeling in us. “Light and bubbly, refreshingly cool, heavenly joy, born to be wild.”

Presently, we work in one university in Naga City. We represent different offices doing dissimilar jobs. Though faced with a day-to-day job and individual tasks and activities, we can still squeeze out material time together to delight in the ordinariness of the day, to talk about what’s going on with us, to share the nuance and significance of our daily undertaking, and to render one’s self to others.

Though not a kid anymore, some rainbow questions still persist and linger like, “Is there a rainbow at night? Or is the end of a rainbow geographically raceable, thus gold can be found?” With or without, yes or no, amidst the rainbow confusion, I will never lose the connection of me with the rainbow “out there.” I am comforted and assured by the sight and company of my rainbow friends. With them, I feel connected with the beautiful creation and wonderful gift called rainbow, now no more a life’s secret. 11/20/01

Denied (again) or postponed for 2014: World Cup victory celebration in the Netherlands

2010-07-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

It would have been historic! It would have been amazingly great! And I would have been part of it. Had the Dutch team won the World Cup 2010 in South Africa.

After booking a ticket in the finals by beating Paraguay in the semifinals, the Netherlands came to a great anticipation mood. Days leading to the final game against Spain were a drag. It was one of those longest five (5) days in history of the Netherlands. People busied themselves with just anything. But primary to their minds was the final match, the dreaded and exciting Sunday match of reckoning.

Then, the day dawned. Each second of time synchronized with the beating of millions of Dutch hearts. Stories had been told and shared. Twice in history, the Netherlands came so close to winning the most prestigious football cup in the world. This time, people were telling different stories. They seemed to be ready for another history in the making. It was a beautiful and special day.

The country breathed in orange. TVs were set. Beers were chilling in the fridge. Centrums were packed with orange-clad people congregating in front of wide-screen monitors. Bars, cafes, and restaurants were tuned in to unmistakably world cup bee-like sound of vulvuzuelas.

Shouts and claps for each Dutch player. But some players were more equal than others. People sang mightily and heartily the national anthem.

The game started.

It was clear that this match was going to be close. People were waiting for that one strong hurrah where they could release all the built-up emotions. First half was tense.

Second half was more straining to nerves as both teams had chances of scoring goals. The hurrah and jump were always subdued by the missed opportunities. It ended with sighs.

Extra time. It was a prolonged emotional strain. Then, a goal, by the other side. It pushed down the screams inside. But some more time left, hope was diminishing, vanishing as the time expired.

For the first time in the tournament. No goal. No hurrahs. No release of excited emotions. It was an involution of disbelief, sigh of a nation denied again.

As it is said, the loser in the championship match has the worst feeling of losing.

There is yet another chance in 2014. It may be another long wait, but a worthy wait for a victory celebration.