Araw ng Kagitingan

(Day of Valor)

The taciturn Bengali asked me what “Baguio” meant and I couldn’t answer so I asked the gentleman that served our food.  I hid my ignorance by being ”pa-cute” and said aloud that my history teachers would kill me, and sure enough, everyone in the table laughed.

In another occasion, the pretty Burmese girl asked me about the Bataan Death March during World War II and again, I couldn’t give a satisfactory answer.  I was so disappointed with myself, I didn’t bother making pa-cute. 

I recently visited a beautiful, rich country, whose citizens are simply brimming with pride over their heritage.  I got a sense of how much they loved their country by how much they knew of its history.  I felt guilt, perhaps, shame, too, because I now realize that I might have taken my country, my beloved Philippines, for granted.

It’s true what some people say, only when in distant shores would one truly appreciate one’s country.  The beatiful, rich country would have been perfect were it not for the hotel concierge that had uttered a racist remark against me (another post, perhaps).  The episode got me thinking — the beautiful, rich country had beautiful warm people, but really, there is no place like home.

(Manila, Manila, I will keep coming back to you, my Manila…)

Aherm…

And so I promised myself, when I get back, I’ll love my beloved Philippines more (I’ll discover what that means as I go along). 

But for starters, I’ll try to read up on the Bataan Death March and honor the prisoners of war, Filipinos and non-Filipinos, who perished. 

In April 1942, the US-Filipino forces surrendered the Bataan Peninsula to the Japanese.  On April 9, around 75,000 Filipino and American POWs were forced to walk around 90 kilometers from Mariveles, Bataan to San Fernando, Pampanga, and were then transported by train to Camp O’ Donnell in Capas, Tarlac.  Only around 55,000 survived.  The rest either escaped or died on the way due to dehydration, starvation, disease, abuse and other manner of atrocities committed by the then enemy.

 (For more: http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/55717/Bataan-Death-March)

to paths bright and promising and blessed!

One of my oldest friends took a sacred vow last week.  Most of those who witnessed the profession were fighting back tears when the rites started and she, together with four other ladies, publicly answered The Call and said, “Here I am.” 

 

Three and a half years have passed since we sent her off to her journey of faith and her commitment remains unwavering.  (I, on the other hand, have had countless conversations with myself on the question, “Should I stay or should I go?”  Or more accurately, “Where do I go?”)  No amount of jokes (with subliminal messages?) would make her change her mind.  (A friend told her, “The leaves that you rake in the morning would be your salad for dinner!”  – or some such jokes.)

 

Still, she inspires me.  (Although, I have to admit, her profession is not for me.  Or, I, am not for her profession.  I’m quite certain I would be kicked out on grounds of ‘disobedience’.  At any rate, among other things, her community would most likely not accept me due to ‘conflict of interest’… )

 

It was all family and friends and good food and general good cheer after the rites.  I hope that all the good vibes had rubbed off on me.

 

At night, Sr. A–’s two best friends and I and her spiritual confessor went to the mall to watch a movie.  Unfortunately, the movie we wanted to see was not showing.  We stuffed ourselves with seafood instead, checked out model condo units (don’t ask), and had our fortunes told (except Spiritual Confessor, who does not believe and is strong.  That was fun.

word from the wise

The Government and I did not see eye to eye, as usual.  Or more accurately, counsel from the government and I did not.  He casually said “dismissed” and “(weak) evidence” and I worried that the ‘clients’ would lose heart.  Apparently (and uncharacteristically), my worry (lost heart?) showed, and was immediately sensed by the ‘clients’.

 

Our jeep crawling through the highway of unforgiving sun, I was jolted from my confused thoughts of dry statutory provisions by a word from “Commissioner” –  

 

“Huwag kang mag-alalala, gracevill, kaming mga katutubo ay hindi papatalo sa iisang papel.”  (Don’t worry, gracevill, we, indigenous peoples will not be defeated by a mere scrap of paper.”)  

 

Shortly thereafter, the jeep-ful of cheerful old men and two strong ladies, dropped me off at a gas station, where this girl took the bus to Manila.  The orange sun, to my left, was blazing and low on the horizon.  Tomorrow, it shall be on the right again, rising.

forgotten

My first ever day of school in kindergarten, my grandmother forgot to fetch me.  My mama had to go to her own class and my papa was in Riyadh.  

In my new uniform, I sat by the school gate for what seemed like hours until it was just Mr. M– (our school’s security guard) and I who were left.  I didn’t panic, however.  Or feel that I was abandoned.  In my 6-year old mind, I had somehow known that I would be forgotten.  

And so before the sun set, and before Mr. M– and other school personnel became even more worried, I stood up from my corner and asked the school janitor, Mang… Roderick (I think, his name was), if he could accompany me home.  I knew exactly where our house was though not its address (up the street near the town market a ‘haunted house’ stood and on that street, a passageway led to the compound where home was.)

Before my lola could finish cooking dinner, there I was sitting by the dining table, asking for merienda.  Ay! my lola cried.  But, no crying, no fuss from me.  I simply asked for a glass of water and some soup.  Ok, perhaps for a doughnut, too.  And everything was just as it was and as it should be.

More than 20 years later and I’m wishing I’m still that 6 year old kid.  

Forgotten?  

I’d stand up from the corner where I waited, dust myself off, and head for home, where someone who surely loved me awaited for my return.  Then, as in dreams, there’d be no crying, and hardly any fuss.  Ok, perhaps a lot of fuss.  But only the good kind.

r+r=not

A male friend mentioned a female friend’s name oh-so-casually, and i sensed… he’s into her.  All evening I was plotting how to get them together.  I liked the idea that I could set them up.  This plotting did not mean that I have tried it, or that I was successful with past attempts.  My average is 0-1 (a former officemate, male lawyer, is into football and his favorite is Henry; a good friend, female lawyer, is Fangirl and her favorite is Henry.  I saw “wedded bliss” etched across the sky!… Obviously, this did not work as two months after I saw “wedded bliss” etched across the sky, he got married to his girlfriend of 8 years.  Anyway… )

I just thought, why not?  He’s interested; she’s game.  My female friend could need a boy to pick her up, accompany her to movies, carry her grocery bags, order food for her, drive her to work, pay her bills (literally), and just do her general bidding.  Male friend has a car and business of his own, so i figured, he could move his schedule around hers.  (I sound terrible, I know;  I’m just trying to be funny.  Anyway…) 

I was excited and all set to schedule a date when…

…one random evening, during dessert of heavenlysinful strawberry shortcake, male friend, to the horror of the four ladies around the table, takes his fork, cuts the slice of cake in half thereby taking the best, most sinfulheavenly part, and plops it to his saucer just like that!

All my plans for male friend and female friend went kaput at the sight of the…er… distasteful behavior.  Unsolicited tip to the other half of the population: dessert is serious business for (most) ladies. 

Buti na lang ‘di ko pa sila na-set up.  Pa’no na lang kung kasal na sila?

p.s.

Bliss basis #1: football?  Bliss basis #2: command and obedience?  Matchmaker and relationship guru I am not.

* photo courtesy of darensberries.com

steel surreal

Managed to forget about waste of precious natural resource by way of leaking faucet because of news from up north about a client having been arrested for illegal possession of firearm.  Strange, our conversation went.  “Councilor, where are you?”  “Here at the PD, attorney.  I’m okay…”  “You have the right to remain silent and to have counsel of your own choice…” “It’s okay, I’m okay, I can do this…”  “Who is with you?”  “The Provincial Director… I’m okay, attorney…”  “I’ll call you back?”  “Yes, attorney, i just stepped out and am heading back to S…”  “Ok.  Bye…” 

Five seconds later…

“Councilor, I cannot emphasize enough… you have the right to remain silent and to have counsel with you if you’re being interrogated…” “I’m okay now, attorney, i can fix this…”  “Are you sure?”  “Yes, attorney.  Thank you.” 

What could my phone call have accomplished when client is approximately seven hours away on fair weather?

(Client has license, but without permit to carry.)

Mission accomplished (?), but, there was still the matter of the leaking faucet.  Queries from the friendly neighborhood store did not produce results, i.e., still no trustworthy plumber in sight, much less, the Desperate Housewives kind.  And so… I had to make do with the office landlady’s son, who, in his inebriated state, pulled their jeep out of the driveway, called on his friend, who just happened to be standing on the street, and drove our strange trio to my home sweet home.

We were crawling through Teachers Village and I was trying to calm myself.  The two men couldn’t possibly do anything horrible at such a busy time of day, I tried to convince myself.  Besides, lots of people were still out… “This is where you live?  This place is crawling with drug addicts!  Don’t take this route at night…” was the office’s landlady’s son’s (LS) advice.

In under fifteen minutes, the faucet was fixed.  We stopped at an intersection on the way back to the office.  “Do you see the girl in the jeep?” LS asked pointing to a girl in a tank top.  “She’s my ex…”  LS and his friend guffawed. 

“Do you see the wake over there?”  LS asked me again.  He did not wait for an answer and said, “That is the wake of B… the worst drug pusher here… and in all the world!”  LS and his friend laughed again.  “Let’s pass by the place!,” they both agreed.  Thankfully, we just sped past.

The lengths we’ll go through to have peace of mind and to conserve water.

Sometimes, I just don’t know why I do the things that I do.