on the edge

if only i can divine the future to calm my restless soul.  it’s time to go.  but i want to go while the going is stil good and the going a choice rather than an imposition.  to keep my spirits up, i tell myself that i will be again  embarking on an adventure, for i’m always one to face the unknown with a sense of excitement and anticipation.  despite the fear and the angst.  all considered and compared i am in a better position than most. 

…. this is depression born out of boredom… maybe. 

blahs in my head

i logged in, wanting to download — or is it upload ?  whatever — feelings and thoughts. and i couldn’t start.  too many of them.  i stare at the screen.  tapped on the keys.  erase. tap again.  erase. i better go. 

innocence lost

when … 

lollipops turned into cigarettes,the innocents turned into sluts,homework goes in the trash, the mobile phones are being used in the class.

detention becomes suspension,soda becomes vodka,bikes becomes cars,kisses turn into sex.

remember when getting high meant swinging on the playground, when protection meant wearing a helmet…

 (wait, there’s more) 

baile the sagay guapings way

one of the current conversation threads in the guest book of the sagay city website is about going to the “baile”  the sagay way.  it recalls how young sagaynons went “discoeing” in the 80s, 70s or earlier, when the young and the not-so-young walked through sugarcane fields, rivers and hills for the pleasure of grooving and dancing cheek-to-cheek. 

we didn’t have disco bars then; dances were held at the plaza or an open space in the middle of the village, where the dancing area was coralled with split bamboo  and coconut leaves.  “kicking up a dust” literally happened when fast music was on and  watusi and freestyle “maskipops”  moves were showcased on the dirt dance floor.

this was the village way, where folks were poor  but were always generous, pleasant and enviable in their simple and uncluttered lifestyle. 

so what was “mamayle” or going to the baile all about? kartaps, a sagaynon whose moniker is derived from “karga-tapas” ( the act of loading and cutting the sugarcane, sagay’s lifeline as with the rest of negros occidental) has this take..

” ..idol, absent ko kagahapon kay namayle kami sa minapasok…na agahan kami kay waay salakyan,,waay gali galing ang central ti waay mga trucking pa bato..naghapit kami sa bug-ang, namahaw tubo(pang-us), kay ubos na kuarta namon..dulhog kami sa may linasgasan kag nag swimming sa talamnan..deretso pa dian-ay,sa kakapoy daw mapatay..dulhog sa inangtan..bisan tulog ga dalagan…at last nakakita karo galing hasta makiling lang, okey pa rin basta makitipid tikang..daw tatlo ka oras nga baklay bag-o namon malambot ang poruk marang..ay salamat malapit na lang..pot..pot.. pot..busina sang salakyan, bagbalikid namon..marlyn line sa minapasok gikan!!..pamangkot sang driver(bebs), to sakay ka ang sabat ko….###ta nga bag-o ka lang?? ti mamayle pa ta liwat??”

.“.ang mga tsiks bisan gab-i ga idlak ang buhok..inusap nga lubi ang shampoo..tapos brilyantin ang perfume..tapos ka tsinelsa lang..kun kis-a kun ga sa-ut kamo kalit lang mauntat kay kaayuhun anay ang tsinelsa kay nahukas..pro okey man lang gihapon a..das okeyy,,basta may gakos a..ha-ha-ha..sigi binayle!!”

[idol,   i am late because we went dancing in minapasok, where we were till morning, because we couldn’t get a ride with the sugarcane trucks to barrio bato … it was not milling time… we stopped in bug-ang for a bite of sugarcane, that was all that we could afford for breakfast…went down to linasgasan, bathed in the field … straight off to dian-ay, dead tired by then…sleepily jogged to inangtan … at last hitched a ride in a cart but only till makiling, okay all the same to save a few steps… hiked for three more hours to reach purok marang, thank goodness we’re almost there… was that a car horn?  Yes! Marlyn line from minapasok…. Bebs the driver asked, want a ride? S**b why only now?  will we go to the dance again?  ….    The girls’ tresses were gloriously shiny even at night, shampooed with the milk of  shredded coconut and brilliantine perfumed…  at times stopped in mid-dance to fix  her flip flops…that’s okay… I get to hug…]  

sagay plaza

once upon a time, before the first movie theatre was built in sagay, we’d trek to the then-town plaza to watch movies sponsored by darigold milk, tide or breeze detergent and such. 

during the daytime, the sponsor would go around town to —  “ricorida”– announce with a megaphone, “gina imbitar ang tanan nga maglantaw sang sine karon sa gab-i sa plaza…ang salida si tony ferrer as agent x 44… ”   

people from nearby barrios and haciendas would walk kilometers for the treat of watching dolphy, chiquito, gloria romero, susan roces, swashbuckling fernando poe jr or joseph estrada.  or were nora aunor and tirso cruz III movies also shown?  my memory escapes me… it was years ago, or maybe age is catching up with me? 

then rama theatre came, sandwiched between ah teng’s bakery and dr. gonzaga’s house along the main street. an adult shelled out 30 centavos (?) for a seat in the “palco” (balcony ). but one can listen to the dialogue through the speakers set up outside. that i suppose eventually killed the darigold  “salidas.”

television sets were owned by a handful and the local government  put up one on the plaza stage.  so people enjoyed chips, hawaii five-o, mission impossible.  i’d go watch and pine for “kuruda” this cool intellectual-looking japanese tech-y guy with a very minor role in a spy series that i don’t remember. 

that plaza is a far cry from what it is now. tita day (bless her soul) and tita bebing sonia transformed it into a haven of flowers. today it boasts of the Siete, an icon of the age when sugarcane was brought to the central by the “bagon” freight train cars.  a “tali ambong” (covered gym) sits on the old basketball court, where girls swooned over gab pulido, martin francisco, boy funtanar, atlas lopez and other sagay warrior hunks. the mahogany trees and rizal’s statue are still standing though. 

i haven’t been there for so many christmases. but i was told that for some years now, at christmas, it is all aglow. enough to get me misty-eyed….

 sagay plaza xmas 09

new year thoughts

its that time of the year when people take stock of  things that came to be, of those that should have been or might have been, to count the blessings so to speak.  I count mine with a deeply grateful heart, for the many that God littered my path with. 

one wishes it could have been better — maybe so, for all the tragedies that befell the Filipino people and millions of hapless others across the globe.  on the other hand, one could also be thankful, for it could have been worse — there could have been more turbulence in one’s life, more natural calamities, more conflict, or no let up in the global economic crisis.

no excuses here for the bad decisions, ineptness, and selfish agenda of those in power.  rather, a great admiration for those who continue to plod on — to protest against injustice, to protect and service the weak, to pursue their dreams, to survive.

my 2009 was a major milestone.  it  took me on a journey away from the familiar, it shattered my otherwise la-di-dah existence, i had to cope with solitude never experienced before and bear the sleepless nights of disquiet, i learned to live without the frills.

all the same it was BEAUTIFUL and won’t trade it for anything…ever….

because  it nailed home how  absolutely amazing House of  Joy is, that network of  friends  who have become a family.  while some are now scattered across continents the  ties that were woven  in the land of the Angkor kings were kept strong.  I missed them hugely, hugely, hugely.

because I could have languished in Mongolia, but was instead  cradled in the warmth of the pinoys-in-mongolia as well as among mongolian and non-mongolian colleagues. I also miss them mightily.

because, thanks to facebook (seriously !) i have reconnected with friends and family who have been long lost.

because my immediate family of five and numerous expanded kin, are generally well and healthy, give or take one or two deaths and serious ailments.

because new dimensions in my professional career have been discovered, exciting avenues were opened.

i close my eyes and open my heart to you all and to God, to say THANK YOU even as I seek forgiveness for the hurt that I may have caused along the way. 

may the new year bring us renewed hope, energy and countless blessings.

two from when

two months from when i flew out of ulaanbaatar.  two countries since then before settling in my new job.  two tasks completed. any happier?  in some ways yes, in some ways wishing that things could be better.  any which way, one could and should count the blessings.   

two posts from what seems oh-so-long ago

 should i?

i know that it may take a while to get you out of my system. i don’t think i will forget - it was much too good an experience to throw into the can despite the hurt.  getting you out of my system simply means being able to think about you without the pinch and the tear-welling. maybe i keep you alive by making you my sounding board. pretend that you'’re still on the other line.  should i ?  nahhh… it will make it harder to move on. 

dots

dots.  several uses — dotting the I emphasises the Me, a dot ends a sentence because one either has nothing else to say or wants to move on to another idea, and several dots denote infinity or indicate something unfinished. 

so i have dotted the conversation with the falcon last night.  he has nothing else to say perhaps because he has lost interest, and if so, i have to move on.  thus, the dot.  painful but needed to keep my self- respect. did i put one dot or several?  the mind intended one but the heart drew a chain of dots.

mission is ending

“how do I pack my dreams, longings, laughter, friends, memories and reveries to bring with me to where I am going?” someone said.  exactly how i felt as i was preparing to leave cambodia one year and two months ago.  i could not get myself to pack my stuff then until the very last moment. 

now i am preparing to leave mongolia sans that feeling. in fact,rather raring to go. cambodia and mongolia for me, in fairness,  are not on the same league. how can one compare one year to 13 years of staying in a place.  one has become a home, while the other has proved to be simply a lay-over. 

comparatively — there weren’t any profound memories nor deep friendships, except  with 3-4 perhaps, to regret leaving behind.

there might just be, perhaps, something very special that mongolia will hold for me…but that is something that i hope to find out in the last two weeks remaining.  

phil indie day 2009 in mongolee

that was a blast. the pinoys in mongolia’s first ever open party, attended by close to 300 people less than 10% of who were pinoys, to celebrate the 111th philippine independence day on 14 June 2009 at the star apartments community center.

doubling as a fund raiser for the good shepherd parish in ulaanbaatar, we raked in more than 3.6 million tugriks  including donations from generous individuals.

it was a challenge to organize the event, lacking as we were with the necessary materials, hands and funds.

a barrio fiesta atmosphere nonetheless was approximated — lechon kawali in lieu of a whole roasted piggy, light wood dos por dos in lieu of bamboo for the tinikling, styro bahay kubo (nipa hut) facade. strung and hung the banderitas, served the ubiquitous chicken adobo, rice, tokwa with togue and veggie sotanghon for the non-meat eaters, biko and mango juice.

guests were entertained with folk dances — itik-itik, kappa malong, pandanggo sa ilaw, tinikling — and got everyone grooving to the opm music of the boracay-based pinoy band who took off from their regular gig at strings. tinikling was such a hit (”awesome” !) that many brave souls from the audience tried. no casualty, thank heavens!

there was too a mini tianggue where sold were embotido, tapa, tocino, pearl trinkets and other blings. raffle prizes that were put up by marn    et for those who bought buy-a-brick tickets (for the church’s fence) were added incentives. the “philippine libations” pack, consisting of tanduay rhum, ginebra san miguel, ginger tea powder, sumatra blend tobaccos and cebu dried mangoes was particularly inventive.

unanimous, hands-down, no contest verdict : indeed the “philippinos” definitely know how to throw one helluva  fantabulous parteehh!! ….. and when might the next one be?

can’t end this post without being showbiz — we would like to thank our sponsors … and the rolling credits.

the pinoy community in mongolee is small, give or take 100 persons. many of them gave their best, within respective abilities and limitations, to make the party rock. to them — dancers and choreographers, creatives, the strings pinoy band, gate keepers, food table supervisors, buy-a-brick ticket minders, trinket seller, deli supplier  –  HUGE APPRECIATION. 

meantime we do have to mention special people: Marnet, who pursued, glued and coordinated, Fr. Ronald and the girls from the Good Shepherd for responding to tough logistical needs, Louise and John from the US Embassy for facilitating the use of the venue and security as well as the cash bar, Ms Delia B from far Egypt but whose spirit of solidarity reached UB in $$$.

then of course our gratitude to other Pinoys and non-Pinoy friends who celebrated with us, such as the Chingeltei District Health Unit who came in full force, Roni’s Mongolian colleagues who drove all the way from Darkhan, Ambassador Patrick Chrismasant of France who charmingly beamed at the dancers, Swiss Consul Markus Dubach who honored us by wearing a barong tagalog and his wife Gertrude who gamely dared put her dainty feet in between the tinikling poles.

muchas gracias y salud!

easter

“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He is risen!”   Luke 24:5 NIV

 and from mary frye … 

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I do not die.

pinoy food adaptations

the pinoys’ ability to adapt and re-invent is impressive.  we take on many things, adjust and label it our way, or think of it as “only in the philippines.”  food for example.  

when i first went  to work in hongkong, having had a fill of dimsun lunches with office colleagues,  i looked for chopsuey and lumpia shanghai.  no such thing in the menu.

there were stir fried mixed vegetables and spring rolls. so was a variety of noodle dishes that i didnt know existed.  some resembled our pancit mami, lomi and even batchoy ilonggo but none that remotely looked like batchoy ilocano.  rows of crispy lechon de leche (suckling roast pork) hung in the glass counter alongside roast duck, steamed chicken and chia siew, which is the chinese version of tocino. 

in indochina, i was surprised to find balut hawked and eaten with style.  most of us thought or still think that this rather “gross”  delicacy is exclusively pinoy.  

pinoys would usually outright peel off the egg shell, slurp the juice and eat the meat/fetus and yolk with salt.  the vietnamese or cambodian vendor , however, would provide an eggholder, a tiny teaspoon, basil and mint, salt and pepper mixed with monosodium glutamate (msg - popularly known in the philppines as vetsin, or its brand name, ajinomoto). you’d position the egg on the holder, tap the upper end with the teaspoon, peel off the that part of the shell, sprinkle with salt and pepper on the open top, delicately spoon out the meat and eat with the herbs. this you relish standing or sitting on the sidewalk or on a mat, al fresco, by the banks of the river or the lake. 

when spaghetti found its niche beside pancit in the turo-turo, it  would assume an overbright red cloak or a sickly orangy look, depending on how much banana catsup is put in.  dotted with thinly sliced maroonish hotdogs,  it  would present a pretty picture. italians though are turning in their graves with our sweet spaghetti, which some of us i have learned add condensed milk for that extra creamy sweetish taste.  

pinoys later discovered that spaghetti has a white version and called it carbonara.  the pasta is drenched in a heavy creamy sauce with either ham or bacon or tuna from the can.  those who are familiar with a bit of haute cuisine, or think they do, know that heavy cream does not figure in carbonara, although sophia loren’s version does use light cream but sparingly.

there are many other examples of food adaptations pinoy style.  but oh well… the french did not invent french fries, nor   do the hamburghs own hamburgers as theirs. food and culture arent pure but are enriched when blended.  

for a little bit of enlightenment, below is an original carbonara recipe, from the laszio region near rome.  

Ingredients :  eggs, guanciale or pancetta, grated parmesan cheese

600 grams spaghetti or bucatini

120 grams guanciale or pancetta * — diced or cut into strips. bacon can also be used but preferrably not ham   

1 clove garlic
2 medium eggs (very fresh)
100 grams mixed Parmesan and pecorino Romano (or all pecorino) – grated
olive oil
salt and pepper

• Cook the guanciale in a pan along with the whole peeled garlic clove and a little oil, until the guanciale is well coloured. Discard the garlic.
• Beat the eggs in a bowl with a little of the cheese and a pinch of salt.
• Cook the pasta until al dente, drain and add to the pan with the guanciale.
• Lower the heat to a minimum and add the egg mixture. Mix well. Be careful not to let the eggs set.
• Remove from the heat and add the rest of the cheese. Mix again and serve immediately.

*  guanciale is a cut of pork that is made with the cheeks and jowls of pigs, then cured. generally, this Italian cured pork resembles thick slices of bacon, although the length of the pieces may be somewhat uneven in texture, rather than with an even cut.

 finished product, voila!  note that the pasta retains its natural color and is not drowned in heavy cream 

deprived ahay

mongolia is a landlocked country, freezing for a good part of the year.  the mongolian countryside is green only for about four months, during which period farmers are able to plant and harvest wheat, potatoes, a few variety of vegetables (carrots, onions, cabbage, beetroot, garlic). 

GDP growth is heavily concentrated and dependent on mining and livestock.  agriculture figures much less. so does manufacturing of consumer goods such as textile, processed food, etc. we here thrive on imports including seafood, fruits and veggies.

expensive naturellement. a major challenge for pinoys who crave for bagoong, daing and tuyo, ampalaya, hipon, alimango, galunggong, hasa-hasa, tanguigue.  every now and then we get our shrimps or mackerel frozen from korean shops.  

beef, however, is excellent and burgers can be had with thick, juicy patties sans extenders.  these are are usually in the menus of mid and up-scale restaurants. mcdonalds, kfc and the like  havent  found their  way in. perhaps the market is too small, mongolia’s population being only 3 million.  young mongolians and expats, usually tourists, make do with bb burger, a local fast food joint. we’ve been waiting for kenny rogers to open for months, but construction of the restaurant seems to have been halted — economic crunch perhaps. 

last month i brought from seoul some mcdo cheeseburgers.  several pinoy friends who were at the airport shrieked with delight.  they haven’t had this junk for soo very long.  jollibee might just have brought the same degree of “appreciation” or perhaps more. ahay ….

cruising through time at himogaan river

mr espina the writer here gives us a peek to the kind of stories that i loved to listen as a child, especially when relatives and our parents’ childhood friends came to visit.

i’d sit, quiet as a mouse,  beside nanay inday felicing or either of our parents,  creating the images that their stories evoked.  i had to be still and behave, tho i was itching to ask a gazillion questions - because then children were meant to be seen but not heard - else be shooed away. rather too, be “strongly encouraged” to sing or dance, recite a poem or declaim while parents beam with pride. hah! 

it won’t be long when all our elders will be gone.  as it is, like it or not,  my generation is almost there or perhaps already there — becoming the “elders”  ourselves.   its up to us to keep their tales and memories alive so as to keep the bonds  through time and through generations. 

From the Center
with Rolly Espina

OPINIONS [The Visayan Daily Star]

Memories of bygone days

Saturday’s Himogaan River Cruise was both enlightening and nostalgic. While it brought memories of bygone days, it also showed me and brother, Bert plus spouse, Edith, that the topography has changed.

Familiar landmarks to Sagay City Mayor Alfredo Marañon Jr. and Councilor Beethoven Fuentesfina had mostly disappeared. They were now replaced by houses and other changes in subdivision living.

The start of the Himogaan River cruise was at the former shipyard of the Japanese Imperial Forces. That has disappeared, the place had been silted and the old forestry bureau building which used to house the “Imbais” is no longer there. Hardly a trace of its remains.

I suddenly realized that today’s young generation have lost the meaning of words we (our generation) had so easily bandied about.

For example, “Imbai” was the term used to describe the sex slaves of the Japanese who were housed in that forestry building. We were living just about 200 yards from them and could hear the brutal treatment of the girls by their Japanese clients and their screams.

But Wilton Roxas, Visamin Ledesma, Nong Manual Roxas, Ned Orleans and my younger brother Dodge managed to befriend the “Imbais” who often played softball with us, using balls enclosed in silk pumps.

Freddie Marañon and Beethoven, who used to stay in “Takas”, the former name of the Japanese barracks, recalled how the Japanese workers of the Insular Lumber Company used to build wooden boats like batels.

These were used to ship out lumber from the ILCO stockyard to the Sagay “bocana” mouth of the Himogaan where they were loaded on board ocean-going vessels. The same with the Lopez Sugar Central sugar bags which were taken up by inter-island barges.

One thing we noticed, though, the river is much clearer now. “Local residents have apparently become more conscious of solid waste management,” commented Mayor Marañon.

As we drifted down the Himogaan, we saw the silting of channels which used to be deep. The former log pond has expanded to Uko, across the river to Paraiso. And the place can now be forded across by foot. This was the place where an alert classmate in Grade three rescued me from drowning after I had sank twice.

My brother, Bert, also recalled that the Japanese had set up a floating bridge across the river from the site of the Japanese shipyard. We both reminisced having seen the hardy Japanese swimmers braving the floods as they dragged the empty drums across to serve as floater for the wooden bridge the Japanese put up later.

We all searched for the “pantalan,” the ILCO wharf. It has disappeared. And from its previous site, Beethoven and Mayor Marañon pointed out to us “Takas.”

We saw the effort by the Lopez Sugar central to shield its baggase stocks from sliding down into the river. Later, we glided our way downstream. We passed by Hda. Maria and Hda. San Agustin. This latter was the place where Papa brought our family for evacuation. This was the place where I first met Maj. Morga and Capt. Cafe, bosom friends of my father. And Maj. Morga handed Papa his first gun, a .45 caliber grease gun.

We drove downstream. Then we saw other familiar places like Tubli, Himogaan, and others.

We were especially thrilled at the sight of an island, built by accretion and now planted to mangroves. It has been declared by Sagay a bird sanctuary. And we saw a Kingfisher and lot of other hitherto “lost” bird species which we had not espied for a long time, swooping down the bird sanctuary.

This was one trip where Mayor Marañon, Councilor Fuentesfina, Bert and myself took turns retelling the history of Fabrica and how it once was the world’s biggest hardwood lumber mill.

And we told him so big were the logs brought down from the mountains of northern Negros, one was often enough for a railroad car to bring down.

John van der Zandern and Marion van de Wetering were told about the Fabrica that was before World War II and until after the liberation.

Both were astonished at how accretion built the Carabao island where carabaos are now grazing in the middle of the river.

We decided to land at the rest house of Mayor Marañon fronting the Guimaras Strait. That meant that we had to wade up to our knees. Still, there were no complaints. Somebody commented we could develop rheumatism since we had wet our lower extremities.

It just reminds the younger generation that the old folks believe that “salt water” does not provoke rheumatism.

Before finally recalling our visit and other projects of Marañon, I sat stock still and recalled the stories of the past when we stayed at the residence of the late Tio Ano just beside the Sagay Church, across that, incidentally, was the elementary school which the Japanese used as their garrison.*

hail to the filipina migrant workers

this would have been posted a couple of days back but for a glitch in i dot ph, that somehow i could not access.  needless to say, we are still in the “women’s ” month and it is never too late to put in a piece to salute the ka-womenan — they who hold half of the world on their beautiful yet weary and oftentimes tortured shoulders.

in the last eight years or so my work centered on gender and development,  violence against women, human trafficking and migration.  its more than work and livelihood. 

it is passion and commitment hammered and stoked each time i visit a shelter for abused women, each time i hold the gnarled hand of an elderly lady on whom depend her two grandsons orphaned by HIV/AIDs, every bonding moment  with the girls at the womyns agenda for change with their inspiring brand of activism and enthusiasm to advance the rights of sex and garment workers in cambodia, each time i dance and prance with the trannies in the wac boat,  share a meal of monggo and fried fish with domestic workers from sagay in hongkong,  organize the alphabet week ends with the pinoy community in mongolia, celebrate life’s blessings and challenges with the house of joy.  

i am and have been a privileged migrant worker.  there are those who are less fortunate.  privileged or not, leaving home, kith and kin is never easy …. for most with dire consequences for the family, sometimes rendering irreparable damage to the social fabric.  yet, sacrifices are made. 

with acknowledgement and admiration, i hail the filipina migrant workers.  and all migrant workers for that matter…

To all those who journey from their homes to find a future, with dreams in their eyes, fear and excitement in their minds at what awaits, and pain in their hearts at leaving loved ones behind, often very young loved ones. 

Many of them, indeed many of us, reach our destinations with relatively few mishaps, hurdles or detours.

For many others unfortunately, the journey leads to destinations and landscapes unsafe, unimagined and undesired.  for some, the journey is arduously endless and the terrain consistently hostile. 

It is especially to these migrant women who are in harm’s way…. (that we pay) tribute to their courage and endurance, and to their indefatigable spirit to prevail against all odds, in quest of a better future.  Some may call these women trafficked, and sometimes we do too. 

But often the poetry of departures rendered through notes of optimism, joy and pain, leads us to the traveler whose journey has not yet ended, had not yet led her to the destination she sought. 

Then the only enlightenment that can dawn on any well meaning  entity is: what can we do to remove the hurdles and ease the way for this person, this trafficked migrant woman, in order for her to reach her destination and goal safely.

 (Collateral Damage.  GAATW report on Trafficking in Persons. 2007)

dinky’s take on obama and the promise of change

reprinted below with permission was dinky juliano-soliman’s reflection on obama’s ascendance to the presidency of the united states of america.  dinky –  former secretary of social welfare in the arroyo government,  a stalwart of the philippine civil society movement.  

Desperately Seeking An Obama but Missing Obama’s Message

Wednesday, January 28, 2009 at 5:33pm

January 20, 2009 Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th president of the USA…it signaled hope and change in America…..January 20, 2001 Gloria Macapagal Arroyo was sworn in as President of the Philippines riding the on the hopes of a people for a leadership that will practice good governance.

Today, January 20, 2009, we Filipinos are seeking an Obama of the Philippines. We are sick and tired of the corruption that confronts us every day and the cover ups that this administration is doing. We complain about the abuse of power that GMA and her cohorts exercise as they slowly slaughter the institutions of democracy in the country. We are frustrated with the opposition because most of them have not demonstrated that they are different from the current administration. – in their practice of politics.

We are looking for an Obama who will be opposite to the current leadership in Malacanang. Thus a person who stands up for truth and does not buckle down to bribery becomes a candidate for the highest authority of the land. A leader who performs well in his mandated function and conducts himself with integrity gets drafted by a host of people to run for presidency. There were even suggestions that a sports champion can be a legislator or a local chief executive because he unites the country every time he wins in his game.

In our desperation, we are missing the essence of the message of Obama.

It is not one leader; as Obama says …” it is not about me, it is about us…” …” it is the victory of the American people”…..it is pulling out from the depths of our collective consciousness the values that had withstood the test of times- crisis, calm and celebration. In his inaugural speech he invoked …” hope and virtue”… which the founding father of the USA had called on all citizens to hold on to and move forward.

Obama read the people’s wishes and aspirations. He saw the willingness and desire of the people to effect change; he touched on that social energy and the people acted, got involved and made the change. Thus the repeated message of Obama is - the people made the change and the people will remake America.

So we the people of the Philippines have to demonstrate that we are ready and willing to make the change happen; that we know what is right and wrong; we know truth from lies and we know freedom and democracy. We have to tell each other, show each other that we are willing to invest to make the change; take risks to correct the wrong and stand up against corrupt politicians. We have to take back politics from the hands of people who betray the trust of the people and make politics sacred again- a sacred covenant between leaders and constituencies. We the people, cede part of our power to people we elect, thus if they do not act in behalf of the common good we should take back the power we ceded to them.

When we act in our numbers and insist… persist …for truth and justice, transparent and honest governance at the local and national level….the Obamas of the Philippines will emerge. There will be leaders who will demonstrate servant leadership; there will be leaders who will facilitate processes that will forge unity; there will be leaders who will be bold and daring to innovate with the people in crafting solutions to systemic problems; there will be leaders who will account to the people their governance practice.

This is what Obama was referring to as “the promise of citizenship…” We the people have to talk with each other collectively act and organize a force that will change our politics and set our democracy right again.
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pride and growth

many of us ARE fiercely proud to be pinoys. we know what and how much we are worth, recognised and valued or not by some compatriots and others.   

this pride feeds our resilience and resolve.  it keeps us going despite and inspite the harsh realities that we face daily, whether at home or abroad. . 

so what if the Philippine economy did not do as badly  as Spain, Singapore or Japan under the current crisis?  we have been registering positive economic growth for years.  bottomline :  did that translate  into a better life for the street hawkers  in quiapo, the sacadas in negros, the garlic growers in the north?  

economic growth, unless equitable and with visible positive  impact on ordinary people’s lives, doesnt mean anything for the poor who have to “prostitute” themselves to survive.

shutting up

a host of feelings. can’t, won’t articulate nor put to print.  for then it’d get cerebral.  so i’m shutting up, shutting down, shutting out.  until the feelings pass. and i can be inane again.  sheesh!! 

sagay SM

SM in sagay? no way!  not yet anyway.  what we’ve got is SM as in Sa Merkado, or Sulod Merkado.  others have come to bill it as Sagay Mall. uhumm.. 

standing on a one-hectare lot with 84 stalls, the old market of our youth was given a major make-over to the tune of 77 million pesos.   it was inaugurated last december 2008.  

gone are the wet, the mud, the stink, the rickety stools and tables.  the wet section - fish, meat, fruits, veggies, lamas and recados, betel nuts, buyo and the like -  has been moved to the new wet market.   

so what do we have now?   go see… the photos aren’t great, but well…

the  main entrance facade with the “must’ signs 

entrance hallway in faux terra cotta tiles (or is it?  real terra cotta? wow..)

open air garden to hang out  or park one’s weary butt in

no longer the karinderia section but the FOOD COURT.  i didnt get to check if tia patring is still there though.

food attendants are required to wear hairnets.  chafing dishes instead of calderos in keeping with the new look 

spaghetti sosi to go with bola bola pugang-gang and porkchops.  they also have tabagak kinilaw in tausi, inky lukos, amargoso torta, atay sarciado… namit gid eh! 

we didnt get to do this as kids - play on the market floors. lucky them.  twenty-four cleaners are assigned to keep the market in shiny-ness glory.  i wonder for how long???  

kettles perennially boil underneath the counter behind. each stall has a brick chimney.  coffee is still brewed and strained in conical canvass strainers.  and no, coffee in some stalls is no longer served in rusty tin cups but in italian whites, yeay! 

yes odette, the apunganon still sells abaca and plastic ropes for the karbaw (carabao), timba, balde, etc. 

virgie asawa ni binuro, beautician of the grannies - mani/pedi and perms for lola vacing, lola  deling tupas, nanay felicing

 tio rene of rene’s tailoring has long retired but the sastres are still there 

 ang  relipan (second hand clothes) , bow !  and the street side bugasan (rice shops).  note the sidewalk - done in cobbled bricks 

class divide

i’ve been hither and yon, have stared at the face of abject poverty too many times as well as hobnobbed with the scandalolusly  rich and powerful.  yet i havent felt the same degree of snobbishness displayed as in negros-bacolod.  its just me of course and how i react to a reality found everywhere, born and bred as we were in a semi-feudal socio-economic order, but not of the blue-blooded tabula rasa.  

bacolod-negros represented a micrcosm of the class divide in philippine society, where 10 percent of the population control ninety percent of the island’s wealth.  bacolod’s elite rode high in the country’s creme de la creme social  circle.

with  the collapse of the sugar industry (entonces  the hacendero class) and the rise of the OFWs with their newly-found spending power , i’m not sure whether the structure has changed or how much. 

definitely, a good number of those who belonged to the “buena familias” are no longer soaring as high. many in fact have become “nouveau poor”  who are struggling to maintain the image but haven’t lost a whit of their uppity noses. that’s sorry enough.

sorrier still are the” nouveau riche”  who look rich - because they are - but can hardly disguise gauche and kitsch in speech and manner.  

sorriest of all are the social climbers who are ” nouveau neither”  - never old rich nor new rich -  who are trying damn hard to look, speak and behave like the rich and the classy.  they speak with a whiny colegiala (convent school girl) accent, hang out in gourmet coffee shops and fancy restaurants, walk the malls like those girls in shampoo commercials, whose pre occupation is to snag rich boyfriends/husbands,  tripping over to be  “in” with the “haves”  while fiercely shunning the “jologs” (the un-classy)

class divide i see not only in the poli-econ sense.  someone, somewhere, sometime said :  

Class is about how you treat other people, how you carry yourself in public (even in private i deign to add), and knowing what to ignore and what to give emphasis to.  It’s about having an innate sense of “appropriateness” in varied social situations.   It’s about being charitable in spirit.  For me class is also about personal integrity. Further more, all “polished” folks ain’t always classy!

 to distinguish between the “classy” and the ‘unclassy” ones therefore, according to writer Jennifer Banks  :  

» CLASSY PEOPLE don’t repeat everything that they hear or see.  They recognize that people’s reputations and lives are at stake.  They follow the Golden Rule.

» CLASSY PEOPLE are honest without being unnecessarily brutal.  Got something sensitive to share?  Consider how you would want to be told, and whether it has a constructive purpose.

» CLASSY PEOPLE respect others’ time and opinions.

» CLASSY PEOPLE are not elitist.

» CLASSY PEOPLE are not boastful about their success or social standing. They don’t have anything to prove.

» CLASSY PEOPLE know when to speak and when to hold their peace!

» CLASSY PEOPLE don’t take big stands on little issues.

» CLASSY PEOPLE don’t compare or compete.

» CLASSY PEOPLE have a good sense of humor and know when and how to use it to lighten the mood.

» CLASSY PEOPLE have an innate sense of appropriateness.

» CLASSY PEOPLE are not always popular, nor do they care.

» CLASSY PEOPLE don’t hold grudges.

winter escape

its minus 30 celcius in ulaanbaatar as i write this entry from plus 25 bacolod.  couldnt be more grateful to be in a warmer clime. 

my bosses were kind enough to allow me a month of winter escape because, aside from being concerned that my tropical nose couldnt handle the extreme cold, they surmised that filipinos would always head for home this time of the year whenever possible.

i usually avoid going home for christmas,reserving my  home leaves instead for the hot pinoy summer months when one can lounge by the payag sa baybay (hut by the beach), be lulled to sleep by the sound of the lapping waves and kisses of the gentle sea breeze or simply relish long c’est la vie moments. christmas season spells unbearable traffic, jammed airports,  the most insincere merry christmas greetings from airport people the moment one gets out of the plane. 

the cold in mongolia however was/is easier to deal with than the solitude i learned. so then larga enseguida i did…  

even before the plane took off, my pinoy travelling companions and i had already agreed that that we were going to pig out on longed-for yummies the moment we land in manila. 

two of us did, at max’s - fried lumpia ubod (ubod being the pith of the coconut tree), sinigang bangus belly (milkfish belly sour soup), ampalaya con carne (stir fried bitter gourd with beef tenderloin tips), lechon kawali (pork belly deep fried to crispy crunchiness in a wok). i would have wanted too the fried chicken tails, to dip in max’s signature jufran sweet banana catsup, but by then was almost gagging.  this was about mid afternoon.  met up with another friend for dinner, this time at via mare — callos (cow tripe with chick peas stew), puto bumbong and bibingka (two different kinds of rice cakes). the following day we went buffet in cabalen but had already been trying various pica-picas in between picking up stuff for pasalubong in greenhills.  again… burrrp… major! 

arriving in bacolod on the third day, my mom had on the table langka-monggo-manok bisaya, which is a soupy dish of  raw jackfruit, mung beans and native chicken –  one of my  favorites next to that ubad dish made of ubad (pith of the banana tree),  kadyos (cowpeas) and baboy lido-lido (pork belly boiled long enough to melt-in-the mouth yummyness).   there were too char grilled alumahan ( a type of mackerel) and fried bangus with matching dips of patis-kalamunding (soy sauce and local lemon) and sinamak (coconut vinegar, ginger, garlic, tiny hot hot hot chillies).  these were attacked wih gusto; appetite needed no prodding. 

it has been about two weeks now of hearty eating. aside from those above, savored the prawns steamed or buttered and garlicky, sizzling blue marlin, squid (stuffed, fried, dried, stewed inky black), oysters (blanched and eaten straight up or with a dash of lemon, salt and pepper), diwal (a kind of shellfish), chicken inasal (skewered chicken bacolod style), sate babi with java rice, batchoy (regular, special, super special?), the perennial lechon with paper thin crispy skin and adobo as is or flaked,  ….  

and scrumptious desserts  -  my mom’s buco (young coconut) salad, bob’s napoleones, pendy’s half moon and senorita, banana que found on any street corner (my first ones this time were from the corner beside the children’s museum in old sagay), brazo de mercedes, maiz con hielo, grilled ensaimada with kesong puti (local version of feta cheese), sylvannas, manapla puto with cheese or guava jelly and mayonnaise, chocolate con churros. 

under which category would be the salted fried peanuts with lots of garlic, nagaraya, clover chips and such munchies?  

regular daily fare when not dining out or  on no special occassion would have different variations of laswa (local veggie soup) and tinola,  fish fish fish and fish (sinugba/grilled, fried, in tinola soup, sweet and sour, pinamalhan– - stewed and simmered till dry-ish in garlic, ginger and coco vinegar sometimes with long chilies).  for the kids there’d be carne frita or porkchops. 

in the list still are kinilaw (raw fish marinated in vinegar, coconut milk, julienned or minced ginger, onions and tomatoes, shredded green mangoes and hot chili pepper) , lato (seaweed) salad, more shrimps and crabs, gabi (yam) in gata  (coconut milk) with takway (yam tendrils) and bagongon (a kind of river snail), apan-apan (yam tendrils or morning glory stems cooked adobo style with guinamos/shrimp paste and tiny slivers of pork preferrably with skin and fat), kalkag kalo-kalo (fried rice with tiny dried shrimps), linupak (boiled half ripe plantain banana pounded in pestle and mortar sprinkled with grated coconut and brown sugar), tambo and tugabang (bamboo shoots and saluyot which is a kind of phleghmy leafy vegetable) with or without gata with shrimps or kalampay (crablets).  

i could go on and on, although i’m afraid that simply thinking of these native gustatory delights is already raising my blood pressure and sugar levels.  oh well.. 

uh, winter escape is it? ambrosia more like. its not all about food of course.  the rest will be another blog entry. 

christmas greetings

we thank God for the gift of family, friends and Jesus Christ who keep us strong, inspired, laughing and loving.  with many wishes for continued blessings this Chrismas season.  

greetings of peace, joy and love

from

House of Joy 

Phnom Penh and Ulaanbaatar 

HoJ Ppenh Xmas 2008

and voila ... House of Joy (HoJ)  Phnom Penh greeted Advent 2008 in style. 

this is the 13th year of an annual HoJ tradition, the first time that “Joy”  in HoJ is not in any of the photos.  i watched the fun through the webcam but sorely missed being physically there.  

i bear the name from which HoJ took after.  but that’s incidental. milou, doc marissa and myself, who arrived in phnom penh months apart in 1995, formed its original core.  HoJ has become a composite of the different persons who came through its doors, stayed  (literally or in spirit),  bonded at different points for nearly a decade and a half. the bonds have been kept regardless of distance - indai carmela in argentina, maan in colombo, valerie in the states, chona and mommy su in afghanistan, nenette/ollie/tita babes in thailand, dhidak in north korea, wowie in manila, kristin in indonesia, etc. it operates in the spirit of inclusion, synergy and respect for the individual’s life options. it continues to be so. 

people oftentimes cant make out what HoJ is . a restaurant ? a bahay aliwan? an association ? its all and neither.  or maybe.

it may well be a restaurant indeed - it hosts church choir practices and feeds 25 plus persons every saturday.  and more. on week ends, anyone can drop by for meals (not just on week ends), mani-pedi, massages, endless “halhalan.” 

its also a bahay aliwan - mahjong, kantahan, sayawan, inuman . there were “crab nights”  in the early yearss.  for some time it boasted  one of the busiest week end bars in the city - nenette’s bar @hoj opens at 8 p,m. fridays and saturdays, on invitation only.    its usually-themed parties are legendary (hehehe, hosted in fact the first ever theme party in phnom penh in ‘98).  pinoy and expat old timers in phnom penh still remember to this day the philippine centennial presentation  (1998), which HoJ took the lead in organizing.  

its not a formal association but has a more or less regular “membership”   so much so that the phil embassy includes HoJ in its list of groups to consult alongside couples for christ, samapi (the filipino association), etc. as necessary, it serves as a drop-in shelter and  transient house, day care, dispensary, commissary, training ground for domestic staff.

it stimulates the mind and facilitates social service involvements - countless post prandial discussions on politics and development issues, the Move Out and Move On Gloria group in ppenh, support to kababayans in distress, and so on. 

whatever. HoJ is my heart. and i am so so blessed. 

deck the halls

Mike aka pinakadalisay blogged about the HoJ-Ppenh’s preparation for the advent season.  I could have created a link to his site but couldn’t for some reason. Hence, re-posting below.   

Yesterday I went to my friends’ house to participate in their annual Christmas tree trimming. It’s the third time that I had joined in this activity, which goes like this. It’s actually very simple. Days before, an inventory of Christmas decorations is done to plan the current year’s color theme. Then people are invited. They set up the tree and the rest of the materials. One household member usually takes the lead, the past years it has been Mz Oh. But since she’s now in the Gobi desert, fiercely trying to tan her mestiza complexion (hehe), Tito Gar has taken her place.

People like me come: our eagerness to help and to catch up with friends while working are only equaled (if not surpassed) by our anticipating on what good food awaits us. And before the day, afternoon, or evening is over, voila! the tree is done!

This year the usual suspects were present: Tita Lou, Tito Gar, Tita Sonia, Doc Marisa,Tita Purit, Lala, Bea, Alec, Tita Aviic, moi, and Badette — who was fashionably late.

But before the work started, we were first fed, HoJ style: Spaghetti with Bolognaise sauce, chicken lollipops, taco shells with beef strips and carrots & onions. Plus the ginataan for dessert was simply scrumptious! yummy!

Next week, I’ll pay attention to my own Christmas tree. I’m wondering how to do it now, but my friends will surely be helping me to complete the task of decorating. And of course, I will chronicle it here.

my dating profile

it seems silly but fun.  i’ve succumbed.  blame it on mike (joke hehehe). 

minus ten with the camels and the soap that did not get to bubble

one might typically think of icy white and gloom in a sub zero temperature.  not necessarily so in Mongolia’s Gobi region, where precipitation is low ergo snowfall is almost nil, where the sky remains blue and the golden sun shining.  

so it was in the past six days in Uliziit district when the the gender focal persons of the swiss agency for development and cooperation (sdc) traversed hundreds of kilometers of the gobi desert,

inter-acted with herders,crawled in a cave with hopes of being reborn,

had a photo op in one of the most gorgeous mountain cliffs,

tried their hands at milking and herding the camels,

drank gallons of camel milk and camel vodka,

waltzed with the locals and allowed to be impressed by the richness of the local culture,  

squinted at soaring hawks and falcons, marveled at a herd of a thousand racing gazelles, bonded in the confines of the gers and in nightly discourses over beer and vodka.

the Gobi Desert, one of the world’s great deserts, covers much of the southern part of Mongolia. unlike the Sahara, the Gobi has fewer sand dunes and is a barren expanse of gravel plains and rocky outcrops. temperatures reach +40° C. in summer, and -40 in winter.  rain comes once every two or three years in some areas. the Great Gobi National Park is one of the world’s largest biospheres,  an area larger than Switzerland. the Gobi is home to the last remaining wild bacterian (two-humped) camels, wild ass, and a small population of Gobi bears, the only desert-inhabiting bears.

on touristy excursion though we weren’t.  the fun came with the serious business of ” genderising” the sdc projects. the green gold project in dundgobi aimag (province), that help herders better manage pasture areas, was our laboratory.    we talked to men and women members of pasture users’ groups, illustrated the information collected in sex disaggregated time use clocks, income-expenditure pie charts and mobility spider diagrams. in all the workshop went extremely well.

average temperature while we were there was minus ten celcius. properly bundled up it would have been tolerable. we were billeted in a special ger (tent house). as gers would have, a chimney stove  stood in the middle which the caretaker regularly stoked to ensure that we were warm and toasty.  

it was a challenge however being out in the open with the camels. the whistling wind made the cold colder.  didnt faze the animals and the residents but made my eyes water, talking of which water being a precious commodity in the desert, none of us bathed for the entire six days.  made do with wet wipes. 

the ger/guesthouse compound had a pit toilet but did not have a bathroom.  the only water that i ever touched was bottled water to drink and brush my teeth with.  so it was that my soap did not get to bubble. 

uhm not quite. the district officials organized a party and cultural show for us on our fourth night.  vanities intact, we at least managed to wash our hair  and prettify ourselves for the dance. 

such inconveniences are a trifling compared to the privilege of being in the place -  sharing life for a brief moment with the desert nomads and being humbled by the splendour of God’s creations.  the stink of the pit toilet somehow was overpowered by the awe of watching the sun rise or gazing at the gazillion stars that spoke to one’s heart in the still desert night. 

learning a new dance

i‘ve been blogging about my  angsts in leaving the comfortable and adjusting to the unfamiliar -  as in, thirteen years of a pampered life in the midst of well bonded friends and a strong support system  in cambodia, to one of  ” being by my lonesome”  in mongolia. 

coping with mongolia’s below zero temperature is a challenge, but not as much as the solitude.  as with the different work ethics and office dynamics, the scarceness of ampalaya, the total absence of fresh sea fish and even oyunaa my cleaner.

things have improved some in the work front and seems to be getting better albeit rather too slow.   not quite in other aspects. oyunaa hasn’t learned to draw back the curtains and position the shower head the way i want them.  i still have to pick things up - a cleaning rag here, a bottle of cleaning liquid there - after she leaves.  shallow and petty but pisses me off like major.  

running on five months down in this land of the nomads and vastness eternal, i’ve come to realize that, to paraphrase someone, altough life is not always the party that we hope it would be, what the heck …  i should not lose my rhythm but continue dancing.  and learn how to dance with a different groove….

red and purple

 Jenny Joseph, one of UK’s foremost living poets,  in purple and red and on growing old
 

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN  I SHALL WEAR PURPLE
Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman,
I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go,
and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves and satin sandals,
And say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
and gobble up samples in shops
and press alarm bells
and run with my stick along public railings,
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick flowers in other people’s gardens
and learn to spit!

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
or only bread and pickles for a week,
and hoard pens and pencils
and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
and pay our rent
and not swear in the street,
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner
and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised
when suddenly I am old,
And start to wear purple!

apropos to aning p’s sagay urban legend

aning p’s urban legend is that house on corner maranon and cueva streets in sagay, where the marble dining table bore witness to innumerable stories and plots of movie and soap-teleserye material.  the house that lolo pidong and lola vacing built…

… where nanay felicing first stayed and was warmly welcomed by her cousin lolo pidong, who invited her to relocate from  iloilo after the war (WWII), while nanay was still struggling to make a new life in negros…

…that with its huge fiesta spread nanay didnt think it necessary that we do our own (because that would mean closing down the store for the day… yawat pa/sayang ang kita), so she’d send us off across the street to bring our contribution of grocery and stuff.  sometimes i’d grumble because i so wanted to invite friends and classmates from out of town to our house …

… with the tambis (macopa) tree that perhaps heard and attested as much as the dining table … the bountiful harvest of tambis fruits sold by tita bebing in what was among her  first commercial forays as a girl, foretelling the business acumen that she’d exercise to the max as an adult …

…. where the san jose ritual is observed every 19th of march,  a quaint practice, a peaen to sagay’s patron saint…

... where i cooked my first lasagna with thirdy, using fresh basil leaves grown in a pot by tita lyn. its actually thirdy’s lasagna and i just sort of kibitzed and pretended as if i’ve been cooking lasagna since forever (hehehe).  the dish turned out to be runny but yummy all the same … 

… home to tito freddie’s and tita lyn’s brood of seven, with beds lined up in two rooms like those of the seven dwarves …  

… and where the cuzins would have wondrous memories of their own.

 d maranon-cueva-sarrosa cuzins with lola vacing

siopao?

when one of my luggage didnt make it to UB when i came in june, so didnt my stock of undies.  i managed with three sets for some weeks.

a friend in manila kindly sent several pairs through a male friend who’s working in mongolia but went home briefly for an emergency leave.  the courier packed the lingerie in his hand-carried luggage.

at the airport, my friend the courier had this dialogue with the guard, who was inspecting the hand-carried bags of passengers as they were entering the waiting lounge prior to departure.

guard  [nakapa ang padded bra ] :     sir, ano po ito, siopao?  [”sir, is this siopao?” the guard asked as he     felt the bra inside the bag]                                                                                   

rc-u (my courier friend)    :    hindi, bra yan [”no, that’s a bra”]  

guard    :    sir, ano po ang trabaho nyo?  [sir, whats your job?]

rc-u       :    nagtuturo pag araw, ago-go dancer sa gabi [teaching during the day, ago-go dancing at night]

bwahahaha!!

rc-u is actually a consultant for a mongolian government project funded by a multi-lateral organization.  he has a doctorate in construction engineering.  he’s mean with the magic mic but absolutely no ago-go dancing for him on the side

for my non-filipino friends -  ” siopao”  is chinese steamed bun. 

bad hair day/s

been feeling off  these past couple of days.  slight  temperature,  muscle pains and a bit of gum swelling.  

one of those times when the longing  for some “lambing”  heightens the wanting to be in phnom penh, to be fussed about by the HOJ angels and to be fed with sophal’s trey sngao (lemon and mint fish soup).  or in bacolod, for manang bebe’s laswa (mixed local veggie soup) and to share felice’s grilled fish with a “toyo-calamansi”  dip. interesting how food has become a quintessential  mark of the “haplos ng pagmamahal.”  

no such luxury in UB thus one learns to cope.

and what does one do when none of your friends have callled nor sent text messages to ask how you are?  nothing. much too occupied with their own business, which you happen to be not part of.  so you stare at the ceiling and wish it’s morning when you can be again up, peppy and smiling.  

apathy, ignorance and incompetence

driving home one night in UB, a friend witnessed an abduction and most likely a prelude to rape.  two men grabbed a woman walking by the street.  my friend and a colleague were in a car.   there were several other cars in front and behind them.  as the woman struggled, my friend furiously honked his horn to catch the men’s attention.  the men then punched the woman on the stomach and carried her cave man-like, hieing off into the darkness. 

my first thoughts  were -  shouldnt have my friend done something other than honk his horn? would getting out of the car to help the woman wise?  or not?  then call the police? but will the police be able to come fast enough and respond well enough?  most likely not.   what should have others who may have witnessed the incident done?

ideally, i think:  

a]  those who saw what was happening could have taken action collectively, eg. not just one person honking but the entire fleet of cars perhaps, or several people could have gotten out of their cars and helped the woman.  [the smart aleck would ask, ” why should i, its the police’s business none of mine”  and ” what if the molesters were armed?”  well then, what if they weren’t?  the next course of action depends] .  this is called citizens’ action. 

b]   the woman could have been armed with some self protective skills, eg. martial arts. or simply knowing what to do when assaulted and how to avoid being in a risky situation. 

c]   a better legal and justice system would have made those men think twice or thrice or prevent them from commiting such  an act.  laws could be more strict and law enforcement measures could be stronger.  these include putting up improved law enforcement systems and procedures, sensitization and competence development among law enforcers. 

we are unfortunately in a far less ideal world.   

sagay memory balls

two earlier posts “things familiar and not anymore” and “sagay urban legends”  snowballed into lively  memory exchanges by sagaynons, posted either as comments on this blog page or on the sagay city web’s guestbook.  

here i copied some of the memory balls of sagaynons from different parts of the world.  most of these were in ilonggo, which i tried to “englicise ” but could not fully do justice to  the “kasadya” or the fun  of reminiscing  in the native tongue . thus at some point in this entry i abandoned the attempts at translation.

a note on “memory balls”  — in the movie, the never ending story II, the sorceress sought to complete the destruction of fantasia and bring “nothingness”  by eliminating the memories and imagination of the boy bastian.  bastian’s memories were contained in memory balls. in his quest to save fantasia, he was tricked by the sorceress to give up his memory balls.  

let not the sagay that we knew be obliterated and reduced to “nothingness.”

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sagay urban legends

every place has them.   interesting characters, scenes or settings  that give a place its distinctive feel. sagay, where there’s a most fabulous sandbar in pinas, does have its share of  such “urban legends.”  

the fashionistas :  tita day and her beaded slip-ons or step-ins, well-coiffed tita neneng amy and her umbrella, tita marne in full tennis gear and glittering diamonds.  linda ni otay  is a breed of her own with her colorful skirts, peasant blouses, pedal pushers and hats.   definitely not to miss the rodriguez matriarch, tia suloy, in perennial red nail polish and red lipstick combo.  tia suloy stands out even in death.  her tomb, visible from the road to old sagay, is raised from the ground on four legs, reportedly to ward off ants and other creepy crawly creatures. 

three elderly gentlemen :  mr. parcon, tio iking lopez and lolo totong tupaz  who took early morning walks together. no fail at all, every morning they’d do the rounds from the market to the plaza and back… berets bobbing, canes a-tap-tapping.  (more…)

the end marks the beginning

one has to end in order to begin.  one has to let go in order  to move on.  

i’m  running  on my fourth month in mongolia and have settled rather well.  established a wonderful support network and the house of joy - ulaanbaatar,  things are picking up on the work front and gearing up for full speed.  nothing to complain really, in fact much to be thankful for.  

but the letting go hasnt  fully happened.  cambodia is still in my system.  i miss my huge wooden bed with lots and lots of pillows in ppenh so much so that i have only slept maybe twice or three times on the ugly steel framed bed in UB.  and that’s just one of those that i am missing ppenh for.

should it be though ? — to end and to begin?  is mongolia another long term stop therefore worth building a nest in?  or is it a respite? 

no mourning in farewells

we do not and should not mourn farewells, according to nestie. indeed. we celebrate instead the encounters with people who cross our paths and leave imprints  in our lives.  

this july, we said  our hasta la vistas  to four friends  who left mongolia -   three filipinos and an american who has become part of our pinoy community. 

Joe - italiano (huh?)…came as vso bahaginan vol… turned consultant… blogger, mover, social glue… ever-reliable support provider, multi talented and inventive cook, gardener, interior designer and challenging (self-ascribed description); 

Chito - of ulaanbaatar hotel, whom i met only once by nestie’s kitchen window sill, where we shared an ashtray and casual conversation, a gentleman ;

Marge - so much energy and punk packed in a such a small frame, has been in mongolia for years as vso volunteer, in the course of which she met william, then both decided to see what else is out there in the world. 

William - more than a marge appendage, english teacher who does mean twists and turns on the dance floor,

we will miss them surely. yet, the pinoys have become world travellers… seekers… we contend with the realities of diaspora and impermanence. people come and go but  they definitely enrich our lives  as we do theirs.  

 william and marge

 “pearls and ties” farewell party for marge and william at strings

pinoys in mongolia

there’s a smattering of us here. altogether less than 70 maybe, about 40 of whom are in the capital.  

the pinoys who made it to the kambingan week-end 

there’s the development set  -  vso/bahaginan folks (glenn, marge, riezel, ruel, joltz, gecca), delia with unfpa, gerry and terence with adra, and myself.  there are those in the private/corporate sector - ricky, chito, tere, nestie, and joe whom we recently bid goodbye to but hope that he’d be back. 

   vso-bahaginan;  nancy and gerry 

angie and ming are here as house managers of canadian and indian households respectively.  nancy and marnet are accompanying spouses but certainly far from being bored housewives.  grace teaches business in a private college.  the 6-piece pinoy band at strings disco-resto straight from boracay gives us reason to jiggle and jaggle on friday or saturday nights.

angie and edwin (not a couple-yet?) 

pinoy bishop wence padilla leads the catholic community, together with fr, ronald, cicm, from silay and sr. espe.   then there are too the missionaries from different protestant denominations whom i havent met yet, as well others in mining and construction companies. 

a well-bonded hodgepodge of sorts who find every chance to get together.  this sunday is kambingan week-end- to savour various kambing-based filipino dishes, e.g. pinapaitan, kaldereta, kilawin.  lechon and chicken week ends are also in the offing. 

 kitchen beauties - selee, joy, sr.espy,mmy ming, marge

grown adept at finding substitutes for unavailable ingredients, they’d cook sinigang with spinach for lack of kangkong, or use the juice of korean dilis  to flavor a dish mimicking pinakbet.  i learned to make embotido using minced canned pineapple and dill pickles in lieu of sweet pickle relish.  someone magically produced buko salad during the independence day lunch. amazing in a country where not a single coconut tree is found. 

sunday last, a bunch stood as ninongs and ninangs to the impromptu blessing of my flat- house of joy mongolia chapter -  and a cap to the series of  farewells for joe.  central dish was dinuguan made from german blood sausage.  o te! 

castles in the air

i kept humming this don mclean tune all throughout the trip.  four days now since monday.  we were on the road to darkhan and selenge, two northernmost provinces, bordering on russia. we were going through the most fantabulous scenery — a wide expanse of lush, luscious sea of green as far as the eyes can see, broken by gentle slopes in the distance, framed by mighty mountains farther.  

been looking for that music for  ages. when finally a friend sent the file,  one whole night i listened to it non stop.  one of my most requested, which noel always obliged to sing. 

still stings. because it reminds of the lussa good times? maybe.  but not just.  the “just”  i couldnt quite put my fingers into. 

then it dawned on me.  as the car raced through the road, along the vast grasslands, i could almost see my soul surging on ahead.   sometimes in great speed, sometimes in dance, sometimes with a pensive gait.  –

could very well represent how i am.  a free spirit that resists to live and be fettered by traditional rules and conventions.  as it is  with relationships.  commitments are percieved to be potentially problematic, especially when independence and the passion to serve appear to be threatened. 

someone said mongolia grows on you.  seems that he’s right.  the music of its people, conjuring images of a melancholic herder pouring out his heart in joy or in pain or simply in thanksgiving, has gotten into me.  i’m connecting. different from cambodia. but in a way that i could better relate because the land and the people inspire one’s becoming and letting be.

free spirit regardless… i still appreciate an anchor and a nest to come home to.  just as the hawks and eagles of the mongolian wilds and steppes do.   no matter how high and far they soar through the clear blue skies.

Don McLean - Castles in the air

smitten

he’s sharp and smart. gentle and compassionate. confident.  firm and assertive if need be, but not in a cocky way.  a shy easy smile and soulful eyes. within minutes upon encounter i was smitten.  very. the guy i want to walk  home, hug and cuddle with.  what what what? me me me?  who who who?

Ptum Bayaar, that’s who.  this 6-year old monk, third son of a tailor, keeper of the keys at Amarbayashgalan monastery in Selenge aimag, second youngest among the monks in the monastery.

he came to the monastery at age four.  his interest was piqued by a monk-friend from the same place. he asked his parents if he can go.   they agreed and felt blessed.  his parents and two elder brothers live in Ulaanbataar.  he doesnt miss them a lot because he gets  to visit him every so often, and vice-versa.  

he’s tasked to open the temple doors and entertain the tourists, which he does with flair.  being with his monk-brothers and learning from them are what he likes most.  he is resolute in his resolve to become a good monk for the longest time.

done with herding the tourists. time to collect 3,000 tugriks from the foreign visitors.  Bayaar hasn’t learned to write yet and we helped him write out the receipts.  with mindful care, he put the money in a plastic bag, which will be turned over to an older monk.   

i patted his cheeks and told him that we hope to see him still there if and when we have the chance to come back, maybe next year or several years hence.  and that we will pray for him… that he will continue to be blessed, that he will become a good monk as he hopes to be.

he took off with a swagger to tell a lingering tourist that its time to close and that pointing the camera straight at the altar is not allowed.  

my eyes followed him wistfully. ancient wise spirit in a child’s body…. 

dang’s piece

It doesnt interest me what you do for a living

I want to know what you ache for,

And if you dare to dream

Of meeting your heart’s longing

 It doesnt interest me how old you are

I want to know if you will risk

Looking like a fool for love,

For your dream

For the adventure of being alive

It doesnt interest me what planets

Are squaring your moon

I want to know if you have touched

The center of your own sorrow,

If you have been opened by life’s betrayal

Or have become shriveled and closed from

Fear of further pain, mine or your own

Without moving to hide it

Or fake it or fix it

I want to know what sustains you,

From the inside, when all else falls

Away.   I want to know if you can be

Alone with yourself and if you

Truly like the company you keep

in the empty moment..

                                                
one of daden’s favorite pieces from Oriah Mountain Dreamer. with a few adjustments. 

daden — whose heart found a reason to sing after [ perhaps despite?] the tribulation.[daw].  and mike, who is still longing.  and US, who may be in the course of discovering.   

first words

my  first  mongolian words ….written according to how i hear them….

 " baerla"   - thank you

"sen ben nu"   or "sen nu"  - first one to greet those who are more senior than you, either in rank or in age;  second one is more casual.

"benno"  - hello, as in hello telephone

" baeshte "    -  goodbye

" ich dilgur "  -  state department store

"tsim"  - yes.  spoken with an aspirated "t"  and a silent "m" 

i start survival level language lessons on monday, june 30th, with a latina. 

correction

i stand corrected. mongolia DID go through the feudal stage. for many many centuries in fact.  it missed out the capitalist stage though, having become a satellite of the russian federation in the 1920s. today mongolia is a country in transition.  it joined the free market system and the " democratic" world in the early 1990s.  

genghis khan, aka temujin,  unified the nomadic tribes and created a single feudal state in early 13th century.  kublai khan, one of temujin’s grandsons, also unified china and founded the yuan dynasty in the late 1200s. the dynasty lasted for almost a century, during which period china flourished.  at its mightiest, the mongolian empire extended from vietnam to hungary and from siberia to persia. 

the buddhist lamas and warring princes dominated mongolia for 300 years following the rule of the khans. the manchus that took over for the next 300 years were toppled by homegrown hero sukhbatar, who brought the country within the socialist orbit.  

does having gone through the feudal stage and skipping capitalism make any difference in servitude and the lack of customer care then?.  i dont know.  seven decades of socialism did make its mark. 

surely too, given their harsh natural environment and warring culture, the mongolian feudal lords and subjects did not have it easy as ours did, as in for instance, coax ing the land to give out its bounties.  minions devoted their time to producing food and defending and/or conquering new territories. no space to be languid, no space to produce dainty lacy fineries (which wont do in the cold anyway), not much space to crack watermelon seeds for the ladies in the lords’ tents. 

correction. again.  mongolia did not totally miss out on capitalism. it just did not go through the usual order. capitalism came in its highly sophisticated state, wherein conquering territories are done no more with horses nor galleon ships but with new animal breeds such as the world trade organization (WTO), george bush and amazingly advanced technology. 

how will doth fare mongolia? better service, that at least i hope, with the new mongolian lords’ realization that happily satisfied customers bring in the profits and the moolah - the end all and be all of capitalism.  

customer care and being waited on

bought a room heater yesterday. yes, pokwang, in summertime mongolia! central heating has been turned off. although temperature averaged +20, in some days it dropped to +10, even lower. definitely its still a bit chilly for my sun-sea-and-sand-conditioned bones. positioned the heater in the bathroom to stop the after-shower-bath shivering-quivering.

anyways ….. the appliances section of the state department store is at the third floor, where i bought the heater plus plus.  most purchases from here are retrieved at the first floor.  while waiting for mine, i observed two ladies first struggling to return to the box (after examining that it was in good order), the 29-inch t.v. that they have bought, and later lugging it out through the door.  none of the store attendants helped. 

mine came after more than 20 minutes of waiting, which was actually more than an hour after i have made my payment, having meandered through the linens section.  struggled a bit i did too with the heater, which i piled in a cart with the groceries. luckily the cart was big enough.  

in grocery stores, you also bag your purchases yourself. nannies, chauffers and househelps were never heard of until recently.  some modern families with means do hire househelps and nannies, but even these are not on the same degree as ours. my mongolian boss, whose father in his time was the second most powerful person in the land, has a day helper who comes twice or three times a week.  this seems to be the norm, unlike us who have live-in maids on call 24 hours a day and sometimes one nanny for each child. 

this lack of customer care befuddles me.  or am i just too steeped with the hacienda mentality, being used as we are to being attended to, hand and foot.  the hacienda mentality of the filipinos is certainly not confined to the well-to-do.  paulo freire avered that there is a landlord in a peasant’s heart that should be watched out for . he meant the tendency to oppress and exploit, but i’m sure it extends to the penchant for being served. 

mongolia on the other hand did not go the way engels described in the origins of the family and  the evolution of society.  from pastoral-nomadic, it by-passed the feudal and semi-feudal stage, leapt on to the socialist system wherein servitude is nowhere placed except with the nation, with the state.  

short liners

i feel like i do belong. mongolian women are mabilbil. but they dont care. 

the air is so dry here. dries up your throat, dries up your nose lining so much so that at the end of the day you get a good harvest of boogers. hahaha!! 

mongolian for " yes "  is "tsim"  or something like that but sounds like  " tse"  to me, in my bisaya ears –  soooo maldita.
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mongolian landscape

Someone asked if the Mongolian landscape is anything like Batanes or Ifugao perhaps.  Far from it. 

Mongolia has a vast pastureland – a wide expanse of flat land, bald slopes and rolling plateaus where grass grow thinly  – where herds of sheep, goat and cows happily graze.  Some slopes are dotted by clumps of pine trees. 

These I have seen so far, in a day-excursion last Friday to an aimag (province) near UB where, aside from visiting the  One Stop Shop project of SDC/HSPSC,  Mr. E hosted lunch at a monastery ruins that is now a campsite.

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day one of 365 in UB

this is it. finally here. for the next 12 months at least.  midnight arrival as before, this time tho to a warmer temperature.  today was a pleasant 17oC. the sun was actually out in the afternoon.  a mongolian colleague remarked that i brought the rains with me.  mongolia is very dry and the noontime drizzle was appreciated by many. considered a blessing in fact.

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things familiar and not anymore

dinner conversation at our house in bacolod, one balmy night, centered on how certain things in our sagay childhood in the 60s, 70s and onwards interestingly came in twos. several of these “pairs” were within the block where we grew up, and almost always across each other. 

at the two corners along the national highway, where commuters got on or off the buses from bacolod and/or san carlos, were the two main restaurants -  salbel’s and blue dahlia.  a few steps down, on both sides of the corner of the road to barrio bato, were the two grocery cum snack shops and dry goods stores of mrs. pulido and tia felicing. felicing was our mother-side lola, whom we also called nanay, thus we’ve always been known as the ” apo ni felicing” - never mind whether they were referring either to nancy or to joy. (more…)

our piece of bora

      carbin reef - a very tiny strip of sandbar 15 minutes off the coast of sagay. our own piece of bora minus the commercial and touristy feel. make sure to visit every time i’m home. my nephew borge, niece felice and sister nancy snorkeled, baked ourselves red on the sand , cavorted in its clear blue green waters last saturday morning. had it to ourselves, which was absolutely fantastic!

the point is

being "in" love is NOT the point. 

Loving IS …. spontaneously, with no hesitation, no worry nor guilt, without waiting for something in return. 

and Union -  not in a permanently locked way but one that is dynamic and constantly flowing, one that allows those involved to grow, blossom and be….

if and when on a summer day

those whose days were grudging or confused may come back trapped in another life

              as a boulder, or a pane of glass

              or a door that suffers everytime its slammed…

if i return as a boulder, some summer day come sit by me

if i were a windowpane, gaze through to see

and if a door, come home through me….

                                                                - borrowed from leo stein

i will miss them mightily, they my dearest wacettes

sophea and chantouen - with piercing eyes and dark looks of mayan princesses in chandelier earrings, garment workers , who missed the speaking engagement in new york because the embassy people couldnt believe  that such "lowly" insignificant character can be a guest speaker in an international conference (chantouen)

socheata - sagacious and mature, in hip jeans and layered tresses, brought to us by the salesian nuns to be trained in filing and reception but ended up collecting information and writing case studies on the situation of garment workers that led to numerous media interviews including BBC and CNN.

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dragging my feet

two and a half weeks to go before i leave. haven’t contacted the movers, neither done with sorting out stuff to bring or dispose.  how not very me… this dragging-my-feet. how not very me too, this being apprehensive about leaving and moving on despite the thrilled anticipation of what could be in a new place.  having lleft home and lived in boarding homes since i was ten, my life has been punctuated by many movements.  i thought that i have learned detachment.

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the wacettes