The Ignatian Perspective

Cagayan River: Our River of No Return

2011-12-28T14:26:00.000-08:00

Scores have written paeans about your beauty and grandeur,
While others focused on your awesome powers and nurturing qualities,
Like the plants and trees you make grow and thrive within your reach,
The many colorful fishes that find life and shelter in your bosoms.
But I will do no such thing.

People of old tried in their many puny ways to tame your raging ways.
Still others tried to dare your isolating paths with bridges of many types.
Kids spent many warm summer afternoons refreshing in your cool waters.
People, from all walks, even desired union with your oneness and eternity.
Building houses in your banks, in the dried-up beds you once traversed in.
But I will do no such thing.

In open defiance of your jealous nature, people tempted their fates.
Usurping precious territory you need to follow an appointed task.
Dumped tons of garbage and debris and called that reclaimed land.
Fit to build their abodes, open season to heap more abuse on your person.
Elected servants conspired to lend credence and legality to such deeds.
But I will do no such thing.

In the pretense of good intentions many harvest your precious jewels.
Like the age-old growth that dot your watershed basins, and deep gullies.
Making empty promises about restoration and proper recompense.
Instead leaving you naked, shamed, ugly, and worst, angry and vengeful.
Anger and vengeance that knows no limits, nor capable of measure.
But I will do no such thing.

I instead whisper my culpable fear of your deadly quiet and simple ways.
I instead keep my safe distance from your ways that defy easy detection.
Opting to behold your unrivaled beauty and grandeur beyond your reach.
For you are the jealous lover, born from the same cloth as your Creator.
Demanding the return of all your gifts from your unworthy recipients.
And you will be satisfied with no less.

The Seller/Buyer Conundrum

2011-11-10T12:09:00.000-08:00

This week we went through two important transactions where we were the seller parties. I sold a Ford pick-up truck that was sitting in our garage for a good part of 5 years. We also signed papers to sell a rental property that we have had for almost 7 years. Again in both instances we all signed on the dotted lines that designated we were the sellers. Since we went through a barrage of documents to sign, in one instance I had automatically signed on the dotted lines intended for the buyer. I initially had paid no mind thinking I just needed to sign again under the dotted lines for the seller. But was summarily stopped by a staff member of the company, graciously informing me that he had to reprint the whole page because of strict company rules. So except for that little glitch, both transactions went quite smoothly. Until a few days later when I started thinking about it.

Why did I instinctively and reflexively sign on the dotted lines for the buyers? What caused that to be so? After much thought and reflection I came up with these observations, and a conclusion.

Because our personal callings in our lives were that of being employed, most of the transactions that we got into in our lives were that as buyer. We bought things and stuff. We bought clothes, houses, cars, etc. In most instances then where documents were presented and required for signature, we typically signed on the dotted lines for buyers. But don’t we sell our services to our employers? True, but we would rather think of our services as being exchanged for money and benefits. Of course, as employees there are instances where we do become sellers, like selling our old houses or cars to buy new ones. But comparatively speaking, we most likely are buyers in transactions. So by default when people like us sign papers, we instinctively go to the dotted lines for buyers.

But entrepreneurs are different. In many instances they are the sellers. They provide goods and services to be sold to third parties or consumers. They are the store owners, the factory operators, the company owners in their nice offices. In short, they are our employers.

In the scheme of things, are the differences quite marked? I am sure there are many similarities and differences, but here I focus on only one aspect of this distinction. The seller creates or produces some things or provides certain services that they hope people will have need for. They design and devise things to give them value and functionality which hopefully the users will be attracted to.

On the other hand, the buyer is in the position of choosing certain things that would be needed in his life. When he looks at a product for example, he is weighing how the product is going to serve his particular needs, and making judgments on how well the product and its features will perform for him.

The role of seller appears exciting and interesting, bringing to the fore our admirable qualities of ingenuity and resourcefulness so that we can bring out products that people can like. While sellers are also buyers since they are also consumers, it does appear enviable to be essentially a seller and secondarily as a buyer. Rather than simply be a buyer all our lives.

The reason being that a seller obviously is a provider, while a buyer is simply a user.

Is it then instinctively so also that at certain points in any one person’s life, there is the innate desire to be an entrepreneur, and thus be a provider, a seller?

Remembrances of My Late Mother

2011-10-19T23:48:00.000-07:00

More than meriting title to being quiet and mum as a clam, my mother was truly a woman of very few words. She spoke little. Thus, I doubt I need spend time calculating the conversations we had had as adults. We had very few, and each one went like telegraphic exchanges between two frugal individuals.

In hindsight one can easily recall how those few incidents came about. And thus the task of retelling is that much easier. But they definitely created lasting impressions. How else to explain my very vivid recall.

In one visit and from out of the blue, she framed her conversation in one sentence. And it simply was a curt admonition to take care of my younger brother, and spoken in the vernacular. As was usual with me, it went in and was soon replaced with more urgent mundane matters. But during moments of lull, that statement would come back to occupy my wakefulness. Why the admonition and why me? The mind started racing looking for rationales and answers. As very young kids, all nine of us grew up in that old house along Del Mar and Victoria Sts. The house sat fully on exactly 100sq.m. of land, leaving nothing but the sidewalk to separate it from the two streets. And we counted on the kind graces and forbearance of two aunts who owned the two lots on the other two sides in allowing our little horde to use their free spaces for our purposes. One lot was initially vacant and the other occupied by a house of another aunt. The vacant lot was there to serve as our free space – for a while at least until a house was also built on it.

Nine precocious kids grew up in those cramped and eternally-shuttered quarters in the middle of a busy poblacion, two blocks away from the town plaza. As a small kid my younger brother had assigned quarters in one bedroom on the ground floor which space used to serve as my father’s law office. This he shared with another younger sister. And from all indications that served as some kind of sick bay since the two siblings took cadenced turns being treated with all sorts of ailments – wheezing coughs, fevers, urticaria or hives, bad colds, etc. So most nights one heard the unmistakable sounds of the ailments as one passed through that section of the house, with my mother serving as relentless and indefatigable Florence Nightingale to the siblings in distress. And this went on till early adolescent years.

That younger brother was the first to go a couple of years ago among the nine siblings. Was my mother gifted as prescient or armed with clairvoyant tendencies to qualify her to make such dire predictions? I doubt that. It most probably stemmed from maternal instincts honed from many years and countless instances of service to enable her to make prudent observation and judgment on the physical make-up of her sizable brood. After all, she exhibited the same personal dedication and selfless passion in taking care of all nine of us.

Years later after having married and living away from her, another short telegraphic dialogue transpired. She had received a letter from two distinguished Jesuits, very well respected locally, Frs. A. Cuna and J. Fuentes, regarding a Cursillo course participated in by her youngest offspring. She was being asked to write a confidential letter to be delivered to the above Jesuits. Imagine that!

What does she do? She calls for me and almost demandingly asked for me to write that letter. Why me? The year was 1972 and I was deep into raising my growing family and coping with the burdens of working in a busy bank. So naturally, I balked. No words from her followed, except that I was left holding the letter from the priests.

Without further instructions, and without any ideas suggested on what that letter would contain, I knew that she had expected to receive that letter before it was due. Rummaging through old files, I chanced upon these two letters stapled together. Suggesting without a doubt that the letter required of her was written and submitted on time, and penned by me.

Was she so sure that the ideas that I would put on paper would be the same ideas she had in mind and held in deep trust? I do not recall having to retype anything regarding this letter.

Maybe it was like this. How could revisions be necessary since I was simply being used by her as her instrument?

Thus, more like that most perfect model of a mother who said to the wine stewards: Just do what he tells you!

Bi-coastal Life

2011-10-17T17:22:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday afternoon after a nice warm bath, I flopped my tired aching body to a nice soft sofa to face my friendly news gatherer – the TV set connected to a local cable company. With remote firmly clasped and electric fan quietly swooning in the background, I was ready to travel.

Held the notch on what is called locally as the Bloomberg Channel. A lively live debate was underway. Splashed across the screen in front of the portly moderator who stood behind an imposing lectern was the statement: California Is A Failed State. Huh, what? I almost lost consciousness. California, home to Hollywood, Apple, Facebook, Intel, Google, Yahoo, the most populous state in the union, among the top ten largest economies in the world taken separately, the most innovative, etc., a failed state?

Anyway after intently listening for a few minutes, I was getting the picture. There apparently is a proposition, or a ballot initiative put forth by the voters, that seeks to declare that the state indeed is a failed state. Probably to be voted upon during the next local elections this coming November. This whole process is uniquely California, an enviable model in its exercise of “direct democracy” - when the people themselves take a hand in governance.

Across one side, the negative side to a debate, I recognize the 3 panelists. – erstwhile CA governor, Grey Davis, who was unceremoniously ousted during a recall election that saw the start of the Arnie reign; Van Jones, of late an Obama appointee who had to decline due to some pretty incendiary statements made by him in his prior life, and Lawrence O’Donnell, an MSNBC anchor noted for his caustic anger against anything conservative.. All decidedly liberal in political orientation. And on the other side, the affirmative side, they had 3 panelists who were not known to me. – a lady editor of a popular website or group, a male economist, and another male panelist who had served in some administration. All who I suppose declared themselves as conservatives.

With a huge enough live audience who asked questions directed to all panelists, the overall discussion was interesting, friendly and civil so that my guess is that everybody walked away from it learning more about the attendant issue.

Of course, the issue itself has been dogging California for a long, long time, way past Grey Davis’ administration. People have been noticing the slow decline of the California economy and the shameful neglect of its government in stemming that downward tide. People have complained of recurring huge state deficits, too many regulations in its economic life from business to the environment, businesses burdened by too many taxes and regulations that they were leaving in droves, cities were deteriorating politically and socially, the latter in the form of unabated homelessness on city streets, infrastructures like roads and bridges were crumbling due to neglect, etc. Etc. Of course add to that, the still teetering housing situation which continues to hit the state harder than others. As we speak some areas have already lost more than 50% of home values pegged from 4-5 years ago. And still spiraling down with no bottom in sight.

But that is not my point. Personally, the issue for me is old hat, yesterday’s meal.

But because I am a naturalized citizen and continue as a resident of California, I am directly impacted by what happens there. While now spending some time in the old homeland, still one cannot ignore the realities there because pretty soon I will be back there for a spell. Most likely spending the same time when the local elections will be held.

What is astounding is that I can live 7000 miles away from it and still vicariously participate in its critical affairs at the flip of a switch, while at the same time still having my ears attuned to the local events that also daily affect my current life here. Straddling between two coasts without loss of any real time! One of today’s wonders!

But how shall I vote on this issue? That is not a “consummation devoutly to be wished”.

Filipinos and US Politics

2011-09-19T22:44:00.000-07:00

To the average urban Filipino the topic of politics is often a passion-stirring and hot-button issue, eliciting many avid responses from participants. In friendly family gatherings, or extemporaneous congregations of acquaintances, and most especially in the various forms of media, politics assumes a very focal role, almost like as default features to enliven pages and sell copies. Its discussions are always lively and keenly partisan and in many instances do escalate to shouting matches or ad hominems. No wonder then to this FilAm who visits the old homeland quite often, the question of politics is often asked – US politics, that is.

Compatriots are quite eager to learn how their own kind behaves as political animals in other countries, countries they have adopted after leaving the old homeland.

They are not mistaken to assume that indeed there are many ethnic Filipinos in the US, both legal and those who have decided to stay beyond their temporary visas. Many place the count to as many as 5 million though official stats would probably show their total closer to 4 million plus.

So the typical questions asked revolve around these. Is there a Filipino vote? How do US politicians regard and/or court Filipino votes? Do Filipinos have clout in US politics or in the political process?

But they are usually nonchalant or downcast when they learn of the real lowdown. They assume wrong that their compatriots in foreign lands behave similarly or as intently as with their local counterparts.

They are quite perplexed that there is not even a category of Filipinos in the US demographic/ electoral rolls. That Filipinos are lumped together in the category of Asian Americans which is quite a small category numbering a little over 15 million in a country with a total population of over 300 million. Among others, Asian Americans include Filipinos, Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, Vietnamese, Indians, Pakistanis, etc. No doubt a very broad category net that catches and bundles together many minorities in the US. From the figures above, Asian Americans make up only about 5% of the total population. Comparatively, African-Americans number 38 million while Latinos top at over 44 million, unarguably the two fastest growing minorities in the land.

While the total number of Asian Americans appears substantial, these immigrants are not that active politically. And are thus said to be quite invisible politically. This group has the lowest proportion of eligible voters, a little over 50%, compared with the populations of other racial groups. Plus, only about 50% of eligible voters actually register. Translated that would be about 7 million eligible voters and about 3 million actual voters. And how many actually vote during elections? Having over 50% of registered voters vote is considered typical in presidential elections and as low as 40% in state elections. Another negative factor for Asian Americans is that only 60% know English, thus many shy away from or shun active participation in politics.

No wonder then that while Asian Americans represent 5% of the population, only 1% of them count among those holding elective offices.

What about party affiliations? In this group a third are registered Democrats, another third Republicans and the last third are unaffiliated or may be registered as Independents. And for the last third, more than 50% were born overseas and thus, politics has not yet become a priority in their lives.

Except that Asian Americans congregate in great numbers in some states. And in order of the size of their presence, they are: California, New York, Texas, Hawaii, and New Jersey. So this may be where they could influence elections and thus be a future force to reckon with.

A most recent special election result may reveal this to be true or may be the inauspicious start of a trend. We refer to the most recent special election in the 9th congressional district of New York to replace disgraced Democratic Congressman Weiner. This district is ceded to be predominantly Jewish and may explain the election of Weiner, though as a Democrat he probably had a lock on it given that Democrats had controlled this district for many, many years. But take a look at its current demographic distribution (2010):

56.48% non-Hispanic White
5.21% Black
18.70% Asian,
17.21% Hispanic,
0.2% Native American,
2.2% other

In an ironic twist, though expected by the polls, a Republican took the win on this heavily Democratic district, a district once held by Democratic stalwarts Geraldine Ferraro and now Senator Charles Schumer.

Without delving into the issues that may have driven this sudden change of wind, what could have possibly happened in the voting?

A given for this district is that Asian and Hispanics have historically voted Democratic. Now taken either singly or collectively, these two groups could have provided the swing votes to change the current history of this district. In this election the actual margin of win for the Republican against his Democratic rival was 6 points (53-47).

Thus, in a race where two white candidates dominate, two minority groups with sufficient numbers could have provided the impetus for the upset. That factor could have made possible an almost political improbability.

It is to be noted also that Asian Americans are trooping in great numbers to some battleground states like Nevada, Minnesota, and Virginia, so the future could see this third-largest growing minority assume more active and decisive political roles.

US Breaks Some Records

2011-09-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

US breaks some records.

This is definitely one instance where the current recordholder would gladly cede the honors - to another US president, or any man or woman for that matter.

Imagine if we allow him to take on a second term. Following the trends, he would start breaking his own records!

If in grave doubts, scan the sources below the list to erase any.

Update:

What happened? At the height of the housing boom we were ready to breach the 70% ceiling.

Bit and Pieces of Memory from an Era Long Gone: Elvis and Me

2011-09-10T01:08:00.000-07:00

It must have been early 3rd year high school when Elvis broke into our local scene. First, it was the song, I Want You, I Need You, I Love You, that blared out of an early morning show of a popular local DJ. That was our first vocal introduction to the world of Elvis. We had then caught glimpses of blurred images of him performing emblazoned in some foreign news items included in our local papers. Then an elder brother brought home a “songhits” booklet that featured a black and white close-up image of the mysterious upcoming singer with the brassy singing style. It was not a pretty picture. He had on almost like a scowl, or exaggerated pout with mouth twisted like one. This led my elder brother to remark: why, he looks like Jack Palance! Yes, that Jack Palance, the quintessential villain of Western movies (think Shane) with the battered nose and boxer-like features. Learned that indeed he did some boxing before getting to the movies.

Anyway, bad comment notwithstanding, we were on our way to getting hooked on the Pelvis. We couldn’t help breaking out into song with wild gyrations upon hearing him sing on any phonograph – at home, on a dance, or in one of the local stores selling records. The addiction was catching and would all collectively conflate into a sort of epidemic. We all wanted to sing and move like him, and look like him. The latter being a very unlikely stretch given our Asian features. But we could articulate some imitation with regard to our voice, our hips, and yes, our hair. And those we did. Thus, those who could all cultivated our pompadours, and took great pains to keep them in place. But many of us could not complete the transformation try as hard as we did, not even with just the hair. Many of us could not grow sideburns, so “fake” ones had to do - done by applying heavy pomade on the portion of hair on the temple and combing it downward where sideburns ought to be.

The crazy world of Elvis took hold of our young lives like no one could. We held contests to find out who could sing and move like him. Local filmdom crowned an Elvis Presley of the Philippines. His songs dominated the airwaves and the hot afternoon jam sessions very common in that milieu. So soaked up and engrossed in our adulation and imitation that it was easy to start believing we were Elvis. Thus any social approbation in this regard was not only welcomed but was considered great honor.

To this day, it is not surprising that I can easily recall events related to this need for social acceptance. And I can narrate two that stand out prominently in my memory

The first one involved a friend and classmate named Nazar. After just getting out of a local barbershop and joining friends in the local plaza, without any prodding Nazar immediately noticed the new haircut and coolly remarked that it was good, Elvis-like and he liked it very much. Now coming from Nazar that was truly something for he was noted not only as quite mischievous but quite stingy in giving praise to anybody. So that remark stayed with me to this day, to be reminisced and valued.

And the other one from a most unlikely source. From one so guarded, circumspect in her statements and comments. It was both difficult to elicit any negative remark from her and just as equally difficult to hear her crow about her own children. Hearing me endlessly singing Elvis-like in front of the radio or phonograph, and inside the bathroom, and watching interminably how I had combed my hair and had dressed in whatever way we could like the King, the better judgment of my mother may have been impaired or temporarily blinded. Because I had overhead her remarked to another relative that indeed I looked like Elvis. The remark boggles the mind because I myself would be the first to admit that the resemblance is almost nil. Except maybe we both belonged to the human race?

We all just liked to be like Elvis.

And that’s the way it was.

Ran Silent, Ran Deep

2011-09-04T23:41:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin runs in Iowa!

Even then, finishing second place is outstanding.

A preview for what's to come in the GOP presidential primaries?

And this time we won't settle for another second place win! - from one runner to another.

Quiet and Simple Pleasures of my Youth

2011-08-29T17:35:00.000-07:00

As a scrawny kid growing up in a small city made smaller by my inborn proclivity for keeping much to myself, memories of things that happened are easily remembered. One reason maybe is that because there were not that many memories to be remembered or forgotten.

It may be for this reason that certain memorable events in childhood are keenly remembered and recalled. The following is one such series of events.

During elementary grades and early high school, which would be in the early 50’s, I was wont to take extended visits with my cousin who was an only child. His doting mother was the elder sister of my father. Her family had at one time been next-door neighbors of ours in the old poblacion.

The family had moved to a much nicer and bigger house in a nearby suburb called Lapasan. It was only several kilometers from our house, but it might as well have been in a different town because of its stark contrast with the city life that we were all used to. For one, it had no electricity. One had to purchase a generator if one wanted the place electrified. Neighbors were some distance away, though still visible from the house.

Since I was closest to the age of my cousin among my siblings, I had the unchallenged privilege of getting invited to stay with them for extended periods – like weeks and months. During school, I went to school with my cousin since we went to the same school anyway.

I had many brothers and sisters so my protracted absences were hardly felt and my trips were never an issue at a large household already fractured by an absentee father. Though in hindsight, I often wondered why I was never asked whether I preferred staying home or staying with the relatives. In those days, my aunt invited and things pretty much happened as she wished. Though there were times I pined for the many familiarities I enjoyed in my own house – the different sights and sounds of a city that could be witnessed just outside our doors and windows. And at times I longed essentially for the freedom to do as I pleased. To a quiet introverted loner like me that was a big thing.

Anyway, whatever my aunt said, went. Her only son longed for companionship or a playmate, and I was it. I suspect that one of the moving reasons why my aunt chose me was maybe because I was very easy to get along with and I never refused her biddings.

One chore I had to suffer through with her was her fondness for the game of Chinese checkers and regular checkers. So like clockwork, some time in the morning after a hearty breakfast, she would repair to her spacious room and call for me. I would typically catch her sitting by her bed, arranging the game’s pieces on a tiny plastic board that had holes in them. And we would match up for many minutes, just the two of us; which times seemed interminable for an antsy kid like me who not only was not keen on the game but could not muster the longer attention span that adults had. So I always lost and this made my aunt visibly gleeful egging herself to play even more. At other days, we tried the regular checkers, again sitting on her bed and using another tiny plastic board with odd pieces that had different shapes – like wild animals, fishes, etc.

But somehow I survived through all of it, none the worse for wear. And I bet you maybe because albeit all this, my aunt was quite generous and likeable to me. She was terribly fond of movies; she went with us kids in tow most times new programs were showing in the local theatres. And she liked to eat well, so we always had delectable meals of chicken, pork, sea food, etc. Only occasional servings of vegetables. So definitely I got bigger and better portions than I would have gotten at home where nine kids vied for the finite amount of food set at our table.

So under this very personally beneficent environment, I and my brothers could not interpose any serious objection to what my aunt would bid us to do. Play with her son? No problem. Run errands? Okay. Take some abuse from sometimes spoiled cousin? (Chuckles) Hey, we can stand it. What about hard-massaging the feet and thick thighs of uncle as he took his regular siesta after lunch? Grudgingly, we did as told. And this last challenge which happened when we were still next-door neighbors we submit was no run in the park. He was a large person and we had to be at it until he had fallen asleep. And all this under the watchful eye of my aunt who lay beside him reading her magazines.

Anyhow, at some point during one of my extended stays with my cousin, a relative of my uncle from Bohol also came to live with us in that very spacious house. He was being assigned as the superintendent of the local trade school which was located not far from my aunt’s house. His living quarters at the school were being prepared for him and his expected family. And he was to be the first superintendent of that school, which was quite a unique distinction.

He was a very kindly and amiable person with very genteel manners. He always had on a genuine smile and a very soothing tone of voice. Qualities we associated then with the people coming from Bohol.

Unlike my uncle, he was very friendly with us kids, spending time talking and listening to us. That’s probably why he was an educator. There must have been some instant liking developed between the two of us, because the next thing I can recall is me preparing for a trip with him to his hometown of Tagbilaran. All of a sudden I am in a rush gathering the few clothes I had, my wooden clogs (bakya) included, and a few personal hygiene stuff like a toothbrush. But where to put all of it?

Did I decide to use an old heavy leather satchel bag that was sitting at home or did I decide to dump them inside an empty milk carton box? If the latter would it have been an Alpine or Carnation box? Maybe Carnation since they made sturdier and thicker boxes which were somehow treated to protect them from water damage.

I can’t tell which one I used for this trip since all I can recall is that on one boat trip I took the satchel bag and on another an empty milk carton box, the latter making dull sounds when lifted or carried if one had the wooden clogs packed inside.

The boat ride was an overnight trip from the local pier to the town of Jagna, then a quick bus trip to Tagbilaran.

I remember arriving at an old but comfortable and airy house, being welcomed animatedly by my traveling companion’s equally amiable wife and his 2 kids, the elder a boy and the younger a girl. I easily recall the most prominent piece of furniture in the house as a piano. Both kids played on it.

I was billeted by myself in one upstairs room with big windows. But can’t recall much beyond that.

But I do recall with relative ease that they had brought me to a marketplace where I was treated to a cool milkshake that I believe went by the name of mais con yielo. I must have had it more than once during that trip since the recall is quite vivid.

I must have been pre-teen when all this reckoning transpired, but beyond the above nothing much is left in memory, except for that kindly man who brought me to his place, showered me with his and his family’s hospitality, and being treated to a tasty mais con yielo which acquired taste has stayed with me to this day.

Of such were the quiet and simple pleasures of my youth!

Experience or Learning: Which is the better teacher?

2011-07-20T23:53:00.000-07:00

Conventional wisdom touts that experience is the best teacher. A child once burned will have learned how to handle fire the next time. Okay, well and good. But which is better? A child is in a situation where it can observe other children – those playing with fire. He observes their action and reaction. Don’t you think that child will have learned his lesson without having to undergo being burned? Learning also teaches without necessarily bringing in any corresponding hurt or pain.

And that I believe is the better path to take in life. Learn your valuable lessons from the hapless experiences of others. Far from just engaging in trial and error methods, learn first how others are doing it and then do your turn. Aside from plain recklessness, laziness, or too much daring, in many instances one finds ego behind many ill-fated decisions one makes. Pride and arrogance at times take the better of one, rather than the humble attempt find out from others how things are done better.

Perish conventional wisdom in this regard. Many of us may not have the convenient second chances needed to correct our mistakes, and thus, miss out completely on certain things that could have been had by learning from others.

Thus, for a child growing up this is where parental guidance plays a most crucial role, teaching kids to learn first before embarking on pursuits that could have long-term disastrous effects on their lives. Of course, in most instances the learning will have to be accompanied by real-life examples originating from the parents or role models. Instructive words are half of the equation, the other half being the examples to round out and complete the lesson.

Imagine the many instances where a child can profit immeasurably from lessons learned prior to experience. The lesser the pitfalls he has to recover from the better the life of that child. And thus he can reserve his extra energies to more daunting challenges where the chances of success are even slimmer. Pick your fights. Life has more than enough challenges to contend with. Keep always a leg or a step up. We are all bound to need that extra push, resource, or hand when the greater challenges come.

So remember, learning is the better teacher. Learning also invites the needed cautiousness and circumspection in tackling the meatier challenges of life. Thus, place yourself in a position where you can profit most from lessons learned prior to actual experience.

Weren’t parenting and then schooling intended primarily for that purpose? In the haste and clutter of everyday life, sometimes we just plumb forget.

Neri Genealogy: New Findings

2011-06-26T23:47:00.000-07:00

I quote from the message exchanges I had with Dr. Antonio J. Montalvan II, PhD, regarding my question on the origins of the Neris here in Misamis:

“It was Rizal's Jesuit friend Fr. Juan Bautista Heras (later pastor of Jasaan) who was on a boat trip one day with Misamis Governor Leopoldo Roldan. While they were along the coast of Lanao, they noticed some signals, some commotion on the shore. They proceeded to alight. There they met the Rajamoda Sampurna who asked for their help. He said he was escaping Lanao because of some internal warfare there that endangered his life (appparently a rido). He said he was willing to go with them. And so they brought him to Cagayan. Perhaps the peril he was in must have been so jeopardizing to his safety that in Cagayan he decided to renounce Islam. A solemn ceremony was then prepared by the priests of Cagayan where a native ritual, the "tampuda," was performed in public. It was there that he adopted the surname Neri.

This happened in the last quarter of the 1800s, very recent indeed. I will get back to you on the exact date. I am personally aghast that many Neris claim him as their ancestor. In fact, there were already Neris present in Cagayan before the entry of the Rajamoda. My suspicion is that the reason why he chose "Neri" may have been the fact that the baptismal godfather was a Neri, in the same way Chinese converts to Catholicism do so.

This account can be found in the Jesuit Letters annotated by another Rizal friend, Fr. Pablo Pastells, since then translated by the present day historian Fr. Jose Arcilla SJ.”

Fr. Arcilla was with us at Ateneo de Cagayan during high school as a scholastic and again years later as a priest. He is now stationed at ADM University, engaged in his field of expertise which is history.

As can easily be gleaned, this account sheds some light on the beginnings of the name of Neri here in Misamis. Given that the sources are confirmed historical figures, one is inclined to believe that the data furnished are incontrovertible.

But what does it say about the claimed origins of many Neri families here? Let us see what we can deduce by examining both accounts.

First, we can say outrightly that if we take the quoted account as factual, Neris did not originate from only one source because Neri families already were in existence prior to the conversion related above which was already in the last quarter of the 1800s, meaning from 1875 to 1900. I can show historical Neri figures who were born in the first quarter of the 1800s. Juan Neri, from whose beginnings we have the families today of Wendy Ramos, Mrs. Edilth F. Pelaez, etc. was born in 1807 and died 1857. Two Neri brothers, Salvador and Lino were governadorcillos of Misamis, in 1832 and 1833 respectively, inferring therefore that these two were born in the very early 1800s while assuming further they got their government posts when they were in their late 20’s or early 30’s. Our family came from the line of Salvador Neri.

Now, on to the names Raja Sampurna and Rajamoda Sampurna. I tried to uncover though only cursorily all I could possibly learn about the names. The word raja or rajah though a title which has origins in Sanskrit is a generic name which generally means king or prince. And the word Sampurna we know to be a name of a clan, which today is still extant in the areas around Lake Lanao. Thus, Rajah Sampurna, could be the title of any or all kings or princes of the Sampurna clan at any time during its long history. But would Rajamoda Sampurna be more specific as to denote a particular person at a particular time in history? In Sanskrit, the word moda would mean joy, happiness, or rejoicing.

Now, back to the Christian Neris. Given the above we cannot now claim that all the Neris started with the christening of “a” Sampurna rajah and his family in 1779, officiated by a parish priest of Cagayan de Misamis, named Pedro de Santa Barbara. Though there appears sufficient evidence to show that indeed that named priest served the parish beginning 1775, and that such a specific christening took place (though I myself will have to be shown hard evidence to this effect.), The quoted conversion above refutes this claim successfully.

The second conversion as related by Dr. Montalvan above could nevertheless have another plausible explanation aside from the one he has advanced. In the second instance, one can surmise that Rajamoda Sampurna followed the example of a previous Muslim ancestor and assumed the same name. After all, both presumably came from the same clan. And on its own this could stand a looser plausibility test.

So, which extant Neri families came from the first or the second conversion? I suppose those who cannot show ancestors dating back to the early 1800s could form part of the second conversion. And my graph does show a couple of lines that do not yet date that far back. And these are those of Merced Neri who married a Gabor, and Genaro Neri who married Silvestra Emata.

Back to the first conversion. As I had previously intimated I have plotted out ancestors of Neri families that go all the way to 21 years before the 1779 christening. But I yet have to hear any heirs of these families provide any oral or documentary evidence that point to their ancestors’ part in the christening – whether those ancestors were participants in the christening or their parents were .

These questions and doubts will have to remain standing, until such time that they can be refuted or verified and confirmed.

UPDATE: from Dr. Montalvan:

I now have the data. The year was July 1879. This is the background: The Spanish Jesuit historian Pablo Pastells, who was once assigned to Jasaan, related that on July 1879, Spanish governor Leopoldo Roldan of Misamis was travelling along the Panguil Bay with the Spanish Jesuit and Rizal friend Juan Bautista Heras who visited the missions in northern Mindanao. Passing along the Agus River in the vicinity of Iligan, they saw the Spanish flag being waved on shore. Disembarking, the two met the Datu Sampurna and his companions who presented themselves that they were at war with their people. Days later, the Datu was in Cagayan to formalize his admission to the Spanish crown.

That is my own summary from the Cartas de Mindanao of Pastells. By the way, I have forgotten that the translation I used is that of Peter Schreurs ("Mission to Mindanao," Claretian Publications 1998). The Arcilla translation is another work.

Now let me quote verbatim from the Schreurs translation:

"During the public ceremony, they were assembled under a beautiful kiosk, where a picture of His Majesty Alfonso XII was placed under a richly-adorned canopy. Before the authorities and a bog crowd of people, they cut a fathom length of rattan in one stroke, threw an egg on the ground, and extinguished a burning candle in one blow, by which manifestations they wished to indicate how they deserved to be treated if they were to break their promises. Then the act was signed by both parties, and some cannons were discharged, after which Moros and Christians marched through the streets of Cagayan.

By the way "rajamoda" or the variant "radiamoda" means "heir presumptive." Somewhat akin to a crown prince."

I HOPE SARAH PALIN RUNS

2011-06-19T02:49:00.000-07:00

As everyone who reads this blog on a regular basis (and there are a few of you out there, though this time around it is not about recipes or religiosity), knows I have always been a Sarah Palin supporter, even before she was proclaimed by John McCain as his running mate. And this declaration is not coming from anyone of social or political consequence as many political pundits or social commentators are, holding respectable sways in their respective spheres. After all, yours truly is nothing more or less than a naturalized citizen who has since regularly voted at US elections.

And admittedly this steadfast support did not spring from any dreamy-eyed adulation of what Sarah Palin represents. Therefore, it was not because of her effectiveness or articulateness as a public speaker, not because she stuns and awes with profound or new-fangled ideas, not even because she has very likable or admirable physical and familial characteristics.

It’s just that her political and Christian philosophies jibe with mine and she exhibits that unabashed and unapologetic honesty and earnestness in expounding her philosophies, regardless of how they may be taken by those who read or hear of them. She does not even care much about how all of media would take her pronouncements. In other words, she does not play politics. She lives it. She says what is in her heart, and allows the ball to fall where it may.

Unfortunately, I do not see this kind of honesty, or excuse me, hell-be-damned attitude, in any of the prominent national politicians out there that I know of. They appear to be too concerned or cautious about images and public reaction, even at times when they say they do not care about images and public reaction. Though I must admit that a Michele Bachmann approximates closely a Sarah Palin, there is only one Sarah Palin.

And these same politicians always want to appear erudite, cool, and profound, even when expounding pedestrian bread-and-butter issues that your ordinary man on the streets has to constantly tackle with. In other words, spontaneity or being extemporaneous is not their cup of tea. Neither is connectedness with the ordinary folks.

When it comes to black and white issues, where clearly there is a marked delineation between good and evil, Sarah is not tentative, hesitant, equivocal, and fearful. She is forthright. She has courage where it counts most. She acts not for show, but for exposition of her beliefs.

Amidst all the artificialities, addiction to polls and image, and shameless self-promotion that pervade our social and political landscape, it is ripe that Sarah jogs into the scene to bring this country back to the tracks the founding fathers envisioned. There are enough people out there who share Sarah’s vision, who are in dire need of guidance and direction from a fearless and committed leader who is not constrained by personal agenda. Other than the ardent apostolate of her deeply-held Christian beliefs and unattached and unencumbered desire for public service.

Sarah Palin for President 2012.

Detach from the need to possess…

2011-05-20T06:25:00.000-07:00

Handwritten in print letters and inserted under the plastic cover of one of the daily devotional books I try to rigorously go through each day is a summary of an article long-forgotten as for me to be completely clueless about its source or origins. But here it is anyway, copied word for word:

SPIRITUALITY AFTER 50
1. Detach from wounds and anger. Forgive all.
2. Detach from – Need to possess. Achieve, Or be the center of attraction
3. Say Goodbye to earth/loved ones.
4. Let go of sophistication. Be simple.
5. Immerse in language of silence.

Why this? Please allow me to backtrack.

Yesterday, I posted on my FB wall a couple of pictures of the new house we are constructing. My kids have seen them, so with some of my FB friends and relatives. Several comments were to my mind very insightful. Wendy mentioned project, while Joyce and Letti mentioned undertaking, all in the context of the new house. These were both revealing and insightful and let me tell you why.

The idea of building a new house was not new; it germinated over 2 years ago. It was triggered initially by the condition of the old one-storey house we are staying in RER, built in 1975 and now hemmed in on 3 sides by similar structures. The heat and humidity inside the house has made living almost intolerable without the constant use of electric fans and air-conditioning, aggravated by our losing battle with pesky termites, waged over many, many years.

That aside, the important concern lies in this. When we mentioned to friends and relations our desire to construct a new house, more than one responded this way: Why a new house at this stage in your life?

Believe me I was not offended. Friends and relations do not wake up in the morning promising to insult or offend friends and relations at the first opportunity. Rather it opened a critical facet that should have been factored in our decision-making but was not explored, touched, or even realized.

Yes, why indeed should we have to go through the whole tedious process – of buying a lot, paying rounds of confusing taxes and fees, engaging professionals to plan on a house that had to be both functional and secure, and of course, affordable, plus a myriad of other stuff that boggles the mind and pocketbook?

We all undoubtedly reach a certain stage in our lives where we begin to feel comfortable with what we have acquired and use. The alluring familiarity of it all is such a strong aphrodisiac making change quite a formidable task. And for me, doubly so. I develop very strong attachments to petty inconsequential things most people would dispose of without much thought. I guard or stow solicitously my hoards of old furniture, old books/pocketbooks/magazines, written documents, pictures, clothes, etc.

But this never came up in all our planning for the new house. How we were going to deal with all this. It did not even cross my mind albeit daily I had to leaf through my daily readings and would have to be blind to miss the 5 points enumerated above. Specifically and ominously in a big booming voice the second of such strictures - detach from the need to possess.

But the die was cast and inevitability had taken over. So indeed, this has become a project which has taken on the nature of an undertaking.

All considered, it is all for the good. As Wendy said – for wife and family. And imagine since it is constructed of concrete and metal, in a hundred years hence, they hopefully should be referring to it as the ancestral home of some Neri family.

That feels good.

Facial History

2011-05-10T05:11:00.000-07:00

Contrary to conventional wisdom the human face by many self-evident accounts appears to be the real window to a person’s history and identity and thus defines his significance. A symbol of his inner person that no other part of him can equal. It is the fine recording slate that tallies his failures and successes, the accompanying pains or joys; that bring either frowns or smiles that over time delicate facial muscles learn not only to remember reflexively but to leave more than superficial traces.

Its lines, grooves, ridges, and furrows are the tell-tale signs translated from the panoply of emotions unconsciously exhibited to etch and engrave remains of the life-bearing challenges that man is heir to.

While not many faces may launch a thousand ships as did Helen of Troy, our countless celluloid celebrities swear and live by them. For many they are their sure-fire capital to fame and glory. We remember many of them for their faces, their extraordinarily chiseled features that separate them from the rest of the cookie-cutter world.

But for most of us, our precious irreplaceable countenance reveals the hallowed pages we write on as we age. The concomitant pains and sorrows translated into lines, grooves and ridges – that we now picturesquely describe as crow's feet, age wrinkles, etc.

Here’s a little project for our vainglorious world. Building our own facial history to measure, compare, or simply to view with nonchalance the effects of our lives on our faces as we age. Of course, apart from the inevitable onslaught of aging on flesh and bones. And attitudes.

For one thing, close and long-time friends and relatives ought to be tickled pink vividly recalling the happy times and treasured camaraderie of earlier years associated with the metamorphosing face of the subject. It cannot help but bring floods of smiling memories.

This lazy and petty experiment aims to plot out some kind of pictorial “annual rings” layout, marking down the memorable events of periods as reflected in one’s countenance – say, like the years when we were lean and mean or having too much hair growth was the problem.

Since one’s face typically mirrors the prevailing emotions of the times, do we see a portrait or a series of them as portraying appearance of subdued sadness, or repressed apprehension, or inner peace and happiness? Or have we been more enigmatic in exhibiting our emotions? Why?

With the digital age, this project has become an easy treat, using only, say the MS proprietary app, Paint, which one can find in any Windows version, to collate the pictures arranged chronologically.

I offer mine as a clinical sample. I enjoin my few but loyal readers to try to create their own.

Of Living and Dying: Revisited

2011-05-07T21:31:00.000-07:00

Originally posted in 2005.

We are not only a very unique species, but also very interesting, tightly bound together with a strong strand of ironies and paradoxes.

Let me delve on one such interesting paradox.

It almost always makes for good, emotional, and moving theatre when the life or death of one soldier, or it could be a band of soldiers, is plucked out from anonymity and served to us in a platter of glaring and inspiring detail. I call this our “Saving Private Ryan” moment, since which one of us cannot identify and empathize with the unique circumstances of the man Matt Damon played.

When anonymity is replaced with personal details, we are almost always moved emotionally and intellectually and may thus exhibit a myriad of moods and emotions, ranging from respect, love, honor, fear, inspiration, and even to hate. Hate for the powers that be responsible for bringing about the set of circumstances to rain on our perceived hero or heroes.

But in another vein, we appear to be anesthetized emotionally when dealing with large anonymous numbers. We cannot seem to fathom our emotional depths when we are confronted with unthinkably large numbers. Private Ryan was one life and we invested our entire emotional cache on his life, conveniently shunting aside the countless thousands who died on the beaches of Normandy alone, who did not have to die but obviously died for a cause they believed in. But a single life such as a Private Ryan pushes to the fore the idealism of our profound emotional qualities.

We also find ourselves unable to invest emotionally on the countless other young soldiers and civilians who died in wars and conflicts past. About 55,000 GIs died in Vietnam and hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese. At least 15 million soldiers and civilians died during WW2. Etc, .

Saddam sitting on his cell is responsible for at least a million deaths, from the time he ascended to power, through the Iran-Iraq War, through the first gulf war, through the present war, and down to his jail cell time. Yet we are quite emotionally detached from him and his dastardly deeds, (and others like him) as though he never quite existed or mattered. Yet surprisingly, many vigorously hate the man responsible for taking him out of power. It is arguable if we have invested enough grief for all the hapless thousands who died in the WTC attacks. We can hardly remember how many idealistic young men died during the regime of Marcos, though we clearly continue to reminisce to this day of the billions he stole and the single life of a Ninoy Aquino. What about Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Several hundred of thousand lives wiped out in seconds. But then we cannot identify with a single Japanese life from those holocausts.

The same would be true with what is presently happening in Sudan where genocide is in progress. We may have to wait until one life is highlighted in detail before we can release and give rein to our profound emotions.

Why is this so? All those who died in conflict possessed the same life, with the same values and potentials, as any other life of any other color, race, and ethnicity.

If one perceives life as having value unto itself then it is most important that everybody lives and not die. But we have been taught that earthly life is not that significant. Christ taught by example about sacrificing a life so a greater good can be attained. Earthly life then has value when it has purpose, not because it is life and has to be lived to its natural end.

One of my sons reminisced about another fellow officer who died. He had known him quite well, sometimes doing duty for him. He was of his age, married also with two young kids. He was off-duty and was riding his bike home on a stretch of freeway when a hit-and-run rig ended his life abruptly. I caught a bit of the news about this officer’s funeral. And the comment of one fellow officer caught my attention. The guy said that the deceased lived and died doing what he liked to do, riding his bike.

He did not say that he died too young, or that some crazy guy snatched this man’s life away from his family, his work, and his friends. But that this young man lived doing what he liked to do.

UPDATE (3/27/2011)

Admittedly, it feels good to get confirmation for some self-arrived conclusions, from such as this one.

In the 1960s, the economist Thomas Schelling performed research demonstrating that people are more likely to be moved by single victims than by statistics.

UPDATE May 8, 2011

Another most recent validation confirming our unexplained bias toward the defense of “single victims than by statistics”. This time with the welcomed demise of the Number 1 terrorist in the world – Osama bin Laden. Again, we have heard many consoling voices, typically from the far left spectrum, decrying the death of bin Laden and condemning this unilateral act of the US of A as unmitigated assassination. Completely forgetting the heinous acts of this individual which have resulted in the deaths of countless people, mostly innocent victims. Even the Arab Street cannot extricate itself from the rut it finds itself in blindly coming to the defense of the dead terrorist. – at any time and at all costs.

Aiming for Total Human Growth

2011-04-21T12:22:00.000-07:00

Human growth entails not only physical maturity, or emotional/mental ripening, but also and more importantly, maturation in consciousness or spirituality or awareness. The last one appears as the hardest to attain and most likely to be overlooked in the development process. When was the last time one was taught to be more conscious/spiritual? This process entails a drastic and even painful break from traditional and learned thinking, which usually tend to be inflexible, too structured and patterned, and most of the time static to a point that it is not open to creativity and tolerance. Putting one’s stakes to tradition means feeling safe, secure, and sure. It usually is the easier path to take rather than the tortuous and oftentimes confusing path of creativity. The former makes it easy on the conscience and mind, and easy to rationalize to an inquiring mind. It also makes it easy to dismiss a petulant mind. Admittedly, one cannot give a workable definition of what this level of spirituality/consciousness is. It does not lend itself easily to words. Or more honestly, because one’s abilities to express are typically not sufficiently honed to enable one to reduce thoughts to words.

It necessarily involves or brings into play one’s spiritual faith. Its seed is initially implanted and nurtured during one’s youth, going through similar but more profound growing phases as one’s physical, intellectual, and emotional aspects. Through our voluntary and conscious efforts, we must probe into, first of all, its existence, and secondly, arrive at a determination that we can rise above that initial level by our own efforts. Of necessity, this requires arduous preparation like serious reading and introspection. Any empowerment attained will be achieved through our deliberate and purposeful efforts and not something taken for granted such as our physical growth.

During childhood, most of what we do and think is purely for selfish motives. We are instructed to do things primarily because of the good that we directly derive from them. In fine, all for our own self-preservation. Very little altruism is involved in our childhood activities. To mature, we should graduate from this pupal stage into a much nobler stage.

It should start with man’s gaining control of himself and his surroundings. His sense appetites which are geared toward whetting his baser nature must be kept in check. Spirituality commences or is enhanced with his ability at self-denial. The initial conquest must be one's own body.

Heightened awareness of surrounding physical and intangible realities can lead to more effective control and/or handling of them, in keeping with their avowed purposes and reasons for being. Maybe this is what is inferred to by the biblical passage about man exercising dominion over all things created.

Some random thoughts about why this spiritual growth is of paramount importance to man’s being true to his noble nature and his destiny.

A. Learning to think beyond one’s self and welfare, taking into account the impact of every act on others; and finally, acting always based on that judgment.
B. Giving a spiritual/metaphysical bent or flavor to most, if not all, of the things that we do and think. To be in the world, but not of this world.
C. Developing a healthy disregard/disdain for earthly life, to a point where one is not saddled by the burden of the prospect of death, nor fearful of death itself, and positively, to a point where one is able to entertain the prospect of surrendering one’s life for a worthy cause if and when the need arises.
D. Nurturing a positive frustration/impatience at the myriad of hedonistic trivialities presently inundating all facts of human living, especially in the more developed societies. A deep longing and aspiration for the more basic and real Christ-like values of daily living.
E. The possible attainment of some form of human perfection in one’s own life. Christ exudes/possesses great powers (as gauged by our present human standards) because he is human perfect, too. He has absolute and complete control of his human self. To illustrate, when he got angry, it was not because he allowed the situation to control his emotional response, although it was definitely beyond the shadow of a doubt warranted. Instead, he willed to exhibit the emotion of just anger. If we can only approximate that level of human perfection, it would be safe to assume that we would then also possess powers beyond our wildest dreams. This would be in consonance with the circumstance of our creation, that we are made to the image and likeness of God. Because we are God’s image, we are endowed with a very complex nature. We must therefore allow the notion that there is still so much to be learned about it while at the same time, it continues to evolve and grow to higher levels. How much then of the inexplicable occurrences around us can be attributed as paranormal rather than as supernatural? The theory of an ever expanding universe hints at how finite boundaries are continually being shattered as our minds probe and explore beyond the known realities. In a true sense, there is no limit to reality in the same way that there is no limit to what we individually and collectively can think of. Creation is a continuous process, and those already created are in constant evolution from day to day. Every human act and thought adds to that pool of creation. God made us such that this creative power comes to us naturally. Philosophers postulate that reality is what we “think” it is. And in the final analysis, all creation owes it continued existence to the Godhead, who must at all times be fully aware of its existence.

The foundation of our faith is anchored on our belief that God revealed Himself to man in the Bible. I submit that man on his own can come to a realization of the existence of God, but being limited and finite he cannot fully comprehend the extent of God. All this is consistent with our understanding that God made man to his image and gave him free will. Nor has many fully grasped the full scope and extent of his own human nature, its capabilities and potentials for growth.

One problem is immediately encountered in accepting THAT basis of our faith. Why did God reveal Himself only to us Christians? What makes us very special? Could he not reveal Himself to all men throughout human history in a special way so that the opportunity to understand and worship Him would be available to everybody in a fair and just way? If we accept this premise, then differences in our perception and understanding of Him would be attributable to the level of awareness/spirituality each one of us will have attained, which as stated previously, is largely voluntary and optional.

WRITTEN THOUGHTS FROM WAY PAST

2011-04-21T12:16:00.000-07:00

Rummaging through yellow-eared papers kept in rarely-visited cabinets is much like reliving one’s past. One discovers old stray ideas reduced to writing and slipped through anonymous folders, and invariably forgotten amidst the many cares of youthful life. Here’s a few self-decided to be fit to publish.

Thinking About Man’s Free Will

The “created” or “creature” both singly and collectively can never equal to the “Creator”, although in some respects the former can be likened to the latter. The created exhibits certain characteristics and powers that are reflective of the Creator. One of them is free will. The question then is: Was this free will given to him at the onset of his creation? If not, at what point of his growth/evolution was it installed so that from that point on, he was on his way to almost unlimited growth and development if he chooses to?

One plausible theory one can postulate given what we now know about how homo sapiens evolved through the ages may be that at the point when man consciously distanced himself from group consciousness and embarked on his own, he became a being singularly responsible for his action. He took a choice and decided not to be an involuntary part of a whole that he had originally been involuntarily assigned to. This probably gave birth to the concepts of law and order, crime and punishment, heaven and hell, ethics and morality, etc. This rending away from group consciousness could be the start of the Genesis accounts. A poor parallel may be how planetary order is maintained, where universal physical laws are in effect. Chaos would ensue when for example certain planets do not follow this order. Unless other laws somehow kick in to attempt to bring back order and harmony.

The integrity of man’s free will is left intact in prayer if we have the proper attitude toward it. One common reason for praying is to ask God for certain things to happen, like work opportunities, job offers, good health, victory in contest, etc. When we pray we access God’s presence but He does not make things happen for us, notwithstanding the worthiness or silliness of our supplications. He simply makes known that various opportunities/options, choices are available. We still have to make free choices; thus, preserving the integrity of our free will. Conversely, we are still fully responsible for our actions, and not Him.

If our plea involves an action on the part of a third party, say, a job offer, He is not in turn infringing on the free will of another. What He does is simply to present/implant/make available certain ideas/options/thoughts to the other person. If it comes out that the reply to your plea for a job offer is favorable, it is because the other party freely chose to make the offer. If the answer is negative, then it is also because he said no and not because God said no.

Role of Self-denial in Man’s Life

The emotions of love/lust/longing are rooted in man’s psyche/mind/soul/inner being, apart of and distinct from his temporal body. However, to express/gratify these, man has to work through his body. He is man because he is body and soul, not a body and a soul. Expression/gratification may be in the form of thoughts about the subject/object, face-to-face vision, interactive communication, touch, intercourse, etc. And if these are not possible/feasible, maybe flights of fantasy are resorted to. These emotions are definite attributes of the nobler nature of man, his soul. Therefore, their expression/gratification do not necessarily signify an inability to control one’s sense appetites, or that man is giving free reins to the needs of his body for truly these are needs of the soul too. Thus, we ought to ask whether we should always deny ourselves these lusty thoughts/longing simply because we grew up feeling guilty about them.

Heaven on Earth?

The Church teaches that being in the state of sanctifying grace is sharing in the life of God and that the ultimate reward is the beatific vision (heaven) which is the face-to-face audience with God. Another tenet states that in the valid reception of Holy Communion, the body and blood of Christ become part and parcel of us, making us God-like, here and now and on earth – a foretaste of heaven.

What exactly does this mean? Is it only symbolic? Or is it attainable in its true sense? How is it manifested in daily life?

To be truly true, there must be a higher level of existence/spirituality attainable here and now, which can be experienced by man under his present state here on earth. The obvious question is how to attain this level and what means to use. Once attained, many should be able to exude powers ordinarily considered supranatural. Some possible examples would be extra-sensory powers, mind-over-matter experiences, etc. – much like what Christ had while on earth. Or on a practicable level, man could become more event- and/or people-sensitive so that he becomes more able to understand and interact in a more effective and enlightened way – be more able to accept human events/realities in a better perspective. Spirituality/wisdom enables us to see through the hedonistic trappings and evaluate realities according to their ultimate purposes and values. These should be attainable by anybody, be he a believer of Catholic dogma or not.

Mourning the Passing of Time

2011-04-16T11:14:00.000-07:00

Time they say is nothing more than the constant motion of things, whether in deep space, within us in the deep recesses of our body cells, and even in the seeming permanency of things considered durable and steadfast. Everything is in perpetual flux and this we find immutable. We are born, grow up and grow old.

Much as we do not want to at times, things change. Whether in attitudes and beliefs we desire to be steadfast and true. Whether in moods and likes that catch our fancy. We cannot hold on to them and freeze them in time. It is like grasping air. We do at times take pictures hoping to freeze them in time. But we can only recall, not relive.

Many of us stop, though only in a manner of speaking, trying to make sense of it. Others ignore it completely. Still, others do not want to confront it. But it plods along its merry way, unmindful of our acceptance or resistance.

But there is nothing to make sense of. It is simply a matter of living through a fleeting life that knows no better. Like being caught in a swirling whirlpool we typically find ourselves unable to counter the flow.

Thus, we mourn the passing of time, the passing of life. We mourn the regrets we should have entertained, and the happy events we had wanted not to end. Or the good things that could have been.

But is it that simple? That fateful?

Those we try to make sense of it, try to reach for an answer. Those that ignore are not interested. And those that are malleable do not care.

Don’t we at times find ourselves going against the grain? Swimming upstream or going against the tide? Or standing alone? Or wrenching away from the madding crowd?

So maybe there is a way out. A wormhole in time and space that allows us to shake off the fetters of formidable time. A way to freedom.

You tell me. Or go tell yourself, so maybe we can mourn no more.

Maybe it is that simple. Accept its inevitability and prepare for the end.

The end of life and that’s it. Nothing to come after. So we can move along because there is nothing to see here or there. Or expect.

What a useless and wasteful existence, and include there the entire creation. All the intricacies and beauty of nature and man, and all for naught. A creation that continues to this day, in nature and in man. In the vast recesses of his mind and the stupendous resourcefulness and versatility of his hands.

All for naught? In the aught and for all eternity?

There has to be a meaning of life and time. A purposeful meaning that merits all the hassles of its living.

If we can find the answer, then maybe we can mourn no more.

Is it any wonder that mourn rhymes with morn? I for one do not wonder. Mourn brings on morn where things look better exposed to sunlight.

Some Observations on FICCO’s 56th General Assembly March 2011

2011-03-18T13:57:00.000-07:00

This year’s overriding theme for another promised historic general assembly was “Blazing the Trail for One Coop, One Vision, and One Nation”. And indeed FICCO has been all that and more. But certain incidents leading up to the assembly date also promised to mark the event as another boisterous event. Chief among them were the now open enmity between certain members of the board resulting in reported shouting matches, laced with serious charges and countercharges; and the falling out of the credit union from the supported partylist, Ating Koop, culminating in the board’s resolution to break away completely from it in spite of the millions of pesos of credit union funds sunk into the effort. And this latter issue has splintered the board into two warring factions, making things look like we are witnessing fierce proponents in some private for-profit enterprise rather than in a credit union famed for its noble purposes of service and volunteerism. Thus, the date came with great anticipation for many members, especially those belonging to the main office.

This is a personal assessment of the whole affair, if only to tie together all the disparate parts. Only this time this will be less about the performance of the credit union which continues to score historic points, but more about the troublesome pressure points rocking the management level of the organization which have patently distracted the elected officers from their primary tasks of steering our huge ship in a singularly focused manner.

This is no technical analysis, or any serious treatise, but rather a randomly compiled narrative depicting how an observant layman member perceived the whole process and had then decided to reduce the experience into print.

To begin thus, this member observed the registration process with a general nod of approval. Attendance was very inspiring. Even with my early arrival of 15 minutes before 10am which was the scheduled start of registration, a sizable number of members of the main office were already in a bit of frenzy jockeying for positions in the many lines assigned. The actual assembly was scheduled for 12 noon but this member had decided to register early expecting an easy sailing and then just come back for the assembly itself. There were 3 lines for senior members bursting with grey-haired members eager to register and receive their package. The only damper was the realization that even for those clearly advanced in age crowding in lines was still in vogue. People still pushed with their bodies and blurred lines like there was a life-threatening emergency that they wanted to get out of in a hurry. Missing was the deference and orderliness that one expected from those more experienced in life.

Anyway, when my turn came it went fast and easy. With package in hand, I was out of there in a jiffy, drove out quickly to do some shopping, and then went through the material given at home. Now, the thick booklet that comprised as the main document of the package, loaded with all the financial statements and tons of critical information which compressed an entire year operation, ought to be given earlier so serious members get ample opportunities to pore over them, rather than cram during the harried time they can scarcely allocate after registration and before actual deliberations. Only a well-informed body can be expected to participate seriously in deliberations of this serious nature. And of course, a well-informed body makes for a more efficient and expeditious discharge of the many businesses attendant to an annual assembly.

Anyway, I was back inside the assembly site at past 12 noon half-expecting an assembly already underway. Thus quickened my pace to the cavernous auditorium to find an amply filled place, though the bleachers looked mostly vacant. But an assembly nowhere near being started. After a quick query from a staff member, I was told it could start any time. It eventually started before 2pm. Being on time has always been a problem with Filipinos and this event was no exception.

While the electric atmosphere commenced early during the readings of the various minutes of the previous assembly, the heat really elevated when the various resolutions were brought to the floor. Thus when the fireworks started was when one had fertile ground to mine for commentary.

And that was when the noise pollution was ramped up, where speakers using highly-sensitive microphones already turned up to full volume, bellowed with their speeches in very high decibels filling the entire place with what could be judged as like noise pollution. With impassioned speakers sounding like self-justified aggrieved parties, throwing both charges and ad hominems against their perceived tormentors. One was made to believe that there was a private confrontation between two factions, unmindful not only of their high calling as elected officers of a credit union but also of the fact that the general membership had little to do with the private wars being waged. Matters that would be better served if discussed and resolved privately, or within the confines of a smaller group like say in a board meeting.

And the irony in this was that recurrent mention was made of both democracy and representation. Justification was made for all this washing of dirty laundry in public as sterling signs of a democratic process and of representative democracy. But in my humble judgment it was neither democratic nor representative.

While granting that the democratic process can be messy and chaotic, the greater issue to remember is that while people can and will always disagree on issues, they need not be disagreeable in the process. We should always defer to ethical standards and show circumspection as a sign of respect to the subject of our tirades and especially to those ears that cannot help but to grudgingly listen to them being captive audience.

And it cannot be truly representative if discussions are hogged by a very select and small number of members and officers. But that was what happened, when turns at the microphones and the floor were exchanged only between the same people over and over again. It should be the task of the moderator to spread around the discussions to as many members as possible. That’s one way of assuring that brainstormed ideas are truly representative of the entire assemblage and not just of a small vocal group who cannot help themselves from speaking out at every occasion that turns up.

But in spite of all the bluster, this corner feels that certain issues which should have deserved more exposure were skirted and glossed over because maybe they did not advance the self interests of those concerned. I refer specifically to the attempted politicization of the organization as epitomized by the officers’ devoted attention to and avid encouragement of the partylist participation which ended in a most disappointing and expensive lesson for the credit union. Though a “timeline” was detailed in a newsletter that resulted in disbursements that totaled over 11 million pesos, this corner did not hear any more clarification from any of those board members who took great pains and efforts to push this agenda to the general membership, a general membership that looks to them for guidance, knowledge, and especially wisdom in the conduct of union affairs. Albeit the millions in losses, the preferred treatment had been that of silence from those directly involved. Where is the owning up and taking responsibility part for those who presented themselves as honorable and transparent guardians of union funds and affairs? I left during the waning moments of the assembly, which was past 5:30pm. Was this issue inserted during those moments? Like the typical late Friday afternoon press releases resorted to by scheming political administrations bent on going under the radar regarding some issues?

First of all, where is the wisdom in having the credit union engage actively in partisan politics, in a reality where politics is inherently judged to be corrupt and divisive? In a series of moves toward this end, one sensed that the union was not only designing itself in order to curry political favors, but to position itself to create a political base purportedly to serve its noble goals and interests. At the start, it was an endeavor that was deigned to fail, and fail it did.

Another misstep not given proper due was the recording of a paper loss of over four million pesos, all because some officers needed to declare income on the investment. And the solution rendered was to redeem the instrument while at the same time re-investing the same amount in the same instrument. Because it was not done on a timely manner, a paper loss ensued. But what was not even mentioned was whether the redemption process involved the payment of fees and commissions which is typical. Never mind the paper loss because it could be recovered by registering a paper gain when the performance of the investment improves.

What is sorely construed in all this is the apparent nonchalance by the parties concerned in owning up and taking responsibility for errant acts done in the discharge of positions of trust and of a fiduciary nature. Is it just invincible cluelessness or deliberate attempts at sweeping things under the rug?

An assembly that was scheduled to end at 5pm may have gone way past the time, and I could not tell since I could not muster enough free time to stay past 5:30pm. And I personally attribute this to a lack of good time management, a task primarily lodged on the moderator of the event. The moderator has to be proactive in making sure time is not wasted on endless discussions with no or scant bearing on the issues at hand, or on rambling speeches by those so inclined. Attention to political correctness or too much sensitivity on people’s feelings has to be curbed for far greater purposes. Like that precious manhours should never be wasted on loopy pursuits.

Was the FICCO Board Had?

2011-03-07T22:42:00.001-08:00

Picked up yesterday the latest FICCO Newsletter dated February 2011 and was immediately riveted to an item in the back page that detailed our credit union’s ill-fated relationship with the Ating Koop movement. It was written by former BOD member Gani Daba.

Any layman reading it unaware of any of the inside scoops other than what had been publicly divulged could easily come to the reflexive conclusion that our credit union has become one big and deep-pocketed political action group that was HAD to the tune of over 11 million pesos. Or in a more benign manner, was treated like a wide-eyed suitor who was sent on a fool’s errand.

Reading and re-reading the explosive itemization one is easily led to believe that this whole affair was one deliberately conscious series of actions by all parties involved which spanned two years and which resulted in a series of very substantial disbursements of credit union funds. One has to confess that one is not privy to or conversant with the nature of all the disbursements, whether they were all in fact outright expense disbursements or whether some funds are recoverable.

But what is true is that any cautious person can not help but be amazed at the amounts involved purportedly to “buy” support for our credit union’s goals and interests from a decidedly political and very politicized group.

But as outlined in the news item all these happened.

Thus, at the very least, all members of the board who participated in the process need to have a lot of explaining to do – to reveal what their roles were in the planning and decision-making, and to own up and take responsibility for these huge losses.

And laying in detail what these “continuing threats of lawsuits” are.

The total amount involved is nothing to gloss over, even granting that FICCO has become a multi-billion enterprise. Because it is still made up individually of more than 140,000 members holding on to precious little resources and trying to make ends meet.

The Wonders of Life

2011-03-05T10:05:00.000-08:00

Even in the ripeness of time, I find I still am not quite immuned to or saved from the many “wonders” so common and prevalent during innocent youth.

Everyday as I continue to expend the time allotted me on this slowly ebbing mortal coil I continue to wonder about many things I witness in the scenic vistas unraveling before my most acutely inquisitive mind. I cannot be content as passive witness to the march of events as they unfold. I have to know more. It is almost like an addiction to a kind of curiosity that could be bordering on morbidity. It does not compute like it is natural for a person to be so in rapt with such mundane preoccupations. But much though I want to get rid of it or not accept its reality, it is cravenly still there. As big as life, and twice as demanding for attention.

Thus, alone with my thoughts during unencumbered moments watching the busy intersection defining the little neighborhood where our little building is, I absentmindedly observe the gaggle of people and vehicles at almost perpetual near collision in the streets and sidewalks that comprise the cross-road. And my thoughts start racing with the usual wonder-ment.

This lady has a brisk gait tethering a bit in her high heels, with neatly-pressed and mini-skirted rust-color uniform revealing a well-toned body, and long wet hair waffling as she strides. I wonder where she works since I see her quite often walking toward the same direction. I wonder where, since she is heading south and away from where the offices would typically be located – in the poblacion. I wonder if she maybe works in a small office tucked away in some big building located in that area.

Along the intersection where many jeepneys tarry to create an illegal terminal, there is always a boisterous group of shabbily dressed kids, crowding around jeepneys and almost manhandling passersby into riding a particular jeepney. They are called dispatchers, who for a pittance will assist jeepney drivers get people to ride their jeepneys. I wonder where these truant kids come from since they do not look like they come from the neighborhood. I wonder what they make each day and whether it is enough to sustain their daily living.

Observing the parade of people each day, especially women, one wonders if one is inside a big candy shop bursting full with all kinds of goodies. You see all sorts of ladies pass by, and I admit I tend to notice more the nubile variety. All tightly wrapped up in curvaceous packages of assorted clothes wear, and typically all looking fresh having just come out of a shower or bath as evidenced by still wet long flowing hair. I wonder why Filipinas always appear to take baths or showers in the mornings before venturing out of the house. I wonder if they realize that they can be cleaner for a longer period if they instead took baths or showers in the late afternoon or night after returning from work or running chores. I wonder if many do take two showers/baths a day, the second one at night. But then why bathe in the morning before leaving? Does not make sense, you wonder.

And I definitely wonder aloud if these women realize that the common thread (nice pun, eh?) in what they wear is so apparent – they all seem partial to tight almost second-skin type of jeans leaving no living space between body and clothes. I wonder if many have to literally force themselves into those body-hugging attire. The struggle seems to continue all day this time with gravity since the pants sit not on the hips but under where body anatomy starts to taper off. And this coupled with equally tight blouses or t-shirts that almost always never meet up with the uppermost part of the pants. Thus, even for the remotely modest there is the constant tug and pull to keep a moving body covered when sitting down, stooping to pick stuff up, or doing any upper body movement that requires some stretching. And I wonder why the womenfolk have to go to such lengths when there are readily available more functionally logical clothing. And I do not mean those abbreviated shorts which could be considered as appropriate wear only inside the privacy of one’s abode or in a picnic event.

Having described it thus, I curiously wonder how these women now purchase their clothes wear. I can just imagine the Herculean task involved in fitting tightly all these women who come in a dizzying array of different sizes and dimensions. It can’t be simply off the rack material. I wonder what happened to the standard sizing so common during our youth – one was either a small, or a medium, or a large, or if none of those, an extra-large. I was dismissively told that most jeans are now stretchable. Yeah, right. Stretchable but definitely up to a certain point. Unless many of them are pushing tightness in clothing to unequaled heights. Or maybe, all these women make their own personalized alterations to store-bought jeans having learned how to hand- or machine-sew from their doting mothers. Yeah, right. And Cagayan de Oro has very good traffic. Anyway, what happened to the familiar sight of ladies in skirt and blouse? Now one has to be inside an office to see it. Or in school. Maybe at home women still wear “duster” to ease up on the day’s tug and pull, err, hustle and bustle? Don’t see any.

And wonder of wonders, I wonder if we can still say that men wear the pants in the family.

But there is no wondering that humor is still the best medicine.

Ah, the wonders of life!

WTF, California!

2011-02-06T22:44:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the title, just keeping up with the current political jargon. This is one of those WTF moments – for California.

Forbes Magazine has this dreaded annual list entitled the 20 Miserable Cities in the US. And not only does a CA city, Stockton, top the list a second time for the last 3 years, 7 other CA cities are on the list with most of them clustering close to the top.

And here's the list:

1. Stockton, Calif.
2. Miami, Fla.
3. Merced, Calif.
4. Modesto, Calif.
5. Sacramento, Calif.
6. Memphis, Tenn.
7. Chicago, Ill.
8. West Palm Beach, Fla.
9. Vallejo, Calif.
10. Cleveland, Ohio
11. Flint, Mich.
12. Toledo, Ohio
13. Fort Lauderdale, Fla.
14. Youngstown, Ohio
15. Detroit, Mich.
16. Washington, D.C.
17. Fresno, Calif.
18. Salinas, Calif.
19. Jacksonville, Fla.
20. Bakersfield, Calif.

Forbes takes some pains explaining its methodology in arriving at the “honored” list.

“We looked at the 200 largest metropolitan statistical areas in the U.S. The minimum population to be eligible is 249,000. We ranked each area on 10 factors, including unemployment over three years, tax rates (both sales and income), commute times, violent crime and how its pro sports teams have fared over the past three years. We added two housing metrics this year: the change in median home prices over three years, and foreclosure rates in 2010, as compiled by RealtyTrac. We also considered corruption based on convictions of public officials in each region, as tracked by the Public Integrity Section of the U.S. Department of Justice. Lastly, we factored in an index put together by Portland, Ore., researcher Bert Sperling that rates weather in each metro on factors relating to temperature, precipitation and humidity.”

Not content with the unintended hurt inflicted, Forbes proceeds to detail the whys and wherefores for the individual selections. Here are those for the CA cities:

No. 1 Stockton, Calif.
Unemployment has averaged 14.3% the past three years, which is third worst in the country among the 200 largest metro areas. The housing market collapsed as well, with home prices down 58% over the same time. All the California cities on the list are struggling with the inherent problems the state is facing, including high sales and income taxes and service cuts to help close massive budget shortfalls.

No. 3 Merced, Calif.
The economic downturn and busted housing market hit Merced harder than any other area in the country. Average unemployment of 16.2% since 2008 is the highest in the U.S., as is the city's 64% drop in median home prices.

No. 4 Modesto, Calif.
The median home was valued at $275,000 in 2006; today it is $95,000. And don't leave your car on the street in Modesto, where 3,712 vehicles were stolen in 2009, making for the second-highest auto theft rate in the country. It ranked first in four of the previous five years

No. 5 Sacramento, Calif.
No state taxes $50,000 of income like California, with a rate of 9.55% for that middle-class tax bracket. Sacramento is a one-team sports town, and that team has been awful in recent years. The NBA's Kings have won just 26% of their games the past two-plus seasons.

No. 9 Vallejo, Calif.
This one-time Navy town became the largest California city to file for bankruptcy when it entered Chapter 9 protection in 2008. Unemployment is expected to average 12.5% this year, up from 4.9% five years ago.

No. 17 Fresno, Calif.
Despite the ongoing economic recovery, unemployment is forecast to average 16% next year in Fresno, the highest rate among the 75 largest metro areas in the U.S.

No. 18 Salinas, Calif.
Salinas has arguably the best weather in the country, but it can't mask other problems. Home prices have fallen a staggering 61% over the past three years.

No. 20 Bakersfield, Calif.
The residents of Bakersfield are among the most uneducated in the country, with only 15% possessing a college degree and 70% a high school diploma. The U.S. averages are 28% and 85%, respectively

Again, except for one (Vallejo) all the California cities are in the Central Valley, a huge extended valley noted for its abundant agriculture. And infamously as home to many illegal immigrants. California has the distinct privilege of accommodating one half of the total illegal immigrant population in the entire country.

Had wondered where my beloved Tracy would place on this list. Thankfully, it is not included I bet you largely because it has much less than the 249,000 minimum population required to qualify on the list. Tracy only has a population of 80,000, but is very close for comfort to No. 1 Stockton, to No. 4 Modesto, and even to No. 5 Sacramento, which is the state’s capital and less than an hour away from Tracy. The first two honorees are some 20 miles away through the main freeway.

I suppose with regard to the other factors, Tracy would be very much like Stockton, Modesto and Sacramento – namely, in real estate prices, unemployment, crime rates, etc.

Tracy used to be a quiet farming town until many of its farmlands were carved out to accommodate many tract housing developments which were sparking red hot until the housing bubble burst. Today, housing development has eased up considerably but the rest of the town remains preoccupied in its many agricultural pursuits.

To the west of Tracy, beyond the Altamont Pass, lie the extended edges of the Bay Area – the cities of Livermore, Dublin, San Ramon, Castro Valley, etc, all similarly emasculated with depressed real estate prices and high unemployment.

Any hopes for recovery?

Well, for one voters chose more of the same last November , installing essentially the same cadre of politicians and bureaucrats who have been largely responsible for the dire conditions the state finds itself trapped in – budget deficits, looming bankruptcies, high unemployment, problems with illegal immigration, etc. Name the rest, and California suffers from it.

As dazzled residents, we can only exclaim: WTF, California!

UPDATE:

Here's an even gloomier picture.

71% of mortgages in Clark Country, NE, where Las Vegas is, are underwater!

My beloved Tracy which belongs to San Joaquin County, CA, places 5th on the list with 59.6%.

CHARITY Scrutinized

2010-12-31T13:44:00.000-08:00

Have we ever considered how we employ and deploy the virtue of charity in real-life situations? Let’s rephrase that a bit to make it more familiar, replace charity with the word love after all they mean the same thing essentially. Now, all of us are familiar with love, saddled both with good memories and nightmares about it. We have all experienced it countless times in countless ways. We know it inside out and sideways. Love runs the entire gamut of our human experience. We show love for God, our parents, our sweethearts, our children (bless their souls), our relatives, our friendly neighbors, even our cats and dogs, and even inanimate things like the shiny red car in the garage. No doubt we have chests of lovey experiences that can fill a room.

However, can we with some certitude build a hierarchy of our loves so we can readily determine which subjects of our loves deserve more loving than the others, apart from the ready surety that definitely people deserve more love than things, or pets? Thus that same expensive shiny car or your multi-fangled smartphone, smarter than your blessed offspring, rates low in the totem pole of charity.

Are we even aware that we have one? Don’t we just rate our loves uncritically based on some preconceived notions handed down to us from one generation to another? Anyway, let’s test how well yours rate in the scheme of things. Let me throw this in. Who should we love more our neighbor or ourselves? Or what about this. Who gets the ribbon your wife or your beloved parents? This is good because growing up I had neighbors who castigated their wives when the latter were at odds with their live-in parents. The wives were curtly dismissed with the threat that while wives can be replaced any time parents cannot be or are irreplaceable.

Anyway if we follow Christian doctrine, or say teachings as assiduously formulated by church authorities like Thomas Aquinas that hierarchy ought to be built this way.

First, it is the virtue of Charity (one among 3 theological virtues, the other 2 being Faith and Hope) that leads man to love his God more than he loves himself. The reason for this primacy being that God being the source of all love and goodness deserves the ultimate love that has no equal. And being a jealous lover, He abhors competition.

And because of man’s love for God, he then is conscripted to love everything else in the same way and order that God loves them.

Thus, man must love himself more than his neighbor because he must love his share of divine goodness emanating from the Ultimate Source more than that of his neighbor.

True, with regard to his own body or any fleeting material pleasure or attachment, his love for his neighbor should take precedence.

Man will also love some men more than others because of their more significant roles in his own life. Thus, friends and relatives rate more than strangers who do not share common goals of salvation with him.

Man must also learn to love his children more than his parents because the former are more closely fused to him. He is an integral part of them as they are integrally part of him. That man’s parents stand on a different level. While he is part of his parents, they are not part of him.

He will love his wife more than his parents because in marriage he becomes one with her. Biblical passages can attest to that. And remember man must love himself more than others.

And lastly for that same reason, man will love more those for whom he does good, over those who do good for him. Those who he does good are loved more because that love is the effect of that man’s goodness and he must love himself more than anything else.

And if perchance we find ourselves experiencing eternal bliss in heaven, there too will have a hierarchy of charity. And the order above may also hold, though with some modifications with regard to other men. In heaven all those saved will conform perfectly to God’s will, though there will be those who will conform more or better than others. And since God loves more those who conform better to his will, man therefore will love more those better than him.

Christ Image Credit

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES: Spending Time Around Lepers

2010-12-28T14:09:00.000-08:00

As a species we are wont to throwing around what we believe are truisms, like that as we get older and become adults we are at the same time losing the innocence of youth. But upon closer scrutiny that word,innocence,is quite heavily loaded with so many possible implications. Is innocence then inborn from childhood? All attributable to a child lacking the necessary experiences to make informed decisions? Or is it because a child’s perceptions of values or life experiences are still pristine and pure and untainted by the corrupting influences of adulthood?

In all likelihood it is all that and more.

But definitely a short and quick journey into the halcyon days of childhood could shed some more light.

This little journey therefore is undertaken with that in mind, an attempt to discover or re-discover the “innocence” that was in childhood.

As a mere “innocent” child of 6 or 7 years old, from a brood of 9 brothers and sisters, as deep as my recollections can reminisce I had the distinct privilege of being chosen the traveling companion of my dear doting grandmother who was widowed early and thus lived by herself in the beautiful island of Cebu.

Though my grandmother had a trusty companion in the house who had been with her since her younger years, she had need for somebody to be with her when she went avisiting her one married daughter who had lived away from afar, first in Manila and then to some remote island in Palawan. Her other daughter, my mother, though had also lived away from her could be reached by an overnight boat trip that she could handle on her own. One other daughter, the 3rd and the last of her children, had married a US Air Force veteran and was living in the US. So visiting her was out of the question.

I had surmised that as a young innocent I wasn’t expected to be fully aware of the grave responsibilities a traveling companion for an elderly lady had. Still I found myself summarily shipped off with no hustle to Cebu so I could join her for that long trip which with delight turned out to be very eventful and memorable.

The trip as planned was for an extended visit to a remote island in Palawan, called Culion, which was operated by the government as a leper colony – away from the peering notice and noisy bustle of normal community life. My grandmother’s son-in-law and my uncle was a dermatologist or skin doctor permanently assigned to the colony. His family had lived within the vicinity of San Lazaro Hospital in Santa Cruz, Manila. The hospital was and I believe continues to be the premier hospital in the entire country for diseases of the skin. Thus, my uncle most probably decided on his career as a result of exposure to the hospital and its work. During those times being a doctor was akin to entering the priesthood and carried with it the same respect and admiration from the citizenry. It was considered an alternate kind of priesthood where the concerns were of the body rather than the soul. And as kids we all had held my uncle in quiet respect and with the same high esteem accorded priests, idolizing him for his selfless work among lepers and for doing so under grave threat to his own welfare and health.

Given the generous accommodations and liberties he had in the island made me believe that he was one important doctor in that colony, maybe even the main doctor. Very recently I learned that in the 30's Culion was the biggest leper colony in the world housing over 16,000 patients.

And our sojourn may have been an extended visit not by design but because of the inherent difficulties in getting in and out of the island. To get to Culion one had to start in Manila in order to catch a boat going to Palawan with stopover in the island. And trip schedules were not very often, maybe dictated by the economic needs in Palawan and that of the leper colony.

Anyway after that boat trip to Cebu, I was on a boat again with my grandmother bound for Manila. In Manila we were met and billeted by some of her relatives, in wait for the boat that would bring us to Culion.

Granted that boats then were no luxury-liner types, but the boat we took for Palawan was definitely worse. The local shipping industry then made use of warships either left by the departing Americans or given to the government as reparations. They were generally unkempt, dirty, smelly, and congested with passenger cots lined up on the decks. I suppose the best among this odd lot were used to service the more-traveled routes. They were freight ships commissioned as ferry boats. But then we did not know any better, thus for me it could have been the regal Queen Mary of its time.

You board on shaky gangplanks, commandeer some dirty unwashed cots for your use, and essentially wait for departure time which was when the boat’s business was done. In the meantime, there is frenzied activity all around, with burly and smelly stevedores heavy with oversized luggage on their shoulders and assorted passengers with bulky packages and children in tow. And outside the docked boat in the dimly-lit pier you hear the incessant creaking of steel booms loading cargoes into the boat’s cavernous hulls.

It is only when things start to get settled and some semblance of quiet is restored that one, even a small child, can begin to observe more intently the suddenly unfamiliar surroundings. And since my grandmother was not talkative one was left to play with one’s idling thoughts as one looked around one’s limited ken. At that age like a good guard dog one simply sat as close to the old lady, trying hard to sit still and not be moving around.

One then begins to notice the assorted passengers crowdedly encircling your little space, crammed as it is with your own luggage. While observing all and sundry, a child especially tries to evade eye contact and thus disguises his own curiosity from other prying eyes. Though in this instance the people around were just as careful in evading eye contact. It is then that some itchy realization dawns on a young inexperienced mind. Many of them do not look like me or my grandmother. Somehow certain parts of a picture are missing. Some fingers are missing, parts of the nose are not there, and the ears especially have been ground close to the face. And the skin all look like those of very old people, badly wrinkled and mottled, though some were not that old.

Suddenly the boat’s shrill whistle breaks not only whatever silence or subdued noise there was but all activities inside the boat. It is the loud startling announcement that the boat is ready to leave. So all thoughts and activities turn toward the next phase of the trip – the days to be counted and endured before we see land. It was good because the attendant youthful concerns about the passengers were relegated to the background replaced by more pressing ones. Like, can we even get some sleep once the boat is at sea and starts to rock? What about food? There would be some food from the boat’s pantries, but my grandmother with her trusty companion had provided enough provisions to last the trip. What about toilet needs? Better try to postpone or risk having to walk on shaky decks and maybe throw up in the process.

And in celebration of still another oft-quoted truism, we got through all that with the firm hope and prayer that this too would pass. And it did.

And the lull occasioned by the long anxious wait for the boat to dock and unload from its belly the antsy passengers was yet another occasion to observe the assorted passengers, standing as close as they could to the exits that led to the gangplanks, loaded with packages and kids, and packed like sardines ready to burst at the seams.

They indeed looked different and the light of day made that even more so. But nobody made any mention. Not even my grandmother who always had something to occupy her time – prayers and reading of devotionals. I am sure she knew but found it not noteworthy enough that her traveling companion should be notified.

The following days and weeks, I believe we stayed there for at least two months, were happy, exciting, and memorable ones. Imagine a small kid from the province who was mostly housebound transported into a lush andverdant island that seemed like paradise. Like I said I believe my uncle was an important personage there because he had a very nice spacious house for his and his family’s use, and he was supplied with ample foodstuff like canned goods and other usual amenities like newspapers and yes, comic books. There were tennis courts nearby where the loud voices of players could be heard. The house was built close to the side of a mountain, facing toward the ocean and from there we could see the island’s small decrepit pier and beyond, the horizon. Even from a distance one could tell that people fished along the pier.

During our entire stay, I do not recall having visited inside the colony itself which was fenced and gated as far as I can recall. But aside from the leper colony itself and the staff houses in its own compound, there were other houses scattered throughout the island.

So we never had any direct contact with those who were still suffering from the disease, only the doctors and their staff I suppose.

So we had very good accommodations when we stayed with my uncle, maybe better than home. I particularly remember being called the Spam kid because of my strong proclivity for the product which has endured to this day. And as I kid I enjoyed even more the fact that there were comic books I could read, being very much attached to them during my entire childhood. They only negative if we can call it that that I could take away from the experience was that everything we touched there had the smell of antiseptic or Lysol. The packages you received, the news, the comic books, and maybe even the canned goods delivered to the house. And yes, definitely even the people who worked inside the colony. Anyway, as a kid I did not know enough for me to be bothered by it. But it was a constant reminder to all that we were in a different place.

There were also activities outdoors where I too participated, like a little jeep trip exploring the mountain by the back of the house and trips to the pier to enjoy the cool afternoon breezes and to be among fishermen as they fished with their backs turned to us.

One vivid recollection happened in this manner. As we were walking along the pier, I had veered a bit from the group and went near one of the fishermen whose back was turned. Though I had sidled as quietly as I could, he suddenly turned to look at me. And again that face that looked at me seemed different, that certain parts of a picture were missing. Again the missing digits, the snubbed nose and ears, etc. My uncle must have sensed my discomfort because I do recall somebody explaining that those fishermen and their families lived around the island. They were cured lepers who because of the social stigma could not return to their homes in hopes of picking up their former lives. So instead they opted to stay in the island where they were more accepted and could less obtrusively blend into the overall environment.

Before long our extended stay had ended and for the love of me I cannot recall anything about the trip back home. Though I can well remember the exciting times spent with my cousins and the youthful fun we had in that little island. My uncle was eventually returned to Manila and that ended any possibility of returning to the island.

Surprisingly after all these years, I cannot bring back any strong uneasy or fearful recollections about lepers and leprosy during that long past trip; and yet during those times, and maybe even today, sufferers of the disease were shunned socially – considered outcasts and isolated in very remote places away from sight and smell of the rest of the population.

**********
Credits for the pictures:
http://thecheenee.blogspot.com/2010/05/travel-culion-palawan.html

http://reesefernandez.wordpress.com/2010/02/15/my-up-engagement-story-and-a-strange-wonderland-on-top-of-the-mountain/

Gnawing Pangs of Aloneness

2010-12-09T09:36:00.000-08:00

In the frenetic days of youth and in the hectic daily rushes of work days, those of us harassed by their stubborn cares, pined in silence for some needed solitude – if only to allocate little precious time for ourselves and our cumbersome thoughts. And in hindsight, countless precious times spent in aloneness during those trying times were welcomed opportunities, especially because during those times extracting oneself from social contacts and responsibilities was such a daunting task, because for one the strong pressures from societal forces always seemed able to pivot better for ownership of our time and attention. Or work responsibilities could not be easily delegated or ignored all together. Those who could afford or were so inclined, simply dropped everything literally, packed up, and were on their merry ways doing whatever fancied them but all in search for elusive solitude.

I am sure we each have our little treasure caches of stories accumulated while in search for our solace.

But then the other side of this is self-imposed or contracted solitude that we all must bear in the pursuit of goals, or simply as one of the requirements in life when certain things have to be done and cannot be either delegated, postponed, or shunted aside. At times we find ourselves taking solo trips and living by ourselves, even in big empty houses, because we have to. Though not necessarily sought for, solitude had to be trudged through to accomplish goals considered worthy of the sacrifice.

It is in this second light that I now confess that this self-imposed aloneness can be achingly lonesome and produces a sense of emptiness that can tug harshly at feelings and emotions. So that even in the midst of a throbbing city, within reach of the warm presence of other family members, a listless soul can still feel cavernous emptiness likened to the vast expanse of the universe.

An eerie feeling that emptiness is not necessarily of matter or creation, that it worms deeper into such finite realities and transcends beyond what one can touch, feel, or think about. An emptiness that extends beyond but just the same is and can be felt by us while in sojourn here on this earth.

And this we can confirm because when we do get back to familiar territory and warm familial ties it is relieved only for a time, and then in the ripeness of time, it harkens back and ushers in the vacant existence that we thought had been driven to its end.

But no, it stubbornly adheres since like all fleeting emotions which come and go unexpectedly, such emptiness partakes of a similar nature, continually haranguing our listlessness or inconstancy of mind at times least expected.

Life, you see, is one big bowl of impermanency. Nothing stays as it is. One continually plans to get to a place, only to plan again how to get out of that place.

Genealogy: Neri’s of Bohol

2010-11-22T09:20:00.001-08:00

Click on image to enlarge

Presented herewith is a more detailed graph of the origins of the Neri’s of Bohol, its earliest progenitors dating back to the early 1800’s.

Confirming our earlier data as plotted out in the earlier genealogy blog on this site, this branch’s known ascendants start with the union of Mariano Neri with Ambrosia Fortich in Bohol.

All the new data here were taken from an Excel file which based on the format and entries must have originated from the heirs of Felipa Neri who married Gregorio Pelaez, Sr. in the town of Medina, Misamis Oriental. It should be noted that in our first listing the data came from the family of Romulo L. Neri, the two branches sharing the same lineage.

This early it should be emphasized again that the descendants of Mariano Neri still cling to the belief and oral tradition that the family of Mariano Neri originally came from Mindanao. It is no wonder then that his descendants started waves of migration back to this southern island, Felipa Neri and her siblings being good examples of this migration.

Here are some personal observations culled from the new data provided by this graph.

A common thread we find is the size of the families listed.

Sps. Graciano Neri and Paula Flores produced 11 children. But 3 of these children died early: Sotero at 6 years, Maria at 1 year, and Gregorio at 1 year.

In the next generation, Emilio Salvador Neri, who married twice, sired a total of 16 children. But 5 of them died early: Salud at 3 years, Amparo 2 years, Sofronio 1 year, Venancio 5 years, and Josefa less than 1 year.

In the same generation, Hospicio Neri, who also married twice and from whom Romulo L. Neri’s family originated from, had 10 children. But very surprisingly, 7 of them died very early or at early adulthood – Elena 17 years, Vicente 20 years, Salvacion 10 years, Fermin 27 years, Lorenzo 4 years, Carmen less than 1 year, and Jose 1 year.

With this more detailed rendering, it is hoped that those Neri’s, especially those with origins in the Visayas, seeking connections can somehow hook up with the names listed here.

NOTE: Subject for confirmation, based on the graph coming from the family of Romulo L. Neri, Mariano Neri/Ambrosia Fortich had four children: Eustaquio, Wenceslao, Graciano, and Maria. Rather than only 2 as plotted out by this current graph.

The Man I Used To Know...

2010-11-16T10:02:00.000-08:00

...so goes the haunting lyrics coming from the dulcet pipes of Jimmy Rodgers, one of the 60’s popular singing idols.

And truly if one lives long enough, one will invariably arrive at that decisive moment, the fork in the road, to pause and reflect if indeed one is looking at a virtual stranger in the harsh mirror of one’s own eyes. Credit a quickly evolving and changing world coming and going at a fast clip. Nothing stays static. Everything is in flux. Time becomes a fast slideshow of events and things that most times are missed by startled viewers.

And it is only when one decelerates from the pace of life and ponders that one realizes the rapid changes exploding all around, causing one to somehow get estranged and disoriented, confused and maybe even, angry.

Thus, an assessment becomes critical to recover focus and relevance.

First, to understand and accept that changes permeate to the very core of what makes a man. From physical looks, to cognitive abilities, outlooks, and even to long-held and maybe even considered “absolute” values (social mores, morality, ethics, etc).

Nothing escapes the very powerful and all-encompassing whirlwind called change. Thus, a re-assessment becomes imperative, or one loses one’s compass that one uses to steer one’s life to its avowed ends.

In schools run by Jesuits, part and parcel of student life were scheduled annual events designed precisely for this purpose. Surprisingly it was called an Annual Retreat, assumedly in keeping with the temper of its founder’s milieu, Ignatius of Loyola, loyal soldier and defender of his kings - first of his temporal king in his home country then after founding his religious society that of Mystical King of the world. Upon closer scrutiny, the term does suggest some kind of running away or turning back from a fight, rather than the more apropos retrospection and introspection of the myriad of events that shaped the year just lived. And in keeping with the military milieu, more like a transient but tactical regrouping with the intended purpose of engaging a better fight.

And in this respect, there were devised strict written standards and procedures designed to accomplish optimum results for the spiritual exercises, which were in the real manner of speaking, religiously followed by its adherents, both in the clergy and lay apostolate.

And one must confess that those exercises were very cathartic, a necessary balm in reviving a flagging animo or a welcomed medium for fresh instructions to clear the path of strays, confusion and puzzlement, or put differently, a steerage change in course away from the “road to perdition”.

In fine, it was a total exercise in “getting back to the basics” for Christians, and I suppose for all those following true religions.

Take stock of virtues and see if they align with the standards – both moral and theological, both natural and divinely infused. The moral virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude. And the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity.

Electoral Fraud: Around the Globe?

2010-10-29T16:25:00.000-07:00

I bet you any serious primer on electoral fraud or voter fraud worth its salt would contain most if not all of the following examples; and this would be relevant to any place in the world where some form of democratic voting is regularly provided for and exercised.

1. Commands to Vote - Where election judges or election officials sign voters in and instruct them on whom to vote.

2. Mass Illegal Assistance – where for example voters are herded into booths by political operators and instructed on how and who to vote.

3. Phony Voters – like when voters are not properly ID’ed.

5. Absentee ballot signature mismatches – Signatures on file not consulted.

6. Cash for votes – buying of votes whether inside or around premises of polling places.

7. Loiterers – where regulations on who can enter polling places are disregarded.

8. Intimidation of poll watchers – by political operatives.

9. Poll workers voting for voters – Workers themselves instructing voters not only how to vote but who to vote.

10. Software glitches – Many charges claimed where electronic voting is used.

11. Counting errors – where manual counting is still being done.

12. Politicking inside the room – Political operatives not only loiter but engage in campaigning.

13. Would you like to vote a straight party ticket? – In some places where straight voting is still practiced election officials favor only their party of choice.

And after having gone through with some disgust at the rather long list one is probably thinking this as typical in some obscure developing country where elections usually are messy, chaotic, and maybe violent, or littered with illegal practices. And one could be right to assumed so. I myself had just witnessed my first local election ever after having been gone for over 30 years from the old homeland. And the verdict in media and other sources has been almost unanimous – the election was rigged, or more benignly, tainted because of massive vote-buying which has over time become the common fare in elections hereabouts. And mind you, these were elections for the lowliest political subdivisions in the country – the barangays. Served with some unique side dish called election for Sangguniang Kabataan (SK) (Youth Council) where underage residents also vied for positions and got elected, supposedly to form part of a national youth legislature. Anyway, there were claims that vote-buying permeated through that level, too. What a way to start future voters on the road to civic duty!

A local Jesuit priest had thrown in some nuggets of wisdom on the just-ended elections which prompted my quick personal response that somehow got stuck in inertia and never got out. So here it is:

From all appearances electoral fraud epitomized by vote-buying and cheating has become the handmaiden of Philippine elections. Thus for “good” candidates to stay above it is hard and difficult. The “daang matuwid” people speak about is narrow and precipitous and thus daunting to travel.

The dilemma is that if “good” candidates find it near to impossible in getting elected, governance is then littered with people infected with their own nefarious agenda. And I would be bold to say that that is precisely our situation, if not nationally then for sure, locally. Elected “public servants” gunning for their own self-interests.

The solution then is as much a function of “good” candidates as the very people who have been empowered to choose. The electorate deserves the governance it voted for.

Given the realities, there is the huge task of re-educating and re-calibrating the minds of an electorate long poisoned by the tempting allures of petty cash and sappy promises. And in tandem, of stirring the long-lost virtue of eternal vigilance in the segments of the electorate that continues to care about honest elections and dedicated public servants.

Going back to the original topic, allow me to disabuse any knee-jerk judgment that those examples of voter fraud listed above must of consequence come from third-world countries. Because in this one particular case, this list came from this source in the US of A and is a cautionary tale for the coming mid-term elections scheduled on the 2nd of November. All those examples listed have precedents in the US setting and for some examples, already in the running in the context of the forthcoming elections where early voting is allowed. So this shining example of the grand experiment on democratic principles and representative democracy is currently toiling and groaning under electoral vicissitudes most common and vile in developing countries.

From the start these bitterly-contested elections exploded in ways one would find atypical and not likely in a more stable and experienced state like the US. But they did.

And this commenced some 2 years ago when this current president was historically and surprisingly elected. The interim period has been wracked with ugly political fights and wide dissensions that have cut across the country and divided it into clear and marked battle lines. And now even illegal aliens have thrown their weight into the fray. Cautions in ethics, civility, propriety, you name it, and yes, even law have been thrown to the winds, producing a dirty, savage, and brutal free-for-all not seen during my entire stay there.

So it appears that all’s well with the world.

Pre-Sarah Palin Era

2010-10-16T20:07:00.001-07:00

Long before even astute Presidential candidate, John McCain, knew enough of Sarah Palin so as to list her as a VP contender, this little blog already considered Sarah a possible good choice.

While Sarah’s VP candidacy may have lost out to Barack Obama’s historic but now considered by many, misguided win, few will doubt and question that the former is now a force to reckon with in US politics. Friends and foes alike cannot anymore afford to disregard the quiet power and driving influence that a Sarah statement and presence now wield as she stumps around the country, galvanizing and electrifying the electorate with her popular causes. Kinetic causes and issues which resonate loudly with majorities of the American people.

Who would have believed that this unassuming pretty face from faraway Alaska would in a few years command the respect from like-minded voters and sow fear and intimidation from those who oppose her? Now, even her hard-fisted or clueless detractors are beginning to see the light and acknowledging what was quite obvious to many regular folks like us.

A cursory walk-through media in its many manifestations will undoubtedly yield pieces about Sarah Palin – where she is at, where she is speaking, and her anticipated comments on the daily important issues oozing out of Washington DC and the White House. They cannot now seem to have enough of her, though she continues to be a private citizen without the traditional bully pulpits establishment politicians usually with carry with them wherever they sidle into.

The way things are shaping up, Sarah will deliver for the GOP the wins needed to put this country back to its traditional and enlightened path, one election at a time. Today, the midterm, and next the presidential. Just you wait and see.

UPDATE: This just in . . .

I was told on the record that the fire Marshall allowed 6600 in the main room, it was full, there is also an over flow room that hold about 2400, there were 800 people or so there plus another 200-500 outside. So figure maybe 8000. That means that president Barack Obama, Deval Patrick and Barney Frank were unable on a Saturday 3 weeks before an election to outdraw Sarah Palin on the Boston Common in April on a Wednesday. Democrats be afraid, be very afraid.

Doing our Darnest Best At Getting By

2010-10-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

In one’s honest examination of one’s own life, one is constrained to cede that most times, one is content with getting by with what life throws around. Finding ourselves innately flawed and gapingly wanting in many respects, we can’t help but be resignedly accepting of less than stellar performances in our many responses to innumerable events.

While deep in our dark psyche many of us would rather confront life’s challenges armed to the teeth with skills, resources, preparation, including the kitchen sink, and thus be utterly well-prepared to do eternal combat with our many challenges, we typically end up with results which are largely less than excellent, though some maybe a tad better than being mediocre but definitely littered with many failures. For the countless many of us that appears our default role. We never really become what we had envisioned for ourselves when we started tackling life’s adult challenges.

Those that do show stellar performances stand out way above the levels of madding crowds and are also far fewer than many would like to imagine. And it is in their scant numbers that the rest of us can readily spot and recognize their outstanding achievements and their brightly-lit personas. We can only sigh and gape in awe at what these few have garnered for themselves.

Ensnared in this lowly lot assigned largely by fate (of course, a number from the same lot are able to aim higher and do end up higher), many of us aim to do our best – at simply getting by.

It is not a spectacularly pretty sight, but what can one do? True, we still can dream our fanciful dreams and expend our darnest best to execute herculean tasks. But let us be pragmatic, for the many of us it will not be as expected . So best to expect the worst, while aiming for the best. And thus, failure materializes as more palatable and acceptable.

Many will holler and dispute this kind of a defeatist or fatalistic attitude and would rather we engorge ourselves with inspirational and motivational programs designed to lift us higher. And I can agree with that but extra efforts notwithstanding, the majority of us will still fall by the wayside in the category of achievements or accomplishments. And in consolation, for life after all is not in the accomplishing, but rather in the trying where one is measured and sorted out.

But does it denigrate any noble purposes if we are also accepting of the realities or maybe realistic possibilities that we will not be able to accomplish what we have envisioned? Or get what we aimed for?

Does it detract from or put a damper on our efforts the fact that we are also accepting of the odds involved? Many would say that what we are sliding into could be considered self-fulfilling prophecies.

It may be the envied choice to be of determined singular minds in pursuing goals and shunting aside feared possibilities of failure, but the pragmatic person should be humble enough to take into account the odds on failure. Prudence dictates that we take into account all the factors at play and not be blinded by the glare of sterling virtues that could steer one into reckless and imprudent actions.

That’s all I am saying, in a sort of roundabout way.

Remembering Tony Curtis

2010-10-01T00:27:00.000-07:00

After hearing of the demise of Tony Curtis on cable, I immediately and dutifully walked to our little den where I kept “old” stuff from my youth. Plucked out one item from an array of old pocketbooks comprising the few artifacts I have which catalogued those heady days of youth when we spent whatever free time and money we had watching Hollywood movies in the few theatres we had in the city.

For Tony Curtis, it was of course, the black and white Wilder film, Some Like It Hot, with three very popular stars in their own rights – Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis, and Jack Lemmon. Friends and acquaintances liked it so much, I had then thought of and decided on memorializing our exciting experiences by purchasing the pocketbook version of the movie. So here it still is almost as fresh as when we first viewed and talked about Tony in the movie.

Needless to state, as teenagers we tried in our own little ways to look like Tony. His lush dark hair was just right for us since we all had dark black hair. And even better that he did not grow sideburns because very few of us could.

And when Elvis came with his equally stunning good looks, it made us even happier that Elvis himself would admit to his idolizing Tony’s dark looks, tarrying inside a theatre where he served as usher to watch Tony on the big screen. And also imitating his hairstyle and all. He was known to dye his hair black in his later more popular years until his untimely death in 1977.

Personally, Tony is equally remembered for his earlier films. Houdini - where he starred with the actress who would to be his wife some years later, Janet Leigh. And in a comedic movie, Don’t Make Waves, where he was paired with rising but ill-fated starlet, Sharon Tate.

True, Tony starred in many lightweight costumed movies, but for us then he personified and made somewhat real some of our fanciful escapist fantasies.

Equality At Any Cost

2010-08-22T22:53:00.000-07:00

This collage of images of man and woman slowly unravels in a nutshell the distinct anatomical differences between the two genders, our current attitudes on gender equality notwithstanding.

The image on the left to a degree represents our politically correct perception that man and woman are essentially similar differing only in some superficial externalities and in manner of dress. Then the middle image shows two very attractive creatures with almost identical physical features making them look like twins. The last image however shows in stark contrast the obvious differences in the anatomy of the two figures.

Over the years we have been conditioned to think and believe that women are just like men, and as such should be able to do most everything a man has traditionally been consigned to do – construction work, athletics, firefighting, soldiery, and most everything else. Ardent feminists constantly hammer out this fact and insist equality should be applied most everywhere. Not surprisingly, we now have women soldiers in combat zones, women firefighters fighting conflagrations, and yes, women boxers and extreme sports combatants engaged in those brutal sports not seen since the departed era of the Roman gladiators. I saw recently a segment on TV delving positively into the viability of females in the navy serving on very cramped quarters in submarines. Why not?

So, all’s well with the world?

I do not know why but suddenly some people are starting to talk about sexual dimorphism. Don’t worry, it is simply the study of the differences in the anatomy and physiology of the two sexes.

I hope we can discuss this dispassionately in the interest of science.

Anyway, how many of us know about these facts that differentiate man and woman purely from the standpoint of anatomy and physiology.

A good doctor on the subject has taken the task of showing these differences. Now honestly how many of the facts did you know already?

Anyway, let me count the ways.

Muscle Mass
Men carry as much as 50% more muscle mass in their bodies than women. The latter carry more fat for the difference or instead. Obviously, differences in strength between the sexes occur.

Organs

“Men have bigger hearts, airways with large diameters, higher hematocrit, and increased lung volume.” Thus by nature, men have better endurance.

By the way, a Hematocrit is a blood test that measures the percentage of the volume of whole blood that is made up of red blood cells. This measurement depends on the number of red blood cells and the size of red blood cells.
The hematocrit is almost always ordered as part of a complete blood count.

Other Organs

“Female skin is thinner, and women are endowed with lower levels of blood clotting factors; they are more likely to cut and more likely to bleed. Female bones are less dense, thus more susceptible to fracture. Women’s ligaments and tendons are thinner, a crucial factor in surviving joint locks without injury. Less upper body musculature means less resistance to the head accelerations that cause brain injury.”

On The Other Hand

“Women have greater flexibility and a wider pelvis -- particularly advantageous in MMA. Female skin heals more rapidly and women recover more quickly from exertion and injury. Women have superior immune systems, protecting them from infection. Fascinatingly, women also have a greater density of neurons in many parts of their brain. This may give female fighters a precious advantage in enduring repeated brain injury.”

But who yearns for brain injury?

Pseudo-Populism of the Elitists

2010-07-31T06:28:00.000-07:00

A week or so before the November 2008 presidential elections, my support of VP-candidate Palin through one of my blog posts, caught the attention of Journolist founder Ezra Klein. He had then deigned to respond to it with a blog post entitled Populism of Mediocrity. In his short rebuttal, Mr. Klein submits that he may not fully understand why ordinary people like me could identify with Palin and could throw our unstinting support for her causes. But the title of his blog post tells us already what he thinks about the kind of people I presumably stand for and of course, about Sarah Palin herself. Our populism has been judged as that of mediocrity.

Sadly but admittedly, the ensuing election proved that more people found favor with the way Mr. Klein’s candidate was glowingly presented before the electorate and thus Obama was awarded the presidency. Though buyer’s remorse may now be a common wail of many who threw their support to him like many Independents, finding his governance miserably falling short of his high-minded campaign rhetoric. And if we are to assume good faith and goodwill on the part of his many supporters in media and elsewhere, many ought to be suffering from this malady, too. But I suppose not for the proud or the hard-core partisan ideologues in media who continue to find Obama’s governance as just fine.

But the many revelations exhumed by the leaked emails from the Journolist put in clearer perspective why certain media/political operatives think the way they do about ordinary Americans.

That first, they appear to consider themselves specially privileged and thus separate and distinct from the world inhabited by the many of us who toil each day trying to make a good living while diligently obeying the laws of the land and trying our damned best to be ethical, honorable, equitable and fair in our conduct with government and our fellow citizens.

And maybe insulated or isolated from such everyday realities, it is no small wonder many in their numbers are quite disconnected with regular folks, what the latter consider ethical or what they aspire for. In their echo chambers (as exemplified by the almost secretive membership in cabal-like Journolist), they can let their hair and their guards down and really be what they truly are – smug in the tacit acknowledgement of their avowed cognitive superiority and conversely quite condescending in their treatment of the rest of the country – the great unwashed that need to be babied and cared for and guided by the big hand of government and its many omniscient bureaucrats, bolstered and validated by the able assistance of their intellectual counterparts. And in their blinding zeal, they truly are convinced that they are doing God’s work, for after all they have the best of intentions. To protect and care for humanity.

An Enduring Interest In Motorbikes

2010-07-10T08:12:00.000-07:00

Over time I have had more than a passing interest in motorbikes. And to this day, I continue to look with interest and nostalgia every time I see a motorbike whiz by. For some inexplicable reasons my interest is always piqued whenever I see a bike. Reasons ranging from the machine itself to the joys and thrills of riding a motorbike can all be factored in to explain the durability of this interest.

I purchased my first motorbike right after I had had a year of gainful employment on my very first real job. Granted it was second-hand and bought from a classmate in high school, still it was a jewel of a purchase, the transaction completely financed by savings from that first job. It was a 1965 Honda 250cc SS, the only one of its kind in the entire city. And it gave such a sense of power driving it around town with the two diffusers from the two exhaust pipes removed. With engines revving up like the rat-tat-tat of machine guns, it gave new meaning to the saying that riding a bike makes one feel the power between one’s legs. This love affair lasted for almost two years.

In that same milieu I was fortunate to have had other bikes at my disposal, all the result of my father deciding I was the one who should have them. One was a Honda 90cc and the other was also a Honda 90cc but a Trail model. Both were eventually harnessed to pull what is locally called, the motorela, a means of public transport quite common in the Philippines. It is a unique invention consisting of a bike fitted with a cab where passengers can sit comfortably and be protected from the elements.

And additionally I also had use of a smallish Honda P50 50cc, a very fragile model configured in such a way where the entire engine was part of the rear-wheel assembly. It had pedals like those of a bicycle which required their use to start the engine. It was such an unsteady and slow vehicle, it almost seemed like riding a bicycle.

Then later on I had another Honda, a 125cc twin-cylinder road bike colored red. It was good enough for our little family to serve as substitute vehicle for short trips. Though by then four-wheeled vehicles had become the preferred mode of transport for our family.

This year with the influx of Made-in-China motorbikes into the local community, the bug bit again and I found myself acquiring one that most resembled the bike I had loved the best. This time it is a Dayun 125cc bike tagged as a cruiser. Since most bikes nowadays have only one cylinder, including ones as big as 250ccs, this one indeed has only one cylinder, but with one caveat, it has two exhaust pipes.

The images here are the exact models and colors of the ones I had owned secured from the Internet, except for the newest acquisition which is actually featured here.

A Measured Issue Of Height

2010-07-05T05:54:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a country where the average height of the male population was 5'3" my being 5'8", or a good 5 inches taller than the average, opened up to certain privileges or treatment not otherwise proffered to the rest. For example, during pick-up basketball, where hoops was the only game in town (with us, anyway) almost always I got to be offered without much competition the role of center; though in most cases I would decline preferring instead to play guard which I thought was the easier position to play given my personal circumstances. I abhorred close guarding leading to contact which was required as a skill for the other positions. But being the recipient of a first offer made me feel good.

And personally I confess it felt good not having to look up to people when talking to them. Looking down at them was a better personal preference; if not, then at least looking straight where the other person would be as tall. And with the ladies, who during that time had even a shorter average, it also felt good giving one the devilish satisfaction of being physically superior (whether justified or not, regardless). Their being shorter resulted in a chauvinistic feeling that during times of distress or when one is called upon to rescue a damsel in a bind it definitely would be a lot easier to carry a shorter and thus lighter lady than one of the same height and weight. Imagine being unable to lift off the ground a lady one is trying to rescue. How unimpressive, and shameful!

So I enjoyed this privileged status while I continued to live and work in the old homeland. But the time came to migrate. And off to the US of A with the entire family to live and work for a living.

And how ego-deflating then to find in the adopted country many women taller than my suddenly puny 5'8". Granted most of them were either white or African-American. Still it was such a jarring revelation, bringing me to uneasy situations where I had to stealthily avoid having to stand side by side with women taller than me. And the men of course were much taller. I bet you the Lilliputians were burdened with similar discomfiture meeting up with Gulliver in one of his travels. Factor in the larger than life mental images we had erected for our heroes in the sports and entertainment world and it could only lead to trouble. Thus, it continues to be difficult to describe the panoply of feelings I had meeting up with Irish boxer George Cooney in the lobby of the hotel I worked for. He truly was a gigantic presence, albeit a gentler one since he had a very unaffected smile and an air of grace in his friendly hand gestures to fans. And meeting face to face with NBA players was even more disconcerting. Of course, there were occasional instances where the accidental meeting experiences elicited strains of self-approbation, like with the famous Jane Fonda. Got caught by total surprise looking up from my front desk counter to see a very petite woman approached almost timidly. It was only past the last instant when her husband then, Tom Hayden, had asked for hotel keys that I realized in whose presence I was in. But well, it definitely did not register as larger than life.

Anyway, I am now accustomed to my new role in that society as the odd man out, the short guy. But my return trips to the old homeland have again turned things out of focus. Initially, the old feelings started to lurk out of their unhappy slumber when I got back and started experiencing old feelings of vainglory, feelings of height superiority that is. Until much recently when to my chagrin, I had suddenly realized that the local population had changed greatly, in a short span of 3 decades. Maybe as a result of its exponentially expanding numbers?

It is now not unusual for me to meet up on any street corner with young men and women who are not only as tall but a lot taller than me. Sometimes there would saunter by a rowdy parade of giggling young kids in their sneakers and with jerseys slung in shoulders telling me that they were a line-up of a basketball team. And most of them would be 6 feet and more, at the very least. In some unjustified disgust, I had asked: what gives?

What happened in that short absence? Has evolution now turned at an accelerated pace?

Another stray observation contributes even more confusion to an already clouded mind. I noticed looking at people older than me and those who figured quite prominently in my youthful adulatory stages that for some inexplicable reasons, they now look shorter and less imposing. Since I definitely have not grown in size except in age, what happened to them? Were the rusty mental images of them just plain wrong? Does considerable absence simply throw things helter-skelter? Go figure.

Do you?

Let me end with light banter.

I am wont to regularly encumbering precious space of the sidewalk, whatever is left of it anyway, in our downtown building to mindlessly observe both vehicular and human traffic in the busy intersection. Much like a fly on the wall with camera cocked and ready at times, I would while away a small part of the afternoon to idle leisure in quiet and unnoticed observation.

One late afternoon found me in my usual allotted spot and noticed 3 young people walking toward our slice of the sidewalk. The three were approaching fast in single file, 2 guys at both ends and a towering reed-thin lady in the middle atop an inch or 2 of heels. So towering was she that I could not help myself remarking as they started to pass us: You must be at least 6 feet!, to which she nonchalantly replied, yes, I am.

Then just as suddenly I was brusquely reminded by one of my companions: Remember that "she" is a "he"!

But I muttered mentally: but does it matter?

Tall is still tall especially in the land of shorter people.

Certain Itchy Urges

2010-06-30T21:51:00.000-07:00

When certain itchy urges assail, one is left with either to simply ignore and suffer through them or give in and give them expression. Like urges to write something or anything. When they do happen and one is too weak to resist, they can result in a spate of inanities or worse, confusing nonsense. Found the following below from the desktop of one of the laptops shunted aside for future upgrade.

I wonder which part of me produced them.

My Next Blog?
I agree somewhat with B....O's reaction re your rather harsh put-down of Americans. And I come from a somewhat skewed perspective compared with yours. While you had spent a good part of your life living and working in the US, mine is the opposite. I was born, raised, and worked in the islands, more particularly in and around Mindanao, but have now spent 3 decades in the US, more particularly in California. Though currently I now shuttle between the two destinations still laboring to eke out a living during these extremely trying times.

I had my own particular personal reasons for leaving the islands, not necessarily all partaking of any economic nature. For one, I was particularly excited at the opportunities of being able to broaden my perceptions of the world and what better place, in my mind, than the US. Being islands-bound can be constricting to the point of being claustrophobic. I wanted badly to spread my wings. Certain deep-seated frustrations in the Filipino community no doubt helped my decision-making. Chief of which may have been the creeping ennui from having to deal and interact with compatriots who were too earthbound and bereft of the drives for more human perfection in the areas of relationships, work ethics, and entrepreneurship. I was in commercial banking, and was one who agonized under the endemic burden of having to deal with banking methods and practices that were geared toward the lower common denominators and baser standards afflicting the industry. A banking system of economic opportunism and greed, and non-attention to the more noble purposes of the industry as a vehicle for economic development and financial education for all. A banking system held hostage by a dominant ethnic minority which kept a tight chokehold on most vital economic activities and which group was not too keen about promoting sound business ethics and social responsibilities. Making them qualify as seminal progenitors of the current abhorrent version of crony capitalism.

The Supremacy of Nothing?
One could be, or want, or desire, that or this. But regardless, our choices are still fraught with flaws and shortcomings for such are the lot of worldly living. One or the other does not translate to choosing one that is perfect over one that is decidedly imperfect. All our choices are about picking one that is better than the other or others. Whichever we choose or turn to, it is still about things that will one day or eventually disappoint, fall short, or become undesirable. It is never about making choices that will hold or sustain for life. Our fleeting worldly existence can only lead to transistory actions and results.

Isn't there then supremacy in choosing or being nothing? Isn't there then glory and wisdom in being nothing? Why bother to try to be something when our lowly existence here is designed for us to lead to nothing. Truly, there is cruel wisdom in the saying, you cannot bring anything with you when you die. Not your worldly treasures, or even your loved ones. Not even the good that you have done. Being all material, they all are wrenched away from you and stay earthbound after you leave this material world.

Getting Back Access

2010-06-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

After being in some kind of netherworld darkness, we finally got our on-line access back. It took the local phone company almost a month to bring us back to virtual reality. Now we have DSL Broadband connection at home, much improved with a wireless router attached to it. The company promises 1.3 Mbps speed for their connection, with landline upgraded to fiber all the way to the house.

This is a very welcomed development. And glad to be back and on top of things.

Canned Sardines In A Tight Fix

2010-04-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

Packed like sardines! Sardines are for the poor! Tiny as sardines! All idioms that have leaked into our local jargon, all referring to the much-derided (because of its smell) but nutritious canned sardines that were quite a common fare during my youth. A youth spent in a developing archipelagic country where fish was a default part of diet. But now here in the US a canned food item typically relegated to share shelf space with other unpopular menu items in discount and warehouse stores. Or in some rarely visited sections of the many upscale urban grocery chains.

This little bit of news the other day continues to signal the continual decline of the canned sardines:

Production at Maine canneries has been sliding since peaking at 384 million cans in 1950. Faced with declining demand and a changing business climate, the plants went by the wayside one by one until, five years ago, the Stinson plant was the last one standing. Last year it produced 30 million cans.

Blame it on the changing palates of consumers bringing about declining demands for production. And in a significant way, blame it on the new kid on the block, the tuna, which has gained acceptance for most people of all economic status, shabbily pushing aside the rather very fishy smell of sardines.

A product which was so commonly part of our diet is slowly dropping by the wayside, and yet we know so little about it – like what kind of fish is typically used. Most would know that the typical fish variety used is related to the herring, but less would know that there are many species, about 21, that could be referred to as sardines. Or that among the knowledgeable sardines are called pilchards. Or that the name sardines was given because many of them could be found around the island of Sardinia. Here, learn more.

Regardless, canned sardines had and will continue to have a well-deserved place in this writer’s frugal diet. Opening our cupboards would reveal several flat tincans of different brands, all claiming to be sardines or wannabe sardines. Why just yesterday, I pulled and rolled one can, emptied all the contents to a deep saucer and added butter/margarine. Crushed and mixed all of it thoroughly and made it the filling of a sandwich in a bun. Yummy!

If so inclined, here’s a link that will provide one with ideas on what to add to the drab or unglamourous contents of your can of sardines.

Enjoy a very cheap (usually way under a dollar per 4oz can ) snack or meal that should give one some points toward a more healthful and satisfying diet.

What Makes FICCO Unique

2010-03-05T16:32:00.000-08:00

This Thursday morning things got done early and by past 9am I was empty-handed but ready for anything to pop up. Noticing the extra cash in my wallet, I decided to saunter over to the main office of my favorite credit union, FICCO (First Community Cooperative), and to aspire to be dutiful with one of my defined responsibilities as a member of “good standing”. The brisk walk buoyed even more my already elevated spirits, so grabbed a number, which was an even 100, and sprung up the flight of stairs.

As I cleared the stairs, immediately noticed that the priority screen had 67 on it. Not to worry. Though not a glutton for punishment, I did have time to while away and the air-conditioned ambiance of the main office was an added bonus. Had I stayed in our building I would have had to pay for the electric bill for that comfort. So settled down on one of the lounging sofas after a quick glance around the gathered slew of members waiting for their precious turns – moms with antsy kids in tow, prim ladies in their neat office uniforms, and the like.

Neatly attached to the comfy sofa, I started looking around for anything to occupy my attention, aside from deftly cocking ears while listening to loud conversations from the waiting crowd.

There to my left was a huge framed board measuring maybe some two square meters occupying most of that wall. It had the title, What Makes FICCO Unique. Quite a catchy title. So started reading the all-text yellow board starting from the right since I did not want to crane my neck too much, the board being too close to where I sat. It was generally quite exhortative and inspirational, extolling the exemplary qualities of the coop. I nodded in agreement as I went through the points highlighted. Had time to reread since my number was still far from being next. After which, I craned my neck even more to try to get to the left portion of the board, which as we all know is where the start of the message would be. Again had time to re-read, soak, and ponder on the issues highlighted. More nods, though I confess I started having itchy reservations with some of the glowing statements.

From my perspective, the gist of the message of the board was as a kind of general exhortation for members to feel unabashed pride for their organization, and maybe to answer back on some detractors who may have disagreed in the past. Okay, that I understood perfectly well. But in time my reservations became more like itches that needed itching and more attention.

Finally decided to reduce them all to prose and this is what I came up with, randomly selected as good as fading memory could work.

Firstly, there was mention of members “being of good standing”, and that struck a sore chord since I confess I had that issue addressed to apply to my own membership where I was declared as one lacking that quality and thus not qualified to run for elective office in the upcoming elections. Based on the rather very draconian strictures currently in place, one wonders how many in the entire roster of almost 130,000 members can qualify as such. I suppose in the local context, becoming a member of good standing in organizations similar to this can be a very daunting task. It appears that gone are the days when being a member of good standing involved the very elemental or minimal requirements that many are familiar with – pay your basic dues, or obey basic rules, and make sure you have not been found to be seriously remiss in the discharge of your defined and assumed duties and obligations like paying your debt on time, not to lie, cheat or steal from the coffers, or discharge duties of your elective office decently or creditably. Now, the demands are more stringent and restrictive.

Secondly, as an opening act to increased speed and efficiency in bringing in more membership and resources, mention was made of delayed counter services brought about as unavoidable consequence for the former. After all, one cannot expect more from harried staff and personnel who are over-stretched attending to more clients. True and to illustrate, it took me about 40 minutes to get my little chore (a cash deposit) done from start to finish. The unavoidable trade-off appears tolerable from the organization’s point of view. But lost in the shuffle are the lost man-hours of the clients forever counted out from the daily grind of long waits which are now the typical scenario. Consider productivity lost in the process. Is there a way to mitigate this? I can think of one that could work, but leave that for another discussion and occasion.

Thirdly, the piece speaks of a culture developed through the years which has served the organization well and augurs well for its future. It speaks of an organization that views transparency in its officers’ actions as primal to its continued existence and thus welcomes all voices, big or small, major or minor. But then parenthetically qualifying that even “sour-grapes” are entertained. (Chuckle here.) But I do believe such language does not belong in such a serious piece. No need to demean a voice that may be outlandish or too extreme, it is enough to welcome all voices, whether in agreement or dissent. I have to believe that FICCO is unique because it is also tolerant.

And here is an honest affirmation of a truism that should pervade any financial services organization such as this that “new members add to the capital pool”. Yes, yes, new members should first be encouraged to learn how to save before they learn how to borrow. The capital pool cannot increase if new members are immediately focused on borrowing.

And lastly, I postulate an added quality that makes FICCO unique and will continue to make it so. It continues to be a work-in-progress. While other coops may indeed be considered "works-in-progress " compared with the tremendous strides FICCO has made, I hope that we at FICCO are cognizant and humble enough to declare and believe that we ourselves continue to be a work-in-progress, not a perfectly molded model that cannot stand any more improvement, re-examination, re-recalibration, re-alignment, etc. We must continually learn as we grow, and adapt where necessary because remember times are continually achangin’, too.

It was odd that during my turn in front of the teller, unsolicited I was advised to borrow, the teller obviously a total stranger and did not know me from Adam and least of all my overall financial situation. My typical reply as always has been, I will borrow when the need to borrow arises. And not before then.

BTW, how did she know that I have not borrowed as far as I can remember? Is my account flagged and labeled as to show outright where I stand in the organization?

A Pictorial Chronology of Two Mayas : From Birth to Adulthood

2010-02-27T07:07:00.000-08:00

Last June it was shade of serependity when I had the rare distinction of intruding into a maya’s nest deceptively hidden in one potted bush lodged in our building’s roof deck.

One bright morning, I almost stepped on a small wriggly mass of pinkish flesh on the slowly heating concrete floor of the deck, being devoured by a frenzied horde of small black ants. Stooping closer I could make out the crude outlines of an organism whose internal organs were visible from its diaphanous outer flesh. It was a newly hatched bird that much I knew. Picking it up and shooing with my fingers the busy clinging ants, I settled it on a small cup cushioned with a folded paper napkin and positioned the makeshift nest on top and in the safety of the observation deck I had constructed. Hoping the mother would return and minister to her young.

Click to read more.

Street Names As Memorials

2010-02-22T03:14:00.000-08:00

Life is replete with humanity’s overt manifestations of its innate longings, or maybe dread, to honor and perpetuate it heroes, its renowned forebears, or simply its dead. For example, statues are cast and installed in publicly prominent places precisely to make known and remind the viewers or passersby of the dead and gone real person behind the stiff and drab image sitting or standing out there in the rain and exposed to all other elements. Gilded books are written laboriously tracing the extraordinary lives of people and/or relatives admired and expressing desires to emulate. Buildings, places, even nature, etc. are not spared from our ardent aspirations to perpetuate and propagate the chosen names of those consigned to our eternity.

And quite common in most places we have been to, whether of considerable renown or not, is the practice of naming streets after those admired personages. The ubiquitous signage makes for one sure route to give more mileage (in a manner of speaking) to that person’s honor and name. After all, street signs are installed in most intersections and/or long stretches of roads for easier negotiation or faster access to destinations.

Let it be said though that at times street names are grudgingly given for more mundane and practicable reasons, like because the named person used to own the real estate traversed by the roadway or maybe in a generous gesture donated the real estate for the roadway. At times certain places are known by a person’s name, simply because that person whether renowned or not was domiciled in the area, or again maybe because people know he used to own property in the vicinity.

But clumsy distinctions aside, the street names given can be a good glimpse into a bit of local historical narrative of a place or locality, like as if history has crept into a place’s consciousness through the dead-giveaway uniqueness of its street names.

A little tour around town or even a more studied look at the street names of places we travel through our workaday lives can be revealing of both the past and the possible reasons for the nomenclature.

Thus, the street name of the place where we live is Paz Neri San Jose situated at RER Drive Subdivision, which is bounded on the east by the Rodulfo N. Pelaez Avenue. The sprawling compound of Liceo de Cagayan University lies on the other side of the said avenue, stretching maybe a half-kilometer wide. Why? Because the family of the late Rodulfo Neri Pelaez owns the university and the subdivision was once part of their landholdings. And our street being one of the main streets of the subdivision is named after his beloved mother, Paz Neri San Jose. Why RER? – the subdivision was named after the first letter of the first names of both parents and daughter.

Trying to skirt the usual heavy traffic around the Carmen Market area during commute periods, I chanced upon a rather obscure side street named Matilde Neri that stretches westward. Again an old resident can readily tell why. Matilde Menciano Neri was the widow of Faustino S. J. Neri, and her family used to own large tracts of land around the Carmen Market area.

And right smacked in the center of the old poblacion anchored by its premier plaza, Divisoria, is the street named Tirso R. Neri stretching from one end of the plaza to the other and defining its northern boundaries. Tirso Neri made a name for himself locally in both peace and war times, serving creditably in government and doing other exemplary work. Thus, it seems appropriate to name an equally important street after him.

There should be more, even if only for the visual benefit and easy entertainment of members of the extended Neri clan. Just give me time to reach those places. Or better still, bring them to my lazy attention and I shall schedule the legwork. Our subdivision is a veritable gold mine, since most streets are named after Neri ancestors.

Oh, by the way, I do have a street named after me, announced by two lonely rusty signs that have fallen into quite ugly disrepair as to be almost unreadable.

Actually, it was intended for my father. Being named after him has at least one spurious benefit, I guess.

Not Your Everyday Cloud Formation

2010-01-27T04:52:00.001-08:00

After just backing out of the house, saw this rather unusual cloud formation looking up at the eastern skies off Cagayan de Oro at 8:45 on a clear bright morning.

Shots taken by a point-and-shoot camera, filtered by the windshield tint inside the car.

A Child’s Face

2010-01-18T04:43:00.001-08:00

One bright morning furtively seated on the warming sidewalk by her lonesome, this forlorn child maybe no more than 10 looks up with those sad eyes, conveying maybe a world of privation, loneliness, and definitely hunger.

But what change a somewhat curt offer of a few pieces of bread can bring to a child’s face. It is definitely enough to warm one’s heart, a truly valuable exchange for a pittance of an offer.

Made-In-China Motorbikes

2010-01-13T14:41:00.000-08:00

So are we still looking with askance at products made in China?

Consider a few facts. The other day the on-line news broke the story about China being now the biggest exporter in the world, finally overhauling leader Germany for the first time. Granted per capita Germany still leads. Also, for long enough China has enjoyed the position of being the 3rd largest economy in the world, outstripped only by leader US of A and second-placer Japan. But it is expected that China will take over the second slot.

And lastly, the news also highlighted the fact that China is also now the biggest auto market in the world with its over one-billion population finding new purchasing power to get into the markets. And the Chinese government stung by the global recession has been focusing efforts on domestic markets to move its excess products.

So are we then surprised that China-made vehicles are finding market niches in other parts of Asia, and the rest of the globe, too?

Here in our little corner of the world, Cagayan de Oro, China-made motorbikes are making crucial inroads rigorously competing with industry leaders like Yamaha, Honda, Kawasaki, and Suzuki. With one overall advantage – price affordability. And where price differentials can range as high as 100%. Thus, a China-made bike could be priced at 50,000 pesos while comparable units of the other brands are going for 100,000 pesos.

Are they comparable or better than the other well-known brands?

Personally, I believe the jury is still out, and thus it remains to be seen. Though China-made bikes have been in the local markets for several years. Some reports have been negative, but admittedly one sees on the city streets some of these bikes still operating decently and looking good.

But credit China for competing very well in the looks and design departments. Take a look at this.

It is a Dayun 125cc, single cylinder but twin exhaust pipes, street bike that sells complete with crashguard and carrier at the back. Carrying a curb net weight of 126kgs, or 277lbs. It sells for under 50,000 pesos (about 1,000 US dollars) where comparable bikes could sell as low as 75,000 to as high as 100,000 pesos.

It is obvious to see that its looks and designs mimic those of the classic Hondas or Yamahas, or the European models like BMW and Triumph, etc. One more expensive model is trumpeted as a BMW look-alike.

And many China companies are competing for these same markets. You see such strange names aside from the one above as Skygo, Longin, Motorsport, PMR, Kimbo, etc.

Some parting words. Remember it was not too long ago like in the 90’s that fledging upstart Hyundai from Korea started marketing cars in the US. Many consumers snickered at its first models. Now it has become mainstream. Same with Kia.

And in the 70's Honda first marketed in the US its 1000cc Civic touting it as the American consumer's "fun second car".

Pretty soon these Chinese models will become mainstream, too.

Just wait and see.

A Layman's Political Look At Voters In Cagayan de Oro

2010-01-10T04:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I have averred on several occasions that the population of the City of Cagayan de Oro may top over a million. Nobody really knows for sure anyway, so it appears as valid as any guess.

Anyway, here are some irrefutable facts. For the last election cycle in 2007, the total number of registered city voters came out at 219,206. Of that number about 76%voted, coming out to a total of 166,451.

For the current election cycle it is forecasted based on early new registration returns that an increase of 10% will be added to the election rolls, for a total of about 240,000. If we get the same number of people voting during this cycle we should have 182,000 actual voters. Remember both 2007 and 2010 are national elections.

As is arguably implied, three candidates from a total of seven for the city’s top executive position are expected to slug it out for the prize – the incumbent Vice-Mayor, the current Congressman of the 1st district, and our outlier dark horse, former councilor Berchmans Abejuela. A close struggle is expected to ensue, dividing city votes 3 ways. If true as projected, a candidate who is able to garner at least 60,000 votes has a good chance of winning, assuming the two other candidates are able to accumulate similar numbers of votes.

So where are the votes for each major candidate expected to come from?

For the current congressman of the 1st district, he is expected to perform well in his own bailiwick. He resides in Carmen, a district that already has over 20,000 registered voters.

Surprisingly, the entire poblacion of 40 barangays has a total voting population of only about 22K, topping 25K taking into account the projected increase, with Carmen projected to register 22K. Both Carmen and the poblacion pegged 74% actual votes from registered voters during the last cycle.

The first district has total registered voters of 92,929, quite less than the 2nd district’s 126,237.

Aside from Carmen, the first district has the following heavily populated areas registering voters in the high four figures – Balulang, Patag, Kauswagan, and Bulua.

But the 2nd district aside from the poblacion also has high concentration areas like Camaman-an, Macasandig, Bugo, Gusa, Macabalan, Puntod, and with Lapasan registering at the low five figures. Others figuring out prominently are Agusan, Cugman, and Tablon.

We expect Berchmans to perform well with the younger, more motivated and untainted voters so the populations from four city universities will be a constituency that he could court, impress and win over as a solid core constituency.

Another huge, though seethingly silent and disgruntled, constituency should be the many disaffected Cagayanons scattered throughout the city, who have been resigned over these many years to the doggone idea that they have lost their city in many respects. Berchmans comes across as one of them – giving flesh and expression to their once devoted concerns and homegrown values.

Both contending opponents are not only well-entrenched politicians with deep pockets, but are currently public officials which undoubtedly give them better exposure and access to resources not otherwise available to an outside non-officeholder. Look around, on government-installed billboards, signs and images plastered conspicuously on government vehicles, etc, and it is easy to see why they do. Government largesse, or call it pork or whatever, from the ways it is disbursed and accounted for is mistakenly acknowledged to have originated from the personal resources of the government officials named. When in fact since it comes from tax money, really comes from the people themselves.

The current Vice-Mayor of course is the uncrowned kingpin in the city. He had served forever as mayor, governor, and then slid down to vice-mayor because ostensibly it was the only way to perpetuate power. And now, he wants to reclaim his much-desired title.

This will be an interesting election, hopefully a hotly-contested joust majoring in clashes of ideas and public programs of government, rather than the typical toss-up between candidates spiraling down the path of who can outspend whom, or a flagrant contest of temerity or gall to finagle ways to a dubious, or less than honorable, victory.

In the issue of honest transparency and to better appreciate the attendant political capability and credibility of each candidate it is hoped that public forums or debates are held before election time.

Local Politics: Cagayan de Oro Style

2010-01-01T22:41:00.000-08:00

The tropical New Year not only turned on the heat of the local weather, it also ushered in the building cauldron generated by local political stirrings.

2010, in May specifically and a mere five months away, brings on elections in the Philippines – from the national down to the local elective offices.

Today, I got re-introduced to one of the unlikely candidates vying for City Mayor. His name is Berchmans D. Abejuela. A true Atenean and maybe the only blue-blooded Atenean in the fulsome line-up of seven for the same position.

Knew Berchmans from childhood and was almost a neighbor in the small tight neighborhood our family grew up in. He lived in old Dolores St. while we lived along Del Mar St., the latter intersecting with the former two blocks away to the south.

I should have you know that given his very uncommon and unique first name, he most probably was named after a Jesuit missionary and now a saint of the Church, John Berchmans. So he is more like an Atenean since birth!

We both not only graduated from Ateneo de Cagayan (now Xavier University) for our studies, but also both taught high school in the same place at the time when Fr. James O’Donnell was principal.

He went on to take up law and again like a true Atenean, dedicated to be a man for others, entered into politics at a young age fired with the youthful idealism borne from years spent in a Jesuit institution. He won a seat in the local council.

We lost touch since I left the country. Many decades later and we reconnect. In true fashion, Berchmans likes another stab at local politics, no doubt greatly frustrated with how local politics have devolved into, and still fired up with red-hot enthusiasm to try to personally do some things about the dire conditions not only in local government, but most especially in the rueful neglect of the general citizenry brought about by a pernicious kind of identity and patronage politics spawned during the many years of my absence.

Berchmans is teaming up with the polls-surging group of NoyNoy Aquino and Mar Roxas under the banner of the Liberal Party. From all indications, this national tandem appears headed for victory and Berchmans made the right decision to share platforms and ideals with them.

Needless to state, I personally find Berchmans a good match for the position.

Tracy, CA and Cagayan de Oro, Mis. Or.

2009-12-31T19:35:00.000-08:00

We now divide our time of the year between Tracy and Cagayan de Oro. In terms of living conditions, no two places could be as diverse, in my personal opinion. One is in the tropics and the other in a temperate zone. Thus, while Tracy may be heating up at this moment in the low 50’s, registering 80’s in Cagayan de Oro would be quite normal even during this time of the year.

The wife just flew back to Tracy, via San Francisco, and should be arriving any hour soon, while I had just bathed here in Cagayan de Oro after a sweaty jog around our park at past 7 this morning.

We have just recovered in the morning after from the noisy and raucous fireworks that brought the New Year in last night, but the wife will have arrived on the same day she left, New Year’s Eve, after logging in a total flight time of over 15 hours throwing in some waiting periods between flights. Credit that to the still-confusing (to some) datelines one crosses amid-flight.

To highlight a stark contrast, once the wife gets home to Tracy and prepares for bed early if the planned celebration is for the following day, a quick and complete change in attire and sleeping habits will immediately ensue. She will have to bundle up even inside the well-insulated house if the heater has not been turned on. And batten up under blanket and thick covers when getting to bed. Quite a drastic change from what she has gotten used to doing in the over 6 months she spent in Cagayan de Oro, where we are down to our shorts, or even naked from the waist up for me, when we prepare for bed even if the electric fan and air-con both do double duty to make the room comfortable. Only a very flimsy poplin blanket will provide cover should the air-con misfire from its med-cool setting.

But we have done this several times already.

Now to the geography of both places.

Tracy sits as part of the wide and fertile San Joaquin valley that stretches from northern California all the way to the central valleys in the south. It is one of several cities under the San Joaquin County. It was essentially a farming town before creeping housing developments started carving up the huge flatlands to perimeter-fenced housing tracts accommodating new residents spilling out from the crowded parts of the Bay Area.

Only the housing bust and global recession have frozen the almost unstoppable urbanization of Tracy. It now boasts of a population of about 80,000.

Our development sits closest to the western boundary of Tracy and from the ramps of Highway 205, which connects with Stockton and the Sacramento areas. The lot cuts are sizeable enough to allow for some miniature gardening in a number of streets. Thus, we have been able to plant some fruit trees and some flowering shrubs.

And one of our choicest advantages is that we can access the fabled Baghdad By The Bay, San Francisco, easily and within an hour going west.

On the other hand, Cagayan de Oro sits at the northern coast of the big island of Mindanao, land of promise and questionable security issues, in some parts of it anyway. No doubt from its vantage view, it is the premier city and is the unquestioned gateway to the rest of the island.

But it has own many redoubtable shortcomings – such as too many people, too many poor people, governments are ineffectual and lazy in serving constituents properly and adequately, its southernmost portions continue to be wracked with violent encounters with rebels and militias, between them and government forces, etc.

The city itself has a population maybe topping a million or a little less. Nobody really knows for sure. Many residents belong to the squatting class, people/families living on shanties built on either government lands or unused private lots, or even on shoulders or sidewalks of streets. It has a teeming population cramped within a relatively small city. Though it still has far-flung barrios, they call them barangays now, considered remote and rustic.

Our old house is inside a subdivision situated less then two kilometers from the heart of the city. One can literally walk from the house to the city’s premier plaza. Built in the 70’s, this squat one-storey and timber-frame building still reveals after some cosmetic work the cruel ravages of nature’s harsh tropical elements – like humidity, termites, and the blistering sun, etc. Now it has more concrete components than when it was first built – used to replace wooden panels, joists, and posts obliterated by fast-working and hardly detectable termites.

But we call it home, the first home that sheltered our emerging family then. And we also call our Tracy house home because it is in the place where we spent decades watching the kids grow and the grandkids added to the growing extended family.

This is called living bi-coastally. I think.

Pigs Weren’t Flying!

2009-12-30T04:22:00.000-08:00

Neither were these pigs issues of super-sized sows.

They materialized from a measured mixture of flour, sugar, water, yeast, eggs, etc. crafted to look like their real versions.

Pretty soon they will all look the same, the whitened ones following after the seared-brown ones after their little trip to the white-heat ovens.

For these, the taste will be like any bread one picks from one’s breakfast table. But they could be customized to the taste preferences of prospective consumers. With cheese fillings or ground meaty chicarones mixed with the rest of the ingredients. Or whatever one fancies.

Update: (01/01/10)

Over the few days leading to New Year’s Eve, we baked over 200 of these and they are all gone. One got as far as Manila, but could have ended in San Francisco.

Hello, PETA disciples, wouldn’t this be great for your cause? A way to curb the “slaughter” of these dear animals. Much like the Internet curbing the dead-tree media’s unnecessary use of a natural resource.

Loaves To Feed A Thousand

2009-12-19T23:05:00.000-08:00

A local church aspires to feed loaves to a thousand children.

Miracles not necessarily required. Simply order and overnight, a thousand loaves are ready for delivery.

Note: The video traces visually the route that we take each day to get from the house to our little business in the old poblacion.

All -Time Favorite Song(s)

2009-12-15T12:57:00.000-08:00

For a change of mood, something quite light and fluffy.

Without question it would have to be for me an Elvis Presley creation, any which song recorded prior to the 60’s. For a man whose professional life spanned mere 20-some years, he was quite prolific recording about 700 songs. He also performed many songs live during his many concerts, which were subsequently recorded posthumously. Even his many out-takes and informal recordings found their way to commerce and sale success.

But what is being asked is the all-time favorite ONE song (of a male vocalist).

Okay, but I would qualify. For me, it would have to be an all-time favorite song for each of my all-time favorite singers. And I would have several, all coming from the 50’s and 60’s. Among them would be Marty Robbins, John Tillotson, Johnny Horton, Sonny James, Roy Hamilton, Ricky Nelson, Tommy Sands, Jimmy Clanton, and Gene Vincent. And a host of others.

Anyway for Elvis, it would be grudgingly the relatively unknown country song, Poor Boy, performed by Elvis in his first movie, Love Me Tender. I chose it not for its quality, lyrics, or any such musical measurement. I chose it only because as a kid I could not wrench myself away from listening to it every time it was played regardless of the place, time, or occasion. I listened to it maybe until ennui set it. Except it never came. And to this day, I continue to listen to it every time I get the chance. But to be fair, I listen to it with most of the old songs of Elvis, especially those recorded under the classic Sun Sessions.

For Marty Robbins I chose the very soulful song, Streets of Laredo. Marty’s poignant and plaintive voice fitted the song perfectly.

And for Johnny Tillotson, I chose Send Me The Pillow That You Dream On, for the same reason above. His very distinctive voice was just right for this song. And I would add, so would the Everly Bros’ haunting and perfectly blended duet combination.

For Sonny James, easily I chose A World of our Own.

And For Tommy Sands, hands down it is That’s All I Want From You. I searched far and wide for this song, for many years, until I found it at YouTube. In the meantime, in frustration consoled myself listening to the version of Jaye P. Morgan, who sang this song originally.

Same case with Ricky Nelson’s Half Breed. Found it after many tries. No wonder it was difficult to find, it had originally been included as one of a couple of selections in Ricky’s first movie with John Wayne, named Rio Bravo. But was cut from the final version, thus the song never got the promotion it needed. But when I heard it once, I was hooked.

Jimmy Clanton’s seeming hoarse voice was ideal for his rendition of Don’t You Know. He always sang sounding like he had a perpetual cold.

Roy Hamilton’s powerful voice delivered so effortlessly gave me lots of joy and inspiration listening to his You'll Never Walk Alone.

And of course, Gene Vincent with his BeBopALula, a classic on the slap-back echo method used in recording. Sam Phillips of Sun Records used it extensively during his sessions with early Elvis.

Man In The Middle

2009-12-14T23:56:00.000-08:00

You see him in this busy intersection, and his similarly dressed partners in most other besieged cross streets in the city.

During most hours of the day, and especially as the traffic thickens during commute periods, he looms fearlessly in the middle of the road literally trying to bring a semblance of order to the otherwise otherworldly traffic mess that characterizes this city’s infrastructures. His arm motions are crisp and snappy as harried vehicles respond and whiz by barely missing him by inches.

He is a member of the unheralded group of traffic enforcers under the umbrella of the local RTA.

His faded green shirt labels his station in life and his weather-beaten features are written history of how difficult and hardy life is in the streets, especially in a torrid cauldron like equatorial Philippines where the hot sun beats mercilessly all day as swirling road dust garnishes one’s exposed features and clothes.

The RTA acronym stands for the city’s Roads and Traffic Administration. And it is to be differentiated from the police force which in tandem provides a visible presence in the chaotic streets. The former as one can readily deduce has a bare-minimum uniform and carries no side-arm, no hat, and so quite laidback and casual in dress and demeanor.

Somehow he gets certain things done. And as nighttime descends, some order is brought back to the streets. And just as quickly he disappears into the night, only to return another day.

A River Runs Thru It

2009-12-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

In one of its rare moments, old weather-beaten Cagayan River for once is showing this Sunday morning passably pristine waters as it lazily winds through from the ever-moist mountains to the warm welcoming arms of Macajalar Bay. This in spite of a hard but short burst of December rain yesterday afternoon.

For once gone is the now-expected dirty brown water with liberal dose of garbage and debris, which gloomy condition has currently characterized this once navigable waterway.

It is also heartening to see the parched riverbanks ceding to the rush of ample clear water on its journey to the sea. For now gone also is the picture of an angry river bursting with floodwaters gulping down any obstructing objects along its dreaded paths. For now one can conjure anew idyllic thoughts of a river where we in our youth used to spend hot summer afternoons immersed in its cool clear waters, in fun and frolic without a care of the world.

This river truly runs through the city, cutting it into east and west sections. A river richly fed by the waters originating from the generous bosoms of stately Kitanglad ranges in Bukidnon Province.

Like the rich and abundant island of Mindanao, it once held great promises of beauty and prosperity.

From all indications, both have veered far from the promises of their anointed futures, people choosing instead to heap undesirable developments on them pushing them both to the path of loss and disaster.

Can they recover and focus anew on edging toward their anointed futures?

A Way To Feed A Teeming Population

2009-12-12T13:43:00.000-08:00

What about a bulk display of neatly stacked meat in a local mall meat market?

Early this weekend morning, we both hied away to a local mall for some grocery shopping. Being the proverbial extra body that just went along for the chore, actually the body that drove the car, I had ample opportunity to simply look around – much like a fly on the wall. And to snap the short attached video.

Before the onslaught of the typical weekend rush of humanity primed for weekend shopping, the wide-awake mall staff members in the meat market were chopping at the bits (pun intended) all ready to serve – with tons of freshly cut meat neatly stacked in their lines of open freezers filled to the brim.

With enough meat to whet the voracious appetite of an entire town! But definitely not the kind of displays one finds in a US grocery chain.

Perfect Line Fitness Gym in Cagayan de Oro

2009-12-09T13:52:00.000-08:00

Get sweaty, lose pounds, and win back those curves!

Get down to the gym, at the corner of Velez and Tiano Bros. Sts., opposite Dynasty Court Hotel.

Get acquainted with Cindy Crawford and a trio of California girls. And of course, with your old vivacious selves.

Pen Lettering In The Old Times

2009-12-08T14:11:00.000-08:00

Speedball introduced us to calligraphy, or pen lettering, in our youth. It taught us Gothic, Roman, Old English, Text, Manuscript, together with pens and India ink. And gave us interminable pride in our improved penmanship and classy letter writing.

Today, the company is still at it, marketing the same products that we had learned to love and treasure.

From the personal ancient archive comes this basic lettering book that came with the pens and a supply of India ink, published in the 40’s.

And with the advent of computer technology, pen lettering has been relegated to the dustbin of things discarded or not taught extensively.

Even in our little hometown, movie and business ads are now done mostly in computer-made tarp billboards. Almost gone are the days of hand-painted signs with images.

Holdouts can still be seen around the city practicing their dying art in small, cramped and dilapidated quarters.

Their lights are dimming and pretty soon they will be extinguished.

And my favorite, Old English, will really look older.

F I C C O

2009-12-05T00:10:00.000-08:00

Having read through the latest FICCO Newsletter, it can only be inspiring going through the lead article with its articulation of its clear and unmistakable twin messages. That this union can continue to grow only through its membership; and that these continuing hard times require extraordinary measures and efforts from both the organization’s hierarchy and the general membership.

Though implied but not expressly mentioned, one could also take pride in where real strength and stability lie in the organization – in the collective membership where individually, one member on average accounts only for 23,347 pesos in deposit. Meaning therefore that ownership and stakeholding are well distributed among the many members of the union, rather than ensconced in a small elite group accounting for a great majority of the ownership.

Having been a longstanding member through all these many years, one is also heartened by the two graph insets, tracing the growth of membership and total assets. When I left the city in 1980, indeed total membership counted in the single thousand, and assets were mostly in loans and cash in bank. But look at the very big and diverse picture now!

Truly this credit union is where many dispossessed people, people unable to be properly serviced by mainstream financial institutions, can go to seek relief for their many and multifaceted credit needs, rather than to the informal underground institutions which cater and prey on a people weakened by stubborn ignorance and very emaciated economic conditions.

It is an organization that will also aside from providing credit, teach one how to secure and manage debt, and to build a good credit record and history.

But beyond that, it is also the organization where one can truly learn to manage one’s family and business finances – in the areas of saving for the future, saving for business expansion, etc.

In short, it teaches the entire panoply of good and sound personal finance, which is the only basis for hoping and building for a better future, especially in a land filled with asset- and cash-strapped families.

It is therefore quite a damper listening to some current and prospective members recount their initial dealings with FICCO employees where emphasis is placed too much on first building a good credit history to aim for that Class A label. Thus, the recommendation is for members to start borrowing early even before being able to build a good deposit history, so they can become proud Class A members quickly.

Imagine for a moment what kind of a credit union it would be if the driving motive for becoming a member is so one can borrow, typically an amount way beyond what one has put in deposit?

The union would quickly run out of funds to lend, since loanable funds come essentially from members’ deposits.

For a union to continue to prosper there has to be a very delicate balance between those who borrow because they need to, and those who will deposit so they can build for their future and/or in anticipation of some future needs that will be financed or collateralized by their accumulated deposits.

There has to be enough numbers of the second kind, so that the union can continue to have sufficient funds to lend to those truly in need of credit.

In balance therefore, it should be easy to see why both kinds of members are exemplary members, and not that one is rated better than the other. Consider their symbiotic relationship, one cannot live without the other.

In fine, this is the simple and pure logic why financial institutions exist and survive. They pool the community’s savings which in turn will be lent out to those with legitimate needs but lack enough savings to profitably finance them.

All can be member depositors all the time, but not all can be member lenders all the time.

Think about that.

On The Streets Where People Live

2009-11-29T14:21:00.000-08:00

Real estate definitely is a very scarce and valuable commodity, especially in a place teeming with people not only exponentially expanding through runaway birth dates but with added growth accounted by the influx of migrants from different beleaguered parts of the big island of Mindanao.

Thus, the purchase and acquisition of real estate for housing hereabouts is simply beyond the dream of this unfortunate segment of the population.

Cagayan de Oro is a place bursting with people, reaching a nadir where one believes total population for now defies accurate census counting. I have never gotten a definite answer to the question about the current population of the city. Voter registration records should only reveal an incomplete picture, since it clearly does not include non-voters like children which number in great hordes.

A basic societal dilemma then is where to decently lodge all these people with their families. Where and how to provide sufficient and adequate places where people can live and raise their burgeoning families.

Given the gargantuan size of this problem in this particular context, one can only sadly wonder how.

But we do see daily where many of them “live”, not far from the streets that we negotiate daily in our workaday lives. Actually, many of them live partly on the streets that we use daily – parts of the street where their kids play, laundry and bathing are dutifully done, etc.

This video typifies many such streets in the city where residents live lives in their cramped and precarious worlds.

A messy situation exacerbated by the fact that these houses or shanties that people build on these sites are actually squatting on tiny strips of public land separating the actual paved streets from the boundaries of private land. In the process erasing whatever necessary provisions for road shoulders and sidewalks were planned.

Creating a scenario where a narrow street of two lanes, one lane for each direction, has not only been deprived of necessary shoulders but where parts of both lanes have been co-opted by squatter residents coming out of their reed-thin houses and their lives literally spilling into the street proper. Add to that all their parked vehicles of assorted construction – motorized or pedal-powdered, etc., garaged flushed to their shanties’ sides. And some house furniture to boot.

Imagine then how the passing vehicles have to expertly negotiate thru those extremely narrowed streets replete with impediments both human and otherwise.

Even in the terribly busy national highway that traverses the city, one can find street lanes embedded with metal spikes where clandestine vendors would attach ropes to hold down temporary tarp roofing/siding.

Life under bridges in this benighted place is another matter best suited for exposition at another time. Or what about life in a river island created by silting which has now enough residents to merit the label of a barangay?

Cry For Me, Cagayanons?

2009-11-28T14:33:00.000-08:00

Old Cagayanons pining for familiar sights in the old hometown may have to brace themselves for a visual jolt.

View these short videos taken Saturday late in the afternoon. See if you can recognize from the maze the old familiar haunts very reminiscent of your youthful memories.

Many probably would not recognize these places.

These were shot along Divisoria Park as I walked along the middle of R N Abejuela (So. Divisoria) St. inching toward Xavier University or positioned at a corner of Velez (Del Mar) and the former.

The chaotic frenzy that is now the infamous hallmark of the weekly two-day nite café has ominously masked the once rough jewel we treasured anyway as our premier park, centered right in the heart of the old poblacion. A truly distinctive landmark we used to proudly attach to our beloved hometown.

Now, it might as well be a huge disorderly movie set depicting a tent city of refugees, or a dreary scene of displaced merchants forcibly ejected from their establishments by some natural calamity, like a conflagration or a bad flood. Except this nightmare recurs every week, with the eager players showing up earlier and earlier than allowed, and showing up even during regular weekdays.

But no, for this is an actualization of a method of madness, executed with design and promoted with flagrant political self-interests by the city government. Proffered with, one is sure, some expressed sham Christian concerns for the less fortunate of the citizenry, providing them rare opportunities not otherwise enjoyed in a competitive business environment.

But in the process social order, equity, and the respect and compliance with laws be damned for the rest of the city residents, especially those who are duly licensed and taxed and also in the business of providing the self-same merchandise and services provided by the purveyors in the café.

Never mind that the countless fly-by-night (literally) bazaar-like purveyors there may be unlicensed, untaxed, and maybe selling contraband. Small pesky details really in the general scheme of things where voting constituencies are the paramount concern. Political power at all costs, that’s the price to pay.

But for whom?

Wet And Wild In Cagayan de Oro

2009-11-26T04:24:00.000-08:00

After several days of pounding from hard incessant rains, Cagayan de Oro succumbed to extensive floodings in various parts of the city. The likelihood in populated places close to rampaging creeks and the bloated river. And in many streets and highways which either had inadequate drainage or no provision for drainage at all. Which for this city is the rule rather than the exception.

Rain damage and the ensuing human suffering likened to the dire results of last January’s similar event. So what else is new?

It was a wet and wild week for the city and its residents. The pounding rains cleaned and bleached the city’s many concrete streets, and converted to muddied potholes those that weren’t so blessed. And what city garbage collection has never done adequately the indiscriminate rains summarily collected strewn and assorted garbage and dumped them into the many creeks and riverways. Hurray for garbage collection and another minus grade for the environment and ecology. Par for the course in a third world country.

Even our sacred subdivision went underwater temporarily, in some low-lying areas at least. The rains were massive enough to close the two guarded main entrances which were temporarily converted to churning swimming holes, or more aptly, riverways.

Sequestered in our downtown building for a while, one could only record the rains beating down on the hapless residents and challenging motor vehicles which continued ripping through the soggy streets.

At least we had a healthy respite from the heat and humidity. What’s a wet shirt from the rain compared to a wet shirt from smelly and irritating sweat? No contest.

Now the sun has peeked out, undaunted by the rain’s last hurrah earlier this morning. And streets have dried up, save for those with inches of rain still on them. The passing vehicles still have their job cut out for them, in turning the unlikely mixture to muddy goo. Once dried and powdery, we then will have the nose-curling dust to reckon with.

No rest for the wicked?

Old Hometown Blues

2009-10-22T11:25:00.000-07:00

Wrapping up preparations for another trip back to the old hometown - Cagayan de Oro. To the land of grinding poverty amidst scattered opulence guarded by very high fences or guarded gates. To the land of heat and humidity even in the wee hours of the morning.

Away from the subdued but orderly living of a northern California city, still blessed with the accoutrements of first-world amenities inspite of a fearsome recession, very high unemployment (all things considered to include those giving up on finding work or are only working part-time by force of circumstances, California is said to register a 20% unemployment rate), unsteady markets, etc.

But it is still the old hometown. Warts and all!

So here I come. To the land of hardy people unfazed by inborn hardships.

OBAMA WINS 2009 NOBEL PEACE PRIZE

2009-10-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

Wow! What a blessed life Obama and his young family must be living. And it started all too recently. Inauspiciously starting as a community organizer, then moving forward politically as a state official, then quickly as US senator. And barely warming that seat on his very first term, being thrust into the most powerful office in the world, the US presidency. And now we learn, after even barely warming that newest seat, being crowned with the Nobel Peace Prize.

Unabashed adulation by the rest of the world is almost a given with this much-coveted award already garnered by Obama.

But beyond the largely amorphous desirables of adulation, admiration, and deference, Obama’s life is also financially blessed. Regardless of whether he sits one term or 2 terms as US president, he is made for life, everything already neatly cut out for success. He now is entitled to all the future respect, security, and necessary accoutrements befitting and accorded ex-presidents for life. He will then have ready access to all the lucrative speaking engagements reserved for his acquired stature and equally lucrative however token membership in big corporations eager to acquire more prestige by using his well-known name.

Add to that the US$1.4 million he earns as Nobel Prize winner, and the Nobel medal that’s probably worth its weight in price-soaring gold.

From all observable measures, he has accomplished everything. Not to mention the added bonuses, the two bestsellers he penned before becoming president. No need after the presidency to scurry back to humble beginnings like any southsides of any city like Chicago, or seedy districts like the Tenderloin in San Francisco. Only the best for an ex-president.

So what’s left to accomplish? One could say, sit back and enjoy the manifold perks of the vaunted presidency – the comforts and amenities of the palatial White House, planes and helicopters at your disposal, security escorts wherever you wish to be, a big bully pulpit to address the public and the world should the occasion arise, surrounded by a veritable army of intelligent people ever ready to give erudite counsel on any possible concern, etc.

What a blessed life!

Thrift Vs Spendthrift

2009-10-05T15:20:00.000-07:00

The classic dilemma of nature or nurture stares us in the face again with this issue. Is being thrifty or frugal observed and learned from the people around us? Or is it hardwired in our genes? Is it a learned virtue or packed into our heredity luggage from which there is no escape?

NY Magazine does battle with this hefty issue while reviewing a book on the subject.

Examples abound of families where siblings are divided on being thrifty or being spendthrift, despite the parents being themselves frugal and consciously teaching their kids to also be frugal. Thus, situations like those argue well for the claim that frugality or being a spendthrift is in the genes, rather than learned from mentors or parents.

A heretofore unheard-of facet injected to this age-old question is the hypothesis that pain is associated with the purchases of goods (though not true to all). And what determines whether an item will eventually be purchased is the threshold of pain that a purchaser has developed. And I could personally attest to this. It is truly painful to part with money, especially hard-earned money, if the item purchased sits astride between being a want or a need. Add to that the extra concern that the money could be saved for an anticipated future expense that definitely is both crucial and necessary.

But of course not all people feel the pain; others simply not tuned in either to the future or to the many ramifications tied up with a purchase. Or maybe others do not want to be bothered by such details. Others I am familiar with can dismiss any unnecessary or extravagant impulse purchase with the cavalier caveat, not to worry about the future, someone else will take of it, or worse, God will provide.

A blog devoted to issues of money and personal finance has a couple of entries delving on the issue of frugality. In one blog entry, the author solicited information from his readers on the manifold “motivational factors” why frugality is practiced, apart and other than for money considerations or as a money-saving tool.

Since it is quite relevant during these very difficult times to be a prudent spender when money is even scarcer, here is an enumeration of all the possible motivational factors as extracted from the blog entry and from its comment section from readers:

1. Saving Time – like what walking is to driving in certain situations.

2. Attitudes as the Priority – wearing old clothes until they are unwearable because one prefers it or is attached to them. Or because of one’s dislike for shopping.

3. A Question of Preferences – Brownbagging lunch to work to avoid the hassles of buying at work.

4. Lack of Resources – This forces or conditions one to be frugal. Maybe due to meager finances or absence of means like a car to allow for more frequent purchases.

5. Individual Habits or Quirks – Like squeezing the last drop from a toothpaste tube, the last drop from a soda can, or catsup bottle.

6. Environmental Advocacies – Likes being “green”, so no wastage of nature’s resources.

7. For a Healthier Lifestyle – Drinking water instead of soda, using manual tools instead of power tools.

8. Stress Reduction – Buying less equals to less to worry about.

9. A Feeling of Superiority – Over those who waste money?

10. Gaining Control – Doing or making things yourself allows better control over the outcome – food more nutritious, garments fit better, investments earn more.

11. Getting Comfort – A rented DVD played at home rather than going to a movie house allows enjoyment of the comforts of home and control of other factors like sounds, noise, warmth, etc.

12. What about Laziness – Cooking larger volumes or portions at one sitting, to be consumed for say an entire week, or eating at home rather than eating out.

13. Ethics and Spirituality – Aiming for a simple life absent many material trappings.

14. As Creative Challenges – Testing determination and resolve in doing things untried. Or being resourceful with what one already has.

15. Cultural Predispositions – Arguably in certain cultures the frugality trait is inculcated as a necessary virtue for everyday living.

Palin Pens Preprint Bestseller?

2009-10-02T09:36:00.001-07:00

Bloggers are abuzz with the news. Sarah Palin has rushed publication of her book to reach the stands before the holidays. It is expected to hit the stores November 17th. Reports trickling in show that advance sales have pushed the soon-to-be book to Number One. I suppose on-line places like Amazon are sourcing these reports. And the very amazing thing is that the initial printing will be at 1.5 million copies. Wow!

Her many detractors in media and politics have to be giddy with puzzlement, agonizing on occasion how a blithering and irrelevant idiot (their words) could command such an audience to listen to her on print. And this time not for free, for now they have to shell out almost $30 if bought from a bookstore, or half of the price if ordered on-line. But that is too kind, maybe they are just livid with rage why some nobody like Palin could weave words together and have people read her. Maybe the purchasers are just naïve, or easily manipulated? Or too ideological? But the title of the book suggests she is not beholden to any side.

One hopes that the book is more than just an autobiographical primer of the life of Palin, rather that it should also expose in good prose who Sarah Palin is and what she truly stands for. And some concrete plans on how this country can be put back on track, if perceived to have been derailed. Yes, it ought to contain honest and earnest accounts on the last contentious presidential campaign amidst the many internal controversies and adverse claims between staff and candidates. I hope she truly goes rogue, and expresses what she truly feels and believes about the many events ushering her abrupt debut to the national stage.

If not all these and more, then what is to differentiate it from the two autobiographies penned by the current WH occupant?

It could be judged as too self-serving, or too arrogantly self-assured, as to be both inspirational and humbling.

Why We Want To Be SUPERMAN

2009-09-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

I just saw Superman Returns, the latest on the caped, blue and red superhero, on HD TV. Overall, it inspired and entertained. (Better late than never.)

In this movie, there is a dramatic scene, where a controllably piqued Lois Lane chides the returning Superman for his earlier sudden departure with nary an adieu; and we learn later that that stealthy departure, more than just a cruel disregard of her love for him, had also left her with child to raise on her own. So justifiably she blurted out in subdued anguish that she did not need a savior. And this she shouted to the world by writing an item that won her a Pulitzer Prize, entitled Why the world does not need Superman.

The cryptic defense of the visibly unmoved Man of Steel came and ended with the following statements, as paraphrased, and dramatized with the two hovering above the night-darkened clouds. Lois, do you hear anything? After her negative answer, the stoic Man of Steel ends with: But I hear all the people down there, all asking for a savior.

How true. All of us have need of a savior. All of us during countless times in our wearied lives need some assistance or comfort, or rescue – whether emanating from family, from friends, or anybody. Or, God, maybe?

Regardless, our lives are never meant to be lived alone, in the lonely isolation of our little worlds. And in this regard and as an altruistic exercise of our learned Christian charity, we wish we ourselves in return can provide all the assistance and comfort to any and all of humanity. And we do at times wish we were super rich or possessed of mysterious super powers so we are able to provide all the necessary assistance and comfort to as many people as are needing them. We can only imagine the stupendous possibilities if we had those boundless capabilities. The realities that can be had, well beyond the fuzzy worlds of our wistful thinking!

As kids we dream or fantasize about these things simply because of the unbounded novelty, the uniqueness, and the awesomeness of such mythic experiences to our unformed worlds. But as adults?

I look at public personalities like Bill Gates and Warren Buffett. And I truly imagine them as Superman, not simply because of their exceptional accumulated wealth. But more because of the awesome power that wealth can generate and effect in righting this huge globe burdened and precariously listing by vicissitudes galore. Sometimes we wonder if life is worth living. With so much poverty, wars, killings, every conceivable type of violence, etc, at every turn.

But with his billions under the sagacious rein of his huge philanthropic organization, Bill Gates singly can undertake to finance the elementary education of all children in an entire impoverished African nation. He can strategically spread his wealth around in scholarships and commendable projects that will benefit huge numbers of people in places needing assistance.

This is a job for Superman. Up, up and away.

Fingerlickin’ Nonsense

2009-09-17T07:48:00.000-07:00

This blog has not seen an update for a wee while. It’s because not much out of the “ordinary” has been happening in my temporarily-induced monastic life. From the outside one might be tempted to say that it’s one that seems listless or adrift, though I would fiercely dispute that without arming it with any defense. It’s just that my current nagging concerns are not for public consumption. Except to say maybe that pretty soon my eventual “resurrection” can be expected.

Anyway, though I had been able to muster some slack time at some point, time enough to put fingers on keyboard and start grinding inanities, still the appropriate subject(s) eluded my wandering ken.

Since I spend a good portion of my free time scouring the web for political news and blog posts, still I could not get myself to write commentaries on the piping-hot items cascading in the confusing worlds of media. There are tons of very experienced, savvy, and articulate bloggers out there churning out promptly their Aristotelian analyses of political news as they break. Even the countless and at times nameless commenters continue to share their precious nuggets of ideas into the mix making one’s head spin uncontrollably trying to accommodate and soak them in.

So one is prompted to exclaim: what could my puny mind add to the current slew of masterful discussions from clearly more qualified sources? I would say nothing much. I would only either be embarrassing myself or reduced to mouthing off ideas already beaten to death somewhere. So might as well stay off the topic, and be content playing the passive role of observer and learner. And that serves me fine.

But something has to be written. The US economy? Wall Street and Main Street issues? The fields are stacked with the brightest and most analytical minds to inhabit this world. One can only gape in awe at the parade of data and charts that daily floods our social consciousness.

But surely, there must be a topic where I can reign somewhat, because I could be considered the authority or expert of it, and maybe the only one disposed and available.

Given my circumstances, it would have to be something trivial. Something of little value and concern outside the confining premises of my own life.

Now I know! a layman look, or call it pseudo-analysis, on the fingers of my left hand which rather inadvertently went through a bad accident some six months ago, and which to this day continue to restrict the hand’s full function and flexibility.

Though the visible wounds are now completely healed, having seen the last of the scabs some 2 months ago, the hand is far from satisfactory operation. Typing with it is still a challenge, holding stuff with it tentative, and the skin around them seems tender and not as sensitive to the touch as before, or when compared with the other hand.

After consulting with two doctors, one focused on physical therapy and the other specialized in surgery, I have come to the inadvertent conclusion that the convenient path for me would be through some kind of physical therapy – but to be performed by me! Decided in no small measure after the latter doctor opined that if I had wanted my hand to be restored to full function I would have to undergo a procedure that involved kilometric incisions in my hand and fingers and many months of my time both for the procedures and recuperation.. To which I blurted out reflexively, no way.

I confess I went into those two sessions more or less decided on what I wanted to do with my situation and already armed with the possibilities. After all, I have had 6 months to think about it. And how can one miss a day, or any wakeful hour, not being reminded of the sorry situation when it stares back at you right in front of your very nose?

But I did learn something new and important enough. It concerns this stealthy and pernicious condition called bone arthritis, which comes unnoticed and starts residence in one’s joints; and which typically will remain unnoticed and untreated until pain is added into the equation. A condition that will begin to manifest its dominance as one advances in years, regular exercise notwithstanding.

In my case, the accident was the perfect storm that allowed both trauma and signs of arthritis to take over and do their thing. X-rays showed that in some finger joints, the bones have started to fuse limiting the fingers’ flexibility. Funny I said that this condition is duplicated in the small finger which was not involved in the accident. Blame arthritis solely for that.

An elder brother suffers from a more serious form of arthritis and gout. And again, almost all so suddenly. Caused by a sudden change in routines?

The Lemoncito Blooms In Tracy

2009-08-22T10:38:00.000-07:00

Though arguably a native of the Philippines, the lemoncito (Sp. diminutive for lemon), or more popularly known in the Philippines as calamansi, does grow and fruit in temperate climates like in California.

The lemoncito is a shrub or a small tree known to grow as high as 3 to 6 meters and is better adapted to tropical areas. Known in the West as the calamondin, its scientific name is citrofortunella microcarpa. Aptly termed microcarpa because of the fruit’s small size, looking like a small orange orb when ripe.

Old childhood memories prodded one to transplant a growing lemoncito shrub from foggy Daly City to our new abode in sunblest Tracy, CA. Nostalgic recollection points one to childhood experiences where the fruit and its many uses figured prominently.

One such use could be classified as medicinal or therapeutic.

As I easily recall we were a family of nine kids, living in cramped quarters in the middle of a bustling city and whose young members were thus most prone to ordinary ailments children were heir to – colds, coughs, sore throats and other irritating EENT conditions.

Our ever resourceful doting mother was always ready with the concoction she called agridulce to treat those minor distractions. And preventatively dispensed with at times when the climes were ripe for them to visit us, like the rainy season, or the very humid nights spent inside our shuttered rooms curled inside our musty mosquito nets.

Agridulce, which is Spanish for sweet and sour, was blended from the juice of the lemoncito, with hot or tap water added, flavored with a liberal dose of sugar, and stirred with all the fruit’s pits swimming in the pale mixture. The fruit’s very sour taste blended well with sweet cane sugar, creditably acquitting its name of agridulce.

Our present lemoncito tree, which grows proudly side by side with a regular lemon tree, appears stunted in growth though abloom with fruits that are now ripening. I blame that on negligent maintenance, due to the long absence of the resident gardener, me.

Still I eagerly look forward to the day when I can harvest the lemoncito’s fruits and make me an agridulce.

Cheers.

Pictures Worth Three Thousand Words

2009-07-31T22:50:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin Stuns US Politics

2009-07-04T19:28:00.000-07:00

Fresh from a revealing interview with Runner’s World which is accompanied by an impressive pictorial(many dainty desk-bound lady pundits and politicians would die for), Sarah stuns anew the political world and the kibitzing blogosphere with the unexpected announcement not only not to seek reelection as governor of Alaska, but to resign from her current term – effective within a few weeks.

Point guard Sarah Barracuda passes the ball to her trusty Lt. Governor.

Not one used to taking the beaten path this surprise move by Sarah, shrouded in a bit of mystery and vague in the actual reason(s) for its abruptness, has thrown the political “establishment” (from all sides) into a writing uproar. Memeorandum is hard at work cataloguing the items devoted to scrutinizing and analyzing this sudden turn of events.

Expectedly, the pointed pens of grossly obsessive detractors have been blindly thrusting at anything that moves – ranging from a rehashed rumor that an indictment is forthcoming against Sarah, to parsing and diagramming the written text of the rushed announcement.

But to date nobody can point a finger to what exactly is the reason(s) that prompted Sarah to make such a pivotal announcement on the eve of July 4th and the start of a slow-news weekend.

But wherever the chips may finally fall, as a supporter of Sarah we stand by her, because of what she stands for us.

More power to Sarah Palin.

Vignettes Of Life In A Busy Intersection (Cont.)

2009-06-28T05:55:00.001-07:00

The Taho Vendor

Shouting out in baritone key as he passes along, this itinerant vendor makes his rounds in our busy intersection during mornings on the weekend. Above the din and when carefully cocking one’s ears in his direction, people can actually make out his shouts of taho!, the snack food product he is hawking.

Slung on one shoulder is a pole typically made of resilient bamboo where two stainless-steel deep and large-mouthed containers are balanced at its ends. One can contains the taho itself and the other the ingredients needed to complete this soupish snack food.

But what is taho?

Classified as one popular street food:

Tahô is a Philippine snack food made of fresh soft/silken tofu, arnibal (brown sugar and vanilla syrup), and pearl sago (similar to pearl tapioca).[2] This staple comfort food is a signature sweet and can be found all over the country. The Indonesian and Malaysian equivalent of this dish is Tahu.[3]

And tofu?

Tofu (豆腐), also tōfu (the Japanese Romaji spelling), doufu (the Chinese Pinyin spelling), toufu, or bean curd (the literal translation), is a food of Chinese origin,[1] made by coagulating soy milk, and then pressing the resulting curds into blocks. There are many different varieties of tofu, including fresh tofu and tofu that has been processed in some way. Tofu has very little flavor or smell on its own, so it can be used either in savory or sweet dishes, and is often seasoned or marinated to suit thedish.

This particular morning, the next door neighbors answered the sonorous vendor’s pleas and asked for two orders. One order is for 10 pesos, served in a smallish plastic cup.

The vendor settles his burden on the side of the street and opens both containers. With a scraper, he gently shaves small thin slices of the taho and layers them in the cup, adds the other ingredients and tops it off with a little pour of condensed milk from an opened can.

After repeating the routine and having received his payment, the pole balancing act is ready to hit the road, preceded by his baritone shouts.

BTW, our little conversation yielded the following snippet: that he himself does not prepare the stuff but is simply consigned to him by the maker. Too much time and trouble in the preparation, he reasoned out.

Taho!

Vignettes Of Life In A Busy Intersection (Cont.)

2009-06-26T06:52:00.000-07:00

Motorbike As Family Sedan

In this land of million-peso four-wheeled cars (and I do mean your typical Toyotas, Hyundais, Nissans, Kias, Suzukis, etc) which is affordability beyond the reach of your average Filipino family, the notion of the family sedan most times taxes and stretches one’s ordinary perception or definition of what it is or should be.

In this country it can be anything with wheels, transport that rolls and moves by its own power. With four wheels or even less, like just two.

In this same busy intersection a most unique type of family sedan is on parade daily, sharing traffic with the bigger and heftier transports like jeepneys and SUVs. They are motorbikes with 2, 3, 4, or even 5 family members sitting astride, machines rated as single cylinder engines of 100cc or 125cc; most passengers riding bare-headed, sans helmet, passenger restraint, or any head protection.

The economic logic behind these choices is quite iron-clad and unquestionable. Bikes of such sizes are within the 40-50,000 peso price range, an outlay many straggling families could well afford if only through an installment plan. Definitely much more below wistful thinking about buying a brand-new four-wheel vehicle.

Here’s a pictorial sampling of the family sedan, local version, seen in busy intersections, and even amidst fast-moving traffic on multi-laned national highways where passenger perils are grossly multiplied and aggravated.

To be continued.

Vignettes Of Life In A Busy Intersection

2009-06-25T16:02:00.000-07:00

The north-south main city thoroughfare originates from the pier area, cuts through the busy poblacion area, and winds down south and merges with the ramp leading to the city’s newest concrete bridge. Across the river and beyond one is brought either to the old western part of the city, or further up in elevation to the newly-developed upscale uptown where many modern subdivisions have sprouted.

The east-west crossing street passes through the city’s busiest marketplace area, through the biggest Jesuit university this side of the big island and ends at the other end skirting another old school run by nuns. This arterial is the official route for public utility vehicles bound for the western part of the city, crossing over the oldest steel bridge of the city.

Imagine then the craziness and chaos that daily visit this benighted intersection, old and two-lane narrow and peppered with indiscriminate parking on both sides of the street. And of course, the otherworldly traffic behavior of both motorists and pedestrians.

But daily its pulsating and chaotic pace goes unsupervised, unmindfully moving countless vehicles and unfazed people to their appointed destination. Solicitous mothers with uniformed children in tow. Rowdy clusters of students out of school, some bound for home and waiting for their rides, others simply sauntering about enjoying their friends’ company. Office workers labeled by their nicely-tailored office attire (suits for ladies and polo barong for gentlemen) gingerly making their way through the mess. And a bunch of permanent fixtures like watch-your-car boys or itinerant vendors forming part of the landscape. And scores of other players that daily find themselves with roles in the many interesting vignettes of life in this busy intersection. Like the many assorted business establishments with their employees lining both sides of both streets.

The Naked Man

A daily spectacle, for its unavoidability factor, is the unnerving sight of this buang, vernacular for crazy guy. Who on regular occasions strips himself butt naked and unashamedly walks around surveying his domain, that is, the busy intersection he has decided to call home. He literally lives off the street, sleeping and functioning in that environment, feeding himself from scraps in garbage heaps, and never straying far from this intersection. And the weirdest part is that he never accepts voluntary offers of food and clothing from passersby and residents. He would rather forage and scavenge. In a recent foray, police authorities had carted him off in their lorry. But a few days later he was back on his beat, none the worse, or should I say none the better.

The story is that once this was a lucid man unfortunately hooked on the local drug called shabu. An overdose may have likely brought him to this stage. He has not acted violent, unless threatened or talked down. So people simply leave him be. Ladies and small children simply turn their gazes away from him especially during his bare days. And on occasion unruly or uncouth men riders or passersby shout teases at him, impishly sneering while doing so.

But one can see that amidst all these, this man lost in his own world does not mind.

To be continued.

A Laptop Running on AA Batteries

2009-06-16T06:06:00.000-07:00

…….and costing under $200. And maybe as low as $135 if acquired bare-bones.

Such could describe the newly-introduced Gecko EduBook produced by Norhtec.

Bundled like a regular small laptop with an 8.9 inch screen configured at resolution of 1024x600, it runs on 8 rechargeable (NiMH) batteries that can be recharged while installed inside the notebook. Using a regular power cord without the heavy adaptor appendage.

Its core chip module with the CPU and RAM, called the Xcore86, another product of NorhTec, is the size of a typical full-featured cell phone. Updating the unit simply requires removing and changing the module.

It operates quietly without any whirring fan. It has instead a heat sink to dissipate heat generated.

Features include the following:

CPU 1GHz Xcore86 Device on Chip™
Graphics Integrated Graphics Chip
Memory 256MB / 512MB / 1GB DDR2
Display 8.9" WSVGA 1024 x 600 resolution TFT LCD screen with LED backlight
HDD SD Card or IDE Flash Disk
Audio Line-out, Mic-in, Internal Mic, Internal stereo speakers
Ethernet Built in 10/100 Base-T
USB 2.0 ports External : 3 ports, Inernal : 1 port (reserved for WIFI, GPRS,
CDMA, 3G or 3.5G USB dongles)
I/O D-sub 15 pin VGA out, integrated SD card reader, touch pad
Power / Battery Rechargeable AA Battery - NiMH 8 pcs (4 hours max) or Li+3S (4 hours max) or Li+3S2P (6 hours max)
AC 100V-240V (no external adapter)

As seen here even amidst all the negative repercussions of a very deep global recession, we still see fearless innovation in the forefront. Creative minds continue to look for products that are not only cheaper, but adaptive to changing consumer needs.

Lately, I have shifted my usage to rechargeable batteries – for my digital cameras, flashlights, and other consumer electronic products requiring batteries. In the long run, one saves quite a lot adopting the change.

While initially the change will involve additional outlay, in the long run it will redound to considerable savings. A pair of AA rechargeable batteries will cost over 300 pesos compared to about a 100 pesos for standard batteries. A dependable Made In China battery charger will cost an additional 125 pesos. Suggest you get an extra charger for convenience.

Now both standard and rechargeable batteries last almost the same time as tests have proved. But guess what happens next?

Dead standard batteries are thrown away, but rechargeable batteries come back again, and again, and again, etc., fully charged and good as new.

Bye, Bye, Birdie

2009-06-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

In the morn of June 15th, Monday, as I hustled up the dizzying spiral staircase for my daily visitation to the roof deck, what greeted me left me with some deep loss and longing for two feathered cuties which had for the past three weeks tugged at the brittle strings of my jaded and cynical self.

An empty nest stared back at me, this time riddled with a horde of tiny black ants feasting on the former occupants’ unconsumed food and dried-up droppings. A shiny little egg sat solitarily in the middle of the chaotic frenzy, looking like the dud that it probably was and simply left behind by the laying bird.

So in summary, in the short span of less than 3 weeks, eggs were hatched and the issues developed sufficiently enough within that time frame to fly from the coop and be on their own.

Comparatively, humans take what seems like a lifetime to develop sufficiently enough to be able to live independently - without their parents’ assistance.

A little lesson of life learned.

Then in an ironic twist my regular Internet incursions accidentally brought me to this YouTube item:

A dead gecko attacked by a rampaging horde of ants reducing the carcass to a skeleton, using time-lapse camera.

Another little lesson learned, this time in the cycle of life.

What A Difference Four Days Make

2009-06-13T06:40:00.000-07:00

Four days have elapsed and my feathered friends have grown in leaps and bounds. But still confined to their very cramped quarters, unable to stretch their long legs or flap their fast-growing wings. Definitely the fastest developing parts of their young bodies. To make do, they have had to twist and curl around the tiny space, or hang upside down, or tumble around contorting their feathered bodies.

But one cannot help exhibiting sustained interest and excitement watching how these two have shown tremendous physical improvements over these last three weeks.

Like watching creation sped fast forward.

I have now taken to gingerly patting their heads with a finger and feeding them crushed toasted bread.

I expect any day now these fledglings will be airborne and bound for soaring heights to join their kind. A dream any aspiring human will hanker for.

And that will be the last of them.

I continue to take pleasure in enjoying this first time experience.

Here are the last four days in pictures.

June 10th Wednesday

June 11th Thursday

June 12th Friday

June 13th Saturday

Ready To Fly The Coop?

2009-06-09T06:58:00.001-07:00

Exactly two weeks from today, look how quickly our little birdies have developed into. Like they are almost ready to fly the coop. And it better be, since that little cozy nest has become too cramped for comfort.

Have not seen any traces of mama Maya during my regular visits, but I know she has been a doting parent. And looks like she is resigned to my incursions into her privacy and that of her brood.

The hatchlings are beginning to take on the shape and colors of the bird that they will eventually become. The once national bird of the islands now estranged from its traditional domicile and consigned to adapting to constrictive urban living.

Not much different to where the species Homo sapiens appears to be half-mindedly heading to?

Week Old Today

2009-06-02T19:07:00.001-07:00

They are exactly a week old today, counting from the time I saw them hatched in their nest.

Fine Feathered Friends, at last

2009-06-02T06:32:00.000-07:00

Less than a week after being hatched, my two unexpected guests are suddenly looking like the birds they should be. A soft blackish fur now covers their once pinkish bodies. Unmistakable signs of the paraphernalia that when fully developed will enable them to exercise that one distinct quality that differentiates them from most other earthbound living things – feathers for flight.

And the increase in their size is just short of being amazing and stupendous. Though still mostly immobile and confined to the cramped nest, we know pretty soon they will be testing their mettle –in learning to fly.

That day will be the proper time to say, au revoir.

In the meantime, I will insist on exercising my rights as resident intruder.

White Water Rafting In CDO

2009-05-30T22:05:00.001-07:00

Sunday morning and the never-empty premier park of the city, Divisoria, stirs up a buzz, but quite different from that of the two previous nights when this park gets transformed as the locale for the weekend night café.

This time it is for the now popular sports activity in the city noted for its river. It is white water rafting, widely patronized by the young uns both from local areas and by hordes of intrepid tourists from across the country.

As the pictures show white water rafting starts in the park. But initially with rafts above the heads of the would-be thrill seekers.

Lashed on top of massively-built vehicles known as the Philippine jeepneys. An unseemly amalgamation of designs and structures reminiscent of WW2 war vehicles, fitted with surplus Japanese engines and parts, joined with generic parts from local parts stores, splashed with tons of paint, and throw in a hippo for good measure. And what you see is this ugly monstrosity that passes as public utility vehicle in many parts of this country.

Less than an hour’s ride going west will bring these eager beavers to the different launching sites, for several hours of fun, frolic, and fear.

Have fun!

Maya Updates

2009-05-29T16:38:00.001-07:00

Three days and counting, and these two are still alive – barely, from my vantage point. During the day, the mother visits regularly, though at the first signs of human presence she scampers and soars skyward. She sits at the nest entrance with prominent beak protruding outward.

Looking at the two hatchlings, one gets to understand why it was generally believed that birds were descended from the now extinct dinosaurs and not the present-day lizards. The formers’ young sure look like those gargantuan beasts of old.

Invading Privacy Of Maya's Nest

2009-05-27T06:32:00.000-07:00

Image of Chestnut Mannikin (Lonchura malacca) from "Birds of the Philippines" (Gonzales & Rees1988).

The proud Maya has fallen into hard times. Once honored as the national bird of the Philippines and unrivaled denizen of rice fields and paddies, this feathered flyer has been stripped of its title and wrenched away from its natural habitat, quite unceremoniously and with utter derelict abandonment.

The country has replaced this chestnut beauty with the imposing Philippine eagle, since way back when. And adding insult to injury the maya has been driven away from its familiar, comfy and bountiful haunts with creeping urbanization and the subsequent disappearance of the once ubiquitous rice fields and paddies in the countryside of Mindanao’s provinces and the rest of the country.

Consigned to congested urbanized settings, it has had to make do with what it can find adaptable. Like nesting on the leafy branches of trees lining concreted city streets. Or on the occasional trees providing shade and comfort in some old city homes. Or even on any potted flora on top of the many multi-storey buildings punctuating the cityscape.

One such Maya family has honored us by nesting in one of the potted brushes of our building’s roof deck. It picked this one particular plant obviously because of its tightly-packed foliage. We had before noticed, but only upon closer scrutiny, the remains of a nest in this potted ornament but had not minded it much. Then recently, we found that it had been spruced up and fortified with more dried thicket.

Aha, we thought, a family is ready to move in and raise some chirpers.

The other day, one bright sunny morning, I almost had my heel on top of a wriggly pinkish piece of something live being attacked on all sides by a horde of frenzied black ants, on the barely-bearable heated concrete floor of the roof deck. Just the size of a little worm, and lying a few feet from the nested brush. It was only when I stooped low that I realized that that wriggly thing was a newly-hatched bird – naked without feathers, almost translucent body, a huge mound of head with discernible beak, and fighting for dear life against a determined enemy.

How did it get there?

I gave myself no time to answer that. So to shorten the narrative, picked it up, settled it inside a small shallow glass made comfy with some curled cotton threads and parts of toilet paper, and ensconce it on a little table on the shaded and airy part of the deck. Hoping the mother comes back and takes care of its young.

Sadly, when I came back the following morning, I found its dead inert body fully covered by small ants feasting on its tiny carcass. Anger and revenge got the better of me so without any second thought, decided to quickly carry the glass over to the sink. Filling it to the brim dumped it in the middle of a deep baking pan already filled to the brim with water. Pretty soon the pan was a sorry maze of dead ants and ants flailing around with nowhere to go. The quick trip to the drain ended the gory scene.

That late afternoon almost instinctively, curiosity led me back to the nest. With point and shoot camera taut and ready, this voyeur was ready to invade somebody’s privacy.

Approaching the brush slowly this predator started clicking away in some cadence. From a distance until I was mere inches away. It was almost twilight so the flash was also working overtime. Before I could bat an eyelash and squint to focus, the unnoticed mother had shot out of the nest and left home and hearth in a huff and without even a by your leave.

These are what I found inside.

Life created – elemental, naked, helpless, humble, and at the world’s mercy.

Will these two get to witness life as adults? Will both find harsh realities rewarding, or worth all the trouble?

Neri Genealogy: Some More Thoughts

2009-05-23T20:43:00.001-07:00

What really continue to confound are the countless persons carrying the surname or middlename, Neri, even in our little locality. From the younger generations to the oldest still living and extant. Based on personal knowledge and because I met her a week or so ago, the oldest Neri I know is Pureza Neri Ramos who is in her 90’s. And mind you, she has a sister in San Francisco, USA, who has already hit the century mark. So what about you? What are some of your own personal experiences?

But how are we really related?
Given the available data and postulating on some of the unknowns, the best case scenario I continue to hold as a distinct possibility of our being related is this.

But first, let us review what we have.

Regardless of which parts can be considered legends or historical facts, the story is told that a Sampurna from Lanao came to settle in Cagayan and married into a native-born family. He succeeded Prince Salangsang as ruler of Cagayan. In 1779, he was baptized by Fr. Pedro de Santa Barbara, who was the registered parish priest then, and was given the name of Neri.

We are said to have all descended from him; the name, Neri, being so different from other common names then, being so Italian.

Until the turn of that century (18th) not much is traceable about that nascent Neri family. But the start of the new century (19th) ushered in many local Neri families.

The families of Juan Neri and Anastacia Chaves, and the husband’s sister, Maria, who married Filomeno Chaves. The families of the brothers Lino and Salvador Neri. And that of little-known Leon Neri. The Neri’s mentioned above appeared to have been born very close to each other.

Were they and presumably many others who remained unnamed and unknown all siblings? Coming from the same father and mother, christened a scant 21 years before?

I seriously doubt they all came from the same mother. There is anyway no data to show that they all did. If they indeed all came from the same mother, why no mention in any of the several known branches of the Neri clan? We know the father was Sampurna who came from Lanao, who started carrying the name Neri in 1779. But no mention of the mother or mothers.

So what about this. We all share the same father progenitor but from different mothers.

Huh?

As is common even to this day, an influential and affluent Muslim family may be composed of one husband and multiple wives. Which is allowed in the culture and I believe, in the religion, too. In other words, so the datus of old practiced polygamy. It is interesting to note that the bisayan word for rich is datu. If one could afford it, one could have multiple wives.

Thus, a likely scenario for our mythical Sampurna, prince ruler of Cagayan, was a mass christening of his family of many wives and many children.

Thus, a mere 21 years later we witnessed a prolific flowering of the Neri name among the many prominent descendants who graced the historical landscape of our little rustic community at the start of the 19th century and all the way to the present. And beyond. And breaking geographical barriers. From the temperate climate of Scandinavia to the desert sands of the Middle East. To the many cosmopolitan nooks and crannies of the United States.

And yes, it continues to proliferate in the little confines of the old poblacion of Cagayan de Oro and its far-flung barrios.

Genealogy: The Neri Family of Mindanao

2009-05-07T22:12:00.000-07:00

Just realized that adding more comments to the original blog entry has become problematic, so decided to introduce a new blog entry with the same title for purposes of future updates and for new comments.

Those visiting this original blog entry please add your comments here please.

Let’s keep them coming.