Memoirs of a High School Instructor

 

           Frs. Campbell, Quirke, and O'Donnell  (Taken from FB timeline of  Ramoncito Cruz)

                                                    

The year was 1965, and I was just completing  the academic requirements for my 2nd undergraduate degree.  BTW, the old pictures attached would be about the same year, 1965.

Time to look for a permanent job, I said to myself chomping at the bit to challenge what I had learned so far.  And at 24 years of age, the time was more than ripe.

Alignment came easily.  I broached the idea to my then regular  counselor, Fr. Paul D. Campbell, who found the idea feasible.  He was of course, a very a close ally of the HS principal, Fr. James O'Donnell, being the HS Student Counsellor.  In no time, I was sent to the office of Fr. O'Donnell for the possible job of an instructor and class moderator.

But a little flashback.

Returning back to the old hometown with an undergraduate degree after an absence of over 3 years, I had decided to go back to school tormented by the uneasy feeling that my preparation then had been inadequate.  And this was starting to be a maturing phase of my existence when I begun to realize not only the gravity but also the profundity of life, my life, which at that time was characterized with mercurial aimlessness.

Time to get serious, I told myself.  And indeed the following years blossomed into a life of purpose and a pervading feeling of a  deep sense of mission.  And looking back my academic accomplishments appeared to echo that.

I had developed the habit of not only of going into intense daily prayers and devotionals, but also of going to daily Mass early in the morning.  I went typically to the XU chapel which was quite close to our house, and whose ambience was a good fit for my purposes.  These I did with almost single-minded devotion, almost unaware of the things happening around me.

Till one morning as I was leaving the chapel lost in my religious fervor, I heard a salutation coming from the entrance of the chapel.  Coming from a white-frocked man with a very deep voice.  After the good mornings, he asked about me and my name which he easily connected to a younger brother who was in high school and thus under him.

I did not know then, but he was Fr. Campbell and thus would start our association until I left the school completely years later.  I treasure memories of many visits to his office, with riveting conversations at times getting deep into the evenings, like when the school lights had already been turned off.  I could say that those unforgettable times were most helpful to me during my perilous journey through life.  Many thanks to Fr. Campbell for that.

Anyway, my initial interview with Fr. O'Donnell  was short and sweet, and when I left his office I was already preparing myself to be an instructor of several unrelated subjects, to a fresh bunch of 1st-year highschoolers. And that I would be moderator for the assigned class.

Our next immediate step was for me and a close friend, Berchmans Abejuela, to be sent to Ateneo de Manila to attend some orientation classes for teachers like us, and to spend a couple of days during the weekend.  And this we both did without any hitch or complaint.  For me that would be the only formal  orientation I would get to begin the arduous task of teaching.

I did not then really know much about Fr. O'Donnell and his stint as principal.  Of course, certain unavoidable elements preceded him.  His huge physical presence, a very deep cadenced manner of speaking.  And more importantly, as a strict disciplinarian and a devoted stickler to rules and regulations.  And lastly, as quite frugal with idle conversations.

Knowing and keeping that in mind, our relationship pretty much was my trying to avoid as much contact with him as possible, though making sure I crossed all the Ts and dotted all the Is when it came to school work.  I pretty much followed that religiously since I do not recall any incident when I had to bring up with him  any school problem involving my kids, or the other way around.

And Fr. O'Donnell was quite true to the reputation that preceded him.   I had thought that he was as packaged by people. Except it was coming only from people I knew then.  Because much later I would hear from others a quite different side of him.  Almost a completely new portrayal of the man I had known and left then.

When the school year begun, the heady honeymoon period that usually goes  with new endeavors quickly wore off for me, finding for myself the growing difficulties of teaching  inscrutable adolescents, who were just starting to flex their unsteady wings every which way at the world that they have just woke up to.  This would show in my physical appearance which would be  aggravated by my problematic thyroids.  By the time the school year had ended I had lost over 20 pounds and was reduced to a haggard and ragged figure.  I felt I needed  time to myself to recover and refocus.

Thus  my short stint as high school instructor ended as quickly as it started.  But coming out enriched by one abiding lesson.  Teaching is no easy job, one that not only required  tons of knowledge but more importantly tons of dedication and patience.  Thus, found a new sense of admiration and value for those who spend long years in the profession of teaching.  A profession for the selected few.

Geometry and Fr. John Rohr

 

66 Year ago I took a subject in high school that had baffled me to no end, giving me sleepless nights in order to study and resulting in a bit of mental wreck to my young and easily traumatized mind. And yet in all honesty, I understood nothing much about the subject and the "theorems" that we were supposed to get acquainted with.  For the entire year we must have examined, proved, written, questioned, etc. a total of 12 or 15 theorems, and yet I was still totally in the dark. 

And for the love of me, I was just as baffled how I passed the subject.  I distinctly recall that during a grading exam, I had to resort to memorizing and writing down an entire theorem which was composed of many parts, straight out of the book so I could have something to say.  The teacher had promised beforehand that he would include an extra bonus part, a part where we could write out a theorem that we read and understood in the book.  That was the only possible answer I could submit. And it was the shortest one I could find in the book.

The subject was Ge·om·e·try, "the branch of mathematics concerned with the properties and relations of points, lines, surfaces, solids, and higher dimensional analogs."

The experience so traumatizing that even today just being reminded of it throws me into some kind of mental fit.  A few days ago, I was again reminded by it when I saw a picture of the young Jesuit who had come thousands of miles away to teach us the subject.

That young Jesuit himself was quite unforgettable, with his loud and animated ways of teaching a subject that I had thought was as boring and flat as a piece of paper.  He also had the unique habit of putting his chair on top of the table and sitting there, surveying the place like a hungry hawk.  This he did when he was giving out exams, on the expressed supposition that he wanted to make sure nobody was cheating.

And I had figured prominently in one such episode during a grading exam.

I was so clueless and lost I was turning my head every which way when suddenly I felt something hit me right at the top of my head.  It was chalk.   And this young Jesuit was barreling straight at me, jumping off from his high perch but he was smiling though  or maybe smirking.  It was then I felt my eyes moistened  thoroughly humiliated but I said nothing. My first time ever to be thrown at and hit by chalk coming from a teacher.  He came and looked at my paper which was completely blank anyway.  That ended that episode.

But years later, this young Jesuit back in the States and ready for his ordination sends me a nice printed invitation to his becoming a priest, complete with a stampita and personal note, asking how I was and also about my elder brothers that he had also taught. Surprisingly, I had kept those mementoes all these years. Maybe that kind gesture should have given me a clue about how and why I passed that subject having learned nothing, though efforts were certainly not spared.

Last night as I lay awake, this same thought came barreling in into my troubled mind, giving me no respite and forcing me to rise up.  So I did and sat in front of my PC and googled about Geometry theorems, particularly about Theorem 2B which I recall was the theorem I had memorized as my only answer to a bonus question.

One result was a video, so I faithfully went through the whole exercise, listening to a British lady speaker who was not easy to understand, which in turn was made harder by the subject matter.  Anyway, after more than 10 minutes later she was done with the presentation: expressing the theorem, the givens, the proof, etc. and the solution.

I had a small reason to feel good.  I did understand a bit how Geometry worked.  And would have learned more even in high school had I allowed my mind to engage in the subject more and better.

Thanks for the lesson, Fr. Rohr, however late it is.

And here is one final tidbit.  I did learn one thing from him which later on I would relay to some students of mine in high school.

How to make a more or less perfect circle on the blackboard.  How? With your back turned to the board, let your hand with the chalk touch the board and start making the circle as you turn around.

Works every time! 

Once upon a time … as a student

 

 

Reeling from a devastating loss in our much ballyhooed debut in student politics, it was indeed a very welcomed development to be selected as one of two representatives from Xavier University to a weekend seminar in fabled Tagaytay.  A grand event financed and sponsored by the dollar-rich US Embassy.  And in hindsight, one could consider that inauspicious event as consequential and providential in some respects. The year was 1965.

 Though not showing much strain and sorrow, we unexpectedly had just been handed a tragic blow, when our entire election slate from President to PRO came in a poor third in our very first, and luckily only, outing in campus politics.  And worse, we had such great prospects and expectations of winning.  But it was not to be.

 A quick airplane trip out of the scene of the carnage was an apt remedy prescription, except that the other party with me came in the person of the winner in our star-crossed contest, Max Paderanga.  But I soon shunted that thought aside, buoyed by cheery expectations of the event.  The Embassy had invited us for a weekend seminar with some specific agenda, about 50 student leaders from all over the country.  They came from prestigious schools all over the country, but we Ateneans were particularly anointed because of the greater number of participants in our ranks, coming from Ateneos from different parts of the country. 

 We were billeted in small groups at different nice hotels and lodging places in cool and foggy Tagaytay.  But the mass gatherings and functions were held in one particular venue, inside an imposing monastery and convent for nuns, the main building perched high on rolling topography within very expansive grounds.  And it had the commanding view of the famed volcano inside a lake.  The nuns not only provided the elaborate venue, but also catered to our gastronomic needs with very impressive menu, many items unfamiliar to provincial palates like ours.

 To summarize it was a coming together of a lot of important persons with their different roles.  Top and foremost was US Ambassador Edward Mattos who spoke in general about his country’s devotion and promise of assistance to the local student population with regard to its critical role in governance. And he also regaled us with his piano playing, completing a picture of a consummate diplomat representing a powerful nation.  The Philippines then had close ties with the US AID as integral partners in the myriad of development projects planned for the region.

 He also gathered with him some very notable Filipino student leaders like Raul Roco from Naga, who later on become senator, and a Jose Conrado “Jolly” Benitez, who also was appointed a favored cabinet member during the infamous Marcos administration.  The affair was also graced with the presence of an appealing lady student leader named Sonia Malazarte, who had earlier won the title as student of the year, coming from a Manila all-girls school. Roco and Malazarte eventually got married but this was supposedly their first encounter.

 We had the fortune also of having several representatives from the Israeli Embassy gracing the affair, and which country’s noteworthy doings were a major topic in the seminar, starting from the consul to a couple of attaches.  And rounding off the roster of participants, we had about 50 vocal student leaders, many bursting full with outsized egos.  Though in fairness, there were also many who sat at the opposite end, very quiet and introverted.

 It was I believe the first time that student leaders from all over the country were purposely gathered together to discuss topics then relevant to their times and circumstances.  And I have no recollections as to whether succeeding or similar gatherings were held during that time.

When all was said and done, many of us came away from it with some notable memories.

Personally, I was amazed to learn that one of the nuns who by happenstance read the student roster recognized a name and had asked for me to see her.  She was a daughter of the late Chief Justice Mariano H. de Joya, who once had been assigned in CDO as provincial judge. He and his family were close to my father’s family.  And may even had shared the house of my grandparents for some time.  Thus, when my father spent time in Manila for his schooling, he also spent some time with the de Joya family, having been very close to one of the brothers of the nun, and I recall at a later time that his name was Boring.  It was a very blissful meeting and I had promised to relay this incident to my father who was in CDO.

 At the end of the seminar, we were each advised to write our impressions about the seminar, but more importantly, to write about the political conditions in the home country as seen by the younger generation.  Though I was not inclined to dismiss the parting instruction, writing about the subject just did not appeal to my interests then.  But I did submit an entry.

Months later, I received from the Embassy a copy of a bound pamphlet with collated selected entries from different participants.  And was glad Xavier U did not disappoint because one of the selected entries was that of Max Paderanga, and I still recall he wrote about the “dog-eat-dog” climate developing in Philippine society.  A curt analysis of a nascent country in the mid-60’s trying to develop its sea legs.  Was Max prophetic with his observation?

 Another memorable event that transpired within that seminar and has stayed on in memory, was the segment about Israel and what it had done then.  The consul spoke seriously and determinedly about their kibbutz system and its initial successes.  He gave out books and pamphlets, which I still have in my possession to this day.  Talk about a determined country, though small and surrounded by eternal foes. And notice how it considers itself as part of Asia.

 

Proposed XU Comprehensive Development.

An integral part of this expansive development would be the outright sale of a good chunk of the XU main campus in the Divisoria area, and another sale of another area in the Manresa area. 

It is both unfair and unwise to treat this loaded issue as simply black or white, meaning that you have the stakeholders on one side wanting to sell, versus some of the other stakeholders but mostly non-owners opposing the sale.

Why “some of the other owners”, because a reading of those who oppose the sale will reveal the names of the current archbishop and several past XU presidents/officials, who are all also members of the same Society.

In reality, the issue is rather involved and complicated.

The proposed sale to a third-party developer would involve demolition of many extant and in-use buildings in the old campus and the erection of a few high-rise structures along what is now Hayes St.  Similarly, some existing structures in Manresa would also be demolished.  In other words, not much different from completed or ongoing mixed-use developments around the city.

The only easily discernible difference is that most if not all of those developments are owned and/or undertaken by commercial entities with personal profits as their overriding motivation – like the Ayala, SM, Gaisano, etc.  Not so with the proposed XU development.  It is owned by a revered religious institution deeply rooted in the service of humanity, especially those under-privileged.   It is then assumed that whatever it does, the overarching motivation will always defer to its long-standing motto, “to be men for others”.

My reading is that It is precisely in this one particular and critical regard that those opposed have latched on their movement, albeit indeed they are not owners of the property.

What is being asked is for a more open and comprehensive discussion of the many facets to the issue, for as much time as needed for this very involved process.  In other words, expand the previously noted discernment process which was revealed as having only involved a segment of the community.

I daresay that the NO TO SALE side has neither broadly defined its opposition to any sale of any property nor is such stance one written in stone, but rather that thorough exploration of all options or possibilities is exposed to light of day and assessed.  After all, wasn’t Xavier Estates once part of the vast landholdings of Xavier U?

So let us take a breather and while away some time.  Remember we have future generations to think about.

Recalling and Retelling a Long-forgotten Apostolic Work

The careening new technologies disrupting our once rustic life somehow bring us back to the bygone days of youth when things were a lot simpler and coarser.  When life somehow was easier to understand and live.  Now with dizzying speeds we are hard-pressed even at keeping pace with the consumer technologies available out there.

Noticing beyond just the physical characteristics our gadgets and their almost limitless capabilities to connect us virtually with a world well beyond our physical reach, we begin to realize and wonder about them juxtaposed with the simpler things we had then.

Yesterday, I woke up to the realization that with the smartphones I possess. Yes, I have several yet not one of them is equipped to connect me telephonically with the rest of the world.  Said differently, none has a local SIM card or with load purchase to allow access to other cellphones.

All details aside, this thought brought me back longingly to the time when I was still a college student at XU-Ateneo de Cagayan, which would be in the mid-60’s.  I faintly recall being approached by somebody, am not sure if it was Jesuit priest or a layman, to continue with the practice of broadcasting the 7am Sunday Mass at the XU chapel via the reaches of the local premier AM station, DXCC.  A sweet and serious offer that an avowed Atenean could not refuse.  It was made known to me that the one initially assigned to do it would not be available anymore, so the need to find another.  Okay, I said, and so what is next?

I was handed a brown folder with a few worn pages of script inside.   It was essentially a summary of the typical Mass, from beginning to end, from Entrance Hymn to Final Blessing.  The job was simply to provide audio when the celebrant would remain silent going through the different phases of the Mass.

It was then my responsibility to assess if the documentation was sufficient for my purposes, and more importantly, to present myself to the DXCC technician, who would be responsible for setting up the system to allow the regular broadcast.

Had to rewrite the whole script and armed myself with good reading materials to fill out radio silence during the services.  Met with the DXCC technician who fortunately was already familiar with me, a few minutes before the start of my first broadcast.

So dutifully every Sunday before 7am we both met up at the left side of the XU chapel.  He laid all the wirings and the mikes to be used for the broadcast, while I located myself on the same side close to the altar, holding on to my folder with the script, and the few prayer books I brought along.

This we did with almost no fail for at least a year and maybe closer to more, going to the air at the appointed time and place and reaching to all who tuned in to the radio during that time.  The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and its message of redemption propagated far and wide to the devotees unable to be physically present.

And all that time, we never received any feedback to apprize us of the work we were doing.  Not an iota of comment or emoticon to a Facebook page or other social media.  Complete radio silence.

And just as hazily, this work stopped, and everybody concerned went about their separate ways.  And I am just left to wonder, how crude and limited methods were then to disseminate data and events to the people at large.  Worlds apart from the ways we now handle such things.

That same smartphone that most people, from all strata of society, now possess in their hands, is now capable to do what we once did with great attention and labor, and a lot more, simply with a few clicks, tender taps of the fingers over the screen, etc.

The March To The Future For Xavier U-Cagayan de Oro

Looking at the futuristic rendering of prospective structures, open spaces, and roads in the perspectives publicly shown, it is plain to see why the awed viewers would be easily taken in to agree that such would be a commendable and acceptable metamorphosis of the current campus.  And truly, it would look good and would do right for Xavier University.  A total and integrated remodeling of an old and minimally-planned campus; and what’s more, creating additional precious finances for the school to undertake its other more ambitious project, the Manresa property.

But how would the entire city be affected by the new development, a city already burdened with many growing problems?  If one of the current problems inherent to the place is congestion, how would the additional buildings for commerce planned not only address but mitigate that problem?  And remember that issue spills over to traffic congestion also.  And more to add.  What about increased volume of drainage, additional energy requirements, H2O requirements, etc.?  Would we envision a complex development with back-up generators (like what we have in the other developments) running during brown-outs, turning this part of the poblacion into one loud noise-polluted amphitheater?

How would the new development address the pertinent issue of “livability” in this part of the city?  Rather than commercialize it even more, why not instead devote areas not set aside for preservation for conservation purposes – like for more greenery and trees, or simply as open airy spaces?  A comprehensive cost-benefit analysis ought to be undertaken, by both XU admin and the city, a city which has been judged by many as not keen enough to address such issues.

It is devoutly wished that such serious considerations and more are earnestly pursued and not just glossed over, keen to the observation that it is easy to be blinded by the sight of grand and tall buildings as glaring signs of “development” progress.  But thinking of our other over-sized cities that observation appears to hit the mark.  We can point to a number of them already beset with burgeoning problems of basic public services.

If confirmed as I suspected that the campus is about 8 hectares, then that equals to 0.08 square kilometers, of a smallish poblacion.  Would the proposed development create its own ecosystem that could adversely skew the city’s own?  Like traffic flow. How immediate surroundings with a lot of old houses would be upgraded or remodeled as to not degrade the supposed gains made by the new development.  All this and more really point to the urgent need for the city to have enforceable zoning laws.

Or are we consigned to accepting that our older cities as they march to the future, will be nothing more than a hodge-podge or patchwork of isolated development sewn together to keep from bursting at the seams?  Or maybe just waiting for the seams to indeed burst.

A Tale Twice Told

At the start of our high school years, the reading and understanding of English literature was so impressed upon us by our educators as to become an integral part of our daily living even to this day. In so doing we also unconsciously developed our own ways and styles in the use of the medium in our regular interactions with the rest of the world. And in this age of virtual reality and social networking we bring to the fore the styles that we have developed over the years of constant usage and practice. Thus, in our regular forays into, for example, Facebook, we encounter bits and pieces of literature submitted by our friends and acquaintances in the short and cryptic snippets of writings they use to describe their day, to ask about somebody else’s health, to describe the highlights of memorable trips made, to honor family members, etc. Long live, English Literature, for showing us how!

Now, as a kid fresh from grade school and being introduced to high school, our initial English Literature class was about short stories, the easily digestible form of literature that appealed to our then equally short attention span. The initial textbook for that introduction to the subject has stayed with me all these years. A thin book of about 200 pages, chock-full of short stories, to interest and regale our then young impressionable minds.

The finale selection was very memorable for its utter simplicity and taken-for-granted familiarity brought by our Christian upbringing. It was entitled A Legend of Christ. Still so memorable and emotion-stirring to this day, it deserves a repost in its entirety. Let us see if this little tale will not moisten your eyes as you ascend its climactic end. Enjoy!

A LEGEND OF CHRIST

It was a night of wondrous stars and soft sighing winds. Echoes of nature’s harmony drifted over plain and hill while the white radiance of virgin snow ermined the listening trees.

All day the roads leading into the little town of Bethlehem had been thick with travelers. It was enrollment time by order of the Emperor and so they flocked from near and far to do his bidding.

Every wayside inn was bright and alive with the jovial laughter of men – men whose pockets bulged with money – men who hadn’t a care in the world.

It was along this road that a tired and poorly clad couple jostled through the milling crowds. The man was tall and strong of frame, but his eyes were shadowed with weariness and worry. The woman – she was but a girl – was mounted on the back of a bedraggled beast of burden. She wore over her head and shoulders a dark veil, but her eyes shone with a radiance brighter than that of the brightest star.

The man spoke, “This must be the place, Mary, this must be Bethlehem. Here we will find food and a warm shelter for the night.”

Her eyes smiled in reply – a sad, yet beautiful smile – but she spoke no word. Could it be she knew the rebuffs that would be theirs at the hands of the money-crazed landlords? Could it be she knew there not be place for her and the precious Little One Who this night would be born into the world? They had come to a halt now and Joseph was speaking.

“This is a seemly place,” he said. “We shall stay here” he strode up the path to the inn door, the light from the winging arch lamp brightening his face. Mary waited at the gate in the shadows – a woman wrapped in silence. Joseph returned quickly – his step was heavy now and he showed his disappointment in the sag of his shoulders.

“They have no room for us here, Mary,” he said. He did not tell her the landlord appraising his impoverished appearance, rebuked him as a beggar and a vagrant and ordered him off the premises. Although these things gnawed at his heart and inflamed his mind, he could not worry her. Mary must not know.

“The next one will have room,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. “It’s not far, just down the road a little.” In the shadows, he saw Mary’s eyes; in them there was no reproach, only patient tenderness; on her lips was the same sweet smile.

“No place for Him; no place for the Christ Child – the King of Kings” – this was the thought that burned into her heart as once more they moved into the darkness.

It was growing colder now. The winds swirled along the bleak road. Mary pulled her tattered shawl closer around her weary frame. But they were approaching another inn, this one larger and brighter than the first. Gales of boisterous laughter drifted to them across the night.

“What shall I do, if they won’t take us here,” he thought. “The night grows colder and Mary is not well. She must have warmth and rest.” They were outside the gate now and, just as before, Joseph made his way up the path. Mary waited in silence and quietly prayed in the darkness.

“Please, sir,” he said to the host at the inn door, “my wife and I must have quarters for the night. She is not well and we have no place to …” He did not finish the sentence, for the landlord cut in sharply.

“What do you want with us – you – you beggar. This is not a charity house. We cater only to gentlemen here. Away with you and be quick.”

A little child, half hidden in a nearby doorway, heard the landlord’s abuse and saw Joseph turn dejectedly away. She had been watching Mary too, drawn by some mysterious force to the silent lady whose face she could see like a star in the darkness.

“Dear Lady,” she said, running to her and wrapping her own thin shawl about Mary’s stooped shoulders, “this will keep the cold away ‘till we get to my house. You both can stay there. My father will let you.”

Mary’s eyes found the anxious little face and smiled. The child had never seen such a heavenly smile, she held out her hand.

“Come, dear Lady,” she said, “I will lead the way.”

They had gone but a few paces when a man strode out of the darkness. The child saw him first.

“It’s father,” she cried. “He’s come to fetch me home and you shall come too.”

The father’s voice was loud and angered. “Where have you been child? Go to your home at one, or I will….”

“Father,” the little one interrupted, “I have brought these two poor people with me. There is no place for them to stay…and the night is so cold…say they can stay with us.”

Anger crept into the man’s face and he would have struck the child, but something in Mary’s eyes stayed his hand. He spoke and wrath flared in his voice. “I’m not in the habit of inviting beggars to stay under my roof. You shall be punished for this. Go home at once!”

Yet the child was not subdued. “But, father,” she pleaded tearfully, they’re not beggars. They’re strangers, worn and weary from the road. All they ask is one night’s shelter. Please don’t refuse.”

The irate parent turned his back and walked off into the night fouling the stillness with a muttered oath.

The little one looked hopelessly first at Mary and then at Joseph. Bitter disappointment and embarrassment burned her cheeks. She searched for words and finally stammered:

“Dear Lady, I’m sorry, sorry I could not keep my promise to you, sorry my father’s nature is sometimes cruel and unreasonable. But I will help you find shelter. I know a stable in a cave on this hill. Maybe I can build a fire there for you. It will be warm at least and you will be out of the chill damp of the night.” Her eyes pleaded as she spoke. “Do you want me to lead the way?”

Wearily, Joseph nodded assent. Mary said no word, but, as they trudged toward the hillside, the little one’s eyes never left the sweet radiance that shone on Mary’s face. They found the cave quickly. Joseph and the child made a resting place of straw and rags for Mary. The Queen of Heaven unwanted by a forgetful world lay at peace in a deserted stable in Bethlehem. The child was standing now beside Joseph. And, though the atmosphere was damp and chilly, where Mary lay was haloed with a warm, almost heavenly radiance. Her face was beautiful beyond compare. The child spoke:

“You will forgive me, dear Lady, for not finding a better place. You could have had my bed, if my father had so allowed.” She paused momentarily. “You are so beautiful, dear Lady, so like a Queen.” Rapture shone in her eyes. “I must go now lest my father whip me. I will pray God to watch over you both tonight.”

“Child,” answered Mary, “God will bless you for your kindness and He will watch over us all – tonight and always. Go to your home now and have no fear; your father will not harm you.” Then she smiled and the cave was a glory of heavenly light.

The child was gone now. As she ran down the hillside, her heart was filled with a joy greater than she had ever known before. She even fancied as she ran that she could hear music, heavenly music and voices from the land beyond the stars. But it wasn’t fancy, it was fact, for at that very hour, back in the little stable, Mary had brought forth a Son…Jesus, the Prince of Peace and Love was born and there was music everywhere in the world…


* * *

More than thirty years had passed since that night in Bethlehem….

“And it came to pass that He came nigh to the city called Naim…and when he came nigh to the city, behold a dead man was carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” Christ looked at the lifeless body of the young man for a while, and at the young widowed mother, weeping nearby. He lifted His hand in blessing over the mother and said:

“Weep not, woman. Your son is not dead. He but sleeps.” Then, drawing near, He commanded those who carried the bier to place it on the ground. He took the young boy by the hand, and in a voice of authority, cried out:

“Young man, I say to you, arise.”

Amazed, the people watched the boy rise up and clasp his joyous mother into his arms. She fell on her knees in thanksgiving before the Master and her tears bathed His feet. Christ lifted her tenderly and said very gently:

“It was not I who gave you back your son, but my Mother whom you befriended one night many years ago in a little town called Bethlehem.”

Local Politics: Cagayan de Oro Style

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.

Xavier University (Ateneo de Cagayan) - No. 4

Xavier University (Ateneo de Cagayan) - No. 3

Xavier University (Ateneo de Cagayan) - No. 2

A good blending of the old and new structures. Who would think that some of these buildings were built right after the end of the last world war?

Xavier University (Ateneo de Cagayan), Cagayan de Oro

A high school reunion is slated this coming December 2008. The following pictures were taken early in 2007. For those classmates who have already decided to attend, take a good look at the pictures because these will be the same images you will be seeing when you revisit your old Alma Mater, whether for the first time after so many years, or after your last visit of a year or so ago. See if you can continue to recognize the old buildings we used as classrooms, library, etc.