The Lore and Lure of Dahilayan Barrio

As early as 2002 while Dahilayan was still a sleepy barrio tucked away from the beaten path trod by adventurous segments of the local population, a few of us serendipitously found enough interest to give the place second looks.  We envisioned attractive reasons to apply some resources into its development.  Admittedly, in that early time, there was already a working irrigation system that winded through its hills and valleys potentially providing any interested farmer ample supply of water for farming.  Still the natives then, those referred to locally as the galis, obstinately kept at their laid-back and lazy ways content with meager results produced by meager efforts.  Exerting just enough efforts at work through employment or working their own farms to eke out a very elemental type of living.  They were at the same time nonchalantly banking on the efforts of outsiders to provide both easy employment and productive uses of their idle lands through leases, to propel them beyond the survival stages they were wont to experience.

Agricultural plots were initially leased from the land-owning natives to provide the basic infrastructure for vegetable growing, essentially of high-value crops that were finding good markets in the nearby cities.  Food service businesses  were suddenly finding themselves addressing the variegated palates of their clientele which were growing in sophistication.  And the idle natives became the pool for harnessing labor to work the fields. But an eye for acquisition of some plots of land was always there because of the long-term prospects seen for the area.

In the beginning we were essentially absentee landlords, relying on the presence and the developing expertise of relatives who were residents of Cagayan de Oro and who served as our proxies.

That was then, but now in that short span things have changed tremendously.  So dramatically changed as to make the current-day barrio almost unrecognizable from what it was a few years ago.  In no small measures, thanks are due to the Paras family who has unloaded tons of development into the blessed area as to convert it to some kind of tropical Disneyland.  Needless to state, not only has the barrio shown tremendous economic betterment, but also the immediately surrounding areas.  And in the meantime, A Brown Company had opened its unique kind of subdivision up on one of the ridges owned by them, touting some kind of leisure farming for lot buyers by providing generous cuts in lots like a 1000 sq. m. a piece.

In fine, Real estate prices have soared dramatically and a little scramble from city folks to purchase land for themselves had ensued. Now the heightened prices have reduced the ranks of ready buyers.

In retrospect then, it wasn’t too long ago when I wrote/blogged about the place (2005 and 2006).

“Anyway, all things considered, my choice has been the little, agricultural, remote, and rural barrio of Dahilayan, in the municipality of Manolo Fortich in the Province of Bukidnon forming part of the northern region of the island of Mindanao.”

”For the past 3 years or so, we have been slowly and quite imperceptibly acquiring contiguous farmlands in the above barrio which rises some 1300 meters above sea level and nestled in one the various foothills forming part of the majestic Kitanglad mountain range. The imposing shadow of Mt. Kitanglad looms large and inviting facing south from where we are located. The combination of soft rolling hills and sharp steep inclines in the terrain while at times providing daunting challenges in farming, makes for a landscape that can combat boredom and cookie-cutter looks in farm lots. No endless stretches of uniform looking plots or bland flat yards around structures.”

“And no fears of being isolated from the rest of civilization, since the place can be reached from the bustling northern Mindanao city of Cagayan de Oro in an hour or so, though the conditions of roads at times leave much to be desired. Especially during rainy seasons. But the eye-catching travel scenery makes up for this lack of comfort, traversing through verdant fields of pineapples, vegetable tracts, and simply virgin valleys and gullies enveloped in thick foliage. Intermittently broken up with sites of man-made structures such as greenhouses and even piggery housing. But the overall outlook of the area is still one of being untapped and unspoiled by too much intrusion of urban-like sprawl and structures.”

Read more from these past blogs:

http://theignatianperspective.blogspot.com/2005/11/dahilayan-barrio-eden-at-your-reach.html

http://theignatianperspective.blogspot.com/2005/09/farming-in-bukidnon.html

http://theignatianperspective.blogspot.com/2007/04/anything-goes-on-last-phases-of-two.html

On Returning to the old Homeland

 

Many Filipino expats show uneasy ambivalence in their plans to return for good to the old homeland, with good justifiable reasons.  However, here are a few thoughts that could help in addressing the issue.

If one is simply planning an abbreviated visit, then it is quite easy not to mind the many “quirks” one finds there, or maybe even laugh them off. 

But once one starts living there and experiences these things on a daily basis and as part of one’s daily existence, then it becomes a different thing, especially for those of us who have been exposed to and have soaked in the nice living environments in other more advanced communities.

One has to have a heart of stone, calloused emotions, or even very deaf ears not to be affected by those pesky things around that need correction or improvement.  If so, then frustrations and/or anger could easily take over.  Or one gets prone to intuitively express unsolicited vocal criticisms at the very least.   If not more, like wanting to exhibit the itchy urge to try to do something about them.

For others, retreating in isolation to their own private little worlds is an escape option – their own beach-side or mountain-top hideaways, or hidden nooks and crannies in some remote barrio or town, etc.   Insulated from the rest of the world.

Anyway, coming back to stay for many of those planning to will not be that cut and dried, believe you me.  It will involve a lot of discovery or re-discovery, if you will, and making attitudinal adjustments in case the desire to stay put is strong.

Sorry to appear so grim and gloomy in my personal perspective, but I believe it is best to be forewarned and prepared.

Intellectuals, a bane in society?

One dreary midnight as I pulled myself up from bed racked with knotty restlessness causing sleeplessness, grudgingly raised myself to my tired feet looking for a diversion to distract my antsy mind. The laptop ever ready in hibernation mode was a welcomed respite. Pushed a button and made a couple of clicks and I was on my way for a quiet period of online reading. Found myself choosing to watch this video.

An interview of a kindly, but accomplished beyond measure, man in the person of Dr. Thomas Sowell, a person I have always admired and have read about online as much as time could allow me the luxury. He was being interviewed for his new book that just came out, entitled Intellectuals and Society.



It was a most interesting and mind-grabbing hour listening in rapt silence to the ideas being tossed about and debated. For me, it was an hour worth more than the sum of its minutes. It was both very elucidating and foreboding. The latter made me feel somber and fearful. Though I confess after watching the video it was quite easy to get back to sleep.

But then after waking up, the recalcitrant and troubling thoughts came rushing back and this time made me feel sad and helpless. Like the hopes of a better tomorrow being drained out slowly but surely. Implying that I could be expecting more of the same for more years to come.

After Dr. Sowell made his very convincing case about how the intellectuals from academia are running roughshod in our society with their self-righteousness and arrogance, one would think that right-thinking persons would awaken and see the error of their ways and choices.

But Dr, Sowell made the dire prognostication to a question about the forthcoming elections. Albeit the seeming inconvertible evidence to support his case, it would still be a 50-50 chance that the people responsible for our current woes in government and society will be removed from offices come election time in 2012.

I suppose the intellectuals are so ensconced in society that expeditiously removing them would not be that easy. Aside from controlling most of government now, they also rule academia, their seat of empowerment, and of course, the compliant mainstream media is also counted in their fold. And polls show that young voters, especially those fresh from academia, now carry the same chips on their shoulders as intellectuals unerring do - aiming for stronger and more extensive statism and churning out more programs aimed at more governmental entitlements making the citizenry more dependent on the state.

And those with less in life have also been recruited and conditioned to expect more from government for their daily livelihood - more welfare benefits for a far greater number of recipients and longer unemployment insurance entitlements being now the current dispensation.

And worse, Dr. Sowell appears not alone in this. I had read other conservatives project gloomy prospects for the more enlightened adults in our midst aspiring for public offices to try to get back their government and restore the country back to the moorings the founding fathers had envisioned.

No doubt, I continue to feel sad, frustrated and not very hopeful. I am decidedly hopeful about one thing. In this particular instance, I earnestly hope that Dr. Sowell and his like-minded band are wrong.

That enough people will awaken up on time and vote for the right candidates.

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.”

A Rhetorical Question on Self-Identity

It is still what you do that defines you, not what you were born to be or what you think you are. That is my belief.

In our HS email group, I posed the following after lazily toying around with it in my befuddled mind:

“Please allow me to ask a rhetorical question. This came to me after hearing many long-time expats declare that they will never forget their being Filipino regardless of their long absence from the old homeland.

Here goes.

Should one still consider oneself Filipino in spite of the fact that not only is one living outside of the old homeland, but also because one has no desire at all to return and live in the old homeland?

If the answer is positive, what could be the qualifications or reasons why one would think so?”

Now I had premised that it was a rhetorical question for two reasons. Because then it would not require any answers from those who may find it uneasy or queasy to be answering such a personal question. And secondly, because a rhetorical question is also a device used or proffered as proof of the negative.

And indeed, that possible confusion surfaced as gleaned from this second reply:

“A minor point but I thought a rhetorical question is one that doesn't require an answer. Perhaps rephrase the question. Or do you actually have more than one question? “

My retort to this then revealed my latent position of trying to prove the negative. That indeed, it is difficult to continue to consider oneself a Filipino when not only does one not live in the old homeland, but one has no desire at all to live in the old homeland in the foreseeable future.

But the first response did make a qualification on the last issue:

“As for me, I belong to the second group, no desire to return to live there--under the present conditions: political, sociological, health and safety. I also have my only extended family here. But I would love to return and live there under a different set of circumstances.”

Which qualification could be interpreted as tantamount to having no desire at all to return in his lifetime, since meaningful changes on the factors enumerated could not possibly occur within that time frame.

And I promptly replied:

“That's exactly what I want to find out. What expats mean when they make that statement. Of course, it has to be with things that can change. With ethnicity, there is nothing one can do to change that so that is out of the question. Loyalty could be one, but your actions would belie its veracity if you not only not live there but have no desire either to live there. Your old memories will be Filipino because you can't dismiss those. Love for the old homeland? But how expressed?”

The following came from two of my most astute classmates, who coincidentally are also both in the medical profession and incidentally were also both valedictorian and salutatorian in our HS graduating class:

“To answer your question,” when does one cease being a Filipino or whatever & become another “is when that person actually says so when asked - for whatever reason he /she may have at the time.

BTW, granting when viewed under the microscope your genes may not change per se, your environment, experiences, interactions etc may have affected your general being in such a way that the "gene" factor no longer carries much weight in the equation because different variables have ' diluted ' you.

Further, the point of metamorphosis, if you will, occurs when the resistance to such 'dilution' reaches critical mass & gives way to quiet surrender. How's that? You confused yet?”

“Your having dual citizenship is a practical matter that I myself am considering. It doesn't make you acquire a split personality or being ambivalent about it. Our genetic makeup is always Filipino and that cannot be changed by living abroad. By coming to the US, you have widened your perspective of the different types of cultures that in turn may have caused you to lose focus on your inner self. Listen to your heart and you will get your answer.”

“OK, then you and I are like Chameleons - we change colors depending on what the situation calls for- a practical adaptive mechanism of survival. It doesn't make a Chameleon any different from a Lizard. By way of historical comparison, think of the Japanese-Americans who were interned in California during WW11 because they were considered Japanese when actually their true allegiance was to America. Their true nature was still Japanese; or for that matter, the Japanese Senator from Hawaii who fought as an American soldier in Germany, or the Tuskegee Pilots who were branded as 2nd class citizens while fighting for America. They were Afro-Americans but still their nature and culture were still Blacks and yet their loyalty was as Americans as any Whites. Like I said, what you think you are comes from your inner self, not because of the dual citizenship. Hope these examples put your mind to rest.”

But I had decided to be stubborn and tenacious and thundered forth with this reply:

“One’s actions would not jibe with one’s protestations. Re genetics, I agree we can’t change those but many African Americans have ceased to consider themselves Africans, just Americans – and they do not live in Africa and have no desires to live there. So the question is at what point does one ceases being one and becomes another.”

What do you think?