The Wonders of Life

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!

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

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

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  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 and verdant 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 him 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/






UPDATE

Dated April 4, 2020, Cagayan de Oro.

https://culionmovie.com/2019/08/15/historical-sites-to-visit-in-culion/

After going through some blog entries about Culion, more remembrances as a kid who lived in the island for a while are brought to the fore.

It is the experience of driving to a steep hill and enjoying the commanding view on top.  A panoramic view of the island as it stretches into the sea.

I recall one late afternoon playing with my cousins, while intermittently watching and hearing people playing on the island’s tennis court.  Before long there was a vehicle loaded with some people on the way to a steep hill.  We clambered in and went for the ride to the top.  And true indeed, as we disembarked on top, we had a very exhilarating view of the entire island, the small houses dotting the landscape below and the lonely pier further down.  We could feel the wind on our faces on that late afternoon as we tarried our gaze down on the spectacle below.

Gnawing Pangs of Aloneness

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.