In search of Home

From my journal of 2006 - when I was in Cebu

After a long and agonizing flight from Dallas, I landed at Hongkong airport with a renewed energy. I say agonizing because when I left Dallas I was sad leaving behind friends, a boyfriend and my 30-year old daughter who was bawling after she dropped me off at the airport. On my lay over in San Francisco waiting for my flight to Hongkong, I contemplated on canceling the Asia leg of my flight and just turn around and go back home. But where is home? All my earthly possessions were in storage and some are on the belly of the Boeing 747. The sadness I felt was paralyzing but there is no looking back, I have let go of my apartment in Dallas to travel around Southeast Asia and try living as a female nomad then eventually settle down in my country of birth; the Philippines.
We landed ahead of schedule in Hongkong so I had more time to roam around but the only place that was open was Starbucks. I was glad to see it but after considering a cup of regular coffee which costs as much as feeding a family of 15 in Cebu, I decided to exercise my legs instead. I then took pictures of the planes against the backdrop of early morning sunlight beaming the cap of the mountains. A Filipino man approached me and offered to take the camera from me and took my picture with the planes and the mountains behind me. I asked where he came from. He would not tell me; all he would say is that he is a nomad. I did not like him already because of his evasive answer. A Filipino vagabond? I don’t know of a Filipino vagabond except the ones’ roaming around the streets in Cebu in tattered clothes and sleeps on the sidewalk. Proudly, I told him I live in the US even without him asking me.

The flight from Hongkong to Cebu takes less than three hours and after flying for 13 hours from the United States; this feels like a skip and a jump. An American friend of mine who now lives in Malaysia told me once that he feels like kissing the ground every time he lands in Asia from a trip abroad. This is how I feel everytime I land in Cebu. But this time I had mixed emotions; I was not happy nor was I sad. The ambivalence bothered me. I hold an American passport but I don’t feel American when I am in America, yet as soon as I land in Cebu, I could not wait to hand my passport to the immigration officer so he would see that I am an American. And that I am proud to be an American. This makes me realize that I don’t know who I am anymore. In Texas where I have lived the last 20 years, I always say, “ I want to go home” every time I think of going back to Cebu for a visit. But once in Cebu, I don’t feel I am home. When I see the word “Balikbayan –1 year” (returning Filipino permitted to stay 1 year) stamped on my passport I don’t know what to think. Should I be glad that I am permitted to stay that long? Or should I be mad that I am now told how long I can stay in my native country?

My friend Julie married an Australian and lives in Australia; she comes back to the Philippines every year. Her husband retired from Qantas Airlines and has travel privileges with the airline, he complains that Julie does not want to travel to other places but comes back to Cebu every year then complains about everything when she is in Cebu. I asked her where she considers home. She shrugged her shoulders, “I wish I know.” We talked about the pollution and population explosion in the island. The island is dirty, the politicians corrupt and the vehicular congestion topped off by the Filipinos affinity to diesel-powered vehicles. So why come back? The answer reminds me of what this actress said when asked where she likes best, Dallas or New York. (She was from Dallas and now lives in New York) “ Dallas is like, you have to go there because your mother lives there,” she says.
Connie married an American and has lived in so many countries because her husband worked for an oil company that makes him travel all over the world. She now lives in Malaysia for the last 15 years where I visited her recently. She owns a beautiful and spacious home there, one of the very few homes I would like to have. She makes this home for her husband Ron; she gets involved in every community affairs and knows almost everyone in the island. Her sister and son lives with them and yet, she is building another home in her hometown in the Philippines, with the intent of “one day going home.” Ron wants to be buried in the Philippines because he said that he wants to be where Connie will be; he is certain that is where Connie will live once he dies.

Don is buried in Cebu with the thought that Cebu will be most likely the place where I would ultimately park my old bones and I want him close by me. But Chat is in the US, and I don't feel I should be anywhere but near her. Choices.....it depresses me.

So where is home? Jesus said He is preparing a place for those who trusts Him and that one day He will come back to welcome us to Himself. There's the answer-thank God.

Enriched and Hollowed out

I watched Anthony Bourdain as he was leaving a jungle village in Malaysia and he said something that reverberated in my bones. " I don't feel like I belong here, but I also don't feel like I belong back in New York anymore-- is it possible to be enriched and hollowed out at the same time?" He said that with this look in his eye that seem to say he was deeply pained. Or was it just my imagination, knowing that it is me who was pained by the statement.

I want to live in Spain, in Malaysia, in Cebu or wherever just as long as it is different. I say that all the time, but when I think about moving to another apartment outside of the same area I am used to, I dread and I fear. Confused? yes. Restless? yes.

When I travel, I travel alone and that's the way I prefer it unless it is with a boyfriend or husband. I have no problem getting on a plane( alone) and go to another totally foreign country but at home, I go to the same gas station, same restaurant, same grocery store. Outside of that familiarity, I don't venture out because I don't do well if I do. I have tried to analyze myself on why I do what I do. I could come up with an acceptable excuse but not a valid answer. I don't think a psychiatrist is necessary because I feel that as long as I want to analyze myself, then I must still be ok. I need a psychiatrist to write prescriptions to knock me out of my lunacy sometimes but even that I am hesitant to do, because someone said (was it Willie Nelson) that he is glad to be crazy because "it keeps him from going insane."

This question of "sense of belonging" has haunted me constantly. I know that God created us with this need to be needed, the need to feel wanted and the need to belong. When we don't feel any one of these needs, then we are in trouble. Hardness and bitterness will set in if we lose the right perspective on these things. God has granted me the favor of being well liked by most people, but I have to tell you, before I developed a personal relationship with Jesus, I did not accept this favor, this gift from God. So I walked around with this chip on my shoulder, feeling sorry for myself, unwanted and mad at everyone. I do not want to go back there, but every once in a while, I feel the old self resurfacing and this happens mostly when I feel trapped by financial restrictions. I only have 2 vices -travel and spa treatments, oh and food. As long as I am able to do these things, I don't feel trapped, thus I am happy.

So let me go back to whatever my point of this rant was; being enriched and hollowed out at the same time. Yes, it is possible to feel both at the same time. But right now, I am only feeling hollowed, so I better drive over to some market and be enriched. At least, temporarily.

Problems or Opportunities

My son in-law's uncle came to visit him last week and over lunch with them I mentioned my latest car woes. Trying to empathize with me, he said jokingly, "I am going to get a horse and get rid of my truck, because I too, am tired of car repairs". I started to like the horse idea but very quickly I realized that as long as we are breathing, there will always be costs to pay. Horses will break down too, then you have to make a choice; horsemeat stew or vet bill.

I drive an old Mercury Mystique that I bought three and a half years ago. I paid cash for it because I don't want a monthly bill. The car is clean and runs well until one day it stopped cold in the middle of the road and my mechanic changed the timing belt. It has not been the same since. I got very frustrated and even angry, but I thought to myself that at least it is not my body that got messed up. I have taken it to 3 different mechanics including my favorite ones from Ghana. None could figure out why it jerks, like it is choking.

I received all kinds of opinions and advice, but they are just that. In all of these, I have to thank God that I have friends who are willing to help me. There's Don who got dirty crawling on the ground trying to change my tire. Actually his efforts were spent mostly on trying to figure out how to operate his industrial jack ( he just bought one and wanted to show it off) he did not know how to lower it after you raise the car. I have not operated one myself, but I know it should not be that hard. And he calls me everyday checking on my car. Then there's Billy, he is recovering from a liver cancer surgery and yet happily and willingly took the time to go with me to different garages. And after I casually mentioned to him that I need a better paying job to afford a better car, went on to get me an interview for a job with one of his friends in the electronics industry. Another friend offered a weekend get away to temporarily forget my car woes.

There are days when I could not see the light, all I could focus on is the black and empty space. No hope, no relief and things unraveling in my head. But at the end of the day, I stop and see a glimmer of hope. I recall the past of how God has always carried me through. On days when I could not see Him, I could feel His hand. When I could not feel His hand, I know I could trust His heart. And on real dark days that I doubt His heart, I don't worry because even when I am faithless, He remains faithful.

My car problem is not over yet- I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future. After all, I am in America, a land where "Be all you can be" is not just a military slogan, but a promise of reality to everyone.
I am thankful that I got this car problem, because now, I am forced to scrutinize my spending habits. Am I squandering my time and money? What area of my lifestyle needs to change? What do I need to cut back on in order to be able to save? Money saved is money earned.

At times when I feel sorry for myself for not having a husband or a boyfriend to take care of me, I have to shift gear immediately. Being single carry its' own merit. If I have a boyfriend, I would not have a lot of other male friends who makes me feel special. But on the other hand, if I have a boyfriend, when my car breaks down I only need to make one phone call instead of going down the list. Ah, you just can't have it all.

Them Jews

"We are Catholics" my parents and everyone around me said that. I did not know what that meant, but growing up I was told anything other than that was a cult. And when I did something bad as a child, my parents and siblings would then say " you are a Jew"- implying that I was as bad as the "Jews who killed Jesus." I bet you the Pope's adviser at the time was also the personal adviser of Adolph. After all, Adolph lived closer to Rome while my parents island was just a squigly among the thousands of islands in the Philippines. Yet, that man in the Vatican controlled my household and them Filipinos like puppets. And them hooligans claimed they went to 4 years of seminary schooling, but how come they don't know that although it was the Jews who made the cross and pound on the spikes, it is our sins who killed Jesus that "the scriptures might be fulfilled."

To a lot of Filipinos, Ninoy Aquino is a hero. Not that I would dare compare Jesus to Ninoy. Jesus is a Jew killed by the Jews, ok. Them Filipinos pulled the trigger on Ninoy, so why don't we call our malfunctioning filipino kids " you're a Flip ".


I have learned to love the Jews not because of my late husband, but through reading the Old Testament. If I claim to love God and God is and was patient and nurturing towards them inspite of their being "stubborn and stiffnecked" who am I to do otherwise? When God calls on an individual, God will accomplish His purpose regardless of that persons obedience or disobedience. God is not only long suffering, He is nurturing and forbearing. I want to show a few examples of how God's calling is irrevocable.

Abraham : For him to leave his country and family to "a land I will show you" an unclear order from God as to where that place is, yet Abraham pulled up stakes and left. But somewhere along the way, Abraham had some doubts about God's promises to him, or he would not have presented Sara (his wife) to Abimelech as his sister because of fear. Also, why give in to Sara's haste of having a child by Hagar if he was sure that God would give him a son from his own body, as He promised?
Then there's Gideon asking for signs (2 signs) before he will do what he was called to do -so he can be sure it is of God.
And what about Moses, explaining to God why he can't be His spokesman to led Israel out of Egypt. As if God did not know his frailties and his strenghts already? Isn't Moses' reluctance and explanation to God a sign that he really was not sure if God can deliver? Did God change his plan and agreed to use somebody else instead because Moses doubted Him? No, He gave in to Moses request to use Aaron but only as his assistant then went on the explain to Moses ; Who made man's mouth , or who makes him mute or deaf, or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord?"
And what about David? Solomon and Peter? I can go on and on, and show how God nurtures and show patience to people.

God put The Jews in charge of the oracles of God. God knows that their stubborness will be useful in His ultimate purpose in the end. His messenger (the Jews) will carry HIS message the way HE intended it to be, regardless that we don't think so. In the end, the Jews will lead us to the perfect blessing from the Jewish Meshia but for now, we should not withhold our love to the unbelieving sons of Israel. Christians are supposed to make the Jews jealous..in the sense that we claim and live out Yeshua HaMeshia as the fountain of life.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem and eat from the heritage of Jacob.

Another Today

As I was going through old photos, cards and letters, I have once again been reminded that life has to be lived in the present only. I have worried senselessly in the past about the future. Today, I started to fret again. I want things to happen but not sure what things. I am mourning the demise of a relationship but also eager to see what's going to open up for me. Doors are opening but my heart keeps yearning for the past and missing the future; what could have been. Why couldn't he love me as much as I loved him? I have not loved anyone as much, but it must not be enough for him.

We love who we love and we should never apologize for it.

I have made a big decision in my life this last week. I was told never to make a major decision soon after an end of a relationship, but I know that this is the only way to proceed. I already got someone involved so I have to go through with it. I may have decided in haste but for now it makes me feel good and it enables me to get up in the morning again with a sense of purpose.

I will be leaving friends and loved ones, but sooner or later, each of us will have to do what we have to do anyway. New beginnings, new sorrows and pain. But nevertheless, it has to be faced.

TODAY

I don't even know who Murphy is but the often quoted Murphy's Law "What can possibly go wrong, has" did happen to me this last 2 weeks. My car, my body, my personal love life has given way to breaking down. What could possibly break down, has.

TODAY, as I was listening to the singing and preaching at church, I realized that repentance about our sins does not come as easily when we want to. Of course we have to want to repent, but most importantly and very necessary is the help of God for us to "truly repent". True repentance only happens from the heart, not from the mind. My mind has told me so many times in my life of the things I needed to repent, but my heart continues to misbehave and do it's own thing anyway.

When things don't go well in our life, we need to ask God why things are happening and learn the lesson that needs to be learned and move on. Some things are not always clear, as to how we should proceed. This is when we really need the wisdom of God.

TODAY, I also was enlightened about prayers. Most of the public prayers I have heard in church are about telling God "how much we love Him, that we will serve Him and praise Him." God knows how and what we feel towards Him. But instead, we should rephrase it and "ask" God to "help us, to love Him, serve and praise Him, in the way that pleases Him."

In the bible, Jesus warned : by their fruits you shall know them. Actions, not words. I have no problem with corporate prayers but my problem is when we toot our own horns about "how much we love God". I believe that corporate prayers should be to petition God to enable us - because without God, we could not even love Him. To arrive at true repentance we need God - to calm and discipline our heart. NO other way will work, and no other work will suffice.

TODAY, also is a red letter day for me. About 2 months ago, when I visited the Holocaust museum, inside by the front desk a sign reads " Remember Darfur". I had no clue where or what is happening in Darfur. I heard of it but resigned it to some political "crap" I thought. Then I happen to read on it again and I started to feel a pang in my heart about it. I said " No, Lord, not Darfur." I am not going to Darfur. Well, how can I get to Darfur? Again, no Lord, not Darfur.
Well, TODAY, the founder of Safe Harbor International spoke in our church about Darfur. Am I going to Darfur? Ask God.

Living and Let Die

There's a Hindu belief that formulated the course of a human life into 4 distinct stages. I am not well versed on the Hindu teachings but this I find to be noteworthy. Something to ponder upon.

1st stage - Childhood and Youth
2nd stage- Householder, child-bearing, building a family
3rd stage - Retirement to a forest hut, live simply and talk philosophy
4th stage - Renunciation of wealth and prepare for death.

I want to talk about each stage as it applies to me. As a child and into my youth, unlike some who remembers every detail of their childhood, I only remember bits and pieces. What I remember must hold deep meanings. It was a childhood of labor, most of it was spent in school or in the farm working or peddling produce from the farm. I did very well in school, always finished as valedictorian of the class until my last 2 years of elementary school. I got sick with typhoid fever which kept me out for almost 2 months, and when I got back in school, I was very weak. And even though I did not really try hard for the honor, I graduated with 2nd honor to the valedictorian. I did not like school, I only enjoyed the time when we did the gardening or when my boy friends play any game that we can throw a bet on.

I eloped and married at 17, had a baby at 19 and found myself -a child raising a child. It was a season of confusion, bewilderment and personal shake up but it was also the beginning of a life truly lived. My daughter was born and even though, I was overwhelmed with the new role I had to play, she served as my guide stick - like how blind people use it to feel the path before them. Chat and I, even though we lived with our extended family, it was unspoken but understood, the family we will build is just her and me. Her father chose not to build with us.

Four days ago, I turned 50. To some it is middle age, to others it is a number they don't want to talk about. I have been waiting for this number to come and it is here and I love it. If God chose to give me this long life, I must be special, therefore I am grateful. The number does not define me, I define the number. I don't feel it is the retirement year as to "not working" kind of retirement. But I feel it is time to retreat to a forest hut. Of course anyone who lives in a hut has to live simply and be philosophical.

The other day, I laid out all my jewelries that I have accumulated through the years, trying to find a way to store them. These are not cheap ones, I thought, and at one point they were what defined me. About 6 years ago, I started to feel the burden of this material things in my life. I started to feel not only the heaviness of the metals on my body, I also started to see the worlds' goods growing strangely dim. And what a liberating feeling! I then slowly understood that in order to prepare for death, I have to master the art of living. Slowly, I have learned to shed off the things that so entangles me, but daily I am reminded that it is not easy. Daily, I push myself ( I say push, because again, it is not easy) to focus on the real wealth that I have inherited, this is not to be renounced but to be preserved, protected, cherished and be grateful for. What I have in Christ transcends everything the world has offered and continues to offer.
Thomas Kempis, a 14th century Christian monk prayed that he wouldn't die of sudden death, but rather be given the knowledge that he was dying so he can prepare to let go of the body and return to the Divine his spirit.
My prayer is simple but is born out of fear; I pray for my mind to be blocked so I don't hear the murmuring and complains of my caregivers on my last days on earth, but I also want a lucid mind so I can see the curtain part open before I cross over and feel Jesus leading me to the father. But before I cross over I need to live. And live abundantly.

Rolls Royce and The Salvation Army

I first visited Hongkong in 1984. My American boyfriend wanted me to meet him there for the weekend because he was working in Guangzhou and I was living in Manila. It was my first trip outside of the Philippines and yes, I was 27 and never been away from the farm. Jerry made all the arrangements and you bet, it was always the best money can buy. I know that now.

Jerry told me to just follow the sign after I clear immigrations and customs and he would be outside the door waiting. I was so nervous I just wanted to see him and know he was there. And there he was just as he said. We headed towards a black car with a uniformed driver opening the door for us. He told me we were staying at the Peninsula. Ok, I have been to the Pen in Manila, but what do you call this car? I have not seen one like this. Rolls Royce, he said.
When we arrived at the hotel, he mumbled something about afternoon tea. I was not interested in tea or the afternoon --I was mesmerized by the "grandeur" of the hotel lobby. But back then my vocabulary was very limited I could not have used mesmerized and grandeur at the same time. It was more like “Wow! Damn, look at this sh..”
We got to the room, and the first thing Jerry said was " don't pack that robe in your suitcase when we check out, I am not paying for it" I did not notice the robe hanging in the bathroom until he mentioned it. Jerry is just so romantic that way.

Our room was overlooking the water with the view of the buildings across in the Hongkong side. Jerry took a picture of me looking out the window. He gets tickled, he says watching my eyes grow big from excitement. We ate and shopped. And after seeing all the Chinese trinkets on the sidewalk, the pearls and the 24 carat gold chains and bangles in every corner and no money of my own to buy, I hinted to Jerry that I needed a blender. See? It’s only 35 Hongkong dollars. But he said I don't need it. Then he bought me a Hermes scarf from the Hermes store. I never wore it, but I still keep it, just to remind me the difference between need and want.

In 1986 I married someone else, also an American, and in November 1997 for our 10th wedding anniversary, Don and I came to Hongkong. It was the first for Don but this time it is different because Don did not have money like Jerry. We stayed at the Salvation Army’s Booth Lodge. We checked in around 2 a.m. wide-awake, Don started humming Amazing Grace while I checked out the bathroom. Definitely not The Pen. Don’s always happy anywhere; we sat in bed singing hymns until we fell asleep. The lodges’ cafe was its’ redemption because it was like having a meal in your porch. One time while out shopping, we found ourselves sitting in a restaurant where no one spoke English but we did not want to leave because the food on other people’s plates made us salivate. We managed to order using our hand pointing at other people’s food. Food and shopping in Hongkong we love but the elbow-to-elbow crowd of people made me feel claustrophobic. In fact, when 9/11 happened, the pandemonium on the street of New York reminded me of one afternoon when Don and I were walking back to the lodge and people packed every street you could not walk fast if you wanted to. The first couple of days we were in Hongkong we learned to just duck into an eating-place, which is everywhere whenever the crowds overwhelmed us. One time we ducked into a jewelry store and came out with pearl earrings.
Don loved Hongkong but he loves the flight attendants of Cathay Pacific more. Even flying cattle class, Don always acted like he was eating in a Michelin-star restaurant. He would run the flight attendants rugged asking for this and that. I would remind him we were at 32000 feet- under the mercy of a pilot not pampered by a chef. He loved the Cathay Pacific attendants "because they are always pleasant and gentle unlike other airlines" is his standard line when he brags to our friends. "And they are sooo pretty." Now, that part ticked me off.

Don really enjoyed his first trip to Hongkong, that even during the SARS panic, he refused to fly on another airline. When we flew in 2003 to supposedly retire in Cebu, he was not well. As soon as we boarded, Don immediately flopped into his seat making the other seats next to him his own. We were told at the Cathay Pacific counter the plane was almost empty because people were afraid to fly because of the SARS.

In 2005 my daughter Chat and her husband John honeymooned in Asia with Hongkong as their jump off city to get back to the US. Chat liked Hongkong because of the shopping – she bought all kinds of imitation anything ( she gets the flu if she does not buy) and she loved the train system. She would love the horse and buggy too as long as it would take her to the mall. And John? He crinkles them lips and rolls his eyes. Yes, even with his almost real Rolex.

One day, We will all be

I have finally set up my office --right in the middle of my living room. I liked this apartment because it was brand new when I moved in, I also liked the niche that served as computer/office space. The smallness of it did not make me feel cramped but rather secure, yet, regardless of the things I like in it, it just don't feel homey. But today I am going to tackle the task of trying to make it one. I will attempt to make it look like someone actually lives here. But I will not be at peace til I share this article I have filed away more than 5 years ago. This was written by a physician and published by Focus on the Family; the brain-child of Dr. James Dobson. It still touches me.

“The Golden Rule, Revisited”

They lie there, breathing heavy gasps, contracted into a fetal position. Ironic, that they should live 80 or 90 years, then return to the posture of their childhood. But they do. Sometimes their voices are mumbles and whispers like those of infants or toddlers. I have seen them, unaware of anything for decades, crying out for parents long since passed away.

I recall one who had begun to sleep excessively, and told her daughter that a little girl slept with her each night. I don’t know what she saw. Maybe an infant she lost, or a sibling, cousin or friend from years long gone. But I do know what I see when I stand by the bedside of the infirm aged. Though their bodies are skin-covered sticks and their minds an inescapable labyrinth, I see something surprising. I see something beautiful and horrible, hopeful and hopeless. What I see is my children, long after I leave them, as they end their days.
This vision comes to me sometimes when I stand by the bedside in my emergency department, and look over the ancient form that lies before me, barely aware of anything. Usually the feeling comes in those times when I am weary and frustrated from making too many decisions too fast, in the middle of the night. Into the midst of this comes a patient from a local nursing home, sent for reasons I can seldom discern.
I walk into the room and roll my cynical eyes at the nurse. She hands me the minimal data sent with the patient, and I begin the detective work. And just when I’m most annoyed, just when I want to do nothing and send them back, I look at them. And then I touch them. And then, as I imagine my sons, tears well up and I see the error of my thoughts. For one day, it may be.

One day, my little boys, still young enough to kiss me and think me heroic, may lie before another cynical doctor, in the middle of the night of their dementia, and need care. More than medicine, they will need compassion. They will need someone to have the insight to look at them and say, “Here was once a child, cherished and loved, who played games in the nursery with his mother and father. Here was a child who put teeth under pillows, and loved bedtime stories, crayons and stuffed animals. Here was a treasure of love to a man and a woman long gone. How can I honor them? By treating their child with love and gentility. By seeing that their child has come full circle to infancy once more, and will soon be born once more into forever.”

This vision is frightful because I will not be there to comfort them, or to say, “ I am here” when they call out, unless God grants me the gift of speaking across forever. It is painful because I will not be there to serve them as I did in life, and see that they are treated as what they are: unique and wonderful, made in the image of the Creator, and of their mother and me. It is terrible because our society treats the aged as worse than a burden; it treats them as tragedies of time. It seems hopeless because when they contract and lie motionless, no one will touch them with the love I have for them, or know the history of their scars, visible and invisible. I am the walking library of their lives, and I will be unavailable. All I can do is ask, while I live, for Gods’ mercy on them, as they grow older.

And yet, the image has beauty and hope as well. Because if I see my little boys, as aged and infirm, I can dream that their lives were long and rich. I can dream that they filled their lucid years with greatness and love that they knew God and served Him well, and were men of honor and gentility. I can imagine that even if they live in their shadow land alone, somewhere children and grandchildren, even great-grandchildren thrive. I can hope that their heirs come to see them, and care, and harass the staff of the nursing home to treat Grandpa better. I can hope that they dare not allow my boys to suffer, but that they hold no illusions about physical immortality, and will let them come to their mother and me when the time arrives. And best, I can know that their age and illness will only bring the day of that reunion closer.

My career as an emergency room physician has taught me something very important about dealing with the sick and injured, whether young or old. It has taught me that the Golden Rule also can be stated this way: “Do unto others as you would have others do unto your children.” I think that this is a powerful way to improve out interactions with others, not just in medicine but in every action of our lives. And it is certainly a unique way to view our treatment of the elderly. For one day all our children will be old. And only if this lesson has been applied will they be treated with anything approaching the love that only we, their parents, hope for them to always have.
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Memories

I parked next to a white Kia at the farthest end of the library parking lot. I needed a place to hang out while waiting to see if my Guyana boys can get me in and fix my car. Raj said to come back later that day or bring it in on a weekday. "Today is just too crazy" Mahesh said with an embarrassed smile. Mahesh and Raj are brothers who work the shop while going to college. Mahesh also sells real estate on top of all that. Both boys are so so polite. I love them, I want them to succeed but I fear that if they get their college degrees they might not fix my car anymore. Who can I trust then?
The sun has not come out and it was starting to rain. Not wanting to go in the library and not wanting to go home, I decided to read the Dalai Lama's biography I had carried in my bag. I would read a page then I would close my eyes, romanticizing the few raindrops that escaped into my left arm. Oh, the raindrops! it transported me back to my childhood when I would sleep on top of the pile of the newly harvested corn which occupied our little house. The tin roof had holes and rusty too-the rust would fall with the raindrops. The corn without the husks, felt cool on my little body, but it was the dribble of the raindrops on my skin that left me poetic.

Then the rain stopped. I looked towards the Kia and I noticed that there was an elderly couple sitting inside. The woman in the drivers seat was reading a newspaper and the man was slouched on the seat with his eyeglasses on, asleep. I continued reading for another 20 minutes then decided I should leave and check on my Guyana boys, but something about the couple on the Kia made me reflect. Sadly. She was no longer reading the paper but was staring out. Her head cradled on the headrest, she would move her head once in a while then stare out again. The man was now awake but they were not talking. He, too, was staring out but comfortably. So why don't they go home?
I lingered because I needed answers. Then I remembered. For the same reason why Don and I did the same thing before. So many times.

My need to reconnect

I have a special attachment to foods or memory of foods. Before science found a way to spoil my dinner, foods really tasted like food. I say this with nostalgia because I remember my childhood in Cebu. Our house was surrounded with fruit bearing trees and they grew and produced without any aid of fertilizer or pesticides. I remember fruits oozing of the ripe smell. We had several mango trees and to make them bloom, we would burn fresh tree leaves under them. To protect the fruits from insects, we wrapped them individually with used newspaper. We bought the newspaper from the rich people. When it was time to make the mangoes bloom, my dad and I would hike up to the mountain to cut down some trees for burning. We dry the lower trunk and use them for firewood and the upper trunk with fresh leaves to smoke the mangoes. I learned to transport them with my bare hands and pull them efficiently; hold on to the biggest trunk and piggy back the smaller ones on top. Those were special times with my dad because he would buy sweet bread for my lunch while his is the poor mans meal of rice wrapped in banana leaves. Also, along the way he would let me climb and pick up some wild berries. One particular berry is the "lomboy". It is violet with white flesh and a hard seed. When ripe it gets real dark in color, plump and sweet, but leaves your tongue dyed in black-purplish color.
Now, everytime I am in Cebu, I would try to find them in the street market but I seldom find them and when I do, they are not plump nor are they sweet. So are the mangoes. I look for them not to eat, but mostly out of longing for the past. The "lomboy" has become almost extinct, while the mangoes are now grown abundantly and made to produce commercially.
A lot of grocery stores in Dallas sells mangoes, but I don't usually buy them because they are not the same variety as the one's I was used to--they are fibrous and does not turn yellow orange in color. The Asian market carries the Philippine variety but they are expensive and I only want it more out of nostalgia than wanting to eat it.
I like to take long walks by the creek behind my apartment. Thick cluster of trees and bushes with berries unfamiliar to me meanders with the creek. I look up to God, thank Him, and I smile to myself. The sight is my opiate for the day -regardless that I come home with swollen eyes and raw nostrils from the allergens.
Whenever I pass by the display of mangoes in the store (even when I am not buying) subconsciously I always stop- to stare or to touch. It is nostalgia, but, I have this need of wanting to romanticize the past.

Any Number will Do

"We know how old Martin was when the Japanese killed him" my uncle said it almost without emotion, "but the rest of us, we don't know our birthdays." My uncle was referring to his siblings. Martin is their oldest brother who was killed by the Japanese during world war II. My mom's name is Valentina , she told us her birthday is on Valentines day. When we asked how old she was she would give us an approximate. No one bothered to question her, because we don't celebrate hers or her kids birthdays anyway. I sure did not remember celebrating my own until I had a job. In the Philippines, the birthday celebrant is expected to treat people to food, unlike in America.
"Money is so tight to just spend it in one day" she would explain. She would inculcate in our heads to be glad just to have food on the table every day.
In our household Christmas and birthdays were just the same as any other day. Last August, I gathered my aunts and uncles (2 aunts, 2 uncles living) and I asked them about their birthdays. All four of them don't know! "How old do you think you are?" I asked in disbelief and amazement. "Well, our parents told us to count 2 years apart from the oldest and 4 years to the youngest one." I said that is fine, "but what year do you start with?" They believed Martin was born in 1911. As we were talking, I was amazed at how unimportant or unsymbolic their birthdays meant to them. Since nothing special is done on anyone's birthday, why care? "So how old was my mom when she died? " All four of them started talking at the same time and giving their best guesses. Their best guess was what they had come to accept. So we figured 80 is about right. She would have been 39 when she had me. I am the youngest of 5 siblings and I came 7 years after the 4th one. They did not expect to have another baby. Make sense why I was called a "precipitate" in the family.
"So how come my mom knew her birthday is on Valentines day?" I pressed on. "It was later in our adult years that we made it up, because her name rhimes with Valentines day." They said matter-of-factly. My grandparents did not believe in them sitting in the shade learning how to read and write when they should be growing food in the field. None of them were born in the hospital and none of them went to school, so that eliminated the need for a birth certificate. They did have a baptismal certificate because every Catholic baby has to be baptized or the witch will snatch the baby away from your house. My grandparents were not church-going people but the long arm of the Catholic law had a chokehold on them.

When I first got married a baptismal certificate was required as I did not have a birth certificate. I went to the church registrar where an old lady flipped through this black book with yellowed pages and edges that looked like it was chewed on by some bugs. She could not find my records so I told her when I was told I was born and when I was baptized. (Catholic baptism) Back then, before computers, a bribe was cheaper. It did not bother me that they could not find my records. I never was one to put a special meaning on birthdays anyway- my parents attitude must have rubbed on me.
But lately, as my 50th birthday is approaching, I ponder. Not pondering because I suddenly think birthdays are special, but because ,I feel turning 50 is. Also, after my sister died at 45, every year after I turned 45, I considered it to be a bonus from God. I used to question my being born at all, but now I am confident that I have a purpose built in me by God. As He told Jeremiah in the Old Testament, "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you." So before they carve my tombstone and inscribe my date of birth and my date of expiration, I want to make sure I fill in the dash. Not with wishes but with accomplishments. And 50 is as good as any number to start with.

Amen Corner and ....

"Some emotions cannot be endured with a golf club in your hand" - a quote from Bobby Jones regarding his temper and club-throwing. I know what he meant because as we were approaching the Amen Corner, (hole 11, 12 and 13) the emotions bubbling up inside me could only be endured with tears, as no words were good enough to justify what I felt.

I feel embarassed by my reaction, but, it was like entering heaven and saying, " I made it, I am saved after all." Almost like a religious experience. And I am not alone in thinking that because the next day when we met with some touring pros from Asia, a guy named Chua expressed the same feelings and observation without me even telling him about my own experience. In 1958, Herbert Warren Wind, a journalist with Sports Illustrated coined the word Amen Corner in search of a perfect name for the location where the critical action was taking place that year. A poetic moment in golf and all a journalist could do is borrow an old jazz recording title "Shouting from Amen Corner" to describe it.

In the early 80's, while still in Manila, my friend NJ and his friend JC would fondly banter about "green jacket, amen corner and tee time." I knew what tee time meant, but did not relate green jacket and amen corner to golf. Augusta,I presumed was another racehorse.

So you can imagine, when 25 years later, my pumas walked the grounds of Augusta, surveyed Amen Corner and the men in green jackets. "When you see men in green jackets, it means they are members of this club." NJ relayed the trivia to me almost in a whisper. And NJ is not one to waste saliva on things that he himself is not impressed with.I noticed a few more "green men" strategically scattered along the course and I watched them almost with a reverential awe.

Those men walked around in that jacket like how the Pope strut in his mitre. That jacket sure did something because there's this man who was square,round and not tall--we would easily call him fat and ugly, were it not for the reverence of the jacket. But watch my lips on this, I will not bend a knee for that Gucci spectacled, Prada footed man in the Vatican regardless how many Roman numerals are added after his name. But I will with both knees for those men in green jacket. Square or round.

I did not appreciate the trees we had in our yard when we lived in a house, because spring means raking in dead leaves and tons of them. I like trees as long as I don't have to clean up after them. And walking around the course were young men in yellow overalls and green cap-you would think they were caddies badly needing attention, but their backs says "Litter". Yes, they were cleaning up after the people..... and the trees. Arranging pine needles.

The most abundant tree at the course is the pine and around 1600 azaleas of about 30 varieties landscaped hole number 13 from tee to green. Each of the holes are adorned with a plant after which it was named . It could not be more appropriate because the course used to be the site for Fruitland Nurseries. Since the course was built and formally opened in 1933, an estimated 80,000 more plants of 350 varieties have been added. I was awestruck at the landscape I did not even notice the Tiger approaching the 11th tee. And just as he was a spit away from me, my camera battery died on me. I cried again.

On my flight back to Dallas I read in the paper about some woman protesting about Augustas' exclusionary policy against women. I understand there are merits to this so-called feminists' movement. But all I am asking is, are we ready to see men waltzing into the womens restrooms and let them use the sink as a urinal, while we are powdering our high noses next to them? Equal opportunity ---I think I am going to cry again.

The Masters

To say I had the best time in Augusta is only half the story. I don't remember why or how I fell in love with golf. As a young girl, part of my house chore was to take our carabao to pasture. It is important that the carabao eats well because it supports the family by plowing the field. I would be perched on its back feeling tall with the wind blowing in my face as it took me to a greener pasture, the Cebu Country Club. We lived next to the only golf course in the island and I would take my carabao there because the grass next to the fairways were always green and abundant. Most days, when I found stray golf balls, (mostly from the Japanese golfers) I would collect them and take them home for my brother to break open and pry out the small bouncing rubber ball inside. We had no use for the golf balls as we didn't have any friends who played golf-we had no rich friends. But we could play with the bouncing little rubber ball.
Fast forward to a few years later, I got a job, moved to Manila and acquired an American boyfriend to boot. Besides drinking, he loved to scuba dive but talks and breath golf most of the time when he was not talking about a "racehorse." Translation : good looking women.
One afternoon he took me to this country club called Wack-Wack, to claim his prize; a thermos bottle. My first time inside a country club so I tried to act like how people act in a country club. Like I'm used to it. It did not feel right --feeling tall even without the carabao?

Twenty five years later, the now ex-boyfriend, ex-golfer, took me inside the grounds of Augusta National for the 2007 Masters. I was overwhelmed with emotions I could not come up with the right words to justify what I felt. I was elated for the experience of being inside, but also, there was this tinge of emotion that was hard to discern. When he put his arm over my shoulder to point my attention to the pine needles neatly raked in to an almost decorative pile, I felt a different surge of emotion. The momentary weight of his arm on my shoulder was comfortable. I felt at home.

It was great watching the pros'- the heralded and the unheralded do the practice rounds . It was fun eavesdropping on peoples conversation too. One woman asked her husband what Tiger Woods babys' name was. He didn't remember, he said. Came to find out, Tigers wife is not even due til July. As we got to our seats at the bleachers, 2 men sat in front of us. I got hungry watching them eating eating an egg salad sandwich and pimiento cheese sandwich. But then the other guy started talking out loud about everything; from his homosexual neighbor to global warming. If they pay him 150k, he would find global warming, he assured his buddy. I did not know you are supposed to find global warming. His annoying subjects turned my hunger into anger, but in that environment I found it hard to really be angry and mean it.

Inside the Augusta National, there was much to savor. My eyes could only look at so much and my heart can only feel so much. I am just now beginning to describe them in my minds eye and gently trying to preserve the pitter- patter in my heart. Gently, least I wake up.

I flew in to Atlanta and drove to Augusta on a rent a car. This whole experience was (for lack of a better word) like a "booster shot" for me. You see, I have always wanted to go to another State outside of Texas and rent a car. To a lot of Americans, that is nothing, but to me that is something more like jumping out of the plane and operating a parachute for the first time. Driving is not the problem, I can drive in any kind of traffic and in any kind of freeways...using a map to direct me was the hurdle. Reality is what you perceive it to be, right? I perceived it to be a big problem. .. but only in my mind, because the whole experience was really a breeze. And this brings home the point that "defeat starts in the mind, of the things we worry about, less than 1% of it really happens".

Even though I booked my car through the web, I had to stop by their counter at the airport to sign some papers. The male clerk, had a wedding ring on, but acted so gay...not gay as in "happy". He kept suggesting that the car I had rented through the web which was a compact, was too small, making a gesture with his fingers like a salt pinch and squinting his eyes at the same time, describing the car as "very small to drive long distance". "GS6 is very nice, sporty" he says this with a gay smile. I don't like sporty, what else is there? He could not come up with any other model but mentions Corolla then taps his head with that gay hand gesture again and apologetically says he needs coffee to remember the other kind of cars they have. Don't under-estimate the power of suggestion; I drove out of there 90 dollars poorer. I got on the shuttle and as we drove in to the lot, I saw the different kinds of car spread across the property. I had to stop by the office to pick up my GPS. Yes, no map. Global Positioning System, that's what I should use, my boyfriend insisted. I am 2 continents away from being a techie, but my boyfriend is. At 12 years old when he was laid up in the hospital for an appendics problem, he got hold of an electronics magazine and a rush of enzymes whispered and burned in his heart the passion that God had placed in him from his mothers womb. Electronics Engineer, is not his title; that is who he is.

Out of the many choices of cars in the lot, I drove out of the lot in a silver GS6-- sporty, yes, but not "middle age crisis" sporty. I asked the exit clerk how the GPS works, she said as soon as I start driving it will start talking to me. But it kept quiet even after I turned the corner from the exit booth. I turned right and had no choice but turn left at the end, then it started talking. It directed me out of the airport complex to the main highway and out into I-20. As I was driving and wondering when the voice would come on next, I realized that driving with a GPS in a totally new environment, is like driving blind while able to see. Or doing something like a robot would. I then understand why God created us with a free will and promised that He would not violate that free will. Not knowing any other way to get to Augusta, I had to follow the voice. When I started, I did not know if I could really trust the GPS, but after the voice in that box got me out of the airport maze and put me on I-20 heading east, I started to let go and let the GPS direct me to 2799 Henry Street in Augusta. During those 2 hours drive, I was listening to the voice of my boyfriend on the cell phone while the female voice of the GPS would come on intermittently. The 2 voices comforted me immensely, but I worried that the battery of my cell and the GPS would die out on me. When I surrendered my will and my life to God 12 years ago, I did not fully trust God either. I don't always hear Gods' voice, and when I do, I still question it, if it is really Him speaking. But one thing I know; on my best day He gives me great joy, on my worst day, He walks me through it. "Turn right and stop at final destination" the female voice echoed again. I have arrived! Both batteries lasted but I know it was neither of the audible voices that got me there.

The Lawyer

He is 65 years old, she is 19. His skin touching yellow, dragging so slow as he walks and with sunken eyes you would think that he is on his death bed were it not that he is sitting up in his office chair talking loud, peppering his speech with bits and pieces of curse words.
" I used to think Angelina Jolie is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, but not anymore, she fell on the wayside compared to my baby in the Philippines" He was not in the least bit interested in talking about my friends legal case. My friend hired this lawyer to defend him, but anytime my friend asked him legal questions, he would dismiss it with a shrug of the shoulder. All he wanted to talk about was this 19 year old girl that he met when he went to the PI three weeks ago.

When my friend hired this lawyer in November, they got to talking about Filipino women. The lawyer got very interested, did not waste time and got on the plane for the Philippines to meet the 2 women that my friend introduced to him through email. I know both of the women, one is 30 years old the other 24. I had not met this lawyer but only heard about him through my friend so when the 2 women asked me about this lawyer, all I said was " see for yourself and pray about it."

One of them is about to become a whirlwind mail order bride. The women are desperate to come to America, the lawyer is desperate for a wife. He is on a liver transplant waiting list. Whoever he would choose between the 2 will be ok, no hurt feelings, my girlfriends told me. He arrived and they met him. The 30 year old was the one who met him first.
"Eeewww, he is gross, and he is very demanding." First email.
"Everybody laughs at us, he is disgusting, I am too sexy for him." Second email.
I tried to be funny in my response, "can you lower your standard a little bit, your age is about to get out of the calendar range," " No way, I will just stay in the Philippines and be an old maid, or I will go to Saudi Arabia, work as a maid." Last email.

I did not hear from her anymore or from the 24 year old. We waited til the lawyer got back and I went with my friend to see him. My friend went to ask some more questions about his case for the coming trial, and I went with him because I am nosy.
My friend was mostly talking to the secretary and making sure things were noted as they should. It was a good idea because the lawyer was sitting there but I really think he was not all there. " I want to show you pictures of my baby, I am in love!" he blared, turning for affirmation from his secretary, " tell them, have you ever heard me say that I am in love in the 26 years you have worked for me? never, right?" His secretary tried to summon the right words, but could not. "Aahh, yes."

My friend and I never really asked the question, who the girl was, we were waiting for him to tell us but my friend could not stand it anymore, he had to ask because neither one of us knew about this new development and our now obviously rejected 24 and 30 year old friends did not tell us about this either. Maybe they were just glad to get him off the island. Not only was he foul mouth and cocky, he makes you think that his money buys him the license to be.

The secretary handed us a lot of pictures of the lawyer and our 2 friends and some other people they were having meals with. I asked which one is his "baby" and the lawyer or the secretary had a hard time pointing to which one in the group. Finally we got to the solo picture of the 19 year old. " She is pretty," my friend and I chorused. " She is very beautiful and I am in love."
We found out she is a cousin to the 24 year old. I got curious, " how are you going to get her here? It is very hard for her to come here unless you petition her to become your wife."
His answer floored me. " I am not going to marry her, I don't believe in marriage, but I am a multi-millionaire. I will bring her here and send her to language school."

I tried to be funny -"You mean accent school?" He did not like that I have to correct him, or perhaps his sense of humor went down with his liver. "No, I am sending her to language school, so she can speak big words." I don't know when to shut up, so I continued, "Naah, just let her sit in front of the tv, she will learn big words real quick that way" "No, I am sending her to language school, I have money." I knew he would not let me have the last word, so I shut up.

But honestly she really will not need language school. I figured after a week of sitting next to the lawyer watching tv, she would come up with big words or maybe a full sentence like " That's retarded. Stop bossing me or I unplug your oxygen."
And after 6 months, she will move on to learn bigger words and use it in a sentence like, " Yes, your honor, I am the wife and beneficiary. And no, he did not commit suicide."

February 14

It has been a few weeks that I have not had the inspiration or maybe I should just admit - no energy to hit the keys and pound on my brain to blog! But tonight I want to write a few words to summarize my night. Today is February 14!!! And no - I do not have a Valentine, so after work, I came home and ate dinner from left overs of a week ago and went to church. I have stopped going to Wednesday night service but tonight I have signed up to help in the children's ministry. I often said that I don't do kids, but since my experience with the kids in Cebu last year, I felt that God wants me to serve here too. I arrived just in time to meet Angel and Jackie, the husband and wife team who leads the Childrens ministry. They let me observe first then asked me to help with little things like giving out the toys or checking their work about the bible. In the beginning, during the worship and singing, I noticed that the kids are very well behaved inspite of their being typical kids; active and loud. There were more than 30 kids but one boy in particular I think had a sack of sugar for dinner. He was using his thighs as drums then he would jump then beat on the chair and was really enjoying himself. The boy next to him, caught some of his energy too but was pretty mild compared to him. They sang a song that was written by this boy named Ezekiel, and the drummer and the guitarist really produced a good melody to it. You can tell Ezekiel was pretty proud after they sang the song.
I was pretty proud of myself too, because I found myself really enjoying the kids, when I used to be annoyed with their noise and chatter. I am not maternal and I don't think I am good with kids, but more and more I am now beginning to understand why God gives us kids---to help us understand why inspite of our disobedience He still loves us. One kid was trying to cheat his way to get a reward and demanded what I should give him while another kid was very meek and tried to explain to me that he did his homework but could not find the book, could he please get his reward. As I stood back during the break and observe silently, I realized that if God can be so patient with us adults, why are we so easily mad at kids misdemeanor?
My adrenalin was pumping from the chattering and shouting of the kids in that room but as I was leaving, one boy shyly asked me if I wanted a valentines card. Before I could even say yes, he put it in my hand and ran away. It was not even a valentines card, but a sports card and he wrote his name on it. I did have a Valentine after all..thank you, Andrew.

Trust the process

I am reading this book by Dr. Kathleen Hall titled A Life in Balance. In this book she talks about the first time she had experienced panic attack which leads to drastic changes in her life. She gives the prescription to nourish the roots of our life, with the acronym S.E.L.F. Serenity, Exercise, Love, Food. The book is really about mind-body health. It is very persuasive and informational but the information is not a novel idea. Jesus taught all these 2000 years ago. I can cite so many examples of this teaching in the bible, but what I really think sums up the whole teaching is the scene where Jesus was hanging on the cross in the middle of the day; hunger eating at him and the people shouting and mocking him, not to mention the excruciating pain of the nails pounded through His wrists. Physically you can see Him almost beaten to a pulp, bleeding externally He was not a sight to see, internally His organs were collapsing and yet in the midst of all that, His soul was at peace. He was still full of love, not hate. How do I know? because He asked for forgiveness for the ones who hurt him.
Nothing and no one impressed Jesus to make him alter his convictions. LOVE hinges the 10 commandments. No greater peace, no greater works, no greater food than the fruits love produces when you exercise it in truth. Without the wisdom of God, we can not truly love.

The Western medical profession has slowly come to understand that the roots of our physical ailments are not poverty or alcoholism. The heart of the problem is the problem of the heart. When our heart is right with God, our relationships with His creation; nature and people will work out.
Eastern disciplines have long taught "listen to the inner voice, trust the process" and it will lead you to the authentic you.
Duh? Jesus always said "the Holy Spirit will lead you into all truth." So let us not be like Pilate asking - What is truth? while staring at Him.

Reducing God to a chain of ....

Almost every week, I receive a forwarded email containing the word "God" in the subject heading. So I take a peek thinking it might be an inspirational story, but as soon as I see that it is a chain letter, I delete it right away. I cringed at the thought that people, even people who call themselves Christians, would think or believe that you can manipulate or cajole God into doing something because you prayed the scripted prayer and forwarded it to at least 10 others. Jesus said " when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words, so do not be like them." Matthew 6:7.

Before I became a Christian, I used to be afraid of receiving a chain letter because I was told 'bad luck' will happen to me if I break the chain. And back then, you literally have to write (however many was called for) and mail it. No internet then! Not only was I lazy to write 1 letter, but also pay for postage when I could hardly buy bread? So imagine my anxiety when I received a chain letter and did not do anything with it. I did not know what to do; throw it away and pretend I did not read it or keep it and pray that no bad luck will happen to me. I would wake up every morning and wonder if it was the day I would have bad luck. I was even afraid to tell people I received a chain letter because I know for sure they would tell me more horror stories. What an emotional blackmail!
Thank God I have been delivered from that foolishness. Jesus died to set us free from sin and bondage. Throughout the Bible, it is very clear that nothing happens unless God 'allowed' it or 'caused' it. I do not believe in luck -not anymore -but in the sovereignty of God. I believe in Gods' blessings not in random chance.
The other day at work, there's this buzz about fasting. One is fasting, simply to cleanse and lose weight; good purpose and right motive. The other is fasting because she wants some "blessings" from God. She told me that she heard a pastor on tv say that -" if you want a big blessing from God, you should fast longer." What a blasphemy towards God to think that He owes us something, that He is obligated to do something for us because we did something for Him. And what really irritates me is that this is taught by so-called "people of God". These people may be sincere, but they are sincerely wrong. If you read Isaiah 1 in context you will understand a little bit about God and His desdain for our so-called "sacrifice". God requires obedience, Not sacrifice. To heed is better than the fat of rams.
God wants nothing more than to bless His children, but with His blessings comes discipline. And it is the discipline part that we don't take so well. With the right heart -fasting is very beneficial, spiritually and physically. But when I walked by this ladys desk and saw the heaping of green salad, (almost 2 lbs.) and baked potato with all the toppings, with her lips shimmering from the dressing, I had to ask. "I thought you are fasting?" "I am fasting from meats, I don't like meats anyway, " her quick response. I wanted to roll my eyes, say something preachy then show her Isaiah 58, but I held back and remember instead that I, myself needs to fast. Fast from being critical.

Whatever

It has been 6 days that the weather seems like a manifestation of what I am feeling inside; gloomy and cold. I just moved in to my new apartment. It is nice and I have made it cozy, but why do I not feel at home in it?

Well, this feeling is not new to me. I never knew where "home" is. When I am in the Philippines, I always say " I want to go home" meaning: go back to the US, but when I am in the US, I always feel that home is in the Philippines. I felt that when I was married and had a happy home with my Don, imagine now being alone and somewhere in between confusion and depression. I think I need to heed my doctors' advice and start taking anti-depressants. She said "there's too much to do, you need to get on the anti-depressant so you can move on with your life." Since when do we need anti-depressants to move on with life?

Of course, we get the occasional blues, the occasional unintelligible ramblings of the heart, so does that mean we are depressed and unhappy? Maybe. But without this feeling of unstability and unhappiness, we will never desire for better and bigger things, we will just settle for the mediocre. It is healthy to be unhappy in this world, after all, this is not home --we are just passing through. We need to long for our home in heaven, the one "not made with hands" as Paul said.

But what would be unhealthy is for us to stop living, to stop giving and loving while we are in this world. I am very aware of my inner turmoil because I am a very analytical person. I like answers to every question, but what I notice is that when I am in the Philippines, I don't really need answers. I still have the same questions, but they don't seem to beg for answers when I am there. The workplace here is at a maddening speed and almost everyone I talk to on the other end of the phone wants things done yesterday. But I think, people are always in a hurry so they don't catch up with themselves and find that everything is shallow and lonely. People take up causes and goals only to find after each accomplishments that it really is chasing after the wind. Vanity- all is vanity.

Choices makes people unsatisfied and depressed, otherwise, why is half of the people in this country being sedated? People change spouses as frequent as they do oil change in their cars. Why? because they can I guess. As for me, it does not take much to depress me. I look at my pantry and I see two different types of canned cuttlefish, and I say " whoa, this is too much". So I pace back and forth and try to decide which one I should eat, by the time I make a decision, my brain dictates my palates for a different food craving. So I go back to the pantry and start the same process again. See what I mean? Choices leaves open the possibility of missed opportunities and that depresses me.

I am just rambling and ranting so no theme to this article, just endless choices of topics to rant about. So I better quit before I get more depressed.

Bloom where you are planted

After 6 months of vagabonding, I am back at my desk at work. Again. I have been at this company since 1987 and I stopped counting (so has my co-workers) how many times I have told my boss " I quit". I remembered the 4th time the new manager wanted to give me a going away party, (she did not know I have quit 3x before already) one of my co-workers said, "Again?" I was not sure if she was disgusted or was excited. I came back to a new boss who is still my present boss and quit several more times after that. This last time, I did not quit but told my boss "I am leaving but don't know when I will be back, so don't wait for me." I don't know how I got so blessed with this boss, but she told me " you go and finish your menopause lunacy and when your plane lands back at DFW, get your butt back on your desk." The lunacy lasted 6 months, I mean no, the lunacy is still here, but I have to get back to work. ( if I want to eat) I surmise that I must not be that important for a job to wait 6 months without me or maybe I am just underpaid for this position that no one wants it anyway. I may be underpaid but where can I find a boss who will let me sit in her couch while she acts as my psychiatrist? And sends me off on a 6 months leave so she can be rid of me so she can do her real job.
I was glad to see my co-workers again. Work makes me feel grounded and a sense of direction.
I miss my co-workers and they all seem to be real glad to see me, although the big boss (the owner) happened by my desk and took a second glance at me and said " Oh, I thought you were a myth". The rate you pay me is a myth. I did not say that, even though he pays me like I am 12 years old.

I have resolved to make myself listen more and care more for other people. To be more accepting and tolerant, yet at the same time stand for what I believe in without compromise. The people I work with have their own unique stories to tell, I want to absorb that and use that to make this year better and richer, not with money but with relationships. Deeper relationships. I miss Cebu and the people there that have become a big part in my life, but for now, I will try to bloom where I am planted. I can't promise that I will be a perennial, but I will try.