How to emasculate a Filipino male child

Let's get this straight right now---I love gay men. Not a bone in me fear or hate them, and all my gay friends and gay relatives will vouch me on this. But I have this question: Why so many of them here in the Philippines? Is the number really greater here than that of North America or Saudi Arabia? (Yes, I said Saudi Arabia.) Or does it only look like it because here in the Philippines gays have no closets to hide in.


I am no reseacher but I can calculate by simple observation. You want to emasculate your male child? Here's how we do it here in the Philippines: Before they're 1 year old, treat their pisser like it's a toy. An amazing toy that you and the rest of the village people finds so much glee when it squirts water. Even to your face. Then you and the rest of the village people show your amazement at this baby sea cucumber by kissing it, though not with the same reverence as when you kiss the foot of the Santo Nino (wooden baby Jesus). And if you're moneyed enough, hire a nanny for him who will spoon feed him his food until he's 15.
And fire the nanny if she forgets to keep his back dry from sweat when he plays too much. While all this time, showing him by example that he doesn't have to work until he's finished college, even if he has to cram 4 years of college into 6 or 8. And if this is not enough to show your love, go ahead and let him sleep in the same bed with you until he's married. Which by then, a good parent would have already provided for.....pawn the house and the rest of the children to pay for his wedding. Then let him and his bride live in the same house with you. Until they're dead or you. Or whichever come first.

When "Stuff" has you

I've once held this assumption that Westerners and "the rich" are a materialistic bunch, but I don't believe this anymore because I've come to know of very rich individuals who truly understands that if they're not careful, materialism can easily possess and make him a prisoner of his own money. Another misguided notion I had was that the poor are unhappy, implying that the rich are happy.

When we were at the garbage dumpsite last Sunday, one of the girls, a 15 year-old high school drop out who lives there told us that she believes God is unfair and unkind. "Why do you say that?" one of the pastoral students asked. "Because back in the province, I saw how my cousins had more than us," She said. "they had a carabao (water buffalo) while we didn't." You see? Materialism or greed lurks in every human heart; we envy, we covet and depending on how much demand (covetousness) and how much supply (one's ability to make it happen) is where we get in trouble, because materialism is not when you have "stuff" it is when "stuff" has you.

In This Lifetime

It was bliss. It was destiny. It was meant to be. On my way out to walk this morning I met the poet Cataline. With her permission I am reprinting it here. Cataline is her pen name.

In This Lifetime

It is not what there is for the eyes to see
But that you believe

It matters not that one can speak
But what is spoken about

It is not that a heart you possess
But how much this heart can feel

No matter how little you have
The hand that reaches out overflows with love

It is not how many a tear
But what made you cry
For true feelings they may not be
As one by one they die

It is not how heavy the suffering
But how you bear them

It is not how many times life could seem impossible
But if only you keep hoping

It is not how many times the praying
But how you mean them

It is not how saintly or sinful you are
But what made you become

It is not the legion of friends you collect
But how only a few can be that true to you
till the end

For whatsoever in this lifetime
One soul's destiny

When I was hungry....(part 3)

I came home and went straight to the shower. I took a nice hot shower, bathe myself with soothing lotion, laid down on my nice comfortable bed in an air-conditioned room. I have this luxury and I thank God for it but I broke down because I could not reconcile in my head the images of the parents and the kids living in the dumpsite. You've heard me rant about being clean inspite of being poor....but in this situation how can you?

When I was hungry (part 2)

My friend Jojo is a pastor and professor at a bible college here in Cebu and today, I went with her and her students to the dumpsite where they're going to start a ministry because Chat is funding the mission. About 10 pastoral students came, and here they are in

the tricycle all ready to go. Up into the heap.

Because it's a Sunday very few scavengers were there. Here's one of the girls who live there with her find.

Here's Maricel 24 years old with her son Daniel and daughter Lyka. When I mentioned that I love her kids name, she said because her kids are "celebrities." Lyka kept falling down and kept laughing because she was drunk. Her father was inside the tent drunk and gave her sips from his glass. Ok, now Lyka is dressed so she can go with us. But this 2 won't even face me regardless how I coax them.

When I was hungry.....

"When I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink......." Jesus said. And someone asked: Lord when did we see you hungry or thirsty that we fed you or gave you drink? Jesus answer was: Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me. (paraphrased) Matthew: 25:35-37. My friends and I have very little resources so we try to do what we can. We feed them God's word and chicken and rice soup.

True Freedom

True freedom is having no choice. Four days ago, while eating breakfast at a hotel in Leyte, I noticed this grungy looking white man busy with his pen and paper. "Are you a writer?" I stuck my nose into his business. "Why not?" was his friendly reply. I moved my food next to his table and I proceeded to interrupt his quiet morning, which he didn't mind, he said. He's Australian from Kangaroo Island and he's a farmer raising Heritage apples. Very Interesting. He was journalling about his day to day experiences in Leyte but he's really into Haiku poetry. Interesting. He talked about Issa and Basho, two Haiku poets of old Japan and when he gave me a sample reading of his own poetry, I could not believe it warmed my heart the same way how my foot reflexologist is capable of making me feel like my liver moves when he presses the sole of my foot.

Our conversation then meandered towards his pending divorce, his new perspective in life and then to the 23-year old Filipino girl he thinks he would like to take back to the farm. As a wife. He asked me to enlighten him about the Filipino culture and how Filipinos seemed to be happier than their Western counterparts. "Filipinos are happier, because they don't have a choice." I said. "They take what they're given and live with it." "Ahaah." He said. Our conversation was getting more interesting but I had to leave for the airport and he had to go see his kid...I mean his girlfriend. I wish I had more time to spend with him, because as always, an interesting company is more fun than fun.

Delayed? Who cares?

What do you call that which bleeds for 5 days and doesn't die? And not only does it not die, it is spitting fire. That's a woman with PMS. Well, I don't have PMS anymore; I'm past that age, but occasionally I still do...spit fire. And yesterday was one of those occasions.

I don't want to sound like a diva or that I'm too good for something, although I am justified if I want to claim both, because I have paid my dues. I also don't want to come out like I'm too hard on my people, or my country of birth, but I have to point out something. Filipinos are cursed with a colonial mentality, therefore, the average Filipino will consider any race besides his own, a better one, and because of this, again, the average Filipino will take a lot because he doesn't think he matters.

Yesterday, I was at the aiport waiting for my Cebu Pacific flight to another island. When I checked in, the ticket agent told me "the flight is delayed for 3 hours." The American in me started to huff and puff. I asked in a frustrated tone: "And Why?" "Aircraft issue." She said. Well, I had 2 choices: either strangle the powerless agent or go find a seat and wait. I looked at the other passengers and not one looked cross-eyed, convoluted or even a furrowed brow. Every brown skinned person around me sat there peaceful and happy, like they're waiting for their turn to receive a free sack of rice. While I.... was bloated with rage and anxiety.

Five hours later, we finally took off. Then I had a light bulb moment:A flight being delayed is nothing to a Filipino; 5 hours? 24 hours? that's nothing. Why? Because if you can't find one bolo- wielding-Filipino, hacking the employer to shreds for a delayed salary or paid on time but only a fraction of what he's owed --which is common here in the Philippines, I don't know of anything else that could make a Filipino flip.

Back at the Farm

Things reminiscent of what was my childhood.

Where was I (part 2)

These are fully functional homes of the farm workers. They live here. Their living room extends all the way outside.



When I said these are fully functional homes, I mean they live here, cook and sleep here. And make babies here. Notice the slippers in their hands instead of on their feet?