unbreakable

A few weeks ago, I attended a Life in the Spirit seminar. It's a two-day event at our church where we listen to talks about faith, share our beliefs and experiences. I had been meaning to attend it ever since College so when I heard the announcement that there's going to be one on our church, I signed up.

The thing that really had an impact on me were the incredible stories shared by two of the speakers. Both of them lost their mothers at a young age and as a result, their lives went off course. Ate Jhute lost her mom at a young age, the breadwinner of their family. Her happy-go-lucky father transformed into an angry stranger and she and her sister weren't able to continue their education. She spent 10 years bumming around and running with the bad crowd.

Another speaker (I forgot his name sorry!), became an orphan at a young age and spent his childhood in the streets. He worked to support his schooling. He became a newspaper boy, a balut vendor and a kitchen helper.

They both had nobody to hold on to. Yet somehow they were able to keep it together and to survive-- because of their faith. Both of them found God, or maybe it's more correct to say that God found them.

After 10 years of being a bum, Ate Jhute got some help from the Church and went to College at the age of 26. Now, she's a teacher and she was able to summon enough humility and patience to make peace with her father before he died. The other speaker became a radio actor, a writer and a speaker. When he had enough money he finally bought a house-- and opened it to street children. Today, he has three houses for his "adopted" children. He's paying it forward.

I admire these people, they're unbreakable! The strength they possess and the infinite well of their faith, they believe in something bigger than themselves and whatever happens they will somehow be okay. Nothing can shake them and they will always remain humble-- and happy. They've been through so much and was able to overcome it all and even became better because of it.

I wish I can be like that but I just can't seem to get rid of my inner cynic. I've experienced miracles in my life, enough to believe, but sometimes I still find myself struggling. I don't know maybe I need to go through something like that too, but God I hope not. Please.

Sources:
http://my.opera.com/Muffin's%20Place/blog/

revolution

Years ago, I didn't think anything would happen when I joined some outreach activities. I just wanted to get out there and help. Then, I told some friends about it and sent them an email with the details. They weren't really into it. So I thought, well that's that. But I didn't know that the word had spread. Now, I see posts in facebook from co-workers that I didn't really know that well, inviting people to the same outreach I joined years ago.

Another friend thanked me when I invited her to join a training seminar I attended for special kids. She said she was planning to do that full-time in the future and the seminar will be her starting point. I'm so happy to know that others are also getting involved.

You may think that what you're doing doesn't influence anyone but it does. Last Friday, we celebrated the 25th anniversary of the EDSA Revolution. It was also last Friday when angry protests calling for change swept Middle East. Both of these revolutions started from small seeds, and it grew and grew and grew, until it became a revolution. From one simple act, like Rosa Parks saying "I ain't movin" and refusing to give up her seat for a white passenger, you can make change happen. Even if it's small, it will ripple out. It's a start.

never thought i'd get here

I've been so busy these past few weeks, I haven't been able to update this blog.  Not a big problem, I don't think anyone reads this, except me!  I really missed writing here.

After two months in the US, I'm finally back in the Philippines!  I'm still jet-lagged; this morning I woke up around 3am.  I can't sleep so I ended up watching episodes of the Big Bang Theory in the bathroom (I didn't want to wake up anyone).

Before coming home, I did a little side trip to one of the cities in my must-see-places-before-I-die list: New York!  This is definitely the highlight of my stay in the US.  I've been thinking of going to this place ever since I hit puberty, when I started watching all those rom-com movies.  I think it started with Cary Grant's "An Affair to Remember" and then came "Sex & the City", which just added more fuel to the fire.  I also heard about the museums and all the art and of course, Broadway.  I just had to go there.  The question was "how?"

So when I got a US onshore assignment on my day job, I jumped at the chance of a sidetrip to NYC.  Everyone thought I was crazy to go there alone, but was there ever a moment in your life that you felt that this was the chance you've always been waiting for?  That nothing will go wrong and that this was meant for you?  I felt it right there.  Never in my life did I thought that I'd be in New York by the end of this year and yet, there I was, standing at the top of the Empire State Building.  It's amazing how things sometimes work out.

There were little miracles.  One time, I was walking around in circles trying to find the correct subway station, somehow I always ended up on the wrong one.  I decided to just go with it and as it turns out, that route was way better than what I had planned.

Then there was a time when someone pointed out a small ad booklet, left near my seat in the bus.  He said that I should get it and it had a really good map of Manhattan at the back.  I depended on that booklet all throughout my trip.

Little miracles.  I believe it helped that my mom was praying for my safety.  Like the surprise Manhattan shuttle service in my Jersey hotel (until 10pm), not being late on all the events I've reserved even though I'm running behind schedule, Ripley's Museum still open at the late hours, being able to cross Central Park without getting lost, attending the Sunday mass, friendly strangers willing to give me directions and take my picture, no waiting time on all the attractions--Lady Liberty, Empire State and the Wall St. Bull, gorgeous weather and trees (it was autumn!), my favorite movies shown every night on my room, cheap delicious food.

For three days, I felt that nothing could go wrong.  The time was mine.

happy birthday, andrea bocelli!

When Andrea's mother was pregnant with him, she became sick and had to be admitted to the hospital.  Doctors made a mistake with the diagnosis.  They thought she was having appendicitis.  She received treatments, like having ice applied on her stomach.  After it was over, they advised her to abort the child.

"They told her it was the best solution because the baby would be born with some disability," he says.

She refused to listen and chose to keep the baby instead, and so in September 22, 1958, world-class tenor Andrea Bocelli was born.

There are many good arguments on why people choose to abort or even abandon a child, but there's so much more that we do not know and understand.  There's a lot of things we cannot foresee.  Life has its reasons too.

Sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_Bocelli
http://www.christianpost.com/article/20100623/renowned-singer-andrea-bocelli-tells-abortion-story/index.html
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1285058/Andrea-Bocelli-praises-mother-aborting-doctors-told-born-disabled.html

the seed of good

“Search for the seed of good in every adversity. Master that principle and you will own a precious shield that will guard you well through all the darkest valleys you must traverse. Stars may be seen from the bottom of a deep well, when they cannot be discerned from the mountaintop. So will you learn things in adversity that you would never have discovered without trouble. There is always a seed of good. Find it and prosper.”

- Og Mandino (American Essayist and Psychologist, 1923-1996)

by lova_03

hapag ng pag-asa (table of hope)

The models were real life pinoy street children, except for one. The child at the bottom was taken after a famous photograph by Kevin Carter, but it was a vulture waiting instead of a cat. This was just one of the stories behind it.

The painter, Joey Velasco, didn't have any formal education in the arts. He started out as a seminarian, but it didn't work out. Then he studied law but dropped out later. He then took on his family's upholstery business and there, it seemed, he found his calling. He became a successful entrepreneur, made tons of money, bought a lot of things, played golf everyday. Life was good for him, until he was diagnosed with a serious illness in 2005.

Doctors found a tumor in his kidney. He had to undergo an operation where his left kidney was removed. He sank into a deep depression and refused to come out of their guest room. In an interview with Probe Profiles, he said that he felt his life at a standstill and the world is moving on without him. He did not know what to do with himself.

As the saying goes, the darkest hour is just before dawn. Alone (and bored) in the room, he began sketching. He documented his emotions and ideas on paper. It sparked a new kind of interest. He started to paint. He researched and tried to learn more about the arts, and it was at this time that he conceptualized "Hapag ng Pag-asa".

His basic goal was to teach his children the value of food. He set out and gave pansit (noodles) to street children and photographed them eating it. They thought he was a politician because he was giving out food.  Once he had his twelve, he began the work. It took him about a month and a half to finish.

The painting was a hit. People were surprised that it was done by someone who was just starting to learn the discipline. A lot of them were moved and wanted to donate. Joey approached Gawad Kalinga to ask for help on building houses for his models. He provided them with shelter and even gave money for school supplies. He visited them often, and through them he found his meaning.

"There's something beyond this flat canvas.", he said.

When the houses were built, he did another painting of them called "Hapag ng Pag-ibig" (Table of Love).

A rich philanthropist once approached him to buy the painting. Joey agreed and they planned on putting it in a museum. He told this to his family and they gave their consent. But later in the day, Joey received a letter from his eldest son, asking him if he could buy the painting instead, and his payment? The promise that he will grow up to be a good man. It was a done deal.

Joey passed away last July 20.  He was once asked if he ever thought of death and he said, "everyday, every stroke, every time I paint, I always think of death".  His thoughts of dying led him to live, and because of it he saved other lives and inspired many of us.  Hapag ng Pag-asa was his most well-known piece, an incredible painting done by a man, but beyond the flat canvas is a more complex masterpiece that only God can create.

Sources:
http://www.joeyvelasco.net/
http://www.probetv.com/

what makes a dad

God took the strength of a mountain, The majesty of a tree, The warmth of a summer sun, The calm of a quiet sea, The generous soul of nature, The comforting arm of night, The wisdom of the ages, The power of the eagle's flight, The joy of a morning in spring, The faith of a mustard seed, The patience of eternity, The depth of a family need, Then God combined these qualities, When there was nothing more to add, He knew his masterpiece was complete, And so, he called it Dad. ~unknown

holy child of cebu

One of the places I went to during my grand summer vacation is an old church in Cebu City, the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño. There, inside, is the oldest Catholic relic in the Philippines, the Santo Niño de Cebu.

It has an interesting history. The statue was brought to the country in 1521 by Ferdinand Magellan. He gave it as a gift to the Rajah and his wife when they were baptized. Magellan was killed that same year. He did not conquer the land.

44 years later, Miguel Lopez de Legazpi arrived in Cebu. The natives were hostile. There was another battle and most of the villages were burned. When it was all over, they went through the debris. They were surprised to find the Catholic icon under the ashes. It was inside a pine box and it wasn't burned at all, only a bit old and worn because of its age.

They considered it a blessing and a miracle. They built a small church, made of bamboo and mangrove palm, in the place where they found it.  It has since expanded and is now known as the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño. Surrounding the church and spreading through the country are stories and testaments of the miracles performed by the Holy Child to this very day.

Sources:
http://www.santoninodecebu.org/history.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santo_Niño_de_Cebú
http://www.malapascua.de/

heavenly peace

In 1816, Father Josef Mohr wrote a poem about the night when Christ was born. It was a simple poem, describing a time of happiness and longing for peace and comfort. At that time, he was an assistant priest in Mariapfarr, Austria. The Napoleonic wars had just ended, and an economic depression left many unsure of the future.

Two years later, he showed it to Franz Gruber, the choirmaster, and asked him if he could compose a melody. It was the day before Christmas. Their church organ was broken, and they needed a song for the Mass that could be accompanied by a guitar. Franz got to work and on that Christmas eve, "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht" (Silent Night, Holy Night), was born. Father Mohr sang tenor and played the guitar while Franz sang bass.


A hundred years later, their song became part of a miracle.

Soldiers fighting the Great War were promised a victory by December and assured they'd be going home to celebrate.  It was never delivered-- the war lasted for four more years.  But on the cold Christmas Eve of 1914, something happened. The German troops, despite the danger, placed lighted candles on trees. They held some of these over their heads, sending a holiday greeting to their enemy. The British, on the other side, saw it and held their fire. They heard the Germans start singing "Stille nacht, Heilige nacht" and immediately recognized the melody. They responded by singing English carols.

Frank Richards, author of the memoir Old Soldiers Never Die, writes about the truce: "We stuck up a board with 'Merry Christmas' on it. The enemy stuck up a similar one. Two of our men threw off their equipment and jumped on the parapet with their hands above their heads as two of the Germans did the same, our two going to meet them. They shook hands and then we all got out of the trench and so did the Germans." He also says that some German soldiers spoke perfect English, one of them even saying how fed up he was with the war and how he would be glad when it was all over. The British agreed.

They lit a common campfire in "No Man's Land", a small bombed out terrain between them. Sitting around it, they exchanged gifts such as whisky, jam, cigarettes and chocolates. The truce lasted through Christmas night, but in some areas, it continued until New Year's Day.

Today, a cross stands near Ypres, Belgium, the place where the trees twinkled as a song of peace interrupted the war. It was created in 1999 and its inscription reads:

"1914 - The Khaki Chums Christmas Truce - 1999. 85 Years. Lest we forget."

"Stille nacht, Heilige nacht" by Josef Mohr and Franz Gruber

Sources:
http://www.stillenacht.at/en/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_truce
http://home.snu.edu/~hculbert/silent.htm
http://www.holytrinitynewrochelle.org/yourti14724.html

on silence

There's a small chapel on the 9th floor of the building where I work. Lately, I've been going there more often, following the afternoon Mass. I sit by myself, breathing in the incense. I stare outside or at the floor, think about work, my life so far, or what I will do in the future. Sometimes, flute or piano music plays from the speakers, or a catchy song plays in my head. I secretly watch the others, some are reading a novena book while some are praying. I try to guess what they are asking for and I hope that they get it.

I'm not sure if this is Peace. I often feel guilty for leaving my workstation, going all the way down there and then sitting for 5 to 10 minutes doing nothing. I feel like I'm wasting time not being busy, but I feel happy as well because I have a place and a time all for myself. Nobody I know goes there at that hour. A small window of freedom. I've been going for over a week and it's becoming a habit.

I hear no clever talks, no humor, no kind words, no sharing of one's self. It's blank-- but it's not empty. Something fills me, and I'm craving it more and more. I didn't realize my hunger for silence; and something is happening to me that I didn't expect: I'm more focused at work, better at conversations, more patient and more tolerant of others. Those moments bring out something in me. Out of nothing, the better part of me grows.

cigarette butts and a bus ticket

My uncle was fixing something in the back of our house when a white flurry thing ran past him. It was bigger than a mouse but just as fast.  He didn't want to mess with it, saying it was an "alaga ng maligno" (pet of an evil spirit).  So we decided to go and catch it and name it "angel". It was nowhere to be found.

Guinea pigs aren't as common in my uncle's place as it is here, so he's not used to them. I think when we can't explain things, we usually associate them with the supernatural. I guess this is where most of our superstitions-- most of our beliefs come from. So I wonder what will happen if we looked deep deep deep into our beliefs and searched for the truth behind them? What will we find?

I was reading a book about occult last week. There was a section dedicated to amulets where the author tells about an incident in Africa where she was attending a ceremony. She noticed that the people had a small pouch hanging on their clothes. She asked to see its contents and was surprised to see cigarette butts, a bus ticket and some other items that are considered rare in that part of the world.

Is that what we will find? Cigarette butts and a bus ticket? Will all the things we uphold and believe to be special turn out to be nothing? Scary-- but the real question is, will we ever get to that point? Will we ever know the truth? Should we pursue it or should we let it lie hidden-- and continue believing? Is knowing the truth a gift or a curse?

Does it really matter in the end?

the lost years

Last Monday was an Islamic holiday, Eid ul-Fitr.  It marks the end of Ramadan.  It was a non-working holiday so I happily spent the day alternating between watching TV and surfing the net.  Here's an interesting fact that I found: there's a part in both Muhammad and Jesus' life that are unknown, several lost years that are unrecorded.   Muhammad started preaching when he was around 40 years old.  Jesus started when he was in his thirties.  Before all that, there's an information gap between their childhood and adult years.  We do know that Muhammad dabbled in trade and he married at 25 but little is known of him during his later youth.  All we have are speculations but no actual history of who they were and what they did. What happened to them during those years? 

I do hope that someone will discover actual records of the life that they led before their ministry.  Maybe Jesus worked as a carpenter, building furnitures & houses everyday, while Muhammad was a merchant, bargaining with traders and counting his profits & losses.  It just makes them more within our reach-- working, needing the money, tired, bored & frustrated.  I think it makes their history richer. It's funny that such ordinary details could make one's history rich.  It just makes them more human than gods.

But it wouldn't be funny if that's all a person will ever have.  It wouldn't be funny at all if the history that he could've made goes by unrecorded, lost for good.

the angel of death and the seven dwarves

Exactly a year ago, I read about Josef Mengele in the Boston website.  He was a doctor in Auschwitz who performed medical experiments on Jews.  I was intrigued by the topic, so I ran a search on it.  Just a few clicks and I ran into Mengele's dwarf family, the Ovitzes.

It was the picture that got me.  They're so charming.  So I got the book and read it immediately.  It's really good but I still wanted to learn more about the Holocaust.  One lunch break, I found myself about to cry in front of my workstation because of Jan Komski's drawings and descriptions of Auschwitz.

I am so thankful to be alive today.

And so lucky.  But not as lucky as Perla Ovitz.
... "Not long before she died, Perla reflected on her fate: 'We were the only family who entered a death camp and emerged from it together," she said. "If I ever question why I was born a dwarf, my answer must be that my handicap, my deformity, was God's way of keeping me alive.'"