Churches

(Miag-ao Church in Iloilo)

Our parish church in Canaman is one of the oldest in Camarines Sur. It remains standing amid all the typhoons that visited our place in the past years. It’s made of bricks and other sturdy materials.

I have visited quite a few historic churches in the Philippines. I’ve been to Miag-ao and Paoay churches in Iloilo and Ilocos Norte, respectively. Both belong to the UNESCO World Heritage List. Recently, together with my officemates, we visited the Baclayon church in Bohol. I learned that it’s the oldest church built by the Jesuits in the country.

In college, after or before an exam, I used to spend some time in St. Therese church in UPLB. I love its style—open, no dwarfing walls, air could pass freely. I spent a lot of good memories there. When I was at the brink of failing my math subjects, I spent a good number of hours there.

Big or small, churches always fascinate me. Whenever I miss a Sunday mass, I feel empty. What I love most is when I go there with no special occasion whatsoever. There are no crying kids, no chatter, no one to share a story with—when it’s just me. I love the silence. It gives me the chance to reflect well—being true to myself; until, unknowingly, tears are falling down on my face.

I love the after church effect. There’s an indescribable feeling of lightness. I feel cleansed. It’s like everything around me is new even though I know that they’re just the same. It’s only me who has changed.

I am not Michael

I am on the bus on my way home to Laguna last Saturday night when my attention was caught by the featured story discussed by Jessica Soho on tv. It is just this Friday that the news broke that the king of pop died and I am amazed how the news and current affairs section of GMA7 afforded to feature a storyline right away. I am am struck by the line delivered by Jessica that some or a number of people around the world are affected by his death because we grew-up with the songs he is singing then. That’s pretty relevant for me since I can recall the cassette tape that my aunt used to play with MJ’s hit “I’ll be there”; and the interpretative dance we made when I was still grade three with his song “Heal the world”. Those were the days I am hearing MJ singing left and right. Indeed I or you, grew-up also in those Golden years of Michael Jackson.

And as I look outside the bus window pondering on the news story I watched, MJ is not the only Michael that I knew and shared some wonderful experiences to my almost a quarter of a century's existence. My eldest cousin,from my father side, whom I idolized is named Michael. The person who helped me cross the high wire in AYLC was Michael Castañeda. My ninong from the La Salle Brothers is Br Michael Boughton and my mentor is Br Michael Valenzuela. With Youth on Fire, I met a long list of Michaels – Michael C, Michael P, Michael M i am not sure if they are only three, there cam a point that I think we are using almost all the letters of the alphabet attached to Michael, from the guests we are entertaining. The guard from my previous employer, Hewlett-Packard, also got the name Michael. I got acquainted to two Michaels or Mike in Lingkod ng Panginoon - Makati. One is my Action Group Leader and the other the servant on our CLP. Another Michael is the guy I randomly met in Trinoma and who turned out now to be one of my confidantes. The group I am with now is praying for Michael the archangel for assistance. I am amazed on how I account those Michaels who crossed my path.

I do also read or heard about some Michaels who in a way were part of my childhood years like Michael the brother of Wendy from the book Peter Pan. They visited the same fictional place where Michael Jackson would also want to go – the Neverland. I also grew-up with another MJ – Michael Jordan, he is the man I tried to imitate when I reached the age of 23. ( I am doing some sort of themes on my birthdays).

And as I went down the bus and trace the path to our house, I am thankful that at some point I became an MJ fan and I met those Michaels. People who might have shared the same name yet lived for a different cause. I am glad I am Christopher and I’m finally home and wishing that MJ is home too.

And he's off to Neverland

I still don't know why I'm writing a post about him. He is the king of fancy moves - the moonwalk-- mention that word and you already know what I'm talking about.

His life is an enigma. The King of Pop, who sold records like pancakes, swimming in debt. A revered individual adored by millions of fans around the globe, living alone in a rented mansion. He was afraid of dying young, and he died alone at the age of 50. A terrible, painful irony for someone whose fame skyrocketed, and who, through his music, broke through racial discrimination.

In his death, another irony: the unforgiving public who once tagged him as a molester now scrambling to buy his music online and dancing in the streets as tribute to the man who to this day remain to be a puzzle to all of us. Death truly has a powerful way of making us appreciate people more.

I am saddened that he was never given a chance to redeem himself in the public eye. He was only 2 weeks short of his comeback concert tour. News reports said he practiced for several hours each day, which began since March this year. He wanted nothing more than to be back on the stage, performing, doing what he loves best, showing what he has to offer in the light of the issues thrown against him. I am sad that this man was never given a second chance. Because everyone deserves another chance to stand up after a fall.

May you rest in peace, MJ. Maybe you're moonwalking in the real Neverland now.

Answers

I wish to share these memorable Q&A’s I had in the past—bloopers or what have you.

UPLB Debate Tournament
Opponent: Did you watch Hirayamanawari?
J: Sorry, no, I don’t have so much time now.
O: No, did you watch Hirayamanawari? When you were young (asserting himself)
J: When I was young? No, we didn’t have TV then (the crowd grew wild)

Mr. IRRI OJT (I won first runner-up)
Q: Jaime, what makes a man complete?
J: what makes a man complete is a woman… or another man

Job Application (In a popular magazine)-- 2006
Q: Wow! This is great. You wrote here that you wrote an article about Haydee Yorac, how did you write the article? (the man was a bit tired).
J: Sorry? (bewildered)
Q: Did you interview Haydee Yorac?
J: Sir, she’s already dead.

I love those moments. They happened spontaneously. I couldn’t believe that I could whip off those answers given extreme circumstances. They say it’s logic.

But there are aspects of my life when I just let things happen. I have made lots of decisions without so much thinking,and yet I ended up very happy in the end. I think this one’s simple--not all aspects of our lives can be rationalized. While logic is important, some things are better left to take their own course. A lot of blissful moments in my life were the product of me preferring to leave my wits behind.

Self-introduction

I am who you think I am not

For you I am silent and meek

I am an angel in disguise

I am as thoughtful as a kid

I am a savior from up high

But I am only who I am to those who seek

For those who take me by surprise

For those who often take off my lid

For those who don’t just pass-by

You are just a stranger to me

Another source of agony

In these life full of irony

I am too a stranger to you

Don’t be fooled by me

A man of mystery

Hiding from the masks

Hand painted by my past

Questions

“Will I jog or not?”

“What will I wear?”

“How should I carry myself today?”

“What will I eat for lunch?”

I bombard myself with questions daily. It is my way of connecting to myself. Oftentimes, I even ask questions for no reason at all.

Easy questions like those above are fillers. I force myself to ask those easy questions, to have lots of them, because I don’t know the answers to the more difficult ones.

What's so great about hope?

What's so great about hope?

This question was asked by one of the characters in the movie I was watching yesterday. The movie was about plane crash survivors trapped in Andes for over 61 days. Someone suggested that they should eat the dead bodies of those who did not survive the crash so they can survive a little longer and hope for a rescue plane to come. What's so great about hope, someone asked. They were practically doomed.

Yes, what is so great about hope when you are in the middle of the Andes with a temperature almost below zero?
What is so great about hope when you see everyone around you dying one by one?
What's so great about hope when your only hope to live is to feed off their dead bodies and get a nonexistent radio signal for help?

In that situation it is far more easier to allow yourself to die than to will yourself to live. It brings out the best--or the worst -- in a person. It is in those circumstances that one comes very close to the core of what it means to be human.

So what's so great about hope? It keeps you alive.

Alive (1993) is based from a true story.

(Not so) Technical paper

I have been writing technical papers recently. These are stuff that I hated back in college. Reading them made me feel like I was so far from my full potential, second great, and that I needed to read more. Who would have thought that I’m writing them now?

Believe me; it’s fun.

It’s only now that I appreciate doing the review of literature. When I did my undergrad research in college, rev lit was something I took in isolation. It was just Chapter 2, a standalone chapter. No wonder why I hoarded a lot of irrelevant literature just so my thesis would appear like a geek’s output. My adviser had a hard time editing my work. Had I understood the rev lit well, I would have aced my undergrad research.

Now I’m learning a lot. I enjoy browsing over pdf files, carefully listing down the bibliographic entries of each article, and noting down the important details. Before the day ends, my eyes are reddish, droopy, and I am all of a sudden turned to a wicked creature giving everyone a snobbish stare.

My first professional technical paper was a review of the interrelationships among rice, water, and forests. I was a fresh graduate then with no formal background on any of the said topics. I was new to my job so I did not have the nerve to say no. I accepted the task and gave my boss the “consider it done” look.

But then, deep inside me I wanted to shriek. “What’s this?” So I started reading papers, proceedings of international conferences, etc. etc. I read engineering and irrigation concepts, water-saving technologies.

A nine-page article, on the average, took me hours to read. I remember I kept a notebook, was surrounded with books—my desk was such a mess! I tried to redo the calculations whenever I saw a formula (as though I understood them). And then after reading everything, I would ask myself, “Ano daw???!!! That paper blew me off. The writing process took 6 months including sleepless nights, seemed endless revisions, mean words from my boss, rejections, and quarrels with my co-authors. Six months! It was like redoing my thesis!

When the paper was presented, I felt relieved. The process was painfully sweet.

One last blooper, in the about the author part, it was written there that I wrote about success stories of rice farmers and breakthroughs in rice farming, did publications layout, and produced a radio show. While all those were true, the radio show part appeared like I was doing a morning rush program type with cheap jokes and all (that was below my all smiles picture). I was doing an agri show then.

Now, I’m writing technical papers again—communication research papers. Well, this isn’t unusual. We can all find ourselves loving those that we used to hate.