Thoughts on the coming year - 2013

It's New Year's eve. For most this is the time for reflections on the year that is about to end and formulating resolutions for the coming one. 2012, for me, had been a good year so allow me to focus more on 2013.

So what will be my plans for next year? I'd like to make it simple and I hope you too will consider these "resolutions" as well. 


²⁷ He (Jesus) answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” - Luke 10:27

I believe these two commands are the perfect resolutions anyone can make. Let's break it down to understand these words better:

"Love the Lord your God". Sounds easy, right? I mean how can we not love God, especially knowing how much He loves us. He cares for us so much, He died a most painful, agonizing death so that we won't have to. Knowing also that He is there for us not just 24/7 but every second of our lives. How can we not love Someone like that? And yet….

Not everybody loves God, not with the kind of love He desires from us. There are four aspects to this kind of love:

1. "with all your heart" - these are our emotions. For many this is the kind of love they know. This is the overflowing feeling that makes us want to be with the object of our affections every single moment. But for a lot of people, emotions come and go depending on the situation or the prevailing mood. God wants us to love Him even when we feel down or beset with problems. As a matter of fact that is the best time to show Him our love because He is our Comfort and Peace.

2. "with all your soul" - these are our spiritual sides. The special connection we have with God. Some people only get spiritual on certain days of the week - often on Sundays when they go to church. The rest of the week they return to their carnality (the opposite of spirituality) concerned with the mundane affairs of their world. Our souls should always be connected to God and be constantly in love with Him.

3. "with all your strength" - these are the physical aspects. How do we physically love Someone who is not physically present? By obeying His laws. By getting on our knees and praying to Him. By worshiping Him in song, in giving, and through helping others.

4. "with all your mind" - these are our intellects. For many this is not easy. For them God is merely a concept. For others God is out there in the heavens detached from human activity. But our God is none of these. He became human and experienced all that we experienced - and more. He knew what we go through as we live our lives here on earth. Loving Him intellectually is knowing all these, all that He had done for us, of being aware not only of His existence, but of His presence in our lives.

Finally, the second command tells us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Loving ourselves is already a given. We are born that way - seeking glory for ourselves, wanting the best for ourselves. But God tells us to love others the same way. He asks us to humble ourselves and put others first. 

Tough resolutions, aren't they? But think of the rewards we will reap if we follow these commands. Once we start loving God above all, at all times, we will have unspeakable joy and peace beyond understanding. Loving others will become much easier, too.

I am determined to accomplish these resolutions not just for 2013 but for as long as I am here on earth.

A blessed new year to you, my dear friends.

AMABERDER

The following is a true story - with only a "slight" exaggeration.

My wife and I were returning to Manila after an unfruitful birding foray in Davao. As we were checking in at the Davao International Airport, one of the staff at the Cebu Pacific Counter told us to check in my camera bag. I admit that it was a tad oversized but then again it contains my 500mm lens along with my DSLR camera. We told him that we didn't have a problem hand carrying it when we boarded the plane from Manila. We even explained that we were allowed, without question, to hand carry it to and from Coron, Palawan, where the airplane was relatively smaller (and therefore had smaller  overhead bins). But he was adamant. We asked to see his manager.

After about 15 minutes the manager came and basically said the same thing. We told him that if we checked in the camera bag and something happened to it would they be willing to pay for the damage? The manager said that we will be asked to sign a waiver. Whereupon I could no longer contain myself.

"A waiver?" I shouted. "Don't you know AMABERDER! AMABERDER! Do you have any idea how much this equipment costs? Do you even realize that because AMABERDER I have to take good care of my camera gear?"

"Sir, if it passes the security then you can hand carry it" was his stubborn reply.

"Security?" I was apoplectic. "AMABERDER! I photograph birds not kill people!"

Exit Cebu Pacific Manager. 

My wife and I stomped towards the security area where our hand carry luggage passed without even a curious look from the guards. 

I was just glad nobody took a video of what just transpired.

All Groan Up

The simplest act of getting up from bed in the morning would elicit a groan from me. To be echoed moments later by my wife as she forced herself to rise from her recumbent position.

With our ages racking up years beyond three scores we were noticing sometimes not too subtle changes in our way of life. Somehow it now takes a longer time for us to go from point A to point B where, for illustration purposes, point A would be the sofa and point B the dining table about 3 meters away. This is living la vida slo-mo.

Then there are the oohs and oofs as the soundtrack of our daily activities: standing from a supine position, getting up from a chair, sitting down, lying down, going up and down the stairs - anything that involves movement.

Which is sort of strange considering our lifestyle. Let me clarify that. For the most part we spend our days in front of a computer - a desktop for me, and a laptop for her. Perhaps while in this semi-torpid state our bodies got accustomed to the sweet sensation of uber relaxation hence the complaints we got when we tried to extricate ourselves from this lethargic mode.

However - and this is a big however - Monday and Wednesday mornings we have our dancercise. Both of us would join other ladies (yes, I am the only hombre in the group) of the same generation and we would coax our hibernating muscles to sway to the lively tempo of the cha-cha-cha and boogie. I'd like to think that we do quite well on this activity - interestingly there were no groans that accompanied the conga beat. 

Our other pastime is bird photography. This of course entails travelling, sometimes walking on narrow trails while lugging our camera gear, oftentimes standing for long periods of time under the hot blistering sun, or at times getting doused in a cool drizzle. Certainly these are conditions that should have toned our bodies to handle the rigors of such a hobby.

So why then those inarticulate sounds that emanate from our mouths during the times when we were not grinding to the music of a salsa or stalking some feathered creature in the wild? I wish I had the answer to that. I guess we just have to accept the fact that we have finally graduated from growing pains to pain groanings.

Past Food

When our friend, Peter Ting, invited my wife and I (and another friend, IreneDy) to have lunch in Chinatown I was excited! My thoughts immediately flew back to the late 1970s when I was working at Allied Bank in Escolta which is within walking distance to where we were headed now.

I remember one of my officemates, Edgar Maldonado, bringing this mouth-watering pastry to our workplace almost on a weekly basis. A couple of years later our office moved to the Makati district and with that came the end of our once a week affair with this fabulous food.

"Do you know a place where we can get kuchay-ah?" I asked Peter as we crossed Jones bridge.

"Of course!" he replied. 

Our lunch at Chuan Ki was sumptuous (and cheap!). It was capped by a lotus seed filled mooncake. Normally mooncakes have mashed mung beans as their filling and it was a pleasant, tasty delight to discover that lotus is much more delicious.

After lunch we strolled the streets of Chinatown. We made a short stop at Lord Stow's where I bought 6 pieces of their world famous egg tart. 

Next stop was the kuchay-ah store. Cynthia warned me that it may not be the same as what I had decades ago so we played it safe and just bought two pieces.

The drive back home was full of nostaglia as we passed my old high school which looked so much different now than when I was studying there. The roads we took were the roads that I walked on 50 years ago and frankly I couldn't recognize them anymore. So much have changed - they were now more crowded and noisier. Half a century ago when I walked from school, these streets were relatively quiet and with only a few people sharing the road with me. The sidewalks were wide and clean. My classmates and I would run for a kilometer without bumping into anything. Sadly that's no longer possible now. Street vendors and hundreds of pedestrians ply the sidewalk while tricycles, jeepneys and private vehicles battle for road space in trying to get to their respective destinations.

We eventually got home after almost two hours of negotiating Manila's traffic. Later that evening, I prepared myself, taking a deep breath while two tantalizing kuchay-ahs lay in front of me. I tried to remember the taste of what my officemates and I shared four decades ago. Even the shape of the pastries before me does not connect to the visions of the past. I looked at my wife who was curiously staring at me. I held one of the kuchay-ahs and took a bite. Cynthia's eyes grew wider as I savored the strange taste of sauteed meat and veggies inside the bread-like crust.

"Well?" my wife couldn't bear the suspense any longer.

"It's delicious" I confirmed to her, "but this was not how I remember it. Perhaps I have forgotten what the past food tasted like."

Nevertheless two modern day kuchay-ahs still passed through my mouth rather quickly.

What a Korean drama did to me..

I was slouched in my chair staring at my computer screen. My wife, Cynthia, was reclined at our bed eyes fixed on the same computer screen as well. We were watching the last episode of Bridal Mask, a Korean drama series. The story was about a zorro-like figure who was a part of a group of rebels fighting against the Japanese-controlled government. We were not expecting much because based on our previous experiences (yes, we have watched lots of Korean dramas) the finales were usually quite disappointing.

Until I saw this one particular scene. I don’t know why I was so touched. Perhaps it was because of the superb acting done by both actors. They were not even the main characters in the story. The girl, Ueno Rie, was a Joseon (that’s what they call  the country before it became known as Korea) gisaeng (a hostess). She was adopted by a powerful Japanese who controlled the top officials in the government. 

Bridal Mask has just killed her “father” who wanted her killed for her betrayal. She had known the real identity of the masked hero (whom she loves, by the way) but did not inform her father, Bridal Mask’s mortal enemy. Now he is dead and the hero wasn’t reciprocating her feelings for him.

The guy in the scene is Katsuyama, the Japanese body guard of Ueno Rie. The scene unfolds as their car came to a stop. Katsuyama stepped out, got Ueno Rie’s suitcase, and then opened the door for her. They faced each other.

Katsuyama: Where are you going? Let me escort you. At least to where you are going to.

Ueno Rie: No. It would be better to part ways here.

Katsuyama: I will ask you for the last time. Like a shadow by your side as just a bodyguard. I will stay like that. Still…won’t that do?

Ueno Rie: Katsuyama, living a lifetime looking at someone who doesn’t love you is misfortune. I’m thankful all this time.

She then took her suitcase from him while he remained expressionless despite the heartache I know he was feeling at that very moment. Ueno Rie turned and walked away. After a few steps she stopped turned to face Katsuyama again.

Ueno Rie: Katsuyama! My name is Chae Hong Joo. Chae Hong Joo.

She told him her Joseon name. Her real name. Implying that a Joseon girl could never love a Japanese guy.

Katsuyama: Your name…I will forever remember it.

She turned and continued to walk away from him. Katsuyama still trying to maintain his stoicism pressed his lips together desperately holding back the tears that he won’t allow to flow.

And this was where I tried to hold back my own tears.

“Are you crying?” Cynthia asked. She must have heard my sniffles.

“ Um, no. I must be coming down with a cold.” I lied. But she knew that.

Well, what Jew know!

I was staring at his face. Mesmerized and in deep wonder as to how such long hair can protrude from his nostrils. Is it perhaps because he is Jewish – a group of humanity generally known for their oversized schnozz. (Barbra Streisand and Ringo Starr come to mind).

I tuned him on again. He was still mumbling, every now and then punctuated by an “oy vey” or an “oy gevalt”. To think his whines were not even induced by wine. Then Charlie Brown’s doppelganger stopped and stared at me with those grey-blue eyes of his and waited for a response. I cleared my throat in a most emphatic way – my way of biding for time while I tried to think of some words that might appease his grumbling.

“You know that Jews are God’s chosen people, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“So, why don’t you direct your complaints to Him?” I suggested in a most compassionate tone.

“How?” he wondered.

“Pray!” I almost yelled at him. “Tell Him how you are feeling and ask Him to help you.”

“I don’t think He has time for me”

I was taken aback momentarily by that reply. Regaining my composure, I then gave him a plethora of Biblical verses that directly answered his reluctance, Isaiah 58:9 and Jeremiah 33:3 foremost among them. Even chiding him good naturedly that he probably pictures God as an uber-busy telephone operator unable to handle the millions of blinking lights on His switchboard. I assured him that God is not like that. How can God be God if he has limitations? I asked the Jew in front of me.

He was still waffling on this subject as we tackled the syrup-laden waffles on our breakfast plates. I noticed that he dug into the bacon heap with gusto.

“You’re not kosher, obviously.” I observed.

He nodded as the bacon was crunched heartily between his teeth.

We relegated the religious talk in the background as we discussed more mundane subjects like work and family as we ate. Soon the plates were empty and the last drop of coffee was drunk. The waiter came with the bill. My table-mate looked at me not blinking either eye. I even noticed a so very slight shrug of his shoulders. Finally I got the tacit message. I pulled out my wallet.

“This is on me.” I said in a slightly higher pitched voice. He gave a huge sigh and smiled from ear to ear.

We shook hands and agreed to meet again. He ambled towards his huge SUV where his driver was waiting. I got in my X-trail, plopped my butt on the drivers seat and prayed that I would not encounter any heavy traffic on the way home. Before I drove off I looked at my reflection in the rear view mirror and wondered if I should let hair protrude out of my nostrils.  Oy vey.

A Pair of Sleepers

I opened my eyes. I slowly turned my head to my left and looked at my wife. She was also beginning to stir from her sleep. I turned my gaze towards the clock. Almost 6 am! We woke up later than we used to. What even made it more strange was the fact that for the first time in months we did not need the comfort provided by our room air conditioner or electric fan. Outside our window I could hear  rainfall like the sound of a roaring cascade. Ah, perhaps that was the reason for our extended slumber.


It was Saturday morning. Normal folks, people who worked hard during the week usually wake up late on Saturday mornings. But not us. For us Saturdays are often spent birding which behooves waking up   in the dark hours between midnight and dawn. In fact that was our original plan. However, prudence dictated that we abandon such plans because of the inclement weather. (You should meet prudence - she always gives sound advice). 


So here we are on a gloomy Saturday still lying in bed at this time of the morning. We snuggled close together and slowly drifted back into sleep lulled by the lullaby of the raindrops.


Breakfast can wait.

Dance Seniorita, Dance.

The pulsating rhythm of Lou Bega's Mambo No. 5 filled the hall. All ten of us, arrayed in two rows, danced in unison behind our instructor. Tita Nora, looking youthful at 80 years and despite her torso being slightly bent perhaps from scoliosis was still the epitome of grace in executing the Latin dance. Some ten minutes earlier, she patiently showed us the basic steps that we would be doing.


That was the start of our dancercise routine for that morning. Cynthia and I learned that our village association was holding free dance exercises every Monday and Wednesday from 8 to 9 am at our Village Hall. We both agreed that it would be a good idea to put our sixty-plus year-old bodies to some rigorous yet fun filled activity. The hot summer days brought on a certain amount of lassitude to our daily lives. It was time for some change.


The mambo routine was followed by a cha-cha number. Once again Tita Nora first showed us the steps then came the music. One..two.cha-cha-cha. I looked at my co-participants and felt a twinge of awkwardness. I was the only guy around! However, inasmuch as the other ladies were all senior-itas and didn't seem to mind my presence, I decided to continue swaying to the cha-cha beat.


After one hour Cynthia and I were drowning in sweat. It seemed that every single pore of our skins were oozing with perspiration. And it felt good! We thanked Tita Nora and promised to return to the next session. 


We walked slowly home, our hearts beating to the captivating music of the mambo and cha-cha-cha.

E.R. and There

Last night I had to take my wife, Cynthia, to the E.R. Nothing serious, really but her rashes from an allergic reaction had become unbearable and worrisome. The nearest hospital to our home was the Quezon Memorial Medical Center (QMMC). It being a government-run hospital my expectations were, to be honest, quite low. Imagine my surprise at the efficiency we experienced.


As soon as we entered, we were greeted by the receptionist and asked to sign in the logbook. He then ushered us to the registrar (sitting next to him). He advised me to take care of the registration of the patient while he led Cynthia directly to the Physician on Duty. Based on Cynthia's description of how she felt and looking at her red rashes, Dr. Bayani decided that a shot of epinephrine was necessary. A minute later the attending nurse gave Cynthia the prescribed injection. We thought that was it but the doctor suggested Cynthia to stay put (she was sitting in front of her) for further observation because the medicine might cause some palpitations and/or tremors. About half an hour later and my wife not feeling any side effects, the good doctor gave us the discharge order. She handed us the bill and asked us to proceed to the cashier. Looking at the bill we were amazed that she only charged us P300 for the medicine! No doctor's fees nor consultation fees! And because Cynthia had her Senior Citizen's ID card with her, the final bill came down to P240 (about $5.60)!!


Admittedly the facilities were not as you would expect an Emergency Room to be in terms of equipment  and privacy. Being a government hospital most of the patients being brought in are mostly indigent. Yet I never saw any discrimination even when more affluent patients were admitted.


One day later and Cynthia was feeling a lot better with most of the rashes having disappeared already. Per Dr. Bayani's advice, my wife needs to continue with her medication (anti-histamine pills) for the next five days just to make sure that the allergic reaction completely goes away.


In the U.S. when a patient goes to the E.R. would be asked to wait, unless in a life-threatening situation, while he or she gets registered which includes verifying if he or she has medical insurance, usually taking an average of an hour.  


Needless to say, we were very pleased with our experience with a Philippine government-run E.R. facility.  May I say again that we only spent $5.60. I think that's hard to beat.

Retirees

A meme has been going around Facebook wherein photos are shown to depict "what others think I do" and "what I actually do" based on certain (usually "job") categories. Since nothing was made for retirees like me, I thought I'd create one. Hope you like it.

House for Sale

It was with a bit of hesitation that the man put up a "for sale" sign in front of his house. After all, it has only been recently vacated and there are some things he still need to do with it. "But I have to get on with my life", he thought, trying to convince himself.


It didn't take long before there were some who showed interest in the house. The owner would look at the prospective buyers, talk with them, and more often than not, he would tell them that the house was already taken. With some of them who looked like they would take good care of the house, he would allow them to peer through the windows to have a glimpse of what the inside of the house looks like. But he never let them in. He was afraid that they would remodel the place to their own taste or make it a place just for vacationing and never call it their home.


Then one day, there was someone who inquired about the house and so he let this person peer through the windows. The prospective buyer saw some cobwebs and the dust that have gathered but she also saw the sturdy architecture and the fine furnishings. As the buyer was looking through the windows, the owner felt in his heart that this is someone who will love living in this house and will be taking good care of it. For the first time, he opened the door and invited the interested person to come in and have a better look. He then pulled out the "for sale" sign from the front yard. Yet, somehow, the buyer was still hesitant to get in, perhaps fearful that she would see clutter and disarray within and thus destroy the beautiful image of the house that she had seen through the windows of her mind.


Come in, Cynthia, and make my house your home. The cobwebs will be removed and the dust will be swept away by the brightness and purity of your love.


written in late 2003

Bird in a Gilded Cage

Once there was a bird that lived in a gilded cage. This bird was so sad because his mate went to bird heaven not too long ago. So gloomy was he that the owner decided to open the door of the cage to set him free. Yet in his sorrow even when he knew the cage door has been opened, he dared not and cared not to fly out. He just sat there brooding in his unshared loneliness.


Then one day, from out the window near his cage he heard another bird singing in the branches of a tree. He listened and was enraptured by the beauty of the song. It had been a long time since he heard this song. And the more he listened the more convinced he was that the song was being sung for him. His tiny heart raced. Hesitatingly he warbled a few notes. Soon they were singing together, making such glorious melodies. He wanted to fly out of his cage to be with the other bird and yet, somehow, his wings were not strong enough to carry him through the air. He had been confined for too long that his wings had grown weak. Still the other bird sang to him every morning bringing joy to his soul. With an effort he flapped his wings with the firm determination that one day his pinions will carry him out of his cage, out of the window, up in the air and then beside the lovely bird that gave him a reason to once again soar into the blue skies.


Thank you, Cynthia, for singing to me every morning! I am still flapping my wings and they are growing stronger each day.


...written in the last few days of 2003