Papa

I do not know if this is what nature dictates, if this is how we, finite beings, should evolve.

I noticed that as one grows much older, we seem to become more and more sensitive to all the faults and misgivings surrounding us. And rather than take action ourselves, we mouth tons of criticisms on the flaws that we never cease to see. Sadly, we refuse to move beyond that, to act on the situation ourselves, perhaps given to the thought that at our age being critical is a right.

And whenever we are left with very little choice then forced to take action, we hire someone to do the work for us. I think this is so we can continue mouthing criticisms which, for some, has become a sport.

I find myself becoming more and more like this.

Which is why I find Papa quite unique and very special. At nearly 82 years old, rather than criticize, he would quietly analyze and then act. He is one of those who believes that if you want things done, you better get a go at it.

(Photo credit: Kyrke B. Jaleco)

At 82, Papa would go around DIY shops to research on color themes, seek out the best brand and then get the stuff he needs to start his project. And so our home in Baguio remains as beautiful and homey as it was the first time we moved in.

At 82, while the rest in his age group hire a cabinet maker, Papa will work on building the cabinet himself.

At 82, except for the roof, he would paint the whole house, inside and outside.

Once he saw an expert install a built-in closet with louvered doors. Seeing how beautiful they were, he took on building louvered doors by himself for one of the closets at home. Though he later admitted it was some challenge he got himself into, he did finish them. It was finely crafted that one will not suspect it was built by someone without experience, by someone who just believed he could.

At 82, Papa's mind is constantly at work for ideas on home improvement. He knows which type of faucets will work, what parts to get for your plumbing, why this sort of material work best, which tools will rightly apply; all opinions drawn from personal experience.

He also knows which fertilizer will suit the type of orchids my late mother left to his care. In fact, he knows how to propagate them. He is pretty adept in using compost in caring for his small garden. Not bad for a retired Army Colonel.

And so our home in Baguio continues to be a comfortable place to be in.

His wisdom, as I later learned, came from humbly asking the experts. Surprising at his age, Papa has become even more receptive to fresh inputs and continues to be. Indeed, his lack of understanding does not intimidate him. He loves listening and learning from those who know their craft, regardless whether they are half his age, even younger. What was always important for him is that he is learning and it is through his humility that he continues to build wonderful things with his hands.

Papa may have his moments and can get pretty impatient with those who put no premium on their work. But people's reactions to everyday situations are reflections of their beliefs. For Papa, nothing else works but a job well done. And at 82, he still lives by this creed.

I was in Baguio a few days back and was quietly listening to his stories. The journey he has taken and the heights he has reached will always awe and inspire. I can not help thinking that I have a big shoe to fill here.

It is a different thing to criticize, another to act. The former, from my view, comes from an empty heart while the latter from an indomitable spirit. The last best describes Papa.

Yes, I am deeply honored I am my father's son.

True Gifts

Recently I received a gift. It's one of those you never dream ever landing on your lap, that leave you gasping for breath out of disbelief and then makes you cry.

No, it is not that dream house up the hill. Not yet. But it is just as grand and very much up my mountain.

And to receive it from someone totally unexpected, (someone who until recently was just known to me as a dear friend deeply devoted to his advocacy, of unbelievable humor, hailing from some far away Texas) truly makes it a thing of deep value.

There are gifts that hold you spellbound for weeks, even for the rest of your life. Like the gift of your first born, her first smile, her first laugh and her first “Papa!”. Gifts like her first ballet recital, her first bike ride without those trainers, her first lap of the pool and her triumph over leukemia.

And then there are gifts that remind you the true meaning of friendships, of the self-giving that still abounds. Priceless gifts they are for they came from deep within the giver's heart, born out of deep faith on the one receiving the gift.

They are special gifts that makes the recipient want to give back, to be generous, to pay it forward. They lead hearts like my own to seek goodness in all things, appreciate all things, grateful for all things.

A favorite author wrote in a blog that “A true gift is a heartfelt connection, something that changes both the giver and the recipient.”

I couldn't agree more.

Values

So who administers Carmella's exams?
I do.
And who grades her?
Me.
W-H-A-T????!!!!!

Yes, I get this horrified reaction from people every time I talk about homeschooling.

Most homeschooling parent take on the daunting task of teaching their children because they believe that learning is far more important than ranking. And so with no teaching certificates nor mentoring experience whatsoever, they embark on this journey filled with so much challenge with their hearts as their only beacon. Some have even given up their careers because their children is now the goal.

Maybe Carmella is totally different from ones coming from regular school. She may view the world differently from the next kid, choose a different tool for her art and may be lacking the sophistication or the finesse of one coming from an exclusive girl's school.

But that she can read, do multiplication and division, express her feelings in water color without art school, openly expressive of her creative mind, dance ballet, focused in spite of pressure, independent, at ease around older people, be a charming and loving grand daughter, who treasures friendships deeply and more, all of it born outside regular classroom environment, speaks much of this father's heart.

And this heart discovered it is all about our experiences and what we learned from those experiences that defines us. This is real education.

In this world where competition is fierce and has become the norm, being at the top of the heap has become, sadly, synonymous to success. And in the desperation to put ourselves there, it is often our values that takes a beating. Because of the rush, we can no longer identify with what is true and honest and find integrity a strange word.

Which is perhaps why people are so suspicious about parents homeschooling and then rating their children. Maybe because most of us now find being honest as a truly formidable task.

But when we decide on eroding our values just so we can position our children over and above the rest, no one else losses the most but them. What does that make of us, of them?

So I continue homeschooling Carmella. And surprisingly, not only does it teach her the essential, less the fun fare, but the whole exercise also teaches this father how to be true to himself.  

Are We Afraid Of Giants?

Are we afraid of giants? No, not the Gulliver sort of character but rather the breed of people deeply focused on pursuing something bigger than themselves?

Do we shy away from nobility, a class which for me, are those having a sense of cause? Are we intimidated by their selflessness because it leads us to examine our own sense of worth?

I use to feel this way until Jojo came into the picture. Better known among his friends as GKJo, Jojo has always impressed me with the work he continues to invest on Gawad Kalinga.

There is nothing that will stop him in his pursuit to make things better for his fellow man. Be it joining a marathon, a bike ride that calls attention to his work for the poor because of the livery he decided to be painted on his ride, or by any means that will highlight the mission he truly believes in.

And being the giant that he is, all that enthusiasm he carries, without fail, makes those who listen to him want to reflect on their own sense of purpose.

In the two weeks he has been here, I learned a lot about passion than I ever imagined. Jojo tore a ligament on one knee after the last marathon he joined, an agonizing act carried out for the sole purpose of bringing focus to his chosen advocacy. For a while he struggled with the question “Why?” only to smother all the doubts with “Because no one else will.”

It is a pure class act to rise above your set backs and seek out other ways to continue your work on empowering the helpless and the poor, to search for avenues on how you can bring dignity in their otherwise forgotten existence and to finally cheer them on when they rise above their poverty. This is true nobility at work.

I never had a true understanding of what passion is. I always thought that doing what makes you feel good is passion enough and so I find my biking fitting that definition.

I saw passion as exclusively about the self, confined to personal happiness. I never qualified passion as a selfless act of giving until it hurts and then still have lots of humor left. I never thought of passion as making a difference, of accomplishing work that truly matters in spite the daunting journey up ahead.

I never saw passion as a means to inspire other people to do acts of greatness.

Now I know better.

2011

Simon Sinek has written this on his Facebook wall: "The challenge of the unknown future is so much more exciting than the stories of the accomplished past."

If there is anything we weary life travelers need it is the enthusiasm to search for possibilities, to be excited about the future.

My wife constantly nag me for lacking the skills when it comes to huddling with relatives during family gatherings. She finds it bad manners that I shy away from their discussion and she is right. It shows self righteousness, a wiser-than-thou attitude. And it does not a good in-law make. So these days, I try.

Not that I am against looking back. Sure there are good memories to hark back to which leads one to appreciate the present blessings. What actually kept me at the distance for so long is the expected re-hash of stories from the last family reunion. 

My difficulty in college, and in most meetings I get invited to after that, was to stay interested on talks that are a remake of what I already heard before. So there I am, dozing off which I find more productive than being awake and hating the speaker.

It is for the same reason why I'd rather be somewhere else, like the buffet table, during family reunions because I find peace there, no hating anyone for not knowing what else to tell but the nth repeat of his escapades of 1979.

But slowly I am beginning to understand. Indeed, there is something about the future that people would rather choose looking back. The unknown has always been intimidating and there is no comfort in that thought.

A cousin was asking what business to put up. For a start, he was consulting the wrong person since I have been struggling finding answers to that same question for as long as I can remember. Still, I love this cousin and told him several options. I really felt he was looking for much needed input.

Which was why I was not ready for what came next. I did not expect that for every suggestion I will present him, he would emphasize on what will go wrong. In the end, I thought that no matter how much advice I will give, there will be a setback of some sort he will surely come up with. So I stopped, wondering if this man was really searching for opportunities or a debate.

Whenever I start encouraging friends to save up for a house, a car, an investment, the answer will always be a flowery metaphor that, simply put, says “I can't”. Much like the cousin, I do not know how they still “can” when they have already sealed and stamped it with an “I can't”. And I think that just like the folks in our family reunions, they are anxious more than excited of what lies ahead.

There are reasons why life goes on as it is. And one that each new year brings up so clearly is “chance”. We are offered a chance to make things right, to make amends, to hope, to be better which we should grab without hesitation.

So once again here is a year of possibilities, of challenges that though threatened by how much poise we may lose while trying to cross it, we will give it go just the same. 

Perhaps more importantly, here is a year of opportunities to do stuff that matters, a year that can bring about a change on how we view ourselves. And that is what I believe we should be excited about.

Of Milestones, The Love of a Wife and of Friends Who Believed

My view of what legacy to leave my daughters has always been blurred. I always thought writing was my core gift, so with speaking. It was on them where I pinned all my hopes of opportunities opening up and finding one that will bring about what I wished to bequeath my children. But they remain hopes at best.

So when someone broached the idea of seniors biking all the way to Baguio, I immediately went for it. I thought it will be an experience worthy of a blog, which may somehow lead to getting this writer's work noticed. Hope rekindled.

But if it remains a hope, that I pedaled all 270 kilometers (of which the final stretch is the agony that is Kennon Road) is something my children will talk about for years to come. Even friends will view Baguio much differently now knowing one of them took on the challenge of biking it with nothing much going for him but his heart.

More importantly, trips to my father's home in Benguet will take on a much deeper meaning.

This will be my legacy.

However, through the excitement was the reality that my body now aches in so many places, my bike needs quite a number of parts to make it worthy of the journey that is ahead of us. There is also the bigger issue of funding.

But the love of a wife knows no bounds. Cecille, through her heart, saw what was deep in me, the hopes I silently keep. Even with the countless people she wishes to bless this Christmas, she promised I will fulfill my milestone.

And then there are the few special ones who believed, who were as excited I will be doing this journey. More than friends, they, without being asked, quietly pooled their resources so I can fulfill my personal goal and then help others fulfill theirs. For there are others who are looking towards their own milestones but are in want. Now they will complete theirs with me.

Though initially I was only looking at completing my quest, in the end I had my plate really filled. More than a journey of self discovery, this trip revealed much of what was meant for me.

Now I know that all which is profound, all that carries much meaning, all that will ring through the ages can never be done alone.

In this trip I discovered that it is the voices of those who love you and those who believed in you echoing in your heart that will keep you pedaling up that mountain, no matter how difficult the climb might be.

I discovered that it is the enthusiasm of friendships born along the way that pushes you when the legs are on the point of giving up, their laughter that refreshes you, your second wind.

I discovered that it is the wisdom of those who passed this way before that makes you take notice of God's wonder that surrounds you, humbles you, making you complete.

I discovered that in the midst of indifference that now envelopes the world, there are still people who believe that all we do we can because there is an Almighty looking down on us and is eternally interested.

 True, no one does it alone.

Looking back, I never imagined I will actually do it. Up until November 26, it was all but a dream. Sure bikers half my age had actually done it and in a day. Yes, it can actually be done. But none at age 52.

And happen it did. A milestone fulfilled all due to the love of a wife and of friends who believed.

Truly I am blessed.

May Bukas Pa (There Is Still Tomorrow)

I wrote this as an email to a group of close friends last August. I am putting this up on this blog hoping that, just like it did them, it may do those who visit some good. Think of it as my own personal gift.


It's December and we maybe busy running around looking for the fitting Christmas present to those who means much to us. But as the Fox in The Little Prince said: "What is essential is invisible to the eye." For, indeed, it its.....

How many of us actually watch “Agua Bendita”? My wife is a fan and no matter that the story has branched into so many agonizing and confusing twists (masalimuot best describes it), Cecille, often times with Carmella, would watch it.

I don't. Am not on my high horse here but I think I have had too many bad news to end my day with another one. Let's face it, these dramas offer nothing but more sad news. Which makes me wonder what does it have that most Filipinos find it as a fitting means to cap their already hectic and strenuous day. This query has actually been asked in an earlier blog.

But more than the story, what gets me silly is the theme song: Malayo Pa Ang Umaga (for my english speaking friends this literally means "morning is still far off"). Forgive me but I do not see the connection. Another theme that also presents something confounding is the now defunct May Bukas Pa of the loveable Santino fame.

I think these songs offer something that each of us long for: Hope. Now here comes the shocking part: hope it may be but I think it is all misplaced.

Before you start deleting this email, allow me first to present my views.

A few weeks ago an aunt died. She was living in a small nipa hut situated at the back of a nephew's lot, which leaks a lot when it rains. For all the goodness that she represented while she was still strong, it was truly an unfitting end. She had enriched the lives of those she touched and yet she passed away destitute. It was heart wrenching.

Another nephew lamentably regrets not visiting her while she was alive.

This sad event got me asking....

How many of us expressed the same regret when someone who we love suddenly passes away? How many of us painfully wished we can turn back time? How many of us remain tormented because we failed to do what we should have done when we can still do it?

Malayo pa ang Umaga and May Bukas Pa may express hope of things getting for the better tomorrow. It may even indicate faith in what is good.

But often, because there is tomorrow, we tend to postpone the good that we can already do today. Because Malayo Pa Ang Umaga and May Bukas Pa we hold back on our embraces, on our kisses, on our love expressions, on dear moments.

Because Malayo Pa Ang Umaga or because May Bukas Pa, we became complacent.

And then it is all too late.

Like anyone else I have hopes for tomorrow, too. For starters, I picture tomorrow as “collaboration day”, when someone would finally consider my writing skills, ask my contribution that will lead to a literary work and then get remunerated for doing what I love doing.

I picture tomorrow as a day where my gift of gab becomes a channel of blessings for others who are still trudging along their own journey of illness.

But today I will not hold back. I will never hear of Malayo Pa Ang Umaga or May Bukas Pa for it may be too late then. Today I will enjoy the blessings I have received, to hug as much as I can, kiss those I love as often as I can and tell them I love them, bless them, have fun with them, listen to them, feel them, enjoy them.

Today I will tell my father I love him.

I will look forward to hearing Cecille's stories when she comes home later today.

Today I will teach my daughter the Roman Numerals.

And I will, right now, send this email to you guys for you have been a blessing to me, too. Holding it for tomorrow may just be too late.