Lost

Burnham Park, Baguio City. Full Moon Christmas evening.  In a crowd, one could easily get lost.

In the evening last Friday, Christmas Day, we went to Burnham Park to walk through the “Christmas Village” that the local government of Baguio has put up for its citizens and visitors. There’s crowd when we arrived that the immediate instruction to the kids was to behave so they won’t get lost. But kids are kids and they would just insert themselves between people. The hands has to be strong to restrain them from going far or if it happens that their hands slip out, the eyes has got to be quick to spot where they would be. Then at a grassy flat area, their mother and I spotted some kids who were simply seated. “If only you were just like those kids...,” we told our kids.

We noticed something odd though – the kids were by themselves. The oldest is boy about ten years old. Behind him was seated a toddler and another kid deep in sleep. One of our kids, without being prompted, got near them, perhaps to befriend them. And since our son was conversing with them, we also got near them. My son reported that he already got the name of the oldest, and also informed us that these kids were by themselves because their mother returned to some store they came from to find their sister who was “lost”. We learned that they were from a mining village about an hour or so from the city. His toddler sibling is only about two years old. And they’re here at the park since the time the sun was going down. It was already seven-thirty on my phone which means these kids are more than two hours alone, but still behaving on their mat at the grass in a chilly evening. We have already gone around the tiny houses and are actually about to go home when we spotted the kids. But my wife, our two sisters who were also with us, were not comfortable leaving having known the situation of the kids.

My children talking to the kid at the park.

I thought of informing the nearby police station about the kids. Along the way, I met a police officer who was on patrol. I informed him about the kids and he gladly asked where they were as he agreed they really needed assistance. When we were at the kids’ spot, he immediately recognized by their faces that they must also be the kids of a woman who sought their assistance earlier about a lost child. He said that had they known that the woman still had children left on the park, they would have accommodated the kids in their office than being left in the chilly open space. He assured that he will watch over the kids as he cannot bring them to their office as there would be no one to inform the mother in case she returns.

There was some relief in us but still we lingered a little longer farther away, our eyes still on the kids. Some minutes later, a man arrived and the police officer talked to him briefly. He must be the father or a relative called by the mother to assist them. A few seconds later, they were joined by a woman and a little girl. She must be the mother as she immediately lifted the toddler and began breastfeeding her. We did not bother to get back to them to know their story but are happy heading home with what was obviously a happy ending.

This incident kept me thinking what if the experience of the woman happened to me. I will surely do as she did – going back to find my child. The word “lost” lingered a little longer in mind and soon on the many other ways of “becoming lost.” In the present crowd of things, it is so easy to get lost. In fact, I realized that I myself am somehow lost in the crowd of things that keeps the hands busy. I was so grateful of the long weekend – and the experience of the lost kids – to realize being lost and hopefully somehow figure out way to find one’s self. The experience of finding is surely a happy ending.

Unseen entities and dealing with them

After six stitches and an X-ray, my sister was cleared to go home.  Arriving home, we talked about how it happened that her head was knocked on a stone.  She said it was as if someone pushed her that she slipped and it was also as if a force shoved her head onto the stone with the sharp edges on the ground.  Did she see anyone? No.  I told her neither did I saw someone when I passed by her sweeping nor did I see anyone when I came to her aid.  She was of course defensive and emphasized that she said it was only “as if” or “like” and not that someone shoved her.

My sister-in-law, who lives with us, said that there be could be someone unseen who did push my sister.  She pointed out the incident all of us witnessed when the laborers of a road being constructed placed lighted candles on the spot they bulldozed as according to them the frequent shutdown of the engines of their equipment while doing work there is abnormal.  That spot was just a couple of meters from where my sister fell.

When I told the story of the laborers to some officemates, they said that the place near our house which is now the path of the new road construction was once a greenhouse where a farmer was suffocated to death.  Then I recalled that some two years ago, the previous occupants of what is now our residence came back to perform a ritual on that spot where my sister had been hurt.  They came with a native chicken with its feet tied and let it leap around the spot.  According to one of those who came (who apologized for barging in the premises without permission) they were trying to determine the actual spot where they buried two embryos who were not born due to miscarriage so they could take some soil and do further rituals to appease the spirits.  The last spot where the chicken settled was where they took the soil for their ritual.  With these two accounts, it is then possible that some restless souls are just around our location.

That made me google “how to deal with restless souls.”  My search led to the more encompassing subject of unseen entities like evil spirits and other unseen mystical beings.

My native Ifugao upbringing reminded me of “pinading” that guards rivers, springs, forests, or some particular spots.  Where I live now is not Ifugao but friends from here tell of some similar belief.  Our residence is near a creek so the possibility of “pinading” is there.

I came across an article that says one of the favorite dwelling of unseen spirits are old structures.  My household is now living in a house which is estimated to be about fifty years old.  So could it be old enough to be a dwelling of unseen entities?  The article also says that the unseen entities become furious when there is disturbance in their habitat.  The road construction nearby is surely a disturbance on their part if they exist there as there is movement of soil and cutting of trees.

In the end though, we still concluded that my sister’s incident was an accident.  She stumbled on some pebbles probably then the laws of physics got her head hitting a sharp stone.  The presence of unseen entities could also possibly be true.  

Unseen entities do exist and they could just be present anywhere.  People just have to co-exist with them and hopefully, in a peaceful manner.  For restless souls, they need prayers.  For evil spirits, the armor from the Almighty is needed to defeat them.  And for the unseen entities that also guards nature, people must be one with them.

My scare over the weekend

I call that my scare of the weekend!

I just passed by my sister sweeping dried leaves side of the house. I was on my way to the comfort room outside the house.  I usually  do not use that as there was one inside but for some reason I decided to do my morning things at the outside CR before going to planned activities last Saturday.  But just as I closed the door and was about to open the faucet, I heard my sisters call.  Her voice was weak. Some seconds more, I heard her again.  I realized something went wrong and so I rushed out to check.

There she was laid on the ground, blood oozing from her forehead.  She could have slipped and hit her head on one of the stones nearby.  The first thing that came to mind was stop the bleeding and bring her to the hospital.  But in truth, I was clueless on how to stop the bleeding.  All I could do was ask if she wasn't feeling dizzy.  She shook her head.  I let her press her palm where the blood was coming out, and supported it with my arms and shoulder and carried her.  I shouted to our housemates for help as  I ran to the highway, about a hundred meters away, where we could possibly have a ride to the hospital.  I felt my sister was getting weaker but I always reminded her not to close eyes or sleep.

Some men busy on something on a truck even as we are afar noticed our emergency.  They stopped what they were doing and jumped off and went ahead to the highway to flag down any vehicle that could bring us faster to the hospital.  The truck owner was apologetic that his truck was loaded with cement and feeds that it was not available.  No vehicle was immediately flagged but I appreciate the gesture of the men.  My wife who followed was alert enough to proceed to where garage taxis (those sometimes labelled as colorum) that as soon as the men were able to flag down a jeep, the taxi called by wife was in.

 I thought it was adrenalin working all through out that as soon as my sister was already being attended by the doctor and nurses, I started to feel weak.  Even my sense of hearing seemed affected that I always say "ah" (or can you repeat) while she was asking info for her patient data sheet.  I was asked to go buy some medical supplies which they will use to replace whatever they will use to close the wound.  The supplies have to be bought outside of the hospital.  I thought I can but before I could go to a next pharmacy as the nearest one said they had gone out of stock, I realized I need a place to simply just sit down and let my nerve settle down.

While sitting down, my mind drifted back to the minutes beforehand.  What if I have not gone to use the outside CR?  Perhaps, my sister’s weak call for help could have just drifted through the air and was not immediately by those inside as we would have been farther where she was.  Maybe, we were not able to attend to her immediately.

I realized God knows exactly where we should be at some particular moments to give help.

We went home after my sister got six stitches and patch of gauze on her forehead.  And activities for the day went about smoothly.

Lizard on my Epitaph?

In an office seminar cum recollection, the speaker asked everyone, “If you were to be an animal, what would you like to be?”  I was in the last row and by chance, the speaker let those on the front answer first.  That would have given me ample time to reflect but I wasn’t too concerted on such seminar/recollection.  Someone said “lion” because of its show of strength.  Another said “same” referring to lion and its strength.  I thought of simply saying “same” then mention an animal that was previously mentioned just so to say something.  But as the microphone passed from one person to another, unique answers and reasons were given.  I realized people were taking the recollection seriously.  I thought I have to give a matchless answer so as not to be obvious that I wasn’t taking the question seriously.  I wasn’t still ready for words when I held the mike, but an animal just got into my head.  “Lizard,” I blurted.  “And it’s simply because it sounded like my name.”

“Great! Lizards dwell in palaces,” the speaker said something to this effect.  They are living with kings, queens, prince and princesses.

His last remarks made me unmindful of the answers of those next to me.  Lizards and palaces!  My mind flew to a castle amidst trees and greeneries dutifully surrounded by guards.  I thought of the comfort that people living there are enjoying.  I thought of the abundance that people of such a fortress take pleasure in.  And perhaps the lizard living there was feeling so comfortable too.

My mind soon traveled back to my reality.  I am dwelling not at a palace.  Then I asked myself, does the lizard living with my household have some complaint?

Lizard on a poor man's abode

Not too long after that recollection, I was in a graduate school class where the report of a classmate was about death.  Before the discussion, the reporter asked that each one think and write about an animal that each wanted to be on one’s epitaph.  Still looming in my mind was my animal in the recollection.  And so I wrote lizard.  My rationalization focused mainly on its commonness – it being in farms, forests, mountains, rocks, in palaces and even on poor man’s dwellings.  I identified variation and ability to adapt to environments or flexibility as good characteristics.  I added that in Cordilleran ethnic implements, the lizard is a common image.  The ancestors must have seen something significant about the lizard.  Of course, there are also negative depictions about lizard.  For one, the villain in a popular movie is pictured as a lizard.  But in reasoning for that particular discussion, I have to highlight the good.

Then I realized – it is hard to measure up to a lizard.  So I have to doubly ask, would that lizard still be on my epitaph? 

A Walk into a Prison Without Bars

The reason I was in Puerto Princesa was a seminar on fiscal prudence and how to avoid unfavorable audit findings.  The good thing about it is that the last “official” day of the seminar was designed as spare and travel time, perhaps for the participants to digest the heavy presentations and challenges posed by the speakers.  We were a group from our institution but each one has planned their activity for the morning before the afternoon travel back to home.  Many settled to have long breakfast, and others for last minute city tour and shopping.  I decided to be a lone adventurer as I could convince no one to come with me.  The city tour to which most of my companions are going did not include  the Iwahig Prison and Penal Farm to which I would like to go.  In my lone previous visit to Palawan, I missed going to Iwahig and so this time, I have to ensure being there.  Not that I have a relative there but I was simply intrigued by what I heard of this place – a prison where prisoners are free roaming and working around.

The main gate of the prison said "welcome", no coiled barb wires or some hard security cordons that made me feel at ease as the multicab I was riding passed through it.

 The idea of prison I get from the movies is that of hardened iron grills enclosing quarters that have beds, the number of decks of which equal the number of occupants, where tough individuals are as evidenced by tough muscles not to mention protruding large bellies and huge tattoos of wild animals such as snakes, crocs, and eagles.  The charm of freedom inside a prison then becomes a must see for me.

The previous evening, I asked the tour desk of the hotel where we had the seminar about how to get to Iwahig.  The attendant said it is about thirty minutes away, the fastest way is to hire a vehicle, tricycle or multicab.  This mode though requires a hefty sum. So I asked for other options.

Is there public transport going there?

The public utility vehicles that go in the colony are rare and the wait might take the whole day.  There are jeepneys going to other towns of Palawan or barangays of Puerto Princesa City but would pass only by the gate.  From the gate to where the prisons are, it is about four or five kilometers. Another option is a ride to Irawan then hire tricycle there at perhaps a cheaper rate.

My adventure started at around seven thirty at the City Coliseum.  I immediately spotted a multicab bound for Irawan and so I decided to try my luck.  Before Irawan proper, I was the only passenger left in the vehicle.  I told the driver where I was really going and he offered to convey me there at a price that was definitely seven times lesser than hire rate from Puerto proper that the hotel tour desk said.  The driver was generous with some information about the place.  He pointed to some spots that we’ve passed through as laboratory and work areas of the Department of Agriculture.  Moments later, he pointed to some rice fields which he said where farmlands of the Iwahig Penal Colony.  He related a time when he also conveyed visitors that when they passed the place in the morning, they saw prisoners harvesting but when they were already going home in the afternoon, they noticed that prisoners are already planting.  That is how fast things can go, he said, because there are a lot of them, prisoners who work.  Other things he said I forgot as soon we came to gate arched with a welcome sign to the Iwahig Penal Colony.  There were no entrance requirements except to greet the guard and log a name into his logbook.  The ride from the gate to the main prison compound is bumpy through a gravel road which is of stark difference with the concrete highway from Puerto to the gate.  As soon as we were on the main compound, he offered to wait for me for an additional sum.  I told him I intend to experience the walk up to the gate and wait for jeepneys from other towns.  He seemed to have understood the experience I want to have, offered some advice and wished me good luck.  It was obvious he wasn’t new to conveying visitors here that he called one of the men wearing a prisoner’s shirt and asked the guy to tour me around then he left.

The Recreation Hall is a dilapidated building at the main compound.  The inmate I talked to said that it was built in 1924 as he pointed to some Roman numbers embossed on the frontage.  It was obvious that there was little renovation done and needs much repairs. 

           
 We were in front of a building marked the Recreation Hall.  My host was a middle-aged fellow, sports a bald hairdo, some wrinkles on the forehead, wears a maong trimmed into a short pants, and a lighted cigarette on hand.  Except for his brown shirt marked “Mimimum Security”, there is no way to tell he is a prisoner.

                From where are you, was his initial query.  I told him I am from Benguet.  I thought that there were only the two us but as soon as I told where I am, immediately from nowhere other inmates surrounded us.  One who was obviously on his way to fetch with some improvised timba on hand identified himself as from La Union and started conversing with me in Ilokano.  Another identified himself as from Pangasinan and pleaded that I talk to him after he finished his laundry.  Then soon, someone was called whom they identified as my kailiyan (town mate) to come and “properly” welcome me there.

                The guy identified himself (I’ll refer to him as Ka Adel in this write up) as among the leaders of “kakadwa” (fellows) from the North whenever one needs assistance. He invited me inside the Recreation Hall which was also used to display products made by prisoners.  He invited me to buy some souvenirs and pointed to crafts made by “kakadwa.”  He explained that when someone buys an item the capital and a percentage of the profit goes back to the prisoner who made the craft.  I asked why this was called the Recreation Hall, and he pointed to a badminton/volleyball court.  Often times, there are games that are played there but everyday, this is used to sell the products of the prisoners.  We went by the window and he showed me the maximum security compound, and to the other side, he showed the medium security compound.  He then explained to me the color codes used – brown shirts for minimum security prisoners, blue for medium security, and orange for maximum security.  He explained that I could actually talk to prisoners in their quarters but at that time, most are in their assigned tasks for the day. 

After some more conversation, we went down the basement of the Recreation Hall.  My initial host was there ready to assist me touring around other facilities in the compound.  We passed by a tennis court, a Catholic Church, and an open altar.  He explained that this open altar is where masses for the dead are held before being brought to the cemetery.  He showed me to the administrative building then to the waiting area for public transport to Puerto Princesa.  I opted though to go back to the Recreation Hall.

Ka Adel immediately met me again and invited me under a tree for some more chat.  He told to me how people inside that compound, though they maybe free roaming around, long for some visit from their loved ones and even just plain kailiyan.  He shared to me that since he was brought to this prison some twenty years ago, he never had a loved one visit him.  Prior to it, he was jailed for eleven years at National Bilibid in Muntinlupa and he had visits there.  He blamed his lack of visitors to the accessibility of the place.  This place is really far from the Northern Philippines, a bus, a plane, and several jeepney rides and walk away, I realized.

A Rizal monument stands at the middle of the compound.  Nearby is the Saint Joseph the Worker Parish Church.  They have a resident chaplain.  My new-found friend in the compound also told me that pastors from protestant churches also come to preach.  I simply wished the prisoners will take the example of Rizal while in exile, making the most of his time, and hoped that the chaplain and pastors will truly shepherd the flock inside the compaound,

I have heard prisoners can bring their families in here, I asked him.  He confirmed.  Those who opt to bring their families have Libertad, a compound within the colony, to build a house.  But he clarified that it is only when one is able to sustain a family before daring so.  Certainly the “livelihood” as displayed inside the Recreation Hall is not enough to feed a family.  The government gives a meager ration not even enough for one single person for a week, according to him.  This consists of at least four and a half kilos of rice, seven small cans of sardines, two small noodle packs, and two eggs. Then he posed me a question, do you think that is enough for the twenty one meals that person would normally have in a week?

He said he considers it a blessing when some employees ask them to do some services for a fee.  These services include getting some firewood from dried trees in nearby forests, laundry services, and some errands inside the prison.  At times, they are also able to find stray animals such as ducks caught in the mangrove forests and sell them to employees.  Some generous visitors also give them money.  Mostly, the sum they get from all these are shared between “kakadwa”.  What he hates are some employees who underrate them and even want a share with whatever visitors give.

Don’t they give wages for the labor such as those I saw working in the farm?  He said the ordinary laborers receives forty five pesos a month, some kapatas receives seventy five pesos.  Skilled labor such as machine operator, say the tractor or thresher, receive higher.  He was not sure of the amount although he was sure it is not more than five hundred a month.  He ended saying, “Narigat ti biyag ditoy.” (Life is hard here.)

Inmates carries their harvest to the threshing area as the maya birds freely come to share with the fruits of the field.

I did not realize how time flew by so fast that it was even Ka Adel who reminded me that it was already nearing ten o’clock when he looked at his watch.  He estimated my time of waiting or walking to the main gate and prodded me to leave or I’ll miss my flight back to Manila.  He urged me though that should I know of some kailians who are in Puerto Princesa, I should exhort them to visit Iwahig.  Truly people inside there needed conversations such as what we had.

I walked, occasionally jogged, the road towards the main gate.  I stopped at some point to take photographs.  One was a view where on one side is dry brownish land and on the other is a verdant green land.  There are really contrasts in life, I mused.  Another is of white bird flying freely over rice fields with mountains on the background.  The bird soon landed on a spot where its companions are looking for food, perhaps worms and other insects at where some cows are freely grazing.  On another side, there were the small maya birds flying from one field to another obviously enjoying themselves of the verdant fruits of the palay toiled by the prisoners.  I pondered – birds are often used to signify freedom but these different birds tell of the diversity of how freedom is understood.

While positioning to take a picture, a motorcycle suddenly stopped beside me.  I was startled.  An elderly man asked what I was doing.  I said, I was just taking pictures.  “So you are a social researcher?” he blurted especially when I responded to a previous query that I was from university.  I almost chuckled on that, said “No” but could not remember any word to correct his assumption.  He offered me the ride and as I was behind him on his bike, he offered some information about him.  He was a retired employee but now has his house within the compound.  He is currently pushing for some advocacy which he offered to talk about if I can lend some ears.  We proceeded to a shed near a building marked “Minimum Security” and he started to share info about a foundation he put up for empowering individuals who are freed from prison.  He is of the opinion that society has a negative attitude about ex-convicts.  This has to be corrected, he said, so as to allow the good reintegration of prisoners.  He shares that what his group is doing is a program that would prepare ex-convicts through “educational” guidance before they are sent back to their communities. He is still assuming I was a social researcher/writer and asked me to write good things about the prisoners, what they need, and cast away “fear” of society on ex-convicts as government is doing well to give them normal life such as this in Iwahig.

I asked him about the low wages given to the prisoners.  And he simply said, of course the kwerna  (ordinary labor) is given the lowest, higher for the kapatas because of the supervision, and premium is given to skills.  He explained that these are not to be understood as wages but rather as tokens.  He said that another benefit of this labor is the chance for this people to stretch their muscles, an important aspect to normal living.

Trying to act free coming out of that walk from prison.

As time was really going by, I asked him for dispensation.  I jogged to the gate as my latest host has some other things to do.  People I passed wearing blue shirts obviously resting from hours of labor waved to me, some gamely posing for the lens.  The guard at the gate smiled to me as if inviting me to come back soon.  Luckily, it did not take time before a jeep stopped to pick me up.  It was a public utility vehicle from Narra, a town beyond Iwahig.   I transferred to another ride at a junction then to a tricycle to the hotel where my companions are waiting.  All in all, I spent thirty six pesos for fare from Iwahig to the hotel.  This is slightly more than twice the fare I paid when I went there.

I had barely little time to prepare myself for the flight and travel back to the North.  Most of my companions are already at the lobby waiting for me.  As I was placing into my travelling bag some souvenir items I purchased from the Recreation Hall, them - people are on my mind.  I vividly remember Joel (not his real name) pleading that I buy a purse he claimed he crafted.  Overpriced but on one hand I thought it was worth it.  I also bought some replica of butterflies in that hall, and was happy that those whom I gave these items thought that they were beautiful.  As we were up the clouds, Iwahig was in my mind.  Even up to now.  Iwahig – a prison without bars but still a prison.

A topsy-turvy morning in the "City of the Living God"

An early morning view of the 

I am not a regular patron of pancakes, although I like the fluffy feeling inside the mouth.  But that particular morning, I decided to have one as soon as I saw the store signboard of one of the known fastfood chains that serve pancakes after some stroll at the bayan of that city I was new at. 

This is the selfie that almost had me lose my celphone

Fifteen minutes tricycle ride away after my last bite of pancake and sip of the complementing pineapple juice, I realized that I do not have my celphone.  Recall! More recall!  I was sure I took a selfie with my phone before my first bite.  At a building opposite the street and clearly visible from where I was seated at the fast food store, the wall was painted boldly with “Every knee shall bow, every tongue confess, Jesus is Lord.”  I wanted a remembrance of that wall so I took a click.  May this was one of the reasons why the city styles itself as the “City of the Living God,” I thought.  After taking the picture, I laid the phone on the table and forgot about it when I went out.

                The tricycle I rode was already gone so I had to flag another.  Since the hotel we were in was not in the main thoroughfare of the city, it took some time before I got a ride.  St. Jude was my favorite saint when it comes to lost things and I kept pleading his intercession while inside the tricycle back to “bayan”.  My mobile phone was cheap and definitely not in the line of high ends.  But nevertheless is very important to me.  Losing it means new contact numbers, phone contacts to be established again, and definitely its hard to set aside at least two thousand for such a unit that I learned to like.

                Earlier in the day, after a walk and some photographs at the Puerto Princesa Baywalk, I attended mass at the Immaculate Concepcion Cathedral.  I had with me a thousand peso bill and two fifty peso bills.  During the offering, I was deciding whether to drop something or not because if I will drop the small bills, even if I drop only one, it will leave me with no small bill to hire a tricycle back to the hotel.  I would need at least sixty to hire a tricycle as I do not know the routes of the public utility jeepneys.  My dilemma soon brought me to the fast food for smaller bills for my fare.

                As soon as I checked back at the store, my eyes immediately scanned the table where I sat earlier.  It was clean, no phone or anything on it.  I asked an attendant if they might have seen a phone when they were cleaning up that table.  She immediately went inside their office probably to refer me to someone else.  She came back with another lady probably the store manager as distinguished by her uniform.  To my relief, this new lady was coming with a familiar phone on hand I recognized to be mine.  I said my “Thank you” and immediately rushed back to the hotel.  Indeed, this city is the “City of the Living God” with honest people around.

                There was already too little time between my arrival and the call time for the seminar.  I allotted it to taking a bath, change clothes, and preparing things I need like ID and note pads.  I had barely a time for breakfast so I decided to skip it.  I am conscious about showing up late for the seminar especially to my companions from the institution I work.  When they asked if I had breakfast, I said “yes”.  I did not lie - I took breakfast of pancakes although I knew that what they mean was breakfast at the hotel.

                The speaker wasn’t yet called at the podium although I knew he was already as he has also spoke the previous afternoon.  I tried scribbling the title of the next presentation on my notepad from the program paper but my pen cannot move as my mind is still with my experience earlier in the morning.

                Inside the Cathedral, I knelt a little longer after communion.  Loreen, my daughter who passed an infant two years ago, was on my mind.  I do not know exactly why but perhaps because it was her death anniversary two days ago, the time we flew to Puerto Princesa.  I felt like she was there seating beside me.  After her death, I reflected on what might be her role given by the Supreme One in wherever she might have gone.  Somewhere within the compounds of that church is one image depicting the Immaculate Concepcion, that parish being named after the feast.   The  images depicting the Immaculate Concepcion is the only other image of Mother Mary I know that includes cherubs upon her feet, the other being the image of Our Lady of Covadonga.   This made vivid my imagination of my daughter.

The frontage of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Concepcion in Puerto Princesa

                

Then the microphone sounded.  It is already the speaker’s time.  He is to continue his presentation which according to him was prepared by a “student assistant.”  His emphasis that it was “prepared by student assistant” annoyed me a little bit.  But there then I knew I had better things to be annoyed at.  I knew that my pieces of pancake experiences in this city is already worth my nuisances that morning.

"Fallen from the bridge"

Let me retell an anecdote which I just heard from a priest's sermon and I entitled "Fallen from the bridge"

(I originally posted this at http://www.bubblews.com/news/9861830-039fallen-from-the-bridge039 )

There was once a priest assigned in parish within a city full of every temptation for the sins of the flesh. The city had a lot of bars that offers lewd floor shows both for men and women, prostitution houses, etc. During confessions, the priest find it too vulgar how the parishioners describe their adulterous acts. So in his Sunday sermon, he told the congregation to say "fallen from the bridge" when referring to sins of adultery and he will understand. From then on, the parishioners did as requested by the priest. It went on that way for many years. Whenever the priest hears a confession of "fallen from the bridge", he knows that it is something on adultery and gives the proper absolution.

Time came when there were reshuffling of priest within the diocese. A new priest was assigned in the parish. During confession, this new priest hears so much of the sin "fallen from the bridge." He concluded that there must be broken bridge somewhere and that the citizens were guilty for not contributing to the repair of such bridge. So he went to the city mayor. He told about that bridge that many have fallen from and he asked for the immediate repair of said bridge so that people will no longer feel guilty.

The mayor laughed at the story of the new priest knowing that such "fallen from the bridge" was an innovation of the previous priest. While the mayor was laughing, the priest said, "That is not a laughing matter your honor and must be taken seriously. In fact, your spouse confessed falling from that bridge three times already."

The mayor stopped laughing, the face turned all red in anger!

Hunger that Gives Strength

I had always been complaining - to no one.  At least not to a human being.  But to someone Supreme. The Supreme Provider - I call Him that.

I complain at why would others have their baskets full at grocery stores while I can just go home with a little. I complain at why others would talk about having delicious dishes their previous meals while I only had those simple fried or boiled dishes for my household.  I complain about why others enjoy travel around the world but I have limited budget for such.  I complain about how others have so much while I am drowning in debt.

I almost always had no answers except to simply live each day working, earning, eating, sleeping. Until this morning when I got to see a powerful image that up to this time lingers in my mind.

I entered a cafeteria and ordered their budget meal - one vegetable dish, a meat dish, soup and soft drinks.  There are a lot of others customers having the similar meal as mine.  The cost is Php 35 per meal, Php 50 with the soda.  Soon, a case for empty soda bottled were filled in a corner.

A man entered.  Obviously very hungry.  And haggard with the dirty clothes on him.  He gathered the straw from the empty bottles and placed them on his basket.  Must be for sale.  Those plastics could cost a cent.  Then he let the left over liquid from each "empty" bottles into one.  Soon he had a near full bottle which he drank..  Seemingly satisfied, he went out of the cafe.

I immediately realized he was there to teach me a lesson.  How better is it for me than this man that I should not be in a position to complain.

In his hunger, he saw fullness in the supposedly empty bottles at the corner.  I wish the man would always find help.  I wish I had that grace of seeing fullness in my emptiness.

I wish...