Accidentally Jessica

Sorry, this is the best that my phone camera can do.

Nanay handed me a handwritten note on a yellow stick pad.  It said: Li Garden Sharksfin Seafood Restaurant, Macapagal Ave., near PNB.

She asked if I could drive her there the following day for her 5pm European pilgrimage briefing; the tour sponsored by my bachelor brother and resident Mr. Generous, Kuya Gary.  Though she said it as a request, it was more like an edict.  As the family’s designated “go to” guy I was expected to find the time to do as, well, requested.

So after our afternoon Wall Climbing class, my wife and I picked up Nanay at Robinsons Place Lipa.  The drive was uneventful and we arrived at Li Garden a good 30 minutes ahead of schedule.

The last time I brought Nanay to this kind of briefing was on a rainy night in November of last year for her trip to the Holy Land (told you my brother is generous). Back then the meeting was held at a Korean restaurant somewhere in Ermita.  The rain was heavy that my wife and I decided to wait out the briefing inside the venue.  Luckily, not all those who were supposed to arrive did, leaving a few vacant plates – note, free dinner – available to us.

As a consequence of arriving early at Li Garden, we wouldn’t know if the same thing would happen in at least two hours.  Honestly, I am intrigued if the restaurant would serve sharksfin as its business name boldly suggests.  I suppose World Wildlife Fund, DENR, PETA and other groups concerned with animal conservation should look into this.

Anyway, as soon as Nanay had other early birds for company we decided to leave her there for a quick hop to the Mall of Asia a few minutes away.

Every time we are in Manila we make it a point to eat at restaurants not available in Lipa, this time at Sbarro’s, my wife’s favorite.

After a satisfying slice of deep dish pizza, zitti and eggplant parmigiana washed down by iced tea and lemonade we decided to take a leisurely stroll back to the parking lot.

On the way I heard a powerful voice singing.  I thought it was just an audition for one of those billion talent shows.  It sounded a lot like Jessica Sanchez.  But no one could sound like Jessica Sanchez except for Jessica Sanchez, herself.

As we walked closer to the stage, a widescreen was showing someone who looked like Jessica Sanchez singing.  I thought “Oh well, just a recording of one of Jessica’s performances.”

But it was not.  Under the widescreen was the real Jessica singing “Stuttering” live.  It was surreal.  It was an unexpected blessing.  My wife later confided that she was on the verge of tears because of the accidental encounter.

Jessica sang another song, The Prayer.  She was brilliant.  And supremely talented.  She also looked every bit a Filipina in short shorts and what looked like 10-foot wedges.  Yes, I think she’s a Filipina regardless of what Charice Pempengco’s American manager claims.  I mean if you compare Jessica and Charice, who do you think acts and behaves like a Filipina?

Nanay’s meeting ended around 9.

On the way home, everyone was silent inside the car.  Nanay was sleeping and my wife was still probably reminiscing about the chance encounter with Jessica.  I sure was.

I was doing 90 along the STAR Tollway when I was about to overtake a six-wheeler doing about 60.  This is a routine pass, I go left, the truck stays to the right, and we should just be complete strangers whizzing by each other without actually seeing one another.

But as I was about to pass the slow truck inexplicably veered towards my lane.  I simultaneously hammered the horn and stepped on the brakes so hard that we went from 90 to 0 in one long angry ode to the truck driver’s parentage, specifically his maternal lineage. 

The horn jolted the driver to his senses and he steered the truck back to the proper lane.

Funny that as this was happening, the only thing going inside my head was that the sound effects in movies of cars breaking and wheels screeching sounded eerily similar to the real thing.  So did the videos of car accidents caught on tape.

Then we were engulfed by the smoke and burnt smell of brake pads that were worked up to its limits.  My Nanay, awakened by the sudden stop, calmly and cluelessly asked, “Bakit ka tumigil?”

As I started the car again I can see the truck pulled over to the side, the driver alit and holding his hand high in a gesture of apology.  He looked like someone suddenly awakened from sleep.  I drove on.  It was pointless to confront him.

What a night.  One moment I was humming Stuttering in my head, the next I was muttering inanities.  Oh darn, accidentally Jessica.

Of a giftless birthday and cheap happiness

Yesterday, September 22, was my birthday.  Except for a late lunch date with my wife followed by a quick stop at the grocery, I did not spend any money on this day.  I did not buy anything for myself.  And my wife also did not get me anything.  It was just like any ordinary day.

But I felt like a million because people who care for me did not get me gifts that were paid for in currency.  Rather they spent time and effort for me on my birthday.  That’s the best gift I can receive because it meant that they value me.  They did not leave me with a souvenir that would get bundled with other material things, instead they left me with moments that I can lift anytime from my memory bank should I need a quick pick-me-upper.

That’s priceless.

I appreciate the satisfaction of having the capacity to spend, and I strive hard to achieve that capacity every day.  But I thank God that I grew up not finding happiness in money and what it can buy.  My family’s lack of it as I was growing up had a lot to do with this attitude because I was forced to find alternative sources of happiness.  I found it in my imagination, in the drawings that I scrawled everywhere, in the times I spent freely on my own wandering without regard for time and hunger, in the kids and older people I spent time with, and in little things that God made such as spiders and mushrooms.

But not every day can be my birthday.

It does not make a difference however.  Not a day passes without me getting or experiencing a priceless gift.  So inspite of the problems and challenges that come my way I can say that I am lucky to be happy every day.

Let me share a quick list of what makes me smile and grateful to be alive.  Most of it is free, and if there is any form of expenditure, it’s definitely cheap.

1.        Waking up in the morning.

2.       Sinking my teeth on a perfect sunny side up seasoned with rock salt – yolk golden and oozing, melting on the tongue. Sarap ng breakfast.

3.       Wearing a shirt neatly pressed by my wife who refuses to let me out of the house looking haggard.  This is one chore she does not pass on to househelp.

4.       The sweet smell emanating from my beehives as I inspect them one by one.

5.       A tablespoon of honey I harvested myself.

6.       A random bird that visits our garden; a hummingbird once, a red breasted quail next, and an assortment of colorful ones whose names I don’t even know.

7.       Edible mushrooms after a heavy rain.

8.       Fresh fruits rambutan, durian, suha, satsuma, kalamansi, fresh vegetables and herbs malunggay, kamote tops, sili leaves, papaya, basil, mint – all from the garden.  Still waiting for the mangosteen though.

9.       Fresh tuna sashimi I prepare from a cut I bought from the market. I usually buy one fourth kilo at about 75 pesos.  This would be good for 3 servings.  Sarap.

10.   A kid placing a candy wrapper in his or her pocket: There is hope for the environment.

11.   A driver stopping at an intersection and waving me to join the traffic: Not everyone is in a hurry.

12.   Finding red notifications on FB.

13.   Reading status posted by people I care for.  If the status is about success, milestones or positive events I am happy for them because they are getting what they desire.  If it’s about heartaches, issues and problems, I am happy for them because they are growing.

14.   My 77 year old mother screaming and cheering as she watches basketball on TV: She’s enjoying herself.

15.   Hearing my nanay humming a song I don’t know: She’s happy and contented.

16.   My dog Patch jumping up and down as he welcomes me home.

17.   The tippity-tap sound that Patch’s little feet make as he goes up or down the stairs.

18.   Patch joining me on the sofa as I watch TV.

19.   Waking up in the middle of a cold night to find Patch cozily wedged between me and my wife, under our blanket.

20.   My wedding ring.

21.   My wife’s smile.

22.   Her voice as she speaks.

23.   The touch of her skin on mine.

24.   Her hands clasped with mine as we walk, sit, or lay on the bed.

25.   Hearing my wife snore in the middle of the night; I know she’s having a fitful rest.

Pride, respect and Sotto

Let's be clear.  I do not own this pic.  It's from GMATV.

Senator Tito Sotto should be the final argument why a public official should not be voted into office because of mere popularity.  Lito Lapid would have been the best argument but since it seems that the only time that he opens his mouth is when he lets out a yawn, he cannot claim party to a debate, let alone a discussion.

So Mr. Sotto comes into the RH Bill debate, fresh from treating the recently concluded Chief Justice Corona’s Impeachment Trial as a showcase for his emceeing skills culled from his decades-long experience at Eat Bulaga, and he is making his darndest best to appear and sound erudite.  The appearance part he got down pat.  He is an actor after all.  But the erudition part he failed miserably.  He is an actor after all.

Don’t get me wrong.  There are many intelligent people in show business.  But you know they are intelligent because they stay away from politics.

No one is running away from him from debates as he would like people to believe.  But it is not as if the mere mention of his name would elicit quivers from anyone who could construct an intelligible sentence.  In fact, several non-politicians are calling him out to an issue-based one, which the Senator promptly dismissed and ignored, reasoning out that it would demean the Senate as an institution if he engages in a word tussle with people that were not even elected to any public office.  But it is he who demeans the Senate because he was unfortunately elected into it.

Tito Sotto does not get it.  His passion against the RH Bill is unquestioned, at times he even comes across as sincere, even noble.  But that is beside the point because indeed he does raise some good points.

It is him.  He is the point.  Or the pointless.

Tito Sotto is a different breed, a class all his own.  He opens his mouth and out comes words that are not his.  And when he is called out, he behaves as if he is beyond censure.  Oh the sense of entitlement of this senator.  He even thinks that the word products of other people are his for the taking, or the blurting out.

I write.  And I write.  And I write.  But never have I attempted to pass off somebody’s work as mine.  It’s called pride of one’s intellect and respect for another’s.  Apparently, Sotto owns neither.

And now the latest episode: Sotto does not plagiarize another’s work – Robert Kennedy’s this time – but he translates it into the vernacular. And he laughs and derides people who again, naturally and thankfully, called him out, asserting that there is no plagiarism because he used another language to mean what Kennedy originally said in English.

Sotto is clueless.  Shameless.  Shameful.

And then he would cry that he is being cyber-bullied.  He is not.  He has shown enough obliviousness to prove that he is immune from any and all verbal attacks – be it from cyberspace or from the senate floor.

On the contrary, he is the big bully.  The “big man” who cannot be faulted for lacking originality because according to him, last he checked, plagiarism is not a crime in the Philippines.  Well, it maybe not.  But the way he shows disregard and disrespect for another’s intellectual output is criminal.  And the fact that he is a senator of the land showing the citizens of the Philippines, kids included, that being a copycat is totally acceptable is utterly despicable.  It is not only criminal.  It is heinous.

From Epal Bill to Robredo Bill

The proposed Epal bill should be amended and then passed immediately.  The amendment I want is simple but makes perfect sense.  Instead of the uninspired and rather tasteless “epal” tag, it should be called the Robredo Bill, in honor of the man who, in his time as Mayor of Naga and later Secretary for the Department of Interior and Local Government, defined what government service should be: effective but low-key;  exemplifying the type of service that called attention to the effect and not the action, benefitted constituents and not political allies, and honored the people not the self -- the antithesis of how so many politicians behave and dispose of their duties which is anything but public service.

Jesse Robredo was not Mikee Arroyo who pretended to represent security guards and janitors.  He was genuine, unpretentious and secure.

Jesse Robredo was not Camarines Governor Luis Villafuerte who blocked his confirmation as DILG Secretary because he failed to unite politics in the Bicol region which the Villafuertes have lorded over for decades, and where Luis himself is at odds with his very own son LRay.  No.  Jesse was not like him.  He did not see public service as having geographic or political boundaries.  He only saw Filipinos needing help.

I believe that Jesse Robredo was fated to die early, while there was so much left to do.  It had to happen because there are so much more that can be done if he is gone.  I believe that because of his example, more like him will follow.

Good men die in different ways.  Some die old, helping and inspiring people along the way, mostly those who are in immediate contact of the man.  But there are those like Jesse Robredo who must die leaving behind plenty of what-ifs and open-ended questions that would inspire and goad future generations to fill in the blanks and continue the work left undone.  Jose Rizal died the same way.  So did Ninoy Aquino.  Their deaths, while untimely and deeply unsettling, paved the way for upheavals that changed the course of our nation’s history.

So yes, Jesse Robredo died not a second too soon.  Change is on the way.

Through his death, stories of his dedication to his country and its people are surfacing; making more Filipinos – especially those that have become jaded and skeptical – believe that there are people in the government who genuinely have the interest of the Filipinos at heart.

Through his death, people are now realizing that he has done a lot without anyone hearing or reading about them.  That is public service, not self-service.

Pass the Robredo Bill and let’s move forward without the likes of Meynard Sabili polluting

beautiful Lipa with his heavily doctored photo every chance he gets.  This is politics at its crudest.

Pass the Robredo Bill and let’s start a new culture of politics where officials are more concerned with good governance rather than good image projection.  The latter naturally follows if the former is observed and sustained.

Pass the Robredo Bill and let’s put a face and a name to good governance.  It’s long overdue and someone just died for it.


I hope this post is read and shared until it reaches the proponents of the Epal Bill.

Jesse Robredo: 1958-2012

I don’t know Jesse Robredo.  But when someone would jump the high seas just to witness a proud moment in his child’s life – I admire him.  And for this person to work for the government, I admire him even more.

At least I know where his heart is.

If a man would not miss his child for the world then he knows his priorities, and it is certainly not his work at the government.   And this is the kind of love that everyone in the government should possess.

If a government man values his family over his life then he is motivated to give his all to his job -- and not get all from it -- knowing fully well that what he does at work will have an effect, good or bad, to those he loves.

You know where his heart is.

I don’t know him but my heart is heavy.

Secretary Jesse Robredo, may you rest in peace.  And may your life of simplicity and service be an example to every Filipino, especially those in the government who may not think that their child’s smallest victory is perhaps the most important in this world.

A bike errand and a guard just doing his job

I routinely ride my bike for errands.  This saves me time and money as it allows me to weave in and around traffic without burning gas or paying for fare. 

I needed sugar this morning, two kilos of it.  A kilo of white sugar costs 7 pesos more at the local sarisari store than at the grocery, so biking 8 kilometers to and from Robinsons Place would save me 14 pesos, and I get to earn a little exercise on the side.

I usually park my bike where motorcycle riders park theirs, near the rear entrance of the mall.  As customary, I politely ask the security guard in charge of the parking space “Sir, paiwan lang ha. Mabilis lang ako.”  Instead of the usual “Sige sir, pakitabi na lang d’yan,” the guard on duty sternly asked “Wala ka bang lock n’yan?” as he pointed to other bikes padlocked to a steel post.

“Sir, saglit lang ako,” I repeated myself.

“Dapat kasi may lock ka, eh.”

“Wala nga sir, eh.  Di ko ba puedeng iwan?”  I asked in a relaxed voice.

“San mo iiwanan? My stand ba yan?, as he pointed to a line of motorcycles that were standing on their own, indicating that they belong where they are.

“Wala rin, sir.”

“Eh, dapat may stand yan.   Kung lalabas kayo at iiwanan ang bike nyo, dapat may lock at stand.”

My patience was wearing thin and I didn’t like the tone of his voice.  “Sir, gaano ba ka-imposible ang hinihingi ko?  At huwag mo ko pagagalitan.”

“Sir,” the first time he used the word and at a lower octave, “di ko naman kayo pinagagalitan, baka lang masalisihan tayo.”

“Tignan mo nga kung gaano kalaki ako (I am 185-pound, 6’1” man)? Hindi mo kaya mapapansin kung biglang maliit na ang kukuha ng bike ko?”

He was determined not to let me park, but I was equally determined to let him see my point – that leaving my bike at his post, won’t cause him any trouble, and won’t result to a stolen bike provided that he opens his eyes.  It was as simple as that.

Perhaps realizing that I was not about to ride away, he grudgingly gestured to a corner.  It is where I normally park my bike -- within his reach and sight.

I was back to retrieve my bike after no more than 10 minutes.  Another guard was ogling it, while the guard on duty was, well, standing where I left him: a meter away from it.

On my way home, I kept on repeating the conversation I had with the guard in my head, trying to find a way to understand why he acted the way he did.  The most reasonable argument would be that he was afraid that a bike that costs perhaps several months of his salary could be stolen right under his nose.   But that doesn’t hold water.  No thief would be stupid enough to steal a bike when a guard can handcuff him even before he can mount it.  I suppose it’s possible.  But come on, even the most desperate thief would at least try to steal something that he knows he has half a chance of getting away with it.

So I came to this conclusion: The guard was just doing his job.  And that’s the problem, he was JUST doing his job.

Years ago, I was asked to come up with an Annual Report concept for Petron.  They were then trying to overhaul their service philosophy which mandated that everyone, from the gas pump attendant dealing with a customer to the big bosses making the big decision, should attend to his responsibilities with the end goal of creating an extraordinary service experience for the other party.  I encapsulated this thrust into the theme “Going the extra mile for a smile.”

The guard was just doing his job, by following a job description.  I can’t help but think that he considers his job as “merely” a source of income, nothing more, and certainly not part of something bigger.  Which is not bad really, and I cannot fault him for it.  Why should he go the extra mile when he had already given what was required?

It’s the same as the karinderia owner who refuses extra sabaw to a customer, a nurse who snubs a patient’s request to raise his bed a little because she was only there to check on the meds, or a mechanic who ignores a lose wheel nut because he was only asked to work on the brakes.

And to think the difference between a satisfied carinderia customer, a relieved hospital patient or a safe car driver is just a few seconds, and one unremarkable effort.  Really, it doesn’t take much to put a smile on somebody’s face.

Perhaps, I was just expecting too much because I believe that every person doing a job has certain predispositions or qualities that would make him effective.  I expect a guard to be alert and attentive.  Just as I expect a chef to have a keen taste for food, a teacher to be patient and knowledgeable, and a politician to be, well, good at what politicians do (supply the word).

There is always a human element to any job that requires interaction.  And this often entails a little flexibility to adjust to the push of fulfilling a job description and the pull of giving in to a reasonable, humane and helpful request. And sometimes, a little sensitivity to the situation.

When my father was in the hospital for Stage 4 cancer, he was attended to by a female physician.  She was good and always knew what to do medically under any condition and circumstance.  But by then my father was feeling pain all over his body.  In one of her rounds the good doctor found me massaging my father with coconut oil to which she snapped, “Wala namang magagawa yang langis at masahe na ‘yan.”  She didn’t get it.  But she was doing her job.

Every job becomes more than what it is when we consider what it would mean to others.  How about you, what is your job?

The RH Bill, Caesar’s lot and my priest and nun relatives

I am a part of a family that is tied to the core of the Catholic Church.  Two of my father’s male siblings – Santiago and Jose – entered the priesthood, while two of his sisters – Fe and Jesusa – became nuns.  My brothers and I all devoted a chunk of our growing up years as altar boys.   But never did we grow up thinking that we should obey everything the church says or else we would suffer eternal damnation.

From what I understand now, we were guided to tell right from wrong until we were mature enough to tell the difference between the two.  We were born into a religion, but for faith to grow there must be a choice, an alternative.  If there was none, then there is only blind obedience.

So I choose to be a Catholic.  Friends and relatives who have been enlightened and who now exclusively call themselves Christians fear for my soul because I still follow what to them are the wrong teachings.  Yet I am not the least bothered about my soul nor about the differing views that they may have about me and my faith.  In fact, I am happy for them because they found God in the way that their faith, their choice, allowed them to.

But though I remain a Catholic, I don’t feel compelled or obliged to follow everything that its leaders bid me so.  Faith can never be imposed.

The Catholic Church is very vocal about its opposition to the proposed RH Bill.  It says it is evil.  It says it is against life.  I guess Catholic priests, bishops and Cardinals who are forbidden to procreate let alone put themselves in situations, even imaginary, where they can extend their progeny have taken the message “Go all of you and multiply,” as an all encompassing go signal for everyone to sow seeds whenever possible.  Of course, preferably with a single mate.

Dolphy was a shining example of this doctrine.  But Dolphy provided well.  Hence his prodigiousness was acceptable, admirable even.  But alas, while millions of Filipino males can or are willing or wishing to do their best Dolphy impersonation when it comes to counting children, and sometimes mates, a vast majority of them could not decently provide for a few, let alone more.

Children are blessings.  I agree wholeheartedly.  But if you make making blessings an industry then this virtually puts an unfair, unsolicited and undeserved curse on its products – children who did not have a choice but to open their eyes to a life with a limited opportunity to improve their lot in life.  And you call this good? For whom?

Tito Sotto, whose brother Vic has sired children with several women, thinks so. Gloria Arroyo who is a devout Catholic, but one who follows the 10 commandments selectively, also thinks so.  So does many bishops and priests who after delivering homilies and threats of eternal damnation retire to their cloisters to pray that children, the blessings themselves, may soon have roofs over their heads, food for their stomachs, and education for their minds, and not the squalor, poverty and the hopelessness that they wake up to everyday.

And this is supposed to be promoting life? 

I wonder if Tito Sotto, or Gloria, or the priests can have the zest to say “Thank God for this blessing” if they wake up one day only to find out that their most pressing concern is where to find the next meal, and they’re not even hopeful that they’d get it?  Good life or good luck?

The RH Bill should not be a debate about good and evil because it is not.  It should not be even about faith or eternal damnation.  It should only be about choice based on one’s reality, among options that are well explained and devoid of unreasonable emotions from the pro or anti-RH Bill.

It’s about free will.  And it is not something that can be monopolized nor imposed any other way by anybody to anyone.   It’s a decision that is best left to the individual to make on the ground where it is relevant, not by someone or an institution up high in the clouds where it is nice and breezy.   If one decides to make so many blessings despite the option to effect the contrary then so be it.  But if a family decides that a few would be the ideal situation, then so be it as well.  And let no one be so judgmental as to say the other is wrong.

It is just right that the Church should exercise moral suasion to its flock and, up to a certain extent, the government.  But the separation of church and state should be observed.  Even Jesus clearly drew the line when asked what he thought about the taxes levied by the Romans on the Jews, he replied “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s.” The two can be reconciled.

If my priest uncles and nun aunts would hear what I’m saying, they won’t condemn me or think that I am a lost soul.  Instead they would smile and respect my views because they know my faith is based on free will as much as their decision to enter religious life was.

And they won’t believe that I am evil. They won't because I'm not.