Its been about a week since I moved back home to Jersey. I decided to end The Mission early. Since my parents are wintering in Utah, I'm home alone. I'm wearing many layers and Al's thick flannel robe, which makes me feel like both like a king and a pimp. But mainly it keeps me warm. I cant get used to the chill thats in these ol' bones. Hot showers are nice though. I went a couple years of bathing myself with a bucket and scoop, and the water was cold needless to say. I go to sleep here with my layers and robe on under a down blanket, and wake up in the middle of the night hot and bothered. I miss sleeping with no shirt and no blanket under a mosquito net so the buggers don't get me.
I haven't blogged in a while because things were hectic on th Phlip the last few months. Good hectic for the most part. Just the day to day living I grew accustomed to. Now I'm getting used to living inside through this machine again. (Insert musings on the collective consciousness, second life, etc. etc.) I'm also getting used to living inside my head, being alone with my own thoughts again: usually occupied with what tasks I need/want to do, but occasionally a gem of insight pops up. (blah blah blah)
I woke up the other night because the phone rang at 2:30 then at 3:50. I couldn't go back to sleep because I felt scared. So I laid in bed watching PBS until I woke up and it was time to make breakfast and take a hot shower.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Friday, December 22, 2006
dengue
The moment I realized my jacket pocket had blown inside out thereby expelling its contents incuding my cell phone and wallet on the roadside while driving the hog through the rain to Naval, was the same moment I realized I was running a fever. The wallet and cellphone thank God was turned in to the local radio station by a good Samaritan habal-habal driver, and for a second I basked in the warmth of fame and good fortune. The fever however turned out to be Dengue. I laid in bed for over a week exhasperated refusing my 5 mothers constant insistence that I eat or I won’t get better. I didn’t mind all the massages or even the rubbing of Nene’s hair all over my wretched body when the rashes appeared. Eventually though I forced myself to get on the boat to Cebu to receive proper treatment. The rash turned purple and spread all over, and I started to convince myself that I was joining the ranks of the undead. Who knows maybe it won’t be so bad...
Now that I’m better I feel like I have a new lease on life. The power in Kawayan was finally restored today, as well as the precious cell signal, just shy of two weeks after the last baguio (hurricane) hit which was the strongest one by far. Trees and bamboo houses were wiped out all over town but thankfully no one that I’m aware of was hurt. The church was given some relief aid and currently we’re destributing rice and dried fish to families that were hit hardest.
Now that I’m better I feel like I have a new lease on life. The power in Kawayan was finally restored today, as well as the precious cell signal, just shy of two weeks after the last baguio (hurricane) hit which was the strongest one by far. Trees and bamboo houses were wiped out all over town but thankfully no one that I’m aware of was hurt. The church was given some relief aid and currently we’re destributing rice and dried fish to families that were hit hardest.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Birthday
My birthday was fun. I rented a jeepney for the day and about 30 of us, friends and neighbors, went to the other side of the island which is untamed, mysterious, and dangerous to most people here. Na Salem a close friend was hesitant to come because of the robbers they say lie in wait on the unpaved cross-country rode through the mountains in the middle of the island. But we had no encounters. Kyla (my PeaceCorps friend) and I rode on the top with the kids, Yuning playing the guitar, Nene waving and blowing kisses saying I love you to people along the roadside as we all laughed.
First stop was Tinago Falls. The rocks there are smooth and form a natural waterslide which is a blast. Mormons where there also, more for business than pleasure I assume, wearing all white, wading in the water, and baptizing new followers. We splashed and played in the cool water, and after lunch we went to Mainit hot spring to lie around in the steamy healing waters, drink tuba, and sing our songs until the setting sun beckoned us to head home, lest we be forced to brave the mountains and their dangers after nightfall.
New Pics
First stop was Tinago Falls. The rocks there are smooth and form a natural waterslide which is a blast. Mormons where there also, more for business than pleasure I assume, wearing all white, wading in the water, and baptizing new followers. We splashed and played in the cool water, and after lunch we went to Mainit hot spring to lie around in the steamy healing waters, drink tuba, and sing our songs until the setting sun beckoned us to head home, lest we be forced to brave the mountains and their dangers after nightfall.
New Pics
hospitality
I was on the balcony the other night sipping on a cup of hot tea and watching the fishermen with their pumboats and lanterns coming back from the nightly run of tamban, when I heard Yuning calling my name from down below. It’s not unusual for people to call me down from my ivory tower to ask a favor, but usually not this late. I rushed down to find Na Elesita his wife laid up under the Rambutan tree nursing her right hand. Apparently she had slipped and caught herself on a giant clam shell which many people keep as decorations in their yards. They’re wicked sharp. The 2 inch cut on her palm went straight to the bone. After the incident they apparently went to town 4km away from their home only to find out the ambulance is out of order. So Larry and I drove them to the provincial hospital half an hour away. I felt queasy watching the doctor tie up the stubbornly squirting vein, but it was a stitch and run operation, taking no longer than 20 minutes—-no waiting, no paperwork, no fees. I was impressed...
In contrast, a couple of weeks ago I took Jose who’s had a broken femur since May to the gov’ment hospital in Tacloban 2 hours away, for the second time. The first time, after the motorcycle accident (Jose, 19 or 20 years old, one night got drunk and decided to steal his buddy’s motorcycle only to crash it into a big rock), he spent 6 weeks in that piss-stinking hell that is the EVRMC ortho department waiting for a miracle that never came.
Jose and his mom Kate are as poor as them come. Jose, 20 years old, is the only full-Filipino out of his five half-siblings. The other five are half-Belgum, half-Pakistani, half-Aussie, half-American, and half-Chinese. Kate, a former prostitute now haggard with time and hardship, tells me this with what sounds like a sense of pride as we sit together in the hallway of the ortho department, which now stinks the of the burnt flesh of a six year old who looks like he was saved from a burning house. She goes on and on talking and ranting, surprisingly with flashes of intelligence and insight...Why are you a missionary? ...Is God here around us with of all of this? Is the water in New Jersey hard or soft? The smell, the heat, the talking make me nauseaus...
Anyway the first time Jose was admitted they couldn’t afford the surgery to put a pin in his leg. I helped them with what money I could gather but it still wasn’t enough according to the doctor. I told them (and myself) that I would help with what I could, and that they should do their part to raise the rest of the money on their own. Kate tried to contact her other children scattered throughout the Philippines but nothing, not even a piso. During the month and a half they stayed in the hospital, we had no contact. They ran out of money eventually, and resorted to begging for food from their ward neighbors for a while. Finally the hospital either had pity or grew tired of them and gave them money for the bus fare to come bake home—both of them defeated, Jose still with a badly broken leg, and now minus a testicle which had become infected and allegedly exploded.
When I visited Jose he was at home lying on a bamboo bed in the dark by candle light. He had at this point lost hope and asked his mother Kate with sincerity if he could just have his leg amputated. I told him that I had gathered enough money to complete the operation, and the next morning at 4am Na Bebie and I helped him with his dead dangling leg onto the bus back to Tacloban.
I don’t want to go into all the frustration, confusion, and mistrust I experienced this past month or so dealing not only Jose and his mom, but with all levels of bureaucracy in a developing country’s govenment hospital. It’s enough to say that it has been a trying experience. In general it seems that being on Phlipside has made me more callused to suffering and systematic injustice. Maybe it's about survival..you gotta be tough to the streets if you want stay alive in the ghetto.. or something like that.
I’m grateful and inspired, however, by people like Donna, a young activist, who’s been an angel in visiting Jose at the hospital almost daily since it’s too far for me to visit often. It’s comforting to know that there are people here like Donna who not only care but do something about the sorry sons of bitches in this world, like Jose, whether or not we may think they deserve our help. I like how Dorothy Day put it when challenged by someone who thought it was a waste to feed and give shelter to alcoholics and the homeless: “God help us if we all got what we deserved.”
I just deposited money in Donna's account for the medicines for Jose's second and final operation tomorrow. Say a prayer that it goes well and that they can go home soon. Good bliss u Deve, Jose texts me. Good bliss all of you my friends wherever you may be.
In contrast, a couple of weeks ago I took Jose who’s had a broken femur since May to the gov’ment hospital in Tacloban 2 hours away, for the second time. The first time, after the motorcycle accident (Jose, 19 or 20 years old, one night got drunk and decided to steal his buddy’s motorcycle only to crash it into a big rock), he spent 6 weeks in that piss-stinking hell that is the EVRMC ortho department waiting for a miracle that never came.
Jose and his mom Kate are as poor as them come. Jose, 20 years old, is the only full-Filipino out of his five half-siblings. The other five are half-Belgum, half-Pakistani, half-Aussie, half-American, and half-Chinese. Kate, a former prostitute now haggard with time and hardship, tells me this with what sounds like a sense of pride as we sit together in the hallway of the ortho department, which now stinks the of the burnt flesh of a six year old who looks like he was saved from a burning house. She goes on and on talking and ranting, surprisingly with flashes of intelligence and insight...Why are you a missionary? ...Is God here around us with of all of this? Is the water in New Jersey hard or soft? The smell, the heat, the talking make me nauseaus...
Anyway the first time Jose was admitted they couldn’t afford the surgery to put a pin in his leg. I helped them with what money I could gather but it still wasn’t enough according to the doctor. I told them (and myself) that I would help with what I could, and that they should do their part to raise the rest of the money on their own. Kate tried to contact her other children scattered throughout the Philippines but nothing, not even a piso. During the month and a half they stayed in the hospital, we had no contact. They ran out of money eventually, and resorted to begging for food from their ward neighbors for a while. Finally the hospital either had pity or grew tired of them and gave them money for the bus fare to come bake home—both of them defeated, Jose still with a badly broken leg, and now minus a testicle which had become infected and allegedly exploded.
When I visited Jose he was at home lying on a bamboo bed in the dark by candle light. He had at this point lost hope and asked his mother Kate with sincerity if he could just have his leg amputated. I told him that I had gathered enough money to complete the operation, and the next morning at 4am Na Bebie and I helped him with his dead dangling leg onto the bus back to Tacloban.
I don’t want to go into all the frustration, confusion, and mistrust I experienced this past month or so dealing not only Jose and his mom, but with all levels of bureaucracy in a developing country’s govenment hospital. It’s enough to say that it has been a trying experience. In general it seems that being on Phlipside has made me more callused to suffering and systematic injustice. Maybe it's about survival..you gotta be tough to the streets if you want stay alive in the ghetto.. or something like that.
I’m grateful and inspired, however, by people like Donna, a young activist, who’s been an angel in visiting Jose at the hospital almost daily since it’s too far for me to visit often. It’s comforting to know that there are people here like Donna who not only care but do something about the sorry sons of bitches in this world, like Jose, whether or not we may think they deserve our help. I like how Dorothy Day put it when challenged by someone who thought it was a waste to feed and give shelter to alcoholics and the homeless: “God help us if we all got what we deserved.”
I just deposited money in Donna's account for the medicines for Jose's second and final operation tomorrow. Say a prayer that it goes well and that they can go home soon. Good bliss u Deve, Jose texts me. Good bliss all of you my friends wherever you may be.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
chicken pot pie
I had to buy some chickens this morning for lunch for the participants of the seminar on how to make Buko (coconut) Pie. No more chickens left at Noy Poldo’s in Masagongsong so had to drive on to Agta Beach about 5km down the road. I sat on the swing hanging from the Talisay tree on the beach as I waited for my birds to be slaughtered and plucked. No one here so early. Everything seeming so gray from the recent storms which have seemed to linger forever. Debris floating in the sea, Dalutan Island in the distance, the air salty and nostalgic. At least it’s not hot.
Apo and Edito would have been with me if it was last year. But they’re both in Manila now, Apo working as a janitor in an office building and Edito as a security guard at a girlie bar in Angeles City. Beneath my feet the gray sea washes up on the sand where Larry, Hans, and I drew lines and played jumping games while sipping on beers one sunny Sunday. Larry’s still around here on the weekends when he’s off from school, but Hans got the boot from the convent when Fr. (then Frater) Sam arrived...
After fumbling around trying to tie a slippery bag of smelly chickens to the back of the motorcycle, I drove back to Kawayan. I bought a extra chicken just because I felt like it, which was a good idea since it turned out to be Na Edad's, my favorite laundry lady's, birthday. I forgot the icecream this year, but a raw chicken seemed to make her happy.
Apo and Edito would have been with me if it was last year. But they’re both in Manila now, Apo working as a janitor in an office building and Edito as a security guard at a girlie bar in Angeles City. Beneath my feet the gray sea washes up on the sand where Larry, Hans, and I drew lines and played jumping games while sipping on beers one sunny Sunday. Larry’s still around here on the weekends when he’s off from school, but Hans got the boot from the convent when Fr. (then Frater) Sam arrived...
After fumbling around trying to tie a slippery bag of smelly chickens to the back of the motorcycle, I drove back to Kawayan. I bought a extra chicken just because I felt like it, which was a good idea since it turned out to be Na Edad's, my favorite laundry lady's, birthday. I forgot the icecream this year, but a raw chicken seemed to make her happy.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
delay
Typhoon "Domeng" prevented my passage back to Biliran last night. I had finished disinfecting my cot with alcohol, and was just getting comfortable when the capt'n announced we would not be setting sail due to the storm. So back to Lola's for the night, and a couple more days of city living.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
fodders day
Went to the cemetary with Lola as she does every Sunday before Mass to visit Lolo's grave. The taxi waits as we say hi to grandpa and drop off his weekly bouquet of flowers. It takes less than a minute.
My father's ashes are somewhere in the same cemetary. Unfortunately there was no one in charge in the office to show me where his grave is located; only a large map on the wall with a meanless maze of square and numbers. I stared at it for a few moments for some reason, like I could decipher it, before giving up. Happy father's day anyway Dad. Maybe next time.
My father's ashes are somewhere in the same cemetary. Unfortunately there was no one in charge in the office to show me where his grave is located; only a large map on the wall with a meanless maze of square and numbers. I stared at it for a few moments for some reason, like I could decipher it, before giving up. Happy father's day anyway Dad. Maybe next time.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
whoops
Sorry. Mis-post for May 21. See Sense and Sentibility. I also forgot to mention I changed my Sim card.. My new phone number has been updated to the right. Hope to hear from you. Peace and love!~
boiled bananas
No food in the house except some bananas which Bert and I boiled for dinner. It was fine for me since I still have no appetite. Just got back from our 2 day youth camp in the mountains, which went well, but stressful nonetheless, and thus the lack of appetite. I can never eat at things like that. Stress makes my stomach shrink.
About 120 kids from the different barrios attended, and we slept under plastic tarps which we had borrowed from around town and strung up from coconut trees as tents. (I’m finally putting these arms to use—I’m climbing coconut trees!) We also borrowed the drum set from the high school and had a praise and worship band which was the backbone of the event. Chris, a quirky and intense guy, not from around here, gave a dynamic talk on leadership. He was quite good. He effectively utilized the “human knot” exercise, and he was disappointed because if he knew he had more time, he would have brought his ropes. Chris it turns out is an expert in Team-Building with a specialty in the ropes course, having trained with the big wigs in Hong Kong. His favorite exercise is called the Spider’s Nest which he invented. It involves a series of criss-crossing ropes that each team must pass through finding the shortest possible route and do so without touching any of the ropes. Kind of like Catherine Zeta Jones and Sean Connery in that thief movie… what was it again?
True to the Phlip-side, the youth camp was loosely organized and semi-chaotic. Our program was pretty much scrapped a couple hours into it as Fr. Pejay was called away by the ex-Mayora for an important matter. We lost much of the spiritual, reflective dimension in the reshuffling, but overall it was still worthwhile. Imelda was still able to get up on her soapbox, spew out her lefty political views, and denounce Gloria as dictator, murderer, and thief. At night were able to screen “Brother Sun, Sister Moon,” in all it’s 1970’s senti grandeur. The following day I led the Thai Chi morning exercise, we had a tree planting, celebrated Mass, and played parlor games, finishing the event with a pilgrimage down the mountain to the swimming pool in the afternoon. The kids had a blast, and it was a good experience just for them to gather and be with one another, which was all Fr. Pejay and the pastoral team were really aiming for.
As for me, well, looking back on it was great, but it wore me out...
After catching and yelling at Bernard and Tipoy for sleeping in the same tent as the girls, I went back to ours. 3:30am. Joseph and company in the distance still fooling around on the instruments, laughing excessively and being annoying. Jonathan—bald, ugly, and lovable—lying next to me continues to put a grass stem into Ton-Ton’s orifices as he tries to sleep. Capitan Edgar, like most of the adult supervision is drunk and snoring loudly at my feet. And me, tossing and turning on someone else’s banig, in the cold, sweaty dampness, wishing I was at home or just not here. But you can never go back or escape. There is only to wait in the cold, sweaty dampness, and to move forward when it’s time…
4:30AM. Jorge maniacally starts ringing the church bell, an old gas tank leaning against the chapel. And the day begins. I force myself to get up and walk through the dark to the water basin in the back of Na Irene's hut, and splash water on my head and my arms. And the day begins…
About 120 kids from the different barrios attended, and we slept under plastic tarps which we had borrowed from around town and strung up from coconut trees as tents. (I’m finally putting these arms to use—I’m climbing coconut trees!) We also borrowed the drum set from the high school and had a praise and worship band which was the backbone of the event. Chris, a quirky and intense guy, not from around here, gave a dynamic talk on leadership. He was quite good. He effectively utilized the “human knot” exercise, and he was disappointed because if he knew he had more time, he would have brought his ropes. Chris it turns out is an expert in Team-Building with a specialty in the ropes course, having trained with the big wigs in Hong Kong. His favorite exercise is called the Spider’s Nest which he invented. It involves a series of criss-crossing ropes that each team must pass through finding the shortest possible route and do so without touching any of the ropes. Kind of like Catherine Zeta Jones and Sean Connery in that thief movie… what was it again?
True to the Phlip-side, the youth camp was loosely organized and semi-chaotic. Our program was pretty much scrapped a couple hours into it as Fr. Pejay was called away by the ex-Mayora for an important matter. We lost much of the spiritual, reflective dimension in the reshuffling, but overall it was still worthwhile. Imelda was still able to get up on her soapbox, spew out her lefty political views, and denounce Gloria as dictator, murderer, and thief. At night were able to screen “Brother Sun, Sister Moon,” in all it’s 1970’s senti grandeur. The following day I led the Thai Chi morning exercise, we had a tree planting, celebrated Mass, and played parlor games, finishing the event with a pilgrimage down the mountain to the swimming pool in the afternoon. The kids had a blast, and it was a good experience just for them to gather and be with one another, which was all Fr. Pejay and the pastoral team were really aiming for.
As for me, well, looking back on it was great, but it wore me out...
After catching and yelling at Bernard and Tipoy for sleeping in the same tent as the girls, I went back to ours. 3:30am. Joseph and company in the distance still fooling around on the instruments, laughing excessively and being annoying. Jonathan—bald, ugly, and lovable—lying next to me continues to put a grass stem into Ton-Ton’s orifices as he tries to sleep. Capitan Edgar, like most of the adult supervision is drunk and snoring loudly at my feet. And me, tossing and turning on someone else’s banig, in the cold, sweaty dampness, wishing I was at home or just not here. But you can never go back or escape. There is only to wait in the cold, sweaty dampness, and to move forward when it’s time…
4:30AM. Jorge maniacally starts ringing the church bell, an old gas tank leaning against the chapel. And the day begins. I force myself to get up and walk through the dark to the water basin in the back of Na Irene's hut, and splash water on my head and my arms. And the day begins…
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