the rains have come

I was feeling a bit claustrophobic puttering around the convent as per usual, so I decided to take a constitutional down to the peir. It's been so long since I've walked anywhere alone. The drizzle was conducive to this. On the way, the boatman who took us to the island that one day to hunt for shells and spear fish stopped me to say hello... Yup, I'm bored too... At the peir another guy starting up his motorized canoe cheerfully calls my name. I don't recognize him but I pretend I do. He's from another barangay here in town to bury his neighbor, a young girl of 18 years. Earlier that morning a couple of the girl's friends came to the convent while we were eating breakfast to ask Fr. Pjey where to put her body. "In the back of the graveyard, by the bone box," was the casual response. "How did she die?"
"TB"
"Oh."
The guy at the peir seemed to think the cause was rather something wrong with her heart. Other theories regarding the reason for this untimely death include meningitis, brain tumor, and being hit in the head by a heavy object. It's like people just make up their own stories, or don't care enough to find out the real reason for such a tragedy. Myself included? ...I suppose.

Are dark clouds, stormy seas, and a sadness of heart to match, enough to mourn the loss of one of His "lost sheep?"

trippin

Here in Cebu finishing up a two week journey to Mindanao. I brought my good pal Edito along as my bodyguard. He's a 27 year old convent boy, and recent college grad who's currently just milling around and keeping me company until an opportunity for work presents itself. Yo-yo, as we call him, is cheerful guy and easy to be with, despite his frequent fits of teeth-clenching and pinching which is uncanny, annoying, and amusing.

We spent about a week at lola's house just taking our times and enjoying some grandma love. Bid our final senti farewells to the Korean friars-to-be over a chopstick dinner of spicy and delicious foods (the first non-filipino meal I've had in a great while). Took many energy-sapping trips to the mega-malls. Also visited my lola on my dad's side who's staying in a nursing home run by nuns. After I aswered the same question several times, I finally realized that her mental capacity is declining and she didn't remember who I was. Kind of uncomfortable and sad, but I'm glad I went.

Then... after 13 hours of lying on a cot staring through the side rails at the sea I could finally see the land of our destination, Mindanao. Ate Ida and Kuya Fred picked us up at the port city of Dapitan. Ida is my cousin, a radiologist, who recently moved her family into their simple thached-roof Nipa house. Her salaray as a doctor is about $1000 a month which is ample for raising a couple of kids and having a good but simple life. Fred stays at home watching the kids and raising his fighting cocks. In the morning we bought some fish at the market and then went home to sit in the shade, drink beer and eat sashimi.

Later on we met Fr. Pejay who just finished giving a retreat in the same place. On of the retreatants owned some fancy pants resort, Dakak (yes, pronounced as its looks), and we spent a couple of free nights there. No complaints here, if you know what I mean (elbow, elbow).

And then.. we went to Fr. Pejay's and his sister, Sr. MaryLou's, place in Kolambugan to celebrate their papa's 60th birthday. Typical Filipino party: slaughtered pigs, San Miguel, tons of family, friends, and neighbors, and videoke. Their dad's a tricycle driver and they are poor but that doesn't stop the good times from rolling here, if you know what I mean (elbow, elbow).

Last night, overnight slow boat from Mindanao to Cebu, and tonight overnight again to Biliran where pigs and chickens and carabao await me.

kalag-kalag

Halloweeen, Kalag-Kalag (All Souls Day). Jorge covered his nude body with flour and tied a pig's head to his head holding a bloody bolo knife. Costume: "African Cannibal with Bolo" Grand champion, P700. Later on, off we went to the cemetary with a guitar and bottle of Tanduay for grave-top grinding under candle and moonlight. A cultural experience! The previous day we cleaned the graveyard. I refused to look in the hole that everyone was so facinated with. Dem bones, dem bones, dem...dry bones

Another night: outing to merino beach. candles again but wind too strong, so time to go home. the tide's a-coming in and have to cross the dark, knee-deep waters not without a fumbling and stumbling. Our convent dog was unwilling or too afraid to take this passage home. Balaha ka! fare thee well Dugong!

Doled out 21 new piggies with the micro-credit we received. The livestock lady in the municipio gave me a quick debriefing on how to give injections for vitamins (steroids?). Just stick it in the lubot and push. simple. So i made the rounds and juiced them all up in one day. One of buggers, however, had a bad case of igit, and igit-ed all over my shirt and pants. sweet. found out karen will be going to Manila in a few days to look for work. She had what I assumed was a stable job at the Local Government Unit as municipal worker, but apparently their contracts are for only six months (after 6 months of employment, employees are assured bonus pay and bennefits. to save costs apprently, the mayor just lays everyone off twice a year and hires a new batch. it's a cooked, crooked world!)

party's over

Our town fiesta here in Kawayan has finally passed. Every town here in the Philippines has their own fiesta which is like a big homecoming party. It was fun--there were several parades, a basketball tornament, a boxing match (yeah, sport!), and four nights of disco-dancing. But it was also kind of stressful and overwhelming. About 30 visiting priests, friars, other assorted guests stayed with us in the convent, and most of the work was centered around feeding, watering, and entertaining them without really getting to know any of them. I actaully did have a good conversation with an American ex-pat priest who has been here on the Island since 1962--for over half his life! He had a calm presence about him, and I enjoyed listening to his stories of the pre-Vatican II, pre-globalization days of old. Really another world. He recalled his own mother's death and the news of which reached his ear over a week after it happened, because the town's radio control man happened to be on vacation. It was all over by the time he found out, and he never went back home. He tried a couple times to live back in the States but could never last long there. Kind of like Bilbo Baggins.. some wounds never heal. Wonder if that will happen to me.

Anway, fiesta's over and now it's back to peace and quite, which is just fine for this province boy.

Yesterday, after last minute heated negotaions, we finally got the cash for our microenterprise, and now we're busy today buying pigs. oink oink

*new october pics up for your pleasure*

range life

Oh boy, I just hit the ejector tray of the CD-rom drive on the computer im using with my knee and its definitely broken! ... im starting to sweat. How am i going to get out of this one? "umm, excuse me but ummm I think I just broke your computer...sorry." Maybe it'll just go away if I don't think about it.

Anyway, just got back from a weekend gathering/seminar on sustainable agriculture about 3 hours away in Leyte. I went with about 30 good-natured, thick-skinned farmers from our Diocese riding in the back of a flat-bed truck, but my only companion from our parish was Mr. Epitas, a nice grandfatherly fellow. It was hosted by Bennedictan Sisters who just opened up this huge institute / training center for Sus-Ag. I am finding that the Church here is really involved the intergral development of poor, that is, not only spiritually but physically. Being that the majority of the Philippine population consists of the rural poor, most of whom are farmers and fishers, sustainable agriculture is a main thrust of development work here integrating issues of ecology and social justice. it seems right on to me.

During the foundation ceremony of the institute, the sisters to my surprise brought out bags of money and started throwing fist-fulls of pesos into the throngs of farmers. I thought that was weird of them.

Another strange sight was seeing a cross-eyed stable man stick his arm shoulder deep into the rear end of a large Bulgarian buffalo. Apparently, using some special manipulation he's able to determine if the heifer is preg-o. These buffalo give good milk, and actually dairy production is a possiblity for our parish. The gubment will give us free buffalo; all we have to do is organize. The Philippines spends billions of pesos on importing milk from other countries, and is really trying to become self-sufficient. It will be a good source of income for our folks but will require a lot planning and work.

A few of us went to another seminar last week on egg production hosted by the Diocese, and this most likely will be our next project. the #1 requirement, said the speaker, is the love for birds. I can dig that! There's good market for eggs and our parish has some land we can use as a farm. Poldo knows birds and I think I can find the funds. Just hope i don't get the flu.

In other news, the fiesta of Kawayan, our town, is rapidly approaching and it's going to be carazzy! last night was the basketball open championship. still to come: boxing match, 4 straight nights of dancing, and countless slaughtered livestock!

be well my friends

3 More Years of This

chuggin' along here. It's been 3 months to the day since I arrived in Biliran. no profound or senti reflections. the chapter continues.

Yesterday, I spent a few hours visiting and measuring the pigs we dispersed last month. I found myself elbow deep in pig stuff, and stinking like it. All for the greater glory, I suppose. Most of the pigs looked "pretty good" according to common sense, but one looked "sick as hell;" all small and weak. The owner is afraid to give it medicine because the same thing happened to the last pig she had, and after she gave it meds it died. I doubt this woman can pay us back if/when this one dies, but it's a learning experience.

The loan for the feeds hasnt come through yet, but hopefully this week. There's also been talk of some "Korean Technology" of pig raising that is sustainable - ie does not involve expensive, non eco-friendly commercial feeds. still don't know the details. bobbi, you're Korean. u know?

I've also been asked to lead the forthcoming "Pastoral Social Action Team." Not sure it's a good idea to accept, with the methodology of international community development and me still being new here, but what the heck, sounds cool. it will involve more money matters (microcredit) which has the potential to help the people here rise out of their poverty, but also the potential to adversly affect relational dynamics. (These uncomfortable dynamics are already at play. Being from the States, it's common knowledge that i have more money than my friends here. Many are not afraid to ask, and it's a constant stuggle for me to decide 1) who and who not to give to, and 2)when and when not to give. I've tried to stick to several policies which have failed, but such are the ambiguities of life I guess.)

Youth groups have taken a back seat with all this other work. Feel kind of bad, but I find that its really difficult to break the language barrier since the kids here these days speak less english than the adults. I think for now it's best to stick to hanging out and going on outings to mountain or sea.

new pics

get your september eye sips!

there and back again

Just got back from Cebu where I was supposed to attend a conference for BEC (Basic Ecclesial Communities), however, on the way there I fell ill with some kind of flu (bird?). It was an overnight voyage by sea to Cebu and in the middle of the night I awoke thinking I got on the wrong boat for surely this one was bound for hell. The galley full of sweaty slumbering bodies, the growling engine, the stench of diesel. Thrice I wretched overboard into the stormy sea, with each wretching followed by a peace of equal magnitude to the torture that preceded it. With peace comes sleep, only to wake up an hour later to engage in the bitter struggle again. Up and down, toss and turn, spin round and round. Have to get up and move. Get some fresh air. I’m tired, but no place to sit. Can’t lie down or I’ll hurl. Why have You forsaken me? Gotta think of something else besides my agony. 4AM. Everyone else is sleeping, except for the few other lost souls like me who haunt this boat like scepters. A woman paces back and forth. An old man sitting on the bottom bunk crosses himself repeatedly. Oh here we go again... Run, run, run. BLEEEGGHHHHH!!! Thank you Jesus.

So no conference for me. Spent three days at Lola’s sleeping and watching Filipino TV, which is normally crappy but under such circumstances it was bliss. When I got better I spent another day looking for the restroom in the local “Mega Mall” which is mega indeed. At least twice I worked myself into such a seething rage at getting myself so lost that I wanted to freak out (i.e. tear at my clothes, thrash around, and belabor the people and things around me with my blows). But instead I just bit my lip.

After a harrowing many-legged jouney back to the island, I found myself far away from the the stress of a Third World city and once again at home in the Shire, greeted by warm smiles and salutations.

me-day

Thanks everyone for the b-day greetings! I bought a lechon (whole roast pig) and we ate it on the beach with all the youths. We also had another celebration with all the church staff at the swimming pool and we drank a lot of "tuba," coconut wine, which tastes nasty at first until you drink enough and realize it's really a sweet nectar from above.

BTW, I'm sorry this experiment in blog hasn't been much of a dialogue, but know that I appreciate all your comments even if they're left hangin...nahhh meeeeeean!

Postal Service

eh hem.. After several hours of html tinkering, I've managed to add my mailing address to the sidebar.

Just sayin.

No news, good news?

There are no newspapers even here in Naval, the bustling commercial center of the this island. I don't seem to mind so much since the absence of news sources expiates my guilt for not being up on current events. Still, soundbytes have reached mine ear regarding Katrina and her destruction, as well as the impeding impeachement Gloria Macapagal Arroyo (current president of Philippines). But I know few details concering both.

***

I stepped over a dead puppy covered with flies lying on the sidewalk on the way to the internet cafe. Last week a nineteen year old girl, an active member of the parish, died in a motorcylce accident. It caused little commotion. And couple of weeks ago the cousin (30 years old) of Apo, one of the "convent boys" died of some disease or other. I went to Apo's house for the wake, putting on a face of respectful mourning as I entered. Inside his relatives were drinking and playing cards next to the dead man's body.

I don't know, but sometimes it seems that life has a lesser value here than at home. Maybe it comes with the package of being poor. Maybe people here don't know how to "hold their feelings." Or perhaps death, with its hand that grasps every mother's son/daughter, is more easily accepted. I know not.

***
Weekly update:

Although the piggies have been distributed, most families don't have the money to buy the feeds to make them fat. I'm currently writing a budget proposal to borrow money from the Social Action Center for the pigs feeds. Wish us luck!

We finished painting the convent last week. The upstairs is filled with bright 70's tones. Retro-trend. I fell off a table and covered myself in green (leaded?) enamel paint. It was awesome.

Our new task is transferring several years worth of garbage/waste to the front yard. About 50% is now a rich, dark, fertile loam while the other half is plastics and assorted junk. I've been sorting through this stuff for a couple days now, relishing for some reason the look of disgust of the high school girls passing by. Ah, the humble work of the stewards of the Earth!

X-posure!

I spent the last week in Bulalacao, a small fishing village which is only 4km from Kawayan but like another world. It's beautiful little place situated in a natural cove. Their main industry there is fishing and the production of children. There are so many kids (who barely left my side) that run wild like small mammals! But I enjoyed hanging out with them: swimming in the sea and eating sea urchins, napping under the Talisay tree, general frolicking and laughter. Also we have a new youth group there (4 total now). I'm getting concerened though because we can't just keep singing God songs forever. "But how can you teach us anything if you can't speak Bisaya?" one little fellow asked me in a mixture of his and my language. Very true, wise one, very true. Most people, especially the youth, I'm finding, speak less English than I thought they would since English is no longer the medium of instruction in class. I'm getting lazy with learning the lingo, but I know I must try harder.

Anyway the people of Bulalacao are very poor. Most of the men are fishers and each morning their tiny bangkas (boats) arrive on the rocky shore filled with large beasts of the deep (see new pics). Everyone gathers around to see the catch o' the day. The way of life there is so simple, so communal. Always people around to sit and talk with. I brought Don Quioxte thinking I'd need a diversion from the boredom but I barely had time to pick it up.

For the week I stayed with "Boy Lagao" and his family. Lagao is a very common type of fish, and he earned his name from his profession: fish seller/monger. Although poor, my host family was very generous, and had a certain dignity about them despite their circumstances. With four children in the house it was lively and I really felt like I was part of the family. Overall it was a great experience. ****1/2!

In other news, we distributed 15 piglets to families in the micro-credit livlihood project I've mentioned. The process went on not without drama, but all seems to be going smoothy now.

Also, we're painting the convent. It's good to pick up the ol' brush again.

And more, so much more, but my fingers and eyes grow tired...

Love 'n blessings to you all!

Move Like a Jellyfish

At the crack a dawnin’ Fr. Pejay, Berto, and I walked to down to the pier with goggles and spears in hand. Weather’s been stormy for the quite a while now but this morning the sea was like glass. Lots of junk floating though. It’s a traditional Filipino custom to toss plastic wrappers and other non-biodegradable stuff into the sea. It still astonishes me and I cringe with disgust every time I see it happen. I try to admonish when I think appropriate.

(As an aside: I started a compost pit here in the convent. We dug 3 large holes in which we will cast our kitchen waste, leaves, grass clippings, etc. Last January, the local government indefinitely suspended all garbage collection in Kawayan, and now people are expected to deal with their trash in whatever way they see fit. This usually means burning it all to hell but I think that’s bad for the environment, right? So I found out we can sell a lot of our waste (i.e. hard plastics, glass bottles, and scrap metals) but I’m at a loss for what to do with the bulk of our trash: plastic baggies, wrappers, and paper. For now I guess they will continue to burn in that fiery pit, but I’m open to suggestions. Anyone?)

Anyway back to my story. So most of the time the sea looks very clean and underneath are many colorful corals and pretty fish, which Pejay and Berto are happy to shoot. I’m trying to make it my custom to swim everyday, like for exercise, but today I did not stay in for long because my left forearm promptly became wrapped in jellyfish tentacle which stung it real good. I’m told human urine is the cure for sea urchin mishaps, but apparently it has no effect on jelly stings.

dark clouds

Haven’t seen the sun for several days now. It rains throughout the day but only periodically with varying intensity. The temperature has been relatively cool and damp. It reminds me much of Seattle and this makes me miss home and hate this place.

I’ve noticed that I’m kind of snappy with people around me, and due to language/culture barriers I often think that I’ve given off a bad impression of myself. Several times now I’ve surmised that people are after my money. And the instant status I’m given by being an American I find to be both a blessing and a curse. I catch myself recalling my travels to other isles of this archipelago and thinking they are better (e.g. beaches are prettier, people friendlier, grass greener etc.) than the one on which I’m committed to live.

But what stings me most are the intensely bittersweet, phantasmagoric daydreams which visit me randomly throughout the day of previous chapters and characters of my life. How rich the past seems to me now! The freedoms I once knew, the complexities and intricacies of “modern society,” the culture I’ve always either taken for granted or despised. These things I miss, but what affects me most of all is the recollection of all my friends/family. Conversations and shared moments are relived, all to the effect of reminding me of how uniquely dear they/you all are to me. How good it would be to bottle you up and take you all with me wherever I go, just as we had been at one time! But the river of time just keeps moving us along. I need not go into the senti details, for I’m sure you know what I mean.

Anyway, here on the Phlipside there seems to be, at least on the surface, such a nonchalance, an indifference even, about human interaction, that I wonder if I’ll ever find true friendship here. This concerns me but then again it is still very early and I’m aware that what seems apparent on the surface is not always true.

All of these perceptions most probably have to do with my subjective inner state of being. Symptoms of the “culture shock” I’ve heard about. And like the rain these dark, brooding moods pass as quickly as they appear, and I am once again awake to the present. I have yet to seriously dwell upon the question of whether or not I’ve made a mistake in coming here, but I pray, and I ask all of you to pray for me, that I will have the courage to face that storm if/when it visits.

good works

The other week I attened a seminar given by the Social Action Center of the Diocese of Naval on "micro-credit," unaware of the fact that by attending I would be required to "echo" this seminar back in our parish. So echo I did this past week to 50+ of our parishoners, albeit in the merchant tounge of my birthplace. Appropriate though given the topic. I invented some simple accounting method for our forthcoming "livelihood project:" swine fattening. The concept of the project is simple: provide a familiy with a piglet on loan basis and they feed it until it becomes fat and ready to be slaughtered. By that time the price of the pig will have more than doubled. When it's sold, the initial price of the piglet will be given back to the parish but almost all the profit will be kept by the family. I'm excited about this project because for me, at least in theory, microcredit embodies all that is good, combining justice and charity and applying it as a corrective to the market forces of our world which make it easy for the rich to get richer, while the poor continue to struggle to get past the threshold of mere survival. I think since everyone here is already busy, I will have a key role in this pig project. Much to learn methinks, but I'm greatful for the oppourtunity to learn as well as to help some folks earn a little more dough. The people here are poor indeed, at least materially, but more about that to come later I'm sure.

Youth ministry is going well also. Of the dozen or so separate barangays, two (Mapuyo and Burabod) have formed youth groups each with about 20 - 30 kids. I've been meeting with both groups weekly for several weeks now. Usually I play guitar and they sing Church songs, an activity which they really seem to like. It is a beautiful scene and I imagine God is pleased with this. They are all so pure, so full of joy and kindness! Yesterday they saw me swimming in the sea and then they surprised me by organizing a picnic at the beach, cooking sweetened casava balls and gathering mangos and bananas. We swam and ate and played like the Lost Boys in Neverland in this our tropical paradise, until dark clouds gathered in the West and told us to go home. But we were tired by then anyway. Everything in it's time. The wind thrashed as I went home on motorbike with guitar in hand but the downpour did not begin till I lay on my bed, tired and content.

Don't Fear the Reaper

We have several dogs that hang around the convent and every night at about 2:30 am they begin howling their haunting melody. It lasts only for a few minutes but it's lound enough to wake me up and disturb me. The people here believe they howl when the spirits arrive to pray in the church each night. Creepy. There are other stories too. There's the one about the fairy Maria Benita who lives somewhere on the mountain, Mt. Panamao, which looms over our little hamlet. Supposedly she seducced some American dude who eventually crashed his plane into the mountain. Details are sketch. There's also the oft mentioned "wak-wak," named because of the sound it makes. It's the Filipino cousin of the vampire as it feeds mostly on human blood. However, it's capable of taking the shape of animals other than bats (eg pigs, dogs, bats, frogs, mosquitos?) During the day it's a normal person living amongst us but at night it rubs some potion under it's armpits and then you better watch yo self. wak wak! Supposedly there's one living in Bulalacao, a neigboring barrio. The alleged wak wak is an immigrant to Biliran from a neigboring island, and I suspect that it's simply the fear of the "other" that has caused his alientation by his neighbors. I'm curious to meet this fellow when I stay in Bulalacao for a week on "exposure" next month, yet I must admit I do feel a tinge of fear for the wak wak has many tricks ups his sleeve... A side note to this fear of the "other:" Before I came here several Filipino relatives / friends of the family expressed their apprehension for my staying in this region of the country due to the infamy of its residents in the dark arts of poisons. They supposedly befriend you, invite you inside for a bite to eat, and then you die! But not to worry since people such as these live only on the "other" side of the island... or so I'm told...

I spent much of today pulling ticks off of our new puppy. Her name is Saturday. see new pics of the pup plus other assorted adventures.
gotta jet. much love to you all!

hope and despair

Helped Fr. Neil this morning with writing the history of the St. Raphael parish for its 50th anniversary this October. It sounds like it will be a huge deal, even featuring a beauty pagent for Ms. "Gay" Kawayan. Gays are very much accepted in every level society here. High school students, barangay captains, school teachers, priests, etc. And they're not afraid to strut their stuff. It's interesting. It fits with the general atmosphere of "whatever" which I'm learning to breathe in.

Later I went with Fr. Pejay to Bilwang and Bulalacao to celebrate mass in the elementary schools. There is mass in each school once a month. "This is the day the Lord has made," sang the children, beautiful and brown. They all seem to know I'm a foreigner, all sneaking glances and giggling. Cute as hell. After mass I watched them as they used small sticks to smack the dragonflies that filled the late afternoon air. Below the green school grounds full of flowers, the glistening sea. We sat in the shade with a few teachers drinking water straight from the coconuts that some of the boys fetched. This is the day the Lord has made.

I know many of the neighbors in town now. People are outside most of the time so it's easy to just walk around (suroy-suroy) and "call" on neigbors. Two little guys, JR and Dudong, across the the street have taken a liking to me and often times tag along when I go on constitutionals to the plaza or pier. It nice just sitting with them.

We held our first youth group meeting in Mapuyo on Sunday. There were about 30 high school kids mostly girls. It was intesely awkward for me at first but I just took a back seat and let them lead. They held and election and "elected" officers by calling out names and raising hands. In the end we had an entire board of officers including a "seargant at arms" and a "muse." Is that like a court jester? They each made a brief speech. Next week we'll start planning activities.


This week a group of us also went to this isolated village of 6 houses called Tinago (hidden). To get to Tinago we hiked for about an hour through dense tropical forest eating wild guava and getting bitten by mosquitos (me only). Someone there had badly injured his leg about a year ago with a bolo (machete), and it still hasn't healed. Fr. Pejay annointed this sick man with oil and prayed with him. He can't afford the medicince and now I think he's dying from the infection. Despite all the beauty I'm experiencing, the fact of the matter is that it is a hard life for most of the people here. Life for many is simply about survival, and sadly some just don't make it. I attended 2 funerals already, both deaths premature. It seems to be a common occurence and people just continue on with their lives. Sigh..

Here at last

I erected my mosquito net today. No one else is bothered by them but for some reason the mosquitoes here have a special affinity for my blood. It drives me mad. My hope is that over time my body will somehow evolve to produce some kind of natural repellant which all the locals seem to possess. I’ll let you know if it happens.

Anyway I finally made it here to my assignment site at St. Raphael the Archangel Parish in Kawayan, Biliran. I’ve been here for almost 2 weeks and I’m still adjusting (mentally, spiritually, gastrointestinally). I live in the friary or convent of the parish with Fr. Pejay and Fr. Neil, both of whom are young Franciscans friars and comfortable company to be around. Also staying here at the convent is Bert, a pensive sailor and the brother of Fr. Pejay; George, the 22 year old sacristan (altar boy) who has also returned to high school to finish his degree; and Larry and Hans, who are college students studying in Naval, the commercial center of the island. The three of them are “scholars” of the friars and are financially supported by them. There’s another cast of characters, workers of the parish many with unknown positions, that are always around during the day. Hence it’s a lively place that, true to the Franciscan charism, feels charged with the vibe of brotha/sista-hood.

My room here is small and sparse but I like it that way. (At night I read and write by candlelight to make it feel even more “authentic.”) The rest of the place is quite comfortable however. (Yes, there’s electricity though every day there’s been at least one brown out, and there’s running water which flows in abundance from a spring up the mountain. The tap is often times left freely running which pisses me off out of principle but I'm learning to cope.) The friary is on hill and the back deck where most of the chilling is done overlooks the sea which is dotted with several islets. The towering volcanic island of Maripippi rises in the distance. At night fireflies flicker to the sound of guitars and Bisayan love songs. Rarely will you hear the sound of a car but there’s the chirping of birds, the blowing of conch shell horns by fish vendors, the incessant clucking and crowing of poultry, the barking of dogs, the laughter of children. It is a nice place and so green! Full of flowers and fruits of all kinds, etc. etc.

Thus far I've been accompanying Betty and Baby the two pastoral workers when they make visits to parishoners, teach seminars, etc. Fr. Pejay has also been taking me under his wing, but we usually just pack a picnic and guitar and go to the beach to swim around, spear fish and collect shells for sugba (grillin). Besides this we spend a lot of time "taking our times" as it were, sitting under the Rambutan tree out front with neighbors.

The parish consists of several “barangays,” small separate villages, each of which has its own chapel where mass is celebrated regularly. The main church is here in Kawayan proper but since transportation is difficult, each barangay has its own mini church and faith community. So far I’ve been introducing myself during the masses at different barangays. Eventually I will be in charge of organizing the youth in each barangay, as well as working with the BEC’s (Basic Ecclesial Communities), which are small, faith and life sharing groups. Yes, it sounds awfully vague to me too, but all in due time!

My first challenge to overcome is learning the language (Bisaya / Cebuano). It is really tiring being surrounded constantly by unintelligible chatter. But I’m learning a few new words daily and I have a tutor MWF. Still it’s a daunting task and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to chatter like they do. Chin up, Dave, chin up. Interiorly I often feel like I have little to contribute to the people here but I'm trying to keep the faith that I'm here for a reason, that there is much to learn about self and other in the Unknown, and that it isn't just marketable skills that overcomes but simple Love for one's neighbor. Love is all of God's money.

Internet is about 40 minutes away by jeepney so I'm not sure how often I'll be able to post until, that is, I buy my own motorcycle and I can roll around this island Che Guevarra style. Thank you all for your prayers and spiritual support. It's a rocky time this adjustment and I often think about home, about friends and family with longing.

World's Greatest Grandma

This is my Lola. She's 92 years old and strong, physically and mentally. She's always laughing. She's the coolest. In the mornings she makes me coffee and sits with me when I eat breakfast (she's usually finished eating by the time I wake up). Lola tells me tales of old. Like when her father took her to China when she was 12. She still remembers walking through the village during a festival and watching the men lying down in colorful tents smoking opium, and how the juice of the poppies was collected in the fields by workers. Her father was apprently fond of opium. When they returned to the Philippines a year later, she had a new brother who they had purchased.
Lola weaves stories as if she is still there. About how she had to ask the captain of the boat to leave his quarters so she could give birth to her first child, my Auntie Marina. She delivered all 8 of her children all by herself, having had learned how to cut the ubilical cord in 6th grade home economics class. During WWII she fled to the hideout in Mabini with my Auntie Inday slung to her chest. When she returned to her house it had already been burned to the ground by the Japanese. She had a shotgun with which she used to hunt bats for food. Like I said, she's the coolest.

***

Tomorrow I depart for new shores and I'm looking forward to it too. Time to switch sides. A couple of nights ago I was in a Starbucks and I was struck with a feeling of missing home, Seattle especially (obvi!). But we're locked in time. Can't rewind. Later that night on the couch, Hope. A Hope that transcends all words and all my petty speculation of what lies in the future. It will be all good. It is a good. And the goodness which is still yet to come lies beyond our capacity to even imagine. "Do not worry. Do not be afraid. Be at peace." This is what He tells me.

Cultural Curiosities

1) Shampoo: black as night. Very funny guys...you can come out now.

2) To call a waiter/ waitress or to get anyone's attention, pucker up and make an elongated kissing sound. Try it. Kind of tickles.

3) "Kiss of peace" (i.e. peace be with you) in Mass: it's a sactified "wasup" nod. Very difficult to master the timing of eye contact. Like Eropean style "cheers."

4) Bucket-in-bucket washing system next to each toilet. How do I use this thing? I missed this lesson during potty training. Too embarassing to find out how to use it now. Oh well.

5) Spiders for sale. I think little kids buy these critters for some sort of cruel gambling sport where the loser gets eaten. Poor things.

6) Disregard for any laws of conduct/order in the process of line forming. The only observable rule of conduct is "me first." Savages. (It's okay, I'm Filipino).

7) The Filipino taste for things that are foul (e.g. aged hard boiled eggs, fully developed duck embryos, shrimp paste)

Apo sweet Apo

Just got back from a few days of visiting with friends on la isla bonita of Apo. To get there from my grandma's house in Cebu you take a 4 hour "fast craft" ferry to the port city of Dumaguete where motorized petty-cabs fill the streets with their exhaust and incessant buzzing. From here you take a jeepney (adorned covered pick-up truck) 45 minutes south to Malatapay, a market where every Wednesday throngs of people from the rural surroundings gather to buy and sell their stuff including livestock. Malatapay is by the sea and from here you can take a pumpboat across shimmering blue and 45 minutes later you reach Apo Island.

It's a tiny little island of maybe 75 families. There’s no cars or bicycles for that matter—just a foot path that runs through the village. There’s a common well from which the people bathe and wash, and there is electricity but only from sunset to 10 pm. All of the folks there are poor, most being fishers, but it’s as an idyllic a place as I’ve been. Perhaps it’s the perspective of the colonizer finding such a setting a romantic utopia. I’m not sure. But the people despite their lack of “things” seem truly happy there—children playing their games together or doing their chores or searching for crawling things during low tide; grown-ups, pretty much the same thing.

(I remember sitting in front of Louis' house waiting for him to give me a lift back to the mainland in his fishing boat. A boy was working to repair his net in the soft morning light beneath a mango tree with a dog asleep at his feet. A girl was nearby washing clothes by the well. Words exchanged. Laughter. Glances back and forth. A courtship display? Ahhh the sublime blessedness of this life!)

There are a few bamboo “waiting sheds” throughout the village where people just hang out, not waiting for anything in particular, but just passing the time together. Maybe this is where “oral tradition” gets passed on to the younger generations, I don’t know. The big topic of discussion when I was there was about this guy Kiken who I know from the previous times I’ve visited Apo. He was in the hospital with a mutilated hand and severed pinky finger. Apparently a “killer” had moved to the island since I was last there, and Kiken had just enough time to use his hand to block the killer’s machete in an attempted mortal blow to the neck during dinner one night. What’s more, the killer was Kiken’s uncle…Drama! Always something to keep things exciting I guess.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to be able to celebrate St. Juan’s feast day on the Island. On June 24 each year everyone gathers at the beach with lots of food and drink, and a fiesta it is! I even observed the locals having “chicken fights” in the water…perhaps it originates here? There was a lot of pancit and beko and kinilaw (buckets of raw fish in vinegar- yum!)

Anyway that was my latest adventure. I’m in the south in Davao right now with my aunties and cousins here until Saturday. I’ll probably leave for my assignment in Biliran on Monday…probably. “Take your time!” Fr. Neil, my boss in Biliran tells me. “You need to bond with your family in a Filipino way!” Aye aye!

do your part, come on.. just sayin

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Contrasts and Contradictions

Feast day of St. Anthony of Padua, Franciscan and patron saint of the poor. Brother Francis from Vietnam took me to celebrate the Eucharist in Talayan--a gated "village" and the richest community of the parish. It was early in the AM just after sunrise when the sun is not yet scorching, and we walked there taking a shortcut through the squatter settlement that resides directly outside Talayan's walls and alongside a river of plastic bags and rotting dogs. We crossed this river Styxx via coconut tree trunk and paid the 1 peso toll to the bridge's guardian. On the other side we were greeted with filth and the stench of poverty on the one hand, and streets full of people talking and cooking and toothless children playing on the other. Walking around we were also greeted by Francis' friends who welcomed us into their homes to chat. So friendly and full of warmth and hospitality. Inside one of the homes I met Yeng, a college student who works also with disabled children. She showed us around her nieghborhood, pointing out the workers, also residents of the squatter settlement, who were building up the banks of the river in an effort to prevent it from flooding their community with its sickness when the rains come. It will flood undoubtably, however, as it does each year, and once again they will be forced to leave their homes for higher ground.

Before leaving we stopped by the Franciscan "inserted community" where brothers live undercover side by side with these, the poorest of the poor. Finally we passed strangely enough through an open gate in the massive barbed-wire wall that lets anyone pass freely to the Other Side--to wide spotless streets, mansions, and sweet smelling flowers. But no children playing or music or laughter or anyone to welcome us inside. Francis mentioned how sad he finds the place. These palaces that imprision.

After mass, a few parishoners, residents of Talayan took us in their tinted vehicles to breakfast at "Heaven 'n Eggs" where waiters in tight blue Euro shirts and angel wings served us a sumptuous feast of omelets and fluffy pancakes, probably worth more than one of their neighbor's weekly income.

It is a land of sharp contrasts my friends! Yet I hope not to demonize the rich and angelize the poor but merely point out that there are blessings and curses, burdens and responsibilities on both sides of the Wall.

I left Manila yesterday and now am in another smoggy metropolis, Cebu, hangin with my lola.

I'm hot sticky, sweet?

Keepin it real pose

Oh dude, it's pretty hot. Where are the rains to cool this sweaty brow? Actually it's not so bad. It just takes some time to adjust to the constant stickiness. If anything it makes for slow, lazy days which for the time being seems just right.

A couple of days ago two Korean bothers and I went to SM to watch a movie. Ah, the Philipine Mega-mall! Throngs of Filipinos hungry to consume or to soak up the air-conditioned air. It's an experience in itself. Mr. & Mrs. Smith on the other hand: mediocre.

Last night, Gladys and her friend took me out on the town to the old walled city of Intramuros. It's in the heart of metro-Manila and was the center of Spanish rule in the Philippines, but now it functions mainly for tourists. They kept referring to something called "WOW Philippines" but I'm still not really sure what it actually was or where the "WOW' was located. Gladys claimed it was an acronym for something but she forgot. Anyhow, there was a military recruitment extravaganza going on with a band in all-white Navy digs playing "Where is the Love?" by the Black Eyed Peas. Kind of appropriate I guess. There is a Tagalog rap part of the song anyway.

(Incidently, today I found out by reading Yahoo! news that there was a huge demonstration in Manila trying to oust President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo in light of the recent evidence of election fraud. A lot of protesters were injured and jailed. But all I saw yesterday was that lame Navy band and a tank full of jolly soldiers cruising around Intramuros with some lucky family. Strange.)

At night we walked down the Baywalk, a popular night spot along Manila Bay with live music and restaurants. It was fun. I introduced the other two to a traditional American treat: Jello shots. We just had one each though.. had the consistency of snot in the heat. The Baywalk is a fun spot, though I doubt people can tolerate it when the bay is actually visible due to its utter foulness. Seriously rank. Baho kaayo gud!

Apart from these occasional outings and visits to other Franciscans operations in the city I just hang out here and sweat and go on occasional constitutionals through the streets which are wild with life. My favorite part of the day though are the meals here with the bros and fathers. It's good craic. Today at lunch a few of them were singing traditional Vietnamese and Filipino songs. The oldest friar here then started to sing an old Filipino classic: "I love bannanas because they have no bones." Ha! Brilliant!

(I posted a few pics btw)

Takeoffs and Landings

After countless hours of sitting and sleeping and being fed I arrived here in Manila. Somehow I lost a day on the way over here. Hope I get to reclaim it on the return trip. It's rainy season in the 'peens. Kids get naked and play in the rivers that rush the streets. I forgot how real and in-your-face life can be. The smell of sweetness and stink fill my nostrils; scenes of suffering and joy crowd my eyes. It is intense, yet there's an at-homeness I feel even here in this metropolis teeming with humanity. A feeling that has quickly dispelled the anxiety I felt on the plane, not wanting it to land despite the soreness of my ass, not ready after months of self-controlled pleasure to let Life take me and sweep me into the great tides of the Unknown. But I find myself in a sanctuary now, filled with nice brothers and fathers and DSL action. Gladys the secretary took me all over the city today in order to equip me with a cellphone. I found out after dinner from a brother that the island where I'll be has a 10 x 10 ft square of cellphone reception that's on some mountain. Awesome. More to come...

im out

EWR

well, here I go...

NYC III

Dual Citizen

went up to The City on thurs with mom and the two of us officially became US-Philippine dual citizens. It was quite a process but it's finished and I now I can stay there indefinitely if I choose. who knows.
On fri Bobbious Lee and I drove down to the River with all his boxes. sunshower and thunderstorm and rainbow filled the sky. it made for an epic flight from manhattan.
Just about a week left here. Shortly the pace of life will change beyond my control, as will the constructs and contexts which have conditioned and formed this thing called self. But grace, both transendent and immanent in circumstance, remains constant.

Sunday Insp.

Trust in the slow work of God.
We are, quite naturally,
impatient in everything to reach the end
without delay.
We should like to skip
the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way
to something unknown,
something new,
and yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability --
and that it may take a very long time.

Your ideas mature gradually --
let them grow,
let them shape themselves,
without undue haste.
Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today
what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing
that His hand is leading you,
and accepting the anxiety
of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

- Pieere Telhard de Chardin, S.J. (palentologist and mystic)

slomo

It feels like life's been on pause or on slow motion for several days now. Not really much to do. Yesterday I sat on the dock for a while just watching and listening to the sea gulls. They seem to be making a lot of noise lately.. must be mating or something. There also seems to be some sort of feeding frenzy with them going on in the bay past discernable eyesight.. maybe they are eating remnants of the baitfish that are being eaten by schools of blue fish, or maybe they're feasting on the jellyfish that have proliferated in the bay the last couple of years. whatever.

I've been spending a considerable amount of time on the computer which is feeling more and more like my window to the world lately. Also learning some tunes on the guitar (new J.J. songs), putting pictures in albums, watching some videos from Blockbuster (The Life Aquatic, City of God, Elekra...), reading short stories from Tolstoy (quite rewarding). Going from activity to activity occupies most of the day with a level enjoyment, yet occasionally in the gaps there comes upon me a feeling of boredom which borderlines on dispair. When the present is so empty, and both past and future are faint projections shrouded in the mist of my own imperfect and limited recollection/imagination, I begin to doubt myself... to question what the hell I am doing here... to wonder if I am forgetting how to live. But after a few moments the fog is lifted, and I am able to pick up the guitar or book again as if nothing happened.

I don't know what to make of it. In such a controlled and comfortable and isolating environment, much of it I think has to do with my need for community and the dimension of unknown and otherness it brings. Yet why is it so hard for me to find the energy to call or email the friends I know I should want to?? I don't know. Laziness, or inertia perhaps.

Painting and the Tao

I finished painting my friend's parent's house today. It was just a job that fell into my lap, as do most things I guess. I was greatful to have the work, and Big Rod was greatful to have someone else do the job. Roofs and ladders aren't for everyone I guess. But they seem to suit me just fine. Many of my mental souveniers of Seattle are from rooftops--overlooking the Puget Sound or the Fremont brige or the strange folks of Capitol Hill. It's kind of a paradoxical experience being way up there for all the world to see, yet no one ever looks up. And there is deep peace, of fresh air and blue sky high above the goings-ons of the humanity below, when one little slip would lead to a broken mass of Mendoza on the asphalt.

And it is good to toil, to lose oneself in work. To most people it would seem that house painting is mindless blue-collar labor, but ta-da! with just small shift of perception it becomes Zen, very Zen. I'm not sure where the mind goes when it is just me, a paint brush, and a wall for hours and hours. It goes many places perhaps, but it always comes back to the brush, like the breath. And the body, how it moves and adjusts and coordinates to accomplish it's ever changing task! Perhaps it's a reminder of the Great Dance we are all part of but rarely are we aware. Perhaps.

Regardless it was nice to get a wad of cash.

Enyce

Mom and I went up to the Philippine consulate in the city on Friday in yet another failed attempt to get a Philippine passport. It turns out that I am a dual citizen which means I can stay the motherland indefintely and go back and forth freely. This is very cool. The beuracracy and paperwork, however, is turning out to be a pain in the butt. I'll have to go back up there in couple of weeks once we receive some documents from the Philippines. This all means my departure date will be pushed back one more week to the first week of June.

I stayed up there for the weekend with T & B (see pics). Many laughs, not much sleep. Friendship is a sweet thing. As this era comes to pass with Bobbi and I leaving, it will be with a certain fondness that I shall look upon these merry visits.

Right...

Empty Nest

Yesterday morning I woke up to find the duck nest empty. I've been so excited to see the cute little peepers peeping about. Could they have hatched so early in the spring? Afraid not... Next to the pot was an empty bag of hot dog buns, torn up, crumbs everywhere. I must have accidently left the bread out the day before! God knows what foul creature it lured into the yard during the night. There around me was the broken eggshell! the yolk! the tell-tale footprints of the nocturnal marauder (coon or O'possum I know not, that nasty, hateful thing)! Why!?! it was my fault... my friends, there was gnashing of teeth and beating of breast that fateful morning. This Spring on the banks of the Kettle Creek there is to be no peeping and picture-taking. Only broken eggshell and dried egg yolk.

Sigh.

And so it goes. This cruel drama that is life.

Living Things

Some vignettes:

Yesterday while gardening in the backyard my mom stumbled upon a duck sitting on a batch of eggs in one of her pots. Today I went out back a few times to feed her some hamburger bun (which I made sure to break up really well, Rhegan) as she did her motherly duty. She seemed grateful...
*
The other night David and I walked out to the edge of dock. The water was perfectly still, like black oil. In the distance two gigantic swans silently sailed toward us like magnificent white ships. Have you ever seen these things? They are huge and stunning. I've met these creatures before but never saw them with these new eyes. In that stillness and darkness, it was almost like meeting a pair of mythical beasts...
*
On the island of Bantayan in the Philippines I sat on the beach looking at the sea. Noticing a blue mass moving across the sand where the waves washed up, I got up to inspect, but when I approached, it disappeared. I sat back down in the place where I saw the object. A few seconds later the sand around me was alive: little bright blue crabs with disproportionately large claws were emerging all around me, oblivious to my presence. I watched them for a few minutes scoop sand in their mouths with their claws, regurgitate, and move on. Weird. I stirred and got up and in unison the legion of crabs retreated back into the sand...
*
The other morning while waiting for Willie to come to the job site, I sat in the backyard with my coffee with nothing to do but wait. I never noticed before how full the Jersey spring air is with the sound of birds of all kinds. A black beatle with a shiny gold metalic finish scurried past my feet. A lonely dog in the diagonal lot was amusing itself by digging a hole.

How is it that this Earth is so full of things that fly and crawl and eat and breath and do all sorts of things I don't even understand? And who I am that I can stop and take delight in such things? Amidst all that we have made and surrounded ourselves with, all of creation is there waiting to be noticed. And when I do notice, how can I not give praise and thanks to the Author and Creator of this all?

Pictures

Hey pals! During my 36 hour stint on the computer, I created a new photo web page, so feel free to check it out. It's much cooler than Ofoto. Appreciate the handsome banner on the top of the page which directs you back to my blog. It took a me a long, long time to create. There are pictures from Ali & Andy's wedding and also some from David's epic visit to the dirty Jerz.

In other news, I bought a mini disc recorder on ebay yesterday (yeah, some Franciscan I make). But I think it'll be useful for learning Cebuano. I also want to record my grandma's stories in my effort to elevate our family history into Hi-fi digital eternity!!!

Tomorrow I start my fundraising campaign, so prepare to be solicited! "I'd like to tell you about an exciting opportunity to make a difference with your money. Do you have a minute?"

me in a van

Place-meant to live!

A waterfall in Barangay Ungale, Kawayan

A couple of days ago I got an email from a friar at a parish on the island of Biliran in the Philippines. It had taken forever to hear from him and I was getting worried that my presence wasnt really needed/wanted. But hooray! Fr. Neil sounded very excited about the possibility of my coming for 3 years to live and work with the people there. He said that they have all types of ministries and outreach with children, elderly, farmers, and fisherfolk--all the poor and maginalized that are overlooked by this world.


School at Barangay Tubig-Guinoo

On Biliran they speak the same language (Cebuano) as my family. Right now I can only say a few words (armpit= kili-kili, butt=lubut, smelly= baho), but I am hoping to expand my vocabulary during my time there. Biliran is a very rural and poor island, with little industry or "development" by western standards, but I have a feeling despite the poverty and simplicity, the humanity of the people there is more developed than many places I've been. We shall see..

Oh, I just found this website, but I haven't had time to explore it yet. It's Biliran's own geocities webpage!

http://www.geocities.com/rolborr/official.html.

The village where the parish is and where I'll be living is called Kawayan (there's a link for it on the sidebar).
Also enjoy the traditional midi sounds from this exotic and tropical wonderland!


Genuroan Islet with Tagnucan and Tagasipol Islets

ENDing [ me ] BEGINing

nope. haven't left yet. 'tis the "fertile emptiness" between the end of something and the beginning of something else. A couple of days ago I said goodbye to my friends in DC and now my body and soul is couched in all that is Jersey. the comforts of home leave me apathetic; horizons have shrunk; crispness and clarity of life now dull. my room swallows me. i know i cannot go back, nor do i really want to. neither can i go forward faster than this time that is given to me. i must be patient. listen to what this place has to teach me. know that something new will begin again.

***Check out new pics!

Good Friday

To know what is true and to do what is good. If I could boil it all down I think it comes down to this. But to walk this path is not easy. The world deceives and we too deceive ourselves. St. Thomas Moore (I think) once said something like this: the animals serve God with the raw beauty of instinct; the angels serve God with the pure clarity of intellect; but we humans, we must serve Him through the thick tangle of our minds.

And how easy it is to get stuck, to get caught up in crap that really doesn't matter. The clothes I wear, the car I drive, what people think about me, weather or not the life I'm living is "normal." It's all the worries of the ego. And we are not free. We are not free from ourselves or from the societal structures that enmesh us, that put us into debt to keep us working and achieving, that numb us from the realities that exisit outside the narrow confines of our own worlds, that always leave us lusting for more, more, more. The Babylon system is the vampire. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. And this whole system propagates itself on the presumtion that we remain inert, apathetic, and driven by our own base appitites.

Maybe this is why we call this day Good Friday, because through Christ's death we celebrate our own death: to ego, to sinfulness, to self-centered living, on both the personal and societal levels. But as with all things in this temporal realm, this dying is a process ; it is not yet complete. Still, through faith we know that Resurrection awaits.

Lost

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers.
I have made this place for you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying
Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand Still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

- David Wagner

Ecumenical Advocacy Days

"Vox victimarum vox Dei. The cries of the victims are the voice of God. To the extent that those cries are not heard above the din of our political, cultural, economic, social, and ecclesial celebrations or bickerings, we have already begun a descent into hell. " (Matthew Lamb)

Just finished a 4 day conference with about a thousand Christians of all sorts who come together each year with a common concern for the status of our world. Part of me, reacting to the evangelical fundamentalism that has hijacked the faith in many ways, wants to say that these are true Christians, not the Christians who so easily confuse God and nation, who refuse or are unable to see beyond the bubble of comfort and self-righteousness. The same part of me wants to claim that these folks live the horizontal dimension of the cross as well as the vertical, who see themselves as channels of God’s transforming Spirit who is working to renew the Earth in justice and peace. I want to know that I am on the right side.

And maybe this is true. But the moment I do this I shut myself off and make a demon of the "other." I either tune myself in to the interior buzz of criticism and anger, or to the hum of self-contentment in knowing that I'm walking on the right side of the road. These ways do not lead to growth. How can I be attentive to vox victimarum and vox Dei if all I hear is my own chatter? Or the chatter of politique?

America leaves me much to be critical and angry about and I probably should articulate that at some time, but not tonight.

Downward Mobility

Just came back from visiting my cousins in Baltimore. Much of the day was spent lying around watching HBO crime series and anime on a gigantic TV. I ate some left-over Popeye’s chicken for breakfast and fell asleep on the couch.

My cousin was in jail for a little over a month this past spring due to visa issues, and now she and her children are waiting for their hearing which will decide if they’ll be deported back to the Philippines. They definitely don’t want to go back but they don’t seem to be bugging out about their pending futures.

I still haven’t heard back from the one contact we have in the Philippines which means I still don’t have a placement there. I’m trying not to get too anxious but it is a little unsettling.

The irony in any case is blaring. The poor cousins are fighting to stay in this country because here there is hope to achieve the good life and to have opportunities, the very same opportunities that I, through my parents, have been freely given. And what does rich cousin do with this precious opportunity? He goes right back to the place that is “too hot” and “too poor” for anything to be good! What a dumbass!

The grass is always greener, Runger. It always is. Still I feel crazy trying awkwardly to explain myself to my relatives here when they ask me why I’m going. I know I’m supposed to be a witness for Christ and Gospel values but I sure suck at it. Hopefully what I am doing is not a slap in the face or a kick in the junk to them. Hopefully they don’t think I think any less of them for pursuing the American dream. Hopefully they can see that we’re all just chasing our joy wherever that may lead us.

Don't Just Do Something... Sit There!

I think that’s a title to a self-help book… if not, it should be. Anyway, we’ve been doing a lot of silent/prayer meditation lately and it has been good. Amidst a world of incessant sensory input I’ve been learning the value of just sitting and having a listen to what’s inside.

Recently I read something by Thomas Merton in which he speaks about the soul's journey as a double movement: the movement inward toward the depths of oneself, and the movement outward to find one's center not in oneself but in God. It's another one of those great paradoxes: Only by going inward can we live a life of complete surrender to the Other (i.e. to God, to neighbor, to the cosmic dance of creation), and it is only here that we find true joy and purpose, for it is only by choosing to lose our lives that we are able to find them.

So yeah. Much, much more yet to grasp. Glimmers of truth about the goodness and depth of that which is slip away as quickly as they appear, and once again I find myself in the mundane…

In other news, I cut my own hair this past week. Just with my hands and a pair of scissors. I’ve been doing this for a while now. It gives a man a rare sort of primal pride and accomplishment to do this. Give it a try yourself!

Witness

On each Friday during Lent we attend a prayer service in front of the White House in the spirit of repentance for the sins we as a nation commit. This past week was Haitian solidarity week. After reading off the names of people (Americans and Iraqis) killed in Iraq, we bore witness to the part the US played in undermining democracy in Haiti by overthrowing the democratically elected President Aristide before his term was over. I helped to hold a sign saying "War Is Not the Answer," and watched as people walked by nonplussed on their cell phones or in their tour groups. I probably would have walked right by as well. But despite the fact that not many people understand nor care about what we do each Friday, I still get the feeling that what is being done is important. Somebody has to do it. Somebody has to be sorry.

Also this week we attended a Mass in commemoration of Sister Dorothy Stang. She had lived and worked for over 20 years as a missionary in the Amazon of Brazil, defending the forest and standing alongside the people as they fight to protect their land and simple way of life. A couple of weeks ago she was shot in the face three times, murdered by businessmen greedy for the land. She is now a martyr, a light in the darkness, a true example for us all in this self-absorbed society. I have no doubt she's chillin at the Eternal Banquet!

p.s. I'm not sure who's all reading this but thanks to all of you who posted or emailed me. It meant a lot to hear from you.

Is It Really Real, Son?

Saturday night. I'm just getting over a little "bug" which made me ill for the past few days, so while the girls are out dancing I'm home alone. It's just you and me tonight Blog.

It's been a few days now that images of my little adventures in Honduras have been popping up and I think it might be worthwhile to write about them. So here I go.

After visiting with my dear friend Meg who's in the PeaceCorps in Nicaragua, I made my way up to the north coast of Honduras. My goal was to spend about a week on the Bay Islands, a supposed backpacker's paradise with great SCUBA diving and the cheapest prices in the world. I was travel weary and I had great expectations of sitting my ass down on beach and sopping up the tropical sun.

Anyways, I get there and rainy season has set just set in. I'm usually pretty good with rolling with it, but for some reason I just could not help being a "poor-pussy." I moped about the dreary, drizzly little town. The towns people with their Creole banter about whose "mondongo" (cow innards) was cleaner than whose, made me sad. The attractive and cool looking white people who seem to be everywhere made me sad. The roaches in my room made me sad. I wished I had chosen to go to Roatan instead of Utila. I should have picked a different dive shop to stay at. Why couldn't I make friends with any of these cool looking white people? It was the first time in a great while that I have felt so sorry for myself, so full of regret. Realizing how weird I was being, I said enough is enough and I took the next boat off the island.

I think it's enough to say that after I arrived on the mainland, I was led into the rain forest. A cast of characters (unforseeable a priori) presented themselves, and a series of events lined up and next thing I knew, I was hiking deep into the Pico Bonito national reinforced for four days. It was an incredible experience which I won't bother to bore you with, except for a quick snapshot. One morning I woke up in the densest and wettest part of the jungle. We needed water so I grabbed the bottles and the machete and hacked my way down the gully to the small creek running near our camp. Squatting down on a rock in the middle of the creek to draw water, I looked around only to find myself completely taken by the sight, sound, and smell of the forest engulfing me. Everything around me was sopping with wetness, with green and wild goodness! How else could one's soul respond but with a mixture of gratitude and awe and terror? "This is Real," was all I could whisper to myself. "This is Real, and it is Good."

Rewind

For all y'all I've been out of touch with for some reason or other, my deepest apologies. Anyway here's a quick summation of my life after college:
A couple of months on the road across the USA right after graduation; a few months in Galway, Ireland working as a kitchen porter; several months digging up my roots in mein fadderland of the Philippines; back to the US, living in Seattle where I worked as a house painter and as an Americorps volunteer at a community health center.
On a road trip visiting Sims from Portland to Seattle I felt the call to go East. I deaded the med school thing, found FMS, and here I am.

I would love to hear from you guys who I've been crappy about being in touch with, so I hope my "blog" spurs further dialogue.

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch. love, dave

The Psalm Remains the Same

"By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion." (Psalm 137)

This wizened old man who was a missionary in Kenya for decades told us, among other things, about how Africans are much more about community than the hardy individualism so prevalent here. When a Christian African imagines God breathing Life into Adam, he/she sees this breath reaching us through countless generations of people, our own ancestors.

I wonder about the cultural lens through which I perceive my own identity. Am I an American simply because I, an individual, had been born and raised in this country? Or in some way do I belong to the people of my ancestry, since in every way my breath and my blood came to me through them? It seems to me now that both are reasonable. If the latter is true, then I whether I like it or not, am part of the story and struggle of the people of the Philippines.

Moses was raised in the house of pharaoh. Not that I see myself as a great liberator or anything, but rather it's about identity. Do I stand on the side of the rich and mighty or the poor and oppressed? I know where Christ stood.

As hundreds of thousands of Filipinos leave their country to earn money and find a better life for themselves and their families, I find myself wondering weather the place I've called home all my life is the Promised Land or is in fact Babylon.

Hello...am I speaking in tongues?

This blog is a weird thing. My thoughts and words tend to naturally adapt themselves to fit into the context of individual friendships that this blogging thing has become little lesson for me in finding a different kind of general voice within me. Or maybe it's just a voice that doesn't really care what it sounds like, how it is received. Communication simply for the purpose of self-clarification and expression. I like that.

Still it's a little difficult. It's the same reason I'm not a fan of the mass email or the "reply all" button. I tend to show different parts of myself to different people in my life because I know what's safe to show to who (whom?). It's easy that way. And in some ways I think it's good to vibe with people on different wavelengths. But the concept of vulnerability as a way of connection and growth seems to be popping up quite a bit. I guess it's time to get vulnerable. (btw, there's a great story about St. Francis getting bare-ass necked in front of the bishop in a definitive step of conversion).

So allow me to get on my soap-box and speak across this digital divide! Look at it not so much as an unsolicited mass email, but as a chance to peek into my head and heart and see through my eyes while I'm overseas, if/whenever you may choose.

One Good Thing About Music

Flaget has started to notice that during sessions and intense discussion I occasionally space out. She wants to know what I'm thinking. Sometimes there are deep ruminations going on upstairs about the nature of reality, interpersonal relationships, love. But I think that more often than not I'm not really thinking of anything-- just humming to myself a little tune: duh duh duh...

A few weeks ago I was cruising the streets of Queens vibing to Bob Marley and Steve and the Most High. It hit me that much of our relationships with other people and with life in general has to do with listening to the ever present melodies in everything and everyone, and allowing our souls to resonate with that song. Sometimes it causes us to sing along, to move our bodies, to change our individual melody to mix in harmony with the other. it's just an idea (highdea?).

We've been learning about Franciscan spirituality and at the core of it is this idea that the basis of reality is relationship. The Divine Him/Herself is the perfect coexistence of three Persons--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. As reflections of the Creator we are connected to everything and everyone. Kind of cliche and new agey I know, but it's quite deep. Still have much, much more to learn about what this means...

Snow Falling on Asphalt

It's snowing now in DC. I found internet access here at Catholic University's library which is just several blocks from the FMS house. One week down, and so far so good. There are three of us in orientation: Flaget (pronounced with a French tongue; 37/f), Rhegan (pronounced with ree; 26/f), and myself. We are a good bunch--thoughtful, mellow, and we like to laugh. The house itself is big and old and despite the chilliness in temperature, it has a good sense of warmth and comfort. There are two dogs: Francis, a lazy and loving lab mix, and Hodor, a Korean dog that's skittish and kind of annoying.

We have communal prayer in the mornings and evenings, and many days Joe says mass in our little chapel. Usually there are morning and afternoon classes/workshops. This week they were on cultural adaptation, Catholic Social Teaching, personality (Myers-Briggs), and Franciscan spirituality (amongst others). We take turns cooking dinner and we share chores. On Wednesdays I'll be volunteering at Linkages to Learning which provides social services to a mostly immigrant community. Weekends are free.
Overall, the days are full but not overwhelming. It's chill and laid back, but definitely grounded in the Spirit and in what we are doing to prepare ourselves for the upcoming journey. That's the general overview I guess. More to come!

Lover of Leaving

"Come, whoever you are!

Wanderer, worshipper,

lover of leaving" - Rumi

Well, tomorrow I leave for mission orientation. Been spending most of the day at one with the computer, organizing pictures and buring mp3 discs--music for the next few months. Getting the last sip of technological pleasures before I put off into the Deep. Haven't even started packing.

I'm not nervous. Just feel rushed, which is good I guess. I'm used to the comings and goings that this life has afforded me. Still I gotta say that tomorrow is a big day. Three years in the Unknown. God know's where it'll take me. But I'm sure it will be good.

Hopefully this Blog thing will be a good way to be connected with all you guys, wherever you are. It means a lot to me to be friends with such great people out there, and to know that to some extent you can follow me along this journey. Come, take my hand, and let us fly! jk

Seriously though, if you are reading this, chances are you have blessed my life greatly and I thank you. It is a wonderful and holy thing, this life! Keep it real, my bredren. I'm going in.

Snow-shoeing at Mt. Baker, WA

Fluffy pow!