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.
Friday, December 22, 2006
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…
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
young and restless
With a little more than a week to go until the culminating summer parish youth camp, Imelda showed up here at the convent. It was the return of the Queen. I couldn’t count how many times people have recalled to me the golden days of youth ministry at St. Raphael Parish when Imelda was president. How active and involved the youth were back then! That is before Imelda left to go into the mountains of Samar...
Anyway she’s back and the pressure at least partially is off my back. That very day, the two of us got on the motorcycle and were off to visit the youth up in the mountain. The second day, Jorge drove us to the five barrios to the North (we ran out of gas, yet again, and had to push a little ways along the dirt road until the downhill stretch). After visiting all 14 barrios, we’re now expecting a turnout of 200+ kids for the overnight camp which is to be held in a small field of carabao grass in Sitio Tadloy, a pleasant, remote place. It’s B.Y.O.B. (Banig – sleeping mat), and unless the Governor lets us borrow his tent, we’ll be sleeping under the stars. I’m trying not to stress out too much, as there is still so much to plan, but this is the Phlipside after all—things just seem to work out in the end, and if not, whatever.
Anyway she’s back and the pressure at least partially is off my back. That very day, the two of us got on the motorcycle and were off to visit the youth up in the mountain. The second day, Jorge drove us to the five barrios to the North (we ran out of gas, yet again, and had to push a little ways along the dirt road until the downhill stretch). After visiting all 14 barrios, we’re now expecting a turnout of 200+ kids for the overnight camp which is to be held in a small field of carabao grass in Sitio Tadloy, a pleasant, remote place. It’s B.Y.O.B. (Banig – sleeping mat), and unless the Governor lets us borrow his tent, we’ll be sleeping under the stars. I’m trying not to stress out too much, as there is still so much to plan, but this is the Phlipside after all—things just seem to work out in the end, and if not, whatever.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Sense and Sentibility
Even though it often bothers me how pleasure always takes priority over work here, having visitors is a good enough excuse to forget all and spend a day on one of the islands. On Monday we broke in Yuning and Elesita’s new pumpboat which we were able to help them buy with a small loan. We didn’t forget the tuba, but for the first time since I’ve been here, we managed to overlook our food. Hungry and stuck on a disserted island, we took to the sea. Jorge with his spear went off in one direction to hunt fish; Yuning, RJ, Berto, and I went off in the other to dive for urchins. It was high tide so the urchins were deep, and only Yuning and I were willing to take the plunge. It’s a rush diving 20 ft down, scooping up as many urchins as you can with a stick into a net-bag, before your pounding heart tells you best get your ass up. The urchins are de-spined with a thrashing of the bag, cracked open, and the mushy yellow flesh is eaten as is. Jorge’s catch of small reef fish and snails were simply thrown on some burning embers and eaten. We found some coconuts on the ground fallen from the storm, to open and sip on.
Later that evening was KC’s debut (18th birthday) party in the parish hall. She’s the daughter of Salem and Willy the fireman, good middle to upper class folk, who are active in the Church and always go on outings with us. I was waiting all night for them to play “I’m Coming Out,” but instead “Let’s Get Retarded In Here” blasted from the speakers. All the important people in town were invited to give symbolic gifts to KC with accompanying explanatory speeches to welcome her to womanhood. My favorite was Madame Nova’s speech about her gift, a belt, which stood for KC’s self-confidence and maturity. Kind of a stretch, but touching nonetheless. As for myself, I joined the ranks of 17 other young squires vying for this damsel’s hand, as I presented myself and my red rose before here in exchange for a waltz. (Mervi’s dance lesson on the Baltic Sea has paid off it seems.) But alas, it turns out her heart has been conquered by another, from Tacloban, a kingdom in the East. Tall, dark, and handsome, is KC’s type it turns out.
Later that evening was KC’s debut (18th birthday) party in the parish hall. She’s the daughter of Salem and Willy the fireman, good middle to upper class folk, who are active in the Church and always go on outings with us. I was waiting all night for them to play “I’m Coming Out,” but instead “Let’s Get Retarded In Here” blasted from the speakers. All the important people in town were invited to give symbolic gifts to KC with accompanying explanatory speeches to welcome her to womanhood. My favorite was Madame Nova’s speech about her gift, a belt, which stood for KC’s self-confidence and maturity. Kind of a stretch, but touching nonetheless. As for myself, I joined the ranks of 17 other young squires vying for this damsel’s hand, as I presented myself and my red rose before here in exchange for a waltz. (Mervi’s dance lesson on the Baltic Sea has paid off it seems.) But alas, it turns out her heart has been conquered by another, from Tacloban, a kingdom in the East. Tall, dark, and handsome, is KC’s type it turns out.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Caloy
I weathered my first bagio (typhoon) here last week. Caloy his name was. Signal 2 they say. We had to dodge a lot of coconuts and branches in the road, but wasn't so bad when Jorge (shirtless) and I took Na Betty home to Bulalacao at about 7 in the evening. It hit hardest in the middle of the night. Pretty scarry. In the morning my floor and all things under my bed were soaked. Several huge mango and nangka trees were snapped in two. The following day I took pictures of Na Bebie's sister's house which had been distroyed, so they could avail of the $60 calamity relief funding from the local government to build a new home. For now they'll sleep under the plywood and nipa remains.
The power was out for almost 3 days. It kind of felt like a snow day, being stuck inside, with nothing to do but sleep and hang out. There's a lot of people staying at the convent at the moment. Bob's wife Joy and their 3 year old daughter are staying with us for a few weeks.
There are also other visitors here with a secret purpose which I have yet to uncover. They seem nice enough though. On the dark night after the storm we stayed up late by candlelight playing guitar and singing and eating "bring house" (i.e. take home) from the fiesta in Masagongsong.
Right now we are preparing for our overnight youth camp in the mountains at the end of the month. It's proving challenging to organize but we'll see.. these things always seem to work out in the end. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Blessings to all
d
The power was out for almost 3 days. It kind of felt like a snow day, being stuck inside, with nothing to do but sleep and hang out. There's a lot of people staying at the convent at the moment. Bob's wife Joy and their 3 year old daughter are staying with us for a few weeks.
There are also other visitors here with a secret purpose which I have yet to uncover. They seem nice enough though. On the dark night after the storm we stayed up late by candlelight playing guitar and singing and eating "bring house" (i.e. take home) from the fiesta in Masagongsong.
Right now we are preparing for our overnight youth camp in the mountains at the end of the month. It's proving challenging to organize but we'll see.. these things always seem to work out in the end. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Blessings to all
d
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
sense and sensibility
Even though it often bothers me how pleasure always takes priority over work here, having visitors is a good enough excuse to forget all and spend a day on one of the islands. On Monday we broke in Yuning and Elesita’s new pumpboat which we were able to help them buy with a small loan. We didn’t forget the tuba, but for the first time since I’ve been here, we managed to overlook our food. Hungry and stuck on a disserted island, we took to the sea. Jorge with his spear went off in one direction to hunt fish; Yuning, RJ, Berto, and I went off in the other to dive for urchins. It was high tide so the urchins were deep, and only Yuning and I were willing to take the plunge. It’s a rush diving 20 ft down, scooping up as many urchins as you can with a stick into a net-bag, before your pounding heart tells you best get your ass up. The urchins are de-spined with a thrashing of the bag, cracked open, and the mushy yellow flesh is eaten as is. Jorge’s catch of small reef fish and snails were simply thrown on some burning embers and eaten. We found some coconuts on the ground fallen from the storm, to open up and sip on.
Later that evening was KC’s debut (18th birthday) party in the parish hall. She’s the daughter of Salem and Willy the fireman, good middle to upper class folk, who are active in the Church and always go on outings with us. I was waiting all night for them to play “I’m Coming Out,” but instead “Let’s Get Retarded In Here” blasted from the speakers. All the important people in town were invited to give symbolic gifts to KC with accompanying explanatory speeches to welcome her to womanhood. My favorite was Madame Nova’s speech about her gift, a belt, which stood for KC’s self-confidence and maturity. Kind of a stretch, but touching nonetheless. As for myself, I joined the ranks of 17 other young squires vying for this damsel’s hand, as I presented myself and my red rose before here in exchange for a waltz. (Mervi’s dance lesson on the Baltic Sea has paid off it seems.) But alas, it turns out her heart has been conquered by another, from Tacloban, a land far to the East. Tall, dark, and handsome, is KC’s type it turns out.
Later that evening was KC’s debut (18th birthday) party in the parish hall. She’s the daughter of Salem and Willy the fireman, good middle to upper class folk, who are active in the Church and always go on outings with us. I was waiting all night for them to play “I’m Coming Out,” but instead “Let’s Get Retarded In Here” blasted from the speakers. All the important people in town were invited to give symbolic gifts to KC with accompanying explanatory speeches to welcome her to womanhood. My favorite was Madame Nova’s speech about her gift, a belt, which stood for KC’s self-confidence and maturity. Kind of a stretch, but touching nonetheless. As for myself, I joined the ranks of 17 other young squires vying for this damsel’s hand, as I presented myself and my red rose before here in exchange for a waltz. (Mervi’s dance lesson on the Baltic Sea has paid off it seems.) But alas, it turns out her heart has been conquered by another, from Tacloban, a land far to the East. Tall, dark, and handsome, is KC’s type it turns out.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Time passes differently here. I apologize for not posting in a while, but it seems there's not enough time in the day. Edgar's dad passed away recently. The "lamay" or wake lasted for 10 days, so for several nights we'd stay in Bulalacao. People of all ages hang out all night around the house playing cards and talking. It was actually fun. I'm sure it was utterly exhautsting for the family, not only mourning and staying up all night, but also serving hoards of people with coffee and snacks for 10 days straight. But this is Filipino style. Community and being together is what life, and I supposed death, is about. One night, after a couple of hours of shut-eye at Elesita and Yunings hut up the hill, we woke up again at 2:30am for Mananita, the early morning birthday serenade, because it was the birthday of Edgar's dead dad. Everyone cried. It was a poignant moment.
Another night Elmer and I were on the way there by motorcycle. Emi is a massive man with a huge belly and he was driving. A few dogs strolling in the road were caught unawares and we hit one dead on. Emi still laughs at my scream of, "Oh my God!" the moment before impact. But nothing happened to us. Just a thud and a yelp. I guess He heard me. But sorry about the dog.
In other news about death (it seems I'm facinated by this subject.. is that weird?), my three turtles met a tragic end. I put the bucket which they called home in what I thought was a shady spot in the garden. But I was mistaken. At about quarter to noon I happened by and found that the ruthless sun had abused them all morning. The bucket was filled with turtle soup when I found them. Even the baby one was cooked. No amount of fresh cool water could revive them. Poor bastards... all my fault. The next day Jemuel and I had a proper funeral service at the peir, tossing their stiff bodies in the sea.
Let's see more info.. we started a bible sharing goup with the youth and we are meeting regularly, not only for prayer but cleaning the curch grounds, visiting the barios, and planning for an overnight youth camp in the mountains.
oopss. gotta run. catching a pumboat to calubian~~
Another night Elmer and I were on the way there by motorcycle. Emi is a massive man with a huge belly and he was driving. A few dogs strolling in the road were caught unawares and we hit one dead on. Emi still laughs at my scream of, "Oh my God!" the moment before impact. But nothing happened to us. Just a thud and a yelp. I guess He heard me. But sorry about the dog.
In other news about death (it seems I'm facinated by this subject.. is that weird?), my three turtles met a tragic end. I put the bucket which they called home in what I thought was a shady spot in the garden. But I was mistaken. At about quarter to noon I happened by and found that the ruthless sun had abused them all morning. The bucket was filled with turtle soup when I found them. Even the baby one was cooked. No amount of fresh cool water could revive them. Poor bastards... all my fault. The next day Jemuel and I had a proper funeral service at the peir, tossing their stiff bodies in the sea.
Let's see more info.. we started a bible sharing goup with the youth and we are meeting regularly, not only for prayer but cleaning the curch grounds, visiting the barios, and planning for an overnight youth camp in the mountains.
oopss. gotta run. catching a pumboat to calubian~~
Thursday, March 30, 2006
witchcraft and wizardry
Salem, Yuning, Elesita and I hiked up the hill and into the woods of Tuburan the other day for the birthday party of Mr. Docallos. Typical birthday fare: lots of people of all ages, cups continuously being filled with tuba, guitars, singing and dancing in the yard. We were late so the lechon was all bones (so many bones) by the time we arrived. Most of the other food was gone too, except for a few chicken feet ("addidas" they call them) and suprisingly a grilled fish barely touched left on the table. One taste was all it took to find out why: spoiled. I discreetly expelled it onto my spoon not wanting to embarass the host, like the others before me I'm sure, and I let the rotten mush fall accidentally under the table. I kept coaxing the cat to eat it, but it wouldn't.
Halfway through the revelry Lola Lilang, an aged woman with saggy eyelids and a laugh as warming as my own Lola's, pulled my ear close to her and wispered into it the most tantalizing of questions. "Do you believe in wizards?" she wanted to know. I was looking forawrd to then engaging in an in-depth discussion about White vs. Black Magic, Elementals, runes and other such enchanted objects, but we didn't. Her next question: "Do you like to eat goat?" Not waiting for a response, she quickly got up and shuffled out of the room returning later with a plate of goat's meat. I was hoping it would be a wizard. White beard, pointy hat with stars, walking stick / magic staff. Oh well.
After the party we walked up the path a little ways past the Docallo's to the cold spring of Tuburan which provides the entire town of Almeria with water. It's nothing more than a small hole but it's a refreshing sip to jump in and sit in the cold, clear water that ceaselessly flows from deep under the mountain.
Yuning brought the guitar as he usually does. He and Elesita are a married couple in their late 30's and are rarely seen apart from each other. They sell fish for a living, walking around Kawayan with their black bucket and conch shell horn. (There's no market in our town. The market comes to you.) Unoffically though they are church workers and very much a part of our family here. Every day they are at the convent. Yuning plays guitar during mass and Elesita, a nice looking lady with a lazy eye, prepares lunch most days. There is a running joke around here that Elesita will get me to marry their eldest daughter Nene but it's a long shot. Nene is a dear friend to me but perhaps the most difficult person I've ever known. One moment she's all sunshine, and the next moment you better watch out because she's a wild animal. Rahrrr!! (I have a theory that her erratic behavior is due to the death of her older brother a couple years ago, tragically stabbed at the fiesta of Kansanoc). Anyway there probably won't be a wedding anytime soon.
So I'm here now in Tacloban, a big city 3 hours away, killing time. Our truck is getting fixed, but I'm also here to buy Yuning and Elesita a small 5hp motor for a pumpboat so they can go fishing themselves instead of having to go through the alpor, middle-men for fish dealers. Elesita and Nene were planning on leaving for Manila next month to work in a factory (sweat-shop) to save the money to buy the motor themselves until I proposed this plan. It's on loan of course, but the interest is tiny and it's managable. They're happy about it.
We'll keep on jammin wherever you are. I'll let you know if I meet a wizard anytime soon, be he friend or foe.
Halfway through the revelry Lola Lilang, an aged woman with saggy eyelids and a laugh as warming as my own Lola's, pulled my ear close to her and wispered into it the most tantalizing of questions. "Do you believe in wizards?" she wanted to know. I was looking forawrd to then engaging in an in-depth discussion about White vs. Black Magic, Elementals, runes and other such enchanted objects, but we didn't. Her next question: "Do you like to eat goat?" Not waiting for a response, she quickly got up and shuffled out of the room returning later with a plate of goat's meat. I was hoping it would be a wizard. White beard, pointy hat with stars, walking stick / magic staff. Oh well.
After the party we walked up the path a little ways past the Docallo's to the cold spring of Tuburan which provides the entire town of Almeria with water. It's nothing more than a small hole but it's a refreshing sip to jump in and sit in the cold, clear water that ceaselessly flows from deep under the mountain.
Yuning brought the guitar as he usually does. He and Elesita are a married couple in their late 30's and are rarely seen apart from each other. They sell fish for a living, walking around Kawayan with their black bucket and conch shell horn. (There's no market in our town. The market comes to you.) Unoffically though they are church workers and very much a part of our family here. Every day they are at the convent. Yuning plays guitar during mass and Elesita, a nice looking lady with a lazy eye, prepares lunch most days. There is a running joke around here that Elesita will get me to marry their eldest daughter Nene but it's a long shot. Nene is a dear friend to me but perhaps the most difficult person I've ever known. One moment she's all sunshine, and the next moment you better watch out because she's a wild animal. Rahrrr!! (I have a theory that her erratic behavior is due to the death of her older brother a couple years ago, tragically stabbed at the fiesta of Kansanoc). Anyway there probably won't be a wedding anytime soon.
So I'm here now in Tacloban, a big city 3 hours away, killing time. Our truck is getting fixed, but I'm also here to buy Yuning and Elesita a small 5hp motor for a pumpboat so they can go fishing themselves instead of having to go through the alpor, middle-men for fish dealers. Elesita and Nene were planning on leaving for Manila next month to work in a factory (sweat-shop) to save the money to buy the motor themselves until I proposed this plan. It's on loan of course, but the interest is tiny and it's managable. They're happy about it.
We'll keep on jammin wherever you are. I'll let you know if I meet a wizard anytime soon, be he friend or foe.
Monday, February 27, 2006
via chicago
I was elated driving the motorcycle by myself for the first time to Mapuyo, our farthest barangay, located about 30 minutes north of town. The road going north is rough, unpaved, and full of treachery but no problem-O. Nothing but coconut trees, sunshine, and the sweet taste of freedom.
The next day I tried using it again to follow up on our pig recipients, and I ended up driving straight into the canal of our neighbor. Awesome. I remember the oh crap sensation a split second before disaster, and the pain of my head hitting the palm tree, but I walked away with nothing more than a squashed pinky finger. Salamat sa Diyos. One of those moments when it’s hard not to believe that someone is watching out for me…
This week Na Bebie and I took Na Flora (the laundry lady) to the hospital. Na Bebie usually takes the assistant role as the faithful side-kick of Na Betty, the pastoral worker who’s been doing her job here since she was 18 (for over 30 years!). But this was the first time I saw Babes take the reigns, navigating us through the convoluted Philippine public healthcare system. I was quite impressed. There’s money from the municipio we can tap if we get the right referral, there’s a nurse from our town working at the hospital who can keep a special eye on Na Flora, there’s an eatery across the street where we can borrow a plate and utensils for her food. We finally got Na Flora admitted. A cot with a piece of plywood to lie on, in a ward full of tropical sickness. Lying on the plywood next to her was Clarissa, a stern-faced neighbor from Kawayan, laid up with a bad case of tetanus.
Na Flora was diagnosed with typhoid and sent home after a couple days with a prescription for antibiotics, which cost about $2 a pill. Almost 60% of the households here in Kawayan earn less than $1 per day, and I know for sure Na Flora earns even less than that. She has PhilHealth, health insurance for the indigent, the equivalent of Americaid, but the problem is that PhilHealth only reimburses medical expenses, and partially at that. You still need cash up front to pay for hospitalization and medicines and I don’t think many people like Na Flora are lucky enough to have someone who’s willing and able to front the cash for them. Hopefully we can get the ball rolling with the Diocese Social Action Center to start a parish pharmacy to offer cheaper meds to our folks—a small bandage on a gashing wound, but at least its something...
Later on in the day, sitting in Berto's hammock, listening to Chicago's Greatest Hits, pouring coconut wine from a gallon jug of Castrol GTX Synthetic Oil, and watching daylight fade until our only light emminates from the slits in his bamboo hut. Edgar, overweight and the jolliest of fellows dances the "otso-otso" for us and all is laughter. And even if Berto's 101 chickens he's been faithfully guarding and tending for the past month and a half, his only source of livelihood at the moment, will only turn over a $25 profit (much lower than hoped for), I get the feeling that it doesn't really matter that much.
And so it goes in this chaotic and simple land with a future so bleak. But at least here neighbors still know each other, help each other, and have time to sit around and laugh with each other. Maybe this reality is much deeper than it would seem.
P.S. Regarding the landslide, I'm fine. Thank you all for your concern. St. Bernard is on the next island over but it's quite far from here. A PeaceCorps friend of mine is assigned there but I recently got a txt message from him that he's fine, and joining the relief effort.
P.S.S. I added some more pics from January if you care to take a peek
The next day I tried using it again to follow up on our pig recipients, and I ended up driving straight into the canal of our neighbor. Awesome. I remember the oh crap sensation a split second before disaster, and the pain of my head hitting the palm tree, but I walked away with nothing more than a squashed pinky finger. Salamat sa Diyos. One of those moments when it’s hard not to believe that someone is watching out for me…
This week Na Bebie and I took Na Flora (the laundry lady) to the hospital. Na Bebie usually takes the assistant role as the faithful side-kick of Na Betty, the pastoral worker who’s been doing her job here since she was 18 (for over 30 years!). But this was the first time I saw Babes take the reigns, navigating us through the convoluted Philippine public healthcare system. I was quite impressed. There’s money from the municipio we can tap if we get the right referral, there’s a nurse from our town working at the hospital who can keep a special eye on Na Flora, there’s an eatery across the street where we can borrow a plate and utensils for her food. We finally got Na Flora admitted. A cot with a piece of plywood to lie on, in a ward full of tropical sickness. Lying on the plywood next to her was Clarissa, a stern-faced neighbor from Kawayan, laid up with a bad case of tetanus.
Na Flora was diagnosed with typhoid and sent home after a couple days with a prescription for antibiotics, which cost about $2 a pill. Almost 60% of the households here in Kawayan earn less than $1 per day, and I know for sure Na Flora earns even less than that. She has PhilHealth, health insurance for the indigent, the equivalent of Americaid, but the problem is that PhilHealth only reimburses medical expenses, and partially at that. You still need cash up front to pay for hospitalization and medicines and I don’t think many people like Na Flora are lucky enough to have someone who’s willing and able to front the cash for them. Hopefully we can get the ball rolling with the Diocese Social Action Center to start a parish pharmacy to offer cheaper meds to our folks—a small bandage on a gashing wound, but at least its something...
Later on in the day, sitting in Berto's hammock, listening to Chicago's Greatest Hits, pouring coconut wine from a gallon jug of Castrol GTX Synthetic Oil, and watching daylight fade until our only light emminates from the slits in his bamboo hut. Edgar, overweight and the jolliest of fellows dances the "otso-otso" for us and all is laughter. And even if Berto's 101 chickens he's been faithfully guarding and tending for the past month and a half, his only source of livelihood at the moment, will only turn over a $25 profit (much lower than hoped for), I get the feeling that it doesn't really matter that much.
And so it goes in this chaotic and simple land with a future so bleak. But at least here neighbors still know each other, help each other, and have time to sit around and laugh with each other. Maybe this reality is much deeper than it would seem.
P.S. Regarding the landslide, I'm fine. Thank you all for your concern. St. Bernard is on the next island over but it's quite far from here. A PeaceCorps friend of mine is assigned there but I recently got a txt message from him that he's fine, and joining the relief effort.
P.S.S. I added some more pics from January if you care to take a peek
Saturday, February 11, 2006
twice bitten once shy
Lola Flora the laundry lady is sick. We visited her yesterday evening stumbling along the path to her house bringing biscuits from Manila and virgin coconut oil, a panacea says Dr. Fife. Her house is a shack in the woods with a single candle for light. She’s only 60 but looks about 85, her body a living skeleton. But she’s still somehow able to laugh, even about the sharp pain in her abdomen, the bitter taste in her mouth, and the feeling of being completely wasted on tuba, native coconut wine.
WE just back from 2 weeks in Manila. (If Jersey is the armpit of America, what is Manila to the Philippines? hmmm...) It took about 50 hours by bus to get there from Kawayan. About 15 minutes into the trip someone started vomiting in the back. Awesome. The road trip usually takes about 24 hours, but crossing from Samar to Luzon, there was a bagio (typhoon) which prevented the ferry from leaving for a whole day. Thankfully there is a Franciscan school near the port where we were able to call on and seek refuge. They had some plywood and cardboard we could spread out on the floor and lay our weary loins. The whole trip was actually fun for me... Watching the scenery along the road, listening to tunes, and sleeping, seemingly endless hours, the body processes having slowed down and gone into hibernation mode.
The Pastoral Assembly of all Franciscan parishes in the country, which is held every 3 years, took place just outside of the city. The content was kind of boring, something about the PIME system (planning, implementing, monitoring, evaluation) of pastoral programs which the Province is spending a lot of money and time to “install” in the parishes (like we are computers or something.. we're not, we're flesh and blood, man!). Anyway it was good to meet many of the other friars around the country. Most would agree I think that the highlight was seeing our parish priests dressed up in drag and strutting around (see pics).
We spent a couple nights afterwards in downtown Manila sleeping cramped in the upper room of store which sells junky toys and other junky junk. We then had retreat for a couple of days which was the spiritual refreshment I was thirsty for. I really connected with Fr. Nonong who lead the retreat with his East meets West spirituality, integrating John Campbell, St. John of the Cross, Buddhist meditation, and other good stuff. The retreat was followed by a “field trip” to Baguio, a bustling city high in the mountains to the north of Manila. We stayed in a large, extravagant house which was donated to the Franciscans, located deep in a leech infested wood. We arrived later than expected and had to brave the 30-minute hike in the dark when the leeches come out to feed. Shreeks and stomping of feet when we entered the foyer. I was bitten twice between the toes. I felt a bit woozy afterwards, it taking a long time for the bleeding to stop. Maybe it's what I needed, a good bleeding.
Edgar, Betty, Bebie, and I then headed to Subic to seek out Edgar and Betty’s long lost brothers. Subic is where the American Navy base was located before it was shut down shortly after Mt. Pinatubo erupted. One of the gifts the Americans left behind is a lot of toxic. Another is the thriving prostitute industry in Subic which still exists today. Creepy, overweight white dudes are everywhere, as are the mestizo kids in rags mixed in with the other native street children.
We found Edgar’s brother who he hasn’t seen in over 20 years ago when he left home to seek greener pastures. Betty’s brother too was there, living in the same small fishing village of Nagayantok about 30 minutes away from the city, only accessible by boat. We stayed here a couple of days, a simple, poor, beautiful place. The people in Nagayantok are all migrants, Bisayan speakers in Tagalog land, many of whom come from our very own Kawayan. Their livelihood there is catching aquarium fish from the coral reefs offshore for export. They use oxygen tanks with hoses attached that they simply bite on to as they dive into the deep to earn their bread. Isn’t that dangerous? Do people ever die?
More than I can count, one fisherman replied with a smile. Apparently there’s also a lot of fishermen in Nagayantok who are now paralyzed... my baby's got the bends.
But they still seem to enjoy life while it’s theirs. I’m learning this is a general Filipino maxim. We spent an entire day at the beach cooking fish over a coconut fire and drinking rum. A couple of men disappeared and to return later with two sacks full of sea urchins they had gathered, which were spilled on the beach and eaten up raw with animal-like passion.
When we left Nagayantok we brought with us Joy-Joy, the 11-year-old daughter of Edgar’s brother. They are too poor to care for her, so Edgar happily agreed to raise her. A few tears of goodbye to the only home she has known were shed as we landed on the other side of the bay, but that was about it. Separation and moving on is also what being Filipino is about.
Pax et bonum!
WE just back from 2 weeks in Manila. (If Jersey is the armpit of America, what is Manila to the Philippines? hmmm...) It took about 50 hours by bus to get there from Kawayan. About 15 minutes into the trip someone started vomiting in the back. Awesome. The road trip usually takes about 24 hours, but crossing from Samar to Luzon, there was a bagio (typhoon) which prevented the ferry from leaving for a whole day. Thankfully there is a Franciscan school near the port where we were able to call on and seek refuge. They had some plywood and cardboard we could spread out on the floor and lay our weary loins. The whole trip was actually fun for me... Watching the scenery along the road, listening to tunes, and sleeping, seemingly endless hours, the body processes having slowed down and gone into hibernation mode.
The Pastoral Assembly of all Franciscan parishes in the country, which is held every 3 years, took place just outside of the city. The content was kind of boring, something about the PIME system (planning, implementing, monitoring, evaluation) of pastoral programs which the Province is spending a lot of money and time to “install” in the parishes (like we are computers or something.. we're not, we're flesh and blood, man!). Anyway it was good to meet many of the other friars around the country. Most would agree I think that the highlight was seeing our parish priests dressed up in drag and strutting around (see pics).
We spent a couple nights afterwards in downtown Manila sleeping cramped in the upper room of store which sells junky toys and other junky junk. We then had retreat for a couple of days which was the spiritual refreshment I was thirsty for. I really connected with Fr. Nonong who lead the retreat with his East meets West spirituality, integrating John Campbell, St. John of the Cross, Buddhist meditation, and other good stuff. The retreat was followed by a “field trip” to Baguio, a bustling city high in the mountains to the north of Manila. We stayed in a large, extravagant house which was donated to the Franciscans, located deep in a leech infested wood. We arrived later than expected and had to brave the 30-minute hike in the dark when the leeches come out to feed. Shreeks and stomping of feet when we entered the foyer. I was bitten twice between the toes. I felt a bit woozy afterwards, it taking a long time for the bleeding to stop. Maybe it's what I needed, a good bleeding.
Edgar, Betty, Bebie, and I then headed to Subic to seek out Edgar and Betty’s long lost brothers. Subic is where the American Navy base was located before it was shut down shortly after Mt. Pinatubo erupted. One of the gifts the Americans left behind is a lot of toxic. Another is the thriving prostitute industry in Subic which still exists today. Creepy, overweight white dudes are everywhere, as are the mestizo kids in rags mixed in with the other native street children.
We found Edgar’s brother who he hasn’t seen in over 20 years ago when he left home to seek greener pastures. Betty’s brother too was there, living in the same small fishing village of Nagayantok about 30 minutes away from the city, only accessible by boat. We stayed here a couple of days, a simple, poor, beautiful place. The people in Nagayantok are all migrants, Bisayan speakers in Tagalog land, many of whom come from our very own Kawayan. Their livelihood there is catching aquarium fish from the coral reefs offshore for export. They use oxygen tanks with hoses attached that they simply bite on to as they dive into the deep to earn their bread. Isn’t that dangerous? Do people ever die?
More than I can count, one fisherman replied with a smile. Apparently there’s also a lot of fishermen in Nagayantok who are now paralyzed... my baby's got the bends.
But they still seem to enjoy life while it’s theirs. I’m learning this is a general Filipino maxim. We spent an entire day at the beach cooking fish over a coconut fire and drinking rum. A couple of men disappeared and to return later with two sacks full of sea urchins they had gathered, which were spilled on the beach and eaten up raw with animal-like passion.
When we left Nagayantok we brought with us Joy-Joy, the 11-year-old daughter of Edgar’s brother. They are too poor to care for her, so Edgar happily agreed to raise her. A few tears of goodbye to the only home she has known were shed as we landed on the other side of the bay, but that was about it. Separation and moving on is also what being Filipino is about.
Pax et bonum!
Monday, January 16, 2006
double bubble
The other day in mass I noticed that the burning heart of the crucified Jesus above the altar has a shape that looks uncannily similar to the state of New Jersey. Just an observation I guess. no conclusions.
***
Its kind of hard to be reflective here since most of my time is spent in the company of Other. Yesterday, however, we filled a plastic jug with gasoline and took a two hour bangka ride over to Maripipi, the mountain island that forever looms in the distance across the sea. The panging of the motor makes conversation inconvenient so there’s not much to do but sit and stare at the light dancing on the waves. Thought then takes you away to other lands, other times. Reminded me of the pleasant feeling of being alone in the airport in the emptiness between comings and goings. Clamming with Mom in the Barnegat and the long hot shower afterwards. Rain begins. Wave enters and lands on my lap. A long hot shower…ughhhh…
We sailed around the island like Marco Polo. Filling our stores in this village, visiting a distant relative in that, grilling fish for lunch on the beach of a suitable cove. My favorite stop was a place that’s known for its constantly flowing spring of cold, sweet water. The locals gather there to wash clothes; the wives exchange gossip and the old pass down oral tradition to the young… I suppose. My companions and I jumped into the spring and bathed with delight in the invigorating waters. Someone even broke out the black shampoo. Lather up!
***
Its kind of hard to be reflective here since most of my time is spent in the company of Other. Yesterday, however, we filled a plastic jug with gasoline and took a two hour bangka ride over to Maripipi, the mountain island that forever looms in the distance across the sea. The panging of the motor makes conversation inconvenient so there’s not much to do but sit and stare at the light dancing on the waves. Thought then takes you away to other lands, other times. Reminded me of the pleasant feeling of being alone in the airport in the emptiness between comings and goings. Clamming with Mom in the Barnegat and the long hot shower afterwards. Rain begins. Wave enters and lands on my lap. A long hot shower…ughhhh…
We sailed around the island like Marco Polo. Filling our stores in this village, visiting a distant relative in that, grilling fish for lunch on the beach of a suitable cove. My favorite stop was a place that’s known for its constantly flowing spring of cold, sweet water. The locals gather there to wash clothes; the wives exchange gossip and the old pass down oral tradition to the young… I suppose. My companions and I jumped into the spring and bathed with delight in the invigorating waters. Someone even broke out the black shampoo. Lather up!
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
happy happy
Maayong bagong tuig sa inyong tanan! Happy New Year to all! It’s been a while since I last posted because the computer here broke a while back. But thankfully my overseas benefactors have been gracious enough in their holiday giving to help me afford to buy a new computer for the parish. Big ups! I can now write my blogs as well as make baptismal and marriage certificates.
The holidays here were busy but fun. For the 9 days before Christmas I awoke every morning at 3AM to the sound of Christmas tunes, the old classics, blaring through the convent speakers for the whole town to hear—to get them out of bed and go to Mass well before sunrise. Misa de Gallo. A nice tradition but not my cup of tea. I attended once but decided subsequently just to wake up, pray, slip back into my mosquito net and go back to sleep. So much for inculturation.
We had a couple of Christmas parties. Our staff party involved dressing a few lucky contestants up in the weirdest possible costumes we could concoct using stuff around the house, and then have them dance around and do weird things. It reminded me of something my college roommates would do.
For the big parish party I was chosen to be the escort of the Queen for her coronation. Filipinos love pomp and circumstance I’m finding. The presenting of the scepter, the putting on of the cape, the offerings of song and dance, the royal march. I felt like a politician wearing my barong (fancy-lad see-through shirt) and shaking all those hands. Kind of liked it.
I actually spent Christmas in Cebu with my Lola, auntie, and cousins. Christmas Eve: dancing in the street with rich kids dressed up in cowboy outfits to a live band playing Nelly. Took a bottle-rocket to the arm. It stung and bled a bit but little more than a flesh wound. Woke up slow in a room packed with kids to a dreary, rainy Christmas morn, but it was just right. God is good, praise the Lord.
New Year’s Eve, back in Biliran. Fr. Pejay, his little nephew, King, Edito, and I celebrated Mass with the mountain peoples of Tubig-Ginoo, Kansanoc, and Tadloy. Then more dancing in the street until the wee hours, minus the rich cowboy kids. Vaguely remember someone telling me to “minimize my voice.” Me? Belligerent?
Anyway, prospero ano everyone! May your cups overfloweth with love and grace this and every year!
out
**NEW pics finally
The holidays here were busy but fun. For the 9 days before Christmas I awoke every morning at 3AM to the sound of Christmas tunes, the old classics, blaring through the convent speakers for the whole town to hear—to get them out of bed and go to Mass well before sunrise. Misa de Gallo. A nice tradition but not my cup of tea. I attended once but decided subsequently just to wake up, pray, slip back into my mosquito net and go back to sleep. So much for inculturation.
We had a couple of Christmas parties. Our staff party involved dressing a few lucky contestants up in the weirdest possible costumes we could concoct using stuff around the house, and then have them dance around and do weird things. It reminded me of something my college roommates would do.
For the big parish party I was chosen to be the escort of the Queen for her coronation. Filipinos love pomp and circumstance I’m finding. The presenting of the scepter, the putting on of the cape, the offerings of song and dance, the royal march. I felt like a politician wearing my barong (fancy-lad see-through shirt) and shaking all those hands. Kind of liked it.
I actually spent Christmas in Cebu with my Lola, auntie, and cousins. Christmas Eve: dancing in the street with rich kids dressed up in cowboy outfits to a live band playing Nelly. Took a bottle-rocket to the arm. It stung and bled a bit but little more than a flesh wound. Woke up slow in a room packed with kids to a dreary, rainy Christmas morn, but it was just right. God is good, praise the Lord.
New Year’s Eve, back in Biliran. Fr. Pejay, his little nephew, King, Edito, and I celebrated Mass with the mountain peoples of Tubig-Ginoo, Kansanoc, and Tadloy. Then more dancing in the street until the wee hours, minus the rich cowboy kids. Vaguely remember someone telling me to “minimize my voice.” Me? Belligerent?
Anyway, prospero ano everyone! May your cups overfloweth with love and grace this and every year!
out
**NEW pics finally
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