Becoming Oneself

In this world,
no one is his or her brother or sister's keeper.
Each one is for oneself.

One's task is therefore to discover more of oneself.
Until one coalesces with the world...

And realize that his brother or sister
is really oneself,
in another branch,
another leaf,
another blossom

Just like the tree

is rooted in one earth,
one is part of everybody and everything else.

And,
in the first place,
one has to take care of his brothers and sisters
as one's own.

Blossoming of Awareness

(Excerpted from an unpublished book, "Spectrum of Life.")

Like the sunflower bud would bloom during the months of May and December in Baguio, the kids grew up to be bigger boys and bigger girls, then adolescents, then young adults and married grown-ups. This implied several passages from the innocence of the child to the trappings of the world of grown-ups. This implied re-living and actualizing childhood dreams in the so-called real world, starting with the domestic front.

Although, my brother and I were exposed to the same cultural patterns of mom and dad, the same neighborhood, the same school, the same mountains, and practically the same college environment, we had different coping mechanisms. We followed completely opposite life paths. My brother transformed to an outgoing, sociable person, but a slick operator, both in politics and economics. Kuya was attracted to signals that nurtured his “objectivism;” he was inclined towards changing the world to a socialist society. I transformed into an introspective, but conscientious person, drawn both to detailed work and eastern philosophy. I was attracted to signals that nurtured my subjectivity; I was focused on seeking the path within.

Our particular interaction had manifested in our later years in two opposing, yet complementary ways. While he was interactive, I was reflective. He would be at the forefront of events, while I would be behind the scene. I was secretly fascinated (and was envious) of kuya’s seeming ease in entering the crowd. He was humorous, the life of a party. I enjoyed being alone or in the company of one with whom I could interact one-on-one. Kuya basked in the limelight; I was content in the shadows, playing second fiddle, giving advice to the leader.

Age of Aquarius

My generation may be exemplified in the song “Aquarius” which described the dawning of a New Age, “a future world of peace, understanding, and love.” There was a breaking of old traditions together with advances in science. It was an age when satellites beamed the goings on around the world through the TV. In 1969, we watched (with our black and white TV set), the first step made by Neil Armstrong on the moon; “One small step of man, one giant step for mankind.” This overshadowed the globally beamed “Miss Universe Beauty Pageant,” when our very own Miss Gloria Diaz won the title.

The two major trends highlighting the culture of “freedom” found their way in the late 1960s and early 1970s in Baguio. They manifested in two major ways: the progressive orientation characterized by the slogan “workers of the world, unite,” and the peace culture of “make love, not war.”

For the progressives, teach-ins among schools about the state of the poverty situation in the country were conducted, along with public rallies and demonstrations, with the sickle and hammer emblazoned in red banners. The tunes included Bob Dylan’s “The Times That Are A-Changing” and the local version of the communist marching song, “Internationale.” The movie “The Deer Hunter,” was a poignant tale about an amputee-victim from the Vietnam War.

The “flower people” had their local versions of “Woodstock,” when pot or marijuana flowed among longhaired males (imagine Filipinos with afro hairs) and poncho-clad females, with banners and emblems of the peace sign. The popular tunes of the 1970s were the Beatles’ songs from the long-playing album, “Let It Be,” the ballads of Simon and Garfunkel (Sound of Silence, Mrs. Robinson and Scarborough Fair). The movies included “Strawberry Statement,” with the theme song “Give Peace a Change,” sung by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

My brother and I were caught in the trends. I suppose we were naturally drawn to the events around us as a reaction to our own back home situation. We were drawn initially to the school fraternity, which served as temporary repose, like a reprise of the paradise of our youth. We had brothers and sisters who shared our need for belongingness and acceptance. We shared the initiations, the pot sessions, the teach-ins, the parties and music. For me, it was a time for sharing profound and profane insights in living; it was living in “harmony” with peers.

Soon, however, the fraternity itself was divided into the progressives, the “flower people” and moderates, although the camaraderie among the members was held intact. (We still believed that “the frat’s greatest glory lies, not in its never-falling, but in its ever-rising whenever it falls.”) Kuya joined the Kabataang Makabayan (Nationalist Youth Movement), a front of the New People’s Army (NPA) and undertook organizing work among rural folks all over the place. I joined meditation groups and had a small circle of friends discussing existentialism and eastern philosophies. Mom and dad didn’t know what hit them. We were simply not the kids they thought we were.

Revolution and Reformation

When Martial Law was declared in September 11, 1972, President Ferdinand Marcos clamp down on both the progressives and the hippies. Activists and militant groups were thrown behind bars. Long hairs and min-skirts were banned (I remembered that among the first overt acts of the military was to go around town cutting “long-haired freaks” and the under-fold of mini-skirts). The free flow of ideas was cut, with the state controlling the communication lines. A rigid military regimen was established under the guise of a “New Society.”

Kuya went underground and assisted in the organization of cadres, i.e., armed rebel groups. He disappeared for months. At times, he would sneak home just to pay a visit to mom and dad. We were still family and secretly, we were proud of him (we actually felt closer, because we knew he were fighting for a worthy cause; I was an errant boy, passing on small notes to his other comrades.). Then he was caught in 1974 in an encounter in Isabela province.

I went on with my studies. I was part of the scene, but more concerned with peaceful self-transformation. For a time, I was active in a spiritual group (in the same way the Beatles were hooked to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi of Transcendental Meditation). I even wanted to be a full-timer. Then, I got hooked into parenthood; I was going to have a baby and my own family at a young age of 18.

Mom and dad were devastated with what happened to both kuya and me. We had a funny anecdote about how frustrated dad was. While drunk, dad remarked in Pilipino: “I only have two sons: one wanted to replace the president of the country and the other wanted to go to heaven.” He concluded: “the first one, en-route for Malacañang (The White House) ended behind bars, and the other, not even half-way to the sky, fell back to the ground with a thud.”

Imagine the suffering and hardship that mom and dad had to go through. Dad had to go travel to Manila almost every month to follow-up the release of kuya, spending so much time and energy in the process. At one time, a fake army colonel even hoodwinked him to shell out money on the pretext that it was necessary for kuya’s release. Mom and dad also had to go through the burden of feeding not only me, but also my family, and extending help to kuya’s wife. (Before he was jailed, kuya was already married and it was during one of her wife’s visit to jail that she conceived. The child’s name was Paul Astru; “Astru” meant “armed struggle.”)

Lucky for kuya, he was released after four years, when Cardinal Sin, the Archbishop of Metro-Manila threatened to use the “pulpit” of the Catholic Church to force President Marcos to release the political prisoners. Lucky for me, my family became my source of inspiration; I finished my last two years with high grades and immediately landed with a good job.

Family Patterns

The world had since moved on. Most activists and pacifists had joined the institutions they rejected in earlier troubled times. This was true particularly after the 1986 peaceful February Revolution, which toppled the Marcos dictatorship. Kuya and I moved on with the rest of the world.

Sometime in 1980, when kuya and I traveled together for work in San Fernando, La Union, we reflected on our troubled years and what saved us. Kuya claimed that in jail, he withstood all physical tortures, but broke down with the psychological one: that he would not see his family again. He literally shivered at that thought. I was also saved from becoming further wayward because I had a family to attend to. I couldn’t imagine myself becoming a full-timer in a religious group, while my family had nothing to eat. In retrospect, what saved us was family.

Despite their own troubles between them, mom and dad had so much love and courage to sustain us, the prodigal sons. Despite their inadequacies (from our perspective), they nurtured us. Kuya and I realized that our respective families were also our greatest strength and weakness. We were also following the footsteps of our parents. Unconsciously, humans follow the patterns of their parents, in regards rearing of family. The human values of parents (not necessarily the cultural habits) are passed on until the next generation. This is evolution in progress, humanity in the process of becoming.

Apparently old habits never die, although the warmth remained. In 2004, when kuya visited from the US, we had a chance to recall the events of our childhood, which was very fine. However, during one of our visits to a friend of his in Manila, he absentmindedly asked me to pick up his baggage from the car and bring it in the house. I complied, not grudgingly as during our younger years, but with amusement. We were already in our fifties and I was still kuya’s errant boy. Nonetheless, all the time kuya was in Baguio and the Philippines, he paid the bills.

A Marriage and A Homecoming

(This essay was excerpted from the draft book, "Spectrum of Being Human." It reflects my views on marriage and home. I married four times. I married my first wife twice. On our first, the priest who married us eloped before signing our marriage certificate. We had to go through a second marriage because we needed the document so my child could enter a Catholic school. My first spouse passed away after 23 years of partnership. I also married my second wife twice. This essay will explain why.)

Back to Roots

It was just after the signing of Peace Agreement between the Philippine Government and the Moro National Liberation Front in 1996 that I was appointed Programme Manager on Governance of the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP). Then, I supported several governance programs, including Human Resource Development for former MNLF commanders, soldiers and their families.

In June 1999, I was in Koronadal City, South Cotabato for a strategic session on the role of cooperatives in local governance, with some eighty participants from various sectors. During the session, I met my future partner in life.

In October 16, 1999, I married again; ironically; it was the birthday of my first wife.

On the surface, my wife and I came from two different worlds, which was a formula for failure. Nonetheless, what kept us together was our kinship as human beings; it was the deeper part in ourselves. In a globalize world, where the barriers of culture, time and space are being eroded, we transcended the barriers between us. Through our partnership, the traditions of Northern, Southern and Central Philippines were united. This was not being presumptuous; we were proud of our heritage.

Neither religion nor cultural orientation was an issue between us. My life-partner was a Muslim-Tausug born in Zamboanga City, with parents from Jolo who migrated to General Santos City. Her dad, fondly called "Ama," was a supporter of the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF); he sought the blessings of the MNLF for her to marry a Christian. I was born in Baguio City, of Visayan parents, mixed with the Cordillera tradition and a basically Christian orientation. We had a Muslim and a civil wedding (the Catholic faith do not solemnize mixed weddings).The key sponsors to our wedding were peace advocates - the Acting Secretary General of the MNLF- Special Zone of Peace and Development (SZOPAD), the former Governor of South Cotabato (a frat brother from UP Baguio), and the Resident Coordinator of the United Nations.

Age did not matter. At the time of our wedding, she was 26 years old, only four months older than my eldest daughter. I was 45 years old, only five months younger than her mom. We had a nineteen-year age difference between us, the same gap between her mom and dad. During our wedding, my two kids stood by my side, while her mom and dad brought her to the altar. There was nothing that reminded us of our age difference, including music. What she thought was modern music was really a revival from my generation.

Distance was not a barrier. I was based in Metro Manila and Baguio up north; she was in General Santos City, down south. In between those times when we were not together, we communicated everyday through the cell phone and the Internet. During my wedding day, I received a message from my cellular phone. The Globe Company was cutting off my line because I had an unpaid bill of more than P 20,000.00. “Its okay,” I said. “It’s my wedding day. Thank you.”

My marriage may or may not be “made in heaven.” Nonetheless, I was given a chance to relieve my childhood dreams, the one I brought with me into the world. It was like being 25 years old again, the ripe age for marriage.

Coming Home

My generation had been enriched and inspired by the previous generations, by our forefathers and human beings who went ahead. It also adopted the cumulative technology of past and present generations, such as the Internet.

I grew up into this world enriched by the experiences from my interaction with mom and dad, my brother Rudy, and a lot of significant others and situations. Because of my experiences, I have gained insights as to how to live a fuller, but simpler life. On a personal level, this meant a warm body and gentle soul to share life with.

In 2000, when my spouse and I went up to Baguio for the holidays, we were met by an array of sunflowers and pine trees along the way, together with the fresh and cool breeze. When we reached home, a beautiful lavender butterfly took time to flutter about. Then it gently rested on my outstretched palm. To my spouse’s wonderment, it fluttered again and rested on hers. In that fleeting moment, I felt my mom.

In 2004, after retirement from UNDP, I went back to Baguio City with my family. Starting from the indigenous peoples in the Cordilleras, I would trek a path towards peace, harmony and prosperity. My spouse and I would trace back our lineage to the indigenous peoples (IPs) in indigenous cultural communities (ICC). We wanted our children to be proud of our brown race as take off to being human.

Within the country, our pursuit was aptly written in the Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act (IPRA), Rule VI on Cultural Integrity: “the state shall recognize, respect and protect the rights of the ICC/IPs to preserve and develop their cultures, traditions and institutions and shall take measures, with the participation of the ICCs/IPs concerned to protect their rights and guarantee respect for cultural integrity in order that ICCs/IPs shall at all times benefit on an equal footing from the rights and opportunities which national laws and regulations grant to other members of the population.”

Ultimately, aren’t we all indigenous to the land of our forebears? That land was the whole earth. In the Philippine country setting, the highest peak is Mt. Apo, which rested loftily in General Santos City, South Cotabato, where my spouse grew up. The second highest peak is Mt. Pulag in Benguet Province, where Baguio City, my birthplace, is located. It is paradoxical that the two highest peaks, the highest links of “Philippine earth” to the skies, are also linked through their human expressions. In the world, the highest peak is in the Himalayas of South Asia. On its peak are various flags planted by people who reached the summit. The flags represent the cornerstones of humanity.

Mom and dad did not fail. I also did not lose them. I just learned my lessons and “let go” attachments to a fleeting world. I touched based with the innocence of my youth and the “natural” dreams that went with it. In a sense, I have gone home to where I truly belonged. Mom remained in my bosom; dad was my spark to persist.

In the song “Our House” Crosby, Still, Nash and Young started and ended with the lines: “I’ll light the fire, while you place the flowers in the vase that you bought today.” The spark of life is in the heart and mind; it is what is of nature. Rose (mom) is a rose; the flower of love rooted. Dioscoro (dad) symbolically mean enlightenment; the fire was lit.

Thank you – Mom and Dad. Thanks to all who nurtured Love and Light.

My Mountain...Post Script I to A Legacy of Prosperity

(Following is post script I to "A Legacy for Prosperity," taken from a draft book tentatively entitled "Spectrum of Being Human." It expresses my views on a Paradise on Earth.)

My Mountain

You will not miss Mt. Santo Tomas as you approach Baguio City from Marcos Highway. On its top nestled two large radars that looked like giant electric fans, presumably, relay stations for satellite radio and TV. We used to kid newcomers to the city that these huge “electric fans” were causing the cool climate. The truth is that the coolness was diminished because of the clearing of trees in the area.

Once upon a time, Mt. Santo Tomas was a volcano. It is now extinct. It also used to be a thick forest, with a wonderful biodiversity of plants, butterflies, birds, monkeys and other life forms. Because of its thick mossy forest, it was the major reservoir of water to the city. Now, the forest is gone; the only remnants being green grass and a sizable number of pine trees, shrubs and ferns, which made the place serene and disturbed only by the humming of birds, fluttering of butterflies and buzzing of bees. It is now the site of Baguio’s dairy farm.

Since I discovered the place 20 years ago, in 1985, I adopted it as my mountain. It was my “fortress of solitude,” where I would watch the sunrise, with rays that sparkle with the morning dew. From there, and on a clear day, I have a panoramic view of the China Sea on one side and a face of the city – with the silhouette of house rooftops, on the other side (a wonderful contrast between nature and human habitat). At dusk, I would marvel as the sun sinks quietly in the sea, giving out its last radiance of red, orange and yellow, before bowing to the night.

Why do I love going to my mountain? There, enveloped by fog, I would ponder about just anything. There, I would freely soar the universe of my mind and express my feelings – hurts, joys, anguish and angers, unabashed. And the mountain would listen without interruptions. It would also talk without words, silently reminding me that I partake in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes, it would rouse me to awareness, with an ant bite, a gentle breeze, the twitting of the bird, or the prick of the afternoon sun.

Like mom, the mountain would also absorb my burdens and brighten up my load. I suppose it carried a lot of negative ions or the Eastern concept of prana, vital force. Like mom’s embrace, it comforts and completes me. After the day is done, I would be revitalized to face Baguio and the rest of the world. Just about that time, I would shiver as darkness swallowed the clouds and all earth, while I silently trek back home.

Home

Home, in the practical sense, was in a village just some two kilometers away from Mt. Sto. Tomas. In 1983, my family was one of the first 40 households to establish residence in Phase IV of the SLU-SVP Housing Cooperative in New Site, Bakakeng. Before my house was erected, at least six pine trees have to be cut on the lot. The same thing happened to the rest of the houses – the trees had to be cleared to give way to human habitation.

Fifteen years earlier, in 1965, as a boy scout, I was in St George Hill for camping; swimming in a small brook, daftly covered by shrubs. At that time, St. George Hill was a thick forest of pine trees. A little further down from St George Hill was the Maryheights Minor Seminary, where my brother stayed as a hopeful would-be priest. Then, the pathways to Maryheights were of sand and gravel, either through Kennon Road going up or from Marcos Highway going down. Now, the two are connected with a cemented road, making my place a convergence point between the two major roads leading to Baguio.

In the early 1900s, St. George Hill and at least 20 hectares more of land was acquired property by the CICM priests, who established St. Louis University. The priests sold some 4 hectares to the cooperative at a very cheap price, for the housing needs of their employees and residents of St. Vincent Parish. I acquired “my property,” a 250 square meter house and lot, for less than P75,000.00. Now, surrounding the housing cooperative were four to five subdivisions, which sold a square meter of “prime lot” for P5,000 - P 10,000 per square meter. The priests probably also sold their (tax free) parcels of land to developers, who profited much from the transaction.

I suppose all the hills in the city, which used to be free land, became the property of the state and eventually broken into private owned parcels. This included Club John Hay, which was managed by the Americans before the “liberation.” This happened to Aurora Hill, Quezon Hill, Hillside, Quirino Hill, and Dominican Hill (the grotto), which were forests primarily named after Philippine presidents, their spouses or the religious “owners.” These places are now urban centers, communities teeming with people.

Paradise on Earth

From a larger scheme of things, no person owned anything, even probably one’s body. The opposite is true: we belong to the earth, like every creature – living or inanimate. We were born of nature in a wonderful ecosystem; with each thing depending on each other thing, under the sun. However, against nature, was set culture. Against the backdrop of the ecosystem, culture emerged and set the invisible separation from what is natural. Because of cultural traditions, we have divided the earth among races, classes and faiths. As if it were not enough, people fought over land and property, with a minority hording a big chunk of nature and called it their own.

In a deeper sense, I was conceived in paradise. But, I was born in a muddled paradise, so that it was no longer pristine. I had to grow into a culture, which dictated how I should own and protect property.

I realized, paradise was not a place that is physical. It was a state in tune with what is natural, beyond time and space. Paradise was the harmony of nature, with us flowing with it. Paradise was never lost; but because of cultural traditions anchored on property relationships, we simply forgot that it existed.

A Legacy for Prosperity

(This essay was excerpted from an unpublished book tentatively entitled "Spectrum of Being Human")


Sense of History

History was a boring subject. So I thought, during my primary and high school days back in the 1960s. It involved memorizing a lot of names, places and dates that had nothing to do with my present or future. But, like all my classmates, I had to go through the grueling grind; I needed to pass the subject to pass the grade.

On hindsight, however, I realized that Philippine history was my “link” to my ancestry. I did not appreciate it then; but the subject was meant to make me feel proud of my heritage.

What does heritage mean? Each was born to a family and a locale. In the same manner that a fish could exist only in water and the earthworm could only thrive in soil, a person was expected to find meaning from his or her genealogy and socio-cultural tradition. Heritage gave the distinctive character of a people, its sense of identity and self-worth. Genealogy was biological and genetic. Culture was a pattern of behavior passed on from parents, peers, teachers and significant others. It could also be learned from books, media, the church, the movie houses and the comic books.

I was born in Baguio City in 1954, during the time of Ramon Magsaysay (1953-57), the third president of the Philippine Republic after the war. Baguio City was in the heart of the Cordillera Mountain Ranges, the home of indigenous peoples in Northern Philippines. My genealogy did not come from the Cordilleras, but I knew no other tradition. Baguio was my window to the world.

My lineage from mom came from Cebu province. Ferdinand Magellan, from the viewpoint of western inspired world history, first landed in Sugbu (Cebu), Central Philippines, when he “discovered” the Philippines in 1521. There, he led the systematic conversion of the friendly Sugbu-anons under Rajah Humabon to Christianity. Nonetheless, Lapu-Lapu, from a village in Mactan, Cebu, had the distinction of causing Magellan’s death; the blood of the foreigner dripped in Philippine soil. Lapu-Lapu was a Bangingi warrior who refused homage to a colonizer, a Filipino tradition before colonization.

Dad took pride in his “Waray” lineage and culture from Leyte. His eyes would glisten as he recounted his youth, when fights among kids would be fair and square, but with each protagonist already armed with a bolo (big knife). Dad claimed that it was a matter of pride to show off scars from such skirmishes. “A Waray does not retreat.”

Dad had interesting anecdotes about our ancestry. We belonged to a family of activists and non-conformists. My great-great grandfather was part of the rebellion against Spain (a Katipunero). My grandfather was a teacher, with revolutionary ideas. During the war, a great uncle literally ate pages of the Bible to survive in the mountains (I suppose this took care of both biological and spiritual needs). Also, the clan was fun loving. Relatives enjoyed get-togethers drinking “lambanog” (coconut wine) to their heart’s content.

Incidentally, it was in Leyte where General Douglas MacArthur first landed, when he returned with American reinforcements to lead the war against the Japanese until “liberation” in 1945.

Baguio City is located at the heart of the Cordillera Mountains of Luzon (northern Philippines), where the Igorots, the “people of the mountains” already had a “civilized culture” in a pristine forestland, at least 1,500 years before the Spanish colonizers. In Ifugao province stood the majestic Ifugao Rice Terraces, built at least 2,000 years ago (before Jesus) across 20,000 hectares of mountainside. Extending 14,000 miles, the terraces were declared by UNESCO as a World Heritage site and the first living cultural landscape. They were testaments of an advanced civilization’s unique engineering and creativity, as well as efficient socio-political system. Mummies had also been preserved in the caves of Kabayan in Benguet province. The process of mummification, dating as far back as 200 BC, signified advanced biochemistry comparable to that of ancient Egypt, without the pyramids.

My lineage and the indigenous tradition of the Cordilleras were the core of my Filipino heritage. However, I grew up in a socio-cultural tradition that was basically not Filipino. I was a Filipino in search of his identity. What happened to my heritage? Dr. Jose Rizal (in “The Indolence of the Filipinos”) said: “Deprive a man of his dignity…and you not only deprive him of his moral strength, but you also deprive him useless even for those who wish to make use of him. Every creature has its stimulus, its mainspring; man’s is his self-respect.” The Philippines national hero was executed in 1896.

Acculturation Process

In June 12, 1898, the Filipinos declared independence from the 350-year rule of Spain, after a long war. In January 1899, the first Philippine Republic hailed Emilio Aguinaldo as its first President. Ironically, in December 1898, Spain lost the war for Cuba to the United States and, in the Treaty of Paris, ceded the Philippines to the US for $20 million (with Guam and Puerto Rico). The country won against Spain, but unwittingly lost its hard earned sovereignty to the US. In 1901, Aguinaldo was captured.

I was born 56 years after the Philippine Independence (and 45 years after Baguio City was chartered). Since birth, I was exposed to what was foreign. In elementary, the principal was a foreign nun. I was taught to read and write using American books. The first stories I learned were about “David and Ann,” American kids. Almost every month all pupils were given free bagful of powdered milk, courtesy of “benevolent” foreigners. I studied Philippine History influenced by Spanish historians (aside from my Catholic faith). I also studied American History, with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln at equal footing with the local heroes – Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio. I finished Grade II singing the National Anthem in the language of the colonizer (“Land of the morning, child of the sun returning…ne’er shall invaders trample thy sacred shores”).

In high school, principals were foreign priests. Except for a subject in Filipino and in Spanish (in 3rd and 4th year High), all subjects were taught in English. We were reprimanded if caught talking in the local language. In college (1970s), I learned to be more analytical, despite 12 units of Spanish. Aside from the regular Philippine History and Rizal subjects, I was exposed to the “School for National Democracy” (SND) teach-ins, which restated Philippine history from a Marxist perspective. The Filipino language was used interchangeably with English.

Nonetheless, despite the growing sense of nationalism, the teach-ins were not enough to erase the vestiges of colonial mentality. I secretly envied rich classmates who would boast that they partied at the Main Club of John Hay, then under Americans. I also loved American movies, comic books and basketball. It took me some time after college to shake off the cultural fetters of the colonizers and anchor back to my heritage.

Cultural Integrity

In a globalize world, how do you heal a fractured Philippines and instill Filipino pride? The sturdiest countries of the world nurtured their ethnicity. Japan drew strength from Shinto and the samurai tradition. Behind China’s socialist ideology were the core philosophies of Confucianism and Taoism. In the west, Iceland and Finland had their Nordic heritage first and transformed Catholicism to the Lutheran Church. Anglicanism or the Church of England was a schism from Papal authority. The US and Canada nurtured the Indian ethnic tradition as base for its multi-racial culture.

Harvard Professor Samuel Huntington predicted that the conflicts in the 3rd Millennium would be fought on the fault-lines of civilization. Locally, the fault-lines were apparent in the struggle for autonomy of the Lumad-Muslims in Mindanao and the Igorots of the Cordilleras. Except for these two areas, and in contrast to developed countries, the Philippines absorbed the colonial brand of Christianity and government system, “hook, line and sinker” and relegated its ethnic traditions to the background. Forgetting one’s roots made the people forget their self-worth and sense of pride. Colonialism bred a “culture of salvation” through the graciousness of a God outside oneself or another race, rather than reliance on a God within and a people’s own capacity.

The strategy, perhaps, is to sustain the thrust for empowerment anchored on the rich Filipino heritage. Instituting the national pride implied a paradigm shift from the standards of colonizers, to touching base with the heart and soul of Philippine culture. This implied changing the educational system from one that sustains “colonial mentality” to one that highlights “cultural integrity.” According to Dr. Jorge Jacobo: “there is a need of taking a much deeper interest in the history of our country and of a stronger determination to correct the grave falsehood written concerning our people.” History must reflect the grandeur of the Filipino before, during and after colonialism.

What about Filipinos abroad? Nationalism is principled survival. According to S. Orendain, (quoted from a 1990 Filipino Calendar of Quotations published by the Fiscal Administration Foundation): “until there comes a change…there can never be a good government here, that is why I am leaving, not because I love my country less but because I love liberty more.”

Being Filipino is a consciousness beyond the passport, a paradigm of “inter-dependence” with countries of the world. Filipinos abroad contributed substantially to the county’s economy, which made President Gloria M. Arroyo declare: “the Overseas Filipino Workers are the modern heroes of the land.”

In “The Future of the Filipino in American Society,” Eduardo Romualdez, former Ambassador to Washington stated: “It is paradoxically characteristic of multi-racial and multi-national societies such as the United States, that the members of ethnic minorities earn the respect and acceptance of others…not by seeking to dissolve into the dominant majority, but by establishing their separate identity and distinctive culture. This paradox can mean that the Filipino immigrant…can be accepted only by remaining steadfastly Filipino.” He added: “But what is a Filipino? They will never know unless the culture and heritage of the Philippines are preserved…cultivated…and passed on to them.”

A Homecoming

In 1981, my brother, Kuya Rudy and his family migrated to California. After 15 years, in 1996, an ethnic conflict between Chicano and Filipino youth erupted in his place. To avoid “the heat,” my brother sent his youngest son to stay in Baguio. Then, we agreed to sustain the schooling of relatives as a tribute to mom. My nephew stayed at home with my children, together with my half-sister’s (Ate Shirley) daughter, my other half-sister’s (Ate Paring) son and cousin Boy’s daughter. (Kuya Rudy’s son called me “uncle” with an American twang; my sisters’ kids called me “angkol,” with a Cebuano accent; my cousin’s daughter called me “angkel,” typical of Bulacan’s Tagalog.)

After six months, my nephew went back to the US with a tattoo on his chest: “I am a Filipino.” (Ironically, he joined the US Navy and was among those who “liberated” Iraq in 2003. Iraq was ancient Mesopotamia, where the Sumerians, the oldest known civilization, took root 6,000 years ago.) My other nephew and nieces also went to their hometowns. Like my kids, they now have their families; Filipinos linked with the world.

In 2000, my brother made a sentimental journey to mom’s remote hometown in San Fernando, Cebu. His written recollection was nostalgia enshrouded with redolence.

In mom’s town, life seemed to be at a standstill – houses made of bamboo and cogon grass, and crude farming. Our relatives, including my half sisters and their families, struggled for their daily meals. My brother stayed in a tattered “barong-barong” (hut), which was some 10 by 10 square meters of kitchen, bedroom and living room enclosed by bamboo and grass. Mom lived in this hut since 1929, her birth, until she was 24 years old. After more than eighty years, the house still stood, although left un-kept.

Deep in the night, my brother laid in a bamboo bed, with only a rice sack as bed sheet. In the candlelight that flickered in the dark, he lingered on the shadows: “Mom left more than fifty years ago because there was no future here for one who craves for a better life.” Mom left the rut to seek her fortune. She never returned to her hometown or her village life. Paradoxically, she left the place where colonization first began in 1521.

Mom never learned to read and write. I recall that during election time, she would practice writing and copying the names of candidates she would vote. At the polls, she would take an hour to vote what normally would take fifteen minutes. Mom and dad (who did not finished college), like many during their time and the people who lived in squatter areas, had to struggle. They belonged to the nameless faces called “poor.” Unfortunately for them, their plight had been obscured by centuries of colonization.

Fortunately for kuya and me, mom and dad pursued a vision for a brighter future for us, all the way to Baguio City. Through education, they nurtured our growing consciousness of the social, political and economic realities of our times. This was why, I suppose, kuya and I, despite different paths, had our hearts crying out for the poor.

The Filipino is rich as a people; most simply forgot that birthright. Mom and dad were deprived, but enabled us to remember. They came out of the rut and left a legacy for prosperity. They linked us back to our colorful heritage.

Puppy Love

When I was three years old, mom bought a puppy from Manong Fred, the “jueteng kubrador” (local lotto dealer). We called her Julie. She was a plain ordinary dog, an “askal,” short for “asong kalye,” which meant astray dog. She was furry white, with black spots all over like a Dalmatian. She had a distinctive black spot on her right eye that made that eye appear bigger than the other, like a permanent “black eye.” She also had a black spot on her head, between her ears, like a priest had a bald spot on his hair to denote priesthood.

Julie was a constant source of joy and laughter. She would wag her tail to show she enjoyed the games, such as hide and seek and catching the ball or peanuts (she preferred the peanuts). She was taught to sit on her hind legs like a kangaroo by Manong Fred. I remembered the inquiring look on her face, as she pleaded for us to rescue her from the rigorous sit-up training. But she learned anyway, although not quite. She saw through us and would rather be caressed than be forced to do the sit up.

Every morning, as we opened a window of Strike and Spare Bowling, where we live along Mabini St. (the gates were still closed at 6:00 am; we had to pass through a window), she would jump out ahead of us to pee in the garden. Then she would race to City Bakery, located near the corner of Session Road and Mabini St. and eagerly wait as we buy the pandesal (bread) for breakfast. Then, she would race back to Strike, jump back the window, and wait for the meal. As we ate, she would excitedly sit beside the table for any crumbs thrown her way. She just loved to catch a piece of bread or bone. When we forget, she barked to remind us that she awaited the next piece.

A Family Member

Julie knew her proper place. Her bed (and house) was located at the inside corner of the store, just below, left of the store’s cash drawer. During peak periods, she was tied to her corner. Like us, who got use to the sound of pins being knocked down by the bowling balls, she simply slept in bed when the bowling had a full house. She would only bark when she needed to pee or make shit. It was a signal for us to untie her, and let her run outside to the garden. After which, she would return, duly released from her biological dilemma, to be leashed back to her bed.

Julie was considered the youngest member of the family. She joined the fun games with the neighborhood kids in our mountain. She joined us for our regular Burnham escapades. We had the huge football ground as our playing field, where we could throw a ball or a stick as far as we could and she would run to pick it up and run back to give it to us. Julie was delight; she also elicited tenderness.

I remembered how Julie looked so pitiful when we bailed her out at the city pound after she was caught. She was so meek, with her tails curled between her legs. She perked up upon seeing us; she was free at last. Julie was a significant member of our paradise.

Mother and Matriarch

Julie was a prolific dog, which made her the matriarch of the dogs in the neighborhood. During her lifetime, she must have given birth to a hundred puppies (at the rate of five puppies per birth and twice a year pregnancy), which were distributed to neighbors and to friends. Every time she gave birth (which was under the bed of mom and dad) was a big event. During those times, I would join her in labor (actually just curiously watch her) as one after the other, a puppy would go out from her womb.

I was awed with how Julie licked away the transparent, plastic balloon-like covering of the puppies before they start their first breath, and, with her teeth, how she would gently cut off her puppies’ umbilical cords. I also marveled at how she provided for her puppies, idly laying down as the small ones sucked milk from her breasts. As the puppies grew to be bigger puppies (and although it was weaning time), she simply can’t refuse the onslaught of her little ones as they continue to feed on her, despite the rashes and wound they inflicted on her soft breasts.

Puppy No More

Unfortunately for Julie, she was just a dog, with a different pattern from humans. As kuya and I grew up to our teens, she grew old and senile, no longer capable of the old tricks. (I supposed, we didn’t really outgrow Julie, she just grew old). Julie became a burden - a mouth to feed and whose dirt should be cleaned.

One day, when kuya and I came home from school (I was first year high), Julie was gone. Mom sold her back to Mang Fred, to serve as pulutan (in Baguio then, eating dog meat was a delicacy). Kuya and I had uproar. Why couldn’t we just let Julie die naturally with us?

The answer brought me back to the real world.

From the measly 50 pesos payment for Julie, mom bought and sold vegetables in the public market, like one of the vendors who plied their trade under the heat of the sun (Mom was influenced by a friend that selling vegetables is fast buck). I didn’t know which one was more sickening – Julie being sold as food in some celebration, or mom having to sell vegetables to augment family income. Definitely, I was distraught.

A Lesson in Tenderness

Julie was just a dog, but was more than a dog to us; she was an angel with a tail. Because we gave her the human touch unconditionally, she responded in her own unconditional dog way through her loyalty and the wagging of her tail. She elicited from us pure tenderness.

Caring begets caring. It also brings out gentleness. If it could work between humans and dogs, it must work among humans. If, for whatever reason, one has to go, the gentleness remains together with the memories.

burnham park, baguio city, philippines

(a poem i composed in august 15, 1989, lifted from the book "Days in my Life" published 1999...this is dedicated to baguio and all her sons and daughters...during the centennial on September 1, 2009...thank you baguio.)

people in boats, talking,
laughing, having fun.
and i, with smoke in hand
pensively watch as i seat in a bench.
passersby, they come around,
sometimes alone, sometimes in groups.

that little kid beside the lake,
like me, attentively gazes
at the boats, seven of them,
while drinking his tetra-packed orange.

i am a passersby
watching the people go by
in the boat of their lives,
and in this little corner of my world,
i feel so infinitesimally small,
partaking in the vastness of life.
thank God, i am at sail!

The Silence After the Storm

(Originally published as "On Existing and Becoming Human" in the book, "Days of My Life" in 1999. This essay was written in October 1990, after an earthquake devastated Baguio City and Northern Luzon on July 16, 1990, leaving thousands dead or homeless. The earthquake affirmed that Life does not make a distinction between the rich and the poor, the powerful and the oppresses. It also demanded that one be his/her brother's or sister's keeper. In a very real sense, writing this essay was my preparation for storms that tore me apart. It likewise describes what happened thereafter...)

When the things of youth - the fun, the spontaneity, the drive to climb a mountain, the desire to create, the vision to grow big and strong, the satisfaction of good company free from any pretense, the pleasure of acting and really believing one can be a sage or a saint - have to give way to desires to be better than the rest - which is "normal" when one grows older.

When one becomes a young adult, the world, as perceived in youth is lost, and when war games become real; ownership, the desire to have more, the satisfaction from winning and seeing the others vanquished seems more important to the rest...that unless one enjoys the company of a friend or a loved-one in mutual love and understanding, one may play a role devoid of meaning.

When one also realizes that even his loved-one needs to seek out her fortune apart from oneself; when all the love poems, the intimacy of the company, all the meaningful interludes become lost in oblivion, that one becomes hurt, dumbfounded and life becomes a matter of pointless struggle to just be not dead.

When in one's need to fill the void, one falls prey to satisfying carnal desires, seeking out sexual gratification, drugs, alcohol...to enable him to temporarily forget that his existence is drab and non-sensical...that one realizes he is trapped in crass materialism, in a lust for things fleeting.

When in married life, the kids and the spouse eventually outgrow the need for one's support...that they begin to be on their own to seek their fortune; that while the home is a temporary haven for the rearing of souls in love and harmony, it too shall pass, even as one becomes old, helpless, with no comfort from family and friends.

When, through hard work or plain luck, one reaches the top, becomes the power to reckon with, becomes, prosperous, that anything one wants, one gets...but then other than reaching the top, one realizes that there is no more challenge, no more worlds to conquer ...that one becomes obsessed with getting more than one needs, more so that one becomes fearful that his wealth and power may be taken away from him.

When natural calamities strike, such as a typhoon, an earthquake, drought, and a volcanic eruption, that one's life support system is cut off and the only choice is survival.

When all is lost - those which are cherished have to go: a loved-one, a grand work, a party. When after everything is said and done, then laughter, fun, satisfaction, they all fade away in whimpers and are forever gone.

And there remains only the self - in all its nakedness, devoid of all pretense, of all other attachments, not even an attachment to a man-made god.

Then and only then will one appreciate the Silence...

And in the stillness one realizes that life, as percieved, is just a passing though, a learning, a burning ground. That what are percieved as real are only shadows and silhouettes cast while one watches the flame in one's heart.

That the fun, the spontaneity ever present, are drawn forth from the fountain of youth, present even before one is born.

That love, as trancendent, can go beyond the desire to own, where petty jealousies and quarrels are burned to nothingness. And the games people play - the wars, the killings, the feeling of separateness, the anxiety - have no real meaning, save to enable one to see the pettiness and childishness of what is acceptable as adult in the name of principles, but in reality, act borne out of ignorance of the Divine Plan.

That love heals the wounds of the crushed ego, nurtures the soul and enables one to see that all - the trees, the sky, the earth, the wind, water, fire - form part of a divine stage, where one plays a definite role in promoting the greatest glory of creation.

That the light, ever present in the little minds of humans shall be permitted to shine forth and guide the soul, enabling one to shed off the vestiges of the ego - the pride, the feeling that one is holier and better than the rest, and to realize one's true worth as a being of light, forever radiant and glorious as the Central Sun which is one's source.

That the true self manifests... the soul, together with the will and the power shared by all pure souls equally; such power being everpresent for the greatest glory of the Divine.

And going back to one's physical embodiment, lodged in a family, community and humanity, one realizes that nothing has really been lost - that the parting with things of the world was necessary to enable one to affirm the oneness of all; and in so doing, align oneself with the Great Ones for the restoration of the Divine Plan on earth.

Alas! One has to die, to leave behind the fleeting good life of an illusory world, stay in Silence, before one is born again in the fullness of living, where Love, Light, and Power reigns.

Such is the Silence that follows the Storm!

Being Fully Human

(This is a slightly edited version of the epilogue of a soon to be published book, tentatively entitled, "Spectrum of Life." I was married in 1999.)

When a generation takes over the previous one, it goes without fanfare. That generation simply knows that it has taken over. What are the tell-tale signs? The previous generation is simply reduced to being grandpa and grandma. Nonetheless, there are those among them who continue to be creative, simultaneously mentoring the next generation, while preparing for old age and eventual passing away.

Each day is closer to my grave and further from my birth. At 50, I am more than halfway from birth. I am not young anymore. Yet, I am not yet as old to not be able to do things for myself.

I have lived a scarred existence. The scars were reminders of the hurts and the outmoded views I had. Like Don Quixote, I had been in search for windmills, longing for peace and quiet.

One day, the twilight of my life will come. Where will I go when I die? “I shall go back where I came from, beyond my birth into this world, beyond my mother’s womb, to the original blueprint of my life stream. The world shall fade from my consciousness, while the learning shall be retained, adding color to the tapestry of my being.” A cycle would be complete, with a possibility for a new cycle in a next lifetime.

By my choice, I married again. My spouse bore three kids, who are younger than five of my seven grandchildren.

Below is a summary of a letter I wrote to my spouse before we were married.

“Each person comes into this world with a purpose. One must learn one’s lessons well. Only in entering and partaking in relationships, experiencing sorrow and joy, pain and contentment, that one can be human. One only lives for eighty years or so, entering at birth and leaving at an old age (or other causes). If one has to depart anyway, let him or her move on trying to fulfill his or her destiny.”

“One thing about destiny and fate is that we are never certain about outcomes. But we do shape our destiny by what we do now. This is karma in progress. We create now and therefore unleash momentums for our future. We all make choices and the choices we make now will affect our lifetime and the generations after us. The choices we make will make a difference in our lives. That is the essence of freedom.”

“Ultimately, nothing outside oneself can help. If peace cannot be found within one’s heart, it is useless to seek it elsewhere. That is a law for one treading the lonely path towards oneself. Be calm; let the storm take its toll. Let the onslaught into your being come. It will shatter your very foundation; will bring out all the weakness and wickedness that you harbor in your heart. It will gobble up all the premises that you have - the unquenched desires or the thirst for things fleeting.”

“Then you will feel the pain of rebirth. You will be extricated from the world of your doing, a cocoon you created for yourself, your temporary haven. The womb will be ruptured and you will be on your own to face a different world (which really comes with your perception). You will again create, but the creation will now be inspired by something more than what you are now; it is your essence being born into the world.”

Spectrum of Love

(This poem/essay was written in 1973 by Walter Rinder. It was copied by an officemate from a book back in 1977; i also copied it from her notes. Sometime in 1991, i saw a copy of the same poem hanging on the wall of an NGO colleague in Bacolod City. I loved it so much that i memorized all of more than 20 lines...I also made a Filipino translation, which follows the poem)

I love you!

There is a much greater morivation than simply my spoken words; for me to love is to commit myself freely and without reservations. I am sincerely interested in your happiness and well-being. Whatever your needs are, i will try to fulfill them and bend my values, depending on the importance of your need.

If you are lonely and need me, I will be there. If in that loneliness, you need to talk, I will listen. If you need to listen, I will talk. If you need the strength of human touch, I will touch you. If you need to be held, I will hold you. I will lie naked in body with you if that be your need. If you eed fulfillment of the flesh, I will give you that also, but only through my love.

I can only give you as much as you need, or you allow me to give. If you receive all I can give, then my love is endless and fulfilled. If you receive a portion of my love, then I will have to give others the balance i am capable of giving. I must give all that i have, being that I am.

Love is universal, love is the movement of life.

I have loved a boy, a girl, my parents, art, nature, children and myself only to the depths that i know myself. All feelings in life I find beautiful. No human being or society has the right to condemn any kind of love i feel.

I will try to be constant with you so that you will understand the core of my personality; and from that understanding, you can gain strength and security that I am acting as me. I may falter with my moods. I may project at times a strangeness that is alien to you, which may belwilder you. There will be times when you question my motives. But because people are never constant and are as changeable as the seasons, I will try to build within you a faith in my fundamental attitude and show you that my inconsistency is only for the moment and not a lasting part of me.

I will show you love now, each and everyday, for each day is lifetime. I will not defer my love or neglect it, for if i wait until tomorrow, tomorow may never come. It is like a cloud in the sky passing by, they always know you know.

If I give you kindness and understanding, then i will receive your faith. If i give you hate and dishonesty, I will receive your distrust. If i give you fear and am afraid, you will be afraid and fear me.

I will only give you what I need to receive. To what degree (amount) I give love is determined by my capability. My capability is determined by my environment, my past existence, and my understanding of Love, Truth and God. My understanding is determined by my parents, friends, places I have lived and been, all experiences that have been fed into my mind from living.

I will try to give as much love as I can. If you will show me how to give more. Or my way of expressing it, if i am sincere; sincerity being the honest realization of myself. and there is no hurt or pain intentionally involved in my life or any life my life touches.

I want to become a truly loving spirit. Let my words become a restoration of your soul.

But when speech is silent does one project the great depths of his sensitivity. When i touch you, or kiss you, or hold you, I am saying a thousand words.

KULAY NG PAG-IBIG

Mahal kita!

Hindi kayang ipahiwatig sa pagsambit lamang ng mga katagang ito and kabuuan ng nararamdaman ko para sa iyo. Para sa akin, ang pagmamahal ay isang malaya at walang pag-alinlangang pagpasya. Ninais kong maging maligaya at matiwasay ang iyong buhay. Dahil dito, susubukan kong tugunan ang iyong mga pangangaliangan. Kung napakabigat ng pasan mong crus, ipagpapaliban ko ang mahalaga sa akin, upang maiukol lamang sa iyo ang aking panahon.

Kung nalulungkot ka at kailangan mo ng kaagapay, naririyan ako. Kung sa kalungkutan mo, hanap mo ay pang-unawa, makikinig ako. Kung payo and siya mong hiling, magsasalita ako. Kung kailangan mo ng gabay, aakayin kita. Ako'y tatabi sa iyo kung nararapat. Kung hiling mo ay kaganapan ng pagnanasa, maibibigay ko rin, nguni't karugtong ng buong puso't buhay ko.

Nasa sa iyo kung nais mo o kaya mong tanggapin ang lahat ng pagmamahal na iniuukol ko. Kung tatanggapin mong lahat, ang buhay ko ay magiging matiwasay at buo. Kung kapiraso lang, mapipilitan akong ibahagi sa iba ang labis mula sa puso ko. Lahat ng pagmamahal ay kailangang ipamahagi ko, iyan ang likas sa pagkatao ko.

Ang pag-ibig ay pangkalahatan. Ito ang daloy ng buhay.

Ako'y nagmahal ng isang paslit, ng munting angel, ng sining, kalikasan, mga bata at mga magulang ko, ayon lamang sa pang-unawa ko sa sarili at sanlibutan. Pakiwari ko, lahat ay maganda at may ningning. Walang karapatan ang sinuman na humusga sa anumang pagmamahal na nadarama ko.

Susubukan kong ipadama sa iyo ang buo kong pagkatao, upang maunawaan mo ang nilalaman ng aking puso at magkaruon ka ng pananalig sa akin. Subali't maaaring magbago ang aking panlabas na anyo't asal. Maaaring ang magisnan mo'y hindi maganda at iba sa iyong nakasanayan, na siya mong ikabahala o ikatakot. May mga pagkakataon din na maghinala ka sa tunay kong pakay. Nguni't dahil ang tao'y minsan sala sa init, sala sa lamig, huhubugin ko sa iyong puso ang likas na ako. Kung lubos ang iyong pagtitiwala sa akin, maiintindihan mo na ang aking pagbabagong anyo ay pansamantala lamang at hindi pang-habang panahon.

Mamahalin kita ngayon at bawa't araw, dahil ang ngayon ay magpakailanman. Hindi ko ipagpapaliban o ipagwawalang-bahala ang pagmamahal na ito. Kung hihintayin ko pa ang bukang-liwayway, baka hindi na datnan pa ng takip-silim. Ang pagmamahal ay parang mga ulap sa kalangitan; alam nila kung nadarama mo.

Aanihin ko ang naipunla ko. Kung kabaitan at pang-unawa ang aking itinanim, susuklian mo ito ng pagtitiwala. Kung pagkamuhi at panlilinlang ang aking ipinuhunan, aakuhin ko ang iyong pagkutya. Kung takot ang maipamahagi ko, takot din ang madarama ko mula sa iyo.

Sa bawat yugto ng buhay ay natututo tayong magbigay. At ang hangganan ng pagmamahal ko ay nababatay sa aking kakayahan. Ang aking kakayahan ay naaayon sa aking kapaligiran, sa aking nakaraan, at sa aking naiiintindihan na kahulugan ng Pag-ibig, ng Katotohanan at ng Poong Maykapal. Ang aking pang-unawa ay hinubog sa diwa ng aking mga magulang at kaibigan; ng mga lunan na narating ko't nagisnan; at ng lahat na naipunla ng buhay sa aking puso't diwa.

Mamahalin kita sa abot ng aking makakaya. Kung tuturuan mo akong magmahal ng higit pa sa kakayahan ko, uusbong at lalago ito, na siya mong madarama. O, sa aking pananaw, ang pag-ibig ay katumbas ng katapatan ko, na nakasalalay sa lalim o lawak ng pang-unawa ko sa aking sarili. At ang pakikisalamuha ko sa iba, na ayon na rin sa pagtanggap ko sa aking sarili, ay walang bahid ng pasakit na sinasadya.

Nais kong maging isang nilalang na lubos na nagmamahal. Hayaan mong bawa't katagang masambit ko'y maging malamig na tubig sa tigang mong puso o uhaw na kaisipan.

Nguni't kung wala kang maririnig kundi katahimikan sa kalawakan ng iyong mundo, ito'y nagbabadya sa kalaliman ng aking nadarama. Kung ika'y dadampian ko ng haplos, hahawakan ng mayumi sa kamay, at hahalikan ng banayad sa pisngi, isang-libo't isang awit na ang naipahiwatig ng aking puso.

On Learning

(This short essay was written when my daughter finished high school and entered college. My son then was struggling with his third year high school math. My children have both finished now. they are also both married...I suppose this piece is my legacy to highlight my graduation from being a parent and a spouse (or so i thought anyway). This was published in my book, "Days of My Life," 1999)

When i was young, my mom used to tell me that I should learn what i could learn, for me to be equipped with the tools for a brighter future, so that when i seek out my fortune in the world, I have more chances of succeeding.

Now, that I am in the middle of my life, I have realized she only spoke a half-truth. Learning is necessary, yes! But the future is not a distant sometime. Neither is the world out there. Success or fortune is not measured in time, which forever recedes, or in a place which constantly becomes. Rather, it is pouched in each moment and in what i can only own, namely, myself. The world is out there only as a tool for me to test the depth of myself, of my soul, until I reach that stage where I become me, my soul.

So, I've been going through the world, experiencing pain, hurt, love, joy, myriads of willing, thinking, feeling and doing, cleansing myself of vestiges, which make me less than human, rendering the process of purification, until what is only left is me.

It is in the expansion of consciousness and extension of oneself that enables me to conquer the world. It is in this and the learning therefrom that the font of joy could be found. It only becomes elusive because we seek it elsewhere.

(That's funny, because people are born, grow into the world and die of old age, missing the whole point of being here - taking a lifetime.)

I shall continue to be in this world, will go back if i have to, until afer i learned my lessons that go with it. To put it more appropriately: the world, as it appears to me, exists because i need it for my self-development. When the moment comes that i become master, the world vanishes and i have to move on to another world.

Cesar
January 27,1991

Mom and Dad (The Purple Butterfly)

(These letters were exchanged between me and my brother Rudy who lives in California before my retirement from UNDP.)

From: Cesar Liporada <cesar.liporada@undp.org>
To: Liporada, Rudy <rliporada@gowebway.com>
Sent: Wednesday, May 16, 2001 6:39 PM
Subject: May 18 - Dioscoro's Birthday

Dear Utol,

It just occurred to me that you are really my closest living relation. Thank God! And i want to acknowledge that you've been a good brother to me (the best and incomparable in reality). So, thank you!

Last Sunday, May 13, Salud, Patricia Mae (my eldest apo), and myself visited the tomb of lolo Coro and lola Rosing. I did thank them to for bringing us both into this world.

Last Monday, May 14... a most beautiful butterfly of violet (velvet? purple?) color stayed for a while in my hand. Then I called Salud to look at it. I permitted it to transfer to her hand. Then it flew, leaving us at awe.

I remembered your story of the fly and Karl. I remembered a lot of things about mom and dad. How, in the night, in the midst of a stormy weather outside our little room in Mabini St., (in Baguio) i would transfer from our bed to sleep between them, and i would feel so safe and secure. Well, i feel so safe and secure in our little world now, i suppose, because we were given the jump start by mom and dad. They brought us into this world and did their best, despite their limitations. Isn't that grand?

So I am sharing this with you and with our clan, to highlight a wonderful blessing and gift. We have wonderful parents. And they are still around. Regards


Sunday, May 20, 2001 12:23 AM
From: "Rudy D. Liporada"
To: "Cesar Liporada"

If I were to die and be born again, made to choose who I would have siblings, I would choose you again as a brother. We could use a little sister who we would have been very protective about...as I believe I was protective of you. It was actually only lately that it sank to me that you never really needed protection. Up until lately, I was saying with Au. "Kawawa naman ang utol ko...." I realized that all challenges you had were part of your strengthening evolution from those times of sandwiching yourself between our parents during stormy nights.

Looking back I always have been in defense for you against playmates who might have wanted to harrass you..., etc. One incident that you might not forget is how I confronted that bully while you were in the grades. Since then, in campus, there is the air that you must not be touched because you are the brother of Rudy. My most formidable challenge was when you were in the… stage where our parents were beyond comprehension of what was happening to you. Au and I had to do all the explanations…. But in the blur of things, there were times, too, that I took advantage of you.

The guitar story is really hilarious. And when you broke your arm when we fell down the bed because we were ag-gabgab-bu, that was killer. I hid under the bed for fear I might have killed you. Everytime I am reminded of your balikong na elbow, I am reminded of the shivers that I might have lost my only closest kin now.

Why I feel this way about our relationship? Thank the purple butterfly.

Simply Simple

No worries, no hang-ups,
nothing to look forward to,
nobody to hate, nothing
to feel sorry about,
no one to follow,
no desires to satisfy.

comfort, life, happiness,
prosperity, love,
they all come naturally in abundance...

such is the song of life,
heard at break of dawn,
hummed through the day,
and at dusk is the lullaby in my sleep.

Life

life is such
that you go through it
like birds sour in the sky, stopping only to rest
among the trees,
then be in flight again