Labels:for canned goods only

A stocky bald man in his forties with a beard and a tiny golden cross dangling from his left ear. A twentysomething guy with shoulder length hair tied in a ponytail wearing a black polo, black cargo pants and sandals. Both walk with an attitude. Actually, if you see them on the street, you would think they're rowdy rock-and-rollers or weird post-modern artists filled with I-hate-the-world angst or just plain misfits of the society.

They’re not.

I encountered them while attending a two-day conference on doing theology in the Philippines. Both were presenters of their papers, one a candidate for a master’s, the other for a doctorate. Judging from what I heard them say, both love people. And God. Sure, they do not fit the mold of how proper Christian men in a seminary should look like. They were not wearing the seminarian’s uniform: crisp polo (preferably long sleeves, no bold colors please); short to medium length hair neatly parted in the middle; loosely-fitted khaki, black or gray pants; buffed and kiwi-shiny leather shoes. There was even no trace of the required pious smile plastered on the face as if saying, “I have just been with Jesus.”

Looks, I’ve learned, can be deceiving.

For a time, the way I saw things was being filtered by my see-the-world-according-to-its-standards-colored shades. For instance, I sometimes judged people by what they wore (Oh, she’s wearing such huge hoop earrings. Aren’t those too big for Christian women to be wearing? Hmm...Maybe she’s a backslider!) Worse, my faulty shades has even made me assign greater value to people who look better or dress better or has a more "stable" personality. Unconsciously, I was plastering labels on people.

But God loves me so much that He doesn’t let me stay as I am. He reminded me of what He once said to a prophet: “The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” God asked me to take off my shades and see people differently. When I did, I realized how myopic I have been. The eccentric woman with an equally-eccentric wardrobe actually has a heart of gold. The seemingly happy-go-lucky guy is actually melancholic and deep.With the revelation, I wondered, "How many treasures have I missed simply because I did not see them glittering?" Lord, how many people have I still yet to see, really see?

Labels are great for cans of corned beef and fruit cocktails. But not for people.

Lovestruck

This was the title of the post-valentine fellowship I attended last night. A friend invited me as early as the first week of February. And so I did come—as one of the panelists. (Hard to believe, I know. I laughed when I first learned it will be about marriage and singleness. I’m still wondering when I became an authority on singleness.)

So there I was, sitting with a wife of 16 years to my right and another slightly older single lady to my left. Two men joined us—the husband of my seatmate, and a bachelor who said he fasted for three days for three consecutive years while praying for a girl.

The organizer earlier sent us an email listing the possible questions. Knowing my tendency to experience mental blackouts in public, I wrote down my answers. How long should a lady wait to make the first move? If she’s a lady, she won’t make the first move at all. The patron saint of single ladies, Elisabeth Elliot, believes this too. View on Premarital sex? No, I go for sex within marriage. Virginity is the best gift a person can give to his/her mate. It’s OK to be awkward on the first night. Qualities of your ideal man; view on relationships via internet, texts, chats; things I liked most about being single—I had ready-made answers to these all.

But while I was ready for most of the questions, the first question one of the emcees asked wasn’t in the list at all. The question: “What makes you an ideal person?” (WHAAT?!) I had to ask her to repeat the question, wanting to make sure I heard her right. I did hear her right. She added: “What makes you saleable? What makes you the right choice for a man? What are your ganda points?” Uh-huh. Major embarrassment happening in the next few seconds.

I wish I had a clever quip to avoid answering the question. I said it was the first time I was asked this. With the mike on my hand, I realized I had to give them an answer—fast! My mind automatically went searching for files in my brain: Are you Ms. Right and Why? File does not exist!(World Peace! Can’t I just answer world peace?!) The first (note the adjective—I said 3 qualities. The nerve, MY nerve! Well, maybe I said 3 because I am a 3-points-outline Baptist!) quality I claimed was that if he’s the right man, I can assure him that I will be submissive to him. God has commanded women to submit to their husbands and that is what I intend to do. (Was that a good answer? I hope so! At least I was biblical—but biblical was not the second quality I said).

I will spare you the two other qualities I volunteered lest this blog read like a personal advertisement. The other single lady answered too, more confidently than I. But what struck me is what the wife next to me said: “Ladies, you don’t have to try to be somebody else to please a man. A man should love you for who you are.” True. I wish that were my answer instead.

More questions followed, revolving around the issues of love, purity, marriage. I said something about not living life on hold, shared a little about my experience with a guy who years before kept me guessing about his intentions, commented on how I cope with the frustrations of singleness. Did they even remember what I said? I realized only one thing matters. The audience can forget about everything I said but I hope not these two words: God’s grace. I testified that it is only by the grace of God that I am sustained, especially during times when I feel that life is unfair. God continually, patiently and gently reminds me that He is greater than my needs, more powerful than my longings.(Yes, I believe all these and more to be true, although admittedly there are some days when I have to say it over and over again to drown out the haunting sound of loneliness.)

Not surprisingly, the guest couple also points to the same grace of God that has kept them together all these years. They admit that theirs is not a perfect marriage but they are quick to reveal how beautiful married life is—albeit the occasional bickering, nagging unpaid bills, minor differences. With the wife inches from me, it was impossible to miss the tenderness in her husband’s eyes whenever he faces her. Dear couple, I think married life is beautiful. You didn’t have to say a word to convince me.

The husband concluded that Q&A panel discussion explaining, in the gentlest (yet still powerful) voice I have heard, how we all search for love. How we could only find deep fulfillment in the arms of God alone, not in a marriage or any other kind of relationship. How God first loved us, even when we were (and maybe still are) unlovable. I’ve heard these lines more than once before but this truth never fails to tug at my heart. God forbid that a day would come when the truth about His love won’t affect me anymore.

The title of the fellowship did justice to the night. I came away from Weekdays café lovestruck.

Chayen

The make-up washed off but my hair still feels sticky with hairspray even after numerous washings. I can now breathe more easily as my midsection is free of the constricting one-strap gown. I performed my duties fairly well as the maid of honor. I did not trip while walking down the aisle, remembered to have the contract signed.

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Last night I slept on the same bed (in the hotel) as Chayen, my youngest sister. The last time I slept next to her was four years ago when we visited our sisters in the States. Actually, I grew up with her as my roommate (at least from age 10 up. I spent most of my childhood in the province—near the beach and far from my family). Chayen and I shared the same room, double-deck, cabinet, and sometimes, even the same pambahay. As adults, we also shared stuff with each other—bags, shoes, shirts, name it, we shared it (and fought about it. Haha. I/she: “Why did you use my shirt? I was gonna wear that today!” “Where’s my bag?”)

Today, she gained a new roommate, her mild-mannered husband Regie. Life will be different for her from this day forward. In addition to the roles she play as a daughter and sister, she will now play a more major role: somebody’s wife. Wife—my little sister is all grown up now. Time flies so fast.

The contrasting emotions—happiness and sadness—flip-flop in my heart. Happy that she’ll be starting a new home; sad that she’ll be leaving our house. Have I come to grips with the fact that I will be seeing less of her?

Chayen just calls me “Beng” but that doesn’t hinder me from acting like her “Ate Beng.” Though my love for her is veiled under my protective-to-a-fault, disciplinarian behavior, I know that she knows how much I care about her. Yes, she knows me well enough to know that. (Hey sis, if by divine intervention you are led to this site, I hope you'll agree with that last statement!)

Chayen: Daughter, sister, wife, and hopefully later on, mother. But even after many of her July 4 birthdays have passed, even when she’s humped and wrinkled sixty, I will look at her with the same older-sister eyes. I will still see her as the cute, chubby girl, the center of everyone’s attention. As for me, I will always be her “Ate Beng”—critic, friend, supporter, mall-and-other-places companion. . . former roommate.

My former roommate (Chayen) with her new roommate, Regie (and my third brother-in-law!) 

SCQ (Some Crazy Questions)

if i could suddenly speak zoo language, i'll have a grand time trying to find the answer to these questions:

1. did a horse ever tell a zebra, "if my brothers and i play basketball, could you be our referee?"
2. how would a horse feel about getting his mane permed?
3. do giraffees ever get sore throats? and if yes, from what?(being out in the cold for so long?)
4. if an owl doesn't sleep for a week, will he be tempted to sleep during the day?
5. are there thin pigs? if yes, do they get insecure?
6. can elephants use their trunks to scratch their backs?
7. how come fish nibble at the worm on the hook?how do they know they'll like it when there's no worm underwater?
8. did a turtle ever wish he had a new "house" on his back?
9. when bears hibernate and sleep for months, what do they dream about? is it like a whole season of "meteor 'bear' garden"?
10. if a lion suddenly becomes a vegetarian, will he still be considered as the ''King of the Jungle"?

so many questions, so many animals. when i get to heaven, maybe i could ask God. :-)

V-day

As I’m typing this line, it is now officially Valentine’s day. For single, uncommitted people like me, it’s another day to be reminded about what is (apparently) missing in our lives. But on the second thought, it doesn’t have to be February 14. It could be any day in March or August or December. Who needs a date (February 14) when you have friends and family members constantly asking you, “So, how come you’re still unattached?”? Now, let me rethink that last line—even strangers, I've experienced, can ask you that.

After almost a month-long stay in Uncle Sam’s place, I thought I’ve already escaped friends and family’s speculating (and planning) my lovelife—“maybe it’s this guy she’s meeting in NY” or “there’s this nurse from Brooklyn” or “you should stay longer to meet Eddie.” On my flight back home, I sat next to a fifty-ish man who engaged me in a conversation about books and life in the US and Philippines. In the middle of the conversation, he asked, “Are you married?” I blushed when I said, “No.” “You know I have a son who . . . ” my seatmate rattled on about the incredible qualities of his son. Oh no!You too?! Well, I decided to just take it as a compliment, a man who just met me wanting me for his son. :-)

Going back to V-day, I haven’t really dreaded this day to the point of wanting to take an extra-large dose of sleeping pills on February 13 to wake up on February 15. As far as I am concerned, it’s just an ordinary day.

I will not go around cursing businesses raking in big bucks with their special for-couples-only-promo. I will not look at couples in red and mutter under my breath how baduy they are. Even if it’s just an ordinary day for me, it’s a special day for them. And the least I can do for them—businesses and couples alike—is to be happy.
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True love makes a man want, not a woman, but one particular woman—the beloved herself, not the pleasure she can give.

C.S. Lewis

Surprise, surprise

I love surprises. The most recent one I've enjoyed was conceived almost a month ago when I saw the poster of a show.

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Gladys. Gladys is a twenty-something officemate whose love for music is evident. She can sing with the passion of an opera singer, even if her petite frame will make you wonder how. Not only can she belt out songs, she also, naturally, enjoys listening to music. Her ears are glued to the earphones of her Sony MP3-audio-playing-enabled PDA (For non-techies, it just means her digital organizer can play songs—in style). One particular singer, I’ve learned, catches her fancy: Christian Bautista.

I’ve been supportive of her admiration for this singer. I would lend her a magazine with a feature (and glossy picture) of him; text her even late at night when I see Christian’s concert being shown on TV. I try to recall if I’ve ever felt this way for a celebrity. No. Never. [Did I just hear a rooster crow? OK, so I once stayed up all night to watch episodes of Meteor Garden. But I only watched it because I admire the scriptwriters, able to churn out interesting twists in the plot. Did the same rooster crow again? OK, so I like the cinematic shots of the director, which almost made me want to go to Taiwan when I saw the lush scenery on screen. Is there a roosters’ version of Star in the Million? The rooster outside is crowing like crazy the third time! OK, so I liked—note the past tense of the verb— Dao Ming Szu. End of story of defensive me. :-) ]
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It was supposed to be a girls’ night out date composed mainly of Aileen, Ivy, Gladys and I. I told Gladys and Ivy (Aileen was an accomplice) that we will be having dinner somewhere in Glorieta but didn’t tell them what we’ll be doing after. After a carbohydrate-and-lycopene-rich dinner at Sbarro’s, with a quick stop-over at Tickles, we were headed to our ultimate destination. I told them we’ll be having dessert in a hotel (which wasn’t really a lie. It’s just that the dessert wasn’t food ).

It was amusing how Gladys didn’t see the huge sign of the show when we drove past the front of the venue, how she still didn’t have an idea after we’ve sat for an hour in the balcony. In fact, she was clueless until after the main performer, Kuh Ledesma (having already sung 3-4 songs) introduced her guest. When Gladys heard his name, she stared at me—disbelief and delight dancing in her eyes. She pushed me with all her might and screamed some. Even her other seatmate, a stranger, noticed her exhilaration.

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We all enjoyed the show last night. The acoustics was superb , set in a classy and intimate lounge. But what made me enjoy it even more was the fact that a girl grinned from ear to ear while watching the singer of her dreams. She thanked me afterwards but, really, that is to no credit to me. I’ve been surprised many times myself too—with unexpected gifts and lavish acts of kindness. From friends and family, and more so, from the generous God who is the Giver of every good and perfect gift. I am just passing it on. :-)

Bike, Swim, Blog

I’ve never learned to bike and to swim for exactly the same reason: fear. Fear of not learning (yes, I can be irrational at times), fear of experiencing discomfort—scraping my knees and swallowing salt water, fear of disappointing whoever will be patient enough to teach me.

This same fear has almost kept me from setting up this blog. Friends have been prodding me to try my writing hand on this fairly new technological phenomenon. Most of the time I just smile and mutter, “I will,” not really saying when. My mind says, “You can do it. You love to write.” But my heart counters: “What if you make a major grammatical error? People would wonder how you could have kept your job all these years! What if your words and experiences are too boring? Not interesting enough? Or worse, what if nobody reads your blog at all?”

The paranoid in me shouts like Goliath taunts young David. Good thing I know my way around my Bible and read how David struck down the giant with one smooth stone from the stream. Maybe, just maybe, I could hush the paranoid in me with one heartfelt, sincere entry.

So here I am, tentative but thrilled, scared but sure. I may never learn how to pedal a bike or swim in the sea. I may never be able to skid through rough terrain or glide gracefully in the water. But I can try to warm your heart, make you smile, challenge your mind. Maybe I can make new friends or reconnect with old ones by bridging the chasm between my keyboard and your screen.

All I can offer are my words.
Come, be my guest.
Welcome to my world.