The Simple Life

While some people prefer the night trip for long-distance road travel, I, when alone, like traveling during the day. While comfortably seated by the window, I draw the curtains up the bus window and take in the view. The countryside has always had this calming effect on me. I see not skyscrapers but mountains. Not huge billboards but never-ending fields dotted by trees. Most people outside are not making quick, long strides but less-hurried, relaxed steps. Looking out the window is like watching a movie—The Simple Life.

I like this movie. The plot is uncomplicated, the setting, plain. So what if the stars are not as glamorous-looking as the box-office queens and kings? So what if the stars in this movie have creases on their foreheads so deep they don’t have to frown for the lines to show? Rural folks who couldn’t care less about the movement in the stock market, they’re more concerned about when the next rainfall for their crops would come.

Why this affinity with the rustic?
Maybe because I once was part of this movie.

Contrary to what most people probably think, I’ve not always been a Manila city girl. Spending most of my childhood years somewhere in the north, the event for me was not going to the amusement park, or going to the mall but to the beach (it’s just a shame I didn’t learn how to swim even with a chunk of my lifetime—and a third of my body—spent submerged in seawater). Before I met Cinderella in glossy storybooks, I was already friends with Niknok from the newsprint Funny Komiks. (I was also reading comics like Filipino, Aliwan, Wakasan, among many others. This probably started my love for the printed page.)

Now, many years later, and hundreds of kilometers away from the setting of the earlier movie, I play a different role, act in scenes set in the busiest part of the country. But then again, once in a while, I take the chance to enjoy the simple life, albeit as a spectator.

Ahh, The Simple Life. Sometimes I wonder if and when I will get to be a part of this movie again. Not my call. Only the Scriptwriter of my life knows.

An afternoon with Chayen and Robin Padilla

My youngest sister Chayen is back in the house--at least for two days and two nights. With her husband Regie away for a planning in Baguio, she decided to sleep in her old bed and stay in her old room, pre-Mrs. Emperado days.

Part of our mid-morning conversation went like this:

Chayen: Pasok na lang kaya ako sa office? Ang init dito eh.
Beng: Ha? Sabado, pasok ka? Wag na. Punta na lang tayo SM.
Chayen: Wala akong pera eh. Libre mo ko?
Beng: Alam mo, mas makakatulong ka sa kumpanya mo kapag pumasok ka.

Of course, I was joking and she knew it. After my laughter subsided, I suggested we watch a movie. Starwars? No, she had another movie in mind.

La Visa Loca. With no expectations at all about the movie, I was surprisingly entertained by it. An effective satire of the Filipino people and culture, it was thought-provoking. The dialogues were crisp and natural; the plot, believable. Robin Padilla didn’t seem like he was acting; he was Jess, the dutiful-son-cum-driver-cum-aspiring-US-nursing-aide. La Visa Loca, self-tagged as an intelligent comedy, lived up to its assertion. I was laughing so loud in one hilarious scene, Chayen felt embarrassed for me.

But much as I enjoyed watching Robin Padilla, I enjoyed spending time with Chayen even more. The afternoon ended with me becoming a few hundred pesos poorer. But it was but a small investment for etching one priceless memory.

At Gloria Jean's

On my way home from a publicity stint at a teachers' seminar, I decide to stop by Gloria Jean's. Partly to escape the house which feels more like an oven; mainly to use the borrowed PDA keyboard from my silly and serious techie friend Aleks. I figured, as long as it's with me, I'm going to use it every minute I could. Like now.

Not particularly fond of coffee, I order the Green Tea latte. I grimace at my first sip--it tastes like there are actually dried tea leaves in my 12-ounce plastic cup(I was hopeful when I saw its picture, imagining it would taste less like real tea and more like C2). Nevertheless, I still give it a chance. I will try to drink all the way to the last drop while I convince myself, "Green tea is good for me...green tea is good for me." The honey-dipped doughnut saves my otherwise dismal late-afternoon snack.

With the many thoughts swirling in my mind, I couldn't catch one to pin down. Not that one, Beng, too personal. After writing three paragraphs about a sensitive topic, I felt trepid about it and save the paragraphs. Maybe for later.

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Last night, after reading the introduction of The Bible Jesus Read, I turned straight to the chapter about Job. Philip Yancey contends that the book of Job--though tackling the man's series of misfortunes and hardships--is less about suffering than it is about faith. Here was a blameless and upright man who suddenly becomes the object of a divine wager. Satan accuses God, "This man Job believes in you only because you give him everything on a silver platter. Take away everything from him and let's see if he'll still love you (my paraphrase)." God accepts the challenge and allows Satan to touch everything around Job, including his health, as they both watch who between the two of them are right. On trial: God's name.

The lack of space hinders me from writing a long discourse about this enigma of Job's life. Besides, how could my puddle of thoughts compare with Yancey's ocean? But here's what struck me: What if God's name is on trial in my life? What if Satan accuses God in the same way about me: that I believe in God only because of the good things He is giving me? Or what if Satan dangles a Turkish delight in my face, knowing that if and when I take a bite, it would be like him being able to slap God's face? ("She said she'd honor you with her heart? Look at how she's dishonoring you now!")

I search my heart and tremble at the hypothetical scenario. I love God but do I love Him enough? I have faith but is it securely fastened not to be blown away when the winds of adversity storm?

Do I, like Job, have the faith it takes to let God win every time?

I don't know.

But this I know: I can ask God for a good memory. I can ask God not to make me forget His many acts of kindness in my life. Memories of when He patiently waited for me to come home while I wandered off; memories of when He redeemed me from the consequences of my sins; memories of when He surprised me with unexpected and extravagant gifts.

When all is suddenly lost from my life, I will have my memories of God's goodness. I will have a portrait of His love. I will have a treasure box of His miracles.

I can never be sure about my faith--that it will always hold up when doubts assail it. But if my memory serves me right, I can always be sure about my God.

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Looking outside, I see that the sun has already punched out with the moon reporting for the night shift. I'm ready to pack the PDA and keyboard and finally head for home. An afternoon well-spent with Tungsten and Targus.

Kiping Up with the Tagalogs

For a day, no rainbow appeared anywhere in the world. All rainbows were bottled, shipped to a small town in Quezon, mixed with ground rice, pressed against leaves then left to dry in the sun to make kiping! These kipings were then used to decorate houses, sold as food (Inihaw or fried kiping, anyone?) or fashioned into fans. It was May 15—the best day this year to be in Lukban. So I and eight officemates crammed in a van and sped off south of Manila to experience for the first time the sensational Pahiyas festival.

Here are three of the many facts I learned from my two-day escapade:
1 Hospitality is always in season.
Locals will let strangers in their house if the latter would like to have their picture taken by the second floor window.
2 The richness of Tagalog is amazing in this part of the world.
Overheard: “Aba’y wag ka diyan sa init ng araw. Lulutong ka.”; “Ikaw lang ang umiinom diyan. Mang-akit ka naman.”
3 Pinoy creativity knows no bounds.
Among the many eye candies I saw: improvised waterfalls adorning a two-storey house; ladies in parade wearing colorful banig gowns accentuated with beads and seeds; kiping flowers and butterflies making up an artificial yet attractive garden; pig being roasted by a mannequin (with the help of an automatic pole-turner attached to the skewer).

Bathing in the sun’s ultraviolet rays turned my skin two shades darker (I now have three skin tones: Original, Banaue brown, Lukban dark brown). Yet it was a small price to pay for kiping up with the Tagalogs.


Kiping me company:(Bottom L-R) Analyn, Lea, Aileen, Ferdie, Gladys, Grasya, Ivy (Not in pix, Kuya Jun)

Hot or Cold?

Summer, like a regal princess stepping down the stairs to the ballroom floor, made a grand entrance. All of us felt her presence, as we all ooh-ed and aahh-ed. (As in “Ooh, ang init!” “Aahh, basa na ako ng pawis!”)

During these days, there’s no use complaining about the heat—really. It could be worse. How? Well, would you like to swap climates with the US of A? Just the climate. As you imagine Uncle Sam’s territory, subtract the PX goods, Mickey Mouse and his friends, the malls, and all things stateside.

There, when it’s cold, it’s not just put-on-a-jacket-and-you’re-fine cold. It’s “BRR!-I-am-not-an-Eskimo-I-can’t-take-this-anymore” cold. Case in point: I could be wearing 3 sets of clothes on top of the other, a bonnet, scarf, gloves, 2 pairs of socks under my boots and still feel cold when I step outside the heat-insulated house. There’s little you can do when the temperature drops WAY below zero.

Here, when it’s hot, you may simply do any of the following to relieve yourself: (1) Wear less clothing (but you should still be decent, though), (2) Turn the aircon or electric fan full blast, (3) Eat ice cream, halo-halo or saging con-hielo (A waiter two nights ago had to confirm to me, “Banana?” I politely replied yes but wondered what the other translation of saging could be), (4) Take all the baths your water supply affords you until your skin wrinkles like a raisin, and (5) Retreat to the nearest mall.

Hot or Cold? I’ll take hot anytime and everytime. Now, if you’ll excuse me. After I switch off the electric fan, I’ll take one long shower. I’ll wear my sleeveless shirt over my capri pants then head off to the mall, a 10-minute tricycle ride away. What’ll I do there? Among many things, I'll be doing point number 3!

Enjoy the rest of the sweltering days of Summer.

(Not) Loving in Slices

"I take the good and the bad. I can't love people in slices."

Sean Connery as King Arthur in First Knight

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Sure, he could be caring but why is he insensitive at times? She may be sweet but why o why, when she asks for help, turns demanding? Some people endear themselves to me, I’d give the world to them. Yet these same people would also let me down, drive me crazy at times.

It doesn’t take much effort to love people when: A they’re adorable, B they’re so beautiful and C, they’re so cute and full of charm. But what if A becomes abrasive, B becomes bratty and C becomes cruel? When people become mean, foolish, selfish, insensitive, indifferent, manipulative, loving them would seem like the ultimate act of sacrifice akin to Mother Teresa taking in the sick and destitute from the streets of Calcutta.

While it may be easier to love people in slices—accepting them only for the attractive facets of their character—we might not really be loving them, in the true sense of the word. For then, it becomes an unconscious act, almost an instinct. Yet shouldn’t love be a conscious choice, a determined decision?

If we are going to truly love people, then I guess we have to learn. To love regardless, in spite of, period. To not be surprised when despite their best intentions, they fail us (We are, after all, guilty of failing others too). Yes, these days will come much more often than the once-every-76 years appearance of the Halley’s comet.The challenge is this: To forgive and love people anyway.

Nobody is perfect, and in this side of the universe, nobody will ever be. And that, for me, is a relief. Because among other things, it gives us a reason to need God as we ask Him to continually polish our character. To need God and ask Him to constantly let His flood of grace soak us until we can trickle it down to others who like us, are also fallen and sinful yet precious and redeemable.

I'm beginning to realize that like King Arthur, I also can’t love people in slices. I will take the good and the bad. After all, people would have to take the bad in me too.

Warm Company in Cool Baguio

One weekend. Two days, no fixed agenda.

These no-agenda days don’t come too often for me lately. The last time I was out of town, it was for our retreat when, even if I had some relaxing days, I had some work to do. So when it was time for our long-planned getaway, I didn’t exactly know how to feel about it. Excited or uneasy? I couldn’t tell. With my backpack strapped over my shoulders, I nonchalantly boarded the midnight-trip bus to Baguio.It has been a long day. I’m quite tired, Lord. Please help me get some rest.

(Little did I know that God’s answer would come in the form of verbs.)
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14 verbs in 2 days:

Feel the breeze in Mines View Park. Check out the souvenir shops. Go to the Botanical Garden. See Camp John Hay. Walk through Manor hotel grounds. Take pictures. Pose for pictures. Eat. Play Taboo and Pictionary. Watch DVDs. Sleep. Attend the Bread of Life Worship service. Eat some more. Laugh hard.
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I didn’t think I would enjoy this two-day vacation as much as I did. In the cool Baguio air, I was warmed by the company of friends. Up in the summer capital of our country, God reminded me that He is not a stern drill sergeant who only takes pleasure in seeing His subordinates follow His orders. Rather, He is a loving Father who smiles when He sees His children in play and fun. And did I have 100% fun. Absolutely no work required.