PAID HAND

While I was in Riyadh actively involved in various church leadership assignments, there was no question about how committed everyone involved in clandestine spiritual pursuits was. Notwithstanding the frustrating persecution that tests the faith of the believer, weekends were, without any reservation, set aside for worship.

Let me relive a few of those inspiring moments in my erstwhile colored spiritual past: evangelistic biblical studies to far-flung places outside of the city ring to bring good news and offer spiritual comfort to homesick kababayans; Thursday nights huddled with the other faithful members of the underground church in fellowship; early Friday morning preparations to prepare halls and living rooms for Bible studies and worship preceded by arrangements to transport worshippers and monitor the safety of the places used for the purpose; weekdays used for spiritual feeding and leaders’ meetings. At least four days a week were devoted to exercise the faith at the expense of imprisonment and deportation when caught.

And no one complained. Not even when no single halalah was spent or allotted for what is commonly and euphemistically called “love gift”, (read: suweldo).

Those were lovely times, when all one could think of was to be connected to and with God, to be of service to Him and to be one with the brethren. And work – the very reason for coming to the Middle East in the first place – became incidental.

I have been a church worker ever since I converted to the faith two decades ago. When I decided to come home in 2002, I had my thoughts guarded about asking to work in the church, the reason being that I wanted it to be very clear in my heart that the motivation for asking to work is out of a pure desire to serve, and not to have a paid job. Not that I had ill thoughts about being paid for working in the church. The quandary was in the motivation.

Eight years on, I am still here. Working for the church. And getting paid for it. Does that diminish my commitment? Does that take away something from my service? When I look around my house and the people who depend on me, I cannot help but be amazed at how God has seen us throughout the time I gave up my overseas work and returned home.

Sometimes, when I look back and remember the number of hours I put in for ministerial works in Riyadh – hosting Bible studies and worship services at the Dywidag Village, attending underground classes organized by western Tentmakers, organizing and heading training programs for pastors of various churches, supporting various activities of cell and core groups at the cost of being imprisoned when found out – I miss it if only for the fact that doing those work in the spirit of volunteerism was a refuge from the stress of work. The ministry offered refreshment, relief, rest.

Now – and this is an honest confession – I feel the reversal. While I will not fault myself for getting paid doing church work, I find that as work, the secularism attached to the professionalism expected by it, also induces the same stress and strain that one likes to get away from especially when demands, deadlines and personal discipline take their toll on the mind and body. And when the refuge offered is a couple of days’ spiritual retreat with the same people you work with, I panic. How can you be with the same persons you are with more than 50 hours per week? It stresses me. And this is when I try to break free by embracing aloneness and doing trivial things that bring shallow but comforting joy to the soul: shopping, watching movies, dining.

And sometimes, looking for company.

How paradoxical!

AVATAR

I went to see AVATAR. It was not only a movie-watching event; it was an experience. The film jolts the senses and there was too much to see on 3D within the less-than-three-hour journey. Every corner of the screen is filled with delightful scenes culled straight from the mind of that creative director, James Cameron, visually translated to the screen with such enormous beauty.

The story itself is a timeless good vs. evil plot, with political undertones highlighting the powerful exploiting the weak without respect for reason, (very much like Walt Disney’s Pocahontas) and greed overpowering being humane. It is a love story, too, defying odds to prove the depths of feelings even as to transcend race and cultural barriers.

But watching AVATAR was, for me personally, also a distraction. From the usual happy-to-be-alone routine, I went to see the film with a companion – a recent acquaintance who took time out from the rigors of athletic training to be with me, sat beside me while Jake Sully and Neytiri profess “I-see-you’s”, sup with me through the aroma of fresh fish, chips and San Mig Light.

It was a nice diversion from the ordinary and I thought, by all standards, the real-life script unfolding is a tad better than the one onscreen.

NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK

Rollie left on December 30, but Norrie arrived on New Year’s Day. They are two special people who have become permanent fixtures in my life. Both are friends; the former a high school batchmate – albeit from a different school – and a brother in the faith who became closely associated with me during my ministerial years in the Middle East; the latter, a time-tested co-warrior in the struggle for discovery of Self and Life and Love and the Hereafter, never mind if our respective faiths clash at the boundaries of opposing fences. Both are only two of my treasures.

I am fortunate to have gathered an ensemble of friends throughout my fifty years. In a world full of trickery and fleeting acquaintances, finding true friends is indeed like looking for a needle in a haystack. Difficult yet worth the find. Although nurtured like plants, friendships do not just grow on trees. It needs a lot of time to breed from the moment it is sowed on fertile grounds of unconditional acceptance. It needs to be watered by constant communication and getting-to-know-you’s. It needs to be fertilized by experiences shared in common. It needs to be cultivated with breathing spaces for individual growth. And it needs to be protected against onslaughts of storms by being held and cuddled through trials and tribulations.

There are moments when sadness invades even the heartiest of laughter when the absence of a friend to share the laughter with is strongly felt. Oftentimes, I am forced to retreat to the comforts of my room instead of wandering out in malls or forcing myself to socialize because as I have always stood for, I prefer to be on my own than to be with just anybody. I attribute my lack of motivation to socialize to the fact that I think it becomes a chore to open up anew and to “feel” my way through in the company of new acquaintances.

For example, I enjoy Harry’s company whenever he is around because with him, I could let loose, be myself, be the boss, the equal and the subordinate, and there are no boundaries to where our conversations and exchanges go, and where our feet will take us to. When I was in Los Angeles, I had unforgettable moments with Ronnie because we could get lost in the transport system or street intersections or even argue about which better places to visit and still end the day peacefully. Ronnie has been a constant since 1978 and the intertwining of our lives has taken many twists and turns that even in the physical absence of the other, the spiritual presence is sensed.

And it takes a long time to feel this way when you start to build new bridges to cross. This is not to say that I have stopped making friends. Friends are fortune. I cannot say that I have that much friends, but I am happy to say that with the friends I have now, right now, I have enough to last me a lifetime.

MOULTING

In a natural process called ecdysis or moulting, a snake peels off its skin to replace the old and worn-out scales and to rid itself of parasites. The snake’s old skin becomes dry and its inner surface liquefies and separates from the new skin under it. The younger snakes shed their skin up to four times a year while the older ones have a yearly skin renewal.

Renewal is part of life’s constant cycle of change. In very much the same way as the snake does, there is that constancy with which man must naturally renew not only the epidermal part of his being, but more importantly the circumstance of his soul. And there is no better time to reflect on renewal than when a new year begins.

New Year offers hope – that something can be done, that what seems impossible can be accomplished, that situations can be improved, and that our persons can be developed.

New Year offers excitement and endless possibilities – that we can be part of a larger scheme, that through us new ideas can incarnate, that we can contribute to make something or someone better, and that by contributing to change, we become changed ourselves.

New Year offers freshness – that we can shed bits and pieces of our own ugliness and embrace beauty in a non-skin-deep way, that we can be more appreciative even of the mundane and the common, that we can replace what is sordid, mean and cruel with what is “true, good, and beautiful” and that by being refreshed we can open our eyes and see through a kinder perspective.

New Year offers age – that along with it comes the maturity of the soul, that we can acknowledge the limitations of our mortality in more accepting ways, that while we are given every occasion to care for our body we also take advantage of every opportunity to egg our spirit to perfection, and that in making our years count, we gracefully “surrender the things of youth”.

New Year offers new beginnings and the first few steps towards surpassing our own marks. 2009 was a very significant year for me. I made my marks. It is my hope that 2010 will be as much, if not more.

2010

When I started 2009, I wrote a few friends this note:


Closures are good especially when the eagerness for new openings offers fresh hopes and perspectives and excitement and delight and wondrous anticipation of possibilities.

I am happy to have sealed my 2008 off, thankful even. It had been a toilsome year, and the wear and tear on my body, limb, mind, spirit is evidenced by sagging eyebags, 50 kilos of lean frame, thinning and receding hairline, and this tired look that validates the fact that i am nearing 50.

I received two gold medals in the academe for being the first among the dean’s listers and for being the most outstanding student. Honestly, I am not too very sure that I should be rejoicing in the glory. When I think about the playing field – all students and classmates not even a quarter as mature as I am – I feel that I am taking something from them. But just the same, I am grateful for the recognition.

I was awarded with five trophies for being the Best Investigative Journalist, Best Photo Portfolio, Photojournalist of the Year, Best in Creative Non-Fiction Writing, Best in Community Feature Writing, and was almost embarrassed every time my name was called and I had to make acceptance speeches.

When I defended my thesis about the perception of a local columnist on the presidency of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, I was told that my work could very well earn me another award for Best Thesis next year. On top of these, I received 2 100% marks during the last two semesters.

On the family front, my parents were re-married on their 50th anniversary and I was just too overcome with joy as I watched them exchange their renewed vows – a dream come true especially for my mother who five years ago had a puzzling dizzy spell that made her asked God, verbally for everyone in the Seniors’ Camp to hear – that she wanted to live to reach her golden wedding anniversary. What an answered prayer!

I still have not gotten over the death of my brother Toto. That is something I have to live with on a day-to-day basis. This is one of the things I carried over from 2007 and have not put a closure on till today. I comfort myself in the fact that, yes, he is just somewhere having a grand time and it won’t take long before I see him again – no matter how foolish that might seem.

I published three books in a month from November 15 to December 14 – a feat that I did not imagine I could do. But it was perhaps spurned by a little bit of hurt and pain and anger when I was told my schooling has weakened the position of a very dear friend – a thing I tried to avoid from day one but caught up with me anyway in such an ironic fashion.

But I am happy to leave them all behind.

I am looking forward to 2009.

I am looking forward to graduating from college with a degree in Bachelor of Arts in Journalism. And hopefully – but unsurely – the top honors that go with it. I am profoundly grateful that even if graduation is still in the distance, I was already given an informal invitation announced on several occasions to teach at the Colegio.

I am looking forward to my first real big holiday in Europe next summer when I can be with friends and people who are important and dear to me. I am looking forward to flying to the United States also to visit the church in Los Angeles – yes, the one the Lord has helped me to start in 2007, and to provide company even for a short while to another dear friend in Chicago .

I am looking forward to planning my first business venture along with some friends – a chain of barber shops that will help hone whatever entrepreneurial skills I have in my bones.

I am looking forward to taking my time easy.

I am looking forward to living.

But life would not have been this wonderful and marvelous and remarkable and splendid without friends who make living worthwhile. I have become what I am and who I am, by the grace of God, and by the flame that friendships have brought into my life. Without these two factors, I would be merely existing.


Now that 2009 has likewise come to a close, there is no better way to go than to look back and give thanks to what were looked forward to in the preceding year that, by the grace of God, indeed, came into fruition. The hard three-and-a-half-year work has paid me off handsomely.

I am thankful that I graduated from Letran with a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism and the highest honor to boot – summa cum laude – which collected for me three gold medals at the commencement exercise in April. These brought to six the total of academic medals received from the Colegio.

Along with that, I received the Best Journalism Thesis – the one that tackled the presidency of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo through the eyes of Manuel L. Quezon III’s “The Long View” column. There were also recognition for my team’s work on dissecting GMA Channel 7’s “24 Oras” which won for us the Best Policy Paper in Media Ethics; the Best Development Communication Plan for my group’s “Hopeful Homeless”; the Best Desktop Magazine for my publication team’s “Buhay Intramuros”. I also received another trophy for the Best Integrated Marketing Communication which credited my work on information dissemination for the promotion of a trimester at Letran. In all, I received a total of 13 Excellance trophies throughout my brief stay at the Colegio.

I failed to fly to the United States for lack of time, but I was able to travel to and spend one month in Europe. I visited my German friends – the Abeles – who took the time to take me around the north of Germany with a side-trip to Denmark and the Czech Republic. I was also able to attend Papa Herman and Mama Hanny Pruijt’s 50th wedding anniversary in Holland. Looking back, I could not have imagined that after 9 years, it would have been possible for me to come to Europe again. But as many things that had been afforded me in the past, I have always believed that one has to want something so bad to make it really happen. I believed. I received.

When I had my KIA Pride in 2003, I acknowledged that this cute little white car was God’s gift and vowed never to trade it for anything. I have always been in love with smaller cars, how easy to drive them, how slick, efficient and practical in a traffic-laden metropolis. But after two electrical short-circuits while driving startled and traumatized me, I always had trepidations every time I ignite the machine. Slowly, I distanced myself from driving and went on to wistfully ache for a new car. I remember muttering under my breath: I will only drive again if I have a new car to run around in.

On October 13, I received this wonderful gift: a 2010 gray Toyota Avanza which in three weeks time became registered to my name with the plate number NBI 619. What an amazing dream-come-true. More than two months later, I still have not breached the 3,000 kilometers mark, and driving has regained its important place in my day-to-day routine. Though apprehensive at first because driving takes away a lot of nitty-gritty things I can do if I was commuting, I am now beginning to look forward being behind the steering wheel as it allows me to have some precious quiet moments with my Father, and revel in the selection of eclectic music I play in the car that relaxes my nerves. Bliss!

And finally, just as I thought I’d be running out of things to thank God for in 2009, I suddenly turned 50! With a few friends to help me celebrate my golden year anniversary on December 16, I let loose my Scrooge instinct and went on to spend a good deal of my Christmas bonus to sip wine, have good food, trade hello’s, and listen to retro music as this looked-forward-to calendar event unfolded.

I am 50, this is 2010, and I am beginning to count my blessings.