To Deserve Or Not To Deserve

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a quote, which I found relationally sensible. The line went: "If one cannot accept you at your worst, he/she doesn't deserve you at your best."

Side A:

Broken-hearted people, those who have just called it quits with their partners, and even those whose break-up already belongs to distant history but are still chattel to their failed relationship, can find this somehow comforting. Comforting, when they are confident they were the better partners, better choices, and yet they were abandoned for somebody else. Abandoned, perhaps because the people who left them looked into the worst in them with bridled eyes and would not accept them for who they were; those who left failed to see the best in their erstwhile partners, proving themselves unworthy of them in their best selves.

Side B:

Exhausted people, those who had been silently screaming they wanted out of their suffocating relationship and eventually gained their freedom, those who fell out of love, those who stopped fighting for love, those who simply declared "it's not working", might consider stopping for a while and re-think what really went wrong, not so much to find a reason or two to set their feet back towards the arms that once embraced them. One of the many possible reasons could have been that they were drawn to the shadows rather than the lights, to the storm rather than the rainbow. They did not understand and accept their partners in their worst selves, and so they took flight. But by fleeing, they were calling themselves undeserving of the love of those they left behind. By fleeing, they were leaving the persons who might truly love them. By fleeing, they could possibly be missing the persons meant for them.

A piece of New York in Laoag (A Repost)

October 2. I am inside a car right now which will bring me, Fr. Joel, Fr. Nars and Lo Dennis to Niagara Falls, Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City. It is a great time to go up north when leaves start to turn yellow, orange and red. I am a nature-lover, and it has always been my wish to see North America in autumn. Although summer seems fighting to keep itself felt and green is still the dominant color, I’m just glad to be on this road where the beauty of autumn is now written on the trees.

I, together with Fr. Joel, strolled through the streets of Manhattan yesterday, as we did last year. I love New York. What makes the home of the Knicks amazing to me is that, although downtown Manhattan is a jungle of skyscrapers, tall, verdant trees stand majestically along the streets which waves of men and women in suit as well as those trying hard to live a New Yorker’s life traverse every day of rat-race. When I walk amid pairs of maple or elm trees that line busy streets, I feel I am on that spot of the world where I just want to be.

We took the subway to 96th St. to go to Central Park. That street hits the middle of the park. We could have gone as far as 106th St. in the north and stroll all the way down to the southern tip of the park, but because it is so vast a park an hour would never be enough to enjoy it, we decided to go down at 96th. I missed Central Park last year, and I was not going to let this opportunity to enjoy nature in the middle of Manhattan, including the possibility of spotting at least a couple of Hollywood stars, pass me by a second time. And there I was relishing every inch of that American parks system masterpiece. The trees, the ponds, the bridges, the cafes are exactly where they should be. No actor appeared yesterday, but being at Central Park was joy enough. I was just a tourist in New York, but something told me this is paradise for New Yorkers and even for tourists like me, a haven amid the hustle and bustle of exhausting American life so characteristic of the metropolitan northeast. It is an oasis in the desert of what would otherwise be boring buildings. It is the crowning glory of the financial capital of the world, not the New York Stock Exchange Building on Wall Street, nor the Empire State Building, although New York is called the Empire State. New York is not New York without the Central Park. Well, that’s according to me.

I sat beside, well, not too near, a young lady who lay herself on the bench. She was reading a book. Several were just lying on the green carpet. A black man was walking his two dogs. European and Asian tourists, including a Filipino couple based in California, walked past me. A pair of what seemed to me were teen couples were enjoying their walk while chatting. Birds and squirrels had their own ways of relishing their moments. Further away, the big pockets were sipping their whisky, brandy or cognac in the café. Everything was perfect.

What if the space was used to hold more buildings and not the 26,000 trees it now protects? It could have meant more money for the city and the state. But the powers that be, visionaries as they were, opted to dedicate this portion of the land for the creation of a park, thus hallowing it, for by its ponds, on the benches, along its pathways or upon its green spread, the God of creation might be encountered.

And then I suddenly felt the intense desire for a Central Park in my home city of Laoag arrest me. I wanted to see a park, a greenery, a huge garden, in the heart of Laoag where the young and old, the big pockets and those who can hardly make both ends meet, relax and just be themselves, as I was doing.

The space where I am imagining the Central Park could be is presently the site of the Central Elementary School. There are now talks about moving the school to a more conducive location. If the transfer is carried out, I’d be jumping about to see a Central Park there, and not anything else.

It’s autumn in America. The idea of putting a piece of New York in that little space of Laoag may be nothing else but wishful thinking. Be that as it may, I’m still like a leaf holding on to the tree about that wish, praying not to blown away by a heartless, tempestuous wind or to be left taken for granted until it falls. I’m not about to hoist the white flag of surrender. Autumn may turn to winter, when everything would be frozen. But who knows, there are still people somewhere whose hearts aren’t and who share my wish of seeing spring come alive on that space in Laoag.

Mal-education

It was already November, but the Educational Service Contracting (ESC) fund for the private schools in Ilocos Norte had not yet been made available. This naturally caused anxiety among school administrators who were relying on it for their teachers’ salaries. Think of the many angry teachers who had mouths to feed, not only their own. To complicate things, there was actually one – only one – school in all Ilocos Norte that obtained its funding as soon as the ESC fund for the entire Philippines was released around September by the Department of Education but presumably with the go-signal of Malacanang. That needed explanation. It turned out that that school went straight to Manila to withdraw its share. Now, where had the fund been hiding for two months? With all the advancement in today’s banking system – electronic transfers and all that – it was quite easy to get suspicious and cast a doubtful look on the people in-charge of wiring funds.

Last year, the province received approximately 28 million pesos. That’s a huge sum. If it were deposited at a rate of 10% per annum for two months, it could earn as much as close to half a million. And if those people, in fact, deposited the money for that duration, where had the interest money gone? Would it be libelous to state that that interest money had gone to their already fat pockets? Cunning men will always find fat cows to milk, even if they were not their own.

It is Gospel truth and common sense suggests that for a field to produce much, it has to be prepared; it must be plowed, its stones and weeds taken away. In like manner, for a student to be fruitful, his stones and weeds must also be flushed out from his system. Education is the process of removing stones and weeding out in students. The Department of Education ought to be the agency through which this critical process must take place. Now, that this government agency itself needs to submit itself to a thorough stone-removing and weeding out is almost glaringly true. Could it be that those government people, who are supposed to be educated – and enlightened – were mal-educated after all? How bleak the future of students look!

A piece of New York in Laoag

October 2. I am inside a car right now which will bring me, Fr. Joel, Fr. Nars and Lo Dennis to Niagara Falls, Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City. It is a great time to go up north when leaves start to turn yellow, orange and red. I am a nature-lover, and it has always been my wish to see North America in autumn. Although summer seems fighting to keep itself felt and green is still the dominant color, I’m just glad to be on this road where the beauty of autumn is now written on the trees.

I, together with Fr. Joel, strolled through the streets of Manhattan yesterday, as we did last year. I love New York. What makes the home of the Knicks amazing to me is that, although downtown Manhattan is a jungle of skyscrapers, tall, verdant trees stand majestically along the streets which waves of men and women in suit as well as those trying hard to live a New Yorker’s life traverse every day of rat-race. When I walk amid pairs of maple or elm trees that line busy streets, I feel I am on that spot of the world where I just want to be.

We took the subway to 96th St. to go to Central Park. That street hits the middle of the park. We could have gone as far as 106th St. in the north and stroll all the way down to the southern tip of the park, but because it is so vast a park an hour would never be enough to enjoy it, we decided to go down at 96th. I missed Central Park last year, and I was not going to let this opportunity to enjoy nature in the middle of Manhattan, including the possibility of spotting at least a couple of Hollywood stars, pass me by a second time. And there I was relishing every inch of that American parks system masterpiece. The trees, the ponds, the bridges, the cafes are exactly where they should be. No actor appeared yesterday, but being at Central Park was joy enough. I was just a tourist in New York, but something told me this is paradise for New Yorkers and even for tourists like me, a haven amid the hustle and bustle of exhausting American life so characteristic of the metropolitan northeast. It is an oasis in the desert of what would otherwise be boring buildings. It is the crowning glory of the financial capital of the world, not the New York Stock Exchange Building on Wall Street, nor the Empire State Building, although New York is called the Empire State. New York is not New York without the Central Park. Well, that’s according to me.

I sat beside, well, not too near, a young lady who lay herself on the bench. She was reading a book. Several were just lying on the green carpet. A black man was walking his two dogs. European and Asian tourists, including a Filipino couple based in California, walked past me. A pair of what seemed to me were teen couples were enjoying their walk while chatting. Birds and squirrels had their own ways of relishing their moments. Further away, the big pockets were sipping their whisky, brandy or cognac in the café. Everything was perfect.

What if the space was used to hold more buildings and not the 26,000 trees it now protects? It could have meant more money for the city and the state. But the powers that be, visionaries as they were, opted to dedicate this portion of the land for the creation of a park, thus hallowing it, for by its ponds, on the benches, along its pathways or upon its green spread, the God of creation might be encountered.

And then I suddenly felt the intense desire for a Central Park in my home city of Laoag arrest me. I wanted to see a park, a greenery, a huge garden, in the heart of Laoag where the young and old, the big pockets and those who can hardly make both ends meet, relax and just be themselves, as I was doing.

The space where I am imagining the Central Park could be is presently the site of the Central Elementary School. There are now talks about moving the school to a more conducive location. If the transfer is carried out, I’d be jumping about to see a Central Park there, and not anything else.

It’s autumn in America. The idea of putting a piece of New York in that little space of Laoag may be nothing else but wishful thinking. Be that as it may, I’m still like a leaf holding on to the tree about that wish, praying not to blown away by a heartless, tempestuous wind or to be left taken for granted until it falls. I’m not about to hoist the white flag of surrender. Autumn may turn to winter, when everything would be frozen. But who knows, there are still people somewhere whose hearts aren’t and who share my wish of seeing spring come alive on that space in Laoag.

Alive and idle

After all, the bridge is still there. And now more than ever, I feel that Christians from both sides do desire to cross the bridge to the other side.

The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity is an opportune time to live up to the desire of Jesus: that all may be one. Despite our differences, we can still be united as children of the One God. This week, we made the prayer of the Lord our own. We realized that, indeed, the divisions and tensions that the world witnesses from us Christians do not reflect our being – our being Christians. We scandalize the world because we profess that we are children of God, that we believe in Jesus, and yet we separate ourselves from one another, sometimes even throw stones on one another. Now, the world can see who we truly are.

Openness and willingness to change. These broke down the walls that wrapped us up in isolation from one another for so long. With openness, we saw that the God of our brethren is the same God we adore and love. We were willing to change our distorted perception that the Holy Spirit is only working in our Church. More importantly, we learned to accept that we do not compose the Church of Jesus individually, but together, we are that Church.

“How good it is to see when brothers dwell as one!” the world may exclaim as it witnesses the oneness that we are, as we pray together to God as his children for the needs of the world. We no longer scandalize the world – that much.

There are still stepping stones ahead before we reach the end. We are challenged to keep on moving, to push ourselves even farther.

As a Catholic participating in the religious gathering of another sect, I realized more and more the beauty of our liturgical celebrations. Appreciating the liturgy of the other sect, I got to think that our liturgy is far more meaningfully ordered. Somewhere in their liturgy, I felt uneasy because, in a very limited, human sense, the Holy Spirit seemed idle. He seems to be more alive in the Catholic Church. Of course, this is not to insult the Holy Spirit working in them.

Probably, these ideas of being alive and being idle can also be instructive of the whole work of ecumenism. We cannot let our desire for Christian unity remain idle but alive. Only then can the end be in sight. (January, 2001)

Clerical controversies in the eyes of a young cleric

Much ink has already been spilled on the issue of clerical “sexual” misappropriations. For a good number of times, this has been the dish of the broadsheets, and the broadsheets sold like hot potatoes. When the issue on Apo Bacani came up, it took the front page and was even the banner for a few days straight. The bishop “unwillingly” enjoyed a good share of airtime, too, on TV. And so he, who, I suppose, would be better known to the masa as the spiritual director of Velarde of the El Shaddai group, became a household name in an instant. The press, and mass media as a whole, has the power to do just that. It seizes people, noble or not, and uses them to spice up its otherwise dull papers, before it lets them go. Once they are let alone, breath would seem the only thing they have left. What’s a name without credibility? Good for them if they have no integrity to worry about. It’s really ironic to see how the press may disserve the truth. Noble people are killed before they are tried.

The wake of such clerical hitch usually sees the resurgence of the question whether priests should be allowed to marry, even as reasons for keeping to tradition, stretching from spiritual to practical, have time and again been presented. Abrogating the law on celibacy has often been put forward as the solution to the sexual misconducts of priests. Whose proposition? Mostly lay and a few clergymen. Like flaming liberals, these lay people who choose to see a non-celibate Catholic clergy forget that their priests chose to be celibate, in the first place. When they entered the priesthood, they knew full well the kind of life they were to live – a celibate life. And presumably they recognized its nobility and meaning, so they set their will to it. It’s the priests themselves who understand better than anybody else the whole import of celibacy to priestly ministry. I find it amusing, then, that the lay people should suggest “what would be good” to priests relative to their ministry. They are saying like, “I scratch your arm because it’s itchy.” Probably, they mean well. But I think they would be of better help if they just pray for their priests and create a nurturing atmosphere in which to do their ministry.

A recent study on American priests who have been 10 to 30 years in the ministry revealed that if they were to have a second shot at being a priest, they would choose to be celibate. If for some priests celibacy leads to a life of loneliness, the priests in the study attested that celibacy does not preclude warm friendships and intimate relationships. In fact, some of them even spoke of the freedom that celibacy gives them to have more such relationships than married couples. These relationships are the “I-Thou” kind, which enable them to be more effective, helping, enabling and loving. The priests I have come in contact with share the same sentiments. How, then, could the lay suggest, with a certain insistence, that the Catholic Church lift the celibacy law to solve the so-called clerical misappropriations? Of late, even an Aglipayan bishop figured in such sexual hitch, and he was very much married!

As a young cleric, I think there’s no better way to un-invite myself to such issue than choosing “to have a life.” I have to enjoy being a deacon, and being a priest later on, embracing the celibate life. I am convinced that being God’s minister is a significant way to spend my life, that what I do is important to the Church and to society. This conviction is sustained by a relationship with Jesus, by an active spiritual life involving prayer, scripture and liturgy. Looking at the days ahead, I will try to be authentic and form close relationships with my family and build a strong supporting network of priests. I will try to draw life from the people I serve, so that I will be able to serve them better. Listening first, I will allow my ministry to be characterized by service, compassion and empowerment. I will maintain a sense of balance and give myself a moment of repose. This is the life I see. (October, 2004)

Proudly for dogs!

I felt a certain pride - and, yes, hope - surge within me the first time my eyes came across a local food product labeled “Proudly, Made in the Philippines.” Definitely, the taste was great. It was comparable to a foreign counterpart. I sighed from relief and said to myself, “Now, there’s another thing I can be proud of.”

Today, I see many other local food products bearing the same tatak. And this tatak is yet to fail me. It has become the guarantee of the satisfaction I always want to derive from a product. It is good choice.

I believe that there is something more in these “proudly” products. I cannot escape thinking that they must have passed the careful scrutiny of quality controllers. They are prepared satisfactorily, and packed artfully and skillfully. They are made perfect for consumers - perfect for me! – so that there’s no more entertaining second thoughts. Choose them, and you choose well.

No, I don’t wish to round off those who do not bear this label as defective or of low quality. In fact, there are many of these which are “quality”. But of course, one cannot tell unless he tries it. I did, and my tongue can testify to it. I myself could label them “Proudly, Made in the Philippines.”

But products marked “Export Quality” hardly attract me. I find the premise a bit offensive to me as a Filipino consumer. Come to think of it: The producers seem to reason that by labeling their products this way, the Filipino consumer, realizing that these products were somehow intended for more discreet palates (Pease, excuse me.), would pick them. Oh-huh. The producers would seem to tell local consumers: “Now, these products are made available for you. Buy them. This is your chance to taste what is really proposed for foreign tongues.” By golly! Why, are Filipinos not entitled to use or eat delicious things? Do we only deserve something less? Hey, Filipinos are not dogs waiting for the crumbs to fall from strangers’ table.

I don’t think this is simply a question of tatak. “Export Quality” reflects the kind of mentality certain producers have. They produce this quality because they are meant for local consumption, anyway. But they manufacture that quality because they are intended for “greater” races. Hah! From another angle, such tatak only bespeaks the ordinary or, better, real general quality of Filipino products: they are not export quality. The “Export Quality” items, then, seem to be some desperate move to attract buyers. Probably, their producers would like to bank on the colonial mentality of their target market, which, good for them, appears still as the order of the day.

You may say I am overacting. Maybe, I do. Let me think . . . There! Maybe, this sort of labeling is index to some fact that Filipino products have improved. Considerably, if I may say. Now, that’s really good news. Such tatak may be to shout to Filipino ears that local products are no longer inferior to their foreign counterparts, or at least, they are no longer lagging far behind. The Filipino product is export quality, or superior quality. But wait, what about those I tried which can barely pass the “good quality” mark? Wouldn’t this lend support to my earlier claim? So you see, labels may be used indiscriminately. To mislead or deceive, not excluded.
Ouch! My dear label could be guilty of it! Well, at least, as I said, “Proudly, Made in the Philippines” items have always satisfied me.

To the producers using the “Export Quality” label, can’t you come up with a better strategy? In the very least, don’t use it unless your products really are.

For all this, call me non-sense. Go on, suit yourselves. (I say this deferentially.) But I stick to what I think. Just don’t say that my thinking is just for dogs!