I am normally not a concert bug, but when ‘Santana’ decided to play at Madison Square Garden, I did not hesitate to get tickets. During my teen years, his music was “it” in all dancing parties. I remember those times (about 30some years ago), when our dancing parties were held in houses.
The living room would be emptied of stuff, with chairs lined up against the wall, leaving the center space for dancing. The place was dimly lighted except for occasional colored lights strategically placed. At other times, ‘katol’ was the only light you could see, thus adding some aroma effect. (incense wasn't that popular yet) The sound system were mostly vinyl long playing albums or the 45 rpm type.
Anyway, the party would start when most of the chairs would be filled up by the ladies and the music would commence. At the sound of the first note, the guys would rush to their choice of ladies and extend their hands to invite them for a dance. The lady would then reciprocate by touching the guys hand, who will then lead her to the dance floor. After the music ends, if the guy was a gentleman, he would return his dancing partner to her seat; otherwise both would just separate at the dance floor, leaving the woman to find her way back to her seat.
I would remember those times at a party, when at the note of a Santana song, two to five hands would be in front of my face. I would look up to choose who I would be dancing with, but the guys were smart because they would turn their faces away with hands extended for the invite. I would presume that this behavior was a testicular game. Well, at this point, I really didn’t care, just as long as I could dance to the music of ‘oye como va‘ .
Santana and his band really brought out the memories in me. This time, I did not have to wait for any guy to dance with me (although my husband was beside me). When Santana would play a familiar song, I would gyrate in my seat, move my head (now I know what a head bang is) and sometimes clap my hands or click my fingers to the beat . I would have wanted to stand but desisted from doing, so as not to distract the view of those behind me. I just made a joyful but loud noise on my own. After the 2 hour show, my adrenalin was still high and I was still smiling as we took the train back home.
Recalling the parties we had, and comparing them to my children’s were totally different. I remembered when my first born son Wiggy, asked to have a party at home. My role was just the food and he would do the rest. That night turned out to be a total revelation.
Early in the evening, my son and some of his friends were jamming at home. (My son had his first Pearl drum set when he was 15). I didn’t understand his music, but I guess they were today’s sound by the look of the guests’ faces. Some girls came by themselves to the party, which during my day was totally unheard of. (a guy had to pick you up chaperoned or would be dropped off by a parent). Since I prohibited hard liquor, san mig beer and soda were their only drinks. Punch was passe. After their jamming, they ate and after that,the whole night was spent on talking…drinking …talking…and drinking …..and .. talking… I was waiting for the dance to start, but there wasn’t any, to my surprise. My son and his brood of guests were having a blast just by talking and laughing and making fun. No dancing, no katol, no dark lights. Surprisingly too, no sweet /slow dancing. This meant, no wall flower. Ask a teener what the word meant and he wouldn’t have a clue. (Actually when one is considered a wall flower, there were few or no invites from the males--very discriminatory)
Fast forward 15 years after my son’s party, present day 2008, I am now at a Brooklyn bar, sipping a margarita in a plastic cup. With me is my daughter in law and a few of her friends. The bar is dimly lit, and scores of young adults in their 20's are inter mingling with each other. While we wait for my son and his band to perform their gig, we squeeze our way through the crowded bar towards the rear side where a pool table was situated. A few yards right behind the pool table was another closed area where the bands would play. Tonight it would be my first time to hear my son play with his band in America.
I have heard him play in the Philippines with other Filipinos, but this is the first time I would hear him play with three other nationalities . Moreover, it was a first also for me to be in a bar in the U.S. Half a drink later, Wiggy's band<> started to set up. We then proceeded to the next room and situated ourselves near the stage. Just as the room was filling up, the band started to play. The momentum gradually started building up, and by the second song, people started dancing. I could not contain myself and even moved with the rhythm. The whole evening came with the euphoria such that of Santana at Madison Square Garden. My adrenalin remained at its peak that evening as we came home. I am so proud of my son.
Click to this site and you will know what I'm talking about.
http://www.myspace.com/thegloriousveins
Whether it's a Santana or The Glorious Veins, for as long as you feel the beat, you just got to let go.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
My experiences
I have been very busy the past weekends right before Christmas and until now. It is only during the weekends that I am free to do what I want but have not done so since I have a husband to attend to, children to shop for, grandchildren to baby sit and a host of other house chores to do. And by the time I plan to do something for myself, the weekend has been consumed and I'm back on the daily grind.
Today is the second Sunday of February. After morning service , Mike and I had a quiet lunch. AFter, I got ready to go to the library where I plan to spend a whole afternoon just thinking . If only he'd have the router fixed so I can just stay home and do internet in bed.
So here I am, pounding the keys of my laptop, oblivious of my surroundings.
This morning I decided to write about my school experience.
St. Theresa's was the only school I attended. Be it in San Marcelino in Manila, Quezon City and finally in Cebu.
When I was in Grade 6 being a board monitor or to carry the books of a teacher was a priviledge. It meant that you were in the teacher's favor. I was a favored one of Mrs. Pacaldo who at that time recognized my ballet skill. She asked me to create 5-6 ballet steps for her Grade 1 pupils, which she would use for a program. The times I would be called out of class for a few minutes to join Ms. Pacaldo's Grade 1 class was like being in cloud 9.
Then there was Ms. Rodriguez, my language teacher, who thought that I should represent her class in a declamation contest. It was indeed an honor since the piece that I declaimed was the same piece that my mother did during her elementary days. I did not give it justice, since my mom placed first and I only placed third.
The best times of my high school life was during my senior year.
My first summer job, right before my senior year, was being a secretary to a fraternity (and if my memory serves me right, it was called 'the Gazebians'). They embarked on a concert that brought in a then aspiring group called "the Apo Hiking Society". My association with one of the singers was memorable however, short lived considering that long distance relationships has never been me. After that stint, although the Apo continues to be famous and does numerous appearances, that one and only show I saw was just as eventful. And just as well, the summer job was just for that summer.
Academically speaking, I was good in Math but never in the Sciences. In Algebra,Geometry and Trigonometry I was in the top 5 of the class. However I flunked Biology, and in Science and Physics I was always in the bottom 5. Jesse, a tall and lanky cute looking (at that time) male was our physics teacher. Jesse was not only a teacher but a friend, after all, he was just 5 years my senior and was Mike's classmate. (again!) I became a priviledged student when it came to him. My classmates knew it because they saw and felt it. If they wanted to tell him something, sometimes they would come to me. I became their link, their mediator...Anyway, I will never forget that time when he called me in my house. He was disappointed about our grades and our performances, because it was not up to par. But then he did a little explanation and came up with a solution. Instead of expecting too much from all of us, he decided to lower his standard. In his standard, I was suppose to flunk, (and so would many others), however, since he was lowering his standard would 77% be allright by me? If he was not on the phone, I could've kissed him. It's better than a failing grade noh? Nevertheless, I was just glad we were friends and not just a teacher-student relationship. During my senior year, I was 'kilig to the bones' when I was being treated special. And did I tell you, we went on a double date during my senior year. Is that something or what! Just like the apo moment, the physics moment also came to an end. That same year!
In college, I became a 'star' during my freshmen year. St. Theresa's Cebu presented an annual play entitled 'Terana'. I was chosen to do the lead role. The male roles were given to the seminarians of San Carlos under the direction of Fr. Rudy Villanueva, our musical director. We practiced for 2 months and went home no later than 9 every night. It was my first time singing solo so my grandmother enrolled me under a renowned vocalist in Cebu. Two weeks before curtain call, I got sick. My fever was so high that I was completely dazed. My mother ordered me to have I.V. fluids and was kept home for 2 days to recuperate. Luckily I did bounce back and was able to do all the shows.
Having had that experience has caused me to differ any ambition with the industry. I am content with the behind the scene experiences as contrast to the front line battlefield.
During my third year college, (and in this order) I became pregnant, got married, and gave birth to my first born. We were living with my in-laws so there were many adjustments to be made. It was also during this time that I got a job as a nursery school teacher. A relative had a school and needed part time help. And my husband, still finishing his senior year in college and doing part time as draftsman, didn't want additional burden on his parents so we took in jobs. So juggling my hours from being a teacher, student, mother and an in-law was difficult.
Two years after becoming a mom, I graduated my bachellors degree in accounting. AFter this we moved out of my in-laws and rented an apartment right accross my in-laws house.
Being a homebody or just being a 'housewife' was not part of my job description for my life. Managing might be, but not the manual aspect of it.
My mother was often out of the house. She was doing office work at the printing press of my dad. Or was selling insurance in my grandfather's company. She was seldom home. And when my parents separated, and I lived with my mom, my grandmother was the influential person in my life. I would have all my meals with my maternal grandparents and Lola Panyang will never cease to put in my head to get a college degree no matter what. It is the ticket to my future.
Moreover, my grandma was a socialite. I would help her whenever she had parties. I know her ritual very well. A week before the party she would have the servants put out the china and the silver ware to be cleaned. She would then set the plates in their places and cover it with a blanket for the dust. Two days before, she would have the whole place decorated. Cutting orchids from the garden, bringing in the plants and placing strategically all over. The day before the party, the serving plates will be lined up in the buffet table, complete with serving spoons and forks. All this would be done by the servants but at your command. I can distinctly remember her telling me, "Vanette, use your mouth and not your hands. Sit down and tell them what to do!" This was my first lesson in manegerial skills. Lola was a good manager.
Okay...got to go..the library is about to close..will write more about what life is for me after college. Whoever reads this hope you had fun.
Today is the second Sunday of February. After morning service , Mike and I had a quiet lunch. AFter, I got ready to go to the library where I plan to spend a whole afternoon just thinking . If only he'd have the router fixed so I can just stay home and do internet in bed.
So here I am, pounding the keys of my laptop, oblivious of my surroundings.
This morning I decided to write about my school experience.
St. Theresa's was the only school I attended. Be it in San Marcelino in Manila, Quezon City and finally in Cebu.
When I was in Grade 6 being a board monitor or to carry the books of a teacher was a priviledge. It meant that you were in the teacher's favor. I was a favored one of Mrs. Pacaldo who at that time recognized my ballet skill. She asked me to create 5-6 ballet steps for her Grade 1 pupils, which she would use for a program. The times I would be called out of class for a few minutes to join Ms. Pacaldo's Grade 1 class was like being in cloud 9.
Then there was Ms. Rodriguez, my language teacher, who thought that I should represent her class in a declamation contest. It was indeed an honor since the piece that I declaimed was the same piece that my mother did during her elementary days. I did not give it justice, since my mom placed first and I only placed third.
The best times of my high school life was during my senior year.
My first summer job, right before my senior year, was being a secretary to a fraternity (and if my memory serves me right, it was called 'the Gazebians'). They embarked on a concert that brought in a then aspiring group called "the Apo Hiking Society". My association with one of the singers was memorable however, short lived considering that long distance relationships has never been me. After that stint, although the Apo continues to be famous and does numerous appearances, that one and only show I saw was just as eventful. And just as well, the summer job was just for that summer.
Academically speaking, I was good in Math but never in the Sciences. In Algebra,Geometry and Trigonometry I was in the top 5 of the class. However I flunked Biology, and in Science and Physics I was always in the bottom 5. Jesse, a tall and lanky cute looking (at that time) male was our physics teacher. Jesse was not only a teacher but a friend, after all, he was just 5 years my senior and was Mike's classmate. (again!) I became a priviledged student when it came to him. My classmates knew it because they saw and felt it. If they wanted to tell him something, sometimes they would come to me. I became their link, their mediator...Anyway, I will never forget that time when he called me in my house. He was disappointed about our grades and our performances, because it was not up to par. But then he did a little explanation and came up with a solution. Instead of expecting too much from all of us, he decided to lower his standard. In his standard, I was suppose to flunk, (and so would many others), however, since he was lowering his standard would 77% be allright by me? If he was not on the phone, I could've kissed him. It's better than a failing grade noh? Nevertheless, I was just glad we were friends and not just a teacher-student relationship. During my senior year, I was 'kilig to the bones' when I was being treated special. And did I tell you, we went on a double date during my senior year. Is that something or what! Just like the apo moment, the physics moment also came to an end. That same year!
In college, I became a 'star' during my freshmen year. St. Theresa's Cebu presented an annual play entitled 'Terana'. I was chosen to do the lead role. The male roles were given to the seminarians of San Carlos under the direction of Fr. Rudy Villanueva, our musical director. We practiced for 2 months and went home no later than 9 every night. It was my first time singing solo so my grandmother enrolled me under a renowned vocalist in Cebu. Two weeks before curtain call, I got sick. My fever was so high that I was completely dazed. My mother ordered me to have I.V. fluids and was kept home for 2 days to recuperate. Luckily I did bounce back and was able to do all the shows.
Having had that experience has caused me to differ any ambition with the industry. I am content with the behind the scene experiences as contrast to the front line battlefield.
During my third year college, (and in this order) I became pregnant, got married, and gave birth to my first born. We were living with my in-laws so there were many adjustments to be made. It was also during this time that I got a job as a nursery school teacher. A relative had a school and needed part time help. And my husband, still finishing his senior year in college and doing part time as draftsman, didn't want additional burden on his parents so we took in jobs. So juggling my hours from being a teacher, student, mother and an in-law was difficult.
Two years after becoming a mom, I graduated my bachellors degree in accounting. AFter this we moved out of my in-laws and rented an apartment right accross my in-laws house.
Being a homebody or just being a 'housewife' was not part of my job description for my life. Managing might be, but not the manual aspect of it.
My mother was often out of the house. She was doing office work at the printing press of my dad. Or was selling insurance in my grandfather's company. She was seldom home. And when my parents separated, and I lived with my mom, my grandmother was the influential person in my life. I would have all my meals with my maternal grandparents and Lola Panyang will never cease to put in my head to get a college degree no matter what. It is the ticket to my future.
Moreover, my grandma was a socialite. I would help her whenever she had parties. I know her ritual very well. A week before the party she would have the servants put out the china and the silver ware to be cleaned. She would then set the plates in their places and cover it with a blanket for the dust. Two days before, she would have the whole place decorated. Cutting orchids from the garden, bringing in the plants and placing strategically all over. The day before the party, the serving plates will be lined up in the buffet table, complete with serving spoons and forks. All this would be done by the servants but at your command. I can distinctly remember her telling me, "Vanette, use your mouth and not your hands. Sit down and tell them what to do!" This was my first lesson in manegerial skills. Lola was a good manager.
Okay...got to go..the library is about to close..will write more about what life is for me after college. Whoever reads this hope you had fun.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Just Thinking
When one follows the teachings of Christ, does that automatically qualify him as a Christian? Or when someone follows the Zen teaching and meditates, does one become a Buddhist? Many times, religion dictates some rituals that have to be initiated before being considered a follower.
That’s the issue about organized and institutionalized spirituality. Adhering to practices and rituals are not the basis of embracing true spirituality. If so, then it is called religion.
That’s the issue about organized and institutionalized spirituality. Adhering to practices and rituals are not the basis of embracing true spirituality. If so, then it is called religion.
To be a catholic, it is mandatory as a child to be baptized by water. In other denominations of Christianity, it is total immersion (like in a pool or water bath) and only after some self realizations . Either way, it is still a ritual. Moreover, there is a contention that once an unbeliever commits to the ‘sinner’s prayer’, he has started his journey to becoming a Christian. But how then, will you know.
So how do you know you are a Christian?
I do not go around announcing that I am Christian, not because I am afraid to proclaim Christ but because if things go wrong and people see the sinfulness in me, (which is often how many people judge) they will associate that behavior with my belief. However, on the other hand, if people see the goodness and admire the works as a result, I am quick to imply that I have had the teaching of the great master, Jesus Christ.
I am reminded of a story when we had our STC silver jubilee a few years back. As part of the week long affair, a group of 30 Theresians, including myself, decided to spend a day at Bohol Beach Club. It was an hour and a half boat ride from Cebu so we decided to leave first trip in the morning. As we gathered in the terminal, the group became rambunctious and had turkey like laughters., when one gobbled , the rest followed. It was not like we were teenagers, we were in our 40’s! Nevertheless, when it was time to board, the leader of our group decided to shout for all to hear, “HEY you pretty INMACULADISTAS! Time to BOARD!’ We all looked at her and she whispered, “Shush! I know we were loud and rude, and I had to make sure we kept our Theresian dignity, so for those who don’t know us, now they think that Inmaculadistas are the rowdy ones.”
The scenario depicted is one where the sinful nature is exemplified and decreasing the impact of undignified behavior has placed the blame on someone else. Like Adam’s own sin when the Lord asked him whether he ate the forbidden fruit, and he claims, “Lord the woman you gave me, she made me do it.” (Gen 3:12)
So again, how do you know you are a Christian? The bible says, “you will know them by their fruits.” (Mathew 7:16) Explicitly said. So if a person is good, kind and bears as much fruit in terms of what the ‘Christian ethics’ seem to say, will you consider him a Christian even without a sinner’s prayer or immersion in water?
On the other hand, if one did all the rituals, prayed the sinners prayer and proclaimed Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior yet is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, does that negate him from heavenly promises.
Christianity when done as an organized religion more often than not, misses out the real meaning of its true teachings. Some churches stick to the dogmas, leaving very little room for practicum in the large scale scenario. When asked if organized religion can approach God, Michael Cunningham, a journalist had this to say: “…I do think that the very idea of dogma--the notion that I’m right and you’re wrong-- opens the door to the kind of extremism that clearly seems to be the most dangerous force in the world today.”
A few years ago, a pastor who was very close to us, erred in his ‘spiritual walk’. We did what the bible dictated which is called the ‘3 steps’. Confront personally, then bring a witness, then finally bring it up to the authorities in the church. (Mathew 18:15-17) However, the tables were turned against us by the pastor to the point that we were accused of spreading false rumors. The very person that we looked up to, whom we have only cared with the best of interest, has now become a perpetrator. The religious institution that we thought would bring answers to our spiritual growth has now been the ground for much doubt and skepticism. The very people who called themselves Christians in the church, were now taking sides.
It is sad to note that the very teaching of Christ about forgiveness and compassion is not the path that is taken but is often only a subject for conversations and counselling. The true meaning of Christianity has been argued with verses of scripture, and interpretations of scholars. Yet in all these gymnastics of apologetics and excergesis, the walk is more pronounced than the talk.
In Northern Ireland, there is a very strong rift between the Catholics and the Protestants to the point that killings from either denominations are ordinary. There is what they call a Peace Line made of a 5 meter concrete and metal structure which separates one from the other. Some consider it like the Berlin Wall in Germany. When the Dalai Lama visited Northern Ireland to give a speeck to both factions, he was saddened by such division and said, “ Isn’t it incredible that people of the same Christian faith should fight one with another?” Then he continued, “it seems foolish. I feel as if my head is spinning around from your problems. If somebody compared Buddhism and Christianity, then we have to think, yes, there are big differences. But between Catholics and Protestants? It’s nothing! You and I have more differences than you do among yourselves. But I wish for you never lose hope. I can do nothing. The final outcome lies in the hands of the people of Northern Ireland.”
Such is the case even among us Christians in the sense that we are so fixed on the letter of the law, the dogmas, the doctrines, the essentials and even the fundamentalism of the faith, that we forget the true meaning of the lessons.
Fast forward several years (present day now), the erring pastor has been exposed by no less than his paramour with whom he has two children. A friend says, that I have been vindicated and that God is in control. We were all saddened (and to be honest--relieved) about this revelation that the only recourse now was for the pastor to be disfellowshiped.
Disfellowship would mean disassociation from the person and having no fellowship until he repents. To whom, I say? To the church, to God? To the faithful he conned? To his family?
In Mathew 18:17 (again my christian friends remind me) “..if he neglects to hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican.” So the phrase here is actually to the church. The pastor who once became part of a church is now placed back again into the pool of unbelievers or people needing evangelization.
The bible never gave instructions for us not to associate with the sinners. In reality, Jesus loved being with the sinners more than the Pharisees, because the sinners were more authentic. The Pharisees were so engrossed with following the laws, trying to pin down Jesus with their laws and thus quick to make judgments.
In John Fischer’s book “12 steps for a recovering Pharisee including me”,he makes this statement.
“ It’s the Pharisees in us that wants control, and more than anything we want control over the rules of the game (This is common in all religions) When we follow this pattern, it works to our supposed advantage in the following way: We set a standard that some, but not all, are capable of achieving. This standard usually has the weight of an acceptable authority behind it.(in the Pharisees case it was the law of Moses, with today’s Christianity it can be one’s inerpretation of theBible) and yet it is conveniently reinterpreted and reduced to some picky list of do’s and don’ts that some people can’t do and others simply don’t care about, with good reason.”
Ido not condemn churches who disfellowship their members for good reason. They need to impose drastic steps to insure the untainting of the flock. For if when a rotting egg is placed in a basket, the whole bunch will turn rotten. Or the term identification by association can be disadvantageous to a congregation that have harbor notorious infidels.
On the other hand biblical teaching also states that if one sheep has strayed, the shepherd will go and leave the 99 looking for just that one sheep. Have we done our part in restoring that one sheep? Or do we wait as the father waited in the story of the prodigal son. Who knows how to judge the situation except the players or actors themselves?
I will contend with my belief that our God is merciful and no matter how sinful a person is, he can be restored one way or the other. It is not my contention to stay away from a sinner with a ten foot pole just so he will learn a lesson. A conscientious person will know the consequences of his actions. And a leper, even with the least of affliction, will know who his real friends are.
To restore an erring man of the robe is not as easy as it may sound. Like a teacher that hates to be taught or a driver that hates to be driven, certain approaches need be considered before taking on such task. And the first thing to do is just be a friend. That was what Jesus did when he was among sinners. He became their friend and not a judge that stayed away, or a Pharisee that questioned their every move. That to me is Christianity in the raw.
And to my beautiful cousin Fran, to your question what is it to be a Christian since all the other religions do the same thing, my answer is to follow Jesus Christ and His teachings. Now my challenge to you is, who is Jesus Christ and what are His teachings? That is for you to find out. Have fun, my cuzin!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Being Christian
One of the greatest compliment that I got from an atheist last year was the phrase, “ I wish all Christians were like you.” I pondered and thought what being “christian” really meant and how others perceive people to be ‘christian’.
A month ago, Christmas was celebrated to commemorate the birth of a saviour. However, many have confided the loss of its meaning. Even with family reunions and company parties, there are still broken relationships needing forgiveness or pride permeating the supposed jovial atmosphere. And with such materialism going around, many engage themselves with exceeding debts just to create that ‘show’ of prosperity that goes along with the season.
So what is a christian? It’s just like saying what is Christmas? Both words stem from the word Christ, yet, we have lost both the essential meanings and perspective of the word .
I was born catholic, if there was ever a term, but I became a christian believer 20 some years ago. It was not so much a soul searching kind of thing like most people that ‘converted’ would have done given an adversity on their lives. Mine were questions needing answers when the term “blind faith” no longer existed in my vocabulary. Doctrinal issues was one, way of life was another and a whole new perspective and dimension completed the whole picture.
My new found ’born-again experience introduced me into an ’us verses them’ mentality that I now came to realize only as being judgemental and sheltered. The thought of being confined to what my oldies termed as “don’t question those older than you” concept began to delve into the inner quest of learning more. After all, people do make mistakes. And when I did find my new faith more logical, I decided to go into it with passion and fire.
So when my relatives asked me what made me jump from Catholic to being protestant ,I immediately came into the most childish of answers. I would often conclude that many catholics are hypocritical.
Sunday christians go to mass to be seen, among other things. The males stay outside of the church smoking, and chatting with other males, then conclude that they have gone to church. Communion time comes, often make you segregate the more sinful commutants than those that are seemingly pious. You often become judgemental when gossipers walk up the altar to taste that round wafer letting the world know of their sinlessness , when just hours ago they were hurling curses .
And at other times, the feeling of only the the rich and moneyed have more access to the heavens. Every traditional ritual has a fee attached to it. Whether it is baptism, extreme unction, marriage, an amount is demanded before it is performed. Moreover, praying for the dead even had a fee whose names the priest blurted out during mass. Once when I was growing up, I could hear the priest say, “remember the souls of the departed such as ----and then he would say a litany of names. Few names meant fewer collection. And if there were more names, it would be carried over to the next mass. Oh Well! That was what it seemed when I was growing up.
I have long been out of touch with the the catholic rituals but I do enter the historical church buildings to admire their architecture. Sometimes, the walls talk to me as if for some reason they do have a story to tell. A wayward priest, an illicit affair, a scandalous episode…oh if only bricks could confide. But then again, these are just cement structures, and I probably have too much imagination.
The real church I later found out are the people that congregate. The fellowship, the sharing, and the closeness that is often felt by being part of a family. I have been blessed to experience having that kind of church. And even more. I have been in leadership, as well as behind the scenes.
Yet inspite of all these, the truly born-again experience is one that is deep, meaningful and life changing.
It does not jump from one religion of hierarchical dimension to another that is seemingly righteous and logical. Because in a way, religion develops its own culture whatever the denomination.
Many Christians are infatuated with their own churches. They have lost the true meaning of what being a Christian is. Sometimes, because of our passion for the Lord,we often force our beliefs on others oblivious to their feelings and thoughts. We do ambush evangelizations and engage in endless debates of how wrong their thoughts are if it does not jibe with what we believe in. Everywhere we go, the word “Lord” is always in all our statements.
There is nothing wrong with having a passionate and purposeful belief, but many ‘outsiders’ perception are often turned off by such tactics that instead of believers attracting them to the person of Christ, they are turned off by the ‘evangelist’ arm twisting and condescending attitude. Moreover, consciously or not, the arrogant behavior of many Christians often justify themselves with their feelings of moral and spiritual superiority.
For those so called “them” or “unbelievers” Christianity today no longer represent what Jesus had in mind, or what it was meant to be. As one outsider said, “Christianity has become bloated with blind followers who would rather repeat slogans than actually feel true compassion and care. Christianity has become marketed and streamlined into a juggernaut of fear mongering that has lost its own heart.”
So, how do we go about sharing God’s word without being judgmental and hypocritical? Or without being too pushy to the extent of not being welcomed? Many Christians often talk about the sinfulness of others, yet they fail to do anything about it. Sometimes, telling someone to pray for another is often a disguise for simple gossip, or that inviting an ‘unbeliever’ to a meal with a hidden agenda of evangelizing is no help in being called a ‘christian’.
We realize that there are many hurting people who do need comfort and a pill of preaching doesn’t always help. Moreover, people who portray a pious front yet in reality are worse than mongrels portray conflicting values. That is why Jesus would probably like to hang out with sinners and prostitutes , because they are transparent and do not have to prove anything.
Philip Yancey in his book what’s so amazing about grace clarifies the situation very well:
Having spent time around “sinners” and also around purported saints, I have a hunch why Jesus spent so much time with the former group: I think he preferred their company. Because the sinners were honest about themselves and had no pretense. Jesus could deal with them. In contrast, the saints put on airs, judged him, and sought to catch him in a moral trap. In the end it was the saints, not the sinners, who arrested Jesus.
Asking a denomination of ones belief often puts the situation into a them or us mentality. Wherein ones belief is a ticket for such an elitist organization and those without tickets, are grilled to join in. I have passed that stage.
My previous mentors would often say, “don’t just believe what I say, check your bible.” I have done that, and even went beyond. Or when the term “go, and make disciples…” I have done that too, with the arm twisting and the meal with the hidden agenda .Yet inspite of all these religious gymnast, I have learned that it is not I (or the ego) that is at work but most often is the case. We forget that the heart of these problems is really the problem of the heart.
Take the case of reacting to criticisms? If someone says that Christ and Santa are just one and the same, they are myths. Do we go baraging that critic for his shallow belief and false knowledge of the truth? Or when a prostitute and gossiper do their wayward deeds, are we quick to judge and condemn as such.
I have been criticized for being a relativist in the sense that I do not stand up for my faith. In reality, I do, but I choose my battles. The what would Jesus do slogan, makes us think twice before reacting to any given situation like those mentioned above. Many times Jesus was cornered and picked on by his critics about his morality and religious beliefs, yet he always answered them unpredictably. Sometimes in parables, in a question back forum or sometimes even in silence. Moreover, being careful into answering what lies behind the question or the motive, Jesus answers with deep insights that leave the crowd into thinking.
Being a relativist makes you understand the other person’s point of view. This kind of thinking makes me realize how to connect with people, their totality in a sense. Let me illustrate: One christian lady whose father was a policeman of the streets, say that the prostitutes in america sell their bodies to feed their habits. Either drugs, high living or convenience is the name of the game.However, when this same lady went on a missions trip in Thailand, she found a different story. Poor women who have children and whose husbands have left them, have no choice but to prostitute themselves in order to survive. This revelation came as a surprise and her outlook has extended to a more understanding of the ‘outside’ world.
Responding with the right perspective in mind is always beneficial. A condescending and condemning sprit has no place in drawing people near and listening to what you have to say.
Simply put, when an aspiring saint asked Mother Theresa, “How can I be like you?” her simple response was, “Find your own Calcutta.” She understood the core of the Christian life- the truest knowing comes in the doing.
A month ago, Christmas was celebrated to commemorate the birth of a saviour. However, many have confided the loss of its meaning. Even with family reunions and company parties, there are still broken relationships needing forgiveness or pride permeating the supposed jovial atmosphere. And with such materialism going around, many engage themselves with exceeding debts just to create that ‘show’ of prosperity that goes along with the season.
So what is a christian? It’s just like saying what is Christmas? Both words stem from the word Christ, yet, we have lost both the essential meanings and perspective of the word .
I was born catholic, if there was ever a term, but I became a christian believer 20 some years ago. It was not so much a soul searching kind of thing like most people that ‘converted’ would have done given an adversity on their lives. Mine were questions needing answers when the term “blind faith” no longer existed in my vocabulary. Doctrinal issues was one, way of life was another and a whole new perspective and dimension completed the whole picture.
My new found ’born-again experience introduced me into an ’us verses them’ mentality that I now came to realize only as being judgemental and sheltered. The thought of being confined to what my oldies termed as “don’t question those older than you” concept began to delve into the inner quest of learning more. After all, people do make mistakes. And when I did find my new faith more logical, I decided to go into it with passion and fire.
So when my relatives asked me what made me jump from Catholic to being protestant ,I immediately came into the most childish of answers. I would often conclude that many catholics are hypocritical.
Sunday christians go to mass to be seen, among other things. The males stay outside of the church smoking, and chatting with other males, then conclude that they have gone to church. Communion time comes, often make you segregate the more sinful commutants than those that are seemingly pious. You often become judgemental when gossipers walk up the altar to taste that round wafer letting the world know of their sinlessness , when just hours ago they were hurling curses .
And at other times, the feeling of only the the rich and moneyed have more access to the heavens. Every traditional ritual has a fee attached to it. Whether it is baptism, extreme unction, marriage, an amount is demanded before it is performed. Moreover, praying for the dead even had a fee whose names the priest blurted out during mass. Once when I was growing up, I could hear the priest say, “remember the souls of the departed such as ----and then he would say a litany of names. Few names meant fewer collection. And if there were more names, it would be carried over to the next mass. Oh Well! That was what it seemed when I was growing up.
I have long been out of touch with the the catholic rituals but I do enter the historical church buildings to admire their architecture. Sometimes, the walls talk to me as if for some reason they do have a story to tell. A wayward priest, an illicit affair, a scandalous episode…oh if only bricks could confide. But then again, these are just cement structures, and I probably have too much imagination.
The real church I later found out are the people that congregate. The fellowship, the sharing, and the closeness that is often felt by being part of a family. I have been blessed to experience having that kind of church. And even more. I have been in leadership, as well as behind the scenes.
Yet inspite of all these, the truly born-again experience is one that is deep, meaningful and life changing.
It does not jump from one religion of hierarchical dimension to another that is seemingly righteous and logical. Because in a way, religion develops its own culture whatever the denomination.
Many Christians are infatuated with their own churches. They have lost the true meaning of what being a Christian is. Sometimes, because of our passion for the Lord,we often force our beliefs on others oblivious to their feelings and thoughts. We do ambush evangelizations and engage in endless debates of how wrong their thoughts are if it does not jibe with what we believe in. Everywhere we go, the word “Lord” is always in all our statements.
There is nothing wrong with having a passionate and purposeful belief, but many ‘outsiders’ perception are often turned off by such tactics that instead of believers attracting them to the person of Christ, they are turned off by the ‘evangelist’ arm twisting and condescending attitude. Moreover, consciously or not, the arrogant behavior of many Christians often justify themselves with their feelings of moral and spiritual superiority.
For those so called “them” or “unbelievers” Christianity today no longer represent what Jesus had in mind, or what it was meant to be. As one outsider said, “Christianity has become bloated with blind followers who would rather repeat slogans than actually feel true compassion and care. Christianity has become marketed and streamlined into a juggernaut of fear mongering that has lost its own heart.”
So, how do we go about sharing God’s word without being judgmental and hypocritical? Or without being too pushy to the extent of not being welcomed? Many Christians often talk about the sinfulness of others, yet they fail to do anything about it. Sometimes, telling someone to pray for another is often a disguise for simple gossip, or that inviting an ‘unbeliever’ to a meal with a hidden agenda of evangelizing is no help in being called a ‘christian’.
We realize that there are many hurting people who do need comfort and a pill of preaching doesn’t always help. Moreover, people who portray a pious front yet in reality are worse than mongrels portray conflicting values. That is why Jesus would probably like to hang out with sinners and prostitutes , because they are transparent and do not have to prove anything.
Philip Yancey in his book what’s so amazing about grace clarifies the situation very well:
Having spent time around “sinners” and also around purported saints, I have a hunch why Jesus spent so much time with the former group: I think he preferred their company. Because the sinners were honest about themselves and had no pretense. Jesus could deal with them. In contrast, the saints put on airs, judged him, and sought to catch him in a moral trap. In the end it was the saints, not the sinners, who arrested Jesus.
Asking a denomination of ones belief often puts the situation into a them or us mentality. Wherein ones belief is a ticket for such an elitist organization and those without tickets, are grilled to join in. I have passed that stage.
My previous mentors would often say, “don’t just believe what I say, check your bible.” I have done that, and even went beyond. Or when the term “go, and make disciples…” I have done that too, with the arm twisting and the meal with the hidden agenda .Yet inspite of all these religious gymnast, I have learned that it is not I (or the ego) that is at work but most often is the case. We forget that the heart of these problems is really the problem of the heart.
Take the case of reacting to criticisms? If someone says that Christ and Santa are just one and the same, they are myths. Do we go baraging that critic for his shallow belief and false knowledge of the truth? Or when a prostitute and gossiper do their wayward deeds, are we quick to judge and condemn as such.
I have been criticized for being a relativist in the sense that I do not stand up for my faith. In reality, I do, but I choose my battles. The what would Jesus do slogan, makes us think twice before reacting to any given situation like those mentioned above. Many times Jesus was cornered and picked on by his critics about his morality and religious beliefs, yet he always answered them unpredictably. Sometimes in parables, in a question back forum or sometimes even in silence. Moreover, being careful into answering what lies behind the question or the motive, Jesus answers with deep insights that leave the crowd into thinking.
Being a relativist makes you understand the other person’s point of view. This kind of thinking makes me realize how to connect with people, their totality in a sense. Let me illustrate: One christian lady whose father was a policeman of the streets, say that the prostitutes in america sell their bodies to feed their habits. Either drugs, high living or convenience is the name of the game.However, when this same lady went on a missions trip in Thailand, she found a different story. Poor women who have children and whose husbands have left them, have no choice but to prostitute themselves in order to survive. This revelation came as a surprise and her outlook has extended to a more understanding of the ‘outside’ world.
Responding with the right perspective in mind is always beneficial. A condescending and condemning sprit has no place in drawing people near and listening to what you have to say.
Simply put, when an aspiring saint asked Mother Theresa, “How can I be like you?” her simple response was, “Find your own Calcutta.” She understood the core of the Christian life- the truest knowing comes in the doing.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
PG10 (pursuing 10 goals)
New Year’s resolutions usually end up as empty promises unless followed up diligently up to the last 365th day when a new one takes its place.Therefore, in my case, I would rather make goals that are doable which can be qualified as well as quantified.
Here are my goals and how I think I shall achieve or even surpass them:
1) Top of the list would be my romance with food. Try to dine on restaurants owned by Iron Chef Mario Batalli, and Morimoto.
2) Moreover, I am blessed to be living close to New York City where there are so many restaurants featuring ethnic cuisine such as Jamaican, Turkey, African etc.. At least I would like to try one weird dish from a culture which I know nothing of.
3) It would be nice to watch at least 3 broadway shows this year.(Jersey Boys, Mama Mia and another one to be decided later )
4) Go down 2 sizes more. Two years ago, when I had my medical check up, I was 10 pounds overweight. A few months ago, I lost almost about 8 of those pounds and went down a size and a half lower. I will take out those two pounds from my waist and be my size again of 20 years ago. If I made it in 2 years without really trying, I will probably make it this time with much focus.
5) I am determined to make 5 books this year. You might think that’s way above my head. But didn’t you know I’m making children’s books? The memoirs and biographies are still in process and will take several years. But children’s books, well I have one already made out. That’s why I’m learning how to use the PDF and then go POD. With an Illustrator and my story, that makes a book, doesn’t it? (actually this goal is wishful thinking really)
6) Going organic is one way to have a healthy body and eventually a sound mind. Mike and I have decided to cut down on meats and keep our diet simple. Which means, we will only eat steak twice a year and will not settle for anything less, not even the Angus one. We are eyeing for the one they call the ‘aged beef’ because we want to know why it’s so expensive. So Veggies and Fruits are the thing for us now.
7) I will collect 100 or more cookbooks this year and send it to the Philippines. Since my daughter is taking culinary arts (she is also a graduate of interior design), I will support the combined dream we have of putting a business dealing with food. Iwant to put up a library as well as a commissary when I get back. (by the way, for the record, she still has the 3 hamburger joints which her husband had plus the catering business I left her) We will add more.
8) Learn another language. Everytime Mike and I take the subway around New York, we hear different kinds of languages. New York is really a melting pot of cultures and languages. I like to learn Italian since I have dreams of living in Italy for a few months. (I have the Italian connections you know). Mike likes French, but I think they smell of cheese and sometimes much worst.
9) Try to learn putting make-up on. For several years, my mask was just a dab of face powder and maskara. Only lately have I learned to make use of all the rudiments of putting on a real mask like moisturizer, foundation, eye shaper, and what have you. I never really got hooked on putting make up because, first of all, I find it too time consuming; Second, I didn’t think you needed to put so much on your face without looking whorelike and finally, my face would feel heavy with all those masks and made me look older than younger. But this time, as our wrinkles are starting to appear, we definitely need those putty to smoothen the lines. Besides, with the latest products in the market, it does make you look younger.
10) Change my wardrobe. Throw those Midwest jeans and t-shirts, and go for the New Yorker boots and hats. On second thought, I wont throw them away, I’ll just sent them to the Philippines.
So far, these are the only goals I can think of. I just pray that all these will be done in a year’s time before I can come up again with a new one.
New Year’s eve for me was quiet, having had only my two granddaughters with me, while my son and husband braved the cold in Times Square waiting for the ball to fall at the stroke of midnight. I do not want to expound the gory details but let me give you a hint: My granddaughters were dry as a desert ,but “my men” walked like bumble bees. Go figure.
Here are my goals and how I think I shall achieve or even surpass them:
1) Top of the list would be my romance with food. Try to dine on restaurants owned by Iron Chef Mario Batalli, and Morimoto.
2) Moreover, I am blessed to be living close to New York City where there are so many restaurants featuring ethnic cuisine such as Jamaican, Turkey, African etc.. At least I would like to try one weird dish from a culture which I know nothing of.
3) It would be nice to watch at least 3 broadway shows this year.(Jersey Boys, Mama Mia and another one to be decided later )
4) Go down 2 sizes more. Two years ago, when I had my medical check up, I was 10 pounds overweight. A few months ago, I lost almost about 8 of those pounds and went down a size and a half lower. I will take out those two pounds from my waist and be my size again of 20 years ago. If I made it in 2 years without really trying, I will probably make it this time with much focus.
5) I am determined to make 5 books this year. You might think that’s way above my head. But didn’t you know I’m making children’s books? The memoirs and biographies are still in process and will take several years. But children’s books, well I have one already made out. That’s why I’m learning how to use the PDF and then go POD. With an Illustrator and my story, that makes a book, doesn’t it? (actually this goal is wishful thinking really)
6) Going organic is one way to have a healthy body and eventually a sound mind. Mike and I have decided to cut down on meats and keep our diet simple. Which means, we will only eat steak twice a year and will not settle for anything less, not even the Angus one. We are eyeing for the one they call the ‘aged beef’ because we want to know why it’s so expensive. So Veggies and Fruits are the thing for us now.
7) I will collect 100 or more cookbooks this year and send it to the Philippines. Since my daughter is taking culinary arts (she is also a graduate of interior design), I will support the combined dream we have of putting a business dealing with food. Iwant to put up a library as well as a commissary when I get back. (by the way, for the record, she still has the 3 hamburger joints which her husband had plus the catering business I left her) We will add more.
8) Learn another language. Everytime Mike and I take the subway around New York, we hear different kinds of languages. New York is really a melting pot of cultures and languages. I like to learn Italian since I have dreams of living in Italy for a few months. (I have the Italian connections you know). Mike likes French, but I think they smell of cheese and sometimes much worst.
9) Try to learn putting make-up on. For several years, my mask was just a dab of face powder and maskara. Only lately have I learned to make use of all the rudiments of putting on a real mask like moisturizer, foundation, eye shaper, and what have you. I never really got hooked on putting make up because, first of all, I find it too time consuming; Second, I didn’t think you needed to put so much on your face without looking whorelike and finally, my face would feel heavy with all those masks and made me look older than younger. But this time, as our wrinkles are starting to appear, we definitely need those putty to smoothen the lines. Besides, with the latest products in the market, it does make you look younger.
10) Change my wardrobe. Throw those Midwest jeans and t-shirts, and go for the New Yorker boots and hats. On second thought, I wont throw them away, I’ll just sent them to the Philippines.
So far, these are the only goals I can think of. I just pray that all these will be done in a year’s time before I can come up again with a new one.
New Year’s eve for me was quiet, having had only my two granddaughters with me, while my son and husband braved the cold in Times Square waiting for the ball to fall at the stroke of midnight. I do not want to expound the gory details but let me give you a hint: My granddaughters were dry as a desert ,but “my men” walked like bumble bees. Go figure.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Visita Pariente
Sitting on my bed reminsicing about the 'tropical' christmas back home, I can not help but smile at how people spend their holidays so differently.
Many of my friends (especially tagalog ones) spend it with noche buena, simbang gabi, decorations and whatever makes them look busy. I like that proverbial saying, "you buy things you don't need, with money you don't have, to impress people you don't like" The holidays have become so commercialized that it has lost the essence of the meaning of the season.
I am not one to do any of those traditions mentioned because for me, Christmas day is the event and anything before that were just normal days. Sure, we had decorations and food fare, but my mom didn't stress herself out if she didn't feel like. And for us, it was really no big deal.
Christmas day in Cebu was dressing up to visit all my relatives. Something like visita iglesia, only this was 'visita pariente'. Normally, my cousins and I would all ride a combi, then start with relatives nearest the compound. All of us knew what our gifts were, we just didn't know the value. Not one to stress out, all my aunts and uncles have imparted on themselves to give us cash gifts. Even as we grew older and got married, most of my relatives still gave cash gifts. That way, we could buy ourselves with what we needed or wanted. Unless you made your material request known to a relative who can afford, then that's a different story.
By noon, we would converge in my grandma's house for the family gathering. As we were already stuffed from eating whatever was offered us during our visits, we would just then count our stash. Planning what to do with our collections was fun. And if that was not enough, our grandparents would add to our stash only if we did a presentation, which we readily obliged. Usually our plays had plots with gangsters kidnaping a rich guy and a flirty lady'. Then, they would be rescued by good guys. Eventually, a gun fight would ensue ending in death for all the actors in the play..And I mean everyone. I guess we all agreed that nobody was to be a hero of some sort, since we all wanted to be heroes. So to even it out, we all died in the play.
We probably did a thousand plays in our family gatherings. Although different settings and scenarios, we always had the same plot. I always got the role of flirty lady...ALWAYS!..And my other cousins always had the same roles...ALWAYS ! I guess it was the dialogue that made it more interesting. We had a knack of making dialogues seem crazy.
Many of my friends (especially tagalog ones) spend it with noche buena, simbang gabi, decorations and whatever makes them look busy. I like that proverbial saying, "you buy things you don't need, with money you don't have, to impress people you don't like" The holidays have become so commercialized that it has lost the essence of the meaning of the season.
I am not one to do any of those traditions mentioned because for me, Christmas day is the event and anything before that were just normal days. Sure, we had decorations and food fare, but my mom didn't stress herself out if she didn't feel like. And for us, it was really no big deal.
Christmas day in Cebu was dressing up to visit all my relatives. Something like visita iglesia, only this was 'visita pariente'. Normally, my cousins and I would all ride a combi, then start with relatives nearest the compound. All of us knew what our gifts were, we just didn't know the value. Not one to stress out, all my aunts and uncles have imparted on themselves to give us cash gifts. Even as we grew older and got married, most of my relatives still gave cash gifts. That way, we could buy ourselves with what we needed or wanted. Unless you made your material request known to a relative who can afford, then that's a different story.
By noon, we would converge in my grandma's house for the family gathering. As we were already stuffed from eating whatever was offered us during our visits, we would just then count our stash. Planning what to do with our collections was fun. And if that was not enough, our grandparents would add to our stash only if we did a presentation, which we readily obliged. Usually our plays had plots with gangsters kidnaping a rich guy and a flirty lady'. Then, they would be rescued by good guys. Eventually, a gun fight would ensue ending in death for all the actors in the play..And I mean everyone. I guess we all agreed that nobody was to be a hero of some sort, since we all wanted to be heroes. So to even it out, we all died in the play.
We probably did a thousand plays in our family gatherings. Although different settings and scenarios, we always had the same plot. I always got the role of flirty lady...ALWAYS!..And my other cousins always had the same roles...ALWAYS ! I guess it was the dialogue that made it more interesting. We had a knack of making dialogues seem crazy.
Lolo Banong was an uncle who was considered the 'Santa Claus' of the compound. He was a huge stocky man with a heart of gold. I got my namesake from him and even when I was growing up, I always felt as the favored 'niece'. I always had the higher stash than the rest of my cousins when it came to him.
Every christmas morning, Lolo Banong would gather the less priviledged around the neighborhood and have them line up on his driveway. Children in tattered clothes, snot dripping from their noses and some smelling of dried fish would eagerly come. Even mothers carrying small babbies would join the group. Then Lolo Banong would give each one a coin and see the smile on their faces. I remember him giving out 25 centavos , but then it became more as inflation crept in. Before he died, more than twenty years ago, he was already giving those huge silver peso coins.
Fast forward several years later, old traditions are replaced by our very own. Relatives have relocated, some got married and spend the holidays with their own respective families. But thanks to technology, the closeness of a family can still be felt even with thousands of miles apart. With webcams, cell phones and even iphones/blackberries, we can witness the happy smiles from families opening balikbayan boxes filled with gifts, to toasting our glasses and sharing our holiday recipes. As we always say, "I'm just a phone call away!"
Usually, preparations like card giving or gift shopping would be done when the 'ber' months come into place. By the time December steps in, I'm usually done. I have taken the stance which my mother took of not stressing myself. That's because I want to enjoy the Holiday and not be bothered by too many things. Except for my grandchildren who I dote with buying gifts, my niece and nephews get the old tradition of cash gifts.
Not one to dress with holiday trimmings, the only thing I stress myself is the menu I cook. Thats the enjoyment that I don't want to miss. Preparation is key to having fun. And by the time guests arrive, all I do is take out food from the oven and the fridge, lay them out on the buffet and its set. In America, everyone helps himself with fancy paper plates to replace those chinas and plastic wine glasses in lieu of glass goblets.
This christmas, we let my grandchildren do the broadway "Annie" before giving them their presents. But the video I took was that of my daughter in law and my son coaching my grandchildren. The sight of my son pirouetting with arms doing a MacDonald and my daughter in law's facial expression con gusto was really comical.
Christmas is really a time for children. In a few years, my grandchildren will be one of those that will recieve cash instead of something material. In this day and age, you can never be too sure what they really want. Technology has to blame for that. PS3's, wii's, laptops, latest gadget cellphones or whatever is the 'in' thing is better than a scarf, perfume or a dress.
Come to think of it, I wonder what Jesus got on his 10th birthday?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Lenguas de Pilipit
One of the first things we learn as children is to speak the language of our birth. For me, it was the visayan language with its melodious intonations but spoken with a hard tongue. Then our parents with their western mentality starts speaking to us in a foreign language known as “English” and we were stuck for life.
In school, English was the spoken language, but at home, it would be visayan for the benefit of the maids. Until the maids learned how to speak broken English, then our pronounciation got screwed up. We were also exposed to Spanish speaking relatives, and eventually learned some words ourselves. My grandfather being a pure Spaniard (kuno), would sometimes speak with the other elders in Spanish so we, as children wouldn’t understand, but eventually we did. As we became parents ourselves, we would speak Spanish if we didn’t want the children to know what we were talking about. That’s when spelling the words weren’t as effective anymore and the children learned how to read.
Moreover, when I got married to an FBI (foreign born illonggo), I was exposed to Illonggos. They had a more melodious intonation and sometimes, when the men spoke, you’d think they were flirting or gay. Recently, my daughter and her husband relocated in Bacolod and so did my sons. So now we all speak a mixture of English, visayan and Illonggo.
Although we lived in Manila when I was young, and pilipino was a must in our school curriculum, I never really got the hang of speaking tagalog. In Cebu during my married life, all my best friends were tagalogs, but I can assure you that when I spoke tagalog, it sounded Chinese.
Lately, I have been learning how to speak Korean since I got hooked up in a soap opera a few months ago. Before I go to bed, I surf the channels for a nice show and what struck me was this Korean show. It had a present day setting and had subtitles for me to read. My initial reaction from watching the first episode was very perplexing. A couple was having a verbal fight but their actions and faces were contrary to what I was reading. The woman was insulting yet smiling but not in a sarcastic way. In another scene a man in black suit was carrying ,piggy back style, a woman who was in a gown and high heels. You would think this would happen in the countryside, but the setting was in the city of Seoul, Korea. But what intrigued me most was the way Koreans prepared food. So many side dishes in small platitos. Very feastlike.
Another language that we are familiar with and speak a few words of is Chinese. Mandarin or fookien, it doesn’t matter since most of the words learned were from high school days--these were mostly curses and numbers.
If you think my tagalog sounds like Chinese, wait till you hear the Chinese talk american. I once stayed with a Chinese family here in america and they were so nice and fun to be with. One day my friend (let’s call her Joan) was visiting her 80 year old mother. The old woman was complaining about her eyesight but she was speaking in Chinese. Joan, sensing that speaking a foreign dialect in front of a guest was rude , commented to her mother in English, “but mama, your eyeglasses are as big as vernacular.”
Then I asked her, “what do you mean, Joan?”
“you know the one that looked like a telescope.” she said.
“Oh, you mean binoculars." I interjected then corrected her " Just to let you know, Joan, that binocular and vernacular are two different words.”
Then we both started laughing while she continued repeating her mistake.
At one time, Joan’s brother (let’s call him Ben) and Mike went to a book store. Ben proceeded to ask for help. “Do you hab koots”, he said in his very bisaya tone.
“I’m sorry sir, you’re in the wrong store. We don’t sell coats here.” noted the sales lady.
“No, no..ets a book wid mini see-ings.” The sales girl squinted and looked at Ben analyzing what he just said. Then as if she realized what was said exclaimed, “Ohhhhh! You mean QUOTES! Right at the back of the store beside the philosophy books.” she commented. With that, she pivoted leading him towards the rear side of the store..
Then as if whispering to Mike, Ben commented,”Bida, ining glis na to, di pa siya kasabot. BUGO gyud!”
(My goodness, that was already spoken in English yet she didn’t understand. How stupid)
I remember my mother relating to us an experience she had while travelling Europe. She and my aunt went into a restaurant and when they looked at the menu, they didn't understand any of the food offered as it was written in the native tongue (I forget what country it was). And the waiters didn't even speak a word of english. So when my mother would point something out in the menu, the waiter would act it out. If it was chicken, he would fold his elbows and flap it accompanied by a sound, "cluck, cluck, cluck". Then if it was beef, the waiter would go "moo,moo!" and for the pig, he would snort. That was how they understood each other.
Even babies as young as a year old or less learn to communicate in their own language.
"Milk" could mean having your fingers open and closing rapidly. Or when my eight month old is done with his dinner, he would brush his hands to and fro as if saying "all done!" Or when he is hungry, he would point to his mouth.
It doesn't really matter what language you speak. All that matters is for your message to be relayed and understood. Oh well!
In school, English was the spoken language, but at home, it would be visayan for the benefit of the maids. Until the maids learned how to speak broken English, then our pronounciation got screwed up. We were also exposed to Spanish speaking relatives, and eventually learned some words ourselves. My grandfather being a pure Spaniard (kuno), would sometimes speak with the other elders in Spanish so we, as children wouldn’t understand, but eventually we did. As we became parents ourselves, we would speak Spanish if we didn’t want the children to know what we were talking about. That’s when spelling the words weren’t as effective anymore and the children learned how to read.
Moreover, when I got married to an FBI (foreign born illonggo), I was exposed to Illonggos. They had a more melodious intonation and sometimes, when the men spoke, you’d think they were flirting or gay. Recently, my daughter and her husband relocated in Bacolod and so did my sons. So now we all speak a mixture of English, visayan and Illonggo.
Although we lived in Manila when I was young, and pilipino was a must in our school curriculum, I never really got the hang of speaking tagalog. In Cebu during my married life, all my best friends were tagalogs, but I can assure you that when I spoke tagalog, it sounded Chinese.
Lately, I have been learning how to speak Korean since I got hooked up in a soap opera a few months ago. Before I go to bed, I surf the channels for a nice show and what struck me was this Korean show. It had a present day setting and had subtitles for me to read. My initial reaction from watching the first episode was very perplexing. A couple was having a verbal fight but their actions and faces were contrary to what I was reading. The woman was insulting yet smiling but not in a sarcastic way. In another scene a man in black suit was carrying ,piggy back style, a woman who was in a gown and high heels. You would think this would happen in the countryside, but the setting was in the city of Seoul, Korea. But what intrigued me most was the way Koreans prepared food. So many side dishes in small platitos. Very feastlike.
Another language that we are familiar with and speak a few words of is Chinese. Mandarin or fookien, it doesn’t matter since most of the words learned were from high school days--these were mostly curses and numbers.
If you think my tagalog sounds like Chinese, wait till you hear the Chinese talk american. I once stayed with a Chinese family here in america and they were so nice and fun to be with. One day my friend (let’s call her Joan) was visiting her 80 year old mother. The old woman was complaining about her eyesight but she was speaking in Chinese. Joan, sensing that speaking a foreign dialect in front of a guest was rude , commented to her mother in English, “but mama, your eyeglasses are as big as vernacular.”
Then I asked her, “what do you mean, Joan?”
“you know the one that looked like a telescope.” she said.
“Oh, you mean binoculars." I interjected then corrected her " Just to let you know, Joan, that binocular and vernacular are two different words.”
Then we both started laughing while she continued repeating her mistake.
At one time, Joan’s brother (let’s call him Ben) and Mike went to a book store. Ben proceeded to ask for help. “Do you hab koots”, he said in his very bisaya tone.
“I’m sorry sir, you’re in the wrong store. We don’t sell coats here.” noted the sales lady.
“No, no..ets a book wid mini see-ings.” The sales girl squinted and looked at Ben analyzing what he just said. Then as if she realized what was said exclaimed, “Ohhhhh! You mean QUOTES! Right at the back of the store beside the philosophy books.” she commented. With that, she pivoted leading him towards the rear side of the store..
Then as if whispering to Mike, Ben commented,”Bida, ining glis na to, di pa siya kasabot. BUGO gyud!”
(My goodness, that was already spoken in English yet she didn’t understand. How stupid)
I remember my mother relating to us an experience she had while travelling Europe. She and my aunt went into a restaurant and when they looked at the menu, they didn't understand any of the food offered as it was written in the native tongue (I forget what country it was). And the waiters didn't even speak a word of english. So when my mother would point something out in the menu, the waiter would act it out. If it was chicken, he would fold his elbows and flap it accompanied by a sound, "cluck, cluck, cluck". Then if it was beef, the waiter would go "moo,moo!" and for the pig, he would snort. That was how they understood each other.
Even babies as young as a year old or less learn to communicate in their own language.
"Milk" could mean having your fingers open and closing rapidly. Or when my eight month old is done with his dinner, he would brush his hands to and fro as if saying "all done!" Or when he is hungry, he would point to his mouth.
It doesn't really matter what language you speak. All that matters is for your message to be relayed and understood. Oh well!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monkey See, Monkey Do
In our family parties in America, there is a standing commandment, “Thou shalt not talk about politics or religion.” That's because most of us are highly opinionated and hate to lose an argument, regardless! Ha!ha!ha!
At a recent Republican presidential debate, the candidates were asked about a ‘what would Jesus do?” question. Most of the candidates felt uneasy with their replies, except for PC Gov.Mike Huckabee who said, “Jesus would be too smart to join politics!” Well said!
Religion and politics are the two most controversial issues we face today. Certain oxymoronic circumstances might be considered legal, but not necessarily moral. “It’s your word against mine,” is often used as the basis of many an evidence. But then the question of character is tested for authenticity. The moral fiber of american politics is important in keeping office...until one gets caught and then one's career is over.
A few months ago, New Jersey Governor McGreevy resigned after he declared himself gay. It was either that or face a billion lawsuit of harrasment from his paramour. Senator Larry Craig of Idaho recently resigned after he was booked on misdemeanor charges (like soliciting sex) in an airport restroom. The Clinton-Lewinsky case was such a huge scandal many years ago. Don’t they ever learn that men think with their balls? When it’s loaded, it just has to be relieved, otherwise, the balance between the brains and balls would be like a pendulum hitting one on the other.
On the other hand, some preachers, priests and religious leaders, are often caught with their ‘pants down’, to the dismay of their flock. However, forgiveness by the flock is often crucial. After all, didn’t the bible say to forgive seventy times seven? So hey! They still have 489 chances to go.
The 300 years rule by the Spaniards in the Philippines is significant in molding the moral fiber of the Filipinos. Its early colonization brought with them the culture and practice which easily assimilated into the system. Hearing about the good fortune in the East, many Spaniards traveled thousands of miles to seek their own fortunes at the expense of the island inhabitants. Moreover, because of its geographical location, the Philippines was considered an Alcatraz, where thieves, corrupt officials, murderers and other criminals from Spain were ostracized to serve their sentences in the Philippines.
The first mention of the Philippines to the U.S. was in 1786 when the Continental Congress meeting in Philadelphia was urging Spain to grant American trading privilege in Manila. Burdilla, the first american businessman to trade in the Philippines, kept a diary about his travels. In his observation he wrote,”There exists among them a want of moral discrimination. This is no country for an honest man.”
Spanish rule in the Philippines was heirarchical, discriminatory and corrupt.
Only Spaniards were allowed to govern and rule . Discriminatory in the sense that the inhabitants were called ’indios’. Spaniards born outside of the archipelago but had tainted indio blood were called peninsulares. Spaniards born in the Philippines were called insulares. Mestizos were considered a mixture of indio and Spanish or with any other race including the Chinese.
Most indios were prevented from learning anything except to be servile of the Spaniards. During the 18th century, the moneyed indios paved their way to gain education and status in a hispanic dominated culture. They were called the “Illustradores”. I would presume that the term "it's not what you know, but also who you know" became prevalent in this corrupted culture. The indios/illustradores paved their way to be recognized as equals by greasing the pockets of any Spaniard in command.
It was the Ilustradores who coined the term ‘Filipinos’. Among them was Jose Rizal, and my very own maternal great grandfather whose name is honored by a street in Cebu famous historically as D. Jakosalem
When many a Filipino could no longer stand the atrocities committed to them by the Spaniards, several underground movements flourished. Aguinaldo’s group was one of those that succeeded in creating loud noises against Spain. Eventually he was exiled to Hongkong after the Spaniards paid him P400,000.00 (a hefty amount) to keep his mouth shut. No wonder every politician has his price.
Sources say, Aguinaldo kept the principal intact while spending the interest on his troops and staff. He waited for the right time to buy arms and consequently plan the overthrow of the Spanish rule. Consequently he found an arms dealer in the U.S.,who swindled him of more than a hundred thousand dollars worth of arms and ammunition. But his luck didn’t turn out for the worst. When the Spanish war ended, the Americans bought the Philippines for 2 million dollars. (another money exchange for land which wasn’t theirs in the first place)
The moral fiber of the Filipinos were unraveled during the Japanese Occupation when they had to cheat and rob in order to survive. In 1947 an inquiry by the U.S. government was made regarding a $300 million worth of assets given to the Philippine government in terms of military surplus vehicles, machinery, garments and other items which were stolen. A senator during that time (Jose Avelino) amassed about 300 thousand dollars from selling the loot to Chinese fences. In other cases, crop loans worth millions of pesos went into the pockets of landowners and officials. The New York times who did investigation on this found “no tenants and no crops, and the money could not be recovered.”
So what else is new in the Philippines? With 300 years of ironic religion by Spain and 50 years of Hollywood by America, the Filipino people indeed live a messed up life of principles. A land inherited through blood and violence , then professing Christian love and sacrifice, cannot be legal to the people it once belonged to. But who are the original owners or where are their descendants? Lost in the graves along with Lapu-lapu.
But inspite of all these adversities happening, I am still hoping for a miracle. After all, we can only hope for the best and prepare for the worst. As a cebuano and having the blood of Lapu-lapu, a silent passion is burning within me, waiting, analyzing, strategizing for that moment when I can make a significance. Not necessarily in a huge magnanimous way, nor a political way, (God forbid,but I don't like politics), but in my own humble way. Where my only witness is my God that would say, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"
Just recently, a clown was given a ‘time-out’ by its peers and placed in a cage indefinitely. A midget was seen unlocking the door of the cage, freeing the smiling clown out of his cage. We can only assume that something was traded for the clown's release. This is a scenario quite obvious in a circus. Actually, this is Philippine politics 2007.
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
by Edmund Burke (Irish Political Philosopher)
At a recent Republican presidential debate, the candidates were asked about a ‘what would Jesus do?” question. Most of the candidates felt uneasy with their replies, except for PC Gov.Mike Huckabee who said, “Jesus would be too smart to join politics!” Well said!
Religion and politics are the two most controversial issues we face today. Certain oxymoronic circumstances might be considered legal, but not necessarily moral. “It’s your word against mine,” is often used as the basis of many an evidence. But then the question of character is tested for authenticity. The moral fiber of american politics is important in keeping office...until one gets caught and then one's career is over.
A few months ago, New Jersey Governor McGreevy resigned after he declared himself gay. It was either that or face a billion lawsuit of harrasment from his paramour. Senator Larry Craig of Idaho recently resigned after he was booked on misdemeanor charges (like soliciting sex) in an airport restroom. The Clinton-Lewinsky case was such a huge scandal many years ago. Don’t they ever learn that men think with their balls? When it’s loaded, it just has to be relieved, otherwise, the balance between the brains and balls would be like a pendulum hitting one on the other.
On the other hand, some preachers, priests and religious leaders, are often caught with their ‘pants down’, to the dismay of their flock. However, forgiveness by the flock is often crucial. After all, didn’t the bible say to forgive seventy times seven? So hey! They still have 489 chances to go.
The 300 years rule by the Spaniards in the Philippines is significant in molding the moral fiber of the Filipinos. Its early colonization brought with them the culture and practice which easily assimilated into the system. Hearing about the good fortune in the East, many Spaniards traveled thousands of miles to seek their own fortunes at the expense of the island inhabitants. Moreover, because of its geographical location, the Philippines was considered an Alcatraz, where thieves, corrupt officials, murderers and other criminals from Spain were ostracized to serve their sentences in the Philippines.
The first mention of the Philippines to the U.S. was in 1786 when the Continental Congress meeting in Philadelphia was urging Spain to grant American trading privilege in Manila. Burdilla, the first american businessman to trade in the Philippines, kept a diary about his travels. In his observation he wrote,”There exists among them a want of moral discrimination. This is no country for an honest man.”
Spanish rule in the Philippines was heirarchical, discriminatory and corrupt.
Only Spaniards were allowed to govern and rule . Discriminatory in the sense that the inhabitants were called ’indios’. Spaniards born outside of the archipelago but had tainted indio blood were called peninsulares. Spaniards born in the Philippines were called insulares. Mestizos were considered a mixture of indio and Spanish or with any other race including the Chinese.
Most indios were prevented from learning anything except to be servile of the Spaniards. During the 18th century, the moneyed indios paved their way to gain education and status in a hispanic dominated culture. They were called the “Illustradores”. I would presume that the term "it's not what you know, but also who you know" became prevalent in this corrupted culture. The indios/illustradores paved their way to be recognized as equals by greasing the pockets of any Spaniard in command.
It was the Ilustradores who coined the term ‘Filipinos’. Among them was Jose Rizal, and my very own maternal great grandfather whose name is honored by a street in Cebu famous historically as D. Jakosalem
When many a Filipino could no longer stand the atrocities committed to them by the Spaniards, several underground movements flourished. Aguinaldo’s group was one of those that succeeded in creating loud noises against Spain. Eventually he was exiled to Hongkong after the Spaniards paid him P400,000.00 (a hefty amount) to keep his mouth shut. No wonder every politician has his price.
Sources say, Aguinaldo kept the principal intact while spending the interest on his troops and staff. He waited for the right time to buy arms and consequently plan the overthrow of the Spanish rule. Consequently he found an arms dealer in the U.S.,who swindled him of more than a hundred thousand dollars worth of arms and ammunition. But his luck didn’t turn out for the worst. When the Spanish war ended, the Americans bought the Philippines for 2 million dollars. (another money exchange for land which wasn’t theirs in the first place)
The moral fiber of the Filipinos were unraveled during the Japanese Occupation when they had to cheat and rob in order to survive. In 1947 an inquiry by the U.S. government was made regarding a $300 million worth of assets given to the Philippine government in terms of military surplus vehicles, machinery, garments and other items which were stolen. A senator during that time (Jose Avelino) amassed about 300 thousand dollars from selling the loot to Chinese fences. In other cases, crop loans worth millions of pesos went into the pockets of landowners and officials. The New York times who did investigation on this found “no tenants and no crops, and the money could not be recovered.”
So what else is new in the Philippines? With 300 years of ironic religion by Spain and 50 years of Hollywood by America, the Filipino people indeed live a messed up life of principles. A land inherited through blood and violence , then professing Christian love and sacrifice, cannot be legal to the people it once belonged to. But who are the original owners or where are their descendants? Lost in the graves along with Lapu-lapu.
But inspite of all these adversities happening, I am still hoping for a miracle. After all, we can only hope for the best and prepare for the worst. As a cebuano and having the blood of Lapu-lapu, a silent passion is burning within me, waiting, analyzing, strategizing for that moment when I can make a significance. Not necessarily in a huge magnanimous way, nor a political way, (God forbid,but I don't like politics), but in my own humble way. Where my only witness is my God that would say, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"
Just recently, a clown was given a ‘time-out’ by its peers and placed in a cage indefinitely. A midget was seen unlocking the door of the cage, freeing the smiling clown out of his cage. We can only assume that something was traded for the clown's release. This is a scenario quite obvious in a circus. Actually, this is Philippine politics 2007.
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
by Edmund Burke (Irish Political Philosopher)
Monday, December 3, 2007
My CEOis a Three Year old
Coming to America was really my idea. Mike,my husband never wanted to live anywhere outside the Philippines .But after our silver wedding anniversary, several years ago, Mike decided to relinquish his role for my desires.
The opportunity came when I had befriended an American businessman who was part of the team of Americans coming to our country for mission trips. Every year, we held medical missions in Boracay , Baguio, Dumaguete, Leyte and other remote areas that needed medical care. We also did much evangelizing . It was during these times that Richard F. became close to me and offered me a job to work in one of his business interests in the Midwest.
The decision to try another scenery came when the furniture industry, where we belonged for a couple of years started to get shaky. This was after the 911 incident, when many buyers were on the sidelines and the manufacturers where hit with high overhead rates and dwindling export sales.
So, there I was in Ohio, having a desk job complete with my own computer and phone, rubbing shoulders with management. When many executives had initials after their last names like CEO. AVP or DIR, my title was FOD (friend of director). I was really in the grind, waking up at 5 in the morning to prepare myself, then carpool at 6 a.m. to be at the office by 7. The hour ride to the office was a scenery of miles and miles of cornfields, cows, silos and small towns. By 3 pm, we would leave back for home, prepare dinner, do chores then early to bed for that familiar mundane cycle to commence the next day.
The job offered to me was ideal for a contemplative transition after the roller coaster experiences of the export business in Cebu. It entailed a routine, with minimal stress and an easy workload, which offered a sense of relief. But after awhile, I sensed a non-challenging life which needed to be revitalized. As I say, it’s either my attitude or I’m in the wrong job. I chose the latter.
We decided to move to the “big apple” since my son and his family would be migrating in a couple of months.
Getting a job in the big apple is so much easier than finding one in the Midwest, so much so that after 5 weeks of tedious search and constant kneeling to my God, my ordeal was over and my prayer was answered.
My job would take me only 15 minutes walk max from where I live. So sparing the cost in commuting and the much needed exercise was a plus factor in choosing this over the others. Moreover, my job gives me rent free accommodations , tax free payments and stress free environments. The ideal job that not so many are cut to be but has tremendous advantages and influence you can imagine
My boss is short, blonde and the best looking guy I ever saw for his age. He does have a temper and screams to the highest of decibels when he gets impatient. And even if he gives me shit, I clean up after him. But I don’t mind because he allows me to give him secret kisses and I melt when he looks at me with his deep blue eyes. We go for short walks and hold hands at the park. We have lunch breaks and snacks together. And best of all, no intrigues and gossips mill around with this kind of displayed affection. After all, my boss is 20 months old and I’m his nanny.
Nannies or ‘yayas’ as called in the Philippines carries with it a stigma because they are considered uneducated and poor. But not so in America where there is dignity in labor.
When my agency called me and offered me a job as a nanny, I hesitated at first, but then I decided to take the challenge. I have heard rumors of being nannies to stars, millionaires and diplomats in the big apple, and they were having fun. So I wanted to have some fun, too. And to this day, on my second year as a nanny I have never regretted it a bit. Although I started as a nanny, today, I am considered an adopted part of the family.
This is one job that I know will have to cease when the kids get older. Yet deep in my heart this is the one that had the deepest relational experience of all. Because for me, all the other jobs I had are no different than what I have now. Yet this one has given me more insight and inspiration.
My very first book “My CEO is a three year old”, is a job memoir that relates to experiences from my previous jobs with what I have now. I am editing it at the moment and hope to have it publish soon.
Anyway, let me end with the reply to a question given to our own Philippine candidate Ms. Precious Lara Quigman that won her the Miss International title in 2005.
Q: What do you say to the people of the world who have typecasted Filipinos as nannies?
Lara: “I take no offence on being typecasted as a nanny. But I do take offence that the educated people of the world have somehow denigrated the true sense and meaning of what a nanny is. Let me tell you what she is. She is someone who gives more than she takes. She is someone you trust to look after the very people most precious to you --your child, the elderly, yourself. She is the one who has made a living out of caring and loving other people.So to those who have typecasted us as nannies, thank you. It is a testament to the loving and caring culture of the Filipino people.. And for that, I am forever proud and grateful of my roots and culture.
The opportunity came when I had befriended an American businessman who was part of the team of Americans coming to our country for mission trips. Every year, we held medical missions in Boracay , Baguio, Dumaguete, Leyte and other remote areas that needed medical care. We also did much evangelizing . It was during these times that Richard F. became close to me and offered me a job to work in one of his business interests in the Midwest.
The decision to try another scenery came when the furniture industry, where we belonged for a couple of years started to get shaky. This was after the 911 incident, when many buyers were on the sidelines and the manufacturers where hit with high overhead rates and dwindling export sales.
So, there I was in Ohio, having a desk job complete with my own computer and phone, rubbing shoulders with management. When many executives had initials after their last names like CEO. AVP or DIR, my title was FOD (friend of director). I was really in the grind, waking up at 5 in the morning to prepare myself, then carpool at 6 a.m. to be at the office by 7. The hour ride to the office was a scenery of miles and miles of cornfields, cows, silos and small towns. By 3 pm, we would leave back for home, prepare dinner, do chores then early to bed for that familiar mundane cycle to commence the next day.
The job offered to me was ideal for a contemplative transition after the roller coaster experiences of the export business in Cebu. It entailed a routine, with minimal stress and an easy workload, which offered a sense of relief. But after awhile, I sensed a non-challenging life which needed to be revitalized. As I say, it’s either my attitude or I’m in the wrong job. I chose the latter.
We decided to move to the “big apple” since my son and his family would be migrating in a couple of months.
Getting a job in the big apple is so much easier than finding one in the Midwest, so much so that after 5 weeks of tedious search and constant kneeling to my God, my ordeal was over and my prayer was answered.
My job would take me only 15 minutes walk max from where I live. So sparing the cost in commuting and the much needed exercise was a plus factor in choosing this over the others. Moreover, my job gives me rent free accommodations , tax free payments and stress free environments. The ideal job that not so many are cut to be but has tremendous advantages and influence you can imagine
My boss is short, blonde and the best looking guy I ever saw for his age. He does have a temper and screams to the highest of decibels when he gets impatient. And even if he gives me shit, I clean up after him. But I don’t mind because he allows me to give him secret kisses and I melt when he looks at me with his deep blue eyes. We go for short walks and hold hands at the park. We have lunch breaks and snacks together. And best of all, no intrigues and gossips mill around with this kind of displayed affection. After all, my boss is 20 months old and I’m his nanny.
Nannies or ‘yayas’ as called in the Philippines carries with it a stigma because they are considered uneducated and poor. But not so in America where there is dignity in labor.
When my agency called me and offered me a job as a nanny, I hesitated at first, but then I decided to take the challenge. I have heard rumors of being nannies to stars, millionaires and diplomats in the big apple, and they were having fun. So I wanted to have some fun, too. And to this day, on my second year as a nanny I have never regretted it a bit. Although I started as a nanny, today, I am considered an adopted part of the family.
This is one job that I know will have to cease when the kids get older. Yet deep in my heart this is the one that had the deepest relational experience of all. Because for me, all the other jobs I had are no different than what I have now. Yet this one has given me more insight and inspiration.
My very first book “My CEO is a three year old”, is a job memoir that relates to experiences from my previous jobs with what I have now. I am editing it at the moment and hope to have it publish soon.
Anyway, let me end with the reply to a question given to our own Philippine candidate Ms. Precious Lara Quigman that won her the Miss International title in 2005.
Q: What do you say to the people of the world who have typecasted Filipinos as nannies?
Lara: “I take no offence on being typecasted as a nanny. But I do take offence that the educated people of the world have somehow denigrated the true sense and meaning of what a nanny is. Let me tell you what she is. She is someone who gives more than she takes. She is someone you trust to look after the very people most precious to you --your child, the elderly, yourself. She is the one who has made a living out of caring and loving other people.So to those who have typecasted us as nannies, thank you. It is a testament to the loving and caring culture of the Filipino people.. And for that, I am forever proud and grateful of my roots and culture.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Religious or Spritual? What do you think?
Having a symposium is one way to disseminate information. Thus the 11th annual memorial lecture in honor of Rafael Salas held at the United Nations las Nov. 20 was just that.
Honorable Gertrude Mongella, president of the Pan African Parliament was guest speaker and touched on reproductive health issues of the African nation. She mentioned that her country has the highest population in the world with a ratio of 300 people for every square kilometer and that only one out of 22 born children will live to see daylight. Her appeal to the global community present at that symposium that night was indeed a revelation.
One statement that struck home was her mentioning of " religion which discriminates women in her country and should be re-examined." I couldn't agree more with her. Such subject is the issue of many women as well.
Haven't you notice that women's adversities always have MEN. Menopause, Menstruation, Mental etc..
It never ceases to upset me when verses taken from the bible are taken out of context to fit the male species' interpretation. This is what I'm talking about.
1. Submission
Ephisians 5:22..25 (Wives submit yourself unto your husbands, as unto the Lord...Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself for it)
When a man uses this verse as a tool to express his authority over a woman, there is only one conclusion. The husband has a symptom of pigititis also known as "pigheadedness". Many husbands believe that this verse puts them in charge no matter what conflict or disagreement arises. This is not the point because the verse before tht (21) states that submission is enjoined by all believers in fear of God. A wife's submission to her husband is to be "as unto the Lord" She has only one Lord, (Christ) but her devotion to her husband is to be of the same quality as her devotion to God. Similarly, a husband shows love for his wife by following Christ example of humility and self sacrifice (which is also a form of submission). No where in these passages says that the husbands are to excercise power or authority over his wife.
2, HEAD OF THE FAMILY
1Cor 11:3 ( But I would have you know that the head of every man is Christ and the head of every woman is man, and the head of Christ is God." Eph. 23 (for the husband is the head of the wife)
Again, this does not mean control or subordination or even heirarchical. When the bible was translated from the original Greek form, many words can get mixed up. The greek word "andrasin" for example can mean man or husband, depending on how it is used in the context. The word 'head' has been explained in a number of different ways variously as supreme ruler, governor, boss, derivation or source. Therefore, this verse simply means that the husband is not commanded to be head but is described in metaphorical terms as the head of the wife. Since the context is the parallel of not the glorious ruling of Christ, but has self giving sacrifice, it is likely that this is the most sensible reading.
The derivative source could also mean that women originated from man by its historical beginnings that women came out of man's rib (Adam in Genesis).
Given that our filipino culture is heirarchical, many men pressume that they are "boss". It can be terrifying to women that Christianity advocates them as seconday to men's supremacy. Not the point here. The bible also states that we are co-heirs to God's inheritance.
When two people enter marriage, they bring with them various gifts and abilities so that each partner will seek to develop the gifts of the other, rather than fitting into mythically predetermined roles. There is no biblical mandate for husbands going out to earn their daily bread and women staying home to bake it. Paul never specified any cultural action or practical application from this passage. But when a man loves his wife (Eph 5:25) he is fulfilling his role.
3 BIBLE IS LAW BECAUSE IT IS GOD'S WORD
I am an absolutist in terms of God's Word. 2Timothy3:16 says that "all scripture is given by inspiration of God and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." But I am a relativist when it comes to the level of belief that a believer or a non-believer has in terms of his faith.
If one is a spiritual midget, then the letter of the law is the basis of one's belief. But that is not what the truth portrays. We do not follow the letter of the law, but by the Spirit of the law. We go beyond what the scripture says, beyond its black and white letters. Just as the final verse of that chapter says 2Tim4:22 "the Lord Jesus Christ be with thy Spirit"
Ken Wilbur's book "the integral vision" explains in chapter 5 the aspect of being spiritual but not religious. When you first read his notes, you can easily conclude that he is a weird man. But sometimes weird men makes sense in our mess up worlds. Just as there are spiritual midgets, there are also spiritual giants in the Christian world. Wilber explains his findings/researches scientifially in layman's terms and it is up to us to find what level of spirituality we have attained.
Many researchers define spiritual intelligence accordingly. The most simplified one is based on Paul Tilich's definition that "spiritual" refers to that which indicats a person's ultimate concern. And he goes on to show the levels and stages. Just like Maslow's Needs Heirarchy, there is a graph to knowing your own level of spirituality. However, this does not mean that the level described will determine the specific content of one's ultimate concern, but simply explain the degree of development, complexity and consciousness that goes into one's ultimate concern, whatever the level may be.
Summing the whole issue on men being head (boss juno), submitting (under kuno), and it's all found in the bible (Law kuno), everyone who takes their spirituality seriously should consider the outcome which one desires.
I definitely confirm with Dr. Mongella's observation that religion is discriminatory to women when seen at the least level of understanding. Education in every aspect, whether for health, values and other pertinent issues should take priority in the list of programs,not only in Africa but in many parts of the world. Religion takes a major role in this quest because these are the origins of many wars since time immemorial.
To quote Wilber: The press (media) seems to recognize only two types of religion: fundamentalist nutcases and New Age nutcases. Both, of course, are pre-rational, with the fundamentalist believing in amber dogma and myth, the new agers believing in magenta magic. Any transrational orientation, such as transpersonal psychology is lumped in with the New Age nutcases. But heck, the only two people that the press knows who are "spiritual" are George W. Bush and Osama Bin Laden. And the press can't figure out who is the more dangerous.
Honorable Gertrude Mongella, president of the Pan African Parliament was guest speaker and touched on reproductive health issues of the African nation. She mentioned that her country has the highest population in the world with a ratio of 300 people for every square kilometer and that only one out of 22 born children will live to see daylight. Her appeal to the global community present at that symposium that night was indeed a revelation.
One statement that struck home was her mentioning of " religion which discriminates women in her country and should be re-examined." I couldn't agree more with her. Such subject is the issue of many women as well.
Haven't you notice that women's adversities always have MEN. Menopause, Menstruation, Mental etc..
It never ceases to upset me when verses taken from the bible are taken out of context to fit the male species' interpretation. This is what I'm talking about.
1. Submission
Ephisians 5:22..25 (Wives submit yourself unto your husbands, as unto the Lord...Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself for it)
When a man uses this verse as a tool to express his authority over a woman, there is only one conclusion. The husband has a symptom of pigititis also known as "pigheadedness". Many husbands believe that this verse puts them in charge no matter what conflict or disagreement arises. This is not the point because the verse before tht (21) states that submission is enjoined by all believers in fear of God. A wife's submission to her husband is to be "as unto the Lord" She has only one Lord, (Christ) but her devotion to her husband is to be of the same quality as her devotion to God. Similarly, a husband shows love for his wife by following Christ example of humility and self sacrifice (which is also a form of submission). No where in these passages says that the husbands are to excercise power or authority over his wife.
2, HEAD OF THE FAMILY
1Cor 11:3 ( But I would have you know that the head of every man is Christ and the head of every woman is man, and the head of Christ is God." Eph. 23 (for the husband is the head of the wife)
Again, this does not mean control or subordination or even heirarchical. When the bible was translated from the original Greek form, many words can get mixed up. The greek word "andrasin" for example can mean man or husband, depending on how it is used in the context. The word 'head' has been explained in a number of different ways variously as supreme ruler, governor, boss, derivation or source. Therefore, this verse simply means that the husband is not commanded to be head but is described in metaphorical terms as the head of the wife. Since the context is the parallel of not the glorious ruling of Christ, but has self giving sacrifice, it is likely that this is the most sensible reading.
The derivative source could also mean that women originated from man by its historical beginnings that women came out of man's rib (Adam in Genesis).
Given that our filipino culture is heirarchical, many men pressume that they are "boss". It can be terrifying to women that Christianity advocates them as seconday to men's supremacy. Not the point here. The bible also states that we are co-heirs to God's inheritance.
When two people enter marriage, they bring with them various gifts and abilities so that each partner will seek to develop the gifts of the other, rather than fitting into mythically predetermined roles. There is no biblical mandate for husbands going out to earn their daily bread and women staying home to bake it. Paul never specified any cultural action or practical application from this passage. But when a man loves his wife (Eph 5:25) he is fulfilling his role.
3 BIBLE IS LAW BECAUSE IT IS GOD'S WORD
I am an absolutist in terms of God's Word. 2Timothy3:16 says that "all scripture is given by inspiration of God and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." But I am a relativist when it comes to the level of belief that a believer or a non-believer has in terms of his faith.
If one is a spiritual midget, then the letter of the law is the basis of one's belief. But that is not what the truth portrays. We do not follow the letter of the law, but by the Spirit of the law. We go beyond what the scripture says, beyond its black and white letters. Just as the final verse of that chapter says 2Tim4:22 "the Lord Jesus Christ be with thy Spirit"
Ken Wilbur's book "the integral vision" explains in chapter 5 the aspect of being spiritual but not religious. When you first read his notes, you can easily conclude that he is a weird man. But sometimes weird men makes sense in our mess up worlds. Just as there are spiritual midgets, there are also spiritual giants in the Christian world. Wilber explains his findings/researches scientifially in layman's terms and it is up to us to find what level of spirituality we have attained.
Many researchers define spiritual intelligence accordingly. The most simplified one is based on Paul Tilich's definition that "spiritual" refers to that which indicats a person's ultimate concern. And he goes on to show the levels and stages. Just like Maslow's Needs Heirarchy, there is a graph to knowing your own level of spirituality. However, this does not mean that the level described will determine the specific content of one's ultimate concern, but simply explain the degree of development, complexity and consciousness that goes into one's ultimate concern, whatever the level may be.
Summing the whole issue on men being head (boss juno), submitting (under kuno), and it's all found in the bible (Law kuno), everyone who takes their spirituality seriously should consider the outcome which one desires.
I definitely confirm with Dr. Mongella's observation that religion is discriminatory to women when seen at the least level of understanding. Education in every aspect, whether for health, values and other pertinent issues should take priority in the list of programs,not only in Africa but in many parts of the world. Religion takes a major role in this quest because these are the origins of many wars since time immemorial.
To quote Wilber: The press (media) seems to recognize only two types of religion: fundamentalist nutcases and New Age nutcases. Both, of course, are pre-rational, with the fundamentalist believing in amber dogma and myth, the new agers believing in magenta magic. Any transrational orientation, such as transpersonal psychology is lumped in with the New Age nutcases. But heck, the only two people that the press knows who are "spiritual" are George W. Bush and Osama Bin Laden. And the press can't figure out who is the more dangerous.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Yehey! I am once again invited to a symposium at the United Nations in honor of Rafael Salas.
My mother’s youngest sister, Carmelita is married to Rafael Montinola Salas. He was the Executive Secretary of the Philippines during the Marcos regime. When Tito Paeng, as we fondly call him, knew that Marcos was going to declare Martial Law, he fled the country along with his new bride, Tita Carmen.
Because Tito Paeng was brilliant and very knowledgeable, he was able to organize the U.N Fund for Population. This entity aids to promote the rights of every woman, man and child to enjoy a life of health and equal opportunity. He was the pioneer and first Executive Director for UNFPA.
Every year, at the U.N., Tito Paeng is honored as the brainchild of such a dream and it has been a great help indeed to millions all over the world.
Learning that we had recently moved to New Jersey, Tita Carmen did not hesitate to send us an invitation to grace such an event.
Taking half a day off from work, I immediately hurried home for a change of clothes. Donning a black pair of pants with matching top and gold belt for accent, with boots for that New Yorker look, I scurried to the train station just in time to catch the 3 o’clock transit for an hour’s train ride to new York city.
Arriving New York Penn Station at the onslaught of rush hour is not a fun sight. Literally! People were on a stampede rushing to catch their trains. You would think you were in a football game tackling your way through the meter dash. By the time we got out of the Penn, it was starting to rain.
We had decided to take the bus earlier, but with the traffic caused by the rain, we would surely be late. So hailing a cab (a first time for me in New York) was our best bet in reaching the U.N.
After the security checks, bags open and hands capping on the sides, we were hailed to proceed to such and such corridor where the reception committee for the event was situated. The reception committee took our invitations and exchanged it for badges that would grant entrance to the affair. Since there was already a group that converged when we arrived at the desk, an escort brought us all together to a set of elevators that would lead us to the main hall.
The familiar hall, which I only see on t.v. was now a reality. Where once I would see heads of nations debate on global matters, negotiating on the affairs and futures of countries, I am now witness to such a place of action. Our escort informed us that we could sit anywhere we like except the oval center table which was reserved for the heads of states or the ambassadors. Above the center table and on stage sat the guest of honor, guest speaker and the present UNFPA director, together with my Tita Carmen.
The guest speaker, whose name now slips my mind, is a writer for the New York times and travels extensively all over the world. He spoke about the plight of women in terms of human trafficking and the increase in their health issues. Moreover, he talked about the rise of homeless children due to the effects of the wars . Over all, it was an experience.
Right after the symposium, we were directed to another Hall where they served cocktails and a time to mingle with the dignitaries. My escort husband left my side after doing his obligation of handing me my drink and in due time was off engaging in conversation.
As often, my interest would lead me to the buffet table located near the end of the room. Actually, what magnetized me was the floor to ceiling glass overlooking the river. The lights on the buildings against a lighted bridge just looked overwhelmingly beautiful.
I was enjoying alone with myself when I overheard a man beside me engaging in conversation to a lady from Africa. She was garbed in a printed mumu with matching print wrapped around her head. He casually asked her, “what do you think of the plight of women in the Sudanese area?.”
I almost got panicky and said to myself, ”boy if someone ever converses with me, “I KNOW NOTHING, KID” but then again, I do know something. I surfed through my mind and recalled ,Eve Ensler’s play “Vagina Monologue”. Thank God they presented that ages ago in Cebu and Fabregas was my favorite actress then. So, my confidence came back…just in case…
However, no one had any courage to talk shop with me. At that point, my drink was down to 2 drops and no husband in sight. So I donned my 4 ounce of wine courage and headed to the bar.
One fellow, in his thirties, was looking at me hold my wine glass to the bartender. He gave me a wink as the bartender replaced my wineglass for a new one. Suddenly, I felt like a girl out from high school but then again thought to myself, “is this how you get picked up? Do I look like a Mrs.Robinson? The guy is old enough to be my son!….but then again, does he know I’m 50? Hmmmm?’
Smiling with a full glass out of that scenario, I immediately looked for my husband. Seeing him standing beside the buffet table, He was stretching his neck out as if looking for someone. Sooner than he could say anything, I asked him, “do you think I look 50?”
“why?” he asked.
“just tell me.” I quipped.
“No! you look 30ish.” he said. This man is indeed my husband.
“well! Someone just hit on me! “
The best part for me was waiters handing out hors’d’ oeuvres. I stationed myself conspicuously enough that when the servers and waiters would come out with sets of fresh hors’d’oeuvres, I was waiting. There was baby lamb chops with mint sauce. Soft and juicy. Then a single potato chip with a dolop of dill dip, crab cakes, spring rolls, brushectta on toast, satay on ornamental sticks with peanut sauce, strip of steak on pix, puff pastry tart, dips on artichoke leaf, and some other canapés.
The evening went on beautifull, until finally, I was able to get hold of my auntie. She was tired but happy after meeting all the dignitaries. While we were together, she never failed to introduce us to whoever came near her. To me, Tita Carmen is the epitome of finesse and dignified grace. She had her own entourage of photographers and assistants . After all not only is she the wife of Tito Paeng, she is presently also the ambassador of the Philppines to the Czech Republic in Prague. After several pictures and last minute hook-ups, we had to bid each other good bye.
Stepping outside of the U.N. bulding, the rains kept pouring. Mike and I were debating either to take a cab or walk several blocks to the Penn station. As I was light headed (almost drunk really, from all that wine and hors’d’oeuvres) I wanted to walk.
It was a great 30 minute walk for me,with rain on my face and holding hands with my love one. But not so much for Mike. Since he was wearing his $150 dollar shoe, he kept on swearing and looking down, afraid of stepping on a puddle lest he ruin his shoes. Kinda reminds me of a sanitized aunt who goes to a Sinulog procession. She is often seen head down, not so much in reverence of the patron saint, but is afraid to step on spit with her shoes.
By the time we arrived Penn Station, I was sober and happy, Mike’s shoes were wet and he was miserable. However, on the train back to New Jersey, we both agreed that we had a great time and look forward to the next invite.
Thanks ,Tita Carms. See you in a couple of days!
My mother’s youngest sister, Carmelita is married to Rafael Montinola Salas. He was the Executive Secretary of the Philippines during the Marcos regime. When Tito Paeng, as we fondly call him, knew that Marcos was going to declare Martial Law, he fled the country along with his new bride, Tita Carmen.
Because Tito Paeng was brilliant and very knowledgeable, he was able to organize the U.N Fund for Population. This entity aids to promote the rights of every woman, man and child to enjoy a life of health and equal opportunity. He was the pioneer and first Executive Director for UNFPA.
Every year, at the U.N., Tito Paeng is honored as the brainchild of such a dream and it has been a great help indeed to millions all over the world.
Learning that we had recently moved to New Jersey, Tita Carmen did not hesitate to send us an invitation to grace such an event.
Taking half a day off from work, I immediately hurried home for a change of clothes. Donning a black pair of pants with matching top and gold belt for accent, with boots for that New Yorker look, I scurried to the train station just in time to catch the 3 o’clock transit for an hour’s train ride to new York city.
Arriving New York Penn Station at the onslaught of rush hour is not a fun sight. Literally! People were on a stampede rushing to catch their trains. You would think you were in a football game tackling your way through the meter dash. By the time we got out of the Penn, it was starting to rain.
We had decided to take the bus earlier, but with the traffic caused by the rain, we would surely be late. So hailing a cab (a first time for me in New York) was our best bet in reaching the U.N.
After the security checks, bags open and hands capping on the sides, we were hailed to proceed to such and such corridor where the reception committee for the event was situated. The reception committee took our invitations and exchanged it for badges that would grant entrance to the affair. Since there was already a group that converged when we arrived at the desk, an escort brought us all together to a set of elevators that would lead us to the main hall.
The familiar hall, which I only see on t.v. was now a reality. Where once I would see heads of nations debate on global matters, negotiating on the affairs and futures of countries, I am now witness to such a place of action. Our escort informed us that we could sit anywhere we like except the oval center table which was reserved for the heads of states or the ambassadors. Above the center table and on stage sat the guest of honor, guest speaker and the present UNFPA director, together with my Tita Carmen.
The guest speaker, whose name now slips my mind, is a writer for the New York times and travels extensively all over the world. He spoke about the plight of women in terms of human trafficking and the increase in their health issues. Moreover, he talked about the rise of homeless children due to the effects of the wars . Over all, it was an experience.
Right after the symposium, we were directed to another Hall where they served cocktails and a time to mingle with the dignitaries. My escort husband left my side after doing his obligation of handing me my drink and in due time was off engaging in conversation.
As often, my interest would lead me to the buffet table located near the end of the room. Actually, what magnetized me was the floor to ceiling glass overlooking the river. The lights on the buildings against a lighted bridge just looked overwhelmingly beautiful.
I was enjoying alone with myself when I overheard a man beside me engaging in conversation to a lady from Africa. She was garbed in a printed mumu with matching print wrapped around her head. He casually asked her, “what do you think of the plight of women in the Sudanese area?.”
I almost got panicky and said to myself, ”boy if someone ever converses with me, “I KNOW NOTHING, KID” but then again, I do know something. I surfed through my mind and recalled ,Eve Ensler’s play “Vagina Monologue”. Thank God they presented that ages ago in Cebu and Fabregas was my favorite actress then. So, my confidence came back…just in case…
However, no one had any courage to talk shop with me. At that point, my drink was down to 2 drops and no husband in sight. So I donned my 4 ounce of wine courage and headed to the bar.
One fellow, in his thirties, was looking at me hold my wine glass to the bartender. He gave me a wink as the bartender replaced my wineglass for a new one. Suddenly, I felt like a girl out from high school but then again thought to myself, “is this how you get picked up? Do I look like a Mrs.Robinson? The guy is old enough to be my son!….but then again, does he know I’m 50? Hmmmm?’
Smiling with a full glass out of that scenario, I immediately looked for my husband. Seeing him standing beside the buffet table, He was stretching his neck out as if looking for someone. Sooner than he could say anything, I asked him, “do you think I look 50?”
“why?” he asked.
“just tell me.” I quipped.
“No! you look 30ish.” he said. This man is indeed my husband.
“well! Someone just hit on me! “
The best part for me was waiters handing out hors’d’ oeuvres. I stationed myself conspicuously enough that when the servers and waiters would come out with sets of fresh hors’d’oeuvres, I was waiting. There was baby lamb chops with mint sauce. Soft and juicy. Then a single potato chip with a dolop of dill dip, crab cakes, spring rolls, brushectta on toast, satay on ornamental sticks with peanut sauce, strip of steak on pix, puff pastry tart, dips on artichoke leaf, and some other canapés.
The evening went on beautifull, until finally, I was able to get hold of my auntie. She was tired but happy after meeting all the dignitaries. While we were together, she never failed to introduce us to whoever came near her. To me, Tita Carmen is the epitome of finesse and dignified grace. She had her own entourage of photographers and assistants . After all not only is she the wife of Tito Paeng, she is presently also the ambassador of the Philppines to the Czech Republic in Prague. After several pictures and last minute hook-ups, we had to bid each other good bye.
Stepping outside of the U.N. bulding, the rains kept pouring. Mike and I were debating either to take a cab or walk several blocks to the Penn station. As I was light headed (almost drunk really, from all that wine and hors’d’oeuvres) I wanted to walk.
It was a great 30 minute walk for me,with rain on my face and holding hands with my love one. But not so much for Mike. Since he was wearing his $150 dollar shoe, he kept on swearing and looking down, afraid of stepping on a puddle lest he ruin his shoes. Kinda reminds me of a sanitized aunt who goes to a Sinulog procession. She is often seen head down, not so much in reverence of the patron saint, but is afraid to step on spit with her shoes.
By the time we arrived Penn Station, I was sober and happy, Mike’s shoes were wet and he was miserable. However, on the train back to New Jersey, we both agreed that we had a great time and look forward to the next invite.
Thanks ,Tita Carms. See you in a couple of days!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Haberday!
Three of my dearest relatives (Uncle Clyde, Tita Lorna and Menchu) are celebrating their natal day this month. Being Filipinos but having been here more than 20 years, I am wondering if they still stick to the tradition of making noodles as part of their birthday meals. This tradition was taken from the Chinese to indicate long life!
During my elementary years in St.Theresa‘s Cebu, when a classmate had a birthday, she would distribute lolly pops, chocolates or candies . Everyone had to be good to the birthday girl,even for just a day. You’d never know she might include you for that intimate “blow-out” of preferred friends.
When my kids had their birthdays, I had to prepare their “birthday” basics, which was always a combination of barbercue, spaghetti, ice cream and cake. Often, I would ask my children to invite only their favorite friends over for merienda. But then, I would prepare much more than the number of servings requested. It’s because in the Philippines, when you invite one child, you’d expect the whole entourage of mothers, yayas, other family members including the extended ones would come. After all, it is our custom to be polite and welcome the uninvited, and expect they don’t each as much.
As my children grew older, they were given the choice of a party or some equivalent preferred gift . If we were in no position to afford a birthday, the family would just have an intimate dinner at a restaurant.
One time, my son Isaiah was going to have his 7th birthday and he had wanted to have a party in school. I can still remember ourconversation.
“mommy, I like you’re spaghetti with the fresh vegetables in the sauce but can I have the real spaghetti, please?" he inquired.
"Sai,what do you mean by real spaghetti?" I asked
" you know, the one with the red sauce and only hotdog and it’s sweet.”
His concept of the real spaghetti was the McDonald or Jollibee type, but mine was the gourmet of roasted veggies with home made tomato sauce, and he called his kind “the real spaghetti”. If my friend Iliana the Italian heard of this, she would be flabbergasted and insulted.
Nowadays, I have replaced the noodles for pasta as a birthday dish. Sometimes the thin spaghetti, linguini or fetucini replaces the pansits. Or if I will be too busy to cook, I make a quick lasagna dish. With the availability of ingredients at the grocery, I can make lassagna in less than half the time I normally make with my usual recipe. All I need are 4 ingredients.
½ lb. Ground beef
1 bottle spaghetti sauce (Cecco brand is good. Check what kind you like. Some are spicier than the others)
2 packs of shredded mozarella (see! They come in already shredded. the 227 g per pack)
1 pack oven-ready lasagna noodles (there is such a thing..you don’t have to soak them in water)
Directions:
1. Brown beef. (no oil, it will just sweat itself)
2. Discard the juice.( I always thought that the juice gives it flavor, but found out the juice causes the dish to water and besides, I don’t like the rancid smell that it creates)
3. Pour the spaghetti sauce into meat. Mix well. Cook for 15 minutes then turn off heat.
4. Assembling: pour little sauce on bottom of glass dish.
Place lasagna noodles over sauce. Make sure that noodles don’t touch the sides of the glass dish. Then pour in 1/3 of sauce. Sprinkle generously the mozarella cheese on top of sauce. Then repeat the process until the final step is having the cheese on top. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake for 30 minutes, then take off the foil. bake for another 15 to have that golden look.
----------------------------------------
My daughter is going to culinary school next year. What I have failed to continue doing, she will now accomplish. I am proud of her and will support her in her endeavor.
My cousin Fran is a very talented and good pastry chef. It is because of her that I attend the fancy food shows in San Francisco, Chicago and New York. She has been doing designer cakes for several years and used to sell gourmet chocolates. When I asked her what is the number one tool that a cook should have in the kitchen, she said, "A fire extinguisher?"
"Fran," I said, "It's a good set of knives!!" And with that, we both laughed.
During my elementary years in St.Theresa‘s Cebu, when a classmate had a birthday, she would distribute lolly pops, chocolates or candies . Everyone had to be good to the birthday girl,even for just a day. You’d never know she might include you for that intimate “blow-out” of preferred friends.
When my kids had their birthdays, I had to prepare their “birthday” basics, which was always a combination of barbercue, spaghetti, ice cream and cake. Often, I would ask my children to invite only their favorite friends over for merienda. But then, I would prepare much more than the number of servings requested. It’s because in the Philippines, when you invite one child, you’d expect the whole entourage of mothers, yayas, other family members including the extended ones would come. After all, it is our custom to be polite and welcome the uninvited, and expect they don’t each as much.
As my children grew older, they were given the choice of a party or some equivalent preferred gift . If we were in no position to afford a birthday, the family would just have an intimate dinner at a restaurant.
One time, my son Isaiah was going to have his 7th birthday and he had wanted to have a party in school. I can still remember ourconversation.
“mommy, I like you’re spaghetti with the fresh vegetables in the sauce but can I have the real spaghetti, please?" he inquired.
"Sai,what do you mean by real spaghetti?" I asked
" you know, the one with the red sauce and only hotdog and it’s sweet.”
His concept of the real spaghetti was the McDonald or Jollibee type, but mine was the gourmet of roasted veggies with home made tomato sauce, and he called his kind “the real spaghetti”. If my friend Iliana the Italian heard of this, she would be flabbergasted and insulted.
Nowadays, I have replaced the noodles for pasta as a birthday dish. Sometimes the thin spaghetti, linguini or fetucini replaces the pansits. Or if I will be too busy to cook, I make a quick lasagna dish. With the availability of ingredients at the grocery, I can make lassagna in less than half the time I normally make with my usual recipe. All I need are 4 ingredients.
½ lb. Ground beef
1 bottle spaghetti sauce (Cecco brand is good. Check what kind you like. Some are spicier than the others)
2 packs of shredded mozarella (see! They come in already shredded. the 227 g per pack)
1 pack oven-ready lasagna noodles (there is such a thing..you don’t have to soak them in water)
Directions:
1. Brown beef. (no oil, it will just sweat itself)
2. Discard the juice.( I always thought that the juice gives it flavor, but found out the juice causes the dish to water and besides, I don’t like the rancid smell that it creates)
3. Pour the spaghetti sauce into meat. Mix well. Cook for 15 minutes then turn off heat.
4. Assembling: pour little sauce on bottom of glass dish.
Place lasagna noodles over sauce. Make sure that noodles don’t touch the sides of the glass dish. Then pour in 1/3 of sauce. Sprinkle generously the mozarella cheese on top of sauce. Then repeat the process until the final step is having the cheese on top. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake for 30 minutes, then take off the foil. bake for another 15 to have that golden look.
----------------------------------------
My daughter is going to culinary school next year. What I have failed to continue doing, she will now accomplish. I am proud of her and will support her in her endeavor.
My cousin Fran is a very talented and good pastry chef. It is because of her that I attend the fancy food shows in San Francisco, Chicago and New York. She has been doing designer cakes for several years and used to sell gourmet chocolates. When I asked her what is the number one tool that a cook should have in the kitchen, she said, "A fire extinguisher?"
"Fran," I said, "It's a good set of knives!!" And with that, we both laughed.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Flay-vorful and Flay-sant
I am so excited. This is my very first blog...Hopefully I can now write my thoughts. I may falter in my words (being Bisdak and all, have my thoughts go wayward and write nonsense, but at least I tried.
A few years back, when visiting my brother in California, He gave me his calling card. I was caught by surprise at the bold letters CIA right below his name. I thought he was working for the bureau, only to find out that the fine prints beside the bold ones were written as 'Cebuano In America.'
Since cooking is my passion, I have thought of Cuisine-nera in America as a cute name. Then also, I can consider myself as a CIA, and the only bureau I can think of is the word: bureaung talangka...bureaung mangga..bureaung whatever....(from the tagalog rootname 'burro' meaning pickled)
Every other weekend, I go up to New York to visit my son and his family. On this particular weekend, Mike and I decided to have an early dinner before spending the night at my son's . Dinner was at 5 pm at the Bar Americain located between 6th and 7th avenue in Manhattan. And yes! this is the restaurant owned by Bobby Flay, a famous iron chef from the Food Network.
We entered through a revolving door right smack into a receptionist table with 2 LCD computers on each end. A bald guy in dark suit, probably in his mid thirties greeted us and asked for the names on the reservation. After confirming, the coat lady who was waiting on the side, took our coats and gave us identifying stubs.
Right behind the receptionists was a glass wall where several tables are visibly seen. At the far end was a drinking bar with 4 bar tenders criss crossing one another oblivious of the wall behind them which was filled with different liquors. We entered the area on the left side where a long bench type couch in padded black leather sat perpendicularly to the bar and had about 5 small rectangular tables with 5 corresponding individual seats . The maitre d' motioned us to the table nearest the bar. He pulled out the table so I could get on the couch. Once seated, the maitre d' pushed it back and allowed Mike to sit accross me. He then gave us two album like folders, one that contained the drink menu and the other, the food.
A minute later, a head table waiter appeared to take our orders. Since we were not ready, he inquired about our drinks. Not a moment passed by, and he suggested, "how about iced water, while you're looking in on the menu". After several nods, and several seconds later, he reappeared with water goblets. A few minutes later, he came back and got all our orders, and in less than 3 minutes he came back with our cocktails.
I cannot say how impressed we were with the attention we had that evening. Waiter no. 2 brought our appetizer of 6 pcs. oysters that lay on frozen ice in a white bowl transparently revealing reddish green leaves at the bottom. A tiny ceramic cylindrical cup with pesto sauce was placed at the center of the plate. Front Waiter no. 3 , presented us with our individual appetizer plates and oyster forks. Busboy no. 1 took away everything on the table when the appetizers were gone. Busboy number 2 came over and in 5 seconds flat was done with brushing off any remnants on the table.
Waiter number 4 came with our bread pcs on a wire basket, along with the bread knife and plates. Busboy no.3 came over to replenish the water in our goblets. I can assure you, everyone who came near our table was a totally different server.
The wine was so good, fruity and mild, and I was feeling light headed. Mike ordered a refill of the wine from our head waiter, who also brought our second appetizer of chips with bleu cheese dressing, simply fantastically crispy and creamy to the bite. Not long after, waiter number 5 came over with our entrees. They must have a system because Waiter number 5 came just out of the kitchen, walked straight to our table,placed my order of New York Strip Steak in front of me and Mike's lamb chops on his side.
The steak was perfectly seared, and the inside was perfectly pink. However, it was a little dry to my taste even with the mustard sauce that went with it. An outer layer of an onion was boiled til soft but not mushy. And I guess the inner portions of that onion was sauted with butter and placed right back inside the boiled onion skin. Simple presentation of steak and an onion on a round white plate.
Mike's order of lamb chops were cooked to pink perfection with an artistic flow of couscous, sauteed veggies and nuts. The presentation was enough to satisfy you, and the taste was as expected, juicy and soft to the bite.
When we were done, busboy number 3 took away our plates. Several minutes later our dessert of figs and cream cheese tart was placed by dessert waiter number 6 .
If I'm not mistaken this is what you call the assembly line of the restaurant industry where different servers and clean up crew had designated assignments. Excep for the receptionist, hostess and maitre d' who whore dark suits, every server wore white long sleeved shirt , black pants and black aprons reaching their ankles.
Since we made the reservation at the last minute, the receptionist was kind enough to give us the first hour when they open for dinner that night, but we needed to leave by 6:30 as it was already reserved for some guests. Oh well! it was just as good!
Over all the meal was good, and the service was great. Moreover, we had met new friends, the servers, the next seat diners, and best of all, Mike and I had great conversation by just being together.
For a probinsiyana like me to experience such a treat, it was indeed a wonderful experience.
Why? Because I have been romancing with food for several years now, and in America, this is just part of the journey.
A few years back, when visiting my brother in California, He gave me his calling card. I was caught by surprise at the bold letters CIA right below his name. I thought he was working for the bureau, only to find out that the fine prints beside the bold ones were written as 'Cebuano In America.'
Since cooking is my passion, I have thought of Cuisine-nera in America as a cute name. Then also, I can consider myself as a CIA, and the only bureau I can think of is the word: bureaung talangka...bureaung mangga..bureaung whatever....(from the tagalog rootname 'burro' meaning pickled)
Every other weekend, I go up to New York to visit my son and his family. On this particular weekend, Mike and I decided to have an early dinner before spending the night at my son's . Dinner was at 5 pm at the Bar Americain located between 6th and 7th avenue in Manhattan. And yes! this is the restaurant owned by Bobby Flay, a famous iron chef from the Food Network.
We entered through a revolving door right smack into a receptionist table with 2 LCD computers on each end. A bald guy in dark suit, probably in his mid thirties greeted us and asked for the names on the reservation. After confirming, the coat lady who was waiting on the side, took our coats and gave us identifying stubs.
Right behind the receptionists was a glass wall where several tables are visibly seen. At the far end was a drinking bar with 4 bar tenders criss crossing one another oblivious of the wall behind them which was filled with different liquors. We entered the area on the left side where a long bench type couch in padded black leather sat perpendicularly to the bar and had about 5 small rectangular tables with 5 corresponding individual seats . The maitre d' motioned us to the table nearest the bar. He pulled out the table so I could get on the couch. Once seated, the maitre d' pushed it back and allowed Mike to sit accross me. He then gave us two album like folders, one that contained the drink menu and the other, the food.
A minute later, a head table waiter appeared to take our orders. Since we were not ready, he inquired about our drinks. Not a moment passed by, and he suggested, "how about iced water, while you're looking in on the menu". After several nods, and several seconds later, he reappeared with water goblets. A few minutes later, he came back and got all our orders, and in less than 3 minutes he came back with our cocktails.
I cannot say how impressed we were with the attention we had that evening. Waiter no. 2 brought our appetizer of 6 pcs. oysters that lay on frozen ice in a white bowl transparently revealing reddish green leaves at the bottom. A tiny ceramic cylindrical cup with pesto sauce was placed at the center of the plate. Front Waiter no. 3 , presented us with our individual appetizer plates and oyster forks. Busboy no. 1 took away everything on the table when the appetizers were gone. Busboy number 2 came over and in 5 seconds flat was done with brushing off any remnants on the table.
Waiter number 4 came with our bread pcs on a wire basket, along with the bread knife and plates. Busboy no.3 came over to replenish the water in our goblets. I can assure you, everyone who came near our table was a totally different server.
The wine was so good, fruity and mild, and I was feeling light headed. Mike ordered a refill of the wine from our head waiter, who also brought our second appetizer of chips with bleu cheese dressing, simply fantastically crispy and creamy to the bite. Not long after, waiter number 5 came over with our entrees. They must have a system because Waiter number 5 came just out of the kitchen, walked straight to our table,placed my order of New York Strip Steak in front of me and Mike's lamb chops on his side.
The steak was perfectly seared, and the inside was perfectly pink. However, it was a little dry to my taste even with the mustard sauce that went with it. An outer layer of an onion was boiled til soft but not mushy. And I guess the inner portions of that onion was sauted with butter and placed right back inside the boiled onion skin. Simple presentation of steak and an onion on a round white plate.
Mike's order of lamb chops were cooked to pink perfection with an artistic flow of couscous, sauteed veggies and nuts. The presentation was enough to satisfy you, and the taste was as expected, juicy and soft to the bite.
When we were done, busboy number 3 took away our plates. Several minutes later our dessert of figs and cream cheese tart was placed by dessert waiter number 6 .
If I'm not mistaken this is what you call the assembly line of the restaurant industry where different servers and clean up crew had designated assignments. Excep for the receptionist, hostess and maitre d' who whore dark suits, every server wore white long sleeved shirt , black pants and black aprons reaching their ankles.
Since we made the reservation at the last minute, the receptionist was kind enough to give us the first hour when they open for dinner that night, but we needed to leave by 6:30 as it was already reserved for some guests. Oh well! it was just as good!
Over all the meal was good, and the service was great. Moreover, we had met new friends, the servers, the next seat diners, and best of all, Mike and I had great conversation by just being together.
For a probinsiyana like me to experience such a treat, it was indeed a wonderful experience.
Why? Because I have been romancing with food for several years now, and in America, this is just part of the journey.
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