Joaqui's Favourite Pastime

Forgive me if I crow a bit. Believe me, only grandparents are entitled to this privilege.

Got some great Joaqui news.

Of course to a grandparent like me, “great” may mean that special moment Joaqui started turning to his side, the first time he chuckled, the moment he pointed to the Jollibee mascot and said “Jabee,” or his first ever no sablay dash to the toilet.

When Joaqui adeptly held my son’s drumsticks for the first time and wowed us with his baby drumsing (that was what he said when caught with the sticks, “Oh, I’m just drumsing!”), we naturally chorused, “Hallelujia!”

So here we are again, proud grandparents, grinning from ear to ear as if Joaqui won an Oscar. So, as usual, I’m just too happy to share his opus with you.

“My Favorite Pastime,” speech he delivered at Mt. Annan Christian School’s (Campbelltown, NSW) Speech Night (second place among Year 2—Grade 2 in our system—contenders):

“My favourite past time is playing with my sister. I like my sister because she’s very funny and silly.* My favourite game to play with her is hide and seek and tag. We like playing together because she is part of my family.

“My sister’s name is Charlize. She looks cute. She has long black hair and big beautiful eyes. I love my sister. And I’ll still love and forgive her every time she does something wrong.

“My sister is 3 years old. And when she turns 4, she’ll go to prep next year and I’m excited to be the one to pick her up from her classroom.

“My sister is very joyful and happy and is always there to cheer me up. That’s why playing with my sister is my favourite past time.”

Paolo Joaquin Atas, bow.

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*To Australians, “silly” stands for being playful and humorous

Super-Size Me

What makes your blood pressure rise whenever you see one of these hallowed brands in a store window?

Louis Vuitton? Hermes? Gucci? Prada? Chanel? Rolex? Lacoste?

I bet you would say, “All of the above!”

We love good brands. That’s understandable—since trusted brands assure us of quality and performance. A trustworthy company surely takes the pain to gain its customers’ confidence, making sure its brands satisfy for the long term, giving them that extra edge above other consumers.

No wonder they command the highest prices. And their customers don’t flinch!

Offer Paris Hilton a stylish $10,000 Hermes Birkin bag—a brand which easily caters to her vanity and which she may love too for its utilitarian appeal—and she’d just be too happy to oblige.

You may get the same unblinking reaction from our own very own Ruffa Gutierrez, or Jinky Pacquiao. With the latter’s billions, who’s to say she couldn’t have a Louis Vuitton, even if it costs Manny, the world’s most prized boxer, say P200,000?

Inggit lang tayo!

But we ordinary mortals would flinch at these price tags! In the first place, LVs or Rolexes are out of our league.

Enter jafakes. They look and sometimes feel like the real McCoy.

And they definitely envelop you with a weighty super-size me aura—a sparkle which gets to your friends whom you truly magnetize with your feel-rich blings .

Because otherwise, why settle for a jafake when you can trust another brand which will work as efficiently anyway.

Case in point: I bought an imitation designer bag for a few bucks. In a few months’ time, its handles gave way, so bye-bye runaway Coach!

Naunahan kasi ng porma, instead of common sense.

So I made sure my next choice was a no-nonsense yet still stylish leather bag. It was definitely costlier than a jafake, but it didn’t cost me a fortune, and proved a good match to its weightier contents. (You know what things teachers lug around in our bags?)

I’m sure I’m not alone. Most of us Filipinos have a collective propensity to embrace branded products, no matter how fake.

I used to go with my sister Daisy (She’s now in heaven by the way and so immune from the worldly desires we still struggle with.) to Greenhills shopping center. Oh boy, those goods really looked delicious. Of course they were all fakes! But observe shoppers going gaga over them.

So who are we to blame for our collective love affair with branded goods, even if they’re not the real thing? (Don’t we always look for a whipping boy?)

“Mental colony,” someone wittily punned "colonial mentality" a long time ago to satirize our tendency to glorify anything American even if they're undesirable. But we’ve moved from being a US stooge. Today, we are as competitive as any Tommy Hilfiger, Dickies and Harry Potter brand.

My goodness, we devour foreign authors’ works yet snub our own which can stand up against them. (Please excuse this diversion so I can plug my book—“GOING UP? Making Right Choices at Work”—due for release at the International Book Fair, SMX, Mall of Asia, Sept. 15-19. Please look for the OMF booth.)

Honestly, we can never be defined by our possessions, more so by the brands we acquire.

And I’ve discovered that only one brand—or one name or one manufacturer or one identity —matters.

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Eph 2:10). The bible says that in the Lord’s hand, I am a brand new creation!

Why must I be agog about other brands when what matters IS MINE already?

Oceans High Fives

I love the sight of the big ocean. But I hate being in it. Simple reason: I can’t swim!

Give me the swimming pool any time! I could attempt to float; and if I find myself remaining in the same spot (which happens all the time!), I know I’ve not been washed to the edge of the world, so that’s okay. How could I perish with giant rubber duckies and four tiled concrete walls hemming me in?

But sometimes I just could not avoid it. It comes with the territory. Maybe His way of telling me too that whether on land or the vast sea, or in the valley, if He’s the one holding my life, why fear?

So I did walk on water one day, like Peter! Er, call that walking under the sea. No, I wasn’t cast as a mermaid in a Disney movie.

I was then a free-lance writer and was invited by an airline for a familiarization tour of Saipan, a Pacific island territory of the United States. One of the tour’s highlights was a mid-ocean tete-a-tete with Nemo and his underwater friends.

Made to wear this astronaut-like headgear (cool, huh—which allowed the water to reach only our shoulder even underwater), we were then led through a stairway going to the bottom of the sea. Holding on to a rope as we walked on, yes, the ocean floor, we then received a pinch each of fish food. Then they surged—schools of fish of varying colors and designs, dancing then swarming! I recognized Dory, friend of Nemo’s father in the crowd.

I sort of heard her sneer, “So now you know how it is to be inside an aquarium and be taken captive,” as my thighs tingled with their nibbling. “This is revenge for Nemo, you human!” Good thing piranhas didn’t join our tormentors, or should I say, new-found friends.

My recent brush with the ocean was again part of work. Coming by air through Semirara island, we then took a one hour (seemed endless in my mind) boat ride to the island of Caluya for a two-day planning and team-building seminar for Caluya’s municipal staff.

My imagination worked overdrive again: “What if…?” It rained the entire trip and though the sea didn’t roar and foam, those jerky sea wavelets had me retracing Jonah’s three days inside the belly of the big fish. Yes Lord, I repent!

Of course it turned out the fish would be in our belly instead. From day one in Caluya, we feasted on Lapu-lapu (bought by our host at P88 per kilo!) and the best kinds of fish, big and small, which if you’re in Manila, would cost you a slice of your fake signature bag.

And so with thoughts of ocean disaster far from my mind, I made the most of this rare island adventure. Our team, composed of Trixie, Eddan and myself, and beefed up on the third day by Miguel and Vicky, buckled down to work.

It’s good to know that in this remote Antique island lives a group of people with a passion for transforming their communities into models of good governance.

Mayor Genevieve Lim, who asked for this exercise, is a first-term mayor. She ran in lieu of her father—then the incumbent mayor—who succumbed to cardiac arrest weeks before the recent elections.

Mayor Lim believes in the value of planning and teamwork if she is to succeed in her calling. Remember Joseph in the bible? God gave him a dream. He eventually achieved it in spite of discouragements and trials. I pray Mayor Lim will be unfazed as she leads her people to better days.

With that in mind, our boat ride back to Semirara for our plane ride back to Manila seemed much more pleasant. Wow, the island really looked beautiful this warm sunny day!

We may feel like a tiny plankton in the middle of the big ocean but crossing it has its rewards.

High fives for braving the big ocean!

Change

Everyday change is what we need.

I mean lose change, especially if you live in BF Homes, Paranaque, where parking in its commercial areas almost always requires tipping a whistle-blowing teenage boy, a kuya or a manong so you can back out of your parking slot.

Frankly, it's no sweat getting out of your parking slot. That's why cars have rear view mirrors and breaks; yet somehow, we've relied on these guys to prrt-prrt us out of there for one simple reason: Better for them to prrt-prrt than to pick pockets or beg.

So it's a real problem if I run out of lose change.

It comes handy too when you go for other services like your car's gas refill, which I went for today.

But oh-me oh-my, I ran out of lose change.

Gas boy Ardent (If my memory serves me right. Promise, I memorized his name!) offered to clean my front windshield while my tank got filled.

"No, wala na akong pang-tip (I don't have anything for tip)," I refused.

"OK lang po," he said cheerfully; then proceeded with his wiping chore; adding, "Lilinisin ko na rin po yung likod (I will clean the back windshield also)."

Not content, he added, "Tingnan ko na rin po yung tubig at oil (I'll see if your radiator water and oil are OK.)," After finding out these were good, he didn't offer to sell me anything as I'd experienced may times in the past with other gasoline station attendants.

Ardent didn't stop there. Observing my limp-looking left front tire (which I had put off airing for sometime), he directed me to the air pump; then sent me off with his undiminished smile.

Thanking him profusely and leaving him with a big, "God bless you!" I took a mental note of giving him a big tip the next time around.

My tip would be a pittance however compared to what God has in store for Ardent. I wondered what promotion awaits him as he consistently performs a swell job.

That's by far greater than some lose change!

Jesus tells us a similar story (Matthew 25:23) where a master tells his servant: "Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things. Come and share your master's happiness."

Reminds me of the apostle Paul who said, "Serve wholeheartedly, as if you were serving the Lord, not men, because you know that the Lord will reward everyone for whatever good he does..." (Ephesians: 6:7-8).

Pressed down, shaken together, overflowing blessings! That's no lose change.

The Saga of the Toga and the Hope of Ana

I’ve never felt comfortable wearing the toga.

An ancient accoutrement, it comes with a cape which eventually ends up burying your neck till only your chin—double, in my case today—shows.

Plus I hate it when the toga cap messes my coif. After you take it off, notice your by-now-plateau-top.

But in spite of the toga travail, donning that gown and cape (as faculty members), and seeing our students—especially long-staying ones—move on, is a pleasure.

If only togas could talk! Rented year in and year out, their stories could fill volumes of tele-novela episodes.

Oh that they would record graduation speeches! Would these talks be graded corny, tear-jerker, snore-inducing, highfalutin, inspirational, or plain gibberish?

The graduation speech delivered last Saturday by Macky, one of our finest students, deserved an A for honesty, inspiration, entertainment value, and yes, some drama. A great toga moment.

Here’s another for toga memory:

After receiving her diploma and getting offstage, Ana (not her real name) bent over me for a beso-beso. Then she hugged me tight and didn’t let go until we were both crying and laughing.

That was Ana’s D-day. She proved that in spite of a learning disability, one can stand tall in the company of scholars and learned men.

I was in charge of the school’s mentoring program that term Ana enrolled. Instead of assigning her to other teachers, I appointed myself to be her mentor.

Ana struggled passing her subjects. Teachers spent longer hours coaching her on assignments and projects. But she always came to class on time. She too was very courteous.

And we met regularly as mentor-mentee. Pretty soon, we were discussing not just school matters. Ana shared her dream of opening a flower shop. She talked of her crush.

Some days, she asked for mentoring time to just share how bad she felt—some mean individuals ridiculed her slowness. Oh how we prayed for them too.

But Ana has a special gift. She could write. And unlike most students, she could speak flawless English. Her mother took pride in the fact that despite her learning disability, Ana was skillful with words.

“Written by Ana.” I have since envisioned Ana authoring children’s books.

Oh, that the toga could tell us more Macky and Ana stories to encourage the young that if they persevered and asked God for wisdom, the future would be promising.

“You who are simple, gain prudence, you who are foolish, gain understanding. Choose my instruction instead of silver, knowledge rather than choice gold, for wisdom is more precious than rubies, and nothing you desire can compare with her.” (Proverbs 8: 5, 10-11)

Love Your Rubbery Tapa: A Lesson from Jocelyn and Mary

This morning, my concern was to just fill my already stinging stomach.

“Never allow yourself to go hungry.” My doctor always nagged me against going without food as a precaution to ward off migraine, my sort of thorn-in-the-flesh adversary.

And having come from a blood extraction (for annual physical exam) which required an overnight fast, my mind really just focused on food to prevent the onset of migraine.

Nearest stop: McDonald’s Alabang Town Center. But the parking lot was so full, I just had to drive on. “Food, I need to have food.” My head started to ache.

Then I made a wrong turn and found myself in BF’s Tropical Hut Hamburger.

Anyway, breakfast at last! The coffee was good but I wasn’t happy at all with my rubbery tapa.

I sat near a table where a mother cuddled her baby. Starting a conversation with her, I pretty soon discovered her “baby” was already a 14-year old girl, curled up like an overgrown fetus.

Mary suffered from cerebral palsy so she leaned on her mother Jocelyn like a spineless infant. Jocelyn said she was waiting for her other daughter so they could go home to their shanty somewhere in Sucat.

“Nabenta po lahat ng tinda kong sabon (All of my detergent products have been sold.),” she gladly related, pointing to her empty bag; implying too that she’d finished her snack, when I offered to order her one.

Jocelyn added that she and her brothers and sisters played musical instruments. She was adept with the guitar and even performed with a show band when she was younger.

Her only dream was to provide Mary the best care and have her other daughter finish college.

Before we parted, Jocelyn and I prayed—for Mary and for God’s grace to abound in her life and her family. I even invited her to church.

My slowly percolating headache was gone, replaced with joy for having met Jocelyn and Mary.

Yet I felt ashamed. Being so focused on my gut and my pain, I almost lost sight of what mattered.

So what if once in a while our head aches, or the beef is rubbery, or that our wallet just has a few cents left.

I pray these fleeting concerns won’t consume us to the point that we get immune to those who hurt around us. God allowed me a detour this morning to let me peek into my heart.

Moses prayed (Psalm 90:12), “Teach us to number our days aright that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” May His wisdom allow us to be sensitive to others, as well as teach us to value every little blessing.

In fashion?

My friend, Grace, and I get drawn to almost the same things displayed in store windows—maybe because our creative handle on things oftentimes intersects.

We chorus “wow” and “nice” looking at the same bling or clothing draped on skinny mannequins.

Then we’d end up shrieking and laughing, “horrible!” “disgusting!” soon after the hologram-like image of ourselves in skimpy wear kicks in.

Yes, window-shopping in the mall is fun. But we—wowa types—prefer to linger nowadays in coffee shops or restaurants to just talk.

Grace and I almost always find ourselves driving to either Pergola Mall in BF or SM Southmall after our teaching hours in the school where both of us are lecturers.

That’s either Shakey’s or Sugarhouse. Could it be that we, being “old dogs,” couldn’t be taught new tricks anymore? Who cares, we love their cushioned chairs and polite service.

But wait, yesterday, we tried Amici’s gelato. “This is the life,” Grace sighed as we sat down to lick our espresso ice cream.

Trying new things is definitely refreshing.

I’m endlessly amazed at how designers craft out-of-the-way and radical stuff then have fashionistas raving. Things I couldn’t imagine wearing are cool to others.

I guess that’s all right as far as fashion goes. But we’ve somehow treated real stuff like closet stuff.

What’s your reaction to this news? “This week, Iceland's Prime Minister Johanna Sigurdardotti married her longtime partner Jonina Leosdottir, making her the first head of government in the world to marry a same-sex partner.”

That was part of our coffee time conversation yesterday. “If a country’s leaders brazenly violate God’s laws, how could they possibly expect their citizens to follow man-made laws?”

And we agreed, “When people do not accept divine guidance, they run wild…” (Prov 29:18)

How far can we really push the boundaries and say that wrong is right and right is wrong? Or that one fits me, but not you. We treat God’s commands like we’re choosing from a Shakey’s menu.

God’s eternal word is no menu. It’s His way of making us stay on a certain path so we can enjoy life, not just the menu!