The Gospel Of Thomas

Our entry for today is about Reincarnation.

Wikipedia states that:

"Reincarnation is a doctrine or metaphysical belief that some essential part of a living being (in some variations only human beings) survives death to be reborn in a new body. This essential part is often referred to as the spirit or soul, the "higher" or "true" self, "divine spark", or "I". According to such beliefs, a new personality is developed during each life in the physical world, but some part of the self remains constant throughout the successive lives."

It goes on to explain that:

"Belief in reincarnation has ancient roots. This doctrine is a central tenet within the majority of Indian religious traditions, such as Hinduism (including Yoga, Vaishnavism, and Shaivism) and Jainism. The idea was also entertained by some ancient Greek philosophers. Many modern Pagans also believe in reincarnation as do some New Age movements, along with followers of Spiritism, practitioners of certain African traditions, and students of esoteric philosophies such as Kabbalah, and Gnostic and Esoteric Christianity. The Buddhist concept of Rebirth although often referred to as reincarnation differs significantly from the Hindu-based traditions and New Age movements in that there is no unchanging "soul" (or eternal self) to reincarnate."

Unfortunately, the Abrahamic religions do not subscribe to the idea of birth and rebirth. It's always between heaven and hell, and lines of morality are drawn to these two paths in the afterlife. Most Christians would embrace the idea of eternal salvation rather than achieving struggled perfection through countless existence.

I for one is in contrast with my mother when it comes to my idea of afterlife. She believes in heaven, while I bombard her with questions on what to do with an eternity. "Hindi ba boring yun, forever ka nasa langit, puro sarap lang ang nararanasan mo?" Mom defends her position by telling me that time and space isn't a concept in heaven. I would further challenge her claim by asking her to imagine endlessness with one consciousness. Often, our conversation would end by my sister's proclamation that God is a capitalist invention.

Time and again, I wrote entries dealing with questions of an afterlife. Despite having strong leanings toward Christianity, something tells me that there's more to heaven and hell, and that these concepts were designed, with meticulous blueprints to scare away the pious into believing an angry and vengeful almighty.

"But my creator is compassionate." I would remind myself. "Why should he let his creations suffer heaven and hell when they can always try again until they get to figure out what life's meaning is?"

So there, that is why I dabble in the occult of Buddhism from time to time. At least, the belief allows me to understand the very nature of things in order to live in harmony with my surroundings. Good thing such faith doesn't demand a switch of religion so it becomes a philosophy I try to follow when faced with occasional spiritual dilemma.

But my searching never stops there. Like all true seekers, I look for a common thread among faiths that will reinforce my personal beliefs. Standing by my religion, my attempts to prove that Jesus Christ does tell something about reincarnation seems bearing fruits. His words may not have been included in the four books of the New Testament but a passage I found from the Gospel of Thomas this afternoon was enough to satiate my hunger for answers.

"And Jesus said, 'The person is like a wise fisherman who cast his net into the sea and drew it up from the sea full of little fish. Among them the wise fisherman discovered a fine large fish. He threw all the little fish back into the sea, and easily chose the large fish. Anyone here with two good ears had better listen!'

Written in the Book of Matthew, the same passage appear like this:

"47Once again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was let down into the lake and caught all kinds of fish. 48When it was full, the fishermen pulled it up on the shore. Then they sat down and collected the good fish in baskets, but threw the bad away. 49This is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come and separate the wicked from the righteous 50and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth."

So efficient and liberating Thomas' version is. The spark I saw may appear deceiving but as far as I know, the large fish being picked up are the ones who understood life and all its love and suffering. Thus, it doesn't need to relive it again.

This fish already gained perfection.

Ask me what the goal of perfection is and my answer is simple:

Nothingness.

After Eden (Finale)

VIII.

The retreat was like me standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast plain on a sunny, cloudless late afternoon. The sun marches beyond the horizon, while the darkness trudges the hills behind me. It was a refreshing sight, only to lose its beauty long before one can truly appreciate it.

Beauty. How I wish my eyes could always see it surrounding me.

Many were invited, but few have chosen to show up and be graced by the hope of renewal. Blessed I was for I choose to come, because for an entire day I learned that love overpowers everything.

Even hatred.

Even pain.

So there I was sitting on my chair while listening to the preacher in front. His name was Bo Sanchez and for the first few hours of the retreat, I never knew who he was. Only his name, which my aunt kept raving during family reunions was my only knowledge of him. He was a pretty cheerful guy who knew how to sway crowds. His charisma overpowered even the stone-hearted ones - including me, for the message he delivered wasn't the usual stuffs preached during homilies. It was a clear message of hope that at the end of the day, everything has a reason and that reason will always be something good for us.

Unless we see things in a different light.

Families gathered to hear his good news. One lady, a seventy-year old spinster pondered about her life now that she's approaching her twilight years. With no family to support, she took in her arm the responsibility of bringing up her nieces until they grew old enough to support themselves. "I'm very tired," she confided to the group during the sharing. "I want to sell my house, leave my younger brother's family behind and settle in the province to take care of my older brother."

I would love to ask this matriarch who would take care of her, but her revelations left me befuddled of her fate.

"But his good-for-nothing son will be another cross to bear."

A lady about my age worried about her new-found commitment. Like me, she came from a bad break-up last year with her five year old relationship. Just when she and her ex were about to get engaged, she realized the mistake of their union. "It was a completely waste of time," the pretty lady said. "I pray that this new one is very different from the one I had." Her new boyfriend was with her, in another group, probably sharing his concerns about his new-found love as well.

IX.

The day wore on and as Bo Sanchez spoke more about love, following one's bliss, and acknowledging personal callings, I found myself being reconnected to the source once again. For the past several weeks, I ceased going to my sanctuary in Katipunan to attend to my inner ramblings without the aid of a higher presence. Reverting back to my natural instinct to stand alone in the face of adversary, I became tougher. It was pure survival instinct guiding me.

But this tough side had its loophole that when left unchecked, leaves me too focused on one issue and I tend to ignore the rest. To escape was my breather and the reckless abandon I did at BED for two straight nights was a classic example of its vents.

The things I bear left me weary and it showed during the special prayer session later that night.

X.

We were shepherded back at the conference hall after dinner. There was a make-shift altar in front, where a red cloth spilled and flowed to the ground.

The organizers handed out little prayer booklets before the session started. "Brothers and sisters, write your dreams and hopes in that booklet and we will place all of them on the cloth which symbolizes God's deep love for us," Bo Sanchez explained. "Keep it with you so you will never lose track of the happiness you wish to gain."

Had the booklet been asked to be filled out earlier, I would probably hesitate. I wasn't ready to let go yet. But I knew that all the sharing and all the reflection and all the inspirational talk we had the whole day would come to this. Even Bro showed his strongest encouragement to be more open when he took away another burden from me before sundown. Through a forwarded text message from mom, the Sikyu Firm informed us that our profit shares were deposited to our accounts. Doubting the validity of the news, I even called my bank just to confirm if such amount was added to my balance.

The bank agent said yes .

Lights were switched off to let the candles illuminate the hall. Lyrics came out of the projector screen so we could follow it and sing on top of our voices. While those beside me knew these songs of worship by heart, I was there merely as a saling ket-ket. Lip synching would be a great idea to show my participation, but instead of doing something silly, I just let the songs bring me to my knees until my eyes welled up while recalling the shittiness I left behind.

"Brothers and sisters, offer your troubles to God so He can guide you towards the path you want to take."

I can't take it anymore. Rarely do I shed tears over heartaches and since they were already trickling, better show to everyone my signs of weakness.

We knelt as we approach the red cloth to leave our prayer booklets there to be blessed. Brief images of friends, colleagues and family became random flashes in my head which I brought with me as we neared the climax of the retreat.

"To those families out here, huddle together and tell them how much they are loved." Everyone who came with their families began to assemble in small groups, I would have stayed in my seat except that I was reminded of a relative on the other side of the hall.

She was alone in her chair while families around her hugged one another.

"Hindi ka nag-iisa." I hugged her tight. My cousin, who rarely spoke to me leaned her head on my shoulders. "I wish that you will succeed in your business so that you will never have to work in another country."

She's a registered nurse who can go abroad anytime she wants.

I went back to my seat a few minutes later only to press my face against my activity folder. As the people around continued singing worship songs and Bo Sanchez reminding everyone to share the love we have gained, the walls which held me back finally gave in.

I started crying.

The first I had in years.

---

Epilogue:

Umiyak ako hindi dahil sa mga problemang dala dala ko, kundi sa overwhelming openness na aking naramdaman habang binabasbasan kami ng retreat master. Paulit ulit na naglalaro sa aking isip kung bakit yung random na pagngiti at pag-thumbs up ni Bo Sanchez matapos ang kanyang unang talk ay nag-iwan ng matinding impression sa akin.

Yun bang, naramdaman ko na hindi lang siya ang nag-welcome nang mga oras na iyon...

Matapos ang prayer service, niyakap ko ang lahat ng mga naka-sharing ko buong araw. Naroon si Lola na napansin ang biglang paggaan ng kalooban ko. Naroon rin yung bagong couple na binigyan ko ng well-wishes sa kanilang pag-iibigan at naroon si roomate, na kahit hindi ko masyadong nakadikit ay tila ba nag-enjoy ng husto sa aming retreat.

Natulog akong basketball shorts lang ang suot. Balewala na kahit makita pa ni roomate ang katawan ko. Tutal, ang pangangarir ay tuluyang nawala na sa aking agenda.

*

Bumigat ako ng mahigit dalawang pounds matapos ang walang sawang kain tuwing breaktime sa retreat.

Apat na araw akong lumiban sa trabaho, kaya't stress nang ako ay bumalik rito.

Nabawasan ang horde na dinadala ni utol sa bahay. Madalas ay isang lalaki na lang ang kasama nito. Marami pa rin akong resentment sa kanyang tila pagwawalang bahala sa aming sitwasyong pinansyal.

Ang aking half-brother, dumudura pa rin ng dugo.

At marami pa ang mga dagok na padating. Di ko rin tiyak kung talaga bang may natutunan ako sa retreat na aking dinayo o wala.

Subalit kanina, pagkatapos ang ritwal na pagbubuhat ng bakal, nagkaroon ng panibago at hindi planadong activity sa routine ko.

*

Taimtim na nakikinig si Mama sa homily ng pari nang mapansin niyang may isang binata ang nakaupo sa pew malapit sa kinalalagyan ng kanyang wheelchair. Nais niyang lumingon dito ngunit ramdam mo ang kanyang pagkabahala. Inalis niya ang lock ng kanyang inuupuan upang pagulungin ito palayo sa binata. Ang binata naman ay lumakad papalapit na tila ba sinusundan ang naka wheel chair.

Nang medyo bakas na ang takot sa mukha ng aking nanay. Lumapit ang binata. Niyakap nito ng mahigpit ang nakaupo sa wheelchair.

"Hey ma, its me. I know you will be here kaya sinundan kita. Happy Easter."

After Eden (Second Part)

IV.

We left my aunt's place in Paranaque at six in the morning so we could reach the retreat house in Tagaytay before 8 am. The travel was uneventful along South Expressway save for the overcast sky reflecting my mood as we ascend the hills of Cavite. The weather was cool and crisp when we arrived there and after writing my name at the registration booth, my female cousin and I separated ways so we could settle down to our designated cottages.

I would be having a room mate and as I walk past other male retreat attendees, I wished mine would be interesting enough to spice up my two days stay away from the city.

Thrice I knocked at the door. Nobody answered. Since he arrived earlier and we had to share a single key, probably he was asleep.

After a few minutes, my room mate opened the door.

"Pasensya na, naka-idlip ako." He was rubbing his right eye with his left hand.

"Ayos lang. My name is Joms, and you are?" I gave my brimming smile hoping that we could connect.

"Phillip, tuloy ka bro." He shook my hand.

"Not bad," I told myself while dropping my bag beside the bed. "Ulam na rin ito kahit paano."

V.

Phillip was not bad looking, but he fell a little below my standards. His smooth brown skin was a turn on, his short height and plump physique needed a little refinement.

However if companionship is what I sought, Phillip could pass as a friend or maybe even a flirt buddy. He was nice enough to accommodate me, but the shirt he wore revealed the kind of person I would share the room with. Plastered on it were quotes from the Book of Matthew. On his bedside lay the Bible and some self-help books to guide him during the retreat. He was too saintly to be corrupted. It would be best to strike elsewhere.

VI.

The opening mass was officiated by a geriatric priest named Father John. I sat infront next to my room mate who listened attentively to the Homily. My head turned at every direction searching for my missing cousin and scouting for some cute guys I could introduce myself after the Eucharist was over. Surrounding me were pompous ladies in their sixties and seventies, couples in the prime of their married life and some ladies and gentlemen of my age who spoke more "hallelujahs" and "praise be to God" rather than the expletives I splat whenever someone pisses me off.

"I'm too sinful to be with these people," I mumbled.

Don't get the impression that I just sought to unleash my repression in the holiest of places. In truth, I was more concerned that the troubles I brought would prevent me from experiencing the bliss assured by those who recommended the retreat.

A flashback before the holy mass began proved my sincerity: While walking towards the conference hall, I prayed to that one being who would care to listen to open my heart for healing and reflection. A flashback still, while waiting for my aunt to board her SUV going back to Manila: She told me "to see this retreat as an opportunity to gather strength for the battles that lie ahead." Rarely does she smile to people, but as she entered her vehicle, she did smile to me and that smile remained in my head till the letting go part of the reflection later that night.

VII.

The answer to my prayer came shortly after I sought it. Seldom do I attend masses and rarely do I participate in singing songs of worship. All I asked was to feel welcome in that retreat, and as the priest uttered this phrase, which we often sing in most masses, it played in my ears like a personal greeting from Bro himself.

"Blessed is he who come, in the name of the Lord..."

For the first time after stepping foot at Angel Hills, I felt my burdens getting lighter.

---

-tobecontinued-

Mister Porky

The group is divided into 6 members each. The leader, who was chosen earlier from the number of votes he received is asked to go out of the hall to get some instructions for the activity. Those who remain are given masks to cover their eyes. After everyone's line of sight has been shrouded behind the piece of clothing, the leader shows up bringing some working materials with him.

"I have here a Manila Paper, several sheets of used newspaper, a roll of masking tape and a pen." His message boomed across the table despite the noise and chatter from the other groups.

As we feel the materials arranged on the table, we hear him speak again - this time giving orders we find deem impossible to achieve.

"We will make a pig."

Depending on how good the members are in following instructions, the leader gives task to each person.

"You will crumple the newspaper which will become the filling for the pig's body."

"You will make four legs out of these spare pieces of Manila Paper."

"And you, will rip small strips of masking tape with your fingers which shall be used to connect each body part together."

The leader is only allowed to give instructions, the moment his hand intervenes to help a member play his part, the entire group is disqualified.

Following blindly, the pig takes shape. Exact hand movements carefully slide newspaper fillings inside the shell. This shell, which is made out of Manila Paper - rolled and taped to look like a cylinder - has a chance of bursting, if the hand crafting it carelessly applies too much pressure. When the body is finished, masking tapes secure the legs, passed over by the member tasked to make it.

"Guys, you have five minutes left." The facilitator announces in front.

"We can do this guys. Just listen to me."

In life, we receive instructions which we may, or may not follow. Like in the game, a task is handed to each member. He must complete this task before the time is over. The voice, which guides may not use his hand to intervene, but in every milestone that has been achieved, his comforting reassurance reaches out, no matter how subtle the message is.

"Tama ba yung pagkakabit ko sa paa?" A member would ask, his hand only guided by the contours of the body he earlier crafted.

"Pin it a little to the left. Yan ayos."

"Yung isa namang paa, baliktarin mo. Yun!"

And like all instructions being handed out, to ignore is a path open to tread. Depending on what the group desires to achieve, everything must still end when the buzzer finally rings.

"Group leaders, two minutes left!"

"You, feel the flat surface in front of the head." The almost-finished pig is now handed over to another member. "Yan, tama na yung hand mo. Now draw the face there and make sure to put the eyes, nose and smiley face at the right spots so we can spare our pig from looking like an abomination."

Life is a blindfold, whose outcome will forever remain unseen.

"We're done guys! We've beaten the buzzer. You can take away your blindfolds now." The leader tells everyone.

Amidst the chuckles and giggles at how the pig came out to be, another lesson is revealed.

Mister Porky aka The Bunny

It doesn't matter what the outcome is. The essence will always be whether something good was achieved or not.

---

It was revealed later that the leaders were actually following a model pig displayed at the podium. When we were asked to make another pig, this time with blindfolds down, the results were exactly the clone of the one in front. Unfortunately, it took away the thrill of the game that we found the second part unchallenging.

I was so emotionally connected to our first pig (since I was the one tasked to make the body and attach the ears and legs to their proper places) that I kept it tucked and hidden amongst the vines in one of Angel Hill's secret gardens. Mister Porky has been spared from the abyss waiting inside the trash bin.

Foo Fighters

The Pushpaka chariot that resembles the Sun and belongs to my brother was brought by the powerful Ravana; that aerial and excellent chariot going everywhere at will .... that chariot resembling a bright cloud in the sky ... and the King [Rama] got in, and the excellent chariot at the command of the Raghira, rose up into the higher atmosphere.

A Reference to the Hindu Flying Machines, the Vimanas
Mahabharata

---

My mom used to tell us this story about our close encounter of the third kind. In the early days, our old house in Sampaloc had this very large opening next to her room's bathroom. Like a sundeck on a densely packed neighborhood, it lead to the neighbors' rusty rooftops, where toddler steps like mine made creaky, clattery sounds which threw the back-door neighbors in a fit of rage. Long before they decreed to put up a concrete wall to block our exit for good, the window was left open at the middle of the night. There, my dad would let me sit by the windowsill as we made animal figures out of stars and planets in the sky. Mom would sometimes join us in between her grinding house chores or test paper checking breaks, thus completing a picture-perfect portrait of a family peeking out from a wide opening to try and figure things out in the dark.

One night, I remember being slightly interrupted from my sleep after dad insisted on seeing a strange object hovering high above our house. Carrying me on his shoulders, we raced towards the sundeck window where my mom was already peeking outside to catch a glimpse of the flying disk. Mother would later claim every time the subject is brought up that what we saw was a metallic orange ball of light and that there were other witnesses across the city, and that the appearance of the strange flying object even made headlines in the news the following day. Mom would even tell us that she discouraged my dad from opening the window too wide out of fear that we might get abducted. These crystalline details were lost to me now. What I can vaguely recall was seeing a bright orange object.

Nothing more, nothing less.

However, when I hear stories about strange orbs creating light shows or woozy movements in the sky, or whimsy unidentified flying things being reported chasing earthbound aircraft only to outrun it at lightning speeds, I recall that time when we had an encounter of our own. A decade after bearing witness to that shiny metallic object hovering high above our sun deck window, a UFO craze descended upon the mainstream media. It coincided with the coming "Rapture" where, according to its promoters, every chosen soul will be abducted and placed on one of the huge evacuation starships in orbit around Earth. They were even building a secret base somewhere at the foothills of Mount Banahaw to prepare for such interstellar humanitarian effort.

At the height of the media frenzy, I was going gaga over these things, believing I could be one of the chosen ones as told by the "contactees" being interviewed on television. Dad did not discourage me from my delusions, and instead fueled it by giving me this dossier full of press releases about the UFOs and their respective space commanders. For quite some time, I tried to "telepathically" make contact with these visitors hoping they would give me a hint of their presence. The only thing I saw during the entire madness was a runaway balloon fleeing to the sky from a children's birthday party somewhere in the neighborhood.

The sensation eventually fizzled out a few months later and the hyped "Rapture" disappointed everyone, including me. One of the "contactees" ended up being a sideshow publicist of the late "Da King" during a national elections another decade later, while the lead spokesperson for the visitors now fashion herself as a modern age Babaylan and established a cult somewhere in Mindanao a few years ago. Such were the fate of those who decieved an entire nation and made their believers think that their homeland was the "New Jerusalem" of the coming millenium.

While many have forgotten about this "grand" scheme envisioned by those visitors from the sky, it left me searching for answers. I sought the wisdom of Carl Sagan by reading his books Cosmos and Contact; opened my mind to the possibility of our first civilizations and early histories being tampered by extraterrestials according to Erich von Daniken; and scoured countless astronomy books in our school's library and in the bookstores for any real proof that life could exist in another planet.

But like the constant cycles of the moon, time changes everything and eventually, I gave up my childish wonders in exchange for something more real. Gone are the days when I would think about ways of sending humans to planet Mars and instead, just focus my attention on some pressing matters like where to get the money to pay for my credit card bills next month.

On some restless nights however, my inner geek suddenly escapes and leaves an ion trail across the four corners of my room. In need for means to get distracted, I would watch episode reruns of Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica or Babylon 5 to feel the good old days again. Sometimes I would find myself browsing the internet reading spoilers of my favorite space-themed movies or articles about close encounters in wikipedia. When in need to kill time, I would still recreate interstellar empires on the computer and let myself enter another reality by engaging alien civilizations in diplomacy, trade or warfare instead of pursuing my other sensual needs.

Things would have been easier if I never keep this lingering question whether are we alone in the universe or not. I do not know how it got into my thoughts, but I suspect that my earliest exposure to outerworld speculations remain the biggest culprit. Carl Sagan, until his death, only had assumptions as to why the existence of other beings were possible, while Von Daniken was refuted and declared fraud many years after his most popular books were published. The International Astronomical Union continues to catalogue planets outside the solar system, as SETI remains listening for any radio signals being transmitted from outer space.

The answer remains elusive and time is running out. The more I grow older and gain more scars in life, the less I think of things

like UFOs
and life in another planet
and human-like silhouettes appearing and disappearing in your peripheral vision. (which I know, deserves an entry of its own.)

But life would never get its spice if every mysteries that abound have already been resolved. There will always be subjects we would question and some series of events that we would ponder and yet, never understand at all. Much as I would like to put some sense to the things my eyes have seen, there are times that it is easier to accept them as they are, rather than complicate everything with reason and logic.

"Swimming ng Encantadia noong isang gabi sa Pansol Laguna. Katatapos lang namin maghapunan at nabusog ako sa hipon na luto ni Darwin at adobong manok at lumpiang ubod na dala ni Bloiggster. Nagyoyosi ako sa labas ng aming kuwarto nang mapansin ko ang tatlong pulang ilaw sa kalangitan. Noong una ay akala ko na mga antenna ito ng isang cell site. Subalit sa aking pagmamasid habang patuloy ang paghithit-buga ng sigarilyo, ang mga pulang tuldok ay kapansin-pansin na mabagal na gumagalaw sa kalangitan. Tila ba ito'y may patutunguhang direksyon at hindi lamang mga ilaw sa mga cellsite gaya ng una kong akala.

Marahan ang paglalayag ng mga ilaw patungo sa bundok Makiling. Gusto ko sanang tawagin ang mga kasama ko subalit pinili kong mapag-isa habang pinoproseso sa utak ang aking nakikita. Bukod rito'y maaring hindi rin nila paniwalaan ang aking mga hinala. Una ay walang sasakyang panghimpapawid ang mangangahas lumipad ng alas-diyes ng gabi, maliban na lamang kung ito'y isang pampasaherong eroplanong patungo sa ibang bayan. Ikalawa ay tatlong ilaw na malayo ang agwat sa bawat isa ang nagpruprusisyon sa itaas kaya't hindi ito matuturing na isang eroplano lamang. Panghuli, ang pagsuong patungo sa bundok ay isang napaka-peligrosong paglalakbay. Isang hibang na piloto ang gagawa nito lalo na't kung para sa adventure lamang ang kanyang pakay.

Nawala rin ang mga ilaw matapos ang ilang minuto. Marahil ay nilamon na rin sila ng mga ulap gaya ng bundok na kanilang daraanan. Marami ang naglaro sa aking isipan matapos ang kanilang mabagal na pagguhit sa langit. Naroon ang ala-ala ng aking first encounter kasama ang aking pamilya na aming natanaw sa likod bintana at pati na rin ang agam-agam na pugad daw ng kababalaghan ang mga bundok sa paligid ng Makiling. Dumating ang umaga na pilit ko pa ring iwinawaksi sa diwa ang aking mga nakita kinagabihan.

Subalit gaya ng mga ibang kababalaghan na naranasan ko na noon, mahirap kalimutan ang isang bagay na alam mong bumaon na sa iyong alaala."

---

The term foo fighter was used by Allied aircraft pilots in World War II to describe various UFOs or mysterious aerial phenomena seen in the skies over both the European and Pacific Theater of Operations. - Wikipedia, Foo Fighter

Diwata | Dream Journals Twenty

Barely Fifteen Minutes Ago:

Me: Kuya Ed, Magandang Umaga! Busy ka? May kuwento ako sayo.

Kuya Ed: Mabuhay! Kuwento!

Me: Ewan ko kung may relation to sa kuwento mo last night pero napaniginipan kita sa gubat (doesn't remember if he was rapeling or something, but I know it was raining and thick dark clouds hover above. It must have been late afternoon) tapos for a split second may narinig ako sa background na nagcha-chant na matandang babae na never ko pa narinig ang chant. Tribal siya no doubt. Kinuwento ko sayo kasi mamaya baka mawala sa tenga ko yung part ng kanta. Kinilabutan ako.

Kuya Ed: Write what you remember! In detail. Tapos kuwento mo. Write muna!

Me: Part ng chant ng matanda eh may salitang ya'ah'weh. Paulit ulit yun bago ako nagising.

Kuya Ed: Wow Yahweh.

---

Over dinner last night at TGIF, Pastor Ed Lapiz was telling us how he was able to record using audio equipment 33 hours of T'Boli epic which no one has ever done before. He said that at first, the chanters would hesitate their performance. It took him two days before they were convinced to chant their tribal story and they never stopped after.

According to the T'Boli elders. The diwatas of the forest (which they claim were around them at that time) told the chanters that Pastor Ed "was one of them."

Pastor Ed has this advocacy of preserving oral tradition, which he fears, would be lost to the nation if he doesn't step up and collect them.





As expected, I lost the chant, which kept playing in my head just when I was about to publish this entry.

It must have been something.

Valentines (Last Part)

Half an hour to go before Valentines Day is over.

The day went by almost unnoticed, like the five years that came before. Five years. That's how long it took before I finally realized that I'm better off on my own. Valentines Day with Phanks was a roller-coaster experience. It was a ride where I both felt being at the crest and base of the emotion called love.

We bore witness to the first Lovepalooza in Roxas Boulevard during our first run. We never kissed, but to be there as a couple was the apex of our relationship. Father died the second year so I never had any story to tell about our Valentines - except perhaps vignettes of grieving and accepting a life less of a loved one. A cold war erupted during our third. The blog never explained the reasons, but I hint that he had other important matters to attend and the occasion simply passed as a mere footnote to his life story. We welcomed the fourth by having a movie and dinner date at Robinson's Place a week earlier. By some divine joke, Valentines Day came to a close with me cuddling someone in bed. Yes, the partner decided to sleep over at my place. I wonder if mother heard the moaning and grunting sounds we made that morning. The fifth I was broke, but we were able to have a decent lunch at Gary's Taft despite a heaving stomach and a broken soul. Those were my Valentines days with him and looking back at how our time went by, it wasn't as bad as I thought before writing this entry.

However, one thing that is lacking with him is the initiative to steer the wheel. I cannot remember a time when it was he who planned our activities or spent entirely for our dates. It was always my call and had I let him run the show, probably we have never achieved anything at all. Friends were right when they said I spoiled my ex to the brim. I lessened his burdens by taking responsibility over our relationship that it became a one-way affair. How unfortunate that when he finally saw what was missing, I was already preparing to take flight.

We broke up without ever seeing each other.

Despite our tragic past, I sincerely wish that he found solace tonight. It is my hope that somewhere along the road, he met someone deem worthy as my replacement. As for me, replacing him is easy. With a market value that is on the rise, it would not be a surprise if I suddenly speak of romance like I clumsily found it passing my direction one of these weeks.

But there are matters that are easier to ignore than to pursue half-heartedly only to abandoned it at the end.

One of them is love.

And now that I am strong enough to stand without anyone to hold me up, I think it would be best that I remain distant to anyone who would make my heart beat. It is a choice I have to bear, rather than unintentionally hurt people who suddenly find themselves entering my cold space.

---

So how did I spend my Valentines?

Like during the Christmas and New Year's eve, I let Mugen and Darkstar frolic the places I once called home. On the dance floor, we learned how lonely people pretending to be tough disarm themselves when they find someone stronger than them. The dance partner I chose last night had this boundless energy that kept me bouncing and prancing until my legs hurt. I thought he was simply there for the dance but when he pulled my shirt closer to his body, I knew he wanted more.

Suddenly I was reminded of a time when it was me who leaned my head against someone's back. The emotional troubles were simply too much to bear that to press a part of me against somebody was enough to claim a slice of my strength back.

Now it was someone else and when he groped his arms around my body, I responded with even a tighter hug to make him feel needed. He pressed his face against my chest hard enough to let me feel the troubles of his heart. I felt his loneliness; his inner longing for a savior despite being in the company of (fuck) friends. The night concluded with us making out while being surrounded by envious and snooty people looking for their rightful one on the dance floor. When he turned his back to check his buddies, (who took pictures of us while kissing and groping in front of them) I made a hasty exit without saying goodbye. My two needy invisible companions had their fill and getting someone's number wasn't necessary to prolong the deed.

I went to work recalling how Valentines were done in elementary after passing a queue of pupils on their way for their first communion the following morning.

Back then, a pupil would have to dodge a swarm of vendors selling long-stemmed roses and plastic heart necklaces before they can push themselves toward the school gate's entrance. A rose would cost around ten pesos and if you're lucky enough to be given by your sweet mother an extra twenty for your baon, you would spend the extra cash acquiring those flowers and giving them to the teacher of your choice.

The teacher - usually your adviser - receiving your long-stemmed blossom would appreciate the thoughtfulness. She would suddenly express an air of concern whenever she sees you running along the corridor. From then forth, expect your academic interests secured until the school year is over. That is how I learned the fine art of Public Relations. In fourth year college many years later, I was able to use the same tricks to secure a passing grade in Spanish. Apparently, the elderly Senora Soresca never received any flowers from her other students that when he saw me reaching my hand to give her my long stem from Tecson's, it automatically translated to a grade of 3 no matter how many exams I flunked in her class.

Suddenly I missed the days when nobody would greet you "Happy Single Awareness Day" like your well being and sanity depends on having a special someone today.

---

It was Pulsar's turn to run my Valentines according to what he deems ideal.

Immediately after the shift was over, I headed towards the nearby Puregold Supermarket to procure the goods I previously pledged for the Hanap Barkada's Paglingap Outreach Activity. If Mugen finds contentment in hugs and kisses from cute strangers and Darkstar enjoys seeing other heads crane towards his direction whenever he shows up in front of people, Pulsar's satisfaction needs are way up higher than my two other egos. His requirements this time would include two bundles of 11 pieces adult diapers, one 12-roll toilet paper, 5 kilos of detergent soap, and two rolls of cotton. I didn't check how much it cost me, but the sheer enjoyment of doing something selfless for others was enough to compensate for the financial lost.

Pulsar and I delivered the goods all the way to Pasay without any assistance from anyone. We did some tricky balancing act passing narrow aisles inside jeeps and buses and endured seeing couples all over the place busily expressing their love for one another. Had I been a little focused on my state of miserable singlehood, I would never go out to be seen by others in the first place.

But this occasion is different. Seven years; Three failed successive relationships; One chance to enjoy a Valentines I always had in mind. This year may not be the same Valentines I will be celebrating in the years to come.

Because things will continue to change and what truly matters is now.

So I made a decision to go full throttle. It will be the most expensive Valentines Date I will give to people closest to me.

---

8:30 PM, Greenwich Quiapo Hidalgo

"Miss yung Family Pizza Overload please."

"Would that be all sir?"

"Yes, how long would it take before I can get my order."

"13 minutes sir, okay lang ba sa inyo?"

"Yep, ikot lang ako sa labas. Balik na lang ako."

"Okay sir."

---

9 PM 7-Eleven Santa Mesa

"Magkano yung [?]gallon ng Rocky Road?"

"250 po."

"Ah eh, sandali lang ha withdraw muna ako."

After balancing the family size pizza and yawning wallet on my right hand while sliding the ATM card on the machine slot, I was able to withdraw 200 pesos from my account.

"Heto yun 100."

---

Ten minutes later.

"Oi pa-valentines ko sa inyo. Enjoy sa pizza at ice cream!!!"

Dates, Lovers and Friends may come and go. But to welcome the occasion with your family and the needy is I think the most sublime way of celebrating Valentines Day.

Pasubali | Chronicles of El Tigre (Episode Four)

"Anak bakit hindi ka pa nagkaka-girlfriend ulit?" Madalas itong itanong ng aking nanay ilang taon na ang nakakaraan. Paano kasi ay ilang taon na rin ang lumipas simula nang mag-break up kami ng kaisa-isa kong naging girlfriend.

"Ma, walang magkamaling manligaw sa akin eh." Ito ang pabirong kinakatuwiran ko sa kanya. Alam kasi sa bahay kung paano ako nakuha ng dating kong girlfriend. Ganito rin ang ginawang diskarte sa akin ng high school sweetheart ko - na sa kasamaang palad ay nauwi rin sa wala. Masyado kasi siyang clingy kaya nabagot ako sa kanya. Matapos ang maikling talakayan tungkol sa aking buhay pag-ibig, ngingiti na lamang ang aking inay sabay babaguhin ang usapan maipagpatuloy lamang ang aming bonding mag-ina.

Natapos lang ang mga eksenang ganito nang kanyang mapansin ang malimit na pagdalaw ng aking ex-buddy sa aming pamamahay.

Subalit lingid sa kanyang kaalaman, may dahilan kung bakit hindi ko hinangad ang magka-girlfriend o mag-asawa ng babae. Bukod kasi sa aking piniling sexual preference, tinaga ko na rin sa buto ang siya ay pagsilbihan ngayong siya ay tumatanda na. Naalala ko noong bata pa ako, lagi niyang tagubilin sa akin ang maghanap ng kaparis na hindi siya pagmamalupitan.

"Anak ha, baka kapag nagkaasawa ka, palayasin niya ako sa bahay mo kapag hindi niya ako nakasundo." Hihiritan niya ako ng ganito na may bakas ng ligalig sa mukha. Napapanood niya kasi sa TV yung mga soap opera kung saan ang asawang babae ng anak na lalaki ang siyang kontrabida sa palabas.

"Hindi ma, siya ang papalayasin ko kapag inaway ka niya," madalas na assurance ko sa kanya. Tuloy kahit si Phanks noon ay hindi makahirit ng live-in sa tuwing binabanggit ko kung gaano ka-priority ang aking pamilya higit pa sa jowa. Siya tuloy ang napipilitan makituloy sa aking pamamahay.

Sumagi sa akin ang aming kuwentong mag-ina nang imbitahan ako ng ilang mga kaibigan sa kanilang outreach activity.


Matagal ko ng alam na may home for the aged dito sa Manila, (isa rin ito sa mga kinakatakutan ng nanay ko. mabuti pa raw na dumiretso siya sa langit kesa ilagak namin siya sa home for the aged) subalit hindi pa ako nakakapunta rito at lalong hindi pa ako nakakasali sa anumang pagtitipon kung saan ay mabibigyan ng opportunity ang mga nais sumali na makisalamuha sa mga taong itinuring ang Golden Acres na kanilang tahanan.

Bilang tulong sa aking mga kaibigan na nakaisip ng ganitong ideya para makatulong sa iba, nais kong ibahagi ang kanilang hangarin sa inyo. Kung sinuman ang interesadong magbigay ng:

• Adult Clothes
• Adult Diapers
• Beddings (unan, kumot, etc)
• Rice
• Baston/Canes
• Vitamins
• Bath Soap
• Detergent soap
• Toothbrush & Toothpaste
• Towels (yung malaki na parang good morning towels)
• Baby Powder
• Lotions

Maaring ipaabot ang inyong tulong sa pamamagitan ng pag-eemail sa address na ito: mugenblu@gmail.com

Narito rin ang thread kung saan matatagpuan ang pormal na imbitasyon mula sa mga tigasubaybay ng blog na ito galing Pinoyexchange.

Maraming salamat guys!

---

[13:59] MuGen: sino ka valentines mo?
[14:00] elTigre: wala naman
[14:00] MuGen: ako meron!
[14:01] elTigre: cnu
[14:01] MuGen: maingget ka!
[14:01] MuGen: hahahaha
[14:01] elTigre: sinu nga
[14:01] MuGen: nanay ko
[14:01] MuGen: [insert smiley here]
[14:01] elTigre: heheh sweet naman
[14:01] MuGen: kaya ikaw
[14:01] MuGen: i-date mo na rin mama mo
[14:01] MuGen: para may ka-valentines ka!

The Salt Doll

There was a salt doll who lived in the mountains. She was a curious little doll and loved to travel and explore. One day, she decided to embark on a long journey. She wandered through the dales, seeing new places and having all kinds of adventures. Then, she came to a place she had never seen before. It was the edge of the sea. She was fascinated by the surging mass of water.

“What are you?” she asked.

“Touch me, and you will find out,” the sea replied.

So the little salt doll dipped her toe into the sea. It felt so good! But when she withdrew her toe, it was no longer there!

“What have you done to me?” she cried.

“You have given something of yourself in order to know,” answered the sea.

The little doll remembered the lovely feeling and was curious to know the sea a bit better, so she dipped her foot. It felt so good! When she withdrew her foot, however, it was no longer there. In some inexplicable way, she felt very good about it. So she continued going further and further into the sea, losing more and more of herself, all the while understanding the sea more deeply.

As the wave broke over the last bit of her, the salt doll was able to cry out, “Now I know what the sea is.

It is I!”

---

For Mami Athena
Happy Birthday!

High

It all began with a video footage on Bandila two nights ago.

While everyone at home waited for any news about the high-profile drama surrounding the Alabang Boys and their busted drug syndicate, news about the Feast of the Black Nazarene splashed on the TV Screen. It was an anti-climactic turnaround of events especially for me, whose longing for real-time drama revealed how monotonous my choice of programming is late at night. The news spoke of preparations being done by the local city government of Manila for the expected deluge of devotees for the procession. It was also reported in the news that many devotees actually spend the night at the Basilica to welcome the massive statue as it is being pulled away from the altar towards the plaza and into the streets of Quiapo, where the flock scrambles to rub their towels and handkerchiefs on the icon.

The news about the all-night vigil stirred my curiosity. The thought of being with a group of pilgrims clad in Maroon who walked bare-footed going to the Basilica while carrying small statues of the Black Nazarene did not escape my thirst for something extraordinary. It may not be as thrilling as the Alabang Boys Scandal, but it is an excuse to be in Quiapo during the ungodly hour of the night.

I could just imagine the things I would find out as I join the devotees out there.

It was past midnight when I left the gym. Tired and exhausted from a heavy work-out, heading home to get some rest was an easy choice. However, the Feast of the Black Nazarene is a once-in-a-year event. I may not be given a chance to witness it the next time it happens. Icy raindrops continued to pour down as I waited for a jeep that will take me to Quiapo. The heaving skies implied that my pilgrimage would not be as easy as I hope it would be. Inside my head, I see images of people all over the city converging around the Basilica. Frosty drizzles may dampen their huddled bodies but it will never drench their pious spirit.

However, it was not the image that greeted me when I arrived in Quiapo half an hour later. What I saw was a gay pageant being held on a rickety platform just a few streets across the Basilica. The Maranao traders may have retreated back to their tiny pigeon holes but it was the homeless who crouched in fetal position as they slept on mats splayed across the deserted pavement.

These depressing scenes did not stop me from pushing towards my destination. When I emerged from the sleepy side of the Lacson Underpass, throngs of people approached me from all sides. They were traders selling icons, religious booklets, scapulars and even handkerchiefs with the image of the Poon imprinted on both sides. Flames remained ablaze on several stalls, whose trade is to sell a bundle of candles in different colors for well-wishers to burn. The sight was quite disappointing; for I see these images every time I pass by the Basilica. It was the human drama I wished to see in that place. Unfortunately, everything was as mundane as the last time I found myself there.

As I think of ways to make the most out of my time outside the Church, I mingled with the vendors whose lives have been interwoven with the affairs of the Nazareno. Most of them were resentful after the new parish priest decreed that the celebrations should be done at Luneta instead. They were expecting the traditions to go on - despite the yearly casualties that sometimes take lives during the procession. Much as I wanted to welcome the changes initiated by the Basilica authorities, I cannot help but consider how the break in tradition would affect the essence of the festivities.

Something will be lost and it would most likely be the spirit of the occasion.

The chit-chat went on until a minor skirmish between two vendors broke out on the other side of the plaza. Fearing that a riot might erupt anytime soon, I sought refuge inside the Basilica. There I found the devotees seated next to each other on pews and on the floor while doing their personal acts of veneration towards the Nazareno.

I walked past aisles, but there was no seat available. The pews were occupied by children soundly asleep while their adult companions fanned themselves as they stared blankly at the altar. Meanwhile, the old folks, whose timeless tradition they hold to even at the twilight years of their lives offer a glimpse of what human continuity could achieve: Decades from now, it would be their children who would be kneeling and clutching their rosaries, while their children's children would be the one sleeping on those same nearly-immortal pews.

I sat near the lectern and turned my head towards the pious parishioners facing me. They were the ordinary folks - the Masa crowd who often flock the Basilica during ordinary days. They were not the rich and middle-class parishioners who pay a visit at my favorite convent in Katipunan to write prayers on a piece of paper and then offer a basket of eggs to tempt the heavens to grant their supplications.

Unzipping my bag, I took out the rosary, the prayer booklet and the Bible which I bring wherever I go. The past twelve months have been transforming that I learned to keep my peace not by going to parties or engaging myself in sexual affairs, or engaging learned people about the values of our generation. I found serenity in reciting prayers passed on to me by my mother when I was still a kid. It is faith that holds me in place and whenever I find myself in a house of prayer, I take every opportunity to get in touch with my spirituality no matter what other people would think.

My fingers began to feel the wooden beads despite having no prayer intentions in mind. As I looked around for one last time before shutting my thoughts and turning myself inwards, what I still see were faceless people seating, kneeling and praying in front of me.

Bible passages were read, as each succeeding sorrowful mysteries drew me closer to that self fulfillment I seek. As the last of the Holy Mary's were being recited, I knew that my journey was coming to an end. This Pilgrimage will go down as one of the highs of this year. After doing the sign of the cross, I picked my bag and left the Basilica without ever getting noticed. Devotees were still coming in, while outside, traders braved the unbearable freezing temperature to sell trinkets that would remind non-believers of how profitable religion is.

It was time to go home. The Pilgrimage had restored my faith. It doesn't matter if the Nazareno truly answers prayers or heal the sick; I already have my goals. However, it seems like the Source was not over with me yet. Something is about to unfold and it would truly make my expedition as spiritual as it could be.

I remember reading a passage in the Book of Matthew while reciting my prayers earlier. It speaks of the messiah telling his listeners about his father wanting not sacrifices to offer but kindness for all his creations. For some reasons I made a mental note of that passage, only to find out what it truly meant while walking pass snoozing bystanders slumbering beneath the cold, lonely underpass.

As I was about to climb the steep flight of stairs leading to Hidalgo Street, a young woman clutching an infant approached me. She was asking for spare change. Feeling the contents of my pocket, what I found was a bunch of coins worth eight pesos. It was all the money I have left. I knew it wasn't enough for the lady and her infant. To apologize or pretend that I did not hear anything was an easy choice. However, coming from a very personal communion with the almighty, leaving her ignored and abandoned will take away the essence of my journey.

On my right hand was a half-filled bottle of Cobra Energy Drink I bought from a convenience store not far from the Basilica. It was the only thing I could offer. Extending my hand, I asked if she would like to have my drink instead. Without hesitation she smiled and took the bottle away like a thirsty wayfarer taking a break from a long and difficult trek she had to overcome. Her acceptance gave me a sense of relief. "Finally a good deed done after receiving the good news," I told myself. As I bowed to the lady before I left, a moment's glimpse suddenly blurred my vision.

It felt like the encounter sums up everything I did in Quiapo.

The devotees may spend a day and a night reciting the most poetic words to venerate their icons. They can form a line as far as the eyes could see just to wipe a statue whose miracles according to legends could bring fortune and healing to the sick. The Feast of the Nazarene is a religious event for those who believe and those who wish to believe.

I recall the beginnings of my journey towards the end of it; when a lady carrying a child approached me begging for alms. I responded not by offering food or money but by giving her my drink. In that small act, I discovered that the fulfillment I seek was not inside the Basilica or in the wooden beads which my fingers run for almost an hour.

Hours after arriving home, the smile on that thirsty lady's face remains deeply embedded on my head. Words were never spoken, but when our hands held together the plastic bottle I was giving her, it was almost like meeting the lady and the child whose image appears in front of my prayer booklet.

And whose assurances I sought when prayers were spoken from my lips.

When our hands held close, it was the only time I truly felt complete.

Slice Of Heaven

The Noche Buena
(Ang cake sa inyong kanan ay naubos within 15 seconds
Ang nasa kaliwa ay nauwi ko pa ngayong gabi sa bahay.)

Presents from Santa Claus
(Akala ko Clinique Happy, titili sana ako. Lol.
My first high-end perfume.)

Lunch at my aunt's new house in Laguna
(For some reasons, this photo really strikes me. Hindi ko alam kung dahil sa bundok,
sa makulimlim na ulap o dahil sa garden lamp na ito)

---

As mom would say after complaining that the priest's homily sounds boring and uninspired during the mass this morning, "It is not the trivial things that really matter. What is important is that we are able to experience this day as a family, and that we should be grateful that blessings and harmony continue to pour to each and every one of us."

Contrary to impressions of opulence, we celebrate Christmas with more emphasis on bonds, selflessness and love and remembrance toward our kin.

Twenty seven years and counting, may the family tradition pass on to the ones who will come after us.

Illumination

Sa pagitan ng Hidalgo at Arlegui St. malapit sa Quiapo Underpass ay matatagpuan ang munting bilihan ng sigarilyo ni Nanay Muning. Dahil nasa tabi ng ATM Machine ng PSBank ang kanyang puwesto, madalas ko itong nadadayo sa tuwing maglalabas ng perang panggastos sa pamimirata ng dibidi malapit sa lugar. Maraming matatandang tindero't tindera ang may puwesto roon, subalit isang bagay na nakasipat ng aking atensyon upang kaibiganin ang matanda ay ang kanyang kasa-kasamang pusa.

May mga panahon na mahaba ang pila sa ATM. Bukod kasi sa napaka-kupad ng ibang gumagamit ng machine, medyo luma na rin ito't mabagal maglabas ng pera. Upang maiwasan ang pagkabagot sa pag-iintay ng aking pagkakataon, ang pusa ni Nanay Muning ang madalas kong inaabala tulog man ito o gising. Sa mga magtataka kung paano nagkaroon ng pusa sa mataong lugar na iyon, ang pusa ni Nanay ay may tali sa leeg. Mukhang nakasanayan na rin ito ng kanyang alaga kaya't hindi ito pumapalag gaya ng ibang pusang alam ko.

Kahapon ay muli akong dumayo ng Quiapo matapos ang napakahabang araw na palibot-libot kung saan-saan upang maghatid ng regalo sa mga inaanak. Tiyempong naalala ko na may Christmas Party pala kami sa Tripper's Clan sa PEx kinagabihan at wala pa akong regalo sa aking monito. Bago bumaba ng jeep ay kaagad kong sinilip ang laman ng aking wallet.

Ubos na pala ang perang laman nito.

Kaya't tumungo ako ng PSBank upang maglabas ng extra cash pambili ng regalo. Nagkataon naman na naroon si Nanay Muning na nakaupo sa kanyang folding chair habang binabantayan ang kanyang tindahan ng sigarilyo. May gumagamit pa ng ATM kaya't napilitan akong mag-intay ng aking turn para magwithdraw. Wala roon ang kanyang pusa kaya't ang matanda ang aking napagtuunan ng pansin.

Malamig ang klima, maulap ang kalangitan at ramdam ko na apektado si Nanay Muning dito. Sa aking panandaliang pagtayo roon, maraming beses kong nasaksihan ang kanyang pag-ubo na may kasamang paghukot ng kanyang likod sa tuwing dudura ng plema. Medyo nag-alala ako sa kanyang kundisyon. Matanda na rin kasi si Nanay at kung hindi ako nagkakamali, doon rin siya natutulog sa kanyang puwesto tuwing gabi.

Minsan na kasi ako nadaan roon patungong underpass pasado hatinggabi at nakita siyang balot ng maduming kumot at naghihilik sa kanyang folding chair.

Patuloy pa rin ang pag-ubo ng matanda. Upang alalayan ito, hinimas ko ang kanyang likuran na siyang naging daan upang lingunin niya ako't muling kilalanin.

"Kilala mo ako?" Tanong niya sa akin ng may munting ngiti sa kanyang mukha.

"Opo, alaga niyo yung pusa diba?" Kasabay noon ang pagturo sa kanyang alaga na nagtatago pala sa ilalim ng kanyang puwesto.

Marahil ay nakita niya ang aming koneksyon kaya't gumaan ang loob nito sa akin. Hinawakan niya ng mahigpit ang aking kamay sabay bati ng

"Meri Krismas."

Napangiti ako sa kanyang sinabi.

Turn ko na noon upang mag-withdraw. Matapos mamili ng pangregalo sa mga tao at pakikiparty kung saan-saang dako ay di-kailang nabawasan ang aking ipon. Ito ang dahilan kung bakit wala akong regalo sa sarili. Sa kabila nito ay hindi ako gaano apektado ng deprivation. Ang diwa naman ng Pasko ay nakatuon sa iba at hindi sa sarili, kaya't ganoon man ang nangyari, masasabi kong masaya ako.

Kaharap ang ATM, naalala ko si Nanay Muning na rinig pa rin ang pag-ubo sa labas. Naalala ko ang mga dapithapong nakakapulot ako ng munting kasiyahan sa paghimas ng kanyang alagang pusa - na kahit anong pangingiliti ko dito ay hindi ako kinakalmot. Naalala ko rin ang kanyang mga kwento tungkol sa lugar sa tuwing tumatambay ako't nagsisigarilyo sa tabi ng kanyang puwesto habang patuloy ang mabilis na pagikot ng mundo sa harap namin.

Higit sa lahat, naalala ko kung gaano kalungkot magpasko sa lansangan, walang handa at minsan ay wala pang pera - habang ako, na magpapaskong malaya matapos ng walong taon kapiling ang iba't ibang karelasyon ay magdiriwang ng isang engradeng Noche Buena kasama ang pamilya at ang buong angkan.

Nagwithdraw ako na buo sa damdamin ang aking gagawin.

"Merry Christmas po nanay." Bati ko kay Nanay Muning paglabas ng ATM Booth.

"Meri Krismas rin apo." Sa wakas ay tumigil na rin ang kanyang pag-ubo sa kabila ng manaka-nakang pag-ambon sa kalsada.

Mahigpit ang hawak niya sa aking kamay habang tinuturo ang lahat ng kanyang mga anak at apo na may mga puwesto sa paligid. Kung hindi ako nagkakamali ay dati na niyang naikwento na noong unang panahon ay higit na mas marangya ang kanyang buhay. Sa kasamaang palad ay hindi ko na tinanong kung bakit ito nagbago.

Naramdaman ko ang pagdulas ng kanyang hawak. Bago mahuli ang lahat at masira ang aming moment, pasimple kong binuka ang aking palad upang dumampi sa kanyang kulubot at magaspang na balat ang tanging maireregalo ko sa isang kaibigan na matagal ko ng hangad isama sa aking mga kuwento.

"Merry Christmas po ulit nanay." Pangiti kong sabi habang dahan-dahang umaatras sa kanya.

Hindi man kasama is Nanay Muning sa aking official gift list, ang regalo ko sa kanya marahil ang pinaka-matimbang sa lahat ng binigyang pasasalamat ko ngayong taon.

---

not her real name

merry christmas guys!

Losing My Religion

Because religion is just a human invention and I have all the free-will to choose whatever faith I want to believe in.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM) is a deity created as a satirical protest to the decision by the Kansas State Board of Education to require the teaching of intelligent design as an alternative to biological evolution. The FSM is the deity of the parody religion. The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster is founded in 2005 by Bobby Henderson. Since the intelligent design movement uses ambiguous references to an unspecified 'Intelligent Designer' to avoid court rulings prohibiting the teaching of creationism as a science, this presumably left open the possibility that any imaginable thing could fill that role.

In an open letter sent to the education board, Henderson parodies the concept of intelligent design by professing belief in a supernatural creator which closely resembles spaghetti and meatballs. He furthermore calls for the "Pastafarian" theory of creation to be taught in science classrooms.

Sometimes, I wonder why some people would twist science in order to put religion into it? Are we so afraid that technology would make faith obsolete? Are holy institutions so worried that they would lose their flock once new thought makes them less of a believer?

The way I see it, there is no conflict between Darwin and Genesis, for looking at one book is like seeing the inversion of the other. A full circle is achieved between the two of them.

According to the Pastafarian belief system, pirates are "absolute divine beings" and the original Pastafarians. Their image as "thieves and outcasts" is misinformation spread by Christian theologians in the Middle Ages and by Hare Krishnas. Pastafarianism says that they were in fact "peace-loving explorers and spreaders of good will" who distributed candy to small children, and adds that modern pirates are in no way similar to "the fun-loving buccaneers from history." Pastafarians celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day on September 19.

The inclusion of pirates in Pastafarianism was part of Henderson's original letter to the Kansas School Board. It illustrated that correlation does not imply causation. Henderson put forth the argument that "global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, and other natural disasters are a direct effect of the shrinking numbers of pirates since the 1800s." A chart accompanying the letter shows that as the number of pirates decreased, global temperatures increased. This is akin to the suggestion from some religious groups that the high numbers of disasters, famines and wars in the world is due to the lack of respect and worship towards a deity.

In 2008, Henderson has interpreted the growing pirate activities at the horn of Africa as an additional empirical support, pointing out that Somalia has "the highest number of Pirates AND the lowest Carbon emissions of any country.

I always believe that there are things we can subscribe to faith and there are things that are left for us to resolve. Faith is needed for us to be reminded that we are mere creations - of evolution - or something higher than it. A heart that is open makes us more understanding and empathic toward our surroundings. How sad that the thing that makes our heart compassionate, is the same thing that makes us kill our neighbors.

Religion.

The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"

1. I'd really rather you didn't act like a sanctimonious holier-than-thou ass when describing my noodly goodness. If some people don't believe in me, that's okay. Really, I'm not that vain. Besides, this isn't about them so don't change the subject.

2. I'd really rather you didn't use my existence as a means to oppress, subjugate, punish, eviscerate, and/or, you know, be mean to others. I don't require sacrifices, and purity is for drinking water, not people.

3. I'd really rather you didn't judge people for the way they look, or how they dress, or the way they talk, or, well, just play nice, okay? Oh, and get this into your thick heads: woman = person. man = person. Samey = Samey. One is not better than the other, unless we're talking about fashion and I'm sorry, but I gave that to women and some guys who know the difference between teal and fuchsia.

4. I'd really rather you didn't indulge in conduct that offends yourself, or your willing, consenting partner of legal age AND mental maturity. As for anyone who might object, I think the expression is "go fuck yourself," unless they find that offensive in which case they can turn off the TV for once and go for a walk for a change.


5. I'd really rather you didn't challenge the bigoted, misogynistic, hateful ideas of others on an empty stomach. Eat, then go after the bitches.

6. I'd really rather you didn't build multi million-dollar synagogues / churches / temples / mosques / shrines to my noodly goodness when the money could be better spent (take your pick):

1. Ending poverty

2. Curing diseases

3. Living in peace, loving with passion, and lowering the cost of cable

I might be a complex-carbohydrate omniscient being, but I enjoy the simple things in life. I ought to know. I AM the creator.

7. I'd really rather you didn't go around telling people I talk to you. You're not that interesting. Get over yourself. And I told you to love your fellow man, can't you take a hint?

8. I'd really rather you didn't do unto others as you would have them do unto you if you are into, um, stuff that uses a lot of leather/lubricant/vaseline. If the other person is into it, however (pursuant to #4), then have at it, take pictures, and for the love of Mike, wear a CONDOM! Honestly, it's a piece of rubber. If I didn't want it to feel good when you did it I would have added spikes, or something.

Imagine a world where tolerance, the love of the planet and liberal thought reigns supreme from one culture to another. Imagine a world where religious institutions are treated as schools of thought, and that, bloodshed is not required to appease a creator that though, worshiped in many forms and names, still is the same creator of all heavens and universes.

In November 2007, three talks involving the Flying Spaghetti Monster were scheduled to be delivered at the American Academy of Religion's annual meeting in San Diego. The talks included titles such as, "Holy Pasta and Authentic Sauce: The Flying Spaghetti Monster's Messy Implications for Theorizing Religion". Academics say while its inclusion in the program may get laughs, it is a serious debate on the essence of religion exploring questions such as "does religion require a genuine theological belief or simply a set of rituals and a community joining together as a way of signaling their cultural alliances to others?" or in short, "is an anti-religion like Flying Spaghetti Monsterism actually a religion?

Is there a big difference between Religion and Spirituality? I believe there is. For sometime now, I would always adhere my faith to Spirituality, for I see Religion as a possessive and insecure incarnation of our original belief in the creator.

Spirituality embraces every faith and it questions whether what Religion imposes is essential or not.

When confronted with metaphysical questions, at the back of my head this thought lingers:

Would poking fun and talking blasphemy about our most fundamental and trivial beliefs lead us closer to our source?

---

Flying Spaghetti Monster

A Visit From The Afterlife

Our Christian belief tells us that there is life after death. Jesus Christ, as he was nearing his death in the crucifix assures one of the dying thieves who believe him that he will next open his eyes in Paradise. Other enlightened men would describe the afterlife as a garden of perpetual delights. It is a place where hatred and pain do not exist and time wounds itself to a complete stop. It is a place strolled by saints and angels and where joy and happiness never ends. No wonder, every living soul on earth is enticed to seek heaven's promise of eternal life.

Though I follow the way of the cross, I do not believe in the thought of heaven or hell. For me, they are merely abstract ideas put in place by men of religion to keep the people of all ages and creed hoping and dreaming of a better life beyond. Mom, in her infinite love would like us to stay together even in the afterlife. I would love to embrace her ideas, but at the back of my head, I would always wonder what good there is in a life without pain and struggle. What value there is in a soul that would stagnate in the passing of eternity.

For these reasons, I tend to embrace the eastern thought of afterlife. I would like to believe that a body is a mere vessel where the soul resides. In its countless cycle of rebirth across time, it learns, it matures and then at the end of its journey it blends with the source in what the sages call Nirvana. The thought of having a chance to atone for my mistakes comfort me. If only such path truly exist, then I would never fear death at all.

In all my life's searching, I find evidences that I might be an old soul on its way to a higher journey. That old voice speaks through Pulsar when I direct myself towards unearthly goals. However, I am aware that concepts are mere concepts. Reincarnation, heaven and soul might just be human ideas. Until I reach the end of my time, I will never know the truth about existence. It is these thoughts that keep me searching for my life's meaning.

However, there are signs that point towards the other direction. The afterlife might be an endless garden after all. Like I said in my other mustard seed entries, life is full of mysteries and no matter how we try to unravel them, new mysteries come up and will keep us wondering the metaphysical aspects of existence.

Take for example what happened last week. Dad appeared once again in my sleep. I have always known that my dearly departed loved ones pay me a visit in my dreams. It happened so many times before that I do not find their presence spooky anymore. However, it still bothers me when they visit - especially my father, who I believe should be on his journey by now.

The details of the dream are now blurry. All I remember is that we were cordial when we saw each other. We were talking about this certain newspaper that he manages. You see, he was a writer and a newspaper publisher all his life. After reading Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet in Heaven, I envisioned my father's idea of heaven being a huge newsroom where he is the chief editor. If there is a grain of truth in Albom's thoughts, then perhaps, dad must be a publisher in the afterlife.

Anyway he said that he doesn't follow the news - like he used to when he was still alive. While telling his new preoccupations, I was turning the pages of the tabloid, that apparently he owns. What is unusual about this tabloid is that the masthead (the box where the list of staff members and editors of the newspaper are put) includes so many people. I think I even told dad that "andami mo namang tao, ngayon lang napuno ito ah!" before I was stirred from my sleep.

Like all dreams about him, I would have ignored this appearance for one reason: I do not know of any occasion where he would wish to be remembered. The last time I had a striking dream about him happened a week before his second death anniversary. It was where we finally settled our differences and found peace in the afterlife. Despite his regular visits to me, he never makes his presence felt to my mom or my sister in their sleep. Mom would say that maybe dad is still guilty of the things he did to her when he was still alive. I do not know. What I am sure of is that he passed away with dignity and love from the family he almost turned his back from.

It's been four years since he departed life and I still wonder why he remains in the realm of the living. Is there a possibility that his continued presence only proves that souls do not travel from one body to the next like what the eastern thought believes? Is it possible that his presence in our lives still has purpose since he left us with so many unfinished business that we need to fix ourselves?

Sometimes it is difficult to dive into metaphysical ramblings for I am left with so many questions that I cannot answer myself.

However, what separates this dream about my dad from the others I had before is that I was not the only one who saw his apparition that morning. A revelation by a house help while eating my lunch left a cold chill so intense, it made the strands of my hair point upwards for quite sometime:

---

Alam mo, napanaginipan ko yung papa mo kanina. Dumating daw siya tapos nagpapahanda ng ulam sa akin. Natandaan ko yung mukha niya kasi sa mga pictures sa sala. Hayun, niluto ko siya ng Tuyo at Sinangag. Sabi niya sa akin dun na lang daw siya kakain sa kwarto mo.

The Dominus Offensive

It was around 7 last night when Throatie's condition had turned from bad to worse. Last Monday, mom's physician discovered that the cause of my high body temperature since Saturday was a runaway Tonsillitis. She said that it covered the left side of my throat. It was a complete surprise for I thought that the antibiotics which I used to tame Throatie last month would still have its effects. I was dead wrong. The physician prescribed an antibiotic and despite being bedridden yesterday, I was hopeful that the drug would take effect.

However, something was wrong. I noticed that my throat had become more swollen and the temperature never dropped from its all-time high despite my persistent gobbling of paracetamol. The left side of my head was a head-splitting agony. It throbs and when it does, I moaned in pain.

I went downstairs to ask my mom who was watching Dyosa to check the condition of my throat. With a pen light in one hand, she aimed the pen inside my mouth. Her eyes were in shock. Not only were the entire left side of my throat covered with pus, the infection had already spread on the right side as well.

Panic ensued.

Calling my aunt who is a doctor for recommendation, she immediately ordered a change of antibiotics. Fortunately it was my mom who called because my aunt was furiously mad at me. You see, I was told not to go to work on Sunday. However, I love my job so much that I never listened. As a result, I was hours away from a hospital confinement and everyone's lives got disrupted because I was too careless to look after my own health.

I returned to my room because the temperature was again giving me the chills. The struggle to spare myself from being admitted is already over. As my mother and my aunt were mulling over the options on what to do with me, I was inside the sheets groaning and thinking if there's a way to lift myself from my sunken state.

Then I remembered Dominus.

Struggling to focus, I began praying the rosary using my fingers for beads. I was seeking solace from the Virgin, knowing that my head will roll when my aunt sees me the following day. Its been two months since I stopped praying regularly and much as I find it awkward to seek grace again, I thought that it was the least thing I could do.

I knew that serendipity connects my malady at present from the illness of my past. Two months after ex and I became a couple, I was admitted to the hospital for five days because of the same Throat Infection. Almost two months after winning back my freedom, here I am going back to where I was five years ago.

I guess I have achieved a full circle.

Another thing that is strange about this infection is that it is not just the ailment of the body, it felt like a corruption of the soul.

For the past few days, I was having a hard time getting sleep. It might be due to my headache, but I also sensed that something dark and hateful hovered above me. I cannot describe its form, except that it is a shadow. It speaks in my dreams but its words I could not remember.

Looking back, I've been quite cold, cruel and snooty to people this past few months. I get easily annoyed and I had turned vengeful to some. There is a possibility that in my arrogance, something was able to corrupt me. This thought, lead me to go back to my spiritual roots. After all, nothing is lost and people have been so kind to check on my condition even if some of them don't know me at all.

I swallowed the replacement pill at past 9. Mom stayed in my room until past 1 in the morning. I told her that she might catch my virus but she insisted for a mother-son bonding. At 2, I was able to sleep, only to wake up an hour later feeling much better.

At half past four, I swallowed the second tablet while watching cartoons on Nickolodeon. The effects of the antibiotic were immediate. Within minutes, I was sweating and only the throbbing headache remained. Feeling comfortable with my condition, I turned off the TV to sleep. However, my slumber was interrupted by the stinging pain on my head. Between the brief waking moments, what I saw around me was the darkness of my room. However, this darkness was gradually overtaken by pale blue streaks of twilight peeking outside the window.

For the first time, I sensed that something good was coming.

Back to my sleep, I dreamed of a battle. My eyes were wide open and in front of me was a huge phantom that was fast approaching. I'm familiar with these dreams. Once, I saw visions of zombies in my sleep and they were able to capture me to present to their leader. Uttering the words "Jesus Christ" three times triggered a blinding light from a huge pine tree in front of us. The next thing I knew, I was lying on a slope. With new-found strength, I created yellow fiery crosses as a weapon towards the approaching darkness. I hurled them towards the entity and it began to dissipate. Meanwhile, I sensed around four unknown beings instructing me for a proper head position in Gangsta speak. I found out this morning that when proper pressure is applied on the throbbing part of the head, the pain disappears.

I cannot recall the other details of the dream. One may say that my mind must still be in a state of delirium for seeing those strange visions.

However, one truth sheds light to all those scenes.

Though half of my throat is still covered with pus, the phlegm, which almost choked me yesterday is almost gone. The head might still be suffering from pain but it is not as worse as it was last night. The fever remains but the body had found a way to go around it - at least I can produce my own sweat without the aid of Biogesic.

The battle in my dream must be a sign of something:

I might have already reached the turning point.