TO CHRISTMAS PAST AND BACK AGAIN

Back to a place where I grew up. Back where Christmases where filled  with childhood memories of a family who, despite all its members being pre-occupied by personal things gather around a table filled with bounty, not only of food, but of stories to share. 

My memories of Christmas past on this house were filled with warmth and love. From the hustle and bustle of shopping for the ingredients, the laughter filling the air as we take on our chores in helping out as we prepare for the Noche Buena. The house once empty of these noises were filled albiet for only a short period of time. As we wait for the clock to strike midnight, music echoed on the walls. Christmas songs from Ray Conniff, Jackson 5 and the collection of tagalog Christmas songs some of its lyrics bring us laughter (even if we hear this songs yearly). I fondly remember the song about carollers and how they were chased by dogs. 

After a short thanksgiving prayer and the traditional toast, we share the bounty. We don't open our gifts then. We have to wait on Christmas morning after the mass where we siblings look like ducklings following mother goose (or father goose) to church donned in our new clothes. After the mass and 
the kissing the baby Jesus, we again parade the whole stretch of the street leading to our home and welcomed by the smell of the bounty we were about to share. One of my sister playing Santa then give out gifts followed by the wild scramble as we open our gifts and in a moment, after hearing cheers and thank yous and merry christmases, the traditional Christmas shower. Where we all put our life and limbs for that rare chance to capture the coveted coins. 

Then everything changed. My sister's death was such a blow to the family. The first Christmas without her, specially since she has played Santa for quite a long time, was a moment of stifled emotions. And Christmas, for me, was never the same after that. As my siblings began building their own families, family Christmas reunion became a rarity, choosing to spend Christmas with their family and opting 
to move the reunion on New Year's day instead. Being single, I opt to spend or, more aptly, ask my siblings if I can spend Christmas with them. And gave me that rare chance to be with one of my siblings rather than spending the day alone. It likewise gave me the opportunity to bond with my nieces 
and nephews. 

Those memories of past Christmases remain in my mind. Serving as a beacon of hope for future Christmases where we will be whole again. Now, the house stand as mute witness of Christmas past. Each hour of silence is filled with imprints of a past that will never be forgotten. 
The Christmas tree is gone, once mighty even only 4 feet tall, oftentimes nearly covered by gifts for everyone. The lantern has rotted away after long years of serving as a reminder of the star that shone one night in Bethlehem. The table will be empty, for I cannot replicate the taste of the food that once laid on its surface. No arroz valenciana, macaroni and potato salad, spaghetti or lasagna, fruit salad, chicken barbecue, kare kare, sashimi or maki, and other bounties that remind me of a feast suited 
for the day. 

Holding on to the memories, as I write this piece, I likewise hold on to my ultimate Christmas wish. Though I know it will remain as such, my fervent wish is that my family be whole again. That inspite of the fact that we are all apart, dealing with our own survival, I hope someday, the road will all lead us to the time when life was easier and our family closer. For just one time, on Christmas day.

A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE 2: MY TWO LOLAS

Life, like humans, is a nomad. It continues to touch people then move on. Like the gentle stirring of the tree’s branches as the wind gently kisses it, so too, is life. It touches you and transforms you, and like an end to a growing crescendo it fleets away like a dying ember. But with the imprint left behind, it changes you.  And in the process alters you for the better.

They are wives, mothers, and my Lolas. Two complex individuals, with each other’s differences, yet, like notes to a harmony, work together.

The first one was widowed in her early life. With 3 young girls in tow, she managed to bring them up as smart as smart can be and reared a lot of grand children in the process.  Her name was Lola Deling.

The second one raised ten children which eventually gave her dozens of grandchildren and great grandchildren. She even survived the original Ka Ponyong by more than two decades. Her name was Lola Talia.

Two complex individuals. Two distinct personalities. Two views on life.

One, a strict disciplinarian. The other, a silent spoiler. The first one, a traditional grandmother, the second one, a hip granny complete with sunglasses and bandana.

Lola Deling, as we all fondly call her was your traditional lola. I never saw her dressed up, as she was always garbed in her favorite “duster”.  Her favorite passion is cooking. My love for cooking came from her. She influenced me and taught me to cook. She was my on-hand mentor when cooking up something. Without Google then, she is just a phone call away, when I am seeking for the cooking instruction of a certain meal.

When we were kids, she runs a small sari-sari store. And every morning before I go to school she would give me baon of ten cents. Which I will save until after school is over and the minute I jumped out of our sundo, I would go straight to her store and buy ice candy (for 5 cents) and my favorite Beatles biscuit (for another 5 cents).

Later in her life, she lived with us. And during that time I experienced her strict disciplinary way of, well, disciplining us. She became famous for her “rasyon”, with seven of us kids and very meager food, she will patiently divide the food into equal parts so there will be no “lamangan”.

Because of her, I know the taste of Perla, the detergent soap. Whenever I say a swear word, or I tell a lie, she will take me to the kitchen and wash my mouth with detergent soap, “to cleanse my mouth of foul language”. She practised corporal punishment for every infraction I do. I’ve endured the broom handle, “pingot” and the dreaded “kurot sa singit” which for me was the worse punishment ever.

When my aunt’s family decided to live in Naga City, she went with them to take care of my cousin. When she came back, she has grown utterly old, albeit living only in Naga for I think 3 or 4 years.

From then on, she lived in my aunt’s house and I would visit her frequently as the house is only a block away from us.

As I grew older, she has been the constant guide in every step I do. She constantly taught us how to deal with life. And even came to my defense when things got rough.

My frequent visit continued as she grew older. And during those times, she imparted in me lots of lessons. From how to handle my money, to how to deal with my siblings, to how to survive.

One time during my visit, she handed me the Black Book my mother left for us. I will never forget her agony and despair when my sister died.  It was a heart rending moment which was captured on cam and preserved in my memory forever.

She left us peacefully in 1998.

I was told by my Tita that during the last few hours of her life she kept lamenting how unready she was to die because, I and one of my cousin is still single and wanted to see yet her apo from us first.

She was a Spanish mestiza, and her background was somewhat cloudy in my mind, I remember she was originally from Cebu, how he end up in Agdangan, I never knew. Her Castilian features were passed on to most of her children, grandchildren and eventually the entire Andalis clan.

Lola Talia, on the other hand, was physically present during my early years, she lived with us a few months after my mother died. I don’t have much recollection of her during my early years, except that she oftentimes kept herself busy with her latest crochet projects.  She would take us to Agdangan together with our Lolo Ponyong during summer to experience the rural life. The beach is something we always looked forward to when we visit the place.

She left for the USA together with my Lolo when I was in grade school. And unlike my Lolo who never got to go back home when he was still alive, my Lola would travel frequently back to the Philippines to visit us. Still carrying the tradition of bringing us to Agdangan during summer, she would continue doing so for so many times she visited the Philippines that Agdangan became our second home.

Being a spoiler, she managed to send me greeting cards with money inserted during my birthday and send us gifts in balikbayan boxes during Christmas. We always gathered around the box as it was opened waiting for that genuine waft of a scent we always associate with “stateside” . She often asked us what we need and she would send it to us. In exchange, we always send her letters every time one of our aunts or uncles visited the Philippines.

She was the one who introduced me to wearing long pants when it wasn’t required yet in elementary school. I was the first student who wore pants and it made me feel an adult back then. She was the one who cajoled me and influenced me to study in a seminary in high school. She even went with me to the seminary to take the exams and again during the final interview with the rector. She was so excited with my decision that she even agreed to serve as my sponsor.

I will never forget my father’s joy when for the first time in his life he will be graced by my Lola’s presence on his birthday. My father was so happy that day that he even announced it during his speech during the gathering prepared for his bash by his staff.

High school and college years passed by so quickly that during this time, I became busy with growing up, meeting new friends and enjoying new independence. She was present during my high school graduation, well not in the ceremony itself. But she was back in the Philippines.

Being a constant spoiler, I received so many gifts from her. My first Viewfinder, my first remote controlled car, our first colored TV, my first set of underwear (hahaha), my first cardigan, the calculator that accompanied me as I was doing my majors in college, to name a few. But more than those material things, she never failed to send us her love in each words eloquently written in her penmanship.

She went home again to bury one of my aunt. And after not seeing her for a long time, I embraced her  and the moment I let go, she immediately inspect my left eye. I never knew what was going on in her mind that time. And I never got to ask her, but it was the first time someone touched my left eye and brow and with so much motherly care that I never knew and felt before.

The last time I saw her was when my sister died. The irony of it is that it would have been a joyous occasion but except for the reason why she went back home.

As years went by, her health slowly deteriorated.  And in the summer of 2001, she left us.

Words cannot described how I felt when I received the news. What made it even harder was that I was tasked to accompany my father and wait for the release of her cadaver. Inside that wooden crate was my Lola whom I looked up to. Tears came flowing down when we did a quick stopover in Lucena for a check and retouch of her make-up. And when the funeral staff opened her casket, tears welled uncontrollably.

One of my most joyous moments I will forever hold in my mind was when their paths crossed. I would accompany Lola Talia during her visits to her balae, Lola Deling, every time she’s back in the Philippines. And she never failed. They would talk endlessly with the usual kumustahan and other stuffs only grandmothers know. Deep in me, I feel elated that the two women I ever loved crossed path not just once, but several times, if I could only freeze that moment in time.

This year, the two women whom I ever loved, and kept so close in my heart, would have turned 100. Two women who taught me so much in life. Two women who touched me and understood me, who feels what I feel and knows me inside and out. Two women who inspired me to go on no matter what. Two women whom I felt, proud in my accomplishments, however small it may be.

HAPPY 100^th BIRTHDAY LOLA TALIA & LOLA DELING.

IN MEMORIAM

ADELAIDA CASTRO VILLAREAL                           NATALIA AGUILAR ANDALIS

1912-1998                                                                         1912-2001

TWO YEARS FROM THAT DAY

In a spur of the moment decision, a split second event altered me, and changed my life’s course entirely. Two years to the day it happened, I look back with sad wonderment, that that fleeting moment would create a huge impact in my otherwise boring existence.

                I am a known walker or hiker, I love walking to and from a certain location, no matter how far. I can walk the massive structure that is SM Mall of Asia and will never feel tired. Sometimes hoping that time can at least slow down so I can savor every walking moment before the mall close or the last bus leaves for home. I would scour the entire Binondo, Divisoria, and Greenhills specially during Christmas season just for the heck of walking and exploring. I never cared about the heat or the sun when I am walking, the soft breeze of the December wind is enough compensation for the heat the sun slated on me.  I once dreamt of scaling the heights of Makiling, Banahaw and even Everest. I love the struggle of going up and the gravitational pull when going down.

                But fate changed all of that.

                Now with my ever faithful companion, my walking cane, I despise the limited mobility. I can no longer walk from my place of business to my residence without pausing for a minute or two just to rest. It was hard to come to terms with my limited mobility.

                Walking with a cane attracts a lot of quizzical stares. Some even have the courage to approach me and ask what happened to me, particularly those who know me. Sometimes I wished I have a t-shirt printed with my usual response to their questions because it came to a point that I don’t want to answer them anymore.

                Before, I would glance with empathy at people with canes or crutches or wheel chair. But all my concern seemed lacking when I was confronted with the dreaded cane. No amount of compassion is enough for people with disability, unless you are one.  

                 It does have its perks. I get to park in exclusive parking for disabled. I have my own lane when paying bills albeit I still fall in line together with the senior citizens. People offer me their chairs when there is none.  And when riding jeeps and buses, I have a specifically marked seat reserved for me.

                But the fact that the pain is still there balances out all the other gains. The doctor has instructed me not to rely heavily on pain killers. I have to endure the pain as much as I can. So I can determine when the dreaded necrosis has arrived.  When the pain is no longer bearable will be the day that I will go under the knife for a more complex surgery, the total hip replacement. It was like receiving a death sentence (for my femur) when the doctor told me that I have to prepare for that eventuality, that no amount of medicine can cure the progression (or regression) of the necrosis.

                Every morning when I feel the pain as I wake up, I ask myself if this is the pain the doctor is telling me about.  But it was bearable, and he specifically said that the pain will be intolerable.

                Even with cane, walking has become a struggle. I have to be fully aware of the direction of my legs specially if I try to walk on a straight line. A moment of lapse, I will find my injured leg walking sideways. I have to train my brain to instruct my left foot to follow the right foot, otherwise, I will be walking like a crab. Gait training was a laugh before. It was as if my left leg has a mind of its own. Sometimes, I would try to let it all loose and see where it wanted to go.

                Like every challenges in our life, I have to face it and conquer it. Living with constant pain has numbed me. My brain has come to a point where it tolerated it. I have tried to walk without cane although in short distances, but I feel so tired after doing so. The orthopedic shoes and inserts helped me walk without much gait. But the gait is still there. I buy slippers by two pairs, so I can use the other left slipper as insert. Life goes on for a man who fall down and refused to stay down. Like every trials in life a simple resolve to not back down and to stand up and fight continues to be my guiding light.

                Writing this piece is my way of saying goodbye to that incident. That I do not have to dwell on it and face new challenges life will offer. That there is more to life than wallowing in self-pity. That if I face life head on and charge forward, I will continue my travails. That I can still scale life’s ups and downs, race to the finish even if I know I will never win it. And keeping close to my heart the tenet, it is not the destination that matters, it’s the journey.

KA PONYONG'S ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE SURVIVAL GUIDE

After decades of careful and in-depth study of zombies and their attitudes, techniques and killing execution through the help of such films as Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Shaun of the Dead, and even the game Left4Dead and Plants vs. Zombies, Ka Ponyong has come up with fail safe guide to survive the coming Zombie Apocalypse. So whenever you think you find yourself into similar conditions, you will know what the possible outcome will be. 

1. The weakest looking, geeky, fat or your ordinary kid will be killed first.
2. The libidinous couple raging with sex hormones who chose to boink in the woods will be killed next. Usually the guy will be executed first, then the girl will run to the deeper forest, will trip and produce an ear splitting scream that will fill the entire forest (insert wide angle shot of the forest) and then die.
3. The police or any authority who will attempt to save you will be attacked next, usually falling face down (insert extreme close up of a catatonic expression) leaving behind a trail of blood.
4. The gym fit guy who's the school's football (or baseball or basketball) hero, will prove that he is indeed a hero by protecting the remaining survivors will die next. Usually receiving the most violent death.
5. The black guy who everybody loves will attempt to device a plan to survive the attack but will eventually fail. He will turn into a zombie.
6. The love interest of the main protagonist will be the next victim.
7. The protagonist, along with a few friends who managed to stay alive will device a plan to kill all the zombies by gathering all the artilleries.
8. An unexpected hero will come, usually someone whom the remaining survivor will doubt, but will eventually lead the assault. But he will later die, fighting.
9. A moment of lull will be expected before the final onslaught where feelings will be unraveled and secrets revealed. The main protagonist will likely hold a grudge against the zombies who may have killed his parents or exhibit extreme anger for the death of his love interest.
10. The Final Assault will most likely be heralded by a growing crescendo of orchestrated background music.
11. The final battle will always be bloody, with the remaining survivors decimated to half.
12. Amid the fighting, the main protagonist will have a moment of indecisiveness when he met his love interest and found that she has turned into a zombie.
13. A melodramatic background music will usually mean the main protagonist is having a hard time making a decision. If the music switch into a high adrenalin music, the main protagonist has come up with a decision and will kill the love interest. 
14. The switch back to melodramatic music coupled with effects such as rainfall and lighting usually suggest the love interest is dead, at which point the main protagonist will produce a guttural/heavy sigh.
15. The main protagonist, powered by adrenalin, anger, and steroid, will decapitate, maim, kill all the remaining zombies.
16. You'll know the attack is over when the sun shines.

MGA KLASE NG NAGVIVIDEOKE

Laging mayroong isang naaatasang pumindot ng numero.

Laging mayroong matakaw sa mic.

Laging mayroong hindi mo mapapakanta.

Laging mayroong nakikisabay sa pagkanta pero tapatan mo ng mic ay titigil siya.

Laging mayroong gustong laging makipag-duet.

Laging mayroong sintunado.

Laging mayroong mali ang tiyempo.

Laging mayroong mambibitin, yung tipong hindi tinatapos ang kanta.

Laging mayroong emotera, yung tipong crying while singing ang drama.

Laging mayroong makata, yung tipong wala sa tono at parang nagde-declaim lang

Laging mayroong song and dance ang drama.

Laging may weirdo, yung tipong ang kakantahin eh siya lang ang nakaka-alam (para siguro walang kaagaw sa mic).

Laging mayroong hindi kakanta kung wala pang tama, pero bibirit at makikipag-agawan pa ng mic  pag lasing na.

Laging mayroong feeling Jovit, Charice, Whitney, Martin, Gary., Allan Pineda, Diomedes Maturan, Matt Monro.

Laging mayroong mali ang basa sa lyrics o hindi marunong magbasa.

Laging mayroong walang ginawa kundi magbasa ng magbasa ng songbook pero hindi kakanta. Pag tinanong kung ano ang kakantahin, sasabihin wala sa songbook gusto niyang kanta (kahit libo-libo ang pagpipilian)

Laging mayroong nagsisimula ng pagkanta simula dumating ang videoke at siya pa rin ang kumakanta pag kukunin na ang videoke (kinabukasan o 24 oras).

Laging mayroong isang bihirang kumanta, pero pag bumirit, nganga lahat sa galing (ako yun!)

THE BLACK BOOK

On a hot summer morning forty years ago, the 13^th of April 1972, our family was faced with a tragedy whose effects created repercussions in our lives.  A mother of seven, with the youngest barely 3 years old, lost the battle to cancer.

She is my mother. I was five years old when she left. No faculties to capture and preserve precious memories of her. And the only memory I preserve was that fateful day she died. I woke up around 7 in the morning amid the sound of siren that signal the time of day. And when I opened my eyes, I saw our maid, Lilia, crying and telling me that my mother is dead.

When I went down, I saw a commotion in her room. I sat on the stairs and wept. And the image that forever will haunt me was when she was transferred from her room to the coffin waiting in our sala.

Growing up, I collected snippets and anecdotes of her, mostly from my grandmother. And these became like jigsaw puzzle, where piece by piece, I slowly got to know her.

Before she died, she kept a black book, where most of her thoughts are written, and a letter addressed to my Lola. The book, as she has instructed, can only be read by us, when we reach the age of reason. The book was held for safekeeping by my Lola until such time that each one of us was be given a chance to read it.

I was allowed to read its contents after I graduated from college.  Then, I got to know her thoughts, her love for us, and the pain she went through battling cancer. There, I came to know her better. Its contents will forever be kept close in our hearts. Its message is enough to guide us through our day to day life. The words short but straightforward, delivered straight to our heart. No wonder, it was kept from us when we were young, because the message will not be digested by our young minds. That it will take all of our growing up experiences to understand her and the words written on that book.

When I was young, I usually question God why He took her early, when our wings weren’t strong enough to fly. That had she been given at least a couple of years for us to gain enough capacity to store memories of her, things would have been different.

But reading that book, I came to accept that my thought was of selfishness. That it was better then, to take her soon, than let her suffer long.

Forty years to the day she left us, but the pain is as fresh as today’s. But we all grew up fine, guided by a mother whose love for her children nurtured us in spirit to continue with only a memory of her. And a strong conviction that every pain and struggles we faced were no match to what was going on her mind during those times. The pain of the disease and of leaving behind her children without the guidance of a mother.

To Mama, we did fine. Thanks a lot for those caring words. Thanks a lot to the guidance you gave us. We all know that in every milestones in our lives, you were up there watching. And proudly say, “That’s my children.”  

THIS USED TO BE MY PLAYGROUND

Life is a journey. And in each stop overs we do, we touch someone’s life, meet friends and take along with us memories that we will treasure as we continue to move on. Human beings are nomads. We travel continuously. Searching for a place where we feel we belong.

One such journey ended twenty five years ago, my college days. It ended before I even had the chance to cherish the moments and capture the memories that I have been intending to keep.

Twenty five years ago, I left the portals of my Alma Mater with one goal in mind: to change the world. It was a spine tingling moment the first time I wore my graduation toga. There were butterflies in my stomach when our school president ordered us, “Tussles to the right”. Then came the rain of our graduation cap. When I left the portals of Sacred Heart College, I never looked back. I wanted to change the world, immediately.

But, when I walked the last few steps to the main gate, memories came rushing back at me.

The wild chase to submit our practice sets. The happy go lucky attitude knowing that as college students, I am responsible for my education. That every quizzes and exams will reflect on my grades which will reflect on my standing, which will reflect on my job hunting prospects.

But being young and free, I didn’t care. I was enjoying the newfound freedom that accompanied being a college student. Not young anymore, but not an adult as well.

Friends call my school as a “bulokis” school. But again, I didn’t care. For in this school, I found acceptance. I found true friends. I found my self- worth. 

Within the walls, I gained the option to become who and what I wanted to become. There were few and fleeting moments when I felt I cannot go on, but the drive to have my own identity beckoned.

Sacred Heart College gave me that rare opportunity to be who I am, not someone other people wanted me to become. I entered this school as a sign of protest when I wasn’t allowed to pursue my dream of becoming an engineer and study in Manila. But that protest turned to be an opportunity to be who I really wanted to be.

SHC taught me to be self-reliant. To depend on no one except myself. It was a dog eat dog world when I faced the rat race, but I was amply equipped with necessary tools to survive the race.

SHC taught me to get to know my Redeemer. Some say it was a waste of units, but the real test and usage of what I learned from those “unnecessary units” came when I faced the corporate world. Being a banker then gave me access to all the client’s and bank’s resources. But tempting as it may sound, SHC solidly built in me that trait that trust and honor far stood important than any riches in the world.

There are so many treasured memories I have in college. Most of my true and close friends I met in college.

I guess, quarter of a century later, their mission statement still holds true to this very day. 

AN ODE TO CHAMI

A lot of my friends have been hounding me with this question, What is it with chami that makes me swoon, salivate, drool over it?  It is in fact a very basic food, stir fried mixes of meat, vegetables and noodles sometimes mixed with quail eggs and chicharon.  But for me it brings back sweet memories of happy times and great company of friends and family. It is not the chami, per se, that makes me drool all over it. It is the thought that the taste brings all over me a chance to relive a past and a perhaps a wish that someday soon, everything will be alright. As life is a cycle, I know that I will again experience the joy and pleasure of being in company with people who shared the same sentiments about this food.

                Chami, like rice, is a staple food in my family. Yes, the entire Ka Ponyong clan is just plain crazy about this food. In every gathering when we are in Lucena, there never was a time when we all forget or forego ordering this food.  There are only two chami restaurant we patronize back in Lucena, Plaza Food and Granja Panciteria. Depending on our mood or budget, decision is made by the entire clan. Granja Panciteria is quite near our place and since the owner is my departed sister’s friend, we can order there and have it delivered right to our doorsteps. Plaza Food, on the other hand, is owned by our neighbor. And they know for a fact that our entire clan is just plain crazy about their version. We sometimes order from them to-go, but their version is best eaten there in their restaurant. To compare, Plaza Food wins hands down if you order it after lunch because it tastes better. Perhaps their meat stock is well cooked by then.

                During the course of my life on earth, I’ve tasted all sort of chami. In high school, I would buy a home-cooked chami near our place. The kind where there is no other ingredient aside from the meat of a pig’s head and some vegetables. Most pale in comparison with the two aforementioned restaurants except for two. Mang Goring’s is your typical hole in the wall eatery frequented by tricycle drivers and other blue collar workers. Be there after three in the afternoon, and you have to wait for your turn.

The other one is the chami of my teens. I think it is called Doring’s Carinderia, located just opposite Granja Panciteria before it became Granja Panciteria.  This is the place that brings the sweetest memories about chami. My father would come home weekly when he was assigned from far flung provinces and one of his ritual when he comes home is bring home fried chicken and then ask me to buy chami from Doring’s carinderia.  Then, together as a family, we would consume the food while discussing and bonding the past week and latest updates in our lives.

There is also the version when I was in college, another hole in the wall near my friend’s house. Mang Ricky’s version is a bit spicy but that didn’t stop us from ordering from him. Because every chance we order and feast on his concoction, is a chance to bond with my friends after we sing our hearts out in the then quite popular karaoke machine. Every Monday, we find ourselves at Dimsum house ordering their version.  This time partnered with their Siopao Jumbo. Why Monday? Because we just received our allowances for the week and just like any teens, we were all one day millionaires and chami is on top of our lists of things to splurge on.

As life’s destiny takes me to various places, I have often crave for chami. Most are plain copycats with taste far from the chami that I’ve grown to love. I’ve even tried the instant kind but it just makes me long for the chami that I desire.

Some friends asked me why chami? Why not pancit habhab? Because I believe I am a chami person. I think I may consider myself a chami connoisseur.

Chami, for me, is an icon, a simple food that brings memories of bygone days. Like its ingredients and no hassle cooking, it is a reminder of a time when things where simple and innocent. When we revel on humble things yet it matters so much. When problems seem like so easy to carry.

Today, when I visit Lucena, I still order this food. I savor every strand reminiscing on modest times and my home coming seems incomplete without it.

As I enjoy its simplicity, I say to myself – I AM HOME.

THE END OF MAGIC: A Christmas Reflection

I just finished watching “The Polar Express” and it brought back the memories of Christmas past. It hit the right chord of a grown up trying to relive the magic of Christmas wishing it did not end. Hoping that in me, the magic stays. It was hard to accept that the true magic of Christmas has ended. Wishing that though it was gone, it will never be forgotten.

I remember the time when the magic ended. I was so young then, in my kindergarten year, when it dawned on me that Santa is not real. I was around six when the magic left me. As years went by, I continue living the life with no Santa.  We all were raised into thinking that “seeing is believing”, that the truth of the pudding is in the eating. But when the magic is gone, it’s gone forever.

Today, the true spirit of Christmas is lost in the milieu of commercialism. We were all exposed to the meaning of Christmas as tinsels and lights that glitter, the rush of shoppers trying to beat the Christmas deadline, the food and drinks, the endless parties, the blaring sounds of carols, the traffic, the soaring prices of commodities, the tiangges, the sales, the cues. But its true meaning is in our hearts. The spirit of Christmas is in our hearts and no one can take that away from us, unless we want to.

Maybe we can just stop and ponder, and keep the spirit alive in our hearts. Even if we have learned that there is no Santa, the joy we felt back then, when we still believe should be kept close to our hearts. For generations to come. For if we lose this most precious aspect of Christmas, imagine a world where a whole generation does not believe in Santa. Imagine a child growing up deprived of its true meaning. We were all called upon once to experience the magic, not for us alone, but for the future generations. If we share it and pass it on, then the message will be kept alive for many years to come.  As it has been for the many Christmases that past.

The magic should not end. And the memories of Christmas past, when the joy we all felt gave us something to look forward to, should also be experienced by the coming generations. For a year full of war, disasters, destruction, squabbling and hopes lost, just for one day, only one day is reserved for peace. Isn’t that something to look forward to?

May the memory of Christmas past be kept alive and burning in the hearts of men. May the many Christmas future be filled with its true meaning.

            HAVE A MEANINGFUL CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

KABANATA

Ganoon na lang ba kabilis ang panahon,

Sa isang iglap lang ay di mo na malingon?

Mga pangyayaring biglang nagiging kahapon

Maya-maya lang ay matatapos na ang taon.

Ang Lunes lumilipas ng mabilis

Bawa't buwan ay parang food express.

Ang bawa't taon mabilis magbihis

Tumatakbo ng diretso at di lumilihis.

Ang ngayon ay magiging bahagi ng kahapon

Ang bukas darating at maglilimayon.

Karanasan at inaasam magiging alaala

Bahagi ng puso, malungkot man o masaya.

Igapos ko man ang aking kahapon

Yakapin ng mahigpit ang aking ngayon

Patuloy na tatakbo, patungo sa bukas

Orasan ng buhay, dagliang kakaripas.

Bakit nga ba kailangang balikan?

Mga kabanata ng ating kabataan.

Bakit di harapin ating bukas

Na tiyak darating, patungo sa wakas.

Kaya't huwag tayong mag-alinlangan

Sa ngayon, bukas o kahapon man

Ang buhay ng tao puno ng kabanata

Harapin lang ang hamon at talinhaga.

15 THINGS I WANT TO DO BEFORE I REACH 60

In a few hours, I will be celebrating my 45th birthday. And as usual, no fanfare nor celebration is in the offing. I don't feel like preparing big banquets to celebrate my natal day. Especially if I've been doing it for the past 44 years. A simple visit to the church to thank God for another year and ask for another year of lease will do. Plus, perhaps, one special meal for me. I was thinking of chami, but I just can't get the right concoction. So 1 whole pizza will do, preferably Shakey's Garlic and Cheese and perhaps a spaghetti platter and chicken. But before I lose my track, this blog is about my earnest desire of things I want to do before I reach 60. So roughly, I have fifteen years to do all of these stuff but I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that I can hit it all before d-day.


1. A VISIT TO THE HOLY LAND. I wasn't formally introduced to my religion in my younger life. All I remember is the mandatory Angelus at 6:00 pm. I wasn't educated in a Catholic school from Grade 3 to high school, so Religion is not really a required subject back then. When I entered Sacred Heart for college, I was re-introduced to my religion. I have seen various episodes of the Holy Land tour, including pictures from friends. And this gave me all the desire to visit the land where Jesus walked, lived, breathed, preached, and offered His life for our Salvation. I have always thought that when I reached the Holy Land, I am ready to die.


2. MAKE A PIZZA FROM SCRATCH. I have always loved pizza. Be it from the greasy kind toasted on makeshift oven at some corner to the authentic Italian kind. There was a time when Shakey's pantry is made of glass and you can see the chef tossing and throwing the dough up in the air. That, I want to do. But they've enclosed that part of their resto, perhaps they are hiding something now. Or their commissary is where it is all prepared. But nonetheless, I want to build my own brick oven, with real firewood for that different taste and feel. and dump all my fave toppings on my pizza. I want it topped with Chami, Kwekwek, talabing, crispy pata, andoks chicken, arroz valenciana, macaroni salad, J&J V-Cut, McDo Twister fries and a lot more. But before this blog turns into an Epic Meal episode, I have to move on.


3. WORK AT GIFT WRAPPING SECTION OF STORES. I never marvel at gifts daintily wrapped in a whole cornucopia of colors, designs and ribbons. I admire people who give extra effort in wrapping their gifts. But what delights me is to see what kind of gift is hidden inside. By being a gift wrapping personnel (or whatever they call that position), I will know its content before the gift recipient even set his hands on those gifts. I will also know who spend so much on gifts, and who is kuripot. 


4. WATCH ALL THE CLASSIC PINOY FILM. Back then when the Philippine movie industry is young, it churned out all the best movies, some of which I haven't seen. Back then movies  were raw, no special effects, superb story line and great acting. These are the movies I want to watch: Anak-Dalita, 48 Oras, Agila, Biyaya ng Lupa, Ibulong mo sa Hangin, Itim, Kundiman ng Lahi, Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag, Pagdating sa Dulo, Sawa sa Lumang Simboryo, Tinimbang ka Ngunit Kulang, Tubog sa Ginto. Most of these films are lost into oblivion, but I hope that in fifteen years, a copy will surface maybe in cyberspace.


5. A HOLIDAY FOR MY ENTIRE FAMILY. I have often dreamed of this, where the whole family up to third degree of consanguinity will tour the whole world together. It will be blast discovering new things and places with your family. It will be an event of a lifetime. And I want to change the family tradition where we only become whole when someone passes away. This time I want the reunion to be fun, fun, fun.


6-11. KNOW AND PERFECT THESE RECIPES. Some of my favorite food are those found in fast food joints. I know those of you who are health conscious will frown at me but their taste is just heavenly and "to die for" literally. However, if I have my way, I want to prepare the following food healthily: Twister Fries ( I want to know what secret is hidden behind these fries), McDo Crispy Chicken (I always wanted to know where they dredge their chicken, I tried those prepared breading and I just can't get that taste), Plaza Food Chami (this is my ultimate fave of all time, sometimes when I eat there, I get this plan to barge into their kitchen and demand for the recipe), Mang Bert's Crispy Pata (this to die for food is not only delicious but the meat is so tender you will not notice it's pork hind), Papa's Arroz Valenciana (I really miss this one, often prepared during Christmas and New Year only, I want to someday perfect this one so I can continue the tradition), Mama's Chicken Macaroni Salad (This is the only memory of how delicious my mother cooks, to this day, I am yearning for that taste. I've tasted all available macaroni salad I can get my hands and tummy on but none comes close to my mother's macaroni salad. Rumor has it that she uses her bare hands in mixing it up, owing to that distinct taste).


12. REUNITE WITH LONG LOST FRIENDS. Although Facebook already has done it in parts, what I want to do is to be physically reunited to my long lost friends. My life has been in chapters and in every chapter, I met and became close with so many people. But because of events that separated us, we never got a chance to be physically together and reminisce those bygone days. So paging all my classmate buddies in elementary, high school, college, at PCIBank, at Caltex, let's get together some time.


13. VISIT ALL THE 70+ PHILIPPINE PROVINCES. I don't want to be a stranger in my own land. Thus this is one of my obsessions. Out of the 70+ provinces, I think I have only been to less than 10. The Philippines is such a beautiful country and it pains me to only see its beauty through pictures and videos.


14.  LEARN TO PLAY AT LEAST ONE INSTRUMENT. I have always been a music lover. I cannot work well without a background music. I know I sing well (at least to my knowledge, especially when the spirit of the alcohol is hounding me), but what I want to do is play the music I want to sing. Thus, this obsession to learn to play at least one instrument has been hounding me ever since. There was a period when I want to learn to play the sax, because it sexy. Then came the guitar, but I can't memorize the keys. Then the keyboard, but I think I am tone deaf that I just cannot hit the right tune. Maybe I can just concentrate on cymbals, triangle or if I can hit the beat, the drums.


15. FIND MY OWN "HAPPY PLACE". I am always on the move, I move from place to place (courtesy of Joe Mari Chan), but I believe everyone deserves to have his own "happy place". A place where you are who you are. You can forget all the drudgery and topsy turvy that we call life. If I can only see that place, maybe I can retire there and be free of all the hustles and bustles of daily living. I was thinking of going to the Trappist Monks, once when I was 27 years old. But work again took away that interest. Perhaps that's not my happy place. But I hope that before I hit 60, that happy place is waiting for me and be treated as my permanent home and reverse the nomadic life I am enduring.

THAT DAY

At around 12 midnight tonight will mark the time when a major life-changing event completely altered my life. It was at that time when the dreaded accident happened. What was supposed to be a quick trip to a nearby store became a nightmare that tested my strength and faith in God, assured me that I have a family who will stand by me no matter what, and friends who supported me all throughout.

From the initial shock of the accident, the help of San Pablo’s finest who let me use their mobile car to accompany me to the emergency room, to the mayhem at the ER, me demanding attention, me shaking all over because of the unbearable pain, me begging for a pain reliever to ease the pain, the travel to the x-ray room in the middle of the rain and occasional bumps that sent stabbing pain, the doctor giving more attention to her facebook, she reading the x-ray and telling me that there is no fracture and releasing me, me struggling to ride a tricycle back to my place, me being carried into my home and my bed. That night will be considered my longest night of indescribable pain.

The next two months passed by with only one thing on my mind, to get back on my feet as soon as possible. I spent my 44^th birthday alone, in bed. Some friends visited me and brought some food.  My only solace then was my phone and facebook. I was alone from morning till night without anyone to talk to and answer to all my needs. And facebook kept me company. Two months in bed, with the scheduled therapy every other day, passed by so quickly.  Christmas came and went, it was the first time I spent Christmas alone.

The news that made my entire world come crumbling down was when I heard another doctor’s diagnosis, I have a broken femur. The news came before New Year’s eve, and I spent all day and night crying. I asked God for help, I don’t know who to ask for help, my coffer is drained, and I need an operation.

Then the miracles happened.

Help from my family came pouring in. I went to Lucena for further test. It was suggested that I be admitted at the Philippine Orthopedic Center, where I stayed for fifteen days. The first night was hard. It was my first time in a hospital.  With no available room, I was confined in a ward. At night, I got awakened by other patient’s cries of pain. Patients who can’t afford to buy medicines for their pain. There I experienced how it feels to be like in a zoo, with streams of nursing students coming and going gawking at you like you are some kind of animal. There I experienced scheduled bathroom privilege, being awakened at 5 in the morning by the head nurse, the heat, the scent and sight of rotting flesh as it is being cleansed, and guards who make you feel like a prisoner. But I was not complaining. It was an experience worth cherishing and my hope was high as I was waiting for my date with the knife.

Unexpected turn of events made me aware that this is one episode in my life I can call a miracle. The surgery was cancelled, a few minutes after I called the supplier of the hip screw, a day later I was released.

The remaining months ensued with frequent trips to the therapist and monthly checkup as I slowly gained my mobility. From wheel chair to two crutches, to one crutch, to walking stick, I slowly saw the progression.

Today, as I look back at that night, I can proudly say, that I won that battle.  I understood what the Lord God wants me to learn. I am no Job, I am not there yet.  But I know in my heart that God loves me, that He only wanted the best for me. That all those delays, misdiagnosis, and cancelled surgery has a reason.

The journey continues. I know I can get there someday, I am not in a hurry. But the fact that I can get there walking, unscarred by surgery, and with stronger faith in Him and love and support of my family and friends.

That night, may have scarred me physically, with walking stick all my life to boot. But it also made me stronger. He made me stronger.

Heal me, O LORD, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved: for thou art my praise. - Jeremiah 17:14

UNFIT TO A T

Time and again I see new kinds of articles of clothing but as most fashion items, they don't blend well with the person  using them. Here is my latest rant regarding these fashionable inventions.

FAT MAN+MUSCLE SHIRTS


It's not a sight to behold seeing fat man wearing muscle shirts. As the name describes, it is a shirt intended to show your muscles. So if you are fat (or so papery thin) please do not attempt to wear them.

Not only are you making a fool out of yourself, but you're a disgrace to the inventor.

SHAVED EYEBROWS+EYELINER 


This one oftentimes amuses me.

Question: Why would you shave your eyebrows when you have an intention of putting it back through the help of a pencil?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

CAMOUFLAGE SHORTS+NON-MILITARY


It's designed for the military and it helps them blend in their environs. SO when a non-military person wears this, in the malls, I don't see any point. Why would someone wear a camouflage in a mall, without a gun, unprotected. What if an ambush attack happens? How will he defend himself?

I hope they fire a grenade launcher at you and blow your stupidity to oblivion.

OVERSIZED SHIRTS+JEJEMONS


I don't see your point. Why buy a shirt that's ten times your size?
What does this accomplish? Will this help solve global warming?
Do you know that the extra yardage can clothe the naked in Africa?

So the next time you see these stupid jejemons wearing oversized shirts, kill them! For crying out loud!


More to come, as Ka Ponyong scours the entire country to look for stupid people who wanted to fit. Sadly, not everyone is destined to fit and the intention to be so only makes stupid people more stupid.

A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE: A TRIBUTE TO THE ORIGINAL KA PONYONG

On August 3, 2011, the grand patriarch of the Andalis clan will celebrate his 100th birth anniversary. Lolo Ponyong, as we fondly call him, was the only grand father I ever knew. My maternal grand father died before I was even born. Thus, the close affinity I had with my Lolo Ponyong, crossed beyond the barrier of being my namesake. He was known as Eufronio Andalis, so technically I am not a junior but a third.

I looked up to him with great reverence and respect.

He, with always a doze of jokes as we were gathered at his feet. Urging him to crack some more, as he lights his favorite brand of cigarette, Kool Menthol 100s. Remember the story of the talking horse? Or the one with the priest, the old lady and the razor?

He, who loved coffee, as I recall. And not the instant kind we now use, but the real brewed Kapeng Barako, oftentimes being used as sabaw to sinangag coupled with scrambled eggs with lots of tomatoes and onions and haot.

He, with his to die for Arroz Valenciana. Usually prepared and served only during Christmas and New Year.

He, who loved to read Daily Express, at times making his own commentary about the latest event with my Lola Talia, who busied herself with her latest crochet project.

He, who loved to watch TV, most of the times with us, sitting in an old rocking chair as our black and white TV set is tuned in to Oras ng Ligaya, The Big Ike's Happening, John & Marsha, Kuwarta o Kahon, Superstar, Tawag ng Tanghalan and other popular shows of the time.

He, who loves to bring us to Agdangan to experience the rural life where there's  no electricity, no TV, no maid. But aptly compensated by the 7 kilometer walk to Tampus, a seaside barangay, to frolic and play along the sea coast. The ritual pagbubuko (actually called pagmumura but it doesn't read right), where we eat young coconut flesh followed by a drink of its juice, to remove (daw) bulate in our stomachs. And when the night comes, amid the heat of the gasera, we again gather at his feet as we were entertained by his stories of old and distant war he experienced.

We lived with him for I think two to three years. And during that time, we were molded under his strict discipline. Along with our uncles, we saw how he gave corporal punishment for any infraction that may caused him his ire. But those didn't made us weak but in fact strengthen us. 

He left for the US, along with my Lola, when I was in grade 3. And during those times, we wrote letters to him and to Lola to keep in touch with them and send the latest news in our lives. When he left, he gave me a 25cent coin, probably as a token, because we were not included in the entourage who will bring them to the airport. I was teary eyed when he embraced me, and gave me his huling bilin.

"Huwag ka matutulog sa harap ng TV."   Because ,I, most of the times, fell asleep in front of the TV.

"Wala ka ng ibibili ng Kool'". I was his favorite errand boy, usually, with upa, or tip of singko which I oftentimes buy my favorite Beatles cookies (the one with peanut butter spread) or Lobo biiscuits.

"Huwag ka magsasama kay Anita". Because we were late one time from going home because I tagged along with my sister to visit a friend.

Little did I know that that was the last time I will see his smile.

One day in January of 1979, I was fetched by my father's driver in school. When I boarded the vehicle, he broke the news that Lolo Ponyong  has died. I don't know how to react then, but when I arrived home, that's when it hit me. I cried in my room. Knowing that I will never see him again.

A couple of days later, we fetched my Lolo at the airport along with all my Titos and Titas who went back to the Philippines to bring him to his final resting place. While we were travelling, one of my uncle, Tito Leovin, gave me something that was one of my most unforgettable gift ever. A Timex gold wrist watch. The last time we recorded a cassette message to Lolo, I asked for a wrist watch. And inspite of fact that he left us, he managed to fulfill my wish and his promise.

There are so many other anecdotes and memories that I will treasure in my heart as long as I live. And lessons he imparted on me as I grow up. But the best legacy he gave to us is his genuine fatherly care and provider to all his children which cascaded to us his grand children and great grand children.

A hundred years hence, his descendants have carved their marks in every millieu they chose. Although separated by vast miles from each other, we all know that we all came from a single tree who provided us all the nutrients that nurture our growth, and shelter that provided us a haven.

Happy Birthday, Lolo Ponyong! I know that you are now living your forever with your only love, Lola Talia.