My Christmas gift: finally pulling it up

My eyes just opened at exactly six o'clock on my watch with nothing to do I went to the computer and had this typed up.

I'm sorry for not being able to update for more than two weeks. Many things have happened and frustration just came in one after the other. At last I'm done.

My last entry was a vow to pass my PFT. I thought that was simple. During that PFT, I made ten pull ups but the count was only six. The one who supervised me doing the exercise said that my chin did not clear the bar on the other four that I made. I went back to barracks that day a failure. I felt that I was cheated. I was already trying to set my mind on my fate when the Commandant gave a declaration during his speech in the CCAFP Christmas party the same day, "Those who failed are given one more week to pass the exam, they retake next week." That week became another test of humility. During that time, I had to go through another week of strengthening program under the watch of my classmate who was the Brigade PFT Officer. What tested me more in that experience was not my ability to perform the exercises she wanted us to do but to swallow my pride for my classmate and other cadets in that program and also to appreciate the effort of my classmate to help me pass the test and graduate with her in less than three months. At a time when I just hated everything that we were doing, I approached her and said: "Bok (its a term of endearment among classmates), hindi na ako natutuwa sa ginagawa natin, madalas napipikon na ako, pero alam ko na mahal na mahal mo ako at hindi mo ako hahayaang bumagsak kasi gusto mo sabay tayong grumaduate sa March. Pag medyo nakita mong masama na itsura ko, hayaan mo lang ako pero maniniwala ako sa'yo, pagtyatyagaan ko tong ginagawa natin." After that I did not speak to her anymore about any of the feelings I had over the exercises she was making us to do. In that one week, I actually appreciated my classmate in what I used to call her "pakialamera" attitude.

On the day of the retake, I really psyched myself up. I started to get nervous as I made my way to the pull up bar. Everything that has happened to me has come down to this one event and I thought that was enough. After the fifth count was given, the count did not move forward. The sixth was still counted as five until the eighth at which point I got really pissed of and just came down from the bar in defeat and disgust as to how the count was made. Its not that I am complaining, I really feel that something was wrong with the way it was done. The others also had the same observation as only four passed in the pull up event out of almost 20 who had the retake. I thought that was the end of it as we were already given another chance. When the Commandant talked to us after that, he gave us another hope. His final instruction was that we can not go on break until we pass that PFT. We can take it as much as we want, if we give up already then we go on break but we would have forfeited our cadetship. It was already December 22 and the feeling of wanting to go home became somewhat of a better choice than doing it one more time. But the highlight of that day was that of my classmate. His pull ups was basically 8 and 3/4. The one who counted him was actually contemplating on just counting the last one as a 9 and he wanted to push it for him to pass. Out of his desperation, thoughts like this were already coming out of his head and I can not blame him. We have been struggling for more than six months and it was an easy way out. When he told me his plan, I just have to remind him of the things that we value as a cadet. I shared to him something that I keep on telling myself every time I think of what he was thinking: Gragraduate ako dito kasi karapat dapat akong grumaduate hindi dahil dinaya ko (I will graduate here because I am worthy of that graduation and not because I cheated). As I told him that, I just have to shed a tear. The whole struggle was not anymore becoming a lesson of mere physical strength nor of humility, it was already a test of character. As we talked among ourselves moments after that close call, we consoled each other into saying that we will remember December 22 as the day that we stood on our Honor despite personal pressure.

I finally decided to make an attempt to celebrate Christmas at home. Early morning of December 24 I decided to take the exam and try to be home for Noche Buena. The frustration came early also as there was no one to supervise our test since everyone was apparently at home preparing for the midnight feast. I had to go et in touch with people but to no avail nothing came. At 12 noon, I was already contemplating on just spending Christmas inside my bunks by myself. Suddenly our names were called at the PA system, we are to take our PFT after all.

My chest was pounding as I started to do the first 5 pull ups. I never really managed to have a count more than 6 so when I heard seven, it was as if my body was on auto pilot and kept on pulling itself up that bar as the count increased. Finally, I heard it... the count was 9 and the cadets behind me where already jumping in celebration. I did it.

By 6 o'clock that night I was on a bus bound for Manila. at 11:30, my brother picked me up and I was home by midnight. I really am home for Christmas.

Looking at it now, the whole experience was indeed a journey of self realization. The events that unfolded did not go as I expected but as I said in my other entries regarding this, I will come out here a winner no matter what happens. To all the people who prayed for me, who cheered me on and the many others who believed that it can be done, thank you very much. To the God up above who continued to nurture me even amidst trying times, I am in awe at how He works. He gave me more than 9 pull ups, he gave me more faith and more grace. Thank you God and I bring you back all the glory.

For Hiyas

The pictures in this entry was taken from the multiply site of my very good friend Hiyas. I know I promised that I will not name people in this blog but for this entry I just have to. This entry is about her.

I met her sometime in 2002 through a common friend. We did not talk much then, what I really wanted from her at that time was that she will treat me somewhere which I usually do to people I meet for the first time. I can not remember now if I was successful in that but what I do know was that meeting was one of the significant things that happened to me and I hope for her to.

Maybe it was because we met each other at the time when we needed people who will understand us. For her, it was about something that I know she will kill me if I discuss in this blog, for me it was about how I just wanted to go back to PMA. We would spend countless hours just sharing our thoughts about our frustrations in life. It would take place in some area in a mall, a restaurant somewhere or even over the tables somewhere in UP Diliman. I know now that the reason that we became friends was not because we had compatible personalities, I think its because we bothered to care for each other even if it was the stupidest thing that one can think of. I opened up my life to her just as she would let me in on hers. I marveled at her explanations on the chemical composition of something (she is a Chemist by the way) while I amaze her with my charms and all (ha ha.. sorry hindi ko alam). It wasn't something that we planned it was just a relationship that we nurtured all this time.

She is this person who will go out of her way to show to people that she cared. In the many conversations that we had when she will complain about things that bothered her especially about the people that she loved, although she will not admit it, it was because she just want them to be okay. Although she will never admit it, she is in fact a person whose heart melts easily especially if it was for people close to her.

The reason why I am writing this is that I miss her. When I finally came back to PMA, she was one of the last persons I saw as the bus was leaving for Baguio. She sent me lots and lots of letters as a cadet all in support for my dream. Even then, at the time when I want to cry out something that bothered me in PMA, she was always the first person that I could think of. Breaks always had to have a schedule for her. In some way, I could say that she was one person that I can talk to and know that I will have a rejuvenation of some sort after.

A few months ago, she also pursued her own dream. She left for the States for a scholarship. I have not seen her since and remembering how it has been, I really really miss her. Now is the time when I am at a stage where I can see my dreams turning into reality and its just not the same when I can not share it with her the same way I shared it to her when I was just dreaming. Yesterday, she celebrated her birthday (30 na yata sya). I could say now that I have never found a friend in her more than any other person I have met in this lifetime. She is now complaining of the cold weather in her new school. I just realized that its just the same thing when I complain to her that it is lonely here in PMA. Like me, I know she will overcome all that and come out victorious over the challenges life is offering us. What is more certain is that when she also gets her dream, I will be one of the first persons who will congratulate her and celebrate it with.

I guess the beauty of love is that it never stops making us better people. The person that I am now is a result of the support of people that love me and those that I also love dearly.

Ayoko na... Naiiyak na ako... Belated Happy Birthday, Yas

San Carlos City and Body Painting

About two years ago, I spent my break at my father's hometown in San Carlos City, Negros Occidental. That was to be the last time I will be there until now. What made that vacation fun was that it concided with the annual City Fiesta and to my delight, I practically spent my whole vacation partying.

But this entry is not about partying, this is actually a follow to the last entry that I have about my tito's Body Painting Competition which he holds annually since 200o and of course my daddy's hometown.

At first glance, one would think that San Carlos City is a sleepy place living away from the fast paced life of modern society. To this day, the city prides itself with pedicabs as a mode of transportation to go around it. The pedicab is really a pedicab in the real sense of the word, it is bicycle powered. Believe it or not, in this part of the country this is still what is used. But again, I must say that to form an impression on the city in general based on these seemingly backward practices will deny you of the many things one can experience in this place. To put it simply, San Carlos City is home to a vibrant culture that has cultivated itself on its own, truly a unique sight in all of Negros Island (to an extent in all of the Philippine Islands).

The City prides itself with the Pintaflores Festival. The festival simply means "We paint flowers." In this spectacle, the main motiff are flowers in all its vibrant colors painted on the bodies of those who perform the street dance. It is basically an explosion of flowers that sets the very festive mood associated with the fiesta celebration. It is a sight that amazes everyone with the vastness of colors that appears all in one place. As people would put it, it is an "explosion of colors."

Well, other events highlight the celebration but what comes close to heart is my tito's BodyPainting Competition. I personally think that this is the perfect evidence of culture in this part of the country. The provocativeness of topless models being painted on their bodies which has been accepted as part of the festivities is truly something that is worth the look of any tourist. I can say that not many has actually seen how these work of art is done, truly there is beauty in the human body. One will discover the perfect combination of shapes, wonderful colors and, of course, the human anatomy. More amazing is that these creations are mostly locally bred with their raw talents unhindered by expectations set by popular culture. Truly, it is a reflection of a society that has defined itself over time through the heritage that it has developed detached from modern society.

I dare people to witness these events and see for themselves a differnt kind of experience that is promised to be a wonderful memory. In the meantime, enjoy the pictures.

The Making of a Body Painting

This model and artist tandem won in the 2005 edition of the Body Painting Competition

Did I not say it was fun???

Other pictures

Note: The Pintaflores Festival is slated every first week of November. The NUI Pintaflores Bodypainting Competition is a major activity during the week-long celebration. All pictures that depict the bodypainting competition was taken by this writer. I just realized that the pictures I took was never "released" to the public. Sorry but the lay-out can be terrible because of the limited options blogger provides.

Its not about the question

"Ours is not to question WHY but to know the WHO behind it"

I remember this quote as I say my little prayer this morning for the death of 2Lt Ariel M Toledo, PMA Class of 2006.

Most people would remember him as the subject of a recent Maalaala Mo Kaya episode or the valedictorian of the biggest class to graduate from this Academy. For me, I remember him as that jolly upperclass who made me run at least two checkpoints (that's about 5.5 Km distance of roadrun each) for not fixing my bunks properly, The Company Commander who tutored me and my classmates in Calculus, or simply the cadet who taught us how to smile despite of the pressures in our training as cadets. Yesterday, he succumbed to the rare bile duct cancer after more than a year of fighting the disease. Why do good people die?

In an article I read from Panorama Magazine a few days back, a columnist wrote about understanding why bad things happen in this world and asked the simple question: WHY? Thinking about it now, the question is valid. In my lifetime, I have lost an uncle to the brutalities of the NPA, a cousin (my favorite cousin that is) to an unknown brain condition and a mother to cancer of the cervix. One can not blame me if there are times that I just talk to God and ask him why people that I love had to die and yet I see bad people around me living their lives without any care for the rest of the world. I read about lives great men who died of malaria (like that of Alexander the Great) or in their sleep while down hard criminals escape bullets being fired at them. I wonder why despite of all the good things that I want to do, I end up finding myself in deeper trouble while those who do not care about anything can get away with even the gravest offense. I ask why.

Yesterday, I wrote an e-mail to someone. I was very emotional writing it trying to put into words my feelings without really giving so much ideas about why I was even that emotional in the first place. The thing with writing that e-mail was that in my emotions are little confusions as I find myself looking out for the best of the things to come yet so sorry for myself because that is all I can do, to hope. I realized that in everything in this world I can really just hope. But in this hope I learned that the mere act of being hopeful for the good things is a journey towards self discovery. It is a journey that allows a person to understand the real meaning of this life and not be encumbered by the uncertainties that accompanies it. The fact that good people die is never a reason for us to stop being good people in the same way that bad people escaping justice is not an excuse to be bad. The thing is our life is not about those who are able to go on with their lives or lack of it but rather on the kind of person that we become as we live each day fulfilling a purpose that has been drawn out for us. We can choose to love or to hate but to choose hate knowing that it is the wrong choice is simply stupid.

The life that we live is not about those that we have lost but on what is there to gain. The lives of those already lost is never a lost because in reality they have lived a life where lessons and memories can be gathered to make us better people. Life is so wonderful that spending it by trying to understand it diminishes all the beauty it has.

I do not know the answer to the question why nor do I want to give an answer based on my belief system, but what is real is that being alive has a lot to do with living it rather than questioning it.

For Fides

I was looking at pictures of the recent wedding of my cousin. It kind of gave me memories, fond memories that is.

Back in the days when I was searching for direction in my life, I used to spend the best times of those with her. I remember the first time she was in Dumaguete telling her things about the place since I was already there for a while. I introduced her to my other cousin on the mother side (she's my cousing on the father side). She seemed to be shy and after that little introduction I did not have an idea that they were to become friends. Anyway, I go back to manila, go to PMA, got discharged and when back to Dumaguete. Of course, I have to meet my relatives my two cousins (from both sides) included. I started introducing myself as the cousin of so and so. The response was surprising. In the time that I was not in Dumaguete, the two seemed to have become close. The have become friends and introduced themselves as "cousins". They said that it was because it takes a while to explain that she is the cousin of the cousin of the he so just to make it simple they are cousins. Now when I come back, people wonder how I get in the picture when the two are cousins, I must be pretending.

Well, the male cousin (the one on the mother side) died a few years after that. I considered him my favorite cousin. Of course, my other cousin will not argue anymore whose my "more favorite" since the other one died. But then she is also my favorite for despite of the many things we argue about we have something that is common, we stick to family no matter what. I guess I have not told her things that I should have so maybe this is my time as a wedding present.

To Fides:

I remember the time when we will spend the whole night trying to copy drawings from books. I remember how amazed we were to discover that it was easier to use onion skin paper to trace the drawings or put oil (gas baya gyud) on the paper for us to trace it easier. I also remember the time when we argued about what to do with my life since you had to insist that PMA or UP will be bombed so I have to come up with another plan. I remember the time when we were so drunk at Burger Junction waiting for our burgers to be cooked when the bell sounded at the nearby church to signal that it was already the start of the 5 AM mass. I remember how you find it funny that I only know one dance step for the duration of the Ati-ati Festival at Ibajay. I remembered how I find it weird that you wanted to go on night swimming at Boracay. Of course, there's also the time that I have to drive you home fast in your motorcycle because we have to catch Meteor Garden. Trying to recall all of those things now I wished that life would have been that simple that it can be spent enjoying each other's company with no worries.

Of course, I have to make something out of my life and mind you I did keep my promise, I will be graduating soon. And of course, you got married... finally. Looy na kaayo kong Noel kung nadugay pa gyud. The point is, looking back at all the things that have happened, I just realized that life would not have been that good if not for the memories that we had. Now with my life having a direction, I can not imagine how I would have reached this far if not for the many reminders that I had to hear from you and I know your constant prayer that I will be well.

I guess what I am saying is that, I can not thank you enough. Grabe kahilakon man ko ano makaulaw kay firstclass baya ko unya daghan kaayong tawo diri. Hapit na break ma'am mag-inom ta..... haaha

Dili na nako ni tiwason kay drama kaayo...

Andy

The lives that reverberate

I did not expect things to happen this fast, another one of my upperclass is dead in Sulu this time the person is closer to my heart.

With the life that we live here, living in constant interaction, force to socialize, people do stick to us and without our knowing we develop a kind of connection that perhaps makes up for the kind of brotherhood thing obvious among PMA graduates. In Sulu right now, there are countless of possibilities. The soldiers fighting there right now might be someone that I used to share a table with, someone who scolded me for doing something wrong, someone I simply know.The truth of the matter is, I do not want to know who is there, I'm afraid.

This morning another deafening silence came inside the mess hall. Before we were to take our breakfast, the First Captain announced: "Let us offer a one minute prayer to the late... so and so, of PMA class so and so... who died in an encounter yesterday in Sulu." In two consecutive breakfasts two of my upperclass are dead.

A friend of mine said: "But if i go on and ponder much on losing life and losing them, I'll just end up hating life." She is right but thinking about the people that we've lost in the past days, I really can't help it but ponder. Ponder on the fact that it was just yesterday that they wore the same uniform as I am wearing. I can't help but ask why them of all the many soldiers out there. And the most frightening, I'll be there in seven months. Yet I do not want to hate life. I love life and I will live it. The fear in me keeps on telling me things, yet I know I am where I should be.

People die even if they do not fight in Sulu. Although the thought can be promising the fact that they die is not that promising at all. Perhaps there is not promise. If it's your time it will be your time and not even an avoidance of war changes that. I am expecting the situation to escalate in the next coming days. Now with two more battalions conducting combat operations it will become dirty. More of my upperclassmen will come (I heard our new graduates who were assigned in Luzon are being recalled to be sent to Mindanao) and I know, even if I do not want to, some of them will have to pay the ultimate sacrifice. Their names will reverberate in my head every time the dreaded one minute prayer will be done in their honor. But then this is the life that God gave me and in seven months time, I just might find myself side by side with them. My prayer is that I will be ready when that time comes.

The lives of those who perished is never wasted for their spirit lives on telling me and I hope all others that life is but a mere expression of the purpose we are set out to do. My life will be just like that hoping that my fate will be good to me. Let us keep on praying to all the soldiers fighting for this country. Someday, I know we will all understand it.

The lives of those who fought

The words are still echoing inside my head as I remember how he used to read the publication inside the mess hall about 6 months ago. In one instant, he was gone.

Last night, a sad news enveloped the whole Corps of Cadets. Our previous Brigade Adjutant, who graduated last March, was one of the fatalities in the latest clash against the muslim rebels in Sulu. As we were trying to confirm the news, we realized, life slips that FAST.

It will seem that for most of us, we have embraced the reality of death. When asked about questions concerning this topic, we proudly say that everybody is bound to die, I would rather die fighting for my country. Such was the case of our upperclass, but in the real sense, when reality has settled, it is not as simple as dying. To say that its that simple is a mockery of the hope and spirit we invested in our training, the idealism that we have cultivated, and of course the perseverance we mustered.

When people read today's news, they will dismiss it as another of those usual occurence about rebels being engaged in a firefight with our armed forces. Today, as I try to read the news, I remember a voice whose command I used to heed when he begins his sonata of orders while we conduct our weekly parades. I try to remember how I used to give this person the salute that he truly deserves everytime our paths cross. I try to remember the idealism that we both shared and cultivated inside the very halls that I am now. In an instant all of those will just be memories, happy memories I suppose.

As the lyrics of one song we sing here in the Academy would put it:

"And when the taps shall sound for men

Banners drape my last remains

Let singing comrades bury me

To the echo of these strains"

Let us remember the lives of those who fought for this country. The job is hard but someone has to do it... Let's go ARMY

A son to a father

A long time ago, I realized that part of the struggle of parents in raising their children is to finally accept that the children that they reared can finally live life on their own. For the longest time, I wondered why it seemed that my father was not trusting me in the things that I want to do with my life. It seemed to me that he wanted to control me and I hated it. Later did I know that parents are just PARENTS, this is my story.

I did not have the best of relationship with my father growing up (see last years tribute ). For the longest time, I hated him. When the time came that I finally decided to let go of my hatred and just be a son to him, my struggle was how to be a son to a father who was trying to catch up with the time we lost because of our struggles.

My father was the typical military man even when he was a father, he was hard at expressing emotions. He can be a very good speaker in front of a crowd but he finds it hard to really express how he feels especially to his children. All his good intentions are being misinterpreted or sometimes ignored simply because he failed to communicate what he wanted to show on the things that he wants to do. In the end, animosity develops between his children and the relationship is damaged.

But the thing with parents and children is that although they hate each other, one can not avoid the other. They are perpetually connected by some divine magic that a parent can not stop being a parent to his or her children in the same way that a child can not stop being a child to his or her parent. Believe it or not, no matter how much we hate our parents, we still want to be their children. And so there I was, a father that I was trying to understand when he simply finds it hard to really make me understand. But because the connection persists, a time just comes when that understanding is achieved, this happened one Christmas Eve.

We were waiting for Christmas and my father already had a lot to drink. With nothing else to do the stories went from one topic to another and yes... In vino veritas. As Christmas neared, my father answered some of the questions in my life that has haunted me since the time that I could remember. Questions like, why separate with my mother, why leave her and all that, these are questions that were left unanswered which later became the root of my hatred. As each of my question was answered, for the first time, I felt that just like me he deserved a second chance. At that moment I understood that he was trying so hard to be a father but I wouldn't let him. I realized that no matter how hard we fight it parents will be parents.

The reason why I am saying all this all goes back to my original contention that the hardest part in parenthood is finally letting go of ones children and allowing them to live their own lives. About a few weeks ago, my father came here and we had a little chat. Our chats now range from the things that happen in the house up to the problems that the country is facing. It was an engaging conversation, one that we did not have for quite a while since I am always here. In that conversation, I felt how much he wanted to say that he loves me only that he does not know how. I felt how proud he is of me only that he did not know what to say to express it. I guess that perpetual connection I am saying is something that is of the heart. A connection that marks the relationship between a father and a son that can never be broken. It is a connection that will allow understanding between the two only if we are sensitive enough to recognize it. As Blaise Pascal would put it: The heart has a language of its own that only the heart understands. I felt then that he was realizing how I was slowly slipping away. I was slipping away because I was already making a life of my own and he knew it was the time to let go.

Today is Daddy's birthday and I'm hoping he reads this. He doesn't have to worry of letting go because we are perpetually connected by some divine magic that whatever happens I will be his son and he will be my Dad. The love that has brought us together and allowed as to go through all the challenges of the life we had will continue to see us through no matter the odds. Life as I know it will not be complete without him being a major player on it. I really just pray that he knows that. Happy birthday Daddy.

The Mother's day that came and passed

I received all types of text messages yesterday for mother's day. They were telling me to greet my mother. My reply was "Patay na nga nanay ko eh."

Not to be rude or anything but come on my mother is dead, I do not want people reminding me that the second Sunday of May is the day for someone I have lost a long time ago. I'm sorry if I had to react that way, if people were on my shoes what would they do?

You see, I have not always been a person who remembered occasions like father's day, mother's day or any day for that matter. Its not that I am insensitive but its not just me to make a big deal about days that the world has declared to be the day of someone special in our lives. Of course, I do love the special people in my life, but I simply do not get the point of making a day special, I would like to think that because they are special, everyday should be their day.

Case #1

As I was walking in Public market yesterday with a friend, we were discussion about the so many things she wants to do for her mother. I respect the fact that she does want her mother to feel special, but then I told her, if I was a mother, it won't matter if I do not receive anything for mother's day as long as I have children I can be proud of.

Case #2

I was chatting the other day with yet another friend. She told me: "Ay manghihingi pala ako ng pero kay mommy para may pambili ako ng gift para sa kanya." I thought she was being cruel.

Please do not get me wrong people. I am not against people trying to make the effort to make someone feel special. I really do think that once in a while we have to tell people how much we appreciate them. I guess that is basically the reason why our culture has introduced the concept of mother's day (and all other's days). But then the thing is that for most of us it has become merely a day to make someone feel special rather than be reminded that we have someone special in our life. I suggest that these days should not be excuses to give out flowers to people that we care about but rather, these days should be our reminder that we have special people in our lives.

For a mother who has sacrificed so much for her children, everyday should be mother's day. I believe that the greatest gift a child can gift to his or her mother is to simply be a person that she can be proud of.

To all the children our there, I hope mother's day does not stop when the date changed yesterday.

To all the mothers... Happy mother's day...

Finally, to my deceased mother, I know I have not been always good, but I know when the time comes for us to meet again, I will tell you stories about the life that I lived and that you will be happy to hear all of it. I love you Mommy, I hope you knew that when you left us.

A mother's legacy (the conclusion)

(Note: This is part of a series of stories dedicated to my mother who passed away last 13 April 2000. Her birthday is on April 27th)

Living the legacy

Most people would say that one of the hardest thing to experience in this world is to lose a parent. I also thought of that before. When I learned of my mother's cancer, I can not even bare the thought of losing her forever. Thinking about how life has been since she was gone, not much has changed except that this time there will be no mother to call me up in the phone and just talk to me.

I could be the most talkative person in the world. I realized that to a certain extent this has been shaped by my experience with the relationship I had with my mother. I could say that the love I have for her was nurtured by endless conversations that was done from different sides of the world. I could really bond with people just by being able to talk to them. I have also developed the ability to write my thoughts well and really express my heart out in the words that I use. Its because in so many times when I feel I really had to tell my mother something, I just have to write it.

When I first published part one of this series, I received a comment that I have no intention to approve but will just state it in this entry. The comment said that my experience (particularly this one) caused me to "f*ck up with relationships". I do not have idea how that person came up with that conclusion but I beg to disagree. I realized that the kind of people we become is a reflection of the parents we have even if they are not with us all the time. My mother did not have the opportunity to nurture me the way other parents had but I could say that I came out better than my other peers. I am proud to say that I never went into drugs (not even tried) and did not go to jail. Somehow, I could conclude that parenting is the perfect example of leadership by example. A parent does not have to be with us all the time, they just have to set the example of how is to be a person and by God's grace everything else follows. I may not be the best person there is out there but I know I am not a bad one either. In my journey, I have done so many things, both good and bad, but I know whether or not people will agree with me, I have not failed my mother into becoming the person that she can be proud of. If she can see me now, I know she is happy with the way I turned out.

So what is it really that my mother has left in me as an enduring legacy? Let me answer that by narrating something that happened between me and my brother. As I said, I have done things that are bad and that caused a big quarrel with my brother. I was ashamed of myself and did not want to show my face to my brother. Finally, when I was confronted by my brother my mother's legacy lingered. He said that no matter how bad I have become, he knows that my mother will never want us to be enemies over anything no matter how big. Up to this day, the words of my brother still linger in me. What he was telling me was that, he values relationships more than the problems. He values our being brothers more than whatever it is that I have done. He loved me more than anything else in this world. My mother's legacy is that. To love with all of one's heart no matter how hard the circumstances are and to believe in the enduring capability of unconditional love.

I was the last son to see my mother before she died. It was in the middle of March 2000, almost a month before she past away. It was in a small nipa hut, she was weak but she had the eyes that was simply happy. Again, there were no words just moments of being together and what I did not know was that it was to be the last time that I will touch her. When I finally left her, she hugged me very tightly. It was as if she knew it would be the last time she will be able to do it. I walked away with my tears rolling down my cheeks, it was indeed the last time.

Now I write this testament to a mother that made me the person that I am right now. My story is not very happy nor did it end with living happily ever after. But my story is a reality that many of us has overlooked. The reality that love endures forever... even beyond death.

The End

A mother's legacy (part 3)

(Note: This is part of a series of stories dedicated to my mother who passed away last 13 April 2000. Her birthday is on April 27th)

The Homecoming

Just like how it was before the day was normal and yet we were all excited. Unlike what happened 7 years ago, today's event was something we looked forward to. By three in the afternoon, I was inside a taxi towards Fort Bonifacio. The day was normal and yet the emotions were raging. For the first time since I was ten, I hugged my mother.

The day was 23 December 1999. It was the culmination of a long journey, completing the full circle that began and ended in the arms of the people that she loved. At ten, I was a little boy with so much innocence; now, I was seventeen, not yet fully grown but as a young man full of ambition. There wasn't much talk, it was a silent homecoming with a dying mother holding her three children for the first time in seven years. I can't believe that was actually happening.

My mother went home after realizing that her cancer will kill her. In 1996 when she first discovered her ailment, she battled it out, standing her ground against the disease all because she wanted to see the fulfillment of the dreams of her children. Her reason for leaving the country did not waiver and not loneliness nor disease can stop her from making sure of a good life to me and my other siblings. It was a fierce battle between the spirit and the body. The spirit continues to go on while the body ceases to do what it should do.

My world came to a temporary halt when out of the blue there wasn't any communication from my mother; not a phone call, not even a letter. There was also no money coming in for my education and I was broke. By September 1999, I got a phone call from my aunt in Manila, Mommy was dying.

I could remember the exact moment where it seemed that the rest of the world was some noisy haze and all I was feeling was the tremendous fear of losing a mother. It was a reality that was not easy to swallow but it was the truth and I can not do anything about it.

With all four of us (my mother and the three of us) on the bed, she directed us to a wound on her abdomen, still very fresh. It was a one week old incision that was evidence to the rabid effect of cancer taking my beloved mother away from me and the rest of the world. After learning that it was hopeless, she immediately decided to fly to the Philippines even against the instructions of the doctors who were seeing her. I knew she was desperate, she did not want to die without seeing us for the last time.

Christmas of 1999 was both the saddest and the happiest Christmas I can remember. Happy because finally I was with my mother but sad because although I keep on denying it, I knew this was to be my last Christmas with her. We did not have a lavish feast, I do not even remember what the food was, I was focused on my mother. I also knew that while we suffered seeing her in that situation, she suffered the more knowing that she was to leave us. But being the woman that she was, she was tough, her spirit did not falter and she tried her best not to show how much pain and suffering she was going through.

The nights that followed was a torture to me. From across the room, I could hear her screams over the pain she was feeling. I can not do anything, I can just listen as my mother, the mother that I have not seen for seven years, suffer in agony of her illness.

This was to be her last homecoming not just for the three of us but for the rest of the world. She tried meeting all the people she can think of, going to many different places despite her state. Finally, in 13 April 2000, she left us. She left us for good and she will forever remain a memory-- a loving memory.

to be concluded...

A mother's legacy (part 2)

(Note: This is part of a series of stories dedicated to my mother who passed away last 13 April 2000. Her birthday is on April 27th)

Bridging the distance

I will sleep early around nine in the evening. By two or three in the morning, I will wake up to answer the phone. I will be talking to my mother from overseas until early in the morning.

Thanks to technology, it was as if my mother is just in some other Philippine Island who calls me up as often as she misses me. Back in the days when having a phone inside your house was for the rich and famous, I had to contend myself to the weekly phone calls we make from a payphone around 30 minutes away from our house. In due time, I learned not to cry so much over the phone and began to talk sense to my mother. It was the only way aside from the letters that took years to arrive.

In the year 1993, about a month after my mother left, an Uncle died. Another uncle collected me with my other brother from our house and off we went to the airport to attend the wake. At that time, there was this popular advertisement about calling the States, and at 10 I thought calling my mother was that easy. For some reason, I saw the payphone at the airport as a way to talk to my mother, dialled the number without the slightest idea how to even call her. I remembered being scolded by the operator on the other line. I was so scared and did not tell anyone, I just missed my mother badly.

When I lived at a house that has their own telephone in High School we had more opportunities to talk a lot. She tried very much to be updated with everything that was going on in my life. She asked me about crushes, about things in school and my other activities. I know it wasn't the typical way of being parent to a child, but I think that was the best that she could do to at least continue to be part of our lives. In time I did understand why we just have to be phonepals, it was the best that we could have to remain a family.

I guess the hardest that my mother was faced then was to make me understand the so many issues that hounded our family that she left unexplained. Leaving me at ten, much of the problems in our family was like a haze, it was unclear and very confusing. My mother understood and really did try her best. Her answers to my questions, although hurt me a bit, was something that guided me growing up. For some reason, her stories had so much effect on me that it shaped the kind of person I am now. From the phonecalls, the letters and to the voice tapes that I was sent all of it had some kind bearing in the way I took things.

I will not wish the kind of childhood and bonding I had to be the same as that of the children I will be having. Although I do not exactly agree with my mother's decision at leaving us so that she can provide our financial needs, I know that she did everything she had to give me and my other siblings the best life she wants. Hers is an example of being undaunted by circumstances and deciding to pursue everything possible for the people that she loved. For how she was, she taught me the value of love that never ceases. A mother's love that is felt even beyond great distances. A love that will continue to endure despite of the many things in this world that will hinder such devotion. I guess that is what love is.

to be continued...

A mother's legacy (part 1)

(Note: This is part of a series of stories dedicated to my mother who passed away last 13 April 2000. Her birthday is on April 27th)

A Normal Life

I can vividly remember that day. That was 15 December 1992. My day was normal. I woke up early in the morning, took a bath, change into my school uniform, ate breakfast and then waited for the bus that will bring me to school. But it was not normal, something was going to happen that day that will change my life forever.

I have just recently realized how my childhood was different from most of my peers. Although it would seem that all of us were the same when huddled up in one bunch, I was not like them. For starters, I come home from school with just my aunt in the house and wait for my mother who was to arrive sometime before eight o'clock. I did not know where my father is exactly he just comes and then disappears. When I was in grade 3, I remembered how amazed I was to discover that my classmates did not have the slightest idea how to cook rice. For me then, it was normal, I knew how to cook rice long before I started using ballpen in school. It was normal since I usually arrive home from anywhere I go without adults to feed me so I have to do something. I thought then that it was perfectly normal to use baking soda instead of toothpaste in brushing my teeth only to realize now that it was only because we did not have enough money to buy one. My childhood wasn't what most children my age where experiencing at that time, but I was happy, that was normal for me.

Back then, I was marveled by the many stories that my mother told me. She told me about how as a young girl, her mother (my grandmother) would sew a piece of cloth to her dress and put her in a bus going to a city about 3 hours away. She will then be fetched by her eldest sister, remove the piece of cloth from her dress using shears and then put her back to the same bus so that she can go home. She later revealed that the cloth contained her sister's allowance for the month who was then studying at Dumaguete. She also told me about how much our grandparents wanted us to have lots of mangoes that they sent us bundles of it. I remembered how she will carefully arrange these mangoes inside the room which will eventually occupy around half of the room (that was how much mangoes we were sent). She will later tell us that since we can not eat all of it we might as well sell it. There is also this story about how the vegetables sold in farther Marikina Market is much cheaper compared to the Market nearest to us (that was Masinag Market). The story would then lead to the conclusion that we can make some money if we buy vegetables from Marikina and sell it around our neighborhood at a price almost the same as the one in Masinag. She marveled me with how nata de coco was made by making lots and lots of it around the house. Again, since we can not possibly eat all of it, we might as well put it inside small bottles and then sell it. My mother had so many stories that can occupy me for hours. I consider these times some of the best memories I have with her.

When I went back from school that day I was already in tears. I directly went into my mothers bedroom to find out that it was true. Her clothes and most of her things are gone. On the desk was a piece of paper with my name written on it and she said:

"I do not know how to say goodbye. I thought that if your day will be the same as it always have been you will not really feel bad about me leaving. Remember that I love you always and that I am doing this because of that"

That day my mother left for the States. She wasn't lying when she told us all her stories, those were all true. What she did not tell us was that we were broke. That she can not provide us with enough money to send us to good schools and raise us to have good lives. Selling mangoes, vegetables and nata de coco were all her attempts to be able to provide for us financially. She practically took advantage of any money making opportunity she placed her hands on but to no avail life was just that difficult and she can not afford to see her three boys suffer.

Now as a young man, I can just imagine how hard it must have been for her to go through all that and then finally leaving us. As a young boy then, I did not understand why my mother had to go to a distant place while all the mothers of my friends where at home. That was a story that my mother can not convince me to think that life was indeed normal for us. I knew then that something must be wrong with my family.

A week after, I went to a payphone (this was a time when not many houses had their own telephone lines) and cried my heart out to my mother. I was ten years old and for the first time I realized that my life was not as normal as I thought it was.

to be continued...

A fallen comrade, a fallen friend

I did not know that today would be so sad, I just lost another squadmate. As a leader, you can not help it but really get to know your subordinates. For my part, I took it upon myself to personally involve myself with them. I wanted to know deep in a deeper level, not just an upperclass-underclass thing, but on a personal note enough to say that we'd still be friends even if we are not in the Academy. I am proud to say that I have been successful in that, especially those under my command. I learned that to be able to really do your job, I must treat each of my subordinates as real people and not just mere subordinates who will follow my orders. I felt that if we were connected in a more personal level, I will be able to really do my job to them and lead them in a way that will transcend even if we are no longer in the military organization. Now with this recent development, I was teary eyed not knowing what to say to my yearling squadmate who will shortly leave me to serve his suspension from the Academy.

I do not wish to put the details on why he is leaving. I would like to say that he is one of the underclass that I am proud to say I can rely upon. I am not saying that because we have become close in the few months that we were in the same squad, its because I see in him a potential leader that will be an asset to the Armed Forces if he graduates. I feel that he is a victim of one wrong action, an action that will definitely change his life forever.

Personally, I feel that his fate is unfair. I know him too much and he is not one such person who is bad in any way. I could even say that he is more fit to stay here than me. But then again things happen and now he is suspended. I guess part of what PMA teaches us is to take responsibility for our actions and although sad I know he is taking responsibility for what he did something that I do not know I can do if I was in the same situation as he is. I will also have to contend with the feeling of loss, the feeling of loosing one of my men and the acceptance of the reality that I will be faced even as an officer in the future. I guess being attached to the people that we work with can have its disadvantages especially when I just have to follow orders from my superiors. I am choosing not to allow my personal feelings to interfere with the perspective that I have to see what is happening right now. I am believing that what is happening now, although sad, is for the better. I am believing taht God knows what is best for my squadmate and I am trusting that all of this will become something for God to teach each of us the things that we have to know. I am sad but I am believing that there is something good that will come out of this.

God, teach me to accept what is happening and help me to be victorious even throught this circumstances... Lord, Please help me...

God's Angel

I was browsing through many different websites trying to put myself in the right frame of mind so as to write something. I was trying to force myself to write something that made good sense considering that this might just be my last entry for the week. As the usual practice, there will be no internet connection on finals week which will begin tomorrow. And so, I jumped from one blog to another, to differend news items when one officer entered the laboratory I was occupying. He was dressed in his jacket and I knew him as the officer who once gave me one favor that changed my life.

I still consider going back to PMA as my biggest feat so far. I mean, raising fifty seven thousand from scratch for my eye operation, practically begging people to let me in and of course the one of a kind experience of self realization that has defined the person that I am now. But not many people actually knew who gave me that boost to really put me in. The one person who went out of his way to really see to it that I go back to PMA.

After finishing the week long Physical and Medical examination at V. Luna Medical Center in January 2004, I was faced with a very serious problem. I was told by the eye doctor at the hospital that I was disqualified because of my failing eyesight. I asked the usual question: "What must I do?" I was told that I should undergo a treatment known as Laser-assisted In Situ Keratomileusis or simply LASIK. It was an eye operation that would put my eyes under a laser beam to correct my vision. I did not know what that meant at first but just by listening to the name of the treatment, I knew it was going to be hard. I started asking around finally finding myself in St. Luke's Medical Center. I was told that the treatement would cost me fifty seven thousand.

By mid-February, I still did not have money for the treatment. I did not know what to do and time was running out. I was told that the list of incoming cadets will be deliberated upon and will be finalized by end of that month. There was simply no possibility that I can go through the operation by that time. I was hopeless and I cried myself to sleep. I thought that I just might not go back to PMA. But miracles happen and in this instance it was in the form of people going out of their way and just helping you. That was how it was for me. The officer I was talking about was once the head of the Office of Cadet Admissions. I sent him a text message and begged him. I do not have the slightest clue of what I was trying to achieve, I just thought that it was him that I should ask. He said as a reply to my text message that he can not promise anything but he will try. He then instructed me to report to him the following day. The next day, I told him my predicament, how I made it to that point and what are the things that I was doing. He gave me one look and asked me one question: "Are you really sure that you can raise the money for that treatment?" Eventhough I was still uncertain where to find the money I said yes. The next day I learned from the enlisted personnel in the PMA Liason in V. Luna that he went to the Chairman of the Medical Board and demanded that I be included in the list. He assured them that I was to go through the treatment. When the final list came out the week after, my name was there despite of still not going through the treatment. I do not know what caused that good officer to just take my word when I innocently said yes to his question, but it was an answer to my prayer. Eventually I did raise the money, went through the treatment and went back to PMA. It happened because one kind hearted officer, although did not know me trusted me and went out of his way to help me.

As that officer was going out, he noticed me. He went near me and tried to see my namecloth (my last name is sewn there) on my uniform. He looked at my face, then to my side where he noticed the chevron I was wearing. He then remarked, "Uy, secondclass ka na." I stood up and proudly said, "Yes sir!!!". He then asked me questions regarding my academics which I proudly announced that I have only one final exam, the others are all exempted. When he came out, I was so proud of myself. Maybe he just realized that he was not wrong when he did what he did about three years ago.

I guess he was my angel at that time. He was God's answer to my prayer revealing to me and I hope to other people as well that God works. It was a manifestation of how God orchestrates things, including people, to do things in our favor. In the process, it teaches us valuable lessons that will just change our lives forever.

A tribute to my Daddy

I have a hard time typing this entry, I must have punched so hard during my boxing class this afternoon that I can not move three fingers on my left hand. But I have to write this entry because this is for my Daddy who will be celebrating his birthday tommorrow. I intend to write a tribute for my father who has made a tremendous impact on my life.

I was what they call a father's boy. My mother told me that when she was pregnant with me it was my father that she always wanted to see. Although science can not reallty prove the connection, but as a little boy I always wanted to see him. There was even a time when I got sick if I do not see my father for a very long time. I would do my best to always be with my daddy even squeeze into little spaces so that I can be beside him ALWAYS. So it was not a surprise that I was the most devastated when he separated with my mother and that I learned that he was raising another family aside from us. From that point on, I resented him and did everything I could to do some sort of vengeful act against him. I bad mouthed him, insulted my half siblings, even wishing that he'd die. When my mother left for the States to work, I resented him more thinking that if only he was a good father, my mother wouldn't have to leave us. I did silly things because of this hatred and continued to plot against him. When my mother died of cancer, I hated him more and asked God why is it that it was my mother who died when my father was the bad one. All these things led to other events in my life that pushed me away and away from my father. But deep inside, I was simply trying to get the attention of my father, I simply wanted to be Daddy's boy.

Then I became a Christian and realized that one can not live a Christian life with hatred dwelling in one's heart. With constant prayer, I began to open up and really tried my best to start forgiving my father. It wasn't easy for everytime I feel good about him, the memories of my late mother came surging into my system and again I blame him for my loss. I knew he was trying to reach out, wanting to be forgiven but there are just so many issues, so many bad feelings that can not simply be ignored. I continued and prayed some more. Just it was God's grace that gave me the will to start forgiving my father, it was also through his miracle that I began to put sense in the so many things that happened to my life which led to the breakthrough of this struggle. One time, I was looking at old things from his cabinet when I found his planner back in 1977. He was still a cadet then and he was my mother's boyfriend. I learned that I was really very much like my father. He kept little notes about the things that happened and like me he was very honest on this notes. Chronicled in that planner was a portion of his love affair with my mother and his feelings. It was through those notes that I finally surrendered all the hatred I had for him. I understood that all the hatred that I harbored was not exactly because of him, it was because I felt unloved and unwanted when he separated with my mother when I was supposed to be Daddy's boy. I thought that he never loved my mother and because of that I was just someone born out of "libog." The things that he did began to make sense. I understood how sorry he was and that he loved me even when I thought he didn't, even when I considered him my enemy.

My father is a living example of how it is to be human. To accept that one commits mistake, takes responsibility for it and redeems himself. To be human is to rectify one's mistake and learn from it. He is an example of a loving father who never ceased to love his children even amidst the most difficult circumstances. He is the perfect example of redemption. He is the manifestation that love really never fails.

In a person's life, we do not always have the best circumstances. There will be so many instances where we have to deal with things that are bad. The challenge of living is to live it to the fullest despite these circumstances and always come out a better person.

To my father, I would like him to know that he is forgiven and that if ever given the chance to live again I would still choose him as my father. I am happier, more loving to people, more patient, more forgiving and above all more amazed of God's power because of him and for that I wouldn't exchange him for anything else in the world.

I LOVE YOU DADDY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY