Message in a (Mineral Water) Bottle

Five years ago today, I threw a message in a bottle in the sea of Zamboanga on my way to Gen San.

As a kid who grew up beside the sea I had this fascination of casting bottles to the sea. The possibility of my message reaching places far beyond my sight thrilled me so much. I guess five years ago it thrilled me still hence the rather mawkish act. ( I got the idea of sending a note to one’s self from Richard Bach)

Fortunately I had a draft of the message meant for me in my journal. It’s kinda funny reading it now, exactly five years from when it was written. It’s like going back in time and talking to my younger self. I hope I am not betraying my younger self if I posted it here. After all the message is probably meant for me now.

Jan 03, 2001

Dear Jodl,

Hello! In case you have forgotten you sent this letter to yourself in the year 2001. I am writing this letter on board MS Ezekiel Moreno of Negros Navigation. You are taking this trip to Gensan where you will drop off on your way to Dole Philippines School. This is your second year of teaching in that school.

I will put this letter in a plastic bottle ( would have wanted to put this in a wine bottle but none is available). I could think of 3 possible fates of this message. One this message in a bottle would never be found. Two, this message might be found but it would never reach you. Three, this message will be found by someone who will then send this to you. It must be the will of God then that this letter reaches you. ( Hmmm I guess I forgot to include the 4^th scenario, saving a draft of the message and reading it again a few years after hehe)

I don’t know why I’m sending this letter. Maybe it’s my way of assuring that I have hope for the future. I just wish that wherever you are right now you have achieved whatever your heart desired. Right now I might be at the crossroads of my life. I still have that dream of building a house beside the sea. I still dream of that magical moment when I’ll get to meet my soul mate. Have you found her already? How I wish things could be the other way around, that you are the one sending this message to me assuring me that things are going to be fine.

I hope you are happy where you are. I feel like succumbing now to the banalities of life. But I guess if you are happy, then I have made the right decisions. I am longing for that moment when I would finally become you.

Wherever you are don’t forget that you were once me. I’m at a loss right now. I hope that when you receive this letter you would already have found yourself.

Bon voyage. Enjoy this journey called life.

All the best,

Jodl of year 2001

The last sunset of the year

There’s something about the last day of the year that makes me nostalgic. It’s the last leg of yet another year of the journey.

Since 1999 I have an annual ritual of going to the beach here in Antique and watching the last sunset of the year.

Over a bottle of Super Dry and a plate of French fries or kinilaw, I would gaze in awe at the sun making its final touchdown for the year.

A celebration of a journey’s end.

There’s something so enthralling about the scene that sets me in the mood for recollection, for contemplation, for discernment.

And I go home recharged knowing that tomorrow the sunrise of a new year comes.

Closure

"You're Beautiful" by James Blunt

My life is brilliant.

My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.

After six years of running away, I finally got to meet her.

She was a girl with an enigmatic smile. The one who made my life meaningful. Yet caused so much pain.

We had been classmates together. She glided through our Math classroom one June afternoon. Never did I realize she would snatch my heart one day. We would walk together after class. She would tell her silly stories. I would tell mine.

She became my seatmate the following sem. And on a fateful November afternoon I saw her in a different light. There before my eyes I saw my destiny. She was the one.

She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

But how can a goddess love a mortal? And so I took my time to prove my worth.

After college we worked in different companies. We would occasionally exchange emails. I did let her know about my feelings once but she was emotionally unavailable. She never knew how deep my feelings were.

I never lost hope. I was busy planning and building for our future. A year later, when I laid down my cards it was already too late. She was getting married.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

I did not attend her wedding. I couldn’t bear to see my dream crumbling before my eyes. I ran away. I kept thinking that in time the pain would go away.

And so I stayed for years over the mountains.

Far from the city. Far from the pain. Far from reality.

Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Flying high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

And slowly she became a remnant of the past- a past that has slowly drifted away.

Occasionally she would surface in my dreams, in my intoxication, in my solitude.

I moved back to the city after three years. It took another three years before I got news about her.

I had to see her if only to close a chapter and move on.
As fate would have it. I got to meet her at the same place where I had seen her last.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

We talked like old friends catching up with each other's lives.
She’s still beautiful. It all made sense why I fell in love all those years.

But now it’s time to move on.

I have embraced the truth.

And though painful …….the truth is liberating.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.

Tawi Tawi Tales

TAWI TAWI TALES – PART 1

Last night, I and my friends from UP Astronomical Society celebrated the 10^th year anniversary of our trip to Tawi Tawi.

Ten years ago, we went against all odds to go south to witness a total solar eclipse -a phenomenon that would not happen again in the country till 2027.

The year was 1995. Ramos was halfway through his term. Gloria Macapagal Arroyo topped the senate race that May, breaking previous records. Channel 5’s Tropang Trumpo was the number 1 gag show, triggering GMA 7 to pirate Ogie and Michael V to form the Bubble Gang. Reigning queen Rossanna Roces, and boobsy challenger Amanda Page, were the sought-after TF stars- their movies Basa sa Dagat and Gayuma pitted against each other.

We at that time were wide-eyed, idealistic, impatient students of UP Diliman, living on a measly student allowance, dealing with egoistical, sadistic and prurient professors, spending the free time watching the stars in the tambayan (one of the brilliant ways to chill out - nada cash outlay)

Our four-year old organization was running low on funds. The members whose main competencies were along the line of star hunting and cataloguing heavenly bodies never knew how to package the Solar Eclipse as a lucrative event. We did not have the marketing pizzazz to convince, cajole or coerce the filthy rich would-be sponsors– they simply found the idea of watching the moon blocking the sun as neither glamorous nor investment-worthy.

We were so desperate we even decided to join the Game Show “Ready Get Set Go”. But we failed to make it in the screening process. The producer probably decided that a bunch of bespectacled, stiff, star-crazed “nerdaks” could plummet the show to un-cool depths.

In the end, the 12 Tawitawi hopefuls who yearned to go had to do each one’s personal solicitation. It was a huge sacrifice on my part as I had to really cut down on my expenses –for a typical Isko student, this meant the usual Aristocart meal instead of the Jollibee ChickenJoy- to collect an amount close to 2 thousand pesos.

If money generation was tough, the travel down there was hell.

In order to fit our budget we had to take the Air Force C-130 flight to Mindanao. Getting booked was rather tricky; a process involving repeated calling and begging, even name-dropping to give us some slots. The C-130 is a military cargo plane and ideal hitching vehicle for the cash-strapped and the clueless. One simply had to endure standing amidst the haphazardly stacked irregularly-shaped cargoes- like playing the Human Twister game in a warm humid room several thousand feet above the ground. It was far worse than ROTC; in ROTC you stand erect under the sun but could shift your weight to loosen those stiff muscles, in the C 130 flight you would have to wait for the stop-over to rearrange your awkward position and redistribute the blood circulation to blood-starved areas. (on hindsight the tasks done in the Extra Challenge and Amazing Race seemed anemic)

After a 2-hour grueling ride, 2 stopovers and several muscle cramps later, we dropped off at Zamboanga. Like the horror movies, this one had a sequel. The boat we took to Tawi Tawi didn’t have any shower –and the trip would be for two nights!!!. We were awfully sticky from sweat, dust, salt spray and grime spread all over our body; our pores were clogged up and gasping for breath. We couldn’t drown the thoughts of discomfort by sleeping it over; our skin was uncomfortably sticking to our bunk. Thank goodness for cotton, Eskinol and Rubbing alcohol, this was the closest thing we could have for a bath.

No shower, I could probably take. But seeing other passengers spitting anywhere on the ship floor is another. For the lack of an apt word it’s totally - Eewww.!!! To avoid stepping on these mucous landmines I spent almost the entire trip lying on my bunk.

(to be continued)

Cuando era pequeno (When I was small)

For the Preterito Imperfecto lesson in my Spanish class our professor told us to write a Spanish essay entitled “Cuando Era Puequeno”.

The Spanish language has two types of past tenses, one type (Indefinido) is used to depict an action that progresses the story whereas the other type (Imperfecto) is used to describe circumstances or a habitual action in the past.

Anyway, I’m posting the essay I submitted. Since I’m still at the elementary level this work would probably be teeming with grammatical errors. Corrections are very much welcome.

I’m translating some of the Spanish lines I liked best.

CUANDO ERA PEQUENO

Cuando era pequeño el mundo era un lugar maravilloso para vivir. La vida era simple. El aire era limpio. La agua era centelleante hermosa. (When I was small the world was a wonderful place to live in. Life was simple. The air was clean. The water was sparklingly beautiful.)

Cuando era pequeño las montañas verdes en el este y el mar ancho en el oeste me guardaba bien. Nos separaban del resto del mundo. Las noticias viajaban muy lento. Nuestra solamente conexión con el mundo era nuestra tele en negro y blanco.

El tiempo en nuestro propio paraíso se movia en su propio paso. Ningunos plazos. Ningún se preocupa. Ningunas presiones. (Time in our own paradise moved at its own pace. No deadlines. No worries. No pressures)

Cuando era pequeño pensaba que el cielo de la noche era una manta grande que se envuelve alrededor de nosotros con millones de luciérnagas pegadas en él. (When I was small I used to think that the night sky was a big blanket that wrapped around us with millions of fireflies stuck on it.) Miraba los barcos en el horizonte, tenia miedo que puede ser que caigan del borde. Me preguntaba sobre la gente lejos apagado de lugares más allá del alcance de mi vista.

Cuando era pequeño, yo y mis amigos de la vecindad pasabamos los fines de semana que mirabamos puestas del sol y que caminabamos por la playa. Durante verano subíamos las colinas cerca. Cogíamos libélulas, escarabajos y saltamontes. (We used to catch dragonflies, beetles and grasshoppers.) Vadearíamos en el río y enterraríamos cápsulas del tiempo.

Cuando era pequeño nuestros tesoros eran simples - las cápsulas de aluminio que se puede volver a sellar, envolturas raras del cigarrillo, mecanismos rotatorios de los metros eléctricos, bolas de las botellas del desodorisante. (When I was small our treasures were simple –aluminum resealable bottle caps, rare cigarette wrappers, rotary mechanisms of electric meters, balls of deodorant bottles.)

Cuando era pequeño, Navidad no era costosa. (When I was small, Christmas was not expensive.) Íbamos a las masas tempranas en el amanecer que gozaban de la brisa fresca de diciembre. Hacíamos árboles de Navidad de los ramas secados recolectados en nuestra huerta. Colgábamos las envolturas plásticas con agua coloreada, en árboles de Navidad. Pasábamos la víspera de Navidad con un Noche Buena simple.

Cuando era pequeño, la vida era simple…. pero la vida era perfecta. (When I was small life was simple…. yet life was perfect.)

Pinoy in China 2

Every time I go to China I couldn’t help but feel insecure. Out there, a billion people go on with their routines without even the slightest idea that my world here - the world as I came to know it- ever existed.

The very things woven into the fabric of my daily life – peso devaluation, monsoon rains, Simbang Gabi, Hello Garci ring tones, Friday night traffic, ChickenJoy- they are all unknown and meaningless in that part of the globe. The very things that define my reality, things that revolve around my universe- they have all been reduced to nothingness. Out there, my world and I are non-existent.

Nothing can be more unsettling. How can it be that the only world as I’ve come to know is not what it is?

Nothing can be more humbling. How can I be the center of the universe when out there I am nothing but a mere scrap of creation?

Despite this sense of vulnerability, I realized that there are things I have taken for granted.

No matter how insignificant to the eyes of others, my own world, along with all its aspects - the mundane and the magical, the banal and the beguiling, the excruciating and the exhilarating, - is what makes my existence real.

Suddenly the thought of the never-ending political bickering, the horrendous Midnight sale traffic, the incessant fuel price increase, even the alligators in the congress couldn’t stop me from yearning to go home.

Pinoy in China

Two weeks ago I flew to China to attend our annual Lean Conference. I didn’t have much time to roam around as I spent my weekend finishing my presentation. Having my finicky boss around wasn’t much of help, as I had to do several revisions just to suit her unpredictable taste.

I missed the 1^st eviction night of Pinoy Big Brother. Hell, I’ve even missed the fight of Pacquiao. Darn how could I have missed that! Actually, I really couldn’t qualify it as missing the match because I never even knew that Pacquiao had a scheduled fight that weekend. Goes to show that my work-life balance has already gone awry, I being unaware of the outside world.

If it’s any consolation I did get to squeeze in a bit of time for myself in China. Had a great time visiting the bars of Gunagzhou and Shanghai. Filipinos are well known there for being excellent band performers. (My former colleagues in GE China thought all Filipinos were good singers. I have proven them wrong when after their incessant prodding, I rendered a rather blood-curdling and hair-raising version of Hotel California in a karaoke session)

I fooled a Pinay singer in the bar of my hotel in Guangzhou. She thought I was Chinese. Naturally she was jubilant when I spoke to her in Tagalog. I’ve met other Pinoys also lounging in the bar. They were sailors who were docked for the week in China. We sat together around a table (the band members later joined us after their show). For that night we felt like old friends talking about our beloved country.

It’s refreshing to know that while discord seems to be the way of life here, out there when Pinoy strangers meet each other they feel a sense of oneness, of being at home.

More of the saga next time. Here’s a snapshot of the colossal Yangpu bridge in Shanghai.

Toilet paper life

Life is like a roll of toilet paper - the nearer you are at the end the faster it goes.

I probably saw this quote, on some CR graffiti in my college dorm.

Well stated analogy and despite its perturbing implications it speaks of undeniable truth and impeccable wisdom.

Time moved at an excruciatingly slow pace when I was young. This most likely because the town where I grew up was very laid back, detached from the hustle and bustle of city life. Mountains loomed on the east, shorelines sprawled on the west - we were safely secluded from the rest of the world and within my world, time moved at its own unhurried pace.

The days seemed to move soooooo slow. A whole year felt like forever. A million sunsets had to happen before my next birthday.

I had wanted to move things fast forward, to mature in haste and discover what wonders lie beyond the horizons. Growing old - it then meant freedom, independence, adventure - was something I had looked forward to.

Alas! such folly of childhood; too young to comprehend its wonder, its sheer magic, its immense beauty. Wasn’t there a saying that goes“ We never get to appreciate the importance of something till we lose it”?

Now that I am old, everything moves like a blur. Weeks, months and years rush by determinedly, no slowing down, no going back.

One just feels helpless to the edacious time. You want to stop it or even to slow it just a bit, cling on to the past as if your whole existence rests on it.

But the more you hang on to the past, the faster it slips away. We are dragged inexorably, hurriedly toward our predestined end. Fight as we may, we don’t get to win.

And probably the only thing that we could do is accept the inevitability, of course never grieving about what was lost, but making the most of what is left.

Miracle on a Friday the 13th

Six years ago, this date, August 13, fell on a Friday – yep your regular, much dreaded Friday the 13^th,, an unlucky day that has spawned many horror movies and unfounded fears.

I know of people who had unfortunate experiences to associate with this day. Why, just 3 months ago, a coworker while cruising through the NLEX, had an accident on a rain-drenched Friday the 13^th. He survived the collision with a broken neck; his car though was a total wreck.

Despite its sense of foreboding, miracles have happened for me on Friday the 13ths. I recall at least 3 dates which had been memorable moments in my life.

On a Friday the 13^th in 1992, I felt the full blast of the magic called love.
On a Friday the 13^th in 2001, I reached the peak of Mount Matutum – a long-sought dream.
And 6 years ago, a Friday the 13^th , I had a meteor shower of a lifetime.

The year was 1999; I was a Science Grade 7 teacher then. I was on my third month of teaching the kids who were all enthusiastic to discover life’s mysteries through science. That Friday night, I organized an overnight stargazing session.

August 13^th marked an annual astronomical event – the Perseids Meteor Shower. I explained to the kids that on a normal night one could see a handful of sporadic “shooting stars”. But occasionally the earth, during its annual journey around the sun, passes through a region in space with high concentration of dust particles. Such instances are a feast for sky watchers; the particles entering the atmosphere provide a spectacular and abundant display of nature’s fireworks.

I had looked forward to the event because my first experience of a meteor-shower observation in college had been an intimate and liberating one. Vicariously feeling the child-like wonder and amazement in my students I knew that if only the skies would cooperate they were in for in a marvelous treat, a rare experience that would anchor in their childhood memories.

If only the skies would cooperate and that had been the big if. Perseids Meteor Shower Observations had always been a tricky battle with Mother Nature. August skies are almost always overcast.

That morning did not provide any glimmer of hope. Ominous black clouds hovered above us. Neither was the official weather news encouraging. Even my horoscope for that day was not cooperative (okay okay I sometimes check out the horoscope for a sense of validation). On hindsight it did seem that all odds were against us.

I knew that all I could do was just hope. I prayed to God for a clear sky (I recall praying the rosary the night before, an act I rarely do). The prayer was not for me, it was for the kids. How would they handle the disappointment? How would they handle the brutal blow to their anticipation ?

And so it happened. On the night of August 13 in 1999, a Friday the 13^th, there had been a heavy downpour in the villages sorrounding Mt Matutum (as we’ve learned the morning after). The sky unloaded its watery weight and flooded the villages with its wrath.

On the foot of the mountain where the school is located, the scenario was entirely different, oblivious to the storm occurring in the nearby areas. The clouds had parted ways- as if an answer to my prayers- providing us a magnificent view of the clear imposing sky, teeming with stars.

We lay down there on the school field watching in awe and admiration as the awaited shooting stars zoomed intermittently in front of us. The kids screamed and shrilled at each find as if a treasure, their eyes glued to the sky lest they miss the next spectacle. Amidst their oohs and aahs I offered a prayer of thanks.

From the countless stories jubilantly told and retold in the days that ensued I knew it had been an experience they would cherish.

It has been six years since and yet I could still feel the exhilaration. I could still hear the echoes of their screams. I could still see the awe and excitement on their faces.

I could still fondly recall the miracle that happened 6 years ago on a Friday the 13^th.

De Puta Madre !

My week was a blast! I received a handful of unexpected yet very much welcomed emails from my friends all over the cyberspace. I got an excellent rating in my weekend Spanish class oral exams. I finally got to finish Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and the Season 5 of CSI Vegas. And I finally got 3 consecutive strikes (no easy feat considering I came from dismal scores below 100) in our company bowling tournament – thereby entitling me for a free half-chicken.

For the lack of a more potent description I should say my week was “DE PUTA MADRE!”

Okay, okay before you squirm let me tell you that this phrase is tame, albeit vulgar-sounding. “De puta madre” according to my Spanish professor in context means “Superb!, Marvelous! or Fantastic! It’s synonymous yet more attention-grabbing than “Estupendo”

Just don’t forget to include “De”. Otherwise what you would be saying would literally mean “mother wh*re”

So the next time somebody asks you how things are on a terrific day, say it with chutzpah, “De puta madre !”