A quick “kwek-kwek” eating

Have you heard about this eggballs popularly known in the Philippines as “kwek-kwek”?

They can be found on the street sides where a crowd of people usually pass by. It must be a busy street. So you imagine the vendors of assorted things, foods, and the like taking advantage to the perfect set up for those who rush themselves with empty stomach.. And the kwek-kwek… yes. You can always find them in a corner.

And by gosh, it’s quite good that you give it a try. It’s delicious! I can assure you of that.

But hold on. It’s not much of the taste that I want to proclaim. But it’s the faith that I love to produce.

I can feel your shrug. Eating kwek-kwek and the faith? What in the world could be the ingredients of this kwek-kwek that produce faith?

And again, it’s not about the taste.

My personal experience is that it takes faith to eat kwek-kwek.

For a while, I am broke. I already spent my extra money to something else. And the consequence: I couldn’t afford the fare going to the kwek-kwek spot (that costs P16… too much for me. Laugh!) and so I couldn’t buy even a single one.

That’s the reality. But you know the other side of reality? Oh I love it! Still, from time to time, I can go to the hot spot stall of kwek-kwek. I still don’t have money. But I never lose my brothers around me. (Allow me to mention their names to acknowledge their sponsorship, kindness, and charity) thanks to Jay and Migz. For weeks, they’ve been putting me on their shoulders to save my ass.

And it takes faith for the three of us to walk in a dangerous highway at night. It takes faith for the three of us to ride in a tricycle loaded with other passengers running at least 60km/hr on a curved road together with those fast and furious jeepneys and taxis.

It also takes faith for the three of us to eat that kwek-kwek displayed on a dusty and polluted corner of Tandang Sora Ave. placed on a tray uncovered with its sauce unprotected from germs. And it takes faith for the three of us eating kwek-kwek in a crowd of by standers, drunk, addict, gang, and perhaps opportunists that pass in front and behind us. And it takes faith for Jay and Migz to eat kwek-kwek while back at home many readings and other school stuff awaits them.

It takes faith to consider time for all of these! I am glad to see that in the ordinariness of our lives, we’ve been using the “power” or the “force” that’s within us.

St. Paul’s message to the Corinthians is much better than my version:

“I’ve been continually in hazards of travelling because of rivers, because of bandits, because of my fellow Jews, or because of the pagans; in danger in the city, in the open country, at sea; in danger from false brothers…” (2 Cor 11:23)

There can’t be compassion within us if there’s no faith burning inside. And faith really makes us strong, spiritually.

And to the kwek-kwek we often quickly eat? That may contain germs and bacteria, layer by layer but it can’t make us vomit or sick or die.

Because it can never beat a strong immune system.     

A festive Father’s Day

June 16, 2013. This must be a feast day for me! I don’t know how it is for you. But allotting my time to think about this day, I see my father – Sandy.

I can tell a lot about him. I can even tell his sins and the good in him. All of the scenes I have recollected now surprisingly retain in my head. It is so because they are really significant in my growing-up days. It is because that’s a very special thing I must look at. And it’s because knowing my father makes me celebrate the festivity of Father’s day.

I have to admit: I had more lonely nights than brighter days with my father. And though I tried to make those stars appear at night, they didn’t show up. But I knew they were there – covered by thick and heavy clouds (and even during daytime, there are stars in the sky!).

This is one of the things I could not change. But this is also one of the things that I love to cherish.

Yes, cherish.

And that is holding on to how fantastic my father was… and still is.

My father is a man of a big dream. He told me once that to be an engineer was his greatest ambition. But he ended up becoming a government employee. And so he turned to his Jr (that’s me) and encouraged me to finish his unfinished dream – me becoming an engineer.

And so I became part of his big dream. I remember buying books from my savings just to buy civil engineering books when I was in high school. I remember spending time in the library taking down notes on books about engineering thinking it’s a good preparation for a college entrance exam on engineering. And I remember enrolling into a Drafting subject just to submit impressive plates to my teacher and display it on my wall. 

But oh how huge that dream was for me. Too heavy and too large that I know it’s not my interest. It was just a temporary dream.  And later on realized that it’s not my dream… but it’s my father’s.

But still, my father is a man of a big dream. Though he failed to be an engineer and also failed to produce an engineer from his eight children, he helped us to dream big. And to hear these words from him, “If that is what makes you happy, go for it,” is a dream-come-true for us.

And I want to add that my father is a man of love. 

Oh how touching it was to see him putting the brightest and newest bulb for us to have a good read on books and doing our homework. How moving it was to see him cooking for our breakfast so that my mother could still have a long sleep in the morning. It’s so inspiring to see his courage of borrowing money from anybody else he knows just to pay our tuition fees on time - and I saw him eating his pride there and trumping over shame and embarrassment.

Oh how encouraging it was for me to see him smile and nod while I played my keyboard or my guitar, or while I sing (with great difficulty), or even when I do some artworks.

Oh how funny it is to think now how he taught me things like: being a bus janitor in the terminal; butchering chickens; watering the plants; helping in the construction of our little house; doing carpentry; swimming; cooking; and singing (now the difficulty comes from him).

I really cherish these fantastic moments with my father. It makes me laugh until now. It gives inspiration to me and it makes me proud of him being my father.

But how about those things that he has done so badly? 

Oh… I forgot them by the way – just as how God forgets all of my sins.

A lot of people would still say, “but remember the time when your father…” NO. “Remember” doesn’t just fit now when God already forgot.

“And I will remember their sins no more.” (Heb. 8;12)

Imitating God, I also refuse to keep a list of my father’s mistakes. I think I bumped my head some years ago that I could no longer “remember” his wrongs.

“As far as the east from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” (Psalm 103:12)

“Even if you are stained as red as crimson, I can make you white as wool.” (Is 1:18)

No, these are God’s words, not mine and not us. I just suddenly saw God forgiving my father and so why can’t i? Why couldn’t we (for those who have known him)?

In today’s Reading (Sam 12:7-10), David, after being confronted regarding his sins of adultery and murder, repented to God and was forgiven.

In today’s Gospel (Lk 7:36), when a woman, who was known as a sinner, came to Jesus and wept, her sins were forgiven.

And when Paul said, “It’s no longer me. Christ lives in me (Gal 2:16),” it’s clear that we “wear” Christ.

This is the very reason and purpose why I consider this year’s Father’s day a feast day! Because I want to tell my father this message: When God looks at you now, he doesn’t see Sandy Sr.; He sees Christ in you.

P.S. Happy Father’s day Pa! Remember, He forgot.    

To Lydia, my mom (for her 51st birthday)

Mom, on your 51^st birthday, I want you to meet her. Though I know very little about her, she reminds me everything about you. Though I’ve met her some days ago, I’m so inspired that through her, I was able to reminisce the days when you took care of me. And though we seldom see each other, through her, your beauty as the gentle mother of eight remains in me.

When I met her, I remember when I asked you to buy me a set of crayons. You didn’t say yes. But you did buy. Only that it took a week before you can afford to buy one. I almost lost my patience there and have already forgotten my request. But when the time I held those crayons into my hands, I can still remember how I played with those colors – the hue I combined and the texture I applied in a complicated but jolly way. I was just so happy.

Mom, when I met her, I remember my school days then that upon waking up in the morning, my breakfast, warm water for my bath, school uniforms, shiny shimmering black shoes, my kiddy lunchbox, and a couple of coins for my snacks were all ready. By the way, there were seven of us if you can still recall – seven of us who woke up every day seeing everything prepared for school. And to add: you were also our alarm clock that kept on repeating every after we snooze upon hearing your voice. Were you a superhero?

When I met her, I remember how you still accept me even if I stole money from your pockets and wallets many times just for me to spend my day for computer games.

When I met her, I remember when I scolded you because for three straight hours, we were so hungry and exhausted of falling in line for my college enrollment. I walked out and left you there. And when I turned back, you were following me and invited me to the university canteen and together we ordered and ate cakes. I was speechless while eating the cake. I could not express then that it was the sweetest cake I ever tasted!

When I met her, I remember one of my birthdays when I did not show up at home and instead celebrated my special day with my friends. When I went home the following day, I saw your “linukay” and “pancit” served at the dining table. I couldn’t contain to imagine how you felt that day.

When I met her, I remember when I was being hardly lashed by Papa because of my stubbornness. You covered and insistently protected me from the hit. You told me to hide. And I saw your tears in the dark.

When I met her, I remember leaving you for my seminary life. I kept that dream of becoming a priest for years. I never shared it to you. And when I revealed it, you were deeply hurt. But you were with me when I took the bus – ensuring me a safe trip and a meaningful journey.

When I met her, I remember you standing at my side while wearing my habit for my first evangelical profession. I saw your tears lighted by joy.

When I met her, I saw many “you.” That’s why mom, I want you to meet her. You need to meet her. I’m not only attracted to her but I’m also falling in love with her.

Mom, consider her as my birthday gift for you. Though I’m far from you, she’s near to you. And you can actually meet her now if you wish to. I’ll be glad to hear that!

You might not believe this but her name is the same as yours – Lydia. And it’s God who sent her to me and now to you. And I want you to introduce her to our family and to our entire neighborhood. Tell them that she can be found in the Bible… in the New Testament: Acts 16:14: “A certain woman named Lydia, a worshipper of God, who was listening to us… the Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul…”

Mom, you and Lydia has something in common: a kind of heart that is willing to listen and to welcome God’s words.

Mom, happy 51^st birthday!

PS: Yes… I’m taken. I’ll keep my promise, remember? Jesus Christ is my life.   

  

The hour of professing

By Sandzcmf

May 6, 2013

“… The hour is coming when anyone who kills you will claim to be serving God…” (John 16:3)

Back in the novitiate, when the days are spent with ideal works and noble dispositions; where the scenery of hills-touching-the-sky gives you the natural wonders of God’s creation; when the camaraderie of people starts to haunt your silence; and where you can deeply say, “I’ve put my blood into this,” it’s in the first profession that you recall all your stumbling moments together with the “get-up!” occasions.

I have met my “giants” before I finally professed a year ago. And these “giants” were terrible. I sought preferences and ways to either face and defeat them or just plainly escape from them. They were too scary and frightening! They made me feel so little before the eyes of the people I dear to love. They depleted from me my self-worth and self-esteem.

And worst, they took away my heavenward gaze to the One who called me…

“… The hour is coming when anyone who kills you will claim to be serving God…”

Yes, those “giants” tried to kill me. As if I was mumbling to death, I could hear loud and clear their convincing tunes: “You’re not worthy for that… look at the mess you have done… your past determines your present and who you will become, etc…”

I almost die there. I wanted to give up. The weaknesses, the sins, the regrets, the fear, the dreams fading away, and the love so uncertain – they were all given by the “giants.”

But this day, as we celebrate our first year anniversary of our temporal profession to the congregation, I can only take a glimpse from those “giants.” The gaze is more to the One who loved me first. The focus is more on being blessed by the One who don’t punish me whenever I sinned against my neighbor or directly to Him. The push is more to the Father who made it clear to me that my problems are no match to His power.

I just thought I was on the verge of going away. The thoughts claimed they are from God. But they aren’t. Whenever I go farther from Him, the more He opens his arms for me to feel the warmth of His love.

When I got professed, He still blessed me though He knows I’ll be doing something else unfitting to this kind of life. But why did He do that anyway?

Call it foolishness or madness… but that’s how much He wants me to be with him, always. “I tell you all this to keep you from stumbling and falling away…” (John 16:2)

Scene and sin

There was a fascinating scene this day when we attended the 27^th anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution at the Edsa Monumento, Quezon Avenue. We, the Claretians participated on it for the celebration of faith that united the Filipino people 27 years ago… and still believing that they are.

And I wanted to capture great moments thru an old Canon digital camera I brought with me.

There are just a lot of stories behind the lens: the figure of Mother Mary as the lady of faith during the bloodless Revolution; the different religious sects being united; the Philippine President Noynoy Aquino signing The Human Rights Victims Reparation and Recognition Act of 2013; the hundreds of army and policemen standing steady under the heat of the sun; the figures of running officials and celebrities. And the list goes on and on.

Of all the clicks and shots, there’s only one that stands out among the pictures I captured: a group of photojournalists clicking for a story.

I couldn’t explain what I felt when I saw these media men gathered together and held their respective cameras; positioned to their place and shot for a myriad angles on the subjects they projected. I remember back in school, I learned that if you really want to have a good angle, you must know how to wait. As the trite adage goes, “patience is a virtue.”

Here and there, they waited. And when the moment comes, they come like a big, huge wave to shower the flashes from their cameras directly towards the subject. I saw them very determined. So focused and steady. They can’t just be bothered by anything else… never! You’ll see their heads guarding the subject – waiting for something that’ll turn into a FrontPage issue for the next day.

And so I immediately took the chance of taking a picture of these photojournalists without knowing why. I even heard one man near me commenting, “Why is he taking picture to those mediamen?”

The celebration lasted for almost five hours. And in a reflective mood, I kept on examining that scene. Why a sudden strange attraction on that image? Then the “scene” gave me a “sin.”

Are we like those photojournalists? That once we recognize our sins, we immediately turn our cameras on and ask god for forgiveness? Oh how I see the real me here.

In today’s Reading (Dn 9:4b-10), it’s amazing how the prophet Daniel prayed passionately to God saying all the infidelities he committed and of the people of Judah. He was so narrative in crying for help. And take note how many times the word “sin” is mentioned on this text (twice actually). And take another one from today’s Psalm: Lord, don’t deal with us according to our sins. (Ps 79:8)”

Is the message once again tells us how to plead for help? The Gospel this day (Lk 6:36-38) is very clear to this: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”

Excuse me God, are You saying like, “Forgive your own sins”? Do You mean I just have to forgive myself from all the sins I committed, no matter how big or small are they?

And God told me to check the pictures I’ve got from the camera. And as I scrolled those images, they are perfectly beautiful for me! I couldn’t believe how unsatisfied I was when taking a shot this morning believing those angles don’t look good but actually they are!

And those photojournalists? I want to believe we discovered the same: we have been doing enough… it’s just that we don’t think it’s good enough already.

Why keep focusing the sins we committed than focusing how good is the Lord? Why don’t we forgive ourselves from being sinful when God Himself has already forgiven us?

An image that taunts me

“Be merciful, just as your Fatehr is merciful…”