P[e]NORAMA

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There are moments in our lives when it seems so much easier to just give up than continue with our struggles; when we feel so tired we think there’s no way we could still go on. There are times when we fall so hard, we don’t think we could ever get back up again. But life requires us to keep trying, until we’re back on our feet again. 

 

If you are in that kind of moment now, I pray you’d find strength in the video I’ve embedded here. It has helped me a lot in pulling myself together whenever I felt like succumbing to defeat. I hope it will do the same way to you.

 

Are You Going to Finish Strong?

 

Note: When I started this blog, I decided to put only original materials here. But I found along the way that there are situations when someone else could articulate a thousand times better what I struggle to put into words. And this post — and a couple of others in the past — is one of those times. My apologies for not writing my own thoughts instead.

 

Thanks to my Sweetie for sending this file to me. You’re a treasure!

 

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I watch my grandmother

As she patiently winnows the grains

Moving the winnowing basket

Up, down; up down

Tossing its content into the air.

I see the chaffs being blown away

Leaving behind the grains.

 

Then, when there are no more chaffs left,

She stops, but she’s not yet done.

She spreads the grains out thinly on the flat basket

And looks for pebbles that might have

Been mixed with the grains.
She picks the pebbles and throws them away.

 

I stare at her hands, rough from hard labor;

Amazed at how patiently she works.

Then I begin to realize, life’s like that —

A continuous process of winnowing;

Of separating the grains from the chaffs.

Only that sometimes, we throw away

The grains; not the pebbles, not the chaffs.

 

 

[And then we spend the rest of our lives

Staring at the empty husks of our choices

Wondering where the grains went,

Chasing after them, and not seeing them

Amidst the mountains of chaffs

With which we have surrounded ourselves.]

 

 

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For Lola Matda. When I was young and life was simple, every afternoon, my grandmother and I would go to the big square pavement near our house where grain buying stations dried their rice grains. Using walis tingting (broom) we would sweep the pavement and gather grains that the workers have not swept (we were more meticulous than they).

 

Everyday, we would get about a kilo of grains, or more. When we got home, my grandmother would winnow the rice grains. And she would patiently take away the pebbles that were mixed with the grains. Sometimes, I would help her. At other times, I would just watch her. The ratio of pebble to grain could have been 1:6. So it was really a kind of work that needed lots of patience.

 

I remember, after several weeks or months, my grandmother would gather a cavan of rice.

 

Oh, I so miss my childhood. And my grandma.

 

//Sherma E. Benosa

June 5, 2009; 8:10am

 

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MONDAY, 6:35 pm

 

I nearly slammed my door when I saw Mr. Mario Ventura, our new HRD officer, and Mr. Rolando Bautista, our Sales and Marketing manager, at my doorstep. I had a long bout against them and their fellow managers in the conference room the whole day today. Their tired, forty-something faces were the last things I wanted to see after work. And the uniform they were wearing — black slacks and light blue long-sleeved barong — brought me back to that damned room.

 

I looked at each of them hard, not bothering to conceal the extreme annoyance I felt about their presence.

 

“Won’t stay long.” Mr. Bautista, who was carrying a black leather briefcase in his right hand, announced as he stepped into the living room, not waiting to be invited in. My face must have made it explicitly clear that an invitation was not in order.

 

I moved into the living room without bothering to check if they were following. Reaching the center, I turned around, my face still tight. I didn’t ask them to sit down.

 

Mr. Ventura set the briefcase onto the center table. He opened the briefcase slowly, his eyes focused upon my face. I gave him a nasty look then lowered my gaze to the newly opened bag with its content now exposed. My eyes, swollen from crying and lack of sleep, literally bulged at what I saw. Money! An awful lot of money!

 

Both men noticed my reaction and were evidently pleased by it. “Five hundred thousand pesos in cold cash,” Mr. Ventura stressed. “For you.”

 

I dragged my gaze from the briefcase back to his unsightly face. “For me to keep quiet?”

 

“And for you to withdraw your charges against Mr. Uy.” He said, referring to the sexual harassment charges I filed at the police station against Mr. Uy Huang Lu, our Chinese general manager at Asia Pacific Lifts, Inc. this morning.

 

“And why would I do that?”

 

“Five hundred thousand pesos, that’s why.”

 

“Get lost!”

 

“You’re a fool not to take the money, Jhannie. You’re sending off your three brothers to school, aren’t you? And your father’s very sick with bronchopneumonia, isn’t he?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with malice. I glared at him, damning him for knowing just the right button to push.

 

“Forget about yourself, Jhannie.” Mr. Bautista interjected. “Just think about your family. How would you feel if something happens to your father, knowing that you could have prevented it? And if your brothers dropped out of school, wouldn’t you feel guilty knowing that you could have done something about it? Be practical. Anyway,” his voice dropped, “nothing happened.”

 

“Nothing?” I instantly flared. “I was nearly raped. And you calmly tell me that nothing happened?”

 

“I mean physically. What are kisses, embraces? I’m sure you did more than just those with your past boyfriends. I’m sure you’ve…”

 

“You’re insulting me, Mr. Bautista.” I cut him off. “The issue is not whether the act was consummated or not. We’re talking about a violation committed against my person!” I gritted my teeth.

 

I noticed Mr. Ventura not-too-discreetly signal Mr. Bautista to leave things to him. The latter kept quiet. Mr. Ventura turned his attention back to me. “Jhannie, calm down…”

 

“Calm down? You’ve got the nerve to order me to calm down after what happened to me?”

 

“Jhannie, listen…”

 

“No, Mr. Ventura. You listen. Clearly, we see things differently. And it’s apparent to me whose side you’re on. Tell me, if you could bribe me, what are you going to get in return? Promotion? Reward money?”

 

“Nothing. I’m just protecting the interest of the company.”

 

“Interest of the company? At the expense of the employees? Sir, you’re the HR manager! You’re supposed to protect the employees, not just the management!”

 

“And I’m doing just that. Jhannie, can’t you see? You have no case! No witnesses. No physical marks. No proofs. How could you prove that he molested you? It’s going to be your word against his. And who would take the word of an executive secretary over that of a respected country general manager? No one.” He breathed hard, then his voice softened. “Take the money, Jhannie. You’ll lose one way or another. Remember, you don’t come quite clean, what with the issue with Eric.”

 

I raised my eyebrows at the mention of my American friend’s name. “What’s Eric got to do with this?”

 

“Oh come on. You may be able to fool your officemates into believing that your relationship with Eric Collum is innocent. But the management knows better. And remember, an affair with a married man wouldn’t help you through this case.”

 

“Affair with a…” My head spun when I realized what he was insinuating. “You’re accusing me of sleeping with him, is that it?”

 

“Aren’t you?” he countered.

 

I glared at him. “That’s absurd! He’s my good friend! We’re not doing anything wrong.”

 

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve been spotted together many times. What will your officemates think? The management?”

 

“Ridiculous! Having lunch together does not warrant an affair.”

 

“Yes. But if we’d take it as a character reference,” he paused, a nasty smile playing on his lips, “we can easily plant a seed of doubt about your character.” His face moved closer to mine. “And where will that leave you?”

 

My hands balled. God, how I wanted to knock him off!

 

Again, he smiled. “Take the money, Jhannie. Save your face.”

 

“Get out!”

 

“Sure, we will.” He answered as he calmly closed his briefcase. “But think about it, Jhannie. You have until tomorrow morning to decide.” He picked up the briefcase with his right hand then, beckoning Mr. Bautista to follow him, walked to the door, his confidence unshaken by my outburst. They were already at the door when Mr. Ventura looked back, his face arrogant. “Choose well.”

 

I glared at him, but he and Mr. Bautista just walked coolly to the company car parked not far from my apartment.

 

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A piece of the puzzle fits; understanding finally dawns. “Kaya pala…”

 

Someone sheds light on an issue, and finally we get a glimpse of the other aspects of things which we couldn’t see before. “Kaya pala…”

 

Kaya pala. Such  a lovely phrase. It speaks of enlightenment, of finally seeing that which remained obscure for sometime.

 

It is also a phrase of admission, that before, there were things that we couldn’t see, which now, thankfully, we see rather clearly.

 

Kaya pala. How many times have I exclaimed it? Countless already. But every time I am gifted with the chance to exclaim it, I am always awed at the wonder of it.

 

I say kaya pala and I wonder…

 

… how seemingly small things we used not to see or understand can altogether change how we see things.

 

… how seemingly small yet vital things in life are slowly revealed as we progress down the road of time.

 

… how we carry on with life thinking we understand everything we do, only to realize much later, that there are things we did not understand at all.

 

Isn’t it a wonder, this slow discovery of the reasons of our being, of the fruits of our earlier actions? How the tangled web of life seems to somehow untangle in time to let us understand how some things are interconnected? How life eventually sort of changes the angle of the spotlight to focus on that which we used not to see (or refused to see) to let us understand some whys and hows?

 

Indeed, life is an unending search for answers, of attempts at some glimpses of truth, of undertstanding, made more wonderful and worthwhile by our moments of kaya pala.          

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Have you ever wondered why you are in a certain place, at a certain time, doing a certain thing that doesn’t seem to fit your long-term plan, only to realize much later that you were placed there to prepare you for something bigger? What is your most profound kaya pala moment?

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[This post was inspired by a series of heart-to-heart conversations with a dear friend, Brenda DG Corpuz, my ate (pronounced a-te) at NCCA. Love you, Ate Bren! Thanks for your friendship.]

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Today is the Fall of Bataan, and tomorrow is the 67^th anniversary of the start of the tragic Death March.

 

During the past weeks, I spent some time reading several books on the defense of Bataan and Corregidor during the Second World War for my articles for Manila Times (Bataan Rising) and, God, it was very difficult to stop the tears rolling down my cheeks.

 

Friends, let us all bow down our heads and pray for the heroes of Bataan, and thank them for fiercely defending our freedom.

 

To our war veterans — living and dead — our great salute to you, Sirs/Madams. And to everyone who suffered from the Japanese atrocity, please know that I share your pain.

 

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As a Bataan Day special, please let me lead you to my article on Bataan. It’s posted on my main website because I couldn’t seem to arrange the pictures properly here. Please click HERE.

 

 

 IN an article in 2006 (Art not just for Art’s Sake published in Health and Lifestyle), I wrote:

 

 

“Art accomplishes rather easily, what lectures, symposia, and other conventional awareness campaigns often fail to accomplish — an overwhelming impact upon and tremendous response from the audience. For when art speaks, barriers — be they religious, linguistic or cultural, are easily transcended; and the message, however subtle, is readily translated to a language we all understand, and echoed at a pitch too difficult for us to simply ignore. And with the barriers effectively reduced, and the message staring us in the face, we then become more equipped to listen attentively and act accordingly.”

 

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Today, I read an article that made my blood boil: an opinion piece by a Chinese “journalist” named Chip Tsao published in HK Magazine. Here’s the article plus my comments in italics.

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The War at Home

By Chip Tsao

 

The Russians sank a Hong Kong freighter last month, killing the seven Chinese seamen onboard. We can live with that—Lenin and Stalin were once the ideological mentors of all Chinese people. The Japanese planted a flag on Diàoyú Island. That’s no big problem—we Hong Kong Chinese love Japanese cartoons, Hello Kitty, and shopping in Shinjuku, let alone our round-the-clock obsession with karaoke. [Is it just me, or is there really a big flaw in his reasoning? ]

 

But hold on—even the Filipinos? Manila has just claimed sovereignty over the scattered rocks in the South China Sea called the Spratly Islands, complete with a blatant threat from its congress to send gunboats to the South China Sea to defend the islands from China if necessary. This is beyond reproach. The reason: There are more than 130,000 Filipina maids working as US$3,580-a-month cheap labor in Hong Kong. As a nation of servants, you don’t flex your muscles at your master, from whom you earn most of your bread and butter. [Yes, indeed, there is something wrong with his reasoning. Any high school (or even younger student) who knows a bit of logic can see breakdowns of reason in his sentences. Tsk! But I won't discuss his logical fallacies anymore. I'd focus on some of his factual errors. US$3,580 a month for a maid in Hong Kong? He better check his figures. They pay our kababayans much less, just about US$300-350 a month! And no, we are not a nation of servants. We do have degree holders who need to go overseas to find employment, even as domestic helpers, but not everyone in the country and even those who are working overseas are servants. We have lawyers, engineers, and other professionals as well. Besides, what's wrong with being a domestic helper, may I ask? At least, our maids can make logical statements and sound reasoning. Also, are the employers still called masters in this age? I thought the master-servant relationship no longer exists. Isn't it already an employee-employer relationship in the modern world? ]

 

As a patriotic Chinese man, the news has made my blood boil. I summoned Louisa, my domestic assistant who holds a degree in international politics from the University of Manila, hung a map on the wall, and gave her a harsh lecture. I sternly warned her that if she wants her wages increased next year, she had better tell everyone of her compatriots in Statue Square on Sunday that the entirety of the Spratly Islands belongs to China. Grimly, I told her that if war breaks out between the Philippines and China, I would have to end her employment and send her straight home, because I would not risk the crime of treason for sponsoring an enemy of the state by paying her to wash my toilet and clean my windows 16 hours a day. With that money, she would pay taxes to her Government, and they would fund a navy to invade our motherland and deeply hurt my feelings. [Sixteen hours a day? Doesn't the Hong Kong government regulate working hours? That's just inhumane. Such atrocity! I would hang my face in shame if I were him. But this guy is even proud of what he does! ]

 

Oh yes. The Government of the Philippines would certainly be wrong if they think we Chinese are prepared to swallow their insult and sit back and lose a Falkland Islands War in the Far East. They may have Barack Obama and the hawkish American military behind them, but we have a hostage in each of our homes in the Mid-Levels or higher. Some of my friends told me they have already declared a state of emergency at home. Their maids have been made to shout ‘China, Madam/Sir’ loudly whenever they hear the word “Spratly”. They say the indoctrination is working as wonderfully as when we used to shout, “Long live Chairman Mao!” at the sight of a portrait of our Great Leader during the Cultural Revolution. I’m not sure if that’s going a bit too far, at least for the time being. [If there is something I get from this article, it’s that this guy has just unwittingly implicated and convicted himself of abuse, racism, human rights violation, tyranny, and intimidation, among others. I hope his maid is alright. I believe our government should do something to rescue Louisa before he could do real damage to her — if he hasn’t already.]

 

 

It’s so sad how some people act as though they were god just because they have power and money. It’s even sadder how they trample upon other peoples as though they were dirt. :-(  And sadder still how a supposedly educated man could behave like that.

 

On the other hand, I am also sorry for him. He’s supposed to be a journalist and yet he cannot discuss the issue of Spratlys from an intelligent viewpoint? Spratlys is a legitimate issue. It should be discussed as such. He could have done better if he presented his case by giving proofs that the Spratlys is a Chinese territory, and not by insulting a whole nation and intimidating the Filipino maids.

 

Lastly, I wonder why such tasteless article got published in a magazine. What were the editors thinking?

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It’s 12:07, March 25, 2009. I am officially 31 years old. Yes, three decades and a year. Ah, time does fly fast.

As a birthday special, I thought of doing a ‘me-interviewing-me’ portion. (Why not? It’s not everyday that I get to be on center stage. Not even in my own blog!)

If things would go well, I might do it every 25th of every month. How is that?

Here we go:

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If you would look in the Mirror of Erised, what would you see? [Note: The Mirror of Erised is a magical mirror in Harry Potter I. It shows the greatest desire the person looking in it holds in his or her heart. The happiest person is the one who sees himself/herself as he/she is in the mirror].

I’d see myself sitting right beside my Sweetie, with the whole family (his and mine) beaming at us. He is already back in the country and no longer sick.

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What is that one thing you are proud of about yourself?

I am proud of my convictions, and of the fact that I stand up to what I believe in. I speak up when I know I must.

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