Birthday Rants and Reflections

(my journal entry dated March 21, 2012, a Wednesday)

Today is my birthday.

I’m honestly at a loss about what to think or how to see the year ahead. I mean, it’s just an ordinary day, really, but I’d like to place something special about this day: what it has to say to me, what things there are today that would give me clues on how to go about the year ahead, etc.

Just what have I done last year? The most significant I can think of is my blog. I got to launch it in November last year, supplemented by entries here in this journal. Is that all?

I am dismayed, although I refuse to dwell on it. I happened to read a short biography of Peter Paul Rubens, and it said there that in one year, Rubens was able to produce masterpiece after masterpiece. Last year, all I have to show as an accomplishment is a blog—that just about anybody can accomplish—that very few people read and appreciate.

I’m getting myself down again just thinking and writing about it. And it’s no consolation for me that there are so many of us who, under the same stupor, just let each year pass with no major accomplishment whatsoever, personal or otherwise. But I must not be down today.

Yesterday, I took advantage of going to the mall after driving Marj and company to the airport. I finally got to buy turpentine and linseed oil and now I’m not sure if I’m going to be painting today or focus on writing my _____ because I had promised Kuya Jing that we’d do karaoke today.

I also resolved that I won’t go online today. ____said she’s greeting me Happy Birthday on my Facebook wall. I don’t know how many others who’d do the same, but then if it turns out many forget (or choose to forget), I guess I deserve it. I’ve been “neglecting” my Facebook friends these past couple of weeks and if they “neglect” me today, it’s all right. Serves me right. Hehe.

I actually have two wishes for my birthday. One is to be able to finish (or at least, get on—NO! finish is the word!) my _____ this year. The other is to launch a business venture that would help augment the family income.

Some say that one shouldn’t share or reveal one’s birthday wish so it won’t get jinxed. I don’t know if it’s true, and I couldn’t care any less anymore. I’m tired of superstitions. My faith in God should suffice.

But then the ego is just weak. It needs to feel good. It needs to be satisfied and comforted, or at least assured. Assured by superstition? I guess it works in a way. Faith works that way, too—in a way.

Now, I’m kind of seeing it from a materialist’s point of view. Materialists have a point too, I’m not going to dismiss that. Oh, this life is so much bigger and deeper and more complex that to trade one belief (or mindset) for another causes an “imbalance” in a way.

I guess that’s the point of many Christians: if you believe in God—who is all powerful, all seeing, all knowing, etc.—then why rest your belief in something else other than God? But then, siguro by extension, we believe in God when we believe in ourselves (since we’re God’s creation, too); or we believe in God when we believe in the power of money (also another of God’s creation through us). By the way, “belief” is not the same as “service” (as in “You cannot ‘serve’ two masters….”).

I guess we can be both “material” and “spiritual” at the same time. There really isn’t anything wrong with it, as far as I see it. But there should be a balance between the two.

Is it all right for one to hold back or dominate the other? I mean, should spirituality “hold back” material progress (and vice versa)? Spiritualists would probably say it’s possible, and there are some who’d probably even say that it’s even all right for spirituality to supplant material progress. Life will go on.

Hmm…on the individual level, I guess it’s okay. But if it would involve many people, hundreds or thousands or more, I think it’s dangerously risky. Just look at the abu sayaf, the way they pray right after mutilating their victims. Or those cult members who committed mass suicide because of…whatever.

Spirituality can be a most difficult burden, simply because it’s so abstract. And more so, if it’s imbalanced. One man’s enlightenment can be poison in another man’s mind. And so, spiritual leaders should take care that their intentions are pure and uncorrupted, and that their lessons are well understood.

I still think the imbalance between the material and spiritual is what actually brings about so much evil in this world. It all rests on our momentary choices, I guess. A blessed birthday to me!

Mud Pies, Anyone?

(excerpt from my journal entry dated January 20, 2012, a Friday)

Yesterday, I remembered something I read on Reader’s Digest Online and it’s about how our minds can play tricks on us. I remembered this while I was giving Tatay his bath. Doing so has become common routine for me that I don’t think about it anymore while I’m at it.

Yesterday, however, I suddenly became conscious of what I was doing and then thought I had skipped a step in the process. And so, I had to ask Tatay if indeed I forgot to scrub his underarm, and he said, “No, you did not,” and that’s when I realized my mind has played a trick on me.

I wrote about that notion in that little notebook I keep around on my desk (which I finally got to clear of a lot of clutter—yes!), and quite frankly, since I had written it there already, I didn’t want to write it here anymore. But then a while ago, I was giving Tatay his bath for today and then, I just had to ask him if I had shampooed his hair yesterday (because I applied virgin coconut oil on his hair yesterday), and he said “Yes, you did.” Now, that’s my mind playing tricks on me again.

Now, if you think I’m on the verge of mental degeneration, I’d like to point out that I’m not, or at least I don’t think so. It’s just that my mind is bustling with a lot of thoughts and ideas coming in and boarding with whatever nook and cranny they could find in my brain.

There are experts who say that we humans use only a small percentage of our brains in our everyday tasks. I wonder (and I’m not alone at this), what if we can utilize at least 60–70 percent of our brains?

I was watching Youtube the other night and there was this video about Tutankhamun and Nefertiti  (Egyptian monarchs in the olden days). The maker of the video claims that these monarchs’ heads were actually shaped differently—the back of their heads from the occipital up was elongated in such a way that their heads looked like plump eggplants (I use the term “eggplants” here because I forget the English equivalent of “upo”).

An artist's rendition of Tutankhamun's head

That would be a most strange thing if it were true. Now what would have caused it (if it were true)? Their headdresses?  I’d like to think that using much of your brain would have such a repercussion, although Michio Kaku said (also on Youtube) that there won’t be “gross evolution” for mankind anymore. This means we won’t develop gills to breathe underwater, or be born with webbed feet to swim faster, or sprout wings so as to be able to fly.

I’d like to believe otherwise, though. We’d evolve in such a way that we’d be almost self-sufficient AND efficient with our resources. Just like the wild plants and trees, albeit we’d still humanoid-looking.

Or like the cockroaches, we’d be able to source sustenance on a small patch of dirt. And even make gourmet meals out of them! Just imagine Anthony Bourdain sourcing his ingredients on the former Payatas dumpsite. Now that would be the measure of a great chef. And what a healthy planet Earth this would be! Har-har-har!

Filipino Day

(journal entry dated March 2, 2012, a Friday)

I was reviewing some of my previous entries here [in my journal] and am amazed to find that I can be funny. Or rather, the brain—with all its quirks—it’s amazing how it can be so funny.  I couldn’t help but wonder, if I make a book out of these entries, would they appeal to Japanese readers? I don’t know why the Japanese.  I guess I just somehow see a resemblance between some of my writings here and some Japanese writings I’ve read.

I love the Japanese. There’s a hushed genius that pervades their art and literature. Very subtle. Oblivious to, or rather seemingly oblivious to what people might think of them or their way of life. But not contemptuous like the French. If there are two other countries that I’d like the Philippines to be mentored by, it’s Japan and France. Especially now that Filipinos are now awakening to nationalist consciousness.

Just yesterday, Judith and I were arguing about why most Filipinos don’t have love for their country. By “love of country” here, I mean “felt love,” which one may be aware of but not necessarily conscious about in most things one does.

I maintain it’s got to do with perspective. I mean, we’ve always been naturally hospitable. So when the Spaniards came in conquest of this country, we welcomed them with open arms. When they introduced to us their belief systems and way of life, we readily accepted them. I maintain it’s not because our ancestors were dumb. There had to have been some kind of intellectual persuasion involved in the process. And our forefathers must have recognized the superior rationalizations with which the conquerors persuaded them.

But the sad thing, or most unfortunate thing, about this is that they destroyed our existing culture. They literally burned down our old way of life, our reference points as to who we really were, prior to the coming of the colonizers. With that gone, we had nothing left but what they had to give—their ways of thinking and living. Nawalan tayo ng perspective as to who we really are as a people.

The Chinese, the Koreans, the Japanese—they all have history that spans thousands of years. We could have had the same and maintain a core perspective, an alternative reference that we would have reconsidered in light of the rationalizations and machinations of our conquerors.

Sure there are countries that are much “younger” than ours. Singapore, for instance. Or Australia. But these are countries peopled by citizens with strong core perspectives. British, Indians, Chinese, etc. You bring a Chinese to America, he remains Chinese in his way of thinking and living. He would live in a Chinatown. If there’s none, he would found one.

You bring a Filipino to America, he readily becomes “Americanized,” with all the awkwardness and eagerness of one trying to belong. The Chinese keep to themselves; Filipinos mingle. Not that it’s bad. It’s just sad that there are Filipinos who would readily forget their identity, and worse, look down on their “Filipino-ness” (or whatever’s left of it) and their country of origin.

I’ve often heard this call before: that Philippine history should be written (or “rewritten”?) from the perspective of Filipinos. The problem is, I think, ours is generations and generations of “damaged” Filipinos. Filipinos whose perspectives are marred by personal biases and tragedies (“The Philippine government is so corrupt, I’m never going back to that country again!”; or “It’s the Americans who saved us in World War II; long live America!”; or “Filipinos are the greatest singers in the world!”). With such biased views, these people would write down history and it would not be a balanced picture. It would be deceptive history.

But come to think of it, is this avoidable?

Writers lend their personalities to their writing. Historians are no different. Given these postulates, is it fair to assume that much of world history thrives on deception? How this man becomes a “hero,” whereas when he was still alive—or if you knew him personally, warts and all—calling him a hero would be laughable. That some saints were not all “saintly”; that the notorious Jesse James was not all “bad to the bones.”

Yet we celebrate them in our writings, our ceremonies, our movies, etc. I think the human race has grown intelligent enough to discern for itself. That if we celebrate something, it’s because we are inspired by the triumphs and are understanding enough to overlook the weaknesses. Not because we have been deceived.

Love and Being Stupid

(my journal entry dated March 11, 2012, a Sunday)

I had just about three hours of sleep last night, or rather, this morning. I fell asleep just after the clock struck 6 in the morning, not for anything else other than all these ideas coming into my head and I just had to write them down in my little notebook.

When I woke up at past 9 a.m., I found out that Kuya Jing has a hangover. He got himself drunk last night, and he’s not that strong a drinker. He said he drank because my sister Ate Cynthia and her husband Kuya George had a quarrel last night, and Kuya Jing thought it his obligation to be “referee,” and so he stayed on and drank with Kuya George and Kuya Dennis while the couple were in the heat of battle. So, this morning, Kuya Jing was in bed until almost noon, and I thought I should water the plants and feed the fish and the rooster in his stead. I have just finished giving Tatay his bath and now I’m writing this.

But before that, Kuya Jing, Tatay, and I got to talk about a lot of things, among them, last night’s showdown. At one point, Kuya Jing “rationalized” lots of people these days act the way they do because they’re so fond of watching local telenovelas. To which I added, jokingly: “Oo nga. Bakit kasi mga local telenovela ginagaya nila. Pwede naman yung ‘Walking Dead,’ o di kaya ‘Ip Man.’” I saw “Ip Man” last night. Very good movie.

I don’t like watching Filipino telenovelas because of the predictable plots, tired lines and cardboard characterizations. Kontrabidas all seem to act like Gladys Reyes or Gladys Reyes’ tatay [Eruel Tongco] in “Mara Clara,” you thank goodness that actors like Eddie Garcia and Celia Rodriguez have not retired yet.

Eventually, we got to talking about Nanay. When our cousin Kuya Eloy died, I remember dreaming about Nanay teaching me how to properly make egg sandwiches for Kuya Eloy’s funeral. Nanay said that the eggs should be boiled in water with crushed ginger, and when cooked, chopped and mixed in with the mayonnaise. I tried it once but since I was young and impatient, my experiment failed. The eggs were not thoroughly cooked and the result was very soft-boiled [“malasado”] eggs that tasted somewhat “gingery” and yucky. Ahehe. But I’m planning to do it again and be more careful next time. I don’t know if there would be a difference, or what possibilities can be gleaned from the result.

We talked some more about Nanay, and I related how, when Nanay was still alive, there was one time when she couldn’t control her bowels that she made a mess in the living room hall going to the bathroom. And I was so stupidly squeamish about it that, instead of sympathizing with her, I let her clean up after herself. What’s even more stupid of me was that after she cleaned up, I saw that she missed a spot on the floor, and this, I pointed out to her. But instead of resenting my most “disrespectful apathy,” Nanay most humbly said sorry to me for missing the spot.

And it was at that point that I realized how stupid I was, and cold, and utterly disrespectful, that I locked myself up in my room and quietly cried out my St. Peter anguish (after St. Peter's denial of Christ).

So, you see, no matter how highly people may regard you, you still have weaknesses to overcome. And in many ways, your memories and experiences such as the one I just related will always be there to point out to you and to remind you: You are not so good, so do not think so goodly of yourself.

I still am a very squeamish person, but I have so accepted that a long time ago, and now I’ve forgiven myself for it. Right now, I take care of Tatay and still get squeamish from time to time. But then I bear in mind that there’s a difference between being squeamish and wanting to do it nonetheless and being squeamish and NOT wanting to do it at all. I think there is love in the former because there is sacrifice involved—no matter how stupidly shallow it is. Love just shows up in so many forms and guises, why do we go out of our way to be so judgmental?