Domestic helpers. Mail-order brides. Exporters of human labor. Phony businessmen.
These are how people the world over have come to know us, Filipinos. And I can’t blame them. For though it’s not completely true that these are what constitute us as a people, it’s not completely false either.
A big chunk of our population — roughly ten percent — are Overseas Filipino Contract Workers (OFWs), many of whom are working abroad either as domestic helpers, construction or factory workers, or health workers. Our OFWs are our modern-day heroes, so they say, because they have saved the country’s economy many times over through their remittances. Without our OFWs, our economy would have long gone under.
And we do have mail-order brides — women who have become wives or girlfriends of foreign nationals through dating sites. I do not think this phenomenon is true only among Filipinos, or SouthEast Asian women for that matter, but our case seems to be out of proportion. Just type in the word “Filipina” in the search engine, and you’d see sites advertising Filipinas as if we were commodities. Being a Filipina, this situation affects me greatly, more so because I cannot claim that the conception that Filipinas are mail-order-brides is entirely false. Many Filipinas have actually taken the easy road to financial security — by marrying a foreign national they met only through the internet, and who they have never met before tying the knot, and someone they don’t — or at least, didn’t at first — love.
And so that’s what our women have come to be known — not just mail-order brides, but brides for sale.
When I was a sophomore student in the university, one of my professors, a tall, young, and light-skinned mestiza-looking woman once related to class one of her experiences in an Asian country during a get-to-know party among international scholars. A friend jokingly introduced her as a European, and everybody believed him. Then this friend introduced her as Chinese, and again, everyone believed him. Then Latin American. Again, everybody believed him. Until this professor told her friend to cut the game out, to tell everyone the truth: that she was a Filipina. So they did; but this time, no one believed them. They thought they were joking. No, it wasn’t because she didn’t look like a Filipina, but because they couldn’t believe there’s a Filipina who would be intelligent enough to be part of that group. They thought Filipinas were only either nannies or prostitutes.
Just recently, a friend of mine who works as a marketing assistant in Qatar told me that if only she had a job to come back to in the country, if she weren’t thinking about how difficult their financial situation back home was, she would have quitted her job. “It’s different here, Sis,” she told me. “They have very poor opinion about Filipinos. They would tell you face to face that Filipinos are stupid, and loose. It’s degrading. But you know what? Sometimes, you couldn’t blame them. There are really quite a number of Filipinas here who are… uhmm… misbehaving.”
There are many other related stories about discrimination and misconceptions about our country’s womenfolk; all disheartening. Though Mary’s sin is not necessarily Ann’s, their common denomination — nationality — make other nationals think they are the same. Logically speaking, this thinking is fallacious, but perception is not the domain of logic. Right or wrong, logical or not, this perception remains, and we shall be viewed through the lens of that perception, whether we like it or not.
We can’t blame other nationals for their misconceptions about us. We do have mail-order brides. We do have women who have become victims of the sex trade. We also have countrymen who have falsified their documents to gain entry to other countries. There are also those who do fishy business. We have women who would shamelessly ask (demand?) financial support from their foreign boyfriends. We have bar girls who do dirty tricks on their costumers. But still, I can’t help but wish that when others look at us as a people, they would look deeper than the skin color, beyond the one-word entry in the passport that reads Filipino. Because while it is true that a number of our people had made mistakes in the past, and are committing the same mistake now, it doesn’t mean we are all the same. We share many things, but every person’s actions reflect the choices he made alone, not the choices his comrades made, are making, or shall make.
That we export labor is a sad thing. But I don’t think it should make me hang my face in shame. And no matter how “lowly” the jobs Filipinos hold abroad, I don’t think we should be ashamed of them. OFWs have gone to work overseas to do the things their employers hate doing, or can’t do. They care for their employer’s elders. They fix their mess. These jobs, though seemingly lowly and menial, are respectable. They care for their employers’ children, while inside they are hurting… hurting that own their children back home whom they left long before they were old enough to memorize their parents’ faces, are left uncared for. And the OFWs wonder, and hope, and pray, that the money they send their kids would be enough to pay for their absences (though knowing full well they it won’t be), that the material comfort their remittances could buy their children would be enough to nurture them until they go back back home to care for them, never to leave them again.
There are thousands of OFW success stories, but for every thousand happy endings, is another thousand of wrecked home and children gone wild. Very sad, indeed. But sadder still is the fact that our government is doing nothing to solve the problem. Instead of creating jobs right at home, our government encourages its people to leave and find work abroad. And to send remittances back home.
Yes, we Filipinos are up for sale. And we’re a bargain. We have medical specialists who work as nurses abroad. Lawyers who work as hotel janitors. Professionals who work as nannies.
Ah, I wonder… I wonder what I’m worth in the international market. And what I’d be doing abroad had I, too, chose to leave.
//Sherma E. Benosa
03 August 2008
Check out my other blogs:
Bard and Brain
Bilingual Pen
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat
Showing posts with label MuZings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MuZings. Show all posts
Friday, October 03, 2008
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Lamentation of the Dream Un-Winged
From a distance, Dream watched Man staring out his tiny window, a glass of liquor in his hand. Man was gazing unseeingly at the clouds almost completely concealing the rising moon, sadness hugging him tightly. The soft breeze was sighing, and the crickets were eerily quiet.
Dream’s heart went out to Man, despite himself. After all, they used to be inseparable, the best of friends. A tear threatened to fall down Dream’s cheeks, which he was quick to control. He was surprised to find that it was such an effort to fight off his tears.
“Ah, my friend,” Dream whispered through the air. “It saddens me to see that the bright light you once had has considerably dimmed. I would so much want to comfort you, if I could. But I need comforting, too. Because like you, I am also feeling wretched, for I failed to become what destiny designed me to be.”
Dream paused, feeling silly. He knew Man couldn’t hear him. But then, he thought he saw Man look in his direction, but maybe he didn’t.
After some time, Dream continued with his anguished whispering.
“I feel bad that you failed, because your failure is mine, too. But what can I do? I did everything to steer you in the right direction. I made myself your inspiration, your driving force. I always accompanied you in your youth; I used to sit by your side as you planned your moves back when you still thought that the future looked so bright. Wasn’t I the one who kept whispering in your ears to keep going whenever you were down? I held the torch for you every time you walked along dark alleys.
“We were such a team. We could have reached very far. Yes, I had no doubt about that, especially when you cloaked me with hope and armed yourself with potential. I thought we would soon take off. And I believe we would have made it, if only you didn’t back out at the last minute; if only you didn’t chain yourself and me to your fears.
“You should have let me spread my wings across the vast sky because I was meant to fly, to soar. I was meant to grow up and transform into reality. But you didn’t let me. Instead, you un-winged me. Look at me, look at me. Look and see how shattered I’ve become, with my wings now broken and useless." Then, losing his control, Dream let out his anguish, as rivers upon rivers of tears flowed down his cheeks.
In his tiny window, Man was pitying and cursing the weakling that he was, as sighs capped his frustration, and alcohol was drowning his mind.
Outside, there was still an eerie stillness. The wind was refusing to move, and the leaves were afraid to stir. The crickets had gone to sleep. The moon was still hidden behind the dark clouds, afraid to shine.
Then there was lightning, followed by a loud thunder. But Man was already too drunk to notice. He didn't know it was Dream howling.
[seb/20 June, 2008; 10:46pm]
Dream’s heart went out to Man, despite himself. After all, they used to be inseparable, the best of friends. A tear threatened to fall down Dream’s cheeks, which he was quick to control. He was surprised to find that it was such an effort to fight off his tears.“Ah, my friend,” Dream whispered through the air. “It saddens me to see that the bright light you once had has considerably dimmed. I would so much want to comfort you, if I could. But I need comforting, too. Because like you, I am also feeling wretched, for I failed to become what destiny designed me to be.”
Dream paused, feeling silly. He knew Man couldn’t hear him. But then, he thought he saw Man look in his direction, but maybe he didn’t.
After some time, Dream continued with his anguished whispering.
“I feel bad that you failed, because your failure is mine, too. But what can I do? I did everything to steer you in the right direction. I made myself your inspiration, your driving force. I always accompanied you in your youth; I used to sit by your side as you planned your moves back when you still thought that the future looked so bright. Wasn’t I the one who kept whispering in your ears to keep going whenever you were down? I held the torch for you every time you walked along dark alleys.
“We were such a team. We could have reached very far. Yes, I had no doubt about that, especially when you cloaked me with hope and armed yourself with potential. I thought we would soon take off. And I believe we would have made it, if only you didn’t back out at the last minute; if only you didn’t chain yourself and me to your fears.
“You should have let me spread my wings across the vast sky because I was meant to fly, to soar. I was meant to grow up and transform into reality. But you didn’t let me. Instead, you un-winged me. Look at me, look at me. Look and see how shattered I’ve become, with my wings now broken and useless." Then, losing his control, Dream let out his anguish, as rivers upon rivers of tears flowed down his cheeks.
In his tiny window, Man was pitying and cursing the weakling that he was, as sighs capped his frustration, and alcohol was drowning his mind.
Outside, there was still an eerie stillness. The wind was refusing to move, and the leaves were afraid to stir. The crickets had gone to sleep. The moon was still hidden behind the dark clouds, afraid to shine.
Then there was lightning, followed by a loud thunder. But Man was already too drunk to notice. He didn't know it was Dream howling.
[seb/20 June, 2008; 10:46pm]
Monday, May 19, 2008
Truth vs. Deceit: A Tale
.
Deeply confused and utterly sad, Truth decided to consult with the Lord.
“Lord," he said in a barely audible voice. "I am confused. You said that I am beautiful, but why is it that when I present myself to people, they would not look at me directly, and would rather look the other way? You said I am good, but why can’t I help hurting people? You said that Deceit is evil, but why is he capable of making people feel better, even if there are times he hurt them as well? You said Deceit is ugly, but why do people stare at him with so much awe?”
The Lord smiled sympathetically. He walked over to Truth, and held him by his shoulders. “My child," He said softly, looking deeply into Truth's troubled eyes. "Do not despair. You are beautiful and pure. You shine so brightly, people cannot bear to look at you directly. They either put a veil over their eyes to see you, or use a mirror to get a glimpse of you, not realizing that though these instruments aid them, they blur you, hence they don’t see you in your full splendor.
“You are good; you do not really hurt people, you just crush their egos. Indeed, Deceit is ugly, but don’t forget that he is a master of disguise. He can change his black cloak into a rainbow, so that those who have not seen your grandeur are amazed at how lovely he seems, and they stare at him with great admiration.
“He is evil, because by not showing his real self to people, he dims you. But do not fret, my child. There are those who are brave enough who choose to look at you directly, without any veil, without the need for mirrors. They see you, and they love you. And to them, your beauty is beyond compare." The Lord patted Truth in the back. "Go forth my child, for you are loved.”
Feeling better, Truth thanked the Lord then walked happily back to his world, where he shone and shone brightly, giving light to the whole world. He’s still there, standing magnificently for all of us to see. Sometimes we see him, sometimes we don’t.
Often, we profess our love for him. But... do we really?
//Sherma E. Benosa
19 May 2008; 11:40am
Deeply confused and utterly sad, Truth decided to consult with the Lord.
“Lord," he said in a barely audible voice. "I am confused. You said that I am beautiful, but why is it that when I present myself to people, they would not look at me directly, and would rather look the other way? You said I am good, but why can’t I help hurting people? You said that Deceit is evil, but why is he capable of making people feel better, even if there are times he hurt them as well? You said Deceit is ugly, but why do people stare at him with so much awe?”
The Lord smiled sympathetically. He walked over to Truth, and held him by his shoulders. “My child," He said softly, looking deeply into Truth's troubled eyes. "Do not despair. You are beautiful and pure. You shine so brightly, people cannot bear to look at you directly. They either put a veil over their eyes to see you, or use a mirror to get a glimpse of you, not realizing that though these instruments aid them, they blur you, hence they don’t see you in your full splendor.
“You are good; you do not really hurt people, you just crush their egos. Indeed, Deceit is ugly, but don’t forget that he is a master of disguise. He can change his black cloak into a rainbow, so that those who have not seen your grandeur are amazed at how lovely he seems, and they stare at him with great admiration.
“He is evil, because by not showing his real self to people, he dims you. But do not fret, my child. There are those who are brave enough who choose to look at you directly, without any veil, without the need for mirrors. They see you, and they love you. And to them, your beauty is beyond compare." The Lord patted Truth in the back. "Go forth my child, for you are loved.”
Feeling better, Truth thanked the Lord then walked happily back to his world, where he shone and shone brightly, giving light to the whole world. He’s still there, standing magnificently for all of us to see. Sometimes we see him, sometimes we don’t.
Often, we profess our love for him. But... do we really?
//Sherma E. Benosa
19 May 2008; 11:40am
Friday, May 09, 2008
Only When
Dreams. They are the fruits we envision the plants we sow would bear. But many of us dream without planting a seed. Some of us do, but we fail to water our plants, to fertilize them. So our plants die. And when they do, we wonder what happened to them, to our dreams. We blame everything. We blame the sun, we blame the rains, we blame the insects, yet we forget to blame ourselves.
//Sherma E. Benosa
09 May 2008; 10:10am
.
ANNOUNCEMENT: I have opened a photo-blog over at wordpress.com. Unlike my other blogs, this latest baby of mine contains photos. BUt unlike ordinary photo-blogs, the photos posted here contain my thoughts and reflections. Check it out: PhotoGraphic Thoughts.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Winged
.
When we give our souls some wings, they will surely soar, up above the clouds, to the stars, to the heavens, and to dimensions beyond the reach of time. My soul is here, with me, yet it is really gone. It's somewhere beyond the depths of the deepest sea, above the highest mountain, in a plane indefinable by me.
//Sherma E. Benosa
08 May 2008; 2:25pm
When we give our souls some wings, they will surely soar, up above the clouds, to the stars, to the heavens, and to dimensions beyond the reach of time. My soul is here, with me, yet it is really gone. It's somewhere beyond the depths of the deepest sea, above the highest mountain, in a plane indefinable by me.
//Sherma E. Benosa
08 May 2008; 2:25pm
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sick and Twisted
.
There’s something that’s gravely ailing the world today. And it’s not global warming. It’s our hearts turning cold and unfeeling.
The culprits probably thought it was a good joke, so they took video footage of it and uploaded it in the internet. After all, it’s not often that one would “be lucky” enough to witness an operation to get a perfume canister out of a poor fellow’s anus. But right now, I can hear the “lucky” fellows’ jeers turned into sobs, and see their jeering faces ‘sorrily’ contorted as they scamper away for cover.
I am talking about the scandal at a Visayan hospital where a team of doctors and nurses and (a) nursing student(s) took photo and video footages of an operation done on a male patient who had a perfume canister stuck on his anus during a sexual act. The video footage was then said to be uploaded in youtube for all the world to see (the video has since been removed from the file sharing site after the scandal broke out). But according to bloggers who have seen the video and to some news report, the video showed several people in the operating room jeering as the perfume canister was being removed, making disrespectful comments, calling the canister “baby,” and spraying perfume after the canister was removed. All these while the patient was lying helpless and unconscious.
Before this offensive event, I was of the opinion that there are two kinds of fun: clean and dirty. But apparently I’m wrong. There’s a third one: sick.
I think it’s sick that some people could get a kick from other people’s grave embarrassment. I think it’s sick that some people could actually laugh at other people’s pain. I think it’s sick that the people we turn to for help would extend their right hand to assist us, only to stab us with their left. I think it’s sick that professionals would act in an unprofessional way in times of crisis. I think it’s sick that we would choose to add insult to the injury when we could opt to ease the pain. Ah, yes, the world we live in can sometimes be so sick. (Or shall I say, we can sometimes be so sick.)
Condemn him not
It’s true, it’s unhealthy to use sex toys during sexual intercourse; but if others decide to use them, to engage in different kind of sex, who are we to condemn them? It is their business as it is their lives. It is not for us to judge them. But reading some blog posts, I realized that some folks put the blame on the poor victim, their reasoning being, “things would not have happened if he did not engage in “abnormal” sexual behavior, if he weren’t gay.
That got me a little lost, because the issue, in my humble opinion, is not the victim’s sexual preference, nor is it his sexual behavior. The issue is that the medical professionals involved violated his rights as a patient, as a person.
He went to the doctors to seek help, but what did he get? Sure, the doctors relieved him of the proof of his physical ‘rape,’ but they raped his soul in return, inflicting upon him a kind of pain that no medicine could relieve nor cure; no expert could surgically remove.
And then, as he prepares to seek justice, someone from the Catholic Church comes forward to condemn him. That, I think, is hypocricy to the highest level. The last thing the victim needs and deserves is for us to be moralistic about it, to play self-righteous and pass judgment upon him. His rights, his person had been gravely violated, and the least thing we can do is to help him stand as he struggles to carry the cross that was suddenly put on his shoulders, and not to whip his back as the Judeans would.
Going back to the basics
I will no longer talk about malpractice, about how legally liable the people involved in the scandal are. News reports and many blog posts about the issue have tackled them. I’d rather focus on the basics of human relationships.
The culprits did not just break the code of their professions’ ethics; they broke the very basic code of social ethics: RESPECT. One need not have a medical degree to know if what he or she is about to do is right or wrong. I do not see any excuse why the people involved in the scandal could not have realized that jeering at their patient and taking footages of the operation and then uploading them in the internet was a grave violation. All they needed to have done was put themselves in the patient’s shoe and they would have known what was proper and what was not.
As a proverb, the commandment, “Do not do unto others what you do not want others do unto you” is now trite. And as a code of conduct, it is very basic. But somehow, it is sorely ‘underpracticed.’ To think that practicing it could reduce a lot of wrongs. Ah, humans…
Justice
It would be a long, unpaved road, I know. But I guess the only way the victim would heal is by getting the justice that he deserves. I think he must walk the long and hard road to justice, not just to right what is wrong, but also to set example to other offenders and victims.
I would not be sorry to see the licenses of those involved in the scandal revoked, for though it’s true that we have a dearth of healthcare professionals in the country, we are not so desperate so as to allow these vacancies be filled by abusive folks who might just put our medical system in (more) jeopardy.
Because if justice in this case is not achieved, it will surely hurt our bid for a slice in the medical tourism, for we will not just become known as the country where horrible things such as this could happen, but a country that tolerated such things. God forbid!
Some relevant thoughts
As an ex-medical journalist, I’ve written and read a lot of medical articles, a good number of them dealt with male sexual dysfunction.
According to the literature I’ve read, and to some of the doctors I’ve interviewed, many forms of sexual dysfunction can be treated and managed if only the sufferers would seek treatment. But very few men would actually dare talk to their doctors about their problems. It is hypothesized that it may be a natural tendency for the male to never admit to his sexual incapacities because his sexuality is him, to admit sexual problem is to admit to the world that he is less of a person.
In a way, that hypothesis might be right. But I think that there is also another thing that keeps the male population from talking to their doctors about their sexual problems: the fear, rightly or wrongly, that their doctor might jeer at them at their back. I think — or shall I say, I used to think — that that is very remote, given that doctors have heard a lot of stories about this problem, as sexual dysfunction is becoming very common, especially among the elderly.
But now I am thinking that maybe it’s not so remote after all.
//Sherma E. Benosa
27 April 2008; 10:50pm
.
There’s something that’s gravely ailing the world today. And it’s not global warming. It’s our hearts turning cold and unfeeling.
The culprits probably thought it was a good joke, so they took video footage of it and uploaded it in the internet. After all, it’s not often that one would “be lucky” enough to witness an operation to get a perfume canister out of a poor fellow’s anus. But right now, I can hear the “lucky” fellows’ jeers turned into sobs, and see their jeering faces ‘sorrily’ contorted as they scamper away for cover.
I am talking about the scandal at a Visayan hospital where a team of doctors and nurses and (a) nursing student(s) took photo and video footages of an operation done on a male patient who had a perfume canister stuck on his anus during a sexual act. The video footage was then said to be uploaded in youtube for all the world to see (the video has since been removed from the file sharing site after the scandal broke out). But according to bloggers who have seen the video and to some news report, the video showed several people in the operating room jeering as the perfume canister was being removed, making disrespectful comments, calling the canister “baby,” and spraying perfume after the canister was removed. All these while the patient was lying helpless and unconscious.
Before this offensive event, I was of the opinion that there are two kinds of fun: clean and dirty. But apparently I’m wrong. There’s a third one: sick.
I think it’s sick that some people could get a kick from other people’s grave embarrassment. I think it’s sick that some people could actually laugh at other people’s pain. I think it’s sick that the people we turn to for help would extend their right hand to assist us, only to stab us with their left. I think it’s sick that professionals would act in an unprofessional way in times of crisis. I think it’s sick that we would choose to add insult to the injury when we could opt to ease the pain. Ah, yes, the world we live in can sometimes be so sick. (Or shall I say, we can sometimes be so sick.)
Condemn him not
It’s true, it’s unhealthy to use sex toys during sexual intercourse; but if others decide to use them, to engage in different kind of sex, who are we to condemn them? It is their business as it is their lives. It is not for us to judge them. But reading some blog posts, I realized that some folks put the blame on the poor victim, their reasoning being, “things would not have happened if he did not engage in “abnormal” sexual behavior, if he weren’t gay.
That got me a little lost, because the issue, in my humble opinion, is not the victim’s sexual preference, nor is it his sexual behavior. The issue is that the medical professionals involved violated his rights as a patient, as a person.
He went to the doctors to seek help, but what did he get? Sure, the doctors relieved him of the proof of his physical ‘rape,’ but they raped his soul in return, inflicting upon him a kind of pain that no medicine could relieve nor cure; no expert could surgically remove.
And then, as he prepares to seek justice, someone from the Catholic Church comes forward to condemn him. That, I think, is hypocricy to the highest level. The last thing the victim needs and deserves is for us to be moralistic about it, to play self-righteous and pass judgment upon him. His rights, his person had been gravely violated, and the least thing we can do is to help him stand as he struggles to carry the cross that was suddenly put on his shoulders, and not to whip his back as the Judeans would.
Going back to the basics
I will no longer talk about malpractice, about how legally liable the people involved in the scandal are. News reports and many blog posts about the issue have tackled them. I’d rather focus on the basics of human relationships.
The culprits did not just break the code of their professions’ ethics; they broke the very basic code of social ethics: RESPECT. One need not have a medical degree to know if what he or she is about to do is right or wrong. I do not see any excuse why the people involved in the scandal could not have realized that jeering at their patient and taking footages of the operation and then uploading them in the internet was a grave violation. All they needed to have done was put themselves in the patient’s shoe and they would have known what was proper and what was not.
As a proverb, the commandment, “Do not do unto others what you do not want others do unto you” is now trite. And as a code of conduct, it is very basic. But somehow, it is sorely ‘underpracticed.’ To think that practicing it could reduce a lot of wrongs. Ah, humans…
Justice
It would be a long, unpaved road, I know. But I guess the only way the victim would heal is by getting the justice that he deserves. I think he must walk the long and hard road to justice, not just to right what is wrong, but also to set example to other offenders and victims.
I would not be sorry to see the licenses of those involved in the scandal revoked, for though it’s true that we have a dearth of healthcare professionals in the country, we are not so desperate so as to allow these vacancies be filled by abusive folks who might just put our medical system in (more) jeopardy.
Because if justice in this case is not achieved, it will surely hurt our bid for a slice in the medical tourism, for we will not just become known as the country where horrible things such as this could happen, but a country that tolerated such things. God forbid!
Some relevant thoughts
As an ex-medical journalist, I’ve written and read a lot of medical articles, a good number of them dealt with male sexual dysfunction.
According to the literature I’ve read, and to some of the doctors I’ve interviewed, many forms of sexual dysfunction can be treated and managed if only the sufferers would seek treatment. But very few men would actually dare talk to their doctors about their problems. It is hypothesized that it may be a natural tendency for the male to never admit to his sexual incapacities because his sexuality is him, to admit sexual problem is to admit to the world that he is less of a person.
In a way, that hypothesis might be right. But I think that there is also another thing that keeps the male population from talking to their doctors about their sexual problems: the fear, rightly or wrongly, that their doctor might jeer at them at their back. I think — or shall I say, I used to think — that that is very remote, given that doctors have heard a lot of stories about this problem, as sexual dysfunction is becoming very common, especially among the elderly.
But now I am thinking that maybe it’s not so remote after all.
//Sherma E. Benosa
27 April 2008; 10:50pm
.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
An Open Letter to Humanity
We often wonder about the why’s of life, especially when we are in the middle of a tribulation, whether or not it is of our own doing. We wonder why we have to go through things, why we must suffer, why life sometimes must be bleak, why things we think we can do better without happen.
I’ve asked the same questions, too. And below are the answers I’ve come up with. I hope they make sense.
I’ve asked the same questions, too. And below are the answers I’ve come up with. I hope they make sense.
.
[Text and image design, concept and layout by SEB]
//Sherma E. Benosa
29 December 2007; 11:10am
.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Humanity vs Opportunity: A Short Tale
Opportunity and Humanity faced each other at the Chieftain Hall. This was to resolve Humanity’s complaint against Opportunity. Humanity claimed that Opportunity was not doing his job, which was to regularly present himself to Humanity and his people, and give them all the chances in life that they deserved.
After proper introductions were made, the chieftain asked the gentlemen to take a seat. Humanity took the chair on the left of the chieftain’s desk; Opportunity took the one on the right. When both gentlemen were seated, the chieftain asked Humanity to speak to formally lodge his complaint.
“Well, Sir,” Humanity looked at the chieftain, then glanced at Opportunity. “Mr. Opportunity here has not been doing his job. My people and I have been encountering all sorts of troubles because of him. His negligence has been hindering us from realizing our full potentials. We’ve been complaining about this for a long time, and we had been reduced to repeatedly begging him to come to us, but he just wouldn’t.”
The chieftain nodded his understanding of Humanity’s predicament. He signaled Opportunity to defend himself.
Opportunity cleared his throat. “I am sorry that Mr. Humanity and his people have been encountering problems, Mr. Chieftain, but I beg to disagree that it is because of my failure to perform my duty. The truth is that I keep knocking at their door but they don’t always open their doors for me. There are times that they would, but they often hesitate to let me in. It takes them a long time to decide whether or not to invite me, that by the time they’d made up their mind, it’s time for me to leave for someone else’s house. So…”
“But how do we know it’s indeed you who’s on the door?” Humanity interjected. “You show up looking differently each time. You just love disguises. How can we be sure it’s indeed you and not a prankster who’s at our door, when many times you’d come in the company of those shady creatures, Deception and Betrayal?”
Opportunity calmly replied, “There are no disguises, Mr. Humanity. I always come to you looking the same way I always do. And I don’t come with Deception and Betrayal. You always see them whenever you open your door because they live in your neighborhood. And knowing that they always spell trouble, I try not to stop them from accompanying me to your house, as long as they don’t hurt me, or interfere with me. It’s your family members Fear and Distrust that often lodge themselves between you and me, so that you won’t see me clearly.”
Humanity looked blankly at Opportunity, not having a ready and acceptable retort. He was afraid of incriminating members of his family if he’d speak further. The truth is that he would always ask Fear and Distrust to accompany him whenever he would open his door, fearing that Deception and Betrayal would hurt him if they’d see that he was alone and vulnerable.
Having heard both sides, the chieftain instructed Humanity to resolve the matter within his household, especially the problem with Fear and Distrust. He concluded that only when this matter is resolved will they see more of Opportunity. Until then, they will always have a hard time recognizing Opportunity when he knocks on their door, and continue not being able to seize the chances that Opportunity always brings.
Apparently, the matter with Fear and Distrust was a deep-rooted problem with Humanity and his people. They always felt vulnerable without Fear and Distrust by their side, that to this day, his people still keep blaming Opportunity for their circumstances, claiming that he wasn’t doing his job, when the truth is that they just fail to see Opportunity when he shows up, or, if they do, Fear and Distrust would stop them from seizing the chances Opportunity was giving them.
.
Inspired by a piece I wrote in 2005, entitled Knocking on Your Door. Click here to read it. This is my take on the question on whether or not there are not many opportunities around.
This morning, I have written a children’s story based from this story. I hope it will be good enough for publication in a children’s book. I’m crossing my fingers! :-)
.
//Sherma E. Benosa
11 February 2008
After proper introductions were made, the chieftain asked the gentlemen to take a seat. Humanity took the chair on the left of the chieftain’s desk; Opportunity took the one on the right. When both gentlemen were seated, the chieftain asked Humanity to speak to formally lodge his complaint.
“Well, Sir,” Humanity looked at the chieftain, then glanced at Opportunity. “Mr. Opportunity here has not been doing his job. My people and I have been encountering all sorts of troubles because of him. His negligence has been hindering us from realizing our full potentials. We’ve been complaining about this for a long time, and we had been reduced to repeatedly begging him to come to us, but he just wouldn’t.”
The chieftain nodded his understanding of Humanity’s predicament. He signaled Opportunity to defend himself.
Opportunity cleared his throat. “I am sorry that Mr. Humanity and his people have been encountering problems, Mr. Chieftain, but I beg to disagree that it is because of my failure to perform my duty. The truth is that I keep knocking at their door but they don’t always open their doors for me. There are times that they would, but they often hesitate to let me in. It takes them a long time to decide whether or not to invite me, that by the time they’d made up their mind, it’s time for me to leave for someone else’s house. So…”
“But how do we know it’s indeed you who’s on the door?” Humanity interjected. “You show up looking differently each time. You just love disguises. How can we be sure it’s indeed you and not a prankster who’s at our door, when many times you’d come in the company of those shady creatures, Deception and Betrayal?”
Opportunity calmly replied, “There are no disguises, Mr. Humanity. I always come to you looking the same way I always do. And I don’t come with Deception and Betrayal. You always see them whenever you open your door because they live in your neighborhood. And knowing that they always spell trouble, I try not to stop them from accompanying me to your house, as long as they don’t hurt me, or interfere with me. It’s your family members Fear and Distrust that often lodge themselves between you and me, so that you won’t see me clearly.”
Humanity looked blankly at Opportunity, not having a ready and acceptable retort. He was afraid of incriminating members of his family if he’d speak further. The truth is that he would always ask Fear and Distrust to accompany him whenever he would open his door, fearing that Deception and Betrayal would hurt him if they’d see that he was alone and vulnerable.
Having heard both sides, the chieftain instructed Humanity to resolve the matter within his household, especially the problem with Fear and Distrust. He concluded that only when this matter is resolved will they see more of Opportunity. Until then, they will always have a hard time recognizing Opportunity when he knocks on their door, and continue not being able to seize the chances that Opportunity always brings.
Apparently, the matter with Fear and Distrust was a deep-rooted problem with Humanity and his people. They always felt vulnerable without Fear and Distrust by their side, that to this day, his people still keep blaming Opportunity for their circumstances, claiming that he wasn’t doing his job, when the truth is that they just fail to see Opportunity when he shows up, or, if they do, Fear and Distrust would stop them from seizing the chances Opportunity was giving them.
.
Inspired by a piece I wrote in 2005, entitled Knocking on Your Door. Click here to read it. This is my take on the question on whether or not there are not many opportunities around.
This morning, I have written a children’s story based from this story. I hope it will be good enough for publication in a children’s book. I’m crossing my fingers! :-)
.
//Sherma E. Benosa
11 February 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Autumn in Summer
.
Like a tree who just lost a leaf
Inside me, there is grief.
I am a vast sky on stormy nights
Forsaken by the moon, bereft of stars.
Help me feel I am no tree
And you are not a leaf;
You are a river, and I am a creek.
From different springs, we came together
To flow side by side
But the time has come that we must travel apart.
I flow on by, as I know you would.
Have faith, let us both believe
We will entwine somewhere, someday again.
And when we each reach destiny’s ocean
Trust that we will be one water again, my friend.
Until then..
.
For my good friends, Chie, Jing, and Tayns who have left this summer: Jing to join her husband in Canada; Tayns to pursue her MA in Japan, and Chie to seek a greener pasture in Qatar. Good luck to all of you. I am deeply saddened that we must live far from each other, but you are always in my heart. Don’t forget I am just a click away. I love you.
Written at the Relaksasi Spa @ Park Square I while waiting for my turn. The music is calming, and the scent is soothing to the soul.
.
It’s summer; the sun’s smiling brightly
But autumn reigns inside me.Like a tree who just lost a leaf
Inside me, there is grief.
I am a vast sky on stormy nights
Forsaken by the moon, bereft of stars.
Help me feel I am no tree
And you are not a leaf;
You are a river, and I am a creek.
From different springs, we came together
To flow side by side
But the time has come that we must travel apart.
I flow on by, as I know you would.
Have faith, let us both believe
We will entwine somewhere, someday again.
And when we each reach destiny’s ocean
Trust that we will be one water again, my friend.
Until then..
.
For my good friends, Chie, Jing, and Tayns who have left this summer: Jing to join her husband in Canada; Tayns to pursue her MA in Japan, and Chie to seek a greener pasture in Qatar. Good luck to all of you. I am deeply saddened that we must live far from each other, but you are always in my heart. Don’t forget I am just a click away. I love you.
Written at the Relaksasi Spa @ Park Square I while waiting for my turn. The music is calming, and the scent is soothing to the soul.
.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Portrait that is the Filipina
La Madre Filipina (A statue at the Luneta Park);
The Filipina of today is a life-size, full-length oil painting on canvas. She is a tableau that can be hung and appreciated, with pride or prejudice, depending on who the audience is. She is a multi-dimensional portrait. The background, shaped by the epochs in which she slowly evolved, greatly influences the main element, which is a mixture of diverse yet solid colors.
To fully understand the whole painting that is the Filipina, we need to scrutinize both the background and the main element. The background shows us a dynamic picture of the Filipina of yesteryears. She was a babaylan or katalonan (chief priestess) during the pre-Hispanic period, an active participant of the revolution, a committed member of the suffrage movement in the 19th century, and now a strong force in every sector of the society.1
She has always enjoyed equality with men, and has always sought and received education. That is, until the coming of the Spaniards that underlined man’s superiority and the woman’s limited capacity², thus forcing the Filipina to take a supporting role in society.
She was typecast as meek and submissive, but was she ever really? Even the world-fabled Maria Clara showed glimpses of an inner strength and a resilient spirit — qualities that always came to the fore whenever circumstances would pit the Filipina against social and personal turmoil. She got through the dark ages of her past — her repression and the rape of her soul and spirit by the colonizers — stronger than ever. She took an active part in building the nation, and in becoming what she is today.
The main element of the portrait, on the other hand, is the modern Filipina — her evolved self. Having recaptured her previous role in the society, that is, her man’s equal, she is busier than ever, charting not just her own destiny but that of the whole nation. She has become the country’s chief executive and a commissioned officer in the armed forces. She now holds major seats in the government, chairs executive meetings in offices, launches civic activities, moulds the young, and lords over her internal and external struggles, among others. She has braved foreign cultures in foreign lands, and is braving them still.
The modern Filipina is multi-faceted. Gifted with an open, compassionate heart, she is loyal and unselfish. She values love and friendship, adores her family, and does not mind putting her loved ones’ needs ahead of her own.
Blessed with a good mind, she loves learning and enjoys getting the kind of education she deserves. Social issues and intellectual debates are as much a staple for her as are talks about movies, social events, and shopping and beauty products. She can enjoy the company of logic and common sense, and get cozy with introspection. She can do anything she sets her mind on and can excel in her own field. She is the sail and rudder of her own ship; she knows what she wants, and does her best to achieve it. She knows and speaks her mind and asserts her views, although at times — when she sees fit — she is willing to hold her tongue to give the platform to her husband.
Endowed with a compassionate soul, hers are the hands that reach out to friends and loved ones in need. Her shoulders, strong yet comfortable, are always ready to caress wounded spirits. She may be quick to tears, but as she pours her heart out, an inner strength surges to the surface, and a new resolve comes over her. She has the resilience of the bamboo that allows her to thrive even in the harshest of conditions. She may bend and sway with the direction of the wind during stormy weathers, and she may cry rivers when her existence is jolted by life’s earthquakes, but she never gives up; she strives not to fall.
Bestowed with a happy spirit and shiny disposition in life, she smiles a warm smile, and laughs an infectious kind of laughter. She deals with life with the necessary amount of seriousness, and licks her wounds with good humor.
Being human, she too commits mistakes. She also stumbles and errs. But her weaknesses do not warrant removal of her portrait from the world gallery of respectable and strong women. It should continue to hang there; it is the spotlight that has been focused on the tiny blemish on her portrait for so long that should be finally properly angled so that the viewers may, hopefully, learn to admire the masterpiece that the Filipina really is.
Notes:
1www.kababaihan.org
²(Roxas-Aleta, 1977:13)
.
//Sherma E. Benosa;
12 March 2008; 11:01pm
.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Transparency in an Opaque World
We are not just black or white; often, we are shades of gray. We cannot not just be one thing or the other. Often, we are both.Dynamic, evolving… that’s what we humans are. Never static, never the same. Like clouds, we continually move across the continuum that is our life.
Definitely, we are not just a single snapshot. Not even a series of snapshots. But most people think we are. How many times have we heard the comment, “You’ve changed!” with a tinge of surprise as if we were supposed to stay the same forever?
Indeed, it would be great if we were gifted with the ability to see each of us as we really are; to understand our depths, to appreciate both what is inside and outside of each of us.
But humans have limitations. They only see what they want to see. Sometimes, they just see the good. At other times, only the bad. Often, they do not see both. And, on rare occasions that they do, they find it hard to understand the tangled dichotomies that make up each person.
Humans are multi-faceted, multi-dimensional, but with very limited view of the things around them. Often, they do not see the whole picture, and cannot dig deep to fathom what’s inside other people. They see only what they want to see, or what they think they are seeing. Unfortunately, too, they are quick to make conclusions based solely on their perceptions, which are very limited to begin with. So they see others as all-beautiful or all-good, then be shocked to find later on that the others too have weaknesses of their own. The reverse is also true. Sometimes, people are sure that one is bad through and through, not knowing that that person is simply misunderstood.
If only everyone could look at a single thing and be able to look at it in its entirety and view it from every angle possible, then what a better existence we would have. And if only we try to understand every aspect of a thing first, before we make conclusions, then how much easier life on earth would be.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Rolling Stone
“Rolling stones catch no moss,” my father always reminds me every time I tell him of my plans to resign from my current job for another.Dad always supports my decision, but as a father, he feels compelled to remind me of the things I might be forgetting. Often, we would discuss the pros and cons of my plans and end up agreeing. But not before we tease each other at length. The last time we talked about my resigning from my job in 2004, he again quoted that cliché he loves drumming into my head. That time, I answered, “at least they can go somewhere probably better.” Dad simply laughed, and called me “pilosopo nga ubing.”
But now I wonder what Dad would have said had I answered, “Dad, what made you think I’d like to collect mosses?” I guess the discussion would have been much longer.
Mosses for me are a sign of stagnation, of being in one place too long that one accumulated only the things that came one’s way. If I were a stone, I think I would want to be moss-free, to be rolling whenever I feel like it. I see myself as very rough at the start but would become smoother and smoother as I roll along unpaved highways and swim with or against the flow of life’s rivers.
The smoothing process would surely hurt. Like a clay pot that must be spun to be shaped and burnt to become strong, the stone that is me would also be thrust into necessary frictions until I become smooth enough in the eyes of The One shaping me.
Right now, I am still rolling this way and that. And as I do, I hope that the frictions of my experience will help me become a better person. For if not to become better, to be polished and molded into the shape He had in mind for me, what on Earth am I here for?
.
I look forward to hearing Dad defend his moss-covered stone. I wonder what meaning he would ascribe to the moss. Hmmm…
.
//Sherma E. Benosa
12 December 2007; 11:58pm
.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Ringlet
.
Life isn’t a circle; it is a line dotted with circles. The seemingly never-ending cycles, like the setting and rising of the sun, the settling of night and dawning of a new tomorrow, the change in seasons, and the New Years and Christmases and birthdays are actually just events that have the same names and share some characteristics in a linear timeline. After this summer there will be other summers, but this year’s summer is different from last year’s, and those of the years before it; and will be different from next year’s and those of the years thereafter.
Each moment is fleeting and will never come back. We may be gifted with many more moments, but we can never again have the one we now have, or those that had passed, for each moment is different from all the other moments.
I see the year 2007 as a ringlet in my life’s timeline that is now gone and completed — a chapter lived and is now just a part of memory; and the year 2008 as a new ringlet I must try to fill with dots and lines. I pray that the lines and dots I’ll be drawing in my new ringlet will be in accordance with the Master’s specifications.
.
//Sherma E. Benosa
04 January 2008; 12:50am
.
Life isn’t a circle; it is a line dotted with circles. The seemingly never-ending cycles, like the setting and rising of the sun, the settling of night and dawning of a new tomorrow, the change in seasons, and the New Years and Christmases and birthdays are actually just events that have the same names and share some characteristics in a linear timeline. After this summer there will be other summers, but this year’s summer is different from last year’s, and those of the years before it; and will be different from next year’s and those of the years thereafter.
Each moment is fleeting and will never come back. We may be gifted with many more moments, but we can never again have the one we now have, or those that had passed, for each moment is different from all the other moments.
I see the year 2007 as a ringlet in my life’s timeline that is now gone and completed — a chapter lived and is now just a part of memory; and the year 2008 as a new ringlet I must try to fill with dots and lines. I pray that the lines and dots I’ll be drawing in my new ringlet will be in accordance with the Master’s specifications.
.
//Sherma E. Benosa
04 January 2008; 12:50am
.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Life is a Performing Art (Story on Slide)
Please click the minus (-) sign on the bottom left of the "TV" screen to slowdown the slide; plus (+) sign to make the slides move faster; and the pause sign to, well, make the current slide pause.
To appreciate the story, please start viewing from page one (the page number is at the bottom right of each page).
Frst posted in my iluko.com blog.
To appreciate the story, please start viewing from page one (the page number is at the bottom right of each page).
Frst posted in my iluko.com blog.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Almost Me
When I did a general cleaning of my closet last week, I found, among other things, my two old diaries which I kept hidden someplace where they are most secure. As I leafed through their pages, I couldn’t help smiling at the concerns of my once young heart and utterly innocent mind, telling myself over and over: "Ah, to be so young and so full of dreams! To be so innocent and so hopeful of a very bright future ahead."
Did I say smiling? Make that bursting with sporadic laughter, for from time to time, I would see a line or two that I find so corny and childish. Especially so when I saw what I’ve written at the second page of the newer of the diaries: it’s really the most kaloka of all. No, it’s not a secret about some crush or anything; it’s my Japanese welcome greeting. It’s so kaloka because I can no longer read it (it’s written in hiragana and katakana); and, if not for the translation I’d thankfully provided when I wrote it, I would not even know what it means anymore. Besides my official transcript of records and the cheap Nihongo grammar books I bought, it’s the only relic left of a gone era of my life: the time when I almost learned to speak and write Japanese.
I remember that I was taking up Japanese 10-11 when I wrote the greeting; I was in my first year, first semester in the university. We had not yet touched kanji at the time; hence, the use of hiragana and katakana (I’m sure I would have used kanji — just to show off to myself, because of course I don’t expect any other pair of eyes to see them besides mine — if I had already known how to write in those beautiful characters.)
During the past days, I kept wondering why I can't seem to forget my 're-discovery' of my diaries, especially the hiragana greeting. But I wonder no longer, now that I've remembered the disturbing thought that played in my mind as gazed at that diary entry. When I saw the greeting, I felt sorry that I did not truly learn Japanese; it would have been an asset. Then I realized that I was a piece of an undeveloped potential when I was in college — just an almost. I mean, I almost learned to speak Japanese, but didn’t (Alas, I should not have given up!). I was almost sent to Indonesia as a foreign exchange student, but wasn’t (Damn the Asian crisis!). I almost graduated with honors, but didn’t (Hmmm, should I blame my being a working student or my not studying well enough?).
As I was thinking this, I chided myself, saying: “Stop it!There’s no point crying over spilled milk. Move on. Just look at what you’ve become and be content.”
So that’s what I did. Only, as I looked at my present self, I’ve come to realize this: I am still an almost! Almost a writer. Almost an artist. Almost married. Almost an MA degree holder. Almost, but not quite!
Ah, to be just some kinda. Some sort of.
Ah, such potential; such right start that’s wasted. Well, almost wasted (because I did not end up a total waste, did I? Nyehehehe)
//Sherma Benosa
15 January 2008; 1:40am
As I was about to post the earlier piece (Almost Me), another thought hit me: that if we look closely at ourself at any point in our life, we’d realize that we are both an accomplished and un-accomplished person. There are chapters in our lives that we’ve come to close, but there are also those that we are about to open, or are still trying to fulfill.
There are things in life that we could have achieved if only we tried our best; hence, from this point onward, we should always struggle to pursue excellence. There are also those that we couldn’t, no matter how hard we try because they aren’t for us; hence, knowing we’ve given our best, we must learn to accept that there is a Greater Being that holds the rein of our destiny.
Just an almost? We’ll, that’s not really a sad thing as long as we know we are giving our best shot at everything we do; and that we are able to become “quite” on the things that are meant for us.
Did I say smiling? Make that bursting with sporadic laughter, for from time to time, I would see a line or two that I find so corny and childish. Especially so when I saw what I’ve written at the second page of the newer of the diaries: it’s really the most kaloka of all. No, it’s not a secret about some crush or anything; it’s my Japanese welcome greeting. It’s so kaloka because I can no longer read it (it’s written in hiragana and katakana); and, if not for the translation I’d thankfully provided when I wrote it, I would not even know what it means anymore. Besides my official transcript of records and the cheap Nihongo grammar books I bought, it’s the only relic left of a gone era of my life: the time when I almost learned to speak and write Japanese.
I remember that I was taking up Japanese 10-11 when I wrote the greeting; I was in my first year, first semester in the university. We had not yet touched kanji at the time; hence, the use of hiragana and katakana (I’m sure I would have used kanji — just to show off to myself, because of course I don’t expect any other pair of eyes to see them besides mine — if I had already known how to write in those beautiful characters.)
During the past days, I kept wondering why I can't seem to forget my 're-discovery' of my diaries, especially the hiragana greeting. But I wonder no longer, now that I've remembered the disturbing thought that played in my mind as gazed at that diary entry. When I saw the greeting, I felt sorry that I did not truly learn Japanese; it would have been an asset. Then I realized that I was a piece of an undeveloped potential when I was in college — just an almost. I mean, I almost learned to speak Japanese, but didn’t (Alas, I should not have given up!). I was almost sent to Indonesia as a foreign exchange student, but wasn’t (Damn the Asian crisis!). I almost graduated with honors, but didn’t (Hmmm, should I blame my being a working student or my not studying well enough?).
As I was thinking this, I chided myself, saying: “Stop it!There’s no point crying over spilled milk. Move on. Just look at what you’ve become and be content.”
So that’s what I did. Only, as I looked at my present self, I’ve come to realize this: I am still an almost! Almost a writer. Almost an artist. Almost married. Almost an MA degree holder. Almost, but not quite!
Ah, to be just some kinda. Some sort of.
Ah, such potential; such right start that’s wasted. Well, almost wasted (because I did not end up a total waste, did I? Nyehehehe)
//Sherma Benosa
15 January 2008; 1:40am
As I was about to post the earlier piece (Almost Me), another thought hit me: that if we look closely at ourself at any point in our life, we’d realize that we are both an accomplished and un-accomplished person. There are chapters in our lives that we’ve come to close, but there are also those that we are about to open, or are still trying to fulfill.
There are things in life that we could have achieved if only we tried our best; hence, from this point onward, we should always struggle to pursue excellence. There are also those that we couldn’t, no matter how hard we try because they aren’t for us; hence, knowing we’ve given our best, we must learn to accept that there is a Greater Being that holds the rein of our destiny.
Just an almost? We’ll, that’s not really a sad thing as long as we know we are giving our best shot at everything we do; and that we are able to become “quite” on the things that are meant for us.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
New Year's Gift: An Open Letter
Dear Humanity,
I know that there are times when you think and feel that you are utterly alone; that no one cares. But that is not entirely true, you know that. Someone up there is always watching you, crying with you as you shed your tears, and whose heart bleeds as yours break into pieces.
He would rather not put you through anything that would make you sad; He would rather carry your load than give so you much burden. If only it weren’t necessary that you must walk on unpaved roads strewn with humps and holes of different sizes and shapes; if only it weren’t important that you must stumble from time to time, He wouldn’t put you through things that would make you — and Him — cry.
But you must go through both good and seemingly bad things, my friend. Like a clay pot that must be molded for it to be shaped, and fired for it to become strong, you must go through different challenges so that you might understand and grasp me. Yes, you must sail on stormy seas so that you'd appreciate better the dawning of a sunny day and the sighting of an island.
I say it again: you are never alone. The Father above has sent me — among others — to be with you always, to walk with you in your every step, to guide you, to help you, to make you stronger, to keep you going.
Look at me, friend, for I am always with you, whether you see me or not, whether you choose to grasp me or not. I am in everything that happens in your life: in your every success and in your every failure.
I am one of the reasons why things happen in your life; the answer to some of your questions. I am the reward that wipes off your tears, the gift that warms your heart.
Come, try to grasp me, my friend. Come, hold my hand.
Do walk on. With me.
For I am,
Lesson
//Sherma E. Benosa
29 December 2007; 11:10am
Friday, December 28, 2007
2007: A Glance at the Year that (Almost) Was
The year 2007 is about to bid us goodbye. As I open my arms to welcome the coming year, I would want to give the departing year one last hug for having been so good to me, for entrusting to me gifts and lessons I will forever cherish.
As a tradition I have been doing for the past four years, I am taking a glance at the year that (almost) was. This time, focusing on some of the lessons I’ve learned.
--------------------------------
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. —Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
I’ve come across this biblical passage countless of times in my life. I remember clearly that it was read to us when Inang Pacing died in 2005 and again in May of this year when Amang Roman breathed his last. The very first time I come across it years ago, I had thought that I’ve understood — and learned — the lesson well.
Apparently I had thought wrong.
Patience is a virtue I sorely lack. Having been afflicted with what I call ap-apura syndrome and having thrived in an environment where the word “deadline” is a tangible presence, I tend to rush things and to be upset when I (or others) cannot meet deadlines.
It’s true I do not make definite plans in my life. I always try to make my plans flexible so that I can easily incorporate changes should circumstances demand that alterations — big or small — be made.
But sometimes, the theory is easier stated than put to practice.
Early this year, a big plan was conceived supposedly for middle of this year. Though at the back of my mind, I had known that changes might be made with regards to the schedule, I had felt so bad when something happened which consequently hindered the big thing from taking place on the appointed date. I had been depressed — and worried — for a while, until I realized it must have happened for a reason.
A re-scheduling was made. But now it is becoming apparent that even the re-scheduled date is not yet the right time.
I have to admit that I am disappointed; I am normal, after all. But right now, as I look back at the months that I have been waiting, I see lessons strewn along the roads I have traveled, all of which clearly spelled out for me not to miss.
I know, the crazy little imp that is me is being taught important lessons I cannot afford to miss.
--------------------------------
His name was always on my lips when I was a young girl. I spoke of His greatness to anyone who would listen. And in my own little ways, I tried to become worthy in His eyes. But somehow, along the way, I stumbled and lost the light He has given me. Then I just stopped. My lips sealed themselves up and His name did not escape from them for a long time. I died.
But He wouldn’t let me stay a living dead. He kept calling my name, coaxing me to grasp the light again, to walk the track He had showed me, and is showing me still.
I am one stubborn child, but soon, my sleepy senses were awaking. Soon, my hands were fumbling in the dark for the light. Soon, my heart was beating into my whole body the blood of willingness to heed His divine call. Soon, I was standing up, ready to follow Him again.
But as I was struggling to make that journey of renewal, I saw a hand reaching out to me. I looked at the eyes of the man who had extended me his arm, and I saw the answers of my prayers reflected there. As we smiled at each other, we just knew we were to make that journey together, so we linked our arms and walked together toward the light.
I learned the man had stumbled many times in the past, and was stumbling still; that he had given up the journey a long time ago. He admitted he didn’t know why he reached out to me, but somehow, he knew he did the right thing. He reckoned it was time that he stopped making wrong turns, and started making the journey right.
I guess that’s what we are now: walking hand-in-hand along the path of renewal which we must trudge together; to re-learn the good things we have known before but must have forgotten; and to unlearn the bad ways we might have picked up in our careless slumber.
And I guess that’s the point of this wait: not just to teach me lessons of patience but also to let us complete our renewal before we make another leap; to make us both closer to Him as we once were; and to teach us lessons too great it’s hard to put a name to them.
Truly, life is full of lessons the human mind cannot easily fathom.
//*Sherma E. Benosa
27 December 2007; 4:25pm
As a tradition I have been doing for the past four years, I am taking a glance at the year that (almost) was. This time, focusing on some of the lessons I’ve learned.
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. —Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
I’ve come across this biblical passage countless of times in my life. I remember clearly that it was read to us when Inang Pacing died in 2005 and again in May of this year when Amang Roman breathed his last. The very first time I come across it years ago, I had thought that I’ve understood — and learned — the lesson well.
Apparently I had thought wrong.
Patience is a virtue I sorely lack. Having been afflicted with what I call ap-apura syndrome and having thrived in an environment where the word “deadline” is a tangible presence, I tend to rush things and to be upset when I (or others) cannot meet deadlines.
It’s true I do not make definite plans in my life. I always try to make my plans flexible so that I can easily incorporate changes should circumstances demand that alterations — big or small — be made.
But sometimes, the theory is easier stated than put to practice.
Early this year, a big plan was conceived supposedly for middle of this year. Though at the back of my mind, I had known that changes might be made with regards to the schedule, I had felt so bad when something happened which consequently hindered the big thing from taking place on the appointed date. I had been depressed — and worried — for a while, until I realized it must have happened for a reason.
A re-scheduling was made. But now it is becoming apparent that even the re-scheduled date is not yet the right time.
I have to admit that I am disappointed; I am normal, after all. But right now, as I look back at the months that I have been waiting, I see lessons strewn along the roads I have traveled, all of which clearly spelled out for me not to miss.
I know, the crazy little imp that is me is being taught important lessons I cannot afford to miss.
His name was always on my lips when I was a young girl. I spoke of His greatness to anyone who would listen. And in my own little ways, I tried to become worthy in His eyes. But somehow, along the way, I stumbled and lost the light He has given me. Then I just stopped. My lips sealed themselves up and His name did not escape from them for a long time. I died.
But He wouldn’t let me stay a living dead. He kept calling my name, coaxing me to grasp the light again, to walk the track He had showed me, and is showing me still.
I am one stubborn child, but soon, my sleepy senses were awaking. Soon, my hands were fumbling in the dark for the light. Soon, my heart was beating into my whole body the blood of willingness to heed His divine call. Soon, I was standing up, ready to follow Him again.
But as I was struggling to make that journey of renewal, I saw a hand reaching out to me. I looked at the eyes of the man who had extended me his arm, and I saw the answers of my prayers reflected there. As we smiled at each other, we just knew we were to make that journey together, so we linked our arms and walked together toward the light.
I learned the man had stumbled many times in the past, and was stumbling still; that he had given up the journey a long time ago. He admitted he didn’t know why he reached out to me, but somehow, he knew he did the right thing. He reckoned it was time that he stopped making wrong turns, and started making the journey right.
I guess that’s what we are now: walking hand-in-hand along the path of renewal which we must trudge together; to re-learn the good things we have known before but must have forgotten; and to unlearn the bad ways we might have picked up in our careless slumber.
And I guess that’s the point of this wait: not just to teach me lessons of patience but also to let us complete our renewal before we make another leap; to make us both closer to Him as we once were; and to teach us lessons too great it’s hard to put a name to them.
Truly, life is full of lessons the human mind cannot easily fathom.
//*Sherma E. Benosa
27 December 2007; 4:25pm
Thursday, December 20, 2007
EDITING OUR MISTAKES IN LIFE
You are doing some minor image editing on your computer screen. There are times you would make some mistake by overcorrecting or undercorrecting something, so from time to time you’d click undo.
Generally, you are happy with how much the image has improved. But as you are about to be finished, your computer suddenly shuts down. You curse the power interruption. Then you curse some more as you realize that you haven’t saved the file!
There are things in life we cannot undo as easily and completely as we would with our computer files. A wrong turn, a hurtful word said to a loved one, a bad move — these we all commit as we walk our life’s journeys, no matter how careful we are in our steps. Once committed, we can no longer undo many of these mistakes, especially because unlike with our computer documents, each thing we do and say has vast repercussions as they involve not just us — the file that we are working on — but also others, the unopened files and computer programs in our system.
So I guess our life’s mistakes are not like our pencil scrawls that can be effectively corrected with an eraser, or errors on our computer works that can be undone with an undo button. But there are effective and reliable tools we can use — APOLOGY and FORGIVENESS. Simply click the APOLOGY button when you have committed a mistake that has hurt a loved one and the words “I’m Sorry” will flash on the other person’s screen. But here’s the tricky part: you have to be truly sorry and you must be prepared not to commit the same mistake again for your APOLOGY to work. Sincerity is definitely an integral part.
When someone clicks the APOLOGY button and the words "I'm sorry" flash on your screen, all you have to do is click back the FORGIVENESS button. It means that you have wholeheartedly accepted the other person’s APOLOGY. But not only that. You also have to click it when someone has sent you back the message “It’s okay. Forget about it,” on your request of APOLOGY. It means that you are also forgiving yourself for your mistake; that you won’t keep revisiting it in the future, feeling so bad having committed it.
And lastly, don’t forget to keep clicking the SAVE button. Going through the whole process of editing — of doing and undoing, of apologizing and forgiving — is useless if you fail to save the LESSON for future use. Let the saved file be a reminder of the healing process you once went through to make yourself better; for you not to forget the lesson; and for others to access and learn from.
//Sherma E. Benosa
17 December 2007; 3:35pm
_________
This piece was written as a response to a question posted by CPascua in relation to my Zooming In, Zooming Out article. He asked: When you tinker with photos, you feel safe and confident coz you have the ‘undo button’. In real life, what are your tools to correct your mistakes?
Thursday, December 06, 2007
WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE TURNED OFF
(A Recollection of and Reflection on a Memorable Interview)
With the way he talked, I had no doubt that his eyes would be boring into mine as he expressed his convictions, and maybe there would even be a challenge in them for me to counter his opinions, if only he could look at me directly in the eyes. But he couldn’t, as he had been totally blind for 15 years.
His name is Ferdie, and it was actually his being a working blind that I sat down with him for an interview one late afternoon. I was writing a human interest story for our magazine, an assignment I chose because I knew where to find my interviewees, and also because I’d been writing purely medical articles for the last two months and I’d been getting tired writing those stuff. I felt the need to write a much lighter story for a change, so I assigned this one to myself.
Sitting next to Ferdie was his soft-spoken and good-looking wife who would smile at me every time our eyes met. The strong bond between husband and wife was palpable. Behind the couple were the other blind masseuses, busy at work.
Ferdie is tall and handsome and looks younger than his age of 35. He is full of convictions which he fearlessly shared with me as his be-sunglassed eyes looked unseeingly at the block ahead.
But it was not just his convictions that I was after. I wanted his story.
********************
The year was 1993 and he was barely 21 years old when his life was altered forever.
He was a security guard on duty when a skirmish broke out in his area of responsibility. He walked to the feuding groups to pacify things, but before he could even reach them, a rifle was shot, hitting him in the face.
Everything turned black, as if the day suddenly became night, and the voices became distant, like a radio whose volume was suddenly lowered, then completely shut off.
Weeks later, Freddie learned that he hovered between life and death for a while, but he managed to trick death and come back to life. Except his eyes; they are now forever dead.
********************
I closed my eyes as Ferdie related to me this part of his story. Then I imagined myself when I was 21 years old. God! When I was that age I just got out of the university, hoping to find job soon so I could help with my brothers’ escalating school expenses, worried sick that if I failed, one of them might have to stop schooling for a while. At age 21, a new chapter of my life was just beginning! I shuddered at the realization.
I sighed. Ferdie’s wife must have felt I was deeply affected by her husband’s narrative. She touched my arm and offered me a reassuring smile. Gratefully, I smiled back at her, knowing immediately that behind her soft voice is an unwavering strength.
The interview went on.
********************
“Noong una, mahirap sa akin na tanggapin na isa na akong bulag. Inabot din ng limang taon bago ko natanggap ang aking disability,” Ferdie shared, adding that he even tried to commit suicide. But when his suicide attempt failed, “naisip ko na baka ito talaga ang destiny ko kasi bakit ganuon, noong mabaril ako, nag-50/50 pa ako, tapos sinubukan kong magpakamatay, hindi pa rin (ako tuluyang namatay)… so naisip ko na baka talagang ito ang magiging mundo ko. Ang maging bulag.”
Having finally accepted his fate, Ferdie tried to find a way to stand on his own despite his disability. He said that it was such a good thing that when he was ready to move on, a radio program was aired about government help for people with disabilities. He jotted down the number the radio hosts read on air, and placed a long distance call to Manila. He was given instructions about where to go and what documents to bring. Within a week, he was on his way to the city.
“Ni-rehab ako… tinuruan akong tumayo sa sariling paa. Nagkaroon din ako ng [counseling session] sa psychologist. Tinuruan (ako) sa home living. Natuto akong maglaba, magluto, maglinis ng bahay. Nag-aral ako ng Braille, abacus, pero sa pagmamasahe ako nag-concentrate,” Freddie shared.
He added that he mastered the art of massage in barely two months (regular training takes a year). Having learned things, he taught at the school for a month, before he got into an on job training, which he also enjoyed. “Kasi may allowance na ako sa school, binabayaran din ako sa labas,” he shared, pride and joy apparent on his face.
********************
I, too, felt proud of Ferdie’s accomplishment. But I learned later that that wasn’t the best part of his story. It was when Ferdie shared with me his and his wife’s romance that things truly became considerably lighter. It turns out that his wife was working at the school where he was enrolled in. They became friends, and then things blossomed into romance which led to marriage. Now, they have two kids, ages 7 and 5.
“Maraming nagbago sa akin simula noong mabulag ako. Mas matibay ang loob ko ngayon. At may mga nagagawa ako ngayon na hindi ko dati kayang gawin, tulad ng Judo. Mas nabigyan ko ng halaga ang sarili ko, lalo na nung makilala ko ang Panginoon…Ngayon, ang pangarap ko, naming mag-asawa, ay mapag-aral at mabigyan ng magandang kinabukasan ang aming mga anak,” he smiled.
********************
I nodded to let Ferdie know I think highly of his and his wife's aspirations for their kids, and of his becoming a better person despite and because of his disability, forgetting that he couldn't see me. His wife saw me nod though, and again, she gave me a serene smile.
As I listened to Ferdie wrap up his story, I thought to myself that indeed, it's difficult to fathom divine designs.
I lingered a little while longer before saying goodbye to the couple. It was not necessary, but we bonded well and I felt they were my new-found friends. I also shared a bit about myself, and answered some of their questions about my work. Then it was time to say goodbye. I shook Ferdie’s hand, hugged his wife, thanked them, then bid goodbye.
Slowly I walked to where I could hail a cab for home, feeling so blessed that I had been given (again) the gift of chance to glimpse at another aspect of humanity.
As I rode back home, I became well aware that I had become a different — and hopefully better — person.
I closed my eyes. No, the world doesn’t end with the turning off of the light.
This recollection-reflection is based on my feature story published in the September-October 2007 issue of Health and Lifestyle titled, “Gaining More after Losing Some.”
//Sherma E. Benosa
23 November 2007; 11:03pm
With the way he talked, I had no doubt that his eyes would be boring into mine as he expressed his convictions, and maybe there would even be a challenge in them for me to counter his opinions, if only he could look at me directly in the eyes. But he couldn’t, as he had been totally blind for 15 years.
His name is Ferdie, and it was actually his being a working blind that I sat down with him for an interview one late afternoon. I was writing a human interest story for our magazine, an assignment I chose because I knew where to find my interviewees, and also because I’d been writing purely medical articles for the last two months and I’d been getting tired writing those stuff. I felt the need to write a much lighter story for a change, so I assigned this one to myself.
Sitting next to Ferdie was his soft-spoken and good-looking wife who would smile at me every time our eyes met. The strong bond between husband and wife was palpable. Behind the couple were the other blind masseuses, busy at work.
Ferdie is tall and handsome and looks younger than his age of 35. He is full of convictions which he fearlessly shared with me as his be-sunglassed eyes looked unseeingly at the block ahead.
But it was not just his convictions that I was after. I wanted his story.
The year was 1993 and he was barely 21 years old when his life was altered forever.
He was a security guard on duty when a skirmish broke out in his area of responsibility. He walked to the feuding groups to pacify things, but before he could even reach them, a rifle was shot, hitting him in the face.
Everything turned black, as if the day suddenly became night, and the voices became distant, like a radio whose volume was suddenly lowered, then completely shut off.
Weeks later, Freddie learned that he hovered between life and death for a while, but he managed to trick death and come back to life. Except his eyes; they are now forever dead.
I closed my eyes as Ferdie related to me this part of his story. Then I imagined myself when I was 21 years old. God! When I was that age I just got out of the university, hoping to find job soon so I could help with my brothers’ escalating school expenses, worried sick that if I failed, one of them might have to stop schooling for a while. At age 21, a new chapter of my life was just beginning! I shuddered at the realization.
I sighed. Ferdie’s wife must have felt I was deeply affected by her husband’s narrative. She touched my arm and offered me a reassuring smile. Gratefully, I smiled back at her, knowing immediately that behind her soft voice is an unwavering strength.
The interview went on.
“Noong una, mahirap sa akin na tanggapin na isa na akong bulag. Inabot din ng limang taon bago ko natanggap ang aking disability,” Ferdie shared, adding that he even tried to commit suicide. But when his suicide attempt failed, “naisip ko na baka ito talaga ang destiny ko kasi bakit ganuon, noong mabaril ako, nag-50/50 pa ako, tapos sinubukan kong magpakamatay, hindi pa rin (ako tuluyang namatay)… so naisip ko na baka talagang ito ang magiging mundo ko. Ang maging bulag.”
Having finally accepted his fate, Ferdie tried to find a way to stand on his own despite his disability. He said that it was such a good thing that when he was ready to move on, a radio program was aired about government help for people with disabilities. He jotted down the number the radio hosts read on air, and placed a long distance call to Manila. He was given instructions about where to go and what documents to bring. Within a week, he was on his way to the city.
“Ni-rehab ako… tinuruan akong tumayo sa sariling paa. Nagkaroon din ako ng [counseling session] sa psychologist. Tinuruan (ako) sa home living. Natuto akong maglaba, magluto, maglinis ng bahay. Nag-aral ako ng Braille, abacus, pero sa pagmamasahe ako nag-concentrate,” Freddie shared.
He added that he mastered the art of massage in barely two months (regular training takes a year). Having learned things, he taught at the school for a month, before he got into an on job training, which he also enjoyed. “Kasi may allowance na ako sa school, binabayaran din ako sa labas,” he shared, pride and joy apparent on his face.
I, too, felt proud of Ferdie’s accomplishment. But I learned later that that wasn’t the best part of his story. It was when Ferdie shared with me his and his wife’s romance that things truly became considerably lighter. It turns out that his wife was working at the school where he was enrolled in. They became friends, and then things blossomed into romance which led to marriage. Now, they have two kids, ages 7 and 5.
“Maraming nagbago sa akin simula noong mabulag ako. Mas matibay ang loob ko ngayon. At may mga nagagawa ako ngayon na hindi ko dati kayang gawin, tulad ng Judo. Mas nabigyan ko ng halaga ang sarili ko, lalo na nung makilala ko ang Panginoon…Ngayon, ang pangarap ko, naming mag-asawa, ay mapag-aral at mabigyan ng magandang kinabukasan ang aming mga anak,” he smiled.
I nodded to let Ferdie know I think highly of his and his wife's aspirations for their kids, and of his becoming a better person despite and because of his disability, forgetting that he couldn't see me. His wife saw me nod though, and again, she gave me a serene smile.
As I listened to Ferdie wrap up his story, I thought to myself that indeed, it's difficult to fathom divine designs.
I lingered a little while longer before saying goodbye to the couple. It was not necessary, but we bonded well and I felt they were my new-found friends. I also shared a bit about myself, and answered some of their questions about my work. Then it was time to say goodbye. I shook Ferdie’s hand, hugged his wife, thanked them, then bid goodbye.
Slowly I walked to where I could hail a cab for home, feeling so blessed that I had been given (again) the gift of chance to glimpse at another aspect of humanity.
As I rode back home, I became well aware that I had become a different — and hopefully better — person.
I closed my eyes. No, the world doesn’t end with the turning off of the light.
This recollection-reflection is based on my feature story published in the September-October 2007 issue of Health and Lifestyle titled, “Gaining More after Losing Some.”
//Sherma E. Benosa
23 November 2007; 11:03pm
Thursday, November 22, 2007
TRUST AND DECEIT
Almost everyone professes to be honest, to value honesty, but if everyone truly practices what he or she professes, then why are there so many lies staring us in the face?
Lies and damn lies — they are what make the world go round. And I’ve been too naïve not to know it. Too stupid to insist on speaking the truth, when the way to getting through the maze of life is to say what people want to hear.
To say things in spite of your convictions.
To flatter people even if you don’t believe in what you are saying.
Why did I let the shell I so carefully built around me be broken by the sweet voice of the angel of pretense? Why did I take the seemingly soft and reliable hand offered to me when every sense of my being was shouting “beware?”
I should have heeded my instinct. “Angels are too good to be true.”
I should have listened to reason. “You love logic; be logical.”
But I didn’t and now I am here. I trusted and now I’ve just been proven wrong. Why did I choose to throw away caution when I knew it is the only thing that is reliable both in good times and in times of trouble?
I should have known better. I should have never lowered my guard.
My whole being still aches from the punches I just received. But my heart hurts more from the betrayal of the one person I thought was a friend.
Ah, I think I have to put on my protective shell once again.
//Sherma E. Benosa
22 November 2007; 2:05am
Lies and damn lies — they are what make the world go round. And I’ve been too naïve not to know it. Too stupid to insist on speaking the truth, when the way to getting through the maze of life is to say what people want to hear.
To say things in spite of your convictions.
To flatter people even if you don’t believe in what you are saying.
Why did I let the shell I so carefully built around me be broken by the sweet voice of the angel of pretense? Why did I take the seemingly soft and reliable hand offered to me when every sense of my being was shouting “beware?”
I should have heeded my instinct. “Angels are too good to be true.”
I should have listened to reason. “You love logic; be logical.”
But I didn’t and now I am here. I trusted and now I’ve just been proven wrong. Why did I choose to throw away caution when I knew it is the only thing that is reliable both in good times and in times of trouble?
I should have known better. I should have never lowered my guard.
My whole being still aches from the punches I just received. But my heart hurts more from the betrayal of the one person I thought was a friend.
Ah, I think I have to put on my protective shell once again.
//Sherma E. Benosa
22 November 2007; 2:05am
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)