O Life, How Cruel Thou Art

Life can be cruel.

In the wee hours of this morning, I was again reminded of this fact—not that it is something we need to be reminded of.

And so, as Roger Federer lifted his record 15th Grand Slam trophy up for all the 15,000 (and more around the world) Wimbledon crowd to behold—everyone, including the champion was keenly aware of the man with the backwards cap, silent, head bowed, lips grim, loosely holding the runner up plate.

After over 4 hours of tightly-contested, nail-biting, cardiac-arrestable tennis, the victor was—the usual suspect. From Fed’s point of view—one could say that he only proved to all and sundry that he is a true champion—one who knew how to fight like there was no tomorrow even when it seemed like doom was inevitable. Alas, some storylines give you all the drama of twists and turns, only to end predictably.

Alas for Roddick. He fought with courage—it was true grit in action. A lesser man would have just thrown in the towel halfway through the 5th set--and be consoled by the fact that he did try his best. But fought he did, with all his might but still he lost.

The problem with tennis is that it is a lot more like life than Hollywood: The brave David-warrior does not always win his war against Goliath-gladiator.

But just like life—tennis is unpredictable. And unpredictability can bring with it, hope.

Oh the drama! No wonder I am in love with tennis.

Disappointment with a capital R

Oh well, disappointments are supposedly to make us not take life's joys for granted.

Sigh.

"...it's unfortunate. I'm sad for him, because it must have been a very difficult decision to make." - RF on Rafa Nadal's withdrawal from Wimbledon due to injury.

Nice to know Roger feels the same way. :)

I *heart* the Jeepney

Arghh…there’s too much negativity going around these days. Let’s talk about something fun! How about...


...the good ol’ iconic jeepney!

Something about this WWII army vehicle-inspired speeding piece of tin makes me feel sentimentally patriotic.

In the jeepney, you get to literally rub elbows (and upper arms, legs, feet, bum—you know what I mean) with pinoys from all walks of life. The nervous young man checking to make sure he has all the papers needed to get that overseas job on the luxury liner. The heavy set, well-coiffed-by-a-gallon-of-hairspray woman furiously fanning herself as her make up melts in the heat. The harried looking mom scolding her sulking daughter who forgot to bring her baon. The driver loudly swapping querida stories with his conductor in Cebuano. The irritated old man trying to avoid being suffocated by an oblivious young lady’s long hair streaming relentlessly towards him (obviously not a scene for shampoo commercials!).

In the jeepney, you get to feel all sorts of emotions. You are touched when a man quickly decides to get off earlier so the old lady with her heavy basket can have his seat. You see your life flash before your eyes as your speeding jeep misses a rampaging bus by an inch. You are on the verge of violence when a lady squeezes herself behind you to take the seat nearest the exit—when there’s nobody else in the jeep—so she can get you to pass her fare to the driver. Grrrr. You keep yourself from laughing out loud when you see your tanned, tough-looking jeepney driver admiring his newly-manicured nails (painted with clear nail polish)—but of course, checking them out the manly way, that is, fingernails curled inwards and not splayed out!

In the jeepney, you experience the ebb and flow of Pinoy life. When election comes, they’re bound to be plastered with election stickers of their favorite candidate (I swear I saw "FPJ in 2010!"). If you don’t have a TV at home (like me), don’t worry, the jeepneys will blast your ears off with the latest dance music that’s hit the popular TV shows. You know that life is really hard when the driver and a passenger are red in the face quarreling over whether he should pay P10 or P11.

Of course, if you are a foreigner new to the Philippines, a jeepney will orient you to Filipino culture by instructing you: that drivers are sweet lovers; barya lang sa umaga (pay with loose change in the morning), that you should “full” the string to stop; that only those named Judas do not pay their fare--and God knows who they are; that jeepneys are owned by people named Jun-jun, Ging-Ging, Au-au and Mak-mak; pangit ang dumidikit (those who tailgate are ugly).

By looking at the jeepneys’s artwork, you discover that Filipinos are spiritual (eg. painting of Virgin Mary, Bible verses spelled out all around the jeepney’s ceiling, the rosary dangling from the rearview mirror); that we love all things foreign (eg. Mickey Mouse, Garfield, Japanese Manga, the American flag and the Mercedes Benz symbol installed in the hood); and of course, that despite the state we are in, we are still proud of our country (eg. white sand beaches, Mt Mayon, Banaue Rice Terraces)

No other portrays life in the Philippines like the jeepney—the scary parts, the beautiful side, the sad moments, and the funny bits.

So, what do you love about the Philippines?

Okey, Fine, I am Happy for Roger.

My feelings for Roger Federer have always been a bit ambiguous. Partly because I root for Rafa, and partly because he can sometimes be arrogant and a sore loser. But seeing him crying tears of joy as he held on tightly to that French Open trophy which had eluded him for four long years, you can’t help but feel happy for the guy.

I guess there’s something in each of us that makes us understand in a kindred sort of way, how it would feel like to finally achieve what we have long worked for or to see an almost impossible dream suddenly fulfilled.

Even if you are not a tennis fan, I am sure that you can at least relate to that feeling, right?

Allez, Roger…until Wimbledon.

Back from AWOL

Some things you just don’t see coming. In my case, I didn’t see blogworld AWOL coming--but it did. The next thing I knew, its been six months since I last posted anything. How did that happen? Well, lots of things happened (and other internet distractions didn't help), like…

-Surviving a long, intense meeting before Christmas.
-Realizing that my nieces have grown a couple of inches taller in my absence.
-Having a few gallons of coffee (in total) with friends over Christmas.
-Crying my eyes out watching Kite Runner and A Mighty Heart back to back.
-Starting a new year’s resolution of keeping track of my spending on Excel (I’ve been good and relatively stingy since!)
-Witnessing The Might Federer sobbing and being comforted by his rival Rafa Nadal.
-Facebooking.
-Stepping on Cambodian soil for the first time.
-Looking like a dust ninja while hanging on for dear life in a Siem Reap Tuk Tuk ride.
-Waiting for flights in different airports.
-Meetings and meetings and oh yeah, meetings.
-Finally seeing my cute bald-headed Irish nephew in person.
-Crying my eyes out (again) reading Khaled Husseini's Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns.
-Being treated to a Japanese Onsen in Los Banos for my birthday.
-Having to pick up my jaw from the floor after watching “The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.”
-Marathoning through facilitating two-week long workshops.
-Having my bones cracked by a chiropractor for a whole month.
-Discovering my ADD tendencies after a psychological testing (a non-surprise).
-Borrowing a stranger’s cellphone to make a call in Tokyo.
-Discovering I missed blogging.
-Scouring 100 Yen stores.
-Ordering food on my own in a Tokyo fastfood joint (point of pride)
-Having to correct my tendency to refer to myself in the third person (no thanks to Facebook!)
-Sleeping in a hut and waking up to a refreshing view of ricefields.
-Suffering from sunburned knees in Boracay (long story).
-Trying to stay sane and steady as the erratic nature of my life caught up with me.
-Finally around to worship at my church in Manila, which I direly missed.
-Wondering how my blogfriends are doing.
-Enjoying good conversations with taxi drivers on my numerous rides to and from the airport.
-Spending a rare FULL day at home and bonding with my house.
-Helping a friend choose a wedding gown design through YM.
-Finally finishing Season 7 of 24.
-Found out that almost all my recently read books have Boarding Passes for bookmarks.
-Amazed at having teenagers pour their hearts out to me—at first meeting!
-Bumping into so many long lost friends on Facebook.
-Being shocked speechless at Rafa Nadal’s French Open loss. (yup, that was the sound of my heart breaking...)
-Missing Davao.
-Surrendering to a pint of Selecta Gold Chocolate Truffle.
-Having Lectio Divina with a good friend through Skype.
-Deciding to get back to blogging. :)

Peppered on these are good conversations, new friends made and the usual highs and lows of life and work. I was often “seized” with eye-opening insights that I should have taken time to blog about. If the past 6 months is anything to go by—there is much to blog about and look forward to in the latter half.

What were the highlights of the past 6 months for you?

In Love, All Over Again

Before you jump into conclusions, this has nothing to do with the previous post, but everything to do with a book called The Shack.

My friends who have read the book, say the title with a touch of reverence and with eyes opened just a bit wider. And almost always, there’s this nanosecond pause before saying the title, like so: “Have you read…The Shack?”

If that doesn’t get you curious, then nothing would!

At first glance, the cover didn’t help. How warm and inviting is a picture of a lonely old run-down hovel that has seen better days—probably decades ago? To make it less inviting, it is dark and in the dead of winter. Only after I read the whole thing did I take a second look at the cover and notice the hint of something more inviting, more promising.

But the hint of something promising I saw in the eyes of those who have read it was enough to make me curious. So when I was lent a copy, I jumped on it—and so started the journey of falling in love all over again.

Peeking through the first pages of the book, I felt a little bit like Lucy Pevensie when she first opened that old creaky door of The Wardrobe, fumbled through the dark musty closet and suddenly found herself in breathtakingly beautiful Narnia.

What could be beautiful about a story of a father, Mackenzie Allen Philips, who lost his daughter in a tragic and cruel way? The cruelty I read in the first few chapters of the book made me want to quit—it was too painful and stirred up in me an anger that made me forget I was reading fiction. There are enough real-life situations to make one realize this is not just something that only happens in a book.

Yet, to stop reading almost meant leaving a gaping wound open. I had to read through to find my closure. And so throughout the book, I journeyed with Mack. I felt with him his barren loneliness, numbed defeat, bitter bewilderment, stark pain, heart-stopping surprise and later, unspeakable joy.

It showed me a different side of grief, and a refreshing view of The One Person who always gets the blame for every wrong thing in this world. The book showed me how in a wonderfully miraculous way, God upends what man meant for ugliness and evil and turn it into something beautiful and good. It also impressed upon me once again that no-holds-barred love that God has for a stubborn bunch of humans—so much so that He would sacrifice His own power and open Himself up to pain and suffering.

The ironic thing when I was reading this book and almost literally seeing lightbulbs turning on in my mind—is that it is nothing new. The truths are ancient. I read them over and over again in the Good Old Book. Yet being a dulled-by-too-much-hi-tech-entertainment Gen Xer, it took The Shack to take the thickening cataracts off my eyes and see the Bible for what it is, and see God for who He is.

And so I have fallen in love all over again.

I invite you to do the same.

===
P.S. I have since bought my own copy of The Shack. It is cheaper at National Bookstore than at Powerbooks. *grin*

Matchmaker, matchmaker...

Joyce is a happily married mother of one. She met her husband through a matchmaking aunt who spotted her busily organizing an event in Davao. Not that Joyce is hard to spot—she is charming and vivacious—not to mention, pretty!

So she is a strong believer of matchmaking as a very valid, very effective way of finding The One. Not that she has actually hit the jackpot in that area—well, she did when she met her hubby—but I am talking about her own matchmaking attempts.

I once asked her, teasingly, “Aren’t you a bit discouraged that none of your matchmaking attempts have succeeded?”

Her reply? “Not at all! In fact, I am all the more challenged!”

That’s one of the reasons why she is one of my closest friends—her never-say-die attitude towards life, and her active desire for others to get the best out of life (marriage being just one of them).

I say active because she goes all out in helping others. Generous to a fault, she gives of her time in an unbelievable way. As if she is not busy enough with her work and her many ministry projects and preaching assignments, she would go out of her way to do things for friends, spend quality time on the phone with those who need wise advise or just a listening ear, and this is on top of family time. I sometimes find myself catching my breath for her sake as she talks to me about what she has been doing the past week. That is why I treasure all the more the Saturdays we spend together—talking, praying, sometimes crying and often laughing.

She is probably the only one who, aside from my mom and one other friend, I don’t actually mind fussing over me. But more than being the concerned mom, she has been a great friend in both rainy days and sunny ones. She cries with me and laughs with me—always ready to listen even when she has her own pressures that she needs to unburden. My eyes well up as I write this, because I remember those times when I badly needed someone to simply talk to and she, the ever busy mom, would go the extra mile—offering not just a shoulder to cry on but even opening her home to me as a haven to stay, rest, reflect or mend my wounds.

But aside from the rough patches, the sunny days are a joy to share with her as well. She can outtalk me, out-strategize, and outwit me at the best of times. Her charms border to legendary—how she manages to get people to do things for her is sometimes unbelievable. From her, I learn that charm goes a longer way that intimidation or anger. From her, I learn to make sure I don’t come out of the house looking like my passport photo. From her I learn how to handle sticky situations with wisdom and grace.

It has been 8 years now since I really got to know her. When I first came to Manila to work 8 years ago, she being a former churchmate from Davao who I didn’t really know very well, called up to ask me what I need and made herself available for me as I settled myself to city life. And since she is the kind of person that walks the extra mile, it was easy to see how our friendship deepened from there.

Being a matchmaker, of course, she just had to try her hand on me. And being a good friend, I just had to gamely play along! But this is one attempt I think she has given up on—though, to be fair, she has not given up praying!

It should assure her to know that even if she has not yet found success in the matchmaking department—unlike in all other areas—she has actually succeeded in one area that matters more to me—a good match of a friendship.

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Thank you, Jenny for tagging me to write about a gift of grace. It has been a joy to write about Joyce!

Who is the person that you consider God’s gift of grace to you? I am asking this question to: Marilyn, Jophen, and Major Tom.

1. Put the logo in your blog.

2. Share a short story of someone whose life touched yours.

3. Add a link to the person who shared it with you.

4, Tag at least 3 other persons with blogs.

5. Leave a message on their blogs.