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Rodeo Masbateño: Philippines’ Wild Wild East

April 16, 2016 administrator 4 Comments

When I hear the word rodeo, I immediately think of Texas. Mike, my late husband, hailed from Texas, and we had a chance to see a rodeo several years back. When Maloli Espinosa-Supnet invited me to the Rodeo Masbateño, I readily agreed, curious to learn about the Filipino version of this Texan tradition. Little did I know that I was in for an exciting experience.

My flight was to leave at 5:00 am Tuesday, which meant I had to be up by 2:30 am to get dressed for the airport. And since I finished packing at 1:00 am, I literally had just an hour’s wink before my fellow-traveler Andrè Kahn picked me up with cowboys hats in tow. Having served for several decades on the Advertising Board of the Philippines and the Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas in different capacities as chairman, vice-chairman, president and director, Andrè was close to Maloli who owned The Ranch 95.9, the Sound of Masbate.

With us on the plane ride to Masbate was another industry friend of Andrè’s, Boy Pangilinan. A major sponsor of the Rodeo, BoyP took care of marketing and promotions for the event. Listening to him talk passionately about the Rodeo, I could see his eyes light up. Here was a man who loved Masbate and its Rodeo, despite the fact that he is not from there. An independent media buyer/planner, BoyP has a travel blog called boyplakwatsa.com. BoyP’s passion is to travel to all the islands of the Philippines, even to the remotest barrios, and share the beauty of the country in his blog. Needless to say, boyplakwatsa.com is quite popular with nigh over 48,000 followers.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA — Andre and I together with Gidget and her children Lian and Marcus in front of a storefront.

Arriving at the airport, we were greeted by a group of cowboys and cowgirls line dancing at the arrival area. Waiting outside was Maloli who quickly whisked us to her home for breakfast and to get dressed for the rodeo opening and the grand parade. There I met Maloli’s husband, General Mark Supnet, her brother Mark and his lovely wife Gidget Cabreza-Espinosa and their two younger children, Lian and Marcus. We hied off to witness the Grand Rodeo Festival Parade.

Hundreds of cowboys joined the parade, some mounted on horses and others walking.

General Mark Supnet rides by with a smile.

Watching the parade, my excitement mounted as ranch owners, cowboys and cowgirls rode by on horses, followed by representatives from various organizations, all dressed to the nines in western attire. I noticed that many of the cowboys rode the horses confidently, using only blankets to cushion the ride. Mark Supnet and Mark Espinosa rode by on huge, stately horses.

The bull float bearing the RMI organizers.

Maloli, being part of the
festival organizers, Rodeo Masbateno, Inc. (RMI) rode with the other board members on a float designed like a bull. They were all wearing colorful Mexican hats.

There were cowboys displaying their prowess in whiplashing and lassoing, pretty ladies marching down the street, and smartly-dressed drum and bugle bands playing behind them. Storefronts along the main street were decorated in theme with the rodeo.

The day before the trip, Andrè had told me casually that we were guests of honor, and that we had to make a speech. I thought he was pulling my leg, but when I saw the empty chairs on the grandstand with our names on them as guests-of-honor, my heart sank. A speech without sleep? Are you kidding? What do I say?

A cowboy on a horse bearing the Philippine flag signalled the singing of the Philippine national anthem. The organizers gave each of the VIP guests a pigeon to hold and release at the same time together with 100 other pigeons. Anxiety mounted as the person handing the pigeons got closer to me. Being deathly afraid of all feathered birds as a result of a childhood trauma, I whispered frantically to Andrè that I just couldn’t do it. He said it was OK and handed me the camera to document the release. It was a magnificent sight to behold.

We shared the VIP seats with the Rodeo Masbateño Inc. President Judge Manuel Sese; local government officials: the governor, his wife the vice-governor, the city mayor; two congresswomen; and three senatorial candidates: Roman Romulo, Rissa Hontiveros and Sherwin Gatchalian. Even Korina Sanchez-Roxas, wife of Liberal Party Standard bearer Mar Roxas, showed up. Evidently it was campaign season. I admired the organizers when I learned they had limited the politicians’ speeches to a minute each. The rodeo festival was not meant to be a political rally, they stressed.

True enough, I was called to the podium to give a speech, and I decided to focus on the benefits tourism can bring to Masbate especially with regard to job creation and inclusive growth. I urged Masbateños to promote not just the Rodeo but the province’s other attractions like its marine sanctuaries and beautiful beaches, cautioned them to take care of the environment to ensure sustainability, and invited everyone to become ambassadors and promote the province by posting positive news daily about the Masbate on their social media networks like Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

Up next was Andrè, and he congratulated the organizers on placing the Masbate Rodeo Festival not just on the Philippine map but on the international map of rodeos. When Andrè said that the Masbate Annual Rodeo has become as popular as the Sinulog of Cebu, the Maskara of Bacolod, and the Panagbenga of Baguio, the crowd cheered. Since Andrè had been visiting Masbate since the early 90s when there were still no hotels, he spoke from the heart when he observed that indeed Masbate has changed and that the Rodeo has branded Masbate as the cattle capital of the country. Strong words from a pillar of the advertising broadcasting industry!

The competing teams hailing from all over the Philippines were then called in and took their oath of sportsmanship. The teams consisted of professionals and vet med students who would compete in eight main events: cattle lassoing wrestling on foot, steer lassoing on horseback, steer wrestling from horseback, casting down, two-person carambola, four-person carambola, bull riding, and load carrying. It was interesting to note that teams included women. Inclusiveness and diversity was in force. Other events included bull riding for women, team penning and bronco riding.

The opening ceremonies ended with the ceremonial branding of the rodeo bull. Praying that it would not be too painful for the bull, Rissa Hontiveros and I held the branding rod and pressed it in the bull’s haunch. It was Andrè’s turn next to brand the bull.

I learned that the Rodeo Festival upholds Republic Act 8485 or the Animal Welfare Act of 1998, which calls for the safety of animals. There is even a resident certified rodeo veterinarian, Hernando Durongon who looks after the safety of the participating animals. Participating cattle are lent by ranch owners and RMI is responsible for their well being during the festival.

Later that day, we were lucky to watch the rodeo from the media bleachers where we were closer to the action. There were bronco rides where the rider had to stay eight seconds on the horse, waving his hand without touching his head. There was a team competition where cowboys on foot had to lasso a bull and bring it to the

ground, then tie up its legs. And another where cowboys on horseback had to do the same. There were heart thumping moments when the bulls were huge and mean, and the cowboys fell and were seemingly trampled or kicked by the bull. And other funny moments when the bull refused to play and just lay down by itself, prompting the cowboys to coax it up.

Wednesday at 9am was the cattle run. We went to the starting point in the midst of town where about 30 heads of cattle would be released with cowboys herding them. The streets were packed with Masbateños eager to watch the run. I asked if there was any risk to the spectators seeing how some of the bulls yesterday were pretty mad and charged the cowboys. The organizers told us the cowboys would make sure we were unharmed. Nevertheless, we marked a quick getaway path just in case a rogue bull went berserk. It was so exciting I forgot to take a picture of their release, intent on saving my hide. What a coward I was!

13001295_10154280627934672_2210111524426646609_n — Waiting for the cattle run to come by, safely behind the grilled balcony.

We moved to another location for the second release where over a 100 heads of cattle would be released. This time, however, we were safely behind an elevated and grilled veranda with the doctors from the Department of Health. Best company to be with. Maloli, on the other hand, proved to be the real cowgirl as she clambered fearlessly over an open pick-up to better see the cattle run.

The Filipino sense of humor spilled out as people awaited the arrival of the cattle. Here was a cowboy galloping down the street as if a whole tribe of Indians were after him. There was another elderly man, possibly in his 80s, doing cartwheels on the street. Another cowhand sat on his haunches, rolling his lasso. We, on the other hand, took selfies with the doctors, another Filipino tradition.

And then the cattle arrived with cowboys. What a sight to behold! I felt like I was in a Western movie, except this was the real thing. The cattle run was over in a matter of minutes, but not before some decided to make a detour and enter the side streets, with the cowhands running after them to herd them back out into the street. We were laughing as they were brought back out. In one case, the cowhand came out riding the bull, drawing laughter from the crowd. Maloli recounted how in one instance a bull entered a BIR office and refused to leave. It probably wanted to see Henares!

After the cattle run, we proceeded to the rodeo arena where the cattle were kept for the herding competition. It was interesting how there seemed to be leaders in the pack. When they moved, the rest followed. Most of the cattle stayed together as a herd, but there were one or two loners that stayed apart, and another lazy one that refused to stay under the sun, and kept close to the shaded area. Could be a senior citizen, we surmised.

A hut on stilts. Such a serene view of the sea

Late afternoon, we decided to take a break from the rodeo and go swimming. Mark and Gidget brought us to Buntod Marine Sanctuary. Buntod is actually a powdery white sandbar on one end and a mangrove on the other. In the midst is a house on stilts where people could eat the picnic food they brought, and rent snorkelling and dive equipment.

The place was packed with people frolicking on the sandbar and swimming. Teenagers were playing patintero, fathers were teaching their young how to swim, and mothers were packing as the sun was setting soon. We noticed one mother scrubbing her caldero with sand while her little daugher watched. And because we are all Filipinos, most everyone had their mobile phones out taking photos of the fun they were having.

The view of the setting sun from the mangroves.

We swam in the crystal clear blue water, and walked along the mangroves. It was so peaceful by the mangroves, a popular date place for lovers according to Mark. A flock of birds flew in formation, momentarily disturbing the calm. We marvelled at the fruit of the mangrove tree, like a string bean growing out of a chico with horns, as Andrè described it.

Soon the other boats had departed and we were the only ones left. Except for the gentle lapping of the waves against the stilts, all was quiet. We feasted on turon with langka and cassava boiled in coconut milk while watching the sun set, and the colors of the sky change from blue to pink to grey. It was magical!

Thursday morning, we set off for the 500-ha ML Ranch in Punta Tigbao with Mark, Gidget and their children. ML stands for Moises and Ludivina, the parents of Mark and Maloli. Moises was the former governor of Masbate. His youngest son Mark now managed the ranch.

Mark and Gidget Espinosa with Lian and Marcus on the motorized banca as we headed for Sitio Punta Tigbao.

To get to Sitio Punta Tigbao, we first took a 45-minute car ride to Calasuche, then take another 45-minute boat ride on a banca with bamboo outriggers. The waters at first were calm, but became rather choppy as we went further out to sea. White caps appeared on the waves, a sure sign that the waters were rough. Pretty soon, my denim pants and rubber shoes were drenched.

Disembarking at Sitio Pinta Tigbao, we toured the 100-families strong fishing community. Mark explained that his father had allowed the community to settle there. It was a self-sustaining community, with a small chapel, an elementary school from kinder to grade six, a basketball court, and a smaller plaza. Funds came from a project called ‘Piso sa Kilo’ which the Espinosas started. For every kilo of fish caught and sold, the fishermen donated P1 to the fund.

It was clear that Mark was respected and loved by the residents of the community. The men approached him for advice, guidance and orders, speaking to him in gentle voices, and the women smiled and greeted us. We walked to the fenced cattle corral and climbed the raised hut in its midst. There we enjoyed a sumptuous meal prepared by the villagers: freshly steamed crabs, stuffed crabs, crispy fried dried squid, and piping hot rice.

Grateful to get out of the scorching hot sun, we watched as the cattle were herded into the corral. Soon the corral was full with about 400 head of cattle. It was interesting to watch them as there appeared to be some alpha males in the group that would lead the herd. Inside the corral, two bulls challenged each other. Calves followed their moms, while their moms showed their maternal instinct as they waited to ensure their calves were following them. Mark showed us a contraption shaped like a giant inverted forked tong that would keep the cattle still while they were branded or given vitamins. There were narrow walkways between fences that would allow cattle to pass one at a time. I caught myself counting the cattle as they passed out of the corral to pasture.

The children garbed in colorful clothes followed us, just like they did in the fairytale, the Pied Piper of Hamlyn. They climbed trees and perched on the fence, watching from a distance and waiting patiently for us to leave the cattle corral. No wonder they appeared excited as we learned that each time he visited the ranch, Mark brought candies for the children. This time around, he had a carton full of assorted colorful candies, and he kindly asked his Lian, Marcus and me to throw the the candies in the air for the children to run after. Oh, were they happy! And so were we! I made a mental note to include the 350 children in our yearend My Dream in a Shoebox campaign that provides school supplies for children in shoeboxes wrapped in festive paper.

Soon it was time to board the motorized banca and return to Masbate City. This time around, the boatride was fast and uneventful. Andrè explained that this was because we were going with the tide.

Back at the Rodeo Arena, we watched the Street Barn Dance Competition as 14 teams performed to the rolicking anthem of Rodeo Masbateño. The creativity of the teams was obvious in their costumes, props and dance moves.

We retired to the Espinosa home to have dinner with the family and pack for our early morning plane ride the next day.

With the Espinosas at their home. Behind is a beautiful painting of their father Governor Moises riding on a horse with the cattle behind.

I am so grateful for the warm hospitality of the Espinosa family, especially Maloli and her husband Mark, Mark and his wife Gidget, and Carmen, Maloli’s sister-in-law who prepared a delicious sansrival for dessert. They all made our visit extra special and took such great care of us. I enjoyed the friendly family repartee during meal times, their delicious spread at the long wooden dining table, and the serious discussions as to how tourism can be developed in Masbate. I greatly admire them for the passion they have to improve the lives of Masbateños.

Looking back on the past three days, I can see clearly that Masbate has a lot of potential for tourism, especially with its beautiful beaches and its ranch life. While the Rodeo Festival brings in as many as 50,000 visitors as shared by the Department of Tourism representative I chatted with, Masbate can ensure a more sustainable tourism industry by developing more attractions. All it needs is a few enterprising people to package and promote the ranch experience and allow tourists to learn about the customs and lifestyle of ranchers, meet and talk to real-life cowboys, eat what they eat and live as they do. And while they are at it, enjoy the pristine sand and clear blue waters of Masbate, and marvel at the rich marine life it harbours in its corals. And once a year, give everyone unforgettable memories of the Wild, Wild West. I vowed to go back next year, with my children in tow, so they too can experience the unique and authentic Rodeo Masbateño.

Adventure, Beginnings, Childhood, Church, Food, Life, Love, Travel

Seeing Baguio with a Different Lens

February 28, 2016 administrator 3 Comments

When our friend Elaine Mapa asked Andrè Kahn and me to give a talk to the Girl Scouts of the Philippines (GSP) on branding and the use of their new logo, we readily agreed. First of all, the prospect of visiting Baguio, the country’s summer capital, after more than 26 years was exciting. Second, I have always wanted to be a girl scout but there was no opportunity when I was a child. Instead, I had encouraged both my daughters to join the girl scouts at St. Scholastica’s College, especially since their great grandmother, Pilar Hidalgo Lim, was one of the founders of the GSP. This was my chance to be up and close to the GSP.

About 120 council executives representing 97 councils nationwide were gathered for the GSP’s National Meeting of Council Executives, with the theme, “Exceeding Possibilities: Facing Challenges Toward Excellence,” from February 21 to 24, 2016, at Ating Tahanan National Program and Training Center, in Baguio City. Andre was a big hit as he talked on logo love and the importance of consistency in the use of the GSP’s logo, while I drilled down to their guidelines on the use and applications of their logo.

We both enjoyed the presentation, and were pleasantly surprised when Ma. Dolores “Beng” Santiago, GSP’s National Executive Director suddenly announced that I was going to be inducted as an adult girl scout volunteer. I was so happy I actually jumped on stage. After being given the GSP kerchief and pin and reading aloud the Girl Scout Promise and pledging to abide by the Girl Scout Law, I was sworn in while the council executives sang the girl scout song in unison. Oh, it was a dream come true!

With February 25^th declared a national holiday, we decided to stay on after the talk and do the tourist rounds. Armed with friends’ recommendations on what to see, where to go and what to eat, we looked forward to the trip. His gym friends highly recommended we eat pizza at Amare la Cucina at Albergo de Ferroca, Leonard Wood Road, even saying the pizza there was much better than any in Manila. Another suggestion was to eat at Ketchup Community opposite The Wright Park which supposedly had the best baby back ribs this side of the country. It helped that Andrè had spent many summers up in Baguio in his youth, and he was eager to show me his usual haunts.

We stayed at the Baguio Country Club, where the air was thick with the scent of pine. Memories of my childhood visits to Baguio came flooding back. After praying at the Cathedral, we walked down Session Road, hardly recognizable with the thick throng of people walking up and down, the modern fast food joints, the malls and the outdoor advertising screaming for attention, and yet here and there I could still spot the facade of edifices that spoke of my youth, like the Session Theater. We ducked into one of the small bookstores where it seemed that time stood still. I yearned to see the store where my dad had bought me my first comic book, the Chinese restaurant where we would eat, and the Pines Hotel where we would stay. Alas, they were no longer there.

We crossed over to Burnham Park traversing the dusty football field, and entered the walkway now lined with stalls selling various merchandise opposite a row of creative and attractive flower installations set up for the Panagbenga Flower Festival. Baguio is renowned for its beautiful and colorful flowers, and it was a special treat to see this flower exhibit.

Colorful bicycles for rent lined another part of the park, another blast from the past. Once again, I was transported to my youth, when my brothers and I would ride the bicycles around the park. The manmade lake was still there, but this time, the little boats sported figures from Sponge Bob to Micky Mouse. Andrè offered to rent one with a swan, provided I did the rowing, which I naturally refused with a smile. We meandered through the park, enjoying the bright sunflowers, the warm sun on our skin, dispelling the coolness in the air.

Mines View Park was another destination, and we shopped for souvenirs at the little shops. Baguio fare was still the same as I remembered it: delicate silver trinkets, colorful ponchos and sweaters, native woven cloth, and wooden items from baskets to keychains with the ubiquitious Barrel Man still sitting proudly amongst the items on display. I settled for some thick brooms with “eight fingers,” a far cry from the thin ones available in Manila. I noticed that these days they sold brooms dyed in different colors, and I wondered if the dye would run off the wooden floors if the broom got wet. Of course, a visit to Baguio would not be complete without buying “pasalubong” from the Pink Sisters, a veritable institution. We loaded up on strawberry and mango jam, santol preserves, and their caramel alfajor.

At the Baguio City Market, we bought upland rice, Arabica coffee, vegetables, cut flowers, and fresh strawberries. I got throw rugs, soft white handwoven Ilocos blankets, and colorful kitchen handtowels. At the Easter Weaving Room, we viewed various native fabric from different tribes, and got some table linen. Naturally, we could not leave the Baguio Country Club without a dozen of its famous raisin bread, another standard pasalubong.

I had a great guide in Andrè as he pointed out landmarks like Mansion House, Casa Vallejo Hotel, The Wright Park, Teachers Camp, the Botanical Garden, the Crystal Caves, City Hall, the Convention Center where several Ad Congresses took place, the Baguio General Hospital & Medical Center, the hotels, the churches, with a running commentary on how it was when he was young, and the fun he and his siblings would have exploring and playing. We walked at Camp John Hay, enjoying the cool breeze, checking out the new stores, and chanced upon the Hill Station Bistro where I spied a Tajine, which I immediately bought. Ever since I sampled my Rome-based sister’s delicious dishes prepared using a Moroccan Tajine, I have been searching for one, and now I finally had one.

I had long wanted to visit the Ben Cab Museum, hearing about it from my daughters who would go up to Baguio, and so we made sure we checked it out. The collection was beautiful, although there was much more of Ben Cab’s work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art where he has an ongoing exhibition. Antique wood sculptures seem to be a favorite of Ben Cab, with bulols or “Ifugao rice gods” occupying a prominent wall. A bulol is a carved human figurine which Ifugaos believe is inhabited by an anito or spirit, and is thus worshipped with rituals involving pig’s blood, wine and rice cakes. Carved from narra wood, the bulol usually comes in a pair, and represents happiness and riches. I loved the gardens around the museum, the strawberry patch, the little manmade lake with the hut in the middle, the beautiful view of the mountainside, the lush greenery and the cool crisp air. Ben Cab also had a whimsical cafe with vibrant colors.

It was interesting to see Baguio from Andrè’s lens. He rued the fact that the mountainside which was once a green expanse of verdant trees has been replaced by a myriad of houses that dotted the view. The scent of fragrant pine has been replaced by diesel fumes of vehicles gnarled in traffic. The horses at Mines View Park had beribboned manes dyed pink, and sad-eyed Saint Bernards lazed on the benches, waiting for tourists to have their photos taken with them. Despite these troubling changes, Baguio still had its charm.

Being the foodies that we are, eating was a natural high, and Baguio delivered handsomely on the promise. From Mario’s to Café by the Ruins to Hill Station in the historical Casa Vallejo Hotel established in 1909, the food experience was superb. The teppanyaki dinner at Hamada at the country club hit just the right spot, with our chef showing off his knife juggling skills, then forming the food into hearts with a whisper of “Para sa forever.” Even the daily breakfast buffet at the recently renovated Veranda was heartening, with the promise to become even better as we ran into celebrated Chef Myrna Segismundo who is now consulting with them.

Even the drive up to Baguio was a pleasant experience. We left the South at 4:45am, afraid we would be bogged down by the busy Monday EDSA traffic. The Triplex cut down traveling time to three hours from the start of NLEX. We broke our fast at the S.O.U.L. Café, short for Spice of the Urban Life, another recommendation from his gym friends. SOUL Café featured an extensive menu, and I was eager to try their Dr. Seuss-inspired green eggs cheese omelette and ham for breakfast, while Andrè opted for their longganisa breakfast. The food was so good, we decided to eat there too on the way back to Manila.

Everywhere we went, we bumped into people Andrè knew. It was great meeting his friends, but even more wonderful was the chance to just be alone, talk, discover each other, walk hand-in-hand, and be with someone I love. I am learning to slow down from the hustle and bustle of work and smell the flowers, as they say. I will always remember Baguio for this idyllic adventure, and look forward to the next trip, and perhaps try that famous pizza one day.

Children, Church, Corporate Social Responsibility, Family, Food, Friendship, God, Life, Love, Tourism, Travel, Women, Work

2015, A Most Challenging Year

December 31, 2015 administrator

Bea, Cara, Niccolo and I are in the car driving to Tali where we will spend New Year’s Eve with the Lago family. Their daughter, Mandy is Cara’s best friend from St. Scholastica’s College, and they have invited us to their lovely beach home.

We’ve traditionally spent New Year’s Eve with family at home. After attending mass, we would gather the family and our househelp together in the dining room for Noche Buena, with the usual fare of chicken relleno, homemade ham, and queso de bola. Over dinner, we would play High-Low, where each one of us would share our high and low experiences for the year. We would then thank God for our many blessings, especially the gift of family and friends. After dinner, we would head for the balcony to watch the fireworks around us. At the stroke of midnight, we would toast to the New Year with champagne, hurriedly eat 12 grapes for good luck in the coming year, and hug and kiss each other. And then the children would go off to see their friends.

Two years ago, we did the usual New Yea’s Eve celebration, but it was so sad because Mike was no longer with us. We resolved then to have a different experience each year. Last year, we went to Palms Country Club, and this time we will be spending it at Tali.

Looking back at work, TeamAsia has had its best year in more than two decades under the able leadership of Bea as managing director, with the help of our committed and strong ManComm, and our growing family of enthusiastic, innovative, and young TeamAsians. We’ve organized several conferences like Arangkada, the 7^th International IT-BPM Summit, the Zomato Restaurant Summit, the IMMAP Conference, and the Pacific Insurance Conference, as well as, supported various APEC events and the inaugural Madrid Fusion Manila. We’ve brought the delegate experience to a higher level with our event mobile apps, audience response system and B2B matching, and our digital and social media marketing. We’ve continued to work with stellar clients like Capital One, Globe, Pepsi, Chevron and Google. And we are so very thankful for staunch partners like Mart Miranda, Vince Feliciano, and Manolet Tobias who have been the wind behind our wings. It’s also been a year of strengthening operations and cleaning house.

On the family front, our Dada is just as beautiful and charming as ever, a rock for all of us, but more frail than usual. She is now 81 years old, and still threatens to travel to the US to visit her children and grandchildren and to Madrid to visit her sisters, already hatching travel plans.

My first born Bea has blossomed into a strong leader, inspiring everyone to do their best, working with each director to ensure everything is on track, gaining the confidence of clients, and bringing sunshine and sparkles to the office each day. She has attended the wedding of two of her best friends, one in Texas and the other in Hawaii, and will be going to another one in India next week. One day, a very lucky man will be able to win her heart, and I pray that he will take care of her and love her with all his heart.

Cara has left her beloved Boracay to come to Manila and work on slow food research for Chele Gonzalez of ArroZeria and Gallery Vask fame. This gives her the freedom to pursue her entrepreneurial dream. A week ago, she launched her online swimsuit line Diwata Swimwear, creating cheeky bikinis for young women who, like her, love to explore islands and oceans (www.diwataswimwear.com). I remember scouring the streets of Trastevere in Rome two Decembers ago with Cara looking for a shop that sold Lycra fabric for her bikini line, and trying to communicate in Spanish to the Italian shopkeeper what she needed. Watching her doodle on her drawing book, contact possible suppliers, search for a suitable seamstress, and travel to different islands for inspiration with Ramon to take photos for her website, has revealed a whole new dimension of my once shy little girl.

Now a strapping young man and all of 20 years old, Niccolo is working through his double degree of Applied Economics, major in Financial Economics, and Marketing Management at De La Salle University. He is buffed from regular visits to the gym, and still goes biking sometimes, but spends most of his time with Sam, his girlfriend, who has gotten him interested in baking cookies and exploring the art world. While he’s grown to be a young man, Niccolo continues to be sweet and caring.

As for me, I started the first day of 2015 in Hong Kong with my then boyfriend Rollie Gosiengfiao. We talked about a future together, but it was not meant to be for by the third week of January, he was gone, taken suddenly by a massive heart attack. This came on the heels of a crisis in my professional life. Grief-stricken, I was once again thrown into deep depression, and escaped to Madrid and Rome to be with kin and lick my wounds. Coming back, I arrived too late to see my dear aunt Julia alive. I focused on work and my various commitments to associations. I’ve visited Bangladesh three times for a World Bank related project, and learned how life is in that part of the world. Visiting other places in the world and experiencing their cultures have made me appreciate life even more, and whetted my appetite for adventure.

This December, I’ve closed the chapter on my three-year stint at the Tourism Promotions Board (TPB) as director representing the Meeting, Incentives Travel, Conventions, Exhibitions & Events Services & Facilities Sector. I’ve also graduated from being president to chairman of the Philippine Association of Convention/Exhibition Organizers and Suppliers (PACEOS), and continue to be chairman of Hopkins International Partners, and trustee and board secretary of the League of Corporate Foundations (LCF). I’m very proud of the organizations I am part of as I believe these have a positive impact in the industries they represent.

I’m also very happy with our yearend CSR project, My Dream in a Shoebox Year 7, where we encourage volunteers to donate a used shoebox covered in festive Christmas wrapper and filled with school supplies. Jointly organized by TeamAsia and the Information Technology and Business Process Association of the Philippines (IBPAP), the annual project has helped thousands of children continue with their education. From 200 boxes collected in the first year, we’ve breached 35,000 so far this year, and with the help of volunteers from various BPM companies and the Armed Forces of the Philippines, have organized several outreach activities, distributing the shoeboxes where they are most needed. I’ve also done storytelling about the beauty of love, friendship and giving to 300 children at the Payatas Orione Foundation, to 1,000 children at the San Pedro Calungsod Quasi Parish, to 60 children at SOS Village, and to 500 children at the Ascension of Our Lord Parish. And through all of these, I realize that we actually gain more than the children, as we leave with hearts full of joy that we have made them smile.

Challenging times have a knack of revealing who your real friends are, the ones who stay with you through thick and thin. I am happy and grateful to learn who they are. I’ve also made new friends, like my Gee Whiz Girls and my L2C group, and my Bible Study Fellowship group that has kept me grounded in the Lord. And wonder of wonders, I’ve met a farmer who has turned out to be a great friend, bringing light and laughter into my life again. It’s been a challenging year, but as it turns out 2015 has been good overall, and I look forward to an awesome 2016.

As we close the year and greet 2016, I wish you all a long, happy, healthy, prosperous and wonderfully meaningful life.

Adventure, Architecture, Art, Death, Family, Food, Goodbyes, Life, Love, Tourism, Travel

Romancing the Ruins

October 28, 2015 administrator

I’m a sucker for love stories, and I was enthralled when Raymund Javellana, great grandson of Mariano Lacson personally toured me around his family’s ancestral home in Talisay City, Negros Occidental. Acclaimed as one of the 12 most fascinating ruins of the world, The Ruins is a monument to the undying love of Mariano Lacson and Maria Braga.

20151028_183616 — Don Mariano Ledesma Lacson

It was my second night in Bacolod City, and Mrs. Josefina Puentevella (Tita Paching) was taking me around. She brought me to Talisay to see The Ruins. She said it was a house that was bombed during the Japanese occupation so that the invaders would not use it as headquarters. I told her about my own ancestral home in San Sebastian that was actually used by the Japanese commander as his headquarters. I was thus quite interested to see the house she was referring to which had belonged to Don Mariano Ledesma Lacson, a sugar baron in the early 1900s.

The youngest of ten children of Lucio Lacson and Clara Ledesma, the dashing Mariano fell in love during one of his frequent visits to Hong Kong with the beautiful Maria Braga, a Portuguese lady from Macau, daughter of a ship captain. He proposed to her and brought his young bride home to Negros. There, they lived happily together and had ten children.

When Maria was pregnant with her 11th child, she suffered a bad fall and began to bleed heavily. Alarmed, Mariano quickly drove his horse-drawn carriage to the next city to summon a physician. It took four days of travel traversing different sugar plantations, asking permission to pass from the landowner each time. I can just imagine how distraught he was throughout the trip. By the time he got back with the doctor, Maria and her unborn child was dead.

Grief-stricken, the heartbroken Mariano decided to build a mansion to commemorate his love for his beloved wife. With the help of his father-in-law who sent over workers from Hong Kong, Mariano built an elegant two-story mansion in the midst of his sugar plantation. Here, he lived with his children with the rule that once any of them got married, they would have to leave the mansion.

Two Ms facing each other, standing for the initials of Mariano and Maria, are forever etched into the posts.

No expense was spared in building the structure made of oversized steel bars encased in solid concrete. The walls were finished in cement mixed with egg whites, lending a marble-like finish to the mansion. Each post of the house was emblazoned with two letter Ms facing each other, initials of Mariano and Maria.

There were four rooms downstairs for his boys, and four rooms directly on top of them for his girls. A wide staircase led directly from the side entrance to the second floor. This way, Raymund explained, Mariano could go up to the master’s bedroom without disturbing any of the guests in the living room. The family could enjoy sunsets through the bay window of the belvedere facing west.

20151016_190435 — The main entrance to the mansion

A wide porch wrapped itself around both floors of the house, reminiscent of the mansion in the movie “Gone with the Wind.” Twin columns lined the porch with graceful arches in between. Colorful Machuca tiles from Spain lined the veranda, while thick meter-wide, 20-meter long wooden planks served as flooring for the various rooms. Starkly silhouetted against the dark sky was the scalloped roof.

On the eve of World War II, this beautiful mansion was razed to the ground by guerillas during the Japanese war upon the orders of the United States Armed Forces in the Far East or USAFFE, to ensure it would not fall into the hands of the Japanese forces and made into headquarters. They say it took three days for the house to burn, engulfing all the beautiful wooden floors and ceiling, leaving behind the shell of the once beautiful mansion.

When Mariano died, the plantation was subdivided amongst his ten children, and later further subdivided amongst the grandchildren. No one wanted the portion of land on which the burnt out shell stood. After all, it was thought to be useless since sugarcane could not be planted in it. For six and a half decades, The Ruins remained just that, a sad reminder of the opulent lifestyle of the sugar barons, slowly succumbing to the ravages of time.

That is, until Raymund Javellana, a scion of the prominent Lacson-Javellana and Lopez-Heredia families, inherited the land with the burnt mansion and pondered what to do with it. Just like his ancestor Mariano, Raymund was widely traveled and had been to many interesting historical places in Europe. He toyed with the idea of developing The Ruins into a tourist attraction.

One day, Raymund saw children climbing up and playing at the four-tiered fountain fronting the house. Looking closely, he noticed how strong and beautiful it was and decided to rehabilitate it, along with the expansive garden surrounding the house. In its heyday, the mansion’s garden laden with imported lilies was maintained by a Japanese gardener under the supervision of Angelina, Mariano’s daughter. This same gardener turned out to be an informant of the Japanese Military.

Raymund installed lights in the house, running the electric wires through the original pipes embedded in the ceiling. I asked him if the globes were made of capiz, but he said they were made from sturdy resin to withstand the strong wind from storms. He showed me where the living room, dining room, kitchen and kitchen preparation areas had been, and pointed to the thick cement flooring underneath where the wood-fired ovens were located.

It’s a pity there are hardly any photos of the house as it was in its prime. Raymund remarked that the old photos were kept by one of the children but they were lost in another fire. “There’s something about our family and fires,” he said.

Walking with us around the beautifully landscaped gardens surrounding the house, Raymund invited us to have a picture taken in front of an outside glass table. He said that most everyone who comes has their photo taken there with the house silhouetted behind, as the glass of the table reflects the house and it appears magical. Naturally, we just had to do this too.

And as I looked around I saw in the distance what seemed like a tree sprouting from a column. I learned that this was the simborio, or smokestack of the sugar farm’s mill where they heated the juice of the sugarcane before allowing it to cool and crystalize into what we know as muscovado, unrefined brown sugar imbued with the strong flavor of molasses.

20151016_192715 — Tita Paching and me with our personal guide, Raymund Javellana.

Just as we were leaving, we passed by the café that Raymund had built and bought piping hot piaya or unleavened flatbread filled with muscovado and glucose syrup. What a treat it was to bite into the delicious piaya! Closing my eyes, I was once again transported to the very first time I had tasted piaya, savoring its goodness, and for a fleeting moment, imagined how beautiful life must have been for Mariano and Maria. And thanks to Raymund, the story of their love will continue to inspire generations to come.

Children, Church, Death, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, Life, Love, Women, Work

Honoring Cathy

September 30, 2015 administrator 3 Comments

10574634_10204406469656105_1381062784_o — Cathy and her cousin. Noche buena 2014.

When I first met Cathy, she was dark, skinny and had a haunted air around her. It was the 27^th of April 2012. I was in dire need of a maid, and so was my mom, and she was referred by the helper of a neighbor. Interviewing her, I learned that she had run away from her husband and come to Manila to look for a job. She said her husband’s family had a history of mental illness, and he had started to beat her up. Her husband’s family was well-to-do, she said, and they looked down on her as she came from humble beginnings.

Her father had left them when she was young and had taken up with someone else. Later when he was ill, he returned to their family so that they could take care of him. She told me he used to be quite violent when drunk and would beat up her mother. This scarred her for life. Her mom, on the other hand, is very religious and serves the church. Her sole source of income came from donations from people who would ask her to pray for their dead. Cathy could not understand why her mother took her father back after abandoning them, and even nursed him until he died.

The eldest in her family, Cathy graduated with top honors in high school, while working as househelp for relatives. She was studying to be a teacher when she fell madly in love with the man she would eventually marry. They eloped and she got pregnant. Living with him, however, soon became a nightmare, as relations with her in-laws was strained, and her husband began exhibiting disturbing tendencies. She suffered silently until she got beaten up in front of her daughters. She could not bear inflicting the same hurt on her daughters that she had suffered as a child, and she planned her escape.

Cathy left her daughters with her mom for safekeeping and got on a bus to Manila, showing up at our home the day after she arrived in Manila. We agreed that if she stayed a year working for us that I would buy her a ticket home so she could visit her children.

Cathy had two daughters, a year apart. The eldest was barely two when she left them. She missed them terribly, and transferred her motherly love to Niccolo. At first, she was worried about communicating as Mike and Niccolo spoke only English. Nosebleed, she would say. But later, she was able to adjust quickly, and soon became the interpreter of the other househelp.

10856097_10204293419029910_174125328_o — Helping me make Christmas ham, a yearly tradition.

Cathy had an amazing zest for life, and was always upbeat. She loved to learn new things, and would watch me as I cooked, asking questions as to how things were done. I encouraged her to read my cookbooks, and essentially gave her free reign in the kitchen to experiment various recipes. Sometimes, it was hit and miss, but she soon mastered the art of pasta. She learned my recipes by heart and could whip up any dish I asked her to make. She specially enjoyed helping me prepare Christmas ham.

10876846_10204406679501351_2102868092_o — Cathy was my rock at home. Here she is with me, one Christmas eve. Bugsy refused to be left out of the photo.

Long before the Kasambahay Law came in, I enrolled her in SSS, Pag-ibig and HDMF. Each Christmas and New Year, it was our family’s practice to celebrate Noche Buena together with our househelp around the dinner table. We would invite their close family members to join us. In Cathy’s case, it was Jay-R, her younger brother, who would come.

Hardworking and diligent, Cathy soon became indispensable to our household. She endeared herself to everyone, including my mom. They would spend hours chit-chatting about everything under the sun. Dada would teach her how to take care of the house and of us and give her advice on life. Cathy reciprocated by taking care of Dada whenever she would visit us, and making sure Dada took her medicine properly. When Dada was in Quiapo, Cathy would call to check on her. They were phone pals. Niccolo too was dependent on her for almost everything, from his clothes to his food. Even Bugsy transferred his allegiance to her, as she was the one who fed him, bathed him and took him for walks.

When Mike took ill with cancer in October 2012, Cathy helped me take care of Mike, especially when he stopped going to work and I had to do double time at the office. She and I would take shifts at the hospital when he would have chemo, blood transfusions or stem cell injections. She prepared his meals while I was at work and would cajole him to eat. When Mike died, Cathy was there too, crying with the family. And she was a tower of strength during that dark period after Mike died, making sure I ate, and keeping me company. When I hurt my back and was in terrible pain, Cathy would help me get up from bed and put on my back brace.

524155_3842057244220_1210320727_n — With Malie and Cathy, a year before Mike died.

When Malie, my other maid left, Cathy offered to be the sole kasambahay, saying she preferred to be alone. Anyway, she argued that she only had Niccolo and me to take care of since Bea was away in the US and Cara was in Boracay. I agreed and gave her a hefty raise. She ran the house well, and gained our full trust and confidence. We loved her, and we believe she loved us too.

10849419_10204340979418890_249879269_o — Lectors’ Christmas Party. That’s Cathy in the center seated on the floor.

Knowing how intelligent she was, I asked Cathy if she wanted to serve in our parish after Mike died. She accepted eagerly but was worried how she would be accepted by the village. I took her under my wing and taught her how to become a lector. We would practice her delivery of the English readings before the mass. At home, we would pray the rosary and I would let her lead. Soon, she gained enough confidence and was at ease in front of the congregation. She was warmly welcomed by our lector family as an equal, and was even chosen to head the secretariat for the last Parish Renewal Experience (PREX). The kasambahays in the village looked up to her, and wanted to emulate her. She was their star, the most popular househelp of the village.

When Yolanda hit Leyte, Cathy was beside herself with worry. Her family lived in Carigara, near Tacloban. There was no news of her family as communication lines were down. We searched on the Internet and TV for news of her children and posted their photos on the portal for survivors. A week later, Jay-R said he could not stand it anymore and would go home and look for them himself. We sent him off with money and supplies. For days, Cathy worked non-stop to get over the fear of not knowing what happened her family. We were overjoyed when Jay-R texted to say he had found them unharmed, other than the house which had lost its roof and kitchen. We sent funds to help them rebuild, and offered for them to come to Manila and stay with us. But Cathy’s mom refused to leave as there were so many dead who had to be prayed for.

Cathy’s children were her pride and joy. Her eldest was studious and got good grades, but it was her spunky and strong-willed youngest who kept Cathy in stitches. The first time Cathy went home, she felt so bad because her children did not recognize her. By the time she was going to return to Manila, the eldest had started calling her mama. I remember the second time she went home, she had huge dolls for her daughters. Cathy always timed her home visits to make sure she was there when her daughter would receive her medals.

When the Kasambahay Law came into being, Cathy began to take leaves more often and not come home for the night. There was nothing I could do as this was the law, but I cautioned her to be careful and to keep safe. I noticed that she started putting on make-up and nail polish. I chalked this up to her youth.

When she came back from her last trip to the province, Cathy was often sick. Worried, we sent her for a check-up but she said she was OK. We noticed that she started slacking off as the house was no longer as spic and span as it was before, and clothes would not get washed or ironed right away. We hired someone to come in and help her.

When I got home late from work one night in June, I was surprised to see the house completely dark. I never brought my keys with me as Cathy was always there to open the gate and greet me. Worried that something had happened to her, I called the guardhouse. The security officer said Cathy had left in the morning and not returned. I waited until Bea got home with her keys so we could enter the house. We were surprised to find all her clothes missing. I felt stabbed in the heart. How could Cathy do this to me? I sent a message to Jay-R, asking if he knew why she left.

Later we discovered the letter she had left us. She asked for our forgiveness and said she had to leave because she was pregnant and didn’t know what to do. I was so angry and disappointed! She could have told us, and we would have been the first to help her. We learned that she had planned her escape, sending sealed boxes in the car whenever my mother would go home to her house in Manila. I spoke to Manang, my mom’s maid who was Cathy’s townmate, and she admitted that Cathy had sent boxes of her things to be sent to the province and that they had all been collected by another of their friends. What a cowardly thing to do!

I asked my caretaker in the farm to come with his wife and help us out while we searched for a new maid. His wife learned from the village kasambahays that Cathy had said she was not being paid well and that’s why she left. This incensed my caretaker’s wife, as she knew how well we treat our helpers. I decided to cut clean and removed her from my contact list.

Last Saturday, when I visited my mom, Manang told me that Cathy was very sick. She started to cry, but since Manang was prone to drama, I told her to stop crying and not to tell me anything about Cathy as she had made her decision to leave us. Sunday night, an FB message popped up from Jay-R. Cathy was dead. He said she had died of typhoid fever in their province, her unborn child with her. I felt stricken to the core.

Jay-R told me that she had been ill for weeks, going in and out of the hospital, and since he could not take care of her as he worked, she decided to go home to the province and get well there. It was not to be. She became gravely ill in Carigara. He told me too that while she was delirious, she kept on saying she loved me and Niccolo and was sorry she had hurt us.

Reflecting on what happened, I guess Cathy did not know how to face the community when she learned she was pregnant, especially as she was a lector. We were always told to give a good example. How could she explain that she was pregnant when everyone knew she was separated from her husband? It is sad, but Cathy had a pattern of failling in love, and then running away when the situation became difficult.

13904_10203466142788521_3486103470985968514_n — On August 9, 2014, I posted this pciture of Cathy and me on my IG and FB: “Cathy is my super woman. She takes care of my home, my children, and me. We all love her! Oh, I forgot! She takes care of Bugsy and the kois too. And she serves at the parish as a lector.”

Our last conversation before she ran away was about second chances. She had always wanted an annulment from her husband so that she could begin life afresh. She wanted a second chance at love, just as I had with Mike. I told her to start writing down her life story as this would be needed, and promised to help her get that annulment. How, I wish I could have helped her!

I write this now to honor Cathy. Yes, she had hurt us deeply, but what I choose to remember is the love we had shared. I trust that she is now in heaven, where there is no pain and only the everlasting joy of being with our Lord. Thank you, Cathy!

Cancer, Death, Family, God, Health, Life, Love, Work

Five Days in 2012

July 22, 2015 administrator 4 Comments

I was cleaning up my soft files just now, and came across a five-day journal written 20 days after we rushed Mike to Asian Hospital. I can never forget that day, the 10th of October, 2012. After a leisurely lunch at Palms Country Club, we returned to the office to work. Mike came out of the toilet trembling and ashen-faced. He was unable to pee. At the hospital, they put a cateter and fresh blood came out. They admitted him for observation and a biopsy. More than a week later, we were told he had cancer. Life as I knew it stopped.

Those were tumultous days. We didn’t know where and who to run to for advice on how best to handle the situation, what kind of doctors we should approach, what treatment to take. His urologist Dr. JV Prodigalidad recommended that Mike have a colonoscopy to determine if the cancer had spread. We followed his advice and Mike was admitted to St. Luke’s Hospital for the procedure. Meanwhile, the biopsy samples were sent for additional testing.

Everything was a blur, except for one thing that was crystal clear. I knew I had to be strong for Mike, and for the family. Bea was in Boston taking up her masters, Cara in Boracay working, and Niccolo was in 4^th year high school. I had a business to run, client commitments to fulfill, and employees who relied on us. I held on to God’s hand tightly.

I cry as I re-read what I had written almost three years ago.

October 30

St. Lukes. Mike has his scheduled colonoscopy with Dr. Cua. I wait at the reception area, working on the IOS final report. A nurse comes and hands me Mike’s watch and wedding ring. I look at my phone, and it’s JV Prodigalidad apologizing that he has not been feeling well and was thus not able to respond to my text messages. I ask him if he already has the results of the bone scan and the additional steins. He says yes, and that it is not good. He says, “Stage Four, Monette.” The world stops turning. I ask him how much time I have. He says he doesn’t know, and says he prefers to tell Mike himself at his clinic. I break down and cry, with everyone looking at me, some with sympathetic eyes.

Then, Karla calls to say there’s a problem with the office doors and no one can go in. She hears my breaking voice and asks me why. I can’t talk, except to say I will send Jonathan with my keys. Jonathan arrives, saying he doesn’t need to go to the office anymore because the staff has solved the problem. I ask him to watch my things, and go to the chapel to pray and sob uncontrollably. While there, my phone rings and Jonathan says they want me to see the doctors who are working on Mike’s colonoscopy.

With my heart in my throat, I run back to where Mike is. They let me in to the operating room, and I see Mike on his side, peacefully sleeping on the operating table, while holding on to the bed’s bar, with a team of doctors and nurses surrounding him. Dr. Cua shows me a cyst on the screen and says he will excise it and have it biopsied. He says other than small ones, this was the only one they found. I beg to stay, but am told to leave and just wait until the procedure is over. I couldn’t help myself but bend over and kiss Mike, to the doctors’ surprise.

When Mike was done, we have a quick lunch at Becky’s Kitchen. Oh, how my heart ached while I sat with Mike. In the car, I check my mail and notice an email from Myla Reyes asking Sab and me to attend an exhibitors’ meeting in the afternoon. I call the office to check on things, and talk to Sab who is at her wits’ end because HIMOAP had scheduled the meeting suddenly for 3pm and she had tons of other work to do for the event. I told her I would handle the meeting and to send me the report. I then asked Jonathan to drop me off at BPAP, to bring Mike home to rest, and to get the biopsy slides for Arnel.

At BPAP, I worked furiously at the TeamAsia Room on the IOS report. Raymond was coming in at 2pm and I intended to discuss the financials with him before the HIMOSC exhibitor meeting. All the while, there was a big gaping hole in my heart. How can anyone not see it bleed?

I called Arnel and told him what I had learned from JV. I told him I didn’t know how to tell Mike. He said JV should do it, not me. I called JV’s secretary and she set us up for 8pm.

October 31

Mike is set to meet Dr. Gary Lorenzo, the oncologist recommended by our friend, Dr. Arnel Diaz. I want to go with Mike but can’t because I have a Handling Difficult People seminar with nine people signed up. It is the most difficult teaching assignment I have ever had to do.

November 1

At St. Luke’s again for Mike’s CT scan by 7:45am. The test is scheduled at 10am, but he has to start taking barium two hours before. Poor Mike hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since last night. I bring the slides to Pathology for a second reading by Dr. Zamuco. The test ends by 11 and we go to have a hearty breakfast at Bizu. A quick trip back home and we leave for our hideaway in Alfonso with Niccolo and Bugsy who is beside himself with excitement at the prospect of a car ride. At Alfonso, Mike is so tired, he falls asleep almost the whole afternoon and night. I break down while preparing dinner, burning a panful of garlic and onions. I watch him sleep and feel that he is slipping away.

November 3

We’re on the way back to Southbay with Niccolo and Bugsy. Mike insists on driving the E150. We did a quick stop at Mahogany Market so I could buy two guyabano trees that I intend to plant in Southbay for their leaves, as well as some herbs for cooking. Then Niccolo decides he wants buko tart at Rowena’s. Next stop: Robinson Nuvali for a pit stop.

For lunch, I whipped up a quick creamy mushroom pasta. Mike was tired from the long drive, and settled himself in front of the TV. Niccolo has been asking us to put up the Christmas décor early this year, and since Cara is arriving on the 16^th, I decided to go ahead and put up the Christmas tree. After opening the boxes, I discover that only half the rice lights were working and my lovely angel was broken. Niccolo didn’t want to go with me to the store to get lights. I made a few calls to friends, but no one was free. I found myself going to my neighbor Lily White, who very kindly agreed to go with me. We prayed together and I felt at peace waiting for her in her quiet prayer room.

When I got home, I noticed that Mike was quieter than usual. Over dinner, Niccolo was bugging us to allow him to go to Boracay in April with his batchmates. Mike said we need to know if there will be parents around and who he would be with, as he would most probably not be in any condition to go. When Niccolo left the table, Mike told me that I should be prepared in case things did not work out as we wanted. I could no longer hold back my tears, and I broke down in front of Mike. Oh, God, why? Why?

It’s been three years, and yet re-reading this journal, it feels like yesterday. The pain is always there, sometimes numbed, at other times, palpably fresh and throbbing. I read somewhere that pain is the price one pays for having loved. Yes, it is a steep price, but I am forever grateful to have loved and been loved by Mike.

Adventure, Art, Childhood, Church, Family, Goodbyes, Life, Love, Travel

What makes your soul happy?

July 19, 2015 administrator

July 17, 2015. Taywanak, Alfonso. “Take time to do what makes your soul happy.” This post on Pinterest caught my eye yesterday morning, and I reposted it immediately, determined to carve out me time from the busyness of work and commitments. And then, I got to thinking. What makes my soul happy?

The first thing that entered my mind was I’ve always been happiest loving someone. Love makes my heart sing. With Mike and my children, life was perfect. When Mike died, I died too, going through the motions of life with a big dark hole where my heart used to be. That is, until Rollie came barging into my life and for a blissful and exciting six months, I felt alive again. But then, God took him away too. Once again, I burrowed into work. The busier the better, so I would not have time to dwell on my unhappiness. Time and again, though, grief would make its presence felt. Yes, my beloved children are there, but they are now grown up and have their own lives to lead.

One thing Rollie taught me was that I was responsible for my own happiness. When he lost his wife to cancer four years ago at the same time he turned 60 and retired from work, he coped with his grief by keeping busy, writing a book, traveling, biking, meeting people, helping develop young leaders at AIESEC, and more.

And so, I’m back to thinking what makes my soul happy since the two people I’ve loved are both gone?

Painting. One of my earliest memories is sitting on the floor drawing and coloring, and my mom commenting that I was just like her sister Conchi, a talented artist. I treasured my coloring books, read and reread my art books, and hoarded my art supplies. I was chagrined when my art teacher in elementary declared I had no talent at all. This didn’t stop me from spending recess time in first year high school drawing on the chalkboards at the empty music room. The manang was probably wondering who the culprit was who left the drawings and used up all the colored chalks.

I desperately wanted to take up Fine Arts in college, but we didn’t have the funds for this. Nevertheless, I took the entrance exam, which required us to draw still life. Dean Faustino passed by, looked over my shoulder at what I was drawing, and told me I must take up FA as I had the gift of drawing. Unfortunately, we simply could not afford it so I ended up instead taking up AB Psychology. I was overjoyed when my Aunt Jill enrolled me one summer in Art Classes at CHS. Learning how to use charcoal, watercolors and oils, and do pen and ink drawings, I was in seventh heaven!

This helped me earn funds to buy my college textbooks. Summers, I taught young children drawing lessons. My aunts’ co-teachers at CHS would commission me to sketch their family members. When I had an oil painting framed at an art shop, the proprietor told me that a customer wanted to buy it. I refused to sell it, as I wanted to keep that painting. It is still hanging in my mom’s house.

One day, acting on my Aunt Jill’s request, I drew a young child with big round black eyes. She loved that drawing so much that she had it framed and hung in her office, and later, when she retired, in her home. I had forgotten about that drawing until I visited her almost two decades later with little Bea in tow. I was amazed that Bea looked almost exactly like that child in the drawing.

At 25, I went to Spain and lived with Tia Conchi and Tio Mariano. While they were at work, I would paint. Tia Conchi mentored me in watercolors and oils, her forte. Weekends were spent in the Museo del Prado. I learned that the best art was in churches, and so while my aunt and uncle prayed, I soaked in the art of the masters, and marveled at the beauty around me. When I visited my aunt a year ago, I was pleasantly surprised to see all the paintings and sketches I had done during my apprenticeship framed and displayed in her house.

Painting requires a lot of time, and this I had in short supply when I started work and more so, when I was raising a family. It seems that the only free time I had to take up my pencils and brushes was when I was pregnant and had to stay at home, or much later, when we had our family vacations in Club Paradise. No wonder then that most of my paintings are of beaches and the people I love.

Rollie got me painting again, or should I say we encouraged each other. We had painting sessions together. Once, I sketched him and emailed him the sketch. He was so proud of it that he had it enlarged, framed and hung in his living room. For Christmas, he gave me a box of oils. I have yet to open it. Someday, when I can bear to open it without crying, I will. For now, though, I will stick to another thing that makes my soul happy.

Writing. I never thought I could write until second year college when my English teacher asked me to take the exams to join the editorial team of Veritas and Action, the school papers. We were instructed to write an essay on whatever topic we wanted within half an hour. My mind was a blank. Where to start? Listless, I moved my chair, and promptly got bitten by a little ant. And then, I saw the procession of ants crossing in front of me, resolutely carrying tiny bits of food that had crumbled on the ground, some seemingly bigger than they were. And suddenly, it dawned on me. I was just like that little ant. Feverishly, I started writing about ants, their resoluteness, their tenacity, their work ethic, their sense of community and teamwork, and their strength in numbers. Apparently, I nailed it, as I was appointed as Associate Editor.

Taking up my masters at the Asian Institute of Management, we were required to do voluminous reports and analyze case studies. I once got back a report with my professor’s comment that it was a joy reading my work. When I started corporate work though, creative writing took a back seat. Business English was the order of the day. Besides, I was married to a brilliant writer who wrote effortlessly on far ranging topics from business to management, economics, current events, social issues, human nature, information technology, and the like.

Mike authored several books, some together with Professor Philip Kotler, the marketing guru, and wrote a regular column for the Manila Bulletin. Mike could string words together so beautifully while making perfect sense, like pearls forming a perfect necklace, and I felt wanting in his presence. He did, however, ask me to edit his writing and comment before submitting it to his editor. Another pair of eyes to spot mistakes that crop up when writing.

Mike encouraged to me to write but I didn’t take it up until I was on a plane enroute to Spain nine months after he died. And then, it seemed like the floodgates opened, and I started to write. And write. All the pent-up emotions just came rushing out in my writing, and I started a blog. I wrote for myself, but it was heartwarming when people would come up and say then enjoyed reading what I wrote, or that I had helped them cope with their own situation by reading about mine.

For my mom’s 80th birthday last year, Rollie suggested I write a book about her. He had written one on his wife Isabella three months after she died, and he said it was great catharsis. He gave copies to all her friends, and said they loved him for it. I was intrigued and excited with his suggestion but didn’t know where to start. He offered to collaborate on the book project, and promised to scan all the pictures I could find. And so we did work on it together. My mom loved the book, and I gave copies to each of my siblings for Christmas, so that their children will have a memento of their grandmother.

Rollie then encouraged me to write a book on Mike, before the memories disappear. He said it would be a beautiful and lasting gift for our children, plus it would help me move on, and we could then begin our own story together. That was what I was working on the long weekend when Pope Francis visited the Philippines.

It was hard going as I wept most of the time I was writing it. Rollie called from Hong Kong to check how I was doing. When I told him I had spent the better part of the weekend crying and that I was only half way done, he praised me, saying “Keep going, my courageous girl. I love you,” Just a few days later, he was gone. Forever.

As for poetry, I never knew I had it in me until I met Rollie. For some reason, he unleashed the poet in me. I would wake up in the wee hours of the night and start penning. He was overwhelmed with what I wrote and eager to receive the next one. When he died, this gift seemed to have died as well.

But I continue to write, feeling this connects me to people even when I feel so alone. And then I come to my next passion.

Cooking. My love of the kitchen was nurtured in my paternal grandaunt’s warm kitchen, watching her prepare meals for the family and for feasts. I would eagerly wait for Lola Teta to come back from the market in a calesa, and take out the wonderful goodies from her market basket. I guess that’s why I get excited seeing plump and colorful vegetables and fruits and nice smelling herbs growing in farms.

Inevitably, my lola would bring home two or three live chickens, which she would later kill and dress. She would let me play with the stomach lining, which I would blow up like a balloon. And the myriad little yellow eggs that had not yet come out were prepared as adobo as a special treat for me. All these happened before my 7^th year when a beheaded duck started my phobia with all things feathered.

Summers growing up were spent in that kitchen. My aunt Jill would teach my brothers and me how to bake, decorate cakes, and then let us experiment in the kitchen. I loved watching her cook, and I was her designated assistant, though not allowed to wield a knife. My brothers and I would fight as to who would clean up the leftover fudge in the bowl.

I remember crying when my cake didn’t rise because I had forgotten to put baking powder in the mix. Or the time my chocolate cake caved in because I had taken it out of the oven prematurely. My brothers mercilessly teased me about this, and called it my chocolate volcano. And now, chefs brag about their chocolate lava cake. I should have had it patented then. Or that time I tried to make lemon squares and forgot an ingredient so they came out really hard. Lemon cardboards, they were called. I guess all that teasing made me stop kitchen experiments, and I concentrated instead on studying.

Later, when my boyfriend asked for my hand in marriage, my mother asked him if he was sure about me as I was hopeless in the kitchen and all I knew was to study. I was flabbergasted, made my mind up that I would learn, and bought several cookbooks.

There were some hiccups along the way. In the early days of marriage, I decided to make coffee and wondered why the coffee machine wouldn’t work, only to find out I had not plugged it in. Another time, I was at Farmer’s Market and was convinced to buy stingray. The market vendor told me it was delicious as adobo, and taught me how to prepare it. Well, it was so bad that even our dog refused to eat it. I confided my travails in the kitchen to a friend at work, and she agreed to help me. She put together a menu for my house blessing with detailed instructions on how to prepare it: chicken a la king presented in puff pastry and vichyssoise. It was a hugh success!

One of the first things I learned was to make spaghetti bolognese and I would do this a lot until I perfected it. I did not realize that my poor sister developed a strong dislike to spaghetti because she had to eat it a lot while I was practicing. This was a huge disincentive to her moving to Rome, but luckily she has learned to make peace with pasta, though she still shys away from bolognese to this day, and makes sure she rubs this in each time we eat pasta.

My work in publishing entailed a lot of travel, and I was exposed to different cuisines. All these left their mark on my cooking. I was comfortable with different spices. Soon, I stopped referring to cookbooks and ventured into experimenting in the kitchen. I enjoyed going to the market, checking out the fresh produce, and interviewing the vendors how best to prepare them. If I liked the food I ate at restaurants, I would start guessing what went into it, already planning how to do it at home. Mealtimes, I would look at what was available in the pantry and ref, and start imagining the dish I would concoct. Invariably, my family would love it. Their happy smiles and comments were well worth the hours I would put in the kitchen.

Over the years I developed some family favorites, like adobo which my children swear by, different pastas, stuffed peppers, Christmas ham, chicken relleno (though someone else had to do the stuffing and the sewing), and paella. My love affair with paella started when Mike bought me a paellera for our anniversary. I had learned how to make it from my Tia Conchi, who gifted me with a hundred-recipe paella book. I would have so many requests for paella during family gatherings and especially during the Christmas season. For years, my paella was a staple at the Cyberpress yearend party. From one small pan, I have now graduated to various sizes of paella pans, even some big enough for a barangay.

Mike loved to eat, especially if it was spicy, and preferred beef and seafood over pork. He bought a huge barbecue grill for our home, and would grill steaks often. This was men’s work, and so I was relegated to preparing the sauces and sidings.

When we had our farm in Alfonso, I was excited to finally have my very own herb garden. Weekends with Mike in Alfonso were spent in the kitchen. We would cook together, and it was such a joy! We would walk around the farm early in the morning, and pick vegetables and fruits that would go into the meal. His last project was building an outside grill. I thought he meant a small barbecue grill but I should have known better, as it turned out to be a stone-walled double oven and grill, wood-fired and gas-fired. Sadly, it has not been used as often as we would have wanted.

So there you are, the top three things that make my soul happy. Tell me, what makes you happy?

Adventure, Church, Faith, Family, Friendship, Life, Love, Women

Alfonso on a Whim

July 12, 2015 administrator 2 Comments

Taywanak, Alfonso. July 12, 2015. On a whim, I decided to escape Southbay and come to Alfonso yesterday afternoon with Jeovanie and Bleng, our caretaker couple from the farm who have been helping me clean up the house. My girls allowed me to drive since I had company in the car. Besides, they all had Saturday night plans, which didn’t include mom. Funny that I always had to ask Mike for permission whenever I wanted to go out, and when he died, I have to ask my children.

No longer used to driving long distances, it took awhile to get to Alfonso in the rain. It was dark when we arrived. I had agreed to have dinner with a friend in Tagaytay, so I left right away. Jeovanie was worried as it was dark and raining and I was alone, but I told him I would be all right. I promised to text when I headed back so he could open the gate.

Arriving at Bag of Beans, I was surprised to find it full of guests. The main dining area was welcoming, brightly lit and warm, but quite noisy. Looking for a quiet corner where I could write while waiting for my friend, the waiter led me to a lone table outside, and I took that. I was not sure if she would show up, and I was pretty hungry by this time, so I ordered soup and started to write.

And just for posterity, I asked the waiter to take my photo so I could post it on Instagram, as a response to a challenge made to eat alone in a restaurant. I actually enjoyed the solo experience. No one bothered me, and I was able to concentrate on writing. To top it all, the broccoli soup with warm bread was delicious and filling on a cold, wet night. Soon my friend showed up, and as usual, our lively conversation ran the gamut of family, friendships, pets, work, and current events.

As BoB was about to close, we paid the bill and left. On the way out, she teased me about bringing my laptop as a clutch to the restaurant, saying I was not really alone. Baby steps, I told her. My friend insisted on driving tag to make sure I got back safely to my farm. I was thankful for this kind gesture as the fog was thick enough to slice in Tagaytay, and I could hardly see, and in Alfonso, the provincial road was very dark and wet. Knowing she was driving behind me made me feel safer, like having a guardian angel behind the wheel.

Back in Alfonso, I looked up at the sky and there was nary a star in the dark sky. Normally, I would look up and enjoy the stars twinkling like diamonds as I walked the long red brick road to our house. This time they were hidden behind the heavy dark clouds.

Snuggling into my bed, I prayed with my wooden holding cross in hand, a Christmas gift from a dear friend. The cross fit snugly in the palm of my hand, calming me down. I asked the Lord to watch over my children, my family and friends and keep them safe. I am usually not scared of being alone in the farm, but another talk this week about malicious spirits and exorcism which I had with another friend, played havoc on my mind. I woke up early this morning, still holding on to it.

The fierce rustling of the leaves outside my window warned me the weather was still cross. Nevertheless, I put on my bright yellow parka to tour the farm. Hugging the tree beside the house, which had the first station of the cross, I whispered an “I love you” to Mike, remembering all the lovely memories of time spent in the farm with him. There was a big butterfly with pink-tipped wings that stayed in the veranda the whole morning I was in Alfonso, as if loath to leave. ‘Twas Mike, I believe, keeping me company.

Walking around the farm, I once again marveled at the awesome beauty of God’s creation. Everywhere I looked, it was lush and green. I was worried that the wind had toppled over some trees, but luckily they had held their ground, though some were bent over slightly. The stepping-stones were covered in moss, reminding me I had not visited in awhile.

I saw fallen mangoes on the ground forming a carpet under the trees, and spied some green santol that had suffered the same fate. Ah, santol season has come! I asked our caretaker to pack some for me to bring home to Southbay. Near the gate, the champaca tree was in full bloom, its fragrance wafting through the air. Herb seedlings nestled in the rudimentary nursery.

Walking by the caretaker’s cottage, I didn’t notice the chickens nesting in the trees. Suddenly, a flurry of cackles and feathers greeted me. I don’t know who was more surprised, the chickens or me, but I was ready to run away.

After a hearty breakfast and some writing on the veranda, I drove to town to hear 9am mass with Bleng and her children. I was pleased when the parish priest introduced the parish youth leaders. There were so many of them! The church was packed full with the faithful, with latecomers forced to stand at the back.

Back at the farm, we packed ready for the long drive back to Manila. I would have stayed longer except my girls and I agreed to have lunch together. And the spotty Internet connection was unnerving. It was a very short visit made on a whim, but well worth the trip. I’m looking forward to the next one. I wonder who I can cajole to come with me next time?

Art, Childhood, Children, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, God, Life, Love

On Father’s Day and Angels

June 21, 2015 administrator 2 Comments

This week, there has been a slew of posts about Father’s Day, and I feel somewhat cheated that I only had my dad with me for a very short time. Earlier this week, I viewed a post of a father giving away his beloved daughter at the altar. His speech was funny yet so heartwarming I cried. It was obvious how much he adored his daughter. And I wondered what my father would have said if he had been alive when I got married, or when my marriage broke up and I filed for annulment, or when I got married again, happily this time. I wonder if he would have been proud of me when I graduated with honors, or when I got my first job, or got promoted, when I was first published, or when I set up TeamAsia. That father in the video obviously was very proud of his daughter. So many unanswered questions. So many what ifs.

My father died when I was but ten years old. All these years, I’ve wondered how my life would have turned out if he had not died early. How I wish I had more time with him! I even wrote a blog about it one Father’s Day (https://monettehamlin.com/2014/06/15/how-i-wish-i-had-more-time-with-him/). While thinking of the many conversations I wish I had enjoyed with my dad, a memory long forgotten popped up.

Do you believe in angels? In 2003, I met a woman by the pen name of Avi Maria at the home of a friend. She told me she had died one day, and gone to heaven where she met angels and Jesus Christ. She described her experiences in heaven, and said it was beautiful beyond imagination. What she thought of first as gentle rain, turned out to be shimmering glitters of all colors and hues. When she asked her guardian angel what it was, the angel said the glitters were all the answered prayers of the faithful.

Avi Maria wanted to stay in heaven, but she was told she still had many things to accomplish on earth and a son to take care of, and was thus sent back. She told me about seeing her baby son about to fall from the bed unnoticed, while her whole household was crying over her dead body. She rushed back into her body and woke up. All these had happened in the span of an hour during which time she was thought to be dead by her anguished family.

When she came to, she started seeing angels. One day, she ended up in a bookstore and bought a lot of painting materials. When the cashier asked if she was a painter, she said no and wondered why she had done this. From that day on, she started to paint guardian angels of people she would meet, even if she still had not met them by the time she painted. Before this happened, she had never even used a paintbrush.

Avi Maria’s paintings were sought after; in fact, my friend had several in her home. She confided in me that each angel painting had a designated owner, and she could only sell it to that person. She once sold a painting upon the insistence of someone who wanted it, and by the time the person brought the painting home, the angel in the painting was gone. It was returned to her, and the angel once again appeared when she finally met the rightful owner. She was compelled to paint, as if she were a puppet in the hands of a master. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but it was quite an interesting story.

I didn’t think much of it, until several months later when I got a call from her, saying she had my painting ready. I protested that I had not commissioned anything, but she insisted I get it because she had made it for me and it could not be owned by anyone else. Besides she said, it was different from all the other paintings she had made. I asked her why, and she said that a big handsome man had sat beside her and asked her to paint it. It took her just 20 minutes to paint it, a mean feat considering its size.

When she had finished painting, he asked her to tell me that I was not to worry anymore, that everything would be all right, that I would never want for anything again. He also asked her to tell me he was sorry that he wasn’t there physically when I needed him most, but that he was always there, watching over me. I asked her to describe the man, and she described my father exactly. By this time, I was gripping the phone tightly and crying, prompting Mike to ask what was wrong. Needless to say, I bought that painting and it is hanging in my home.

My angel painting by Avi Maria, circa 2003

The painting is that of a beautiful angel coming out of what seems to be a dark blue tunnel. At her feet are three angels, and a little to the side is another angel. I asked Avi Maria what the painting meant. She told me that the angel was my guardian angel; the tunnel was all the hardship and pain I have gone through, and is now behind me. The angel’s wings are spread over the children, protecting and taking care of them.

The slightly larger angel to the right represents Bea, my first born. Avi Maria said Bea would always be there for me, watching and taking care of me. And this is exactly what is happening now. Bea came back from the US after finishing her masters with honors to take over the reins of TeamAsia. She is doing a wonderful job at it too.

The quiet little angel in front of me represents Cara, my middle child, who we’ve always called Cara bonita, being so fair. Avi Maria said that Cara would always be close to me. I’ve wondered about this because Cara has the wanderlust and loves to travel and explore. But it is true that she comes home often, and would call out “Marmee” the minute she enters the door.

The little angel flying around to the left represents Niccolo. Avi Maria said he was a happy angel. Niccolo was just five when the painting was done. He is now in the United States visiting kin and learning to be more independent.

Mike was the one to the left, seemingly engrossed in something, yet always there to keep me company, making sure I was safe. Little did I know that just ten years after I got that painting that God would claim back Mike. But I know in my heart that he is there, still watching over me.

So, do I believe in angels? Yes, I do. Do I miss having my dad around? You bet I do. But then, I have him in heaven watching over me, as I do Mike and Rollie. And I am sure all other dads in heaven are doing the very same thing. So Happy Father’s Day to all!

Adventure, Children, Confidence, Death, Faith, Family, Food, God, Life, Love, Travel

Moalboal Fam Trip

April 4, 2015 administrator

April 4, 2015. Moalboal Fam Trip. It’s 6:00 am, and I am all alone in the lanai, waiting for my children. We’ve reserved a banca for a 7am trip to Pescador, an atoll where they claim the marine life swim in abundance. I’m excited yet apprehensive, not being a strong swimmer. The lifeguards told us that the drop off is quite steep so I was undecided about joining the children.

I get nervous when I can no longer see the bottom while swimming. When Mike and I would snorkel in Club Paradise, he would always hold my hand and lead the way. I felt safe with him always. Now, he is no longer here. Still, I’ve decided to go with the children, especially since Mama Becky told me I should go and that she would take care of Dada while we were exploring.

When Mike died, I vowed to do the things I’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance or the courage to do so, like wearing a bikini, jumping off a cliff, riding a bike, going paddle boarding, traveling by myself. And that’s what I’ve been doing these past two years.

Hale Manna where we are staying is true to its name. Hale in Hawaiian means good energy, and Mana means home. So it means home of good energy, of which there is much in abundance. Mama Becky Pestano-Smith, its owner, wanted to praise and thank God for His many blessings by spelling Manna with a double n. My children were right in deciding to spend Holy Week in this place. I feel at peace and happy.

Months ago, Bea and Cara were backpacking in Cebu and chanced upon Hale Manna as they were exploring the beach. They said a nice lady called out to them from the cliff, inviting them over. They accepted the kind invitation of the lady who turned out to be Becky Pestano-Smith, the owner. The girls said they immediately felt at home as the kindly Mama Becky enveloped them in her warm embrace and treated them to merienda. They vowed they would return, and so we are here now.

Arriving at Hale Manna Thursday afternoon, we were welcomed warmly by Mama Becky. She had prepared hot cassava chips drizzled with honey and the most delightful lemongrass tea to soothe our thirst from the long drive. Ravenous, we feasted on the lechon and puso, which we had bought at the Carcar market on the way here. Our spacious room has eight comfortable beds covered with colorful quilts, which beckoned us to sleep. And that we did since all we had was a couple of hours sleep the night before.

Just as we were going for dinner, there was a sudden brownout. We were worried about the trip because super typhoon Chedeng was expected to hit the Philippines the next day. Also, Bea had just finished regaling us with stories of how she and her barkada ended up one summer vacation in an island in Cebu when there was a massive brownout, and they had to survive for days without electricity and mobile phones and with just one vat of water for all of them to bathe in.

Using our cellphones as flashlights, we walked over to the lanai where the other guests were already having dinner. It was quite romantic, with just candles lighting up the place. Halfway through dinner, the lights came back on. Bea commented that she had enjoyed the candlelit dinner more. Still, I welcomed the return of electricity.

The beach at Hale Manna is rocky, not sandy, but there are kayaks to bring you to a floating raft where you can swim. I did this the first afternoon we were here, but preferred yesterday morning to just write at the Inspiration Point, the highest part overlooking the water while the children swam in the waters.

Hale Manna has several secluded areas facing the sea with bright red lounging chairs where you could laze all day. There are also cabanas, with mattresses and large soft pillows, set far from each other so that you could enjoy the serenity of the place. Despite several vehicles at the parking area, we hardly bumped into anyone, except for meal times when we would all congregate at the lanai.

Yesterday morning the children were bitten by jellyfish, so they came back early and we decided to go for an early lunch at Club Serena, two resorts away. CSR boasts of a sandy beach and more modern amenities, but there were a lot more people around. I prefer the quietness of Hale Manna as the houses are far apart from each other. We took a tricycle going there, and it was bumpy and dusty, an adventure in itself.

Arriving at Club Serena, we were warned that they were full and we would have a long wait. We decided to stay as the girls who had been there before were adamant we should try the suman with tsokolate and mango. It was well worth the wait, though it was way past 2pm before we had our first nibble. While waiting, the children played Places, Animals, Names and Things (PANT) while I sketched Niccolo and his girlfriend Sam from a photo I had snapped a week ago. Earlier that morning I did quick sketches of Bea and Cara at the house.

It was almost 3pm, and we wanted to pray. I tried accessing my mobile bible, but unfortunately, CSR did not have wifi and Globe Internet was spotty. I walked over to the bar and asked our amiable waiter Rolan if they had a bible we could borrow. He had one, he said with a smile, except it was in Bisaya, which only Cara would have understood. I went back to the table sad, but when I checked my phone, there was my mobile bible online!

Niccolo wanted to go back to Hale Manna to pray because CSR was a bit noisy, but we insisted to stay as the hour was near. Reverently, Niccolo read the book of Mark from the Last Supper to Christ’s death. As I listened intently, all the ambient noise drowned out, and I was there at Gethsemane witnessing Christ’s agony as the apostles slept, beside the anguished Peter as he realized he had denied the Lord three times, amongst the angry crowd as calls for crucifixion rang loud, beside Simon of Cyrene who was tasked to carry His cross, at the foot of the cross as Christ gave up His spirit, and beside His mother as she embraced His dead body. We were all quiet as Niccolo finished reading, each engrossed in her own thoughts.

We were aghast when we learned there were no more tricycles available for the return trip to Hale Manna. They had all gone home to observe Good Friday. We were worried about how Dada would be able to walk back to Halle Manna. Kind Rolan offered his vehicle, which could not carry all of us, so Niccolo and I walked back along the seashore. It was good to be with him alone, and we talked about plans for summer.

We slept siesta, then went back to the beach intent on going swimming by the raft, but the lifeguards refused to let us go, warning us that the current was very strong. Instead, we plopped down in one of the comfortable cabanas and shared stories, as we are wont to do when together. Soon, we were joined by Niccolo and Cara’s boyfriend Ramon who had arrived from Iligan. We stayed at the cabana until sundown. As we watched the sun go down, Bea asked, “with such beauty around you, how can anyone not believe in God?” We all agreed.

We turned in early because of the planned boat trip. And now, I have to stop writing and pack up as the boat has arrived.

12:00 nn. We’re back, and we just finished a delicious brunch of Arroz a la Cubana, Paksiw na Isda, and Ampalaya. The children and Dada have gone back to the house to sleep, and I once more have the lanai to myself.

I am so glad I joined the boat trip. There we were in the middle of the vast sea, basking in the early morning when the boatmen pointed to dolphins far away. We went nearer, and the playful dolphins decided to put up a show.

As the boatmen tethered the boat at Pescador and we were getting ready to jump in, I realized that in our excitement, we had forgotten to bring along life jackets. Cara, Niccolo and Ramon are all strong and confident swimmers and don’t need the life support. On the other hand, I am a floater, meaning I have a very difficult time diving, and I get nervous swimming in the open sea without a life jacket. Luckily, the boatmen were able to borrow two life jackets from another boat, one for Bea and another for me.

Once in the water snorkeling, I was lost in the beauty of the marine life teeming around me, sporting a myriad of colors unseen on dry land. Truly, there is a God, I thought! After Pescador, we traveled to another place where they said the turtles could be found. I was told to put on my life jacket as we would have to swim to where the turtles were.

As we were quite far from the shore, I worried about the drop off. As the bottom kept dropping and the water became darker and colder, I began to feel afraid, but then the kind boatman took my hand and led me swimming along the drop off, spotting turtles and pointing them out to me. Once in a while, he would let go of my hand, and Niccolo would take over. Soon, the excitement of seeing the huge turtles overcame my fear of the deep, and I happily relaxed, even getting over the sharp stinging I would feel once in a while as jelly fish brushed against me.

Our final destination was where the sardines were. Oh, and it was amazing! The school of silver sardines, why, there must have been millions of them, was like a gigantic ribbon undulating and pulsating in the sea as far as I could see. The water would alternate between very cold to warm as the sardines swarmed around us. It was truly an exhilarating and awesome experience! Mama Becky was right. It would be a pity to come to Moalboal and not see the marine life. Next time, I intend to swim with the whale sharks.

TeamAsia founder and president, trainer, event organizer, food and art lover. President, Philippine Association of Convention/Exhibition Organizers and Supplier Philippines · teamasia.com