The Man I Am Missing

I am missing someone. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with this guy. I remember years ago, he was thin, pale, quiet, unadorned and very conservative. Looking back to the old days, he had simple aspirations in life, that is, to be of help to his family by finishing college and landing a job probably as an architect or a nurse. He had no friends except me and he had brought all his focus in honing the talents that God has given him (damned!, this guy got a basket of natural gifts). He used to speak less though I knew his heart was full of stories to tell.

We had no earlier pictures together, he’s very camera shy, he thinks he’s hideous.

After college, we parted ways. I left him actually, not because I needed to but because I wanted to. He’s too boring for a mate. He didn’t know anything beyond the most complex algebraic expressions or the elements that most commonly present in the atmosphere. He lived his life with books and the imaginary characters he found therein. He didn’t play any sports. He didn’t wear jeans. He had never been to a mall until I invited him one time during our second year in college. My god! He’s a hermit living in a cave of closed identity. He had lived a simple life but I had never once heard him complain or protest why others have to be more blessed.

Yeah, he maybe so probinsiano, but he’s way better than anyone you could ever find in the metro.

That’s what I had liked about him. Yes, he’s too corny but he’s true. He never lied, he never doubted anything that people told him, he’s very smart yet humble, he’s mysterious, he’s very different. When I came to Manila to work, I did change. I have liked all the new found things that I have not seen in the province and when I was still with him, the huge malls, branded clothes, gadgets, new friends and too many others to mention. I forgot about him just as my Friendster friends keep on growing. Then for a long time, I have not seen him. I don’t know if he’s dead already. There was no news of it.

He disappeared to anonymity, never took his college dreams and then..a news blackout.

So many years passed, I had not heard about him. How I wished I could have given him some complimentary gifts when I was still with San Miguel or invited him to the many occasions that I have spearheaded in our house. How I wished I could have talked to him and just simply take a trip down memory lane. But where is he? Now I am here in Dubai and friends are too hard to find, after so many things that have transpired, after dropping him from my priority list, after denying him a chance to go with the flow, after letting him alone, after leaving him lonely, his thoughts and character suddenly graced my imagination.

He was forgotten, but his character lingered somewhere at the back of my mind.

Could I be missing him? well, I must admit I am. But why? Maybe I got tired of the lights and the modern times and I am looking for some peace and truthfulness . I know he is not that hard to find, only if I will look closer and deeper within myself. I miss him, yeah, i miss the man. I am missing the man I used to be.

Regular na Ako!

Yahoo! Regular na Ako!......

Regular na ako sa work, so dapat wala na ang chismis na may STD daw ako! Kasi dito sa Dubai, pag nalaman kang may ganung sakit after nun pre employment medical test, DEPORT ang bagsak mo!

Regular na ako sa work, so ibig sabihin, namit ko yung mga expectations ng mga amo ko kaya napaaga ang pagiging opisyal na pagiging empleyado ko. In short,magaling talaga ako.Yabang!

Regular na ako sa work, so malamang, regular na rin yung makakarinig ako galing sa amo ko nang : " you did a great job, Sherwin!". Hahaha, yabang pa rin!

Regular na ako sa work, so regular na rin ang overtime na walang bayad.

Regular na ako sa work, pero hindi ibig sabihin non eh manlilibre na ako ng regular yum sa Jollibee.

Regular na ko sa work, so regular na rin sa mga susunod na taon (unless mag resign ako kaagad!? Ang pagsusuot ko ng pormal clothes. Hindi pa rin ako ganung sanay kasi sa Pinas, civilian ang palagi kong suot pagpasok sa opisina.

Regular na ako sa work, so regular na rin ang paglalakad ko pagpasok sa umaga at pag uwi sa gabi. Tamang ehersisyo lang para iwas taba, iwas high blood at iwas gastos sa pamasahe.

Regular na ko sa work, so regular na rin ang pagsahod at siyempre pagpapadala ng pera buwan buwan sa mga mahal sa buhay sa Pinas.

Regular na ako sa work, so regular na rin ang pag gising nang maaga kahit pa puyat para maghanda ng almusal, baon sa tanghalian at mamlantsa ng damit na susuotin.

Regular na ko sa work, regular na rin ang pagluluto ko sa gabi ng pagkaing makakain. Mas masarap kaya ang lutong bahay kaysa sa regular flavor ng KFC, kasawa fried chicken!

Regular na ko sa work, so regular ko na rin makakasalamuha sa opisina yung mga ibat ibang lahi na minsan eh nakaka init ng dugo lalo na yung kanilang amoy.

Regular na ko sa work, ganun pa man, hindi dapat pabayaan ang regular na ritwal na pagblobloging.

Regular na ko sa work, at sa bawat araw na daraan, tiyak na dadami pa ang mga Pinoy na aking makikilala at makakausap, at masasabi kong parang hindi rin ako lumisan ng Pinas!

Regular na ko sa work, sa kasamaang palad, meron iba jan ang lalong maiinis sa akin kasi may regular na trabaho na ko. Mamatay kayo sa inggit, pag nagkagayun, ipapalibing ko naman kayo sa regular na casket!

Regular na ko sa work, so ilang buwan pa bago ako makauwi ng Pinas para magbakasyon. Regular pa rin ang pagkamiss ko sa pamilya ko, sa mga kaibigan ko. Hayyyy.

Regular na ako sa work, ayos na. Sana next time, love life ko naman ang dumating...

Regular na ko work, maraming salamat sa Diyos! At sana patuloy Niya pa akong biyayaan ng kalusugan at kaayusan maging lahat na mga Pilipinong nagtratrabaho sa ibang parte pa ng mundo.

Casted 10 Months Ago

Tired of writing?? Well, I do, so here's what I've got, a personal Podcast made in October of 2008. I am sharing it for the very first time, wala lang. For a change. Hear it, it's me, Chico.

Much of Less

Last night's sighting of the new moon has marked the beginning of the most holy month in the Muslim calendar – the Ramadan. And as the season begins, life will change for most of Dubai residents, not just for Muslims. People of other faith, including Filipinos, will see their usual routines altered, whether they like it or not. Beyond the fasting of our Muslim brothers, everyone else is goaled in finding more good with the "less" during the observance.

For Muslims, Ramadan is a time to come back home, to get closer to God as individuals, as family and as community. Fasting or less focus on food and earthly things teaches them self control and discipline while purifying the body, mind and soul. Abstaining from food seems to be the way God teaches how to gain control over other aspects of our lives, which in turn helps us focus on spiritual matters. During this month, Muslims must control their passions and desires, and perform extra prayers and good deeds with complete devotion to God.

It is a tough call for Muslims, but for us people of other beliefs, living in a country where the brand of faith is different from ours, we could only slow down on the way we usually do things as a sign of courtesy and respect. After all, not obliging with the guidelines is punishable and that leaves us not a single choice to act on our own less one wants to spend some time in jail or worst get deported. Since it's a time of piety and religious consciousness, one must dress up moderately and avoid animated behavior that could cause offense. I must say that discipline and accord is at their highest adherence at this times regardless of our identity and preferences.

The annoyances during Ramadan are aimed not to punish or discourage people at any level. Truth is, treasures could be found in the elected bareness and simplicity. During Ramadan, shpping malls and restaurants veil their windows and open only after sunset. So you'll get to learn how to cook. Eating, drinking and smoking during the day is strictly prohibited and it's a great way to diet and stay healthy. Nightclubs and discos are in hiatus for a month and that means less spending. Road is less congested during the usual rush hours and your patience while traveling home is somehow momentarily laid to rest.

Working environment during Ramadan is more relaxed while people find more reasons to postpone work or go home early. Working hours is reduced and in theory could be bad for the economy. Professional commitment is not maximized and office works tend to pile up unfinished in one's desk. But for the good part, having to go home early means more time to sleep, to blog, to read your favorite books, to movie marathon, to chat with family back home, to meet up with friends and just simply rest and plan ahead for your family's future. Bet no one's gonna argue with that.

Despite the many things reduced, curtailed and minimized during this Holy month, Ramadan works in a way far important than just losing some pounds due to eating prohibitions or saving money due to closed bars and entertainment options. It gives us the opportunity to learn a lot from other people's tradition especially the essence of fasting, to share more time with our beloved back homes even through that small webcam, to show respect for our Muslim friends and be one living proof that people, despite differences in color, race or religion can unite and live harmoniously as one big happy family.

Bringing a Good Man Down

I really don’t know which way to feel. Being so preoccupied with my current job, I have almost lost all the time in the world to update my blogs, check on my emails and see what's the latest in friendster and facebook. Thought I could just leave the world unattended and focus on what's essential – my job. Well, evil really works its way when no one's watching. With the latest assassination that surprised the unsuspecting character in me, I really don’t know which way to feel . Should I be proud that someone is so negatively OBSESSED with me or should I be bothered that someone is weaving up trouble out of his OBSESSION.

What started out casually is raging on bloodily. Plagues of malicious emails, disturbing forum subjects, snatching control of my humble life's sanctuary, deleting the comments of my friends and even my own Friendster account, as if an apology would be not be enough to appease the bitterness and frustrations that is totally consuming this obsessed soul. Such another triumph for the evil monarch as another lost soul has taken the dark path and is blinded miserably by his congenital hatred and resentment of other people's successes.

While I work hard to earn a decent living, inevitably someone will just come along and speak evil without any just cause. But no matter how unsettling his words and his actions, I have always reserved in my heart a piece of understanding and console for people who are less loved. Sadly, people who are less loved most often are being used by the devil to spread their havoc in this world where we all try to live peacefully. And the battle just goes on. Damage will be inappropriately caused but God sees the truth and waits. He allows evil people to live longer, not because He wants them to spread more of their wrong doings but to give enough time to contemplate and repent for their transgressions.

I have always been a good man and a good friend to many. I am not a perfect human being. I have also flaws and vulnerable to mistakes and pains but I always know how to ask for apology for something that I have done knowingly and unintentionally. We live in an imperfect world, sometimes, what we want we won't get, who we love wont love us back the way we want it to be, we can never wish to be just successful, we have to work hard for it. At times when things don’t fall into place, there's no reason to blame others or feel bitter.

I have no enemies in life, aside from the loneliness that sometimes I feel from being far away from home. As an OFW, in time and in this place, that's the least that I would care about. But for some, there must be pleasure in evil speaking of others and spreading demeaning thoughts. I really don’t know which way to feel. How could some people be just so obsessed with someone so as to devote so much time trying to destroy him? Good luck. But they can never put a good man down. I have been through a lot in this life. I know as long as I am with God, this evil can try but they can't take that faith away from me.

"A man can never be too careful in the choice of his enemies” - Oscar Wilde

Never Say No

My sister texted me yesterday. How sweet noh?! But wait, she didn’t text to say hi or how I am, or to thank me for my last padala. Text from the Philippines is quite expensive so she cut it off, she needed three thousand pesos for a project she's doing in school. "Fine" I said, I'd send right away. So I did. After, I called her to give the reference number and she thanked me. I smiled and I said to myself, I don’t need to be thanked. As an OFW, I am believed to have lots of money, though the inside of my wallet, the place where I live, the roads that I walk, the food that I eat and the way I spend my weekend would say something else.

Never say no. that’s probably the motto OFWs like me have come to breathe and live in as far as family back home is concerned. Whatever they need, whenever they ask, however they want, we try hard to provide and fulfill every promises and every hope in as much as we can. When sometimes it requires going beyond our capacities, we still make up ways not to frustrate and upset our beloved. Though it means we need to swipe that card, borrow from friends, avail of company loans, sell personal properties or engage in extra sidelines, we are more willing to do that so we could be that ever dependable anak, kuya, tito, kaibigan at kapitbahay.

It hurts sometimes when we are too misconceived. They think that when someone left the country to work abroad, success is a guarantee. It may or may not be, but whatever happens, we cling on to our missions and sanguine that the next time will be better. Yeah, we are heroes, but not super ones. Hence, we have limitations and inabilities that oftentimes we conceal beneath our tears and under the pillows when we sleep at night.

I counted the change in my wallet when I arrived home, it's enough to last till the next payday, only I just have to take meals twice a day and spend nothing else for other things, not even for a piece of toblerone that I terribly love to grind. But I am not saying these to make someone feel guilty or to solicit any form of pity. I love to be of help to my family, and that’s basically the reason why I am here working far from them, away from friends and bare of a comfortable life that I want my loved ones to have.

Actually I can say no. But I have chosen never to say it. More than a motto, I have come to love and live with it, like a destiny, a bitter sweet destiny.

mtv featured was Jim Paredes "Sa Aking Padala" for Western Union.

Home is Where the Toilet Is

I was sitting on the toilet bowl for almost thirty minutes. Had it been a weekday, in the same span of time, I wouldn’t have only emptied my tummy from last night's full meal, but have also taken a shower, dressed up and gelled my hair. But since it's a weekend, I was spared of that obligation to enslave myself to another day of never ending early morning wake up calls and pressuring office works. So for thirty minutes, I have afforded myself to sit on the toilet bowl, releasing my thoughts of boredom and homesickness yet again. Been here in Dubai for more than a year now, it's kind of odd that after many battles and consecration to fulfilling my dreams in this land of sands and the guinesses, I was actually feeling sad and missing home.

The toilet was as bare as me. Aside from the bowl, the water hose and the tissue holder, there was nothing else to see inside. The walls and floor was made of white shiny marble tiles whimsically resembling a huge folded unpainted canvass whose master's artistry has lost ever since he left his silent sanctuary back home. The toilet and the bowl was nothing similar to the one we had back home. This one was so closed out and unforgiving, while ours in the province was meters away from our house, a place without out a roof and where the sky and heaven freely falls and where the birds and the tress fly and sway abandonly from above without even care at what you are doing.

Such a great pleasure from simple things. I missed that and I missed home. Sometimes I wish if only toilet bowls could be like time machine that could transport someone back to the past or bring someone closer to the future, then I'd probably spend frequent times to happily do both. I wanted to go back to the days when our toilet bowl was stll that ground level type, much like me, so young, so trivial, so jologs, funny and innocent. Yet all the more that I wanted to go forward to the future. I missed home, family and friends. If I could travel to skip many pages in the calendar and many months of sacrifices alone here outside of my own familiar confinement, my thoughts of home and all the feelings of boredom would be flushed away with all my hesitations and unsaid feelings for my loved ones.

There was peace and solace in the toilet room, the deafening silence is a treat away from the seemingly inescapable lack of privacy that is Dubai. Yet the noiselessness was just suffocating in a sense that when you have nothing else to see, what you saw was a picture of yourself back in time in the same moments and mersmerized how things have changed since the time that you'd enjoyed some private yet public moments in that roofless toilet nestled below the leafy towering calumpit trees. There were no flush, tissue paper or exhaust whatsoever, but there was joy in seeing the birds and airplanes flew from above, there was pleasure hearing the birds' noises from the trees, there was sweetness in the scent of the fields and farms. There was hapiness, simply in being at home.

The House That Loneliness Built

Sunday, I was happily trading online messages with a former housemate in Quezon City when out of our scattered conversation I learned a very disturbing and saddening old news: the boarding house where we used to live had been burned down to ashes last year due to faulty electrical wiring. Shock restrained me from typing a word when I heard what happened. The boarding house where I have lived for more than two years back when I was still working in Manila has surrendered its walls and floors to a tragic and unwanted demise. I couldn’t believe that such misfortune had happened and I didn’t even know. Suddenly I was silenced by shame and denunciation. I was clothed with immeasurable guilt and disconcern for an old house that I have come to call home.

Our boarding house was a unit of a typical up and down apartment building that was located along Bansalangin Street in Veterans Village, approximately a hundred meters away from Edsa. It was an old apartment building and our boarding house unit, I'd say, looked older as it wasn’t well maintained. For its dark interiors, busted lights, clogged drains, waterless faucets, swaying staircase, cracked walls, rusted windows grills, crawling insects and all other stuff reminiscent of those haunted houses featured in creepy Korean horror movies, it was definitely a miserable place, good enough as shelter, you might think, for miserable people.

But not so long ago, I was there in that same building. I have lived there since our office was transferred to Valenzuela. If it weren’t for its proximity and convenience, I wouldn’t have lived there. There was nothing special in that house, except for an old woman who had been keeping that boarding house operational and inhabited, so that she too could survive, she was our landlady. In two years that I have lived in that house, I have witnessed boarders come and go. I was there when the house was fully occupied with bedspacers and I had to act like a caretaker overseeing the others. I have witnessed how at one time the house was almost empty of any occupants, just me and Nanay Mimi, yet still we survived. I was there when someone have tried to sneak into the house and rob but didn’t succeed. I was there in many occasions that though all might not necessarily be happy, for all the lessons learned and trust earned, I'd say that it's all worth it.

I could still remember when I've found that boarding house, it was advertised in BuynSell. That was in 2004. When I came into the house, It was full of male boarders, it was more like a jail, only the prisoners were free. Time passed and everyone had to go but not me. I have chosen to stay in that house despite prolonged waterless day, despite the cockroaches, despite the creepy settings. I didn’t know. Maybe I was a miserable guy destined to live in a miserable place. Maybe because the rent was cheap and the location was very accessible. Maybe because I have already developed a sense of family inside the house. Maybe because I didn’t want to leave her alone. Maybe I was afraid to see her in tears. Maybe I was afraid to just see the house stand in its solitary and desolate state.

When I came to Dubai in 2007, I had to say goodbye to my landlady and to the house for good. It was after spending my nights there for more than two years. It was a sad moment indeed as I emptied my improvised dusty wooden cupboard, it was like leaving a huge vacuum in the house and heading forth with a hollow space in my heart. It wasn’t that easy. Working abroad was a tall order but leaving something that has come to be part of your life was rather heavy. The so many nights where she shared her unforgettable and sometimes incredible life story were incomparable. The many mornings where she'd cooked breakfast for me were genuinely appreciated. I knew when I left, she'd also felt sad. She has no family. Well, actually she has, but she's living on her own, with her pride, her silence, her solitude. This old boarding house was what kept her surviving all these years and it pained me to see her left behind and not see her at time when she simply needed someone to talk to.

The last time that I've seen her was the time when I left the house with all my belongings. I have never heard anything from her since then, not until this shocking old news that sent my thoughts to nostalgia and melancholy. I am still gald to know that no life was wasted in the accident. I felt sorry for her. I wonder where she is right now; it's been almost a year since the boarding house caught fire. The house was gone, so I hope her loneliness. Pray that she's fine and doing good, wherever she maybe.

Curacho's (B)Day

July 05, 2009. On this day, I thought I'd gonna be a little luckier than Curacha. Sad it didn’t happen......

It's my B-day, read: bland, boring, not big. I woke up 6 in the morning and I headed straight to the bathroom. I've done all the rituals in 20 minutes. I checked for any messages from anyone. It was so frustrating no one even seemed to care about this day. Suddenly I remembered I don’t have a phone! Kalas! Then I opened my only present, a jumbo Sticko,

After 3 sticks, I was all dressed up. Office was just 5 minutes away. I have no plans for the day and everything felt so ordinary. There was no excitement while I was walking. I was too pre-occupied bearing with the 40 degrees outside morning temperature.

Barely a month old in my job, I needed all the time in the world to perform my tasks and serve my customers as effectively as possible. I couldn't miss a thing, and being a neophyte wasn't a excuse to make mistakes. Half day past, I forgot t'was my b-day. Came lunch, I treated my officemates at an adjacent Pinoy restaurant.

Soon as I sat back on my desk, I became an epitome of a workaholic, typing, calculating, emailing, answering calls, printing reports, explaning to boss, reimbursing employees and so on and so forth. The sun kissed Dubai goodnight without even reminding me it was my b-day. So did I.

I came home past 9 in the evening just wanting to lay my tired body and mind to sleep. But I remembered it was b-day, So, I went to a nearby KFC and finished in finger lickin 3 pieces of orginal flavored chicken. 20 minutes more and I was dead dreaming I was having a happy b-day.

Flight of Fancy

June 28, 9:45 PM. I was flying to Kish on board a Fokker 50 plane, one of the rare planes whose sight should remind us that traveling by air should be an option to spare once in a while. I was flying to Kish for one last time, not to wait for something unsure, but to bid goodbye to the island that has sheltered my broken and built OFW dreams for so many occasions. We were flying to Kish, from my window seat, there was nothing to behold outside of the thick rectangular fiber glass. There was total darkness. Down below was the waters of the Persian Gulf. It was a starless night, not even some humpy clouds to shake a little fear among the seated souls. The only thing that seemed to accompany our forty five minute journey was the quarter faced pale moon whose countenance resembled that of an angel's lips smiling like an eternal Mona Lisa.

I was flying to Kish, at 40,000 feet in the sky, my thoughts were never out of my grasp. I was flying and I was enjoying every single moment of it, like a little child having his first airplane experience in an airplane this big. I have traveled to Kish three times before, all for luck and gamble. During all those flights, I never really got to sit and just sit worriless and fine. Now it's different. In less than 24 hours, I knew I'll be taking this same plane back to Dubai, letting my used to be restless thought with almost nothing to think about. The torment and agony that used to fly with me has flown away to the past and now I am flying to the future armed with all the memories that I have banked and all the lessons that I have learned.

I was flying and having nothing to view outside; I focused my fascination on how this little piece of metal was able to lift itself together with 50 other people into the sky only with a pair of wooden like propellers. Airplanes, for your information, in one of the few things that fuel my astonishment and enthusiasm. I remember, when I was little and whenever I had a chance to go to the airport to fetch some homecoming relatives, I would always marvel at the sight of parked planes at the airport and those touching down and taking off. That’s probably what made me believe that nothing in this world is impossible, that even the heaviest thing could fly, that a dream of whatever kind could still soar when you believe in it.

Our forty five minute journey was far less from luxury. The flight was two hours delayed. The plane itself was scary and smelly. The snacks consisted of an orange juice in tetra, orange bread and salted peanuts. But these were not the things that mattered most. These were petty things for a short journey. In all of my previous travel to Kish, all the time that I was on the plane, I was more consumed with the thought of how to spend my time once the plane touched down and not having any certainty as to when I would be back. Now that I wouldn’t have to go through that ordeal, I was flying for the fun of it. Never mind the plane, never mind the view, never mind the snacks, I was flying with my dreams that have kept submerged for so long.

Here Comes the Brave

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Ladies & Gentlemen,

After 226 days of hope, of faith and of life
After 226 nights of doubt, of restlessness and of pains
After 32 weeks of irrelevance and purposelessness
After 7 months of soul searching
After 7 months of eating my pride
After 30 weeks of not communicating with my family
After 71 days in a deserted island

After almost 300 internet hours spent
After close to 200.000 pesos in financial obligations incurred
After a little less than a million pesos in lost salary
After more than 2,000 job applications sent
After just 12 interviews attended
After 98 new blog entries posted
After more than 300 new friendster requests accepted
After 14 new passports stamped
After 3 gallons of tears shed

After injuring my spinal chord
After extracting another tooth
After spending Christmas, New Year & Lent in Iran
After losing my mobile phone
After selling my laptop
After sleeping over with strangers
After almost losing it all

After all the frustrations and depressions
After all the heartaches and pains
After all the trials and tribulations
After all the sufferings and madness

HERE COMES,

The end of the tunnel
The sunshine after the rain
The rainbow after the storm
The beginning of the end
The dawn of a new beginning

HERE COMES THE JOB.

HERE COMES ME.
HERE COMES THE BRAVE.

I, Witness

....

7 PM DUBAI. The day was so stretched that the sun was just about to kiss its burned citizens goodnight. Same time in some other parts of the globe, people were already having their dinner, watching their favorite television shows and relaxing after a busy day. Apparently here, people, particularly the hardworking Pinoy OFWs, were likewise busy but not in the comforts of their own homes. Back and forth, they came rushing from all directions heading home, not one without a paper bag or a plastic bag probably containing something to cook for dinner or stuff bought from a discount shop to fill that huge anticipated balik bayan box. Their lives as a slaved worker have just ended for the day and so begun their little time to be human, i.e., an opportunity to eat, to rest, to talk with friends and think of their loved ones back home.

I used to sit in that familiar place adjacent a mall every time the clock approached 7PM. That's the time when the whole area was littered with people to smoke, to coffee, to chat with friends and for car less commuters to wait for their car pool. I was once pretending to be one of them. In reality, I was trying to pass time – to waste it as fast as I could while others could only wish for a 30 minute break from their strenuous work. Having been an unlucky tourist during that time here in Dubai, or should I say a jobless shit to put it more blatant, thanks to the global crisis, it has already been a part of my daily routine to spend time in the benches to just enthusiastically watch as people of rainbow colors comes down and around. Their mobility and purpose never failed to make me feel so green and resentful. Even the sight of our lowliest kabayan, who just seems to work as some maintenance guy, always made my head down to tears and self pity. At least they know what they are doing here and they make their family back home happy and proud. As for me back then, I was still trying to find a job and perhaps trying to hold my purpose like grains of sand carefully slipping through my fingers.

I have sat there for so many times alone as people stopped, thought and waited a minute. In the many occassions that I was there, I have bore witness at the bite of reality, of the many stories of our kababayans’ struggles and sacrifices here in Dubai , inevitably when my ears and eyes felt like listening when fellow Filipino’s passion for “kwentuhan” comes to scene. Already, I have overheard: a young lady sharing to another how she lost her job after her company closed down due to the financial crisis, one guy talking to somebody over his mobile phone, apologizing for not sending his padala on time. He explained that he has lent his friend some amount as the latter needed it for a parent’s hospitalization. Then, there were the “car lifters” talking about the 300 Pinoys recruited from the Philippines and were promised a job only to find out when they arrived that they have been scammed. One of them could even joke how his wife had runaway with another guy while he worked hard here in Dubai so that he could send money to her. They were laughing in between his loud “PI’s”. It’s pretty cool how they could just laugh about it. There are many more tales of discomfort, of pains, of hopes and of dreams of our kabayans here in Dubai that remained unheard and resting on their chest box. Except on the pages of this blogsphere, mine is one them.

One time, I was sitting alone like all the other usual days. I was thinking if Dubai is still the place for me. Then an old kabayan sat besides me. He was carrying a huge backpack that made him looked so tired and haggard. “How are you?” he opened up. I smiled at him to say, “Pinoy din po ako”. “Akala ko kasi Nepalese ka eh”, he confessed to my delight. I thought of walking out right away because I suspected that he could just be another kabayan begging for some financial help. But I have no where else to go so before he could even tell me that, I let him knew ahead that right now I am still jobless and it has been pretty hard times for me since then.

Contrary to what I expected of him to do next, he started to deliver some comforting and fatherly words of advices and wisdom. He said that we are indeed in tremulous times and we just have to bear with it with faith and patience. He shared that he has been in Dubai for the last seventeen years of his life and he works as a maintenance guy of a real estate company. He just earns a very minimal pay but I can see that he is very happy and thankful. He furthered that whatever is happening to everyone, it’s just how God wants it to be. Hearing those words, I discounted that he could be what I’d initially thought him to be. He sounds so contended and able despite his job that I could only care about when I am dead.

It was a pleasant exchange of stories at the start. Someone not only listened to my tales but assured me that sooner it’s going to be fine. Then he began to explore beyond the boundaries of our own personal dilemma. He started to ask questions that challenged my deep comprehension. “What is the name of the one true god?”, “Can anyone still salvage us from the dark times that we are in?”, “What do all these financial crisis, war and violence mean?”, “What does the future holds for us?” he asked in succession without expecting me to answer. He explained each. He was starting to sound preachy and I started to feel bored and annoyed. Honestly, I have such a very low tolerance when it comes to religious conversations in the perspective of a particular group or sect because I believe that faith need not be branded. I could have stopped hearing any further discussions on spiritual truths by telling him that I needed to go but I hesitated. I tried to eavesdrop intently to his words and cite my opinions once in while and it’s not bad though. We might have some differences in religious preferences but bottom line is, we still have the same God that hears even those that the hearts couldn’t say.

It would have been unfair if I just walked out simply because what he’s sharing was outside of my interest. While everyone else was busy crumbling to get home and as I watched time flies waiting for someone to heed my tales, someone came along to lend an ear and offered more. If I deserved a little time to be heard, this man deserved something more than an equal opportunity, but respect and admiration for extending his arms far beyond his reach. He was just a janitor, tired from work and yet still has time to share, inspire and listen. Not every kabayan would be willing to do that. The act itself of devoting a piece of his time in this place where it is regarded as priceless is something to be admired and appreciated way up high whatever topic, objections and misinterpretations we might have discussed along the way, be it the end of the world or about the curse of man. Dubai can be such a cruel and cold place to live in, how ironic, but with people like Manong, as what I addressed him; he just makes it a little homey and bearable. Before we parted ways, he pulled something out from his bag and gave it to me, it’s a leaflet that reveals more about the “truth” and I thanked him for the time. It’s what he has been carrying all along.

There are wonders if you wander, says one blogger and it doesn’t take a genius to know if it’s true. I have been unlucky to have remained jobless here in Dubai for almost eight months, but being a tambay has nonetheless opened my eyes to the wonderful discoveries that have unfolded before my naked eyes, things that I haven't known when I was still busy with work and with the many tangible things that used to define my “life”. I have been a witness myself to the many struggles and sacrifices of our kababayans. I have been a witness on how we Filipinos always try to perfect our craft no matter what it is, despite some discrimination and indifference we may have from other people or from the work itself. I have been a witness, from that spot where I used to loiter at sunset, on how our kakabayans here in Dubai rushed to get home and be just who they are apart from being a devoted worker ready to endure everything for the sake of their loved ones back home. Finally, I have been a witness on how an old nameless Manong, against the tide of limited time and chances of rejection, was trying to make a difference in other Filipinos lives by sharing and imparting the values of patience, perseverance and faith.

Now, I am lucky to have employed myself to a new job after almost eight months of being a tambay. Sadly, I can no longer afford to sit in that familiar place adjacent the mall to watch with time as people of rainbow colors comes down and around. Like the rest of the many Filipinos who rush to get home in the evening after a very tiring day at the office, I no longer have the luxury of time to eavesdrop to a kabayan’s heartfelt sharing to another or to meet another manong to share his wisdom and inspirations. I supposed somebody else now sits in that spot where I used to loiter every time the clock approaches 7 PM. I suppose the witness now gets witnessed and another soul has taken his turn to see for himself what goes beyond the fast and dry life that defines Dubai. As for me, I would say that I have learned a lot about the sacrifices and struggles of Pinoys OFW by being a tambay for so long but bravely in a sense; there is no better testament to know the truth behind the evening rush and manifold dreams of the eleven million Filipino overseas contract workers than to be ONE OF THEM. There is no better spot to appreciate their greatness and legacy to the country and to the whole world than to be IN THEIR SHOES.

Note: This is an entry to PEBA 2009. Follow this link
to visit and vote for my entry at PEBA's main page.

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What Makes a Man

What makes a man? Is it the additional pair of chromosomes that destined him to have a beard, testicles and possibly a hairy chest? Is it his talent to actually talk on the phone with his wife while making love to another woman? Is it his incorrigibility? Is it chivalry that reinvented his image as caring, empathic, good listener, wise counsellor, useful shoulder to cry on? Is it his pride of being descendants of great kings, warriors and artists? Or is it his charm that makes heads turn or the beauty of his inclinations that makes him so adorable?

There things in life that are better defined by examples than formulas. Masculinity is one of them. Whenever I've attempted a dictionary-precise definition of masculinity, I've always tripped myself up in endless qualifications and asides. Traditionally we try to equate masculinity with being virile, athletic, strong, brave, sexually aggressive, unemotional, stoic, intellectual, leader, dominating, disciplinarian, success-oriented, ambitious and many more one-size-fits-all single dimensional characterizations. That men are pre-ordained to read newspapers for several hours on the toilet, dominating the use of TV remote controls, playing basketball, admiring guns and fast cars, reading pornography, fighting in wars and supressing emotions and some non-standard behaviors which maybe considered a sign of homosexuality.

But today, the concept of what makes a man has challenged the narrowly defined masculity that society has typecasted since 3,000 BC when explicit statements of what was expected of men were expressed in laws. From Daddy Day Care to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, metrosexual politicall candidates to the ever growing population of gay people ranging from four star generals, to celebrities and to the nameless ordinary ones, it seems clear that what makes a man is now under serious review. Could it be that conventional masculinity, with its stoicism and violence, has become so toxic and redundant that men themselves are refusing to take it on?

Is machismo still the basic rule of what makes a man? Or is becoming a bore? Is exaggerated aggressiveness and intransigence in male-to-male interpersonal relationships and arrogance and sexual aggression in male-to-female relationships still the real measure of being a man? Is a machismo makeover conspiracy afoot? Well, not necessarily. Guess it's just some men want to come out as a sensitive, multi-dimensional beings who want to be loved without having to fight to prove their manhood and without having to hurt others and themselves in order to secure their own place at the table.

Deeds, not creeds, are the true measure of a man. It's not his show of strength, his size, his girth, his length. It's not the clothes he wear, it's not his worldly knowledge nor his riches and pockets of gold. It's the depth of his commitments and genuine concern. It's the sincerity of his purpose and the quiet courage of his convictions. It's his capacity to share and give all that is inside him even when nothing is there. It's how he bounces after he hits the bottom. It's how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.

So who makes a better man? Is it George Bush who concocted the war in Iraq for political reasons or Bill Clinton who, while Monica serviced him orally, was busy having international and political conversations on the phone or is it Harvey Milk, tha assasinated first openly gay man to be voted into public office in America who has become an outspoken agent of change on behalf of the minority: the gays, the senior citizens and even union workers. Who makes a better man? Is it Patrick Garcia who walked away from the responsibilties after impregnating his girlfriend or is it Paolo Ballesteros who's man enough to accept fatherhhod despite the persistent allegations that he is actually gay. Who makes a better man? Is it the prominent businessmen who profit by corrupting public service or is it the lowly father of a family who makes a decent living searching for gold in a mountain of trash?

What makes a man isn't a matter of sexuality and conventions, but of integrity and responsbility. I don't want to leave it point blank what really is that makes a man. But Robin Williams once said, "God gave men a brain and a penis, but only enough blood to run one at a time". This miracle of evolution, man, though one that is certainly not without its flaws, has still plenty of room for improvement, even after three billion years.

"What matters is to turn one's predicament into a human achievement."—Victor Frankl

A Decade Back

"Isang araw kahapon
Nagbiro ang panahon
Naglaglag ng mga dahon
Sa puntod ko ay tumabon.."

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6 pm, exactly 10 years ago, my mother was the proudest in the world. Her son was graduating from college with the highest honor, a feat never before accomplished by anyone in the clan or the university he’s leaving behind. After so many years of hard work and perseverance, the sweet taste of victory was up for the taking. The tree that was planted on a dried, barren and deserted land was finally ready to bear fruits. It was bittersweet, indeed.

Ten years passed, I could still recall the feelings and the portrait of the time, all those happy faces of proud parents, the black gowns of the graduates, the endless picture takings, the mounting after parties and of course, the ceremony itself. As the good senator, Manny Pangilinan handed me over that white piece of rolled paper representing my passport to a better future, though it was devoid of any written guarantee that success was sure to lie ahead, nonetheless I felt, in my hands a key to a brand new unfurnished house, the foundation was there, and it’s up to me to fill it up with whatever I wanted.

Back at home, the entire clan was waiting. Foods were prepared for this special occasion fourteen years in the making. When I came, I was greeted with relatives that I didn’t even want to see. What for and why now, I thought. It was uneasy talking to them, like I was suddenly estranged in my own house. I was the man who wasn’t there. I didn’t want to make the night unpleasant so I paid my stay for an hour. I have not seen my family, especially my parents looking so happy and proud in a long time, and that was enough to absolve half the bitterness that I was hiding deep inside my heart.

The years before that night were unknown to many. Fourteen years of self kept hurt, dragging financial woes, burgeoning personal and emotional issues and high flying dreams, I wept alone. I had cried many nights. I had taken all the heartaches and pain, nobody came to just say “everything’s going to be alright” or probably some comforting words like “you could do it”. Now that everything was over, everyone seemed to share with the victory. Everyone was happy, taking and partaking what’s supposed to be mine.

I came to bed early, not because I felt sleepy but because I wanted to take time alone. My part was over. I have given them pride and honor, something for the entire clan to feel happy about. I should have enjoyed it, it was my night. Suffice it was for me to see my parents received all the congratulations and commendations on my behalf. They deserved it.

I was in bed; I was looking at the white piece of paper that I have just received. It was blank but my mind was full of thoughts, what I was going to do next, would I be able to hurdle the board exam, would I be able to get a good job soonest and so on and so forth. I was on my bed but I was imagining going to places, travelling to far, distant and unknown horizons. That night, I felt could touch the sky and hug the clouds, I could embrace the moon and pick the stars. Everything was just within my reach. So close yet so far.

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"Isang dekadang lumipas
Ng panahong walang bakas
Ang pag-asang makatakas
Nalugmok din ng malas.."

Hotel Farabi

The tallest, most expensive, grandest and most luxurious hotels in the world can be found in Dubai. It has actually become such a common sight that writing about it will provide no more surprise and excitement. So, I am writing something about a hotel in the little island of Kish in Iran, a hotel that doesn’t even comes close to that of Dubai’s in terms of scale but certainly it’s something closer to all Filipinos, something that they know, by heart.

Hotel Farabi. It’s not just your ordinary hotel. For most Filipinos, it’s a hotel of dreams, where hope floats, fate hangs, friends are met and memories are made.

BACKDROP
Hotel Farabi is located in Kish Island in Iran. Prior to 2008, it’s the favored hotel destination of Filipinos whose tourist visas in Dubai expired and they needed to make an exit. Back then, processing of return visa took only a day and normally, Filipinos stayed in the hotel for up to three days before going back to Dubai. The hotel hosted for the Filipinos, what indirectly seemed to be a vacation, an opportunity to meet new friends and a chance to break away from the comforts and discomforts of Dubai life. Today, the hotel still exists, though with less men and might. The new immigration laws in Dubai and the current economic crisis has greatly affected the hotel’s profitability. What is left of the Filipino transient tourists who used to populate the hotel are those who still hope to get back to Dubai in search of work despite the longer waiting period. The hotel that once stood for fun and pleasure is now taking a bow to mirror a new face for its guests, dreams and aspirations.

The HOTEL
Front Desk. Hotel Farabi is located in the city center of Kish Island, approximately 600 meters from the beachfront and the Kish boardwalk. The hotel compound is divided into two: the cluster buildings and the villas. There are 135 rooms in the cluster buildings and 20 villas. Each room has 4 to 10 bed spaces depending on the room size. Hotel Farabi is more of a transient hotel and when you check in, inevitably, you have to share the room with people that you don’t even know and sometimes with people that don’t even want you to be there. Room rate, well I mean bed rate is 35 AED per day and it comes with a free daily complimentary breakfast. A refundable deposit of 100 AED must be made upon checking in and hotel payments are due every 10 days.

Amenities. Aside from 4 channel TV in each room, a telephone station, an internet café, a restaurant and shishahan, the hotel has nothing else to offer. And didn’t I just say that all these services don’t come free? A bakeshop and a billiard hall have already closed down its operations. If you expect hot and cold water or at least 1 24 hour water supply, well, dream on! If you wish to be spared of bed bugs that usually plagued Dubai’s boarding houses, well, you better keep on wishing! And if you hope to give yourself some good movies to watch over their in-house movie channel, well, I suggest you bring your own laptop and a handful of DVD to avoid the great frustrations!

The Daily Bread. The daily complimentary breakfast is consisted of the tsinelas bread, a tea, a strawberry/carrot jam and sometimes with a boiled egg. The tsinelas bread is a foot long and as stingy as a rubber. When frozen (pag trip mo lang naman), it becomes hard as a wood and ca be used as a pamalo, chopping board and as a pamukpok ng labada. Its unique feature always amuses its first time customers, asking the perennial questions why is it so hard and ductile. The explanation could be simple, so you won't have a second try.

The Restaurant. One good thing about Hotel Farabi is, when you are planning to shred some extra pounds off yourself, eating at their restaurant can proved to be such an effective way. The food there is awful that you’re going to lose your appetite and force you to find some better alternatives. If chips and cookies won’t suffice, surely there is a way for Filipino resourcefulness and practicality to work.

Filipinos passion for cooking has found its kitchen in the sea shore. In addition to cost savings and group bonding, our Kabayans can still manage to prepare our favorite putahe just the way we know how despite lack of proper utensils and limited ingredients. Compared to the unknown dishes in the hotel’s restaurant, what our kabayans cook is way better in all respects.

Things to Do. What the hotel is lacking in its amenities, it doesn’t compensate in any other services as well. The hotel is just as good as a bed to lay your lazy body to rest. To spend your time with a little worth aside from sleeping, you can do check a whole lot of other activities within the hotel’s vicinity, all for your eyes to see and feet to walk.

Tales of Discomforts. Hotel Farabi is a bad hotel, if only we had a better choice. People working in the hotel are rude and ill mannered, from the manager down to the hotel staff. They treat Filipinos not as visitors but as refugees, that we owe them so much for staying in their hotel though we pay for every single minute of it. They manifest their rudeness by their:

1. Irritating way of informing you that you are due to pay your hotel expenses: an early morning call, then a hotel staff visiting your room if you don’t come to the reception on time, finally their last resort, security guards ready to bring you out of your room and telling you that you’ll be deported if you don’t settle your bills. They are inconsiderate and cold blooded.

2. Housekeeping services in the morning. They will just break in to your room without a knock. They’ll muff the floor, collect the garbage and arrange the things, without any regard if you are dead salivating in your slumber.

3. They disallow cooking even outside of the hotel premises because their restaurant is getting empty and unprofitable. They raid rooms and confiscate cooking utensils, materials and ingredients at sight. Then you’ll also be the first to know that the confiscated items would be sold by the hotel staff to your neighbor room, which will be the subject of another raid the next day and the cycle just goes on and on.

Salvation. But amidst all the discomforts the hotel provides it guests, none could ever be more resilient and understanding than we Filipinos could be. For the sake of family and dreams, we are ready to face all the hardships and endure the sacrifices of living far away from home. One good thing about Hotel Farabi and living in Kish in general is, people who share common longing for company find each other to share their stories and enjoy some happy and sweet moments, too.

Many relationships have blossomed out of Hotel Farabi. Some have ended in the altars, some were just flirt affairs lasting during the duration of the stay, and others were just plain friendship and camaraderie. Whatever way it may end up, it only care to show that we Filipinos strongly value relationship and that we can still embody positive attitude in depressing times.

For all of Hotel Farabi’s unworthiness, it is the joy of newfound friendship and time etched memories that ultimately save the day. The thousand miles that separate its likely visitors from their families and loved ones is understated by their dreams and aspirations for a better future despite all the hardships. Hotel Farabi may have sheltered that dreams for the Filipinos, but it is their faith that keep it soaring.

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