Company

I was on my way home from an ice cream shop when it dawned on me how lonely—to a degree, even depressing—dinner time has become. While the dessert (a scoop of blueberry cheesecake ice cream) and the meal I had before that (embutido, egg, and fried rice) were heavenly, something was starkly missing: the joy of having friends around the dinner table.

In undergrad, I used to eat with friends from the dorm. We'd wait for each other in the lobby at 6:30 to 7pm; if someone didn't show up, we'd text the missing person with instructions on where we'd be. Usually we'd go to Lola Lita's, the second store to the entrance of the Shopping Center, because the food was just delicious, as if it came straight from our home kitchen.



Later on, that dinner gang was slowly dissolved. We all had our own things-to-do. I had to work overtime to finish my thesis. Others had classes. Some had already graduated. Eating together was becoming the exception rather than the rule, and I found myself eating alone with no one to pray for the meals with, no one to tell stories of how my day went. It was a sad, sad feeling, so much so that I would drag my roommate (who had eaten hours ago) to accompany me.

Now I'd like to think I'm past that stage. I no longer look for friends to eat with. I understand that everyone is busy. Sometimes I just laugh at the fact that I've lost count of how many times I've been spotted eating alone by people I know. In an ice cream shop. In McDonald's. In the mall.

But I can't help but wish that things were different. Dinner, then, would be so much fun. Iba pa rin kasi talaga kung may kasalo ka.

Luther and Jason

Congratulations, Luther Caranguian (left) and Jason Enriquez (right) for passing the boards for Electronics and Communications Engineers!

I am witness to how the Lord has been faithful to them in five years of their university life. Jason was my roommate in freshman year; Luther occupied the room in front of ours. Since then, we've been part of the UP Dormitories Christian Fellowship. I consider these guys among the closest friends I have.

I've been encouraged by their steadfast devotion to the Lord. In college, the two of them balanced strenuous academic life with huge responsibilities in the Christian fellowship. Luther became chairperson of the UP DCF, while Jason served as president of Yakal Christian Fellowship. Given this, they still went on to graduate with honors in 2009: Luther was summa, Jason was cum laude.

And the Lord has remained faithful—they're now full-fledged engineers. To God be all glory!

Restless

My November 2009 header features a line derived from Augustine's Confessions: "Our hearts are restless 'til they find rest in Thee."

God, after all, is the supreme source of joy. Gladness flows from Him. Those who study his Word and live for Him find rest, satisfaction, and peace. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, understood this—perhaps more deeply than the rest of us do.

I've resolved to read Augustine's Confessions (translation by JK Ryan) as part of my non-academic reading for this sem. I bought a second-hand copy when I dropped by UP Diliman.

I pray that the Lord would use this to inculcate in me a deeper love for and a grander view of God. How I wish I could write the same things as Augustine did. He yearned for the Lord. He lived for His glory. He dearly loved his Savior.

Old phones and the new Nokia Ovi

Until now I could still imagine the disappointment of the man who stole my phone. This happened in 2006, the days when cell phones with colored screens were only starting to become the norm. My unit then was a battered Nokia model. I've forgotten what it was exactly; I've lost count after 8210.

There wasn't anything special with that phone, except probably the old, old messages I chose to not delete. It was worn out. The letters in the keypad were barely visible. The screen had scars. Dust had accumulated in the tiny crevices. Even the most desperate thief would think twice because it wouldn't even sell for 500 pesos.

But the man who stole my phone might have only seen it bulging from my pocket. He didn't know he was stealing something that would amount to, well, a decent jeepney fare perhaps. A shame, really. So when I alighted from the jeepney, my Nokia was gone. I felt an incision in my pocket—a good one—that now I think that man might've made a good surgeon if only he had the chance.

I've never been a die-hard fan of popular technology, but now, since we're on the subject of mobile phones, a friend recently told me about Nokia Ovi. It offers features like Ovi Mail, Ovi Share, and Ovi Store. Ovi Mail can easily be created on any Nokia mobile device and is accessible through the phone and PC. Ovi Share offers unlimited storage space for all photos, videos and audio clips for free. Ovi Store is a one-stop shop for mobile applications and content—from what I gather, there are a lot of freebies. You can read all about them here.

My current phone is a primitive Nokia model; it has worked well for me, and I have no plans of changing it. But if yours is capable of web surfing, emailing, or taking pictures, try Nokia Ovi out. Get a username, enjoy its features because, well, it's absolutely free.

Catching up over dinner

Perhaps the previous months have been too unforgiving in terms of work or school. I say this because I couldn't remember a night when my friends and I from the Youth Workers Cell ate out for dinner in the last five months. We used to do that—eating together—on a regular basis.

God has been gracious in giving us time to fellowship with each other elsewhere. One thing I cherish about my friends is their love for the Lord, something that manifests in even in dinner table conversations. I am, in Pastor Bob's words, sanctified by them.

So we all had a great time catching up with one another, listening to stories from work, or sharing online links to download this or that preaching. I feel weird saying this because we see each other every week. But food makes all the difference, I guess.

I'm sharing some pictures from A Veneto, a neat restaurant in Trinoma, where we ate.

From my side.


The other side.


Just as we were about to go home.


And oh, here's Banjo's wonderful t-shirt, wonderfully demonstrating that figure of speech called irony.


(Photos: Ate Meann)

Doing sports ministry

I had the privilege of attending a seminar on sports and recreational ministry as a way of spreading the gospel of Christ and strengthening the local churches. The three-day conference, called Winning for Christ, was held at the Higher Rock Christian Church in Timog Avenue, and it was attended both by Higher Rock members as well as brethren from other churches in the city.

Now I'm not really bestfriends with sports—basketball, least of all—but Pastor Bob Amigo was right when he told the congregation that one doesn't need to be into sports to appreciate the lessons that would be taught there. I thank the Lord for this opportunity to grow in my Christian walk.

The speaker, Pastor Rodger Oswald, is the executive director of Church Sports International, a "ministry designed to serve the local church, mission agencies, and sports parachurch ministries as they would seek to use sports and recreation as church planting or church growth tools." Pastor Rodger developed the curriculum for the Sports Ministry Department of The Master's College (run by Dr. John MacArthur's church). By God's sovereignty, Pastor Bob got in touch with Pastor Rodger, and the latter desired to speak in the Philippines.

The conference began by defining and stressing the importance of a sports ministry. By definition, sports ministry is "the careful use of any recreational or sporting activity that allows the participant to worship God, serve the church in building up the believer, and serve the lost by creating an environment to manifest Christ in actions and proclamation."

Sports is a common language among people. They won't go to church, but they'd go see a basketball match. They won't understand salvation, but they'd know what a foul means. So, the idea was, why not use sports to evangelize, to share Christ, and to show His love to the community?

Pastor Rodger spent a substantial amount of time in defense of this ministry. From what I gather, a number of pastors are opposed to this, citing that sports is sinful, idolatrous, and may pose as a stumbling block to believers. His argument was that no where in the Bible are these arguments found. Sports is inherently neutral; it is the people who do sports who are sinful. Sports and recreation ministry is biblical and culturally/historically consistent, strategic, and practically expedient.

Kito, a friend from church, told me, "This is by far the most practical church conference I've attended." I agree. After dealing with the theological, scriptural, and philosophical foundations, the conference shifted to how-to-do-its. With his wealth of experience, Pastor Rodger carefully outlined how to start a sports ministry, recruit and train leaders, do camps and training sessions evangelistically, disciple, and use competition to witness for Christ.

All these Pastor Rodger discussed despite his back ache. It was so encouraging to see how a man in his old age could be filled with so much love for the Savior, having devoted his life in bringing people to a saving knowledge of the Lord.

If you're interested in having this ministry in your local church, you can access the following websites: Crosstraining Publishing, Winning Run, Sports Outreach International, and CSI.

And if you need someone to play with, I'll be here. I'm supposed to be good in Scrabble.

Be useful during the break

Sembreak has treated me kindly. In a week, I've finished one book, started reading two more, watched three movies in cinema, registered and volunteered for a church conference, had dinner with different sets of friends from church and school, toured a cousin around the Metro, and recovered some sleep I may have lost the past sem.

It has taken me five years to learn this valuable lesson: idleness isn't the best way to enjoy the break. It's by keeping yourself on the go, perhaps at more tolerable levels, by doing things that matter. Don't oversleep; often, that gets stressful as not sleeping at all. Go outdoors; volunteer in church; read something; pray for friends you haven't seen in a long time; be useful.

I'm counting the days until the start of classes, but I thank the Lord for His graciousness in giving me a chance to take time and smell the flowers. After a sem in the cockroach-infested, pollution-stricken Manila where I now live, I sure did miss 'em.

How did you spend your break?

Bleak

If you've watched the dystopic I am Legend, you'll find Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake familiar, but not less entertaining.

It's a story of a post-apocalytpic world where everything has crumbled. Weeds grow on asphalt roads; vines cover what used to be windows; and skulls of dead people lie scattered everywhere. All these because the entire human race has been wiped out by a deadly virus.

In the midst of the chaos, one human has survived: Snowman. His recollections of the past form the backbone of the novel. Here, Margaret Atwood excels in weaving episodes that hop from different time periods, giving the reader bits and pieces of information that sow seeds of curiosity—this she does for the first 11 chapters. Right after that, she ties all the answers to those questions, and this is where the novel gets really gripping. Everything falls into place.

The general theme is not unlike The Handmaid's Tale, the first Atwood novel I've read: the future looks hopeless. If she truly believes in what she writes (regardless if it's fiction), then she may not be a very optimistic person. The book is depressing, the supreme quality that makes it a page-turner. Who' d say it's not depressing to be alone—literally—in a world where genetically modified creatures prowl around, waiting to devour you? Atwood makes it sufficiently clear that the greatest curse in being alone is that you cannot escape your thoughts—those stories of previous loves, friendships, and family.

They haunt you.

The book indirectly discusses present-day problems we can't overlook. Atwood accomplishes this by way of exaggeration. Among these issues include the ethics of genetic engineering, internet pornography, and child trafficking. It's amazing how these things reinforce one's notion of the human condition. That of depravity.

Happy birthday, Tatay

Today my father celebrates his birthday. Honestly, I've lost count how old he is, but I just know he's getting older. Whenever I get back home on Christmas, I'd notice more wrinkles, graying hair, and gradually sagging skin when I'd clutch his arms. But he has always had that smile, and that voice, and that unmistakable laugh.

I remember getting really furious at him one time; this was in first grade. He left me in the barber shop because he was doing groceries. I always hated it when he told me, "Just wait for me, Bon, I'll be back in a while," because he said that often. When he came back to fetch me, I was all teary-eyed because that barber ravaged my hair, cut it an inch shorter that what it was normally, leaving me looking like someone who'd just undergone chemo. And the worst feeling was that, I was all alone there, looking at that monstrosity happen, and I couldn't find the right words to speak because I was so young.

So as we were walking, I refused to clutch his little finger. And he sensed a lot of anger brewing within me. I've never felt so angry in my life. He didn't kneel down and look at me in the eye and say sorry. No, that wasn't Tatay's style. He simply rubbed my hair off, called me bald, and laughed a great deal.

And that laugh—oh, that unmistakable laugh—made me forget I was angry with him in the first place.

The weirdest names are in Class 2014

Just weird 

• Rich King. I voted him as class treasurer because his name seemed appropriate. I didn't know him personally then—but guess what, he's doing a swell job extorting collecting money from us. So my vote was justified, after all.

• Karl Babe Tagomata. I make sure I don't call him "Babe" in public because other people might misinterpret it. "Let's have lunch, Babe" just doesn't sound nice if taken out of context.

• Joan Joseph Castillo. He insists we call him Casti, but isn't it more exciting to call a tall, macho man Jo-an? People who haven't met him might suspect a real, living hermaphrodite actually exists.

• Jamaica Noblezada. I don't know if she was born there, but it sure is interesting to name someone after a country. To talk her, you should greet her thus, "Jamaican me crazy!" For those who don't know, she was the official beauty title holder of Miss Caloocan some two years ago. No kidding.

Nicknames that stick

• Potpot. Godfrey Josef Torres. Don't even mistake him for a skinny guy you could bully around because this dude is muscular and can trash you any minute with his strong biceps if he wishes.

• Apol. Apolinario Esquivel III. Really, he's a big guy—not some shrieking, girly teenager.

• Bossing. Joseph Brazal. He's not just the boss because of his rather advanced age. He's the boss because he owns the world when he walks. And don't mess with him: he can pierce your skull with his signature long, black umbrella.

• Ching. Just because her name is Elizabeth Ching. Even her mother calls her Ching. 

• Mau. Just because his name is Mark Jerome Mauricio. If not for him, I wouldn't have entertained the possibility of people calling me "Cat" because I'm a Catedral.

The longest names

I could imagine them in grade school, begging the teacher for some more time because they haven't finished writing their names yet, and the quiz has already begun.

• Tristan Jegar Josef Frederic Catindig
• Aeron Patrick Roy Dela Cruz
• Jose Rene Bagani Cruz 

Epilogue

I guess they are named thus because they have really cool parents—or wacky classmates. Someday, you might go to some hospital and see one of these names there, but don't you worry, because I have a gut feeling they'll make really good doctors.

Bad, bad child

Believe it or not, I was a bad child. Of evil proportions.

In kindergarten, I stabbed a girl with a blunt pencil. Her arm bled, and she cried hysterically. Arianne Taborete was asking me for help because she didn't know how to draw a face. I said, "Let me finish mine first; I'll get back to you." But she was so insistent. She was tugging my right arm, effectively distorting the image I was sketching on paper. I got really mad I gripped the no. 2 Mongol pencil and embedded it straight to her brachioradialis.  She has never bothered me since.

During summer vacations, my cousins and I would play at my Lola's house. The garden was wide, lavished with swings, see-saws, and the slide. Many times Kring and I would spend the afternoons there. One day, out of a childish whim, I decided to have the slide all to myself. Instead of climbing up through the ladder (which was how it should be done, really), I decided to climb through the slopey part of the slide itself—that part where the actual sliding was done. I don't know why I did that, but it sure did feel more satisfying.

Along came Kring who was just behind me, climbing in the same way that I was doing it. I told her sternly, "Get off the slide," just as I was about to each the peak. She didn't back off. So I kicked her, until she fell off, tumbling down to my grandmother's newly-mowed bermuda grass. Her eyes were all white. She was cold and clammy. And something medical had to be done to her. Hours later, when Kring was a whole lot better, Mama Titin (my aunt and Kring's mother, but that's how we used to call her) asked what happened.

With a stern look, I said, "It's all Kring's fault," concocting this web of lies that sounded like it was the truth. I was so convincing I even convinced my cousin Kring, who simply said, "Yes, Lance's right."

These things—and many more—I recalled as I answered Katrina Magallanes' how-well-do-you-know-me quiz in Facebook. I'm not a big fan of Facebook precisely because of these quizzes (I mean, do I really have to know how many Zombies you've killed?), but this was Katrina. I've known her since we were eight. So I answered it.

And among the questions there was:



Let me tell you that the answer isn't A.

This started a rather interesting thread of comments from old friends.

John Mark Sunga wrote, "Talaga? Pinutol mo buhok ni Lance n'ung Grade 2? Hahaha."

Vanessa Gumban wrote, "KAT! I thought you stabbed Lance's hand with a pencil? Or was that someone else?" Well, that someone else is me.

To these Katrina replied, "Oo, I cut Lance's hair during Grade 2 kasi he was teasing me kay Romeo Nataya [one of our classmates.] I can never forget that kasi pinatawag ako ni Teacher Celie, and I also cried n'ung pinagalitan niya ako."

Believe it or not, I was a bad child. And all it took was Katrina's pair scissors to mellow me down. It's one thing to tease someone. It's another to actually cut someone's strand of hair. I felt really bad and defeated, but Kat knew her way. Well, on hindsight, it makes me feel better that she did have her share of crying, too.

The last, long stretch, and then, the wonderful promise of a two-week sembreak

It feels only yesterday, and now, my first sem in this tough world call medschool is about to end in a few hours. Thank You, thank You, Lord, for sustaining me all throughout.

Note on the door

A fit of nostalgia came upon me as I downloaded the files I had originally uploaded in Geocities, the first online file hosting site I used when I started this blog on 2004. For some reason, Yahoo decided to close it. I got the email notification to retrieve my files while I still could.

This was the note I posted at my door (Room B17) at Kalayaan Residence Hall. It's a quote from Galatians 2:20, handwritten by me. I took a photo of this using Myx's Nokia camera phone, the first few ones that had colored screens. I haven't seen my friends in a long while. I wonder where they are. I'm missing the good ol' days.

Getting all neurological

It's funny—no, amusing—how my things-to-do can accumulate so fast in so short a time. Ah, the unmistakable sign of a looming sembreak. I've just finished reviewing for two Wednesday exams, but I'm still up and about because I'm preparing for the neurological preceptorials later. From what I gather, the entire first year class will be meeting a neuro patient. And then, the assigned consultant (a very smart, usually old, experienced doctor) will each teach us how to do the proper techniques.

We'll ask nice, little questions—like real doctors. Behind the cloak of forced confidence, we're crossing our fingers that we don't forget our mnemonics. Imagine what a turn-off that would be if, in the middle of asking for the patient's medical history, there's going to be a two-minute lag time because—wait, what does "S" stand for again?

I don't know how things will turn out tomorrow. "Meeting patients actually scares me," said Jana a while ago, and I sort of agree with her. Let's hope we don't mess up with this one.

Stuff Christians like

I have a new favorite blog. It's created by Jon Acuff. I like it for its clean humor and funny (but accurate) description of Christians. Check it out.

Oh. My favorite posts include: The Campus Babysitter, Raising Dorks, The Church-flavored Q & A, and Slow Dancing with Temptation.

The after-exam meditation

After every exam, I look forward to going back to my apartment. I don't like staying out too much, especially after I've subjected my brain to what could only be described as a mental torture—or, almost always, an intricate guessing game. Peace and quiet and dreams make up my ideal detoxifying activity. Others prefer alcohol, some a thousand rounds of videoke, but nothing beats a good eight-hour sleep.

Usually my roommate would be out with his own set of friends, so I'd have the entire room to myself. I've long since realized the importance of having some quiet time alone—I hear my thoughts more clearly and see things in different ways. Which is to say that I do a lot of thinking as I rock myself to sleep.

So, yes, I've been thinking of many things lately.

Foremost of which is—am I ever going to be a doctor, and will I be a good one? I ask myself this because at the rate of how I'm learning things, the future seems bleak. I hardly retain anything, and, as my classmate Roger said, "It's all short-term." Casti told me that the first two years of med school was meant to be this way—information overload—and that the more exciting learning happens in the third year.

Despite my efforts to learn for the sake of learning, I'm often left with no choice but to study just to pass. A typical case of a willing spirit and a weak flesh, come to think of it. That's why I appreciate how Dr. Quintos, one of our lecturers, has constantly reminded the class to learn in order to understand, telling us that exam scores are hardly a manifestation of one's learning. They're simply a gauge of performance. The student probably knows a whole lot more than the answers to the exam questions. I can't agree with him more.

But lest I create the impression that I'm drowning in a sea of frustrations, let me tell you that I'm actually having fun. Slowly, I'm actually getting the hang of it. And the Lord—the faithful, merciful, gracious Lord—is my help. This semester, which is about to end in a couple of weeks, has led me to see the end of myself and to trust in Him alone.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some sleep now.

Doubt

Sister Aloysious Beauvier—some name, huh?—played by Meryl Streep is the principal of a church-run school. One of the teachers is Sister James (Amy Adams) who reports that a black student in her class came back with alcohol in his breath after a private meeting with Father Flynn (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), the parish priest. When Sister James confides this to Sister Aloysious, the principal is convinced that the priest abused the child—she just knew.

Father Flynn is confronted, of course, so he demands for further proof. But there isn't any, except for the deep-seated conviction of Sister Aloysious, who is, at that point, determined to remove the priest from the school.

When, in the middle of the movie, Father Flynn begins his sermon on gossip, mainly to refute the accusations against him, I knew I was going to enjoy Doubt.

In the pulpit, he tells of a story of a woman who came to a priest to confess because she spread malicious gossip against her neighbor. The priest advised her to go back to her house, cut her pillow, and throw the contents outside of her window. The feathers flew in all places, she told the priest when she came back to him. In the movie, this is the scene where the feathers fall like white snow in slow motion. The priest then told her that, for her to be forgiven, she had to gather each feather again. The woman said that it was impossible. Exactly my point, the priest said. That is gossip. You can't take back what you've said.

Sister James is torn, as she is unsure of what she saw. Father Flynn's story seemed reasonable enough, but she finds it hard to disagree with the principal, too. To whom will she take side on?

The movie illustrates how sowing doubt can destroy a person's credibility, and that people often act, not with the firm knowledge of the truth but with the fake semblance of it—a gut feeling, perhaps.

I enjoyed Doubt immensely. It's well-crafted and intelligent. Go see it.

The angriest photo I have so far

My brother took this while we were in McDonald's Kalayaan to sap some WiFi. From the looks of it, I'm about to stab someone to death when the truth is, I'm just reading my email. You go tell your friends to take a snapshot of you when you least expect it, and you'll be surprised at the facial expressions you could sport. Once, I told a friend he could swallow a planet (or something to that effect) when he yawned in class. I think he only half-believed me because I didn't have photographic evidence.

I praise God for the swell time I've had this past week. Classes have been cancelled because of the typhoon. As a result, class schedules will be moved. That means sem break will no longer be two weeks but one. It's a bittersweet feeling.

Help Ondoy victims

Titus Tan, chair of the UP Diliman University Student Council, urges everyone to help in the relief efforts for the victims of typhoon Ondoy. You may visit his Multiply account for more details. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

What to do when there's a knee-deep flood outside your house

• Think of deadly bacteria or parasites wriggling in the water.
• Despise the piles of garbage trapped in canals.
• Blame the government for not making better drainage systems.
• Contemplate joining the half-naked kids who are swimming.
• Don't mind the flood—or the rain—at all. You have two big exams next week. 
• Pray.