Founded in Faith, Centered on Love

Today is September 18, 2012. It is my birthday and it is been a while since I posted my last blog. And no, not that I am tired of writing, perhaps, I am just too selective what articles from my journal deserves a post. Yet, this time I am not lifting an article from my journal. I am writing what my heart dictates. No edits. No right clicking to check on the right word or synonyms that would fit well to my sentence construction. In short, I am just purely writing, this time under the throb of my heart and compulsion of my mind.

“Hinubog ng tatlumpo't tatlong taong pagmamahal, pag- aaruga, at pagkakakilanlan bilang tao-- kaibigan, anak, kapatid, asawa at ama. Haggang ngayon, hindi pa rin pumipikit ang mga pilik.Tuloy ang daloy ng dugo at buhay sa bawat kahinaan at kalakasan. Ang mga karanasan sa buhay, matamis man o singpait ng katas ng gumamela, naging bahagi ang mga ito kung bakit ako naging AKO. Tuloy ang buhay, ang saya. Think happiness, ika'nga.”

The preceding snatch which I posted over Facebook had solicited some “likes” and sumptuous comments. Truly, the line came through my mind while I was looking at some of my pictures on my net book until my mind wandered travelling back some years from the past up to the present times.

Growing up in a brood of three while our father is away for the most part of the year and with our mother taking charge of all the chores at home, I am a witness of the “hard life before we get into a dwelling called home,” or that “educate yourself if you want to see the world” experience.

My father was a constant absentee from home not because of severance. He was on every two- year contract as a foreman of a furniture manufacturing company in the Middle East way back in the early 80’s up to the mid- 90s where he finally settled home due to the Gulf War. My mother on the other hand, was our constant guide, a mother cum father for us three kids.

Me and my wife, Sherlyn.

Like any typical mother, ours was a constant hard disciplinarian with a twist of some “sticks and yell” whenever house rules were evaded. Largely, our Manong takes responsibility towards me and to our youngest when mother would get off from the family home to do some commerce or trade nearby, sometimes out of town.

Our parents sent the three of us brothers in the same school from pre- school way up in the college. According to them, learning is best in public schools and universities. At one point, I despised my mother for not letting me go to the school where I wanted to pursue a degree in college. But as usual, mother’s decisions were like a judge’s final resolution- non appealable and even an attempt for a motion for reconsideration is prima facie denied.

After all, Manong was an attestation to my mother’s claim that public schools are the best schools. He obtained his Electrical Engineering degree from a local state university and hurdled the board examination the same year after his graduation. In short, I and our youngest were also sent to the same state university where Manong have attended. Later, I would graduate with a communication degree and our youngest, a computer engineer.

Back in the middle 90’s when my father finally came home for good, my family moved to a modest house adjacent from my father’s family home where we stayed, perhaps until I was five or six years old. The new home was far better than where we were I thought, since we were previously under one roof with my father’s parents and siblings. My father was eldest in a brood of ten— some were married and had children too whom I play with during weekends.

As I rekindle, I fairly revive that I have experienced labor during my tender years. Not because I was required by my parents but because I was envious to my friends who seem to enjoy some trade such as picking chico fruit and sell the same in the neighbourhood. In doing so, I would be able to afford to buy a bottle of Coke or Mello Yellow after I sold mine.

At one point, Manong and I have also experienced buying and selling old bottles, scrap metals, and other wisp goodies with our own kariton. This time, my brother and I have to pretend like we were just out picking chico fruit but in reality, we were engaged in buy and sell with our push carts intentionally not brought home. Otherwise, we would be prevented from doing our “business” forever. Yet, my mother would later find out what we were doing. Since then, my Manong and I was prevented from leaving our house early in the morning during weekends, my mother, under the impression that we would go back in that buy and sell stuff.

Rarely having a common time due to conflict of schedules, it is worthy to note that this photo (including two Yayas on the most right) is the most complete family picture ever taken. On the pool from L-R is Hannah (Manong's eldest child), Manong Randy, Jabez (Manong's second child), my kid Monching and wife Sherlyn, Theresa (my mother), and Ate Joy (Hannah and Jabez' Yaya. On top from L-R , me, my father Jun, and youngest brother Loyd who stays in Makati, Phl. and Ate Jaja (Monching's Yaya). September 16, 2012

Since I was small, I was made to understand by my parents and was taught by the circumstances that surround me that life would not be fine sans the hard work and cooperation. For example, my mother would post a work list in our kitchen’s back door indicating therein the specific jobs for us three brothers such as who will wash the dishes, mop the floor, pump the deep well or water the plants. Ignoring such specific duties would bar anyone of us from watching TV or play dodge ball with the other kids around.

Nonetheless, our mother, the expert disciplinarian educated us with the best home-grown teachings which are beyond compare to the principles and theories that are taught within the four corners of any popular learning institutions.

My father, on the other hand, is an epitome of a gentle family man worth emulating. While on vacation, my father would make sure that all of us would have a chunk of his modest precious time. Born traveller and adventurous, he would bring us out of town and meet other relatives and family friends. We would go out for a picnic or breakfast over the beach or even stay longer to watch the sunset. At home, he would cook us some mouth- watering kebab inspired foodstuffs while singing Tom Jones or Engelbert Humperndick songs. My father memorizes his lyrics along with the slightest pause or falsetto of each song he sings and I was his number one fan. In fact, I first learned my basic guitar chords from him when I was six during one of his vacations at home from abroad.

He was a book enthusiast and an accomplish historian in his own right. Not because he did study time and history in a modest university but because he was a vast reader of histories from the holy book up to the latest issues on human invasion to the moon or planet Mars. Conceivably, I could have inherited his deep passion for books.

Most of all, my father is a living proof that a college degree is not a requirement for one to see some of the most significant historical sites in the world. For one, he would account during his vacations that he had visited the birthplace of Jesus in Israel, the Holy mountain of Mount Sinai in the north western Saudi Arabia, and the cradle of civilization of Iraq. 

In fact, nearly two decades now since my father came home for good, he could still write and speak Arabic fluently and can communicate basic Indian and Bangla languages. Just recently, when my aunt along with her Punjab husband from Malaysia spent summer with us, our foreigner- uncle was surprised that my father could speak basic Indian- Punjabi dialect.

Looking back now, I have seen the saga of my life and my family like a roller coaster. The joys unforgotten, the hardships that inspired me, the knowledge acquired throughout my existence, my frustrations and desperation-- they have become the core of my persona. Within the sphere of influence though, I strongly attribute that whatever I have become now, the family whom I was with from the day of my conception until birth, is the same family whom I adore when I speak about love and values.

Truly, I have gone far from where I started. Life goes on, and perfect bliss is always around despite everyday confrontation with various negative atmospheres. And when I grow older, I would mean to tell my child's child that once upon a time I had a family that was founded in faith and centered on love, and that he is destined to be the apparent heir of great love, kind-heartedness, and wisdom.

oOo