34—what grace is mine!

Kristy and Keith Getty's song is one of my favorite modern Christian hymns. The lyrics capture God's infinite love to me, once a "distant soul" whom "he called through the night." Thirty-four years of abounding grace—thank you, Lord, for making me live this long!

What grace is mine that He who dwells in endless light
Called through the night to find my distant soul
And from His scars poured mercy that would plead for me
That I might live and in His name be known

So I will go wherever He is calling me
I lose my life to find my life in Him
I give my all to gain the hope that never dies
I bow my heart take up my cross and follow Him

What grace is mine to know His breath alive in me
Beneath His wings my wakened soul may soar
All fear can flee for death's dark night is overcome
My Savior lives and reigns for evermore

So I will go wherever He is calling me
I lose my life to find my life in Him
I give my all to gain the hope that never dies
I bow my my heart take up my cross and follow Him
I bow my heart take up my cross and follow Him

When choices were limited

Paralyzed by the myriad of film choices in Netflix, I sometimes long for the early days of the nineties when video rental shops were popular. In Marbel, we rented VHS and Betamax tapes at the Notre Dame Complex, along Alunan Avenue. The store owner kept an index card for each customer. Listed were the movies rented out by each family. In those days, nobody seemed to watch films alone; it was a household affair that involved discussion and consensus.

Popular films—action movies, Disney animations, and Tom and Jerry episodes—could be leased for at most three days and must be returned immediately, or there would be a fee. Less popular films, like The Bridges of Madison County, could be rented out for a week.

My father would bring me, or any of my two brothers, with him to pick up the tapes. With instructions from my mother, who was partial to Harrison Ford, cowboy action, and historical drama, and generally averse to science fiction, we would visit the store, greet the owner (my father insisted on public courtesy), and proceed to the cartoons section. The tapes must have been illegally reproduced because they were covered in white cardboards labeled in the shopkeeper’s handwriting instead of the glossy, colored printed packaging of the originals.

When we got home home, we would have a say on what film to play first. The Betamax tape would undergo the prefatory process of rewinding—sometimes manually, but often by an electric machine given by aunts from Banga. This we did to ensure that the film started at the beginning. The shopkeeper often forgot to rewind the tapes before lending them. The film would then play in our Panasonic colored television connected to the Betamax player. Transfixed and transported to the dimension of imagination, we would all rest, content with the single movie of the week. If we behaved well enough, we could be treated to a Tom and Jerry film in the morning.

With Uncle Boboy in Lake Sebu

Spoke too early about the paint fumes not affecting me. My nasal passages are sore, my mouth dry, my alveoli irritated. Everyone shares the general feeling of suffocation.

Decided yesterday morning to escape the house in exchange for cooler, fresher climate. Lake Sebu. Last time I visited the town was a decade ago. The prospect of zigzagging roads excited me, a new driver only used to city roads and straight highways. Dropped Nanay off to Banga, where she could spend time with Lola. Dragged Uncle Boboy, who had no plans that morning other than to fix the broken cabinet. Other aunts and uncles weren’t around. Sean was with friends. So it was myself, Manong, and Uncle Boboy for this trip.

Drive was pleasurable. Roads were lined with old but vibrant trees. The uplands reminded Manong and I of our trip to Banaue: a stark reminder of the beauty of God’s creation, and of the fact that we live in a piece of paradise in Southern Philippines. Arrived just in time for lunch at Punta Isla. Had sinugbang tilapia fresh from the lake; pork sisig; and pinakbet. While waiting for the food, we walked around the resort. Took touristy photos of Uncle Boboy with Lake Sebu in the background. Hearty lunch rendered us sleepy. Rain clouds hovered over us that we wished we had brought pillows and blankets. Nobody would notice us snoozing in the cottage; we were hidden from view.

“If your Tatay were alive, he’d love to go with us,” Uncle Boboy said.

“He’d do the driving himself!” I said, wishing my father were around. He loved adventures.

Uncle Boboy wanted to visit Traangkini Falls after midday coffee. Lady at information desk told us to turn right, head for the first bridge we see, then turn left. Parked by the dirt road’s shoulder when we realized the stream was too deep for the car to traverse. Walked all the way to the falls. Families rented cottages. It rained, and figuring we couldn’t go any further, we hid under a makeshift roof until the downpour was over. By three in the afternoon, we were on our way home.

Quick updates

1

Had a memorable time as panelist in the second creative nonfiction writing workshop for doctors hosted by the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center (BNSCWC) of the De La Salle University. Extraordinary privilege to work with Prof. Marj Evasco and Dr. Joti Tabula again. They elevated the tone of the discussion. Inputs were academic but practical, laced with grace and understanding. Enjoyed close-reading the works of the other fellows: a celebration of literature and medicine. That participants could bond over Zoom meetings and get to know each other as if they had met face to face previously—it remains amazing to me. Closing remarks of Dr. Ron Baytan, poet and director of the BNSCWC, on the workshop’s final day were inspiring. He told us to be doctor-writers and writer-doctors, which sent chills down my spine. So this is what we are.

2

Some close friends in Manila have contracted COVID. Been asking them how they are, almost on a daily basis. So far, worst complaint is the loss of taste and smell with some cough and fever. What else to say to them but to drink lots of water, eat well, get enough rest, because, truly, there is no cure yet? Together we look to the Lord Who controls all things, and in Whom nothing is impossible. Other friends got vaccinated. Some good news, at least, but cases are rising. Even big people haven’t been spared: former president Erap, now in critical condition; singer Claire dela Fuente, who passed away after being turned down by many hospitals. Won’t get started talking about the Philippines’ pandemic response—it’s much too early in the day.

3

Started reading Don Quixote, the quintessential Spanish novel. Each time I start with the classics, I ask the same question: why didn’t I read this long ago? Truth is that life got in the way. Miguel de Cervantes’ foreword is self-deprecating and hilarious: he apologizes for not coming up with a more illustrious novel and tells of his friend who advised him to include remote references, Latin phrases, and pretentious footnotes to make the novel sound literary. Don Quixote, of course, is one of the best novels of all time. Wish I could have met the author; he seems like a fun guy to hang around with. Might take me years to finish the novel. The chapters read like short sitcoms.

4

Started private practice in General Santos City. Currently brushing up on my Bisaya, which I inevitably mix with Hiligaynon. “Unsa gibatì mo, Sir?” opens their hearts to me. Patients understand both languages well. Have gotten used to driving 60 kilometers, one way, in the morning, then another 60 at lunch time. Travels feel like my commutes from Mandaluyong to PGH, only more relaxed. I play pulpit preachings of Tim Keller and John MacArthur—the long roads now avenues for quiet meditations. On evening drives, I prefer arias and operas. Léo Delibes’ Lakmé, some Puccini and Tosca—pretentious, but nobody can see me. These songs keep me awake, at least. Whoosh of faster vehicles in the dark Tupi highway can lull any careless driver to sleep. Days ago, when I got home from late rounds, my family and Auntie Nanic’s kids were more than halfway through the new Godzilla movie that they hardly noticed my arrival.

5

House in St. Gabriel now being repainted. Fumes irritate everyone, except me. Might drive to Lake Sebu for lunch. Sean on his way to Gensan to buy new sneakers. Manong might go with me. He has books to read. Nanay might stay home to play a word game on her iPhone. Yesterday, I was her designated driver when we visited Auntie Susan’s home in Banga, beside Notre Dame. Could write a book in Auntie Susan's garden. Some photos of her home:

Homegrown kadios for the quintessential Ilonggo classic, kadios-baboy-langka (KBL).

Dew on grass

Welcoming April

Morning dew on the sili (Capsicum annuum) on the first day of April. Taken yesterday from our farm in Marbel.