Pinoy Transplant visits Boston

2 April 2012

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Last week, I went to Boston to attend a conference to learn a new technology (which will be on a separate post). But as I learn the way of the future there, I also learned the way of the past, as we explored Boston.

Boston is one of the oldest cities in the US, and is very rich in history. It is the biggest city in the New England region. It was founded by Puritan colonists from England in 1630. During the 18th century, it was the location of several major events of the American Revolution.

Mix of old and new buildings. The building with a clock is the historic Old South Meeting House.

Built in 1729, it was the largest building in Boston at that time and provided a stage for the American Revolution. This is where the Boston Tea Party was organized that led to the revolution.

We hopped on a trolley and explored the city.

sightseeing trolley tour

We can hop in and hop off in different stations.

We also did a lot of walking, following what is known as the “Freedom Trail.”

Freedom Trail marker

The Freedom Trail is a red (mostly brick) path through downtown Boston that leads to 16 significant historic sites.

Following the Freedom Trail through Boston.

Boston has old neighborhoods whose houses and buildings dates back to the 16th to 18th century. These structures are preserved by the city, as owners cannot change their outside appearance, even though they can update and renovate the inside of these buildings.

Old tavern (est. 1795) and bar (est. 1826).

Trinity Church. One of the oldest and most beautiful churches in the country

Beacon Hill neighborhood. It has traditionally been the home of Boston's upper class.

street in bloom

One of the interesting area in the heart of Boston is Charles Street. It was studded with quaint shops and business stores. The street was lined with lamp posts dating back to the era where gas lamps were used. It was said that the city kept the lamps burning through the night and through the day, as it will be more expensive to hire people to light them at night and extinguish them during the day. These lamps are kept burning 24 hours to this day.

old Post Office

typical streetscape in Charles Street

These street lamps have been turned on for more than a century, even through the day, as part of the tradition of the city.

One of the revered names of the American Revolution is Paul Revere. He was made famous for his “midnight ride” (as in the poem of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow), alerting Colonial militia of approaching British forces. During the battles of Concord and Lexington, two lanterns were hung in the steeple of Old North Church, as a signal from Paul Revere to the Patriots keeping watch in Charleston that the British troops were coming by sea and not by land.

Paul Revere statue. In the background is the steeple of Old North Church where two lanterns were hung as a sign to the Patriots.

inside of Old North Church

This is Paul Revere's house. He already had eight children when his first wife died. He remarried and had eight more children with his second wife. This house must have been so crowded.

Here are the Massachusetts State houses. The one with the golden dome is the “New” State House. How new? It was completed in 1798. That’s hardly new at all! Before the current State House was completed, Massachusetts’ government was seated at the “Old” State House. Within the walls of that old building, where Samuel Adams, James Otis, John Hancock and John Adams debated the future of the British colonies.

New State House

Old State House. This is now a museum.

One of the oldest meeting place in Boston is the Faneuil Hall. It has served as a market-place and meeting hall since it was built in 1742. This building had been the scene of many meetings where Bostonians voiced their dissent against the oppressive policies of the British Parliament. Thus this building has been known as the Cradle of Liberty.

Inside the Faneuil Hall. It is still hosts graduations ceremonies, concerts, and oath-taking ceremonies for Naturalized citizens.

clock in the second floor of Faneuil Hall

In the middle of city, are a number of old graveyards. Many of the fathers of this nation were buried in this cemeteries.

me and my kids walking among America's forefathers

Granary Burial Ground, resting place of Boston's most famous sons, including Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Paul Revere.

At the center of the city of Boston is the oldest park in the country, known as Boston Common. The park was created in 1634. It is almost 50 acres in size. Nearby is the Public Garden, which was created in 1837.

Boston Common

one of the monuments in Boston Common

ducks statue in Boston Public Garden

A different type of garden. TD Garden is the house of Boston Celtics, the winningest franchise in NBA.

Since Boston is near the sea, it has been known for its ports and harbor.

Old sea port in Salem. This harbor was the site of sea merchants from other countries trade their goods.

Site of the old shipyard in Boston.

Boston skyscrapers as seen from its harbor.

Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial bridge. It opened in 2003. So not all structures in Boston are old.

Harvard University. The cradle of the most brilliant minds of America. It was established in 1636, and is the oldest institution of higher learning in America. We visited Harvard when my daughter was less than a year old. Now, my daughter is 14 and my son is 8 years old. Who knows, maybe the next time we come here, we will be visiting the registrar’s office.

walking in the Harvard yard

They just celebrated their 375th anniversary. My alma mater, University of Sto. Tomas, celebrated its 400th year last year.

Harvard Memorial Hall. Erected in honor of Harvard graduates who fought for the Union in the American Civil War

Goodbye Boston. Until next time…….

All in Love is Fair

26 March 2012

4 Comments

Nobody said that life would be fair. And anyone who still believe that it is, would be rudely disappointed.

“Life is so unfair.” That’s what I heard my wife said, a few days ago. Here’s the story behind it.

I was on-call that day. It was an extra-ordinarily busy call for me. In fact, I have not had such a “toxic” call for a while. And it was not even a full moon. Maybe the dark stars aligned in their orbits or there were a couple of full moons in some other planets. Whatever the reason was, it was busy.

During one stretch of my call, I had 4 ICU admissions in a matter of 2 hours. Having very sick patients coming at the same time was bad enough, but them presenting simultaneously on 2 different hospitals I cover that were few miles apart was almost impossible to deal with. Good thing I had reliable medical residents that helped me took care of our critically ill patients. And to cap the night, two more ICU admissions came later that night.

I came home past 1 o’clock in the morning. (I usually come home 5 or 6 PM, even if I am on-call.) I was glad to see that the porch and driveway lights were on, when I pulled up in our garage. It was a nice feeling to come home, and know that you were expected.

My wife was already in bed but I was delightfully surprised that she was still awake, waiting for me all along. She even told me that my son also stayed up almost up to midnight, waiting for me. It was really a wonderful feeling to come home, even though I know that I was still on-call, and my beeper can go off anytime, and there was a possibility that I could still be called back to the hospital.

My fatigue melted away and not too long after, I was snoring in bed. Perhaps my beeper went off one or two more times after I slept, but I was able to deal with those calls without the need to return to the hospital.

Later on that morning, when the sun was already up, as I was preparing to go back to work, after a short night of sleep, that was when my wife blurted out, tongue-in-cheek: “Life is so unfair.”

Apparently after I came home, and was soon fast asleep, she stayed awake, unable to fall asleep. Can you imagine her sad plight? She waited that long for me, and when I came, I fell asleep so readily while she was kept awake by my snoring. Sure, that I agree was “unfair.” But I really appreciated that she stayed up for me, for I know she did it out of love. And I know that her ‘life is unfair’ statement, is an expression of endearment.

Life is so unfair

Last weekend, I woke up early and went out for my morning run. It was nice to get out and run as the sun was just peeking above the horizon. The spring air was fresh and crisp, the birds were singing, and the neighborhood was still snoring. After half an hour, I returned home to find out that I locked myself out. I did not carry a key, and I did not leave the front door of our house unlocked.

I knew that my wife and kids were still sleeping, so I did not knock or ring the doorbell. I dare not be told again that “life is so unfair.” Besides, it was a beautiful morning, not so cold outside (read: a little above freezing) and the sun was shining, so I just sat there in the front bench of our house and enjoyed my quiet moment. Or should I say “enjoy” the moment of my stupidity of locking myself out!

After a while, my wife and kids woke up eventually. As my wife opened the front door to let the sunshine in and to see where I’ve been, she was surprised how happy and smiling I was, to enter back our house. She initially thought that I just had a good run or perhaps I had a funny incident while I was out. Only later that she learned that I locked myself out and that I was sitting in our bench for almost half an hour.

I don’t think my wife would really mind if I wake her up a little early if I rang the doorbell, but I’m sure she appreciated that I did not. Yes, life can be unfair, but like in Stevie Wonder’s song……”all in love is fair.”

(*image from here)

Sigaw ng Gabi

22 March 2012

11 Comments

Malamlam ang bintana na aking tanaw,

Gabi ay pusikit at walang linaw,

Hinahanap iyong anino at iyong galaw,

Naghihintay ng iyong mga yabag at sigaw.

                       Nasaan ka na aking kaibigan,

                       Bakit hindi ka na nasisilayan,

                       Ako nga ba’y iyo nang nalimutan,

                       Sa ‘king lugar ikaw naman sana’y dumaan.

Nasasabik na sa iyong pagdalaw,

Pagnanasa ko’y sana’y mapukaw,

Ng bitbit mong buslong may telang saplot,

Inaasam-asam ang tinda mong……balut!

(*kailan kaya may dadaang maglalaku ng balut-penoy dito sa Iowa?)

Tender Rituals

17 March 2012

4 Comments

Rituals. Since the dawn of time humans have formed rituals and traditions that defined our civilization and our cultures.

The Mayans are known for the seemingly cruel rituals of human sacrifice, self-mutilation and blood-letting. The Native Americans have the Sun Dance, where they perform their ritual dances, use the traditional drums, with passing of the sacred pipe and tobacco offerings, and in some cases, body piercings.

Then there is this people, that dye their hair different hues, put mud on their face at night, then washes it off and paint their faces with pastel colors during the day, and hang stones in their pierced ears. This last ritual that I mentioned is not of any ancient civilization, but of modern-day women. And men too.

Then there is the family traditions and rituals. Most of these are quite endearing. Each individual family form their own, and sometimes these traditions are passed on to the next generation like a family heirloom. I would say, my family are making our own.

For so many years now, my son would not sleep without me reading him a book. When he was much younger, I read him bedtime stories or poems which are simple and short. But as he gets older, we are reading books from big complex machines to animal oddities, to science adventures and space exploration. And even if its late or we are all tired, he would not get me out of this ritual, and he would still urge me to read (even if he can read very good now!) to him before he sleeps.

By reading to my son in bed, I would have a quiet moment with him, and my way of tucking him in for the night. Though, after I read to him, he would ask his mom to come too, and have his blanket pulled up over him and its edges stuffed under his side pillows (he only wants his mom to do this, not me). So it was literally tucking him in.

Few nights ago, I was on-call. I left before eight in the morning, and was not able to come home until about one o’clock in the morning the next day. My wife told me that my son anxiously waited almost till midnight for my return. I guess he missed his bedtime story.

For my daughter, it is a different ritual. Unlike me who wakes up early, my daughter is not a morning person. If she has her way, she will sleep until the sun is halfway up in the horizon. Even though she has an alarm clock that has a loud annoying sound when it goes off, but  still she would sleep through it. So I have to help her get up in the morning.

Many mornings, I would come to her room to wake her up and then leave, only to come back to her room half an hour later, and she would be still sleeping or she had fallen back asleep. What does a father do? Drag her literally out of bed. She actually gave me permission to do it. She even told me to just carry her out of her bed and dump her in the bathroom. But I can’t as she is too heavy now for me to carry.

Every morning, after I hear her alarm clock, I would go to her room, throw her blanket off, and pull her by the feet out of bed and prop her up. Then I would be greeted by a sleepy head with eyes still close, that says “Thanks Dad.”

I do have different rituals with each of my kids. One I have to settle down to bed, the other, I have to crank out of bed. I know these rituals will not last forever. Sooner or later, my son will be older and will not ask for a bedtime story anymore. I would be really surprised if he still ask me to read to him if he’s in high school or even college! And for my daughter, maybe soon (hopefully!) she’ll get up on her own, as she becomes more and more independent. I know I cannot be there to wake her up in her college dorm.

For the time being, I will cherish these tender rituals while they last.

One of these days, my kids will be out of our home and will be on their own. Maybe they will form new rituals with their own family and their children. Or maybe, just maybe, they would miss their old man, and would pass these rituals to their kids.

And someday, when my wife and I are old and weak, I hope they would come and visit, and read to me, and help me out of bed. And we will reminisce, that is if my memory is still intact, our tender rituals.

Heart and Sole

12 March 2012

14 Comments

I have a new bounce in my strides. A new spring in my legs. A new zing on my feet. No, I did not discover the fountain of youth. It’s just my new running shoes. It’s Nike Zoom Structure Triax +15. (I don’t know why the long name.) It’s all about the shoes, right?

I replaced my old beat-up Nike shoes as I have run it to the ground. Old and worn out running shoes can lose their stability, cushioning support, and shock absorbing ability, leading to increase stress to feet, legs and joints that may cause injury. The experts in running recommend that you replace your shoes after 300 to 400 miles of running. I believe my old sneakers have more mileage than that.

In my conservative estimation, I run at least 5 miles a week, when I am not seriously training, and up to 10 miles a week, maybe more, when I was preparing for the half marathon. So I could have run 300 miles in a year, easy. Thus my old running shoes was way due for a replacement since it was almost 3 years old, and has more mileage than what the gurus of running recommended.

Maybe I held on to my old running shoes for so long since I felt quite nostalgic about it. After all, it was in that shoes that I ran my first half marathon. And it even let me finish my second half marathon too. But it was time for it to retire.

It was not the first shoes though that I ran aground. When I was in second grade of elementary school, I had sneakers that I destroyed, literally, in less than a month. With all my running, jumping, climbing, and playing “sipa,” it broke open. The sole and the upper part separated as if my shoes was “smiling”, while my socks stick out of it like a tongue. My father got frustrated with me that he told me I needed shoes made out of iron, like a horseshoe.

my new Nike Zoom waiting to break out

My new Nike Zoom Structure Triax +15 (sorry, I can’t get over its long name) is not also the first sneakers that I got excited about. When I was about to enter Kindergarten, my parents bought me a new pair of shoes for school. It had rubber soles and rubber toe cap. The upper was colorful canvas with bright cartoon images printed on it. I love it so much I placed it near my pillow on my bed when I sleep at night. Maybe I should also put my new Nike shoes near my pillow when I sleep. On second thought, my wife would probably slap me with those shoes when I start snoring, so never mind.

A good pair of rubber shoes can be pricey, especially brand name shoes. It can be a status symbol too. My first sneakers with a famous brand was what George Estregan wore in his action movies, Adidas Hurricane. I think I was in high school then. Before that, all my sneakers were “no name” shoes, or at least not popular brand, like Nike, Converse, Puma and the like. But they work just the same. No-name and locally made shoes does not necessarily mean poor quality, for I would say Marikina-made shoes are good shoes.

For a long time I also dreamed of having hi-top or hi-cut basketball sneakers when I was much younger. I envy some of my friends that have them. But since it was so expensive, I did not even asked my parents to buy me one, for I know I can live without one, and besides my parents provided us with what we need. The only hi-top shoes I had during my school years was my “Ang Tibay” combat shoes which I used for Citizen Military Training (CMT) and Reserve Officer’s Training Corps (ROTC).  And yes, I sometimes played basketball even with those shoes on.

After running a few miles in my new Nike Zoom shoes, I felt great. My legs did not feel tired at all. My feet did not ache. Even my bunion did not ache. I wonder if these are the dream shoes that will run and finish my first ever full marathon. After all, it’s all in the shoes, right? Well, I wish it is that easy. For I would say it is more of determination rather than the shoes. More heart, than sole.

Now, I just need to buy that “determination” from the store. I hope it is on bargain.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

7 March 2012

7 Comments

Even when I was much younger, I am used to having music on most of the time. In my room in Sampaloc, when I was in high school thru college, I had a small stereo radio with a cassette player that sits near my bed. It played instrumental music or light jazz when I am studying (I avoid music that will cause me to break into a song or make me sing-along when I am reading for that will disturb my concentration), and soft mellow music when I am ready to sleep. If I am not studying or sleeping, my music can range from folk, rock, country, pop, gospel, and OPM’s (to which I freely sing-along). The music will drown the noise from our street, and most of the time, I would fall asleep with the radio on. The radio playing did not bother me at all, in fact it lulled me to sleep, especially during nights when sleep did not come so easily.

I don’t sleep with the radio on anymore. I have to consider the one I’m sharing the bed with now. My wife is a light sleeper and she easily gets awakened with noises, and a radio on will not let her sleep at all. Too bad she has to sleep with the noise of my snoring though. However, there are still nights that I cannot turn off my mind, or I can become restless, and sleep will not come to me. On these occasions, I put my earphones with my i-Pod or i-Phone on, and listen to my favorite music that will transcend me to La La land.

For a very long time, it has been observed that music can affect human behavior. In Biblical times, it was recorded that King Saul would call for David to play him his harp to soothe his troubled spirit. In more modern times, research has shown that music with a strong beat can stimulate brainwaves to resonate in sync with the beat, with faster beats resulting sharper concentration and more alert thinking, while a slower tempo promotes a calm, meditative state. Music therapy is a growing field in health care and had been used in pain management, children with Attention Deficit Disorder, and even in ICU to help pacify patients. For some reason music appears to calm my restless leg syndrome as good as medication.

Not too long ago, I heard a version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” sang by this certain singer, that I really like. Then when we were in Hawaii several months ago, the tour guide mentioned this singer and I learned that he was from that island. He is Israel Kamakawiwo’ole (yes, that’s definitely an Hawaiian name). It was sad though to learn that he passed away at an early age of 38, in 1997. He had health problems stemming from his weight, which at one point was more than 750 pounds. But that did not stop me from downloading his songs in my i-Phone. His “What a Wonderful World” is another favorite of mine, and he now sings me lullaby when I cannot sleep.

More recently, I heard from the radio a version of “Fields of Golds” that was an original song of Sting, who by the way is one of my favorite singers. But this specific rendition of the song captivated me, and so I looked for it and downloaded it also in my i-Phone. I was intrigue why I have not heard of this female singer before, so I searched for her other songs in i-Tunes and I found most of them were really beautiful. Then I also found out that she had died back in 1996 from a malignant melanoma at such a young age of 33. Her name is Eva Cassidy.

What’s with me and dead singers? We’ll I guess I just like their songs, and it does not matter whether they are dead or alive. Eva Cassidy also now rocks me gently to sleep in my restless nights.

Here is Eva and Israel in their different versions of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Yes, both of them are really somewhere over there.

(videos from youtube)

Being Patient

4 March 2012

15 Comments

I opened my eyes as I slowly regained consciousness. I looked around and I was alone in some kind of cubicle where the curtains were drawn close. I was lying in a stretcher with nothing on but a flimsy hospital gown. I felt cold and naked. Wrapped around my left arm was a blood pressure cuff, and attached to my chest were leads of a heart monitor. In the back of my right hand was a small catheter inserted through my skin, while intravenous fluids infusing slowly through my veins.

My mind was still foggy like I was dreaming. I felt like floating and detached, and yet I was so calm. Is this out-of-body experience? It must be the sedatives I received.

Moments later the nurse entered through the curtains and smilingly told me that everything went smoothly. Not too long after, the doctor came in and said everything turned out to be alright.

Before you think that there was something bad or serious that happened to me, it was not that. I just had my screening colonoscopy done. Nothing more.

Colonoscopy is a recommended procedure for all people above 50 years of age, to screen for colon and rectal cancer. It is through this test that small polyps in the colon, which can be pre-cancerous or early cancerous lesions, can be detected and removed. And though I am still a few years from fifty, yet with my strong family history, as my mother was diagnosed with colorectal cancer, my good friend who is a gastroenterologist, recommended that I have the procedure done early according to the American Cancer Society’s Guideline. That was more than two years ago that I was told that, but I dragged my feet to have it done. Doctors can be the worst patient you know.

When I had my annual physical exam few months ago, my personal physician also recommended that I undergo colonoscopy. Now I cannot escape the doctor’s orders. So I finally gave in. Doctors like to give orders, but not necessarily like to follow their own advice or follow the orders they were given.

So there I was lying in the recovery room, still dazed from the sedatives I received during the procedure. As the doctor approached the stretcher where I was, it dawned on me that there was a big reversal of role. I was not the doctor in control. This time I was the patient.

The doctor came in, who was nicely dressed with his white coat on, while I was butt-naked with nothing on but a hospital gown. He towered over my bed confidently like the man in-charge, while I laid there feeling groggy and helpless. Not knowing what just happened as I was just coming out of sedation, I felt so vulnerable and invaded. If having a scope shoved down in you-know-where would not give you a feeling of invasion, I don’t know what will. And lastly, when my doctor came in to give me the news whether it be good or bad, he knew something that I don’t, and yet it concerns me, my health, my life.

So this is how a patient feels. Exposed and powerless. No option but to submit, for resistance is futile. Entrusting your life to the hands of somebody. Somebody you barely know, except for his name. Somebody that you can just hope, will take good care of you.

I am glad that I experienced being a patient, for it gave me a different kind of perspective. A point of view that I have never seen before. Though I don’t look forward of having my colonoscopy done again in about 5-10 years as what was recommended. But I admit the floating, detached, and calm feeling from the medication was some kind of “high.”

The next time I stand over patients’ bed while they lay there defenseless, with my white coat on while they are almost naked, and with facts that I know while they don’t know and yet it concerns their life – I will certainly hold it with such high esteem and with utmost reverence, that trust that was given to me.

Being patient is a virtue. In my case, being “a patient” made me virtuous.

Doctor's Prayer

A Glimpse of a Legendary Creature

1 March 2012

5 Comments

The other morning, just as the sun was peeping above the horizon, I spotted  some deer strolling in my yard. It was a buck and his doe actually. Nothing special I thought, as deers abound in our neighborhood, especially around this season. In fact this week, I am seeing them almost everyday in my yard, usually in a group of two to five.

a buck and his "deerly" beloved

However, when looking closer on this buck, there was something peculiar that I detected. No it was not the glowing red butt of this supposed to be whitetail deer. That was just the reflection of the rays of the rising sun. There was something more. Do you see it?

Rudolf, the red-butt deer?

It had only one horn! Is it a nature’s accident? A genetic variation? Or most probably he just busted his one horn during a fight with another buck. Fighting for his “deerly” beloved, his beautiful doe. If push comes to shove, or more appropriately butting heads and antlers with another buck, he probably will gladly sacrifice his remaining antler for her.

one-horned or unihorn buck

Or maybe, my one-horned buck is the legendary elusive unicorn! Did I really see a unicorn? A “unihorn” at least. Will it bring me good luck? Maybe tomorrow I’ll see Bigfoot.

legendary unicorn?

Butiki sa Kisame

26 February 2012

6 Comments

Noong isang gabi ay hindi ako dalawin ng antok. Dahil walang mga tupa na puwedeng bilangin, kaya’t pinagmasdan ko na lang ang aming kisame at nagbakasaling makakita ng butiking magpapatulog sa gising kong isip. Oo nga pala, walang butiki dito sa Iowa.

Bigla ko tuloy naalala noong ako’y bata pa, madalas kong panoorin ang mga butiking naglalamierda sa kisame ng aking kwuarto sa Sampaloc, habang ako’y naghihintay na dapuan ng antok.

butiki sa bintana

Ang aking silid sa aming bahay sa Maynila ay maliit lamang. Halos konti lang ang inilapad sa isang dipa ang kitid, at maaaring kulang naman sa dalawang dipa ang haba nito. Tama lang na magkasya ang isang munting kama, maliit na lamesita, at isang upuan. Kahit masikip ang aking kuwarto, ay sarili ko ito. Ito ang aking kapirasong paraiso.

Oo nga’t mala-bartolina ang sukat ng aking silid, ngunit malaya akong nakakalabas-pasok dito. Malaya rin ang pagmamahal na nararanasan ko dito at hindi tulad ng taong nakabartolina. May mga bintana ang aking kuwarto na nakadungaw sa masikip naming kalye. Dito sa mga bintanang ito kung saan madalas akong tumutunganga, at kung saan ko tinutunghayan ang mga naglalarong bata sa kalsada, mga naglalako ng taho, binatog at puto, o mga tricycle na dumadaan, o kaya naman ay ang aming maiingay na mga kapit-bahay.

Kahit pa masikip ang aking silid ay kumpleto ito sa libangan. Wala akong computer (hindi pa naiimbento noon) at wala ring TV, pero linagyan ko ito ng maliit na basketball goal sa itaas ng aking pintuan. Binaluktot na bakal, at net na taling plastic lamang ito, at kasya lang i-shoot ang tennis ball dito, ngunit sang katutak na saya na ang dulot nito. Kalaro ko ang aking anino at mga butiki. Kadalasan ay malakas ang mga kalabog kapag ako’y naglalaro, at paminsan minsa’y nasasaway pa ng aking nanay. Buti na lang at hindi ko tinatamaan ng bola ang fluorescent na ilaw sa kisame o jalousie sa bintana na maaring mabasag, kundi ay siguradong pingot ang aabutin ko.

Ang aking kama ay yari sa kahoy, at yantok na solea ang gitna nito. Banig ang aking inilalatag sa ibabaw noon kaya hindi mainit. At kahit maalinsangan ang mga gabi sa Maynila, ay presko pa rin sa aking maliit na silid, lalo na’t laging bukas ang aking mga bintana. Sa katre na ito, maraming mahimbing na pagtulog ang inilagi ko doon. Dito rin sa kamang ito ako humabi ng maraming mga panaginip. Ang ilan doon ay mga panaginip na ako’y gising.

Sa maliit na lamesita naman sa aking silid ay kung saan ako nag-aaral. Nagsimula sa pagbabasa ng ABaKaDa, hanggang sa World History, hanggang sa naging College Biology, at umabot sa Human Anatomy. Hindi human anatomy na nasa Playboy, kundi tunay na medical textbook. Paminsan-minsan ang aking “pinagaaralan” ay cartoons at comics. Dito sa lamesitang ito, ay maraming mga oras ng araw at gabi ang ginugol sa pagsusunog ng kilay (buti nga at may kilay pa akong natira), hanggang sa mga oras ng madaling araw na pati tindero ng balut ay natutulog na.

Sa aking dingding naman ay may mga nakapaskil na posters. Kahit idolo ko si Jaworski at pantasya ko naman si Phoebe Cates, ay hindi sila ang nakatambad sa aking dingding. Pinili ko ang mga poster na larawan ng magagandang lugar na may nakasulat na magandang mensahe. Ang paborito kong poster ay larawan ng isang taong lumilipad (hang gliding) sa gitna ng kalawakan ng Grand Canyon, tapos ang nakasulat ay: “You are only limited by the boundaries of your mind.” Pumaskil sa aking isipan ang mensaheng iyon at ito ang naging aking adhikain.

Grand Canyon

Makalipas ang maraming taon mula nang aking lisanin ang mga hangganan ng aking maliit na silid, ay masasabing malayo-layo na rin naman ang aking narating. Hindi ko ibig sabihin na malayo na ang aking tinitirahan ngayon, kundi malayo ang narating sa estado ng buhay. Bagama’t hindi ko pa nararanasan ang mag-hang gliding, at hindi ko pa rin napupuntahan ang Grand Canyon (alam kong makikita ko rin ito balang araw) na tulad nang nasa aking poster, ang akin namang naabot ay higit pa sa aking pinangarap.

Mga ilang taon matapos akong tumulak dito sa Amerika, ay ipinagbili ang aming bahay doon sa Maynila. Makakadalaw pa kaya o makakapasok pa kaya ako sa bahay na aking pinaglakihan? Nakalulungkot mang isipin na marahil ay hindi na muli ako makakatapak sa loob ng silid na naging saksi mula ng aking kamusmusan. May lumbay sa aking puso na maaaring hindi ko na masisilayan ang kisame na kung saan minsan sa aking kabataan ay aking tinititigan habang ako’y nananaginip ng gising.

Sino na kaya ang nakadungaw sa aking bintana? Sino na kaya ang inaaruga ng mga dingding ng aking munting silid? Sino na kaya ang nangangarap sa loob nito. May mga butiki pa rin kaya sa kisame siyang pinagmamasdan? Sana, tulad ko, ang mga panaginip na kanyang hinabi at pinangarap sa kuwartong iyon, ay matupad din sa pagdating ng panahon.

(* image of butiki from here; image of Grand Canyon from here)

Chasing Life

21 February 2012

10 Comments

I love to run. As if you don’t know that by now from all the posts I have about running. But when I say run, I mean an all out run.

When I do my morning run of about 2 to 3 miles, the last 100 to 200 meters, I would break out in an all out dash as if I’m Flash catching a runaway train. This gets my heart pumping, my energy juices flowing, and my head in a daze in some kind of rush. Though it can also makes me wheeze like a beaten down carburetor.

Sprint is my first love before I got hooked on long distance running. Back in my high school and college days, I ran 100 and 200 meters race. I was good enough to win in local club meets and church sportsfest, but not fast enough to make it to school varsity. In college, during our physical education class, I was clocked just a hair over 15 seconds in a 100-meter dash, that is without formal coaching and training. That was probably a stroll though, compared to Usain Bolt who holds the record at 9.58 seconds.

But my fastest sprints were not in the oval track nor was it in a sports competition.

One early morning a long time ago, I was jogging in the streets of Manila when a fierce-looking stray dog decided to chase me. Maybe I smelled like a dog in heat. I ran so fast, I believe I broke the sound barrier! Or maybe it was not my speed but my girl-like scream that broke the sound barrier, and woke up our still slumbering neighborhood.

Then there was this instance after I emigrated and was living in New York City. My wife and I went out for an errand and when we returned in our apartment, there was a stranger inside our apartment. I thought first that he was repairman sent by the superintendent. But upon seeing us he bolted out the door. Without thinking, I ran after him through the building hallways, down three flights of stairs, and across 2 blocks of busy New York streets while shouting “Thief! Thief!”. But I was not fast enough to get him. Or maybe he got lucky, I lost him among the crowd of people. So you thought “akyat-bahay” was only in Manila?

Looking back now, that was really foolish of me of pursuing the burglar. What if he had a weapon or an accomplice waiting? What if I was able to overtake him, he certainly would not just surrender, but probably would fight for his life, right? And I know I was not strong enough nor trained enough to subdue him for he was bigger and more muscular than me. The only Kung Fu I know was watching it on TV. I could have been badly hurt or worse killed. Maybe being not fast enough was a blessing. But I certainly gave him a good chase.

When I was 4 or 5 years of age, my family went to a recreational facility, I believe was Balara Park, which was across UP Diliman and in the heart of Metro Manila. Balara was actually a water filtration plant but also has a park and swimming pools. It was a premiere weekend destination during those days. We had a picnic and spent the day swimming.

When it was time to go home, I continued to play despite of my parents telling me to get ready and help them pack our things in our car. It must have been that I was told to get ready multiple times but I was oblivious to their call. Maybe I don’t want a perfect summer day to end.

The next thing I remember, my family were all inside the car and my father started to drive the car. They were leaving without me! Boy, did I ran! Of course I realize now that my parents were just teaching me a lesson, but in my young mind, I thought they were leaving me for real.

I ran after our car for several yards as fast as my little legs could carry me, while my father drove “slowly” away. Finally the car stopped, or perhaps I overtook it, I don’t really remember now. Perhaps that was the first time my parents found out that I have wings in my feet. It was in an enclosed compound, and there were no speeding cars around, so I was not really in danger – except for the peril of being left behind, at least that’s how I saw it in my naive memory.

I learned my lesson though. Aside from the obvious, of heeding your parent’s call right away, I also learned that if you want something so badly, you chase it down. Run, as if your life depended on it.

It is amazing that now, after 40 years, I am still running. Chasing things that matters to me. My dreams. My family. My faith. And life itself. Perhaps, my legacy too.

I hope that when the time comes, when I have no more spring in my legs for a 100-meter sprint, or barely have strength just to put one foot in front of the other, that I can humbly say: I have run a good run.