Lost in Mindanao

I was only able to post this now, now that I'm back in the US. Our connection at home was dialup and we know how long that would take to upload pictures.

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I was on my way home from the airport last Thursday after a weeklong sojourn (July 2 to 6, 2006) in Davao City and Camiguin with friends from way back while I was still working in the Philippines.

In Davao, we stayed at this cozy nook called Manor Hotel, although understandably we spent more of our time touring the place.

Introducing the gang: BBC, me, Francis, Raks, Chris, Rey, Jay, Rico, Ace, Sheng, Frankie, Noreen

First stop was Eden Nature Park. I swear I had absolutely nothing to do ownership of the place, notwithstanding the name of the place.

We wasted no time enjoying the whatever-you-call-this, although it wasn’t a cinch figuring out how to get onto these hanging seats.



It wasn’t really a choice between going to the Eagle farm and going to the Orchidarium. When you think of Philippine Eagle, you’re supposed to think Davao anyway. That’s how we found ourselves here at the Philippine Eagle Center.

Where, you might ask, are them eagles? A paragraph about eagles is better enhanced by a picture of the eagles than by people gawking at said eagles, you might add.

Personally, I just thought it was damn too gay a thing to go to the Orchidarium, although Il Hong swears we should have gone there instead (San Francisco must have affected him “that” way… too bad). By the way, Hong is a friend from way back, who’s also on vacation from his studies abroad. But unlike me, his airfare was funded by his school (lucky bastard) because he’s supposed to do some serious shit in relation to his international developmental economics schmuck.

Me and Hong

He also requested that this picture showing him holding me this way be shown here as well. Yes folks, San Francisco really did affect him in a certain way.



The second day in Davao was spent lazing around Paradise Island. They sure do know how to name their places of interest, because it was just so easy to let go of your worries when you’re there. Now, I do know that places like this are among those I would miss terribly when I go back to dear ol’ West Laf.



I simply had to take my picture taken at Ateneo de Davao. I thought I’ve been to all currently existing Ateneos – Manila, Naga, Cagayan, and now Davao – when it dawned on me I still have to see Ateneo de Zamboanga and Ateneo de Iloilo.

Fortes in Fide. Strength in Faith, if I'm not mistaken.

And then we’re off to Camiguin. It was an overnight bus ride to the port.

Yes, this is Camiguin. The signboard on the upper left is by Gov. Jose Ma. Zubiri Jr.

Being able to roam around aboard and stretch our tired limbs was a welcome respite from the previous night’s sleepless travel.

Will kill whoever took this. Next time.

Orson, our guide from last year in Camiguin (with Ateneo friends this time), fetched us in his handy-dandy blue van. That the a/c went bonkers was a blessing in disguise, since after using our God-given talents at haggling, we were able to lower his fee from Php6000 (USD10 at PhP10 to the green buck) to PhP4000.

A day without work. Priceless.

Mount Hibok Hibok wasn’t too far away.

Yes, it's the one at the back.

It was promptly followed by a splash at majestic (this adjective is too cliché) Katibawasan Falls.

Demonstrating the power of BBC's Sony Cybershot.

That night, we had fun at Ardent Hot Springs.

I'm not breathing!

We did intend to wake up early, supposedly at 5:30 am just so we could see the sunrise at White Island. But it wasn’t meant to be, since we preferred seeing the sunrise in our dreams. Still, we had lots of fun enjoying the view and the blue waters.




No boatman was available to take us to the marker of the Sunken Cemetery.



Just close by are the ruins of an old church destroyed by a volcanic eruption.



A cold spring was next on the itinerary.



Our last stop was atop Mt. Vulcan. Different stations of the cross dotted the pathway. ‘Twas a good workout, totally needed what with the sedentary lifestyles most of us are living. The view on top was a welcome bonus.



And just when we were ready to call it a night, we just couldn’t resist the call to go back to the hot springs (thank God they close at 10 pm).

We left early Thursday without being able to talk to the resort manager and give her our payment. I swear we could have left off without being caught, but either we believed in karma, or we were not one to leave behind a bad mark to our blessed Mindanao sojourn. What for, when everything was going so great!

Orson: second from left (dude in black)

We had time to waste in Cagayan de Oro.

Noreen and Rico let loose at SM.

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I was with former officemates from Azeus on this trip. I hate them because were it not for them, I would have saved so much more, especially since I’m short on resources since I don’t have income this summer.

However, I’d also like to thank them, because even though the places we went to were fantastic (geez, I make it sound like this is a bad thing), they continue to show me that it’s not so much what you do or where you go which matter, but who you do things with!

And that's priceless!

Poetry and Brokenness (wooh boy, another serious one)

Note: I wrote this piece August 28, 2002.


This picture, taken July 5, 2006, is not meant as an aid to better understand the essay. In fact, it has absolutely nothing to do with my piece.

I haven’t written for the longest time. I see that it’s not easy to turn one’s back after all to things one really likes. In my case, these things happen to be (hold your breath) math, followed by writing driven by erratic bursts of inspiration. Nowadays, it seems that I only write whenever I want to shout but I can’t since it wouldn’t be right. I only write whenever I want to cry but then I can’t since that would make me seem weak.

I often imagine myself to be above some people when it comes to dealing with problems. I thought I had some things figured out all along. But sooner or later, you find out that there are still some loose ends to tie which you missed the first time around.

I taught college math for a couple of years in the school which I love dearly for what it taught me. I learned to swear, drink and smoke. Along the way I hurt some dear friends too. Here I cried for the first time because I believe I loved despite the odds. In short, I became less of the hypocrite and the cretin that I was in high school. My new world expanded my horizons and pushed my tolerance level of other people. It also pushed my alcohol tolerance and the limits of being able to keep myself awake.

But damn did I work hard! I knew when and how to have fun, but I also knew how to get lost and immersed in abstract mathematical concepts. For some reason, which probably more than half the world’s population would violently disagree with, math was the easiest subject in the world for me. Yeah, you’ve probably seen me as one of those wholesome A students who kept getting sent to math contests. Just add a slightly growing beer belly, replace the eyeglasses with lenses, and shave to a skinhead, and I won’t need to give you my picture anymore.

When you’re 18 to 20 (especially if you were a special child nurtured with brain enhancing milk supplements) your idealism (a.k.a. angst and repressed hormones) can push you to denouncing the workaday world of functionality and practicality. Your mantra then: I want to free myself of the absurd. At that time, I wanted to contribute to humanity by further excelling in what I’m good at. I wanted to assert my individuality by putting myself over the world’s mundane concerns, and pursuing, like Christian in “Moulin Rouge” the bohemian ideals of beauty, truth, and love. While this is going on all in your head, you hear that line too from Nine Days: “For though I cannot fly, I’m not content to crawl.”

Instead of poetry, it was math for me. Ironically, I loved it for the very reason people hated the subject – its seeming lack of significance (at the superficial level) in attaining such practical goals as earning big bucks and getting laid. Once understood, math is a means by which people can create abstract concepts, see relationships which serendipitously fall neatly into place, thereby manifesting the seemingly limitless possibilities of human thought. In this scenario, how can then one cease to be in wonder?

I graduated with honors and started teaching less than two weeks after graduation. Who could reject an invitation to teach from one's school? But actually, I was already set anyway on teaching as a possible lifetime career.

When you’re 20, hence immortal, you believe that like the mountains, the oceans, and the moon, things will stay as they are, much like clearly stated mathematical definitions. You believe that forever is as long as you want it to last.

Then you realize that a mountain is immobile, the ocean could dry up, the moon is a dead planet (so to speak) - but you’re just in your 20’s and very much alive. Woe to you then for not seeing that things are not perfect like squares or circles, that circumstances change, and what you thought would last forever is gone before you can even say “kookaburra.”

I’m not teaching anymore. I just stopped. I’ve had enough for now. I myself didn’t see it coming. It was an act that defied rationality. I decided to stop teaching, and also my graduate studies.

Admittedly, something bad happened that broke the camel’s back and pushed me to find a job elsewhere. Pride also got in the way. And just as easily as I got into my university and first job, I suddenly gave up teaching and studying something I had immersed myself in so much.

Where did that faith in the ideals I set, all go? It’s scary because it leaves one groping for what is certain in one’s life. One can't just continue to hold on, believing that what we’re doing is right, even though it’s not that easy to ascertain anymore what is right – making one wonder how even the certainty of goodness can elude us.

I was led to believe before that all questions have only one correct answer, that all we had to do was look hard enough to make sense of things. Eventually, the world itself will disprove such a linear mode of thinking. Then you’ll realize (or someone will point out) that it’s not only looking for our own answers that drives us, but asking our personal questions too. Thereby do we define ourselves further, since by posing our own questions we confront our internal conflicts and validate what’s important in our lives.

But still this is not enough. I believe that one also has to ask questions at the right time. Questions are more effective when experienced in time, for only then will the answers make perfect sense. Thus, we might be asking the same questions all along, but more than the personal flavor afforded in the answers, the replies are different because each answer belongs to a unique personal circumstance.

In times of brooding like this one, I am afforded the opportunity of looking back at the lessons picked along the way. Sometimes, our human rationality can’t satisfy us. There will be moments of confusion, when what we think is right doesn’t jive with what we feel to be right. Either it is the mind which is clouded and it is the heart which is in the right place, or vice versa. But one has to go on and choose, and be judged. One must refuse to be immobilized for a long time by a period of indecision.

One can count the many times of helplessness and curse why the things that we don’t want, do happen. Sometimes it’s alright to curse this lack of power over events, and be angry about it – so that we can eventually accept it. We will be hurt and we can only be beautiful as beings because we are broken. Our brokenness makes us precious, because more than the fact that we can be broken, we change.

And because I change, I know I am alive.