Love, to the Moon and Back

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October 11, 2024, Manila- “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours.If not, it was never meant to be.” I’ve paid lip service to this, especially since Penny left for a better level. I have never felt she has been far away-and I have even felt that, when I fell for someone last year, this new love had Penny’s blessing.

I have no way of knowing in what direction my current friendship is going to head. Someone dear to me said, before I left for the Philippines this time, “You could love her to the moon and back, but if the feeling is not reciprocal, it can’t be faked.” I would be willing to make the life change and move here, but if it’s not a welcome move, it’s hardly a wise one. I have safe haven at Home Base I, and no one there who sees me through apprehensive eyes.

So, I will do what is prudent, in the time I have left here. I will visit Baha’i friends in another part of the country and pay further homage to those who died in World War II Another friend said, “No one needs to get married a second time”, and she is right. I know that I love my friend here, as deeply as I loved my wife. That is a rarity, and will not change. Still, there are twists and turns that she needs to navigate-and my presence would, for the time being, only be in the way. I have left the ball strictly in her court; she knows where she stands with me.

I am well, emotionally, with the caveat: “I am learning this, too: ‘We must not only be patient with others, infinitely patient!, but also with our own poor selves, remembering that even the Prophets of God sometimes got tired and cried out in despair!’ (Shoghi Effendi) And while I am deeply sure that ‘the Prophets of God’ had far more to despair about than I do or will, this quote gives me hope that I am not wallowing in my grief, but learning the lessons it will teach me.” (Borrowed, in gratitude, from a recently departed member of my spiritual family).

NOTE: Shoghi Effendi, the eldest surviving grandson of ‘Abdu’l-Baha, served as Guardian of the Baha’i Faith from ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s death, (1921), until his own passing (1957). He provided a wealth of translation, explanation and elucidation of the Writings of al-Bab, Baha’u’llah and ‘Abdu’l-Baha, as well as offering timeless insights into the growth and development of the Faith.

Camia Garlands and A Filipino Banquet

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October 10, 2024, Manila- The little entrepreneur was down to his last few hand-strung garlands of sweet-smelling camia blossoms. As we sat in a group and discussed various aspects of life in Manila and the urban U.S., one of our group members purchased the rest of the garlands. One was given to each of the women in our group, and I kept one for K, in case she was able to join us later.

Koi The’ Bubble Tea Shop, One Ayala Mall, Makati

Our host, Nelson (seated to my right, with ball cap), then brought us to MESA, a Filipino restaurant, where we enjoyed a full range of regional and national culinary treats: Pork belly (Binaggongan baboy), baked scallops in shell, suahe (large shrimp, barbecued in shell), sisig (fried rice with minced pork), various chicken dishes and a flounder-like baked fish, along with various side dishes whose names I did not quite catch.

It was a fitting celebration of both Nelson’s return here (he lives in the U.S. ) and that of a revered Baha’i elder, who lives primarily in the U.K. The rest of us were honoured just to be along for the gathering.

Part of me would not mind relocating here. There is more of the universal way of thinking, a collective mindset, to which I long ago became hard-wired. It will depend on how things go in a certain friendship, so we’ll see. Nevertheless, I have bonds here, for the rest of my life-much like in Home Base I, and in a number of other places across North America, in South Korea and in Europe. I can’t ever look at life through a dark glass again.

Nampo Garcia- A Street Kid Story

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October 9, 2024, Manila- (Any connection between the characters in this tale and real people is purely coincidental.)

I felt the blade at my back,as I retrieved the cash from the ATM. “Now, you will give me the due that you refused, back at the Light Rail station!”, snarled a voice at the other end of the knife. “Will I, now?”, I responded, in my best fake Irish brogue. I looked at the wad of bills, then glanced over at the small pair of hands to my right, cupped and ready.

I tossed the folded bills to a chuckling, triumphant street boy. The hapless beggar took off after Nampo, dropping his knife and momentarily forgetting about me. The boy, little more than 3’8” and 50 pounds soaking wet, ran around the floral planter that graced the front of my hostel, all the while holding the cash, in a teasing manner, as the half-addled thief continued to pursue him, like a cat chasing its own tail.

Nampo knew the drill. He ran up to the hostel’s security guard and stood still, until I came up the steps. His meal depended on not running afoul of Steven Morales, who had often graciously provided the boy, and his little sister, with one of the hostel restaurant’s signature burgers or at least one of its ample rice bowls. Tonight, though, as Steven handcuffed the foolish beggar, I took Nampo inside the cafe, and for once, the Chinese owner did not wince and start fussing in Mandarin, about “a mouse being in the house”. Nampo had a full meal and was allowed to take an order to go, for his sister, who was waiting at their makeshift cardboard and plywood hut, off Dominga Street.

“Uncle Rama”, Nampo queried, as we ate, “do you have a friend like me, back in Bengaluru?” “Actually, I have several such friends, Nampo”, I responded. “You see, not so long ago, I too was sleeping under rattan and cardboard, frequently crying myself to sleep and keeping one eye open. The street bandits back in India are not so easy to elude, as the drugged up fiends here in Manila.”

“Not all the thieves here are drugged up”, answered Nampo, “in fact, the only reason I can leave Shakira alone is because we have Auntie Jinja looking after us. Her son, Raul, is also here, visiting his mother and taking her to see a doctor, for her diabetes. Raul said that if he needs to take his mother back to his house in Sucot, we will go with them-and he will make sure we go to school every day.”

I felt relieved at this news and as I walked Nampo back to his encampment, thought of how lucky this resourceful little boy was, to have found Jinja, and by extension, Raul, in the first place. Then again, it was Nampo’s heart energy, taking care of little Shakira, and his pluckiness at cultivating a security guard and a tourist as his friends, that most appealed to my own heart. As it happened, Raul had gone to the hardware, on P. Ocampo, and purchased a few folding chairs. His mother was sitting in one, and he, in another. The dutiful son beckoned me to sit for a while. “Would you care for a cup of iced tea?” “That would be heavenly”, I replied, taking the last empty chair, as Nampo sat down on a bean bag seat, which Raul had also purchased. Shakira was asleep on a small cot, covered with a clean sheet, again provided by the dutiful son.

This night would pass safely for the makeshift family, and soon the four of them would head past the Ninoy Aquino International Airport, through Paranaque to the seaside community of Sucot. I would be heading home to Karnataka, in a few days, and thought that I would make more of an effort to help the urchins in my home city, in honour of Nampo and Shakira.

(The street children of Manila are definitely winsome and engaging. It is their sheer number that prevents meaningful individual assistance, but there are a number of organizations, such as Children International, which I use as a vehicle to help two families, and Save the Children, that can provide assistance to destitute children and their families. Nampo and Shakira are fictional characters, but there are people who fit their description all over the streets of Metro Manila-and other Philippine cities.)

Navigating

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October 6,2024, Manila- The day started and ended with rain. Thus, the nice picnic devotional we had planned for late morning became an indoor affair. I brought chicken fillets, topped with dinakdakan sauce. Kathy and her male cousin contributed a rather good pizza. Others brought a regional variation on pancit- a generic Tagalog name for noodles. There was also a seaweed dish, brought by one of the young men. I have been a fan of seaweed since the days we lived in Jeju, Korea. It is a powerhouse of nutrients. I will describe dinakdakan, which I find tasty, upon request. (No, it is not made from insects).

The afternoon was spent in study of aspects of Huquq’u’llah, which I have discussed in earlier posts (see especially Sept. 16, 2024). It was not dry and intense-no Filipino would sit through such boredom for long, but it was done with attention and focus. Kathy knows what she’s doing, especially when it comes to academic presentation of financial matters. I was honoured to sit at her right-hand side and contribute a fair amount to the discussion. Much of it was in Tagalog, but I had everyone’s attention when offering thoughts in English.

Towards the end of the meeting, K’s cousin pressed me to extend my stay- “permanently”. She and I exchanged knowing glances, smiled and I said I would need to go back to the U.S., for six months. There are several things needing attention at Home Base, in Carson City and back East-not excluding the possibility of time in the Southeast, given this year’s sudden explosion of hurricane energy-shades of 2005. Brief visits to San Diego and Jalisco are likely in February, and I will want to get to Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, in April.

So, we have pretty much agreed on a May return. How “permanent” will be influenced by things like the birth of one or more grandchildren-still to be determined, BTW. Today, though, I learned that any mixed signals I may have sensed, over the past day or so, were mainly in my mind. This beautiful, compassionate, intelligent woman, whose friendship I am so privileged to secure, is for real.

More Transition

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October 4,2024, Manila- She was long a champion of civil rights, for racial minorities and women. “Sexual minorities” were a bit harder for her, but she was trying to understand. Michele was, nonetheless, a compassionate friend of 35 years.

It was she, and her late husband, Tom, who talked me into taking a road trip to San Francisco-Oakland, in 2012; of course, swinging by their then-home in Reno and caravanning to the Bay Area. From there, I headed north, after three days of commemorating ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s 1912 visit to that area. After Tom passed away, in 2013, I continued to visit Michele and her family, which I came to regard as an extension of my own. Her eldest granddaughter became a surrogate grand-niece, followed, seven years later, by her little brother.

Sis has been getting weaker, these past few years, though she did not lose any of her feistiness. On my last visit, three months ago, she stood strongly against what she regarded as a general moral laxity. She cautioned me, on a different note, against up and leaving the United States, for what she regarded as a pipe dream of living abroad again. I think she felt the hourglass was running out. Last night, it did. Michele Le Boutellier Smith passed away, at the age of 75.

Michele may yet turn out to have been right. I have pretty much hit a plateau, in several aspects, as to what I can accomplish in Manila, and after giving it a few more days, will likely move on to the provinces for a couple of weeks. It is encouraging to me, though, that a well-educated, savvy gentleman is stepping up as a moving and shaking force for the Baha’i Faith in the capital area. Today, at lunch, he articulated some solid practical ideas for making the Regional Baha’i Center a true locus for the betterment of the community. It is the local residents who must achieve the true greatness of a place. Visitors like me, no matter how loving or well-intentioned, wear out our welcomes after so many days.

Transitions have been at flood tide, in a number of respects, in this Eight Universal Year, which always seems to bring about drastic change. The number of close family and friends who have left my life, either through death or attrition in the past nine months, is jarring. It is also not entirely unexpected. The year is not over yet, by a long shot, so I hang on and continue to work for the best.

Somewhere, in the great energy field to which we all go, at some point, all my relations and extended family of friends are sending the energy that will guide me aright, as long as I pay attention. I will probably be walking that path largely alone, but that is okay. I can do this.

Soloing

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September 28, 2024, Puerto Princesa- The shoe, it turns out, was only moved a short distance from its untouched mate. Darkness keeps us in suspense, yet I sense when patience will win out, in daylight. The pair again adorn my feet.

I met another American, this morning. He has settled here in Palawan and farms with his wife, near BM Beach, which will itself be my beach experience on Monday. I have made it known that, so long as I am welcome in the Philippines, next year will bring a longer stay. The “Great Adventures” I had planned for the next five years are better off done with someone I have come to love-and trust- very much. Before them, then, comes earning trust, myself-and so I make that commitment, even with the adjustments this will bring to my comfortable life in Arizona.

Family has only grown larger, over the years, but I have seen a bigger picture than my local scene, since I was four years old. Always branching out, farther and farther-while never forgetting my roots, it has been such a rewarding life. Some of this has been imparted to my son, who is in the rootedness phase of life, and so will be the anchor of annual or semiannual jaunts back to North America. The wider family, though, will hardly shrink.

I felt comfortable enough, this evening, to walk south and west, and take in Puerto Princesa’s Bayside Park, its Cathedral and Plaza Cuartel- the scene of a brutal massacre during World War II. It may or may not be a hallmark of American travelers, but I go anywhere that is not off-limits, or is obviously dangerous turf. Puerto Princesa is not a dangerous place.

Statue of the “princess”, for whom the city is named. She was an elusive figure, it is said.

Peacock Statue (Tandikan)-the provincial bird of Palawan.

University crew members, in practice

City logo, at Bayside Park.

Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Puerto Princesa

Account of brutality that grew out of fear.

So went my solo visit to Hondo Bay and its interesting park.

A Missing Shoe

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September 27, 2024, Puerto Princesa- The dog was sniffing my shoes, as a I left them outside the door to the large, comfortable villa, where our evening meal and impromptu conversation of two hours was to unfold. There are no puppies here at Dang Maria, (named for the mother of the owner), so I thought nothing of leaving them in the customary spot.

We had several lengthy and intelligent conversations today. Sister-friend Jane looms large in this seaside community, and has done nothing but good for the Puertenyos, and all Palawenyos. Her vision, like mine, is global and inclusive. I am proud to see her as a spiritual sibling.

My actual hosts here in Puerto Princesa are a furniture maker, Roger, and his wife Amie (AA mee). Roger sets the meetings and, in the tropical tradition, the times. It is vacation mode, even with my keeping view of my goals here-to encourage the Baha’is, as we continue to re-group, in the lingering aftermath of pandemic. I walk more slowly, along Manalo Street, to and from my host’s residence and my digs at Rodolfo Royale Hotel-and anywhere else we may be walking.

Our first leisurely stop was at Palawan Mall, where I refueled my wallet. We then headed over to Jane’s Restaurant, Neva’s Place, named for one of her three daughters.

Neva’s Place, Puerto Princesa, Palawan (above and below)

After a meal of garlic shrimp and noodles, with coffee as a dessert item rather than as “fuel”, we bid Jane adieu and headed back to our respective spots on Manalo Street, for siesta in the sitio (neighbourhood). It is still an institution here on Palawan-for those who don’t have a series of meetings to attend.

Our evening gathering, at Dang Maria, started “promptly at 5 p.m.”, which is Taglish for “be here around 6…or so”. We got there at 6:15. The gloaming had set in, but in the house, everything had a quiet vibrancy, and we addressed woes, both near and far. One thing we all hold in common- our Faith is not meant to have us hold our heads in the clouds. Spirituality, if real, must envelop, absorb and sanctify the material and the practical. Matters, great and small, put in front of us, are worthy of our attention. “Be anxiously concerned with the needs of the age ye live in, and centre your deliberations on its exigencies and requirements.-Baha’u’llah, “The Tabernacle of Unity”

Evening, at Casa Maria, Puerto Princesa
Amie, Roger and Jane
This is the one where I look like my maternal grandfather. (Time is flying!)

It was time to leave, being close to 9 p.m., so I went outside, to put on my shoes-except that there was only one. We looked high and low-but in the darkness, there was only one thing to do. I was graciously offered a pair of sandals, and the remaining shoe was placed out of harm’s way.

Tomorrow is another day.

Day of Even Flow

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September 26, 2024, Puerto Princesa, Palawan- Today began with an urgent plea, which I answered with a long prayer for healing. It seemed to have done the trick, as the medical emergency has been relieved somewhat. So, prayers on that matter (Confidential, of course) will continue from this end.

The day played out with yet another transition from Manila to a provincial area. It was a day of even flow, with a flight delay answered by the pilot by getting us to Puerto Princesa in 2/3 of the time that the manifest stated. Passengers are far from the only people who want to get to their destinations, be those home or a temporary Home Base.

Here in “Puerto”, and elsewhere in Palawan. motorized tricycles take the place of jeepneys. Two of them got me from the airport to this 2-star hotel: Rodolfo Royale, which more than suits my needs for a few days. The first Tricycle took me to a “recommended” rooming house, whose owner was none too pleased to see a foreign national. No matter- I got a second tricycle to a popular restaurant, and my friend here in Puerto lives just up the road from RR, and getting in here was no problem.

It will be more socially intense here, as there is a larger group of people who are interested in my presence, and these are country people, not so absorbed in their own day to day business, as those who dwell in the cities. In the course of events, that is a good thing, more conducive to personal growth.

A Cordillera Sojourn, Day 4: An Igorot Origin Story

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September 22, 2024, Manila- The wooden Ibaloi warrior sat in my crafts souvenir bag, keeping watch over the bus, and me-like Little Bear, in “The Indian in the Cupboard”. I would not have been surprised, had he come to life and begun murmuring fiercely in the Ibaloi dialect of the time. The history of the indigenous people of the vast Malay archipelago: East Malaysia, Brunei Darussalam, Indonesia, Timor L’Este and the Philippines mirrors that of the First Nations of the Americas. Indeed, they were all subjugated by the same European conquerors-and their successor cultures.

Mabel Cook Cole provides us with this account of the origin of the Igorot nations

The Creation

Igorot

In the beginning there were no people on the earth.

Lumawig, the Great Spirit, came down from the sky and cut many reeds. He divided these into pairs which he placed in different parts of the world, and then he said to them, “You must speak.”

Immediately the reeds became people, and in each place was a man and a woman who could talk, but the language of each couple differed from that of the others.

Then Lumawig commanded each man and woman to marry, which they did. By and by there were many children, all speaking the same language as their parents. These, in turn, married and had many children. In this way there came to be many people on the earth.

Now Lumawig saw that there were several things which the people on the earth needed to use, so he set to work to supply them. He created salt, and told the inhabitants of one place to boil it down and sell it to their neighbors. But these people could not understand the directions of the Great Spirit, and the next time he visited them, they had not touched the salt.

Then he took it away from them and gave it to the people of a place called Mayinit. These did as he directed, and because of this he told them that they should always be owners of the salt, and that the other peoples must buy of them.

Then Lumawig went to the people of Bontoc and told them to get clay and make pots. They got the clay, but they did not understand the molding, and the jars were not well shaped. Because of their failure, Lumawig told them that they would always have to buy their jars, and he removed the pottery to Samoki. When he told the people there what to do, they did just as he said, and their jars were well shaped and beautiful. Then the Great Spirit saw that they were fit owners of the pottery, and he told them that they should always make many jars to sell.

In this way Lumawig taught the people and brought to them all the things which they now have.”-Source: Mabel Cook Cole, Philippine Folk Tales (Chicago: A. C. McClurg and Company, 1916), pp. 99-101.

The First Nations of the Malay Archipelago, including the Philippines, have much the same richness in their cultures and in their societies, as have the First Nations of the Americas-and in fact, all the First Nations, across the globe. It was all too easy for Europeans and their settler descendants to have lost sight of this, because no sooner had a wave of Eurasian nomads come across from the steppes of the landmass’s center and settled down (the Celts, the Aryans, the Teutonic tribes, the Huns, Avars and Turks), than another wave of nomads, the Mongols being the last, came thundering across the plains, to conquer and disrupt society. Each successive wave of settlers disdained those they found in place. So did the ethos of conquest become ingrained in the European mindset-and in many ways, the wisdom of the indigenous people was discounted and overlooked.

I am grateful to have had a small amount of time with the Idaloi. I will be back, possibly as early as next month.

I came back to the capital, this afternoon. The return trip was made the way the average Filipino makes it-via a local bus, that stopped in four different depots and two rest areas. The bus picked up roadside passengers in the countryside between Baguio and Sison, which was the first rest area. We continued through small cities, like Urdaneta and Moncada, stopped at a second rest area, in Angeles, and still got to Pasay Victory Line Terminal in five hours. Now, there are four days to regroup and replenish, before going to Palawan, the “frontier” of the Philippines, in the southwest.

Here, as a bonus, is a collection of Igorot legends.

A Cordillera Sojourn, Day 2

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September 20, 2024, Baguio- The little boy was curious about what was in my soup bowl, so he started to approach the small table where I sat, in James Wright Cafe, at Baguio’s SM CIty . His mother was having none of it, and sternly called him back to their table, explaining the etiquette of dining in public.

SM is a chain of supermarkets and malls, across the Philippines and in China. It started in 1948, when Henry Sy opened a Shoe Mart, in Manila’s Quiapo District. His business plan gradually allowed for expansion into the supermarket concept, then into full service shopping malls, with a great number of satellite shops. Baguio’s SM has two stories and a plethora of shopping options. I contented myself with food that I could prepare back at my suite, and a few treats to share with my hosts, besides the lunch at James Wright Cafe.

I went into town by jeepney, after enjoying breakfast at Badihoy’s Aqua Garden Cafe. Here is a remarkable view of the Cordillera rain forest, from Aqua Garden’s terrace.

Kordilerya Rainforest, Badihoy, Baguio

Once the langganisa breakfast, with Chocolate Bomb, was finished, it was on to the parks and other sights of Baguio’s City Center. The first stop was a monument to Dr. Jose Rizal, the national hero of the Philippines.

“The Golden Blood”, celebrating modern day heroes-soldiers and sailors defending the Philippines, and first responders.
Monument to Dr. Rizal

Next was Burnham Park, named for its designing architect, Daniel Burnham, of Chicago. He wanted a park that American forces stationed at Baguio could enjoy and one that would appeal to Filipinos, as well. Thus, there is a small lake, with paddle boats and pontoon boats for rental, as well as numerous small gardens, with many stone sitting benches, and a few tables.

Bust of Daniel Burnham, at Burnham Park, Baguio
Some of Pine City’s pines, Burnham Park
Filipinos are quite focused on community health.
A long view of Burnham Park
Celosias make you take notice!
A young fashionista was posing for several “walking photos”, at this bed of daisies. I gladly waited my turn. The girl reminded me of one of our friends in Manila, who also likes to pose in style.
Have paddle boat, will cruise the lake!
Mural honouring small holder farmers, Burnham Park (above and below)
When I was a child, the Swan Boat at Boston Common was a delight. Glad to see that some are still around-pontoons at Burnham Lake.
Wherever one goes, cats rule.
Honouring Igorot warriors, defending their homeland- Igorot Garden Park, Baguio (above and below)
Baguio Cathedral. There was a Mass being said, so I did not go inside.

The way back was interesting, in and of itself. The rain was heavy, but that did not deter anyone, including me, who needed to get somewhere. I found a jeepney, which took me further than I needed to go. With help from a Guisad Barangay worker named Kim, I got back just fine, though.

Tomorrow’s outing to an indigenous craft shop will be better planned out. I will take note of landmarks, so as to not overshoot this little sitio of Badihoy.