Uncle Sam and Tito Pidro
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
The recent US financial crisis, which sends almost everybody down the dumps, signals a stern warning to every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the world. And whether it is Uncle Sam or Tito Pidro, it doesn’t make any difference at all. The crisis befalls to everybody; not even the petite lady in the Imperial Manila is spared.
Without batting an eyelash, one can definitely give a correct answer to this 25th-century question: did the peso maintain its position against the ailing dollars?
There is no doubt about the ill-effects of the crisis: terrestrial giants and broadsheets publishers post this “cup of tea” daily that it further adds fuel to the fire.
The entire world must have heard of the almost 5,000 contract workers laid off from the economic basket of Dubai with one of the leading financial institution taking the lead of about 2,000 employees dismissed.
The plight of Filipino contract workers who entered Iran from the backdoor in the hopes of entering Iraq for an enormous pay claimed an unwanted toll in the history of human trafficking. Hundreds of them were forced to share rooms or beds and food in exchange for waiting for working visas.
In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Filipinos are complaining about economic austerity measures imposed and implemented by some companies. About a week ago, more than five (500) Filipinos went home jobless from the Kingdom due to discontinuance of operation. Overtime is controlled especially in the production or operation site; never-have-been-done-in-KSA cost cutting measures were implemented, working hours were increased to abolish one shift; no bonuses are to be granted; salary increases are pending subject to management mercy; no promotions; and some companies floated the idea of freezing hiring activities.
Although all these are new in the talent industry and in the history of the Kingdom, some Filipinos and other nationals are the feeling this and in fact, project that soon, the entire kingdom will adapt.
The grapevine tells us that with Obama elected to the White House, the US economy will improve before the end of the second half next year. This is an unsolicited analysis, I believe, but let’s keep our fingers crossed because, no matter what people say, America controls the world.
One proof: The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is the richest country in the world but its economy is slowly affected; its currency dwindling; prices of prime commodities rising; rents rising; labor packages affected
What is the consequence?
The Filipino talent market, which supplies 70% of the total contract wok force, is compromised, too. Talent exportation will definitely slow down; correspondingly, manpower pooling will be stiff. The monthly remittance of the earners will reduce.
This is not only true to all “kababayans” in the kingdom; this is true to all overseas contract workers.
Which is why, we need to tighten our belt this time once again. Don’t tell me you are not affected or, this crisis is not affecting your household yet. Definitely, the effect will befall.
This is another danger zone most contract workers are entering into: bleak and uncertain. The only hope is to finish the contract with the heart in order not too feel the pressure consequentially brought about by this crisis.
Everybody dreams of America: America is falling once again. It has once fallen due to 911 incident. It has fallen again.
Snap advice: trim down costs, and work on budget. Whether you are in the “land of milk and honey” or in the “Kingdom of black gold,” it doesn’t make any difference. Earlier I said, wherever you are, you are dealing with the consequence. Whether you are Uncle Sam or Tito Pidro, you have no choice.
But flexible as we are, Filipinos, let’s firmly stand head up and face the challenge. We did that when we united to terminate the three-century old Spanish regime; we fused our efforts in the 1986 EDSA People Power to oust the dictator. What more can we do to prove to the world that crisis are but our “cup of tea” served daily in the ordinary Filipino dining table.
Mabuhay ka, kabayan!
Published, Dumaguete Star Informer, Sunday, 30 November 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Into the land called Arabia
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
The Gulf Airbus safely touched down the runway of Bahrain International Airport at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon on the 10th of July 2008, the first time I would be completely alienated from my native home. I said completely because I had been traveling since 1986 for my training, seminars, and conferences abroad, but these are matters I can say of a temporal alienation only.
It was a taxing nine-hour air stride but sensibly exciting. Bahrain is an open, beautiful kingdom despite its minute size compared to the Kingdom where I am billeted today.
If I have to put my two cents in, the airport is more inferior to ours, especially NAIA 2. What strikes me is the strict compliance of their immigration and customs requirements plus the highly-technical equipments. Technically speaking, this country has a more extensive inspection process than ours.
After waiting for two hours, we were ushered to the bus bound for Al-Khobar, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia where my employer will pick me up at about ten in the evening. Before reaching the boarder is the immigration office of this tiny but powerful kingdom where all of us were required to present once again our travel documents for exit.
The long, single cue to the four-counter-immigration desk that was manned by a single, lousy officer was sickening. I could visibly imagine the scene from the movie Schindler’s List where Jews were asked to move out of the camp in single cue and inspected. The Jews suffered in the hands of these anti-Christ believers and we too, including other races, suffered discomforts with them that day. But this is my personal note only; this is not coming from the entire group.
Ergo, immigration exit requirements were completed and after barely ten minutes, we were asked again to fall in line for another immigration process. This time, we were already in the most powerful kingdom of the Middle East, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
Tired and hungry, the incomprehensible language and threatening looks from the two officers annoyed and made me crave. The immigration office had 8 counters but only one officer was entertaining the almost two hundred Asian overseas workers in cue. This took us about an hour-and-a-half. After this process, we passed by the Customs Office for another inspection: no alcohols, smut magazines, immoral pictures, Christian stuffs should be seen, otherwise, it would be another agony of interrogation, they said.
It was such a very exhausting experience we could not afford to resist. It looks like the farewell march from the movie The Longest Day.
The bus stopped at the station at 12;30 early morning of the 11th of July 2008. After removing my luggage from the compartment, I stood alongside the road and moved carefully my eyes as if I was scanning the area for an enemy, or some sort. Arabis, Indians, and other nationals were approaching us all offering their taxi service. Quickly and proudly I responded: my employer will pick me up.
After one hour of standing at the roadside, a Filipino suggested of staying at the front of the Bus Terminal Office which I heeded. There I met fellow Filipinos and learned their employers were not yet picking them up. Another hour passed and only the three of us remained standing at the terminal.
My fear grew extensively because a Friday is the prayer day for the Islam. I have heard news and rumors that anyone showing disrespect to their practice or to their citizen is subject to execution. Disrespect can be in a form of eating, drinking, spitting, laughing or shouting while the “Sala” or prayer is going on. I am new; I was new in the land that day. I was scared.
One car stopped in front of us and asked us using this famous word: kabayan? I stared at the middle-aged man blankly but the other guy nodded. These Filipinos moved out of the car and offered us one 10-slice KFC chicken bucket with rice, fries, bread and soft drinks. We learned later that the food was intended for the three OFWs who were supposed to be in the same bus but did not make it.
It was then I learned one word that was so common back home; one word that can command and unite all Filipinos abroad: kabayan! I also I realized that the best of our traits are still shown even in this time of technology-controlled society, and where competition abounds: camaraderie and hospitality. Our good-natured manner and friendly attitude really make us globally outstanding and highly demanding. And how I wish every Filipino can do what this man did to us.
We conversed and this man offered to call my employer who was annoyed because he was on vacation. Anyway, the long and short of it was that I was picked up at about 6:00 in the morning and learned that this man waited for me from 11:00 until 12:00 midnight. Our trip was short of thirty minutes; otherwise, he could have brought me earlier to my flat.
Since a Friday is a weekend here, all stores are closed; they are opened in the evening. This nocturnal activity has long been a practice here. And since I could not buy for my breakfast, I would have to wait for the evening, which means, I’d be starving the whole day. I cleaned my room, arranged my stuffs in the locker and went out to buy for a grab. I started to walk and noticed that no one except me was in the street. I went back and met my flat mate. He offered me the breakfast. Again this was a confirmation of us known to be very hospitable and kind. I was relieved.
Into the land of the Arabians, or which part of the globe, we Filipinos are still Filipinos in thoughts, in words, and in deeds. This is said sans the purity of the thought, sanctity of the words, and sincerity of the action.
These are Pinoys in the Middle East!
Published in Dumaguete Starinformer, 05 October 2008, Sunday
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
The Gulf Airbus safely touched down the runway of Bahrain International Airport at exactly four o’clock in the afternoon on the 10th of July 2008, the first time I would be completely alienated from my native home. I said completely because I had been traveling since 1986 for my training, seminars, and conferences abroad, but these are matters I can say of a temporal alienation only.
It was a taxing nine-hour air stride but sensibly exciting. Bahrain is an open, beautiful kingdom despite its minute size compared to the Kingdom where I am billeted today.
If I have to put my two cents in, the airport is more inferior to ours, especially NAIA 2. What strikes me is the strict compliance of their immigration and customs requirements plus the highly-technical equipments. Technically speaking, this country has a more extensive inspection process than ours.
After waiting for two hours, we were ushered to the bus bound for Al-Khobar, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia where my employer will pick me up at about ten in the evening. Before reaching the boarder is the immigration office of this tiny but powerful kingdom where all of us were required to present once again our travel documents for exit.
The long, single cue to the four-counter-immigration desk that was manned by a single, lousy officer was sickening. I could visibly imagine the scene from the movie Schindler’s List where Jews were asked to move out of the camp in single cue and inspected. The Jews suffered in the hands of these anti-Christ believers and we too, including other races, suffered discomforts with them that day. But this is my personal note only; this is not coming from the entire group.
Ergo, immigration exit requirements were completed and after barely ten minutes, we were asked again to fall in line for another immigration process. This time, we were already in the most powerful kingdom of the Middle East, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
Tired and hungry, the incomprehensible language and threatening looks from the two officers annoyed and made me crave. The immigration office had 8 counters but only one officer was entertaining the almost two hundred Asian overseas workers in cue. This took us about an hour-and-a-half. After this process, we passed by the Customs Office for another inspection: no alcohols, smut magazines, immoral pictures, Christian stuffs should be seen, otherwise, it would be another agony of interrogation, they said.
It was such a very exhausting experience we could not afford to resist. It looks like the farewell march from the movie The Longest Day.
The bus stopped at the station at 12;30 early morning of the 11th of July 2008. After removing my luggage from the compartment, I stood alongside the road and moved carefully my eyes as if I was scanning the area for an enemy, or some sort. Arabis, Indians, and other nationals were approaching us all offering their taxi service. Quickly and proudly I responded: my employer will pick me up.
After one hour of standing at the roadside, a Filipino suggested of staying at the front of the Bus Terminal Office which I heeded. There I met fellow Filipinos and learned their employers were not yet picking them up. Another hour passed and only the three of us remained standing at the terminal.
My fear grew extensively because a Friday is the prayer day for the Islam. I have heard news and rumors that anyone showing disrespect to their practice or to their citizen is subject to execution. Disrespect can be in a form of eating, drinking, spitting, laughing or shouting while the “Sala” or prayer is going on. I am new; I was new in the land that day. I was scared.
One car stopped in front of us and asked us using this famous word: kabayan? I stared at the middle-aged man blankly but the other guy nodded. These Filipinos moved out of the car and offered us one 10-slice KFC chicken bucket with rice, fries, bread and soft drinks. We learned later that the food was intended for the three OFWs who were supposed to be in the same bus but did not make it.
It was then I learned one word that was so common back home; one word that can command and unite all Filipinos abroad: kabayan! I also I realized that the best of our traits are still shown even in this time of technology-controlled society, and where competition abounds: camaraderie and hospitality. Our good-natured manner and friendly attitude really make us globally outstanding and highly demanding. And how I wish every Filipino can do what this man did to us.
We conversed and this man offered to call my employer who was annoyed because he was on vacation. Anyway, the long and short of it was that I was picked up at about 6:00 in the morning and learned that this man waited for me from 11:00 until 12:00 midnight. Our trip was short of thirty minutes; otherwise, he could have brought me earlier to my flat.
Since a Friday is a weekend here, all stores are closed; they are opened in the evening. This nocturnal activity has long been a practice here. And since I could not buy for my breakfast, I would have to wait for the evening, which means, I’d be starving the whole day. I cleaned my room, arranged my stuffs in the locker and went out to buy for a grab. I started to walk and noticed that no one except me was in the street. I went back and met my flat mate. He offered me the breakfast. Again this was a confirmation of us known to be very hospitable and kind. I was relieved.
Into the land of the Arabians, or which part of the globe, we Filipinos are still Filipinos in thoughts, in words, and in deeds. This is said sans the purity of the thought, sanctity of the words, and sincerity of the action.
These are Pinoys in the Middle East!
Published in Dumaguete Starinformer, 05 October 2008, Sunday
Through the eyes of an OFW
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
Spoken undeniably true, migrant Filipino workers have been creating big waves overseas: from Asia to Africa to Australia to Europe to Canada to USA. Yes, this is what we call the “Pinoy Power” – more compelling than the art of war by Sun Tzu, more demanding than the political pressures of Malacanang Palace these days.
Time and tide had swept the Filipinos’ stability where everything was tested. From the furnace where gold was melted to the chamber where bones are broken, Filipinos have managed to survive undefeated. From Carlos P. Romulo in the United Nations to Leah Salonga in the West End to Onyok Velasco in the Sydney Olympics to Mirriam Quiambao in the Miss Universe to Manny Pacquiao in boxing – name it, Filipinos do outstand proudly.
And behind each transaction in the talent exchange market is the compelling saga of love and hate, successes and failures, marital bonds and betrayals, friendships and denials, cause and effect, and all.
As early as the 80’s, I have always opposed sending Filipino workers or talents overseas. In fact, back in college, I have written an article which condemns, among others, “brain drain phenomenon” especially when technocrats (this include managers of all kinds) are exported, literally. However, the sagging Philippine economy under the auspices of the late dictator started the exodus and forced the backward Filipino workforce to send curriculum vitae else where.
Just like anybody, I hate to hear Filipino families are broken into pieces as an uncontrolled consequence of showcasing local expertise overseas in exchange for great bucks. Family dysfunctional ties are a major concern in the catholic-controlled Filipino society to date. Moralists always condemn social evils or vices - drugs, movies, and spirits, for example. They never have come to the abyss of the human failures – the lack of controlling figure in the household, the father.
I hated Filipino children in the neighborhood, whose head of the household worked abroad, lived in material-controlled, sugar-coated familial assembly. I hated how they enjoy life without thinking about the “one” earning for them; I hated to recall how we experienced the same distortion until I realize today how it was.
I hated mothers who are spending too much without thinking of husbands abroad. I hated wives seeking refuge, or temporal bliss from nameless heavenly bodies for human wants and desires. I hated mothers and wives seeking short-cuts to earthly happiness until I saw how migrant workers seek the same parody in this foreign Kingdom where temptations display in wide arrays its variant colors of want and deception.
I found it unusual to find “fathers” crying at the departure area while waving goodbyes to loved ones until I found myself doing the same thing and experiencing the same fate.
I hated the government for allowing its precious resource to deplete helplessly; to travel uncharted routes in search for the famed “pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” I hated government officials to do nothing for the abused overseas workers. I hated the government for not doing anything to save Flor Contemplacion but have the courage to take pictures with Leah Salonga and Manny Pacquao.
Yes, I hated all these until I became an OFW myself. I realized why millions of “kabayans” left the country and still others want to leave, and why they chose to live this way. I realized why families break, why husbands find replacements abroad and why wives settle for second best back home. I realized why kids suffer and have to suffer. I realized why things are going this way and not the way I want and wanted.
Through the eyes of an OFW, I have seen two sides of the coin. The first side glows with enthusiasm and inspiration; a face that sends a thousand and one message of true love and sacrifice for the family. The other side shows the frustration and the burden that forced an OFW to leave and work overseas. It shows discontent, hatred, and disgrace.
Through the eyes of an OFW, I see the courage to survive and the fervor to withhold personal agenda for the family. And through his sharp eyes, I see the conviction to shout one word of thousand meanings: live!
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 23 November 2008, Sunday Issue.
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
Spoken undeniably true, migrant Filipino workers have been creating big waves overseas: from Asia to Africa to Australia to Europe to Canada to USA. Yes, this is what we call the “Pinoy Power” – more compelling than the art of war by Sun Tzu, more demanding than the political pressures of Malacanang Palace these days.
Time and tide had swept the Filipinos’ stability where everything was tested. From the furnace where gold was melted to the chamber where bones are broken, Filipinos have managed to survive undefeated. From Carlos P. Romulo in the United Nations to Leah Salonga in the West End to Onyok Velasco in the Sydney Olympics to Mirriam Quiambao in the Miss Universe to Manny Pacquiao in boxing – name it, Filipinos do outstand proudly.
And behind each transaction in the talent exchange market is the compelling saga of love and hate, successes and failures, marital bonds and betrayals, friendships and denials, cause and effect, and all.
As early as the 80’s, I have always opposed sending Filipino workers or talents overseas. In fact, back in college, I have written an article which condemns, among others, “brain drain phenomenon” especially when technocrats (this include managers of all kinds) are exported, literally. However, the sagging Philippine economy under the auspices of the late dictator started the exodus and forced the backward Filipino workforce to send curriculum vitae else where.
Just like anybody, I hate to hear Filipino families are broken into pieces as an uncontrolled consequence of showcasing local expertise overseas in exchange for great bucks. Family dysfunctional ties are a major concern in the catholic-controlled Filipino society to date. Moralists always condemn social evils or vices - drugs, movies, and spirits, for example. They never have come to the abyss of the human failures – the lack of controlling figure in the household, the father.
I hated Filipino children in the neighborhood, whose head of the household worked abroad, lived in material-controlled, sugar-coated familial assembly. I hated how they enjoy life without thinking about the “one” earning for them; I hated to recall how we experienced the same distortion until I realize today how it was.
I hated mothers who are spending too much without thinking of husbands abroad. I hated wives seeking refuge, or temporal bliss from nameless heavenly bodies for human wants and desires. I hated mothers and wives seeking short-cuts to earthly happiness until I saw how migrant workers seek the same parody in this foreign Kingdom where temptations display in wide arrays its variant colors of want and deception.
I found it unusual to find “fathers” crying at the departure area while waving goodbyes to loved ones until I found myself doing the same thing and experiencing the same fate.
I hated the government for allowing its precious resource to deplete helplessly; to travel uncharted routes in search for the famed “pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” I hated government officials to do nothing for the abused overseas workers. I hated the government for not doing anything to save Flor Contemplacion but have the courage to take pictures with Leah Salonga and Manny Pacquao.
Yes, I hated all these until I became an OFW myself. I realized why millions of “kabayans” left the country and still others want to leave, and why they chose to live this way. I realized why families break, why husbands find replacements abroad and why wives settle for second best back home. I realized why kids suffer and have to suffer. I realized why things are going this way and not the way I want and wanted.
Through the eyes of an OFW, I have seen two sides of the coin. The first side glows with enthusiasm and inspiration; a face that sends a thousand and one message of true love and sacrifice for the family. The other side shows the frustration and the burden that forced an OFW to leave and work overseas. It shows discontent, hatred, and disgrace.
Through the eyes of an OFW, I see the courage to survive and the fervor to withhold personal agenda for the family. And through his sharp eyes, I see the conviction to shout one word of thousand meanings: live!
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 23 November 2008, Sunday Issue.
It rains in the desert
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
For decades now, I have always believed that rains are exclusive for tropical areas such as our archipelagic Philippines in the same token that snows are for the snow-capped places of the north and south poles.
Surprisingly, the small drops of rains falling from the humid-tempered blue Arabian skies caught my moody attention one day. Lo, it rained in the desert! And behold my curiosity on the climate of this burning powder-covered, oil-rich kingdom woke up like an innocent, inquisitive mind of the first grader.
Scientifically, it seldom rains during summer or dry season in our place. Since I was a kid, rains visit our land commencing the first of May. I was even told by an elder that the first rains of May can be used as “holy water” by Catholic believers. Such naiveté registered in my skeptical mind though until I received confirmation of this thing during my restless adult days.
Anyway, back to the rains, it just does not rain with water in the Kingdom. Water rains usually downpours so heavily when December is fast-approaching, according to an Arabian elder here. The same phenomenon happens when the month of March is wearing on.
Snowfalls, which we know could only happen in cold regions, also happen here. And these are not just ordinary snowfalls, it is totally different. Big ice cubes, which are as big as a fist and the size enough to break windshields drop mercilessly from the same skies. There were even reports of casualties especially among elders during this season.
Beginning this month, one can already feel the extreme cold temperature in the kingdom. You see almost everyone wearing jackets or sweat shirts to protect their fragile bodies from cold. Imagine the place called desert has all these: rains, snowfalls, and cold weather. Unbelievable but it’s true. It is simply amazing yet imaginable.
This is the weather here. It is changing cyclically without compromising life or nature. And this is nature; this is life. One is never sure of his or her own climate; one is always uncertain of his or her own body temperature, so to speak. This is an obvious phenomenon that nobody takes up seriously. Not even our elders who have a lot to boast about life.
Yes, this is really life. Where ever you are, you can always associate life with what you see, feel, and touch. You can even always associate life with what you fail to have or with what you lose.
Lately, Obama wins the highest elective post in the Imperial American election. He brought rains both to the whites and the blacks. To the whites, the rains he brought were a downpour-attacking the traditional white-controlled American politics. To his race, the rains he brought, no matter how strong, are physically powerful yet gentle in meaning.
Life is like nature: it can exude too much heat or cast heavy downpours into our system at any time, yet unknowingly, desert heats can be gentle to life while heavy downpours favorable.
Life is a climate. You can be extremely hot or cold. But the beauty is: an oasis of wonderful and thirst-quenching waters is always found in the desert. And this proves that creation is a theory of compliment where darkness blends with light to produce life; it is the same life that translates this mixture into power; the same power that radiates the beauty of life into ethereal solution.
Yes, this is life in the desert. It also rains here. Sometimes, people don’t realize why things are happening the way they do because they lack focus. The moment we look at things straight from our naked eyes, we will realize that rains, whether it falls in the desert or in the tropical isles, are for everybody.
Be careful of rains!
Published, Dumaguete Star Informer, 16 November 2008, Sunday Issue
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
For decades now, I have always believed that rains are exclusive for tropical areas such as our archipelagic Philippines in the same token that snows are for the snow-capped places of the north and south poles.
Surprisingly, the small drops of rains falling from the humid-tempered blue Arabian skies caught my moody attention one day. Lo, it rained in the desert! And behold my curiosity on the climate of this burning powder-covered, oil-rich kingdom woke up like an innocent, inquisitive mind of the first grader.
Scientifically, it seldom rains during summer or dry season in our place. Since I was a kid, rains visit our land commencing the first of May. I was even told by an elder that the first rains of May can be used as “holy water” by Catholic believers. Such naiveté registered in my skeptical mind though until I received confirmation of this thing during my restless adult days.
Anyway, back to the rains, it just does not rain with water in the Kingdom. Water rains usually downpours so heavily when December is fast-approaching, according to an Arabian elder here. The same phenomenon happens when the month of March is wearing on.
Snowfalls, which we know could only happen in cold regions, also happen here. And these are not just ordinary snowfalls, it is totally different. Big ice cubes, which are as big as a fist and the size enough to break windshields drop mercilessly from the same skies. There were even reports of casualties especially among elders during this season.
Beginning this month, one can already feel the extreme cold temperature in the kingdom. You see almost everyone wearing jackets or sweat shirts to protect their fragile bodies from cold. Imagine the place called desert has all these: rains, snowfalls, and cold weather. Unbelievable but it’s true. It is simply amazing yet imaginable.
This is the weather here. It is changing cyclically without compromising life or nature. And this is nature; this is life. One is never sure of his or her own climate; one is always uncertain of his or her own body temperature, so to speak. This is an obvious phenomenon that nobody takes up seriously. Not even our elders who have a lot to boast about life.
Yes, this is really life. Where ever you are, you can always associate life with what you see, feel, and touch. You can even always associate life with what you fail to have or with what you lose.
Lately, Obama wins the highest elective post in the Imperial American election. He brought rains both to the whites and the blacks. To the whites, the rains he brought were a downpour-attacking the traditional white-controlled American politics. To his race, the rains he brought, no matter how strong, are physically powerful yet gentle in meaning.
Life is like nature: it can exude too much heat or cast heavy downpours into our system at any time, yet unknowingly, desert heats can be gentle to life while heavy downpours favorable.
Life is a climate. You can be extremely hot or cold. But the beauty is: an oasis of wonderful and thirst-quenching waters is always found in the desert. And this proves that creation is a theory of compliment where darkness blends with light to produce life; it is the same life that translates this mixture into power; the same power that radiates the beauty of life into ethereal solution.
Yes, this is life in the desert. It also rains here. Sometimes, people don’t realize why things are happening the way they do because they lack focus. The moment we look at things straight from our naked eyes, we will realize that rains, whether it falls in the desert or in the tropical isles, are for everybody.
Be careful of rains!
Published, Dumaguete Star Informer, 16 November 2008, Sunday Issue
The cross over
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
One of my philosophies in life has been this: always look at the jungle, not just at a tree.
I always think big, dream big, and work for big things. My idea is simply not to amass big things but to convert small things big, at least, for my life. I never had considered small things as irritants or nuisances. For me, there are always bigger opportunities from small things or small endeavors; there is always a mass of opportunity from a single mess.
Along with other migrant workers, we converted small dreams into bigger ones – and we are slowly making reality unfolding. When we crossed the borders, we knew it would be hard but since we are looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, then it was just as easy as drinking water every morning.
Things became different now, so to speak. We have to make the life of the contract we inked shorter by taking each day at a time.
Lately, I received a call from a fellow contract worker who has just arrived from vacation. He narrated that his wife underwent breast cancer surgery and that she is scheduled to undergo a series of chemotherapy.
As he went on, the thought of undergoing the scalpel’s edge made me sick; and the idea of chemotherapy almost blew my mind.
In a controlled emotional tone, we conversed. We exchanged thoughts about our leaving the country and family and the consequences for a bargained high pay. He tossed one great idea this time: don’t surrender.
Just a snap: this man used to be as tough as one could think of a good old days “bad boy.” He was very optimistic and full of vigor and vitality. He can handle street fights; he is a certified martial arts belter.
When he talked, I was surprised at what I was hearing. He changed enormously. This time, he spoke of compassion, love, family, and strength. He was so compassionate that despite his heavy loads this time; he still would want to carry mine. He offered help amidst human helplessness; he talked of hopes amidst despair. He spoke more than words could mean; he saw things beyond walls.
During our talk, I realized I was not alone in this far-flung, foreign kingdom. Instead of me giving him pieces of consolation, it was him who did. Recovering from loneliness and grief, I still managed to compose myself and started to accord inputs, the way I used to do to the members of our church about ten years ago.
He is no different from others. His case is as classic as any Shakespearian novel; his story is as vivid as the waters of the oasis in the desert.
My colleague, you or anybody – there’s no difference. He speaks of life; you do and I do, too. Once in his life he took two steps backward in order to gain a step forward. I did this once lately. My final cross over was so painful but I had to; crossing over, though how difficult and painful sometimes, simply has to transpire.
Along the way, somehow he missed one keel; and he would want to remedy it. My colleague is taking once again two steps backward just to move forward – this time, with clarity of purpose, soundest of reason, and freshest of vitality. And I, too, will.
One can never take a big leap forward unless he takes two or three steps backward. Remember, an arrow is shot by pulling the string. It is after pulling that the arrow finds strength and gets to the best place.
We all experience the same thing. We are pulled down by all circumstances; drifted back immobile. Life has always been this; and it will always be the same unless we cross over. After the pull, for sure, you will land on the best place reserved for you.
Crossing over for us migrant workers is not that easy; it is a choice by heart. This has never been a choice by chance. That is why; we always pull the string no matter how inelastic this string is just to make small things big with compassion.
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 09 November 2008, Sunday Issue.
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
One of my philosophies in life has been this: always look at the jungle, not just at a tree.
I always think big, dream big, and work for big things. My idea is simply not to amass big things but to convert small things big, at least, for my life. I never had considered small things as irritants or nuisances. For me, there are always bigger opportunities from small things or small endeavors; there is always a mass of opportunity from a single mess.
Along with other migrant workers, we converted small dreams into bigger ones – and we are slowly making reality unfolding. When we crossed the borders, we knew it would be hard but since we are looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, then it was just as easy as drinking water every morning.
Things became different now, so to speak. We have to make the life of the contract we inked shorter by taking each day at a time.
Lately, I received a call from a fellow contract worker who has just arrived from vacation. He narrated that his wife underwent breast cancer surgery and that she is scheduled to undergo a series of chemotherapy.
As he went on, the thought of undergoing the scalpel’s edge made me sick; and the idea of chemotherapy almost blew my mind.
In a controlled emotional tone, we conversed. We exchanged thoughts about our leaving the country and family and the consequences for a bargained high pay. He tossed one great idea this time: don’t surrender.
Just a snap: this man used to be as tough as one could think of a good old days “bad boy.” He was very optimistic and full of vigor and vitality. He can handle street fights; he is a certified martial arts belter.
When he talked, I was surprised at what I was hearing. He changed enormously. This time, he spoke of compassion, love, family, and strength. He was so compassionate that despite his heavy loads this time; he still would want to carry mine. He offered help amidst human helplessness; he talked of hopes amidst despair. He spoke more than words could mean; he saw things beyond walls.
During our talk, I realized I was not alone in this far-flung, foreign kingdom. Instead of me giving him pieces of consolation, it was him who did. Recovering from loneliness and grief, I still managed to compose myself and started to accord inputs, the way I used to do to the members of our church about ten years ago.
He is no different from others. His case is as classic as any Shakespearian novel; his story is as vivid as the waters of the oasis in the desert.
My colleague, you or anybody – there’s no difference. He speaks of life; you do and I do, too. Once in his life he took two steps backward in order to gain a step forward. I did this once lately. My final cross over was so painful but I had to; crossing over, though how difficult and painful sometimes, simply has to transpire.
Along the way, somehow he missed one keel; and he would want to remedy it. My colleague is taking once again two steps backward just to move forward – this time, with clarity of purpose, soundest of reason, and freshest of vitality. And I, too, will.
One can never take a big leap forward unless he takes two or three steps backward. Remember, an arrow is shot by pulling the string. It is after pulling that the arrow finds strength and gets to the best place.
We all experience the same thing. We are pulled down by all circumstances; drifted back immobile. Life has always been this; and it will always be the same unless we cross over. After the pull, for sure, you will land on the best place reserved for you.
Crossing over for us migrant workers is not that easy; it is a choice by heart. This has never been a choice by chance. That is why; we always pull the string no matter how inelastic this string is just to make small things big with compassion.
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 09 November 2008, Sunday Issue.
Entrepreneurs are us
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
Name at which part of this rapidly-changing world do they thrive and you will always find a positive answer. Be it in American, European, African, Australian, or Asian continent. Yes, they are there; as solid and as enterprising as ever.
I have traveled a lot and have always found a tribe of Filipinos in those places. In London, one family I met by happenstance was engaged in bakery products at the rented cubicle along the mezzanine lobby of Park Lane Hotel where I was billeted and attended one of my trainings; our kababayans in Hong Kong and Singapore were vending small-chip snack items to both tourists and locals.
My recent trip to Bahrain truly proved the same. At the Causeway, the giant and longest bridge so far in Middle East that links the littlest Kingdom of Bahrain and the biggest Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, you can obviously see Filipinos selling bottled waters, candies, pop corns, and other novelties. As to whether or not they have the legal personality to engage in this small time trade, I did not bother to check.
In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, you can see them at the malls. I was stunned one day when one “kabayan” approached me and offered to sell his skinless chicken and beef longganiza stored inside his duffle bag. Another one was dealing roaming sims and Philippine mobile loads.
The scenario truly amazed me because in this part of the world where almost everything is contrary to law, we pinoys are making big waves and roaring like lions without any trouble at all.
What struck me in awe was when I learned that a networking of health and healthcare products are actively mobilizing within the hard Arabian market; aptly competing Indian and Arabian health products. I attended one direct selling session for the sake of confirming and the number, of more than thirty, was extremely significant; and they are still counting.
Talking about health, I engaged the massage services of another kabayan, a colleague in the company for pay. Works in the mid-east are so taxing that one would always crave for rest. Resting for me is not complete without relaxing my muscles and reflexes, too.
In our last weekend’s jogging along the famed and modern-day inspired Boulevard of Corniche Coastline, the presence of Filipinos fishing the shore of Arabian Sea reminds me of those revelers dunning the same activity at the brick water of CCP Complex in Manila.
Curious, I approached one team and saw their almost-four-kilo overnight catch. It’s going to be their food for the entire week; no need to spend their food allowance in the market to buy the same kind of fishes. It’s actually a lot of savings for them.
Passing along the main thoroughfare of a hundred-thousand Filipino inhabited Eastern Province of the Kingdom would give you a snapshot of Filipino offering taxi services. Nope, it was not a registered taxi cab but a personal car. And again, whether he owns the car or was issued to him by his employer is none of my business; it’s not for me to consume anyway but a detail, I guess, to wonder.
With our Peso getting weaker each day along with the weakening imperial Arroyo Administration and the Saudi Riyals fighting stronger against the US Dollars, not one Filipino contract worker would just sit and relax during free time and not to think of increasing his remittances to the family back home.
The point here is not to inform the whole world that the economic depression in our country is taking its toll but to confirm that our enterprising attitude – translated into creativity and innovativeness, still makes us shine brightly.
That’s what we are Filipinos: creative and innovative creatures of this competitive world that could synergistically produce a hundred out of one plus one against all odds.
Truly wonderful!
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 19 October 2008, Sunday Issue
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
Name at which part of this rapidly-changing world do they thrive and you will always find a positive answer. Be it in American, European, African, Australian, or Asian continent. Yes, they are there; as solid and as enterprising as ever.
I have traveled a lot and have always found a tribe of Filipinos in those places. In London, one family I met by happenstance was engaged in bakery products at the rented cubicle along the mezzanine lobby of Park Lane Hotel where I was billeted and attended one of my trainings; our kababayans in Hong Kong and Singapore were vending small-chip snack items to both tourists and locals.
My recent trip to Bahrain truly proved the same. At the Causeway, the giant and longest bridge so far in Middle East that links the littlest Kingdom of Bahrain and the biggest Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, you can obviously see Filipinos selling bottled waters, candies, pop corns, and other novelties. As to whether or not they have the legal personality to engage in this small time trade, I did not bother to check.
In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, you can see them at the malls. I was stunned one day when one “kabayan” approached me and offered to sell his skinless chicken and beef longganiza stored inside his duffle bag. Another one was dealing roaming sims and Philippine mobile loads.
The scenario truly amazed me because in this part of the world where almost everything is contrary to law, we pinoys are making big waves and roaring like lions without any trouble at all.
What struck me in awe was when I learned that a networking of health and healthcare products are actively mobilizing within the hard Arabian market; aptly competing Indian and Arabian health products. I attended one direct selling session for the sake of confirming and the number, of more than thirty, was extremely significant; and they are still counting.
Talking about health, I engaged the massage services of another kabayan, a colleague in the company for pay. Works in the mid-east are so taxing that one would always crave for rest. Resting for me is not complete without relaxing my muscles and reflexes, too.
In our last weekend’s jogging along the famed and modern-day inspired Boulevard of Corniche Coastline, the presence of Filipinos fishing the shore of Arabian Sea reminds me of those revelers dunning the same activity at the brick water of CCP Complex in Manila.
Curious, I approached one team and saw their almost-four-kilo overnight catch. It’s going to be their food for the entire week; no need to spend their food allowance in the market to buy the same kind of fishes. It’s actually a lot of savings for them.
Passing along the main thoroughfare of a hundred-thousand Filipino inhabited Eastern Province of the Kingdom would give you a snapshot of Filipino offering taxi services. Nope, it was not a registered taxi cab but a personal car. And again, whether he owns the car or was issued to him by his employer is none of my business; it’s not for me to consume anyway but a detail, I guess, to wonder.
With our Peso getting weaker each day along with the weakening imperial Arroyo Administration and the Saudi Riyals fighting stronger against the US Dollars, not one Filipino contract worker would just sit and relax during free time and not to think of increasing his remittances to the family back home.
The point here is not to inform the whole world that the economic depression in our country is taking its toll but to confirm that our enterprising attitude – translated into creativity and innovativeness, still makes us shine brightly.
That’s what we are Filipinos: creative and innovative creatures of this competitive world that could synergistically produce a hundred out of one plus one against all odds.
Truly wonderful!
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 19 October 2008, Sunday Issue
The pliant Filipinos
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
There’s not much difference between Arabs and Filipinos celebrating life. Arabians do spend much of their time with their families inside and outside of their very abode in the same token as we Filipinos do.
After a month of voluminous and taxing work, a group of Filipinos in the company organized a party in one of the beaches along the famed Corniche coastline that stretches from Dammam to Al-Khobar in the eastern province of Saudi Arabia. Being my first day out, I, along with other colleagues were excited.
Amazement befell when we learned that the beach party would be held in the evening for the reason that it is not advisable during the day. My eyebrows raised but because we often do night beach party in our place, and out of curiosity, we still joined.
At the beach, I noticed locals and migrant workers flocked, pitched their tents like the early Christians of the good old days. Just like what we do in our country, they cooked food, performed their own frolics, and enjoyed with gusto the beach sans the sun.
In the still of the night, we Filipinos enjoyed what we usually enjoy in the daytime back home. Clueless, I spoke to one national and learned that doing business in the night has been part of their unique culture. One reason is the climate. During daytime, especially after 11:00 o’clock in the morning, no one can withstand the heat of the flaming sun. I felt it myself; this is true.
Nocturnal! Yes, they are. Just like the howling owls, they go out of the streets, play at the park, hold picnic at the beach, visit malls, shop, work, and do anything under the moon, literally.
Malls, trading and small business establishments open at night. And when we say “night,” they are open from 6:30 p.m. till midnight to 2:00 a.m. They usually sleep at daytime. This is the reason why most of them report to work late in the morning.
But as the humid breeze parched by the burning sun blows us here, the pliancy we Filipinos are known for has become more of a habit and behavior than a value. What do I mean? We go with the tide. As the old adage goes, “when in Rome, do what the Romans do.”
True enough, Filipinos in Saudi Arabia (and all over Middle East) learned to be flexible and as pliant as the bamboo tree. When we used to sleep at night and do our chores (outside of work, of course) during weekends and day time back home, in this rugged part of this ecologically imbalanced world, we do it at night.
At first, one would get irritated for your schedule is affected but as time wears on, your Filipino system unknowingly merges to the Arabian one that later you’ll see no further adjustments are necessary.
Islams do pray five times a day: 4:00 a.m., 12:00 noon, 3:00 p.m., 5:30 p.m., and 8:30 p.m. Our Muslim counterparts in the workplace are given the privilege to do their prayers while at work; they are provided with prayer room. While works are left untouched and undone sometimes, we Filipinos shoulder the mess; we do their unfinished business. Strictly in the Philippines, the moment one fails to deliver, it has a corresponding sanction. Not in here; they are excused. This is the law; it is their law.
City shorts, spaghetti straps, tubeless and sleeveless blouses and shirts are absolutely not allowed to be worn outside of your residence. Women have to wear Arabian long black gowns with sole edges touching the ground. Men are not allowed to visit women’s flats and conversely, women are prohibited in the bachelors’ units.
We Filipinos become adjusted to it: we strictly obey rules and follow policies. While most Filipinos are known for law-breaking, it is a wonder to note that our fellow “kababayans” in the mid-east are keen observes of these.
Weekends here are not Saturdays and Sundays. Weekends for Islams are Thursdays and Fridays. Again, this is something we must accept by heart and earn to adjust. Back home, it is during the weekends that we spend time with the family. Spending time with loved ones while staying in the sandy continent means doing chats, emails, and phone calls during Thursdays and Fridays. The problem is, our loved ones work and school during these days.
It has been a universal fact that Muslims do not take pork for food. In contrast, we Filipinos love to serve pork and its derivatives at the dining table. Taking pork and other pork products is against the law just as taking alcohol is.
How do we reconcile? In the beginning, we do it by force; and once the tough gets going, the going gets easier. We then strictly adhere to it; it becomes a schedule; and this schedule becomes a habit. This habit now grows into a passion we can’t afford to miss; this passion becomes life.
This is life in the mid-east. While we have the choice, this is what we chose.
This is one of the Filipino values that become a living proof of today: flexibility
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 12 October 2008, Sunday Issue
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
There’s not much difference between Arabs and Filipinos celebrating life. Arabians do spend much of their time with their families inside and outside of their very abode in the same token as we Filipinos do.
After a month of voluminous and taxing work, a group of Filipinos in the company organized a party in one of the beaches along the famed Corniche coastline that stretches from Dammam to Al-Khobar in the eastern province of Saudi Arabia. Being my first day out, I, along with other colleagues were excited.
Amazement befell when we learned that the beach party would be held in the evening for the reason that it is not advisable during the day. My eyebrows raised but because we often do night beach party in our place, and out of curiosity, we still joined.
At the beach, I noticed locals and migrant workers flocked, pitched their tents like the early Christians of the good old days. Just like what we do in our country, they cooked food, performed their own frolics, and enjoyed with gusto the beach sans the sun.
In the still of the night, we Filipinos enjoyed what we usually enjoy in the daytime back home. Clueless, I spoke to one national and learned that doing business in the night has been part of their unique culture. One reason is the climate. During daytime, especially after 11:00 o’clock in the morning, no one can withstand the heat of the flaming sun. I felt it myself; this is true.
Nocturnal! Yes, they are. Just like the howling owls, they go out of the streets, play at the park, hold picnic at the beach, visit malls, shop, work, and do anything under the moon, literally.
Malls, trading and small business establishments open at night. And when we say “night,” they are open from 6:30 p.m. till midnight to 2:00 a.m. They usually sleep at daytime. This is the reason why most of them report to work late in the morning.
But as the humid breeze parched by the burning sun blows us here, the pliancy we Filipinos are known for has become more of a habit and behavior than a value. What do I mean? We go with the tide. As the old adage goes, “when in Rome, do what the Romans do.”
True enough, Filipinos in Saudi Arabia (and all over Middle East) learned to be flexible and as pliant as the bamboo tree. When we used to sleep at night and do our chores (outside of work, of course) during weekends and day time back home, in this rugged part of this ecologically imbalanced world, we do it at night.
At first, one would get irritated for your schedule is affected but as time wears on, your Filipino system unknowingly merges to the Arabian one that later you’ll see no further adjustments are necessary.
Islams do pray five times a day: 4:00 a.m., 12:00 noon, 3:00 p.m., 5:30 p.m., and 8:30 p.m. Our Muslim counterparts in the workplace are given the privilege to do their prayers while at work; they are provided with prayer room. While works are left untouched and undone sometimes, we Filipinos shoulder the mess; we do their unfinished business. Strictly in the Philippines, the moment one fails to deliver, it has a corresponding sanction. Not in here; they are excused. This is the law; it is their law.
City shorts, spaghetti straps, tubeless and sleeveless blouses and shirts are absolutely not allowed to be worn outside of your residence. Women have to wear Arabian long black gowns with sole edges touching the ground. Men are not allowed to visit women’s flats and conversely, women are prohibited in the bachelors’ units.
We Filipinos become adjusted to it: we strictly obey rules and follow policies. While most Filipinos are known for law-breaking, it is a wonder to note that our fellow “kababayans” in the mid-east are keen observes of these.
Weekends here are not Saturdays and Sundays. Weekends for Islams are Thursdays and Fridays. Again, this is something we must accept by heart and earn to adjust. Back home, it is during the weekends that we spend time with the family. Spending time with loved ones while staying in the sandy continent means doing chats, emails, and phone calls during Thursdays and Fridays. The problem is, our loved ones work and school during these days.
It has been a universal fact that Muslims do not take pork for food. In contrast, we Filipinos love to serve pork and its derivatives at the dining table. Taking pork and other pork products is against the law just as taking alcohol is.
How do we reconcile? In the beginning, we do it by force; and once the tough gets going, the going gets easier. We then strictly adhere to it; it becomes a schedule; and this schedule becomes a habit. This habit now grows into a passion we can’t afford to miss; this passion becomes life.
This is life in the mid-east. While we have the choice, this is what we chose.
This is one of the Filipino values that become a living proof of today: flexibility
Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 12 October 2008, Sunday Issue
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