Looking Back

By Rolo B. Cena

By happenstance, I met Markus in one of the thriving night squares of the City.  It’s where we and another friend, Karl, frequented when we were younger buddies then.  Since I left the city, I never heard from them.  

There wasn’t much guests trailing around the night square tonight and the hubbubs were just tolerable though I spotted some of my colleagues from the conference I was attending. It used to be the center of nightlife where glitz and glam of the rich and famous adorned its facades.  In its heyday, the place was a marvel; these days, it’s just a place in an array of choices, especially for the millennials and the new genre.

We gladly agreed to spend the night in a familiar pizza parlor we previously fell in love with. I haven’t been to Bacolod for more than three decades and my curiosity grew intensely as I listened to him.  As he clutched to his seat, I noticed occasional etches of pain in his face each time he moved. This guy struggled a lot and I can see through his eyes what he endured all along:  An office clerk by day and a full time student by night, he survived his college degree and the economic requirement of his family.      

We talked much about the past and surprisingly the once no-talker now talked much but with a lot of sense.  Through the course of our chatting though, his behaviors made me suspect that something’s wrong.  I wanted to dismiss my suspicion and deduce that perhaps it’s all about the discipline I’d been into. On intervals, I would swerve to know more about Karl, which he would dutifully fill in the blanks.

Of the many wonders he recounted, it was his condition that amazed me more than his rise to an executive level. Markus has become all what he wanted to be and acquired all what he wanted to have, except for three things:  Stable marriage, bank account and good health.

Equally surprising was Karl’s fate.  It was by far the most intriguing update I ever have:  A rich kid married to our pretty co-worker who soon died of breast cancer. Karl and his wife were blessed with a son.  Suddenly, Karl’s gone and has remained at large until this day, away from the preying eyes of puzzled family members. 

Truly, success is relative. For most people, success could be having multi-million worth of mansion and possessing a fleet of cars, or having traveled around the world.  Only a few held the belief that success could just be having sent all kids to school and have them earned their degrees, and, and perhaps or, an impressive matter-of-factly good health in a golden age.

Back to Markus, perhaps he was just too cautious in narrating his page-by-page and cover-to-cover stories.  Or, maybe he thought that when our eyes met it was more than enough, after all, when we were younger, our eyes would converse more often than our lips would.  But I wanted to know more yet what he revealed was only a fraction of each contingent.  I believe, he wanted to prevent me from overthinking, as I used to as a friend; and he knew that.

Finally, he managed to deviate from my subject and inquired how has it been since I left in 1989, which I gladly responded particularly. He sighed, gazed outside and nodded:  “Yeah, it’s been a long time that we haven’t heard from you, too.  You left and came back and here you are, trying to make sense of what you’re missing – or, what we’re missing.” 

Later that night I’ve learned he’s termed, homeless, and alone.  As our eyes met once more, his was heavily teary.  Looking through his eyes, I could feel remorse and the unspoken urgency of adjourning the unplanned agenda just so to prevent all tears from dropping.  He lamented for having spent all his time and energy at work, at work, and at work.  Too bad, too late! 

While we were wrapping up to conclude the night, he softly recited the last lines of the poem I wrote for our college yearbook:  “Not all stones glitter; not even all those who wandered succeed.”

As I led him to the door and later parted ways, I was trying to decipher those barely audible lines using my most active of senses.  Before we disappeared from the night, I noticed him looked back at me one more time as if wanting to hear an affirmation for his recital.  I nodded and whispered to myself, “Indeed!”

A Grace of Two Women

By Rolo B. Cena

I have two women in my life.  Call me a concubine, but there’s nothing you can do about it.  Not even the divine creator who could slap me on my face for immoral action neither the law of men that can send me to jail.

She comes from the western part of the island, and she loves me, I knew that.  Oftentimes, she would remind me of my health saying health is the most precious resource I could ever have when all else fails.  She dictates, but I love her.

And she comes from the east.  She loves me, of course.  She gives me her best and gives me heaven made on earth.  She does remind me of my health more than the westerner does.  She watches my diet, reminds me of my health pills, and reminds me of my meals.  She reminds me of my appointments and my speaking engagements.  She reminds me of God.  Wonderful!

She nagged me before, I mean this westerner.  She does not encourage me to win; she hates to attend recognition seeing myself receiving plaques or medals.  She does not push.  To her, there is more to life than medals and honors.  She believes after all, fame, just like a glitter of stone, costs a lot.

Once in my life she nagged me, too.  She stops nagging me now, for one good reason we both know.  She encourages me to win; she likes to attend recognition.  She likes to see me receiving plaques or medals.  She pushes; but she could patiently wait.  This eastern lady endures with me for better or for worse.  She loves me more than the westerner does.  She swears eternal company, the one with no buts and ifs.  She reminds:  “Do what you believe is right.”  And I love her, too.

The western lady?  I seldom see her now, but she’s still there with open arms.  She still waits, she watches.  She still reminds me of this:  “Think.  You’re not getting any younger.”

Yes, they are my women.  It’s hard to choose.  As the old adage goes: “A man is born for a woman.”  But not in my case, it’s absolutely different.  I cannot live without them both.  I really can’t.  I mean I don’t want to choose one from the other.  I bet you would agree with me now.

The westerner is my mother, and the easterner is my wife.  These two women are doing great things for me, for my family, and for my life.  Each one changes me very differently.  My mother sings an old song, while my wife sings a new one for me.  That’s terrific!

My mother gave me life.  It’s a debt no life can repay and something I just can’t drop off in favor of the other.  What my mother had done to me is something I can never forget.  It’s written in the pages of my book.  There’s more to her than a mother.  She’s great!

My wife gives me new life.  She’s my twenty-four-by-seven guardian angel and co-worker.  She risks and gambles with me.  She’s my most loyal friend and trusted confidante.  She makes me feel complete; she gives me blissful happiness.  She’s more than just a woman, and a wife to me.

 It’s a grace of two women coming in one simple yet amazing package.  Not everyone has this kind of grace – wrapped in natural fabric of human kindness and laced with the glossy values of a meaningful, principle-centered life.

(Published, Dumaguete MetroPost, May 2005)

Islands of Shoal

By Rolo B. Cena

It may just be a group of tiny islands that nestles in a marina where the South meets the West, but for some group of noble men there is more to this uninhabited domain that meets the eye. 

For ordinary Filipinos, it’s a road less travelled; for thrill-seekers, it’s paradise unhurt by human spoils; but for head of states, it’s a priceless possession no country could afford to lose.  The islands are just as compellingly beautiful as they are geo-politically and economically important.  

This group of beautiful islands is more than just geographic markers in the South China Sea or West Philippine Sea – depending on whom you talk to.  However this has truly become islands of shoal.  

Before any unforgiving conspiracy theories speckled the Internet, two presidents met in 2016.  A beautiful romance then blossomed that the sleeping-tiger-no-more committed to assist the once-great-Asian-country in the pretext of economic aids and infrastructure support programs.

Then we were bullied.  In the guise of fishing expeditions, these porcelain-colored men established permanent shelters that later became their military outposts.  We rallied to condemn these acts against our sovereignty yet our leaders’ responses were just too spineless to signal a stronger protest.  Yes, we can’t afford war this time and it’s for that reason that our leaders prefer to send diplomatic protests instead. 

Then there was silence; the surrounding seas of this tiny group of islands exhibited their pristine atmosphere once again.  The UN High Tribunal ruled that, in layman’s term, the disputed group of islands is ours, at least, on paper. 

And there comes another and different specie of bully!

Complicating the issue is the oriental virus that hit and almost crippled the world, economically.  Their experts produce vaccines, and so the rest of the world’s superpowers.  As a frail third world country, we await for at least a grace of free shots from superpowers that have the capacity and ability to donate vaccines to underprivileged third world.  

As beggars cannot be choosy, we resorted to accepting donations stamped with a Trojan horse sent directly to our doorsteps. The value is declared but the price tag attached to these boxes of vaccines we knew nothing about:  It could be loss of lives, loss of sovereignty, or anything that we just don't know. 

Recently, more than a hundred ships of crouching militiamen aroused the world when they stationed in the shoals.  Our countrymen barraged the Palace to act on it to protect our sovereign rights over these shoals.  Foreign Affairs sent our strongest of protests yet, again on paper. 

Behold, the shoals: A land mass partly submerged under the treacherous blue-green waters whose topographic depth and terrain, and geo-politic and cultural complexity we know nothing about unless the water level reduces, or geo-political heat subsides.  Arguably, this tiny group of islands could hide abundant risks and dangers of various creatures of tyrant breed, difficult to appreciate and see.  

Wow, these islands of freedom are drifting ethereally farther off our western sea, closer to the southern tip of a landmass where tigers sleep no more!  Ironically though, this drift is not due to global warming but to a political climate change. 

And truly, we cannot just sit down and cross our arms and watch others command and dictate our fate for us.  The world shifts now like it did. He should fix it.  He should pivot and make a decisive action now or never will this group of islands be ours again! 

He should decisively navigate us to these shoals, as the captain of the ship!

What Social Media Don't Tell You!

By Rolo B. Cena

Correct me if I am wrong!  Nowadays, a click of a button will allow us to see things we want to know, or in some cases, want to have.  While the value for money may be debatable, it doesn’t matter anymore as long as the sensation of being “in it” satisfies the cravings.

In a 2003 documentary “Living with Michael Jackson” by Martin Bashir, the King of Pop predicted that the Internet and social media would ruin the society.  Fast forward 2021, this prophetic view appears to be graphically unfolding in our realm, and take note - mostly in a bizarre and disturbing manner.

In the pre-Internet era, one way of getting connected with people was by postal mails.  If you are miles away from home, surely you’d get mails after a week or two, depending on which part of the globe you are in.   

Undoubtedly today, the fastest way to communicate is through the social media.  The process is as simple as clicking the Add, Follow, or Connect button and you can stay close by.   I wonder if you are already connected with the 73 million Filipino social media users.  Wow, that’s a lot!  

Seriously however, this privilege of getting connected poses the risk of linking with people whose interest may be solely for stalking, preying, or taking advantage of the weakness of their connections.  And experts say that a significant number of the users are prone to these behaviors.  

Take this most recent case:  A medical doctor’s Facebook account was hacked and was taken over by scammers.  Using his Messenger account, the scammers solicited funds from friends of the medical doctor, who only knew about the scam when people started calling him to confirm receipt of the fund transfers.  

And here how it goes:  I can create a post, edit it if I need to, and post.  Instantly, I am in the platform and I can invite my contacts to like, comment and share my post. Ergo, I become an instant sensation, at least, for that particular post.  But what I may have missed is the effect of my post to other people, or even to the community, which could even be greater, or could be blown out of proportion.   

“Kung sa classroom may batas,“ I believe all users should also be guided not just by cyber security laws but by the consequences of the darker side of social media as well.  For example, posting some pictures of our young adult children may give unsuspecting predators to turn these pictures into pornographic materials.  

Recently, Senator Win Gatchalian reported that from March 1 to May 24, 2020, a total of 279,166 online child sexual exploitation cases were reported in Metro Manila alone compared to 76,561 of the same period in 2019. 

Every user must strongly take note that there isn’t backspace, undo or delete function anymore once a post has landed, or in entertaining another user online.  It only takes less than a split second to post, or share, or even screen-shot a post while it takes months or years to correct a post gone wrong.

In 2018, the Philippine National Police reported that cyber libel tops among the cyber cases on hand.  Late last year, Miss Universe 2018 Catriona Gray rushed to the office of the National Bureau of Investigation to file libel and other appropriate charges against a suspect who allegedly circulated her edited nude photos online.  

Undeniably, Internet users have benefited tremendously from the use social media. For one, it makes works easier; two, it makes communication faster; three, it connects families and friends across miles of distance quicker, and a lot more across a universe of freebies ready to be availed of anytime.  

On the contrary, thousands of trolls are dispersed around the Internet space or social media world trawling for issues to magnify and amplify their narratives.  These ethereal creatures are either paid for by their handlers, usually politicians or conspiracy theorists, or simply to increase their engagement.  They are self-proclaimed influencers who come out of nowhere to make wrong the right, nullify logic, or prettify the ugly.

Millions enjoy the benefits of the Internet and the social media but a significant number suffers.  And while you may argue that the good outweighs the bad and the ugly sides of the Internet and the social media, still that makes the whole thing entirely defective. 

Albert Einstein must have been right when he enunciated:  “It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.”  Surely, no one can stop you from doing it.  But next time you click, like or share, please think twice!

A Pack of Summer

By Rolo B. Cena

I love summer that when it comes, I become so overjoyed.  I always imagine how the sun blends with the cool, blue-green waters of the infinite sea, and how they together caress the vast sand of the asymmetrically carved shoreline.  Without a doubt, it’s the best time of the year.  

I love watching how summer tide rises and rushes to shore.  Usually, it happens in the morning when summer sun rises from the sea, out of the horizon, where the sea meets the sky.  I so love it that it’s become a personal habit hard to break.  

Summer has a lot of freebies to offer:  Parents arrange picnic blanket on the sand with foods and drinks on top, while local kids are climbing up the bent, sea-leaning coconut trees to plunge into the blue-green cool waters, under the prickly heat; adult companies playfully swim on top of their joyful bliss chitchatting with friends and family members.  The shore becomes a vibrant world of its own, a masterpiece even surrealist Picasso’s brush missed to capture.

Across the street, two bougainvillea foliage of several meters apart, that seem to guard centuries-old rustic steely gate, copiously throws its best red of petals like never before while neighbor’s orchids hang rhythmically like young butterflies dancing sweetly in the summer wind.  These are sights so regal that summer could not come and go without one of them unfolding. 

In a nearby park, lovers decorate the thirsty grassy meadows accidentally shaved by dozens of them taking gala seats under white lampposts, shortly beneath the glare of the pale yellow moon.  You’ll see some of them thriving in thickly planted areas for cover against preying eyes of fudgy friends and neighbors, and most importantly, escaping from parents’ scourging, rolling eyeballs as well.

From a distance, powder-gold sun that peeps over the grassy hill slowly breaks the morning air that suddenly the world smells of flowers, bee-honeys, butterfly-nectars, and sweats of summer boys and girls giggling like poppies in the field.

Truly, life is authentically bubblier during summer.  It’s as lovelier as spending it by the sea, or encamping in its inviting pebbly, sandy beaches with an array of fresh fruits, a medley of seafood characters, grilled chicken and pork adobo with matching hanging rice sans diet measures and restrictions - you can’t ask for more.  But these are just entrée; the main course is absolutely the sand, sea, and sun! 

However summer can also be strange: An oriental looking lad, in her pair of summer wears, holding a floral umbrella over her while dipping chest-deep in the waters.  Oh, your spirit could just be laughing out loud.  What a good way to protect your skin, though!

Or, weirder:  A young girl in beige pajamas swimming by the shoreline chaperoned by a male adult swimming with his jacket donned.  It’s literally the old taking care of the young from a risky, treacherous summer waves, under the spikey heat of the sun!  Bizarre indeed but what a childish version of swim-in-the-sea-but-protect-your-skin drama, lolz!

Watching summer in full spectrum every day is such a delight. It relaxes my physical body, inspires my spirit, and wholeheartedly moves me.  It gives me a fresher outlook as it offers a brand new perspective.  

But summer is more than just what the sand, sea and sun could offer.  Some articulates that life begins with summer while still others proclaim that summer is life.  In a time and age where the fast and the furious stubbornly happens so quickly, summer is where newer life springs, newer beginnings blossom:  Sort of a puppy love blooming into first love, a failed old romance rekindled, or, an aborted timeworn plan revived.  It’s some sort of a perfection of thought!

And there you are!  Whatever qualms you have about summer, Ralph Waldo Emerson asserts:  “Live in the sunshine, swim in the sea, drink in the wild air” because he just wants you to enjoy being you – the “newer you!”

One More Obituary

By Rolo B. Cena

It was such a familiar yet horrifying and heart-quenching scene – that Myanmar protests.  Yes, again!  They marched along the streets demanding for the release of their democratically elected leader who was jailed after the military staged a coup over alleged electoral fraud.  They were tear-gassed, water-hosed, beaten, and shot.

By Rolo B. Cena

Hundreds of freedom-loving protesters died.  Their quest for a better life was aborted using their own lives as pawned warfare, a collateral to something more bizarre and horrendously bigger and more damaging drama.

It happened already, I mean, I have seen these erratically disturbing scenes before.  These were so familiar that they caused shivers down my spine.  It can happen elsewhere; it can happen in a country we least expect.  It can even happen anytime in a land that’s believed to be free, such as our own.  

Yes, they died!  And along with them died three more persons in the history of their kind:  Misters Freedom, Justice, and Humanity!

Mister Freedom is he who embodies an open ideology free from yellow ribbons, red tags and gold labels.  He characterizes an unrestrained mobility, action and disposition free from malicious interpretations of speeches, unfounded accusations of being subversive elements, and irresponsible tagging as enemies of the state.  He represents his countrymen to an intelligent and respected platform that loves bolder ideas, establishment of free zones, institution of gender equality and inclusivity, and espousing a softer culture.

Sadly though, Mister Freedom died with them.  And more of his kind would die anytime, anywhere if greed would continue to become the staple in every political dining table. 

Mister Justice personifies an incorruptible earthly creature unwilling to trade impartiality with gluttonous money, truth with insatiable power, and noble rendition of verdicts with salacious fame.

But what an unfortunate time we have here, Mister Justice’s one precious life was terminated abruptly.  Believe me, more and more of his genes would die anytime, anywhere if lust would continue to thrive within the thrones of avaricious men.   

Simply put, Mister Humanity is he who he is:  He breathes life the way it should be, lives it without stingy human frills, free of bias and ill feelings, and without discontent.  He embodies the likeness of his master whose dictum is a simply toned music for the soul and the living.

But then again, such was a tragic moment when the noble life of Mister Humanity was abruptly ended just because men of different kind cannot handle defeat, truth, and liberty.  So much mourning has been offered but more would come, as more of them would be annihilated if notoriety would continue to devour the noble race.

And oh, that scene I mentioned earlier, it can happen anytime; it’s not too farfetched. I have seen signs and continuously see them time and again.  Yes, in a land so close and familiar to us:  Ours!

Behold, games of thrones did, do, and will happen anytime, right in our ordinary realm.  Personification, just like pure metaphors and other figures of speech and colloquial tongues, may be a source of truth.  Surely, there’s always unspoken truth behind every word and hidden meaning between spoken lines.

Self-proclaimed influencers, whom social media realists call trolls, and who are coming from all directions, attack and kill:  They mow the truth to randomly kill freedom; scythe logic or defy legal canons to slay justice; and spear morals and morality to unwittingly assassinate humanity.  Truth be told, these trolls are paid for all the lies and misinformation they spread, just like those men in uniform who protect sacred chambers and control picket fences for their tyrant rulers.

As of even date, too many have suffered from prejudices and injustices.  In the name of greed, scores have died trying to defend freedom, uphold justice and sanctify humanity.

Myanmar is only a place in space, a place so easy to be replicated anywhere.  Too bad, millions could be jailed, persecuted and killed anytime.  Rest in peace Misters Freedom, Justice and Humanity!

The Day I Walked with John

By Rolo B. Cena

No, it was not a coincidence.  I felt that some kind of a force far greater than mine must have brought me here.

As a project team leader in Saudi Arabia, I went to Jordan with two others to conduct systems users training for my team members working in our research and development facility.  My first week in Amman seemed like a long, exhausting week, but pretty rewarding.  As soon as we got back to the hotel, our host unit head recommended sightseeing some historic sites often visited in Jordan.  My response was lukewarm. Historic sites?  

But when my teammate, a Jordanian working with me in Riyadh re-opened the idea of visiting historic sites twisting it to Christian Pilgrimage Sites, I started to sense the big wow!  I felt more than just excitement; I felt my adrenaline gushing.  I knew it would be a trip of a lifetime. 

Weekend came and my teammate dropped by my room instead of proceeding to the lobby where our chauffeur would be waiting for us.  He showed me the map of Jordan with all its Pilgrim sites:  the Baptism Site of Jesus, the Memorial of Moses, the Dead Sea, the Remains of the Roman Citadel, the Madaba Church, the Red Sea, etc. Ergo, these all would get me on my feet!

In a scant hour trip, we traveled northwest passing tract of arid earth of the valley where Jordan River nestled.  As we drew nearer, my heart was pounding. 

The Baptism Site was declared a heritage site and was in fact consecrated by no less than Pope John Paul II.  Since then, the place was protected and all tourists would have to pay for the pass and a guided tour.  

The walkway was rather jagged, bushy on both sides with all its branches extending upwards forming an arc-like canopy.  The shade was cooling the path especially during summer.  At the end of the walkway was St. John the Baptist Spring.  According to the guide, it’s where John fetched water that he poured to the head of Jesus in the river.

Oops, I know you would react.  It’s not me re-writing the centuries-old narrative, it’s the Orthodox account.  Our Jordanian guide, trained by the Baptism Site Commission, was equipped with their narrative for years now. 

The tour brought us farther to the bank of the River, where an old Byzantine Church stood.  According to historical accounts, it’s where Christian gatherings were held after that significant event that shaped Christianity. Farther down the edge of the bank, steps led us to a canopy where a white cloth was drooped. It’s the actual spot where Jesus was actually baptized.  It’s mesmerized me!

At this point, I can’t help but imagine how enthusiastic John must have been in meeting Jesus to fulfill the prophecy.  A strange vibe shrouded my composure while in a frenzied moment.  I visualized John walking along this path towards the river to meet his cousin. I was so stunned!

For the first time after three years in the Middle East, I once again experienced the Christian in me:  How emotional I was walking the path where John did, touching the bushes that lined the path that he undoubtedly toyed with his fingers, feeling the weight of hanging olives that speckled the valley, touching the cool waters of the river, and feeling the great vibe of this historic place.  Wow, it was captivating! 

Nearby stood the Orthodox Church of St. John the Baptist.  I went inside and was drawn to its altar by a sound of what seemed to me music from an organ.  I prayed intently and articulated my petition for a sign for a decision I would have to make before the close of the month.  We then dropped by its souvenir shop, where, without hesitation, I bought a scapular of Mary, Holy Bible, and Holy Rosary.  I felt my humanity was alive again!

Mission accomplished, we prepared to fly for our next stop, another city north of Saudi Arabia.  But Mushkila!  I could not bring these religious stuffs into the Kingdom.  If I’d get caught, I’d be imprisoned, if not beheaded.  However, I wouldn't want to leave these items either.  Somehow, I already had connected with these items since I bought them two weeks ago.  In fact, Idreamed of them for two nights now with the music I heard in the church. 

We met for dinner and for the scheduled pep talk. It was then I learned that the Jordanian would be bringing his car to Saudi Arabia via courier.  Then he offered to help.

But how would it be done?  He prided that, as an Arab Jordanian his car wouldn’t be subjected to inspection.  He’d pack my religious stuffs and would position them under the sheets in the trunk.  His personal luggage would also be deposited inside the trunk.  Bingo!

Before we left, the Jordanian revealed one thing that surprised me:  He’s an immigrant to Jordan from Palestine who was born and raised in Nablus, the modern-day name of the biblical Samaria.  Undoubtedly, the power of St. John the Baptist worked for me; I was guided and blessed!

And the Jordanian, a Good Samaritan indeed!

Just Dropping By

By Rolo B. Cena

It’s been a long time since we last met; I guess that was during the last event we both eagerly attended.  We were so naïve then but so enthusiastic to face a new beginning.   I was chitchatting with my friends and you with common friends.  We only had the chance to say hello before the crowd grew bigger.  We parted ways without expressing our final words for each other.

You had your way into the world and turned a new page while I flaunted my ideals and ideology to acquire a newer place for me.  I knew we both love to conquer a world together but time and distance made it impossible. 

I dropped by to let you know that I missed you, but you were busy then.

Our paths crisscrossed once again as we stumbled upon pages of social sites; watching and browsing each other’s pages as we post images of our daily activities, update our profile, and throw all the clean sheets and dirty linens online.  We connected sans the emotional support best friends could have shared especially when times were at its lowest.

I dropped by to let you know that I liked and commented but you never reacted; you were busy then.

Recently, your feeds suggest that you are attracted to an obscure force that makes you subconsciously tip-top-toe over piles of conspiracy theories you are subscribed to and sworn to disseminate.  That force energized your belief that JFK was alive, hiding in a bunker, that a titular head of a religious establishment is an anti-Christ, and that the virus is not true. 

I am dropping by to tell you that while your spirit is soaring, your intellect is plummeting to its lowest.  Your previous psyche is in better shape than what you are in right now.

Today, I’m dropping by to know if you are well as before.  I know you have been very busy these days scouring the worldwide web, looking for newer and better opportunities that could double your wealth.  

My friend, too much of everything is not good; it’s gluttony.  Aspiring to double your money exponentially through these schemes may lead you to losing all what you have now. 

You have been hunting for another high-paying job to catapult your big dream of becoming a leader. May I say that not all leaders are made; most of them are born – born in a silver platter, and with thrones made ready for them.

I’m just dropping by to let you know that Mother Theresa and Mahatma Gandhi were powerless and penniless but they became great because of good deeds.

Yes, it’s fine to work because we must.   But do not push yourself too hardly to the edge that you already defy rest, especially on a Sabbath.  And if your work causes your face to wrinkle quicker than the fastest Internet speed, or, your body deteriorates because of a dozen more stresses, then your work has become your problem.   Believe me, I have been there.  

I have a friend who received multiple awards multiple times, each with different titles and associated tokens but when her health failed, they turned their backs on her.  Worst, when she left the organization, neither an inspiring word nor a comforting hug was accorded to her.  She exited the porticos of the corporate world with her head bent and shoulders dropped below freezing level.  

I’m dropping by to check if your self-esteem still aptly works for you.  You know, it lies within the purity of your heart, not in the glossy fabric and techy stuffs that this commercial world sells.  It is one aspect of humanity that no purchasing power can dare acquire.

Finally, I’m dropping by to remind you that Epicurus’ pleasant life is worth believing.  That is, if you choose to abstain from unnecessary desires by being content with simple things and by choosing to converse with friends over physical pleasures, in order to achieve inner peace. 

Life is a vicious cycle.  Any or all actions of people you’ve met along have significance in your life.  If you don’t want to be treated ill, treat them well.   

Sorry to disturb you.  I am just dropping by to say, “hi!”

Thinning the Red Line

By Rolo B. Cena

Random

Dumaguete Star Informer

15 January 2017

National developments in the last six months manifest a very disturbing phenomenon:  The red line that demarcates the State and the Church is gradually thinning.  Apparently, there are three personalities believed to be involved in this behavior:  The Church, the politics itself and the media.

In nearly four decades now, the Filipinos never have seen the Catholic Church as vocal as in the days of EDSA Revolution as it is today:  They post drug war pictures on Churches’ walls with inscription “Wag kang papatay,” priests include drug war in their homilies and priests conduct massive “Duterte Resign” signature campaign.  The seeming unstoppable effort of the Catholic Church hints a very strong message of conflict.  

Skeptics questioned:  Is this an acceptable behavior from the “godliest” whose work of spreading the good news that Christ and his disciples started remains unchanged?

In the Dark Ages of Medieval Europe, right after the fall of Jerusalem to the Muslims, Pope Urban II delivered a stimulating speech at the Council of Clermont in France calling rich and poor Christians to embark on war to save Jerusalem.  He promised absolution and remission from sins for all who’d die in battle.  In other accounts, historians believed that those who joined the “righteous forces” then known as the Crusade were actually killers, rapists, and other form of convicts trained to kill at all cost.  Inspired by the Crusades, the Knights Templar was formed, which later obtained the blessing of Pope Innocent II for their sole mission of protecting the Christian pilgrims from Europe to Jerusalem.

They kill enemies of the Church in the guise of inspiring Christian faith; they subjugate kingdoms in the guise of spreading Christianity across Europe, Asia and Africa; they interrogate non-believers in the guise of holy inquisitions; they threaten in the guise of fanaticism and beyond that, as historians claim, they “dig and rob” in the guise of protecting Christians. 

In one article, a Bishop branded President Duterte as “mamamatay tao” as a way of campaigning against his believed-to-be devilish drug war that to date claimed thousands of addicts, peddlers and lords and caused a significant number to surrender.

Could it be that the Church is right in claiming that killing these drug addicts, peddlers and lords is the work of Satan?  But why did Pope Urban II and Pope Innocent II bless the Crusade and the Knights Templar to kill Muslims and other Christian attackers? 

Is the argument of Thomas Paine in his book “The Age of Reason,” valid which I quote, “One good schoolmaster is of more use than a hundred priests?”

Politics, as aptly defined by Aristotle in his writing “Politics” as affairs of the state, seems to largely contribute in the gradual thinning of the line that divides the Church and the State.  Political heads, especially those duly elected by their respective constituents abuse their powers:  they rob the Filipinos in the guise of projects; they help in the guise of money-making foreign aids; and they protect in the guise of enacting laws purportedly to protect the constituents sans morality.

Inner conflict within the three branches of the government adds fuel to the fire:  Cabinet secretaries sail in opposite direction as the Chief Executive; Senators and Congressmen stupidly bang each other over a single word in the guise of unpopular intelligence; the Judiciary, seems to act on their own notwithstanding who calls the shots.  Wow, what an amazing rift we Filipinos conspire to believe as unity for years!

Adding intensity to the rising conflict is the media whose mission becomes obscurely entangled between pure reporting and sponsored reporting.  The former is professionalism – the message why the press is called and organized for; the latter is a profane act; a disgrace to the ethics of the profession.

Allegedly, media men nowadays write stories twisting lies to truth and truth to lies.  Worse, they squabble over a word by giving different interpretations; they cross lines and hit below the belts in the guise of “freedom of the press,” a right abused over time.

As famous African-American Muslim minister Malcom Little, also known as Malcom X, said, “The media is the most powerful entity on earth.  They have the power to make the innocent guilty and to make the guilty innocent, and that’s power.  Because they control the minds of the masses.”

After all, a media system organized to serve the needs of the self-serving privileged few cannot and does not serve the needs of the majority of the entire Filipino community.  Robert McChesney in his book “Rich Media, Poor Democracy” says, “After two decades of conservative criticism and corporate inroads, the public (TV broadcasting) system is now fully within the same ideological confines that come naturally to a profit-driven, advertising-supported system.”

Could it be that what the people believe and claim to happen – that mainstream media curtail the truth over money and publish the glazed ones - is true?

When greed attacks the human flesh, it conquers all men regardless of status, race and belief:  They write stories of absurd foundation; they create wars of bizarre objective; they kill humans of grotesque fashion.

Are the Filipino people yet to learn how to demarcate the Church and the State?  Will morality always be the basis of good governance?  Will good governance always have a spice of morality, even if it leads to chaos?

Debatably though, Thomas Jefferson has a valid point when he argues, “Christianity neither is, nor ever was, a part of the common law.”

Epic Fail

By Rolo B. Cena

Random

Dumaguete Star Informer

01 January 2017

2017, while anticipated to be productive for the Philippines and the Filipino people, may never be so unless 2016 is made an indicator of the country’s performance in relation to achieving targets planned earlier, New Year’s resolutions vis-à-vis personal achievements included.

The answers to the question why most targets or New Year’s resolutions fail should not be undermined.  For one, this speaks of strategies.  Two, it deals with achievability of targets.  Three, it determines the effectiveness of execution. 

Several leading experts have their own rationale on this:  Ram Charan, leadership guru, contends that seventy percent of strategies are poorly executed.  Doctors Robert S. Kaplan and David P. Norton, advocates of Balanced Scorecard argue that ninety percent of strategies are poorly executed.  Ernst & Young, management consultants, reveals that sixty percent of strategies are never executed while Deloitte, another management expert asserts that the hindrance to achieving targets is poor execution.  These teams conducted years of research and studies to come up with these game-changing statistics.

Obviously, these scientific accounts assert that achieving targets depend on how well companies or individuals execute their strategies, no matter how these strategies are poetically articulated, as in most cases.  One more time, these accounts include New Year’s resolution.

More than 30 years ago, Filipinos gathered at EDSA to call for the resignation of the late Ferdinand Marcos.  Organized by the late Cardinal Sin, it gained support from Fidel Ramos and Juan Ponce Enrile, two of the prominent stalwarts and allies of Marcos.  That catapulted his expulsion from Malacanang through the help of the American government.  The first lady president, Cory Aquino then governed the greed-adorned Palace by the murky Marikina River.

Novel ideas were deliberated and awesome strategies crafted with the help of old, aspiring and new politicos sans personal interests hidden in the rhetoric of all recommendations, actions or arguments they laid down on the table of political, socio-economic and cultural discourses.

We then thought we could move fast-forward.  Little did we realize that we were actually chugging towards development.  The only significant achievement Aquino administration can boast of is the amendment of the Constitution with uncalled-for re-naming of edifices and landmarks on the side; Ninoy Aquino International Airport is one of those.

Fidel Ramos took over amidst election protests from the camp of Mirriam Santiago.  Joseph Estsrada succeeded Ramos but was ousted for plunder in less than two years through the less popular EDSA 2 Revolution that ushered the petite lady of Pampanga to the Palace, ruling the country for about ten straight years, with a material number of high-profile graft and corruption cases recorded.  Benigno Aquino III, succeeded the Rule from Gloria Arroyo via his infamous “Tuwid na Daan” vehicle. 

Over time, Malacanang controlled the State:  Senate ruled, Congress banged its gavel unopposed, Supreme Court dissented anytime, Cabinet obeyed, and local governments submitted.  Much was done in favor of the few and privileged.  Individuals disappointed of results marched down the streets to express their most-of-the-time self-vested interests, shouted at the top of their voices behind picket lines. 

They argued much; they worked less.  Worse, they delivered the most mediocre of services.  It happened before; it is still happening today!

And what has become of us after 30 years of EDSA?  Amazingly, EDSA still stands as the most congested highway bringing the public to several behavioral disorders:  Budgets inflated to accommodate Pork Barrel, crimes increased, graft and corruption cases ballooned, insurgencies rose, etcetera.  An overwhelming lists of crimes, grimes and slimes more than achievements are exposed daily.  Wow!

Lately, rumors circulated that the opposition is cooking a mega-rally.  Allegedly funded by a Fil-Am billionaire, it is aimed at ousting President Duterte for the following simple reasons: They hate his firm resolve to kill criminals, jail corrupt government officials, and renew the face of the Archipelagic Philippines, literally.

EDSA has become a byword in political arena; it has gained criticisms across the globe:  For one, it marks the historic feat against tyranny; two, it shows the courage of the Filipino people to assert their rights; and, three, it gives the impression that Filipinos never have learned from one failure to another.  I love the first two points but the third sounds intriguing:  We never have learned from one failure to another over time!

Is another EDSA still worth the effort?  If I may put my two cents in, the answer is no because signs are telling us.  We have been accusing each administration for failing to steer the country to progress but we never realize our failure to assess how well we responded to every problem, how effective we resolved, how efficient we managed damages, and how openly we cooperated or openly accepted proposed changes.

Arguably though, another EDSA may not be the ultimate solution.  Mahatma Gandhi has something better to offer:  “Independence means voluntary restraints and discipline, voluntary acceptance of the rule of law.”

Aren’t we are missing the whole point?

His Christmas Story

By Rolo B. Cena

Random

Dumaguete Star Informer

25 December 2016

As it was foretold, He was born out of the union of Maryam and Yossef in one winter evening in Bethlehem (Beit Lahm), a Palestinian town located south of Jerusalem (now occupied by Israel) sans the luxury of scholarly skilled birthing assistant and sophisticated hospital bed, in a trough where domesticated animals were fed.

My trip to Jordan, an Islamic country that hosted more than one tribes of the Biblical “Holy Land” reminds me of His overwhelming greatness.  A visit to His Baptism Site, a spot along Jordan River sanctified by no less than Pope John Paul II, added irresistible support to His existence in the history of man no matter what scientific big-bang theory tells us.

He is real:  As real as one Holy Night, as the John the Baptist Spring, where John took water he used to baptize Jesus, and the memorial of Moses at Mt. Nebo, southwest of Amman, the Capital City of Jordan, where Moses was granted view of the Holy Land.

Truly, He is:  As real as your own baptized Christian name, as the holy water poured onto your head, as your marriage, as your friendship and acquaintances and as the love you enjoy today.

He was given life and His passion was to give life:  Lazarus was raised to life from death.  It is the same life He gives to the adulteresses and concubines, to slaves and prostitutes, to social dependents and abused, to the corrupt and marauders, to mentally-dehydrated politicians and narco-politicos, to sinners and lost, and to the quick and the dead.  His life is hope!

Undoubtedly, He gives life to the self-confessed adulteress-senator and driver-lover-concubine, to senator known for his popular military siege now considered a traitor, to the apprehended and confessed drug lord and provider of largesse to top government officials, to the used and abused inmates of the National Penitentiary, to the men in robes who protect offenders, and to other modern day demons of the millennia.

His Words become Flesh; His Flesh becomes the life of courage and strength.  Yet, malevolent men lately take His Words out of context.  They corrupt their souls by corrupting the flesh with lusts, greed, and infamies.

It is as real as the baby you are holding everyday before leaving for work, as real as the man you argue and make love with at nightfall.

Absolutely, His is another classic story no need to tell – a story so distinct that has been told and retold from generation to generation.  His Christmas story is forgiveness that springs from hope in the manger, the manger that holds that One Infant from whom noble life springs.

Yes, the baby delivered to the world in a manger brings hope, hope that brings life, and life that brings forgiveness.  His story is forgiveness from that moment the news of that eventful winter night broke throughout the Jewish, Judean, Samaritan, Hebrew, Greek and Roman communities.

Yes, forgiveness does not begin with the crucifixion; it does begin with the moment her cousin announced her blessed-art-thou-amongst-women immaculate conception.  What transpired in the crucifixion was the fulfillment of the mission of The One to salve mankind from the pit of man-made annihilation caused by unrestrained men.

And this is not forgiveness as written in the Book of All Times:  Highly robed Administrators and Overseers of His Words who reside in strong-walled stone structures don’t seem to understand its profound meaning spoken of today.  Instead, they spark assemblies to rally for the unspeakable and inexplicable “un-forgivable” delivery of forgiveness.

Yes, His Christmas story is not just hope but light from the election fraud, truth from the big rally for his ouster funded by the Black Widow, justice for the victims extra-judicial killings, for the famers of that mega-farmland in Northern Luzon, and meaning why preachers do preach forgiveness and yet unforgiving.

His story is your story of pains and sufferings, epic fails and frustrations, sexual and marital abuses, psychological incapacity and irresponsibility of spouses, cancer cells and tumors, kidney failures and cardiac conditions, diabetes and high blood pressures – truly, His is above all these.

One more time, his Christmas story is forgiveness:  I forgive you and you forgive others regardless of what is and what’s not!  After all, The One named Jesus does not forgive based on any condition – he does forgive unconditionally.

Yes, this is his Christmas story written on walls and edifices of his birth, death and resurrection:  From the manger to the shanty in Bethlehem to the John the Baptist Spring to the Baptism Site along Jordan River to the Cross at Mount Calvary.  Do we have reasons not to?

To err is human, to forgive divine? – Oh, this is just being human!  Absolutely, there is no reason at all to be skeptical.  Skepticism creates paranoia.  And paranoia kills!

Eid milaad saeed!