Kailee’s multiple blessings

I consider this lively girl a blessing to the family in general and most especially to me in particular. When her conception was whispered to me more than 6 years ago amidst a cascade of tears, I heaved a sigh relief and silently thanked Jesus for his gift to me. The circumstances by which she came to me didn’t matter at all. What mattered was that I had a granddaughter.

God is good to give me the opportunity to bring her up personally - a blessed chance that not all grandfathers have. God even left me without a paying job for two years so that I could spend all my time with her.

At 6 years old this grade 2 kid is everywhere the family is. Whether it be in some Southeast Asian country or an out-of-town marathon.

Now she will be with us again in a grand vacation halfway around the world.

I would like to imagine Jesus saying to her – “here's your visa kid, have fun!”

“M” in the visa signifies “Multiple” and that means she will be allowed into the US of A as many times as she can within the span of 10 years. Thank you Jesus for Kailee's 'multiple' blessing.

Against all odds

According to the Bureau of Consular Affairs of the United States of America the Adjusted Refusal Rate (B–visas only) by Nationality for the fiscal year 2013 for the Filipinos was 24.1%, the Thais 11.1% and Malaysians 5%.

Based on the above-mentioned facts anyone can see that it is more difficult for a Filipino to acquire a B-visa (tourist visa) compared to a Malaysian or a Thai. On top of that is common knowledge among Filipinos that acquiring a visa is expensive, intimidating and frustrating and a refusal is almost sure for one who belongs to the middle-class, a fresh graduate, a nurse and a single mom and toddler daughter and a whole family applying together.

At the planning stage of our attempt on this visa project we fairly well knew how low the chances for us were. JP and Kukie were both nurses less than a decade into their professions and both were single. Kailee was 6 years old and she would be applying for the visa without a father and Nok was a single employee with no document to prove that she would come back to Thailand. It was also very clear that we had the intention of traveling together as a family.

Jo ann and I were not concerned very much about our own visas since we had been to America already, but it was not right that it would be just her and me on this planned trip.

You can imagine the preparations that went into the gathering of documents, which some of our friends recommended after going through the same process. We did the online application, had photos taken, secured the bank statements, photocopied the passports and work permits, acquired the letters of certification from our employer and then we were ready.

Ready in the sense that our papers were all inside a clear envelope, but our minds couldn’t stop dwelling on the possibility of a rejection. In other words we were stressed to the last neuron of our brains. Sleep on the night before our scheduled interview did not come for some of us.

We were up early on the day of the interview and we made sure that the travel time from the house to the embassy had the notorious Bangkok traffic covered. Entry into the US Embassy compound was a breeze through very tough security. A clerk arranged all our papers and another took the necessary biometry and made sure that our papers exactly matched our physical identities. We were given our queue number and finally the family of Philip Eleazer J. Moreno entered the ‘most holy place’ for visa interviews.

For the actual interview we were broken up into four. Kukie and Kailee at one window, JP at another, Nok at still another and Jo Ann and myself in a separate interview. The questions for me were simple: what is your name, what is your work and why are you going to America? For Jo Ann it was: how long have you been working at Yanhee and what is your work? Our supporting documents – bank statements, employer’s certification, etc were not asked, which means that the only documents that the consult required was our appointment confirmation, photo and passport.

JP and Nok had the same ease in going through the interview, but Kukie had to answer questions related to Kailee’s father and the legality of Kailee traveling with her. She took the longest to get done and while at it Jo Ann and I were already outside silently praying for her deliverance.

This family was such a sight when we finally got together outside the interview area. We were joyously hugging each other and Kukie was actually in tears. I could see the other applicants who were lining up to process their papers staring at us and I could imagine that they were wishing that they too would end up with the same jubilant results.

The most profound realization that entered our minds after this experience was the fact that we got our visas just like we were buying something off the counter at the mall (sans the emotions) and we did it against all odds.

We know that God had a direct hand in this visa project and we give Him all the praise and the glory.

that's us celebrating after the successful interview.

Missionary or Mercenary

These two words start with the letter M and end with the syllables “nary.” They may look identical and both may connote expatriates in another country, but in essence they stand in stark contrast against each other.

Let me clarify the meaning of each word before I proceed. A missionary is someone who goes forth in the name of Jesus to fulfill the gospel commission. A mercenary on the other hand risks his life and limb in another country for the main purpose of personal gain.

The life of a missionary has uncertainties related to sustenance and the outcome of the mission. Support for his efforts is propped up by the pledges of the sending institution and his ability to ply his trade or expertise in support for his mission. Paul – God’s first and foremost missionary to the non-Jew world supported his mission by building and repairing tents. He was a lofty Pharisee before his conversion, but he dumped his classy robes for the lowly tailor garb just so he could support himself in preaching the gospel. He was also supported by the converts who believed in this commission.

Most often the missionary embarks on his journey with only faith to hold on to. There is no contract as to how much he will receive and the benefits that he will reap while at the job and after it. The missionary has to keep his pledged supporters with updates on his work and sometimes remind them of their pledges or he would go hungry.

Contrary to the missionary, the mercenary is protected by a contract, which stipulates the amount of money he will receive and the benefits that he will get during and after his tenure. Faith is not a component in his job, because the contract clearly states the money matters. The mercenary knows that his contractor is rich enough and regular enough to keep him supplied and contented or he won’t sign the contract in the first place.

In some cases the dividing line between the missionary and mercenary is blurred when it comes to religious activities by certain groups who lay claim to the “missionary” title. They assert that they are true missionaries who go out in the name of Jesus. They go about preaching, teaching and doing medical work with the label “missionary” and some honestly believe that indeed they are missionaries, but are they really true to the calling of the gospel or are they conveniently there to make money like a mercenary?

So how do we separate true missionary from the bogus one and what can be the gauge to distinguish one from the other? Easy! Just compare the lifestyle and standard of living of both groups and you will note that the mercenary is busy acquiring land, cars and houses while on the job. His kids can get the most expensive education there is and when he retires he’ll be sure of healthcare and sustenance. While on the job, the mercenary’s bank account is growing and he has the assurance that at the end of his term he can live an easy life.

The missionary on the other hand is no richer nor well off than when he started his mission. Most often he doesn’t come back to his own country, but keeps on his mission until he dies. A retirement home is not one that he built with financial gains from being a missionary – because there actually is no financial gain. He considers the missionary journey as his temporary abode and heaven his only true and permanent home.

a coming together...

... is just another way of describing what reunion is all about.

the month of february 2014 is special for me because I had the chance to hug the guys who mean so much to me. This was possible when I flew home to the Philippines for the primary reason of attending the first ever reunion of my class in medical school.

meeting the other guys outside of the class was the icing on the already delicious cake.

having breakfast with the best friends that medical school ever made. these guys are accomplished marathoners from new york to beijing to singapore and of course the philippines. they took me under their roof for a night. thanks bffs!!

a prodigal son come home... sort of, coz it has been a long time that I last kissed the mother of my wife. mong and chino's presence added to the blessedness of this reunion.

aha... so these two are together again? yeah... that's Erberto Arriaga - my buddy in high school who I consider my twin brother, teacher and partner in crime, etc. etc. Thanks bay and Mary for making my stay in the Philippines very memorable... and busog.

at cuzzin Inday Luz's (lady with a pillow) place in Guihing for dinner. the patatim was extra delicious.

that's the baby sister of my dad - auntie Sally. She's one of the two surviving siblings of dad and at 72 years she's as healthy as only a vegetarian can be. the last time i saw her was something like 8 years ago.

talk about favorites. I have long considered these guys as my favorite cousins in spite of the strong objection from different quarters of our clan (that claim is still subject to litigation). Toots (center) is a very successful real estate manager. just give her a few minutes and she'll convince you to buy a chunk of the philippines.

Auntie Oming - and I say that name with reverence and respect. she's mom's younger sister - the only aunt who understood by wayward ways and didn't pass judgment on me. she also set an example of wit and wisdom that i adore her for. at the age of 86 she has moved into the house of alzheimer and can only remember faces that are beautiful - a category that i failed to come up to. at this meeting she was just a week post-op for a hip replacement surgery and she was coping very well. our noses, cheeks, eyes, lips and chins will prove the irrefutable DNA connection.

 Bonch - auntie Oming's youngest baby and my most favored cousin and brother in Jesus. we've spent many years together as kids because he used to live with us in mindanao. I always wished that he was my true brother.

 who would ever imagine that fate would let this two guys meet? Bangkok was blessed to witness the bonding that Edmund and I went through in the many coffee shops, ice cream parlors, japanese restos, day trips to hua hin, river kwai, etc. as we attempted to resolve the questions of life in relation to the gospel and Jesus' love for us. it's only been about 6 years since we were introduced to each other, but it seems that we've been friends forever. Thanks Mon for the lunch and bonding moments during my short stop-over in Manila.

fraternity life didn't stop when i exited from medical school. I am honored for these guys to host a party while i was there and we had a good time reminiscing and planning. i was also introduced to the younger generation and i am awed by their zeal and energy in upholding the ideals of this brotherhood. thanks freres and soeurs for your time and effort in this event.

Bing, Tes and Anatole - the guys who made medical school enjoyable and memorable. they are now super successful consultants at the Davao Doctors Hospital and they didn't allow me to leave without having lunch with them. Thanks guys for always counting me as your treasured friend and I consider myself so blessed to be.

hahaha... reunited with the perfect combination of duckembryo+durian+carlorossisangria. what else can this bloke ask for? 

thank you Jesus for friends and family in my life!

class reunions can be challenging?

not if the reunion is done about 5 years from graduation or the participants remain within the same province or country and if they are still young and they are active netizens.

consider a class reunion 31 years from graduation. the participants are in their late fifties, most are not active netizens and some are suffering from some old-age illness.

you would expect that some would not be able to attend because their doctor wouldn't allow them, they are not strong enough to withstand intercontinental travel or they cannot be contacted because they refuse to blend into the world of Info Tech.

the greatest challenge, however, in the reunion of the demographic sample described above was... putting a name to this face:

there was nothing wrong with this guy's face and attitude. he was still the wacky and witty guy that I parted ways with some 30 years ago. the challenge was actually in the ability to remember his name, and more than half the attendees had to dig deep into their gray matter, but couldn't find anything there to help them remember him.

Nellie failed and in spite of our coaxing had to admit that the face of the guy had no resemblance to a classmate in medical school.

Hans too couldn't put a name to the handsome face.

Bing couldn't hide her shock and disbelief when finally she was told who the guy is.

Rey was cool and tried to appear brilliant, but obviously some portions of his memory had fallen asleep and needed rousing.

not even a hand in his hand and his arm on Evelyn's shoulder could bring back memories of yesterday.

Nellie in denial while pointing an accusing finger at the guy. C'mon Nel, you can't blame him for your failing memory.

to celebrate the awakening of our brain cells and the restoration of our memories we had to pose for this picture with Jun Salud. Next time we have a reunion I will stare at this photo every day for a month to make sure that when we meet I wouldn't be diagnosed with Alzhiemer's. 

Thanks Jerome for the photos!

DMSF ’83 reunion

The wait took thirty-one long summers

And hours of dialing up the numbers

Nights working up the computer keys

In a bid to bring together friends I miss

Reminiscing:

White spotless uniforms well pressed

Stinking cadavers lying undressed

Exhausted minds trying hard to learn

Equations on why gastric acid burns

Four grueling years of hard learning

Like glue it seals tight friends bonding

Each took off to find a place in the sun

But the ties kept strong in the long run

Realizing:

All the years of chasing our careers

Building a family with blood, sweat and tears

Saving up some money in the banks

But more often than that we just got thanks

Back to where this friendship all started

You guys still look like we never parted

It was so nice to hug you one more time

Before we finally fall from our prime.

31 years we’re now an endangered species

Balder, grayer, smitten with old age diseases

The memories of the years we had together

Alzheimer’s won’t take away is my prayer.

Jaws reminisced

A thresher shark – at least one if not hordes, was the scene that repeatedly played in my mind creating goose-bumps and palpitations in the process. This is not a scene that is viewed from a safe and dry spot in an aquarium at the mall, but rather down 100 feet or so in the dark and cold early morning hours at a remote shoal in the open sea separating the islands of Leyte and Cebu.

Call it insanity or foolishness and I’ll slap you a high-five in approval. But when you’re a scuba diver, scenes like these are the inner cravings that need to be quenched or your life could be one empty and barren Sahara.

Two blokes and a feisty lady had to satisfy this craving before the unscrupulous Chinese cooked the last remaining shark fin on the planet. The trip to the very spot described above was an adrenaline-packed experience in itself, which added up for the need to memorialize the event in this blog. (At this point I need to take a break to calm my galloping heart and soothe my fatigued erector pili muscles – a result of the mere thought of the event)

In the year 2013 this threesome went diving the Japanese World War II wrecks entombed in the depths of Coron Palawan’s island paradise and while at it they couldn’t shake off the challenge to intrude into the thresher sharks’ territory, which could only be reached by a plane ride, a long 5-hour bus trip and a 45-minute boat crossing to the tiny island of Malapascua off the northern tip of the island of Cebu. This they had to accomplish before flying back to a world of breast lifts and implants, varicose veins and axilla hair and the reconstruction of vaginas that have been to a thousand heavens and back.

Last minute resort accommodations and dive reservations were done by phone while the bus wound its way through the narrow seaside highway. It was then that we were informed that by the time we get to the last town on the tip of the island all boats would have been stored for the night and the only options left were to bed down in one of the cramp, bug-infested lodging houses or hire a boat to take us to the island.

The first option was unthinkable because we only had about 24 hours between that time and our flight back to Bangkok. If we didn’t meet the sharks at Monad shoal the next morning we would have to wait for another 24 hours before the sharks would be available again. (It is their habit to drop by that particular shoal at about 5 – 6 every morning to allow the cleaner wrasse fish to brush them up for another day of foraging in the ocean)

The second option was actually our only hope to be able to come face to face with the deathly jaws and yet it would take another ride through equally deathly darkness on board a flimsy out-rigger over the huge swells and whitecaps of the open sea. 

We called the resort manager telling her to send the boat over at 8:30 pm to fetch us at what now appeared to me to be the last pier at the edge of the world for our final trip in life. After the deal was sealed we rode through the last stretch of the bus trip in silence, detached from each other, thinking of the possible death trap that we had inadvertently gotten ourselves into.

The pungent smell of dried and rotting marine life and the crash of the waves on the breakwater shattered the scenes in our imaginations as the bus grounded to a stop and the driver announced that we were at the end of the road. Oddly, but it seemed to me that his voice was like that of the Grim Reaper. We disembarked and the small pier was right before us and so were three young men who took our bags and motioned us to follow them. They were sure that we were the ones they came for because we were the only passengers left in the bus.

My mind went over a quick check of the situation: a pitch black night, an outrigger pumpboat and three young men who didn't look like they were old enough to take charge of our lives across the deep and dark sea. That was when I realized what it meant by my choices dwindling down to the "devil or the deep blue sea." We got to the boat and I gave a sigh of relief when I saw an 'old' man of about my age waiting for us. He turned out to be the "captain" and my fears were allayed.

They pushed the boat to deeper waters before starting it so as not to get the propeller entangled in the seaweed. The engine sputtered to life and we headed out to sea. Craning my neck and with squinting eyes I tried to take stock of my bearings. The sky and the sea blended so well into one black wall that the horizon was just not where it should be. The boatmen pointed to us a small line of tiny flickering lights in the distance and said that that was Malapascua - our destination.

At my age these ears of mine are not as good as they used to be, but that night it was like they had amplifiers. I could hear every knock of the engine, every rise and fall of the revving of the RPM, which to me was my only hope of making it across. I noted that there was no communication gadget on board. There was not one paddle just a bamboo pole, and I knew if ever the engine conked out we would be left to the mercy of the wind and the waves. I even imagined the headlines in the papers telling of some foolhardy doctors who were swept out into the sea and were the object of a search and rescue operation.

The lights that outlined the horizon got bigger and closer until we were bathed in the soothing and much relieving glow. The boatmen brought us to our resort which was surprisingly modern and clean and that night we dreamed of rows of white shark teeth with bright wriggling fish brushing them to a nice shine.

Before the sun came out the following day, we were on a much bigger boat with our tanks and dive gear all ready. An elderly Brit was with us and so were two dive-masters and some boathands. I also noted a couple of dive boats in our convoy and as we sailed to Monad Shoal our dive-master started briefing us on what to expect, how to behave and how not to become a piece of breakfast for sharky.

Putting on the dive gear is not a difficult task once you have dozens of dives in your logbook, but that morning took quite a while to get all set to dive. Talk about the sympathetic response to epinephrine wherein the body is primed for the "fight or flight" event, where every cell is quivering to jump to any need to run away or fight, where your fingers twitch with every beat of your throbbing heart. Yeah, that was us and we had to check and double check each others gear before taking the plunge just to make sure we got everything connected correctly.

The sun was just slightly over the horizon and there was enough light to make out that we were being dropped on a small plateau about 50 feet down after which we still had to descend by a cliff (to a ledge the same distance deeper) that was wide enough for our team. The dive-master pointed to where we could wait and I made sure that we were a few steps behind the local guys - not exposed in the front, where the action was supposed to take place.

My thoughts were still trying to seize the moment when the dive-master pulled on my shoulder and pointed to a slow-moving shadow about 8 meters away. I squeezed the shutter of my cam and held my breath as the sleek and graceful critter swam to inspect the intruders that were lined up like dishes on a buffet table.

She was the most beautiful and elegant monster that I have ever seen in my entire life. Our eyes met and for a moment I knew that it was love at first sight, and it didn't matter to me if she thought that I was blood at first bite.

The fear and uncertainty that almost had me the night before suddenly vanished and in its place came peace and happiness that I knew would last forever.

That day saw us make 2 more dives in two different dive sites with critters that thought that we were the monsters. We took the same chartered boat back to the mainland, the same bus to the city and the same plane to Bangkok, but we would never be the same again.