What did the people of Pinamiyagan, President Roxas, Capiz teach me about life? Lesson II: On Remembering

Me: Kap, hindi naman ako artista. Hindi rin ako politiko. Isa po akong volunteer sa Balay Mindanaw. Wala akong pera. Wala akong malaking tulong na maibibigay ko sa inyo. Bakit palagi ako sinusunod ng mga tao at mga bata dito kung saan ako mag-punta?

Kapitan: Masaya kami Maki kung may ibang tao na makapunta dito sa amin. Kahit na hindi kami mabigyan ng Balay Mindanaw, okey lang sa amin. Ang pagpunta mo rito, at pagtira mo dito ay isang biyaya na sa amin. Masaya kami kasi may mga tao, sa ibang sulok ng Pilipinas na nakaalala sa amin.

It struck me. Pinamiyagan was unknown place for most of us. We did not even know that barangay Pinamiyagan is in Capiz and was deeply affected with typhoon Yolanda. Media did not know this. A grain of people of the Philippines only knew that. They were close to be forgotten.  The world knew Tacloban well. Not Pinamiyagan.

That is why I am telling their story. At least, my 50 average views of this blog would know Pinamiyagan. Thanks to Balay Mindanaw for remembering them.

However there are things in life we rather do not want to see. That is our

tendency as humans.  We grew tired of seeing faces of people who suffer. 

We have forgotten to open our eyes to more pain. Or perhaps we choose to

forget the sufferings of people because we have enough suffering for ourselves.

Tacloban, Leyte is enough, and forget Pinamiyagan, President Roxas, Capiz or

           other places who are suffering because of the typhoon.

This is the second lesson of God. He is reminding me that it is not only in Tacloban, Leyte He is present. He is also present in Pinamiyagan, the unknown barangay for most of us.  Perhaps, He is reminding me to remember Him, not just in my prayers and in the mass. He wants me to remember Him through these people who lost almost everything in life.  He wants me to remember Him through these people who were not remembered by all, who were not given attention by the media, and who were suffering alone. He wants me to remember this nameless faces in our society. 

We have forgotten that God prefers to embrace those unheard cries. 

“…may nakaalala sa amin…” is enough for them to start all over again. That is the power of remembering. That is why God remembers Noah after the flood. God remembers the cries of people who suffer alone. Heaven remembers the tears of Pinamiyagan when everybody seemingly shut their eyes because they grew tired of seeing  pain. Now I know why God is in Pinamiyagan and He sent me to go there. So that I can remind the world about them.

Anyway, if you happen to read this, you do not need to send relief goods to them. They are starting all over again as a community. I am just writing this to tell the world that people of Pinamiyagan teach me lessons in life. I am writing this to tell the world that there is such barangay Pinamiyagan in Presisdent Roxas, Capiz, Philippines who was struck by a super typhoon, destroyed their homes, and they are starting all over again, even they have received lesser help.

Balay Mindanaw Panay Team

Remembering them is enough help.

What did the people of Pinamiyagan, President Roxas, Capiz teach me about life? Lesson I: On Starting all over again

Of four barangays where I was assigned for my Rural Immersion, Pinamiyagan is somehow close to my heart.  Pinamiyagan, the most affected barangay in President Roxas, Capiz, Philippines, planted something in my heart which, I could say, is worth remembering. Staying for three days, living their everyday routine, sleeping with them, and listening to their untold stories are gentle reminders of God for me to start living what matters most in life.  

 Balay Mindanaw Foundation, the host organization for my rural immersion,  sent me to tell the barangay a good news.  Yolanda washed all their houses away, gave them a memory that stormed their mindsets, and honestly asked God why He sent Yolanda to destroy their lives. The Foundation chose this barangay, together with the four other barangays in President Roxas, Capiz, Panay Island, to give them a Shelter Repair Kit. Each household would receive ten roofs, ten plywood, ten coco lumbers, two kilos of nails and a hammer. Hence, I had to travel by a small boat without katig to announce that Balay Mindanaw is giving a Shelter Repair Kit for them to assemble the dilapidated remnants of the super typhoon so that they can construct a temporary shelter and call it a home.

 Though, I was bringing this good news for Pinamiyagan, God is also waiting for me in this far flung barangay of President Roxas . I never thought that God is also giving me a surprise, a gift about life. Staying with them for three days, I believe, was visiting a God who stays with people who starts all over again after a tragedy struck their lives and lost almost everything they have.

That is the first gift of God for me. He let me see how to start all over again after losing almost everything.  

The typhoon brought their houses to the sea abyss. Houses were never to be found. Only wood debris were scattered everywhere in the barangay. The moment they returned to Pinamiyagan from evacuation centers in Poblacion, they could not contain the horror of the sight. The only thing they could do, seeing their houses no more, was to cry- to grieve. Perhaps some stared blankly at the sky. They did not understand why God could afford to love this way by sending a typhoon to destroy their homes.  They could not reconcile that. It was not only the walls and roofs, which Yolanda took. Losing a home is losing some fond memories of building the house through the years. And Yolanda destroys those fond memories. 

However, hearing their stories, Yolanda left something for them though she took the house. Yolanda did not take away the spirit of people of Pinamiyagan to start all over again. That spirit of becoming a beginner of life. They have grieved, yes, but they did not stop there. They have to pick those little pieces they have and construct a temporary shelter. They have to yield on 5-6, the Turkish way of pautang and the first thing they have in mind so that they can start something small. They have to go to the sea again to catch fish, to sell it in Poblacion, and to leave some for the table as food for the whole day. They have to set aside little amount so that they can pay the Turko weekly for two years. They have to budget the one sack of rice given by an NGO .  They have to dress their children with few clothes given by some relatives from the other town. They have to send their children to school.   They have to put up that ring again so that the young can play basketball. They have to play hantak when the sun is about to set. They have to cross Pandan, the next barangay  just to charge their flashlights, radios and cellphones. They have to hang that solar lamp under the heat of the sun, given by Balay Mindanaw, so that they have light at night inside their self-construct, temporary shelter. They have to fetch water in Poblacion in order they can take a bath, wash their plates and do their laundry. They have to tie that mosquito net before they sleep. They have to light the candle in the altar and whisper to God, “help us to stand up.”

They have to move on. They have to smile. They have to laugh. The world does not stop after Yolanda. They have to start all over again.

 

I wonder why they have the strength to start all over again. Perhaps, they have each other. No lives were lost. And they have God. They trust God so much, believing that Yolanda is part of the greater scheme of things.  Anyway, they do not worry much about how much Yolanda took away from them because they have only little to worry about. Right from the very start,  they have less in life to worry about.

Now I know why God is waiting for me in Pinamiyagan. God is teaching me how to start all over again through these simple people who lost everything in a blink of an eye. God prepared me, in case, He would send Yolandas in my life. God taught me how to start all over again by simply trust him, like what people of Pinanmiyagan did, and believe that  Yolandas are not the end of the world but they are part of the greater scheme of things.  

To be Continued….

GUGMANG GIAHAK (love letter)

Bebs, Rolly, others, the crazy little things, and I

(Clinical Pastoral Education CPE is a program which trains us to be chaplains in a hospital. We visit some patients and engage in a conversation with them. As we talked to the patients, we have also encountered our own wounds. We become aware of these wounds during the processing. Being aware of the wounds is a step for us to appreciate the gift of our humanity.)

One of my favorite routines in CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) program was when I ran from the steep pavement downhill towards the Carmelites gate. I did this every after I was on my way back from our hospital exposure to the seminary. Usually, I ran when the sun was about to set, workers were seen in streets calling for motorela to bring them home, children were playing at the streetside and tambays were sitting and chatting aimlessly outside the sari-sari stores. I know I was bringing with me the exhaustion from facing poor patients in the hospital where I was assigned that day. Yet, I still decided to run every time I reached this steep part of the seminary hill. I find it enjoyable to run. And it was more fun because I was running with Rolly and Bebs.

They were my companions in this hospital exposure.  We decided to run because we simply miss playing basketball. For three weeks on this CPE program, we had not moved our muscles and had not produced some sweat. We are deprived of exercise. Thus, it was a need to run from downhill towards Carmelite gate. We needed to force our legs to run on a steep pavement and to exhaust ourselves all the more. When we reached at the Carmelite gate, we stopped to catch our breath.  We, then, laughed at ourselves, with enough sweat produced for the day, enough for our uniforms to wet.

“Crayzzziiii”, Rolly called it.

There was a time, because of the exhaustion; we sat idly in a bench located in a corridor of the hospital. People from all walks of life were passing by. We imagined a story about their lives when they passed by. We enjoyed creating stories of these nurses, patients, doctors, and attendants.  Then, one office staff approached us and said, “Bros. naka adto namo sa Nurse station.” “Wala pa,” we said. “Didto nalang mo stay,” she said. “Diri nalang mi. Maulaw man mi didto sa mga nurse,” I insisted. “Naa man jud CCTV camera dinhi mga bros. Nakita mo nga nagtambay hapit na usa ka oras. Gitawagan mi sa office nga kinsa daw mo. Dawbi mahalaan mo nga kawatan?” She said. We felt ashamed. We could not help but walked out and laughed at ourselves. “Ing-ani nalang jud ning tong mga nawong, kawatan?.” We told ourselves.  Perhaps, the staff reminded us that we needed to continue our work as Chaplains, not to be lazy.

We call these moments as crazy little things. These are the little moments in our hospital exposure when we loosened up from tiredness.  These little moments are reminders from God not to take life seriously. These are the little moments we shared together as, simply, brothers.

Then, a realization dawned on me. CPE is not about the issues that emerged during the processing. It is not about the verbatim we wrote in a quite night. It is not about the patients we encountered in the hospitals. I believe, CPE is all about building and deepening friendships.

And friendships were nourished by these little crazy things we do together during the CPE program. We would always remember the time we laid down in the pews of the oven-like Chapel of the hospital just to have our siesta. We would always remember upon going downhill to that steep pavement,  we executed some winning steps in our Cheerdance. We would remember the time we dropped by in Cogon and bought three Balut each. We would remember the laughter of our CPE facilitator, Sr. Mercia- the laughter of that little girl when she was teased romantically with all the formators in the seminary. Despite the heaviness, we could afford to sing How did you know, Pare ko, My love will see you through every after sessions. We would remember that karenderia across the hospital and ordered our favorite viand for lunch: “Atay with egg” or Rolly called it “egg with atay.” We would remember the tong-its and scrabble played during the nights when we were not required to submit verbatim the day after. We could still afford to feed Mingkay with her children, the cat and our pet in the building. Thanks to Boy Bawang and Corniks because it lessened the tension inside the room of Fr. Raul. We would remember the nurse and some staff in the hospital who said, “mura mog mamaligyaay sa yakult ug bouncer sa bar mga bros sa inyo uniform.” We would remember walking under the rain using Fr. Raul’s big umbrellas. We would remember the quiet nights when we made our verbatims inside our rooms. The silence meant, “Do not disturb us. Our verbatim is sacred.”  When we heard Fr. Raul’s printer sounds, some of us were pressured: it meant somebody finished his verbatim. We would remember reading together the news paper, the only connection we have in the bigger world.

These were the little moments that, for sure, we would remember the most in our CPE experience.  We might forget those patients we encounter.  We might forget the issues we brought during the processing. We might forget the pain caused by the processing. But for sure these crazy little things will be talked about when we come back here in Vianney to attend the alumni homecoming.

It boils down to relationship, after all.