sa dagat: kapag hindi napapanahon

I could already count the days until I say good-bye to my beloved Mindoro. All the things I thought I needed to do for CEDC for transition to a local personnel are all ready.

The media kit I wrote throughout the entire year, based on our dinner table discussions and what I’ve learned from college, got some praise from my partner. Quint was much harder to please with work than Fr. Mimo, so that is a good sign. Sharon, my replacement in CEDC, and I have discussed the media literacy modules I formulated for grade school, high school and college students.

Our last few days in Mindoro (Quint, Adette and I) were mostly spent visiting friends we have made throughout the year. Instead of work, there were get-togethers every night. And to put everything in perspective, Mimo prepared a recollection for the CEDC staff. Parting gifts were given, fond memories were shared and spiritual encounters for the year were revealed.

During the retreat, good sprits were in the air. I looked at each and every person I have lived during the year. People who have become my friends. People who have shown me a world so different from my own. People who have unknowingly shown me the God I was searching for. Indeed, my heart lays heavy with the sadness of parting yet it also rejoices at the wonderful experience of knowing that it was a year lived with much love, sincerity and freedom.

The retreat ended and after dinner, the staff decided to go to Suqui beach. Suqui beach was one of my favorite places in Mindoro. The sands were gray but the water was very clean and it had a spectacular view of the two little islands reachable by a small boat in 15 minutes.

But it was night, so the sea and the islands were mere shadows of the night. But the moon was full and the tides were strong. The waves’ white caps shimmered in the moonlight.

Everyone was down at the beach battling the waves. Mimo and I were left on top of the trust CEDC car talking about the year that was and what I choose the next year will be.

It was already late March and I still was unsure whether I will be renewing or not. I sent a resume to 5 and Up, but then I also found out they hired somebody already. December of last year, I said to myself renewing is not an option anymore. And lived the rest of my volunteer year just relishing Mindoro,

Until one day I literally hear a voice in my head while waiting for a tricycle to work. “Mag-renew ka.” As simple as that. It felt like an order. But an order I was not ready for. But once I heard that voice, my own mind kept repeating it to myself already.

It was tough. One of my options was to stay in Mindoro for another six months to see the plans I made through. And to continue living the wonderful life I had.

And I told Mimo I wanted that. And he nodded. And then I cried. “Pero pakiramdam ko hindi ako makakabalik bilang Mindoreño. Pakiramdam ko dapat ako mag-renew.”

And he nodded and smiled. “Baka nga hindi ka para sa Mindoro ngayon. Masyadong maliit ang Mindoro para sa isang tulad mo.”

And it felt so wrong to be told that when all I wanted was to be with Mindoro forever. And it felt more wrong to know Mimo was right. I cried and cried while my partners and CEDC staff continued to hold hands and fight the waves, laughing as it crushed them again and again. The waves always won, but they had fun anyway.

Mimo hugged me. Like the foster father he always had been, he soothed me. “Mahal ka ng Mindoro, Angie. Katulad ng pagmamahal mo sa kanya. Lagi kang may babalikan.”

And I hugged him back. Clinging to one of the best memories I have of A beautiful life. I looked at the different hues of black and blue in front of me. The pulo, the ocean, the beach, my friends. Mindoro.

It wasn’t our time. And until now, I am not sure when our time will be. But Mimo did not lie to me. Lagi akong may babalikan sa Mindoro.
Someone is always there. The ONE who brought me there in the first place. Him who wooed me. And He knows Mindoro is where I best fall in love with Him.

sa dagat: patungo

Sometime during our orientation seminar, I discovered Calapan, Oriental Mindoro was a measly four hours away from home. FOUR friggin’ HOURS. Other Manila people were assigned three days away by boat. “Four hours?”, I thought to myself, “so not fair. It’s too near Manila.”

But when I was interviewed I did say that I was willing to be assigned wherever they feel I would be able to serve best. And you have to hand it serendipity, I was the only communications major and CEDC was the only area that needed one. You can’t get any more MFEO (made for each other) than that.

Anyway…
May 25, 1998.
The day after our Mission Mass.
My departure from Manila to Calapan.

I was to meet up with Tatine Faylona, a former volunteer from Mindoro, at 5 AM (*grunt*) in the JVP house. This day was a rare moment because my dad actually brought me farther than Makati. During my entire four years of boarding in college, I could count on my hand the number of times he brought me to the QC area. So it was a touching moment. I could feel their apprehension about seeing me boldly go where no Resurreccion has gone before. Despite putting on a brave front, I could sense they were worried about me. And I loved them for that. For being worried and for being brave.

Tatine and I took an air-con bus to Batangas pier. A trip I just slept through. Having woken up early, my consciousness was barely alive.

We finally got to the pier after a little over three hours. The salty smell of the sea welcomed me as the waves bobbed up and down in greeting. It was the first time I have been to a pier in fifteen years. The terminal looked nothing more than a warehouse with chairs. But it was an entirely new world to me.

It buzzed with people. People and bags of all sizes littered the entire area. I held on to my things as I have heard a lot of pier horror stories. But mostly Manila-based thieves. Still I didn’t want to end up like those first time probinsyanos in the movies, except it was reverse. A city girl thrown at the mercy of the country folk.

The excitement was building up in my stomach. I felt a little better realizing that I was still separated from Manila by an expanse of ocean and that was good enough for me.

The PA called for the passengers of the Supercat from Batangas to Calapan. To my surprise, we were riding an giant air-conditioned catamaran. I’ve never ridden in one before so I was quite in awe when I went in seeing large seats, nicely-dressed stewards and a snack bar.

“Nge. Akala ko ba cheapest route?” Volunteers, as part of the JVP experience, are asked to take the cheapest route to their areas, though with a fine print of comfortable travel. I seem to have had the comfortable part at pat. Cheapest, I’m not sure.

But hey… I’m not complaining.

So I sat by the window seat. Batangas whizzed by. The water was glistening in the sun. I could hear the Supercat’s engine humming steadily, accompanied by the splish-splash of the Batangas Channel.

In 45 minutes I will be having a new home, a new life. My mind drifted with the ocean wondering what that will be like.

sa dagat: bago ang lahat

Cervini café.
A few of the fifteen Jesuit Volunteers from the Manila Local Community hung outside the cervini caf playing a fortune-telling game to ease up the anticipation hanging thickly in the air. Questions varied from “who will fall in-love with her supervisor?” or “who will be assigned the farthest?”

It would be about an hour before the fateful envelopes would be given out. THE ENVELOPE. The envelope that would plot our lives for the coming year. Where we will be assigned, who our partners will be and what organization we will be working for.

While the game goes on, I had the wishful thinking of being assigned in Palawan. Who wouldn’t want to thrown away there? Beaches and mountains and deer and giraffe and ten-thousand year old skeletons! But somehow I know that wasn’t where I will be. I knew someone else would be luckier than I.

And so I kidded around for the other prize catch. “Ako ang magiging partner nung taga-Georgetown!” Yup, there was a Fil-Am JVP who studied in Washington. He wasn’t around during the pre-orientation seminar so he was an object of curiousity for most of us. And of course, how can I not wonder, “gwapo kaya yun?”

Laughter filled the air with the silly answers the cards gave us. It helped ease the knot in my stomach as we waited for the clock to strike one in the afternoon. When suddenly a call from the Pollock building. IT IS TIME.

We entered the room with much nervous energy. The chairs formed a semi-circle facing the blackboard with THE legendary JVP map of the Philippines looming larger than it did that morning. Rose went up to the board and explained the areas and the organizations plus the work the volunteer will be doing. When she came to Mindoro, I knew I was doomed to be assigned there.

Looking less like Elmo and more like a POVS (Program Officer for Volunteer Service), Rose said something like this, “The volunteers who will be assigned in Calapan, Oriental Mindoro will be working for Communication for Evangelization and Development Center or CEDC. One will be assigned as a Video Production Assistant (and here I feel a tug in my gut) and another will be working as an Administrative Assistant.”

And as Rose rambled on about the other areas of assignment, I thought to myself, “but I want to be a teacher. I want to be a teacher.” But somehow I knew Mindoro was my destiny. As Rose finished up with the litany of areas, we were being given our envelopes

There is a tradition to the envelope. All volunteers must wait for everybody else to get their own. Before opening, the volunteers hold hands and sing “Panalangin sa Pagiging Bukas Palad.” A song quite appropriate for anyone whose fate is written on a piece of paper. With my eyes closed, I sang with much feeling. I had to remind myself that JVP was my thanksgiving and service for all the blessings I have received my entire life. I had to trust the wisdom of these people on where I will be most fit.

The song was done. The time has come.

Everybody was to open their envelopes together. Paper ripped here and there. My own included. And my instincts was right, I was assigned in CEDC. And more eerie was I was partners with the Georgetown guy. Oh no! Spreakening-dollars!

Energy built up in the air. Most of the people seemed happy with what they got despite not having any idea where there area would really be or what it will be like. They were still names that sounded good on paper and looked far enough from Manila on the map. Bukidnon, General Santos, Leyte, Zamboanga… yada-yada. While I looked at Calapan… not even a pinky away from Manila on the map. Darn! I so wanted to be far from home. Sigh.

Ignorantly, I went up to Rose and asked one of the most important questions on my mind. “Rose, may beach ba dun?” And with her usual loving motherly manner, “Naku, Anak! Magsawa ka! Ayan o (points to the map and shows an island surrounded by… uh, water). Nakapunta ka na ba ng Puerto Galera (I shake my head)? Malapit lang iyon. White sands dun.”

With the words white sand, I felt a little better.

But not completely. I’m not sure if I do like Mindoro or if it will be friendly to me. With nothing happening yet, I decide to take it in stride and accept the fact that I am not teacher material. Or rather, I was too appropriate for the job that it would be ridiculous not to assign the only JVP communication arts major like me to an office named Communication for Evangelization and Development Center doing production work.

Yeah. Sure. Why didn’t I get Palawan or even Bukidnon? Hmph.

my true love

A text alert broke my concentration from a survey I was answering since I haven’t gotten into the mood for after-lunch work. It was an unregistered number which wasn’t really surprising since I lost my phone more than a month ago. The message was from Divine telling me she has arrived in Calapan. We lasted for a few more exchanges as I go on my usual ranting to new Mindoro volunteers to be open to the place for Mindoro loves dearly and passionately.

Ahh… my dearest, dearest Mindoro. Right now, as I am typing, my heart swells with pride and love and longing as nostalgia grips my soul.

Mindoro, Mindoro, Mindoro. The very taste of the word is sweet and succulent like freshly picked rambutan from my old Tawiran home in Calapan while I was still a Jesuit Volunteer. Mindoro, Mindoro, Mindoro. The very memory of it makes me salivate as if peeled green mangoes and bagoong were right before me. Mindoro, Mindoro, Mindoro. The mere mention of its name makes my heart race and my stomach quiver as if I just ate cholesterol-rich kare-kare.

Sigh.

Mindoro. Memories of a life lived with much freedom and generosity and contentment. A time where all that mattered was loving and giving fully without expecting anything in return. And yet, I was loved back with much understanding and forgiveness.

Yet my love story with Mindoro is somewhat of a tragicomedy. Of loving passionately but without consummation. Of much desire but without opportunity. Of finding THE one but not being right for it at the moment. And yet I remain fiercely, steadfastly loyal, sometimes to a fault that I have closed myself to others whom I can love as well.

There was one particular starry night around four years ago where with four other kindred spirits I lay on the cemented path in front of the seminary chapel staring the infinite darkness of the night sky patiently waiting for a shooting star to wish on that I made a foolish vow with reasonable conditions.

To my diminutive adopted little brother I turned and said, “Otits, Ga, Kung 30 na ako at wala pang nahahanap na tao para sa akin o hindi masaya sa trabaho, babalik ako dito sa Mindoro. Dito na ako magpapakatandang dalaga.”

To which he answered, “Ga, talaga? Huwag kang mag-alala. Dun ka sa malapit sa amin titira para maalagaan ka din ng mga anak ko kapag kasal na kami ni…”

A year later, I upped by vow to 35 after I realized that 30 is way too young to make a decision like that. A few months after, Ga broke up with…

And now that I am in Davao… it seems like I am drifting further and further away from my beloved. Not only by proximity, but the life I have been leading seems to be quietly letting Mindoro go bit by bit. It saddens me for I remain passionately in-love with it. I change my vow and pledge to come back when we are ready for each other once again.

Mindoro has changed much. So have I. Yet that thread that binds us, much like the silk from a spider’s womb, seemingly fragile yet resilient, deceivingly invisible yet quite present.

Mindoro, Mindoro, Mindoro. You shall forever be my one true love. Every mention of your name shall bring back the taste of bittersweet memories that brought me where I am now.

I love you. I love you with much passion.

(sigh. I so wish to be there right now.)

for days of nostalgia

Yes, another blog. This is my umpteenth blog, I know, I know.

But this one is special.

This one is about my JVP years in Calapan and Bukidnon.

This is about good memories that keep me going.

This is about not-so-good memories that I learn from.

This is about the time where I felt most alive.

This is a trip down memory line when nostalgia strikes and a longing hunger eats me.