Problem Solving

My older boy was involved in an incident with a rough classmate. He was pushed and kicked, even though that may not have been the intention. In the process of sorting out the situation, I was told that I should teach my son to fight back. One mother told me that she taught her own child to hit first before she gets hurt, with the assurance that she would sort things out for her later.  This made me very uncomfortable, though I could see where she was coming from. Of course no mother wants their child to be hurt, but I also could not bring myself to teach my son to hurt others. I told him he could defend himself by not hurting. In the PAGASA workshops, we are reminded that we cannot solve a problem with the same tools--actions, plans, mindsets--that created it. That's a big AHA moment. If your approach to life is simply on the level of your own children, it would be easy to tell them to hurt first to protect themselves. But if you're thinking beyond that and asking questions about what kind of values you want to instill in your children so that they can grow up behaving responsibly and with love towards others, fully aware that their thoughts and deeds shape the world, teaching them it's okay to hurt is not an option. Make no mistake, my child was hurt but he was also angry. I let him be angry. He expressed it many times at home, so I'm confident that this sort of bullying won't happen to him again because he will find a way through it next time, and hopefully not through hurting. On the one hand others keep telling him to fight back, on the other I've told him that he can find his own way of defense. I am hoping this tension will help him see that there are options and he can exercise them. You cannot solve problems with the same tools that created them. If we become bearers of change in the world--towards integration, peace, spiritual evolution--our options shift radically. I hope that I have armed my son with true grit and love and I trust that he will find his way without being an instrument of pain, violence and further separation.

zzzzzzzzzz.........

I woke up at 9am this morning (that hasn't happened to me in decades! I'm usually up before 7am) feeling very tired but good. We had a fantastic PAGASA workshop last Saturday and Sunday at the Regalia Tower Suites. We ended at about 10:30pm, got into the car and drove up to Baguio. We began the Baguio workshop the following day at 10am. It was another incredible workshop! After the workshop ended last night, we packed up, had a goodbye cup of coffee with the participants at the Atenara House, got back into the car and drove home. I am dazed, confused, puyat, and starving but also strangely enthusiastic. When you are doing work that resonates on so many levels--self, community, country--you know that your efforts are going towards something greater that will benefit every Filipino for generations to come, so you can put the fatigue in context and shore up energy for more work ahead. I've neglected this blog so the entries aren't exactly fresh, but I got a lot out of the workshop which I hope to be able to share in the next few days.  I need only one night more of good sleep! zzzzzzzzzzzzz......

Are you listening?

I had two kinds of telephone conversations this morning: one with someone who was listening and the other with someone who barely does. What a contrast. The first one was a steady flow--an engaged exchange that was quiet, respectful, and informative.  I felt good afterwards. I spoke she, listened. I listened, she spoke. We established a rhythm and respected it. Something productive and substantial was born there.  The last one was nerve-wracking. I was constantly being interrupted, though it was clear the interrupter was so used to doing it, he didn't even think he was doing it. I had to strain to repeat myself and make myself heard, but he was always already elsewhere--everywhere but with me on the subject. I was talking, he was talking. I was talking but I was already being dismissed: "okay...okay...okay...okay!" That was totally tiring and frustrating. It was rude. I felt frazzled after. There are people who truly do not know how to listen. They do not know how to make space for the other. There is only them--their thoughts, what they want to say. It's all about getting their pictures, ideas and concepts across and yours out of the way. Your words are merely jump off points for theirs. So much healing can happen in the world if everyone learned to truly listen, not just to words but to all the in-betweens that accompany them. Making space for the other is a daily act of giving--but also receiving.  Anyone who does not recognize that would naturally dismiss someone else's thoughts, especially if he has been allowed to overrule and interrupt everyone time and time again. Since non-listeners are a dime a dozen, we all have to learn to take deep breaths before and after we speak to them. We also have to make an effort--especially in a group setting where emergent dialogue is always sacred--to tell the interrupters to back down and make space for other voices to be heard. It is selfish to think that only your ideas are worthwhile. It is selfish to think that a person has nothing new or useful to impart. Listen. Really listen to what is being said. Take a step backward and create the space for ideas, thoughts, pictures, sounds and movement to be born. This world isn't yours alone. Everyone has his role to play and we must encourage everyone to play it well. We can only make space when we listen. Listen.

Tying the Knot

I saw an episode of Brothers & Sisters last night. It was the wedding episode. I always cry at weddings, but this was particularly moving because the bride was given away by her mom, a widow, who found out her husband (the bride's father)had another family shortly after his death. Talk about the last to know. Anyway, she's walking her daughter down the aisle, all the while telling her not to lose herself, her identity, her strength after she's married. When the priest asks, "Who gives away the bride?', the mother says, "She gives herself away freely with my love and blessing." I found that so touching and so appropriate. I think it so important that we all study the sacraments again and come into a new understanding of them. Just think of the marriage sacrament in the Catholic church today.  Does the ritual, the words, the symbols, still resonate with you? We all just do these things automatically today, not bothering to think about what these sacraments mean--what are they there for, what are they meant to provide? What is our role in them? How do we receive them? I belong to a church called The Christian Community and one of the reasons it piqued my interest many years ago, was because I learned that in their marriage sacrament,  promises are not made to each other. Instead, the promises are made to the self. I found that so wonderfully mature and conscious.  Actually, how binding--binding from a space of freedom. I am still learning about the renewed sacraments in our church and each discovery has led me to a deeper and authentic understanding of what they bring. This little snippet from the movie brought me to that place of questions again. I think we don't ask enough of them, nor are equipped to ask the right ones, especially when we approach life thresholds. I thought I was pretty conscious when I was married, but I have learned so much more since and now I realize I didn't ask the right questions, either.  Though I wrote my own vows, I simply did not know what I was doing in the larger and deeper spiritual sense. That is one big threshold that everyone ought to take a lot more seriously.  The wedding -- the place of the greatest misplaced attention -- is but the beginning.  Yes, it's important to get it right, but the dress, flowers and guest list are the least of your worries.  Start with the sacrament. Study the words. Study the ritual.  See what all that means to you and what it will mean for the union. In the end, the flowers don't matter.

HOY PINOY! TAMA NA ANG WERSH WERSH!

I've been listening to too many Pinoys twanging away and I have to say, PUWEDE BA, TAMA NA!!! It's BANGOONGOT not bangieungiuot.  The surname GO is pronounced GO-h--short "o"--sorry hindi ako marunong maglagay ng tamang, er, accent. It's not "gow" as in punta. Ok, so it serves me right for tuning in to that blog, but the Gorrell blog is a phenomenon that says so much about Philippine society today that you cannot ignore it, even if you don't agree with it. But that's another entry. Right now, I'm griping about the ameriken ahksen. Hay, sorry but I can't stand the pretension. Hindi naman tayo Amerikano. Ok lang if you grew up there or even lived there for decades, but I don't see any other reason for anyone to twang.  Speak! Speak the way you learned to. You can speak English the Filipino way.  I love hearing Pinoy English spoken properly. It has its own distinctive quality. All this twanging says so much about us as a people. On the one hand we rail at people's pretentiousness, all the while twanging as if that were our native tongue. Newsreaders love to twang.  FM radio broadcasters love to twang. Basta English na ang language, TWANNNGGGGG! Why? When people hear my children speak Tagalog (and not just everyday Tagalog at that), they think it's such a cute thing.  It is cute but I think it's cute only because it has become such a novelty, when it is so important for every Filipino child to speak his language well. Just a few months ago, I giggled when I observed my son looking wistfully into the distance. He was there for a while before he noticed me watching him. Comic that he is, he shook his head, smiled and said, "Nalingat ako." Now that's charming. Wersh, wersh? Not. Speaking with an affected and forced twang does not make you come across as being or having "more".  Some people are so busy twanging that they can't get their thoughts across because sustaining the twang already takes too much effort. Anything that is unnatural does. What's the point of affecting a twang when you cannot really communicate because every ounce of you is focused on keeping the twang  away from the giant slide? If you did not grow up or live abroad and are speaking with a foreign accent, it only says you are totally without identity. Or, worse, that the identity has become commodified. Now that is scary. That means the imminent death of your authentic self and your chance at an authentic, well-lived life. Is that twanging worth all that?

Balance

Every woman struggles with this. As a mother you're always caught between giving your children freedom and boundaries. When do you give in, when do you hold back? How do you balance all the aspects of your womanhood: wife, mother, lover, warrior, daughter, sister, co-worker, individual...? It is a daily challenge, especially when you want to live consciously.  For mothers like me, whose children have to meet with a totally different lifestyle when they are with their father, there is the added challenge of letting go and accepting that there are aspects of their life you don't see and cannot control. I find the phrase "good enough mother" very moving and comforting because it recognizes the inner struggle of every mother to be her very best and the inevitable feeling of failure that comes with it. When you bring children into the world, you want only the best for them. It is your responsibility. It is your goal. It is your every breath. But life happens along the way and you mostly have to make do. Achieving balance is a colossal struggle because so many people need you but to be able to serve them well, someone has to look after you. And we all know that for every woman, that person is no one but herself. I went to see a doctor a few weeks ago to discuss some therapies for my children who can't seem to get over their asthma. Their doctor prescribed therapies that I was feeling so totally overwhelmed about because I am just one, they are two, and I'm already doing everything I can for them in terms of medicines and therapies, rhythm, diet--you name it. The doctor looked at me and said I was the one that needed caring for and strengthening because I was clearly exhausted and what strength could my children get from me when I am running on empty? I could have kissed the ground she walked on. As women, we always pedal to the back of the line for others, when we have to learn that we can serve better when we are strong, healthy and cared for. Every husband and father ought to see that if the mother of their children are healthy and secure, so will their children be. Instead, the full weight of the world is on mothers today. No wonder our kids suffer, too. Balance.  Every woman ought to fight for it and claim it. It's easier said than done, I know, when we are so programmed to think of others and never of ourselves. I'm trying my best to make that part of my agenda this year and every day after. Of course I had to choose the year where I'm in the midst of building a house and rectifying the horrors that come with it, but it's precisely what pushed me to realize that I have to take care of myself more because I am totally useless to the people I love when I am unwell. Balance. May every woman achieve it.

Serve

What does it mean to serve? Let's not even go beyond the day-to-day, garden variety service that we encounter in coffee shops and stores. In fact, let's stay there. Last week, I had breakfast at a coffee shop. It was a small outfit offering only 5 or so dishes. Each dish offered either rice or white bread, except one which offered wheat bread. Yay. So I asked if I could have wheat bread with the omelet. The waitress looked at me as if I had just told her she had one month to live. I offered to pay more. I could see her imagining the worst but she bravely said she would "ask". Well-run establishments would say, "Yes, of course, maa'm. Wheat bread it is!" (Wheat na nga lang e, hindi man lang whole wheat!) I expected her to reappear with a more confident look on her face, assuring me of having a bit of fiber for my breakfast.  But, no. Instead, she nearly tiptoed to the table and said it was impossible.  It was simply not done. I could have fought for it, but since I was busy doing that with contractors, I decided to enjoy the refined, bleached, zero-fiber bread I was going to have instead. Today, I ordered a sandwich from Figaro, Alabang. When I walked in, all three servers were behind the computer trying to figure something out. The cashier barely glanced at me as we negotiated my order. When I asked her how long it would take, she looked at me with irritation and said, "Three minutes." I said I'd be back. I came back in about six and her 3-minute wonder was yet to be seen. What does it mean to be in the service industry and why do Filipinos--known worldwide for their hospitality--behave so differently towards other Filipinos in their own country? Why can't I have wheat bread instead of white? Why can't I get at least respectful service, since I am looking at you, talking to you, and giving you business respectfully? Service doesn't mean being a slave. It means doing your job and doing it well. It means having a can-do attitude, being respectful, helpful and efficient wherever you are.  Isn't that all it is?