To the First Man I Ever Loved

For teaching me how to push and pedal
and for turning a blind eye when I sneaked out with your big old bike,
thank you.

For taking me to magical places by reading stories with me
and putting me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch,
thank you.

For comforting me when I was crying because I turned into a woman
even though you didn't have an idea how that really felt,
thank you.

For taking with me that bittersweet journey to my university campus
and for telling me to be strong when I kept calling home,
thank you.

For letting me learn from my mistakes and make my dreams come true
while being a great source of strength and understanding,
thank you.

For believing in my capacity to think and do the best for me
and for patiently allowing me to search for myself in this world,
thank you.

For your kindness, patience, humility and endearing love
that have always made me the learning woman I am today,
thank you, Papang.

To the first man I ever loved, Happy Father's Day!

Amidst Nature and Culture in Lake Sebu

The rays of the morning sun crept slowly from the mountaintop and covered the lake with golden light. As the mist vanished, water lily blooms opened leisurely to drink in the sun's radiance. Only the sound of frogs croaking, birds chirping and fish surfacing from the water greeted me as I watched life unfolds in the mystical and historical Lake Sebu.

Nestled within the Allah valley of South Cotabato, Lake Sebu is the heart of the ancestral domain of the T'boli and Ubo. Though a number of tourist resorts flocked its banks, it continuously fosters a culture and tradition that the people of the lake struggle to preserve nowadays. 

The best way to experience that culture and tradition is to explore the place and get to know its people. A short distance from the Mountain Lake Eco Resort where my colleagues and I were housed in was a village of T'boli living through farming in the hills and fishing in the lake. That magnificent morning, I laced up my running shoes, strapped on my camera and followed the trail towards the village. 

However, the I found it still sleeping so I decided to take a run beyond and to fill my lungs with the fresh mountain air. It was a beautiful trail with forest growth and corn fields in either side of the mountain. The lake was seen below and the blue mountains from afar. It was a lonely road with no cars or motorcycles passing by that hour in the morning, thus it was indeed ideal for people like me who prefers the tranquility of nature. 

On the trail, I met some farmers on their way to the fields with their warm greetings of "Maayong aga!" or good morning. I also happen to meet some T'boli children on their way to school which was obvious from their backpacks. Their shy glances and gentle smiles encouraged me to befriend them and soon enough they were posing for the camera and giggling at the sight of their photos. It was a wonderful experience and it was also a sign that the once sleeping village was stirring to life so I turned around and went back. 

The smoke billowed from the kitchens of the houses and the fragrant smell of coffee and breakfast welcomed me to the village. I was about to make my presence known when a woman's voice from inside one of the houses shouted,"Dayon!" telling me to come inside her house. 

I quickly removed my shoes and socks and climbed up the stairs of the traditional gono (house) of the T'boli. It was made of bamboo walls and floors and was built on stilts six feet from the river bank. Inside it was minimal space with wide shelves on all four sides that could serve as beds, lounge, tables and other possible uses. There was only one big window that opened to the view of the lake and our resort. The owner of the gono was very accommodating despite the chaos of the household full of little children. In all the goings-on, she introduced me to her mother who was weaving a mat near the big window. 

She could not speak any other dialect aside from her native tongue so I contented myself with watching her work. While she was weaving, she tried talking to me and somehow I heard the word monom and suddenly I got even more interested. It so happened that monom is a familiar word to me since I heard it mentioned and even saw it being done several times by the Teduray and the Lambangian of Maguindanao. Knowing that these tribes who are miles away from each other share a similar weaving tradition or monom was another stone in the pile of knowledge on the traditional kinship between and among the indigenous groups of Mindanao. 

It was an amazing learning experience indeed and as I left the gono saying my thanks and my farewells, I wondered how many people like me had braved that extra mile to reach out and get to know other people's culture and tradition and eventually strip themselves of their discrimination and biases.

Little did I know that I would find the answer to my question in the caption of a photograph of a gono hanging on the wall of our resort later that day. It said that the gono traditionally had a rolled-up ladder to keep intruders (i.e strangers like me) out. The warm welcome that the T'boli household gave me only showed the great capacity of humans to interact, accept and learn from each other. 

Tey bong nawa hu kuy, Lake Sebu! Thank you!

Positive Reinforcement: The Breakfast of our Little Champions

"Swimmers, take your mark!" I can feel the blood pumping and rushing to my head as I waited for the single beep that would start the competition. I focused my eyes on the clear blue water of the pool and the colorful lane lines that led to the end. I held my breath and as I heard the beep, I rose to my feet and shouted, "Go Ishi!" "Go Lara!" My yells were lost when the rest of the crowd went wild as the swimmers sliced through the water and raced towards the finishing line. This was the frenzy that parents and relatives of novice swimmers created during the Southern Mindanao Swimming Association's Novice Meet in Paraiso Verde Resort and Water Park in Koronadal City on June 1, 2013. 

Watching my nieces, Ishi, 10 and Lara, 8 donned training caps and swimsuits representing the
Jeorgetown Swim Club in the meet was heartwarming enough. But watching them prove their endurance and strength in the 25-meter freestyle, butterfly, breaststroke and backstroke as well as in the individual kickboard and relay events, deserved most of my adoration and respect for these girls. With just a month of training, they braved the competition with hesitation that they may fail at first. And I salute my sister, their Nanay Sherly for encouraging both of them that it is not about winning; it's about gaining experience and learning from the event. This, plus the enduring patience of their coaches and of course, the wavepool and the tour of the city factored in building their confidence to join the swimming meet. 

It was a long day with 170 swimmers and 13 heats for every event and it almost took its toll on my nieces but our support and encouragement helped them made it through the day. As I massaged Ishi's back and made her laugh with my quips, I remembered how my parents used to encouraged us to work hard and do our best in everything we do because learning comes with it. When you fail, you know you did your best and when it's time to push yourself again, you know what to do to achieve your goals. Positive encouragement, this is what it is called. And this was what their coaches, their teammates and most of all, their parents did to bring home the bronze.