Chi Squared

Reel Life

2010-01-05T18:23:00.000-08:00

As soon as I started stating in Facebook that I would venture to watch my 100 most favorite films, a friend asked me why I would spend (that much) time watching movies when all I needed to do was download the American Film Institute's Best 100 films of all time, or google Time Magazine's 100 most outstanding films. Same friend asked, "Do you really want to go through and spend all your free time -- whatever you have left -- sitting on your couch and watch movie after movie, many of which are mere suggestions from eager friends?" (BTW -- this same person suggested 12 of the first 50 movies I listed).

I did not reply verbally. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders, raised my palms up and tilted my head to one side, which is really my polite way of saying, "whatever!"

But there is a reason. One morning as I was listening to a morning news movie critic lambast a film that I thought was excellently made, I started to wonder my taste in everything. What kind of films do I like? And what do these movies say about me? Do I like these movies because they were award-winning, critically acclaimed projects? Or was there a more basic tickle I had that I would not dare declare in public? In the same vein, what kind of music, food, books, places and such interest me and what does the totality of these interests say about me as a person?

So I set on a journey -- to watch these films is to discover myself. What tugs at my, often called pragmatic and academic, heart and mind?

So here we go. After watching about 88 or so films since October 2009, I have come up with the first 50 of the RT 100. And what did I like about these films? A lot.

What does it say about me? You be the judge.

I find that special effects do not interest me at all -- humans turning into wolves, Golden Gate bridge being cut in pieces and made to float in mid air, or a tidal wave toppling over the Empire State Building and flooding all of Manhattan -- these do not impress me. Townsfolk dancing in synchronized, choreographed fashion don't thrill me. And couples screaming at each other or talking as they shed tears of heartbreak on a bridge overlooking a river shimmering in the golden rays of a setting sun -- Please! I could vomit.

But simple stories interest me -- a lawyer defending a disadvantaged poor soul (To Kill A Mockingbird), a bet collector trying to survive on a daily basis by taking advantage of the ignorance of others (Kubrador), or even an operetta about young star-crossed lovers who couldn't fulfill a promise they made to each other (Umbrellas of Cherbourg). Movies have shown me that there is no such thing as a boring life. Life is as colorful and as exciting as you make it out to be. Delivering mail (Il Postino) becomes an adventure in discovering how many ways can one express one's devotion to a loved one.

The power of the human spirit to overcome the biggest hurdles inspires me. Granted, some films drown in the "oh, poor is me" syndrome and lead you to a tragic ending, they still show that all of us have the determination, tenacity, and desire to evolve to be better, happier beings. How a child crosses international borders just to be reunited with his mother (La Luna Misma) or how a young man dares to face opponent after opponent only to fulfill his destiny to become a woman (Beautiful Boxer), or how a man with AIDS dares to face humiliation and scorn to get justice (Philadelphia). No problem is too big to drown our resolve to live a life of dignity, respect and fulfillment.

We have the power to change the course of our lives -- no matter how rough the terrain may be. We could lose our children (Sophie's Choice), our best friend (Kite Runner), our dignity (Water), but the capacity to hold on to a dream and rework our strategy over and over and over again remains in our possession. We will live through a hundred lifetimes if that is what it takes to get to fulfillment -- and sacrifice what we need to sacrifice if in the end, it will bring a greater good.

I am fascinated with eternal optimism and with people who view life as a big stage to be entertained from. Nothing fazes them. The boy in UP, or Amelie, or Holly Golightly, Chef Babette, Edith Piaf -- they all saw the goodness in people and the goodness in themselves. I want to see the goodness in everything. To entertain and be entertained. To live life as a comedy where every turn is a fascinating storyline, and everyone can, indeed, win.

I am emboldened by great vision. Of people who can speak from the heart and move a nation. Through films, I am a witness to history -- how a nation is born (Gandhi), how the mafia is ruled (Godfather), how a town evolves (Cinema Paradiso), and how some foreign cultures challenge every core principle we have as a civilized society (Raise the Red Lantern).

The basic rule that good wins over evil is not a cliche. Whether it happens in a galaxy far, far away (Star Wars) or in some magical place in deep, inner earth (Pan's Labyrinth), this universal truth is something we all embrace and for which we cheer when we see it in widescreen. The ending may be predictable, but the underdog with the heart of gold always, always wins on screen.

But the harsh realities of human nature is also exposed. We know how we can manipulate desires to get our victories: how a woman uses lust as a way to take revenge (Insiang), or how we put ourselves at risk for material gain (Maria Full of Grace), or how the ravages of war spare no one, not even the innocent (Au Revoir Les Enfants).

Life is crazy (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown), is sad (Farewell My Concubine), is desolate and lonely (Out of Africa), but with family and friends it can be bearable - even melodic, comical, breathlessly exciting, daring, and sexy.

I find that as I watch films that are well-directed, well-acted, well-shot, well-lighted, well-treated with stories that are well-written, conceived, adapted and supported with music that are well-scored, well-timed, that they become more than just entertainment. They transcend beyond moving pictures that fill up a screen for 120 or so minutes. They become a part of your life, a part of your hopes, and a part of your losses. They harken you to a time when you were a child yourself hiding up in a tree with a piece of cookie snatched from a well sealed jar on the kitchen counter. These films remind you why you love and why you hate, why you left that good-for-nothing, alcoholic bum you once called your husband, and why the person you are seated next to on your couch now has become the love of your life. These films, these 50 at least, tell me, no, they validate for me what I have lived through the past 44 years and remind me that I have not done badly myself. I may not have flown in a propeller plane over the fields of Africa, nor have I dared to seduce someone through my culinary talents, but as scene after scene is played out, I am told that yes, I have loved deeply and passionately, that I worked hard to get to where I am professionally, and why, above all the conflict and rage in human history, someone needs to dare stand up and speak the truth.

The movies do not just "make me want to become a better man" (a prize to whoever can name the film that this line is from), they make me want to become a better citizen of an an ever evolving community.

I can only imagine what the next 50 films will make me want to be...

Fairy Tales, Getting the Prince and Modern 5th graders

2009-12-15T09:43:00.000-08:00

Last night, I combined 2 lessons into one -- compare and contrast 2 fairy tales -- both having similar concepts to Cinderella: one was a Canadian Indian story and the other about Cindy Ellie in East Baltimore. The scholars needed to know how to compare and contrast two separate things. In this case, two fairy tales.

I asked Jonathan and Jessinia, both 5th graders, to read with flare and drama -- that made for a fun reading for all of us.

We then compared and contrasted the two stories: Cinderella had a pumpkin, Cindy Ellie had onions! CInderella had glas slippers, Cindy Ellie had gold sandals. Cinderella had a fairy godmother, Cindy Ellie had a godma. And both girls in the story were treated badly by their ugly sisters, but both got the prince in the end.

Which led me to an interesting discussion with them:

First question: what's so great about getting the man in the end? Is this the goal of every young girl? Jessinia said, "well thats because they are not working and they don't want to be with their sisters anymore. But if they were working in like an office or something then maybe they wouldn't get marriedd so soon."

Second question: why are fairy tales always starring girls?

Jonathan said because girls read fairy tales. I said, I read fairy tales. Jonathan said thats because you're a mentor. You have to read it. Id rather watch football (which led us to a tangent about the Redskins vs Raiders game last Sunday but thats beside the point and jessinia was annoyed we took 5 minutes to discuss the game).

Third Question: Name 2 fairy tales that star guys. Any guesses?

Frog Prince, Aladin, Jack and the Beanstalk, Pincocchio, come to mind.

Fourth Question: You need to write a modern fairy tale starring yourself.

Jessinia asked -- do we need to get married to a guy in the end?

I said no.

She said, oh good. Because I don't like anybody right now.

Thanks

2009-11-27T10:36:00.000-08:00

I have been very lucky, I know. A lot in my life came to me as opportunities -- some I took advantage of, some I let go. No regrets there. I am thankful for those opportunities that were provided both consciously and unconsciously by many people I respect and admire. Here are some of them:

Papa and Mama - I cannot think of a better set of parents. They were the perfect blend. Papa is very businesslike -- focused, to the point, stern, disciplined and hardworking. Mama was idealistic, optimistic, romantic, entrepreneurial, and very loving. From my Papa, I learned how to think strategically -- how one action can lead to several others. From my Mama, I learned to believe in the goodness in people and that love matters most both for heart and mind.

Ms. Silvatus, Mr. Dizon, Mr. Fabian, Mrs. Rodrigo, Dr. Chao - my 3rd grade teacher, my 6th grade teacher, my 6th grade Moderator, my junior year high school teacher, and my graduate school advisor. They were more than teachers. They were mentors. They believed in my capacity to learn at high levels and pushed me to reach my potential. My view of life, learning and potential stem from what they showed me -- that smarts and talent are not enough. It takes hard work, sweat and a lot of thinking to really learn and absorb what you've learned. Learning is not just about reading or writing or listening in class. Learning is mostly about experience and absorbing whatever life has to offer and brings to you. I was neither their favorite nor their pet, but I was a mind to mold. I can only hope that they would be proud of what I have accomplished so far, and that, in repayment, I can translate and transfer that inspiration to other young people now.

Tita Ernie and Yeyeng - Tita Ernie was showbiz -- she knew everyone and everyone knew her. She was articulate, vocal, and very very active. She had the knack for smart questions and always busy. She made it possible for me to come to the US, and for that I will be forever grateful. Yeyeng was the most adoring grandmother a kid can ever have -- she cooked everything you wanted, cut your hair in anime fashion, and was always groovy and colorful in her wardrobe. She loved life. She loved her husband, her children and grandchildren. She was God fearing, faithful and devoted. In short, she was grounded in her principles. I never met any other person as grounded as she was.

Bob Atria, Mike Szubski, Dan Waller, Dick Johnson, Amanda Broun, Wendy Puriefoy - former supervisors, bosses, and mentors. Everything I needed to know how leadership, management and caring for people you work with I learned from each and everyone of these people. From being a "temporary data entry clerk" to Chief of staff of a national education network, I learned that the best way to grow an organization is to grow its people. Nothing more, nothing less. That vision without strategy is a wish, and strategy without vision is merely being busy. These are smart, articulate, focused managers. They loved their work, they loved getting to work. It was insanely infectious. I only hope that being CEO now, I can also have a similar impact on those who work for and with me.

Mark Roman, Dante Gatmaytan, BAGOBOS, Munam Villorante - my 3rd grade best friend, my high school best friend, my college friends, and my Filipino friend in DC -- they remind me that I am never on my own, and that there are people upon whom I can always count and lean. My fondest memories of childhood, adolescence and adulthood involve each of them -- and though I have not been in contact with Mark for over 35 years, I am sure he also remembers the other kid whom the teacher in 3rd grade class said was most behaved. Dante is my idol in grassroots activism -- he has managed to stay true his passion and raise a beautiful family. BAGOBOS is a fun crowd -- through thick and thin. And Munam is the most creative, passionate, artistic, and craziest Pinoy I know in the Metro DC area. Her honesty, verve and excitement over sentimental things always remind me that its the small things that matter in life: your love for your child, your spouse, and the ways you can help people around as people have helped you in the past.

William - my rock, my world. I have not met anyone funnier, smarter, more hardworking, and more devoted than William. What he values the most are the simple things in life -- a good home, dear friends, meaningful work, and the capacity to appreciate new experiences. Like me, he is a small boy in a big man's body -- playful, cheerful, and loving. I hope we never grow up, and that we will always be hungry to discover the world over and over again.

A Letter to My Nieces and Nephews

2009-11-04T18:41:00.000-08:00

Hey guys,

As the weather in Washington DC turns colder and the trees along New Hampshire Avenue begin to lose their leaves, I am reminded that the holidays are just around the corner and that means I get to see you all again pretty soon. I am so excited!

There is never a day that passes without me thinking about how you all are doing. Fortunately, your parents are often on-line and whenever we do get to chat, they always tell me how things are with you and relay to me your latest antics -- both good and bad.

I miss you guys. It is not just the "I miss you" that means "I never get to see you." It is the "I miss you" kind that makes me a little bit regretful that I don't get to be part of your everyday life, and you in mine. There is so much that I want to make sure you know and make you feel good about, and there is also so much I want to learn and witness from you.

One of the foremost things I want you to know is that you have kind, loving parents. I don't think there is a parent in this world who wishes less for their children than they have had, but your parents (my brothers and sisters) would move heaven and earth for you guys. They would work hard, sweat blood, and give up their souls for you. I hope you realize that.

I never thought they would be such great parents, to be honest. Seriously, while growing up I always observed them to be free-wheeling, stubborn crazies. Ugh, they were brats! We all were, I think. But they grew up nicely...decently, in fact. A little bit still crazy at times, but overall good, decent folks. I could tell you about some crazy things they did back when we were growing up in our duplex-turned-into-one house on 10th Avenue in Quezon City, but they will probably strangle me for giving you ammunition for possible blackmail material down the road. So I will leave it up to them to tell you some snippets of our often funny yet wholesome experiences.

But let me first tell you about things you should feel lucky not to experience --

1) Hauling a portable typewriter to school to finish term papers that require specific margins, perfect typing skills, and carbon paper -- because you always need to have a copy for back up just in case your teacher loses the one you submitted and claims you never did turn it in. Thank Jobs and Wozniak for developing the personal computer and changing the way we write our papers.

2) Waiting for the neighbor to end their phone call so you can call your friends -- party lines are never a party. Imagine a phone line -- yes, an actual, real wire that connects your phone to some light post out on the street. That line would be shared by two or three or even four houses. You share one phone number and you just need to be vigilant about when to use it so as not to be bothered or pestered by neighbors who could listen in on your conversation. Count everyday as a blessing every time you pick up your cellphone and call or text someone at your convenience. Good times, indeed!

3) Lining up at the post office to buy stamps and mail a letter to someone living some 6000 miles away. Do you know how often I heard from your parents while I was living in the US during my teens and early 20s? Probably once every two months. Sixty days I would wait to receive a letter from Manila -- and the letter would have two full pages of stories and notes, and three pages of requests to buy clothing items, toys, or food (Hm mm.. not much has changed in that department). Thank heavens for e-mail, text and Face book. I get to read about your thoughts that moment you think it and type it in.

But there are certain things you missed out, and chances are you will never get to enjoy:

1) watching your parents play war with their brand new toy guns only to hurt each other at some point. Someone will cry and your grandpa would collect the toy guns and smash them to the ground. That was quite a sight.

2) Get the family around the television after dinner to watch Love Boat, CHIPS, and Knight rider in one evening. You won't get to see your grandma get up and leave to go to another room to watch "See-True," the primary entertainment news/gossip program during those times. You will never get to experience what its like for a family of five to get so excited because your grandpa decided to open a bar of Nestle Crunch -- freshly bought from a PX store somewhere in Paranaque (I think Ingrid is the name of the woman who sold it to him). Yep...we would share one giant bar of nestle crunch! Impossible to imagine, isn't it?

3) Speaking of your grandma, I am sad that you never got a chance to know her. She was the most loving, giving, idealistic, generous woman I have ever known. She would have enjoyed seeing you all gathered in the living room being loud and funny as you all are now. There is so much I want to say about her that you should know, but I'll save it for another time. But do know this -- she held our family close and tight. Your grandma deserves a lot of credit for making sure we are one big, close family. Through thick and thin, poverty or health, we are one.

You are all going to grow up and experience different and similar things. You will love your parents, and you will hate them. There will be times when they are the best people in your life, and times when you don't even want them in your closed circle. Its normal. Its okay. We do not always have to like each other -- we do, however, support each other always. In tough times or easy, we are there for each other. And as long as there is Tagle standing up in the room, you can always count on someone to lean on.

I know. For over 25 years I have lived on my own, but I can always count on family to be there. And these past twenty five years, I have felt closer to them -- to you -- even if I do not see each and everyone of you on a daily basis. These 25 years have not been for nothing. I learned a lot about knowing what is truly worthy and valuable. Here are another three lessons I always want you to remember:

1) Value your education. School is not just a routine to do on a daily basis. School is not just about submitting term papers, or doing homework. Its not something you hope you can just go through and and hope to get it over with. There is nothing better than a good education. Its the daily realization of your growing capacity to become better people and good citizens. I know it sounds mushy, but believe me. I speak from experience. Never take for granted the kind of education you are receiving. It will hone you to become the person you will be in the future. Going to school may feel right now like something you just have to do because your parents say you need to, but I hope you realize that it is really the avenue for you to be kind of people you always want to be (yes, even becoming the dinosaur you want to be when you grow up).

2) Saying I love you is never corny. When I would speak to your grandma on the phone, she would always end it with "Love you, darling ko". Ugh, I felt squeamish. I never said it back. And you know what? Now, I wish I did. I wish that I said it to her everyday and every time I hear her voice. I want to hug her close and tell her that I do love her and I am glad that I am her darling. Now, I would give up everything I have to do that even if just once. To realize what one had to go through to give you every possible chance to succeed in life is to discover that there is nothing corny or squeamish about saying I love you.

3) Never be afraid to discover the world. I know that you have many priorities and dreams. One of them is to be liked in school, to have friends you can hang out with, and well..not be bullied. We have all been there, believe me. But there is a much bigger world out there -- beyond the 2 or 3 best friends you now have, beyond the school grounds you study in, and beyond the neighborhood you live in. There is so much to learn and experience and absorb. You will have dreams and ambitions, and some of them may seem pretty exciting for the moment. But in this regard, be selfish. Think about what the world has to offer your fresh young minds and its all for you to take. Go out there and discover it, gather as much as you can, and learn as much as you can. Don't get stuck in one corner. Don't give in to short term pressures to be liked or be popular. Be bold and know your potential is limitless --

I cannot wait to see you all for the holidays....you all should have grown up at least an inch -- and wider, too, as the pictures seem to indicate (LOL)....that is all good!

PS -- Regards to your parents, tell them not to smash your toys on the floor when they hear you cry...

5th Grade, Pupusas and Tokyo in China

2009-10-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

Last night, I started mentoring two 5th grade scholars at one of Higher Achievement's centers in Washington, DC. Jessinia just turned eleven and Jonathan is ten years old. To introduce us to each other, I asked each of them to make a list of things about them that would let me get to know them better. I asked for their favorite subjects in school. Jessinia likes science and social studies because she likes learning new things, while Jonathan likes reading because he likes to write stories. Both think Math is hard and takes a lot of hard work.

I asked them about favorite food. Jessinia likes pizza…with pepperoni…from Dominos. Jonathan likes chicken parmesan. His choice came as a no brainer when he explained he wanted to be a chef when he grows up. We talked about food that he already knows how to cook.”Eggs,” he said, “I scramble it with salt, pepper.” Jessinia, not to be outdone, said she knows how to make tortillas. And Jonathan, in a show of one upmanship raised the bar: he knows how to make pupusas.

“You take the dough like this, and roll it like this with your hands."
"Okay, " I imitated with my own hands.
"Then you take the chicken or the carnitas and put in the middle like this."
"Uhmm, " I wondered, "how do I cook the chicken or carnitas?"
"Uhmm.. I don't know, It just comes that way. I will ask my dad, but usually when I get to the kitchen to help, its ready."

Both spoke about their fathers in high regard. Their fathers are the best – one put his son in the soccer team, while the other takes his daughter shopping for things she needs in school. The high level of pride and beam in their eyes when they talk about the work their fathers do were feelings I can relate to. Both of their dads are great cooks – in fact one is a chef at a big hotel in downtown.

We then moved on to the lesson at hand: understanding standard English and vernacular (they learned the definition of the word vernacular, which according to American Dictionary are 1) the language of state or nation of origin; 2) slang; or 3) everyday language. It was differentiated from standard English.

Why do you need to be good at both vernacular and standard English?
Both gave good answers:
1) Because in school they are strict about standard English;
2) Because other members of your family can only speak Spanish so you need to be able to talk to them and there are other people who only speak English.
3) Because if you are applying for a job, its like if you know two languages, you will get hired.

Its amazing how our scholars can grasp the real world issues of culture, economy, and of course street survival -- i.e., how do you get through the day without getting trouble from anyone.
And then they started asking me about my language -- which led to my travels, which led to China. They asked me 3 times throughout the evening if I were Chinese. Three times I reminded them I'm Filipino. And three times they asked me why I looked Chinese.

Anyway, we had some geography lessons as well, because they asked about China a lot..like:
1) Is the Great Wall really great? I said yes, its more than four thousand miles long and very, very old. It was meant to keep enemies out.
2) Is Tokyo the largest city in China? Uhmm.. no because Tokyo is in Japan. The largest city in China is Shanghai. There are places in China that are larger than Texas which is considered a province, and they have big cities, too.
3) We love Chinese food. What's the best Chinese restaurant in DC? I said, probably Mei Wah on M Street, but I havent been to all. Jonathan said the best is the one beside 7-11. He likes the fried rice there.

Lead!

2009-10-26T18:25:00.001-07:00

Ever since I became Higher Achievement's CEO, I have been hungry for leadership materials. I would read everything I can grab a hold of-- from Jim Collins' Good to Great to Bridgespan articles on leadership components and factors. I would deconstruct theories on leadership and define each segment, and reconstruct it using various theories on change, organization behavior, and people management. I have even put several core models in place at Higher Achievement: Gallup Institute's strength-based approach to management, Collin's hedgehog principle to maintain focus, and even Meadow's systems-based approach to sustainability and balance.

It is as if leadership is an exact science -- a set of knowledge based on a series of processes, systems, actions, and functions that lead to solid outcomes.

When, in fact, there are very human (i.e., imperfect) and contextual elements to leadership, many of which we experience on a daily basis. Some of it is survival instinct, some are reactions to external forces. There are a fewI want to point out that are often neglected in discussions and overview of effective leadership:

1. Fear
I am constantly afraid. Afraid that I may make the wrong decision, which can impact many individuals and their families. An opportunity missed could lead to scarcity of resources -- and scarcity of resources lead to budget cuts. I am also afraid of unintended consequences. Many choices lead to certain outcomes and results we never anticipate. There are lots of what ifs, perhaps(es), and even maybes in a position of constant decision making. One needs to weigh not just facts but also intuition and gut. It is easy to accept responsibility for consequences for one's decision and action, but it is another to witness the impact of these consequences on other people.

2. Doubt
Sometimes I put in question my own capacities. How did I get here? Do I belong here? With so many people smarter, bolder, braver, more attractive, more personable, why am I the one in this position? What did I do to get to this level of "vision and inspiration?" As an ethnic minority, I often find myself in formal and informal discussions of race, class and power --whether I want to or not. Did my talents and skills really land me at where I am, or is merely the mix of opportunity, quotas, and referrals? Stripped down to the bare essentials, do I really have what it takes?

3. Guilt
Regardless of how inclusive one's management style or process is, the buck stops at the top -- leaders cannot hold others accountable for the decisions made at the top. Leaders depend on data and information at hand, interaction with other key stakeholders, and discussions of the pros and cons. But the act of bridge crossing is made alone. And after the decision is made, leaders often look back to see the aftermath of a path not taken. I often look back at certain decisions and view the various scenarios that could have saved a job, or served more clients, or saved a department from cuts. Its a never ending process. And, oh, the burden of a wrong decision -- the wrong hire, the wrong message, the wrong strategy --- a leader is often left with this strange pang of guilt: why did I do that???

4. Solitude
Alone. One. Solo. There are no peers in an organization that one leads. You manage a team, you report to a board. The peers are in their own little islands scattered across the sea and sometimes there are no bridges to connect them. You witness other leaders' actions and a stranger to your own. It is not an issue of trust, but accountability. It is never a leader's salvo to bring someone else down with him. It is a tough and interesting ride to the top, but once there, it is isolating.

Fear. Doubt. Guilt. Solitude. These are not necessarily negative terms. They are not meant to scare off anyone from pursuing leadership. It is actually brave and bold to embrace these vulnerabilities for it is in accepting and embracing one's own humanity that leadership begins to solidify. To know your vulnerabilities is to accept that you are not indispensable. And you will constantly battle for survival. It is usually the proud ones who do not see the attack coming. It is the proud ones that tumble with the giant waves.

I seek guidance. I seek understanding. For every decision I make, I am aware of the hundred ones that I don't. For every question answered, ten more pop up. And it is the balancing of what I can manage and control, and what I need to let go of that dictates my daily routine.

Is there an end to this balancing act? It is as if you asked if there is an end to life. The balancing ends when your arms get tired of carrying the weight, when your lung collapses from breathing in and out too much, when your heart stops pumping, and your spirit loses the desire to soar. Anyone can have wings, but few have the desire to soar.

Train, Train, Go Away

2009-10-12T18:08:00.000-07:00

5:45 am and I have my goals written on paper as clear as day and the September 2007 issue of Muscle & Fitness magazine. After waiting for what seemed like forever (and a day), the trainer finally walked into the gym and, seeing that no one else was seated in the trainer's office except me, asked, "Richard?"

I stood and extended by my hand to shake his. He mentioned to call him "Rhys."

"So what can I help you with?" he asked.

I showed him the magazine, pointed at the cover and said, "I want to look like this."

He took the magazine off my hand, and holding it just under his belly with both hands, quizzically looked and told me point blank, "But you can't look like this."

"What do you mean I can't look like that?"

He gave the magazine back to me. "Well, dude, first of all. The guy on the cover is white. You're Asian. And he must be what, 30 tops? Aren't you like forty or something?"

Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. Maybe I should have stayed with my routine of working out by myself. This guy just broke 3 rules of my "I don't deal with people who are.." guide:

First, no one calls me "dude." If we were drunk, in college, and high on pot, perhaps. Yes, call me dude. But no one was drunk that early morning. And we were hardly in college, and god, I hope, he wasn't high. Nevertheless, I am not "dude." I am Richard.

Second, no one, in my presence, can act stupid. Because if they do, that means I knowingly submitted myself to be in the presence of stupid people. And I do not put my self in situations where I could find myself looking for the nearest exit. Mingling at a cocktail party chatting about the rain in Spain that stayed on the plain? Sure, I will try anything. But after a while, you know where that conversation is going, so you either switch topics or switch guests.

Third, no one insults me and gets away with it. I am, after all, what my sisters call a well-honed, self-taught insultant. Call me old and I will, within a flicker of breath, call you out on your horribly dyed blond hair, steroid injected neckline, and pimply squash of a nose. Besides...who is he to tell me what I can or cannot look like? Obviously he is the one with the identity crisis: calling himself Rhys when his name is actually Rafael.

So I had a retort. I am not trying to "LOOK" like the guy on the cover. I want to have the body type of the guy on the cover. Massive, lean, and symmetrical.

"Oh," he said, "that!"

Yes, Frankenfreak,....that!

He took a look at my build. "Well...you are already huge..tall and huge."

Six feet, one inch tall. One hundred eighty seven pounds. It says right there on the form I filled out.

He also said, "this takes a lot of work."

Come on people, give me a break! Am I on candid camera or something? Seriously. People work on a college degree to say those lines? Of course it takes work. You do not think my waking up at 4:30 in the morning for the last twenty three years of my life to haul 25 -pound dumbbells over my head repeatedly until I forget the rep count (or run out of breath, whichever comes first) not work???

So I simply said, "I am willing to do whatever it takes to look like this."

This -- by the way -- is what many call the ultimate picture of a manly physique: broad, meaty shoulders, melon-sized biceps, mountainous chest, valley-wide back, and tapering into the smallest waist you can imagine on a six foot frame. Yes I am a gym rat and I wanted the body to prove it. At 44.

He asked me about my routine -- the exercises I do, how often and how many days of the week.

Everyday, I said. Or at least, I try to everyday. It averages about 4 to 5 days a week. For about an hour an a half each session. And I try to do cardio at least three days a week -- although lately, the call of the couch had been louder than the call of the treadmill.

"Well," he assessed,"your shape is not bad. I'd say we should concentrate more on the side delts to round up the shoulders. And your chest is too big compared to your back and arms. We'll ease up on that. And add some weight to your arm sets. And focus on more targeted areas of the back."

"Let me see your legs" he ordered.

I took my sweat pants off and revealed my pale leg skin in running shorts.

"We need to beef up your legs. They are not skinny. But they need to be defined. We'll get you doing calf raises in no time!"

He asked me about my diet.

That's where my defenses went down. My diet. He was about to discover my Waterloo. My Achilles heel. My Bay of Pigs. My Pearl Harbour.

"What do you have for breakfast?"

I pretended to think back. But at heart I knew: Sausage biscuit with egg, or an egg scramble burrito. Sometimes, when I am in a hurry: a blueberry muffin.

Lunch? Cosi sandwiches, chips, diet coke...and a brownie. Or a cookie. Or a frozen custard. Heck, I sometimes have the frozen custard FOR lunch!

Dinner -- is whatever's left from the previous day. Sometimes pizza, if lazy. Or if adventurous: Crawfish in saffron cream sauce over penne pasta.

"Rhys" just stared at me as I narrated the items. "You know," he said, "every time you eat those, you are negating the hard work you do at the gym."

I nodded my head. "But," I said, "I look at it from the point of being able to eat whatever I want because I work my ass off at the gym!"

He shook his head. He then went on to say that the health and shape of our bodies is 60% diet, 30% exercise, and 10% genes. The big part of being lean and mean is eating foods that are lean and mean. He wrote the word SUGAR on a sheet and put a big X mark over it. "No sugar," he said, "for the next six weeks." He wrote the word VEGETABLES. And put a check mark next to it. "Beginning this week, you will eat fresh, leafy, green and yellow vegetables. And lots of them."

Fat. He wrote this word in big old letters. "There is good fat -- omega 3s -- fish oils, olive oil, you know -- seafood fare....And there is bad fat: solid lard that blocks your arteries. We will stay away from those."

I looked at the list. My heart sank. Do I really need to give up what I enjoy to look like the guy on the cover? Does this guy on the cover even exist in real life? Does he have friends? Or does everyone hate him for the way he looks? Does he really enjoy eating boiled chicken, steamed sweet potato, and an orange for dessert? This cover guy must be grumpy everyday. I would be if that is all I ate.

I know there are certain things we give up because we know the long term pay off. We study hard for twenty (sometimes twenty four) years because a college degree will get us better paying jobs. We work on relationships because we know it establishes stability and fulfillment. We tend to our gardens on the off season because we know come harvest time, we reap the benefits of toiling the soil. And we practice our craft because it is, in the long run, the work that gives our souls meaning, depth, and relevance.

But some things are not meant giving up. Not the feeling of being back home as a 12-year old and biting on to a pancake swimming in butter and maple syrup, not the enjoyment of a frozen creamy dairy product that reminds you of evening runs to Dairy Queen with your grandfather, or the homemade treats wrapped in foil coming out of grandma's huge purse. You do not give up those things because it is those things that hearken you to a time when everything was all right. You were loved, taken cared of...you were home.

"Any questions?" Rhys asked.

"Yes," I said. "Can I get a refund for this first session?"

Walk in My Shoes

2009-10-12T11:37:00.000-07:00

Higher Achievement -DC Metro had a very successful gala last Thursday night. The reception hall of The (note the capital T!) French Embassy was filled with about 400 people or so -- all believing in the importance of opportunity in the lives of poor, minority youth in the nation's capital. We even had Pulitzer Prize winner Ronald Suskind, author of A Hope in the Unseen, speak about our role as the privileged members of society to ensure that the doors to opportunity, achievement, and second chances remain wide open for those who enter after us.

My facial muscles were on overdrive as I smiled and shook hands with the organization's most stern and avid champions, and meeting new and prospective ones. Even my personal friends showed strong support to expand the opportunities we provide to our middle school students. It was humbling and exciting evening -- $270,000 in corporate sponsorships, $75,000 in ticket sales, and $57,000 in auction proceeds. The evening brought in over $400,000 in funds. Not bad, not bad at all.

I bought new shoes for the occasion -- terrible mistake. I made a mental note: for all evening mingling, standing, and walking about, DO NOT WEAR NEW SHOES. As the evening wore on, my wide smile became less authentic because instead of "glad you can join us" or "Great to meet you, and please enjoy the wine and the buffet inside" what I really wanted to say is "These shoes are killing me, please take them off my feet and throw them into the Potomac!"

But you know what got me through that?

The thought that millions of children everywhere are suffering everyday in a much, much more significant way than I was that evening. Imagine not even having any shoes to wear to walk to school, not having any safe and clean water to drink, having to work to earn their keep, or not being able to imagine what play must feel like.

To not be a kid when you are a kid is, I think, a cruelty. I want children to have the broadest, wildest imagination. To dream of riding a dinosaur and attack a horde of aliens from Planet Spectro or to imagine that one is wearing a cellular transformer that enables you to shift shape and take on the figure of a host of creatures and species across ten galaxies: this is what childhood is like.

The gift of childhood that we reject in adulthood is the capacity to imagine we have limitless possibilities, that the world is ours to shape.

Somehow, at some age, we stop believing in this capacity and we face reality that we can only be masters of a limited scope. That our choices are limited to what is deemed adult, mature, and responsible.

I am at awe at the young people I meet who are relentlessly focused on what they want to be: a doctor, a lawyer, a detective, a surgeon, a ballerina, an Oscar winning director/actor/cinematographer, an opera diva, an architect of green homes, a lunar geologist, a Renaissance art critic, an urban planner, a finance executive. All worthy ambitions that speak to their talent.

I do not want these young people to grow up only to focus on their limitations. I want them to continue believing that they can free the citizens of Spectro from evil Aliens. I want them to continue to believe that the world is to there for them to shape, and destiny is an outcome they can influence.

As soon as I get home Thursday night, I sat on the couch and removed my shoes. Dang! Getting those things off me felt good. I stretched my legs, put my feet up on the coffee table and closed my eyes.

If I am this tired from a 4 hour reception -- I wonder how children in impoverished areas feel? Do they build a resiliency not even Superman can imagine? Do they just shrug their shoulders and go about their ordeal? Or do they, in spite of all that hardship, continue to see each day as one big opportunity for imagination and play?

I took my tie off and let a sigh of relief. I picked up my shoes and stared at them -- how much did I pay for a pair of shoes I would not want to set foot into again?.....there must be an easier way to raise half a million.

A Little Fall of Rain

2009-10-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

On the same day that Manila was ravaged by Ketsana, I complained about the rain in Washington, DC. It was getting my tuxedo wet. I was looking forward to wearing it at a black tie gala that was one of the most anticipated events of Washington's elite. Each year, the gala raises more than $1 million for disadvantaged children and youth in some of the most marginalized neighborhoods in the area. The moment I got the invitation, I counted the weeks, days and hours until the time when I could don the sleek penguin suit and hobnob with the rich and famous and, some, infamous.

Saturday afternoon and it rained all day. And I complained.

We found parking right across the gala hall -- just a few yards, a quick dash and a hop -- and I complained. I was still going to get a drizzle of rain. It was going to make my tuxedo damp. I was not going to look sharp and poised.

I complained about how few hors d'ouvres were being passed around: foie gras, duck rolls, basil shrimp, caviar bites. I complained about the lines at the open bar, and the crowds that gathered around the four silent auction table.

I complained about how I was outbid on a photo shoot with Patrick Leeds, a regionally famous photographer.

And once dinner was served, I complained about how small the beef portion was.

We left the gala shortly after the dancing started. And then I heard the news: Ketsana hit the northern region hard and poured over 400 mm of rain in under ten hours (a month's worth of rain in just a little over half a day) and submerged 80% of Manila in muddy waters. Over 375,000 families lost their homes and valuables and over 270 people died.

I was quiet the rest of Sunday -- and kept muttering to myself how I now take a lot of things for granted. I should have known better. I lost sight of the fact that what I attended Saturday night was a fundraiser to benefit the underprivileged and underserved -- and all I had thought about that whole evening was how I felt. I had been selfish and self-centered.

A lot of people worked hard for what they had, and, in one evening's episode, lost it all. They lost not only property but also loved ones. And for those whose families were fortunate enough to survive the horrible ordeal, I feel that somehow, being on the receiving end of alms made them lose a little bit of dignity, or worse, hope.

Filipinos are resilient. I have often read this. Filipinos have an uncanny way of adapting to their external situations and surroundings, a trait that may have aided in the diaspora of overseas workers. We can live anywhere, survive any ordeal, and adjust to any climate. And we do it with a smile on our faces.

Hundreds of YouTube and Facebook entries posted pictures and videos of the disaster -- some of which were truly heart wrenching: a picture of an adolescent boy carrying what seemed like his younger brother in waist-deep water; a woman wading through brown water while holding a sleeping baby in her arms; and dozens of people standing on rooftops with arms up in the air as if trying to reach the heavens pleading for divine rescue. Yet, some were over dramatic: a slide show of various faces in agony and despair with some ballad playing in the background beckoning the listener to observe what he or she has done to nature("earth"); a video of cars crashing into each other while the recorder's voice is heard screaming and yelping; or, I think this is the worst, a cornucopia of professionally taken photographs of people in various stages of struggle while a Jim Brickmanish song plays. What's the deal? Why the added emotional angle when the disaster itself was already volatile enough? Why add a ballad to an already dramatic scene? Do you want to tug at my heart -- then go ahead and tug, but don't pull it down with over performance. There's a difference between relaying a message and announcing a headline: the former is to educate, to inform. The latter makes you want to buy a copy. In short, it is salesmanship.

Before getting in bed on Sunday evening -- and after reading as many online newstories about the Philippine disaster as I could -- I re-hung the tuxedo in the closet and replaced the shoe trees into my shoes. I made sure my cuff links, cummerbund and bow tie were also in their proper storage spaces. I held the Shanghai Tang cuff links for a while. Its purpose was to keep shirtsleeves intact. Much the same way that hope and resilience keep our spirits intact.

I wish I could give those who lost their loved ones and hard-earned properties the spiritual cuff links they need now. Not the overly done videos that say nothing but drama. There is enough drama in our lives. Enough heartaches, enough pain.

I shouldn't complain about a little raindrop on my lapels.

Ten Cities in Ten Minutes (aka Lee Cha in Wonderland)

2009-09-26T12:49:00.001-07:00

I love to travel. I love seeing different places and people and I love absorbing whatever I can learn about a place's history, culture, and cuisine. I also love walking around cities -- getting lost, looking at maps, seeing surprises around a corner and discovering interesting spots not mentioned in tour guides. (I will, for example, blog about an interesting experience about a quaint chocolate shop in Amsterdam that we chanced upon during one of our "discovery" walks and, since the shop was not mentioned in any guide, could not find again.)

My sisters often ask me about my trips, so I decided to just do a blog entry on some of the most memorable ones and talk about why they were, indeed, memorable. These are not presented in any order, outside of the fact that I downloaded these pictures in haphazard fashion and I have no desire to spend time re-ordering. So here goes...

I. Rome, Italy

Growing up Catholic, I was taught to respect the Catholic Church and participate in all of its multitude of rituals and rites. So, naturally, when I got to Rome, I wanted to experience what's it like to be in the center of the Catholic world: The Vatican and St. Peters Basilica. My first impressions? Design overload. The Vatican Museum was overwhelming -- and neck breaking. Half of the art is seen from the ceiling. I thought maybe it was because back then, people had to pray with their head tilted back? Maybe that's why they had to paint the ceilings so there was at least a beautiful, artistic scenario to be admired. Beautiful? No..it was more than beautiful. It was breathtaking. But after seeing so much art, treasure and wealth -- I began to think about how the Catholic Church could stand to be so wealthy when many Catholics were suffering from poverty, hunger and homelessness. I bet the Vatican would make for a great low-income apartment complex, or even subsidized condominium living. I mean, come on. Does the Pope really need that much praying space? But outside of Vatican and Church "items," I will forever be in love with Rome for three reasons: gelato, pasta, and leather briefcases .....

II. Montreal, Canada

I thought Canada was under-rated by its American neighbor. My impressions of Montreal was that it is very cosmopolitan: chic, stylish, busy, young -- ah, so many young people walking about. Do they even work? Why are there so many young people milling about in the middle of a work day? William and I happened to go there during its international film festival, and we even got a chance to see a movie in open space -- sitting on some downtown sidewalk step eating what I remember to be chicken crepes and looking up to a wide screen. The air was chilly, but there was a big, young, fashionable crowd around us so we felt young and fashionable as well. Never mind that the movie was in French and shot in some kind of film noir style. The crepe was good, at least.

III. Bangkok, Thailand

Pad thai. Chicken satay. Panang. Spring rolls. The whole city was one big Thai restaurant. The city was bustling, and the aroma of sweet and savory spices was in the air. It is a city where people have FUN. Everyone had a smile on their face. A friendly city. It had its own flair -- from the Jim Thompson house, to the temples, to the Royal Family palace (made entirely of wood) -- and everywhere we go, we were greeted and met with smiling, friendly faces. The front desk clerk at our hotel even gave us a "ha ha ha" as he gave us our room key. Ha (or Ja is "5" in Thai -- so our room number, 555, was the same as canned laughter. I bet the people even smile when they curse. I can just imagine what is like to be in a middle of a student debate or a legal courtroom where two parties are presenting their arguments. In Bangkok, I learned to take it easy, take everything in stride and smile away your problems and stresses. I also learned my name in Thai is Lee Cha. William called out my name at a flea market once and it became a popular name among vendors: Lee Cha, Lee Cha..cheap! cheap!

IV. Beijing, China

That's the Dragon Wall right there in the picture, inside the Forbidden City. The Forbidden City, an expansive walled complex, is right smack in the middle of Beijing. Right smack in the middle of a hazy, polluted air. I remember getting sick right on our third day in Beijing -- I was congested even two months after the trip. I also thought that everything in Beijing was big: government buildings, highways, department store signs. BIG, BIG, BIG. And bright, too. One can tell that the city -- the country -- is in the process of metamorphosing from being a rigid, communist society to one that is modern, free-thinking...and still communist. People are even afraid to jay-walk in Beijing. No one wants to be nabbed by the police. Good discipline. Loud talkers they are over there, but they do follows rules. BTW -- my name in China is Lee Cha, too.

V. Waterbury, Vermont

No die-hard ice cream lover can consider thyself a die-hard ice cream lover until they have visited the holy site of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Factory in Waterbury, Vermont. I could live there. The whole state is like something out of a holiday postcard sold only in antique shops and arts-and-crafts stores. The air is crisp, clean and clear. The people are also friendly, and if you are ever a fan of apple cider -- hot or cold, in liquid or donut form, and maple syrup -- run, don't walk, to Vermont!! And it was also in Vermont where I learned one simple truth -- Japanese tourists are everywhere! Who knew?

VI. Bohol, Philippines

Chocolate Hills, tarsiers, purple yam jam, and peanut clusters. You've got to love an island that has a natural land formation resembling Hershey's Kisses and little cute creatures that look like they've been scared out of their wit. Combine that with white sand beaches, centuries old churches, and airport vendors that haggle with you to the tenth centavo and you have a vacation worthy of its own TV series. What do I remember most about Bohol? Filipino tourists. They run after anything: lechon (roasted whole pig) that is being delivered to the buffet table, jeeps not slowing down to take passengers, and bancas (boats) that have already left the dock. Why do they chase these moving objects? Who knows. We Filipinos know what we want. And we go after it. Even if its constantly moving.

VII. Paris, France

No travel blog can be complete without the inclusion of Paris. It is indeed the most romantic, the most beautiful city in the world. Everything about it is romantic. Even the act of eating Nutella crepes on a side street in the middle of a rain becomes romantic. I mean, come on, how can you beat that scene when at the background stands the Cathedral of Notre Dame and the River Seine nearby. A stroll on Champs Elysee, or a climb up the Eiffel Tower -- everything and anything can be romantic in Paris, and even more so when you realize the dramatic events that occurred in the places where you visit. Like right in the picture above. I just loved the site where you can see both the fountain of Place Du Concord and the Eiffel Tower in the same frame. So who cares if Marie Antoinette's head rolled in 1793 somewhere where my feet stood. Macabre? Hardly. I'd call it darkly romantic.

VIII. Amsterdam, Netherlands

Its sexy. The whole city is city -- the people, the sights, the food. Everything is presented in its most sensual format. Heck, I feel like I got even buffer and sexier just standing there doing nothing. Fact: There are no fat people in Amsterdam except for those who are visiting. Just kidding. The whole city is like a playground for anyone up for anything. The cafes serving "greens," the window "displays," the corners where gorgeous people "hang out," the city caters to every whim and wish. I could walk around the city all day. Its very picturesque. One can never go to a city like Amsterdam and be bored. Even Anne Frank, who was holed up in some building attic for two years, had plenty do say and think about. Four words about Amsterdam: chocolate, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, and sausages. They are all very good there.

IX. Hongkong, China

Crowded. Cheap. Fake. There are crowds everywhere in Hongkong. And there are tons of cheap items to buy. Most of them, though, are fake and imitations. Hongkong residents are trendy. They follow, often lead, the latest in fashion. But its also hit or miss. Purple-dyed hair? You'll find it there. Fish net stockings under fishnet skirts? Yep. Many are also tired. The young urbanites with their leather messenger bags and up-t0-date cell phones are moving up and around -- as quickly as they can -- but you can see the toll of 70 hour work weeks on their faces. They can surely take a nap -- and sleep in on weekends. But why? You can sleep or you can make money. Sleep, I heard in Hongkong, is over rated.

X. London, England

Merry Ol' England -- the land where I discovered the pasty and have been craving for ever since. I love Hampton Court -- full of history, drama and butchery -- and I am speaking of more than just wives, here. In fact, bloody killing is all over the city -- Bell Tower, Thames, Whitechapel (where Jack the Ripper had a killing spree). Don't trust your wife? Off with her head! The English had a way of dealing with problems back then....one thing they sure could use now: hot iron. People were going to work in wrinkly suits, disheveled shirts, and pants with loose hems. WTF? Can't they even brush or comb they hair on the way out of their apartments? Are they THAT busy? Good looking people they are, but it seems no one is pressing their clothes there lately. Love the pubs, the museums, royal houses, parks, gardens, did I say the pasty? and grand 'ol Buckingham. Everything is about the queen. Always the queen. And they know how to treat the royal family with utmost respect, dignity, and courtesy: paste their faces on ceramic bowls and sell them for 49 pounds each. I would've purchased one, except I don't like faces on my bowls.

To Sir With Lab

2009-09-25T06:32:00.000-07:00

On a credenza in my office are a ton of pictures -- mostly of nieces and nephews, -- a mosaic of an M&M character done by my nephew Luis, and one award. I have received many accolades for my work, but this particular award remains to be the most special. It will be with me wherever I go. It is the Most Outstanding Faculty in Interdisciplinary Studies award from a college in Manila and I received it on June 26, 1998 (I was already back in the U.S. when the college gave it).

I only taught for two terms -- June 1997 - April 1998. But I believe it is one of the most fulfilling periods of my professional life. It was during that time when I learned more about myself from both my students and my peers. And I began to understand the role that teachers play in inspiring a whole generation of young people to be seekers of knowledge and scholarship, and in many ways, become modern heroes.

It was truly a remarkable experience. Whenever I have any "low" days, all I need to do is to look at that trophy made of hard plastic and a wave of pride and triumph fills me up.

But, truth be told, it wasn't all sentimental and academic -- in fact, the experience was filled with tons of humor and so much unexplainable gaffes that it was more akin to starring in a situation comedy than being in an institution of higher education.

Consider the following exchanges. Note that I taught a range of classes: from freshman to senior level classes. And the subjects were varied. I taught Peace Education, Philippine Government, Sociological Theory, Introduction to Sociology, Research Methods, and Rizal Studies). So here are some scenarios:

I. I'm Eric
Me: (proctoring a written exam -- walking up to a student who was doing nothing) Are you done?
Student: Ha? Me, sir? No, I'm Eric.

II. Dangling Modifier
Me: (to a freshman class) I have read your essays, and I see that many of you do not know the difference between the terms "ng" and "nang." Can anyone tell me the difference?
Student: Sir.....one is english?

III. Parang Dime
Me: We discussed last week the paradigm shift between function and conflict theories. Can someone refresh our memories?
Student: Ah, sir...what is parang dime?
Me: Parang dime? Anong parang dime?
Student: Sir you mentioned the parang dime shift.
Me: Ah, paradigm... (going to the blackboard and writing the word "PARADIGM") Paradigm -- meaning a mindset or general view. For example, when we under the American influence in the early 1900s, the paradigm then was basically the ideologies of democracy and free market economy. Hence the movement from being a commonwealth to being our own "republic." Can someone tell me the ideology or paradigm during Spanish rule?
Student: Sir....the ideology during Spanish rule was.....Spanish.

IV. Systematic System
Me: A system refers to a set of activities or entities that are acting on or towards a common set of objectives. For example: a public school system or health care system. Being systematic, however, refers to a set of procedures-- first do this, second do this -- there is a series of individual orderly steps. Get it?
Students: Yes, sir.
Me: So knowing that, what's the difference between being systemic and being systematic?
(All are quiet)
Student: Sir.....systemic is when you....ah..systematic is you have procedures, di ba? So systemic is when....you don't have procedures....di ba?

And I saved the best example for last:

V. Sexy Hero
Me: So your assignment was to read Rizal's Letter to the Women of Malolos. So I need you now to answer three questions (going to the board and writing). First, what was Rizal's message to the women of Malolos and what do you think is his view of women's role in society based on this message?; Second, does this message apply to present day women here in the Philippines?; and Third, would you consider Rizal sexist..why or why not? Write your answers, and I'll give you... 35 minutes? Ten to twelve minutes per question? Okay?
(All are quietly writing)
Student: (after 20 minutes or so) Sir....I have a question.
Me: What?
Student: Sir, the third question. I don't know how to answer.
Me: Why?
Student: Sir...mahirap i-answer kasi,...well...I have not met Rizal. So hindi ko alam...sexy ba sya o hindi.

Sometimes...okay, I admit, a LOT of times, these students made me laugh. Right up in front of the classroom, I would laugh out loud with my shoulders shaking.

But I loved them. I really loved my students. They want to work hard, they want to do their best, and most of all, they wanted me to be proud of what they were able to accomplish and learn. I believe what they lacked was not intellect but exposure. Many lived very sheltered lives. They were exposed only to their immediate environments and unaware of a bigger, more diverse world around them.

Understandably, many parents protect their children from the gloom and doom and the dangers of unexplored territories. But in doing so, we also protect them from being part of a larger society -- we prevent them from being relevant and connected. Being disconnected leads to ignorance, and ignorance, eventually, exposes them to more danger. It is a vicious cycle.

I looked forward to seeing my students when I woke up in the morning. I was always excited to get to school everyday. These students were my inspiration, my hope, my rock at atime when I was not really sure where my life was headed. They gave me direction, and a confidence in my ability to shape thoughts.

I hope that even just a few of them are living in their communities now better equipped to be relevant and connected because of what I taught them. I hope that in spite of their privileged upbringing, their closed networks, and living in gated communities, they are able to understand and be part of a broader society.

I can only hope.

And I hope, really, that they did find Jose Rizal sexy.

Rich Man, Poor Man

2009-09-24T14:04:00.000-07:00

I recently met my friend Stuart for dinner at a posh Thai restaurant in downtown Washington, DC. It is so posh that the appetizers, entrees, and noodle options were presented in three different menus. The wait staff wore what seemed to be tailored suits, and an order of diet Coke does not come with free refills -- and for $3.25 a glass, it is highway robbery! But the food is good, the service superb.

Stuart, a highly paid lobbyist for labor issues, talked about the new Washington atmosphere brought about by the new administration. Restaurants are busy, stores are filled with shoppers, and tourists are coming in droves even by summer's end. "It's a good time to be living and working in this city!," he said, "I mean, look at you! Moving into a downtown location, living in a penthouse condo in Dupont, opening branches all over, getting grants left and right. You're living it up, Rich!"

I had to laugh. I retorted, "Do you know what it took to get to this point in my career? The new administration had nothing to do with it! This is all blood, sweat and tears, baby!"

Ah, yes -- flashback to 1985 --

Picture it: San Francisco, September 1985. 17 years old and I was on my own. I was a free soul, walking on the streets of San Francisco. Young, full energy, bright-eyed, optimistic, and ...flat broke.

I knew exactly how much money I had in my pocket and in a checking account: $347.18. My rent for my studio apartment was $480 a month, and I brought in a paycheck of $347.18 every two weeks from a temp agency. Which means, after paying the rent on the first of every month, I had exactly $214.36 to cover food, transportation, utilities, clothing, and phone bills. To this day, I couldn't figure out how I survived. But I did. Thank god for Ramen Noodles.

Those Cup-a-Noodles were manna from heaven. Where else can you find gastronomic fulfillment for 59 cents? On some days, one cup was divided into three servings. So I had two spoonfuls for breakfast, another two for lunch, and the last two (plus a banana) for dinner. No wonder I ended up being 6'1 and 140 pounds.

But being hungry five days a week did not matter. What mattered was that I was in a place where I could author my own possibilities. I was in control and I made my own decisions.

The first of which was going back to school. Moving from Manila to San Francisco meant dropping out of one of the most exclusive Philippine universities where the tuition was covered by dear-old-dad, a virtual scholarship! I ended up taking classes at the city college, which at $75 per unit at the time, was costing a fortune.

I also grew up in a household where maids would pull clothes out from my closet and set it on my bed, breakfast was laid out on the table upon my descent into the dining room from my bedroom, and a chauffeur would drive me to school -- ensuring that I step into the school grounds exactly two minutes before the bell would ring.

In as quick as a blink, I found myself having to wear the same clothes two -- sometimes three-- days in a row, partake of the above-mentioned noodles for breakfast, walk a quarter of a mile and two buses to get to work, and then another bus to get to school by 6:10 pm. I was so tired by the end of the evening that I often found myself missing my stop from having fallen asleep in the bus clutching on to my knapsack.

One autumn Sunday afternoon -- amidst the rain and fog that covered most of San Francisco's hilly downtown streets -- I found myself standing on the corner of California and Powell Streets, wet, tired, and almost in tears. My week's worth of groceries: 6 ramen noodle packets, 3 bananas, toilet paper, a quart of orange juice, soap and toothpaste were scattered all over the wet pavement. The winds were so heavy that I lost control of my umbrella, causing me to jerk back and drop the bag containing the aforementioned items.

There I was: seventeen, free, independent, and a mess!

But the tides began to turn when one of firms I was assigned to offered me a full time job. That meant seventy dollars more a month. A king's fortune.

Looking back -- I do not know how a spoiled, pampered eldest son of a Filipino middle class family ever survived that phase of growing pains. Working full time and going to school? Energy draining. Surviving on ramen noodles? Pathetic. Crying over spilt groceries? Stuff of movies.

But the funny thing about trials and tribulations is that you realize at the end what you really are made of. And that if you ever find yourself in that phase again, you know you will survive through it magnificently.

This is how we build our stamina, our resolve.

So as i held my fork up to stab a $7 piece of shrimp dumpling, I told Stuart, "you can only appreciate the good life when you go through the bad."

I ordered another glass of diet Coke. Damn! That's four $3.25 charges. I could havebought six 2-liter bottles for that amount.

I made a point of not touching the noodles.

Enough noodles.

Party all night and then...you yawn.

2009-09-20T16:40:00.000-07:00

At what point in our adult life do we really grow up?

Is it when we acquire our first car? home? Is it when we get married? Have kids?

I thought to myself that since it is so easy to buy a car these days -- heck, even the U.S. government is practically giving people money to buy a car -- that is not a good indicator.

And the home bubble burst of 2008 just proves that not every one who bought a home can be considered an "adult" since they could not even maintain the payments and keep the purchase.

It must be marriage then, and...kids. But the 50% divorce rate and the complaints I hear from my still married friends with children who seem to have tantrums every five minutes are not a reassuring pronouncement of adulthood.

Do we really even grow up?

Do we out grow adolescent habits of putting much importance and relevance to trivia? Do we stop whining about the unfairness of life and the laws of the natural world and face the fact that the universe does not and will not ever revolve around us? When do pause, halt and observe our actions and tag them as "child-like", immature, and just plain stupid?

There were three events in my post-21 year old life that told me that I was really just screwing around.

First -- the end of my first serious, long -term relationship. We lived together for seven years. But the end came just as fast as the start. We met on day one; on day four, we were living in the same one-bedroom apartment. By year four we bought a home. And the end came shortly after the beginning of the 7th year -- call it the 7-year itch, and I learned about it one morning upon reading the email I received notifying me that, yes, it was over. It was fun while it lasted, but we both needed to move on and continue with lives apart. I wish I could say I cried my heart out over the breakup. But I was actually relieved that someone was mature enough to understand it was not going to work out so better end it before "fun" turned into crazy. Cue in the grown up lesson: be man enough to admit the truth. When truth stares you at the face, don't look away. Stare back at it, and even grumble, Make a grrr noise. Frown and look tough. At some point you will overcome it and, yes, indeed, you will walk away triumphant. Wrinkled maybe, but victorious nonetheless.

Second -- bankruptcy. Nothing kicks you in the knees like the fact that everything you worked hard for is gone. And there is nothing like the humiliation of a legal decree stating that you have nothing, and that you cannot control your needs and desires to the point where you are even spending money you never had. Some people declare bankruptcy because of failed businesses or runaway lovers. Some even do it because someone else mismanaged their funds -- yep, some do it because someone else jerked them off. But I, on the other hand, did it all to myself. I charged, charged, charged and then bled, bled, bled. I recall getting phone calls from debt collectors who called me a scumbag, a good for nothing low life. I was wearing Armani, but admittedly, it was also covered in sweat from all the strategizing I did to get away from creditors. The bankruptcy ordeal taught me that I was responsible for the consequences of my choices. No one was going to come down from the sky to clean up the mess I made. I made the mess. I needed to stand in it.

Third -- nothing forces you to grow up than the thought that the paychecks of 43 people rely on your ability to bring money in. Its like being the head of the household. I need to bring in the bacon, otherwise 43 individuals -- more than 35 families with kids in them -- will have a high level of economic hardship. Dreams, ambitions, college tuition, retirement benefits all rest on my shoulders. I need to make sure I lead an organization that is not only effective but also sustainable. Nothing forces me to stop clowning around and focus.

Someone once told me that life is a party. Drink, mingle and enjoy the cocktail shrimp! But I also realize at some point the martinis will run out, you'd have met all the guests and run out of small talk topics, and crave for more than just appetizers. You -- I -- eventually, will want an entree eaten while seated, with a napkin on the lap, fork on one hand and a knife in the other. In other words, have a real grown up dinner.

I am still not sure if I really have grown up. I still pay $24.50 for a T shirt I will wear twice. I still read the comics section first before the headlines. And there are days --although very few --when the desire to spend hours on the couch watching Will & Grace reruns outweighs the requirement of going to work in the morning.

During those days, though, I say to myself: you're 44. Just be thankful you have cash in the bank, a loving relationship, and a meaningful, fulfilling career. I step in the shower, put on my shirt, and with briefcase in hand, face the party crowd --- where is that tray of shrimps?