Dengue

Dengue finally got me.

I should have seen it coming, though. My little sister succumbed to it a few days earlier. And Mama had suspected that was the case for my brother as well (who weathered the entire episode by simply staying in his room).

Before I was confined to the hospital, my other brother had initially paved the way for me. He went home from school with a fever and, although our first presumption was he got the flu, he had his blood tested the following day. Things went fast after that. Test confirmed it was dengue and he was shipped off to Brokenshire for observation.

I managed to work for two days before finally giving up. On Monday night, I was feeling sluggish already. Tuesday morning, I had a fever coming to town. That night, I couldn't sleep well, alternating between bouts of sweat and fever. Wednesday morning, I had myself tested and later that morning, it was off to the hospital to be observed.

My other sister followed suit several days after and we were pretty much a pathetic sight in the hospital: a private room with three beds, all occupied by three patients struck down by the same mosquito(s).

It's funny how one puny insect can wreak havoc into our lives. I missed close to two weeks of work, not to mention the many hours spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if it's my fate that I bleed to death.

My brother couldn't afford to be so placid. His condition was complicated by a ruptured spleen (I think) and my parents were worried sick trying to make his platelet count go up, even to the point of defying the nurse's orders at some point.

All in all, the experience really impressed on me the value of my health. This was my first prolonged confinement in the hospital and it wasn't a comfortable experience. However, I was one of the privileged ones, a fact that I had to remind myself over and over again during my stay and whenever I felt cross and frustrated: I was in a hospital; I had a doctor; and apart from this nuisance of a disease, I was going to be fine.

Indeed, God has a funny way of reminding us of our blessings.

I Believe In The Historical Jesus

When I was in college, Dan Brown introduced his controversial book, The Da Vinci Code. What made the book especially notorious was the introduction of an alternative history about Jesus Christ radically different from what the Catholic Church has maintained.

In the book, it is "revealed" that Jesus Christ fathered a child, through Mary Magdalene, and thus a lineage had formed, out of which, a descendant shall rise and rule the world.

To this theory, I. Howard Marshall, a well-known theologian, had this to say in his book, I Believe In The Historical Jesus:

On Saturday, 16th November, 1996, the Daily Mail began a serialized article based on a book called The Holy Grail by Laurence Gardner, which was introduced as follows:

A new book claims that Jesus, far from being a meek religious martyr, was a revolutionary politician who faked his own death, married Mary Magdalene and fathered three children by her, starting a bloodline which carries down to the present day...

The introduction surprisingly went on to say 'Committed Christians will justifiably reject its conclusions'! However, you do not need to be a Christian, but simply a historical scholar committed to the impartial weighing of evidence, to see that much of what is said here about Jesus is a tissue of unsubstantiated conjecture.

Indeed, as Mr. Marshall had argued in his book, much of the emergent portraits of Jesus which have somehow found itself into mainstream culture are purely sensational at best. Although he is quick to admit that, yes, historians can reliably work on only a small, meager set of historical evidence detailing Jesus' life and ministry, we do "have good grounds for affirming the possibility of researching the Jesus-tradition and establishing many historical facts about his life and teaching."

Thus, any alternative interpretation of Jesus' life must be weighed against premises clearly grounded on historical fact for it to be judged as plausible.

Vegetarian Me

Chop suey taught me how to eat veggies. It was one of those lunches in my lola's place where I had my first encounter with this dish. At first, I simply learned to love eating (or slurping) the "sauce", the thick liquid lying at the bottom of the bowl sporting the combined punch of all the ingredients in the dish. Then, I graduated eating the "subak", the small cuts of meat, deliberately mixed into the fray to provide some added flavor and protein.

Afterwards came the hardest part of my training: eating the actual vegetables themselves. And, like any child would tell you, this is the part we dread the most. I gagged, vomited, choked my way into forcing my body to accept munching on these foreign objects until the time came when eating vegetables became second nature.

Still, I did not crave vegetables. Yes, I've learned to eat it but I wasn't necessarily looking for it. Oftentimes, I would find myself nitpicking pansit, making sure no vegetable got its way into my extended fork.

Finally, vegetables became a part of my diet but it was a product of circumstance. I was in Manila then and, being the occasional miser, I chose the cheapest dish I could get whenever I fancied saving more money. Obviously, that dish would be pure, unadulterated vegetables and there I found my motivation.

It's amazing what people will do for money. In my case, I forced myself to like eating vegetables because I paid for it. Leaving anything on my plate un-eaten felt like a terrible waste of money.

From then on, I graduated to eating more veggies. Still, my mother would frown at us not eating enough but, then again, she doesn't see what I eat outside the house. If karma is indeed real, I could even be a goat in my next life, considering the amount of leaves I chew on.

Anybody a fan of the show, Veggie Tales?

When Money Sucks

The new paper bills suck.

Never mind the new security features. Never mind the addition of Philippine "icons" into the bill. What ultimately turned me off about the bills were the designs themselves.

Just two observations. First, the designs make it look as if the Central Bank had printer problems. Though designed expertly (?) by Design Systemat and Studio 5, the bills look as if they've suffered through ink bleeds and poor color printing. The dominant colors look so dominant, totally unlike the nuanced, more professional-looking tones of the old bills. Only a grade-schooler would play such colors with such abandon.

Second, the faces in the new bills look so...young. For instance, Manuel Quezon looks like he's in his 20's. Although there is clearly nothing wrong with an ageless face, the fact remains that the BSP chose to portray a man at an age when he has done nothing yet. I would prefer that the public witness the face of Manuel Quezon when he was already a statesman because that is what the public should remember: the face of an accomplished public servant, with wrinkles and furrows, not a cherubim face better seen on a magazine than on a currency bill.

So there you have it: my objections. I rest my case now but I still have to live with the truth that these new bills are here to stay.

A Wedding Letter

I really, really wanted to publish this on Valentine's day. But I guess I can't wait that long and I'm pretty sure I'll forget this piece when that day comes.

As a background, this piece started coming to life when I saw the wedding documentary of Ogie Alcasid and Regine Velasquez. In the ceremony, they included a simple yet heartwarming tribute to one another: each took turns reading to the other a love letter.

This act (perhaps an ingenious idea from the show's writers) reminded me of the wedding of my cousin, Kuya Undo. I wasn't present in the wedding so Mama took the liberty of telling me what happened. There was also a part in the ritual where Kuya Undo and his bride (through intermediaries because my cousin had a speech and hearing problem and because his bride was mute - or was she deaf?) read to each other pledges of love. That didn't fail to bring smiles to everyone in the entourage.

So now, I'm inspired enough to write my own love letter. If I had the chance to say something to my bride on our wedding day, what would it be and how would I say it? The draft is still kind of rough but, as a starting point, I think it's good enough.

Still, this little exercise would be of no use if I didn't get married but I think I can still say the same piece if my brothers were to pick me as their best man. If you think it needs rework, I'm open to your ideas. Here goes:

I am not Prince Charming
nor will I ever hope to be.
I'm not tall, I'm not handsome.
I'll never sweep you off your feet.

But for the many years that we were together,
I have tried to become your man
And I'm happy yet so humbled
that it is beside me you choose to stand.

And on this day of promises
On this day we begin a dream
I'll give you my solemn promise,
an oath I intend to keep

That for everything I am not,
I choose to be the one,
the one you truly deserve,
the one who has won your heart.

When we are alone, I will become
the candle lights during dinner
and I'll be the kisses greeting you,
"Good morning and have a good day".

When we are outside, I'll be the strolls
down avenues and lanes
and I'll be the shade when the almighty sun
keeps all the clouds at bay.

When at home, I will be the dishes
all wiped clean and left to dry, I'll be the laundry
that is blowing under the radiant and light blue sky

When you're sad, I will be the shoulder
you can always lean upon, I'll be the tissue
waiting to be used on your table side

And when you're tired or sick, I'll be the hands
massaging your feet when they are sore
and I'll be the wet cloth on your forehead
to cool your fever even more.

And when you're stressed, I will be the world's
greatest sounding board and I will be the late night
conversations with the most amazing woman in the world.

And if we have children, I'll be the diapers
that need to be changed each and every night
and I'll be the camera taking pictures
of them growing in the Light.

And when we fight, I'll be the chest
you can hit to your heart's content
and I'll be the letter under the door
with the words, "I'm sorry. Can I sleep with you on the bed?"

And when we are old and wrinkles begin
come crawling across your face,
Then I'll be the whisper in your ear,
saying, "You're beautiful, more beautiful
with every single year."

And, despite all this, if I have not been clearly understood,
let me tell you simply, "I'll be your husband
in every sense and meaning of the word".

I love you.