Baffling Bananas

Is this for real?! I was baffled when I saw this photo posted by a niece. 

Her reply to someone who typed this same question: “I took this photo myself in Umingan, Pangasinan, my parents’ hometown.” 

I went bananas for close to a minute. So I researched. 

(In the ancient days of my youth, we had to wait for the next edition of the encyclopedia, which took two to three years, depending on my parents’ budget, to know more about a topic of interest. One other way was to find a library with the latest books, which was nil.) 

Simply typing “Banana plant images,” I found these:  

The bananas photographed by my niece are also found in many countries.  Although this is phenomenal to someone like me who had no interest in bananas, it has been a regular occurrence among farmers and arborists. 

Technology has brought the world to our fingertips, and because the pandemic has forced us to stay home, we now have limitless time to be tourists and researchers without having to ride a plane—and gain knowledge faster than we ever did before.  

My laptop and mobile phone have also led me to discover the inexhaustible variety and magnitude of God’s grace. 

On the topic of bananas alone, did you know that they come in many colors and varieties? Here are some of them:   

Baffling, isn't it? 

God’s works are great and his thoughts deep, every new generation uncovers things nobody ever thought existed or could exist.   

“O LORD, what great works you do! And how deep are your thoughts.” (Psalm 92:5 NLT)  

Where is Heaven?

Whenever a kid asks me this question, usually in my book talks, I always remember my late big boss whom I preferred to call Mr. Sev, but known in the office as SCA.  

Mr. Sev didn't care where he sat in meetings. He would go to any chair. So when we pointed to the head table, which was his rightful place, he would retort, "Where I sit is the head table." 

Cool.

That's how I reply to the question, "Where is heaven?" 

"Heaven is where Jesus is." 

The Bible tells us that it is a place, but not some immovable address as we know it—north, east, west, or south in a land far away. It is the place where Jesus is. Period.

And in that place, "righteousness is at home . . ." (2 Peter 3:13) Jesus calls heaven, "My Father's House." (John 14:1-3) 

But those are too abstract for children to understand. So I try to make it more concrete, "In Jesus' dwelling place, everyone is happy, a friend of everybody, and loved by all. Everything is beautiful." 

"No bullies?" 

"Bullies don't live there. No cursing, no fighting, no shaming, no crying, no name-calling, no blaming, and no dying exist in that perfect place."  

The conversation goes on and on. In the end, they chorus: 

"Oooh, I want to live there!" 

Those who believe in and have accepted Jesus as his/her Lord and Master will definitely live there, all because of His saving grace   

So where is heaven? 

In Revelation 21:1-5 (the Message), John wrote: 

"I saw Heaven and earth new-created. Gone the first Heaven, gone the first earth, gone the sea.

"I saw Holy Jerusalem, new-created, descending resplendent out of Heaven, as ready for God as a bride for her husband.

"I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: 'Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They’re his people, he’s their God. He’ll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good—tears gone, crying gone, pain gone—all the first order of things gone.' The Enthroned continued, 'Look! I’m making everything new. Write it all down—each word dependable and accurate.'”

When is this going to happen? 

Nobody knows. What we do know, by faith, is that it will happen—and (my personal wish) soon. 

Why Butterfly?

After reading my post on her love for butterflies, my sister Aie messaged her answer to my unasked question of why she loves them.  

"It all started when I got me a picture book [Hope for the Flowers] written by Trina Paulus in the early '70s. God's Word in another language. It takes a lot of butterflies to make a world full of flowers!"

Boom! That jogged my memory; details came back. I have that same book. Aie and I would discuss it with our late friend, Daisy, during the "flower power" era.  

This book resonated with us then because we were still trying to find our place in the sun: moving from a seeming rut to a dynamic, fulfilling life. 

"Hope for the flowers" is categorized as a children's novel, but for me—like the books Jonathan Livingston Seagull and The Little Prince—it is a fable, an allegory, that is more for millennials today and upwardly mobile young professionals, rather than children. 

The main character, Stripe (a caterpillar), does not truly know what he wants. All he desires is to escape from the humdrum of perpetual crawling and leaf-eating. 

When he sees many caterpillars climbing towards the clouds, he decides to climb with them to reach the top, too, even if he has no idea what is there. 

In my encounters with millennials, many have no plans or goals for the future, because they don't know what they want and where they want to go. 

They embody Stripe, who follows the crowd, leaving the dull life behind, and blindly hoping for the best. In the climbing, he steps on others, but he does not care on whom he steps as long as he can inch up ahead of them.  

Then he meets Yellow, and Stripe's perspective changes. 

Although they share the same doubts and uncertainties, Yellow and Stripe decide to live a peaceful life away from the climbing crowd. 

But Stripe soon becomes restless again and decides to yet again climb the mountain of caterpillars. 

Meanwhile, left behind, Yellow experiences something glorious and wonderful. He becomes a hope for the flowers. 

Boom! No wonder, Aie, who has left her cocoon to be at her rightful place (serving the Lord), loves butterflies. 

". . . Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good."  Romans 8:26-28 (The Message)    

Is it an Egg? Or a Plant?

Definitely, an eggplant is a plant. That answer I got right.

Now, is it a vegetable or a fruit? Vegetable!  Or is it? 

For the longest time, I have been telling those who care to listen that one of my favorite vegetables is the eggplant. That encouraged our househelp to plant one in our garden. A few months later, here it is! 

It’s purple and long, the way I thought all eggplants looked like. (My interest in the kitchen is not the issue here.) However it’s cooked—sautéed, fried, baked, boiled, roasted, broiled, singed—I’d gobble up whatever is served on the table. 

Now that I have my own eggplant plant, I took extra interest in it and researched (there is extra time for all kinds of research while Covid-19 remains untamed) on it. 

This shocked me: 

“Way back in the 1700s, early European versions of eggplant were smaller and yellow or white. They looked like goose or chicken eggs, which led to the name ‘eggplant.’  

“The eggplant has been around for a long, long time. It’s native to India and Southeast Asia. In fact, the first known written mention of eggplant comes from a Chinese book on agriculture written in 544.”

This shocked me even more:

Eggplant is not a vegetable. It is a fruit! And it comes in many shapes, sizes, and colors.

This shocked me most:  

Not a soul ever corrected me when I gushed over it, “Oh, I so love this vegetable!” Meaning, nobody  among my family, friends, and acquaintances knows that basic fact either. Or perhaps no one loves it as much as I do and he/she does not care what it really is. 

No matter. This vegetable, which is not a vegetable, and this eggplant, which is not an egg, remains one of my favorite . . . whatever.  

Anything edible that romances one’s tongue is gastronomical grace. 

ooo

Photo credit: My eggplant header was grabbed, with gratitude, from the FB page of Carla, a friend and faith sister, who has joined the ranks of plantitas during this pandemic. 

Uh-oh! #5

First chapter of "What, Me Retire?"   

*Continued from previous post

(Covid-19 has forced many people to retire and, as expressed in their social media posts, home 24/7 is such a lonely place. Perhaps by sharing my own retirement story, they can find humor in their change of pace, and may even discover that retirement is a blessing in disguise.)                                                 

Scene 4: A New Life Beckons 

More changes made me feel like Methuselah, but the barnacle that I had become wouldn't budge. By this time,  it had been two years since Tin Man entered the scene. Inasmuch as my working hours were now my free time, I took seriously what two of my young writers had been badgering me about: Join the Palanca Awards. I dredged up an old idea from my writing chest and worked on a short story for children. I felt like I resurrected from the grave, writing all day and night, and couldn't stop. 

Then the coup the grace—my Palanca entry won, first prize. 

There is life after advertising, I mused, and began to think that being a barnacle minus Mses. Ego, Authority, Courage, Stature, Spunk, Guts, and Passion for almost two years was worse than being retired, or dead.   

Just in time, a big news came.    

Tin Man summoned the remaining VPs (the three whose scribbles were enshrined in my little notebook had left) to a meeting and dropped a bombshell: The company was splitting with its partner and there were talks of new mergers. “Since the retirement age has been officially reduced to 50, you are all more than qualified to leave. I am asking you all to take advantage of a retirement package by the end of this year.” Uh-oh.

The rumor mill started grinding. “Grace, we heard you're retiring.”  

“Who told you?” 

“The boss!” 

I felt like Margarito-Mosley-Marquez-all-in-one, after being pummeled by Pacman. So I threw in the towel and cried, Uncle! 

HR computed my unused vacations leaves accumulated over the years: Four months! It was the middle of August, exactly four months till the prescribed retirement day at year-end. 

I pasted on my face a big smile for Tin Man, “I'd like to push my retirement date to April next year. I wish to attend the Christmas Party, to end my career with a carol!” 

Tin Man didn't even blink: “I am sorry, Grace, but the retirement package specifies 'out by December 31.'” 

That means . . . if I take my leaves, I’d have to go . . . TODAY?! I asked myself.  

It would have been the perfect time to tear his ear off about the changes, but he had no ears, and I had nothing left of me. Ms. Chong, where have you gone? 

That night I wrote my resignation letter: short and sweet. It confirmed my retirement at year-end, and my going on leave starting TODAY. It was as though someone who possessed nothing of my persona wrote it for me. There were no official files to attach, Tin Man already had taken them all. 

He might have been on his way to see the Wizard of Oz the next day, so I left my letter with his secretary. Then I waited till most of the people in my department had left for client calls and TV shoots before I invited the few who were at their desks to my office. 

 “I have decided to retire,” I intoned. 

“When?” 

“End of the year. But today is my last day.” 

You could hear a pin drop. After I had blubbered my “thank yous,” they clinkity-clanked out of my room—like miniature Tin Men. 

It was 2 o'clock PM; I left everything as-is-where-is in my room, ran out to the parking lot, and told my driver (rather, the company driver assigned to me) to bring me home for good. 

The End

Cast of characters scroll up. 

That done, the last frame—a slogan—pops up on screen: 

"Retire from work, but not from life." – Dr. M.K. Soni, Homeopathic physician 

Links:

Uh-oh! #1  

Uh-oh! #2  

Uh-oh! #3  

Uh-oh! #4  

Uh-oh! #4

First chapter of "What, Me Retire?"   

*Continued from previous post

(Covid-19 has forced many people to retire and, as expressed in their social media posts, home 24/7 is such a lonely place.   Perhaps by sharing my own retirement story, they can find humor in their change of pace, and may even discover that retirement is a blessing in disguise.)                                                   

Scene 3: Mr Roche returns 

All I was left doing was reading the newspapers (including obituaries), and appeasing irate clients over some young ones' work that never passed through me. If you're keeping score, I still had not lost Ms. Title. I was still Executive Vice President, Creative, who still had the plush office (a huge corner room with a view; the only one with a bathtub in the whole building).   

This five-star office morphed into a rock and I became a barnacle. Despite a series of tidal waves, I  clung stubbornly to where I was. 

In my constant talk with God, I asked for patience to respect the new style of management. He granted me that to overflowing.   

One day I made the mistake of entering the boardroom, where our IT person was preparing slides for a major client meeting the next day, about which I was not officially told. On the big screen was the account's organizational chart. Inside the top box, where my name should be, was another name, Mutch, a young hotshot from another agency. 

“Grace!” the IT person exclaimed. “Are you retiring?” 

Startled, I replied, “Guess!” and hurried out.    

In major presentations for this account, the top gun from New York, Mr. Roche, flew in to Manila. The night before this, our company usually hosted a welcome cocktail party.  

Back in my desk, Tin Man's secretary rang, “Grace, the boss wants your file of Mr. Roche's account.” 

I came upon Tin Man on the phone,  “Welcome back!  See you at the cocktails tonight-”  

Mr. Roche, I thought. I grew up being challenged by this formidable New Yorker, whose account I'd handled from day one. When he entered a room, the walls trembled and everybody inside them. But not me. Back in my youth in the US, I survived living with a daunting American aunt who was the world's toughest talker, with a voice to match.    

Tin Man glanced in my direction and fiddled with the phone cord, “Grace? Grace Chong? Of course, she'll be there tonight. Yes, bye!” 

Turning to me, Tin Man said, “Oh, Grace, is that Mr. Roche's account file? By the way, ride with me to the cocktail party for him tonight.”   

Cocktail parties were a part of my job so I responded with my now second favorite word (next to “Guess”), “Sure.”  

I prepared for a heart-to-heart (rather, heart-to-metal) talk with Tin Man in the confines of his car, but he napped. Ms.Guts, come back!    

At the cocktails, Mr. Roche came straight to me, bellowing, “Grace!” He lifted me up and swung me around like papa bear would to baby bear. Jaws dropped; one clanged. When my feet touched the ground, he asked, “So, will I see you tomorrow?” 

A metallic voice beside me replied, “Of course!” 

Before I left the party, Tin Man took me aside, “Be at the presentation tomorrow.” 

“B-but . . . ”  I stammered. 

“Nine o'clock!” he said, walking to his car.    

Guess! I thought. “Sure,” I murmured. Ms. Spunk, you're leaving, too?  

The meeting opened with Mr. Roche challenging the agency anew. “Give me excellent work  all, the, time!” he roared. “And now, show me my creative team.”  On the screen flashed the organizational chart being worked on by our IT person the day before. Inside the top box was . . . ready for this? My name. 

“Good!” Mr. Roche rumbled. “Same old group!”   

That chart was ignored soon after Mr. Roche flew back to New York. Mutch headed the team anyway, and I was out of the box, and I let it ride! Ms. Passion, where art thou? 

To be continued next post

Uh-oh! #3

First chapter of "What, Me Retire?"   

*Continued from previous post

(Covid-19 has forced many people to retire and, as expressed in their social media posts, home 24/7 is such a lonely place. Perhaps by sharing my own retirement story, they can find humor in their change of pace, and may even discover that retirement is a blessing in disguise.)                                                   

Scene 2:  The Tin Man strips the EVP of authority plus more 

I armed myself against the many changes Tin Man instituted in the company. 

First change: The people reporting to me started working on their own and reporting directly to Tin Man. Something in me suddenly crashed — Ms. Ego!Uh-oh. Now, nothing pushed me into storming Tin Man's office anymore. I was disabled for assault.  

On the plus side, I had less work to do. But more changes: Tin Man ordered Human Resource to instruct new hires in my department to report directly to him, bypassing me.

I came close to waging World War III, but when I looked inside of me, I realized that Ms. Courage had likewise scampered away.  Am I too old for combats?

Two new young hires, artists, were walking down the corridor the next month. They were  both sporting uncombed long hair and jeans with holes. Once upon a time I interviewed their kind before they could set foot in my department. 

“Hi!” I said, “my name is Grace. Welcome to the agency!” 

“Hi, Grace!” they replied, and asked in a duet, “ From what department?” 

“Guess!” I said, slinking away.  

Farewell, Ms. Authority.  

Changes, changes, changes. “Hey, Grace!” a friend from a competing agency called up another day. “Your new boss attended the meeting last night. Where were you?”  

“Meeting?” I asked.  

“Don't miss the next one tonight, and join the Ways and Mean Committee.” 

“Ways and Means Committee?” I was out of the loop. 

Ms. Stature, are you leaving, too? I had lost my place in the industry. Uh-oh. 

To be continued next post

Uh-oh! #2

First chapter of "What, Me Retire?"   

*Continued from previous post

(Covid-19 has forced many people to retire and, as expressed in their social media posts, home 24/7 is such a lonely place. Perhaps by sharing my own retirement story, they can find humor in their change of pace, and may even discover that retirement is a blessing in disguise.)                                                    

Why I upped and left in four scenes 

Scene 1: The Tin Man Cometh 

Unlike doctors, lawyers, and professors who get more respect as they age, oldish (40s and up) advertising practitioners are reviled. Growing old is taboo. Advertising is an arena for the young with edgy ideas  at much less pay and perks. So when one reaches a certain age, pay, and perks like I did, fresh, young talents swagger their way in. 

Retirement? It was a constant push and pull when I was pushing 50. “I am old; I am young; I am old; I am young.” In denial? My friend Oski, who is a joker and jumbled quotations, had the answer, “Age does not matter, so long as matter doesn't age.” 

Then like a stray bullet from nowhere, a new boss pinged our comfy nest. My shaken, mind went into overdrive. His reputation as a non-nonsense man preceded him, so my brain's eye saw him as the Tin Man in human form.

Nothing wrong with the Wizard of Oz character who had no heart, but this Tin Man of a boss looked at the world in black and white—you were either in or out, young or old. So when we, members of management, came face to face with him in the boardroom, it was obvious he was a left-brainer, as opposed to me, a right-brainer from birth. 

Looking around, I saw my reflection on the faces of the other VPs — my dearest friends through the years: coiffed hair, crinkle-free suit, a demeanor of maturity way past young and daring.  

Closing my eyes, I listened to Tin Man and heard cling-clang instead of lub-dub. The ex-boss he just replaced, who retired at 50, had a humongous heart so big you could hear his lub-dub a mile away. On top of that, he had two giant ears that listened to what you had to say, careful not to break your spirit. 

I tried to delete the Tin Man metaphor from my brain, but the VP on my right furtively took my little notebook on the table and wrote on it, then the next VP beside him took the same notebook and wrote on it, too, and on to the next. When I got my notebook back, I read these scribbles, Uh-oh, What now? and I'm outta here! 

Now, now, that's not a nice way to welcome Tin Man, I thought. I glared at the three of them and mouthed, “chicken!” These three guys and I had fought the fiercest client wars and survived, with battle scars as our badge of courage. 

As affirmed by the three notes, the mindset of our new boss was obviously different from ours but I psyched myself for what was coming. Like David, the shepherd boy in the Old Testament, I was facing my giant Goliath (only figuratively, for he was slight in stature). He was poised to change the rules; I was poised to stick to them. 

To be continued next post