PINK Museum of Hope

 “Have you been to the Museo ng Pag-Asa?” my friend P messaged me yesterday.  

“Yes.” 

“Then why have you not blogged about it?” she probed. 

“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.  

“I read all your blogs.” 

“You do?! Why?” 

“Why not?” she sneered. 

Friends say the nicest things. 

Seven months ago, in March, our driver Sam, Tony and I made time to visit the PINK Museum of Hope, a long two-hour drive from our home on a good day (moderate traffic flow).  

From the moment we entered the gate to the time we left the place, I was all choked up. I could not describe how I felt. Every word stored in my head escaped to somewhere far away.  

On several monitors, we watched one PINK massive rally after another in different places, and in every single one of them, the energy hit the rafters. People of all ages in PINK were all fired up, holding up creative posters and chanting inspiring words. The enthusiasm was palpable. 

Looking around at all the items (gifts to Leni and Kiko) from shelf to shelf, I had goosebumps. These were no ordinary gifts—they were handmade, personalized, and crafted in love. They came in all art forms: sculpture, painting, literature (poetry, letters, coffee table books), music and dance; performing arts; film; and architecture (the place was cleverly constructed to showcase all the thousands of magnum opuses).  

I have never seen anything like it!  

And I am not speaking of just the museum but the spirit that drove it. There is no adjective in the dictionary good enough to describe that PINK treasure-of-a-place and my feelings, especially because the result of the election was the polar opposite of what this place evoked.  

And so I could not blog about it. 

This much delayed upload, prompted by P, does not even begin to capture the essence of what we experienced—through the campaign that culminated in a place not Malacanang, but one called Museo ng Pag-Asa. 

The message drilled into my soul after that visit was HOPE: someday, grace will enable us to vote into office candidates with an honest, honorable heart that beats for service. God, in His infinite 

mercy, will not leave us under the reins of politicians with a dishonest, dishonorable heart that beats for greed.     

“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God.” Psalms 42:11 (NKJV)

My BFF Minna Comes Home

My cousin Minna and I grew up together. We were classmates in grade school and on our graduation, our parents gifted us with the same brand of watch, which we both wore on stage—she, as valedictorian, and I, as salutatorian. 

We were inseparable, according to our parents. So even if we parted ways in high school, we still met during vacation and did everything together. In college, we became  inseparable again in UP, until we parted ways when her family immigrated to the US. 

Despite the distance and separation—and many events happening in our individual lives—we kept in touch. Together, we would still giggle like we did in grade school and never ran out of topics to talk about. 

Whenever she came for vacation from the US, I would take a leave from work so we could be together.  We would travel to Umingan to visit our parents and at night, we would talk till the wee hours of the morning—about anything and nothing. 

She put me in charge of her bank accounts. I was shocked, “What?! You trust me with your money?” 

She said, “I trust you with my life.” 

I think she meant that because whenever I would send her a financial report, she would not even read it. 

Although she lived in the US permanently, her heart was always in Umingan—with her parents when they were still alive. She made sure she was here for them. Aside from her parents, she made herself available for her youngest brother, Sam. She told me she would take care of him for as long as she was able. She loved Sam and his children so much she always provided whatever they needed. 

And today, even in death, her wish was to come home to Umingan—the place where her heart was, the place where we grew up, and the place she loved most in the world. Her ashes will be inurned beside her parents' grave after a Memorial Service in our home church. 

This time, she came home not just for a vacation but to stay for good. Welcome home, my dearest cousin. I cannot be there to welcome you back this time, but for me, you really never left. You were, and will always be in my heart forever. 

Pangasinan 2015: Pigging out during one of her visits.

NY 2019. The last time we giggled together--before, during, and after watching "Beautiful" (her nickname, BTW, was Ms. Beautiful) on Broadway. 'Twas a grace-packed day.

The Rashness of Youth

Mariel, a dear friend, was still single when she and I worked in the same office. She was well liked by everyone because of her cheery disposition. Without our knowledge, she was seeing a married man. Soon, she got pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful daughter. She kept this part of her life private.   

Years later, Mariel and her boyfriend (after being legally separated from his wife) got married. In my unbiased opinion, they are each other’s yin and yang.        

During a recent chat with Mariel, she opened up about her pregnancy. “My mom came to Manila because I did not go home for Christmas that year.”  

Entering Mariel’s apartment, her mom fawned over the cute, three-month-old baby in the arms of a yaya. Clueless about Mariel’s status, she assumed that the baby was the neighbor’s.   

“Mom, she’s mine,” Mariel said, taking the baby from the yaya as she prepared for the worst. “But Mom said nothing, perhaps sorely processing all that had happened behind her back.”  

Then her mom cried—and so did I, just listening to Mariel’s story and feeling her mom’s pain. 

But because mothers have a wellspring of love for their children, she cradled the baby in her arms, while Mariel called her boyfriend waiting outside.  

“Up to this day, I don’t know what words were said between him and Mom.”  

Now that Mariel’s secret was out, I bravely probed, “What made you -”   

“I was young, careless, and rash!”  

“Does your daughter know?”  

“No. I don’t want her thinking she was an accident.” 

“But history might repeat -”   

“I am praying for grace that it won’t,” Mariel stressed. “But when she was my age when I had her, I fully understood the impact of my rashness on my mother.”     

How can parents counsel the youth to avoid making rash decisions?  It's a rhetorical question. I have three sons so I never went through that kind of problem. 

The Lord has an answer in Scripture: Proverbs 22:6 (NLT) reads, "Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it." 

Book Fair (MIBF) 2023

For three years, while hogtied at home by the global brute called Covid-19, I had ached for the return of the annual Manila International Book Fair (MIBF). I kept busy by reading, blogging, and tweaking on-end the books that would have been launched in that event three years in a row. But as you and I know, no activity of such magnitude was allowed. 

Then came 2023 and after the health hogtie was cut loose, the MIBF materialized from hibernation. And irony of ironies, I was caught unprepared for its sudden reappearance. I forgot to invite people and to take photos. All the shots on this page were sent by friends.  

Yes, the Book Fair had the huge crowd of book lovers times one thousand!  There was hardly any space to squeeze one’s body from booth to booth. Many who tried to join the fray complained, “The place was a war zone. We kept battling for a parking space, but losing.”

With my usual entourage—my sister Aie, and sons #1 and #3—I hied to MOA (the venue for years) early so I could catch the launching of my book “Second Chances” at the CSM booth.  As in the previous years before the three-year pandemic, the booth was heavily infested with human bookworms.  

From there, I raced to a lunch meeting with one of my publisher’s CEO and a writer friend.  

After that, we rushed to the launch of OMF’s big books, two of which are my titles (All Aboard with Five Lolas and Half and Half of the "Oh, Mateo!" series). Although my few photos of the event seem tame, the whole day was, believe me, pandemoniacal: chats with readers, photo-ops (with their cameras), meet-up with friends, book signing, and hurried interviews. 

Yes, the MIBF is back! Brought by grace multiplied a thousandfold. 

"This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24 (NKJV) 

Lost September: Found!

In 2020, the first year of the life-threatening corona-virus pandemic, I lamented the loss of my September, when all events I prepared for were cancelled. My plaintive cry: Where are you? Will you ever come again? 

Well, it did! 

Three years later, today, I found September again and all through 30 days, 24/7, it swallowed me up, leaving me no time to come up for air. 

I am not complaining; I am celebrating. 

First, the university where I had been teaching for years before the pandemic offered me a face-to-face flash/crash course in Critical Writing (three sections). That occupied three days of my week plus two days of paper work and consultation. 

Second, the Palanca Awards asked me to chair the board of judges for one category, which had about 75 entries.  

Third, MIBF, where I launched three books, came alive with a vengeance! 

Fourth, our family business—OTSI, a Medical  Transcription School—that son #1 transitioned to fully-online training during the pandemic, has been blessed with unprecedented enrollees (I handle the English module) from various places in the country and the world. 

 

Fifth, but first in priority, the Sunday school for women that I facilitate needs thorough study and marathon Bible reading of various translations. What makes the preparation much longer than normal is—to be inclusive—I decided to conduct the class in Filipino.    

What? An Ilocano teaching in Filipino?!  That must be your thought balloon. 

September grace made all of these possible. 

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13 

October is another month . . .

Second Chances: Now a Book

On this same day last year, I received an email with a message that pulled my heart in opposite directions.   

It was from Daff, the Editorial Manager of Church Strengthening Ministry (CSM), one of my publishers. CSM is always on the look-out for what readers need to help bring them closer to Jesus.  

“Here's a topic we feel might be good for our next book project with you:

Second chances/moving forward after disappointment, rejection/heartbreak, failure/wrong decisions, or loss.

"This would appeal to both boomers and millennials. Most people have experienced having doors closing on opportunities, relationships, hopes and dreams, or on a former way of life, especially during this pandemic. But such painful occasions can lead to new ventures.

"We remember how you became an award-winning author after your career in advertising unexpectedly ended! 

"Let us know if this is a topic that would interest you as a writer.” 

I looked back on all the second chances given me and I could not even begin to count them. But I had roadblocks: the health protocols have not been lifted and face-to-face meet-ups might not be possible; worse, would others share their second-chances stories with me? 

More than enough did!  

Through marathon talks over coffee or lunch, and online back-and-forth chats and messages, I was moved by the many stories of second chances. How God turned their struggles around was an affirmation of His love for all who come to Him. 

Each narrative is unique, but unified by willingness to cling on to the Lord, then enter a new season with a stronger desire to follow Him through the rest of the journey. Should they (and we) fall again, we are assured that the God of second chances will generously bestow his grace twice, thrice, multiplied countless times—till earthy life ends.  

In all 11 stories, God stretches his patience far longer than we think possible. In His own perfect time, His grace dashes in, and makes us begin new seasons of unimaginable high from a lowest low.  "Unli" second chances no less—until we get it right with Him. 

Second Chances, the book, is about: lessons learned, hope regained, and life redirected. 

It was launched at the Manila International Book Fair last month (September). 

Making it BIG

“Librarians require big books to be used for storytelling!” Ferdie, the Marketing guru of OMF Lit, messaged me. He ended every sentence with an exclamation point, as though we were talking face-to-face. 

Ferdie is always, as I am, excited over book projects. Grace empowers us to see the bright side, forgetting the sales slump during the pandemic. 

He mentioned two “Oh, Mateo! series” books: All Aboard with Five Lolas and Half and Half. He also specified the new BIG size, but numbers never resonate with me. I asked him instead what I needed to do. “The editor will get in touch with you,” he replied. 

Joshene, the editor, did and said the text should be reduced to half, without losing the flavor of the original. 

BIG job!  

It took weeks before I could finish the abridged versions. I read them to a kid to make sure I got them right. The kid laughed, drooled, and squealed excitedly that I thought I was a genius—for a second or two. 

But other fears quashed that arrogance. Will the images still be as clear and as sharp as Beth Parrocha, the artist, originally created them? Joshene never lost her cool. Back and forth, forth and back, we did revisions, exhanged ideas, as best as we could.  

Two months later, I messaged Ferdie. “When can I see the two BIG books?”  

“At the Manila International Book Fair, in September!”

I rushed to the OMF Lit booth that one day in September to finally caress my BIG books. I was beyond stunned.  

I knew they were going to be big, but not THAT BIG! Everything suddenly grew BIG in and around me after that first shock. Exactly like grace, I thought. It is always bigger than what I ask for.  

I sent copies to my BFF Lucy’s grandchildren—one of whom is Zach, born with Down Syndrome, but who “is now learning to read,” said Lucy. 

Their photo is another BIG moment of grace.  

“When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—the moon and the stars you set in place—what are mere mortals that you should think about them, human beings that you should care for them?”  (Psalm 8:3-4 NLT)   

Why I Write for Children (Part 2)

Sometime in 2015 (eight long years ago!), I wrote a blog with the same title.  It was an in-depth discourse why indeed do I “bother” (a distressing term from a writer friend) to write children’s books when I can write “real” books, like he does.  

Eight Children’s Book Day have come and gone and people still ask me, “Why do you write books for children?”

I stand my ground; my reasons cannot be moved.   

Then I read this heartbreaking news about our children, “. . . less than 15% of Filipino children are found to be capable of reading a simple text at age 10—placing the country's learning poverty somewhere around 85%.

Learning poverty. Learning. Poverty. 

About the same time, a dear friend, who has a PhD in Education and is a dedicated teacher in a public school, sent me this photo on Children’s Book Day this year. It suddenly hit me.  

There are over 20 million children in the country within this age range today (2023). If 85% (roughly 17 million) of them can’t read, sob, should the question—Why do you write for children?—even be asked?  

I posted this photo on my FB wall and captioned it: “I have many, many reasons for writing for children. These are four of them. The post got over 100 positive responses, which I call affirming grace, in a few hours.  

“Children are a heritage from the LORD, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their opponents in court.” (Psalms 127:3-5 NIV)  

Credits (top photo collage): Rappler and Philippines Orphanage Foundation 

Different Face

Grumpy old man. Cranky old lady. 

Why does the world have titles for people who are growing old?  

There are various reasons, but the most common one offered by doctors is that after the age of 50, people begin to feel aches and pains, which become worse as we age. These limit our movements, causing frustration that is mirrored on our faces. 

In a way, our faces are a visible reflection of our invisible soul. A furrowed brow or upturned lips may reveal an unhappy soul. On the other hand, a smiling lips or glowing eyes become marks of inner radiance.  

How do we reconcile this with what God said in Genesis 1:26 (NLT)?  “. . . Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock . . . ”   

Over the years, we lose our energy and our grip over these creation. The state of our body pains are etched on our faces—wrinkles, blemishes, etc. But what Paul said in 2 Corinthians 3:18 consoles us, “So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.” 

Glorious image. That’s what we have been promised.  

We can’t change the faces we were born with, but we can do something about the kind of person we’re growing into. By His grace, and in His time, you and I will grow toward an inner resemblance to our Lord. 

We can begin today, if we haven't yet.       

Whodunit?

A whodunit is a mystery story that keeps the criminal's identity a secret until the end. But this is a blogsite on grace—let's do away with criminals and focus on their opposite.  

Each time Laura left her apartment, she would take pains bolting her door knob, which was broken, with ropes, tapes, and rubber bands. She could not afford to have it replaced because her monthly pension was barely enough for her daily upkeep. 

While she was in church one Sunday, she received a text message from an unidentified number. “The key to your door is under the third flower pot to your left.”  

As soon as she got home, she was surprised to find her door knob replaced with a new one. She quickly looked for the key and true enough, it was where the message said it would be.

Afraid that someone might have ransacked her apartment, Laura inspected every space, but nothing was missing.  

She went down on her knees to thank God for her anonymous benefactor, who did exactly as Jesus Christ said in Matthew 6:1-4 (NLT) about giving to the needy:

“’Watch out! Don’t do your good deeds publicly, to be admired by others, for you will lose the reward from your Father in heaven.” 

He teaches us not to brag about our generosity and acts of charity! “. . . when you give to someone in need, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. Give your gifts in private, and your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.’” 

Whodunit? 

In Laura’s case, it was not a criminal but a kind, anonymous person who gave quietly and secretly—not expecting anything in return. Not even a “thank you.” 

Can you imagine a world of anonymous benefactors like Laura’s? Let me turn that into a statement:  Let’s make a world of anonymous benefactors like Laura’s.