Chicago

“Chicago, my kind of town” is now light years away.

But every time I read or hear the word, I speed back 13,086 kilometers with my heart and mind, remembering vividly how grace changed my life in that place—my home for nearly five years.

In a recent get-together with old friends, one had on a baseball cap printed with Chicago. I borrowed it; immediately, it unlocked my gate of memories.

Chicago was where . . .

A. I met an arrogant and strict newspaper editor-in-chief, who was my first-ever boss. I was hired as one of his writers while taking up my Master’s degree. I had already written many articles before that so I thought writing for him was a cinch. Reading my first draft, he said, “Unfocused.” “Verbose.” Plus other adjectives that tamed my ego, fired up my anger, and improved my writing. I married him one year later—as soon as we got back to the Philippines.

B. Nobody is more important than the other. Equality was like a seal of contract. In any restaurant or any puublic place, one would find professionals and janitors dining there. If you asked, “What do you do?” The answer would come without hesitation, “I am a cook. “I am a clerk.” “I am a nurse.” “I am an actress on Broadway.” All said in a voice without shame or arrogance. 

C. The Lord said, “Enough!” He pulled me back into His care. Four years of college in UP lured me towards left-leaning ideologies espoused by intellectual friends who questioned the creation.  But in Chicago, three Filipino friends, all gentlemen of the first order, picked me up every Sunday to attend their church (Baptist), their nourishing place. Before long, we had become a gospel singing group, invited by various churches and Filipino events. I found God again; I ran straight back to my faith, and never looked back. 

  

These have been the ABCs of my life’s navigational tools. I found them (or they found me) in Chicago.