Memories of Activism.... reflections series one

I remember the times when I had joined the ranks of the Progressive movement. I was then filled with anger and hate..... seeing a disparate and corrupt system and guided by the readings made from Idealist thinkers and imaginers... I moved forward with the idea that "People of the World, unite,... You have nothing to lose but your chains..."

I remember my Uncle when he heard I joined an activist group,"There you go... dreaming an impossible dream and fighting a unwinnable war..destined for failure."

But then young people, filled with zeal, idealism and hope..... joining ranks with others respecting the prowess of the working class and the proletariat... moved forward.

Why did I become an activist? personally it happened it during a time I was in my youth... it was a time I was searching for meaning... for vision... when I was facing personal problems and was in a crisi on what to do with my life.... and when I was confronted by peers who convinced me that it was worth it fighting for rights.... I simply took the opportunity.

My readings as early as when I was in fifth grade influenced me a lot. Das Kapital.... some books on socialist thinkers like the works of Rosa Luxemborg, Antonio Gramsci and others... these ultimately lead me on that path.

But emptiness, also was one reason why i continued on that path, anger, loneliness , a deflated ego . These things led me to a lot of paths, training, realizations and opportunities. But it also led me to a path of Bias and contradictions.

However, the opportunity came for me to seethings in a new light. From a young age, perhaps I felt that indeed there was a distinct presence that guided me, even when I was in a state of stupor and darkness, it managed me to be brought back to the light. When Islam dawned in my life... it showed me a reason why things happened... it also eventually sharpened my knowledge, wisdom... it also made me more of an activist of a sharper nature......

But as time passes by and age mellows the zeal of youth... and maturity clarifies the vision..... eventually... that path that I always treaded was eventually brought to a fork road... leading me to a path that brought me away from it.

When you start becoming a Parent

Its a joy when one becomes a parent, to embrace and smell the fragrance of your child, to smell his hair, to enjoy him grow up... and to talk to him when he still in his younger years.

One of the happiest memories of my being a father was when I recited the adhan and iqamah in my children's ears. It was as if I had felt that I was reciting the Adhan and Iqamah for the last time in my life.

During my earlier days as a father, they were one of the hardest. I had to wake up early to buy fish at Malabon fishport and arrive on time to be able to sell the fish at a minimal profit so that I would have regular customers. I believed that it would be better to have 20 customers and gain a few extra pesos than have difficulty getting people to buy from me.

I simply did what I had to do, I sold fish and swallowed every oounce of pride I had in me, himbly peddling fish from house to house, I prayed everyday that I had enough money to be able to buy my son milk, rice for us, and save enough money for the rental of the small shed we called home. I soon went also to selling pandesal after arriving from market, then selling fish as I ran out of fish to sell during the day. It was funny, but I felt God's presence and love during those most trying of moments. These days, I have to pray and meditate real hard just to feel his pressence in my everyday work.

I could even bring my children to the mosque those time, and we'd pray together. All those times made me very happy. Bringing my children in the mosque and praying with them. they were the most happiest moments I ever knew.

I could even recite longer ayah's and surah's from memory.

Yes, It is so happy to become a parent, it makes one very happy and fulfilled.

When one sees them go to school, when one sees them arrive from school, and whenever they kiss you... and whenever they embrace you.... It is a feeling one can never exchange.

These things are the things that make you happy. when you answer their questions, when you play and make jokes with them.... yes... it is indeed the joys of being a parent....

Ang Tsinelas Ni Pepe

(ps.... my son needed an anecdote about Rizal in Filipino... so I wrote one as I coulndt find one my fancy)

Ang kadalasa'y sinasabi nila sa mga kabataan, ay wag magtapon ng mga bagay at ito'y pagsasayang. May mga pagkakataon na kapag nawala ang isang kabiyak na pares o gamit, ay isinasantabi na amang natin ang gamit na yun pagkat ito'y wala nang pag-gagamitan.

Tunghayan natin ang isang silip sa buhay ni Pepe; tawag sa ating bayaning si Jose Rizal nang siya ay bata pa lamang.

Nang si Pepe ay nasa edad na sampung taon, siya at ang kanyang Kuya Ponciano ay pumunta sa isang pista sa may kabilang pampang ng Laguna de Bay. Nuong mga panahon na iyon, napupuno ng mga nilad (water Lily) at medyo malakas pa ang agos ng tubig. Habangsumasagwan ang bangkero ay tuwang tuwa si pepe na nilulublob ang kanyang kaliwang paa na may suot na Tsinelas na bigay ni kanyang Kuya Ponciano.

"Ang sarap maglaro sa tubig. Ang Lamig!!!", ang sambit ni Pepeng nakangiti at kumakaway sa mga tao sa pinagdaraanan nila.

"Mag-ingat ka anak," ang wika ng bangkero, at baka malaglag ang iyong suot na pangyapak (ang tawag nuon sa Tsinelas)"

"Inay", biglang sigaw ni Pepe,nadulas ang kanyang paa, at akmang nahawakan ng kanyang Kuya ponciano ang kanyang bisig, "Salamat po Kuya."

Subalit, mabilis naman hinubad ni Pepe ang kanyang pangyapak, nagdasal ng taimtim, sabay inihagis ang tsinelas sa direksiyon ng pinaghulugan ng kanyang kapilang paris na pangyapak.

Nabigla ang bangkero; at nagtanong, " Pepebakit mo ihinagis ang kanang kapares ng iyong tsinelas?".

"Kawawa po ang batang makakatagpo ng kaahating paris lamang ng tsinelas kaya tinapon ko na rin ang kabilang paris", wika ni Pepe, "Sapagkat kung makikita iyon ng isang batang nakayapak, magagamit rin iyon ."

Natawa ang bangkero, naisip niya na tila ang isang batang ito y hindi nag-iisip ng kanyang sinasabi

Subalit, nang makarating sila sa pampang sa kabilang dulo,tumawa si Kuya ponciano at nagsabi, "Mama, hindi po sa hindi nag-iisip si Pepe, subalit iniisip ni Pepe sa sana ay may makagamit pa ng kanyang panyapak na nawala".

of frustrations and joys

When you gain or get an agreement signed... you always get agitated....

I remember when i was then in college, lining up to get my grades from my teachers so i can reapply my scholarship.

I just got GMA kapuso foundation to agree to send their scholars to the school to do Visual Graphics and Animation with us. It was a heartening experience.

The place where I work have scholars, partially because both my boss and I were products of academic scholarships.

we wanted that we would return a favor by sending other kids to school who deserved better that be uneducated and have their dreams remain dreams.

but nowadays, students who get scholarships dont simply treasure or value the gifts they recieve. instead of helping the institution that they study; they simply add to the domestic problems.....

only do these kids perhps realize ...... when they ,lose their privellage would they mourn and weep....

then they would realize the value and joy of being a scholar and the frustration of losing a scholarship.

and that tears wouldnt even dry up.

Lucky indeed are the KASI scholars......

Memories of Mentors

It has been always said, that behind the success of every man is a woman behind the scenes; Yes indeed that phrase is correct.

I would also add that behind the great minds of today is a great mentor who gave him wisdom and light. I had my own share of women and mentors who gave me inspiration, knowledge and success.

My first mentor, like all great men... was my mother, taught me the rudiments of A,b,c she also taught me pain, sorrow, happiness, emotions and how it is to live under the control of these emotions.

I had great mentors my whole life, from the moment I stepped grade one, there was Ma'am Rabino (whose cute daughter was cute really in my eyes). Though My mother taught me the rudiments of literacy at age 2, this teacher taught me how to live under the shadow of cousins and aunts who bullied me. Yes, I was the older cousin of three cousins studying in the same section, but I was bullied, not physically but emotionally. Yes, It was quite a learning experience.

My teachers in my elemetary years taught me how to live under the shadow of bullies. I was then a very thin boy, who would have to let bigger classmates copy from my answers for friendship and protection. Eventually, after learning a few self defense skills, I managed to remove the bullies and manipulate them to my ends.

My teachers in high school were.. of course of varied persuasuins, this was where I had my intellectual awakening , both politically, introduced to marxism and Mystically, being introduced to "The Mystical Life of jesus". I was thus on the path of either perdition or anarchy.

Like the young people of my time who became addicted to religion, I tried to find solace in religion to run away from the pains of life and love, and eventually found that joining school activities provided an escape to my world of pain. And joining socially oriented groups provided a haven and escape.

Funny as it seems, that people would find mentors in unwitting situations.

I embraced Islam in 1992, an experience that was both broke my bound of sanity and intellect out of bounds.

I lost my friends, my teachers thought I lost my mind... even my adviser, Mrs leonardo and mam Rabanez (whom I really admired a lot) sort of became cold.

It pushed me literally to a search of people who would guide me.

The first person who talked and served both as a mentor and mother to me was my classmate and bossom friend Jhaid's mother, Maryam, she was a filipino teacher in Sta barbara elementary school. She answered all my questions about islam, and although I wasnt that convinced, I toed the line.

Maryam's husband Hajid (may Allah bless his soul) taught me a lot of things in Aquaculture. he was hatcher manager and eventually Fishpond manager in Fisheries, a school in Zamboanga City, he taught me on how to live on what was available, on how to live dignified even in the face of poverty and hunger.

I eventually met some other teachers on the road, Bimboy and Jingjong (jhaid's siblings ) gave me some reading materials and gave me a lot of advice. the first three months after my conversion was quite hard, I had to give up the idea of Jesus being God, drinking (i was a voracious drinker), and a lot of other issues.

I met two people during this period who was responsible for my tranformation from a neophyte to the Muslim thinker that I am today......

It was the time when the Abu Sayyaf and Muslim converts were the issues of the day; and masjids were wary of every convert of being a government agent; thus i was derpived of getting formal instruction and tutelage in Islam.

I found my way during the month of ramadhan to a theological seminary near chong Hua high school, I soon found Sheik Hajal Jubah (may Allah bless his soul), who introduced me to Intellectual islam and Irfan (gnosis) this started the path to my intellectual journey in islam; however, jealousy among his other proteges eventually led me to part ways with this man.

I wandered from one Guru to another, occassionally attending the personal classes and lectures of the late Mufti ustad Abdulghani Yusuf (alyahi Irham), but never finding the right moment to settle down under his tutelage.

I soon found my self under the tutelage of Prof Amilussin Jumaani, a man with a brillant mind and a colorful life. under him I was exposed to a lot of things in Islam under this scholar, who did a lot of things for islam in the Philippines. I am indeed grateful I was his protege. (notwithstanding he was the brother-in-law of the late Mufti A. Yusuf, [alayhi irham]). My wife named my second son after him.

But in the middle of all this things and teachers, two people stood out in my journey, my uncle felino and Kah Tuan (jumaani), they both provided me with advises and wisdom on how to go about my life despite my screw-ups.

My uncle Felino taught me how to be the scrooge and shrewd operator I was, and kah Tuan taught me the dignity and fierceness of being a Muslim. indeed afterall those years, i miss these people who mentored me ; and how they taught me, how i wish that even now i could ask them on advises on how to face things, for most of them, what I have is my memories of them and what theyve taught me.

Memories of Pets

When I was a kid, I always tried to put my hands on pets, one way or the other it was a way of relaxation, companionship and warmth.

One of my favourite memories was ironically my uncle Lino's pet dogs, which though I never owned them, they occupied a very special place in my life. I was then done in college and my eventually my uncle had to take me in his place, as besides being an activist with lost causes, my "job" eventually needed my a free place to stay.

Though I had my other relations in Baliwasan, Mampang who wanted me to stay in their homes, I opted to stay with my grumpy uncle Lino, who had indeed grumpy dogs who had attitudes.

I remember Bogart and Bulldog, both ASKALS (asong kalye breed for short), who were black and brown respectively. The first time I brought my worldly possessions in his house (which consisted of books, my clothes and books), these two dogs were staring at me from a distance after barking.

It took my cousin Albert, Kerima, my Auntie Cion and my Uncle Lino to hold these dogs who viewed me as an intruder. (they should, i ran away with their owners possessions when I was younger). Eventually, Bulldog, the brown dog was slowly edging his way towards me sniffing me. Coming from a family of dog breeders (almost every Santos had a dog in Zamboanga and took dogs not as a hobby but as a part of their living), i also tried to pet the dog, who immediatley asked me to scrath his rump and his chest.

The other one, black and grumpy like his patron would always stare at me with suspicion, always watching.As time passed by, Bulldog begun to like me , as whenever I would arrive from work or one of my rallies, he would rush out to the gate or door and jump at me as a sort of welcome. Indeed, I was quite emotionally scarred in my younger years, being away and living on the street and on my wits, it was quite a relief that the family "welcomed" me home.

Yes, it was then a comforting thought that here was a house where I was always welcome, despite my follies and galivantings, Roy was welcomed... and the dogs were proof.

I spent quite a significant number of years when I was young in that house, and when I had the occassion, I would visit and sleep in the same room.

Back to the dogs, yes... these dogs even shared a part of my lovelife. (when I was courting two girls there, Marianne, my neighbor who also had dogs... and Cynthia).

Funny as it seems, although this part youd only find in telenovelas or cartoons, Bulldog and Bogart both had Marianne's pet dogs as friends (or more). That made my memories more funnier and fonder whenever I remember these dogs, who would chase out the Orofel dogs so I can sneak out a love letter or two at the mailbox for Marianne.

They provided security for my Uncle who was a grumpy and fiery editor of several newspapers, attacking any corrupt official in Zamboanga City. And when unwelcome people came, the dogs simply barked and chased the poor unwelcome fella away from his house.

There was also a neighbor's dog who in all places decided to give birth in our porch, which eventually give us a litter of puppies who dominated the household of Uncle felino. But that wasn't over yet, we were still going to have another one.

One day, we found a hybrid mutt lying weakly along the side of the road, Kerima picked the pup, brought it home and started the whole series of interbreeding ang genetic mixing up of breeds; Hootch who had claws, small serrated teeth and grumpy attitude.

So from the time I left the houshold for Manila in 2000, I never expected to see the dogs. However, when i came back in 2003, some of the dogs were still there and funnily, they simply snuffed me and "recognized" and went into the whole habit of jumping at me. So from that time thereon I realized, the dogs knew I was part of the household and when I went back in Zamboanga, I simply stayed with Uncle Lino...reminiscing my memories of younger days and not to mention being pestered by these loving dogs.

The last time I went to Zamboanga was last Summer, it was only Hootch and another dog, I cant recall-his-name-was. And hootch was back to her jolly self barking and jumping at me.

I heard recently that all of Uncle's dogs died and that he and Auntie Cion were having second thoughts of raising dogs only to be heartbroken when they die. But then again, they'll realize, that indeed pets are an integral part of living on, as I later found out my cousins were asking their parents to have new pet dogs.....

And then perhaps when I go back to zamboanga, maybe a new yelp across that house would be heard welcoming a traveller who once spent his younger years there.

Thinking of home and memories

When one goes away from home, beyond the seas, one would always wonder...was he a vagabond, a listless romantic, a forsaken rebel or a wanderer.

these and many other questions hound ...

and perhaps they may find answers