Fatherly Advice

Milk is a staple in a regular phone conversation between my father and me. Almost always, right before we hang up the phone, he would ask whether I have my ration of vitamins, and snacks, and groceries. And of course, milk. Lactose intolerant that I am, milk is not exactly my favorite drink.

Yesterday, I bought a carton of fresh milk. I sent my father a text message informing him of such fact. He replied: That would make you alert and smart.

For that, I need to drink milk more often.

Everything was a blur

I had my eyeglasses refracted last Monday. I didn’t have an extra pair, so I went home consciously feeling a certain kind of lightness, as if some weight was lifted from my face. But other than that, everything was a blur—literally. I got my old lenses back as keepsakes.

Counting the days, and the one time I remember being good with numbers

I’m bad at math, and I’m quick to admit this—quicker even than I would admit watching Zaido in GMA religiously when it was still running. I can’t remember dates very well, which gets me in hot water with friends because I forget whose birthday falls on which day. I can’t add and subtract with such speed the way Manila jeepney drivers do. When a cashier asks me if I have 75 centavos after handing her three pesos so she could give me 1.25, I simply smile and give a quick nod, resigning myself to believing she knows what she’s doing.

The only time I was good with numbers was way back in kindergarten. The teacher told the entire class to recite in chorus the multiples of two up to ten. While the rest obediently stopped when we reached ten, I went on rattling off the numbers up to twenty. This I did with a smirk on my face indicative of intellectual snobbery that a four-year old could muster. I could have gone up to a hundred had she not interrupted me with a, “Very Good, Ralph”—perhaps, a polite version of, “Stop it Ralph. Let’s move now to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

So, you see, I’m not a big fan of numbers. But lately, I have found myself numbering the days, counting and marking them off one-by-one with much gusto paralleled only by the excitement of Pierre de Fermat when he discovered an original method of finding the greatest and the smallest ordinates of curved lines (Okay, I have to thank Wikipedia for that sentence. I really don’t know who this guy is much less what “ordinates of curved lines” means. I must have heard his name from one of my mathematically-inclined friends).

Such fascination with counting and numbers can be attributed to a longing that I have of going back home to Koronadal, South Cotabato. It has been ten months since I last saw my parents and talked to them face to face. Ten months since my father last woke all his children up at 6 a.m. to join him for breakfast. Ten months since I last enjoyed a lungful of fresh, provincial air. Ten months since I last watched a movie with my then unmarried aunt for 40 pesos (how much does SM or Trinoma charge?). Ten months since I last ate a whole fruit of durian—smell and all. Ten months.

As of this moment, there are three more days before home.

That I may always have a sense

I’m grateful that today is a holiday, so instead of going to school very early in the morning, I got to spend a lot of time reading my Bible, and a good book called, Why I am a Christian, written by John Stott.

Earlier, I meditated on Acts 17: 26-27, and was reminded of God’s sovereignty. Although the immediate context speaks of God’s control over the length of our lives and the places of our birth, I think the verses could be extended to include God’s sovereignty over everything. (Anyway, the Bible is full of instances showing that God is indeed in control of everything—the experiences of Job, for example). That someone wiser, holier, more loving and more powerful than I am is in control of everything brings me much comfort, especially during times when I struggle with sin.

John Stott’s book is likewise an encouragement as it points the reader constantly back to Christ. I haven’t finished the book yet, but let me share one very good quote. On the question of why God does not simply forgive us without the necessity of the cross, Stott says:

It is when we begin to see the gravity of sin and the majesty of God that our questions change. No longer do we ask why God finds it difficult to forgive sins, but how he finds it possible.

That I may always have a sense of God’s greatness and sin’s utter horribleness!

So not the case

In my Corporation Law class today.

Professor’s Question: May a corporation be sued for a crime?
Professor’s Answer: No. The principle is that the corporation is a creation of the law, and as such, it cannot offend its creator.

So not the case with humans.

The Second Time Around

If everything goes well, I’ll be in Cebu by lunchtime tomorrow. This will be my second time in Cebu. The last time I was there was the first time I learned what it was like to take a plane ride. It was also the first time I asked the flight stewardess—that was what they were called during that time when the gender-neutral “flight attendant” was not yet in vogue—for a barf bag, which I did manage to use just as the plane was about to hit a complete stop.

I now only have vague recollections of what Cebu used to be like. I’ve heard that now, it is almost just like Manila sans the footbridges painted in a ghastly species of pink.

I’m going with my friends from church to attend the CCM Youth Convention. I’m really excited at the prospect of leaving Manila even for only three days. But I’m more excited at the thought of how God would be ministering to all of us in the convention. Indeed, nothing is more exciting to a starving pauper than the invitation to dine in a banquet of the most delicious cuisines with someone important as the King—and everything for free.

I pray that I may feast and be satisfied.

Booking Mishaps

I come from a place almost two thousand kilometers away from Manila. With the exorbitant cost of air fares, the obvious torture of bus rides, and the apparent sluggishness of boats, I usually get to go home to Koronadal, South Cotabato only once in a year–that is, only during the Christmas break.

Because of my parents’ constant reminder, I began making reservations early this week at the Cebu Pacific (which has the cheapest rates available) for my brother and me. I know the break is still some time in the future, but December is a busy month for airline companies; so the prudent thing to do is to book flights the earliest possible time. I don’t want to sleep in the airport hoping that someone will miss his trip, so I could take it in his stead–which was the fate of my friend who, a couple of years ago, made a decision to go home to the province only on the the second week of December, during which time the flights were already fully-booked.

This afternoon, I went to a travel agency in SM North to purchase the tickets. I was greeted by a lady who asked me to fill out some bits of information on a piece of paper . As I was scribbling down the curves and the loops of my name, the lady was phoning the airline company to confirm the reservations I made. I heard her mutter, “Ralph Vincent…uh-huh…bound for General Santos…on December 26.”

I was horrified. I made reservations for the 16th, not the 26th.

“Miss, 16 po ‘yung ni-reserve ko hindi 26,” I quickly butted-in. The lady patiently relayed my clarifications to the person on the other line. After a few minutes, she got back to me: “Sir, 26 po talaga ‘yung naka-reserve.”

I was hoping the problem would be sorted out immediately, and that there would still be flights available on that day. Praise God because there were! And the good this is, the price is a couple of hundreds lower than the flight which was erroneously scheduled on the 26th.

So there. With the problem solved, and the tickets paid out, I walked towards the jeepney stop, all the while thinking how good and in control God is even in situations such as that. I was filled with joy, because God has made my heart sensitive even to these little things. I also thank Him for the financial provisions. Surely, the decrease in the cost of the ticket is most welcome, especially now that it is enrollment period.

Going home, indeed, creates in me pangs of excitement. But before that, there will be mountains of cases to read, stressful recitations to prepare for, and teachers of different breeds to get used to. It is my earnest prayer that God in His mercy and grace would sustain me physically, mentally, and most of all, spititually.

I can’t wait for Christmas.

Welcome to the Club

Finally, my roommate decided to join the blogosphere. As far as I can remember, he has intended to create one (or have someone create one for him) around nine months ago. But for some reason or another, he has kept on delaying the acquisition of the blog-writer status–until today, that is.

May his blog become another venue by which he can make known the wondrous works of God in his life.

Welcome to the club.

Later

Today is Easter. Three days ago, I was in Tagaytay for our church's Youth Camp with a very timely theme, "Finding the Real Treasure." My heart and my mind overflow with truths and lessons–some of them I picked up for the first time, while the others I have gathered again after dropping them once before.

Maybe, I shall write about these later. Yes, later, when I can finally sit down to wrestle with words and images.

First Timer

While my brother was having the time of his life in SM North, I was out with friends at Starbucks in Katipunan, enjoying what remains of the semester. I am usually squeamish about spending a fortune on something like coffee because: 1) I am not a coffee drinker to begin with. (Credit that to my parents who led me to believe that drinking coffee can reduce brain activity—the culprit of dumbness and dwarfism); and 2) I’d rather spend on a good book which I can read in weeks, rather than a cup of coffee which I can gobble down in a couple of seconds. (Of course, when you have to pay for something as costly as that, you are inclined to sip the contents rather slowly—and I mean, slowly—to justify your prolonged stay in the coffee shop.)

And oh, promdi (read as: prom da prabins or “from the province”) as I am, the sight of people who can rattle the “fraps” and the “latte’s” effortlessly in a distinctly collegiala accent makes me nervous. I guess I just feel more at home with Lola Lita’s and Lutong Bahay.

If my counting is correct, last night was the third time I’ve been to buy coffee from Starbucks, and the very first time to actually “dine” there. I went with Jordan, Luther, LG, Jacq, Jhoanna who naturally queued and ordered first than I did. There seemed to be a popular craving for mocha frap among them; so without as much as a bat of an eyelash (and because I really didn’t know what to order), I said something like, “I’ll have that one, too.” I said this with all the calmest and most unassuming tone I could muster.

I didn’t think they caught that split second moment of naivete.

Later, Luther and LG went to a nearby 7-11 store to buy a loaf of bread and a pack of sandwich spread. Luther made the sandwiches for all of us. He carefully wrapped them in Starbuck’s tissues, which are available to customers for free, and which are 100 per cent recycled (I’m quoting verbatim from the tissues themselves). The coffee was expensive enough. We couldn’t afford to buy an equally overpriced slice of cake.

It was an enjoyable night, really. We got to talk about the rudiments of coño Bisaya. We got to laugh about Luther’s funny anecdotes—especially that incident when he couldn’t find a decent English translation for “Baba na po,” while talking to someone over his mobile on the jeepney; and so had almost resorted to saying “I am about to alight.” We also teased LG about being always welcome in the dorm fellowship (you see, LG is expecting to graduate this April, and that means he has to move out of the dorm). We also got to listen to Glenda (she and Jason came later) talk about her little sister who goes to school with her tiaras.

We were a bunch of personalities that night, but while writing this entry, I realized that what really connected us goes beyond shared interests or common traits: it is the Cross. We are all sinners—deserving of death—before a most holy God, who in His love, grace, and mercy saved us through the subsitutionary death of His Son on the cross.

More than anything, our hearts overflow with joy for the salvation that we have in Jesus Christ.