Unearthed Hidden Treasures

Have you ever planted sweet potatoes or watermelons? That unspeakable joy gets you when you see them grew, and then had buds, bloomed, and finally bore fruit. Uprooting or picking each crop is like you unearthed hidden treasures–it felt so, so great.

The same way with my journey as an educator. I planted seeds of goodness and kindness in the hearts of people without really knowing what comes next.  And when harvest happens, you just cannot contain your emotions–it is overflowing with rejoicing–it truly is. Keep sowing goodness and kindness day in, day out without expecting in return. 

Monkhood

This is only a mock photo. No, I wasn't wearing a robe, I just covered my learner's robe around my chest.

What if I’d wake up one morning like this–caught up in an existence hasn’t even crossed my wildest imagination–not even once?  Would unkind words echo like a roaring thunder or would I hear nothing but a deafening silence of condemnation? I could feel the sting of a wounded heart through ridicules from the world I’ve known while the other side of the world is in constant jubilation. I knew it. It had to be this way. Of course, I am aware ever since I got here that this is someone’s path but somebody’s inquisition–only a minute of pretense for once in my life.  

Please don’t get me wrong, please don’t. I have a deep respect for monks and Buddhism in fact–deeper than the ocean, but I can’t be one of them for a billion reasons. And whatever justification I have in mind, let it be gone with the wind. Classroom, hi-and-bye rapport, taking photos in selfie and groupie, teacher-learners acquaintances, and typical chats–we were always just this close. To be in a monkhood? No, it isn’t  my world.

Life-long Learners

It doesn’t really matter whether you are sitting on your comfortable sofa with your favorite books to read or when you’re in a rocking chair on a front porch trying to journal your day or simply standing on a veranda at late night stargazing. No, I don’t care a hoot if someone is a big fan of a four-walled classroom and likes to spend the time there eternally or steps outside that space to learn significant things including bits and pieces.  And I’m not in the position to judge whether or not a lot of people are deeply engaged in a corporate world trying to beat the demand–where competitiveness is a real game and pressure is a challenge. When the rest only need typical things to get by–because not everyone is born with such complex lifestyle. After all, every lesson learned from both different point of view is vital.

Who cares if you are sitting next to the prominent ones in a seemingly current and relevant conference or having a coffee talk with the famous person in the society or better yet, having a small chat with familiar faces including strangers in busy streets? Does it really matter? Because everything about it and behind this is called life-long learning–we are life-long learners–an experience in the simplest word.  

My Dear Town

This photography is not mine. 

There is more to this town than meets the eye–only domiciled individuals can truly relate–not even a thousand obelisks could inscribe her beginning and growing in the heart of every resident. Decades have come and gone, and yet she stood the test of time. Amidst the taunting haunts of life’s uncertainty and seemingly endless odysseys, she will continue to stand and thrive for the rest of our lives. Like a mother to a child she caresses and cuddles us. She has been around and will be there from the cradle to the grave just to show her unstinting devotion. She has proven her love through thick and thin, and for countless circumstances. This town named Ipil will remain beautiful in the eye of the beholder.

Proud to avow, I grew up in this place. But left in my late teens to run after my aspiration. Of course, it was a forgivable decision and a justifiable reason. Like the rest of the youth before me and my generation, we followed our hearts to find the greener pastures. I did. That was twenty-four years ago of homesickness and the longing to feel the warmth embrace of a place I once called a home. I’ve been away, but no, every memory of my dear town hasn’t lost in the mists of time. It has been with me all these years in vivid description. I only have one thing to say when I visited there last year… I was a total stranger. Wish I could bring yesteryear back when everybody knows everybody. It is a hope against hope for sure. Well, I still had fun spending time with my family.

These photos are not mine.

Poetry

Head over heels, yeah, that’s the right idiom to describe my love for poetry. I fell so in love with poems my younger years. I could read tons and be charmed word for word. Funny me, but I could even slog away hours and hours just to write this seemingly boring literary work. Really. Aside from essays, writing nonsense verses or made-up word was always indulging. When I wrote one, I felt the world spun non-stop. A day or a week to spend for it was too short–like a little amount of leisure time. But those were the days.

I had a notebook in high school, a collection of original compositions of poems and songs I wrote over those years. Sad to say, I burned it because I was deceived by a fanatic Christian not to write such stuff. I was young in faith you know. Then I started to write in University again, but not much when I went to postgraduate schools. If I had a free time and was in a good mood–a rare chance, I tried to write still after those scholastic journeys. Oh, please do remind me, the last time I think held a pen for this literary genre was almost a decade ago. It feels like I am getting blunt. The longest piece I had written was a twenty-two-verse poem in less than two hours. Last night I became a born-again poet–more ambitious one who tried to beat my longest work. Failed. But I’m very pleased that I can still write.

Let me share a portion of what I did yesterday evening, the first one in many years. It is a seven-verse poem I wrote in less than five hours:

A Dirty Word

By AL Kemuel

Verse 1:

Flowers, as always, they tickled you pink,

Whether it’s a piece from the wild or a bouquet of peonies;

You know each language, kind, and scent so well,

That undying fascination tells me something else then.

Verse 7:

My sincerest apology to utter a lame persuasion–no, a regretful one,

Words you know didn’t come easy to me after all;

Tell me, I want to understand, it’s hard to absorb,

Why such a proposal or a marriage or a wedding is a dirty word?

A dirty word!?

Awkward Cold War

Thought I would only last a week from that cold war–an awkward battle triggered by their own ignorance. But I was aware from tip to toe, what it is like, the feeling of a wounded pride. I didn’t come to wage war in the first place. More than just winning over new friends, my utmost intention is to offer help–a solicited one so to speak. Then I wavered. It was a commitment I’d break if I found out ahead of time what’s being here like. To cut to the chase, I stayed despite such bizarre episode–and struggled to stay I meant. Although the ticking of the clock seemed slow, and to survive a week was very agonizing emotionally and mentally, I decided to stay still. If I had to change my tack, I’d do it because there was something to prove. I felt impelled to correct their misconception about me and the situation. I made the right decision. Like the rest of the decisions I did under pressure, for innumerable times in the past, I’ve proven myself once again that this “small me” is no big quitter.

Glad that the awkward cold war is over. It lasted for a while. In an unfavorable circumstance as this, you just have to be diplomat and as meek as a sheep to instill your purest intention. I am speaking for myself. Needless to say, it wasn’t easy like eating peanuts, but it was worth giving another chance. I gave myself a second chance rather. Aside from this and that to accomplish, I will have one more important workshop to conduct for this institution I am currently working for–my last project for this year–so soon. And then I’ll be off in two months’ time. “See? You guys had really nothing to lose but gains” my mind seconded the whole scenario. I may not be the famous educator in the world (I don’t have to for goodness’ sake) or the most sought-after teacher (do I really have to?), but for more than once in my life, I stood my ground to show kindness. All in all, this experience I’d look back in the future for old time’s sake.     

       

Reading

Why is it reading, in all forms, is out-and-out a hell to a lot of children in Asia? I wish I had the best answer, but I can make a guess for sure. Motivation starts at home or at school at least for kids who do not have good parents. When adults do not even lift a book and tell their children how important this is, young ones would see it the same way. If teachers aren’t readers themselves, their learners undeniably are reflections of what they are. It happens. I grew up in a home where nobody read books–we never even owned a book. But at my aunt’s house which was fifteen kilometers away from us had tons of them. So I used to walk far just to indulge myself a craving for books. I did it like million times when our school’s library was closed for summer and weekends. Of course, I got the motivation to read from teachers at school and from my church.

One could tell a million reasons perhaps depending on a circumstance. And reading as a disinterested activity in individual’s life makes me wonder until this very day. This specific issue goes to older persons as well–they are no exceptions. But I discovered one more surprising reason as I edited my boss and his team’s project proposal yesterday. They address the same problem–the agony of reading–kids and people don’t really read. Their specific research shows that kids who are in fifth to seventh grades can’t even read. So how do we expect them to pick a book and read it? I bet this justification is applicable to adults who are not literate. This is just a rare case. Who is to blame for this negligence? Teachers and school administration without a doubt.