a tiger in the Lion City

i’m on another plane.
this time from Singapore to Clark.
good to be going home.
(did park and fly; hope Pipsy starts.)
tho, i’ll only be home for a day.
(pray for sunshine; i have laundry to do…)
and then i turn around and fly to davao to visit betsy in makilala.
don bosco, Dra. Moon’s clinic, paradise island, aldevinco, marang, and mangosteen… here i come.

i enjoyed my stay in Singapore.
with new friends.
friends who, quite literally, i only met a couple of weeks ago.
we met in palawan at Pi and Lisette’s healing space.
we were slipping around on red mud; riding down bumpy, dusty roads in jeeps and trikes; riding boats in dark caves and on underground rivers, pumping water out of the ground; eating our food off of banana leaves with our hands; cooking, laughing; playing guitar; meditating; dancing; healing; drumming…

in Singapore, i stayed in their swanky pad.
10th floor.
wi-fi.
fine art, from both established and emerging Filipino painters and sculptors.
leather chaises.
clean lines.
fendi throw pillows.
remote controlled air conditioners, in every room.
chic.

i’m acutely aware of my ability to move in and out of these two kinds of worlds equally well.
i’m grateful for that particular straddle ability.
flexy-bendy.

i’ll be taking outdoor showers at the farm of Betsy soon.
i am grateful for that.
even if there are yellow frogs stuck to the shower curtain.
(reminds me that i have to get batteries for my flashlight…)

my friend Dane, a fellow Fil-Am, played Singapore tour guide extraordinaire for 5 glorious days.

i went to all kinds of malls in Singapore.
it most certainly is a concrete jungle.
a strangely sedate one.
and an extremely clean one.

nicest and cleanest public toilets.
well stocked with a plethora of toilet paper.
and even toilet seat liquid antiseptic cleanser dispensers in each stall.
automatic flush that didn’t rush you or splash back.

i think my favorite part of the public toilets were the squat toilets.
i like those the best.
i wish they had those in the states.
i’m not sure why.
just seems natural to go like that.

there were free public hand sanitizer dispensers everywhere.
elevators.
escalators.
bathrooms.
mrt.

i was so curious about the prayer rooms i would see around.
there were separate ones for women and men.
i really wanted to peek into one; i didn’t tho.

i can’t even name all things that i ate.
i visited umpteen hawker centers and food courts.
Singaporean.
Chinese.
Indian.
Malaysian.
grabe.

eating and shopping are the national pastimes, and they take each one rather seriously.
nicest public library i’ve ever been in.
apparently, Singapore is one of the richest countries in asia.
no deficit, according to Dane.

i somehow managed to attend a lecture/workshop on essential oils and their therapeutic uses. also went to Malaysia for a couple of hours. right hand drive was funny. i kept looking the wrong way before crossing the street. played the lotto. i even went to ikea.
i liked how all the public signs were in 4 different languages. halal food everywhere.
mass transit easy and smooth. parang may konting konti gulo talaga.

i just realized how tired i feel.
all this zipping around.
someone asked me when i will rest.
i told them that the plane ride home to the states is 12+ hours…
malapit na.

for good

in the last 2 weeks:
zarraga
caticlan
boracay
singapore
malaysia.

next 2 weeks:
davao
dumaguete
baguio
sagada

september 1:
turn 35
birthday/despedida party

september 8:
climb on a plane in manila
and twelve hours later (or so),
land in san francisco
drive across the bay bridge
to berkeley
back to Center
to begin again.

Being human*

alternate title:
the ransomed, the shephard, and the witness

From Jae G’s facebook status the other day:
"None of the ransomed ever knew/How deep were the waters crossed..." A friend shared this verse with me eight years ago. He found it written in his dad's diary. The context was martial law and the ensuing revolution. Cory's death triggered the memory. It was written by Elizabeth Clephane in reference to the biblical story of the shepherd and the lost sheep.

my 4am response:
perhaps, it is the rain. or in my case, the gusts of wind that just now woke me up (blowing in the rain!). it's also because of Tita Cory. i am reminded that i am one of the ransomed; i am also the shepherd. and gratefully, i am also the witness to myself and others being both. i'm experiencing the heartbreaking awareness of the exquisite joy and sorrows of what it means to embody my full humanity. i am amazed at the depth and breadth of our capacity. it's a tremendous responsibility AND opportunity.
such a privilege!