Pasalubong: souvenir, remembrance
The white, red, & black name bracelet that has decorated my wrist for the past month has become a part of me. No longer do I notice that it's on my wrist or that sometimes its colors don't match what I'm wearing. No longer does it bother me when I take a shower or type on a keyboard. When people comment on it, it takes me a little while to realize that I'm even still wearing it.
Sometimes I forget that this was the very last pasalubong I received in the Philippines. My last encounter with the amazing brothers & sisters of Onesimo occurred during their rehearsal for Foundation Day (celebration of Onesimo's birthday). We had a short 45 minutes to say our goodbyes (because we got lost getting there) and just as we were leaving Ate Melissa surprised me with the name bracelet that has never left my wrist since that day. She tied it to my arm and said, "This is for you ate. A remembrance."
What scares me is that though the bracelet has remained tied to my wrist, the feelings & memories that were tied to the bracelet are not as strong as they once were. It's not just enough to have a physical pasalubong. Somehow I have to learn how to store their stories, their love, & their laughter as an eternal pasalubong in my memory and my heart.
Father, help me remember.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Tondo
So, I get one more post before my family hits the road for an 8-day road trip. Destination: Yellowstone. But before we move forward with that vacation, I need to rewind a little. Actually, let's rewind to July 10th, almost a month ago now, because, as much as I fight it, that day is forever etched in my memory.
If you haven't already noticed, I'm a sensory person. Describing the attacks on each of my senses helps me remember the scene. So, put yourself in my shoes for a bit and bear with me.
The first things I saw were the piles and piles of old tires, broken bottles, and other discarded trash lining the muddy road. When we got out of the van, I realized that the mud was like slow-acting quicksand and my clean flip flop wearing feet were no longer safe. While Allie and I struggled to avoid the softer, goopier areas of mud, the girls skillfully maneuvered the trash piles and mud mounds, eager to return home. As we ventured further into the trash dump, I must admit that I was shocked by what I saw. Even after reading articles and seeing pictures of garbage communities, I still wasn't prepared.
Piles of burning charcoal gave off this stench that seared my throat and forced me to either cough or hold my breath to escape it. The pungent odor got stuck in your throat and refused to let you breathe. Though it was difficult for me, residents of the community were not affected by the smells. Wherever I looked there were children running through the trash - naked, dirty, and covered in sores. Some were happily sitting amongst the waste of the city, while others were freely running from home to home teasing older siblings or neighbors.
As we were visiting the homes of some of the Onesimo trainees and requesting permission from their parents for the girls to join the Onesimo program, Rosalin grabs my arm and gently leads me in the other direction. After a little while, she releases my arm and starts running toward the shanty ahead. She emerges from the shanty holding her baby sister and eagerly introduces me to her mother and siblings. Mary Jane, another Onesimo trainee, pulls me next door and, with a huge smile on her face, introduces her family. I've never seen them so happy!
Then Jun-Jun, Mary Jane's younger brother, curiously approaches me with a toothless grin. Immediately he hugs me and eagerly starts speaking Tagalog only to discover that I can't understand what he's saying! But in that moment, nothing mattered. It didn't matter that there was a language barrier or that I was an American college student and he was a Filipino child from Tondo because Jesus reminded me of what it says in Matthew 19:14 - Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.
So God, what can we do to see more of your kingdom come to a garbage community like Tondo? I'm left with no answers, only more questions.
______________________________________________
*The other day I stumbled across these pictures from BBC of Tondo. Now that you've let your imagination paint a picture, see it for yourself. The picture of the bridge in Tondo is actually home to Shirly, another Onesimo trainee.
If you haven't already noticed, I'm a sensory person. Describing the attacks on each of my senses helps me remember the scene. So, put yourself in my shoes for a bit and bear with me.
The first things I saw were the piles and piles of old tires, broken bottles, and other discarded trash lining the muddy road. When we got out of the van, I realized that the mud was like slow-acting quicksand and my clean flip flop wearing feet were no longer safe. While Allie and I struggled to avoid the softer, goopier areas of mud, the girls skillfully maneuvered the trash piles and mud mounds, eager to return home. As we ventured further into the trash dump, I must admit that I was shocked by what I saw. Even after reading articles and seeing pictures of garbage communities, I still wasn't prepared.
Piles of burning charcoal gave off this stench that seared my throat and forced me to either cough or hold my breath to escape it. The pungent odor got stuck in your throat and refused to let you breathe. Though it was difficult for me, residents of the community were not affected by the smells. Wherever I looked there were children running through the trash - naked, dirty, and covered in sores. Some were happily sitting amongst the waste of the city, while others were freely running from home to home teasing older siblings or neighbors.
As we were visiting the homes of some of the Onesimo trainees and requesting permission from their parents for the girls to join the Onesimo program, Rosalin grabs my arm and gently leads me in the other direction. After a little while, she releases my arm and starts running toward the shanty ahead. She emerges from the shanty holding her baby sister and eagerly introduces me to her mother and siblings. Mary Jane, another Onesimo trainee, pulls me next door and, with a huge smile on her face, introduces her family. I've never seen them so happy!
Then Jun-Jun, Mary Jane's younger brother, curiously approaches me with a toothless grin. Immediately he hugs me and eagerly starts speaking Tagalog only to discover that I can't understand what he's saying! But in that moment, nothing mattered. It didn't matter that there was a language barrier or that I was an American college student and he was a Filipino child from Tondo because Jesus reminded me of what it says in Matthew 19:14 - Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.
So God, what can we do to see more of your kingdom come to a garbage community like Tondo? I'm left with no answers, only more questions.
______________________________________________
*The other day I stumbled across these pictures from BBC of Tondo. Now that you've let your imagination paint a picture, see it for yourself. The picture of the bridge in Tondo is actually home to Shirly, another Onesimo trainee.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Insomnia
I can't sleep.
Random thoughts threaten to spill out of my already-cluttered mind.
I'm trying so hard to remember...
I'm trying to grasp the cool metal bar of a jeepney ceiling to prevent myself from slamming into my neighbor.
I'm trying to savor the sweet coconut merienda and a nice hot cup of Milo.
I'm trying to see the white-gloved hands of well-practiced Onesimo youth as they form the words, "Let's praise Him."
I'm trying to smell the burning charcoal in the garbage community of Tondo.
I'm trying to hear Lin Lin's voice as she patiently teaches me this song:
Akoy lalapit nais ko na lumapit.
Itataas ang mga kamay at sasamba sayo oh Diyos.
Akoy yayakap nais ko na yumakap.
Hahagkan ang mga kamay at sasamba sayo oh Diyos.
Hesus, mahal kita. Mahal na mahal na mahal kita
ang pag-ibig moy aking nadara ma (x2)
But all I'm left with in the middle of the night is my own voice humming its tune.
And then I realize that I'm trying too hard.
"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10a
Random thoughts threaten to spill out of my already-cluttered mind.
I'm trying so hard to remember...
I'm trying to grasp the cool metal bar of a jeepney ceiling to prevent myself from slamming into my neighbor.
I'm trying to savor the sweet coconut merienda and a nice hot cup of Milo.
I'm trying to see the white-gloved hands of well-practiced Onesimo youth as they form the words, "Let's praise Him."
I'm trying to smell the burning charcoal in the garbage community of Tondo.
I'm trying to hear Lin Lin's voice as she patiently teaches me this song:
Akoy lalapit nais ko na lumapit.
Itataas ang mga kamay at sasamba sayo oh Diyos.
Akoy yayakap nais ko na yumakap.
Hahagkan ang mga kamay at sasamba sayo oh Diyos.
Hesus, mahal kita. Mahal na mahal na mahal kita
ang pag-ibig moy aking nadara ma (x2)
But all I'm left with in the middle of the night is my own voice humming its tune.
And then I realize that I'm trying too hard.
"Be still and know that I am God."
Psalm 46:10a
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Homecoming
Once a week, we would leave the slum community we were living in to go back to the Tip Top Guesthouse that has graciously hosted Trekkers over the years. It was here that our team would reconvene for a one-day Sabbath. I remember what it felt like to return to the guesthouse after that first week - restful, comfortable, and refreshing. Some of us had just returned from a 10-day retreat with Onesimo girls that had been incredibly rewarding, but also quite draining. Seeing the guesthouse and our other teammates was a joyful homecoming celebration.
But somewhere in the next 5 1/2 weeks my concept of home changed. On the last day of the Trek we said our final goodbyes to those that had hosted us all summer. As I walked away from Philcoa 1, the Onesimo girls' center that I lived at, I realized that it was the last time I would walk the narrow alley leading to the center steps or greet the neighborhood children who normally play on those steps. No longer would I wake up to the sound of Tagalog songs blasting from downstairs or hear the roosters crowing at 4am. No longer would the pungent smell of the trash-filled river mix with the delicious smell of ulam (food) cooking in the morning. No longer would I fall asleep to the warm embrace of Rosalin and Maan or walk to the market holding Lovely's hand.
As these realities slowly sunk in, I didn't want to leave. As difficult as the summer was, homecoming no longer meant returning to the comforts of the Tip Top guesthouse. Homecoming meant living in Philcoa 1 - sleeping, eating, and dancing alongside some of the most beautiful girls I had ever met.
I'm amazed that in a center of 13 girls, 1 CR (bathroom), and wala tubig (no water) after 9pm, God gave me a place to rest my head - a place to call home.
But somewhere in the next 5 1/2 weeks my concept of home changed. On the last day of the Trek we said our final goodbyes to those that had hosted us all summer. As I walked away from Philcoa 1, the Onesimo girls' center that I lived at, I realized that it was the last time I would walk the narrow alley leading to the center steps or greet the neighborhood children who normally play on those steps. No longer would I wake up to the sound of Tagalog songs blasting from downstairs or hear the roosters crowing at 4am. No longer would the pungent smell of the trash-filled river mix with the delicious smell of ulam (food) cooking in the morning. No longer would I fall asleep to the warm embrace of Rosalin and Maan or walk to the market holding Lovely's hand.
As these realities slowly sunk in, I didn't want to leave. As difficult as the summer was, homecoming no longer meant returning to the comforts of the Tip Top guesthouse. Homecoming meant living in Philcoa 1 - sleeping, eating, and dancing alongside some of the most beautiful girls I had ever met.
I'm amazed that in a center of 13 girls, 1 CR (bathroom), and wala tubig (no water) after 9pm, God gave me a place to rest my head - a place to call home.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Manila 2008
I've never been much of a blogger. Journaling has always been a personal journey. However, as a result of the Global Urban Trek 2008 - Manila style, I've decided to start this blog. My prayer is that as you are introduced to the people that influenced my life this summer, God would stir in your hearts a desire to learn more about justice and His role in it. This blog also serves to help me remember the stories, faces, and lives that turned my world upside down. God reminded me this summer that His boundless love extends across oceans, class divisions, and the scars of broken relationships. This is just an attempt to capture and express that. You can expect to find anything from stories to pictures to random thoughts on this blog. Stay tuned.
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