Thirty (Parts 1, 2 and Epilogue)

Some lazy afternoons back in high school, I used to visit the Naga City Public Library which at that time occupied the entire second floor of the building on the corner of Panganiban Avenue and Elias Angeles Street. During one of those times, I serendipitously pulled out a thin paperback from one of the shelves which was filled with children’s books. That year was 1999, I was sixteen then, and, in one sitting, I read “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

The novella greatly influenced my self-image and worldview. With the pilot and the little prince, for instance, I shared this same opinion about grownups: They are strange, unhappy, and unappreciative of “the essential things that are invisible to the eye.” However, being sixteen and on the brink of college life, I understood that, like the pilot, I was about to face a more serious chapter and later become a grownup. So I imposed on myself this juvenile yet sacred goal: I will be a grown-up only when I reach the age of 30. Thus, I had fourteen years to ignore the strange “matters of consequence” of the grownups: getting married, raising kids, fulfilling responsibilities and obligations, and dealing with some serious issues that parents, like the grownups at home, would normally think, talk, quarrel or worry about. I had fourteen years to be young, carefree and happy.

Faithful to my goal, I decided after high school graduation to move far away from home and avail of a college diploma for myself in Manila. I was not so clear then about my motivation for this departure, whether it was for freedom or education or both, but I had a good excuse – I was young and ambitious; being impulsive was still forgivable. Fortunately or unfortunately, the grownups at home did not protest this decision and instead, consistent with their being grownups, believed that it was one that would land me a good-paying job and pave the way for a secure future.

My admission to the University of the Philippines-Diliman facilitated my sweet independence. There, people did not know or care about my achievements in high school. There, I was not a son of a first-rate teacher. There, I was an unfashionable probinsiyano. There, I was a beginner. There, I had to prove myself again. But I was determined and highly competitive. As an iskolar ng bayan, I strove to be an artist in my own right. I continued my passion for writing. I joined the UP Vocal Ensemble, a new choir. I was truly independent: cooked my food, washed my clothes, cleaned my room. I was exactly what and who I desired to be at seventeen, eighteen and nineteen.

At twenty, I was too proud of my small victories, still overwhelmed by my freedom, and consumed by my uncontainable youthful energies and creativity. Consciously or unconsciously, I turned into a doubter: too arrogant to believe in the supernatural, too strong to pray for anything that I could possibly not do, but afraid enough to dismiss my Catholic faith and guilt. I was a superman: I did what I wanted to do without pause for reflection, without weariness, without much regard for rightness or wrongness.

At twenty-one, I began to sense some meaninglessness in my vanity, my pride, my disconnectedness with the world. I felt some emotions which I was not comfortable with, like loneliness and purposelessness. I recalled the joys of a real long-lasting friendship – the rituals of “taming,” the beer sessions, the gimmicks, the kiss-and-tell talks.  I missed my memory of a first love - the love letters, the warmth of her hand on mine, the beautiful sunset in our eyes, the candlelight dinners, the walks under the stars, the talks about forever, the breakup, and the heartache. I was missing memories I never had!

So I tried. The letters, the rituals – I tried them. But the sunset looked the same; the stars twinkled as unexcitingly as they always did. The parting was a relief. The hurt was… There was no hurt. I knew from the start that it had only been an experiment on being in love. But in fact, I did not love. At twenty-one, I was not like any other guy of my age. I was not in love.

At twenty-one, I was out of school. I was jobless. I was wandering around day and night without purpose. I stopped singing. I forgot how to dream. I found it hard to sleep. The grown-ups did not know; I was ashamed to tell them what I was going through. If there was one thing I still had that time, it was pride. The rest was darkness, vagueness, senselessness. I forgot who I was and who I was supposed to be at twenty-one.

At twenty-two, everything was not lost. I came home to the familiar, to the grown-ups, to my family – to my old “matters of great consequence”. There, forgiveness was embracing; hope was waiting; love was promising to heal me. I was not sure if I deserved all the consolation and reassurance, but love was unconditionally given to me by my family, despite my angst and my flaws. 

At twenty-two, I knew that there was such a thing as a second chance in life. But I also realized that messing up had its consequences. I had to deal with the unfamiliar – with feelings of humiliation, of hurting, of being humbled. I was not the same person of my past: my self-image and world-image were not that of a seventeen-year-old anymore. It was the first time that I realized that I had evolved in five years. Still, my disposition was not yet that of a grown-up while my experiences were not those of a twenty-two year old either.

I virtually rebooted my life at twenty-two. I started with a clean slate, holding on to only a very few experiences that still needed closure. I did not know when or how these could be processed. But in the meantime, I clung to the comfort and reassurance of home. I hoped that time would eventually heal my wounds.

I soon after found myself in a school again – the Ateneo de Naga University --  but the circumstances were different this time around. There were too many rules for me to follow, but I consoled myself with the thought that I needed this after a long period of defiance. I was much older than my new mates and friends who seemed way too childish for me; I initially thought I was not with those whom I should be at twenty-two. But I was proven wrong again. These friends turned out to be the best people that I should meet at that point in my life. With them, I was happy and safe. Slowly, I loosened and opened up myself with others. And as I shared my humanity – even the ugly details of it - the pain gradually subsided.

At twenty-two, my sense of community broadened. I took up the challenge of leadership in an organization. At last, I sensed some purpose in my existence. I was not sure if I was ever a good student. My grades were just fine, but definitely not the best that I could come up with. I was not the obedient student that any teacher or prefect of discipline might wish for. In fact, I was once put on a disciplinary warning status for minor violations. But of this I am certain: I led and served my organization with all of my heart.

When it rained, it poured. I was fortunate to have earned many opportunities: the Ayala Young Leaders Congress formation, the National Youth Parliament linkages, among others. But more importantly, my leadership formation helped rebuild my self-confidence and worth. I was praying again. I was trusting again. I was dreaming again. I felt I was much stronger than I should be at twenty-three.

At twenty-three, I rode on a rollercoaster of emotions. I felt tough enough to handle any challenge – except maybe love, which came to me when I least expected it. I must admit that I felt happier and more human than I ever was. I was singing again. I was smiling again. But as much as it caused me deep joy, it also gave me moments of sadness, of longing. I had ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’. I thought that it was too much of a risk to be weak again at a time when I was just regaining my momentum. Did I regret it? Painfully, no. But the ride was intense; thus, forgetting was long. Indeed, at twenty-three, I was less than a teenager when it came to issues of the ‘heart’.

At twenty-four, I knew it would take some time before I would ride a rollercoaster again. Meanwhile, like a consolation, I saw that the future looked bright again for me. At least, according to my Curriculum Vitae, I was very promising and competitive. But I appreciated myself a little too much. I was already twenty-four but had to start at the bottom like any other beginner. The only difference was that my Curriculum Vitae was longer this time.

Having believed that I was meant for something bigger than my hometown, I tried to leave again. I did not pay attention to the grown-ups. I hastily dismissed other possibilities. But all the ugly details of Manila -- the smoke, the traffic, the senseless rush, the insomnia --- caused me palpitation and hypertension.  Maybe I was unconsciously malingering, but my disposition seemed to tell me that I was not (or not yet) ready for the career path I was pursuing. This led me to journey back home again.

Being Happy at 30 (Part Two)

Like a gift, exactly on my 25^th birthday, my formation as a worker in the vineyard of the Ateneo de Naga University began. I started at the Social Involvement Office, where I understood community outreach in a more enlightened perspective and received basic office work training. Soon enough – exactly six months after, I knew that I was not to stay for long in this first job as I was given an offer I could not refuse: to be a formator of student leaders and organizations at the Office of Student Affairs (OSA). At first, I found formation work too much for me to chew, but with the support of people and a lot of self-confidence, I took up the challenge. Being a former student leader myself, it was a fitting opportunity for me to help facilitate student leadership formation through concrete development programs. Amazingly, in a short span of time, positive evaluations, responses, and even awards affirmed my work. Overjoyed, I imagined myself working at the Ateneo de Naga for a long time.

But at twenty-six, I was just too fluid. What I thought quickly changed. At this time, I left OSA to work for no less than the President of the university. In my new niche, I met, talked and dined with prominent people – some of them, grownups, others, not --  listening to and being inspired by their” matters of consequence.” I worked with nice colleagues who, mostly, did not think like grownups, thankfully. With them, I was pushed to live out excellence, be it in writing, organizing, or even clerical work. True, I had a prestigious and convenient job. But I was looking for something more. It came to a point when I was so sure of leaving the Ateneo de Naga.

I realized that, at twenty-six, I was underpaid. I did not have my own house or my own car. I had no savings in the bank. I was dependent on the grown-ups. I felt underappreciated, unable to maximize my potentials and skills. But I kept myself busy at work and with extra-curricular activities when not at work to sustain my busyness and to evade the thought of leaving due to some frustrations. My desires to help my family and to have a stable future kept me hanging on when, at the end of each day, I was forced to confront issues at work. My reflections – in the silence of my retreats and in the noise of my daily struggles - always led me to stay and to be grateful for my gifts. They, however, also led me to be attentive to my internal movements and to the options that life presented me with. As apparent answer to my prayer, I found myself home at OSA again before the summer ended, this time with a new assignment. I then embarked on a new journey that has been challenging, not materially rewarding, but inspiring.

At twenty-seven and twenty-eight, I was a jetsetter, flying near and far, awe-inspired by the Byzantine and Ottoman landscape of Turkey, the skyscrapers and subway of Singapore, the motorbikes and conical hats of Vietnam, the chopsticks and “kimchi” of Korea, and the fun in the Philippines. More importantly, I met and interacted with many people of different races, backgrounds, and matters of consequence. My perspectives widened, my linkages, expanded. But underneath all this personal and professional development, I was still on another journey – this time, to depths within myself: chasing liberty again, but a more guided one this time; seeking deeper meanings in life; forming interpersonal relations; finding my true place under the sun; desiring to be a better person.

TODAY, at twenty-eight, I am still underpaid. I still feel underappreciated. I am still not romantically in love. I am still having questions of whether or not to leave my present work or the country.

But today, I recall having earned a Mayoral Award at a young age. I have traveled to many countries abroad in the last two years. I have gained 788 Facebook friends from 35 countries all over the world. I have true friends. I have found a new passion – photography -- that has resulted into the creating of 44 albums in eight months. My brother has just been promoted Associate Manager of Manila Water. My mother is in the peak of her career as a teacher and school administrator. My father is still the kindest and most hardworking father a son can ask for. My sister has been blessed with a child, Princess Reigne, who has made our home livelier and the grown-ups happier.

In the Ateneo de Naga University, I have been given opportunities which have allowed me to create a positive impact on the life of other people, especially the youth and the external community.

Today, God affirms His great love for me though the love of my family and other people and the many gifts I have received all these years. It would be too ungrateful and unjust of me if I ended up just ranting a lot. After all, I am not underpaid in the area of blessings.

Today, I remember myself at seventeen and my plan to be a grown-up at 30, and I laugh at my foolishness. Maybe, given that only a year stands between now and this self-imposed deadline, I will still not yet be ready for the matters of grown-ups when I do hit that age: settling down, getting married, having kids, fulfilling responsibilities and obligations, and confronting some serious stuff that my parents still think, talk, quarrel and worry about. Maybe I should give myself five more years instead -- or maybe more – to reach my goal . Maybe I should plan a bit less and let life surprise me a bit more. Maybe I should just live each day like it were the last.

Maybe I should learn from the past thirteen years of my life how I, in each year, tried to control my life, succeeded and failed; how I sought and found happiness and love, succeeded and failed; how I tried to make myself productive and relevant in my community, succeeded and failed. Maybe I have not reached my best form yet or uncovered my real purpose and vocation, but my journey has been towards something good. And I believe God will not protest if I claim that despite my inadequacies and excesses, I have been good. Not perfect. But good.

TOMORROW, on my 29^th birthday, I will still be the little prince that I was at sixteen. I will still not be a grown-up. Rather, I will only be a year older than yesterday. However, with my hairline receding, I would be lying if I say that the thought of being a grown-up someday does not affect me in any way. Truth is, it does cause me some emotional stress to go through the normal transition from 20s to 30s and make some adjustments in my lifestyle. There just seems to be so much in youth that I have not outgrown yet. There is so much that I have not yet experienced. And these youth issues have surfaced of late. It is funny, but maybe I am just having either a premature midlife crisis or a late quarter-life crisis. Maybe I am just too anxious of the future. Maybe I am just overanalyzing things. Or maybe, I am just normally living. Maybe, I am growing up – without being a grown-up.

BE that as it may, tomorrow, when I turn twenty-nine, I will continue to grow up. Tomorrow, at twenty-nine, I will seize the chance to be stronger, wiser, more grateful, more forgiving, more loving than today. Tomorrow at twenty-nine, I will continue to search for deeper meanings and long-lasting happiness.

-September 5, 2011

***

Epilogue

The old musty smell or the rough feel of textured pages in books read during my teenage years no longer exists. In its stead now sits an iPad on my lap with its cold, weighty, and disengaging visual display. One day, I browsed through an e-copy of “The Little Prince,” which I had downloaded, once again. The emotional connection was still there. But I was reading the book with the eyes of a 29-year-old this time. In one chapter, the little prince says: “The people where you live grow five thousand roses in one garden... yet they don't find what they're looking for...” What fitting backdrop these words were as my long journey to self-awareness continued.

At twenty-nine, I had asked myself: What is my one matter of consequence - one that motivates me in all my endeavors, one that could sustain me. These are serious questions. Yet they are not questions of a grownup as they lead one to reflect on things beyond figures. With ‘being thirty’ lurking just around the corner, I felt a bit of pressure to engage in more serious discernment so as to, hopefully make bigger decisions when I turned thirty. Being thirty, I imagined, would be a turning point in my life, a time when I would get to have a clearer picture of how and where I would spend my life at least for the next ten years. I did not want to grow old regretting what I should have done today.

Now, finally, I am on the saddle of my thirtieth year. As I sit here today, a few hours before the year 2013, I find that this thirty-year-old still has no complete grasp of the future. So at some point, I ask myself, "What happened to my experience of retreats and other discernment activities? Meaning next year, should I expect to still feel the same feelings and confront the same questions about recurrent issues - such as my career, for instance?

More than frustration and impatience, however, what I feel while writing this is a sense of courage, openness, and excitement about life’s options. I believe that surprises await me as well as opportunities which shall be given to me as a consequence of my decisions and life’s inherent kindness. These positive energies are enough self-reassurance that things will turn out right.  For indeed, despite some personal struggles, my 30th year has been unfolding as one of the best years of my life. In 2012, I experienced some firsts, went to places near and far, and achieved dreams that have changed me forever. I met new people, strengthened old relations, and made fresh ones that I hope to nurture for good.

Being thirty today, I have so far made more conscious efforts to move towards my personal happiness. And yes, I'm happy to be happy. It is a new and strange feeling, but it is the feeling that, nonetheless, has settled within me after many years of pain. For all that I have done and accomplished in the last thirty years of my life, however modest they may seem to the world, I deserve to be happy.

The journey is far from over. But being thirty seems like a good place to be in.

-Few hours before December 31, 2012

Intermission Number

I can still recall when I was a second grader at the University of Nueva Caceres (UNC) during the Linggo ng Wika celebration in 1990, my class adviser, Ma’am Fe Valenciano, asked me to give an intermission number in our class. I could not say, “No” to my teacher who even informed my mother, a teacher in the secondary level of the same school, about it. So that night, my mother coached me in singing Isang Lahi, which was probably the only song I memorized at that time because it was one of Manay Cynthia’s, my elder sister, contest pieces. The next day, I sang in front of my classmates in a small class program. Then, Ma’am Fe brought me and other older students to Aling Sonia’s program at Bombo Radyo to sing on-air. AM radio-listening was a popular means of entertainment at that time, so many of our neighbors and relatives heard me sing.

That was my earliest moment of inspiration, the first time that someone other than my parents saw some potential in me and gave me a “break.” In my next opportunity to sing, I faced a big crowd at the UNC Gymnasium comprised of the school community and the Naga City general public during that year’s Founder’s Day outreach. Even today, twenty-three years later, my mind can still replay the memory of that time when I crooned The Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody,” which was a hit movie soundtrack that year. While I sang, the crowd applauded three times, especially when I reached the second to the last line which goes, “I need your love...”  In my very limited appreciation then of the word “inspiration,” that moment was what totally defined it.

Before this important point in my very young life, I did not know that I could sing. I was first labeled as paraadal and magpapadion but not parakanta. It was Manay Cynthia, my elder sister who used to be the singer in the family – that is, before the time of my “discovery.” She spent a significant part of her childhood years singing at every pageant and baraylehan in Brgy. Lerma, where we lived, and joining singing contests during town fiestas. I even remember how one time, Mama and she came home with a bag full of groceries as a prize for her having won in Dalan sa Kalangitan, a popular amateur contest then.

I was a “regular” elementary student. I barely managed to make it to the ‘Challengers list’ and never made it to the Top 10. So I tried to be the best instead in the field that I just found: singing. I was inspired and, at the same time, pressured by my teachers to memorize songs which were usually Mama’s choices namely, those of Basil Valdez, Rey Valera, Martin Nievera. I practiced hard in our old Astron karaoke, which slowly became my constant companion. Mama trained me in singing with the same zeal with which she trained her students in speech delivery. She would be very meticulous with how I enunciated every lyric of the song, how I positioned my hand so as to keep proper distance between this and the microphone, and how I projected myself on stage. Many times, our training sessions ended up with her scolding me as I always forgot the lyrics. That would be her cue to tell me to memorize my song first so she could use our karaoke and sing her favorite Blue Bayou.

From Grade 2 to 6, I sang in many other venues and occasions in and out of campus – from singing Ako ay Pilipino during flag ceremony to serenading ladies who were ten years older than I in pageants at the auditorium of then Colegio de Sta. Isabel. I joined the combined UNC college and elementary choirs, which performed Bikol songs in events like the Caceres Quadricentennial concert at the Metropolitan Cathedral in 1995. I joined a few contests as well. I still keep a copy of one issue of “Children’s World,” the elementary department’s paper, where my photo as I sang my winning piece “Nais Ko” appeared.

It was my younger sister Sweet who was somehow influenced by Manay Cynthia to enter in singing competitions. There was a time when she joined PTV 5’s “A Star” and became a defending champion for three weeks with her winning pieces I Dreamed a Dream and Cabaret. Sweet became our instant favorite singer in the family because of her confidence when performing and her Zsazsa Padilla-like vibrato.

Our youngest, John Rudolf, found interest in dancing first. When he was about five years old, he did a solo dance of the Extasy Extano, which easily roused the crowd at Lerma basketball court to exhilaration because of his kolokoy movements. But as soon as he entered grade school in UNC, his teachers expected him, simply by virtue of his being a Virtus, to sing like his brother and sisters. And so he did. His entry to our little musical world made us officially the singing family on campus.

Our motivation behind singing was not just family or school pressure but our personal desire to sing as well. In fact, it became a regular habit and an opportunity for bonding for the family to do “karaoke” singing during weekends. And when Papa had visitors, it became a practice for them (the visitors) to call us one by one and sing for them. As if on cue, we would proceed to do so like a ready multiplex ready to be played: Manay Cynthia would sing Hiram; I would sing Nais ko; Sweet would do Cabaret; and John, Father and Son. Unfailingly, the visitors would express their appreciation for our performances and tell my proud parents, “Swertehon man kamo. Matitibay magkanta ang mga aki nindo.”

As I entered high school, I started to feel awkward in singing solo. That was also the time when I wanted to explore my other potentials and pursue other interests that did not involve a huge, visible audience. I joined “Trailblazer,” the UNC high school paper, where I could not see my audience as I wrote news stories, features and poems. I did elocution and oratorical speaking, which involved smaller audiences. In these areas, I found new niches. I was not just singing the way I mostly did in elementary. I was also writing and speaking! I expanded my horizons and grew as a student and as a person even though doing intermission numbers was still part of my routine. In fact, one of my favorite performances in high school was a duet with Manay Cynthia of the song One Sweet Day. We did this song twice in UNC and once in a radio contest in DWOK FM.

One of the best things that happened to me in high school was becoming part of the UNC High School “Choralaires.”  Manay Cynthia and I joined the choir at the same time. Later, when we both were already in college, Sweet and John became part of the choir, too. Ma’am Quennie Miranda was our ever supportive trainer and friend. It was through her also that we became members of the “Voce Christiana,” a church choir which became active in the 90’s until the mid-2000. We served with the mass choir at the Naga Metropolitan Cathedral every Saturday evening and during the Siete Palabras mass. We also sang during different occasions – weddings, funerals and Christmas caroling.

I can still remember my last two performances during my final year in high school: a quartet singing of When I Fall in Love and If I Could Spend my Lifetime Loving You at the Senior’s Prom, and a solo of Here I am Lord during the baccalaureate mass before the graduation rites.

Those were just about the last times I sang in public. When I went to Manila to study, I practically left singing at home. I did try joining a school choir, the “UP Vocal Ensemble,” but I had to leave it because of its great demands for rehearsals. Even when I returned to Naga to continue my college and get a job, singing did not have a place in my extra-curricular activities anymore. I was invited by Ma’am Queenie to return to the “Voce Christiana” in their parish now, the Holy Cross Parish in Tabuco, Naga City, but I just ignored the invitation. As such, without any venue to regularly practice for the last fourteen years, my voice naturally deteriorated. This fact makes me feel guilty sometimes as I recall what my parents used to tell me about singing, “Dai mo pabayaan ang boses mo ta regalo ‘yan.”

My participation in the “Ship for Southeast Asian Youth Program” (SSEAYP) as diplomatic and cultural ambassador evoked my childhood memories as I had to contribute something to the Philippine delegation’s cultural presentation. I could not dance, so I joined our choir. Indeed, the experience gave me a sense of fulfillment as I led our contingent’s choir in singing the nationalistic songs Bayan Ko and provided support in rendering Tagumpay Nating Lahat and Ako ay Pilipino in Manila and Japan. During the program abroad, I also initiated the formation of a ‘boy band’, The Vending Machine, which performed three times on board the ship “Fuji Maru.” Those performances were not only some of my proudest moments as a Filipino, but they were also a dream-come-true for me to sing again.

Looking back to where the exciting part of my life started, I can say that I was never the same again after those moments of inspiration in my second grade. Not only did this event launch my little singing ‘career’ during my ten-year basic education years and give me bragging rights and colorful childhood memories. More importantly, the experiences it eventually afforded also gave me a positive self-image and precedents that showed me how I could later succeed in my other endeavors. Indeed, those times have had great impact on me and my life during all the subsequent years up to the present time. In my memory, I still continue to hear a young boy with a determined voice singing while dreaming: Nais kong malibot ang mundo sa kanyang kasuluk-sulukan/ Nais kong makita ang paligid na puno ng kagandahan/ Nais kong makadama ng kakaibang damdamin kahit minsan man lang/habang ako ay may buhay, wala nang hangarin pang tunay/ Nais ko… nais ko…

Hopes of Hamoraon

The sky and sea were grey, separated by a deeper shade of grey, when I sat on the edge of a long bench made of hamoraon that lay outside a house in ruins facing the Ragay Gulf. A weak intensity of orange crawled behind Itangon on the far left end of the beach while the rest of the sky turned pale blue. On the left end of this appeared the different shades of grey: Bagaposo, Bical, Daruanak and Sarimao. Amidst the changing colors of the sky, the February full moon still hung, undeterred by the sun about to rise from the other side. Below the moon and the sky was the most tranquil sea I had ever seen. Its tranquility calmed my heart and spirit after some days of hard work and stress.

The sun had risen, commencing my second day in Hamoraon, the farthest barangay in Minalabac from the city. I went there for the community immersion of freshmen students of Ateneo as volunteer-assistant to NSTP teacher Ma’am Jude to help her monitor the safety and behavior of students during their pakikihimanwa. The beach and the idea of watching sunrises and sunsets while there further motivated me to leave the City for a while and continue the volunteer work which I had already been doing for the past six years. I remembered when, three years ago, my boss Fr. Ritche took me and my colleagues to an area visit in Bagolatao to assess its potentials as an eco-photography site. I found the beach interesting not only because the water was so clear but also because the shore was covered with white pebbles instead of either black or white fine sand. The locals we met there at that time encouraged us to visit the beach in Hamoraon, which is of the same shoreline as Bagolatao’s but offers additional features that spelled adventure like cave spelunking. We were quite intrigued by this, but a sudden downpour drove us back to the car.  As we were leaving Minalabac, I remembered repeatedly uttering the word “Hamoraon,” which had a tender and deeply romantic appeal to my ears, so that I would not forget the place.

Being there again finally made those three years feel like a moment.  And being there by the shore and at sunrise, I embraced solitude, tried to clear my mind of anything that could spoil the moment, and just allowed myself to be awed by the picturesque view before me. My eyes were so fixed on the sea when my attention was caught by a vessel that gently sliced through the waters, growing larger before my eyes until it finally reached the shore. An old man in his bandana and faded striped polo shirt walked out of the boat on bare feet and singlehandedly carried the small vessel to the shore. I approached him, greeted him “Marhay na aga po,” and curiously asked him how many fishes he had caught.  As I was a stranger to him, he answered in mixed Rinconada and Bikol-Naga dialects that the catch proved to be frustrating and that he would not, in fact, be able to sell what he had caught. He took out from a small galon a few pieces of bisugo dangling from a tansi chain, some of them smaller than the others. Very soon, a grey-haired woman in duster came to receive the fish that he had brought with him, her facial expressions attempting to complain but breaking into a laugh instead as she nodded at me.

The fisherman, Basilio, went to the part of the beach where a net spread, its two ends tied to wooden posts in the sands. I followed him and saw many tiny lifeless fish scattered on the sand around the net. I learned that they were leftovers of the sinsoro fishing done the night before. He picked up the dilis one by one, careful not to include the tikong which was darker in color. He said he would use them as bait as he would try his luck in the sea again because what he had caught was not enough for his family to survive that day. By the time he paddled back into the offing, the sun had already brightened up the entire landscape in front of me.

The owner of the sinsoro net, Dionisio, was sewing the parts of the net that had already become detached from the frame when I approached him. He recognized me as a volunteer and told me that his family was hosting two students. He said that I should not worry about the safety of the students as Hamoraon had been peaceful for the past years, contrary to what people had labeled their place to be. In the 80s and 90s, he admitted, fear and isolation characterized their community.  The fear was coming from the tensions between the between the rebels and the military that reaulted in the two parties’ occasional firefights. He even recalled instances when the armed rebels occupied his boat and asked him to transport them to as far as Pasacao for free. But when a military detachment was installed in Salingogon, a neighboring barangay, the tensions neutralized. The isolation, which had been happening since even far back, was caused by the lack of paved roads that could have effectively connected them to other towns and facilitated development for them. For the longest time, however, crossing the sea was their only means of transportation as the roads came in late 80s. But amidst all these concerns, he had spent his youth, raised a family, and grown old as a fisherman.

When I asked him how the sinsoro turned out the last night, he said that his group caught only a bañera of iliw (flying fish) and some kanoos (squid) which were distributed among those who helped draw the seine ashore. “Bulanon kaya,” he blamed the full moon and looked forward to dark nights when their net would harvest schools of fishes. His eyes glowed as he recounted that they had caught bountiful dilis in previous weeks.  A butanding even got trapped in the net, but they set it free as they knew it was prohibited to catch or kill the whale shark. My eyes widened upon learning that there was a season when some whale sharks and even dolphins would be spotted straying in Ragay Gulf.

When Dionisio was finished with the net, he lit a cigarette, sat on the pebbles, and engaged further in our conversation. He said that he wished he had a big trawler and high-wattage superlight that he could drop into the sea to attract more fish regularly and bring his family fortune. But he laughed as he remembered that the local government had banned the big boats that used superlights before from fishing in Ragay Gulf.

“Ma-Tag-init naman. Madarakol na naman ang sira,” he said with a confident voice and a smile, the lines on his forehead and under his eyes deep.

I went back to the house of Kap Nono, who had generously allowed us, the Ateneo staff, to stay with his family. The househelp, Grace, invited me to the kitchen to follow Ma’am Jude and a fellow volunteer, Kinno and Kap’s wife, Tess, who were conversing there over coffee. As soon as I joined them, the househelp served medium-sized kanoos cooked in its own ink with vinegar and soy sauce for breakfast. Apparently, the squids had come from Dionisio’s sinsoro. They told me that Kap had left early to meet with his political partymates as he was busy preparing for his bid for municipal councilor in the midterm elections in May. Kap comes from one of the biggest families in the barangay and a political one at that. His brother had served as captain before him; his nephew is the Sangguniang Kabataan chairman, and his sister-in-law, the barangay secretary. The clan had high hopes that his constituents and influence in the village and the backing of his party would deliver him the votes that he needed to win the election. Ironically, Tess used to work for the government, too, until ‘politics’ had allegedly forced her to leave work and work instead in Singapore. In fact, she was just home for vacation. Before the summer ends, she would return overseas to help secure the education of their two children.

Already full and perked up by coffee, we later decided to walk around and visit the students who had been distributed to different host families so as to check if anyone had health or security concerns. When we reached the barangay basketball court, we met Tatay Roberto stirring with a rake the unhusked rice that covered one-third of the court. He enthusiastically invited us to his house and told us that the students were alright. A row of beige fibers and piles of firewood outside his house greeted us. He explained to us that he had stopped fishing but had raised two of his sons as fishermen. With God’s mercy, he said, his family has survived with his meager earnings as a palay and abaca farmer and, sometimes, as a worker in a coprahan in Zone 1. At 71, he still works very hard because he has children and grandchildren who depend on him.

He said that people in the barangay considered him so lucky to have four of his six children working abroad. Three of them were welders in Riyadh. The other one had just recently left to work in Qatar. I teased him that he must be rich now, what with all the remittances coming in from overseas. But he said that his three welder-sons, though enjoying good salaries, had their own families. So he did not receive any assistance from them. He still hopes to retire from farming and have a concrete house one day so he does not have to worry when storms ravage their community. This hope now rests on his youngest son, who just left the country last weekend. He would sometimes get jealous, he intimated, whenever he saw the big concrete houses in the barangay that were built through the support of overseas contract workers. As we continued our routine roving, I easily recognized the houses that Ernesto was referring to. They were usually two-storey concrete houses that stood out from the rows of nipa shacks. The other big houses at the beachfront were said to be owned by foreigners, one an Italian and another a Norweigian, both rumored to have plans of developing resorts in the area. Some locals liked this idea as they believed that tourism would bring in more employment opportunities and boost their livelihood. Others, particularly the fishermen, expressed the pessimistic view that the presence of resorts would limit their fishing activities, especially the sinsoro operations.

It was late afternoon when, after long walks and conversations with mothers, fathers, and children in the community, we settled on the shore of white pebbles. We just sat there, silent, with our aching leg muscles stretched across the shore while feeling the cold stones underneath and our hands supporting the weight of our backs. The waves were different that afternoon. They rushed to the shore furiously, seemingly echoing the beat of my heart. Yet,  this eventually did not matter to me as my eyes glowingly followed the sun sliding from the blue sky and patches of yellow-shaded clouds, quickly sinking into the sea, and leaving a brilliant reddish light. Then the horizon and the sea became homogeneous grey and then dark. I was calmed.

A few fishermen had just finished loading their nets into their bigger boat when Dionisio stood from a smaller boat, ready to begin the sinsoro activity. Not far from them was Basilio, who lit a kerosene-fueled gauze lamp, also ready for his solitary journey. Then one by one, they paddled away from the shore until all that I could see were their lamps that looked like fireflies floating on the sea.

There was a bonfire along the shore from which some children lit their dried palapa which they then waved as they ran along the beach. They left behind them golden glitters that seemed to compete with the stars that started to light up the heavens.  In their dancelike-ritual, they seemed to be asking the gods to protect their fathers from the dangers of the sea and give them luck.

Then the students came in small groups, gathered around the same bonfire, fueled it with more wood, and were determined to enjoy their last night of immersion in Hamoraon. As I watched them, I wondered whether they had met Basilio, Dionisio, or Roberto and heard their stories, their frustrations, their dreams. I wondered whether they had seen the sun as it rose and set with the same eyes as mine. I wondered whether they had seen connections between the realities in this place and development issues in education, environment, and livelihood which their Ateneo education had taught them. I wondered whether they had truly immersed themselves into the lives of the people in Hamoraon.

Amidst the chatter, singing, and boisterous laughter that blended with the sound of waves, my eyes were fixed on the ‘fireflies,’ which at that time, were scanning the sea and trying to attract luck. They might return home frustrated again but tomorrow, when the sun rises, the sea of Hamoraon, the same sea that frustrated them, would bring ashore still another wave of hope.

Kopiroti, Fuji Maru and Being Happy at Thirty

Today, at 30,I am not the person I had planned myself to be last year. Being 30, I had imagined, should be a turning point in my life, a time when I get to have a clearer picture of how and where I would spend my life, at least for the next ten years. I do not want to grow old with regret of not doing what I should have done today. But few hours before the year concludes, I still fail to meet complete discernment, so at some point I asked myself: What happened to my experience of retreats and other discernment activities? Meaning, next year I should expect to feel the same feelings and confront the same questions about recurrent issues - about my career, for instance.

More than frustration and impatience, however, what I feel as of writing is a sense of courage, openness and excitement to life’s options, surprises and opportunities I would find for myself as a consequence of my decisions and life’s kindness to me. These positive energies are enough self-reassurance that things would be all right.

For indeed, despite some personal struggles, my 30th year unfolded as one of the best years of my life. This year, I experienced some firsts, went to places near and far, and achieved dreams that have changed me forever: self-awareness, courage, maturity, perspectives. I met new people, strengthened old relations and made new ones that I hope to nurture for good.

Looking at the twelve months of 2012, I must confess that I overwhelmingly received more than I gave this year:  engaged less in outreach activities, but shared more in terms of inter-personal relations – in friendship and family. Maybe, I made more conscious efforts for my personal happiness this year. And I’m happy to be happy. For all that I have done and accomplished in the last thirty years of my life, however modest they may seem to the world, I deserve to be happy.

----

These are the thirty most significant things that happened to me this year. It is notable that many of the items happened during the 39th Ship for Southeast Asian Youth Program (SSEAYP) journey, understandably because it took one-thirds of my 2012.

1.       The Biggest Loser. Losing weight was in itself a journey for me, and a challenging one. I did not go to the gym or have a special diet. I just had the discipline and determination to significantly cut my food intake and do brisk walking or jogging at the Basilica Grounds almost office hours. It was a struggle for me to resist what I love doing – eating a lot of carbs and sweets, but aside from personal will, the support of my family and friends helped me achieve my goal: from my parents’ healthy selection of grocery items to my officemates’ participation in my no-rice lunch diet. I did not regularly keep track of my weight, but I lost around 8-10 kilos in seven months.

2.       Northbound: the Vigan-Pagudpud-Laoag Road Trip. With limited budget and our own itinerary, Janice, Lax, Jan and I went north-bound as Part 2 of our great Sagada-Baguio adventure last year. It was amazing that in just four days we went to many places in these three destinations and experienced much like trying popular local food and taking gigabytes of photos. Best things in this trip: the dinners in Vigan and Pagudpud, the Bangui Windmills and the Cape Borjeador Lighthouse.

3.       September 6, 2012. I had many reasons to celebrate this day. One, it is my 30^th birthday. Second, it coincided with my fifth year of service to the Ateneo de Naga. Third, on this day the family decided to have the blessing of our home, which is a product of our family’s hardwork over the years. To cap it all, my birthday was about celebration of family, which I shared to people who have been part of my life – from my grade school teachers to my office colleagues and friends.

4.       The SSEAYP Interview. Usually, whenever I join a program with competitive selection process I would have a feel if I get it or not after an interview. And in SSEAYP’s case, I knew I got it right after my interview. And I did, realizing one of my college dreams. I think my experience in coaching students for interviews helped and pressured me to give my best before the SSEAYP panel. I pressured myself a little bit more, thinking that I had postponed my entry for long, and this year was my last chance, knowing the age requirement for the delegates (18-30). Thank God and to NYC, I made it.

5.       The SSEAYP Pre-Departure Training. It was both an affirming and humbling experience for me.

6.       Bugkos Lahi. One of the best gifts that I received in SSEAYP was the gift of friendship: twenty-seven new friends with whom I shared my SSEAYP journey – from the pre-departure training to the cruise.

7.       Golden Panda. The dormtel – the fifth floor rooms, the meeting area, the elevator, the canteen, the basketball court, the mezzanine, even Mini Stop and Grill Prince – formed part of my home for one month before SSEAYP proper. These spaces became witness to the joys, small victories, frustrations, pains, secrets, blossoming friendship and romance, and storming period between and among Bugkos Lahi during their Pre-Departure Activities.

8.       National Day Presentation on Fuji Maru. Singing nationalistic songs Bayan ko, Tagumpay Nating Lahat and Ako ay Pilipino before an international audience and being appreciated for it, was one of my proudest moments as a Filipino. Performing the Singkil even as a clapper and dancing the It’s More Fun in the Philippines with the Philippine contingent were quite challenging and fulfilling for a bad dancer like me.

9.       Singing Someone Like You with Ryan, Mayjee and Aaron on Fuji Maru thrice, again before an international audience, was definitely a dream-come-true for me.  The performance got many people on board on LSS mode, so I think we did well.

10.   The fun swimming and bumpcar riding with my little host brothers Zackie and Indera and homestaymate Landon in Jakarta, Indonesia. I felt like I had the opportunity to be a small kid again.

11.   Tochigi. During the institutional visits, I met the only Filipino student at Utsonomiya University, and the only Filipino student at Wanda High School. In Tochigi, I also experienced the tea ceremony and other firsts: net-fishing by the river and apple picking during my homestay with the Sakurai family and buddy Aki.

12.   I will always remember: the night walk under the rain, lightning chase and drinking sessions with new friends in Singapore; the temples and museum, Terminal 21, Tom Yum and two-hour massage in Amazing Thailand; and the endless eating with closely-knitted extended family in Brunei.

13.   Fuji Maru, every part of it and everything that happened onboard: too many to mention (separate blog re SSEAYP coming soon).

14.   Press PPY. I am happy about my humble contributions to the Philippine SSEAYP delegation as head of the Secretariat, Press PY and friend.

15.    Bonding with my roommates at Golden Panda (503) and cabinmates at Fuji Maru (420); and my buddies John, Mae, Apple and Joss. 

16.   The post-SSEAYP Baguio ‘country program’. With April, Mae, John and Ryan, this trip somehow facilitated our re-appreciation of our country’s cultures as we practically did institutional visits and homestay courtesy of Ryan, plus sessions of reminiscing and looking forward. Further, being in Baguio reminded me of my retreats, so coming there slowed down my emotional state from my overwhelming SSEAYP experience. In a sort of ceremonial toast, we expressed our wishes for one another and together set our eyes towards the future for sustained friendship. Then, I journeyed back home.

17.   Overall, it was a great honor, commitment and challenge for me to represent the Philippines in the 39th Ship for Southeast Asian Youth Program, and sharing the culture, arts and vision of the country to the Japan-ASEAN youth community.

18.   I am happy to have sustained my form of Marian devotion by serving as volunteer-photographer during the Penafrancia Fiesta, with Ligaya friends Herold, Tin and Errol. I had an improvement this time as I decided to be among the crowd during the time when Ina was being brought to the river for the Fluvial Procession. It was a fulfilling experience for me, even if the steel handle of the andas nearly struck my chest when I positioned myself near the river bank from where Ina went down to the pagoda.

19.   I attempted to inspire the UNC Elementary Graduation Batch 2012 as their Guest Speaker. I took it a challenge to make the approach of the speech more engaging than the usual, and its message, clear and relevant. 

20.   It was quite an honor for me to be recognized by my high school alma mater, University of Nueva Caceres, as one of their outstanding alumni for School Year 2011-2012.

21.   Kopiroti. It’s not about their coffee, but just being there alone or with friends that made me like coffee suddenly.

22.   T-Ice. My favorite liquor has facilitated many small talks and lifeplanning sessions with my trusted friends, old and new.

23.   Traveling with my mother and brother John for the first time in Hongkong and Macau has always been a dream for me. John’s girlfriend Mariane also joined us in this trip. The happiest memories in this trip were the whole-day Disneyland fun and the casino-hopping in Macau.

24.   The Formative Processing Seminar-Workshop in Emmaus, Ateneo de Manila University. This is by far one of the most useful skills training I have attended through Ateneo, with Ate Thea, Ate Julma, and Kuya Edsel. I practically use, consciously or unconsciously, the learning that I got here in informally processing the experience and issues of people who come to me for some help.

25.   I have always considered organizing the Dugong Atenista bloodletting a personal challenge and outreach for me. It’s so close to my heart that, although an office outreach, I feel a personal drive and ownership to take care of it. The Ignaciana bloodletting in July 2012 was satisfying for me as the office’s hardwork in promoting the formation activity was responded to by 300+ donors. The program again recorded the highest number of donation by a private institution in Bicol.

26.   One of the items in my 2012 Wishlist that I managed to do is having a separate calendar for personal life, so I would not to be tied all the time with my work calendar. This is an indicator that right at the onset of the year I was determined to pursue personal happiness.

27.   This year, I did a lot of cooking for my family and friends. I also learned new recipes of food with gata.

28.   Fr. Ritche brought us to a falls and beach in Camarines Norte – just what we needed after some weeks of hardwork and, therefore, stress.

29.   Watching Games of Throne, The Walking Dead and Dexter made some of my idle nights very exciting.

30.   Swimming with friends and family at Sulat Pool, Hydro Hot Spring, Spring Valley, Kate’s and Stonehouse.

31.   The refurbishment of my room. To accommodate my growing stuff (books, archived folders of college and work papers and mementos, travel souvenirs and clothes)and to have a more ‘homey’ feel, a bigger closet and a Japanese table and bed were fabricated.

The Archbishop's Legacy Lives

(From the Citation for Archbishop Leonardo Z. Legazpi, O.P., D.D., Archdiocese of Caceres

Doctor of Humanities, honoris causa, 60^th Commencement Exercises

of Colleges and Graduate School, Ateneo de Naga University)

Written by Rodolfo SB. Virtus Jr.

Who in fact is the priest, if not a man converted and renewed by the Spirit, who lives from a personal relationship with Christ, constantly making the Gospel criteria his own? Who is the priest, if not a man of unity, aware of his own limits and at the same time, of the extraordinary greatness of the vocation he has received, that of helping to extend the Kingdom of God to the ends of the earth?”[1]

    -          Pope Benedict XVI

His vocation began, as in most stories of birth of priestly or religious vocations, from a sense of confusion and dissatisfaction with his life. After his high school graduation at St. Mary’s Academy in Meycauayan, Bulacan, the young Leonardo Legaspi - or Kading - did not have a definite idea of what he was going to be. At first, he planned to enter the Philippine Military Academy. He next considered being a sportsman as he got offered to play at a commercial basketball league. However, he ended up studying Civil Engineering at the University of the Philippines when he knew he was not a math and drawing person. Half-hearted in his decision, he earned disastrous marks in his major subjects, and then he felt homesick and got literally sick. His discouraging situation prompted his father to transfer him to the pre-Law of the University of Santo Tomas where he performed better, but not much.[2]

Kading’s first experience of his calling came upon him during the summer of his sophomore year in UST when he played basketball at a seminary facility.  He vividly recounted that he was struck by the awe-inspiring silence and peace that embraced him at the seminary. When asked by his father how his game was, he expressed instead his feelings of entering a seminary life. He was never extraordinarily religious in his youth, so his family and even his uncle who was a monsignor did not believe at first that he had the priestly vocation. But with the help of another relative, some Dominicans welcomed him under their formation. At 17, he found his way to the corridors of St. Albert Priory in Hong Kong of the Dominicans to study Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy. The teenage Leonardo, unaware of his grander role in the future, thought that he was called to teach.[3]

The Making of a Priest-Educator

Upon completing his studies in Hong Kong, he returned to the Philippines and was ordained a Dominican priest in 1960. He continued his studies at the Faculty of Sacred Theology at UST, finishing degrees of Licentiate in Sacred Theology (1961) and Doctorate in Sacred Theology Magna Cum Laude (1962). In 1971, he was a grantee of the Asia Foundation and Alfred Sloan Foundation to a scholarship in the Institute of Educational Management at the Harvard Graduate School of Business Administration in the United States. In 1975, he finished Doctor of Philosophy at UST.

As a priest deeply involved in the teaching ministry, the young Fr. Leonardo helped facilitate the Filipinization of UST education when he was appointed as its Central Seminary’s first Filipino Rector, and later the Pontifical and Royal University’s first Filipino Rector Magnificus (1971-1977). Within the Order of Preachers, he was the first Filipino Vicar of the Philippine Dominican Vicariate. In both societies, he manifested his gifts of prudent and vision-driven leadership and management which earned him the respect and admiration of his fellow educators, priests and theologians. Fittingly, he received prestigious accolades like the Ten Outstanding Young Men award for education, Gran Cruz del Alfonso X El Sabio of the Spanish Government, Rizal Pro Patria Award and the International Association of University Presidents Award, to name a few.

He was drawn nearer to his destiny in 1977 when Pope John Paul II appointed him as titular bishop of Elefantaria in Mauritania and auxiliary bishop of Archbishop Jaime Cardinal Sin of Manila. Still mindful of his passion in the teaching ministry, Cardinal Sin allowed him to remain rector of UST. But with a heavy heart, he had to relinquish his post to his vice rector because holding the two positions at the same time was not compatible with the rules of the Dominican Order.

A Gift Richly Given to Bikol

Seven years later, there was a prospect unfolding for Msgr. Legaspi at Caceres: the old Archbishop Teopisto Alberto just announced his retirement. He was nominated to take his place. His friends and parishioners who knew his effective leadership rightly described this event as “Manila’s loss, Bikol’s gain.”[4] Indeed, on January 17, 1984, the Bikolano faithful received him as gift upon his installation as the 33^rd Bishop and third Archbishop of Caceres. On his way to Naga, he was greeted by jubilant crowds along the streets of Daet, Villazar, Sipocot, Mambulo, Tambo, San Fernando and Milaor. As he received they keys of the province from Governor Felix Fuentebella, he described the Bikolanos with these words:

On my way to Naga from Daet this afternoon, the beauty of Mt. Isarog caught my attention. “What placidity! What serenity!” I told myself. And I could not help thinking of that other mountain of the Bicol Region, the fiery Mt. Mayon. How fittingly, I thought, these two mountains portray the two sides of the Bicolano character, vigorous and fiery yet sober and peace loving.[5]

Initially, the Archbishop’s confinement in the academe for 14 years posed some challenges for him. Except for the occasional Masses in a parish, he practically had no experience of parish life. To overcome this, he utilized his management experience and looked at Caceres in that light. While the many bishops before him had administered the Archdiocese as a parish priest, he viewed it from the perspective of a university. He introduced planning, organization and assessment of resources.

Nourishing Seminary and Priestly Formation in Caceres

At the onset of his episcopacy, the Archbishop recognized the local Church’s lack of understanding about its prophetic role vis-à-vis the reality of the world. To respond to this, he knew that he had to start right at the seminary where priestly formation begins. Quite logically, among his first accomplishments was the introduction of major development in the formation program, faculty development and direction of the seminaries. Specifically, the three stages in seminary formation (preparatory, minor and major seminaries) have been delineated and endowed with their particular facilities.

Although a macro-manager who trusts seminary formators, he still personally looks over the development and concerns of the seminarians. He would know each one of them, have breakfast with them, assist in their financial concerns, and help formators guide them in their journey to priesthood.

He has also given equal attention to the continuing formation of priests. As he stressed in The Diocesan Priestly Life and Ministry Formation Manual, the formation of a priest does not end in his ordination, but needs to be continuously nurtured in his priestly life and ministry.  To the Caceres priests, he resembles the typical Filipino father who impresses strict discipline on them and places call of duty above any personal matter. But he can also be very understanding and sensitive to their needs. He once described his relationship with the priests:

“The priests are my sons and friends. In virtue of sacred ordination we have in common, we are bound together in the intimacy of brotherhood which should be spontaneously and cheerfully demonstrated in mutual help, spiritual and material alike, pastoral and personal. That is why one of my chief anxieties is the welfare of my priests, and I believe that my first responsibility is to look after, care for the priests.[6]

The creation of programs like the Caceres Clergy Security System, for the priests’ insurance benefits; ‘Kapwa ko, Parroco’ (My Fellow Pastor), a fund-building campaign for priests; Gaudium Sacerdotale (Joy in the Priesthood) Fund, a program for priests’ renewal; and Pro-Seminario Collection, provision of subsidies to poor parishes; and Madrigal Foundation scholarship grants manifest his care for the priests.

Revitalizing Catechism

Being a former Catholic educator, the Archbishop has made catechesis his first priority. In fact, one of his first decrees as Archbishop was the establishment of the Caceres Catechetical Ministry. Consequently, the ministry opened in 1987 the Caceres Catechetical Center which trains catechists who would assist the parishes and provide religious instruction in public schools. Today, this ministry claims to have formed some 1,300 volunteer catechists, and extends beyond Caceres as model and inspiration.

To expand the reach of catechism, the archdiocese utilized the media through the creation of the Caceres Commission on Communications (CCCom). By serving as the liaison between the Archdiocese and media practitioners, the teachings of the Church are promoted through the local media. And to further encourage the media to promote Christian spirituality, the CCCom has even organized six St. Peter Baptist Catholic Mass Media Awards to recognize media organizations and practitioners who live up to the motto, Christian Values Make Good Media.

The Archbishop has also provided monumental leadership in shaping catechism in the nation. When he was chairman of the Episcopal Commission on Catechesis and Catholic Education (ECCCE) from 1977 to 1978 and 1994 to 2003, new catechetical tools were designed like the National Catechetical Directory of the Philippines and the Manual for Family Catechesis, and remarkably the Catechesis of the Catholic Church, which is the first national catechism document published by Vatican after the Universal Catechism. It was also through his leadership that ECCCE established the National Catechetical Week and forged close collaboration with the Catholic Educational Association of the Philippines (CEAP). These achievements have made the country a subject of admiration and imitation even in other parts of the Catholic world, bestowing him the reputation as the “Architect of Philippine Catechesis in Our Time.”[7]

Making Pastoral Care Accessible to All

In his book Light to all (2004), Archbishop Legaspi underscored his duty as the one most entrusted with the responsibility to keep the local church under his care in the grace of God’s visitation, so that in its midst, the visit made ‘once-and-for-all’ in Jesus Christ becomes present anew from age to age.”[8] Evidently, he brought about significant initiatives and changes which have resulted in the greater access of the faithful to pastoral services and have empowered both the clergy and the laity in Caceres and in the country.

From 1987 till 1991, he served as president of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines. In his term, he convened the Second Plenary Council of the Philippines (PCP II), which Pope John Paul II described as one of the most significant events in the ecclesial life of the Catholic Church in the country.[9] Some of the Church’s continuing pastoral priorities emerged from PCP II’s acts and decrees: the preferential attention to the poor and the engaged role of laity in carrying out the Church’s mission in social transformation.

At Caceres, the growth of the Church has been on continuous rise. The number of parishes dramatically increased by more than 100 percent, from 38 in 1984 to 75 parishes today. Where the government cannot provide even the basic services, Caceres has a priest to take care of the people, especially the poor. The map of Caceres dramatically expanded in 1989 when, through a petition of the Archbishop, Rome approved the Prelature of Libmanan as a new ecclesiastical jurisdiction. And a decade later, Libmanan was recognized by Pope Benedict XVI as a new diocese, which now has 27 parishes.

To be closer to homes, the Archbishop created the Family Ministry in the Archdiocese of Caceres, a major pastoral strategy towards the promotion of marriage and family as a domestic church and the locus of new evangelization. This ministry has made counselling services available for married couples and families, leading the family towards social participation and apostolate. In one of his pastoral letters, he made clear the importance of this ministry, declaring that:

 “... the family is where the Gospel is first heard and witnessed to by the members. The family has to be a true school of evangelization, where every member first learns to participate in the evangelizing mission of the Church”[10]

With parishes now closer to homes, the lay faithful have been inspired to participate in the ministries and assume responsibilities. One concrete articulation of the laity’s participation was the establishment of the Caceres Social Action Foundation (CASAFI). Through CASAFI, the laity and other church-based groups engaged in social apostolates have been coordinated to sharpen focus and impact on Bikol development. This is consistent with the archbishop’s social action vision, articulating that:

“... the challenge of our church is to make it truly the ‘home for the poor.’ The Church shepherds her flock not only by nourishing their souls with the Eucharist but by creating an environment that ensures human development.”[11]

Young people also found opportunities for self-expression within the church’s organizational structure. With the creation of the Caceres Youth and Campus Ministry, the archdiocese has seen the energies of the youth in various youth encounters, vigils and camps. To widen the reach of this program, he strategically established continuing relationships with schools such as the Ateneo de Naga University and the Universidad de Sta. Isabel, but also the non-sectarian ones. The University of Nueva Caceres and Naga College Foundation can confirm how he has generously helped in shaping their respective campus ministries and provided them priests for their students’ sacramental and spiritual needs.

The Archbishop’s pastoral achievements have provided a highly encouraging environment for religious and apostolate communities. In fact, Caceres witnessed the increase in the number of religious communities from seven in 1984 to now 28 religious congregations, pious associations and secular institutes for men and women. The archdiocese is home now to more than 300 religious persons. This growth has also been complimented by the rise in the number of apostolates: for the sick and the dying, the elderly and the disabled, the abused and the abandoned and other disadvantaged sectors; and the apostolates in counselling and retreat ministry, pre-school and non-formal education, livelihood programs and even native tribal promotion.

Protecting the Peñafrancia Devotion

Before he even came to Caceres, Archbishop Legaspi had been conscious of the filial relationship between the Ina and the Bikolano. He aptly described the Bikolano people as “inheritors of a past where being a people is interwoven with being Church. And at the heart of this convergence of culture and faith is Mary ... Ina is Bikol; Bikol is Ina.”[12]

Nonetheless, he was also aware of the mounting challenges of secularization and commercialization to this Marian devotion. This awareness helped him appreciate more clearly his special role in Bikol: to protect the Marian devotion and, through her, bring the people closer to the Church and to God. And through her, animate the Church’s flock towards empowerment and change.

To fulfil his special role, his first step was to set up structures to safeguard the image of Ina by renovating the Basilica where she dwells and the Shrine where she stays during the Peñafrancia novena. He designated personnel such as the rectors of the said churches who are responsible for helping promote the devotion. He also directed the making of the image’s replica which has been used in the annual traslacion and Fluvial Parade so that the original image would be preserved.

At the eve of the Tercentenary Celebration of the devotion, the Archbishop introduced essential changes in the fiesta like the establishment of religious zones for devotees and pilgrims, and formation sessions for the voyadores to ensure peaceful and orderly processions and more meaningful novena. Most importantly, he moved to redefine the devotion and free the novena from the many secularized and commercialized fiesta activities like pageants and street parties. The Ateneo de Naga University and other schools under the Bicol Association of Catholic Schools heeded to his call for discernment on the actual values involved in the fiesta activities, and overwhelmingly supported his cause. His move may have brought him and the entire archdiocese into tension with the local government, but he knew that it was the right and moral thing to do to protect the Peñafrancia devotion.

Today, as he continues to work for a more meaningful Marian devotion, the Archbishop expresses his hopes for more socially engaged devotees: This must be our hope, to have faith that goes beyond the traslacion and the fluvial procession. And this means a conversion for mission, that is, an active responsibility for the past failings of society...and total renewal of the Church towards a better future for all.[13]

The Archbishop’s Legacy Lives

This 2010, Archbishop Legaspi reaches the 25th year of his episcopacy. Remarkably, he also celebrates his 75th birthday, which would normally mark his retirement as foreseen by church law. Sooner or later, the Pope may have to assign a new caretaker of Ina and the Archdiocese. But as he leaves the episcopacy, the Bikolano will be forever grateful to him for selflessly and faithfully shepherding the Bikolano faithful, and for protecting our shared story of devotion to Ina and faith in God.

Therefore, as a fitting tribute in recognition of his promotion of the Devotion to Our Lady of Peñafrancia, purifying it of aberrations in its external manifestations; for drawing the Church closer to the Filipino and the Bikolano people, especially the poor, through catechesis, pastoral care and good governance; and for his defense of the Catholic Church and Christian values against the threats of secularism and materialism, the Ateneo de Naga University is most privileged to confer upon His Grace, Archbishop Leonardo Z. Legaspi, O.P., the degree of Doctor of Humanities, honoris causa, in this City of Naga, this twenty-seventh  day of March, in the two thousand and tenth year of our Lord.

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[1] One Who Prays Is Not Afraid; One Who Prays Is Not Alone, by Pope Benedict XVI, www.cbcponline.net.

[2] Responses of Msgr. Leonardo Z. Legazpi during The University of Santo Tomas Varsitarian Interview, 2009.

[3] The Caceres Experience: A Bishop’s Story, Ina nin Bikol Foundation, p. 2.

[4] Tribute to the Architect of Philippine Catechesis in Our Time, by Msgr. Gerardo O. Santos, http://eccceonline.org.

[5] Leonardo Z. Legazpi: A Shepherd Among Us, by Rex Andrew C. Alarcon, p. xv.

[6] The Caceres Experience: A Bishop’s Story, Ina nin Bikol Foundation, p.20.

[7] Tribute to the Architect of Philippine Catechesis in Our Time, by Msgr. Gerardo O. Santos, http://eccceonline.org.

[8] Light to All, by Leonardo Z. Legazpi, 2004.

[9] http://www.cbcponline.net.

[10] Pastoral Letter, by Msgr. Leonardo Z. Legazpi, January 2004.

[11] The Caceres Experience: A Bishop’s Story, Ina nin Bikol Foundation, p.31.

[12] Ina and the Bikol People: A Journey of Faith, Ina nin Bikol Foundation, 2004, p. 5.

[13] Ibid, p. 196-197.