When Food Becomes An Adventure

Pig’s brain. Frog legs. Pig’s blood. Dog meat. Cow’s testicles. No. This is not a biology class. This is all about food.

If you are the squeamish type, relax. I will not harm your discriminating palate. Food, after all, is something that all of us looks forward to at the end of the day. Nothing beats the idea of eating home-cooked meals served with some good loving. Imagine going home and eating a plate of steaming rice made more heavenly by the aroma of pandan leaves and served with some sumptuous pork adobo or some steaming hot tinolang manok on a rainy day. How about some fried fish and a plate of fried rice topped with some toasted fried garlic? Good food at its best. Imagine the sight. Heavenly smell. The taste. Go ahead……. Imagine it….

Feels good, right?

Many of my best memories are associated with food. I come from a family of cooks. I was brought up with the idea that if you want to eat good food then you must know how to cook. Sure, you can eat at the restaurant and you can pay for it but cooking it yourself makes the experience more rewarding. We owe it to ourselves to experience life at its best. It comes from a very simple concept. You love yourself therefore you pamper your senses with the best things in life. And one of the best things in life is food.

My adventures with cooking began at an early age. Every summer, I looked forward for the end of the school year. My parents would take us to the province for a month long respite from school. Life is good. Vacation at the province means adventures. It means climbing trees, swimming in the river and race to the hilltop. There too, at the back of my grandparent’s house, my imagination took me to greater heights as I learned how to cook my first vegetable stew. Gumamela and santan leaves, some stones for garnishing, seasoned with dust as salt. Then we set off and collect some clams at the river located at the back of the house. If I get lucky, I get to cooked it using my grandma’s clay pot with real fire.

No, I have no idea what it tastes like.

My cousins and I were actually sane not to eat our own masterpiece. But there are times that we did broil some dried fish on the charcoal set outside with some crude stones. I have a very bad record of being caught red handed while flashing a sheepish grin to my grandmother as I stealthily enter the back door kitchen to get some left-over rice for us. We did use some coconut shells as plates and food is best eaten with bare hands. Looking back at it now, I wonder how many gumamela and santan plants I must have murdered to perfect my cooking skills.

Cooking is not for the faint-hearted. You must be adventurous if you want food to continuously excite your senses. One must be courageous enough to try new things. Explore new ways of doing it if only to challenge the boredom of eating the same dish for so many years. They said experiment is the key to excite the senses. I took that advice into heart, of course. Sometimes I congratulate myself for a job well done. Everything turns out fine. The experiment is a success! Yes!

But not all the time.

I can still vividly remember the first time I baked my own version of pan de sal, the quintessential bread of the Filipino masses. My elder sister never forgot about my first gastronomic adventure in baking. I still give them a good laugh every time they remember that faithful day. I am a tough cookie and I have every reason to believe that I literally brought that concept into my baking skills.

My pan de sal is as hard as stone.

I guess that experience was just too traumatic for me. You see as a cook, you always get to taste the product of your ingenuity and creativity first. I took the first bite on my pan de sal.

I almost broke my front teeth.

I have improved since then but I’ve never tried baking pan de sal again. I’ve learned to stick on my expertise, cooking viands. Main dish, soups, stews, stir-fries and what have you. Name it. I’ll cook it. With sterling qualities at that. Before all my family members lose their front teeth, I guess I will just have to leave the world of baking to my elder sister’s hand. Laugh at me now but I promise. I will bake the best pan de sal on earth someday. Just wait and see. And when that time comes, I will ask you to take the first bite. Inform me now so I can put you in my list of honored guests. Good luck.

Since food is an adventure to excite the senses, have you ever tried eating the exotic ones? Frog legs. Pig’s brain. Cow’s testicles. Dog meat. No, not pork blood stews. It’s not included in the list.

Pork blood stew or dinuguan is not exotic for me. I grew up eating it with a thirst likened to a vampire. It’s yummy and best eaten with steamed rice cake or puto. Traditionally, it’s cooked using pork innards but I haven’t tried cooking it that way. I always use the pork belly part. I don’t know how other cultures might view the dish but I know for one they shouldn’t judge it without giving it a try.

That is if they’re courageous enough.

Today, I came across a food blog that features frog legs cooked with quail eggs, adobo style. Adobo is synonymous with chicken and pork or sitaw, string beans. But I can’t seem to associate adobo with frogs. I can’t bring myself to eat it honestly. But I was told it tasted like chicken. Then maybe I’ll just stick to chicken legs. More juicy. Much bigger. And I don’t think of warts while eating it with gusto. But still, if I can do away with the cruelty of how it was captured and killed, maybe I can bring myself to cook something like this in the near future. The only thing is, what if Mr. Froggy turns out to be a prince charming?

Darn. Girls will hunt me down. PETA, too.

Some of the exotic ones I’ve tried was pig’s brain cooked in some soup, dog meat cooked adobo style and my favorite cow’s testicles, cooked as soup number 5. I remember eating them as a kid. Today, I cannot say the same. Aside from soup number five, I am not an adventurous eater anymore. I don’t crave for exotic food.

Among them, the dog meat was something that I’ve never forget. Not because I relish the idea of eating man’s best friend but because I was fooled into eating it. I thought I was just eating some chicken meat. I remember trying to dislodge the food out of my stomach but I guess my digestive system is working on a no return, no exchange policy.

I know up north it is actually considered as a delicacy. But there’s a law against this one now. Dog meat is not allowed to be sold in the market anymore. It’s illegal and it poses some health risks. I don’t know how to take it but even if it’s cultural, I don’t think they have to be killed that way. A dog’s meat tastes like chicken but I don’t think I can bring myself to eat it again.

What about pig’s brain?

My love affair with pork and pigs started with my father. I have been accustomed to accompanying him to the different markets at the city where we own some stalls at the meat section. I remembered being surrounded by pork, beef and goat’s meat. Enormous tapalans which served as chopping boards for meats were scattered at the counter. When the day was over, that means somewhere 10 am, Dad and I would essentially roam around the markets. I had a very intimate relationship with markets around the city and I know them like the back of my hand. I handled fish like a pro. I know the names of the different cuts for meat like a seasoned chef.

I was only ten years old.

My father would introduce me to the vegetable and fish vendors, the egg and fruit stall owners and what have you. I know my way to the markets all over the city of Iloilo. The crude language sometimes found at the marketplace never bothered me. I almost feel like a gangster while I exchange high fives to tattoed and huge, towering men brandishing the biggest knives I have ever seen in my entire lifetime. Some of them who worked for my father would cook some soup using the pig’s brain as the soup base. The pig’s skull is left after some customer buys that part that is being use for cooking spicy sisig, the mask of the pig as they call it or maskara.

Pig’s brain? What does it taste like?

If I can remember it right, it tastes good. It was cooked in some broth seasoned with some herbs and spices as well as garnished with some vegetables. I think they have put some peppercorns in it and lots of garlic. Looking back, I must have looked barbaric while eating it. That was like 18 years ago or so. I am actually trying to think about the wisdom of the idea that by eating it, my neurons would gain something significant. I just don't know if Einstein would like to try this, too.

What about cow’s testicles?

The best way to cook it is to make a soup out of it. This fabled soup known as Soup Number five is actually expensive in some restaurants. However, some roadside eateries offer this on a very reasonable price. And mind you, it tastes really good. And yes, it is made of cow’s testicles. Simply put. You got to have the balls to eat this.

It is reputedly known to have some powers to excite the senses. It is believed to be an aphrodisiac. I know for sure that some ancient cultures had associated rams and horned bulls as representations of fertility. So maybe, this is the reason why. I honestly don’t know. Aside from its obvious function, I have yet to conduct a comparative study about the use of cow’s testicles across cultures. Or whether it is effective as what they claim to be. I have eaten it numerous times but I did not feel anything unusual.

What about you?

My father was the one who cooked it for us. He mortified my mom when he said that our viand for that day was cow’s testicles. My mom is a very good cook but I have always seen my father as the adventurous one. The cow’s testicle was cut into desired length and was washed and cleaned thoroughly. When cooked with the right spices, believe me. It tastes heavenly.

Just a few weeks ago, I would have wanted to try to cook it myself. But alas, I don’t have any idea as to where I can buy some testicles. For sure, they don’t have it at the meat section of major groceries store and malls at the city. Just try to imagine what would be the sign at the meat section.

Testicles sold here.

My next door neighbor told me that maybe I can get it from the slaughter house. Try to order it in advance, of course. She also jokingly told me that maybe I can use a man’s testicles instead. Actually that might be a good idea especially for men who got this very bad habit of using their testicles rather than their brains most of the time. Think of making eunuchs out of them.

If I can’t find anybody who fits that category and if worst comes to worst, my male friends should indeed run for their lives.

So which one do you fancy? Pig’s brain? Dog meat? Cow’s testicles? Or something more exotic?

Let me know.



In Defense of Bra and Panty

What's the color of your favorite underwear? Is it black, red, purple, blue or abstract?

I was at the mall to buy myself some lingerie yesterday. In my 31 years of existence in this planet, it's the section that I never skip if I want to be entertained. And who wouldn't be? It's like going to the candy store with lots of choices to choose from. Women could choose from the different colors that catches their fancy and suit their discriminating taste.It ranges from the quintessential classic black, fiery red, sweet pink, virginal white, and yes my favorite colors, mystic blue and regal purple.

I was amused as I hold a red thong in my hands. I looked at it with suspicion. Who would wear this? I mused to myself as I scrutinized the flimsy looking. tiny red thong against the light. The sales lady looked at me as if I was a half-crazed woman trying to figure out whether it's something edible or not. It looked like a foreign object to me. I know for sure some women finds it sexy to wear thongs. I, on the other hand is not as adventurous when it comes to it. With bras, yes. I love the wild side of bras. I would probably enlist myself to any lingerie company to try out the latest in bra technology.But with thongs, it's a different story.

As long as I haven't tried it, I wouldn't say no. So for those who doubt the veracity of my statement,for your information, I have tried wearing one before. But yes sweetheart, it felt like there was a worm stuck somewhere.

It's like there's a wiggling creature in the crevices of my butt. It feels funny. It gives me goosebumps, actually.

I know you're laughing but yes, it's true. That was the first and the last time I'm going to wear one.If I would be made to choose between a thong and an invinsible panty a.k.a nothing. I'll be faster than the lightning to say that I'll choose to wear nothing at all. At least it's comfortable and airy. Sorry but I won't sacrifice comfort for fashion. If they could create a thong that doesn't feel like some worm is having a fantastic time exploring my buns, then I'll be glad to buy a dozen and wear them day in and day out. I'll even buy the most outrageous design and try it.

For the meantime, thongs aren't just my thing. Period.

I left the poor red thong to ponder on whose butt she's going to explore in the near future. As I moved on to the next rack, my attention was caught by some dazzling colored underwear. Panties that were embellished with some sort of sequins. There were red and black ones. I began to wonder. Are they really serious with this? Who the hell would wear a panty with sequins unless of course the woman is into some forms of masochism? I looked around if there was a pair. Sequined bras and panties would go well I assume. There was none. So I reckon these panties would be paired with a different bra. M Maybe if I perform pole dancing for my future husband, I would seriously consider buying it. I'm keeping my options open.

I tried to visualize myself wearing the thing.

If I would be a part of a sultan's harem, I'll probably buy something like this. Something fiery red with some black sequins and have it custom made with little bells attach to the hips.On the process,throw in some miniature colored light bulbs,too. Let's just see whether the sultan will not see me. I bet, I'll be the center of attraction during the selection.

I am seriously considering the idea of becoming a consultant for lingerie companies. I can maybe even design something historical. Like maybe a map of Asia strewn across the butt and at the front maybe an emblem of whatever the customer adores so much. The choices are endless. Sky is the limit. This will be good business.

Designers of underwear are very creative. Talk about fashion statement. None compares to this. A few years ago,I saw one which was made of cotton with a very cute looking little pig in front, complete with two ears and adorable eyes. And yes, you're right. A cute little tail was hanging in all its amazing glory at the back. It was not printed. It was a cute waggly tail.

You want attention. You wear this to beach. Let me know what happens next.

I leisurely took my time as I tried to examine every piece that took my fancy.The bras were very nice. There were elegant ones, delicately embroidered with intricate designs and embellished with fine lace. You can go from cheap, to moderately priced, to expensive and very expensive.They were available in a kaleidoscope of colors. It comes in different sizes and flavors if you can call it that way. There's the good, the bad and the ugly. It depends on what mood you are in.

So what is the rule in finding a good bra? Very simple. As they say, a good bra is like the perfect man: good-looking, supportive and will never let you down.

In my case, I would always choose the bold and elegant ones, rolled into one. When I say bold, it should be strong enough to carry my assets, supportive in other words, but elegant enough to make them look very adorable. Sometimes, I also prefer to be brazen. I love lion and leopard inspired designs. It makes me feel like some predator waiting for its prey.Animal instincts on the move. So powerful. Utterly amazing. Roar!!!

If there's one thing I can't understand, it is the fact that why can't we wear our bras outside instead of hiding them. Look at the men's briefs section. Those manly but elegant designs that exudes male sexuality. Like bras and panties, if you ask me, all those fine pieces of men's underwear should be shown to the world. Maybe once a week it would be fine to have a free day. A respite from our structured environment. Imagine your boss, who always terrorizes you, wearing his brief outside. It would be a breath of fresh air, I think. I must admit, too. I am a staunch defender of the idea that Superman was always right. He wore his briefs on the outside.

I can't usually find my shoe size at the ladies department. I got feet. My shoe size would be from 34-35. It's so difficult to find high heeled shoes for me because they're usually a lot bigger than my feet. But when it comes to bras, I marvel at the creativity of our designers. I admire women who are gifted. Well-endowed. But yes, I also admire a woman who couldn't care less whether the size of her breast is comparable to that of a miniature muffin. In this world of size does matter, some women would go through the extremes to give their breasts some extra lift and meat. They think having it well endowed is easy.

Not all the time, my dear.

It can be difficult during that time of the month. It could be scandalous especially when riding a car or jeepney. Whenever my period is coming and it is as if everything swells and aches in my body, I am always tempted to hold my precious assets whenever there's a bump on the road. In times like these, I always have my supportive sisters, bras with underwires. They are always ready for heavy duty.Okay, I would have to be honest. Scrap tempted, I have done it several times actually. I hold them precious assets securely with my two hands when the road ahead is rough and bumpy. Don't give me that look! Of course, I do it discreetly. Though I tell you, it takes a lot of intelligent moves not to attract untoward attention to yourself. For those who are interested on how to do it, just email me.

So if you still think that well endowed women got it easy. Think again.

As I am writing this, my cousin is chanting her favorite mantra. I must! I must! I must increase my bust! I told her to offer some chicken eggs in exchange for prayers of miracle for her 32A bust size. No amount of exercise will give you a whooping increase from 32A to 36B. That's her dream size by the way. She would looked at mine longingly and tell me, she wants to have them, too. Okay, she can borrow mine every MWF but not on Saturdays and Sundays. Those days are my dating days. I don't want to shock my date and make him think I had inflatables instead of real breasts.

Some men wants it big. Some men wants it small. But the question is, what do you want? It's not what they want that defines you as a woman. It's what you want that defines yourself.Nothing fascinates me but to see a woman who struts her stuff with such unmistaken confidence and with a "I couldn't care less attitude." It makes me want to cheer and shout, "You go girl!!!"

I am a firm believer of the idea that I don't need to dress and act like a man when I can be feminine and powerful as a woman.

I admire women who are comfortable with their feminine sexuality. Women who are never afraid to express themselves. Be it innocent, classic, bold or brazen. It defines who they are. If they're satisfied with it, whether it's 32A or 40D, this world is going to be one happy place.

These assets might be heavy at times but nevertheless, I am thankful. I would always be proud to have them. It's a natural gift. Something to be cherished and treasured. A girlfriend of mine told me that when God gave out assets, both of us woke up early and made our way to the front line. We waved our hands tremendously that we received such huge blessings. I couldn't agree more.

Indeed, the early worm catches the boobs.

When Majority Turns Major

I’m certainly no fan of beauty pageants and no, I don’t hate it either.

I sat dazed for a moment when my friends at facebook wrote something on my status about how I forgot my password for my email account. They said it’s a major major problem and I should seek a major major solution.

I was out of touch with the world for quite some time when the hullabaloo over what majority of us called as a major disaster took place. My mind was too busy trying to organize my thoughts for the gender sensitivity trainings that I was about to conduct and it was only two days later that I managed to read the news and I found out what the major problem was.

The most recent experience I had as a judge on one beauty contest confirmed the truth albeit not as grandiose and prestigious as The Miss Universe Beauty Pageant. I was actually amused by some of the questions I had contemplated on asking the contestants. Such as, " If you only have one eyebrow left, where will you put it? Left or right? Why?" Or maybe I could also ask something like, “If you have three hairs left on your head, what do you want to do with it? Will you have it together or separate from each other? Why?”

Of course, that’s just the funny side of me. No,I didn't ask them that.

Venus Raj landed 4th among the 80 candidates and all we could harp for was that she failed to bring home the bacon. And for those who would say that they could have answered the question this way or that way, yes, I know your IQ is above average. But please, spare me from all your claims of superior intelligence.

Fact is, you’re not a candidate for Ms. Universe. Period.

It was too prejudicial for us to hinge our reactions solely on the basis of how she repeatedly used the word “major”. Are we reacting like this because we deem to see it as a major blow to our reputation as good English speakers? Are we afraid that Koreans would stop coming to the Philippines to learn the English language lest we produced major major English speaking Koreans? I guess as Filipinos we always pride ourselves as proficient in the English language. One of the best in this part of Asia, perhaps. However, my major impression is that we are not so observant with the fact that in this part of the world, the Philippines, we have honed the language so as to suit our own purpose.

Let me share with you what happened to my class a few days ago.

We were discussing the relationship of the development of nationalism, imagery and the Filipino intelligentsia in the 19th century. The class was silent as they tried to digest and process the questions I have been throwing at them.

“Rizal sees nationhood as transhistorical. What do we mean with this?” I asked. You could have heard the pin dropped as silence engulfed the room.

One student raised her hand and said “Maam, I’m not so sure but I’ll try. I have a little little idea about it.”

Suddenly, all hell broke loose as her classmates laughed out loud. The student who bravely raised her hand to answer my question turned beet red. She was a Chinese mestiza which all the more heightened the reddening of her cheeks as she nervously laughed with embarrassment along with her classmates.

“I mean I only have a very slight idea about it but I want to try. That’s why I said little little,” she profusely explained.

I smiled.

“No need to explain Miss. I understand what you wanted to convey. Now you know what Venus Raj must have felt when she was trying to answer the question.”

They all nod in agreement.

I’m no self-proclaimed linguist. I have lucid moments wherein sometimes, I can’t even spell the simplest and easiest words anymore. Believe me, we all have moments like these. No sleep, information overload and intellectual indigestion. Put them together and they are a perfect combination for my lucid moments. These are the times that I have to correct myself because my nouns and adjectives don’t agree with each other. My verbs and adverbs are in a state of proverbial love-hate relationship. And I have to check my written work so as not to commit a major laughing stock of myself.

Okay, let’s be bloody about this. If we want to be really strict with it, we are all liable to commit major blunders in the English language.

Case in point. What is a bloodletting activity?

Bloodletting was a historically practiced medical procedure which involved removing a set amount of blood from the veins of a patient for therapeutic purposes. Historically, physicians believed that many illnesses were caused by an excess of blood, and bloodletting was a frequent prescription for a wide range of conditions. It was the most common medical practice performed by doctors from antiquity up to the late 19th century.

This was based on two key concepts: one if blood could not circulate, it could stagnate at the extremities, thus the need for a bloodletting, second, the concept of humoralism. The theory of Humorism goes back to the concept of Hippocratic medicine. It believes that the body is made up of four basic substances, called humors, which are in balance when a person is healthy. All diseases and disabilities resulted from an excess or deficit of one of these four humors. . The four humors were black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood. The blood was believed to be the dominant humor. When a patient was suffering from a surplus or imbalance of one fluid, then his or her personality and physical health would be affected.

Thus bloodletting during those times emerged as an answer to a plethora of medical problems. It is good for asthma, acne, leprosy, tuberculosis, herpes, indigestion and yes, insanity, just to name a few. If this is the case then I think I may need to enlist many of my friends for a bloodletting activity for they have periodic cases of insanity one time or another on their lifetimes. I’m sure they could keep the blood banks in the Philippines busy the whole month or so.

In blood donation, people can get a sense of what therapeutic bloodletting might have been like. However, most blood donors donate less blood than bloodletting would have removed. In the Philippines, donating blood is known to be a bloodletting activity.

At this point, let me ask you. Which one do you prefer? Bloodletting or blood donation?

A lot of factors come in when we try to contextualize everything. Language changes. It's fluid and is never stagnant. The fact also remains that nobody has a monopoly of the English language. And if you don’t agree with me, that’s your major major reaction and it’s your prerogative to do so.

Someone used to tell me that the type of English language that evolved in the Philippines is that of the Americans. That’s why our English is flawed. He said Americans can’t speak good English unlike the British. He comes from a continent that has a long history of British colonization and therefore I can surely understand his reaction. So I bluntly told him, the British are snobs that’s why. He laughed. He got my point.

Venus Raj was attempting to clarify a point. She was trying to emphasize something. We may not be aware of it but some of us may have been unconsciously using the same expression in our everyday conversations. It goes to say that as non-native English speakers, we Filipinos have certain nuances when it comes to speaking the language, a type of language that may not be considered acceptable in the greater English speaking world. If there’s such a world called as greater English speaking world that is..

Venus Raj's answer in totality is maybe, yes, off tangent. She had a chance to correct her mistake but I don't know why, in the end, she faltered. But the criticism was not even on that aspect. Her major major speech caught the world by storm. Well, maybe you can say I am not a perfectionist when it comes to beauty pageants. That's not my forte. But I have to lord it over her. I have every reason to believe that being fourth among the 80 candidates was no easy feat I guess.

We glorify our victories as one nation but in times of mistakes we are least forgiving to our own kind. I guess we too often remember the mistakes more than the victories. The follies of human nature.

Me, Jesus Christ and Sponge Bob

In the Name of Confession

I looked at it incredulously and I began to wonder where on earth I was.

It was a quiet and cozy Thursday afternoon as I strolled my way to the church grounds. Perfect, I told myself. Just the way I like it. The sky was magnificent as it was dressed in majestic blue peppered with cotton candy looking clouds. The birds were oblivious to the heat of the sun as they continued to serenade and flirt at each other with their melodious voices. I smiled. I was in a happy mood.

As I entered the billowing entrance of the church, I was engulfed with a feeling of serenity and peace. I eased my way to the aisle and rows of holy saints that looked like silent sentinels of its devoted flock. The intricate patterns at the ceiling fascinated me as I quietly walked my way inside. Suddenly, I stopped dead on my tracks. I stood and looked at the sign posted just below the image and statue of Jesus Christ on the cross. I contemplated whether I should light the candle in my hand.

The sign read, “Only candles bought from the church cooperative are allowed to be lighted here. Please support our cooperative.” I was wondering whether something happened at the bat of my eyelash like I was suddenly transported back to the Spanish period in the Philippines. I was expecting Padre Damaso and Padre Salvi to appear nowhere and start their sermons of fire and brimstones to poor hapless sinners like me. I cringed.

I lighted my candle anyway.

It looked different from the rest. I was unmindful of the stare of an elderly lady who was standing beside me. I nod and smiled at her, acknowledging her presence. I closed my eyes and began talking to Him. I have to be honest. I can’t concentrate. Somewhere at the back of my mind, those words seem to haunt me. This might be the reason why, I have always valued praying inside my room or somewhere far away from temptations of the human senses.

As much as possible I refrain from writing something about religion because it generates so much discussion that sometimes, out of academic discussion you earn resentment from other people. Unconsciously, of course. I respect other people's opinions, regardless of their race, color or religion. I have no qualms with those who are vocal about their faith and the values they uphold. I bestow them great respect. Not everyone can do that. Not everyone can go to the street and preach about things that they truly believe in. Not everyone can actually sit down and ask you if you want to talk about God. The only amusing thing is that we seem to get the impression that those who professed great faith in God are only dressed in white robes with halos on their heads. Or much worst only those who hold the bible everyday of their lives deserve a place in heaven. I have to say that I have met some people who don't looked like angels at all but they have a big heart. Theirs is a quiet devotion seen in acts rather than words.

They are ordinary people with extra ordinary hearts.

My childhood years were spent watching Flying House and Magic Book. My mornings were spent trying to digest the idea of Moses parting the Red Sea. It doesnt help too that it was called Red Sea when in fact it was not red. So I sat there trying to problematize everything. In my young mind, I wish I was an Israelite, I bet it would be fun to take a walk like that. Imagine yourself getting stuck in the mud, trying to look for Nemo and Dory. Not to mention you get to encounter the 44 species of shark that can be found in the Red Sea. It's going to be one cool awesome adventure of a lifetime!

I was transfixed in front of the TV as I imagined myself travelling through space and time and getting up close and personal with Judas Iscariot. I wondered why nobody seemed to like him that much. In my book, nobodys’ are as much as important as somebodys’. So no doubt, Judas Iscariot is on my to do list.

I grew up with parents who came from differing religions. My mother is a devout Catholic. My father is a Protestant. They were able to settle their differences when it comes to faith. My Dad goes to church on occasions of death and baptism.

Was he bad because of that?

I never saw him as such. He was one of the kindest and most generous persons I have ever seen in my lifetime. I never saw him holding the bible but today as a grown-up I realized he exemplified more than that. He didn’t preach but he practiced it to the fullest. My mom was the one who answered our questions about angels and demons, God and the concepts of eschatology. She grew up from a spiritual family. My dad is a soldier of fortune. So I think I have the best of both worlds.

I attended Sunday school. My elder sister told me it was fun. You get to use your crayons to color Jesus in any fashion that you want. In my imaginative mind, it was encouraging so I went. Turns out, our next door neighbor was a pastor from Doane Baptist Church. He encouraged my parents to send us every Sunday. I can still vividly recall Pastor Ariel. He would laugh as I would race to him and showed him my work of art. Jesus Christ feeding the multitude with five loaves of bread and two fish. Only that Jesus Christ looked like Sponge Bob and the multitude of people looked like dots because unlike my gifted sister, I don’t have much talent in drawing and painting. Nevertheless, in my eyes it was a work of art.

Abstract to be exact.

I studied in a Chinese school where there was no subject of religion or whatsoever. When Dad died, my mom transferred from the city to their ancestral home at the province. My high school years were basically spent with my elder sister. Together, we toughed it out in the real world. We remained at the city to pursue our studies. There was nobody to teach us the regiments of a true blooded Christian. Whatever that means. I learned to pray Hail Mary's and Our Father on my own. I guess when you are ready to learn, everything comes easy. Until now, I still pray in English and I know God don’t mind at all.

I went to a university where ideas get to be challenged when the occasion calls for it. I was far away from my family. Completely on my own, I met a few real life friends who introduced me to Students For Christ. I became a member of SFC for some years and at the same time was also an active member of the radical student org, The League of Filipino Students. Some people just couldnt reconcile the idea. In their eyes it’s like mixing oil and water. I don’t know why.

There are things that I don’t get with the church and the teachings in the Bible. I have always thought that religion is a personal thing. It is between me and my God. Through the years, I have been searching like the rest of us, for the truth, the light and the way. I read. Enlightened myself. I joined religious groups. Drifted in and out. Was in fact, disillusioned by some. The social scientist in me tells me that the bible is written by humans who are supposedly under the divine inspiration of God. But as humans, aren’t we all susceptible to bringing our own biases into writing? The bible has been interpreted in so many ways by people who claimed that they were divinely appointed and inspired by God.

Forgive me for saying this but I have met a priest recently who acted like he was no priest at all. He got angry with the little kid who was crying inside the church.Instead of carrying on with the sermon for the day, he lectured about parenting and crying kids and all. His voice was scolding and his eyes were blazing. I looked at my mom and asked her, what's the problem? He was clearly wound up so tight he forgot he was supposed to deliver the mass. He was a perfect picture of Padre Damaso that I was at the point of telling him so.

My mother turned to look at me and with her eyes, she was obviously telling me to behave. I have great respect for my mom. I have none for the priest. I have learned through the years that it pays to count from one to ten before you say anything. It helps you ease the tension and gives you space to say something enlightening and wise. I reached number twenty. I inhaled and exhaled many timesIt's like I was being made to choose between human follies and divine attributes. I reminded myself that I am here to worship, not to criticize.

I do recognize the fact that priests are humans, too. Pardon me but I am less forgiving when it comes to these things. If it was only once, twice or even thrice, it's pretty understandable but if they've become a habit, then there's a problem somewhere. If they can't act according to the words they preach , then they don't have any business telling people how to save their souls from the fires of hell.

You walk the talk. Period.

If I question some teachings in the bible, does it make me less of a Christian? Someone told me before that if you have great faith, you wouldn’t even ask. In his perspective maybe that’s the rational thing to do. In my mind, it was not. Isn’t it tantamount to blind obedience? Or yes, maybe even to zealousness and fanaticism?

He told me that I don’t know how to differentiate a bible from a history book. I could go on forever and argue with him but of course, I always keep in mind that much has been done in the name of religion. Lives lost and much bloodshed. It wouldn’t hurt him if he only recognizes the fact that people have different perspectives when it comes to things and should at least respect the fact that we were not born from the same tree. And yes, the flip side of me tells me that it wouldn’t help also if I throw my hard bound huge history books in his face.

I ask because I want to be enlightened. Some would consider it even blasphemy to question some teachings in the bible. But yes, come to think of it. If I don’t give a damn, I wouldn’t care to ask at all. But fact is, I’m interested to know. Isn’t that fair enough? I strongly believe that God gave me rational mind to evaluate things and be able to decide for myself. Be able to discern which is right and what is wrong. It’s a God given gift that I intend to use to the fullest of my human potential.

My candle flickered slowly as it dances in the slow breeze of that one faithful Thursday afternoon. I have a gut feeling that God would still hear my prayers even if I didn’t buy my candle from the church cooperative. I questioned myself whether there must be something wrong with my judgment and conscience that day. I don’t know if I have violated some rules, whether human or divine, I am not sure. But the weird thing is, I wasn’t feeling guilty at all. I only have one thing in mind as I returned the smile of the elderly lady as I was leaving the premises of the church, I am only accountable to Him and nobody else. I am firm with my faith and I know what I want and where I am going.

It’s like being grateful to Him when you’re feeling good and yes, still graceful when you’re feeling bad. Either way, they are the best options you have in hand.