![]() Being lost and not having solid ground under our feet, can be make us feel frustrated, angry and scared. Last August, I flew to Paris to meet up with my wife Sylvia who was in a conference for a week in the UK. Upon arriving in Paris, at first I felt a sense of familiarity. Like the San Francisco bay area (where I lived for 17 yrs), Paris felt very ethnically diverse. I crossed paths with two friendly French people who spoke some English: first a young university student with a girlfriend who helped me read the subway map. The second was a friendly older French lady on the train who told me that Koreatown wasn’t too far away. In the end of our chitchat, she said, “Welcome to Paris. I hope you have a great time here.” This is going to be a great trip, I thought to myself. I was supposed to meet Sylvia at an Airbnb in the Koreatown section of Paris. When I got off from the subway to the streets of Koreatown, it was dark - about 10:30 pm. I whipped out the map I had printed out of google, and started looking for “29 Rue de Belleville,” but then discovered there were no street signs (the next day I learned that Parisian street signs are plastered on the buildings - it’s a European thing). I problem solved this issue creatively: as a visual learner, I used the street shapes and patterns in the printed google map to guide me to my destination. It took a few explorations and turnarounds, but eventually I got to the Airbnb location. It was an apartment building in the middle of a neighborhood replete with Asian grocery stores (a mix of Vietnamese, Chinese and Korean). I stood on the sidewalk exhausted, thirsty and hungry, but Sylvia was nowhere to be found. The apartment gate was locked. I double checked the address three more times. I asked a young French guy who just parked his motorbike in sign language and naming the street just to make sure, and got a clear “Oui”. Still no Sylvia. Forty minutes passed I started to regress. “How can she do this to me? She knows I don’t speak French. Do I really have to stay in the streets for the night?” Feeling desperate, I looked at restaurant across the street and gathered up the courage to ask the young pretty waitress to see if she speaks enough English to help. She said “Non.” I was about to throw in the towel and surrender to the possibility that I might become a homeless person in Paris. But she spoke to her boss, an older lady in her 50’s. Her boss then made an announcement to the few late night customers seated at the table of the restaurant on the sidewalk to inquire if anyone spoke English. A young woman who spoke a little English raised her hand. Geez Louise - finally! She had a kind face. I tried my best to make myself look as desperate as possible. I explained and pointed across the street that my wife is in an Airbnb in that building, but there is no way for me to communicate with her. (I had not set up my cell phone for calls in international travel). At first, she had the look of resignation. All of a sudden her face lit up and said, “Do you want to use my phone?” I said, “I don’t have her building’s phone number.” I felt defeated once more. Then I said, “Do you have Facebook on your phone?” “Oui”, she replied. It took about three attempts of FB messaging, before Sylvia replied. Then she came out of the building to meet me. I scolded her, but I was glad to find her at last. I hated feeling disoriented, disconnected and lost. However, because life is transient and ever-changing, I understand that I am guaranteed to feel these feelings again in my life journey. In travelling, it’s a bit of a cliche when we say, “It’s not just about the destination, but it’s about the journey.” Flexibility is the key here. While we might have a map, we (sometimes) need to let go of the map. It’s a tough challenge: to be present in the here and now moment and deal with “what is”, instead of holding on to our premeditated plans like a stubborn barnacle. Indeed, egoic desire and attachment causes suffering. There is wisdom in going with the flow (thus sayeth the California hippie). It took asking three non-English speaking people before I found my guardian angel that night. I once heard an ancestral story told by my dad that took place sometime during the turn of the century. My great grandfather Eugenio - a fisherman and farmer in Mindanao, southern Philippines - ordered my young grandfather Francisco (or Isko) to take their one bangka out into the deep sea in the midst of a fast approaching storm. My young grandfather Isko thought that his “tatay” (father) had gone mad, but at that moment it was not for him to question him, for there was no time to explain. As Isko rowed his bangka out to deeper waters, he noticed that the waves were getting bigger and stronger. He rode on the giant waves for about an hour until the storm ceased. When he rowed back to the beach, he saw that the other bangkas on the beaches were crushed by the ginormous waves that slammed against the shoreline. Here’s the cud that needs some chewing. There is a way in which utter dependence on hard solid ground is not what we need at certain times of our lives. Sometimes as scary as it may be, we need to go out to the deep even without knowing exactly why, and ride the crest and trough of stormy waves. May we gain the courage to do so. ![]() Over a year ago, my kids and I went to see the new children’s animated movie entitled “Coco” - which is produced by Pixar Films. The visually colorful children’s animation looks into the Mexican celebration of Dia de los Muertos. The story explores the mythology of why we sing songs and remember the dead through an ofrenda - the beautiful altars filled with decorations and pictures of those who have died. If you haven’t yet seen the movie “Coco”, I won’t spoil it for you by giving you the plot of the story. But I will share with you the big idea around the significance of the act of remembering. The premise of the celebration of Dia de los Muertos is that our loved ones never really leave us so long as we remember them. By telling and re-telling their life’s story, we invite them back into our lives. There is an ancient Greek word for that - “Anamnesis” - which is when the future and past coalesce and break into the present moment. So in the act of remembering or “anamnesis,” the retelling of stories about our loved ones who have died allows our loved ones to become present in the here and now. In turn this retelling gives new meaning and new life to emptiness and meaninglessness. Hence, the act of remembering is a sacred act - it is a healing act. Our hearts may be broken, but we fill the open spaces of our broken heart with the healing balm of the memories and sacred stories that we share with each other. That is why we retell our stories: to remember, to reconnect, and embark on a grief journey towards healing. And so, as illustrated in the movie, “Coco” - may we all travel on our grief journey with the goal of being able to sing again. Perhaps not just sing, but also dance again...even if - as the writer Ann Lammot says - even if we dance with a limp. May it be so. ![]() Last August, my wife Sylvia and I caught the travel bug. She and I explored Germany, France and the UK for a week. Then she took off to Costa Rica for a two week Spanish immersion course. Then on Christmas day, our family flew out to visit my parents in the Philippines, the country of my birth. Even though I was born and raised in the tropical islands in the first seventeen years of my life, it was fascinating to see me go through my own a culture shock. After living in the southwest desert for three years (Albuquerque), it was a sight to see the abundance of water. I have lived in the east coast (Virginia) and the west coast (San Francisco bay area), both places close to water, but Philippines’ relationship with water is different. Water seems to gush abundantly everywhere: from the ground through springs, hot springs, rivers, waterfalls, and lakes. After being away for 27 years, somehow I have forgotten odd abundance of water in the islands (not to mention the humidity). As a cultural hybrid, I’ve always been caught in the in-between, deprived of certainty around my cultural identity. My wife was way more astute in noticing the cultural differences during our visit, for instance, the transgression of boundaries between groups of people. Due to their colonial history, Filipinos are experts in cultural hybridity, of constantly being "in-between." It made her feel uncomfortable, but only at first (her blog here). Certainty is thrown out the window, but something new gets revealed, such as discovering a new cultural lens to see the world, or perhaps a new insight. As someone interested in learning new cultures, I envy millennial vloggers who travel and create documentaries. I hope to do heed Vincent Van Gogh’s invitation to go out into deeper waters, into the Sea-of-Life, to fully live out one’s sacred call towards risk and adventure, and integrate a new perspective. The late Anthony Bourdain says this sacred invitation well: “If I'm an advocate for anything, it's to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone else's shoes or at least eat their food, it's a plus for everybody. Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.” Bourdain adds: “Maybe that's enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom... is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Travelling is a good way to train our brains to learn to cope with the experience of disorientation. It is a humbling experience; it makes us realize that our cultural perspective is just one among many. P |
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