Een klein nachtmuziek (A little night music).

Between watching Bridget Jones and playing online chess, came the loud sound of our doorbell. It was Romke and some friends. I've heard a lot about Romke. Romke this and Romke that. Hubby seems to have deep admiration for Romke. I only knew the man for a couple months, whereas he and hubby go as far back as the early nineties during their university days.

Romke is a very animated man. He waves his hands a lot while talking, and laughs hard. If you ask me, he´s not the typical mild-mannered, intellectual elite Dutch guy. In fact, he works as a mechanic....by choice mostly. I said by choice, because he also has a doctoral degree in electronics engineering.

But Romke is just a guy. When he talks, he´s just this lovable person who is full of wit and funny stories. He had never tried to impress me with his knowledge about math or physics, or anything for that matter. Nor did he try to make me feel that he was more clever than I. In fact, Romke was just plain Romke. Funny and adorably sweet. No bragging, no pretentions.

And tonight, Romke impressed me without trying. He played the piano for me. He started with short, abrupt and even careless lines from Mozart's themes and variations. I smiled politely. Then, he played a Louie Armstrong piece. I smiled encouragingly. He shifted to more advance pieces and swept me off my feet. There I was... in my own living room... listening to Bach's Partita no. 2 in Cminor.

For a moment, Romke stopped being the funny Romke. His music filled our room, and I sat there in awe. I was no longer smiling... I was listening intently to every note... every phrase and every section. Oh how his music moved me. My upright piano sounded like a Steinway grand piano, transporting me spiritually to the concert halls of Carnegie Hall. At that moment, the ordinary became extraordinary. And I.... I felt like I was touched by an angel. Romke's interpretation was so divine. Bach would have been so pleased!

Before he left, he invited me to visit his home. I smiled meekly. In my mind, I was thinking... I stopped being a pianist a long time ago. I could teach. I could show my students how to play certain lines. But I no longer have the passion, dedication, and the skill of a real performer. My rendition of that partita won't even come close to his.

I realized that one thing about the Dutch is that, when they learn something, they really give their hundred percent. Playing music is therefore not some hobby that they try to do to kill boredom or pass time. It is not functional either like the gamelan music of Indonesia or the Philippine kulintang music.

This may sound cliche because this is also true in other cultures of the world that I have studied, but music is in fact a part of the common Dutch character formation. It's a discipline... not something that they do in their leisure time but something that they do to find joy. Music is something that they master to achieve perfection..... for their own pleasure.


As for me, I am going to sleep with a wide smile on my face tonight. LOL

Understanding football.

The Oranje lost. We lost. The desire to win and the determination not to be defeated has made a long journey. The Dutch is defeated and made an outcast, while Spain became the Reyes --- the unico hijo.

It is true that Oranje fought to dominate, control, lead, and protect its territory. Iniesta, Xavi, and even Puyol were, after all, trained by a former Dutch professional football player (said to be one of the greatest, who is known for his signature game, Total Football), Johan Cruijff. Of course, they will protect their territory .... their game against the clones.

What I have learned from this match is, man always wants to defeat the other. It does not matter whether he/she is a friend, a neighbor, classmate, or just a plain acquaintance. Man is bound to lead, control, and defend. It is pretty much like football.

Meanwhile, the fear of defeat and the desire to win made its debut on my facebook's wall. It actually took me by surprise. I thought the present day man is more sophisticated... more logical.

Then it dawned to me. The game was not really about who's the best. Victory meant that the Reyeses were able to withstand pressure longer than the Oranje. Was victory real then? How could it be real when the defeated was merely exhausted. When strength returns again, life will roll again on the field. The defeated will challenge again when the opportunity is presented, and this time they may be victorious and the winner may be defeated.

Believe it or not, this phenomenon happens everyday and everywhere, in the form of an argument or merely showing off. Meantime, there is no question of winning or losing because the real winner is Life itself. Why? Because it never argues. Life doesn't have the need to prove itself. It does not show off. It is merely a bystander.... an observer.

I love you, Mom.

I was told that hours before my dear friend Amelia passed on to a higher form of existence, she scribbled on a piece of paper `I love you, Mom.´ She was blind, had suffered from myasthenia gravis for more than 2 decades and therefore could barely move... but there was that note. I love you, Mom.

I love you, Mom.

How often do we have the chance to say that to our mothers? And how often do we refrain ourselves from saying it because we are encumbered with pride and don't want to sound clingy and childish?

I always have a lump in my throat whenever I think of Amelia´s note.

Whereas here in the west, children are eager to cut ties with their parents and especially with their mothers, in the east we tend to cling on to our mothers for comfort, love, and wisdom. We feel elated to be told that we are like our mothers. We are proud when people compare us with our mothers.

When we are happy, we talk to our mothers. When we are deeply bothered by or consumed with something, we go to our mothers. When we are confused and couldn´t make a decision, we turn to our mothers. When we baked a nice pie, we share it with our mothers. When we are ill and suffering, we find comfort on the thought that our mothers are close by. Indeed, our mother is our first trusted, girlfriend.

Is it the Filipino folk Catholicism? You know, the Blessed Virgin Mary and Mother of God, is also our mother. And while others cringe with embarrassment and annoyance at the very thought that in the Philippines, we call the Blessed Virgin, Mamma Mary, we Filipino Catholics actually take comfort in knowing that we have another Mamma .....in heaven, that is.

As for Amelia, her last note said it all. I love you, Mom.

Amelia.

It was the mid-eighties. We were a bunch of silly college students who all hail from the province, and were all passionate about discovering life in the Big City. Then one lazy weekend, Amy invited us to stay overnight at her place in Espana. We bought pizza and junk food, and we talked until the wee hours of the morning.

I still remember it vividly. It was almost dawn. The store across their house, was selling hot pan de sal already. We were lying on her bed.... still giggling and asking stupid questions about teenage crushes. Then out of nowhere came an announcement that was dropped on us like the twin sister of the Hiroshima bomb.

She sat there. Very composed and firm. She announced having retinitis pigmentosa... that she was going blind. Eden was silent. I was angry. I told her, ´ get second... third.. fourth... fifth opinion. I´m sure you will be cured.´

She smiled. There was no trace of anger or resentment. She said it was a progressive disease and there was no cure. She also said that if we truly were her good friends, we will help her find help to learn braille. I said, what? She smiled again, gently slapped my thigh and said for the second time, braille.

I was too proud to show my ignorance, so I didn't say anything. But the moment I arrived at the dormitory, I looked it up in the dictionary. There it was... braille: a system of writing and printing for blind or visually impaired people, in which varied arrangements of raised dots representing letters and numerals are identified by touch.

For months, years even, I struggled with the idea of Amy going blind. It was hard for me to picture her in my mind´s eye, as helpless, blind person. You see, among the three of us, Amy was the curious one. She always had brilliant ideas. More important, she was the matured one. We knew that she will go places.... that she will be Miss Big Time in no time... because for Amy, nothing is impossible.

stuffin' stuff.

"If everybody had the standard of living of the average European or American, we would probably need five new planets. But we've only got this one." These are the wise words of Jane Goodall, an English scientist who spent years observing the chimpanzees in the forest of Tanzania.

Five new planets. Imagine that! But she's absolutely right. Western people are fond of acquiring new stuff and collecting the old ones. One doesn´t have to look far.... my own garage is a classic example. It is stuffed with practically everything --- 95% of them are hand-me-downs from relatives and friends.

You see, I´m like my Ma. I collect garbage (things that no longer have value for others). Somehow, I find it difficult to throw anything that is still in good, working condition. I don't care if it doesn't look nice for as long as I can use it, I'd like to keep it. So old dressoirs, tables, fauteuils, bookcase, pans, even old electric heaters..... they all have a place in my garage!

I know that it's not about being attached to material wealth, because I'm not ... attached, that is. But when I look at an old dressoir for example, I don't see a furniture with an intricate design. I only see a beautiful piece of rose wood. And for me, it's a sin to throw such a beauty. My husband said that it will be recycled. But still, I don't have the heart to do it. I am hoping that someday, somehow... someone will have a place in her home for the old dressoir. But who am I kidding? This is Europe.

A very wise Ifugao once told me, `as long as man doesn´t realize that he can´t eat money, he will continue chopping down trees to have more money.´

It´s scary, I know. But how do we stop people from buying, acquiring, and collecting? Let's face it. We all work hard to have more money. Because if we have more money, we have more stuff. And if we have more stuff, we think we´ll be happier. We want to live like the average European or American.... surrounded by stuff. Contented and happy. Whatever that means.

So Dr. Goodall is an inspiration to me because her work helps us understand how to take better care of our Earth. Her passion and empathy is a proof that it is possible to make a positive difference for others. For indeed, "you can't live through a day without making an impact on the world. And we all have a choice about what sort of impact we will make."

Like her, I also want to make an impact.... a difference. Perhaps my approach is not really helping because right now, I am merely stuffing stuff! But....we´ll see.



I'm re-posting this... if only to remind myself not to buy more stuff!