WHEN THE FOUR GENERATIONS MET

The past is  not so distant...the present is an assurance...the future albeit a dream is hope fulfilled 

...when the  generations meet.

My mom’s family was closely knitted. Her siblings were my parents too. My mom must have been the apple of their eyes because her family took care of  all her children. Their home served as our home and ours was theirs too. It is said that home is the “place where we are loved the best but grumbled the most”. I only experienced the first condition but never the latter with my auntie Prina who was seventeen years my senior. Now the only survivor of my mom’s seven siblings. She is  85 years old.

...the past is not so distant

It  was a luxury to send a child to college in the fifties but my aunt from a poor family was a “colegiala”, a spanish term for a college student. Every time she  would go to her boarding school she always dropped by the house to see if mother needed help. She would fix my hair, my things and send me off to my grade one class. I had a secret admiration for her. She was my role model because whatever she wore would always fit her to a T. One of the best dressed women of her time, my aunt has a great influence on my grooming. I  was always  interested about her  that I never blinked an eyelash  every time grandma talked about her.

Who would ever thought that this prim and proper lady during the second world war survived the ordeal of hibernating for weeks inside a fox hole covered by twigs and leaves? At mealtime a faithful brother would just pull a rope to signal that food will be slowly dropped inside. Why? I asked. Because the Japs ran amuck when they knew they were about to be defeated by American soldiers that they vent their anger on poor Filipinos. So wherever they went they killed  poor farmers, raped the girls, made pregnant women’s belly as fulcrum for their seesaw, grabbed babies and threw them upward as their flaming bayonets waited for the babies’ descent. That was a horrible event that they hid my  teenage aunt inside that hole.

This experience made her strong, courageous and unruffled in the face of uncertainty. At that period, girls were not meant to do boys’ jobs but she did.  Once she was stung by a hungry bee, she followed with her gaze where the bee was going. Then she saw a beehive on top of the coconut tree where the bee entered. She cursed loudly, got dried twigs, lighted them and climbed the tree like a pro. The bees hurriedly left their beehive, not because of the fire  but because of my aunt’s wrath.

She finished her course through the support of my grandparents and a little help from mother too. Then she found her way to the capital city of the Philippines. I was in grade three when I started writing her letters as mother prodded me to do so. She was generous with her praises about my new found literary skill which made me think I was already so good that I wrote more.

Then she married a Colonel of the  American Army and they resided in the US. Our communication never stopped. She was still an understanding aunt who never forgot what my siblings and I needed. We always think of the good life she was enjoying as gleaned from her pictures that my siblings vowed to experience such life too. It was  that positivity in her which my siblings and I  were not aware had already been rooted in us.

...the present is an assurance

Generations pass like leaves  that fall from the tree. Each season new life blossoms and grows benefitting  from the strength and experience  of those who went before - Heide Swapp

My mother encouraged me not to give up on my studies whatever the odds. It seemed there was no other role model she could think of but her sister. My aunt’s  experiences  and her continued pieces of advice served as  guide  on my daily walk with life. With a very strong support from my parents and the spirituality they have impressed on me it seemed that what I aimed for had been so easy to reach.  There were many traits and ways in common with my aunt and I, my uncles told me that. I got her height, her poise and the husky  tone of voice. I utilized mine to  great  advantage and it added to a new dimension in my career.

I got married and raised  a family  but my aunt never  tired of communicating. Sometimes through my mom and oftentimes directly to me until the day my mother died.

Heirlooms we don’t have in our family but stories we got plenty - Rose Cherin 

This time  our topic shifted to my family especially my only girl  whom she knew was the pet of my mother among her grandchildren. She grew up to be a dainty and sweet lady and I always supplied my aunt with pictures of my daughter during the time facebook was not yet the “in” thing. She was so feminine and partly dependent that I never thought she would venture to places far from home.

But the strength of character from generations which has  slept within her  soon awakened and she was able to migrate her family to a European country to the delight of my aunt.

...the future  albeit a dream is hope  realized 

My dream of stepping on this historical land  of the United Kingdom was realized when my daughter  invited  her  father and me for a visit at the time she would be giving birth to a third child. We all expected that we would  have a girl in the family through my daughter. It was an amazingly exciting experience when my grandson  broke the news at midnight that his mom gave birth to a baby girl. We  went to the hospital early in the morning and found my daughter and the baby girl doing just fine. Cameras flashed right and left and in a second her pictures occupied the facebook page. My relatives and friends started to press like and a new face book celebrity was born!

This wee creature must have a magic of pulling her roots to visit her. My sister from Italy came, one from London followed but the most surprising visit of all was  that of my aunt from Florida who ably came with a relative to meet us. She told me, she never thought all her life I could travel that far. It was a nostalgic meeting. My daughter spread out a wide mattress in the living room  for everyone to sleep on for the night but instead we talked, laughed until the wee hours of the morning. My aunt said, this was how my grandmother and her relatives were doing while visiting when she was young and how she hated it because it disturbed her sleep.

As she excitedly hold my granddaughter I saw a mirage of my mom holding the baby. She called her Princess Caitlin, her little Irish girl who will be a princess someday. Her presence showed me how a long journey we have made and yet remained  unscathed  until the day we met. She celebrated her birthday with us and promised that if God would grant her another five years of a productive  life she would invite us to Florida, all expenses paid to celebrate her 90^th birthday.

My granddaughter is now assured with the help of God that the roots she came from would  see her through  all difficulties  as she makes  her own life under the sun. This was the prayer for this wee creature...when the four generations met.

10 Things I Learned from my Mother

(Guest Post - This article is written by the Blog Author's son)


They all say "Mother knows best", well here are my Mom's greatest hits...

1.) Vocabulary - part of my English vocabulary came from my Mom. I was too lazy to read books and refer to the dictionary back then since they were just too bulky and heavy and most of the time i did not really understand them. So every time i had homework i'd be, "Ma, what's the meaning of this?", "how do you pronounce this?", it was very convenient and she always had answers to everything in terms i would understand. I thought she was the absolute truth in the English language that time and i never really bothered to verify them up to this day, so whenever a native speaker would correct me, i'd say, "nope, nope, your wrong, that's not what my Mother said!".

2.) Public Speaking - if American Idol has a Public Speaking version then i would be that naive kid bursting with potential who always auditioned every season and my Mom would be the one hovering behind me during interviews. She trained me so hard in it as if the apocalypse in the future would be a battle of wits instead of mass destruction and this was her way of preparing me for survival. She would get me into Declamation parts in school programs, Oratorical bouts in our community and even Child Preaching contests at church. I did not memorize common pieces, i did not do "alms, alms give me a piece of bread...", I only did originals, written entirely by her. I memorized them in no time, delivered them convincingly, cried in a snap of a finger and roared if i needed to. I was that annoying little star child in the family who everyone pretended to like but deep inside you wanted to drop kick every time he opened his mouth.

3.) Style - I had worn plaids and paisley shirts before i could even pronounce them. I had rocked a pair of fuchsia and tangerine pants before i could spell them. That's how colorful my childhood was which was very odd for a kid growing up in a small town where nobody gave a damn on such things. I was the blank canvass of my Mom's creativity. She never bought us clothes most of the time since she made them herself. I think she probably dressed me in almost all themes conceivable, from the roaring 20's to the psychedelic 70's, the dapper colonial cool to the futuristic space suit, even as a caveman, she had everything down pat up to the last detail. Every time we went to the big city, she normally would not take us shopping for clothes, instead we went to those big textile shops filled with towering rolls of fabric, she would stay there for what seemed like forever and bought yards and yards of cloth, i would pass out in a corner and by the time i woke up, she's not yet done, she's Project Runway personified.

4.) Travel - I travelled a lot with my Mom back in the day, mostly to visit my grandfather who lived in another city. It was a kind of traveling where convenience was not a part of the journey, not even a destination. Underdeveloped roads paved with nothing but deafening screeching and halts, open-air busses stacked with people in various positions imaginable and a steady ventilation of dust and black smoke or puke if you get lucky, such simple joys of 3rd world travel in the 80's. Despite these circumstances, my Mom navigated through them like a pro especially the terminal scene; no ticket booth, no lounges and no lining up to get to the bus, commuters simply scrambled like rats toward the bus door, some would hang in there even if the bus was still in motion and would not let go until the bus stopped. What Ma usually did was to steer clear from the chaos and looked for an open window, dunked my brother in and instructed him to lie down on the bench and pretend to sleep, by that we were guaranteed a seat before we even got in. No wonder I eased through the backpacking scene without any issues or major adjustments, not even that life-changing eureka moment 1st world travelers usually had when they discovered a totally different world outside their comfort zones.

5.) Waking up Early - whether it is a school day, church day or laundry day there was no extended rest for us weary and sleep deprived, we were on a mandate to wake up early. It was a definite no no to let the sun shine on us in bed or we'd burn like Vampires from my Mom's wrath the moment she stormed inside our room and got us out of bed. She pushed us to lead an active lifestyle, get into sports and explore the outdoors instead of marinating on the couch at home which we usually did. Me and my brother had our first ego-bruising experience every time she would bring up her brothers as an example of a what a young guy should be, big, strong and functional as opposed to us being pale, frail and physically useless.

6.) Organic Food - before the Organic food movement became sensational mom was already on it. She was so devoted that we were placed on a very strict diet at a young age. Local fresh produce, less meat, more fruits and vegetables all sourced from our local farmer's market and by Farmer's Market it's not those hip markets we have in big cities today where produce is sold at ridiculously high prices, it's a market where the produce you buy comes with soil and sweat from the actual farmers selling them. It was a simple twisted time when fresh food was ultra cheap and processed ones were a luxury we can't afford thus they were banned at home; no colored powdered juice drinks, no canned goods, no hotdogs and no sugary snacks, basically all the good stuff. It felt like my birthday party every time i would have a small portion of corned beef or tender juicy hotdog or even a sip of Eight o'clock juice drink. Tonsillitis was very common among my siblings that time as we normally force-fed ourselves with all the sweets we can find before Ma got back home from work.

7.) Literature - most kids were cradled by the warmth of Disney's manufactured happy endings from the bed time stories they heard from their parents. Mine was a bit different, it was more of a cold feeling from the mystery, depression and even the macabre of Silas Marner, The Cask of Amontillado and The Pit and the Pendulum. I don't know why but this was my Mom's usual repertoire every time she tucked me to bed. I wasn't really scared nor traumatized nor did i turn into a cold-blooded psychopath since i never really understood what she was saying at that time and i was normally off to dreamland by the time she started with Shakespeare.

8.) Reading - we did not have local cable TV at home when i was growing up in the 80's since according to Ma, what we got on TV was second hand information, we have to read books instead. We'd be flooded with different kinds of books at home, some interesting, some not, especially the ones without pictures. Even though i showed interest in books early on, i was still itching for TV, i was so enamored with TV shows and TV ads that the first time i sat through a full TV programming at our neighbor's place, i was glued, shows after shows and ads in between, i watched them wide-eyed and speechless despite the blurry black and white reception. I stayed there the whole day and never left until i heard my mom shouting my name in the dead of night from our house next door. 

9.) Herbal Medicine - my mom is not a big fan of commercial medicine, for common colds and flu we don't normally go to the pharmacy which was ironic since we got tons of them in our town. The staple medical remedies at home were Eucalyptus tea, Carrot juice, Radish juice, "Kamonggay" juice, "Guyabano" juice, she likes  to juice anything, if she could take the juice out of her herbal books, she probably would have done so. She put us on a steam bath as well, not the posh one but the one where we were covered with a blanket while we crouched on top of a huge steaming pot filled with herbs, twigs and roots she gathered from some mystic mountains nearby, we're like a hippie family without the musicality. 

10.) Of course these are just a small fraction of the things i learned from her that i would NEVER change. There are way bigger and more important things i can't forget which i don't need to indicate here as they are the obvious reflection of the man i turned out to be today and words are not enough to express how grateful i am to have her as my Mother. 

WAITING for FATHER

A rustic simplicity of life and a sense of family togetherness are luxuries that most of the present families cannot afford.

The blazing rays of the summer sun, slowly fading in colorful hues were gently wafted beneath the horizon. The envious dusk seemed to pull the remaining light downwards so it could claim its throne. Out there in the field, the fowls chuckled as they followed the trail homeward. My teenage elder brothers saw to it that the farm animals were secured inside the respective fences. Soon the dusk triumph and darkness enveloped the place.

It’s worship time, but where is father? Mother heaved a sigh as she understood her children’s questioning look. She had that feeling of helplessness without my father around. Suppose he would come home without rice? She knew he did not have a single cent when he left home that day but somehow she was hopeful he could make another loan from his Chinese “suki”. He used to sell his produce to this businessman every harvest.

This happened in the 60’s in my hometown in South Cotabato, Philippines. There was massive rat infestation and locust plague all over the place and what the farmers saved for food could not see them through another harvest. The hardest blow fell on our family as there were fourteen mouths to feed.

I could still recall the day when a dark swarming cloud of locust headed toward our rice plant as the family was having lunch. We knew from experience that once the swarm landed on vegetation it would be a disaster. So we left our food on the table and all together rushed to the field.

My father and brothers waved the scarecrows up high, others made noises by beating cans, my sisters waved white diapers over their tiny heads while mother prayed so loud but her voice was drowned by the shouts and laughter of my younger siblings as they danced among the furrows. Slowly the dark cloud changed direction and spared our rice plants. Was our number a threat to the locusts? Mother was thrilled to see the black heads of her children bobbing up and down the field as they danced and giggled on their way back home. We raced back to our food with our dogs and cats who did not betray us during the battle. What a lovely sight!

That was a harvest ago and food supply has run out. Now this hilarious group was waiting for supper in sepulchral silence. Not even my eldest brother who used to tell endless tales and brought down the house with our guffaws spoke that moment. The second brother who initiated the building of our big bamboo house by the riverbank stayed mum in one corner. My sisters who teased the younger siblings to tears feigned sleep. They must be tired of tending the farm animals.

My thirteen-year-old brother sat at the foot of the stairs listening intently to the rustle of the leaves, a signal that someone was coming.

But it seemed nature has joined us in waiting. All around was stillness beyond compare. Not a breeze softly blew to stir the bougainvillea leaves that draped the window boxes around our dining room. The cascading foliage was as still as the cactus plants in tiny terra cotta pots which mother placed on every square of the wall divider. She loved her plants so dearly next to her family whom she was afraid would go to bed hungry that night.

I approached the table to adjust the flickering light of the kerosene lamp. The small siblings   sprawled on the shiny bamboo floor beside mother who was nursing the baby raised their heads to see if I placed something to eat on the table. In silence they accepted there was no food.

Just then my brother announced with glee,” Father is coming, I hear the leaves rustle!” His excitement died out when mother reprimanded him not to be so excited not until he made sure that father carried a bundle on his head. In a flash, he disappeared into the dark as he knew his way even if he closed his eyes. In a second I saw him coming out of the thick foliage of the corn plants carrying with him a bundle and the dark figure behind him was holding paper bags, which I was sure had some eatables for us. Father never failed to bring home something to eat if he went to town.

I made the fire, poured the rice on a clean big pot, felt the precious grains as I washed them thoroughly and started cooking. Everyone came to life. The small children were giggling as their sisters tickled them. The youngest child climbed on to my father’s lap and all of us sat on the floor facing him and listened to his experience of how he managed to get his cash advance despite the long queue of starving farmers. My father was a good storyteller who could inspire us that all was well. The aroma of the newly cooked rice and some fish for supper fueled that inspiration.

Our voices blended in a song of thanks during our worship hour and the waiting has ended in a beautiful note.       

   

     

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry”

Remember the film, Love Story of Erich Segal in the 70’s? 

Hey, those of you who belong to my age bracket :)

It is here where I got this title, immortalized through the years. I did not understand its meaning then. It really did not strike a note within me. Now the context was revived when a friend connected with me through Facebook - wonderful technology!

That was in the late sixties. I was a personal witness to the beginning of her love life. Then we parted. After 50 years we were communicating through Facebook. She told me of the great loss of that love. It seemed only yesterday as the cliché stated.

My friend’s name was Nelly. She was a year my senior. While I was in college a friend introduced her to me and we created a bond that of siblings.  In our simple ways, we used to stroll down the city streets during our free time, talking, giggling while a man behind us would silently follow. She introduced him to me as Vermie. She denied he was her boyfriend but one look at Vermie showed he was a subservient lover patiently longing for Nelly’s one sweet glance.  Nelly would insult him, said nasty remarks which were made out of fun and we both laughed. She had underestimated Vermie’s capabilities of being a husband, nevertheless they got married. I thought then true love was to insult someone as what I observed. I was innocent about it, since I was not seriously in love with someone at that moment.

They lived in Cebu with her husband’s family. She was pampered by her husband, she later said. Every time a marital conflict ensued which was often times caused by Nelly, Vermie would fall down his knees telling his wife, “I’m sorry”.  But there were times he would comment that life was unfair because he would always be sorry for the faults he had not made. Nelly would arrogantly reply, “Don’t expect me to tell you I’m sorry for my faults”.  After three children they migrated to Manila. From there, Vermie was lucky to apply for the US, a luxury of employment at that time.

He worked as a Certified Nurse assistant in the US until he became a green card holder. This means now, that he could petition her children to live with him but not his wife for one would be a US citizen first before he could invite his partner. He would regularly place a call to Nelly to talk about the problem but what he would get was scolding and nagging. That was already rooted in   his wife’s veins. Finally, came the advice of my friend to her husband. “Follow what everybody has been doing to petition their family. Get married to a US citizen so you could be one too”. Still a very subservient husband, Vermie followed   his wife’s advice.

Words spread in Nelly’s workplace that the couple was divorced and that Vermie traded Nelly for another woman. Members of her family were mad of the set up.  But Nelly stood as firm as a rock in her decision. She said this would be another test of Vermie’s sincerity and love to her.

Luckily President Reagan announced the Amnesty program. My friend’s husband used to be a shy, silent man but this time he gathered all courage he could borrow and face the immigration management. Some of his friends were afraid to come out for they were afraid the immigration would find out they were illegal workers in the country and they would be sent home without question. Vermie told his story honestly and when he was granted all documents to petition his family, he felt like a “cock with its first spur!”

He couldn’t wait for his flight back home and so could his family. On the day of his arrival in the Philippines, Nelly and her girls were all excited to meet the long absentee man at the airport. One by one passengers disembark and happily ran to the waiting arms of their loved ones. Nelly scrutinized the passengers, confident that anytime Vermie would emerge smiling. But the din of the throng of people inside the airport subsided and no trace of Vermie appeared. The nagging thoughts of my friend started to escalate and anytime all “hell would break loose.” They went home helpless, dejected and hopeless.

When the door of their house opened, who did you think they saw? Vermie who just entered that door was laughing excitedly hugging his brood one by one. The clouds of uncertainty were lifted for this family and finally a good life in the US was granted.  Most of Vermie’s co-workers were not able to petition their spouses but he did.

Travel to different parts of Uncle Sam’s country made life exciting and every day was a promise of hope for a better life. But Nelly’s treatment of her husband didn’t change; albeit  her husband  was still madly in love with her.

Vermie was hooked to playing Bingo. He did not mind the doctor’s warning that his sugar level was shooting up.  He was given medicine for his maintenance which he often took for granted. The day came when his diabetes couldn’t be controlled and the ending was the amputation of both legs. Nelly took care of him as a dutiful wife.

The church organized a program on reaffirmation of marriage vows. While Nelly was dressing up Vermie with his best suit for church the latter asked, what’s up? Nelly explained to him that there would be a program in church. Vermie was aware of the activity when Nelly marched beside him down the aisles with other couples while he sat on a wheel chair pushed by his granddaughter. On their seats, the husband asked the wife if the latter was not ashamed of him since he has no legs. The first kind words Nelly whispered to him was,” How could I be ashamed of the man who sacrificed his life so we could be here in the U.S.?”

The month after the reaffirmation of their marriage vows, Vermie died.  It was only then Nelly felt the whole heavens crushed down on her. It was only then she knew how much she loved him and regretted she had never said it.  For two years now she was mourning of the lost love.  She has never told Vermie she was sorry but deep inside her was a feeling of deep love. Why did that feeling of love gnawed inside her after Vermie was gone?

“There is a time in one’s life that one cannot understand physical pain when he is still in the robust of health; rejection when he is still powerful and in the company of friends; loneliness, when loving arms still surround him. For one cannot see the stars when the sun is brightly shining.”

This was what Nelly felt after the loss and even if she did not tell Vermie she was sorry, she knew deep inside her was a love that has made their union survived until its golden years.

A Journey of Enduring Love

“Hearts united in pain and sorrow

           will not be separated by joy and happiness.

                    Bonds that  are woven in sadness

                            are stronger than the ties of joy and pleasure.

                                  Love that is washed by tears

                                             will remain eternally pure and beautiful.”

This mystic poem of Kahlil Gibran written in  the 18^th century traced the journey of enduring love even in the midst of relationship crises in our present day. The kind of union instituted by God in the beginning is now marred by the material world and the rat race of life. However, I had two rare finds out there in that barren land - the love of Edwin and Sylvia, Ravi and Jonalyn.

Edwin is an engineer by profession and an employee of one of the prestigious  government agencies in the Philippines (DPWH). A soft spoken man, very patient, sincere with his dealings and through his eyes, true love from his soul  to his wife couldn’t be hidden. I thought he was a very silent man, but in our small group he bared his soul. His family loved travel. They made it a point to take their children along with them in their tour of the country. They preferred  travel than building a luxurious house. He has a sense of humor too. He made a pact with his children not to sell the property across the street when they’re gone. When pressed why? He retorted, because they do not belong to us!

Sylvia, a business woman looked like an actress or a pampered rich. During our tete-a-tete while waiting for our flight I learned from her that she hated boredom doing nothing. She used to sell dried fish, cooked boxes of spaghetti and delivered them to her husband’s officemates. Then she was into selling used clothing, investing in Mary Kay beauty products and Herbal food supplements. Her husband at first didn’t like the idea but found himself helping  Sylvia after his office hours. Sylvia couldn’t keep quiet if she spotted problems in our travel. She was so courageous and outspoken. One couldn’t believe  that all these traits  were bundled inside an attractive package, a  young pretty face and flawless skin.

Opposite poles attract. Engineers know this. When they attract  they are glued. Edwin and Sylvia were married for 19 years and with the kind of union of opposites their love would  see them through all barriers for many more years to come.

       “It is a perfect understanding

                Between a man and woman...And it happens

                       In the blinking of an eye. This affinity

                            Is born in a single moment and is greater

                                Than all other affinities, this spiritual

                                                       conversion we call: Love.”

The love of Ravi and Jonalyn knew no land nor creed. Jonalyn was my former student in high school 20 years ago. I didn’t see her after graduation and 20 years after we met in Facebook. Upon knowing I was in Dubai that date she and her  classmate, Rosanna went to my hotel one Friday afternoon to meet their long lost teacher. I was honored by their presence especially so that Jon’s husband was with them. Ravi, that was his name was holding their son who according to him was most awaited. It was gifted to them after 6 years  of marriage.

Ravi was a Precision Engineer at Multi Technologies FZE in Dubai. He has classic  facial features of an Indian. He was as tall as any Filipino, dark and handsome. He obliged to drive us to IBM Batuta as suggested by Jon. It was a long drive but I was not oblivious of time because Ravi was so entertaining and very  intelligent. From our exchange of ideas what stuck most in my mind was his statement that his creed was not a religion but a way of life. One has to do things the right way even if no one was looking. It would be a healthy feeling  to know that one respected others rights. Ravi was a principled man as gleaned from his  ideas. I was happy to know that my former student was married to  this  loving man and highly spiritual.

Jonalyn was a naïve lady the last time I knew her...But now she has transformed into a responsible lady, a wife and mother. She still carried with her the Filipino trait of being true to one’s husband. Since she married Ravi, she chose to stay home and be there for her husband to go home to. She embraced her husbands way of life and there was no doubt that the affinity between them was a “spiritual conversion called Love”. They have been married for seven years now but with the kind of chemistry in their union, love would triumph until the “eyes grow dim and the head with its silver linings”.

Edwin and Sylvia, Ravi and Jonalyn have given us a specimen of real love. Two engineers as head of each family with equally supportive wives have chosen the right course although “oftentimes painful and difficult path”  as they would journey on but --- “you cannot reach dawn unless you travel the dark of night.”    

The author of this blog has been with her husband for 42 years and had just celebrated their anniversary a few days ago 

The Mosque, The Safari and The Royal Ball

The awesome mosque, the daring safari and the lovely royal ball - these three spots of interest topped my wonderful experience in Dubai. A man made city where high rise buildings mushroomed in a short span of time. Home of the Firsts in the world. The world's tallest building, the grandest mosque, the biggest mall, the most expensive hotel and the first palm-shaped island reclaimed from the sea. But wait, I’m not writing a travelogue but of people in the company where I invested who made this tour of the golden city possible and memorable. I likened them to the beautiful sights and experiences I encountered.

The CEO and the Mosque

The architecture of Sheikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi is one of the largest mosques in the world. It has a capacity of 41,000 worshippers. It features 82 domes, over 1,000 columns, 24 carat gold-gilded chandeliers and the world's largest hand-knitted carpet. The main prayer room hall is adorned by one of the world's largest chandeliers - 10 meters in diameter, 15 meters in height and weighing twelve tons.

With this exciting information given to us, who would like to miss such grandeur? Not one in the group, because all of us donned the required dress code and joined the throng in entering the mosque.

Doc Sam Ramos, our CEO stirred the same excitement among investors every time his visit in every CHIC center was announced. He had awesome supporters from CHIC   Philippines to Hong Kong, Singapore, Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Kuwait where he visited often. 

Everyone just wanted to meet him. He could motivate leaders to work hard when business was at a standstill. Being temperate himself he could unite competing investors to form a team and work for a common good. He is not the world's first but he is a gem of a man. He has the warmth of a friend, the sincerity of a leader and the creativity of an artist.

In this particular summit, together with his supporters in UAE and Manila, he set the tone of the event to the medieval period in Shangri-La Hotel because according to him, he wanted the moment to be remembered for once in our lifetime. His creativity was at work, his warmth exuded where ever we went and his sincerity could not be questioned. Like the Mosque, he is awesome yet humble.

The Financial Anchor and the Safari

A parade of 4x4 land cruisers was waiting for more or less 30 participants after our sumptuous buffet lunch at Atlantis Palm hotel. Five to six people were assigned each car for a reckless desert safari adventure. Once inside the car, the driver advised us to fasten our seatbelts tight, showed us where to pull out plastic bags if we wanted to throw up our heavy lunch before it was digested and suggested that we got ready both body and soul for a roller coaster ride in the sand dunes of that limitless and desolate desert. At first our cry was cultured and refined. But when the car zoomed up the dunes like mad and suddenly dove down the cliff or sometimes raced tilting on the side of the hilly sand, our shouts went wilder and wilder. Inside the air-conditioned car, some of us were sweating. Then we stopped for some pictures of the desert sunset. Thinking that was the end of the safari we heaved a sigh of thanks. But when the driver announced, “More Safari ", some commented, "Again?!” 

However, after the end of the grueling ride we experienced the Arabian welcome of unlimited refreshments and some entertainment of camel riding, henna painting and the exotic performance of the traditional belly dancers followed by a sumptuous dinner.

Mam Cora de Vera, the company's financial anchor is a daring and brave figure behind the scene. She can entrust an investor with millions worth of products for the latter to start business with. No matter what roller coaster ride in business an investor would go through in the process as long as she/he can return what is due to the company, at the end of the day a reward would be given for hard work. It may be a car, a house and lot and mind you, lots of travel here and abroad. Like the Safari, Mam Cora is brave, venturesome yet fun loving financial anchor of CHIC.

The Royal Ball

One by one men and women came donned in medieval attire. Is this the period of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn or of royalties before them? But I observed that there was a click here and a click there and presto - beautiful pictures were taken. I learned that medieval pictures were taken if subjects posed for days before a painter who could paint the portrait. Looking at those lovely ladies and handsome knights sans shining armor, I was in a dreamland of castle halls or palaces where gentlemen and ladies were cumbersomely dressed up for a royal ball.

Just then the voice of the emcee (master of ceremonies) bellowed in clear, flawless English welcoming all participants from different CHIC (Classique Herbs International Company) centers. It was then I awoke from my stupor for I saw reality - the Royal Ball, flagship of the 2013 CHIC summit at Shangri-La Hotel, Dubai.

The Emcee was a host par excellence. Mam Ardy as we fondly called her crafted the proceedings of the program in perfect order. Despite some unrehearsed parts she was able to make adlibs to the delight of the listeners. She moved about the stage with such familiarity as that of the owner. She was not nailed on the podium as traditional emcees were but marched with élan across the aisle looking at both sides of the room, creating a feeling that not one was left out on that affair. In fact she knew practically every delegate and guest for she commended each one for their contribution to the summit. The finale which she created was unexpected albeit, impressive. Presenting, Mam Ardy Batoy an Emcee of global stature!

These three - the Mosque, the Safari and the Royal ball may differ in tone yet woven by a single thread named

S U C C E S S.