TO age or not to age

My father is pushing 70, and has been complaining of his declining vitality. I think he is in the period of his life, when he cannot accept yet that despite alertness of mind, his body is gradually and surely slowing down. He is in denial stage, and his mind can not cope up with his aging body. He still wants to work, and insists, should be doing more productive activities.

Not wanting to slighten the feelings of my hyper-sensitive father, I have been trying my best to explain him that, he is not sick. He may be feeling so weak and uncomfortable most of the time. But the fact is, he is just getting old.

So when I came here in Tokyo, I was surprised to see many old people everywhere. Most are probably much older than my father. But they will probably.. no… definitely, the objects of his envy.

Old people here serve in McDonald’s, work in convenience stores, build houses, climb electric posts, and many, still enjoy riding the bicycle. (Not to mention that a lot are still very active in the government and business circles). It is simply, quite a feat for those in the league of septagenarians, octogenarians, or even older.

The ojisans and obasans I meet here in Tokyo are probably even much stronger than me. Inside the trains, they are not the ones to rush to get seats. I do, but not in the priority seats.

Back home, in the Philippines, it is quite seldom to see old people in the streets, alone, and much more, work in places, supposedly exclusive for young people. Most of the time, the old folks are in constant company of younger relatives when going outside, or just taking rests inside the house.

Here, I expect to see more of them everyday, and transact with them in the daily “business” of life. And most of the time, they remind me of my father.

They maybe quite a lot more “genki” than him, but just the same, I can’t help but pity them. Looking at them, I feel the burden of time, of having to live this long…their spirits trap in bodies wanting to return where they came from – dust.

At times also, the sight of them livens me up, reminding me that the prime of life maybe in youth, but it doesn’t have to go away with the passing of years. Indeed, each day, should always be the prime of every life, at any age.

Whenever I get to talk to my father, I still try to make him understand that he just have to cope with growing old. There is no choice on whether to age or not to age. That is not the question.

Slowing down has prevented him from doing much “physical” activities, like what his counterparts do here in Tokyo. But only that. For all of his other fave activities, like watching over his grandchildren, accompanying my mother, and praying, father has all the time in the world. (#)

Sudden Fiction: Dozing off in Tokyo


I was late for Daisy and Johnny’s church wedding. This was first for Johnny, but not for Daisy. Her first husband stop showing up even before their son was born. She was two months pregnant when they got wed in a civil rite. Good for her, it was annulled even before her son turned five. There is no divorce in our country.

There were very few people in the church. It was a very simple wedding, with Daisy wearing a very laid and short white dress. But she had very big beautiful green roses decorating the altar. It cost her a lot, she said. What struck me was that the hosts they were supposed to receive as a newlywed couple were still in the altar. That couldn’t be. Every church wedding ceremonies give communions to the newly married couple. In a catholic church, that’s the highlight of every sacrament, except when either the rite is for dead people or babies.

I told them that the wedding couldn’t be over yet. I asked them to wait for me before they take pictures. I went to the parish office. There was an African priest. I was complaining why my friends weren’t given communion. He said, the one who held the ceremony was a visiting priest and came from a very conservative order. He didn’t want to give communion for reasons he didn’t explain. Probably, I thought, my friend wasn’t a virgin bride.

I didn’t know it took me that long to get back to the church. They haven’t started taking pictures, but a charismatic group were preparing to start a gathering already. I was feeling very sorry for daisy. We didn’t want to leave the church without any memorable shots. So, we decided to join the congregation, and hoping we can have our photo session once they are finished.

But daisy didn’t seem very happy to join them. She was singing louder and dancing wilder. It wasn’t fit for charismatic group. But they didn’t mind her, she just danced her heart out.
The singing and clapping ended. And as the lead minister started reading the topic for the gathering, something about not being ready when the end of time is already there, I didn’t get it all fully, the main door of the church was pushed by something or someone wide opened. I saw a man. Was it a man. He was eleven times taller and bigger than the average man. He seemed to be made up of mud. With strong winds, he was rushing towards us. But he blasted to thousand of pieces before he got in.

The door closed in again. It got too quiet inside, I myself didn’t know whether I was afraid or too stunned at the giant mud man. Then someone went out of the church, and came rushing again. There was an apparition of Mama Mary outside, he said. I haven’t witnessed any, but I was too skeptical to just believe in what other people see. I went out. At first I thought I saw a big outline of a giant figure. It was so bright and glowing, I had to shield my eyes. But when I looked at it again. I didn’t see Mama Mary. I saw an outline of an Egyptian warrior. I could see his hair and skirt, and he appeared like a giant liquid figure rushing towards me. I ran back inside and scampered at the back of the altar looking for a place to hide. The Egyptian guy scared the hell out of me. I looked for cabinets and started moving out all the blankets inside, praying that there was a space big enough to hide me. But all the cabinets were too small. I couldn’t get inside. I was crying. Somebody hide me, I was yelling for help.

One altar boy came to me. He said I should go home because many miracles had been going on outside. That’s what he said, miracles. I hurried home. I saw the streets littered with snow drops. There is no winter in my tropical country.

And I saw my family outside our apartment. They were inside a dilapidated van. My mother was nursing one of my nieces. I asked them, why are they outside? I told them to get inside the house where it was safer. My mother told me that it was impossible. It was only then I realized that our four-storey apartment were all skeleton. She had sent my sisters with their families to go to the country side. I saw Grace, the second to the eldest one, and her husband pushing a big carriage of all green-leaf vegetables. Benny, her husband, whose family is into farming, was looking for his bags of seeds.

I ran after them and pleaded to stay. I would look for a place where all of us can be safe.
I ran and ran as far as I could, looking for a place for my family. But everywhere I went, all houses had been crashed down to the ground. There were floods everywhere. The sky was filled with clouds bursting not with water, but snow. It was a very miserable state, but there could really be a miracle. I didn’t see any dead body of people lying around. And I wasn’t afraid at all. I was even sprinting up against a speeding mobile car.

When I got back to my family, I saw my father and husband looking for canned goods that might had been washed in the flood. They said, according to the Bible (like news), it would still take more days so they had to look for more food. I said, water is more important. They said, they had kept some water, with little strange things swimming in it too. Like the many dead animals floating in the flood. I didn’t look very long at them. I would surely throw up if I started realizing I was with them in the same depth of the flood.

I went to my mother. She was in the flood too. With one of my nieces again, I thought, who was standing atop a floating pillow. My mother jokingly pushed her towards me, but her floating pillow went passed me. I tried to get her to me, and saw her face. She was about two years old. With no hair yet. But very healthy arms and fair skin. She kind looked a lot like me when I was her age. Bald head. Sheepish smile. And she was waving back to me, as her pillow brought her to a place farther and farther. that was my pillow. My husband kissed me to come back from dozing off. I was back in Tokyo. (end)

C.S. Lewis in Tokyo

“Books we must have, though bread we lack.” - Alice Brotherton


There’s more to Tokyo than those listed in the tourist guides. Amidst the busy intersections, you’ll discover many bookshops even inside train stations. You get the feeling you've walked into the grounds of Penguin and the Thinkers Library every time you walk off the main tourist paths. I know many bookish people who enjoy not looking in sceneries but going around libraries and bookshops. Though, finding a foreign/English book is a colossal challenge. There wasn't much to look at if you couldn't read Japanese and it is highly unlikely that you will find English shops of that kind in a country where the language gap is so apparent.


But I was delighted to see C.S. Lewis’ Narnia books, where the popular "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe" story will be seen in theaters before year end, on the display racks and shelves of English-language paperbacks. I have a complete volume of this series already but not his other classic works on Christian apologetics which is scarcely to be found on these Japanese bookshops (for obvious reasons). I was eager to complete my C.S. Lewis library and I felt that I was in the precise position of Mel Gibson character in the ‘Conspiracy Theory’ movie, hunting for J.D. Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye”.

A couple of months of searching and I soon found six foreign and English bookstores around Tokyo. Not a bad ratio for book-loving Japanese people, where a book and a sit on a train is “very heaven” to them - whether devouring manga comics or real books to the tune of the whining and screeching of trains. Almost accidentally, I was led to two of these shops as a result of my searching for musical instruments. Then came my greatest discovery-one of these latter shops has one shelf dedicated to the famous witty Oxford don right off the long rows of other bestsellers. A sheer delight indeed. These long-coveted books became the chief drain of my spared money for months. Thanks, too, for half of these English bookshops sell and trade at proportionate prices.

I was not surprised though that Lewis books are so well loved in Japan. Authors like Kazumi Yamagata and the Yagyu brothers ( Naoyuki and Bou) have written books on him. Mineko Honda, a professor of English at Nishogakusha University authored the first serious book about Lewis written in English ( excluding articles and dissertations by other authors). Then there’s the C. S. Lewis Society of Tokyo which started almost two decades ago.

Tokyo really is an oasis for foreign bookworms like me. I always wish that the “spirit grocers” ( the kindly English/Irish pubs, as Lewis used to call it ) around Tokyo, will one day be transformed to libraries with passages and landings also lined with books. #

eigo dekiru?


Before coming to Japan, I thought there were only two kinds of jobs available for foreigners here: one, as an entertainer, and two, as a programmer. Back home, many Filipinos still think the same way. In fact, the only time my warped ideas of Filipinos working in Japan changed, was when my wife came here to study under a scholarship.

I neither can sing nor dance, and have no patience to acquire the skills of a programmer. So when I started scanning job opportunities for possible employment, I realized that the most in-demand work for foreigners here is to teach English. It is so hugely popular that almost everywhere, in both websites and English magazines, various positions for English language teachers are posted.

I never thought that Japanese were very eager to learn the language, as shown by the high demand for English teachers. This came as a surprise to me. In my country, there had been debates on whether to use English as the official language at schools and public offices. Some argued that being the largest non-native English-speaking country in Asia, or probably in the world, is good for the economy. But others would point to Japan, and say, “why? Japan can’t speak English, but it has a lot better economy.”

But what amazed me more about this (over)zealousness of the Japanese to learn English was when I read further on the required qualifications for English teachers. Japanese have high preferences to native English speakers. I don’t discount the merits of having native English speakers for tutors, but they practically speak the language even without thinking. Native English speakers were born to it. They breathe it, grew up with it, and process information in their minds, in English.

My wife said that Japanese are not really bad in their English. She even presumed that they must have a good command of the grammar because education system is very strict and the language is taught in the school for years. They are just very shy to speak it and afraid of embarrassment if they get it wrong. So, they never get the chance to practice speaking to get comfortable with the language.

Well, knowing that makes me think that probably, Japanese can consider non-native English speakers like the Filipinos to get the confidence in speaking the language. We can speak the language with ease, but we process information in mind in our native language. And as a matter of fact, if there is a rising popularity of anything Korean here, from celebrities to fashion, back home, Filipinos are tutors to many Koreans swarming the country to learn English language. (But that’s entirely one different story).

I still have to wait for Japanese looking for Filipinos to teach them English, not just to entertain or do programs for them. Till then, only native English speakers can respond to the eigomania here in Japan.

Weekends with otosan


My husband and I have found a place to stay just in front of a small park that is so very ideal playground for kids. I have actually owned it as our own garden, and I intend to hold my parties and host my guests in it. It is very convenient and spacious enough to accommodate my hordes of Filipino friends who always chat and laugh endlessly, which is not so safe and wise in typical quiet Japanese neighborhood.

On weekends, we do our readings in the park. Mindless of the falling of small leaves or rather petals from the sakura tree. The park is so small, hardly five hundred square meters, but it has swings, slides, benches and trees of various colors. Most beautiful of them is the sakura tree. It’s not very pink or lilac, but more of white in color. I am not even so sure if it is the sakura tree that the Japanese refer to.

I love the park because of the many kids I get to watch. I find Japanese kids very cute, I usually just feast my eyes on them from afar. But I have noticed that there aren’t very many of them. I guess, it really is true that this country is having some population problem.

On a regular basis, I usually see these kids with their mothers or probably their nannies. But on weekends, they are with their daddies. I find it so adorable that these gentlemen, free from their dark suits which they always wear, whether they are NTT executives, or simply giving tissues away in the streets, donning casual clothes and playing around with their little tots. I could see that these daddies do enjoy giving their kids a company, as much as the mommies whom I usually see on weekdays.

One time I joined a homestay program, and I learned from my foster family, a young couple with an energetic two-year old son, that on weekends, dads usually take over of taking care for their kids. This is somehow to unburden the overworked housewife (this amazes me no end that a first world country like Japan do not overlook the difficulties of housekeeping and taking care of the children for five straight days from Mondays to Fridays), and to develop the bonding between the father and children.

I am not really sure if this is standard to Japanese families, especially the young ones, but I have made my husband swear that he too will share a great deal of domestic responsibilities, especially on looking after our future children, and send them to parks on weekends.