FLOATING MEDITATION

For almost a year and a half now, I have been practicing zen. I guess it would be more accurate to say I have been trying to discipline myself to sit and meditate. The practice requires that I sit before a blank wall every day, at least for 30 minutes and to gather with others practitioners in dark loose clothing at least once a week. While I stare at a blank wall, my mind has been anything but blank. I am a hyperactive and restless person. Sitting still and being quiet does not come naturally to me. But it was a trying point in my life. I was desperate for help to get me through my difficulties. It was timely to be introduced to Zen taught by a Catholic nun.

While zen meditation is a new practice, my Catholic faith has been part of my life since birth. My family religiously went to church. And as a young girl in my plaid Catholic school uniform, I learned to get down on my knees and pray. I learned to call unto to the Saints for help depending on my specific needs.

Whether zen or Catholic faith, religion is merely a tool for spirituality. And spending eight days traveling around the islands, there were no cushions to sit on, or a gong to mark the beginning and end of a sit. There were no nuns or priests in sight. And, I was nowhere near a Catholic church. Yet I found perfect way to pray and to connect to my Source.

On the last day of my trip, I woke up bright and early. As the fishermen were reeling in their nets, the sweet waters of Sugar Beach lured me in. It invited me in and I willingly obliged. I plunged in to its perfect temperature, not too cold, or warm. I knew exactly what I had to do---float. I was in the company of waves with no other person swimming. There I was- my back relaxed on the water, completely trusting the sea and moving with its rhythm. With my partly submerged in the water, I could even hear my every breath. My arms were outstretched to receive what the universe had to offer. And my gaze naturally stared straight upward to the bluest sky, nary a trace of clouds. At that very moment I was communing directly to my God- a majestic Higher Being.

And the conversation began. I asked for my three wishes. Although I try to pray every day, on this occasion I would clearly articulate my deepest desires. It was not my usual roundabout list of demands of needs and wants, but true longings of my heart. The moment became timeless. Instead of worrying about being swept away into the deep end, I trusted. I floated and floated. I was conversing and listening. But most importantly I felt I had been heard. I stayed in the water until my fingers were shriveled up, but my body and soul felt light and relaxed. I had been energized. And God had whispered to my soul that "All Shall Be Well." I walked away from Sugar Beach with the sweetest spiritual experience and a golden caramel tan.

May 21 ’07.

POKEY POKEY CULTURE

For the past eight days I have been traveling with a foreigner named Scott for work. While he was a joy to work and travel with, I was faced with a very peculiar situation. I was constantly probed whether he was my husband. Total strangers in the beach,women collecting fish fingerlings, families swimming in the beach, drivers, even the woman selling pasalubong in the airport. If I had a dollar for every person, who asked the question, I’d be sleeping in a bed full of dollar bills tonight.

What shocked me is people don’t even know me. And when I do tell them that he is just a friend, they go on to say, “oh, you should be married to him?”, “He seems like a nice guy.” They have all their opinions on the matter. I guess Filipinos have no qualms poking into lives of total strangers. It is not enough to for Filipinos to be a society of mirons, to be front row bystanders. They feel a need to pry into other people’s lives and have their say.

When I arrived at Campomanes Island, I cooled myself with a swim. As I walked into the water, I could feel about fifty pairs of eyes following my every move. Is it because I was the only woman wearing a swimsuit and everyone else was wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt? I started swimming and amusing myself with the fish. I played with a ten-year-old girl. And the silence was finally broken when the young girl’s grandma finally asked in Ilongga something to the effect of “Is he your husband?” I shook my head. “Ay sayang (Too bad),” because perhaps he was foreigner. While I had only spoken to one woman, the entire swimming community knew. As I left the water to head to the boat, a woman smiled at me and said, “Sayang, di mo pala siya asawa.(What a shame, he's not your husband)” Strange, I didn’t even exchange a single word with her. It became clear to me that to most Filipina women a foreign man is a prize catch regardless of who he is. They feel so strongly about it, they don’t have any hesitation verbalizing their thoughts. Perhaps, that’s how Filipino culture is. Live are so much intertwined. Personal affairs of total strangers are their business, even if should not concern them.

In eight days, we have gone in and out of the domestic airport at least eight times. In Butuan, Scott was rather annoyed at how the security check was done. The man clad in barong repeatedly asked him about the tripod in his suitcase. And as if that was not enough, a lady guard, pulled every single lens out of his bag. But asked me, “hey, Maida there was no x-ray there, what was that about?” I refer to our security check in the Philippine airports as the “Pokey-pokey” method. The designated checker randomly uses his or her fingers to poke in your bag. Sometimes security guards even have this magical wooden stick they poke in your bag. As if poking the stick, will assure that no bombs or explosives are in our bags.

Scott laughs at my made up term, “Pokey-pokey.” But on our last day together, after buying some dried mangoes, butterscotch brownies, and mango tarts just outside the airport in Bacolod, the unsolicited commentary went on again. “Dapat asawa mo siya! Bagay kayo (He should be your husband. You make a good couple) ” referring to Scott the white guy with me. Perhaps, it is odd to see a single girl travel with a foreign man and for them not to be married. But hey, he’s a married man. I’m a writer. He’s a photographer. This is a work trip. We sleep on separate beds. And the most we’ve shared on this trip is a bathroom. But at the end of the day, as we subject our bags to security check one last time, I realize. I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I should just smile, after all, this is the Pokey-pokey Filipino culture.

4:34pm.blog-may21.07.bacolodairport

The never ending journey

I am on location today in Siargao, an island South of the Philippines known for great surfing. Getting there and getting out of there has turned out to be quite an ordeal. Starting at 4 in the morning, my companions (a photographer and a model) crept out of our cottage before the sun even came out, took a van ride for about 30 mins, followed by a ferry ride in an overloaded ferry (I was seriously afraid the boat with sink as the tiny ferry was definitely packed with more people it could legally contain), a multi-cab to the bus terminal,then a two hour wild van ride to make it in time to the airport where the three of us were chance passengers in the plane trip to Manila. We were eventually rewarded with seats on the flight. But getting to Manila meant exiting the arrivals gate only to enter the departure gate again to another flight to Bacolod.

It is a series of connections to get to where we are destined to go. And as I am about to sleep tonight, we have not yet arrived at our destination. I guess life is that way.

In the plane from Butuan to Manila, I sat next to a woman I had seen earlier in the week. We took the same plane from Manila to Butuan. Recognizing each other, we exchanged stories like old friends.... I guess that's how life's journey works out. You never really know who will journey with you. It could be a model, it could be a photographer, or even scummy men from the bus terminal trying to get a free ride in your van to the airport. Whether you like it or not, they may ride with you, hover behind your back, slow you down on the journey, or even be a friend a long the way. Regardless, you just have to make the journey happen.

Sometimes you stop to rest, to eat, to recharge. Today, we went on... and on. It was only at 5 in the afternoon as we boarded our flight from Manila to Bacolod, we realized we haven't had a meal all day. We survived on bottles of mineral water, gatorade, chips, and peanuts....

Perhaps, a journey never really ends....you never know where it will take you, who will travel with you and the adventure that it brings with it.

And as I am ready to collapse in my hotel bed in Bacolod, I can still dreamily smile for tomorrow continues this never ending journey.

GOING AGAINST THE CURRENT:Wisdom from a Goldfish

Another story from my silent retreat...

Going Against the Current:
Wisdom from a Goldfish
By Maida C. Pineda

Inspiration comes from everywhere. I’m finding much difficulty praying today. I’ve tried sitting quietly in the prayer room. I’ve gone back to my room. I lay in bed trying to read the bible but that didn’t seem to work. I tried getting comfortable in the Chapel. I sat Indian style with the fan directly aimed me. That lasted for about an hour or so. Taking a cup of instant coffee with Milo, I decided to take a break outside. At two in the afternoon, the summer heat is oppressive. But an artificial waterfall gushes water down stream. At the base are some tiny orange goldfish quietly swimming together. I watched them for a while, but all they did was swim in circles. I then walked a few steps where the falls gushes step by step with rocks channeling the flow of the water. Then there he was. One tiny goldfish was swimming upstream. The flow of the water was pushing him down, but he was determined to swim upstream. He was swimming with all his might. I got lost in the moment. Then he landed on a flat rock. “Oh no!,” I cried thinking he could die. He then slid himself off the rock and proceeded to swim up stream, pushing against the current.

Perhaps, no one has told him to go with the flow. I thought he was crazy. The water was gushing so forcefully through the rocks. “There was no way he’d make it upstream,” I thought to myself. There I was leaning to the railing watching every moment of his fight. He negotiated rock after rock. He would try the left side and if the current was too strong, he would shift to the right. Watching intently, he proved me wrong. And, I became his number one cheerleader. “Go, go, go!,” I said out loud with all my attention on this goldfish. (I’m glad no one witnessed my cheering).

Compared to the tiny goldfish, I felt big and mighty. As I was watching the whole thing unfold, I wondered if God felt this way. As we boldly swim upstream when the current flows down stream, does he cheer us on and watch our every move as we persevere to conquer our dreams? Does he hold his breath as I did when the odds seem against us? Does he finally sigh in relief when we succeed?

The goldfish made it to the top of the falls. He disappeared into a tube under the bridge. I left the falls enriched by the experience. The little goldfish taught me to persevere, to go against the flow even if it meant swimming with all your might. The little creature also taught me of a Higher Being watching cheering us on, believing in us, and smiling when we make it.

Inspiration not only comes from churches, chapels, or being still and silent, but also from little creatures. Just be present.

4/7/2007.2:30pm.maida pineda.manila, philippines

CELEBRATION

I'd like to share a story I wrote while on retreat last Holy Week. I'm not sure if it makes good food for thought for you. I was on a solo silent retreat at that time. I spoke to no one but my spiritual directress, who was a nun. Most of the day and night, I was alone in thought. Writing was a good companion and friend especially in my silence. I am a very restless and talkative person. You can imagine what a discipline silence was for me.

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Celebration
By Maida C. Pineda

I don’t think people celebrate life enough. Tomorrow is Easter. It occurred to me, I must celebrate it. The holiday means so much to me. But the last time I joyfully did was ages ago. I was a youngster in an Easter egg hunt. Two years ago, my classmates and I in grad school had a big party. Our class of foodies all cooked a specialty dish to share. We all brought wine. And, we all had too much to drink. The pictures reveal a giddy kind of happiness.

Celebrations need not be splurging lots of money or spending hours laboring in the kitchen. Financially dry right now, I wrestled with my desire to celebrate Easter and my lack of money. I also struggled with not having my own place right now. Then, it hit me, “Why not have a picnic?” I make fantastic dips. My friends love it. It can be an afternoon thing. I’ll bring my dog, look for the kite I’ve wanted to fly for years and viola an instant party. So, I did text some of my friends.

There are so many reasons to celebrate. An old wise priest with the kindest face told me last night for penance to tell myself every morning, “Maida, you are God’s Beloved daughter”- that in itself is reason to celebrate!

I generally have a jovial personality. I distinctly remember getting an award in First Grade for Cheerfulness. There’s so much to smile about. There’s a so much to celebrate.

As I cooked a quick dinner of pancit canton (stirfry noodles) for my family one night, I shredded some leftover chicken ham. Using my bare hands to get as much meat from the bone, I hit the wishbone. Excitedly, I ran to my mother to hand her the other end of the wishbone. “Make a wish,” I said. I then pulled with all my might and she got the longer end. She then said she didn’t make a wish. I was aghast how she wasted a wish and how she didn’t share my excitement.

There is much to celebrate: a picnic, a wishbone, dancing in the rain, an impromptu road trip, an email from a long lost friend… the list goes on. Go ahead, indulge, there is so much to be happy about.

1:55pm 4/7/2007.maidapineda.manila,Philippines.

When You Come to a fork in the road, take it!

I have resisted writing a blog for the many reasons. It seems too self-indulgent. It seems too exposed to have your raw thoughts read. And, my full-time job is already writing. I am a food and travel writer. But more and more, I realize a blog could help me organize my thoughts. Or at least a blog can help organize my bits of writing into one accessible source. I would mention to friends, oh you should read this bit I wrote. Then, I forget where I had written it, or even what filename it is in my laptop. And, any writer knows... we write any where and any time. I find myself writing in bits of paper, used Starbucks napkins, or on the edges of a newspaper.

While I have many articles that have been published and even a book, there is much of my writing lurking in odd places.

Why Fork in the Road? It is Yogi Berra's wise words, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it!" I have heeded his advice and taken the many forks I have encountered. My life has been truly rich and blessed. Two Thanksgivings ago, my classmates in my graduate class in Gastronomy and our professors were celebrating this American holiday in Australia. My British Professor stood up to impart some holiday cheer and some food for thought as we were soon going our own ways. He said, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it!" I may have forgotten the flavors of the four different bread stuffings that evening, or the different pies made by my American classmates....but those words linger. They still remain with me today.

Join me in my delicious journey called life. As I partake in different adventures, as I ponder on the lessons, and as I chew on food for thought.