Signs of the future...

Little did I know that these three children in a sidewalk mural I spotted in a forlorn street in downtown Auckland, New Zealand, February 1990, will be joined by so many other children’s faces, and stories, in my work album.

I was in Auckland for a training on popdev reporting for South Pacific Journalists under a UNFPA child survival and development program which was contracted to the Press Foundation of Asia (PFA).

On my free day, I decided to just ride a cab and ask the driver to drive around the City. Less than two weeks' stay, and I brought home fresh peaches and cheese and chocolates. Likewise a lot of memories plus these haunting images by a NZ artist whose name I failed to get which captivated me during that drive..

The images magnetized me. The driver (see his cab in the middle photo in the composite above) very kindly obliged to park and wait until I finished taking the pictures from across the street.

I did not give this incident meaning until now. Looking back, I connect it to the path my career eventually took. At The Population Center Foundation (now Philippine Center for Population and Development), I helped pioneer the country's Adolescent Sexuality Program eventually taking the helm of the Program when I left. At PFA, it was helping journalists in development reporting specifically on children's issues. At the Children and Youth Foundation of the Philippines, it was various issues plaguing Filipino children all around all over all throughout.

At Feed The Children International (Asia), I networked and negotiated with business and other leaders. But what really made it all worth it was my firsthand and personal interaction with disadvantaged children in various parts of Mainland China, Japan, Kenya, Thailand, and of course, the Philippines. I moved beyond the photos and the videos. I walked into their lives, saw them play and laugh and cry, held their hands, hugged them, joked with them, heard about their dreams and their needs. In the office, their plight was the platform upon which I dreamt of and eventually oversaw social marketing innovations to generate support in cash and kind for disadvantaged children.

Now retired, I still wonder if those images in Auckland that spoke to me are still there.

I also ponder if it was a test of sorts. Had I not heeded their inexplicably magnetic appeal and asked the driver to stop, would my career have taken a different path?

Life is full of seemingly inconsequential episodes that yield all sorts of surprises. Now I know better. Nothing can beat God's plan for each one of us. It pays to take notice of what our human sight may find inconsequential, and to remember to say thanks. Always.

Jackstones and ice cream one Sunday long ago

One Sunday morning in the early 50’s in our house in G. Tuazon, Sampaloc, Manila. I was inconsolable.

The jackstones my Dad promised me were nowhere. He said sorry he got caught up in covering some story and completely forgot about them. I was already asleep when he came home late the night before, and only found out about the missing jackstones upon waking up.

My Mom was angry -- at my non-stop whimpering and also at my Dad’s being so cool about it. My two brothers were irritated and definitely showed it.

After a while, my Dad asked my Mom to dress me up. He was taking me out to buy the jackstones, end my misery and restore peace in our home.

Pouting but smiling secretly from time to time, I remember clutching my Dad's hand --or he was clutching mine -- as we left the house. We rode the jeepney to Quiapo. Don’t recall exactly where we alighted. I just remember that we walked and walked. The stores likely to be selling jackstones were all closed. Nevertheless, we asked all those that were open, one store after another. No jackstones.

After what seemed like endless walking and asking and head-shaking, my Dad decided to end the search, promising to get the jackstones the next day. That quieted me down. The world seemed right again, yesterday's broken promise forgotten.

Next image in my mind is my Dad and me sitting side-by-side at the counter of Fairmont Ice Cream Parlor on Avenida Rizal. Playfully swinging my legs that are way above the round metal footrest, I have the cold light brown paper cup in my left hand, the small wooden spoon in my right. The still icy ice cream cup cover stares back at me from the counter top where my Dad placed it.

To this day, the thought of Fairmont's mocca pecan ice cream makes me salivate. And because of that Sunday long ago, it does not only bring gustatory delight. My heart unfailingly overflows everytime I remember that quiet little episode with my Dad who promised, forgot, promised again and finally brought me my first set of jackstones.

A snapshot in my mind’s album, not just of ice cream and jackstones but also of precious, timeless things. A father’s love, a daughter’s trust, disappointment, honest admittance, forgiveness, making up and believing again.