Pandoraspace

Clueless about Yoga

When I was still asking myself “If yoga is a jar, what would it contain? “, I thought that this Yoga jar definitely has something inside it.  Only, I could not tell what it was.

Star asked me if Yoga was a religion. I was stunned by the question. I did not really know the answer to it. I told Star that I am still a Catholic, and as far as I am concerned, I have not switched religion.  After that, I panicked and started reading up about Yoga from the internet. Do you know what I learned about Yoga from reading articles about it? Well, nothing much except to realize that the true meaning of Yoga is not something I can discover by reading about it. After that, I practiced and observed my classmates and teachers to try to discover what Yoga really means.

I learned that Yoga could be different things for different people. For some, Yoga could merely be a physical activity, a sport, a science of movement or art. For others, it could be a religion, a way of life or a philosophy. While Yoga could be treated merely as an exercise to get into shape, it has the potential of being so much more than that. The how much more depends on you.

How I got on this bus

About four years ago, I could not climb a flight of stairs without feeling like my lungs would explode. I felt lethargic and weak. After years of doing mostly paper work in front of a computer for at least ten hours a day seven days a week, sleeping no more than five hours a day and stress eating, my body was protesting from the abuse.  I ignored my body’s protest until vanity took a hold of me. That was when I could no longer fit in my old clothes, i.e., I was fat.

So, I enrolled my vain self in a gym, paid the annual fee and went there about five times. At the gym, I would run on the treadmill for what seemed like hours (when in actuality I was only there for no more than ten minutes), drink a liter of the gym’s “free” ice tea and eat several bananas. After that, I figured that the gym was not for me.

Without putting much thought into it, I showed up at Rina Ortiz’s studio one day, joined my first Yoga class and immediately realized that I had no idea of what I was getting myself into.  As the Pandora in me was curious, I hopped on this bus called Yoga and it has been one heck of a ride since then.

When I started practicing Yoga, I asked myself this question – “If Yoga is a jar, what would it contain?” Later, it dawned on me that that question is inappropriate. Instead, what I should have asked myself is this - “If Pandora is a jar, what would she contain?” But, I am getting ahead of myself.

Perhaps I should start by saying that there are some journeys that require us to travel deep within ourselves.  These are the journeys where we expect to learn how far we could go and how much of ourselves we could share with others. In one of those journeys, Yoga is my bus. I don’t quite know where this bus will take me or if and when I will decide to get off. All I know is that this bus is moving, I am on it, and the destination is unknown.

I was sent to attend a meeting of sorts in a place in Metro Manila where I had never been.  When I asked one of the kanto boys (guys hanging out in the streets) where I could park the car, he directed me to a side-street that led to a dead-end.  While parking, I was surprised to see this monument on the huge empty lot on the left side of the street.

The monument showed a woman weeping, a man standing triumphantly beside her and two men sprawled on on their feet.  I did not have time to inquire about who created the monument or why it was placed there.  I only had time to take a few pictures.

Can anyone guess where in Metro Manila this monument stands?

In the cyber world, I feel like a pea-brained dinosaur.

I was stuck in traffic a few days ago when Nino, my cyber world guru, and I were texting each other about my blog. One of Nino’s later messages read: “How is the traffic?” To which, I immediately replied, “Where are you?” Then I started looking around at the other cars to see if Nino was in them. After what seemed like a long pause, during which time Nino was probably pulling his hair in frustration at how his cyber world student (that’s me) had utterly failed him, I receive this text message  – “I meant blog traffic.” After blinking my eyes a couple of times, I sent Nino a text to this effect - “Oh…blog traffic. Silly me, I thought you were referring to the road traffic. What is blog traffic anyway?” No response followed.

Well, this is my 88th post. I am still a dinosaur and it is starting to get embarrassing.

D&S Fine Foods

I would like to thank Paul Posadas for sharing with me his pictures of D&S Fine Foods and allowing me to post them on my blog. (This is also my way of letting you know that I could not have take these pictures as I was probably very young at the time they were taken.)

D&S was a grocery located along Session Road that had huge bay windows that allowed you to, from the outside, look at the wonderful things sold inside the grocery.  D&S had a high ceiling, which gave the place a feeling of vast space.  Inside, its shelves were always stocked with interesting items like rare chocolate.  On the mezzanine of D&S, there were tons of school supplies, appliances and toys.  As the cashier was located on the first floor, the items that customers would pick from the mezzanine would be placed in a basket that was tied to a rope.  That basket would then be thrown over the baluster of the stairs leading to the mezzanine and lowered down from there to the cashier.   I was always excited to go to D&S  with my mom or grandmother as they would always buy me a toy or candy from there.

Although I cannot remember every detail about D&S, I do remember that I was always happy when I would go there.  Unfortunately, when I was in high school, D&S caught fire, burned and was never rebuilt.  It is such a pity.  Baguio was never the same without it.

Maryknoll my Maryknoll

I was told that, their neighbors had asked the Maryknoll sisters to tutor their children. As many more parents wanted their children tutored by the sisters, they were forced to put up make shift classrooms for all the children they were tutoring. Later, without intending to, the sisters found themselves running the Maryknoll convent school (or Marishan as it was later called).

I was fortunate to have studied in Maryknoll convent school. Unlike the pressure they put on today’s children, I do not recall being given any homework or taking too many tests. At school, we played a lot of sports and practiced all the time for class assemblies (shows where our parents were invited to see us sing, dance and act). Our classes were from 8:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. only. Even if we were not bombarded with purely academic subjects, my Maryknoll friends and I turned out just fine.  Most of us got into good universities and colleges and went on to have stable jobs.  More importantly, most of the people I know who have graduated from Maryknoll turned out to be good people.

Credit should be given to the sisters and the teachers of Maryknoll who focused on teaching us the more important things in life like respect for others. Years have passed since my Maryknoll days but I still recall our school hymn, which sums up what the school was all about. It goes -

To make this world a better place, Maryknoll my Maryknoll.
For every man of every race, Maryknoll my Maryknoll.
This is our aim, our sacred call, to help Christ’s life be lived by all.
God give us strength to seek his goal.
Maryknoll my Maryknoll.

On Mirador by Horacio dela Costa SJ

On the Meaning of Mirador, Fr. Horacio dela Costa SJ writes, and I quote:

This house is called Mirador: Prospect Point.

There have been four stages of its life.

It began as a meteorological observatory, with Jesuit scientists puttering about measuring rainfalls, observing winds, recording the shiverings of the earth, quietly, patiently opening windows into the secret heart of the physical universe.

Then it became a villa house, where Jesuit teachers - in the happy days before summer schools- rested from the labors of the year.  They played ball.  They prayed to God.  They read books and argued about them endlessly, opening the world of ideas and the world of men.

After the Pacific War, when mainland China was closed to the Gospel, this House became a scholasticate, a house of studies for the young Jesuits of the Far east Province.  In these rooms, along these corridors, they followed the progress of Christianity from Pentect to Paul VI, opening windows into the life and meaning of the Church.

Today, Mirador has acquired other uses.  It is no longer a scholasticate; but is still a villa house for Jesuits; and the Manila Observatory still keeps some of its instruments ticking away on this hill.  Groups of priests, religious, lay people come here for retreats.  Conferences are held by bishops, scholars, student leaders, journalists, businessmen.  Men and women who want time to think, time to reflect on what they are, what they must be or do come here, to this quite hill beneath a quiet heaven; to reflect, to pray to observe the signs or our troubled, yet immensely hopeful, times; to open windows to even broader horizons.

And so, Mirador is still what it was in the beginning: an observatory, a point of vantage.  And if this house could speak, perhaps this is what it would say to you:  Look out of my windows and try to extend your vision beyond the Gulf of Lingayen to all of Asia.  Tey to make out more clearly what God’s plan for all these people is, and for all those - like yourself - seek nothing else but to be of service to man.

Man - the glory of God.

Miracles happen in Mirador

Mirador is the Jesuit retreat house in Baguio located at the summit of a hill. One way of getting there is to climb the steps that lead to the Grotto of the Virgin Mary. Many many many years ago, I spent eight silent days at Mirador. Although I have no talent for drawing, I miraculously produced this one - 

My friend Wayne Tkel SJ is in the drawing. Spot him if you can.

Lost in Maryhurst

Many things were lost in the fire that burned Maryhurst (a Baguio seminary) but not my memories of the place.

If I remember correctly, there was a sprawling wooden building in Maryhurst that housed the offices, living quarters and classrooms of the seminarians. As a child, I would run after Brother Armand’s two dogs across the halls of the building and for some reason, I remember that the wooden floors were warm. Brother Armand was the person who was then running Maryhurst.

My favorite spot in Maryhurst was the garden. Brother Armand was something of a green thumb and would grow all sorts of exotic plants and unusual flowers in the garden. There were also monkeys and a pond with tadpoles. The garden was maze. Even if I would always panic when I found myself lost in the maze, I could not help but go to that garden each time I was there. Maybe it was because I would always find my way out of the maze.

The Maryhurst seminarians (who are most likely priests now) will remember me. I was the little girl who made you miss your lunch one Sunday. I was seven and it was the day I discovered the science laboratory at Maryhurst. I was so fascinated by the snakes, mice and other strange creatures in the lab that I did not realize no one could have lunch because Brother Armand told everyone to go out looking for me. To this day, my parents have never made me forget that incident. Strangely, it is one of my better memories of Maryhurst.