Busy week

This space has gone quiet for many days. Today, while it's still dark, I'm compelled to key in word after word to make coherent sentences. Blogging gets easier the more one does it. I find it a useful, enjoyable exercise for my writing muscles. 

The reason for the silence is generic: I simply had more important matters to attend to. Work, both clinical and academic; some family errands; and my hobbies. 

Last week, I was the overall chair of Kaalam 2025, a research forum in med school. As the college's research coordinator, the event made me proud. My students surprised me. They worked hard on their proposals. Their posters of completed studies were interesting. What gave me the most pleasure was seeing them get excited with research -- which can feel like a burden, a bureaucratic hurdle to overcome. Many of them approached me and asked where they could get their manuscripts published. It was a good day to be a teacher. 

Auntie Eva and Uncle Lars joined us for dinner at home. Manong and I spent Christmas with them in Hässleholm, a place I have to Google just to make sure I get the dieresis correctly. With them were Auntie Ailene and Uncle Rod, relatives I was meeting for the first time. Auntie Elsie, Tatay's second cousin, also joined us. She only lives next block, but the last time she had visited our house was a decade ago. The dinner was wonderful. We asked Auntie Nanic to prepare tinola with native chicken ("free range chicken," I told Uncle Lars, in case we sounded racist). I promised Auntie Eva we'd prepare it for her. It was Nanay's first time meeting my father's distant relatives. Just a month ago, we hosted Ate Nina and Jacob, visitors from Copenhagen. In both instances, Paul loved the international crowd. He literally got a Swedish massage: he kept asking Uncle Lars for a belly rub. 

Today is a Sunday, our church's anniversary. There's a special worship service in the morning, followed by lunch. I'm playing keyboards. Last night, Saturday, I was with Jason, Noynoy, Lance, and the music ministry, figuring out the proper chord progression on an otherwise familiar song: "Only By Grace." I'm excited for Auntie Morena's response song, "I See Grace," which we'll be playing. I went home a little past 8 in the evening, but I enjoyed the extended time of bonding with the church family. Many were busy arranging the stage and setting the place up.  

What else is there to write about? 

I'm still on Thoreau's journals, a quintessential read for bloggers. I've been reading Mavis Gallant and Alice Munro, my favorite Canadians. I enjoyed Anuk Arudpragasam's The Visit, a short story in my copy of The Paris Review. I look forward to my physical copies of magazines -- which also include The New Yorker and the London Review of Books -- which PhilPost delivers in bulk, every three or four months or so. In an ideal world, I should be receiving my New Yorker magazine weekly. But I have access to the online version; it doesn't feel unfair. Reading an old edition, say, from December last year, is like getting a missive from the recent past. Many articles in the magazine are timeless. 

I rediscovered Bones in Netflix. I watched the series in Star Movies, over cable TV, in high school. Now I treat myself to an episode once in a while; I can pause and repeat as I wish, without the ads; and I'm sure that each episode ends on a happy, if not hopeful, note. I miss the ads, though. In general, I miss cable TV. (We still have Cignal cable, bundled with our internet subscription -- but it's never the same.) Dr. Temperance Bones and Special Agent Seeley Booth are an interesting pair. I'm on Season 1, Episode 16: their friendship is blossoming.  The series makes me wonder: shouldn't the forensic analysis be done by pathologists? 

The upright piano is installed

I brought Nanay to a Japan surplus shop in Gensan last Friday, after work. She'd be picking oil paintings she had identified earlier. At home, she likes to put artworks on rotation. The paintings are nothing fancy or of real resale value; she likes color and landscapes and flowers without any idea of the hands that created them. The paintings were the reason for that visit. 

But I had an accidental, but providential, discovery. 

While waiting for her, I saw a couple of upright pianos on display. I asked the lady about them. "They've just been tuned, Sir," the lady said. "Feel free to play something."

So I did. My fingers were dusty, literally, from the playing. The Kawai looked abandoned and ignored, hidden by racks of Japanese cups and silverware. But I loved how the music sounded. 

I remember Auntie Netnet tell me about used pianos in the surplus shops three years ago. I ignored the advice and looked elsewhere. When wisdom prevailed, I realized I couldn't justify the cost of buying, say, a brand new Yamaha. I'm no concert pianist. I play in church. I play at home, mostly for fun and for meditation. Reading notes from the hymnal is an exercise in attention, like learning how to read the Distar textbooks in preschool. It keeps me away from my phone, and my mind and soul find clarity and silence in the music. 

"I think I'd like to buy it," I told the lady. 

The lady said, "Ask the owner for a discount."

I did. He gave me a huge one. He'd have the piano delivered on Saturday for a small fee. He said, "The piano is heavy, as you know. We'll have three people bring them to Marbel. But can you look for three or four strong men to help with the lifting. Maybe neighbors you can call to help? I'm sorry we're short in manpower."

Nanay had an idea: she summoned Uncles Malot and Boboy from Banga. Auntie Bebet was excited, too. Installing the old piano had become a family affair. 

I should have read and asked if the piano was any good. But I bought it on impulse. Nanay also approved: I could not bring any furniture at home without her approval. A query in ChatGPT revealed the following details: 

Kawai K-20 Upright — What You Have

• Model: Kawai K-20
• Type: Professional upright piano
• Height: ~122 cm (48 inches)
• Era: Typically late 1980s to 1990s
• Build: Japan-made (earlier K-series were Japanese production)
• Serial: A 781657 (fits with that general period)

What the K-20 is known for

• Warm, clear Japanese tone (less bright than Yamaha, more rounded)
• Responsive action, very suitable for classical practice
• Solid build quality — these age well if maintained

A step above console/studio uprights; closer to an “institutional” upright
In Kawai’s old lineup, the K-20 sat above entry-level models and was often used in:

• music schools
• conservatory practice rooms
• serious home pianists’ homes (emphasis mine!)

Maintenance notes (important at this age)

If it hasn’t been done recently, it really benefits from:

• Regulation (action adjustment)
• Voicing (tone shaping)
• Annual or semi-annual tuning

When well-regulated, a K-20 can still feel beautifully alive even decades later.

I played This Is My Father's World. Paul, who prefers classical music, especially Beethoven, listened in rapture, contemplating the beauty of God's creation, perhaps—or was he tired from all the barking during the installation? Or was he criticizing my amateur playing?  

The warehouse is Gael Marketing, just along the highway. You'll be overwhelmed by the choices, but prepare to contend with the dust. Bring a face mask, if you have a lung condition.

(The piano reminds me of William Trevor's short story, The Piano Tuner's Wives, read by Yiyun Li in The New Yorker Fiction podcast). 

Tetsugakudo Park

It's a scene from Perfect Days, I say to Luther and Jaylord, my friends for more than twenty years.  

They don’t understand the pop culture reference off the bat, but they listen, perceptive as ever. As we walk around Tetsugakudo Park, hiding under the shade to shield us from the summer heat, I explain: It’s a movie directed by Wim Wenders about a man who cleans toilets and lives a simple life. He reads a book at night and wakes up early in the morning. He takes a break at lunch, eats onigiri (or am I imagining that part?), and enjoys “the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.” The Japanese call it komorebi. The film won’t make sense anywhere else but in Japan, a country that isn’t quite like any other place I’ve been to.  

We briefly rest on a bench and sip iced tea we got from a vending machine. I look up and witness the gentle dancing of trees, tickled by the intermittent whispers of the summer wind.  

 They look great in the fall, Luther tells me, pointing to the trees. Earlier, walking with me from his home in Shinjuku, where I am given five-star accommodations, to Jaylord’s new apartment, he showed me the queue of trees lush with greenery and told me they are cherry blossoms. He pointed out the reservoir of flood waters beneath the park grounds, a feat of Japanese engineering and thoughtfulness. I learn so much from Luther, one of the smartest and wisest people I know. He breezes through difficult subjects while the rest of us struggle to even pass. 

Jaylord says to me, Would you believe people come to us for help with English? It's crazy. Luther chimes in, In college, writing those papers gave me a very hard time! Now I'm consulted to check their grammar!

I’m visiting Tokyo for the weekend, a trip I brought upon myself after I booked round-trip tickets on a whim. Luther and Mau’s son Leroy had been asking about cells and doctors. It was really Mau—I fondly call her Mrs. Mau now; I had the privilege of emceeing their joyful wedding reception in Tagaytay—who got me thinking of visiting Tokyo. Of course I wanted to show myself to Leroy. I packed a white coat and a stethoscope, things that would show Leroy I'm a cool uncle. The last time I saw Leroy he was a little boy, being carried around, barely talking.  I have other dear friends who live in the area. Jaylord and wife Raine had just been married. I hadn't seen Razel since college graduation! Mich is taking her master's and is set to be married soon to another dear friend, the number one reader of this overly popular website (for context: the daily traffic is 2 views per day.)

My friends have lived in the city for several years. They look the same as when I had last seen them in person. I can’t quite remember when that was, for the past has a way of obscuring the boundaries of time. I feel like we’d just seen each other last week. 

I’ve come to a point in my life where I equate travel with reconnection and disconnection. I’m past the midpoint of my lifespan, considering the average Filipino lifespan to be 72.19 years (as of 2022). I might as well spend time with friends who have known me since before: a rekindling of relationships, if you will, for these people are precious to me and have walked with me during my faltering, emaciated, but joyful days of college. Would I wait until retirement to do that, when my knees will falter and my mind will have a hard time remembering flight details? Electronic connections are inferior to face to face conversations. I realize that a few days spent with friends is soul-nourishing, but it can only happen with temporary and deliberate disconnection from my every day routines. Work can be crushing, no matter what limits I set. True rest, I’ve realized, is primarily spiritual. Augustine wrote about our hearts being restless until they find rest in God. But rest is also aided by physical disconnection, a sense of unreachable-ness sometimes achieved through a four-hour flight and a tourist visa. 

Discovering places still gives me joy, a sense of childlike wonder at the peculiarities of a place or culture. A college professor once told me that travel is just as educational as a four-year university degree. But I can say the same about being in the company of these friends, whose worldview is shaped by an abundance sustained by the grace of God, overflowing with their love for others and in their competence to deal with the realities of life.   

Luther and Jaylord, both brilliant engineers and meticulous planners, ask me where I want to go.

I tell them, Anywhere with you, an answer that makes them scratch their heads.

History in the making: first graduates of the College of Medicine of Mindanao State University General Santos

Here’s my weekly newsletter, the second for July. I forget how fast time flies, like an airplane hovering above ground, undetected—that is, until an internal alarm tells me a blog entry is due. This is probably what it feels like to write a column for a newspaper, my wild dream since childhood but which never materialized. I became a doctor. To be an opinion columnist is to have a good-enough supply of intelligent opinions, which I don't have a lot of. (I don’t know about you, but I miss reading Inquirer columns printed on paper. My father bought them for me as a treat. Conrado de Quiros was my favorite. His turn of phrases thrilled me, even if I didn’t understand half of what he wrote.)

*  

I attended two graduation ceremonies this week, arguably one of the best ones I’ve ever been part of, largely because my 12 students at the College of Medicine of the Mindanao State University – General Santos were at the center of attention. My heart swelled with joy and pride at seeing them in their elegant graduation regalia. I could hear sniffles from my side of the auditorium. Dr. Dar Guiomala, one of the kindest and most generous teachers, even showed me a detached portion of her faux eyelashes after a deluge of happy, grateful tears. I may have teared up a bit.

The ceremony was extremely formal and liturgical, which surprised me, having known rowdy, warmhearted UP graduations for most of my life where interruptions by protesters and activists were so common they hardly ever surprised anyone. But MSU graduations are apparently cultural celebrations, too: there were elegant cultural dances with vibrant colors that celebrate traditions. Simply a thing of beauty. 

I remembered my own graduation and how fast time flies. When I marched to get my diploma, Tatay was still alive. My parents were as proud as any parents could be. I felt, on that front-row VIP seat reserved for Medicine faculty, a sense of longing and emptiness, but also of sheer gratefulness at seeing these young doctors make history as the first graduates of the College. 

Teaching is an arduous, often thankless job that involves quiet study and concentrated dedication. But since 2021, we’ve been doing the hard work, the time-consuming labor of designing the curriculum, crafting and grading exams, and innovating teaching-learning activities to teach good, compassionate doctors who will soon serve their communities. One reward of teaching is being in the presence of excellent, gracious, and kind faculty members who, like me, are juggling clinical work with teaching. We find that both vocations complement each other. Being with the young also make us feel young. 

But the pre-commencement exercises last Monday was truly a gift. It was the first time for many things: the first time we had Doctor of Medicine graduates, the first time we would use the smashing College of Medicine auditorium built by taxpayers’ money, the first time we would don the yellow academic regalia. 

Congratulations to our students, faculty, and staff!

*

Here are highlights of the ceremony, shared in the College of Medicine's Facebook page. 

* 

Here are some pictures I took. The photos may not be displayed correctly. I'm not sure why. If that's the case, please click on the links that should take you to the Flickr page. 

Faculty members assembled for the processional. We were instructed to walk slowly.

But we couldn't waste the moment. On ordinary days, we wouldn't normally bump into each other. The ceremony was a reunion of sorts.

My first time to see the auditorium, which just got its occupancy permit. 

Walking behind Dr. Jean Alcover-Banal, who used to be the fellow coordinator for cardiology when I was a second year student at UP College of Medicine. 

The costumes of the ushers and dancers were dazzling. 

An elegant, cultural moment. 

I had a front-row seat!

Sir Noel Sug-ang, who helped supervise the ceremony.

The proud parents and family. 

Photographers and videographers on stand-by. 

Ushers danced, while the crowd stood, waiting for the processional to conclude. 

University officials standing on stage, with Sir Charlie Mina making sure everything was running smoothly. The MSU chorale sang a beautiful rendition of The Lord's Prayer. 

Now: the graduates.

Dr. Joey Maravillas, class valedictorian, cum laude. 

Dr. Ikha Estrella, cum laude. 

Dr. Charleskin Daig, cum laude.

Dr. Kathleen Demegillo



Dr. Julieen Ca-at



Dr. Psyryst Allado



Dr. Alberto Evangelista, Jr



Dr. Jay-R Malayag



Dr. Eleonor Olaybal



Dr. Rose Ann Paalisbo



Dr. Florence Jay "FJ" Salcedo



Dr. Earl Uy



So much pageantry was on display.

University officials and their academic regalia. 

Medicine faculty members were moved and inspired. 

Joey's valedictory speech on behalf of the graduates was impressive. He said something about being "doktor para sa bayan," and his class returning to their communities to serve their people. 

Ikha, on behalf of the class, honored their families for supporting them through their medical journey. 

It was, I believe, Dean Ed Alconcel's idea to have a slideshow, which turned on the waterworks. 

The graduates performed a beautiful song they composed!

The lyrics pasted on manila paper, in true 90's fashion. 

I got a rose!


Everyone did!

 

Our amazing College of Medicine support and office staff! Such great blessing to have them!

Some of our students watched, too. Soon, it will be their turn. 

On the way to the lunch banquet!

Faculty members, waiting for the lunch to begin. 

Our support staff, looking like senators!

But first: another photo op. At the Medicine atrium this time. 

Our Dean, Dr. Ed Alconcel, and the stellar and shining Junjun Yabon, coordinator of Physical Diagnosis. 

Getting ready for the group shot. 

Here it is. 

*

 

And the second graduation? I almost forgot all about the university graduation last Wednesday, if not for Dr. Jo Frial who reminded me an hour before the start of the processional.  What I wore was not acceptable for such a formal event: a shirt that should probably transition to the pambahay category and a pair of Levi's jeans, faded from repeated use. So I headed straight to the mall, bought an undershirt, white long-sleeves, trousers, and black socks. I borrowed a colleague's regalia. I braved through Calumpang traffic, which wasn't so bad at 2 pm, and found a nice parking spot at the Y Building. I marched as if I'd been preparing for the occasion, sweltering in the magnificent, dehydrating General Santos heat.