Living Organically

I still remember a long distance phone call I received while I was living overseas some five years ago. My mother, who was always a pillar of strength and guidance for me throughout my life, had called me from Manila. Her voice, normally calm and steady, broke down mid-sentence--and in that very instant, as I was about to enter a noisy restaurant for dinner with friends, I felt the world around me slow down.

My father had just been diagnosed with stage 2 bone marrow cancer, probably the second most painful cancer ever to be experienced. I had known my father was not well when I left to live and work abroad, but we all thought it was due to a fracture in his back and that all he needed was some surgery and therapy to get back on track. For this latest diagnosis, it was prescribed that he undergo radiation and six cycles of chemotherapy.

Although I was planning to relocate to yet another country in the upcoming months, something in my mom's voice told me that I should just return home. About a month and a half after that call, I landed in Manila and mentally prepared myself to see my father. How foolish of me! Nothing can prepare anyone for the sight of a chemo-ravaged body and spirit. My father was almost a ghost of a man, and though I was bright-eyed and cheery when I spoke to him, I couldn't stop the sobs that escaped from me that night as I tried to get to sleep.

Fast forward to a couple of months later when, as a family, we decided to make some changes. We did not want to turn our backs completely on western medicine, but something collectively told us that there must be some other options that my father could benefit from that may be of a gentler, less drastic nature.

My mother discovered The Wellness Center in San Juan and began a relationship with its founder, Dr. Cristina Gonzalez. With the help of this center, we started to combine more holistic practices, supplements, probiotics (enzymes), juicing, and similar regimen into my father's diet and daily life. Unfortunately, in the end, we were again faced with a very difficult situation as a family. It was time to choose between one or the other. Chemo would basically annihilate (yes I am using that strong a word because that's what I felt it was doing) both good and bad cells, which meant that whatever we were trying to replenish or even regenerate via organic means would be wiped out every time he had a session.

My father was about to have his last round of chemo, plus a bone marrow transplant, and blood transfusions were recommended. The image of my father, already so frail and weak, being cut open and undergoing that kind of risk was just unacceptable to us. My father, of course, was frightened. He wanted to live, by any means, and of course he didn't want to make the “wrong” decision. I cannot verbalize enough how long and dramatic a process it took for him to finally say “NO!” to his final session. Our oncologist was very understanding; he had a great fondness for my father and wished us all well.

Our household had to change on account of this decision. We started removing as many things as possible that were considered toxic or cancer-inducing in our home. First was the microwave, then all canned goods. Cleaning soaps and laundry detergent were replaced with more natural cleansers. Toothpaste with fluoride, out, deodorants and antiperspirants containing aluminum chlorohydrate were disposed of, beauty products containing parabens and other heavy chemical compounds found their way into the trash bins. Our fruits and vegetables were bought from the organic market, meat if ever was free range, as were eggs. Dairy was replaced by soy, white rice was completely taken off the grocery list, and we have, for the last five years been eating either brown, red and even black rice with every meal. It was a complete turnaround for us but we accepted it willingly because we were getting slowly educated on the benefits of integrating this diet into our lives.

This is not to say we were hardcore believers and purists in practice. I am guilty of drinking a couple of diet sodas and downing some fast food happy meals every now and then. It's just that I know that I have afforded my body with enough ammo so that when I'm feeling nutritionally naughty, I'm probably not going to feel any adverse effects later on in life. As for my father, he went into remission a year after he was diagnosed with cancer. To this day, although I can't say my father is in the best of health (he's far from being the next Iron Man), the cancer has not reared its ugly head again, and doctors are still amazed that he has been able to survive despite discontinuing his chemo, not to mention refusing the transplant and transfusion. My father has been able to get an extraordinary second chance, some may even say third chance at living, and I strongly believe that we, his family have gotten that same extraordinary opportunity as well.

Living Organically
By Katrina A. Holigores
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 02:57:00 06/22/2008

MANILA, Philippines

The Best Listener

A cousin once told me over dinner that moments when you felt most blissful or most happy are never repeated in the same, exact intensity, that’s why the older you get, the more you realize that a life is built on being bouyed (and sometimes dragged down) by memories.

If I had to take one of those instamatic, psychological tests in which I’m given less time than it takes to blink an eye to say a word in reaction to another, my reaction to the word “generations” would be family.

Yes, predictable and ho-humy, but family is normally a very understated and underestimated sustaining factor of our DNA.

We all have funny, enlightening, depressing or “for our ears” only accounts of what goes on with our blood relatives, and whether we like it or not, we continue an age-old tradition of passing down stories for other generations to hear.

They may get embellished, censored or downright fabricated as the years go by, but they’re still worthy of at least one telling at a family gathering.

A little over a year ago, a most beloved storyteller, and more importantly listener, was lost to us. My lola Nena, who was (in my opinion) the binding factor in most of our reunions and get togethers, passed on seven years short of turning a century old.

Of course our family got the usual barrage of “Wow, she lived a full life,” or “That’s a great age to die.” Whatever. As far as I was concerned, my lola was going to live forever. Period. She had gottten sick before but she had always stayed in the hospital for a brief spell and was back home and back to normal.

But, ironically, on Mother’s Day in 2007, she finally succumbed, and slipped rather quietly away from this life to the afterlife, and none of us seemed prepared to believe it.

It’s hard to verbalize the loss of someone who was there from the moment you were born, although oftentimes she seemed in the background as you went through the more tumultuous times in your life.

A grandmother is nothing like a mother, they’re seemingly more patient, more detached, and more oblivious to your faults. Perhaps because they didn’t see you that often or, in my lola’s case, didn’t want to get too involved for fear of being too intrusive.

But oh, how she could listen, with that lightness and lack of judgment that a child would possess.

She seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say and her voice would rise in wonder whenever something new or “innovative” would be included in a conversation.

The fax machine, to her, was more alien intelligence than she could ever have dreamt of. The very notion that the exact same page could appear exactly the same way halfway across the country (or the world) seemed like black magic.

How very different from this new generation, who look at a fax machine as a Jurassic piece of equipment.

It’s been more than a year since her passing but her presence is still felt and sorely missed.

As a test to what an impact this magnificent woman had in our lives, I shot out a text an hour before I was to write this article to my fellow cousins, asking for a one to two sentence “memory” of her.

Within minutes, I received responses, even one from as far off as Madrid, Spain. The common thread? “She was a great listener” kept coming out, as if it was the very first thing that came to mind. And that she was.

I can only imagine, with regret, how many stories were filed lovingly away in my grandmother’s mind, stories that could have once more been shared with other generations to come.

She will forever be remembered, and retold, as the matriarch with the mostest, for as long as someone is willing to listen.

Published in the Philippine Dailly Inquirer, 6/14/08

Artful Escape in Antipolo

Instead of spending a Sunday channel surfing and stuffing your face with junk food (trust me, you will regret it come Monday) it may be time to get out of the metropolis and take a drive up to Antipolo to check out the Pinto Art Gallery.

Having locked the chips and the dip in the pantry I was whisked away one afternoon and welcomed with relatively traffic free roads to check out this art haven built by Dr. Joven Cuanang. I had heard about this place from friends many times before, that it was a weekend retreat originally and had eventually been turned into a hotspot for exhibits and gatherings for the cultured kind.

The coolest thing about Pinto Art Gallery is that the entire place is one huge exhibit hall. You get to see paintings on one floor, installations in the garden, furniture in the entrance, textiles draped in another room etc. The most exciting bit (at least in my opinion) is that visitors are free to move around at will, over the entire property, and enjoy the fresh air and the wide-open spaces that have pockets of art ready to pop out and greet them.

If you get tired, there’s actually a bed right smack in the garden (yes, the couch potato in you might get tempted) if you want a little spiritual enlightenment, you can go into the chapel, or if you want some meditation time you can go and enjoy some quiet moments overlooking an almost endless expanse of trees. For those feeling the need to express themselves, there is a mini-amphiteater located near a guest house, a fitting area that can probably be used for poetry readings or impromptu theater performances.

Art all around

On the Sunday of my visit, an exhibit entitled Aramid had just opened, I saw handmade furniture, pottery pieces and inabel textiles from Ilocos among others. I met with Dr. Cuanang who warmly welcomed guests and personally tried to show them around whenever he could.

As I viewed some paintings on the elevated floor of Gallery One, I could see a steady stream of art lovers come in and wander around freely, some were first timers such as me and I could hear sounds of delight as they took everything in.

There were regular visitors of course who showed first timers around, or family visiting from abroad. “I never knew something like this existed here” was commonly heard (in various versions) throughout the afternoon. Since it was the first day of this monthlong exhibit (the Pinto Gallery is celebrating the Antipolo Arts Festival till the end of June) merienda was served in the form of batac-styled empanada (freshly brought in) and dirty ice cream. Not quite sure if the food is a regular onsite experience but it certainly made the stay more enjoyable.

Families brought their kids who happily ran around the garden and if the weather was better I’m pretty sure Dr. Cuanang would have encouraged them to jump into the pool. Before I left I even asked the good doctor if he could rent out the place for a weekend stay (perfect for a group of friends or even a family wanting a short distance out of town escape). “Not yet,” he smiled although perhaps to keep it a sanctuary for both himself and art lovers it may be a not “ever.” Still, that one Sunday afternoon was more than enough for me to plan a trip back there whenever I need an artful escape.

Pinto Art Gallery is a member of the Silangan Foundation for Culture and the Arts. Gallery hours are from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., from Wednesday to Sunday. It is located at 1 Sierra Madre St., Grandheights, Antipolo City, Rizal. For inquiries log on to the gallery website at www.pintoartgallery.net, E-mail silangan.foundation@gmail.com or call (632) 6971015.

Artful Escape in Antipolo

By Katrina A. Holigores
Philippine Daily Inquirer

Last updated 19:05:00 05/30/2008

MANILA, Philippines—