Like all fellows and brothers had done who have gone this way before

Most of our menfolk in my father’s clan are Freemasons. My late Dad, his uncles before him, his cousins and nephews are Masons. The latest addition to this list is my elder brother, Ferdie, the eldest of our siblings.

Like myself, Ferdie is a Senior DeMolay and a Past Master Councilor of our DeMolay Chapter, the University Chapter, in MSU Marawi City. Among our siblings, I was the one who first followed the footsteps of our Dad to become a Master Mason.

Following a family tradition and by his own free will and accord, Ferdie finally decided to knock at the doors of our lodge, the Jacques DeMolay Memorial Lodge No. 305.

As a fitting tribute to my Dad, I took the role as Conferral Worshipful Master of Ferdie’s initiation as Entered Apprentice Mason, last Saturday, May 10, 2008.

My brother Ferdie is now an Entered Apprentice Mason and will be undergoing a journey till he becomes a Master Mason. I will be there to guide him on his journey in seeking more light in Masonry, just like what our Dad did when I was made an Entered Apprentice.

I’m sure that our Dad, who is now in the Celestial Lodge above, was happy watching over us, when Ferdie made his first step on the north-east corner of the ground floor of King Solomon’s Temple.

My brothers, you have just been permitted to take upon yourselves the name of one of the world’s most heroic knightly figures. Now you can say, “I am a DeMolay.” To be deemed worthy of the privilege of entering into the comradeship of that great army of youth both here and abroad who have dedicated themselves to the ideals of Jacques DeMolay, demonstrates our confidence that the fineness of your purposes will guide your development into the highest type of manhood. To be accepted as a DeMolay is, therefore, an honour of which any young man can be justly proud.

In being received into our ranks, you have been instructed in the seven cardinal virtues of this great Order. We hope you have been deeply impressed with the lessons they teach. There is no better foundation on which to build your character and future life than the practice of these virtues. The Order of DeMolay teaches many beautiful lessons, but none is more important than honour and true respect for womanhood, and more especially for motherhood. It is fitting, therefore, that you have been called upon to stand again before this altar in a few moments of special emphasis upon the virtue which has been given first place among the jewels adorning the Crown of Youth: Filial Love.

For my purpose now, this altar is dedicated to our mothers, whose love never fails. You may rise to positions of great influence in commercial, political, or professional life, but you can never reach the heights of your mother’s secret hopes for you. You may sink into the lowest depths of infamy and degradation, but never below the reach of her love. The memory of it will always stir your heart. There is no man so entirely base, so completely vile, so utterly low, that he does not hold in his heart a shrine sacred and apart for the memory of his mother’s love.

Were I to draw you a picture of love divine,
it would not be that of a stately Angel,
With a form that is full of grace.
But a tired and toilworn mother
With a grave and tender face.

It was your mother who loved you before you were born–who carried you for long months close to her heart and in the fullness of time took God’s hand in hers and passed through the valley of shadows to give you life. It was she who cared for you during the helpless years of infancy and the scarcely less dependent years of childhood. As you have grown less dependent, she has done the countless, thoughtful, trouble-healing, helpful and encouraging things which somehow only mothers seem to know how to do. You may have accepted these attentions more or less as matters of course, and perhaps without conscious gratitude or any expression of your appreciation. You are rapidly approaching the time in life when you will be entirely independent of your mother. The ties with which dependency has bound you to her may be severed as you grow older, but the tie of mother-love can never be broken.

Thinking back upon the years of your life when you have reached the threshold of manhood, your mother might well say in the words of the poet:

My body fed your body, son,
But birth’s a swift thing
Compared to one and twenty years
Of feeding you with spirit’s tears.
I could not make your mind and soul,
But my glad hands have kept you whole.
Your groping hands
Bound me to life with ruthless bands.
And all my living became a prayer,
While all my days built up a stair
For your young feet that trod behind
That you an aspiring way should find.
Think you that life can give you pain
Which does not stab in me again?
Think you that life can give you shame
Which does not make my pride go lame?
And you can do no evil thing
Which sears not me with poisoned sting.
Because of all that I have done,
Remember me in life, O son.
Keep that proud body fine and fair.
My life is monumented there.
For my life make no woman weep,
For my life hold no woman cheap.
And see you give no woman scorn
For that dark night when you were born.

These flowers which you see on our altar are symbols of that mother love. The white, the love of the mother who is gone. And the red, the mother who still lives to bless your life.

Far in the dim recesses of her heart
Where all is hushed and still,
She keeps a shrine.
‘Tis here she kneels in prayer
While from above long shafts of light upon her shine.
Her heart is flower fragrant as she prays.
Aquiver like a candle flame,
Each prayer takes wing
To bless the world she works among,
To leave the radiance of the candles there.

We want each of you to take a flower from the altar. If your mother has passed over to the other shore, you will choose a white flower and keep it always sacred to her memory. May the sight of it always quicken every tender memory of her and strengthen you anew in your efforts to be worthy of her hopes and aspirations for you. If your mother is living, you will choose a red flower. When you go home tonight, give it to your mother. Tell her it is our recognition of God’s best gift to a man: his mother’s love. Take her in your arms and say, “Mother, I’ve learned a great lesson tonight. The ceremonies have helped me realize more fully how much you really mean to me. I’m going to try to show you daily how much I appreciate the sacrifices you have made and the love and care you give me.”

Someday you’ll find that flower, I know not where, perhaps in her Bible or prayer book or some other sacred place, a silent witness to what this night has meant to the one whose love for you, her son, is beyond the comprehension of any son. My brothers each of you will please take a red or white flower from the altar.

DeMolay can ask no more of you than that you shall endeavor so to live as to be worthy of your mother’s love.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY, to all mothers of the world, especially to my dearest mom, Mrs. Marina Avrez Mugot Vda. de Gaerlan, and to my beloved wife and mother to my daughter Maia, Mrs. Maria Marina Victoria K. Gaerlan.

I was a student in a short non-degree studies in Amsterdam in 1998. We stayed in the school’s dormitory during the whole duration of our study. Our school was located at Willemsparkweg, just a few meters away from the Vondelpark and the Hotel Zandbergen. Amsterdam for me then seemed like a very big park. So during class breaks, together with two of my Filipino classmates, we strolled around the city center of Amsterdam by just walking. Being first timers in Amsterdam, every street corner is a new site to behold, making it impossible for us to get tired of walking.

From where the school was located, we walked to and stroll around Leidseplein, Damrak, the Dam, the Royal Palace,etc. A stroll down Vondelpark became a usual destination during short class breaks. Our Dutch classmates called the Vondelpark as Fondle Park, an allusion of course to what pairs usually do in that park any time of the day. We also visited museums and took a boat tour around Amsterdam via its canal network.

The first thing I learned in Amsterdam was never to go to a Coffee Shop if you just wanted to have a real coffee and some food for snacks. But if you want a good trip around A’dam, a-la Cheech and Chong, then a Coffee Shop is your perfect whistle stop. Coffee shops serve ‘ganja’ Yellow Coffee and some good stuff and joints. These Coffee shops are aplenty and you can find them scattered all over Amsterdam, like the Grasshopper, Bulldog, and a lot more. In The Netherlands, soft drugs like cannabis sativa are legal, albeit regulated.

Moving around Amsterdam is quite easy. The Dutch can speak and understand English perfectly well. So if you get lost, you can just ask anyone for instructions. We were always mistaken as Indonesians when we converse with a Dutch on the street. Indonesia was once, and the only Colony of Holland in Asia. That is why next to the Morrocans and Turks, one can find a lot of Indonesians in Holland, like one can find a lot of Vietnamese in Paris.

Assuming you’d ask, Yes, I visited the popular Red Light district of Amsterdam. But it was merely to “kijkend” around. A Dutch friend told me that there is an unwritten law in the alleys of the Red Light district, taking pictures of the women of the place is a no-no, it is considered disrespectful. You might find yourself in trouble if you can’t prevent clicking your cameras. Next time you know, your camera had found a new home under the canals of Amsterdam.

Finding hotels in Amsterdam is not hard as well. You can find all kinds of hotels just within the City center, from cheap hostels to five star hotels. Or you can locate one through the internet. One good finder in the internet is the easytobook.com.

I went back to Amsterdam two more times, after my first time.

The first time I heard these prank alarm, I thought it was the mailman dropping some mails in our mail box. I went out to look and found no one, and nothing on our mailbox. I was duped into this trick two times more before I conceded that it is a prank and gave up attending to every alarm given once through our door bell. What I do is to wait for the third or fourth ring before I consider it a legitimate alarm and look outside or check our mailboxes. But the door bell ringing four times is really very very annoying. What we do now is just to turn off the door bell, which in turn becomes inconvenient for our visitors. But at least, it gives us peace.

It was a down-to-earth, crudely indecent, irreverently hilarious yet educational and a good reality checker show. Its unconventional format gave the show its unique mark and signature in our TV industry that is driven and dominated by commercialism and escapism.

Strange Brew tackles the most ordinary of topics about everyday ordinary things and people. In this show, the man/woman/people behind the balut, the candy factory, the LRT/MRT, La Loma Cemetery, toll gate, etc…are given face and life as who they are and what they do. They don’t appear as objects to be poked and ridiculed just to solicit laughter, like those we see everyday ad nauseam on TV Game shows like Wowowee. These ordinary people are interviewed with questions about the what’s and how-to’s of their work, wares or products. They’re also asked questions like, “if your life is going to be made a movie, who’s the actor you would like to protray you?” In spite of being taken aback by the question, yet all of them had a ready answer for it, as if it is a very common question for them.

The Strange Brew’s brand of comedy is plain and simple. Other than being smart and intelligent, its sense of humour will surely get the approval of one happy dobbie brother. Watching an episode of Strange Brew is one heluva educational laughing trip, sans the doobie of course. I can single out the episode with Kefeir Ocampo, the taong grasa - ang pinakamatalinong tao sa UP, and it simply ROCKS.

Strange Brew was first shown at UNTV, a less known local TV Channel, in 2001. The show immediately gain a loyal following from among the youth, particularly the isaw-eating-rugged -looking-activist-type horde and not the classy-english-spokening-burgis-konyotik few. Despite the show’s obvious handicap in terms of exposure and casting, as it was fronted practically by unkowns at that time, yet all existing mainstream local comedy show pales in comparisson with it in form and content, even until now. For some arcane reasons, Strange Brew suddenly went off-air. One of those Jesus Fans Club TV show took its slot.

I miss Strange Brew. “Erning, ihanda mo ang oto,”. “Tama!”

Click here to view some STRANGE BREW flicks

When you grow up in the province you become familiar with natural signals heralding the rainy season. The most common signal is the sudden appearance of tiny winged termites swarming around all that is lighted in the night. They swarm light bulbs, tv monitors, and all lamps ersatz or real, from desk lamps, table lamps to lamp shades. They become quite annoying because you need to turn all the lights off just to shoo them away.

The freak low pressure zone that visited us last week had sent wrong signals to these tiny winged creatures. Out from nowhere, they suddenly appeared swarming the lighted flourescent lamps in our living room, desk lamps in our room, the monitors of the computer where I was working on and on the TV where my little girl was watching her favorite cartoon show. They thought it was already their call time. Some of them bumped a calendar hanging in a wall near a lighted floor lamp, saw the month and got confused.

We turned off all that was lighted in our house. My baby Maia and I just sat outside our dark front yard watching our uninvited visitors fly to the lighted street lamp post at the corner of our house. I told my baby girl, those little creatures will surely be back sometime soon.

After the usual talks about developments in Philippine Masonry, which was his favorite topic whenever I visited him, I proudly showed him my newly bought Masonic Ring. He was delighted to see it. He tried it on his frail fingers and said he once had one like it, but more beautiful than what I have.

Afterwards our conversation drifted into his usual nostalgia of places his been to and friends that he missed for a long time. I gave him some updates about the places, but I stopped when it comes to those friends he was longing to see. Most of them were already dead.

I bade goodbye to my Dad that day in our usual parting fashion, by exchanging Masonic handshakes and signs, and then we laugh like two little kids sharing our little secrets.

Two days after my visit, my Dad died, in his sleep.

It is common knowledge that those who posses the Square and Compasses symbol are Masons or Freemasons, members of a worldwide fraternity known as Freemasonry. These symbols had become ubiquitous as car decals. Some erring Masons and many pretenders have this wrong notion that these decals can bail them out from being charged with traffic violations. Admittedly this ancient Masonic symbol has been abused for selfish interests and mercenary motives both by Masons and pretenders alike. However, we Masons have our own methods in determining a pretender from a real Brother Mason. The general principle of displaying Masonic symbols is to remind the bearer that he should conduct himself in accordance with Masonic principles and his Masonic obligations. It is not to boast one’s membership or to be used as a ticket for privilege and badge for special favors.

I have Masonic symbols displayed in our house. Most of it can be found inside the house while I have two on our gates. The symbols glued on our rusty iron gate are the Seal of the Order of DeMolay Alumni Association and on its top is a smaller blue and gold Square and Compasses decal. These icons or symbols remained glued on our gate and left untouched for many months.

Until one night, two weeks ago, when I arrived home I noticed the Square and Compasses decal was gone. It was deliberately unfastened from where it was glued. The DeMolay Alumni seal was left untouched. I was disgusted and angry. I cannot do anything about it, but curse. And curse I did, that whoever stole it and use it for whatever purpose will eventually find himself in a situation that he cannot comprehend.

This morning, as Bambit and I stepped out of our gate, we were surprised to see the stolen Square and Compasses decal, glued back to its original position on our rusty gate. We were both wondering, what made the one who stole it to return the decal? And why would he take extra effort in pasting it back to its original position, when he can just throw the decal inside our house?

One can only posses the Square and Compasses symbol, if you are brought from darkness to light.

This is what we did since last month. We are currently looking for a space, a house, for our office. But aside from confronting the difficulties mentioned above, the most annoying in our quest for a new office is our boss’s fickle-mindedness. When we found a house-for-rent with a lower rental cost, he would say the space is too small. So off we go again to find another one. And when we find a big one with a higher rental cost, the first thing he’d ask if that house has a big lawn for a garden.

My boss wanted an office that has the semblance of one of our offices before in Quezon City. We once had a big office with a beautiful lawn, like it’s maintained by TruGreen, and on it was a long table where we all used to have our lunch al fresco.

So on we go and continue our quest for an office with a nice lawn - this now becomes our main requirement in finding a good office.

It amazes me how such ancient structures can retain its beauty and still exude the aura of its past grandeur. Even when viewed only in fleeting seconds, these houses never fail to tell me something. In my mind I make up stories about the place, about the people living in that house. Perhaps it is only through our fictional reconstruction of stories about these structures and its habitues shall they be assured of longer existence. Because in most cases, they are faced with the dreadful eventuality of being demolished to give way for modern structures.

I find it saddening and disturbing all together, our proclivity of demolishing old structures in order to build new ones. In Europe and anywhere else in the world they maintain and preserve old structures not only because they serve as aesthetic monuments of anachronism, but for their sense of history and intrensic value as places of abode.

If only we learn to appreciate that houses are silent witnesses to the making of family histories. They are structures that we will always visit when we stroll down memory lane at night. We can no longer re-invent history, but we can preserve our family histories by making sure that our Homes, like those being served and protected by American Home Shield, are maintained to stand the test of time.