ORANGE BALL GAZING (Part 1)

To see into the future, soothsayers use crystal balls. One morning, as I was shooting hoops to relieve stress, something came to me. I realized that there’s a lot of reflection that goes with remembering events in my life that, in one way or another, had to do with the game I love. Let’s look back into the past with the orange ball. Here is Part 1 of lessons I learned from basketball.

INTENTIONS
High school days. Common issue: crushes. I used to have a mini crush on a silent, sweet smiling four-eyed row mate, an inspired type of crush on two of prettiest members of the honors class, and a hormone-related crush on a megababe from a higher year. And because of this crush and the resulting matchmaking fad, whether during warm-ups before a game or a shoot-around while waiting for the PE teacher, you may get teased on some shot attempts.
“‘Pag na shoot yan, para kay Aida!”
“Uuuuy… para kay Lorna!”
“Nakatingin si Fe. Para daw sa kanya ‘yan.”

They’d randomly pick names. I have to admit, everytime they got the right name… can’t help it but pause, smile and pretend to steal a glance before  a well-excecuted, concentrated shot. One shout that cause one second of thinking that changes the shot… to a special one. In an instant, since I was doing it for an additional purpose, I intended to do it better and with added “style”.

I know of friends who did far better than others in school or work because they know and reflect often why they are there. It gives them boost.

Knowing why we’re doing something does not only give us purpose. It helps us do things better. Always have a purpose for things you do. Always have good intentions. The bigger the venture or plan, the more reason you should. Do not do it just to go with the flow or that it was just dictated by some people. Worse is to do it just because you feel like it. We are slaves not to others, not to our ego, but to our Creator. Kaya dapat, para kay God.

COMMUNICATION
Are you a fan of somebody? Sports star? Politician? Actor? Friend? Here’s a tip from a Majic Johnson documentary video we have watched over and over during the VHS days. In the best seconds of their performance, the narrator said, “WATCH THEIR EYES.” They tell a lot why they’re great.

I believe in connections, not necessarily explained by science, that occour among people. Remember the Johnson’s Baby Lotion advertisement? It claimed that a second of touch communicates more feelings than minutes of talk. Watching other people’s eyes, transfer terabytes of information. I gain a lot more inspiration following the eyes of people I look up to as they perform than just simply watch them do those highlights. It’s like I feel what drives them.

But more than to be like people you idolize, try eye contact to solve problems with people you care for. It helps. A lot. Ask for a sincere eye to eye contact when addressing issues or expressing love. Add touch, if possible. Use baby lotion, if available.

RESPECT
Watch it. Amare is the man. Weeks ago, he did coolest thing. It was not a quick one-handed flush off the dribble or a monster throw-down. Not even a shot. It was a salute.

We know of the common high fives and hugs given by players from the two benches after a great game. Amare’s was something else. It was pure respect. A sincere gesture of salute of a veteran superstar to the younger superstar of the other team. Check the thirty-nine-second video that now has garnered almost three million views as of writing.

How often do you give that type of respect to your peers? Too often we get enveloped by your own achievements that we fail to acknowledge others. Worse, at times, we don’t do it out of hidden insecurity and pride. Pride can get out of control, unnoticed. Watch it.

On Discrimination: Why I Am Disgusted

On Discrimination: Why I Am Disgusted

First, an important note: Do not get me wrong. I still have high hopes for Moros and all Muslims in the Philippines. And I appreciate more often than condemn, as far as I know. I love my race and family too, I know.

Game!

Confluence of events and experiences in life bring you to have your own non-negotiable rules. Some highly-guarded standards etched in your soul. They’re a set of principles that when challenged, strikes an uneasy nerve and makes you want to rant to purge and offer solutions.

I know of some foreign land. A land where Bilal (may Allah be pleased with him), a black slave, was freed and exalted among his peers–white, red and black alike. Later in his life, he ruled successfully as governor of Damascus. For his constituents were told, thus, sincerely followed the advice of their Prophet (Allah’s peace and prayers be upon him) to “listen to and obey, a (just) ruler even if he was an Ethiopian slave whose head looks like a raisin.” It was where the warring tribes of the Quraysh and other Arabs were united. They must have fully absorbed the Islamic rule that they must not have “an atom of pride (in the form of haughtiness) in their hearts.” And where another utterly homeless brother once lamented, “O Messenger of Allah, I have neither wealth nor beauty; nor I have a noble descent or lineage. Who will marry me? And which woman likes to be the wife of a poor, short, black and ugly man like me?”, but was then comforted by the Messenger (Allah’s peace and prayers be upon him) with the words, “O Jowaibir! God has changed the individual’s worth through Islam. Many people were high-placed in the pre-Islamic society and Islam adjusted them down. Many were despised non-entities and Islam bestowed them with honor and high rank and brought them up. Islam abolished the un-Islamic discrimination and pride of lineage. Now all people irrespective of their color and origin are equal. Nobody has superiority over others but through piety and obedience to Allah. Among the Muslims, only that person would be higher than you whose virtues and deeds are better than you. Now do as I tell you.” He soon married him to Zalfa (may Allah be pleased with her), the lovely daughter of Ziad (may Allah be pleased with him), the wealthiest guy in town.

Unfortunately for me, I came to the same place fourteen centuries later. Natives now look down on many Asians as born housekeepers or laborers, including Muslim brothers. Some Muslim expatriates themselves, the Misree, Bakistanee, Indonesee, Filibeen, etc., keep safe distance from each other. Filipino Muslims there too knew well how to discriminate. One ethno-linguistic group is wary of the other. Within tribes, clans prove their class over other clans during gatherings and tournaments. And for some reason, they welcome Balik-Islams (Reverts to Islam) with half-baked sincerity. I had to stay there for a while breathing in a daily dose of varied bigotries in the air.

Once back in the Philippines, I had to take the painful side of being socially active – seeing the problem clearer.

In one meeting, we were with a well-missed brother, the late Abdul-Malik Bernardo. He shared his experiences during Hajj. It was the event of the year when Muslims go out for a number of rituals in the Holy Land to show the world Islamic solidarity. Back at the Philippine Tent, however, their Balik-Islam group just had to be separated from born Muslims. He also noted that the Maranaos too had to separate from the Maguindanaons, and probably, this group from that group, so on and so forth. There could have been justifiable reasons to do so but the already soft voice of our brother grew wearier and his eyes swelled while describing the scene. It was as if killjoys didn’t know how to celebrate a once-in-a-lifetime unity gig which partially ruined his spiritual trip.

At a youth peace camp, we met a lovely high school girl who was there to represent the Muslim youth. When she learned that one facilitator was a “half-blooded” Muslim, she concluded, “eh di… wala ka rin kwenta kasi di ka buong Muslim tulad ko”. To me, we all seem to allow that emotional mistreatment of young people like her and just blame the parents for not choosing an equal as a match. It was personally a heart breaking level of emotional complex for a kid. I wonder how she’ll fare in life as she grows up. Will she develop high self-esteem? How? Will she, in an effort to cure her weaker blood type, be an ultra enthno-centrist for her Muslim tribe? Or will she grow up detesting it or nursing a hidden anger against her ‘superior’ relatives? Somehow, by nature, she will claim respect for herself.

What if a Moro, from a great family of Datus of all Datus, proposes to her? Will she be accepted? Of course, as they would say, we can’t taunt our system. Worse is to change it. Separate those kids and let’s just blame the girl’s parents again. Sure she can attend events and gatherings but she will not be served with the usual level of recognition. On the side, she’ll even hear some gossip about her flawed lineage, doubtful accent or mestiza looks. But do not blame our people who does that to her, just blame the father. Make him feel he’s not the man anymore. Irreversible wrong, bro. We’re already in the Medieval Age, y’know.

For some families, she may be accepted well enough. If she proves her worth by being a doctor, lawyer, engineer… something that can be appended to her name in lieu of the lack of noble title. Probably, if she or her parents are wealthy or influential to some recognizable degree, that will be okay. She may have the gift of being pretty, intelligent, or humbly patient on how things are. The idea is, due to her mixed blood, the burden falls upon her. She has to try. No promises though. Read: MAY.

I have a friend who goes to the same Masjid more often than I do. He shared similar problems with choosing a partner. He was in Manila that time but the rule was to marry somebody from his race in islands south of Zamboanga. Why? It simply is the culture – backed by arguments centuries old and probably by new ones too. Religious dogmas may even be resorted to if you’re not convinced.

What if it’s a non-Moro or a foreign guy attempts to fit in? Boy is he gonna get it.

Here’s a poor Balik-Islam dude for example. In my former school, his mom amazingly continues with her life by running a small shop. We passed by her almost every day; hence, her unusual silence and pitiful stares while she conducts her business had been our topic more than once. So someone told us of the sickening story. Some years back, excited of her new faith, she left her hometown and husband to live in a proud so-called Islamic city down south. She brought with her a son who unfortunately fell in love with a girl from a restricted blood. Romeo went to her hometown to profess his sincere intentions. He never came back.

Another gross topic: inter-tribal feuds. This is a kind of its own. Here, the wrong type of Maratabat, Sipud, or whatever you call it is not at a ‘normal’ level. In DotA parlance, insane. Fittingly so. Unlike the normal Rido (if you can technically call it that), reconciliatory talks are very rare. None before, during or after the hit backs. You do not summon an outsider for a reconciliatory meeting; they’re probably beyond customary rules of engagement. Do what you want. Cease fire when you feel you’ve killed, damaged, or shocked enough. No need to know who is their family, who is not. For those who have been nosy enough, they may know of the Taguig scrimmages of the late ‘90s. In case of inter-tribal conflict, negotiations or interventions like Bambetara, Kapamasad or Pagsulut will be rare.

Next in line. Are you a member of any Muslim youth multi ethno-linguistic e-group here in the Philippines? I have around five. They’re fun, educating and inspiring for most of the times. But there are days when you’d wish some of our upcoming leaders here would be more responsible not to show bias. There were posts that could dampen your own projections for the future of Moros or Muslims in the Philippines. They can drain your energy for a while. At such times, I wonder about Bangsamoro independence. Honestly, I do not know whether I’m pro or against it. I have yet to choose. Although I have this thing in mind when I’m down: When Muslim-dominated Pakistan was separated from India, something else happened. Depending on your source, The Bangladesh Liberation War claimed 200,000 to 3,000,000 lives. East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), although about 90% of the population were Muslims, had to be separated from Pakistan.

The counter-attack. Some are the enlightened ones. They’re open-minded enough to know who practices (and which practices are) “tribalism” or not. They’re the outsiders who may have observed or experienced discrimination by a certain group. They just curse, rant, banter or ignore. Not much on solutions. Wait. Is ignoring or being silent a solution? Some even counter-discriminate and do not bother to properly deal with the matter. They’re even ready to fight if provoked enough based on their own estimation of when enough is enough. Very enlightened indeed.

If you’re unbiased and involved enough, these things and many more are served to you on a regular basis. Similar larger stories are said to have shaped or is shaping Bangsamoro history. They may have not been written, probably for good intentions. Could have been hinted or sugar-coated in some write-ups. You may have heard some on your own. If you’ll go hunting for stories, do it not just to verify, to fan a person’s hatred, etc. Let’s clear our intentions. Try to do it in order to give corrections or add more to SOME SUGGESTIONS I have below.

In my case, these stories are already nauseating. Stuns and moves you back to a chair. Makes you whine this way. That’s why when relatives order me to just forget someone just because they’re from another bloodline from Adam, I go psychosomatic. It’s not merely the love of those “other” people’s company; there’s also a well-guarded principle locked in my spine and gives energy to breathe. At such times, I’m honestly, in disgust. I love my family and really want to say sorry but such practices leave me disgusted which blunts sympathy and understanding. My stomach turns. I need sometime for myself to recover.

SOME SUGGESTIONS:

1. Never justify acts with our religion. Pray for an open, unbiased heart when interpreting our great Deen. Not everything agreed upon or is ubiquitous is necessarily right. Indeed, group consensus and cultures are welcome and may even be worship. But would it still be validly sanctioned in the heavens if we agree to unjustly single out someone or uphold outdated cultures?

2. Be proud but admit that no culture is perfect. Really, I am so proud of my race. In my case, the enterprising spirit and drive for achievements of my race shaped me as I am, Alhamdulillah. Even when my Eeman was down, I realize I had racial pride that protected me from Haram stuff since they were shameful, piyakayaya. In Maranao communities, rarely did I fail to find a relative who would encourage you to pray in a nearby Masjid. The love of relatives showed me how fulfilling it is to take care of others. And I always say no kin closeness is close to Maranao closeness. It has an embedded social security system, believe me. It’s why many of us are successful in our businesses and careers, here and abroad. Natural and man-made calamities adversely affect us relatively less, I think. Relatives will always be there. I have basked in the benefits of being a full-blooded Maranao. I am thankful. But I can’t close my eyes to things that are obvious. There are issues in our system. And most probably, so too in other cultures. Some advantages come with disadvantages. And there are people being hurt, directly or indirectly.

3. Share. The best way to be an advocate of good practices is to share it. Don’t limit it to your group. Bro, if your ways are that cool, make it mainstream for the entire Ummah team. They’re M-U-S-L-I-M-S too. If for some reason, they’re with you through affinity, the more you should show the warmth and advantages of our social structure. Try to show examples to people of other groups. If they adopt it, you get your Hasanah. Try to promote your culture, not by ridiculing or banishing other cultures, but by enriching theirs with yours and yours with theirs. Tip: Remember the words that define our current generation — Share, Like and Comment. Share it with them. Like their styles too. Comment nicely.

4. Be the change. If you can’t, allow others to be. The problem is hurting lives NOW. Do or at least intend to do something. Some people are itching to improve perceived social problems. Don’t stop them if you do not yet have the courage to do it. They have the right to drive their lives along winding roads with blinding lights they sing of even though you feel they’re heading for a tough wall. Be happy for them if they succeed. If they come back hurting, embrace them with your waiting arms. If they don’t, pray for them.

5. Do not counter-discriminate. It may even be a Shirk to predict that a person or a people will all die incorrigible. Moreover, it aggravates the problem. They’ll hate back more and you’ll hate back more. With hating comes hitting. You’ll start hitting and they’ll hit back. Worse, your children may increase the notational hate exponent.

I hope I have convinced you that there is a problem… that there are things that must be done. So, along with solving Muslim poverty, Muslim’s lack of opportunities for work and education, and Muslims being discriminated and abused, let’s try to solve this one, too. Most of the solutions lie not in asking for compassion and justice from non-Muslims. Solutions to this issue will come from us, InshaALLAH.

Here’s a simple workshop if you are a Moro. Take home. Look for a very close friend from another ethno-linguistic group or a Balik-Islam. Beg for the truth and ask each other these questions:
1. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear of my group/tribe?
2. Quickly list five good/okay/cool things with my culture?
3. Quickly list five things that are not good/okay/cool my culture?

From JK Rowling’s Speech at Harvard

Here’s my favorite part in JK Rowling’s speech,

‘The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination’

You can get the full text from Harvard Gazette or watch it at Vimeo.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working at the African research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to speak against their governments. Visitors to our offices included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had left behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him back to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just had to give him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard, and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces leads to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped change. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

Happiness Implied

I’m migrating my CHILL blog. This was my first post last Jan 15, 2009 entitled Happiness Implied:

The Hijra and Gregorian new years nearly fell on the same day. Three weeks ago, i received sms greetings of “Happy Aamun Jadeed!” and a few days after, “Happy New Year!” My dotty imagination brought me to asking how would people react if I would just greet them back, “New Year!” or “Aamun Jadeed!” Yup, sans the happy “Happy” word.

Well, interestingly, that’s the way it is in the Middle East. It’s just “Aamun Jadeed!” traditionally. And I honestly prefer it. No need to qualify for there shouldn’t be any obscurity at the start. Undoubtedly, it’s a great ism in life to see the plus side of everthing new that comes our way.

Hence, I’m resolved to expect that the best is yet to come this year eventhough at the start of the year…

See, i quickly ran out of the downsides… if at all they are wholly problems. Weird me, but I still usually go to  sleep and wake up with a smile. As Hugh Down puts it, “A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes.”

The fact that we got to another year of breathing, seeing, hearing, moving, eating, smiling, talking, laughing, thanking, praying, giving back, chatting, admiring, caring… and all other cool stuff that come with this great package they call life… means that I’m never short-changed. A brand new year ahead!

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