Remembering our "Bunso" (youngest sibling), Allan: On the Occasion of an Untimely Passing

 

(when I started this piece) Today is July 1, 10:00 a.m. here in Canada. Our youngest sibling, Allan passed away due to serious health issues on July 1 at 4:46 p.m. Manila time (4:46 am Toronto time). He was 57 years old, too young to die. We usually describe such deaths as "untimely." We were four years apart, so he was our youngest brother—our bunso, as we say in Tagalog.

Bunso (the Youngest)

The bunso, in many cultures, is the one who is doted upon, spoiled, and thus often grows up happy-go-lucky, dependent on everyone else, and not especially responsible. That's the stereotype of the youngest child in the family. I guess that stereotype was, more or less, true of our dear Allan. Yes, he was a happy-go-lucky type, but in a very pleasant sense. He was simply a nice guy you could not hate. When you met him, you could immediately relate to him. He was easygoing, easy to talk with, quick with a joke, and, most importantly, he loved life!

That's the phrase that comes to mind immediately when I think of him: he really loved life. He enjoyed living. This I say having known him from the time of his birth. I left home and Allan though. I wasn't in the Philippines anymore when he became a full-fledged lawyer. I do hope that he maintained that easy approach to life even with the many responsibilities of his profession. But during the times I came back to the Philippines and we saw each other—whether after a long absence or only a short one—I always had the same impression. He was still that easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who genuinely loved and enjoyed life.

That is what I liked most about him. He was simply very easy to relate to.

Allan and I were the youngest two siblings in our family. I was born in 1965 and Allan in 1969, so we were four years apart. I remember that when I was ordained a priest in 1995, during a thank you speech, my father remarked that I was supposed to be the youngest child, but then, four years later, another one came along. That drew laughter from the congregation, since the speech was given in church. Happy accident (!😊) because I didn’t have to be alone growing up. I now had a sidekick. There we were—Allan and I—the younger pair in the family. Our oldest brother and our older sister, whom we called Nonoy and Inday, formed the older pair. They spent their childhood together. We—Allan and I—spent ours together.

This is something I remember with great fondness: during the first nine years of Allan's life, I was probably the person who knew him best—perhaps even more than our mother, because Allan and I were constantly together. We shared a room. We played together all the time. We went on adventures together. We went on vacations together. When he started school, we attended Don Bosco Makati together for several years.

At that stage of life, four years is a huge difference. I was the kuya (big brother). He was my sidekick.

Allan’s Birth—My First Memory – Younger Years

As I reflect on Allan now, I'd like to recall a number of random vignettes and childhood memories, because I think I’m in the best position to tell the story of those first nine years of his life.

The very first thing that comes to mind is that Allan's birth is actually the earliest memory in my life.

I was four years old. Daddy took us to the hospital. I suppose my siblings were there as well. We stood outside the nursery, looking through the glass inside. Then, Daddy pointed to one of the babies and said, "That's your younger brother." I remember that moment very clearly. This is the first memory of my life: Allan’s birth! I hardly remember anything from before I was five years old. I can look at photographs of myself when I was two or three years old, or even as a baby, but I don't have those images in my memory. Allan’s birth though I remember very well.

From that time onward, Allan became a permanent fixture in my life. I remember him as a big, healthy, chubby baby. As soon as he was old enough to walk around by himself, we were constantly together. We played together. We rode our bicycles around our subdivision. We shared the same circle of friends, especially Marvin (Macalintal) and his cousins, who lived only a few steps away from our house. Marvin's father happened to be Allan's baptismal godfather, so Marvin and Allan were kinakapatid, or godbrothers, in Filipino culture. We spent a great deal of time in their house, especially after Marvin's cousins moved in with them. All of us attended Don Bosco Makati (school) together, and we became very close friends. Those were wonderful times.

Who's My Padawan? A Father's Day Reflection 2024

Very recently, someone we cared about, whom we had helped and guided, just turned their back on us and walked away: a heartbreaking experience.

Reflecting on this, I casually remarked in a family conversion, "Well, I guess even (the great teacher) Master Yoda's padawan (apprentice in Star Wars) became Count Dooku (the villain)." I meant (in ordinary language): Even the greatest teachers will have students who will turn against them and bring them sorrow.

Whereupon, the Haj (our 16-year-old daughter) came to me and gave me a hug with these sweet words, "They (this person) are not your padawan, Daddy."

Looking into her eyes, I knew what she was thinking so I voiced it out, "You're right. You're my padawan." And she just nodded contentedly.

It hit me afterwards. The Haj is already one of the persons that I admire and respect most because she's just an overall beautiful person in and out, tremendously gifted and diligent, and making such a positive contribution to the world. For her to consider herself "a padawan" (apprentice) of her good ol' dad is high honour and praise indeed for me. I have tears in my eyes as I type this. She has already surpassed me in many ways! But it is these little acts of love and affection from one's daughter that make life as a dad really, really worth living.

I will savour, cherish, and treasure my daughter and this thought of hers all my life. I feel so warm and thankful inside on this Father's Day. Such a joy to be this girl's dad! Love you to the moon and back, Haj!

---

Leaving Home and Starting Your Own Hero's Journey (Dear Khaj #06)

 

[Some parts adapted from Julius-Kei Kato, Reading the Bible in a Secular Age (2023), pp. 1-3]

The Hero's Journey

[Dear Khaj]  At this point (2024 May), you have told us several times that, when it's time for you to go to university, you don't want to stay here in this place, where you were born and raised. Mommy doesn't seem too happy with that but is resigned. For my part, I totally get it. What I say in response to your intention is, "You have to go on your hero's journey."

"Leaving home" is indeed the indispensable beginning of the so-called Hero's Journey. "Home" stands for a place where one is loved, cared for, and where all one's needs are met. I think you've been blessed with a happy and peaceful "home" since your birth. Mommy and I  are incredibly proud of that. However, there comes a time when you have to leave that cocoon of security and venture out into the wide, beautiful yet also at times dangerous world, spread your wings and fly out. Of course, we worry about how you'll do. That's the lot of being parents. But we hope for the best. 

Let me share with you here, one of the major "home leavings" that I've had in my life: the time when I left the land I was raised in (the Philippines) for the land of your lolo (ojīsama, grandfather)--Japan. This journey irrevocably changed my life. I hope you can learn something from it.

My Original Two Worlds: The Philippines & Japan

Let me begin with the theme of "ancestry." Ancestry has occupied me for practically my whole life. I was born in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, as the second son of a Japanese father from Kyoto, Japan (the ancient capital); and a mother from the Province of Iloilo in the Western Visayas region of Central Philippines. From the time I became aware of myself, my family, and my communities of affiliation, I was always struggling to define who I really was.

Although I was born and raised in the Philippines and continue to love my Inang Bayan (mother country) deeply, as a child, I was always labelled a “Hapòn” (a Japanese) because of how I looked and my dead giveaway last name—“Kato.” Despite growing up in the capital region (we called it "Metro Manila" then), I couldn’t speak Tagalog/Filipino straight at first (the language of the region as well as the national language) because my mom spoke to us in her own native language called Hiligaynon, the main language of the group of languages spoken in the central part of the Philippines referred to as Ilonggo. English was the common tongue that united my Japanese father and Filipino mother and, hence, we used a lot of English at home.

I distinctly remember that when my grandparents, granduncle (we called them ojī-chama and obā-chama in our family) and grandaunt visited us from Japan when I was around 9 or 10 years old, and spoke amongst themselves or with dad in Japanese, a language I wasn’t functional in as a child, I vowed to be able to speak with them one day in that language which I felt was a part of me that had not yet been awakened.

When I started to attend school and the teacher would do roll call at the beginning of the year, she would eventually pause when faced with my Japanese surname and ask me, “Are you Filipino?”. I remember that I would reply, “I’m Japanese” (meaning: I’m not only Filipino but also Japanese). There were times when I would sit in agony through social studies sessions on the Second World War as my classmates would glower at me when they learned of the various atrocities committed by—what some of them expressed as—my “brutal” Japanese ancestors during the war.

Experiences such as these left such an indelible mark on me that, at the end of my teens in the mid-1980s, I left my mother’s country, the Philippines, where I grew up, and moved to my father’s country, Japan. I did that for a number of reasons. At this point, I was a young member of a Catholic religious order already and I wanted to work as a missionary in Japan, with dreams of "winning Japan for Christ." Looking back at that dream, I'm embarassed at my naivete. But all of us can dream sometimes, especially when we're young, right? 

Another major reason though for the move was because I wanted to search for that part of my ancestry that I did not know very well—my Japanese roots.

Life in Japan

Those first years in Japan were tough ones. “Japanese who grew up abroad,” the so-called kikoku-shijo (帰国子女 literally, “kids returning to the homeland”) face a lot of difficulties when they enter a strictly regimented and very different Japanese society from wherever they came from. Besides, the h­āfu (the half-Japanese or mixed-race kids) had even tougher challenges as they were not well-regarded by many Japanese, given the general tendency to prefer a kind of “Japanese purity” at the time. And I belonged to both groups! Add to that the fact that learning not only to speak but also read and especially write the Japanese language as a grown-up is nothing short of a gargantuan task. But I was young, idealistic, and on a high stakes search for my Japanese roots. I just gritted my teeth and told myself that, against all those great odds, I would learn the culture and the language well enough to truly become Japanese, even if that were the very last thing I would do. The search for my ancestry and roots had a “do or die” importance for me at that point.

Feeling Whole by Knowing My Two Ancestries

After a few years in Japan, I started to feel that I was indeed becoming Japanese with the result that the people and culture that seemed so “other” to me once upon a time were becoming a true part of me. It was at this time that my dad, younger brother, and I had a chance to visit our ancestral tomb in the place where my dad’s family originally came from—Akita in Northern Japan. By this time, I could speak, read, and write Japanese with some fluency and conversing first with my dad and with my other relatives in their, or rather, our Japanese language jolted me with the realization that I had fulfilled my childhood vow to speak with my family in Japanese!

Moreover, listening to my uncle’s hypothesis about our ancestors possibly being samurai because of the location of the tomb was also an unforgettably moving experience. Let me tell you now: When things get rough in life as they will, remember: YOU ARE OF SAMURAI STOCK! You are descended from the famed, bold, and courageous samurai of old! 

Standing in front of our ancestral tomb in Akita—that concrete, material embodiment of our lineage—was a high point in my life. It gave me the shivers! I tangibly felt that I truly and experientially knew now what it meant to be deeply connected also to my Japanese roots and ancestry. Now, I was no longer limping on one foot knowing just one side of my roots (my mother’s); I was also tapped onto the other part of my ancestry, my father’s Japanese side. This experience finally made me feel whole. Then and there I realized that knowing one’s roots and ancestry, as many teachers have reminded us throughout history, is indeed one of the most essential and vital things in life.

Reflections

Of course, that was just the beginning--we can say--of my hero's journey. Actually, there have been many "departures" in my life to begin different adventures. But this "leaving home" that I described above was the one crucial event that changed my life. That's the one great home-leaving that has impacted me the most. I was certainly afraid and nervous at the beginning. But I gritted my teeth, firmed up my resolve, and just did it. And the rest, as they say, is history. I would not have become the person I am today if not for that departure. 

So, I understand why you have to leave. May your hero's journey be as exciting and fruitful as mine. And don't forget: you'll always have a home here with us to return to.

Wishing you all the best, 

Dad

---

Do You Know How to Savour, Cherish, and Treasure? (Dear Khaj #05)

 

Dear Khaj,

No Phone Time

One of the things that impressed me from what you shared with us about your 'Leadership in Training' experience at Camp Huron this past summer (2023) was the fact that you profitted a lot from the camp requirement of not having your phone for most of the time you were there. I recall you reflecting that not being on your phone allowed you to do other wholesome and fun activities that you would not have otherwise done if you had the device with you.

Of course! All of us in today's "connected 24/7 society" really need to "fast" from our devices and from the internet. Yes, being constantly online, often jumping from one interesting update to another, has some advantages to it. For example, it makes us feel that we're "in the know" about the latest "trends" and about what's going on in the world. Having that knowledge--we think--will make us "cool." However, there is an increasing amount of data that shows the negative effects of being always online on all of us, especially on young people.

From Internet to "Inner-Net"

So, here's the thing I wanted to tell you: I recently came across an encouragement from a lifecoach who said that we really need to switch off the "internet" in order to dwell more on the "inner net." That really hit me! 

In connection with all that, I read a book on Buddhism years ago (Habito, Experiencing Buddhism, p. 62) and was struck by the following observation: Upon having his enlightenment experience, the Buddha relished his experience for 49 days! What impressed me was not so much the Buddha’s “enlightenment experience” itself but instead his attitude of “relishing” the experience!

Savour, then Cherish-Treasure

This is--what I sometimes call--the spirit of "savour, cherish, and treasure." We need this skill badly in today's world where we are constantly encouraged to "consume" not only things but even experiences, without deeply relishing (savouring) and cherishing/treasuring them. In our consumerism-driven culture, these three words "savour", "cherish", "treasure" seem to have, sadly, little or no place in people's lifestyles. Instead, we are continually pressured to check out the latest interesting and exciting trends, literally always "scrolling down" our social media feeds to check out something new without savouring anything! In short, we've acquired the vice of being so accustomed to "consuming" something--be it a thing, an event, a person, an experience--and moving thoughtlessly and unmindfully to the next interesting thing on our "feeds." 

In the past when people had fewer "things" and fewer "stimulants," a person could in principle better "savour," "cherish," and "treasure" each and every experience (both positive and negative), learn what needed to be learned from it, and emerge a richer, more whole, more mature person. 

This is why these three words could potentially be some of the most important keywords for a lifestyle that leads to inner peace and happiness, especially today in our crazy, consumeristic, and frenetic world. Let me describe briefly what I mean when I use these three words.

Savouring is the mindful attitude of slowly and intentionally experiencing, “tasting,” "relishing," and appreciating something--be it a thing like food, an experience such as a wonderful concert, a person, etc. In its most practical and concrete level, it is the mindful and grateful attitude we take toward food.

'Cherishing and Treasuring' can be taken as two words that convey an attitude that is the opposite of mindlessly consuming things, persons, and experiences. When we encounter someone, something, or an event that is meaningful, we [1] savour it, by being mindful of it at the moment of encounter. We don't stop there however. Afterwards, we also [2] cherish and treasure them/it. We put, better, enshrine the person, the thing, the event carefully in our heart like a treasure, so that we could retrieve the memory and make it remind us to be grateful. "Remember" is a verb that carries importance in the Bible, especially with regard to the great things God had done in the past. That would be the spirit of "cherish and treasure" that I mean here. 

Learn these skills! Plut them into practice! They are keys to being a truly happy person! And truly happy people can change the world!

-Daddy (originally written September 17, 2023)

[5] Thich Nhat Hanh @ Google HQ: Pain & Suffering / Strong Emotions / Success / True Love

Mindfulness as a Foundation for Wellness: Part 5

Previous: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

SOURCE in the public domain HERE  

Here is the last part of the transcription of Thich Nhat Hanh’s talk at Google Headquarters in September 2011. This is what the great Zen teacher wanted most to convey to folks working at one of the world’s most dynamic and innovative tech companies. We can say, therefore, that it is Thich Nhat Hanh’s heartfelt message to us who live in a busy, hectic, and constantly changing world driven by the ubiquitous advanced technology that plays a crucial role in everything today. Special thanks to my research assistant Christine Atchison for helping me out in this project.

Dealing with pain and suffering / Generating happiness and joy, here and now

Practice (i.e., Buddhist practices) helps us to touch the conditions of happiness in the here and the now so that we can generate a feeling of joy at any moment we want. And that is not too difficult. If you go back to your body, if you bring your mind home to your body, and establish yourself in the here and the now, you will realize that conditions for your happiness are more than enough. And happiness is possible right in the here and the now. So, to generate a moment of joy is possible, to generate a moment of happiness is also possible for a practitioner no matter where and when. And the practice of mindfulness also helps us to recognize a painful feeling [or] a painful emotion when they manifest. [With regard to] a painful feeling, we have a tendency to try to run away from it. We want to cover it up by consumption.

If we listen to music, if we read magazines, if we eat—maybe it’s not because these things bring us a lot of happiness but because we don’t want to get in touch with the suffering; we want to cover it up with consumption. Obesity is an outcome of that. You have a feeling of loneliness, despair, anger, worries in you and you don’t know how to handle those … and that’s why you want to forget; [you want] to run away, and one of the ways is to just consume—some music, magazines, food … [These things] are there in order to help you to cover up your suffering. You do not solve your problem [though]. But the practice consists in going home and taking good care of that pain. Breathing in, I am aware of the painful feeling in me. There is the energy of pain of course, but, as a practitioner, you generate the energy of mindfulness and concentration. And with the second energy you recognize the first energy. [You can say:] Hello there my little pain! I know you are there. I will take good care of you. So, like a mother holding her baby when the baby suffers, the practitioner generates the energy of mindfulness and concentration and go[es] home and take[s] care of the painful feeling, of the painful emotion in him or in her and get[s] that relief. (1:16:44).

On Weathering Strong Emotions

[There are] so many young people who are not capable of handling a strong emotion, and they believe that the only way to stop suffering is to go kill themselves. That is why so many young people commit suicide everywhere. But we know very well that an emotion whether it is strong [or] however strong it is, is only an emotion. … and we are much more than an emotion. An emotion is something that comes and stay[s] for some time and finally goes [away]. Why do we have to die because of just one emotion? That is what you can remind yourself when an emotion manifests in you.

And if you know the practice of mindful breathing/mindful walking, generating the energy of mindfulness, you can very well recognize and embrace that emotion and you are safe. An emotion is like a storm coming and there are ways in order to stand and not to allow the storm to blow you away. The practice of deep breathing in a position of sitting or lying down focuses your attention on the rise and fall of your abdomen, and just that. Stop all your thinking, because the more you think the stronger the emotion can become. Stop the thinking! Bring your mind down to the level of your navel, breathe in deeply, and become aware of the rise and fall of your abdomen. Stay in that position and continue. [If you do those exercises,] your emotion cannot, will not be able to do anything to you. And after five minutes, ten minutes, or even half an hour, the emotion will go [away] and you will survive it. The next time it comes, you will [do] just that. It’s easy enough. You should train yourselves only a few times. And everyday if you know how to do it, try a few minutes. And then after a few weeks it will become a habit. And when that emotion manifests you will remember to practice and you are no longer afraid of an emotion (1:19:44).