So what about Madonna? Isn’t the Kabbalah supposed to teach us about ourselves and how to better handle our relationships with other people? I ask Yehuda why he thinks her marriage with film director Guy Richie fell apart.
“First of all, not everyone’s supposed to be with everyone. Sometimes there’s more positivity in being separate than in being together. Just like there are people looking to find the right one, there’s a bunch of people with the wrong one that are afraid to be alone. I’m not here to judge who should be together or who shouldn’t be together. But there’s no question she’s a better person today than she was 10 to 12 years ago. Twelve years ago, she was doing [the book] Sex. Now she has a charity helping children in Malawi and all this stuff. In her personal life, if you ask her, I’m sure she’ll tell you that her personal life’s great right now.” (Of course, I quipped, maybe even better for Guy; he did score a hit recently with Sherlock Holmes.)
(Click Something Like Life for the rest.)
A collection of travel stories and food reviews, my published pieces on politics and relationships, the stories behind the stories, gossip, and hearty opinions on just about any topic. Lots of stream of consciousness musings too...
Showing posts with label Your Maker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Your Maker. Show all posts
February 06, 2010
Change yourself, change the world
May 12, 2009
Isn't she lovely?
JUST got this email from Chet Espino, husband of friend and media colleague Margie Quimpo Espino via our yahoogroups. If you remember, I told you about how Margie had suffered an aneurysm last December while traveling in India. She literally was on the brink of death two-three times, but she was brought back and healed by the Lord.
Margie is living proof of how powerful prayers are. We should never lose hope. We should keep praying. He will answer.
Here's Chet:
Woohoo! Congratulations to Margie and Chet for 18 wonderful years, and counting! Love you both. You are inspiration to us all.
Margie is living proof of how powerful prayers are. We should never lose hope. We should keep praying. He will answer.
Here's Chet:
Mother's Day was extra special yesterday as we also marked our 18th wedding anniversary with both sides of the family coming over for another big celebration.
Words are no longer enough to describe Margie now, but I hope the attached photo helps.
She still needs your prayers for the recovery of both her legs and her left arm. Therapy is becoming more and more difficult as her sensorium is almost fully restored and the experience of pain is much more felt.
Please join us in our daily thanksgiving not just for Margie's amazing recovery, but for God's gift of family for all of us.
P.S. -- For those who missed the television show, here it is on youtube:
Many thanks to Ms. Karen Davila and her crew for a wonderful handling of the story.
Woohoo! Congratulations to Margie and Chet for 18 wonderful years, and counting! Love you both. You are inspiration to us all.
March 08, 2009
U2's song of praise
I was watching Good Morning America two days ago and when Robin Roberts and Diane Sawyer announced that U2 was going to perform, I just had to stay up! (GMA is shown at 1 a.m. on Velvet TV.) U2 has been promoting "No Line on the Horizon", the band's new album (strange to call it these days considering these no longer come in LP form, haha) in the U.S. and its first public stop was Fordham University in the Bronx. Gads, these kids are soooo lucky! What an experience to be watching U2 perform live, huh? Kakainggit!
Anyhoo, here's a clip of that "Magnificent" performance on this great Sunday, and I'm so glad Bono isn't ashamed of his faith. This is the kind of uplifting music we all need these days.
I was born to sing for You
I didn't have a choice
But to lift You up
And sing whatever song You wanted me to
I give You back my voice
From the womb my first cry
It was a joyful noise...
Justified until we die
You and I will magnify
Magnificent.
Anyhoo, here's a clip of that "Magnificent" performance on this great Sunday, and I'm so glad Bono isn't ashamed of his faith. This is the kind of uplifting music we all need these days.
I was born to sing for You
I didn't have a choice
But to lift You up
And sing whatever song You wanted me to
I give You back my voice
From the womb my first cry
It was a joyful noise...
Justified until we die
You and I will magnify
Magnificent.
August 16, 2008
An interview with Vampyra
YESTERDAY, I was visited by two cute and perky students from De La Salle's Communication Arts Department. Buchay and Patet wanted to interview me for their Introduction to Print class (of Gary Mariano...he of the legendary cute tight ass, as per my ex-classmate Ana P.), on the reasons I entered journalism, and to ask about my interesting and unforgettable experiences in the field (o dava parang slum book?).
Well, I had fun, I dunno about the girls, who were probably stupefied beyond belief because I didn't sound any bit respectable as a journalist ought to be. I mean, I was very candid on why I became a journalist ("chismosa lang talaga ako") and what continues to inspire me to do my work ("KSP siguro ako...I like seeing my name in print"), because betcha by golly wow! it certainly isn't because of the below minimum wage salary! hahaha. Wag naman, magagalit my editors! (Okay, it's because I have the chance to be near Ace Durano...sigh.)
I thought it was refreshing for me to be speaking with young people and sharing with them my experiences, because I really have no regrets joining this profession. I've been a journalist since I was in College (yay, La Sallian!), and everytime I leave the profession for some higher paying job (as a PR, or government information officer), I would end up back in journalism again.
It's really my calling I suppose. I have the knack for news and to this day, even if I have wormed my way into the "easier" job of being a lifestyle writer/columnist, I still have the nose for the hard business news. So I still can't help but write about these business issues even when I'm supposedly covering a lifestyle event. (Let me correct myself there, however, lifestyle writing isn't as "easy" as it sounds, trying to string words and giving different descriptions to the food you eat or the places you travel to is difficult. How many times can you say "fabulous", "great", and "tasty"?)
I've considered it a privilege to be working in this profession. The pay might be very low but there are a lot of psychic benefits. I have been able to interview many VIPs in government and in the private sector, both here and abroad. I have been able to travel around the Philippines and in many parts of the world because of invites to press coverages and such, have stayed at really fantastic resorts and hotels, and eaten and the most high-priced restaurants here and around the world (alas, except for French Laundry), because of the press invites.
It's a charmed life I know, and I try not to abuse the privileges given me and the friendships that have been formed from all these. I know that when I'm out of the profession, many of these so-called friendships will no longer be. So I thank the Lord every day, that He has given me such wonderful blessings, like the talent to write well and to be chica enough to know a lot of people. And I just hope that through my work, I've been able to serve Him to His satisfaction.
And with that, let me leave you with a photo of my favorite Cabinet Secretary Ace Durano. Ang kulit ba?!
(The hardworking Ace Durano, Tourism Secretary, with the awesome Mayon Volcano in the backdrop, Aug. 8, 2008. Photo by Philip Sison)
As a journalist, I keep a pretty much objective view of most of the officials I've had the privilege of interviewing, and very few have impressed me as much as Secretary Durano, of the Department of Tourism.
I cannot help but admire Ace (may I call you that, Mr. Secretary? *wink*), because while his lolah, the presidentita, and most of her Cabinet lackeys were in China in the guise of forging investment deals (pero actually they just wanted to watch the Beijing Olympics Opening), he was in Albay inaugurating two new tourism establishments in the area. I was surprised that he traveled without a phalanx of security aides in tow, unlike most government officials (you know who you are!).
And grabeh ha, he was up until past 10:30 p.m., patiently answering questions jorjeous moi and Miggy asked him (daming storya yikes! *hingal*). He knows his tourism issues inside and out, because obviously he studies them, instead of just relying on his undersecretaries. He is so unassuming and very humble. (And as the ghey friends say it, so mabango-looking pa! *kilig*) No wonder this certain local elected official likes hanging around him, too. Aba, me pa-press-press pa sya ng shoulders ni Ace! Kainis ha, inggit ako. Da who is this local offical? Secret!
So I am not surprised that in the recent Pulse Asia survey, the public has rated Ace as one of the top two Cabinet Secretaries (he was edged out by Sec. Jing Lapus of the Department of Education, a good friend of mine from way back his agrarian reform days). The moral of the story is, tigilan nyo na ang kaka-japorms, mga Cabinet Secretaries, and just do your job like Ace.
Yun lang pow.
Well, I had fun, I dunno about the girls, who were probably stupefied beyond belief because I didn't sound any bit respectable as a journalist ought to be. I mean, I was very candid on why I became a journalist ("chismosa lang talaga ako") and what continues to inspire me to do my work ("KSP siguro ako...I like seeing my name in print"), because betcha by golly wow! it certainly isn't because of the below minimum wage salary! hahaha. Wag naman, magagalit my editors! (Okay, it's because I have the chance to be near Ace Durano...sigh.)
I thought it was refreshing for me to be speaking with young people and sharing with them my experiences, because I really have no regrets joining this profession. I've been a journalist since I was in College (yay, La Sallian!), and everytime I leave the profession for some higher paying job (as a PR, or government information officer), I would end up back in journalism again.
It's really my calling I suppose. I have the knack for news and to this day, even if I have wormed my way into the "easier" job of being a lifestyle writer/columnist, I still have the nose for the hard business news. So I still can't help but write about these business issues even when I'm supposedly covering a lifestyle event. (Let me correct myself there, however, lifestyle writing isn't as "easy" as it sounds, trying to string words and giving different descriptions to the food you eat or the places you travel to is difficult. How many times can you say "fabulous", "great", and "tasty"?)
I've considered it a privilege to be working in this profession. The pay might be very low but there are a lot of psychic benefits. I have been able to interview many VIPs in government and in the private sector, both here and abroad. I have been able to travel around the Philippines and in many parts of the world because of invites to press coverages and such, have stayed at really fantastic resorts and hotels, and eaten and the most high-priced restaurants here and around the world (alas, except for French Laundry), because of the press invites.
It's a charmed life I know, and I try not to abuse the privileges given me and the friendships that have been formed from all these. I know that when I'm out of the profession, many of these so-called friendships will no longer be. So I thank the Lord every day, that He has given me such wonderful blessings, like the talent to write well and to be chica enough to know a lot of people. And I just hope that through my work, I've been able to serve Him to His satisfaction.
And with that, let me leave you with a photo of my favorite Cabinet Secretary Ace Durano. Ang kulit ba?!
As a journalist, I keep a pretty much objective view of most of the officials I've had the privilege of interviewing, and very few have impressed me as much as Secretary Durano, of the Department of Tourism.
I cannot help but admire Ace (may I call you that, Mr. Secretary? *wink*), because while his lolah, the presidentita, and most of her Cabinet lackeys were in China in the guise of forging investment deals (pero actually they just wanted to watch the Beijing Olympics Opening), he was in Albay inaugurating two new tourism establishments in the area. I was surprised that he traveled without a phalanx of security aides in tow, unlike most government officials (you know who you are!).
And grabeh ha, he was up until past 10:30 p.m., patiently answering questions jorjeous moi and Miggy asked him (daming storya yikes! *hingal*). He knows his tourism issues inside and out, because obviously he studies them, instead of just relying on his undersecretaries. He is so unassuming and very humble. (And as the ghey friends say it, so mabango-looking pa! *kilig*) No wonder this certain local elected official likes hanging around him, too. Aba, me pa-press-press pa sya ng shoulders ni Ace! Kainis ha, inggit ako. Da who is this local offical? Secret!
So I am not surprised that in the recent Pulse Asia survey, the public has rated Ace as one of the top two Cabinet Secretaries (he was edged out by Sec. Jing Lapus of the Department of Education, a good friend of mine from way back his agrarian reform days). The moral of the story is, tigilan nyo na ang kaka-japorms, mga Cabinet Secretaries, and just do your job like Ace.
Yun lang pow.
August 11, 2008
Conflicted
Something Like Life
Aug. 8, 2008
IT’S not difficult to comprehend why Fr. Mauricio Ulep’s parents hesitated to let him study to be a priest. He is intelligent, very articulate, with a good sense of humor and, most of all, he is cute. (As if all the priests should be old, fat, boring and ugly.)
In fact at one of the Masses for my father’s wake last year, which Father Mau, then 30, had officiated, my 21-year-old niece couldn’t help but whisper to me: “Ang guapo naman ng priest na ’yan!” Her elder sister looked to me, as well, with a slight raising of the eyebrows and a knowing smile that meant that her thoughts were not focused on the day’s Gospel anymore. (The rain was pouring in torrents outside, causing a massive flood along the avenue where the funeraria was located, but we were warm and comforted by the fact that our priest was young and handsome, and delivered a good short sermon. Amen! We all certainly felt blessed that stormy night.)
Father Mau looks just like any young college student dressed in jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt. He is given to impish grins especially when he is on the verge of telling another humorous anecdote about his life. He is one of the five or so priests who say Mass regularly at our neighborhood chapel at the Claret Seminary in Quezon City. His Masses are always packed because, for one, his voice rings clear and loud and, second, his sermons are interesting on no small account due to the personal experiences he shares to illustrate or underscore the message of the Sunday Gospel.
He had just arrived from Basilan two weeks ago and was on his way to visit his father in Ilocos Norte. He is scheduled to return again to the war-torn area and is supposed to take over the parish of Tumahubong, his first posting as a parish priest just two years after being ordained. The parish is three hours away from the city, made accessible by a road famous for ambushes by Muslim extremists, never mind that the stretch is dotted by army outposts. The Claretian order, which has been in Basilan since 1950, is just one of two religious orders that have remained in the province. The other is the Franciscan Order, whose parishes are closer to the capital of Isabela.
(A HARD LIFE. Fr. Mauricio Ulep, a Claretian missionary whose ministry brings him face to face not only with difficult realities like social poverty but also with life-threatening danger.)
It is a dangerous life for Claretians in Basilan, a land mostly populated by Muslims, some of whom feel it is their right to take back their province and kick out the Christians. One of the priests still saying Mass in Claret is an old Spaniard, Fr. Bernardo Blanco, who had already been kidnapped twice by the Abu Sayyaf Group, the first time in 1993 from his parish in Maluso. Kidnappings and killings of catechists are the norm and just in 2000, another Claretian priest, Fr. Rhoel Gallardo, was kidnapped, tortured by Muslim extremists and thereafter killed in a crossfire when the military attempted a rescue operation. (Cick here for the rest.)
(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday at the Life section of the BusinessMirror.)
Aug. 8, 2008
“And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.” (Matthew 10:14)
IT’S not difficult to comprehend why Fr. Mauricio Ulep’s parents hesitated to let him study to be a priest. He is intelligent, very articulate, with a good sense of humor and, most of all, he is cute. (As if all the priests should be old, fat, boring and ugly.)
In fact at one of the Masses for my father’s wake last year, which Father Mau, then 30, had officiated, my 21-year-old niece couldn’t help but whisper to me: “Ang guapo naman ng priest na ’yan!” Her elder sister looked to me, as well, with a slight raising of the eyebrows and a knowing smile that meant that her thoughts were not focused on the day’s Gospel anymore. (The rain was pouring in torrents outside, causing a massive flood along the avenue where the funeraria was located, but we were warm and comforted by the fact that our priest was young and handsome, and delivered a good short sermon. Amen! We all certainly felt blessed that stormy night.)
Father Mau looks just like any young college student dressed in jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt. He is given to impish grins especially when he is on the verge of telling another humorous anecdote about his life. He is one of the five or so priests who say Mass regularly at our neighborhood chapel at the Claret Seminary in Quezon City. His Masses are always packed because, for one, his voice rings clear and loud and, second, his sermons are interesting on no small account due to the personal experiences he shares to illustrate or underscore the message of the Sunday Gospel.
He had just arrived from Basilan two weeks ago and was on his way to visit his father in Ilocos Norte. He is scheduled to return again to the war-torn area and is supposed to take over the parish of Tumahubong, his first posting as a parish priest just two years after being ordained. The parish is three hours away from the city, made accessible by a road famous for ambushes by Muslim extremists, never mind that the stretch is dotted by army outposts. The Claretian order, which has been in Basilan since 1950, is just one of two religious orders that have remained in the province. The other is the Franciscan Order, whose parishes are closer to the capital of Isabela.
It is a dangerous life for Claretians in Basilan, a land mostly populated by Muslims, some of whom feel it is their right to take back their province and kick out the Christians. One of the priests still saying Mass in Claret is an old Spaniard, Fr. Bernardo Blanco, who had already been kidnapped twice by the Abu Sayyaf Group, the first time in 1993 from his parish in Maluso. Kidnappings and killings of catechists are the norm and just in 2000, another Claretian priest, Fr. Rhoel Gallardo, was kidnapped, tortured by Muslim extremists and thereafter killed in a crossfire when the military attempted a rescue operation. (Cick here for the rest.)
(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday at the Life section of the BusinessMirror.)
July 25, 2008
Grief management
WHEN my eldest brother passed away three years ago, my Ate and I went on a buying spree of colored chinelas near the palengke in our Pop's province of Roxas City. "Grief management" is what my Ate and I dubbed it. Our Mom even went to Gaisano just to buy jeans and several shirts, just to also ease the pain of our family's loss.
When it was Pop's turn to meet his Maker last year, we all pigged out eating at the wake as friends just supplied us with the yummiest dishes. The best dish I still recall is what my Auntie Mila called American Lumpia, it was cheese, ham, veggies wrapped in an egg lumpia wrapper...yum! Of course, I also bought a few things after that, a new phone, new curtains for my home office, etc.
Since my friend passed away last week, I've been on a non-stop buying/eating binge again...buti nalang it's sales season in all the malls so the splurging doesn't hurt as much. Bought new beige wedgies from CMG and really cool rain boots from the GAP (which I have been waiting for to go on sale since it opened in Manila), and eating like there was no tomorrow.
Last Thursday, I even cooked Spaghetti Vongole after I found freshly-blanched clams at S&R. With a good chardonnay on hand, I cooked it and invited Francine over for dinner. Had some off that smoky-sweet roasted chicken from S&R as well to complement the pasta. There's nothing like eating and making chismis with a good friend to chase those blues away.
Anyhoo, atill on my grief management, this afternoon I ate at one of the cafƩs at The Block at SM North. (Actually I had to go there because my eyeglasses broke apart last night and needed a replacement asap. Thanks to Executive Optical for a pleasant, hassle-free experience. They only charged me for the frame.)
Chaikofi I think is of Malaysian origin, and offers value-for-money lunch and merienda specialties. I'm always satisfied with my order and the overall service of the place. Except that today, they mixed up my order...I had ordered a crabstick sandwich and Caesar salad combo with iced tea. I got served the chunky chicken instead, which though a wrong order, looked yummy as well. They did change my order but minus 5 points na yan sa for customer service, hehe.
Although there is a tendency to take liberties with the mayo, overall the sandwich was good and very filling. Aside from the crabstick, the sandwich had a slice of cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce. I could only finish half of the sandwich. The Caesar salad had bacon bits, parmesan cheese, aside from the lettuce and chicken chunks, and was coated with just enough of the right amount of dressing. Meaning, hindi ka bitin sa dressing so the salad was really malasa. Well, the iced tea was okay. It was supposed to be mint-flavored but I didn't taste the mint. All that for just P170. So it doesn't hurt your pocket at all to eat there. Pls. lang though, keep the in-house music toned down!
For dessert, I walked across from Chaikofi to tadaah! Sebastian's ice cream. Glorious creamy goodness talaga! I have been so in love with Sebastian's ice cream since it opened in Alabang. I'm not really an ice cream ghel, but when the ice cream is super delicious like this one, naku! I cannot help but eat it. I ordered the Chunky Mocha and Almond Fudge, hoy sugar-free yan! and it was really heavenly. Graveh the almond bits were really huge! And for P95 with a cone pa (w/c was not sugar-free I suppose so useless din to order the sugar-free ice cream pala, haha), it was divine.
It's been a long productive and "splurgious" week. But I'm happy na. Ay, hindi pa pala. Will still be getting my new Mac next week. Then I'll be happy. Have a great weekend, folks!
June 02, 2008
Ernest Escaler's payback
Something Like Life
May 23, 2008
WHETHER it was just dumb luck or the result of some divine intervention, my friends and I found ourselves touring Ernest L. Escaler’s farm in Silang, Cavite, one Saturday afternoon in April. Unbeknown to us then, his name would hit the headlines again a few days after, for a six-year-old case that implicated him with some characters in the shady landscape of politics.
I first knew of Escaler as an investment banker and businessman behind Gourmet’s CafĆ©, which in the ’90s introduced the concept of fresh salad ingredients and savory pasta dishes to a wider audience. Gourmet’s branch in Greenbelt was the one I particularly patronized, regularly ordering its delectable olive crostinis to take home as my midnight snack while watching late-night TV.
I also knew he was a big benefactor of the various religious communities in Tagaytay, and a Marian devotee who regularly makes pilgrimages to Lourdes.
I heard him inquire who we were from Missus, my svelte ex-boss whose rather portly husband we were joking around with as we were leaving the Gourmet deli. (Mister was explaining how he had sprained his toe on his wife’s dumbbell, which was why he was hobbling around the deli on a cane...tsk, tsk). Escaler graciously invited us to see his farm and a place he called “The Sanctuary,” and although we initially hesitated (we needed to return ASAP to a seminar we had been playing hooky from), we eventually agreed to the tour after Missus told us how beautiful the place was. True enough, touring the farm and The Sanctuary was one of the best afternoons we had spent in a while.
It would be another month before my friends and I made our way back to Silang, this time for a sit-down interview with Escaler, who had agreed to talk about his company, Gourmet Farms Inc., which makes all those yummy pasta sauces, dips and dressings under the Kitchen Exclusives brand, my favorite Gourmet’s premium coffee blend, and sells fresh salad greens vacuum-packed and triple-washed. I also wanted to find out why he had built The Sanctuary.
(Businessman Ernest L. Escaler is happy to see his pet ducks.)
(Okay, truth to tell, I really wanted to see if he would give his side of the Mark Jimenez-Nani Perez-Coutts Bank account story. But other than calling himself “collateral damage,” and jokingly answering my question about his present state of mind — “harassed!” — Escaler declined to go on record on what had actually transpired between him and those two, and the real reason behind the $2-million deposit in the now-infamous bank account.)
Mildly put, The Sanctuary is breathtaking. It is a small patch of land within Escaler’s lush 8-hectare estate, where people can commune with nature and with their God. “I always wanted to put up a retreat place but never thought what kind it would be. Having been trained in the Jesuit education, we’re used to going on retreats.”
Every January 23, his birthday, Escaler explains, he would go on a retreat with the Pink Sisters in their convent in Tagaytay. “I spend the day there in silence, just reading the Bible. Then I said, ‘Hmmm, I think I should make a place available so people can be silent and get out of the noise in this world,’ because how else can you hear what God has in mind for you unless you’re absolutely quiet?” Before his next birthday rolled around in 2007, The Sanctuary had been completed.
It is a calming place where one can contemplate and take stock of one’s life amid the quiet rustling of leaves and gentle breezes from the adjacent farm, while watching ducks paddle around their pond.
The main feature of The Sanctuary is a gorgeous white chapel which remarkably looks like the upper half of a lighthouse. I thought it was a good metaphor for God’s Word lighting the way for people who seek His guidance and love.
The chapel houses many of Escaler’s antique collection of Filipino and Balinese craftsmanship. We marveled at the Balinese windows that framed the space behind the altar, as well as the bust carving of Jesus Christ crowned with thorns. “These are my collections over the last 22 years....Eventually, I said, when I build my dream house, these are what I would like to use. So they’ve been sitting there in the warehouse for the last 10 years.”
But more than the architecture and design, it is the spiritual healing that is said to take place in The Sanctuary that makes it worthwhile to visit.
“There was this guy, he got married, went on honeymoon with his wife, when they came back, his wife went to the doctor for a checkup to see if she was pregnant. She was diagnosed with stage-four cancer. Before the year was over, she died. So you can imagine how traumatized the guy was,” Escaler narrates.
To escape from his pain, every Christmas the man would go out of the country and didn’t want to be with family. One of his friends finally told him about The Sanctuary and he asked permission to stay there for Christmas. The man was told he would be left all alone for the Christmas holiday because the staff had to go on a break. “He was totally alone, in the dark. He just spent the whole Christmas Eve crying daw and after that, he said it was the best Christmas of his life! So what do you call that? Is that healing?”
He tells us other instances of healing, and I can understand why the place has such an effect on people. After spending an afternoon there, I didn’t want to leave and just wanted to continue being enveloped in its tranquillity. We came away from the experience feeling light, relaxed and happy.
Aside from the spiritual "detox", The Sanctuary also offers three-day physical detox treatments supervised by Escaler himself. Clients are fed special concoctions of fruits and vegetables, followed by doses of Epsom salts given at intervals, and, finally, a citrus-olive oil drink. So as not to offend our, ahem, readers’ sensibilities, we shall omit the grislier details of the procedure. It was quite surreal, though, to talk about the many dimensions of poo with someone we hardly knew, this after we had just finished lunch.
“ Unlike the pricier (sometimes costing as much as P20,000 a pop) and bland, almost distasteful detox treatments offered at some high-end spas, the treatment at The Sanctuary not only costs a mere P5,000 but also “may lasa. We use salt and pepper, all the bad stuff,” Escaler jests. The detox is preferably conducted in groups of five to six persons.
Because of the serene and picture-perfect surroundings, The Sanctuary also makes for a stunning venue for weddings, commitment ceremonies, or wedding anniversaries, although he says that, technically, one can’t hold real church weddings in the chapel as it is not a parish. “We advice you get secretly married in your parish, sign your papers, then we can have a re-enactment here. You don’t have to tell your guests it’s a re-enactment. Pero walang pirma-pirma.” Escaler says the weddings help subsidize the cost of hosting nuns and priests who frequent the place for their own spiritual needs.
It’s really a place I felt, for all the success in my life, it’s a thanksgiving for all the benefits...I call it my payback to God. That’s why we don’t like to advertise, it’s not a commercial thing. And so He calls who He wants to talk to. That’s my inspiration. It’s a place where people can find refuge, that’s why I call it The Sanctuary...away from the world into a communication with God.”
(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday, in the Life section of the BusinessMirror.)
May 23, 2008
WHETHER it was just dumb luck or the result of some divine intervention, my friends and I found ourselves touring Ernest L. Escaler’s farm in Silang, Cavite, one Saturday afternoon in April. Unbeknown to us then, his name would hit the headlines again a few days after, for a six-year-old case that implicated him with some characters in the shady landscape of politics.
I first knew of Escaler as an investment banker and businessman behind Gourmet’s CafĆ©, which in the ’90s introduced the concept of fresh salad ingredients and savory pasta dishes to a wider audience. Gourmet’s branch in Greenbelt was the one I particularly patronized, regularly ordering its delectable olive crostinis to take home as my midnight snack while watching late-night TV.I also knew he was a big benefactor of the various religious communities in Tagaytay, and a Marian devotee who regularly makes pilgrimages to Lourdes.
I heard him inquire who we were from Missus, my svelte ex-boss whose rather portly husband we were joking around with as we were leaving the Gourmet deli. (Mister was explaining how he had sprained his toe on his wife’s dumbbell, which was why he was hobbling around the deli on a cane...tsk, tsk). Escaler graciously invited us to see his farm and a place he called “The Sanctuary,” and although we initially hesitated (we needed to return ASAP to a seminar we had been playing hooky from), we eventually agreed to the tour after Missus told us how beautiful the place was. True enough, touring the farm and The Sanctuary was one of the best afternoons we had spent in a while.
It would be another month before my friends and I made our way back to Silang, this time for a sit-down interview with Escaler, who had agreed to talk about his company, Gourmet Farms Inc., which makes all those yummy pasta sauces, dips and dressings under the Kitchen Exclusives brand, my favorite Gourmet’s premium coffee blend, and sells fresh salad greens vacuum-packed and triple-washed. I also wanted to find out why he had built The Sanctuary.
(Okay, truth to tell, I really wanted to see if he would give his side of the Mark Jimenez-Nani Perez-Coutts Bank account story. But other than calling himself “collateral damage,” and jokingly answering my question about his present state of mind — “harassed!” — Escaler declined to go on record on what had actually transpired between him and those two, and the real reason behind the $2-million deposit in the now-infamous bank account.)
Mildly put, The Sanctuary is breathtaking. It is a small patch of land within Escaler’s lush 8-hectare estate, where people can commune with nature and with their God. “I always wanted to put up a retreat place but never thought what kind it would be. Having been trained in the Jesuit education, we’re used to going on retreats.”
Every January 23, his birthday, Escaler explains, he would go on a retreat with the Pink Sisters in their convent in Tagaytay. “I spend the day there in silence, just reading the Bible. Then I said, ‘Hmmm, I think I should make a place available so people can be silent and get out of the noise in this world,’ because how else can you hear what God has in mind for you unless you’re absolutely quiet?” Before his next birthday rolled around in 2007, The Sanctuary had been completed.
It is a calming place where one can contemplate and take stock of one’s life amid the quiet rustling of leaves and gentle breezes from the adjacent farm, while watching ducks paddle around their pond.
The main feature of The Sanctuary is a gorgeous white chapel which remarkably looks like the upper half of a lighthouse. I thought it was a good metaphor for God’s Word lighting the way for people who seek His guidance and love.
The chapel houses many of Escaler’s antique collection of Filipino and Balinese craftsmanship. We marveled at the Balinese windows that framed the space behind the altar, as well as the bust carving of Jesus Christ crowned with thorns. “These are my collections over the last 22 years....Eventually, I said, when I build my dream house, these are what I would like to use. So they’ve been sitting there in the warehouse for the last 10 years.”But more than the architecture and design, it is the spiritual healing that is said to take place in The Sanctuary that makes it worthwhile to visit.
“There was this guy, he got married, went on honeymoon with his wife, when they came back, his wife went to the doctor for a checkup to see if she was pregnant. She was diagnosed with stage-four cancer. Before the year was over, she died. So you can imagine how traumatized the guy was,” Escaler narrates.
To escape from his pain, every Christmas the man would go out of the country and didn’t want to be with family. One of his friends finally told him about The Sanctuary and he asked permission to stay there for Christmas. The man was told he would be left all alone for the Christmas holiday because the staff had to go on a break. “He was totally alone, in the dark. He just spent the whole Christmas Eve crying daw and after that, he said it was the best Christmas of his life! So what do you call that? Is that healing?”
He tells us other instances of healing, and I can understand why the place has such an effect on people. After spending an afternoon there, I didn’t want to leave and just wanted to continue being enveloped in its tranquillity. We came away from the experience feeling light, relaxed and happy.
Aside from the spiritual "detox", The Sanctuary also offers three-day physical detox treatments supervised by Escaler himself. Clients are fed special concoctions of fruits and vegetables, followed by doses of Epsom salts given at intervals, and, finally, a citrus-olive oil drink. So as not to offend our, ahem, readers’ sensibilities, we shall omit the grislier details of the procedure. It was quite surreal, though, to talk about the many dimensions of poo with someone we hardly knew, this after we had just finished lunch.
“ Unlike the pricier (sometimes costing as much as P20,000 a pop) and bland, almost distasteful detox treatments offered at some high-end spas, the treatment at The Sanctuary not only costs a mere P5,000 but also “may lasa. We use salt and pepper, all the bad stuff,” Escaler jests. The detox is preferably conducted in groups of five to six persons.Because of the serene and picture-perfect surroundings, The Sanctuary also makes for a stunning venue for weddings, commitment ceremonies, or wedding anniversaries, although he says that, technically, one can’t hold real church weddings in the chapel as it is not a parish. “We advice you get secretly married in your parish, sign your papers, then we can have a re-enactment here. You don’t have to tell your guests it’s a re-enactment. Pero walang pirma-pirma.” Escaler says the weddings help subsidize the cost of hosting nuns and priests who frequent the place for their own spiritual needs.
It’s really a place I felt, for all the success in my life, it’s a thanksgiving for all the benefits...I call it my payback to God. That’s why we don’t like to advertise, it’s not a commercial thing. And so He calls who He wants to talk to. That’s my inspiration. It’s a place where people can find refuge, that’s why I call it The Sanctuary...away from the world into a communication with God.”
(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday, in the Life section of the BusinessMirror.)
March 23, 2008
Happy Easter!
Rejoice! The Lord is risen!
("Let your praises be heard" by Bukas Palad. Based on Psalm 66)
("Let your praises be heard" by Bukas Palad. Based on Psalm 66)
November 02, 2007
Death and beyond
Something Like Life
BusinessMirror, Nov. 2, 2007

AS far back as I can remember, my life has been touched by death.
My first brush with it was when I was about six or seven years old, and one of my favorite grandaunts — a well-loved school teacher — passed away after an illness.
I don’t recall most of the details surrounding Lola Nena’s death, as I don’t remember anyone among my immediate family weeping nor visits to the funeral parlor for her wake. I figure I was probably shielded from much of the family’s grief because of my young age. It probably made no sense to me then, but all I remember was being told my Lola Nena was already in heaven.
As I grew older, Lola Nena was followed by her other siblings—Lola Lily, Lola Ching, Lola Cely, then, lastly, my mom’s mother, Lola Ding. In between them, there was Lolo Ćing, Lola Ding’s beloved. Lola Ding lived with us in our old bungalow in Sta. Mesa Heights and cooked all our meals. Lola Ding probably would’ve outlasted any of us if only she didn’t have that accident which put her right leg in traction.
Lola Ding was pretty much hale and hearty all the way into her 80s, but quickly deteriorated after that accident. Coming home from school one afternoon, my father matter-of-factly greeted me at the gate with the news that my Lola had already gone to meet her Maker, as if he had been expecting it. Lola had been sleeping most of the time since the accident, with all her meals brought to her. Then she didn’t wake up anymore. She left us exactly on February 11, the Feast Day of Our Lady of Lourdes, whom she was named after.
Later on, I would find among her personal effects love letters from Lolo Ćing during his travels abroad. The letters were so excruciatingly romantic and heartfelt that to this day, my eyes mist up just reading them. It warms my heart to know how much he loved my Lola, even though they could not always be together.
I suppose having been surrounded by family members coming and going out of my life has made me quite accepting of death. While I grieve like the rest of my family over each one who has left us for the Great Beyond, I’m not given so much to public displays of bereavement and loss. It’s not because I don’t feel sad, because I do. Maybe it’s because I get lost in the stories in my head, trying to remember the times I spent with the one who has departed. Whether good or bad memories, I’ve learned to treasure every moment spent with the ones who’ve passed on.
I find it comforting that during wakes, people tell stories about the dead. I usually only remember and tell the funny ones, maybe because I don’t like to see too many serious faces or people wailing in grief. When people die, the tears shed by the living are usually not for the dead, but for those they left behind. They weep because they feel sorry for themselves. It is over a sense of loss, over an uncertain future without those who’ve passed on.
Maybe that’s why I don’t really cry even if the ones who’ve gone on are close to me. I would like to think that they’re keeping the Lord company; in my pop’s case, I would like to think that he is probably drinking scotch with his two sons — my brothers — and his siblings who passed on before he did. I’m sure Saint Peter’s around as well to share a glass or two.
Speaking of amusing stories, I recall my brother Eugene — who was a real mean foodie — telling his officemates that he was tired of eating steaks. He wasn’t boasting. You see, when our Lola Ding passed on, my mom, the trophy wife, had no choice but take over the cooking chores. At that time my mom had yet to find her inner chef, so whenever she couldn’t think of what to feed us, she would panfry us some steaks in butter. (This is also the reason I generally don’t like eating steaks at restaurants.) Anyway, my brother’s friends thought him odd for saying that.
My favorite story of my other dead brother, Monching, was the time he complained, during a drunken stupor, that our father never brought him camping. It was during one of those stupid fights he had with my parents, but which we laugh over until now because we thought he had been watching way too much Brady Bunch!
With my pops, who just left us in May, there are a lot of stories to choose from. Not all of them are funny, as he was quite the serious guy, but they are endearing nevertheless. I recall him laughing over an episode of Spongebob Squarepants as we all sat glued to the TV set while vacationing in Subic. We, in turn, laughed at Pops for being able to relate to what we were watching, a kid’s show, considering his usual dour demeanor.
My pops also had this way of joking with my mother even though, as they grew older, they were constantly bickering. Out of nowhere he would just blurt out, “Love you, Mama!” This would always crack up my mom and make her respond, “Love you, Papa!” Of course, privately, it thrilled me whenever I would hear this exchange, but I would usually snicker and then shout, “Yaaak!”
I usually never dream about our dead family members but there was one night I dreamed about Pops. I don’t know what it was about and where we were but I remember getting angry at him for being at some place he wasn’t supposed to be. I told him to go back behind some wall or to one corner.
As I reflect on it now, I guess I was expressing my own vexation at him for leaving us unprepared for his passing. None of us had an inkling that he was going to die. While he led a sedentary life, he would still get in his car and drive it to buy his lotto ticket or get his cigarettes at the grocery. Yep, Pops smoked ’til the very end! And, no, he never won the lotto grand prize but, still, he kept on buying those tickets. Hope springs eternal. I miss my pops.
This All Souls’ Day, as we remember our dearly departed, I offer a silent prayer to all of them, that they may rest in eternal peace and continue to enjoy our Lord’s friendship and devotion. I also thank the Supreme Almighty for giving us the chance to be touched by their lives and experience His grace through their love.
(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. Photo from Shakedownsports.com)
BusinessMirror, Nov. 2, 2007

AS far back as I can remember, my life has been touched by death.
My first brush with it was when I was about six or seven years old, and one of my favorite grandaunts — a well-loved school teacher — passed away after an illness.
I don’t recall most of the details surrounding Lola Nena’s death, as I don’t remember anyone among my immediate family weeping nor visits to the funeral parlor for her wake. I figure I was probably shielded from much of the family’s grief because of my young age. It probably made no sense to me then, but all I remember was being told my Lola Nena was already in heaven.
As I grew older, Lola Nena was followed by her other siblings—Lola Lily, Lola Ching, Lola Cely, then, lastly, my mom’s mother, Lola Ding. In between them, there was Lolo Ćing, Lola Ding’s beloved. Lola Ding lived with us in our old bungalow in Sta. Mesa Heights and cooked all our meals. Lola Ding probably would’ve outlasted any of us if only she didn’t have that accident which put her right leg in traction.
Lola Ding was pretty much hale and hearty all the way into her 80s, but quickly deteriorated after that accident. Coming home from school one afternoon, my father matter-of-factly greeted me at the gate with the news that my Lola had already gone to meet her Maker, as if he had been expecting it. Lola had been sleeping most of the time since the accident, with all her meals brought to her. Then she didn’t wake up anymore. She left us exactly on February 11, the Feast Day of Our Lady of Lourdes, whom she was named after.
Later on, I would find among her personal effects love letters from Lolo Ćing during his travels abroad. The letters were so excruciatingly romantic and heartfelt that to this day, my eyes mist up just reading them. It warms my heart to know how much he loved my Lola, even though they could not always be together.
I suppose having been surrounded by family members coming and going out of my life has made me quite accepting of death. While I grieve like the rest of my family over each one who has left us for the Great Beyond, I’m not given so much to public displays of bereavement and loss. It’s not because I don’t feel sad, because I do. Maybe it’s because I get lost in the stories in my head, trying to remember the times I spent with the one who has departed. Whether good or bad memories, I’ve learned to treasure every moment spent with the ones who’ve passed on.
I find it comforting that during wakes, people tell stories about the dead. I usually only remember and tell the funny ones, maybe because I don’t like to see too many serious faces or people wailing in grief. When people die, the tears shed by the living are usually not for the dead, but for those they left behind. They weep because they feel sorry for themselves. It is over a sense of loss, over an uncertain future without those who’ve passed on.
Maybe that’s why I don’t really cry even if the ones who’ve gone on are close to me. I would like to think that they’re keeping the Lord company; in my pop’s case, I would like to think that he is probably drinking scotch with his two sons — my brothers — and his siblings who passed on before he did. I’m sure Saint Peter’s around as well to share a glass or two.
Speaking of amusing stories, I recall my brother Eugene — who was a real mean foodie — telling his officemates that he was tired of eating steaks. He wasn’t boasting. You see, when our Lola Ding passed on, my mom, the trophy wife, had no choice but take over the cooking chores. At that time my mom had yet to find her inner chef, so whenever she couldn’t think of what to feed us, she would panfry us some steaks in butter. (This is also the reason I generally don’t like eating steaks at restaurants.) Anyway, my brother’s friends thought him odd for saying that.
My favorite story of my other dead brother, Monching, was the time he complained, during a drunken stupor, that our father never brought him camping. It was during one of those stupid fights he had with my parents, but which we laugh over until now because we thought he had been watching way too much Brady Bunch!
With my pops, who just left us in May, there are a lot of stories to choose from. Not all of them are funny, as he was quite the serious guy, but they are endearing nevertheless. I recall him laughing over an episode of Spongebob Squarepants as we all sat glued to the TV set while vacationing in Subic. We, in turn, laughed at Pops for being able to relate to what we were watching, a kid’s show, considering his usual dour demeanor.
My pops also had this way of joking with my mother even though, as they grew older, they were constantly bickering. Out of nowhere he would just blurt out, “Love you, Mama!” This would always crack up my mom and make her respond, “Love you, Papa!” Of course, privately, it thrilled me whenever I would hear this exchange, but I would usually snicker and then shout, “Yaaak!”
I usually never dream about our dead family members but there was one night I dreamed about Pops. I don’t know what it was about and where we were but I remember getting angry at him for being at some place he wasn’t supposed to be. I told him to go back behind some wall or to one corner.
As I reflect on it now, I guess I was expressing my own vexation at him for leaving us unprepared for his passing. None of us had an inkling that he was going to die. While he led a sedentary life, he would still get in his car and drive it to buy his lotto ticket or get his cigarettes at the grocery. Yep, Pops smoked ’til the very end! And, no, he never won the lotto grand prize but, still, he kept on buying those tickets. Hope springs eternal. I miss my pops.
This All Souls’ Day, as we remember our dearly departed, I offer a silent prayer to all of them, that they may rest in eternal peace and continue to enjoy our Lord’s friendship and devotion. I also thank the Supreme Almighty for giving us the chance to be touched by their lives and experience His grace through their love.
(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. Photo from Shakedownsports.com)
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