The Fascinating Tour Guides of Japan. (#4/6)

Guide_#4. Kazunori Maeda is a balding gentleman with rimmed eyeglasses. I met him when he fetched me for the first time at the courtyard of my hotel. He stood erect in his black coat and immediately offered a smile as I walk past the sliding glass door, as if to say he knew I am the party he was waiting for, even if he did not care to bring out the guest name flashcard. 

He was there at the exact call time of 10:00 AM, although I suspect he came much earlier. His shiny high-roofed black van was on top of the queue of cars on the street waiting to pick up guests, since the courtyard itself was blocked-off from parking. This is Japan and the narrow streets are utilized very efficiently through discipline in parking.

“Good morning. I am Kazunori Maeda. Please call me Nori.” These were his first words as he bowed a bit, but when I offered my hand, he returned a firm handshake. He stood by the van’s left side as he opened the automatic door to usher me in, but when I asked if I can sit beside the driver’s seat, he hurried to remove a few items on top of it. He then proceeded to the driver’s seat, which by the way is on the right side of every car here in Japan. He put on his white gloves in this very cold autumn morning, set the car’s GPS to our destination, and we are on our way.

We started our drive from Osaka to Kyoto with small talk, but this soon evolved into real friends’ conversation. His English is impeccable, for the clarity of pronunciation, its grammar, and the ease of usage, which is not book-formal, but rather street-conversational. I said the mental image I have of him is that of a UN translator, because in the few times I’ve seen them on TV, they are able to soon translate just as the speaker pauses, with barely a lag. Nori politely demurred, saying he still has to process in his mind what he wants to say before actually speaking it. I told him I guess this is true for every person that speaks English as a second language.

Our first stop is at the Bamboo Forest. It was a long walk through Kyoto’s awesome nature environment, now enveloped in autumn’s fantastic colors of yellow, red, orange and brown. This was only contrasted by the seemingly perennial green of the bamboo plants. As we walked, we fascinated each other with our life stories. Nori has only 1 kid, a daughter, still single at 32, who finished school in Canada. University in Japan is quite expensive, and may cost more than 1M yen without assistance, like athletic or academic subsidies. His wife is semi-retired and the 3 of them stay together, although no one is left in the house when all of them go out to work.

Nori was surprised to know that I have 5 Samurai ō-yoroi armor collection, each about 3 feet tall, all either glass or black box-encased; that I have an authentic single-edged blade katana (samurai sword) whose tsuba (circular guard on the grip), had a family crest; and that I read a lot on Japanese culture. We talked of the traits I admired most, such as discipline, punctuality, and service above self. We talked of the Japanese soldier Onoda, who hid in the Philippine jungles of Lubang island, did not know the war was over, and surrended only several decades after, when his superior officer was fetched in Japan to order him to do so.

Nori took me to have lunch at Sinkuyo Restaurant. It was a traditional meal of steamed tofu, fish cake, vegetables and seaweed soup served in mini stoves. The main course was various sashimi sliced thinly. I was adamant in requesting him to join me. But he politely declined my invitation with a smile and the greatest excuse of all: “My wife prepared lunch for me.”

We toured several other places in Kyoto and Nara. The Gold Temple and the Deer Farm. For me it was mostly walking and experiencing nature and contemplating. But soon it was dusk and it was time to go back to my hotel. As we exited the 5.5-kilometer long tunnel that separates Kyoto and Ozaka, Nori smiled and quietly asked me: “Are you Japanese? You know a lot about my country.” I accepted this greatest of compliments with a smile and quietly settled on my seat.

It was dark when we reached Ozaka but there was 1 last stop on the itenerary at his car’s clipboard, the Komehyo, a favorite of tourists for selling branded bags and jewelry. “I have written 5 shops in the area of your hotel that has Komehyo.” As I alighted from his van, he gave me the list, which to me appears written flawlessly in both English and Japanese characters. I immediately handed him the dollar bills in my pocket that I had prepared much earlier. Again, just as he had politely declined my invitation for lunch, he is now politely declining the tip I had attempted to inconspicuously put in his pocket. He bowed slightly and said: “Please Don’t.”

Nori is now 62 years old. However, I can sum up his life’s narrative in a simple timeline: after university, he worked 10 years for a freight handling company in Japan; in 1978 he worked for 2 years in Kuwait and Iraq doing inventory, at a time when Iran and Iraq were at war; he went back to Japan and worked for 20 years in a tent equipment company; he is now about 8 years into his job as a Tour Guide. Here he found great satisfaction in meeting and talking to people.

How fast time flies. I thought to myself: ‘what is the one word that can best describe this man’s life?’ If I should find one word, the most appropriate to describe Nori's life would be “CONTENTMENT”. 

But really, in the silence of our thoughts, we each have a tendency to compare our life’s journey with others, especially those we admire. So in a moment of silence, I bowed my head and prayed: “Lord, let my life be one of contentment. Amen.”

A Day Too Late: My Tribute to Geoffrey Antonio C. Macatol.

It is June 12, 2018 and I am in Manila to purchase supplies for my school. It is Tuesday, a holiday commemorating Philippine Independence Day.  Since it is rainy the entire morning, I open my Waze to get the quickest route to my destination, but inadvertently clicked my Facebook Apps. Lately, I’ve been trying to impose on myself some internet browsing discipline, opting to open only on designated intervals, because of my tight schedules. But as soon as my newsfeed came through, there it is, Geoffrey’s birthday on that day, being announced by a sprinkling of well wishes from his friends.

Geoffrey Antonio C. Macatol, or Buddy to friends, is a gentle, amiable guy. He was my upperclass at the Philippine Military Academy, having once been a cadet of the Class of 1982, he was a year ahead of me. He lives in the province of Camiguin, a part of northern Mindanao, and a place I’ve never been to.

We belong to a few common Facebook (FB) groups, owing to the fact of our being “Bugo-bugos”, or those bugs who, in their youth, were qualifiers of the prestigious PMA scholarship appointment. Nonetheless, Buddy struck me as a mild-mannered persona, who did not make his seniority come to bear on his juniors, as is wont among bugo-bugos who hold tradition close to their hearts.

Buddy and I have some things in common. We spend some time advancing our advocacies by creating Facebook Pages that promote them. For example, he is administrator of the Facebook Page called the “Friends of Jesus”, which fosters dialog and guidance on spirituality. On the other hand, I maintain 3 FB Pages for my school - the “Dive Sorsogon”, which promotes love of the environment; the “Speed Center for Leadership”, which helps send college students to school; and the “Speed Computer College”, which is a friendly Page for connecting with present and former students.

On the night after his birthday, June 13, 2018, I chanced upon Buddy’s post on FB, where he put up a new profile picture. It was typically him, with a big, happy smile on his face. He captioned it with a verse quoted from Desiderata, thus: “Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.”  His citation said it was an “Extract from Desiderata.”

Although dead-tired and half-awake, I found Buddy’s quotation very endearing, as it brought back memories of long ago, how we were trained to memorize long literary pieces under pressure. So in the same thread that carried his new FB profile picture, I wrote back: “very appropriate quote, sir, I wish you all that, plus great health, great wealth, and many more fulfilling years ahead.” I had posted this in the late-hours of June 13, 2018. I then jumped to bed, but told myself I will be writing my birthday well-wishes for him on his FB wall the next day.

On June 14, 2018, I woke up early, mindful of my schedules, and so the day passed by quickly. I did not give it much thought, but found it quite odd that I did not get a quick emoticon from Buddy, much less a short, quick reply. Many who know him are accustomed to getting prompt, gracious replies from him, by way of emoticons, emojis, GIFs, or one-liners. His wit is infectious, and sometimes I wonder where on earth he is getting all those; besides the fact that I think his present work engagement is as an IT professional. I went to bed exhausted from a long day, unable to post my birthday well-wishes for him on his FB wall.

Early, the next day, June 15, 2018, I was startled to read on my newsfeed a post on the demise of Buddy, requesting for prayers for the eternal repose of his soul. After sitting dazed for several minutes in quiet thought, I messaged my mistah, Mon Averia, former cadet of the Class of 1983, Philippine Military Academy, for some details. He said he had none, and learned about it from his newsfeed. I wished Mon well, reminding for both of us to enjoy our moments.

Meanwhile, my birthday well-wishes for Buddy have suddenly become irrelevant. In short and simple language, it has become a day too late due to a supervening event.

On June 12, 2018, Geoffrey Antonio C. Macatol celebrated his 60th birthday. On June 14, 2018, exactly 60 years and 2 days since he first saw the light of day, he is dead. I began to think of the wise adage that in this world, only 2 things are certain: taxes and death.

However irreverent my thoughts are, I began to wonder how unfair life can get. Here is a good man, who can touch other people’s lives by his good manners and his sterling graciousness. He certainly touched mine; although we never saw each other, nor do I know the circumstances of his life.

We endeared our connection by our “Bugo-bugo” stories, and how we held on to traditions that are sacred to our hearts, in a way that kept our respect for each other above the level of common lives. I remember Buddy giving passionate advice on hope and spirituality to members of his FB Page because he suffered a relationship setback or distress in the past. But even that, I am not sure of.

Last night, June 15, 2018, 1 day after he passed on, I lay restless on my bed, wondering what lesson I can learn from Buddy’s sad and untimely demise. We all tend to ignore giving time to talk or think about our own mortality. But as surely as taxes, death will come. And when it does, what will people say about me?

Each one of us has the power to chart our own journey up to the last day. So I pray, not only for myself, but for us all: for courage to change, without delay, the things that we still can; and for grace to accept the things that we can no longer change; and finally, for wisdom to discern and help those who are less steady in their own journeys.

Do not delay. No one can control his tenure in this world.

The Unlikely Hero is a Quiet But Strong Leader: OIC Ryan Lua

It is one fine, sunny Tuesday, May 29, 2018. I was making my way in the vicinity of Quiapo, Manila, to a Chinese supplier for my school. Parking is difficult so I decided to park in a nearby mall. Since I was walking, and it was quite early, around past 8:00 AM, I decided to visit the historic Quiapo church.

At 9:30 AM, all hell broke loose in the area of Plaza Miranda, right in front of the Quiapo church. Smoke was billowing out of one building, right across the plaza square. After a few tense moments of uncertainty, 1 single yellow fire truck, sirens blaring, cut its path across the square.

The yellow fire truck is the first responder on the site. It had a motley crew of about 5 guys, and although some were still in short pants, 1 guy was already dropping rolls of fire hose on the ground as the truck screeched to a halt. The others now took the opportunity to put on all their body gear.

I noticed that as they went about the rigors of preparing and hauling their fire-fighting equipment, the crew barely talked. They just looked at one another, made small gestures, and seemed to understand what to do next. It is at this point that I noticed the driver, in short pants, who was taking in low tones and giving quiet directions. His face was calm, and his steadiness reflected on the rest of his crew. In less than 2 minutes, all of them had entered the fire scene inside the building.

After another 5 minutes, many other fire trucks, coming from all directions and in all the streets, converged at the main square of Plaza Miranda. There were more than 20 of them, from my cursory observation. The area was now in chaos, as different responders played their parts. The police stood by to maintain security. A barangay tanod barked orders in his shrill voice, over the megaphone, for the crowd to stand back and allow more space for the fire fighters.

At this point, I noticed the third responder at site, a red fire truck from Recto. Its commander, was a really fat guy who bumbled about, straining to carry his weight. He was tense, as he shouted orders to his crew, and at one point even pushing a man to carry out an order. His demeanor was clearly absorbed by his men, who by now were strained as they began their tasks.

After more than an hour, a “fire out” was declared. I again noticed the first responders on the fire scene - the crew of the yellow fire truck. As quietly as they had begun, they are now engrossed in a calm demobilization activity, taking care that their equipment are put back in order aboard their truck. On the truck’s rear were the markings: “LVC Motor Parts, Central Quiapo Volunteer, Morita”. I approached 1 member who told me that the guy is their OIC, Mr. Ryan Lua, a fire volunteer.

In this disaster, Ryan Lua and his crew are the real heroes. They were the first responders at site. Their presence of mind and cool, calm disposition saved the day, in terms of property and lives that could have been lost.

Yet as I look at the photos I took, I can see that it was just another day, another job for them. They do not bask in fame or recognition. You probably will not recognize them if you meet them on the streets because they do not have the charisma of a politician or the glitz of a movie star. But they have nerves of steel and are good examples of what “stability under pressure” means.

Mabuhay ka, Ryan Lua, at ang iyong mga crew! Indeed, you are a cut above the rest.

Why Hong Kongers Don’t Laugh: My Big Lesson in Not Being Judgemental.

It is my last day in Hong Kong, and my tour guide is Keith. Different guides were assigned to the tour bus that brought us to different places in the past few days, and I think I met him yesterday, as our bus took us to the harbor crossing from Hong Kong to Macau.

He introduced himself by his Filipino name, which he spelled out “P-o-g-i” (handsome). I guess this is what his Pinoy clients called him with fondness because his face had this “artistahin” (matinee idol) looks, framed in squarish eyeglasses.

Keith “Pogi” is “Hong Kongese”. In the couple of times I’ve been to Hong Kong, this is the first time I’ve heard this word. Keith used it in reference to the people of Hong Kong, to differentiate them from the people of mainland China, which he referred to as “Chinese”. 

According to him, Hong Kongese people speak mainly “Cantonese” while the mainlander-Chinese speak “Mandarin”, the official language. So he taught us 3 Cantonese words that will get us a discount: (1) Thank you; (2) How much; and (3) Give me a discount. When I asked him what happens when you say these words in Mandarin, with a smile in his eyes, he retorted: “prices go up!”

There are only 3 stops on this last morning’s agenda: first is the Hong Kong Harbor; second is a famous jewelry shop; and third is the Fishing Village.

I am not overly excited about the Hong Kong Harbor, which I had quite extensively walked in 2011. Of the Fishing Village, which gave me a memorable boat ride back in 2011, Keith said if we come back 2 years from now, it might no longer be there, giving way to progress and construction, since it sits on prime real estate location. However, the Jewelry shop was to me a revelation.

This particular jewelry shop we visited conducted their business with elegance. Small groups of visitors are ushered into a small but posh room, there to be briefed by a suave gentleman in coat & tie regarding the latest trends in jewelry. 

I thought of buying a Bagua (Pat-kwa), a necklace or ring containing a small octagon gold piece popular among feng shui practitioners because I had bought this in the past. This, of course, was passé. The new trend now is jewelry more intricate: it is a pendant whose main feature is a moving part, similar to a propeller fan, representing the elements of fire, water, earth and wind, and whatever else it is you believe will bring you auspicious good luck.

After the briefing, as you walk out of the small room, 2 main doors are opened. You are ushered into the main display room, full of glass shelves and bright lights. A coterie of assistants stands regally behind the jewelry shelves, smiling from ear to ear, ready to assist you. 

Depending on your budget, the scale of intricacy of each item increases, and you might probably come out with jewelry whose casing is of 24-carat gold, inlaid with bits of diamond stones, and the moving fan covered by prism glass.

Back at the tour bus, as we are making our way to the Fishing Village, Keith became tentative, and out of the blue, threw us this question: "have you ever wondered why the Hongkongese never smile?"

A rush of thoughts came to my mind, because I had answered a similar question while touring Macau casinos yesterday. But the question came from a Filipino family of five, who were first-time tourists in Hongkong.  The mom had asked: “Why are Hongkong people so rude, and they never smile?”

My standard answer was what I had believed since I was here in 2011. I told them that there are a lot of Filipino OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers) here working as domestics. So the Hongkongese probably have a low regard for us, Pinoys, since we are a country of domestic helpers.

At any rate, Keith gave us his answer: “In Hongkong for every 1 square kilometer there are 6,300 people; in the Philippines, for every 1 square kilometer there are 265 people; and in the US, for every 1 square kilometer there are 35 people. The land area in Hongkong is so small that real estate has become so expensive. We, the majority of Hongkongese, live all our lives in condos. In Hongkong, the average area for a condo unit is 20 square meters. But that is the standard, and many do not follow the standard, so still others live below that, say 10-15 square meters. Our homes do not have rooms. So we are like caged birds, not for 1 or 2 years, but all our lives. This is also the reason why when I retire, I plan to live somewhere else.”

I was silent after that, allowing his words to sink in, and for my mind to process what he just said. I didn’t need to confirm his figures because the densities of the 3 countries he gave me were vividly graphic by their sheer disparity. They are more than sufficient for me to have a mental image of the comparison he was pointing out. As I sat motionless for a while, I only felt pity for this 36-year old Hongkongese.

There were other facts he recited that surprised me. When I admired the way their streets had no congestion anywhere near the magnitude we have in Manila, Keith said they abhorred owning cars because they need to pay a tax of 100%. I guess this was their government’s way of maintaining free-flowing roads in a territory where land area is a meager resource. If he did own a car, he would need parking in going to his office and another parking at his condo, which on average will cost about HK$ 6,000, not to mention the price of the car itself. Admittedly, this would slice a big chunk off his income.

Keith represents the most productive age-group of his generation, but he seems ambivalent about Hongkong’s future. Especially since after Hongkong’s Handover in 1997, mainland China has continuously and consistently grown its economic might. 

In any case, he advised that whenever you are in Hongkong, go on a shopping binge since it is well worth it - consumer items are cheap because they are tax-free, and you are sure that they are genuine and not replicas.

Now I understand why so many Filipino OFWs and domestics in Hongkong converge on the squares and parks during their free time. In all probability, they don’t have too much space in their employer’s homes. And it is likely that their employer is a couple, probably newly-weds, who desire to have a 2-career household, as a means of earning more. And the way to do that is to use a substantial part of their 2-jobs-household income in hiring a Pinoy domestic.

So what is my big lesson? Keep your judgement to yourself. You do not know what the other person is dealing with just to cope with the burdens of daily living. If you shut your mouth, respecting each person’s distinct situation, you will be rewarded with a more humane understanding of life. Then you will realize that there is a universal good that connects every man, and that we can learn from each other.