The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

A glimpse beyond the big B’s of Philippine sports

It is ironic that many athletes still manage to shine even when a more unified and well-supported sports for all program remains to be a dream. Amateur and professional sports produced the likes of Paeng Nepomuceno, Efren “Bata” Reyes, and Manny Pacquiao to name a few. However, away from the spotlight of more popular sports there are individuals and groups that breathe life to a severely malnourished sports framework.

Sports in the Filipino mindset are usually focused on the Big B’s such as basketball, billiards, boxing, and badminton. The popularity gained by these sports give them the distinct advantage in generating more resources for promotion and development. Consequently, the continuous increase in support opens doors to an extensive list of expertise like coaching, technical training, and sports medicine. It is not surprising then that these are the sports that either put the country into the global sports map or attract more members at the grassroots level.

There are, however, other sports that increasingly appeal to people from all walks of life. Running keeps on gaining more prominence. Runners and running clubs are growing in numbers. In fact, it is hard to miss individuals and groups out for their daily morning or evening runs.

The continuous growth of running for fitness or competition is a positive turn in promoting sports for all in the country. The fact that thousands of people pursue it for leisure or competition signifies that Filipinos are eager to embrace sports to achieve a healthier lifestyle. And if the weekly fun runs, road races, and marathons are to be used as gauge then running is undoubtedly successful in reaching out to people from diverse backgrounds and age groups.

Another sport with a thriving community of active members is dragon boat. Since the sport was introduced in Manila during the late 1980’s its membership increased exponentially. It also managed to make its mark in the global dragon boat scene by producing world champions courtesy of its national athletes.

Like running, the grassroots activities of dragon boat are self-sustained. Imagine then what a solid and financially-backed grassroots program can accomplish if a meager government budget allocation produce champions locally and internationally. Having a wide base of potential recruits can make talent identification for the national pool of athletes easier.

The other side of Philippine sports relies not only on financial support but also in the environment. Sport and the environment is a program that needs to be promoted. Promoting the sport of rowing in its base is a case in point. Over the years, the Pasig River is home to various rowing club teams. But the dismal state of the river is not exactly the most ideal venue for training. However, student and corporate athletes commit to training regularly because of their passion for the sport. The sport even managed to qualify two of its national athletes in the Olympics.

Running, dragon boat, and rowing are just some of the many sports being promoted in the country. Perhaps it is an under-appreciated fact that each national sports association work towards elevating the status of their respective sports both in the elite and grassroots level.

A lot of things are said to point out the many shortcomings of sports leaders and institutions tasked to advocate, develop, and promote sports in the country. Over the years, sports development in its entirety can be described as inadequate or sluggish at best. Maybe it is because it just did not enjoy the kind of unified support from different sectors.

To compare overall performance with powerhouse countries in the region is highly unfair for those who are passionate and committed to working for the betterment of Philippine sports. There is only so much that a meager budget can do to sustain an ailing sports framework.

The best contribution Filipinos can make to support the country’s sports program is to find opportunities to participate or encourage others to do so. There are more to Philippine sports than what we frequently read or hear about and watch on television. Beyond the fame and popularity of certain sports there are different disciplines that aim to bring more pride to our country.

Making my vote count

Today is election day and it took me seven hours to cast my vote. In a sense the long wait wasn't really that bad. The weather cooperated. It was drizzling since morning so the cool breeze was a welcome relief from the El Niño heat. The voting process was a challenge but just the same, people opted to stay no matter how long the wait.

In retrospect, here are some of the random thoughts and observations I had while waiting for all of seven hours:

"Disorganized" happens
It's the first time that the country's using an automated voting system so certain problems are to be expected. But there are processes outside of the automation that could benefit from even a small semblance of order.

I was at the precinct around 7:30am. I was expecting a line but I was surprised by how disorganized the system was in the school where I voted. It was difficult to find the tables per cluster that serve designated precincts. The signs were posted in front of the tables, which were not visible especially with the crowd gathered around them. Simply making the signs visible would have made a difference.

Additionally, I had the misfortune of queuing at what seemed to be the most disorderly line. The volunteer in charge of the table was overwhelmed by the sheer number and demands of the people. I couldn't blame him though especially when he got all the blame even for some things beyond his control.

Accept the unexpected
The queue disappeared by 8:00am and it was practically free for all from then on. Everyone wanted to be first. I was supposed to be among those who lined up early for the priority number. I clearly saw when a volunteer wrote my name on a brown sheet of paper, which was purportedly "the list".

Two hours after, my name was still not called. After asking the volunteer, I learned that the list was missing and they couldn't do anything to produce it. So after two hours of waiting for nothing, I had to crawl through the mass of people who were not budging away from the table to have my name listed again. By this time I was feeling particularly frustrated and helpless.

From then on, it was mostly a matter of waiting. I spent the hours watching people and listening to their stories. I figured I can't complain especially after seeing the old and infirmed going through the same ordeal. It was actually one of my frustrations early on, how there seemed to be no system to assist them. It was good to see later on that they're prioritizing senior citizens and those with disabilities at the actual voting precincts. I only wish they did it earlier. Thank God the weather was fine otherwise it would really be harder for them.

Leave no trash behind
I think as mature voting adults everyone should be responsible enough not to leave trash behind. It's kind of sad to see so many garbage left for others to clean up. I just hope that cleaning those mess doesn't take up even a portion of students' class hours.

I'm curious as to who are the candidates who'll make an effort to help with clean-up even long after the spotlight dimmed. The amount of garbage that accumulated since campaign started is unbelievable. And the few hours of voting today produced a mountain of trash that nobody seemed to be making an effort to manage.

Today, many people exercised their right to vote regardless of the circumstances. There were moments earlier when a part of me just wanted to go home and be done with it. But I stayed. Like the many others I saw in that school. And I think I had it easy. Teachers and volunteers endured more than I did in that seven hours I waited.

Random Musings of a Rowing Umpire

I think the value of something is often measured by stories it weaves in our lives. It is about life-changing moments that come not with fanfare but quietly in infinite seconds that touch and never let go. That is how it all started for me, my umpiring life.

I'm still not sure if it's a good thing or not that I didn't plan to be an umpire. It's just one of those sheer luck that happened when I grabbed the chance to attend a seminar in preparation for a Southeast Asian Games (SEAG). I did not do well in the national umpiring practical exam because I ended up on probationary status. But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. See, I initially didn't put much thought about the whole thing until the result jolted me into realizing that I wanted to do better.

My first umpiring stint was as a national umpire for the Manila SEA Games. I almost passed up that chance to perform jury duties because I was swamped with my commitments with the Philippine SEAG's organizing committee's Accreditation and Wushu Federation Philippines' organizing group. Then I remembered I wanted to do better. The only way I can do that was if I gain real experience outside of the simulated race we all took during the practical exam.

So there I was going through my own version of hell week in December 2005. For days I shuttled from Manila to La Mesa Dam in Quezon City then back to Manila again to attend to my seemingly endless responsibilities. There was no time to think about the soundness of spreading myself thin like that, there was only the focus and commitment I gave that somehow got me through, albeit more tired but definitely happy.

I learned a lot in those few days I was out in the water doing jury duties. National umpires, especially newbies, like me were given lighter responsibilities than the FISA umpires who served as technical officials. I spent most of my time in my own little island at the 1000m mark recording the time of rowers as they pass by. My closest neighbors were on pontoons 500m up to my left and down to my right. Standing or sitting for hours on end on that pontoon made me appreciate a lot of things, including the value of being still and the inexplicable joy of drawing nature's energy if I took the time to feel it.

Two months after the SEAG, I took the FISA licensure exam. I've heard stories that FISA exams are tough and the passing rates are frequently low. And judging from my last performance in the national umpiring exams, I was not very confident about my chances. Despite my misgivings, I took a chance. I guess it was the masochist in me that still pushed me to go ahead and give it a shot.

The series of exams were tough for me. I'm usually good at exams excepting those involving Math, Chemistry, and Physics. The rest, I can breeze or squeeze through either with ample preparation or sheer luck. But at that time, I couldn't even hazard an optimistic guess if I'd pass

I remember that time while we were waiting for the results of both the written and practical exams. A co-national umpire suddenly blurted out that he swears he's not taking the exam again for a while if he failed. It was surprising and funny when he said it. He always had been the one everyone thought to have the greatest chance of passing the exam. Hearing him say what he said made me breathe a sigh of relief.

I think it was then that I began to accept the possibility that I might fail. I was not being a pessimist about the whole thing. It was just that, everyone who takes the FISA umpiring exam only gets two chances. Failing both times means being banned from taking the test again, ever. Somehow, it was an experience I was not eager to repeat anytime soon.

The wait for the final results was filled with both relief and trepidation. Relief that it was all finally over and trepidation that we didn't make it.

I was the third to the last called for the meeting/interview with the two FISA umpires who conducted the exam. Everyone before me came back with the news that they did not make the cut. As each one came back, my confidence further took a plunge.

When it was my turn to go to the room I was more or less prepared to hear the worst. And I think that was the reason why I felt like I was in a haze when the interview began that I didn't immediately grasp when they told me I passed. It was when they handed me the badge that I began to fully understand what it meant.

It turned out that the three of us left for the interview somehow made it through those series of tests. One of whom was the one who made the comment about not taking the test again if he fails. Thinking about our journey and what we went through made me realize the value of what I just got.

Four years after I got my license and badge, I still feel as passionate about this whole thing. We do long hours, spend money for airfares and other expenses, and go through both the good and bad experiences that come with being an umpire. Still, I love what we do and what we aspire to achieve with what we do.

Being a jury/umpire makes me think of these things:

1. The Roles We Play. - Each one of us has an important role to play in whatever it is that we do. Some excel in playing, some do their magic in organizing, some provide whatever help they can by volunteering, some provide the funds to make things happen, some like the spectators motivate everyone, and the list goes on. Bottom line, whatever our roles in life matter in the bigger scheme of things.

2. Passion. Believe. Faith. - Three words that I live by. The passion to pursue what the heart desires regardless of how inane or grand it may seem. The belief in the inherent goodness of things and in infinite possibilities. And the faith that all things that happen somehow fit flawlessly into the tapestry of life I'm meant to live.

3. Safety and Fair Play. - Every rowing umpire's mantra revolves around those two goals. We take our role seriously in ensuring the safety of every competitor and giving everyone a sporting chance by promoting fair play. I think these two principles apply everyday regardless of what we do. Thinking of our personal safety and those of others as well as treating people fairly are simple but meaningful aspirations in life.

4. I just love them FISA umpires. - Even until now it never ceases to amaze me how dedicated and professional my colleagues are. Umpiring is more often than not a thankless job. And yet, to see such passion and commitment from people I meet in my umpiring stints inspire me to always do and give my best.

Why You Have To Do What You Have To Do

Being stuck in a rut is probably one of the most disrupting moments in life. It is a time steeped with uncertainties that create different reactions from people. Very few people feel comfortable to wake up one day standing on not so solid ground. Control freak or not, people prefer some things to work out as planned.

However, it is often during moments of being stuck that the resolve to break free from the crippling feeling emerges. It is a time when a window of opportunity appears and challenges you to do what you have to do to unstuck yourself.

In everything, you do what you have to do. Actions create results that directly or indirectly shape your life. But most of what is done in life is fairly intuitive. Sometimes you do not give much thought to doing them. What usually happens is that you start out learning things then later move on towards mastering them.

The problem with mastery is that it leads to a kind of familiarity that undermines your ability to see certain things in different perspectives. Things like routines thrive on familiarity. What is passionately started sometimes turn into a mind-numbing pursuit. It is not surprising that there are many things you can do in autopilot.

You are lucky if you are among those who do not experience how it is to feel stuck. But if you find yourself sensing that you are headed into the same predicament it helps to see it from a different vantage point. Maybe a rut is just meant to shake you from a stupor induced by automacity.

Conscious effort to pay attention to the minute changes in the way you do things helps you catch telltale signs of veering towards “being stuck”. Self-awareness prepares you to react quickly to subtle signs of shifts in your perspectives and ways of doing things.

It is when you feel like you are not moving towards the direction of your dreams that a part of you begins to yearn for more. You are meant to do what your heart desires. Even if your desire is to achieve machine-like perfection, you need to at least enjoy pursuing that goal. You are not meant to block the things that make you feel most alive.

Everyone is meant to live, not merely throb and thrive like a machine. You may be ultra capable at what you do but if you are not careful you might start acting like an efficient contraption. Imagine being excellent at churning out impressive outputs but sadly devoid of feelings that make you feel alive.

The people who seem most adept with steering away from falling into deep holes are those who are passionate about what they do. The excitement and inspiration continue to manifest even amidst difficult times. There is a sense of awareness and connection that prevents automaticity from completely taking over. Perhaps the best thing to do when you feel stuck is to remember the things that give you most reasons to be happy.

You have to do what you have to do. Whether it is writing, singing, acting, dancing, playing sports, etc., do it. Then give it all you got. Be aware of every minute and feel every emotion when you are doing the things you love to do.

You owe yourself a life. Do not let the demands and responsibilities of "living" stand in the way of your ability to create something that is meant to be seen or felt in this world.

Reconnecting with nature through sports

Sports that require a significant amount of time outdoors is a good platform for environmental education. The setting can be a park playground, a clearing, a running trail with lots of trees around and a lake or reservoir. Spending time outside to play brings with it plenty of opportunities to see the beauty of nature that no lessons inside the four corners of a classroom can teach.

As technology made it easier and preferable for people to stay indoors, more problems attributed to nature deficit disorder emerged. Staying indoors to play became a safer alternative in urban communities where there are no access to parks and sports clubs. Technological advancements made it possible for a wide array of interesting activities to occupy people’s time. Even the social aspect of play was addressed by online games that enable interactions with other virtual players. But one aspect that the best of technology cannot simulate is the experience of being close to nature and the attendant lessons it brings.

I used to be ambivalent about the environment issues. However, years of training as a dragon boat athlete and my current role as a rowing umpire gave me a treasure trove of memories that include beautiful sunrises, clear skies and lush trees. I have paddled in different bodies of water, each one unique and nestled in breathtaking landscapes. I have umpired in places that made me yearn to see more of the amazing sights I am sure the world has to offer.

It is hard not to feel blessed when I am outdoors. Nature often shares its energy to me, giving me the much-needed strength to perform. I think this is a feeling shared by those who engage in sports whether for fitness or competition. More than the endorphins, more than the camaraderie and friendships, more than the satisfaction of going beyond limits - sports offers a lot of opportunities to commune with nature.

It more than makes sense, therefore, why the International Olympic Committee has included sport and the environment as one of the pillars of the Olympic Movement. It even revised its mission and role to include the following:

“to encourage and support responsible concern for environmental issues, to promote sustainable development in sport and to require that the Olympic Games are held accordingly…”

Sporting activities rely heavily on the environment. Namibian sprinter Frankie Fredericks simplified the connection when he said, “I breathe at least twice as deeply when I’m running. Air pollution is a threat to my health and my physical performance” (UNEP 2005).

In the Philippines alone, the rowing team feels the weight of the sorry state of Pasig River. Around the world, athletes are feeling the effects of climate change, which is perhaps one of the reasons why sports luminaries and organizations are actively campaigning to help raise awareness on environmental issues and promote sustainable development.

Apart from the efforts of these sports personalities, there is also an increasing involvement from the grassroots level. The grassroots is an untapped goldmine that can really help turn the tide against pressing problems such as climate change. It is at this level that children at play can learn the important relationship of sports and the environment. It is where clubs can be a rich resource of volunteers for various environment-related projects and initiatives.

The environmental issues are big and complicated that sometimes it is natural to feel helpless just thinking if there is something that one individual can do to effect change. Fortunately, I have my sport that reminds me how beautiful and precious the environment is. It inspires me to contribute in small ways and make lifestyle changes that are in sync with my beliefs. It also makes me appreciate the efforts of individuals and groups to campaign for a sustainable environment.

The world is a big and beautiful playground. I think appreciating it begins with really seeing and experiencing its beauty. Play time is nature time. Now, more than ever, is a good time to stand up, go out, and play.

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Blog originally posted here.

(Photo by Chalyn Bueta)

Tales of passion by Isabel Allende

Amazing speech by an amazing woman. I'm a fan and The House of the Spirits is a personal favorite. There are several scenes in that book I love. Listening to this speech makes me feel that I now understand where she's coming from.



Thank you so much. It's really scary to be here among the smartest of the smart. I'm here to tell you a few tales of passion. There's a Jewish saying that I love, "What is Truer than Truth? Answer: The Story."

I'm a story teller. I want to convey something that is truer than truth about our common humanity. All stories interest me and some haunt me until i end up writing them. Certain themes keep coming up, justice, loyalty, violence, death, political and social issues...freedom.

I'm aware of the mystery around us so I write about coincidences, premonitions, emotions, dreams, the power of nature, magic. In the last 20 years, I have published a few books but I have lived in anonymity until February of 2006 when I carried the Olympic Flag in the Winter Olympics in Italy. That made me a celebrity. Now people recognize me in Macy's and my grandchildren think that I'm cool.

Allow me to tell you about my four minutes of fame. One of the organizers of their Olympics Ceremony, of the Opening Ceremony, call me and said that I had been selected to be one of the flag bearers. I replied that surely this was a case of mistaken identity because I'm as far as you can get from being an athlete. Actually I wasn't even sure that I can go around the stadium without a walker.

I was told that this was no laughing matter. This would be the first time that only women would carry the Olympic Flag. Five women representing five continents and three Olympic Gold medal winners.

My first question was naturally, "What was I going to wear?". "A uniform," she said and asked for my measurements. My measurements. I had a vision of myself in a fluffy Anorak looking like the Michelin man.

By the middle of February, I found myself in Turin where enthusiastic crowds cheered when any of the 80 Olympic teams was in the street. Those athletes had sacrificed everything to compete in the Games. They all deserved to win. But there's the element of luck. A speck of snow, an inch of ice, the force of the wind, can determine the results of a race or a game. However, what matters most; more than training or luck is the heart. Only a fearless and determined heart will get the Gold medal.

It is all about passion. The streets of Turin were covered with red posters announcing the slogan of the Olympics. Passion lives here.

Isn't it always true? Heart is what drives us and determines our fate. That is what I need for my characters in my books. A passionate heart. I need mavericks, dissidents, adventurers, outsiders and rebels who ask questions, bend the rules and take risks. People like all of you in this room. Nice people with common sense do not make interesting characters. They only make good former spouses.

In the green room of the stadium, I met the other flag bearers. Three athletes and the actresses Susan Sarandon and Sophia Loren. Also two women with passionate hearts.

Wangari Maathai, the Nobel Prize winner from Kenya who has planted 30 million trees and by doing so she has changed the soil, the weather in some places in Africa and of course the economic conditions in many villages.

And Somaly Mam, a Cambodian activist who fights passionately against child prostitution. When she was fourteen years old her grandfather sold her to a brothel. She told us of little girls raped by men who believe that having sex with a very young virgin will cure them from AIDS. And of brothels where children were forced to receive fifteen clients per day and if they rebel they are tortured with electricity.

In the green room I received my uniform. It was not the kind of outfit that I normally wear but it was far from the Michelin man suit that I had anticipated. Not bad, really. I looked like a refrigerator. But so did most of the flag bearers except Sophia Loren, the universal symbol of beauty and passion.

Sophia is over seventy. She looks great. She's sexy, slim and tall, with a deep tan. Now how can you have a deep tan and have no wrinkles? I don't know. When asked in a TV interview how could she look so good. She replied, "Posture". My back is always straight and I don't make old people's noises.

So there you have, some free advice from one of the most beautiful women on earth. No grunting, no coughing, no wheezing, no talking to yourselves, no farting. But, she didn't say that exactly.

At some point around midnight we were summoned to the wings of the stadium and the loud speakers announced the Olympic Flag and the music started. By the way, the same music that starts here - the Aida march.

Sophia Loren was right in front of me. She's a foot taller than I am, not counting the poufy hair. She walked elegantly, like a giraffe on the African Savana, holding the flag on her shoulder. I jogged behind. On my tiptoes. Holding the flag on my extended arm. So that my head was actually under the damned flag.

All the cameras were of course on Sophia. That was fortunate for me because in most press photos I appear too, although often between Sophia's legs. A place where most men would love to be.

The best four minutes of my entire life were those in the Olympic stadium. My husband is offended when I say this, although I have explained to him that what we do in private usually takes less than four minutes. So he shouldn't take it personally.

I have all the press clippings of those four magnificent minutes because I don't want to forget them when old age destroys my brain cells. I want to carry it in my heart forever. The keyword of the Olympics. Passion.

So here's a tale of passion. The year's 1998. The place is a prison camp for Tutsi refugees in Congo. By the way, 80% of all refugees and displaced people in the world are women and girls. We can call displaced in Congo a death camp because those who are not killed will die of disease or starvation.

The protagonists of this story are a young woman, Rose Mapendo, and her children. She's pregnant and a widow. Soldiers have forced her to watch as her husband was tortured and killed. Somehow, she manages to keep her seven children alive and a few months later, she gives birth to premature twins - two tiny, little boys. She cuts their umbilical cords with a stick and ties it with her own hair. She names the twins after the camp's commanders to gain their favor and feeds them with black tea because her milk cannot sustain them.

When the soldiers burst in her cell to rape her oldest daughter, she grabs hold of her and refuses to let go even when they hold a gun to her head. Somehow, the family survives for sixteen months. And then, by extraordinary luck and the passionate heart of a young American man, Sasha Chanoff, who manages to put her in a US rescue plane, Rose Mapendo and her nine children end up in Phoenix, Arizona where they are now living and thriving. Mapendo in Swahili means "great love".

The protagonists of my books are strong and passionate women like Rose Mapendo. I don't make them up. There's no need for that. I look around and I see them everywhere.

I had word with women and for women all my life. I know them well. I was born in ancient times, at the end of the world in a patriarchal, Catholic and conservative family. No wonder that by age five, I was a raging feminist. Although the term had not reached Chile yet so nobody knew what the heck was wrong with me.

I would soon find out that there was a high price to pay for my freedom and for questioning the patriarchy. But I was happy to pay it because for every blow that I received, I was able to deliver two.

Once, when my daughter Paula was in her twenties, she said to me that feminism was dated - that I should move on. We had a memorable fight. Feminism is dated? Yes, for the privileged like my daughter and all of us here today but not for most of our sisters in the rest of the world who are still forced into premature marriage, prostitution, forced labor. They don't have children that they don't want or they cannot feed. They have no control over their bodies or their lives. They have no education and no freedom. They are raped, beaten up and sometimes killed with impunity.

For most western young women of today, being called a feminist is an insult. Feminism has never been sexy but let me assure you that it never stopped me from flirting. And I have seldom suffered from lack of men.

Feminism is not dead by no means. It has evolved. If you don't like the term, change it for God's sake! Call it Aphrodite or Venus or Bimbo or whatever you want. The name doesn't matter as long as we understand what it is about and we support it.

So here's another tale of passion and this is a sad one. The place is a small, women's clinic in a village in
Bangladesh. The year's 2005. Jenny is a young American dental hygienist who has gone to the clinic as a volunteer during her three-week vacation. She's prepared to clean teeth. But when she gets there, she finds out that there are no doctors, no dentists, and the clinic is just a hut full of flies. Outside there's a line of women who have waited several hours to be treated.

The first patient is in excruciating pain because she has several rotten molars. Jenny realizes that the only solution is to pull out the bad teeth. She's not licensed for that. She's never done it. She risks a lot and she's terrified. She doesn't even have the proper instruments. But fortunately, she has brought some Novocaine.

Jenny has a brave and passionate heart. She murmurs and prayer and she goes ahead with the operation. At the end, the relieved patient kisses her hands. That day, the hygienist pulls out many more teeth.

The next morning, when she comes again to the so-called clinic, her first patient is waiting for her with her husband. The woman's face looks like a watermelon. It is so swollen that you can't even see the eyes. The husband, furious, threatens to kill the American. Jenny is horrified at what she has done. But then, the translator explains that the patient's condition has nothing to do with the operation. The day before, her husband beat her up because she was not home in time to prepare dinner for him.

Millions of women live like this today. They are the poorest of the poor. Although women do 2/3 of the world's labor, they own less than 1% of the world's assets. They are paid less than men for the same work, IF they're paid at all. And they remain vulnerable because they have no economic independence and they are constantly threaten by exploitation, violence and abuse.

It is a fact that giving women education, work, the ability to control their own income, inherit and own property benefits the society. If a woman is empowered her children and her family will be better off. If families prosper, the village prospers and eventually so does the whole country.

Wangari Mathaai goes to a village in Kenya. She talks to the women and explains that the land is barren because they have cut and sold the trees. She gets the women to plant new trees and water them, drop by drop. In a matter of five or six years, they have a forest. The soil is enriched and the village is saved.

The poorest and most backward societies are always those that put women down. Yet, this obvious truth is ignored by governments and also by philantrophy. For every dollar given to a woman's program, 20 dollars are given to men's programs.

Women are 51% of humankind. Empowering them will change everything, more than technology and design and entertainment. I can promise you that women working together; linked, informed and educated - can bring peace and prosperity to this forsaken planet.

In any war today, most of the casualties are civilians. Mainly, women and children. They are collateral damage. Men run the world and look at the mess we have. What kind of world do we want? This is a fundamental question that most of us are asking. Does it make sense to participate in the existing world order? We want a world where life is preserved and the quality of life is enriched for everybody. Not only for the privileged.

In January, I saw an exhibit of Fernando Botero's paintings at the UC Berkeley library. No museum or gallery in the United States, except for the New York gallery that carries Botero's work, has dared to show the paintings because the theme is the Abu Ghraib prison. There are huge paintings of torture and abuse of power in the voluminous Botero style. I have not been able to get those images out of my mind or my heart.

What I fear most is power with impunity. I fear abuse of power and the power to abuse. In our specie, the alpha males define reality and force the rest of the pack to accept that reality and follow the rules. The rules change, all the time. But they always benefit them. And in this case, the trickle down effect, which does not work in economics, works perfectly. Abuse trickles down from the top of the ladder to the bottom. Women and children, especially the poor, are at the bottom. Even the most destitute of men have someone they can abuse, a woman or a child.

I'm fed up with the power that a few exert over the many through gender, income, race and class. I think that the time is ripe to make fundamental changes in our civilization. But for real change, we need feminine energy in the management of the world. We need a critical number of women in positions of power and we need to nurture the feminine energy in men. I'm talking about men with young minds of course. Old guys are hopeless, we have to wait for them to die off.

Yes, I would love to have Sophia Loren's long lengs and legendary breasts. But given a choice, I would rather have the warrior hearts of Wangari Mathaai, Somaly Mam, Jenny, and Rose Mapendo. I want to make this world good.Not better, but to make it good. Why not? It is possible. Look around in this room, all this knowledge, energy, talent and technology. Let's get off our fannies, roll up our sleeves and get to work, PASSIONATELY, in creating an almost perfect world.

Thank you.

Hot

A few days back, I wrote about the unscheduled 30-minute daily power interruptions that stretched to one hour after two weeks. Now, we’re on to two hours of outages everyday. That’s something not to be happy about but I think it’s human nature to adapt quickly than the mind can argue. Maybe it’s a matter of survival. After all, in the bigger scheme of things, stressing over brownouts is not worth the years off what’s already a diminishing lifetime.

On the upside, the rotating brownouts are now scheduled. Our part of the town experience it between 1pm to 3pm. It’s the time of the day when having no power seems to magnify the fierce heat of the sun. Still, the schedule helps. It removes the daily concern that it might happen when I’m on the middle of working on something on the computer that I wouldn’t be able to save.

It’s also gratifying to see people do their best to endure and cope. In a span of one month, all of these don’t feel as bad as they initially were. My theory is, it’s natural resilience kicking in. And when it does, the human mind begins to open up and find something funny from even the most difficult situations.

This is why what I overheard earlier made me laugh. In the middle of another outage and sweltering heat, I heard three boys hawking homemade bread. Like good little salespeople they sold their goods with much gusto. Not even the crazy heat made them less enthusiastic in selling their bread.

Boy 1: Putok, init pa! (Putok, still hot!)

Boy 2: Putok, putok! Init pa! Init pa sa adlaw!!! (Putok, putok! Hot! Hotter than the sun!!!)

Boy 3: (echoing Boy #2) Init pa sa adlaw!!! (Hotter than the sun!!!)