October 28, 2007

The Essence of Volunteerism

I gave this speech during the Graduation Ceremonies of the LDS Seagull Rescue Technicians last October 27, 2007 in Dagupan

Ladies and Gentlemen, a pleasant day to you all.

I would like, first of all, to say how deeply honored I am to be invited to address you on a subject that is so dear to my heart.

When I was first invited to speak to you about volunteerism and its importance, I thought it would be a very easy task. After all, I have been fortunate enough to be raised by parents who instilled in me a keen awareness of the needs of those around me and who planted the seeds of volunteerism in my heart. I have done my share of volunteer work: from fundraising and outreach activities to feeding programs to teaching out-to-school youth to medical and surgical missions…

As I matured in my personal and professional life, I encountered amazing people who thought nothing of working in behalf of others without expectation of pay or other tangible gain. These individuals became my personal heroes. What they did and what they continue to do is the standard that I aspire to.

Despite all of this, however, I find it difficult to adequately communicate the essence of volunteerism. I cannot find the right words that would inspire you the way I was inspired by the people I’ve met in my life.

So I decided to cheat a little bit, get some ideas from others, and do an informal survey of healthcare providers among those on my mobile’s phonebook.

Out of the 505 relatives, co-workers, friends and acquaintances listed there, 136 worked in providing health care in one way or another as doctors, dentists, nurses, therapists, or EMTs. I did not text 6 since they were part of the group that invited me to speak to you today.

I asked all 130 the same questions: 1) How would you define volunteerism? 2) Why should one volunteer? And 3) how often do you volunteer?

Forty seven (47) ignored my text. Three (3) answered “Hu dis?” Two answered “Are you serious?” One (1) answered, “Ano yan? Pang-Miss Universe?” Another one (1) gave me my favorite answer, “Walang hiya ka. Naka-roaming ako. May bayad ang incoming text messages mo!”

Among the remaining 76 who gave me sensible and heartfelt answers, I noticed a recurrent theme. They defined volunteerism using practically the same terms: selflessness, personal choice, service, initiative, passion, self-fulfillment…

Taking all of their responses together, I came to define volunteerism as “a personal choice to perform selfless acts of service to meet the needs of others out of one’s own initiative and passion for a cause without expecting any remuneration except self-fulfillment and the betterment of one’s fellowmen.”

You might wonder how I would personally define volunteerism. For me, volunteerism is all about turning passion for service into solutions. An anesthesiologist friend once told me, among the various branches of medicine, it is in emergency care and rescue that one is present and ready to be of assistance when a casualty needs help the most.

Inherent in the practice of emergency care and rescue is a facet of volunteerism. Emergencies don’t go on holiday. Disasters are not scheduled. This is why anyone involved in emergency care can be compelled by circumstance and his conscience to volunteer.

We cannot deny the fact that we live in a country that is disaster-prone. The Philippines is located in the Pacific Ocean, the world's largest factory of typhoons. It makes up part of the "Pacific Ring of Fire" with more than 200 volcanoes within its boundaries. We are located in a tectonically active region between the world's largest earthquake generators – the Pacific and Eurasian Plates. We mostly live in narrow crowded streets that are difficult to maneuver in when fires occur. We have inadequately guarded borders easily penetrated by terrorists. In short—sadly— we are a disaster waiting to happen.

What does all this mean?

It means that we have to be vigilant. We have to be prepared. And we have to be willing and able to volunteer our services when our fellowmen and our country need us the most.

Allow me, at this point, to add one essential ingredient that will make volunteerism truly meaningful, positive and helpful— that essential ingredient is what you have just done: proper training.

Volunteering is not just about one’s passion, beliefs and convictions. One must also have the necessary skills to supply what is needed. This is why I commend all of you here today. By learning the essentials of disaster preparedness and search and rescue operations, you are making yourself ready to serve when tragedy strikes. You are ensuring that you know what to do when it needs to be done.

The next question we have to consider is: WHY VOLUNTEER?

There are so many reasons. Among the 76 friends who answered my text message, there appeared to be at least 50 different reasons. As much as I would like to enumerate all of them to you today, it would take too much time. Baka alas-dose na ng hating-gabi, nandito pa rin tayo. Neverthless, there was once again a recurrent theme among the responses I received: it is a duty… It is a responsibility… To give back to my community… To give thanks for the blessings I have received… Because there is a need… Because I can… Because it fulfills me… The list goes on and on.

However, I believe that the most important reasons to volunteer are stated concisely in the creed recited by search and rescue technicians:

It is my duty to save a life and to aid the injured. I will perform my assigned duties quickly and efficiently, placing these duties before personal desires and comforts. These things I do, "That Others May Live."

We need to volunteer our skills and services because it is our duty as citizens of our country to “save a life and to aid the injured.” We need to train and volunteer so “that others may live.” At its most extreme, we have to be ready to lay down our own lives so that a stranger may live.

The ultimate irony of the field you officially enter today is this—that the people you save during disasters and whom you bring to definitive care mostly go home complete while you who start the rescue efforts with the most energy and the highest of ideals, often leave the scene of a disaster broken in spirit.

In the aftermath of the destruction brought about by Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, Emergency physicians in Louisiana coined a motto that I believe fits everyone who works in emergency care and rescue. That motto is, “First to arrive. Last to leave.”

This is my challenge to you: To be willing to be the first to arrive and be the last to leave. Always keep in mind, however, that you must likewise punctuate your volunteer service with time to recharge yourselves and deal with the stresses inherent in SAR operations and disaster management. Never forget to consider your innate human imperfections and the fragility of your own human emotions.

The answer of one of my friends to my question, “How often do you volunteer?” really struck me at very core of my being. He said:

I volunteer when I can and when the urge of generosity spurs me. But I know, deep in my heart, that I don’t volunteer as much as circumstances require me to, as much my conscience compels me to, as much as my country wants me to, nor as much as people around me need me to.

Volunteerism is not merely a conscious decision to help others. It is a way of life. Every nation and every country has aspects of volunteerism entrenched in its culture and its traditions. It is a remarkable way for people to make a difference in the lives of others.

The concept of volunteering to contribute to progress and development is a very old one. However, the idea that volunteerism should be tapped and should be directed towards meeting the needs of a nation and of a people is new. It may be sound like an ambitious idea, but I personally believe that volunteers have equally ambitious hearts.

The points I want you to consider as you volunteer are these:

1. Turn your passion for service into solutions,

2. Always be prepared,

3. Be willing to be the first to arrive and the last to leave

4. Make volunteerism your way of life, and

5. Do all this so that others may live.

Annually, the United Nations honors volunteers on December 5 during the International Volunteers’ Day. However, allow me to celebrate that day prematurely. For today and at this moment, I honor and salute the volunteer in each and every one of you.

Congratulations and thank you very much.

February 14, 2007

Being Single in a Couple's World

It's Valentine's Day once again.

And once again, I find myself dodging questions about why I am single, unattached, and not looking. It seems as though everyone (except me) is worried that I am still single when I am fast approaching that time when my age will no longer be on the calendar.

I am constantly reminded that time is running out... That I should get married... That I shouldn't be too picky... That I am in danger of growing old alone... That I should get married soon or else no once will take care of me.

Frankly, being single is fast becoming a source of stress for me... More than the stress of my work as a Emergency physician where I deal with dying patients, demanding relatives, bleeding wounds, crying babies, and doctors who think I know nothing. I'm stressed not because time is running out and I may grow old alone. I am stressed because it seems my civil status is stressing everyone else around me.

I could of course give a myriad of reasons why I am currently single-- my job, traumatic previous relationships, circumstance, psychological incapacity, genetics... But no matter what I say, it seems the people around me are rushing about to find the one for me. I cannot count the times I have made excuses or gotten sick on purpose just to get out of having to meet a guy someone is pushing on me. It has even gotten to the point where I have people questioning my sexual orientation. To which I always say, "I have nothing against gays. In fact, I have close gay and lesbian friends. I do prefer guys... I'm just NOT looking for a guy RIGHT now."

Right now, I have a demanding job as a physician while pursuing a master's degree. But I find them both fulfilling. I prefer to just stay at home after work or class to sleep, eat, and surf the net. I earn enough right now to be comfortable. I am able to buy what I need and occasionally, even the luxuries that I want. I can travel to another country at the drop of a hat without having to feel guilty about raiding the family coffers. In theory, I am answerable to no one (well, except maybe my parents).

I don't see why people are worried about me. My finances are in order. I am investing my earnings smartly. I am saving for my own house and car. I am covered by insurance. I even have a retirement plan in place at my age of 30 years. Granted, I have yet to get a memorial plan... But still, how many people can say that they have planned for their future? For that matter, how many married couples out there are prepared for retirement?

The bottom line is-- I cannot see why people are pushing me to get married to the next heterosexual male who comes my way.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against marriage. At one point in my life, I was even prepared to give up my religion, my family, my career, and my friends for a man that I loved. I was ready to raise our children the way he wanted. It simply was not meant to be. I am not actively running away from a relationship. Nor do I hate men with a vengeance. Albeit, once when I was asked, "Is it because you feel unworthy of being loved?" I had to look away.

The reason I am single is simple. Nowadays, as a female, I can earn enough to support myself. I am not equivalent to a piece of property without its own identity. I don't need a man to complete me. I am complete being myself. I am in my comfort zone.

Perhaps I should take heart in what this widow told me several months ago, "Don't get married because you don't want to die alone. Don't get married because you want children to take care of you when you are old. Look at me, I was married once. Now that I am old, my husband is dead. My children are grown up and have lives of their own. It would be unfair to demand that they stop living their lives to take care of me. I am single again. I take care of myself."

I've transformed her words into my own mantra-- I am single. I can take care of myself.

If couple-hood is in my future, I will certainly welcome it with open arms. I would like to think that I am one complete person who deserves another complete person. I am not an emotional cripple looking for another half-person so I can pretend to be whole.

Right here and right now, I am single and I can take care of myself.

January 31, 2006

She...

She sat, staring into the dark blue waters underneath the cliff that supported her weight. There were no more tears but her grief was unbearable.

Just a few months back they were still a couple-- holding hands, smiling into each other's eyes, sharing jokes and intimate moments. They were, according to some of the people around them, a perfect couple. They were both driven, accomplished, educated, and successful at the company where they both worked.

But theirs was an on-again, off-again relationship-- marked by volatile break-ups followed up by making up in the most passionate way they could. They never talked about what caused the friction in the first place, choosing instead to sweep their issues under the rug. Whenever they got back together, it was as if there was no time lost between them. They would pick up right where they left off.

They had spent an unforgettable night together, professing their undying love for one another until deep into the night. He told her repeatedly how much he loved her and how much he wanter her to bear his child. Maybe if that happened, their families could no longer drive them apart.

He then went to an international conference paid for by the company. They kept in touch during the month they were apart through letters and by phone. He missed her, he said. So did she. And she eagerly awaited his return. Because she had happy news she wanted to tell him. But she had to tell him in person.

The day of his return came... And went. She was frantic with worry since she could not get a hold of him. A week later, he showed up at work. He denied that something was wrong but she could not let go of her uneasiness. He was distant. He had changed.

She asked him repeatedly what was wrong. She said they needed to talk. She forced the issue and got the answer she dreaded with her entire being. It was as if her heart was being ripped right out of her chest. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her up. Intuition told her that this the last time they were breaking up and that they would never get back together again. His family and friends had voiced their growing concern about her. He concluded they could never be together.

That was how she ended up sitting on the cliff, staring at the dark blue water underneath it, her heart torn into a million little pieces. Regret weighed heavy on her soul. She knew it was wrong but felt she had no other choice. Voices in her head began taunting her. Somehow the dam broke and tears-- tears she thought were no longer there-- began to drop like rainfall.

She had never told him the secret she kept-- never told him the news she wanted to share. And now it no longer mattered. For the secret she kept was now gone. All she could say in her own defense was that she was consumed by the irrational fear that he would think it was a desperate ploy on her part to hold on to him.

She looked with tears in her eyes at the printout she held in her hand. It was a black and white picture of an infant inside its mother's womb-- the child he told her he wanted. It was the same infant who was now gone because she cared more about appearances.

Did she really have no choice? Or did she make the wrong one? Only she could answer the questions with honesty. And he never even knew...

November 23, 2005

Visits From the Past…

There we were—twelve years older, a couple of us married, fewer still with kids—but otherwise, relatively the same. We were still the same "girls" who laughed with gusto and fretted about things. Armed with the highschool yearbook, we proceeded to count how many of us had gotten hitched in the past twelve years (answer: about 40%), how many were living and working abroad (about a third), how many were doctors (6%), how many were in the entertainment industry (lost count)...

It was, needless to say, an evening of reminiscing-- recalling the times we made our teachers cry, the times we made our teachers walk out of our classes, and the time we made our teachers scream "You're getting wild!" We talked about how our teachers often told us we were the best batch our highschool turned out-- too bad we were the noisiest as well. We revelled over the clubs we were part of, who was president of which, and whose "fault" it was that our yearbook had pictures we now wish had never seen the light of day. We recalled the "friendly" rivalry we had with the batch before us.

We updated each other on our lives-- what we were now doing, our future plans, and made promises to help each other meet our goals. We made a pact to hold reunions like this more often.

The next day, the mother of our former classmate was brought to the emergency room where one of us happened to be a doctor. She had end stage cancer which had already spread to the bones. She was in severe pain and was subsequently admitted to the hospital. Next came the seemingly endless procession of "girls" who were now women, visiting someone who was so much like our own mother. She flew back to the US a few days after.

Now, all we do is wait. For news. For word. And for the next chapter of visits from the past.

November 15, 2005

Confessions of a Soon-To-Be Member of the Unemployed Sector

November 2005. I cannot believe how time flies so fast. It seems like just yesterday, I was starting my residency training in emergency medicine. I then alternatively went into paroxysms of doubting if I made the right decision, wanting to quit, actually drafting letters of resignation and then deciding to stick it out because—well, I have never really quit anything in my life before.


Suddenly, I wake up one morning and realize that in less than two months I shall be done with my training. I now am going into paroxysms of fear—I have no idea where I will be by January next year. Nor do I even have an idea what I shall be doing. There are so many opportunities but I always feel that I am not ready to handle the responsibilities that go along with it. I suppose I put too much stock into what someone said to me in anger before—how I was irresponsible and could not be trusted to take care of the ER without supervision. This was someone whose opinion I obviously thought highly of so you really can’t blame me for thinking he just may be right. Maybe I really can’t be trusted with any responsibility. So I just tell my friends “Di ko alam kung saan ako pupulitin next year” (I have no idea where I will be picked up next year).


Naturally, I have been racking my brains for the past few weeks, dreaming up money-making schemes so that I do not starve when 2006 comes along. Schemes ranging from winning the lottery to direct-selling to medical transcription… Then I hit upon this marvelous (albeit totally unoriginal) idea of setting up an internet café near my parents’ place. I have even pestered my younger brother (who is an electronics and communications engineer with a huge interest in computers) to become my business partner. It obviously has no relation whatsoever to the emergency medicine training I have devoted (?) myself to for the past three years. And quite frankly, I have no idea why all my money-making ideas are totally removed from the practice of emergency medicine.


Some friends have told me maybe it’s my subconscious way of avoiding “certain people” who are best-forgotten. You know, people I’ve met during training whom I would not want to work with for the rest of my life or whom I believe would rather die horrible tortuous (and gladly if I might add!) deaths than work with me. I had to laugh. I was imagining people being chased and fired upon by dragons Harry Potter-style just to avoid me.


To be perfectly honest, I really don’t know why. I guess despite the three years I have spent supposedly saving lives and making people feel better, I still feel ill-equipped to deal with the onslaught of patients in critical condition without a consultant to back me up. By next year, I will be the consultant. It’s terribly exciting by it’s driving me nuts as well.


I suppose it’s all an escape. At least with an internet café, I won’t be making life-or-death decisions. If I turn out to be irresponsible, I kill my business but don’t kill anyone.


Ahh… A bum. I think that’s what I may turn out to be by next year.

November 6, 2005

“It’s not you. It’s me” and other Half-truths and Lies…

Talk about clichés... In the midst of my oft-repeated latest break-up(s) (translation: 4? Or was it 5 times with the same guy?!?), I must have heard all the well-worn clichés anyone in a break-up could either say or hear. It was heart-breaking (to say the least) and I promised myself I would never utter the same lines to anyone. But life, it seems has other plans for me.

It's not you. It's me. I don't really know if this line was meant to assuage the hurt and the pain of the break-up. I suppose the guy who told me this thought he was doing me a favor by making me think that all the problems we had was all because of him-- the way he couldn't settle with me, defend his choosing me to friends and family, the way he was ping-ponging between another girl and me, remembering I existed and was very willing to stroke his ego when things were going downhill on the other camp. I really don't know. I suppose it's a half-truth. After all, it certainly was NOT me he wanted. In the end, it didn't really help. Despite this statement and after all this time, I cannot seem to unburden myself of this immense guilt I feel thinking that all I did was ruin his life, his friendships and relationships and bring him sorrow while I at least had fleeting moments of indescribable bliss.

Sadly, I now find myself in this strange position where I feel like uttering the same words to someone else. But I guess I have to at least explain how it all came to this. Let me call him "John" (as in "John Doe")

First off, NO WE ARE NOT A COUPLE. We were (and I'd like to think, "are still") friends. We cried on each other's shoulders at each heartbreak... shared the joy of each reunion with our special someones. Somehow, a few weeks after his own disastrous break-up with this girl, John woke up and suddenly all that occupied his mind (or so he said) was me and how he had, for the longest time, wanted to ask me out and would I? It was earth-shattering to say the least. He was one of the few guy friends I kept. For the selfish reason that I knew they wouldn't have any romantic notions about me. I have too many issues, too little self-worth, and nothing to offer that it would be the height of injustice. I am not even beautiful or intelligent. Yet somehow this guy tells me he thinks the world of me. All I could think of was how tragic it was that he seems to have fallen for someone who does not exist. I am not the confident, charming, sweet, and skilled doctor he thinks I am. Hence the words "It's not you. It's me." He deserves so much more than I could possibly ever offer.

I want us to be friends like we were before. The first time I heard this, my first thought was to scream "I don't want to be just friends with you! I love you! Can't you understand that? How do you expect me to be friends with you?!?" In the end, we weren't even that. Despite my overtures, reaching out to maintain a thread of-- well, friendship, he never really bothered to do the same. This evil part of me wants to scream at him for not even saying thanks that I remembered him enough to send him his misdirected mail or "pasalubongs" etc when everyone else just left the envelopes lying around, about to be thrown into the trash. But a larger part of me understands that is probably better this way. So that the girl he truly loves won't doubt him anymore. So that I don't remember him with fondness anymore. Plus, I am not exactly an important part of his life so the time he would spend doing small thing like saying "thanks" wouldn't be worth the trouble.

And yes right now, that's exactly what I want to tell John. That I want us to be friends. To be comfortable with each other. To laugh. To cry. Together and at each other. I don't want to change the comfortable way we work together. Or lose the person I joke around with when things are light or the person I can count on when there are too many things that need to be done. I don't want to get to the point when I become jealous each time he speaks to a pretty girl. I want him to be there when I need a friend. But I can't be more than that with him. I need his friendship too much that if I lose it, I would certainly lose a lot. Even if it were to turn into something more that friendship. More so if it doesn't work out.

You made me feel special. Reading these words in a letter explaining our break-up made the evil me wonder if these were just token words said so that I wouldn't feel that my efforts at keeping the relationship alive were unappreciated. All I am truly sure of is that he was special to me. In many ways, he still is, for reasons I prefer to keep to myself. But can you blame me for wondering about the truth of this statement when each and every time I tried to make him feel special always seemed to warrant a sermon from him? Sermons about how I shouldn't be spending so much on him or how the things I did embarrassed him or how they were the realization of his worst nightmares but that he enjoyed it. Talk about mixed signals! All I wanted to do was show the world he was a special guy and that I loved him.

And yes, John made me feel special in his own little way. It takes a lot of courage to bare one's heart when you're unsure about how the other person feels for you. This may sound vain but the girl in me took immense pleasure in hearing a member of the male species say that he couldn't wait to be with me. If you aren't special to the guy who tells you that, I don't know what else to call it.

I really don't know how to tell John that I want things to remain the way they were for the simple reason that I am afraid. I've been hurt too many times before that I have lost my faith in love and men. I need my friends and nothing more. I have just relearned how it is to be independent. It was just recently that I rebuilt my dreams and ambitions. All my goals right now pertain to myself and how I will get what I want for myself by myself. I don't need the complication. If I feel the least bit mopey, all I have to do is tinker with my palm or fool around with my ipod and things are alright. I don't want to feel anything more than the numbness I have grown accustomed to. I need my space. And I need to be alone-- to heal and regroup. But I also need the knowledge that if I stumble or trip in my journey, there are people I can joke around with and cry with.

It's not you. It's me. I want us to be friends like we were before. You made me feel special.

Sad. But heartfelt and true.

August 27, 2005

AdOption

Exactly 2 months ago, adoption brought into my life a bundle of joy who has become my source of fulfillment and contentment.

I walked into the shelter that day apprehensive and unsure about what I was about to do. I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing... if it was financially viable... if I was emotionally ready to handle it... But I was already there inside the door with this helpful doctor smiling at me.

She brought to a small room where "they" all were-- tiny, abandoned, and unwanted by the people whom fate had entrusted them to. As I scanned the little bundles, my eyes came to rest on one who was shy, quiet, and reserved. The doctor smiled and told me all about him.

She and the rest of the staff had taken to calling him "Walk-In." About a year prior, they saw him in the heap of rubbish a short walking distance from the shelter. They took him in, gave him a bath, and fed him. He was skinny and had all sorts of sores all over his tiny body. They gave him medicines and cleansed his wounds.

Others had come and gone, but he remained unclaimed and unadopted. He seemed to have accepted that he was to remain in the shelter for the rest of his life. He kept to himself and basically blended into the shadows. No one before me had ever shown any interest in adopting him.

At that moment I knew that he was "The One" I was meant to find, love and care for. I was meant to find him and give him a home. It seemed that on that day, two lost souls looking for validation found each other. It was fate. It was kismet. It was meant to be.

I took him home on that cloudy June day and named him "Tiger." He may only be a stray dog but whoever he was in his past life... wherever he may have come from... whatever it is he might have done... he now has a home with me.