The Magnificent Atty. Perez

As I write this entry, I am sharing a lonesome cup of warm Americano at my favorite coffeeshop near Redemptorist Church. It just rained previously, but now the sky is a shade of overcast gray. Outside, the road is moist with the damp of the recent rain, but inside the coffeeshop, I am dry, secure and bouyed by the strains of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” while my nose is teased by the smell of waffles cooking on the skillet.

I am the only lawyer in the sea of Med Reps buzzing about inside the shop, all of them busy drafting reports on their laptop, and making entries on their notebooks, documents and charts, the silence broken by idle chit-chat and discussions. The scent of maple syrup being poured on a nearby plate of waffles is making me hungry.

Looking at these Med Reps, I wonder about the professions I have forgone by choosing to practice as a lawyer. Would I be a different person now had I chosen the road not taken? Maybe I would have been married already and more financially secure. Maybe people would be calling me “Doctor” instead of “Attorney”. Maybe my WordPress blog would be titled “The Unholy Fr. Perez” instead of “The Magnificent Atty. Perez”

These are the professions I have forgone by choosing to take up Law:

1) Auditor – I am a duly licensed CPA with no appreciable experience in auditing. A year after I became a CPA, I immediately took up Law. Realizing the pressures and demands of my course, I decided to be contrary to my peers in the field and NOT apply at a prestigious accounting firm such as SGV or Punongbayan & Araullo, knowing that the life of a junior associate in an accounting firm is filled with deadlines, sleepless nights, and endless field work. Had I worked for an accounting firm and stayed, I would have been a manager by now. Or, had I chosen to be pirated, I could have been a financial officer in a company or maybe even its Comptroller.

2) Banker – I was already working with the Equitable PCI Banking Corp. prior to taking up Law, and again, I quit my job right before I enrolled for my law studies. Had I stayed, I would sure to be an officer of the Bank, given my CPA License. I actually do miss working for a Bank sometimes because the job was so easy and routinary. And to think that I used to hate that job because I found it so boring. But now that I am in the highly-pressured and oftentimes antagonistic practice of law, I miss that sense of routine, and the fact that after my day is done, I could leave my concerns over the job back at the Bank. I don’t have to think about prescriptive periods or how to deal with antagonistic personalities.

3) Doctor – In my years prior to college, I grew up believing that I would follow in my father’s footsteps and take up Medicine. For certain, everyone was surprised that I didn’t. Sometimes, I wonder where I would be in life had I chosen that course. I would have been classmates with my bestfriend Johndi and joined him in the adventures and misadventures that he and his barkada went through during their college years. Instead of arguing with people, I would be healing them and tending to their illnesses. Instead of claiming damages from companies, I would be saving lives just like my dad. But I think about this knowing the rigors and pressures of the medical field, knowing that I would face even more physical and mental exertion than I am now as a lawyer.

4) Teacher – I used to teach in the College of Commerce while I was studying Law and I actually loved what I did. I enjoy being in a classroom and imparting information and knowledge to eager (and oftentimes not-so-eager) young minds. The best part of my job was to see a student’s face light up as a lightbulb powers up in his head and he understands esoteric concepts of taxation or the double-entry system of bookkeeping. The only thing I hated about the job was checking papers and making grades. But otherwise, it was a very fulfilling career, one that I hope to come back to as a professor of law.

5) Priest – I think it is inevitable in any Catholic schoolboy’s life that at one point or another, he asks himself whether he is being called to become a priest. More so when the said schoolboy was a long time member of the school’s Knights of the Altar and a delegate to the World Youth Day ‘95, where he greeted the Pope when he arrived in Manila. I grew up with pious women in the family and a religious father. When I was much younger, we prayed the rosary regularly every 6pm. I also grew up reading about the lives of saints such as St. Francis, St. Benedict, and St. John Bosco. At one point of my life, I considered serving the poor in missions to Africa and teaching children about the Gospel. Sometimes, I ask myself if I was being called but I just didn’t have the guts to say “Yes” to God. Back then it was because I was telling myself that the life of the pious is not what I want for myself.

Well… those are my roads not taken. I guess everybody has those, at one point in their lives. We just cannot be everything that we want to be.

Sometimes, we have to choose and pray that we chose well.

There are ups and downs to being a lawyer, but I guess, if I had chosen the other road, I would be lying back and wondering what would have happened had I chosen to become a lawyer. I would be wondering about what it’s like to stare down opposing counsels in court, or to meet with various important people to aid and give them legal counsel in making important decisions for their companies and their community. I would be certainly be less assertive than I am now, and would lose out on meeting some of the greatest people that I only met during law school and in the course of my practice.

What was the road YOU did not take?

Summer has come and passed

the innocent can never last

Wake me up when September ends…

-Green Day-

Two years ago, American pop-punk rock group Green Day came out with a sentimental departure from their punk rock songs, a song about stepping up to become who we were meant to be, amidst all trials, sorrow and pain. The song was titled “Wake Me Up When September Ends”

Fittingly, the song became a hit here in the Philippines on August, which was the month before September, when I was about to take the 2005 Bar Exams.

Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars

Drenched in my pain again,

becoming who we are…

As you can surmise, “Wake Me Up When September Ends” became the anthem song for the University of San Carlos barristers of Batch 2005, the one sentence that summarized how we looked and felt as we took the one crucial exam that we were preparing for the last 4 years and 5 months of our lives: like zonked out sheep lining up for slaughter before the meat processor.

If you wonder why lawyers charge high professional fees, I tell you, go through what what did when we were law students and barristers and you will feel for yourself that what a lawyer charges does not even come close to making up for all the mental strain, aggravation, emotional turmoil and spiritual crises that he went through all those years that prepared for the Bar.

But I suppose, my Bar experience was a wee bit more different from the Bar experience of most. True to my non-conformist nature, I deviated from all the other Carolinian barristers, who mostly ended up reviewing in San Beda, and instead studied at the Ateneo de Manila Law Review Center, one of only two Carolinian barristers stationed at Rockwell. (I was the only Carolinian who was there by choice… the other barrister only reviewed there because it was too late for her to enroll in San Beda)

Attend any of my law school reunions and you will find Atty. J.C., (otherwise known by his law school monicker of “Jacabelts”, the batch hunk, as opposed to yours truly who was ignominiously crowned by our Labor Law teacher as the batch gigolo), telling one and all that the future Magnificent Atty. Perez partied his way to becoming a lawyer during his review in Manila.

And he would be right.

Somewhat.

As a review-mate in Ateneo would say, “The best way to prepare in taking the Bar is to practice by going to a bar!” Wow! Such wisdom! Such practicality! I took the advice to heart!

(Incidentally, that guy still hasn’t become a lawyer. Cheers mate)

So began one of the longest hedonistic periods of my life. Whether it was having some cold beers with friends from Xavier University – Cagayan de Oro, on top of their rooftop while watching the house down the street burn down in 10 minutes flat; to hanging out with VJ’s KC Montero, John Joe Joseph, and Cindy Kurleto over at Temple Bar for MTV’s Popcorn Party (thanks for buying me the beer KC); to watching more movies in 6 months than I ever watched during my four years of law school; to visiting family and friends over at Manila Zoo (I schitt thee not… all the previously mentioned stories are true!!!) —- I was having adventurous escapades that could only be rivalled by my first semester in law school (and I nearly flunked law school because of that!)

My friends reviewing in San Beda and UP could only shake their head in incredulity at the risks I was taking, and really, I was taking a lot.

First of all, unlike the other barristers, I made it a point not to study after I have had dinner. While most barristers pushed themselves to study till breaking point, I maintained a strict study period of 9am to 6pm. This study period, by the way, owing to my restless nature and lack of mental discipline, includes my tendency to hop from one table to another in the library, then off to have my favorite P10 cappuccino from the Nescafe vendo machine near the conference hall, talk to a bit to my new-found network of barristers from Manila, Iloilo, Cagayan de Oro, Davao and God knows where else in this country, then run off to Rockwell for P12 doughnuts and stolen glances at showbiz celebrities that I don’t know the names of. (I can attest that Eric Quizon has glowing skin, Noli de Castro is smaller than he appears on TV, Jamby Madrigal looks good wearing green, and that Phoemela Barranda, when having curly hair, looks and sounds eerily like Cher)

Sometimes when I get sick and tired at reviewing at Ateneo, I bring my books to Glorietta. Yes friends… I have studied at the McDonald’s in the heart of Glorietta, at the height of a noisy lunch hour, with my nose buried deep in my Jurado Civil Law Reviewer, munching on Chicken McNuggets and sipping on a Coke Float, and reading about the rights of the dominant estate-owner (Lot A) upon the sale of the subservient estate (Lot B). In my head, I can hear my teacher, Ernie Mayol, smacking his lips and saying lecherously, “Hala oy… ka lami sa iyang Lot B!” I dare you to say that out loud.

The other risk I took was by deciding, from the months of June and July, to study for only 5 days a week, as opposed to almost all barristers who studied 6 days in a week. Saturdays and Sundays were both free days. Saturday was reserved for playing table-top roleplaying games over at the mezzanine atop Filbars in Glorietta 2 with my newfound Manila gaming group, while Sundays were for sweltering in the heat of my Makati dorm while finally running away to the cold comforts of Greenbelt 4’s benches staring at the privileged few who can afford to purchase ludicrously overpriced luxury merchandise. Apparently, the privileged few breed good looking daughters with nice straight teeth and finely-shaped ankles.

Or, sometimes, I hang out at the walkway of Greenbelt, near the fountain, and guess how many of the beautiful women passing by were actually women. (Tip: if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.)

Oh by the way, if you think “What the hell was he doing going to Manila and not studying??? He’s just wasting his parents’ hard earned cash drinking overpriced coffee and staring at Makati drag queens,” let me assure you, there was a method to my madness.

I’m a big believer of quality, not quantity studying. One good read is all you need. But to have one good read, your mind must be fresh and clear from stress and clutter.

I guess my gambit paid off because I only took the Bar once and passed.

And the Bar…. ah yes, what can I tell you about the Bar? Shall I mention how it is the only public affair in Manila that comes closest to feel and frenzy as Cebu’s Sinulog? Shall I tell you about my seatmate during the Remedial Law exam who kept on sobbing and whimpering while writing her answers? (I felt bad… I didn’t know whether to comfort her in her time of weakness or to slap her silly for distracting all the other examinees while we were taking the exam. I did what any sane examinee would do and ignored her completely) Shall I tell you about the Ethics exam which I answered in the grand tradition of USC Law students schooled by the great Lolo Jomo Perez… with opening statements quoting lines from the Lawyer’s Oath? Shall I tell you about the red things I wore during all four Sundays of the Bar? (I’m sure a classmate would say, “But Janprats, didn’t you wear a green t-shirt and blue jeans during Third Sunday…. Ohhhhhh.”) Shall I tell you how, during my Civil Law exam, I ran out of time and left the middle part of my exam booklet blank, and wrote “I was going to answer this but I ran out of time”?

Ah yes… everyone has a Bar story to tell. I have a thousand and ten.

Nevertheless… for all my misadventures and caprices, I am now a lawyer with my own share of further misadventures and caprices. Looking back, I can’t help but grin and wish those who come after me good luck in the coming exam.

So, I dedicate this entry to all my little brothers and sisters in USC Law Batch 2007 with good luck and God’s graces in the upcoming exam. Ana, Annecy, Toni, Laina, Honey, Fatso, Vince, Ezem, Manuel, Sharon, and all the rest… make us proud!

Kids, I’m coming over on Third Sunday!

Ring out the bells again, like we did when spring began,

Wake me up when September ends!! Wake me up when September ends!!

I’m at the rather noisy and crowded domestic terminal of Cebu Pacific Airlines, looking out at a muggy rainy morning in Manila. The solitary ham and cheese croissant paired off with a tetra-pack of iced coffee fails to quell the rumbling of my rather famished stomach.I am sleepy because I had insomnia last night. I left my wristwatch and cellphone charger over at my friend Blake’s house (where I was staying during my trip there). My trip back to Cebu has been delayed for an hour and the overall surroundings are as somber as my mood.

But all things considered, it has been a good and productive trip up North at our fair nation’s National Capital Region. I was assigned here to follow up on a client’s *long inhale of breath* Petition for Correction of Clerical Errors on Petitioner’s Birth Certificate Through Republic Act No. 9048, and so far, I’ve accomplished that task. Never mind if my trip there could have easily been averted through a simple phone call to the Civil Registrar of XX City, I will just disregard the fact that some government offices haven’t caught up with the wonders of facsimile machines.

Still, interesting things always happen to me whenever I am in Manila. My trips this year alone have been ones for the records. Last May, I was in the legal staff of a Senatorial candidate and was billeted at the hotel which in one case, “has bore mute witness to the triumphs and failures, loves and frustrations of the Filipinos; its existence is impressed with public interest; its own historicity associated with our struggle for sovereignty, independence and nationhood.” (Incidentally… the food at that hotel was just yecchhh.) Then last July, a couple of friends paid for my fare and lodgings and had me fly over to Manila just so that I could run a weekend campaign of Game of Thrones.

This August found me, among other things, on an LRT adventure, a wedding misadventure, a long talk with my kids, and finally, a long talk with my host family.

The LRT adventure, courtesy of the fact that I was on a tight budget, refers to my hasty jump aboard the bonny LRT 1, as as I hopped from the Taft station up towards the Central station. Now I don’t mind mass commute, mind you, but not when I don’t know where I’m headed and I’m crammed into an overstuffed coach full of strangers with no convenient handle to latch on to. Now I know what a can of Señorita sardines feel like… or a New York subway commuter! But that’s what I did, with many a long consultation with the LRT map and with even longer interrogations of the subway police. Fortunately, I got to Central station without fanfare, making my way down to Earth and figuring out where the heck the City Hall (or more precisely, the Civil Registry) was.

Thus, I walked down the bonny streets of Manila City with a scenic view of the KKK mural on my right (and no, my American readers, not THAT KKK. I mean the organization that had such magnificent Philippine heroes now contained in our local currency and nearly defunct postage stamps: Aguinaldo, Bonifacio, Rizal, and some militant carabaos.) To my left lay the scenic walls of Intramuros, where my friend’s organization’s head office is located, the one rumored to be inhabited by dead Spanish friars that float above you whilst you lay sleeping in bed and have weird dreams about sacristans. I wanted to go there, knock on the door and say, “Who you gonna call??” then run off giggling like a crazy lawyer who has been cooped up too long in the LRT.

Eventually, I got to the City Hall and was greeted with a flurry of people and activity. By sheer luck, the first door I entered into immediately led me to the Office of the Civil Registrar. Apparently, so many people were having problems with their birth certificates, marriage licenses, marriage contracts, death certificates and what have you. Everybody looked like ants scurrying about looking for the right hole to crawl into as harried government employees did their best to transact official government business.

I eventually found the correct person to annoy, badger, intimidate, and eventually kneel down in front of and beg with matching tears and incoherent shrieks about the starving children of Africa until my case was attended to and solved. The problem? The Civil Registrar was requiring additional documents which I did not carry on my person. Apparently, the appropriate communication was supposed to be sent to Cebu City’s Civil Registrar (although never received by the latter), informing my client of what was lacking. Hooray. Government efficiency at its finest. Yet another problem that could have been immediately solved by a fax machine but wasn’t. Joy.

Fortunately, the transaction was finished. There was no more that I could do. I immediately made my way down the streets again and waited for a taxicab to show up along the road. Numerous unoccupied ones passed me by but didn’t attend to my apparent need for comfortable mass transport. Apparently, they too have heard of the dead Spanish friars that lay entombed inside Intramuros. I didn’t know that THAT many taxi drivers used to be sacristans.

I sighed wearily and made my way towards the LRT again. With another long talk with your friendly neighborhood LRT police, I got into yet another jam-packed trip to bliss and prayed that Spider-man will not come barreling down on our coach having a bitter fight with Doctor Octopus. I did not want to rely on the strength of his webbing to save my life.

Getting down the next stop (which sounded something like Someone Jose…. Doroteo Jose? Fernando Jose? Marimar?), I surveyed the area around me and tried to figure out where the other train was that was supposed to take me to Quezon City. Spotting a cab, I thought “To hell with that!”, flagged the bugger and rode in relative comfort and bliss all the way to a church, where some people that I’ve never met where getting married.

My friend Blake, who was my host for my trip there, asked me to accompany him and his mom (who was a principal sponsor of the said wedding), and help alleviate his boredom attending the wedding of perfect strangers. I arrived there in time just as the bridal procession was about to start and sat with Blake observing a fat ring-bearer waddling down the aisle and people going “Ohhhh… he’s so cute!!!” I was more entertained with the other ring-bearer… the skinny kid patiently waiting for the other ring-bearer to finish waddling down the aisle so that he could do his own walk and be done with his obligations to this wedding. What amused me was this kid’s barong… a see-through affair that did little to cover the poor guy’s upper torso. Only a poor innocent ring-bearer could get away with wearing a barong made from the same fabric as Wonder Woman’s Invisible Jet. Wear that thing in court and the other lawyers would laugh at you. (“Haha. Look at the Magnificent Atty. Perez. The only thing you can see of his barong is his collar! Oh look, his sando has a big hole at the back. Haha!”) I pray that someone will spare the kid of the horrors of a photograph.

The mass was soon over, and after the obligatory pictures with the married couple’s principal sponsors, their family, their relatives, their friends, their orthodontists, their lawyers and their pets, we soon made our way towards the reception. More uncomfortable silence as Blake and I were seated right next to yet another set of perfect strangers, who were apparently close relatives of the bride wondering who the hell we were. I cheekily took a nearby appetizer and grinned shamelessly at them. “Oh, the bride looks so cute… I remember when she was only 10 years old and looked so lovely running around naked in the playground screaming ‘I AM THE LIZARD QUEEN!’”

(And no, I did not actually say that but part of me wishes that I did.)

To compound to our embarrassment, Blake and I were heavily engaged in a conversation involving biomechanic Filipino spaceships manned by an alien race patterned after thuggish kapres and controlled by engkantos, that we didn’t hear the wedding coordinator’s instructions that each table was to stand up when called, take their picture with the bride and groom and make their way down to the buffet table. All I saw was that people were lining up for food and then nudged Blake for him and I to follow suit. I might have missed the uncomfortable and shocked glare given by the people in Table No. 12 (where we were seated), as Blake and I boldly went where no man has gone before and joined the line prematurely to the buffet table. By the time that the first porkchop was on my plate, I horrifically realized my mistake as I heard the emcee shriek out “Hookehy, Teybol Number Payb… Come on Down!!! It’s your turn to get fed and pektyured!!!”

Explaining our predicament to Blake, we pondered what to do. It was too late to go back to our table since we already had porkchops, lasagna, soup and other comforting wedding reception food planted like damning evidence on our plate. Meanwhile, the residents of Table No. 12 (who apparently, all knew each other except us), looked like they were busy gossiping about us. (”Who are these people?? How rude!”)

And that was Day One.

I will blog about Day Two some other day, because I have to start dressing up for a formal dinner, and because the topic of Day Two requires some thoughtful and ponderous blogging.

Unlock the door, unlock my head
and dream of butterflies instead
the beauty of their colored wings
the trees, the grass and pretty things
imagination fills the void of my existence…”
-K’s Choice, ‘Butterflies Instead’

I believe that the souls of the dead reach out to us in the form of a beautiful black butterfly, one with swallow-tail wings and white spots in its tail markings.

At least, that’s what’s been manifesting to close friends and family every time somebody dear to us dies, or at a significant moment in our lives.

Somebody dear to our family just died, the sister of my maternal grandmother, and one of our most loved lolas. She was a dear and sweet soul who loved her family so much. Nothing gave her more pleasure than to cook and feed family and friends, since she was so gifted with the talent of cooking. My mom was her favorite niece and it was this lola who first taught my Mama how to bake a cake. We owe her so many of my Mom’s delicious recipes and for helping Mama’s talent to blossom and grow.

On Sunday morning, while I was still in Manila, a black butterfly like the one that I described appeared on our dining room’s screen door and stayed there. Our helper Jovy, who is very superstitious called out to my Mom and Dad and had them observe this butterfly. It was a very unusual thing to see because our house is located in the middle of the city and butterflies and moths almost never show up at our house. The butterfly just stuck there until our naughty dog Whiskey, wondering what the big fuss was all about, gave the screen door a bum rush and frightened the poor butterfly away. However, it came back and landed on the kitchen door’s screen instead. It stayed there for a long time.

Then, as I got back home on Sunday night, I received a text message. It was from my Tito Ed in Canada, informing us that Mommy Tita, our lola’s sister, passed away.

Mom then texted all our relatives, including our Tita Lita in Bantayan Island. The following morning, Tita Lita called the house up and talked to our mom. She told us that she’s seen the same big black butterfly flitter around the vicinity, first landing in Tita Lita’s house, then afterwards, landing in our Lolo Nonoy’s vacation home which was right beside. Lolo Nonoy was Mommy Tita’s and my own lola’s brother, who had previously died 2 years ago, while I was still reviewing for the Bar. After she noticed the butterfly, one of her neighbors came knocking on the door and asked her, “Who is that lady which keeps passing by Nonoy’s house repeatedly?”

Before Mommy Tita died, she was very upset because she wanted to come back to the Philippines from Canada, because she made a promise to Lolo Nonoy that they would meet up in the Philippines, but her doctor forbade her from traveling. Lolo Nonoy had already died when she wanted to visit. The mysterious thing was that an amount of money equivalent to a round trip plane fare for two was deposited in Mommy Tita’s special bank account that Lolo Nonoy periodically placed money in whenever he wanted her to come to the Philippines.

My godfather, Tito John Eggeling, told me the same story when his mother died. The same big black swallow-tailed butterfly kept hovering all around his house and landing on the main door where everybody could see them. His son, Jonas, also saw the same butterfly coming home on a late night out, plastered on his window. Jonas was his lola’s favorite grandchild. Finally, on the last night of the funeral, there were instead two big butterflies clinging to the halogen lamp overlooking the whole crowd. I saw those two myself. I think it was Tito John’s mom and dad, finally reunited after a long separation from each other.

Immediately after that butterfly sighting, me and my dad began seeing the same big black butterfly following us around. Dad saw it when he was meeting up with friends at Grand Majestic. The following day, he and I saw the butterfly clinging to our house’s porch steps.

The week after, when I flew to Dipolog (which was my first out-of-town assignment, but I was not yet a lawyer. I was just accompanying one of the firm’s associates, Atty. Hebe Tanga-an, to a case that I was going to be assigned to later on.), I was on my way to church when I turned around because something caught my eye. It was the same big black swallow-tailed butterfly passing me by and flying off to the plaza.

A few days after that, I learned the news that I had become a lawyer and there was a big celebration. In my first day in the office as a lawyer, I was climbing up the stairs en route to the office when I saw that big black butterfly clinging against the stairway walls, as if observing me. I told my boss about it, and he said it’s probably the managing partner’s father, Atty. Jose C. Palma Sr., who was welcoming me as the newest addition to the firm that he founded.

The butterfly’s final appearance for that year was quite comical. I was with with my bestfriend Raymond, who was at that time reviewing for the Bar. This was last year, on May. It was my last night in Makati after having taken my lawyer’s oath. Me, Raymond, his cousin Cristina, and his friend Gon-gon, were having some beers outside of Powerplant Mall when I spotted the butterfly alighting on the sidewalk pavement right across me. A black cat with white paws and a white tip on its tail quickly ran forward and ate it.

(And no Christela, I did not start seeing the cat.)

I did see that butterfly again, on December of last year. My favorite boss, Atty. Chito Teleron, had died a few weeks before the firm’s Christmas party. The managing partner, Atty. Jopox Palma, had decreed that in respect to boss Chito, we will not be celebrating our Christmas party with any fanfare. We will just have a quiet dinner over at Ching Palace. I was riding with my uncle, Atty. Ybanez, to Ching Palace, when we parked at the parking area behind the restaurant. As we went in the glass door leading to the eating area, we saw the butterfly fluttering against the door, trying to get in. We knew who it was. We opened the door, and true enough, the butterfly flew in the restaurant to join us in our celebration.

The following day, the lawyers and the office staff gathered around boss Chito’s office, opened two bottles of Johnny Walker Black Label and got unceremoniously drunk. We were all very happy. The butterfly didn’t show up though. It’s work was done.

I really believe that we have angels everywhere, the souls of our beloved dead, flying around in the form of beautiful, big black swallowtail butterflies with white markings. They’ve come to watch over us, and let us know they are around.

Why butterflies?

Well, I think it’s a symbol. Do you know how it is when an ugly creepy caterpillar spins itself into a chrysalis and comes out as a beautiful butterfly? The caterpillars are us, the souls of the living. The chrysalis is our death. The butterflies are them, the souls of our dearly departed.

The souls who are truly alive….

————————-

In loving memory of Teresita Mansueto-Veloso, may her soul rest in peace. Please say hi to Mommy Nena and Daddy Paeng for me. We love you Mommy Tita.

What is an adventure? Does it involve a headlong careen from a ravine with nothing but a parachute strapped to your back? Does it involve riding a mountain bike while racing against a rampaging buffalo? Does it involve a feeling of giddy excitement and exultation?

I’ve been having an adventure since Sunday this week, and no, it doesn’t involve fighting off pirates with a rusty cutlass, swinging through buildings using a symbiotic web. I think in order to ideally constitute an adventure, the experience must be one that totally catches you by surprise and has you dealing with one unexpected situation after another, thrilling you till no end.

For the past few days, I’ve been the lead counsel of Joker Arroyo in the Province of Cebu. The adventure has taken me to the social hall of Capitol Province where I saw the proclamation of the Honorable Nerissa Soon-Ruiz and her Governorship, Gwendolyn Garcia. I’ve seen an army of the Philippine National Police camped outside the COMELEC Regional Building amidst a restless throng of Martinez and Salimbangon supporters. I’ve had sleepless nights spent staying awake protecting the integrity of the national votes, and moments of rushing through the streets of Cebu when I shifted from election work to law firm duties and back to election work. I’ve ridden an army truck wheeling down the highways of Cebu, accompanied by the loud, blaring sirens of a police motorcade, with six tin ballot boxes to guard and protect as we brought them safely to the COMELEC en banc in Metro Manila. I’ve taken part in the national canvassing of votes for Senatorial candidates and witnessed the showdown of two election law giants, Atty. Romy Makalintal and Atty. Sixto Brillantes. I’ve witnessed first-hand how election fraud and cheating unfolds in the end-game and how it fits in the grand scheming of our country’s national representatives.

And finally, the adventure culminates, as last night I shook the hand of my client, the Honorable Joker P. Arroyo, when he invited the members of his legal team for dinner at his opulent house in Dasmarinas.

What a memorable week it has been! An unpredictable thrill with one big event after another. It was an experience of a lifetime that this humble new lawyer could not in his wild imaginings ever believe he would have the fortune to encounter.

Today, as I am typing this blog entry in the quiet solitude of my hotel room, I struggle to remember each and every nuance and observation during the conversation and discussion that I have had with an important figure of Philippine history, one of the great lawmakers of our country. I’m reeling from the realization that I serve one of the heroes of EDSA, one of the giants who brought down both the Marcos and the Erap regimes. I’m awestruck at the quiet humility of this frail greatness, who talked to me as if my legal opinion mattered, as if my advice was worth considering. He is the same man who served me food and beseeched me to stay longer in Manila and take part in the national canvassing as a member of his legal staff… the one who’s urging me to learn and become a good election lawyer.

I am humbled by my part in all of this. Who am I to represent a legend? Who am I to be handed this experience on a silver plate? Somehow I feel the spirit of my grandfather, the Honorable Judge Rafael Ybanez behind all this, the same man who was, in his own lifetime, a kingmaker and a political stalwart in the Cebuano election community.

Somehow, it makes sense. The Holy Spirit is nudging me and answering my prayer… nay, not nudging, but pushing me off a precipice and launching me headlong into adventure. Two days prior to that fateful call one Sunday, I was in church, petitioning the Holy Spirit to address the restlessness and indecision in my confused heart and leading me to where the Father wants me to be. And the Holy Spirit answered.

I am a lawyer. I uphold the Constitution and defend people’s rights. I protect the sanctity of public process and uphold the majesty of the law over all, whether king, pauper, or prince.

It all makes sense now. I am where I should be.