Popong: Weekly Contemplation

May 14, 2025
2 Kings 19:14–20 — Hezekiah’s Prayer
Hezekiah received the letter from the messengers and read it. Then he went up to the temple of the Lord and spread it out before Him. And Hezekiah prayed:

“Lord, the God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, You alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth. You have made heaven and earth. Give ear, Lord, and hear; open Your eyes and see; listen to the words Sennacherib has sent to ridicule the living God.

It is true, Lord, that the Assyrian kings have laid waste to these nations. They have thrown their gods into the fire and destroyed them—for they were not gods, but only wood and stone, made by human hands. Now, Lord our God, deliver us from his hand, so that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that You alone, Lord, are God.”

Then Isaiah sent word to Hezekiah: “This is what the Lord says: I have heard your prayer.”

Two events have weighed heavily on my mind these past few days: the passing of my oldest brother and the national election in the Philippines. Both are now behind us. I’ve written my own personal obituary for my brother, as honestly as I could, and I’m relieved that the election is over, with hints of a shift away from celebrity culture and towards more grounded leadership. Perhaps anti-dynasty measures will follow—one can hope.

I stopped posting on Facebook out of respect for my brother. In doing so, I revisited an idea that had often crossed my mind but I never acted on: social media is, more often than not, a stage to seek validation—from either familiar faces or total strangers.

In my case, it was mostly the former. I posted regularly, partly to experiment with new apps, but deep down, I still checked the number of views and likes, even if they came from the same people over and over. It felt like living in a small village, where you step out of your house daily to perform little tricks, waiting for neighbors to say, “That’s nice.” Eventually, I had to ask myself: is it worth it?

I realized that this craving for attention is rooted in loneliness—the kind that can come from living alone as an older man. But there’s nothing inherently wrong with solitude, especially if it serves a purpose. I’ve often told myself that solitude is the best environment for cultivating the gifts God has given me: writing, reading, and learning.

The trouble comes when I mistake social media for an outlet of those gifts. It isn’t. Writing needs practice. Reading nourishes writing. But social media? It interrupts both.

So I’ve gone back to basics. Since halting my Facebook activity, I’ve written more—especially meditations like this one. I still share them via my blog, anonymously, to avoid paranoia. I’m also slowly returning to deeper reading.

Of course, I still browse social media now and then, but I’m choosing to be a spectator rather than a performer. I’ve learned that the “flow” and “zone” I need to thrive creatively are fragile and easily disturbed.

My brother’s death served as a final wake-up call. I’m not far behind him in life’s timeline. I will soon face my own ending, and when that time comes, I will ask myself: Did I spend my time doing what I truly loved—what God gifted me to do—or did I chase validation and distraction?

I’ve prepared in the usual ways: financially, physically, practically. But the more important question lingers: Have I pursued the work that brings me closer to God’s purpose?

Storytelling. Blogging. Designing websites. Reading great books. These are all part of my calling. But I must resist the temptation to obsess over a perfect outcome. My mother worked tirelessly for a sense of perfection, and in the end, she still suffered. My father, after retirement, gave in to indulgences he had long suppressed. And my brother gave everything for a family that eventually couldn’t support him in his weakest days.

Each of them taught me something: don’t abuse your health; don’t suppress your true self; and don’t tie your worth to the unreliable affection of others.

So I’ll walk. I’ll eat well. I’ll write and read. I’ll tend my garden. I’ll guard my time and energy. I’ll share what I have with care, not desperation. And I’ll find joy in what is clean, simple, and quietly mine.

May 15, 2025
2 Corinthians 12:1–10 — Paul’s Vision and His Thorn
“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me... For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

I am in a better place now. Withdrawing from the constant pull of social media has shown me how it tried to shape my behavior, pushing me toward validation addiction. But the Holy Spirit, through life’s events and daily reflections, continues to pull me back to center.

I see now how some friends have fallen so deeply into the grip of online life that they post compulsively—about meals, routines, even personal struggles. The loneliness beneath it is obvious. I was on the verge of that once. But the Lord stopped me. I’m not completely detached yet, but I’m learning to resist that addiction.

Yesterday, temptation resurfaced. After a long walk, my old urges returned—roaming, seeking stimulation. But instead of chasing those impulses, I listened to my body. I rested. I napped. I read. I raked the backyard. It was a simple, productive day.

I also discovered how effective it is to listen to audiobooks while walking. It’s a double benefit: mental stimulation and physical movement. This is a rhythm I can embrace.

May 16, 2025
Mark 1:1–8 — John the Baptist Prepares the Way
“I baptize you with water, but He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

Indeed, the Lord has baptized me with the Holy Spirit since the moment my mind could grasp understanding. It is the Spirit that has guided me and kept me on the Path despite my shortcomings.

Yesterday morning was smooth—walk, grocery, watering plants—but by midday, fatigue crept in. I listened to my body. I took a nap. I adjusted my meals and medications, which were all running late. I acknowledged that consistency still eludes me.

I also realized I’ve been overdoing my walking—3.5 to 4 miles daily—approaching pre-illness levels. That’s a good sign, but I must not overreach. Cardio is essential, but resistance work and balanced rest are just as important.

Later, I met with my nurse practitioner for a long health review. I skipped walking that day because something inside told me to rest. My body gave subtle warnings, and I listened.

In the past, I would’ve called such a day “lazy” or “unproductive.” Not anymore. This is stewardship of the body, not sloth. I watched a few documentaries, learned from them, and spent time contemplating the reality of my age and limitations.

I used to imagine exploring bustling places like the Manila Esplanade—but now I see how distant those environments have become for me. Too hot, too crowded, too strenuous. My interests, energy, and social needs are evolving. So must my expectations.

And so, I reflect not with bitterness but with humility. I have done what I could. But the time of constant exploration and endless motion has passed. I must live within the rhythm of my body—much like an old car that now requires gentler handling.

Final Reflection

This week has shown me that joy, fulfillment, and meaning don’t always come from activity. Sometimes they come from attention: to one’s health, to God’s voice, to the truth of aging.

I am learning to balance function and medication. To listen to my body. To reclaim my time from the digital world. To write not for attention, but to honor the gift.

There’s still so much to do—but also so much to rest in.
2025-05-20 16:04:05
popong

Rich Fool

The Parable of the Rich Fool

13 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.”
14 Jesus replied, “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” 15 Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.”
16 And he told them this parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. 17 He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.’
18 “Then he said, ‘This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. 19 And I’ll say to myself, “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.”’
20 “But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?’
21 “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.”

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Departure of the Eldest

Chapter 1: The Ideal World

In my ideal world, I would spend my retirement back home in the old country, surrounded by siblings—though older and sicker than I am—along with nephews, nieces, and grandchildren. I imagine us spending our twilight years in joy and companionship, filled with laughter and endless visits, as if we had returned to our childhood days when life brimmed with hope and the steady presence of our parents.

My older brothers—two to ten years ahead of me—were my idols, my guides, and my inspiration. I spent my youth striving to be their equal, hoping to earn their respect as they had so naturally earned mine.

In that ideal world, we would all be healthy, free to do the things we wanted. We would go on short trips, bring food, enjoy beautiful views, and return home fulfilled—ready to rest peacefully for the night.

Chapter 2: The Real World

But this is the real world.

Today, my oldest brother passed away.

I don’t know the full story of his death. My sister told me he had been suffering from respiratory distress. He had missed dialysis because of an infected port. He had bloody stool. His body was swollen. His doctor recommended ICU admission, but there seemed to be hesitation—something unspoken within the family. It felt like they knew something I didn’t.

Had he been here in the U.S., his condition could have been managed: ICU for ventilation, an emergency port replacement, and continuous dialysis to flush out the toxins. But he wasn’t here. He was in the old country, where medical care is not as immediate or sophisticated.

I heard that weeks ago, his doctor had advised a CT scan of the lungs. He never followed through. Was it the cost? Was it denial? I don’t know. All I know is that he drove himself to the hospital—his car stalling along the way. He was admitted in respiratory distress. ICU transfer was recommended, but the 15,000 pesos per day cost became the central concern.

Was it a financial issue? Or resignation to fate?

My sister told me he had asked about me just a few days before. No one told him about my mild stroke—we didn’t want him to worry.

It’s a miserable end for a man who once had everything. He earned so much in his prime—enough to support our original family, at least partially—and helped me finish my education. He worked all his life in oil fields. Yet in his later years, he sold off the houses I had purchased for my retirement and took the proceeds for himself.

I was angry—not merely about the financial loss, but over the principle. He never even informed me. He used to brag about his wealth—his millions and accumulated properties—which gave me confidence to entrust him with my modest properties. I believed he was financially secure after decades of desert labor. But it didn’t take long for everything to vanish. The gambling, medical crises, and the children’s continued demands for an expensive lifestyle drained everything.

He ended up old, sick, and with nothing.

Eventually, I reconciled with him. I even helped fund his dialysis and medications. But I often wondered: did he assume that his children would succeed and care for him in his old age? Did he expect that kind of devotion, not realizing how rare it is in real life?

Chapter 3: The Lessons of Loss

He didn’t have social security. He made poor judgments. He failed in business. And until the very end, he tried to provide for his family—who, perhaps through no fault of their own, could not meet his hopes.

He was one of those who lived for the moment, assuming that when everything was depleted, he would simply sleep and die.

He insisted every success in the family was due to his modest contributions—claims we all knew were exaggerated. He gave everything to his wife and children, and perhaps even more to her extended family. Our mother never forgot this. We grew up in almost church mouse poverty while he and his wife looked on. He helped occasionally, yes, but what he gave to his wife and her kin dwarfed what any of us received.

We lived like their perennial inferiors. They ordered us around. We did their bidding. They relished that power—especially his wife.

It only worsened when I began working in the U.S. and took over financial support for our main family. That freed them completely to spend whatever they earned on whomever they chose—and it certainly wasn’t us. They hired multiple maids, threw lavish one-day parties that cost as much as a semester’s tuition for the college kids I was struggling to support. They sponsored pageants, bought new cars. It was a grand life.

Then he retired, claiming he was still wealthy—but it was a lie. All their blessings were burned through.

I fear he may have refused the CT scan simply because he couldn’t afford it.

There are so many unanswered questions: When did the infection start? How many dialysis sessions were missed? Could the swelling and respiratory issues have been reversed? My research tells me that gut bleeding can result from severe kidney failure. Toxins in the lungs can cause respiratory distress. Heart failure often follows.

Whether my suspicions are valid or not, the overall picture is heartbreaking.

He eventually swallowed his pride and asked us—his siblings—for help. But the children he once sacrificed everything for were struggling. The nephews and nieces he claimed to have supported had moved on with their own families. He was largely left alone.

And it was only him who believed in his version of the truth.

Had he saved more, secured a steady income, or built a safety net, perhaps his final days would have been more comfortable. But then again, who among us truly manages perfect preparation for the end?

Even I, with my modest retirement and health-focused habits, face uncertainty. My own support system could vanish. I wonder: will I end up in a nursing home? Will that be my only option?

I don’t claim to have the answers. My brother may have lacked finances, but he had family around him. I, on the other hand, may have a bit more materially—but lack the human closeness he had. There is no one formula for managing life’s last chapter.

Chapter 4: A Fool’s Wake-Up Call
The only constant in my life is the Lord. I trust that He will not abandon me in my old age.

I’ve sat with homeless elders in the park and realized—I’m not so different from them. They may even be stronger than I am when it comes to enduring hardship.

What troubles me most is the anxiety that builds with each passing day.

My brother is now free from all that—from dialysis, medication, the disappointment of watching his family struggle. Maybe this ending, painful as it is, was kinder.

But why do I still grieve so deeply when I knew this day would come?

He had been on dialysis for over a year. He had warned his family that the end was near. He wanted to live, yes—but perhaps he found peace in his final days. I like to think that the support my sister and I offered helped, even if only a little.

Would it really have been better if he had survived, only to return to a cycle of needles, pain, and exhaustion?

Chapter 5: Grief and Grace
I think of my mother, who had every comfort we could provide but still suffered terribly. My father, after multiple strokes, was cared for—but was not truly happy. I remember patients in nursing homes—some screaming in pain, others paralyzed and unable to express anything at all.

Now, I understand them.

It’s so easy to surrender to physical stillness, to retreat into memories. But today, I told myself: Get up. Meditate. Go outside. Walk. These are still within my power. These are gifts from God.

The parable of the rich fool speaks directly to me. I once believed that working endlessly and saving obsessively would ensure a secure retirement. But even in retirement, I kept going: "Just a little more..."

“You fool,” the Lord said.

You weren’t given all these blessings just to labor endlessly. You forgot to live.
2025-05-13 05:42:55
popong