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Norway’s piece of a prize

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I literally broke into tears when I woke up the day after Maria Ressa won the Nobel Peace Prize. Can you imagine what that means? Dahlinks, the world finally knows Filipinos can have brains! We’ve been deluged with globally known Pinoys for beauty queens, beauty queens and ok, the occasional boxer who’s our version of the Kardashians. 

One can’t imagine the sense of pride I have now, being a Filipino. You really want to know how we are being known in Paris? As housekeepers, serving whoever can afford their rates for they charge highly even in the black market, whatever talent we are known for that would make a household run properly with ease. Since I can’t bring in any of my Bacolod staff here, I’m obliged to hire one, myself. A couple of tenants in my restored convent de la Merci also have Pinoys working for them. All have left their children to work here. Most have been hired by rich Middle Easterns with villas in the South of France, left them to go back to Arabia, sans passport or enough money for their food in France speaking a splash of English and left to their own devices! 

How can I not love Norway; right, education is most important in Norway*
ELG with a native Norwegian in the heritage village in Lillehammer; right, the maternal home of Norway’s Queen Sonja*
Our government center looks a bit like Norway’s royal palace; right, ELG in front of Oslo’s City Hall where the Nobel Peace Prize will be awarded to Maria Ressa*

A-hay, kalisud. Well, I walk tall nowadays believing in our future Philippines. To be a journalist is enough for me. We survive through sheer guts and lean meat. And the fact that the prize came from Norway makes it even more meaningful for me because I’m now living with a Norwegian. We’ve been separated for almost two years because of the lockdowns and the pandemic. Every time I’m in Oslo, I always pass by the building where they present the Nobel Peace Prize. Of course, my interest was more on seeing their royalty. A most unique people, I’ve never met such pure hearted goody-goody two shoes in my life who really believe in not throwing rubbish on the sidewalks, follow strictly traffic lights and believe in love. Plus the beauty of the country! I still dream to retire in Norway. The rarified air, the water sparkling clean from the mountain glaciers, the perfect health system equal to all. Everything the Philippines is not. YET! 

Yes, I grew up in love with the Philippines. Our streets were wide and cars were not so plenty. It was decent to ride a calesa rather than a trisikad. People had crispy clean clothes. Elegant Lola’s still wore their see through baro’t saya while country maids were in their patadyong as they did household chores, the better for the chauffeurs to peek through while they squatted to do the laundry in the yard. It’s not like that anymore. And I prefer living in a FIRST WORLD metropole. But, I’m so proud of Maria Ressa. Also with all the world’s journalists, who work for pittance but as dear Twinkling alias Ninfa Leonardia threatened, “once you get that ink on your fingers…”

Welcome me back home to Bacolod dearest Ninfette, when the elections are over and you can promise me I can drive down Lacson Street with nary a bump or a hint of a hump when Both of us are riding my BMW. For the moment, I’m beaming with pride from a distance, where my maternal country seems alright. 

MY PRAYER. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So through God you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son then an heir. Galatians 4:6–7, RSV*

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