‘Lost’ SSS contributions under MCWD

I was still working at the Metropolitan Cebu Water District (MCWD) when the Supreme Court ruled on September 13, 1991 that all local water districts are Government-owned and -controlled corporations (GOCCs) with original charter and should therefore be placed under the Civil Service Commission (CSC) and the Commission on Audit (COA). This ruling was declared by the SC with finality on March 12, 1992.

But up to the time of my resignation, MCWD was still transitioning from a quasi-public corporation, remitting employee contributions to the Social Security System (SSS) instead of the GSIS. Thus, all my contributions as an MCWD employee were still reflected in my SSS account when I left the service in December 1995.

Fast forward to 2017, when I start thinking about retirement benefits. Imagine my horror when I open my SSS account to see nothing in the contributions page and in my employment history during the six years I had worked at the water district.

It was like I had never worked at MCWD at all.

What follows is a series of email exchanges and communication. I write to then MCWD Human Resources Dept. Manager Atty. Elson Ingles on December 8, 2017 about the disappearance of my SSS contributions. 

A letter response to my query, signed by then General Manager Jose Eugenio B. Singson, tells me that “inquiry with SSS reveals that they cannot accommodate your request of ‘continuing your membership’ using the premium you paid through MCWD because the standing agreement between SSS and the Local Water District Administration and Philippine Association of Water Districts is for the ‘SSS to return ALL the premiums to each LWD employer ONLY.”

The February 15, 2018 letter also tells me that MCWD is still waiting for SSS to reconcile each employee record with regards to loan balances, “yielding a corrected and bigger net receivable amount for MCWD,” but that under SSC Resolution 293-s. 2007, the SSS would deduct from MCWD employee premiums, the balances of loans, “regardless of who obtained the loan.”

I am not sure if this means I will not get a full refund considering that SSS will deduct from the premiums the total balance of all loans made by its employees. All I know is that my number of SSS contributions is reduced which could adversely affect the amount of pension I could expect upon my retirement at age 60. Or not. I would have to do the Math.

On August 29, 2019, I get an email response from HRD’s Atty. Elson Englis that SSS Cebu's manager handed him the check for the premium refund as well as “a copy (voluminous one) of the list of all employee contributions. This time we will now have a basis of how much we are going to return to all the claimants.”

He assures me that the HRD, Accounting and Audit departments are devising a scheme to systematically return the money to the claimants, but that it would take time to go through the paperwork and finalize the amount each claimant would receive. 

I make a follow-up in November 2019 and get an email from HRD’s Lorena C. Velos that mine is one of a pilot group of 10 accounts that the ad hoc committee on SSS premium reconciliation is working on. Once their accounting and audit teams finalize the computation of our premiums, and upon approval by the Executive committee, I could expect the release of my premiums.

Then COVID-19 happens. A follow-up email on September 29, 2022 gives me an automated response that all communications are now channeled through MCWD’s Document Management System (DMS) via its website. I am so exasperated, I leave it alone.

Just last year, I hear from former colleagues that they were able to get the cash value of their contributions by filing for retirement benefits from the Government Service Insurance System (GSIS) upon reaching age 60.

It appears that I am an inactive member of the said agency upon my resignation, as provided by Section 9 (Member’s Service Profile) of the Implementing Rules and Regulations of the GSIS Act of 1997 or Republic Act. No. 8291:

“A member separated from the service by reason of resignation, retirement, disability,  dismissal from the service, retrenchment or in any manner of separation from the  government agency to which he is employed, shall continue to be a member although  classified under inactive status and his membership shall be maintained in the database  of GSIS. Whatever future benefits he is entitled to shall be payable to the member once  they become due.”

I do some research and come upon Section 12 of Presidential Decree 1146, otherwise known as the “Revised Government Service Insurance Act of 1977”, which seems to apply to me since I had rendered some six years of service at MCWD.

“A member who has rendered at least three years but less than 15 years of service at the time of separation shall, upon reaching 60 years of age or upon separation after age 60, receive a cash payment equivalent to 100 percent of his average monthly compensation for every year of service with an employer.”

I might be wrong. I am not a lawyer. Neither have I filed for any retirement benefits, pending retirement age. The computation could be different or based on another law I am not aware of. 

But I have already made initial inquiries at GSIS Cebu. I was told how to apply for retirement benefits at the GSIS and the corresponding requirements (I will be posting about this soon). 

Maybe I should try this track once I reach age 60. Applying for and securing retirement benefits at the GSIS is a sure thing, because I know people who have done it, versus the probability that MCWD will hand me a check representing my SSS premiums.

It is hard to rely on an institution that is reactive, rather than proactive, about communicating to affected ex-employees the impact of its turning GOCC on employee contributions and consequently, retirement benefits. 

To those who have left their ranks like me, and who have no idea what’s going on, we can’t collect what we don’t know, can we?

Driving in France

If you drive regularly in the Philippines, you will have no problem driving in France.

Just like in our country, people in France drive on the right side of the road, their rental cars are left-hand drive (steering wheel is on the left side of the car), distance is measured in kilometers and fuel in liters.

Your concern is to know where you are supposed to go, make sure that you drive within the speed limit, and have your credit card or cash ready for the toll payments. 

Of course, a rental car equipped with Global Positioning System (GPS) is crucial, but sometimes, the software is not updated so it will help to have a back-up via your phone’s more updated app like Google Maps for Android, and Maps for Apple devices.

Hubby and I are a team when driving abroad. He does all the driving, while I take some load off his shoulders by familiarizing myself with the route so that I can have him take the appropriate lane well before the exit, direct him where needed at the smaller roads which are dotted with roundabouts (rotonda in the Philippines), remind him of speed limits which can go as low as 30 kms./hr. to 50, 70 and 80 in just minutes in small roads, and as high as 130 in major roads.

It is my sister-in-law from the US who books us a rental car via Alamo. There are four of us, so it is economically feasible and convenient to drive to the places in our itinerary.

Do we need an international driving permit to drive in France? All our research says no, but we decide to still get one because it had been required when hubby also drove a rental car in a previous trip to Germany. 

Alamo, along with other car rental offices, is in a low building just outside CDG’s Terminal 2. Hubby presents his Philippines driver’s license to the Alamo service personnel who looks at it, declares it “OK, but do you have an international driving permit?”  

Maybe the Alamo guy just wants to make sure of hubby’s driving credentials, maybe it’s not really needed, but we present the permit from the Automobile Association of the Philippines and feel good about the P4,144 we spent to get it.

Hubby with the DS7 Opera in a field of calzo or rapeseed.

Hubby familiarizes himself with the car controls. He is excited about driving a DS7 Opera, an SUV created and designed in Paris by DS Automobiles.  He test drives the car in the adjoining parking lot before he announces he is ready to go.

It’s a lot of driving as we go from the airport to Giverny, Rouen, Honfleur, Dinan, Mont-Saint-Michel, and Amboise before returning the car to the Alamo branch in Montparnasse back in Paris. 

We take the A13 from Giverny to Rouen.

We use A roads (motorways or autoroutes), N roads or national strategic truck routes, D roads or departmental (county) roads and small lanes. I realize that the road we are on can change from N to D without warning, and that even its number can change so I look for the destination on the signs rather than road numbers.

Also, motorways can fork into two or three roads, which can be confusing so it helps if you keep the destination in mind rather than the road number which can appear on not just one, but two of the signs for these roads. Thank God for Google Maps, and Maps. I check both apps frequently to make sure we are taking the right route.

All types of payments are accepted at the booths with a green arrow/Orange 't' symbol.
Photo credit: Tom Brosnahan via "How to Pay Highway Tolls in France". 

There are tolls on all motorways in France. It is important to know which booth to enter. Since we do not have coins on us, we look for a booth with a credit card illustration or one with a green arrow which means that all types of payment are accepted - credit/debit cards, euro cash, and télépéage (automatic payment), indicated by the Orange 't' symbol. We enter and take a ticket from a machine. We deduce, correctly, that we pay upon exit.

Did I mention the roundabouts? I have lost count of the number of roundabouts we’ve had to go around on our drives from one city or town or commune to another. According to a September 22, 2023 article by DiscoverCars.com, France tops all countries with a total of 42,986 roundabouts. I totally believe it.

Photo taken from www.eco-innov.com

What’s remarkable, though, is that while some roundabouts are big, visible and hard to miss, there are quite a number that look like slightly raised circles. I tell hubby that in the Philippines, trucks would just go over these circles to beat heavy traffic.  But in France, the cars carefully round the slightly raised round indentation in the middle of an intersection.

This type of chicane narrows the road, forcing us
to slow down to pass through or give way to
oncoming traffic. Photo credit: Rosehill Highways

I learn that roundabouts are part of traffic calming, which is the deliberate slowing of traffic in residential areas. In some back roads, we notice a series of alternating mid-block curb extensions or islands that narrow the roadway and require vehicles to follow a curving, S-shaped path, discouraging speeding. These are called chicanes.

We'll take this two-way road anytime.

We are unfazed by tiny country roads, used as we are to our small, two-way roads where we battle with motorcycles, pedestrians, cars, trisikads, bicycles and electric scooters for every square inch.

It may seem like a lot to take in, so it helps if you read up on what to expect while driving in France. In our case, it’s best to have someone else doing all the navigating (and guesswork hehehe) so you can just focus on driving.

One last thing. When refueling, remember that diesel is gazole, gasoline is petrol and there are no pump attendants – none at least in the stations where we refueled. You pump fuel first then give your pump number to the cashier, who will know how much to charge you. 

Yes, we are spoiled in the Philippines. 

Gastronomic adventures in France

If you keep looking for the stuff that you are accustomed to, you might as well not leave home.

This is what I always tell my daughter before we travel outside the country.  Not that I need to. My daughter is determined to adapt, even if it means not eating rice for 14 days in France.

I’d read that restaurants open for lunch at 12 noon and close at 2 p.m. then reopen at 7 p.m. for dinner. In the Philippines, there is always somewhere to eat, whatever the time. If not 24/7 fastfood outlets, then 24/7 convenience stores and yes, small roadside eateries that cater to graveyard shift and breakfast clients.

So, yeah, this is France, but I figure that there’s always an odd one out. What I fail to realize is that our itinerary covers communes and villages, before ending in Paris, and the chance of finding that odd one is slimmer, even nil.

Chourico galette

It happens only once, when the drive from Honfleur takes longer than expected and we arrive in Dinan past 2 p.m. After checking into our hotel, we ask the front desk person for recommendations and she immediately pulls out a map, and encircles a spot. She must be used to foreigners who do not or cannot respect the lunch hour. 

It takes some walking, and under a fine drizzle at that, but we find Crêperie Suzette. I understand that a crêperie is a crêpe restaurant and in the Philippines, my experience of a crêpe is dessert. But hey, we are so hungry, we cannot afford to be choosy.

Only one table is occupied at that hour, but we are welcome, to our relief. 

Bouch galette

The guy serving us is not very fluent in English, but he tries and between him and Google Translate, I taste my very first lunch crepe or more correctly, galette.

Galettes are made using gluten-free buckwheat flour and are larger than crepes. They are commonly eaten as a main course, and are usually filled with ingredients like cheese, egg and ham. Crêpes, on the other hand, are often topped with sweet condiments (caramel, cream, chocolate and fresh fruits). It is often served as a dessert.

Ellen, Sinika and I choose their Chourico galette, while Cesar chooses their Bouch galette. We are pleasantly surprised by the crispness of the brown pancake that holds all the ingredients. The chourico, a Portuguese sausage, is very tasty and familiar. Cesar also likes the serrano ham in his dish. When we are very hungry and we like the meal, Cesar and I always wonder if we like the meal because we are just hungry, or because it is really good.

This ignoramus prefers
a boiled egg to the world's
most famous omelet.

Hands down, the meal is great. Even without rice, hahaha.

Some meals, celebrated as they are, disappoint. Take the world-famous puff omelet at La Mère Poulard in Mont Saint-Michel. This ignoramus never heard of it, but Ellen gets excited so we agree to order the most basic, which is the omelet with small vegetables.  It’s also the cheapest at 38 euros.

Sinika orders the Filet de Boeuf (Fillet of beef) with Camembert sauce and rice, Cesar the chicken with sauce and rice, and Ellen, the cod with beurre blanc sauce and cracked potatoes with chives. That leaves me with the omelet.

Everyone tries the world-famous omelet, of course.  In my opinion, it’s all air - both the omelet and the raving over it. Sinika wonders why it tastes like foam. She takes pity on me and gives me some of her beef and Cesar, a little of his chicken. Ellen offers me a share of her cod, but it’s awash in sauce so I beg off.

Besides, the maître d' is looking, and I do not want to give her a reason to come over. She is the one who shakes her head very definitively, with a look of disapproval on her face, when we ask for an extra plate (on which I had wanted to put half of the omelet for sharing). 

We leave the very crowded restaurant and come face to face with “Burger with fries” at an eating place just a few meters away. I feel like crying.

Very few foreigners pass the Andouillette
taste test.

Then there’s the Andouillette, a French coarse-grained sausage made from the intestine of pork, pepper, wine, onions, and seasonings. On the menu, the sausage is listed as a "winner" by the Association Amicale des Amateurs d'Andouillette Authentique, or A.A.A.A.A. (5A) for short. 

Ellen mistakes it for the Andouille in the US, a coarse-grained smoked sausage made using pork, garlic, pepper, onions, wine, and seasonings. The word “sausage” and Ellen’s endorsement is more than enough. It arrives and after eating three “rounds”, I have a hard time holding my gag reflex. Again, everyone tries the dish. No one likes it.

Sometimes, it isn't just about food.

But we are outside the walls of the Royal Chateau of Amboise, the servers at L’Ambacia are very friendly and nice, and we are just chilling on a Sunday daylit night, so I still rate the experience as a win. Sometimes, it isn’t just about the food. 

Take the one we have at Côté Resto, on the church square Saint Catherine in Honfleur. It is cold, and the rain is coming down hard, but we have no problems looking for a seat in the popular upscale restaurant thanks to Benjamin, our landlord at Le Fond de la Cour, who makes the reservation for us.

The food is good, and we are pleasantly warm
despite the cold and the fact that it is raining 
outside.

We are seated in their outdoor seating area, with the canopy up to keep the rain out, and we have a front seat view of the medieval Saint Catherine Church. 

With a patio heater and some wine to keep us warm, we enjoy our meal. My order of duo of grilled fish, venerated rice & cream of shrimp is tasty. Sinika surprises us by ordering the Grilled Octopus, Jalapeno, mashed potatoes, fine herbs & lime which she declares delicious. Ellen and Cesar get the Fish from the catch of the day, mashed potatoes & brown butter.

This is one of those times that I don’t even think about whether it’s French food, and if there’s rice. The food is good, the ambiance is even better, I am in good company, and we are about to call it a day after more than 10,000 steps. It is a good day.

Ellen's prepared sandwiches, with some
fruits, fill us up on the train ride to Paris.

And there are many more days like this, even if we don’t quite hit the spot in terms of meals. One time, we just did not want to sit down in the same restaurant, so we decide to get some food from the grocery Monoprix, and eat in front of the TV at the hotel.

Another time, Ellen prepares some ham and egg sandwiches, and these, along with some fruits, make for a delightful meal on board the train back to Paris.

And yes, we do get to eat Filipino food. We find it in Asian Delices in Lourdes, France. 

We find Filipino food in Lourdes, France.

After eight days of French cuisine, we enjoy the familiar. I have Lechon Kawali, Sinika has Pork Sinigang, Ellen has Chicken Adobo and Cesar has Pork Binagoongan. Everyone has rice, plus an order of pancit. At the next table is a group of “kabayans”, equally homesick for a taste of home.

This longing for the familiar is what makes me order Mango ice cream in Lourdes, which tastes like medicine and nothing like the most delicious fruit in the world to me, at least. 

But the fact that we sit by the road, along with so many merry tourists and hospitaliers (volunteers) from all over the globe, allows us to feel that we are part of a world bigger than we know. 

This is what travel does – it opens new worlds, enables us to encounter people of different cultures, and allows us to get to know them through their ways, language and food – as long as we remain open and receptive.

This is what I tell myself every time I bite on a baguette, which remains as hard in France as in the Philippines. Hahaha.

Photo credits: Ellen, Cesar and the author

Fatima for Lourdes

My sisters and I are all "Marias", in reference to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and two of us even carry second names that are sites of the Marian Apparitions. But never did I think that this Maria Fatima would ever be blessed with the opportunity to visit a Marian pilgrimage site.  Not Fatima, Portugal, but Lourdes, France.

Lourdes is a town in southwestern France, which has become a place of pilgrimage for Roman Catholics after a young peasant girl, Bernadette Soubirous, had visions of the Virgin Mary in 1858. I am familiar with the story, although I am more familiar with the Fatima message, understandably having taken a personal interest given that I am named after our Blessed Virgin Mary as she became known after having appeared to three children in Fatima, Portugal.

Our trip to Lourdes was a last-minute insertion by my sister-in-law Ellen, who had lovingly and painstakingly put together a 14-day itinerary in France. Ellen had been to Lourdes many years ago, and she rightly thought that her Catholic companions would appreciate a visit to the popular Marian site.

It is still light by the time we arrive
at the Lourdes train station.

We take the five-hour train ride from the Paris Montparnasse station to Lourdes. The sun is still out when we arrive by almost 7 p.m. at the town, where we immediately catch a taxi (van) to Hotel Roissy, where Ellen had made reservations. The reason for her choice immediately becomes apparent as the hotel is located just some 100 meters away from the Sanctuaire Notre-Dame de Lourdes (Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes) to our delight, and even nearer the Filipino restaurant Asian Delices, to the unbound happiness of our daughter.

Someone is very happy to be eating
Pork Sinigang again.

Adequately full, the three older members of the group set out to join the torchlight procession, scheduled every 9 p.m. at the sanctuary. We leave our daughter at the hotel, walk along avenue Monseigneur Schoepfer, where we buy candles from the souvenir shops that line the street, and cross the Place Monseigneur Laurence before going down a curved driveway leading to the sanctuary.

Cesar, Ellen and I at the square
before the Basilica.

Nothing prepares me for the sight of the sanctuary. I had not even thought of looking it up on the Web, having been more concerned about practical info that had to do with flights, terminals, routes, mobile data plans, and even cuisine and language. The only reference I had to it in my mind were the baths that a friend of my mom had once mentioned, and which had evoked images of people lining up by a riverbank, waiting to be doused with healing water from the spring that Saint Bernadette had dug up by the grotto upon the instruction of Our Mother.

A view of the Basilica from the side
of the river Gave de Pau.

We come upon a vast, sprawling complex dominated by a castle-like church, parts of which glint in the setting sun. A self-avowed fan of architecture, I am overwhelmed.

My eyes dart here and there, not quite knowing where to look. I want to, but cannot, capture everything at once. To say everything is beautiful is right, but inadequate.

It is hard to describe the feeling that comes over me. I immediately think of Mommy, and I wish she was with me. She would have loved being at the Sanctuary in Lourdes. 

I somehow feel at one with all the other faithful inside the complex, and I am moved by the palpable presence of God and Mama Mary. Cesar and I thank Ellen, bless her, for bringing us there.

After praying at the Grotto of Massabielle,
where Our Lady appeared
to Saint Bernadette in Lourdes, France.

We are so tempted to dawdle and gape and feel, but Ellen hurries us to the grotto, built at the side of the Basilica by the river so we can pay homage to the love that Our Lady had shown us by appearing 18 times to Saint Bernadette so that we would believe that in prayer lies salvation and healing.

We join a short and fast-moving line of people, feeling the dampness and in places, water, that emerges from the rock that forms the Grotto of Massabielle, where Our Lady appeared to Saint Bernadette. I feel right about touching the water to my face and my hands, and I see the others doing the same.

A closer look reveals that I carry
a Lourdes Rosary, a wedding gift
in 2002.

We hurry back to the rows of people now forming behind a replica of the white marble statue of the Blessed Virgin of the Apparition, by M. Cabuchet, of Paris. Soon enough, the loudspeaker crackles and we begin moving. Voices speak in several languages, but it is easy to recognize the Rosary being recited, and I take out the blue beads that are a wedding gift from Nanay’s friend, Tita Ason, in 2002.

I look at the centerpiece medal and realize that I carry a Lourdes Rosary with water relic. One side shows St. Bernadette kneeling before Mother Mary at the Grotto, while the other side shows a small encasement in a small opening marked EAU DE LOURDES. 

I am filled with love and gratitude, and I pray with all my heart. I follow the singing, waving my candle during the chorus of Ave Maria, and the Laudate Mariam. Not once does my tireless candle go out, not even when I try to warm my fingers over its flame.

Our fingers are near freezing
at this point. 

It is cold. The temperature reads 13 degrees Celsius, and while a sweatshirt, two jackets, a wooly cap and a hood protect me adequately, my fingers are near freezing. I had not thought to bring gloves.

But we plod on, and when the people way ahead of us reach the end of the esplanade and go round the curve to head back for the Basilica, we come abreast with them and see how the candles light up the darkness. 

More so, when we also do the same and face the Basilica, framed by a string of candles held by pilgrims standing on two great ascents in the shape of a horseshoe overlooking the square. I do not know when it was projected on the main spire, but an image of Our Lady appears, hovering above all of us gathered at the square.

We all end up at the square in front of the Basilica for the final blessing.

Too soon, it is over. There is a final blessing in Latin, and we leave the square, forever changed. 

Note: Photos by Ellen, Cesar and the author

A Birthday (written August 22, 2019, finished August 22, 2022)

My heart aches when I think about Mommy. So I try not to.

But it’s hard when her birthday is coming up. Last year, her birthday came up a few months after we buried her. I honored her birthday wish that we gift two (2) kilos of rice to a stranger in need. My sister felt the same so I lugged sacks of rice to a nearby orphanage and to our church for the parish’s feeding program.

A 2015 picture of my mom,
Evelyn R. Luab

Now, her birthday is a few days away and all I feel is resentment. She is not around. She is never going to be around. She is gone. What does it matter if I give away rice or not? It will not bring her back. Nothing will bring her back.

I go to Sunday mass in the chapel I visited almost every day for all those days leading to her death. At first, there was just sorrow. Now there is hurt in my heart. I had put my mind and heart into asking the Lord that she be healed. Once I decided to ask for a miracle, I went into it with complete disregard for the rational. I chose to dismiss all arguments against it and just asked with complete faith and trust. 

A miracle, after all, is the impossible. If I rationalize it, why even ask for one? Why even doubt? I had everything to gain, and just myself to lose. 

Mommy died on February 28, 2018. I tried to understand God’s decision. I know He could have granted me my dearest wish, but He did not for reasons I actually understand and try so hard to appreciate. I bring back images of her as she was nearing her end so that I can appreciate His taking her from that kind of life. 

So I pray for her every day. I ask for her eternal repose. But beyond that, I try not to think about her. Every time I feel a thought of her coming on, I dismiss it.  It is a struggle because I miss her every day, several times a day, too many to count. I don’t want to open that door. I don’t want to remember all that love, because it brings so many memories that I really have to ignore or I might come to a complete stop, wondering if I will ever be that special again.

A mother’s love is all-encompassing. She sees everything, yet loves regardless. In her eyes, her children are special. I share that special space with my sisters. There are days, though, when I feel that space has all but dissolved with Mommy gone.

It’s the year 2022 now, and once again, it’s August. Mommy’s birthday is coming up. I am no longer angry or hurt or resentful. I am just sad. So there is hope. There will come a day when I can actually celebrate her birthday with love and joy blocking out all these other feelings that I cannot describe.

So Mommy, I am truly glad that you are with God, and that you are free of all earthly pain. Try not to be sad that I, that all of us, still miss you. It’s your fault. It’s hard not to miss a lifetime of being loved, the way you loved us. 

I imagine your eyes widening at this before breaking into that infectious laughter of yours. Of course, I am being silly. Laugh, Mommy. Happy Birthday from your silly daughter.