a sidewalk painted life

Surrendering Influence

2009-03-16T18:30:00.001+08:00

Tonight is one of those nights where the truth I believe in, the truth I know, clashes with the truth that I experience in my waking hours. Tonight is one of those nights where the screaming and the cussing, the backbiting and the gossiping, finds its way to cut the skin of memories. My keepsakes. My treasured moments. Tonight is one of those nights where I am reminded, in the final analysis, you will always be alone.

When all thoughts become muffled and unclear, I go back to the one thing that helps me hear a little bit more clearly.

Music.

Over the years I have written songs for private reflection. For private sharing. And at most times, the words I weave with melody are the most honest expressions my soul can ever muster. I listen to them tonight to remind myself of who I am. Without those who claimed to have influence over me. For my songs were never influenced by anybody else but God.

Remembering Me

Where Is Peace?

2009-03-15T10:17:00.003+08:00

Keep your eyes on the prince of peace, the one who doesn't cling to his divine power; the one who refuses to turn stones into bread, jump from great heights, and rule with great power; the one who says, "Blessed are the poor, the gentle, those who mourn, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers and those who are persecuted in the cause of uprightness". See the one who touches the lame, the crippled and the blind; the one who speaks words of forgiveness and encouragement; the one who dies alone, rejected, and despised. Keep your eyes on him who becomes poor with the poor, weak with the weak, and who is rejected with the rejected. The one, Jesus, is the source of all peace.

Where is his peace to be found? The answer is surprising but it is clear. In weakness. Few people are telling us this truth, but there is peace to be found in our own weakness, in those places of our hearts where we feel most broke, most insecure, most in agony, most afraid. Why there? Because in manipulating our weakness our familiar ways of controlling and manipulating our world are being stripped away and we are forced to let go from doing muhc, thinking much, and relying on our self-sufficiency. Right there where we are most vulnerable, the peace that is not of this world is mysteriously hidden.

- Henri Nouwen, Finding My Way Home

_____

I wonder how often I am persecuted by experiences beyond my control. I wonder how many times I persecute others. Do I persecute others because of my weakness? Do others persecute me because of theirs?

It's all an intertwined knot of scars these past few days but unlike all the other days I've gone through this way, I've chosen to just rely on peace. The one I can never fathom or grasp. And though I will never understand the silence of hope and the shadows that joy hides in these circumstances I have to overcome.

I am staying on truth. Waiting for all the falsity to fall away.

Vulnerability

2009-03-14T16:51:00.000+08:00

they say that being authentic is part of life
the pain and the joy of tearing the veil
you hide yourself in is the journey

i am told that being who you are is
being your very own Michaelangelo
sculpting your core out of a mold
society keeps you in

child man lover nemesis
all these facets exist in every
crack and crevice of bottlenecked veins
hanging on to a lifeline

i am told that breaking out of your shell
is an accomplishment in overcoming
the threat of vulnerability

but what is the real threat?

isn't it more fearsome to find yourself
stricken with vulnerability not knowing
what to do with it

or lying naked with an open heart soul
singing and crooning the lullabyes you only sing at night

because fear takes you by the neck and
suffocates you so deep it cuts your throat
without thinking of where your breathe
begins and ends

Bulong

2009-03-14T13:17:00.001+08:00

nakatago ang mga bulong ng luha
sa ilalim ng ngiti

hindi mo naririnig dahil ang mga
mata mo'y nakatingin sa isang tabi

nakatago ang tinig ng puso
baon sa limot

hindi maka-tibok dahil
naka-kulong

ang sigaw ng kalayaan
kinakanta nalang sa isang panaginip

Where Did I Go

2009-03-12T22:26:00.001+08:00

Days and days are moving on
I watch the cars out on the street
in the rain

Years and years are floating past
Boats and wounds and dreams and hopes
and me
Where did I go
The child that used to be me
Where did I go
Am I inside myself

Pictures of the victims of
a situation undreamed of
planes and bombs and war decisions
winners and losers of
Hiroshima

Where did you go
The child that used to be you
Where did you go
Are you inside yourself
Where did I go
The child that used to be me
Where did I go
Am I inside myself

Hiroshima - Cynthia Alexander

There's No Substitute for the Real Thing | Soar High FrancisM

2009-03-07T19:27:00.003+08:00

I am still at a loss for words.

The death of Philippine's Master Rapper Francis "Kiko" Magalona has shaken the Entertainment and Music Industry since news of his death yesterday.

I am at a loss for words because it is hard to imagine someone whose life was pulsating with passion and zeal, color and vibrance can stop just like that.

Again I am left to contemplate about death and its unknown nature to those who are still walking this earth.

I do not want to think of death as a thief. Or death as the end. Or death as a loss. For thinking that would mean living life and running the whole 10 yards accounts for nothing. I do not want to think of death as this big black void haunting the shadows of our waking moments waiting to pounce when our backs are turned.

Death seems to me as a mere hurdle. Or even a mirror that magnifies even the littlest details of moments that capture the essence of someone who passes on to his next life.

Today as more news and videos are uploaded all over the web, I pay my respects to Francis M. Someone who has colored his world with everything he's got. Someone who didn't lose the battle but won it in every smile he mustered amidst all the pain. Someone who inspires me now to keep on living this Kaleidoscope World.

Pages

2009-03-03T20:46:00.001+08:00

Pages, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

I wonder what is after each page of memory?
What is before each page of circumstance?
What is not written in the pages of faded yellow?
Or the annotated scribble marks behind the dog eared folds?

The Virtues of Filipino Bravehearts

2009-03-01T17:00:00.001+08:00

It was a hot Saturday morning and I found myself on the road again with my photo adventure partner (what's left of two wings since the other one left for London) grabbing a sausage Mcmuffin with egg breakfast at McDonald's before hitting the South Expressway to Enchanted Kingdom, Sta. Rosa Laguna. I was invited to attend this camp because I have always been wanting to get involved in something that's got to do with little children.

Children have a way of reaching me and breaking through the walls that have built the facade that says: ADULT - DO NOT TOUCH - IS HERE FOR BUSINESS. I know this and I have been on the journey of shedding off some skin because I have started to believe that the world is a much more pleasant place to live in if I let the calloused walls of my heart fall down.

__________

I entered the tent and was immediately greeted by Mrs. Stephanie Cabanes. A mother of 3. Her eldest son Jarro now 23 years old, has experienced open heart surgery 3 times in his life for a condition called anti-phospholypid anti-body (APA) syndrome that damaged his aortic valve. She is one of the pioneers of conceptualizing Camp Braveheart in 2001. Camp Braveheart is her advocacy to the cause of bringing back hope to the families of children who have congenital heart disease. Her vision: to let them know that there is still room to dream again.

I saw glistening tears forming from the side of bright brown eyes and I felt mine surge to the surface as well. It is one of those moments where the soul speaks louder and breaks the barriers of age, experience, and environment. I was moved by how this has fueled her passion to live despite the moments wherein she hung by a thread close to giving up.

The irony of being in a Filipino middle class family is when you are not poor enough to be the cause of charity organizations and you are not rich enough to easily afford the expenses that hit you like a shockwave when you are in the middle of a family crisis. But it is here when all solutions seem to fail that another one shows up to unveil what solves the financial burden but most of all the very core of the burden itself: the anxiety of heart. Mrs. Cabanes experienced what it was like to have all options of financial support gone and only rely on her strong-willed mother’s heart to beg and borrow, kneel and pray so that their hearts as a family can begin to beat again.

It is here when the Filipino's "lakas ng loob kumayod kahit wala na ang lahat" [the strength to persevere even when all is gone] becomes an apparent virtue exemplified. The virtue of the Filipino Braveheart. The heart whose cries start from the depths of it struggles and reaches the end of its walls as a willful choice to keep it from caving in. The heart whose weakness is transparent in every lamentation but whose only ounce of strength is flung up to the high heavens because the last thing it can do is keep the hope. All for one thing. Para sa pamilya.

______________

Zaine Capangpangan is almost 2 years old. She had her open heart surgery when she was 7 months old because of a heart murmur since birth. I met Zaine yesterday introducing herself with a beautiful smile. Her lips next to my ear whispering “My name is Zaine Capangpangan.” She shyly poses infront of the camera and bursts out in exuberant laughter after she sees her photo on the little LCD screen.

She came with her mom and her Tita. Both of whom raised her since her father is working abroad. They are worried about her life and the fragility of her health. She does not like eating a lot except when they go to Jollibee and order her fries and gravy, her favorite meal. They are worried about how she will grow up and if there will be job opportunities that will take her given her condition. But they are happy saying, “Basta makita lang naming siya masaya na kami. Basta magkasama kami, Masaya na kami.” [As long as we see her, we are happy. As long as we are together, we are happy]

I look at the little girl with big bright eyes and a wide happy smile. She has so much life that you can barely notice the deep scar at the center of her chest.

The irony of seeing the vibrancy of life in a child who almost lost it brings me to realize how poorly we can keep our decision to remain vibrant in our lives when we are not threatened with sickness, poverty or calamity. If one little child, with her weak heart, can re-ignite the vibrancy in her family’s togetherness what more are we who have our families and our heart’s intact?
The Virtue of the Filipino Braveheart surpasses any struggle weighed upon by impossible life conditions. Giving value to what is nearest and what is dear, the family for whom it beats, and the life for whom it pours out love.

___________

I got reacquainted with Sarah Ocson Duremdes, a former Miriam Highschool classmate who was one of the guest speakers at Camp Braveheart. She shared her faith filled story with much inspiration and fortitude on how she conquered the journey of her son’s open heart surgery when he was 8 days old.

Inigo Ocson Duremdes was diagnosed with a condition called Transposition of the Great Arteries (TGA) wherein the aorta and the pulmonary arteries were reversed. This condition limits the body from getting oxygen rich blood. After just 8 days of being born he had to go through the difficult procedure of open heart surgery. His family in complete anxiety awaited the long procedure and struggled to remain hopeful through this whole time. As his family worried for his life, they also worried about the expenses that would be incurred.

Similar to the any middle class family who I have spoken in this Camp, the Duremdes’ went through the whole experience of begging and borrowing to ensure that their son’s condition can be well supported financially. The ordeal of thinking about the economics of the situation and remaining steadfast in their faith was a painful struggle that led them to the end of their selves. Put in one corner of life where the future seemed bleak, they had no other option, no other contingency plan except to surrender what is in their hands to God.

Nigo flatlined a couple of times and when the surgeon had almost turned off the machines that monitored his heart, hope came as if the heavens opened and Nigo by some miracle started to breathe again.

The irony of seeing life just being born to immediately being taken away is heart-wrenching for any mother to experience. After the long grueling hours of labor and recovery, you watch your life from a vantage of point and ask, “What is all this for?”

The Virtue of the Filipino Braveheart is reliant on the truth that there is always a miracle waiting around the corner that conquers insurmountable odds for someone who refuses to give up and let death simply take over.

______________

The family’s virtues make-up the character of any individual. The family is the microcosm of any nation.

The Filipino Brave Heart is borne from experiences such as these. These virtues allow our lives to shine in the midst of darkness, stand strong in the midst of storms, breakthrough in the midst of circumstances that we thought would cause us to break down.

My experience with Camp Braveheart families yesterday showed me how to live with a heart that beats with no walls guarding its vulnerability. How this vulnerability transforms into the seed of strength wherein lies the dignity of the family. A Filipino Family. Filipino Families who survived and are surviving the journey of collectively letting their hearts beat as one so one can keep on living. How one tiny heart weakened in flesh has transformed all others to be strengthened in the heart of their spirits. This is the kind of miracle that ignites once again our will to live.

If one family can be transformed and re-ignited with passion for one another, then our nation can be filled with families giving birth to the flame that makes these little heroes today the big heroes of tomorrow.

Camp Brave Heart Song

Yung unang mabigat
Ngayon puno ng pag-asa
Sa bawat pagtibok
Tayo’y nabubuhay

Tayo’y nabigyang buhay
Dahil nilikha ng Diyos,
Aming simbolo ng buhay,
Aming mahiwagang puso.

Refrain
Sa bawat hininga
Ito’y tahimik ngunit buo
Mapayapa ngunit matapang
Magpapasalamat habang buhay
Nagpapasalamat sa Diyos.

__________

credits:
for the pictures - Javi Cabanes
for the invitation to Camp Braveheart - Tita Steph Cabanes

Things You Will Never See

2009-02-22T16:47:00.001+08:00

Things You Will Never See, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

there are things you will never see
past your own eyes
or hear with your own ears

and they are the cries that
remain muffled and the
groans that remain in hiding

for ache can be too grotesque to witness
and pain can be too much to bear

save but one drop that escapes my
eyes and stains my cheek
and finds its way to still
call out your name.

What's in a Name?

2009-02-22T16:46:00.004+08:00

What's in a Name?, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This is my grandmother's name. A name she carried through 84 years of her life. I sift through the pamphlet of love notes and find it written in blank ink. Thoughtfully and carefully. In her cursive handwriting. This little pamphlet is no more than around 3 x 1.5 inches and has about 20 or more little pages filled with handwritten phrases of love. I don't know who she planned to give it to. I don't know why she wrote it. But when we were cleaning her room last Christmas, this pamphlet enchanted me and I immediately tucked it away in my treasure box of memories.

Her name finds me again reflecting on 3 years ago where I was called to share my conversion story at a retreat. I carried the marks of a sinner quite similar to the saint who found me on the same ground of dirt condemned for the same things. Mary Magdalen.

I took comfort under her wing and wove my story into hers and found that in my scars seared her strength.

Years passed I carried the mark of someone who has loved and lost. Fierce and fiery.

Sometime 2 years ago an acquaintance I had just met told me that there are some flowers who bloom in verdant pastures and luscious meadows. But there are flowers who bloom in rocky mountains and thorny thickets. The Lily of the Valley, he said I was.

My grandmother Lily passed away at 84. Her things are the only clues I have to what she held in her heart. I am not so sure about all the things she's ever felt but I remember her now and resonate with the way her heart beat for this life. Loving through the ache and the scourging of everything incomprehensible in her lifetime.

I remember this saying that whispers to me from my younger days, "Love till it hurts, if it hurts some more, love even more, if it hurts even more, love till hurts no more."

Remembering is Love

2009-02-22T16:46:00.003+08:00

Remembering is Love, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

i remember staring at the window
fighting to see through the tears
that cloud my gaze

i am blinded by the light
of remembrance

where memories come in stark
contrast to the reality that embraces me now
some of them dance in frolic
some crawl shyly with melancholy

but through it all
even in the shaking
of the ground where
i try to stand firm

i hold on to the beat
of my heart that
lived for love.

Moving Stills: The Exhibit Launch and Awarding

2009-02-20T23:59:00.004+08:00

An privilege to participate in one of the worthy causes I've supported. Honoring the Dignity of Filipino Workers who have decided to stay and move the nation.

Do visit. :)

For more information go to the Outlooke Pointe Foundation website.

LIYAB PILIPINAS.

______

poster by Javi Cabanes

Discovering Filipino Gypsies

2009-02-16T22:20:00.003+08:00

It caught the left side of my peripheral vision. A ferris wheel towering over an empty field where cows grazed every morning about 5 kilometers away from work. The road curves to the right when the field comes into full view and there I began to see it one by one as if it were slowly peeking out of the shadows. The ferris wheel joined by others of its kind. An octopus. A small roller coaster. And a carousel. Immediately I was enchanted. An empty carnival standing on its own on a vacant piece of land by the roadside called Paliparan, Cavite. There were no walls that barred anyone from entering. There were no gates that called for an entrance fee or some other kind of social introduction.

There was something about the overcast sky that was beckoning. It felt like one of those empty castles that waited exploration or a city of ruins that waited discovery. For me to catch a glimpse of this on my way to work was a keepsake and recurring thought that begged to be woven in a story. I’ve been thinking about a Saturday that will allow me to finally pay a visit.

That Saturday was February 7. 1:00pm in the afternoon. I parked the car by the side of a dirt road and together with my friend we walked across the carnival grounds. It was somehow eerie and I couldn’t help but feel that I was trespassing even if there were no signs that told me I was. When I laid my feet on the damp grass, I felt the soft earth. The soil wasn’t tilled and it told me that this land wasn’t really paved to have a carnival sitting on it. I looked around and saw little box shacks situated on the north, east and west side of the entire carnival perimeter. As if on unison, heads started to peek out from curtained doors and some children came out from hiding.

We were clearly strangers. So I initiated by calling out “Magandang umaga po!” and introduced myself as an advocate writer for the Outlooke Pointe Foundation. I asked if we can take pictures and told them we want to be able to capture the story that lies behind their different and fascinating livelihood.

A tall man stepped out of the north end. He was thin and dark and sported a mustache. His nose was pointed and his skin looked like it was sun burnt. I approached him and smiled to show ease and introduced myself again. He said his name was Bob Mariano. When I explained what we wanted to do he nodded and simply gave us an okay.

It has been a long time since I saw vintage carnival rides sitting on raw untilled soil. The last time I remember seeing these rides was when I attended school fairs in the 1990s. These days we’d see all sorts of rides merrily grazing over colored theme parks like Enchanted Kingdom in Sta. Rosa Laguna or the newly opened Disneyland in Hongkong. But the stories behind the commercialization of theme parks now did not draw me in unlike this one.

A rusty roller coasting and a faded carousel smelled like rain. Damp wooden floor boards for steps elevated them from the ground. I walked around some more and saw more people coming out with tools and wood. They started hammering them together to form a booth at the center.

Manong Bob was looking over the men that were building and sat a while a few feet away from us. I sensed him relax when he saw that we didn’t mean to do anything else. So I went up to him and talked to him again. I found out that they have been on that land for about a month. He said that they came from Binan Laguna. He travels with other families who own a carnival ride and agree to visit town after town from Cavite to Laguna talking to town officials and landowners so they can set up tent on their vacant property to put up carnival rides for townsfolk to enjoy.

Manong Bob has been doing this for 41 years. On 1968 he has inherited the livelihood from his parents and continued the business ever since. He enjoys it and finds that he has gotten used to the lifestyle of moving place to place. I asked him if he ever rode the rides he owned and he said yes. He said he’s never been afraid of riding them because he grew up with them.

There was a slight glint in his eye when he said this. Like some sort of pride shone through at remembering the memory. He didn’t want to have his picture taken for some reason and we didn’t insist. We walked over to his shack and met his family. He has a young wife and a young beautiful daughter who looked straight into the camera when we took her photo.

We met a guy named Alex. He was an interesting looking fellow who wore a lot of rings and bracelets that I became fascinated with. I asked him where he bought them and he said there were a lot of silver made jewelry in Binan Laguna being sold for only 200 pesos. My jaw dropped as I looked at my own silver ring that cost me 800 pesos from a mall. We took their pictures and there were a lot of smiles when we showed them how they looked from the LCD.

That day I experienced what it was like to have fun in a small town way. Where close knit circles huddled to excitedly hear a new story or entertain a visitor. Where the smiles became a genuine expression of ease and comfort. For 2 hours I was immersed with their stories of nomadic living and realized that I was talking to real life Filipino gypsies. Whose lifestyle has always captivated me because of such mystery and freedom.

That day I realized that there were many in our country who uphold the tradition of continuing what has been passed down through generations because it was an honor and a duty to do so. It did not only happen in upper class society but those of whom found home in the outskirts of posh cities in the Metro. It did not happen only with big family corporations or small entrepreneurial businesses but also in the likes of these groups who travel like nomads living month after month on giving a town a space to experience and enjoy the freedom that they’ve found when their own journey becomes their home.

I salute and honor their livelihood because I realized that in their own way and in their own scale, I knew that if they carried the business this long, they have somehow made a difference if not on one small town but maybe perhaps one child who felt the wind on her face and the rain frolic on her cheeks giving her a reason to smile that day from high up the ferris wheel’s peak.

_______________

credits:
pictures by Javi Cabanes

On This Dust of Words

2009-02-15T11:31:00.002+08:00

Somehow Sunday is always a day wherein my creativity starts to kick in. Sunday is my day of creative sanctuary. I've made two wonderful written work discoveries since last night but today I'll post this one because it is my favorite of the two.

This essay was written by Professor John Feltiner found in a back issue of Standford Magazine. I was searching for material in the web that could tell me more about the story of Elizabeth Wiltsee. I ran into her on Marie's blog where she featured the screening dates of an independent film entitled "This Dust of Words" by Bill Rose.

I have annotated this essay onto the document because I found it quite necessary that my thoughts be right where the quote is.

This Dust of Words

Publish at Scribd or explore others: Academic Work writing artist

V Day

2009-02-14T20:19:00.005+08:00

This Valentine's Day is quite different from the rest. I didn't get a rose from my Dad as was his usual stint for us on this day. If I had kept all those roses and cards he gave me it would stack to about 20 or more for ever year since I was about 13.

But despite that, this Valentine's is quite special because it's the first time he has come home since his hospitalization and last night I went with him and my mom to attend the prayer meeting at St. James Church. Martin's theme last night was seeking the giver and not the gift. How timely that the readings were from the gospel of Mark telling the story of a leper who asked Jesus if he can be made clean. If he can be healed.

I saw my Dad be moved and be transformed as he stood up in worship and reverent praise. Despite all the things that I have experienced this week that shook my faith's core, I felt blessed seeing a miracle at work. Knowing that part of the miracle was me.

Conversations That Did The Trick

2009-02-09T17:00:00.004+08:00

I'm sitting at the usual corner Zeteo used to sit in at Starbucks Provost. I ended up deciding to get my hair done so that I can feel a little bit of life and true enough a good 2 hours at the parlor can do the trick.

The 4 hour wait at the LTO Office drained me. I realized my license was due for renewal and got a little bit irritated how I neglected to see that. Now with my car's fender wrecked from last week's accident, I need to process my affidavit for the insurance company to shoulder the cost. All these things cramped in my day today robbed me a little bit of space to think about the stories I've been planning to write since my discoveries last weekend.

Creative repression is worse than constipation.

To compensate, I found entertainment for some of the conversations I've had randomly sprinkled throughout my day.

The Drug Test System Operator

Me: Miss, I noticed that it takes approximately 5 minutes to process 1 person for the new biometrics system that LTO is imposing for all drug tests. Baket ang tagal?

DTSO: Kasi po ma'am I have to connect to the internet because the database system is online. They just implemented it last January and it's the DOH's initiative.

Me: Baket hindi nila dagdagan yung machines para bumilis bilis ang pag-process ninyo?
DTSO: Hindi po kasi namin na-tancha ang volume. Dati we used to be able to process 200 clients now we can only process at most 70.

Me: Wow. That's like a really big decrease. More than 100%!

DTSO: Oo nga po ma'am eh. But they said in 3 years hindi na ganito ka tagal because everybody would already be in the database.
Me: I see. Sana ilagay niyo yung ganyang explanation sa harap para those who are waiting will know what to expect. We've been here for 2 hours na and we're spending another 45 minutes in this cramped little room just to get our finger prints taken.

DTSO: Pa-sensya na po ma'am. By the way, kayo na po susunod.

I stand up and counted 5 minutes till I'm done. I waited for another 30 minutes for the results to be printed out before I got to the Medical test and eventually the claiming of my new license card. What an ordeal. But at least the operator patiently explained the process to me.

Frank Provost Stylist: Dennis Hadap

Dennis: Hi ma'am diba nagpunta na kayo dito before? Kasi nilagay nila na walk-in kayo but I remember you from before.

Me: Yes, I went here about 3 months ago to have my hair relaxed.

Dennis: See, sabi ko na nga ba eh. Don't worry I'll tell them. By the way so you live around here? I have some clients in Ayala Alabang. Parati ako napupunta sa San Jose street.

Me: Oh really? I just live in San Enrique.

Dennis: Ang lapit lang pala! Marami akong client na ma'am. I started in Manila Peninsula and have been a stylist there for about 12 years. I've been in Frank Provost for 9 years. So far nagustuhan ko dito dahil malapit sa'min. Taga Binan Laguna ako.

Me: Wow. Ang tagal mo na pala na stylist! Buti naman you're able to stay here for that long.

Dennis: Ay siempre naman! It's my way to build loyal clients. Importante talaga sa kin ang client relationship. May mga ibang stylist who force clients to do all sorts of treatment even if they don't want it. Hindi nila iniisip na kahit na may pera ang client, they still need to save. Kaya ako, ginagawa ko yung gusto lang talaga ng client. Hindi ko sila pinipilit.

Me: Wow. Buti naman concerned ka sa mga clients mo. Minsan lang yung ganyan.

Dennis: Concerned talaga ako. Hindi naman kasi lahat po revolves around money. Kagaya sa village namin, meron akong mga kapit-bahay doon na gusto magpagawa pero hindi nila ko kayang bayaran. Okay lang sa kin kahit hindi nila ako bayaran kaagad. Or kahit paka-inin nalang nila ako. Naiintindihan ko naman na there are some who cannot afford.

Me: That's true. Fulfilling rin ano? When you know that you're able to help those who need your help.

Dennis: Fulfilling talaga ma'am. Kaya happy ako dito. Napapaganda ko yung mga gusto magpaganda chaka napapagaan ko loob nila.

Me: Okay yan ah! Sana ganyan din yung ibang mga stylist. Ano nga pala number mo? Para pagbalik ko dito hahanapin kita.

Dennis: Oh yan po ma'am ang number ko. Salamat po ha ma'am Kathy! (sabay beso)

I have never met a hair stylist who had an awareness for social responsibility. I noticed that what he did say was true. Most stylists would milk you for your money's worth. I was quite pleased to find out that there was someone like him who did his job in such an honorable way. I'm not sure how hair stylists are viewed in this country but today I've found quite a new respect for their profession. They make people feel beautiful and if hair stylists have a good heart like Dennis' then they can make them feel beautiful from the inside-out.

So there goes my day. Slow. Dragging. But with a glossy finish.

A Call To Move the Nation

2009-02-08T14:43:00.018+08:00

Shoot To Move the Nation: A tough mandate. 500 photographers rise up to call to capture moving stills of the Dignity of Filipino Workers with all intensity and integrity. On the 6th of February, down to 100 top photographs, over dinner and palpable creative adrenaline, I listened to the animated discussion that revolved around the art as a vehicle to fuel patriotic revival. OPF Chairman, Atty. Jesulito Manalo believes in the great potential of this nation. He believes that the universality of appreciating art and culture is a strong uniting force. “Culture now becomes the means to bring across the message of getting our act together in a powerful contagion that crosses borders and differing standpoints,” He muses.

The battlecry: Liyab Piliipinas: Reigniting passion for the nation, and for this specific project, using art and culture as a platform for advocacy. The contest ran from November 2008 to January 2009. Originally the contest would have ended on December 2008, but due to an incessant flooding of the site’s feedback form, the people at The OPF agreed to a deadline extension.

For a pilot project, many were shocked by the overwhelming response. Executive Director Rinka Romero, when asked how she felt as the entries literally flooded in says, “I was humbled. The results were overwhelming. It made me see that I underestimated the audience, that they were more willing to be involved than I gave them credit for.”

The response was felt even among the staff, and I was told that it came to the point, they were apologetic to Rinka as they came in to herald the delivery of even more entries: (Ma’am, sorry po, may regalo ako sa inyo. Hulaan niyo kung ano).

The top 100 photos waited, laid out on a number of tables around the dinner table and judges Quark Henares, Quincy Castillo, Justice Adolf Azcuna, Steve Tirona and Kidlat Tahimik (who sent in his scores earlier during the day)started to go around the lined up prints to rate each by the criteria: Relevance to theme, Image impact and Creativity.

One of the judges, Steve Tirona, renowned photographer of Manny Pacquiao’s latest victory says of what he would consider a good photograph, "The picture is able to make an impact when it tells a story without words.”

Former Philippine Camera Club President and 3-time winner of the prestigious award: Master Photographer Quincy Castillo says that the shift from traditional film to digital has cost the craft quite a bit. He says, “The main difference between users of the two can be seen in one’s discipline. Developing one film slide used to cost 200 pesos. It takes a photographer to practice discipline of planning his shot before-hand to arrive at a good picture. This is what needs to be retained while enjoying the benefits of convenience that the digital medium of photography brings to the craft.”

I looked around the room and saw the passion that carried the project to its fruition. The photographs were striking. I was awed by the fact that one of the entries I saw came from an 18 year old. I saw different messages that communicated the various images of the Dignity of the Filipino Worker. Some photographs showed strength. Some showed craftsmanship. Some showed cheerful candor. Some showed courage. The top 100 collections showed the different settings of a Filipino at work. The agricultural worker. The professional. The family provider. The builder of highways.

But all in all what I saw in the results of the contest was the ability of Filipinos to exist in a variety of settings. To excel in a variety of fields. To remain bright eyed and enthusiastic no matter what the toil. To keep in productive perseverance no matter what the pressure.

The Outlooke Pointe Foundation highlights this evolution in reviving the use of photography as a craft that empowers, rebuilds and unleashes the passion inherent in every Filipino to take what has been given us from colonialism to slavery, from battle scars to victory and use what has once imprisoned us to be the very experience that sets us free.

___________

pictures by Javi Cabanes

Breathing It In

2009-02-01T22:15:00.001+08:00

Breathing It In, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This is a view from Starbucks Tagaytay City. It's a welcome breather after a long days of road and green fields. Of concrete and pavement. I've been thinking of saving up to buy a weekend house up on the hills. For much needed sanctuary living.

Morning Drives

2009-02-01T22:13:00.001+08:00

Morning Drives, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This is one of those days wherein my morning drive to work gets tangled up in a congested intersection of the tiny streets of Cavite. This intersection is packed with jeepneys, sidewalk vendors, children going to school, women on motorcycles. It's the busiest intersection through out the whole stretch. This intersection takes 30 minutes to traverse out of the 45 minute drive. This intersection tests my patience the most.

Ironically, I like looking at how busy this intersection is. The lives of the people hustling and bustling by.

Gazing At the Window Sill

2009-01-25T12:28:00.001+08:00

Gazing At the Window Sill, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

To the right of this window sill is the small table I put my laptop on. The light that shines through the glass is soft and hazy. It caught me this morning because it gave a kind of softness that was soothing and tender. I stared at this space for quite a while thinking about my flight back to Manila at 5:20pm and how my Dad's recovery will be in the next few days.

He's initially scheduled to be discharged on Tuesday. But his almost 2 weeks stay in the hospital has not completely healed the swelling of his infection.

I am also thinking about the coming days at work where I will have to be catching up with a lot of things.

In all these things I am praying that I will find the right amount of rest in between moments. Just like this little moment of gazing at the window sill in this corner of the room.

On Coffee and Rain

2009-01-25T12:11:00.002+08:00

On Coffee and Rain, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This large cup of Gloria Jeans' caramel latte was something I enjoyed yesterday during my visit to the hospital. It was raining and the taste of coffee was cozy on my lips. I laid the cup on the window sill because my Dad had asked me to move next to his bed. He wanted to show me a couple of presentations he had from work and was teaching me about some concepts that might help me with my new job.

It's been a while since I sat with my Dad tutoring me like that. I remember how he used to wake me up at 3am in the morning during my gradeschool years to study for a math exam.

My "inner vision" seems to be more alert these days without my SLR with me. How ironic.

I love the shadows in this photo. I love the reflection of the coffee cup on the windowsill. It speaks to me of a mood just right for coffee and rain.

Greater than the Human Heart

2009-01-25T08:55:00.002+08:00

Greater than the Human Heart, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

Almighty Father,
the love you offer always exceeds
the furthest expression of human longing.
For you are greater than the human heart.
Direct each thought, each effort of our life
so that the limits of our faults and weaknesses
may not obscure the vision of your glory
or keep us from the peace you have promised.

- from the Daily Roman Missal said in today's mass.

______

This picture was taken along Gov. Roa street as I walked to Cebu Doctor's hospital this morning.

On Grandparents' Bed

2009-01-25T08:23:00.001+08:00

The day is over and I’m back on my bed here in the guest room of it Tita Virgie’s house. It’s a lovely bed with lavender flowers printed all over the bed sheet and a cozy lace canopy draped over. This was my grandparents’ bed.

The day is over and today marks my last full day here in Cebu for this visit. I’m leaving for Manila tomorrow afternoon so that I can go back to work on Monday. I leave with slightly a heavy heart. I didn’t want to leave my parents behind since my Dad is still in the hospital. He is recovering well but the infection will take time to heal because of his diabetes. The experience of looking after him for one full week wasn’t easy and I know that being here was a big help. I am happy that I was able to support my parents this way.

I sleep tonight feeling a little bit rested than I had expected to be at the end of this week. I was expecting to feel tired from all the chores and the work that I needed to start catching up with little by little. But I suppose the Master Planner has taken care of everything because the Goal Setting Activity that I have been preparing for has been moved yet again to Thursday next week. Giving me some ample time to breath and pick up my pace as soon as I get back.

The internet isn’t working here tonight and neither is my wireless Smart Broadband. I suppose tonight I am meant to sleep reflectively. A little bit closer to folded hands, closed eyes and bended knees.

Solitary Hospital Chair

2009-01-24T16:46:00.003+08:00

From the solitary hospital chair pushed to the wall's edge facing the window I see more about life. I see how the passing of time has aged my parents and how different it is now that they are growing old. Taking care of my dad at 61 makes me realize the significance of how he took care of me when I was born. Covering him underneath the blanket to keep him warm. Bringing him to the bathroom to urinate. Combing his hair so he looks fresh. Feeding him his meals so he doesn't go hungry. Giving him a glass of water so his mouth doesn't go too dry.

From this solitary hospital chair I see my mom's nurturing character which I have never seen before. I see her teaching me and my sister how to help my dad with every little thing. I see her withstand many nights of interrupted sleep. I see her patiently carrying my dad's weight on her shoulders so he can walk himself to bathroom.

From the solitary hospital chair, I see how God's is unfolding and unraveling. I see how He transforming and healing. I see how life is reconstructed and renewed. Somehow in a seeming backward motion. Like life is played in reverse. Where the father becomes the one provided for instead of the provider. Where the wife becomes the head instead of the follower. Where the children become the nurturers instead of the ones nurtured.

From the solitary hospital chair I sit the day away trying to absorb the flow of thoughts regardless of the many visitors that come in from nurses to doctors to family and friends. I try to absorb everything so I will never forget. Never forget. Never forget.

An uncle and his wife around just now and jolt the quiet a little bit. Engaging my sluggish father into a conversation of what seems to be his purpose in life -- fixing problems. How timely that I realize this now when I just told him this morning that it seems that I find myself in situations always filling gaps and fixing messes of people who walk before me. My dad in full authority and wisdom said, "That is your purpose in life." I don't know whether I should laugh or cry. But I suppose I just have to laugh this off right now and enjoy how amusing it is that my dad can still muster such fortitude from his hospital bed.

He is clearly restless. His feet stretches back and forth like it's skating over the surface of the bed. He is not one who is used to being sick this long. I hope he finds more meaning in his life though. These moments should give him room for introspection. I am curious about what passes through his mind. I hope my dad was a writer. He'd probably fill in numerous stacks of journals with all the things he's learned. I wish the same for my mom. It would probably have made me feel a little bit better growing up with all these struggles if I knew my parents went through the same thing.

From this solitary hospital chair I've heard so many conversations and watched so many expressions and I realize how important again and again life becomes when you view it backwards.

Now if I can only live it forward without losing the wisdom from introspection.

Bicycle Girl

2009-01-24T14:02:00.001+08:00

bicycle girl, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

bicycle girl what are you thinking?
what do you dream?
lying on that bed of yours
don't feel like strawberries and cream
the early wake of morning
feels like such a toil
to open your eyes bicycle girl
when its covered with soil

bicycle girl what do you feel?
what are those thoughts
lying inside the messy curls of hair
are they flying or dying
encircling hope or is it despair?

bicycle girl maybe you can keep riding
the road your cycling through
with a smile on your lips and
a song in your heart
and find in the turning of wheels
round and round in your dreams
a hope for the cycle to make
them come true.

Somber Sightings

2009-01-24T13:08:00.007+08:00

Somber mood finds me this morning. I had to get out of the hospital room for a bit and walk out to Gloria Jeans. Starbucks was too far away. My chat with Adi this morning left me thinking about so many things. Past. Present. Future. It left me with the very melancholy conclusion that LIFE IS DIFFICULT. What brings comfort is that I do not have to go through it alone.

I went to the hospital early this morning because my mom needed help with my dad. The caregiver we hired to assist us couldn’t come in today because she had to go home to celebrate their barrio's feast. I parked just outside the pay parking area because it was still closed. We parked at the same spot yesterday too. I got drawn to this little girl lying down on a bicycle cart. Her hair was messy and she was covered with ash and dirt. I wonder what kind of life she must have waking up to a morning without a soft bed underneath.

little girl

I ran past some children riding a truck. Their laughter and noise caught my attention while walking back to the hospital. I wondered where they came from and why they rode a truck instead of a bus.

truck kids

It’s raining today. And I welcome it gladly because it soothes me again and resonates with my somber mood. I laid my large cup of Gloria Jeans Caramel Latte by the window to listen to my dad share to me some of the best practices they have at work. He eagerly showed me presentations that he found useful and gave me advise on what to implement in my new job.

gloria jeans

One of the things I thought about during the darkest moments of this experience was how my Dad always gave me advise about work. And how I would miss that when that stops. So here I am trying to make the most out of this second chance. Hopefully filling in the gaps that were created through the years of our relationship.

I noticed an eager exchange between my Dad and I. My mom would jump in once in a while and we had a healthy exchange of ideas like grown ups would. I felt at ease. I felt walls crumbling down. I felt my parents’ respect for me.

Second chances are indeed refreshing. I suppose it really is a blessing to have gone through this and overcome it. I am filled with an even deeper gratitude for the Giver of Life after having experienced my a series of little deaths.

Another Kindred

2009-01-24T06:13:00.003+08:00

I was pleasantly surprised when I woke up to this sitting in my inbox this morning

I have read some of your writing at :: http://www.mycreativeintent.com/profile/Katherina and this morning...once again, out of the blue I was lead to follow the patchwork quilt dots! One point about your writing that I believe makes it worth reading is the the fact that you deal with our "very human" issues so delicately ... but clearly. You seek ... you ask.... you observe... I truly appreciate that I was drawn to you this morning and that your words - thoughts - deeds - bring all humanity in touch (tune) with one another. Love without action is just intent.

Thank you so much - you have a gift, I can't wait to see where you go with it! Together we are opening doors and changing the future through our collective collaborative spirit.

- by DeZengo

I find it ironic that I get this today because I was just telling Adi how I've struggling with my writing for the past few days. I find it such a blessing to get this today because it soothes the struggle and cushions the tension.

Thank you kindred heart! <3

Jollibee Walk

2009-01-23T12:42:00.003+08:00

The walk to Jollibee today was a quiet one. My sister has left for Manila. Despite the sudden outburst of creativity early this morning, I still remain cluttered. Mildly irritated with mother's display of panic. I realized how panic is so contagious. Anybody weak of heart will surely get disturbed with even a wift of it.

Unfortunately I am one of those weaklings. I can barely stand a wave of being swept into somebody else's panic yet ironically i=I always find myself hovering in these situations.

Why am I surrounded with really high strung people? Obviously birds of the same feather flock together, so I know I'm one too. But is there any chance of liberating myself from this? I'm not so sure.

I'm standing at one corner of this tiny Jollibee branch located in Osmena boulevard waiting for 10 minutes to pass till my tuna pie orders become ready. Ahhh here they are. Now to fill my hungry tummy.

Writing Like Hemingway

2009-01-23T07:46:00.003+08:00

So I'm talking to Adi and she's trying to tell me that I can write like Hemingway. Hemingway. Hmm. I've always wanted to try imagining myself writing in the middle of a busy street waiting for a cab. Or...perhaps somewhere in the middle of a crowded Starbucks scribbling down my Moleskine quite absorbed in my thoughts. But that never gets to happen. I don't know why I want to be able to get self-absorbed like that in the midst of vibrant life. I suppose it's my way of trying to exist while breathing everything in. Not the usual way I get so paralyzed in the middle of a circumstance that attempts to change or shatter. Move. Inspire. Liberate.

She just went offline and my muscles are a bit sore. Helping my Dad do a little shindig of a workout on his bed gave me quite a workout too! I bought 2 Nike yellow resistant bands for my Dad a few days ago so that he can stretch a bit since he's been bedridden for more than a week now. He finally decided to use it. I find it funny how my Dad gets all excited about new activities like that. It's amusing to me for a 61 year old to get giddy about little things.

Now he's off to snooze. His snore gurgling to escape his open mouth. At times I get nervous listening to him snore when we're here in the hospital because it feels like it'll never end. But there are times when I find it funny too because his lips twitch uncontrollably until the snore comes out to a full sigh.

One of the days I was left alone to watch him, I saw his whole body twitch. It gave me quite a scare because his health wasn't so stable then. I never thought my Dad was such a lucid sleeper. So I tried to nudge him and ask him what was going on. He groggily woke up and said, "I was dreaming that I'm riding a train and was chugging along with it." He fell back to sleep and true enough his body was chugging along again.

I had to stifle a laugh because I didn't think it appropriate for me to let out a guffaw in this situation. My Dad's such a character. I love him. He's starting to be annoying when he's restless but as I said yesterday, it's definitely much better having him that way than how he was a week ago.

So yes Slick, you're right. I think I can start writing like Hemingway.

An Incessant Need

2009-01-22T18:47:00.004+08:00

I need to create.

This is What It Means to Be Held

2009-01-22T12:03:00.004+08:00

Perhaps it's for my own keepsake and so I will never forget how God has delivered me and my family during this time that I chronicle these words that kept my heart from breaking.

________________

Psalm 112:7-9. This Psalm came to me during the end of 2008 and carried me through my fears and anxieties in transitioning to my new job. The job that God has provided for me as a way out of the hopeless situation I was in. This Psalm persisted in its promise as I clung to it with all my heart upon hearing my Dad's situation.

7 He will have no fear of bad news;
his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD.
8 His heart is secure, he will have no fear;
in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.
9 He has scattered abroad his gifts to the poor,
his righteousness endures forever;
his horn ^[a] will be lifted high in honor.

_________________

Romans 4:17-21. These verses from Romans lifted my heart and made re-focus on what truly matters. Amidst the despair and the fear, I held these verses close to remain steadfast in my belief.

He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were. 18Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be."^[d] 19Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah's womb was also dead. 20Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, 21being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.

________________

The Pilgrim's Progress. Is an essay by John Bunyan found in a compilation of essays found in the library of CS Lewis. Javi found this essay by chance when he flipped open my book and prophetically showed to me something I believe God had wanted me to read so I will remain in hope.

Now I could see in my dream that the High-way Christian was to travel on was protected on either side by a Wall, and the Wall was called Salvation. Burdened Christian began to run up the High-Way, but not without great difficulty because of the load he was carrying on his back.

He ran this way until he came to a place on somewhat higher ground where there stood a Cross. A little way down from there was an open Grave. And I saw in my dream that just as Christian approached the Cross, his Burden came loose from his shoulders, fell from his back, and began to roll downward until it tumbled into the open Grave to be seen no more.

After this, Christian was glad and light. He exclaimed with a joyful heart, "Through His sorrows He has given me rest, and through His death He has given me life." Then he stood still for awhile to examine and ponder the Cross; for it was very surprising to him that the sight of the Cross alone had brought him complete deliverance from His Burden. So he continued to look and watch until springs of tears welled up in his eyes and came pouring down his cheeks.

Then, as he stood watching and weeping, three Shining Ones suddenly appeared and greeted him. "Be at peace!" The first announced. "Your sins are forgiven!" The second one stripped off his tattered clothing and dressed him in bright new garments. After this, the third one set a mark upon his forehead and handed him a Scroll with a seal on it. He directed Christian to study the Scroll as he traveled and to present it upon his arrival at the Celestial Gate.

__________________

God's Word Today November 2008 Edition. This thin pamphlet like magazine was resting on my Dad's side table by his bedside. I found it immediately after I read Pilgrim's progress because I was looking for something to bring to Cebu. In bold letters, the Editors Note is entitled Resist Fear...Embrace Hope!

Fear is a normal reaction to the unknown. While science and technology have pushed back the frontiers of the unknown, we still know very little, if anything about where and in what shape this planet will be, let's say, in the year 3000. Natural disasters, reduction of non-renewable resources, nuclear, chemical and biological threats, terrorism and genocides make some people fear that the day of Armageddon or Doomsday is near.

Quite a few will turn to the book of Revelation--the Apocalypse of John--to confirm their apprehensions and will not be reassured by what they find in some chapters of this last book of the New Testament. It would be very unwise to remain blind to or even to minimize the threats we are facing today, but this is no reason to read into the Apocalypse the script of what is going to happen tomorrow.

When John wrote the Apocalypse, he and his community had many reasons to fear. James had been martyred in Jerusalem in the early forties, Peter and Paul in Rome in the early sixties; war and destruction had been raging in Jerusalem at the hands of the Romans; and now John himself is a prisoner in exile in Patmos and some of his brothers have been martyred, "because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus" (1:9): It is a time of "great ordeal" (7:14). things coulnd't be worse, and reasons to fear were many.

But in no way do John and his community yield to fear or resignation. The very first words John hears from the mouth of Jesus himself are: "Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last" (1:17). These are the words that John needed to hear from his Lord and that he vowed to pass on to his community.

In times of tribulation, the people of God have no need for prophets of doom, but for prophets of hope. John, the Seer of Patmos, has rightly set the focus on the Victorious Lamb and on the future inaugurated through his resurrection. His numerous and vigorous appeals to courage an dpatient endurance are welcome in this day and age. Be not afraid to read his book, and you'll find compelling reasons to embrace hope.

Hold On To your Dreams

2009-01-22T08:12:00.002+08:00

Hold On To your Dreams, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This poster catches my eye on the 4th day of my visit in Cebu. I was probably too harassed and preoccupied with my Dad's condition that I did not see this hanging on the right corner of my Tita Virgie's guestroom.

This one makes me smile today.

A Repost: The State of My Soul

2009-01-22T07:46:00.004+08:00

This is a repost from Matt's blog.

I've been following his blog for about 4 years now ever since I started blogging in Xanga. I'm trying to catch up on my blog subscriptions this morning because I believe that those I've been subscribed are really instrumental in helping me keep my faith steadfast.

Today this comes to me like my own words have been taken from my mouth. The struggle of articulating what you feel as an expressive release is an arduous task especially when you are most vulnerable. But I admire people who are able to express their vulnerability with so much tenderness because it shows me how much they trust God's love.

So this inspires me today and fuels me again to keep walking regardless of how the state of my soul is in.

________________

I think I found it so hard to answer because the state of my soul has been, above all else, needy.
The past semester was very difficult. It has been the most difficult academic challenge of my life, and the coming semester will be more so. Last semester I got an A, another A, an A-, and a B+. That leaves me with a gpa of 3.75 for the time being. For those who care about such things, it is a very fine gpa. For those who care greatly about such things, it is merely fair. For my own part, I am pleased and learned a great deal.
The most important thing I learned the past semester was not biblical exegesis nor the finer shades of Greek grammar nor physical and psychological development nor the various schools of psychotherapeutic theories (in my personal order of descending importance).
The most important thing I learned was simply that I need grace desperately, daily, a constant supply. I am the broken one, hospitalized with the oxygen tube of grace in my nose. No, let me be the more severe case, wearing the full oxygen mask. And give me a feeding tube of grace. And give me an IV drip, but let it not merely drip. Let it flow always, let it gush and roar and rage into me. Helpless, let the air and sustenance and liquid gold of grace be my everything.
I've known, but only begun to know, how weak and needy I am; how futile and frail on my own; how carnal and wretched; how craving sin; my being fairly crouching at its door, awaiting the slightest hair's breadth opening to lunge against it and engorge myself on folly. Or how reluctant toward good, toward self-sacrifice and servanthood, toward shining and radiance and worship, so slow, hesitant, and wayward in pursuing glory. Or how tolerant of icy drafts seeping in through cracks and crevices to chill the heart and slow its motions.
But by grace I sought Him, held Him as one being held by Him, seeking even while fallen or filthy or wayward or frail. And I manage to seek Him still, and I learn daily to cast myself upon Him.
Last semester was glorious. It was an awesome journey of learning and love. I saw Him move through minds and hearts and felt Him deeply in my own. I was loved, and I loved. I touched and was touched. I stood amazed in His presence, and drank in His word. All these I experienced as but a drop in the bucket of what could be, but the little drop grows. However, I learned above all this one cherished lesson - that I am weak and He is strong.
- Mystic Ramblings, January 16, 2009

New Life. New Hope. New Creation.

2009-01-22T06:35:00.004+08:00

This morning I am awake early. Listening to songs that my cousin Sister Jennifer has been sending me for the past few days to comfort my family during this time of healing. My heart latches on to this song that's playing on my iTunes now. It's called Be Still.

The layers of my heart that's been constricted because of fear is slowly loosening up. And I am taking in all the air I can breathe in of this new life and new hope that's being given to my family. My perspective has changed about a lot of things. More willing to let go of what's transitory. More eager to cling to what's eternal.

Be Still - Sister Jennifer Villa

the taste of being sweetly healed

2009-01-21T20:49:00.002+08:00

the taste of being sweetly healed, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

My Dad's recovery is a nothing short of a miracle. I have to say that my appreciation for medical expertise has grown over the past 3 days. My appreciation for knowing about creatinine levels, sugar count, white blood count, glucometers has grown and has become a necessity.

Seeing the process of healing and transformation of the physical body magnifies my belief in how significant the spirit's healing can be.

My Dad's now back to his normal humor. Now asking for fruits and more water because he has been deprived of it for almost one week. He's now restless always looking for the remote control and his laptop. But I suppose I'd rather have him that way than how he was a few days ago.

Behind The Exterior

2009-01-21T17:53:00.004+08:00

It's been a week since my Dad has been hospitalized in Cebu Doctors Hospital because of infection complications caused by a small eruption of his skin in the scrotum area. It's been two weeks or so since I started my new job. It's been almost 2 months since my grandmother passed away.

Barely recovering from another, it piles up on you like a stack of unfinished work. I know I have seen God's grace in all situations and I have witnessed his glory fall upon my life. But there are still some things that are left dwelling in my emotions that need to be healed only in God's time.

The human frailty still exists but I find myself even more persistent in enduring what this life is giving me. Not quick to succumb to despair. But ever so quick in holding on to hope. I am certain that what sustains me now isn't my own strength, not even my own will. For I am not a patient person nor am I an easily forgiving soul.

I am watching my Dad sleep on the hospital bed. Finally the series of visits have died down for today. I'm hoping that it will stay a little bit more quiet for a while so that I can hear myself think. The residue of fear is still quite fresh. I was almost prepared to give up and accept the inevitable. I stared at it in the face and a flood of memories rushed through me. The pictures printed on my memory bracelet stood out on waking moments where I'd stare into space wondering how my Dad was doing while I was still in Manila. I was already trying to imagine what it would be like should he not survive this. Thinking about it caused such a painful ache in my heart.

It is quite different when you face the reality of death this way. When it is your Dad's life ticking on a clock. I can now imagine what kind of pain my parents felt when they lost their own parents too. I am quite lucky though because I am given another chance to understand what dying and losing someone means before it actually happens. And so I am able to live the new chapter of my family's life a little bit differently.

This Christmas Season has indeed been different. Starting off this New Year full of promise and hope manifests a little bit differently for me this time. But despite all the seeming tumult that shakes the exterior circumstances of my journey, I am growing more steadfast in faith. Closer to seeing the truth the lies behind REAL LOVE.

Flying With Hope

2009-01-20T16:05:00.002+08:00

Today the flag of victory rises higher.

I heard my father laugh an ecstatic "Hurray" this afternoon when his doctor told him that he can now drink unlimited amounts of water. During the past days of his hospitalization, they limited his fluid intake. Now his kidneys are doing better. Creatinine levels are down to 2.2 this morning. The results of his ultrasound show that the infection HAS NOT gone to the liver.

I never thought I could see the rainbow after the rain. But in 1 day, the day of the Sto. Nino's feast, hope shone through.

There are still so many things on my mind. There are many details that are woven so intricately and I am still amazed at how the events reflect the hand of God's lovingkindness.

Today, I fly with hope. Today I live with hope.

Mustard Seeds

2009-01-17T22:41:00.004+08:00

The relief I felt having seen my Mom's SMS light up the screen of my mobile phone saying, "Your Dad's sugar level has gone down from a high of 225 to 125. Normal level is 100. Praise God." is something I will never be able to fully describe in words.

I suppose the closest would be is that I feel like I am breathing again.

My sister and I have booked our flight to Cebu tomorrow morning. I was afraid that I would be jumping inside a plane with a clouded spirit again, just like the last few trips I had back there. But I am grateful that it isn't so.

My Dad isn't out of the woods yet. But his response to the new treatment gives me hope. It is an opening. A small opening. Small as a muster seed.

I know it's not by chance that I've been reflecting about mustard seeds as of late. Now I'm watching and waiting for the mountain to be moved as promised.

Come Holy Spirit

2009-01-17T11:59:00.002+08:00

When I was in first grade, my Dad taught me this prayer that his father taught him. He always says that it's what made him get through school exams and claim the valedictorian award for both gradeschool and highschool. It's what got him through graduating college with a magna cum laude. He said that whenever he has an exam, he prays this prayer in soft and gentle whisper so that he will know what to do and what choices to make.

I don't know why I remember this prayer today. But it goes:

Come Holy Spirit
Enlighten me, I follow thee
Teach me what I do not know
Show me what I cannot do
Come to me with Thy Seven Gifts
Amen.

My Dad's situation has become persistent. He is experiencing rhenal failure complicated by his diabetes and the unknown infection that's been pervading his body. This morning, I called my mom and she said that there are 3 doctors who are checking him up and changing his treatment to address his current state.

My emotions have gone from peaceful, to anxious, to despairing, to indifferent, to hopeless, to trying, to hoping again...a whirlwind cycle. And now, I am just hungry and eager to get some food in me.

I've tried to check the flights available today and tomorrow and next week and realized that the prices scaled so high because of the Sinulog Event going on in Cebu at this time. Flights are all booked today. There are still some available tomorrow. Flights next week are expensive.

Next week's work schedule is hectic.

The human mind can certainly carry a lot of things. But as to how well it's carrying all of them, it's a matter of grace.

So yet, another day is to pass with fervent hope for more good news. Straining to clear my vision of all the cloudy haze and the dust of doubt to fully engage in the belief that Miracles Happen.

A Moment of Grace

2009-01-17T01:26:00.003+08:00

As if last Christmas Season's challenges wasn't enough, another one visits my family this week. My dad got hospitalized last Wednesday because of an unidentified infection spreading throughout his body. My dad has never been hospitalized for any sickness in his entire life. The anxiety of dealing with this predicament must be unimaginable for him. I have always sensed his aversion to the helpless feeling that unexplained sickness leaves one with. Watching loved ones hospitalized for the past 3 years and passing on is a wake up call on the reality of mortality.

I have barely gotten over my grandmother's death and my cousin's seizure attack and here I am faced again with something like this. Not to mention the increasing pressure that is picking up in my life at work.

But amidst all these, I am grateful for the peace that has found me today. Through the encouragement of friends. Through the knowledge of God's grace. Through the certainty that miracles happen. Through discovering what truth really means despite of what the facts in this life may say.

The week is over. The day is done. And I find myself finally alone in my room. Struggling less and less with anxiety. Giving in more and more to peace that surpasses all understanding.

I haven't found a lot of time this week to be alone with my thoughts. But this experience reminds me that I can't allow myself to be swept up in too much busy work forgetting what really matters most.

So I end this night with a little ode to my father.

_______________

you wrapped me in your arms
as tight as you can somewhere
in between a struggle of love
torn between a fight that
leaves a wide gaping hole
inside your heart

you hold on for the last 60 years
to everything you know
only to find that reason or
intelligence cannot explain
the mystery of what you're going
through today

so tonight i pray for the letting go
of strength you tried to keep up with
so that you will receive the only
strength you need in this moment of grace
and find that in letting go of all reason
a miracles shines upon your face.

On Mother's and Breakfast Preparations

2009-01-12T08:42:00.003+08:00

I just got to work. I left pretty early this morning because I woke up early too. I woke up early because I had to prepare my lunch since our house help has gone on vacation. I went down to the kitchen and found my Mom cooking. It was a pleasant sight to see. I never saw her do that all the time when we were young. But it's a beautiful transformation that even now as I grow older, I am able to appreciate how my Mom is being such a mother to me.

After she prepared our food, she started sewing the new pairs of slacks I bought over the weekend. I wanted to cut some length because they were too long. I appreciated this a lot because I know that her routine every morning was to go to the mass and the Adoration chapel. I've always found myself being thrown off my center whenever a routine of mine is broken. But my Mom willingly received the short-term transition.

As a reaction, I dutifully cleaned a bit of my room and made sure I didn't leave it messy for the day. I missed a little bit of prayer time but I was glad that the morning drive wasn't so heavy that I got to work early enough to have a bit of silence in the prayer room.

I was also happy that I still ran into Adi when I got to work. It's always a pleasant exchange in the morning. Another thing that made my morning pleasant was reading through Marie's blog about Tolkien. She says she's started to finally read Lord of the Rings. I've had great respect for the author and even have the complete series myself. Unfortunately, it's one of those things I haven't done yet. Perhaps, like her, it takes time to be ready to get into certain things.

Having experienced that little moment with my Mom this morning, I want to cite an excerpt from Marie's blog here because it honors such motherly acts.

Just before the New Year, I was reading Archbishop Chaput's Render Unto Caesar, and in one of the chapters he relates this story:

It's also why asking Catholics to keep their faith out of public affairs amounts to telling them to be barren; to behave as if they were neutered. Nothing could be more alien to the meaning of baptism. The Christian idea of witness, which comes from the Greek word martyr, isn't limited to a bloody death in the arena for the faith. All Christians have the command to be a martyr in he public arena --to live a life of conscious witness where God places them, no matter how insignificant it seems and whether or not they ever see the results.

Years ago I read a story about an Englishwoman named Mabel. She had two sons. It's not clear what first drew her to the Gospel, but she became a Christian shortly after her husband died in the 1890s. She was devoted to her new faith. Every Sunday she would make the long walk with her sons to an Anglican church. Then one Sunday they tried a different place of worship: a Catholic church in a poor area in Birmingham. Mabel already had an interest in things Catholic. She asked for instruction. She then entered the Catholic Church.

Mabel's Catholic conversion angered her family. Her father was outraged. Her brother-in-law ended the little financial help he had been giving her since she became a widow. Her dead husband's family rejected her. She and her sons slipped into poverty. Mabel's health collapsed. Despite this, she remained zealously committed to her Catholic faith and taught it to both her sons. Several years later, she fell into a diabetes-induced coma and died. She entrusted her boys to the guardianship of a friend, a local Catholic priest, who deepened their faith throughout their upbringing.

Very few people remember Mabel and her story. But a great many people remember at least one of her sons: J.R.R. Tolkien. In a letter to a Jesuit friend many years later, Tolkien wrote: "All my own small perception of beauty both in majesty and simplicity is founded" on Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that "The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work." He added, "[My Catholic faith has] nourished me and taught me all the little that I know; and that I owe to my mother, who clung to her conversion and died young, largely through the hardships of poverty resulting from it."

I'd sit here all day and muse about Tolkien's journey but I have quite a bit to catch up for work. Finally having a learning outline to work with, I feel a little bit more focused in gaining some speed for the new job to hopefully bear a little bit of fruit.

Ms. Z and Her Zest for Work

2009-01-09T15:47:00.004+08:00

Today I had a very animated talk with Ms. Zeny. She's the technical consultant of our company and a very dedicated quality control practitioner.

My appreciation for the printing ink industry continues because of really interesting people like her. She again explained to me the flow of the process and all the nitty gritty details that one needs to consider when working in this industry. But what I noted specifically interesting today was how she keeps on repeating her very special ability of being aware of a lot of things all at once. She says it's easy for her to remember a whole lot of detail which makes her contribution to the company really significant. The conversation moved on to her highly photographic memory when she told me that she easily memorizes car plates and told me, "Yours ends with 555 right?"

I was surprised because I've never seen her anywhere in the parking lot whenever I come to work and I asked her how she knew. She said with a cheeky grin, "Well, it's because yours is the newest car in the parking lot and it's there everyday! So I concluded that it must be yours. Simple as that."

Now that remark just made me laugh. It was so innocent but then it made real sense! She then went on to share with me her routine every morning which was an hour of prayer with several portions. There was the spontaneous prayer. The Rosary (all 15 decades). And daily readings reflection.

Her good natured disposition captivated me that it really made me realize how simple it can be to do a good job and keep a healthy work environment.

So here I am trying to keep up with all the things I need to learn about the new job and found a really interesting video that somehow summarizes everything I've learned this week.

More on Learning about Printing Ink

2009-01-08T09:30:00.001+08:00

So I learned a little bit more about the Printing Process yesterday and there's this department that I'm slowly learning to get more interested in aside from the Creatives section. It's called the Product Development Department where Quality Assurance and Research&Development are being done. How do they do it? Well, minus all the technicalities of the process, they basically test all the materials that are going to be used in a project. Simply put, THEY GET TO MIX COLORED INK! Woooo! How fun! I told the AVP-Technical Services that I wanted to see how it's being done once they do something. HAHA.

So I was telling him, "So when you do the LSD (an LSD is an abbreviation for Light Standard Dark. It's a proof sample of what the design looks like when it gets printed in different gradient variations of lightness or darkness. There is a certain calibration that they are going for depending on the client's requirements) it's like you're mixing paint and water to get the right shade? "

And he goes, "Yes, if the requirement is water-based and if the substrate (the paper) is what matches the kind of ink being used. If the substrate is of different material then we don't use water but we use a chemical solvent to mix the ink so it calibrates to the right kind of viscosity (WOW. NEW WORD. So it means Viscosity is a measure of the resistance of a fluid which is being deformed by either shear stress or extensional stress. As per Wikipedia)

Being technical-minded in this manner is so wonderful! Because to me it doesn't sound too technical at all. It sounds like ART! HAHA. In the IT industry, technical really sounds like technical because it gets all geeky and it just sounds like Greek. It's something I cannot naturally grasp. But being in this industry and learning all the basics makes me feel like I'm a natural in understanding how the business runs from the core.

There are tons of documented procedures from the 3 volumes of Manuals that are still sitting here on my desk. Im trying to form my own process map in my head so that I don't get lost reading through all the details. But at the end of it all, I am still very much grateful.

On First Days and Work Spaces

2009-01-05T20:21:00.003+08:00

I don't remember the feeling of ever having a first day at work. I suppose the last time I felt that was back in 2000. My most recent job didn't feel so much like I had a "first day at work" because it didn't really start on such a formal and structured footing. There are advantages of not being structured. But I realized that if the lack of structure is prolonged too long, the drive that catapults progress declines at a faster rate than growth.

Today was my first day of work at my new job. I came in pretty early and was made to wait for about an hour in the lobby because the receptionist didn't know that the CEO was already in his office waiting for me. On a normal occasion that would have agitated me but there is something significant about a pleasant morning drive void of traffic and full of green scenery that just keeps you calm instead of the usual road rage I experienced after having worked in the city for more than 6 years. Not to mention the overwhelming peace that pervaded my morning for some reason. :)

God's timing seems to always make things work out in an unexplainable fashion. I thought I would be exhausted from the lack of rest because of the busy Christmas Holiday Season but the last 2 days was made enough for me to catch up and get a second wind to sustain me through my first day of work.

What I really love about this first day of work is having my own table. Not that I've never had my own table before but the last year I've been working in my past job provided me with such a small office corner that has become quite unbearable over time. I realized now that work environment is pretty essential in sustaining my job motivation and one aspect that delighted me today is my very own neat and spacious work space.

To be specific: having my own work space is essential in my job motivation.

I was also quite refreshed by the welcoming atmosphere emanating from smiling employees. Quite a change from all the grumble and the frowns that greeted my morning in the past. The CEO's EA is a cheerful one. Her name is Che and she helped me quite cheerfully throughout my first day. I've never encountered such a cheerful worker 6 months into the company. I spent some time getting to know her and was delighted by her light spirit. I'm sure there will be times that the positivism will wane but it helps to see that there are people who remain enthused especially if those people are the ones leading you.

I was invited to attend a meeting later in the afternoon and one stark difference from all the meetings I've attended the past 2 years was how brief and straight to the point it was. Direct questions expecting direct answers. Questions that provoked some thought and creativity. Something I've missed since business school caseroom discussions 3 years ago. It didn't matter to me, the minor shortcomings that perhaps frustrated the progress being expected, I was enamored by how the environment was so light it allowed me to breathe and most of all THINK.

It felt like I found an oasis in a desert.

I realize then that I am motivated when I am led by highly thought provoking leaders who are progressive in their thinking. It is not so much that they are up to date with everything but it's how they think that inspires me to become creative with them. I realize that I am also motivated when I am led by decisive leaders because it encourages the pursuit of willfullness in all my endeavors.

There is a tiny pantry in the Executive Office just right behind my work space. There is a lady by the name of Lita who makes good Batangas coffee for me. She is not as charming as Manang Isabel just yet but maybe I still have to get to know her better.

The Cavite air remains cool all throughout the day. The plant is not centralized with airconditioning but it doesn't feel hot. I was buried underneath 5 huge ring binders filled with information I had to chew on to catch up but I didn't mind.

It's definitely been a breath of fresh air. One that's been long awaited and hoped for.

Finding this job was a miracle. Living through my first day was another miracle. I can't wait to discover the other miracles hidden in this journey this time around.

I See Grace

2009-01-04T20:03:00.004+08:00

I'm getting myself ready for my first day at work tomorrow. New job. New year. Hopeful expectations of a better year.

Seeing grace. Being grace. Living grace. In everything.

An Authentic Christmas

2009-01-03T17:56:00.000+08:00

It's been a while since I wrote and really sat down with myself to think about everything that has happened for me this Christmas season.

For quite some time, I have been blogging with the sole effort of picking up my writing habit. So that little by little I can start feeling productive as I pursue my writer's dream. For quite some time I have been taking tabs on myself like how meaningful my posts have been or how many pictures I have uploaded in Flickr that caught how many number of views or comments. For quite some time I have been metering myself on my own progress without the knowledge of many so that I know if I am moving or not. So that I can tell myself I am doing good or not. So that I will not be affected when anybody tells me that I am doing good or not.

Experiencing the death of a loved one changes all the perspectives you can have about success or about living a meaningful life or about what fulfillment is for you. I'm not sure if I have gotten mine articulated clearly but I know my perspectives have changed.

I have experienced 4 loved ones pass away but I have never contemplated on the reality of death this long and this deep as when my grandmother passed away. I've written snippets of my thoughts everywhere and have chatted about it with those I constantly confide in. Somehow I can never repeat it enough. My full appreciation for her life came only at a point when she is gone. Mostly because I never understood the way she lived. I never understood the stories I have heard about how she raised her children. I never understood how I witnessed her strict and unpleasant air as she was taking care of my grandfather in his last days. I never understood why I was always afraid of making her cross. I never understood why despite all these, I still follow her and respect her ways.

Perhaps it is this irony that makes me ponder so much upon the effect her death has on me. And why I am suddenly awakened to want to discover how her interior life has been instead of the exterior one. There must be something inside her that I have not fully understood. A feeling. A hidden experience. A trauma. A hurt. That manifested itself as uptightness. As strict-ness. As an idiosyncrasy that never really sits quite well or leaves me at ease. As I reflect upon these things, I also reflect upon my relationship with my own mother and I find several parallelisms in the patterns of our lives woven together. As I reflect upon my own relationship with my mother I also reflect upon the relationships of those I have nurtured. Though I may never be quite the mother many continue to hope for me to be, God has somehow graced me with some experiences that can resonate with what its like to be in a mother's position.

The patterns cycle flawlessly. My lack of understanding for my grandmother's tough shell is the same as my lack of understanding for my mother's tough shell. It is also the same for those who I have nurtured as they try to continue to understand me. However there are breaks I have noticed and these breaks signify a certain illumination on my mother's part and on my part as we probably catch ourselves affecting others too strongly with our "fierce" exterior leading to the weak understanding of others on our intentions from the inside.

As I continue to sort out my grandmother's things, I realized the many similarities I have with her and that my mother has with her. The love for keeping mementos. The love for books and reading. The love for quaint beauty. I also realize the similarities in things we dislike. Of which I would rather not enumerate anymore because it is so much easier to dislike things than to love things and this recount is an attempt to increase my own capability to love.

I realize that there is so much meaning in the word HEREDITY. It can encircle you in a certain perimeter and keep you there forever or you can make the circle wider encompassing and embracing more of life in a variety of ways but in the same nature. For example, my love for the art of diary keeping is something I share with most people. My reflections are something I rarely keep private because I find liberation in sharing them with others. But writing is not only a trait I acquired. It is a trait I inherited from my mother who is quite a profilic writer herself and was a thespian in her day who inherited it from my grandmother who I recently found out does her own writing in the form of calendared thoughts on pages of an old notebook. However, the break in the cycle shows that they are both more private with their reflections compared to mine and perhaps that's when my circle become a little bit more wider because as I take the risk to share my inmost thoughts to others I acquire certain experiences that teach me something else that they may not have experienced while keeping their thoughts private.

It is not to discount the value of whatever our experiences have given us but reflecting this way now helps me realize that even with our similarities there can be a point of difference. What to do with this difference now becomes an act borne out of love. Love can bring about further understanding with one another. Patience when understanding becomes a struggle and Faith that understanding will be a new dawn that is promised to one who remains steadfast.

I suppose it is true when they say that in understanding death, you begin to learn how to live. I never quite finished Tuesdays with Morrie but I'm sure I got myself to that part of the book.

My journey to authenticity centers around living my life as meaningfully as possible. Bearing fruit through the love I receive from my family, relatives and close friends. But there is a difference in how I want to remain authentic. I want it effortless. I want it natural. Not because I want to slack off or not work at anything at all but on the contrary. I suppose I want my authenticity to pervade externally as naturally as it can be and that can't be possible without acquiring a certain interior steadfastness of character.

I suppose this is another break in the circle. For generations of my family, developing character is acquired through discipline. Discipline is quite a strong word that never fails to manifest itself through uptightness. This uptightness weakens the expression of tenderness (not to say that it is not present because how can one love without being tender?). But the pursuit of good and noble character becomes a rigourous pursuit for discipline. I would say if one is kept in a straightjacket for too long, one would really ache to break free from a routine that can inhibit the other expressions that one naturally expresses because of their own individual nature.

So the big question is, what can I do to continue pursuing good without becoming too uptight that my pursuit is misunderstood?

As I have reflected in the previous paragraphs, I have inherited favorable traits and unfavorable ones. The general weakness of man tends to magnify the unfavorable ones. Perhaps this is what Catholics call "the effects of original sin". To remain there would be a painful way to live. So how do I live beyond it? How do I magnify the favorable traits instead? I realize now that everything favorable is not a result of my own effort. I have come to a point where I have felt and pondered upon my weaknesses to the core that trying to overcome them on my own is quite an ardous task. If one is already burdened with having to overcome a weakness, how can one effortlessly exhibit a strength?

GRACE.

Of course one can always say that practice makes perfect. Virtuouso pianists practice the whole day. Athletes train the whole day. But what is it that makes them internally willing to go through the rigor and the toil? What makes them even love it? What makes it effortless for them to subject themselves to such an molding of mind, body and spirit?

GRACE.

I suppose a musician knows that without thoroughly completing the scales, his fingers will lose their dexterity. I suppose an athlete knows that without properly stretching his limbs, he will lose his flexibility. Dexterity. Flexibility. Both associate with the ability to bend and stretch beyond what is normally capable. It is an admittance on their part that they become weak in their craft/art/sport if they do not remain a certain degree flexibility in mind, body and spirit.

Taking it to its intrinsic value, what causes interior flexibility?

GRACE.

I may sound like I'm trying to prove a point but I'm not. It's just that I find no other answer in my mind as far as my experience in this lifetime can say aside from the word Grace. And how timely that I just refer back to 2 Corinthians 12:9 where it says "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness."

Someone who knows that his body will not bend that far without a certain surrendering to a routine knows that he is intrisically weak without that routine. For the spiritual person, this routine is prayer. I suppose that's why for musicians practicing their instrument becomes a sacred moment as well as morning walks or jogs are for athletes. The rhythm of repetition in the beginning causes a tension but with consistency produces fluidity and a calming effect that lulls the senses and makes what is being done an effortless motion expressed.

It may seem that I have gone off tangent already but the whole point of extracting this out of my system is to face what I have been absorbing the past Christmas season.

It definitely has made me understand a lot of things. Now making me comfortable in sitting with some of them. And that's all I need to be for now.

Remembering that I belong to a family of women who may live fierce but love just as fiercely. Grateful that I am given the wisdom to understand some things I found difficult to understand. Relying on the grace of God to propel me to move forward and continue to journey the authentic and blessed life I have always longed to live.

I realize now that even if this Christmas may not have been as Merry or as Happy and even if it didn't seem to bring "glad tidings", it has been the most authentic Christmas I have ever experienced because it is during this Christmas I realized a lot about the truth behind significant people in my life and in realizing that I come to know that I have always been loved.

Remembering is Love

2008-12-25T09:58:00.002+08:00

I have spent the past 30 years worth of Christmasses in my hometown Cebu. Thirty Christmasses In a 3 house compound lined up in a cozy little street called Sanjercasvil Private Road. But this year is a little bit different. I sit on a bamboo chair at Tita Virgie's lanai and look at Yoya's house just a few steps away almost expecting her to come out of the swing door in her brown Carmelite dress and call out, "Hi Choots!". Her voice full of life. Full of certainty. Full of purpose.

I wonder what makes her passing so different from my Yoyo's. Me and my relatives have contemplated about it a lot but I'm not sure if we really understood it fully. As I move along Christmas day today I stare at the quiet house and remember her presence. I remember how much of it was shared and poured into to every moment we came to visit.

I suppose her that's why her passing aches a little bit more. It's because she always made sure that she was never absent for anything significant in my life.

The memories of Yoya come in waves right now. The most recent one I remember was when she attended my Life in the Spirit Seminar sharing in August of last year. I remember finishing my testimony in tears. Welcomed by the hugs of family and friends. And there silently standing to wait for me to reach her was my grandmother. A proud smile on her lips. A certain twinkle in her eye. She hugged me and said in her most certain voice, "I love you Choots."

I don't know why out of all the memories I have of her, this is what surfaces today. It's not that easy to find the words nor to make sense of it all. But in a silent melancholy way, today I remember how much I am loved.

An Evening Meditation on St. Therese of Lisieux

2008-12-10T07:34:00.002+08:00

The darkness enfolds me, Lord, it is the end of another day. Noises are being hushed, and I still my restless heart in your presence.

I rejoice that I am safe in your keeping whatever may come to pass. And I thank you for the many blessings received today and throughout my life. You have fashioned my soul to seek you out, and now that I have found you, I know you will never let me go.

As the day draws to a close, I reflect on many things, and find I am negligent in remembering your commandment to love others as you love me.

Your little friend, St. Therese, understood your dear request, and tonight I am reminded of that phrase that traced her own destiny: “At the evening of life, you will be judged on love.”

If I am judged on love, Lord, I confess to many lapses. And before this day goes by forever, forgive me, for not having comforted those who need support, for turning away when someone looked for help, for using harsh words instead of kind ones, for remaining silent when others deserved praise.

Help me to remember the words of St. Therese, and increase my little ways of love to share with friends and strangers. In prayer, link me with those who suffer, are hungry or distressed. Take them in your care, Lord, and let your loving spirit fill the world tonight, so that we may understand the true meaning of life, when you again send us your morning light.

____________

This is a prayer I found in my Lola's prayer book (The Divine Office). It was inserted in one of the pages and peeked out when I was leafing through. St. Therese is a saint who has permeated my life and my family's life for as long as I remember. I take comfort under her wing in this time of healing and restoration.

For Lola

2008-12-05T22:10:00.004+08:00

For my Lola who passed away November 30, 2008.

Dear Lola,

There are a lot of things I don’t understand right now and am finding it hard to grasp. I don’t understand why in our family death would always come in the season of Christmas. I don’t understand why in our family grief is always dealt with laughter instead of tears. I don’t understand why in our family deep affection is mostly expressed in deep silence.

There are a lot of things I don’t understand about death and what it takes away and what it leaves behind. Like my memory of rushing to write little notes behind the photographs I took just a week before you passed. I found my littlest doll and remembered the tons of dolls you kept above your shelf. So I thought you’d probably need one for company. I sent the doll I named Star along with envelope of photos and through my Mom just a week before your final goodbye. It never occurred to me that my lighthearted liking for dolls was something you and I shared till now. I didn’t know that this would be the last thing I would do for you because all I was thinking was trying to finding a way to make you smile as you lay in the hospital healing from everything you’ve been going through.

Mom said you liked the photos and in our last conversation which happened also just a week before, your muffled voice told me with much effort but with a lot of conviction, that you’ve seen the photographs and they’re beautiful.

It occurs to me now that behind that strong, bold and decisive exterior was hidden a little girl, who probably had many stories to share with her dolls simply veiled by a canopy of dreams we couldn’t quite see.

I realize now that I never got so close as to finding out what your own dreams were and if some of my dreams were actually yours bearing fruit. But I know that you went to all of our graduations and I know that you proudly displayed all your children’s diplomas on your living room wall. I realize now that these walls were where you stored your memories and that you held these memories so dear that you can’t help but share them to every guest that came into your home.

I didn’t realize that we both liked the color red. I never admitted my liking for it in the beginning because Red might be too bold or too strong or to out there. And for most my life, I remember always having to struggle with being “too out there”. But you never shied away from boldness or any moment that called for you to stand up and offer what you can of yourself in service to God or in casual companionship for another. I realize that your daily afternoon routines of taking a drive down the city streets of Cebu or the panoramic roads of the South Reclamation was a silent devotion to the virtue of always having the zeal to remain in active participation in the life you had lived.

There was so much energy in your step and so much persistence in your stride that no wheelchair, no cane, and no, not even a leg amputation can keep you down. To your last breath, you had enough fight in you to even go looking for your shoes.

Even when the lights grew dim and your memory faded, you stayed awake long enough to graciously send everybody off.
I realize, we your family, was everything to you. There are no compromises in your mind and in your heart when it came to ensuring that your family is taken cared of, well fed or warmly attended to. Your intensity protected us. Your passion fueled us to move through life. It didn’t matter whether we took different paths because the fierceness of your love always brought us to remembering home.

This night before we bade you our last farewell, we remember everything. We hold everything. We feel everything. Though you may find us badlungon tonight because of this tribute, I pray that you allow us to just do what we do best. I’m sure you’ve already found a new pair of shoes and perhaps a bright red dream cloud that’s carrying you off to the your most exciting laag ever, allow us to serenade you with our own heartsongs. Songs that cradle for us the most intimate memories we have of you and what we have shared in this life. Songs that say, we know and understand now the life you lived and who you were in ours. Songs that say, we have learned, you have made a difference and the fierce and fiery way your heart kept beating for each one of us sets us free.

So La, everything is okay. We are fine. We are definitely well fed and your love will hover and keep us warm through all our days.

It’s now your time to dance. Walk Free.

We love you.

The Sky Smiled Tonight

2008-12-01T20:59:00.003+08:00

The last time it happened was recorded to be at 1818. The next time it is predicted to happen is in 247 years. I deeply regret not having taken a photograph when I was already staring at the scene because it was right above me.

The sky looked like twilight. Faint hues of light glowing from just above the horizon. Darker shades of blue hovering above making the crescent moon glow with much charm upon velvet.

It's an awesome phenomenon and it makes me wonder about the Universe's Hand and how it seems to fingerpaint the sky with much beauty like this.

Lessons from Work Resignations: Seeing Beyond The Change that Endings Bring and Taking that Leap of Faith to Begin Again

2008-11-28T12:14:00.009+08:00

I've resigned twice in my life. The first resignation was to pursue higher learning in business school. In that resignation, there was a party to send me and a couple of people off where I got an award for innovation and leadership. I was unsure about my next move. I was scared about the next step. I didn't have any amunition with me to ensure that I will succeed. My life moved on 2 months after and before I knew it I was sitting in a caseroom filled with 73 people from different nationalities battling over airtime to discuss opinions about a 15 pager Harvard Business Case.

I was clueless. I was lost. I felt like a little girl in a room full of grown-ups. What was I doing here, I asked? A few months passed and I realized that I wasn't the only one asking that question. Two years down the line I passed my thesis. My grades weren't impressive. I was only proud of a couple of subjects that were leaning towards self-mastery, art, creativity, entrepreneurship. All the rest were average. Two weeks before graduation, our class president asked if I can deliver the graduation response speech in behalf of our batch. She said I was the best orator in class. It didn't sink in that my oratory skills were worth a place on stage for graduation. I thought those were just given to students who were graduating at the top of the list. The spot was given to me for some reason and so I delivered my first graduation speech in all my academic life. What I didn't get in honor medals or dean's list awards, I miraculously made up for in that 5 minutes of airtime graduating from one of the Philippines' toughest business schools in 2005.

I didn't know what I was going to next. So I ended up volunteering for church as a fulltime youth minister. The experiences were so overwhelming and I needed time to figure my life out again. Coming out of a business boot camp armed me with a sharp mind and a pretty tough interior. It also gave me a humbled spirit. Working for a church organization seemed easy enough. It should be. After all, I was working with a bunch of kids. What can be so complicated with that? But I was mistaken when I realized that I was dealing with unique individualities and vulnerable hearts that called for much nurturing than I was capable of giving. I was spent. Dried up. And in parallel, started off to pursue the first stage of my career as a change catalyst.

They say, people who institute change are those who are able to withstand the toughest change themselves. I've read about people like these. I've read about their lives and I've seen some of them in person. I've always marveled at their tough inner core. Oftentimes shrinking shyly back because I have nothing to show since I considered myself quite weak.

And I am. Two years stay in the company I got into after my volunteer stint exhausted all creativity out of me. Transitioning from entrepreneurial environment to professional without any back-up, no clear structure, no grounded support from the instigator of change whatever I learned in business school that will help me survive went down the drain. Soon I stopped reading business books or leadership journals and went for The Daily Word, Devotionals and Podcasts. I realized that I am battling with the toughest mindset to break in all change initiatives because that mindset belongs to the one who wants the change himself. I went horizontal and reached out to my peers. I went vertical to reach up to management. I barely made a dent.

I'm not sure if I still made a dent. I have stacks of studies and reports and files saved in my hard drive as a result of the churning of brainpower to satisfy all expectations I could ever anticipate. But that's all they are now. Files.

Today is my last day of work and my arms were full this morning because I carried some gifts I bought for a few co-workers who I have grown attached to during my 2.5 year journey. You'd expect someone who has been hired to change the make-up of a 1.2B company to have more than two arm-full of packages. But no. I can only list with my two hands those I can say I really made a difference with. And half of them were not even from any department that I directly worked with. Half of them were the receptionist, the company driver, the company guard, the company janitor and janitress.

But I was cheerful today because I enjoyed painting my gift wrappers and writing handwritten thank you notes to those I wanted to wish all the best to.

I handed them with a "Para sa inyo po." (This is for you) and a warm smile. I know they didn't expect anything from me. And I also didn't expect anything from them. But the response was overwhelming.

Two of them cried after they read my note. And one of them said they were intending to buy a bag (my gift was a knapsack). There was really nothing to my note, I thought. It was a simple:

Napagaan niyo ang mga araw ko dito sa opisina. Salamat sa pag-tulong niyo sa kin sa mga maliit na bagay: pagbukas ng pinto, pagbati sa umaga, pagtimpla ng kape. (You made my life easier here in the office. Thank you for helping me in small things: opening the door, greeting me in the morning, making me coffee).

I didn't realize how much those words meant to them till I saw how it moved them. I didn't realize how much I was grateful really until I saw their tears. I thought I was just being gracious and cordial like people who resign from offices do. But there was something more.

I realized that no matter how small a contribution or how low your position, there will always be a moment meaningful enough to be remembered. Meaningful enough to be held. Meaningful enough to fuel a heart changed forever.

I am much more certain about where I am going this time around. I am much more certain about what I can do and who I want to be. But it's funny because it wasn't some great big career breakthrough or most expected promotion that brought about this epiphany. No awards were given this time to send me off. In fact, if I paid close detail to what the facts say of this experience it only spells one thing: I failed.

I look out of my office window from my little office corner for the last time. The skies are cloudy but the sun is bright. The skyline has patches of gray and orange. Breathing in, I sense something else.

The facts may describe one thing. But faith determines something else. Interspersed with reality and possibility is that very small window of breathing hope. That small window kept me above water. Kept me believing despite circumstances that because I am a child of the heavens, the hands that made a miracle out of me will not stop till the masterpiece is unveiled. Against all odds, against all scars...I am Redeemed. And there's no greater victory I can ever experience in my life than that.

A Brief Epiphany on Walking

2008-11-27T17:40:00.001+08:00

I see other people's lives cross mine. Sometimes I can't help but look and feel a bit envious of their own progress. I look back at mine and wonder if I've gone as far. I've slowly started to learn not to concern myself with other people's lives in that matter because it doesn't help keep me in place. When I was walking up the steep road on my way back home, my legs were getting strained. I could walk upright because I had to lunge my body forward to keep being held back by the slope's gravity. If I looked ahead, I could see that the road was long and the top was far away from me. But if I looked at my shoes, I could see that the next step was just one foot forward away. And that was what kept me going. Just taking one foot forward at a time.

Eventually I arrived. For any experienced athlete that walk was chicken feed. But for me, it's quite a feat to decide to even begin in the first place. I suppose this is where my romance with exercise begins. Since I have already been enamored in my spirit, now it's time to let that flow through my body.

Walking Without Excuses

2008-11-27T08:15:00.005+08:00

Today was a struggle to get out of bed. But I wanted to keep to my commitment and sluggishly drag myself out, put on some clothes and walking shoes. The morning air greeted me again this time with a sunnier smile. The sun shines so bright these days. When the clouds don't get in the way it can be bitingly hot. I'm glad that it doesn't bite so much in the morning. I saw the rays peeking orange through the tree leaves and smiled.

I really love mornings.

So I popped in my morning podcast and went for the walk. I listened to two podcasts today. The first one was about Living Without Excuses. Some points I took down in my mind:

Don't give yourself excuses to quit believing and pursuing your dream
Your disadvantages are advantages that God's waiting to turn around
God can turn around your liabilities into Assets

Joel Osteen moved on giving examples of people who had handicaps but still lived a fulfilling life. Some of these people I saw in Positive Split's blog yesterday. The stories of Sarah Reinertsen and Julie Moss were what got to me. Not only because they were women but I suppose they echoed two sides of me. Reinerstein's spunky tough chic personality and Moss' dramatic memorable finish.

I've never really quite experienced what it's like to have a physical handicap or never got far into physical activity to know what it's like for your body to be stretched to the limits. But I suppose I can relate to how it feels when it comes to the inner side of life. The emotional stretching and the spiritual battle. The challenges or hurdles manifested from different directions. Inside - Outside. But then are overcome just the same way.

The second podcast I listened to was pretty much related to the first. Joel Osteen talked about Choosing Which Battles to Fight. Points I pondered:

You don't have to straighten everybody up
Not everybody will always like you
If you stay in God's direction, he will surround you with people who will celebrate who you are

I suppose it hit me right on the spot because I am a person who is easily offended. Layers of wounds lie beneath the exteriors I put up to face life. Efforts that go unnoticed. Ideas that are brushed aside. All those incidents tarnish the drive to keep me encouraged. Living a lifetime of negativity can get to you. But wanting to turn it around is a different story.

I want to turn it around and write a different story.

By the time the two podcasts ended, I've completed my 4th round the 4 blocks worth of road I've chosen for my morning route. It was time to walk up the steep pavement going home. I wasn't as breathless as I expected but my calves were starting to hurt. Yet, the southern banter of Joel's twang was too happy that I kept walking, trying to keep my chin parallel to the ground.

Walking with Joel Osteen

2008-11-26T08:38:00.003+08:00

Image by Tonyç via Flickr

I've finally gotten my mindset right about exercise. I always told myself that as soon as I get a hang of managing my spiritual health, the next thing would be my body. So yes, it's finally here, after 31 years. The awareness that I need to take care of my physical health too. :)

I guess this realization came because I recently learned about my grandmother's amputation. Gangrene spread from her feet to her legs because of poor blood circulation. Diabetes complicated the healing process.

I realized that I didn't want to grow old that way and experience a lot of these complications. So I got out of bed today and dressed up. Put my earphones on and started with Priscilla Ahn's Dream. I like walking in the morning to good music and good weather. It sort of cleanses all the discomfort from my body and it becomes easier to shrug off the restlessness that clings all over me. The heat was just right and there was a bit of cool leftover from the dawn.

I decided to listen to a podcast so that I will be more focused and not just aimlessly walk around street corners without a purpose. Listening to encouraging podcasts help. I was even tearing somewhere in between because Joel Osteen was talking about keeping dreams alive.

It doesn't matter how long it takes to chase your dream, just keep at it because keeping at it keeps you productive and that keeps you living with purpose and with purpose you get passion. It doesn't matter if you have a dream that died, dream another dream. It doesn't matter if you can no longer do what you used to do, just do what you CAN do.

There are a lot of things that I can no longer do. And walking for long periods of time is one of them. But surprisingly, I brisked walked for 45 minutes non-stop with Joel Osteen's Southern Twang playing in my ear. I'm not sure how far I was able to go, all I know is that I finished the podcast and went up a steep road without hating how my muscles started to ache after.

Exercise and I never mixed but I suppose finding a creative way to do something that suits me better will get me up an running for it. It's a small win. 45 minutes. But it's got a big dream in the making attached to it.

_______________

Benefits of walking

Walking for fitness can help you achieve a number of important health benefits. For example, you can:

Reduce your risk of a heart attack. Walking keeps your heart healthy by lowering low-density lipoprotein (LDL) cholesterol (the "bad" cholesterol) and raising high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol (the "good" cholesterol). A regular walking program also reduces your risk of developing high blood pressure, a factor that also contributes to heart disease.
Manage your blood pressure. If you already have high blood pressure, walking may reduce it.
Reduce your risk of developing type 2 diabetes. Regular exercise reduces your risk of developing type 2 diabetes. If you're a woman, overweight and at a high risk of diabetes, walking can improve your body's ability to process sugar (glucose tolerance).
Manage your diabetes. If you already have type 2 diabetes, taking part in a regular walking program can improve your body's ability to process sugar, lower your blood sugar, reduce your risk of heart disease and help you live longer.
Manage your weight. Walking burns calories, which can help you manage your weight. For example, middle-aged women who walk more than 10,000 steps a day have lower levels of body fat than do women who are less active.
Manage stress and boost your spirits. Going for a brisk walk is a great way to reduce stress. Regular walking also can reduce feelings of depression and anxiety.
Stay strong and active. As you get older, walking for physical fitness can prevent falls, help you stay mobile and maintain your independence.

Prepare yourself before you go walking

Take time to prepare yourself to prevent injuries, such as blisters on your feet or muscle pain.

Wear walking shoes and comfortable, protective clothing
Before you set out, be sure to select comfortable footwear. Also dress in loosefitting, comfortable clothing and in layers if you need to adjust to changing temperature. If you walk outside, choose clothes appropriate for the weather. Avoid rubberized materials, as they don't allow perspiration to evaporate. Wear bright colors or reflective tape after dark so that motorists can see you.

Warm up
Spend about five minutes walking slowly to warm up your muscles. You can walk in place if you want. Increase your pace until you feel warm. Warming up your muscles reduces your risk of injury.

Stretch
After warming up, stretch your muscles for about five minutes before walking. Include the calf stretch, quadriceps stretch, hamstring stretch, lower back flexion stretch and chest stretch.

Getting started: Design a program that works for you

To help ensure your success:

Start slow and easy
If you're a seasoned walker, keep doing what you're doing. If you've been inactive and tire easily, it's best to start slow and easy. At first, walk only as far as or as fast as you find comfortable. If you can walk for only a few minutes, let that be your starting point. For example, you might try short daily sessions of three to five minutes and slowly build up to 15 minutes twice a week. Then, over several weeks' time, you can gradually work your way up to 30 minutes of walking five days each week.

Use proper technique to avoid injury and setbacks
Walking is a great exercise because it's so simple to do. But if your posture is poor or your movements exaggerated, you increase your risk of injury.

Measure the intensity of your workout
As you walk, measure the intensity. Knowing your level allows you to increase the intensity to maximize your workout or slow down to avoid overdoing it. You have these options:

Talk test. If you're so out of breath that you can't carry on a conversation with the person you're walking with, you're probably walking too fast and should slow down.
Borg scale. This method is a self-assessment of your perceived exertion. You rate how hard you think you're working on a scale that ranges from 6 (no exertion) to 20 (maximal effort). Aim for at least moderate intensity (12 to 14) as you walk.
Monitor your heart rate (pulse). To find out if you're exercising within the range of your target heart rate, stop exercising to check your pulse manually at your wrist (radial artery) or neck (carotid artery). Another option is to wear an electronic device that displays your heart rate.

Keep track of your progress
Keeping a record of how many steps you take, the distance you walk and how long it takes can help you see where you started from and serve as a source of inspiration. Just think how good you'll feel when you see how many miles you've walked each week, month or year.

Record these numbers in a walking journal you create for yourself or log them in a spreadsheet on your computer. Another option is to use an electronic device to calculate time and distance for you. Options include:

Pedometers. These devices, which you usually attach to your belt or waistband, detect body motion and count your footsteps, displaying the number of steps on a small screen.
Although many pedometers have extra features, such as displaying calories burned and the distance walked or run, you may want to begin by using its primary feature - counting steps.
High-tech devices. Devices that use GPS satellite technology cost more than pedometers do, but they can track the total and current distance you walk, and even calculate your speed or pace. You may have to program these devices. Some allow you to download stored data to your computer as a way of keeping track of your progress. You wear these high-tech devices on your wrist or attached to your waistband, shoe or arm.

Cool down after each walking session
To reduce stress on your heart and muscles, end each walking session by walking slowly for about five minutes. Then, repeat your stretches.

- article from Revolution Health.com

The SkyAngel Cowbow Reaches Manila

2008-11-21T07:13:00.003+08:00

It's another cloudy Friday but all warmed up by this video I found in Adi's Tumblr. It's a video of a child named Logan who calls up SkyAngel Radio to share something about his cow having to be put down because of a broken back.

I'm moved because of how young he is and how untainted his view about God is. He sure is not a theologian but he knows the truth about God so well.

Be Blessed!

Tumbling in Tumblr

2008-11-20T11:40:00.004+08:00

I am currently captivated by the little internet nook called Tumblr. I was reading through some pages and found a news article on David Karp. I found him such a genius for having been able to create a site like Tumblr. Anyway on to why I like Tumblr.

I like it because it's neat. It's organized. It's not complicated to use. It actually feels like Multiply because it allows you to click buttons according to what you want to post. Whether it be text, photos, audio, video. I like the quotes feature because I haven't encountered that in any of the sites I have joined online. It also feels like Facebook and Twitter because you can just post short snippets of your day. Even if the interface is designed with an actual textbox as opposed to Facebook and Twitter's one liner space, there is that feeling of finiteness which makes you post things in a concise manner.

I stumbled on an article in Wikepedia that defines this activity we call blogging.

A blog (a contraction of the term "Web log") is a Web site, usually maintained by an individual with regular entries of commentary, descriptions of events, or other material such as graphics or video. Entries are commonly displayed in reverse-chronological order. "Blog" can also be used as a verb, meaning to maintain or add content to a blog.

Many blogs provide commentary or news on a particular subject; others function as more personal online diaries. A typical blog combines text, images, and links to other blogs, Web pages, and other media related to its topic. The ability for readers to leave comments in an interactive format is an important part of many blogs. Most blogs are primarily textual, although some focus on art (artlog), photographs (photoblog), sketches (sketchblog), videos (vlog), music (MP3 blog), audio (podcasting), which are part of a wider network of social media. Micro-blogging is another type of blogging, one which consists of blogs with very short posts. As of December 2007, blog search engine Technorati was tracking more than 112 million blogs.^[1] With the advent of video blogging, the word blog has taken on an even looser meaning — that of any bit of media wherein the subject expresses his opinion or simply talks about something.

I've started blogging as early as 2004. I remember starting up in Oprah's discussion boards and Online Gratitude Journal. Then I moved on to Xanga.com because it was the first blogging site that allowed for an easy way to connect with other people. Then I moved to Multiply and Blogger and Facebook. I also tried Live Journal and Wordpress.

Each Blog hosting site has a different feel to it. Different personalities. From my experience Xanga gave me a taste of intimate online relationships. Most of my online blog friends come from Xanga. Multiply on the other hand gave me a taste of connecting with my physical circle of friends in a more meaningful way. The private life becomes a little bit more exposed as Multiply allowed a sharing of a variety of mediums to express how your life is going for a day. Blogger feels more like a professional blog where entries have to be quite thorough and targetted to a particular audience of topic. I quit Live Journal and Wordpress because I had a difficult time navigating through them.

In all my years of blogging I find myself to be moving around a lot. Never really staying in one place too long. It's almost as if the chapters of my life move internet addresses according to how it feels or what phase I am in. Private experiences are logged in Xanga. Experiences I am willing to share with the public are logged on to Blogger or Multiply.

I've decided now to focus only a few sites to concentrate on full blogging activity. Aside from simple information sharing, it becomes an activity of reflection and a writing exercise. I've veered away from full length blogging on social networking sites because I didn't want to limit myself to the network that I knew. There is a kind of freedom in anonymity and it becomes more interesting for me to keep writing when I don't know who is reading.

In that way, writing is not only an act of reflection but also a discovery.

However, the fluctuating spurts of creativity has bogged me down quite so that the pressure to keep the words flowing gracefully actually ended up paralyzing the stream of consciousness that digs the words out of my head. That's when I started looking for an alternative.

Micro-blogging became an option. I started finding the value of micro-blogging when I resurrected my Facebook pages. But again, I wanted something that veered away from social networking especially when it was concentrated only on a particular circle. Twitter found its way on my list and finally Tumblr.

I have to thank January Warrior for sharing it with me.

So Tumblr.com is a little corner in the infinite space of the Web that draws out spurts of meaning from someone who needs mental de-cluttering. The easy to navigate pages and the creative interface archive gives me a feel of smallness, intimacy and meaning. Tumblr.com is quiet because discussions are kept to a bare minimum. There seems to be an atmosphere of respect and even friendly reverence for the freedom of expression.

Another Wikepedia article defines tumbling as such:

A tumblelog (also known as a tlog or tumblog) is a variation of a blog that favors short-form, mixed-media posts over the longer editorial posts frequently associated with blogging. Common post formats found on tumblelogs include links, photos, quotes, dialogues, and video. Unlike blogs, tumblelogs are frequently used to share the author's creations, discoveries, or experiences while providing little or no commentary.

A tumblelog is a quick and dirty stream of consciousness, a bit like a remaindered links style linklog but with more than just links.

So when the clutter stack becomes too overwhelming for spring cleaning and de-blogging, I'm off to the Tumblr hideaway.

The Flight of Leaves

2008-11-19T13:22:00.005+08:00

This morning I had a chance to witness an artpiece in the making. Adi Mari finished her piece on birds and finally showed it to me all the way from London.

Art has always been something captivating for me because it allows me to be drawn inside and outside of myself. The focus of art becomes holistic instead of capturing just one aspect about life. Art makes life three dimensional because it forces you to look at reason (the purpose of pursuing the craft) and passion (the desire to pursue the craft). Art becomes the fruit of a journey's essence manifested in tactile form.

This is why I associate art so much with the journey of faith because it takes a lot of faith to keep up with an artistic journey and it takes a lot of artistic appreciation for life to keep up with the challenges of faith.

I have only started to really establish my journey on looking at how parallel faith and art can be. And today this journey is seen in the artpiece that my friend Adi Mari has made.

I'd call this piece The Flight of Leaves. She has used a variety of media to execute the concept of this artwork. It was quite a painstaking process of gluing in real leaves together to cover cardboard patterns of shapes forming a clutter of leaves at the base. I can imagine the gentle gesture of tracing a curve shaped stencil to draw the birds and capture the wings in flight.

She was talking to me about her fascination for birds ever since she moved to London and I surmise that it is because of how her life has always been. Filled with periods of traveling moving from one country to the next to settle into new homes and leave old ones. It's a melancholy journey of one who's barely anchored to maturity. But it is also quite a courageous journey for someone as young as her because it brings her closer to live a life reliant on faith.

I am caught by the flight of the birds which seems to be moving towards me. I can feel the wind from underneath sweeping the leaves up to the air as the wings swoop down to dip and soar up again. I am enchanted by the colored leaves and Adi Mari's hands that fashioned them intricately. The lines of the work are all moving. Much like Adi Mari's spirit. Moving to find the peacefulness of home in changing skies and the shifting of clouds.

It is true. That art is indeed a self-portrait and this piece can perhaps be her signature work because it literally expresses the story in her soul. One of hope despite the constancy of change and the hurried pace towards acceptance. One of faith despite the hurdles that needs to be crossed amidst the change hues and tones the color her life. One of authenticity despite the realities that challenge the meaning of her truth.

the Flight of Leaves

The Cubao X Discovery

2008-11-17T14:38:00.006+08:00

The very much awaited trip to Cubao X finally happened last Saturday. I left Alabang around 9am to be sure that I will not tangle myself with a lot of road stress along EDSA. I didn't really know if the area would be open that early but I also took it as an opportunity to explore Cubao again after not having been there in the longest time.

Cubao has a lot of childhood memories for me. Malls like Robinsons Galleria or SM MegaMall weren't open yet when I lived in Pasig. My parents would take me and my sister to Ali Mall during weekends and our favorite fastfood was McDonald's. I remember being so eager to get the newest Happy Meal Toy from pencil cases to lunch boxes and anything that had Ronald McDonald on it.

Things didn't change that much. It was still quite traffic in P. Tuazon street. The presence of Gateway Mall and Shopwise were new and I sort of missed the old Fiesta Carnival that stood in the middle of the shopping arena.

I finally found Cubao X and was happy that there was a parking lot almost right next to it. The old ruins of the Marikina Shoe Expo were very much still standing. Suddenly, I recognized the place from a distant memory. I remember buying old school shoes there because they were cheaper than those sold in the mall.

The day was cloudy and the breeze was a little cold. It was perfect for walking around the city. As expected, Cubao X was empty except for a few shops that were open early. I didn't get the names of all of the shops but I was especially drawn to the antique shop that was located at the center of the corner. Filled with luscious green plants from the terrace, I was immediately lured inside to peek at the wonderful treasures that other people left behind. I was quite thrilled to see a lot of books and old trinkets. I was looking forward to see Remy's Thrift Shop but unfortunately it wasn't open yet when I got there. So I walked around Cubao for the meantime and found myself sitting down on the sidewalk outside the Ali Mall entrance to just take everything in.

I went back after lunch and was happy to see most of the shops open. I was able to purchase great finds. A bag of clothes purchased in the "ukay-kay" place: 5 pieces of clothing (2 dressy tank tops, a bolero, a blouse and a long gypsy skirt) all for 500 pesos. A bag of second hand books: Flights of Love by Bernard Schlink, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and The Waves by Virginia Woolf all for 450 pesos. And lastly, my most interesting find for the day: a porcelain doll that was packaged in a vintage travel box (if there was a vintage version of kaboodles that would by my closest description) for 480 pesos.

There's one simple thing I realized in this short trip. Discoveries happen because you make an active choice to seek and not just wait stagnantly for an opportune time. I realized how much of my living in Manila has been so unexplored and have silently made a resolution to change my mindset about willingly exploring places that resonate with my own inner journey of authenticity. In so doing, I am awakened to the truth of who I am. A Filipino Woman. Rediscovering the joy of finding out what it means to realize how good it is to find home. Revived with renewed passion for the Filipino Nation.

On Google Analytics

2008-11-14T12:45:00.003+08:00

I recently signed up for Google Analytics because I wanted to try and see the hit rates coming into my blog. I am just simply amazed at how technology can capture information that once was impossible to acquire.

Here's a map of London. Captured by Google Analytics on where my visitors come from.

The report highlights in darker orange hues that the cities are Kensington and Wallington. I'm assuming this is you Slick. :-P

Just one of those little pieces of information that amaze me daily.

I Need Words

2008-11-14T12:13:00.002+08:00

i need words to wrap around me
like a veil of flowers blooming
like a ray of light piercing
through a cozy empty room
like the softness of a couch
with cushions overflowing
from the upholstery and the pillows
where my dreams can softly croon.

i need words to wrap around me
like a journey that's been waiting
to be traveled without stopping
without fearing the tremor
of something new.

i need words to carve out the hidden story
that's been waiting to be told
over coffee, over wine, over food
like shoelaces i want to tie
on worn out sneakers that's been dried
i need some words to break the silence
in this pregnant dreaming life.

Following Your Personal Legend

2008-11-13T15:34:00.005+08:00

This is one confirmation for me today that I'm heading the right direction. :) Most of the time what hinders me in believing in my dreams is my lack of hope. Recently I realized how powerful the virtue of hope is. Hope is the substance of faith. One who hopes, lives differently.

What are you hoping for?

__________

When Joseph Campbell, today’s most famous scholar of mythology (and author of the excellent “The Power of Myth”) created the expression “follow your blessing,” he was reflecting an idea that seems to be very appropriate right now. In “The Alchemist,” this same idea is called “Personal Legend.”

Alan Cohen, a therapist who lives in Hawaii, is also working on this theme. He says that in his lectures he asks those who are dissatisfied with their work and seventy-five percent of the audience raise their hands. Cohen has created a system of twelve steps to help people to rediscover their “blessing” (he is a follower of Campbell):

1] Tell yourself the truth: draw two columns on a sheet of paper and in the left column write down what you would love to do. Then write down on the other side everything you’re doing without any enthusiasm. Write as if nobody were ever going to read what is there, don’t censure or judge your answers.

2] Start slowly, but start: call your travel agent, look for something that fits your budget; go and see the movie that you’ve been putting off; buy the book that you’ve been wanting to buy. Be generous to yourself and you’ll see that even these small steps will make you feel more alive.

3] Stop slowly, but stop: some things use up all your energy. Do you really need to go that committee meeting? Do you need to help those who do not want to be helped? Does your boss have the right to demand that in addition to your work you have to go to all the same parties that he goes to? When you stop doing what you’re not interested in doing, you’ll realize that you were making more demands of yourself than others were really asking.

4] Discover your small talents: what do your friends tell you that you do well? What do you do with relish, even if it’s not perfectly well done? These small talents are hidden messages of your large talents.

5] Begin to choose: if something gives you pleasure, don’t hesitate. If you’re in doubt, close your eyes, imagine that you’ve made decision A and see all that it will bring you. Now do the same with decision B. The decision that makes you feel more connected to life is the right one - even if it’s not the easiest to make.

6] Don’t base your decisions on financial gain: the gain will come if you really do it with enthusiasm. The same vase, made by a potter who loves what he does and by a man who hates his job, has a soul. It will be quickly sold (in the first case) or will stay on the shelves (in the second case).

7] Follow your intuition: the most interesting work is the one where you allow yourself to be creative. Einstein said: “I did not reach my understanding of the Universe using just mathematics.” Descartes, the father of logic, developed his method based on a dream he had.

8] Don’t be afraid to change your mind: if you put a decision aside and this bothers you, think again about what you chose. Don’t struggle against what gives you pleasure.

9] Learn how to rest: one day a week without thinking about work lets the subconscious help you, and many problems (but not all) are solved without any help from reason.

10] Let things show you a happier path: if you are struggling too much for something, without any results appearing, be more flexible and follow the paths that life offers. This does not mean giving up the struggle, growing lazy or leaving things in the hands of others - it means understanding that work with love brings us strength, never despair.

11] Read the signs: this is an individual language joined to intuition that appears at the right moments. Even if the signs point in the opposite direction from what you planned, follow them. Sometimes you can go wrong, but this is the best way to learn this new language.

12] Finally, take risks! the men who have changed the world set out on their paths through an act of faith. Believe in the force of your dreams. God is fair, He wouldn’t put in your heart a desire that couldn’t come true.

- Paulo Coelho Blogpost November 12, 2008

The Little Corner Home

2008-11-12T12:40:00.006+08:00

It was 5 years ago when I tried to tell stories through images..

Over time that part of me has been quietly stashed away because of duties, obligations, survival. for the past 5 months, i've been attempting to unearth it again. and this is one of those attempts that marks the milestone of taking the time to perceive life through different eyes.

_________

Cooped up in this little office space for almost a year. I can't imagine how I've managed to work without being empowered to have a decent table. my desk serves as the end of a long table that's build for one person. my belongings are squeezed into a space just enough for all. i've been expected to build businesses and grow leaders from this little corner. but no matter how tight and cramped it's been, the cozy comfort of art and the little light of grace has made this space a home.

The Fifth Mountain: Will God Disappear From Words?

2008-11-12T10:48:00.004+08:00

"Will God disappear from words?" the woman asked.

"He will continue in them" Elijah replied. "But each person will be responsible before Him for whatever he writes."

She took fromt he sleeve of her garment a clay tablet with something written on it.

"What does this mean?" Elijah asked.
"It's the word love."

Elijah took the tablet in his hands, not daring to ask why she had given it to him. On that piece of clay, a few scratches summed up why the stars continued in the heavens and why men walked the earth.

He tried to return it to her, but she refused.

"I wrote it for you. I know your responsibility, I know that one day you will have to leave, and that you will become enemy of my country because you wish to do away with Jezebel. On that day, it may come to pass that I shall be at your side, supporting you in your task. Or it may come to pass that I fight against you, for Jezebel's blood is the blood of my country; this word that you hold in your hands is filled with mystery. No one can know what it awakens in a woman's heart, not even prophets who speak with God."

"I know the word that you have written," said Elijah, storing the tablet in a fold of his cape. "I have struggled day and night against it, for, although I do not know what it awakens in a woman's heart, I know what it can do to a man. I have the courage to face the king of Israel, the princess of Sidon, the Council of Akbar, but that one word--love--inspires deep terror in me. Before you drew it on the tablet, your eyes had already seen it written in my heart.

They fell silent. Despite the Assyrian's death, the climate of tension in the city, the call from the Lord that could occur at any moment--none of this was as powerful as the word she had written.

Elijah held out his hand, and she took it. They remained thus until the sun hid itself behind the Fifth Mountain.

"Thank you," she said as they returned. "For a long time I had desired to spend the hours of sunset with you."

- Paulo Coelho, the Fifth Mountain
____________

I love this part because it's such poignant moment. The struggle of love to manifest in such a conflicted situation is the most courageous struggle of two people who wish to walk free in it. I suppose that when the real kind of love graces you with it's presence, there is no other way to go except to be propelled forward into a deep, profound and mysterious journey.

Cubao X Discovery

2008-11-11T15:01:00.003+08:00

I have been aching to go to Cubao X for the longest time. But a Manila Southerner like me finds it pretty impossible to squeeze in the time to drive all the way. The ache to breathe in a new place where art lives is so strong that I am really decided to visit the area this weekend. Even if I'm not the most patient driver in the world. I want to especially visit this shop that I read about in ProjectManila.com because there is something about the intricately arranged vintage collection of all sorts of things that sparks up stories in my mind. I want to touch them and look at them up close and wonder about the people who owned them. What they were like. What they constantly thought about. Why they had to give these things away.

I'm thinking that maybe this is why I experienced that little mishap of leaving my phone at home today. To drive all the way there after just being in the office for less than 30 minutes would normally be a frustrating decision but something inside me didn't go all too frantic. The sky was cloudy with a pale tinge of orange. The expanse of Skyway was empty and it was indeed a peaceful drive.

The more the hunger grows for art to arise. The more the authentic self longs to be released. Released through resonating with old things that tells old stories. Released through resonating with photographs painted with light and thought showing a far greater universe than what we can see.

My Little Red Phone

2008-11-11T13:29:00.003+08:00

I left my phone in the house this morning. I realized I left it when I was already on the highway. I've never really left my phone before and I never knew how crippled it felt like to not have your phone with you. Though I tried my best to dismiss the thought from my mind, I couldn't. I suppose I never realized how attached I have been to my cellphone since today. Especially this little red one that hangs around my neck like (as Adi would call it) a "message-in-a-bottlependant".

The way text reads on the little screen all lighted up especially if it comes from certain people can really become an endearing little thing.

So yes, I was quite desperate to have the little munchkin beside me so I drove all the way back home to get it. :) Now I'm at peace.

In Need of Creative Resuscitation

2008-11-10T15:36:00.000+08:00

I've been thinking that I want to be more focused about my move towards growing in the writing craft. So I've been trying to search for creative prompts that can initiate my journey to writing more creatively. I think the problem is that I haven't really been sifting my mind so much that's why everything simply gets stuck. I also have not been reading a lot and my momentum in digesting words has gone to slow. My literary sense has faded.

But I am optimistic. I've been seeing a lot of people venturing towards their dreams lately and the first thing they did was to aim high and then follow a process. For athletes, it's a training schedule. For artists (or writers like me), it's a creative routine. Most of the things I've read say that the most important tip is:

To read a lot.

Last week, I managed to finish reading a book in one day. I used to devour two books in one day when I was in college but that ability has been stunted ever since I attended business school where my taste for literature has gone bland. Filled up with stacks of case studies and business reports has numbed my creative writing mind and it desperately needs some resuscitation.

The next important tip is:

To write a lot.

They say that it doesn't matter what you write, just write. Some say that it's important to plan what you want to write and others say just write and then edit later. I don't know which advise is better but I find myself unable to "just write" right now. I suppose the cluttered thoughts have a lot to do with the bottleneck.

The third important tip is:

Find people who believes with you.

I suppose the birth of any dream is fueled by the strong desire and belief of the dreamer and those who stand by the dreamer. It makes a lot of impact when your environment allows you to test all sorts of possibilities without restraining your creative potential and the limiting the journey of creative exploration. Those who find it difficult to begin taking the first step towards their dream, I find, are those people who have never been exposed to an encouraging environment.

Negativity is easy to come by especially in a world that wreaks with turmoil, crisis, poverty, unemployment, heartache, death (this is just to name a few of those anxieties we constantly run through our heads on a daily basis). For some reason it has become human nature to find it easier to point out a mistake, a wrong deed, a wrong action than to point out a good deed, best effort, a trial overcome, a change made. It feels like an itch. Or worse, a pimple aching to be popped. You just can't stand it. You have to scratch it. You have to pop it.

Where do we get that urge? I can't speak for everybody but I suppose for myself, it's because I am unable to empathize nor see beyond the inner struggle of one who goes an experience or simply said, I don't believe the inherent goodness in a person. But that was past. As I move towards authenticity, I am growing to realize that I too limit myself if I limit others.

The poison to any possibility is a negative word. Somewhere in Proverbs it says, "Death and life is the power of the tongue." It is easy to stick this on a car bumper or to post it on your office wall or make it a desktop screensaver. But it is very hard to live out. It becomes hard to live out because we are more quick to call others' attention than ours.

A chat with a friend recently reminded me of this bible saying that goes, "One who has been forgiven much, loves much." How can you love much if you don't know how much you've been forgiven? How will you know how much you have been forgiven if you think you don't NEED to be forgiven? :-)

I think I've strayed far from my point of enumerating the important steps of embarking on the creative writing craft but I think it is important that before any journey begins, the heart, the mind and the soul is set in the right place. For you will not know what kind of challenges you will face but if you got your insides intact, your inner mettle will let you rise above anything that tries to run by you.

So here I am trying to move with the flow again and believing that even if there are seasons in where my creativity runs dry, there are definitely seasons where the spring will come again.

The Red Boots Journey

2008-11-04T09:34:00.005+08:00

the red boots journey

This picture got 13 views and 7 comments in Flickr. My highest rating to date since I resurrected my Flickr back up about 2 weeks ago. That Flickr account has been there for 5 years or so but I never really ended up using it because of rising social networks like Multiply and Facebook. Somehow, I've forgotten what it felt like to be anonymous to the internet public. Somehow, I've forgotten what it's like to appreciate the work of a stranger and to look forward to exciting discoveries from random people. Somehow, I've also forgotten how affirming it felt like to get feedback from people I don't know.

This photo was taken in ParadiZoo Cavite. It's an hour and a half drive from Alabang. More pictures that I've taken are in my Flickr Album. But I am specifically fond of this picture because of how it was a moment that was just there, waiting to be captured.

I like the whitewashed paint on the steps. These are steps to a small house located in the Zoo. The boots where just there as if somebody left them. I like how the boots stand out against the whitewash paint. It's a charming sight and it reminds me of cozy walks on a quiet afternoon.

What Is Offset Printing?

2008-11-03T16:39:00.003+08:00

I have never come across this term till now and it's funny because this production process is actually something that I partake on a daily basis. So why am I asking what off-set printing is? I'm asking because it is what the business of my new career journey will be. :)

And reading through this short introduction on off-set printing I realize that I am in the right path. Aligned to all my dreams. How funny that just yesterday I thought everything seemed hopeless but as the inspiring Pastor Prince says, "Hold fast to hope in the most impossible circumstances". And I did. And here I am. A step nearer. A heartbeat closer. Riding on a new wave of hope. :)

_________________

The next time you read a newspaper, browse through a magazine or even glance at brochures in the mail spare a thought and think about what it takes to print and publish such vast amounts of information and graphics. Offset printing is responsible for almost 40% of all printed material that you see around you.

It would be difficult to create a complete list of the applications of offset printing. If something needs to be printed, offset printing can do it. Here are some examples of the applications of offset printing to get you thinking on the entire scope of offset printing.

Newspapers are probably the most visible example of offset printing that is a part of everyone’s life. Every morning you are greeted with an application of offset printing. It is to the credit of the speed of offset printing that such high volumes can be generated every single day.
Books are another application of offset printing without which life would simply not be the same. Whether for education or entertainment, books are the life source of many a people and they have offset printing to thank for making books affordable.
The law too has to thank offset printing for making the legal process more streamlined. Large volumes of legal forms and documents are printed using offset printing.
Businessmen would be lost without offset printing. Important financial data is at their fingertips thanks to offset printing.
The marketing and advertising industry would regress by centuries if it weren’t for offset printing. The entire direct marketing industry would perish. Offset printing is used for printing flyers, brochures, PR material and a host of other marketing applications.

Thus, offset printing affects every aspect of our lives – social, economical, educational, professional, legal and even our relationships! Hallmark just wouldn’t have the same effect without offset printing now would it?

Prisoners of Conscience

2008-11-02T13:29:00.003+08:00

A prisoners of conscience as defined by Wikepedia is:

Any person who is physically restrained (by imprisonment or otherwise) from expressing (in any form of words or symbols) any opinion which he honestly holds and which does not advocate or condone personal violence.

Expression can refer to race, color, language, sexual orientation, belief, or lifestyle. It can refer to those who have been imprisoned or persecuted because of their non-violent expression of their conscientiously held beliefs.

The term prisoners of conscience resonates intensely with me today. It resonates because I have long felt physical restraint from any form of expression. In my culture, independence of thinking is an act that cuts across the grain. I suppose it's a global norm. But in my present situation, standing up for what you believe in is dishonoring the prime authority figures of your life. You parents.

Just recently, I have expressed wanting to leave the place I work to allow my spiritual beliefs to become alive. I was believing God for something and somehow I was led to an answer and I wanted to see that answer through but a bunch of worries listed by my father cut any determination to hope that what God tells me is true. Just recently, my father calls my attention because of how my young friends are attached to me. He says that friends should not be that kind of burden to one another.

But who am I to say what is right? When for most of my life, I have been wrong? Or so I have been told.

In a way, the term prisoner of conscience, is something I call myself today. Held from living out my truth because my kindred has been held out from living theirs.

At the end of the day, circumstances are just aftershocks of the real happening. But until we are able to see the real struggle, we will never find real compassion to sit with those aching to breathe with their dreams.

Your Armor by Charlotte Martin

2008-10-31T15:12:00.002+08:00

I saw this video in a friend's Facebook and loved it immediately. The piano riffs and the soothing voice reminded me of the days where I used to spend on my own piano.

Paulo Coelho in Filipino

2008-10-31T09:38:00.006+08:00

A chat with Katchig Mouradin yesterday taught me to find my treasure in my own backyard. It is true. Most Filipinos seldom find value in their own country. The glitter of far away lands is too gravitational a pull that we find ourselves scattered all over the place without any true anchor to a home. To an identity.

Thus the ever pervading struggle of the Filipino to remain authentic. But authentic to what nature? The answer escapes me because sadly even I cannot truly say what nature is this. However, there is no struggle born without a good fight. And I suppose that is what I know of each and every Filipino that's walked their lives parallel to the nation's history. The fact that every Filipino is born with a warrior's heart.

So here's my little attempt to do some weeding in my own little garden. Learning to love the tongue of my motherland as it helps me understand deeper the truths conveyed by an author who knows the authentic nature of his soul and moves to arouse authenticity in others.

__________

A true warrior of light knows that every garden has its own mysteries, which only the patient hand of the gardener can unravel. (Paulo Coelho's Quote for October 30)

Ang totoong Mandirigma ng Liwanag alam na ang mga hardin ay may kanya-kanyang misterio na ang masipag at pasensyong hardinero lang ang nakaka-intindi.

_____

So it seems that we are living in a culture of fear.

Before it was the terrorist attacks and now we see this economic crisis that engulfs the whole world.

My point is that we understand less and less what is happening. Personally, the more I read about this crisis the more I get lost.

Not only that: I’m reading about Pakistan, Afghanistan, Irak and the Middle East and it seems that people are losing control. When this happens we see the rise of a culture of fear. And this is what I want you to share: do you feel we are living a moment where fear is being used against us?

Don’t you have the feeling that besides our personal fear, there’s an atmosphere of doubt that is imposing this world of crisis to us? (Paulo Coelho on the Culture of Fear)

Namumuhay tayo sa isang kultura ng pangangamba.

Dati puro mga attack ng terrorista ngayon naman nakikita natin ang crisis sa economy ng buong mundo.

Ang punto ko ay paunti ng paunti ang naiintindihan natin sa mga nangyayari. Sa totoo lang para sa kin, habang parami ng parami ang nababasa ko, mas lalo akong nalilito.

Hindi lang yun: nagbabasa ako tungkol sa Pakistan, Afghanistan, Irak at ang Middle East at mukhang nawawalan ng control ang mga tao. Pag-nangyayari ito lalong gumagrabe ang pangangamba. Pero ito ang gusto ko malaman sa inyo: sa tingin niyo ba na namumuhay tayo sa panahon na kung saan ang ating pangangaba ay ginagagamit para mas-takutin pa tayo?

Hindi niyo ba napapansin bukod sa ating sariling pangangamba, merong pakiramdam ng pagka-alinlangan na syang naglalapat nitong crisis sa atin?

_____

LiYAB PILIPINAS: A New Renaissance

2008-10-28T12:41:00.009+08:00

How many of us Pinoys often sit around waiting from dawn till dusk the flourishing of the Filipino dream? What is the Filipino dream anyway? So much has been said about the American Dream where the promise is of a land that prospers your life. But what has been said about the Filipino dream? For me, the Filipino dream is that of becoming authentic to the nature that we have been born with. For more than 300 years the Philippine Culture has been influenced by so many nations. I have often wondered about a simple question. So who is a Filipino?? Stripped off all its influences what makes up a Real True Blue Pinoy?

photo by Adrienne Santos
model: Javi Cabanes
location: Vista Mar Cebu City

I've been reading a lot of magazines these days and have been running into people who mostly represent something quite extraordinary happening in the Philippine Society today. There seems to be a New Renaissance flourishing from the quiet coffee tables of Starbucks to the corners of FullyBooked Boni High to the bright lights of Mag-Net to the cozy hippie scene of Cubao X. There seems to be an uproar coming from the once silenced voice of Filipino writers, artists, photographers in magazines like I-MAG, ROAM Philippines, indie musicians performing in 19East or Saguijo.

I am not a well informed individual. But for someone who has been "out of the scene" as long as I have, the gravitation of this phenomenon to lift up the hidden talents ingrained in our culture and collective make-up is tugging at my heart strings. I see entrepreneurial and creative endeavors from Multiply to Facebook to Blogspot. I see an overwhelming desire for dreams and to see dreams come true for fellowmen alike in careers, vocations, foundations you name it.

There is a huge hunger that refuses to be satiated now with just mere pop culture. There is an unquenchable desire for meaning. There is a passionate desire to burn bright and light up dreams that have been asleep.

LIYAB PILINAS, the heartwrenching cry of The Outlook Pointe Foundation reverberates inside many of us seekers who have stood long at the sidelines just watching, observing and absorbing the changing faces of our country's people. Wondering if we will ever produce something phenomenal that can change this part of the world. LIYAB PILIPINAS is a cry of those who know that hope is just a step away and that a hurdle is not too high to jump over or a mountain too big that it can't be moved.

LIYAB PILIPINAS is the call of every born and bred Filipino who sees the soul of the nation with eyes of possibility. It is seeing a diamond in the rough shaping up to glitter through dust. It is seeing a sleeping giant awaken. It is seeing every heart that knows how to fight and struggle and love with the fierceness of a tribal warrior and the grace of a Maria Clara.

LIYAB PILIPINAS is a choice to overcome and believe and create with all you have and make it your life.

Ikaw, ano ang LIYAB PILIPINAS mo?

click image to view full size

On Feelings

2008-10-27T15:42:00.005+08:00

i have always been wary about feeling now

but i've always been attached to it somehow
always wondering if i can escape it
or if it will eternally imprison me

but over time i have learned to sit with
discomfort
uneasiness
tension
and a whole lot of
struggle

because i believe that with every
impulse a layer is peeled
a wound is healed
and feelings will be
okay to breathe
again.

Notes to Myself

2008-10-26T14:34:00.002+08:00

By making a note of something that strikes you, you separate it from the incessant stream of impressions that crowd across the mental eye, and perhaps fix it in your memory. All of us have had good ideas or vivid sensations that we thought would one day come in useful, but which, because we were too lazy to write them down, have entirely escaped us. When you know you are going to make a note of something, you look at it more attentively than you otherwise would, and in the process of doing so the words are borne in upon you that will give it its private place in reality. ...

~ W. Somerset Maugham on writing

A Different Eye

2008-10-26T13:35:00.006+08:00

I started to take a liking to capturing moments on film when I was college. Back then I used my Dad's Canon. I enjoyed taking black and whites because to me they spoke of truth. The monochrome showed no discrimination for what stood out or what didn't. It just showed what was plainly there. A moment. A face. An object. From there I'd find myself sitting still and watching what I had just immortalized. I'm not expert behind the lenses and I suppose it might as well be just so because in my lack of technique I am able to appreciate and find some meaning in the blurs and the out of focus results of my too enthusiastic seeking heart.

I started to find solace in taking pictures again when I entered business school. The cold hearted days of thorough case studies and discussions numbed my brain to what it used to know as life. The spirit of creativity stunted from flight. This was what led me to again find meaning in the gray concrete walls of the academic business scene Armed only with a Nokia 6600 I started to look at things around me with a different eye. Orange highlighters that strike through 15 page analysis of cases strike through bible verses and a bestselling novel the same. These moments of realization are captured on a 400 by 300 pixel photograph that I usually edit in Adobe Photoshop to add a caption or two describing what I saw in that moment.

These were one of the first few photographs I took. Advancing from a camera phone to a Canon Powershot that took 1 mega pixel of pictures in a 128MB Compact Flash card I got for 10K together with a camera printer that printed wallet sized versions of the the snaps I took. It became almost a daily habit to take pictures like these and share them with family and friends. The habit suddenly became known as subject heading of all my emails I shared these photos through. Picture Poetry as I called it.

These pictures adorn my room printed on photo paper as a gift from my sister on my 27th birthday. They remind me of how I used to see the world from mundane experiences that arouse a spark of hope lying dormant especially in times of intellectual boredom, painful transitions, and fearful uncertainty.

My passion for photography never went to the level of craftmanship as I only lingered in the art to find an additional means to express myself especially when I cannot find the words to capture my thoughts. But later on I convinced my Dad to get a Canon 350DSLR after I graduated from business school so that we can take better photos on our trip to Europe in 2005. Back then dSLRs cost a FORTUNE. I got mine for 49K without a camera bag and only a 1GB Compact Flashcard to boot.

When I saw the big expanse of the world, I saw how many more moments can be captured and the thrill of it all was keeping them for posterity. I munched through moments shutter happy especially during our tour in Europe.

I thought I reached my height in my journey with photography. The pace of moments died down to a quiet conundrum of introspection. I would occasionally still take pictures of moments, things and people that would move me but the delight in the art faded because it became complicated to journey by myself in a hobby that was experienced by only me.

The past five months have been an archeological dig of sorts that resurrected my inner flame for the artforms that I find myself comfortable in. Music has taken a bit of a back seat these days as I simply explore those that I can carry around and live with in the hustle and bustle of my imbalanced lifestyle. Writing. Reading. Photography. Now become companions in a process that raises up a buried self and calls forth a hibernating passion to see and recreate life filled with beauty and purpose.

It has become a new found joy to recreate again especially with Adi and Javi flying with me. We bought identical Nikon D40s yesterday at Hidalgo (and an additional one for my sister who's a closet art enthusiast) and eagerly captured shots away when we got home in the afternoon. The ease of the D40 matched my impatience for technical detail. The color it produced matched my desire to see the vibrance and life of memories that I want immortalized for good.

So yes, perhaps I am seeing the world with a different eye. One click of the shutter at a time.

Finding A Sidewalk to Breath

2008-10-23T13:13:00.005+08:00

When you are exceedingly inhibited out of your wits (especially in the corporate world) there are those moments when you choose to play a little bit of hooky. The truth is, I have been wanting to just play hooky without having to feel guilty for the longest time. The repressions of artistic inclinations show when even on an idle work day, you begin to ache to be somewhere else aside from the four corners of my little office corner.

So I gave myself a break and succumbed to the hunger for liberation and decided to go out for a walk at 10am in the morning. I didn't know where I wanted to go. My first thought was to find a nearest magazine stand which I remember would be in RCBC Tower just a few blocks away from my building. They had a stall inside their food court that allowed for momentary reading. But when I walked out the building I was drawn somewhere else. I wandered aimlessly and decided to take some pictures with my Sony Ericsson phone camera. Walking the length of the street I ended up in a park.

What I relief, I told myself. What an exceedingly extreme relief. Sometimes when everything just needs to be let loose, all it takes is a little vacant space on a friendly sidewalk for my heart to rest. I'm quite glad I found one today.

More pictures in this album.

Skyway Epiphanies of a Reluctant Motorist

2008-10-22T20:15:00.006+08:00

I go up the Metro Manila Skyway everyday to and from work. I have to bear the ever rising toll prices of this route because the traffic below going towards the South is stressfully unbearable. I have never really quite learned how to bear horrible traffic like most motorists do. But who does?

One thing I've learned how to do while driving is take phone camera pictures. Most of the time I get drawn to a nice sunset or the mysterious glow of a full moon. Since the skyway stretches a length of 10 kilometers, there is a long expanse of road that allows my mind to wander off and unwind from the strenuous knots that tie up in my brain after a long day's work.

The other day I saw the sky with a glorious red violet hue. Slightly dark patches of gray clouds feathered the light coming from the setting sun. The ramp leading up to skyway felt like an entrance to a majestic mansion that eagerly welcomed my homebound ride. Quite a liberating view after seeing tall concrete buildings enclose my day like bars of a huge cage.

Brief moments such as this become breathing spaces for day worker like me hobbling hour after hour to fulfill the necessities of survival and daily living. I suppose it's a quiet miracle when I keep my eyes open to witness moments greeting me like this.

Finding Spirit in the Financial Crisis

2008-10-21T15:01:00.002+08:00

I've been running into this topic for the past week. I cannot claim to be the most informed person in the world. I am always not up to date about current events in whatever aspect of life except if it's about the Church. Yes, I probably am a self-proclaimed recluse. But there are reasons and the reasons have helped me realize that it is okay to keep being a recluse as long as I don't become indifferent to the movement of life that I affect around me or are being affected by something I can help alleviate. So I look up once in a while or open my eyes from the moments of contemplative-active living to see what and how everybody is getting along.

I ran into a Facebook Note from my friend Anjani all the way from Holland entitled Global Economic Crisis: A Historic Opportunity for Transformation. and I immediately took note of the word transformation. After having recently attended a forum at the Asian Institute of Management that nitpicked and fed our brains on the causes of this crisis and what one can do to survive it, there was no mention on how it actually is an opportunity for global transformation. Looking at this global crisis in that manner now has moved me to take part of the opportunity of being transformed myself. Hence, keeping myself informed and involved with everything that's got to do with it including how the Church thinks.

In this article I saw in my cousin Pat's blog, he pointed that what endures through all crisis is God.

After all the intellectual debacle of expert economists, politicians, businessmen, housewives or even farmers, in the end there will be no formula for overcoming a depression except the united mindset of goodwill amongst men. Where does all good begin? God. For non-Christians it's begins with other things maybe but the idea of holding on to a collective unifying force greater than all of mankind's capability always arises in the face of all challenges that seem impossible to overcome.

I find it interesting that even the Pope has something affirming to say about what's been troubling corporate giants. It's a comforting thought that even through the stonehearted walls of money making machines, the Spirit finds its way to breath life.

Why Do I Like Facebook?

2008-10-20T21:34:00.006+08:00

I cannot believe that I just spent almost two hours playing with Facebook. I don't know why I suddenly got interested with this social networking site when I was pretty immersed in Multiply already.

Well people change.

But I'm not satisfied with that reason so I'll probably try to sift through my mind and get in touch with my thoughts to think about why my sudden preoccupation with Facebook came only now.

I've probably been on Facebook since last year. I joined because most of my business school friends were there. Multiply's interface still interested me more because it felt more personal with all the capabilities of creating customized themes and unlimited uploads of photos whereas Facebook would only have the plain white interface that also looked quite cluttered because of everything that was going on in your personal wall.

I just realized that my apparent interest in Facebook came to be because it aided me in sifting through certain thoughts that are in my head especially when it came to preferences. I have never been concrete about my preferences because I always thought that being flexible would give me a healthy social life. I was wrong. Not clearly being able to identify my preferences left me in social limbo and moved me into a shaky ground where I could not really understand what I liked and disliked in relation to who I am.

Facebook has all these applications and one liner story feeds that lets you describe and articulate something that is going on in your life without explicitly having to describe the actual event. It leaves no room for too much inquiry and it gives just enough information to those who want to check up on you. Mostly, despite the many friends I add and the friends who add me, I think I'm actually using Facebook to check up on myself.

It reminds me of the Captain's Log in Star Fleet Enterprise (I don't know if I got that right). Apart from a real blog or even a Moleskine Journal, I think Facebook is the blog for dummies. Those who do not have the strength to muster thinking through the clutter of thoughts that cram themselves into your brain will find an easier time spring cleaning through reveries with Facebook. Answering questions like, "What are you doing today?" makes you think if what you're doing is actually worth your while. Or "Choose your Top Friend" makes you think about the numerous list you've acquired in your network and which ones you can actually ping, buzz, text and know that they will respond to you right away. Or "Type your Favorite Artist" in My Music says practically what mood you're in if you're reminiscing, crying, headbanging or dreaming the day away.

So till the next story feed or next Sticky Note or a Random Bear Hug sent through the digital pages of this digital bulletin board, I'm spring cleaning away.

Photography Helps Me Write

2008-10-20T13:29:00.005+08:00

I spent my entire lunch break finishing i-mag photography. A Filipino magazine on imaging and the imagination. I was particular interested in the articles that described the creative process of professional photographers because they highlighted the reasons that fuel their passion for this art. As with any art comes the value of craftmanship. Even Joyce Carol Oates author of Faith Like A Writer says, "Withought craft, art remains private. Without art, craft is merely handiwork."

I have pondered upon that statement for more than a month now since I finished reading that book. What it's saying to me is any pursuit of art requires discipline to follow through the perfection of the skill that produces the fruits of the artistic process. Without discipline, the artwork remains mediocre and the easy refusal of the artist to share it to the world. Too much rigor on the other hand removes the liberating experience that is normally shared between artist and artwork leading to a dry spillover of inspiration to enthusiasts.

I took to heart what was said about Marcin Stawiarz' photography, "A picture that carries great emotional impact is more valued than a well composed but literal recording of reality. For proof that one can easily understand, consider the way an inexpert snapshot of a child is treasured by a parent. And when the emotional content of the photograph holds universal truths, it also reaches out to other people across cultural, geographical and time barriers."

Art that moves and stirs the deepest recesses of a human soul is the ultimate purpose. Regardless of how it is taken. How it was made. What kind of post-processing done to it. These things become secondary when we're talking about what makes the image significant. An interview with Judes Echauz former Camera Club of the Philippines president and three time Master Photographer says, "to take better pictures you need only to maximize your 6 megapixel camera and not upgrade to the latest twelve megapixel camera because the genius is not in the pixels, it's in you."

At this point where I am trying to perfect my writing craft and shape up my artistic nature, I am brought back to basics. That true perfection of the art still lies in how I, as an artist, am able to make the creative journey significant not only for myself but for others. Where each creative endeavor is not just a set of tasks that lead to a finished outcome but most importantly a step that leads to the fulfillment of a dream.

Junk Art Pendant from Baguio

2008-10-19T21:43:00.007+08:00

Being an avid collector of trinkets that hang around my neck, I couldn't resist this buy. It hung on a stand in the bazaar of Global Pinoy at the Cuenca Park of AAV. Generally made of turquoise and a lot of beads stuck together. Marble. Cat's eye. Ivory. A handmade pendant made in Baguio by local artists who've banded together to pursue their calling. I found it amazing that all their designs were unique. This was just one of them. It was pretty cheap (in my opinion) that such craft and handiwork would range from just 150 to 500 pesos. Considering how it's made by hand, the labor and the imagination takes time to pick up momentum. I remember stringing my own rosary beads for four hours and I felt pretty spent.

Here were people who actually do it for a living and loving it. Not only do they make these, they also hand paint their own shirts and play tribal music. I have never actually met any Baguio artisans except for my cousin Rinka. After I bought the necklace, one of them invited us to stay on to watch them perform tribal music. I've seen these kinds of performers on television but it was quite an experience to see them up close. They had their ethnic instruments with them and one of them started to play this odd looking flute.

It sounded as if I was in the midst of a dark dense forest. I could almost smell the moss on the damp earth. Then the drums started and a nose flute played. One of them sang something in an unknown dialect. His voice felt like it came from somewhere deep inside his gut. Like digging up something from the earth's soil. It was amazing. There was so much passion. The connection between all four musicians was almost spiritual.

I felt my soul unwind there for a bit. A much needed breathing space that was. There is something distinct about tribal bands and regular rock bands. The experience of connecting to a different plane like ushering the breathe of the Spirit was very much present. It reminded me of how I used let my soul breathe through music. Something I don't have much time to spare now. But I am hoping in the next few months I will.

tribal music live

The Girl In The Mirror

2008-10-19T21:20:00.005+08:00

This is a photo that I am quite proud of being in. Not because of any grand reason but because this is an attempt of someone who I am really close to, to pick up from where he left off on his artistic journey.

I like this photo because it's stolen. It's not prepared in any way. Stolen shots for me tell me that the photographer has really been observing you. Paying close detail to the moment and waiting for that unveiling of something that can be made witness to an expression, a feeling, a thought, a dream. This photograph shows me something about myself and moves that little place inside me that still remains authentic to my true nature. Vintage. Rustic. Searching. Dreamer. That I am.

The Alley

2008-10-19T21:06:00.004+08:00

I've been walking this alley for last couple of weekends now. This is the alley that leads to Rainier's house. I like how it is haunting and dark like that. Rainier's house is just to the right of the lamp post. There is a little gate that leads in. We hang out in the small cozy space just after the little gate. I took this shot last Friday night when we dropped by to supposedly meet them there.

Actually, I really took this shot to practice what Javi just taught me on aperture and shutter speed. Haha. I can't believe that I just got those things down after 3 years of having this camera.

Okay so I am resurrecting my photographer's eye for one purpose. Just to make it clear. It's to help me write better. I have no ambitions of being a photography expert because sometimes I think that taking stolen moments with a phone cam is still better. (Hehe).

This shot was a supposed exercise on learning how to gauge the amount of light that goes inside the lens. Apart from that, I just simply love the night glow that creates the eerie mood from a seemingly misty evening.

Sunset in the City

2008-10-19T20:51:00.003+08:00

Yesterday I decided to wait for Jarro to get off work. One of the rare times I am blessed with the virtue of patience. While waiting, Javi and I walked around Greenbelt 3. Our legs were pretty tired from having walked all day looking at cameras and gadgets in Park Square 1. Looking at books and Macbooks in Greenbelt. But I suppose it's all worth it in the end to just witness the sky like this.

The Haunting Shoe Rack

2008-10-19T14:34:00.003+08:00

I want to be able to say that Sundays are for reading. I wish the afternoon sun would dim just a little bit so that the air can become cooler and the day a little bit more soothing. I like unhurried days. I wish I can have more of them. But time is not and has never been in my control. So I take what I can and leave the rest to the Clock Maker.

I do my usual internet morning routine. While intermittently reading Redeemed. I'm hoping to finish it soon but by the looks of my schedule, I'm doubting I can have quiet lazy days like this. Anyway, I ran into a very interesting picture of a moment in Hungary's history. Pardon my ignorance but I never was into history during college. Perhaps it was how my professor then just taught us to focus on the dates and the names without really giving us the reason and the significance of such events and why it should matter to us in the present day. Despite that, I suppose time catches up on you and the haunting of the past sort of overtakes you and reminds you that you are part of a collective whole.

I saw this picture from my friend Jen Grabarcyzk's Facebook. She took it when she was touring Hungary sometime last year for an art residency course. The picture was of the Shoe Memorial by the Blue Danube river. I quickly looked it up in Wikipedia and found out that these shoes were real shoes of Jews that were killed in WW2 by the Arrow Cross Militiamen. These shoes were left behind when they fell into the river.

I was taken aback by the sight of real worn out shoes that are still there after having crossed decades and how these shoes were the last remaining proof of human lives living on this earth. Lined up so haunting and melancholy like a hidden shoe rack. It makes me wonder about what other journeys these shoes have walked on. Or did the feet that carried them know they were going to walk to their death?

Slowing Down

2008-10-17T19:50:00.003+08:00

This is one of those days where I find myself wanting to just walk around the mall. I left the forum early and decided to walk to Greenbelt 1. It was another trek down memory lane. I remember myself in pajamas or plain house clothes walking on a Saturday night to grab a tall cappuccino from Starbucks just to stay awake and finish a pack of case studies.

It was a separate life. A life I am no longer familiar with now. And it feels quite awkward to have myself remember that I once had that life but not feel any familiarity at all to it. This must be what temporary amnesia feels like.

This Greenbelt Mall has changed a lot. It looks so new I can barely find my way. Some of the shops are still closed. I realized that I liked walking around an empty mall. The vastness is overwhelming and I liked feeling small. The afternoon was just right. It wasn't hot because it just rained. It felt like I was in a different country when I stepped out into the open space where landscaped gardens connected one part of the mall to another. It was no longer a small time hang-out. I don't think I can walk around in pajamas in there now, I thought to myself.

I kept walking till I reached the fountain right infront of Seattle's Best (familiar ground) and saw this tree that was growing sideways instead of upright. It was a peculiar kind of growth when I saw branches curving in a spiral motion going to the side instead of up. How quaint, I thought to myself and decided to take a snapshot.

I knew that tree branches could be contoured to grow a certain way. But I never saw one that was being grown like that. I've probably passed this tree many times but I never noticed it. It's funny what you notice when you slow your life down.

The Subprime Earthquake Forum

2008-10-17T19:10:00.002+08:00

I attended this forum at the Asian Institute of Management today on the current financial crisis that's been happening as of late.

Pardon my ignorance but honestly, I haven't been keeping track. It's probably a mortal sin because I am paid to keep track of these things to rationalize the direction of the company but I haven't. I haven't because I probably am simply just not interested in it. But I went to this free forum today since it was a way out of the office and I thought maybe it would be good to expand my mind a little bit and let it dwell on other things.

Being back at the AIM for a full length forum reminded me of all the case room discussions I've had during the 2 years I stayed in there. I used to call it the boot camp. The place that wracked my brain to the core. It was amazing that I never really suffered any serious migraines while I was in there compared to how I've been getting them now at work.

What struck me during this forum was the first question raised to the panelists. "What can an ordinary Filipino citizen do in times like these?", a bald headed man asked. It was the kind of question I'd listen to as opposed to the general strategic economic mind boggling scenarios they were trying to solve and comprehend.

Professor Macaranas answered the question and I also got struck with the answer. He replied, "Keep informed."

The impact of a financial crisis, I began to realize is actually really significant. Companies find it difficult to earn and thus need to cut down costs and even cut down on people. Leaving people jobless. Leaving services not rendered. Leaving needs unmet. Leaving people unsatisfied. Leaving lives helpless. And the cycle continues.

It becomes quite a scenario if nobody can control nor arrest the gravity of the crisis. What happens next? What can an ordinary Filipino citizen do?

It's appalling that even the most educated economists find no immediate solution for something like this. And it's even bewildering that in its impossibility, not many of these great intelligent economists do not recommend God as an answer.

Of course this mindset is only for the spiritual. But what else is there to address the infinite cycle of problems that is caused by man than to look for sense in the Creator of the Infinite?

Just trying to stretch my mind here as I try to unwind after a long and tiring work week. It wasn't so bad. This "earthquake" shaking the corners of the little office space I huddle myself in day in a day out has opened. Soon allowing me to walk free.

The First Step

2008-10-17T11:15:00.003+08:00

The first step — especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money — the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art.

~ Chuck Palahniuk

_________

Lovely timing.

Park Square 1

2008-10-15T15:51:00.002+08:00

Today I dealt with my restlessness by choosing to go to Park Square 1 and do some window shopping. Well, not really. I ended up buying 2 magazines on digital photography and a long overdue camera bag. I bought my Canon 350D in 2005 for our family's first Europe trip together. I'm not sure if I was able to do justice to the trip because I never really did anything much with the photos I took except post it up Multiply. There are times when I feel that living on the Internet is a subtle form of cowardice. You post photos in Multiply because you can't hang them on a gallery wall. You write prose on Blogger because you can't get it published somewhere.

There is still something really quite distinct with printed and tangible art.

Anyway, I am drifting.

The overdue camera bag was supposed to have been for that trip too but we didn't have time to find any and Park Square 1 was far from where I always am in the city to just go there and buy one. But today, I decided to go. I didn't go there for that particular purpose. I actually went there to see if there were any second hand DSLRs because Javi's finally gotten hold of the photographer spirit that Adi and I had been trying to rub off on him for the past 5 months.

First of all, something's gotta be straightened out about Park Square 1. Park Square 1 was the first ever parking lot I've parked since I started my corporate life 8 years ago. They charged 20 pesos on a flat rate (compared to 120 pesos nowadays for a whole day). It was about a 15 minute walk to get to my office. I remember how empty the mall stalls were when I'd arrive at around 7:45 in the morning. I'd get a whiff of Dunkin Donuts on the street and the traffic was easygoing. I remember I'd enjoy the morning sun with it's light hues shining upon the Makati walkway that crossed Landmark, Makati Avenue, Greenbelt, and Dela Rosa Street to Enterprise Center.

Those were the days when I could actually say that I didn't mind being in the corporate world. Funny how things change after almost a decade.

After almost a decade after, I can't bear walking down Ayala Avenue so I had to take a car and parking now is 40 pesos for the first 4 hours. But the parking lot walls were familiar and there were memories that floated by as I went down the stairs to the ground floor. I always feel a little bit of hauntedness when I go to a place I used frequent. It's funny. I had to stand still for a while just to make sure that I won't travel back in time.

I wonder what it is about me that digs into memories like that. They're not significant ones. Just those you tuck away like receipts in your wallet or post-its in your old planner.

I enjoyed walking around seeing all the gadgets. There were a lot and it made me long for the money to buy them all. I saw the little iPod speaker that one of my friends had that I greatly admired because it had really great quality. I saw camera lenses being sold in a shop at the far end. I saw a lot of cameras on sale with payment terms for credit card purchases (0% interest).

Why does living have to revolve around money? (sigh).

Despite that, I got what I needed and I was happy that I was able to control the urge to splurge. I was also happy to just have simply gotten out of my cooped up office corner and see an old place that was once a familiar part of my day.

What Is It About Hanging In There?

2008-10-15T09:51:00.005+08:00

What is it about "hanging in there" that makes it uncomfortable for most people to do? Is it a matter of staying long down on your knees with your eyes closed? Or is transfixing it upon a cross better? Is it a matter of sitting still on an uncomfortable couch and chasing the queasiness away by reading an entertaining book?

Everybody seems to have their own way of "hanging in there". Mine seems to happen mostly by sitting behind my Macbook screen and letting my fingers punch the keys till kingdom come. Not so much to interact with anybody but mostly to try and figure out what is it that makes "hanging in there" such a toil.

I don't know what it is. There are no clear answers. But the point is, you just do it. Sometimes "hanging in there" is allowing yourself to crumble and still keep your heart beating inside. Sometimes "hanging in there" is just driving past passerbys who need a ride.

I don't know what it is. There are no clear answers. And sometimes there aren't even any words to describe what it is like to really "hang in there". But for some reason, I found breathing space from the cycling of thoughts in this picture by Adi early this morning. It's a picture of her sister holding a cross. Juxtaposed with her shadow behind her.

What is there about light and shade that reminds me of the one thing constant in life.? The dance between joy and pain. I like how the natural lighting of this photograph puts just a faint glow upon Liana's left shoulder. I like how it is not so bright and not so faint. It's a beckoning kind of hue that says, "It's warm here, come in from the cold."

I like how her grasp is so certain upon that cross. In some kind of standstill between the interplay of light and shade, there is still one thing absolute. In the dance between joy and pain, there is one thing absolute. They are moments. They are circumstances. That change frequency and intensity depending on how near or far you are from the Maker of all these.

No Fire Extinguished

2008-10-14T19:58:00.004+08:00

The other piece of my soul hands me this photograph today with his very indignant buzzing on the instant messenger. He's been trying to get his groove back into the artflow as I am while the other half of this piece of my soul has flown to London.

On to the artflow.

This picture was taken last September. My recent visit to Cebu led me back to The Cebu Cathedral Museum. In my 31 years of being an island native, I wonder why in the world I never got around to visiting the place. But it's never too late for rediscovery.

This shot is Javi's and I do not exactly know why he took this shot but I can only assume or sense given what I know of him. Out of the ordinary locations of something ordinary catches his eye. From the array of museum collectibles this hangs in stark contrast. The dirt and the dust probably caught some fleck of sunlight giving it a rustic beckoning of something old. Perhaps old enough to hold some story.

I am provoked to wonder about what story it holds.

So...on to the artflow.

it hung on a wall that's been scarred for centuries
neither of us knew it's place on the page of history
a museum in a town that's been absent
because of overgrown buildings towering
over the landscape that made it what it was now.

the ancient walls with cobwebs on a ceiling's corner
became a mark that spelled neglect
and it was this unknown hour
i decided to capture a part of what wasn't select

not the benches that were carved out of mahogany
or the antique statues that commanded respect
not the pillars that aged three hundred years over
no it wasn't what i wanted to get
from this visit i wanted to know
if old stories are kept and stored
the way they have been remembered
is it exactly how it happened before?

but the woman ranted on and on
without knowing what the story's song
sounded or played in some memory's ear
and all i could do was gaze at this red tank hanging
on the faded wall it was hanging
on the unscrubbed
peeling
supposedly
whitewashed
walls
what was it doing
so awkward in that
place they called
sacred

who held it last and how many
fires had it put out?
what part of history was burning
when fumes needed to be extinguished?

what kind of mind
would think of
burning a fragment
of his story?

or what kind of passerby would
strike to keep it lit?

no fire needs extinguishing
if it knows where to burn.

The Color Of My Life

2008-10-14T08:47:00.003+08:00

So some echo of a past life comes up to me this morning and says, "Hello. You weren't so bad. Live your life." I sit here staring at my cramped up space in the office and the stacks of case studies I've read for the past 2 months. Yesterday I finally trimmed down what I wanted to do at work since God tells me to sit still here and wait.

I don't want to fit in. Nor try to. I want to be myself. And who am I is not quite sociable as others may think. But I can embrace those who attempt to embrace me. I realized I'm not quite tolerant as I used to be of people who skitter fancily around. I get annoyed with frilly little voices of girls who are too girly. I get annoyed with loud mouthed boys who lets their ego talk more than their brains. I am vehement towards those who claim to be authentic but are lying through their teeth.

Simply put, these kinds of people rob me off some good peaceful time to also sit peacefully with my struggling authentic self. That's why I'm quite protective off my breathing space.

I've been away from the public world for a while now. It hasn't been easy but the journey of painting my life with lesser color has allowed me to see which color stands out the best.

I realized, I'm all earth tone. Vibrant hues magnify my flaws. Washed out tones water down my strengths. I'm warm and raw and passionate. I'm quiet and absorbing and embracing. I pervade and penetrate. I breathe everything in until I inhale the last scent of meaning there is.

I am still amazed by how things can turn around from the inside out if you're able to just sit with the discomfort for a while. It's nerve wracking. It shakes you to the core. But the surrender becomes sweeter when you're looking forward to something better. Not because you're simply wishing it. But because you know it can happen.

round the rockwell road

2008-07-17T22:07:00.004+08:00

i want to keep opening my eyes. those that belong to my heart. my soul. my spirit. so that i will never miss out in seeing the truth that wants me staring right at it's face. the breakthrough awaiting to be claimed. the love longing to be lived.

an outpour

2008-07-17T17:02:00.005+08:00

there are times when i can't explain why things happen the way they do. why a sudden turn of events suddenly become a source of liberation instead of inhibition. and then i remember that all i did wasn't DOING anything at all. it was just sitting there in front of the mirror begging with my eyes closed.

rain cleans ink blot stains

2008-07-15T19:35:00.000+08:00

i got rained on today on the way back from lunch break. i didn't realize that the rain would pour down so strong because the sun was out when we left the office. it felt cold but walking under the rain felt like a spark of life. the wind was hitting my face and the drops drenched my hair. it poured over my wounds the ones that opened last night and made me realize what i want to do.

the leaves of pages i've written my life soaked and stains of ink blots run down the story woven. rain can clean. can refresh. dust can be swept away.

breakfast epiphanies

2008-07-15T11:11:00.000+08:00

i realized this morning that i like eating breakfast especially when the morning is cloudy and slightly tinged with rain. breakfast is peaceful and full of discoveries even after a painful night of emotional excavation. apple pie on my tongue with the salty taste of sausage is a beautiful conflict and sometimes i wish i can stand other faces of conflicts like that sensation.

unfortunately i am not that whole yet but i'm getting there.

hand in your hand.

heart in your heart.

a little bit like the embrace

of maple on sausage.