Surrendering Influence

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.

Where Is Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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."