On Grandparents' Bed

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

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.

This is What It Means to Be Held

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.

New Life. New Hope. New Creation.

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

Behind The Exterior

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

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

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

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

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.

An Authentic Christmas

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

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.

For Lola

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.

No Fire Extinguished

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.