No answers

I do not know the answers. 

I only know my questions and as I live this life each day, all these questions seem to pile up into a tangled string of conundrums. 

Please do not ask me how. Because I could not give you your answers...I could not even give myself a decent answer. Do not make me pack my boxes, do not make me fold my past and do not make me leave everything behind. Do not force me to live another life that I am scared of. I do not know how and I do not want you to show me how.

Do not ask me the "what's". I do not know what I want. I do not know what makes me happy. I do not know what makes me smile. I only know that I am doing okay when I hear myself inside my head- when I realize that I am talking to myself, again. I know that I am doing fine when I remember your "what's". I remember our "what's"... I remember us.  I remember everything about you. I remember them so much that it hurts to lose them tomorrow. Our memories in the past- it may seem bleak now but I know they were there, they are here, they are ours.

Please do not ask me why. Why do I love you? Why have I loved you? Why do I choose to love you for my forever, life and death. Do not ask these questions because I have been figuring out this myself. Each day I am seeking a rational sense why I live my life loving from afar. Do not ask me why I grabbed your hand when you wanted to leave, why I stood out in the rain trying to run away from you and why I could not force myself to sleep when I started thinking about you. I do not know why and I do not want to know why.

Ask me for whom. I love only  you. I will love you- away but forever.

"I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."- Rainer Maria Rilke from Letters to a Young Poet

A Short Story (An Epilogue)

Stephanie, in her late twenties, has not changed at all. She still loves to stay in and spend her time crying over old romantic movies while underneath her blankets and thousand pillows- consciously sneaking each pillow into a position that would improbably asphyxiate her.

She has not changed at all. She still wears her decade old thick-framed glasses, clad in a monotonous colored dress and a sullen blank face. She still enjoys solving complex mathematical formulae or read her weekends away submerged in a hundred fiction books, the only invisible link she has with her deceased father. She still stays away from falling in love especially the kind of love that she has herself trapped into. And she still gets scared when she imagines herself growing old alone.

Stephanie thinks her time has frozen when she met Dave and she wishes her time has frozen with him. Before Dave, she knew that love is defined by boundaries. Love was a state of conditional acceptance. She witnessed the kind of love that was strongly defined by her parents over drunkenness, bruises and cuts, shortcomings and infidelities. She recognizes every emotion there is: hatred, desperation, envy, anxiety, anger, bitterness, misery, pleasure, happiness, contentment, gaiety… except love.

Then she met Dave. She often drove him away and yet would always find Dave waiting for her outside her apartment with a box of cold pizza and a few of his hours that felt like forever. Dave made Stephanie felt she was beautiful despite the thick-framed glasses, her colorless ensemble and passive face. They watched sunsets and sunrises, each so taciturn in their own interconnected worlds. He accepted her and she began to accept her own imperfections. Slowly, Dave stripped away her definition of love and showed her that love in its purest form is the kind of love that compels you to live.  

But Dave only lived his last six months with Stephanie.

The Red Shoes

She was jumping and hopping with her face in all smiles-
Too caught in the moment of playful tricks and disguise.
With her favorite doll, she ran after the colorful butterfly
Poor little girl did not know that her father just died.

She danced and whistled a tune so happy and gay;
And tapped her red shoes to a thousand worlds away
She giggled and laughed, oblivion to sadness and pain.
She could not understand but the skies are ash gray.

She grew up with pictures and stories about a man too dusty to recall.
Of a man whom she knew out of distant phone calls.
Who always reminded her that she was his greatest love above all
And with that gripping loss, she stopped living- her life has a vast hole.

"If only I could tap these red shoes and be with him"-the woman plead
Fly away from her darkness falsely kindled by lost men and their embraces
The crippling pain of not belonging dawned her existence to bleed
Beyond her blank stares, she could see  hopelessness and obliterated spaces.

Reflections

I looked at my refection
     and see the face of a wounded soul.
I glimpsed at the mirror
     and discovered a life with uncovered holes.
I stared at the face of a woman
     who is crying inside.
Because a love so enduring would never be
      the love he will ever find.

I tried to reach out to the aching heart
     But the hands could not- not with a distance apart.
I am longing to remember the past
     and keep the memories of a hidden love to last.
I wanted to hear his voice that fills up
     the vacuous core of the numbing noise.
I craved to feel the touch of his skin
    but the overwhelming senses stole the will to win.

Let me not drift away from you.
Let me not let of these memories of a love so true.
Hold my hand until the time will take us apart.
Breathe for me close because I no longer feel my heart.

10:12pm

Love in Transit

At Changi Airport- November 23, 2013

The clouds aligned the clear horizon as the trees steadily tower to reach the blue ceiling. Serene pauses, blank thoughts, lonely spaces- they seem to populate my waiting hours.

Long foregone were the fleeting hours when love drives my existence. I am starting to get used to my own reclusive space. I am getting used to be alone-- just alone.

I am listening to this song hoping that as the strings are plucked one by one, it creates this chaotic harmony - a melody that will reverberate into your memory the remembrance of you and I. You and I, but not together.

I am miles above the earth being jostled back to wherever that defined the distance and separation. One day, if the universe permits but a "one space", I hope I can look at you without neglect or pretensions of happiness. I can joyfully say to you that I have loved you- in past tense without expectations.

For now, I only have myself and this mind that has nothing but a million and one jibberish unstrung words. When I am into my own world, I delight not in conversations but in silence, I thrive not in sharing my personal space but in watching from a distance people in transit, love in transit.

There's something wonderful with strangers' faces: unruly hair; moles in the right places and oh that favorite mole just above the upper right lip; button-wide nose and dark circles around the eyes. Eyes staring away. Strangers' eyes  staring at me and telling but a million thoughts- conveying stories on how good it was waking up besides someone who was not drunk the night before or  stories on how coffee defied its purpose of being just a "coffee" or how it was to feel the warmth of another hand interlocked in their own fingers.

The displacement of this strong emotion compels me to look at myself in the mirror- unruly hair; mole just above the upper right lip, button-wide nose and dark circles around my eyes. Eyes staring away- far away where love has gone to. I hope one day I can joyfully say to myself that I have found the love again- over and over again.

The Black Book Chronicles: My half-sister

I did try putting down this blog so I can enjoy these thoughts to myself; then I started  writing my thoughts in this unextraordinary "black book".

But when you admitted that you, aside from me and probably my mom (who happens to be the president of this blogsite club), read this blog of countless un-philosophical ideas on hatred, anger, life, happiness, forgiveness and anything under the sun and about the sun. Here I am writing again, writing for you and sharing my "black book" thoughts with you (and oh probably my mom).

November 13, 2013 9pm

I have finally met you- my dearest half sister. My adult brain (that is capable of comprehension and reality) has once believed that I am his only daughter. I did imagine in blur your conceptual existence and yet now I have finally met you (or hypothetically). 

I have never imagined that him leaving us created a space where I have you and Tom; him leaving us left not marks but scars of what-ifs and should-have-been's. You are right, we can no longer bring him back from the grave and we should no longer fill the vacuous void his past had created for you and me. 

I am not smart though (like you and your mom thought about me). Most especially, I am not forgiving too. Because if I am,I would have forgiven myself first from the guilt and shame that haunts my present and future.

I may have forgiven him (or hypothetically).

There is too much to tell you  my dear half sister. How it never turned out so well for us, for me and you and for him most especially. For now I will be keeping my only vivid memory I have of you.

Maybe it is a curse or blessing (or hypothetically) that as a child, we had no control of how our journeys unfold for us. We simply had no choice and control then- like I did not choose to grow up in a fatherless family. And I guess growing up is not perfect for you as well. Life is indeed messy, and as our journey unfolds,we have but one choice to delight in tiny surprises no matter how terrible our miseries are or were.

I am happy to have met you (or hypothetically). This is by far my definition of a beautiful tragedy- how his death binds us again.

Maybe I am no longer this little sister. I am your  half sister.

A Second Chance

"Do you need more crayons, writing paper or these coloring books? Take whatever you want... anything you need at school. " he said.

I approached the counter with a handful of colored pens and a roll of writing paper with him at my side. He then took out his black leather wallet and pulled some crisp bills to pay out my whims. I, on the other hand, held close to him and stared at him- in awe of his seemingly valiant stance.

I remember this moment. Those were the few moments I was in awe of him. I was astonished of who he was... I adored him but not what he became.

The clock says 10:08 p.m.The rain falls hard blurring my view from the bus window. It is cold and the time freezes. I felt cold... I felt alone and helpless... you were cold, you were alone and helpless.

I moved far away from you and I wanted to. Further... until this space is filled with anger, resentment and bitterness and the only thread that connected us are these short memories of then and there. 


"Happy birthday, my dearest. I am sorry I could not buy you a decent birthday card" he wrote in his cigarette's aluminum foil.

You grinned at me with your widest smile and with a lost front tooth. I, on the other hand, folded the foil and fought back the tears. Not once have you failed to remember my birthday- a day shy away from yours. I have believed that I was your gift and that you were worth this precious gift. You were precious in my eyes then. I was in awe of you... I was astonished of who you were but you were different. You  felt different.

Passengers aligned the aisle and I stared at them. The clock now reads 10:14 p.m. The rain has stopped but the view is still blurred. There were faces outside- strangers' faces.
 You felt a stranger to me.

I moved far away from you not that I wanted to. You tried to fill all the spaces in between with new memories of then and there. But it was too late.

"I thank you-  without you I will not see the beauty of this world", I said in my graduation message.

I scanned the audience. Eyes stared at me and at 16, I didn't care of those strangers' eyes. I searched and looked for you. But I didn't find you.
I assumed everyone in that small town knew of our story and  it was unclear how their idea of you was different from mine.

The clock says 10:43 p.m. I am nearing my bus stop. The rain has long halted but the view is still blurred. My tears had blurred my view.

Your time stopped and all I held on are these tears from memories of there and then.

You are now far away from me not that I wanted to.

You never had your second chance.

But whenever it is painful and hopeless, these memories of then and there are your second chances. 


To you my father. I may have let go of the white balloon in your funeral but I won't let go of our memories of then and there.

How irony becomes my favorite figure of speech

I met this stranger while I'm on my way to the office. And since I had my body clock totally reversed by my father's wake, I woke up too late that day and had no choice but ride a taxi.

He is in his 60's. This thin, frail and dark skinned man who I initially thought to be on TB medications. His equally shabby looking taxi had a malfunctioned A/C unit, car locks hanging in a thread and windows salvaged by tapes. As I slowly slid into the back chair, I told him where I was heading to then closed the door and stared away.

Taxi rides are my golden moments- moments where I had to carefully go through my one million and one neural activities...grieving and death, family problems, inconsiderate work colleagues, financial obligations, life's purpose, pursuits of spiritual calmness.

There was nothing too special about this day. It was a typical day until the driver opened his mouth. "Ma'am, siguro ang favorite figure of speech mo ay irony" (Ma'am, maybe your favorite figure of speech is irony). Then I retorted back: "Siguro nga po. Paano niyo po nasabi na iyon ang favorite figure of speech ko" (Maybe. But how can you tell that that is my favorite figure of speech). On his rear view mirror, I can only see that he momentarily grinned and continued his strong grip as he glided along Quirino Avenue. 

It was weird to be asked that way and weirder to be asked by a stranger. On the back of my head, I thought  maybe that was his generic introductory statement to all of his passengers. But with the way he delivered it matter-of-factly made me felt a bit eerie. 

The driver then said: "Kasi Ma'am, ang tipo niyong tao ang mga mahilig sa irony, pakiramdam ko po bitbit niyo lahat lahat." (Because you look as one of those who like irony. I feel that you have been carrying everything). 

On that week, I had been praying for a little bit of happiness- just a pinch enough to make me survive any given day. And in that  day, I could no longer hide my depression. I could no longer wear that happy mask I conveniently wear in front of people. 

I do not want to contest the driver because I know what he saw in me was true. 

What he saw in that rear view mirror was the same face who I had been telling to smile more everyday. 

The driver saw a face who had been trying so hard to please people at work, who had been sleepless for months filling up for other people's work but was misunderstood.

What he saw was that little girl who hoped that someday she could still ask her father's solutions to the most difficult mathematics problems. 

What he saw was someone  who feels alone and helpless.

Of all the figures of speech, the driver simply thought irony is my favorite because I looked depressed. And I say, he guessed right. I thrive in irony because  you need to know the opposite to get the meaning right. You need to look deep to know the truth. 

And in my case, you need to unmask that face to see that I am bleeding inside. 

The Irony of Happiness

A week of respite had given me the time and opportunity to declutter this multi-tasking head. And as I was pondering on grief and loss, I have found myself in a never-ending pursuit of remembering the times I had been at my happiest.

People all wanted to be happy and often people wanted to be so much happier that they have taken for granted simple joys life could bring. We search for happiness in the wrong places and from the wrong people. But the truth is, we can only find happiness if we have acknowledged that we are not and that in spite all the sadness, life is still a beauty to be grateful for.

 No one ever wanted to be sad or be depressed on things that we have no control of. If it is a consolation, every little circumstance in our lives has been predestined even before we set foot on earth. But sometimes, knowing that we have no control of every loss  is just not enough to give us the answers.

The secret to happiness is to stop looking for it and actually be at it. Cultivate a habit of gratitude and be thankful of simple things.



I am thankful to God...

"...that I had been given few intimate moments with my father. He never unfailingly forgot  my birthday as my day is just the day before his. He would write his birthday greetings on a scrap paper or a cigarette foil and hoped that he would give me a decent birthday card."

"...of the excruciating summer heat and remembered the time I was in a -30 degrees Celsius temperature."

"...of Godly sisters who would offer simple solutions to problems for free. Thanks Che!"

"...of the weight gain and that I have to go through this with my equally- fat-flaps-bestowed friends."

"...of the five presentations that I have to rush today. It only means that I still have a job to go back to."

"...that I woke up this morning to simply live this life out of second chance."

What to do when someone dies?

Death is a natural thing- in fact it is the most natural phenomenon on earth making humans more humane and vulnerable. People die, some die before others, some die unexpectedly while some die long before death could even happen to them.

If it is a natural and inevitable event, why am I totally clueless on the death of my father? I do not know what to do and I do not know how to grieve. Of all people, I should know this by heart since mortality had been too natural witnessing my patients' deaths. On the top of my head, I am aware that a grieving process follows the D-A-B-D-A pattern (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance) but right now I am not feeling anything in that spectrum. Was it because it is too early to talk about grieving and that I have not fully digested what has happened? Or was it because people has been expecting this sooner because of his condition?

As soon as I received the call of my uncle (my father's cousin), I was momentarily numb and clueless. I do not know what to feel and how to react. In fact,the first thing I did was to google "what to do when an estranged father dies?" just so I could explain to myself what I am feeling.

I never expected that what I am feeling right now comes too natural in Google having 18.5 million hits.  Though I have visited few sites ,  I just couldn't find the exact description of my current predicament- is it guilt, remorse, grief, disbelief or plain happy that he won't be suffering for long?

I tried to talk with some of my friends and family about it and even their advice was  confusing. I did cry and maybe wail a bit remembering few moments I had with him. But what really helped me think straight is the assurance that God had planned that the death of my father would happen on the 29th of March and on a Good Friday. And like any predicament I had before- I lay it before Him in full faith that He will take me where He wants me to be.

I don't know if he was a good or bad person in his life but one thing I am sure of whether he was good or bad: he was  my father and that I wouldn't exist if not for him.

And that I would miss him.

My 12 Favorite Moments of 2012

2012 was a flourishing year of learning and unlearning.

In 12 months, I had divulged into family planning integration, lowering maternal mortality rate, principal component analysis, shared decision making, educational barriers of children with disabilities, deworming, school health and nutrition and Q Methodology.

If I could put a tag line for 2012, “Neuron overstimulation” would be a perfect description.

It was indeed a busy year for me. My overlapping responsibilities and lack of time had resulted to intrapersonal and interpersonal neglect, failed promises and disappointments.

But New Year begets starting again and starting new; and to continue my tradition of gratitude post every first month of the year, here are my 12 favorite moments of 2012.

12. Playing Monopoly Philippines

Monopoly- The Philippine Edition

This monopoly set has kept my boredom levels low during the monsoon days when we were prevented from going out because of the infamous Espana hip level floods. This definitely deserves a spot because every time we played it, I am always amused how our apartment building’s caretaker would always scream at us because we were too loud and disruptive to defend our imaginary real estate properties.

11. Backpack Travelling

I had a lot of backpack travelling last year because of work. 2012 brought me first to Cagayan Valley, Tuguegarao City, Tarlac, Tagaytay City and Albay of Luzon, Misamis Occidental, Agusan del Sur, Cagayan de Oro, General Santos City, Koronadal City, South Cotabato and Sultan Kudarat in Mindanao.

Callao Cave in Tuguegarao City with Healthgov's Travel Buddies

My 2012 travelling had only heightened my enthusiasm to conquer all 7,107 islands of the country and splurge into the obsession of discovering how tricycles differ in each place that I had been to.

Of the places I had been last year, this city undeniably deserves a separate recognition.

10. Marbel City

Everything about Marbel is beyond doubt a sealed memory. I remembered hearing wonderful stories from my college friends about it but finally seeing and living on it only proves how underrated their stories were. It was a typical city in Mindanao, much smaller than Cagayan de Oro or General Santos but it felt like Marbel was a second home for me.

From their satisfying Nadie’s “inasal” and homey dining at Basilio’s, their Ilonggo language to afternoon walking delights, I am definitely looking forward to more escapades to Marbel this year.

My favorite hideout at Basilio's, Marbel City

9. Madison Kaye

My youngest cousin, MK as we fondly call her always delights me every time I go back home in San Antonio, Zambales. It surprises me how in a short period of time a 3 year old can acquire so much talent for her age: masters the hula-hoops in less than a year, spells out her name, delightfully dances the Gangnam style and sings a Zambal song.

8. AusAID disability project

Survey Forms and Friends at Shakey's UST

It was mid last year when I was contracted as a consultant for AusAID to coordinate the survey implementation in Region III and some areas in Metro Manila.

This project was one of my unforgettable moments in 2012 because of my weekend pig-outs with the survey enumerators, training 2 data encoders who are deaf and mute and learning how to navigate through CS Pro.

  

7. All You Can Eat Chicken at Max’s with La Familia

One thing I neglected in 2012 was spending less time with my closest “happy” friends. So, when we finally caught up in a night devouring all you can eat Max’s chicken, I could not help but put this memory in my list where I indulged my friends’ unlimited funny stories and teases of Suzie.

With my best friends Jerry, Jesse, Randelle and Chris

6. The MARS Ambassadors

Around October to November 2012, my project team hosted two amazing MARS Ambassadors from the U.S and the Land Down Under. Ms. Jocie and Leanne both stayed in the country to help out with our project under the MARS Ambassador Program. And it was during their one month stay that I have had the funniest and lightest days at work. Their energy and dedication was very contagious and I am very lucky to have met them.

With Ms. Jocie, Leanne and the Ripley Ladies at Dampa, Pasay City

5.  Balikbayans Suzie and Jo-Anne

There’s nothing more heartwarming than my special moments with my two best friends Suzie and Jo-Anne who are now living in Singapore and UK, respectively. It was these moments that I realized how distance can never take away years of precious friendship.

4. FEFEL moments

A considerable amount of my 2012 was spent grueling over unjustifiable school and work load. But what makes it less revolting were my FEFEL or “Fesbuk Fesbuk Lang” Moments with my grad school friends, Kat, Angel, Venus and Hiyas. It was our daily routine that in spite of the busy work schedules, we could still fit an hour or so of headshot bullying or unnecessary complaining over work.

FEFEL with the ACADS

3. Adult Life in an Investment

It was risky but definitely a good 12 month investment ride. Buying a condo unit, having it rented, sorting out leaky water pipes, lost keys, purchasing doors and knobs, paints, drafting a lease contract and having it signed and notarized, paying towering bills on time and dealing with our tenants  made my 2012 more adult living.

Our special 3 bedroom crib

2. Loving the Hustle (not Hassle) of Work

There’s nothing more assuring in life than to learn that everything happens for a reason or a destined purpose. And there’s nothing else sweeter than saying I am happy where I am working at now in spite of the countless mid life crises I have had last year.

Of the projects I had last year, working as the M&E Officer for a school health and nutrition project is my favorite (not because I fear that my managers would kick me out once they find out that I write negatively of my present job). But what makes me love it more is not the recognition but how I am given an opportunity to learn, try new things, fail, try again and succeed.

During the Storytelling Sessions for the MARS Volunteers Month

1. Monitoring Visits in Mindanao

The best days of my 2012 were the days I visited some partner schools in South Cotabato and Sultan Kudarat and realized that if I took that chance of migrating to US 6 years ago, I would not have this rare opportunity to understand why I am still staying in the country.

I may not foretell where I will be this year or the coming years but as long as I am still called here, I would try my best to be God's instrument in making a difference in the lives of the children who have no access to water or electricity.

In wide smiles while having their recess period.

Cogon/ Nipa schools in the uplands.

But surpassing these 12 favorite moments is how I am always thankful to the Lord who intricately orchestrated tiny significant days in my 2012 which pave the way for a new and better 2013.

The Musings of a Disillusioned Solitaire

I walk the same path everyday. I see the same strange faces and places. And in my head, I mumble a recurring similar thought:  that I am not a disillusioned solitaire. Unarguably, I am not lonely and alone, just a solitaire writhing out of the confined space of four-walled silence.

I observe the stranger's face- memorize every angle and the perfect positioning of his moles and birthmarks. I notice the slightest movement on his face. How he winks unknowingly or grimaces on stories that he has first heard of. Oh yes, I stare at him and it amuses me how the simplicity of him crooking his nose could give me bliss.

I am a disillusioned solitaire- not that I am lonely and alone.

In my head, I asked "How was your day?" and in my head, I smiled when I imagined you said " Better now when you are around".  I do hope that what I have in my imagination aligns with your reality. This imaginative conundrum defies the fact that I am only a stranger- your stranger. A stranger who always sits in front of you and in desperate hours imagined asking you all my questions but hearing this deafening silence. A silence which means nothing to you but everything to me.

In silence, I stared as you hold her hand. And in that same moment, my heart precedes my head as it howls as if everything has just melted away. "I have never seen you smile this way",  " It's okay- as long as you are in front of me...as long as I see you each day, I would be okay", I told myself.

I walk the same path everyday. I see your face different than what I have in my recognition. It was your smile while you are with her that reverberates and eventually dispatches those tiny  happy memories.

And slowly I am becoming just a solitaire.

Defining Love in Equations

On my way to AIM Makati, flower stalls at the streets reminded  me that today is that day of the year when people tend to feel a little more love. While everyone is wearing flashy reds and carrying a bouquet of flowers or two, I, in my favorite "gray-black-gray" work ensemble surmised that today is just any other day. I am not a Valentine grinch but I believe that if we just carry the same "depth and breadth" of love everyday then Valentine's day is all year round.

Three years ago, I remembered that most of my blog posts (Conversations with Love, Yet another untold short story) were written out of desperation and exasperation of being in a relationship. It is that one area in my life that I would always put first in my prayers and would incessantly pester God on my whims in finding a partner. But God has changed my attitude... He has changed my heart. He pulled my sight to Him and showed me the only source of True Love. So when I looked up to Him on one eventful night in March 2009, Chris was His gift wrapped in all the shooting stars.

Spending enduring hours listening to Joe D' Mango's radio program since high school or watching a million and one romance movies does not give me the authority that I am a love guru. I, at times, forget how to act with love and feel more love. But since today is "Heart's Day", I am inspired to describe how love works in me through mathematical equations and with the assumption that "loving" is not limited only to a partner.

Love is "x+y" wherein x is that "strong compelling emotion we feel for other people" and y is "acting the emotion out". We cannot, at all means, say that we love a person when we only "feel" and not show how special that other person is. We cannot also claim that we love our work when we feel overburdened with additional documents to file or  even say that we love our lives when we have a thousand and one vices.

Love is x(y+z) where x is "acting out love" and y and z is any individual entity. The equation describes how love should be distributive- meaning the feeling that we show to one person should be the same feeling distributed to people across educational attainment, gender, economic status, religion, culture, race and any other social boundaries. We cannot declare we love our families if we disgust a certain marginal population in our society.

Love equals a of f=ma wherein a is velocity/ time. This equation is adopted from one of my conversations with a close friend where we both describe that love is affected entirely by velocity over time such that there will come a point where the "emotion love" changes over time and a situation where "the emotion love" will itself be towards another direction. This only proves that the "emotion love" is fleeting and ephemeral unless it is grounded with commitment.

Love can be based in Lewis inequality for natural process (ΔG < 0) wherein change will occur spontaneously if  there is useful energy in the system. In love, we do not array all the negative qualities of our partner and try to change our partner to suit our own palate. We should not have the notion that if we do this and that, he/she will eventually change for me. The truest kind of love is when in spite of all the negative qualities in that other person, we still accept him/her and "do not keep a record of wrongs." 

It is true that love is a many splendored thing and even if I exhaust all the mathematical equations I know of, I can not fully describe love in its entirety. This is just a simple attempt of creating ripples on how love should be a day to day basis-- for all we know love is the only thing that keeps us alive and sane.

The Lola Project

A month and a half ago, I embarked into planning a special project of doing an outreach activity for the elderly in Golden Acres Home for the Aged.  It all started when I browsed through my journal and saw my handwriting with the words: “To touch a life one day at a time”.

“To touch a life one day at a time“- this is my mantra ever since. 

When I was a nurse working in a busy charity ward and handling 15 demanding patients, I lost track of the definition of caring and healing. I was more concerned of doing the job done and eventually I turned callous because of the workload. This is the reason I abandoned clinical nursing in hope of finding my lost calling. 

There were definitely apprehensions at first but when I started pursuing this “Lola” project I always reminded myself that things are always possible. It was ambitious in a sense that when I returned back from Mongolia, I had no existing source of income aside from a few research consultations for former PGH colleagues. 

As soon as I told my best friend Suzie about this project not once had she shown her reservations and had been supportive all the way. We started raising funds for our special project and we thought of doing the easiest ways there were: solicitation and garage sale. It was hard doing the former than the latter as people nowadays would tend to think of the long list of bills and must-pays. Surprisingly, there were a few who shared their monetary contributions. On our first day of our garage sale, we could not find a table to use so we relocated to another friend’s house. A lot of our friends shared their old clothes and stuffs and we were able to raise P2, 000 (USD 48) for two days. Not bad considering that we only charge everything at P10- P20 (USD 0.45).

Old clothes for sale at P10

The infamous "suot panggahasa"

On December 17, when we arrived at the Golden Acres and headed to Sta. Rita Cottage, we found the Lolas sitting in their common room. They were so excited that one of the lola stood up and invited the rest of the group to all welcome us. We set the room and hanged the colorful banners and decorations that Suzie prepared. One touching part of the program was when I asked the the lolas what their Christmas wishes. Lola Lourdes Honrada of San Miguel Bulacan shared that even though she feels that she has a family with the other lolas in the nursing home, she appealed if we could help her find her daughters in the United States whom she lost contact with for ten years.  She wishes to share this Christmas season with her daughters and hopes to see them before God calls her home.

We prepared a lot of games and we could see how they enjoyed our presence. We had a mini-raffle where the prizes at stake were cans and cans and cans of biscuits. Meanwhile, Suzie shared the message of salvation and showed off her Pearly Shell dance to the lolas.


Here are some of our pictures:

Lola: "Dress me up like a beauty queen"

Post-stroke patient dancing as if she has no deficits

A blind lola singing O Holy Night

After the short program, we stayed longer and talked with them more. I had the chance to talk with Lola Lourdes and she told me her sad story. She used to work in Malaysia with her husband and when she returned to Zamboanga, her husband died without the knowledge of her daughters. She had tried writing to her daughters: Gina Jefferson and Maritess Appleby but it seems that her daughters had already moved out and that her letters were always returned. She wants to see her daughters very badly as she says : " Hindi ko naman alam hanggang kailan ako mabubuhay. ( I do not know until when I will live)". With the power of social media, I hope I could help her find her family.

With Lola Lourdes Honrada

 

A lot of the lolas share the same story. They are thankful that they are provided with food and shelter by DSWD. But all of them long for the warmth of spending their last days with their own families.  One day, I’ll be a lola myself and when that day comes, I will always look back how I was once a granddaughter myself planning for this  ambitious Lola project.

With Lola Connie Bayona who used to work with Philippine Journal of Internal Medicine before her retirement

Suzie and her favorite lola

With Lola Juana Troyo

A happy lola enjoying our mini-program

The lolas with Suzie, me, Chris, Van and Mei

P.S.

If you wish to organize a party with Golden Acres Home for the Aged ( Behind SM North Carpark, Misamis St. Barangay Bago Bantay, Quezon City), here are the steps:

• Prepare a letter of request addressed to Wilma D. Naviamos ( Region IV A Director) and fax to 807-1518 . Your letter should specify the date you intend to do your program and your contact information.
• If you have not received their confirmation in three days, follow up your request by calling 807-7102 and look for Ms. Amy.
• DSWD will then send you a confirmation letter directing you to contact Hazel Militante ( Golden Acres' Head Social Worker) at 9291187.

The Silent Killer

A month ago, I've been planning for my 21 day vacation back home. I had my usual to-do list and in the middle of finishing my tasks at work, I was busy doing my reservations. I was looking forward to my October 1st train ride to Beijing so much that I started counting the days. But unexpectedly, I was home two weeks earlier. I rushed back to attend to my sick estranged father who I have not seen for a year or so and who I haven't called "Papa" for 21 years.

He suffered his first stroke attack.

It was hard to be so far away during times like these, but it was harder to be distant this time when I should have done something even if I am not obliged to do anything.People recover from stroke but a lot do not. I was in a conflict whether I would go home or wait for my scheduled flight two weeks later. Finally, after three days, I boarded on a plane and whispered a million prayers, in hope that nothing would ever happen to him.

I did not realize the intensity and propensity of stroke until it happened to my father. I am a nurse, but this time I am his daughter.

A day after I left the airport, I saw him lying in his hospital bed: a picture of a helpless man-an image that I never imagined him having. He was sleeping that time and when he woke up, he smiled at me.He was reaching for my hand- something that he had done for the past years- reaching out to me. I thought of the few moments that we actually had a decent conversation and almost all of those time, I have pushed him away.

His first attack left him unable to swallow, communicate or move the right side of his body. His stroke had compelled me to swallow my pride and do the right thing for him. I am not sure if I have let go all of my bitterness and resentment towards him.I may have forgotten the past but I have not completely forgiven him. I am still on that process. Now, I just want to give him the chance to forgive his own self.

He was already discharged from the hospital with a nasogastric tube and countless frustrations of not being able to move his dominant side and communicate his needs. I know that he does not want to give the three of us any inconvenience so he thrived to recover and regain his strength. After a few hours at home, he pulled out his tube and now can already tolerate gelatin and soup. He was easily transformed out of the helpless image he had in the hospital into a strong-willed fighter.

He is now under the care of his siblings and cousins and I, on the other hand,am spending my time with my family and friends. When the Super Typhoon "Pedring" hit the country, I was with my family enduring the six days blackout and strong winds and rains. A family who would always be there even in time of storms and strong winds. As it left the country, we had endured another typhoon together.

With my cute, "nas-tee" cousin, Madison Kaye

The" Wacky Shot"

The Quiñola family dine out- just a few meters outside the house

These three storms were not in my vacation list. It was definitely not in my itinerary. But when I think of it, I am just thankful that after these storms came the time for healing and restoration. After these rains was the rainbow.

With BIE- a few minutes before meeting up with the gang

The "gang"- BANG!

If I Run

If I run to you today

Will you still know my face from a thousand strangers?

A love’s lost in the dark, a love I hold on so long

For I have ne’er find the courage to declare

If I talk to you today

Will you know what’s inside me?

Fears and tears, shame to blame no one but you

Will you know if I am hurting?

Will you recognize that this smile, so forceful but to pretend?

If you hold my hands today

Can we still know there’s no difference?

Between the fight and the desire to hold you tight

I no longer crave to walk to you and with you

Years have flown away, memories have faded

And the familiarity has turned to null, these hands are empty

If you have run to me yesterday

I still know your face from a thousand strangers

Maybe…just maybe, a love that is short lived

From desolation, our love will sweep us away.

Yearning

April 15, 2008

Trailing ahead ablaze in a path

A yearning to feel, a yearning to love

But in my heart filled with conceit and wrath

I ran away, as swift as the light’s hub

I lost the grip to care, the desire to feel and need

I dance in the rhythm of chaos and intuition for long

As I am staring in your eyes, can’t you see in you I heed?

In silence, I am bleeding and screaming with nothing. I am alone.

Words welled up inside; words all left unsaid.

Searching and fleeting, asking and failing

In weakness, in pretends with no one but dead

This heart is empty, I am grieving, and I am ailing.

I left, I ran away once more

Then the words are no longer kept away

Finally this mouth has spoken, innocence no longer restored

This self, this fire that vanished and truth in bare has laid

Wings have flown softly and blindly in depth

Clipped, tripped, stumbled and humbled

Surrounded, locked in golden chains and in noise and deaf

“I love you” that was all I mumbled.

A Special Birthday that was!

This year's celebration definitely topped my best birthday list as I celebrated it in the orphanage and had a surprise party in Zambales.

Each year, Jerry, Suzie and Jo-anne never fails to surprise me exactly at 12:01 with their big balloons, makeshift banners, wide smiles and their "Oh let her be surprised" look.In 2008, they surprised me at the hospital ward; at our condo unit in España Tower in 2009 and again at the ward during my 10 to 6 am shift in 2010, this time with Reymund. Though this year, I was kind of expecting them to do what they did best in the past three years. But, things were different...things are... and things will  definitely be different. Jo migrated mid last year in UK and she is having her best days with Boo; Su, on the other hand, was busy caring for our classmate and her photo shoots , meanwhile, Jerry was in a community in Batangas with his students. 

Things were different than they used to be. We are older and have a lot of things to worry about: stable career, shifting careers, and personal happiness. Funny how we all tried seeking happiness in different things but always found it with each other. Birthdays are happy days and they said birthdays, like all other holidays are only for children when the only difference we have from them is a different perspective on life. At a certain point in life (probably that moment when we had deadlines to meet, people to please and reports to finish), we started looking at the world in a dull and boring spectrum glasses when all we need is just a pair of anti-fog glasses. 

Then I thought: "Why do we always force ourselves to grow old, tired and weary of life when life is itself a clown and a magic rolled into one."

This year my birthday wish was to have an anti-fogged perspective; to bring back my lost admiration and awe in life; to just take things shallow; and to simply bring out that lost innocence I had when I was younger.Last year, I spent my birthday all bruised up after falling eight steps in the old PH building while hurrying to my Epidemiology 205 class. This year, I was again all bruised with my soul crushed seeing those kids at the orphanage and knowing that they are going through the hardships in life with no parents to stand by their sides and supporting them in their aspirations and dreams.

I met different kind of kids during my two hours stay in RSCC, Quezon City: there were bullies and rebels, kids longing for affection and wanted to be held once in awhile and kids who were oblivious of what was happening around them and I realized that sometimes I could be these kids. Somehow, in spite of their differences, I hope I clearly made the message of love reached their longing hearts- that they are not alone and that someday they will belong to a family- like when I belonged into my biological family, UP La Familia, Tranz'  and Ward Eleven family.

After the tiring day at the orphanage and  three sleepless nights of contacting the clowns, packing loot bags, preparing my pre-departure documents, having my vaccine shots and dental checks, I headed off to my hometown in San Antonio, Zambales early Saturday morning and  found out that my Mama, Manong, Bie and some friends planned a surprise party for me (which I had an idea of a week before). We arrived in SAZ around noon and I was a bit disappointed of not finding my friends there and so I thought maybe I expected too much from this surprise party. Nevertheless, my Conti's Black Velvet cake (thanks Bie), lechon, sauteed shrimps, lumpiang sariwa, maja, pancit canton, igado, etc. turned out to be two thumbs up.

 Around 3 p.m, Jesse, Jerry, Suzie and Ed sneaked inside our house and surprised me along with my 3rd , 4th birthday cakes and a 59 Php ensaymada roll. Then,we headed to Pundaquit after their quick eat-out for a sunset, star-gazing event, a videoke concert with Backstreet Boys, N-Sync and 98  degrees and a swimming paranoia.

I missed Jo-anne and Randelle though. The last time we star-gazed, we caught seven falling stars and wished each one of us to finally meet our better halves. Jo-anne and I had our wishes, while Su and Jesse were unlucky on theirs. I think Randelle was lucky too and had his body into half this year. Jerry, as always, will have his better half around all the time. Our Popoy and Basha.We caught eight falling stars this year, and I have nothing more to wish for except to have our friendship in spite of distance and loss of communication.

Well, this was how I celebrated my 26th year: filled with my Lord's saving grace, full of  blessings, family, friends and food.

No Offense Meant

What are the things that easily offend us? Why are we easily offended by these things?

Offense, as translated in Latin is  offensa, means " to strike against, cause displeasure and injury." Offense in this context connotes intent or motive to hurt other people. But more often than not, people, especially those we hold dearest in our hearts, are unaware that they have offended us. Whatever it is, intentional or unintentional, offense, as always, cause an insurmountable displeasure and injury , physically, mentally and emotionally. It is not uncommon for a tiny offense to have caused a lot: bitterness, envy, resentment and vindictiveness.

Words and actions.

Silence and inaction.

People.

Circumstances.

Everything in this world seems to offend us and cause us to retaliate and defend ourselves. How should we react when we are offended? I have been offended a lot and I admit that I can easily be offended. I think the reason that I am offended is because I am proud that I will no longer benefit from my relationship with the person who has offended me. I am proud and pretended to be strong that I wasn't offended in the first place. Not until I realize that the offense has conceived a crater of hatred and bitterness against that person.

Offense, in Greek, is skandalon. Skandalon is a piece of wood that traps animals. Figuratively, offense is something that traps us. When we allow ourselves to be caught up in tiny offenses, we are trapped and lifeless to move on. We create our own prison cells and  we hold the key to our own freedom: self-denial. It is hard to humble ourselves and to acknowledge the fact that we are offended. We should stop inflicting wounds to our own hearts.When we are hurting so much inside then it is logical to say, that the hurting should stop.

Tomorrow and the days thereafter, I am sure that I will need this reminder.

Yet another untold short story

Stephanie stared at her reflection once more and adjusted the hem of her soft silk green dress. "This would be the night." she thought. She nervously dabbed a tint of pink on her cheeks as she had no experience of putting make-up on ordinary days. She ran her fingers in her short unruly hair and tried so much to put every strand into perfection. And tonight, she effortlessly hooked a necklace in place- the one she always have locked away in her cabinet.

She stared at her reflection. She was quite contented with how she looked. "Tonight..." she mumbled to herself.

She adjusted the hem of her soft silk green dress as she waited patiently for him at the coffee shop. She glanced at her watch: 8:42 p.m. She had been waiting for 40 minutes and still there was no sign of him. She went up and managed to order a frappucino in the counter and forced a smile at the barista who handed her the frap. She went back at her table and thought... " Tonight... I am still his friend."

Earlier that day, she received a text message from his bestfriend. "Hey, we broke up. Are you free tonight? I can use some company. Meet you at 8pm in our table." She had planned a different night though, lined up 27 dresses, My Bestfriend's Wedding and P.S I love you and stacked up microwavable popcorn for her usual Saturday DVD night. But everytime her bestfriend needs her, she always as expected postpones her DVD nights and delays her deadlines.

She had not heard from him in a while. As she waited for him, she calculated that it has been 13 months since they last shared the "table". The last time she remembered, he was pouring his stories over some girl he had met in the office. He was ecstatic on the simplicity of that girl, and on how he love the idea that this girl might be his soulmate. He was happy while she was bleeding inside. For 10 years or so, Stephanie managed to be his bestfriend.

9:09 p.m. She received a text message from him: "Sorry, I could not make it. I am with Liz. You're right. She is worth fighting for. Thanks best!"

This is not what she expected. "Tonight, she thought... I thought I can be his someone.Not just anyone.."