Leaving A Trail

I Choose Me

2011-06-17T02:30:00.000-07:00

When was the last time you had a sip of your favorite childhood drink? It must've been chucked once your taste buds had grown more sophisticated and started to crave caffeine in place of sweet, chocolatey drinks. Ovaltine's a comfort food and drink . I used to eat it by it's own when am not drinking it. Old childhood habit I am now back on today as part of a focused effort to cure my iron-deficiency.

Part of getting into a hospital job is to complete the immunization record. Blood tests revealed which vaccines I have had and which I still need to get. There was only one from the list which I needed and one which isn't required but I opted to get anyway to better protect myself. While there at the doctor's office for my shots, I enumerated my health concerns -- frequent migraine attacks, thinning hair, puffy eyes, depression, fatigue, hole in my wallet (;-D), blah, blah. I was sent to the laboratory for another blood test. Five ml of blood lost again. Scribbled on the form in my hand was "suspected hypothyroidism".

Eight days later, the test result came in. Not as suspected but it's hypoferremia. Iron therapy started right away. I now watch what I eat, read the label of every processed food I purchase. Things I once enjoy immensely as coffee, green tea and red wine had to be given up since the caffeine, tannins and polyphenols in them inhibit iron-absorption. Just a small sacrifice for my health's sake. Although I don't completely deprive myself. I still treat myself to a large cup of Tim Horton's iced cappuccino once in a while.

Years of hard work and unconscious, unhealthy eating habits take its toll on our health. Only when we're forced to slow down do we find the time to listen to our body and start taking measures to take better care of ourselves. We choose healthy foods that we know will give us the best nourishment our body needs. We don't eat just to satisfy our hunger and satiate our cravings. We give it a second thought when foods that satisfy but later make us ill are in front of us. It takes sheer will-power to resist the temptation to eat every single food we so crave. There's a very high cost to pay when we give in...

This equate to choices, decisions, and people we choose to keep in our life. However tempting, however strong the urge to keep "one", we try our darnedest to resist it. If we give in, we're doomed. The price is high. It could cost us our own peace of mind and self-respect. So we stick to what we know is best.

I choose me. I love me more. I am not second best. So I am taking better care of mysef. ;-)

Finding Joy In Writing... Again

2010-07-23T07:43:00.000-07:00

"To be at peace with ourselves, we must know ourselves." -- Caitlin Matthews

It takes the most heart-piercing letter to pick up where my old pen, notebook and I had left off. Raw and deep, the message moved me to tears. It's the most beautiful gift from a literary soul mate's heart to mine. From a warrior to another warrior. Profound words that found its way directly to the very core of my being. I am most grateful.

It takes me back to the time when the World Wide Web (WWW) feels strange, new and intimidating. The encouraging e-mails I often received from Mr. Reid back then inspired me to take on blogging. That was at the time when I had just started writing for print. When metatags, site map, Copyscape, Statcounter, hyperlinks and search engines were all foreign to me, Mr. Reid's lovely wife, Ms. Lydia was the most patient and efficient "web tour guide" leading me towards building my very first home in the Web. Blogging was a whole new world. It made me soar. It set me free. It let loose the wild and creative side of me. That was then. I want it to be that way again.

Somewhere along the line, the muse deserted me. A year had gone by since I've last been in this quiet corner. Countless efforts to put words on paper, or directly onscreen, came to naught countless times. It is frustrating. A heart-wrenching struggle. The very source of joy had stopped giving. The creative juices ceased flowing. I held on to my camera in lieu of the pen. I found comfort in my still photos when my brain's on a hiatus from the written words... Still, a huge part is missing. My inner voice is screaming. It screams the loudest in the stillness of the night. In the stillness of any moment. In the solitude of the urban jungle. I couldn't hush the voice nor tame the chaotic play of words in my head and forever trap them in written words. In those times of physical activity, when writing's not possible, those evasive words would then be executing synchronize dancing in my head, knowing which and where each word falls... but when it's the sacred time to scribble them they're out of range. On the rare times I succeeded to put pen to paper, I'd scrutinize my work and find it lame and shallow, written on another voice not completely mine. As I now write this, a blogger friend, Israel sent me a note stating exactly what is it about. He said, "We all have periods in our course of writing when we wanted to quit (or scrap our work), thinking we've written something ugly or worthless. That's when groups come in handy." Yes, we turn to our little group of literary friends to give us the push we badly needed.

That badly needed push came from a dear fellow TF writer friend, Fei. It brought me back here -- my home in the Web. Her note is a treasure. Part of it says...

"You have inspired me to dwell more on the creative side of me. Radiate further to others as this brings a different stage of them.

Please write. Take the inspiration from every human exploit you come across, more possibly to that part of the Filipino population who lies at the bottom, like us, but who recognizes the light and eccentric self which enable them to turn life round that special bend to make a difference. At least.

You have inspired me. Please continue to do so. For some other who believe in change for the better."

The greater part of Fei's message delves more on the warrior side of us. As her words gave me the much needed push to write again, it brought me to the sought-after stage of healing my battered soul. I have never felt more understood and appreciated...

However this blog post would turn out, it's meant to stay in the Web. It may sound lame but I don't give a heck. I'm claiming my playfield once again. I am not done yet.

Cheers to a stronger and more daring breed of warriors!

"I celebrate my full humanity. I allow myself to be fully human. I treat myself with loving kindness. I honor and recognize my essential goodness. I honor and recognize my ability to love, to communicate, to share, and to give. I do not have to do any of these things perfectly. There is beauty in the abilities I do have." -- Julia Cameron, Heart Steps

Flickr Journey

2009-11-14T02:51:00.000-08:00

http://www.flickr.com/photos/joyzjourney/show/

Run For Tim's

2009-07-13T16:59:00.000-07:00

I found an alternative to the inflatable punching bag which I was advised to purchase… run the distance of a soccer field — 9 rounds. My knees were buckling, I was panting like crazy I almost gave up on the first round. What I did was to alternate running and power walking. Run on the first round, walk on the second round. Run on the third round, walk the fourth, and so on… until I got on the 9th round 25 minutes later. Then I made a beeline for Tim Horton’s for an iced cappuccino. From the shop’s doorstep was a highly recommended 7-minute exercise for balance — a walk with an extra-large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a box of dozen Boston creme doughnuts balanced on the other — all the way to the apartment. No, I didn’t have the doughnut for breakfast. I had a small piece of French bread, freshly baked by cousin-Ariel-bear, with the coffee instead. It’s only much later that I had a couple of Boston creme for snack. ;-D

I was forced to run. I had been putting it off for two weeks until my cousin’s wife, Ate Vanz, got fed up with my talks-of-walk-but-not-walking-the-talk so she dared me… I didn’t want to part with my $20 so I had to get up at 6 a.m. to walk-the-talk so off to the soccer field I went. The side-trip to Tim Horton’s was a sweet treat which only cost me less than $10. ;-)

The run is an effort to stay in shape — mentally. The physical benefit’s just secondary, a bonus, for me. I have been strongly advised by my doctor bestfriend, Rebz, to steer clear of drugs so am taking an alternative therapy. I was supposed to run again the next morning before heading off to work but my thigh and leg muscles are still sore from the previous day’s work-out. So a power walk has to do for now. Running two days a week is not bad… especially when Tim’s Boston creme and iced cappuccino are just waiting around the corner. ;-D

Sweet Side of Solitude: SSShhh Moment

2009-07-09T16:12:00.000-07:00

The comfort, the peace and quiet that solitude brings is priceless. A bliss! I wish I find this very rare moment of solitude more often. The time to stop, take stock, and quit resisting change.

Just as we allow emotions to roll through us, we come to terms with the fact that people pass through our lives — like “passing ships in the ocean” (as my dear friend the ‘crazy crow’ once put it). People come, people go. We let it happen. We allow the transitions. It’s when we put up a fight and resist the flux that we suffer. So we welcome change. That’s how we turn into well-orbed earthlings, I guess. ;-)

Sometimes new circumstances make it impossible for old situations to continue. However comfortable we’ve been in the old (joyful or joyless) ways, getting out of that comfort zone is the only sane choice… unless you want a stunted growth. Even if it means bloody crawling your way out of “it”, out is the best way to go. Jobs, loved ones, relationships — all must go through fundamental changes. It’s hard. It’s inevitable. But it’s definitely possible and achievable. And you’re the sole soul who’s best to do the job. Alone. No one else is ever going to do it for you. No other soul to live your life for you.

You can do it.

A moment of solitude is just what you need to start things right. Your self is your best company for now. Cherish the moment. Drink in the glory of it.

Savor. The. Sweetness. ;-)

blue blooms and bleeding hearts

2009-06-23T07:37:00.001-07:00

Nature In A Bucket

2009-05-22T06:13:00.001-07:00

cityview @ dusk

2009-04-21T14:15:00.001-07:00

Candle's Wick

2009-03-11T01:11:00.001-07:00

No Street Cred: The Anatomy Of A Hulidap by: Leo

2009-03-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

The Metro Manila traffic enforcers. Kahit saan kahit kailan, ang dami nila... may mga crooks and crocs. Ma pa chocolate boys, ma pa yellow boys. (BTW, meron din naman straight enforcers. Ilan-ilan nga lang.)

Everyday, as I sip coffee and look by the window from where I work, I get to see the pack dishing out the venom. Instead of really patrolling the streets, straighten up the traffic and bring order, these traffic enforcers bring absolutely fuckin' disorder. Gone are the days, that these traffic enforcers help out the elderlies in crossing the streets. Yun and nasa textbook ko nung araw, eh.

I'd like to pity these guys, the society and the living conditions that forced them to do this but I have been a victim of hulidap far too many times, so screw you guys. Katuwaan lang 'to, let me post the Anatomy Of A Hulidap.

Their favorite target here in Metro Manila -- the scooters and the bikes.

STEP 1: Flag the bikers. The more catch, the bigger the bellies they'll have. Note that, during lunchtime and end of shift, these are the times when they are really pain in the arse.

STEP 2: Drag the poor bikers to where they are not visible to the public (or so these aides think). Like in the illustration, inside the inner streets, beside the building. Then give them the ticket. Oh wait, no ticketing is done, but a lot of negotiations. See the bunch of clowns? Already three of them packed in one area (that's not allowed as per law) and another 2 traffic men across the street watching the "proceedings." That's 5 effing crew in one area. Talk about overkill.

STEP 3: Go on, negotiate some more. The option --- Get the license at city hall or LTO in QC, pay P500 there, go to a refresher seminar OR pay it, right here, right now? Deal or no deal? Biker scratches his head.

STEP 4: After making a fair deal, the biker can actually get the license or the registration back right there, "on-the-road-redemption." See, look ma, the "taxman" inserts the friggin' fee in his shirt/belly.

STEP 5: After the payment is done, traffic aide gets the license/CR from his fellow aide across the street so he can give it back to the bikers. Note that, in this case, 2 bikers were apprehended. So the deal took a little more time than usual.

By the way, that's usually how it goes pag hulidap, one will flag you, as the ticketing or negotiations or argument is on, another traffic aide will come by and back up his mate just to make sure they get what they want. Be it them successfully giving you a ticket OR them getting paid. FTW!

STEP 6: The biker gets back his license. Easy.

STEP 7: The traffic aide says bye and thanks. The biker at the bottom of the pic says thank you (actually means 'eff you, you effin' croc) in return.

STEP 8: And they go on different ways. For the bikers, they're happy to get by these set. Not knowing that, some kilometers away, ganun ulit, another pack of wolves awaits them. For this traffic aide who got paid, it means Jollibee number 6 time!

Author: Leo

*** In reference to "The Anatomy Of A Hulidap" in my previous blog entry, I'm reposting Leo's original work, with his permission. BIG thank you, Leo! -- joyzjourney

Small-Scale Corruption

2009-03-08T08:09:00.000-07:00

I hate to touch the topic of politics even with the end of a broomstick but, with the many issues I've been reading lately, I can't help but break my silence. Our editor's lamentation about his NAIA ordeal on last month's issue of TF Newsmag is just one of the countless incidents of extortion, bribery, corruption -- in short, pangingikil -- that many OFWs and pinoys back home are subjected to. And that's just in the airport... Step out and you'll meet more of the crooks in uniform, be acquainted with the many faces of corruption.

In July 2007 Korean embassy suspended visa issuance for OFWs. The move sprang from alleged extortion by Bureau of Immigration (BI) officials to Koreans. No wonder. What a "welcoming", green-bucks-sniffing committee we have in the country, guaranteed to turn off foreigners and scare them away. Last month, complaints against BI and NBI officials at NAIA are made by OFWs bound for the Middle East. GMA newsreport stated that 500 OFWs (5oo?!!!) were refrained from leaving the country until they paid the officials a certain fee. These OFWs were suspected as illegal workers despite having the proper documents and going through the right channels in the process. Talk about these greedy officials "biting the hands that feed" them (darn crooks) and the country's economy, forcibly squeezing out the last peso from every debt-ridden OFW just about to embark on a journey to an honest job overseas, while these crooks are sitting on their fat bums on the job or running after and extorting money from hard-working souls.

The corrupt practices of the few had tarnished the whole lot of the Bureau. Someone I know who works for BI is sickened by the conduct of his greedy colleagues. Many are doing their job right but the rotten ones are shining a bad light on them. Be a whistle-blower and you'll gain the crooks' wrath. Whistle-blowing, by the way, is also a corrupt politician's way. Squealing on a fellow crook is a crook's way of getting even... when the share of the loot had not been fairly distributed, with the whistle-blower at the losing end. "Isusumbong kita sa bayan, sakim!" would then be the tune the whistle-blower is singing. Guess what? He'll get high praises for what is deemed by dim-witted few as heroic act. Later on, the corrupt-politician-who-blew-the-whistle get appointed or even elected to a new public office. What kind of society could tolerate that? Sick, stupid, corrupt -- that is.

On board a taxi 3 years ago, we were hailed by a uniformed traffic enforcer. Huli! The taxi driver got off and talked with the enforcer. When he's back, I asked what was that about, seeing him reached out for his wallet and handed some bills to the traffic enforcer. He said, "Bawal ho pala dito dumaan. Di ko nakita ang sign. Nawala tuloy pang-boundary kong pera." Holdap! The taxi driver gave the crook P200. A classic case of "hulidap". That wasn't the first time I'd been a passenger of hulidap victim in Manila. There was probably not a road sign or it had been placed in a corner hard enough for drivers to spot.

These traffic enforcers would just appear out of nowhere. They know just where to hide themselves until a traffic offender's where they'd want him to be, then they're in full view, up close, and personal -- lagayan time.

There is no reporting of a hulidap better than that of a fellow blogger, Leo. In his blog, Anatomy Of A Hulidap, he took pains in recounting, step by step, how a hulidap takes place... complete with 8 still images. The crime, involving a group of 5 traffic enforcers and 2 biker victims, was caught on Leo's camera. One image was that of a pot-bellied traffic enforcer inserting the money (lagay) in his buttoned uniform -- the belly area, yes. Bwaya talaga. The crooks were unaware that a few meters above them, a camera-crazed and frequent hulidap victim himself, was keenly observing the ongoing hulidap below, from his office window. Leo's animated story-telling made me laugh out loud but the greedy traffic enforcers filled me with disgust.

The low- and middle-income bracket are most likely affected by petty extortion like hulidap. Bikers, ordinary motorists, taxi and jeepney drivers are among the few. What happens when these enforcers unknowingly flagged down, for traffic violation, someone with a "badge of immunity"? The "powerful" offender gets off scot-free, tax-free, lagay-free, minor scolding (if ever), and oftentimes, it's the traffic enforcer who says, "Sorry, sir," to the offender. ID lang ang katapat... as what happened when my old schoolfriend was pulled over for minor traffic violations, with me in the passenger seat. The first incident in Edsa, Cubao, my friend pulled out his government ID and said he's Atty. So-and-so. The enforcer was very apologetic, "Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir, bawal ho kasi. Pasensya na. Sige po." No ticket. No lagay. Just an exchange of "sorry" from the enforcer and "thank you" from a government agency officer... who later bragged about what a bit of "power" can do. That so-called "power" still worked on the second traffic violation in Roxas Boulevard. Though not apologetic, the traffic enforcer didn't issue a ticket. A bit of reprimanding in response to the flashed government ID, "Tingnan nyo na lang maige ang traffic light sa susunod, sir," was all that was said, which is not even counted as mere slap on the wrist.

You got a government ID, that's a "badge of immunity", you're above the (traffic) law. Otherwise, give money to the darn traffic enforcer right then and there... or else, you'll get a ticket, settle everything at wherever hell they'll direct you to, claim your driver's license and pay some more at LTO -- which is a big inconvenience on your part. So you decide to settle everything on the streets -- you pay the enforcers. Lagay is the fastest and easiest route to peace of mind for you at that moment, however huge a strain in the pocket. The next time it happens, you'd be moaning about the hulidap again. You've learned your lesson when you realized you've been contributing to a societal ill by pushing money to the dirty hands of corrupt government workers -- the fat-assed-big-bellied traffic enforcers.

A balikbayan, Bernie, posted on the forum, "Customs Officials Are Corrupt", of the Philippine government's website his encounter with them at both NAIA and the domestic airport. When told by the officer to give him $10 in exchange for not prying open Bernie's baggage, Bernie declared loud enough for everyone to hear, "Sige buksan mo, di ako magbibigay sa 'yo ni sentimo!" The embarrassed officer let him off without opening his baggage. Bernie must have felt the same anger and utter annoyance, my editor, Mr Bartolome, and everyone else, did in dealing with these greedy airport officials unabashedly soliciting dollars (no, the kapalmuks don't ask in peso) and lai see. These two OFWs refused to contribute to a sickening culture of corruption by standing up to the damn crooks. That's making a change though it won't make a dent... not yet. If we join in, in standing up against corruption, we surely can make a difference.

*published in TF Newsmag (March 2009 Hong Kong issue)

Tail-light Trails

2009-02-28T23:08:00.000-08:00

These abstract images were shot through the windshield of a moving car. The camera shake and moving tail-lights of cars ahead caused the irregular light streaks.

barenaked & moss-covered trees

2009-02-24T06:58:00.001-08:00

Albert's Message On Hearts' Day

2009-02-14T09:54:00.000-08:00

“I used to fantasize about gazing into the eyes of my love… I wanted to create memories of romantic dinners, walks on the beach, and glorious sunsets. Now after many years, I realize that my dearest memories don’t include visions of paradise and five-star restaurants… that romance isn’t found in a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Love is much more. It’s really about holding hands through all the rough times and together looking forward… Happy Valentine’s day to all my friends.” — Albert Cauton

Since I couldn’t come up with anything inspiring for this page today, am posting a dear old schoolmate’s message — speaking for more than just one heart. Thanks for the permission, Albert. Strengthen that romantic bone in you. Keep a happy heart. ;-D

Coming Home, At Last

2009-02-08T14:44:00.001-08:00

"At the rate things are going right now, there's a bleak chance of mother coming home. If what they said is true about the home being where the heart is, then, her heart's definitely not with us. But I refuse to believe that. My mother's love isn't lost. There are just circumstances beyond our control which keep us from doing what we want to do. That's the case with mom. I know she longs to be with her family, too.
Unlike the blond doll that lost its hair's luster, with appendages forever missing; and the old balding teddy bear now saggy, my broken heart will mend, my crushed spirit will continue to rise and keep on keeping on. Things may not turn out as I hoped for but it certainly will turn out as planned for, by the One-Up-There. In His time. For now, I just do what I feel is right. That is, to bridge gaps. Whatever we do or say, if it comes from the heart, it'll surely touch a heart. Mother will come home, to the loving arms of dad, my brothers, me and those eight pairs of young and small arms that hug the tightest and kiss the loudest — her grandkids, with their moms." -- an excerpt from "Coming Home: A Love Under Extreme Test", February 2007 issue of The Filipino Now

Exactly two years since the article, Coming Home, came out as a cover story for The Filipino Now International Magazine, major life-changing events had taken place, distances bridged -- physically and emotionally. Dreams are taking shape, plans slowly being carried out. The One-Up-There's allotted time for homecoming is finally coming albeit without me back home. Yup, 14 years after her last visit home, my mother finally said, "I think I want to go home." My heart was wildly beating, I was jumping for joy but I kept my normal, low voice and refrained from squealing in delight lest I scare Mom off with my over-excitement. I merely said on the phone, "I'll buy your air ticket," before she changes her mind. A 3-week vacation's not bad. At least she'll have the time to bond with her loving Goyoy (tatay ko;), sons (eldest manong ko might come home from Korea), and grandkids. My time to see her will be in July. We've talked about her visit to Vancouver to be with me in the summer. See, everything's falling into place... where, in the past, it had all been so bleak.

Had it not been for Mr. Tony B., I wouldn't have managed to make the article, that made it to the cover, a hopeful one. As every paper's goal is to entertain and inspire, it'll do no good to tell a depressing situation when there's nary a trace of hope, nor a promise of good and bright things to come, injected into the writing. Mr. B made it clear. I wanted to weep in frustration. The impossibility of the task at hand was overwhelming, coupled with the dark state of suffering-mind this writer was wallowing in. Drafts after drafts, my editor's rejection made me itch to wring his neck, but my voice on paper did change -- from hopeless to hopeful -- along with my perspectives.

At the time of Coming Home's writing two years back, I had the most awful feeling of utter loneliness and desperation when my mother was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of a hospital in Los Angeles. Her heart almost gave up. When she pulled through, she was ready to give up everyone if her family won't stop bugging her to go back home to the Philippines where we think she can be well taken cared for. Her words cut through to the bone, my heart bled for her. I, too, almost gave up on her, with her kind of attitude. I've been grieving for her for many years, I said that no news about her could still shock and shake me. I thought I had come to terms with her. I was gravely mistaken.

We can never come to terms with the people we love, simply because we love them. Anything that has got to do with mom profoundly affects me. I know my dad feels that way towards her, too. I had to call him up often to reassure him that mom's doing good and everything's well taken cared of. The same reassurance I give to mom about dad. His stroke (a month after mom's previous hospitalization) really got her worried, affecting her recuperation. Needless to say, my parents are still very much into each other despite the 28-plus years of separation. That's plain-old true love.

My being in Canada now and my mother on that Los Angeles hospital bed then, made me fully realize her point. She made the right choice in staying put where she's at. And I thank the American system for taking care of its citizens, for giving my mom the best quality medical care, for prolonging her life and making it a little more comfortable for her. What just breaks my heart is that I can't hug her and she can't hug me… but the time will come. Soon.

Whatever doubts I previously had about my mother's love had been fully replaced by faith. Our family may not talk openly with each other, nor speak as often as possible, but the love in us is never lost (though it may seem that way to outsiders). Only a mother can comprehend the magnitude of emotions that run through my head when I dropped all contact. No words necessary, Mom understood. We tend to shrink and retreat in our own little corners when we're hurting badly and we feel misunderstood. It doesn't mean we stopped loving.

I am very much my mother's daughter. Self-analysis led me to know and understand her. Previous and current jobs and work-sites are great teachers and eye-openers pointing out the roads my migrant worker mother had taken and endured. Health-wise, she made the best decision -- choosing America over The Philippines. Yes, America versus Philippines. Not America versus family, as my short-sightedness misinterpreted in the past. Considering the lousy HealthCare system in the Philippines, Mom (and anyone in her shoe) will fare way, way better away from home...

*published in TF Newsmag (February 2009 issue; HK edition)

buzzin' in blooms

2009-02-07T20:36:00.001-08:00

iceDj

2009-01-22T17:32:00.000-08:00

The Art of Living Crazy

2009-01-09T00:16:00.000-08:00

“Be good.” That would, most often than not, be the parting words of some people close to me. To which I’d reply, “I’m always good!” Not that I’m a menace nor I misbehave that I need to be reminded to be good. They’re referring to the craziness. I am crazy — good, heavenly crazy and bad, hellishly crazy. The duality saves my sanity. So when a friend tells me to be good, he meant for me to exercise the good crazy side of me.

Here’s a word-picture of good crazy… It is when your significant other’s other woman bombarded you with nasty text messages and you shot back: “I’m his playmate. You’re his toy. My eyes are widely open. Yours are shut tight. You may know the size of his penis. I know the shape of his heart. Just wait till the game with you is over…” And in the end you’re right.

You’re good crazy when your insensitive slave-driver boss, who had been shortchanging you, is in the middle of a very long tirade and you – wearing a poker face, cut her off with: “Are you done yet? Here’s my resignation letter. I expect my paycheck within seven days.” She stopped in shock. Then you casually walk away… off to the garden of better opportunities. Bad crazy is one who feels hopeless, helpless, powerless, worthless, unloved, and unappreciated; wallowing long and deep in it; letting the negative pull of energy drag him down to the lowest depths. Wake up and get up! Go crazy, man!

The two sides of craziness, good and bad, are both an essential part of humanness. It’s being human and living fully, in much awareness of the bitter and sweet sides of life. It’s as natural as the air we breathe. It’s a breath of fresh spring air in a stale environment of gloomy seriousness and dull uptightness. Going crazy is finding humor in unpleasant situations and unlikely places; laughing at our own mistakes; forgiving our imperfect self. It’s absolutely healthy being crazy. It’s liberating.

I was devastated and heartbroken when denied a US visa so I sent a message to my dear friend telling him how it happened. I said, “The US Consul told me that cute earthlings are not allowed in the US!” By painting that my cuteness poses a threat to National Security is ridiculous but it lightens the unpleasantness of the news. It eases the frustration and loneliness by sharing it in a light mood – through banter. That’s the good crazy part of me. Good for the messenger and the recipient’s hearts. Bad crazy when I whine excessively and bawl endlessly. Moderation is just the key. I do whine and bawl occasionally. ;-)

You cannot control feelings as you cannot control me from being crazy. I cannot help feeling angry as I cannot help myself from feeling love. What I can definitely control is my behavior despite feeling these awful feelings. Whining and bawling are behaviors that come from feeling frustrated and hurt. These are bad crazy actions I can control by switching to a more beneficial and constructive alternative… I’d choose belting a loud birthday song, though it’s nobody’s birthday, and while I’m at it I’d be beating the bottom of a stainless pan with a wooden spoon; head-banging and dancing to the fast beat of my music. Trust me. It sure is more fun when you have an audience of one, two or three cheering you on in the midst of calling you ‘crazy’ through their smiling faces and snorty laughs.

Spreading joy and laughter is a constructive behavior albeit springing from negative feelings. While having fun giving fun you forget the unpleasant feeling that’s been replaced with a feeling of joy. From being bad crazy you have the power to turn yourself good crazy. Oh yes! You’re powerful, silly! That’s awesome!

The Italian Dr. Leo Buscaglia is one of the wonderful writers I adore. People called him nuts when he started to teach Love Class in the University he taught at for many years. The media labeled him the Love Doctor and Doctor Hug. He was considered crazy for openly greeting complete strangers, and unashamedly hugging people. He attributed his craziness partly to having a remarkable, crazy mother. In his book, “Born For Love”, he mentioned his mom preparing an elaborate family feast right after the day his dad informed them of the bankruptcy and debts. Asked by a furious husband if she had gone crazy, Leo’s mom simply stated that it was the perfect moment to celebrate. That unforgettable feast was a time for joy for the whole family despite the misfortune. A heavenly legacy of Leo’s extraordinary mom to her children.

A crazier friend, Gary, who loves Leo’s “Bus 9 To Paradise” led me to buy it… and three other of Leo’s books after that. It’s addicting. Leo’s books speak to me, assuring me I’m normal being crazy! Especially so when he wrote, “There is a streak of madness in even the most sane among us and that if we don’t act upon this madness in the fanciful sense, we will surely go mad, in the classical sense.” Oh, how I love this wonderful man!

Someone dear to me did not approve of my in-depth revelation of myself. I was told I’m opening myself to the core; so revealing, bold and direct that she thought I shouldn’t be. I don’t mind the criticism as I don’t mind being called a loony. If I keep myself from being me I keep myself from creating. I write from the deep recesses of my heart, touching every sinews. In one of those sinews, craziness lies. Which I let out every so often. Criticisms and craziness have benefits. It encourages us to lead constructive lives. It fires my senses up meeting people crazier than I am. I become more alive with them. Great source of inspiration. With these kind of people you beam… you bloom.

Ideas unheard of, out-of-the-ordinary thoughts, uncommon approach, unconventional ways, unusual self-expressions — these are often met with raised eyebrows and open hostility; seen as oddities; label the instigators crazy, nuts, mad, loony, lunatic, insane. Our ways, styles, behaviors are painting different pictures in every person’s eyes. The view they see may or may not sit well on them. We cannot please everyone. It’s not our job to. And we don’t force-feed them if they’re not hungry for what we have to offer. Despite it all, we create. We go crazy. We bloom.

Look at the wild dandelions on a roadside. They are blooming amidst the pollution, passing cars, and passersby. To gardeners, dandelions are a menace. Weeds. To people like me, they are pretty flowers. When asked how am I doing I’d say, “I’m good. I’m good!” I’m always good. Today I’ve been kind to a dandelion. Blowing dandelion seeds in the wind is a blast. I just did that. With one big blow, I set the seeds to sail in the wind with a silent message: Go and proliferate!

The crazy ones survive. And believe me, they thrive.

Nature's Best

2009-01-07T22:31:00.001-08:00

Winter Snowland

2009-01-06T22:39:00.001-08:00

Laws, Rules, And Codes

2009-01-06T00:20:00.000-08:00

Zyrel's "10 Batas Para Sa Bayaning OFW" spelled out the OFW soul's code. There are those among us who live as if they are the only inhabitants on earth, without care and respect on their fellow human beings. "Masagasaan na ang masagasaan, wala akong pakialam" seems to be their own selfish rule. This world's a lot better place if we could just subscribe to Zyrel's 10 Batas and not hold on to the I-me-mine-myself attitude (an egoist's I-sight) we could be carrying around. We race ourselves to the top, raise ourselves up, but trample on some fellows in the process.

Sometimes, we're best heard when we stay "low" and not act as if we're high and mighty; stay gentle and not tyrannical; speak softly and not loud and screaming. Throwing our weight around, looking down our noses on anyone is the sort of attitude that will alienate us from everyone. When we're sensitive to other people's needs, we gain more respect. We get pushy and bossy and we sure will drive away the people around us.

The third law -- Iwasan ang pagiging makasarili -- brings us back to Ed Roquel's article "Panloloko" in October 2008. People tend to put material things above relationships. For the love of money, they use people. Should we not love people and use money, not the other way around? Many relationships have been ruined by money issues. Wala ng kai-kaibigan o kama-kamag-anak pagdating na sa pera. Friendships take the back seat. Materialism has taken precedence to what's much more essential -- human relationship.

"Maging magandang ehemplo sa iba," according to Zyrel. If you are a leader, what sort of example are you setting for your members? Do you lift their spirits up or do you crush their self-esteem just to make a point? Can you hold the group together or you simply let the group break apart? If you see yourself above everyone, there's no way that anyone can genuinely connect with you. It would be like treading on an egg shell communicating with a leader with a big ego. We make simple and innocent statements and we could be stepping on sensitive toes and feelings. How free could my thoughts be when talking to you if you are my leader? You build barriers, I keep my distance... that's the kind of attitude a leader gets from the members when something is utterly wrong with the leadership. Trust and respect is missing there.

There are unwritten rules in any relationship. An open heart and an open mind know just how to figure it all out.

Time to reflect on your soul's code...

*published in TF Newsmag (January 2009 issue)

Where Two Rivers Meet, Friendship Blossoms

2009-01-05T15:15:00.000-08:00

With a hug and a farewell, Mr Wurfel -- my agent, left me at the boarding gate. Dragging two suitcases and a traveling bag strapped on my side, I boarded the Greyhound bus. As I wasn't in much hurry to leave, and thinking it may be the last time I'd be setting foot on that countryside, I didn't travel by plane but opted instead for the bus ride with the intention of having my eyes feast on the splendid sights. It's a pity though that I only saw the silhouette of the mountains upon passing through the Canadian Rockies because the first half of the journey to Vancouver, British Columbia from Edmonton, Alberta was at night.

With the darkness outside the window, I found warmth and light inside the bus, emanating from the sweet Canadian lady in her fifties who was seated right beside me. She came from Saskatchewan. We swapped stories. I learned about her son managing an English school in China along with his Chinese partner. We talked about her mom, brother, and husband whom she was visiting in Kamloops (her final stop, Kamloops, according to her is an American-Indian word meaning "where two rivers meet, friendship blossoms". Ironically, it was in Kamloops where we parted ways, like two rivers flowing in opposite directions after meeting in a junction. There are characters passing briefly into our lives but I had the feeling that Ms Candy and I will be parts of each other's lives in this lifetime. To this day, we exchange e-mails. She worries a lot when I can't return her mails within a couple of weeks. Her notes always signed "love and laughter... from the crazy crow". She got the nickname from her dad who said she laughs like a crow. I told her I never heard a crow laugh, I wonder how it sounds like. To which, she giggled. My, this warm lady's spirits is uplifting, her cheerfulness contagious!

It's always a joy finding people we can easily connect with, however brief the meeting, and sometimes without even meeting them in person at all. Take for instance Mr Reid, the 71-year old Afro-Latin American historian I've met through the internet. Our common interest in writing brought us together. His kind, encouraging, wise and warm words are a heartlift. It's not everyday that I get to meet great minds. Imagine the high I get from it. ;-D

It was daybreak when I left my new-found friend at the bus station and traveled the rest of my journey but her presence stayed with me all throughout. I know we'll meet again some day. I finally got hold of my cousins on a phone call upon the Kamloops stop-over, when I was halfway through. It was even my tita Remy in Hong Kong whom they first had to hear from about my coming to town. They weren't informed beforehand since I planned the trip just as quick as I'd decide to take a bite of a Hershey's choco bar under my nose. The nerve of me, huh? No, I was following my gut. The only thing I knew was that Vancouver's just one bus ride away, albeit a seventeen-hour bus ride. The driver's sure to drop me off at the only Greyhound bus station in that city, I could wait there and feel safe, munching on creamy Kisses and Twix choco bars all day, I'll relish and and cherish every single moment of it since I'll be on the right side of the country. As it turned out, it was I who was being waited on, my beloved cousin and his wife cut short of their working hours just to pick me up! How blessed could one be, losing one job but gaining so much, much more -- all in the span of forty hours.

I left the hamlet of Fallis, all right. I found a new home in Edgewater Lane. Fate led my feet here. Do you know what soothes my soul which I get to lay my eyes on everyday? Beyond the backyard is a river! Not frozen like Fallis' lake but crystal-clear you could see tiny fishes. Right across the river is the forest. This corner is poetry. I feel at home and peace in this place. It has the feel of the country, minus the isolation. Fast and easy internet access, mobile phone reception's never a problem. Got a favorite spot by the river, under a big old tree. I'd sit on rocks, feet in the water, hands busy turning over stones, searching little creatures underwater.

I'll stay put. The stop-over's going to take some time.

*published in eFootprints Magazine (August 2007 issue)

** the stop-over by the river took just several months... up to the top of the hill I went next... ;-)

Country Stop-Over

2008-12-29T17:03:00.000-08:00

Minus ten degrees celsius. It's immaculately covered in white outside. Snow. The house stands between the garage and the outhouse within the area of thirteen acre land littered with eight assorted small trucks and cars, and a boat under an old pine tree. The first one you see at the corner of Two Queen Street. The only other couple of houses on the block are way out of sight. Dead spot for mobile phones -- we live waaay down the valley, too low.

The hamlet of Fallis: where the houses are far apart, the doors always left unlocked, the lake's frozen all throughout winter, the ground shakes with every passing train. Moose, foxes and squirrels are just around. Noisy geese fly by everyday. Colorful, different species of birds feed on whatever they can find in the yard. Street hockey's played on frozen ground. You run after a dog for a hockeyball and have a snowball fight in a knee-deep snow (till your ears ache, nose freezes, fingers numbed, you get a runny nose and sniffles!) The labrador sprawled on the porch being licked by the big fat cat is an amusing sight. Birds chirping, cat meowing, dogs howling, geese squawking, train toot-ing, grandfather clock ticking, your own breathing are the only sounds you'll hear. The country life. No public transport, no traffic jam. No reception, no use of mobile phones. No post office, no internet cafe. No fast dial-up connection! Peaceful but too quiet. A perfect get-away from the city life. Only for a holiday.

I'm a stranger in strange land, a foreigner in foreign soil, an alien on this side of planet Earth. There's nothing strange, foreign nor alien about my feelings though. Jet-lag had passed, my tastebuds had grown accustomed to the foods (Gee, I hadn't had a grain of rice in a month!), my tummy's still getting used to the eating habits (We get three full meals plus two snacks in the Philippines. Not here, buddy.) Homesickness and silly loneliness creep in. Migrant workers cope, adjust and adapt. The journey never ends. This is just another 'stop-over'. After Taiwan and Hong Kong, Canada's now my host.

The tiny village where I am now is my temporary home. As I cannot drive, the only way out of here is on foot, hike all the way up the hill for about half an hour till I reach the highway. From there I can hitchhike (bad idea). Until I learn how to drive, I'm stuck.

Have you been in a situation where you think you have no control or no way out of? Say, for instance, a domestic job in Hong Kong. It's akin to a 7-11 convenience store where you're expected to be on your feet twenty-four hours a day. One second more and you're about to reach dreamland when the door suddenly opens and your ward's head pops in, "Where's my Hello Kitty sticker?" (Nope, it can't wait till tomorrow. It's just midnight!) As you're snoring your head off at three o'clock in the morning, the doorbell rings. You get up in daze, open the door with a sore head. The lady of the house says, "Cook some noodles, prepare tea, cut some fruits for me, 'che-che', then you go back to bed. Later, go to China at six AM, pick up my belt -- the one that got rhinestones in the buckle." You could be anybody's helper, too. The boss asks you to tend to a sick-depressed-bed-ridden sister of a friend (Yes, you clean up the pee and poop, sorry.), cook for her friend's daughter's birthday party, scrub-clean her bestfriend's new flat, be a substitute for somebody's helper who's on a holiday. All for free. You don't want to lose your job so you take it all in, grit your teeth, swear, whine to your friends, and wish your boss steps on a banana peel, slip and break her HK$400-newly manicured fingernails. Finally, you get the chance to let go of the job. The contract ends but you decided to renew. Why do you still hang on to a job you keep crying your eyes out for, complaining and whining about. You got your reasons, but it wasn't what you first thought that it's not within your control. People abuse you when you let them. You just have to speak your mind. State your limits, specify your boundaries. Just as you're given a curfew on your restday, you ask not to be bothered in the wee hours of the night. Set your foot down, say you won't work illegaly (with or without extra pay) for any of your employer's friends or relatives again. If she respects you, she'll listen to you. If the bad situation continues -- take a chance, find another work, 'kabsat', unless you want to grow old in that job unhappy.

If there's something you can possibly do in a certain situation, find the heart -- do it. You're not as stuck and helpless as you think you are. You're braver than you believe you are.

So now I'm considering other options... learn to drive, take a hike, go for the ride, go with the flow -- or go against the current. Whichever way, it surely is a great journey.

*Published in eFootprints Magazine (July 2007 issue)
**

***the author took a hike, hopped into a 17-hour bus ride, and is currently counting snowflakes in British Columbia* … 22 months since this journal entry.

Four Seasons of 2008's Images

2008-12-23T07:55:00.000-08:00

joyzjourney images iii

2008-12-17T22:15:00.001-08:00

joyzjourney images ii

2008-12-16T23:22:00.001-08:00

joyzjourney gallery

2008-12-16T22:11:00.000-08:00

JOYless CHRISTMAS

2008-12-09T08:00:00.000-08:00

If I were Santa Claus, I’d stuff all my negative emotions, sad thoughts, painful memories, core issues and whatnot, in a sack. When the emotional baggage is tightly secured in the sack, I will drop it straight down the chimney to the burning fireplace below.

Wham! Phffft! The fire had consumed it all! I’m now free to roam the world with no heavy stuff with me, just the light, precious feeling of spreading goodwill, love, peace and joy I have in me, to every soul on earth. Hoh! I wish it were that easy…

Since I am not Saint Nicholas, I’m taking things one tiny step at a time, and savouring the moment. Allowing myself first to face the one subject I have been dodging since I cannot even remember when — Christmas. I am actually writing about it now! This is the time of the year when my emotional level is at its lowest peak. Christmas lights make me bow my head in sadness. The carols a downer, shooting stinging darts at my heart, drawing me in a melancholic mood. I told this to my cousin’s wife when she informed me of the upcoming party on Christmas eve while she was decorating the house. “Christmas is for the family,” was my ready reply when she asked, “Why?!” “We are your family,” she said. But I know she understood what I meant. This is one thing I’m very thankful for, having my cousin’s loving family in Vancouver, even just for a while. One day soon, I will be moving away again, on my own. While I have this time, I will cherish every moment, spending the holidays, dancing my bum off, and laughing my heart out with them.

Friends substitute for the absent family during the holidays. Growing up, I was always in some neighbors’ house. Teen-age year Christmases were spent with my gangs and their families. As a migrant worker in my first Taiwan stint, I spent Christmas eve weeping in bed, and Christmas day walking in circles at four o’clock in a winter morning in Ilan City park with a huge, half-paralyzed elderly supported on my side. The following year in Taipei City, I was with a couple of my Taiwanese friends and their friends who took me for night joy-ride and tea shop-hopping. Holidays in Hong Kong were either spent with my coworker and boss’ family or alone, snoring in bed along with the clanging of the church bells.. My last Christmas there was with friends and acquaintances. I did feel jolly and cheerful, appreciating the merrymaking with these people. But after the laughters had died down, and I find myself alone, that was when utter loneliness creep in.

I told a very dear friend recently that Christmas is one of the things I no longer believe in. Not true. Upon deeper reflection, there is a ray of hope deep down within; a deep longing for my loved ones to spend the holidays with, someday — as a family — complete, healed from past wounds. The frozen part of my soul just needs the right amount of heat in order for it to thaw. Given time, the flow will be smooth, unhampered. By then, it will be a paddle I will be asking from Santa, not a sack…

*published in TF Newsmag (December 2008 issue)

THE ANGELA IN OUR LIVES

2008-12-06T18:05:00.000-08:00

What’s with the pinoy label of the mother being “ilaw ng tahanan” and the father being “haligi ng tahanan”? In the absence of either one, it’s hard to keep a balance in the home. In the absence of both, much harder still… or no balance at all. There may be caregivers for our kids left back home (lolo and lola, tito and tita) to take over our responsibilities in our absence but they can never take our place as parents. Substitute, yes. The substitute ilaw ng tahanan may not radiate light as bright as the real mom, like candle in place of a light bulb. The substitute haligi ng tahanan may not be as sturdy as the real dad, like a substitute wooden post for bricks. Never the same. There’s always a void, a vacuum waiting to be filled up in the longing child… hungry for paternal care, aching for maternal care. The child’s emotional imbalance remains undetected… until it’s too late.

Amy Gunnacao’s “In Memory of Angela” in our cover story on TF Newsmag for November nudges us to re-examine our choices and redefine our goals. “To provide a better future for our family” — isn’t that every overseas Filipino workers’ (OFWs) purpose in braving foreign lands? A better future in terms of what? A better education for an OFW child than that of the undergraduate OFW parent. A better and comfortable lifestyle for an OFW child compared with that of the OFW mom/dad who grew up lacking in the basic necessities of life. A better job for the OFW child than that of the OFW who scrubs toilet bowls and foreign butts, who chauffeurs night owl bosses, who operates dangerous machineries and toils on backbreaking jobs. A better future for the Angela in our lives. We stuff Angela’s pocket with cash and gadgets. What about the deposits of faith we’re supposed to place in her heart? Do we reach out far enough to make her feel she’s deeply loved despite our physical absence and geographical gap? Are we certain we’re not drilling large holes in our child’s heart?

OFW parents tend to overcompensate and spoil the child with material things. We fail to realize that other things may be more important — like showing a genuine interest in what concerns our kid and giving our focused, undivided attention. And that is possible through the wires, through letters, and other various ways of getting in touch. Not all OFW children live in comfort the way Angela was provided for by her OFW parents. Financial needs are still not being met in many OFW families and the child has to deal with this as he has to with the emotional needs of being separated from the OFW parent. The psychological impact on an OFW child leaves the deepest mark… It either builds or breaks a character. How we deal with our child now would greatly influence her future. The “better future” we’re so keen on preparing for the family may not come if our parenting system is flawed. We’d wonder if something is wrong with our ways when we see signs of rebellion or when our child’s being withdrawn. We don’t ignore the signs and dismiss it as growing pains. We try our darnedest to communicate – really communicate – and delve deep into the kid’s issues. We connect.

While a light overhead can illuminate every nook and cranny of the room, a candle’s blaze only brightens a corner of it, leaving sore, dark spots. We need not dump the bulk of the responsibility of raising our child in the hands of the caregivers back home. Showing that we’re very involved and so much a part of his/her everyday life will do a great deal of good. A better future is at hand.

*published in TF Newsmag (December 2008 issue)

JOYSHOTS

2008-11-27T21:00:00.003-08:00

Photobucket Album

HEARTS SPEAK

2008-11-27T02:22:00.000-08:00

When you seem to be fated to have confidences thrown at you, it’s very humbling… and sometimes overwhelming. There you are, doing your own crazy thing, and some souls just start to strip away their pretensions and bare their raw emotions and furiously beating heart… to you. It’s a gift! From their heart to yours. And you wonder, “What have I done to deserve this? I’m just being me — the crazy, flawed, imperfect me — why did they choose me?” Awww, shoot! Drop the act, you know you’re a lovable loony, silly! And you know when to squeal and when not to.

A friend’s partner was ventilating, pouring out his pain. In the middle of his tirade, he made me promise not to tell on him. I said, “Don’t worry, my mouth’s sealed (I won’t talk)… pause… but my fingers aren’t (I can type an email;-). nya ha ha ha!” That got him, mind you — for a moment. And I know it loosened him up too. Now am writing about it? It happened ages ago. They patched up their differences. And they won’t be able to read this, they won’t have time to read my crazy thoughts because they’re too busy… being all over each other. :-D Hey, you two, quit the PDA! ;-D

Could my testosterone level be at its peak when a pretty woman’s personality blows me away? Okay, I admire a gal. Does that make me gay… ooops, I mean les? (yup! les — as in lesbian.) An old friend said, “yes”, I am les. I shook my head “no”, I am gay. Period. I can kiss any lady full in the lips and I’m still gay, not les. Whatever the difference between gay and lesbian that a dictionary gives, I don’t give a heck. I have my own vocabulary. If you see a wrong word in this post, it’s not wrong… I made up the word. ;-) You see, when you can’t find a name on something, you make it up! It’s akin to making a way when you can’t find a way out of a certain situation. I’m just playful with words as I am playful with my approach in life, in some instances. The main thing I don’t play about is anybody’s feelings, no matter how crazy I am, sweetie, count on that. “Les“, by the way, is the pretty critic’s word, and also Ah Ming’s (who called me “non-human” in the not-so-distant past).

Going back to being gay, there were three acquaintances who called me “bakla” — translation: gay. Recently came the beautiful-minded critic and joined the bakla-callers. It started with her reading my articles on TF Newsmag that gave her the feeling I’m weird. I could die a sweet death laughing at her messages. I’ve been labeled “weird” and “non-human” in the past. This soulful critic’s word is the latest, sweetest compliment… We belong in one rare, out-of-the-box, unconventional, out-of-the-ordinary, hard-to-crush, tough-nut-to-crack tribe. Scattered but profusely growing and thriving like the pretty but menacing dandelion. :-D The wind sure does carry craziness in all directions, the way it blows dandelion seeds to towering heights and unknown distances.

When you make your presence known — quietly, not loudly — you’re more likely to be heard. You wear nothing but your happy, grieving, playful, broken, joyful, bleeding,and grateful heart; thrown in together with unedited, silly human emotions; the courage to look like a fool, be taken for a stupid clown, and the hide of a rhinoceros to be kicked with acidic criticisms… These are probably just what it takes to be you — the lovable, unedited crazy you. You’ll be taken seriously by sane, soulful souls of so much substance… whom I’d rather have a few of them on my side than be surrounded by thousands and thousands of pretentious, shallow vauriens.

She’s shy so she’s nice — a common misconception as my mamu, the king of mulitimuliti, (yep! not multi)-tasking, pointed out before. Aye! Aye! I can attest to that… He’s shy… he’s not entirely nice. :-D I was shy, I wasn’t completely nice. :-D :-D :-D Shy earthlings are normally silent… “Silent

waters run deep,” somebody said. The depth you couldn’t usually fathom. Deep waters are calm… just like ducks — calm on the surface — but they paddle like the devil underneath. :-) When I keep silent and away from you, some creatures who don’t know me might assume am having a calm, peaceful time away. To those who know me, they’d think something’s a-brewing, craziness percolating in

my usually-perky head.

On second thought, I may be a lesbian… because I am tougher than an average gal, and have more balls than a spineless guy. I am gay… because I am more shameless, playful and flirty than a typical lady. I’m a harmless flirt though, don’t you worry.

For more matters of the heart, see you next blog post. ;) I gotta snooze!

THE BUDS

2008-11-25T08:01:00.000-08:00

ABU

2008-11-08T17:03:00.000-08:00

“Abu, bye-bye, kiddo,” I said. Jus replied, “Abu, bye-bye, mommy.” It’s our way of ending our conversation, no matter what emotional state we’re in…angry, ecstatic, playful, whiny… abu. I’m not talking about Aladdin’s thief-monkey-friend Abu nor a name common in Mindanao. You won’t find its meaning in any English dictionary nor an Etymology book. It doesn’t belong in any language, save for the language of our hearts — my son’s and mine. Abu — noun, verb, three words rolled into one; origin: mouth of a babe; dates back thirteen years ago; pronounced as a baby would… a-bu. You can hear it spoken between parent and child (sometimes), between siblings (rarely), between friends (not always), between lovers (not so often). Only, it’s uttered in three words. ABU - generic term: I love you. Even before Jus learned any word, I always talk to him and often say “I love you.” It was on one lovely day, when he was one-plus year old, that he responded as he cradled my face between his small hands and cooed, “abu… abu…” From then on, he’d say ‘abu’ every time he hears my ‘I love you’. In time, it was I who gave in to the baby-talk and learned to say ‘abu’. My little baby taught me the most beautiful word in the world.

For some of us, ‘I love you’ is a foreign statement. It’s scary to utter it. Embarrassing, corny, mushy to even speak of. What do we fear? Rejection, humiliation, or being misunderstood? To heck with that! Open your heart and mind, sweetie. There are thousands of reasons to say ‘I love you’ to someone, from merely trivial to the most mundane or deepest. I say ‘I love you’ to you for wiping off the crumbs of chickenjoy on my face; for lending me your toothbrush; for the delayed salary which had finally reached my bank account; for booking my flight; for sending me to and picking me up from the airport; for the warm clothes, chocolate-chip cookies and warm hugs; for simply your presence in my life; for this little corner; for my page on TF newsmag – where I can reach out and touch a heart… I say ‘I love you’ when I’m grateful, appreciative, thankful, and joyful for what I have. If you’re hesitant to say ‘I love you’ to your loved one because you’re afraid someone might overhear it and call you a sentimental fool, just say ‘abu’. The eavesdroppers will wonder what on earth you’re talking about. To heaven with ‘em! Speak up, sweetmeat! It’s even all right to say, “I love you, big butt.

Besides Jus, there’s another sweet soul whom I speak ‘abu’ with. My Abest (which, in my vocabulary, means above the best). Sometimes we find our best friends in our own blood. That’s with my cousin Jayz. He taught me the proper use of ‘heaven’ in a phrase it fits best — “to heaven with ‘em”, instead of the ‘hell’ misfit. We call each other ‘pangit’ (ugly), which is soothing to our ears. And there’s now Mr B who’d instinctively know something’s not right with me whenever I missed the “abu” in our conversations.

With mom, daddybear, bigbrobear, broAbear, and the rest of the family bears, I use the generic ‘I love you’. Distance brought us closer to the things we wanted to say. It’s through the wires that we’re finally bridging gaps.

Jus’ “Abu, good night, inang,” and Jayz’s “Abu, good night, pangit,” are messages of warmth and ‘hugs’ that put me on a sound slumber at night.

Abu, keep a joyful heart…

*published in The Filipino Now International Magazine (March 2007 issue; p.13)
**reprinted in True Friends Newsmag (October 2008 issue)

WHAT'S WITH THE BABY?

2008-11-06T12:54:00.000-08:00

There are times when an apparent act of cruelty is really an attempt at kindness. You only have somebody’s best interests at heart, her happiness in mind, that you choose to let her go even when doing so would hurt her… and you, so much more. Sacrifice… how many in the male — and female — specie are willing to give up their own joy for the sake of their loved one. Selfless and selfish — how can you tell the difference? Which do you prefer — a selfless heart-breaker or a selfish ego-boosting partner?

The heart-breaker weighs way, way heavier on my scale. I’d take him back anytime in my life… or even pursue him till the end of forever (though I wonder where or when could forever be :-D)… No, until I know my presence is wanted… Otherwise I’d have no qualms about keeping my distance for good.

An ego booster would target your psyche, giving you sweet nothings and empty words; telling you he’ll wait for you till the end of time… while he plays with other women and assuring you each time, “it’s only play, a fling, no commitment, dear.” Then he gives you a “free pass” to play, cheat, and call that a compromise. Fair enough? “oh, shoot, dear!”, you agreed. But you know that he knows your idea of “play” is not the same as his. You were given the “free pass” to appease your hurt feelings, and the promise of “waiting” to soothe your bruised ego. Sweet, thoughtful, kissing-ass-ego-blowing mackerel!!! Can you take that? Yes?! Idiot! :-D Oh, I did put up with that. :-D :-D :-D That makes two of us. Idiot me and you settling as a spare tire. :-D Martyrdom’s not acknowledged in this society, you better kick the selfish womanizer’s butt, girl! I know, I know, it’s not easy. You’ve been hooked on a feeling that you’re in-love with him despite his lusting after other creatures in skirt.

Hooked, my foot! It’s just a a state of the mind. What do people do when they’re hooked? They keep going back to the object of addiction, the object of their heart’s desire, no matter how it hurts. Heart’s desire… are you sure it really is your heart you’re hearing or it’s just your mind chattering? Is it a broken heart or just a bruised ego you’re plagued with now? You get to find it out at the end of it all. Whatever pleases you, whatever gives you a kick — like blow money on overseas calls — do it. In the end, it’s all worth it. You’ll get your answers eventually… after you get sick of doing the same thing over and over and over again. You’ll get over your love addiction, believe me, L.A.!

If you’re lucky, someone will come along to knock you out of your unconsciousness. (Yup, you’re unconscious going through your addiction. No conscious being is unhappy. You’re unhappy loving one worthless being, you must be unconscious. ) Though you hide and keep as far away as possible from the male specie, “the one” would come knockin’ at your love-proof door. You soon find out you’re not immune. Your heart kicks harder than before, sings so much in tune with the universe than ever before, beats way faster than never before. You become conscious of where you are, what you do, how you love-live-laugh-and-be-mad. You become so much alive. You have something wonderful to always look forward to each day. It fills you with awe. It makes you be you, just you, the real, unedited you… unmasked. It gives you something to smile about every nanosecond. The joy of it all… of having somebody call you “baby”… when before you haven’t heard that soothing, uplifting music.

Baby… the word’s a caress… a warm hug… the same feeling it gives you at the sight of a baby.

Two weeks ago I had the pleasure of holding my newborn niece on her first hour into the world. The nurse thrust her at me, my heart was in my throat the moment she opened her eyes and stared blankly at me. Aaah, that moment! What’s with a baby? It makes me want to weep in joy holding the little bundle in my arms. It’s overwhelming. A little baby just tugs at your heart.

Being addressed as “baby” tugs at my heart.

Then the one who calls you “baby” left as fast as he came. You die a thousand deaths. But then you rise again. What you first thought as cruelty turned out an act of kindness. You know the reason, that’s enough, no explanation’s needed. Whatever happened, you believe it’s just nature’s way of nudging you toward what is right and real… and away from superficial — the ego booster love addiction.

You found your answers the painful way… the perfect way.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s all been due to a baby, anyway… Who on earth can ever resist a baby?

FALL--en

2008-11-03T15:09:00.000-08:00

SOULS OF SUBSTANCE

2008-10-28T08:20:00.000-07:00

Some people just couldn’t handle too much freedom and privileges. Expecting an all-too-easy life all the time, the slightest bump would send them careening off the road. One of those people is a fellow writer’s brother whom she mentioned in her article. One of those people could be me or you — off the tracks. It’s just a stage, one can always go back on… if the heart’s in it.

“In life, I lived and learned the hard way but somehow I managed to grow, I struggled yet victorious in the process,” said Annabelle on TF Newsmag’s cover story, “Legacy of Hope“. This very admirable lady has tough, deep roots. Adversity strengthened her that there’s nary a trace of the “poor me” attitude that some “bad-weather-beaten” souls possessed. One can easily feel a sense of affinity towards someone of a very positive outlook on life regardless of the dreary life he/she lived or still living. It’s this sort of person I look up to… the sort who knows the real definition of hard work and sacrifice, of holding on to hope and never letting go of love… because of an unshakable faith… the sort of person to emulate. Annabelle is one of a kind.

Looking in the TWG circle alone, I see inspiring souls. Guided by a selfless leader, Cathy Montano, they could illuminate the entire universe. Sure, TWG cannot save the world but it sure can make a huge difference when everyone pull their strengths together and work with one heart. And everyone has a part to play… everyone who is willing to give a part of himself/herself.

It’s when someone fully acknowledges our hurts and pains that the healing begins. We forgive. Old hurts cease to matter and eat at us, we begin to find joy in the smallest things. The acknowledgment doesn’t necessarily got to come from the source/s of pain himself/themselves. Forgiveness is attained with the help of just even one caring soul who listened, reverenced, and recognized the story of what has happened, sufficiently deeply. Annabelle’s blessed to get it from the “sources”. For some, acknowledgment comes not from the “source” but from a dear friend, a family, a partner, or a mere stranger who passes briefly in our life but made a huge and significant impact… like, say, a… a psychotherapist! ;-) Basically though, we’re all the help we need in learning to forgive. When we strive to live a joyful life, forgiveness comes naturally.

Aside from Annabelle, there are other lively, perky souls whose main agenda, it seems, is to live life to the fullest. The author of “Usapang Walang Pera“, Amy G’s cheerfulness is contagious. Oh my, this li’l lady is a tease she got me in stitches with her funny tales and amusing messages. :-D There’s a long list of inspirational writers on TWG and we’ll get to know them one by one as, each month, their journeys are chronicled on Tracks Online — TWG’s playfield — where rules are unwritten and one should just be aware of his/her soul’s code… You got a wounded, mended, shattered, bruised, broken but still beaming and loving heart… you’re in.

It’ll be my honor to share and enjoy nature’s wonders and explore the world of wonder and infinite possibilities… with a literary soul-mate like you…

*published in TF Newsmag (November 2008 issue)

PARADISE ON 3rd STREET

2008-10-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

In search for Love In The Time of Cholera (G.G. Marquez’s), bus 239 from Capilano Mall in Marine Drive took me back to the blissful place on 3rd Street where I found Bus 9 To Paradise in the “candy shop“. The shop’s a paradise in itself with hundreds of books stacked on high shelves and books in cardboard boxes piled on top of the other lined at the shelves’ foot.

Another definition of happiness — ten books purchased for thirty bucks. Three of which are Dr. Buscaglia’s works (Bus 9 To Paradise included). This is heaven! No way could I afford all these wonderful nourishing books… had I stayed put in the Philippine Islands.

I uncovered the treasures at BookLovers — my candy shop. It’s well worth it, straining my neck tilted sideways, poring over book titles but making small talks with the very pleasant gray haired shop owner, everytime he passes by the aisle I was at, while he puts away books on some corners. He mentioned last week that he’s retiring and he’s selling his business. The shop will operate until the end of this month. Ouch! The loss of one paradise on 3rd Street gives me a heavy heart. Taking advantage of its last days, I spent more than a couple of hours inside… then walking away feeling rich, clutching my new-found treasures stuffed in a plastic bag.

Now. I’m signing off and enjoy my new ‘bedmates’.

P.S. ParDner commented on my bedmates being cerebral. I added, “Way better than a brainless hunk!” ;)

THE JOY IN GIVING... BACK!

2008-10-02T22:13:00.000-07:00

October– the month I celebrate and ponder on my journey to the pages of magazines and a newsmag . It’s the death of one respected and well-loved editor (the late Ms Linda Layosa) that coincides with my birth on the literary world. I could have been one of the last souls she encouraged and inspired… before she took her last breath. It’s a pity I never got the chance to meet her, a blessing she sent me an inspiring message, a few days prior to her death, which to this day I keep in my “inspirational folder” in my inbox — the folder I keep going back to on my down-moment-dark-winter days which serves as affirmations with its inspiring personal messages from my literary soul-mates. “You definitely have a knack for writing!” is a well-treasured comment. So is the flame-thrower comment from my mentor. It’s the kind of message that keeps writers like me to keep going and writing away; a beacon that lights our days of non-writing, propelling us to scribble on and keep the literary juices flowing. From one grateful soul to another, one thankful heart to the other… it never missed the core, never fail to deliver, never go wrong… in sending the message of hope, love, warmth, encouragement, inspiration, and joy! Ms. Layosa’s review of my writings which I first sent out for The Filipino Now came at the perfect moment… I was at my lowest depths, she lifted me right out of those depths with her simple words. Aaah, the power of words!

On the long list of lovely souls to thank for, my current editor, Mr Tony B, tops the list. I say again and again how this man held the literary door open for me and still keeps shoving me to doors unexplored. His faith in me never wavers and his unending critique’s a constant reminder of passing on the torch, driving me to delve deeper into other writers’ work and walk on their shoes, forcing me to dig deeper into my heart to pass on a soulful word… and what a joy to do so!

I told my mentor-editor a couple of years ago that I’d take up a Writing course while I work in Canada… as soon as I have the means and get the dough ;) What I have now is more than what I hoped for, am taking writing and editing lessons with no worries for tuition fee! :D Who says nothing’s free these days?! And here I am on this web corner, joining in with the voices in blogosphere, on my own playfield– Leaving A Trail; am learning oodles and having so much fun… all for free! I got my web host, Blogger, to be grateful for. True Friends Newsmag publisher, Ms Catherine Kaldy, is one generous soul who welcomed me as a contributor, and later on, an Editorial Assistant in her paper. Her faith in the editor, Mr B, extended to me… and The Guild. What a wonderful blessing!

The lovable, amazing Reids are my cyberspace guides. From creating links, sitemap, stats, copyright, and yahoo signature, to dictionaries online and a number of useful links… Ms Lydia Reid’s been there to provide those for me. Her notes, along with Mr Roberto Reid’s, comprise the bulk of my ‘inspirational folder’. :D No matter how busy they are with their writings, they take the time to drop me a few lines every time I yell for “help!” How I love and am thankful for these generous, kind literary soul-mates… beyond words!

My joy is doubled when the things I love doing is giving much joy to others. This is a gift — from my heart to yours. Living, loving, and learning… the subjects I speak strongly about. It’s my life –to the fullest– you see on the pages of the newsmag and on the web pages. I don’t hold back. What keeps me holding on is the joy I find in it — yours and mine. YOU, my dear ones, are the double-joy I get from the joy of creating.

I’ve traveled across the seas and crossed a number of bridges since “Building Bridges Across The Seas“, my very first published work. While that article didn’t sit well on an aunt, it had generated a lot of positive, sad comments from those who can relate well with it. The story a friend told me about her Chinese partner had the greatest impact… There was the 50-plus year old man with the TF Now magazine in hand, teary-eyed after reading my piece. He then told my friend of his own childhood — losing his mom due to the parents’ separation and painfully longing still for her presence in his adult life. My article triggered a painful memory. It probably helped him get in touch with his core issues. A teacher cousin sent me a message saying she felt the hurt in my words and cried. Countless others who said they felt the lump in their throats. It’s not my intention to create a heavy heart but I was speaking my emotional truth… the hurt, not an anger that someone misunderstood in my writing voice. Yes, I used to have a very negative voice. But my writing evolved along with my evolution :) I’m no longer the caveman I used to be two years ago. :D :D :D I’ve learned to loosen up and play… Playing with words is a source of joy. When I write for print I have to keep in mind of a certain responsibility, and not tend to be too sentimental. But anything goes on my online journal… I can beat myself up in here :D :D

The constant commentators on my web pages, the message senders, and the avid readers who chose to remain silent but keep coming back and simply take in what I lay out on here… YOU are the lifeblood, my joy, joy, joy! Now, that’s triple! ;) I love you so, guys and gals. From the deepest chamber of my joy–full, thank–full, wonder–full human (yup! am no super-non-human:D) heart… I love you, THANK YOU!

AUTUMN WIND...

2008-09-24T16:50:00.000-07:00

SEEING OLD THINGS NEW

2008-09-23T17:00:00.000-07:00

I met a lovely earthling today. I peek through his brain and seen the wealth of knowledge and wisdom residing in there. It took me all the way to the depths of his heart and had a glimpse of profound beauty and substance, where a steady light glows and such tenderness dwells. It fills me with awe, respect, admiration and inspiration — things that aren’t alien to me but now just being renewed… as this man’s not someone new to me, having met him in our youth, but only recently that I came to “know”… I’m seeing him in a different light.

Everyday brings new discovery. There’s always something new waiting to be unraveled, discovered, and deeply explored… in the old things. Details we missed which were deemed trivial, insignificant, or simply taken for granted and cast aside, now loom larger than life. Only when we’re ready for the moment, when all our senses are open, will things make sense and fall into place… when the time is right… and ripe.

In our haste to bloom we don’t want to go through the inconvenience and hassles of going through the proper stages of development. Human nature: I-want-this-and-I-want-this-NOW syndrome. A wise man had this to say, “when the days of youth have passed into the mists of time and the age of maturity begins, it’s the time to bloom.” We’re too immature to pay heed and just plunge straight ahead… because it pleases and gives us a high — temporarily. A short-range vision. In our impatience to reach our desired destination we tend to develop a tunnel vision– focusing only on the desired goal, not completely in tune with the current location, blocking out the ‘disturbances’, unmindful of the given moment– the now. We become impulsive, restless, irresponsible, and reckless… the intensity of emotions go beyond our control. We race ourselves into steep, sharp-curved and dangerous highways without so much thought. Why? For the thrill, fun, excitement, and adventure? Could be… or to reach the desired destination as fast as your recklessness can take you, as fast as humanly possible. One missed turn and you end up dead and cold. So much for impatience.

We meet a new person who instantly sweep us off our feet. For a while we think he’s awesome and adorable, and inspires us to explore a new world. In the midst of the exploration you get to uncover the soul within the awesome new creature… awful. What you first thought to be of much substance turned out to be hollow. When the newness wears off, the luster fades, you get to see the real value — or the lack there of. Your eyes could’ve played tricks on you. You could’ve made an error in judgment. What appeared to be of profound depth’s actually a sea of shallowness. You just met a wolf in a sheep’s clothing.

Do you regret the encounter? Should not. It’s fate’s way of telling you to slow down, showing you a different highway, introducing you to the not-so-unusual character of the human family. It’s nature’s way of teaching us lessons… One lesson would be leading us back to where we should be putting much effort, energy, and commitment on — to who we are inside and who the people who’ve been with us almost all our life, and seeing everything in a new light. It’s only when we struggle to comprehend and think profoundly that we get to understand things, the nature of things.

Yep! I met a lovely old love and buddy today… It’s been an 18 years of friendship and fate keeps throwing us back to each other’s lives. We’ve gone farther. We’ve grown stronger…

FINDING DEEPER CONNECTION

2008-09-22T09:45:00.000-07:00

Half past nine in the evening. Traveling down Riverside Drive to Mount Seymour Parkway on my way to Mountain Highway, with the blinding lights of cars coming from the opposite direction, taking a very narrow path, and being all alone in that lane is a mixture of fear (when you’re not properly geared up), excitement and thrill. It’s liberating! I got my wheels. Model: Cheetah 12 mountain bike — a two-wheeler! I got a helmet on. Ain’t that cool? Now I don’t have to depend on anyone to drive me to and from work. Given time, the 20-minute frequent bike rides will probably give me a hard sexy butt I won’t be needing kickboxing, spirulina or yoga. Biking is such a splendid way to keep in shape and maintain balance — body, heart, and soul.

Being on the road does great things to the psyche. Be it a ride on a bus, car, train, or bike (the greater). As you keep your physical self in tune with your surroundings, in rhythm with the vehicle, you’re mentally aware of the road signs, traffic lights, fellow travelers, other vehicles, and danger. Your heart leaps for joy for the sheer experience of being at that particular moment, purely connected with the present, and with oneself. As in biking, I find deeper connection with myself in writing. I speak my emotional truth, allowing myself to be known in my wholeness, my longing and shame exposed. This extends to my human relationships. Deep connection with one’s self beget deep connection with others. When I start to make myself matter to me, I make people matter more to me. When I take care of myself, I can take better care of my loved ones. The change begins within. Through writing, I came to realize I was an antisocial, hiding behind indifference just as a child hides behind her mother’s skirt; hiding my pain, fear, and bitterness behind anger; then gradually bringing it all to the surface. Just as fever is a symptom of a disease, anger is a symptom of a deeper problem much too awful to face. Until you welcome and accept pain, it’ll just keep rearing its ugly head in the form of rage. Making friends with pain will eventually stop the anger. Allowing yourself to feel it until you grow tired and bored of it that you will eventually drop it. I found my core issues. No way would I beat myself up with crazy, dark thoughts nor allow myself to ever again get lost in my own wilderness. Anger is an outmoded feeling I no longer want to wear around my heart. It’s well-deserving to be chucked.

Pain is a given when you open yourself up to the whole world… but you become transformed. You develop faith in yourself by allowing others to know you because they make you see lovely hidden parts of yourself you’ve been blind to. You meet God’s beautiful creatures who tell you and show you their faith in you. You find faith in yourself and extend that to other creatures as well. You learn to deeply appreciate the criticisms, bluntness, and honesty of genuine people who tell you things such as having lipstick on your teeth, dry seeds of sleep in the corner of your eyes, your breath stinks, or your pants’ zippers is open… knowing they mean well, instead of being offended, hurt and angry. It takes the blunt honesty of someone to let us see the sides of us which we are unaware of, or have been neglecting, to improve and keep us on track. My aunt’s comment on my photo in the maiden issue of eFootprints magazine sent me to fits of laughter and overwhelming love for her. Here’s my dear aunt in her late-70’s telling me these, “You look healthy but, please, do something to look more modern; fix your hair better, dress more in-step with the times. You dress so oldish like a 50-year old lady… I don’t mean to have you look, all of a sudden, ultra-modern that you’ll be running to the store to buy new cleavage-showing, upper thigh length skirts or dresses. NO-O-O. I mean, improve your looks by not looking so oldish and backward. Change your hairstyle (no ponytails!). Use more color in your dress…” She’s perfectly right. I got outmoded hairstyle, I’ve been wearing my hair tied-up since primary school. I wear outmoded eyeglasses. I got outmoded wardrobe: jeans, sweatshirts, rubber shoes, hi-cut boots, and gray, black, brown, dark blue, dull-colored tops.

My aunt’s letter was followed by phone calls from Los Angeles. The first call I’d been out shopping for a new wardrobe: bright colored shirts (so motorists could see me on the road when I travel at night); those yoga-worn jogging pants — not the shiny cycling pants! (so I can pedal comfortably); soft running shoes; reflectors, bike lights, backpack…my biking gears. I was back in the house on her second call. “Have you been to church?”, she asked. “No, Auntie I stopped going to church years earlier.” There’s the big “WHY?” and then the lengthy talk on religion. I used to be afraid to communicate with her, on the phone or through letters. Being a retired lawyer, she’s sharp, blunt, and keen on the other person’s words. I heard years ago that she returned a cousin’s letter to her… after marks of corrections. Speaking my mind had always been my biggest problem. I get easily intimidated by other’s status, older age, intelligence, power, or just merely looks (Oh, geez, my knees melt conversing with a good-looking dude, my mind flies out the window, I lose my tongue!) My distorted belief that my opinion doesn’t matter, my thinking shallow, my beliefs foolish, and people are out to swallow me up whole and eat me alive…that’s pure fear. I used to think very lowly and too tiny of myself. I had a very strong sense of ego-self, too overly conscious of others’ opinion of me that I ended up hushing my inner voice and spent a lifetime being a yes-person and ass-kisser wanting to please everyone to avoid outer conflict (but pushing deeper inner ones). When you fear expressing your thoughts, longings and needs you end up being resentful. The resentment builds up, eats you up inside, and blow you to bits. The masochistic case of lack of faith in one’s self will get you nowhere forward or upward, but rather backward and downward. How you view yourself greatly affects your relationship with others, the church, the whole universe.

I may have turned agnostic at one point in my life but never into an atheist. I may have lost my religion but I worship Him on my own special way. I chose to have a direct line to God. My relationship with my old church had gone astray yet I’m not out to find a new one. It doesn’t work that way in any relationship — when something doesn’t go right in the existing one, you run away fast to a new one. Unless the old problems and issues hadn’t been addressed, the same old ones will keep resurfacing in the next relationship, then the next, and the next, ad infinitum… The problem usually lies within yourself, and your relationship with yourself can definitely be mended before you can mend your other relationships, which if it remains unmendable, you move on to a new one where you can grow into a better being.

I had met two atheists. One in the past, who doesn’t believe in the story of Creation but believes in Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. The other, in the present, who believes that believers in God are weak and stupid who got nothing else to believe in. On this end, I’m a weak one who draw strength from that one belief in the One-Up-There which make me believe in a whole lot more wonderful things…including myself. And because of that I don’t allow other people’s beliefs (or non-beliefs) shatter mine and sway me in their way of thinking nor will make it a barrier between us. I listen but I don’t need to agree. Recognizing and accepting our differences matter most. Sometimes we see parts of ourselves in a person, like a mirror. If we hate him for it, it tells us we haven’t come to terms nor done any positive change with that dark parts of us; when we feel compassion and understanding towards that person, we’re at home with ourselves, extending it to others. We reach out a hand then we completely open our arms and embrace the whole world. Instead of looking for sore, dark spots, we seek beauty in all beings and non-beings, even the itsy bitsy tiny things. When we do stumble on non-wondrous things, we may momentarily lose our balance but prop ourselves up fast and steady.

There are things you learn which you cannot unlearn. It become a part of you. Without practice you become poor at it. With lots of practice you become better and better at it. You never will forget the ways and tricks of doing it. Just like love, life… and biking. Though you haven’t been on a bike for ages, you still will know how to ride it. You may be wobbly at first, uncomfortable, and unconfident finding your balance but you’ll soon get the gist of it, love it and find such joy in doing it. You get safety gears to protect yourself, reflectors to make your presence known, and open all your senses. Then you take the busy highway and soon consider venturing out into the woods… nah, nah, not on a bike but on foot. ;)

*Published in eFootprints magazine (Dec '07-Jan '08 issue)

SOUL-SEARCHING

2008-09-22T09:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes demanding the truth from someone would be like asking him to strip his clothes off and bare his private parts to you. It is not always easy to come out with the truth. Some people are not ready to tell the truth just because we are ready to hear them. Just as people are not always ready to forgive just because we are ready to be forgiven. The inability of the other person to tell the truth could be because he wants to spare your feelings, he's afraid to give you not the things which he thinks you want to hear. Keeping mum to avoid trouble or hurt feelings. When someone cannot give you answers, it's probably because he's as confuse as you are...he doesn't know.

Well, "Do you love me?" seems to be the sort of question that makes one search his soul to find the answer for (especially for someone who's been used to faking relationships). "Do you want me in your life?" is another soul-searching question that can lead one to the right direction he should be heading for.

We would all come up with an easy answer, and the right one at that, when we have answered the hardest question, "Who am I?" One way to study yourself is to look into the hearts of other people. Whereas, if you want to study other people, look into your own heart.

"Do you write?" Now, that's a door-opener for my soul to pass through and bare my inner self...in public! In response to Mr. B's invitation a couple of years ago, here I am now -- my heart and soul on the page.

Writing helps me get in touch with my inner self. I write and talk to myself on paper... in my journal. Thus, enabling me to know the person I am supposed to have the best relationship with -- me! I don't like much what I see, but I'm discovering a lot more, and learning to love myself in the process.

We all need some soul-searching. If we know who we are, if we are honest with ourselves, it won't be so hard to tell anybody the truth, after all.

*published in The Filipino Now International Magazine (January 2007 issue)

FLAW-SEARCHING

2008-09-18T01:16:00.000-07:00

Do you find this nature's reflection a perfect creation of beauty? Are the numbers, length, size and shape of petals just right? Balanced? Well spaced? Equal distance in-between? Is it the right shade for the right kind of bloom? The ideal hue that blends in with the green environment?

Are the shades of yellow, purple and black supposed to be at the core? Do they fit entirely well with the whole picture? Does it emanate a sweet pleasant scent? Ain't the fragrance overpowering? Will it irritate my nostrils, make my head spin and my head sore? Will it last until I grow old and tired of its presence?

Will I ever find this thing of beauty again?

Shush!!! Don't you ever attempt to answer those negative questions. You over-analyze things and it will keep you from enjoying the moment. You get yourself busy searching for flaws you'll miss the play of lights that will cast a perfect glow on the bloom.

You dwell on the imperfections... and you let go of an amazing chance to explore a bigger world of wonderful reflections of nature. Yup! Thorns, worms, human and natural disasters included... you never can live --strengthened, learned and wised up-- without 'em.

It's all part of the business of living.

Sneeze out the allergens!

ON THE WIND

2008-09-15T02:04:00.000-07:00

Like a fleeting light across the sea of darkness, a powerful presence will emerge. This entity can move, invigorate, revitalize, and transform… or simply propel you to fly high, like the wind beneath your wings. A shaft of light beaming on the dark spot of the soul; fueling the fire in your heart; replenishing the luster in the eyes… making you see beyond what the naked eye can see. A radiant light that create the spark in the dead spot of the brain.

The sudden gust of wind… you sail in its teeth or off it. It will suck you in its warm core. Blow you away to towering heights. Fanning the scorching desire to find out more, know more, want more. Never quenching the thirst to discover more. Giving you the will to live… livelier, fully human, to take more risks, and break through barriers; ; more meaning in a gypsy-esque existence; more spaces to explore; more possibilities to discover; more worlds to conquer.

Waxing. Waning. Its presence ephemeral… but its memory eternal. It will never die… and will remain fixed in the mind, imprinted in the heart. Invisible. Enchanting. Untouchable. Potent. Intangible. The entity’s presence is strongly felt. It looms large in the head. Fills up the senses. Fills you up inside and lift your whole being up.

The wind. Its breath warm and soothing. Its whoosh in rhythm with my beating heart. Its sense of wonder and excitement in line with mine. Its breeze a music, in tune with mine. Same wavelength, however different shores. Its train of thought in sync with mine. It’s simply real and magical. Its view of the universe… somewhat in the same frame as mine.

Two entities . . . they can never be one.

LOSING CONNECTIONS

2008-09-15T01:41:00.000-07:00

It is simply amazing what comes to light during casual conversations. What dear Ms loveLydia said on one of our recent chats about writing, trauma and relationships, jolted me. An issue which I had been trying to push way behind my mind reared its ugly head full blast, finally. It is heart-breaking all right but the pain is no longer as intense as before. I had long since conditioned myself for the inevitable. It was just a matter of ‘when’. . . the significant other becomes completely insignificant.

I learned not to expect much from anyone, saves me from a lot of frustrations. I hope… but not in vain. I am certain that regardless of how things would turn out, something will always make sense. What counts most is that I gave my best sweet shot and did my best graceful dance… a line of thinking that FGFV would agree on.

I trust, not foolishly. I put my faith, not blindly. I call the shots, this is my life… but I needed a knocker head to pound on my wandering head. And Ms loveLydia’s there to turn the knob in my brain, put on a light overhead, shove me the perfect way, and hold a mirror in front of me.

OK, that was just the right angle to pore over and ponder on. Right on target, right on time.

Comment

Everyone of us experienced a time when we know something inevitable will happen but we choose not to think of it. We prefer to say to ourselves to think of it when that inevitable time comes. As a popular saying goes, “let us cross the bridge when we get there.”

Oftentimes, an unavoidable event keeps flashing in our head but we keep on ignoring it. Maybe we evade thinking of it in hope that the said event will no longer come or we let go of it because we don’t want to be depressed (this is especially true when the inevitable event involves a relationship). Whatever our reason, we choose not to think of the inevitable event or let it slip away from our mind as part of our defense mechanism. Upon the other hand, sometimes we meditate on the said event in order to prepare for any contingency and plan the path of skirmish.

Whichever road we choose, let us be reminded that we are the lead actor of every chapter of our life. Let us just do our best and hope for the best.

MV 11.15.07 @ 7:08 pm

SEEK BEAUTY... SEEK PEACE...

2008-09-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

** a repost from joyzjourney...

instead of looking for sore, dark spots…

we seek beauty in all things…

and non-things…

in every nook and cranny of a li’l space…

in every dark corner of an alley…
in every bend on the road…

in every bleeding heart…

in every dark cloud…

there’s light…
there’s a ray of hope…

there’s love…
there’s joy…

there’s peace…
there’s so much beauty…
everywhere…

open your lovely lenses…

wake up!

SUMMER'S END... NEW SEASON DAWNING...

2008-09-14T19:40:00.000-07:00

REAL CONNECTIONS DO LAST

2008-09-14T17:20:00.000-07:00

A family of five living in four different countries… just how far apart and scattered could one family get? USA, Canada, South Korea, and the Philippines — nations that have been homes, albeit temporary, to my mom, dad, big brothers and me. Just when we’ll be together in one roof again, we couldn’t tell. The ache and pains, the hardships and struggles, the desires and longings… the sacrifices. Spoken and untold, everyone feels it, knows it and acknowledges it… but we couldn’t do anything about it. Not now though but soon we could… we’ll be one family in one home again. Hope remains alive.

We rely nowadays on the telephone wires and the internet to connect to our loved ones. Sometimes it isn’t much help though when you clearly hear the one on the other end of the line — so achingly close to your ears you want to rip the phone up and snatch him right out of it. Or when you see your loved one onscreen so painfully lively and real you want to break the computer apart and grab her out from there… Just to hug, to hold, and kiss her. Longings unfulfilled, love unspoken, care and concern unexpressed have a way of hanging around and gnawing at you. It hurts so much to want too much to be with your loved one but you possibly could not… Sometimes you shut down, you keep your distance and stay out of touch for the time being because you couldn’t stand the hurt. You keep silent and hold everyone at arm’s length because you don’t want to get hurt further. In those times of silence you know deep down within that love is still there and forever will be there. It’s just that you stopped expressing that love. The time will come when you’re ready to reach out again… keep on. Keep on keeping on. The love stays alive.

Working abroad — how many families had been affected? Broken marriages and wrecked homes; broken ties and lost connections; strained relationships and irreconcilable differences. Physical distance widens the gap in emotional distance among those concerned. There are times when a balikbayan comes home to his family of ’strangers’. Or the balikbayan himself is seen as a stranger by his own family. Everyone seems changed in the other’s eyes. The awkwardness of suddenly being physically close to your mother, husband, father or brother after a decade of separation is not something we can easily deal with. What happened? What had gone wrong? Has the connection been broken from the long years of separation? Has the love been lost? Was the communication not adequate nor frequent enough to keep the love alive and stay emotionally connected?

One couldn’t help but feel out of touch, left out and disconnected from his own family when communication isn’t doing its part right… it’s not enough. Get in touch more often. Reach out some more. No matter how your worlds change, how far you travel the world, how distant each one seems, when the right moment to re-unite comes… you’ll feel whole, closer, and loved once again. Real connections do last.

A 4-YEAR OLD NOTE TO MY A-BEST BUDDY

2008-09-14T16:18:00.000-07:00

Ai J, your greatest flaw is not knowing where to draw the line. You extricate yourself from a situation only when you realized the woman had already fallen for you. Too late. In your intent to be of help you end up being the problem, making her sink deeper into depression. Instead of having just to deal with the original problem, she’s now got to deal with her feelings for you, too. You allowed her to become emotionally dependent on you.

How would you feel when after a passionate foreplay you’re bare naked and ready but then your partner suddenly walked out on you. What better analogy can I give you than this for you to realize the emotions that run through a woman’s head the moment you– a trusted being– turns suddenly cold and indifferent after she’d been emotionally naked before you . . . heart and soul well-exposed, pains spilled out, with you there on the other end– a sounding board, a warm shoulder to cry on. You tend to send the wrong message when you’re too warm and too caring. Or is it the other person getting the wrong message? Whichever, you should know by now that something is not quite right with the way you’ve been handling vulnerable, depressed, and emotionally weak women. You got a problem yourself. Deal with it.

It’s cruel to leave anyone else stranded, the way you’ve been doing lately, however good your intentions are. Set your boundaries beforehand to avoid situations getting out of hand. Simply walking away and avoiding someone to keep away from romantic entanglement may be the easiest way for you but it is the hardest on the other part, leaving a dark cloud hovering above someone’s head as to what has gone awfully wrong. It must be a masochistic trait with the human specie– to opt to face still what’s already expected and proven as the painful truth– but it does make a lot of difference when you really hear it directly from the person involved. An emotionally unstable being may not see reason for a time but she’s not an imbecile as not to see the signs of rejection. It is best still for you to speak up, give the reason, no need to explain yourself.

There’s a very thin line between pity and love. You think you love the other person when in truth you just feel sorry for her. You love her because she needs you. On the other hand, when you’re emotionally dependent on someone you eventually assume yourself in-love with him. You love him because you need him. Either which, when the need wears off, you outgrow the so-called love, too. Not good enough reasons to love, that’s why.

If ever you intend to get into a tangled relationship . . . think, think, think, think, and think deep! Let it be a relationship wherein you’d grow as an individual and not one that would impede your growth. Don’t ever let yourself be a part of their problem. You’re having trouble now with the sister when you said there’s not even an affair yet. How much more if there really is? It’s sheer stupidity if you do have an affair with her when it’s now just creating havoc in your life and theirs.

You don’t have to take care of everyone when it means depriving yourself of the happiness you rightfully deserve. Teach them to take care of themselves. You can share a wing but let ‘em make a use of their own wings, too. Above all, you better learn to take care of your own self, sweetest angel.

Surviving is doing what you have to do. Living is doing what you want to do. Whereas, you had taught me to survive, MV had taught me to live. I may be crazy to fall for him but am not stupid. I just chose to live my life, and part of that life is taking risks . . . which am doing right now. While I hope for the best, am open for the worst that may possibly come. Though I don’t go through “emotional dissection” with him the way I do with you, am at peace. We don’t dwell on problems. Whatever time spent together, be it on the phone, I don’t ruin it by showing the emotional wreck I am . . . I won’t allow him to see that side of me. Sometimes we don’t need words to communicate our feelings, if you’re connected, you just know . . .

**It’s hard to believe it’s been 4 years since I’ve written this note. Big, life-changing events had taken place since then. Sheer coincidence to stumble upon this once again… A reminder? Could be. But no longer for ai J…

Abu, abest, ai J...

COMMENT

well put… reminds me of a perfect rule for love entitled “Falling in Love” by Kent Nerburn.
Continue to enlighten the world with your pen, fellow blogger. ^_^
-israel

imgb-greatworks 09.06.08 @ 8:28 am

***a repost from joyzjourney

AROUND THE NET

2008-08-26T15:20:00.000-07:00

my webpages:

joyzjourney ... tracks online

my photojournal ...

LEAVING A TRAIL

2007-12-13T13:19:00.000-08:00

Three and a half decades under the sun. How many 'starting over again' had I attempted, I couldn't tell. I lost and found my way. I have no navigation maps but I keep rowing my boat on different shores. I don't stick around in one spot too long. When I feel I'm getting a lot less than I'm putting in, I bail out and move on. Off to a greener pasture. Every beginning comes new insights, better understanding, more wisdom, added strength, and greater growth.

It's a bumpy, long, and winding journey from Asia to North America. From the Philippines to Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Canada 'stops-over'. I write, am leaving my tracks, creating a path that anyone can follow or steer away from. I want to be described in history as those brave souls which my friend, the Afro-Latin American historian Sr. Roberto Reid, described his ancestors "who traveled far and wide for the benefit of obtaining honest, gainful employment".

My final destination is where my mother is, the United States. Along the way, I'm meeting a huge number of the members of the human family -- Taiwanese, Indonesian, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Polish, German, Hungarian, Canadian, American, Panamanian. Establishing connections, broadening one's horizons, widening of perspectives, embracing other cultures... It's enriching, fascinating to be one color in a rainbow. The colors of our skin differ but we're one within, living under the same sky. A sky where the rainbow's colors that stick close together create only beauty...