invictus' respite

A Life that Matters

2011-06-24T23:20:00.002-11:00

This is a reading we had on one of our retreats. When I read over it, Nong Leo was on my mind. I'll post it in gratitude to him for having lived a life that matters. Nong, thank you for the life shared....

A Life that Matters

Live a life that matters.

Ready or not, someday it will all come to an end.

There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.

All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.

Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.

It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.

Your grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies will finally disappear.

So, too, your hopes, ambitions, plans, and to-do lists will expire.

The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.

It won't matter where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived, at the end.

It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant

Even your gender and skin colour will be irrelevant.

So what will matter?

How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave.

What will matter is not your success, but your significance.

What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught.

What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.

What will matter is not your competence, but your character.

What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.

What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you.

What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident.

It's not a matter of circumstance, but of choice.

Choose to live a life that matters.

*i do not know who the author is...

Action Says it All!

2010-01-02T11:14:00.000-11:00

A boost! From somebody else's blog... need we say more?

Reading 'The Reader'

2009-12-03T13:02:00.000-11:00

It's been long that I've read a novel of such theme. Because it is not that that thick at 218 pages, I grabbed it from Manong Jay-AR's room assuring him I will return it before weekend. I was unprepared upon readig it.r I have immersed myself on the world of LOTR lately or must have swayed away that much by Sheldon's (blessed be his soul) that I have to buoy my feelings. The realities presented in The Reader is of different exhilaration than those previous reads.

Set after the Nazi regime, the book is repeatedly erotic, highly philosophical, guilt-laden, very moving. A story of a 30-ish female bus conductor turned Nazi camp guard (aka murderer) who was nameless for good numbr of pages and a sickly 15-year old boy (she call him 'Kid') and their tryst... showers, making love, lying together, him reading her a book and the repeatition of those actions. It's an 'in your face' experience on how emotions can be tricky, as if you've known someone totally but realizing how strange she could still be. It's like you know her next moves and yet, you are caught by surprise at everything she does. It's the inconsolable thought of how lovers make love for countless times (and loving it) and yet stand as strangers, seemingly univolved with their individual lives after meeting a number of years after. I remember that feeling of reading Elie Wiesel's 'Night' or Camus' ' The Stranger', that same electrifying depression, detachment from human feelings, strangeness of beings etc, etc...

I could almost hear Simon and Garfunkel's
"in the naked night I saw, ten thousand people maybe more.
People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening..."

It is hopeful anyway, and redeeming....highly edifying.

The Odd Popularity of Mafia Wars

2009-11-16T17:32:00.000-11:00

The Odd Popularity of Mafia Wars

By Lev Grossman Monday, Nov. 16, 2009

Good evening. Please, don't be alarmed. You may call me ... Don Grossman. You might know me from such Facebook status updates as Don Grossman won a fight with your help! and Don Grossman sent you a gift in Mafia Wars. Yes, that's right. I'm in the mafia. Uh, wars. I'm in Mafia Wars.

Make Me a Channel of Your Peace

2009-10-23T16:01:00.001-11:00

Make Me a Channel of Your Peace | Music Upload

The 'real' Jacque Bermejo stood up

2009-09-29T23:28:00.000-11:00

OFW 'abused' after mistaken Facebook post on Ondoy

A controversial statement allegedly made by a Filipina overseas worker in Dubai that mocked Filipino victims of tropical storm Ondoy sparked negative reactions among many Pinoys here and abroad. Click here for more.

2009 Miss Universe Result

2009-08-23T13:45:00.000-11:00

Too bad, Miss Philippines did not make it even to Top 15... and a triumph to Miss Venezuela for bagging the crown two years in a row. Here's a rundown:

Miss Universe: Miss Venezuela
1st Runner Up: Miss Dominican Republic
2nd Runner Up: Miss Kosovo
3rd Runner UP: Miss Australia
4th Runner Up: Miss Puerto Rico

Miss Congeniality: Miss China
Photogenic: Miss Thailand (buti nalang di Pinas ulit)
National Costume: Miss Panama

10 Questions for Thomas Friedman

2009-06-21T14:16:00.001-11:00

10 Questions for Thomas Friedman

*i will be a year, almost... it's nothing really only that it is not everyday that you got to ask a question to one of your revered author and got to see your name on TIME magazine.... wwheeeeeew!!

Nang Dahil sa Tuyo

2009-01-17T01:55:00.000-11:00

NY nuns sue Pinay over 'tuyo'
By Cristina DC Pastor Philippine News Updated January 15, 2009 12:00 AM

NEW YORK – It may be a cultural thing, but when you’re up against a congregation of nuns and your neighbors in an apartment building in Manhattan, a lawsuit would make an interesting anthropological study in ethnic tension.

The Missionary Sisters of Sacred Heart (MSSH) in Manhattan has filed a complaint against a Filipino-American couple, Michael and Gloria Lim, over a Filipino delicacy called tuyo (dried fish), and its funky cousin, the tinapa (smoked fish).

The case is now with the Manhattan Supreme Court.

Reports say Gloria was smoking fish outside her apartment window when the smell – noxious stench to the nuns, divine aroma to the Lims – of the salted fish wafted throughout the Gramercy apartment building.

The “foul smell” was too strong the nuns suspected it was coming from a decomposing body and called in the Fire Department.

According to reports, the firemen searched every unit of the building and were able to trace the source of the smell to the Lims’ unit.

They knocked, and when no one came to the door, the NYFD came barreling in.

Gloria, a nurse, found her door knocked down and was obviously peeved.

It appears the MSSH leases the unit to the Lims and may have authorized the assault.

“I cook dried fish,” Gloria defiantly declared to the NY Post.

The average American may find it puzzling how one can derive pleasure of the palate from dried fish. Foodie Andrew Zimmern, who has been to the Philippines and braved balut (fertilized duck egg with an embryo) and Soup No. 5 (bull’s rectum and testicles soup, believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac), might be able to share the gustatory experience.

Gloria was referring to the tuyo, a Philippine staple usually eaten with steaming hot rice and fresh tomatoes. Some eat theirs dipped in vinegar and crushed garlic paired with fried rice and sunny side up egg.

Dried fish is not a Philippine exclusive. It is an essential in the traditional Chinese and Malaysian fried rice along with chopped spring onions, garlic and chili. Sometimes, it is pulled and sprinkled on chocolate porridge or champorado.

Food with a strong salty taste like tuyo or tinapa might be too intense for the morning stomach, but many Filipinos would never leave for work in the morning without having it for breakfast.

In the lawsuit filed by the nuns, Gloria was even more adamant. She was quoted as saying that “she is causing the smell by cooking and/or smoking fish, and she is going to continue to do it.”

The complaint appears to divide the apartment tenants, some finding themselves squarely on the side of the sisters who find the smell “potentially dangerous to life and health,” and some defending the FilAm family’s right to eat their own ethnic food in the privacy of their home.

“This is plain racist,” comes a shout-out from a supportive blogger.

The complaint says some tenants closer to the Lims’ unit have moved out, and that the Lims have been warned repeatedly about the smell emanating from their 16th floor apartment unit. Gloria, a 30-year resident of the US, denies this.

Which side to take, undecided tenants turn to what’s stated in the housing rules: Cooking smelly food is not allowed.

The nuns are seeking $75,000 in damages. They made it clear that they have nothing against Filipinos as a people.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

2009-01-15T20:38:00.000-11:00

It was out of curious case of mine to take a peek (and consumed by it eventually) at a movie whose bland posters are not objects enough for curiosity at all, save for its curious title. Yep, with Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett on it might be enough assurance that one will not be remorseful the moment he steps out of the movie house. But I learn not to typecast a movie by the line of actors they assembled, neither from its directors, nor its Hollywood-ness or Indie-ness or local-ness (I enjoyed watching Marian Rivera’s Nieves episode in this year’s MMFF’s Shake, Rattle, and Roll).

Brad Pitt is Benjamin Button. Unwanted at birth, he was brought to a nursing home (a home for the aged) by his father and was taken cared by her charming ‘mama’. Benjamin Button, a child born to have the typical appearance of a eighty-six-year-old man, inflicted with arthritis, has advance form of cataract, inability of hearing, and was commented to be in a state of deterioration. Benjamin Button, a man who grew younger and younger everyday. Benjamin Button, a man who was born old… and died an infant.

Sa Kabila ng Pagkabalisa

2008-12-22T00:21:00.000-11:00

Ano pa ba't ako'y balisa
Sa mga nagaganap at sa aking nakikita
Gaya ng batang kanina'y gustong pumagitna
Sa mga sasakyang pakawala

Ano pa ba't ako'y balisa
Sa naramdamang 'di mawari
Sa mga gawaing 'diko matapos tapos
Sa mga tulad kong naghihikahos

Ano pa ba't ako'y balisa na naman
Ayon at sa aking kaibuturan, may butas na naman.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!

2008-12-05T10:53:00.000-11:00

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897.

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

*******About the Exchange
Francis P. Church’s editorial, “Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” was an immediate sensation, and went on to became one of the most famous editorials ever written. It first appeared in the The New York Sun in 1897, almost a hundred years ago, and was reprinted annually until 1949 when the paper went out of business.

Thirty-six years after her letter was printed, Virginia O’Hanlon recalled the events that prompted her letter:

“Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus, for he had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn’t any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.

“It was a habit in our family that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote to the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, ‘If you see it in the The Sun, it’s so,’ and that settled the matter.

“ ‘Well, I’m just going to write The Sun and find out the real truth,’ I said to father.

“He said, ‘Go ahead, Virginia. I’m sure The Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does.’ ”

And so Virginia sat down and wrote her parents’ favorite newspaper.

Her letter found its way into the hands of a veteran editor, Francis P. Church. Son of a Baptist minister, Church had covered the Civil War for The New York Times and had worked on the The New York Sun for 20 years, more recently as an anonymous editorial writer. Church, a sardonic man, had for his personal motto, “Endeavour to clear your mind of cant.” When controversal subjects had to be tackled on the editorial page, especially those dealing with theology, the assignments were usually given to Church.

Now, he had in his hands a little girl’s letter on a most controversial matter, and he was burdened with the responsibility of answering it.

“Is there a Santa Claus?” the childish scrawl in the letter asked. At once, Church knew that there was no avoiding the question. He must answer, and he must answer truthfully. And so he turned to his desk, and he began his reply which was to become one of the most memorable editorials in newspaper history.

Church married shortly after the editorial appeared. He died in April, 1906, leaving no children.

Virginia O’Hanlon went on to graduate from Hunter College with a Bachelor of Arts degree at age 21. The following year she received her Master’s from Columbia, and in 1912 she began teaching in the New York City school system, later becoming a principal. After 47 years, she retired as an educator. Throughout her life she received a steady stream of mail about her Santa Claus letter, and to each reply she attached an attractive printed copy of the Church editorial. Virginia O’Hanlon Douglas died on May 13, 1971, at the age of 81, in a nursing home in Valatie, N.Y.

Imagine A World Without Filipinos

2008-07-05T20:05:00.006-11:00

*Originally published in Arab News on June 16, 2008, it's in today's (July 6, '08) issue of Philippine Daily Inquirer. Read on...

Imagine a world without Filipinos
Abdullah Al-Maghlooth Al-Watan, almaghlooth@alwatan.com.sa
Monday 16 June 2008 (11 Jumada al-Thani 1429)

Muhammad Al-Maghrabi became handicapped and shut down his flower and gifts shop business in Jeddah after his Filipino workers insisted on leaving and returning home. He says: "When they left, I felt as if I had lost my arms. I was so sad that I lost my appetite."

Al-Maghrabi then flew to Manila to look for two other Filipino workers to replace the ones who had left. Previously, he had tried workers of different nationalities but they did not impress him. "There is no comparison between Filipinos and others," he says. Whenever I see Filipinos working in the Kingdom, I wonder what our life would be without them.

Saudi Arabia has the largest number of Filipino workers — 1,019,577 — outside the Philippines. In 2006 alone, the Kingdom recruited more than 223,000 workers from the Philippines and their numbers are still increasing. Filipinos not only play an important and effective role in the Kingdom, they also perform different jobs in countries across the world, including working as sailors. They are known for their professionalism and the quality of their work.

Nobody here can think of a life without Filipinos, who make up around 20 percent of the world’s seafarers. There are 1.2 million Filipino sailors.

So if Filipinos decided one day to stop working or go on strike for any reason, who would transport oil, food and heavy equipment across the world? We can only imagine the disaster that would happen.

What makes Filipinos unique is their ability to speak very good English and the technical training they receive in the early stages of their education. There are several specialized training institutes in the Philippines, including those specializing in engineering and road maintenance. This training background makes them highly competent in these vital areas.

When speaking about the Philippines, we should not forget Filipino nurses. They are some 23 percent of the world’s total number of nurses. The Philippines is home to over 190 accredited nursing colleges and institutes, from which some 9,000 nurses graduate each year. Many of them work abroad in countries such as the US, the UK, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait and Singapore.

Cathy Ann, a 35-year-old Filipino nurse who has been working in the Kingdom for the last five years and before that in Singapore, said she does not feel homesick abroad because "I am surrounded by my compatriots everywhere." Ann thinks that early training allows Filipinos to excel in nursing and other vocations. She started learning this profession at the age of four as her aunt, a nurse, used to take her to hospital and ask her to watch the work. "She used to kiss me whenever I learned a new thing. At the age of 11, I could do a lot. I began doing things like measuring my grandfather’s blood pressure and giving my mother her insulin injections," she said.

This type of early education system is lacking in the Kingdom. Many of our children reach the university stage without learning anything except boredom.

The Philippines, which you can barely see on the map, is a very effective country thanks to its people. It has the ability to influence the entire world economy.

We should pay respect to Filipino workers, not only by employing them but also by learning from their valuable experiences.

We should learn and educate our children on how to operate and maintain ships and oil tankers, as well as planning and nursing and how to achieve perfection in our work. This is a must so that we do not become like Muhammad Al-Maghrabi who lost his interest and appetite when Filipino workers left his flower shop.

We have to remember that we are very much dependent on the Filipinos around us. We could die a slow death if they chose to leave us.

Kum ba yah!

2008-06-26T03:22:00.004-11:00

Kum ba yah, my Lord, kum ba yah!
Kum ba yah, my Lord, kum ba yah!
Kum ba yah, my Lord, kum ba yah!
O Lord, kum ba yah!

Someone's laughing, Lord, kum ba yah!
Someone's laughing, Lord, kum ba yah!
Someone's laughing, Lord, kum ba yah!
O Lord, kum ba yah!

Someone's crying, Lord, kum ba yah!
Someone's crying, Lord, kum ba yah!
Someone's crying, Lord, kum ba yah!
O Lord, kum ba yah!

Someone's singing, Lord, kum ba yah!
Someone's singing, Lord, kum ba yah!
Someone's singing, Lord, kum ba yah!
O Lord, kum ba yah!

Kum ba yah, my Lord, kum ba yah!
Kum ba yah, my Lord, kum ba yah!
Kum ba yah, my Lord, kum ba yah!
O Lord, kum ba yah!

*circling around bonfire as the night wind crept though our bodies, we sung this song during Boy Scout days.... Wheew! Memories!

For you, a thousand times over!

2008-06-25T01:27:00.002-11:00

The above is the resounding line of this international bestseller of Khaled Hosseini. If there would be anything good typhoon Frank had caused, it was that it made me stay home that rainy, floody Sunday and have me the grand time finishing ‘The Kite Runner’.

Kite Runner is a riveting, moving account of an Afghan life from its pre-Soviet splendor, to Russian domination, until the present Taliban rule. It puts face of the lives affected, I mean ravaged, by the always ill-causing war. It was like getting into the world and the lives of the war-torn Afghanis I only sigh whenever they take a slot of CNN or BBC news. While the novel is fictitious, it can never be far from being real. Amir and Hassan can just be anyone among the best of friends who tire themselves of playing, who love climbing trees, and enjoy kite tournaments. It would be easy for me to believe it’s a memoir of Amir, or any Afghan for that matter, who might be somewhere out there, exuding the prize of atonement after years of evading responsibility he should have carried long before. Some scenes were like my experiences when I was young (and probably yours too). Only that Afghanistan can never be anything like any other place on earth.

The message is universal, the effect is personal. I do have halts along my way to the last leaf of the book, that for me to give way for air to pass through my lungs and to hide those drops; they call it tears, which threatened to fall from my eyes at any time. I did not wonder why Tita Phoebe kept recommending for me to read it, more than watching its movie version (which she has watched too). She’s right; it was not like any of my reading experience.

My days back there...

2008-06-20T01:46:00.002-11:00

Today marked my 2nd week since I went home for my, how would I call it – I don’t want it to be called ‘vacation’ for that would be underestimation and ‘respite’ is such an overused word here. Perhaps, as my mind drifts t the same time, basks on my moments back there, carefree, at home; I am yet to find an exact word to construe my grand days back home. I don’t have to pin point the changes for there have been many, I cannot muster. It’s just two weeks but spending it with my family and my friends/cousins has a lifetime effect worthy enough for a melodramatic me to dig over and over again.

I should not forget May 22 to June 6, and the year is 2008 - where every minute feels every bit special. Blame it to my yearly-only moments at home. I had to seize my days and every second of those days – although it involves a good share of dozing off to sleep (my sister commented I am, as always, ‘takaw tulog’). I saw before my eyes how my nephew, Kyle, started his first steps and plays that naked Barbie doll of my niece (his cousin), Keumy, pulling the poor doll’s hands and slanting the its legs. Anyway, he has done that innocently, it’s only us who attributed anything green on it. He’ll be one year old come July and it prides me to note that he has some of my features. Keumy too, has grown a lot taller at 5, although she’s still the pampered, stubborn little fellow who share her moments of scolding at times. See, she will grow up to be a beautiful lady. She looks fabulous with whatever dress you put her on. Inday Keling, our youngest, still fits that description – youngest of the family. She’s Grade 6 by now at only 10, and whew! How childish the way she conducts her ways – splintered with wits that puts us to hearty laughs. Margie is there, a young mother of Kyle at 19. I can see beyond her silence, laughter, and getting-along-with, the hopes of a single mother who wants to give her bests and all superlatives to her son. Only that by now, she can keep bests at bay – anyway, who am I to measure what is and not best for them? And of course, there’s my only blood brother, another nipped bud, a lad called to mature suddenly. Full of exuberance and the energy of a youth at 18, he’s an anxious, expectant father. He got married that young; so much to explore, to much to discover. His wife, Mally, a responsible and thoughtful lady and never forgets to ask how I am whenever she has a load, is also apprehensive of her new role – a soon-to-be young mother at 20 and a wife to my younger brother. See that, these are all bits of changes, drastic changes to my family.
Then there are my parents. I f hear for Mama because she gets angry easily over petty things. It seems she’s hurdling with the world for anything that is inconvenient; she’s always at bay to say something of it – in a loud, thundering voice. Spare the complaints of our neighbors. But hey, she’s always busy. As if filling those years of her inactivity where we, the children, do things what she’s suppose to do. Gets up first in the morning, do kitchen chores, tends the goat, feeds the pigs and rabbits (oh, we have rabbits now), and fetches water from a nearby spring for our fresh drink for the day. I only wish she’ll shred some of her weighs (and give it to me) and minimize those unnecessary anger that is always unhealthy. Certainly, there’s my father who have grown complacent after all those years of toil and foil. He boasts his being younger-than-his-age appeal: learns how to drive our motorcycle, joins drinking sessions with us, plays with his grandchildren, and oh, he’s got no white hairs.

They are my family (part of my). They have been my source of strength through all these years inasmuch as they are my primary source of weakness. They are such a blessing to me in the same way as they are my yoke. They are my source of pride, and my greatest downfall. (By now, I am on the verge of putting it all unto myself. Not resting my happiness or sadness to some other things and people outside myself. In that way, I can be sure I can always handle. Of course, I dream, as Boulevard of Broken Dreams would say, "Someone out there will find me". Be it my God or that woman who will change the course of my life forever. But yeah, ‘til then, I can do it by myself.).

And then, how could I not include the moments I shared with my friends and cousins up to the nth degree… those pangawang (pano), pamutong (lamaw), ligo Lumanoy, those nightly drinking session, and that live band the night of Mundicks’ wedding. Wheew! I so enjoy my moments there….

Godfather would say, ‘you can never be a real man unless you spend time with you family.’ Even without him saying that, spending time with your loved ones, are always special.

Existential Cravings

2008-04-26T19:44:00.002-11:00

"Is life a mere routine, in the greater scheme of things?"

That is from the song Pilgrim's Theme and it has been on top of my head ever since I attended that graduation in Maryhurst. I was reminded the time when I plunged myself into the 'real world' that my simple wish was to be ordinary and to live a life like that of an ordinary. In the years past before then, I belabored myself in trying to be different and of feeding my thoughts of higher thoughts, of dreaming higher dreams, of aiming more than an ordinary man can get. But then, there find an end in trying to be exceptional, of trying to be different. It feels freer and happier to dive into the pool of ordinariness where I can blend... without losing my colors. During that time, I watched the film American Beauty where says a character, "Nothing can be any worse in life than to be ordinary." My answer then was: "Let's see."

Now, I see. I am right, in as much as that American Beauty character is, in some or other ways. While I may jubilate at the thought that I can go through the mundane and routinary, there is that drive within to look for more than the usual. It is but human nature to look up and find out what else need to explored, of what else need to be conquered. And these are not all of the outside. Most of the times, it's from the inside. The holes deep within need to be filled. It's a labor to supply the longings that now until, none didst fully satisfy me.

What is life but an irony! It's but our very nature to go the usual while minding that we are for some significance, for something higher in things' greater scheme.

Of Love Unrequited

2008-04-04T22:23:00.004-11:00

Never in the recesses of my hypothalamus have it occured that I would be writing something in this subject. You see, I have always thought of myself as an "invictus" - the unconquered - and that pains of this kind are too far-fetched. But then, after a third stick of Winston Lights, and still craving for more, just to while away my loneliness and longings for any signs of the topic of my mind, tells me otherwise. Add to that the sentimental cravings of whatever that will keep my sanity in stitch and listening to songs celebrating the sacredness of 'aloneness', I am left to admit that something in my system is wrong. And as the question long before asked goes: how can it be wrong when it feels so right?

I always have that great admiration to the power of will and reason but I see myself defying reasons just to give in. I see myself breaking my very rules and shattering the principles I verily erected. Then I say, this should be the last only to find myself again traversing my way to insanity, undergoing the same pain and struggle I have taken.

How can the greatest gift to mankind -LOVE- turn out to be a curse? How can loving be so painful? How can I let this happen?

So I guess, I'm there... and what an experience to be there....

Soldier's Caught in the Act (Such A Shame)

2008-02-14T22:16:00.003-11:00

HOT SPOT. These soldiers had a grand time browsing pornographic websites during the first day of the Local Peace and Security Assembly (LPSA) in Tagum City’s Bulwagan ng Lalawigan on Thursday, while National Security Adviser Norberto Gonzales was delivering a speech. President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo attended the event the next day. The soldiers managed to go online because the venue had been turned into a wifi hotspot for the event.

I So Miss My Sister

2008-01-24T22:55:00.006-11:00

The mass was well-attended. Masses during fiesta have always been like this. People from the outskirt of the barrio were coming over to meet and greet the "balikbayans " on this event repeated only once a year. The church, being small, was swelling with believers. I saw many were standing near the entrance and on the sides. I was on the lectern carefully leafing through the songs we practiced for the Eucharistic celebration. I do not know what went wrong but something odd went up the air as the members of the choir I was handling started glancing one another. Then I saw my sister, Ramy her name, from the second pew on the right. Her eyes are daggers that pierce through my anxious gesture. Then i realize, I indeed made a mistake. And my sister will not let it past without judgment.

After the event, I hurriedly went out the church. I did without talking, and as much as possible, I wanted no one would notice. I did something wrong and my sister's going to look for me, probably to reprimand me, as she always did as if I am a unblemished sheet needed to be filled with her teachings. I remember one time, I was high school then, when she ordered me to go and get 'lukay' (dried coconut palm) which we used for starting the fire on the wood when we cook. Then having been to and fro looking for one to no avail, I returned and ask her where can I get one. She suddenly said, "sa bulanghoyan" ( to the cassava field). It's already getting dark over there but believing what my sister said, I went and look for one. I always believed what my sister said. That "lukay" might be somewhere there. She must have seen it late this afternoon and left it there and is now asking me to get it. But fruitless of all toil, I did not see one. I went back, holding my tears for the unfulfilled task. I told my sister I was not able to bring any. With the tone for anger, she asked, "where did you go looking for "lukay?" "To the cassava fields," I said. "The hell,' she yelled at me, 'I thought you are intelligent. How could you find one in the sea of cassava. Use your 'coconut' (intelligence). Of course, 'lukays' are probably under the coconut trees, not in the cassava field.'"

Then I went out. I could no longer hold my tears. I let it flow like a dike giving up to the weight of water. I was sobbing outside, beside a pit where we dump our garbage. I was thinking, how could she do that. I was like, "my sister was making joke when she told me to get 'sa bolanghuyan' but, yeah, how fool I am not to realize my sister is capable of humor. Later, it sounds funny. I realize, really, how could I find a "lukay" in the vast field of cassava. I smile a little for the wit of that but then, continue sobbing.

My sister heard it and wondered if she was being haunted by some ghosts lingering around. she almost run to the house until she saw me beside the pit. She approached me and scolded what was that I was crying for. I did not answer. Then she started crying too. Tears drip through her face as she uttered words like, why was I hurt for that. I should even be grateful for not experiencing the things she does. I was sent to school by our parents, unlike her who has to be a working-student only to make it in High School. I should even be grateful that I got to see our parents every weekend, unlike her who has to wait busy-ness to subside for her to be able to go home. I should have been grateful I have a sister like her to mend ways, unlike her who has been alone all over. Then lumps started forming on my throat. I stop sobbing and realize my sister is right.

Now, I run as if I could be killed once I am catch. I jumped through the rice paddies and it seems she's always right behind me. I hid behind rock and suddenly saw her coming as if in a lightning flash. I towards the church and hid behind the coconut tree as if it can enclose my slender figure. I was exhausted and I thought she will not stop until she can talk to me. Then I thought, I have to face her all at once. I cried why is it that she will not let go of me. I am no longer the young brother she used to know. I know what I am doing now and that she no longer have to point out my mistakes nor reprimand me. Then she lift her chin, look straight right at me saying she just want us to be buddies again, the way we used to. She wants to mend our ways and be the best of brothers and sisters one could ever think of. Then I replied, what we are is nothing for us and we can just go on our lives just the same. Then she said this would be last time time she'll be talking to me. She will be leaving. I felt cold water drenched through my hot and tired body as I heard her say that. I fear at the thought that my sister is going to leave me and I may not know when will be the next time we are going to see each other again. I almost cry at the thought that she has to go after me just for her to say her last goodbyes. She'll be leaving... she'll be leaving.... The words kept echoing my mind. The feeling of having her leave is intensified by the thought that she'll be gone the soonest I could muster.

Then amidst our drama, we were approach by a girl, I thought my other sister Mercy, telling us we need to be hurry for the jeepney that's gonna take her to the place I do not know where is waiting for her. I reluctantly walked with them, silenced by my gamut of emotions. There's only one vacant seat in the jeepney and it is reserved for her. She's wiping her tears as she embraced my sister Mercy before getting on the jeepney. She didn't look at me, I cannot look at her either. I am embarrassed although I am holding my body who wants to wrap her with my tight embraced. Then the jeepney starts its engine. As it slowly go, I ran and hold her hand, extending outside, very tight. The more I squeeze her hand, the more she cried.

And all of a sudden, there was , "bro, bro!". I understand I am being called. Then it gets louder with accompanying tap on my shoulder. "Bro, bro!" It continued. When I look back to heed the call, I saw Daive. "Bugtaw na kay mag-market ta." It was Daive, my roommate, walking me up for our Saturday morning ritual - marketing. Wheew!!!

For Even Giants Cry

2008-01-19T05:11:00.000-11:00

I rummaged through my "red-tin-can-of-memories" this afternoon and came across this letter sent to me by "Beastie". As anyone hungry for sentiments, I read through the letter and relive the same feeling I was having when I first received the letter. Beastie is one of the few who knows and understand me well enough to be a best friend (thus, 'Beastie') though we do not meet with each other that much. By now, she's on the realization of her dreams, "magturo ng mga bata sa kanayunan" (teach the children of the countryside). Our communication now are limited to letters that bears no date for it not to be limited and enclosed by time (actually, letters are hand-carried and received weeks or even months after sending).

Though her letter was hand-written, it looks computerized with an Arial, sized 8 font. I used to teased her with that. She included this poem she said she thought whenever she finds herself to wondrous places (to the point of being magical) in the portion of space occupied by her small figure - wherever she is by now. Beastie memorized the poem by heart though she forgot where did she encountered the poem and from whom.

The poem says;

Father, where do giants go to cry?
To the hills
Behind the thunder,
Or to the waterfall
I wonder?
(Giants cry,
I know they do
Do they wait
'Til nighttime, too?)

-anonymous

There it goes. So full of childhood innocence and wonderment. Beastie is right. Giants do cry... they have to.... And yeah, even an invictus needs a respite.

Akaw: Invictus sa Aurora

2007-12-30T14:42:00.001-11:00

I invited my 'brother' Mike to spend Christmas with me. Being alone in the house after everyone left for home to spend the year's remaining days, I cannot imagine how to spend my Christmas - alone. So there it goes, straight from Baler Aurora where he is teaching, Mike came. Then we invited Julyn, another college friend here in the Metro who too almost wondered how is it to be Christmas alone, we have a dinner for three - over a sumptuous meal, a round of cake and a bottle of wine. We had a Merry Christmas after all.

Came Dec. 26 and I asked for a half-day for work. Mike and I planned to spend my 2-days off in Baler Aurora, a place he has been talking about and boasting about since he stayed there for his teaching stints in Mount Carmel College. Baler, the capital of Aurora is an 8 to 12-hour ride from Cubao, some 230 kilometers northeast of Manila. We had a stopover in Cabanatuan and transfer from Five Star to a D-Liner bus that would bring us to the the place. So off we went through the often rough, uncemented road along the ravines. A big beware for pregnant women in going there. At around 8:30pm, I set foot on the soil of Baler. It took us 8-hours and 15 minutes in all to reach the place (we left Cubao some minutes after 12pm). That was fast enough.

We then went to Mike's friend (and student), Ibu. Ibu's father, who is working here in the Metro, invited us over to talk about the art exhibit Mike and Ibu is planning to hold in their school. We pass by the shore going to Ibu's house and Oh! The blowing wind was enough for me to shout (as I always do in seashores) and have a puff of cigarette. They talked over their plans for the exhibit, and I inject some of my suggestion from time to time. A question I held back until I no longer can and suddenly blurted out why such is Ibu's name. Ibu, I was told, is short for 'Ibunsod' meaning 'to launch.' Then I continued my probing and was amazed by his siblings name. There is Hiyas (precious gems), Raya (the great), Ani (harvest), and Kris (sword). And a total whoa! to me for the uniqueness of their names.

It was raining on my first day in Baler, so we dare not go to places far and drench ourselves to shiver. We went to a hanging bridge, the longest by far I saw and walked on. What an exhilarating feeling it was , traversing the length of the bridge amidst the serene surrounding and the silent waters below. I told Mike I will be walking there everyday if I was him, but of course, that was a exaggeration. We went to Museo de Baler and have a glimpse of the place's historical past. We also went to the school where Mike is teaching. Then we went to a radio station somewhere on the 3rd floor of their school. I was told there are two local radio stations, one supported and run by the church (the one we visited) and the other by the Angaras. Then we went to the church of Baler and demerit why the old church was painted to appear like new instead of preserving it's natural, antiquated appearance. There by the side of the church I read this quote I immediately forwarded to some of my friends. It says:

"Mga katutubo, ninuno,
diba't kayo ang aming pinanggalingan?
Bakit kayo ay isinantabi ng lipunan, nililibak,
pinagtatawanan,
at niyurakanan ang dangal? "

So there it goes, striking enough that need not be explained further. Then we went to April's house, one of the 'tigidudes' (a group idiotically organized composing the new employees of MCC - I was told) and Mike's co-employee in San Luis. We went to Fr. Bon's and the seminary that lay beside. Then we went to the damn dam and have a gaze of the clear water. San Luis is a nice place, with their wide, clean roads. We ended San Luis escapade with a taste of barbecue sold on a sidewalk for 3 pesos per stick. Wheew!

We then visited Sabang beach. I am suppose to have my therapeutic walk along the shore leaving a set of footprints (with occasional shouts), but the weather did not let me. I contented on feasting my eyes to the surging waves of white and the few people surfing and enduring and enjoying its water. We then look through the sea and invited Mike that we go to the line that we see at the horizon. Ouch!!!

Along the way all throughout, there were enough share of handshakes and introductions to names I cannot remember among Mike's friends and students in the place.

For the night, we have a chilling on Baler's famed Bistro - your ultimate acoustic experience (the t-shirt we bought there says that). With live local bands (which are customers themselves), we had few bottles and have the pa-Bistro-bistro went to experience as what one line of their song said. At around 10:30pm, Mike decided to meet his student-friends there. Six of us, with the addition of Dalo, Nick, Toyang, and ErasmoMaharaja and have what it is a night life in Baler. With songs and beer, we stayed until the wee hours of the night. It was also a good night for story sharing and listening about what Baler have been, the struggles of the people against the unexpected weather, their resentment against the government, their steadfast spirit to remain firm despite all that has been. With a bottle of coke, we call it a day at Nick's house at round 4:30am.

Thank high heavens, it was already masingit (sunny) the next day. Although tired for last night's session, that cannot hindered our desire to explore the place. We visited Carlo first so that we will have service (he has tricycle) for our undertakings to the places. We first went to the biggest balite tree in Asia. It really deserve it's name. It's so huge, it has a hole inside where one can climb up - and we did climb. Carlo said it now even appear smaller because some branches fell and were trimmed. I was asked by Mike to take videos of them while going out from the tree. I gleefully agreed, with much excitement for the setting was like that of some Harry Potter or LOTR movies. To everyone's frustration, I forgot to press the 'capture' button on Mike's CP camera. The scene was spoiled and I was sad. :-(

Our next destination is the falls in El Pi - short for El Pimentel. The road was rough and kind of far but the reward is invaluable. To have the clear, clean, cold water drip though my body is more than enough. The place is surprisingly clean - thanks for the maintenance of the place. We then have those shots wearing our birthday suits. Wheee... When we're done, we then went to the damn dam again to meet April (again) together with other members of 'tigidudes'. And whew! the water is again inviting. I held my desire to have my body a swim. With the conspiration of whoever and whatever there was, I was able to resist it's invitation.

Then we went to what they call the Ermita Hill. The night before, Dalo said (in Maharaja) there was a time that there were only 8 families who survived the torrential weather and I was told that it was in Ermita that they seek refuge. The place is elevated and that explains. We have a good view of the Philippine Sea and some coasts, and of course the forest of Sierra Madre. It somehow gave you a bird's eye view of Aurora. Ermita is a nice site for dates and things romantic - and there were numerous couples there.

We decided not to sleep for the night and to kill the time while waiting for the bus that would take us home, we again went to Maharaja. As it was in the previous night, there were drinks, songs, dances - merrymaking and hundreds of handshakes. The dudes cannot get over those introduction and getting to know who. Of course, the talks were there and we did enjoy.

I can say my respite in Aurora is not purely enjoyment. I did enjoy but there is a certain kind of feeling that triumph more than enjoyment. I feel a certain kind of pity or something I cannot explain. The place is nice, and it has been there ever since. It is as old as Manila or Cebu but it seems Baler lagged behind. The place is so promising and I know, Baler will have it's brighter days... and I know it wouldn't be that far.

I promise to go back there.

abSENT

2007-09-06T19:22:00.000-11:00

Never here, never there

but always everywhere.

Basking in the light of darkness.

So illuminating, I cannot gaze.

Living this life I chose.

To be and always will....

The 'Diva' that is Malu Fernandez

2007-08-26T22:50:00.000-11:00

Much has been said about this travel magazine writer and her irresponsibility over her "From Boracay to Greece" article. After it was published in The Manila Standard (whose standard is now questionable) and People Asia, she has been tailed with much hostility, which I think she vehemently deserved. Blogs with her as the topic pops out in a list should one googled her name. News bear her name and indeed, she settled extended minutes of fame, or infamy for that matter, as her article draws rave reviews.

She has resigned from her post (after several hate emails and death threats), good for her. We cannot afford to have an elitist like her to be on journalism's block. I myself was indignant after reading her article. How could such a "cultured" being so rude and discriminating over fellows of the same skin? We have been hearing enumerable stories (and rallied against) of racial discrimination our OFW's endured in a foreign land. How much painful it is to have that kind of treatment from our own "kababayan".

Feeling unease all throughout, I endured reading her piece. I want to shout afterwards. I cannot let this day pass without sharing this.

Excerpts from her article:

"The week of Easter, however, was open for both of us so I said: “Pick a country!” We decided on Greece and off we went. But getting there was a bloody nightmare. To save on my ticket, I bravely took an economy class seat on Emirates as recommended by my travel agent. Ron excitedly told me to go for it – Emirates had won best economy class and some award. However I forgot that the hub was in Dubai and the majority of the OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) were stationed there. The duty-free shop was overrun with Filipino workers selling cell phones and perfume. Meanwhile, I wanted to slash my wrist at the thought of being trapped in a plane with all of them. Of course, everyone in economy class was yelled at for having overweight hand-carries. Mine was 17kg (ssshhhh!). That was all my makeup and accessories I would never risk losing if my luggage ended in the middle of the Sahara desert.While I was on the plane (where the seats were so small I had bruises on my legs), my only consolation was the entertainment on the small flat screen in front of me. But it was busted, so I heaved a sigh, popped my sleeping pills and dozed off to the sounds of gum chewing and endless yelling of “HOY! Kumusta ka na? At taga sann ka? Domestic helper ka rin ba?” Translation: “Hey there? Where are you from? Are you a domestic helper as well?” I though I had died and God had sent me to my very own private hell."

"On my way back, I had to bravely take the economy flight once more. This time I had already resigned myself to being trapped like a sardine in a sardine can with all these OFWs smelling of AXE and Charlie cologne while my Jo Malone evaporated into thin air. However, for the first time in my natural life I was elated to go back to the Philippines so I could go back to Discovery Shores in Boracay and sip a tropical drink under the fabulous hat I bought in Greece. There I was sending MMS pictures to my buddy Ron trying to entice him to come over, but I didn’t succeed. Instead, I got two other friends join me in sipping cocktails with a fabulous sunset and ocean view while planting my feet firmly on the bug-free cement flooring by the poolside of Discovery Shores.All in all, it’s been a pretty good summer. Jetting from the Aegean Sea to the Pacific may sound a bit pretentious until you wake up in economy class smelling like air freshener."

So rude and insensitive. She should strip off her being Filipino.

Minutes After Midnight

2007-08-26T03:45:00.000-11:00

The road was silent. Aside from the squeaking tires of cars and buses that passed by, it was only the pouring rain that made a pounding ephemeral sound. By the side I was walking, waiting for anything that would take me home. My frigid body, tired of a day's, or say a night's work, badly needed a rest. Drenched, I walked and waited like forever with only a jacket and a thick, curly hair for protection from the unforgiving rain. Buses won't take notice of me. Occasional jeepneys are full, one refused to take me in upon seeing how drenched I was. Taxis that passed by have their red lights on top that signals they are not available.

I was there waiting, let alone stand, and still. I braced myself and realized, it was all worth it.

Getting it on...

2007-08-13T03:43:00.000-11:00

Just so because the suppose to be writer trapped in this frigid and slender body of mine shouts and that even an invictus needs a respite, here I am, traversing the road to the ever told kingdom of bloggers. Hear yeah!!! Hear yeah!!! Roll down the red carpet... the invictus is coming...

winks....