tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83927121684459001122024-03-05T20:42:26.254+08:00checken counterServing hot-off-the-grill and deep-fried musings. Bite at your own risk.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-82038487945196324322013-06-23T22:36:00.002+08:002013-06-27T20:58:10.927+08:00a semi-love letter<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwNVB-zcYqBECuvkiCYS95OBRS0gLeLHaGJIlnyz5SvVl-FWsE_vAFxFM1Woh_K7hrb_aAqn875fSkLi0qEE4O0-4aoMLovfqfwPX0EU1gRk07A2BsHfvf0WVemtd-iufwWN4e-QuIDdL/s1600/teddy-bear-reminiscing-on-cliffline-by-ocean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwNVB-zcYqBECuvkiCYS95OBRS0gLeLHaGJIlnyz5SvVl-FWsE_vAFxFM1Woh_K7hrb_aAqn875fSkLi0qEE4O0-4aoMLovfqfwPX0EU1gRk07A2BsHfvf0WVemtd-iufwWN4e-QuIDdL/s320/teddy-bear-reminiscing-on-cliffline-by-ocean.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://motleynews.net/tag/reminiscing/">(source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unang-una, paumanhin. Sana maniwala kang di ko 'to sinasadya, pero ‘eto na naman kasi ako – sa pagsusulat lang magawang ilabas ang
saloobin. Nakita ko lang kasi sa <i>news feed</i> nung nagpalit ka ng <i>profile pic</i>.
Ayokong sabihin na hindi ako napangiti nung nakita ko ‘yon. Para bang lalong
gumanda ang araw ko. Naging maaliwalas bigla ang paligid ko kahit kani-kanina
ko lang pinupunasan ang pawis sa noo dahil sa alinsangan ng panahon. Huwag
mo sanang pag-isipan ng iba o laban sa akin. Parang gumaan lang kasi konti ang pakiramdam ko. Yun bang parang may sariwang hangin na biglang sumipol patungo sa kinauupuan ko. Kahit ini-<i>scroll</i> ko na pababa ang <i>feed</i> sa Facebook at hume-<i>head bang</i> sa
Coldplay, nakangiti pa rin akong mag-isa. Sa loob-loob ko, nagmukha akong may sayad. Buti na
lang walang ibang tao.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ilang
taon na ba? Ayoko na sanang bilangin kung ilan na kasi lalo akong nagmumukhang tanga at
gago. Hehe, pasensya ha sa lenggwahe, pero ganun pa rin kasi ang tingin ko sa sarili
ko sa tuwing bumabalik ulit sa akin yung panahon na minsan, nagkaroon sana ako
ng pagkakataon. Ayokong isipin na sumagi din sa isip mo na naging ganun nga ako
nung mga panahong ‘yon. Pero totoo, naging tanga at gago nga ako. Masyadong
mababaw sabihin na naging torpe lang ako. Di na rin bagay sa akin na ilarawan nang
ganyan. Masyadong pang-<i>high school</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ilang
taon na din pala ang dumaan. Di ko na rin napansin kasi marami-rami na rin namang
nangyari sa buhay-buhay natin pareho. Ngayon ko lang muling naisip na
matagal-tagal na rin pala mula nung huling umawit ang mga ibon para sa akin. Sa
isip ko noon, hindi lang para sa akin ang himig na 'yon. Mukha nga siguro talaga akong
may sayad ano? Bigla-biglang nagmamakata at napapaisip na umaawit ang mga ibon. Nagmo-<i>move-on</i> kahit wala namang nasimulan, malamang, wala ring dahilan. Pero
tanong ko lang kung nakarinig ka na ng awit ng mga ibon? Minsan kasi di ko
sigurado kung umaawit nga sila o parang nagkukwentuhan lang. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hindi
ko rin alam kung bakit ilang taon na ang dinaan ng ganitong guni-guni ko.
Natatawa na rin ako pag minsan. Pero minsan may laman pa rin ‘yung mga tawang
‘yun. Oo na. Tanga at gago nga ako, sinabi ko naman di ba? May laman ang mga
tawang ‘yun kasi iba din kasi ang naging hagod ng mga tawang ‘yun sa akin.
Iba ang dalang saya. Yun bang saya na may kakambal na pag-asa. Di ko talaga
ma-ipaliwanag. Alam ko, kahit papano, naiintindihan mo yung tipo nang saya na
ganun. Sana. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sinabi
ko na dati na ayoko nang mag-isip o mag-tanong kagaya ng paano kaya kung naging
iba ang takbo ng panahon. Mas maging masaya kaya ang mga araw? Naging mas malakas kaya ang
pag-awit ng mga ibon? Maririnig kaya natin minu-minuto ang mga himig nila?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kung
naging gayon, sigurado ako na sa akin, oo. Gusto ko rin namang isipin na ganun
din sa’yo. Siyempre, kahit sino naman siguro. Pero nag-iba nga ng landas ang mga huni at unti-unti na ngang pumalayo sa aking pandinig. Inisip ko na lang
rin na patuloy pa rin sanang umaawit ang mga ibon para sa ‘yo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alam
ko na maraming bagay na hindi naging ako, marami-raming bagay na hindi ako, at
palagay ko maraming bagay pa na hindi magiging ako sa hinaharap. Hindi ko alam
kung ang mga pagkukulang na ito ang magbibigay puwang sa ‘yo. Ayoko na ring
isipin. Para sa akin, ang mas mahalaga ay ang maging masaya ka sa mga bagay na
mas karapat-dapat sa ‘yo.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Cliché</i>,
ika nga ng kagaguhan sabi pa ni Bob Ong. Pero, totoo, yun ang naging laman ng
dasal ko. Peksman.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Cross my
heart</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sa
totoo lang, nagtataka ako kung bakit bumabalik ulit ang mga bagay na ito
ngayon. Ilang beses na din naman tayong nag-usap na parang walang nangyari. Na parang
walang nagdaan. Lilinawin ko lang, sarili ko lang ang tinutukoy ko dito, kasi
yun lang ang malinaw sa akin.<br />
<br />
Ewan, naging ok naman sana ang simula ng araw ko ngayon. Nagpapalipas lang naman sana ako ng oras. Sana di
na lang ako nagbukas ng <i>internet</i>. Pero isa na kasi yun sa mga nakagawi-an ko tuwing nasa
bahay lang pagkatapos mag-simba. Pati ilang beses ko na rin nakita sa <i>news feed</i>
sa <i>account</i> ko ang iba’t-ibang lawaran mo. Kaya lang, parang iba kasi yung
kanina, parang mas may ningning na biglang nagpakislot sa mga alaalang di ko inakalang nandun pa rin pala. Basta, ayoko nang dugtungan pa. Sana hinabaan ko na
lang ang kwento sa mga bata sa bahay nung tumawag ako kanina. Ewan, hanggang ngayon kasi, parang wala
pa rin akong ganang tumawag sa iba. Iba pa rin kasi yung dati. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iba
pa rin kasi yung kahit madaling araw na natapos ang kwentuhan, maaga ka pa ring
gigising para simulan ang bagong araw. Yung tipong matitigilan ka na lang bigla sa
trabaho, kahit anong <i>busy</i>, mapapangiti ka kasi may naalala ka.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Basta, alam mo na rin siguro ‘yun.
Alam ko, parang pang<i>teen-ager</i> pa rin ang kilig ko. Nakakatawa na nakakahiya. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u1:p><br />
</u1:p>Ulit, pasensya, di ko sinasadya. Hayaan mo na lang sanang mailabas kahit sa
sulat lang, sa paraang kaya kung gawin, kung ano ang dumating sa isip ko
ngayon. Wala naman akong balak mang-gago ng ibang tao. Wala rin akong planong
manghimasok sa buhay na nasa ayos na. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Inaayos ko na rin naman ang sarili
ko. Pinag-aaralan ko nang tanggapin ang mga bagay-bagay na siguro sadyang hindi
ukol. Pero pinagsisikapan ko na rin na subukang ipaglaban ang mga bagay kung
talagang dapat kong ipaglaban. Para sa susunod na umawit ulit ang mga ibon,
kaya ko nang manindigan kahit puno pa rin ako ng pagkukulang. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pasensya
na, alam ko lilipas din 'to. Dala lang siguro ng maling pitik ng utak ko. Siguro, dala lang ng mga banat ni Chris Martin na nagpapa-ingay sa tahimik na silid. Sa
susunod, mas lalakasan ko na lang siguro ang pag-<i>head bang</i> para mas
madaling mawaksi sa isip yung mga ganitong alaala. </div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-66935557153989010492013-06-10T22:10:00.001+08:002013-06-15T22:47:34.589+08:00what made me happy today # 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtMpK8M8juOdGypEYuNUcOr_s1gaWBdOeNvhbAFyqSpkHgkOzk5Y0Y1r9QKyg79FcDpLbgo766HFxYHxWBFakQsWEeXhehNuQ4BkCCnvAmTbjp_y3NMzuM2ZNOegS1-SYCO0b0_pUDKME/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtMpK8M8juOdGypEYuNUcOr_s1gaWBdOeNvhbAFyqSpkHgkOzk5Y0Y1r9QKyg79FcDpLbgo766HFxYHxWBFakQsWEeXhehNuQ4BkCCnvAmTbjp_y3NMzuM2ZNOegS1-SYCO0b0_pUDKME/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
Earlier, I posted an entry named <a href="http://checkencounter.blogspot.com/2013/06/what-makes-me-happy.html">what makes me happy</a> as a response to a friend's (Dee's) invitation to list the few things that tickles my fancy. To hop into the meme, I should list 5 of the things that can make the sun come out even on a cloudy day (or can send the clouds on a sunny day since I just so happen to love the rain) and make it look less bad or dull or ugly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I tried to jot a mental list of these kinds of things and maybe I can just group them into 5, but the list in my head just kept adding item after item until I could no longer reduce them into sub-groups. And finding this exercise a "cool and refreshing" idea, I decided to start a habit and note of the things that made me happy and tickled me pink. Lest it becomes another project that's only good at the start, here's my list today: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Finding the favicon work on this blog.</b> Okay, I'm a techno klutz. Most of the gadgets I owned were already on their brink of doom before I have actually tinkered what that button was for or what that icon was all about. So yesterday, while navigating through Blogger's layout manager, I noticed this Favicon tab on the upper left portion and wondered what was that fuss. I've said this earlier that I'm not the tech savvy cool dude that your eight-year-old brother may be so I keyed in Google for my rescue. Alas, now you can see the tiny icon of this spot on your address bar. That's me facing the sunset. Cool, eh?<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9z7t0aW6oGVmCkcavH5T08Jp4d0-CP3v8xkPV3zLlPuz1O0PPbJ2YBXEZeNjQhQVUuCoTAisBCydhgm7pUmOOhmgkOHFGDOS8RyzIf0cp8Gh0Ji7zlpySSghaTBh1xm1npaAcysoGSng9/s1600/389405_277224118996877_1817265579_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9z7t0aW6oGVmCkcavH5T08Jp4d0-CP3v8xkPV3zLlPuz1O0PPbJ2YBXEZeNjQhQVUuCoTAisBCydhgm7pUmOOhmgkOHFGDOS8RyzIf0cp8Gh0Ji7zlpySSghaTBh1xm1npaAcysoGSng9/s400/389405_277224118996877_1817265579_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(that's me on the Favicon)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<b>Getting two breast parts on my Jollibee double Chickenjoy meal</b>. I hope that didn't appear to you as a promiscuous gibberish. I was just referring to that fleshy part of the chicken (did that just sound twice as pervert? lol). Ok, enough. I got out of the office real hungry and went straight to the food shop across the street. Whenever I order a 2-piece fried chicken meal, I usually get a big part (breast, of course) and a small part (like the leg or rib part) so hungry tummy was hopping in delight when my plate was served. Yum, yum, yum!<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjC_Q1j65RpkxyusJnn49T8T-fV11qWStgaGNFbc-7w5EOnbnDUqSUqS6StXEZj_qsYzzivTMZadw6CknHs7cOm0D6GTk2cOdUdg8h1rUTVs2DkeAimcbAW0FHsg7f7EfeWhnQHX5gMZt/s1600/tumblr_lh6re1IERF1qb381do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjC_Q1j65RpkxyusJnn49T8T-fV11qWStgaGNFbc-7w5EOnbnDUqSUqS6StXEZj_qsYzzivTMZadw6CknHs7cOm0D6GTk2cOdUdg8h1rUTVs2DkeAimcbAW0FHsg7f7EfeWhnQHX5gMZt/s400/tumblr_lh6re1IERF1qb381do1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(you didn't think that looked like two breast parts, don't you? This is what I get often)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<b>This photo of my nephew tagged on my Facebook page. </b>I get frequent homesickness bouts lately (read about this <a href="http://checkencounter.blogspot.com/2013/05/homesick.html">here</a>) but looking at photos my siblings post on FB makes my heart less achy. The little ones especially. Aww.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikG6dR9WnnBzo6feTT7j0ZzvZY222NwBtBD8ap3pLVhcrEI8uYkpViwNX95YxZl0NFbMxYLuNBRpztosoh2kPDHCJ1R52d07rm7p8vQ6nBaE67EgNRBtK8C_fGDqxMPJN2nSyyOJCPaKo6/s1600/375764_599531270077354_1931359892_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikG6dR9WnnBzo6feTT7j0ZzvZY222NwBtBD8ap3pLVhcrEI8uYkpViwNX95YxZl0NFbMxYLuNBRpztosoh2kPDHCJ1R52d07rm7p8vQ6nBaE67EgNRBtK8C_fGDqxMPJN2nSyyOJCPaKo6/s400/375764_599531270077354_1931359892_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(the boy just wouldn't step down. He says that's his daddy's)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<b>A letter from the Human Resources</b>. Knowing that they're not firing me yet really made my day. :-)</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0d1nYo-RVw3AVNEaHiBrodMqkBOPj03VGZu4GSRKWH3Xd_AywKOPHP1EUgLFS4QLlJczdr420C0HgRcVQMdVW0foWfZ0wStd9TRKIrnNyxh9nxZCX7PUtxutDssGuMZ0MxmdTXmUY_IlR/s1600/jumpinglawyer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0d1nYo-RVw3AVNEaHiBrodMqkBOPj03VGZu4GSRKWH3Xd_AywKOPHP1EUgLFS4QLlJczdr420C0HgRcVQMdVW0foWfZ0wStd9TRKIrnNyxh9nxZCX7PUtxutDssGuMZ0MxmdTXmUY_IlR/s320/jumpinglawyer.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(I was jumping this high!)<br />
<a href="http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/happylawyers/thehappylawyer.html">image source</a><br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Till the next tickle.</div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-61907936101102515272013-06-08T07:16:00.000+08:002013-07-04T19:59:30.456+08:00parable of the trapped bird<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjb876HTr66al0-nTmximwbxfHJvkRwNxRsRNeOGP_M-te7_r4XCCqOuxnFuNkTzDtvwYS9dFgbkwx7uYAosTZB5ffp6Nz2GlSOSJn0JEmvPajY3MwFMsVpPv2gSQ7jrC5sVpSdxy79wv/s1600/trapped-bird-sepia-1024x682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjb876HTr66al0-nTmximwbxfHJvkRwNxRsRNeOGP_M-te7_r4XCCqOuxnFuNkTzDtvwYS9dFgbkwx7uYAosTZB5ffp6Nz2GlSOSJn0JEmvPajY3MwFMsVpPv2gSQ7jrC5sVpSdxy79wv/s400/trapped-bird-sepia-1024x682.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://www.betterthanbullets.com/nurturing-the-best-of-his-nature/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One sunny morning, a little bird made its way inside the house and
hovered over the four corners until it got into my room. Why it was lured to
fly inside the house I only have the slightest perception. Was it lost in
finding its nest? Did it find itself trapped behind walls while trying to track
the sweet whiff of the blooms in my neighbor’s garden? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried to catch the poor bird and toss it outside but it
cannot seem to stop flying around. It would rest for a while but would flap
again towards the tiny canopy on the other side of the ceiling. I
tried to lead the bird to the open door where it got through but it would not
follow the clues. I was unsure if it was figuring its own way out of this enclosure to be back to the
open space or if it actually reveled in the different surrounds of walls and furniture that is entirely unlike the
trees. Was the little bird tired of the trees where every other bird was and wanted to look at a different view? Or was it only finding solace, perhaps a new spot to build its nest? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I let the little creature fly until it will tire with its flight and will allow itself to be led outside. It finally rested on the pane where the air con
used to sit but is now covered with aluminum screen. By the time I was able to
grab a chair where I could stand to reach the pane, the tiny bird again flew,
taking wing around the corners of the room. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why it refused my hand when I could have been its one chance
to freedom I could only begin to show concern. Its ticket to the open space and the trees was upon me. Was it afraid that I will not lead it to the blooms
in my neighbor’s garden? Was that tweet its scream of <i>"leave me alone!"</i> and that I just let
this tiny being’s flight be on its own free course? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I opened the door wide and the windows to allow it many gates to get out of these confines. <i>Little bird, the garden and the blooms are outside,
and this sure is not the best place to build your nest and raise your young.
The trees are waiting for you outside. Can’t you hear the chirp of the other
birds? They are calling out for you. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The little bird did not notice the bright rays of the sun coming
through the open windows as it hooked its claws on one dark corner of the ceiling,
the flapping of its wings becoming slow and weary. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took a hammer and pulled out the screen covering the
air con slot. The little bird, few ounces of strength left, flew few little
flaps and rested on the pane. In a while, it finally flew outside, landing on
the branch of the mango tree where its tweets chorused with the rest of the birds and the
humming of the morning breeze. The faint sweet smell of the <i>camias </i>on my neighbor's backyard wafted all the way up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took out a few nails and hammered the screen cover back. </div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-22367270926730539022013-06-06T16:54:00.001+08:002013-06-25T22:16:01.117+08:00homage to the lamp<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJDLSwVBTc0a9gHIsIAnCdCe1sFxNMR-lZvvWV9Q7k0M22x9w7-lLmEIce-ap6Z1W6_2E54FS3OC3YLvhfUsLEiMQfcm0AtNlrvDb5ESP8DY8s8dZiXmI9uJEg2QADvGI9N1uMK7nPMAt/s1600/old-lamp2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJDLSwVBTc0a9gHIsIAnCdCe1sFxNMR-lZvvWV9Q7k0M22x9w7-lLmEIce-ap6Z1W6_2E54FS3OC3YLvhfUsLEiMQfcm0AtNlrvDb5ESP8DY8s8dZiXmI9uJEg2QADvGI9N1uMK7nPMAt/s400/old-lamp2.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://thoughtsandthingsilove.wordpress.com/2011/02/24/old-lamps/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A house will be full of darkness and chaos without a lamp. But
even the tiniest flicker can spark a ray of hope and make all the
difference. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She emitted a faint, modest glow. Many people thought that
her light was too muffled to brighten a huge room enveloped in uncertainty and
too hazy to illuminate a long and dark road ahead. But no matter how little she
could emit, she was capable of producing a sensation of brightness and that
shimmer did not waver even when strong winds blew past it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother became a widow at 39, a strong wind blew for a quaint
little light that she was. I cannot even begin to imagine how “that” life had
been for her. Of course, we, her children shared in the uneasy aftermath of my
father’s death, but ours were only that feeling of not having enough. Hers
was that and the burden of responsibility of suddenly facing the tedious job of
single parenting. Perhaps, it was a lot more. How lonely her nights might have
been and we have selfishly let her endure that throb since her children decided that
she will not remarry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No matter how dark the road was ahead of her, she kept a
stark faith that she will get through. She has to get through since she has 6
kids in tow that she has to bring to the light of day. I cannot seem to measure
the strength of her character or how stern her will was. It must be the kind of
will that leaned on something greater and stronger. Sometimes waking for a
midnight pee, I can see her on the stairs, her Bible on the step, her hand
wiping something that got in her eye and asking me, <i>“asa man ka?” </i>(where are you going?). She forces herself a smile. I
knew even then that she sometimes cannot sleep and that she will just wait on
the steps and her Bible for the crowing of the rooster. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Mamang</i> was a very
plain woman. Simplicity was her core. She was just without pretense, her laugh
was calm yet unreserved. And she is often silent to a point of being
misunderstood. But her being inarticulate, she made up for eloquently in deed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was a very hardworking housewife. She was good at
keeping the house in order and she can do chores for the whole day if she was
not occupied looking for means to be able to serve decent food on our table or
put back the electricity connection on or give us some <i>baon</i> to school. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She did not earn her degree, reason why she moved heaven and earth, mortgage and debt, just to let us get one. She wanted us to
realize the dream that she only weaved in her mind. She had worked to send
herself to school for a while until she was forced to stop schooling to look
after her sick father. She will marry anyway, her mother told her, and she
wouldn’t need a college diploma for that.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother lets us be. She is nowhere near that image of a
stage mother but she had always been a proud one. However, in letting us be,
we, her children made many choices which failed to consider her affections and
shattered her ambitions for each one of us: grandchildren sans in-laws, years
of schooling sans the degree, children seeking desperately for their independence and morph in the shape of the pop crowd. I know she was hurt, maybe to an extent deeper than she allowed
us to notice. But in all these mistakes and failures, she gladly embraced us
back to her arms as if nothing went past. It all seemed like an embrace of a
mother when her child who was gone for a while comes back home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know many wrangled about her lack of iron hand. That she
had been too soft. And at some point, I was one of those who did. But could a
rigorous claw have prevented some things to happen and altered the course of events? The mistakes made us grow,
perhaps even in a more mature and broader sense. I have seen her shrug off the
question of being faint-hearted. Authority and control is but a tiny component
to a job called parenting. What she gave us was her steadfast love and profound
understanding. And it will be a long list of
things that she did and does for us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many years have passed and through her labor and love, we
were brought out to the light of day. Or at least, we are already seeing what
not being in the dark is like. It’s about time for her to just sit back and
enjoy the setting of the sun, knowing that even though the night will be long
and dark, the sun will always come up in the morning. Perhaps, that is the
single most important lesson that she has instilled in me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A house will be full of darkness and chaos without a lamp.
But even the tiniest of flicker can spark a ray of hope and that can make all
the difference. I wish God will give her a longer life to keep the home aglow.</div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-41625950046666573002013-06-01T22:07:00.003+08:002013-06-08T13:30:30.217+08:007 trike drivers you'll meet in your life<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4YrKPyy_YshkUH6klOsU_9IR_MWZ2liGMX0IRm6Gw4XahnKkFUqnne1fkrUD013c6yu1FF0W9ajNhFBW0EW8LJ9Yt4r5G_MT-yNGazc4QClsN2VfaALnXcnl3wllparDk32ICCzvq3L1s/s1600/Chyng_Reyes_Filipino_Hospitality.resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4YrKPyy_YshkUH6klOsU_9IR_MWZ2liGMX0IRm6Gw4XahnKkFUqnne1fkrUD013c6yu1FF0W9ajNhFBW0EW8LJ9Yt4r5G_MT-yNGazc4QClsN2VfaALnXcnl3wllparDk32ICCzvq3L1s/s400/Chyng_Reyes_Filipino_Hospitality.resized.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lakas.com.ph/2011/05/experiencing-filipino-hospitality/">(image source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am a daily commuter. When you have lived in rural cities
like Pagadian and Zamboanga (in the Philippines), where I have spent most of my working life so far, and where there are no cabs, the more comfortable means of transport is the
ever reliable tricycle. At least twice a day, I entrust thirty minutes or so of
my life in the hands of <i>Manong Drayber</i> to bring me to my destination.<br />
<br />
Doing this routine every single day allows you to meet any of these M<i>anongs, </i>depending on how your stars have aligned, and you will be in for a ride of your life:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. 1 - <i>Manong</i>
Speedy Gonzales. I am not sure if his stomach suddenly became ill when we
started hitting the road and cannot wait to go to the john. But since I’m
already in the trike and he finds it rude to ask me to get another one, or
maybe he knows that I will never pay him a penny if he does that, he zooms to my destination like he’s on a Carerra. Or maybe his homicidal tendencies was
roused suddenly and wants to drag me with him to wherever he will be seeing
that tiny flicker of light ala d<i>amay-damay
na! </i> <i>Manong</i> No. 1 just don’t want to take it slow. However, this type
brings out the pious in me. I tend to pray hard that I will get to my
destination in one piece. Flying trikes, anyone? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. 2 - <i>Manong</i>
Pastor Evangelista. Maybe the two projections on my forehead have become overgrown
and visible, <i>Manong</i> tries put a halo to slash-and-burn them . I must behave. Amen, <i>Manong</i>.
Just do not touch that sensitive reproach that Catholics worship stones and wood, and I will always welcome your invitation to deepen my faith. Otherwise, the
projections on my head might blow up your pedicab’s roof and you might find
yourself in a not-so-heaven-like ride. But the peace lover in me might just ask
you to pull around the corner. I will just wait for <i>Manong</i> No. 1 to pass by. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. 3 – <i>Manong</i> Boy
Komentarista. O, he just can’t stop the blabber. This widely opinionated chatterbox
will keep on talking about anyone and anything that comes to his mind, never
minding that his passenger is staring blankly at a distance. At times, he
competes with the noise of the road and modulates his commentaries about the
elections or the frequent brownouts, and his unsolicited advice to Ai-ai in
case she tries to get another man for a husband. I tried to look for the mute
button somewhere, but I can’t seem to find one. Please, <i>Manong</i>, let us just leave Ai-ai alone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. 4 – <i>Manong</i>
Silent Type. The exact opposite of <i>Manong</i>
No. 3, this one will not utter a word even after you hand him the fare upon
reaching your destination. He must be mute since he has just nodded after I
told him <i>“Tumaga”</i>. Maybe he met <i>Manong</i>
No. 3 and got forewarned that I am deaf or a psycho case. But thank you <i>Manong</i>, for giving me my peace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. 5 – <i>Manong</i>
Mike Imbestigador. He was a former NBI, I must know. Or used to be with <i>Bombo Radyo</i>. I surmise he is Manong No.
3’s <i>kumpare</i>, too. The inquisitive <i>Manong</i> gives you the feeling of being
psycho-analyzed. Why do want to know what my favorite color is? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. 6 – <i>Manong</i>
Mando Rugas. What?!? 50 pesos from Veterans to Tumaga? If I had only known that
your fuel is from Jupiter hence, costs higher than the others, I must not have jumped in. I know the times are hard and prices are soaring, but <i>Manong</i>, many of your league charges only
P30. These are the types who make the destination farther (read: they charge
higher) on rainy days. Relate much?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And lastly, No. 7 – <i>Manong</i>
Goody. These are the <i>Manongs</i> who are
friendly and honest and generally pleasant. Fortunately, there are still many of
them who do not attempt to add stress to an already taxing day. Sometimes even, you tend
to shed off some of the strain while a cheery conversation ensues. These are
the types you’d gladly give some tip, which, some would politely decline or profusely
thank for. Yes, there can be angels in the trikies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I continue to be a part of the commuting public, I
must admit that these drivers and their trikes are my link to wherever I must
be at a certain point in time. That without them, I might be riding horses in long sleeves under the sweltering heat of day. Often, I tend to get annoyed or flabbergasted (did I just say that "annoyed" is my other name?),
but every time, I am grateful that I was delivered to my destination, whole and unharmed. And sometimes, even smiling. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(The descriptions above are mostly propelled by the state of
mind I was in at the time I took a particular <i>Manong’s</i>
ride. This is not to malign this sector which works hard for a living - a vital service force to the society. It's just that sometimes, I forget to take anti-psychotics that I answer <i>Manong</i> No. 5 with <i>“blue, my favorite color is blue, tralalala.”</i>)<br />
<br />
<i>Photo used above is not mine.</i></div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-24440955235511610782013-06-01T12:11:00.001+08:002013-06-08T22:29:03.185+08:00what makes me happy<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS9Axv_M1yktQi2cuvx0ImvY7vKLlvBGfl8K_1zL3X239SDHl2rwRw7XKfiFYGCYT6o7QCQrv2v2DFSya41H4UzSd6tcWixhLO6kybqOFA7IG6-CpKUm5tsgJ4wDAEvijcQzRxjLS5fpMi/s1600/smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS9Axv_M1yktQi2cuvx0ImvY7vKLlvBGfl8K_1zL3X239SDHl2rwRw7XKfiFYGCYT6o7QCQrv2v2DFSya41H4UzSd6tcWixhLO6kybqOFA7IG6-CpKUm5tsgJ4wDAEvijcQzRxjLS5fpMi/s400/smile.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://www.glamquotes.com/quote/smile-quotes/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just as I was about to hop in for the night, I found
that <a href="http://deecoded.blogspot.com/">Dee</a>, in one of her blog hop entries, tagged this spot to a post entitled
<a href="http://deecoded.blogspot.com/2013/05/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-things.html">“these are a few of my favorite things”</a>. Not about to hop into that meme, I
realized that more than responding to her tag and participating in the loop,
listing the things that make you happy is actually a cool and refreshing idea. For one, it tends to improve your mood. After a long day at work, listening to One Republic (my new Matchbox 20), brings to mind other things that can put the issues of the daily grind behind. And
suddenly, you feel a little okay. Or when the world just seems to pull your spirits down, talking to a loved one on the phone or a chat with an old friend will give you that longed pat on the back and reassures you that tomorrow will be just fine. It can be tough to
stay feeling elated and motivated and upbeat 24/7 because everyday living displays a full range of emotions. It is ultimately your choice to
be happy. But then, reminding yourself of the things that can bring the sunshine to a
cloudy day (on the contrary, rain is among the things that make me feel good), may be the one thing that you need as a precursor to a sunny disposition over a potential state of displeasure. If
it cannot steer the way things are to an entirely new direction, thinking about
your planned travel to Batanes, or receiving a message of thanks from a customer has the power to make a day less bad. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just realized that it can be a good habit to list down the
things that made your day more than the usual and remind yourself how some odd twist of chemistry and circumstances put that curve on your face. And that I might just
start it today. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are a few things, random as they are, specific or
scripted in motherhood statements, that can make my day above the ordinary and
make me smile. (Sorry Dee, but I just cannot reduce these to five items.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- - -<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking at old photos and remembering the good times</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Creating something on Blogspot</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The love and comfort of family</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Catching up with friends or hanging out with them</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursdays</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Movies - tearjerkers, by Christopher Nolan, recommended by
friends (you may refer to this <a href="http://checkencounter.blogspot.com/2013/04/must-watch-movies.html">list</a>)<br />
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9et14ssqRrh_GF095laD_rXckGPMoEvd-bnUJ3299ZZgkiNuEV3k9LSWQejI1-sA2lCaji56Vctr_37MFwNY3p5lJL-yL80qvpbj3iqDapSmgjloJaddNQwuXk_Gz1D0sAtlESVZ-P-tA/s1600/shawshank-redemption-tim-robbins-andy-dufresne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9et14ssqRrh_GF095laD_rXckGPMoEvd-bnUJ3299ZZgkiNuEV3k9LSWQejI1-sA2lCaji56Vctr_37MFwNY3p5lJL-yL80qvpbj3iqDapSmgjloJaddNQwuXk_Gz1D0sAtlESVZ-P-tA/s320/shawshank-redemption-tim-robbins-andy-dufresne.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://siagoy.wordpress.com/2011/12/04/hope-is-a-good-thing/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rain</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A bar of Toblerone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Travel – from planning, to packing up, to discovering new
things</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fruit salad</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A good joke from all types of sources</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Megan Fox</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A thank you message</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Giving thanks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The glow of sunset</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the universe is into you like something working out
that you never thought would</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A good article or literature</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Photography and beautiful pictures</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Achieving goals</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Following your inner rhythm</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sweet mangoes and pineapples</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smiling faces all around</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A beautiful view</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Waking up from a good night’s sleep</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That you are still breathing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting a good item from the sale rack</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silence</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Going to your secret getaway and spending time alone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Youtube <br />
A pack of peanuts<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Music and rocking like hurricane</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trip to Jollibee with my nephews and niece</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A new shirt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A new bottle of scent</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A new watch</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pampering yourself in a spa</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coming into terms with your flaws</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not trying to please everyone </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meeting new people<br />
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhOcPO3XDk__IKmD9Ftke_YeSiyPk6yHXWZHxO5TdTSTV-cy-oKZ3jlv9cstV64gB660WqqK0qWtroRwkfCj8E02TvwDqn3U_jJnh0BqBbzA47kLqoCapQkuIyh1C1wUNCU8QA23RsjNQ/s1600/Palaui-Island.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhOcPO3XDk__IKmD9Ftke_YeSiyPk6yHXWZHxO5TdTSTV-cy-oKZ3jlv9cstV64gB660WqqK0qWtroRwkfCj8E02TvwDqn3U_jJnh0BqBbzA47kLqoCapQkuIyh1C1wUNCU8QA23RsjNQ/s400/Palaui-Island.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://www.islandsofthephilippines.com/palaui-island-of-cagayan-valley/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Beaches</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Internet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Staying home</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Beer</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pizza</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharpening a pencil</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not putting your own hopes on other people’s shoulders</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Helping in a cause</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rainbows</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stargazing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A moonlit night</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sound of waves rushing to the shore</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Christmas</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daydreaming<br />
Videoke<br />
A new haircut</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three-day weekends</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paulo Coelho</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The smell of hay</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The scent of home</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just making this list already makes me happy. But I know you can definitely list a lot more. :-)</div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-92204457464860151302013-05-26T19:05:00.000+08:002013-06-08T13:31:11.032+08:00haaay, utang na loob<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDYavgHJtsfNXBjKqSubtgvub_l_5W1I1Tc66UE8h9niru1Cky6W0R0Qvm74rJcpMqVV1Rz176CtN2xwbK8J5O2axZjMi-KeOHsVdsdOy-WeecMyxpvVsI6NpVNfW_EK1K8uA-FcEPXHb/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDYavgHJtsfNXBjKqSubtgvub_l_5W1I1Tc66UE8h9niru1Cky6W0R0Qvm74rJcpMqVV1Rz176CtN2xwbK8J5O2axZjMi-KeOHsVdsdOy-WeecMyxpvVsI6NpVNfW_EK1K8uA-FcEPXHb/s400/images.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<i>Utang na loob</i> is also a focal issue in the <br />
movie, The Godfather)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Utang-na-loob</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>is a Filipino cultural trait which
academics sometimes refer to as "reciprocity," and which
transliterates as "a debt of one's inner self <i>(loob)</i>."<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>It is
also sometimes translated as a "debt of gratitude." In the study of
Filipino psychology, <i>utang na loob</i> is
considered an important "accommodative surface value," along with<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>hiya </i>(shame) and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>pakikisama</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(togetherness). That is to say, it is
one of the values by which the Filipino accommodates the demands of the world
around him, as opposed to confrontative values like "<i>lakas ng loob</i>" and "<i>pakikibaka</i>".
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The essence of <i>utang
na loob</i> is an obligation to appropriately repay a person who has done one a
favor. The favors which elicit the Filipino's sense of <i>utang na loob</i> are typically those whose value is impossible to
quantify, or, if there is a quantifiable value involved, involves a deeply
personal internal dimension.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>This
internal dimension,<span class="apple-converted-space"> <i>loob</i></span>, differentiates <i>utang
na loob</i> from an ordinary debt <i>("utang")</i>;
being an internal phenomenon, <i>utang na
loob</i> thus goes much deeper than ordinary debt or even the western concept
of owing a favor. Filipino psychology explains that this is a reflection of the
<i>"<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Kapwa&action=edit&redlink=1" title="Kapwa (page does not exist)"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">kapwa</span></a>"</i> orientation of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>shared
person-hood<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>or<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>shared
self, which is at the core of the Filipino values system. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- From Wikipedia</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truly, <i>utang na loob</i>,
is one unique Pinoy trait. It is a distinctively Pinoy sense of appreciation of the good that we receive from others. Instilling this sense of gratitude is
good since we value the act and the giver. But the act of doing good and this deeply instilled
sense of thanks can sometimes go wrong and vulnerable to misuse and corruption.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have no concept of <i>utang
na loob</i>. Maybe I am not too Pinoy in this respect. I have always believed
that when I do good, it is because I am propelled by that necessity to do good and not with the expectation of a payback, not even being thanked. And it will
be good not to keep a memory of that “good” that has been done. I will feel more than repaid if I see that the
good I did has created ripples and that I was able to make even a little
betterment in somebody else’s life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish we can alter
the concept of <i>utang na loob</i> from the
Pinoy psyche. When you are the recipient of an act of kindness, your only
obligation is to improve yourself and pay the act forward. Saying a
sincere expression of gratitude is already a good deed in itself. When you are
the doer of the deed, remember that the act of kindness is without condition;
it should be a prick of the selfless desire to help and reach out without wanting for something, a future favor or even a “thank you”, in return. Do
not be drawn by the desire to have your recipient be bound for life in subjection.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let us be cheerful givers, O, Pinoys, <i>utang
na loob</i>. Or do not give at all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Haaay!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
(Just musing.)cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-40951999213430246092013-05-25T23:37:00.003+08:002013-06-25T22:43:11.252+08:00homesick<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSn7oM9t26H3WpBL1bN5lMYHI5-za47qbhqp7f3lRDmq6zPCR4Cz3NMRYEXFCu1vF7F7ZP6zInNkE8X2zrjJRbh-s3DyK2mGnb6_ZoR2XhsjIii_dOE17UDfoOiF_i2jp8A1dRT07AAQN/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSn7oM9t26H3WpBL1bN5lMYHI5-za47qbhqp7f3lRDmq6zPCR4Cz3NMRYEXFCu1vF7F7ZP6zInNkE8X2zrjJRbh-s3DyK2mGnb6_ZoR2XhsjIii_dOE17UDfoOiF_i2jp8A1dRT07AAQN/s400/images.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://berkeleycollege-survivalguide.blogspot.com/2012/09/home-sick.html">(source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Flashback:<br />
<br />
You step down from a trike and your <i>pamangkins</i> come rushing <i>“Tito! Tito!”</i>. O, how sweet is that even if
they were actually after that package of siopaos or burgers that they have been
nagging you about when you left that morning. Sometimes, arriving empty-handed you
tell them, <i>“oh, the baker was sick today
and was not able to make siopao”</i> and tell them anecdotes instead. Or pull
some tricks or hunch your back for their rodeo ride.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You slouch on the sofa and sister calls out “dinner is
ready” while Noli de Castro screeches “<i>teeveeeeeeeee
patrol</i>!”. A steaming bowl of your favorite <i>law-oy</i> or <i>sinigang</i>. Or grilled
fish with <i>guso</i> salad. Then a long
chat over that matter that caught your and your siblings’ collective
awareness or curiosity during the day. The laughs will be hard you’ll be
reaching fast for a glass of water while choking on your food.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Majority wins on which program to watch on TV after, which
all the time, will be the <i>teleseryes</i>.
You wanted to get another TV but decides against it. And finally, you get to
reconcile with Jhie’s shrieks over Coco Martin's dramatics amidst his lisps. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You lay in bed, the jalousies open while the chirps and
flapping of the <i>kulansyangs’</i> try to lull you to sleep. Or a few pages of Milan
Kundera. Tomorrow will be a long day and you’ll beg high heavens that insomnia
will not pop in tonight, more than you pray for peace on earth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You look forward to weekends for catch-ups and rest. You
do not worry about doing the laundry or the ironing since Jhie already took care
of that. You are the king of the world despite that you reign over the basket
to flea market and the kitchen on Sundays. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You caught the flu and Mamang rushes to the city with leaves
that she will boil and forces you to gulp. That is so sweet despite how awful
the concoction would taste most of the time.<br />
<br />
You have a trip for a few days or weeks, and since Mamang protests against how you
simply dump your stuff in the luggage, she volunteers to do the packing. Never
mind that you will have to rush to the department store nearest to your hotel
after discovering that she missed to put in some underwear. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
O, life is sweet. The benefit of family and community. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fastforward:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You step down from a trike and your landlord greets you, “<i>nagabin-an man ka?</i>”. After a long day, you manage a smile for a
reply. Silence and shadows envelope your unit. You unlock the door and turn the
lights on. Stillness, the scent of solitude sprayed all over. You open the fridge, debate with yourself whether to re-heat last
night’s left-over or not and decide it will be sandwich for tonight. Tomorrow will be
cereals, then sardines and bread the following day. You sigh. Ugh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You did not get a TV yet so you open your computer and play
Winamp. Go online if you were able to load credits to your plug-in. But the prepaid connection can be very sloooooow you'll get dizzy to the circular motion of the loading icon on the address tab.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You lie in bed and the <i>tuko</i>
beats your lullaby. Or an article in the newest issue of Reader’s Digest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saturdays will be laundry and office or laundry and sleep. Sundays
will be church and ironing or church and sleep. If you lazed and chose the latter, then just squeeze in the ironing after taking a bath on Monday and the rest of the week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You caught the flu and you call your nurse-sister for some medical advice and try not to play the doctor part, which you often do. You take
a pill. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You have a trip and you simply dump your stuff in the
luggage. You will make sure you will put in some underwear this time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Such a drag. The price of independence. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I’m sick. And I want my old life back. I want to be <i>tito</i> and king once again.<br />
<br />
I want to be home.<br />
<br />
<i>(Musings while finding hard time sleeping on the fourth day of nursing the flu and headache from sinusitis. Manang manghihilot</i> <i>did not show up. I know, this too, and the flu, shall pass. I shouldn't have called home and talked to the kids. But still, I just so enjoy this self-regulating, sovereign life that I will persist.)</i></div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-24606042382896716682013-05-05T21:30:00.002+08:002013-06-08T13:30:48.031+08:00why do you care?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNg343hRviiQ9W9VhlGzFW_FxB1Cokf1u9eHwE8TnBUuDgRqEwSgD7Z3kPglBeroklr9Lm5pzfqL8tuzp3OY7mLTjg0d_gHJqmIrsYR8qBbbfd7F2v0dkRDrlXU0lveLvklpfNm2gzKJGG/s1600/how-to-be-single-and-happy.WidePlayer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNg343hRviiQ9W9VhlGzFW_FxB1Cokf1u9eHwE8TnBUuDgRqEwSgD7Z3kPglBeroklr9Lm5pzfqL8tuzp3OY7mLTjg0d_gHJqmIrsYR8qBbbfd7F2v0dkRDrlXU0lveLvklpfNm2gzKJGG/s400/how-to-be-single-and-happy.WidePlayer.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(can married men lounge this relaxed and happy? lol!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When you start hitting the big 3 and people don't see you wearing that bright and polished round thing around your ring finger, they tend to be overly concerned suddenly. Try going to your cousin's wedding and every one on the guest list will ask you the most important question of all - why are you still single, or josh the biggest tease of all time - <i>uuyy</i>, <i>you will already be next! - </i>that gets me sort of vexed all the time.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can I cringe here already? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You gotta believe that I am all for marriage. If two people are madly in love with each other and cannot figure their lives apart from one another, then by all means, file for a licence and go to pre-cana. But don't get me wrong: this thing is just not on top of my concerns now. Or I simply cannot do so by now because I still don't have anybody who can splay the colors and hues in my blank canvas. I just cannot marry myself, right?</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just can't seem to get why it is a matter of great distress to other people that I am actually happy and content being uncommitted right now. You see, there's a time element here - the "right now", because I'm still pretty hopeful that somebody might just turn up and turn my world upside down that will make me decide: enough of solitary bliss. Fine if cousin # 1's son will already start going to prep school in June, but it should not be your worry if my firstborn will still be in high school by the time I become the balding retiree. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm happy for my <i>ka-berks</i> who look happy on their pre-nup and wedding photos on Facebook and wish them to sport the same smile while they are well into the married existence. I post comments how their kids look like miniatures of them. But I am also happy planning for a trip in November or saving for a DSLR to pursue the illusion that I can make art, and that I am unsurprisingly, and not abnormally content with my current state of affairs. If I may, I just think being single is way too cool because: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You don’t fill your brain with
dates (birthday, anniversary and the whole nine yards) and other details like
favorites (argh!), of which the failure to recall can spark another world war; </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You don’t fight with yourself what
to order for dinner - if you want baby back ribs, you get baby back ribs - and not feel guilty about gorging all the fats. You also get to save money since you spend for a single diner only;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You get to watch the movie you
wanted to watch and don’t have to drag yourself watching John Lloyd and Sarah
Geronimo;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You only have yourself to say if
your shirt looks okay or not, or if you already need shaving or not;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You can be lazy and disgusting without anybody making that look all too bad;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You get to hang out with other
people and not worry someone will get jealous. You can go to dates with anybody you want and the only regret you will have is not being able to flirt with more people than you should (you sure did not think that was me whining, eh?);</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: -.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
You own your time and you are your own boss (ok, ok. The boss is in the office) and you can go to places you wanted to go to any time you wanted to;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
There will be lesser stress that you have to endure and hence, I am just trying to enjoy bucket loads of freedom while they last. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/XBBmCV0Uhtk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are actually more reasons than what that video goes to list but still, the question and the tease. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will be going to another wedding yet again and I am trying to figure a retort that's more polite than - why do you care? You might just have the cleverest phrase. </div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-33604894605167197492013-05-05T14:22:00.003+08:002013-06-08T13:32:57.832+08:00quo vadis, cocinero?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrxXoYiDkwOHsbfIiAU0SWZRLhnE5CW3GgLac7mqVaTSCURJzP5M-Q1p5QHTRGVeEDAiSHPKCOZwdbPxhj3wvaV3UKwqM5dHZVRM7Zfpi3ahuNIMwrZbMmPpsoiRYn44EL7A1MCkIMg1Z/s1600/Where-Are-You-Going.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrxXoYiDkwOHsbfIiAU0SWZRLhnE5CW3GgLac7mqVaTSCURJzP5M-Q1p5QHTRGVeEDAiSHPKCOZwdbPxhj3wvaV3UKwqM5dHZVRM7Zfpi3ahuNIMwrZbMmPpsoiRYn44EL7A1MCkIMg1Z/s400/Where-Are-You-Going.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://timemanagementninja.com/2012/05/8-ways-to-know-where-you-are-going-today-get-there/">(source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In April of 2011, I took a leap of faith. At that time, I was unsure if the decision to take on a new
role and steer my career to a different direction was the rightest thing to do.
It wasn’t the sort of plainly testing the waters. I usually start a year
getting jitters, the sort that wants me to pack and go into the wild, but
there’s a tiny something somewhere at the back of my mind that said “go!” - a
certain stirring that I will probably understand at some distant future. I am not
entirely the submissive type. I tried pushing walls for want of greater space
and bigger horizon but if some things are simply not just meant to be, nothing
will come out of your pushing. And so that tiny voice won me over.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought I packed enough of confidence and courage when I decided
to don another garb and wander in another field. I miscalculated my
perseverance levels that at one point I thought of throwing in the towel. But I
had no contingency plan in place. I tried pushing walls again but still nothing
came out of the shove. Then, that tiny voice was there again – “just keep on”. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I overestimated my ability to persist, I certainly
underrated the power of love of those who supported in me in my decision to
sail outside of my comfort zone. It was not at all a tiny voice of inspiration that kept telling me that everything will be alright while reassuring me that they
will still be standing behind if I choose to pull the sails down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two years later, some will say that I finally found my place under the sun. Maybe,
but I am more gratified by the realization that a path has been set for me, that
I have the littlest understanding of the plans laid out by the Hand in the grand
scheme of things and so I just need to let that Hand do the pushing of walls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some call it birthing pains. Others will say that one has to
be put through fire to come out shining like gold. These pains that we go
through in every change that we need to endure are necessary steps for the
masterpiece in progress that is us. I still recall a professor’s reminder that adversity
brings out character. Sometimes, I even grin when I remember that I came close to
giving up when I haven’t even seen the bigger picture yet. Those pains, had
they really been such a big deal? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still cannot say that I already found my end of the rainbow. Life is ever a journey and this jittery pair of shoes will not just stay in one place yet. But I'm glad I took that leap. It pays to listen to a tiny voice sometimes.</div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-53165703268925333232013-04-14T07:29:00.000+08:002013-06-08T13:33:36.967+08:00must-watch movies - part 1<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWeq14j50l0UnpzAnYTCL9x43SiQmTjmFvQtK4uS49s9skZrO0leZv_u82CufFNBz-pyZ9tKbIeiTUSv2LYppcJq6AT0Xqkx6-0hImp2x_QtPQZFHijQbfxn7WB5ktojamdjouSGNqu4V/s1600/couch-potato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWeq14j50l0UnpzAnYTCL9x43SiQmTjmFvQtK4uS49s9skZrO0leZv_u82CufFNBz-pyZ9tKbIeiTUSv2LYppcJq6AT0Xqkx6-0hImp2x_QtPQZFHijQbfxn7WB5ktojamdjouSGNqu4V/s400/couch-potato.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://timonsopus.wordpress.com/2011/04/12/confession-of-a-couch-potato/">(source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Movies are my favorite past time. Whenever I needed reprieve from the mayhem of a cubicle or just in the mood for lazing, I ring friends’ numbers and ask them about what movies to watch before the earth swallows me whole. I always get good
recommendations and many I suggest to other friends too. Good movies are too
precious not to get the popular viewing that they deserve. These are my top picks of flicks that are worth a good 90 minutes or
so of your time (and would still want a second or third viewing despite anything that Rotten Tomatoes has to say). While my picks
may not cause a stir in you (you, spoilers!), I would like to make an unsolicited endorsement just
the same. Recommendations are welcome. And loads of porcorn, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(While movie-makers will continue to make good films, I'll be adding to this list from time to time. Just saying.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Legends of the Fall</b>. This Anthony Hopkins and Brad Pitt
starrer is a sweeping family saga at the backdrop of tragic romance to an epic scale. Good, just good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Big Fish</b>. A gripping
glance at father and son relationships. This is currently one in my top 5. Yeah,
I can be that sucker for these dramas.</span><br />
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<b style="font-family: inherit;">Finding Neverland</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. A depiction of JM Barrie’s inspiration
for creating the classic Peter Pan tale. Johnny Depp is a well-liked actor too. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Casablanca</b>. Personal top pick for a romantic flick. Just
watch it. Undoubtedly an immortal. <i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bridges of Madison County</b>. A song has this line for its
lyrics: it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along. This
is pretty much about it. Makes you think. Love indeed has a greater meaning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Three Idiots</b>. A story about friendship that will stand through
time. Anybody would want that, eh. Got me chanting “all is well!” for a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The Lion King.</b> My very first favorite animated movie.
A rich storytelling that is highly relatable. This will be loved by both young
and old, father and son. <i>Hakuna matata </i>somehow became a personal mantra.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind</b>. A charming melancholy
you wouldn’t want to erase from your silver screen experience. We’ll that’s
just me talking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Into the Wild</b>. An inspiring, haunting odyssey to self-discovery.
This non-fiction’s poignant end elicits both comfort and conflict.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sideways</b>. Funny and moving and surely not about wines. It will stir you sideways.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b style="font-family: inherit;">The Dark Knight </b><span style="font-family: inherit;">and</span><b style="font-family: inherit;"> The Dark Knight Rises</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Probably, the two best Batman movies of all time. The fact that Christopher Nolan created
both poses no further skepticism. A smart story-telling and way above being
just comic-book movies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>In the Mood for Love</b>. This Wong Kar-Wai classic is a
gripping tale of suppressed longing. Gets you into the mood for love with its unique visual rendering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Little Miss Sunshine</b>. A moving, unpredictable comedy makes
you revisit that inherent desire to win.
In the end, it will win you over to better yourself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>In Bruges</b>. A surprising gangster film that reinforces your belief
in change and second chances. Colin Farrell's comedy is a revelation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Amelie</b>. The poster says Amelie will change your life and it
will. An illuminating movie bliss that says fantasy may just come to life. A delightful comedy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Chocolat</b>. A light drama about defying
conventions. Chocolat is just so <i>sinfully delicious</i> you cannot resist.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZwr9lF-ezvpdNU0S30TuEgT37k8Wsv8FjXckfkHnDRE4EKBjZvwmvHcLnFKuiarLweK7nkK-z6Raby5iA5Agtq8mj-ypFJXF4yG-4eSDGYQGD2lggIpDyjyg0bJYAsVFeDR3kri6Ecg0/s1600/chocolat_xlg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZwr9lF-ezvpdNU0S30TuEgT37k8Wsv8FjXckfkHnDRE4EKBjZvwmvHcLnFKuiarLweK7nkK-z6Raby5iA5Agtq8mj-ypFJXF4yG-4eSDGYQGD2lggIpDyjyg0bJYAsVFeDR3kri6Ecg0/s320/chocolat_xlg.jpg" width="215" /></span></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: inherit;">Fight Club</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">First rule: Don't talk about fight club. Second rule: Don't talk about fight club.</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> So, let's just start reeling. A classic. Soap, anyone?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYAhTApF_LlhAV-Lr_rWGQD1Toh_SYgHXcFJw6U7nmWFYfmQc3js-FK1-0MufOjawrehjJ8UAtyjLAxDvFxWwR0qYofwSvZiyPK7ui-aoThk7qEzOgPLc_Sinwyvb0nveDTyr3KyiOoqy/s1600/fight-club-movie-poster-1999-1020215604-500a3e6c2a406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYAhTApF_LlhAV-Lr_rWGQD1Toh_SYgHXcFJw6U7nmWFYfmQc3js-FK1-0MufOjawrehjJ8UAtyjLAxDvFxWwR0qYofwSvZiyPK7ui-aoThk7qEzOgPLc_Sinwyvb0nveDTyr3KyiOoqy/s320/fight-club-movie-poster-1999-1020215604-500a3e6c2a406.jpg" width="216" /></span></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: inherit;">The Departed</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Violent, exciting crime thriller
that will not depart from you for a while.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cf9LLJQutMWxJztNWheTVaTGe4Cpfcg0rzmE1mhg_mPPAyWQkVYh3gu_kmAOME4JkRKY6pN6jauW87Qg8__BMZ2UxnhC9DCD9piYFyhO96LLnnZg5ZOIkc2jxbeIvbgI4ZQVwOqn3TBo/s1600/The-Departed-movie-poster-50efa7e159e8a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cf9LLJQutMWxJztNWheTVaTGe4Cpfcg0rzmE1mhg_mPPAyWQkVYh3gu_kmAOME4JkRKY6pN6jauW87Qg8__BMZ2UxnhC9DCD9piYFyhO96LLnnZg5ZOIkc2jxbeIvbgI4ZQVwOqn3TBo/s320/The-Departed-movie-poster-50efa7e159e8a.jpg" width="216" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Life is Beautiful</b>. Life is beautiful and this movie is, too.
Both poignant and sweet.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6gyKtwc64HiAdV2o5mfF6RRvNhVAnTgwIoPr2eMv7SIz0K2RyM35aWRhIcBWOobTZqEuWmZcV1tlpBfYWtVGo7RDIOah7B68FQPO3TWjLJNFyb-DoasHvqAZrSXrqtpl6nx9sXeb0lBQ/s1600/life_is_beautiful_ver1_xlg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6gyKtwc64HiAdV2o5mfF6RRvNhVAnTgwIoPr2eMv7SIz0K2RyM35aWRhIcBWOobTZqEuWmZcV1tlpBfYWtVGo7RDIOah7B68FQPO3TWjLJNFyb-DoasHvqAZrSXrqtpl6nx9sXeb0lBQ/s320/life_is_beautiful_ver1_xlg.jpg" width="214" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Pan’s Labyrinth</b>. A smorgasbord of a film. Fairy tale plus drama
plus conflict and violence plus myth and magic. Not a movie for kids but a sure
great watch.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKQ43XlJoeBGsJ7dea5xBloe3D7tWOqpAcl6U3hZKupKqeRwu6wWI2HmkeXtuiome2scgotyv9YxQoLCtP32VgzkguJbrkNeUNVdE9_4DNw4wKNcKwMkEaiWaf3hsyLDzHFxYWdQRQdmf/s1600/pans_labyrinth_ver6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKQ43XlJoeBGsJ7dea5xBloe3D7tWOqpAcl6U3hZKupKqeRwu6wWI2HmkeXtuiome2scgotyv9YxQoLCtP32VgzkguJbrkNeUNVdE9_4DNw4wKNcKwMkEaiWaf3hsyLDzHFxYWdQRQdmf/s320/pans_labyrinth_ver6.jpg" width="217" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>(500) Days of Summer</b>. A clever and zany romantic
story. Sweet and endearing, I have 500 days to fall in love.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N70sAVJUEYqU-8-LWhVPxB3SDOjTqrYCg71_ZhKdYzpVV-Y6PAF1eep7-mO8tQyh25FAUGqSRUJYaHw-tVFhVN2tD0jlmFcytGROerM5JdSddxXexHLNOHHi9bAnnOYwaW9p2LQhI9Z-/s1600/poster_large_597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N70sAVJUEYqU-8-LWhVPxB3SDOjTqrYCg71_ZhKdYzpVV-Y6PAF1eep7-mO8tQyh25FAUGqSRUJYaHw-tVFhVN2tD0jlmFcytGROerM5JdSddxXexHLNOHHi9bAnnOYwaW9p2LQhI9Z-/s320/poster_large_597.jpg" width="207" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Up</b>. Masterful and full of life, Up will carry you to that direction. A lovely love story you’d want to share to your children and grandchildren. Oh-uh.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8zegQxqIMTMczWCNuSj5yoDW-7uB3hGeZ9qOJ3GzilbzrvMlNaX2TjqsygYlrdMHeEL28aPPunLNw0tyzJL__6GxTgJYjBdxg1eCUwHS3IDUGqDKhbZXSynSR_NUPxBRYB1SdUBTDAuk/s1600/Up+(Official+Movie+Poster).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8zegQxqIMTMczWCNuSj5yoDW-7uB3hGeZ9qOJ3GzilbzrvMlNaX2TjqsygYlrdMHeEL28aPPunLNw0tyzJL__6GxTgJYjBdxg1eCUwHS3IDUGqDKhbZXSynSR_NUPxBRYB1SdUBTDAuk/s320/Up+(Official+Movie+Poster).jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: inherit;">The Royal Tenenbaums</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. A quirky comedy about disappointment that never disappoints. Delightful and offbeat to a certain degree.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnpMgz3sFiVpr4UwX6iqLEZ5yU3wrnjaeols7368_ers3mxhfudJhuWotDEXgJtyg-yJAo0wqVfJONKEFJrFdI8oxAL6NmhpPkFi1stFUfOElMpDLokEr5Zz7Ocn-lM6SMNfl95Wv2t_g/s1600/royal_tenenbaums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnpMgz3sFiVpr4UwX6iqLEZ5yU3wrnjaeols7368_ers3mxhfudJhuWotDEXgJtyg-yJAo0wqVfJONKEFJrFdI8oxAL6NmhpPkFi1stFUfOElMpDLokEr5Zz7Ocn-lM6SMNfl95Wv2t_g/s320/royal_tenenbaums.jpg" width="210" /></span></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: inherit;">Children of Men</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. A futuristic thriller about man's struggle to recoup its ability to procreate. Disturbing and riveting both in the same way. What if...</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMkoorqhPnq4oQNIoswvv12ZDwfUNsAtQdfcBy0Exmhh3Wm2c6h7hTCRiP3wSW-lORZDcnmt-ML0HdNoOFedTPVVuJLyTIyMo6DsmpVbGktThFx782W__nr9vdDAVBT8DVQ1ZQ-Cc-6bt/s1600/children_of_men_ver8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKMkoorqhPnq4oQNIoswvv12ZDwfUNsAtQdfcBy0Exmhh3Wm2c6h7hTCRiP3wSW-lORZDcnmt-ML0HdNoOFedTPVVuJLyTIyMo6DsmpVbGktThFx782W__nr9vdDAVBT8DVQ1ZQ-Cc-6bt/s320/children_of_men_ver8.jpg" width="215" /></span></a></div>
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<b>The Shawshank Redemption</b>. A prison drama which is a compelling testament to hope and human spirit. A moving, redeeming delight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckTzXo0FpH2jHhXqJFquxhno1ReG0Zz0zQOsDhyphenhyphenCt8YlPJOfKQih-y15Q7NInyn3unZr3imfcKXcinrz62yGO-fqK8wtAgim6A4c4U89qGmuvgDAd7F99lNC6WlK3bspN9_cmH0MdIR2f/s1600/ShawshankeRedemptionPoster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckTzXo0FpH2jHhXqJFquxhno1ReG0Zz0zQOsDhyphenhyphenCt8YlPJOfKQih-y15Q7NInyn3unZr3imfcKXcinrz62yGO-fqK8wtAgim6A4c4U89qGmuvgDAd7F99lNC6WlK3bspN9_cmH0MdIR2f/s320/ShawshankeRedemptionPoster.jpg" width="215" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Cinema Paradiso</b>. A nostalgic film about friendship and love. It felt like <i>Dead Stars</i> turned into a movie. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMMkD8MxAGXBInSSZV0vtkddlpUZj9Ur8dnW3l5PluPjElgZO14XOxYKpTBWa8M6bdC7tsUIMpJiqzP71MpMoJnbCI10ftpfX9B3Z6tRdJw45ES9ay4h31nLEmmG44KA_CIBA0zGuZE8R/s1600/cinema_paradiso_xlg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMMkD8MxAGXBInSSZV0vtkddlpUZj9Ur8dnW3l5PluPjElgZO14XOxYKpTBWa8M6bdC7tsUIMpJiqzP71MpMoJnbCI10ftpfX9B3Z6tRdJw45ES9ay4h31nLEmmG44KA_CIBA0zGuZE8R/s320/cinema_paradiso_xlg.jpg" width="210" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Lost in Translation</b>. A light tale about coming
into terms with disillusionment and dealing with dilemma. Warm and dreamy and funny.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrCZ1MDPOoE_n_CW8U3xwH9BEEiiaeTYTxyVKhc8fF9ktwZy35wqbBW4YzyHr1kMloZ6GQlv9dmJlOhgRosp34xm74iRLSCZrArCwyGjNPcwvHyT29KZ_c0zUoSy4BSaXWL5KdXy2OLvy/s1600/lost_in_translation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrCZ1MDPOoE_n_CW8U3xwH9BEEiiaeTYTxyVKhc8fF9ktwZy35wqbBW4YzyHr1kMloZ6GQlv9dmJlOhgRosp34xm74iRLSCZrArCwyGjNPcwvHyT29KZ_c0zUoSy4BSaXWL5KdXy2OLvy/s320/lost_in_translation.jpg" width="207" /></span></a></div>
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<b>Almost Famous</b>. An engaging tale of director Cameron Crowe’s experience as a rock journalist. A very endearing film I wanted to jump right into a bus after watching this. Well, almost.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCZ0spVEc3TNCEawnDQ7fYw0ppiNasSnqpAOfBj9BNaHNWMABrLphbmqG3_-aQ6j9wlyYhJ-5MJDNsQTa5lAHCxT2HZmsC-fd5JEz2NZHoZTksQ_NCa79oKRzBmv4TyyDbfhq184n5m4q/s1600/almost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCZ0spVEc3TNCEawnDQ7fYw0ppiNasSnqpAOfBj9BNaHNWMABrLphbmqG3_-aQ6j9wlyYhJ-5MJDNsQTa5lAHCxT2HZmsC-fd5JEz2NZHoZTksQ_NCa79oKRzBmv4TyyDbfhq184n5m4q/s320/almost.jpg" width="227" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The Way Back</b>. This movie, which was inspired by real events
is an epic story of endurance and will. Uplifting.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiR0HCW0_0SlWx6wQa5lUWZkTlDQstYgMbyC_8rV0WtYjMSHvX88A9YviP6Q6YBr0BqeHyieQr5nXxUnObEwl1pOb3nQsm6IYjdjkxLlVGTlAGSNMNwjC6VT3HfAokpxqg2m1NHzm2kfXn/s1600/The-Way-Back-movie-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiR0HCW0_0SlWx6wQa5lUWZkTlDQstYgMbyC_8rV0WtYjMSHvX88A9YviP6Q6YBr0BqeHyieQr5nXxUnObEwl1pOb3nQsm6IYjdjkxLlVGTlAGSNMNwjC6VT3HfAokpxqg2m1NHzm2kfXn/s320/The-Way-Back-movie-poster.jpg" width="216" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">More coming soon.</span><br />
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(The photos are not mine, obviously.)</div>
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cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-84734211050210207212013-04-07T18:57:00.000+08:002013-06-12T12:03:52.336+08:00letter to my 16-year old self<i>I was skimming through a friend's <a href="http://www.deecoded.blogspot.com/2010/05/letters-for-our-16-year-old-selves.html">blog</a>, and stumbled upon a post the idea of which was inspiration to this entry. Mine's a a tad serious, but this is as close as I can get to writing to my 16-year old self.</i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYHhPDxycrPPatWr-kN07eP1KiTzaGRSrnMkoKL1pQf8v4vzaLcWfXazV3BqHqr-9ZqSgvgIqFZ2N84A3ISf0kaMiy6UgxsZ1V2S2TCbVupxXnp4A2CNR_4PQe5bn9bCZhN3apj9RkoLP/s1600/416179389_c439ab2f86.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYHhPDxycrPPatWr-kN07eP1KiTzaGRSrnMkoKL1pQf8v4vzaLcWfXazV3BqHqr-9ZqSgvgIqFZ2N84A3ISf0kaMiy6UgxsZ1V2S2TCbVupxXnp4A2CNR_4PQe5bn9bCZhN3apj9RkoLP/s400/416179389_c439ab2f86.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://filipinolifeinpictures.wordpress.com/2008/05/01/batanes-boy-riding-a-carabao/">(source)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
April 7, 2013<br />
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Skinny under-cut, </div>
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Hurrah! I can see you pounding that frail chest for getting
that haircut like your gang. You are one of them now. Darn, it was hip to be
shaven underneath that bob. For once, you were not afraid of Mamang’s scolding
for looking like an “adik-adik” although your gaunt frame can already be
mistaken for one. You will be getting off high school and it would be great to look
“cool” in your class photos. You wouldn’t want to be that odd one out. After
all, that day will be your day, your favorite teacher would say teary-eyed.
First advice: don’t be so touchy. You ought to look tough. You should swag that
hairstyle to character. </div>
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After the bravados have calmed down, you will worry but
still hope that by sheer miracle, you can go to college. That will not come unfounded and you will feel down. Reel on it a bit. You will ask high heavens
why you and your family, of all people, were made to endure these strains. But
do not wallow in self-pity. I know it’s easier said than done and that not too many
people will understand. Second advice:
do not indulge in too much despair and discouragement. Not going to
college like the rest of your class is not the end of the world. Gather yourself
up and gear up for battle. If life is a battle for survival, start doing 50
push ups tomorrow morning. Just kidding. Read books, do the chores, cultivate
your backyard, open a sari-sari store – just do something worthwhile. You will
learn a lot that you never will at any university.</div>
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I know you’d still want to be an architect, or an engineer,
or an accountant. You might even heed your uncle’s advice and be a teacher
instead. Use your time to pick one course. Third advice: weave a dream even if
you will do so while on top of a sampalok tree watching over your flock of
ducks or atop the carabao while herding it. Be grand with your dreams, it’s the
freest thing to do. Do not lose hope that dreaming is all that life can ever
give you. Maybe one day, all the universe will conspire to get you that desire.
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Be intent that one day the gods will hear your prayers and
you will go to a university. Ain’t that great? That university! You will meet a
lot of great people there and some will become your greatest friends. You’ll
find the best teachers not only in class but in life’s lessons too. Life will
not be easy, money can barely cover the essentials, but trust that when the
universe conspires, you will get a P100 loan from a classmate, which can put you
through a week. Again, do not lament. Take pride in the thought that God gives
His toughest battles to His bravest soldiers. You are not one lame duck. </div>
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Do not be too stiff and uptight. I know the going gets tough
often but do not think that you carry all the burdens of the world to not have
fun. Life is not always a struggle - remember that. Fourth advice: enjoy your
youth. Goof around, party even a little – just don’t do drugs. Street-smart is
a lot cool so learn the ways of the street. But always remember that “smart” is
part of the adjective. Send that love letter, laugh hard, learn the guitar and
sing your heart out. Compose poetry. Join organizations and meet a lot of
friends. Just have some fun. </div>
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You will go through tests on and off campus. The grades that
the teachers will give you may matter but it will be the trials which will
measure the strength of your character that will build and define you. Do the
right things the right way. You will make mistakes but do not commit the
deliberate ones. Fifth advice: there are no short cuts in this life. You
wouldn’t want one fault or two to haunt you for a long time. Regret is not a
very good company and guilt will not let you sleep sometimes. It’s true that we
will hold on to the lessons more dearly if these were learned the hard way, but
try to avoid this pain as much as you can. You don’t want to coil with this extra
baggage. Be practical but do not be foolhardy or just plain rash.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Do not shed off your sense of family. They will be the
closest network of persons who will stick with you through thick and thin. Do
not be too hard on yourself but keep in mind that you are “kuya”. Remember that
Mamang has to rest one day from pulling the odds to make both ends meet, and
just enjoy the beach or the casino. Or just wherever she wishes to be that will
make her happy. She greatly deserves that.
</div>
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When things seem to get hopeless and out of meaning, which they
sometimes will, remember that there is a greater force that puts everything in
its proper order and place – bumps, cliffs, thunders, snakes, thorny bushes and
all. Just look up for directions. </div>
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This is getting long and I might already be getting to your
nerves. Okay, okay. You already know these things, but a gentle reminder won’t
hurt sometimes. These will do for now. But if you don’t follow some of the
things I say (I know you can be stubborn sometimes), I will shrug the blame off
you. But I hope you will take me seriously. </div>
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Come on, you will do just fine. So no worries, okay? </div>
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Future you,</div>
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Skinny-still but clean cut</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. I was just trying not to dampen your high spirits
when I let you have your swag with your haircut. But trust me, you wouldn’t
want to see that photo ever again with that under-cut that looks neither cute nor
hip. It is awful and nasty you’d want to burn that print into ashes. Maybe,
this is just the spoiler in me. And o, do not be so anxious about working at
Zamboanga’s canneries just so you wouldn’t be a bum. Who knows you’d even be
hobnobbing with the proprietors one day soon. So for now, it’s time to give
that carabao a “HOO!!!”</span>cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-77577920116034403912012-07-08T01:09:00.000+08:002013-06-08T13:34:53.364+08:00closure<i>(This is an old piece from more than a couple of years ago. Still hoping against hope, I never got around the courage to publish. I guess it's time to take that step forward and stand by what I decided to name this piece.) </i><br />
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I told myself not to put this thing down until it’s clearly and finally over. I’ve always known to hold on tight until the end of the line, that I either wait and make up for my late entrance or continue chasing that butterfly until it finally lands on my palm. I believe I was perseverance personified - I persist in my pursuits. But it’s different this time, and I realized, when it comes to things that we feel inside, some of our perspectives shift.<br />
<br />
Pinker was the last indulgence of my late bloom. At one point, the idea of her was the summation of everything that I’ll ever look for in a relationship. She was that one thing that got me planning and thinking hard about the days to come. I have known a few who were pretty and smart and fun while God-fearing, but her entire wrap was simply a glow above the rest.<br />
<br />
We were formally introduced nearly two years ago although I had her number much earlier than that, thanks to a mutual friend who insisted I start communicating with her, which I nonchalantly replied yes. I never did. I was eyeing an old acquaintance who I haven’t had communication with for a long time, and whose episode with me, later I will find out, will be short-lived. Later I knew, the same friend told, that Pinker was also already with someone else.<br />
<br />
I was trying to get my faith founded when I had the chance to meet her again. I had nonchalance still since that was only a few months after that short-lived romance. And she was still with that somebody. I became active in my service, squeezing time between work and church and going home and spending time with new-found acquaintances. It counted months and I was finally living my life. Then one time, an elder in the community much like a mother to me, gave me her number, which like the first instance, I half-heartedly said yes but also never used. She was free this time but I haven’t had the urge to chase again then.<br />
<br />
Finally one time, I happened to ask about a scheduled out-of-town community congress which I wanted to attend. I can’t recall why it had been her when I could have easily asked one of our elders. All I can conjure up now was that I learned about the congress through her announcement. It ended up me not attending the congress but it would be the start of exchanging little niceties with her.<br />
<br />
Those little niceties began to build up. Oddly, I'd feel discomfited during our next meetings. Where it had been easy to cuddle a conversation before, I found myself grappling on how to start one. That was when I felt a swarm of butterflies in my stomach and heard a band of thunderbolts through my ears. Torpedoes hit me hard on the spine which all the way cramped me to my tongue.<br />
<br />
Shortly, I knew I was not singularly hit by her lightning. Reckoning, I placed that I was last in line but I continued to set my pace still, surprisingly, doing things I never did and never thought I would. Then I realized, my pace had been, pardon my French, too damn slow.<br />
<br />
Then the communication stopped when I learned that she finally made her choice. I don’t intend to delve any deeper into this. Saying she made the right one will be self-incriminating. But what I had for her bordered on deep respect and from what little I knew, she picked up the good man that she deserved. <br />
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I tell those I confide with that acceptance had been easy. I guess, that too, was half-hearted. It was harder than I thought when it hit me at point-blank. The last conference had been especially trying but I excelled in letting it stream unnoticed.<br />
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To break free, I joined another community. I continued meeting other acquaintances but none could keep up to the manner and measure of what I had and held for her. The same elder told me in one instance that God is still cooking up something for me, that He gives only what we deserve and that is only the best. I said I’m no longer looking, I screwed up my chance to take on my <i>best</i>. I cling to what she said last – I should be thankful for the feeling and the experience. I add, I should be thankful for the time she decided to spend with me and for keeping up with me on some late nights although I would not have been the best reason for keeping her awake. I assure her, with the sincerity of my intentions, that those nights got me looking forward to the new day.<br />
<br />
A friend recently e-mailed me Mark Macapagal’s article in The Manila Times which talked so aptly about timing. No amount of preparation nor intensity of feeling could bring you that one desire if it’s not the time. I get the idea.<br />
<br />
I stopped arguing with myself if I should put this thing down. I already stopped thinking about what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. The load of these questions are getting heavy and it is time to put it off. Pain is too strong an emotion for me now.<br />
<br />
Recently, I incidentally chanced with her again, which by some twisted stroke of chance, the second during that week (I’ve been trying to avoid a meeting - more for myself, but I guess a little for her too. But it’s a real small place we’re both in). Yet it helps unknowingly. It had been nice having to talk to her again even if the talk was way beyond the concerns and borders of feelings. I swear I still felt the thumping of thunderbolts but I knew the swarm of butterflies were already cramming somewhere else, not that I’ve driven them away. From what I gathered, she is very happy. I should be happy for her too for I’ve been praying for that since.<br />
<br />
I realized then that there’s one thing that I should do – pray for my happiness too. And maybe tomorrow, with this published, I’ll start changing passwords.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-34384918756269368832011-06-19T10:29:00.015+08:002013-06-08T13:36:10.828+08:00the father's day club<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The idea came nonchalantly during that SSS (Say Something Substantial) prologue during my freshman religious studies course. One by one, all forty one of us stood in front of the class, our feet fixated on a one square foot marking the professor drew on the floor, intently warning not to let loose of a toe outside, and decanted fragments of ourselves to people who were merely strangers back then. One by one, the stories poured out and I found myself listening to some narrations that were as if mine, as I understood the chronicling which climaxed to that all too familiar throb and longing.</div>
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I lost my father when I was nine. He was the former chief of the local police when he was gunned down by a perpetrator still unknown to us until now.<br />
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As the sole breadwinner for a family of six children, the cupboard was turned upside down after he was gone. Difficult may not have been an exaggeration of the life we went through without Papang. I will not want another retelling.</div>
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During the course of that SSS, I came to know other classmates whose stories were closely allied with mine. We were four in the class. We met another one year the after although her story was a bit different from us while the sentiment was the same. I hope they would forgive my lack of authority to recount these fragments which my memory can conjure now: </div>
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Z's father died by accident; a land mine was detonated on the plantation he was working at. H's and R's succumbed to illness. T's is a complex storyline and I digress to even set a backdrop. Z, H, T and I became good friends, but then again, all in that class had been. But I suppose, we understood each other better because of that nexus that linked us. We exchanged stories about how things were when our fathers were still around (all of us lost our fathers when we were young). We smiled at bittersweet memories but the tears we left to dry on that SSS floor. I know that we were made different by our circumstances and losing our fathers early in our lives etched some sense of maturity early on in our minds. Although I know that those experiences fortified us, there are still times that we needed some ounces of strength that we know we could have gotten so easily from a father's love and encouragement. These times often hit a raw nerve. But we get to live by the strength of the love from the people who were left and given to us.</div>
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These experiences also made us more bonded with our Mamangs or Mamas. On several occasions, we talked of our wishes and plans, not only for ourselves but for our mothers, the only parent left to us who also took on the uneasy task of fathering. But I will devote another write-up for that. Too bad, a get-together with our mothers still did not happen but someday I hope it will. </div>
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Over the years, the paths of life have brought us to our spots under the sun. We seldom see each other, although some, I often do on a social networking site. We still struggle with other battles that life throw at us, but I know the lessons learned and stength gained from our experiences plus the love and guidance of our fathers, wherever they are, will pull us through. </div>
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When I joined a Catholic community, I met many others who share the same story. In my previous cell group, I used to have four brothers who tell the same tale of throb and longing. I know at one point or another, everyone will join us in this club. When that time comes, I know you can always come to us to shed some of the pain and we will not mind. We shed some of those many times ago. But for now, I'd say, hug your father tight while he can still hug you back. For when the time comes, all you can do is wish even for a short moment when you still can. </div>
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To all fathers out there, whether we see you or not, Happy Father's Day.</div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-40696425924540931642011-02-11T21:41:00.016+08:002013-06-08T13:36:43.669+08:00sidestepping the bucket<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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I am not about to make a review. The film was released sometime in 2007 and attempting to make one is already three years late at the very least. I am one of the late catchers of the movie (pardon me, but I have just seen <i>Good Will Hunting</i><span style="font-style: normal;">) a</span>nd since I'm a real sucker for melodramas (for one, <i>Big Fish</i> is now my favorite film), watching this flick somehow touched a raw vein. </div>
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What would you do if you only have three months to live? What would you do differently knowing that your hours are counted, your lease at life reaching termination?</div>
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The questions dawned on me as soon as John Mayer started blaring in the background. Suggestions like suddenly becoming benevolent and virtuous would be feigned responses and I'm afraid I'd be damned all the more. <br />
There will always be that part that will tell you to start acting a little kinder and be a little bit more pious and it's perfectly okay. But if trying to earn a fast track access to the golden gate gives the reason to that action and not the drive to do good because it's something that I haven't tried and should do, then it only beats the crap out of me.</div>
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I'm the gravely-ill Carter (Morgan Freeman) now and since I probably won't meet an Edward Cole (Jack Nicholson) in my sickbay, I can only do things that are well within my measures: no exhilarating skydives and jet-setting voyage around the world. Not exactly around the world like around the world but a French villa, the Egyptian pyramids, an African safari, the Taj Mahal, the Tibetan alps (was that Tibet?) and the Hongkong skylines is pretty much it. But I'm more than sure that there'll be the drama. And no less potent. </div>
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Here's probably what I would do on a more pragmatic and palpable sense:</div>
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First, I'd finish my pending credit recommendations and file for an indefinite leave. This will take me a couple of weeks most probably plus the goodbyes. Seven years of your life is still seven years. Never mind that it's been less than perfect, but when you breathe the same puffs of the air-con<span style="text-decoration: none;"> machine</span> and smell the same dead-rat stink, people around become tinges of the ugly and lovely, the gloomy and ecstatic, the despondent and optimistic blobs on my shirt. And the stain would probably remain unbleached beyond the passing of another seven years. </div>
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Then, I'd go home and hug my mother tight (aww!). I'd kiss her every morning and my sisters and niece. Hug my brother every morning and my nephews. Cook them breakfast, lunch and dinner. Clean their rooms, wash their clothes. I'd probably abandon my repugnance to ironing for one day. I'd be a very loving son, a tender brother and a gentle <i>tito</i>.</div>
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I probably can't spend time getting a girlfriend. Not that it's too late and desperate but I can't be sadistic to my grave. But I'd probably write down that love letter in my head and send it. It won't elicit for a reply. If that's deemed pathetic then I'd be pathetic to my grave. </div>
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I'd show up at community meetings, probably accept an invitation to lead opening worship or talk a talk. Show up at two-round sharings and reunions. Give hand to the charity works.</div>
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By that time, I'd probably be as poor as a rat so instead of a jet I'd travel on a frigate of a book like a poem from my primary years. I'd finish my copies of Milan Kundera, Chuck Palahniuk and Arundhati Roy which I still haven't touched after grabbing them from the 'sale' rack. I'd probably learn about the sensitivity of Hemingway's <i>The Old Man and the Sea</i> in the after-life.</div>
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I'd pen down an entry to the <i>Palanca</i>. I know I will not win, but the mere thought of having sent one is already a prize far bigger than me. I was sorry I didn't get enough of confidence to e-mail that article to the Youngblood until Inquirer thinks I'm no longer 'young' enough to send one. </div>
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I'll send long e-mails to pals far and wide. In it, I'd apologize about my failure to reciprocate or even deserve the brand of friendship I have been accorded. It will be brimming of gratitude. </div>
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By the time I finish crashing out these items, the sands may have been emptying the upper bulb fast. But before I get all corners covered, I'll stand in front of my father's grave as a tough guy who filled his cup full. </div>
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Then, I won't be able to try the world's highest bungee in New Zealand or witness the majesty of Sagrada Familia for myself. But it's okay. I'd probably can't write a book and talk to Paulo Coelho in person and it would be alright. I'd probably bring my cavities to my grave with the warts on my back and I can't give a damn. I'll be the tough guy who filled his cup full. </div>
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The movie talked about a survey with 94% responding that they wouldn't want to know when they would kick the bucket. If I'd be Carter and gravely-ill, I'd probably list myself among the 6%, but it would be a different tape if I'm my ass-kicking self right now. I'd probably spend half of my last ninety days calling on to the heavens why me and why now. </div>
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I woke up this morning reminded that the visit to the dentist would be over the weekend. I'm glad I can still lay out plans for travel in August and never mind that I'd be hitting the storm (because there'll be a long weekend in August and on no other periods after P-noy became a spoiler of the holiday economics). I'm looking forward to watching the many movies I missed and finding the classics on the 'sale' rack in the bookstores. We don't know what will happen tomorrow but still we wake up and make plans – that's hope. Some of these plans may seem out of our league but still we continue to believe that someday we'll get them – that's faith. While not achieving those plans may wound and break us but still we find reasons to lick the cuts and bruises and be swathed in the strappings of love. These fill my cup. </div>
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Then my list will probably be longer than the seven items or so spelled out above. Like Edward Cole, I'd probably get a tattoo. Or do a Carter's extremely weak 'laugh until I cry, help a complete stranger for the good or witness something 'majestic'. Good or nasty, I couldn't care less.</div>
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There would be many things that I'd do differently. To add to John Mayer's refrain, I'do what I need to do and change what I need to change. And then when I'm a tad better, I probably won't use 'probably' so often again in a write-up.<br />
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<br />
<i><b>"Say"</b><br />
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Take all of your wasted honor<br />
Every little past frustration<br />
Take all of your so-called problems,<br />
Better put 'em in quotations<br />
<br />
Say what you need to say ...<br />
<br />
Walking like a one man army<br />
Fighting with the shadows in your head<br />
Living out the same old moment<br />
Knowing you'd be better off instead,<br />
If you could only . . .<br />
<br />
Say what you need to say...<br />
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Have no fear for giving in<br />
Have no fear for giving over<br />
You'd better know that in the end<br />
It's better to say too much<br />
Than never say what you need to say again<br />
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Even if your hands are shaking<br />
And your faith is broken<br />
Even as the eyes are closing<br />
Do it with a heart wide open<br />
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Say what you need to say...</i><br />
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cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-14818683487673855042011-01-27T21:18:00.020+08:002013-06-08T13:37:09.169+08:00like a bottle of wine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzgawn75g5413nvb_1i7n0FjpFusasvPuicJ1IOV-TWze1Px9BmwPmxtrLghlxUAfvLykz0Lt5yLQb-lENsUVCUf5P4QDVbA5epM6LBp5v_RBBrX6NvsvrK8n1YEuexNUXVRpWKnvkmnb/s1600/wine.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzgawn75g5413nvb_1i7n0FjpFusasvPuicJ1IOV-TWze1Px9BmwPmxtrLghlxUAfvLykz0Lt5yLQb-lENsUVCUf5P4QDVbA5epM6LBp5v_RBBrX6NvsvrK8n1YEuexNUXVRpWKnvkmnb/s400/wine.gif" width="171" /></a></div>
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I imagined celebrating my birthday this year with the zest of making it as a milestone. Nothing really grand, just something that will sort of leave an impression similar to a rite of passage. Like maybe conquering my fear of heights by dominating Singapore's reverse bungee. Aside from the idea of thrill, it would be a reunion of sorts with college buddies who I haven't seen in what seemed like ages. If not, it would also be a nice idea to 'commune with myself' while on a bike along the slopes of Batanes. This 'communing-with-myself' thing is actually already long overdue to those who figured that I should already be finishing my novitiate by this time. Quite romantic actually. But like many things that were not quite intended to be, I was homebound on that day with a cluttered room that needs cleaning and a mountain of soiled clothes to wash. So much for a milestone celebration.</div>
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This day used to be a little and a few things to me and rambling from tradition (office people are good at reminding you that traditions ought to survive), I don't normally open wine for cheers. Like leaves that grow green and fall, birthdays come and go, leaving only additional lines in the forehead and probably a few gray hairs sprouting now and then.<br />
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The passing of time brings with it a certain awkwardness about recollection and anticipation, evoking anxiety at gunshot starts and rousing excitement at racing to the finish line.</div>
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While my accomplishments remain humble, what three decades in this world means to me is a milestone in itself and in hues of experiences and lessons: I experienced losing a parent but finding many others along the path. <i>No one is truly alone</i>. I struggled for the sake of ambition only to find the meaning of achievement in tranquility. <i>No one is truly a failure</i>. I searched places for convenience and comfort only to find it lying under my nose – the convenience of home and simplicity and the comfort of family and community. <i>No one is truly poor</i>.</div>
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In my first thirty years, I made many mistakes and several wrong choices, followed wrong directions and trekked along crooked paths. I thought ill, spewed curse, articulated lies and mastered pretense. I was foolhardy. I was coward. I digressed and complained, became lazy and procrastrinated. I learned evil while others took on my righteousness.</div>
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I learned to surrender my petty concerns to a greater Force. I sought forgiveness for my transgressions. I don't expect to be beatified. </div>
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I 've been blessed more than I am worthy of. Often, I am not appreciative but I am starting to look at things differently now. I am no longer the center of the universe. I learned to take things as they are, as they come.</div>
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Unlike the past ones that came and went, there's something about this turn of year that both agitates and animates me. Here is looking forward to the next thirty years while hoping that the numbers will indeed roll. Here's to life, love and laughter. Here's to experiences to go through and lessons to learn, places to go and people to meet. Here's to ambitions and milestone celebrations that will probably be another room full of clutter. Here's to faith, peace and freedom. Here's to growing old and growing up. And just like a bottle of wine, I wish to get better with time. </div>
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Pass the goblets now. Cheers! </div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-59404701597681940972010-12-30T22:48:00.010+08:002013-06-08T13:37:39.882+08:00listing/delisting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's too late to make that list – Christmas was a few days ago and Santa might already be too busy trashing another mount of unserved requests from the naughty ones. And I'm probably a bit old to make that list. I get the feeling that Christmas wishing is a kid's domain and with the frequent pains on my back, I know I'm way past this juvenility. <br />
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Ok, ok. So that's clearly sour graping after I didn't get that battery-operated Astroboy. Fact is, I still keep a sort of 'mental' list of things I hope to get (and even bargained with Santa that it is not necessarily for Christmas).<br />
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Here are some items:<br />
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Financial Freedom. This has been on my list for some years until a few weeks ago when the news said that the P741MM prize money in the Grand Lotto was already won by a balikbayan winner. I hinged my fancy of living the multi-millionaire life on winning that sum so I decided to scratch it off, at least for now. The last time I checked, the prize money was still around P50MM (that's barely the cost of Prado's I swore to give to friends). I even attended talks and did research on achieving financial freedom just to evidence how serious I was at getting it. What I often catch is that it's not how much you make but how much you save that matters. Well, I get that but I don't get that. To me, it still largely how much you earn first and the savings part just follows. This earned a barrage of counter statements and I got tired of countless debates on this issue so I'm not raising my arguments now. Bottom line is, there's still no bottom line on my profit statement and the figures on my bank accounts are only the account numbers. <br />
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Being Superman. I used to hanker about being unbeatable by anything. Imagine how life can get so easy when you're tougher than the things that you ought to overcome, stronger than the foes you ought to defeat. Like that indomitable spirit who can say that there'll be no mountain too high to climb, no river too wide to cross. But I can no longer recall the last time that I attempted to climb a mountain and I bet my neighbor's 5-year old son can beat me at the irrigation across my house with his breaststroke while I struggle with my dog-style. My only consolation is that at least I have a point of similarity with Clark Kent in the form of kryptonite, only I form my own in my kidneys. <br />
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Beach, book and pina colada. A triviality to many but that is to me the picture of peace and content. I thought this is an easy thing to get since it doesn't involve much external force, just a self-exercise. But boy, it's tough exercise for someone who personifies annoyance and protest. Excluding the hypocrites, I could count with the fingers of my right hand those who can convince me they're truly satisfied and not wanting for more. Ok, that's bitterness ringing true but at a point I hoped to become the first finger to stretch on my left hand. <br />
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Three things and I might have had Santa flabbergasted. Maybe they're as expensive as that Astroboy robot.<br />
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Not getting the things you wished for teaches you four important things: one, humility. Maybe Santa's heart will melt seeing you coy in one corner, heart opened to the heavens for a divine downpour. Two, the dignity of labor. Some presents are not standing ready at your doorstep on Christmas morning. Some are seeds that need to be sown, then watered, then watched over to shoo the pests until they bloom and come into fruition. Consequent to this, you get to learn the capacity to wait. Heck, no seed was mutated yet to bear fruit a day after it was sown. Lastly and perhaps most importantly is the ability to have hope and faith. This gives you the vigor to wake up to a new day and without despair even if the X's on your calendar near the 31st of December. <br />
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This understanding somehow brings back the juvenility in me (that's why I still make that list although I can't really enumerate the items now). Perhaps, I learned to wish for simpler things too: peace in the family that endures through a battery of distress and the esteem (not the admiration) of people around. There are other things but they're better left unspoken lest I get jinxed again.<br />
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But since it's still the holidays, how about a deeper patience and keener understanding for starters? I hope Santa doesn't get flabbergasted one more time.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-8684380022069222752010-12-27T21:40:00.004+08:002013-06-08T13:38:03.210+08:00scenes on a bus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOlt2DZnMszoOpoBpyiuBp2tGK7HEq5SyrAy7SgCcqpf3qazbdezDomnXRE8-i9oSnjv-aZ_TiCry6g28w0JZg8kH6kVR2ZXVw-3o7ypaBjMzozoVu2bK7h3c-Pe7TnyfNDcr6WABjBbW/s1600/1237560773293308421milovanderlinden_Funny_Bus.svg.med.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOlt2DZnMszoOpoBpyiuBp2tGK7HEq5SyrAy7SgCcqpf3qazbdezDomnXRE8-i9oSnjv-aZ_TiCry6g28w0JZg8kH6kVR2ZXVw-3o7ypaBjMzozoVu2bK7h3c-Pe7TnyfNDcr6WABjBbW/s320/1237560773293308421milovanderlinden_Funny_Bus.svg.med.png" width="308" /></span></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Iligan, Cagayan! Larga na ta hapit!</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Grabbed the ailse seat on the sixth row, bag on the overhead compartment. After the <i>Kumalarang</i> bus hold-up, I seldom pick the first five. 6.30am, forgot to ring an alarm. Iligan it will be, Cagayan will be too late. Damn stone mill, I could buy a new pair of pants for the thousand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Few passengers on this trip. Only three or four when I got in.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Itlog! Mineral! Saging! Cookies!</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">30ish lady comes up, sits on the front seat. Asks driver what time expected to arrive in Cagayan. <i>1pm or so, Manong </i>driver<i> </i>replies<i>. </i>Sound of egg shells cracking. Calls outside, <i>mineral gamay tag-pila? (How much is a small bottle of mineral water?)</i> Checked for my liter, a new part of my travel gear. Somehow learned to finish in three gulps. <i>Good boy, </i>doc will be happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Manang</i> and young daughter come up, settle on the row next to mine. Daughter looks outside while <i>Mama</i> puts bags in the compartment.</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ako si takuri, gamay og dako...</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A rhyme from pre-school Flores de Mayo. I tried to follow the verse but they soon become indecipherable. How many of those songs can I still remember? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Engine comes to life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In minutes, we pass by my side of town. Didn't tell Mamang I'm seeing the uro again. Why cause some more worries? This is just routine, one of those times, perhaps still many times until I learn to watch my manners. I tell my sisters instead. </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">B U T T E R <b>S</b> L Y, butterfly!</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The rhyme makes my first morning smile. That little kid's singing. Childhood perhaps is the happiest point in our lives when we have the least care about the world as long as we get to sing nursery rhymes, no matter how garbled the lines can sometimes get. We just go with what our senses evoke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>B U T T E R </i><i><b>S S</b></i><i> Y, butterfly.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tried to take a nap then a text message - I am such a 'lousy' friend. I tried to compose but realized no point in sending a retort. I have other things to worry about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Manang hushes little girl, 'other passengers will be disturbed'. Little girl hums <i>Leron, leron sinta. It's ok, </i>I thought of saying but the droning lulls a tired soul to rest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Bus halts to the first stopover. Another bus from another line tails behind. Barkers lure the passengers to their transports. A blind man in wooden crutches comes up, strums his crude ukelele and sings M<i>utya ka baleleng</i>. A younger boy tries to guide him through the ailse, a can clanks with coins in one hand. I am glad that I only have back pains but I am not glad that life can sometimes be so limiting like this pauper's daily treks up the bus and ukeleles giving off beat strums of life's prejudices. There should be greater purpose for this man of broken chords than just make passengers like me feel thankful about what's put in my platter. With the noise of these issues in my mind, I drop my donation and it doesn't make a sound. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">At the next bus stop, Manang comes up and looks for an empty seat. <i>'Linda?'</i>, the lady behind me calls up. <i>'Myrna? Oy, kumusta na man ka?' </i>starts the long chat. Classmates from grade school years, haven't met for more than twenty years. I close my eyes but scenes of their early life flash in my mind: the dance in the municipal plaza, a certain Temiong (I recall how my mother gets giddy at Robert Redford), how their marrried lives fare and children. I haven't seen a pal from more than twenty years in quite a while. The last one I saw was with a pregnant wife on a jeepney ride to home and shared stories of life at war. This brings about some nostalgic sense. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Another lady hails the bus to a stop. We stay for a while while Manang's <i>kinhason </i>are loaded in the compartment below. She checks her list and then barks to a buyer on her cellphone. The propellers of countryside economy. If only for that, I'll stand by the stink. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A short nap and finally, we reach Iligan. Other scenes are then waiting to unfold. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(If I travel by land, I use to pick the air-conditioned bus since they by far offer the convenience not given by the regular buses. But I was grateful for taking this one trip – regular buses have more stories to tell. I hope in my future land trips, if my patience allow, I'll be on another regular bus.) </span> </div>
cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-54287049166192727302010-11-07T21:35:00.013+08:002013-06-08T13:39:05.791+08:00waiting for the choo-choo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I used to frown at the morbidity of talking about death and when a conversation of that sort pops out, the instant reflex is to steer the chat to a different direction. I reckon I'm still 'young' to entertain thoughts of that degree when I have not even started the bottom fourth of the items I stuffed on my bucket. There's still a whole list of places to go and things to do. So thinking about the train ride to the twilight zone should still be lightyears away. <br />
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Then somehow, things happen and you get a close encounter with death through the loss of a dear one and reinforces the reality that the train arrives at an unexpected time. The closest experience I have of grim reaper's stroke was the tragedy of my father's death many years ago. That time, I thought the train wheeled on the wrong track.<br />
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*** <br />
We were a very young family then. We were six children, our eldest was 16, the youngest 3. He was the sole breadwinner so imagine how everything turned upside down after he died: from not having enough food in the table to the threat of letting our dreams go down the drain by having to stop schooling. Death's aftermath can sometimes be a long, treacherous process. <br />
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***<br />
Recalling my father's death still stirs some poignance that has never been filled by the passing of time. It happened twenty years ago yet Novembers still evoke a familiar sense. It's been twenty years of sailing in an open sea without even learning how to paddle a canoe; at times strong winds blow and you barely manage to shift sails that they get blown and torn. You wished there was the captain to tell you which rope to pull, which way to turn the rudder. But it's been twenty years of learning the motions of the wheel on your own. I didn't want to be a sailor yet but it's good to know which sails to raise when the clouds darken on the distance. <br />
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***<br />
While re-painting my father's tomb, my brother pointed to a new 'neighbor' left to my father's chamber. 'Very young, only 16. Bone cancer, already stage 4 when diagnosed'. The kid's family hung a portrait of him just above the tiny altar where a lighted candle is dying out. I also noticed that Papang had a few other neighbors who weren't there yet a year ago. <br />
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Somehow, Novembers remind me of my RS 101's cliches on how short life is. This one from Crowfoot I remember by heart – <i>(Life) is the flash of the firefly in the night, the breath of buffalo in the wintertime, the shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.</i><br />
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***<br />
Late last year, I was finally convinced to purchase a life and memorial plan. (My boss and I had been planning to buy a memorial lot but I could no longer afford it.) I guess I learned to welcome the idea of death as an inevitable something that should be prepared for, like that certainty of a trike stopping by when I'm dressed up for work. There are two sides to this statement: one, something that takes a lifetime hence harder to do, and another one which is easier and will just take a few bucks. I took steps to at least ready the easier one so there'll be one less worry for those I will be leaving.<br />
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***<br />
Mr. Crabb hinted that we often look at death as something that happens to others, until it happens to us. <br />
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And because the train doesn't choo-choo when it comes, it's best to have a ticket ready.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-70662913235933867452010-10-24T18:08:00.008+08:002013-06-08T13:38:27.785+08:00parable of two fishes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A buddy toured me to his backyard pond where he grows freshwater breeds, but mostly <i>tilapias</i>. When he threw some <i>palay</i> bran into the pond, a number of <i>tilapias</i> the size of my palm surfaced, their mouths grasping the dusty fibers of food. After, they swiftly plunged back into the murky abyss. They did this in repetition until the pond's surface was clear of residues.<br />
<br />
We have rounded the pond when one <i>tilapia</i> re-surfaced for another grasp of the bran but immediately plunged back when it saw that everything had already been consumed. I was urged to throw a fistful.<br />
<br />
'That one's quite hungry', I exclaimed.<br />
<br />
'They're due for harvest next week', my buddy replied, 'that one must have known that I'm hoping for few additional pounds. Come back and you'll get few pieces for free', he cracked. I knew he would be selling the excess from their provision. <br />
<br />
A few weeks after, I caught up with a neighbor while cleaning up his aquarium. The goldfishes were temporarily put in a large basin. After the cleaning has been done, the fantails were put back in the glass case for feeding. After a few minutes of grasping feed pellets, one piece bloated as a ping-pong ball played dead to the glee of this neighbor. 'This one loves to show off to visitors', he says. 'Taking care of these things relieves me. I guess that's why they're created'. <br />
<br />
The encounter with these two fishes stirred questions about meanings and purpose. That things are not much as a matter of choice as a consequence of pre-ordained calling: a <i>tilapia</i> for food, a goldfish to embellish. <br />
<br />
If you happen to pass by the Sto. Nino de Paz Chapel in Greenbelt, you will notice a school of fish on the pond where it sits. If you happen to look closely, you will notice that a gray <i>tilapia</i> swims among the colorful kois. Good if you happen admire the <i>tilapia</i> too among the kois. I do not. To my thinking, its swimming in a pond that is intended to be admired for its colorful inhabitants doesn't achieve the <i>tilapia's</i> purpose. But I digress from those who mock the <i>tilapia</i> for where it is. It might not have been a choice for that <i>tilapia</i> to make. <br />
<br />
If it's not much of a bother, please say a little prayer on my behalf.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-72471151827697552792010-09-19T12:52:00.008+08:002013-06-08T13:39:40.822+08:00scotch mist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes, nature gives you a sick sense of humor for a realization.<br />
<br />
There's this <i>guyabano</i> outside of my room bearing several ripening fruits. 'Ignorable' <i>guyabano</i> is to me (I still go for <i>mangoes</i> when fruits) but I was drawn into stocktaking one day. There's this particular one that just got me: it is not the biggest (which would typically be the favored one) neither the most plump of the bunch (which would make for a pulpy shake) but I knew this tiny piece would just be right to 'satisfy' a craving in me. This one got me into daily morning visits and my anticipation was building for the 'right time' for this piece to finally ripen in the care of nature's elements. As they say, <i>"masarap ang hindi hinog sa pilit"</i> (what's ripened by time is more delightful). <br />
<br />
Then the day finally came when I figured it's the right time for picking. I haven't climbed a tree in quite a time to note that the <i>guyabano</i> branch is not as sturdy to carry my weight and <i>'hantiks'</i> (big red ants) had been guarding the trunk where 'my' fruit was hinged on. Quite a gamble for one 'ignorable' <i>guyabano</i>, but I was driven into letting loose of some defenses for this one glory - to my terms at least.<br />
<br />
So how would you feel when you got out that morning mustering all hopes and find a flock of <i>'kulansyangs'</i> (red-eyed black birds) pecking into 'your' fruit? Only the seeds which fell to the earth knew how long they had been devouring it.<br />
<br />
A raging sense was all over you twinged with the eroding feeling of regret: <i>I should have picked it 'yesterday'</i>. Yet it was funny why looking at the birds cannot make you feel the audacity to drive them away. It's no longer of any use because even after you succeed in shooing them away and reclaim 'your' fruit, it might no longer serve its purpose since its flesh were already among the birds. What is there left for your planned <i>guyabano</i> shake? <br />
<br />
Then you learn to take things as they are, maybe in the way they were intended to be. And finally, when you steered clear of things, you realize that you had no right to claim 'that' <i>guyabano</i> as yours: looking by the window you knew that the <i>'kulansyangs'</i> owned the entire tree. They always did and never really left it. While my eyes were fixed on 'that' fruit, I did not notice that on a far branch, they had built nests. I couldn't know for how long they had been humming melodies for that <i>guyabano</i> to ripen. <br />
<br />
What better thing to do but to retreat to your own confines. You cannot continue wallowing on that wee bit feeling of loss over that 'thing' that cannot become, had never been yours in the first place. What better thing to believe is to be persuaded in the thought that somewhere, other <i>'guyabanos'</i> will soon come into bloom that no birds own. What better thing to realize is that you have the capacity to 'nurture' and have hope. <br />
<br />
Outside, the rain slowly drip and I noticed that there are new buds coming into bloom. I hope in time, the birds will give me 'this' one piece.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-25164628616270598452010-08-28T20:43:00.009+08:002013-06-08T13:43:10.358+08:00thank God for Coelho<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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Funny how little things can make your day. Like say, a little comment to a post which appeared awkward at first but as you re-read it, it gives you some tingling effect like some sense of euphoria.Then it makes you realize that in life, there's always something to look forward to, that a fall is not entirely a damnation but a profound act of love, more like a necessary tool for a masterpiece in progress. <br />
<br />
We are all a masterpiece in progress. No one should be saying you are a 'bad' art, not even after the job has been completed. That act of decreeing is not among our privileges. Ours is only the act of understanding and pardon. We all have tumbled in one way or another, the depths of which vary to some extent. Like what's been written countless times before, it's how we rise after the fall that matters and the lessons we get from the scratches or deep wounds. Cliche it may be but this gives me another refreshing feeling somehow.<br />
<br />
***<br />
Two weeks ago, I had my latest addition to my collection of hospital kits. My sisters see this weird. Forming and peeing stones appeared a bit weird to me at first but before I realized that I just got a sore taste of my own obstinacy. I have come into terms with the prognosis that I may be a stonemill (I certainly could still use a third opinion for this) but this is not conceding to the condition. My point is I no longer find any use for whining. I am thankful to doctors and nurses. I am thankful for the easy access to medical attention that is among my employment benefits. I am thankful for the makers of Acalka and the benevolent wi-fi provider outside my hospital room. <br />
<br />
***<br />
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After many months of hiatus, I'm skimming through a book again. I'm on my third Coelho (this makes me an unfashionably late follower of the sage); The Alchemist and The Zahir both left indelible prints somewhere within. A Coelho is always a powerhouse. There's always something good to be picked in between the lines. His works are brimming with useful insights for the pilgrims in us, his adages a constant guide in my own trip.<br />
<br />
***<br />
Finally, my MEG shares are on the rebound (I hope FGEN will follow suit). My sister hurdled the recent NLE...you see, there's never a dearth of things that we should be grateful for, even in the most unpleasant (weirdest) of situations. I just need to see past the grimes to perceive the good. I should be learning this fast.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-17422209245738832312010-08-09T21:06:00.008+08:002013-06-08T13:49:47.352+08:00story of a name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Overheard: a <i>kolehiyala</i> on a trike complaining about how her parents gave her a 'not-so-good-to-hear' name. In a way that she's sees appropriate, they should have given her a handle other than <i>Maria Capra</i>. Ok, I was kidding.<br />
<br />
The chat with her collaborator on the front row of the trike did not divulge what her name was for my decree if it is at all ill-sounding but I heard similar stories; even a colleague once commented she didn't 'like' her name that much. <i>(Personally, I think it's somewhat uncorrupted)</i>.<br />
<br />
Each name is brought into life with a story. In my brood, it's almost about a combination of other names. Our eldest and youngest are combined names of our parents. My name and <i>ditse's</i> are from our grandparents; mines from my mother side, hers from our paternal old folks. Another sister's an ode to her birth month and a queen. My only brother is a namesake of a prince who only my father knows. (He says by the way that he doesn't like this name too).<br />
<br />
This scheme appears to me as a sense of self-esteem, honoring forebears and those people we look up to.<br />
<br />
More than what has been put in our records of birth, our entire being is reduced to that jumble of letters. How we walk through our waking days spells out the letters that will identify us; what we do is a character that will soon build up to a word. So how good or rotten a name may sound is not something that was given to us. It is something that we spawn ourselves. <br />
<br />
There are many ways to create a 'better-sounding' name, one of them acting better than being snotty. It's still not too late. A friend aptly puts it: <i>a name is all that we can truly have</i>. I hope you got that <i>Maria!</i>cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-84787213587732315382010-08-07T22:41:00.008+08:002013-06-08T13:44:14.553+08:00changes and nostalgia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The late afternoon air unusually wafts a sudden stream of melancholy as we go off to <i>Nang Beny</i>'s garden for some fresh picks. I have trekked these tracks between ricefield and irrigation many times before but with two sisters, scenes of early years on this place somewhat flash in random. <br />
<br />
We passed by the pond where we used to pick <i>kangkong</i> for food. One sister suddenly recalled the time when we had nothing else as <i>ulam</i> but this green thing three meals a day. I said, "at least now we get to have a choice between <i>kangkong</i> and <i>ginamus</i>" to which the three of us giggled. Silently, I recalled how I used to sigh about this being served in the table like, <i>"again?"</i>. Yet unknowingly, this has become a favorite.<br />
<br />
The <i>turod</i> (<i>Ilocano</i> for hill) had a different look now. One of its sides was ripped off a few years ago to fill a collapsed side of a river and now, it lost some of its crowns as well. They cut down some of the trees, including the <i>mangga</i> and <i>salumagi</i> (tamarind) where I held posts in childhood camp games. It was climbing on these trees that I negated the branding of being <i>lampa</i>; even as a kid you have to prove some strength to be deemed acceptable. But one buddy, <i>igso</i> and demi-brother constantly took on my side. <i>Jojo</i> and I would <i>pastol</i> carabaos together by the side of this <i>turod</i>, him teaching me how to tame my beast. In time, I had my own carabao budge at one slight tap on the side and my <i>"ho!'s"</i> were obeyed. On the <i>salumagi</i>, Jojo and I also owned branches as our distinct domains where we would camp while looking after our flocks of ducks after every harvest. We were masters of own territories, thing that may be impossible in the real world. But one thing remains true: I realized that proving your worth is really a way of life. <br />
<br />
From Nang Beny's garden, I can already see the highway. Bamboos used to hide this from view but they were all gone now. The tale of constant taking without replenishing took its toll on the riverbanks (bamboos hold the banks from collapsing during floods). <br />
<br />
Between the garden and the row of houses on the east, the vast field is green. This has always been a refreshing sight even as a kid. Now, more than appreciating the sight is its purpose and meaning in our lives and in the lives of many of my folks. On these fields is where we are rooted. We owe everything to these tracts. <br />
<br />
After we picked <i>camote</i> tops, <i>okras</i> and <i>patola</i>, we crossed the wobbly bamboo bridge unto the other bank of the irrigation. I remember enjoying the swim in these muddy waters. <i>"Burarog"</i>, they call it which denotes swimming the indulgent type. We didn't care about getting <i>kagid</i> (skin disease) back then. We simply had fun. <br />
<br />
As we were heading back home, a flock of birds make a 'V' formation while hovering the power lines above. In the distance, they made a 'W'. Good that we still see things like these. Many don't get this opportunity.<br />
<br />
Going home had its usual effects on me. I hope next time, I'd be able to see more of the spots and the memories they will rekindle.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8392712168445900112.post-64965393134239381382010-07-26T22:04:00.003+08:002013-06-08T13:40:07.837+08:00a short letter to a little sister<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I reckon that we haven't really talked for a long time. By talk, I meant having those conversations about little things – your assignments in school, side comments on shows we watch on TV, the jokes we caught up with in texts from silly pals, our ambitions and plans for ourselves (though it might have not appeared that I was trying to address this more to you). I may not look like it, but I miss those exchanges.<br />
<br />
I suppose many things have changed since a few years ago. I became too rigid, unforgiving and I shut you off too easily.<br />
<br />
Everybody makes mistakes. That is one painful fact that we have to live with. Some of my friends committed the same mistake that you did but I felt them. To counsel had been so easy then. In your case, I didn't get it. I put all the blame on you. You had been so reckless, headstrong and plain pointless. You were not content in just inflicting wound - you even rubbed salt on it.<br />
<br />
You may have not realized but I was as shaterred as you were. I lost not only my tall dreams for you. I lost all hopes that one day you'd gather your acts together and take that one step forward without taking two steps backward. I started to doubt every word that you say and your actions became a constant disheartening stroke.<br />
<br />
Over time, my sanctimony sank you down further. The distance between us became too wide it had been hard for you to reach me. I even waited for another catastrophe before I tried to drift into squaring off. That should be the greatest lesson to us both. But maybe now, it's more directed to me. <br />
<br />
I have long forgiven you. More than I care to show, I'm slowly re-building my hopes for you. I hope you do not waste this one last chance. Get up and start walking again.<br />
<br />
Do not do this for me neither for your own sake. Do this for your son. From now on, do not lose sight that you no longer live just for your own impulses. You are responsible for the life you brought to this earth. <br />
<br />
I will try to bend a little further. I'll pull the belt tighter to make both ends meet. I promise I won't be expecting much just as I did before. Now, I only ask that you do what's right. <br />
<br />
I apologize for the times that I kept my distance. I know now you suffered more than I cared to understand. This time, I will try to be more present and within reach. I will try to be a better <i>kuya</i>.<br />
<br />
I know saying these things to you personally is very unlikely. We are not used to these melodramas. But I hope we can pick up where we left off. How about talk to me about school?<br />
<br />
By the way, those <i>adjusting entries</i> that you didn't quite understand, I will still have to re-read them. It's been long since I prepared one of those. I should already be doing so but I'm driven into writing this. I don't know but somehow, I feel a little lighter.cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02343048785939805450noreply@blogger.com3