To A New Start!

        I wanted to take a giant leap.  But I forgot that great things start from small beginnings.

So now I’m back in the bustling capital. I never thought six months of bumming around could pass by so fleetingly. And no, I didn’t go soul-searching, that’s just so pretentious and passe.  I simply just missed home. I did what I wanted – spent time with my family, and I got what I needed – a break. I got so cozy and comfortable living a care-free life that I had to pull myself out of it before I completely drown. Truth be told, I’ve always feared that I’d be as nothing as our neighborhood ghettos who, even at their thirty’s, still ask money from their folks to buy themselves beer and company. It’s just wrong and demoralizing. And maybe life would be better if they’d just buy themselves some purpose. 

 I had to remind myself that I am not getting any younger. And while some of my friends have gone finding their greener pastures, here I am still figuring out how to be successful, or at the very least, what I really want. Right now, I feel like a sixth-grader writing a school essay about “What I want to be when I grow up”, only that I AM a grown up. And it’s a pity how I still don’t know what I want. I feel like I’m being mocked and laughed at by the universe, despite how I learned from Albert Camus that it is in fact, benignly indifferent. I keep on feeling an extra ounce of sorry for myself every time I see a facebook picture of some of my friends getting themselves somewhere. I get happy for them but I secretly get envious and sad. It’s pathetic, really. And since I’ve mastered the art of faking happiness, no one really knows. No one CAN know.

 

Enough of emo-like sulking to self-pity! It's totally so not me.

So what’s the plan then? Right now, I’m back to basics. First get myself a job, preferably a higher-paying than the previous one. And thus, last week I have been busy job hunting here in the big metro. Technically, this is the first time I’ve been on a job hunt since my previous work came to me while I was busy with my undergrad thesis and I got employed a week after graduation. I’ve never felt so tired after every day of going to offices and companies! It is, after all not easy to buy yourself a purpose (I feel for you, neighborhood ghettos!). But do I seriously have the right to give-up? Shame! I know there are worse problems in this world and the last thing people would want to hear (or read) is the ranting of a middle-class yuppie trying to land himself employment. It’s just unfair to everyone who are experiencing REAL problems this very moment while I finish this crapola of a write-up on the 29^th floor of an air-conditioned condominium at the heart of this posh city. Just kidding! BUT seriously, I have to get a job and then from there perhaps I will make that giant leap: towards building a career up, chasing other dreams, go places, be someone someday and etc. Who knows? Perhaps I might truthfully achieve the things I rambled in my sixth-grade essay of “What I want to be when I grow up” - whatever that is.

So here’s to resignations, job-hunts and future high-paying employments! And of course to new, small beginnings!

On Ms Philippines 2012 and how Pinoys See Pageantry

The 2012 Winners, L to R: Ali, Nicole, Janine, Katrina, Elaine

In the end, we are all BUT spectators.

I have only been a recent fan of Philippine pageantry. Consequently, I also get excited and nervous come Miss Universe when that fateful filipina sashays the elegance and beauty of the Philippines to the rest of the world. We Pinoys look at pageantry as an opportunity to re-introduce ourselves as a nation.  If and when we emerge victorious, the pride we feel is tantamount as to when Manny Pacquiao knocks-out a boxing opponent. Most foreigners get annoyed with this “proud to be Pinoy” moments of ours but they can never understand it in full unless they learn our history and be Filipinos themselves.  Our experiences as a nation compels us to be dutiful in re-establishing our lost pride. Yes, at face value pageantry may just be entertainment but for us it is another avenue to present and stimulate a fresh perception of ourselves.

Everybody's favorite: Mary Jean /MJ

In light of the recent BB Pilipinas 2012 finals, majority of the fans got disappointed with the results. Mary Jean Lastimosa, who what majority thought was the strongest delegate didn’t get any crown. With her killer curves, fierce facial features and arresting persona, many thinks she is the best bet to coninue our top-five streak in Miss Universe. But the night ended in disbelief.

Or did it really?

Notwithstanding all the rumored conspiracies hounding the pageant, what happened on the finals night was in fact a deja-vu of the previous years. I wanted Mary Jean to win but my brain told me it would really be Janine Mari Tugonon – though heavily criticized for her flabiness and unpreparedness. I felt a resurgence of anxiety with the almost similar situation between last years favorite Patricia Tumulak versus the pageant newbie Shamcey Supsup last year. The latter won the local tilt and reminded everyone of the fighting spirit and resilience of the Filipino when she placed 4^th during Miss Universe 2011, proving all her critics wrong. I hope the tides turn out the same for Janine. BUT just like Shamcey and Venus Raj, It all depends how much she fights for it.

As with many I was also disappointed with the results and sad for my favorite MJ. I turned off the TV, went straight to the kitchen and drowned my sorrow with a glass of water and then slept everything off. When I woke up this morning, I realized that the result is just as consistent as the previous years. Natural beauties always win. I realized I have no right to critique against it when I know only so little of pageants. It is also unfair to Janine when she still has yet to prove herself. I'll give her that chance the same way everyone did to Shamcey and Venus. Because wether we like it or not, Janine will wear the PHILIPPINE sash in the future and along with her is EVERY Filipino’s hope of a third crown. The real competition is out there. 

Camiguin Island: My Private Sanctuary

Cloud affair: Arrival at the Port of Benoni

Born of fire and magma spewed out from volcanic eruptions is an island province abound with diverse ecological resources. Cradled at the bosom of the Bohol sea, Camiguin is the second smallest province in the Philippines. Far from the extensive arms of greedy commercialism, it remains to be among the few vacation destinations that has unspoilt natural charm and unadulterated scenery.  

Camiguin: Island of Fire
Mt.Hibok-hibok is covered by the white clouds

The usual traffic

The usual street-side view

Clear green waters to Mantigue Island and Sanctuary

Five hours away from my hometown, I have been to this Island a couple of times since I was young. Being an Island province, it’s a given that this small dot on our map is teeming with a lot of nature’s wonders. Life here is unsophisticated and uncomplicated yet just like the island itself, the people also beams with charm. From the the allure of old, antique houses lining the sides of clean streets to the smell of fresh provincial air down to its beaches, waterfalls, springs and even food is both a sight and an experience to behold. The island’s mysticism even ante’s up its rustic appeal. I hope that every wee bit of how and what Camiguin is, is preserved for years and unfazed from the damaging effects of an overgrowing and uncontrollable population. 

Almost sunset at Mantigue Island
(Php 550/5 pax boat ride to the island plus Php 20 environmental  fee upon arrival)

The usual architecture

The famous landmark: the 20 ft cross at the Sunken Cemetery
(Php 20/per head boat ride that takes you across the sea to the kiosk  below the cross)

When Mt. Vulcan Daan erupted in 1870's, it claimed almost one-thousand lives and buried some parts of the island. This marker is a reminder of that tragedy and to memorialize the lost lives. 

The trees have outgrown the old walls. 

The old Gui-ob church ruins in Catarman was also devastated during the eruption. 

A chapel built in the 50's inside the walls of the old church ruins.

Horizon highway

Boardwalk at a mangrove plantation on the way from the old church ruins

New church
Darn the ambulance

Faucet-like Katibawasan Falls
(Php 15/per head environmental fee)

The freezing waters of Katibawasan falls. And if it's not cold enough then take a dip 

at Santo Nino cold spring.

(Php15/head environmental fee)

But if you prefer a hot and relaxing evening: 

Me in my hot spring corner

(Php20/head environmental fee)

The spa-like Mt. Hibok-hibok Ardent hot spring pools is a must. Hottest at 39 deg Celsius water temperature

Didn't add photo filter on this.

The night scene at the shore of Sabacajan Cottages where I stayed. 

Tribal necklaces and trinkets for keeps

(Php 5/head environmental fee)

View from the 6th station

The walkway to the old Mt. Vulcan and stations of the cross. If I counted it right, there's about 14 stations you'll pass by before you reach the top. Once reached, the view of western Camiguin from the top is breathtaking. This time, I wasn't able to reach the top but I still vividly remember how it looks from there. 

This time, I skipped this for fear of getting burnt: It was a really hot day.

The famous White Island: A sandbar of powdery white sand. 

The famous VJANDEP Pastel of Camiguin
(Php 120/Box of 12 delectable buns)

One should not leave without bringing home VJANDEP PASTEL: A Camiguin pastry of supple BUN with sweet yema filling. 

The famous LANZONES of Camiguin: succulent and sweet

Every third week of October, the island province is in full festivity for the Lanzones Festival; A thanksgiving celebration for a bountiful harvest. 

How to get here: By air to Cagayan de Oro. From there, take a bus to Balingoan port then cross by     ferry to Benoni Port of Camiguin. 

I just love the sky

Side-note: Environmental Fees listed are as of March 2012.

                Playfully photo-filtered Images (except for White Island, Pastel and 

                Lanzones) are mine and are copyrighted. :)

A Hongkong Chronicle

The glass door slid open the very moment the bus halted adjacent the bus stop. A few blocks before, at the upper deck, we were already on our toes readying ourselves to step down. The moment the timer flashed 60, we hurried on alighting from the bus one by one. There were seven of us and a couple of passengers and all of us had only a minute, exactly sixty seconds to climb down the vehicle lest we all want to find ourselves on the next bus stop, a few kilometers off. As the bus sped away, I was fidgety on my scarf. I coiled it twice to add warmth over my nape. The temperature was at a freezing 11 degree Celsius. It was only until here that I had experienced this much cold in my life. I tucked both of my hands in my jacket-pockets as we started to walk. I tugged-on with my siblings while my folks were ahead of us a few steps away. Along with them is my mom’s friend uncle Rey, who relegated himself to being our tour guide. He has been here for almost 17 years. He likes it here more than in his land of birth. Who wouldn’t? Even I have found myself liking the place after only a couple of days. We were walking within Tsim Sha Tsui district. Getting lost but then finding our ways amid the dense crowd. With all the organized, effective and high-technology public transportation scheme this country has, one will find it amusing how most locals prefer to walk – even the old ones. We chatted our way until we stopped to sample the local street-food at a very busy stall. I had dumplings on a stick. The fusion of sweet and spicy aftertaste was great on the palate. “Tomorrow when we’re at the night market, we’ll sample their spicy seafood”, uncle Rey said while finishing his melon drink. I was talking to my brother when a woman approached him and muttered something to him in Cantonese. My brother smiled and stutteringly said “Sorry, I only speak English”.  My mom asked what that was about so I told her the incident and my dad laughed at it in jest. My brother has slanted eyes so it’s not really hard for him to be mistaken as Chinese though he looks more Japanese to me. We continued on our parade taking pictures of anything that caught our interests; amazing infrastructures, cutting-edge architecture and even of people we find fashionable - anything that we haven’t seen back home. 

The wind blew colder as the night got deeper but the crowd builds up by the minute. We found ourselves frolicking back in Victoria harbor. It was just last night when we astonished ourselves with the harbor’s symphony of light: a dazzling synchronization of laser, light and music multimedia of forty-four buildings.  “If I live here, I would watch this show every night giving up ten minutes of my life to pure awe and amazement”, I said to myself.  We all stopped at the promenade and sat at the benches admiring the city sky-line opposite the harbor. Our feet, weary of walk and our bodies, shivering from the cold. “The ice in Mongolia had melted and the wind is blowing all the cold here. In fact, temperature there has gotten below negative and some plants and cattle have died of it”, uncle Rey explained. “But this isn’t even the coldest yet, three weeks ago it was down to 9 degrees. February is the coldest month, you know”, he added. He went on explaining further about the light show; how expensive it was and how many tourists it draws every night. I listened eagerly until a familiar whisper of a warm, almost cry-like tone stole my ears. As uncle Rey’s voice grew fainter to my hearing, the melodious sound grew louder seemingly engaging on a duet with the frequent howling of the cold winter wind. I discreetly searched where the sound was coming from. A few benches away, a woman was romancing the strings of her cello as people passed her by. - Not a care in the world. I kept my eyes at her while I listened to her music. That rich, soothing sound and almost human-like singing kept me entranced for a long while. Ah! This should be life – not a care in the world for me, too.

Miss International Mom (late post)

And because it’s International Women’s Month, allow me the privilege to honor who I consider is the epitome of what an international woman really is (both literally and uhm, figuratively). Well it’s none other than my mom. Me doing this by the way is a rarity, in fact this is the very first time.

I have always been overly proud of my mom – in a secretive kind of way. I haven’t really praised her out loud, in the open and to other people because it’s just not me and neither do I want it to get into her head. Besides, she gets a regular dose of accolades (and jealousy) from her peers. She is distinguished within the realm of the academe. I’d say she is a superstar in her own right. On many evenings, we grew up with stories of struggle and perseverance of her youth. At one point, we (my siblings) orchestrated our little ways of escaping the dinner table because it was the same story over and over again. Imagine your mom reading to you Cinderella every night of your young life for say 10 years?  Although at times, she did manage to add twists of surprise out from the very mundane of things – only to deliver a point and to keep us interested for a few minutes. But now that I’m an adult and had been away, it’s just recent that I’ve really understood what she was trying to tell us. It was just a couple of nights ago during dinner that I heard again her life stories and I kept on thinking that if only I listened, I would’ve become as successful or accomplished as she is now.

She went through a hard life – that was always her point. Losing her mother at fourteen, her father became depressive, one brother became alcoholic and the family business along with their saved fortunes went awash by life’s ebbing current. But it never was a hindrance for her to pursue her goals. I’ve always kid her about having a soap opera kind of life but I’ve always understood why she is meticulous, perfectionist and workaholic. I’ve always understood that her reason for her later frequent leaving was because she didn’t want us to experience what she did. She was trying to make our lives different from hers: well-provided and smooth. But sometimes, I fail to understand her insatiable thirst for knowledge. She’d left us for months for trainings, seminars and researches abroad. She was pregnant with my brother when she was traversing her way through the forests of Australia. She was in the outskirts of Jakarta when I was awarded with honors in second grade. For years, she was finishing her doctorate in Malaysia while I was intentionally flunking subjects in high school. She wasn’t there in certain milestones of my life. But I never have even an ounce of resentment because she had always made up for her absence. An amusing memory is that while abroad, she made it a habit to call every other day and when she comes back, she brings with her a collection of phonecards, hundreds of them and in one shoebox.            

Today, my mom is where she rightfully deserves to be: the highest-ranking professor (and among the few highest-paid) in the state university she has been attached to for decades. Outside school, she leads a non-government team of environmentalists, conducts lectures and consultancy work, hold livelihood assistance forums to impoverished mothers who were victims of the recent typhoon while also leading various activities in church and elsewhere. She does all that while still being able to make sure that there’s enough groceries for the month, food on the table every meal, dusts wherever on the house being wiped-off and the toilet squeaky clean and free. But she always had a life of multi-tasking. I remember she (and my dad) put up a business of a boarding house with 90 plus residents, ensuring their every meal while taking care of then toddler me and my sister at the same time finishing her master’s degree. Later on, they put up a textile business and had my dad stop in the military and paid for his tuition to finish college. She had ever since prioritized education. That all being said, despite her humility,I will proudly claim how great my mom is.  

International Woman – Although I know that this month’s celebration is in a different context, I believe that such title serves her just right: For being well-traveled in 14 countries and for having been shortlisted for an Ivy-league school in the US and for just being everything.

Mom in Paris

And mom, if you stumble on this blog and read this (which I’ll ensure won’t happen),  please say NO to some commitments. You’re not 20 anymore for crying out loud! And what the hell is up with your recent administrative promotion for the nth time? So I guess you’re really not stopping huh? Then slow down a bit, okay? Don’t let this post bloat your ego and consider this as your birthday and mother's day post, too. 

-          From your secretly can’t-be-anymore-prouder son. 

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S MONTH! - All of you would probably soon be great mothers!

My Truth About EDSA

My mind goes into a frenzy of imagery every time I think about EDSA. Among the poignant ones are those pictures of overturned military tanks, the multitude of people that barricaded the streets, and lastly, the immaculate gesture of that peaceful nun who – at gunpoint, moved forth and slid a flower down the barrel of one military man’s rifle. People were ready to die that day. And then when I close my eyes, these images flash in a speed and then halts, to usher further images of triumph and glory. Then as if like a movie, the images are scored by a humming of a voice, then progressing into a Celtic chant - no lyrics, only a melody of resonating victory.

And that is how I picture the event 25 years ago when we taught the world what democracy is.

The EDSA People Power Revolution, historical and monumental.

I was born in 1986, the very year the revolution happened. I wasn’t there of course. So I cannot completely coerce myself to the nostalgia of it as much as the ones who had experienced it could.  I can only bask under its spirit. But had I already lived in that time, I don’t know if I’d be one of those millions of people who fought and went out to reclaim democracy. I might have, I might have not. I honestly can’t give a direct and convicted yes or no for an answer. The images I have of EDSA and the things I know about it are all learned from school, read from books and see on TV. And just like history, they were all written from the victor’s point of view. Learning about EDSA now that I have been long outside the four corners of school is like a forked path. I learned a lot of things. That it has an ugly truth depending on one’s political perspective. The ones I learned from school and tri-media is in conflict with the conspiracies I have read through recently. Debating about it is unreasonable for all of us are subjective towards our own truth. And that we cling to it, unless life slams to us the falsity of it.

In a nutshell, here is what I’ve learned about EDSA amid all the theories. And this is the truth I choose to believe; that 25 years ago, we stood up against the status quo, we stood up for what we thought was right for our future. We showed the world what bravery and resilience was. We were ONE as a people.

Indeed, it was People Power.

Sadly, the essence of the EDSA revolution is slowly slipping loose from this generation’s grasps. And along with the waning memory of it are the dying hopes for nation building, economic growth and social equality – that which the very people of 1986 stood for. That which, is the very foundation of democracy.

Whether we open our eyes or turn a blind eye to it, this boat we call home is sinking. And before we could reach that pot of gold at the rainbow’s end, we might have already sunk deep into oblivion unless a rightful captain takes the wheel, unless we fix the damages on this battered ship and unless we as passengers help row the paddles and then sail another way.  Until then, we can only wander at sea, lost and slowly sinking. 

The Lady

      I have been anticipating this movie since I've known of its conception. Burmese Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi is one of my favorite among a few Asian icons of democracy. Her life is inspiring and beautiful.  

Michelle Yeoh is an absolute choice for the role.

   

Aung San Suu Kyi (in person) was under house arrest for 15 years under martial law.

   

Trailer: 

Impeachment What?

No matter how much media bombard everybody’s daily routine about the on-going impeachment, I just can’t see and feel everybody’s growing concern about it. And I am speaking from an average Juan’s standpoint. 

It has been a couple of weeks now since the commencement of the Corona case. It is the headline on most papers and the top stories on most news programs. Even the world of social network provide ample share of feeds. But I stopped monitoring it for a couple of reasons. Entirely, it is exhausting as it is painstakingly dragging. The way I see it, media is trying to shove down to everyone’s throat the national importance of the issue at hand. Yet the average Juan denies swallowing it and spits it back out, even.  Sure, there are opinions being aired out but that is a standard pattern of behavior for any citizen of any society. I am not saying that we should wreak havoc on the streets and spur violence for the sake of reacting to and against it. That is not the kind of involvement I want. Neither am I saying that we should stop living our lives and obsess ourselves with the case. Definitely, that is not my point.

What I am saying is that the masses just don’t care. Go out on the streets and ask any random person about what they think and feel regarding the issue and they’ll possibly answer you with a line or two starting with “ah, uhmm and well”. In worst case, might just give you a blank, almost spaced-out stare. Why? Because they know they have nothing to gain from it, regardless of the verdict.

Unless you sashay a maroon gown in the senate impeachment court, unless you are among the prosecution and defense teams, unless you are a news-hungry journalist AND unless you are a politician with vested political interest then you wouldn’t get what I’m ranting about. You busy your lives with the case while we busy our lives forever questioning when this country will ever see the light of day.

For me, this impeachment is nothing short of hypocrisy: thieves accusing other thieves, plunderers prosecuting their very own kind. Am I being judgmental? I don’t think I am. I just say what I think is true. And I’m confident that there are hundreds of thousands more that will agree with me than otherwise. Pity how my generation grew up living with this kind of callous and inept governance again and again. But we too, are calloused.  And I don’t need to elaborate why and how. So I don’t blame the average Juan if they don’t really care, because we just really can’t. 

In Memoriam

                                           

                                  “A few stolen moments is all that we share…”

                                               - Saving All My Love For You, 1985

                                                  Indeed, life is but a stolen moment.

                                  The world bids adieu to a voice that crossed generations.

                                               Your music will always be in our hearts.

                                                                  Yesterday an icon, 

                                                              Forevermore a legend. 

                                                               Death is only transitory. 

                                                            R.I.P. Whitney Houston

                                                                     1963-2012

It’s Never Too Late...

It never really is.

Especially, when I haven’t written anything for 2012.

Especially, when I promised myself to keep on writing.

A couple of weeks back, as we welcomed 2012 with open arms, I did want to write about new year. I was randomly blog-hopping and everyone wrote about it. Actually, more like doing a review (those top something-of-sort) - but just that. I was hoping to read something about what have we learnt from last year. Something really worth the read, something that’s reflective and enlightening. But I might have clicked and read the wrong pages as I failed to find anything. So I thought I’ll be the one to write about it. I started my first paragraph with the question: “What did we really learn from last year?” and continued on with what I thought was a substantial reply. I was so engrossed in finishing it then like a speeding bus on a highway about to run-over a cat, I stepped hard on the brake pedal  and  stopped writing. I read and re-read back, stared at the monitor for a couple of minutes and then I clicked…

               I realized I was not making any sense.  (Pardon me for being self-absorbed, but as far as I’m aware of, there are only a few times that I don’t make sense) I realized I haven’t learned anything – And that it scared me. So I shied myself away from that very thought and I haven’t been thinking of writing since. HOWEVER,  my absence from blogosphere has been haunting me lately like the bloody-red essays I had back in college. So here I am trying to come up with something sensible, which I doubt if I am.

So (by the way) at this point, I am giving myself THE (read THEE) benefit of the doubt. Realizations about what I learned from my last year might hit me later. I thought that I shouldn’t force myself to over-think and over-analyze the passing of time just because tradition (plus the ever-sensational media) tells us so. I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. Epiphany after all, comes at its own time. So here’s a better-late-than-never HAPPY NEW YEAR!

And...HAPPY VALENTINES DAY, TOO! Almost forgot that. 

P.S. I did a lot of things and rendezvoused to a couple of places. Excited to write about it soon. 

Sendong Aftermath

She sat on a dusty makeshift mat of cartons at the lower front of the stage. Wearing rumpled and unkempt clothing, she cradled her baby to sleep. Amid the heat, the noise and the number of random people busy passing her by, she had no choice. Just to her left, piled against the stage wall is her bag of clothes – perhaps what’s left of her belongings. I did not hear her name nor heard what went through the entire interview with my friend M, but I can see the grief and despair from her eyes. And it spoke much louder. A few moments through, she looked down at her baby and uttered no more. M rubbed her back to comfort her for a few minutes then stood up and came to where I was observing them from one corner of our school gymnasium. “What happened? That was too quick for an interview” – I asked M.  “I can’t do this anymore. They almost always cry and that’s not the problem. It’s just that I really feel sorry for them and I don’t know what to say to ease their burden, more so their situation. I CAN’T do anything. Let’s just stop this and get ourselves something to drink, I’m thirsty.” – M frustratingly answered me back with a look of sadness herself. I thought she was already good at this having been a journalist for a national paper doing stories of sort. Maybe this time, it’s a different case. Because she too, knows how it feels. M’s neighborhood wasn’t spared by the deluge and she perhaps experienced it for the first time in her life.

We made our way through the crowd and exited through the front gate. Leaving behind us, inside the evacuation center, were medical personnel and other volunteers attending to all of the two-thousand families displaced by tropical Storm Sendong. And there's more of them. My school gymnasium is just one among the sixteen evacuation centers in the city. As of recent count there were already a thousand dead bodies recovered, hundreds more that are still missing and thousands more families left without homes to return to. Overnight, the flooded residential areas turned into a muddy wasteland of trash and nothingness, ravaging and deluding houses, cars, properties and lives. No one was spared. Not the poor, not the rich. This was the wrath of nature that struck Northern Mindanao. And this is the first time it happened to us - to my hometown and to my very people. Although I was lucky that I was still in Manila that day and that my family and neighborhood was safe, still I cannot bear to just be at ease. After all, I grew up here. This place is part of who I am and it is such a pain seeing my home like this and knowing traumatic stories of unimaginable struggle and eventual loss. My heart bleeds for my people especially that it’s Christmas time. 

As of this writing, the President had already signed the declaration putting the country under a state of calamity. Help has been pouring in. And in behalf of the victims, we wish to convey our message of gratitude to everyone who has been sending in and giving any help whether in cash, in kind or even through prayers. We greatly appreciate everything and may it return to all of you a hundred fold. There’s still a lot of things that we need and a lot to fix. But more than anything else, there’s a lot of healing to be done. Please do continue to help our people recover from this life-crippling tragedy. Please do continue to help us stand up. Everybody deserves another chance. Everybody deserves a second walk at life. 

For those who wish to help

http://bit.ly/sendong-cdo

https://donate.unicef.ph/emergency-donation.php

http://www.redcross.org.ph/donatenow

http://www.facebook.com/notes/boggs-tanggol/how-to-help-bagyong-sendong-victims/10150431785163262 

Separation Anxiety (12/07/11)

              “Knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing anyone can learn” 

                                                               – Burt Bacharach

I have been dilly-dallying on my resignation and I need to settle it fast. Seeing people in the office do it with such a breeze I thought it was just easy. I have long thought of this and I know I am decided but here I am having a hard time telling it to my boss. Should I break it gently or should I drop the bomb, ala strike-and-shock SWAT style? I don’t actually know. I guess I haven’t mustered up enough balls to do either. I feel like dancing the tango with this dilemma, gliding to but with sudden pauses in between. Honestly, I fear what lies ahead: Unemployment. It’s not like I can’t get another job but it’s actually the feeling of starting over again I fear most. No, it is the feeling of letting go I fear the most. And I have yet to admit it and I have yet to live with it. I know it is part of the decision. It is part of life. 

This is - and soon to be was, my first job and I have learned to love it over the four years and eight months, everything from the most beautiful and fun part of it down to the very worst. For the longest time I have identified myself with this job and now I am removing myself from it. This never really was my plan but I guess life made me detour from the road I did plan to take. I was supposed to take up master’s degree and then teach but I shunned the idea in exchange for independence. I thought if I’d continue studying, I’d still be under the support of my parents and I didn’t want that. I wanted to be free away from their responsibility on me as I was old and able enough. I wanted to be responsible for myself. And I got it. I lived with it and will live for it. Funny how with that decision, I was not afraid to let go of all the comforts of being under parental care. Maybe maturity does work wonders. 

But this time, it’s a different case and I’m at a different, older age. It’s not just the job I’m letting go but the life I have had over these years. And I would say that this was my first take, first step at life. This was my first slice, out from a whole lemon cake. I guess what pains me the most is letting go of the relationship I have with the people. For me, they’re never just office-mates. They’re FRIENDS. You spend almost the whole day with them, even after office hours, even on rest days. There’s a lot of them  that I haven’t really talked that much to, some others I would like to be friends with (and prove I’m not a snob contrary to my rep in the office) and people I haven’t really said anything to. I have always been the one to value friendship the most and it’s a pain that I might not see these people for a long time or maybe never will. I love and have been loved by them. I’ll definitely miss the chit-chats in between work, the morning and evening greetings, the rumors, the office fashion, the flirting, the bloopers and the list goes on and on. BUT I have to leave and I know this is the right and smart thing to do. Perhaps, the smartest decision I have made all these care-free years. I know I deserve this break. 

I’ll miss everything and everyone. And I HOPE they will miss me, too.

A Love, Lost and Found (Luis and Amelia)

This is a story of love that goes beyond the test of time.

Of a love that defies age and knows no boundaries.

Of a love that survives amid life’s adversities.

Of a love that’s selfless and infinite.

Of a love that’s resolute and true.

This is a story of a love, lost and then found.

And this, this is a real one. 

Lola Aurelia Matias (73 y.o.) and Lolo Luis Matias (78 y.o.) had been long married to each other for decades. Among their nine kids, two had already passed away. Lolo Luis suffers from dementia brought about by old age. Lola Aurelia, on the other hand is considerably robust. Back in the day, Lolo Luis wooed Lola Aurelia by singing her songs of Nat King Cole and Tom Jones and of course, Lola Amelia got swooned. Both young hearts in love, they decided to finally settle down. So they did and have since hurdled on every storm that their family had come across with. Lolo and Lola have been simply living on with their lives, holding on to each others arms. They knew they had their time and perhaps are aware of what lies ahead.

           Just when you think that they are done professing their love to each other in their lifetime, they prove us wrong.Love proves us wrong.

On the 11^th day of November, Lola Amelia, busy doing her laundry had left Lolo Luis upstairs after she fed and bathed him. Focused on her unfinished chore, she didn’t notice him come down the stairs and leave the house. She was worried after finding out that he was gone so she went on looking for him around the neighborhood, asking every person she could. But alas, no one knew where he went.

                He didn’t come home. He couldn’t come home.

A couple of days had passed, Lola, desperate and forlorn, searched for him wandering from the outskirts of the neighborhood, walking farther and further away, until she found herself in the bustling streets of the metro.  She only wanted one thing; to find Lolo, her one true love. Pinning Lolo’s picture on paper in front and at the back of her clothes, she gambles her life and races with time, hoping that someone would inform her of his whereabouts. 

Love always finds a way.

A man named Reddie Js, picked up on her, took her photo and posted it on a social networking site. Word got around and then finally, Lola got a lot of help. After almost two weeks of search, the day she was waiting for finally came. Lolo, wandering around the train station, was at last found. In no time, they were back in each others loving arms.

 “My love for him is immeasurable” – Lola Amelia, teary-eyed, expressed. “In sickness and in health, we will be together” – Lolo Luis’ response as they both hug each other. Their reunion was moving and inspiring. It makes us believe in the power of love. 

Finally and fortunately, this is how the story ended. Like the fairy-tales we grew up with, the prince found her princess. Only this time, it was she who found him, and of course with the help of thousands of today’s Fairy God-mothers and fathers.  Though it didn’t ended magically - with a missing glass slipper found, magic-mirror broken down, nor with sparks and fireworks above a castle high, most importantly the story of Lolo Luis and Lola Amelia ended HAPPILY.

And perhaps, EVER AFTER.. .

News Credits:
GMA News
ABS CBN News
Inquirer.net