Blank Page

 

March 2, 2025. Third month to My Happiness Project, a self-designed gratitude journal inspired by Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project, and I stare at my blank page with mixed emotions. There, glaring at me, read: "Launch a blog." But all I could write was: Yay! This is it! (with several emojis -- a weak attempt to cover my disquiet  😀 -- then there's this -- another emoji). 

March 4, 2025. For the nth time in three days, I opened my Blogspot account, trying to muster all the words I haven't written for more than a decade but ended up with nothing. 

March 5, 2025. Ash Wednesday. Pep-talked myself. I could write about my faith. Or I could make a reflection of Fr. Edwin's homily. Or just post a shot of my forehead with a few words about Lent. More staring. Words did not come. 

March 6, 2025. Sitting in silence, with just the aircon's hum and the clock ticking, I once again stare at my blank page. Then on my screen. Jumbled letters seem to tumble one at a time like Scrabble tiles squeezing in to form a word. My fingers start typing. Then I finish a sentence. Then a paragraph. 

I re-read my first few lines. Did I make sense? The words seemed familiar but it didn't seem like me. I highlighted the whole lot, then pressed 'delete'. My mind in stupor. Is writing still for me? Doubt began to creep in. I blinked at the screen once again. Then another. I tapped 'undo'. Then typed a few.

The silence in my mind envelops me, almost like a challenge to break it, to fill the gaps with something. Just with anything. I closed my laptop. Picked up my pen. I started to scribble on that blank page, and words began to flow. I could feel my pulse accelerating like I have run a marathon. I have filled in half the page so I decided to go back to typing. I encoded what I had written. Words came racing in. They didn't just tumble anymore. They flooded my thoughts like some rainstorm pouring in heavily. The words that had been locked inside for so long were finally finding their way out. I had to keep up, or I will lose them again.

Each keystroke screamed of my personal victory. I re-read everything. My prose now resembled the thoughts I had been struggling to shape. My fingers continued to tap. Their rhythm was music to my ears. Tap-tap-tap-tap! It was exhilarating. Tap-tap-tap-tap! I didn't stop to edit, not yet. I just let all these words spill. The page was filling up. My sentences grew longer, and with each line, the weight in my chest lightened. The jarred silence had found its voice. 

And in the rush of emotions, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. Did I really doubt myself? Why had I been so afraid to start?

I looked at my laptop. Hit preview. Hesitated for a moment. Then publish. And there on my screen staring back at me -- Blank Page No More!

Just numbers, Mom!

The week that has been is payback time for school children's (and their parents' support -- time, energy and money ;-) efforts to cope with numerous academic and non-academic demands. And my girls are no way different from all other kids; especially Bea who already has that drive (and pride) to excel in class. While Gaby on the other hand just shrugged her shoulders and said: "Just numbers, Mom!"

As Bea is trying to join all other extra-curriculars (for the sake of both grades and enjoyment), juggling her out-of-acads activities with class work, I can see how determined she is to do good, even better than how she did in the past years. Grade 6 as she claims is her "defining moment". Bea is into Math, Journalism, Visual Arts, Drum and Lyre, Kumon and her "defining moment" (can't say what this is, just yet;-)

While Gaby in her full-blast energy is into playing -- Pinypon and reading books. She also has Kumon and joined too the Thought Master's Guild and Dream Club (performing arts), but unlike her Ate who has an everyday training that covers Saturdays, too, her extra workload (training) is just once a month.

Then her words came. I was truly caught off guard by her thoughts. And let me fully quote: "Ate, relax. You're so skinny na. Enjoy. Grades are just numbers."

As a Mom, sometimes a pushy Mom at that, where sometimes I can't avoid making my girls an extension of my own academic performance (pressure that they too excel like I did -- not to brag;-). I forget that they too have their own person. That my girls are not there to massage my ego as a parent but they are gifts and in actuality, like my brother said: They are even who I am not. Because reality check, they are way more talented than I am or their father is. 

And so I declare, that even when sometimes, we parents (doting Moms) say we know better than our children, or we keep pushing them to do what we deem they should, stop right there... for a while and listen to what our children have to say of what they think, what they want, what they need and what makes them happy. It is only on these times that we do so, that we realize, our children has a lot to say, a lot to share and from these "a whole lot" that we learn much.

Grades are just numbers. They don't define our children. They don't define our parenting. What makes us and makes them is the smile reflected in their eyes. Their innocent laughter. Their witty comments. Their youthful energy to explore their own giftedness -- not dictated by us or other people's expectations.

Let our children be who they want them to be, as God planned them to be. They should not be limited by numbers. For the beauty and magic of this life is never quantified but qualified by colors and shapes, of happiness and love -- immeasurable... undefinable.

Life in a Mirror

Why "Life in a Mirror"?

 

I started blogging the moment I learned how to blog. I thought, the best way how I could share what I know is through writing because then (and now, I am such not a good speaker), so I opted to just write my thoughts down.

 

But where do these thoughts come from? I read. I savor life. And thinking a lot is the offshoot. I am not an active child. I was more of the introverted type. And so after reading, most information just got stuck there. They have no way of going out. So mostly, I get to think about them ... a lot.

 

So I face these thoughts squarely, like your eyes looking straight back at you when you face the mirror. The reflection of my thoughts about the things I read and experience are poured down on blank sheets.

 

Then my days became busier. There was a time when I got hold of no book for over a year or two. But I hear a lot. I started experiencing life ... the kind of life so heavy to share. And so I think a lot about this life. Because the moment I cease to think, I cease to believe ... and hope and have faith to the One who brought me here.

 

Reflection with the right values helped me to be stronger despite the painful experiences of the past. I may have bled to death if I haven't had the courage to face life with no pretensions ... no lies.

 

And so I ask you the same question: Are you happy with what your life has to offer?

 

For one thing I have learned about life, happiness and lies -- They are intertwined.

 

Once you have not learned accepting life at face value, you begin building lies after lies after lies. Until you have been trapped in the loops and knots of your own lies. And you will never be happy.

 

Pretending starts within the self. Then you start lying to those important to you. Then to most people in general.

 

Pretension starts when you yourself cannot accept who you are -- your choices, your decisions. Any outside stimulus that reminds you of who you are, you tend to attack. You'd rather do this that put down your defenses for accepting your weaknesses is defeat for you. And you cannot afford to lose. And so you judge others as you have judged yourself. Nobody seems to be good enough for you.

 

And so the cycle goes on ...

 

You lie. You pretend. You defend yourself. You attack. You judge falsely. You talk ill about people. Because this is the only way to make you feel better off. But in reality, you're not ...

 

Because you failed to look into the MIRROR of LIFE.

Lack of Something

The distance from my entries is very alarming... Was I really this quiet for the last four years or so?

 

I couldn't imagine I was able to get by without writing (Oh well, writing my thoughts fall under a different category than writing my Lesson Guides, Progress Checks and Assessments. IEP reports included.)!!!

 

From the time I learned how to write, no matter how unintelligible my musings are, I write them down. Because Mama said, it's the only way I could improve on my hand-writing, which makes my prose even more -- let's be more apt, muddled.

 

Is it lack of inspiration?

 

Nah! I guess not. Because other than writing, teaching is my passion. And as an educator, I could find any topic at every nook in the room to write about. Including a broken pencil.

 

Is it lack of something smart to say?

 

I don't think so. My class is filled with witty kids. Asking me why pages of a book are non-living things, yet they get brittle and die.

 

Is it lack of time?

 

Oh well...

Time to go!

I am currently in a room of test-takers. For clarity, I am not one of them nor the tester. Neither am I a spectator. I have been in the testing world for more than a decade now & being in the room brings back nostalgia into my system. So getting involved is not so my mood at this time. I need to divert my energy to more meaningful tasks than being nostalgic. For one, I forgot to bring a bigger hanky. And two, I might disturb the testees with my sneezing & honking.

So why then am I here?

Guess I am forced by the need to see one of the best ANOVA interpreter I could avail of in this side of my town. Whether I like the feeling or not, well, that I will leave the interpretation to you dear readers.

My concern at the moment is TIME.

There are moments I so appreciate the shortness of time especially when at the mercy of unbearable circumstances (which has become more often than I prayed for;-)

But there are instances that shortness of time is an enemy.

24 hours? 20 waking hours? This to me is not enough. I wish my body clock does not tick of tiredness... moreso my mind does not shut off after 24 hours.

So many things I want to do. Such little time. I'm no longer so sure if these things I'm exerting much effort to means much to me or would do me any good at the end of my days. (paging Fr.Peter... please guide me through this. But I want to make myself clear, I'm NOT ready for you yet. Just a sign will do;-)

One thing I miss the most is this... Symbolizing my thoughts into words...

Whoa! That's it! I have found reason why I'm here! At least my waiting here did not go to waste. I am able to transform something into reality. My babbling at this corner is somehow productive. This is my FIRST real blog after 2 hibernating years!!!

YES! Thank God I was able to do this. I have not just seated here & got a good bunch of inputs but also an output I could post in my almost dormant blogsite!

Now I should go & try to keep posting... maybe I could ask another person hold me for a while ;-)

Mama, how long will you love me?

Every night, after saying our prayers, it is our family’s practice to say “I Love You!” to one another. Even when Gaby’s own version is almost not understood, the three powerful words have made their constant place in our lives.

However, being always there and always heard and having its specific time in a day to be said made it seemingly meaningless. I got to wonder if Gaby really understood what I was saying, her Papa is saying and her Ate Bea is saying or even what she herself is saying before she closes her eyes at night.

Bea once asked me why do I scold her if I truly love her. And like any other mother in the world, I answered her the undying lines: “…because anak, I want you to know what’s right from wrong. And I want you to know it because I love you so much.” Hoping she understood what I said.

Until I came across the book: “Mama, How Long Will You Love Me?" by Anna Pignataro. And here are some of the lines I truly adore:



How long will you be my mother?

Always.

Mama, how long will you love me?

Always.

How long is always?

Miles and miles forever.

Will there always be you and me?

Miles and miles forever.

Such wonderful words used by the author.

Miles and miles forever.

When I read this book to Bea and Gaby, I was on the verge of tears. And for the first time, when I told them I love them, I added: Miles and miles forever...

I hope the added lines would change their concept about love -- a mother's love for her kids -- my love for them.

I pray it did... If not now, I pray it would...



To all the mothers out there who love spending some time with their children at night reading a good book, here's how the book looks like: (take a grab now, I tell you, it's really a good one!)

And here's an excerpt from its inner pages.

Hope you'll love this book, too!

A Million Little Pieces of Hope, Love and Passion for Life

Orange and pink streaks sail across the blue of the sky, large birds silhouette themselves against the red of the rising sun, clouds inch their way toward me.


These are such poetic lines from James Frey. His book "A Million Little Pieces" is an account of his life in the rehabilitation center. And this is what I'm currently reading.


There were all sorts of new things to find. Grass and dirt and holes and tiny bugs – each fascinated him. But nothing satisfied him.


And these are striking lines from “Hope for the Flowers” by Trina Paulos which I just read (side by side with Harry Potter 6… of course before watching the movie, which of course did not satisfy me – anyway, that’s another story to tell, which I know you could certainly relate to).

Anyway, Frey’s novel, particularly its title has inspired me to write again... I mean to blog again. But what is more to this passion for writing are the things I’ve learned from Stripe and Yellow, Paulos’ main characters in her short story.

It has been months since I last posted an entry in any of my blogsites. What kept me busy? I think those times... these times are the days I am putting the million little pieces of my dreams... of my life together. Getting into that big climb like Stripe and Yellow and finding in the end what really satisfies me and gives me so much hope and love and passion for life.

Yes! I am in the prime of building a legacy not just for my family – my kids to follow, but for more kids that truly matters… as Jesus has once said, “Let the little ones come to me.”

Let me count the ways:

1. I was about to finish my MA in Guidance and Counseling in 2005 when an Aunt fed me with the great (and tempting) “American Dream”.

2. While finishing my MA degree, I took up units in Special Education and Certificate in Teaching in an Open University System.

3. After graduation, I got pregnant with Gaby and found myself incapable of working and going to school. Thank God, UP then offered a Certificate in Caring for the Special Child through the Interactive Virtual Learning Experience. I had homeschooling.

4. Upon giving birth, I pushed through with my MA in SPED. And finished my education units alongside it.

5. After having my diploma, I forwarded my application as SPED teacher to one of the agencies in Manila. And I think, one of the best agencies deploying Filipino teachers to the US of A.

6. 2008 was a grand year for me in the field of test-taking. April, I passed the Licensure Exam for Teachers. August, I passed the Licensure Exam for Guidance Counselors.

7. 2009 started out with more stress. January, I took up Praxis 2, the state board for SPED teachers and passed once again.

8. February, I was interviewed. Then a long wait for the result followed.

9. March, I have to take another state board, Praxis 1, for General Education. Once more, I proved to have much luck in board examinations. I passed.

10. April, I resigned from work. But was re-hired until July as a Researcher for Student Services and Curriculum Development.

11. June, I received the news that I passed the interview.

12. I was encouraged to enroll ASAP for a special Reading course at St. Joseph College, Quezon City. The course was for two months. Every weekends. Stressful, eh!? Saturday mornings I board the bus early just in time for my 2 PM class. We end up at 7 PM. Sundays, we start at 9 AM until 6 PM. Then I go straight to the bus terminal and arrive home at 12 midnight or early dawn. And after a four-hour sleep, off I go to work.

13. July, we had a not so fortunate news. Our petitioning school lacks funds to fly us all together in August. We will go by batch, so they say. Now, there are five (should I say the “lucky” ones) being processed. Hopefully for September deployment.

14. Still July, I don’t know if I will feel frustrated or happy. Frustrated because by August, I will be jobless. I thought like Stripe and Yellow, I was climbing with a group where I would be led to nowhere.

15. Mid July, I felt happier because I realized, I wasn’t ready yet to leave my kids and husband (for more or less six months). I was more thankful that I get to spend more time with them. Imagine if I were to be deployed in August? My weekend classes ended in July 26 and target deployment is first week of August, how would in the world I spend time with my family?

16. Towards end of July, I had wonderful plans in mind. I got so busy (with Arleen) in looking for a perfect spot for my long-time dream – a school. But for now, my passion for teaching kids (putting up a school) is limited to a Reading Enrichment Program for Grade 1 pupils and children with special needs.

17. August, I formally opened my Reading Resource Center. Simple. Just a room with two monobloc tables and six monobloc chairs, rubber mats, a small white board, a flip chart, and a few good books to read.

18. But there is more to this that I’m busy about. 8 AM to 10 AM, I shadow teach in a grade 1 class for a pupil with ADHD accompanied with an oppositional and impulsive behavior. After which, I visit two other kids with autism. And yet another kid with ADHD. And help a team of professionals in designing an IEP for a child with Emotional Impairment who is homeschooling.

19. Before leaving the school at 12 noon, I see to it that I have counseled around four students in the high school department.

20. At 12:30 to 2:30 PM, I continue with my work as a Researcher.

21. At 3 PM, I have to be in my center to prepare things for my pupils. I currently have seven grade 1 pupils and a grade 3 pupil with specific Learning Disability. I also work with a Mom in developing a Behavior Managament Plan for her child with ADHD. I end up at 6 PM.

22. These three responsibilities I so carefully squeezed in a day transpire in three separate locations, too. So you can just imagine what a mess I now look like. Yeah! Maybe I am all stressed out but I am happy and contented.

23. If you may ask of the monetary satisfaction, it is not such a good source of income given the tiresome impact of juggling many responsibilities a time. But one thing I am sure of, at the end of the day, before I close my eyes at night, there are more things I am thankful for.

24. First question: “Would I still pursue my great American Dream?”

My answer, “Yes I will!”

25. Last question: “What for?”

My answer, “To bring to the next level my one true dream – come home to my country and put up a school for children with special needs, considering all the therapies they need. And have a guidance and counseling, testing and play therapy center for kids and their families.”



Her feelers quivered and Stripe knew she was speaking. He couldn’t make out words. Then slowly, he seemed to understand… Somehow he knew what to do. Stripe climbed again.

It got darker and darker and he was afraid. He felt he has to let go of everything…

… Until one day …

The Everyday Masters by Paulo Coelho.Part 2

Here’s another entry from Paulo Coelho’s “The Everyday Masters”:


Avoiding keeping control or being controlled

If I react the way that people expect me to, I become a slave to them – and that is a lesson that applies both to love and work. It is very difficult to prevent this from happening, because we are always ready to please somebody, or to start a war when we are provoked, but people and situations are the consequences of the life that I have chosen, not the other way around.



Reflection

I had five striking counselees today:

The first one had a misunderstanding with a close friend which brought them as far as shouting at each other – some words that wounded and difficult to heal. Reason: Php 200.00

The second student came, really pissed – well, sort of. She said her frat will have a meeting. She joins in or she’ll be dead. Reason: Fear

My third client was the most spontaneous. Telling me stories about her family, her friends, her boyfriend in comparison with her guy-bestfriend. Reason: Unhappiness

My fourth counselee was actually a teacher who felt real bad. She claims people mistake her being frank and bold to being crazy. Reason: System of norms

And before I closed my cubicle today, a graduating student came, crying because she failed in her Trigonometry class. Reason: Timetable



Indeed, every one of us, including myself becomes a victim of our own choices. It has been a way of life for some to avoid keeping control of things, and when failure comes, everybody and every situation is there to be blamed except himself/herself. To some, they avoid being controlled and that makes them what? Frank? Bold? Crazy? Because they have their own reason. Whichever line we follow, it is still our choice that count in the end.

The Everyday Masters by Paulo Coelho

Outside the city of Oslo is getting ready for winter. I am chatting in the bar with a very popular European singer. We talk about fame and success, and at a certain moment she asks me if I have anything important to teach her.

“Of course not,” I answer. “You lead your life like someone who knows that one day they are going to die, and that is what is most important. Nevertheless, I can propose a task for you: for the next six months, keep a diary called “the everyday master.” We always learn something different between dawn and dusk: why not write it down?”

She accepts the task. Six months later, I receive a copy of her diary full of very interesting notes, lessons from people she met only once but who are certain to remain for ever. This week I will be publishing here the most important of these entries.

Here is one of the entries of my friend’s diary about the everyday masters:

Accepting yourself

I found out who I am by looking at others. I am afraid of not being as good as they think I am, but I believe they all think this about themselves. During the time that I kept this diary, I finally accepted that I am brave enough to feel fear and to see myself without any artifices. I feel secure enough to feel insecure.

I discovered that people try to project a lot of their own insecurity onto you, just as you do with them. They try to diminish you because they feel small, try to intimidate you because they are not convinced that they are capable.

Tomorrow, I’ll post here another entry.

For a week now, I’ve been following “The every day masters” post by Paulo Coelho on his blogsite. This is an amazing learning experience for me, and so I share them again with you. Then again, I’m hoping I will have the luxury of time to make my online diary, too, similar to this one.

God bless everyone!

Cool Jesus!

A young man who went overseas to study for quite a long time returned in his homeland. He asked his parents to find him a religious scholar or any expert who could answer his 3 questions. Finally, his parents were able to find a scholar.

Young man: Who are you? Can you answer my questions?
Scholar: I am one of God willing; I will be able to answer your questions.

Young man: Are you sure? A lot of Professors and experts were not able to answer my questions.
Scholar: I will try my best, with the help of God.


Young Man: I have 3 questions:
1. Does God exist? If so, show me His shape.
2. What is fate?
3. If Devil was created from the fire, why at the end he will be thrown to hell that is also created from fire. It certainly will not hurt him at all, since Devil and the hell were created from fire. Did God not think of it this far?

Suddenly, the Scholar slapped the young man’s face very hard.

Young Man (feeling pain): Why do you get angry at me?
Scholar: I am not angry. The slap is my answer to your three questions.
Young Man: I really don’t understand.

Scholar: How do you feel after I slapped you?
Young Man: Of course, I felt the pain.
Scholar: So do you believe that pain exists?
Young Man: Yes.
Scholar: Show me the shape of the pain!
Young Man: I cannot.
Scholar: That is my first answer. All of us feel God’s existence without being able to see His shape…

The Scholar continued…

Scholar: Last night, did you dream that you will be slapped by me?
Young Man: No.
Scholar: Did you ever think that you will get a slap from me, today?
Young Man: No.
Scholar: That is fate my second answer…

Then again he added…

Scholar: My hand that I used to slap you, what is it created from?
Young Man: It is created from flesh.
Scholar: How about your face, what is it created from?
Young Man: Flesh.
Scholar: How do you feel after I slapped you?
Young Man: In pain.
Scholar: That’s it… this is my third answer, Even though Devil and also the hell were created from the fire, if God wants, God willing , the hell will become a very painful place for devil.



I received this email from a friend. And I feel it’s worth sharing.

Indeed, God’s messages of LOVE come in different forms. Today, I felt it through this forwarded email message, with Sr. Jelli and our high school students — particularly with III-2 and III-3, and a couple of weeks back with IV-1 for whom I joined their classes in their last Recollection for this school year.

The Recollection theme was “Cool Jesus”. In this life where our culture has become much focused with sex and violence, and media turns into the devil’s ally to conquer our minds, hearts and souls — it is our responsibility as Christians to make a step to work against loneliness, despair and peacelessness promoted by media giants.

In “Cool Jesus”, we have targeted the youth to alter what media has created for them and in them — how it is to be COOL!

Like the snippet above, sometimes we question not just God but also who we are. These moments happen because media through advertisements made us so discontented just to sell their products. A dull hair can be solved by this particular shampoo. A brown skin can be made fair by some papaya soap. A plain face can be made beautiful by brands of cosmetics. Lousy shirts and pants, metal accessories, body-piercing and tattoos make guys cool. Men are encapsulated as “mooks”, while ladies as “midriffs”.

Now where is this line: “And so God created man into His own image and likeness.”?

Gone…

Hope we don’t let this happen. We are a culture with will and intellect; we have the power to choose. We are a culture of civilized men who were created to be stewards of God’s creation. We are a culture of innate goodness not just of basic instincts like sex and violence. So let us live our lives up to what God has created us to be. Being real COOL is being like JESUS — seeing things through the eyes of LOVE… accomplishing things with the works of LOVE… only pure, unconditional LOVE…

Mama's Tears

Yesterday, I was talking about a crime of motherhood I committed – spanking.

Today, I will be sharing with you the punishment I gained from the crime.



Last night, when I arrived home, the usual scenario of Bea and Gaby running towards the door was not in sight. Instead, the living room was empty but the television was playing their Barney CD. I dropped my bag on the corner sofa chair and reached out for my slippers carelessly (so I thought) dishevelled under it. To my surprise, my slippers weren’t there. Thinking that Gaby was behind this (you know when CPs disappear or the TV and DVD remote controls are out of sight, surely, Gaby’s to be blame), I called for her. Poor Gaby, upon kissing me and giving me a tight hug, I asked for my slippers. And she said with all the innocence of a scheming cherub, “Ate… ate… nnnnside room.” (Inside the room daw.) And voila! Upon opening the door to our room, this is what I saw:

Now you can tell what I did. I ran towards Bea, embraced her tight with tears welling from my eyes… whispering to her over and over again the same words I read on the paper, “I am sorry.” and “I love you too my darling.”

Sweet punishment, eh!

I am guilty of a crime called "SPANKING"

Today, I am guilty of a crime called “SPANKING”.

And this afternoon, one of my best buddies in college, Issa, reminded me on how to handle 5-6 year olds without committing this grave crime through her Little Ark Learning Center’s Pre-School Digest.




Saturday, Sunday, Monday!!! A long vacation for us in the Catholic schools. I enjoyed the break as much as Bea did. Allowing ourselves to sleep until passed 7 in the morning and watched 15 Barney CDs during the day and “Baby’s Day Out 1-2” in the evening.

Come Tuesday morning. I woke up earlier than usual because today, we’re conducting one of our major activities in our Career Pathing Program – the “Career Exposure”. After taking a bath, I woke Bea up and ushered her to the dining area, gave all she needed and instructed her to eat breakfast while I change for my school uniform.

After changing, I checked on her and to my frustration, my Bea was slouching on the chair, half asleep with her food untouched. I told myself, “Patience, Marjo… Patience.”

I asked her to sit properly and eat her meal. She stared back. My voice came, a pitch higher. Big mistake. Bea cried like she was tortured. I grew even more frustrated. I looked at my watch. I am running late for work. And so was she. I pulled her off her chair and spanked her bottom. I even threatened her to call her teacher and tell her she wasn’t going to school.

Then I left.




Upon arriving in school this afternoon, the first thing I saw on top of my table was Karissa’s hand-written package of November issue of their Pre-School Digest. I just picked up her package, grabbed my bag and lunch kit and headed home. In the car, I started browsing the digest and got struck with this:

“Daily structure and routines are important throughout childhood; but this is a transition year, so structure is crucial to your child’s security and well-being.”

Question: Did I start our day with a routine?

Then again:

“Six year olds go through a period of non-compliance and opposition to parents’ instructions.”

Question: Was I aware of that?

And:

“This difficult period can be a learning opportunity when parents approach these behaviours with gentle firmness.”

Realization: I was firm but wasn’t gentle.

Are you there?

December 22, 2021.

My fortieth Christmas is creeping up and I feel like I’m headed for an inevitable midlife crisis. Fortunately, a guy in my position, consumed day and night by his job, doesn’t have the time to go screw up his personal life by buying a Ferrari or by cheating on his wife with unrelenting physical pleasure from new-age virtual technology to incapacitate the user for a week after kind-of-coitus, or KOC.

I look at my wife and I can see the circles around her eyes from all the preparations building up to Christmas day – from carefully planning the Noche Buena menu to the last-minute panic shopping and decorations. Both my kids cannot be contained from the anticipation of opening their gifts – they bug you every second if they can just take a peek. As I sat there watching them with saddened eyes, I reminisced when this all started.

It was eighteen years ago, a week before Christmas to be exact. I just passed training for my very first job. I couldn’t remember anymore who made the call. My father just passed away. It was more of a shock than anything else. I cannot remember if I even cried. Maybe it’s just that it hasn’t sunk in yet. I just stared at blank space. At that time, my mother is battling cancer and undergoing chemo (she died 6 months later). So I was like, “What’s happening?” You know what I mean? How could I celebrate when all these tragedies were all of a sudden have decided to just converge on one occasion; this one occasion that I have always been looking forward to; this one occasion when I can see my family as a whole?

So from then on, Christmas was not for me to celebrate. I am that jaded. I leave the celebrating to those that are truly happy; to those who have someone to celebrate it with; to those who can still spend the holidays with their loved ones - opening gifts, singing carols, laughing and having meals on Christmas Eve. Someday I wish I can find my own. Someday I hope and pray to God to lift this veil of suffering from me. Someday…And until then this will be my silent protest.

My little daughter was tugging at my shirt sleeve and looking at me with her doe eyes. Her brother is watching her mom make the shopping list while he sits on her lap. I snapped out of my reverie and ruffled my daughter’s hair to which she responded with an exasperated look.
From then on, I decided I no longer need to wait for another Christmas. I am already there. This is my happy ending.




I commented:

“Your posts always make me cry. Maybe because it touches what I feel, too. Or just maybe, we haven't really talked about this after pop and mom died. We both have caged ourselves. Afraid to disclose any emotions. We have always expressed ourselves in the safe zone -- our prose.”



The above prose was written by my brother. Posted in his site. I have always admired how he arranges his words to a meaningful, sentimental whole. The more I admire him now for being so strong. What he has written is not fiction. My father died of heart attack – slept and never woke up – in December 12, 2003, barely few days before Christmas and a few days after our mother underwent her fourth chemotherapy session. And yes, six months before she succumb to cancer. More painful to say, our mother died in June 12, 2004, a day before my brother’s birthday. Two major occasions where he has to celebrate – we have to celebrate, yet, two major deaths – that of our parents’ precede the events.

“Hats off, dear brother! I admire your strength.”

My brother now lives with a few flatmates in Makati. No family yet. No love-life I guess. I just pray to God that soon… indeed he would find that wife he is referring to in his prose and will have kids to bring him back to that feeling of looking forward to celebrating Christmas and his birthday. “I love you bro! Merry Christmas!”

A Woman Perseveres

A woman respects the main teaching of the I Ching: “To persevere is favorable.”

She knows that perseverance is not the same thing as insistence.

Insistence has some skewed motives, trying to force something to materialize even when circumstances would not allow it to. Insistence too has a taint of selfish manipulations. While perseverance has in it two strong virtues – of determination and commitment – trying to achieve self-actualization, capitalizing on own strengths, and dancing with the cosmos, gyrating with its beat to encourage the stars shine on her side.

And when she realizes that her struggles go on longer and her burdens get heavier than necessary, draining her of strength and enthusiasm, the Woman thinks: “A prolonged tussle and burdened heart finally destroys the victorious soul too.”

Then she withdraws her forces from the reality’s arena and allows herself a breathing space, letting a pint of craziness take over her sanity – that kind of spontaneity a child is made of – because she knows that only a child’s perspective can rejuvenate her strength and enthusiasm to face life.

However, the space she allows herself does not dampen her desires to win in her struggles. This space becomes her avenue to persevere with her dreams but she knows she must wait for the best moment to pursue her star.

A Woman always returns to the fray. She never does so out of arrogance or self-satisfaction, but because she has noticed with her gift of intuitive sensitivity a change in the weather, and that her stars have gathered around her own beat.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K. Rowling

Synopsis:

The Tales of Beedle the Bard, a Wizarding classic, first came to Muggle readers’ attention in the book known as Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Now, thanks to Hermione Granger’s new translation from the ancient runes, we present this stunning edition with an introduction, notes, and illustrations by J. K. Rowling, and extensive commentary by Albus Dumbledore. Never before have Muggles been privy to these richly imaginative tales: “The Wizard and the Hopping Pot,” “The Fountain of Fair Fortune,” “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart,” “Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump,” and of course, “The Tale of the Three Brothers.” But not only are they the equal of fairy tales we now know and love, reading them gives new insight into the world of Harry Potter.

The stories are accompanied by delightful pen-and-ink illustrations by Ms. Rowling herself, featuring a still-life frontispiece for each one. Professor Dumbledore’s commentary–apparently written some eighteen months before his death–reveals not just his vast knowledge of Wizarding lore, but also more of his personal qualities: his sense of humor, his courage, his pride in his abilities, and his hard-won wisdom. Names familiar from the Harry Potter novels sprinkle the pages, including Aberforth Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy and his forebears, and Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington (or “Nearly Headless Nick”), as well as other professors at Hogwarts and the past owners of the Elder Wand. Dumbledore tells us of incidents unique to the Wizarding world, like hilariously troubled theatrical productions at Hogwarts or the dangers of having a “hairy heart.” But he also reveals aspects of the Wizarding world that his Muggle readers might find all too familiar, like censorship, intolerance, and questions about the deepest mysteries in life.

Altogether, this is an essential addition to our store of knowledge about the world and the magic that J. K. Rowling has created, and a book every true Harry Potter fan will want to have for their shelves.

This purchase also represents another very important form of giving: From every sale of this book, Scholastic will give its net proceeds to the CHILDREN’S HIGH LEVEL GROUP, a charity cofounded in 2005 by J.K. Rowling and Baroness Nicholson of Winterbourne, MEP. CHLG campaigns to protect and promote children’s rights and make life better for vulnerable young people








This one is another worth a grab. Hope to have a copy soon. Tales like these have never really failed to amaze me. At 30, I still enjoy reading books with magics, wizards, enchantress and more. In fact, I collect with my Bea short stories from Adarna, Lampara and the likes. And J.K. Rowling stuff is an addition to our treasures of the Harry Potter series. To have a full view of the magical world of Rowling, just click here.

Victor and the Sun Orb

A short glimpse:

Victor, a fairy prince of Solandia, should enjoy a carefree life. But from an early age, he finds himself very busy.

He learns complex magic and martial arts. He’s even taught how to live in a human world. That’s because his parents, King Godfred and Queen Magenta, know about a mortality spell that was cast on their son on the very day of his baptism.

A dark, hooded figure with eyes that burn like coal is to blame. Victor’s parents know that on his thirteenth birthday, their beloved son will be forced to leave Solandia and live with humans, perhaps never to return.

To find an antidote to the spell cast upon him as an infant, Victor must retrieve the mysterious sun orb, a source of magical power now in the hands of the dark, hooded figure.

As he sets his quest, a war between the forces of light and darkness erupts. Good fairies wage battles with bad fairies, even as the power in their wands fades.

Enter a world of magic, and join the fairy prince as he fights for family, love, and friendship in Victor and the Sun Orb.

Today, I received an e-mail from my class adviser way back when I was still in 1st year high school, and this is what she said:

Announcing Amy Nielsen’s Book and Web Site!

Dear friends and family,

I’m excited to announce the launching of Amy’s web site and fantasy book titled Victor and the Sun Orb.
We hope to attract lots of visitors and prospective readers, so she is inviting you to visit her site now to learn more!

Please share her website to anyone who might be interested. To see her site, just click or copy/paste the website above.

P.S. Amy is from Central West, Bauang, La Union , a friend and a classmate in SHS.

Thank you all.
Eya

Then I immediately dropped by her friendster account alongside navigating Miss Amy’s website (just like what I told you, I love books with magical themes so I was interested to have a copy) and saw she has worked with a youth ministry before leaving for Denmark. Then I made mental imageries and theorized Miss Amy was that missionary whom I met through a recollection, still in my high school years. Fortunately, she too has a connection with a high school buddy — Rhodora. So to confirm my incling, I wrote Ma’am Eya a confirmation note before I fully confirmed in Rhodz’s friendster account my assumption. And voila!!! The conlusion was made — Miss Amy was my friend’s sister. And I am proud to share with you a “kababayan’s” fruit of hardwork. To know more of Miss Amy’s book, click here.

CABAnata 23: Unfair? Life's irony makes it more wonderful, what yah think?

Two months ago, I was in a crossroad — like a high school teeny-bopper trying to choose what course to take up in college. I spent some here and a little with this and that just to comply, let’s say, with what life has to offer. Honestly, got to experience some kind of adrenaline rush — the kind of excitement a little girl would feel when Mom got her a new lacy dress and just as she thought her happiness was overwhelming, Pop arrives with her favorite candy cane wrapped in fancy-colored glossy paper with twirling ribbons that added to its attraction. Can you imagine that feeling?

How about this?

While trying the little lacy dress on, the girl’s pet dog got the same excitement as she did and jumped over her, ripping off all the pink and white laces off her dress, leaving some saliva stains on the satin undergarment. And because of shock, she dropped the candy cane on the floor and the overly excited dog turned its drooling hunger to her cane and ran off with it so fast that nobody got their wits to ran after the dog and get the poor girl’s candy cane back. Now what’s the feeling?

The latter is what I feel now. The crossroads disappeared at an instant. Burst like a bubble. Worst… no traces of roads what-so-ever. What’s left are just murky ground, thorny bushes and my dismay.

Yamoj was right… sometimes we come to a point where decisions have to be made just for the sake of it. Will I return to that foxhole I thought was my comfort zone and get gulped by the quicksand in that foxhole and never get the chance to be seen again and in return see the world, which, no matter how unfair sometimes it may seem, it is still beautiful and wonderful with all its mysterious ironies?

Nah!

Maybe Plan A just wouldn’t work for me.

Anyway, Plan B is what I initially looked forward to before the rush of excitement invaded my little privie.

So, guess I have to stand with pride, pick myself up, dust my sleeve off and start again. This is what life is all about anyway.


What yah think?

Fulfillingness' First Finale

There is a time in every man’s life where he must face that moment of truth. A time when that gut feeling meets reality and opportunity. Conventional wisdom, common sense, deductive reasoning and logic mean nothing here. Sometimes this moment of truth has nothing to do with doing the right thing: a decision must be made. A general effective decision on life. Your life. Every man at one point in his life will meet this moment. It is our right to passage. It is also an often soul-searching, empty moment in our lives. Definition comes with our decision at this moment, yet it does not define who we are. Life, I assure you, is not always fair.

We all go through phases where we feel we are most down. There is a moment when you get home from work, you stare blankly at your stale food, all alone… the television, your only companion. You wonder what you’re here for. You wonder why you are experiencing such feelings. You wonder what, in the grand scheme of things, is your purpose. Then it will be a long, arduous battle to find those answers. Bad news is, and this is the truth, you will never find your answers until you’re old. Or if you are really out of luck, never at all. So you go find a Paulo Coelho book and hope against hope he can save you and provide you with an idiot’s guide on this little sojourn called life.

As you try to walk your own path, you realize you have to start off following someone else’s footsteps. Baby steps first, like they say. You get sparingly to the point where there’s no turning back. Your back to the wall and you don’t trust even yourself to get your life out of that doldrums. It is a foxhole. A quicksand in a foxhole, if ever that was possible. A quicksand in a foxhole right smack in the Bermuda triangle. No way out. So let’s see here.

No one needs a hand more than those who are falling – or being pushed – off a cliff. Hugs are so ethnic now but they’re all you need. It is amazing how a touch from another human being makes you feel… so human. It makes you feel vulnerable and you feel you’re not all alone. This is all you need to get out of this moment of self-actualization. Not that you like it; it’s not like you’ve got a choice to be in that kind of situation. Like I said earlier, it is our right to passage. It is your moment to find the truth of what your life brings. Answer or no answer.

A single vibration put me out of my reverie. I still catch myself staring at the untouched food on the table, stale smell reeking of hopelessness. An apt reflection of this moment. I reach out for my phone and read: “You busy Saturday?”

Maybe.



Again, from my brother’s blog.

I was thinking of a topic for today’s post, but my Zafra-sitis got in the way. Yeah, I just started reading Twisted 7 at exactly 4:00 pm today hoping that I would be able to pick up an idea or two of just what to write, but the negative Zafra vibrations hit me instead – got nothing good to say. (Peace, Jessica!)

So I opened my brother’s Multiply site… read through his blogs and got this fresh from his site. Sure thing it started off with negativism, too. But thank God before Mom died, she gave her best shot of motherhood that frustrating experiences come in fancy-colored wraps as we see them.

Reflections! It’s good we have them.

Life can sometimes be so lonely. People are so busy loving the things they own and using people to gain these things. People have forgotten to love other people instead and using things for their lone purpose of being just things to be used for a particular purpose.

Hugs.

Warm embrace.

A tap on the shoulder.

A smile.

Or just a loving stare.

All these have been so remote nowadays when all you need is just a single step. To others, it might be a daring step… maybe at first, but if you get used to it, it will be just as normal and voluntary as you breathe.

Try it.

Who knows? You might just save someone else’s lonely life… as you work on your own.

Brawling for Dinner

Three slices of cold pizza and a bottle of Coke adorn my dining table like a feast on New Year’s Eve. Only it’s not New Year’s eve and more importantly it is not a feast. Far from it. I need to lose weight but this is not really the reason for the so-called feast that awaits. Although the slices were Hawaiian, it is not exactly Cobb Salad but I digress.

I can be a rather morbid person. I’m not exactly sure when or how I developed this character trait, but I’m predisposed to indulging in almost all that is unpleasant. This wasn’t with any sense of amusement, just a rational conclusion. So I push the first slice inside my mouth. It was a rather stale taste as I was suffering from a mild cold at that time so my taste buds prefer to take a leave of absence. I tried chewing but it was just a chore. I tried to drown it with Coke that I drank straight from the bottle. I puked a little but still tried to swallow. Only the jalapeños has a strong savor but it tasted like paper cup. I picked up the lone bacon that dropped to the floor. I contemplated to either eat it or just chuck it. Wala pang five minutes.

I could give up right now and die. Whoever finds my body could leave it right where it lies. I could have sworn I saw my whole life flash in front of me. But I struggled. I fight for those who don’t have anything to eat at all. Some don’t eat because they don’t want to or they wanted to lose weight but there are still the majority who don’t because they have no choice. I fight for those people. I fight for those who are rummaging the garbage cans for a thrown out piece of bread or a trace of meat off a T-bone. I scrap and claw for those kids with blackened skin from sunburn or from grease and dirt because of their everyday search for a living so that at the end of the day they have something to put inside their aching bellies and have energy for another day of scrapping and clawing all over again. I pronounce battle against malnutrition and the continuous price hike for a can of sardines and a pack of pancit canton.

But this was the real world, where the fun was supposed to stop. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I have to grieve the inevitable. No one here gets out alive. Some of us just need to be reminded of that from time to time.

Leftovers, anyone?

P.S. Yamoj, pahiram ng post mo ha. Love this one kasi. By now, I know that you’re aware of this inevitable fact: “I’m your no. 1 fan!” (I guess Mom and Pop left me without a choice but to patronize that one family they gave me — YOU. “Peace brother!”)

Doubting God's Existence

A man went to trim his hair and beard. As always happens, he and the barber chatted about this and that, until - commenting on a newspaper article about street kids - the barber stated:

“As you can see, this tragedy shows that God doesn’t exist.”

“How?”

“Don’t you read the papers? So many people suffer, abandoned children, there’s so much crime. If God existed, there wouldn’t be so much suffering.”

The customer thought for a moment, but his haircut was nearly finished, and he decided not to prolong the conversation. They returned to gentler topics, the job was done, the customer paid and left.

However, the first thing he saw was a tramp, with several days of beard, and long tangled hair.

Immediately, he returned to the barber’s shop and said to the man who had served him:

“You know something? Barbers don’t exist.”

“What do you mean, don’t exist? I’m here, and I’m a barber.”

“They don’t exist!” insisted the man, “because if they did, there wouldn’t be people with such longs beards and such tangled hair as I’ve just witnessed up on the corner.”

“I can guarantee that barbers do exist. But that man has never come in here.”

“Exactly! So, in answer to your question, God exists, too. It just so happens that people don’t go to Him. If they did, they would be more giving, and there wouldn’t be so much misery in the world.”



“I wanna just go to sleep and never wake up. If God is everywhere like my preschool teacher has always told us, I hope He hears me... Ahh! If He did listen to me, but I think He doesn’t.”

“Can I just stare blankly on just anything and nobody would notice?”

“I hope they would just hit me so hard that I will pass out and never gain consciousness.”

“They don’t care. Mom wouldn’t even know I’m dead. I think God wouldn’t do too.”

“If I kill myself, it’ll be useless. Because if my time isn’t up yet, I would live. And when I live and they would learn I tried to kill myself, the more they would get mad at me. So you see, it’s useless! And I’m freakin’ mad about this whole idea running through my mind over and over again.”



All these lines are from teenagers who are victims of circumstances. And I wouldn’t know if I should be glad they came up to me and heard all these rumblings or tell them to just give up. Thanks to Mr. Coelho whose site I seldom visit these days, but fortunately, I did today and read the above post.

Tomorrow, I’m looking forward to seeing these kids again. And hope to tell them this story on “Doubting God’s Existence”.

“Help me God that I’ll always remain faithful to You and inspire others to live their lives to the fullest, too. Make me Your instrument of WARMTH to those who needed to be touched. Make me Your EARS for those who would like to be listened to. Make me Your EYES for those who would like to see life’s beauty and wonder. Make me Your MOUTH for those who crave for justice. Make me Your HANDS for those who would like to be reached out. Make me Your FEET for those who like to walk on the road less traveled. And lastly, make me Your HEART for those who would like to be loved. Give me enough of these, Lord, and I shall follow Thy will. Amen.”