The Country Mouse Went To The Big City

Also this time last month, I was inside a bank with an empty stomach, 4 pieces of 100-peso bills in my coin purse, and my atm card confiscated by the bank in a place called Manila. Felt like I was stranded in an island with no way out.

Earlier, I was due to meet a high school friend in Robinsons. Before that I dropped by an atm machine for some cash. Then the unexpected happened: my card was captured. While I silently thanked that the day was not a Friday otherwise I'll go hungry for the rest of the weekend, I was devastated when the bank personnel told me they can't possibly release my card because it is a "hot card". A hot card is a card reported as either stolen, lost or missing the bank personnel explained. I never reported it as missing and how in the world could I possibly stole my own card? So it goes that while my stomach shouted "grok! grok!", my cellphone sounded its last beep before its battery became empty. The country mouse is now in the big city with 400 bucks, an empty stomach and a useless cellphone. So much about lightning striking thrice.

It was good that Michelle, the bank personnel, was very helpful. I made a few phone calls at her suggestion and saw glimmer of hopes after each call. My bank explained that they have sent me bank statements to my last known address in Cebu and all were sent back to their office because the occupants have moved out. Hence, they declared my card as hot card. Thank you very much!

It was past 5pm when I finally got my much needed cash. My appointment with a high school friend having been cancelled, I immediately proceeded to Makati to meet my travel mate. While her day went along fine, she laughed symphathetically at my story. She said it was good that I met an angel in Michelle and that it's not everyday that a helping hand comes along when needed. Don't worry, I said, I'll pass the kindness forward.

From Buendia, we boarded a bus for Baclaran. We thought we could squeeze a quick church visit with our remaining time. Little did we know that the bus would pass by the Mall of Asia. As the sight of the giant mall flashed before us, we exchanged glances of agreement and immediately unboarded. Thanking the one who sent the angel earlier in the day and passing the kindness forward could wait. That time, the Mall of Asia was a welcome temptation.

For Friends Are Friends Forever

This time last month I was in the National Kidney Transplant Institute visiting a friend whose husband was due for a kidney transplant. Dada, as we both fondly call each other, was the first to see me when I entered the NKTI. From her smiles, I couldn’t make out what kind of an ordeal she and her family were undergoing. That moment , I was only too glad to be there with her.

As I headed back to the train station, I was trying to recall how we started to become friends. It was the day when I heard a new occupant has moved in to the room across mine. I knew the room has been reserved for someone two months before but when the occupant arrived I was just too busy or lazy (?) to welcome the new neighbor.We met dawn the following day when I was heading towards the bathroom for my bath while she just finished hers. I inquired if she was the one who moved in yesterday and introduced myself. I couldn’t remember anymore what we’ve talked after the introduction but I believe we ended it with me saying:

Y: Pag may kailangan ka katukin mo lang ako. Titingnan ko kung anong magagawa ko. (If you need something just knock. I’ll try to see what I can do.)

M: Sige kakatok lang ako. Salamat, ha. (Ok, I’ll just knock. Thanks.)

Knock she did. Before the day was over she knocked on my door bringing a book asking about something. The conversation was very short but it paved the way for a friendship that is to last even after our stay in that dormitory. With her, I found an instant companion in most everything I do. I guess, my God saw that I was living a not-so-normal life so He sent someone to bring me back to normalcy.

Sometimes, she’d bring my breakfast and hang it by my doorknob after knocking once although never really expecting a reply. After a time if she can’t sense any movement from my room she then would say loud enough for me hear: “Yung ibang tao dyan kung ayaw ma-mental magbreakfast na!(If you don’t want to go to the mental (hospital) you better take your breakfast!”) or “Hay, naku! Sa lahat ng ayaw ko ay ang kaibigan na sira-ulo! (I really don’t like a nut-case for a friend!). She was more friendly than I that before we knew it, our part of the dormitory which was once enveloped with silence buzzed with controlled laughters from "inmates" who would gather to ate meals in her room (eating in rooms was strictly prohibited by the dormitory management). I stayed longer than her in the dormitory but her acquaintances were three times mine and most of my acquaintaces were because of her. She was the one who gave me Papa Bear, too.

One week ago, after a number of postponements, Paolo her husband, finally received a new kidney from his brother. Dada regularly sent updates while Paolo was under knife. Constantly, she'd asked that I'd say a prayer so that the surgery of Paolo will be successful. I would have wanted to tell her, "Dada, this time you don't have to knock. Because I am all too ready to kneel for you, Paolo and Clyde."



For Friends Are Friends Forever.

My Beautiful Cebu

I am halfway through my road trip. I am right now in Cebu, the place I call my second home. This is the last place I wanted to be when I started my road trip. I planned of traversing the whole of the Visayas Island after Luzon but Cebu was not included in my itinerary. Guess, I'm not ready yet to step into this beautiful island I have so much affection with.

My latest stay here in Cebu is one of the best experience I had in my lifetime. I found nothing but friendships and more friendships. Friendship that withstood the test of distance, silence and time. I'll be blogging some more of that as soon as my road trip ends.

I am leaving again later today for Manila to attend some unfinished business and... to cheer for a friend who is about to embark on what he calls "the biggest battle in my life"

Thank you Cebu for making feel special and loved. I will pay it forward.

For my Dude, I'll see you later today. I'll cheer till my voice is hoarse. I'll stay at your back, at your side or wherever you want me to be. Just get in there and do some ass-kicking! Good luck!

Road Trip

Lately, the conversations I had with my friends were all about love, err, majority of it. I don’t claim to be a veteran when it comes to love but neither am I an amateur. I believe nobody becomes an expert when it comes to the affairs of the heart no matter how many times one’s heart has been broken or has mended. Everybody remains an amateur never an expert, hence, all is fair in love.

A long-time friend once asked me why I don’t write about my lovelife in my blogs. Actually, there really is nothing to write about, plus, I have trouble wearing my heart out of my sleeves. It feels comfortable to be privy when it comes to the matters of the heart. Emotions is such a complicated word I prefer to do a “spell-check” each time I’m at it. The lesser the mistake the better.

Right now, I am stuck in front of the monitor unable to expound the topic I started. Another way of saying, " I refuse to talk about my heart" Hahahaha!!! I just finished packing my backback for a road trip that would start with a plane bound for Manila. This road trip has been planned long before with a friend whose level of enthusiasm about life and living is the same as mine. Life is too precious to be spending it in stillness and without motion.

At dawn, hours from now, another story will begin.

Freedom In Prison

The first time I was in jail was more than 5 years ago. I was doing a research on youthful offenders that time and the complexity of the subject always brought me back to jail every weekend. Seeing the over-crowded jails always drained me of my reserved energies and weekends started to get blurred. I was only too glad when my research ended and my life went back to normal. That was in Cebu.

At present I still get myself near some jails but not as big as the jails I went in with some 5 years ago. Good thing is I don't smell any odor anymore when I'm with the prisoners. In a sleepy town like ours where everybody knows everybody, it is a common thing to meet inmates outside their cells. Sometimes we'd do our pep talks at a sari-sari store while watching a boxing match on tv. There were times we'd exchange greetings inside a jeepney. Some of them would even go out of jail for weeks and return as soon as they sold out their farms produce. Out of the ordinary situations but its true. Onli in da Pilipins.

Recently, an incredible mass dance by prisoners in Cebu is hitting the internet. I can't help but think if I knew some of the dancers. Perhaps some of them were my former subjects. Hehehe! Specially, I can't help but be proud that I came from a race that is best known for its sunny disposition.

I couldn't start to imagine how the personnel of CPDRC managed to successfully pull out such gigantic activity. But I believe having Filipinos as participants made it possible and more easy.

I don't really want to enumerate the best traits of Filipinos here. At least, not now. I don't have time to do an ego-tripping in behalf of my countrymen. It's just that, the dance performed by the inmates in Cebu made me think a little...

"If the 1,000-something inmates who were allegedly lacking in moral turpitude can dance together as one to the tune of a single song, why can't a president, 23 senators and 237 congressmen unite and pursue a common objective?"

Don't answer my question. Just watch the video and have a good time.

To All My Friends*

To All My Friends Who Are …. SINGLE

Love is like a butterfly.

The more you chase it the more it eludes you.
But if you just let it fly, it will come back to you
when you least expect it.

Love can make you happy but often it hurts,
but love is only special when you give it to
someone who is really worth it.

So take your time and choose only the best.

To All My Friends Who Are …NOT SO SINGLE

Love isn’t about becoming somebody else’s “perfect person”.
It’s about finding someone who helps you become the
best person you can be.




To All My Friends Who Are …. ENGAGED

The true measure of compatibility is not the years spent together,
But how good you are for each other.

To All My Friends Who Are …. MARRIED

Love is not about “it’s your fault” but “I’m sorry.”
Not “where are you?” but “I’m right here with you.”
Not “how could you?” but “I understand.”
Not “I wish you were here” but “I’m thankful you are.”


To All My Friends Who Are …. HEARTBROKEN

Heart breaks hurt as long as you want and
cuts as deep as you allow them to go.
The challenge is not how to survive heartbreaks.
But to learn from them.



To All My Friends Who Are …. NAÏVE

How to be in love:

Be consistent but not too persistent
Share and never be unfair
Understand and try not to demand
And get hurt but never try to keep the pain.

To All My Friends Who Are …. POSSESSIVE

It breaks your heart to see someone you love
Happy with someone else
But it’s more painful to know that the one you love
Is unhappy with you.

To All My Friends Who Are …. AFRAID TO CONFESS

Love hurts when you break up with someone.
It hurts even more when someone breaks up with you.
But love hurts the most:
When the person you love has no idea how you feel about him/her.

To All My Friends Who …. ARE STILL HOLDING ON

A sad thing about life is when you meet someone
and you fall in love, only to find out in the end that
it was never meant to be, and that you have wasted years
for someone who wasn’t worth it
If that person isn’t worth it now,
it’s not going to be worth it
a year or 10 years from now.

TO ALL MY FRIENDS:

My wish for you is a man/woman whose love is: honest, strong, mature,
never-changing, protective, encouraging, rewarding and unselfish.

* All the texts I used in this particular entry came from an e-mail forwarded to me by Sherwin. I presumed they are meant for distribution. All the pictures posted in this entry, I stole them from www.photobucket.com. sorry :-)

The Adventure Island Part 4

I burped before the sun bade its farewell for the day. I just had my first meal of the day from what seemed to be the only eatery in the island. I was so busy thinking how am I going do my “panic” that the food tasted so bland and the eating was almost mechanical. It’s been an hour since I landed and my friend has not yet responded to the announcement I made of my arrival. I sat back under the tree and stared across the now darken horizon.

Reality check:

Are you scared?
- Nope
What do you fear most right now?
- That I’ll get out of this island safe and sound but not having fun.
How are you holding on?
-Holding on well.
How are you?
- Excited to know how this day will end.
You think your friend will come and get you?
- Absolutely. She’ll come running.

Honestly, I never felt so alone and so isolated in my entire life. I was stranded in a strange island with nothing but my backpack and the only living person who knew where I was has but the barest idea of what I have gotten myself into. Another hour has passed and the only single soul who could rescue me has not yet arrived and has shown no indication that she will arrive. This day is going to be a lot of fun, I thought.

I was in my deep reverie when an old woman approached to sell me some steamed peanuts. She said she can tell that I am not an islander because it's the first time she saw me in their place. Although I contained myself to only "Yes", "No" and "Ahhs" it was not long after that the other islanders started swarming around us. I told them the story of my day and how I ended in their island. They were symphatic although they can not hide their amusements at my stupidity.

The people of Socorro impressed me. Their dialect sounds familiar and it took me a while to identify that they sounded like my father's. Their courteous accent made me nostalgic that for a moment I thought I was in my father's farm. They are a proud people. They are proud of what they are and what they have. Like most Filipinos, they smile all the time. Before my friend arrived to pick me up, at least 3 men offered me a place to stay. Ang haba ng hair ko! I think it was made in good faith because they even asked the old woman who was selling peanuts to vouched for their Good Moral Character. Honestly, I never really suspected that they mean me any harm. I am thankful that I was treated like I'm one of their own. They must have been offended when I kept the peanuts they gave me. I wanted to tell them that I am allergic to peanuts and I can't possibly get sick in a strange island. At least not now.

When my friend arrived, I think she was half hysterical. She got my message two hours late and I guess she ran at a speed of 500 kilometer per hour just to get to where I am. Faster than the speed of light. Friends are like that. They'll always come running.

The moon was full and it looked wonderful from the rooftop where I recounted my day to my friend and my new acquiantances. And my long day ended shortly after another has began.

The Friend that made my trip possible:



And the acquaintance that made my trip more fun and informative:



And the beautiful people of Socorro Island, for the breath of fresh air :



Thank you.

The Adventure Island Part 3

I can feel that we are on the “it” place when our battered boat started to shake. The waves hammered angrily at the boat as we ran faster to keep up with the speed of the current. I think no single person is dry inside the boat.

I was trying to assess the situation when it suddenly occurred to me that this could be my D-Day! Fine. So be it. I will go with dignity and I should not chicken out. Bah! I closed my eyes and conversed with myself.

‘Overcome your fears and think of the good times.’ says myself.

‘Which one? There were many.’ says me.

‘Think of a funny one.’

‘The man dressed like a priest carrying a cheap wooden cross asking for money in the pier, I think that was funny.’

‘Yeah, that was. Think more.’

‘I can’t concentrate, the boat is rocking like a maniac.’

‘Sing a song’

‘I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom for me and you. And I think
to myself, what a wonderful world’

‘No, no, not that song. Sing something lively.’

‘You want me to sing My Humps?’

‘No, I don’t think you know its lyrics. How about Buttercup?’

‘I don’t know its lyrics. You really think we are going to sink?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why?’

‘The worst is over. And if you will open your eyes, you will know that I am telling
the truth.’

I felt silly when I opened my eyes. Some of the passengers were talking like nothing happened, others were eating yellow corns reminding me of my lunch-deprived stomach. I think I just missed something beautiful and wonderful when I closed my eyes. It was the waves I came here for and I can’t believe I closed my eyes when the waves were at its best. For the nth time in my life I felt stupid. And, for the first time in my glorious and colorful sailing history, I want to puke.

I went outside and stood by the deck for a time. The waves are calmer now although the splashing continues. I have never seen so many islands surrounding me before. This scene is a classic, I thought. As we were approaching the island destination, I was disturbed by something I couldn’t figure out what. Something is wrong with the island, I observed. ‘What is it? What is it?’ I asked myself. The shores are calm almost dead. There were no movements. I wondered where was the surfing area.

After we docked, I immediately looked for a reloading station to bring back to life my communication with the world. As expected it took me a lifetime to look for a reloading station. I was prepared for that. What I was not prepared was the answer given to me by a local when I asked her where I was.

Unlock keypad. Write Message.

“Bru, I just landed safe and in one piece. But, I boarded the wrong boat and of course I landed on the wrong island. The next boat out of here is tomorrow dawn.”

Sent Message. Lock keypad. Phone vibrates. Unlock keypad. Read Message.

“Its great that you are safe bru but…..Bwahahahahaha!!!! Ahem. Sorry.”

Reread the message. Swear a little. Lock keypad. Contemplates on throwing the cellphone to the waveless f*****g shores.

The local informed me that I am in the island of Socorro. The surfing capital of my beloved country is found in Dapa Island, municipality of Gen. Luna. Dapa is an hour trip from Socorro and the next boat will leave at dawn on the next day.




Great!


The sun is almost done. I sat under a tree with my damp backpack staring at the horizon watching the sun sets. The disappearing sun reminded me of the yellow corn and the yellow corn reminded me of my empty stomach. I need to eat before I’ll press the panic button. Perhaps my chances of survival will be high if I'll panic with a full stomach.

The Adventure Island Part 2

I was smiling excitedly as the pump boat’s engine roared to life. It wouldn’t be long now, I thought. The ride was boring as the boat attempted to slice the blue seas and the mainland turned smaller each time I looked back. I thought I saw me smile as I dozed off trying to forget my stubborn empty stomach.

A splash of seawater forcing itself to enter our boat woke me up. As the engine shouts while making its way against the nasty waves, I smiled. Not bad, not bad at all. I stood up and climbed out of the boat. I want to be where the action is and I want to see it up close and personal, I thought. I was standing on the deck as the boat see-sawed itself against the unruly waves. My clothes are now wet with splashing seawaters and my hair gave in to the charming wind. I think I was in a trance or was perhaps levitating when a deckhand ordered me to get inside the boat. Safety first, he said. That is a construction site’s motto, I thought.

Inside I could tell the waves were angrily hammering our little boat. The windows were all close but I could tell from the darkness that the seawater is slowly invading our floors. My ukay-ukay jacket is now damp from seawater and my socks are wet - my old robertson’s shoes must have holes in it that I know nothing of. I’ll check it out as soon as I survive, I thought. The ceiling started to drip. My, oh my.

I stared at the life vest hanging above my head as soon as I saw a bundle of the day’s issue of Manila Bulletin floating in the floor all bloated and wet. Five sacks of rice lay still and wet under our seats. I was trying to figure out what kind of an enemy I have outside when my phone started to vibrate.

Unlock keypad. Read Message.

S: Hi, Bru! Can I use ur blogs in my clas? Pls? I’ll mek most of ur work samples of paragraph *****ment.

Click Reply. Write Message.

Y: Do whatever u want. Just don’t give out my name. Mine is conversational English. Not a good idea for an English class. I’m on board a boat bound for Siargao. Waters are starting to fill the boat.

Click Send. Message Sent. Lock Keypad. Phone vibrates. One message received. Unlock keypad. Read message

S: D author shld be acknowledge bru. Urs is *******istic dats y I wana use 8 n class. U surfing there? Take care. U can swim ryt?

Click Reply. Write Message.

Y: Make another name. I can’t swim but I might if survival calls for it. Grrrr…

Click Send Message. Check Operator Services. Gasp. Lock keypad.

My last connection to the world has just been unplugged. Great! So much about adventurism! As the waves tossed our boat mercilessly, my stomach vacuumed and I felt the need to pee and fart at the same time. The ocean would have been a great venue if it were not for the waves and wind.

The woman beside me, I presumed is a local islander, grabbed my knees for support as she murmured “this is the IT place”. She said we are approaching the accident-prone area and many boats sunk in that place. I tried to peek from the window and saw a turbulent current running at full speed. This place is good for white water rafting, I thought. But a white water rafting on a boat as big as this is an entirely different story.

As we approached the “IT” place I tried to make a mental inventory of the contents of my bag that will sink with me. Dirty clothes and undies, toiletries and hankies – they all can go right down. My phone, it’s outdated but I love it. We have many memories together. I held on to it when my brother offered to swap it with his N91.My camera, ew, lots of beautiful memories trapped inside. The phone and the camera can't possibly go down with me. There will be no one else to tell where I have been and what I have seen if it these two goes down with me. So, I sealed them both in a ziploc and whispered, "You both tell the world of my story, alright?

I don't know when is the next installment of my story, but right now I badly needed a bath...

The Adventure Island

I boarded a boat that would take me to the Philippines’ surfing capital. Sometimes, I’d catch myself smiling contentedly alone at the thought that finally, anytime soon, I will be in one of my dream destination. The boat is pretty large for an ordinary pump boat. I heard the trip will take about 3 hours and the waves will be playful since a typhoon is coming. But who cares? I don't.

The bus trip I made earlier was uneventful. It was the usual picturesque of rice paddies, highways, downtowns and flea markets. I am beginning to convince myself that each place is as identical as the other, whereever and whatever the place is. After I finished what I have came for, I immediately run, literally run towards the pier to catch the only trip going to the country's surfing capital. I bought my ticket, boarded and forgot that a human being needs to eat lunch every noon time.

I was sitted at the center of the boat congratulating myself for deciding to get on board. This trip was never part of my itinerary. No single soul in the world knows where I am going. A long time friend will meet me as soon as this boat docks in the island-destination but she doesn't know I accepted her invitation to follow her. As I sat on the boat taking mental note of my surroundings, smiling at myself and heard my stomach grumbles all at the same time, I saw something that promised that my trip will be one hell of an adventure!

To be honest and quite frankly, I am through that stage where I insist that I have the right to question every person's intentions. Rigth or wrong, I have come to terms with the fact that a person's life is his own. That I will always be an audience of my surroundings and I have no right whatsoever to judge a man's person. Right now, I am more amused at how a person deals with his life and I am nothing but an expectator.

To be continued....

That's Life

THAT’S LIFE

“When you are a nobody,
you are unnoticed;

When you begin to go up,
you win many friends;

When you go higher,
you win more enemies
and less friends;

When you go even higher,
your friends become
your enemies;

And when you have attained
the highest – as the king
of kings ---

They will crown you
with thorns and crucify you!”

So don’t be surprised that you are now being crucified
This proves that you are among the ‘HIGHEST’
By: Bethlehem Ephratah

Sense of Wonder

I just came from a 2-city tour and island hopping galore. It was both an adventurous and humorous trip that I would have wanted it to last a little longer if it were not for a pressing business that requires my immediate presence back in the mainland. Looking back, I'm glad I made the trip even if it's against all odds.

There was a time in the last quarter of last year when I confided to a travelmate that I felt I am losing my "sense of wonder". That time, I was convinced that nothing and no one impresses me anymore. My travelmate shook her head and said, "Yam, that sounds tragic."

She was right. There is nothing more tragic than when a person is indifferent towards everything. Indifference spells tragedy. The world may continue to go round but it is seen in black and white. The sunsets are without color, the sea lifeless and the wind motionless. Music is played on the same repeated notes and the faces of both strangers and friends become identical. Existence without thrill and excitement is a lonely tragedy.

I didn't know how, when, and why it happened to me. Perhaps I had my hands full too much too soon. Burned out? Perhaps. Fed up? Maybe. But geez...

I'm glad it was short-lived. I maybe losing my "sense of wonder" but who says I completely lost it? The trip I made this week proves I am still capable of exhibiting "amazement" even to the most insignificant things around me. The indifference is slowly exiting out of my system.

Before I will tell you about the trip that was instrumental in bringing back my "sense of wonder", let me thank the following:

Merle and Ellene for providing a roof over my head in Butuan City. I never appreciated Butuan City before the way I appreciate it now after you dragged me into its downtown.

Jenny for being so generous with her time and for talking nonstop while showing me Surigao City.

Amor, Cathy, William, Engr. Dodong -acquaintances I met in Socorro Island (one of the island in Siargao, Surigao City)- specially to a dearest long-time friend, Aldie Mae , for feeding me with meaty informations and for providing a roof over my head.

The beautiful and good-natured people of the Island of Socorro, people I was with in the buses, the boats, piers, terminals, the streets.

I am grateful I made the trip.

Purse Of Life

It’s already late in the night when I started packing my backpack for an out-of-town trip. The usual clothes and toiletries, cellphone, camera and its extra batteries were the mainstays in my backpack every time I travel. And then my coin purse.

My coin purse and I shared a very long history together. It was given to me by someone I used to get closed with many years ago. While the coin purse since stayed with me, I haven’t heard of its giver for a long time now.

It has been my constant companion wherever I go. It stayed with me in the campsites, the cottages, pension houses, hotels, garage and anywhere I can spend a peaceful night. It’s been to cities and the country sides, mountains and seas, sidewalks and parks, crossroads and highways. Every single possession I have in my backpack may go but not my coin purse. There is too much history in it. Too many memories and countless stories.




An acquaintance once made a comment about my coin purse. The first time she saw it her eyes popped out. I was taking it out from my pocket to pay for our food when I saw her shocked expressions. It was not long after when she offered to buy me a new one. I said, no. I offered no explanations.

Once, a travel mate, who knows my attachment to my coin purse, and I talked about it. She said that I should get a bigger wallet because if this boat we are on would go down with us, there will be no way to identify my body if all I have with me is my old and torn coin purse. I smiled. She smiled, too. She know her words fell on deaf ears.

Like wine, the older it gets the finer it becomes. Friendships get stronger with time. Pieces of art become more valuable as they age. My coin purse is none of these. But its loosen fabrics and torn linings witnessed, like no other person does, how I spent my life.

One Solitary Life

I was reading a book I read millions of centuries ago when I found a piece of paper inserted into it by its previous borrower. If there is one thing I am generous about, it would be my books. I always encouraged, coerced and begged my friends to read my collections of books. It always feels good to talk about books and its author.

Going back about that piece of paper inserted in my book. I think it was left there by accident or it was some sort of a Thank-You note. For whatever reasons and since it’s a Sunday, I decided I’ll publish it here and say “Thank you, too.” to its owner. Here goes...



He was born in an obscure village.
He worked in a carpenter shop until he was thirty.
He then became an itinerant preacher.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a house.
He didn’t go to college.
He had no credentials but himself.
He was only thirty-three when the public turned against him.
His friends ran away.
He was turned over to his enemies and went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
While he was dying, his executioners gambled for his clothing,
the only property he had on earth.
He was laid in a borrowed grave.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone,
and today he is the central figure of the human race.
All the armies that ever marched,
all the navies that ever sailed,
all the parliaments that ever sat,
and all the kings that ever reigned
have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that
ONE SOLITARY LIFE.

How Soon Is Now?

It was my best friend’s 32nd birthday yesterday. She succumbed to cancer 13 years ago. She was 19.

We were in fourth grade when her family moved into my neighborhood. Although, it was only in high school that we became classmates, we spent most of our times playing in the “emburnal” in Santo Tomas Street.

She was always the silent type and I was the best opposite. We used to sneak out from home to gather seashells by the bay until we both reached the color of charcoal black. Sometimes, I'd climb a mansanitas at her request while she stayed in the ground catching the fruits I'd throw her. If she was the demure type, I was the never-mind-what type.

Although we have different friends in high school, we always walked home together talking about how our day went. After dinner we would sit by the "emburnal" and watch younger kids play the games we used to play. In school, she'd rummage my tornado-wrecked backpack to find my notebook and write our lessons in it while I was busy playing under the heat of the sun each noon break. We were happy then until graduation came.

We used to think that it was a harmless lump growing in her leg. A series of misdiagnoses by incompetent doctors killed her. Before that, her family lost most of their properties to finance her medication and her mother died before her, broken-hearted... unable to bear her daughter's agony.

I remember the day we buried my father. She cried like she was my father's daughter. It never crossed my mind that she would follow a year later and that I'd cry like crazy at her funeral. It was a nightmare one after the other.

I can't explain why it took me more than a decade to visit her grave. Distance was never an issue nor is time. But when I did it hurt like it's the first time I learned of her death. I still grieve over my loss. I guess it makes her uncomfortable.

There have been many best friends after her. One official best friend and a few unofficial best friends. Guess it would make her laugh to know that it took me 4 universities before I got my college degree. Probably I scared her out of her wits when I scourred the caves, climbed some mountains and dived to see some corals. She must have been smiling in heaven seeing I never changed and that I'm still the same person since the day she left until today.

Dear Annalyn,

My family and I still think of you. Very, very fondly. I'm still the same person you once played with in the "emburnal." Nothing has changed. The "emburnal" is still there. And I still looked at it like you were always there. The way we were always there. Wished you stayed a little longer, long enough to listen to me play this song.

THINK OF LAURA

Christopher Cross

Every once in a while I'd see her smile

And she'd turn my day around

A girl with those eyes

Could stare through the lies

And see what your heart was saying

Think of Laura but laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

When you think of Laura laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

A friend of a friend

A friend to the end

That's the kind of girl she was

Taken away so young

Taken away without a warning

Think of Laura but laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

When you think of Laura laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

I know you and you're here

In every day we live

I know her and she's here

I can feel her when I sing

Hey Laura, where are you now

Are you far away from here

I don't think so

I think you're here

Taking our tears away

Think of Laura but laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

When you think of Laura laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

Ulipon Sa Gugmang Giatay

By the time this blog is published, I presume the book Brusha sent me is already in her hands. It was a good read although we agreed that the author said nothing new. Any progesterone-loaded human being knows it by heart. Everything he said is a confirmation of what I believed in and practiced. And I'm sure I am not alone. It was a good thing I always have an excuse everytime I got an invitation to attend his talks. I guess...

I am not going to write about a review on the book. My personal history tells me that everytime I open my mouth and let out an opinion, I get myself screwed up and earn an enemy or two. Since there is not much difference about talking and writing, I will shut up.

But.... Hear me for my cause! The book can be summarized in the email sent to me by the same person who sent me the book. Scroll down...

If a man wants you, nothing can keep him away.

If he doesn't want you, nothing can make him stay.

Stop making excuses for a man and his behavior.

Allow your intuition (or spirit) to save you from heartache.

Stop trying to change yourselves for a relationship that's not meant to be.

Slower is better.

Never live your life for a man before you find what makes you truly happy.

If a relationship ends because the man was not treating you as you deserve

then heck no, you can't "be friends."

A friend wouldn't mistreat a friend.

Don't settle.

If you feel like he is stringing you along, then he probably is.

Don't stay because you think "it will get better."

You'll be mad at yourself a year later for staying when things are not better.

The only person you can control in a relationship is you.

Avoid men who've got a bunch of children by a bunch of different women.

He didn't marry them when he got them pregnant,

why would he treat you any differently?

Always have your own set of friends separate from his.

Maintain boundaries in how a guy treats you.

If something bothers you, speak up.

Never let a man know everything. He will use it against you later.

You cannot change a man's behavior. Change comes from within.

Don't EVER make him feel he is more important than you are...

even if he has more education or in a better job.

Do not make him into a quasi-god.

He is a man, nothing more nothing less.

Never let a man define who you are.

Never borrow someone else's man.

Oh Lord! If he cheated with you, he'll cheat on you.

A man will only treat you the way you ALLOW him to treat you.

All men are NOT dogs.

You should not be the one doing all the bending...compromise is a two-way street.

You need time to heal between relationships...

there is nothing cute about baggage...

deal with your issues before pursuing a new relationship

You should never look for someone to COMPLETE you...

a relationship consists of two WHOLE individuals...

look for someone complimentary...not supplementary.

Dating is fun...even if he doesn't turn out to be Mr. Right.

Make him miss you sometimes...when a man always know where you are,

and you're always readily available to him- he takes it for granted.

Don't fully commit to a man who doesn't give you everything that you need.

Keep him in your radar but get to know others.

Share this with other ladies.....

You'll make someone SMILE, another RETHINK her choices,

and another woman PREPARE.

The Charmed Ones

Three days ago I received an LBC package from my Brusha. It contained a book and dvd copies of one of my favorite tv series. Such thoughtful gesture.

I met her on the wedding of one of my closest friend. While I was asked to say a “little something” for the newlyweds, Bru was a gate crasher who tagged along with Bruviv another close friend of the bride. I’m sure she’ll put up a fight over my declaration that she gate crashed. Bring it on, Bru.

We became fast friends shortly after the wedding. There were so many things we shared in common that our chemistry was overwhelming. The magnitude and intensity of our “tupak” was unbelievably identical that we blame it on us sharing the same birth date. We have so much fun together and most of them were spent in front of coffees, beers and capris.

She was the first person to make me laugh when I got my first major blow of the year last April. I don’t want to go into details how she did it but it was enough to make me finished my dinner and looked at the brighter side. She beat all those family and friends who rushed to my side the moment I got the blow. If rushing to my side was a race, she was a major front-runner. That night, the magic words she said worked wonders.

“Bru, don’t be sad. I’m still proud of you. Always will be.”

And here she is again. Sensing my boredom, she sent me a book that made me laughed all the way. No, not by its content, it was a serious stuff, but by the sarcastic (?) comments she made on some of the author's theories. Inside the book was written :



Bru,

Read this you won't regret it. It's actually entertaining at the same time enlightening. Enjoy.

- S.

The dvd's were a charmer, too. It occuppied so much of my time everyday
since I got it. I saw it even in my sleep. Hahaha! The note accompanying it
was awesome.

Bru!

Here are your copies of CHARMED Seasons 1 and 2. The others will
follow. Maybe next year. I don't know.
Enjoy!

Blessed be.

-S.

P.S. Take care. I missed our jocular conversations over coffee much more the ones we have over beer and capri.

Return the book please. Coz after you read it, I'll be throtting someone else to read it. Si Mildred the friend I was with on our brief encounter sa SM. And thwart a co-teacher to read it too.

I am too cheap and too broke to buy you girls your own copy.

You'll all thank me.

- S.

If there is one thing I love most about life, it is the fact that I am surrounded with family and friends whose genuine love and concern is enough to make me love life itself. They are my gems. They are my precious find. And here is a picture of one of them. At the back of the picture was written :

Bru,

This smile will drive away your depression. You'll think that you're better off than this bitch. Hehehe!

- Bruha

Yeah, right. Laughed I did. She once called me "disturbed" and now she suspects I am depressed. Thank you very much. How can I be? There is not much reason for me to experience any "tropical depression". The weather is just fine.

Anyway, Bru, I know you will blow your top if you will see your silly grin published here on the net. Sorry but I can't help it. I just want you to know that I AM SO DAMN PROUD OF YOU, TOO. ALWAYS WILL BE.

Blessed be.

On William Diehl, et. al

After I said my little prayer and the OFFLINE sign remained as it was, I got up from my chair and felt little needles stinging my ass as I opened the door and breathed in some air. The air outside was as polluted as the air inside. Although, the air outside was a much better choice.

As I walked down Espiritu Street passing through thousands of ukay-ukay stalls, my happy feet brought me to a newspaper stand I used to frequent as a child. I was busy reading the screaming headlines of the day when I chanced to looked up the line of books neatly piled in the shelves. They are unread but old, torn and faded through long exposures to wind, rain, dusts and anything only-God-knows-what. And then my heart stopped beating. For a moment.

In my hand was a book written by William Diehl. My eyes popped out and my hands shook for a brief moment as the attendant looked at me suspecting I’m a nut-case with my dirty slippers, torn jeans and a weird reaction on my face as I held the book. The attendant stepped aside as I uttered a “My God” while I made my way towards Angela’s Ashes written by Frank McCourt. A travel mate recommended to me this book and said it’s a good read and it's her mother’s favorite book. And finally, I found Roald Dahl, an old favorite.

Luck comes not twice, not thrice but frice, I mean, four times. At least in my case. I almost dropped the three books when the attendant told me each book costs 25 pesos! I was beginning to question my own sanity by then and asked myself “Where in the world was I?”

As I entered the place where the air is polluted inside, I was no longer bothered whether they call the men from England, Canada and Australia as Kano. I just met three of the world’s most wonderful Kano : William Diehl from Georgia, USA, Frank McCourt from Limerick, Ireland and Roald Dahl whose parents are Norwegian.

I sat back facing the OFFLINE sign. It doesn’t bother me anymore. So before my ass begins to numb and droplets of saliva lands on my right sleeve I closed my eyes and pray : “Dear Lord, thank you for the three books you have given me today. You know I searched far and wide for William Diehl, eager to know Frank McCourt and was so excited to be reunited with Roald Dahl. I know you took trouble to know the desires of my heart and thank you for fulfilling it. Can I save you from more trouble and give you the list of the books I so desperately want? You can deliver them at my door or I can go pick it up. Whichever is convenient for you and your angels, is fine with me. Thank you. Please txt back. Amen.”

What's In A Name?

Running an errand kept me sitting on a chair for two solid hours while facing the OFFLINE sign. The friction between my ass and the chair under me was so irritating that killing the person next to me was a very welcome diversion from my boredom. No, actually, I was not bored. I only complained of the aching numbness in my ass.

Boredom has no place in a small town where two or three strangers can gather in anybody’s name and talk about his or her life or the life of others from cradle to grave. We were enclosed in one storey of a building, half of it looked like a congressional session hall and the other half looked like a street corner where everybody gathers for the latest update on the neighborhood buzz. I belonged to the latter half.

An elderly woman who spits out droplets of saliva every time she talks first complained about the air-conditioning unit which seemed to be the most useless appliance in the room. As she fanned herself she talked about her daughter who met a man from England in the internet. The “Kano” as what she called the man from England is a very good man and he sends them money regularly for their sustenance. As she talked about the generosity of their foreign benefactor her audience nodded in admiration to the man from England whom they called “Kano” and envied the fortune of the elderly woman who spits droplets of saliva every time she talks.

The elderly woman wasn’t the only one with a foreign funding in the room. As soon as she finished her story another one butted in. She married an Australian and her papers are now being processed and she is due to leave anytime soon. Another is pregnant courtesy of a man from Canada and the “Kano” is flying into the country within the week to be there with her when she delivers the baby. As I sat in the bench feeling the numbness in my ass crawling up my spine, I prayed to God to send some angels from the heavens on high and tell them that they could not possibly call a man from England, Canada and Australia as “Kano”. Their foreign benefactors would be gravely insulted should they ever find out they were called "Kano".

But before I say "Amen" I stopped myself and think. The "Kano" issue is so petty its not worth my prayer. The angels are too damn busy on some bigger issues that they don't concern themselves with how one should call the other. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet". Yeah, right. Dollars would smell as sweet whether they came from Canada, Australia or England.

As I changed my mind and shifted from my seat, I said a little prayer and said Amen as soon as I finished. "Dear Lord, with all humility I ask You, please send some angels from the heavens on high and let them take away the OFFLINE sign. My ass hurts from the numbness and the numbness is now slowly crawling up my spine. My right sleeve is almost wet with saliva droplets and my head aches from the odor and the heat. Have mercy on your child that has to "Kano" story to share and no dollars to smell. Amen."

Don't Dream It's Over

I’ve been here, there and everywhere the past few days. Part of my game plan to forget the stunning, shocking, horrible defeat of Justine to the fat, big-eyed and weird French woman (they’re not my words, I tell you).

My happy feet brought me to as far as Barcelona. No, not Spain. It’s a remote place lined with long stretch of ash-colored sands facing the all too calm Pacific Ocean. As me and my Kuya waited for the fishermen’s arrival, I mentally note that the place is good for wind surfing. The charming waves were very inviting and the place is totally unexploited although the locals doesn’t seem to care on a potential tourist spot.

Far from the civilization and the attention of the powers-that-be, it broke my heart and scared the daylights out of my wits when I realized that we need to cross a rotten bridge that is ready to tumble at the faintest whisper of the wind. But cross we did.

Cross we did. And all in one piece. On our way back, my heart was heavy as I think about the rotten and ailing bridge. It is a disaster waiting to happen. Perhaps, the bridge is waiting for someone to go down with it.

Knock on the wood.