An Anthology of Rains I

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We are used to the rains. My family, my neighbors, my countrymen. The rains take turns with the sun in governing the world we live in. Some times, it proves to be a burden. Some days, it is a beloved gift of comfort and seasonal rest. 

-

When I was young, once it pours, all occupations will be halted. (Occupations being going to school and doing the school life). Since my mother also frequents the school, as a teacher, once cancellations happen, we would all be huddled at home seizing the "yey-no classes" day/s.    

There was this one morning when my mom, my siblings, and I were all already up when it was announced that classes were cancelled. I was probably in my third grade (what a bad year it was) at the time. My mom told us to go back in bed and thereafter, joined us. A rare sight! For at that age, I almost never saw my mom being anywhere else in the morning other than the kitchen and the dining areas. But she joined us and playfully tickled us. Maybe she was also tired and maybe the cancellation also excited her. We would never have known because we were so keen on consuming her. But I 'm grateful that that morning, she also chose to rest. An indelible moment. Maybe because I felt safe then. Safe and happy--an uncommon feeling for me in my becoming days at school. What a glitch the rains could offer.

-

The rainy season happens in conjunction with the summer days. They alter in that pattern in our side of the world. It begins when my siblings and I were still in Pangasinan back in our childhood days. Days in Pangasinan meant that it was schoolbreak for us. It was a tradition. There was no summer spent otherwise, at least for me, until my early years in college. Once the first rain of the year happens, my cousins and I would find different ways to entertain ourselves while all cooped up inside my bae's (grandmother's) house. Some days, I watched the rain embellish the trees and flowers with those drizzling sparkles. Some days, we all exchange jokes among each other. Most times, we were all just entertained by one box, all of the family glued to the television. 

Those afternoons were particularly dark, because the rains were gloomy. We were not allowed to laugh. We did that secretly. We were not allowed to sing. We listened to the thunder instead. We were not allowed to make fun of the raging skies. Because it will get even angrier. My bae taught us to respect its wrath. So, we would just look at each other while being under the shadows of the wall, and keep our laughters to ourselves. Because, for some reason, kids always find something to laugh about and at. Even when the skies loom dark.

- 

To my grief, the rains shifted away from being equated to pausing when I started gaining more years. 

It became an obstacle to overcome when I have to get to work despite the weather. Or a source of worry if I wasn't prepared with supplies or if there are areas for repair at home. Some days, it ceased bearing any meaning to it. It is just another day in this ever repetitive world that demands sacrifices for a life well-lived. 

It became a hopeless symbolism when Filipinos' homes started getting flooded. It became a reminder of the relentless and remorseless corruption that hovers over the lives of my countrymen. These days, I call it the litmus paper that dampened the opaque walls and made what happens on the other side visible. The rains showed us how much we were/are being cheated and how much we are losing while we are making the sacrifices we were deceived to make. 

Tragedy, tragedy, what a comedy. 

- 

On some days when I can catch up with life, I spend the days reading while listening to the howling winds, while being embraced by its cold. These days are quite elusive now. But these are days I beseech God for. 

Can You give me the quiet rains today? 
Those gentle hums that chase my fears away

Can You make it a little bit colder?

That warm embrace in this world that makes me wonder

Can You make the skies look a bit gray?

A sheet of restedness when there's not a lot to say

Oh, gracious. What a ~

Oh, gracious. What a life. 

I've spent the past hours rummaging through my stuff, random social media accounts, and my thoughts. It seems to me that I am fumbling for something, but there's this unsystematic way in how everything has been placed that I do not just know what exactly it is I am looking for, I also do not know if I really should be looking for anything. 

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As I breathed in the chaos, I lied in bed and to myself. "These things are just trying to find their footing." It's as if I mystified the truths that have always been plainly peering at me: I am painfully thriving in being all the things that I am. Wow. Just typing that makes my eyes water, my fingers shiver. I am tired. 

I cannot be tired. I have to be grateful. I cannot be exhausted. I am exuding life. How often could one live a life dreamed of--with every job that the heart could account for all laid down on the plate? I am living the dreams and the beginnings of all/most of the things that I have imagined my life would be like. I cannot cease my labor, I need to seize my labor. 

My head is throbbing. Oh, gracious. What a life.

There's something undramatic in the way one realizes her life is steep. She pauses. Stares at the pathways that look ever so hard. Rolls her eyes. And breathes, "Here we go again." Just like that, she looks around and proceeds with the uphill treading, unsure, as usual, but always walking onwards. 

But there are seasons when she's immobile, with no motion left in her being. So, she pauses. Stares at the pathways that look ever so hard. Rolls her eyes. And breathes, "Here we go again." Just like that, she looks around and sleeps. A long one. A beautiful one. With an extent of forgetfulness. With an extent of satisfaction. Because sometimes, the only way to get to walk forward again is to just stop for a moment. 

For a moment. Oh, how long do you think would that take? When I think of it right this very moment, I crave it with all of my soul. I want to be in the moment when I am not anyone else but this woman who is cradled in poetry and music, who is mesmerized by books and cups of tea, who is entertained by waves and trees dancing. But there's a rope. Maybe it's invisible. But it's pulling me. "You gotta get going, always going. Because you are committed. You are promised. You are expected." 

Oh, gracious. What a life.

I am confronted by two roads often travelled. One says, go. One says, rest. I look at the two of them. I cannot make a decision. So, I tarry. I sit by the intersection. And get my phone to scroll because maybe I need to be entertained. I do not have the calibration to go. But I would feel guilty if I rest. I did something my brainwashed brain thinks would be a way to recalibrate, while not being fully detached. 

Oh, gracious. What a fool.

My head is still throbbing. And maybe it is not my head. It may be my heart. Or my conscience. All I know is that something rhythmic is disturbing me and calling my attention. To do what, I am still not sure. Because I am waiting. To be able to find that mythical footing. 

There are no resolutions found here. I cannot summon my will to please people. Or traditional writers, in this sense, where writings are concluded by lessons and hopes for the future. I am just being. 

Being lost. Being tired. Being sleepy. Being happy. Being expressive. 

And maybe this is it, gracious goodness. What a life, indeed. 

Debunking My Personal Myths

This morning, I hear the neighborhood taking it easy. There's a kind of noise that informs what kind of day it is. Today, I hear murmurs of children playing, of quiet and limited banters among neighbors, and of animal sounds that turn up occasionally. It must be a day of rest. Well, for others. 

I started my day mingling with my thoughts. My introspections brought me to questioning my own motivations, digging deeper into my exhaustion, and analyzing my choices. I tried to understand some of my beliefs and how they influence my lifestyle. You see, I haven't been very proud of my life's structure. While documents would say that I am a very productive ~professional~, my cats and I know so well how every move requires me long hours/days of rotting towards recovery (30s people might know). Along with this, I started to perceive how the days pass so quickly that I get surprised and frustrated by it all, that I feel a sense of longing for the days that went by without me fully being there.

Maybe this is how adulting feels like. Maybe I have done this to myself. 

Thus, the introspective wonders. How have I been living? How have I been counting my days? Why am I living like this? What is my end goal to everything? Should there really be more? Or is this how things really transpire when you're older. Would it worsen as I carry on? 

Until I recognized a phantom that has been residing in my head. It seems to me that I have been living with this sense of transience that limits me from truly embracing and seizing who I am in the season I am in. The imagery that came to mind when I tried to imagine myself is of a person waiting at a lobby. 

My last decade, as an adult, has been met with various tragedies and postponements. Contrary to the vibrant days of my younger years, I ached with unbearable pains that were beyond anything I could have imagined. Most times, they happened when I least expected them to. Maybe that's one of the pangs to it, the shock that comes when something painful happens. Little by little, such experiences taught me of the impermanence of happiness. I found myself distancing from whatever it is that I do because I am not sure how long I have to linger in my present hallways. And although I have such vigor over the choices I have made, or that I have my glimmers in these spaces, the anticipation for the worst keeps me on my toes. 

While I understand the fancies and foibles of man, I still cannot move past these fears. Any day of relaxation or even of routine could lead to a day of disaster. I have to keep myself guarded. I have to keep myself ready to spring up for the worst. And the dreams and promises I so desire for myself? I acknowledge their ephemerality. Oh, but I do hope for them with all my being! I yearn for them with every strand of my consciousness! I remain with them even in the bleakness of it all. But... I do acknowledge their ephemerality. 

The person waiting at the lobby of an establishment waits with anticipation for the next instruction. Lingering there, but not quite belonging there. That place is no one's place. People do what they can to while away the time there. With no sense of finality to it. Because in a beat, they would have to proceed. 

Some wise men's words tell us that if we live with the consideration that time is fleeting, we live with ardour and substance. Although this is the highest of my dreams--to live meaningfully--the sense of impermanence took a turn that is impeding me. I live my days with the thought that I am merely whiling my time away, scared that if I proceed I am going to be caught off guard again, that I could get hurt again. Of course, I am with jobs that are not for whiling away anyway, but how I feel when I do them comes with a sense of detachment. How I spend the gaps in my days lacks the intention that comes with using each piece of time to build your life. 

The phantom of the belief that surfaced as I tried to understand myself is finally visible to me. I shut my eyes tightly and took a deep breath in recognition of these. I do accept the person that I am in the middle of these beliefs that developed over time. And just now, I think of how healing could probably look like this: days spent in uncertainty, days spent being on guard, until I find a safe space for landing where I could run free again. I do understand this person. Believe it or not, allowing her fears to linger felt like a protection, a form of precaution.

But she has to proceed. She has to know that she can proceed now. I have to know that I can proceed now. 

The time spent at the lobby is a meaningful time of whiling away. Ha! From outsiders' perspective, it may not look like whiling away at all. I'm thankful and I'm glad I had the space to be scared, to be unsure, to be guarded. But healing is also moving forward, finding the courage again, and rediscovering my hopes. 

Allowing my personal myths to surface is significant. Understanding them is pivotal. But it is important for me to challenge them. It matters that I conquer them. It matters that I overcome them. It matters that I pick up the pieces again and acknowledge that what shattered me are no longer part of my life and that they are the ones that are not permanent. 

I am going to trace my steps forward now. 

The day is still unfolding and I can still hear the neighborhood resting. New sounds from thuds of what could be minor repairs here and there are now heard. Subtle laughters are adding to the music. Animals are slowly getting more giddy, barking, chirping, and meowing. The day is proceeding. The day is preparing to face what comes after resting.

Much Ado About Nothing

I sighed, "I need to love myself better". 

On the wee hours of a Sunday morning, I found myself doomscrolling again. Attention caught by these seconds of entertainment, emotions wheeling from "aww, that's cute" to "what the~" to all other possible feelings one could summon... in a few minutes. This has been going on for quite a while now.

photo credit

It hasn't always been these short reels though, there'd have been those times I'd see an informational video that would lead me down into a rabbit hole only for me to end up not doing what I intended to do for that chunk of the day. Or those times when I'd turn on my phone to message someone, only to get harnessed by these colorfully stimulating videos, with me ending up forgetting whom I was supposed to talk to. "Bakit nga ako nagbukas ng phone?"  

Oh, these tidbits of a virtual world that feign existence! 

What would have I wanted to do if there's no work for me to do? In my head, I dream of prairies of words and streams of art. There's always this hope to read all I want to read when time permits me to. There's always this hope to create something and just get that imagination candle lit up. Oh, the notable films and works that I could immerse myself into. 

The other day at the university (where I work part-time), I had the chance to have a table talk with some of our veteran professors. Well, we've always had discussions on various dealings, where I've usually just been a listener, but this particular talk was memorable to me. It was about the black-and-white films of the old days! I was caught into the conversation because I used to love watching the older films. There were even celebrity filmographies and lists I used as my reference to my film marathons, when I was still in my teens. Just thinking about it now reminds me of the delight I was in when I'd be immersed into my films. Anyway, I was just so glad to have had significant contributions to the conversation because well, I really was interested in the subject. One of the professors even told us that he would just go on his movie marathons renting videos on Youtube to seize his days. 

At that point, envy grew in me. I envied the veteran professors whose attention spans can hold watching movie marathons. I envied my old self who was able to sustain interest in things. What beautiful brains might these be, to be able to live in the moment and to remain living in the moment. 

When I think of how I let my brain rot, I realized that I do not seem to care about me. When I should have been shaping my brain breathe, I let tricks and ploys captivate it. When it should have been resting, I keep it stimulated, letting all its activities sap the energy out of me. 

Thus, I need to love myself better. 

I thought about this when I found myself doomscrolling again just a few hours ago. Oh, the urge to even not let my phone in the way as I finish this post (I did succumb to it once, for a minute). 

I wonder now what I should do. And allow me to identify my resolve, that I may trace the path to it as I proceed towards the weeks to come. 

I vow to (HAHA):

- water my brain garden by reading books instead of using my phone when I have gaps in the day.

- let my thought vines crawl seamlessly by writing the immediate contemplations that express my feelings and curiosities. 

- study the skies and the birds when none of the prior commitments seem to hold my attention, because if I must be bored, I must allow myself to be entertained by the gifts of our nature.

- let the sunlight in by delving into physical activities, such as walking and/or running.

- love myself better by letting every unit of my system seize the day and remain in it. 

I do not know who I would be in the following hours. Of course, there is no way of telling how long until I get these mastered or if I'd even try (sorry na agad, Skate). But probably, as long as there's intention, my hopes may still be realized. 

I Have Faith - A Simple Poem of Trust

I have faith,

Futile as it may seem

That one fine day, 

I'd get to walk my dream

I have faith, 

Dark as it is now

That He is never late

And things will light up somehow

I have faith, 

No matter where the road leads

That this one long wait

Will show me His good deeds

When I glance upon my heart, 

I see my weakness

And how I am broken apart

To see His greatness

When I glance into my soul,

I peer at my incapacity

Yet, I am impossibly whole

Authored by His great love for me 

When I perceive His demonstration,

And how I look up to such beauty

And all the love to me He's ably shown

I know, as He said, things shall wonderfully be

Once, it has been a decade

You are 19, Jennifer Lawrence is bagging her awards from the Oscars, you were discovering Bon Iver and music that sounds like him, e-books are easily downloadable, Tumblr and Pinterest became your virtual world. You are one year into writing on your blogger site, a half-decade late from when the pioneers began. The world looks terribly calm and generous. It is not huge and yet it is not small. It is deep and it is not condemning. You hunger for saltwater every now and then, you cannot always go when you wish to. But at least, the lush greens around you makes a pact of beauty with you. Here in this world, no one knows you. Fiction is your best friend. The world unfolds and you are taking it a laugh at a time, one day at a time. 

The real world is extending its hands towards you, but it cannot touch you yet. Not yet. But it is so close. You cannot see it yet. Not yet. But soon, its form will confront you. 

How did you dream then? Do you still remember? Do you remember the scent of the winds? You thought it would last forever. You thought that you were getting the best out of life because you were in the middle, halfway through everything. You were not at the beginning, you were not yet at your destination. For some reason, it was the best weather you were under. 

How did you talk then? Do you still remember? Do you remember the way words were woven into your heart? You thought it was the maximum. You were glad, but you feared that there's nothing to grow anymore. You had this assumption that you were living the best life yet because everything seemed so colorful, everything seemed perfectly created for your heart. No one knew it then, but you were satisfied. You thought that it was enough. 

Fiction was your best friend. That should have been enough. But the real world was extending its hands towards you. 

No one would be able to stop it. No one was able to stop it. No one stopped it. 

-

You are almost 29, Asians are bagging awards from the Oscars, you are discovering children's music, files are easily downloadable, your responsibilities are your world. You are one year away from your next transitions in your career, a half-decade late from whoever went ahead. The world looks terribly... terribly. It is huge and yet it is small. It is high and it is scary. You hunger for slumber every now and then, you cannot always do it when you wish to. But at least, the lush greens around you makes a pact of beauty with us. 

Here in this world, someone may know you. Fiction is an old friend. The world unfolds and you are running with it two seconds at a time, two days at a time. 

Fiction is extending its hands towards you, but you cannot touch it yet. 

How do you dream now? How do you talk now?

Beginning Anew

Today, a day that is non-incidental to any of significance, I claim that a new year begins. 

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It is not that I would like to veer away from the beauty of the recent days that have passed. In contrary, I have found multiple opportunities to rejoice and consider greatness, for miracles have unfolded before my very eyes. It is just that I desire to fully embrace this season and make fruitful out of it. It is in great excitement and gratitude that this new year begins, so that I could treat it with a renewed mind and renewed ways of approaching it. 

For what does the newness entail, but that of replacement of things past and of seizing things present? It is that of each phase the moon undergoes. It is that of each path the strong winds walk. 

What belongs to the new then? Wouldn't it be filled with new hopes accompanied by new plans? That instead of waking up at 7:00 in the morning, I vow to start my day at 5:00, before the sun rises. In this hour, I would praise the Creator with waking roosters and chirping birds. To which He would respond with light that pierces through the glasses of my home. 

That instead of browsing through my electronics in every space between (and more times, within) activities, I would resolve to thoughtfulness and to listening. That I would not consume images and stories that are unnecessary. This reminds me of when C. S. Lewis told Walter Hooper that not reading newspapers is "how I keep myself unspotted from the world." It is not that I would embrace ignorance, but that I would limit the spaces for irrelevances, so that I could contain more of what is profound to me. 

Oh, and that instead of exchanging the fruits of my labor for momentary bliss sold by pleasurable packaging and words, I would store them for things that would last. 

What else in this newness do I want to exercise? Would I be able to follow my timetables as written? That I would learn to keep my vows to myself, so that my body and mind wouldn't scream at me for rejecting my own intentionality. 

That my thoughts that are to be formed may not be stifled by my laziness and complacency, always thinking that tomorrow may be a better day for me to do this and that. With that, here I say that I make a new oath to use this platform to release reveries (fiction or reality) twice in every week. 

My, my. Just thinking about these and just imagining how life would be, I get the discomfort that comes from starting anew. It is the fear that I would not be able to do as I said I would. But then, what makes me up but every substance that is human? With this, I know that growth would take a day at a time. With such wisdom comes grace to myself for her weaknesses and grace to time for its speed. 

As I write now, I am getting more minutes behind my schedule. Allow me to ink this with expectation that I will do well and that the beauty that comes out of my resolve would glow ever bright through me. 

The Acacia Tree

I was still a child when I found out that trees do sleep. It might not have been a quarter of my age now yet when it happened, but I still remember how the leaves were resting downward. And it was this very acacia tree that I first recognized to be asleep.

It was a late summer afternoon. The skies must have been changing its hues already, there might have been purples, oranges, and blues in the skies. I asked an elder a question that I cannot recall at present. I fumble upon my memory and I must have been asking if I could still play with the trees at the hour. And her answer was that "kasi natutulog na sila."

"Natutulog po ang mga puno?"

She agreed and taught me how to recognize how it looked like. I looked up to this acacia tree and saw its leaves gently folded and clasped together. I wandered around the front yard to validate the statement. To my amazement, I realized that indeed, the trees do sleep! Since then, I enjoyed looking around recognizing sleeping trees. And it has always felt like an open secret few people talk about. The acacia tree showed this to me first.

The tree that taught me of their nocturnal occupation has grown in its own years and has eventually been cut down a month ago. Elders in my family thought it wiser to let it go for now. I remember how I was able to hug this acacia tree last December, when I have fully embraced that I am no longer a child. It pained me to see it go I asked them if it was really necessary, but they deemed it so. As my mother sent me pictures of my cut down beloved acacia tree, I felt a pang that I feel towards childhood: gratitude and regret.

Just like that, the acacia tree was. Similar to so many other things in my life that have gone and passed. These are things I cannot go after anymore. And yet I move to ponder upon it with joy and I realize that even so, they leave me with attachments and treasures that I will never be able to bury to the forgotten past.

They may go, but the things they imparted to me will never leave. And even if the first tree that I saw to be asleep have gone, I know for sure that trees do sleep and I will know it forever as it is embedded in my memory and my recognition. Just like all the other people, seasons, and things that I have lost and who have left me with memoirs to keep.

I could write more about this, but I only allowed myself to write about it in the same time it would take for my water in the kettle to boil. If I don't do that, I might talk more about these pleasurable things and more and might never be able to stop because to remember is such a beautiful painful activity to get lost into. 

The Faerie Realm

This morning, I got around to reminiscing my favorite indie folk artists
back when I was still in college. This got me back to thinking and
inspired me to envision my youth as one spent in the faerie realm. 

I once lived in a faerie realm. It was not that my daily occupations were all spent there, but it was that my heart and reveries were solely rested in that place, the home of a lining of my being.

There were different days to visit the lands, but it was when the rains were softly humming and the breeze was cold that the portals to the faerie realm would open wide and visible. On other days, when sunshine is about, the realm's gates are slightly ajar, accommodating only those who have dire need of it. 

How did it look like? How would I describe it, ah, but there is no much difference to what one would expect... There would be a strong mossy scent as one enters, especially when the rains have just poured. The greens almost covered the surfaces. But it wasn't just the greens, there were purples, blues, and yellows. And the reds are all on the corners--on the surfacing roots of trees, by the river banks, or by scattered rocks that are big enough for a seat--careful to not outshine the shy colors. The birds were writing sonnets and there were all sorts of tales to be heard. 

There are homes, too! But they are unlike the ones that we know. It would be difficult to describe them, lest one would sketch the outlines of these cabin-like, tree-like constructions. They were not humble, like what one would think would belong to the woodlands. They were majestic, pleasurable. They can house great parties and gatherings. None of these houses in the neighborhood resembled each other, but none of them overshadowed any other, as well. 

When a weary soul enters, a little dwarf would take his or her hand, leading the soul to the calm waters as a welcome gesture. Once he or she had a taste of the fresh waters, the colors around him or her would come to life. It would all be Beautiful. It would all be a beginning of a story. And surely, there will be renewal to that poor one's being. 

There are more stories to tell, but The Faerie Realm is such a treasure, one you would like to talk about and describe and yet, you would still long to keep discreet lying within your heart. 

I haven't visited in a while, but there were hums that knocked on my tired heart's doors. I then smelled the mossy scent that means the gates are near. Maybe I would like to be immersed for a moment, for a few minutes, for the time being. 

Love and then, love again..

It is fatal to get mad at a flower who dies in its season, even after the gardener has poured essential care to it. The gardener loved the flower in the way love is, even after knowing that it might not live long.

- 

The other day, I realized that love cannot be wasted. It was my aunt who told me that once you decide on anything out of genuine love, it cannot be wrong. If you, then, love in the way that love invites you to, that love, in all its pain and endings, was not and will never be wasted.

Love is subjected to one's own definition, but when I think of it as I write it here, I think of the sacrificial form of it- the one that operates without reciprocation, believes unfailingly, and forgives endlessly. Such is the love that our Father invites us to serve, in the same way that He so loves us. We were vouched for salvation without any ticket we could buy to it, aside from His love.

I reflect on this and the depths of it. It is still difficult to fathom when it is easier to be all on one's own, expecting nothing from anyone, wanting no thing from any other. But there is this beauty to giving relentlessly, setting aside fears and insecurities because your soul so fits another and all the others around you in the way that creates a synchrony in the chaos.

So then, even when it becomes hard and it breaks you, water that flower and cherish it well, celebrate it all ways, and do it again tomorrow and the rest of days.

moonlight -

moonlight -

where the shadows of grief

and the songs of peace

dance in eloquence

 

moonlight -

where the memories are buried

and the future is built

under the skies' influence

 

 

moonlight -

where the tales of fears

and the drafts of hopes

are trapped in a cadence 

 

. . .

 

Anything that didn't have life cannot die, 

Anything that wasn't first conceived cannot disappear

Everything that has life is vulnerable to death,

But not everything that lives dies

Everything that exists may fade, 

But there are things that have years and lifetimes to last, 

While others spend seconds or minutes at most

If anything that has life may die, 

Are the things that have died capable of living again? 

If anything may disappear, 

Are there those that may possibly be still found? 

Are the paths we walk linear? 

Or there are roads that go in rounds? 

For every story that has ended, 

Can beginnings be opened anew? 

For every mark and period that had been slated, 

Can a tale still continue? 

If there is such discovery in our courses, 

Where mishaps and fails become glories

Then, the hopes in our gaps

Are miracles that wait to be known

- Sarakit

bye, 2020

here we are parting, to our wits' ends

as usual, as had been with the other years

with you, I've learned a different meaning to every rhyme,

have conquered more battles and have shifted dynamically 

the photos I have gathered were not more on the seas and the mountains

but are more of the people, the smiles and their tears, the longings and our desires

this year, I rediscovered childlike faith,

to believe even when my hands cannot do anything

to listen to the song there is when waiting--

because it is wonderful in its aches, truths, and surprises

my adventures were not in stretches and lengths, not on the roads

but were in depths, in insights, in learning, all within

a reroute to the self, to unravel each of my whys

and to make decisions in the present, to reflect my hopes for the future

to have resided inside also meant

I have written (and hidden) more words

and have read and acquainted myself with more books

than I've had in the last half-decade

in all that there is, I have realized gratitude

a new tune to it, a new form of it

that it doesn't rely on the circumstance

and it always, always rests on perspective

everyday, faith, hope, and love--

I realized, if breathed in and out makes one the most beautiful

that it makes the eyes see, the ears hear, and the heart feel

the greatest miracles ever told- that ever happened /even/ in the darkest of times

"Until..."

There are many beautiful words I know of, words that calm me, compel me, or affirm me. But there's this word that, in different times, has engaged me into different emotions- relief, impatience, excitement, joy-it is the word until. 

Until has been attached with deadlines and anticipations. As I think of it, I remember the diverse ways it has been used, but right now, what I remember most when I hear this word are endurance, grace, and hope. 

In the atrocity of existence, I have resolved to live my life carefully surrendered to what my Master invites me to do, and it's constant obedience. It isn't easy and it brings me to places I most fear or most know nothing about, but here is where the word "until" reminds me of endurance. "Stay put until...", "Stand on until...", " Be still until..." Until... Until... 

God knows there's nothing easy in all that there is in life. The lives we lead call us to the uncomfortable, but there's an end to it and we could press on and find joy in endurance until... 

His grace is enough in the time of obedience and endurance. It calls me to things that are humanly impossible for me, but then, the word until also reminds me that there's grace that would constantly fill me in when troubles seem to sway me. Grace makes dancing the best sway that the storm could bring me to, grace makes existence livable for me, grace fills me in when I cannot do anything other than trust Him. 

And all these grace and endurance shall be completed when I see the word that follows the word until, and that is the hope we the faithful shall look forward to- until He comes back to conquer the world. The beauty that rests in this promise has been constantly shaping our hearts to be firm in following the path of righteousness. 

I have seen and done different impossible things in this short life I have lived. God has brought me into things that are beyond comfortable for me, and in this young life, even after all this time, He still calls me to endure by His grace until I see the completion of my hopes. And this, my dear ones, is what should keep us in this race of love and life, until He comes back to find us faithful.

Kilala Kita

Tila nagdilim ang kulay ng kalangitan

Dating bughaw ay naging maruming puti

Tumanaw ako sa kung ano'ng nasa taas

Ikaw ba ay nariyan pa

Tinawag Mo ang aking ngalan

Hinawakan ang aking kamay

Isa-isang hakbang, ako'y Iyong inaakay

"Kilala kita," bulong ng Iyong puso sa akin

"Tunay nga ba?" batid kong nakatingin

Ipinakita Mo sa akin ang kalangitan

Na nagbago na ng anyo

"Nakikita mo ba 'yan?" Iyong tanong

"Hindi na gaya ng dati," pailing kong bulong
Tinignan Mo ako nang may luha
"Hindi man gaya ng dati, 
Ngunit may natatanging kariktan."

"Ano ang nais Mo mula sa akin?" aking hinagpis
"Ang makita mong Ako ay nagmamahal sa'yo"
Patuloy ang aking pagluha
"Kilala kita," sinabi Mong muli.

"Ano ang kailangan Mo sa akin?" aking pagdududa
"Ang iyong puso at ang iyong mga luha"
"Pagkatapos...?"
"Huhubugin kita sa wangis na Aking nais sa iyo."

Paano pa ba na ako'y magtiwala
Kung narinig ko lahat ng piraso ng aking puso
Bumagsak at nawala

"Magtiwala ka sapagkat kilala kita."
Ako ay tumango at humakbang pasulong,
Patungo sa iyo...

"Kilala kita. Mahal kita."

Hindi pa rin buo ang kasiguruhan sa akin
Ngunit makikinig sa Iyo
Sapagkat nagawa Mong makausap ang puso
At maipakita ang Iyong pagsuyo

Muli, iyong sinambit, "Kilala kita. Mahal kita."

A day in the life

The branches of the trees intertwine, the rays of sunlight project its splendour, the roads are magnificent, the soul of the city sings a new song. I walk past through the people talking. I hear the news about him and her, I hear the children's early morning cries, and I hear the kitchens from homes getting busy. It is another day. 

People start rising from their momentary slumber. All start again. The music of the beginning rouses a new set of fears, inquiries, and expectations. I hear the rustle of the pages begin to unfold. 

The day has its own hue. 

Waking up to another day feels like a tug of  war about existing. If I am bound to discover all these, which sentiment should tap my passion? 

Then, there's the music of joy and sadness in a dance. 

Step here, 

move there, 

lift your arm forward, 

and bend your back. 

All these to exist. 

My tears find their way through, as a recognition to the alluring complexities of the humanity and the nature that emphasizes it. 

I glance back to the road, under the setting sun, with stars starting to peer through. How glorious are the changes of skies! There is a new hum to the world. A gentle longing for rest, the clicking of shutting eyes, 

the day beginning to fold into a pause. 

Yes, I hear you, the sound of desperation. 

How can value be added to what remains?

The moon and the stars- they share their space for their magic, they are going to bring a new ode to what has been. "Oh, people, these are the notes from everything that came and went under the sun."

There is another beauty that belongs only to humanity, and in the every corner of its being, a spark blooms into hope. 

Then, we can all be rest assured, rested. 

Day 47

temporary, new

all things are gray and blue

walls are the sky's limit

minds endlessly anticipate

the whens and hows are fickle

the whos and whys are ungentle

all under the lack of sun

sort, track them down

thoughts that before us frown

oh, where's reality

here, with time, it will flee

truth shall set light one day

these hands will break free

all over the hope for sun

one day, someday

our faces before each other

it will yet be, this future

Stuck Home, Journey Back home

WARNING: LONG POST. 

Shortcut: Just read the paragraphs in bold at the bottom of the post, if you're needing any inspiration. (But if you're up for some journal stuff, then, you have the whole one)

Doors shut, smiles covered, skins distant. In one snap, the whole world changed. Just like that. 

I have watched the decline of everything, with hopes that it would lack permanency, that all these are but for a moment. Just a minute, just a couple of weeks, just a couple of months, just for some time. In the beginning of the community quarantine, I was in awe of the effect of the virus, invisible as it may seem, it felt to me like a giant octopus with all its tentacles simultaneously shutting down everything we know, leaving a few doors thriving. 

Personally, it drove me into an internal gray. Prior to this, I was starting a business, trying to balance my regular routine with new activities, helping organize a summer missions project, and meeting up with friends. Everything seemed promising, until the announcements were made. We had to make decisions. For me, the decision-making process was the difficult part. It wasn't like there was much to decide on, everything was declared by the government, we just have to conform our schedules to it and align our hearts to the change that is about. 

I tried to respond positively but there was retaliation within. Staying home is not a problem with me, it was just it was difficult for me to do if it wasn't me who really decided and planned to not go out. But I knew I had to honor that. I wasn't fearful for myself mostly, I was afraid I'd communicate sickness and hurt people if I do anything reckless. 

For the first few days, it was hard, until my body and mind learned the new routine. "Okay. I am staying home. I am favored to have shelter and food. I am privileged to have avenues for entertainment." So, my internals were starting to concede to the new system. For the next couple of weeks after that, I became okay. Totally. I decided to go on a social media detox which was extremely helpful for my mental health and I avoided communicating to friends online, not because I didn't wanna talk to them, but because the concept of instant messaging was draining me. 

Along the way, my body clock reversed. I spent the early hours of the new day watching anime and dozing off with thoughts of my past. The wee hours of the morning became sanctuary for my unintentional self-therapy sessions. It can be annoying to confront things I put aside, but then they keep coming back, compelling me to give them more attention, maybe, so that I could totally be over with them. 

Then, there's being 24/7 with my family, which I have not done in a long, long while. I mean, yes, I spend time with them, but not to this extent. There are times when we could really rub against each other over the little things. Adjustments were to be made. Responsibilities needed to be taken. 

Oh, and there's the looming uncertainty. The constant question has been, "Until when?". Who knows? Everyone in the medical and research field has been doing their best and we are left to put our faith on our frontliners who have been serving beyond their capacity. Is there still room to anticipate? 

I started putting my heart against waiting. What would be its use? I guess that the thoughts that run in my heart when I wait become all selfish. "When will I get to eat out again?" "I would love to buy a few stuff (unrelated to basic needs) right now." "Man, I'd really love to go for a wild adventure, a hike or two this month." And so on. All this time, my waiting is for myself. 

Then, I start to read the news and the recent researches. The virus is bound to stay longer, etc. People are having their "new normal resolutions". Lifestyles are threatened to remain drastically changing, we would have to own up new schedules. So, can I share a hug with a close friend? Can I use utensils in public places? I am not the most conscientious person in the room and the thought of being extra careful spells struggle to me. How can I do it? I fear that if I fail to be extra careful, I'd carry this virus to others. 

Wanting to meet personal goals and productivity at this time starts to kill me as well. I feel like I need to be able to tell myself that I was able to seize my quarantined days well, that I was able to accomplish goals and that I became a better version of myself after! Because who is not trying? 

But right now, with all these thoughts triggered again, after the announcement of another extension of community quarantine, I choose to let them go. 

Earlier, before writing, I prayed and started listing down priorities for myself. Whatever these simple priorities might be, they were to help shape my schedule and life for the following weeks. But if I wouldn't be able to follow them, it should be definitely be alright, because why not? 

To be responsible and to extend my hand when necessary could be enough. I admit that there's a weakness to my mental health that I have to address and that, at this time, I am not limitless. But regardless, I can still find worth in who I am.

This time of staying home has been bringing up things that are ugly and that are taking a toll on my sense of peacefulness, but I train myself to converse with these issues. I could definitely quiet them. This time, I could shred off all the things and fears that don't matter. I could honor my heart's core by looking within and focusing on what matters most. 

What I am discovering now is who I am in time of chaos. There are memories that wave at me, calling my attention. The time we are granted can be a gift to journey back home, back within ourselves, to reevaluate our priorities, to criticize our pride, to enlighten our confusions.

Each one of us may have our own patterns right now, but I know that all of us find struggles at this time. It will definitely not get any easier, but I learned to assess what the situation teaches me. Knowing this doesn't necessarily help me find the cure, but it helps me to manage all these disorganized piles of uncertainties and plans. 

It is gonna be alright. Things will brighten up again. Faith will begin to make more sense now. Let's be there when the clouds reveal the sunshine again. 

092319

What's been going on:

= /still/ adjusting in a new job and setup, 

trying to outgrow the things used to

learning a different language of love

= routine's been the most structured one for the last decade

/still/ finding way around

discoveries, humbling discoveries

= never thought of what might be /until these days/

paths have never been an issue /until these days/

options, choices, decisions

= recovering from wounds and pains

reconciling realities about self and the lies that deformed it

searching for the lost innocence on world and humanity

The Woman That You Are

You will never be the woman you envy. 

As you read that line, her face comes to mind. Her expressive eyes, her lips when they curve into a smile. You remember the vigor she has or that gentleness in her when she walks. You remember her bright ideas. You remember her quietness. You remember her enthusiasm at life. You remember the way she is hopeful and light, or that reserved spirit that makes her a mystery. Why does she have to be this feminine? Why does she have to walk on the career path you want for yourself? All these features you remember with ache, all images quiet insults against your confidence. 

She could be anyone to you— the top student from gradeschool, that woman on a famous TV series, your best friend, your love’s past flame, or the woman he loves. She may be someone you know closely or someone who is unaware of you. 

But she’s always there. 

When you shop and look at yourself in the mirror, “do I get to look a little more like her?” or when you run downstairs in a hurry, making sure you project a completely different person, a person who could be more than her or could be from a completely different pole... she’s there. You do your best to take her out of your system, you try your best to find her in you.

But within you is you.

As you remember her, the soul within you hopes for the day you would recognize you. Oh, that you’d see that you have a sweet way in you, that you gasp when you see something you find lovely, or that you’d know that that gentle smile in your eyes is enough of an expression. The woman in you waits for you to express your unique artistry, or that you’d know that your dark eyes which are too deep or too small beholds a million stories. You like dancing but your feet won’t coordinate with the beat of the music, but still, you are your own fun person. Do you recall your best childhood memories running around hiding behind trees under the moonlight? 

You may try to be her, the woman you envy. But within you is an irreplaceable being only you can embody. And you are enough. That soul doesn’t limit you from admiring and crowning other women with words that they deserve, no, you don’t. Your soul even hopes that you could be inspired by her, but your soul hopes that as you recognize all these other women’s feats, you’d recognize yours as well. I hope you see that your cage locks you away from your own light. I hope you see that the woman in you is worth fighting for, worth believing, worth living up to. 

You are your own season. You are your own form. You are your own story. And you, you are enough to be free, to be celebrated, to be loved. 

Just as when you were created, He already knew your inward parts, knew your substance even when you were yet unformed (Psalm 139). You have been created with wisdom. You have been created with love. That makes you enough. 

So, no, you will not be her, but someone better for the life you own. You have always been designed to be you.