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Dr. Donald Parry in front of the Book of Job (Dead Sea Scroll)
Friday, February 18, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
YOU ARE WORTH IT (circa 1999) by Ray Nichols (Raenante Rojas)
Do not undermine your worth
By comparing yourself with others
It is because we are different
That each of us is special
Do not set your goals
By what other people deem important
Only you know
What is best for you
Do not take for granted
The things closest to your heart
Cling to them as you would your life
For without them,
Life is meaningless
Do not let your life
Slip through your fingers
By living in the past
Nor for the future
By living your life one day at a time
You live all the days of your life
Do not give up
When you still have something to give
Nothing is really over
Until the moment you stop trying
It is a fragile thread
That binds us to each other
Do not be afraid to encounter risks
It is by taking chances
That we learn how to be brave
Do not shut love out of your life
By saying it is impossible to find
The quickest way to receive love
Is to give love
The fastest way to lose love is to hold it tightly
Do not dismiss your dreams
To be without dreams
Is to be without hope
To be without hope
Is to be without purpose
Do not run through life
So fast that you forget
Not only where you have been
But also were you are going
Life is not a race
But a journey
To be savored
Each step of the way
=====================
[Ray, 24, is a close friend of mine and we grew up together in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates. We spent but only a few years building our friendship there but it was in the 10 years that we kept in touch that our friendship really blossomed. His writing has inspired me through the years. He wrote this poem for himself at the age of 19 before the new millennium. He gave the original copy to me when we met in Manila (1999) after six years of separation. I gave him his own laminated copy but he lost it again. So, I am putting a copy here for the world to see…how wonderful a writer he really is and how much he is an inspiration to so many people. Ray is a senior airman with the U.S. Air Force stationed in Travis Air Fore Base in California.]
By comparing yourself with others
It is because we are different
That each of us is special
Do not set your goals
By what other people deem important
Only you know
What is best for you
Do not take for granted
The things closest to your heart
Cling to them as you would your life
For without them,
Life is meaningless
Do not let your life
Slip through your fingers
By living in the past
Nor for the future
By living your life one day at a time
You live all the days of your life
Do not give up
When you still have something to give
Nothing is really over
Until the moment you stop trying
It is a fragile thread
That binds us to each other
Do not be afraid to encounter risks
It is by taking chances
That we learn how to be brave
Do not shut love out of your life
By saying it is impossible to find
The quickest way to receive love
Is to give love
The fastest way to lose love is to hold it tightly
Do not dismiss your dreams
To be without dreams
Is to be without hope
To be without hope
Is to be without purpose
Do not run through life
So fast that you forget
Not only where you have been
But also were you are going
Life is not a race
But a journey
To be savored
Each step of the way
=====================
[Ray, 24, is a close friend of mine and we grew up together in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates. We spent but only a few years building our friendship there but it was in the 10 years that we kept in touch that our friendship really blossomed. His writing has inspired me through the years. He wrote this poem for himself at the age of 19 before the new millennium. He gave the original copy to me when we met in Manila (1999) after six years of separation. I gave him his own laminated copy but he lost it again. So, I am putting a copy here for the world to see…how wonderful a writer he really is and how much he is an inspiration to so many people. Ray is a senior airman with the U.S. Air Force stationed in Travis Air Fore Base in California.]
Monday, February 07, 2005
“People Power I” Revisited…
In a few days, the Filipinos will be celebrating the 9th anniversary of the first People Power in the country. It was a benchmark in Asia that was replicated in many countries in the region, including Indonesia and the unsuccessful attempt in Tiananmen Square in China. It was a hallmark of democracy and for some, the true representation of rule by the people, for the people and of the people. IT MEANT THE END OF DICTATORSHIP, the beginning of democracy again and the peaceful resolution to an otherwise potentially violent end of the Marcos reign.
It was sparked by the anger, dismay and disappointment over the many injustices committed during the Marcos Era and the human rights violations flagrant during Martial Law. The writ of habeas corpus was suspended and most opposition leaders were imprisoned for their contrasting political stand. Many politicians, journalists, and oppositionists who questioned Marcos mysteriously disappeared, were tortured and some were forever silenced. The people had had enough.
With the defection of then Marcos’ loyalists, Juan Ponce Enrile (who later became Senator) and Fidel V. Ramos (who later became the President of the Republic), began the outpouring of support for the newly proclaimed administration of Pres. Corazon Aquino. It was 1986…and the wife of the assassinated opposition leader Benigno Aquino, Sr. was sworn in as president of the Republic. The people had taken to the streets to proclaim this. They had risen from fear and nuns, clergymen and common citizens put roses in the mouths of the tank with their barrels aimed at the people. They hung sampaguitas on the soldiers and acted as human barricade. The army at the behest of Marcos was to stop the people. But the people had come out in full support of Aquino and there could only be peace. The People Power Revolution passed with no bloodshed.
And almost ten years on…have we learned from our new democracy? People Power has been replicated in 2001 to oust yet another president, Joseph Estrada. But have we truly learned?
In our presidential elections, have we chosen the right candidate and was not blinded by the bribery of money? Have we diverted from corrupt officials and avoided being the “grease” in under-the-table deals? We were offered a new beginning in People Power I. But it seems to have lain in waste…
Our economy is slowly picking up now with new presidential initiatives but we still lose about $20 billion in corruption. Officials still funnel public funds into their private pockets. And we elect these officials…and we tolerate them. The lifestyle check was instituted by Pres. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo but it seems to have lost steam and many anomalies are left unchecked.
Where is the Philippines going to? How long will it take for Filipinos to wake up and to actually devote time and money to rebuilding the Philippines? We are sometimes called “ningas cogon” meaning “good at the start, but never finishing.”
We are constantly plagued by problems that can be solved with a slight, or that maybe too kind, a MAJOR attitude change! Eighty million Filipinos survive each day, making a living out of nothing. And there are those that make a living by taking from others. What’s wrong with the picture? Of course, everyone should work for success, and everyone deserves their reward. But let’s not be greedy!
The Philippines was the first democracy in Asia. Have we lived up to that privilege? Have we learned from democracy’s rebirth in 1986? How many People Powers must occur? Wasn’t one enough? Let’s try to learn from our mistakes and try to make the best of what we’re given. Put selfishness aside---put love of God, country and fellowman at heart!
It was sparked by the anger, dismay and disappointment over the many injustices committed during the Marcos Era and the human rights violations flagrant during Martial Law. The writ of habeas corpus was suspended and most opposition leaders were imprisoned for their contrasting political stand. Many politicians, journalists, and oppositionists who questioned Marcos mysteriously disappeared, were tortured and some were forever silenced. The people had had enough.
With the defection of then Marcos’ loyalists, Juan Ponce Enrile (who later became Senator) and Fidel V. Ramos (who later became the President of the Republic), began the outpouring of support for the newly proclaimed administration of Pres. Corazon Aquino. It was 1986…and the wife of the assassinated opposition leader Benigno Aquino, Sr. was sworn in as president of the Republic. The people had taken to the streets to proclaim this. They had risen from fear and nuns, clergymen and common citizens put roses in the mouths of the tank with their barrels aimed at the people. They hung sampaguitas on the soldiers and acted as human barricade. The army at the behest of Marcos was to stop the people. But the people had come out in full support of Aquino and there could only be peace. The People Power Revolution passed with no bloodshed.
And almost ten years on…have we learned from our new democracy? People Power has been replicated in 2001 to oust yet another president, Joseph Estrada. But have we truly learned?
In our presidential elections, have we chosen the right candidate and was not blinded by the bribery of money? Have we diverted from corrupt officials and avoided being the “grease” in under-the-table deals? We were offered a new beginning in People Power I. But it seems to have lain in waste…
Our economy is slowly picking up now with new presidential initiatives but we still lose about $20 billion in corruption. Officials still funnel public funds into their private pockets. And we elect these officials…and we tolerate them. The lifestyle check was instituted by Pres. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo but it seems to have lost steam and many anomalies are left unchecked.
Where is the Philippines going to? How long will it take for Filipinos to wake up and to actually devote time and money to rebuilding the Philippines? We are sometimes called “ningas cogon” meaning “good at the start, but never finishing.”
We are constantly plagued by problems that can be solved with a slight, or that maybe too kind, a MAJOR attitude change! Eighty million Filipinos survive each day, making a living out of nothing. And there are those that make a living by taking from others. What’s wrong with the picture? Of course, everyone should work for success, and everyone deserves their reward. But let’s not be greedy!
The Philippines was the first democracy in Asia. Have we lived up to that privilege? Have we learned from democracy’s rebirth in 1986? How many People Powers must occur? Wasn’t one enough? Let’s try to learn from our mistakes and try to make the best of what we’re given. Put selfishness aside---put love of God, country and fellowman at heart!
Friday, February 04, 2005
The Sacrament Of Waiting (by Fr. James Donelan, S.J.)
The English poet John Milton wrote that those who serve also stand and wait. I think I would go further and say that those who wait render the highest form of service. Waiting requires more discipline, more self-control and emotional maturity, more unshakable faith in our cause, more unwavering hope in the future, more sustaining love in our hearts that all the greatest deeds of deering-do go by the name of action.
Waiting is a mystery - a natural sacrament of life - there is a meaning hidden in all the times we have to wait. It must be an important mystery because there is so much waiting in our lives.
Everyday is filled with those little moments of waiting (testing our patience and our nerves, schooling us in self-control.) We wait for meals to be served, for a letter to arrive, for a friend to call or show up for a date. We wait in line at cinemas and theaters, concerts and circuses. Our airline terminals, railway stations and bus depots are great temples of waiting filled with men and women who wait in joy for the arrival of a loved one - or wait in sadness to say goodbye and give the last wave of hand. We wait for springs to come - or autumn - for the rains to begin and stop.
And we wait for ourselves to grow from childhood to maturity. We wait for those inner voices that tell us when we are ready for the next stop.
We wait for graduation, for our first job, our first promotion. We wait for success and recognition. We wait to grow up - to reach the stage where we make our own decisions. We cannot remove this waiting from our lives. It is a part of the tapestry of living - the fabric in which the threads are woven to tell the story of our lives.
Yet current philosophies would have us forget the need to wait "grab all the gusto you can get." So reads one of America's greatest beer ads - get it now! Instant pleasure, instant transcendence. Do not wait for anything. Life is short - eat, drink and be merry because tomorrow you will die.
And so they rationalize us into accepting unlicensed and irresponsible freedom - pre-marital sex and extra-marital affairs - they warn against attachments and commitments - against expecting anything of anybody, or allowing them to expect anything of us - against dropping any anchors in the currents of our life that will cause us to hold and wait.
This may be the correct prescription for pleasure - but even that is fleeting and doubtful - what was it Shakespeare said about the mad pursuit of pleasure - "Past reason hunted, and once had, past reason hated." Not if we wish to be real human beings, spirit as well as flesh, soul as well as heart, we have to learn to wait. For if we never learn to wait, we will never learn to love someone other than ourselves.
For most of all waiting means waiting for someone else. It is a mystery, brushing by our face everyday like a stray wind of leaf falling from a tree. Anyone who has loved knows how much waiting goes into it - how much waiting is important for love to grow, to flourish through a lifetime.
Why is this? Why can we not have it right now what we so desperately want and need? Why must we wait - two years, three years - and seemingly waste so much time? You might as well ask why a tree should take so long to bear fruit - the seed to flower - carbon to change to diamond.
There is no simple answer - no more than there is to life's other demands - having to say goodbye to someone you love because either you or they have made other commitments; or because they have to grow and find the meaning of their own lives - having yourself to leave home and loved ones to find your own path - goodbyes, like waiting, are also sacraments of our lives.
All we know is that growth - the budding, the flowering of love needs patient waiting. We have to give each other a time to grow. There is no way we can make someone else truly love us or we them, except through time.
So we give each other that mysterious gift of waiting - of being present without asking demands and rewards. There is nothing harder to do than this. It truly tests the depth and sincerity of our love. But there is life in the gift we give.
So lovers wait for each other - until they can see things the same way - or let each other freely see things in quite different ways. There are times when lovers hurt each other and cannot regain the balance of intimacy of the way they were. They have to wait - in silence - but still present to each other - until the pain subsides to an ache and then only a memory and the threads of the tapestry can be woven together again in a single love story.
What do we lose when we refuse to wait; when we try to find shortcuts through life -when we try to incubate love and rush blindly and foolishly into a commitment we are neither mature nor responsible enough to assume?
We lose the hope of truly loving or of being loved. Think of all the great love stories of history and literature - isn't it of their very essence that they are filled with this strange but common mystery - that waiting is part of the substance - the basic fabric against which the story of that true love is written.
How can we ever find either life or true love if we are too impatient to wait for it?
Waiting is a good thing only if something is worth waiting for.
How will you know if it's worth it? Gut feel.
What if you don't trust your gut? Pray. You will be enlightened. Trust me.
Is it wrong to expect while waiting? It's not wrong, but it will increase your chances of heartbreak and disappointment if things don't work out in the end.
Is it good to expect while waiting? It is better to HOPE.
What's the difference between hoping and expecting? HOPING means you're open to either side of the coin landing though you're more inclined to believe that things will turn out well. EXPECTING means you're thinking single-track...which won't do you much good at all.
What's the difference between waiting and expecting? EXPECTING is waiting for something TO DEFINITELY HAPPEN. WAITING is staying where you are, but not necessarily expecting something to happen definitely.
Do you need assurance from someone you're waiting for while you're waiting? Ideally, yes. But realistically, do you really want assurance from this person? It's so easy to just point at something and make that the reason why you're waiting ("Because she said..." "Because he told me that...").
With WAITING, all you really can rely on are 3 things: your gut feel, your heart and mind. Just YOURSELF, not anyone else.
So should you wait? What does your gut say? How does your heart feel? What does your mind think? If they're saying different things, keep asking yourself these 3 questions (and pray!) until you get a solid answer.
THEN you'll know if he or she is worth waiting for.
Waiting is a mystery - a natural sacrament of life - there is a meaning hidden in all the times we have to wait. It must be an important mystery because there is so much waiting in our lives.
Everyday is filled with those little moments of waiting (testing our patience and our nerves, schooling us in self-control.) We wait for meals to be served, for a letter to arrive, for a friend to call or show up for a date. We wait in line at cinemas and theaters, concerts and circuses. Our airline terminals, railway stations and bus depots are great temples of waiting filled with men and women who wait in joy for the arrival of a loved one - or wait in sadness to say goodbye and give the last wave of hand. We wait for springs to come - or autumn - for the rains to begin and stop.
And we wait for ourselves to grow from childhood to maturity. We wait for those inner voices that tell us when we are ready for the next stop.
We wait for graduation, for our first job, our first promotion. We wait for success and recognition. We wait to grow up - to reach the stage where we make our own decisions. We cannot remove this waiting from our lives. It is a part of the tapestry of living - the fabric in which the threads are woven to tell the story of our lives.
Yet current philosophies would have us forget the need to wait "grab all the gusto you can get." So reads one of America's greatest beer ads - get it now! Instant pleasure, instant transcendence. Do not wait for anything. Life is short - eat, drink and be merry because tomorrow you will die.
And so they rationalize us into accepting unlicensed and irresponsible freedom - pre-marital sex and extra-marital affairs - they warn against attachments and commitments - against expecting anything of anybody, or allowing them to expect anything of us - against dropping any anchors in the currents of our life that will cause us to hold and wait.
This may be the correct prescription for pleasure - but even that is fleeting and doubtful - what was it Shakespeare said about the mad pursuit of pleasure - "Past reason hunted, and once had, past reason hated." Not if we wish to be real human beings, spirit as well as flesh, soul as well as heart, we have to learn to wait. For if we never learn to wait, we will never learn to love someone other than ourselves.
For most of all waiting means waiting for someone else. It is a mystery, brushing by our face everyday like a stray wind of leaf falling from a tree. Anyone who has loved knows how much waiting goes into it - how much waiting is important for love to grow, to flourish through a lifetime.
Why is this? Why can we not have it right now what we so desperately want and need? Why must we wait - two years, three years - and seemingly waste so much time? You might as well ask why a tree should take so long to bear fruit - the seed to flower - carbon to change to diamond.
There is no simple answer - no more than there is to life's other demands - having to say goodbye to someone you love because either you or they have made other commitments; or because they have to grow and find the meaning of their own lives - having yourself to leave home and loved ones to find your own path - goodbyes, like waiting, are also sacraments of our lives.
All we know is that growth - the budding, the flowering of love needs patient waiting. We have to give each other a time to grow. There is no way we can make someone else truly love us or we them, except through time.
So we give each other that mysterious gift of waiting - of being present without asking demands and rewards. There is nothing harder to do than this. It truly tests the depth and sincerity of our love. But there is life in the gift we give.
So lovers wait for each other - until they can see things the same way - or let each other freely see things in quite different ways. There are times when lovers hurt each other and cannot regain the balance of intimacy of the way they were. They have to wait - in silence - but still present to each other - until the pain subsides to an ache and then only a memory and the threads of the tapestry can be woven together again in a single love story.
What do we lose when we refuse to wait; when we try to find shortcuts through life -when we try to incubate love and rush blindly and foolishly into a commitment we are neither mature nor responsible enough to assume?
We lose the hope of truly loving or of being loved. Think of all the great love stories of history and literature - isn't it of their very essence that they are filled with this strange but common mystery - that waiting is part of the substance - the basic fabric against which the story of that true love is written.
How can we ever find either life or true love if we are too impatient to wait for it?
Waiting is a good thing only if something is worth waiting for.
How will you know if it's worth it? Gut feel.
What if you don't trust your gut? Pray. You will be enlightened. Trust me.
Is it wrong to expect while waiting? It's not wrong, but it will increase your chances of heartbreak and disappointment if things don't work out in the end.
Is it good to expect while waiting? It is better to HOPE.
What's the difference between hoping and expecting? HOPING means you're open to either side of the coin landing though you're more inclined to believe that things will turn out well. EXPECTING means you're thinking single-track...which won't do you much good at all.
What's the difference between waiting and expecting? EXPECTING is waiting for something TO DEFINITELY HAPPEN. WAITING is staying where you are, but not necessarily expecting something to happen definitely.
Do you need assurance from someone you're waiting for while you're waiting? Ideally, yes. But realistically, do you really want assurance from this person? It's so easy to just point at something and make that the reason why you're waiting ("Because she said..." "Because he told me that...").
With WAITING, all you really can rely on are 3 things: your gut feel, your heart and mind. Just YOURSELF, not anyone else.
So should you wait? What does your gut say? How does your heart feel? What does your mind think? If they're saying different things, keep asking yourself these 3 questions (and pray!) until you get a solid answer.
THEN you'll know if he or she is worth waiting for.
Friday, January 28, 2005
the Miracle of Love
rewatching "the notebook" for the third time never ceases to give me such a glimmer of hope that love can conquer all. allie at the end asks, "do you think that our love can perform miracles?" noah says, "it can and it has. it's what brings you back to me everytime." allie then says, "do you think our love can take us away together?" noah pauses and says, "i think it can do what we want it to do."
this love story is so inspiring that it is worth re-telling as much as re-watching the movie or re-reading the book, as the case may be. it tells of two young lovers who meet in the summer of 1940. star-crossed as they may be, they came together despite their daring first meeting. noah pursues allie and they fall in love that summer. but circumstances drove them apart and hurtful words were said during the breakup before summer’s end. both didn't mean what they said and both bled from the thought of being apart.
noah wrote allie 365 letters, one for each day. allie's mother had intervened and allie didn't get a single letter.
seven years passed...including the second world war. allie and noah had led separate lives until one day "fate stepped in" and let their paths cross again.
as allie was trying on her wedding dress, her guests marveled at her beauty and at her wedding announcement in the newspaper. unfolding it only revealed the bottom half which held allie's heart - a picture of noah beside his dream house, the house where they were supposed to show their expressions of love. upon seeing noah in the picture, she fainted and the following days found her saying goodbye to her fiance and taking a break.
she goes back to noah with jittery hands and talks of yester years. "what we had was real" she recounts. and noah never wanting her to leave his side again, did his best to keep her beside him.
after all was said and done, allie's fiance comes to seabrook where the love-struck couple were. allie chooses her fiancé, lon, but he let her go.
then the story ends in a happy ever after...noah stayed with allie all her life enduring even the alzheimer's disease which made her forget him and their family. but love always brought her back to him. and even in death, they held each other's hand.
this love story is so inspiring that it is worth re-telling as much as re-watching the movie or re-reading the book, as the case may be. it tells of two young lovers who meet in the summer of 1940. star-crossed as they may be, they came together despite their daring first meeting. noah pursues allie and they fall in love that summer. but circumstances drove them apart and hurtful words were said during the breakup before summer’s end. both didn't mean what they said and both bled from the thought of being apart.
noah wrote allie 365 letters, one for each day. allie's mother had intervened and allie didn't get a single letter.
seven years passed...including the second world war. allie and noah had led separate lives until one day "fate stepped in" and let their paths cross again.
as allie was trying on her wedding dress, her guests marveled at her beauty and at her wedding announcement in the newspaper. unfolding it only revealed the bottom half which held allie's heart - a picture of noah beside his dream house, the house where they were supposed to show their expressions of love. upon seeing noah in the picture, she fainted and the following days found her saying goodbye to her fiance and taking a break.
she goes back to noah with jittery hands and talks of yester years. "what we had was real" she recounts. and noah never wanting her to leave his side again, did his best to keep her beside him.
after all was said and done, allie's fiance comes to seabrook where the love-struck couple were. allie chooses her fiancé, lon, but he let her go.
then the story ends in a happy ever after...noah stayed with allie all her life enduring even the alzheimer's disease which made her forget him and their family. but love always brought her back to him. and even in death, they held each other's hand.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
The long journey home…
It’s been a week since I got back from my trip home. This last trip had opened my eyes to many things and had been cathartic to some effect.
I was welcomed by pollution and great heat when I stepped off the airport. I had waited for more than half an hour for my brother to pick me up. And when he did, we were met with traffic on the highway. I had returned and the reality of my homeland hit me like a violent storm.
But as the storm subsides, so did my expected bewilderment. I had come home and I had felt happy being there. No amount of traffic ever stopped me from going to one of my lunches or my dinners or any parties for that matter. I was content with riding the overflowing, often sardine-like-packed, metro rail to get to my appointments.
No amount of heat or the lack of hot running water prevented me from taking my daily bath. I was home and I was among my friends once again. I had missed my friends. I had missed the often cyclical discussions that touched on politics, economics, and whatever topic that presented itself.
I went home to the province of my mother to celebrate my grandfather’s 80th birthday. No less than the whole town showed up for the Grand Family Reunion. Life is simple in the barrio, but Ligao has now become a city in the province of Albay. I still don’t get why the residents laugh every time they say “Ligao City.” Perhaps, it’s because it doesn’t look like a city yet bereft of the standard fast food chains brought on by the “big city” phenomenon. There were no McDonald’s or Jollibees in sight. There was, however, a great Christmas tree which rose some 30 meters and twinkled with its light-ridden body in the town, sorry, city hall. I was told that same tree was featured in a national daily.
There was abundance in food and there were many relatives to meet. But time was short. It was a whirlwind event. I came out only with a picture of the famous Mayon Volcano when it actually showed itself, cloudless and majestic.
As I spent the rest of my holiday in Manila, I began to wonder at the general festive mood of the people. I have been living abroad for almost half of my life, going home once or twice and staying only a few years. I have never seen such a happy place such as the Philippines. No where else have I seen where people strive so much to be happy in the many faces of adversity. Even in the face of death or ultimate survival, a Filipino manages to smile and make a joke of his/her situation.
Most Filipinos go abroad in search of the greener pasture that the tropical islands cannot provide for them. But even when financial insolvency is in the offing, a Filipino manages to survive with the little or no money he has. It is called, “diskarte.” I don’t know the exact translation but it means “dealing with a situation in the best possible way and to make it to your advantage.” There are about 80 million Filipinos that survive each day.
I worked in government before. During lunchtime, I find one of our clerks offering me insurance, a cemetery plot and milkfish. Filipinos are multi-taskers as well as great businessmen. There is a great skill for survival. She is also paying for a low-cost government housing that results in a salary not even the equivalent of $10 as take home pay. She’s raising an adopted son on top of that. Yet, she survives. I am amazed that she is not willing to give up given her circumstances. I am always inspired to hear her story.
I admire so many Filipinos which have taken their plight and grabbed it by the horns and made a real life, and livable at that, for themselves.
I realized that I had been so happy living there before but that I had always been afraid to stay for fear that I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t possess the qualities that would make each Filipino great – success-driven, extreme industriousness and passion for living and pursuing what one wants. I had been afraid to go out and look for a private sector job because I thought I wasn’t good enough. I took a government job because it had been in my line of work and it offered me the greatest training in relation to my college degree. I am a journalist and I became an information officer. The pay was low but it gave me great exposure and an inside look on how it is to be in the press corps and as a media practitioner. But the people were not too great. Inherent in government are the bureaucratic stereotypes, the hierarchical considerations, the power struggle, etc. It’s also present everywhere but just more pronounced in government.
It had given me a lot and had given me good experiences. But I wanted more money. I wanted to be able to buy the things I wanted (note: not what I necessarily needed). So, I thought I’d go abroad in search of the greener pasture. But I was only met by unhappiness and discontent. I met mostly cold people who didn’t care. But I was blessed to have met some nice ones too.
I don’t know why I keep leaving the country but this time I am looking forward to going home for good. I want to live as a Filipino in the Philippines.
I want to see what life has in store for me there and to see how I can fare. These are wants but I hope that God will show the way to meet what I need. Discernment is always key.
The more I leave the Philippines, the stronger the drive to stay in the country. I hope that each Filipino will realize how wonderfully blessed we are to be a citizen of this country and to do our best to make it a livable place.
I was welcomed by pollution and great heat when I stepped off the airport. I had waited for more than half an hour for my brother to pick me up. And when he did, we were met with traffic on the highway. I had returned and the reality of my homeland hit me like a violent storm.
But as the storm subsides, so did my expected bewilderment. I had come home and I had felt happy being there. No amount of traffic ever stopped me from going to one of my lunches or my dinners or any parties for that matter. I was content with riding the overflowing, often sardine-like-packed, metro rail to get to my appointments.
No amount of heat or the lack of hot running water prevented me from taking my daily bath. I was home and I was among my friends once again. I had missed my friends. I had missed the often cyclical discussions that touched on politics, economics, and whatever topic that presented itself.
I went home to the province of my mother to celebrate my grandfather’s 80th birthday. No less than the whole town showed up for the Grand Family Reunion. Life is simple in the barrio, but Ligao has now become a city in the province of Albay. I still don’t get why the residents laugh every time they say “Ligao City.” Perhaps, it’s because it doesn’t look like a city yet bereft of the standard fast food chains brought on by the “big city” phenomenon. There were no McDonald’s or Jollibees in sight. There was, however, a great Christmas tree which rose some 30 meters and twinkled with its light-ridden body in the town, sorry, city hall. I was told that same tree was featured in a national daily.
There was abundance in food and there were many relatives to meet. But time was short. It was a whirlwind event. I came out only with a picture of the famous Mayon Volcano when it actually showed itself, cloudless and majestic.
As I spent the rest of my holiday in Manila, I began to wonder at the general festive mood of the people. I have been living abroad for almost half of my life, going home once or twice and staying only a few years. I have never seen such a happy place such as the Philippines. No where else have I seen where people strive so much to be happy in the many faces of adversity. Even in the face of death or ultimate survival, a Filipino manages to smile and make a joke of his/her situation.
Most Filipinos go abroad in search of the greener pasture that the tropical islands cannot provide for them. But even when financial insolvency is in the offing, a Filipino manages to survive with the little or no money he has. It is called, “diskarte.” I don’t know the exact translation but it means “dealing with a situation in the best possible way and to make it to your advantage.” There are about 80 million Filipinos that survive each day.
I worked in government before. During lunchtime, I find one of our clerks offering me insurance, a cemetery plot and milkfish. Filipinos are multi-taskers as well as great businessmen. There is a great skill for survival. She is also paying for a low-cost government housing that results in a salary not even the equivalent of $10 as take home pay. She’s raising an adopted son on top of that. Yet, she survives. I am amazed that she is not willing to give up given her circumstances. I am always inspired to hear her story.
I admire so many Filipinos which have taken their plight and grabbed it by the horns and made a real life, and livable at that, for themselves.
I realized that I had been so happy living there before but that I had always been afraid to stay for fear that I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t possess the qualities that would make each Filipino great – success-driven, extreme industriousness and passion for living and pursuing what one wants. I had been afraid to go out and look for a private sector job because I thought I wasn’t good enough. I took a government job because it had been in my line of work and it offered me the greatest training in relation to my college degree. I am a journalist and I became an information officer. The pay was low but it gave me great exposure and an inside look on how it is to be in the press corps and as a media practitioner. But the people were not too great. Inherent in government are the bureaucratic stereotypes, the hierarchical considerations, the power struggle, etc. It’s also present everywhere but just more pronounced in government.
It had given me a lot and had given me good experiences. But I wanted more money. I wanted to be able to buy the things I wanted (note: not what I necessarily needed). So, I thought I’d go abroad in search of the greener pasture. But I was only met by unhappiness and discontent. I met mostly cold people who didn’t care. But I was blessed to have met some nice ones too.
I don’t know why I keep leaving the country but this time I am looking forward to going home for good. I want to live as a Filipino in the Philippines.
I want to see what life has in store for me there and to see how I can fare. These are wants but I hope that God will show the way to meet what I need. Discernment is always key.
The more I leave the Philippines, the stronger the drive to stay in the country. I hope that each Filipino will realize how wonderfully blessed we are to be a citizen of this country and to do our best to make it a livable place.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Silent call
(October 21, 2003, Philippines)
it was a silent call
i heard in the wilderness
that called me back
to where civilization resided
i was lost in the thick of bushes
in the darkness of the giant trees looming
i had been two nights in the place forlorn
no hope of rescue with passing dawns
i strayed into the godless place
while my heart weighs
the heavy world surrounding
escape i dared find but lost i was
in the wilderness tonight
but i heard a silent call
a faint hope of light
that my darkness be brightened
and out of the the wilderness i might
be free tonight
it was a silent call
i heard in the wilderness
that called me back
to where civilization resided
i was lost in the thick of bushes
in the darkness of the giant trees looming
i had been two nights in the place forlorn
no hope of rescue with passing dawns
i strayed into the godless place
while my heart weighs
the heavy world surrounding
escape i dared find but lost i was
in the wilderness tonight
but i heard a silent call
a faint hope of light
that my darkness be brightened
and out of the the wilderness i might
be free tonight
Thursday, December 02, 2004
God’s Grace
In many trying times I have found constant solace and comfort in the Lord. He has given me peace and understanding beyond human comprehension. He has also blessed me with a good family and many friends that bear witness to His compassion and symbolize the tangible form of His love. He sometimes uses strangers as vehicles of His message.
Tonight, I watched the Barbara Best Singers at the St. Pie X church as they rendered gospel and spiritual songs. I was waiting for the regular “Amazing Grace” but it never came. When the show was about to end, I was tempted to go up the stage and ask the singers to sing it. Nothing should have prevented me because two members of the audience actually went up the stage to ask for autographs. But I was still my shy self. My mom said, it takes time…even she, with the greatest courage and almost non-existent shyness, didn’t come up the stage to ask the singers. I just felt a bit frustrated since I should have been more courageous…“It takes time,” my mom repeated. And with that, I put my soul to rest. After all, I didn’t ask Mariah Carey to sing a particular song when I watched her in concert. :)
Despite the disappointment, I heard some songs that I needed to hear. As the songs were performed, one song particularly struck me. The lyrics went, “Lord, thank you for opening a door that I didn’t even see.” There’s a saying, “When one door closes, a window is opened.” Helen Keller, a blind, deaf and once mute lady added, “But we often stare at the closed door that we don’t see the opened window.”
The Lord is kind and gracious. He is understanding and a kind father. He teaches with great reproach but loves with great compassion.
I am guilty of sometimes blaming Him for why things happen the way they do…and when burdens come my way…I ask Him “Why me?” But I quickly leave my blaming and ask Him to help me carry my burden. A passage in the Bible says, “Cast your burdens upon me, those who are heavily laden. Come to me and I will give you rest.” A friend offered me this passage at one of the lowest points in my life…It brought me to my senses, made me trust in His will and prayed for His grace to get me through my hardest times. Everything happens for a reason and sometimes, it is only Him who knows why. It is up to us to pray for discernment.
Tonight, I watched the Barbara Best Singers at the St. Pie X church as they rendered gospel and spiritual songs. I was waiting for the regular “Amazing Grace” but it never came. When the show was about to end, I was tempted to go up the stage and ask the singers to sing it. Nothing should have prevented me because two members of the audience actually went up the stage to ask for autographs. But I was still my shy self. My mom said, it takes time…even she, with the greatest courage and almost non-existent shyness, didn’t come up the stage to ask the singers. I just felt a bit frustrated since I should have been more courageous…“It takes time,” my mom repeated. And with that, I put my soul to rest. After all, I didn’t ask Mariah Carey to sing a particular song when I watched her in concert. :)
Despite the disappointment, I heard some songs that I needed to hear. As the songs were performed, one song particularly struck me. The lyrics went, “Lord, thank you for opening a door that I didn’t even see.” There’s a saying, “When one door closes, a window is opened.” Helen Keller, a blind, deaf and once mute lady added, “But we often stare at the closed door that we don’t see the opened window.”
The Lord is kind and gracious. He is understanding and a kind father. He teaches with great reproach but loves with great compassion.
I am guilty of sometimes blaming Him for why things happen the way they do…and when burdens come my way…I ask Him “Why me?” But I quickly leave my blaming and ask Him to help me carry my burden. A passage in the Bible says, “Cast your burdens upon me, those who are heavily laden. Come to me and I will give you rest.” A friend offered me this passage at one of the lowest points in my life…It brought me to my senses, made me trust in His will and prayed for His grace to get me through my hardest times. Everything happens for a reason and sometimes, it is only Him who knows why. It is up to us to pray for discernment.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
"LEARNING PAINS"
We must know mind-numbing, even heart-numbing pain, so we can know pleasure. This I have learned in the last few days. Life is full of dialectics – sorrow and joy, love and hate (some say, indifference), and many more…
We can only truly appreciate one knowing the existence and the true understanding of the other. And we can only know the joy of the other by experiencing the opposite.
But we must not wish to experience less or more of the other to fully appreciate it. One must experience the opposites, only to learn…
I watched “13 going on 30” the other day and the main character asked her mother, “If you could go back and change the biggest mistake of your life, what would you change?” The mother said, “Nothing…I know I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I don’t regret any of them…because if I haven’t made them, then I wouldn’t have learned how to make things right.”
Everything is part of learning and those who learn are better for it. This is especially true when you hurt people you love…intentionally and unintentionally. It is only when you realize that what you have done is wrong and you are truly sorry for it that you know the person’s worth in your life. And that you will do everything in your power never to commit the same act again, because you love that person so much and will never think of wishing or committing harm to him/her.
A friend said, "make the best of what you've got..." I add, "never take one for granted and take care of the one you love."
Some things happen for a reason…but sometimes we are too blind to see it. We beat ourselves up over our faults, but we never see the silver lining – WE HAVE NOW LEARNED AND HAS BEEN GIVEN ANOTHER CHANCE TO NEVER COMMIT THE SAME MISTAKE AGAIN. We can never bring back a word we say or an act we did. But we can only learn from these mistakes.
May we all learn despite the pain!
We can only truly appreciate one knowing the existence and the true understanding of the other. And we can only know the joy of the other by experiencing the opposite.
But we must not wish to experience less or more of the other to fully appreciate it. One must experience the opposites, only to learn…
I watched “13 going on 30” the other day and the main character asked her mother, “If you could go back and change the biggest mistake of your life, what would you change?” The mother said, “Nothing…I know I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I don’t regret any of them…because if I haven’t made them, then I wouldn’t have learned how to make things right.”
Everything is part of learning and those who learn are better for it. This is especially true when you hurt people you love…intentionally and unintentionally. It is only when you realize that what you have done is wrong and you are truly sorry for it that you know the person’s worth in your life. And that you will do everything in your power never to commit the same act again, because you love that person so much and will never think of wishing or committing harm to him/her.
A friend said, "make the best of what you've got..." I add, "never take one for granted and take care of the one you love."
Some things happen for a reason…but sometimes we are too blind to see it. We beat ourselves up over our faults, but we never see the silver lining – WE HAVE NOW LEARNED AND HAS BEEN GIVEN ANOTHER CHANCE TO NEVER COMMIT THE SAME MISTAKE AGAIN. We can never bring back a word we say or an act we did. But we can only learn from these mistakes.
May we all learn despite the pain!
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Philippines...my beloved
PA: hey Nicky, thanx for sharing the video clip with me. It was very nice. I really love the Phils. It sent chills up my spine just listening to it. It reminded me of my journey home...my journey of becoming a Filipino.
I was talking about the new tourism video clip promoting the Philippines.
http://www.tourism.gov.ph/media_source/byahetayo.wmv
I’d recommend it to all Filipinos out there. Be PROUD!!!
Mabuhay!!!
I was talking about the new tourism video clip promoting the Philippines.
http://www.tourism.gov.ph/media_source/byahetayo.wmv
I’d recommend it to all Filipinos out there. Be PROUD!!!
Mabuhay!!!
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Tortured minds
Why do we put ourselves through hell thinking the unthinkables, complicating simple thoughts of “can’t do anything about its”?
Is it the repressions of past frustrations not vented? Why the oversensitive interpretation of a simple act? And no question asked…easier if asked!
Why do we keep these silent thoughts mute in the midst of communication? Do we like the torture our minds bear in twisting and turning misconceptions?
Do we put shackles in our minds and whip ourselves silly with torrid thoughts…we batter our brains with senseless recourse?
Is it a masochist longing for the pain of thoughts? Can we not think happy thoughts?
Sleepless nights bear witness to these violent abuses…daylight met with utter torments! Can we escape this maniacal mental maze?
Is torture our mind’s medium when sulking in misery's muse?
Is it the repressions of past frustrations not vented? Why the oversensitive interpretation of a simple act? And no question asked…easier if asked!
Why do we keep these silent thoughts mute in the midst of communication? Do we like the torture our minds bear in twisting and turning misconceptions?
Do we put shackles in our minds and whip ourselves silly with torrid thoughts…we batter our brains with senseless recourse?
Is it a masochist longing for the pain of thoughts? Can we not think happy thoughts?
Sleepless nights bear witness to these violent abuses…daylight met with utter torments! Can we escape this maniacal mental maze?
Is torture our mind’s medium when sulking in misery's muse?
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
“I have a virgin heart.”
This was what my mom said one lunch time… It was quite an original piece of thought. I never imagined virginity applying to the heart. I always thought it was a physical thing. But I got what she meant. Her heart has never really been in love.
Is my heart a virgin one too? I got to thinking…or more aptly…are most people’s heart’s virgins? Do we actually learn to love? And when we love, is it penetrating that it pierces our souls?
I thought maybe I had been in love more than four times in my life. But some were fleeting and the others were just imagined. Some were also true. So, how can we tell if we've earned the moniker "non-virgin heart"? When is love so true that you end up breaking the proverbial "hymen"? Or is it when it actually is broken that we know we've been in love? Do we need to have a broken heart to know that we have loved?
It would be presumptuous to say and not accurate if I say that maybe we should feel that it should be broken first before we know if it’s true. Can love be reduced to such dialectic? Does the logic follow – a heart is in love if it can only be broken? Or perhaps, the heart must be amenable to levels of “breakage” to be considered “non-virgin”?
There is also the argument…virginity is a state of mind, whether physical or emotional. Can we revert to a second virginity when the “first” experience passes but does not meet our expectations? How many virginities can there be?
Whatever the number, whatever the physical or emotional state…a first…is a first but love can only be dictated by the heart. When the heart feels it has loved, it ceases to be a virgin. And when it is broken, it is just a testimony that it is no longer “untouched.”
Is my heart a virgin one too? I got to thinking…or more aptly…are most people’s heart’s virgins? Do we actually learn to love? And when we love, is it penetrating that it pierces our souls?
I thought maybe I had been in love more than four times in my life. But some were fleeting and the others were just imagined. Some were also true. So, how can we tell if we've earned the moniker "non-virgin heart"? When is love so true that you end up breaking the proverbial "hymen"? Or is it when it actually is broken that we know we've been in love? Do we need to have a broken heart to know that we have loved?
It would be presumptuous to say and not accurate if I say that maybe we should feel that it should be broken first before we know if it’s true. Can love be reduced to such dialectic? Does the logic follow – a heart is in love if it can only be broken? Or perhaps, the heart must be amenable to levels of “breakage” to be considered “non-virgin”?
There is also the argument…virginity is a state of mind, whether physical or emotional. Can we revert to a second virginity when the “first” experience passes but does not meet our expectations? How many virginities can there be?
Whatever the number, whatever the physical or emotional state…a first…is a first but love can only be dictated by the heart. When the heart feels it has loved, it ceases to be a virgin. And when it is broken, it is just a testimony that it is no longer “untouched.”
Monday, October 04, 2004
LIFE IS THE BEST TEACHER AND EXPERIENCE IS THE MEDIUM OF INSTRUCTION!
4 October 2004
This came to my mind after a friend said she was looking for a certain type of magazine during her travel. I wasn’t really sure whether she wanted to buy it for informational/educational purposes or if she just wanted simple entertainment.
But it got me thinking…How much of our life is spent reading “How To” books? And do they really help? This is also applicable in the endless textbooks that elaborate on models and theories and then come up with their conclusion: these are not based on empirical data at the time of formulation but should be replicated in light of future developments. WHAT?! Plain English Please! D%*N! They don’t work period!
So, how can we possibly gain more knowledge from “How To” books that don’t derive from experience or empirical data? I’d start launching my attack on inspirational books any minute now but some people who were actually “inspired” might send me threatening comments.
Are we really swayed to do things in a certain fashion just because books told us to? I wonder…
This came to my mind after a friend said she was looking for a certain type of magazine during her travel. I wasn’t really sure whether she wanted to buy it for informational/educational purposes or if she just wanted simple entertainment.
But it got me thinking…How much of our life is spent reading “How To” books? And do they really help? This is also applicable in the endless textbooks that elaborate on models and theories and then come up with their conclusion: these are not based on empirical data at the time of formulation but should be replicated in light of future developments. WHAT?! Plain English Please! D%*N! They don’t work period!
So, how can we possibly gain more knowledge from “How To” books that don’t derive from experience or empirical data? I’d start launching my attack on inspirational books any minute now but some people who were actually “inspired” might send me threatening comments.
Are we really swayed to do things in a certain fashion just because books told us to? I wonder…
Saturday, October 02, 2004
leaving…
1 October 2004
3:56 pm
I live near the train station here in Geneva. I see endless trains coming in and out of the city. Some are en route to France, others to Italy and many more to nearby states.
I feel like those trains – just passing through life and I’m just here for the ride. But do I really have a destination? I know trains have very limited movements often just going where the tracks lead and ending where they stop. What about me though? Do I move with the same precision and the same goal?
I find myself traveling and often having revelations in each country I stay in, but what purpose do they serve? Do they really make an impact on my life or do I just move on to the next destination, dropping everything as I go. After all, a train leaves even if a certain passenger gets on or not. The world doesn’t stop for one person.
Why am I always traveling and I can’t seem to grow roots? Why am I comfortable living out of a suitcase as if I’m ready to run away? Do I want to run away? Run away from what? Are life’s complexities too hard to deal with that a getaway train is the solution?
Let’s just say I’m having an existential crisis. It’s not the first and certainly, it’s not the last!
3:56 pm
I live near the train station here in Geneva. I see endless trains coming in and out of the city. Some are en route to France, others to Italy and many more to nearby states.
I feel like those trains – just passing through life and I’m just here for the ride. But do I really have a destination? I know trains have very limited movements often just going where the tracks lead and ending where they stop. What about me though? Do I move with the same precision and the same goal?
I find myself traveling and often having revelations in each country I stay in, but what purpose do they serve? Do they really make an impact on my life or do I just move on to the next destination, dropping everything as I go. After all, a train leaves even if a certain passenger gets on or not. The world doesn’t stop for one person.
Why am I always traveling and I can’t seem to grow roots? Why am I comfortable living out of a suitcase as if I’m ready to run away? Do I want to run away? Run away from what? Are life’s complexities too hard to deal with that a getaway train is the solution?
Let’s just say I’m having an existential crisis. It’s not the first and certainly, it’s not the last!
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Special Day, Special People
I haven’t written in quite a while but I thought I should. Today is a special occasion. My friend is arriving from the Philippines and my mom is arriving from Jordan. But I would also like to acknowledge a very welcomed call from a dear friend. I talked for almost an hour on the phone last night with another wanderer friend. It felt good to talk and to be happy.
I had been racked with worries as of late but they all seem to fade away now. God gives me daily sources of strengths that aid my weak heart to get through the day’s hardships. And I would just like to thank Him for it.
I’d also like to thank all my friends who are such blessings in my life - Ria, in particular. Some things are never shared with a friend but we always know. It is in the unspoken words that we scream the loudest. And I scream to you now – THANK YOU!
You have been there through my saddest and happiest moments and they were times that we weren’t near each other. You made such an effort and through the miles, I felt your care and love. Again, I say thank you.
To JAM, my wonderful bestfriend, who has always been so understanding. It was your wisdom and love that got me through the toughest times. It was the thought of you and your caring heart that served as a beacon in my darkest hours. We haven’t been together for so long either but even if oceans would divide us, we are still tied at the heart! Thank you to you.
I have many friends who have graced my life with their presence. Ivy and her uncanny honesty; Aster and her bewildered countenance (always served as diversion and a great comfort); Maan with her cool expressions; I know I’ll forget somebody so I’ll make my excuses now. You all mean so much to me! To Lemon (my kumadre) who not only walked the UP streets with me, but walked life with me (she also walked in on me in Maan’s room). To Flor, another wonderful soul that gave me a shoulder to cry on.
Hannah and Hazel and our intellectual talks (ITs)…Jack and his peach roses…Ton and Deej (intellectual sparring partners); Luige’s wits! Cheng at arms’ length, with big heart in tow! Sarah for showing me how a bestfriend should be, Yessie for paving the way.
MY MOM!
Ate Chi, Ate Mini and Nathalie…for being great women…and sharing their lives with me.
Marivic for always having an open ear. Kuya Joseph and our turon staring contests. It was always a source of a smile. Peejay, the beautiful! You are!
For all the people who’ve made a difference in my life – your names are etched into my heart…and no space in a cyber log can ever replace that.
All my LOVE to you!
I had been racked with worries as of late but they all seem to fade away now. God gives me daily sources of strengths that aid my weak heart to get through the day’s hardships. And I would just like to thank Him for it.
I’d also like to thank all my friends who are such blessings in my life - Ria, in particular. Some things are never shared with a friend but we always know. It is in the unspoken words that we scream the loudest. And I scream to you now – THANK YOU!
You have been there through my saddest and happiest moments and they were times that we weren’t near each other. You made such an effort and through the miles, I felt your care and love. Again, I say thank you.
To JAM, my wonderful bestfriend, who has always been so understanding. It was your wisdom and love that got me through the toughest times. It was the thought of you and your caring heart that served as a beacon in my darkest hours. We haven’t been together for so long either but even if oceans would divide us, we are still tied at the heart! Thank you to you.
I have many friends who have graced my life with their presence. Ivy and her uncanny honesty; Aster and her bewildered countenance (always served as diversion and a great comfort); Maan with her cool expressions; I know I’ll forget somebody so I’ll make my excuses now. You all mean so much to me! To Lemon (my kumadre) who not only walked the UP streets with me, but walked life with me (she also walked in on me in Maan’s room). To Flor, another wonderful soul that gave me a shoulder to cry on.
Hannah and Hazel and our intellectual talks (ITs)…Jack and his peach roses…Ton and Deej (intellectual sparring partners); Luige’s wits! Cheng at arms’ length, with big heart in tow! Sarah for showing me how a bestfriend should be, Yessie for paving the way.
MY MOM!
Ate Chi, Ate Mini and Nathalie…for being great women…and sharing their lives with me.
Marivic for always having an open ear. Kuya Joseph and our turon staring contests. It was always a source of a smile. Peejay, the beautiful! You are!
For all the people who’ve made a difference in my life – your names are etched into my heart…and no space in a cyber log can ever replace that.
All my LOVE to you!
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Chillon's warmth
18 September 2004
Chateau de Chillon
Montreux, Switzerland
Sunlit day at Chillon’s castle
Fun and games come to proffer
Labyrinths explored
Of old 15th century world
Journey in time
I see in capsule
In walls preserved
An ancient tale
Happiness in walks
Amidst draw bridges
Company swell in leisure
Laughter enjoyed at cobblestone’s fall
Light-hearted day
In Switzerland’s glamour
Teased by the French Alps’ splendor
The lake shining
In mighty reflection
Of sun’s warmth
And earthly pleasure
No time, no worry
No train to run after
A day spent
In utter wonder
No place to go
No one to meet
No pressure
On sunlit day
In Chillon’s majesty
I came to ponder
How beautiful
Is nature’s bounty
A sight so picturesque
I hold in thought
One day I spent
In Chillon’s warmth
Chateau de Chillon
Montreux, Switzerland
Sunlit day at Chillon’s castle
Fun and games come to proffer
Labyrinths explored
Of old 15th century world
Journey in time
I see in capsule
In walls preserved
An ancient tale
Happiness in walks
Amidst draw bridges
Company swell in leisure
Laughter enjoyed at cobblestone’s fall
Light-hearted day
In Switzerland’s glamour
Teased by the French Alps’ splendor
The lake shining
In mighty reflection
Of sun’s warmth
And earthly pleasure
No time, no worry
No train to run after
A day spent
In utter wonder
No place to go
No one to meet
No pressure
On sunlit day
In Chillon’s majesty
I came to ponder
How beautiful
Is nature’s bounty
A sight so picturesque
I hold in thought
One day I spent
In Chillon’s warmth
For Joanne
It is her smile that makes the day bright
It is her warmth that makes the cold bearable
It is her big heart that makes the world lovable
She is the grace that makes tomorrow
An escape from sorrow
She is the happiness of the world encapsulated
Joanne is a kindred soul
Alive from love within her depths
Spirited and kind
A daughter
A sister
A friend
It is her warmth that makes the cold bearable
It is her big heart that makes the world lovable
She is the grace that makes tomorrow
An escape from sorrow
She is the happiness of the world encapsulated
Joanne is a kindred soul
Alive from love within her depths
Spirited and kind
A daughter
A sister
A friend
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Friday, September 17, 2004
"The Road NOT Taken"
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
========================================
This was a poem I recited in my senior year in high school. I chose it as an oratorical piece because it was so relevant in my life. I had always been someone who ran against the grain and in all conscious non-conformity, I always stood alone. I was a stickler for rules when obviously everyone wasn’t and I was lax when doctrines came a-knockin’.
There is a price to pay for being different but I always found someone who understood what it meant to be different.
I had matured beyond my years through the many trials and travels in my life. I had not been appreciated by my peers till I went to the university. I was always the “odd one out.” But I never regretted the decision of taking the “road not taken” because in choosing that path, I had become the person that I am.
It was the pain of loneliness, the pain of being different, and the pain of self-sacrifice that drove me past the un-trodden path. But as I travel on that “road less traveled” I find one or two taking up their burdens for what seems to be a reward awaiting the end of such a grueling journey.
I guess I am also searching for that reward of being different, of being less mediocre than the pack, and of knowing that being me is a good thing. But I am not banking on that. I wanted to be different because it’s what I thought would make me happy. And I am happy now.
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
========================================
This was a poem I recited in my senior year in high school. I chose it as an oratorical piece because it was so relevant in my life. I had always been someone who ran against the grain and in all conscious non-conformity, I always stood alone. I was a stickler for rules when obviously everyone wasn’t and I was lax when doctrines came a-knockin’.
There is a price to pay for being different but I always found someone who understood what it meant to be different.
I had matured beyond my years through the many trials and travels in my life. I had not been appreciated by my peers till I went to the university. I was always the “odd one out.” But I never regretted the decision of taking the “road not taken” because in choosing that path, I had become the person that I am.
It was the pain of loneliness, the pain of being different, and the pain of self-sacrifice that drove me past the un-trodden path. But as I travel on that “road less traveled” I find one or two taking up their burdens for what seems to be a reward awaiting the end of such a grueling journey.
I guess I am also searching for that reward of being different, of being less mediocre than the pack, and of knowing that being me is a good thing. But I am not banking on that. I wanted to be different because it’s what I thought would make me happy. And I am happy now.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Happiness for “now”
13 September 2004
8:00 p.m.
I jotted down my old text messages today. It felt like more than just taking note of what I’ve received; it seemed more like literal archiving.
When we start to put away old things in boxes and tie them up with little ribbons and put them in a closet or an attic, are we closing that chapter of our lives?
I have always been fond of collecting little things including little notes sent to me on paper or through text. I found it sentimental. But I’ve never really re-read my diaries or scrap books from cover to cover.
Is it a subconscious act to start sorting and organizing “old” things because they don’t belong in the present any more?
Do we actually live for the present? Do we ever really enjoy the moment? Or do we batter our brains thinking, “Where will this lead to? Where am I going? Is this going to last? Will this make me happier in the future?”
Happiness has become as trivialized as the archived notes. We keep it to remind us that we were once happy. But can we be happy for “now”?
I know a person who attends memorable events but doesn’t bring a camera. I always found it puzzling. In his old age, how will he remember the happier times?
Maybe, the happiness is etched in his heart and it will never leave his side. Maybe he brings a little bit of that happiness that makes a memorable event a memorable one and not simply a memory.
I guess I have to move up that ladder where I should be happy for the moment; happy for being; happy for knowing that happiness does exist and sometimes we don’t need to keep it hidden in an old box because it never left our hearts.
8:00 p.m.
I jotted down my old text messages today. It felt like more than just taking note of what I’ve received; it seemed more like literal archiving.
When we start to put away old things in boxes and tie them up with little ribbons and put them in a closet or an attic, are we closing that chapter of our lives?
I have always been fond of collecting little things including little notes sent to me on paper or through text. I found it sentimental. But I’ve never really re-read my diaries or scrap books from cover to cover.
Is it a subconscious act to start sorting and organizing “old” things because they don’t belong in the present any more?
Do we actually live for the present? Do we ever really enjoy the moment? Or do we batter our brains thinking, “Where will this lead to? Where am I going? Is this going to last? Will this make me happier in the future?”
Happiness has become as trivialized as the archived notes. We keep it to remind us that we were once happy. But can we be happy for “now”?
I know a person who attends memorable events but doesn’t bring a camera. I always found it puzzling. In his old age, how will he remember the happier times?
Maybe, the happiness is etched in his heart and it will never leave his side. Maybe he brings a little bit of that happiness that makes a memorable event a memorable one and not simply a memory.
I guess I have to move up that ladder where I should be happy for the moment; happy for being; happy for knowing that happiness does exist and sometimes we don’t need to keep it hidden in an old box because it never left our hearts.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
After Birthday Wishes…
9 September 2004
3:36 a.m.
It’s nice to feel loved even when you’re miles away from your loved ones…
I just celebrated my birthday in the simplest gathering I have ever had in the last few years. I invited my closest friends in Geneva and had a sit-down dinner for eight people. I was a bit hesitant for the gathering because I had always met with these people on a one-to-one basis. The age differences were not gigantic but it was considerable. But I had worried for nothing. The night was perfect complete with meaningful gifts and overseas calls. A friend from Fujaira, UAE had called to say “happy birthday” and had offered to help pass out my CV to company. That is a good birthday gift.
The day has been one big birthday gift. I got up to go to mass with my mother at 7 a.m. It was the first French mass I ever attended in Geneva. At Notre Dame, we offered candles for our intentions. I offered three: for myself, my family, the world. My mom miraculously took a flight on my birthday instead of the day before so she could spend time with me. She is bound for the Middle East.
In a whirlwind of morning tasks, I finished at the office to rush off to lunch with my mother and to take her to the airport. Missing out on a posh restaurant to have dejeuner, my brothers, my mother, the driver and I sat in a cozy airport restaurant to bid our goodbyes and to share a meal as a family. Time was not on our side so we had a small and quick lunch. Shortly after, while still sitting at the restaurant, I received a call from Manila. About 10 friends had gathered to bid farewell to another friend bound for Japan. They called me up and greeted me one by one. I was very happy and I felt so loved.
I received many text messages greeting me. I wrote them down for the older I get, the more sentimental I become. I received an invitation for a one gigabyte email account from another friend in the Philippines. For a person like me, who’s not only sentimental but writes a lot, that was a great gift.
Before ending work, I received good news of a vacancy from a UN agency. I was advised to send an application by a contact. I hope that it will push through and that maybe, it will be God’s gift for my birthday.
A girl could not ask for more on her birthday…so many blessings.
3:36 a.m.
It’s nice to feel loved even when you’re miles away from your loved ones…
I just celebrated my birthday in the simplest gathering I have ever had in the last few years. I invited my closest friends in Geneva and had a sit-down dinner for eight people. I was a bit hesitant for the gathering because I had always met with these people on a one-to-one basis. The age differences were not gigantic but it was considerable. But I had worried for nothing. The night was perfect complete with meaningful gifts and overseas calls. A friend from Fujaira, UAE had called to say “happy birthday” and had offered to help pass out my CV to company. That is a good birthday gift.
The day has been one big birthday gift. I got up to go to mass with my mother at 7 a.m. It was the first French mass I ever attended in Geneva. At Notre Dame, we offered candles for our intentions. I offered three: for myself, my family, the world. My mom miraculously took a flight on my birthday instead of the day before so she could spend time with me. She is bound for the Middle East.
In a whirlwind of morning tasks, I finished at the office to rush off to lunch with my mother and to take her to the airport. Missing out on a posh restaurant to have dejeuner, my brothers, my mother, the driver and I sat in a cozy airport restaurant to bid our goodbyes and to share a meal as a family. Time was not on our side so we had a small and quick lunch. Shortly after, while still sitting at the restaurant, I received a call from Manila. About 10 friends had gathered to bid farewell to another friend bound for Japan. They called me up and greeted me one by one. I was very happy and I felt so loved.
I received many text messages greeting me. I wrote them down for the older I get, the more sentimental I become. I received an invitation for a one gigabyte email account from another friend in the Philippines. For a person like me, who’s not only sentimental but writes a lot, that was a great gift.
Before ending work, I received good news of a vacancy from a UN agency. I was advised to send an application by a contact. I hope that it will push through and that maybe, it will be God’s gift for my birthday.
A girl could not ask for more on her birthday…so many blessings.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Ode to me…
8 September 2004
Geneva
I wasn’t keen on writing about myself but since I’m turning 24 in a little bit I thought I’d re-assess my life…But I won’t put you through that. Let me just recount my coming into the world.
It was Dec. 26, 1979; the town fiesta in Bicol, and the wedded couple, Amante and Grace decided to have some afternoon delight. Nine months later on 8 Sept. 1980, I became the second (of five) child and only daughter to this couple. Recounting from my mother’s stories…I was the healthiest – eight pounds of pure baby.
I wasn’t a difficult pregnancy (thank God) but I had a different entrance to this world. I decided to come out face first instead of the “normal” head first. Was that ominous of my intriguing nature? But two hours of “hilot” got me right out of my mother’s womb. And I came out on a pretense. My mom had been faking labor pains while sweeping the grounds in our apartment in Bicol (southern Philippine region) after watching a flick starring her favorite movie actress, Susan Roces.
“I’m gonna give birth,” she said, sweeping away. My dad, skeptical, didn’t pay attention. Then, it hit! Labor pains. Water broke. Called midwife. And at our apartment in Bicol, I came at 2 a.m. to be named P.A. (you thought I’d divulge my name? think again). I had the same birthday as the midwife.
Then began my journey as a wanderer and traveler of sorts… I only stayed two years in Bicol till we transferred to Quezon City. I only had seven years there before I’d board my first airplane. And I’d traveled many more…
Geneva
I wasn’t keen on writing about myself but since I’m turning 24 in a little bit I thought I’d re-assess my life…But I won’t put you through that. Let me just recount my coming into the world.
It was Dec. 26, 1979; the town fiesta in Bicol, and the wedded couple, Amante and Grace decided to have some afternoon delight. Nine months later on 8 Sept. 1980, I became the second (of five) child and only daughter to this couple. Recounting from my mother’s stories…I was the healthiest – eight pounds of pure baby.
I wasn’t a difficult pregnancy (thank God) but I had a different entrance to this world. I decided to come out face first instead of the “normal” head first. Was that ominous of my intriguing nature? But two hours of “hilot” got me right out of my mother’s womb. And I came out on a pretense. My mom had been faking labor pains while sweeping the grounds in our apartment in Bicol (southern Philippine region) after watching a flick starring her favorite movie actress, Susan Roces.
“I’m gonna give birth,” she said, sweeping away. My dad, skeptical, didn’t pay attention. Then, it hit! Labor pains. Water broke. Called midwife. And at our apartment in Bicol, I came at 2 a.m. to be named P.A. (you thought I’d divulge my name? think again). I had the same birthday as the midwife.
Then began my journey as a wanderer and traveler of sorts… I only stayed two years in Bicol till we transferred to Quezon City. I only had seven years there before I’d board my first airplane. And I’d traveled many more…
companions...
07 September 2004
4:55 p.m.
Geneva
When you’re traveling alone in life, you look for companions that don’t leave your side. They don’t have to be human or people. They can be things and pets. Some choose dogs and cats, others musical instruments and pens and papers like my trusty notepad.
I have always preferred people to be my companions but in the absence of one or two, I resort to my writing. But if I’m really emotional, I take one of my musical instruments and play it. I am not very good at any one instrument but the satisfaction I get and the comfort I feel is like that of a friend who aids you in times of need.
Today, I played my ethnic flute. It is an instrument from the Philippine highlands whose sounds are as soothing as a lullaby. With every blow and with every adjustment to cover the three holes on its body, a different emotion is released. And if, as if, you are communing with the thoughts in the untouchable air.
The serene sound that echoes matches the stirring of my heart. With every slight beat, getting faster and faster, the soul of the flute matches with sincere empathy.
Some people find companionship in their CDman’s and stereos. I prefer the sounds of instruments that communicate my thoughts to ears beyond mine.
I have many instruments; I play one for each particular feeling – a violin for happy and saddest moments, a drum for joyous occasions, a bandurria for patriotic songs, a flute for soulful reflections.
I play my flute with eyes closed, my emotions dance atop the notes whispered gently to the air forming a carpet of feelings. They stay in communion until I stop blowing into my medium.
In the darkness, I see myself floating and flying sifting through the notes and like a canter pouring water, I empty myself in the consolation of sympathetic silence.
4:55 p.m.
Geneva
When you’re traveling alone in life, you look for companions that don’t leave your side. They don’t have to be human or people. They can be things and pets. Some choose dogs and cats, others musical instruments and pens and papers like my trusty notepad.
I have always preferred people to be my companions but in the absence of one or two, I resort to my writing. But if I’m really emotional, I take one of my musical instruments and play it. I am not very good at any one instrument but the satisfaction I get and the comfort I feel is like that of a friend who aids you in times of need.
Today, I played my ethnic flute. It is an instrument from the Philippine highlands whose sounds are as soothing as a lullaby. With every blow and with every adjustment to cover the three holes on its body, a different emotion is released. And if, as if, you are communing with the thoughts in the untouchable air.
The serene sound that echoes matches the stirring of my heart. With every slight beat, getting faster and faster, the soul of the flute matches with sincere empathy.
Some people find companionship in their CDman’s and stereos. I prefer the sounds of instruments that communicate my thoughts to ears beyond mine.
I have many instruments; I play one for each particular feeling – a violin for happy and saddest moments, a drum for joyous occasions, a bandurria for patriotic songs, a flute for soulful reflections.
I play my flute with eyes closed, my emotions dance atop the notes whispered gently to the air forming a carpet of feelings. They stay in communion until I stop blowing into my medium.
In the darkness, I see myself floating and flying sifting through the notes and like a canter pouring water, I empty myself in the consolation of sympathetic silence.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Conquering alone-ness
31 August 2004
Geneva
8:15 p.m.
I set out today to conquer one of my greatest fears, to go shopping alone. After lunch, I only brought my wallet and bus pass to shop for a book at Manor, the nearest mall.
In trying to find the book I was looking for, I realized that 10,000 steps would not make appear what wasn’t there. I had to call for back-up. Consulting a trusted friend on which book to buy, which volume to choose and where to buy it was a relief. I had found myself at Payot Librairie on rue du Mont Blanc. (“Call a friend” on “Who wants to be a Millionaire?”)
When I got there, I was directed to go downstairs after asking in what broken French I knew how to say. When I got downstairs, I asked again and the lady politely in French, told me to go upstairs because the book was there. I tried to scan the volumes of books shelved on the walls to find what I was looking for. Finally, I found it. Then, hit another dilemma…It only came in French. I asked another attendant (again) where I could find an English version. I found myself redirected to the basement (again). This had become a shopping nightmare. I called a friend for a “lifeline please.” My friend couldn’t come for another 30 minutes. My apprehension became a reality. I was alone at Payot reading and couldn’t sit still as was not used to shopping alone.
Meanwhile, what I set out to do seemed to be backfiring. And while this was playing in the foreground, the backdrop was even more dramatic. Flash-backing to lunch, one of my brothers asked for my mom to leave the keys. My mom left her keys. My brother forgets to take the keys and leaves the house. I, not seeing it as a problem, left with my key.
One hour later, my brother calls me and asks for the key. I was at Payot then. He picks up my key and another hour later, he’s still not home and I was in the garden not answering nature’s call. The keys came via delivery (c/o driver) and I got into the house. I saw another set of keys (my other brothers who was with my other brother) but not the third one. So, I thought, they had another key. I not worrying again left the house with my key.
Then, an hour later, my mom calls me up asking for the key. I said my brother had it why doesn’t he come home to bring it. I was about 20 minutes away as opposed to his 10 minutes. Despite my anger, I had to go home since my brother said he didn’t have a key and I would be questioning his honesty. And we wouldn’t want that, do we?
A rage and a half later, I found myself on the street again, “key-less” and wandering around Pont D’Arve where the melancholic river grew a gray colored cover and where my friend and I were so close to the first time. She had to leave for another commitment and I walked the streets of Geneva.
Aching feet, hurt heart, and some 500 words later, I am here at Lake Geneva near Bel-Air, accompanied by swans at the lake shore.
I am still fuming with texts stained with profanities from my brother because he bore the wrath of my mother’s punishment of banned PC usage. The anger was waning but the hurt wasn’t.
And what I set out to do this afternoon – to shop along became a night of alone time.
It was more than conquering my fear of shopping. It is being independent of leaning on someone even during the greatest time of need.
That’s the lesson of conquering your fears…you come out stronger than you thought you could.
(This is a very sedate story. It has been edited for content.)
Geneva
8:15 p.m.
I set out today to conquer one of my greatest fears, to go shopping alone. After lunch, I only brought my wallet and bus pass to shop for a book at Manor, the nearest mall.
In trying to find the book I was looking for, I realized that 10,000 steps would not make appear what wasn’t there. I had to call for back-up. Consulting a trusted friend on which book to buy, which volume to choose and where to buy it was a relief. I had found myself at Payot Librairie on rue du Mont Blanc. (“Call a friend” on “Who wants to be a Millionaire?”)
When I got there, I was directed to go downstairs after asking in what broken French I knew how to say. When I got downstairs, I asked again and the lady politely in French, told me to go upstairs because the book was there. I tried to scan the volumes of books shelved on the walls to find what I was looking for. Finally, I found it. Then, hit another dilemma…It only came in French. I asked another attendant (again) where I could find an English version. I found myself redirected to the basement (again). This had become a shopping nightmare. I called a friend for a “lifeline please.” My friend couldn’t come for another 30 minutes. My apprehension became a reality. I was alone at Payot reading and couldn’t sit still as was not used to shopping alone.
Meanwhile, what I set out to do seemed to be backfiring. And while this was playing in the foreground, the backdrop was even more dramatic. Flash-backing to lunch, one of my brothers asked for my mom to leave the keys. My mom left her keys. My brother forgets to take the keys and leaves the house. I, not seeing it as a problem, left with my key.
One hour later, my brother calls me and asks for the key. I was at Payot then. He picks up my key and another hour later, he’s still not home and I was in the garden not answering nature’s call. The keys came via delivery (c/o driver) and I got into the house. I saw another set of keys (my other brothers who was with my other brother) but not the third one. So, I thought, they had another key. I not worrying again left the house with my key.
Then, an hour later, my mom calls me up asking for the key. I said my brother had it why doesn’t he come home to bring it. I was about 20 minutes away as opposed to his 10 minutes. Despite my anger, I had to go home since my brother said he didn’t have a key and I would be questioning his honesty. And we wouldn’t want that, do we?
A rage and a half later, I found myself on the street again, “key-less” and wandering around Pont D’Arve where the melancholic river grew a gray colored cover and where my friend and I were so close to the first time. She had to leave for another commitment and I walked the streets of Geneva.
Aching feet, hurt heart, and some 500 words later, I am here at Lake Geneva near Bel-Air, accompanied by swans at the lake shore.
I am still fuming with texts stained with profanities from my brother because he bore the wrath of my mother’s punishment of banned PC usage. The anger was waning but the hurt wasn’t.
And what I set out to do this afternoon – to shop along became a night of alone time.
It was more than conquering my fear of shopping. It is being independent of leaning on someone even during the greatest time of need.
That’s the lesson of conquering your fears…you come out stronger than you thought you could.
(This is a very sedate story. It has been edited for content.)
"The Truth is Out There"
30 August 2004
6:00 p.m.
Watching an episode of Smallville, Clark asks Lana, “Don’t you find (Byron) different?” Lana had taken fancy on the latest Luthor Corp. mishap that turned Jekyll-and-Hyde when exposed to the sun. Lana says, “If you really like someone, you have to accept every part of that person.” Clark retorts, “Maybe Byron keeps that part hidden so people will not be scared away (off).” Lana explains, “But that’s a risk you have to take. You’ll never know unless you show it. And you might have missed out on something amazing if you never try.”
We’ve heard or read these words in so many forms and phrases basically telling us, “Take the risk. See what life has to offer. Don’t be afraid. Tell the truth.”
Borrowing the X-Files “The Truth is Out There,” we have always over-rated what honesty and truth really mean.
We hide behind facades and look “happy” to be in the norm and to maintain the status quo.
But how long can one keep up this charade without taking a toll on one’s psyche? These repressions have only given more money to psychiatrists and psychologists.
What are we afraid of? A German book called “Mary” by Ella Kensington simplifies, “The root of man’s problem is the desire to be accepted and to not be alone.”
Are we so ashamed of ourselves that sometimes we put on a show so that people can like us and that we may “belong”?
In transition to finding real people who can accept us, we hang out with a mediocre crowd. A group of people we have nothing in common with but we bear because the thought of eating lunch alone is just too SAD.
We prize companionship but do we really know what it entails? Why do marriages only last 52 hours? Because the couple wanted to compromise their happiness at the thought of being happy in each other’s arms. This is not meant to generalize but to look at why people are so unhappy amidst the bustling crowd of “friends” and why the sarcastic grin is not so much as a mannerism as a silent scream of “What the hell am I doing here?”
We get ourselves into these situations because we want to be loved, accepted, wanted. But at what cost? (I am not questioning true happiness, I advocate it.)
To what extent can we compromise to be worthy of society’s approval? Aren’t there people who don’t judge? What are we ashamed of? Aren’t we part of society too? Can we look through a prism of non-judgment?
Isn’t it that each one carries a secret in their heart that they’d rather die than tell “friends.” So, what is a friend if truth cannot be spoken? I used to be scoffed at because of my brutal frankness and my hurtful bluntness. But I’ve also received many praises that if not for my fiery tongue they’d have gone astray. I still prize the truth. As much as it hurts…it will set you free. (Cliché? Try it!)
6:00 p.m.
Watching an episode of Smallville, Clark asks Lana, “Don’t you find (Byron) different?” Lana had taken fancy on the latest Luthor Corp. mishap that turned Jekyll-and-Hyde when exposed to the sun. Lana says, “If you really like someone, you have to accept every part of that person.” Clark retorts, “Maybe Byron keeps that part hidden so people will not be scared away (off).” Lana explains, “But that’s a risk you have to take. You’ll never know unless you show it. And you might have missed out on something amazing if you never try.”
We’ve heard or read these words in so many forms and phrases basically telling us, “Take the risk. See what life has to offer. Don’t be afraid. Tell the truth.”
Borrowing the X-Files “The Truth is Out There,” we have always over-rated what honesty and truth really mean.
We hide behind facades and look “happy” to be in the norm and to maintain the status quo.
But how long can one keep up this charade without taking a toll on one’s psyche? These repressions have only given more money to psychiatrists and psychologists.
What are we afraid of? A German book called “Mary” by Ella Kensington simplifies, “The root of man’s problem is the desire to be accepted and to not be alone.”
Are we so ashamed of ourselves that sometimes we put on a show so that people can like us and that we may “belong”?
In transition to finding real people who can accept us, we hang out with a mediocre crowd. A group of people we have nothing in common with but we bear because the thought of eating lunch alone is just too SAD.
We prize companionship but do we really know what it entails? Why do marriages only last 52 hours? Because the couple wanted to compromise their happiness at the thought of being happy in each other’s arms. This is not meant to generalize but to look at why people are so unhappy amidst the bustling crowd of “friends” and why the sarcastic grin is not so much as a mannerism as a silent scream of “What the hell am I doing here?”
We get ourselves into these situations because we want to be loved, accepted, wanted. But at what cost? (I am not questioning true happiness, I advocate it.)
To what extent can we compromise to be worthy of society’s approval? Aren’t there people who don’t judge? What are we ashamed of? Aren’t we part of society too? Can we look through a prism of non-judgment?
Isn’t it that each one carries a secret in their heart that they’d rather die than tell “friends.” So, what is a friend if truth cannot be spoken? I used to be scoffed at because of my brutal frankness and my hurtful bluntness. But I’ve also received many praises that if not for my fiery tongue they’d have gone astray. I still prize the truth. As much as it hurts…it will set you free. (Cliché? Try it!)
Monday, August 30, 2004
Cyber Celibacy
30 August 2004
Geneva
9:32 a.m.
With increasing dependence and access to the Internet, we have found a certain comfort zone in the chat-rooms or instant messaging with friends around the world. For some, chatting is as natural as talking to someone tete-à-tete (face-to-face). But how important is it really?
For those that are miles and miles away, it is perhaps the cheapest and most effective way to communicate in real time. And with the advent of web cameras (webcams), the experience can be as “real” as possible.
But for those that are living in the same city, won’t talking face-to-face be a better solution? I am a self-confessed computer addict, much less a cyber-addict. I have to have my piece of internet time everyday. I spend my time chatting away from 11 p.m. to the wee hours of the morning and my chat-mate lives in the same city.
It has become such a habit to come home to the PC, to see my chat-mate logged on and to be ready for another night of chatting away. Some topics are more interesting to talk about than others which make the conversation virtually timeless.
We have both found comfort in coming home and seeing each other online. It was a way to recount the day’s events, the day’s thoughts, and to discuss what will come for tomorrow’s day. But I go back to my question: Is chatting online still the best option for two people who live in the same city? There is still merit in the spoken word.
I had proposed to my chat-mate that we take a one-week sabbatical from chatting and resort to more conventional means of communications, i.e. speaking. I received a hesitant "but i'll miss the cyber U. just U!" This sabbatical is a form of cyber celibacy that can only heighten the excitement of really meeting people. It was also a way in what my chat-mate describes as “killing the cyber persona” that was created online.
The experiment is now on its third day and we have managed to see each other twice for that “celibate” period. There has been a conscious effort to stay in touch without the ethernet in between. I find it more refreshing to share a drink or to talk in the park or wherever. Of course, the silence is more pronounced during those meetings instead of the pauses in chatting; but they are part of reality. But just as it is a part of life, silence is part of a conversation.
For all those people out there, who have access to internet and have a chance to meet people, try the latter. It will be a welcomed changed. Being celibate in the cyber sense can bring out the “life” that was created online.
Geneva
9:32 a.m.
With increasing dependence and access to the Internet, we have found a certain comfort zone in the chat-rooms or instant messaging with friends around the world. For some, chatting is as natural as talking to someone tete-à-tete (face-to-face). But how important is it really?
For those that are miles and miles away, it is perhaps the cheapest and most effective way to communicate in real time. And with the advent of web cameras (webcams), the experience can be as “real” as possible.
But for those that are living in the same city, won’t talking face-to-face be a better solution? I am a self-confessed computer addict, much less a cyber-addict. I have to have my piece of internet time everyday. I spend my time chatting away from 11 p.m. to the wee hours of the morning and my chat-mate lives in the same city.
It has become such a habit to come home to the PC, to see my chat-mate logged on and to be ready for another night of chatting away. Some topics are more interesting to talk about than others which make the conversation virtually timeless.
We have both found comfort in coming home and seeing each other online. It was a way to recount the day’s events, the day’s thoughts, and to discuss what will come for tomorrow’s day. But I go back to my question: Is chatting online still the best option for two people who live in the same city? There is still merit in the spoken word.
I had proposed to my chat-mate that we take a one-week sabbatical from chatting and resort to more conventional means of communications, i.e. speaking. I received a hesitant "but i'll miss the cyber U. just U!" This sabbatical is a form of cyber celibacy that can only heighten the excitement of really meeting people. It was also a way in what my chat-mate describes as “killing the cyber persona” that was created online.
The experiment is now on its third day and we have managed to see each other twice for that “celibate” period. There has been a conscious effort to stay in touch without the ethernet in between. I find it more refreshing to share a drink or to talk in the park or wherever. Of course, the silence is more pronounced during those meetings instead of the pauses in chatting; but they are part of reality. But just as it is a part of life, silence is part of a conversation.
For all those people out there, who have access to internet and have a chance to meet people, try the latter. It will be a welcomed changed. Being celibate in the cyber sense can bring out the “life” that was created online.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Painting the town red....
Six women dressed to the nines, strut across the lakeside avenue to paint the town of Geneva red.
In the most serendipitous of occasions, Katie, Christine, Ashley, Nikki and I met this Friday for after-dinner cocktails. IT was as random as any meeting could be…but… Christine and I met one Sunday after church and we hit it off as friends. That meeting was followed by a lunch at L’Evidence, one of the poshiest restaurants in Geneva near Gare de Cornavin. And that was followed by last night’s semi-drinking spree.
After meeting Christine that Sunday, I met another friend on the bus, ever so coincidentally…Or not! Nikki was silently listening to her music and sitting on the Bus 5. As I got on with my mother, she was there and the traditional “beso-beso” commenced. We talked and to my surprise, she knew Christine. Now, how small could the world get? Apparently…smaller!
Recounting that and planning to tell Christine at our lunch of Nikki’s acquaintance with her, I forgot. Maybe it was meant to be like that so yesterday night’s meeting would have more impact when I saw in disbelief, Nikki my friend seated with Christine and Katie.
Katie, a native Kentucky girl, is Nikki's friend from Church and Christine’s friend from somewhere. Christine is also the friend of Nikki’s sister, Aisa. (Surprised?) Then, there’s Patricia, from Canada, who happens to be an au pair (the first one I’d ever met) who met Katie just two weeks ago (she’s only been that long in Geneva). Ashley, the amiable Kansas girl, is a missionary at the age of 21. She met Katie just last Monday, when she arrived.
The cocktails were a send off cum acquaintance for Christine and Katie heading back home to the States and acquaintance for those who already didn’t know each other.
We started drinking at Arthur’s, a beautiful café located at the banks of Lake Geneva, where you can get your drinks at half-price before 9 p.m. This was Katie’s idea. And it sure was a good one. We spent about two hours there listening to music and enjoying the ambience while the light automatically dimmed at precise moments for the ever-romantic couple. We got to know each other and we found out that we were six women of strength, power, and with a mission in life. There were funny moments of "Lost in Translation" calibre. Ashley managed to point to something on the menu that was what she thought was a good drink. Indeed it was. It was "Lait, chaud ou froid." Translated: MILK, HOT OR COLD. It was so amusing that when her drink came no one realized that she had pointed to Milk on the menu. She was too shy to ask for help and in the end she got a good drink! We all shared a martini in a pass the glass fashion.
The even number made it possible for people to talk with each other at any given time-a sort of rotation, if you can call it that.
Then, Katie, who’s always at the top of things, decided to take an inventory of how all of us were going to get home. This moved us out of Arthur’s into the Geneva streets en route to Gare de Cornavin. We took a little detour and took the Jet d’Eau’s majesty and captured it in our little digicams. There were amazing shots taken by Nikki, the photographer in the group. One of Katie standing with her mouth open and her head tilted just enough so that the Jet d’Eau seemed like it was spouting from her mouth.
After all that fun, we had to know what time and where Ashley will take a ride to go home to Versoix. That’s when I knew, these girls were kind. We all walked to Gare, some with higher heels than others. We found out the time and we were relieved that the Noctambus (KnightBus equivalent?) was there and that Ashley was not going to get stranded in the city center.
It was at Mr. Pickwick’s English Pub at Rue de Lausanne that we saw a Harry Potter look-alike singing in a live band. Bohemian Rhapsody pls…Hotel California before. It was enjoyed after a viewing of the Olympics in a huge TV screen, where it so happens, Katie has a friend on the Lithuanian Basketball Team! Now, how lucky is that? Small world? Getting smaller…
Christine and I had our cider beer and we talked in the open air. She doesn’t like constricted stuffy places. After an hour of that, we were off to send people home. It was almost midnight. Nope, no one turned into a Pumpkin but Ashley, Nikki, and Patricia had buses to ride. We said our goodbyes and the “nice meeting yous” at Gare. Christine, Katie, and I then went off to Cactus (a subterranean club under the restaurant of the same name) for some, well what we thought would be a night of dancing to Mexican music. Boy, were we wrong. It was a night of R&B and Hip-Hop tunes, including Usher’s “Yeah” and a disoriented DJ. Katie managed to get an admirer but the “power of three” was too powerful and perhaps too enclosed that no one could penetrate our dancing area. Three powerful girls indeed. The night was slowly moving into the next day and it was time for us too to go off in our separate ways.
Going out on the town in Geneva has answered a few of the questions I had in my mind. Where did the Genevoise go on a Friday night? Where was the Exodus headed? I got to see a part of that. And maybe, just maybe, the cold Swiss outlook I had on the town is slowly melting. Of course, I saw younger people but don’t they grow old too? I hope that someday that “underground” culture of fun, spontaneity and sheer happiness will infect the “aboveground” of Geneva.
In the most serendipitous of occasions, Katie, Christine, Ashley, Nikki and I met this Friday for after-dinner cocktails. IT was as random as any meeting could be…but… Christine and I met one Sunday after church and we hit it off as friends. That meeting was followed by a lunch at L’Evidence, one of the poshiest restaurants in Geneva near Gare de Cornavin. And that was followed by last night’s semi-drinking spree.
After meeting Christine that Sunday, I met another friend on the bus, ever so coincidentally…Or not! Nikki was silently listening to her music and sitting on the Bus 5. As I got on with my mother, she was there and the traditional “beso-beso” commenced. We talked and to my surprise, she knew Christine. Now, how small could the world get? Apparently…smaller!
Recounting that and planning to tell Christine at our lunch of Nikki’s acquaintance with her, I forgot. Maybe it was meant to be like that so yesterday night’s meeting would have more impact when I saw in disbelief, Nikki my friend seated with Christine and Katie.
Katie, a native Kentucky girl, is Nikki's friend from Church and Christine’s friend from somewhere. Christine is also the friend of Nikki’s sister, Aisa. (Surprised?) Then, there’s Patricia, from Canada, who happens to be an au pair (the first one I’d ever met) who met Katie just two weeks ago (she’s only been that long in Geneva). Ashley, the amiable Kansas girl, is a missionary at the age of 21. She met Katie just last Monday, when she arrived.
The cocktails were a send off cum acquaintance for Christine and Katie heading back home to the States and acquaintance for those who already didn’t know each other.
We started drinking at Arthur’s, a beautiful café located at the banks of Lake Geneva, where you can get your drinks at half-price before 9 p.m. This was Katie’s idea. And it sure was a good one. We spent about two hours there listening to music and enjoying the ambience while the light automatically dimmed at precise moments for the ever-romantic couple. We got to know each other and we found out that we were six women of strength, power, and with a mission in life. There were funny moments of "Lost in Translation" calibre. Ashley managed to point to something on the menu that was what she thought was a good drink. Indeed it was. It was "Lait, chaud ou froid." Translated: MILK, HOT OR COLD. It was so amusing that when her drink came no one realized that she had pointed to Milk on the menu. She was too shy to ask for help and in the end she got a good drink! We all shared a martini in a pass the glass fashion.
The even number made it possible for people to talk with each other at any given time-a sort of rotation, if you can call it that.
Then, Katie, who’s always at the top of things, decided to take an inventory of how all of us were going to get home. This moved us out of Arthur’s into the Geneva streets en route to Gare de Cornavin. We took a little detour and took the Jet d’Eau’s majesty and captured it in our little digicams. There were amazing shots taken by Nikki, the photographer in the group. One of Katie standing with her mouth open and her head tilted just enough so that the Jet d’Eau seemed like it was spouting from her mouth.
After all that fun, we had to know what time and where Ashley will take a ride to go home to Versoix. That’s when I knew, these girls were kind. We all walked to Gare, some with higher heels than others. We found out the time and we were relieved that the Noctambus (KnightBus equivalent?) was there and that Ashley was not going to get stranded in the city center.
It was at Mr. Pickwick’s English Pub at Rue de Lausanne that we saw a Harry Potter look-alike singing in a live band. Bohemian Rhapsody pls…Hotel California before. It was enjoyed after a viewing of the Olympics in a huge TV screen, where it so happens, Katie has a friend on the Lithuanian Basketball Team! Now, how lucky is that? Small world? Getting smaller…
Christine and I had our cider beer and we talked in the open air. She doesn’t like constricted stuffy places. After an hour of that, we were off to send people home. It was almost midnight. Nope, no one turned into a Pumpkin but Ashley, Nikki, and Patricia had buses to ride. We said our goodbyes and the “nice meeting yous” at Gare. Christine, Katie, and I then went off to Cactus (a subterranean club under the restaurant of the same name) for some, well what we thought would be a night of dancing to Mexican music. Boy, were we wrong. It was a night of R&B and Hip-Hop tunes, including Usher’s “Yeah” and a disoriented DJ. Katie managed to get an admirer but the “power of three” was too powerful and perhaps too enclosed that no one could penetrate our dancing area. Three powerful girls indeed. The night was slowly moving into the next day and it was time for us too to go off in our separate ways.
Going out on the town in Geneva has answered a few of the questions I had in my mind. Where did the Genevoise go on a Friday night? Where was the Exodus headed? I got to see a part of that. And maybe, just maybe, the cold Swiss outlook I had on the town is slowly melting. Of course, I saw younger people but don’t they grow old too? I hope that someday that “underground” culture of fun, spontaneity and sheer happiness will infect the “aboveground” of Geneva.
Friday, August 27, 2004
“Murder, made in Switzerland”
26 August 2004
8:05 p.m.
Geneva
“Murder, made in Switzerland”
This was a line I used to answer a friend in the Philippines who wanted a Swiss knife as a gift and I jokingly retorted, “You want to kill someone?” It was the one of the rarest times that Hazel and I actually chatted online. I thought I’d be funny to insert that little bit of humor into the conversation. We had been so incommunicado due to the distances of our houses. But what was text for? Right? I have no excuses for that.
Well, moving on…(lest we get derailed on our discovery of the Swiss knife.)
It is so funny how the Swiss people themselves don’t own Swiss knives themselves and maybe half the world own one.
I guess “Made in Switzerland” is such a catchy tag that it even elicits a silent “Wow” from the buyers of Swiss products. Little did they know that Switzerland, like Singapore, has no real natural resources to speak of. Everything is imported. But “Made in Switzerland” still stands for “efficiency, durability and quality” for some people. I’d like to agree with that since I am a proud owner of a Swiss knife (I think it’s made here).
One of the most common things I do when I travel is to shop. It’s natural for most of us to just go to the mall or a store and get something unique to that place, a souvenir perhaps. But what we are most fond of when traveling abroad is the inexpensive clothes found at the duty free shops or the nearest mall.
The most shocking purchase I ever made was in the U.S. I was buying a nice green sleeveless blouse. I thought it looked marvelous. It was actually. Then…I looked at the “made in” tag and the last word was “Philippines.” I was only 13 then and didn’t really grasp the concept of imports and exports. I was shocked that the Philippines could make such good products and it was being exported, and I was buying it. Let me borrow Alanis’ “Isn’t it ironic?” It was indeed. Raw materials cost much less in the Philippines. Labor is also cheap, which makes it one of the biggest targets of outsourced labor in the world. But the irony comes in the export and that Filipinos have to buy them at a higher price than their production cost. Hmm…Anti-capitalist sentiment? Perhaps.
One thing I also learned is that the Philippines makes really good products, from food to clothes, to handicrafts, you name it! And you can always buy the latest in trend fashion at Barclays (read Baclaran) and House of Debby’s (read Divisoria). Interesting fact: we invented the Nata de Coco product that Japan has a patent for. Japan doesn’t even have coconuts.
But even if we can boast of these goods, how come the “made in the Philippines” is not of the same world-renown as the “made in Switzerland”? Is it packaging? Or is it the discriminatory view that maybe more developed countries can produce better stuff? Perhaps…But isn’t it all “made in China”?
Most denizens of the developing countries have colonial mentalities ingrained in the fiber of their being. I read an article in Time (I think) on how a Japanese journalist got so fed up with the “foreigner’s take” on Japan that he wrote a thought-piece on why Japan should talk about itself by itself and not be so dependent on the Western perception of their island-country. He asked very relevant questions as to why their culture prizes the thought of Westerners when they themselves are a developed country and they were once an imperial power too.
So many years of imperialism, colonization, and other forms of domination has eschewed our views on what is “good, quality and efficient.” If it weren’t for the likes of Malaysia’s Mahathir Mohammad, Malaysia would be another Philippines.
And perhaps, if we can’t break the cycle of colonialism, let’s order a quality murder, a murder made in Switzerland.
8:05 p.m.
Geneva
“Murder, made in Switzerland”
This was a line I used to answer a friend in the Philippines who wanted a Swiss knife as a gift and I jokingly retorted, “You want to kill someone?” It was the one of the rarest times that Hazel and I actually chatted online. I thought I’d be funny to insert that little bit of humor into the conversation. We had been so incommunicado due to the distances of our houses. But what was text for? Right? I have no excuses for that.
Well, moving on…(lest we get derailed on our discovery of the Swiss knife.)
It is so funny how the Swiss people themselves don’t own Swiss knives themselves and maybe half the world own one.
I guess “Made in Switzerland” is such a catchy tag that it even elicits a silent “Wow” from the buyers of Swiss products. Little did they know that Switzerland, like Singapore, has no real natural resources to speak of. Everything is imported. But “Made in Switzerland” still stands for “efficiency, durability and quality” for some people. I’d like to agree with that since I am a proud owner of a Swiss knife (I think it’s made here).
One of the most common things I do when I travel is to shop. It’s natural for most of us to just go to the mall or a store and get something unique to that place, a souvenir perhaps. But what we are most fond of when traveling abroad is the inexpensive clothes found at the duty free shops or the nearest mall.
The most shocking purchase I ever made was in the U.S. I was buying a nice green sleeveless blouse. I thought it looked marvelous. It was actually. Then…I looked at the “made in” tag and the last word was “Philippines.” I was only 13 then and didn’t really grasp the concept of imports and exports. I was shocked that the Philippines could make such good products and it was being exported, and I was buying it. Let me borrow Alanis’ “Isn’t it ironic?” It was indeed. Raw materials cost much less in the Philippines. Labor is also cheap, which makes it one of the biggest targets of outsourced labor in the world. But the irony comes in the export and that Filipinos have to buy them at a higher price than their production cost. Hmm…Anti-capitalist sentiment? Perhaps.
One thing I also learned is that the Philippines makes really good products, from food to clothes, to handicrafts, you name it! And you can always buy the latest in trend fashion at Barclays (read Baclaran) and House of Debby’s (read Divisoria). Interesting fact: we invented the Nata de Coco product that Japan has a patent for. Japan doesn’t even have coconuts.
But even if we can boast of these goods, how come the “made in the Philippines” is not of the same world-renown as the “made in Switzerland”? Is it packaging? Or is it the discriminatory view that maybe more developed countries can produce better stuff? Perhaps…But isn’t it all “made in China”?
Most denizens of the developing countries have colonial mentalities ingrained in the fiber of their being. I read an article in Time (I think) on how a Japanese journalist got so fed up with the “foreigner’s take” on Japan that he wrote a thought-piece on why Japan should talk about itself by itself and not be so dependent on the Western perception of their island-country. He asked very relevant questions as to why their culture prizes the thought of Westerners when they themselves are a developed country and they were once an imperial power too.
So many years of imperialism, colonization, and other forms of domination has eschewed our views on what is “good, quality and efficient.” If it weren’t for the likes of Malaysia’s Mahathir Mohammad, Malaysia would be another Philippines.
And perhaps, if we can’t break the cycle of colonialism, let’s order a quality murder, a murder made in Switzerland.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Friday, August 20, 2004
making peace with my enemy, math at its crudest
In an instance where I’m inclined to shut the door, my foot was invariably holding the door open. I’m talking about the language of math actually making it into my ears and reaching my brain. I had hated the thought of taking any more math courses after my dismal performance in high school math where I had to deal with tangents and cosines of a circle (trigonometry). It’s a whole different language and like the nature of any language you must have sufficient pre-disposition to learn it and to speak it.
I went to the WTO today to learn some database applications from a statistician. My foot was trying its hardest to hold the door open to let in the information she was giving me. I had to contend with both technical trade terms and of course my “favorite” – numbers.
She pointed to certain information which I would be dealing with in my line of work at the mission and what is required of me from the office. Usually, when I hear numbers a switch in my head turns off all possible comprehension but today, surprisingly, I was more receptive than I thought I’d be. Firstly, I was a bit familiar with MS Excel and MS Access language so it wasn’t a “re-invent the wheel” type of learning. There was a compounding of knowledge but it just took ever so slowly for the numbers to build up to a tower.
I usually shy away from numbers but seeing that this training is important in my line of work, I have to make friends with an enemy that has been so kind to me but I just don’t have the patience to forgive. Numbers and numbers…it would be easier to look at them and by some magic transformation I could understand them. Unfortunately, I am too old a dog to re-learn and love math. I have to just be content with what I know, and hopefully, it will grow on me like an unsightly wart. No harm, but ever so ugly masquerading as a beautiful ornament I’d wear.
I went to the WTO today to learn some database applications from a statistician. My foot was trying its hardest to hold the door open to let in the information she was giving me. I had to contend with both technical trade terms and of course my “favorite” – numbers.
She pointed to certain information which I would be dealing with in my line of work at the mission and what is required of me from the office. Usually, when I hear numbers a switch in my head turns off all possible comprehension but today, surprisingly, I was more receptive than I thought I’d be. Firstly, I was a bit familiar with MS Excel and MS Access language so it wasn’t a “re-invent the wheel” type of learning. There was a compounding of knowledge but it just took ever so slowly for the numbers to build up to a tower.
I usually shy away from numbers but seeing that this training is important in my line of work, I have to make friends with an enemy that has been so kind to me but I just don’t have the patience to forgive. Numbers and numbers…it would be easier to look at them and by some magic transformation I could understand them. Unfortunately, I am too old a dog to re-learn and love math. I have to just be content with what I know, and hopefully, it will grow on me like an unsightly wart. No harm, but ever so ugly masquerading as a beautiful ornament I’d wear.
privileges of life i lead; an old friend found
Living the life I lead has many privileges. Being the daughter of a diplomat, I have many privileges an average child may not have. I have the privilege to travel to all the posts my mom is assigned to. I have diplomatic immunity. I meet dignitaries and members of the foreign press corps. I have the best the world has to offer.
But the best part of being a diplomat’s daughter is the unlimited access to social functions with no less than U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan as guest of honor.
Today is the first year anniversary of the Canal Hotel bombing in Iraq. Some 22 people died in that blast including Sergio de Mello, UN Representative in Iraq. A peace concert was held at the Victoria Hall in Geneva to commemorate the many lives lost in the senseless bombing. Gilberto Gil, a Brasilian singer-composer, and Capuera dancers performed for peace and to honor the memories of the “heroes” of Canal who worked for peace.
Canal Hotel housed the defunct UN Office of the Humanitarian Coordinator in Iraq (UNOHCI) that oversaw the Oil-for-Food Programme to alleviate the suffering that the UN-imposed sanctions had wrought in Iraq. The Canal Hotel later became the UN headquarters after the US-led war in Iraq.
UNOHCI has a place in my heart as I was once part of it. I was an intern Information Officer with a Jordanian Information Officer, Adnan Jarrar. From him, I learned the craft of information dissemination. Right out of the university, I was welcomed into the UNOHCI information team. As part of my responsibilities, I prepared daily press clippings distributed to all diplomatic missions in Baghdad as well as international agencies present in Iraq. It was a good training indeed and something I will carry in my heart forever.
But perhaps with the perks of such an exposure and at the UN no less is meeting people – real people who make a difference in your life.
Today, not only did I see my former boss, Kofi Annan, but I saw a real friend, Saad Al-Asali (translated from Arabic – Happy, the Honey) who was one of the many survivors of the Canal Hotel bombing.
He came, with his pillars of support – his wife and three boys, to Geneva as part of the commemoration of the bombing. He is currently in London for medical treatment. In a month’s time, he’ll go back to Amman, Jordan to resume his duties as part of the UN there.
He was (and still is) a friend in UNOHCI and an important chain the Communications Division. I saw him everyday after office hours when we’d play ping pong at the mess. There, we exchanged philosophical discussions, linguistic theories in computers, and anything and everything about life – both in Iraq and abroad. We talked about our families and he thought me some Iraqi.
Of all the people I expected to see today, he was the least I thought I’d meet. I was content with the thought that Annan would be at the peace concert. In my excitement, I forgot to take a picture of him and his family. Usually, my eyes are the extensions of my camera lenses.
I wrote earlier in my entries that I always left friends behind because of my travel-ridden life. But there is nothing sweeter than to see an old friend and to be reminded how good life really is – to be among friends and loved ones.
Each person counts and each person makes a mark in your heart.
To Saad and the many friends I’ve left behind, thank you and I hope that someday our paths will cross again and we may reminisce in sweet nostalgia of days of yore.
But the best part of being a diplomat’s daughter is the unlimited access to social functions with no less than U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan as guest of honor.
Today is the first year anniversary of the Canal Hotel bombing in Iraq. Some 22 people died in that blast including Sergio de Mello, UN Representative in Iraq. A peace concert was held at the Victoria Hall in Geneva to commemorate the many lives lost in the senseless bombing. Gilberto Gil, a Brasilian singer-composer, and Capuera dancers performed for peace and to honor the memories of the “heroes” of Canal who worked for peace.
Canal Hotel housed the defunct UN Office of the Humanitarian Coordinator in Iraq (UNOHCI) that oversaw the Oil-for-Food Programme to alleviate the suffering that the UN-imposed sanctions had wrought in Iraq. The Canal Hotel later became the UN headquarters after the US-led war in Iraq.
UNOHCI has a place in my heart as I was once part of it. I was an intern Information Officer with a Jordanian Information Officer, Adnan Jarrar. From him, I learned the craft of information dissemination. Right out of the university, I was welcomed into the UNOHCI information team. As part of my responsibilities, I prepared daily press clippings distributed to all diplomatic missions in Baghdad as well as international agencies present in Iraq. It was a good training indeed and something I will carry in my heart forever.
But perhaps with the perks of such an exposure and at the UN no less is meeting people – real people who make a difference in your life.
Today, not only did I see my former boss, Kofi Annan, but I saw a real friend, Saad Al-Asali (translated from Arabic – Happy, the Honey) who was one of the many survivors of the Canal Hotel bombing.
He came, with his pillars of support – his wife and three boys, to Geneva as part of the commemoration of the bombing. He is currently in London for medical treatment. In a month’s time, he’ll go back to Amman, Jordan to resume his duties as part of the UN there.
He was (and still is) a friend in UNOHCI and an important chain the Communications Division. I saw him everyday after office hours when we’d play ping pong at the mess. There, we exchanged philosophical discussions, linguistic theories in computers, and anything and everything about life – both in Iraq and abroad. We talked about our families and he thought me some Iraqi.
Of all the people I expected to see today, he was the least I thought I’d meet. I was content with the thought that Annan would be at the peace concert. In my excitement, I forgot to take a picture of him and his family. Usually, my eyes are the extensions of my camera lenses.
I wrote earlier in my entries that I always left friends behind because of my travel-ridden life. But there is nothing sweeter than to see an old friend and to be reminded how good life really is – to be among friends and loved ones.
Each person counts and each person makes a mark in your heart.
To Saad and the many friends I’ve left behind, thank you and I hope that someday our paths will cross again and we may reminisce in sweet nostalgia of days of yore.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
thief of thoughts
(written in anger while my thoughts are stolen)
Anger eats me up
As someone steals my idea
Cloaked behind an understanding ear,
Is a thief
Dissent was her armor
But it was a dreamweaver
Not bad dreams did it catch
But good thoughts to amass
Who is this thief
That robs in plain sight?
Is she not content
With her own thoughts?
Is she lacking originality
Or is lacking the limelight
That she claim my words
For her own?
What is behind this deception?
What do you get from glory that is not your own?
Do you laugh to yourself and pat yourself on the back
For a job you didn’t do?
(because no one else does?)
What good comes out of an idea
Peddled but not the right brand?
Some cheap imitation one holds on to
But see, look closely, it’s missing an “I”
Thief of thoughts
What do you do?
To stolen gifts
Not meant for you?
Anger eats me up
As someone steals my idea
Cloaked behind an understanding ear,
Is a thief
Dissent was her armor
But it was a dreamweaver
Not bad dreams did it catch
But good thoughts to amass
Who is this thief
That robs in plain sight?
Is she not content
With her own thoughts?
Is she lacking originality
Or is lacking the limelight
That she claim my words
For her own?
What is behind this deception?
What do you get from glory that is not your own?
Do you laugh to yourself and pat yourself on the back
For a job you didn’t do?
(because no one else does?)
What good comes out of an idea
Peddled but not the right brand?
Some cheap imitation one holds on to
But see, look closely, it’s missing an “I”
Thief of thoughts
What do you do?
To stolen gifts
Not meant for you?
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
seasons a' change
(this is my second attempt at this as my previous masterpiece was swallowed up by the world wide web and all i have to show for it is a lousy “protocol error, please contact the blah and blah to see what might have caused this error.”)
when visiting many countries you have many experiences with the weather, no, not the occasional rainy or sunny forecast the weather lady speaks of in the morning news but the downpour of rain and its contrasting sunny days in tropical countries; the freezing sleet and the blizzard snow (the stuff mr. frosty is made of), the tempting spring breeze, the half-baked summers, and the beautiful autumns in temperate countries; or the searing heat that gives meaning to the phrase, “it’s like an oven in here” while in the middle east.
the seasons are changing in geneva now. the weather is taking the summer as greedily as it has given it. it was one month of continuous sunshine spotted with occasional rain. but now the rains slam against the window panes. i find myself wearing a cardigan to meet the nippier air and the window is slightly ajar and not widely open. autumn is on its way. catch: it’s only august and not even the end of the month yet. soon, september will pave the way for the snows of winter’s temper.
pockets full of rain
life is like the seasons (not an original of mine, wink*). when we come to a country we are like the weather stirring up the atmosphere. we are either cold or warm fronts depending on the people we meet or the circumstances we’re in. but what do we often choose?
we often choose to be a cold front because it’s safer and we have nothing to lose. we only run the risk of thawing but we can freeze right up again when the temperature is right. being a warm front (especially if you’re not naturally warm) takes a lot of work. you have to maintain a warm and comfortable situation or as the case may be, keep the people happy. by being warm you risk the exposure of nakedness, if not completely, we can’t hide the exposed skins of warmth. we are comfortable and vulnerable at the same time; unlike being a cold front where a sweater will do the job at covering your unsightly spots. When you’re warm, you cannot hide behind a glacier.
warm fronts are readily welcomed by other warm fronts or a cold front can give way to it. but meeting a cold front can only result in thunder and lightning. when the storm has passed only one will remain – cold or warm. but people being as predictable as the weather, the storms never come to pass. it is a continuous cycle of storms spotted with the occasional calms often carrying pockets full of rain. thus, the seasons of life.
when visiting many countries you have many experiences with the weather, no, not the occasional rainy or sunny forecast the weather lady speaks of in the morning news but the downpour of rain and its contrasting sunny days in tropical countries; the freezing sleet and the blizzard snow (the stuff mr. frosty is made of), the tempting spring breeze, the half-baked summers, and the beautiful autumns in temperate countries; or the searing heat that gives meaning to the phrase, “it’s like an oven in here” while in the middle east.
the seasons are changing in geneva now. the weather is taking the summer as greedily as it has given it. it was one month of continuous sunshine spotted with occasional rain. but now the rains slam against the window panes. i find myself wearing a cardigan to meet the nippier air and the window is slightly ajar and not widely open. autumn is on its way. catch: it’s only august and not even the end of the month yet. soon, september will pave the way for the snows of winter’s temper.
pockets full of rain
life is like the seasons (not an original of mine, wink*). when we come to a country we are like the weather stirring up the atmosphere. we are either cold or warm fronts depending on the people we meet or the circumstances we’re in. but what do we often choose?
we often choose to be a cold front because it’s safer and we have nothing to lose. we only run the risk of thawing but we can freeze right up again when the temperature is right. being a warm front (especially if you’re not naturally warm) takes a lot of work. you have to maintain a warm and comfortable situation or as the case may be, keep the people happy. by being warm you risk the exposure of nakedness, if not completely, we can’t hide the exposed skins of warmth. we are comfortable and vulnerable at the same time; unlike being a cold front where a sweater will do the job at covering your unsightly spots. When you’re warm, you cannot hide behind a glacier.
warm fronts are readily welcomed by other warm fronts or a cold front can give way to it. but meeting a cold front can only result in thunder and lightning. when the storm has passed only one will remain – cold or warm. but people being as predictable as the weather, the storms never come to pass. it is a continuous cycle of storms spotted with the occasional calms often carrying pockets full of rain. thus, the seasons of life.
Monday, August 16, 2004
time after time...
tick, tock, tick, tock...
we watch and hear the clock...
sometimes, time doesn't come fast enough. sometimes, it isn't enough. sometimes, it's running away from us.
the days have gone so fast here in geneva that i have to catch my breath sometimes when a long day tries to fit in the 24 hours allotted it. but sometimes, it's as slow as a turtle and you just can't wait for the day to be over.
i've been here for four months but i've just been working for two months. the first two months here passed without any life-altering events and it felt like time was at a stand still. but even if it was, it felt like time was running away. the days passed and i would wake up and i realize another week had passed by.
at work, i feel like i've been here forever. that's not necessarily a bad thing because i do want to stay on for a while. it's more difficult than i imagined to find a job here. so, i stay on...
some days in the office are like whirlwinds. you arrive in the morning and you run around doing errands and accomplishing daily tasks and when you look up at the computer clock, it's time to leave. some days are plagued with nothingness and boredom, you have to put toothpicks in your eye to stay awake.
but time, is it really on our side? people say, "there are two constants in life - time and change." the two are complementary but time is more forceful and evident.
are we slaves of time? or are we simply lacking time management skills? is it possible to really do everything in a given time period?
time after time, we ask questions like these.
i'm turning 24 in a few weeks and i ask questions like these: what have i done with my life? is it befitting a 24 year old? have i accomplished enough in that short life? soon, i'll be a quarter of a century old. then, would i have become wiser? does time really guarantee wisdom? are we like wines that get better with age? or are we just fruits that wait to rot?
do we spend more time thinking rather than doing? how should it be divided?
these are questions no one can really answer but ourselves. and let's just pray that we have time on our hands to do and to think. (not necessarily in that order)
we watch and hear the clock...
sometimes, time doesn't come fast enough. sometimes, it isn't enough. sometimes, it's running away from us.
the days have gone so fast here in geneva that i have to catch my breath sometimes when a long day tries to fit in the 24 hours allotted it. but sometimes, it's as slow as a turtle and you just can't wait for the day to be over.
i've been here for four months but i've just been working for two months. the first two months here passed without any life-altering events and it felt like time was at a stand still. but even if it was, it felt like time was running away. the days passed and i would wake up and i realize another week had passed by.
at work, i feel like i've been here forever. that's not necessarily a bad thing because i do want to stay on for a while. it's more difficult than i imagined to find a job here. so, i stay on...
some days in the office are like whirlwinds. you arrive in the morning and you run around doing errands and accomplishing daily tasks and when you look up at the computer clock, it's time to leave. some days are plagued with nothingness and boredom, you have to put toothpicks in your eye to stay awake.
but time, is it really on our side? people say, "there are two constants in life - time and change." the two are complementary but time is more forceful and evident.
are we slaves of time? or are we simply lacking time management skills? is it possible to really do everything in a given time period?
time after time, we ask questions like these.
i'm turning 24 in a few weeks and i ask questions like these: what have i done with my life? is it befitting a 24 year old? have i accomplished enough in that short life? soon, i'll be a quarter of a century old. then, would i have become wiser? does time really guarantee wisdom? are we like wines that get better with age? or are we just fruits that wait to rot?
do we spend more time thinking rather than doing? how should it be divided?
these are questions no one can really answer but ourselves. and let's just pray that we have time on our hands to do and to think. (not necessarily in that order)
Saturday, August 14, 2004
sleepless...
ria_parsram: how can you relax kung di ka natutulog???
paescalante: havent had "me-Time"
paescalante: sleep has become such a luxury
paescalante: and a burden at the same time
paescalante: i decided to turn in my REMs for a dose of sex and the city
this was a conversation i had with my good friend ria after a night of olympic watching and sex and the city. i don’t know where my life had gone when I can’t even enjoy the luxury of sleep. it’s 4:30 am in Geneva and there’s nothing so compelling to bring me to the comfort of a bed.
some would say, “you may think too much or you don’t give sleep a chance to tame your body.” but i say, “sleep is only needed if you really are ready to sleep.”
what is it that is so scary to enter in the darkness of night that makes sleeping such an ordeal to get through? is it the thought of a tomorrow that doesn’t actually quite fit your perfect day? My answer to that, “i don’t know.”
so many things in life are thought over in the minutes or it may seem like hours before getting that “good night’s sleep.” perhaps, the thought of a happy tomorrow is too much to bear for a neurotic person like me.
is it that we get too attached to the “worries” in life that when true happiness comes along we slap it right across the face, shaking ourselves at the same time saying, “wake up! it’s all a dream.”
but isn’t it that we spend so much time dreaming that when we actually find what we want and true happiness is knocking at our door, we’re asleep to answer it?
Hmmmm…i wonder, “can a good night sleep actually be a cure-all for all ills?” well, my mother thinks so. “stress” “stress” and even more “stress” is the cause of most ills for her. or so she tells me when i get a headache. and the follow up question is, "have you slept?"
am i too serious and do I just prefer to languish away typing my thoughts into this box? again, the safe answer is “i don’t know.”
one thing i'm sure of though. i didn't get a good night's sleep. but hopefully, i'll get a good day one.
paescalante: havent had "me-Time"
paescalante: sleep has become such a luxury
paescalante: and a burden at the same time
paescalante: i decided to turn in my REMs for a dose of sex and the city
this was a conversation i had with my good friend ria after a night of olympic watching and sex and the city. i don’t know where my life had gone when I can’t even enjoy the luxury of sleep. it’s 4:30 am in Geneva and there’s nothing so compelling to bring me to the comfort of a bed.
some would say, “you may think too much or you don’t give sleep a chance to tame your body.” but i say, “sleep is only needed if you really are ready to sleep.”
what is it that is so scary to enter in the darkness of night that makes sleeping such an ordeal to get through? is it the thought of a tomorrow that doesn’t actually quite fit your perfect day? My answer to that, “i don’t know.”
so many things in life are thought over in the minutes or it may seem like hours before getting that “good night’s sleep.” perhaps, the thought of a happy tomorrow is too much to bear for a neurotic person like me.
is it that we get too attached to the “worries” in life that when true happiness comes along we slap it right across the face, shaking ourselves at the same time saying, “wake up! it’s all a dream.”
but isn’t it that we spend so much time dreaming that when we actually find what we want and true happiness is knocking at our door, we’re asleep to answer it?
Hmmmm…i wonder, “can a good night sleep actually be a cure-all for all ills?” well, my mother thinks so. “stress” “stress” and even more “stress” is the cause of most ills for her. or so she tells me when i get a headache. and the follow up question is, "have you slept?"
am i too serious and do I just prefer to languish away typing my thoughts into this box? again, the safe answer is “i don’t know.”
one thing i'm sure of though. i didn't get a good night's sleep. but hopefully, i'll get a good day one.
Monday, August 09, 2004
day seven of the fete de geneve, 4 aug 2004
GENEVA-The pouring rain did not dampen the spirits of the giddy audience awaiting the performance of Eight Killers, a European band inspired by the movie Blues Brother. With over two hundred people huddled around the Ella Fitzegerald Stage near Lake Geneva, the rain turned the performance to an instant hit and one with a consistent standing ovation.
R&B pieces such as "Everybody needs somebody" and Elvis' "Hound Dog" were played with much gusto to the delight of the audience who danced despite their soaked clothes and unrelenting downpour.
This is my first time to attend the Fete de Geneve and I recommend viewing all the free concerts. The stages are all located near the lake. The Fete started on 29 July and marked by the Swiss National Day fireworks display on 1 August. The major fireworks display will be on 7 August where tons of fireworks will be lighted up and synchronised to music.
For all those in Europe or in Geneva, I hope you enjoy this one.
R&B pieces such as "Everybody needs somebody" and Elvis' "Hound Dog" were played with much gusto to the delight of the audience who danced despite their soaked clothes and unrelenting downpour.
This is my first time to attend the Fete de Geneve and I recommend viewing all the free concerts. The stages are all located near the lake. The Fete started on 29 July and marked by the Swiss National Day fireworks display on 1 August. The major fireworks display will be on 7 August where tons of fireworks will be lighted up and synchronised to music.
For all those in Europe or in Geneva, I hope you enjoy this one.
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