Dear Frustrated

I know you'll get frustrated.again.

So here I am. still silent. until you speak well of what your plans are. Would you pursue or would you give up.

The decision is a heavy one. It will change the course of your life forever.

and here I am, still waiting. And God is faithful to me. I don't think I need you. I know God will provide that someOne for me. I won't get frustrated if you don't choose me. again.

behind the virtual world

kung mutext or muchat ang laki ninyo, musugut ra dayun mu? Can't believe women really go for these guys. ug sa dihang daghana intawun'g lakiha mutext2x ,muchat2x...way lingaw.

unsa jud diay inyu'ng pagtu-u naku, dali ra makuha sa inyu'ng text/chat/?...

well, dili dili dili! hehe. there said. the nerve to ask me personal questions...unya, di pa gani friends. hehe

txtr: "can u b my friend?"

me:"no, u can't.im sorry"

txtr: y not?

me: wah. the nerve to ask me. the question is, y will i? i don't know u. who knows you might be BR, the scammer. this is my last txt. now, you can leave me. God bless.

***

hahay, unya kani'ng facebook sige nlang ku'g offline kay daghan mag message2x dinha ang uban naa nay uyab...o worse, naa nay asawa...biga2x on the net dayun inyu'ng tirada?

kahinumdum lang ku naai laki ni ingun naku sa una nga, "well, i can be your boyfriend on the net...and he can be your boyfriend there"...kung di patuh naku siya migu, hagbay ra naku siya'ng gisagpa! haha kung makasagpa sa virtual world hahah...

***

so kamu babay, please lang, ayaw mug kadesperada, don't cheapen yourself musugut mu'g flirtan ramu sa txt or internet rah! please lang intawun.

Kiss of heaven by Darlene Zschech with Lyrics

This was my favorite song 10 years ago.

Today, i can't get this off of my head. This will always be my life song! ^^

Canada vs. Gethsemane

It’s December again. Christmas time is here. This coat I am wearing cannot suffice the two degree cold. I am freezing. It’s 11 pm. Just got home.

Tired from the day’s work...maybe I can call Grace. Grace...slim, beautiful, witty, smart...I am marrying her soon. And my life is going to be just what I want it to be- a gorgeous wife, beautiful children, big house, and a lot of days of vacation.

God will be pleased with me. I will give to charity...And if I have extra, I can donate it to my church’s programs. And when moments like this Christmas season arrive, my relatives there in Cebu will be delighted. They will expect some packages and presents from me. I still go to church once a week. I am sure that’s enough.

It’s there. I have planned it. This has been my dream...and I have finally gotten somewhere in my Life. I have FINALLY gotten here in Canada.

***

This evening, I feel colder than the usual. My hands are freezing. My sweat dropping like the weather’s so hot...but I feel so cold...so cold.

My body is so uneasy here in this Garden. The place is so quiet, and here I am kneeling. Does it have to be me? Do I have to go there? Do I have to feel every torment?

I can even feel my skin ripped now...and the thorns in my head.

The blood drenches my whole body. It’s the only warm coat that envelopes my body.

“Oh Father, if possible, take this cup away from me....Please...Pleading you, please. (*No answer.)
But then again, not my will but yours be done.”

It’s there. You have planned it. This has been your dream...and I will finally fulfill it in my Life here. I am FINALLY conquering death for THEIR redemption.





***
Gethsemane, garden across the Kidron Valley on the Mount of Olives (Hebrew Har ha-Zetim), a mile-long ridge paralleling the eastern part of Jerusalem, where Jesus is said to have prayed on the night of his arrest before his Crucifixion. The name Gethsemane (Hebrew gat shemanim, “oil press”) suggests that the garden was a grove of olive trees in which was located an oil press.

@DorisOgdoc on Twitpic

( Proverbs 31:22 )

Papil sa Panganduy: The Concept, The Process, The People

I SHOULD blog about this film. Well, first because it’s the first film I have directed and written. Heheh. And the rest (reasons)?…read on..

This film was conceived as a project of our Cebuano class. This project about filming or songwriting or documentary was informed to me by my classmate ( since uhm..I had been often absent in class…oops ) last week of August. Most of my classmates were from MA-Communications. Only four of us were from MA-Literature. The filmmaking project was more for the media students. The professor would have asked me another form of a project, but I insisted I could do it (*Remembering my friend, Tabz, who had wanted to make films…I could just uhm “partner” with her ).

Since I believed that my Masteral classes ( 1 of them this Cebuano class ) were” threatened” due to my absences and etcetera, that filmmaking had been my driving force to finish all the way through. However, since I finished birthing the concept, I promised myself that I would finish the film whether or not I would pass my classes. Fortunately, by God’s grace, I passed the midterm exam ( 55/60 ). That gave me vigor to jump-start the making of the film.

Since I knew that my friend, Tabs, had some desire for film making, she was the first person I talked to about my project. I also gave her the concept (which was not yet, at that time, the “final” and used concept).

I had friends I usually met during film showings at The Outpost: Clado and Jorich. They were into films, too. They had joined “Sinebuano”, a group of Cebuano filmmakers. I just happened to chat with them once about our ( me and Tabz’ ) desire to make a film. Clado was kind of adamant to be with us, to help us with the film and all. However, at that time, due to tabz’ uhm lack of confidence yet on “shooting” (whch Clado & Jorich had more knowledge of ), she was hesitant that Clado and Jorich would join with us.

After all the coaxing, Tabz finally agreed, given that she would be the “video editor” instead of the “videographer”, so that she could learn from them. And so, we now had two videographers, an editor, and a script writer.

I wanted the film to end in a “cool but reflective” mood, and I thought of “Better Days” by Andy Calope. His song was about the “corruption in the world and the importance of “listening to your ‘Father’s’ instruction”. So, I asked Andy if we could have his song during the “roll of credits”, and he agreed.* Better Days by Andy Calope:

http://www.fileden.com/files/2008/11/21/2194739/better%20days.mp3

I had a very close friend who loved music so much. Her name was Zy. I asked if she could do the official soundtrack for the film. Surprisingly, after days of telling her my idea about the film, she said she already had the “music”.

The music was there, but the lyrics had not been made yet. I came up with the lyrics for “Papil sa Panganduy”. We also asked our friend, Ebet who had a voice that could do justice to the song, to sing it. With Ebet and Zy’s collaboration, the official soundtrack of the film was arranged and recorded in a raw form:

PAPIL SA PANGANDUY ( clearer version, but no bass etc. ) by doris_ogdoc



***
The Concept

The story, at first, would have been different. As a person passionate about women and their issues, the film would be about women. I had this in mind when I tried to conceptualize the film:
http://ichocomyself.blogspot.com/2010/08/what-level-of-relationship-do-you-have.html

However, I realized that if I would make a 10 minute or less film, I kind of felt that I would have to have more time to display this kind of explanation I had.

In addition, I should have used more Literature and “Cebuano language” theme in the film for the purpose of the Cebuano class project.


As I usually do before any write-up, I prayed to God for an inspiration. At that time, I had been hearing about premarital sex so predominant. And many young women engage in it as it has been practiced by almost anyone who has a romantic relationship ( even with those who don’t have any romantic relationship ). They say we have already been liberated and embraced Western culture much. It is even shown in Philippine soap operas nowadays. The songs, movies, media, etc have great impact on our view on sexual relationships in our days. Now, whether we hate to admit it or not, unwanted pregnancies happen.

The Lord impressed it in my heart that if I really wanted to be a part in changing this nation, I should look on the family issues first. Some women apt for abortion when they have this unwanted pregnancy, especially when they are still studying or when their boyfriends suddenly leave them, or etc. Young children have been called “accidents”. This poses a great effect on the children’s self-esteem. The women raising the child can have emotional and financial responsibilities then for herself and for her child as well. For women who push through the pregnancies, they carry a burden to support the child…that their once beautiful dreams are delayed, or worse, forgotten.

“Papil sa Panganduy” does not just tackle on waiting on sex before marriage, but it is also about waiting for our “dreams” to come to pass. It also shows that we are mere humans that we tend to lose focus and get tempted ( so we do sidetrack instead of doing something about our dreams). Yet, we have to get back on track with God’s strength to help us through.


The Process


Pre – Production

We spent at least 1 to 2 weeks for the planning stage. We needed to look for the cast and crew. Firstly, the main team ( videographers, script writer, music arranger, and editor) was finalized. The next important thing would be the searching for the cast. At that time, we were specific on who to look for. For example, the lead actress should be a “20-year old, Filipina-looking woman”. The challenge for the searching of the cast does not only include the “qualifications” per se but also their availability that would match our schedule as a team. All of us in the production were also tight in schedule because all were working, but we made an agreement that we had all to be together during the shooting. After looking for the cast, we had to scout for locations. We greatly thank the people who allowed us to use their houses and rooms.

The planning on the time, location, and budget for the production phase was also done to save time, effort, and money. ^^

Production Stage

This is the first film we have had as a team. During the shooting stage, we learned a lot about lighting and the importance of video log sheet. We had to record every take on the sheet so that the editor would not have to have so much hassle when finding the best takes and all.

During this stage, I also realized the importance of having great actors, so that the director would not have to instruct the acting much, and that the takes would be few. This saves time and headache. Hehe. Thankfully, we had good and “professional” actors for the film, who could easily get instructions and exceeded even my expectations.

We only spent four afternoons and evenings to finish the production stage. Two weeks after, the production stage was finished. Phew!

Post-Production

Now, this stage is the editing stage. Tabz did the editing part. The rest of us simply gave our feedback. The best part of it all was that Tabz was so easy to understand what we directed her, like on the effects, subtitles, music, etcetera. We are just blessed to have her hehe ^^

The People

When making a film, one should team up with people who are “passionate about it” (*jorich says ).

All of us were not pros, but we all had an intense love for what we were doing. The cast and crew were not paid (-there, said ) hehe. So, only people who really catch your vision will run with you, especially when they don’t have any monetary gains from it. Even those actors were not paid, and only did it for the love of helping us make this film get to pass.

Friendship and professionalism, both working together, are very important elements that members in the film making should have. We could just talk freely about our suggestions, and things that need improvement without hesitation that the party might get offended.

Another important value I have learned is that most of my team mates have low tolerance for mediocrity. I mean, we have constraints in our ability ( both that of the cast and crew), equipment used, etcetera, but with what we have, we make the best out of them.


Himaya Productions: The Name

During one of our meetings, we discussed that we needed a name, so we could put on our OBB and also at the end of the credit list. We came up with a few names, and decided to call it, “Himaya”. It is a Cebuano term that means “glory” or “bliss”, and it sounds “happy”. Lol.

( Yesterday, a student in UCLM ( during the film showing at the school ) asked Zy: “Why Himaya?”. Zy replied, “because we want to bring back the glory to God ).Zy was right.




Papil sa Panganduy was first shown in CNU Katarungan Hall with my professor and classmates as the viewers last October 23. Some friends were also able to watch it. The Trailer was posted on Facebook last October 26:



It was then shown on FB last October 30:

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1464122359248&oid=101486896587693&comments&ref=mf

Since then, the film has been “shared” by some people. People sent messages, and we’re grateful about that.

( This film is for the women who have always been in my mind. You are special and beautiful in God’s eyes. You will forever be my inspiration. )


***
Hopefully, we can come up with more substantial films. by God’s grace. And for His glory.

***

“Like” the Himaya page on fb for more info and updates:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Himaya-Productions/101486896587693

Can the MOD meet his LTP?

My MOD just greeted me for the first time ( in about 7 years) a good afternoon greeting.

And his mom and I exchange words of "love", and "God bless yous", and "I appreciate you for everything".

***

and i...

Not concluding, but just recording. ^^

Jaeson Ma - Glory ft. Caleb Lin

this sums up my life philosophy.

Timely MAX...isn't this what i have just said?

Pause on Purpose

by Max Lucado

Come aside by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.
Mark 6:31

Ernie Johnson Jr. knows baseball. His father announced three decades’ worth of major-league games, following the Braves from Milwaukee to Atlanta. In the quarter century since Ernie inherited the microphone, he has covered six sports on three continents, voicing blowouts and nail-biters, interviewing losers and buzzer beaters.

But one game stands out above all the rest. Not because of who played, but because of who stopped playing. Ernie was a nine-year-old Little Leaguer, dutifully playing shortstop. An opposing batter hit a ground rule double that bounced over the fence. Two outfielders scampered over the fence to retrieve the ball so the game could continue. (Apparently the league operated on a tight budget.)

Both teams waited for them to return. They waited … and waited … but no one appeared. Concerned coaches finally jogged into the outfield and scaled the fence. Curious players, including Ernie, followed them. They found the missing duo just a few feet beyond the fence, gloves dropped on the ground, found ball at their feet, blackberries and smiles on their faces.

The two players had stepped away from the game.

How long since you did the same? We need regular recalibrations. Besides, who couldn’t use a few blackberries? But who has time to gather them? You have carpools to run; businesses to run; sales efforts to run; machines, organizations, and budgets to run. You gotta run.

Jesus understands. He knew the frenzy of life. People back-to-backed his calendar with demands. But he also knew how to step away from the game.

Having withstood the devil’s wilderness temptation and his hometown’s harsh rejection, Jesus journeyed to Capernaum, where the citizens give him a ticker-tape reception.

They were astonished at His teaching. (Luke 4:32)

The story of what he had done spread like wildfire throughout the whole region. (v. 37 NLT)

People throughout the village brought sick family members to Jesus. No matter what their diseases were, the touch of his hand healed every one. (v. 40 NLT)

Could Christ want more? Enthralled masses, just-healed believers, and thousands who will go where he leads. So Jesus …

Rallied a movement?

Organized a leadership team?

Mobilized a political-action society?

No. He baffled the public-relations experts by placing the mob in the rearview mirror and ducking into a wildlife preserve, a hidden cove, a vacant building, a deserted place.

Verse 42 identifies the reason: “the crowd … tried to keep Him from leaving them.”

More than once he exercised crowd control. “When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he told his followers to go to the other side of the lake” (Matt. 8:18 NCV).

When the crowd ridiculed his power to raise a girl from the dead, he evicted them from the premises. “After the crowd had been thrown out of the house, Jesus went into the girl’s room and took hold of her hand, and she stood up” (Matt. 9:25 NCV).

After a day of teaching, “Jesus left the crowd and went into the house” (Matt. 13:36 NCV).

Though surrounded by possibly twenty thousand fans, he turned away from them: “After Jesus had sent the crowds away” (Matt. 15:39 CEV).

Christ repeatedly escaped the noise of the crowd in order to hear the voice of God.

He resisted the undertow of the people by anchoring to the rock of his purpose: employing his uniqueness (to “preach … to the other cities also”) to make a big deal out of God (“the kingdom of God”) everywhere he could.

And aren’t you glad he did? Suppose he had heeded the crowd and set up camp in Capernaum, reasoning, “I thought the whole world was my target and the cross my destiny. But the entire town tells me to stay in Capernaum. Could all these people be wrong?”

Yes, they could! In defiance of the crowd, Jesus turned his back on the Capernaum pastorate and followed the will of God. Doing so meant leaving some sick people unhealed and some confused people untaught. He said no to good things so he could say yes to the right thing: his unique call.

Not an easy choice for anyone.

God may want you to leave your Capernaum, but you’re staying. Or he may want you to stay, and you’re leaving. How can you know unless you mute the crowd and meet with Jesus in a deserted place?

“Deserted” need not mean desolate, just quiet. Simply a place to which you, like Jesus, depart. “Now when it was day, He departed” (Luke 4:42). “Depart” presupposes a decision on the part of Jesus. “I need to get away. To think. To ponder. To rechart my course.” He determined the time, selected a place. With resolve, he pressed the pause button on his life.

The devil implants taximeters in our brains. We hear the relentless tick, tick, tick telling us to hurry, hurry, hurry, time is money … resulting in this roaring blur called the human race.

But Jesus stands against the tide, countering the crescendo with these words: “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). Follow the example of Jesus, who “often withdrew into the wilderness and prayed” (Luke 5:16).

God rested after six days of work, and the world didn’t collapse. What makes us think it will if we do? (Or do we fear it won’t?)

Follow Jesus into the desert. A thousand and one voices will scream like banana-tree monkeys telling you not to. Ignore them. Heed him. Quit your work. Contemplate his. Accept your Maker’s invitation: “Come aside by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while” (Mark 6:31).

And while you are there, enjoy some blackberries.

From Cure for the Common Life: Living in Your Sweet Spot
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 2005) Max Lucado

Listen my child To what Your father teaches you today....

1 Listen, my sons, to a father's instruction; pay attention and gain understanding.
2 I give you sound learning, so do not forsake my teaching.
3 When I was a boy in my father's house, still tender, and an only child of my mother,
4 he taught me and said, "Lay hold of my words with all your heart; keep my commands and you will live.
5 Get wisdom, get understanding; do not forget my words or swerve from them.
6 Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you.
7 Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, [a] get understanding.
8 Esteem her, and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she will honor you.
9 She will set a garland of grace on your head and present you with a crown of splendor."
10 Listen, my son, accept what I say, and the years of your life will be many.
11 I guide you in the way of wisdom and lead you along straight paths.
12 When you walk, your steps will not be hampered; when you run, you will not stumble.
13 Hold on to instruction, do not let it go; guard it well, for it is your life.
14 Do not set foot on the path of the wicked or walk in the way of evil men.
15 Avoid it, do not travel on it; turn from it and go on your way.
16 For they cannot sleep till they do evil; they are robbed of slumber till they make someone fall.
17 They eat the bread of wickedness and drink the wine of violence.
18 The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter till the full light of day.
19 But the way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble.
20 My son, pay attention to what I say; listen closely to my words.
21 Do not let them out of your sight, keep them within your heart;
22 for they are life to those who find them and health to a man's whole body.
23 Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.
24 Put away perversity from your mouth; keep corrupt talk far from your lips.
25 Let your eyes look straight ahead, fix your gaze directly before you.
26 Make level [b] paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm.
27 Do not swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil.

---Proverbs 4

thank you for Your Love

WHATEVER HAPPENED, HAPPENED FOR A REASON. ^^

You are amazing!!!!!!!

Raisin In the Salad

I've just come back, and I have been having this mirth all the time. Maybe God has been touching me with joy or something.

^^

God has been good.

***

I just hope people claiming to be Christians would stop making Christianity as a raisin to a salad. It's like becoming a form of religion or ritual or affiliation. but, it's not...it's more than that. CHRIST-ianity is more like blood to a person...you cannot live without it.

It is an intimacy with your Savior. It is a relationship.

If one has not been conscious of sins, the very things that displease or violate the law of the God of love...I would say, one has not really built that love at all.

It is a shame. It's a shame that they who are privileged to know about Christ...to be involved in a bible believing church...those who have all the opportunity to behold Him...they have taken these things for granted.

***

Living like they do not need a Father to instruct them. Oh, how Christ has been misrepresented.

***

I mourn not because I judge them for being hypos. But I mourn that they sometimes publicly humiliate Christ whose name they carry by their speech and by the way they live.

Denying Christ for a minute of fame.

****

Spat upon. Beaten. Blood shut eyes. Crowned with thorns. NAked. nailed on the cross. heart pierced. blood dropped to the ground.

...and you still say I am Extreme?

***

It is our lack of trust that we disobey.

When do we say to Him...

you are worthy of everything...even our obedience...?

When do we really revere or simply LOVE Him...?

When do we really believe Him if what we're doing is contrary to what He preaches...?

***

and even amidst all of our unfaithfulness...He remains faithful.

***

You Love never fails, Jesus!

I Own The Notebook...

for now.so i rule it. haha. My siblings are going to be out for a couple of days. my sister has just gone to Manila for a business appointment. And my bro has just gone to a retreat. they are back on friday! ^^ yeey. so a week of notebook-ing for me!

so expect a flood of posts from me ^^ this week i have learned SO much. learning can never be exhausted.

I have learned that trading off something valuable for something cheap can happen not only to the dumb but for most intellectual of men as well. Guess it's true that being wise is different from mere being smart or something.

And no matter what, there is a monster inside each of us. we will just have to learn to control it...or if not, we let it bow down to our prowess...letting that monster know who the boss is.

***

anyway, im leaving in a second hehe. so, all these other realizations and etc....will be later posted. ^^ the weather is cool. i just remember autumn. and suddenly, i feel courageous again.

The autumn in Australia,I was. I surmise, how I had felt at that time. i would call that autumn..."Wounded in a battle, but Victory was mine".

^^ see yah later! im quite enjoying the drip, and everythin. will be hanging out with friends...jogging around It Park at dusk...^^ we may not witness the sunset...but maybe ^^ this time...even winds console us...^^ they are our brother ...hmm poems and more poems...!!! ^^

***thank you God.

Free Newspapers

" Yeah, they say, what's the use of giving these people free newspapers about iPad? They cannot afford it anyway..."

" But when they see it, and know about it, they will start to dream about it. and when they do, they will start to do something about it". .

I befriended Immaturity, and Blindness loved me…but Prosperity rejected me.

When I Befriended Immaturity . . .

Immaturity is a happy-go-lucky, and I immediately liked her.

She wears a smile all the time, telling me, things are “gonna be ohight mahn” , “juz don’t mind that little problahm of youhs and that leetle prohblam will go away”

And do I so take her advice. She is simply “cool”.

When I had a fight with Discipline, my once loyal best friend, I did go to Immaturity. Like an angel sent from heaven, there she told me once again, “hey mahn, Discipline just wants to change you, mahn. Tha’ kill joy, mahn. Oh I hate that kinda people.” I ditched Discipline. From then on… Immaturity has become my new best friend.


I played games with Immaturity, like the “ Life-is-too-short, so- chill”game, “ It’s-okay-to-violate-rules-as-long-as-no-one-knows-about-it”game, “Be happy and don’t care who you-might-step-on” game, and “Discipline-and-her-followers-should-die” game.

***

Then I met Blindness…

Blindness is Immaturity’s beautiful, beautiful mother. She shines like a queen in a kingdom. She never ages. Her beauty never fades. Men adore her. Young women admire her.

Her words are aroma to the entire place. People listen to her.

Immaturity is just one of Blindness’s children. Among her siblings known are Small Vision, Mediocrity, Vanity, Folly, and Stupidity.

When I was at their glamorous house, we had a feast on the bread of idleness, cake of hypocrisy, and wine of childishness.

***********to be continued! ~~~ ^^

Insensitivity is NO Love

Mashonda, Wife of Swizz Beatz, Letters Alicia Keys About “Adulterous” Behavior (Read)

( * I read this after I read an article about Alicia Keys just giving birth to his baby son ( from Swizz Beatz). I have always loved A K ...but I would be lying to myself If I would say that the article above did not change my opinion...big time)

a Pause

I left fb for a moment. I just need to stay away from being so much in public. hehe. and the good thing is, I can rekindle my writing in here again. as you may have noticed, in the last couple of months, the entries would get down to the lowest of 1.

so here. a pause is very essential. if i had paused the last time, i could have prevented myself from publicly humiliating someone. but at the same time, if i had not paused, i would not have known what kind of a man he was. enough of this issue.

move on. a pause makes you think in a more reasonable and appropriate way. a pause gives a clearer picture. a pause will allow you to breathe, concentrate, thus an increase in brain activity...leading to a more vivid mindset.

a pause opens to not only look on the superficial but also the details of things. a pause is needed for those people who have all these turmoils, emotionally and physically.

***

as i passed the neighborhood, a little girl about age 6 or so, told her friend, " kung mudaku ku, ganahan ku mapareha niya ( when i grow up, i want to be like her ) " with a finger pointing at me. i smiled.

the reason why i have been so active teaching younger kids and women is because i want them to live a better life than what our generation of women has lived. we have had the highest, probably, in premarital sex, feministic viewpoints, and marrying foreigners as their ticket for greener pastures, and the likes in these days and age.

and the biggest inspiration for me to not give up being a better person and a better woman is because of these next generations. i want them to grasp how a woman whose identity is in Christ lives.

(*¹Wives, in the same way be submissive to your husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives, ²when they see the purity and reverence of your lives. ³Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. ⁴Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight - - -1 Peter 3 ) ----that includes a "pausing Spirit " hehe

i am so far yet of becoming that perfect woman Christ wants me to be. but i have been fixing my eyes on that vision of God's perfect will for my life.

Glory. i claim God's glory be displayed in my life. And He who makes everything glorious...will make me that glorious woman. for His showing off of His glory hehe

have been listening to this David Crowder band lyrics ( Everything Glorious ) * i love the lyrics!:

The day is brighter here with You
The night is lighter than its hue
Would lead me to believe
Which leads me to believe

(chorus)
You make everything glorious
You make everything glorious
You make everything glorious
And I am Yours

What does that make me? :)

S.O.R.R.Y.

Oh God, I am terrible. I feel terrible.

I don't know how many Sorrys will suffice.

Oh God, I am terrible. I feel terrible.

Careless actions. Hammering words.

They had been done.

I am sorry.

I know not how many sorrys take

to get this guilt feeling away.

My heart mourns for what I have done...please accept my plea.

I...well...I am but imperfect..this is marring our friendship...

Only God heals this brokenness between us.

I am Terribly sorry.

I know not how many sorrys will suffice.

to take this guilt feeling away....

NO, YOU DON'T

KNOW ME. SO STOP REDUCING ME AS SOMEONE. COZ REALLY, I CAN'T BE REDUCED.

I KNOW YOU CAN NEVER TRULY UNDERSTAND ME. BUT PLEASE STOP PRETENDING THAT YOU DO.

DON'T TALK WITH ME ANYMORE. AND DON'T EVER TRY TO LET ME THINK YOU CARE...BECAUSE I KNOW YOU DON'T.

YOU DM! STOP IT!

Dragged to my Destiny

There's a beautiful message I have received today from our dearest pastor.

Said" You can never reach your potential outside of God's purpose."

"God has designed you for a purpose. It's no brainer. It will drag you to its fulfillment. And you are going to do what makes your heart filled with joy"

***

I guess...I am falling into your calling now. If I only ignore everything else, and focus. ^^

***

This day, MOD talked with me. Jokingly, he was asking about my eyes, and said that The Movement did not push through because of my sore eyes.

I asked him how he knew about it. And he was just saying that there were "tabi-an" who would talk.

Well, it is good that we're friends now. I mean, we're cool now. ^^

Ecclesiastes 3:11 for my MOD

I Really Don't Care for a Man who. . .

disrespects women.

Disrespect has so many forms. But this I know...disrespect is selfishness. It doesn't think of the other party's feelings. It only thinks of his own, his animalistic appetite.

As I always say, I am a minimalist. If you just mess up with my life...if there's no more willingness to help me become better... If you are just there, giving me a speck of dirt for me to clean up... I would be okay with it if you were willing to admit you're a muck. but if not, I would not be your grandma to give you that cleaning...Grow up!

***

So when the uhm this DM ( Disrespectful Man...i arrived without creativity now, sorry hehe ) came, he just knew what to say...that I almost fell for him. tsk. tsk.

I would have known better that he was just like the same specie whom I had encountered before. haha.

The DMs don't think of others, or women specifically, because they are too self-absorbed. And they don't really persevere...I mean, since they're not serious...they play games with that who is there, available, and "mukagat"...or who is having fun with the whole flirting game.

At first, that would be fun. But, when real emotions emerge, (most women the victims ), the whole heart-muck tornado aka "GGB" happens. Women are not content. They are just made like that. They want to be loved and cherished ( as they should be, ayt? )

***

But they, the DMs, just go out, having fun, trying to test every woman who is "game" for the game. He DOES NOT even know what he wants. He simply USES women out of boredom, or for his own satisfaction.

The DM is selfish. He just doesn't know it.

***

In Bisaya, ganahan naku isulti nga: Ay' ku ilara, doh! Mura'g wasad ku ka meet pareha nimu, dah! Haha. I just wana delete you now from my memory...even in fb haha ( but no need for that..you're just a history now ) . You are not special. You are just the same as the men I have had...now would you belong to these:

the cheater graphic architect,

the uuuber confident bank manager,

the i-can-buy you businessman,

the scammy, psycho liar,

the self-centered, conceited bassist,

the user, classmate who always asks for help sa iyang assignments ug tests?

***so you really wana belong to them? and you still wana hook up with me?

uhm, thanks, but no thanks!

***

The world needs healing. It doesn't need you!

Coffee or Tea...or Joice?

If given the choice, choice the best. - Andy Calope

***

After I graduated and actually became a nurse, there, lo and behold, were the Rocky Road ice cream, Blueberry Cheesecake, and Korean Kimchi laid on a silver platter. ( They were also called, Australia, US, and London ( to be my workplace, yeah ). )

All were wonderful choices. Seemingly. Yet is life just but a gamble? What life gives you, would you just but take it? Or, would you give life a life?

You can always choose a path of least resistance. But would you?

I could. But Life is not mine to have. Sovereignty holds it.

I dare you to choose. Choice the best.

***

This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.

-Deuteronomy 30:19

HOLD YOUR TONGUE

If I do NOT speak, it does NOT mean I do NOT know.

It only means I don't think I need to tell you that

your obvious hints are pathetic.





"When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise." (Proverbs 10:19)

Purpose & Identity

When you lose your identity,

you also lose your purpose.

***

When you know what you are born to do,

nothing or no one in heaven nor on earth,

can ever stop you from achieving it...

except yourself.

***

The source of identity is Him.

Windows

"Open the door, Lord that is for me! And close the doors that are not for me!", I was praying in the jeepney. Suddenly after i uttered those,

naa sa su-uk nga dalan, nakakita ku'g signage:

WINDOWS OF HEAVEN

Market

***naa padiay pwde sudlan sa? dili rah pultahan.

nangutana nahinu-un ku unsa ni nga panghitabu-a...

When I Love.

When I Love.

When I Love.

I was in a group of single moms just trying to know other people’s thoughts about love. Eventually, one of them said, “ Who knows what love really is. Sometimes, it’s hard to know”. For people who know me better, they know that my favorite, undying topic is Love. Looking back, I realized sitting in that group, confused. Love is defined by philosophers, theologists , psychologists, etc….even variously defined by culture.

Because of this mad confusion fed to us by love songs and googoo movies, people became mad themselves about love. Sometimes, defending being so possessive by a spouse as love…or killing themselves because their girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/live in partner has abandoned them. In this case, Love is lethal. A poisonous addiction.

Yet, we all know we need Love. Love makes the world go round. It puts a smile on our faces when we see the person we love. At the same time, Love makes us feel good, right?

Love is a complex issue. Honestly, it’s true that it’s never easily defined.

I don’t confess to know about Love completely, but I’ll try to reduce some confusion about True Love by what I know now. Since, I’m trying to understand the love of God (which is better yet experienced), I would like to share what Love is and what it is not to the best of my knowledge.

1. Love entails SACRIFICE.

The Father in Heaven did not just give any offerings for the redemption of His people.To demonstrate his Love, He gave no less than His best—His most beloved son.

Some women justify the cheap gifts from their rich boyfriends, saying their boyfriends are just thrifty…blablabla. Thing is, it’s not really about the price of the gift. But it’s how willing he is to pay the price for what you want.

2. Love does NOT FORCE its way. It always gives FREEDOM.

I have been asked this question, “Why didn’t God just give us all a will to do His will all the time?” Then I responded,” And, would you want to act as a robot?” When God said, “ Choose Life. ( Deuteronomy 30:19), God had given us the right to choose. In His Love, He did not create us to be His robots. He longed that we would choose to love Him instead of forcing His way to us.

It’s funny to hear those marriage jokes. There are so many of them passed in text messages. Usually, it talks about getting choked when you are already married. In Love, you are making the person do what he needs to do. It’s never controlling. And if he chooses to do the right things that make you happy, then he has chosen to show that love to you.

3. Love DOES NOT KEEP record of wrongs.

The prodigal son arose and came to his father. But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. ²¹ And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
²² “But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring^[b] out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet. ²³ And bring the fatted calf here and kill it, and let us eat and be merry; ²⁴ for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ And they began to be merry. (Luke 11: 20-24)

The father shut him off with his kisses. He could have said “ What did you do? You left and now you’re here?!! Ha!” So typical of us to remind the people we fight with all their mistakes. As if we are perfect and never make mistakes.

4. Love is an ACTION or a DEMONSTRATION.

God did not just say he loved us (though he did say he did), but he made it real by his demonstration. He opened His arms and let the people nail and pierce his wrists with large nails as surrender for us all. It was finished by His death. He did that for the redemption of mankind.

I know better. I have lists of people who have said they loved me, but what made it fake was their lack of respect toward me, abusing words, and absence of care. Words are of no sense until it became flesh and real.

5. Love is UNCONDITIONAL.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. ( Romans 5:8 )

God so loved the World that He gave … It did NOT say, He loved the lovable.Itsaid, “the World”.

If we are honest enough, most of the time, we love only those who are lovable. As a young child, we have been taught of the reward system. If you did well at school, you would be given your favorite stuff, but if not, you would not be given anything. Love does not require anything like a return. It is like a gift. You don’t have to pay for a gift.

We want to be loved by people who do not require any pressure for us to be good and wonderful enough for them to love us. But, there is better than that.It is to go ahead and love others without too much of a demand from them to be pleasing enough for us.

Go ahead!

LOVE!

It’s free.

It’s liberating.

This is a reminder that love does not end even though the love month ends this day.~~~

This entry was posted on February 27, 2009 at 8:52 pm and is filed under Uncategorized . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

THOUGHTS ON BEING A WOMAN ( brief and localized )

Sunday. Yesterday's events:

1. A Married male friend already confessed he liked my female friend, amidst all my rebuke: "di ku ganahan imu nan'g buhatun.take time, but don't do things that are not well-though-of."

2. Had trouble finding an outfit for church ( okay, this would account for something hehe...tell you later )

3. When I was in the prayer room, worshiping using the guitar and praying, a group of young women and senior women went there. I was caught off-handed to lead the worship ( came very unprepared I was. I was asked what song I knew ...uhm, I had never played the guitar for a long time, and that in my mind by far since my hiatus, I only learned 2 songs which were not that popular; hence, hard for them to know the lyrics ) Thank God, I managed to lead them to free worship hehe ( my abstract art excuse for lack of knowledge hehe but by far cool since it was spontaneous )

4. Not only was I to lead the worship, I had to speak words to them ( again, unprepared, or something...i was asking Guidance...while covering my a bit nervous feeling with big grins).

5. Finally able to deliver God's word to the women from the ages12 to 21. The Spirit of discernment helped me to utter words that I would not even know for myself.

6. Went to watch Eigasai ( alone) for a Japanese film about a family in Ayala.

7. After watching, I of course had to pass Terraces before I could go to the terminal. A Group of young adults, who looked handsome and rich, was trying to greet me or something which made me think they could have thought I was one of the few women there..nga ga prosti2x sa Ayala( amidst my formal attire * black blazer, and a knee to below knee length dress*...(*Many women who are so beautiful and look "professional", even, prostitute themselves. on those hours in Ayala )

***

Women women women! If you want to know about some issues of women that are seemingly subtle, I had them realized yesterday. Here they are:

1. Being A Wife of a not loyal husband. Even just having his heart beat for someone else is a pain. She could ask herself what else he needs, or what she lacks. Insecurity then comes in.

2. Being liked by a married man. this, too, can make a woman feel awful.

2. Finding an outfit can be stressful. dapat dili ka seductive tan-awn. para sad dili sundun ug tan-aw imung dughan or paa, or unsa pah. dapat pud, mu-angay sa imung edad, dili rka murag teenager. For men, this would not be equally as hard as for women.

3. Being a daughter of a father who has a mistress. When you are young, you would have asked your mom to take care of you. But what if your mom is so far away?

4. The worth of a woman is so defined by their shape and look, then skills. For the younger women, no one would crush them if they're fat or not white, etc. Women can also be defined by their intelligence or lack of it.

5. A mother. It's hard to work hard, especially if you're a single mom, then your child simply squanders your hard earned money.

6. It becomes so hard to be single, and available. Good thing, the gentleman God and Father can be with you, and will go before you.

Which Level of Relationship Do You Have? < the Dorisian Theory >

disclaimer: I am not an expert in relationships, nor do i have a degree on BS - Relationship Studies. You may believe what I think, or not. I just think that this has helped me a lot with my different relationships with people, and have prevented me unnecessary pains brought by people who have come in my life.

In addition, I really do not know if studies on the leveling of relationships have already been made. or anything like this view has already been studied.

My own leveling of relationship can help people ( according to my theory (or not my theory..ambut kung naa na'y naka una ) ) on how they should react to a certain type of relationship.

This has arose when a friend of mine asked me about my relationship with a "lover". She asked, "So, what level of commitment do you have? ". I was 21 at that time. Young and very consumed with the idea of "being in love", and "being loved", I thought, "is there such a thing as a "level of commitment"? And if so, what were the things I should do and not do when I were in that level...?

"Relationship", according to Merriam Webster, is the state of being related or connected.

So, for the sake of this, uhm, Dorisian theory, we'll use that definition.

okay, enough of the intro.here are the different types of relationships, numbered by their levels ( 1/Level 1( the lowest level) , and 10/ level 10 ( the highest level) :

1. I-Know-Him

You go to the same school. So, you know him.
You read the book he's written, so you think you know him. You are just a fan. He knows your face, but doesn't really know your name.
The most shallow.

2. He-Knows-Whom-I-Know

So your friend introduces him. He is known by your friend, so you think you also know him. Your friend likes him, so you think you'll also like him. Your friend says he is very smart, good, etc...so you believe your friend.

3. Kilig Kilig Relationship

Whenever you feel physically attracted to someone, or vice versa, you think your hormones and heart are one. so, because you're kilig, whatever he says, does,...you have become his slave. when he says, he loves you, 90 to 100 percent of the time you believe him. you shut your screaming brain off. he does not know what makes you happy or that your favorite color is black. he doesn't even know your middle name. in short, he does not care about you, as long as he feels some form of a hype feeling /kilig in him ( now we know what it's called...some call it, "libido" ) that you can give him.
some would even give their virginity for this cheap kind of relationship.


4. Common Interest Partner

You go to the same club, organization, school, or church. He knows your name.
you go to the same book club. you realize he also reads Jessica Zafra books, and memorizes Jessica Zafra lines. you then think you're a match. uhm, mostly wrong.

5. Virtual friend/lover

So he comments/likes your status/photos/notes/links, etc on facebook. He looks cool on the photos. He is decent, you can see. His friends are great people. His family seems nice.
He texts you everyday, or calls you.
He chats you on the messenger or facebook. night and day, forever (duh).
All you know about him is his words on your cell phone or facebook or etc., or photos uploaded by him.
Virtual relationships do not work ( if they remain virtual for a long time ) for lovers. Most of the time, words in facebooks or cell phones are too much calculated. Better see them personally to see how they react. There are still gestures, tones of voices you ought to consider. He must personally see your family, friends, etc. and experience the people in your life personally, and vice versa.

6. Long Distance Relationship

The title speaks for itself. Long. Distance. This COULD work for those who have known each other for a long time and have engaged each other personally before the physical separation happens( But even then there's no guarantee ). However, for those people who have just gotten to know each other, there is just a very slim chance. getting to know each other stage then distant? nah, i don't think so.

7. Blood Relationship

Well, you share the same DNA. studies show that even personalities of people are greatly affected by their DNA ( eg, a criminal parent produces a criminal child...there's even called a "criminal gene" ). you may hate your parents, but admit it, you even share the same jargons and melody of speech. and yes, blood is thicker than water.


8. Spiritual Accountability Partners

This includes both of you being intimate with God together. If you learn to pray together and for each other, you'll soon realize, not only your spirits connect with God, but your spirits connect with each other.

9. Husband - Wife Relationship

You live in the same house, share the same bed, food, TV ( and TV shows ), toothpaste, and even, soap. most especially you unite yourself physically and are the parents of another human being you both produce. you have joint accounts, and you have joint problems as well.

10. Creator-Created Relationship

A created will learn to be transparent to his Creator-- who knows what he thinks and feels, his past, present, and future, and the words he is about to say even before he speaks them. In a capsule, this is the highest form of relationship coz this intimacy knows no bound. no time, nor space, nor circumstance, nor wrongdoing (or rightdoing) can separate this love relationship.

Writing is Chaos

So, I've got some feedback with my last post. Yes, read the bossy title. The feedback would be mostly about how I was f*cked up ( forgive the language ). It did not give most people the good impression of me...magnifying my rant, instead of the conclusion. Ranting is human but putting things in the right perspective is divine.
The rant was not supposed to be the gist of it all.

Well,that was not the first time that a write-up of mine was misunderstood.

Only one friend understood the main thought. I guess one factor is the fact that she knows me, and she has read most of my writings. So for that, I thank her.

But for those who have, time and again, misunderstood my article, well, hehe...

In Literature, criticisms are various:

biographical, historical, cultural, formalistic, subjective...

So I completely understand that a person may interpret it, according to the formalistic approach, or what, or may be according to their own experiences.

If you know me, I make hyperbole, and sinister jokes...but they should not be taken or reflected as the way they are said. I meant them to be exaggerated.



As I was contesting whether or not I would write again...I still think That I will continue to write...until people would solve the puzzle. of what an article mean. or who i really am. ^^

YES, SHITS! THEN WHAT?

I mark this day- July 31. Have been fighting to smile, but victory's mine. Take that, Spoiler of Joy.

At around 8:40 am, I woke up, feeling satisfied with the long hours of sleep I had had. It was my dayoff. Or so I thought. Until...

1 missed call ( from ana, my workmate ), 2 messages ( from our team leader ).

"doris, V. ( the manager ) asked me why you're absent. you're scheduled to work today...etc" " ---first message

"..you should text V..." ---second message



I cannot be very lax about me being in my position for two years now...and even with the fact that we, who remain, are only very few. I still can't get over the fact that I have missed my work day, the 3rd time. It was as if I could now not be trusted by our very stern yet wise manager.

At around 11 am, I was trying to look for my wallet with quite an amount in it. It has not been found since yesterday. When my mom knew about the loss, she was like that cursing wife of Job, making a big fuss out of it, like she just lost seven children, a home, and her whole livestock.

Got irritated I was.I felt a bit terrible, that I rested on my bed. Not minding I had my class at 12pm at CNU ( an hour ride from here ). I got up at around 1:30 pm. I had already missed my Cebuano class.

Planning to still catch up for my Spanish class, I took a bath and was preparing myself to leave. When I looked up at the clock that it was already 3pm, I was feeling too devastated, with the plete ( fare ) just for an hour class ( since I was going to be late *again) So, I decided it was not worth it, and did not push through.

I went to my room, took the guitar, sang a song or two...trying not to smash the guitar for its mistuned strings ( which by the way I had no skill to tune )...At that time, I did not want to be Type A Miss Perfection.

I strummed, plucked, and loved the mistuned strings. They were, seemingly, my friends.

Late 4pm, my mom's rant about her oh-so-burdensome-financial-problems, and my aunt's rant about her husband's, "kalami ipakamatay ani" ("it feels good to commit suicide " ) agony after lacking money to pay their workers off bombed the whole area. its sound was like 5million decibels. It ransacked my ears, brain, intestines...


I just want some peace of mind, will you...?! I am trying to write an article here.

My dad arrived, and my mom reported, "Oi 'dy! Si Doris..iyang pitaka..!!" That was it. after a short retort, I took the headphone, 100 volume.all volumes up...and listened to :

"You're closer than our trouble..."




"And do not grumble, as some of them did..." 1 Corinthians 10:10

***

We may not change the situations or circumstances, at the moment, but we can change our reactions. Listen to those who really love God..Rarely do I hear them grumble, even when they're mom is dying of cancer, or when a plate is thrown into their face because of their love for Jesus. All praises still.

The last person I want to be with is a complainer. Complaints show ingratitude of God's love and blessings.His love is enough. His love is worth it ALL.

I realize that a person is best known NOT BY HIS ACTION, but by his REACTION. Faith is really visible not when everything is fine and dandy, but when all hell breaks loose. It is when a grape is squeezed that its essence is identified.



***
a poem I had memorized when I was a grader reminded me how terrible it is to whine...

“Forgive Me When I Whine”

Today upon a bus I saw a lovely maiden with golden hair;

I envied her—so beautiful, and how, I wished I were so fair;

When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle;

She had one foot and wore a crutch,

but as she passed, she wore a smile

Oh God, forgive me when I whine,

I have two feet –the world is mine



And when I stopped to buy some sweets,

the lad who served me had such charm;

he seemed to radiate good cheer, his manner was so kind and warm;

I said, “it’s nice to deal with you, such courtesy I seldom find;”

He turned and said, “Oh, thank you sir.”

And then I saw that he was blind.

Oh, God, forgive me when I whine,

I have two eyes, the world is mine.



Then when walking down the street,

I saw a child with eyes of blue;

He stood and watched the others play,

it seemed he knew not what to do;

I stopped a moment, then I said,

“Why don’t you join the others, dear?

He looked ahead without a word,

I realized –he could not hear.

Oh God, forgive me when I whine,

I have two ears, the world is mine



With feet to take me where I’d go,

with eyes to see the sunsets glow,

with ears to hear what I would know,

I am blessed indeed.

The world is mine Oh God, forgive me when I whine.

Nietzsche Day

okay. now, i am back, again. maybe the changes i have made on the designs made me...or maybe, i am just inspired to write, again. and so i hope to make a meaningful, inspirational post, or so i hope.

actually, since i want to go back to painting - the Raw Kind that is, conceptualized by Jean Dubuffet, i have found out that my style in writing and painting might be quite similar. The Dubuffet theory is used for mentally ill patients, wherein they use art as a means to unveil their subconscious thoughts.

they would start using colors, sketches, then you extract the emotions from it. or sometimes, realize the images tell a story. and so i start to scribble loose thoughts.

and maybe find something in it. or maybe not.

***

maybe this post doesn't need to be meaningful. or maybe just the process of writing is the goal itself.

“Not every end is the goal. The end of a melody is not its goal, and yet if a melody has not reached its end, it has not reached its goal. A parable.” - Friederich Nietzsche

Through The Tunnel By Doris

Through the Tunnel
By Doris Lessing

Going to the shore on the first morning of the holiday, the young English boy stopped at a turning of the path and looked down at a wild and rocky bay, and then over to the crowded beach he knew so well from other years. His mother walked on in front of him, carrying a bright-striped bag in one hand. Her other arm, swinging loose, was very white in the sun. The boy watched that white, naked arm, and turned his eyes, which had a frown behind them, toward the bay and back again to his mother. When she felt he was not with her, she swung around. "Oh, there you are, Jerry!" she said. She looked impatient, then smiled. "Why, darling, would you rather not come with me? Would you rather-" She frowned, conscientiously worrying over what amusements he might secretly be longing for which she had been too busy or too careless to imagine. He was very familiar with that anxious, apologetic smile. Contrition sent him running after her. And yet, as he ran, he looked back over his shoulder at the wild bay; and all morning, as he played on the safe beach, he was thinking of it.


Next morning, when it was time for the routine of swimming and sunbathing, his mother said, "Are you tired of the usual beach, Jerry? Would you like to go somewhere else?"


"Oh, no!" he said quickly, smiling at her out of that unfailing impulse of contrition - a sort of chivalry. Yet, walking down the path with her, he blurted out, "I'd like to go and have a look at those rocks down there."

She gave the idea her attention. It was a wild-looking place, and there was no one there, but she said, "Of course, Jerry. When you've had enough come to the big beach. Or just go straight back to the villa, if you like." She walked away, that bare arm, now slightly reddened from yesterday's sun, swinging. And he almost ran after her again, feeling it unbearable that she should go by herself, but he did not.


She was thinking, Of course he's old enough to be safe without me. Have I been keeping him too close? He mustn't feel he ought to be with me. I must be careful.

He was an only child, eleven years old. She was a widow. She was determined to be neither possessive nor lacking in devotion. She went worrying off to her beach.

As for Jerry, once he saw that his mother had gained her beach, he began the steep descent to the bay. From where he was, high up among red-brown rocks, it was a scoop of moving bluish green fringed with white. As he went lower, he saw that it spread among small promontories and inlets of rough, sharp rock, and the crisping, lapping surface showed stains of purple and darker blue. Finally, as he ran sliding and scraping down the last few yards, he saw an edge of white surf, and the shallow, luminous movement of water over white sand, and, beyond that, a solid, heavy blue.

He ran straight into the water and began swimming. He was a good swimmer. He went out fast over the gleaming sand, over a middle region where rocks lay like discoloured monsters under the surface, and then he was in the real sea - a warm sea where irregular cold currents from the deep water shocked his limbs.

When he was so far out that he could look back not only on the little bay but past the promontory that was between it and the big beach, he floated on the buoyant surface and looked for his mother. There she was, a speck of yellow under an umbrella that looked like a slice of orange peel. He swam back to shore, relieved at being sure she was there, but all at once very lonely.

On the edge of a small cape that marked the side of the bay away from the promontory was a loose scatter of rocks. Above them, some boys were stripping off their clothes. They came running, naked, down to the rocks. The English boy swam towards them, and kept his distance at a stone's throw. They were of that coast, all of them burned smooth dark brown, and speaking a language he did not understand. To be with them, of them, was a craving that filled his whole body. He swam a little closer; they turned and watched him with narrowed, alert dark eyes. Then one smiled and waved. It was enough. In a minute, he had swum in and was on the rocks beside them, smiling with a desperate, nervous supplication. They shouted cheerful greetings at him, and then, as he preserved his nervous, uncomprehending smile, they understood that he was a foreigner strayed from his own beach, and they proceeded to forget him. But he was happy. He was with them.

They began diving again and again from a high point into a well of blue sea between rough, pointed rocks. After they had dived and come up, they swam around, hauled themselves up, and waited their turn to dive again. They were big boys — men to Jerry. He dived, and they watched him, and when he swam around to take his place, they made way for him. He felt he was accepted, and he dived again, carefully, proud of himself.

Soon the biggest of the boys poised himself, shot down into the water, and did not come up. The others stood about, watching. Jerry, after waiting for the sleek brown head to appear, let out a yell of warning; they looked at him idly and turned their eyes back towards the water. After a long time, the boy came up on the other side of a big dark rock, letting the air out of his lungs in a spluttering gasp and a shout of triumph. Immediately, the rest of them dived in. One moment, the morning seemed full of chattering boys; the next, the air and the surface of the water were empty. But through the heavy blue, dark shapes could be seen moving and groping.

Jerry dived, shot past the school of underwater swimmers, saw a black wall of rock looming at him, touched it, and bobbed up at once to the surface, where the wall was a low barrier he could see across. There was no one visible; under him, in the water, the dim shapes of the swimmers had disappeared. Then one, and then another of the boys came up on the far side of the barrier of rock, and he understood that they had swum through some gap or hole in it. He plunged down again. He could see nothing through the stinging salt water but the blank rock. When he came up, the boys were all on the diving rock, preparing to attempt the feat again. And now, in a panic of failure, he yelled up, in English, "Look at me! Look!" and he began splashing and kicking in the water like a foolish dog.


They looked down gravely, frowning. He knew the frown. At moments of failure, when he clowned to claim his mother's attention, it was with just this grave, embarrassed inspection that she rewarded him. Through his hot shame, feeling the pleading grin on his face like a scar that he could never remove, he looked up at the group of big brown boys on the rock and shouted, "Bonjour! Merci! Au revoir! Monsieur, monsieur!" while he hooked his fingers round his ears and waggled them.

Water surged into his mouth; he choked, sank, came up. The rock, lately weighed with boys, seemed to rear up out of the water as their weight was removed. They were flying down past him, now, into the water; the air was full of falling bodies. Then the rock was empty in the hot sunlight. He counted one, two, three . . . .

At fifty, he was terrified. They must all be drowning beneath him, in the watery caves of the rock! At a hundred, he stared around him at the empty hillside, wondering if he should yell for help. He counted faster, faster, to hurry them up, to bring them to the surface quickly, to drown them quickly - anything rather than the terror of counting on and on into the blue emptiness of the morning. And then, at a hundred and sixty, the water beyond the rock was full of boys blowing like brown whales. They swam back to the shore without a look at him.


He climbed back to the diving rock and sat down, feeling the hot roughness of it under his thighs. The boys were gathering up their bits of clothing and running off along the shore to another promontory. They were leaving to get away from him. He cried openly, fists in his eyes. There was no one to see him, and he cried himself out.

It seemed to him that a long time had passed, and he swam out to where he could see his mother. Yes, she was still there, a yellow spot under an orange umbrella. He swam back to the big rock, climbed up, and dived into the blue pool among the fanged and angry boulders. Down he went, until he touched the wall of rock again. But the salt was so painful in his eyes that he could not see.

He came to the surface, swam to shore and went back to the villa to wait for his mother. Soon she walked slowly up the path, swinging her striped bag, the flushed, naked arm dangling beside her. "I want some swimming goggles," he panted, defiant and beseeching.

She gave him a patient, inquisitive look as she said casually, "Well, of course, darling."


But now, now, now! He must have them this minute, and no other time. He nagged and pestered until she went with him to a shop. As soon as she had bought the goggles, he grabbed them from her hand as if she were going to claim them for herself, and was off, running down the steep path to the bay.

Jerry swam out to the big barrier rock, adjusted the goggles, and dived. The impact of the water broke the rubber-enclosed vacuum, and the goggles came loose. He understood that he must swim down to the base of the rock from the surface of the water. He fixed the goggles tight and firm, filled his lungs, and floated, face down, on the water. Now he could see. It was as if he had eyes of a different kind — fish eyes that showed everything clear and delicate and wavering in the bright water.


Under him, six or seven feet down, was a floor of perfectly clean, shining white sand, rippled firm and hard by the tides. Two greyish shapes steered there, like long, rounded pieces of wood or slate. They were fish. He saw them nose towards each other, poise motionless, make a dart forward, swerve off, and come around again. It was like a water dance. A few inches above them, the water sparkled as if sequins were dropping through it. Fish again — myriads of minute fish, the length of his fingernail, were drifting through the water, and in a moment he could feel the innumerable tiny touches of them against his limbs. It was like swimming in flaked silver. The great rock the big boys had swum through rose sheer out of the white sand, black, tufted lightly with greenish weed. He could see no gap in it. He swam down to its base.

Again and again he rose, took a big chestful of air, and went down. Again and again he groped over the surface of the rock, feeling it, almost hugging it in the desperate need to find the entrance. And then, once, while he was clinging to the black wall, his knees came up and he shot his feet out forward and they met no obstacle. He had found the hole.

He gained the surface, clambered about the stones that littered the barrier rock until he found a big one, and, with this in his arms, let himself down over the side of the rock. He dropped, with the weight, straight to the sandy floor. Clinging tight to the anchor of stone, he lay on his side and looked in under the dark shelf at the place where his feet had gone. He could see the hole. It was an irregular, dark gap, but he could not see deep into it. He let go of his anchor, clung with his hands to the edges of the hole, and tried to push himself in.

He got his head in, found his shoulders jammed, moved them in sidewise, and was inside as far as his waist. He could see nothing ahead. Something soft and clammy touched his mouth, he saw a dark frond moving against the greyish rock, and panic filled him. He thought of octopuses, of clinging weed. He pushed himself out backward and caught a glimpse, as he retreated, of a harmless tentacle of seaweed drifting in the mouth of the tunnel. But it was enough. He reached the sunlight, swam to shore, and lay on the diving rock. He looked down into the blue well of water. He knew he must find his way through that cave, or hole, or tunnel, and out the other side.

First, he thought, he must learn to control his breathing. He let himself down into the water with another big stone in his arms, so that he could lie effortlessly on the bottom of the sea. He counted. One, two, three. He counted steadily. He could hear the movement of blood in his chest. Fifty-one, fifty-two . . . . His chest was hurting. He let go of the rock and went up into the air. He saw that the sun was low. He rushed to the villa and found his mother at her supper. She said only "Did you enjoy yourself?" and he said "Yes."

All night, the boy dreamed of the water-filled cave in the rock, and as soon as breakfast was over he went to the hay.

That night, his nose bled badly. For hours he had been underwater, learning to hold his breath, and now he felt weak and dizzy. His mother said, "I shouldn't overdo things, darling, if I were you."

That day and the next, Jerry exercised his lungs as if everything, the whole of his life, all that he would become, depended upon it. And again his nose bled at night, and his mother insisted on his coming with her the next day. It was a torment to him to waste a day of his careful self-training, but he stayed with her on that other beach, which now seemed a place for small children, a place where his mother might lie safe in the sun. It was not his beach.

He did not ask for permission, on the following day, to go to his beach. He went, before his mother could consider the complicated rights and wrongs of the matter. A day's rest, he discovered, had improved his count by ten. The big boys had made the passage while he counted a hundred and sixty. He had been counting fast, in his fright. Probably now, if he tried, he could get through that long tunnel, but he was not going to try yet. A curious, most unchildlike persistence, a controlled impatience, made him wait. In the meantime, he lay underwater on the white sand, littered now by stones he had brought down from the upper air, and studied the entrance to the tunnel. He knew every jut and corner of it, as far as it was possible to see. It was as if he already felt its sharpness about his shoulders.

He sat by the clock in the villa, when his mother was not near, and checked his time. He was incredulous and then proud to find he could hold his breath without strain for two minutes. The words "two minutes", authorized by the clock, brought the adventure that was so necessary to him close.

In another four days, his mother said casually one morning, they must go home. On the day before they left, he would do it. He would do it if it killed him, he said defiantly to himself. But two days before they were to leave - a day of triumph when he increased his count by fifteen - his nose bled so badly that he turned dizzy and had to lie limply over the big rock like a bit of seaweed, watching the thick red blood flow on to the rock and trickle slowly down to the sea. He was frightened. Supposing he turned dizzy in the tunnel? Supposing he died there, trapped? Supposing — his head went around, in the hot sun, and he almost gave up. He thought he would return to the house and lie down, and next summer, perhaps, when he had another year's growth in him - then he would go through the hole.

But even after he had made the decision, or thought he had, he found himself sitting up on the rock and looking down into the water, and he knew that now, this moment when his nose had only just stopped bleeding, when his head was still sore and throbbing — this was the moment when he would try. If he did not do it now, he never would. He was trembling with fear that he would not go, and he was trembling with horror at that long, long tunnel under the rock, under the sea. Even in the open sunlight, the barrier rock seemed very wide and very heavy; tons of rock pressed down on where he would go. If he died there, he would lie until one day — perhaps not before next year — those big boys would swim into it and find it blocked.

He put on his goggles, fitted them tight, tested the vacuum. His hands were shaking. Then he chose the biggest stone he could carry and slipped over the edge of the rock until half of him was in the cool, enclosing water and half in the hot sun. He looked up once at the empty sky, filled his lungs once, twice, and then sank fast to the bottom with the stone. He let it go and began to count. He took the edges of the hole in his hands and drew himself into it, wriggling his shoulders in sidewise as he remembered he must, kicking himself along with his feet.

Soon he was clear inside. He was in a small rock-bound hole filled with yellowish-grey water. The water was pushing him up against the roof. The roof was sharp and pained his back. He pulled himself along with his hands — fast, fast — and used his legs as levers. His head knocked against something; a sharp pain dizzied him. Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two . . . . He was without light, and the water seemed to press upon him with the weight of rock. Seventy-one, seventy-two . . . . There was no strain on his lungs. He felt like an inflated balloon, his lungs were so light and easy, but his head was pulsing.

He was being continually pressed against the sharp roof, which felt slimy as well as sharp. Again he thought of octopuses, and wondered if the tunnel might be filled with weed that could tangle him. He gave himself a panicky, convulsive kick forward, ducked his head, and swam. His feet and hands moved freely, as if in open water. The hole must have widened out. He thought he must be swimming fast, and he was frightened of banging his head if the tunnel narrowed.

A hundred, a hundred and one. . . The water paled. Victory filled him. His lungs were beginning to hurt. A few more strokes and he would be out. He was counting wildly; he said a hundred and fifteen, and then, a long time later, a hundred and fifteen again. The water was a clear jewel-green all around him. Then he saw, above his head, a crack running up through the rock. Sunlight was falling through it, showing the clean dark rock of the tunnel, a single mussel shell, and darkness ahead.

He was at the end of what he could do. He looked up at the crack as if it were filled with air and not water, as if he could put his mouth to it to draw in air. A hundred and fifteen, he heard himself say inside his head — but he had said that long ago. He must go on into the blackness ahead, or he would drown. His head was swelling, his lungs cracking. A hundred and fifteen, a hundred and fifteen pounded through his head, and he feebly clutched at rocks in the dark, pulling himself forward, leaving the brief space of sunlit water behind. He felt he was dying. He was no longer quite conscious. He struggled on in the darkness between lapses into unconsciousness. An immense, swelling pain filled his head, and then the darkness cracked with an explosion of green light. His hands, groping forward, met nothing, and his feet, kicking back, propelled him out into the open sea.

He drifted to the surface, his face turned up to the air. He was gasping like a fish. He felt he would sink now and drown; he could not swim the few feet back to the rock. Then he was clutching it and pulling himself up on it. He lay face down, gasping. He could see nothing but a red-veined, clotted dark. His eyes must have burst, he thought; they were full of blood. He tore off his goggles and a gout of blood went into the sea. His nose was bleeding, and the blood had filled the goggles.

He scooped up handfuls of water from the cool, salty sea, to splash on his face, and did not know whether it was blood or salt water he tasted. After a time, his heart quieted, his eyes cleared, and he sat up. He could see the local boys diving and playing half a mile away. He did not want them. He wanted nothing but to get back home and lie down.

In a short while, Jerry swam to shore and climbed slowly up the path to the villa. He flung himself on his bed and slept, waking at the sound of feet on the path outside. His mother was coming back. He rushed to the bathroom, thinking she must not see his face with bloodstains, or tearstains, on it. He carne out of the bathroom and met her as she walked into the villa, smiling, her eyes lighting up. "Have a nice morning?" she asked, laying her head on his warm brown shoulder a moment.

"Oh, yes, thank you," he said.

"You look a bit pale." And then, sharp and anxious. "How did you bang your head?" "

Oh, just banged it," he told her. She looked at him closely. He was strained. His eyes were glazed-looking. She was worried. And then she said to herself, "Oh, don't fuss! Nothing can happen. He can swim like a fish."

They sat down to lunch together. "Mummy," he said, "I can stay under water for two minutes — three minutes, at least."

It came bursting out of him.

"Can you, darling?" she said. "Well, I shouldn't overdo it. I don't think you ought to swim any more today."

She was ready for a battle of wills, but he gave in at once. It was no longer of the least importance to go to the bay.


***


Posted by The Unquiet Librarian on October 12, 2007:

Doris Lessing, author of dozens of works from short stories to science fiction, including the classic “The Golden Notebook,” won the Nobel Prize for literature Thursday. She was praised by the judges for her “skepticism, fire and visionary power.”The Swedish academy’s announcement was stunning even by the standards of Nobel judges, who have been known for such surprises as Austria’s Elfriede Jelinek and Italy’s Dario Fo.
Lessing, 11 days short of her 88th birthday, is the oldest choice ever for a prize that usually goes to authors in their 50s and 60s.
Get the full scoop on this story—read more about this surprising winner at NPR.