i choco myself

MY NEW BLOG SITE IS

2011-01-13T22:52:00.001-08:00

http://ichocomyself.wordpress.com

from now on, I will be using that site ^^

Happy 2011!!! ^^

2011 is TOXIN ALERT!

2011-01-12T16:45:00.001-08:00

Brain: Hey, how are you?
Kidney: Here, flushing her toxins..
Heart: More toxins here, kid, have you got them yet?
Kidney: Uh, yeah. Did she add more though?
Heart: Yeah I guess. The Brain has to tell you to get it. Isn't is supposed to be automatic of some sort?
Kidney: Yeah I know. Maybe he lets you, heart, have your way instead of the Boss Brain this time.
Brain: Oops, sorry. TOXIN alert! I have been sleeping...

***
This 2011 is a year of the TOXIN alert. The Big Boss is the Brain, but The Kidney has to work her hardest. The heart has to submit to the Boss.

Boredom and Bravery

2011-01-06T04:30:00.000-08:00

“Brave people may not live longer, but coward people don’t live at all.”

***

I have been stuck in my house ( except when I went out for my checkup ) for the whole day. I have been sick for a couple of days now.
When I get sick like this sick, I am usually in bed ( lying down ) or in the sala drinking some liquids or eating a bit of something. Yes, if not for the lose of appetite and the increase of temperature ( leading to an increase in metabolism ), it would be safe to say I have been pigging myself.

Thanks to television, however, I realize that I could have some form of a distraction from sickness..and yes, from boredom.

A person once said that if you start to get bored, it only means that you may need to do the purpose God has given you.

Sometimes, I feel very blessed I can have much time off. I have a fixed morning shift ( 6 am to 2pm, which just fits my body clock, since I NORMALLY get up at 5am), unlike my friends who are nurses or in the call center industry where they change shift time crazily. So far, I have not been bored yet of my job. Thank God.
But honestly speaking, my life is not more about my job. I have some organizations and meetings after 2pm. Sometimes though,with all these meetings, ministry, or organization, it gets boring, especially when the people I am with don’t have the same vision and passion as I have.

Vision and passion should be moved , and it takes bravery to do so.I don’t consider myself as someone who has totally overcome any sense of insecurity or fear. I have danced solo in public with strong, powerful, jazzy kinda step, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t ask for a repetition of the song because I got so ashamed at first. Every 2nd Tuesdays for our hospital visitation ( which we get to pray for the sick in the ward at CCMC ) , I have worn a glass so that my former classmates may not recognize me ( to avoid them asking how I have gained my weight or where I work ). These kinds of activities that I have done, do, or will do are not the most convenient and comfortable...but at least I try to do them, not because I have to, but because I believe I am called to do them.

So back to the people who should share my vision and passion. I really want to hang out with people who are dreamers. I mean, those who , amidst all bleak circumstances, still believe they can be someone or can do something. People may think I am queer or just pure ambitious, but I dream a lot. I always think I can do something. You know, make a film, paint a canvass, write a story, construct a REAL ( truly creative, well-thought of...not just forming an excuse of free writing for bad poetry ) poem, dance interpretatively a rock song, or... build a school, create a business, employ people, marry a handsome, rich mate ^^. And when you look at me right now, I have gone as far as just 1 over 1,000 steps for my desired dreams. At least a step...^^

That is probably I get glued on art. I mean, I don’t call myself an artist ( although my artist friend and sister say I am ) but I am drawn to art. Art may have rules and all, but at least, through time, it is bound to be broken. As my favourite art theorist say, art is just like breathing or eating...everybody can do it. Maybe really, I love art because it makes you free. You are in control of the colors you choose, the texture of the painting, the symbolism, the message you may want to relay. You can even practice art just by the way you speak or the content of your words. Every form of an expression is an art; ergo, art makes you free.

So where am I going to this? Hmmm. I can say brave people are those who can express themselves for the purpose of a movement to their destiny. Not all artists are brave. Some artists ( who really are gifted ) lack courage, so they don’t excel. ( Ironically, some just uhm mediocre on the gift of artistry, struggle and are more courageous to do something to succeed ). At the end of the day, what counts is, are you doing your God-given purpose?

Ok back to boredom. When people get bored, they may get some good or bad idea. People go into a relationship with a lover...or will venture on a different career path...or go out, waste some money, and get wasted. But even in boredom, there is what I call the art of thinking Rationally and Wisely. Frankly speaking, I don’t get it that one talented,pretty, smart, loving, woman can just allow someone who cannot be loving ( plus not smart, talented, etc ) to break her heart. That I say, needs art. Gifts are just worthless when you throw them to the pigs.

Well, I am practicing my art of thinking rationally and wisely in this bored time. It takes more courage to clean my room, organize my finances, plan on my daily activities, etc...especially for a person like me who don’t do these things naturally , if not for the Opportunity of getting sick and staying home. ^^ At least, I am making small steps, and yes, moving to my desired destiny of becoming a businesswoman or a wife for that matter hehe. some small steps at a time. hehe

Thoughts of The Richest Man on Earth

2011-01-03T03:02:00.001-08:00

I have just witnessed an interview of Carlos Slim, the World's Richest Man in 2010 ( on Forbes' List) on CNN's Larry King Live.

We would be interested in a lot of this man's thoughts. Larry King actually focused on the different aspects, such as on his wealth, responsibility, and life.

There are a lot of things i really just learn from this man.

First, it would be his goal. His goal is not on Money-making. It is Human development through employment and education.

Second, it would be his thoughts on people living in excess. Surprisingly, he doesn't have a big house or many cars or watches. According to him, happiness is not found in buying material things. For him, one cannot be contented when he just lives with too much. One has to learn contentment and real happiness that comes from a good relationship with your family.

Third, his being wealthy encompasses being a blessing to the whole community, with the taxes that he has put on the government, on health care, on education..

Fourth, he sees that being poor is an opportunity for economic development. It makes you learn how to invest and work.

Fifth, being a wealthy man, he shows utter humility. With the way he talks and even with the way he takes off his suit ( and shows his suspenders in front of Larry King, imitating Larry king, for that matter ).

Sixth, he became wealthy because he has been investing, starting at the age of 13. He has been investing and reinvesting.

Seventh, the economy is tied on income distribution. So, money should be distributed ( his purpose on developing companies ) through employment. Also, when people can afford good education, health care issue is protected. Poor health can be a liability, so that should be focused on. Also, when people have good education, they will have better opportunities for employment.

Dancing My Way Out of 2010

2011-01-01T12:08:00.000-08:00

It has been an hour now since I opened this blogspot. I have been trying to be creative in presenting my 2010 review, but I always get stuck with it. So, I'll just be spontaneous...^^

2010:

1. went back to writing. I actually had some hiatus last 2009. This blog is an evidence. The major culprits for such an inhibition on that passion are laziness, laziness, and laziness.

2. Formed some groups again. Christian in nature: Ang Lamdag, Himaya Productions. They focus on using art for the glory of God.

3. invested for some Health Insurance, Life Insurance, and Some Investment ( lol ). Now trying to handle my money.

4. Made strong bonds in Friendship: The Zy to be number 1. Yes, for some reason, (I did not expect we would be so close as friends )...but well, we have been so close. I gave her the name by the way.

5. uhm yeah have been foolish to entertain some guys whom I never really knew. Oh God, I trusted easily. A lesson to remember. Thanks to my friends who have been supportive and have accepted me even though I have made these mistakes time and again...^^

6. I haven't travelled to another country this year, but have been to Boracay. It is safe to say it can compete with other countries as a tourist destination.

7. "rebonded" my hair for the first time. haha. this counts ( my hair is NATURALLY wavy to curly ). my image for the year 2010 is the straight-haired Doris.

8. have been into films this year. Some poetry appetizer here and there. Yes the POems of Shit 1,2,3, and more. And some short stories.

9. Himayans: Okay, have been hanging out with these guys for long. They are almost up for anything: Outpost gigs, Music tripping, Movie watching, Observing some painting, Shooting for a photoshoot, helping in Charity works,etcetera...which are my kind of thing.

10. Have performed a solo interpretative Dance ( well this is epic for me haha ), directed/ written "Papil sa Panganduy", and have posed in a Photoshoot. I can even post my write-ups on facebook haha. I also, by the way, joined the Cantata Ministry ( Drama Team ). This is a breakthrough out of all my insecurities and fears that I had been battling for so long, bow. ^^

Dear Frustrated

2010-12-28T17:50:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-28T10:43:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-27T06:56:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-27T05:37:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-26T15:41:00.000-08:00

( Proverbs 31:22 )

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

2010-11-22T20:07:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-11-15T21:36:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-12T13:50:00.000-08:00

this sums up my life philosophy.

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

2010-10-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

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....

2010-10-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-19T13:16:00.001-07:00

WHATEVER HAPPENED, HAPPENED FOR A REASON. ^^

You are amazing!!!!!!!

Raisin In the Salad

2010-10-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-10-18T01:57:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-17T22:33:00.000-07:00

" 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.

2010-10-16T17:10:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-16T14:55:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-16T06:32:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-11T07:16:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-10T04:47:00.000-07:00

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. . .

2010-10-08T18:42:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-10-07T12:43:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-09T18:32:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-15T03:16:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-15T03:11:00.000-07:00

"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.

2010-08-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

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.

4 Responses to “When I Love.”

THOUGHTS ON BEING A WOMAN ( brief and localized )

2010-08-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

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 >

2010-08-02T23:43:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-02T23:23:00.001-07:00

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?

2010-07-31T03:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-29T06:37:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-15T20:02:00.000-07:00

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.

DEATH for LOVE ( a thought for a LOVEian )

2010-06-19T08:33:00.000-07:00

“ I wish he had told me I looked prettier or amazing or WHOOA, instead of just nodding, and saying, “good”

“I wish my sister’d just close her mouth and stop complaining...and start cleaning it herself”

“My mom should have been open-minded and not have said those words...”

“I was hoping he’d call rather than text me...”

“I wish she had been more appreciative and understanding than demanding me her needs and wants....”

“I hope they have been friendlier and down-to-earth since they are the leaders...”

I wish my husband would have been kinder...

I wish he had given more importance to me than his....

I wish he had given me that costly gift he was capable of giving...

I wish she had been more generous to others...

I wish she had been compassionate instead of critical...

I wish I had been sinless than others...
I wish I had not been slacking...
I wish I...

While we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us.

I have been hearing this verse for a long time. But lately, it has given me more light on the topic that I love- Love.

Long before anything has been done, Love already existed. It never changes, whether or not we do something. It was long before decided.

No matter how much you know a person, you can never dictate what he will respond given the act you have hurdled over him even you know there’s so much ability he could follow what you have wanted. You could expect...but that is the least you could do.

We are no Gods. We cannot tell a person to say this or respond this way. And we end up in frustration. We now hear ourselves grumbling, and end up hating the other person ( or our self when we expect ourselves to react/ do a certain way).

Love. We hear this word all the time...from the songs, or movies, even texts...But what it is, really?

EVEN YET...we were....

HE HAD ALREADY.....

DIED

for His

LOVE.

“ Dying to our own pride and selfish expectations, wishes, and hopes, that Love may live.”

***
But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8

DECISION + ACT = ANSWER

2010-06-12T03:37:00.000-07:00

Decision is constant element in life.
Even faith is a decision.

I got an answered prayer today.
I had prayed but had also done my part.

In that part, I was being faithful.
Faith that acted.

I also got a hope that I did not act upon.
So, I hang on now by mercy.

And I repent.

Decision.
Everything is a decision.
A small decision can entirely affect a huge part of ones life.

***

“The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure , the process is its own reward.”

-Amelia Eartheart

The Rain of Hope by Doris Ogdoc

2010-05-15T21:02:00.000-07:00

This is a revised version of the short story I made months ago. "The Rain of Hope, is the entry I passed for the Mugna Creative Writing Workshop which I participated yesterday. The panel consisted of Dr. Angel Pesirla, Dr. Rey Caturza, Dr. Yulysses Aparece, and Sir Januar Yap. I was delighted with their feedback. Anyway, here's the copy of my short story, "The Rain of Hope":

The Rain of Hope

A Short Story by

Doris Ogdoc

“ HUY! PAHAWA NGARI!”, the ice water seller in Colon Street yelled and shooed the young boy with a long, dirty shirt, messy hair, and with a smell that implied he had not taken a bath for weeks...or months. Lino could not help himself. He had been lustfully eying the one peso ice water for hours under the intense, scorching heat of the sun. Trying to gulp the last ounce of saliva from his dry mouth, Lino stepped out and bowed his head- He felt the intense thirst. So intense that he had thought he would die.

He chose to be there in Sto. Niño de Basilica church where hundreds or even thousands of devotees would come to church to pray. He might convince them to be charitable enough to give him just one peso. Just one peso, he thought, and he could fill himself with that cold, satisfying, plastic-packed water of Manang Karmen.

He went to a family first. He moved towards the father who was wearing a blue polo shirt and signature slacks. Opening his palms and presenting it to the father, he said, “ Siiir, para lang palit ug ayswutir, Sir. Uhaw na ka-ayu ku”. The man did not even look at him, and said “ Dung, wala kuy sinsiyu” “Sssiiir, sige na sssiiir...” And the man left with his family. He took his daughter to a store nearby that was selling a fancy pencil, with long, pink feathers attached to it. “ Ganahan ka ani? “, the father asked. “O!”, his daughter replied. “ Pila? “. “ Tag traynta”.”Sige,tiga-i kug usa”. Lino felt betrayed. The man did not care if he died, but he cared giving his daughter a pencil worthy of display. Lino bowed his head again, and walked.

Thankfully, he had his “tsinelas” ( slippers ) to wear as he was wandering the vicinity of Colon Street. Or else, He might have burned the soles of his feet. It has not rained for about three months now in Cebu City. They said there was Global Warming. But, a lot thought the city has been cursed by God. It was unusual that no rain would occur for a three month time now. It has been on the news. Cebu City has been cursed by God. Lino wondered if, he, too was part of God’s curse.

One religious person often visited them, the street children. There have been lots of preachers roaming around Cebu. Some of them could be seen with big microphones in front of The Gaisano mall. Their constituents would ask for money or offering to the people. Yet, Trisha, that was her name, would give them bread once in awhile, tell them stories about Jesus. Lino was not actually interested of hearing them. He was too tired to care about other people and their stories. He would go to Trisha for her bread.

They haven’t seen her for weeks now. “Naa gyud ni tunglo ang syudad. Naa gyud!”, Lino muttered. Could God abandon him? “ Pag-ampu, Lino, ug madawat nimu ang mga tubag sa imung mga ampu”, Trisha had said. Ampu? Ug para unsa pah? Kadaghan tawu ga ampu sa simbahan, ah! Naglagut ku nila. Di man gani sila kahatag ug pisu!

Anyway, out of desperation, he closed his eyes, and said, “ Ginu-u, hatagi ku ug pisu para makapalit kug ayswutir ngara ( pointing to Manang Karmen’s store ).”

He opened his eyes and saw a white man—a foreigner with a Filipina who had long, black hair with him. He looked at him and begged. The man smiled, took his purse, and gave him a five-peso coin! He jumped for joy inside. “Diyus ko! Salamat!” ...But his joy only lasted for a short time.

Marko saw him while the white man was giving him the money. Marko was much older and bigger. He took Lino’s hand and tried to ask him the coin. “Dili!”, Lino screamed. He dragged him to a place near Magellan’s Cross. Marko pushed Lino hard that he was knocked down immediately. His frame was so thin that a slight push could bring him down so easily. He firmly clutched the five peso coin inside his small, fragile hand. The tight of his fist’s hold could break a glass. “ Ihatag ang kwarta kun dili ka gustu mamatay!”, Marko threatened him. He was not easy to give up. For the second time, he screamed, “ D-I-L-I!”.

Marko started kicking him on the butt, on the legs ,on the body. He could not move. His whole body ached. Marko then punched him on the face and tried to take hold of the five-peso coin from his palm. He punched him so hard on the face that it almost left Lino unconscious. Marko took the five-peso coin.

Lino sobbed.

His cry was not loud. He was thirsty, tired, hurt, bruised, and was under the heat of the sun that burned his body, and fried his bones. He really felt that it was better for him to die than suffer like that. He tried to lick his dry and wounded lip, and tasted blood. He could not close his eyes. Marko punched it so hard that he felt it was swelling immediately. He sobbed. God must have forgotten him.

The clouds started to cover the sun as “Putut” approached Lino. No one really called him by his real name. And No one knew his real name. Everybody called him Putut because he was so tiny...and ugly. And the dirtiest among them all. He had no shirt on nor a pair of Tsinelas. He was so tiny, dirty, shirtless, and the one who always felt cheery, showing shamelessly his toothless smile.

Last week, Potot’s mother died. They said she died in her sleep. Putut would say “ Gikuha na siya ni Jesus para ngadto sa langit “.

“Wala'y gutum ngadtu”, Trisha would describe heaven. Lino felt envious of Putut’s mother.

“Pahawa, Putut!”, Lino scowled at him. He hated his presence especially that he was in a state like that. Potot searched for the place if anyone was looking around. He placed something in Lino’s hand. He felt it. He knew what it was without even looking at it. That has been the thing people would usually give him except that day. “Nganu imu man nin'g gihatag?!” Actually, he felt shameful... Dili mahimu nga ihatag ni Putut ang pisu nga ma-u nala'y nabilin niya!

“Ingun si Nanay, Hatag, UG daghan paka'g mabatun nga grasya”. Gi-atay, Lino thought. Nganu ingun ana kadaku nga pagtu-u? He did not understand that. But, he was convinced that Putut really believed that.

He stood up, walked to Manang Karmen’s store with the one peso Putut had given him in his hand.

Then the clouds darkened, the atmosphere slowly took away the heat that has enveloped the city. The blaze shifted to dying embers. Droplets of heavy rain fell.

Lino drank the ice water thirstily. He allowed the rain to caress his head then to his arms and flood unto the soles of his feet. The coolness of every single drop soothes the pain of the sun that has smoldered his body unto his soul. It drenched him and satisfied his thirst for that rain that he thought had left them. He looked up. His eyes glowed, and a smile was drawn on his entire countenance.

Life in The Water

2010-04-25T21:56:00.000-07:00

an excerpt from "Fireproof remix"

"...He's not interested in me and my problems", - son
" i disagree. i'd say, He's VERY interested in them, "- dad

***

while i was watching CNN weather report, a quick view on the whole earth's weather status was being presented through the computerized satellite view of the earth..it showed a very narrow path of the direction of rain showers. it was really narrow that it would not have been just luck that it hit the Philippines in a vertical line. the reporter said, " rain is expected in the Philippines...but it needs much of it right now"...

It could have hit somewhere else...but it was so like specifically targeted in the Philippines like a ray of an arrow.

***

we've nullified the reports of "El Niño" when we were praying "Let it Rain" a couple of times at church. God is sovereign, i say.

***

my sister and i conversed while we were about to sleep. she voiced out that she kind of felt that something terrible would happen during the election...

i told her," what happened to our long hours and days of prayers? what use are they when you don't believe that God is able to do the things that are impossible? we prayed that those fears of your would not come to pass..."

***

rain.water....i love it. water is like very close to my heart. i always call myself hydrophyllic. i drink about 2 liters of water a day. i'd prefer plain water's taste than any beverage with some flavors.

and i do swimming, my favorite sport, because there's water. when i swim, the water soothes my body as to my soul. my problems seem gone. the water washes them away. there's ecstasy in breathing in and breathing out while submerged intermittently in the water.

***

perhaps, there's Sovereign intervention even in the weather of the Philippines...how about a Sovereign intervention in this decaying corruption, cheating, immorality of this nation?...how about a Sovereign intervention in my life that has much drama now?

***

" This water flows toward the eastern region, and goes down to...Swarms of living creatures will live wherever the river flows. .."- Ezekiel 47:7, 9

"JESUS answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."-John 4:10

Dreaming of New York & Italy

2010-04-11T21:19:00.000-07:00

literally. I just dreamt that I was goin around New York and Italy.

Oh God knows I miss travelling. When my friend asked me where I would go this year, I just said, "no plans. focusing on studying.".

well, i thought i could simply dump the desire. but this day's dream awakened me once again of that innate longing to be in a certain place that's foreign. new people. new faces. new weather...there's this obscurity that awaits for me.

i love it. it's like being a new person. y'know. when you are in a place no one knows you, it seems like you can be what you wanna be. if a person may judge you there, iit doesn't seem to affect much coz, anyway, you won't be with them long. you are free to be unsophisticated or free to wear that strange outfit of yours that your mom, relatives, or acuaintances in the Philippines would normallly comment on.

the scenes, the colors, the temperature...the ambience and the feel of it all...it's like so different that you would wonder what would you be given these different time and space.

financial reasons are the only hindrances i can think of as of the moment. i know that for some they may not see traveling for 60 thousand pesos or more as worth it. but the experience is worthless. i do believe that something happens in you as a person when you get out of that place where no one knows you and most of the scene is different from where you have been for so long. i still think of it as a worthy experience where you would understand other people and yourself better. i can spend as much just for travelling. i don't think of it as a waste at all.

if i had the money and if God willed it, i would still travel.
probably, to New York and Italy.

***

If I can see it, then I can be it,
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it...

I believe I can fly...
I believe I can touch the sky...

If I just spread my wings...I can fly.

Tibi Tibi

2010-03-31T02:13:00.000-07:00

My sister and I had made some form of a jargon ( originally from ciarina, popularized and deconstucted by me and my sister ) which was, "Tibi-Tibi". Tibi Tibi is a term used when one says a statement that is not pure in its intent but has hidden meaning for personal agenda or personal gain.

Example, " well he told me I looked pretty in my dress ( told in a nonchalant, matter-of-fact way )"...( real message would be: He really likes me, not that pretty woman over there. ) Tibi Tibi!!!

Another one, a status on facebook: " Saul converted to Paul after...( hidden motive: to convince a love interest ( who is also a very active facebook user ) named , "Paul" that he can "change" his ways ) ... Tibi Tibi!!!

Anyway, I realize that a Filipino term to contrast tibi-tibi would be, "Magpakatotoo ka, sister ! " ( popularized by Sprite commercial )

A lot of people utilize words that others still need to unlock. We all love mystery, don't we?

The danger of this is if we decode messages wrongly. Like we simply assume. That would be hard. How many times have I assumed that a man likes me then later to realize he already has a girlfriend or a crush on someone else...?hhhmm...

***

unconsciously, we tell people of "praise report" or our "God-given revelation", thinking it would be something that would "glorify God"...but the truth is, we are in the state of "tibi-tibi". This is actually so people would think of us as someone "spiritual"...and then " spiritual pride " takes in...it was actually to "glorify ourselves"

it's only the people who have the spirit of discernment that know when tibi-tibi occurs and when the real, sincere worship and praise happens...

***

I personally don't know the reason why we have chosen such an ugly term as "tibi-tibi". it sounds corny and all. but, we just sometimes don't have a Filipino term to actually fit this kind of definition of a situation. or is there? and a lot of people do this "tibi-tibi" thing. It totally is pathetic.

***

If we could only have a heart like a child,
pure
without malice
without hidden agenda

...there would be truth everywhere...
...there would be peace as we trust.

( As I was writing this blog here at SM...a child came to me closely, without a hint of shame, looked on me and what I had been doing...then asked, "Asa diay ka puyo, te? ( Where do you live? )...then that led more of her telling me how far her mother was...that her mother only took her brother...and...her eyes told me how her heart broke...her silence screamed like her heart of gold was about to crack...and then she told me her dad was imprisoned...It was so simple. No tibi tibi. No wonder why I adore kids. They have this simplicity and eyes that speak like what they feel, they express through them ). Rosalyn and me, above )

MediOKAYty

2010-03-28T23:08:00.000-07:00

Mediocrity. Ever since I was young, any sense of mediocrity in me as a person is tantamount to me being a senseless, useless person. My school project had to be clean. It had to get a 90 plus grade.
The opposite of a mediocre, according to my parents, and some people, is an “achiever”.

If you are an elementary student, you should be a “valedictorian” lest your parents will not go to your graduation. “If you perform onstage for a contest, you should be sure you’d get that trophy for THE Champion, or else, better not join the contest so as to save you from getting drowned in “shame”” , the advice of your parents.

Anything less than the best is something I should avoid. It should not be in my system. A person who is an achiever is someone who gains recognition by many. He is a famous celebrity.

But, famous I am not. I am jack of all trades master of none. I can be a nurse, a writer, a teacher, a speaker, an actress, a painter, a singer, a dancer, a pretty woman, an ordinary woman, a nice date/ conversationalist, or a person who bores you to death...yep, name them...I can be...but I can never be proud nor have the authority to say I am excellent in any one of these fields I have trudged in my life.

It’s sad. With these things being said, I can remember my suicidal classmate in college who dropped out of our freshman class, Miss J. She told me, “ I am not good at anything. I just want to jump out and die”. She would cut her wrist and do all these stupid stuff. But hey, don’t you get it? All of us struggle to be a master of at least one but not everyone can achieve that kind of desire.

And so, it has been inculcated in me that I should try harder to be someone brilliant, so I can have some form of meaning in life. Or, some form of a life lived that this generation or the next should benefit from. My name should be written in history books. My face should be seen somewhere, like printed on newspapers or on a billboard or tarpaulin.

*** Yet, I protest in this stupid rationale of being “an achiever”.

I don’t know, but. In life, we have ups and downs. We can never really win every competition we’re part of. When I was in elementary, I was the champion in two declamation contests, won two times in a school council election, and for the most part, won the titles, “best actress, best reporter” haha...( yes, CIC had a way of making me love talking and getting attention from a lot of people). However, I lost a few competitions myself, one in a P.R.O seat. And most sadly, I did not get to speak in my graduation for a “valedictory” speech because I was just the Top 6 among the 200 to 300 students.

More failures happened as I grew up. I met people who were more talented, smarter, or even physically attractive than I was. I know a lot of us know what I am talking about.

It’s just life. I don’t believe really that we have to compete among ourselves. We are simply unique.

***Back to being a “superstar”...
Countless of VERY beautiful and VERY handsome friends I have personally known get the turn of the heads of people as they pass by. And there, they get conscious.
When you are famous, you get a lot of criticism ( good or bad ). And sometimes, since people want to know you badly, they disturb your peace by investigating your personal life. Damn.

It’s the price one has to pay. I mean it’s not totally bad...after all, if you are famous, you also get the “bigger pay”, better respect, and rains of praises from people.

...On the other hand,
Sometimes,
Sacrificing fulfilment or real influence for a “name” is not worth it....
****
These thoughts emerged at the office of the President of Cebu Normal University ( CNU ) as I had been waiting for an hour now ( and another hour yesterday ) for our letter to be signed by no less than Dr. Lopez, the university president.
Ma**** Lopez, RN, Ed. D, DPA ( make that complete coz “he would like it”, a dean told me )...was our teacher before. In class, he would make jokes and stuff...He was teaching Psychiatric Nursing ( one of the hardest subjects, I’ d say ) He would tell us all the different stories of mentally ill patients. We would listen to him more than any other teacher because of his “scholastic achievements” and his repetitive bragging about his education in THE United States of America,” his country”.

After I graduated, I heard he got promoted to the highest position...

***
The secretary got out of his office and said, “your letter probably has not been signed yet and could still be on his table” as she was shuffling a bundle of papers that had just been signed by Dr. Lopez. Hmmm....I wonder, our letter could have been the 90th or 100th among the letters he had to sign.

**** Ma***** T. Lopez, RN, Ed. D, DPA...from a simple teacher to ...an official “signer”...er...university president.

SORRY

2010-03-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

SORRY Lord.
SORRY friends.
SORRY future husband.

Won't do it again....:<

Emotional Purity...

SNICKERS Almond Bar

2010-03-21T03:11:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had that feeling when you know you should avoid or hate it even but it feels so good that you fail to let it go?

My brother and I have just had a date here at SM. We did not talk much. After we were done eating, he handed me Snickers. I was, "you did really buy this, huh"? Besides the high price of the chocolate, what actually shocked me was that, amidst our trying to lose weight, he afforded to purchase this sweet, yummy, almondy, stretchy, chocie...

When it landed on my tongue, Oh God. I would trade anything for that chocie feeling that came across me...It was like angels were singing heavenly songs and flowers opened their bud smiling at me...as if the whole painful world melted and became that sweet, sticky brownish chocie with almonds swimming in it...I plead to my brother to give me all the pieces...( he didn't hmm...he must have felt this chocie feeling too hehe ...but he lovingly gave me the best, biggest part ( my darling brother ))

....
These past days, I have been thinking about this new person. yes, new. Oh my heart, tell me, how many times are you gonna beat?

He was not that same person I blogged about. I had been trying to shoo him...as a matter of fact, became "weirdly" snobbish just so he would not even care to think I existed.

I did not like that he was too smart, cute, passionate, confident, admirable, funny...financially stable. Tug Tug Tug ( suddenly my heart leaped ) I did not like my heart to leap that high. It had been sleeping peacefully for years...Please, you, stay away!

His historical relationship records showed he had dated a couple of women, engaged to one, broken his heart many times...flirted with many....

Good reasons to stay away, hate him...

...But tell me,

why have I been looking on my cell phone, hoping he's texted again?

***

Snickers nutrition fact:
Calories 230
Fat Calories 100
Total Fat 11 g
Cholesterol 5 mg

and..I smelled the remnants of the Snickers sticking bit by bit on its plastic, imagining the taste of it in my mouth.

Tragedy on Declamation

2010-03-12T02:46:00.000-08:00

For hours of googling, I haven't found a declamation piece worthy to be delivered. i'm almost pissed. Why do these pieces have to be corny, or so tragic to be realistic, anyway? Does it really appeal if the speech is so horribly bloody dramatic?? Take the case of "Murderess" or "Juvenile Delinquent"...and do people really think declamations are only for tots or teenagers to have the theme of "poor child", "beggar child, "bad girl", "bad sister" ( Sister's Trouble---this piece is one of the most awful )...Orally interpreting Literature is ART.

Where is the element of literature in here? Provide me one, please. I have to pass a piece right now. the closest one adult themed i could ever find is this:
How my heart was broken on New Year’s Eve
( http://mblackrose.diaryland.com/040412_50.html )

I know. Don't laugh.

Ang Pisu

2010-03-07T22:39:00.000-08:00

Ang Pisu

( by Doris Ogdoc, inspired from " The Rain of Hope " Short Story )

Bilug-

Sama sa buwan nga aku'ng

gika-un matag gabi-i

Sa tiyan ku’ng nagtugtug

Sumala sa gasyagit

Nga dispatser sa jeep

Ang ulu ni Rizal-

Ang kamatayun nagpa-ambit

Sa gugma'ng dapit

Sa Pinas nga gikalimtan

Ang tumu’ng mu-ulig

Unta'g kada-ugan ug ka-ablihan

Sa mata nga nagatutuk

Sa kawad-an

Ang adlaw-

Nagpasikat ug pagla-um

Samtang aku

Naghinumdum

Kung aku ba'y makaka-un

u

Makai-inum

Sa ayswutir ni Mang Karmen

Sa ba-ba nga ug-a

Nagapangita ug ba-sa nga pagla-um

Sa sunud nga mainit nga kabuntagun

Short Story 2: The Rain of Hope

2010-02-19T03:44:00.000-08:00

The Rain of Hope
A Short Story
By Doris Ogdoc, MA - Literature

“ Hey, get out of here!”, the ice water seller in Colon Street yelled and shooed the young boy with a long, dirty shirt, messy hair, and with a smell that implied he had not taken a bath for weeks...or months. Lino could not help himself. He had been lustfully eyeing the one peso ice water for hours under the intense, scorching heat of the sun. Trying to gulp the last ounce of saliva from his dry mouth, Lino stepped out and bowed his head- He felt the intense thirst. So intense that he had thought he would die.

He chose to be there in Sto. Niño de Basilica church where hundreds or even thousands of devout would come to pray to the church. He might convince them to be charitable enough to give him just one peso. Just one peso, he thought, and he could fill himself with that cold, satisfying, plastic-packed water of Manang Karmen.

He went to a family first. He summoned the father who was wearing a blue polo shirt and signature slacks. Opening his palms and presenting it to the father, he said, “ Sir, just to buy ice water, Sir. I’m so thirsty”. The man did not even look at him, and said “ Dong, I don’t have coins” “Sir, please sir...” And the man left with his family. He took his daughter to a store nearby that was selling a fancy pencil, with long, pink feathers attached to it. “ Do you like this? “, the father asked. “Yes”, his daughter replied. “ How much? “. “ Only 30 pesos”.”Okay, let me have one”. Lino felt betrayed. The man did not care if he died, but he cared giving his daughter a pencil worthy of display. Lino bowed his head again, and walked.

Thankfully, he had his “tsinelas” ( slippers ) to wear as he was wandering the vicinity of Colon Street. Or else, He might have burned the soles of his feet. It has not rained for about three months now in Cebu City. They said there was Global Warming. But, a lot thought the city has been cursed by God. It was unusual that no rain would occur for a three month time now. It has been on the news. Cebu City has been cursed by God. Lino wondered if, he, too was part of God’s curse.

One religious person often visited them, the street children. There have been lots of preachers roaming around Cebu. Some of them could be seen with big microphones in front of The Gaisano mall. Their constituents would ask for money or offering to the people. Yet, Trisha, that was her name, would give them bread once in awhile, tell them stories about Jesus. Lino was not actually interested of hearing them. He was too tired to care about other people and their stories. He goes to Trisha for her bread.

They haven’t seen her for weeks now. “This city is really cursed”, Lino muttered. Could God abandon him? “ Pray Lino, and you will get your answers”, Trisha had said. Pray? What for? A lot of people pray in church. I hate them. They cannot even give me one peso!

Anyway, out of desperation, he closed his eyes, and said, “ God, give me one peso, so I could buy that ice water over there ( pointing to Manang Karmen’s store ).”

He opened his eyes and saw a white man—a foreigner with a Filipina who had long, black hair with him. He looked at him and begged. The man smiled, took his wallet, and gave him a five-peso coin! He jumped for joy inside. “Thank God!” ...But his joy only lasted for a short time.

Marko saw him while the white man was giving him the money. Marko was much older and bigger. He took Lino’s hand and tried to ask him the coin. “No!”, Lino screamed. He dragged him to a place near Magellan’s Cross. Marko pushed Lino hard that he was knocked down immediately. His frame was so thin that a slight push could bring him down so easily. He firmly clutched the five peso coin inside his small, fragile hand. The tight of his fist’s hold could break a glass. “ Give me the money, or you will die!”, Marko threatened him. He was not easy to give up. For the second time, he screamed, “ No!”.

Marko started kicking him on the butt, on the legs ,on the body. He could not move. His whole body ached. Marko then punched him on the face and tried to take hold of the five-peso coin from his palm. He punched him so hard on the face that it almost left Lino unconscious. Marko took the five-peso coin.

Lino sobbed.

His cry was not loud. He was thirsty, tired, hurt, bruised, and was under the heat of the sun that burned his body, and fried his bones. He really felt that it was better for him to die than suffer like that. He tried to lick his dry and wounded lips, and tasted blood. He could not close his eyes. Marko punched it so hard that he felt it was swelling immediately. He sobbed. God must have forgotten him.

The clouds started to cover the sun as “Potot” approached Lino. No one really called him by his real name. And No one knew his real name. Everybody called him Potot because he was so tiny...And ugly. And the dirtiest among them all. He had no shirt on nor a pair of Tsinelas. He was so tiny, dirty, shirtless, and the one who always felt cheery, showing shamelessly his toothless smile.

Last week, Potot’s mother died. They said she died in her sleep. Potot would say “ Jesus took her with Him in heaven “.

“There is no hunger there”, Trisha would describe heaven. Lino felt envious of Potot’s mother.

“Go away, Potot!”, Lino scowled at him. He hated his presence especially that he was in a state like that. Potot searched for the place if anyone was looking around. He placed something in Lino’s hand. He felt it. He knew what it was without even looking at it. That has been the thing people would usually give him except that day. “Why are you giving me this?!” Actually, he felt shameful... Potot could not be giving me his only one peso coin!

“Before Nanay died, she said “Give and you shall receive more”. Gi-atay, Lino thought. Why such faith? He did not understand that. But, he was convinced that Potot really believed that.

He stood up, walked to Manang Karmen’s store with the one peso Potot had given him in his hand.

Then the clouds darkened, the atmosphere slowly took away the heat that has enveloped the city. The blaze shifted to dying embers. Droplets of heavy rain fell.

Lino drank the ice water hungrily. He allowed the rain to caress his head then to his arms and into the soles of his feet. The coolness of every single drop soothes the pain of the sun that has smouldered his body unto his soul. It drenched him and satisfied his thirst for that rain of hope that he thought had left them. He looked up. His eyes glowed, and a smile was drawn on his entire countenance.

***End Of Short Story***
Correspondence in Ogdoc’s Short Story, “The Rain of Hope”
A Genre Crossing from Poem to Short Story

The Rain of Hope is a story about a street kid named Lino, who first believes that God has abandoned him, yet later found some hope in the end. In a time of drought in Cebu City, his only goal on a certain day was to drink a cold, ice water. He only hoped to have a one peso coin in order to buy the water and satisfy his extreme thirst. However, in a really bad twist of fate, certain people did not give him money on that day. And when a foreigner gave him a five-peso coin, another street kid who was bigger and stronger than him, Marko, robbed him of his money.

The drought is symbolic of a curse among the people. The people, even those “religious” people who went to church in Sto. Niño Basilica could not even spare a peso coin for a kid who only desired to drink. The people had been focused on themselves to the point of buying unnecessary or the not basic stuff in life, such as a “fancy pencil only worthy of display”. Their greed was the reason why God had placed a curse in Cebu City, even though it was a city that was filled with seemingly religious people.

When “Potot”, an unlikely character to contain hope appeared, the “clouds covered the sun”. He had all the reasons to lose hope- his mother had just died, he was the least to possess anything than other street kids ( one who was shirtless and did not have slippers ), yet his strong faith in God made him filled with joy and hope. Most of all, he was the person who gave the “one-peso” coin, the one he ONLY had, to Lino. The act of selflessness opened the end of the curse that God has given through a drought.

Lino prayed for a peso coin and got it. The rain fell in the end, which is symbolic of renewed hope. It is symbolic that Lino’s belief of God’s abandonment of him is wrong. And that God actually thinks of him and hasn’t forgotten him.

***
In relation to the poem, The Search, which talks about a longing to have what the author desires in her heart, The Rain of Hope, is also a story of a boy who only does a lot of things just to get what he needs for that day. Both of them, however, put emphasis on divine intervention. The author of the poem and the main character of the story believe that it is in not in their power to get these things that they desire. For example, in the poem, the author’s lack of ability pushes her to pray for God to inspire her and give her that talent she knows she has but needs to improve on. In the short story as well, the situation of Lino, him being so poor and the people around being greedy, in addition to the drought, do not give any chance for him to satisfy his extreme thirst. The author and character believe that they cannot produce the resolution to their predicament because of the circumstances, so they look unto a Higher power for help and answers.

Short Story 1: Hey, Sheena

2010-02-19T03:43:00.001-08:00

Hey, Sheena!
By Doris Ogdoc

“Hey, Sheena! You checked my paper wrongly! This is “emphasis”. And you marked it as incorrect.”

“ I’m quite sure you wrote, “imphasis”.

Tracy, the class president, sat down and frowned. As if something that belonged to her was stolen. She was the top scorer for the English test. Among the 50 items, she answered 47 correctly.

The next highest scorer only got 38 out of 50. And the rest got middle to lower scores. Her classmates looked at her as if she was a genius. She liked it. She was the princess whom all wanted to bow down to.

Not satisfied, she’d seen a way to escalate her score for another single point.

After their papers had been checked by their fellow classmates, she saw that she almost got the answer! Except that the word was spelled incorrectly. No one could have guessed that the rhymed word for oasis and the synonym for highlighting or stress was emphasis.

She was just nine, a grade three pupil. Emphasis...who would have really known that word? Only Tracy. Yet, she was frustrated enough that she got the spelling wrongly. I deserve to take a point for this, she thought.

What she did was take the eraser of the pencil, erased the pencil written “i” for her misspelled, “imphasis”, and changed it to “e”. And went to Sheena, her test paper’s checker.

After that encounter with Sheena, a few of her adoring classmates started to ask, “What’s the matter, Tracy?” She told them, that, Sheena would not correct that “correct” item of hers.

All eyes went to Sheena with a form of disgust. Tracy simply said, like a forgiving victim, “ Never mind”.

Isabel, a large, toughie of the class took Sheena by the arm and said, “ Why don’t you correct it, Sheena?” Sheena, a bit frightened, tried to defend herself,” I’m sure it was an “i”, not an “e””.

No one would believe Sheena.

She was tall, had a long, kinky hair, had a flat nose, and a thin body structure. Most of all, she had a brain as small as a pea. Among the 46 students, she ranked the 46th.

Ron, the guy who had been crushing Tracy for a long time involved himself and accused Sheena of being jealous of Tracy.

Another girl, Bea, who was Tracy’s best friend, grabbed Sheena’s long hair. Until Sheena sobbed.
Everybody was on her.

Guilty as she was, Tracy got out of the classroom, feeling terrible.

***
After the class ended, the pupils were rushing to go out and play. Some played basketball, others were on the swing, and a lot went to play Patintero.

Tracy had to be home early. She had to do a lot of school stuff. So, she met her dad at the guardian’s waiting area.

“ What is your English score like?”

“ Oh dad, I topped the class!”, Tracy reported jubilantly.

“ Let me see the paper.”, requested her dad.

“ Forty-seven out of fifty?! Couldn’t you do any better than that?! I’m sure there are students who have higher scores than you from the pilot section. You should have made this fifty out of fifty!”

Tracy’s gaze shifted down from his dad’s to the cemented ground. She was fighting back the tears.

“ Tito, no one can be greater than Tracy. The test was difficult, and most of us got 25 and below. You should be proud of her.”

As her eyes were finding for the owner of the voice, she swallowed her saliva as she found out who it was.

It was Sheena.

Tears fell down on Tracy’s face.

Cancer in Christ’s Body

2010-02-19T03:38:00.000-08:00

Cancer in Christ’s Body

Controversy: the subtle acceptance of lie
Of seeming wisdom
Of taking offense, denying its existence
Like a tumor
Growing, forming a bump on the skin
Not curing it for the eyes do not see...

Lingers for a time-
The tumor ‘s metastasis
Invades the healthy cells
It penetrates the brain, the blood, the body...

When can you see
Till the bones break
Or immune system fails,
Hampering the breath,
Hammering the muscles,
To its pain...to its struggle
Toward death?

Feb 8 Monologue

2010-02-08T23:09:00.000-08:00

met with Yana here at JY
to chat and remember
God, give Him honor
love Him more than anything

let her talk about how good
God had been,
that
He had not abandoned her,
ordered her walk...

She asked Him to give her grace
to choose
His decisions for her life.

Sometimes,
felt no good to teach His words
yet
believed that
It was Him who
gave
Him
worked
Him
and only
Him
That
deserved...

***
roamed at JY
did not know it had Wifi.
had planned to go to SM
using Time writing
and thinking
and
again,
thinking
as always
and has always been...

***

so sat at Angelica
with the black, brewed coffee
looked anything noteworthy
on the net and everything else

the coffee now cold
sweeping the bittertaste
on my taste buds

People coming in
Not wanting to let them
see this form of privacy

Yet I guess
felt like an invisible
like I have always been
like I have always been...

***
did not blame them
did not blame myself, either
weird.eccentric.enigmatic.
words I'd remember
people used
to describe me...

felt not different
not special
or anything deserving
be put on pedestal

yet again
yet again
weird.eccentric.enigmatic.

a psychologist friend
He had said
could not stop
himself from saying,
only rare
my kind is rare

"What kind?", I asked.
Said...heroic, brave...
a DNA of someone historic

did not believe him
nothing in me was worthy
to be called heroic

took personality tests
and unexpectedly
my kind of personality
was that of
two to four percent only
in the race of humanity...

***
my battery almost empty
had to sip
the last ounce
of the bitter, cold, black
coffee

Imaginative Literature

2010-02-07T06:14:00.000-08:00

..." as a conspiracy against their mental and emotional peace"

Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

-WALT WHITMAN, "Song of Myself"

Finding IT

2010-02-05T00:29:00.000-08:00

The Search

Searching the creative how-to
is special mix of drowning hue,
Squeezing hidden mem’ries of time
Of black and red, and violet-blue.

If I could just dance you or mime,
My body’s use wouldn’t be a crime.
Tis as easy as one-two-three
BUT I struggle to seize the rhyme.

Tis hard, I ask above and plea
to let me meet my destiny,
Of words, of sounds, of irony
My God, my God, bring it to me!

Head at CNN

2010-02-02T01:06:00.000-08:00

...just have to have this book marked ( a story a long time ago...yet still something quite inspiring ...)

Quitting Cold Turkey

2010-02-01T23:50:00.000-08:00

( I just happened to browse the net and actually read this. I knew about Fieldy becoming a Chrisian from Christian Broadcasting Network. But I never knew details about him, really. I was simply chuckling finding out that he had really been a "sicko" before he became a Christian. hehe.) :

March 13, 2009, Huntingpost.com:

CHICAGO - The members of Korn are about to get a big apology from one of their own -- and you can read it along with them.

Bassist Fieldy has released a book, "Got the Life: My Journey of Addiction, Faith, Recovery and Korn," this week. The book includes letters Fieldy (born Reginald Arvizu) wrote to each band member apologizing for his past bad behavior.

Fieldy said he gave an advance copy to guitarist James "Munky" Shaffer but he has yet to hear his reaction. He said he expects frontman Jonathan Davis to read it as well. He didn't give them the letters privately because he wanted to be open about his sobriety.

Fieldy, 39, struggled with alcohol, drugs and overeating. He would even eat food off other people's used room-service trays -- even trash cans. He also was a womanizer and liked to intimidate anyone, male or female, who disagreed with what he calls "Fieldy's rules."

He quit cold turkey when his father, a born-again Christian, told him his dying wish was for his son to find God. Now he's married with three children and working on a new album with Korn and his side project, Stillwell.

AP: You were kind of a jerk when you were on drugs.

Fieldy: I was as bad as it gets. What I wrote in the book, I was probably worse than that. I couldn't really explain how bad it was. Me trying to kill people wasn't as bad as me tearing people down and making people cry and ripping them apart, because words never heal. That's what I've learned. I'd rather raise my son and tell him, "If you get in a fight with your friend, just punch him. Don't say anything, because the next day he doesn't get over that.'"

AP: How old were you when you became an alcoholic?

Fieldy: About 13 or 14. I was full-blown. Every day we would hide the alcohol, stealing from stores or stealing it from our parents and hiding out in dirt fields and drinking it before school and after school.

AP: What could someone have said to you then to make you stop?

Fieldy: If somebody told me, "Not a good idea," I would've said, "No, it's probably a good idea if you get drunk with me." I would've flipped it around on them. There was no way you could tell me anything. I wasn't listening to any type of reason.

AP: You mention in your book you got your pills from "rock doctors." How did that work?

Fieldy: In the rock 'n roll slang world, they're called rock doctors, or rock docs. They would come out to shows and like to hang backstage. You could get a prescription for anything you want from them. They just want to hang out and party. It's crazy because you can get a prescription to anything. It doesn't even matter what kind of doctor they are

AP: You quit cold turkey -- no rehab, no Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. How did you pull that off?

Fieldy: I talk to people who go to rehab, and they get this AA book that they've got to read everyday -- really thick book. They go through all these 12 steps and do all this and that. It's crazy how everybody can sit and talk about rehab but if I come to say Christ was my rehab, it's not cool to say that. ... For me that's my rehab. That's what happened with me and it's an amazing and powerful thing.

AP: Your former bandmate, Brian "Head" Welch, faced criticism when he decided to follow God and quit drugs. Do you think you will too?

Fieldy: I didn't go and quit anything. I remained who I am, so I don't know if anybody wants to criticize. I'm still me. I made some changes, I didn't go around telling everybody I was ready to make changes, I just remained me. I may get more criticism today in putting this book out than I have. You know, maybe this is my time, but I'm ready to take the criticism and answer anybody's questions.

___

On the Net:

http://www.Korn.com

***Meanwhile...

---In February 2005, Head shocked the music world when he resigned from Korn to re-dedicate his life to Christ and focus on raising his daughter, Jennea, as a single father. The event set off a media frenzy as observers around the world sought out to understand what led this rock star out of the darkness and into the light.

Significantly, and perhaps most importantly, upon his resignation from Korn, Head made clear to the music world that he had not retired from the music and entertainment industry. With his newfound calling, Head is committed to changing the youth of this nation through his music and other entertainment ventures. In this regard, Head penned an autobiography of his life, picked up and released by Harper Collins Publishers in July 2007, entitled, "Save Me From Myself." Head gained further acclaim as a successful author, when the book quickly hit the New York Times Best Seller List (non-fiction). In his memoir, Head talks for the first time about his shocking embrace of God, and the tumultuous decade of drug and alcohol addiction that led him to his faith, where he was completely and instantly healed of his addictions.

http://www.brianheadwelch.net/bio.html

***
more on "Head"'s song:
http://www.myspace.com/brianheadwelch

Poems of S 1

2010-01-31T20:09:00.000-08:00

Poems of S...

Spontaniety...
Stress...
Sickness...
Soliliquy...
Sadness...
Sorrow...
Strings...
Senselessnesss...

Shits...

1.
Tit Tat.
Here comes the rain.
No warning
Without Shame.

Taylor Swift singing about pain.
Tit tat.
I hope for the rain.
To move away
"Make me sane!"

2.
Oh, Sloth
Leave me
Though My soul
Almost loathe
I still feel you
near me
Sticking to me
like my skin
Endearly

I long to write,
dance, and beat
with rhythms and melody
But damn you Sloth
has overtaken me...

They say I'll kill you,
Or you will kill me
How can I kill you
when you are inside of me?

Then DEATH!
I have to murder myself
for you Sloth
is a Lover to me

But a damn lover
I don't want to be,
my Spirit says to me.

Yet my flesh
yearns
for a piece of you
in me.

3.
From 2009 to 2010
You still beep me at 2 AM
I wonder does it really mean
you think of me
with feelings that blaze aflame
or you just playin' a game?

Or you just get drunk
And feeling empty again?
You call me, text me,
or wana me with you
At 2AM

Do I get flattered?
Or do I get pissed?
ANd all I wana do
is not to miss
My homey, peacefull bliss
In my dreams, a special abyss

For at 2 AM,
My mind worries
when a text
form words that damn only carries,
five-letter word you see...
It only says,
"Doris..."

***end of PS 1

Offense Is The Best Defense

2010-01-30T04:33:00.000-08:00

I have retired from being a so-called preacher of The Word who argues with people in a debate. Approximately two to four years ago, I left that boring and tiring profession. Not for a reason that I would not win in a debate. As a matter of fact, with my wet appetite for biblical knowledge and receiving satisfaction from my filling in with the knowledge of it, and also my love for historical knowledge, I was more likely to win the debate against any issue regarding Christ.

However, I retreated and conceded to the fact that words were not sufficient a tool for people to be convinced that ONE God whose name was the Truth existed. Every person has their own God and their own truth. Most of the time, that perception is unshakeable.

***

When I was in high school, I started to LOVE tremendously heavy, metallic rock music. Like from those bands who wore masks, and the like, and whose songs had the lyrics ( and only lyrics), “ F*ck you...” repeated many times in one song...I remember I could not get off the loud bangs and horrific vocal from my head. When I’d go to my class, the songs kept playing in my freakin’ head. Music was actually like a euphoric tool for me to ease some pain away...

I had my high school in Iloilo, so my addiction for rock music was not so much a pain. I had friends in a band who loved playing rock music and loved it. And, I felt like I was normal when I was there.

Time came when I went back to Cebu where my folks were. In my room, I would play the music, jumping up so high, or on a weird occasion, crying, sobbing...As if the loud beat of the music was my friend trying to console me.

My family didn’t like it. I thought they were just overreacting. A lot of time, they would give a comment of disdain, but one comment really flared me up like I was a rocket ready for takeoff.

“ Are you having drugs? “, asked seriously by my mom. I was, “whooaah”. Just because I liked that music did not mean I was harming myself. I did not reply of course to show my disgust with that kind of questioning.

I thought it was just the music. My mistake. I would then hear myself cursing and screaming. I would like, “ F*ck, Sh*T! “. My look even changed---I had been looking angry all the time. Damn, music probably influenced me in an unconscious manner.

Anyway, I was already a “Christian” at that time. A baby Christian. I just wanted some form of bang bang bang. So, I shifted to a bit friendlier banging music from Christian bands, like P.O.D. ( Payable on Death ). At that time, I only knew very few Christian rock bands. So, I kept listening to POD and had in my head their song like a broken CD ..” now that I know You, I could never turn my back away...Now that I see You, I believe You no matter what they say...IIIIII feel so alive........I can’t deny You”....

***

Jesus said, “ I am THE TRUTH”. People may have their own truth of a form of spirituality, but spirituality’s depth is only seen by how a person lives; how he relates to himself, to others, and to his circumstances. Spirituality is seen by a person’s fruits, not just by the way he professes himself to be.
Christianity, as Jesus established it to be, is NOT a religion, but a lifestyle.

Probably, I don’t need to explain myself and prove to others that what I believe is the right one because I am secure of what I believe in. I claim now that I have no answers to every question. All I know is that when Christ became my Saviour, I have been living in joy, peace, love, hope, and freedom.

***
And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.- Jesus ( John 8:32 )

That Kinda Girl

2010-01-29T18:53:00.000-08:00

The other night I met a girl
And she looked to be so nice
I asked her for the digits
And she didn't think twice
A couple of days later called her up and asked her out
She said,"with you?" I said, "with me,"
And then she said, "without a doubt"
I took her to the Garden where
I guess they grow the Olives

She wore a tighter skirt
Than any I had seen in college
She said, "I love to smoke and drink
While cursing like a sailor"
I asked her where she got her mouth
And if she had a tailor
Finally I walked her to the door to say goodnight
She said, "I am an apple,
Would you care to take a bite?"
Politely I refused and said, "I'm looking for a lady
So she slapped me in my face and said,
"Boy, you must be crazy"

Different from the ones before
Different from the ones before, she's that kinda girl
Different from the ones before,
Cause I know she loves the Lord
She's that kinda girl, virtuous in every way
The kinda girl that makes you say,
"I hope she comes my way"

Well I'm lookin' for a girl who's virtuous
Cause God laid it on my heart to search for this
So I open up the Word to the book of Proverbs
The 31st chapter tells me all about her
Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain
A woman who fears the Lord, she ain't playin'
Hear what I'm sayin', cause I'm sayin' it clearly
She's the kinda girl I gots to have near me

She's that kinda girl. Different from the ones before
Cause I know she loves the Lord
She's that kinda girl, virtuous in every way,
The kinda girl that makes you say...

Well I'm lookin' into hookin' with a lady
And not a girly of the worl'y that's shady
But the kinda girl you meet
Behind the doors of a church
Ya see, God will bring her to me
So I don't have to search
Too hard I've been scarred by the ones of the past
So put an APB out on the one that will last
A little longer than a roll in the hay for sure
But a bona fide lady's what I'm prayin' for

When I finally meet her, I'll know how to treat her
By fulfilling all her needs
Love her and respect her, cherish her forever
She's the kinda girl for me

She's that kinda girl
Different from the ones before,
Cause I know she loves the Lord
She's that kinda girl, perfect for each other
There'll never be another for me
She's that kinda girl, virtuous in every way
The kinda girl that makes you say
"I hope she comes my way"

Heaven help me, hear my plea
I know there's one who's perfect for me

When I finally meet her, I'll know how to treat her,
By fulfilling all her needs
Love her and respect her, cherish her forever
She's the kinda girl for me

She' the kinda girl for me, the kinda girl for me
She' the kinda girl for me
She' the kinda girl for me, the kinda girl for me
She' the kinda girl for me, I pray she come's my way

She's that kinda girl
Different from the ones before
Cause I know she loves the Lord
She's that kinda girl, virtuous in every way
The kinda girl that makes you say...
She's that kinda girl
Different from the ones before
She's the one that I adore
She's that kinda girl, virtuous in every way
The kinda girl that makes you say
"I hope she comes my way"

written by: Toby Mckeehan

Pfool of Ice Cream

2010-01-24T19:36:00.000-08:00

Last night was a night we would call a " baboy moment" or a "pig moment ". Pig moment is a time when we oversleep, oversit while watching TV, overeat, or overeat to the point of not sharing the food to others.

I had my 10th ice cream cone ( with loads of ice cream, of course ), while not noticing of how time had flown when I first had my first cone. The "dirty" ice cream's flavor was a mixture of flour, sugar, milk, mango, and cheap cookies. Nothing to be crazy about. It was not my favorite ice cream. But, nevertheless, I almost finisehd 1 gallon ( can you believe it? )of that shit-like taste. That must have been my most depressing moment hehe...I do extreme stuff when I am sad or stuck with shity emotions.

Sadly, that was my sweet attack toward that kind of emptiness. That sucks.

On the contrary, last Saturday, I had my first step to my "fitness" journey at Cebu City Sports Complex. The thing was, the place brought me to my sad, emo past. When I would be too depressed and heartbroken, I would run that emotion out. Until my legs ached and my heart too exhauseted to pump like it was about to get out of my chest. So, hint: I am at my saddest when I am the slimmest; and happiest when I am at my ehem "healthiest" ( okay, heaviest. )

The key is : too much of something is never a wise thing.

ps. I have to go to the CR for the nth time. Since last night my farting moment has never ceased. No dairies ( eg. ice cream ) for a lactose intolerant like me T_T ( I must have been really depressed hehe )

***
15 In this meaningless life of mine I have seen both of these:
a righteous man perishing in his righteousness,
and a wicked man living long in his wickedness.

16 Do not be overrighteous,
neither be overwise—
why destroy yourself?

17 Do not be overwicked,
and do not be a fool—
why die before your time?

18 It is good to grasp the one
and not let go of the other.
The man who fears God will avoid all extremes.

Ecclesiastes 7: 15 - 18

Million Voices

2010-01-23T15:55:00.000-08:00

Tell me who’d have thought that we would be so controversial
And stand up against the normal
Are we too outspoken, loud, and messing up the comfortable
Well we’ve been messed up also
Yeah, yeah

But how can we be silent
When a fire burns inside of us

Chorus :
‘Cause we’re a million strong and getting stronger still
They’ll remember we were here
With a million voices breaking silence still
They’ll remember we were here

We were made to start the riot, take on the impossible
And we will slay the giants
We are done with fake religion
fighting now to find the movement
Won’t stop till we find it

How can we be silent
When a fire burns inside of us

Chorus :
‘Cause we’re a million strong and getting stronger still
They’ll remember we were here
With a million voices breaking silence still
They’ll remember we were here

We’re a million strong and getting stronger still
They’ll remember we were here
With a million voices breaking silence still
They’ll remember we were here

Chorus :
‘Cause we’re a million strong and getting stronger still
They’ll remember we were here
With a million voices breaking silence still

They’ll remember we were here

They’ll remember we were here

You will remember
Yes you’ll remember

You will remember
Yes you’ll remember

FOCUS.

2010-01-22T20:17:00.000-08:00

oh no, I have been absent again!

I have to go to my class. NOW.

bRo-kk--e--ehn

2010-01-19T22:38:00.001-08:00

For a child like her.

SURRENDER

2010-01-18T21:01:00.000-08:00

is FREEDOM.

Blink

2010-01-18T18:39:00.000-08:00

I am happy.
But as of the moment, I'll get solace from reading The Fountainhead, and planning on my exercise regimen.hehe.

The instructions are clear:

1. Don't Assume.
2. Never receive anything unless he'd say "This is now bone of my bones
and flesh of my flesh"; haha cheesy...but yep.

3. Enjoy your single life. Do NOT rush. If God wills things, He'd put them in order.

Thanks Tita Maylene and Tabz, and friends...

I have been intensifying my prayer life these days. I miss God and our conversations...

***
Genesis 2: 18 The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him."

21 So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh. 22 Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he BROUGHT HER TO THE MAN.

23 The man said,
"This is now bone of my bones
and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called 'woman, '
for she was taken out of man."

24 For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.

25 The man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

Man of My Dreams

2010-01-17T17:28:00.000-08:00

“ I guess I just don’t know what I want”, he said. Those words were said in a voice close to whisper, and only minimal seconds have passed when those words left his mouth. The tinge of sadness there was almost negligible. It was hardly noticeable for anyone. But not for me. He looked down while I looked at him in silence.

He came and was looking at all giddy while announcing to everyone how he might like me, and stuff. I was almost embarrassed for him. The pain was something he was trying to hide. It was a bit of a pain for me to see him like that. I could have been flattered that a man like him would display such a display of interest for me to other people. No less than the people we were close at heart.

But no one else felt “happy” but him for his announcement. Tall, lean, high-bridged nose, fair and flawless complexion, with a high level of wit, and a man of expertise in his field, he was Mr. Perfect for a lot of women. He was the honey for the bees. An enticing chocolate for the sweet tooth.

Not all intellect and beauty could even soothe that emptiness and struggle he had carried for so long---his time and again battle against worldly temptations, sex, and longing for affection from the opposite sex. He was intrinsically rebellious, but somehow sane. He had wanted to put tattoo on his upper arm ( but did not do that because authoritative eyes were on him ). A man, who wanted to pose a sense of pride to everyone, he remained “clean-looking”---so good in appearance, so noble in his position. He gained respect from his constituents and was more than popular in his work place. He was gifted both in appearance and knowledge. No one ever doubted he would have a “good future” that not everyone was privileged to have.

Yet what made this angelic creature with a suppressed rebel inside felt unhappy? All the struggle of the flesh and his desire to please God were always at war. Most of the time, he said, he would fail in his struggle.

All the beautiful women were not amenable to all the people who loved and cared for him. And even though he wanted to deny it: he knew deep inside that even his God disapproved of all the beautiful women he’s had. Sigh. If only he had a woman THEY would approve. And he was trying to convince himself he could like me---the woman who has had crush on him since time immemorial, a woman many people would like for him, most especially, his God.

On contrary to the past women though, physically, I would not pass his standards. He has dated celebrity-looking ladies- Tall, slim, fair and flawless complexion, nice, long hair, feminine structure. The kind of women he could be proud of to more worldly people. But, someone he could not present to his family or even so to his God. He has only done intimacy with them, but not commitment. And he’s gone through the cycle. AND he was tired, empty, and broken.

He refused to go through that again. I was a choice he could have not chosen. However, this time, he knew that if he refused to follow God’s choice for him that he would suffer in the long run. Deep inside, he knew that God was wiser than him. Moreover, That God was very willing to give him the best. He knew that if he sought God first, all things would be added to him as well.

How could he reconcile his desire for himself and God’s desire for him? He seemed to like what God has wanted for him. However, he got scared. He was scared that he would get rejected for the first time from a woman. He thought he wasn’t a match for her.

She would not have looked like the pretty woman in her dreams. She was a woman who was rebellious, yet someone who knew what she wanted. A woman so secure amidst the "bleak path” most people would assume she had. She has possessed the deadliest weapons that no other women he’s met possessed- a sense of character and profound spirituality. It was as if even her presence shook him. The way she made her feel was not the feeling of excitement he’s had with the hot women he’s had and bed with. It was the feeling of deep acceptance for who he was. And the control of not falling in love with him, which most women he’s had did not have. With her, he didn’t need to be handsome or wise, or anyone brilliant. He knew that the woman who might reject him did not need the worldly standards- ones that he had.

He was there, looking at me, while I stood, turned my back, and left.

-jan 15

Repentance

2010-01-13T07:14:00.000-08:00

I REPENT!!!

repent ( verb )1 : to turn from sin and dedicate oneself to the amendment of one's life

-www.meriam-webster.com

Just Do It

2010-01-10T19:07:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: Please don’t read this blog entry if you are judgemental, or narrow-minded. This will blow you like a bomb. This is long, heavy, whining, shitty post. However, if you plan on reading this, it is advisable you have a cup of coffee and brownies ( or any pastry ) with you.
***
The fact is, I am not naturally nice and am mean. When I am angry, I am dangerous. It is hard for me to get tamed. Meekness is strength they say. Meekness is the ability to control even when you have the power to do something. Eg. You can say to a person who has terribly hurt you, “F**ck you, damsshyiet you are! “, but you take your tongue to the obedience of Christ, and believe that vengeance is not ours, but God’s.
Anyway, bear with me, this is a very disorganized post, again. As I am disorganized ( literally...let’s start with my curly/wavy/shitty hair which I love ). I dreamt just this day. In my dream, someone told me, “ It does not mean that when it’s difficult, you cannot do it”. I was alarmed because I was afraid it was a dream that came from heaven. Usually, I get revelations through dreams. For some reason, I was feeling nauseated to grasp what that sentence would mean.

Last night, my dad made me feel bad about myself again and threw into my face how little he thought of me because of my “career path”, and how not proud he was of me. So, I decided to move out again of our house. My sister and I planned that we rent and own a house. Of course, since my sister is NOT dependable ( she changes her mind easily and not stick to her decision – that which I hate the most because if I say something, I would fulfil it even to my death ), I told her time and again to be firm on that as I was serious about that.

I want to move not because I hate my dad. I hope I will just stay here with my parents because I love them and want to be with them. And, I know they love me. No parents are perfect. Gratefully, my parents try their best to love me. It’s always the same cycle though of them not thinking greatly of me and not accepting that they have a daughter who is “different”. I am not saying I am different because I am a genius. It’s just that most of the time, people don’t understand me because I don’t think like them. Now, I am exhausted of explaining myself to people. Thus the blog.

First of, I have no desire to be popular or rich for the sake of being popular or rich. I don’t even understand why people think that travelling is luxury when for me, it’s education. That’s the reason I don’t tell them I have been to Australia. It’s because they would think I am in there for “ work or marriage”. When I went there, Filipinas wanted me to meet this Australian, a gardener, or that Australian plumber. I admire Australians really for not defining people by their jobs. So unlike Filipinos ( I’ll tell you why in a moment ). I love Australia. It’s almost perfect. The people are GENEROUS, kind, and nice. They love serving each other and loving their country. SO unlike Filipinos. Their place is clean. Their government almost zero in corruption. It’ almost like utopia. SO unlike the Philippines.

However, I have a heart for the Philippines, amidst its corruption, greed, and filthiness ( both in place and people’s character ). Full of flaws, but people try to cope. They are like people who have been abused and are broken, yet still trying to find their worth as people. Some sacrifice integrity for a cheap form of paper-the bills. But, some remain to be strong and full of faith. And I am one of these Filipinos.

I once told a friend it is improper and rude to ask a person what his work is especially on the first meeting. ( SEE, that’s basic, but many people do that...most Australians don’t do that ). Especially in the Philippines where people define people by what they do. And, that’s uncomfortable for most, especially if their job is menial or what. And whoa, people think of me as a person who works in a “call center”. “ Asa gani kah? Sa Sykes, or sa Etel?” ( wa sa duha ) Great. And because the prideful me wants to show off, I’d say, “ I am an editor in...” As if that makes me a better person than those “call agents”. So, anyway, no one will care. They will only know you work in a call center. So I stop defining myself as an “editor” ( that would only make it hard for me to justify that title hehe..forgive the grammar here). They ARE FREE to think I am a “call girl”. Or a cashier in our cafeteria. Or how about a janitress? Who cares? Ah, well, people care. Welcome to the Philippines.

Second of all, there is another creepy, I-so- abhor measurement of men’s ( take note: FILIPINO INDIVIDUALS ) so called “status”---ENGLISH. How often you say it, how you say it, how correct your grammar is, what words you use ( is it a complex word? just yknow, to prove ones width of vocabulary ) . CRAPPY. Go to America, you brown Americans! I don’t get it. I mean, I am not biased. I love English speaking people as much as Bisaya speaking people. What I hate is that people think they’re smarter or richer than others just by the way they use the language. I used to be one of those who think that way. But now that I have been studying Literature, I have learned that our dialect is much creative if we learn to use it as we use other dialects. Now, I go to our Cebuano service at 2pm with Cebuano songs, Cebuano preaching, and Cebuano-speaking Cebuanos. The masa is more numerous than those rich people here. Why do we have to be like them? We are, after all, Cebuanos. Ang hindi marunong magsalita sa sariling wika...ay pumunta nalang sa Amerika. kidding. but hey, you know what I mean. So stop telling me how poor my English grammar is and that how my blog is such a poorly written piece because of the TECHNICALITY of grammatical structure...why much greater pressure than those Koreans or Japanese when in fact all our countries have the common fact---English is our SECONDARY Language. Remember that.

Okay, last and not the least. This is modern era and not the romantic era---bodies are okay not to look like Angelina Jolie’s body. Men nowadays are smarter. I guess. They don’t look on women simply because they have bodies like a celebrity, but they also dig deeper to women’s sexy brains. I was surprised ( really ), that a guy friend of mine told me to lose weight, and I would be “perfect”. And he said that since “seriously, I am pretty, smart, and faithful ( to God ), I could “get any man I want if my body was better”. Little did he know that he had told me the same thing when we were yet in high school. He said, “ if you had a body like hers ( pointing to one of my friends ), you’d be more likeable”. That statement actually was a statement I have been keeping till college and has been the reason of my distorted body image and low self-esteem. Had he said that in Tyra Banks show, I am so sure he’d get “BOOOoos” from the audience. But, I guess he didn’t know better. I know his intentions are good, but I am very much satisfied and happy with my body, a not too skinny one ( with a normal BMI, not classified as overweight ) , and have believed I can have the right man even with this body type. Because the right man for me is not too shallow to look on the form, but is deep enough to look beyond. So, I told my friend to shut up.

This has been long, and it’s time for me to shut up. Hehe. I had qualms in writing all these thoughts because of the consciousness that I might get judged ( some people think that I am nice and don’t say anything, yet I am actually wicked, only unleashed when writing ). I also had been postponing all my posting of poetries because I have always thought I am BAD at writing poems ( I have actually written a lot of them, but threw them away...got frustrated at how bad they were) . So now, I will post them, with the title “Poems of Shit”. Even I may be vulnerable enough to the judging eyes.

Those eyes are just there to judge. They may be right. But, not all the time. All those people who have mind like those who simply want to get wealth and fame are not so bad as people who are also simple minded, like me, who love knowledge and fulfilment than fame or money. All those superb in English are not better than those people who speak in Bisaya. Those men from the romantic era are not better than the men of the modern time. A pretty “healthy, bigger” body type is not lesser than the “athletic or slim” body type.

I guess, what I just want to say in a capsule is that, we are FREE for self-expression, no matter what social class we’re in, or how we look like ( or how we speak, or how we write poetry ). We are all equal.

“ It does not mean that when it’s difficult, you cannot do it”. In a judgemental society, with all our immaturity, it is hard to prove our worth. ANYWAY,
Just Do It.
***

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus”-Galatians 3:28

Sanity Through Truth

2010-01-09T02:59:00.000-08:00

I am hurt. Hurt because some people, including family, friends, and church mates misjudge me. And another friend has told me that I am physically imperfect ( a bit FAT ), thus " I could not get any man I want ". And hurt because I think I am misunderstood by people.

I wish the people I love would understand me. To know me, by the truth. And not by what they seem is true to themselves.

I wish people would know that I KNOW that I am imperfect...that I am NOT talented enough or beautiful enough or KIND enough or even SPIRITUAL enough. REALLY, I KNOW that. I may try to not let them see that I feel so INADEQUATE. but TRUST me. I KNOW I am inadequate.

And because of this, I have all the REASONS not to tell them about Christ's power or strength when I myself am full of weaknesses.

BUT amidst this, Only The truth that comes from Christ strengthens and comforts me. He has given me Love so I know how to love myself despite of my imperfections.

The truth is that no one is Perfect but Him. And that to expect the people who have offended and hurt me to UNDERSTAND me is UNFAIR. For I myself am full of imperfections. For I myself have hurt or offended them even more.

If Christ, the King of kings, who has died for me is willing to forgive me for all my betrayal and disloyalty, will I be more selfish not to forgive those people who have hurt and offended me?

***

" Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." ( John 8:32 )
****

( This is a recent pic. Is this fat??? You be the judge...( your answer may not matter anyway hehe )

Depth

2010-01-08T03:59:00.000-08:00

Depth is something that doesn't happen in an instance. To acquire it, one has to face challenges ( physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional ) with victory on his end.
***
I hope that when someone dives into me as a person, they will find more than what meets their eyes. Or what they hear about me.

I hope that I will not declare of my spiritual affinity to Christ, and people will only recognize the vibration of the words being uttered from my mouth. I hope that people will not only hear but even believe it even when my mouth is closed.

SO called "Christians" I have seen them all. With passion and thinking that they think they are Christians. But they are simply hypocrite children of the Light.

That I say not of condemnation, but of reality that I myself have been a hypocrite once in a while...crucifying the One who loves me time and again through my words, actions, and thoughts.
***

Is their depth in your spirituality? DON'T tell me. It's useless.
SHOW me.

Let me see you LOVE your enemy or the people who have offended you. Is your Love for God above your pride and self-preservation?

Have you abandoned your doubt and self will, your self-centered living...for your faith and love for the King of Kings?
Have you loved him through the SURRENDER of your will, your strength, your thoughts...for HIS will, strength, and thoughts?

So shallow are words. So shallow is your presence at church. SO shallow is your lip service.

How deep is your love for God?

Fetus

2010-01-05T23:09:00.000-08:00

"Be Friendly", Ate M, my "guardian", told me after "ignoring" the man (I used to have a crush on )who tried to talk with me the last time. I don't know. So many times, my being "friendly" with guys results to misinterpretation on their species part. I'm not going to start to complicate my life, thank you very much.

Anyway, I promised her I'd be friendly next time...(@_@)
***

Fetus starts with an egg and a sperm. A few chromosomes make up the microscopic cells. It multiplies, until it becomes big. Until the organs are formed. Nine months later, the FULL term is already waging war against his mother's vagina. Until he gets out and sees the world. And he is no longer called, "fetus", but a baby, or a little human being.

***

I am a fetus. So underdeveloped. Not ready yet of the outside world. And REALLY, I don't like it if I'm treated like a grown up. Look at me, I'm JUST a fetus. If you let me out on my 16th week, I'd die here at CCMC. Okay. stop forcing me to be expelled like a wiggly worm from your anal canal.

I need to grow yet. SO be patient...

***

The lullaby of my mom lulls me to sleep as I sip another teaspoonful of amniotic fluid of my Writing class inside this amniotic sac-home for a fetus like me. gUUlp!

Daul on Art

2010-01-04T23:51:00.000-08:00

I have just arrived home. Dreaming of holding a guitar like a baby once again. Loving it, with its beautiful cries resound in the air as I strum its strings.

Immature artists convince themselves and others that they ARE artists. According to Daul, Art should not be bragged about. Careful, careful. If you'd let Daul, a painter and model, look on your piece of art, while blabbing tirelessly about it ( especially if she doesn't like it ), she might tell you ( but would not tell you upfront, just speaking to herself...a curse on her Korean descent ), "Is that ART?!" Except that now, she will never speak like it...because she's six feet under the ground. hehe.

I had never considered myself an artist since I had been intimidated with all those superb ones. No match for them, I'd say. The only indication that I could be one was the time no one ate my food.

Art is never focused on just music, or painting, or fashion. Or one aspect of it. I believe that artists cannot stop themselves from expression. Whether they put nuts on their spaghetti or black pepper on their carbonara.

Art is everywhere so long as one uses his senses. I dance with an abstract painting. I paint with a colorful novel. I listen to a ballet dancer dancing to a muted music.

I have to stop. Need to talk with Howard Roak of The Fountainhead. Or, maybe I'll just meet with him in my sleep, strumming a happy tune with my guitar.

2010’s First

2010-01-04T23:25:00.000-08:00

This year, I want to awaken my artistic soul. I’m deprived, I’d claim. Ever since young, I had a fascination for art of any kind. Yet, I didn’t have a formal background on anything. Stop. I will stop the self-pity now....

Music, painting, writing, and dancing. I would somehow concentrate on these.

I would not blame anyone for my lack of success or progress on these “disciplines” because I lack discipline. Idleness is a disease I have been nursing.

Today, I have finished the novel, “One Hundred Years Of Solitude” by Garcia-Marquez, a book which I only started reading yesterday. I’m quite proud to have finished it for a short time. That kind, or thickness of that kind would usually take me a week or two to finish. His story would not normally appeal to me, especially that sensuality is so much a part of the book; if the novel were a man, sexuality would be like the normal breathing of it. The novel has so many main characters, about 10 to 15. There are characters, like Amaranta and Remedios, whom I could so much relate to;, that it made me happy someone understood who I was by portraying these characters. Strong woman, not easily entangled by romantic wiles of the males, knows what she’s doing, and under control of her emotions ( including sexual passions ). However, women who are most portrayed in the book are the opposite. I consider women who cannot control their lusty appetite as weak. More so, those women who are deceived by men’s venomous charms.

Anyway, I’m a bit bothered that I had been absent so many a times in my classes for my Masters. This year, I promise I will NEVER be absent.

At 10:53pm, I should finish cling clanging myself because my eyes start to do the cha-cha.