Entries for September, 2005
September 1st, 2005
Angels in our midsts Posted in A young university student was home for the summer. She had gone to visit some friends one evening and time passed quickly as each shared their various experiences of the past year. She ended up staying longer than planned, and had to walk home alone. She wasn't afraid because it was a small town and she lived only a few blocks away. As she walked along under the tall elm trees, Diane asked "God" to keep her safe from harm and danger. When she reached the alley, which was a shortcut to her house, she decided to take it. However, halfway down the alley she noticed a man standing at the end as though he were waiting for her. She became uneasy and began to pray, asking for "God's" protection. Instantly a comforting feeling of quietness and security wrapped around her, she felt as though someone was walking with her. When she reached the end of the alley, she walked right past the man and arrived home safely. The following day, she read in the newspaper that a young girl had been raped in the same alley just twenty minutes after she had been there. Feeling overwhelmed by this tragedy and the fact that it could have been her, she began to weep. Thanking the Lord for her safety and to help this young woman, she decided to go to the police station. She felt she could recognize the man, so she told them her story. The police asked her if she would be willing to look at a lineup to see if she could identify him. She agreed and immediately pointed out the man she had seen in the alley the night before. When the man was told he had been identified, he immediately broke down and confessed. The officer thanked Diane for her bravery and asked if there was anything they could do for her. She asked if they would ask the man one question? Diane was curious as to why he had not attacked her. When the policeman asked him, he answered, Because she wasn't alone. She had two tall men walking on either side of her." Gives ya goose bumps, doesn't it! *Here's a prayer for all my friends, family and loved ones---all of you whom I hold dear to me: good health, safety and happiness today and everyday! God Bless! ~angel24/7~ What's ur Story?
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Wishing for 911 Posted in Got back this afternoon from a two-and-a-half-day leave. Daddy was rushed to the hospital on Monday evening after his blood pressure shot up. Thank God it wasn't really serious, and I'm doubly thankful that my kid brother was home--he was able to immediately call my Ninang and drive Dad to the hospital. I was was on the edge the whole night---it was too late to catch a bus and go home to Bulacan. I kept thinking, if only we had 911!!! After his surgery three years ago, (they took out his left kidney) dad was left alone in their apartment in Glendale. My stepmom worked nights at Lucent Technologies. Dad slipped in the bathroom and collapsed. I'm not so sure if he was able to dial 911 before he passed out or when he came to, but yes, the paramedics came and whisked him to the hospital. I talked to my Dad and asked him if he would want to fly back to L.A. He said he would after the annulment papers between him and my Mom get approved. I breathed a sigh of relief. Don't get me wrong. I love the fact that when he was hospitalized, my aunts and uncles all came in to visit. There was a steady supply of family coming in, I thought it was Christmas. I also love being able to attend to my Dad and take care of him. Give him food, help him change his shirts, give him medicine. Massage his hands, feet and legs. Never mind that I haven't slept or rested since Monday night.... It felt good being able to wait on him. But what I detest was having to go up to the nurse station and demand that they get Dad's blood pressure reading every hour. I wanted to snatch the sphygmo from the nurse and do it myself! Turns out she hasn't been working as a nurse for the last four years---she worked as a factory worker in Korea. I do not like the doctor not knowing what to do with Dad's elevated blood pressure. He's diabetic, with one kidney left, if his bp shoots up even more it could cause a stroke or a total shut down of his remaining kidney. I wanted to spell that out for him or worse, call an ambulance and move Dad to Asian Hospital here in Alabang for my peace of mind. I'm wishing for 911 emergency hotline; better paid nurses who would gladly check their patients' blood pressure every hour, by the hour; and please, more intelligent doctors who know the difference between plain hypertension and one that's secondary to diabetes. Yes, I'm wishing that Dad was back in California. Angel's LSS: Pablo Neruda's Poema 20 in mp324/7 Reading List: Somewhere, Home by Nada Awar Jarrar Differential Diagnosis: tired | |
September 2nd, 2005
Today's Cup of Chicken Soup Posted in You Become What You Want to Be By Marilyn Joan I had several strikes against me growing up. I had very little self-esteem, if any. Our mother had a hair-trigger temper and we constantly had to avoid her wrath, learning to fear and not thrive as children. Even when we weren't in trouble, we felt like we had done something wrong. Talking about love or sex in our house was totally taboo. Our home lacked warmth and my fears of incurring my mother's anger outweighed my desire to talk to her about very important things that should have been dealt with as a child, not as an adult. My childhood was short. I always say I graduated from the school of hard knocks, and meant it. I was molested between the ages of ten and thirteen by four different family friends and a family member. I was an alcoholic by the time I was fourteen and a frequent user of drugs when I wasn't drunk. I was not popular in school, my grades were not great and the only thing I excelled at was spelling, which would not carry me far. My mom planted the seeds and watered them daily, telling me I wasn't smart enough or good enough to reach the goals I set for myself in life. I wanted to be a teacher, a stewardess or a nurse. At one time, I had many, many dreams. Not one of them was something my mother encouraged or thought I could accomplish. I made mistakes, too many to mention and some so humiliating that I cringe inside today as I recall them. The drugs, the alcohol and the self-destructive path I was on were not things I was proud of. I wanted so desperately to change, but I had no idea how. I just wasn't good enough to succeed at anything. The only positive thing left was my desire to try. I started dating a guy when I was thirteen, falling hopelessly in love with him. True to form, my mother told me I would never do better and on my sixteenth birthday we were engaged. We moved in together after high school and married at nineteen. We had two beautiful kids together, and that was the turning point in my life. Being a good mother was something I could accomplish. Marrying so young was wrong, we both knew it. We were drawn to each other for all the wrong reasons. It was bad for him, it was bad for me, it was bad for the children, so I started my road to recovery by divorcing him. We never harbored any hate or animosity for each other and frankly I liked him better once we lived apart. He became a better father and a better person and I too became a better human being. I began to reinvent and get reacquainted with myself. I faced my problems with the help of psychologists and social workers, who taught me healthy parenting and life skills. With their help and encouragement I learned to talk with my kids and to value them for who they were. I am able to guide them toward realizing their full potential through encouragement and emotional support. And, I have stayed clean and sober. During therapy I remembered the sexual abuse and came forward to have the man arrested and charged with his crimes. I felt wonderful, vindicated and strong when he was convicted twenty years later for the crimes he committed against me. I look back with 20/20 hindsight and wonder why my educators never picked up on my abuse. The signs were there, I read it in my report cards. About a sullen little girl who sulks and wants to be the center of attention, and cries. No, I don't want to be the center of attention. I just want to be loved. Can't you see that! I remember all the incidents as if they were yesterday and have worked hard to move beyond feeling like a victim. Today I feel lucky. I have a wonderful husband, two more great kids and a home in the country, a life far beyond the dreams of a kid being drowned in the toilet. I have never beaten my children or belittled them. I overcame great odds, faced the loathing and shame, and grieved for the loss of my childhood so that the cycle stopped with me. In its place a life centered on love and nurturing has taken root and I am careful to plant more seeds and water them daily. 24/7 Reading List: Somewhere, Home Differential Diagnosis: repulsed | |
Poem by Piero Scaruffi Posted in The path was darker than we expected,but the edge of the world was still | |
September 6th, 2005
Shelling Shrimps Posted in Déjà vu. I swear this has already happened before. And this feeling, although somewhat surreal, seems oddly familiar. This is just the third time that I’ve felt like this in my 26 years of existence---and it always hits me while I’m shelling shrimps. I’ve stayed in at least 15 different houses in the last decade: a relative’s house, apartments, boarding houses and dormitories and have gotten used to the transient lifestyle---moving to a new place every six months or so. In a way, I am the proverbial rolling stone that gathers no moss. I have become so adept at moving that I bolt at the slightest provocation. And oftentimes I leave nary a trace of having once lived there. But I digress, let me go back to my shrimp story. The first time this alien emotion washed over me was in my parent’s house in Valenzuela. Pre-separation days, I was about 11. Mom left a small basinful of shrimps for me to shell for the pansit palabok we were set to prepare. It was midmorning and sunlight was freely streaming through the window—the bunched up red and yellow and curtains cast shadows over the dining table where I stood hunched over the basin of ice-cold shrimps. Peeling and shelling methodically, separating the pointed tip from the rich shrimp heads awaiting the consummation of their grim fates over mortal and pestle, I felt happy and secured. Even the hungry wails of my newborn brother Robert did not disturb the peace that I felt within. *** Metrica Street, Sampaloc---My best friend Victoria rapidly chattered away her latest classroom gossip. It was a blistering hot afternoon and beads of sweat clung to my upper lip. We were in the small kitchen of the two-bedroom apartment we shared with several of her cousins. On her way out, she handed me a plateful of prawns fresh from Mindoro. It was my turn to cook dinner---a repast of sautéed prawns and vegetables for me and my five housemates. A loud thud informed me that Victoria had already left. I felt isolated, all alone with a plateful of prawns in a crumbling apartment. Outside, Sampaloc was buzzing with life. I, on the other hand, felt that welcoming sense of peace arrive as I began shelling prawns. I pondered on my uncertain future as I deftly shucked shrimps, wondering what to do with the countless days and nights that lay ahead of me. I figured life wasn’t so bad. After all, I was on the Dean’s List, held the distinction of being the youngest varsity debater on campus, and on top of everything, I knew I had friends and relatives who looked after me from time to time. As I held up a king prawn by the tail, I mused at how, devoid of their plastic-like coverings, they were just as vulnerable and defenseless as I was once exposed to life’s harsh realities. That day, I resolved to grow an exoskeleton. *** Humming a tune as I worked on the iceberg of shrimps floating in tap water, I would stick my tongue out playfully to catch a few raindrops bouncing from the rain guards. I’ve always loved the sound and feel of the rain. I was standing over the kitchen sink in our new house in Guiginto, Bulacan, when the surreal feeling began spreading all over me. Like an invisible embrace, the sensation was warm, welcoming, and all-enveloping. I sighed and smiled as I snuck a peek at Dad sitting at his favorite spot in the living room, under the frame of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. I haven’t felt this way in years. I’m now pushing 27 and shifted to writing advertising copy after tiring from a life of newspaper deadlines. Apart from shedding my old skin, I’ve also done away with my exoskeleton. A decade after Dad left for America; 10 years after the goddess evicted me from what is now solely her house; after living in more or less 15 different addresses all over Metro Manila and meeting hundreds of borders and housemates, most of whom are now nameless faces--- I finally realized what the odd but welcome feeling meant. Just as my expertly shelled shrimp curled perfectly from neck to tail, I too have come full circle. Blissfully, I pause to drink in my surroundings: To the left was Green Estate’s famed green rice fields, to my extreme right was Dad’s prized garden---the yellow English roses bowing with the weight of raindrops on its petals; red and green bell peppers, purple eggplants and other plants all competing for space. It was a patch of earth bursting with color and teeming with life---a place where I myself could permanently take root and thrive. From out of nowhere, bullfrogs burst into chorus, and, startled, I drop a few shelled shrimp from the plate. Bending over to pick up the strays, I feel that warm feeling trickle in once again. I prayed. May I never have to shell shrimps anywhere else. Anne Stephanie Cruz 09.05.05 | |
September 7th, 2005
Song for the Week: Posted in Crazy For You Swaying room as the music starts *I've loved this song since I was in second grade. Of the many remakes, it was the MYMP version that caught my attention. Wala lang! Hehe | |
September 8th, 2005
Seeing Red Posted in I'm officially in sungit mode. Pasensya na lang sa mga nauna nang na hit and run at sa mga masasagasaan pa lang. My dear Andoy sent me an email this morning telling me I'm acting really crabby. He surmised its PMS time, and he's right. Buti pa siya alam niya, ako hindi! Kaya pala anlupit kong mangatay ng mga tula since yesterday. That probably explains why I couldn't finish my usual 12-round boxing routine at the gym last night and why, for the life of me, I ate a pack of corn chips for dinner. Inaaway ko yung mga makukulit dito sa office. Meron kasing tanong ng tanong ng kung ano ano, ginagawa akong thesaurus at wikipedia (forever na niyang ginagawa yan, mind you!) kaya kanina nainis ako sabi ko sa pasko reregaluhan ko siya ng thesaurus. Di pa rin na-gets, sige pa din ang tanong ng mga walang sense at walang wentang whatever, so I turned to him and with one raised eyebrow icily told him to talk to my hand. Ayun tumahimik. Palagay ko, mabuti pang manahimik muna din ako. I feel like hurricane Katrina----with gustiness that could obliterate anything that crosses my path. Yun lang.Good luck sa mga susubok mangulit o magpa-cute. Don't say I didn't warn you. Angel's LSS: Burn by nina and xtian bautista24/7 Reading List: Loose Screws by Karen Templeton Silverscreen Pick: steam rising from my nostrils Differential Diagnosis: SUNGIT MODE! | |
September 9th, 2005
REAL LOVE CHANGES PEOPLE Posted in **thanks for this story Hanna. Its just what I needed to read on a Friday morning.Yes, I 've never been loved like this before. When Catherine Lawes' husband, Lewis, became the warden on Sing Sing prison in 1921, she was a young mother of three daughters. Everybody warned her never to step foot inside the walls. But she didn't listen to them. When the first prison basketball game was held, in she went, three girls in tow, and took a seat in the bleachers with the inmates. These were America's hardest criminals. But the warden unlocked the gate for them, and they walked without escort or guard to the home of Catherine Lawes to pay their last respects. And to a man, each one returned. And, most of all, he set you free. You are free! Free to run away. Free to harden your heart. But you don't. Or if you do, you come back. Why? Because you've never been loved like this before. | |
Today's Cup of Chicken Soup Posted in The Scar By Joanna Slan His thumb softly rubbed the twisted flesh on my cheek. The plastic surgeon, a good fifteen years my senior, was a very attractive man. His masculinity and the intensity of his gaze seemed almost overpowering. "Hmmm," he said quietly. "Are you a model?" Is this a joke? Is he kidding? I asked myself, and I searched his handsome face for signs of mockery. No way would anyone ever confuse me with a fashion model. I was ugly. My mother casually referred to my sister as her pretty child. Anyone could see I was homely. After all, I had the scar to prove it. The accident happened in fourth grade, when a neighbor boy picked up a hunk of concrete and heaved the mass through the side of my face. An emergency room doctor stitched together the shreds of skin, pulling cat-gut through the tattered outside of my face and then suturing the shards of flesh inside my mouth. For the rest of the year, a huge bandage from cheekbone to jaw covered the raised angry welt. A few weeks after the accident, an eye exam revealed I was nearsighted. Above the ungainly bandage sat a big, thick pair of glasses. Around my head, a short fuzzy glob of curls stood out like mold growing on old bread. To save money, Mom had taken me to a beauty school where a student cut my hair. The overzealous girl hacked away cheerfully. Globs of hair piled up on the floor. By the time her instructor wandered over, the damage was done. A quick conference followed, and we were given a coupon for a free styling on our next visit. "Well," sighed my father that evening, "you'll always be pretty to me," and he hesitated, "even if you aren't to the rest of the world." Right. Thanks. As if I couldn't hear the taunts of the other kids at school. As if I couldn't see how different I looked from the little girls whom the teachers fawned over. As if I didn't occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. In a culture that values beauty, an ugly girl is an outcast. My looks caused me no end of pain. I sat in my room and sobbed every time my family watched a beauty pageant or a "talent" search show. Eventually I decided that if I couldn't be pretty, I would at least be well-groomed. Over the course of years, I learned to style my hair, wear contact lenses and apply make-up. Watching what worked for other women, I learned to dress myself to best advantage. And now, I was engaged to be married. The scar, shrunken and faded with age, stood between me and a new life. "Of course, I'm not a model," I replied with a small amount of indignation. The plastic surgeon crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me appraisingly. "Then why are you concerned about this scar? If there is no professional reason to have it removed, what brought you here today?" Suddenly he represented all the men I'd ever known. The eight boys who turned me down when I invited them to the girls-ask-boys dance. The sporadic dates I'd had in college. The parade of men who had ignored me since then. The man whose ring I wore on my left hand. My hand rose to my face. The scar confirmed it; I was ugly. The room swam before me as my eyes filled with tears. The doctor pulled a rolling stool up next to me and sat down. His knees almost touched mine. His voice was low and soft. "Let me tell you what I see. I see a beautiful woman. Not a perfect woman, but a beautiful woman. Lauren Hutton has a gap between her front teeth. Elizabeth Taylor has a tiny, tiny scar on her forehead," he almost whispered. Then he paused and handed me a mirror. "I think to myself how every remarkable woman has an imperfection, and I believe that imperfection makes her beauty more remarkable because it assures us she is human." He pushed back the stool and stood up. "I won't touch it. Don't let anyone fool with your face. You are delightful just the way you are. Beauty really does come from within a woman. Believe me. It is my business to know." Then he left. I turned to the face in the mirror. He was right. Somehow over the years, that ugly child had become a beautiful woman. Since that day in his office, as a woman who makes her living speaking before hundreds of people, I have been told many times by people of both sexes that I am beautiful. And, I know I am. When I changed how I saw myself, others were forced to change how they saw me. The doctor didn't remove the scar on my face; he removed the scar on my heart. | |
September 12th, 2005
The Gift of Being Single Posted in By Mariel Calalo TOO often people want what they want, or think they want at the moment, which is usually "happiness" right now. The irony of their impatience is that only by learning to wait, and by willingness to accept the bad with the good do we usually attain those things that are truly worthwhile. I have a blessing which is sometimes seen as a curse. I am blessed with the gift of being single. For most of us twenty-something young professionals, or simply single people it seems the world has already come up with its own set of expectations on how we should live life. The world expects us to finish school in our early twenties, get a job, find the love of our lives by the time we reach our mid-twenties, marry and have kids. But the thing is, not everyone sees their dreams come true in the same way. In this article, I shall try to endeavor to change the way the world looks at being single. The Art of Contentment For most of us, being single will be more of a phase than a final destination. This is the best place to practice the art of contentment. Someday, I'm sure most of us will fall in love and get married. But the thing is, love will always be tested. Someone more handsome, more charming, richer, funnier, sweeter would come along. If you have not practiced the art of contentment as a single person, chances are you would be tempted to want that and not cherish your chosen one. Practicing the Art of Contentment as a single person means that you take what life gives you, good or bad, you're willing to see it through. It means you don't walk away every time things get tough because it builds in you patience, perseverance, understanding and a hundred different virtues that people in a hurry will never have. Being single is a time of your life when you can get to know yourself better. You can pursue different interests and passions without having to ask another person's approval. It is a phase when you can keep focus on other things, discover your potentials and talents, and see yourself become more than what you expect to be. Allow yourself to surprise you. Stop wasting precious energy trying to figure out why you're still romantically unattached. It's all in the mind. Take the time to go see your friends, spend time with your family, do charity work and you will realize that you are not, and never for one moment, was alone. Sometimes the dilemmas we face are not between what is absolutely bad and absolutely good. Sometimes, it's between good and best. Treat this stage of your life as a phase to evaluate who is good for you and who is best for you. Sometimes, you won't hear music, or feel magic to know who's best for you. The heart just knows and it doesn't need any romantically charged scenario to decide on the matter. Trust in your heart, and trust that time will eventually lead you to, not to the perfect partner, but to the most suitable partner for you. Being single is a phase of life that we need to be thankful for, because being single means our hearts have yet to choose the best one for us. You have no business "entrapping" them and asking (which is more like "putting a gun in the head" Don't put your life on hold for Mr/Ms. Right but don't let it waste away with Mr./Ms Wrong. Life is about things that you do and happen to you everyday. It's not about the things that could have happened but never did, or things that you think would happen in the future. Live life now. Live it to the fullest and stop beating yourself up, trying to be perfect on a Saturday night date. | |
them of their exclusive attention, if you're not ready for commitment yourself. Sometimes, when you spend too much time trying to find a boyfriend, you normally end us marrying the first loser who comes to your door.An Open Letter Posted in My Dearest Larry, Today would have been your 11th birthday. I wonder how tall you would already be; which school you're attending; or if you took after Mom or Dad. Around this age I probably would be scolding you for spending too much time watching TV or playing RPG on the net. I, or your Kuya would also be spoling you with frequent trips to Timezone. I might also be force feeding you vegetables and chastising you for not brushing your teeth before going to bed. I might be doing a thousand things for you kiddo, had you not left us eight months after we welcomed you into this world. Your kuya still remembers you eventhough he was just five when you were born. His recollections were of you in the hospital (our family seems to have an affinity for hospitals, mahal), still a happy baby inspite all the tubes and gadgets those mean, mean, doctors hooked and attached to your little body. He says you would have ended up the smartest in the family---with me teaching you grammar and writing, and him covering for you in science and math. He also wants to teach you how to ride a bike and play the guitar. We miss you, Larry. I'm sure Daddy misses you as well, even if you never got to meet him. He stills talks about you from time to time. I know up to now your passing still pains him as much, if not more, than it does me. Sorry if I wouldn't be able to visit you today, ate can't any miss any more days at work. But I sang you a birthday song soon after I woke up this morning. I know too that you're always watching over me and your kuya Balky. (Yes, please take extra special care of him----perpetual klutz that he is!) I appreciate that...watch over Mom and Dad too, they're both getting pretty sickly nowadays. (If you could, try to make sure Mom doesn't cause any further damage to herself, you know she has a tendency to self-destruct when depressed.) There isn't any need for me to pray for you, I'm perfectly sure Jesus took you in His arms the day you breathed your last. Eight months of hospital trauma, brain surgery, painful lab procedures and a host of other illnesses. Holding you, I sensed how brave you were then. You put up a good fight until the very end---when it was your own family who gave up on you. I'm sorry if it seemed that we didn't do everything to save you or alleviate your sufferings. I'm sorry if I weren't around as often as I should have been...and I'm sorry, if at that time, I was too caught up in my own emotional time warp that I didn't give my 100% attention to my baby brother. My little cherub, our bunso, you were my first major lesson in letting go. I know you're at peace now, free from pain, and in the company of fellow angels. Happy birthday, mahal. Missing you all these years, Ate Differential Diagnosis: Silent Mode | |
September 13th, 2005
Extra Challenges Posted in A Good Soldier I'm writing this entry at our admin office on the other side of BF Homes. I was pulled out of work after lunch and sent here to pitch in. Funny, the task was to reconcile banking records---an accounting duty involving sums and amounts, that almost scared the daylights out of me. However, the experience led me to conclude that it is possible to teach an old dog new tricks. Even ones who absolutely abhorred numbers all her life. Yup, I balanced them books, using Microsoft Excel no less! Hehehe. But please, it is not a job I'd want to do day in and day out. I have very high respect for accountants so I choose to stay clear out of their paths. I just wanted to prove to my superiors that I am, after all, a good soldier. My face registered protest from being shipped out to a totally alien assignment, but I gave it my best and performed what was expected of me.Mission accomplished ma'am! Stop Child Abuse! I was surprised to come home last night and find two of the kids we take care of at the center sitting in the living room with their father. Turns out that the kids have been staying at the house since the weekend so I missed seeing them while I was at the bukid. Almira and Aldrin will be staying with us temporarily, But I think "indefinitely" is the more appropriate term since their situation is kind of complicated. The kids are suffering from physical abuse from their stepmother, so the dad chose to have the kids stay with us rather than become human punching bags. I felt a sharp pain stab my chest when I saw the kids last night. I know the feeling all too well. Mom had a quick temper and a heavy hand, if you piss her off, you come in contact with whatever she gets her hands on---belt, basin, tupperware---really anything, and she often doesn't stop until the thing breaks or you bleed (whichever comes first). I really cannot understand what people get out of hurting children. Is it because they're meek and too tiny to fight back? Do adults get an ego masage out of seeing them begging and pleading for mercy? Good Lord! Its times like this that I lose hope in humanity. I promised to buy the siblings ice cream tonight. Its the least I could do, if I had passes to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory I'd take them there. I'm hoping the ice cream would numb their pain a bit and temporarily take their minds off their evil stepmother. | |
September 14th, 2005
HOLDING PATTERNS Posted in **thanks Mitz for sharing this, I passed it on... Many times God will allow a painful situation or a painful circumstance in our life to "swallow us up." This season in our spiritual growth is a holding pattern. We can't move to the left or the right. All we can do is sit, like Jonah sat in the belly of that great fish, so God can have our undivided attention and speak to us. God put Jonah in a holding pattern because He needed to speak to his heart. Jonah was all alone.There were no friends to call, no colleagues to drop by, no books to read, no food to eat, no interference, and no interruptions. He had plenty of time to sit, think, meditate, and pray. When we're deep down in the midst of a difficult situation, God can talk to us. When He has our undivided attention, He can show us things about ourselves that we might not otherwise have seen. A Few of God's Holding Patterns: 1. When you are sick in your physical body and you have prayed but God has not healed you yet, you are in a holding pattern. 2. When you are having problems with your children and you have put them on the altar, but God has not delivered them yet, you are in a holding pattern. 3. When you have been praying for the salvation of a loved one and they have not been saved yet, you are in a holding pattern. 4. When you are in a broken relationship and you have given it over to God, but it has not been restored yet, you are in a holding pattern. 5. When the doors slam shut before you can knock on them, you are in a holding pattern. When we are deep in the belly of a difficult situation, there are no interruptions. God has our undivided attention. All we can do is sit, think, meditate, and pray. We cannot run from God because there are no Mountains that are high enough, valleys low enough, rooms that are dark enough, or places that are hidden enough from Him. We must remember to praise Him while we're waiting and remember three things: 1. The pattern has a purpose. 2. The pattern has a plan. 3. The pattern has a process. So stop struggling and start listening, praying and trusting. He'll keep you right where you are until you can clearly hear Him say, "I love you." | |
September 16th, 2005
Growing Pains: Posted in GROWING WITH SOMEONE
**From Hanna, thanks again!
Years ago, I asked God to give me a spouse, "You don't own because you didn't ask" God said. Not only I asked for a spouse but also explained what kind of spouse I wanted. I want a nice, tender, forgiving, passionate, honest, peaceful, generous, understanding, pleasant, warm, intelligent, humorous, attentive, compassionate and truthful. I even mentioned the physical characteristics I dreamt about. As time went by I added the required list of my wanted spouse.
Marriage is like a school. It is a life-long education. It is where you and your partner make adjustment and aim not merely to please each other, but to be better human beings and to make a solid teamwork. I won't give you a perfect partner, because you are not perfect either. I'll give you a partner with whom you would grow together.
***
GROWING OLD ALONE
"I'll look for my own soul first, and worry about finding a soulmate later." Ginger Petrocelli
Finally finished reading Loose Screws last night. And while I'm not really a chick lit fan, I must say this Karen Templeton best seller entertained me.
The above cited quote struck a chord primarily because I got to thinking (again!) that I might actually end up spending the rest of my life alone.
It's two weeks 'til my birthday, and I couldn't help but remember that it was exactly 12 midnight, October 2nd 2004, when lightning last struck (and I was consciously aware that it did strike.) I fear that its not going to happen again. At least not anytime soon (or within this lifetime, maybe, at the rate I'm going).
I began going out with this guy a couple of months earlier, but it was always with a group or a very casual friends-only date, or so I thought. At the time we started "dating" ( I wasn't aware, sorry) I had this online thing with an Indian guy. Yeah, my so-called cyber romance (thank God he never came here!).
I never thought things between M and me would ever progress into anything more than just companionship until he left for Davao on a business trip and called me at the stroke of midnight to wish me a happy birthday.
"They're playing our song", he said. It was a dance tune, we were gym buddies and I was teaching him to dance...nothing mushy or romantic.
We went on our first official date after he came back, and I will never forget that Friday night because the earth literally shook! Hahaha. Talk about omens.
Anyway, I'm not about to retell the entire story of my nth heartbreak. Point of the story is, I'm turning 27 and I'm once again unattached. My Mom was 27 when I was born, my cousin Lyn gave birth earlier this year at the same age.
And here I am travelling closer and closer to spinster city. Wala lang, it's a Friday and I want to wallow in my pity pot. Must be the rain. Angel's LSS: Forever For You (Kanta ni M yan!)Differential Diagnosis: Rainy fridays get me down | |
September 20th, 2005
Must-Have Friends Posted in Friends are like shoes -- and not just because both pals and the perfect pair of pumps can bring you profound joy. Just as your favorite old sneakers aren't perfect for every occasion, neither is every friend. It's crucial to have a colorful assortment of friends -- from comfy to professional -- to match the varied parts of your life. So what are the five types of friends that will round out your social wardrobe? The Work Friend. This relationship is so important that Dr. Yager coined a term for it: a "workship." Having an office pal, she says, "boosts productivity, makes the day go faster, and work more fun." Sylvia, 36, of Brookline, Massachusetts, says her workship is the only reason she survives her "heinous job" at all. "She saves my life every day. We bitch about our boss, fantasize about changes we'd make if we overthrew her, share dirt on who's good to work with and who's not. And we laugh," Sylvia says. "My husband commiserates when I come home, sure, but he's not there." Just be on guard: If only one of you gets that promotion, things could get uncomfortable. Try to discuss it in advance if you can. Also, if one of you happens to leave the job, the friendship still has promise, says Yager. "Workships often blossom into friendships when they're no longer workships -- because then you can really let down your guard." The Friend in Your Kid's Class. Your kids are angels, no doubt, but that doesn't mean they have an adult perspective on what's going on in school. "You absolutely need someone to help you check out whether the teacher is really that 'unfair,' the sixth-graders are really dating, or the cliques are really that bad," says Paul. For Nicole, 35, of Charleston, South Carolina, her co-mom keeps her not only informed, but also less isolated. "Almost everyone is all coiffed and perfect, and I'm just talking about the kids -- so you can imagine what the moms are like," she says. "My messy self really doesn't fit in. Thank goodness for Lara, the one other mom like me, and the only one I can hang out with at the science fair." The Friend Who's Known You Forever. "This friendship is priceless," says Paul, noting that when she recently bumped into an old crush at the mall, there was only one friend she could call to giggle about it. "She keeps your memories alive by sharing them with you." "If I met her today we might not be friends -- that's one thing I love most. She's so unlike all the friends I've made more recently," says New Yorker, Melissa, 29, of her dear childhood pal. "Other people can learn all our buzzwords and inside jokes, but she and I invented them!" Friends you grew up with aren't just fun throwbacks; some can serve as sister stand-ins. "As a single only child with few cousins, I wonder sometimes who'll lend a hand when my parents start to need more help," says Corinne, 35, of Lexington, Massachusetts. "But I also know that my friend Lucy, who's been around since I was 2, will always be there for things like that." More Friends You Need The Hobby Buddy. You summon this friend when you want to catch a movie or concert, if you want to enroll in a history class or take a horseback ride. She may be the gal with whom you share a love of art and museums, or your common interest may be river-rafting or crocheting. Many women find that a walking partner suits this need. "This friendship works because you share an interest and a sensibility," says Deanna Kasuya, 48, of Ridgewood, New Jersey. "It's very motivating to know a friend with a passion to start with. You speak the same vocabulary. And you also have this common need to share your interest." This friend is important, psychologists say, because your significant other may not share many of your most abiding interests. Or you may simply want a gal pal or another friend with whom to discuss and enjoy them. Deanna has an art buddy, a gal she meets once a month for museum visits in New York City. The friendship has deepened over recent years, and now she and her pal talk about life as well as about Picasso. "The passion in art was the introduction to our friendship," Deanna says. "We looked at paintings together and got dewy-eyed talking about light and color. Then one day we let loose about our personal lives." Sally Muller, 45, of Bethesda, Maryland, treasures her walking buddy. At least three times a week, the pair loop their suburban neighborhood, starting at 5:30 a.m. The walks started for one reason: exercise. "We were neighbors who didn't know each other well at all," says Sally. "We just wanted to get out early in the morning, when the neighborhood was quiet." Sally's dog joined. The walking itinerary has evolved over the past three years and now includes a stop at a coffee shop. Sally's partner has since gotten a dog of her own -- and a divorce. Meanwhile, the friendship has deepened greatly. "We talk about everything now, from what to serve at a dinner party or which Lucy-Ethel sitcom we like best to how to handle our children. We both feel destabilized when we don't walk." But, Sally notes, the friendship hinges on walking. "When you spend four to six hours a week in a format of walking, that becomes the way in which you're most comfortable talking and confiding." The Straight-Talking Friend. You know when you're clear that you need to break up with someone...but just can't quite bite the bullet? Talk to this friend. "We all need someone who's honest, gets to the heart of the problem, and doesn't sugar-coat," says Marla Paul. She also won't tell you the swimsuit looks good when it doesn't, or that it's okay with her that you haven't called. "My roommate, God love her, shovels me full of truth and never lets up," says Rebecca, 24, of Raleigh, North Carolina. "If it's something she thinks I don't want to hear, she'll just stay quiet -- and then I know what she's saying anyway. Damn!" That's the key with this friend, says Florence Isaacs, author of Toxic Friends/True Friends (Citadel, 2003): "Talk to her about what's on your mind only when you want to hear it." The Feel-Good Friend. "We all need a cheerleader!" says Isaacs. But the feel-good friend may cheer for you even without being all smiles and pom-poms. "My spirits are lifted the moment I hear my friend Rachel's voice," says Paula, 36, of New York City. "She never belittles, or tries to make things about her, or says one of those dopey things like, 'You'll get over it, what you need is a fill-in-the-blank!' She really knows how much better people feel when someone just listens." And the feel-good friend isn't there for you only when you feel bad. Says Isaacs: "It's essential to have a friend who can be truly happy for you when good things happen, too." | |
Pick of the Week: Posted in Home Another summer day ** I consider this a driving song. One you would want to play speeding down the expressway with the wind in your hair and bright sunshine bouncing off your shades. Everytime I hear this, I get home sick. Not to mention that I've always loved Buble'. Great melody too. If you want an mp3 of this song, tag me and leave and your email address. I'll gladly send it to you. | |
September 21st, 2005
Shopping for (n)One Posted in "Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two."---Wilma Hankins Hlawiczka
Angel's LSS: Tuwing Umuulan at Kapiling KaThree cartons of non-fat milk, two liters of grapefruit juice, a loaf of wheat bread, a pack of spinach pasta, oatmeal and several cans of spicy tuna. That pretty much comprises my bi-weekly grocery list. If its a weeknight and the produce is good, I throw in a head of lettuce, tomatoes, onions and some carrots---you'll never know when you'll crave for fresh salad. Once I get home, I'll take everything out of the plastic bags and arrange them in the shelves or put them away in the fridge---praying that I remember to eat the vegetables before they mutate (one time, a large potato looked as though it actually grew green eyes after sitting inside the vegetable bin for almost a month!) or turn into mush---whichever comes first. There are days too when I am hardly able to find anything in the freezer because ice has practically engulfed everything. And its only after a thorough defrosting that I stupidly realize that what looked like a pack of beef tapa was actually slices of chicken breast, heavily discolored by freezer burns after being forgotten for more than two months. Yes, it's that bad. But what can I do? I'm a single yuppie living alone. It's been a year and a half since I started living independently again. After the house in the bukid was completed in February last year, my Dad and kid brother moved out of the two-bedroom apartment we temporarily rented in Muntinlupa. I, on the other hand, moved to a smaller, single-bedroom pad 15 minutes away from work. Sure, I could have gotten a housemate. But I've been there, and I've done that far too many times. I no longer have the energy to grin and bear seeing another person's underwear hanging by the shower stall, or finding that we're fresh out of soda crackers or pancit canton after having shopped only two days ago. I used to enjoy shopping, I mean I still do. It's just that shopping for no one other than myself makes me feel like the loneliest person on earth. I used to drag in two grocery carts at the counter, adding or taking away items at the last minute, and then clucking my tongue when I see the numbers flitting at the cash register. I almost always shop out of budget. That was before---when I had a brother to spoil and a Dad who was on a restricted diet. Nowadays, I can pretty much buy anything, depending on whether I'm in pig out or diet mode. But truth be told, I haven't set foot in a grocery store in almost two months. Watching Diane Lane's character Sarah (Must Love Dogs) eat her chicken-breast dinner near the kitchen counter actually hurt. I know how pathetic it feels to consume what would otherwise have been a tasty dinner by your lonesome. For some reason, even the best cuts of chicken end up tasting like cardboard and you'd rather cry yourself to sleep on a hungry stomach than go through that routine every night. Now you know why I skip dinner altogether. The scenes where she would argue with the man-who-keeps-offering-chicken-by the bulk-specials at the grocery were meant to be funny, but it was also a stab at society's callousness to the plight of singletons----whether they chose to be single or were just victims of circumstance.Really, why would someone like me want to buy a whole roasted chicken when I could barely finish the drumsticks? Even if it were on sale, that would leave me eating chicken for one whole week---by that time, I would probably be cringing from the mere smell of it. Come on, there was a reason why individual and single-serve packagings were invented! One time, as I was waiting for my turn at the counter, the woman ahead of me, (obviously married with kids judging by her overflowing cart) curiously looked at the contents of my cart and non-chalantly asked: student? I blanched, then felt the blood rush back to my cheeks as I stammered a reply. In less than five minutes I pretty much summed up my life and explained my civil status to a total stranger. I was holding back the tears as the cashier was ringing up my purchases---never in my life did buying milk, bread and soda crackers belittle me so. It made me feel like a social aberration, just because I was shopping for one. I've since recovered from that experience, managing to hold my head high and match the nosy women looking at my cart stare for stare. However, on days when I'm really feeling low, I spare myself the agony. I just head for the nearest 7-11 or the sari-sari store around the block---where the clerks and tinderas don't give you a condescending look for purchasing supplies in retail. I realized it isn't always cheaper to buy things by the dozen. Differential Diagnosis: nothing | |
September 27th, 2005
The 23rd Psalm for Workers: Posted in The Lord is my real boss, and I shall not want. He gives me peace, when chaos is all around me. He gently reminds me to pray and do all things without murmuring and complaining. He reminds me that He is my source and not my job. He restores my sanity everyday and guides my decisions that I might honor Him in all that I do. Even though I face absurd amounts of e-mails, system crashes, unrealistic deadlines, budget cutbacks, gossiping co-workers, discriminating supervisors and an aging body that doesn't cooperate every morning, I still will not stop--- for He is with me! His presence, His peace, and His power will see me through. He raises me up, even when they fail to promote me. He claims me as His own, even when the company threatens to let me go. His faithfulness and love is better than any bonus check. His retirement plan beats every one there is! When it is all said and done, I'll be working for Him a whole lot longer and for that, I BLESS HIS NAME! | |
Pick of the Week: Posted in My Grown Up Christmas List **how many days til Christmas? I don't really count. But everytime I hear this song, I nod my head and make the same wish. In the state of the world today, we grown ups need to look beyond ourselves and start looking after the needs of others. As Mother Teresa always said, loneliness is this generation's cancer. To think it can be cured by a simple smile...*hugs* everyone! | |
Getting Down and Dirty Posted in Still recovering from another tiring weekend, but made a lot of progress. For one, I've finally been able to go grocery shopping. And two, I've managed to clean up the apartment and organize most of my stuff. Best of all, I got as much work out as I would want to get without going to the gym. Bone-Popping Friday I spent Friday night at the gym instead of at the Pinoypoets meeting. I've been feeling burn out lately and I knew I needed to do something to get the endorphins flowing. I decided on a two-hour work out: a nice run, lifting weights and some ab exercises. Since I've also been having trouble sleeping, I headed to Tonton's (also here in BF Homes) for good old Thai Massage---yes, the kind that gets your vertebrae popping and crackling.My favorite masseusse, Nerissa, never ceases to amaze me. How she can lift me, tiny thing that she is, is cause for wonder. I went home tired , limp and extremely sleepy. Slept like the dead too. Saturday: Denial of Self I headed off to the center with a heavy heart. I've been thinking about leaving the kids for several weeks now. Not only have our assignment schedules changed, the duties and responsibilities increased too. Deep down in my core I was thinking that maybe I wasn't really cut out for this. I prayed hard and asked to be enlightened. I remembered my "holding pattern" post and thought that maybe this was one of them. I was right. My answer came in the form of Sister Jo, a fellow member in the community. She's 50 plus, a mother of two, and sells street foods for a living. One kid is in high school, the other is taking up architecture---she makes a profit of P150 a day. But since it was her turn to cook for the children, she wouldn't be taking home anything. That wasn't even half of the story. I think God wanted to make me feel the weight of His answer. My heart was bleeding as I listened to her sharing. Like me, she too wanted to dodge Saturday service, but because her kids needed allowance. (I was just lazy and wanted to go home to the bukid to sleep.) Having given up so much of her life to serve God, she prayed. And she tells me the answer she got: "When did you lack anything?" Her kids are getting good grades. The eldest is making money by doing drawing work at school (he hasn't even graduated from college!) while the youngest has already offered to work part time so as not to break their poor mother's back. Neither do they complain about their lot----they're down but not out. And their outlook in life? Happy. God indeed knows how to repay those who remain faithful to Him. I fell silent and felt ashamed of myself. Here was someone who didn't even know where to get her family's next meal (she's a widow) while I, on the other hand, played spoiled little rich girl. Point taken, Lord. I concede with all humility. Dancing with Abandon on Sabbath Day Missing my Daddy and my brother. But then again, how many times have I not come home in favor of gimmicks and outdoor activities? Lots. Sunday was rehearsal day for SLG's cheering presentation. Grand fellowship on October 1st, and well, everyone's determined to put on a show. Again, I didn't want to go. I figured I'd sit this one activity out and enjoy--it's my birthday party too you know, why should I get down and dirty? You need not guess, God had other plans. The group wanted a full-blown cheer dancing routine replete with cartwheels and kick splits. No, I cannot do acrobatics. So they got me to dance. Dancing falls second to writing as my passions in life. I have always loved it. No matter how much I weigh, I still danced as a form of self expression. But I never planned to dance in front of my churchmates. No sireeee...they had me memorizing the dance sequence five minutes after I walked in the door. We ended at 6.30 pm. Three t-shirt changes and five hours later, we've turned "O Mickey!" into ethic-hiphop cheerdance with matching fans (ala singkil, san ka pa?!) and head bands. You sure can dance! Was the comment I received. My face was flushed---- from pride, embarrassment or exhaustion, I wasn't sure anymore. But I was fulfilled and happy. Right next door to the center stood the mammoth makro. I went in with my prayer partner Sol and shopped. Cans of tuna, bags of pasta and an assortment of kitchen essentials and staples went in the huge cart. I know shopping with a friend is considered cheating. But hey, give me a break. I ditched work on Monday deciding to clean my apartment and attend to things that I've been putting off doing for the longest time. I'll write a separate piece on that, it's 8.20 pm and I'm dying to go home. Angel's LSS: the phone ringing24/7 Reading List: A Year of Simple Pleasures Differential Diagnosis: working | |
September 28th, 2005
Gratitude Journal Entry Posted in I'll finish writing my essay on Nesting later today. Throw in another write up for a client, two poems and the haiku I owe my Kuya Jheric. Hmm, looks like I'll be staying at the office until late again. Not too late, I hope, its Wednesday and I want to hear mass. I'm okay again. I just want to say that out loud. I don't know how it happened but I think I've managed to find what it is I've been looking for---some sort of balance, an inner equilibrium that allows me to take in and dish goodness back to the world regardless of whatever cards I have been dealt with. I'm at peace. And it doesn't matter if this state or phase is but temporary, I'm happy and thankful to be here. I've managed to catch up on my reading, and have given myself enough time and room to be ME. I've lounged around, bummed, played messed up and angsty angel but learned that I truly enjoyed stillness and solitude. I'm no longer afraid to be alone. In fact I feel the need to isolate myself from the maddening crowd every so often just to breathe easy and hear myself think. More importantly, to take time to listen to the promptings of that inner voice we tend to take for granted. I've always been a person who acknowledges my blessings and my trials. And this is why I say this a entry in my gratitude journal---because I am truly giving thanks and Praise to the Lord for letting me find myself again and making me grow in the process. To all those who rode the storm with me, thank you.
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September 29th, 2005
A receipt from Lizanne Posted in Hi, | |
