Yesterday, I found out that no matter how old you get, you still fight the same. I am talking about getting into a fight with someone you have known all your life. I also found out that the same things make you tick from since you were little up to now that you are an adult. The intensity of your reaction and response may vary, depending on your emotional maturity but basically for me, I have never really changed in the way I respond to a certain person when that person offends me.
Respect is earned, they say, and that is true, but some types of respect are granted because of a particular relationship, and these kinds which are freely given without being earned are the most difficult to restore once it is lost. It goes the same with trust. I trusted and respected some people because they are my flesh and blood. Based on that I trusted them to keep their words and respect me the way I respect them, but lo and behold, some chose to take advantage of me.
I have lost my respect for this particular person and it will take a long road for me to grant that again because all I have seen and gotten from this person so far is irresponsibility and abuse of my kindness. Flesh and blood or not, I will forgive but forgiveness does not always mean a healed relationship. Sometimes it means letting it be.
So yes, yesterday was such a bad day and I was struck by my inability to comprehend how I let myself be taken such disadvantaged of in that way. It was mindbogglingly stupid.
Friday, June 1, 2018
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Memory Lanes
The amateur poet in me which all but died and buried has been resurrected or maybe this is its ghost trying to come back to life. So here are some amateur lines for the road.
MEMORY LANES
If indeed memory lanes exist
And I take you down to mine, don’t resist
My memory lanes are lined with violets
The bluest of them are songs in my heart
Where you have made your home and never left.
Turn a corner and you’d catch a glimpse of us
Walking hand in hand, joy shining in our eyes
You’d throw a glance at me and my heart would skip
A little glance from you lets me know I am loved.
Stop at the sign and you’d see the two of us
Sitting atop a hill dreaming as the sun sets
My head on your shoulders, your hands on mine
Loving one another even in silence.
Come with me, let us take a walk down memory lane
Let our hearts remember, let not our memories wane
Who knows, maybe tomorrow, a new day will dawn
Where you and I are one, and our love shall be ours again.
(Oh my love
How can I forget the sweetest memories of my life?
I travelled a lot hoping to leave them all behind,
only to find out that wherever I am,
my love for you will never leave me,
because you have that special place inside of me,
that always remind me how indeed I was happy back then
when the word LOVE crossed our way.
Sorry, that fairy tale remained a mere book
that never became a reality.)
TWO LIVES
Crossroads, the strain in the mind it springs
To go left or right, forward or back, or perhaps to stay
Opposite arrows at a fork in the road
Trails and footprints in the heart, to ignore or discern
To the charm and bliss of emotion, to surrender or stand your ground
To forget and bury the past or to reminisce and relive what is gone.
The head says to laugh, live, and love, for the present is here
Urging the face to smile, when the past rear its nostalgic face
Wisdom implores the heart to move on, for tomorrow may not
Yet the heart wrestles against all that cold practicalities
For the heart relishes the speed of its beats
The spine loves the jolt it gets from the surprise
The soul cherishes its butterflies at the thrill of affection
When passion is kindled, it raze and devour all caution.
But isn't there a compromise to beget
One that won't break the heart yet won't spurn the wise
Two separate lives, two solitary worlds
You will live in yours, I will live in mine,
With the knowledge that love has conquered our hearts
Bound neither by time nor space, but by the Eternal.
To go left or right, forward or back, or perhaps to stay
Opposite arrows at a fork in the road
Trails and footprints in the heart, to ignore or discern
To the charm and bliss of emotion, to surrender or stand your ground
To forget and bury the past or to reminisce and relive what is gone.
The head says to laugh, live, and love, for the present is here
Urging the face to smile, when the past rear its nostalgic face
Wisdom implores the heart to move on, for tomorrow may not
Yet the heart wrestles against all that cold practicalities
For the heart relishes the speed of its beats
The spine loves the jolt it gets from the surprise
The soul cherishes its butterflies at the thrill of affection
When passion is kindled, it raze and devour all caution.
But isn't there a compromise to beget
One that won't break the heart yet won't spurn the wise
Two separate lives, two solitary worlds
You will live in yours, I will live in mine,
With the knowledge that love has conquered our hearts
Bound neither by time nor space, but by the Eternal.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
On Matters of Culture
Centuries ago, even before there was Facebook, I started this blog to
sort of serve as my journal and confidant. I have read blogs where the
bloggers say that they blog because they live for comments. Not me. I
blog because writing whatever comes to mind is therapeutic and having
readers is secondary. I do not care if I am read or not because what I
really like is to reread whatever I have written in the past and compare
what areas in my life have I experienced growth and where I have not,
based on the thoughts I have put down and the thoughts that are
currently running through my head. But then real life hit me between
the eyes, and I seldom blog anymore. Well, actually, the real reason is
that Facebook happened. I only need a short sentence or quotes here and
there everyday on my status message and that does it for me. But then I
miss writing something that is longer than saying what is going on at
one moment of daily life.
Now, I am thinking that it is not entirely true when I said I do not really care whether people read my ramblings or not, because if that is 100% true, I would be writing this in Kalanguya where only a few can understand and I would be free to be as creative or bad as I want since no one would really read it except if I bring it to the attention of the few Kalanguuya friends and relatives who have access to internet. But here I am struggling to write in my fourth language and trying to avoid too much unnaturalness and wrong grammar. I don't know, I myself am confused.
Even in Facebook, some of my friends think that I do not reply to comments enough. I was told I should reply to show my appreciation of their taking time to read what I have written. But I guessed when you write to unload and not to be read or appreciated, then I am justified if I do not reply. I am just lazy that way but I appreciate the corrections and comments I get, and I am working on it by starting to click "Like" at least to let the commenters know that I did read their comments. You see, I am not one of those people who can easily make friends or chat up anyone to have a conversation, so I am glad there are avenues such as blogging where I can talk about or share my thoughts on subjects that I'm interested in.
One of the subjects that turn the wheels in my brain is anything that has to do with cultural differences. At breakfast this morning, while gobbling on some scrambled eggs and pickled papaya, I overheard some colleagues talking about how it is such an important thing to let people pay for something rather than giving it to them for free or for a fraction of the price. The rationale is that people tend to keep and value what they have paid for or worked for more than the things that were freely given to them. Like an automaton, I butt in and vehemently said that that statement is not entirely true, in fact in my case, it is almost never true. Obviously, we usually butt in into other people's conversation when we hear something about which we have a strong opinion (or at least when we think so). They were startled by my mini-outburst but they listened to what I had to say anyway. I don't go around thinking that I'll keep this or that thing because I paid for it with my own money. I let go of a lot of books that I bought but the ones I received from friends and other people as gifts, I never could find the strength to give away even if I do not find them as good reads.
When I was a little girl, my uncle whom my mom and dad were sending to university at the time bought me a dress. Years later, my mom who is very practical gave the dress to a cousin because the dress no longer fits me, but I cried until the dress was returned to me, I kept wearing it until it looked like a shirt rather than a dress in its shortness whenever I wear it. I also remember buying a branded bag with my first paycheck ever, and after a few months, a relative commented that it's cute and that she likes it and wants it. There was no hesitation, I gave the handbag away even though for months, my conscience kept bothering me about the price tag. The price tag that says I should have kept and used it for as long as I can. In my closet is an old shirt. It is so old I can no longer wear it and appear respectable. I wash it every now and then when it gets moldy. I treasure it because it was given to me by a mother-figure a decade and a half ago. In high school, I owned three Bibles, one that I bought myself and one that I won at a Youth Camp one summer, and another one that was given to me at church as a gift. I no longer have the Bible I first bought with money that I saved after skipping lunches and snacks for months to pay for that Tagalog Bible, nor the Bible that I won answering Bible trivia questions. I am pretty sure I gave those away, or I might not have cared enough to make sure I packed them up with my other belongings after I left the city. But I still have the one that I received as a gift. I still use it even though at my fingertips are all the Bible versions I could ever need. Call me sentimental but that is the truth and I am relatively sure that this is how a large percentage of Filipinos feel about things given to them compared to what they themselves paid for.
One colleague also told me that years ago, she donated some things to a church and recently, she went there after so many years. And when she saw her donations, she exclaimed, "Wow! Buhay pa pala ang mga ito!" (Wow, so these are still being used until now!) "Of course it is. It is because it was given to us therefore we took good care of it," was the reply she got. Perhaps this has something to do with the shame and 'utang-na-loob' culture among Filipinos. It is not good manners to pass on to someone something that was given to you. Doing that is short of saying that you do not value the person who gave you that particular gift. The opposite is also correct--that as much as possible, when you give a gift, make sure that you at least spend for it either with money or effort. Everyone has his or her own experience with different cultures, and I am sure, there are also other form of cultures in the Philippines that are opposite to the examples I have given above.
This of course is not to say that we have to give everything freely at every opportunity but only to say that in my humble opinion, the belief that anything someone did not spend for is usually underused or undervalued is not true across the board. In fact, it seems to me that it is purely cultural. In my limited cross-cultural dealings, I observed that the people who grew up in individualistic cultures are usually the ones with this belief. I am not also claiming that what is true for me personally is true for all Filipinos but I can testify that ever since I was old enough to have the capacity for observation, I have not observed or met any Filipino who, if given the choice to give something received as a gift and something bought, would choose to keep the one bought over the gift.
So where do we draw the line? I do not in any way advocate dole out giving, but I also do not believe that the particular belief that something will not be cherished because it was not personally paid for by the recipient is a good enough reason to withhold gifts when we do have the capacity to give and the other party is hard up on contributing a counterpart. Just a thought.
mY Synapses...
Now, I am thinking that it is not entirely true when I said I do not really care whether people read my ramblings or not, because if that is 100% true, I would be writing this in Kalanguya where only a few can understand and I would be free to be as creative or bad as I want since no one would really read it except if I bring it to the attention of the few Kalanguuya friends and relatives who have access to internet. But here I am struggling to write in my fourth language and trying to avoid too much unnaturalness and wrong grammar. I don't know, I myself am confused.
Even in Facebook, some of my friends think that I do not reply to comments enough. I was told I should reply to show my appreciation of their taking time to read what I have written. But I guessed when you write to unload and not to be read or appreciated, then I am justified if I do not reply. I am just lazy that way but I appreciate the corrections and comments I get, and I am working on it by starting to click "Like" at least to let the commenters know that I did read their comments. You see, I am not one of those people who can easily make friends or chat up anyone to have a conversation, so I am glad there are avenues such as blogging where I can talk about or share my thoughts on subjects that I'm interested in.
One of the subjects that turn the wheels in my brain is anything that has to do with cultural differences. At breakfast this morning, while gobbling on some scrambled eggs and pickled papaya, I overheard some colleagues talking about how it is such an important thing to let people pay for something rather than giving it to them for free or for a fraction of the price. The rationale is that people tend to keep and value what they have paid for or worked for more than the things that were freely given to them. Like an automaton, I butt in and vehemently said that that statement is not entirely true, in fact in my case, it is almost never true. Obviously, we usually butt in into other people's conversation when we hear something about which we have a strong opinion (or at least when we think so). They were startled by my mini-outburst but they listened to what I had to say anyway. I don't go around thinking that I'll keep this or that thing because I paid for it with my own money. I let go of a lot of books that I bought but the ones I received from friends and other people as gifts, I never could find the strength to give away even if I do not find them as good reads.
When I was a little girl, my uncle whom my mom and dad were sending to university at the time bought me a dress. Years later, my mom who is very practical gave the dress to a cousin because the dress no longer fits me, but I cried until the dress was returned to me, I kept wearing it until it looked like a shirt rather than a dress in its shortness whenever I wear it. I also remember buying a branded bag with my first paycheck ever, and after a few months, a relative commented that it's cute and that she likes it and wants it. There was no hesitation, I gave the handbag away even though for months, my conscience kept bothering me about the price tag. The price tag that says I should have kept and used it for as long as I can. In my closet is an old shirt. It is so old I can no longer wear it and appear respectable. I wash it every now and then when it gets moldy. I treasure it because it was given to me by a mother-figure a decade and a half ago. In high school, I owned three Bibles, one that I bought myself and one that I won at a Youth Camp one summer, and another one that was given to me at church as a gift. I no longer have the Bible I first bought with money that I saved after skipping lunches and snacks for months to pay for that Tagalog Bible, nor the Bible that I won answering Bible trivia questions. I am pretty sure I gave those away, or I might not have cared enough to make sure I packed them up with my other belongings after I left the city. But I still have the one that I received as a gift. I still use it even though at my fingertips are all the Bible versions I could ever need. Call me sentimental but that is the truth and I am relatively sure that this is how a large percentage of Filipinos feel about things given to them compared to what they themselves paid for.
One colleague also told me that years ago, she donated some things to a church and recently, she went there after so many years. And when she saw her donations, she exclaimed, "Wow! Buhay pa pala ang mga ito!" (Wow, so these are still being used until now!) "Of course it is. It is because it was given to us therefore we took good care of it," was the reply she got. Perhaps this has something to do with the shame and 'utang-na-loob' culture among Filipinos. It is not good manners to pass on to someone something that was given to you. Doing that is short of saying that you do not value the person who gave you that particular gift. The opposite is also correct--that as much as possible, when you give a gift, make sure that you at least spend for it either with money or effort. Everyone has his or her own experience with different cultures, and I am sure, there are also other form of cultures in the Philippines that are opposite to the examples I have given above.
This of course is not to say that we have to give everything freely at every opportunity but only to say that in my humble opinion, the belief that anything someone did not spend for is usually underused or undervalued is not true across the board. In fact, it seems to me that it is purely cultural. In my limited cross-cultural dealings, I observed that the people who grew up in individualistic cultures are usually the ones with this belief. I am not also claiming that what is true for me personally is true for all Filipinos but I can testify that ever since I was old enough to have the capacity for observation, I have not observed or met any Filipino who, if given the choice to give something received as a gift and something bought, would choose to keep the one bought over the gift.
So where do we draw the line? I do not in any way advocate dole out giving, but I also do not believe that the particular belief that something will not be cherished because it was not personally paid for by the recipient is a good enough reason to withhold gifts when we do have the capacity to give and the other party is hard up on contributing a counterpart. Just a thought.
mY Synapses...
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Soul Revelations 1
I have not written any blog entry or anything personal for that matter in the last year or so. I could say that after my son was born, he occupied all my waking hours, and I would not be lying, but that is not the real reason why I stopped writing. For one, I suffered the dreaded postpartum depression and I did not know how to deal with it. I denied it for months. I kept asking myself why I became too lazy to engage my mind in anything other than changing nappies. Of course there was the occasional burst of energy that enabled me to accomplish some things in my job, but mostly, I have had to drag myself out of bed every morning and force myself to go to work. I knew I needed help but there was no help anywhere. I called my doctor but other than a pill that was supposed to put smiles on my face, she was not really of any help. I did not take the pill as it was contraindicated with breastfeeding so I really do not know if the pill would have helped me had I taken it.
Looking back, the depression did not really start after my son was born. It started from the series of unfortunate losses that happened in my life.
Sometimes, I choose to prepare my teaching outlines and contents 36-48 hours before the event because I am afraid of the 'process' that I have to go through before I teach. I cannot recall a time when I happily looked at a passage and happily went deeper into the study of it without getting quite depressed and tearful along the process. Therefore, I choose to feel the pain or discomfort for a maximum of 48-hours only because I fear that I would most probably give in to it if I allow myself to feel it longer than that.
I am not a funny person. I do not know how to. I think I got that from my mother. I remember how my dad used to try to make her laugh, but instead, she'd get so irritated, you do not want to be in the room. As for me, I can only be funny when I am sarcastic. Somehow, most of the people who ask me to speak know this about me. Therefore, when I am asked to speak about something, it is usually a topic that is meant to make people look deeper inside their hearts and a lot of times, I cannot find too many humorous anecdotes to say.
Tonight is one of those times when I feel very sad about and within myself for reasons that are unclear to me. For one, I am a diabetic both in body and soul. If my surgeries took months to heal, wounds in my soul and in my heart take much longer. A lot of times, I find that the things I thought I have already surrendered and accepted are the very things that are still holding me captive. I have learned to be so good at ignoring and avoiding and burying that I am slowly losing the discernment to know when I am really healed in one thing or I just buried it in the sand.Writing this note is just the first step in the process of admission. Me, admitting that I do have a problem.
I used to hate the expression "Trabaho lang, walang personalan" because I feel that it is devoid of anything that makes co-workers work together with mutual trust and respect. For some reason, I am now living it to its most basic meaning. I do not know when I started to live it. Okay, maybe I do but that is not the point. As much as I hated that expression, somehow, now I feel that it is my anchor. Without conducting my life within those bounds, I feel that I am going to fall apart. Maybe I should fall apart and start all over again. I even thought about doing all of my responsibilities really fast so that I can move on to an entirely different career. And here I am talking about responsibilities when I used to not look at them that way before. I question my decision 15 years ago when I made a commitment to this ministry. I no longer have the joy I used to have knowing that the Lord called me into this ministry among all the other people He could have called. All these questioning and uncertainties were a consequence of past wounds that were not properly dealt with. Only because of my wounded heart. A wound that is slowly eating at the joy I have in living for my God by serving my people.
Some people think I have a good imagination, and sometimes I believe them--but mostly because I believe that I can imagine a problem into being... maybe it is the other way around, maybe I imagine that I believe my problems are just a product of my imagination. Who knows? I myself am stumped.
The only bright part of my day is my son and his smiles and his laughter. With Xami, lahat personalan, walang trabaho lang! And that is the way I conduct my work and my relationships. Now that it bit me in the behind, I do not know what to do with myself.
Why am I even still here? Why am I even writing? Why am I even teaching? Why? Why? Why?
Honestly, why?
Some of us are blind!
Someone asked me what I think is the worst time of my life. No contest! The year 2010 is the worst. Yes, I lost a pregnancy in 2008. I almost lost my life twice that year as well due to a blood infection caused by acute UTI that happened simultaneously with a hemorrhagic fever. I lost another baby in 2009 but 2010 beats them all. 2010, I lost my grandma in January-- a grandma whose stories I was going to write; then in March I lost my grandfather, then in June, I lost my Dad.... and somewhere in between those months of losing, I lost one set of parents... even if they were just parent-figures. For some reason, that was the lost that hurts worst of all... it hurts too much because they are still there but you know that you can no longer go back to how things were in the past. Now, I just wish it never was, therefore my regret in making that decision 15 years ago about coming to this place.
I feel that this wound will never heal, no matter what anyone does. They said forgiveness heals all wounds, but for this diabetic, the wound will stay until the flesh rots and sloughs off by itself.
Looking back, the depression did not really start after my son was born. It started from the series of unfortunate losses that happened in my life.
Sometimes, I choose to prepare my teaching outlines and contents 36-48 hours before the event because I am afraid of the 'process' that I have to go through before I teach. I cannot recall a time when I happily looked at a passage and happily went deeper into the study of it without getting quite depressed and tearful along the process. Therefore, I choose to feel the pain or discomfort for a maximum of 48-hours only because I fear that I would most probably give in to it if I allow myself to feel it longer than that.
I am not a funny person. I do not know how to. I think I got that from my mother. I remember how my dad used to try to make her laugh, but instead, she'd get so irritated, you do not want to be in the room. As for me, I can only be funny when I am sarcastic. Somehow, most of the people who ask me to speak know this about me. Therefore, when I am asked to speak about something, it is usually a topic that is meant to make people look deeper inside their hearts and a lot of times, I cannot find too many humorous anecdotes to say.
Tonight is one of those times when I feel very sad about and within myself for reasons that are unclear to me. For one, I am a diabetic both in body and soul. If my surgeries took months to heal, wounds in my soul and in my heart take much longer. A lot of times, I find that the things I thought I have already surrendered and accepted are the very things that are still holding me captive. I have learned to be so good at ignoring and avoiding and burying that I am slowly losing the discernment to know when I am really healed in one thing or I just buried it in the sand.Writing this note is just the first step in the process of admission. Me, admitting that I do have a problem.
I used to hate the expression "Trabaho lang, walang personalan" because I feel that it is devoid of anything that makes co-workers work together with mutual trust and respect. For some reason, I am now living it to its most basic meaning. I do not know when I started to live it. Okay, maybe I do but that is not the point. As much as I hated that expression, somehow, now I feel that it is my anchor. Without conducting my life within those bounds, I feel that I am going to fall apart. Maybe I should fall apart and start all over again. I even thought about doing all of my responsibilities really fast so that I can move on to an entirely different career. And here I am talking about responsibilities when I used to not look at them that way before. I question my decision 15 years ago when I made a commitment to this ministry. I no longer have the joy I used to have knowing that the Lord called me into this ministry among all the other people He could have called. All these questioning and uncertainties were a consequence of past wounds that were not properly dealt with. Only because of my wounded heart. A wound that is slowly eating at the joy I have in living for my God by serving my people.
Some people think I have a good imagination, and sometimes I believe them--but mostly because I believe that I can imagine a problem into being... maybe it is the other way around, maybe I imagine that I believe my problems are just a product of my imagination. Who knows? I myself am stumped.
The only bright part of my day is my son and his smiles and his laughter. With Xami, lahat personalan, walang trabaho lang! And that is the way I conduct my work and my relationships. Now that it bit me in the behind, I do not know what to do with myself.
Why am I even still here? Why am I even writing? Why am I even teaching? Why? Why? Why?
Honestly, why?
Some of us are blind!
Someone asked me what I think is the worst time of my life. No contest! The year 2010 is the worst. Yes, I lost a pregnancy in 2008. I almost lost my life twice that year as well due to a blood infection caused by acute UTI that happened simultaneously with a hemorrhagic fever. I lost another baby in 2009 but 2010 beats them all. 2010, I lost my grandma in January-- a grandma whose stories I was going to write; then in March I lost my grandfather, then in June, I lost my Dad.... and somewhere in between those months of losing, I lost one set of parents... even if they were just parent-figures. For some reason, that was the lost that hurts worst of all... it hurts too much because they are still there but you know that you can no longer go back to how things were in the past. Now, I just wish it never was, therefore my regret in making that decision 15 years ago about coming to this place.
I feel that this wound will never heal, no matter what anyone does. They said forgiveness heals all wounds, but for this diabetic, the wound will stay until the flesh rots and sloughs off by itself.
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