For My Gift From God December 13, 2008

I still remember clearly the “single years” — my years of hoping and praying that MR. RIGHT will show himself before me all garbed in his “knight in shining armour” gear. I envisioned him to be my protector; someone to shield me from everything that would cause me harm.

Along the course of that lonely and seemingly hopeless searches, there were those “trees” along the path —readily promising shade and comfort when looked at from a considerable distance but really offering nothing at all — a mirage of the happiness so much desired….

My illusions had been shattered, my heart broken into millions of tiny fragments. But I have always moved on, picking up all the broken bits and pieces and slowly mending my disillusioned and tattered self esteem… always holding on to hope…

Then from out of the blue, my prince appeared —just when I thought everything was bleak and dreary, he came to me bringing roses in the rain and making me believe in love all over again…

So, for the love of my life, I write these lines…

Plo,

You are the greatest blessing that God has given me. We have been through so much and will still go through so much, I know. But as long as we hold each other’s hands and not let go, as long as we believe in the strength of our love for each other, and as long as we keep JESUS the glue that binds us together, we will make it through every storm towards another sunshine….

If there ever was a situation that I am thankful for, it was knowing you in my moment of deepest despair and you changed my life in many ways. If there ever was a day which I am thankful for, it was was that fateful day when you took me in your life and made me your wife…

You are more than just my destiny…you, to me, are the gift that God has wrapped especially for me…

Thank you for staying a gift through all these years. I am happy having you…and I am not even through unwrapping the carefully wrapped package of your person which is slowly revealed to me each moment we’re together. And I tell myself that God must love me so much to have blessed me with a special person…a husband, a best friend, a confidante, a brother, a lover….all wrapped in a beautiful present called EFREN PALACIO…

Jing

If Only December 12, 2008

Do not withhold correction from a child, for if you beat him with a rod, he will not die. You shall beat him with a rod and deliver his soul from hell.

- Proverbs 23: 13-14 –

These verses struck a chord in me today as I reflected on the plight of many teenagers who get their lives entangled into a seemingly irreparable mess early in their lives. I couldn’t help but be affected because I see this situation in my adolescent students everyday. I see the promise of intelligence gleaming through the look in their eyes — gleams that are so easily outshone by the shallow glitter of false gold that are so readily offered by the world. Students who come from a home complete with a mother and a father but who couldn’t even be civil towards each other in front of their children — parents who are literally trying to tear each other’s throats off in front of the children — children who naturally grow with the nagging question: “ARE THESE THE KIND OF PARENTS WHO WILL GUIDE ME TO BE THE PERSON THAT GOD WANTS ME TO BE?”

In my younger years, there were no parents guarding or watching their children in school for the whole day even when their children were already in Grade Five. There were no nannies who brought lunch boxes and umbrellas and face towels. There were no private tutors who were expected to answer assignments and make projects; no overprotective mom who readily wipes the sweat from the brows of her child. In short, children ,during my time, were allowed to be children … they were allowed to explore, to enjoy and to learn from their mistakes.  And they weren’t spared the rod of correction. Children were allowed the normalcy of being human. They were allowed to experience the sturdiness of a tree branch, the bruising pain of a fall, the freedom of running against the wind and feel it beating against one’s face, the comforting lap of sea water at midday wiping out any heat of the scorching sun.

We are at an unfortunate time when most parents equate love of their children with various material things: fancy dresses, expensive toys, a trip to Disneyland, modern gadgets and all those things. This is an unfortunate time when for some, going to church on Sundays has become a necessary farce for some families just to show off new clothes, cars and other things. This is an unfortunate time when parents think it a great sin to correct a child of his mistakes; a time when we have raised pretty and handsome —physically able — sons and daughters but who actually are spiritually and emotionally invalid because we have loved them too much to let them learn on their own. We have loved our children too much to the point of killing their blossoming spirits which could have bloomed through the hardships and the trials that would have polished the diamonds within themselves to perfection and undimmed radiance.

I remember a reading I had more than a decade ago. It was about a child who was pampered to destruction by his mother. Each time he made mistakes, he wasn’t reprimanded. When he wronged another child, he wasn’t scolded and corrected; when he stole from his mother’s wallet, the mother would dismiss it simply as a juvenile trick — she would just smile to her son and tell him how much she loved him instead. When he grew to be an adolescent, he was involved in a petty crime and was brought to the police station for interrogation. Once again, the ever loving mother came to his rescue to the point of scolding and berating the poor policemen and telling them that her son is a good man who can do no wrong. And then the young man grew up. His crimes escalated from the petty to the heinous ones. One day, he got arrested because he took part in a bank robbery. As expected, the mother hurried to the station to vouch for her son’s character and credibility. The son, who had been quietly sitting on one corner of the cell suddenly stood up and shouted, “ARREST THAT WOMAN!” The mother was baffled. She couldn’t understand why her son would want her imprisoned after everything she had done for him. She said, “MY SON, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE STILL GROWING UP, I DIDN’T LET YOU DO HOUSEHOLD CHORES BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO GET TIRED. I DIDN’T REPRIMAND YOU WHEN YOU STOLE FROM MY WALLET, DELIBERATELY THREW THE DISHES ON THE FLOOR OR MADE ANOTHER CHILD CRY. I PROTECTED YOU FROM EVERYTHING THAT WOULD CAUSE YOU MISERY AND PAIN. WHY DO YOU WANT ME TO BE IN THAT CELL INSTEAD OF YOU?”

And the young man answered, “IF  YOU ONLY CORRECTED ME BACK WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, IF  YOU ONLY MADE ME LEARN RIGHT FROM WRONG, IF YOU ONLY LOVED ME ENOUGH TO MAKE ME REALIZE MY MISTAKES, I WOULDN’T BE ON THIS CELL TODAY.”

Life’s Seasons December 11, 2008

There are times when we feel happy; when we feel that everything we have ever hoped for has finally been laid on our platter. These are times of rejoicing, my dear friend, because God, in all His generosity and love, has blessed us and has answered our prayers. Happy times are times of praising the Lord who has provided us with everything we have ever needed — and the added bonus of giving us the things we want to possess so we can live a life of comfort. But happy times are not always spiritually fruitful times. When the flood of obstacles starts to recede, the distance between the soul and its Maker becomes wider. There are moments when, too engulfed in the small victory of acquiring the “something” which took us a few years of hard work to produce, we forget to say a simple “Thank you” to the One who has given us life.

There are times when we feel sad. These are the times when a plan has not worked out according to how we thought it would. These are times when we have lost something — or someone — and we think that life just isn’t worth living anymore. These are times of accepting that sometimes, all we can ever do is look up to the Father in faith, not in understanding — for there are things we can never understand no matter how intellectually gifted we are. These are times of faithfulness, my dear friends. These are times of holding on to God’s faithfulness — or this might be God’s wake-up call to us that we have been looking too long adoringly at the things and persons which are proofs of how blessed we are instead of looking up with thankfulness and gratefulness to the One who has blessed us with all that we enjoy.

There are times of confusion…times when we feel at a loss as to where our lives are leading to; times when we have it all and yet we haven’t felt the fulfillment, the contentment, the triumph which we have expected to envelop us as we sip the wine of our success. These are times when our hearts feel the emptiness — the searching for something — or for someone we don’t know about. Could it be our souls trying to tell us it’s about time we reintroduce it to its Maker? Could it be that time when God has touched our hearts and told us, “I have been waiting for you” … and instead of looking at Him straight in the face, we look the other way instead pretending that we did not hear Him?

There are times of indifference. These are times when we just don’t care anymore; times when we are weary of all the false gold that blinds us with its fake brilliance. But aren’t times like these a time to rejoice? For it is in these times that we get to recognize what’s real from what’s not. Times of indifference are the times when we should reflect on the course our lives are leading, when we set new goals and foster new friendships.

Yes, my friend, our lives go through seasons because of a reason — GOD. The happiness fades to make way to sorrow — for can we appreciate happiness if we haven’t known how it is to be sad? The confusion … the indifference … these are seasons we should all go through because we are alive. And as we go on living the lives we have chosen to live, the cycle begins over and over again … until finally, our souls find peace in the waiting arms of its Maker.

The Wind Beneath My Wings… Mama December 11, 2008

Mother — this word holds a whole world of varied meanings. As with all others, everyone conjures different pictures in his/her mind when the word is heard. And the picture changes with every stage in life that one goes through.

I haven’t grown up with my own mother because I was told I was sickly as a child and being the eldest child of a pampered daughter, the grannies found it best to take care of the “baby” me. But both my parents lived nearby and we would see each other everyday.

Today, I would share with you how the meaning of the word “MOTHER” changed for me through the years.

In my infancy, mama had been my lifeline. Without her constant loving care, I wouldn’t have been here by now. I didn’t grow up on cow’s milk like all of my siblings. We have all been breastfed and those who have gone through breast feeding can attest that it is no easy feat to wake up just when one has just drifted off to sleep because the baby has demanded for his food. I couldn’t remember much about what happened back then, but I see fragments of pictures… of both my parents and my grandparents rearing me and me having grown up a bit spoiled by the grannies.

In childhood, mama was the monster with the guava branch. I could still picture her with both hands planted on the waist, eyes wide and blabbering like a radio that’s just been loaded with new batteries, . And I always had choices then — I could choose to run as far away as I can or hide behind my grandfather (my mother’s father). Both ways, I could be certain the guava branch won’t hurt me. With me running far, mother can’t keep up and they guava branch can’t do any damage. If I hide behind my grandpa, it would be grandpa who will be hit with the guava branch, . I still remember that so well. But mama was the one who carried the rod. She imposed rules on us which we had to religiously stick to if we don’t want to be whipped. We had been assigned chores, imposed with curfews — and whoever comes home after dusk will be punished. She chose our friends, didn’t give all day to roam around and play. We could play of course, but everything had been controlled. Looking back now, I didn’t understand it then. I felt rebellious as I felt suffocated. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t given the freedom which other children obviously had. Mother, to me, was too possessive and too overprotective. It wasn’t until I was into my young adulthood — when most of my friends were either impregnated or married because they’d gotten pregnant — that I understood why I was being cooped up. She did those things because she was looking ahead into my future and knew well enough that if I wasn’t dealt with the way she dealt with me, I would have been one of those friends who have miserable lives because of getting all the freedom all too soon…

In my pursuit of a college profession, mama had been the inspiration. I was living in Ozamiz City as a part of another family, but mama had always been the reason why I have dreamed as high as I dared to dream. I dreamed that one day, I would be able to let her have a sip at a better life — something she wasn’t able to enjoy while we were growing up because my father wasn’t the good provider that he was supposed to be. Mama found ways and means to augment whatever was earned by father — hand sewing pillow cases and blankets from cloth remnants and selling them to whomever got interested. She sold a lot because she had been and still is a good designer. I remember mama braving it all — a jealous, manic and irresponsible husband, four kids, no job — I remember mama wanting to give up but choosing to hold on because of us, four kids. I remember mama getting all too tired of the situation she was in and getting it all out on us, her children…but who could blame her? Mama had been my inspiration while striving to make a better life for myself because I had vowed that I would one day get her off the rut that she had known ever since she married my father.

When I first fell in love, mama had been my confidante. I had friends of course, but telling it to mama had seemed like the most appropriate thing to do. When I first had a boyfriend, I told her about it. She didn’t have to worry that much though… I was already 20. I let her read the love letters and she would share a piece of her mind. Oh, she didn’t say anything bad about Jerry, my first boyfriend — only telling me that if I choose to marry the man, she won’t disagree, but she’d be stomping and crying like a child who’s been denied a cone of ice cream in the middle of the road. Now, if you had been me, what would you make out of the situation? But with Efren, she didn’t have anything to say. I guess, what people say about the parents’ gut feeling on the intended lover of their children is correct. It seems they see the things we choose to ignore. I’m glad I listened to Mama because if I didn’t my life wouldn’t have been anything different from the life she has had… I know because Mama had followed her heart instead of listening to her parents’ advise against marrying my father… Mama had been and still is a mirror to me…

When I got married, mama had been the steadying hand. When I felt uncertain and was overwhelmed with the newness of it all, I had always relied on the stability of mother’s judgment and took it for granted that she was always there. I didn’t fear anything because I have been certain of her presence in my life. It didn’t bother me that Efren would be leaving me for months every year because there had always been my mama. When the children were growing up, I didn’t worry that some nanny would beat them while I am away because I was confident that I had left them in the care of the one person who loves them as much as I do … my Mama. When the children got sick, I didn’t worry too much because Mama shared the anxiety with me. Mama, had been the wind beneath my wings.

Mama is no longer with me… she’s flown to Ohio to join my sister. In my earlier blogs… especially the ones right after she left, I had been telling about the adjustment I was and still am going through to stand strong on my own — I have a husband, but his work keeps him far way. I have my father nearby, but I can’t count on him. It has not been easy; it will never be easy, but if anything, her departure has been the springboard that I needed to jump from where I had been — the dependent daughter to the self-sufficient wife and mother. I know it will never be easy, but I also know I will make it through — because I am my mother’s daughter; because even despite the distance, I can still draw strength and inspiration from one remarkable woman — the wind beneath my wings — MY MAMA.

What Spells Success, My Friend? December 11, 2008

When can we rightfully say that we are successful? What does it take for us to rightfully say we are on the top rung of the ladder? What is your answer, my dear friend?

Ever since I can remember, I have been raised believing the idea that we, Filipinos, have this crab mentality… meaning when one is on higher position, the people below will try anything and everything to pull him down. Envy, I guess, is the motive for such crab mentality. Having blogged regularly for more than three years in one of the social communities on the web, I have noticed that it isn’t only Filipinos who have this mentality within themselves. But with us Filipinos, the characteristic seems to be too defined and is embedded into our culture.

But not every issue raised is caused by envy. There are issues we need to face as realities — yet these could be realities that we wouldn’t dare face because they’re circumstances we are running away from. Sometimes, we misunderstand well-meaning people when they get quite personal because we have the snobbish mentality to think that because we are on top, these folks are out to pull us from our celestial haven and have us dropped unceremoniously amongst the pigs in the slums. We couldn’t accept these realities even when we deal with them in our every waking moment because we believe that we are impeccable.  We wouldn’t want to face the reality that we can commit mistakes… that we have shortcomings … that we have demons to overcome — and all because it is easier to point a finger to someone whom we thought had wronged us,  instead of us looking inside ourselves to see the specks that mar our souls. Anyone who thinks himself highly immunized from these human specks, the so-called human frailty is a big liar or just downright spiritually blind. And anyone who doesn’t know how to look into himself and accept and deal with the monster that lives within can never be rightfully called successful because successful people, for me at least, is someone who has successfully conquered his inner space and has established wholesome relationships with others… no masks worn … no masquerades, because really successful people can never wear masks for long. Their true colors will always show. Successful people don’t see any point in hiding their  true colors because they are confident with it.

Let’s face it — we can have all the money in the world. We can have all the fame. We can even add  titles to it to make it sound really astounding. But when all is said and done, when one is left alone in the privacy of the bedroom, when one is left alone with himself, what happens? Can he honestly pat his own shoulders and greet the image that meets his gaze in the mirror a hearty “congratulations” because he has truly done a great job — or was bothered by Mr. Conscience because he stepped on a few pesky feet who got on his way or if it were a she, she had sold her soul to the devil in exchange for all the fame and fortune?

After all the ceremonial lights go off, after the thunderous applause has died down and one can still honestly celebrate in his heart the joy that goes on a thousand years , then I could say he is truly successful. For I believe that a successful person is at peace with himself — one who does not need to hide behind position or prestige. A successful person is at peace with himself  because with God taking control at the helm, he feels confident that whatever the day brings, he can plow through them.

But for you, dearest friend, what spells success?

I Am A Crab…And (Not) Proud To Be One! December 11, 2008

Sitting alone on my desk yet in the company of my students, I got me into thinking mode again — it seems the contemplative mood has been going on for days now. Something not too ordinary for me because I don’t consider myself the most contemplative person unless things which call for contemplation (sounds like Flor Contemplacion though, hehe) crop up. Though it’s a bit foolish to admit that this ongoing blogging saga has affected me even in my reverie (ahem…lalim noon, ah!)…I am not ashamed to admit that I am, indeed affected…because you know the answer as to why I am affected. (Hayaan nyo na lang kasi ako…)

Yahoo 360 is a virtual community where we are connected with people through words…and then, if circumstances allow, enable us to build lasting friendships in the real world. I have just mentioned that it is a community where words are used as medium of communication (eh, sa true to life, words pa din eh…labo mo!) — words that are vicious, friendly, loving, endearing, nurturing, hateful, spiteful, sarcastic —basta words, yon na yun! It is true that the pen — no, the keyboard — is mightier than the sword.

Most of us are aware that the whole world roams with us in this virtual community. We know that when we play, whether we play slyly, honestly or any way we do, the world sits in the sidelines watching us play our game. Most of us also know that a lot of us in this community have been wanting to address the issue of malice, scandals and intrigues — or at least prevent them from growing into gigantic proportions — before everything is dragged into the real arena —too far from the supposed anonymity and safety of the virtual realm. I guess, it’s time for these issues to be addressed to protect innocent lives and families who will undoubtedly be dragged into the murky limelight.

Venting out, we claim, is not all evil. I agree. After all, we only reacted to a certain stimuli. Venting isn’t bad. I do it every once in a while to let off steam…and hopefully get rid of negative energy (which successfully puts in more negative energy by the way).Vent out … but when venting out is already spiced with malice and is motivated by personal vendetta, I guess it’s time to reassess if the motivating factor for venting out is still legitimate and safe. Because sooner or later, whether each person is aware or not, when innocent lives have been jeopardised, demoralized and unwillingly dragged into the tangled web caused by what innocently started as a careless stroke of the pen and takes into real life actions in a hungry quest for revenge, everything will be too late. Then the sharing, the friendship which originally started out as fun becomes a nightmare.

I don’t plead innocent — I am a big liar if I say so. I haven’t been idly watching by the sidelines while all the games have been played. I am the biggest hypocrite if I say I haven’t taken part in making this virtual community of Filipinas and foreigners what it has become at present. And if everyon’e honest enough…the Filipinas concerned at least, they would admit that they have, in one way or another, fanned the fire of malice and hatred until it has blown into what it has become now. Fine, dear friends and fellow Filipinas, with a little help from each and everyone of us, we just have succeeded in showing the world just how much percentage of the CRAB we have in us. Doesn’t everyone deserve a hearty congratulations for that? And yet we point an accusing finger toward another crab for supposedly dragging us down when in fact, in all honesty, it was our own crabby clumsiness which caused us to slide from our “vantage point” perch in the comfortable container where we have been placed.

And I tell you, intelligent crabs like moi, the world is watching the ongoing prime time show with such gusto — I would even bet my singkong duling that they have their “manok” — the one whom they have groomed in their minds to emerge the victor. But why am I mentioning manok when we are supposedly talking about the crabs that we have proven ourselves to be — the concerned Filipinas of Yahoo 360…and that includes yours truly. If you want a standard bearer for us, crabs, I am in for a deal., hehe. O, walang hintuturong ipakita, ha…kakagatin ko ‘yan. Sabi nga ni Hitler (pero si Hitler nga ba ‘yon?), the moment you point a finger to someone, three fingers point back at you.. Ayan, nasama pati si Hitler. Baka pagkatapos nito, hindi lang mga galunggong, este crabs pala ang papapak sa ‘kin. Baka kako ma infect na ako ng German measles. “Sensya na. Biro lang po para gumaan naman ng konti ang mood…medyo mabigat kasi ang tira ko today, eh.

But… hindi pa ako tapos. Malayo pa ang final period so, kuha ka muna ng miryende, hane…nang hindi mangisay sa gutom.

To say peace and let bygones be bygones is nothing but hypocrisy at this point. If, an I’m sorry at this time is too difficult to speak…nakakabikig sa lalamunan — or too laborious to type kasi biglang napilay (???) ang hintuturo mo sa katataype (o sa kaka-pin point?), it is understandable. Hearts have been broken, relationships have been severed. Too many people haven’t had a peaceful sleep since this started. ‘Yung iba nga, ilang beses nang nagpalit ng reseta para sa alta presyon…feel nyo matigok na kayo? It’s never easy to let bygones be bygones and dismiss everything as water under the bridge. But if everyone’s mind is opened a bit wider — just anough to let me and my humble opinion in — (bakeet, sino ka vahhh?) they would agree with me when I say we can never resolve this issue unless someone shouts “CEASEFIRE!”. Stop the hurling of hurting words to and fro…kasi me nabubukol nang wala namang kinalaman. I could summarize what I am trying to say in this paragraph in the language of one year old kids: WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!! (Literal translation: Ang gugulo ninyo. Kung ‘di kayo titigil, pag-uuntugin ko’ng ulo ninyo!)

Silence, at this point, is indeed golden. I have an idea ngayon kung bakit mas mainam ang buhay ng bulag, ng pipi at ng bingi — walang pakialam sa mundo ‘ika nga. But don’t get me wrong. I am not giving any of my senses up…maybe in a hundred years, I would entertain the idea.

Kidding aside, my fellow Filipinas, where will this journey of spite and hatred end? And when? Are we going to watch in the sidelines and make our bet too? Why don’t we make a wee bit of difference? At alam kong alam mo kung ano ang magagawa mo, kapwa ko Pinay.

I am writing this in an attempt to stop — to put a period — to the saga. I know it won’t be easy because right now, the most popular keys in the kayboard are &*%$#@!)(_+…. But in time, in God’s perfect time, may pipindot din sa (.)… period ‘yan, tange… kala mo boob?

And with everything being said, I now put in my final period.

The Filipina December 11, 2008

Filipina… the word itself is attractive. It sounds promising… its promise of inner strength beyond ordinary measure. It’s intensity even more overwhelming.

I am a Filipina … I couldn’t imagine myself ever shedding the image no matter where I might go. I find myself celebrating the pride of being considered one of the most sought after races. I find myself in awe at the gift of beauty that The Lord has endowed in my kind— that of being Filipina.

But lately, has the Filipina retained her untarnished integrity? Is she still the amiable and simple lass the world knows her to be… the sought after Pearl of the Orient? Can she still face the world with that attractive innocence, coy smile, humble spirit and awe inspiring faith in the Omniscient Being?

They say that change is the only constant on earth. Everything changes… even snakes shed their skin — it’s a painful stage, yet a necessary one. Does the Filipina of today have to undergo that same skin shedding — no matter how painful or how degrading because it’s necessary? Does she really have to scratch and claw or fight eye for eye to prove to the world that Filipinas are the Amazons of Asia — and if she does, does it prove anything?

I am a Filipina… I remain as proud as Maria Clara was in being Filipina

I am a Filipina… proud to be one. I laugh and I cry. I smile and I sigh. I speak and I listen — like everyone else. I live and let live — or sometimes choose to let die. I fight… yes, I fight when I have all the reasons to fight… but a Filipina knows when to stop — for she knows when enough is enough.

A Filipina knows when enough is enough.

Faltering Steps December 11, 2008

There are times in life when, no matter how much we claim to have matured as persons, we prove ourselves wrong over and over again. These are times when, instead of facing the odds squarely, instead of dancing to the music or swaying where the wind blows, we choose to veer towards a course that most people would find abhorrent. And no matter how much or how hard we try, these periods appear and reappear on our doorstep at times when we have already fallen into the swing of things …

Faltering steps… that’s how I would call it. But everyone does falter. Everyone gets to a point when he loses his grip on reason and acts according to his instinct instead. Instinct — this is what we have in common with the animals, but reason is what separates us and proves us higher than them. We are rational beings — that’s how books describe us, humans. And time and time again, we have proven just how rational we are.

Faltering steps…baby steps… this is what we need to take in order to bridge the gap between us. This is what we need today if we aim to bridge the gap that has grown wider and which appears unbridgeable. To dream of totally closing the gap is impossible and can be more damaging at this point because negativity needs to flow underneath until such time when love neutralizes the pain and everything that it has wrought — until that time when the bridge of friendship can once again be rebuilt.

Together we walk this land in faltering steps… and helping each other to stand upright along the way each time we fall.

It won’t be easy…

But it can be done.

Forever December 10, 2008

people talk about forever

so often

and I, in my youth,

have thought

that forever is too long

a time to spend

blissfully

for two hearts bound together

by feelings

so intense…..

forever, they say,

is forever…

how can we make today

last forever?

we talk about forever

like most people do

but we don’t even know

for sure

if forever is worth waiting for.

if love starts so swiftly,

it can also end as swiftly

for love isn’t bound by time

yes it begins, and ends,

so swiftly.

But…

if we could spend today

to the fullest

if we live today as if

no tomorrow would come

we can make today

last forever…

…for forever doesn’t really mean

to live eternally

but to make the memories

last until eternity…

Am just feeling abit sentimental today… and that poem you read above is the end result of my sentimental feelings…

IF December 10, 2008

Life is not, and will never be, a bed of roses. No matter how hard we try to avoid them, obstacles, hindrances, challenges and trials will meet us at an intersection in our lives. Trouble is, they seem to appear at moments when we seem most at ease — they seem to show up at times when we think we have everything ironed out and running well. But that’s life.

I have been through a lot like most people do. The only difference maybe the fact that I am an optimist at heart. I choose to look behind the dark clouds where the sun continues to shine. I choose to believe that I can rise through every pain. Even when I get up scathed, bruised and wounded, what matters is that I have stood up again.

Even when we hurt, the world still goes on and wallowing in our own hurts does not help us solve our problems… even when we hurt, we are still alive and for me, living is all about bouncing back from even the biggest fall.

The poem I write in here today was written ten years ago… back when I was still younger and was hurting for the loss of a person closest to my heart… someone I loved early. But this poem is not for the person who left me but for the man who made believe in love again — my husband.

So, here goes…

IF

If I could sketch your smile

I would

so its brilliance is summed…

brought together in a line

and each enchanting curve

will fit in just fine

to make me remember you,

…remember your smile.

If I could paint your tenderness,

I would

so each careful stroke would mean

a feather-like caress

and in each single palette

is an awesome loveliness

to remind me of you

…of your comforting gentleness

If I could sing the love you give me

I would

so each lyric can tell about

the beauty I now see

and each melody

makes up a captivating harmony

so I’ll remember how you brought back my courage

to risk at LOVE again… with you