November 9, 2009

Dirty Hands

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Browsing thru my Multiply account, I saw a fellow UPSCAn’s post about a piece written by the much loved Fr. John Patrick Delaney, S.J., who was the student chaplain of the University of the Philippines during the 1950’s. It was through his initiative that the now-UP Parish Church was built.

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Dirty Hands by John P. Delaney S.J.

I’m proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough and knobby and calloused. And I’m proud of the dirt and the knobs and the callouses. I didn’t get them that way by playing bridge or drinking afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the well-advertised Good Samaritan at charity balls.

I got them that way by working with them, and I’m proud of the work and the dirt. Why shouldn’t I feel proud of the work they do – these dirty hands of mine?

My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truck drivers and street cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel. They are not pretty hands, they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But they are strong hands, hands that make so much that the world must have or die.

Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. I’m proud of my dirty hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the hammer and the saw and the plane. His weren’t pretty hands either when they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, and wielded carpenter’s tools. They were workingman’s hands – strong, capable proud hands. And weren’t pretty hands when the executioners got through them. They were torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from them, and the edges of the wounds were raw and dirty and swollen; and the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute appeal for love.

They weren’t pretty hands then, but, O God, they were beautiful – those hands of the Savior. I’m proud of those dirty hands, hands of my Savior, hands of God.

And I’m proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God!

 

November 8, 2009

walang magawa pero dapat may ginagawa

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Trying trying trying to play this song.

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I’ll probably watch this movie alone. And probably will watch it by the second week of December to avoid the crowd. In the meantime, I’ll just watch the trailer, and ogle on Jacob Black’s gorgeous body. Ahehehe.

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Came across this video, was supposed to be looking for the original music video, but this one’s relevant today. Nice. And a good way to keep Francis M’s spirit alive. An info campaign against cervical cancer.

 

November 5, 2009

Two years without you

Posted by zahflo under Gratitude, Making Memories | Tags: , , |
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“If each day is worth living for, how can you regret dying soon? We live to love so that we can die loved” — Analy

I got that quote from the facebook status of Ate Anafe, Analy’s sister.

I just have to blog about Analy, now it’s her second year in heaven. She and her boyfriend drowned two years ago while on a beach vacation. She and James had their lives ahead of them, like any young lawyer, and young couple, she had all these options and she couldn’t decide which path to take, how many more years to wait before settling down, and which “specialization” of lawyering she would focus on. I cannot claim to really know her, since the few weeks before she died, was the only time we were starting to reconnect. I asked her a big favor to represent me, and be my lawyer for a case I filed against my son’s dad. And she accepted, without any apprehension. And for that, I will always be thankful.

It was her sudden death that shook my boat, if you will, and made me realize that life is indeed short. Whenever I pass through Tektite, the building where she last worked, where we would meet to discuss the case, I remember her, and sometimes, I imagine seeing her standing by the door waiting for me.

It was her death that made me start expressing my gratitude towards people more often. Appreciation towards another person should not be kept, or delayed. Thank him/her now, while he/she can still smile back and appreciate you back. Because harsh as it seems, when a person dies, all the wonderful words we have for them will no longer change things. Maybe it will comfort the family, but it would have made a difference in their lives had they heard it while they were still alive.

So Analy, again, thank you, for sharing your life with us. And we thank God for sharing His daughter to the world for 27 years. Have peace.

 

November 4, 2009

Parenting me

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I’ve been reading a lot of parenting tips from fellow parents through egroups, and through other parents’ blogs. While I read through each article, I think about how Lex responds to certain situations, and so far, I am glad that he shows a good character in the making. (I don’t know at what age a person’s character is actually established so…)

Lex surprises me in a lot of ways. How, at 4 years old, he reminds me to take off my slippers when I enter the bedroom (Mama made this new rule of no-slippers-inside-the-bedroom-coz-i-just-polished-the-freaking-flood-soaked-floor). Lex would say “Ah, Mommy, take off your slippers!”, then he would take my slippers and place it on the floor by the door, neatly arranged.

Then a few months ago, he learned how to apologize. He says “I’m sorry” in a really cute, charming way, that I have no other choice but to accept (haha, how can I not?)

There was a time when I no longer had the time to comb my hair, when he took a comb and brushed my hair! It was so sweet of him, I thought to myself whether I really deserved it. :-) When I try to recall all that he’s been doing, I can’t help but be amazed at the simple but wonderful things he does.

Like when I’m in front of the computer, when it’s late, he would say “Mommy, you need to sleep! Internet tomorrow na pag morning na!”, or the other version “Mommy, tama na yang Internet (enough Internet already), sleep ka muna (you sleep first)!” He got that from our usual “statements” that he should sleep first before he gets to watch afternoon TV, or that he should finish his food first before he gets chocolate.

Then there’s the matter of ownership. He knows who owns what. So when I drink from my Mama’s glass, he would say “Mommy, no! That’s Mama’s!”, then he would take the glass from me, and place it on Mama’s placemat. There was a time when I took some change from Lex’s coin purse (hehe bad Mommy), he immediately “reprimanded” me, and said “Mommy, that’s Lexie’s coins!” (come on, I gave him all those coins! but yeah, he has a point…)

So this is how I learn the value of responsibility and integrity from my 4-year old son. Want your kids to respect you? Walk the talk.

I believe that our kids are God’s angels who remind us of what’s right and what should be done. When you look at them in that light, your perspective changes. Instead of feeling embarrassed, or irritated, I am humbled.

I wonder what the next years (decades!) with Lex will bring. :-)

 

November 1, 2009

Thank You (Nov. 1, 2009)

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An hour ago, I woke up screaming. Had a terribly scary dream. No halloween stuff, but the dream was so real, I was so glad it was just a dream. And now, I’m reminded to thank God for creating a line between nightmares and real life.

Thank God, I’m not alone tonight. I was supposed to be alone with lex this weekend. But the maid returned, my brother came home, and Mama didn’t push thru with her trip.

Mama said she felt she had to stay this weekend, and she was thinking maybe because the typhoon would hit us. Now I’m thinking it’s because I won’t be safe in me sleep without her.

Gosh.

But yeah, thank You, God, for waking me up.

 

October 28, 2009

Purpose

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Ok, so it’s like the 3rd or 4th time that I had to stay late in the office to wait for further instructions from my boss and finish the job before we leave the office. I can say that it’s exhausting, after staying in the office the whole day, the chunk of the work comes late in the afternoon, just when I’m thinking of leaving in a few minutes. Since this blog is “public” in a sense that everyone can read it, I would rather keep mum about some aspects…

Anyway, about work, I actually enjoy it in the sense that I know that what we do has a positive impact on the country as a whole, although the people do not really know about it. Unlike the the Department of Public Works where you can see something physical – a “real” contribution to the development of the country, energy regulation is something least appreciated (especially when there are increases in the electricity bill). But we know our purpose, and we may not be perfect as an organization (there are a lot of slips, as the energy experts well know), but I do believe that in general, our hearts are in the right place in terms of protecting consumers and providing a stable environment in the power sector. I feel a sense of purpose in the work I do.

So I was talking about staying late at work, and I’m starting to feel that it is indeed important to have a life outside of work – a life purpose. When you have that, you know that staying late to work out something you can do early in the morning the next day is illogical. Working on something urgent that needs to be done NOW is ok, because we know that doesn’t happen everyday. But when overtime work without any form of compensation becomes regular, I simply don’t know what to say.

Anyway, since I haven’t told my boss about my “concern”, then I cannot blame her for having this routine. I don’t know if I can have the guts to tell it to her face without being figuratively hit in the head. I just hope that like most of us here in the office, she would find her purpose outside of work, where she can live life, enjoy relationships and make meaningful memories with people who matter more to her than our higher ups and bosses (who, incidentally, are living their own lives to the full).

 

October 28, 2009

Should I be my “brother’s keeper”?

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I am as surprised as Cain was when God asked him, “Where is your brother?”. Do I actually have to look out for my siblings, and my friends? I understand that as a mother, I have to look out for my son. But fellow adults who should know what’s right and wrong? Fellow adults who defy what’s “right” and no longer listen or fear their parents, or any other authority? Would they listen to me? Should I even bother listening to their problems and hear them justify their actions that are clearly wrong? Should I hit their head with a bat too, just like Cain did, but figuratively, for them to “see the light”?

I always had this tendency to be a “helping hand” to my friends. Sometimes, maybe I become annoying when I start giving unsolicited advice, or when I say “I understand” and start blabbing profound words that I think would make them feel better. That’s because when I was younger, when the pains of life started coming, no one was constantly there to watch out for me.

So every time I find out a friend has some problem I can relate to, I share my heart. But sometimes I get frustrated when the person keeps going through the same pains, when in fact, there’s a choice to get out. A painful, difficult, necessary choice. It’s painful to see a friend “suffer”, yet that person has become comfortable in that suffering that “moving forward” is simply not an option.

Sometimes I think, what’s the point of being there for someone when clearly, they do not get the point? That they only take you for granted by not taking your advice?

But yes, I’m still here. Listening. Maybe, being your brother’s keeper does not mean solving their problems for them, pointing them to the right direction, or fixing their lives. We simply listen. And let them feel that no matter how messed up they are, you are still a friend and that you don’t judge.

Yeah, that’s it. Because during my lowest times, I wasn’t really alone. Jessie was there. Just listening.

(Jessie is a nickname I gave our Lord Jesus when I was a little kid. He was like Freddie, my imaginary friend. He is the reason that I enjoy solitude, because in my mind and heart, I am never alone.)

 

October 25, 2009

Memories of home

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My last blog entry made me rummage through old photos that i was able to save from the flooding. Most of my old photos are in the province, so i only have a few here. But I think the reason these are with me, is because these are the most “important” ones. I took some of these out of their respective albums to have them scanned.

I’m posting photos taken in our old house in the small town of Sual in the province of Pangasinan. Our house was surrounded by old, large santol and mango trees, that are now non existent (Mama had them chopped and sold as firewood – heartbreaking!). Old memories of home. SIGH.

front of the house (no idea what year this was) my mom's parents and grandma (in black), and her brothers

front of the house (no idea what year this was) my mom's parents and grandma (in black), and her brothers

christmas 1995 with my parents

christmas 1995 with my parents

papa and I shared the love of gardening

papa and I shared the love of gardening

new year 1996 - breakfast (that explains our weird eyes and hair)

new year 1996 - breakfast (that explains our weird eyes and hair)

right before papa left for Davao

right before papa left for Davao

summer 1995 with my eldest brother

summer 1995 with my eldest brother

Now this is how “home” looks like:

ruins

ruins

inside the house

inside the house

view from the garage. the house in front of ours was also ruined.

view from the garage. the house in front of ours was also ruined.

Heartbreaking.

 

October 17, 2009

Heavy Heart Explained

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Last Thursday, my colleague and I went to the mall for shoe shopping. Most of my shoes were ruined in the flood, so I figured I have to buy new ones. There are stuff on sale so we wanted to see if we can take advantage of it. When we were already at the ladies’ shoes section, I was overwhelmed by all the displays – there were LOTS of them, and I started to search for my new pair. I wasn’t able to find one, and my colleague bought a pair. I just found myself staring in space, I felt dizzy and my chest felt kinda heavy. I sat down and just waited for my companion to finish her purchase.

Then I figured I needed some hair accessories, so we went looking for hair pins. It was then that I realized why my chest felt weird. The mall was playing Christmas songs. Everytime I hear Christmas songs, I  sort of “go back in time” when everything was simple, and I feel sad at how I can never get to experience that again. I am transported back to my hometown….

From second grade to highschool, I lived in the province, a small town where I could see the mountains and the rice fields at the back of our house, then the Lingayen gulf at the front. When I would walk to the jeepney station, I would pass by an area where there are no houses, and I could see the rice field and the mountains, and the sea at the other side. The sun rises at the side of the sea, and amazingly, during clear days, I could see La Union and even the mountains of Benguet.  During Christmas season, Mama and I would complete the Misa de Gallo, waking up at 4:30 in the morning and walk in the dark streets to the church. We would buy hot pan de sal after the mass, and I would prepare for school. It was really nice to walk in the dark, stars twinkling above us, crickets singing in the fields.

When I was a junior in high school, I joined the Parish Youth Ministry and I became part of the church choir, and every year, on Christmas eve, we would have a special presentation during the midnight mass and we would sing. (it’s the part where Mary and Joseph knocks on doors to find shelter). anyway, it was a good feeling, to be part of a community and commemorating the birth of Jesus.

I miss those days (or nights). Today, our house i uninhabitable, at the very least. It has been ruined by several typhoons the past year. The garden is bare, the mango and santol trees that once shaded most of the grounds, have been uprooted and have died. The house is a total wreck. I’ve only seen the pictures, and it breaks my heart. Childhood memories are all I’ll ever have.

So whenever I hear Christmas songs, my chest feels heavy,  and I see in my mind’s eye, the cloudless sky filled with stars, the cool breeze, me clinging to Mama’s arms, walking the dark streets of Sual on our way to church.

Sigh. I’ve been feeling this heavy heart syndrome, if you will, every year. And now I have an explanation.

 

October 12, 2009

Perspective

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Reading books helps give you some perspective about life, especially if the author himself tells about how we should live our lives to the fullest – in the present, and that the same author has died a few years back, at the peak of his career as a motivational speaker and best selling author, leaving behind his wife and two kids.

Last Friday, my colleagues and I spent 12 solid hours in Congress, waiting for our agency’s turn to have our next year’s budget approved. Thank God, Patrick was prepared (after we waited 5 hours in the same place last Monday waiting and we didn’t get our turn). He brought with him 2 books and his iPod. I only had my cellphone, and when the person I’m chatting with signed out, I was bored to death.

Pat lent me one of his books, by Richard Carlson and his wife, entitled “One hour to live, one hour to love”. I finished it within 2 hours. And I was holding back tears (I’m literally a crybaby). The book was published after Richard’s death. It was a love letter to his wife that he gave on their 18th wedding anniversary. Then his wife wrote the next chapter, and expressed her love and heartfelt thanks to her husband, who somehow left them with something they can hold on to. He expressed his love for his family way before he died, as if he knew he was going ahead soon. It was something that is now helping his family move forward, still grieving, but are hopeful for the future. Somehow, I can say that he died without any regrets, because everything he needed to say to his family, he has already said. And they know how much he loves them. I say “loves”, in the present tense. Because i believe love does not end in death.

A few days ago, I watched (again) the movie The Bucket List on HBO. And I remembered (again), the lyrics of John Mayer’s song – “it’s better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say again”.

I am glad that as of this year, no one close to me has died. Yet. And I’m glad that I haven’t, yet. But if I suddenly do, then let me tell you all: THANK YOU.

If you only have one hour to live, and one phonecall to make, who will you call, and what will you say…. and why are you waiting?
–Richard Carlson, Ph.D.

Well, for me, the first person I can think of is my Mama. What will I tell her? That I love her, and that I am where I am because of her. That I thank her for putting up with us, taking care of us, sacrificing her future for us. She could have been a successful medical technologist in Germany if she didn’t marry my Papa. She should have a career if she didn’t quit work to be a full time mom and take care of 3 kids. She should have had a better life without us. I would tell her that she is my hero, for doing the most painful thing a mother can do – leave her husband, ask relatives for help and move forward. I would thank her for doing it for me. She was strong enough to go through a marriage meltdown, that when I had to face my own trial, she didn’t judge me. She didn’t even tell me “i told you so”. I would tell her that I am proud to have a mom like her. She may not have a career, job title, no property to her name. But she is the best.

Now, what am I waiting for? I don’t know. Maybe the guts to say it to her face without crying. See, Mama is a tough woman. She raised us in a way that we don’t become emotional. I never saw her cry. Never. (she fainted when my granpa died, because she was holding it back and didn’t want to cry) And when my little Lex starts crying, she says “stop crying, or else…” I assume that’s how it was for us too (I really don’t remember). So I don’t know. Maybe i can just let her read my blog? She will be furious. (you’ve been posting this, and everyone can see it? – oh i’m gonna be dead hehe)

So yeah. I’ll probably just pinch her butt and tell her she’ll always be prettier than me no matter how hard I try to look good, and kiss her goodnight. Then wait for Lex to start laughing out loud.

Why are you waiting?

Because we think tomorrow is waiting for us, and Christmas is coming, so maybe we can just wait till then. Goodluck. That is if you have till Christmas.

Shucks. Handwritten notes. I should start writing all you guys handwritten notes.

 

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