The Postprandial Thoughts

The Dance

2014-09-07T12:01:00.000+08:00

I can hear the slow rock music captivating the hall. There are women dancing on the floor- swaying their hips and bodies to a tune that I am not familiar with. Some has men in their arms... men subserviently drifting away with their partners and the music. Men and women in each step of their feet crisscrossed with the life of the dance hall.

Then the world stopped... the room turned dark and the silence drowned the room. I stand frozen and the darkness is piercing my sight as I urge my brain to shift my reckless breathing into relaxed and rhythmic respirations. With my eyes closed, I could smell a man's perfume- strong and yet soothing. Then sporadically, as if the music is created underwater- fresh and shallow comes back into being. In sequence- piano, guitars, violin, drums and cymbals. This time, the music feels familiar but my cognition represses the memory of it. The drums sound synergistic with the thudding of my heart as if this heart inside the hurting chest commands the band. My senses are diluted in every way it should be, except this sight and touch.

I started to recreate a world out of the music: a large dimly lit banquet hall and a simple stage with a band of five unfaced men behind their instruments. No one else is here except for a man on a black suit with a fierce set of penetrating eyes and a sweet smile. His face feels familiar but his memory is lost. He seems to know me- every intricate detail in my being, every secret I have and thoughts that I had thought of and thoughts that I will think of in my tomorrows. He stares at me for long, longer than all my lovers' conversations. His face melts my reality and slowly I am being freed from the chains of my past and pain. He reaches out for my hand and as my fingertips touch his, I am permeated with a surge of joy and hope- the same emotions that had eluded me in years. With his strong grip, he led me to the center of the room. He puts my hand in his stalwart shoulders and slid his on my waist. He draws me intimately closer- too close that his smell vanishes and what is left to sense is his soft steady breathing drowning and pulling me immensely. His right hand clasped my left and he locked his fingers into my cold and sweaty fingers. I draw in one deep breath and he seems aware of it that he smiles, again. I can recognize his emotions but not his face- he seems very pleased.

The music changes its tempo. My heart seems to lose the baton of this hall's orchestra. He pulls me an inch closer ... too close that I lost the sight of his face and too proximate that I could only bury my face into his chest. I do not feel any discomfort because this man seems to belong to me and I to him. I look up to his face and tears are slowly rolling down his cheeks.

He leads me into a dance- his slow and assuring steps commencing a rhythmic waltzing around the hall. I am convalescing in his presence and I am willfully submitting into his grace. With the surge of joy, I can feel that my fears, my tears are gradually leaving a place of deceit, abandonment, insecurity and depression.

We dance the night.We dance until the day. We dance the days, weeks, months, years and moments away with each different music that our intertwined hearts are creating. We both could not feel any lost and recovery of physical energy because we are but a one body.

I can now recognize who he is- in the midst of the slow and quick tempo and the shifting grasp and embrace of his, this man is no longer my stranger. He is my love and the love that loves my darkness, flaws...my laughter, happiness...my soul and my being.

I am home and the dance stopped.

A week in South Africa

2014-08-01T00:27:00.002+08:00

24 May 2014 (Saturday) -After 14 hours of travel with 12 hours and 55 minutes of uninterrupted feet numbing plane experience from Hongkong, finally I was in Johannesburg, South Africa. I was fetched by Daddy of Sol-Ant Travels and brought me to my hotel in Pretoria where I spent my entire seven days.

En Route from O.R. Tambo International Airport to Pretoria

The view from my room in Southern Sun Pretoria Hotel

The fancy hotel room

The day I arrived was South Africa's 5th democratic president,Jacob Zuma's inauguration. Unlike any other country in the world, South Africa has three governmental capital cities: Cape Town, Pretoria and Bloemfontein. I was fortunate enough that the hotel I was staying was few blocks away from the Union Buildings where the celebratory inauguration events were being held. The streets were brimming with locals chanting and dancing- it was very festive but at the same time jammed with people that I couldn't even inch through the large crowd so I decided to go to the Church Square instead.

I especially enjoyed my visit to the Church Square where 19th century architecture outlined the historical center (and the friendly Africans who were consistently calling me a Chinese :) ).

Old ZAR Council Chamber (1891)

Standard Bank (1934)

The Palace of Justice (1902)

The Statue of Paul Kruger (1896)

Tudor Chambers (1904)

After the Church Square, I went to the Kruger Museum which was originally Paul Kruger's house. Since everyone was at the Union Buildings, it was nice to be the only tourist in the museum.

The Kruger Museum, Pretoria

In front of the Kruger Museum- one of my few personal snapshots in South Africa.

The Krugers' Horse Carriage

Some of Kruger's artifacts

Since I had few time left in my Saturday afternoon, I went to the Pretoria Art Museum but it was already closed when I got there. Surprisingly, the Pretoria Art Museum was adjacent to the Arcadia Park and spent the rest of my afternoon before finally settling back in the hotel.

Olmec Replica Statue

Color is definitely one of Africa's main attractions in nature and culture

25 May 2014 (Sunday)- Today, I visited the Union Buildings, the Voortrekker Monument, Freedom Park and the Pretoria Art Museum.

Words can never perfectly describe the vastness and magnificence of the Union Buildings.

The Voortrekker Monument found on a hilltop south of Pretoria is another impressive architectural structure. This monument took 11 years (1938-1949) to build in commemoration of the Voortrekkers.

One of Voortrekker Monument's two main features: Historical Frieze

Voortrekker Monument's second main feature: The Cenotaph. On top of the building is an opening where the rays of the sun directly shines at the center of the Cenotaph at noontime every 16th of December.

After the Voortrekker Monument, I went to the Freedom Park and visited the Hapo Museum and the Garden of Remembrance. One distinct characteristic of the Hapo Museum is that it recounts the history of the African people and their struggles for freedom.

Here are few pictures I took inside the Hapo Museum and the Garden of Remembrance:

The 697 meter long Wall of Names

The Garden of Remembrance

The view of Pretoria and Johannesburg from the Freedom Park

My last stop of the day was the Pretoria Art Museum (finally!).

26- 30 May 2014- Management Sciences for Health's Global Monitoring and Evaluation (M&E) Workshop- A whole week of meeting colleagues and learning with esteemed M&E professionals around the world. I am very grateful to be given an opportunity to learn about recent trends in data visualization, evaluation methods and operational researches.

MSH M&E Colleagues

With Neusa Bay (SIAPS Technical Advisor) of Mozambique and Dr. Obakeng Khaole (Senior Technical Advisor TB Services Support) of South Africa

With Tobey Busch (SIAPS Technical Advisor) of Arlington, USA

On my last night in South Africa, I had a safari tour in the Lion Park in Johannesburg. I enjoyed the safari tour while we bravely wandered around the park at night. Aside from the lions, there were cheetahs, wild dogs, hyenas, leopards, zebras, antelopes, giraffes freely roaming around the park and I greatly enjoyed the thrill of having the animals follow our game vehicle.

The glorious Johannesburg sunset on the way to the Lion Park

With the lion cubs

The Lionesses

The King of the Jungle selfishly devouring his meal.

With the best Safari tour, Mr. Steve Stephansen of Africa Explore Tours& Safaris

This is my favorite South African shot (by far) taken by Steve and as he said "At least we know that giraffe is really tall."

No answers

2014-07-31T13:36:00.000+08:00

I do not know the answers.

I only know my questions and as I live this life each day, all these questions seem to pile up into a tangled string of conundrums.

Please do not ask me how. Because I could not give you your answers...I could not even give myself a decent answer. Do not make me pack my boxes, do not make me fold my past and do not make me leave everything behind. Do not force me to live another life that I am scared of. I do not know how and I do not want you to show me how.

Do not ask me the "what's". I do not know what I want. I do not know what makes me happy. I do not know what makes me smile. I only know that I am doing okay when I hear myself inside my head- when I realize that I am talking to myself, again. I know that I am doing fine when I remember your "what's". I remember our "what's"... I remember us. I remember everything about you. I remember them so much that it hurts to lose them tomorrow. Our memories in the past- it may seem bleak now but I know they were there, they are here, they are ours.

Please do not ask me why. Why do I love you? Why have I loved you? Why do I choose to love you for my forever, life and death. Do not ask these questions because I have been figuring out this myself. Each day I am seeking a rational sense why I live my life loving from afar. Do not ask me why I grabbed your hand when you wanted to leave, why I stood out in the rain trying to run away from you and why I could not force myself to sleep when I started thinking about you. I do not know why and I do not want to know why.

Ask me for whom. I love only you. I will love you- away but forever.

"I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."- Rainer Maria Rilke from Letters to a Young Poet

A Short Story (An Epilogue)

2014-07-29T19:38:00.000+08:00

Stephanie, in her late twenties, has not changed at all. She still loves to stay in and spend her time crying over old romantic movies while underneath her blankets and thousand pillows- consciously sneaking each pillow into a position that would improbably asphyxiate her.

She has not changed at all. She still wears her decade old thick-framed glasses, clad in a monotonous colored dress and a sullen blank face. She still enjoys solving complex mathematical formulae or read her weekends away submerged in a hundred fiction books, the only invisible link she has with her deceased father. She still stays away from falling in love especially the kind of love that she has herself trapped into. And she still gets scared when she imagines herself growing old alone.

Stephanie thinks her time has frozen when she met Dave and she wishes her time has frozen with him. Before Dave, she knew that love is defined by boundaries. Love was a state of conditional acceptance. She witnessed the kind of love that was strongly defined by her parents over drunkenness, bruises and cuts, shortcomings and infidelities. She recognizes every emotion there is: hatred, desperation, envy, anxiety, anger, bitterness, misery, pleasure, happiness, contentment, gaiety… except love.

Then she met Dave. She often drove him away and yet would always find Dave waiting for her outside her apartment with a box of cold pizza and a few of his hours that felt like forever. Dave made Stephanie felt she was beautiful despite the thick-framed glasses, her colorless ensemble and passive face. They watched sunsets and sunrises, each so taciturn in their own interconnected worlds. He accepted her and she began to accept her own imperfections. Slowly, Dave stripped away her definition of love and showed her that love in its purest form is the kind of love that compels you to live.

But Dave only lived his last six months with Stephanie.

Kidlit

2014-07-27T17:11:00.001+08:00

I am a self-confessed bibliophile and addicted to C.S Lewis, Murakami, Gaiman, Ahern, Coehlo and others, but not one children's book in my collection despite of the known fact that I love children.

Early this year, I started hunting and collecting children's books with astounding illustrations, creative elements, heartwarming stories and whimsical story plots.The biggest influence being was my previous work in an early literacy project of Save the Children Philippines. While I was learning my way to the impact of early stimulation activities like storytelling and story reading to the development of infants and toddlers, I started to fall in love with "Kidlit" or kid's literature books.

My first books were Ian Falconer's "Olivia", "Olivia and Fairy Princesses" and "Olivia forms a band"; and it was love at first sight or should I say love at first lines:

"This is Olivia.

She is good at lots of things."

Who would not fall in love with a perky and smart piglet whose imagination compels her to invent, dream, be good at anything and impeccable in wearing people out (especially her mother). If I will be a mom, I would want to be Olivia's mom- simply because she allowed her child to learn and discover the world.The illustrations are very simple too- plain white/ black backgrounds, minimal elements and three colored palettes- very worthy of it's Caldecott Honor award.

This is Olivia working for the Tuberculosis systems in the Philippines.

Then, there are the "love" books: "Guess How Much I Love You" (Written by Sam Mc Bratney and illustrated by Anita Jeram) and "Mama, do you love me?" (By Barbara Joosse and Barbara Lavallee) which both described the unconditional love of parents. These books tell us that the parent's love has no boundaries even if we test its limits. "Mama, do you love me?" is one of my two board books and has very interesting and lively illustrations of the Inuit culture. Board books are advisable for babies or infants as this is the stage when the fine motor grip is not fully developed and they might not be able to turn the thin paper pages without literally shredding the pages.

"Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" by Bill Martin Jr., John Archambault and Lois Ehlert and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you See?" (Written by Bill Martin Jr. and illustrated by Eric Carle) and "A Very Hungry Caterpillar" by Eric Carle are the concept books in my collection. Concept books are books that teach young children on early "concepts" of letters, objects, numbers, shapes, colors, animals, among others: "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" on A,B,C's, "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you See?" on colors and animals (i.e. Purple Horse) and "A Very Hungry Caterpillar" on numbers and objects. What I like about Carle's books are its collage illustrations that are very simple, vivid, colorful and interactive.

Eric Carle's illustrations in "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you See?" and "A Very Hungry Caterpillar"

A Kidlit library is not complete without a Theodore Geisel, popularly known as Dr. Seuss. To date, I have only one Dr. Seuss book: "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" that I bought as second hand since most bookstores sell new Dr. Seuss' books at 500-700 PhP rate (too extravagant for a whim). I got most of my children's books from my favorite online bookstore: Surprises Out of Boxes on a marked down rate.

Interestingly, this Dr. Seuss book also appeals to adults who are on new adventures and major life changes or for people just waiting...

"Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come, or a plane to go

or the mail to come, or the rain to go

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow

or waiting around for a Yes or No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite

or waiting for wind to fly a kite

or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

or a pot to boil , or a Better Break

or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants

or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

My second hand book "Oh, the Places You'll Go! with a special dedication from a certain "Tito Bobby"

My “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak, Robert McCloskey’s “Make Way for Ducklings” “The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore” by William Joyce, "The Tallest of Smallest" by Max Lucado and my pop-up mobile book “Stellaluna" by Janell Cannon are fit for older children. The main consideration in selecting what book to buy is its appropriateness: content, age and language.

My Kidlit collection is relatively new; but more than its purpose as my happy pill during flu days and insomnia lonely rainy nights, I get to share this love to some of the kids in my neighborhood on weekends.

Jonna, Calvin and Gabby reading my Kidlit books.

Plus, how cool it is to share my collection with my esteemed professor back in U.P. College of Nursing.

The Red Shoes

2014-07-18T13:51:00.001+08:00

She was jumping and hopping with her face in all smiles-
Too caught in the moment of playful tricks and disguise.
With her favorite doll, she ran after the colorful butterfly
Poor little girl did not know that her father just died.

She danced and whistled a tune so happy and gay;
And tapped her red shoes to a thousand worlds away
She giggled and laughed, oblivion to sadness and pain.
She could not understand but the skies are ash gray.

She grew up with pictures and stories about a man too dusty to recall.
Of a man whom she knew out of distant phone calls.
Who always reminded her that she was his greatest love above all
And with that gripping loss, she stopped living- her life has a vast hole.

"If only I could tap these red shoes and be with him"-the woman plead
Fly away from her darkness falsely kindled by lost men and their embraces
The crippling pain of not belonging dawned her existence to bleed
Beyond her blank stares, she could see hopelessness and obliterated spaces.

Soliloquy

2014-03-13T07:14:00.001+08:00

Closing doors and goodbyes. Who would imagine that my life and this playful universe will hit me again with another curb ball that drags me to my starting line. I stare at my watch and it reads 4:28 AM and while the rest of the world is dozing off to their dreams and blank hallucinations, I on the other hand, immerse myself in the beauty of a pin pricked head and remembrances.

Measuring and evaluating impact- these I have done in the past two years. I thought I know it all but here in this closing chapter I realized that there is nothing I should be measuring but myself. How well have I wisely chosen my actions? How well did I control my temper and remind myself that my worries are nothing but minute molecules in this continuum of time? How often have I disowned my own comfort for a greater purpose?

I would have wanted to exit myself in the most inconspicuous manner. I would have wanted to pack my boxes silently and leave-while others hustle and give the best that they can to change but one child's life. I would have wanted to sulk on my sweet tears while bidding goodbye from afar. But I guess goodbyes are not meant to be modest and inaudible.

And since I contradict myself- this is but a bittersweet soliloquy.

For two years, I was used to wear that bright red logo as I stomped into new experiences and places, meet strangers and breathe passionately.

Who would have thought that as I wore that red logo, hundred of memories afloat in my universe- along with the sun, moon and countless bright stars? But as all stars explode out of the skies, this melancholy impels me to stare at the ebb of this closing chapter in awe.

With First Read Project Team, 2013

With First Read Project Bai's, 2014

With Kids Shine technical backstop, Jackie Haver and the girls, 2014

Story-reading with Isaiah S. Tapales Elementary School pupils, Antipolo 2014

At Lambangan Elementary School during Kids Shine Baseline Survey, 2014

Snippets of Tacloban after Typhoon Haiyan, 2013

With Tikbalang team- Typhoon Utor Response Team, Aurora 2013

Investigating Chikungunya cases, post Typhoon Utor, Aurora 2013

Tikbalang girls, with Ms. Ikay and Heidi at Baler, Aurora, 2013

With then First Read M&E Assistant and now as Kids Shine Community Mobilizer, Karleen Reodique, General Santos City 2013

With Nanay Melchi, Kids Shine Area Coordinator, 2013

With fellow introvert and bibliophile, Ate Bonna, Namnam Greenbelt 2013

With Kids Shine team and MARS Ambassadors, Ms. Jocelyn and Leanne, 2013

With Myra Julia, M&E Officer SCMPO, Star City, 2013

Aflek Elementary School, Tboli South Cotabato, 2013

Kids! 2013

And more kids, 2013

Now playing with kids during Valenzuela PES Graduation, 2013

Reflections

2014-01-10T23:08:00.001+08:00

I looked at my refection
and see the face of a wounded soul.
I glimpsed at the mirror
and discovered a life with uncovered holes.
I stared at the face of a woman
who is crying inside.
Because a love so enduring would never be
the love he will ever find.

I tried to reach out to the aching heart
But the hands could not- not with a distance apart.
I am longing to remember the past
and keep the memories of a hidden love to last.
I wanted to hear his voice that fills up
the vacuous core of the numbing noise.
I craved to feel the touch of his skin
but the overwhelming senses stole the will to win.

Let me not drift away from you.
Let me not let of these memories of a love so true.
Hold my hand until the time will take us apart.
Breathe for me close because I no longer feel my heart.

10:12pm

Love in Transit

2013-12-08T22:34:00.002+08:00

At Changi Airport- November 23, 2013

The clouds aligned the clear horizon as the trees steadily tower to reach the blue ceiling. Serene pauses, blank thoughts, lonely spaces- they seem to populate my waiting hours.

Long foregone were the fleeting hours when love drives my existence. I am starting to get used to my own reclusive space. I am getting used to be alone-- just alone.

I am listening to this song hoping that as the strings are plucked one by one, it creates this chaotic harmony - a melody that will reverberate into your memory the remembrance of you and I. You and I, but not together.

I am miles above the earth being jostled back to wherever that defined the distance and separation. One day, if the universe permits but a "one space", I hope I can look at you without neglect or pretensions of happiness. I can joyfully say to you that I have loved you- in past tense without expectations.

For now, I only have myself and this mind that has nothing but a million and one jibberish unstrung words. When I am into my own world, I delight not in conversations but in silence, I thrive not in sharing my personal space but in watching from a distance people in transit, love in transit.

There's something wonderful with strangers' faces: unruly hair; moles in the right places and oh that favorite mole just above the upper right lip; button-wide nose and dark circles around the eyes. Eyes staring away. Strangers' eyes staring at me and telling but a million thoughts- conveying stories on how good it was waking up besides someone who was not drunk the night before or stories on how coffee defied its purpose of being just a "coffee" or how it was to feel the warmth of another hand interlocked in their own fingers.

The displacement of this strong emotion compels me to look at myself in the mirror- unruly hair; mole just above the upper right lip, button-wide nose and dark circles around my eyes. Eyes staring away- far away where love has gone to. I hope one day I can joyfully say to myself that I have found the love again- over and over again.

The Black Book Chronicles: My half-sister

2013-11-25T13:10:00.000+08:00

I did try putting down this blog so I can enjoy these thoughts to myself; then I started writing my thoughts in this unextraordinary "black book".

But when you admitted that you, aside from me and probably my mom (who happens to be the president of this blogsite club), read this blog of countless un-philosophical ideas on hatred, anger, life, happiness, forgiveness and anything under the sun and about the sun. Here I am writing again, writing for you and sharing my "black book" thoughts with you (and oh probably my mom).

November 13, 2013 9pm

I have finally met you- my dearest half sister. My adult brain (that is capable of comprehension and reality) has once believed that I am his only daughter. I did imagine in blur your conceptual existence and yet now I have finally met you (or hypothetically).

I have never imagined that him leaving us created a space where I have you and Tom; him leaving us left not marks but scars of what-ifs and should-have-been's. You are right, we can no longer bring him back from the grave and we should no longer fill the vacuous void his past had created for you and me.

I am not smart though (like you and your mom thought about me). Most especially, I am not forgiving too. Because if I am,I would have forgiven myself first from the guilt and shame that haunts my present and future.

I may have forgiven him (or hypothetically).

There is too much to tell you my dear half sister. How it never turned out so well for us, for me and you and for him most especially. For now I will be keeping my only vivid memory I have of you.

Maybe it is a curse or blessing (or hypothetically) that as a child, we had no control of how our journeys unfold for us. We simply had no choice and control then- like I did not choose to grow up in a fatherless family. And I guess growing up is not perfect for you as well. Life is indeed messy, and as our journey unfolds,we have but one choice to delight in tiny surprises no matter how terrible our miseries are or were.

I am happy to have met you (or hypothetically). This is by far my definition of a beautiful tragedy- how his death binds us again.

Maybe I am no longer this little sister. I am your half sister.

Shadows

2013-09-30T22:22:00.000+08:00

I walked away from you
Away from what makes me true.
I drifted afar like waves from the shore
Escaping the pain I could not mourn.
I hold on to your hand and afraid to let go
Of a love that I hope will last for long.
I tried to escape from this loneliness
Like a shadow enclosed in a mess.
I longed for you while the sun is kissing the ocean's breath
Yearning that you can take me away from this death
I stared at the sky waiting for the light to return
Until the shadow of the past has learned.

But your love that I deserve
Is a love that I can never have.

A Second Chance

2013-08-10T22:37:00.002+08:00

"Do you need more crayons, writing paper or these coloring books? Take whatever you want... anything you need at school. " he said.

I approached the counter with a handful of colored pens and a roll of writing paper with him at my side. He then took out his black leather wallet and pulled some crisp bills to pay out my whims. I, on the other hand, held close to him and stared at him- in awe of his seemingly valiant stance.

I remember this moment. Those were the few moments I was in awe of him. I was astonished of who he was... I adored him but not what he became.

The clock says 10:08 p.m.The rain falls hard blurring my view from the bus window. It is cold and the time freezes. I felt cold... I felt alone and helpless... you were cold, you were alone and helpless.

I moved far away from you and I wanted to. Further... until this space is filled with anger, resentment and bitterness and the only thread that connected us are these short memories of then and there.

"Happy birthday, my dearest. I am sorry I could not buy you a decent birthday card" he wrote in his cigarette's aluminum foil.

You grinned at me with your widest smile and with a lost front tooth. I, on the other hand, folded the foil and fought back the tears. Not once have you failed to remember my birthday- a day shy away from yours. I have believed that I was your gift and that you were worth this precious gift. You were precious in my eyes then. I was in awe of you... I was astonished of who you were but you were different. You felt different.

Passengers aligned the aisle and I stared at them. The clock now reads 10:14 p.m. The rain has stopped but the view is still blurred. There were faces outside- strangers' faces.
You felt a stranger to me.

I moved far away from you not that I wanted to. You tried to fill all the spaces in between with new memories of then and there. But it was too late.

"I thank you- without you I will not see the beauty of this world", I said in my graduation message.

I scanned the audience. Eyes stared at me and at 16, I didn't care of those strangers' eyes. I searched and looked for you. But I didn't find you.
I assumed everyone in that small town knew of our story and it was unclear how their idea of you was different from mine.

The clock says 10:43 p.m. I am nearing my bus stop. The rain has long halted but the view is still blurred. My tears had blurred my view.

Your time stopped and all I held on are these tears from memories of there and then.

You are now far away from me not that I wanted to.

You never had your second chance.

But whenever it is painful and hopeless, these memories of then and there are your second chances.

To you my father. I may have let go of the white balloon in your funeral but I won't let go of our memories of then and there.

How irony becomes my favorite figure of speech

2013-04-23T19:34:00.001+08:00

I met this stranger while I'm on my way to the office. And since I had my body clock totally reversed by my father's wake, I woke up too late that day and had no choice but ride a taxi.

He is in his 60's. This thin, frail and dark skinned man who I initially thought to be on TB medications. His equally shabby looking taxi had a malfunctioned A/C unit, car locks hanging in a thread and windows salvaged by tapes. As I slowly slid into the back chair, I told him where I was heading to then closed the door and stared away.

Taxi rides are my golden moments- moments where I had to carefully go through my one million and one neural activities...grieving and death, family problems, inconsiderate work colleagues, financial obligations, life's purpose, pursuits of spiritual calmness.

There was nothing too special about this day. It was a typical day until the driver opened his mouth. "Ma'am, siguro ang favorite figure of speech mo ay irony" (Ma'am, maybe your favorite figure of speech is irony). Then I retorted back: "Siguro nga po. Paano niyo po nasabi na iyon ang favorite figure of speech ko" (Maybe. But how can you tell that that is my favorite figure of speech). On his rear view mirror, I can only see that he momentarily grinned and continued his strong grip as he glided along Quirino Avenue.

It was weird to be asked that way and weirder to be asked by a stranger. On the back of my head, I thought maybe that was his generic introductory statement to all of his passengers. But with the way he delivered it matter-of-factly made me felt a bit eerie.

The driver then said: "Kasi Ma'am, ang tipo niyong tao ang mga mahilig sa irony, pakiramdam ko po bitbit niyo lahat lahat." (Because you look as one of those who like irony. I feel that you have been carrying everything).

On that week, I had been praying for a little bit of happiness- just a pinch enough to make me survive any given day. And in that day, I could no longer hide my depression. I could no longer wear that happy mask I conveniently wear in front of people.

I do not want to contest the driver because I know what he saw in me was true.

What he saw in that rear view mirror was the same face who I had been telling to smile more everyday.

The driver saw a face who had been trying so hard to please people at work, who had been sleepless for months filling up for other people's work but was misunderstood.

What he saw was that little girl who hoped that someday she could still ask her father's solutions to the most difficult mathematics problems.

What he saw was someone who feels alone and helpless.

Of all the figures of speech, the driver simply thought irony is my favorite because I looked depressed. And I say, he guessed right. I thrive in irony because you need to know the opposite to get the meaning right. You need to look deep to know the truth.

And in my case, you need to unmask that face to see that I am bleeding inside.

The Irony of Happiness

2013-04-07T11:47:00.000+08:00

A week of respite had given me the time and opportunity to declutter this multi-tasking head. And as I was pondering on grief and loss, I have found myself in a never-ending pursuit of remembering the times I had been at my happiest.

People all wanted to be happy and often people wanted to be so much happier that they have taken for granted simple joys life could bring. We search for happiness in the wrong places and from the wrong people. But the truth is, we can only find happiness if we have acknowledged that we are not and that in spite all the sadness, life is still a beauty to be grateful for.

No one ever wanted to be sad or be depressed on things that we have no control of. If it is a consolation, every little circumstance in our lives has been predestined even before we set foot on earth. But sometimes, knowing that we have no control of every loss is just not enough to give us the answers.

The secret to happiness is to stop looking for it and actually be at it. Cultivate a habit of gratitude and be thankful of simple things.

I am thankful to God...

"...that I had been given few intimate moments with my father. He never unfailingly forgot my birthday as my day is just the day before his. He would write his birthday greetings on a scrap paper or a cigarette foil and hoped that he would give me a decent birthday card."

"...of the excruciating summer heat and remembered the time I was in a -30 degrees Celsius temperature."

"...of Godly sisters who would offer simple solutions to problems for free. Thanks Che!"

"...of the weight gain and that I have to go through this with my equally- fat-flaps-bestowed friends."

"...of the five presentations that I have to rush today. It only means that I still have a job to go back to."

"...that I woke up this morning to simply live this life out of second chance."

What to do when someone dies?

2013-03-29T12:41:00.000+08:00

Death is a natural thing- in fact it is the most natural phenomenon on earth making humans more humane and vulnerable. People die, some die before others, some die unexpectedly while some die long before death could even happen to them.

If it is a natural and inevitable event, why am I totally clueless on the death of my father? I do not know what to do and I do not know how to grieve. Of all people, I should know this by heart since mortality had been too natural witnessing my patients' deaths. On the top of my head, I am aware that a grieving process follows the D-A-B-D-A pattern (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance) but right now I am not feeling anything in that spectrum. Was it because it is too early to talk about grieving and that I have not fully digested what has happened? Or was it because people has been expecting this sooner because of his condition?

As soon as I received the call of my uncle (my father's cousin), I was momentarily numb and clueless. I do not know what to feel and how to react. In fact,the first thing I did was to google "what to do when an estranged father dies?" just so I could explain to myself what I am feeling.

I never expected that what I am feeling right now comes too natural in Google having 18.5 million hits. Though I have visited few sites , I just couldn't find the exact description of my current predicament- is it guilt, remorse, grief, disbelief or plain happy that he won't be suffering for long?

I tried to talk with some of my friends and family about it and even their advice was confusing. I did cry and maybe wail a bit remembering few moments I had with him. But what really helped me think straight is the assurance that God had planned that the death of my father would happen on the 29th of March and on a Good Friday. And like any predicament I had before- I lay it before Him in full faith that He will take me where He wants me to be.

I don't know if he was a good or bad person in his life but one thing I am sure of whether he was good or bad: he was my father and that I wouldn't exist if not for him.

And that I would miss him.

I should write... I should write... Oh please let me write now...

2013-03-27T01:22:00.001+08:00

Well, this is isn't the writing ambiance I imagined myself into after months of blog drought- tired and in between a drenching stench of unlaundered clothes, crumpled green sheets, scattered reports on the floor and twelve opened tabs of researches and journals to read.

Unlike when I was younger, my writing forces me into a trance where butterflies in red and purple hue flew above an imagined world of sunsets and shores while a grand Sonata is playing on the background. With no particular ritual, the mind or the fingertips (whichever dominates) force me into this writing trance and dictate my destiny for one hour leaving this ambivalent self into a literacy satisfaction.

For the past months, I have always imagined writing something here- in this blog full of unexplained emotions, life's realizations and memories. But, I always ended up in a blank page where the cursor hauntingly blinks as if I have lost the words and my way back to that "writing" world.

I always start strong- one, two and three paragraphs about everything and often nothing (as long as this burning passion to write is pacified). In my head, I imagined the perfect unison of thoughts and the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard. In my head, I have strung letters into words, words into phrases, phrases into statements, statements into paragraphs while a portion of this brain obsesses on a list of bills to pay, reports to submit, tasks to do and not to mention people to please.

But in my head as always, the weaving of words are overthrown by things adults like me should do or thoughts adults like me should think.

There is nothing special with my writing or this blog. In fact, sometimes my "adult grumpy" self would often think of putting this 8 year old blog into a permanent sleep along with its 97 memoirs. Sometimes, I want to pull the cord connecting my head and fingertips into that "writing trance" and force this introvert out of the real world and into a real conversation.

For now, before I click on the delete button and permanently erasing any traces of my frustrated literary pieces, let me write now. Let me forget all the things an adult like me should do or thoughts an adult like me should think.

Just once. Just this once.

Disclaimer: The author is not a poet or writer (though sometimes she pretends and claims to be one). No one is also restraining her to write but since the author considers herself as an "adult" and glorifies her busy schedule, she always blames herself for not having the free time to write.

11 years of Friendship equals One Soju Night

2013-01-13T23:39:00.000+08:00

We are all nerds. We could talk about chemistry, physics, statistics, biology and medicine in between transvestites, taboos and dogs.

We all have boisterous laughter and we laugh at others' misfortunes and our own stupidity.

We have perfected our synchronous look when cute boys pass by and our hidden conversations about the boy in a hot black red bikini.

They could get wasted and I can get wasted just by laughing at them.

As we celebrate our 11 years of friendship, I write this post for these bunch of friends who had been there when I cried, laughed and loved.

So here's to that night of continuing traditions. (Pictures courtesy of Randelle)

The tradition of sleeping over started at one mishap hotel in Malate when they tried out different gowns using bed sheets and curtains. And after a decade,we found ourselves in one luxurious 3 star hotel along Makati Avenue.

With Jerry, Jesse and Randelle in Best Western Antel Spa Suites in Makati Avenue

We even tagged Randelle as Atty. Persida Rueda-Acosta. No more Miss Minchin or Ruby for now.

"Areglo o Asunto"- Randelle Ian as Atty. Acosta

We talked about career plans, growing up and future escapades in the company of Jesse's Soju Concoction ( 1 Soju bottle +4 Yakult +1 lemon and 1 sprite in can).

Drowning ourselves in Jesse's Soju Concoction

We remembered our best friends slash donors in our own fun and goofy way.

Our own way of saying we miss you Edgar Dy

Remembering Suzie with her favorite food- Rice!

We love to bully her simply because we love her.

They swam and enjoyed the pool while I watched them in a bath robe.

Forgetting my swimwear in a special day like this.

We laughed and laughed- something that we always do when we see each other.

We study and work hard but we laughed harder.

10, 20, 30 or 50 years...

I would always look back to this special night when I attempted to kicked one out in my bucket list. Though I admit that I rarely spend time with them anymore, they are one of my countless reasons why I am glued to stay.

My 12 Favorite Moments of 2012

2013-01-06T17:56:00.000+08:00

2012 was a flourishing year of learning and unlearning.

In 12 months, I had divulged into family planning integration, lowering maternal mortality rate, principal component analysis, shared decision making, educational barriers of children with disabilities, deworming, school health and nutrition and Q Methodology.

If I could put a tag line for 2012, “Neuron overstimulation” would be a perfect description.

It was indeed a busy year for me. My overlapping responsibilities and lack of time had resulted to intrapersonal and interpersonal neglect, failed promises and disappointments.

But New Year begets starting again and starting new; and to continue my tradition of gratitude post every first month of the year, here are my 12 favorite moments of 2012.

12. Playing Monopoly Philippines

Monopoly- The Philippine Edition

This monopoly set has kept my boredom levels low during the monsoon days when we were prevented from going out because of the infamous Espana hip level floods. This definitely deserves a spot because every time we played it, I am always amused how our apartment building’s caretaker would always scream at us because we were too loud and disruptive to defend our imaginary real estate properties.

11. Backpack Travelling

I had a lot of backpack travelling last year because of work. 2012 brought me first to Cagayan Valley, Tuguegarao City, Tarlac, Tagaytay City and Albay of Luzon, Misamis Occidental, Agusan del Sur, Cagayan de Oro, General Santos City, Koronadal City, South Cotabato and Sultan Kudarat in Mindanao.

Callao Cave in Tuguegarao City with Healthgov's Travel Buddies

My 2012 travelling had only heightened my enthusiasm to conquer all 7,107 islands of the country and splurge into the obsession of discovering how tricycles differ in each place that I had been to.

Of the places I had been last year, this city undeniably deserves a separate recognition.

10. Marbel City

Everything about Marbel is beyond doubt a sealed memory. I remembered hearing wonderful stories from my college friends about it but finally seeing and living on it only proves how underrated their stories were. It was a typical city in Mindanao, much smaller than Cagayan de Oro or General Santos but it felt like Marbel was a second home for me.

From their satisfying Nadie’s “inasal” and homey dining at Basilio’s, their Ilonggo language to afternoon walking delights, I am definitely looking forward to more escapades to Marbel this year.

My favorite hideout at Basilio's, Marbel City

9. Madison Kaye

My youngest cousin, MK as we fondly call her always delights me every time I go back home in San Antonio, Zambales. It surprises me how in a short period of time a 3 year old can acquire so much talent for her age: masters the hula-hoops in less than a year, spells out her name, delightfully dances the Gangnam style and sings a Zambal song.

8. AusAID disability project

Survey Forms and Friends at Shakey's UST

It was mid last year when I was contracted as a consultant for AusAID to coordinate the survey implementation in Region III and some areas in Metro Manila.

This project was one of my unforgettable moments in 2012 because of my weekend pig-outs with the survey enumerators, training 2 data encoders who are deaf and mute and learning how to navigate through CS Pro.

7. All You Can Eat Chicken at Max’s with La Familia

One thing I neglected in 2012 was spending less time with my closest “happy” friends. So, when we finally caught up in a night devouring all you can eat Max’s chicken, I could not help but put this memory in my list where I indulged my friends’ unlimited funny stories and teases of Suzie.

With my best friends Jerry, Jesse, Randelle and Chris

6. The MARS Ambassadors

Around October to November 2012, my project team hosted two amazing MARS Ambassadors from the U.S and the Land Down Under. Ms. Jocie and Leanne both stayed in the country to help out with our project under the MARS Ambassador Program. And it was during their one month stay that I have had the funniest and lightest days at work. Their energy and dedication was very contagious and I am very lucky to have met them.

With Ms. Jocie, Leanne and the Ripley Ladies at Dampa, Pasay City

5. Balikbayans Suzie and Jo-Anne

There’s nothing more heartwarming than my special moments with my two best friends Suzie and Jo-Anne who are now living in Singapore and UK, respectively. It was these moments that I realized how distance can never take away years of precious friendship.

4. FEFEL moments

A considerable amount of my 2012 was spent grueling over unjustifiable school and work load. But what makes it less revolting were my FEFEL or “Fesbuk Fesbuk Lang” Moments with my grad school friends, Kat, Angel, Venus and Hiyas. It was our daily routine that in spite of the busy work schedules, we could still fit an hour or so of headshot bullying or unnecessary complaining over work.

FEFEL with the ACADS

3. Adult Life in an Investment

It was risky but definitely a good 12 month investment ride. Buying a condo unit, having it rented, sorting out leaky water pipes, lost keys, purchasing doors and knobs, paints, drafting a lease contract and having it signed and notarized, paying towering bills on time and dealing with our tenants made my 2012 more adult living.

Our special 3 bedroom crib

2. Loving the Hustle (not Hassle) of Work

There’s nothing more assuring in life than to learn that everything happens for a reason or a destined purpose. And there’s nothing else sweeter than saying I am happy where I am working at now in spite of the countless mid life crises I have had last year.

Of the projects I had last year, working as the M&E Officer for a school health and nutrition project is my favorite (not because I fear that my managers would kick me out once they find out that I write negatively of my present job). But what makes me love it more is not the recognition but how I am given an opportunity to learn, try new things, fail, try again and succeed.

During the Storytelling Sessions for the MARS Volunteers Month

1. Monitoring Visits in Mindanao

The best days of my 2012 were the days I visited some partner schools in South Cotabato and Sultan Kudarat and realized that if I took that chance of migrating to US 6 years ago, I would not have this rare opportunity to understand why I am still staying in the country.

I may not foretell where I will be this year or the coming years but as long as I am still called here, I would try my best to be God's instrument in making a difference in the lives of the children who have no access to water or electricity.

In wide smiles while having their recess period.

Cogon/ Nipa schools in the uplands.

But surpassing these 12 favorite moments is how I am always thankful to the Lord who intricately orchestrated tiny significant days in my 2012 which pave the way for a new and better 2013.

The Musings of a Disillusioned Solitaire

2012-12-21T14:31:00.000+08:00

I walk the same path everyday. I see the same strange faces and places. And in my head, I mumble a recurring similar thought: that I am not a disillusioned solitaire. Unarguably, I am not lonely and alone, just a solitaire writhing out of the confined space of four-walled silence.

I observe the stranger's face- memorize every angle and the perfect positioning of his moles and birthmarks. I notice the slightest movement on his face. How he winks unknowingly or grimaces on stories that he has first heard of. Oh yes, I stare at him and it amuses me how the simplicity of him crooking his nose could give me bliss.

I am a disillusioned solitaire- not that I am lonely and alone.

In my head, I asked "How was your day?" and in my head, I smiled when I imagined you said " Better now when you are around". I do hope that what I have in my imagination aligns with your reality. This imaginative conundrum defies the fact that I am only a stranger- your stranger. A stranger who always sits in front of you and in desperate hours imagined asking you all my questions but hearing this deafening silence. A silence which means nothing to you but everything to me.

In silence, I stared as you hold her hand. And in that same moment, my heart precedes my head as it howls as if everything has just melted away. "I have never seen you smile this way", " It's okay- as long as you are in front of me...as long as I see you each day, I would be okay", I told myself.

I walk the same path everyday. I see your face different than what I have in my recognition. It was your smile while you are with her that reverberates and eventually dispatches those tiny happy memories.

And slowly I am becoming just a solitaire.

The nth Midlife Crisis

2012-10-30T08:37:00.000+08:00

I have been marching in and out of this desolated awareness of what should have been and where to go-s. And unconsciously, I am creating a lost version of myself underneath the opened Word documents with nothing but a series of blinking cursors and random songs from Mayday Parade’s.

I have never realized until now that this thriving soul is seeking the stroke of a paper and that these throbbing fingers long for the touch of a pen. Indeed it had been too long and I nearly forgot how to breathe into the spaces of my own respite. I am yearning for long conversations with my pen and paper and as I strung words and meanings, I found myself in this state…

People call this a mid-life crisis. I call this my nth mid-life crisis- the nth time where I have to re-think what I should have been and where I should have gone. As I searched for that idealist and brave self that had once stared at me in the mirror, I found nothing but this lost self pulled back on step one.

I have never realized how time would fly so fast while I am catching my own fireflies in the cheating daylight. And as they say, what matters are not the fireflies but how I caught them.What matters most are not the lost hopes and dreams but the lessons I got from the thousand failures.

Every decision in the past had struck me in whim and caprice. Right and wrong but mainly indecision had hauled me into this drowning wall and out of my once effervescence.

At 16: “Nursing is what my grandmother wants.”

At 20: “I don’t know what I want to do but going to USA is something I do not want”

At 22: “ I want this because it makes me feel good.”

At 25: “ I do not want to do this anymore. Get me out of here.”
At 27: “Is this really what I want?”

Every time I am haunted by this mid-life crisis, I go back to my purpose; I go back to His purpose- that insignificantly significant question:

“Is this what I am made for?”; “Is this what He has called me for?”

Then it hits me. Often I found myself walking towards the deception of a midlife crisis because I was asking the wrong question of whether this is what I really want for myself.

I am unsure of what the future brings but one thing is certain- that there will still be nth midlife crisis in the future. And that I will be compelled to think that I should have been in a rather easier place if only I have decided otherwise.

The funny truth is “what I want” turns out not to be the compelling solution to my million and one midlife dilemmas- but “what He wants”.

A nurse is always a nurse

2012-02-17T14:04:00.005+08:00

In 2010, 287,00 nurses in the Philippines are noted to be either unemployed and/ or underemployed. And with the recent release of those who have passed the December 2011 NLE, the statistics will surely inflate by a hundred fold. But, if I consider the layman's definition of underemployment, I have to say I should also be counted in the statistics since I rarely use my clinical skills at ACCESS Health.

When I left my 5 year clinical work in PGH for a chance of a public health exposure in UlaanBaatar, I have left my hospital skills inside that yellow- green and orange tainted charity ward since I cannot include "I.V insertion or Inotropes computation" in my training.Though at times I miss all the hustle of an overloaded nurse, the thing that I am missing most is my day to day interaction with my cute patients. It had been seven years since I graduated from UPCN and each time we attend the "despedida" of one of our close friends, I can't help but think that I am way over the two year service of UPCN graduates for the country. It makes me think that I can no longer rationalize that my stay here was an obligation to the country but actually my personal choice.

Three years ago, I had exactly the same sentiments on becoming a nurse who stays when my dear best friend left for Abu Dhabi. I recalled that during that year I was already burned out with what I saw in how we were caring for our patients in the hospital. I have seen parents who compete for hospital admissions only to found out that having their children admitted in the hospital will only cut short their lives. There were missed doses of medicines, compromises in the patient care, delayed laboratory diagnostics and apparent divisions in socio-economic status that only those who can afford will have higher chances of living. There were a million and one instances when I lay in my bed after a stressful duty that I realized that I have to look outside to feel more. I have to be outside to see more.

Now that I am outside the four walls of the hospital, does that make me less of a nurse? Working for three months in ACCESS Health allows me to advocate for the nursing profession in small ways. Though my job position and designation is not of a clinical "nurse", I believe that it did not rob my throbbing "nursing" heart.

With a different job position, I still feel as a nurse trying to resuscitate not of a patient but the morale of nurses.Though it is quite discouraging that typical Filipino nurses nowadays feel demoralized if they tell others that they are nurses. In fact, when I attended "big" meetings, even "big people" refer to "nurses" as a societal problem. The once known caring profession has evolved into an unemployment statistics that needed to respond to.

I think I am still the same nurse who once administered oxygen and medications to hospitalized pediatric patients. Though I do not operate with surgical scissors nor carry with me patient endorsement files, I am still the same nurse who along with a few of my batch mates employed in or out of hospitals here in the country , who still tries to find ways to stay.

Defining Love in Equations

2012-02-14T11:19:00.003+08:00

On my way to AIM Makati, flower stalls at the streets reminded me that today is that day of the year when people tend to feel a little more love. While everyone is wearing flashy reds and carrying a bouquet of flowers or two, I, in my favorite "gray-black-gray" work ensemble surmised that today is just any other day. I am not a Valentine grinch but I believe that if we just carry the same "depth and breadth" of love everyday then Valentine's day is all year round.

Three years ago, I remembered that most of my blog posts (Conversations with Love, Yet another untold short story) were written out of desperation and exasperation of being in a relationship. It is that one area in my life that I would always put first in my prayers and would incessantly pester God on my whims in finding a partner. But God has changed my attitude... He has changed my heart. He pulled my sight to Him and showed me the only source of True Love. So when I looked up to Him on one eventful night in March 2009, Chris was His gift wrapped in all the shooting stars.

Spending enduring hours listening to Joe D' Mango's radio program since high school or watching a million and one romance movies does not give me the authority that I am a love guru. I, at times, forget how to act with love and feel more love. But since today is "Heart's Day", I am inspired to describe how love works in me through mathematical equations and with the assumption that "loving" is not limited only to a partner.

Love is "x+y" wherein x is that "strong compelling emotion we feel for other people" and y is "acting the emotion out". We cannot, at all means, say that we love a person when we only "feel" and not show how special that other person is. We cannot also claim that we love our work when we feel overburdened with additional documents to file or even say that we love our lives when we have a thousand and one vices.

Love is x(y+z) where x is "acting out love" and y and z is any individual entity. The equation describes how love should be distributive- meaning the feeling that we show to one person should be the same feeling distributed to people across educational attainment, gender, economic status, religion, culture, race and any other social boundaries. We cannot declare we love our families if we disgust a certain marginal population in our society.

Love equals a of f=ma wherein a is velocity/ time. This equation is adopted from one of my conversations with a close friend where we both describe that love is affected entirely by velocity over time such that there will come a point where the "emotion love" changes over time and a situation where "the emotion love" will itself be towards another direction. This only proves that the "emotion love" is fleeting and ephemeral unless it is grounded with commitment.

Love can be based in Lewis inequality for natural process (ΔG < 0) wherein change will occur spontaneously if there is useful energy in the system. In love, we do not array all the negative qualities of our partner and try to change our partner to suit our own palate. We should not have the notion that if we do this and that, he/she will eventually change for me. The truest kind of love is when in spite of all the negative qualities in that other person, we still accept him/her and "do not keep a record of wrongs."

It is true that love is a many splendored thing and even if I exhaust all the mathematical equations I know of, I can not fully describe love in its entirety. This is just a simple attempt of creating ripples on how love should be a day to day basis-- for all we know love is the only thing that keeps us alive and sane.

The Lola Project

2011-12-18T18:27:00.006+08:00

A month and a half ago, I embarked into planning a special project of doing an outreach activity for the elderly in Golden Acres Home for the Aged. It all started when I browsed through my journal and saw my handwriting with the words: “To touch a life one day at a time”.

“To touch a life one day at a time“- this is my mantra ever since.

When I was a nurse working in a busy charity ward and handling 15 demanding patients, I lost track of the definition of caring and healing. I was more concerned of doing the job done and eventually I turned callous because of the workload. This is the reason I abandoned clinical nursing in hope of finding my lost calling.

There were definitely apprehensions at first but when I started pursuing this “Lola” project I always reminded myself that things are always possible. It was ambitious in a sense that when I returned back from Mongolia, I had no existing source of income aside from a few research consultations for former PGH colleagues.

As soon as I told my best friend Suzie about this project not once had she shown her reservations and had been supportive all the way. We started raising funds for our special project and we thought of doing the easiest ways there were: solicitation and garage sale. It was hard doing the former than the latter as people nowadays would tend to think of the long list of bills and must-pays. Surprisingly, there were a few who shared their monetary contributions. On our first day of our garage sale, we could not find a table to use so we relocated to another friend’s house. A lot of our friends shared their old clothes and stuffs and we were able to raise P2, 000 (USD 48) for two days. Not bad considering that we only charge everything at P10- P20 (USD 0.45).

Old clothes for sale at P10

The infamous "suot panggahasa"

On December 17, when we arrived at the Golden Acres and headed to Sta. Rita Cottage, we found the Lolas sitting in their common room. They were so excited that one of the lola stood up and invited the rest of the group to all welcome us. We set the room and hanged the colorful banners and decorations that Suzie prepared. One touching part of the program was when I asked the the lolas what their Christmas wishes. Lola Lourdes Honrada of San Miguel Bulacan shared that even though she feels that she has a family with the other lolas in the nursing home, she appealed if we could help her find her daughters in the United States whom she lost contact with for ten years. She wishes to share this Christmas season with her daughters and hopes to see them before God calls her home.

We prepared a lot of games and we could see how they enjoyed our presence. We had a mini-raffle where the prizes at stake were cans and cans and cans of biscuits. Meanwhile, Suzie shared the message of salvation and showed off her Pearly Shell dance to the lolas.

Here are some of our pictures:

Lola: "Dress me up like a beauty queen"

Post-stroke patient dancing as if she has no deficits

A blind lola singing O Holy Night

After the short program, we stayed longer and talked with them more. I had the chance to talk with Lola Lourdes and she told me her sad story. She used to work in Malaysia with her husband and when she returned to Zamboanga, her husband died without the knowledge of her daughters. She had tried writing to her daughters: Gina Jefferson and Maritess Appleby but it seems that her daughters had already moved out and that her letters were always returned. She wants to see her daughters very badly as she says : " Hindi ko naman alam hanggang kailan ako mabubuhay. ( I do not know until when I will live)". With the power of social media, I hope I could help her find her family.

With Lola Lourdes Honrada

A lot of the lolas share the same story. They are thankful that they are provided with food and shelter by DSWD. But all of them long for the warmth of spending their last days with their own families. One day, I’ll be a lola myself and when that day comes, I will always look back how I was once a granddaughter myself planning for this ambitious Lola project.


With Lola Connie Bayona who used to work with Philippine Journal of Internal Medicine before her retirement

Suzie and her favorite lola

With Lola Juana Troyo

A happy lola enjoying our mini-program

The lolas with Suzie, me, Chris, Van and Mei

P.S.

If you wish to organize a party with Golden Acres Home for the Aged ( Behind SM North Carpark, Misamis St. Barangay Bago Bantay, Quezon City), here are the steps:

Prepare a letter of request addressed to Wilma D. Naviamos ( Region IV A Director) and fax to 807-1518 . Your letter should specify the date you intend to do your program and your contact information.
If you have not received their confirmation in three days, follow up your request by calling 807-7102 and look for Ms. Amy.
DSWD will then send you a confirmation letter directing you to contact Hazel Militante ( Golden Acres' Head Social Worker) at 9291187.

What's next after the Chinggis Khan adventure

2011-11-20T10:59:00.003+08:00

Most of you know that I did not go back to my volunteering in UlaanBaatar. Though I miss my Genghis friends and the snow, I am thankful that I'm staying home for now. A few weeks ago, I have enrolled to continue my MS Epi classes.Eight more units of electives and two core subjects ( Clinical Epidemiology, Seminars) and I'll be venturing into my thesis ( with fingers crossed so I can beat my 5 year MRR).

Things were different now especially that PGH is not paying for my graduate studies anymore.Before, I was used to only pay P1,099.50 for 6 units at reduced fees instead of P10,500 for the same number of units. Now, I am realizing the perks of being employed in PGH but I am quite sure that I won't go back to the hustle of being an everyday routine nurse for now.

What's next after Mongolia? First, I need to re-tune my brain again to Epidemiology and Biostatistics. Last week, I sat down in a Rothman-centered epidemiology class and I admit that I was clueless with the incidence rates and proportions. It seems that my research skills and epidemiology knowledge went to the closet during my stay in Mongolia. Although, I wanted to enroll in one PHPE class on public health training, my adviser did not allow me to do so. So now, I am stuck with one epidemiology class and three biostatistics electives.

My career transition from a clinical to a public health practitioner is much more apparent now than when I started my work in Mongolia. Now, I am surrounded not by syringes, infusion pumps and mechanical ventilators but with codes (0-1) doing a statistical consultation and a number of tasks in my new temporary position.Things are peaking up quite fast and I am grateful that I had been taken out of my month long inertia.

Spreadsheet for Buison's Retrospective Study using STATA 11

That Scary Movie

2011-11-02T12:35:00.003+08:00

Because it's this time of the year where scary stories abound, I especially remember my best friend Jo-Anne and our own peculiarity of watching horror movies together. This weird behavior of ours started when we were still in college. It was awakened by our mutual pursuit of releasing our own stress and after the release we became our own stressors. For weeks after, we would scare each other aside from the fact that we also scare ourselves. It was unhealthy but the thrill of shouting on the top of our lungs and the temporary spine-chilling effect of those movies were priceless.

We both share a certain taste when it comes to horror flicks. We dismay those kind of movies where the protagonists are haunted by men, women or group of people diagnosed with a psychiatric disorder. It is more delightful when movies involve ghosts and dead people whose hobby is to show up uninvited. We also do not dig in Hollywood horror flicks. For us, they are amateurish as compared to Asian horror movies. If you would ask us which movies topped our list, we would unanimously say: Shutter (2004, Thailand), Ringu or "The Ring" sequels (Japan), Ju-On: The Grudge( 2003, Japan), Sukob ( 2006, Philippines), Feng Shui (2004, Philippines), Phone ( 2002, Korea), The Eye (2002, China) and its remake "Naina" (2005, India). We had these "standards" when it comes to these movies but the truth is I do not follow these standards because honestly for me they all scared the worst out of me. In fact, I always had my eyes covered and had her tell me whether the ghost had appeared already. So, more often than not, I would join her at the middle of her "horror" shout.

When we finished our nursing degrees and started working in the same hospital, we still had not outgrown this behavior. We would rush to the same mall even after our afternoon duties and would watch the last show where the cinemas were always unpopulated.

Two days ago, I watched the horror movie "Coming Soon" (Thailand) with BIE, my brother and his girlfriend just to join the Halloween bandwagon. The movie had scared me (as all horror movies do) but the experience was different. There were no popcorn, it was on daytime and my armpits were all sweaty because we watched it at home.

It's been years since I last saw a movie with her. Maybe now we would have different standards when it comes to these flicks. The only constant thing is that we would always refer to each other as " the horror buddies" and the physical distance between us would not at all erase that fact.