The Rail Roads Of My Life

The Bell-Bottom Graduation

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 22:00:09 +0800

👖 The Bell-Bottom Graduation

When I reached Grade 6, the most unforgettable moment was our elementary graduation. After six long years of walking the dusty road from home to school, the finish line was finally in sight. We were all excited — not just because classes were ending, but because graduation meant one thing: new clothes.

Everyone wanted to look their best on stage. My classmates bragged about their shiny shoes and crisp outfits, while I waited, hoping my parents would buy mine soon. Weeks passed, and still no sign of shopping. I began to worry — and envy — as my friends showed off their new clothes.

Then, just a week before graduation, my mother finally said, “Let’s buy your outfit.” I was thrilled! But when we got to the store, my excitement faded fast. I wanted something simple and cool, but Mama insisted on buying a pair of trousers she liked — wide at the bottom, the kind that could “put out a petromax lamp” if you walked past it. Yes, bell-bottoms.

Graduation day came. I stepped onto the stage, proud yet painfully aware of the laughter rippling through the crowd. “Make way!” someone joked. “He might sweep the floor with those pants!” My classmates roared with laughter. I smiled awkwardly, cheeks burning, but I kept walking. After all, I was graduating — fifth honor, no less — and that mattered more than fashion.

That day taught me something I’ve carried ever since:

It’s better to be laughed at for what you wear than pitied for what you didn’t achieve.

Clothes fade, trends change, but the pride of finishing something you worked hard for — that never goes out of style.

The Reluctant Dancer: A Lesson in Courage

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sun, 3 May 2026 20:48:27 +0800

🌺 The Reluctant Dancer: A Lesson in Courage

My childhood truly lingers in memory—etched so deeply that I cannot forget it, no matter how much time passes.

I never intended to hold on to this moment, yet it insists on returning, like a song that refuses to fade.

It was Grade 5, nearing the end of the school year.

As tradition demanded, there would be closing events, presentations, and performances from each grade level.

Our adviser announced that our class would present a dance number.

Names were chosen, and to my shock, my classmates mischievously included me.

They said they wanted to see me dance, since they had never seen me move to music before.

I resisted with all my might. I claimed I couldn’t dance, that my feet were clumsy, my heart heavier than rhythm.

During practice, I even pretended my foot hurt, pressing it until pain excused me from joining. But fate had other plans.

Our teacher noticed my absence and, wielding a broomstick as a symbol of discipline, warned me: if I refused to practice properly,

I would lose my exemption from the math final exam and my place in the honor roll. Fear outweighed shame, and so I danced.

At first, I sabotaged the steps—moving off-beat, inventing my own awkward rhythm.

But the teacher’s stern gaze and my classmates’ laughter pushed me to surrender. Slowly, I practiced earnestly.

And when the day of presentation arrived, there I was, dressed in the famous Pearly Shell costume, standing at the very front of the group.

My classmates giggled, teased, and cheered. I danced—clumsy, awkward, yet undeniably present.

That moment, embarrassing yet unforgettable, became a jewel in my memory.

✨ Lesson Learned

Sometimes, the things we resist most are the ones that teach us the most.

Fear can make us hide, but courage — even reluctant courage — can turn embarrassment into joy.

This story teaches that sometimes life forces us into roles we resist, but those very moments become the ones we remember most vividly.

Fear and discomfort can be gateways to growth.

Even if we stumble, the act of showing up—of daring to move despite doubt—plants seeds of resilience.

What feels humiliating in youth often transforms into wisdom in adulthood: the courage to face what we fear is more valuable than perfection.

Barefoot and Brave: Growing Up in the Hills

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Wed, 8 Apr 2026 12:55:00 +0800

🌄 Barefoot and Brave: Growing Up in the Hills

When I look back on my childhood in the mountains, I remember a life full of simple struggles and unforgettable adventures.

Every day, we walked long distances along dusty barangay roads to reach school. By the time we arrived, our slippers were often broken or worn thin. If a strap snapped, we had no choice but to walk barefoot until we got home. There, we would repair them by melting the ends over fire and fusing them together. Later, when Spartan slippers wore out too quickly, we turned to the legendary MattTruck sandals—crafted from rugged old truck tires, tough enough to endure the roughest paths.

But the most unforgettable part of those walks was the fear. In the dusks, as we headed home, as shadows crept in and the road grew quiet and eerie. Whenever we heard the rumble of a vehicle approaching, we would panic and hide in the bushes. The elders had warned us: “Cars might be driven by people who kidnap children and feed them to the TERONG (ogre)!”

We believed them. Our imaginations turned headlights into monsters. Even at home, if we cried too loudly, adults would hush us with threats: “Stop, or the police will come catch you!” or “The terong will eat you!”

Now, I laugh at those memories. Children today are braver, even cheeky. If you try to scare them with monsters, they’ll answer: “Where is it? I’ll eat it myself!”

✨ Lesson Learned

This story reminds us that fear is often born from imagination, not reality. As children, we believed every tale the elders told us. But growing up teaches us that courage comes from questioning, from facing the unknown instead of hiding from it.

What once terrified us now makes us smile. The lesson is simple: don’t let fear control your journey—walk barefoot if you must, but keep moving forward.

The Great Escape: A Childhood Adventure

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Fri, 3 Apr 2026 19:25:00 +0800

🌟 The Great Escape: A Childhood Adventure

I don’t know why I can never forget certain events from my childhood—perhaps because they nailed me to the past, shaping who I am today.

One vivid memory takes me back to Grade 4. It was vaccination season, and the older students had filled our heads with terrifying tales: the needles were enormous, they said, and the pain unbearable. Fear spread like wildfire among us, and when our teacher locked the classroom door to keep us from running away, our panic only grew.

Our classroom was in the old Aguinaldo-style building, slightly elevated, with tall windows. A few of us—too scared to face the dreaded injection—hatched a daring plan. We jumped out of the window and sprinted behind the school, hiding in bushes, hearts pounding with both terror and excitement.

But our escape didn’t last long. Grade 6 students chased us down and dragged us back to class. Luckily, the vaccination was postponed that day, and we went home relieved, laughing at our adventure.

Of course, the day eventually came when there was no escape. The doors were locked, the windows guarded, and the shots were given. Tears flowed, but we had no choice but to face it.

✨ Lesson Learned

That childhood episode taught me something I carry to this day: running away from fear only delays the inevitable. Facing it head-on makes us stronger.

Needles may have terrified us then, but the real sting was in our imagination. Courage is not the absence of fear—it is the decision to stand firm even when fear surrounds us.

The Great River Escape: A Grade 3 Misadventure

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Fri, 14 Nov 2025 22:03:00 +0800

Back in Grade 3, I pulled off one of the most unforgettable childhood stunts of my life—an impulsive midday dip in the Dumlan river, right under the scorching sun. I can’t recall the exact date, but the memory is etched deep in my mind, especially because it earned me the wrath of our Grade 3 teacher.

For privacy’s sake, I won’t name names—but I wasn’t alone. After lunch, instead of heading straight back to school, two of my classmates and I made a secret pact: we’d sneak off for a quick swim before returning to class. The river had just been refreshed by a recent flood, and its waters were crystal clear, practically begging us to dive in.

Time slipped away faster than we expected. By the time we finished, it was already late afternoon—far too late to enter class without raising eyebrows. And going home wasn’t an option either; it wasn’t dismissal time yet. So we did what any mischievous kid would do: we hid behind the school, in a patch of cornfield that stretched like a leafy fortress.

But fate had other plans.

Some older students were tending their assigned garden plots nearby—each grade had its own vegetable patch back then—and they spotted us. Of course, they reported us to our teacher. We, in turn, burrowed deeper into the cornfield, hoping to vanish like shadows.

Our teacher, determined to flush us out, sent students to retrieve us. But we were too scared to face her fury, so we stayed hidden, crouched among the stalks like fugitives. When the search party returned empty-handed, someone from the upper classroom shouted, “The corn is moving!”

That was it. Our teacher launched a full-scale operation: whoever caught us would earn a reward. Suddenly, the cornfield turned into a chaotic running track. Students charged in from all directions, trampling stalks and rustling leaves, chasing us like we were prized prey.

Eventually, we were surrounded and captured.

Dragged back to the classroom, we stood before our classmates like war criminals. Our “reward”? A few stinging whacks on the palms with a guava branch. The punishment was swift, but the fame was lasting—we became legends for a day, and I got a double dose of scolding from my parents.

Looking back, I realize that kids will always be drawn to rivers, especially when the water is fresh and inviting. It’s a temptation hard to resist, and in our time, it was almost a rite of passage.

“Childhood will always chase the river—so teach it how to swim with wisdom, not just wonder.”

The Coffin That Floated Through Air

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Wed, 23 Jul 2025 11:48:00 +0800

🕯️ The Coffin That Floated Through Air

Long ago, in the quiet town where my grandfather grew up, children weren’t scolded for misbehaving—they were haunted into obedience. Their parents spoke of ghosts and mysterious spirits, warning them never to wander after dark. But the one tale that struck deepest was of the coffin that floated in the air, drifting near the cemetery when the moon was hidden and the night hung thick with silence.

My grandfather, a mischievous soul even as a boy, wasn’t easily frightened. Despite years of hearing the legend, he had never once seen a floating coffin—or any ghost for that matter. Instead, he observed that even grown men roamed the night unafraid, unconvinced by tales of the supernatural.

And so, in a moment of playful rebellion, he hatched a plan—not to scare children, but to trick the adults themselves.

One moonless night, near the winding path by the cemetery, he tied a strong rope between two coconut trees. Then he carefully laid out a rolled-up mat made from romblon fibers and fastened it to the rope. At each end of the mat, he attached a string that allowed him to pull it back and forth between the trees.

But this wasn’t just any mat—it was a stage for illusion. He secured five glowing candles to its surface, ensuring they wouldn't tip or flicker. As midnight approached and footsteps echoed near the graveyard, my grandfather lit the candles and slowly began to reel the glowing mat across the darkened path.

From afar, the dim light revealed a silhouette—long, rectangular, flickering ominously as it moved between the trees. The travelers gasped, their whispers turning to screams.

"A coffin—it floats!" one cried.

Panic spread faster than the night wind. Doors flew open, neighbors rushed out, and chaos reigned near the cemetery. The legend had come alive.

But my grandfather, clever and quick, cut the ropes and hid the mat, vanishing into the shadows before anyone could trace the prank to its maker. When curious villagers returned to the site to confirm what they’d seen, there was no trace of the phantom coffin. And because of their fear, they believed it more deeply. Even the elders, once skeptical, began staying indoors after dusk.

From that night onward, the once lively roads near the cemetery grew quiet. What began as a story to keep children home had suddenly become real—because belief, once kindled, can outlive even the truth.

And as my grandfather liked to say:

"Don’t fear what cannot be seen. Fear those who walk with twisted minds—for they can make you believe in anything."

🌒 Lessons in the Shadows

Perception can be more powerful than reality. People often fear the idea of something more than its truth.
Stories shape behavior. Whether told with good intentions or mischief, tales can guide—or mislead—those who hear them.
The real danger often lies in the living, not the dead. Sometimes, it's the minds behind the stories that hold the greatest mystery.
Humor and mischief reveal creativity. My grandfather's prank was both unsettling and genius—a reminder that playful minds can reshape even the scariest stories.

Of Shadows and Whispers in the Valley – A Tale from My Grandfather

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Mon, 7 Jul 2025 12:07:00 +0800

🌿In a remote area along the borders of Barangays Dumlan, Anibongan, and Libaylibay, my grandfather once shared a tale I’ll never forget. It was about duwende—those mysterious little folk whispered about in folklore. Many would dismiss it as old superstition, but I think there's a glimmer of truth hidden in it. Let me tell you why.

🏞️ The Land

My grandfather owned a 28-hectare farm nestled in that quiet region, a patchwork of lush bounty: towering coconut trees, rows of abaca and banana, groves of fruits like lanzones, durian, mangoes, guava, star apple, and even avocado and atis. Root crops thrived alongside rice paddies, cornfields, pineapple patches, and vegetable gardens. With over ten workers on rotation for maintenance, it was a place both cultivated and wild—blessed with hills, valleys, and flowing streams weaving like veins through the landscape.

In those streams, they once caught abundant fish, crabs, freshwater shrimp, and even local delicacies like paye—it was paradise.

👣 The Strange Discovery

It all began during one of my grandfather's casual walks. He reached a macopa tree near a stream, where a narra tree stood proudly across. The area was naturally shaded by fruit trees and foliage—yet something felt... off.

The place was suspiciously clean—no fallen leaves, no weeds, not a speck of mess. It was as if the earth itself was being swept. Then came the faint, acrid scent of urine in the air. He shrugged it off, thinking perhaps one of the workers had relieved himself nearby.

But the next day, while gathering shrimp and crustaceans for lunch, he noticed something stranger: the creatures darted away quicker than usual. The stream rippled with tiny disturbances—footsteps? splashes?—that seemed too small and scattered for humans.

He warned his workers, suspecting some had gone ahead and stirred up the water.

“Hey, I haven’t bothered you, so why mess with our lunch plans?”

Suddenly, the splashes stopped. What followed was laughter—tiny, high-pitched giggles echoing through the trees. Then, as if by magic, the shrimp and crabs gathered again ahead. From that moment on, my grandfather and these unseen beings shared a delicate truce—an invisible friendship rooted in mutual respect.

🐃 But Not All Friendships Stay Peaceful

One hot afternoon, my grandfather told a worker to let his toro (bull) rest in the stream after plowing. After lunch, he checked where it had been tethered—only to find the bull nearly drowning.

Shouting, he called the worker back. But when the man arrived, he was stunned: the bull had been tied underwater, its rope fastened not to a stake or post—but to a submerged narra root beneath the stream. It would take a swimmer’s breath to go down there. The worker swore he hadn’t done it.

“Why would I tie the rope down there? I was exhausted from plowing!”

Hurt and angry, my grandfather couldn’t let it go. That bull had helped cultivate his land for years—it wasn’t just an animal, but a partner. He scolded the tiny beings.

“We’ve lived in peace! And now you try to drown the very creature that helped shape this farm?”

After that confrontation, he kindly but firmly asked them to leave the area—to make a new home away from the workers’ paths. Since then, he no longer knew where they lived. But now and then, he’d notice their traces: the same spot unusually tidy, nature kept pristine, as if still visited by unseen caretakers.

🌬️ Belief and Memory

It may sound unbelievable, I know. But I believe him. Back when the land was still whole—before it was divided among the children—I used to wander those areas myself.

Even without seeing anything strange, I always noticed how clean one certain part of the stream was. As if swept. As if watched.

✨ Reflections

This isn’t just a story about duwende—it’s about our connection to nature, respect for the unseen, and how ancestral memory whispers through trees and soil. In a world that too often demands proof, it reminds us that not everything real must be visible.

Thank you for reading.

The Dancing Candle: A True Tale from My Grandpa (A Story from the Old Cemetery)

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Thu, 26 Jun 2025 21:57:00 +0800

In the quiet fishing town of Cabalian, Leyte, nestled between the sea and the hills, stories flowed as freely as the tides. Elders in the village often warned kids not to wander near the cemetery late at night. They spoke in hushed voices about condemned spirits haunting the graves. For the children, it wasn’t hard to believe—who wouldn’t be scared of flickering lights and whispers in the dark?

But my grandfather, back when he was just a curious young man, wasn’t one to be easily frightened.

He’d heard those stories too many times and decided to find out for himself. For several nights, he kept watch by the cemetery, hoping to catch a glimpse of these so-called “spirits.” But night after night, nothing happened. No mysterious lights. No ghostly wails. Just silence, save for the rustle of leaves and chirping insects. All he heard were the cries of night birds and the creaking of bamboo swaying in the wind. No phantom voices, no glowing apparitions—just the calm of Cabalian at rest.

So, being the playful and mischievous soul he was, my grandpa came up with an idea.

One afternoon, he went to the nearby stream and gathered a bunch of turtles. That night, he carefully stuck candles onto their shells and released them atop the graves. Because the tombs were elevated, the turtles stayed on top, slowly crawling back and forth as the candles flickered in the wind, their flames dancing with each tiny movement..

From a distance, what people saw were eerie, glowing lights dancing from one grave to another.

Word spread quickly—“The spirits are real!” some cried. Others whispered that it was San Telmo himself, the spirit of fire, roaming the cemetery. The strange lights terrified everyone so thoroughly that no one dared pass by the cemetery at night again.

But the truth?

There were no ghosts. No cursed souls.

Only a young man, a dozen turtles, and one incredibly creative prank.

🕯️ The Lesson:

Not everything we fear is real. Sometimes, fear grows from stories, from what we think we see—not what actually is. But there's another side to this: while curiosity and cleverness are wonderful traits, it's important to remember that our actions can shape others' beliefs and emotions. So let's use our creativity not just to play tricks—but to share light and understanding.

The Day of the "Sanggot nga Bali" Song

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sat, 7 Jun 2025 00:25:00 +0800

When I stepped into second grade at the age of eight, I already had my fair share of mischief. One particular day, I had no intention of going to school, but my mother insisted. Reluctantly, I rushed through my morning routine—quickly taking a bath, eating breakfast, and changing into my uniform.

After getting ready, I said goodbye to my mother and headed off to school.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back home. My mother was bewildered and immediately asked why I had returned so soon. She wondered if classes had been canceled, but she quickly noticed my soaked clothes.

“What happened? Why are you all wet?” she asked.

I responded with all the confidence in the world, “I tripped near the small creek and fell in.”

She sighed, then promptly made me take another bath and change into my old home clothes. Since I was already late, she declared that I wouldn’t be going to school anymore that day.

I was ecstatic!

But don’t ask me why I was so happy, because the real reason is quite something.

The day before, our teacher made an announcement—during our music class, everyone had to sing. And that, my friends, was the root of my troubles.

I had zero knowledge of any song, and even worse, my singing voice was so off-key that even the frogs would get startled if I tried to sing. My classmates were thrilled, teasing me about how they’d finally get to hear my “golden voice.”

Thankfully, I had managed to escape that day.

The next morning, I woke up early, feeling excited to go to school. Since our music lesson was over, I assumed I was safe.

When I arrived at school, we went through the usual flag ceremony and then entered the classroom. As soon as our teacher stepped in, my classmates started laughing and teasing, saying that Ma’am wouldn’t start the lesson until I sang.

Confidently, I told them, “Hey, music class was yesterday. We have a different subject today.”

But one of my classmates chimed in, “Ma’am said yesterday that we won’t start the lesson until Romel sings, since he was the only one absent during music class.”

Then Ma’am spoke. “Romel, your grade in music will be 75 if you don’t sing.”

The teasing continued, and my anxiety started building. My teacher stood her ground and refused to begin the class until I sang something. The pressure was unbearable—I was on the verge of tears!

“Romel, this will really affect your performance in my class. If you don’t sing, you might even fail music because I’ve already given you too many chances,” Ma’am warned.

At that moment, I realized I had no choice but to sing.

“But Ma’am, I don’t know any songs… I do know a poem, though,” I offered.

She shook her head. “That’s different. But you can try singing the poem if you want.”

That was when panic truly set in—I didn’t even have a poem memorized!

Left with no other option, I took a deep breath and sang the first thing that popped into my head. And guess what I sang?

I sang a traditional balitaw song called “Sanggot nga Bali”, inspired by the crooked sickle I had brought to school for our gardening activity.

The song ended. The day ended. But the teasing? That never ended—especially when the song reached my grandfather’s ears!

To this day, whenever my childhood friends bring up elementary school memories, someone always laughs out of nowhere because of the legendary “Sanggot nga Bali.”

And honestly? It’s the kind of embarrassment that’s too hilarious to regret!

The Clever Trick That Got Me Into School

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Thu, 5 Jun 2025 21:53:00 +0800

When I was seven years old, excitement bubbled inside me—I was finally going to school! My parents had decided it was time, and so we went to the first-grade classroom to enroll.

The room was alive with the promise of learning. Notebooks filled the desks, pencils and papers were scattered about, and bright Crayola crayons sat neatly atop the tables. In the center of it all was Ma'am Maestra, our teacher, sitting at her desk with an air of authority and warmth.

She greeted my parents, and after a brief conversation, she asked a few simple questions.

“Does he know how to write his name yet? Can he recognize the letters of the alphabet? Can he count a little?”

Mama and Papa exchanged glances. “Just a little,” they admitted.

Ma'am Maestra smiled and nodded. “Alright, I’ll accept him—but first, he needs to pass a small test. He must be able to touch his ear by reaching over his head.”

I was confused. Touch my ear? Over my head? That seemed like such a silly requirement. But apparently, it was the way they checked if a child was physically ready to start school.

I took a deep breath, determined to prove I could do it. Carefully, I lifted my hand, stretched my arm over my head, and reached for my right ear—but it didn’t quite touch. My heart sank. I wasn’t tall enough! My fingers hovered, just short of making contact.

But I refused to let this stop me. I wanted to go to school—I had to go to school. So, I came up with a clever little trick. Without hesitation, I slid my hand subtly behind my head, angling it just right, and—there! I grabbed my ear.

Ma’am Maestra chuckled. Maybe she saw through my trick, but she didn’t say a word.

And just like that, I was officially enrolled.

Since I had enrolled late, the class had already begun. Without hesitation, I stepped inside, eager to start my journey as a student.

Nightfall’s Echoes: A Lone Journey Home

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Thu, 5 Jun 2025 19:28:00 +0800

A Childhood in the Mountains

When I was seven years old, my family lived in the mountains. There were only a few houses in the area, mostly owned by landowners. The smallest piece of land was five hectares, but my grandfather owned over twenty hectares, where life moved with the sun and the rhythms of nature. We didn’t always need to buy things from the village, especially as night approached. But when the need arose, the journey was anything but simple.

Our place was far from the village—about one kilometer away, separated from our home. The path leading there was challenging—it crossed a big river and two smaller streams, with dense vegetation lining both sides. The banana leaves along the way often looked like shadowy figures lurking in the darkness.

The worst part was going to the store alone, especially at night. The path was pitch dark, as it wound under towering coconut trees and fruit-bearing plants. The most thrilling moment was when the fear became too much, and to shake off the fear, I would shout and run all the way home, hoping to scare off any spirits lurking in the shadows.

If someone heard me, they might have thought I was being chased by a ghost. It was common knowledge in our area that "Tiaw"—mysterious beings with big heads—wandered about at night. Many believed in their presence, and I, too, had my share of spine-chilling experiences.

That was life for a child growing up in the mountains. Have you ever experienced something like this? I surely have.

Life in the mountains was tough back then, nothing like today, where electricity lights up the roads. In the past, the only guide we had in the darkness was the well-trodden path ahead.

Nature’s Warning: A Carabao, A Python, and Divine Protection

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sun, 1 Jun 2025 19:18:00 +0800

The Philippine sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the farmlands. At just seven years old, I took pride in my daily task—herding our male carabao across the vast fields. He was an enormous, gentle beast with tough, dark skin, curved horns, and unwavering strength. Every morning, he followed my lead without hesitation, his hooves sinking into the softened earth as we made our way through the farm.

That day, at exactly ten in the morning, I decided to take him to the creek. The heat was growing unbearable, and I knew he would appreciate the cool water on his thick hide. As we started along the narrow trail, the familiar landscape surrounded us—mini pineapple crops lined the edges, their spiky leaves stretching toward the sun, coconuts swayed high above, and assorted fruit trees spread out in every direction. It was peaceful, serene, the kind of beauty I had grown accustomed to.

As we approached the jackfruit and pomelo trees along the path, I gave the carabao’s rope a gentle tug. He had always been obedient, never needing more than a small nudge. But to my surprise, he halted. His body stiffened, muscles tensed, and his massive hooves dug into the dirt. I pulled harder, coaxing him to move forward. He resisted.

I furrowed my brow, puzzled. "Come on, boy, let's go," I whispered, giving the rope another firm tug.

But the carabao wouldn't budge. Instead, he pulled back. His breathing had changed—short, heavy puffs of air escaping his nostrils, his ears flicking forward in alertness. I sighed, frustrated. Why was he being so stubborn? There was nothing ahead, just the same path we walked every day.

Determined to keep moving, I ignored his resistance and pulled again—this time, stronger. As I leaned into the effort, my gaze accidentally lifted upward.

And then, I froze.

Hanging from the low branches of the pomelo tree, barely a few feet above my head, was the largest python I had ever seen. Its thick, coiled body wrapped around the branch like a monstrous rope, its patterned scales gleaming under the sunlight. My breath hitched as I locked eyes with the creature—it wasn’t just resting. It was watching.

My heart pounded violently against my chest. My entire body felt paralyzed, as if time had stopped in that instant. The python’s enormous head tilted slightly, its forked tongue flickering out, tasting the air. I suddenly realized how close I had come to walking directly beneath it—completely unaware of the danger lurking above.

I didn’t think. I jumped.

Without hesitation, I leapt backward, landing beside my carabao. Before I could even scramble to my feet, he turned sharply and bolted—and I ran right alongside him.

The wind whipped against my face as we raced away from the tree. My legs moved on pure instinct, carrying me forward without thought. The carabao didn’t stop, didn’t look back—he charged forward with an urgency that I had never seen before.

It wasn’t until we reached a safe distance—far from the pomelo tree—that I finally collapsed onto the ground, breathless. My limbs trembled, my chest heaved, and my mind spun. The python. The huge python. If I had taken one more step forward, if I had lingered for even a second longer beneath that branch... it could have dropped down on me.

The realization sent a chill through my bones.

Then, I turned to my carabao—the one who had refused to move forward. He stood a few feet away, his breathing slowing, his dark eyes steady as he watched me.

It dawned on me. He knew.

Even when I hadn't seen the danger, he did. He had sensed it, felt it, understood something that I hadn't. And because of that, he had resisted, had pulled back—had saved me.

A few days earlier, my grandfather had mentioned seeing a python slithering through the pineapple fields, knocking the plants down, leaving behind evidence of its movements. At the time, I had dismissed it. Pythons were just snakes, I thought. Nothing more. But now, I understood. This one was different. It could have killed me.

And yet, something greater had protected me.

I looked up at the vast sky, my chest filling with gratitude. God was watching. Guiding. Guarding. The carabao had been His instrument that day—an unexpected shield, a silent protector who had sensed what I could not.

That moment stayed with me for the rest of my life.

Human Connections: An Unexpected Act of Kindness

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Thu, 27 Feb 2025 11:24:00 +0800

An event happening 33 years ago, one day, I set out to visit a client in a part of the city I wasn't familiar with. The air was thick with humidity, and the bustle of the streets filled my ears as I navigated through the crowd. Spotting a jeepney that I believed would take me to my destination, I hopped on without a second thought. The colorful vehicle jolted forward, and I settled into my seat, watching the cityscape blur past.

As the jeepney wound through narrow streets, I began to notice that the surroundings were becoming less and less familiar. The vibrant billboards and familiar storefronts were replaced by tight-knit houses and market stalls displaying goods I didn't recognize. A knot formed in my stomach. Did I take the wrong jeepney? I wondered.

When the jeepney finally came to a stop, I stepped out into an unfamiliar neighborhood. The chatter around me was in a dialect I couldn't understand, and I felt the weight of curious eyes upon me. The realization hit me—I had inadvertently entered a community where I was an outsider.

An uneasy feeling crept over me. I could sense the residents' caution; their gazes held a mix of curiosity and wariness. My heart pounded in my chest. I need to find my way back, I thought, but I had no idea where to start.

Just as panic was about to set in, an elderly man approached me. His eyes were warm behind his weathered face, and his demeanor exuded a gentle kindness.

"Are you aware of your whereabouts?" he asked softly.

Relief washed over me at the sound of his voice. "Honestly, no," I replied respectfully. "I thought this jeepney was heading to my client's place, but I must have been mistaken."

He gave a small, understanding nod. "It's easy to lose your way around here," he said. "But don't worry. Come with me, and I'll help you find your way out of our community."

I walked beside him as he guided me through the winding streets. The atmosphere, which had felt tense moments before, began to soften. The scent of spices filled the air, and children laughed as they played nearby. The elderly man pointed out landmarks and shared snippets about the community's culture and traditions. His words painted a vivid picture of a close-knit society rich with history.

As we walked, he gently advised, "In the future, it's best to travel with someone familiar with this area. Not everyone may understand your presence here, and it could lead to misunderstandings."

I nodded, absorbing his advice. "Thank you for your kindness," I said sincerely. "I didn't mean to intrude or cause any concern."

He smiled kindly. "We all make mistakes. What's important is that we look out for one another."

After what felt like a short time, we arrived near my client's location. I turned to him, gratitude filling my heart. "I can't thank you enough for helping me. You saved me from a lot of trouble today."

He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Take care of yourself, and remember, kindness goes a long way. Safe travels."

As he walked away, I felt a profound sense of connection and humility. This stranger had taken the time to ensure my safety, bridging the gap between unfamiliar cultures with a simple act of compassion.

As I continued my journey that day, I couldn't shake the profound impact of the elderly man's kindness. A stranger in a strange land, I had been vulnerable and afraid, yet he saw a fellow human in need and extended his hand without hesitation.

I realized that despite our different backgrounds and cultures, empathy transcends all boundaries. This experience taught me the universal language of compassion and reminded me that there is goodness in the world, often found in the most unexpected places.

This encounter left a lasting impression on me. It was a profound reminder of the kindness that exists across different cultures and communities. The elderly man's empathy bridged the gap between unfamiliarity and understanding. His actions embodied the essence of human connection: the willingness to help others despite differences.

This experience not only highlighted the importance of cultural awareness but also showcased how impactful a single act of kindness can be. It taught me to approach new environments with humility and openness, and to trust that compassion can be found in unexpected places.

It's moments like these that enrich our lives and broaden our perspectives. They remind us that, at our core, we all share common values of empathy and goodwill.

Exploring the Richness of Human Connections

Stories like this highlight how stepping out of our comfort zones can lead to meaningful interactions. They encourage us to be more mindful travelers and to seek understanding of the communities we engage with. Cultural diversity adds depth to the human experience, and embracing it can lead to profound personal growth.

Have you ever had an encounter that changed your perspective or taught you something invaluable about empathy and kindness? Sharing these stories helps us appreciate the beauty of human connections across different walks of life.

Imaginative Realms: The Celestial Haven of Shooting Stars

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Wed, 26 Feb 2025 17:43:00 +0800

As I sat down in front of my laptop, an imaginative spark struck my mind, bringing forth a vision of "The Celestial Haven of Shooting Stars." This enchanting realm, hidden within the heart of a radiant nebula, began to unfold in my thoughts, revealing a universe where the sky is an endless expanse of wonder and beauty.

Nestled within the heart of a radiant nebula lies Stellara, a celestial haven where the magic of the universe comes alive. This enchanting realm is a sanctuary for shooting stars, born from the pure energy of the cosmos and crafted with care by the ethereal beings known as Luminarians.

Stellara is surrounded by a luminous nebula that glows with vibrant hues of violet, blue, and gold. The nebula's ethereal light bathes the entire realm in a soft, shimmering glow, creating a dreamlike atmosphere that captivates the senses. The air is filled with the gentle hum of cosmic energy, resonating with the rhythm of the stars and adding to the mystical allure of Stellara.

At the heart of this celestial haven stands the Starforge, a magnificent structure crafted from celestial crystals and stardust. The Starforge is the birthplace of shooting stars, where they are forged from the pure energy of the universe. Each night, the Luminarians gather at the Starforge to perform the Celestial Dance, a mesmerizing ritual that channels the energy of the cosmos into the creation of new shooting stars. With their translucent wings casting iridescent trails of light, the Luminarians move in harmony with the celestial rhythms, weaving their magic into each celestial traveler.

The Luminarians are the guardians of Stellara, luminous entities with wings that sparkle like diamonds. They possess the ability to harness the energy of the cosmos and channel it into the creation of shooting stars. These celestial beings are dedicated to spreading joy, wonder, and inspiration across the universe, ensuring that Stellara's radiant light touches the hearts of all who encounter it.

Once a shooting star is born, it embarks on a journey across the universe. Each shooting star carries a wish, a dream, or a message from the Luminarians to the inhabitants of distant worlds. As they streak across the night sky, shooting stars leave behind trails of stardust, illuminating the darkness with their radiant light. These celestial travelers serve as symbols of hope and wonder, bridging the gap between worlds and reminding us of the beauty and interconnectedness of the universe.

The legacy of Stellara is one of creation, inspiration, and boundless possibilities. Through the dedication of the Luminarians and the magic of the Starforge, the celestial haven of shooting stars continues to shine brightly, lighting up the cosmos with its ethereal beauty. Each shooting star that journeys across the universe carries with it a piece of Stellara's radiant light, ensuring that the magic and wonder of this celestial realm continue to inspire and uplift all who witness it.

The Mythical Giants of the Nile: Builders of the Pyramids

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Fri, 21 Feb 2025 18:51:00 +0800

As I imagine how the pyramid was built, a vision of majestic grandeur unfurls before my eyes. Towering ethereal giants, cloaked in an otherworldly luminescence, ascend gracefully above the shimmering expanse of the Nile River. With their colossal strength and arcane powers, they effortlessly carry immense boulders through the air, their movements a mesmerizing dance of power and precision.

Every gesture they make weaves a magical tapestry, as they meticulously place each stone, their purpose unwavering and their grace unparalleled. The sky, bathed in the twilight's enchanting hues, casts a dramatic light upon their labor, illuminating their supernatural prowess. With every stone they set, these magnificent beings transform the seemingly impossible task into a breathtaking masterpiece, leaving behind the eternal wonder that is the pyramid.

In the ancient world, the creation of the grand pyramids of Egypt has long been enshrouded in mystery and awe. Among the myriad myths and legends, one tale stands out—a tale of awe-inspiring giants. These enchanted titans, believed to be the true architects of the pyramids, soared above the Nile River like celestial guardians. Their immense strength and magical abilities allowed them to carry enormous boulders with ease, their movements a symphony of grace and power. As they toiled under the ethereal twilight sky, their labor wove an epic saga of creation, culminating in the timeless marvel that is the pyramid.

The Giants' Origins

According to legend, these giants were descendants of the gods, possessing incredible strength and the ability to fly. They were said to have been summoned by the pharaohs to assist in the construction of the pyramids, as their divine powers were deemed essential for such an extraordinary feat. These towering beings were described as majestic and awe-inspiring, with wings that shimmered like the scales of mythical dragons and eyes that gleamed with the light of the sun.

Building the Pyramids

As the story goes, the giants would gather at the banks of the Nile River, where they would lift massive boulders from the quarries with their immense strength. With a powerful beat of their wings, they would take to the skies, soaring high above the river and the bustling work sites below. The sight of these giants in flight, each carrying tons of stone effortlessly, was said to be both terrifying and mesmerizing.

The giants worked with unparalleled precision and coordination, placing each boulder with care to ensure the stability and grandeur of the pyramids. Their supernatural abilities allowed them to achieve feats that seemed impossible to mere mortals. The pyramids, with their precise alignments and towering heights, were seen as a testament to the giants' remarkable craftsmanship and strength.

The Giants' Legacy

The legend of the giants did not end with the completion of the pyramids. It was believed that these majestic beings continued to watch over the land of Egypt, ensuring the safety and prosperity of the kingdom. Some stories even suggested that the giants had imbued the pyramids with a portion of their divine power, granting the structures an eternal and indomitable presence.

While modern archaeology and historical research have provided us with a more accurate understanding of the construction methods and the skilled laborers who built the pyramids, the legend of the giants remains a captivating and enduring part of the ancient Egyptian mythos. These tales serve as a reminder of the human imagination's boundless creativity and the wonder that the pyramids inspired in those who beheld them.

Conclusion

The mythical giants of the Nile, with their incredible strength and ability to fly, add an enchanting layer of mystery and awe to the story of the pyramids. Though these tales are rooted in legend, they reflect the profound impact that the pyramids have had on the collective imagination throughout history. Whether seen as a testament to human ingenuity or the handiwork of divine beings, the pyramids continue to stand as monumental symbols of ancient Egypt's grandeur and mystique.

The Farm: Enigmatic Pineapple

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sat, 8 Feb 2025 16:03:00 +0800

When I was a child, long before the complexities of adulthood took over, I often found solace in the tranquil farm of my grandfather. Nestled away from the hustle and bustle, his farm was a wonderland of sights and scents, each corner holding a different story. One such story is etched vividly in my memory—a tale of an unusual pineapple that piqued my curiosity and stayed with me for years. On a warm afternoon, as the sun cast its golden hue over the fields, I stumbled upon an extraordinary sight in my grandfather's pineapple garden. Unlike the regular pineapples, which stood tall and proud with their spiky crowns, this particular fruit was a marvel of nature. It had a fanlike appearance, spreading outwards in a way that defied the usual form of pineapples. Its unique shape immediately caught my attention, and I couldn't help but wonder about its origins and whether it was even edible. For years, the image of that fanlike pineapple lingered in my mind, often surfacing in my dreams. Was it a figment of my imagination, or had I really witnessed such a phenomenon? My curiosity grew, and I knew I had to find out the truth. Last night, after a few hours of diligent searching, I finally stumbled upon the answers I sought. Armed with keywords like "flat pineapple," "pineapple fan-like," "shell-like pineapple," "clam pineapple," and eventually "fan-like pineapple," I scoured the internet for any clues. To my delight, I found photos that matched the image I had held onto for so long. The validation of my childhood memory was both exhilarating and surreal. There it was—the fanlike pineapple, just as I had seen it all those years ago. As I delved deeper into my research, I discovered that such pineapples, though rare, do exist. They are typically the result of a mutation or an unusual growth pattern. While their shape might be unconventional, they are indeed edible and share the same sweet and tangy flavor as their more common counterparts. The journey of rediscovering this peculiar pineapple has not only rekindled my childhood wonder but also reminded me of the endless mysteries that nature holds. Sometimes, the most remarkable discoveries stem from the simplest of memories, waiting to be unraveled

A Timeless Memory: My Souvenir Photo in Shanghai

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Thu, 30 Jan 2025 12:14:00 +0800

In March 2009, during a memorable trip to Shanghai, I stumbled upon a charming photography studio nestled in the heart of the city. The studio offered a unique experience: the chance to wear ancient Chinese costumes and capture a moment that felt like stepping back in time.

Intrigued by the idea, I decided to give it a try. The staff at the studio were incredibly welcoming and helped me choose an elegant costume that reflected the traditional attire of ancient Chinese men. The intricate designs and rich fabrics of the robe made me feel like I was part of a historical drama.

Once I was dressed, the photographer guided me to a beautifully crafted set that resembled an ancient Chinese city. The backdrop featured traditional architecture, creating the perfect setting for the photo.

As I posed for the camera, I couldn't help but feel a deep connection to the past. The experience was both surreal and enlightening, allowing me to appreciate the rich cultural heritage of China in a very personal way. The photographer captured the moment with great skill, ensuring every detail was perfect.

When I received the souvenir photo, I was amazed at how authentic and regal I looked. The image transported me back to that special day in Shanghai, reminding me of the beauty and elegance of ancient Chinese traditions. It became one of my most cherished keepsakes, a timeless memory of a journey that allowed me to connect with history uniquely and unforgettably.

Every time I look at that photo, I am reminded of the incredible experience and the sense of wonder I felt. It serves as a beautiful reminder of my adventure in Shanghai and the timeless elegance of Chinese culture.

The Farm: King Cobra Head - Cut

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sun, 12 Jan 2025 13:29:00 +0800

When I was a little boy, five decades ago, the memories of those days are still vivid in my mind. I grew up on a farm in the remote boundaries of three barangays: Dumlan, Anibongan, and Libaylibay. My grandfather owned a sprawling 28-hectare farm, lush with coconut trees, coffee, abaca, and a variety of bananas. The farm was a paradise of assorted fruit trees, including lanzones, durian, cacao, and jackfruit. We also grew essential crops like rice, corn, camote, karlang, gabi, pao, and balanghoy. Our farm was bustling with life, home to carabaos, chickens, ducks, pigs, and a tilapia fishpond.

My grandfather was meticulous about maintaining a clean farm. He employed several laborers to keep the grass trimmed and the trails clear. The paths were so pristine that even a dropped needle could be easily found.

One fateful day, as I walked down the immaculate trail, I suddenly froze. A massive king cobra lay coiled in my path, its eyes locked onto mine, ready to strike. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood paralyzed with fear. Just as the cobra lunged, my father appeared out of nowhere, wielding a gleaming bolo. With a swift, powerful swing, he beheaded the serpent.

But the terror was far from over. To my horror, the severed head of the cobra continued to move, its jaws snapping furiously. I turned and ran, the head seemingly chasing me down the trail. I sprinted with all my might, my legs burning, my breath ragged. It felt like an eternity, but after about 100 meters, the head finally stopped, lifeless at last.

The encounter left me shaken, but it also became one of the most unforgettable moments of my childhood. It was a stark reminder of the wild, untamed beauty of the farm and the bravery of my father.

Mind Breaker: Finding GOD, Help Me Find God...

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Fri, 3 Jan 2025 11:55:00 +0800

In 10 seconds time, help me find GOD into this maze of letters.

Finding God is a deeply personal and spiritual journey that can take many forms. Here are some steps and practices that people often find helpful in their search for God:

1. Prayer: Regular prayer is a way to communicate with God. It can be as simple as talking to God about your thoughts, feelings, and desires. Prayer helps build a personal relationship with God. http://www.wikihow.com/Find-God.

2. Reading Sacred Texts: Many people find guidance and inspiration in religious texts such as the Bible, Quran, Bhagavad Gita, or Torah. These texts contain teachings, stories, and principles that can help you understand more about God and how to live a life aligned with divine will. https://www.christianity.com/wiki/god/what-does-it-mean-to-find-god.html.

3. Worship and Community: Participating in worship services and being part of a faith community can provide support and encouragement. It also offers opportunities to learn from others' experiences and deepen your understanding of God. https://www.christianity.com/wiki/god/what-does-it-mean-to-find-god.html.

4. Reflection and Meditation: Taking time for quiet reflection and meditation can help you connect with God on a deeper level. This practice allows you to listen for God's guidance and feel His presence in your life. https://thelife.com/practical-steps-in-your-search-for-god.

5. Acts of Kindness and Service: Many people find God through serving others and performing acts of kindness. Helping those in need and showing compassion can be a way to experience God's love and presence. https://thelife.com/practical-steps-in-your-search-for-god.

6. Nature and Creation: Some people feel closest to God when they are in nature. Observing the beauty and complexity of the natural world can inspire awe and a sense of connection to the Creator. https://www.christianity.com/wiki/god/what-does-it-mean-to-find-god.html.

7. Seeking Guidance: Talking to spiritual leaders, mentors, or friends who have a strong faith can provide valuable insights and support on your journey. https://www.christianity.com/wiki/god/what-does-it-mean-to-find-god.html.

8. Open-mindedness and Curiosity: Keeping an open mind and being curious about different spiritual practices and beliefs can help you find what resonates with you personally. https://www.christianity.com/wiki/god/what-does-it-mean-to-find-god.html.

Remember, everyone's journey to finding God is unique, and it's important to find what works best for you. If you have any specific questions or need further guidance, feel free to comment!

Mind Breaker: Tangled Mystery, Help Me Solve...

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sat, 4 Nov 2017 17:31:00 +0800

We have encountered solving the maze, puzzle games and so many fun problem solving activities and games in our daily routine.

As the picture shown, I paint it using the windows paint software without thinking, just pick the tool then the colors, then paint it tangly and done.

And I am wondering after that I drew a messy things, the tangled one and I forgot what was the first color I picked up and so on.

Can you help me solved my problem on what was the sequence of the colors I am using from last layer (top) to first layer (bottom).

In the picture I am using seven (7) colors, the colors are yellow green, gold, black, red, violet, gray and blue.

I have my own sequence and it is best that you have also yours so that I can compare my solution with yours and then we can agree or dis-agree.

In the comment below just copy and paste the format and replace the underline with the number sequence.

( ___: yellow green / ___: gold / ___: black / ___: red / ___: violet / ___: gray / ___: blue)

This is to test your wit, so please try to solve.

THE INTERNET EXPERIENCE: In Internet There Were No Forever...

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Tue, 10 Oct 2017 13:45:00 +0800

The game is, if you have money to maintain the payment for your website then you stay in the mainstream or else you're wiped out in the world web.

See for example like the one of the famous social media circulating the web before the FaceBook was Friendster and later it became a myth.

Even for free web hosting, forever is a legend.

In my own experience, First: my Blog, As Far As I Can Remember, on Weebly were deactivated for an unknown reason. Second: my Google Site, "site/wondersoftheonlineworld", were inactively not usable for a couple of months for no clear reason. Third: my Adsense account were deactivated due to illegal activity.

Those three were deactivated due to illegal clicking which in Fact during the time of editing the system together with my mouse got the problem, the mouse always clicking itself at the ADS and desktop hangs up, then at the moment I turned on the unit again and going back to the system, there I got the message of illegal inactivity.

And lastly my blog in Instant Blog Subscriber, "instantblogsubscribers.com/?w=fluzz" (The Rolling Wheel), was shutdown with an unknown reason, The website is not reachable anymore.

The conclusion were as long the modern technology exist the internet revolution remains, and when the time became dooms the internet addiction is history.

And at the end, most importantly post your fashion as long at the internet exist just like do what you like to do as long as you exist in this wonderful world.

Mind Breaker: Agree or Disagree?

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sun, 22 May 2016 12:25:00 +0800

In terms of sharing:

Do you agree with this statement?

"1 Big Pie (2kgs in weight), shared equally into 3 persons."

Is not equal to

"1 Big Pie (2kgs in weight), divided equally into 4 shares. The 3 shares are given to 3 persons @ 1 share each. The 4^th share were added to their share equally. "

TRUE or FALSE

Thought Of Nothing - A Kind Heart Can Do?

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sat, 9 Jan 2016 02:53:00 +0800

Listening and Watching news in Internet and in TV, on the latest update of the world, same as usual it tells the same things; bombing, war and power competition. Killings and crime all over the world, this is the product of GREEDINESS.

Because of what was going on around the world, a thought of an unknown comes up.

Comes into saying as to express the desperate feelings of what was really happen to a man that is willing to serve a nation, with all of his sincere heart but the only obstacle is his lawlessness, as his opponents negatively pinned him down.

How about of was being hailed by the great politicians, they said he has the courage and the leadership we are looking for but surrounded with many corrupt colleagues. And his heart is not for the people down there, but belongs to those who are great in society.

It's better to choose a lawless leader that his heart belongs to all the people no matter which level of society they belong and his vision for the country is for its greatness and for an abundant future.

"Sometimes a great leader needs a lawless hands ( Iron Fist) to breaks down the fugitive."

P.S. Share it and Tell it to the World, if you agree with it....

Durian and Other Fruits For All Season

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Mon, 31 Aug 2015 23:39:00 +0800

For real, fruits are part of everyone’s diet, fruits are served in every meals we take.

During special occasions, like new years day, fruits are the first to be prepared.

According to Wikpedia:

The durian (/ˈdjʊriən/)^[4] is the fruit of several tree species belonging to the genus Durio. The name Durio species, at least nine of which produce edible fruit.Durio zibethinus is the only species available in the international market: other species are sold in their local regions.

'durian' is derived from the Malay-Indonesian languages word for duri or "spike", a reference to the numerous spike protuberances of the fruit, together with the noun-building suffix -an. There are 30 recognised

Regarded by many people in southeast Asia as the "king of fruits",^[5] the durian is distinctive for its large size, strong odour, and formidable thorn-covered husk. The fruit can grow as large as 30 centimetres (12 in) long and 15 centimetres (6 in) in diameter, and it typically weighs one to three kilograms (2 to 7 lb). Its shape ranges from oblong to round, the colour of its husk green to brown, and its flesh pale yellow to red, depending on the species.

The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour that is strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as having a pleasantly sweet fragrance; others find the aroma overpowering and revolting. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as rotten onions, turpentine, and raw sewage. The persistence of its odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in Southeast Asia.

The durian, native to Southeast Asia, has been known to the Western world for about 600 years. The nineteenth-century British naturalist Alfred Russel Wallace described its flesh as "a rich custard highly flavoured with almonds". The flesh can be consumed at various stages of ripeness, and it is used to flavour a wide variety of savoury and sweet edibles in Southeast Asian cuisines. The seeds can also be eaten when cooked.

There are hundreds of durian cultivars; many consumers express preferences for specific cultivars, which fetch higher prices in the market.

Here in Davao, durian fruits are the most popular and the pride of the dabawenyos.

For Us, Filipinos, we treat the coconut as the tree of life.

The Coconut Buco and its juice were very delicious to taste but before you can eat the fruit of coconut tree somebody must climb for you to take its fruits from its peak for about or more than 60 feet above the ground.

Upon climbing the coconut tree, thrill awaits at the top because you don’t know if there were animals and insects, such as flying squirrel, honey bee and snake waiting for the climber.

Harvesting some fruits in the farms are very enjoyable experience.

Like the Lansones fruit tree, my wife experience herself to get fruits by climbing to the top thru a bamboo made ladder.

And also during the harvest of mango you will feel so amaze upon seeing the stockpiles of mangoes infront of you.

Fruits are serves in according to what you like to eat during your meals or occasions.

In this setting, please see my humble combinations of fruits serving in according to its season and the place which I belong.

At the field:

When there is an Alien Friend Visitor:

During Harvest:

At the Bamboo-Coconut Hut:

At the House:

At New Year’s Eve:

When somebody’s visiting:

When I’m working late at night:

When I’m away from home:

As Wikipedia Stated:

In botany, a fruit is a part of a flowering plant that derives from specific tissues of the flower, one or more ovaries, and in some cases accessory tissues.

Fruits are the means by which these plants disseminate seeds. Many of them that bear edible fruits, in particular, have propagated with the movements of humans and animals in a symbiotic relationship as a means for seed dispersal and nutrition, respectively; in fact, humans and many animals have become dependent on fruits as a source of food.^[1] Fruits account for a substantial fraction of the world'sagricultural output, and some (such as the apple and the pomegranate) have acquired extensive cultural and symbolic meanings.

In common language usage, "fruit" normally means the fleshy seed-associated structures of a plant that are sweet or sour and edible in the raw state, such as apples, oranges, grapes, strawberries, bananas, and lemons. On the other hand, the botanical sense of "fruit" includes many structures that are not commonly called "fruits", such as bean pods, corn kernels, wheat grains, and tomatoes.^[2]^[3]

Countries Where I Landed: CURRENCY

noreply@blogger.com (ROCUJAV) — Sun, 16 Aug 2015 00:00:00 +0800

I can conclude that of all the blessings I received, God is always with me, for he gives me great gift I am not wanting and I never dreamed. And because of his greatness he has given me the chance to visit some countries abroad and I am Thankful to Him for giving me such great opportunity.

GOD IS GREAT!!!

The photos of currencies that you can see below are my own collections in the countries were I visited since year 2009 to year 2014.

Sample Currency

As Wikipedia describes:

A currency (from Middle English: curraunt, "in circulation", from Latin: currens, -entis) in the most specific use of the word refers tomoney in any form when in actual use or circulation as a medium of exchange, especially circulating banknotes and coins.^[1]^[2] A more general definition is that a currency is a system of money (monetary units) in common use, especially in a nation.^[3] Under this definition, British pounds, U.S. dollars, and European euros are examples of currency. These various currencies are stores of value, and are traded between nations in foreign exchange markets, which determine the relative values of the different currencies.^[4]Currencies in this sense are defined by governments, and each type has limited boundaries of acceptance.

Coinage

These factors led to the metal itself being the store of value: first silver, then both silver and gold, and at one point also bronze. Now we have copper coins and other non-precious metals as coins. Metals were mined, weighed, and stamped into coins. This was to assure the individual taking the coin that he was getting a certain known weight of precious metal. Coins could be counterfeited, but they also created a new unit of account, which helped lead to banking. Archimedes' principle provided the next link: coins could now be easily tested for their fine weight of metal, and thus the value of a coin could be determined, even if it had been shaved, debased or otherwise tampered with (seeNumismatics).

Most major economies using coinage had three tiers of coins: copper, silver and gold. Gold coins were used for large purchases, payment of the military and backing of state activities. Silver coins were used for midsized transactions, and as a unit of account for taxes, dues, contracts and fealty, while copper coins were used for everyday transactions. This system had been used in ancient India since the time of the Mahajanapadas. In Europe, this system worked through the medieval period because there was virtually no new gold, silver or copper introduced through mining or conquest.^{[citation needed]} Thus the overall ratios of the three coinages remained roughly equivalent.

Paper money

In premodern China, the need for credit and for a medium of exchange that was less physically cumbersome than large numbers of copper coins led to the introduction of paper money, i.e. banknotes. Their introduction was a gradual process which lasted from the late Tang dynasty (618–907) into the Song dynasty (960–1279). It began as a means for merchants to exchange heavy coinage for receipts of deposit issued as promissory notes by wholesalers' shops. These notes that were valid for temporary use in a small regional territory. In the 10th century, the Song dynasty government began to circulate these notes amongst the traders in its monopolized salt industry. The Song government granted several shops the right to issue banknotes, and in the early 12th century the government finally took over these shops to produce state-issued currency. Yet the banknotes issued were still only locally and temporarily valid: it was not until the mid 13th century that a standard and uniform government issue of paper money became an acceptable nationwide currency. The already widespread methods of woodblock printing and then Pi Sheng's movable type printing by the 11th century were the impetus for the mass production of paper money in premodern China.

In Europe, paper money was first introduced on a regular basis in Sweden in 1661 (although Washington Irving records an earlier emergency use of it, by the Spanish in a siege during the Conquest of Granada). Sweden was rich in copper, thus, because of copper's low value, extraordinarily big coins (often weighing several kilograms) had to be made.At around the same time in the medieval Islamic world, a vigorous monetary economy was created during the 7th–12th centuries on the basis of the expanding levels of circulation of a stable high-value currency (the dinar). Innovations introduced by Muslim economists, traders and merchants include the earliest uses of credit,^[5] cheques, promissory notes,^[6] savings accounts, transactional accounts,loaning, trusts, exchange rates, the transfer of credit and debt,^[7] and banking institutions for loans and deposits.^[7]

The advantages of paper currency were numerous: it reduced the need to transport gold and silver, which was risky; it facilitated loans of gold or silver at interest, since the underlying specie (gold or silver) never left the possession of the lender until someone else redeemed the note; and it allowed a division of currency into credit and specie backed forms. It enabled the sale of stock in joint stock companies, and the redemption of those shares in paper.