i write to believe.

The smell of old books and old furniture wakes me up this morning.  It's a day before Christmas and things are slowly starting to sink in.  This season of gifts. And the best gift will always be the remembrance of home.  It is when I remember where I came from that everything uncertain becomes an appreciated mystery of faith. Breakfast was filled with musings of family history.  My grandmother's scrambled eggs recipe.  The dining chairs where they used to sit.  The living room filled with photographs of aunts and uncles.  The wall of college diplomas.  Thoughtful chatter of the night before. Christmas is always that moment of honoring and remembering the gift woven by ties of family.  The wrinkled and crooked. The smooth and entwined. There is nothing like coming back to the old home town where the most early memories of joyful play never fails to warm the heart.   The first childhood friends.  The first set of stories...

It's been a while since I've allowed myself to enjoy "girl things".  Today was spent with my sister shopping at the mall to finish off our Europe Trip list.  I didn't have enough wardrobe that could fit the autumn weather and so I decided to go to UniQlo to enjoy their knits and fleece collection . I haven't been up to date with any of the fashion trends at all nor have I even been taking the time to look at myself in the mirror.  But I let myself enjoy this time with my sister and relish the few moments of enjoying girly things. I love knitted sweaters and anything warm and cozy.  I love autumn colors and it seems that I've always traveled in this weather. I'm grateful for these things.  To enjoy these things today and enjoy my sister's company while I'm at it.

Today I was much enlightened by Paul's letter to the Romans. Brothers and sisters: If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.  For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. The Scripture says, No one who believes in him will be put to shame. There is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all, enriching all who call upon him. For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. The moments I call on God's name are few.  The conscious effort to remember that these words are alive and are a testament from believers of ancient days are not enough.  But this morning's Eucharist helped me realize that I am grateful for so very little.  Gratitude isn't something I practice regularly.  At most I often think that I should be receiving gratitude for all the difficult things I put...

In trying to keep up with the rhythm I am trying to start picking up with this blog I start looking through old pages and found a post I wrote back in 2009.  It's one of those posts that I just delved myself into.  Long and emotional.  Obviously I had used writing as a lifeline to cope with my grandmother's passing.  I hope life's meaning keeps unraveling for us everyday. written January 3, 2009. I t's been a while since I wrote and really sat down with myself to think about everything that has happened for me this Christmas season. For quite some time, I have been blogging with the sole effort of picking up my writing habit. So that little by little I can start feeling productive as I pursue my writer's dream. For quite some time I have been taking tabs on myself like how meaningful my posts have been or how many pictures I have uploaded in Flickr that caught how many number of views or comments. For quite some time I have been metering myself on my o...

He taught me what it meant to win in life.  He knew how to be a winner.

Something made me tear up during the quietness of lunch break today.  I was tagging some old photos in Facebook.  Most of them are of my parents.  And my Mom commented on two of them.   the first picture (1) taken when i was 3 years old the second picture (2) taken when i was about a year old in my hometown It has taken a long while before my Mom and I have really improved our mother-daughter relationship.  Mostly, our communication gap has been mainly because of how she often comes off quite unapproachable.  Stern.  Uptight.  Over the years I have realized that there were reasons why she had to stay tough and pull herself together the way she did.  It's one of the things women do when they're trying to keep themselves from falling apart. Mom and I never had a lot of mother-daughter conversations.  We don't know how.  It's always awkward to talk heart to heart when we come face to face.  It's always easier to say ...

I went upstairs to check up on my Mom.  She was sleeping on her new couch with her work clothes still on.  What prompted me was the music playing in the surround system.  Dad's music.  Perhaps from the CDs in their CD player that he left inside the last time he went home for a visit.  My dad's been living away from home for the past 6 years because of work.  He comes every two weeks.  I'm not sure if he's coming home this week because they had a fight.   My parents have been married for 35 years and they have this marital wound that never seems to heal.  This week was one of those weeks in our lives that it got unearthed. I'm not sure what to feel about the whole thing.  My mom just finished her chemotherapy and we're all just trying to get used to everything.  And now this wound.  Resurfacing again.  The burden at home right now is heavy.  The air is thick.  If the walls could talk, they would probably be scre...

Tonight's dinner to celebrate my Mom finishing 6 cycles of chemotherapy was intimately gathered by close friends.  I still do not know what to feel about the past 6 months as it has been a mix of events that were challenging and painful.  But I briefly wrote a thanksgiving prayer that we prayed before meals and sang a worship song to lift up our gratitude.  I suppose for whatever it's worth, at the end of it all, God prevails. gratitude for family, health, love and friends. A Thanksgiving Prayer Lord God, what is gratefulness but the realization that we are where we are supposed to be at this moment. We thank you Lord that for the past 6 months of our lives, you have ensured us that we will never forget your faithfulness. You are a God who is always true to His word and indeed you have blessed us with the grace of bearing a cross that allowed us to share in your suffering but also share in your resurrection. We thank you for my Mom’s health and for all the love ...

I am not so sure about what to say at the start of the New Year.  All I know is that I find myself ever so carefully treading into this new day.  Not so hyped up about all the greetings and cheer.  Not so dazzled by the fireworks and the thrill  of frenzied laughter.   Perhaps I can say that I'm going into this year quite reflectively.  Not rushing into anything.  Not hurrying into anything.  Primarily because I'd like to begin it again by acknowledging that there is this so-called thing as unforced rhythms of grace.  Something I have started to live by the start of 2010 but somehow found it buried under a heap of busy obligations and unforseen circumstances. I spent today by going to 7am mass with my family.  We went to St. Therese of the Child Jesus Parish like we always do for the past 33 years of my life.  We never miss 7am mass despite the late New Year's Eve family gathering.  I wasn't quite awake yet when we sat on the ...

I have been unexpectedly quiet these past few days.  I'm not sure if I have fully absorbed that I am actually in Cebu already, my hometown, and supposedly rekindling the warm and fuzzy feeling of the holiday cheer and family ties.  I was abruptly interrupted with all the holiday musings when upon our arrival the first order of discussion was the family's succession plan.  Our forebears have bequeathed a huge legacy to us through an educational institution  standing 80 years old.  Some of my relatives work in the place.  Some of my cousins grew up studying there.  But amidst it all is a wounded relationship of ties that keep the organization's core from moving forward.   Oh how I would love to write the saga of our family!  Perhaps even try to make sense of it by uncovering all the stories intertwined in knots hidden from common revelation.  But I can't.  The story isn't finished and I do not think that without a happy and illuminat...

Last night I was sifting through my grandaunt Filomena's journals. She left them for me when she passed away in 2007. This is a memory that I always enjoy reminiscing and I don't know if I'll ever write it down accurately enough but I felt like touching the pages of old notebooks and snippets of little notes scratched on newspapers and postcards she labeled "musings at midnight". The scent of time passing were on the pages and the dust that's collected between them. They reminded me of old libraries and wood paneled walls. She was a widow with no children to her name and all she can held dearly of her life was her one great love. His name was Telesforo Polvorosa, a troubadour who swept her by the feet and showed her the world. Her parents was not so happy about the relationship because he was a divorcee. But her heart was drawn and she never let go. I often wonder about what God would've thought about my grandaunt's life. I remember watching ...

I ate dinner at this new Italian restaurant with my family last night. I think this was my Dad's first time to celebrate his birthday here in Manila with us again after quite a while. Since he works in Cebu and his birth date often falls on a weekday he has spent it over there. Since Mom's cancer diagnosis he has been coming home almost weekly instead of the usual twice a month rhythm. My Dad just turned 63 and there is so much about him that I would have wanted to write in this post but all I can muster is what he told me in a toothy grin when I greeted him at breakfast yesterday, "Matanda na si Tarzan!" (Tarzan is now old). I often wondered why he refers to him as Tarzan. I'm trying to recall a childhood memory that faintly glimmers in my mind this morning about the time we watched Tarzan together. It register vaguely so I'm dropping that thought. Musing some more about, I suppose it's because he always says he grew up in the Island of Ceb...

I was excited to go home last night with the intention of figuring out what theme I finally want this blog to have. I spent about an hour just trying out everything and ended up with a headache that I failed miserably to journal what I wanted to journal about listening to Amanda Palmer’s song Half Jack for about 5 times. Mornings are for work. Night’s are for serious introspective stuff for the soul like praying and writing and figuring out what’s hidden in the cracks and crevices of my heart. Why some of them feel like clutter and why some feel like good finds from an afternoon of spring cleaning. Why does it feel like I’m only looking at myself in the mirror for the first time? Most of the time I spent reflecting on myself always ended up in a laundry list of sins that I have paid the price of shame for. Seriously. I’ve had my time with guilt. It sent me to a 2 month silence and the life of a forlorn hermit. I gave up social living because I said I couldn’t hear God ...

In all my dealings with pain I should find myself more comfortable with it but no. I don’t. I should find myself more enthused at this opportunity to find cosmos in chaos but I am not. No. Not when the wounds are those I thought have already healed. The wounds lying so vulnerably in the shadows unattended. The wounds of my Mother and Father. Just thinking about them makes me stumped. I am lost in my own musings and trying to make sense why whenever the issues of their marriage come up, they somehow find a way to make me the issue. How far is this moment from the healing I thought I was already experiencing while dealing with Mom’s cancer diagnosis? I feel very alone today. Absent of all solace save for a small image of Padre Pio and a wooden Benedictine cross clutched tightly while I slept through the night and throughout the whole morning because I didn’t want to go out of my room and face even more discomfort. What makes parents not see their own actions and how they have pain...

The rain falls cold this morning. My throat is sore. We have a whole day of work to do. Some of my staff got home at 2am. Manuals need to be signed. Last week’s pace was embraced by a creative flow. Filled journals. Sketchbooks painted on. I began to understand the rhythm of visual art as it helped me channel my thoughts into words. This week’s rhythm slightly changes. I feel like delving into reading more than drawing. Sometimes I find the changes peculiar and contradicting. I have questions in my head like, “Why do I feel like drawing now and then a week later I feel like reading?” I suppose it is the nature of creativity. A pattern I need to get used to as I continue to integrate my brain into wholeness of thinking and being. My aunt Elvira left today. She stayed with us for 3 weeks. She visited my Mom and spent time with her. I never thought I’d appreciate her presence so much till this past 3 weeks. It gave me a little bit of breathing room. And I’m sure it h...