I Hope (A Love Letter)

I hope this finds you before you find me.

I hope you can take it that I am not the ideal homebody. I can cook a little, keep house a little, but I can never be Martha Stewart. If you would lovingly remind me that you are running out of clean shirts, I will try to keep up with the laundry schedule.

I hope you can stand that my expressions of love are limited. I can be generous with words and my time. So help me know how you want to be loved.

I hope you can bear that I am intrusive. That I would wish to know what is going on in your head. You can gently remind me that your thoughts are your own but please don't fence me out.

I hope you will try to read my mind. It is impossible, I know. But as they say, there is no harm in trying.

I hope, by now, you already know how women are wired. We are cry-ers. We cry in the movies. We cry over facebook posts. We cry over lost earrings. We cry even at the slightest provocations. Or none at all. Don't panic.

I hope you have come to terms with the fact that I am of a certain age. And if we let biology dictate, there are some joys we won't be able to experience. But God has promised we will never lack. We will never be short of joy.

I hope you will be comfortable that I am happy. That you are not a factor to that. You can only make me happier, but never unhappy.

I hope you can accept my strengths. That there are things I can do on my own. That you would not take it as weakness when sometimes, I would not feel the need for you.

I hope you will not cower when I need you; To fix a broken  stove or annihilate rats; To  be the person who will tell me I look good; To calm my fears of not being enough for you.

I hope you can be comfortable to stay in the shadows sometimes. I would not wish to, but I am certain there will be days when I will outshine you. I pray you are the kind who would not be threatened when the light is cast on me. Remember, you are my sun. The moon only borrows its light from the sun.

I hope you will be patient with me. Some days, you will wake up to a stranger beside you. I am a hundred layers of something. I will make you cry. But I will try, with my frail hands, to soothe your pains.

I hope you have accepted the fact that I have loved men before you. And while I am certain that they are left to that chapter in the past, they form the fabric that made me capable to love. Again. Be at peace with your place in my heart. You have it full. You have it whole. You are worth the wait.

I hope that you realize how long I have waited for you. I have fought with myself and many intruders. I have gone through seasons of waiting and wilting, groaning and growing. I am covered in battle scars trying to defend that place in my heart where only your initials fit. And so, I hope that when you decide to take your spot in my life, you have counted the cost. When the need comes, you will let me fight for you.

I hope that the moment you find me, you will gather the courage in your heart, forsaking all fears --- and take me ---as I am, and for all the things I will be.

Not discounting the work of God's grace in my life--- I am worth the wait.

All my love.

Jabez💓

This Love

SOURCE

Simmered 

in conversations

and long pauses,

of quiet 

and wonder. 

I wait

for this love

to grow 

and glow

for each other.

Together,

for Him.

Love and Grace

There are memories we keep going back to. Sometimes we do it consciously, most times, out of habit. They are the ones when we loved with eyes wide open and feet flat on the ground.

But they are memories that have no future. Authenticity is no guarantee of strength. Sometimes, even true love gets tired. That’s where grace should come in.

I loved. It was grace I lacked.

Dear Heartbreak

I am convinced it is better this way; you and I in what they tag now as an LDR.

Some partings are not so easy. When I saw you off at the bus station, I knew it would be long before you'd come back. Somehow, there was a little sigh of relief on my part. Yes, I got used to having you around but I have life to run after. You left the way you came - via that bus station. I welcomed you with open arms, and I let you go without holding you back.

I know you so well. That makes it even harder to get you off my mind. I have memorized your anatomy. I know you too much I can complete a puzzle of your body parts. I know your scent from afar. I could tell you by your shadow. But it is more than your looks that is hard to forget. You have created imprints of caution and surrender in my heart.

On occasions when you visited me, I allowed myself to get lost in your embrace. It felt like you have carved a space in your chest for my head to rest. Most times, that felt more convenient than facing the uncertain. You held on to me like you were feeding on my energy and I spent most nights holding your hand. I knew it was hard for you to leave me. It was harder for me to let you go.

Sometimes, when you were away, just like now, I remind myself of the time we were together. I read my notes about you. I unearth the poems I wrote when I was with you. I listen to the songs that got us through long nights of waiting for the sun to come out and warm us up. I  bask under the moon and tell myself you are never far away. You never are.

I cannot count the ways you surprised me. I remember that one time you serenaded me on the phone. And that time you wrote me a poem. I am reminded of the many times you'd come up with an argument and kiss me when you know you are winning. And how can I not forget the time when I was living in another city and you surprised me and brought me home. Since then, I got used to you showing up at random times and places.

I have a funny feeling you are just around the corner, waiting to surprise me. And that, dear, is the reason why I am writing you. So let me get to that. Let me start with with this: You have changed me in many ways. You were a great teacher, a constant companion and the reason for most of my poems. But something happened while you were away that surpassed everything that I enjoyed when I was with you.

No flashy entrances, no fireworks in the night sky, and definitely no music played along. Someone came and quietly erased the memory of that night at the bus station. We have no special Sundays just plain, peaceful Everydays. No sweet words, just truth .No promises of tomorrows just joys of the present. And, no more nights of constant waiting - he shows up right on time.

Some partings are not so easy but it is easier now that you are already not here.

Dear Heartbreak, let's break up.

Love found me when what I was expecting was you.

SOURCE

p.s. Say Hi to Barry Manilow for me. And just in case you'd come by, save yourself and walk away.

Love is A Force

One of the best writers (in my opinion) i look up to is my cousin Sherl. I wrote about her love story here: If It Ain't Love it Ain't Grand. She recently wrote a poem describing her own love journey..and how, in November, it will end and yet begin another chapter at the altar. So, in the hype of the Royal Wedding, I found it fit to post this love-filled poem. Enjoy!

Love is A Force ( A Love Letter)

There once was a man

Who got in a jam

For the girl he once had

Broke his heart pretty bad.

So the man went about

Looking for ‘the one’ like a scout

Dated some gurl who was stout (haha!)

Found his soul still in drought.

There once was a girl

Who got in a swirl

For the man whose arms she had furled

Caused her weary heart to get hurled.

So the girl went away

Watching out for the happy and gay

Dated some guy who was lame

Found herself tired of the game.

But the man found a chance

In what begun as a glance

The bugs in his gut made a dance

Oh how he was in a trance!

But the girl was too evil

She donned the cloak of a rebel

The bugs in her heart were on level

Oh how she tried to only be civil!

Though the man fell from his high horse,

The girl owed him a sevenfold remorse

My Venus always says ‘Love is a force.’

Try as you may, you cant alter its course.

And so came the laughter and tears

The moments piled on, counted in years

The man and the girl swallowed their fears

And the bells will all be what one hears.

Hard may be the road,

In the walk toward the “have and to hold”

And long may be the wait,

For the name imprinted on our fate

One thing I am sure

In love and affection I will never be poor

It’s funny how I call you baby,

But you’re the best man for a lady.

And lady lady, I might never ever be (haha)

But you sure as hell ought to marry me!

- Sherlin Camacho

P.S. (So, I really need to turn the words My Venus into red, huh! hahaha! ) The photo above was taken during her Pre-Nup Shoot. She decided to take a weekend off and do her pre-nup at our province so she could be on my birthday. :D

Turning Thirty: Brewed, Brushed, Bolder..Older

When I stop and trace the path back to the day I started the last decade, I could see stone memorials along the way. In my opinion, the 20-30 decade is when most life changing decisions are made. At least, that’s what happened to me. One doesn’t come out of this decade just ten years older. You come out brewed, brushed and bolder…and yes, ooooolder. My, you wouldn’t believe ten years could make such difference.

To illustrate my point, I will compare the 20-30 decade with the 10-20 decade.

When I was 10, I was in school. When I turned 20, I was STILL in school.

When I was 10, I lived off my parents income. WhenI turned 20, I was STILL living off their income.

When I was 10, I dreamed of being swooned by a good guy. When I turned 20, I was STILL dreaming.

When I was 10, I looked forward to growing up. When I turned 20, I was STILL looking forward to it.

And then, there’s the 20 – 30 decade.

Between 20 and 30, I’ve worked in more than 2 schools.

Between 20 and 30, I’ve had 6 jobs.

Between 20 and 30, I’ve made money. Sometimes, not much.

Between 20 and 30, I’ve lived in 5 different cities.

Between 20 and 30, I’ve fallen in love 3 times. Apparently, fell out 3 times too.

Those things BREWED me.

Between 20 and 30, I earned a college diploma with flying colors.

Between 20 and 30, I worked as a Moderator of Co-curricular activities in a school and that’s where my talents welled up.

Between 20 and 30, I had countless stage-time that stirred my passion for public speaking.

Between 20 and 30, I won my first Speech title.

Between 20 and 30, I met 80% of the people I truly consider friends right now.

Between 20 and 30, I wrote poems and I allowed strangers to read them. I even wrote poems for strangers.

Between 20 and 30, I learned to love my hair.

Between 20 and 30, I gained all the weight I don’t need right now.

Between 20 and 30, I was educated by the best mentors, not in the classroom.

Between 20 and 30, I found my calling.

Those things BRUSHED my rough edges. (although I don’t really know how the weight and the hair fit in that category)

Now that I am 30, I am BOLDER.

Bold enough to take captive my own emotions just because they aren’t helping me.

Bold enough to walk away from what is good towards what is best.

Bold enough to fight for joy in the midst of suffering.

Bold enough to tell myself I am wrong.

Bold enough to let strangers invade my personal space because they don’t have any place they can call their own.

Bold enough to stand on a promise though the promise-keeper is frail.

Bold enough to keep standing on a promise made.

Bold enough to accept I have been wronged.

Bold enough to not hide my crushed pride.

Bold enough to say “Here I am, send me.”

Bold enough to admit I am never enough, no, not even for myself. Someone lives for me.

Bold enough to accept GRACE.

But if I am bold enough it is only because ... I hide beneath the CROSS.

To see my 10-20-30 transformation, see my other BLOG.

p.s. Oh, yeah…older too. Old enough to start a family, but

no one is bold enough to start it with me. Keeeeed-ing!!!

The Truth

I wonder if some of our questions will ever get answered.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My father told us of the story when he first liked a girl in high school.

He lived in a very rural area where houses were made of bamboo sticks and roofs were woven, palm-like leaves we call nipa. Since these are all light materials, the houses were often renovated by replacing old bamboo with new ones and removing dilapidated nipa with a fresh woven batch. When times are fortunate and the country doesnt suffer from very strong typhoons, it would take 6 to 8 years before one would need to do such renovations.

When my father entered high school, he liked a girl in his class. According to him, she was smart and stood out from among the girls. So, one day, he wrote a letter to this girl asking her to be his girlfriend, tucked it in an envelope and asked his closest friend to hand the letter over to the girl.

There were times when he thought the girl liked him too. At least, thats how it appeared to him. So he was very dismayed when a few days later, the letter came back to him, via his friend, still tucked in the same envelope. At 13, and in the presence of a friend, a defeat in the arena of love is just unimaginable.

He was so angry and hurt that he did not even dare to check whether the letter was read or not. When he traced his finger on the seal, he knew his message was rejected. So, to forget about it all, and to save him from further humiliation in case someone finds out about the letter, he tucked it underneath the woven nipa sheets, hidden from anyone's vision.

And he vowed to dislike her.

And she grew meaner by the day, giving him this angry looks.

Four years later, when it was time to change the roof, and he was manly-built enough to do the job, an almost unrecognizable piece of paper slipped from under the sheets. He picked it us and dusted it off only to remember it was the letter he had chosen to forget four years back.

He laughed at his stupidity. He was secretly embarrassed at the remembrance of that painful moment. Then, he decided to open the letter that seemed sealed. He was reminded of the indignant looks the girl had given him a few days after he decided to hate her. He remembered how he would intentionally choose to not be near her.

He opened his letter. His handwriting looked elementary. His words were now tasteless and did not spur any emotion, no, not even a sigh. He read it through, down to the very part where he signed his name. He laughed at himself again and decided to get back to working as the sun was starting to scorch his bare back. He thought of crumpling the letter and throwing it but decided against it just in case someone would suspiciously find it. His reputation , yes even in his household, was at stake. He decided to fold it, tuck it back in the envelope, and burn it right after he finishes his work.

And when he flipped the paper to fold it, he saw an unfamiliar handwriting at the back of the paper. He did not remember writing an extra line at the back. The handwriting didn't look like his either. In fact, it looked...girl-ly.

And the scribbled line said: "Yes, I want to be your girlfriend."

The four years was explained in that single sentence. Four years too late.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have questions too. Questions that if they were answered would have given light to situations that changed the course of my relationships. From that moment when I asked and I got back the 'look' that told me "YOU won't get any answers", I have surrendered. But surrender is a daily thing. I look up the sky sometimes and wonder if an answer is tucked somewhere, but, tell my self everyday, the answers are hidden for a purpose.

Someday, when it is cleaning time, it will come to me...but I am not so sure if they would still be of any value.

The truth will set us free

The truth is free

The truth is

I feel Free

Words

I am a student of Ravi Zacharias. I love apologetics very much. Today, I was on RZIM again to listen to him and take down notes. I will be posting my thoughts on that lesson in my other blog : Expanding My Territory.

He said something about 'words' that hit me in that sermon. I am a lover of words. I find beauty in words. I see words dance and play. I feel words. I have used words to my advantage and on some occasions, to my detriment. But here's what he said that I find to be a helpful thought when I write:

There is a massive difference between the use of fine words and the fine use of words.

Warmed Up: A Love Story

The night was gloomy. The November cold wasn’t helping. She held on to him for warmth like how she had for the few months that had passed. His heart had more than warmth to offer.

They drove around the city somehow realizing how funny fate could be, at the same time recognizing Someone had mapped it all out for them. For who could believe that in this small city, where everyone knows everyone’s shadow, they have not known about each other, up until 5 months ago. Despite the fact that they both lived here for more than 30 years, despite the many common friends they have, despite numerous government functions they were both present at, yes, despite the fact that they stood as godparents to two of their friends’ children, they only became aware of each other’s existence one God-given day in July.

Indeed, when love walks into your life, an ordinary day takes on a new dimension. On the day that was painted with waiting, her waiting for the right man ended. Along with her co-teachers, Lovella queued up to claim her honorarium at the COMELEC Office for the services she rendered during the last election. Mixing sweat and stories, like most joyful teachers, they waited for their turn. At one point, Edsel, her co-teacher and close friend mentioned about her singleness and jokingly volunteered to play cupid and find her a match. They mockingly discussed prospects and possibilities even as they joined another line of people, this time, buying fruits from the vendors near the office.

Just then, a familiar face, owned by a man riding a motorcycle crossed Edsel’s horizon. He took no second thought and muttered “Ma’am Love, how does an architect sound to you? See that guy? I know him. He’s single.” When Lovella turned around to look at this man Edsel was talking about, she only saw his back as he sped along.

No sparks. No fireworks. The clouds didn’t gather to form a wreath. No birds suddenly appeared to sing a serenade. Nature gave no clue that God had answered her prayers.

For days now she has been devoting some time to take a walk early in the morning and talk to God. It would be for forty days, like how she did it many times over when she would ask God for something. This walk that would conclude on her birthday would be for something she has long waited for – A lifetime partner. No, not a boyfriend, not a get-the-day-through guy but the one who would spend the rest of his days with her.

Unknown to her, Edsel was serious about introducing her to Fred. Serious may not describe his strategy of sending Fred an anonymous text containing Lovella’s phone number and an imperative “text her”, but he never doubted in his mind that they would make a good couple. So, he tirelessly sent Fred messages coaxing him to start a communication with her.

It was only when Love received a wrongly sent text message that she found out what was going on behind her back. It was from Fred, asking Edsel a question, giving the impression that he thought Lovella’s phone number was Edsel’s. Later on, he confessed of his disguising strategy.

Lovella replied modestly, showing not much interest. A reply started a conversation. A conversation started a regular and intentional communication, then, the resolution to finally meet each other in person.

That God-appointed day came. Without glamour and fancy, they met. Surprisingly, they realized, this wasn’t the first time they saw each other. One day,( while still in their phase of exchanging messages), on her way to work, Lovella saw a guy in black shirt cross the street and a strange feeling told her it was Fred. Today, she found out it was indeed him. Fred on the other hand, recalled a woman that caught his attention, clad in a little black dress, during a photo exhibit at the city hall. And yes, he remembered that face too, of a lady sitting poised in a tricycle, carefully covering the slit on her skirt with her right hand, looking at her while he crossed the street one day. And like long-time friends they talked, laughed and shared candid moments.

The talks translated into longer, deep conversations. The laugher turned to meaningful smiles and the moments were slowly filed into memories. The days unfolded the wonder they found in each other. Little by little their souls became transparent to each other. Their preferences, ideals and dreams were almost similar. Their common ground was slowly enlarging, laying the foundation to a meaningful relationship.

Falling in love is wonderful but the problem with love is, you can’t keep it to yourself. Fred could no longer hold the weight of love in his heart, he laid it out in the open. What woman could resist the heart of a man truly in-love? Lovella knew this was no ordinary man. He sought God’s will and He answered. She professed her love for him and together, they painted beautiful days.

When love takes you in everything changes. And on that cold November night, as they drove along the streets of this city they call their home, they noticed how ordinary things took on new meanings. The few months of knowing each other filled the empty cracks of the years that were behind them. To Lovella, the long waiting seemed like yesterday. On the other hand, Fred could only wish tomorrow is here today.

While she enjoyed the warmth of his presence, he longed to give her a future. He purposely stopped their street-combing in front of an edifice most familiar to both of them. Unlighted and empty at this cool hour of the night, the church seemed like a perfect façade for the proposal Fred had made up in his mind. Clueless of what was going to happen but marvelling at the gesture, Lovella enjoyed this quiet moment together, until he broke the silence. He asked her to marry him.

You now know what her answer was. Indeed, when God writes our love stories it is unlike the rest. He carefully scribbles His signature in our moments and weaves together amazing experiences that we call miracles. God gave Fred and Lovella their own brand of miracle. They now continue to warm each other in the fire of God’s love.

*Lovella is a good friend of mine and the photo above is one of their pre-nup photos. She works as a school paper adviser in a high school here in our city. While planning for her wedding, she decided to give it a personal flare and thought of making her invites look like a newsletter. In fact, the invite really is a newsletter!!! She gave me the honor of writing their lovestory. She and Fred will get married in May. photo courtesy of Fotographia*

If It Ain't Love it Ain't Grand

Today, I was blown away by a love story of which I am very much a part of. And I am even humbled to say I am.

They were college friends - like really tight friends belonging to a group of about 8 guys and three girls (im not so sure how many they were). He got his own thing going, she had hers. He pursued girls who wore skirts to ball games, she pursued a guy who had no idea about ballgames…and later on, preferred skirts.

Oh no, don’t even try to laugh about the latter. It was for her, and for us, a serious matter. So serious that when she learned about his change of ‘heart’, without restraint she booked the next flight to an island, grabbed her skimpiest swimsuit and dragged two of us, her cousins. When cousins come together at the oddest times of the year, say October/November, it only means one thing: P.A.I.N. Convention.

Alcohol is lame. We never used it to accompany our tears. If we had, it was for some other reasons. We faced pain head on, spilled the goriest details of ‘what went wrong’, and Philosophize Agony Into (complete and utter) Nonsense*. We were in a beautiful place…only, for the wrong reason.

So she sworned off men. No, not sworn off...she turned every opportunity of meeting men into a session of suspicious scrutiny. All the decent men she met fell on two categories: Gay and almost Gay. She concluded, and made us believe too that, all the straight men were either taken or two-timing. Haha!

And so we renewed the pact we had in college, that which was brought about by our lonely Sunday night teatimes: If we end up to be spinsters, we’d live together in a house, write and sew. She even started on a cross stitch project.

Tired of his random dating, he tried to take her out on dates. She went, because they were a clean way to get free food, free movie and some intelligent conversations. (Not only were guys around her not totally guys, they also lack wit.)

And who wouldn’t fall in love with Sherlin Camacho? She is the most honest, caring, selfless and true person I know. So, Dondy Duazo was smitten, and never recovered. He told her about it. She casually dismissed the proposal. He tried again, and another time... he found out, she was unlike the rest. He tried seven times.

She tried too. She tried to NOT care. But what woman can escape the presence of a man in-love? She asked God about this guy. And while she was talking to Him in silence, a language only a loving Father understands, Dondy squeezes her hand so tight. She knew, he’d never let go.

He has not. Even after being separated by oceans, even after spending countless nights eating noodles alone, even after her immature fits of rage, they still end the night saying: “I love you, babe!” in the presence God…and the countless spectators on Facebook.

He was proud of his cheesy-ness, surprising her with a bouquet of sunflowers one ordinary day.

Today, he didn’t know he was going to lose his balance. A Starbucks booth suddenly showed up in his office, treating everyone with that scandalously expensive coffee, all because: He turned 30! Suddenly, the background-kind of guy that Dondy is became known all over Lufthansa Technik. To say that he ‘blushed’ is waaaay below an understatement!

Was he to be embarrassed of such grand gesture? He had no idea what he was getting into when last year, at around this time, she asked her to marry him. He had no idea that this petite woman was capable of writing the VP of the HR in their company that “She wanted to surprise her fiancé so they have let her pull off her Starbucks trick”. All that while she is miles away - in Singapore.

Maybe a few years back, he didn’t know. But after today, I am sure he knows this:

He is to marry a woman who fights for love like her life hangs on it and would not hesitate, no, not even for a second, to let the whole world know about it.

I, a self-proclaimed Venus, sit silent. I tuck away my poems and maybe for today, lend her my throne.

I love you both, Sherl and Dondy!! :)

p.s. That's them in the photo :D

*The meanign of PAIN was her idea. haha!

7 Things and The Day

The lovely Jaycee of Light A Lamp awarded me the "Stylish & Versatile Blogger" award. Thanks Jaycee, it is wonderful to be tagged as such. *big smile* I have already thanked her for the award so I guess this is the part where I am suppose to write 7 things about myself.

The Seven Things:

1. Musicals. I love musicals. When I was 11, I starred as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz at a school play and since then I loved watching and doing musicals. My all time favorite of course is The Phantom of the Opera. I remember after watching (three times in the movie theater) the film version of The Phantom of the Opera, I went singing my way in class. I gave test instructions in songs. My kids went crazy...some, disturbed. I also love musical animated films. Dhjax said something about singing A Whole New World when he was young. Alladin, is one of my favorite animated musicals. And of course, who doesnt like GLEE?

Oh, I also directed a few musical productions when I was still teaching at a Chinese school.

2. Dance. I love dances/dancing/to dance. Again,it started when I was young and in school, when we were required to do the folk dances. I enjoyed it very much that I was always one of the dancers chosen to enter contests. In college, I wanted to join the dance troupe but my father strongly resented. He said he said he doesn't want me to inherit the 'dance club culture'. So I went to tell my cousin I want to form a 'Dance for Jesus' club instead.

Though I loved dancing I never tried it in club or a disco house. And I have only danced to perform...and none of those slow dances. Lately, I just go "ooh" and "aaah" over those dancers I see on tv. I will ask God for a chance to dance again :)

The other day, I saw on TV a feature on Macau, and you know what caught my eye? A theater showing "The Dancing Water"!!! I drooled o! Again, I will bend my knees for a chance to see it. May cost a fortune, but hey, my DAD is rich...so rich he owns the patent for water. Which btw, brings us to the third thing about me.

3. Water. Looking at bodies of water is therapy to me. I love the beach. Maybe it is because that i grew up living beside the seashore or maybe, the water was just really made to be therapeutic. Everyday, when I go to the center, I pass through two bridges, which means I see two 'waterforms'. It excites me all the time.

By the way, uhhmmm, I don't know how to REALLY swim.

4. Books. Books are equivalent to comfort food for me. Oh wait, maybe a little less than comfort food (I'm a cheeseburger-fries eater when I'm down). Some people shop for shoes, some for bags, I like to spend my money (which is not really a lot) on books.When I go to a bookstore and I see a book I can't buy yet, I write the title down on my planner and save up for it. I also enjoy going to second hand booktores. In fact, most of my treasured books are from there. I like the idea of reading a book that was pre-owned. Sometimes, the previous owners make markings on the pages which always arouse my interest. I have practiced highlighting the parts that 'affect' me most. I'm thinking of passing on these books to my children and grandchildren. Wouldn't it be exciting for them to find out 'why' i highlighted a certain part of the book?

Oh, I can count with my fingers the fiction/novels I've read. I don't read a lot of them but one I loved is Myne's "A Heart To Mend". I think everyone should go read her.

5. Stories. I'm a story-teller. A hard-core storyteller. In fact, if I leave everything I'm doing now, I can carve a career and a company out of being a storyteller. In fact, I've been 'offered' to do so. But, well, http://www.expandingmyterritory.blogspot.com/ explains why. Kids are mostly my favorite clients.

Give me an audience and I'd give you a show. My only capital is my voice and my limitless imagination, which are all by the way, not MINE. Seriously, this storytelling/public speaking thing is what I enjoy most. And I believe, God is paving my way to His STAGE where I get to tell people of His love.

6. Rats. I.CAN NOT. STAND. THEM. In fact, I will not even try to explain why.

Writing this post is so much harder than I thought. Whew!!

So my seventh is:

7. CNN/BBC/ AL Jazeera. No, you wouldn't hear me give loud opinions on world politics or some other issues. But I love to keep up with what's happening to the rest of the world. It is humbling to realize that my troubles are too small yet I whine like I want the world to stop turning. Really, when I watch CNN, I see that this existence is not about ME.

I wanted to write POETRY as one of the 7 things but hey, I don't want to state the obvious. Hehe!

Your rough hands

held mine

and I experienced

the Divine

Who brought us here

Who called us here

Who made us stitch continents

to be here

Your whispers

are close

seeps down

to my toes

that walked on mountains

and lapped oceans

fought lions, bee stings

and trojans

Hear me

tell you today

"From this time,

I am never walking away"

Darling, this day

is never too far away

p.s. I wanted to tag 15 people but I see everyone's already doing it. :)

Reset and Re-Write

In 2011, I plead for consistency in things. Mostly, in those that are beneficial like, work, good habits, healthy eating and patience. Yes, I plead for God to give me consistency in being patient. My patience is erratic thus, I blew off most of those things and relationships that are precious to me until today. I don't know God's ways but I know it will cost me some things.

I am a work in progress, as most people are. If you disagree with me, dig up your journals or your past blog entries and you wont contest. I just did. Rereading journal entries is a gravity pull, drowning me with humility. Really, one cannot boast of anything in his/her life except the miracle that God creates in him/her everyday.

I started writing on my journal when I was 14. Although it wasn't a daily thing, I wrote on a regular basis. It was one thing I looked forward to doing every single day (if i can). The one thing I was most consistent about. It was in my journals that my love for poetry was birthed.

Recently though, my entries were scanty. Blame it on blogging. Blame it on the non-essentials I carved a niche for. Blame it on TV. Oh no, blame ME. Most times, it was an effort to not write on my journal because there are things that I opted not to be 'inked'. I rather that they remain in my memory..that way they stand a chance at being forgotten.

We all want bad memories to NOT be remembered, right?

I wanted to. But a paradigm shift has brought me to think differently. Bad memories do not remain bad if the purpose why it happened has come to fulfillment. So now, I have the desire to write all memories that I could, good and bad because I want to see it unfold into a beautiful story. I have this belief that our lives are not lived just for our own benefits. Our lives are stories to some people that would encourage them to live.

One of my closest friends gives me books each special occasion. Seriously, most of the books in my rack are from her. This year, I was eager to get another one from her. But this year at Christmas, she wrapped two pretty journals for me and wrote in her dedication, "No books for you this year. It is time you start writing yours." I was moved to tears.

In 2010, I was close to giving up writing. But I guess that is why God gave men wisdom to design the calendar, so that people will have that tangible reminder that they can start all over again.

When 2011 ticked, I was put on Reset. That's why my journals are ready. It is time I Re-Write.

Third Poem

I didn’t know you’d last

until I write my third poem

I thought you we re feather like

Light

Unsaturated

Fleeting

Vanishing

In my silence you’d come

Rumbling

Shaking my skin and beneath

Leaving me

Slackjawed

Blue

Drenched

And when my gongs sound

Neon and orange lights dancing

And colored gumballs raining

On my usually cluttered life

You remain

Silent

Placid

Undisturbed

Careless

Unmindful

Guess you are more like the moon

Constantly changing your face

Ephemeral

Unmatched

Waxing

Then waning

Yet ever so uniquely

Illumines my night

This is one of my favorite poems from my 'vault'. I thought it would be nice to dig some pieces from there as my present situation doesnt allow me to produce some pieces. Its been a struggle writing these days.

I am finally ok. I thank God for the 'mind'. It helps us make sensible decisions. I thank God that after everything that has happened, I have only good things to remember. Well, its more of a choice to remember only the good things. What's the use of hoarding things that wont make you smile, right?

Well, here's me wishing everyone a wonderful Christmas. I'd be back for that well flavored Christmas post.And hoping I could write again with more depth. hehe. I kinda am embarassed at how shallow I have been writing.

thanks fro dropping by! Ciao!