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

Do You Know?

Look at me

Stand up and look me in the eye

Now,

Listen

Do you know I remember the first night we met?

And the nights after

When you kept saying hi?

Do you know I remember the first Christmas you called?

When I didnt remember

I gave you my number?

Do you know I remember the day you said ‘I love you SO MUCH?”

And I said, “thank you”

I thought it was really much

Do you know I remember asking you many times

What you mean by it

Coz you said it all the time?

Do you know I remember that you didn’t explain?

That you just think I’d dismiss it

And reasons would be vain?

Do you know I believed it with all my heart?

That I knew I was playing

A game with Art?

Do you know I believed all your explanations?

When I tried to run away

Because I couldn’t understand our situation?

Do you know I tried to un-love you?

But I reasoned with myself

Saying love is me

Do you know I never doubted you?

Do you know I appreciated every word you said?

Do you know I treasured all our conversations?

Do you know I remember your Valentine poem?

Do you remember saying it was for me?

Did you have a change of heart so fast?

Do you know I was in love with you?

Do you remember telling me if you were too?

Do you know I knew you weren’t?

Do you know I just wanted one answer?

You only had to choose

Between Yes and No

Do you know I held no anger?

Do you know I blamed no one?

Do you know I accepted defeat?

Do you know how it feels like to be made a fool?

Do you know I felt it?

Do you know I never blamed anyone for it?

Do you know I was determined to stay quiet?

Do you know someone you love talked me out of it?

Do you know I just couldn’t care?

Do you know I am now numb towards you?

Do you know the reason why I am writing this?

Do you know that if you say Yes

I still wouldn’t rest my case?

If you know

Stand up and look at me in the eye

If you know

let me know

Now,

Speak

i write in suppressed anger

Gravediggers We Have Become

we gave names to our dead

no, not names

codes, numbers

to represent our blunders

we planted daisies by the plot

to cover the dreadful

remembrance of the dead

an embarrassment to the living

we engraved lines on stones

dirges, odes and poems

and passers-by notice

only the craftsmanship

by day we ride our horses to town

telling stories of those we buried

and the crowds shed tears

only of laughter

(we have successfully spun

tragedy into comedy)

But by nightfall…

we found pleasure in digging up graves

pits we dug ourselves

to bury what was meant for the soil

and the worms to feast upon

Gravediggers we have become

With a pen for a spade and a sad song

Bringing above ground

The rotting silent corpses

(And each night

They grew smaller

and less pungent)

But by each daybreak

when our bodies are tired of the digging

we surrender to sleep

the dirt, our easy beds

(and when the sun is high

we ride to town again

and by nightfall

we dig some more)

...

if only we saw the crosses

we sculpted on each grave

we wouldn’t have grown old

sleeping on dirt, and with calloused hands

photo not mine. taken from here

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*