This is a chronicle of her daily adventures, learnings, insights, miracles, etc. God did all the work, she just jotted it down. May you be blessed today!
Showing posts with label Creative Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creative Writing. Show all posts
You have probably leaped from one job to another a couple of hundred times already.Now, your mind is throbbing and your heart is palpitating ever so severely because you are itching to make another jump from your transcription specialist post.You plan to take a jump to who knows where and you might land splat dead.So before that happens, read on!This might be the answer to your quarter life crisis.
First, breathe in… breathe out… Calm your nerves.Call your doctor for a check-up tomorrow.You heard from the radio that too much thinking could tear more ulcer holes in your stomach.Visit the doctor.Doctor says you need to take a leave from work just to rest and relax.
Decide to quit work.Visit your mother who is all alone after your dad had decided to work as a chef in Hongkong.Currently, she is living with your aunt. Wear the brightest yellow top you can find in your closet.Wish that your shirt can do the brightening up for your mother when your mouth cannot curve to a compulsive smile.Her blood pressure may rise when she hears you have just quit your work.
Sleep at your aunt’s place tonight.Wait for five days until you share the news to your mom.The span of five days is the optimum to break it to her gently.On the first day of your stay, you will feel like your savings are depleting while your friends are busily earning their way up the corporate ladder.That is understandable.Don’t feel bad. Eat porridge.It will calm your nerves.Take a walk under the bright round yellow summer sun and absorb the positive energy of the kids on the playground.It may just perk you up incase you do not have a spare yellow shirt.
As you walk, take a journey down memory lane.What were your hobbies as a child?What made you happy?Remember the times when your mom baked banana walnut muffins for your neighbors.You would stealthily visit the fridge every so often until your mom thought there were rats in the fridge and decided to buy a new one.
On the second day, think that you may not be for the corporate world.Ask your mom to teach you how to bake.Learn to bake for the next couple of days.Compile the recipes and start a coffee shop nearby.Your mom says your muffins are as hard as your father’s head, and your sponge cake can pass as a paperweight.Go back to your room.Cry.Call a friend.Cry to that friend.It will calm your nerves.
Your friend says, “try writing.”You have learned a great plenty of words –xerophagia, economy class syndrome, endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography.So on the third day, write an article or two about ulcer.Send a pitch to a local medical magazine.You receive a reply: “Thank you for your query.Sorry, we cannot use your articles because we are only accepting contributions from medical doctors.”
Consider becoming a doctor on the fourth day.Connect those terms to actual practice. Check if you have six years to spare.But if you feel old, like the many others who are undergoing this same crisis, choose a different path.Run along the pace of the clock, maybe read some self-help books on the fifth day.“Finding Your Niche” sounds nice.
The books will say reflect on what you want to do in life.Do not mind what your mom, your friend, the medical magazine editor, or whoever, tells you to do.While you reflect, fix your things.Fix your mom’s things.This will help lessen her blood pressure when you announce the news later.
While you fix your things, survey the trashes.Learn how to recycle.Sew bags out of used plastics; create a business plan out of it.Get ideas from your files five jobs ago, when you worked as sales for a nonprofit organization.
Build up your inventory.Try sewing ten bags per design.Tell your mom the news and hire her as a quality checker.She tells you to go back and find a job.Try again.Maybe create something smaller.A wallet, perhaps.Thank your mom for her help.Give her the first wallet you’ve made.Try making pop-up greeting cards also.Learn from youtube.Give your mom a pop-up “Thank You” card.
Return to your condo and sign up for classes.Work on the skills that you enjoy doing.Find a partner who is of a complementing temperament.“Two heads are better than one” must have come from somewhere.Rest, as the doctor has advised.
This happens when we don't pause for a while stop for a sec and rest for a bit we go on and on like there is no tomorrow we rant and rant like there is no time to think and process our thoughts time flies and so we fly along with it we let the motions of the world take us around its axis we fly on the ring or what is known as the orbit we swing around the moon oh I mean the sun and so the day turns into the night the night turns into a day the day turns into a night once the night is over we are ready to hit the day we bring out our coach bag Mac makeup kit cellphone handheld landline laptop wallet with various credit cards we microwave the food from last night we take a couple of spoonfuls of rice we drink a cup of dark black coffee to keep us awake for the rest of the morning and we get in the car hit the gas at 120 km per hour and reach the office in fifteen minutes of course we pass by some stop lights during those much dreaded boring stops we bring out our makeup kit and apply the eyeshadow eyeliner and lipstick once we reach the office we drink another cup of coffee to keep us awake until late in the afternoon while we do our tasks for the day when we reach home we turn on our laptop log in facebook check out the notifications and read more updates we update our status and upload a new photo we wait for comments while waiting for comments we add another tab to our browser and surf the net we look at the clock it is now two in the morning we cannot recall what has happened during the day time has just passed one hour at a time we let the motions of the world take us round and round its axis as the night turns into a day the day turns into a night
Dig. Dig. Dig. The house was in the process of transformation. And the process entailed me to wake up facing a wreck. My princess bed was placed in the hall way; the foam topper for my bed was in the guest room; my empty cabinets and bookshelves were located at the terrace and I found all my books in boxes and all my art materials in black garbage bags at the guest’s bathroom. Everything was in disarray.
I was seated in the kitchen table as workers were banging the ceiling and the walls surrounding me. Arranged in front of me were bowls of steamed white rice and adobong kangkong with fried garlic topping and clear lapu-lapu soup. I wanted to eat alone.
I stabbed my fork in the bowl of kangkong as I veered away from the noise and the unpleasant sight. I learned to appreciate the fresh crispy green kangkong one evening twenty years ago. I was seated beside my mother at the same brown wooden table in the same country home kitchen. It was a few minutes after seven and I was already yawning and my eyes were heavy and closing. Inside my mouth was a mushy spoonful of rice with shredded chicken that I had been chewing for the past five minutes. It had turned into a homogenous mixture that I wanted to spit out so badly. Suddenly, I heard a crunch in my left ear. It was my mom whispering to me -- the exciting sound of eating, the surprising oomph that came with every bite. My mom told me it was kangkong. It was that icky green thing in the middle the table that I never thought of getting. I hated vegetables. Then another crunch.
“Aren’t vegetables fantastic?” She held up her fork with kangkong leaves and shoved it in my slightly opened and hesitant mouth. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound burst from my tongue, passed through my small palette, and reverberated in my ears. My ears told my brain, you should like vegetables. I had another bite and realized it was not as awful as it looked; another bite and I decided it was going to be my one and only favorite vegetable; another bite and I whispered the sweet nothings to my mom.
She taught me to enjoy eating vegetables. She told me to take the fats off the adobong baboy and it would still taste as yummy. She influenced me to love eating onions in the corned beef. She took me along with her as we spend joyous afternoons in the mall window shopping and eating ice cream together. She enjoyed making me pretty. She loved to buy me blouses with ruffles, tops with beads and little trinkets and pants that fit my chubby thighs. She taught me my abcs. She had me take piano lessons. She poured her precious time to make arts and crafts with me.
Art was our common passion. During summer, while she painted cherry blossoms with peacock on her several meters long white canvas, I would draw Mickey Mouse and Kero Keroppi on my 5”x8” sketch pad. After each drawing, she would say “Wow!” with a huge smile beaming on her face. It made me want to draw more.
She also enrolled me in piano classes. Every Sunday morning at 8, we would go to one small house in Quezon Avenue and I would play my Hannon and A Dozen a Day books. I would spend one tedious hour in front of the piano counting down the minutes until my mom and I would reunite and walk to the nearby bookstore where she’d buy me a Sweet Valley Kid pocket book. In gradeschool when I started liking boybands, I would ask her to buy some cassette tapes for me. She'd tell me she’d do so as long as I take voice lessons. But I was shy then and told her “It’s okay, no need.”
She would also give me diaries on summer breaks so I would be able to write whatever experiences I had on the days I was free of school work. I would write about our trips to the mall and the cute products I had seen. Once I found a twenty peso bill on the floor while I was biking near the CCP complex, I tried to get it but I fell and hurt my thumb. That was also written in my diary. I learned to write poems. I learned that the last words of some of the verses rhyme. When I read the poems to her, she would tell me “good job.”
As years rolled by, I developed new habits and interests. My piano-playing lessened. My liking for writing daily matters such as where I went, who I was with, what I did, how much I spent decreased. My time for drawing has been used elsewhere. I took more time playing the computer than talking to my family. I watched youtube to learn about crafts. I made my own cards, notebooks, box containers and the like. The shopping days with mom were exchanged with time spent with friends. She said I was turning into a different person. I told her, “This is the same me, but I just know what I want now.”
When I entered college, she told me to be very careful with boys. They were people who would take advantage of me. “Some guys might sprinkle mysterious dust in your drink, make you unconscious and then rape you and kill you.” When I asked her if I could go out with a guy, she almost always replied with a “no”. Studies first, she said. When I asked if I could go out just to have some fresh air, she said no, it’s dangerous outside. I felt that she was already controlling my life. I had no room to explore. I felt I was left with little opportunities to learn, to fail and to succeed.
I tried to flee away from her grasp. I did things that she did not know of. I kept secrets. It was my way of being independent. There were times when I would sneak to their refrigerator and grab a bite of chocolate. I wouldn’t want her to catch me and say, “I thought you’re on a diet?” or “Hey, I told you it’s not good to eat sweets at night, you’ll get a sore throat again!”
Oh, I’m craving for chocolates again. I know there are still some funsize Snickers bars left in the ref.A couple of days ago, we went to Duty Free Philippines for a tax-free shopping spree. We were in my favorite section -- the sweets corner! Just the bright and bold colors of M&Ms plus the swirl of the red and white striped candy canes already lightened up my mood. It was like a glimpse of heaven for my spoiled sweet tooth. I scanned the aisles, passed through the Hershey kisses, saw the Hershey dark chocolate bars, told my mom that antioxidants in this type of chocolate is good for her. Hinting that she should buy one and we, or rather I, could enjoy it at home. Walked past the Cadburry station with all its milk and fruit & nuts variants, skipped a few aisles and reached my favorite brand of chocolates, Snickers. I picked up a funsize pack and turned it around, lo and behold, it costed $6.80. I put it back and told my mom how expensive chocolates have become.
Our walk made both of us hungry. Mom told me to grab anything I liked. I shook my head. My tummy could wait, and besides the prices were more expensive than the last time and they were not good for the teeth. She said it was okay, she was also getting hungry. I held up a cheaper snack. She said okay. But after a while she suggested maybe we should grab a pack of Snickers instead. Although I didn’t tell her about me and my love (Snickers), she somehow sensed that it was my favorite from the whole chocolate troop. Probably it was a “mother’s instinct.” And she told me to go get that instead. I retorted saying it’s quite expensive and I won’t be able to finish it anyway. She insisted that it was okay and promised that she’d take one.
I realized that the phrase “mom knows best” is oh-so-true. Just by looking at her child, a mom would, most often than not, already know what the child’s eyes are saying and what the child’s words are implying. I made other stops too, held other packs too. But my mom knew what I wanted. And I also realized that mothers do not really intend to withhold life & vigor or fun & play from us children, when they say “no”. They have a reason behind locking the chocolates away from us. Deep in their hearts, they want us to be happy and be full of life. They tuck unhealthy things away and shield us from danger’s snare because all they want is for us to be joyful, healthy and alive.
Okay, so maybe I’ll get a piece of snickers after I finish this other thing. The hot steaming lapu-lapu soup was not among my top ten food hit list. And yet, it was calling me. I could already hear my mom say, “Eat it, it’s good for your health.”
The bowl of clear soup reminded me of the time I got sick two years ago. It was a dark moment in my life when I found an odd mass growing inside my stomach. It made me look like a pregnant lady carrying a four month old baby. At first I thought I was just getting fat, until I consulted a churchmate who happened to be a doctor. She told me to undergo an ultrasound as soon as possible.
When my mom took me to the doctor, he advised me that I should already prepare for an operation within three days. Mom kept me calm and told me it was going to be okay. The night before the operation, she sat beside me and prayed with me. I felt a deep peace that God was with me through it all. My mom was with me the whole time. Day and night. Before and after the operation. She was like a God-sent angel that would stay by my side no matter what.
After the operation, even when my mom was busy with all the household chores, she would cook this lapu-lapu soup for me everyday for a whole month. She said “It’s to heal your wound much faster. It’s what your grandma cooked for me after I got pregnant with you.”
As I took more sips of the lapu-lapu soup, I realized that the love of a mother is really different. A mother’s love for a child is incomparable to any other love that has ever been shared (except the unfathomable love of God). She only wants the best for her child. So even if a lapu-lapu would cost her time, money, effort and a bit of rejection from me (sorry mom!), she’d scale it and cook it, just to give the healthiest food to her child.
Even if I said “no” to her countless times whenever she fed me vegetables, she would think of creative ways to make me like it without coercing me. Even if I answered back whenever I felt constricted, she would forgive me and let things pass. That is a mother’s love -- forgiving, enduring, unconditional.
Crunch. Crunch. I munched on more kangkong leaves. I almost finished the whole bowl when my mother walked in the kitchen.
“Have you eaten, mom?” I asked.
“No, you go ahead.” She busily washed the pile of dishes in the dirty kitchen.
“You must be stressed with the renovation. Let me cook for you this time, mom.” I stood up, grabbed a kilo of beef sliced into chunks, crispy lettuce and saba.
Mom smiled.
I served my mom one of her specialties -- pochero. That’s a different story altogether.
A burning and deluding passion inside Cracked the innocence of mankind, They cover their bodies with leaves and twigs Their sins shadowed by the false righteousness they sing.
They who were beautifully and wonderfully made Hid in seclusion. The light and vigor fade Wholly, unduly, into darkness.
he twisted like the serpent -- Although cunning and independent, The purpose of life he yearned, Is not in the darkness, he learned.
his emptiness, hunger and thirst were left unquenched like a curse. “Lord, Lord,” he cried out From darkness, he wanted out!
When he heard Jesus call his name he faced Jesus with regret and shame The door to his heart he unlocked, Jesus reached out and welcomed him back.
he called Him Savior, he reached for His hand he journeyed with Jesus to near and distant lands From the darkness he left, the bondage of sin he escaped, By the blood of Jesus, his eternal crimes were cleanly scraped.
Sometimes he fails to remember That while on earth, he is still a sinner Ready to be tempted and devoured By Satan who is creeping around the corner.
Yes, he still sins and acts in folly and haste And sometimes he even wanders in a “keep-off” miry place. he realizes that even if his spirit is poor and weak he can not escape from God's firm and loving grip.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. ~ Romans 8:38-39
The Master spoke, but I scarcely heard Above the noise and the din Of hurrying feet and hammer-stroke-- I was building a a house for Him. Then He took me aside and He taught me this While earthly things grew dim-- He would rather a place in this heart of mine Than the house I was building for Him.
