JASMINE IN MY MIND

March is International Women’s Month. And though it lacks the glitter and festivity of  Valentines, Christmas,  or New Year — it significantly heralds in this world a woman’s existence, her resiliency, and her loving heart.

In the spirit of women’s month, I will shut off my mind from that constant illusion of attaining a scorching summer bod which, obviously, reeks of inebriated narcissism. Besides, it’s way too unrealistic to even consider. I’ve been pigging out all day, never minding the fact that our bathroom scale can no longer carry my weight. If it can only speak, God knows what it’ll be yelling at me each time I set my gigantic frame on it!

Why not write about women who made contributions amidst heaps of trials and challenges? Women who have made my imagination aflame with their colorful and dangerous lives? And women of substance I’d love to emulate?

My strongest influences came from the family so I’ll list my mother first. Well, her life story’s a melodrama of sorts: lost her father when she was a few months old,  got her older sister killed due to an accident, gave up school at fifteen to find herself a job, married my father at nineteen and had me at 20.  Yet, young as she was, she raised all six of us the best way she can. Her sacrifices seem so vivid after all these years. She’s the earliest to wake up in the morning and the last one to sleep at night. Day after day, she’d prepare delicious meals knowing how picky eaters we all are. Her patience is beyond compare when it comes to assisting us in our school work and assignments. You bet I’d pale in comparison. My mother know by heart lessons in Science and History that she didn’t need to read our textbooks in order to review us. There were unpleasant memories but mostly because we need to be disciplined. I do not regret it especially now that I am a parent myself. In fact I appreciated it more that I tasted bitter-sweet days in my childhood. Perhaps I’d be a spoiled brat if it weren’t for those.

Fast forward to today, she means several other things. Nanay is graying-hair-dyed-black, squeaky clean floor tiles, fancy flower vases and neat flower gardens, facial moisturizers and reading glasses, fresh fruits from the backyard, baked goodies/meriendas and aromatic coffees. And most of all, my mother is a welcoming hand that misses and asks me to come home all the time!

The others that follow are randomly listed.

Evita Peron. Yes, she’s the inspiration behind the classic pop “Don’t cry for me Argentina, the truth is I never left you…all through my wild days, my mad existence, I’ve kept my promise….” Evita is María Eva Duarte de Perón,
first lady to late Argentinian strongman Juan Domingo Peron. While reading her memoir (The Life and Death of Eva Peron by Paul L. Montgomery), I was totally blown by her person. She had this reputation of being one of the most notorious women in the 20th century. But behind all that is a child. I think she never outgrew her sordid past. She might have fed first-rate scandals but she also built the most beautiful orphanage in the world, gave her countrywomen the vote, and fed the poor.

Evita was a country girl who unbelievably used all her means to reach the pedestal. Imagine, she died at the height of her glory with a whopping $20M nestled in Swiss bank accounts.

President Cory Aquino. I blogged about her some months ago. As far as empowering the people is concerned, Tita Cory stands out without a question. Such a selfless woman-leader deserves all the adulation we Filipinos have for her up to this day. One’s greatness is truly known even when a person is no longer present. And in her case, I genuinely felt her superiority over crooks who have and who are continually managing to lure us under the pretense of grand promises. (TBContinued)

In a matter of weeks, my two younger brothers will be graduating in college and high school respectively. Finally I can now heave a sigh of relief.

Early last year, my parents requested that I take ward of them during this final phase in their academic life believing they need role models to look up to. Nanay and Tatay have always been a staunch believer of education. They ingrained in my young mind to persist no matter what it takes to be educated. (True enough, I took it seriously even if it meant skipping meals and taking odd jobs.) Since my youngest brother dreams of becoming the best cock fighter and “tambay” in our small village in Bikol, they decided to have him spend his fourth year in HS under my tutelage.

But I must say, the process was never easy.

Adjustments had to be made, in terms of disciplining, time, attitude, etc. I have to make plenty of sacrifices especially with my youngest brother who thinks refusal to accept authority is in vogue. In fact, the times I have sought my parents’ advice outnumbers the amount of time I allot in minding my own children. Who wouldn’t be alarmed if your brother goes out late at night apparently for reasons any sane mind will have difficulty comprehending? Or when you go visit his school and find out he’s smoking inside the classroom? Or if the teacher tells you straight-face that your brother had been skipping his classes? Worse, I caught him piercing his lower lip with a needle! There was also one occasion when I spotted a huge mark on his right shoulder, the kind that you see marked on animals? Gross!

When I was his age, I knew my responsibilities well. It never entered my mind to try alcohol or any vice for that matter, cut classes, and all the stuff that will jeopardize my future. I was ever studious and serious. Although that might not be an ideal way to handle personal and school pressures - I’m glad I was successful at finishing school.

People are idiosyncratic. That’s why I respect differences, as long as it does not bother anybody. However, it’s an entirely different case when you are dwelling with other people. You should learn, as much as the other party tries to, adjust. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any of that happening with my brother. And this is when I start to scold them. The older one, we call him Nono (my third sibling), was mature enough to handle my nagging moments. Oh you bet, I get angry every time I go upstairs and see what a mess they’ve made of their room! I get ballistic at the sight of unwashed dishes. I transform into a monster when I see they did not even bother sweeping the small garden upstairs. But that’s just how I am. After the nagging, I do all the jobs and messy chores they left. The clothes scattered on the chairs are put inside the laundry basket. Papers, pens, scissors, cutters strewn everywhere are placed in one area. Floors are swept free of litters and dry leaves. And even if I am mad, I still hand him his allowance.

All because I care. I do not want them to live a miserable life in the future. My constant reminder “Please help yourself as much as other people tries to” pisses him no end, telling me to stop because I’m like a broken record. Maybe my siblings see me as the evil sister because I always try to meddle and insist on my share of thoughts. But I take that with a grain of salt. No matter what, they are my sisters and brothers. I get affected by whatever hurts or frustrates them. And being the eldest, I can’t seem to take that they will suffer the same heartaches I encountered along the way.

In the final analysis — we are still a family. When all else turn to shambles, who will accept you with both arms? Who will be there even when you made the biggest of mistakes without judging you? Family members are our best friends, they don’t leave us…they stay behind all the time… Yet, they also do not tolerate evil ways and they’re always ready to praise you when you need one.

Maki and Nono, happy graduation!

When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I’ve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.

Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce.. I raised the topic calmly.

She didn’t seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why?

I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Dew. I didn’t love her anymore. I just pitied her!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company.

She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Dew so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.

The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn’t have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Dew.

When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.

In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce.
She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month’s time and she didn’t want to disrupt him with our broken marriage.

This was agreeable to me. But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day.

She requested that everyday for the month’s duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door ever morning.. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.

I told Dew about my wife’s divorce conditions.. . She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully..

My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mummy in his arms. His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don’t tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman carefully for a long time.. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me.

On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn’t tell Dew about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger.

She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily.

Suddenly it hit me… she had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her head.

Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it’s time to carry mum out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.

But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, I hadn’t noticed that our life lacked intimacy.

I drove to office…. jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind…I walked upstairs. Dew opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Dew, I do not want the divorce anymore.

She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead.. Do you have a fever? She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry, Dew, I said, I won’t divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn’t value the details of our lives, not because we didn’t love each other any more. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart.

Dew seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away.

At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us apart.

That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run up stairs, only to find my wife in the bed - dead.

The small details of your lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property, the money in the bank. These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy. Do have a real happy marriage!

“Marlene says her son went into hiding because they knew they were up into an influential person - the victim’s father - and couldn’t possibly find justice in the country. But if her theory is to be believed, if in fact her son is the victim of a conspiracy, then wouldn’t his innocence be his prime defense?” - R. J. David, PDI, 01/24/2010

Watching Marlene Aguilar spew defense for her son Ivler leads me back to a remarkable story my Nanay and Tatay repeatedly told in my childhood. Those storytelling sessions by the way, mostly happens when one of us did something wrong. For the record, I hold the distinction of committing the most of our little “crimes” from fist-fighting with my cousins to bawling with my younger sibs over television channels. In short, I was the most suplada. Hmmmm. But take note of the ‘was’.

My father would tell us the story of a young man about to be sentenced to death. As his execution comes near, the jail officials asked for his last wishes. He said he only have one: to see his mother for the very last time. The latter came to bid her son’s last request. On that certain day, the son asked: “Mother, why did you not tell me what I was doing then was unjust and wrong? Why didn’t you correct me when I did so many bad things in the past? And now I am going to pay those with my life…”. The mother said tearfully, “..because I love you that much, son! I could not bear to see you hurt or unhappy!”. With that, the young man asked if he can kiss his mother, but instead he bit his mother’s ear so hard until she bleeds and cries to death.

How violent. My young mind did not bother validating if it was a true account though. All I know is that having heard of it countless times inculcated in me the crucial role played by parents in the lives of children. Parenting is like cooking in many ways. Never set the fire too low for it will leave your meal uncooked. Never set the fire too high, or you’ll end up eating a piece of charcoal. Marlene seem to epitomize that and gives  parenthood such a bad name. In most of her interviews (that I watch despite my irritation), I can see her attempt to cover up the real issue and bring the limelight to her instead. Is this what a mother’s supposed to be? No wonder her son grew up that way. Am I being judgmental? Perhaps I am. Perhaps not? Who in his right mind would shoot a complete stranger simply because a  misunderstanding ensued? Traffic altercations doesn’t give anyone, not even a HOT young man (lets qualify that as being born to alta/high profile parents with looks enough to attract a horde of fans), the license to murder humans. I wonder if he has any blood relations with Mayor Ampatuan.

Mistaken Identity. So they were claiming innocence. And yet, there are the more innocent ones who had been dragged to this. 26 year old Jason Aguilar from Bulacan was detained for having been mistaken as Ivler. He worked as welder in Qatar to support his family in the Philippines. We learned later on that aside from mistaken identity, he was also a victim of illegal recruiters. Some recruitment agencies have no heart. They’ll suck your blood until you become lifeless!

I felt bad knowing that Aguilar was arrested by the Qatari police and had to stay for seven days in prison with no idea why he was jailed in the first place. He doesn’t even know the story behind Mr. Ivler and yet he had to endure all that. I mean, he wore the same clothes from day 1 to day 7. What if it had been one of us? I for one could not think of better ways to get out of the situation sane and intact. Had Marlene Aguilar surrendered her son the first time an offense was made, no innocent people will be involved. What if it was you?

Extra Bragging Rights. For the nth time, Ms. Aguilar did not fail to mention her books, her son’s being a former special forces member, her works of art, but never really answered questions about the road-rage shooting incident (one with a stranger and the other with Ebarle’s son). Of course people have every right to fair trial but as a popular adage goes “res ipsa loquitor”. The only thing missing is court trial. If he is innocent, as his camp claims — why did he go into hiding? Why should Marlene Aguilar deceive the police and the people that his son suddenly went missing? People are not that stupid. They can easily detect it when you’re lying under your teeth. The last time you were blaming the Americans as the root and cause of your son’s plight, now you’re asking them to “rescue” him.

To be continued

A courier service messenger came with a package for me the other day. This is unusual, I thought. I seldom receive gifts now that I’m a parent except from generous girl friends who happen to have the same initials (my kumareng M, and my good friend M). I was puzzled while alighting from the tricycle as to where it could’ve possibly come from. I signed the tracking form and found out it came from Johnson and Johnsons. Weeeee!!!! Faith loved them and asked if we could share using the products. The violet-colored container (Johnson’s Body Care melt-away stress) suits me well because of its calming effect. Daughter prefers Johnson’s Body Care (24-hour lasting moisture).

share the softness with your friends

mild scents

Faith hiding her mumps

We had a simple but the best Christmas this 2009. This is memorable for us because in the past we spend the season away from each other.

I posted some of our pictures here.

my own banana muffin (i dont bake thats why this is already an accomplishment hehe)

yihaaa, my creamy baked mac

hubby's roasted chicken and baked potatoes

my hija got mumps but happy just the same

my son doesn't like his pictures taken (by me hahaha)

yay, thats me goofin' around our living room

i made this Christmas wreath by myself

candles to light our way

hatsssss(suuuuuuuu!)

foodieeeeee!!!

Have a blessed and joyous Christmas! Cheers!

Eight years ago, at this very instance, I was counting from one to five  in an attempt to overcome painful contractions. Then I’d take long, deep, breaths. One-two-three-four-five….breathe in, breathe out…one-two-three-four-five…breathe in, breathe out…

The vehicle’s accelerated momentum, hubby’s gentle reminders and instructions, all the previous Lamaze infos blurred instantly. What was clear then was the excruciating pain brought about by an effacing and dilating cervix, as if a giant’s pushing hard from within me. I thought, my goodness, it doesn’t make any difference at all whether you’re a first-time mom or a second-time mom. Why didn’t I have the same luck as other women who can deliver a child just by standing!?

You’ll know the baby is coming out once labor pains happen at regular, closer intervals. And so I distracted myself from birthing anguish by counting. Did it made things easier? Partly, yes but I still made a promise not to have another pregnancy. My only concern was to make it through our destination without my daughter dangling between my legs. When I reached the hospital, the scenario was even weirder. They took a blood sample from me since my skin had a pallid-yellowish color. The doctor suspected I might have had a jaundice. Right after that, I was told to undress and put on a green gown with the entire back area exposed, was put on a stretcher, and was told to wait until the dilation reaches 8-cm. Other would-be moms beside me were wailing endlessly, commanding the attending nurses to call the doctor and send them to the Caesarian section. They were like “Dok, biyakin nyo na…” I was suppressing my laughter while the others were in their semi-acrobatic stint. Kanya-kanyang porma na. May nakatuwad na, may nakadapa, may nakataas ang dalawang paa. Hala.

Somehow, I was proud that I managed to keep my cool, despite the throbbing sensation. I shut my mouth and observed instead. The pain was no joke! It felt like the baby’s boxing my innards out. Twice I gave birth, but during those times, it was only myself and the husband. I did not experience giving birth with my mother’s comforting presence beside me. Despite that, and deep inside — I know my mother was praying hard for me and her grandchild’s safety.

After two hours of laboring, my second and youngest child was set to see the world. But being the KSP that she is, the entrance must have with it some drama. It has to be grand. My MONTHS of practice and breathing exercises did not work. I was battered and hopeless. I told myself, alright, you’ll have to do this one last push okay. What I did instead was to shout horrendously while pushing hard. The doctor, who was gentle at first, started to panic. I was really shouting at the top of my lungs, the other moms outside thought I was dying! Finally, Faith came out. And she came with the loudest cry a newborn infant could muster. The doctor said, “o yan tuloy misis–nagmana sayong anak mo, ang lakas humiyaw!”.

Happy 8th birthday, Faith! We are so blessed to have a daughter as sweet, as bright, and as loving as you are.

We are on the last throes of November and soon after, its Christmas time once again. Unlike the previous Christmases though, we may not be visiting folks in Bicol for the traditional Noche Buena and Media Noche. Hubby and I are to spend the Yuletide season together. Here’s the story. Faith and I left for Pili last year, while he and Elmo stayed in San Jose. So we were actually miles away from each other.

We are also saving to buy something we’ve been wanting to have.

Some good news.

My daughter, for several days now, has been coming home wearing a beaming expression on her face. Faith is naturally a happy kid, so you can imagine how she behaves when elated, as if in a trance! Last time she proudly showed us two nice-looking key chains given by her teacher. It’s because she’s consistently getting high scores in her subject. Today she’s jumping with joy for getting plus points in her art project (a paper weight made of stone, painted with watercolors) Nice piece of work, bebegel!

There are several reasons why family reunions are such a big deal in my case. While most of us revel in quiet solitude, I yearn for the wonders of babbling sounds, toddlers tugging at their mom’s dress, and funny antics ready to be showcased any time a little coaxing is done. Reunions are a time to connect with one another and a chance to meet those who will continue the family’s blood line.

The latter, which I would love to talk about, is central to the family’s youngest members. To date, I already have four nephews and nieces. Including Elmo and Faith, my parents have six grandchildren in all. Actually, I’ve been planning to craft a blog entry about each one of them. I find it a uplifting each time I get to hear stories about these little ones, how similar and yet diverse each of them can be.

Something quite funny about the cousins is the fact that they all inherited our infamous troll-like hair. Yung tipong nakatayo talaga at kala mo mga karayom na tutusok nang matindi. All of us have thick  manes of hair. Not one of us was born ‘kalbo’.  As early as one month, my pamangkins whether male or female can sport ponytails!

Cedric Von aka Bonito is 8 years old. He was second eldest (Elmo being the oldest of them) among the cousins. What I cannot forget about him is his uncanny adherence to new technologies.  At his age, he owns several gadgets we mostly find with adults: PSP, cellular phone, PC. The list is growing longer, thanks to his ninong who showers him with gifts. Techie kids have upsides and downsides though. With Bon, I’m afraid he’s becoming somewhat robotic that I can not talk to him straight because he is ultra-busy. On the good side, he does well in his class. Mom Grace and Dad Joey are proud parents to him, year after year, as he reaps honors and medals consistently.

Pamangkin 2 is Ananda Venice aka Anands Kulit. She’s the younger sister of techie Bonito. What her kuya lacked in playfulness & creativity, Ananda compensated well. On the days I’d drop by their house in Sampaloc, she’ll scour my bag for lipstick or make-up kit. She knows how to work flattery to her advantage. A conversation between us would likely ensue this way:

Ananda: Tita Bebet, ang ganda ganda mo. (replete with twinkling pa-kyut eyes). Oo nga, ang ganda mo (this time, eyebrows are moving up and down).

Me: Ows, talaga?

Ananda: May make-up ka? Akin na lang, kasi ayaw ako bigyan ni Mommy!

See. Thats how clever she is. And she’s only 4. Hehehe. Ananda sings and dances like a pro and oh, she makes giling better than the EB Babes or Rochelle Pangilinan. She can recite poems, or do some modeling. Her mom once told me that after being scolded  — the latter would invent songs and feign crying! As in, she would hum some lyrics she made up. My sister instead of maintaining her composure, ends up laughing.

Pamangkin 3:  Aoi Ymir aka Aoitots turned 1 year old last August. My nephew was born to geeky parents. Nah, just kidding. His mom (my sister) and dad are both DOST scholars. Indeed, Aoi has the making of a scientist too. A hunky-cutie-scientist that is. Now I couldn’t access info about the little boy, he’s cloaked in secrecy at the moment. Lol. My parents were terribly missing him. You see, he’s been with them for quite some time because mom and dad are working somewhere.

The fourth and the youngest of them is Akilah Yzabel aka Khaele (only nine months old). Akilah and her chubby cheeks makes me want to have another baby. I super-super love cute babies!  We we’re invited during her Christening last August but I was so busy then.

The last time I saw her was like, May this year? Yay, forgive Tita Bebet’s memory gap.

Family reunions are valuable moments I look forward to, though it doesn’t happen as often as I wish it to be. Kids grow up too fast, before we knew it, they’re already teenagers.  In fact, by the time I reach my late 30’s I’ll already have a college student. Faith will be in high school then.

As far as children are concerned, I would like to borrow Bruce Barton’s words: If you can give your son or daughter only one gift, let it be enthusiasm!

Lookie!

Before these kids, there’s us!

From L to R: me (10 yrs old), Marianne (3), Lola, Grace (8), Eric (6)

Us now:
(Grace, moi, Marianne, Eric. All three of us are married except Eric). Pictures of second batch Maki and Shai not included (reserved for future post)

I super love my blog’s new layout! Maraming salamat, Wordpress.

My real intention’s to churn a decent entry for the day. But actually this is what I wanna do. I want to get a pair of scissors, sharpen them until they glint like gold, then cut my hair till I look like Britney! Why should you do that, you wanna ask. Because I am so bored right now.
Forgive me for the bland title though. It’s the kind J would mercilessly point as “walang kalibog-libog”. You bet it’s pretty normal for one to lose all tinge of creativity after burying his head into FB for a long period of time. Por Dios por Santo, what do I expect ‘noh? I’ve been hinting the only benefit I derive from FBing is a temporary respite from ennui. Thanks to the geniuses of FB apps. Thanks also to the daily barrage of status updates, links, pictures (ranging from pro, pseudo, to plain human-peacocks).

Pick your choice. Either you join the bandwagon or friggin’ regurgitate into caveman-hood. Facebook is like a marketplace of distinct personalities and ideas. There are intellectuals, artists, musicians, etc. and there are newbies who somehow find a way to “friendsterize” it. And this vast new world of online social networks — Facebook, along with MySpace, YouTube, Twitter —has certainly affected many parts of our lives. (See, I’m blogging about it all the time.)

On a different note, I promised myself to be more diligent in updating this blog. It’s what the deity of words revealed to me after offering a sackful of coffee beans from Yemen and a truckload of fresh sugar canes imported from Brazil. Nah, shoot me in the head. I’m just pulling your leg. (Hey, I’m gonna make a confession!  I was dozing somewhere when God gave mankind the gift of humor. Now you know why…)

To learn to appreciate the purest rhythms of life, to listen to silence, to stay still are essentials in the quintessence of writing. Sadly, we have been accustomed to chaos that mere silence translates immediately to boredom. Moments of silence are opportunities to slow down and recompose the self. Hear your own breathing. Listen to your heart. Talk to yourself.

I guess that’s all I can say for now. Have a nice day.

(Doesn’t look like I made any sense at all. haha)