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.

Muchos Gracias to my friend Miss Guimba for giving me this “You’re a Doll” award. Thanks dahling! I do feel like waving my right hand now ala-Precious Quigaman. Dolls always bring to mind beauty queens with their flawless skin, pretty peepers, and perfect bod.

I only have this to say: W-O-W!

See, even inmates can summon inspiration. I saw this from my cousin’s FB but did not figure out how to make the video appear in my blog until today. They are the “Dancing Inmates” from Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC), a maximum security prison. It was so lovely of Michael Jackson’s long-time choreographer Travis Payne and dancers Daniel Celebre and Dres Reid to visit and teach them this choreography from THIS IS IT.

(A poem by M. Angelou)

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.

Click to listen.

Lately, my inner censor prevents me from blogging. I do keep a small notebook where my scribbles and outlines are contained but I wonder why I can’t compose a sensible entry. Psychologists, according to Erica Jong, has a more appropriate term for this. Flow state (characterized by the suspension of the sense of time, the obliteration of self-consciousness, and the feeling that we are doing something for its own sake and not for its own outcome). That flow isn’t really working for me over the past few days. Most people rely on liquor, drugs, etc. to create something, a poem, music, story…Unfortunately for me, I don’t do such things just so I can tune in with my self or with the world.

(Click to listen to the background music.)

However, last night while checking my high school yearbook - I saw an old picture inserted within the pages. Flashbacks came rushing like heavy torrents of water. Perhaps my flow state has some connection with the visual.

The year was late ’90s and I was actively involved in community theater. Being a development communication student in Ateneo de Naga at that time, I saw it both as an opportunity for praxis and personal growth to be part of such an endeavor. I helped mobilize a group of talented children and youth into a theater group that will serve as advocates for child rights protection. That’s also when I appreciated more the beauty of development work, the passion that drives NGO/GO/PO workers to plunge into marginalized areas, reach out to the disadvantaged and be an agent of change. Devcom is not a basic science but an applied one, making it an integrative discipline and lending itself to dynamism and people-centeredness. I knew right then that I took the right course in college.

Life was quite simple then. I devoted much of my time attending rehearsals and presentations. We are a group of 25-30 people: casts/characters, props men, technicians (the ones in-charged with lighting and sound effects), the bus driver and the NGO staff (the brainchild of such advocacy tool). We literally jumped from one barangay to another, spoke with village leaders, mingled with other youth and children. In our own little way, we were able to break the culture of silence among typical families in the countryside as far as child rights is concerned.

On a more personal level, it is indeed such a pleasurable experience recalling how each member’s relationship with one another had improved dramatically. We became closer and were comfortable telling our own joys and pains, even our own secrets. The theater group made us into one big family of friends. After my class, I’d go straight to BCAT’s Training Dorm with a big smile plastered on my face. We get reprimanded from time to time. As young people, you see, we can be stubborn and hardheaded. But anyway, all of us often looked forward to a couple of days of get-together and practice. I remember the times I couldn’t get my lines straight and when I did “hahaha” a hundred times so I could sound as sinister as my character required. Our routine meant continuous rehearsing to have a more realistic presentation.

Every time a play is on the way, we gather at either BCAT or Penafrancia Resort. A hired bus (the one driven by Tiyo Roslin who passed away last year, God bless his soul) would take us to the training center then to our destination. Sir M would often tell us, “what an experience huh! you traveled all the way from the mountains just to visit another mountain!”. That is because we mostly go to places with no access to electricity. Good thing we had a ready generator. The areas often required walking because of steep slopes. If its rainy, we need to walk barefoot. We spend the nights on some elementary school buildings as well.

A stage play means setting the backdrop (sometimes using only an open space or a basketball court/no stage at all), preparing all the music and lighting effects, doing the customary throw-lines, putting on the customes, applying make-up, characterization, etc. At one time, we ran out of hairspray — my friend JJ used an egg white as a substitute and smothered it on my hair. Yaikks. But when you’re ready for the role, you dont care even if you smell like a rotten cheese.

The day succeeding each play was also memorable as we often go swimming or doing picnic. The picture I posted was in fact taken at Malabsay Falls in Panicuason.

Noel Cabangon’s “Kanlungan” (the background music) was our anthem… reminiscent of our Shibashi mornings, an exercise we did for years while the group was still intact and functioning. I remember “separating the clouds”, the “rotating wheel”, and “balancing chi”.

Ahhh, those were the days! Half of all my happiest memories combined were in it, which is why I treasure those moments so dearly.

Perhaps it’s the crazy weather.

I woke up this morning feeling terribly dizzy like I’ve spent five hours straight on a Ferris wheel. The last time I went on a ride, I was frantically shouting at the operator to stop the freakin’ machine ora mismo or I’ll puke the whole damn place. Amusement parks, you see, have this certain lure for the young, yet, never in my childhood days have I tried one. When the chance came though, I almost regretted it. Faith was laughing hard at my desperate pleas to stop the wheel from turning. At the same time, maybe she’s embarrassed at the sight of her mother catching her breath, as if on a mild heart-attack! What we previously planned to be a merry experience became an ultimate nightmare. Suffice it to say that it was exactly how this day’s opening salvo’s like, dramatic and all that…

My early morning ritual usually consisted of searching for my slippers who seemed to have a life of their own. My hide-and-seek playmates, they often position themselves under the bed, dresser, book stand, computer table, etc.

I also gather my strength by uttering a silent prayer and preparing myself for the day’s surprises (uhmm, they come in many forms). But I was greeted instead by a whirling sensation. The room was a giant washing machine and I am the sole piece of cloth inside. Everywhere I turn my eyes into, I see fast-moving objects. One step forward and my feet are ready to betray me. Do I have any choice? I have to get back to bed otherwise, I’ll look like some human rag that’s been used for a hundred years. Could it have been the weather? Extreme humidity at daytime and freezing cold at nighttime, how’s that? Or maybe, my supermom-toil is taking its toll on me? The price I pay for having that grand illusion. Lol.

Naah, I definitely am not going to be a mom for the third time! Hubby and I agreed that once the two kiddos reach college, we’ll have to embark on an interplanetary sojourn! Why, its a great motivation investing on high-tech space suits this early. Hehehe. Having a third baby is like killing that dream.

Anyways, lie in bed, I did. Soft pillows, warm sheets…wow!

And as they say it: there are opportunities even in adversity. What a nice excuse to lie all the day and enjoy the company of my books (both read and the ones waiting to be read). In my previous blog entries I wrote about the obvious heartache it would take to dispose any of them. As I brace myself from throwing up, my eyes caught these two treasures given by former colleagues. I got them in 2007 when I was about to leave the academe, and the other one in 2005 from the college-based organization that was my advisee for several years.

Indulging in these works proved helpful in my life’s most turbulent periods. Like most people who are prone to desolation, I have a tendency to easily give in to my own frailties. Paolo Coelho’s Warrior of the Light and Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life were among my life boats (next to the family, of course). You just have to heed their erudition when ghosts of past hurts come visiting. One has to come to terms with his soul’s needs as well. I’m a self-confessed sucker for wisdom literature.

Paolo Coelho expressed these lines beautifully:

The Warrior of the Light sometimes behaves like water, flowing around the obstacles he encounters. Ocassionally, resistance might mean destruction, and so he adapts to the circumstances. He accepts, without complaint, that the stones in his path hinder his way through the mountains. Therein lies the strength of water. It cannot be touched by a hammer or ripped to shreds by a knife. The strongest sword in the world cannot scar its surface.

The river adapts itself to whatever routes proved possible but the river never forgets its one objective: the sea. So fragile at its source, it gradually gathers the strength of the other rivers it encounters. And, after a certain point, its power is absolute.

And these lines by Rick Warren in Purpose Driven Life equally shares the same effect:

As you grow to spiritual maturity, there are several ways to cooperate with God in the process. Believe God is working in your life when you don’t feel it. Spiritual growth is sometimes tedious work, one small step at a time. Expect gradual improvement. The Bible says, “everything on earth has its own time and its own season”. There are seasons in your spiritual life, too. Sometimes you will have a short intense burst of growth (springtime) followed by a period of stabilizing and testing (fall and winter).

What about those problems, habits, and hurts you would like miraculously removed? It’s fine to pray for a miracle, but dont be disappointed if the answer comes through a gradual change. Over time, a slow steady stream will erode the hardest rock and turn giant boulders into pebbles. Over time, a little sprout can turn into a giant redwood tree towering 350 feet tall.

ooOoo

And oh, I guess I know the reason for the dizzy spells. My bp reads 90/70.

On a different note, Christmas is just around the corner! 24 days to go. Time to start looking for giant socks to accomodate Santa’s presents!

Happy Yuletide everyone!

You notice how goldsmiths put a piece of precious metal on fire to make its luster and color more aesthetically appealing? Its not an easy process. A gold has to go through filing, soldering, sawing, forging, casting, polishing, and so on and so forth before it can be worn as a jewelry. Imagine if you were that poor piece of metal, subjected and tortured under the sweltering heat of fire? How would you react? Will you be screaming all day because of the tedious and dreadful ordeal?

When I am tempted these days to whine about life’s jokes, I remind myself of the universe’s transitory nature. This too shall pass, and I will emerge as a better person. Obstacles are nothing but mere tools to make our character even stronger!

Why, too many blessings are coming our way. A speck of trouble will definitely not ruin my peace, sorry to say.

In the past its different. Every little thing used to bother me, you see, I was a chronic worrier. Things not getting done the way I want them to be? I worry. Disappointing people around me? I worry. Getting myself hurt or hurting others? I worry. In a way, it cripples you and makes you a loser. And the more you worry, the more you invite tragedy. It will only pull you harder into the dark pit of loneliness, defeat, and  endless struggle.  Accept that things happen for some purpose or some reason. I realized that when you play too safe, when you fear too much of the unknown, that’s when you get hurt all the more. Find comfort in the hands of time. Never be afraid to try and try. And most important, be thankful always.

Like gold, trust that whatever discomfort you are going through, leads you to a brighter and smarter YOU.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1:2-4)

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!

On Reason and Passion
Kahlil Gibran

Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite.
Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody.
But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements?

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas.
For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction.
Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing;
And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.

I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house.
Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both.

Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows — then let your heart say in silence, “God rests in reason.”
And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky — then let your heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.”
And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.

(Photo was taken using my point-and-shoot camera, edited in Picassa. Lowtech hehe.)