Great Pursuit

Passing over the bridge, with the sea in sight, I heard him say, "As certain as the existence of the sea, so is my pursuit of your love." I wanted to cry but I couldn't help but look up and be amazed by the stars. Then He said, "one of the purposes of those stars is to amaze you."

My heart was tongue-tied.

The roads could have appeared creepy and dangerous. What with all the roadwork and heavy equipment parked everywhere. The cold wind could have felt all the more threatening to my sensitive respiratory system and sinuses. But the ride home had been an adventure, a joy ride.

A ride of love, all because of His great pursuit. What a God. What a Lover.

12/23/2010

Hide and Seek

Where is your horse that I may ride with you?
Your armor that I may hide behind it?

Won't you whisper poetry of love to my ear?
At noon while you sit under a tree and my head is laid on your lap?

Won't you pick me flowers and
make me smell the beauty of your affection?

At your courts, my Lord
I will walk to you, showering
petals of my devotion...

I will break jars of alabaster
and wipe your feet with my mane...

For my honor is my crowning glory...
My heart for you, my life
My life for you, my heartbeat

Should I look and behold your face?
or not for I will not contain it...
Would you touch my hair
with the tip of your finger?
Or not for I will wail...

Will I jump upon seeing you?
Will your voice sing to me
and make me sleep with a smile?
Tell me now, my Lord
where to be with you

And I will prepare thee beds of roses...
and perfume your robe with my very life
Tell me where you are
or should I wait for your seeking?

12/22/09

Tears and Pains

It is when one is so severely broken that he is most likely to become whole again... in his pain shed with tears he alone could see, and groans he alone could hear, comes the voice ever so clear and never before heard....

No pain, no growth.

Pain is a Gift

in biology, pain exists to tell a person to protect himself, such as when one's stomache hurts, it tells him that there is something wrong with it and needs medication... were it not for the pain, the illness in the stomache would have gone unnoticed, slowly sending the person 6 feet beneath the ground without the person knowing it...

in life, pain exists to move us somewhere, and it does not exist without any reason.

God never wastes a hurt. He could use pain to protect us from bigger and much real pains.

On Being Played On

My professor today told the class that one of the main reasons why our university English department tried to expand our department in terms of number is because of the government’s, specifically the GMA Administration’s proliferation of the use of the English language. In other words, the government wanted to invest in training people to speak English well so we could “compete globally,” provide outsourcing services and have jobs and make money. Hidden behind these lines is capitalism or commodification, talking about the government’s utmost support of the call center industry and many other foreign-owned industries. I think that by leading the country, specifically the educational system in this way and making people think that what is more important is having jobs and getting paid (by foreigners), is rather a disoriented way of dealing with a nation’s culture, sense of identity, dignity and economy.

To put it simply, it rather feels like we have to be so good at something, and show it off to the world so they would get our service and pay us. This “commodification” scheme does not only kill the essence of nationalism, it also gives young people the sense of believing that to pursue an English major is to be able to work, not for our own countrymen, but for foreigners. In this way, the sense of nation building is lost and individualization is heightened. Because of a second language given much importance over our very own, it affects the way we view our own culture and sense of identity in that we are not being led to embrace our roots, and the uniqueness of being Filipino, but are rather unconsciously or consciously led to embrace that which is foreign, that which is not ours and is therefore “not us.” We have a sad history if we try to look back. The Spaniards, the Japanese and the Americans contributed much to the Filipino’s confusion of who he really is. According to my professor: “Ang Pilipino ay may fragmented sense of nationalism kaya mahilig sa halo-halong pagkain: halo-halo, chopsuey, pinakbet, etc..” (Even my professor had to be taglish.) We already have an identity crisis as a nation. Producing more English teachers to serve foreign interests will only worsen this. I believe that before we can truly be global, we have to be deeply rooted in who we are first. This is the reason why even if the Philippines has been active in “globalization” over the past years, we still have a crippled economy. Statistics overwhelm us of the following: From 24 poor families out of 100 in 2003 to 27 in 2006 and in about 25 years, our population will double to 130 million. The metro manila streets alone will tell you how poor our country has become. Considering this, we can then say that in the long run, our idea and way of globalization is really not beneficial to addressing our economic crisis. Rather, it appears to be a quick fix solution hiding behind nice ad catch lines, compromising many significant national issues.

It is sad to realize that many Filipinos are so good at English, the language of the country’s “best friend,” the language of the land flowing with milk and honey, and yet we remain at the bottom of the list of economically challenged countries. And yes, we could speak like Americans or the British, but those we share this “talent” with (the Koreans and the Japanese, etc.) are far more progressive than us. So, what’s the whole point? If being so good at the English language has not really alleviated our economic situation, then why proliferate it?

It is even more weird, you know to realize that I am writing this essay in English. I feel like a five year old, watching Blue’s Clue’s or Sponge Bob on Nickelodeon who wakes up one day realizing that English is easier for me to speak than my own mother tongue, only to come to terms with the reality twenty years later that it is not supposed to be like that; that had I not been so much exposed to a lot of English movies in my formative years and in high school, I would have appreciated my own mother tongue, would have written a book in it or written its orthography. And because I have no choice but to fall in love with the English language, I don’t know any grammar rule of my mother tongue or have a bit of a desire to know. Sometimes I secretly wish to be a real American. There are times I would wish everyone around me spoke English. And this is not good.

Identity being lost. The system simply played on me.

On Loving

all my life, i have been consciously and subconsciously looking for someone to love and love me...
as if i'm a broken heart and that person is the other half that would finally make me complete...
i have been through many heartaches...
of broken trusts, promises and of wondering why things just don't work...
somehow, i have grown tired of it...
i wonder if it is me, life, or the system of loving or of love itself...
i can choose to just grow numb, though and just forget about loving...
but then i realize that love is inevitable...
and that i'm only a girl...

but now, that my brokenness in loving others well has become real to me,
i realized that there is something i haven't done before,
and that is to truly love myself...
and be one with who i am...
and reconcile with my whole being...
and acknowledge all that is about me, even those that i am not and those that i can not become...

i discovered that loving is not just all about myself..
it is about the man i would love and receive love from and would embrace life with...
for love is not merely receiving..
it is i guess a process, sometimes a painful one for me to become whole so i am able to love my partner and others well...

On Falling in Love with the Self

I made a status here that read: It is better to feel pain if you’re in touch with your heart than be happy yet live in denial. Someone asked me if I was in love. I simply giggled and said to myself and her, “Well, yes… maybe, with myself.”

I am in love with myself now. This time I believe there is nothing wrong with it. I could be accused of narcissism or perhaps, selfishness. But this falling in love with the self is the kind that is not supposed to connote any selfish intention, but rather a realization of one’s reconciliation with himself/herself, like some part of him/her has died in the past because some harmful intruder killed it. And because of this, the self decided to consciously or unconsciously consider this part of his/her being really dead, because it has become unpleasant and unacceptable. And now, by the spirit of grace and love, the self now starts to recognize this phenomenon and acknowledges that it needs to be alive again, so that the self is made whole like it has always been designed to be. Now when this realization comes, the self now starts to be in touch with his/her heart, getting acquainted and gradually getting into a deeper relationship with her whole being. And this is where falling in love with one’s self comes in. I am falling in love with myself since I am reconciling with facets of my being I realize are desirable and are worth loving.

Now, going back to that status. It is sometimes painful to start recognizing the “dead parts of the self” and accepting that they need to be alive again. But as the old saying goes, ‘no pain, no gain.’ Without pain, or acknowledging it to be necessary and legitimate and actually allowing it to pierce through the heart, healing won’t come. But if one continues to hide things behind tag lines such as: “Look at me; I’m happy and successful.” Or “I have moved on,” then life is just going to be a play or a make believe for him/her.

On Picking Clothes

When I was a child, I had a thing for choosing clothes. I was not good at it. The whole family was shopping one Christmas holiday and my mom asked what dress I wanted. I cleared my throat and with a smile on my face, chose this beige, laced whole dress. My smile faded and my mind changed when my mom said it does not suit me.

In high school, I could not buy any clothing without the help of either my sister, my mom or my fashionable friend. It was at times pressuring to be choosing so many a times I just settled for hand-me-downs or simply used the same shirt and pants for 6 years or more.
At 23, someone suggested me to buy new clothes. Between the lines were these: My clothes are old. I don’t buy clothes, because, I am scared to be having choosing dilemmas or being discriminated, and that I could never be good at it. I am such an indecisive fashion victim who could not even try to save herself by buying new clothes. Not buying new clothes said a lot about my incapacity to decide for myself and stand up for it; it means being scared to declare what I believe to be good for me, and to have the mindset that whatever I wear is simply an expression of myself and not an exhibit for the world to evaluate.

Last month, at 24, I bought a dress and a pair of shoes at a discount store all by myself. No sister. No mom. No fashionable friend. Just Me and my choosing ability that was out for some testing that day. In the fitting room, I forced myself to trust in my aesthetic instincts. I consciously tried shutting the voice of my mom, my sister and my friend. Choose what you like, what looks good on you and that which expresses who you are. So I bought a white, whole dress and a pair of brown, flat shoes.

I wore both at a special dinner date with some of my friends, and they all said I looked nice. That brought a smile on my face. I was happy, not really because they liked my fashion statement, but because I finally chose to declare it.

Drivers, Train Passengers, Ants and Me

This world is a survival of the fittest. In the morning, having decided I would not be late for my 7 am class, I take a 14-peso tricycle ride to the train station every weekday. With the tricycles being rampant on the streets, one would easily figure some of these drivers face tough competition everyday. When I was still new on the street where I live, I would walk to the main road to get one but after a few months, just about 15 steps from the house, a tricycle would come to my direction. I get on the tricycle and I know I don’t even have to tell them where I am going. I figured, rumor has it to them that there’s a girl on this street who takes a tricycle at around 6:30 A.M. on weekdays. Watch for her.

At the LRT station, I would see a display of different emotions and physical conditions. Some eyebrows crossed with sweat all over the face; some smiling at a text message; some group of schoolmates giggling their lungs out; some nursing student’s eyes glued on a 10-kg book; some vendor with goodies in huge, heavy, plastic bags and me, sometimes having woken from the right side of the bed, becoming amused by them, sometimes in a flat, neutralized mood to only care about one thing: squeeze my way into the jam-packed train, full of angry, complaining women. It’s not that good when it’s an early morning ride and some are either sleepy to be leaning their heads against your shoulders from time to time or too much in a hurry, they step on everyone’s toes (including yours) just to get a seat. Getting a seat on trains is a skill train-commuters like me have mastered. Tip number 1: in a tightly compressed crowd pressing towards the entrance, place your shoulders on top of the persons next to you. This will make you most likely arrive at the vacant seat first. Tip number 2: if the train is already jam-packed, try standing in front of those who are sitting. When they get off, you can take their place. Tip number 3: Learn to run fast.

My ride home is a different story. The train back is not that crowded (except when it’s raining and everyone just wants to arrive home). I can most probably sit, don’t hear much noise and can even make a mental assessment of my to-do list. This solemn state, though makes a sudden shift when I have finally arrived, meaning that I have to now audio-visually prepare myself to encounter the “descriptive” tricycle drivers. They are drivers who wait at the station, and who, by the sight of the passengers from the train compete with each other in trying to call their attention by describing their physical appearance and ask if they want a ride.

“Ateng nakaputi, sa’n ka? Sasakay ka ba?”

“Ateng nakapalda na may salamin…”

This is not a very good idea when there are days I think I don’t look that made up and feel conscious of how these drivers might scrutinize me and worse, verbally declare it for all the world to hear. They do this in chorus that the whole place suddenly turns into a cockpit or a racing arena. Not being pressured by time, I usually walk my way home. But when I have to, I don’t talk to these descriptive drivers and head straight to the nearest tricycle, regardless of how the driver described me or whether he did or not. I just want to get home.

When I arrived home today, I became thankful knowing that some ants (who are said to be hunting for food these days) have stopped feasting on my probably-sweet-(or salty?)-smelling clothes. There are like a gazillion of them everywhere, it looks like they are preparing for a huge, special, once in a lifetime event. They look very busy and passionate, they don’t seem to care if you’re watching them gather food from your laptop. Yes, even from a laptop. I am amazed by their patriotic spirit that has become like that of suicide bombers who risk dying for the fulfillment of a political principle, in their case, to provide food for their colony no matter what, or in today’s case: their once in a lifetime event (probably a 25th anniversary or something). Sometimes, I wish they have feelings and they will understand when you tell them to go away or stop biting you. But ants are not supposed to interact that way with humans so I decided to give up verbally venting out wrath on them. There is one thing I can’t stop doing, though: kill them, especially when it’s my skin they are now feasting on. It is my skin, my clothes and my laptop or their life. I just can’t request them to go somewhere else because like I said, they are ants.

Poor ants. I am sorry to be not supportive of their hunting thing but I’ve got things to do and it’s quite a hindrance with them all over the place.

Storms and Umbrellas

On the onset of the storm ‘Ondoy,’ I decided to invest in a P485 automatic umbrella in the hope it would surely shelter me from the storm that day. At first, it made me feel powerful and privileged, I was actually excited to use it. I even took pity of others who suffered with their seemingly weak umbrellas that flew with the wind, tearing them apart, leaving only the skeleton part. But with the flood I had to deal with, I could not soak in feelings like that so much.

My way home was terrible. MRT and LRT stations were never that jam-packed I had to control my fear of a possible stampede. The people went gaga over trying to go home that the train doors kept producing that sound that says it is hard to close them.

The last thing I needed that day was for some sense of protection to betray me. Just when I recognized this feeling, suddenly I realized my new, expensive umbrella would not work. I tried several times until the people behind me started complaining of my blocking their way through the flooded path. My heart sagged to my not-just-wet-but-soaked-fe

et. I did not only have to drag my already painful legs through the flood, I also had to deal with the feeling of betrayal. I wasted my money, I thought. Would have been easier to accept had I not really needed it that time. But I did… desperately.

I had no choice. I held the umbrella up with two hands, making the blood in my arms go to my shoulder causing pain and cramps. Had I had a choice, I would not have used it, what with all the feeling of betrayal it had given me, but it was raining, I could not be so emotional.

When I arrived home, I wailed, not only because I was supposed to be with my Mom somewhere safer that day and that I could not go there because almost all of Metro Manila had suddenly turned into an ocean, or that I was hungry and I did not even feel it because there were other serious things like electricity had gone out, my phone was dead, making me deal with the guilt of making my mom worry all night wondering if I was still alive, and that I could not even take a shower because flood water was groin-level in the house (including the bathroom) and that the siren and people’s noise were making me feel like Armageddon had started, but because my P485 umbrella gave me a pain in the shoulders and wasted my money.

A few days later, I checked on the umbrella after days of denial I had ever bought one. A funny thing happened. I found out it was not broken. In fact, it was all up and running. I realized I had failed to push it back for it to automatically unfold (whatever you call that process). I felt a little stupid, I just chose to laugh at it.

Then I realized one thing about it today. Sometimes, we put the blame on the wrong things and suffer in the process, not knowing that it was us who failed to do one important step to make things happen. And we find ourselves (or not even notice ourselves) often wailing over a lie when the truth would have given us comfort. This phenomenon is often rooted in ignorance (which was the cause of my experience) and I recall Mark Twain’s words when he said ‘It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so. ‘

Sometimes our misfortunes and the negative things cluttered in our lives are the result of our “not knowing” and our clinging to “what is not true”. It is therefore vital for us that in everything we do, we know that we are at the center of the truth because according to the Gospel of John, ‘then you will know the truth and the truth shall set you free.’

Protection from rain was what I badly needed that day and protection could have been at hand, had I known (or remembered) that I needed to do some pushing.

JCR - 10/13/09

Tourist in My Own Hometown, Bohol

I was given the privilege to stay away from the hurly burly of the city life for awhile and have a five-day vacation in my hometown: Bohol. My goal was simply to wind down and spend time with family. My mom's was to shelter me from the cruel storms that were possibly going to wreak havoc in  Metro Manila those days. God, however had a different agenda.

It was to be an extra special vacation for me this time, having a special friend of mine coming. On the first day of our tour, we passed by historical sites such as the Blood Compact Shrine which commemorates the blood shedding of Datu Sikatuna and Miguel Lopez de Legazpi, one of the country’s oldest churches: Baclayon Church and Bilar’s man-made forest.

Next stop is Loboc River. We were out for a river cruise on a floating restaurant, complete with festive singing of traditional Filipino music and seafood buffet. It was not the food though that excited me, but the sight of the river, and the lush nature that surrounded us. Children were swimming just along the riverbank. A woman was  washing clothes. A man was fishing. We were looking at all these and the great, blue sky above us. 

Just about half a mile from there was the site of the world’s smallest primate: The Tarsiers, one of the most sensitive to camera flash (they will go blind if you take a picture of them with flash) and yet one of the most photographed species in the world. They are as tiny as a fist. They look at you as if you are a fan… and just one of thousands that visit them in a year. They have eyes that seem to say, “Don’t be too cheesy at the sight of me.” The way they eat can make you laugh. They eyes grow larger as they push the food down after chewing, looking as if they are choking.

Our next stop: Chocolate Hills, a stretch of about 1,000 hershey’s-chocolate-looking hills that make you ask a lot of questions such as: how in the world were they formed? Why Bohol of all places? And why did God make them in the first place? The hotness and the view overcame our desire for answers so we just took pictures. There were a thousand of them and yet we could only see a few of them and whoever owns Hershey’s might never even get to see them.

On our way home, we dropped by to see “Prony,” one of the longest pythons in captivity, weighing about 300 kg and stretching to 23 feet. I realized I was not ophidiophobic after being a few inches away from her. The thought that she was sleeping encouraged me and the fact that other people have gotten near her without ending up being IN her.

We stayed for the night in one of the beach resorts of Panglao, the island in Bohol famous for white sand beaches. Since we were tired from the tour that day, we dozed off after spending some time at the beach watching and listening to sea waves.

The next day, we took an early trip (6 AM) on a motor boat to go dolphin watching, snorkeling and staying at another island. The dolphin watching was a challenge, I wondered if it’s like that the whole year. My brother described it as looking for a needle in a stack of hay. After many minutes of wishing to see them, I prayed for us to do so. And as if God took pity on us and summoned the dolphins, after a couple of minutes, a pod glided simultaneously along the waves just a few feet away from us, I had to do away with the picture taking and just enjoy that wonderful sight. I have seen dolphins in an aquarium in Busan, Korea but it was different seeing wild ones.

Then off for some snorkeling. Because of the low tide, we were snorkeling in seawater that was waist-deep. Despite my nearsightedness, I was able to see fish of different shapes and colors. They were blue ones that looked like blue disco lights, yellow ones like those you see in fish movies. Our guide brought me to the edge of what I call “the abyss” (if you have seen the movie, you will understand) where you could see nothing but darkness. Not even a hint of life. If there had been no guide with me, I would have freaked out- with memories of Jaws, Titanic and Lake Placid movies flashing in my schema. I wanted to scream in a mix of excitement, fear and awe but I had goggles on and I had to breathe with my mouth, otherwise I would have sucked in jellyfish saliva. After about ten minutes of staying underwater, I felt dizzy I had to let our guide take me to the shore. I had to face the possibility of feeling envious of my companions who snorkeled like there was no tomorrow. After I was relieved of nausea, they arrived shortly with personal testimonies of their snorkeling experience, which went on even until we arrived at the resort, our house and even in Manila. Adjectives used were great, huge, colorful, scary, amazing, fun; or to make it more accurate: ang saya, nakakatuwa, grabe, ang ganda. My brother said the serious-looking fish scared him, while the happy-looking ones like “nemo’s” and “dories” made him smile underwater. My friend did not know she was seeing a barracuda until my sister told her. I wondered if she was right, though. With all those nouns and adjectives, facial expressions, laughter and all, I could only imagine how amazing they really were and what my dizziness cost me. We all had one thing in common, though: we all feared the “abyss”.

On our way home, we dropped by Bohol Bee Farm, one of my favorite places in the world. It is a restaurant, a bee farm, a place for weaving, and a resort, all in one place. What I like best there besides the panoramic view of the sea at the restaurant cliff is the food. One of the best. Dining there is like experiencing an acquaintance party of your taste buds and the different flavors in the world that big-eaters like me will not feel guilty feasting on. Malunggay and Ginger-flavored ice cream. Squash, carrot and corn muffins. Corn Coffee. Lemon Grass Tea. Tarsier-shaped chocolate. Being toured around the farm for just P20 inspires you to care for the environment more. All those trivias about bees make you feel as if the world would stop turning without them. Leaving the place meant setting off from tranquility and as far as I am concerned, good, healthy food.

In one of my very laid back moments at the beach with the sea in front of me and the cool wind blowing my face, I could only thank God for giving me the chance to see and experience glimpses of His creation. I know that there are many beautiful places in the world, but I was already happy having been to just a few of them. The whole experience to me was a sensory manifestation of God’s magnificence, beauty and mystery. I could see it in the glide of the dolphins, heard it in the roar of the sea waves, smelled it in the mint leaf at Beefarm and tasted it in the ginger-flavored ice cream. What ultimately amazes me though is not what I have experienced but the thought that there is more to experience, I haven’t seen it all and that I never will, even if it means becoming rich like Bill Gates.

My Trip to Busan, Korea

I went to Busan, Korea for an international CCC conference 2 years ago.

If you wonder why I only wrote about it now, memory stimulated by pictures perhaps or must be the weather. I went there in summer but I had to borrow a friend's thick coat because it felt like January in the Philippines.

Korea, with all its fresh air, uncrowded places, surprisingly organized garbage segregation system (papers, bottles, food, etc are separate groups) and strict traffic rules and regulations had just one downside i took notice of: no blue sky that it felt as though a storm was coming. What with the cold air and all.

Korean culture is very evident in the conference. Spicy vegetables (Bibimbap) for lunch; corn tea as beverage (that my roommates found me weird for liking it); lots of bows and Anyong Haseyo's, and of course the Pali-pali (hurry up!hurry up!) culture.

Because I made friends with Americans, I was forced to create a facebook account. At first, I couldn't see the point of having another online community account when I was well and good with friendster (which I don't use anymore today) but due to friends' relentless requests, I signed up for facebook in July, 2007, even before most of my friends knew such exists and that it is way better than the other one (sorry...).

There were about 16,000 of us from all over the world but none of us (as far as I'm concerned) had a problem with food or water shortage. There were just enough and more for every single person there. The subways were allowed for free use for us by the mayor of Busan (who spoke on the first night) and Korean civilians especially vendors watched curiously as about thousands of students of different color and language walked the streets nearby Hae Eun Dae Beach to one of the country’s biggest activity complexes: BEXCO. It is as probably thrice as big as Araneta Coliseum (correct me if I am wrong, though). And despite all the tedious, meticulous and laborious preparations: Hanbok Fashion Show, Parade of Nations, Korean Culture exhibits, hundreds of seminars that were up for the week, there was no report of a stampede, or a person lost.

Organized is an understatement. Every detail was carefully planned, including seminars that were translated to about 10 different languages and transmitted to local frequency bands in the area (though, I don’t think this is small detail); freebies, announcements and big things like plane tickets , bus rides (that were very comfortable as the bus rode smoothly along city roads without traffic jam, you wonder if there are any cars in Busan or the mayor stopped people from using them that week) and grouping people together in hotels.

Luckily, our group was housed in probably one of the best hotels available: Sea Cloud, a five star hotel that overlooks Hae Eun Dae Beach, one of those beaches situated in a city with lots of tourists and commercial gimmicks and where Busan Aquarium was located where we chanced to gaze at marine life with verbal and non-verbal wow's.

You could see fish you could have only seen in diving spots or in the movie, Finding Nemo or Jaws; penguins and seals and dugongs you could have watched eat live fish only in National Geographic, marine animals that emit light in water and giant jelly fish and octopus that will make you feel safe about the sign: For Your Eyes Only.

Watching those made me wonder what else I could see in the future and those I never will.

Memories in South Korea still fascinated me days after I arrived in Manila. Awed by their clean, efficient and organized systems, I secretly wished we would experience the same in the Philippines. But it was a Christian conference I went to and one of the things I learned there was the power of prayer. Korean Christians are known to pray a lot. Many great changes in their country have been brought about by the sincere cry of Christians to God.

I am not a Korean and I have my own way of praying but I sure know God listens to me. I decide I would not only wish, I would pray. With the power of prayer, who knows.

Silence with the One Who Loves Me

Last night, on my motorcycle ride home, I wanted to speak a word of God's wooing, to at least react in some way. But He quieted me with His love. And I knew that in the presence of the one who loves me, it is fine to remain silent.

JCR - 12/24/2010

How I bought Gifts for My Nephews and Niece

I realized it is not easy to be a true gift giver. Today, I went to the mall to buy stuff for my nephews and niece back home. I thought it wouldn't be that hard; I even ignored the annoying pains my shoes were starting to give me. I thought: 1 hour. Not hard. Not like choosing a pair of shoes or dress for myself. Just stuff for kids; it should be busy.

Any loving and sweet aunt would want to buy her nephews exactly what they say they want. In my case, it's a dictionary (not just any dictionary; a dictionary for kids, colors, illustrations, example sentences and everything) and a Puff, the Magic Dragon story book.

Puff, the Magic Dragon is a really short story, one could just download it from the net and print it. But for an aunt to tell this to a 3 year old is not being sweet or endearing (which is how aunts should be). I figured, that dragon story had to be in a glossy paper with drawings of Puff (who is the dragon) and Jackie (the boy there) playing by the sea.

To shop in a bookstore like National bookstore can be sometimes stressful, especially when it's a children's book you are looking for. Besides that some customer service personnel can be so discouraging, there are just a bunch of stuff to choose from. Just looking at all those books made me forget about what I was really looking for. For like an hour or more, I found myself getting a hold of 3 books. After minutes of debating with myself, I asked again, "what does he really want?" Well I remembered it's a Puff, the Magic Dragon story book so I asked one of the frowning salesladies to help me. With a sad and dry face, she told me it was out for bargain sale.

Saleslady: It's hard to find it. It's probably ugly now. It's probably even misplaced in the business section. (And I would not bother looking for it - with my bad mood and everything.)

I get it.

I had to forget about Puff. Looking for the best alternative, I decided to buy him a collection of stories, I believe every child should know. The Gingerbread Man. The Ugly Duckling. The Emperor's New Clothes. I even had to remind myself of the importance of my decision at the moment. It would influence my nephew's future. It would spark his interest in literature which is a springboard to other worlds for him and would help him with skills in critical thinking, in decision making and judging what is good and what is not. Then suddenly I remembered my Mom: how she surprised me with books when I was little, how my first story book, William Tell made me realize that amidst all the difficulties of life, there will always be a way out. And then we become better persons. I was touched but I could not be so emotional. I had to decide fast and well.

A collection of stories for my 3 year old nephew, it is.

It was not that hard choosing a book for my 7 year old nephew. Just beside the story book was a Collin's illustrated dictionary for 5 years old and up. Good one. A little expensive but it's okay. And his birthday is coming up. It dawned on me, that choosing a gift does not only depend on what the recipient wanted. It is also a matter of asking whether they are worth the price. An expensive item becomes affordable when it is for someone worth the expense.

Choosing stuff for infants is another challenging thing to do. Especially when your legs are already in pain. It is challenging, but very interesting, especially if it's for a little girl. I realized that deciding on the gift in itself is a deeply relational thing. I could have decided to buy her a toy. But no, I did not want her to play; I wanted to see her in a beautiful, pink blouse for people to marvel at her. I felt beauty had to be celebrated and I wanted her to celebrate with me. I realized later it was my heart I was trying to give her and that it was more expensive than the blouse.

Besides the kind or the price, size is also one big issue in buying for someone, especially when we are talking about a breastfed, fast-growing chubby 1 year old boy. The last time I saw him was a month ago. Who knows how much he has grown since then. And so, here is when we try to make the best judgments. Not too big, nor too small. I was even tempted to buy a big one, to be safe. In case it does not fit him, it goes to his older brother. But no. I was buying a gift for him. Not for anyone else. It had to fit just right.

I took a silent sigh of relief when I was already at the counter, paying. I looked at the things I bought and I was proud and happy for myself. I was also excited for my nephews and niece to get them. I realized I have been a young child once. I know how it feels to receive gifts. I was not a gift connoisseur but I quite knew which ones were given from the heart. I do not know. I just knew. It is not material things we give to children. It is our heart that we share to them, which to me is priceless, can not be on bargain sale, and will always be worth the pain in the legs.

What is the Color of the Sky?

When I was 5 years old and in kindergarten, our teacher asked us, "What is the color of the sky?" Every hand shoot in the air except mine and before the teacher called for someone to answer, every one said, "Blue, blue, blue, blue," except me who remembered the color of the sky during sunset.

I raised my hand and said, "Ma'am, sometimes it is orange."

Everyone looked at me as if I was some rebel and in chorus, yelled, "No! No! The color of the sky is blue. The color of the sky is blue."

You know how kids sound when they are yelling at the same time so the teacher tried to catch our attention. The teacher told them to be quiet, looked at me and said, "Jill, the color of the sky is blue."

Manila Tricycles and Bohol Tricycles

Riding on a tricycle in Manila reminds me so much of the tricycles back home.

I could not understand why tricycles have to be tilted that way with seats so low, your knees almost hit your chin and you have to slide your body a little to the front, make sure your bag is not caught by some sharp, rusty metal before it's safe to get off. Because of the small space inside, I am pretty sure plus size people have a hard time getting on and off tricycles like these. Isn't that discriminating? I also think it very unsafe for tricycles to not have wind shields in front and at the back.

What if it rains? Or some sharp thing from some larger automobile hits the front or the back?

I also do not understand why some tricycles do not have a roof for the driver. Aren't they scared of sun burn? Or to catch cold in case it rains?

Because they are in Manila, of course, Manila tricycles charge higher - even if it means getting off with torn pants or a lost cellphone (because of the tilt).

Bohol Tricycles are bigger. The seats are not tilted and have good distance from the ground, you simply have to turn your legs to the right to get off without bending so low. Both the driver and the passenger sides have roofs and all tricycles have windshields: front and back. There is even a compartment at the back, you could put baggage in. All tricycles are also required to paint a food for thought or a Bible verse on the tricycle's exterior that people get encouraged seeing them. Because they are in the province, they don't charge high: P6 - even if you are alone. And you will be taken right at your doorstep.

I wish Manila tricycles would improve in the future, so that our grandparents do not have to worry about back pains, plus size people about getting on and off, and drivers getting wet in the rain or experiencing heat stroke.

JCR - 02/04/2010