That's the current state of my mind. Dunno why, but there are so many thoughts swirling inside my head, some of which not at all connected with what I am doing right now. For example, why should the following thoughts
What good is a brilliant idea if it is not actualized?
What good is a good intention if it is not properly executed?
What good is proper execution if the idea was not properly brainstormed? (Or, can an idea that is not well thought-out be properly executed?)
cross my mind while I am editing an article on eye problem? And the worst part is, when I tried to process these thoughts, I realized I was not fit (hopefully, only at that moment) to "shape" them well.
Help!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
HARRY POTTER QUOTES
Muggles who just can't have enough of Harry Potter (like myself), here are a few quotes from the book we so love. Enjoy!
From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Book I)
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” —Albus Dumbledore
“The truth… is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with caution…” —Albus Dumbledore
“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, just as much to stand up to our friends.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” —Albus Dumbledore
From Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Book II)
“It is our choices… that show what we are, far more than our abilities.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.” —Arthur Weasley
“The best of us must sometimes eat our words.” —Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Book III)
“You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no....anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell.” —Remus Lupin
From Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
“If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” — Sirius Black
“I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.... At these times... I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Curiosity is not a sin.... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” —Albus Dumbledore
“You place too much importance on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! —Albus Dumbledore
“It is my belief... that the truth is generally preferable to lies.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy… Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.” —Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix (Book V)
“The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by an invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing.” —Severus Snape
“Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.” Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Book VI)
“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” —Albus Dumbledore
“We must try not to sink beneath our anguish... but battle on.” — Albus Dumbledore.
“People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right. — Albus Dumbledore.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book VII)
Ron: “He [Dumbledore] must have known I’d run out on you.”
Harry: “No, he must have known you’d always want to come back.”
From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Book I)
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” —Albus Dumbledore
“The truth… is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with caution…” —Albus Dumbledore
“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, just as much to stand up to our friends.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” —Albus Dumbledore
From Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Book II)
“It is our choices… that show what we are, far more than our abilities.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.” —Arthur Weasley
“The best of us must sometimes eat our words.” —Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Book III)
“You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no....anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell.” —Remus Lupin
From Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
“If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” — Sirius Black
“I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.... At these times... I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Curiosity is not a sin.... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” —Albus Dumbledore
“You place too much importance on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! —Albus Dumbledore
“It is my belief... that the truth is generally preferable to lies.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy… Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.” —Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix (Book V)
“The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by an invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing.” —Severus Snape
“Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.” —Albus Dumbledore
“Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.” Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Book VI)
“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” —Albus Dumbledore
“We must try not to sink beneath our anguish... but battle on.” — Albus Dumbledore.
“People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right. — Albus Dumbledore.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book VII)
Ron: “He [Dumbledore] must have known I’d run out on you.”
Harry: “No, he must have known you’d always want to come back.”
Thursday, August 09, 2007
A Lesson in Linguistics
Ever wondered what the meaning of chorva is? Let's ask Salve.
A CHORVA IN EVERYTHING
Like many others, I thought that the term “chorva” was just invented and added to the rich and still getting richer Pinoy gay lingo. It sounds funny and really gay. I remember using it in one of my IM conversations with a friend, and then she asked me what it means. I told her it’s a universal filler (I deduced my definition from how the term is used); when you don’t know the right term to use, “chorva” comes handy.I found out later on that “chorva” was coined from a foreign word and that my meaning is somehow true. The term comes from the Greek word cheorvamus, which means “for lack of the right word to say” or “in place of something you want to express but cannot verbalize.” Now I’m starting to believe that old man in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, that all words originated from Greek terms! I remember that character in the movie proving it to anyone-“Give me a word… any word, and I tell you, its come from Greek…”
“Chorva” is a very flexible term, too. It can function as noun (May bagong chorva sa tindahan.), verb (I-chorva mo na `yong narinig mo kanina!) or even as an adjective (Ang chorva naman ng mukha!).
So, if you find yourself at a loss for words when talking to your friends, classmates or in any informal conversation, try “chorva”! Who knows, it’s the term that will liven up a boring, rainy afternoon.
___________
Variants of “chorva” are churva, chorla, chuva, chuvanes. If you find other meaning or functions of the term, share it with me, too. CHORVA to us all!
This entry is ripped from Salve's blog. Here's the link: http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/08/08/chorva-in-everything/
A CHORVA IN EVERYTHING
Like many others, I thought that the term “chorva” was just invented and added to the rich and still getting richer Pinoy gay lingo. It sounds funny and really gay. I remember using it in one of my IM conversations with a friend, and then she asked me what it means. I told her it’s a universal filler (I deduced my definition from how the term is used); when you don’t know the right term to use, “chorva” comes handy.I found out later on that “chorva” was coined from a foreign word and that my meaning is somehow true. The term comes from the Greek word cheorvamus, which means “for lack of the right word to say” or “in place of something you want to express but cannot verbalize.” Now I’m starting to believe that old man in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, that all words originated from Greek terms! I remember that character in the movie proving it to anyone-“Give me a word… any word, and I tell you, its come from Greek…”
“Chorva” is a very flexible term, too. It can function as noun (May bagong chorva sa tindahan.), verb (I-chorva mo na `yong narinig mo kanina!) or even as an adjective (Ang chorva naman ng mukha!).
So, if you find yourself at a loss for words when talking to your friends, classmates or in any informal conversation, try “chorva”! Who knows, it’s the term that will liven up a boring, rainy afternoon.
___________
Variants of “chorva” are churva, chorla, chuva, chuvanes. If you find other meaning or functions of the term, share it with me, too. CHORVA to us all!
This entry is ripped from Salve's blog. Here's the link: http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/08/08/chorva-in-everything/
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
The Journey
Let me re-post my poem "The Journey" which I posted here in 2005. This new version is edited (by me) last month. See which version you like better. You may find the original version by clicking this link: http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2005/04/journey.html
I’ve come to traipse through this wilderness
In search for answers to questions
I don’t quite comprehend;
In an attempt to understand the clues
to all the riddles I’ve come across;
So that I may find reasons to everything that happens.
I may not grasp all;
I may not understand everything.
Still I keep walking —
Singing thanks for the sunny days
and shedding tears for the wailing nights;
Riding the circus of the journey’s roller coaster;
Getting acquainted with the gruesome face
of greed, deception, and betrayal;
Tumbling every now and then;
But still, continuing with my quest —
Until this journey’s got meaning;
Until I reach the finish line;
Until I complete the mission for which I’ve come
and of which up until now I’m trying to understand;
Until the last piece of the puzzle’s in place;
Only then will this soul rest.
//Sherma E. Benosa
July 2003
I’ve come to traipse through this wilderness
In search for answers to questions
I don’t quite comprehend;
In an attempt to understand the clues
to all the riddles I’ve come across;
So that I may find reasons to everything that happens.
I may not grasp all;
I may not understand everything.
Still I keep walking —
Singing thanks for the sunny days
and shedding tears for the wailing nights;
Riding the circus of the journey’s roller coaster;
Getting acquainted with the gruesome face
of greed, deception, and betrayal;
Tumbling every now and then;
But still, continuing with my quest —
Until this journey’s got meaning;
Until I reach the finish line;
Until I complete the mission for which I’ve come
and of which up until now I’m trying to understand;
Until the last piece of the puzzle’s in place;
Only then will this soul rest.
//Sherma E. Benosa
July 2003
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
One important lesson
I’ve unearthed an article (if you could call it as such) which I’ve written a little more than six years ago. Let me share it…
********************
When I was younger, maybe about 13 or 14, when I first dreamed of becoming a big time journalist, I pictured myself traveling around, writing about posh places and high-profile events, rubbing elbows with noted personalities, and living the kind of life ordinary people can only dream of.
But now that I am a little older, here I am. I have not come close to that dream as I have chosen to pursue a different field. However, I have had a glimpse of the life I’ve always wanted. I have had my share of gimmicks, cool night-outs, and fun; thanks to my friends for showing me around. But I did easily get tired of that kind of lifestyle. I’ve realized that what seemed cool to me as a young girl doesn’t seem so now that I am a young adult. In some ways, it is what I thought it would be but at the same time it isn’t.
Of course, I am still mesmerized by the glitzy world (who isn’t?), but I am now more attuned with low-profile life, since learning an important lesson not very long time ago.
Because I grew up in a very poor family, I’ve always dreamed of becoming rich, thinking that having money makes all the difference in the world. But seeing up close someone so rich that he could call all the shots and change all the rules so easily changed my views. At first, I thought it was cool, because money equals power. Yet, through time I realized that money (nor power) does not really mean much, because at the end of the day, we all want to simply sit back and relax, and share the moment with family and close friends. The rich man had neither family nor friend. He actually had a sister and a brother, but they were no closer than perfect strangers. Their money had pulled them apart. And those whom he considered his friends didn’t think of him as theirs. To them, he was just their boss, and their relationship ends at the end of every work day.
That lesson changed me forever. Years ago I would not even notice the physical changes that unfold before me. My thoughts were always preoccupied with my studies and my determination to get out of the life I’ve always known, so ordinary and hard it seemed that I was willing to exchange it to someone else’s anytime. I was always looking forward to the future, which I have always envisioned to be bright. Now, I notice every sign of goodness in everyone. I get mesmerized at the sight of an old man and an old woman sharing a simple smile. I feel joy at the sight of my friend’s son learning his first steps. I now find myself amused with the squeaky voices of the pupils in a nearby school. I now appreciate every simple act of kindness shown to me. These ordinary day-to-day realities I once labeled as boring now bring smile to my face.
I still want to become a journalist. And as I struggle to redirect my career, I still see myself giving accounts to spectacular events and, more importantly, finding the better side of the things we deal with and writing about them to lighten our everyday existence. Everyday life isn’t really boring, after all.
**********************
Fast forward to present. I’ve eventually gotten into publication, but I have not become a hard-core journalist (that’s what I call people on the news beat). I am now into lifestyle cum medical beat. I’ve realized I cannot do the news because I do not have the courage to cover bloody events and witness mutilated bodies. That’s for people much tougher than me. :-)
********************
When I was younger, maybe about 13 or 14, when I first dreamed of becoming a big time journalist, I pictured myself traveling around, writing about posh places and high-profile events, rubbing elbows with noted personalities, and living the kind of life ordinary people can only dream of.
But now that I am a little older, here I am. I have not come close to that dream as I have chosen to pursue a different field. However, I have had a glimpse of the life I’ve always wanted. I have had my share of gimmicks, cool night-outs, and fun; thanks to my friends for showing me around. But I did easily get tired of that kind of lifestyle. I’ve realized that what seemed cool to me as a young girl doesn’t seem so now that I am a young adult. In some ways, it is what I thought it would be but at the same time it isn’t.
Of course, I am still mesmerized by the glitzy world (who isn’t?), but I am now more attuned with low-profile life, since learning an important lesson not very long time ago.
Because I grew up in a very poor family, I’ve always dreamed of becoming rich, thinking that having money makes all the difference in the world. But seeing up close someone so rich that he could call all the shots and change all the rules so easily changed my views. At first, I thought it was cool, because money equals power. Yet, through time I realized that money (nor power) does not really mean much, because at the end of the day, we all want to simply sit back and relax, and share the moment with family and close friends. The rich man had neither family nor friend. He actually had a sister and a brother, but they were no closer than perfect strangers. Their money had pulled them apart. And those whom he considered his friends didn’t think of him as theirs. To them, he was just their boss, and their relationship ends at the end of every work day.
That lesson changed me forever. Years ago I would not even notice the physical changes that unfold before me. My thoughts were always preoccupied with my studies and my determination to get out of the life I’ve always known, so ordinary and hard it seemed that I was willing to exchange it to someone else’s anytime. I was always looking forward to the future, which I have always envisioned to be bright. Now, I notice every sign of goodness in everyone. I get mesmerized at the sight of an old man and an old woman sharing a simple smile. I feel joy at the sight of my friend’s son learning his first steps. I now find myself amused with the squeaky voices of the pupils in a nearby school. I now appreciate every simple act of kindness shown to me. These ordinary day-to-day realities I once labeled as boring now bring smile to my face.
I still want to become a journalist. And as I struggle to redirect my career, I still see myself giving accounts to spectacular events and, more importantly, finding the better side of the things we deal with and writing about them to lighten our everyday existence. Everyday life isn’t really boring, after all.
**********************
Fast forward to present. I’ve eventually gotten into publication, but I have not become a hard-core journalist (that’s what I call people on the news beat). I am now into lifestyle cum medical beat. I’ve realized I cannot do the news because I do not have the courage to cover bloody events and witness mutilated bodies. That’s for people much tougher than me. :-)
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Magical Objects in Harry Potter
The fifth installment of the Harry Potter (HP) movie and the seventh and final installment of the HP book have spawned frenzy among the enlightened muggles (HP fans for those who can’t relate, like “Tatang." Hehehehe), among them, Tayns and Salve.
In fact, Salve has devoted two entries on Harry Potter (one for the movie and another for the book) in her blog (http://www.salvacion.wordpress.com/). Even Celestine who has gotten her copy of the book, but hasn’t read it yet because she is supposed to be busy reviewing for her exams this week, has managed to write an entry in her blog (http://www.celestinerb.wordpress.com/) about how excited she is to read the book (talk about reviewing).
I’ve seen the movie and I like it, but I will no longer write something about it because Salve has done a good job at it. And since I haven’t read the book yet (I’ll borrow Salve’s Tuesday next week), I obviously can’t write my views on it yet. So what I’m going to do instead is feature two of the magical objects in Harry Potter that I like (and wish to have).
Mirror of Erised (introduced in Book 1). The mirror, according to Dumbledore, "shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." He adds that only the happiest of men would see himself as he is when he looks into it.
In one of my entries in this blog, I’ve asked my readers what they think they’d see if they were to look into the magical mirror (Celestine has posted an entry about it in her blog). But I have not answered it then. Let me answer the question now:
I’d see myself hugging the man I love so much, and hearing him tell me over and over that he is alright now… that there’s nothing for me to worry about; things will push through as planned.
The Pensieve (introduced in Book 3). The pensieve is a shallow stone basin with odd carvings of runes and symbols around the edge into which one can store one’s thoughts and memories to relieve one’s mind of too much information. Dumbledore explains to Harry that he sometimes finds that he simply has too many thoughts and memories crammed into his mind, and so he siphons off the excess thoughts and pours them into the basin.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we can also unload our thoughts onto something that can hold them safely, whenever the going gets tough? Then we can just let go of the hurtful memories and painful thoughts that we have. Then it would be easier for us to get moving.
But then again, it may also not be a good idea, for what would we be without our memories — the good and the bad? Aren’t these things help define who we are?
In fact, Salve has devoted two entries on Harry Potter (one for the movie and another for the book) in her blog (http://www.salvacion.wordpress.com/). Even Celestine who has gotten her copy of the book, but hasn’t read it yet because she is supposed to be busy reviewing for her exams this week, has managed to write an entry in her blog (http://www.celestinerb.wordpress.com/) about how excited she is to read the book (talk about reviewing).
I’ve seen the movie and I like it, but I will no longer write something about it because Salve has done a good job at it. And since I haven’t read the book yet (I’ll borrow Salve’s Tuesday next week), I obviously can’t write my views on it yet. So what I’m going to do instead is feature two of the magical objects in Harry Potter that I like (and wish to have).
Mirror of Erised (introduced in Book 1). The mirror, according to Dumbledore, "shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." He adds that only the happiest of men would see himself as he is when he looks into it.
In one of my entries in this blog, I’ve asked my readers what they think they’d see if they were to look into the magical mirror (Celestine has posted an entry about it in her blog). But I have not answered it then. Let me answer the question now:
I’d see myself hugging the man I love so much, and hearing him tell me over and over that he is alright now… that there’s nothing for me to worry about; things will push through as planned.
The Pensieve (introduced in Book 3). The pensieve is a shallow stone basin with odd carvings of runes and symbols around the edge into which one can store one’s thoughts and memories to relieve one’s mind of too much information. Dumbledore explains to Harry that he sometimes finds that he simply has too many thoughts and memories crammed into his mind, and so he siphons off the excess thoughts and pours them into the basin.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we can also unload our thoughts onto something that can hold them safely, whenever the going gets tough? Then we can just let go of the hurtful memories and painful thoughts that we have. Then it would be easier for us to get moving.
But then again, it may also not be a good idea, for what would we be without our memories — the good and the bad? Aren’t these things help define who we are?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
THE POETIC PROCESS
Recently, I saw a blog of some guy whom I do not know (don’t even remember how I got to his blog: http://nextgr8twriter.wordpress.com/2007/06/05/the-poetic-process/), but whose writing I like. In one of his posts, he talked about poetic process, and led his readers through his way of writing poetry: from his raw thoughts, through several versions.
Because it’s just recently that I really learned to appreciate poetry, I was amazed at how one thought can be poetically said in different ways, in different poetry forms. (With my quasi-poems, I just get my thoughts onto paper and that’s it).
I cannot be as good as that guy, but I did try writing poetry his way. And here’s what I came up with:
MY ORIGINAL THOUGHT:
I fell in love
and suddenly
my dreams —
even the impossible —
came to life.
I fell in love
and suddenly
I lost the emptiness
within me.
Now, I’m alive.
MY FIRST DRAFT:
I fell in love
and finally
the moon and the sun
came face to face
in the same sky.
I fell in love
and finally,
life ceased
to be a garden
devoid of flowers.
MY SECOND DRAFT:
Love whispered
and I saw
the moon and the sun
in amorous embrace
amidst wistful clouds
on a bright red sky.
Love beckoned
And I felt something
in me bloom.
Fin’lly life ceased
to be a garden
that knows no flowers.
VERDICT: Needs more practice. Nyehehehehe
//Sherma E. Benosa
20 July 2007; 12:24am
Because it’s just recently that I really learned to appreciate poetry, I was amazed at how one thought can be poetically said in different ways, in different poetry forms. (With my quasi-poems, I just get my thoughts onto paper and that’s it).
I cannot be as good as that guy, but I did try writing poetry his way. And here’s what I came up with:
MY ORIGINAL THOUGHT:
I fell in love
and suddenly
my dreams —
even the impossible —
came to life.
I fell in love
and suddenly
I lost the emptiness
within me.
Now, I’m alive.
MY FIRST DRAFT:
I fell in love
and finally
the moon and the sun
came face to face
in the same sky.
I fell in love
and finally,
life ceased
to be a garden
devoid of flowers.
MY SECOND DRAFT:
Love whispered
and I saw
the moon and the sun
in amorous embrace
amidst wistful clouds
on a bright red sky.
Love beckoned
And I felt something
in me bloom.
Fin’lly life ceased
to be a garden
that knows no flowers.
VERDICT: Needs more practice. Nyehehehehe
//Sherma E. Benosa
20 July 2007; 12:24am
Friday, July 20, 2007
Random Thought I:
(“Thank you, Friendster!”)
Why is it that when a friend whom you had not seen for years (and honestly had not crossed your mind for several months) all of a sudden creeps back into your life, you’d suddenly feel you’ve missed that person so badly, that you’d start wondering how you had survived the past months (or years) without sharing a laugh or a sigh with him or her… and then you’d start feeling the void that was created when you parted ways, which you had forgotten about because of your new preoccupations and your new friends, and because you were sure time has filled it up, but now you feel it as sharply as it had been the day you went separate ways?
A dear friend, Agnes, with whom I shared so many things when we were much younger, suddenly showed up at Friendster. I can’t describe it, but when I saw her name pop up in my “who viewed me” list, my heart suddenly did a flip-flop (not the kind that the heart does at the sight of your crush… but the kind you feel when you go home after being away too long). And I had the overwhelming need to hug her real tight and shout (like I used to do when I was still an unruly fresh grad): Tiiiiitaaaaaaaaaaaa Agnesssssssssssssss!
Ahhhh… Having a renewed link with old friends is "bitter-sweet-er". Bitter, because you are reminded of how un-thoughtful you had been to the friends with whom you promised to get in touched with (which, needless to say, you failed to do); sweet, because you are reminded of the good — and the bad — things you’ve been through together; and sweeter because you know it’s not yet late, that you can still re-establish your link with him or her, because it was never really broken... just neglected.
Why is it that when a friend whom you had not seen for years (and honestly had not crossed your mind for several months) all of a sudden creeps back into your life, you’d suddenly feel you’ve missed that person so badly, that you’d start wondering how you had survived the past months (or years) without sharing a laugh or a sigh with him or her… and then you’d start feeling the void that was created when you parted ways, which you had forgotten about because of your new preoccupations and your new friends, and because you were sure time has filled it up, but now you feel it as sharply as it had been the day you went separate ways?
A dear friend, Agnes, with whom I shared so many things when we were much younger, suddenly showed up at Friendster. I can’t describe it, but when I saw her name pop up in my “who viewed me” list, my heart suddenly did a flip-flop (not the kind that the heart does at the sight of your crush… but the kind you feel when you go home after being away too long). And I had the overwhelming need to hug her real tight and shout (like I used to do when I was still an unruly fresh grad): Tiiiiitaaaaaaaaaaaa Agnesssssssssssssss!
Ahhhh… Having a renewed link with old friends is "bitter-sweet-er". Bitter, because you are reminded of how un-thoughtful you had been to the friends with whom you promised to get in touched with (which, needless to say, you failed to do); sweet, because you are reminded of the good — and the bad — things you’ve been through together; and sweeter because you know it’s not yet late, that you can still re-establish your link with him or her, because it was never really broken... just neglected.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Heart without Love
A heart that is incapable of loving is like a living body with a dead soul… like a gardener who hates flowers, like a singer who cannot sing any song. It’s like a plant deprived of carbon dioxide, like earth divorcing its sun.
//Sherma E. Benosa
17 July 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
As I Sleep
You are the night
that envelops me with peace.
Under your watchful moon
you make me feel safe.
In the company of your stars
you fill my heart with gladness.
Upon your request, the crickets
hum me a melody.
And on your order, the breeze
caresses my face.
All these, as I sleep.
//Sherma E. Benosa
13 July 2007; 3:46pm
Thursday, July 12, 2007
ODES TO THE NIGHT
(i) The night, in its obscurity
The night is —
The wide canvas
upon which the moon’s mysterious smile
is painted.
The rich backdrop
against which the stars’ gleeful dancing
is performed.
Dark, he lives in obscurity.
Alone, he is nobody.
Yet,
Without him —
The moon would lose its allure;
And the stars, their grandeur.
There won’t be starlit skies
under which lovers exchange dreamy sighs!
And I’d be lost —
Wouldn’t know where to find my shooting star!
(ii) Night shift
The night —
He hears
the young mothers’ lullabies.
the insomniac’s nightly cries.
the lovers’ secret sighs.
He sees
the sleeping souls’ dreams.
the crimes every thief commits.
the owls’ flights to the wilderness.
The night —
He is busy.
Tonight.
Every night.
He, too, is on the night shift!
//Sherma E. Benosa
12 July 2007; 1:05am
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Oh Salve!
We’ve known each other 
since we were in college. I consider her as one of my best friends. I’ve stayed overnight in her place hundreds of times. I've met her family and she has met mine. She is like a sister to me… she and Celestine. I love her warmth, adore her calmness, and respect her mind. I know she is talented. But dammit, how could I not have known she writes good poems?
Let me paste here some of her poems:
i, an island
i am an island
the wind is my best friend
whispering news of far
lands in my ears.
the sea is my lover
singing hymns of promise of forever.
the trees are my knights
guarding me to safety and security.
the flowers are my dames
amusing my solitary existence.
the birds are my constant guests
lodging in my trees for a night’s rest.
the sky is my shelter
lighting my path in dark hours.
i am an island
my best friend has joined other winds
passed me by without a glance.
scampering fast, my lover has departed
singing a song of rage and atrocity.
my knights had fallen in battle
bowing their heads in defeat.
tired of enthralling, my dames had
fled and drowned in my lover’s cry.
to a peaceful soil my guests had ran
in search of better refuge.
my shelter has crumpled down
sending needles of spears into my heart.
i cried from pain,
yet i cannot move
i cannot move—
still an island.
http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/i-an-island/
What has become of me?
Hope has abandoned me
left me drenched in my own tears
drowned in solitude
What has become of me?
Fate has walked away,
Displeased at my ungrateful countenance
Tired, like my trampled soul—
crashed into pieces.
Tell me, what has become of me?
Please save me,
I need your mercy
Hold my hand tight;
don’t let go—
Oh, it’s too late!
You’re late!
I’m drowning,
falling
fast—
zapped into the black hole of nothingness.
What—oh, nothing!—has become of me?
http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/what-has-become-of-me/
since we were in college. I consider her as one of my best friends. I’ve stayed overnight in her place hundreds of times. I've met her family and she has met mine. She is like a sister to me… she and Celestine. I love her warmth, adore her calmness, and respect her mind. I know she is talented. But dammit, how could I not have known she writes good poems?Let me paste here some of her poems:
i, an island
i am an island
the wind is my best friend
whispering news of far
lands in my ears.
the sea is my lover
singing hymns of promise of forever.
the trees are my knights
guarding me to safety and security.
the flowers are my dames
amusing my solitary existence.
the birds are my constant guests
lodging in my trees for a night’s rest.
the sky is my shelter
lighting my path in dark hours.
i am an island
my best friend has joined other winds
passed me by without a glance.
scampering fast, my lover has departed
singing a song of rage and atrocity.
my knights had fallen in battle
bowing their heads in defeat.
tired of enthralling, my dames had
fled and drowned in my lover’s cry.
to a peaceful soil my guests had ran
in search of better refuge.
my shelter has crumpled down
sending needles of spears into my heart.
i cried from pain,
yet i cannot move
i cannot move—
still an island.
http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/i-an-island/
What has become of me?
Hope has abandoned me
left me drenched in my own tears
drowned in solitude
What has become of me?
Fate has walked away,
Displeased at my ungrateful countenance
Tired, like my trampled soul—
crashed into pieces.
Tell me, what has become of me?
Please save me,
I need your mercy
Hold my hand tight;
don’t let go—
Oh, it’s too late!
You’re late!
I’m drowning,
falling
fast—
zapped into the black hole of nothingness.
What—oh, nothing!—has become of me?
http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/what-has-become-of-me/
Monday, July 09, 2007
"BUNGEE" JUMPING
(Reversible Suicide Part II)
Soon, it’s jump time once again. This next jump would be the biggest — and the riskiest — jump of my career. But somehow, I don’t feel as scared as I was in my previous jumps. Come to think of it, I was hardly scared then.
During my previous jumps, I was aware that there was no net to catch me. But I was also sure of the things I could do, of the things I could offer, so I never worried about not landing on solid ground. And solid ground, I always found.
This time, however, I am sure there is a net somewhere — a net that would prevent me from hitting the ground with a loud thud, in case I fail. And this time, I am not in it alone; I am jumping off with dear friends (Celestine, Salve and my brother Ogie). So though the stakes are much higher now than in any of the jumps I did before, the fear of failing still remains alien to me.
In fact, I am already excited. Why wouldn’t I be? As my friends and I come closer and closer to the jump day, the brighter our idea becomes. The closer we examine it for loop holes, the more perfect it seems.
I really do hope we'll succeed, because, more than anything, this might just be my chance to prove that I am right in believing that I need not leave the country to do well; that though the road I’ve chosen is longer and more steep, it too leads there (wherever there is). Or, does it? Hmm...
__________
(Side Story)
On Staying Behind…
It was with the carelessness of a child when I said to myself when I was 10 years old that I will never work in a foreign country, that I will travel abroad only to visit, never to work. I can easily extricate myself from that promise (on the ground that it was made before I even reached the age when I could make sound decisions)but I have always tried to uphold it.
It is not for nationalistic reasons (“the country needs excellent professionals here”) that I chose to stay, although of course I also like to think that by staying here, I am doing something for the country. [But then again, aren’t those who have left the ones saving the country from financial crisis through their remittances? Hmmm…]
I stayed because I’ve decided I cannot make the sacrifice of being away from my family for years. I always had this fear of leaving my loved ones breathing and healthy, though sad of my departure, only to find them cold and lifeless on my return. And, if that isn’t bad enough, how about not being able to see them one last time before they are buried (like what happened to my brother Ogie who was in the US for a five-month training when Inang Pacing died)?
Although it can be said that technically I, too, had not been with Inang and Amang when they took their final breaths, I was able to go home as often as I could before they died. And I was able to spend quality time with them, and store good memories of them to last me a lifetime.
So my reason for staying is selfish really, but going home every now and then, and sharing a laugh or two with the people I love so much is more important for me than hauling money ten or more times faster than I can do here.
Of course, there are times that I feel I should have left too (especially during hard times), but when I am able to tease my parents and pester my brothers and sisters-in-law face to face, when I can hug my nephew and kiss my grandmother, I know I’ve made the right decision.
And with this jump my friends and I are about to make, maybe… just maybe, this issue will be put to rest.
[Although there is a big possibility I will have to spend a few years abroad too… IF… hmmm… ironic talaga ang buhay! Waaaaaaa!]
*If you want to read Reversible Suicide, click http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2006/03/reversible-suicide.html
Soon, it’s jump time once again. This next jump would be the biggest — and the riskiest — jump of my career. But somehow, I don’t feel as scared as I was in my previous jumps. Come to think of it, I was hardly scared then.
During my previous jumps, I was aware that there was no net to catch me. But I was also sure of the things I could do, of the things I could offer, so I never worried about not landing on solid ground. And solid ground, I always found.
This time, however, I am sure there is a net somewhere — a net that would prevent me from hitting the ground with a loud thud, in case I fail. And this time, I am not in it alone; I am jumping off with dear friends (Celestine, Salve and my brother Ogie). So though the stakes are much higher now than in any of the jumps I did before, the fear of failing still remains alien to me.
In fact, I am already excited. Why wouldn’t I be? As my friends and I come closer and closer to the jump day, the brighter our idea becomes. The closer we examine it for loop holes, the more perfect it seems.
I really do hope we'll succeed, because, more than anything, this might just be my chance to prove that I am right in believing that I need not leave the country to do well; that though the road I’ve chosen is longer and more steep, it too leads there (wherever there is). Or, does it? Hmm...
__________
(Side Story)
On Staying Behind…
It was with the carelessness of a child when I said to myself when I was 10 years old that I will never work in a foreign country, that I will travel abroad only to visit, never to work. I can easily extricate myself from that promise (on the ground that it was made before I even reached the age when I could make sound decisions)but I have always tried to uphold it.
It is not for nationalistic reasons (“the country needs excellent professionals here”) that I chose to stay, although of course I also like to think that by staying here, I am doing something for the country. [But then again, aren’t those who have left the ones saving the country from financial crisis through their remittances? Hmmm…]
I stayed because I’ve decided I cannot make the sacrifice of being away from my family for years. I always had this fear of leaving my loved ones breathing and healthy, though sad of my departure, only to find them cold and lifeless on my return. And, if that isn’t bad enough, how about not being able to see them one last time before they are buried (like what happened to my brother Ogie who was in the US for a five-month training when Inang Pacing died)?
Although it can be said that technically I, too, had not been with Inang and Amang when they took their final breaths, I was able to go home as often as I could before they died. And I was able to spend quality time with them, and store good memories of them to last me a lifetime.
So my reason for staying is selfish really, but going home every now and then, and sharing a laugh or two with the people I love so much is more important for me than hauling money ten or more times faster than I can do here.
Of course, there are times that I feel I should have left too (especially during hard times), but when I am able to tease my parents and pester my brothers and sisters-in-law face to face, when I can hug my nephew and kiss my grandmother, I know I’ve made the right decision.
And with this jump my friends and I are about to make, maybe… just maybe, this issue will be put to rest.
[Although there is a big possibility I will have to spend a few years abroad too… IF… hmmm… ironic talaga ang buhay! Waaaaaaa!]
*If you want to read Reversible Suicide, click http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2006/03/reversible-suicide.html
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Reminiscing
(The Night You Whispered my Name)
The oft-reserved night beamed
The stars batted their eyelashes
And the moon furiously blushed
The night you whispered my name.
The trees swayed to the wind's whistling
The breeze paused, anticipating
And time, how she had stood frozen
The moment you whispered my name.
//Sherma E. Benosa
04 July 2007; 1:45pm
The oft-reserved night beamed
The stars batted their eyelashes
And the moon furiously blushed
The night you whispered my name.
The trees swayed to the wind's whistling
The breeze paused, anticipating
And time, how she had stood frozen
The moment you whispered my name.
//Sherma E. Benosa
04 July 2007; 1:45pm
Monday, July 02, 2007
EXCESS BAGGAGE
A letter that should not have been penned
A song that should not have been sung
A poem that should not have been read
A story that should not have been shared
A promise that should not have been given
A lesson that should not have been taken
An advice that should not have been heeded
A step that should not have been taken
A drink that should not have been drank
A word that should not have been said
A gift that should not have been wrapped
A merchandize that should not have been bought
A trigger that should not have been pulled
A sword that should not have been wielded
A prisoner that should not have been jailed
A risk that should not have been taken
Piled (not too) neatly in one of my closets
Are things that should not have been kept
Crowding my drawers, filling my pockets
It’s clean-up time once again, I guess.
//Sherma E. Benosa
2 July 2007; 2:25pm
Sunday, July 01, 2007
SHORT VERSES AND LINES
Bright Night
The moon
Entertained by the stars
Prays thanks
To the night.
The night
Filled with glee
Invites everyone
To share his canvas.
The stars
Pleased with the night
Each light a candle
The sky is bright.
******
On a withered branch
The pigeon sang…
Spring’s promise.
On a withered branch
The rain dropped…
Autumn’s grief.
******
The sun was feted
Ready to leave
Summer’s gone.
The thunder roared
The clouds march
The rains come.
*****
Extinguished
Light snuffed, laughter exhausted
Mission carried out
Pieces of the puzzle now in place
Nothing more need be said.
*****
My epitaph
She held her head high in life
To death, she bowed.
//Sherma E. Benosa
30 June 2007
Saturday, June 30, 2007
The Night Dreams
The night dreams in his sleep
Of fireworks twinkling
Of a lovely face beaming
A smile lingers in his lips.
The breeze caresses him
Wipes the sweat off his face
Whispers music into his ears
And farther he drifts.
Letting go of his fears
Giving away his darkness
Offering his calm, his peace.
He is not someone to fear.
Those that walk around
Using his darkness for cover
Are the traitors, the ones to blame
Oh, how they taint his name.
His honor befouled
Nothing's left to do but dream
In his vigils, in his sleep
He waits for the sun to creep in again.
//Sherma Benosa
30 June 2007; 4:07pm
Friday, June 22, 2007
Mga anghel ng lansangan
Kung ang mga anghel
Ay may kanya-kanyang awit
Bakit tila iba ang aking naririnig
Na namumutawi sa mga bibig
Ng mga mumunting pipit
Na sa mga lansanga’y umangkin
Upang doo’y kanilang iparinig
Handog na mga awitin
Sa sinumang nais makinig?
‘Di ba sila’y mga anghel din
Na pinili lamang tiklopin
Ipinagkaloob sa kanilang mga pakpak
At sa lupa pinili nilang manirahan
Upang kanilang awitan
Mga may mabibigat na pasanin
Nang kahit kaunti man lamang
Maibsan pighati ng mundo
Na tila ba wala nang katapusan?
Ngunit bakit tila sa kanilang balikat
Bumagsak dalahing mabibigat
Kung kaya’t sila ang naging tagabuhat
Pighating balak sana nilang ibsan
Paghihirap na sana’y kanilang bawasan
Kung kaya’t tayong mapapalad
Mga dalahin natin ngayo’y magaan
Ngunit bakit bukas nilang mga palad, ni lingon
Di man lang natin magawang tapunan?
Dahil ba tayo’y tayo, at sila’y sila
Mga tunog nating pinakikinggan
At awitin nila’y magkaiba?
Ang musikang sana’y handog
Ninakaw pa sa kanila
Malalamyos na mga munting tinig
Namaos, ngayo’y ‘di na halos marinig
Anghel na aaliw sa atin, nangapagod na
Sino’ng magpapawi hinagpis nila?
Sherma E. Benosa
June 21, 2007
12:13am
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Old Photographs I
I look at old photographs and I am reminded of days long gone, of the happy times as well as the sad times, and of the people who graced my life and with whom I shared a laugh or two, or a tear and a sigh.
I look at old photographs and a smile cross my lips, as laughing and smiling faces greet me, making me wonder where their owners might be now, and if they are doing fine; and reminisce the times we spent together. My smile turns into a grin as I notice how silly we acted or looked then, and I wonder what on earth made us do the things we did, and wear the clothes we wore.
I look at old photographs and a sigh escapes my lips, as I come across the smiling faces of loved ones who had left this world, and I pray for their soul, as I am once again reminded of mortality, of how fleeting life on earth really is.
//First posted in Mr. Rudy Rumbaoa's blog in iluko.com
Old Photographs II
I look at my old photographs and I am transported back to the past, and I become a child again — free and innocent, trusting and guileless; and the tall buildings and the wide streets I see every day become the lush trees and wide fields I used to roam with my brothers and cousins; and those fellows hurriedly walking ahead of, as well as those lagging behind me, become the friends with whom I played hide and seek and patintero; and those annoying sounds coming from factories and buses and cars become the sound of infectious laughter from kids having a good time.
I look at my old photographs and I see myself as the diligent student that I was, burning with determination to better my world and that of my loved ones, full of hopes for a brighter future, bursting with dreams of finding — and marking — my own place under the sun, and jam-packed with ideas to share to the world.
I look at my old photographs and I see myself as a young woman, having her first taste of disappointments, deceit, and betrayal, and taking them all in; learning invaluable lessons from them, and letting them make her hard enough to withstand future tribulations, but soft enough to still know about compassion.
I look at my old photographs and I can’t help but compare the present me to the picture I envisioned myself to become when I reached my present age — and I notice the disparities; but I like who I am now just the same.
I look at my old photographs and I realize I’ve gone a long way from the starting point, but still far away from the finish line. So I whisper to myself: “Long way to go, lady. Keep going.”
//First posted in Manong Rudy's blog in iluko.com...
Thursday, June 07, 2007
PRECIOUS MOMENT I
(Roughly a week before Amang went)
It was merienda time, yet, instead of a food or a drink, it was Amang’s hand that I held in my left hand. He was lying supine on his bed, and I was sitting right next to him. His eyes were closed, his grasp firm, his breathing regular yet shallow. I reached out to caress his gray hair with my free hand, my eyes never leaving his face. For the nth time, I was awed at how handsome he still was, despite his advanced age of 88 and his illness that had devastated his body.
He must have felt my gaze upon him, because just then, he opened his eyes, and he looked deep into me. And for a long time, we stared at each other, neither of us willing to break the link.
That instant, my mind was wiped out of thoughts. My fear that he would soon go left me. And I felt a strength surged through me, and I wondered where that extra strength came from.
Still, the link remained unbroken. I remember now that as I gazed into his eyes, as I struggled not to break the link, even as my eyes began to hurt and tears were threatening to break free, I was asking him questions in my mind, though I don’t think I ever knew what those questions were. And I remember too that his eyes seemed to be telling me something, but exactly what they were, I never truly understood, but I was — and still am — sure they were of love — his love for us.
Soon my eyes hurt real bad, and the tears finally broke free. The instant he saw the tears, he closed his eyes and I felt sorry. Sorry that I failed him… that the strength he had lent me was still not enough to sustain me. And sorry that I broke the link.
I knew then that the moment had passed.
I wiped my tears not too discretely, hating myself for being weak just when Amang wanted me to be strong, and for failing to hold back my tears. But then I remembered that his eyes were moist, too. And instantly, my heart warmed, realizing that Amang never cried in sorrow; his tears were only for happy times.
Again, I looked at Amang’s face, his eyes still tightly shut. I moved closer to him, smoothing his gray hair. And just then, I felt him tighten his grasp on my hand.
And I realized, the link was never really broken.
Amang Roman died on 31 May 2007; 3:37am.
Sherma E. Benosa 7
June 2007; 2:37 pm
It was merienda time, yet, instead of a food or a drink, it was Amang’s hand that I held in my left hand. He was lying supine on his bed, and I was sitting right next to him. His eyes were closed, his grasp firm, his breathing regular yet shallow. I reached out to caress his gray hair with my free hand, my eyes never leaving his face. For the nth time, I was awed at how handsome he still was, despite his advanced age of 88 and his illness that had devastated his body.
He must have felt my gaze upon him, because just then, he opened his eyes, and he looked deep into me. And for a long time, we stared at each other, neither of us willing to break the link.
That instant, my mind was wiped out of thoughts. My fear that he would soon go left me. And I felt a strength surged through me, and I wondered where that extra strength came from.
Still, the link remained unbroken. I remember now that as I gazed into his eyes, as I struggled not to break the link, even as my eyes began to hurt and tears were threatening to break free, I was asking him questions in my mind, though I don’t think I ever knew what those questions were. And I remember too that his eyes seemed to be telling me something, but exactly what they were, I never truly understood, but I was — and still am — sure they were of love — his love for us.
Soon my eyes hurt real bad, and the tears finally broke free. The instant he saw the tears, he closed his eyes and I felt sorry. Sorry that I failed him… that the strength he had lent me was still not enough to sustain me. And sorry that I broke the link.
I knew then that the moment had passed.
I wiped my tears not too discretely, hating myself for being weak just when Amang wanted me to be strong, and for failing to hold back my tears. But then I remembered that his eyes were moist, too. And instantly, my heart warmed, realizing that Amang never cried in sorrow; his tears were only for happy times.
Again, I looked at Amang’s face, his eyes still tightly shut. I moved closer to him, smoothing his gray hair. And just then, I felt him tighten his grasp on my hand.
And I realized, the link was never really broken.
Amang Roman died on 31 May 2007; 3:37am.
Sherma E. Benosa 7
June 2007; 2:37 pm
Friday, May 18, 2007
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Wailing
Today is a red-letter day in my personal calendar. It is supposed to be a day of celebration. In fact, I am supposed to have received three dozen burgundy roses yesterday, and to have had a hair spa this morning. I had planned to put on a simple dress, and wear a barely-there makeup, so that when I am online, he would know that he is indeed special. Maybe he would tell me I looked good, or tease me with, “Oh, langamon, Ragu!”
But none of this happened. Right now, I sit in front of the computer, typing this piece after leaving comments in some neighbors’ blogs in Iluko.com (as I have done yesterday) to drive my worries away.
Except that they won’t go. I don’t think they would, until I get that piece of information I need so badly — the results of his tests assuring me he is alright. That there’s nothing serious. That it’s just fatigue. That all he needs is rest.
If I get that, then I could easily forget that we’ve been robbed off the chance to enjoy our most special day. But until then, I sit here, willing the tears away, wishing he can find a way to contact me soon… and tell me, “Happy Anniversary, Love!”
Monday, May 07, 2007
D'wicked Angel Exposed...
Strong-willed and self-reliant are the words that are always affixed to my name. Shrewd is my nickname, stubborn is my middle name, and straightforward is my pseudonym. Sugar-coated speech isn’t my specialty, and flattery is nowhere in my vocabulary. The weak hate me, and the ridiculous detest me.
I have a penchant for winning, an insatiable thirst for learning, and an unexplainable affinity towards the unexplained.
I am often drawn to unexplored territories and untested waters. Defying the odds is my favorite sports, challenging authority is my favorite pastime, and taking risks and jumping off different cliffs are among my hobbies.
I have a steady love affair with logic and a regular rendezvous with creativity. For the former, I am a word slayer; but for the latter, I am she who puts form and persona to the abstract, and mystic to the tangible.
In some ways I am both yin and yang. I can be calm as the sunset, and fiery as the noontime sun. I can be both reckless and careful, passionate and disinterested, simple and complicated.
Excellence and elegance are my trademarks. I work not just with my hand, but also with my heart and mind. Over big and minuscule details I slave, until the two qualities I so admire — unique and outstanding — are embodied in my creation.
My family and the love that I have are my greatest treasures; whereas my biggest assets are the contents of my heart — the love that flows out of it, the warmth that emanates from it, and the peace that resides in it.
My greatest aspiration is to live a life that’s full and with very few regrets. Meaningless schemes and pathetic pursuits have no place in my daily itinerary. What's in it are making this journey I have started as meaningful as it can be, never stepping onto other people’s toes, and encouraging others to pursue their dreams.
I believe that there is a Great Being that guides us through every step of the way, although the decision about whether we take a step or not, and which direction to take is left to us. I hope — and believe — that the direction I have chosen to trudge will lead me to that place where I can look back to my life, and say, “well done!”
I have a penchant for winning, an insatiable thirst for learning, and an unexplainable affinity towards the unexplained.
I am often drawn to unexplored territories and untested waters. Defying the odds is my favorite sports, challenging authority is my favorite pastime, and taking risks and jumping off different cliffs are among my hobbies.
I have a steady love affair with logic and a regular rendezvous with creativity. For the former, I am a word slayer; but for the latter, I am she who puts form and persona to the abstract, and mystic to the tangible.
In some ways I am both yin and yang. I can be calm as the sunset, and fiery as the noontime sun. I can be both reckless and careful, passionate and disinterested, simple and complicated.
Excellence and elegance are my trademarks. I work not just with my hand, but also with my heart and mind. Over big and minuscule details I slave, until the two qualities I so admire — unique and outstanding — are embodied in my creation.
My family and the love that I have are my greatest treasures; whereas my biggest assets are the contents of my heart — the love that flows out of it, the warmth that emanates from it, and the peace that resides in it.
My greatest aspiration is to live a life that’s full and with very few regrets. Meaningless schemes and pathetic pursuits have no place in my daily itinerary. What's in it are making this journey I have started as meaningful as it can be, never stepping onto other people’s toes, and encouraging others to pursue their dreams.
I believe that there is a Great Being that guides us through every step of the way, although the decision about whether we take a step or not, and which direction to take is left to us. I hope — and believe — that the direction I have chosen to trudge will lead me to that place where I can look back to my life, and say, “well done!”
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
INVADING ILOCOS
 | Cool Slideshows |
What comes after a wedding?
Did I hear someone say honeymoon? Hmmm.. lemesi. A honeymoon is only for the groom and the bride. I'm thinking more of something for the wedding guests.
Packing and going home? Nah, not us. I'm thinking more of having fun, of invasion. Because that is what we did. The day after Manz and Sheryll's wedding, we launched our invasion campaign... and had lots of fun at Pagudpod, Burgos, Bangui, Batac, Pinili, Currimao, Paoay and Vigan. That is, after invading Laoag, the bride's hometown.
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