Tales of a Wananabe Kitchen Goddess

About a month ago, I was watching as a make-up artist layered eye shadow on my discipler Ate Carol's eyes in the music room. I was trying to figure out how she (the make-up artist) was making Ate Carol's chinky eyes look bigger and more dramatic when my discipler suddenly asked me, "Is it true that you're good at cooking?"
That question hit me like one of the wicked curveballs Victoria bragged about in "Twilight." Me? Cook? That was easily one of the funniest questions everyone had ever asked me simply because as much as I love to sink my teeth into anything edible and cater to my gastric juices' every whim, my cooking skills are, unfortunately, (grossly) inversely proportional to my appetite. As if to further bolster my culinary insecurities, I have come to realize that I could possibly forever banner the title "Kitchen God's Daughter/Grand Daughter" as my father and both my grandfathers are real geniuses in front of a pan and stove.
So as to rightfully deem myself worthy of every spoon I reach for, I decided to start with desserts and pasta about a year ago because they seem easy enough (and because they're two of my favorite food items). And it seems like when I eat whatever I make, it all tastes pretty good even if I know it lacks a bit of something here and there.
On Sundays, my mom gives our house help the day off so we don't eat lunch and dinner at home. We usually eat out or have food delivered. Tonight, my mom decided to try a new paste recipe which she clipped from a magazine. It was called Vongole Pasta with Prawns. Like me, my mom and my sister both lack serious culinary skills but the adventure of trying something new and actually making it yourself was all together appealing. My mother and I went off to the supermarket to buy the needed ingredients which included white wine, clams and prawns. Our previous pasta projects were topped off with either red sauce or creamy white sauce but we have always been fans of pasta drowning in olive oil. But then again, we have never tried mixing olive oil with white wine so it should be worth the try. Shallots were not available in the supermarket so we just went for small onions. There were also no lemons in the fruit stall so we opted to use calamansi. We didn't know wat lemon zest was so we left that out and since there was also no dried chili flakes on the shelves, I grabbed some chilli powder. We also used canned clams since there were no fresh clams available.
We brought the groceries home and the three of us started work on what would be our dinner. Mom added more wine than we thought was needed and my sister was trying to shield me from adding more chili powder. Later on, we started laughing so hard because the mixture did taste more of wine than anything else. Dad checked us out from the window and I started to wonder if he was contemplating on calling for food delivery. So we added more oil and butter just to counter the taste and I would sneak in more chili powder when my sister wasn't looking.

Finally, we added the pasta to the sauce and then piled everything into a huge serving bowl. Call it a case of "sariling luto, sariling puri" but it was actually pretty good, if I may say so. Even our house help thought so! I think we turned the heat on too high or something so much of the sauce evaporated so it would have been better if there was more sauce. If I had my way, I would have added more chili and more pepper. I really liked how the sweetness from the wine blended with the spicy tinge from the chili. I had one too any helpings and in the end, my plate could really tell you how our entire culinary adventure ended.

If any of you want to try it for yourself, I'll post the recipe just as soon as I find it.

Dreading a White Christmas

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
Just like the ones I used to know..."

And so goes the song. Well, in my Christmas book, white does not seem to be the best color for the holiday season this year...and a white Christmas is not exactly the Christmas I have come to know.
On my way home from the airport, I found myself in the middle of what appeared to be the Filipino version of a white Christmas. My home province was one of the places ravaged by Typhoon Frank in the middle of 2008 and though our house was among the few which remained untouched by the flood, a huge part of the city and the outlying towns were practically under water. After the flood, mud caked the streets and eventually, the mud dried to become dust. And now, as cars and jeepneys sped past the streets, dust would be stirred up into tropical versions of snowflakes.
As I stared at the specks of dust which clouded my windowsill, I began dreading what could possibly be my first white Christmas.
Normally, my parents took on the tradition of fetching me or my sister from the airport and driving either of us home. This time around, my cousin Ramboy and my grandparents' driver Tok did the fetching and that was not the only thing differen about coming home this time of the year. Instead of being driven home, I was to land myself - and my luggage - in the hospital.
So there I found myself taking the elevator (good thing Tok volunteered to bring my luggage home for me) with an elevator operator in his white pants, doctors in their white coats, nurses in their white uniforms and caps and a stretcher with white linen. And as if the sight of white were not enough as I walked the whitewashed walls, I was greeted by my grandfather as he lay huddled underneath his white blankie. I couldn't stand the white blinds so I pulled them up and was at least comforted by the sunlight streaming through the windows.
My gwampa had been in the hospital for about four days prior to my arrival because of complications due to urinary tract infection. He was also bugged relentlessly by pain somewhere in his back which the doctors had difficulty diagnosing. Their theories ranged from fusion of his vertebral bones to hydronephrosis and even "rayuma." The pain pretty much came and went like Santa Claus down a chimney - at any given time. It was difficult watching him jerk his legs because of the pain. My gwampa has a very high, almost superhuman tolerance (believe it or not) for anything painful or uncomfortable so once he starts complaining that something hurts...it really does hurt a whole lot. Throughout his stay, I began to wonder how Sue endured through a number Christmases in a hospital room with her grandfather before he passed away. I made a mental reminder to ask her next time.
Throughout his almost two week stay in the company of the white walls, white linen, white-uniformed people and white tiled floors, it wasn't all bad though. We watched "Eagle Eye" and "Pirates of the Caribbean" and he laughed his socks off whenever Johnny Depp came up onscreen. Sometimes he'd sing and once gave his physical therapist a fright when he feigned an injury during a rehab session. He particularly got a kick out of teasing everybody, especially playing matchmaker with his nurse and the office messenger who came in daily to give him reports to sign. We also thoroughly enjoyed praying with him in the morning and reading my old, "NIV for teenagers" Bible together which, according to him, was nice because the print was huge.

It was not just the prospect of spending Christmas in a hospital which I was not particularly looking forward to. I could spend Christmas in Timbuktu without really caring as long as I had my family with me. It was just that I was not used to having someone sick and the rest of the family worrying to bits during the happiest time of the year. It would be all right to have a different Christmas every so often but a change as drastic as this was just right about unwelcome.
The white Christmas I so dreaded never came though. Lolo was discharged on the 23rd under the conditions that he keep his catheter on, that he should be confined to his wheelchair and that if he does want to walk, he should do so with crutches. That was enough for us and for Lolo who was itching to get out of his hospital room. I guess white Christmases, for now, are not really in our palettes for the colors of the season. But then again, the same thought must have run through the minds of the people left behind in the company of those white-washed walls, white linen, white uniformed people and white tiled floors.

My gwampa's looking all too happy to have
his IV off and his discharge slip signed right
before Christmas Eve.

Home for Christmas

"Make sure you're home before dinnertime."
I have lost count of the number of summer mornings when my mom would give me that same reminder over and over and over again as I would leave the house after breakfast to go on my imaginary Don Quixote adventures outdoors with my older cousins. I really did not quite understand that as a child but now, when I am living more than a quarter of my life (or more if I die before I'm a hundred), it now seems reminiscent to a shepherd counting the sheep in his fold by dusk. After all, everything has to come full circle at the end of every day, whether the means be figurative or, in this case, quite literal.
On Wednesday, December 17 at 3 a.m., my sister shook me awake. My head was spinning as I had been asleep for less than two hours. As I splash water into my face, I blamed my late night date with Em and Banana in Glorietta which saw me home by half an hour past midnight. With school taking up most of my time, I was glad to get Tuesday night off to at least meet with them for a couple of hours in Makati. A little while later, as I drove my sister to the airport for her 5:30 a.m. flight, the car literally flew over a road hump which I swear I didn't see. That got my sister seriously contemplating about getting a taxi somewhere. When we finally reached the airport, she pulled out her luggage from the backseat and told me, "See you later at home." Now that was surreal.
I crawled back to my bed by 4 a.m. and woke up with a start at 8 a.m., realizing that I had loads of other things to do before my own flight home later in the afternoon, including packing my luggage! I had to meet Kuya Jojo in church to hand over some music sheets for safe-keeping and to pick up my peanut butter bottles. On the way, I got stuck in traffic and ended up being 20 minutes late, much to my embarrassment. It was 11 a.m. and I had errands to run, a car that badly needed cleaning and a stomach that was growling its way into an ulcer.
Thanks to traffic, I got back home at a quarter past 12 just in time to pick up the ringing phone and talk to my mother who asked me three different variants of "Where were you?" I immediately told her I had to go when I espied my half-empty luggage at the foot of my bed with its lid hanging open like a kid having his mouth examined. Yikes! I spent the next hour or so running around with books, papers, clothes and Christmas gifts, trying to stuff them into my bag.
As I lived quite near the airport, I got to the terminal a good 90 minutes before my flight. The airport was teeming with people even if PAL had the terminal all to itself unlike last year. Of course there was pushing and jostling but, hey! It's Christmas so that I chose to ignore all that in the name of the jolliest time of the year.
The flight was smooth and I slept all the way, although I did wake up once in a while because the toddler seated behind me kept on kicking my chair. The plane landed according to schedule and as I was seated in the plane's rear portion, I had to wait for my turn to get out of my chair. So I busied myself with texting my mother and my aunt, telling them that I had arrived safely and in one-piece. Finally when it was my turn to leave the plane, I pulled out my backpack and laptop and reached for a paperbag in the stowage bin holding about 12 paperback novels. As I was pulling the paperbag out of the bin, this taller and bigger guy was making his way against the tide of people leaving the plane. Apparently, he had left something and I thought he was going to wait just until I was able to retrieve my things. However he forced himself between the what tiny space was left between me the aisle seats and in the process, he hit my arm and made me lose my balance. My paperbag flew out of my hands and rippped apart, spilling my books on the aisle and the seats. So I held up traffic inside the plane as I picked up my books on the floor and cradled them in my arms as the paperbag had gone from being bag to being just paper in a matter of seconds...all while waiting for an apology which never came.
I was still muttering when I got to the luggage carousel until I met my younger cousin. I did not know how he managed to get himself into an area restricted to passengers only but I was only too thankful when he reached out to carry my books for me and later pulled my heavy bag from the carousel. As we drove home, I looked at my watch and realized it was past 5 in the afternoon. We passed by bayi-bayi stands, Biscocho House's newest shop, Julie's house, Christ the King cemetery and later SM all under a sunset I had missed seeing in this part of the country.
I asked to be dropped off at the hospital because my grandfather was sick yet again. My mom later brought me home and called me to dinner just after I had washed up. It was still all a little surreal for me as I started the day all alone in a dining table miles away from home and now, I was seated in my usual position in the dining table with my family with our two dogs yapping at each other in the background. No matter what my seven-year old self would say, it was actually good to be home by dinner time.

From Book to Movie: Twilight

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something."

Amidst mist, mountains and Bella's somber narration, "Twilight" became the movie which used to be a mere visualization confined to the corners of my imagination. Perhaps becuase of my previously doomed love affairs with books-turned-movies (like The Lost World, For One More Day, A Walk to Remember and The Da Vinci Code, just to name a few), I have learned not to raise my expectations to levels as high as Emmett Cullen's leaps and bounds through a dimly lit forest. That mindset, together with a generally good cast and an ear-worthy soundtrack, made the movie version of the popular Stephenie Meyer novel good enough for my ratings scale.

What I noted about reviewers who deadpanned "Twilight" into butcher fodder was the aversion for the new, unfamiliar portrayal of vampires as pale creatures with a conscience, an alternative diet, Sweet Valley sappiness and a passion for supersonic baseball. These are elements of the plot which are not to be taken against the movie because, after all, they were all merely channelled from the book...and the book was a hit. What the movie sorely lacked though was the book's subtle hints at depth, such as the underlying theme of an endlesss search for redemption, which were overlooked all in the name of Bella and Edward's love story about a vampire who has sworn off human blood but falls for a human whose scent was, in his words, just his "brand of heroin."

The reel Edward (Robert Pattinson) is not as dreamy as Bella's description of him in the book but then again, Bella is all of seventeen and, just like any other teenager, very prone to exaggeration. He is not as horrid as some fans have initially described but he has just the right combination of "good," "lethal" and "dangerous" to his looks. Add that with pretty impressive acting chops and brooding eyes, it becomes a no-brainer as to why Pattinson is teenage world's newest poster boy. He perfectly captures Edward's dual personality of being both Debussy-sensitive and racecar driver-edgy. He does channel images of James Dean and River Phoenix in some angles, especially in the scene where he stepped out of his now-famous Volvo with Bella in his side and sunglasses over his eyes. Sighing then does become inevitable.

In the book, Bella was not whiny or frilly. Neither was she grungy nor rebellious. She always seemed grounded and balanced, characteristics which Kristen Stewart puts forward rather well in the movie. Emily Browning (The Spiderwick Chronicles), one of the early favorites for the role of Bella, was not an odd choice but she certainly looked a bit too exotic for the Bella I imagined who seemed to be straddling that gray area between plain and pretty. Stewart is far from plain but neither is she movie star gorgeous so she did fit the role pretty well. Her deep voice gives Bella strength, character and maturity which set her apart from her peers in the book. This was perfectly illustrated in one scene where Bella had to pretend to be sick with living with her father in Forks so that she could escape from the nomadic vampire James who was hunting her down. She was pulling clothes off her closet and stuffing them into her suitcase without the usual drama and high-pitched yelling just like Bella in the book - a young girl forced into maturity a little too early.

Central to the movie's plot was Pattinson and Stewart's chemistry which bubbled, frothed and simmered like a fairytale witch's cauldron. I admit to holding my breath more than just a couple of times in the entire duration of the movie, like in scenes where Bella and Edward danced to Iron & Wine in the prom gazebo, furtively swapped microscope slides in lab or talked to each while standing on tree branches way above ground level. However, some scenes were a disappointment, like the famous meadow scene which seemed a bit dated and wanting. Another scene which almost got me wrenching my armrests off the chair was the part where Edward said one of Twilight's most quoted lines: "So the lion fell inlove with the lamb." It was bordering on cheesy and corny that I found myself cringing with embarrassment. Conspicuously absent was Bella and Edward's verbal banter as they picked each other's brains, something I looked forward to as I turned every page of the book. True, Bella was always ranting about how "beautiful" Edward was physically, but I think what brought them together was not really the oggling but the verbal exchange.

Other letdowns included Edward's "sparkle scene," when he stepped out into the sunlight to show Bella what vampire skin would look like uncovered. I did hope for a bit more sparkle, the kind which does not let the audience go looking for it and then end with an "Oh there it is!" The sparkle effect was too subtle for comfort. I also had a problem with some actor choices for the roles. For instance, Rosalie Hale (Nikki Reed) was described as the most beautiful person in the world and honestly, she just did not measure up to it physically. As a matter of fact, I found Alice Cullen (Ashley Greene) a lot prettier than her (I don't think I am biased just because I do love Alice in the book). The movie also started a tad bit too slow for me for the first 1/3 but after that, the pacing did pick up rather well. The speed effects also seemed dated and were reminiscent of a slightly improved version of "Charmed." They also have to work on the makeup blending. The faces of the actors are too white compared to their necks and I vividly remember the very first scene where Carlisle Cullen (Peter Facinelli) appears in the hospital right after Edward saves Bella from being flattened by Tyler's van. The minute he pushed the doors open and walked into the ER, I almost regurgitated my dinner as his face looked as white as the hospital walls. Snorts and snickers then resounded all over the theater. I mean, if a doctor who treated me looked as white as that, I'd have no doubts that he were indeed undead!

Surprises came in the form of Taylor Lautner (the Quileuete Jacob Black) and Jackson Rathbone (Jasper Hale). Jasper had a hidden charm which surfaced as he kicked around a baseball bat in my favorite baseball scene and Lautner proved that he was more than just a pesky kid. I was actually concerned about having Lautner play Jacob since he was a central character in "New Moon" and his relationship with Bella was a prime mover in the second book's plot. Apparently he and Stewart also have a certain charm together which could be good enough for the next movie installment and I could see a lot of Jacob's dry humor in him.

With all that in place and a definitely bigger budget to boost production, 2010's New Moon definitely has to be a movie that the saga's fans can really sink their teeth into. For the meantime, I'll be busying myself with overtaking all the Volvos I meet on the road just to check out if the driver looks a little too pale for comfort.

Getting into the Twilight Zone

Twilight is perhaps the year's most anticipated movie. The reviews from the US say the movie has "no bite" (though the movie raked in $70 plus million on its opening day) and my friend Banana's short review through text straight from Vegas wasn't exactly glorious. A couple of my classmates caught the first screening in SM Manila and if I were to quote Joey, she confirmed more or less what Banana said: the movie was an acquired taste. Well, it's not like it's the end of the world if the movie wasn't good but I thoroughly enjoyed the series and passed them on to a lot of people including my mother, my best friend, my seatmate in Tax class and even my grandfather's 60-something cardiologist.
As much as my friend Kate was building the Twilight movie hype by sending me book quotes almost everyday for the past month, I was excited about something else - the soundtrack. After all when I was reading the books, only two tunes kept on playing in my head - Claire de Lune and a random Linkin Park song. Now with the soundtrack knocking the socks off my player in an almost daily basis, I can immediately come up with more diverse and interesting substitutes for my two overplayed tracks as I replay certain snippets from the book in my head. Now if the movie supposedly lacks the allure of the printed material, the soundtrack, for me, is almost as thoroughly engaging as Edward Cullen's dazzling golden eyes I almost feel like that poor waitress in the restaurant in Port Angeles. Each CD comes with a Twilight character trading card (I got Edward though I wish I got Alice) and the CD jacket folds out into a six-panel poster of Edward and Bella.
The selection opens with Stephenie Meyer's favorite band Muse. Before I read Twilight, I honestly had no idea of a band named Muse in existence. When the song started playing, I realized I actually missed out on so much. The song "Supermassive Black Hole" perfectly sets the mood, I daresay. With its brash guitars and its eerie-mysterious-dangerous sound, it seemed to adequately reflect the book's mood and and Forks' gloomy sky. Listening to the song got me wondering where I could get my hands on more Muse material as I really liked what I was hearing.
Another notable cut would be Iron and Wine's "Flightless Bird, American Mouth" which I just love listening to before I fall asleep almost every night. The melody is a straightforward walz and the lyrics are cryptic, giving the song that romantic feel with a cool metal edge. But my favorite song to replay would be "Leave Out All the Rest" all perhaps because of a bias for Linkin Park, one of my favorite bands. The song lyrics, much like the other songs in the soundtrack, are very much illustrative of Bella and Edward's relationship, such as when Chester Bennington gets all foreboding (and New Moon-y) as he sings "When the time comes, forget the wrong that I've done, let me leave behind some reasons to be missed."
Paramore has two tracks in the album but I like "Decode" better as Haley soars through the song in almost ethereal fashion, as if she were gliding through trees. I also love listening to the hints of vulnerability in Collective Soul's "Tremble for My Beloved."
Robert Pattinson, the actor formerly known as Cedric Diggory, was given the chance to sing for the soundtrack courtesy of the song "Never Think." Overall it was a commendable effort despite the fact that he did run into a few snags with the notes as he tried to do simple runs. Neither did it help that he mumbled about 3/4 of the lyrics so it was really difficult to figure out what he was trying to get across. I could not help but wonder if the song intro of a lone guitar, which shot past a whole minute, was done on purpose as to further fuel the anticipation of how Pattinson would sound as a singer. He was generally just all right with the vocals, sounding almost like a country rock star, but I need to hear more material from him to be thoroughly impressed and swoony.
The soundtrack ends with Bella's lullaby which, despite being a moving and beautiful piece, did not actually sound much like a lullaby. Nevertheless, the book has taught me to stick to the unconventional and that exactly is "Bella's lullaby". I don't think it is a "one size fits all" kind of lullaby. It is not sweet and mellow in a bubblegum, saccharine sort of way. The lullaby is almost reminiscent of that long, quiet walk a person takes as he traverses that road between consciousness and slumber which usually starts off in a rather wayward fashion then shifts into a more comfortable mood before finally swelling into an overwhelming sense of helplessness and ending with sleep executing its final knock out abruptly and without warning.
Now I can't wait for Saturday so I can finally watch the movie and see for myself how it measures up to the soundtrack.
Twilight Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
Atlantic Records
1. Muse - Supermassive Black Hole
2. Paramore - Decode
3. The Black Ghosts - Full Moon
4. Linkin Park - Leave Out All the Rest
5. Mutemath - Spotlight
6. Perry Farrell - Go All the Way
7. Collective Soul - Tremble for My Beloved
8. Paramore - I Caught Myself
9. Blue Foundation - Eyes on Fire
10. Rob Pattinson - Never Think
11. Iron & Wine - Flightless Bird, American Mouth
12. Carter Burwell - Bella's Lullaby

Schoolyard Lessons on Avenue Q

I have only punched one person in my entire life. And unless my very existence is at stake, I do not intend to do it ever again.

The details are rather sketchy. I remember I was around five or six years old and I was in school. The reason for the vagueness was that through the years, I had decided to push aside this strand of memory into the deepest innards of my brain's synapses because it was not really my favorite thing to replay.

I do vaguely remember my reason for allowing my fist to rip through the air like an X-wing fighter. I was being taunted to no end by a classmate and as a kid, I really disliked being taunted. My tormentor was a boy (yes, a he) who was bigger, taller and naturally stronger than me. Perhaps at some point, the taunting got really worse so instead of running to my homeroom teacher with tears as big as meatballs flying off my cheeks, I yielded to my irritation and decided to deal with him with my own hands (pun not intended). So I summoned all my strength and released my best punch like a rocket missile, a jab which my boxing teacher in college would later say was allegedly better than the punches thrown by some of the guys in my PE class.

If I struggle with the circumstances behind the fight, I do vividly and completely remember the feeling of my fist and knuckles landing on a wad of tissue, flesh, blood vessels and bone. The chorus of "Eye of the Tiger" playing in my head came to an abrupt stop. Nowhere in my strand of memory was it confirmed that it was a pleasant feeling to actually hit someone, even if he were a boy who perhaps deserved it because he derived great euphoria from making my life difficult by kindergarten standards. It was actually nothing short of sickening. The disturbing feeling did not end with that. It felt even worse to realize that even if the punch left my knuckles stinging, my opponent was still looming before me like the Empire State Building to a streetlight, unflinching and obviously unaffected by my pathetic attempts to be Muhammad Ali in a jumper.

I stood before him, hoping my defiant face was effectively masking my alarm. I mentally calculated how many milk teeth I could lose when he made his counterattack and tried to console myself with the fact that he would save me several trips to the dentist. I waited...and waited...and waited even some more. To my great surprise, he simply moved a step backward and then walked away. All the air left my body as I secretly heaved the biggest sigh of relief that my six-year old lungs could manage.

On that day, I re-learned one of the earliest lessons my grandfather taught me - by breaking it. He told me that in any battle I find myself in, I should not charge head-on brainlessly like a bull. I needed to choose my opponents wisely and I should weigh my chances of winning or losing. On that day in the schoolyard as a six-year old, I let my emotions rule over my head and I narrowly missed being beaten to a pulp. I thank that classmate of mine, wherever he is now, for not taking up on my false and misplaced bravado, for saving my head and my teeth and walking away, even if it probably meant for him to be teased for turning his back from a fight with a girl.

Every day of a person's existence may not always be a walk in the park. For me, it has been so for the past couple of years. The mornings find me struggling with pulling away from my pillow and dreading what the day will bring. Sometimes, in the course of studying, I allow my head to drop on my open book just to catch about 15 to 20 minutes of sleep. At night, I find myself closing my eyes and whispering a prayer of thanks for having gone through the day and emerging intact. If there is one thing I am thankful for is the vividness of my dreams. In my entire lifetime, I have never had dreams as realistic as the ones I have now. I even have dreams even when I am aware that some part of me is still awake!

We may win some of our duels and lose in significant ones too, breathe sighs of relief one minute and and later lick our wounds alone in a dark corner. An old song by Stevie Wonder has been gaining mileage in my MP3 player, a tune called "Used to Be." I particularly love - and hate - one particular line which goes "used to be that failure only meant you didn't try." A lot of things used to be true and I think I'll need to redefine a lot of terms nowadays.

Life after all the mistakes, is also all about second chances. People sometimes get too pessimistic they just focus on the negative aspects of failure, like a black dot on a piece of white paper. The dot gets all the attention. They forget there is so much to work with on the white space. If it would involve taking one step or getting through one 24-hour day at a time to get over the black dot, then so be it. The point is, you shouldn't be like an agar-laced petri dish simmering in a nice warm temperature, nurturing bitterness and anger in the best growth medium. People may have different motivations for taking a step forward but what gets me going through days of horror would be faith in my God's sovereignty and in His promises that His plans are always better than mine. Behind the seeming somberness in every dark cloud is the beauty of the silver lining.

I was talking to my best friend at around 1 AM a couple of nights ago about walking away and about letting go. "When do you walk away and venture into avenue 'Q'?" My best friend couldn't even say the word out loud, allergic as she was to it just like any other person on this planet. That's how I would rephrase our questions. As I sat by the window, looking at the half-empty street, I came to the conclusion that walking away or letting go of a battle to be fought can actually be as noble as duelling to the death. It is a resort which two kinds of persons have turned to through the years. The first person quits and stops midway not only because he is paralyzed by his loss of faith and belief in himself but also because he has to cling to his pride. The second person on the other hand stops and lets go not out of fear but because he knows he has to. He believes that his pride is not all it is hyped up to be. It is not something which should hold you back from doing something you ought to do. It is something which needs to be lost along the way and trampled upon because it may be the very hedge which keeps you from experiencing the endless possibilities of tomorrow and the days after. Ever since my botched attempt at a fistfight in the schoolyard, the years have taught me that the best and most memorable battles are the ones that are not only worth fighting for but also the ones fought really well.

******************

As a fitting epilogue to this entry, I'd like to congratulate another person who is equally allergic to Avenue Q. Huge hugs and congratulations to my friend Shashi (a.k.a. Sharon Rose de la Rama) for passing the Chemistry board exam. I know she would want to kill me for putting her second name here but since I'm way taller and bigger than her, I'd like to see her try.

She is one of the most amazing people I've ever been so blessed to encounter and she has gone through a lot in her life but has always emerged the winner. I have been so lucky to have crossed paths with her and to have her in my life not just as one of my closest friends but also as a sister in Christ.

Now that we have three chemists in our posse, maybe it is time to start on that...er..group project Doi thought about a couple of years back.

Of course, I am kidding.

Let the Rain Come

"And no shrub of the field had yet appeared on the earth and no plant of the field had yet sprung up, for the Lord God had not sent rain on the earth..."
Genesis 2:5

The Bible is replete with simple parables which illustrate deep biblical truths. One of perhaps the most popular would be the Parable of the Talents where three servants were given three different amounts by their master. The first two servants returned bigger amounts than the ones originally given to them while the last servant did not make use of the amount given to him so he returned to his master exactly what he received. Of course, we know that the the last servant received a lot more than mere verbal bashing. However what the master told the first two servants is one of the most repeated lines from the Bible which best serve as an inspiration for the frontliners in ministry work. The words go, "Well done, good and faithful servant (Matthew 25:21)."
On August 7, in the stillness of the evening, one of God's faithful servants closed his eyes and woke up to hear those words from the Master Himself. It was a peaceful, painless transition, as noiseless as the quiet but fervently passionate manner of service he had always rendered the Lord. Pastor Rudy Acosta was finally called home to rest in God's eternal embrace in a manner befitting that of a faithful servant.

To be honest about it, I have yet to ask my mother how old he was. After all for me, he was as ageless as he was tireless. I have known him for as long as I could remember and yet I never noticed any radical change in the way he looked, except when I go through photographs taken during my parents' wedding and I see the marks of the years that pass on his face and on his hands. He was a little over five feet in height, diminutive even for Filipino standards, quiet, unassuming and in the latter years of his life, trodded along with a trademark gait that I can still picture clearly in my mind. His coversational voice was soft and melodic, laced with that trademark lilt that older Visayans especially have. However, when it was his turn to stand on the podium to deliver his sermons, the lamb became a roaring lion. He was possessed with fiery fervor and passion which exploded in every stomp of his foot, every twist of his hand, every slam of his fist, every hunch of his back and in each and every word uttered by his tongue.
I do not recall exactly when I first heard him speak or how old I was but it must have been in one of those occasions after Sunday School in primary level when I grew tired of waiting for my parents in the playground and my two bottles of Yakult had run out like the wine in the wedding in Canaan. Growing restless, I decided to venture inside the "boring church for grown-ups." I grew up in a white-washed, old-fashioned Baptist church with the towering steeples, wooden pews, stained glass windows and occasional bats where children were herded off to Sunday School in the mornings. When I planted my foot on the tiled floor and took a peek, I remember being captured by the image of this man with a thunderous voice which I figured couldn't possibly fit in his small frame. His presence was commanding and his stares were so intimidating they almost bordered on gloating. To me and my pigtails, he was scary. Scary enough to send my frilly socks flying off my shoes. Before I could turn around and run out to tell my friends how the boring grown-up church was not exactly boring after all, he shifted seamlessly to being thoughtful and reflective like a Ferrari on quick deceleration, with his head cocking to one side and his hand curled in a balled-up fist resting under his chin. For me, morphing from a T-Rex to a diplodocus in a snap was was nothing short of cool.
I remember on one weekday, my mother dropped by the church for some business. One of my friends was the associate minister's daughter so as the two of us snuck up to their house on the pretext of getting a drink of water (a prelude to our usual game of hide-and-seek), I passed by Manoy Rudy's living quarters in the church parsonage and I saw him inside, walking around quietly, with absolutely no trace of the fiery preacher anywhere. He couldn't seem to hurt a fly but on the podium, he was as consumed as a bonfire.
Now for a kid, the manner is what matters. But as I grew up, I looked forward to his sermons Sunday after Sunday not because of the way he delivered them but primarily because of what they contained. I look up to him as one of the greatest preachers who have walked my side of the world and I followed him around depending on which church he moved to, from Lapaz to Molo to Mandurriao to Jaro. His command of both English and Hiligaynon worked well to his advantage as he could swiftly shift from quoting the English text to bringing the point closer to home and heart by using poetic yet familiar words of our local dialect. His brilliance and intelligence were astounding and he overhauled the Bible like a backhoe digging through the soil and sifted through each word and every sentence like a goldpanner. He would squeeze the very essence out of scripture until the understanding comes like a fresh breeze. His theological viewpoints though were never compromising on accuracy and clarity and were always delivered with the strongest and most emphatic of punchblows, enough to outlast the toughest of spiritual pugilists.
Pastor Acosta was also an educator and he taught at the Central Philippine University's College of Theology. A lot of the pastors I've met were mentored by him and his influence is apparent in the way these pastors deliver their sermons. About two years ago, I met up with an old friend (who, since our days in the children's choir, had now become a pastor himself) in a church anniversary we both attended and in the middle of his sermon, he started to share one anecdote after another about Manoy Rudy. Then he lightheartedly said in the vernacular, "It should be obvious by now who my mentor was."
He remained unmarried until his death but like a sower hurling seeds across a field, he had brought many lives to Christ in the same manner that a child grows under his parent's tutelage. It is one thing to hear someone speak about Jesus and to actually see him walk the talk and in my opinion, that was what made him effective. He was not perfect of course, as none of us are but he was a man of humility who loved Christ with a quiet yet simmering ardor which was difficult not to emulate. He was a simple, quiet man and in the latter years of his life, I slowly came to regard him as a grandfather of sorts.
About a year ago, after Pastor Acosta had retired from the church he was ministering to in Jaro, my mother requested him to be part of her office's workplace ministry where he was to deliver messages or sermons once a month during our Sunday worship services. We were a little apprehensive as he would be speaking to a group of people who were practically strangers to Scripture so my mom asked one of the regular attendees how the service was for him. I personally remember chuckling as the attendee started raving about how everyone was entranced by the "old, seemingly feeble pastor" who surprised them by speaking very well while "bouncing" around the podium. "And we had gone straight from work to the worship service as there was overnight work to be done," he narrated. "But none of us fell asleep!" Thus began his love affair with this small group of people who always looked forward to and will sorely miss his sermons on the last Sunday of every month. He adopted a different paradigm with this group. Gone were the profound words and the complicated illustrations when he spoke before this crowd. He went back to the basics, spelling everything out in clear, broad strokes like an expert swordsman's demonstration.
The last time I saw Pastor Acosta was on April 27, a day after my father's birthday. It was his time of the month to preach and I remember he was surprised to see that I was home for the summer. He gave me a light punch on the shoulder, a greeting he begun to give me when I started dressing up grunge-style in my dad's huge T-shirts during my teens. He spoke about the Beatitudes and about being "salt of the earth and light of the world," a sermon I had heard him deliver years before when I was in high school. I noticed he looked thinner than I remembered and when I shook his hand, I turned his palm over and I told my dad that he looked a bit yellowish to me. He told me he didn't feel anything and that maybe it was because he was getting old and starting to lose his appetite.
On June 20, he was rushed to the hospital after he collapsed inside his home. My dad noted that he had a large mass in his liver. Alarmed by the size of the mass, my dad kept on asking him repeatedly, "Are you in pain?" His answer was a constant "no" and that amazed my dad. Usually, according to my dad, patients with a liver mass that big were writhing in pain but Manoy Rudy was not. He was discharged from the hospital after a couple of days and he still continued to accept speaking engagements after that. In fact about three or four weeks ago, he was off to another speaking engagement outside the city, tireless and dedicated to the Lord's call even as the sand in his hourglass was almost running out.
In one of his many sermons, he came up with a very simple illustration for faith which apparently a lot of people liked as it was quoted every so often. It's something I hope I won't forget at some point, as a way of holding on to the memory of a person who had brought me to the saving knowledge of my Maker.
Faith, according to him, was walking out into the hot sun with an umbrella in hand simply because you prayed for rain.
What I'd give to see Manoy Rudy drenched in Heaven's torrents.

Joy in the Shadows

What does it mean to have been touched by God?

Those were questions I pondered on during the Holy Week, in between breaks as I studied for my first batch of final exams which I hurdled early this week. Good Friday reflections in our church tackled how the life of Jesus had changed his twelve apostles lives in the process. How had he changed mine? There were myriads of answers so I struggled to sort my thoughts out. After all, it makes no sense reflecting on a muddle.

I went back home and started sifting through the clutter of papers and cases on my desk when I came across a notebook which had fallen behind my table. I leafed through the pages and found a poem I had written three years back, a poem which summed up what I felt about knowing Jesus and having Him in my life.

To be touched by God, to have been changed by God is to be filled with joy so deep-seated it sprawls to the innermost recesses of your very being. It does not mean the absence of difficulty or pain and frustration but the ability to look beyond the sting and see that there is still so much to be thankful for and to rejoice about. It means finding a new reason for breathing apart from what you want and what you dictate. It's about learning to let go and watch each day go by with utter amazement as to how something beautiful could unfurl at the best possible moment. It is the kind of joy which carries you past the roughest tempests and fills you with hope, the kind of joy that dwells in the shadows...in the shadow of the Cross.

Joy floods my heart as I think of Your love,
Eternal, unceasing, never-ending.
Source of all Light, my words fall short of You.
Unworthy, I wandered in the dismal
Shadows, tormented by uncertainty,
Clawed by the deep, unforgiving darkness.
Had my mind forgotten, my mind would not.
Raging love of heaven burned before me.
I, indolent, could not be offered such
Sheer, unconditioal sacrifice, one
That only You could offer, I then accept.

(Amberle Brin, January 2005)

Watercolors

When I was a little girl, I was so utterly convinced that I was a gifted painter and was destined to be the next Claude Monet or someone of that calibre. I always had this thin, rectangular watercolor palette between my fingers (I even remember the brand: Artex) and I spent endless hours lying on our wooden floor, swirling colors on paper after paper after paper.
Once, I left one of my "masterpieces" out in the garage to dry. About half an hour later, I heard rain pummelling our roof and I immediately thought about the "painting" I had left outside to bake. I watched in horror as the fat drops of water crashed into the piece of paper like bombs, each one literally exploding into a gazillion microscopic droplets of color.
The rain eventually ceased its campaign on my artwork and all I had left was a drenched piece of paper with some streaks of color here and there. Everything I had painstakingly drawn was gone. As I peeled the wet paper off the cemented path, I stopped to examine what was left. Right under the paper lay an entire spectrum of colors glistening in the sunlight. The rain had washed away the watercolor from the paper but a significant amount of it was trapped under the wet paper. The myriad of colors on the cement path, a harmonious medley of blues with greens, reds topped with yellows and purples highlighted with pinks, was a far more beautiful sight than my attempt at a painting. A couple of minutes later, I watched as the watercolors slowly started to disappear as more water from all corners began to spread itself over the area, stripping my personal rainbow of its very essence. After a couple more minutes, the colors were gone.
Yesterday, on the day of hearts, I saw those colors once again almost immediately after the lives of two well-loved people ended in a manner more vicious than torrents of rain attacking a helpless piece of paper. In the morning of February 14th, one of the pastors in our church, Rev. Kevin Alamag and his wife Belle were killed when a passenger bus slammed into their Nissan Sentra in that junction in Commonwealth and Tandang Sora in Quezon City. He was 37 and she was 46, parents to two very young children below the age of 12. They were both literally rays of sunshine. Ate Belle, as she was known in church, was always radiant and I could never picture her without her warm smile. Pastor Kevin was enlightening. He was profound in his speech, meticulous in his work, passionate about his country and consumed with his love for the Lord. He was dedicated to the ministry and I almost always imagined him outrunning the Energizer bunny anytime anywhere. They were both as vibrant as midsummer's day.
Then they were gone. It was just a couple of weeks ago that I sat in a meeting with him in the church choir room and he was plopping one butterscotch after another into his mouth while announcing, "This would be great with coffee." Just like that, just like watercolors disappearing into flowing water.
I've been to a lot of funerals and I usually hear a lot of this: "He was a good man," or "She helped me in this way." Maybe it's just me, but I rarely hear about people talking about going beyond the act of helping by actually touching people, by connecting with them. I don't know if there should be a distinction since helping partakes of an element of giving some part of one's self away but I think there are certain ways of helping wherein you go beyond what is required and actually make a commitment to another person. It's like that line from a song by Nicole Nordeman: "I wanna leave a legacy, how will they remember me? Did I choose to love?" That kind of love rivals rainbows and miles of wildflowers.
My friend Banana (who's now on another offshore project in Vegas) was more alarmed. "It's so weird," she said. "He ministered to us in my mom's funeral service last year and he even attended her burial on February 14. Exactly a year after, he's gone."
My cousin Tren was one of the many people Pastor Kevin ministered to in Church of the Risen Lord. Pastor Kevin apparently led their Bible study group. She called him "PK" (as opposed to my more formal way of addressing him). "He taught us so many things," she said as she ended her text to me with a ':(.'
It was one of my classmates who was deeply affected by Pastor Kevin's untimely death. She headed a bible study group with Him in Church of the Risen Lord and much of what I know about Pastor Kevin's life and testimony I learned from her. Once, she told me a rather interesting story. When he was with CRL, Pastor Kevin used to drop off some of the members of his bible study group in their homes, my friend included. He would insist that all of them would sit in the backseat, leaving the front seat vacant. "He didn't care if he would end up looking like a driver," she related. My classmate asked him why and he answered that the seat was reserved only for Ate Belle.
It was her thoughts after I told her that he died which made me believe that there was a semblance of beauty in the midst of a death as a tragic as his and Ate Belle's. "He believed in me," she said of Pastor Kevin. "He was the kind of person who wanted to be proud of you."
And the stories abound, enough to rival rainbows and miles of wildflowers even as watercolors disappear into the flush.

Rev. Kevin and Belle Alamag's memorial service at the
Church of the Risen Lord earlier tonight

2007 in a Nutshell

2007 in a Nutshell

What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?
1. Bring the car I drive to the carshop because someone tried to dismantle the door lock and probably spirit it away...
2. Freak out because someone tried to break into my apartment on the very same week that we almost lost the car...
3. Buy makeup... (believe it or not...)

and in less dramatic circumstances...

4. Assist a couple of lawyers as a paralegal during an all-nighter election canvassing (a.k.a. "glorified alalay")

Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Yes I did. I'd say I was more productive this year and I got better with the entire time management thing but procrastinating is still a challenge especially when the pillows start cooing you away from the readings on the study table. *sigh*

Did anyone close to you give birth?
My cousin Manang Maya gave birth to (currently) my youngest niece Patricia Aimee.

Did anyone close to you die?
1. My grandmother's sister Lola Moning
2. My friend Anna's mother Celine Nieveras
3. Our (my sister and I) former ballet teacher Dr. Luisa Pollentes
4. My doggie Eunchae

What countries did you visit?
None this time around...maybe in 2008? :) 2007 was a year to reacquaint myself with my country and I have to say, I loved what I saw! Mom and I are now planning to drive all the way from Sagada down to Mindanao.

What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?
I guess...greater degree of fearlessness and still lots more faith.

What date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
April 5, 2007 (Good Friday) - Doi, one of my best friends, got married. I wonder who'll go next.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Definitely surviving my first round recit in Civ Pro.

What was your biggest failure?
Choosing not to speak up when it was the right thing to do.

Did you suffer illness or injury?
I got sick with the flu twice in 2007...
except for that and needing to upgrade my eyeglasses/contacts...nothing serious.

What was the best thing you bought?
A toss up between Grubby, my "very masculine" prosumer camera, and two pairs of branded jeans at only P300 each!

Whose behavior merited celebration?
My sister...one brave kid passing through!

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Appalled? Someone named Peter. :/ Depressed? My grandfather. Ask him coz he knows why. ;)

Where did most of your money go?
PHOTOCOPIES!!!!!!!!!!! :/ And, earlier in the year, isaw. I swore off them by mid-2007 thanks to Kuya Stan's side comment that for a cheap price, I was also getting free hepatitis.

What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Going on a grand vacation to Cebu with my grandparents...and quiet afternoons in Megamall with Krispy Kreme donuts.

I relished my dates with Krispy Kreme and the afternoon sun in Megamall in early 2007.

What song(s) will always remind you of 2007?
Marie Digby's version of Umbrella and Top of the World by the Carpenters

Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? -- happier
ii. thinner or fatter? -- thinner...then fatter...see-sawing like crazy!
iii. richer or poorer? -- hopefully richer! :)

What do you wish you'd done more?
I wish I wrote more.

*Sigh* Here's to wishing 2007 consisted of less pillows and more paper.

What do you wish you'd done less of?
Seriously, in retrospect, I wish I slept less. But then, sleep IS a physiological need and you can't go on thinking "I shouldn't sleep" when all your head wants is to smother itself in that soft pillow and you've been seeing "3:00" twice a day too often.

What was your favorite TV program?
Goong and Heroes!

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No.

What was the best book you read?
Toss up between For One More Day by Mitch Albom and Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge (loads of thanks to Venice!)

What was your greatest musical discovery?
That after years of singing Sop2 I can manage to sing Alto parts...with the occasional need to cover one of my ears, of course! HAHA!

What did you want and get?
A Love Actually DVD courtesy of my sister!

What was your favorite film of this year?
Stardust! *sigh* It's the perfect movie to watch with your single best friend who, like you, is in dire need of a life outside her books. :p

"Stardust" was a pleasant surprise whereas "One More Chance"
just didn't do it for me.

What was the worst film you saw this year?
One More Chance (that John Lloyd-Bea Starrer)...actually IT WASN'T THAT BAD to merit the tag "worst film of the year"...I just didn't get to see a lot of films this year and the movie went a little overboard on publicity.

What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
I turned 24 and I had two surprises: a birthday cake from classmates, the candles of which I blew out in the classroom right before Property class and a birthday dinner with Harvest and people from Crossover courtesy of my GG-mates! :)

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
*bawling* SEEING JOSH GROBAN IN PERSON!!!!!!!!

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?
Well, the bigger shirts, the better! But I'm becoming more of a girl...yearend saw me buying two dresses.

What kept you sane?
My Bible! :)

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Masi Oka! I wish I could stop time and pinch his face 'till his eyes disappear!

2007 meant saying "konichiwa" to Masi Oka, bidding Benazir Bhutto farewell
and wishing Josh Groban didn't charge life and limb for concert tickets.

What political issue stirred you the most?
Benazir Bhutto's assassination ("What a way to end the year!") along with the entire ZTE brouhaha and election-rigging charges ("Ohmigoodness...when will all this come to an end?"). A close runner-up was Erap's conviction and subsequent pardon ("After reading all those cases, it call comes down to this.").

Who did you miss?
Jackie, Zaila and Anne, my GG-mates who are now in Holland, Riyadh and the US, respectively.

Who was the best new person you met?
I guess, Atty. D. Disini. My 1st sem notebook is scrawled with all his "quotable quotes." For instance, wanna know the difference between a lady and a woman?

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007:
The most generous of hearts can be found among the most needy of people. :) A little lesson I learned from 'Nong Tiops.

What was the nicest thing someone told you about yourself:
From someone I had not seen in more than a year: she told me that I made her life better. That felt nice.

The most touching experience you've had this year?
When I was helping my niece with her homework over the phone and she told me she'd still love me even if I screw up her scores in her assignments "because you're my manang." I just loooove being an aunt!

What did you like most about yourself this year?
I'm getting good with this time management thing!

What did you hate most about yourself this year?
Something my mom calls "worry-wartism." :p

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"'Cause I'm not who I was when I took my first step
And I'm clinging to the promise You're not through with me yet.
So if all of these trials bring me closer to You,
I will go through the fire if You want me to."

"It may not be the way I would have chosen,
When You lead me through a world that's not my home.
But You never said it would be easy,
You only said I'd never go alone."

Was 2007 a good year for you?
YES!

What was your favorite moment of the year?
Again another toss-up between...

1. Hanging out with my cousins (and meeting my two nieces Cherlyze and Cienna for the first time) in January of this year - (in chronological order) - Cheryl, Denise, Michael, Jennifer, Joanna, Stephanie, James Daniel, Dorothy and Joseph...anywhere from my aunt's house in Fairview to Dulcinea Morato and Jack's Loft, Eastwood!

2. And a getaway trip with my mom, dad and sister to Bohol and Cebu last May! Disappearing just like that made me feel cool...and powerful! Heehee!

What was your least favorite moment of the year?
Spending the entire month of April holed up in my room, memorizing Oblicon stuff and lots of Latin whereas my sister was already at home enjoying the sun and surf!

Where were you when 2007 began?
In my grandparents' home

Who were you with?
With my family and some of my cousins

Where will you be when 2007 ends?
As usual, still in my grandparents' home

Who will you be with when 2007 ends?
With my grandparents, my family and cousins

Do you have a new year's resolution for 2008?
To continue working on becoming the best person I can be!

What was your favorite month of 2007?
December! Because mom and I didn't have time to go out and buy gifts for the entire family, I made about six batches of our signature Christmas dessert (a.k.a. black sambo...it's called BLACK SAMBO, okay?) for all my aunts and uncles and, proud to say, it was unanimously voted as a best-seller.

Maybe I can start selling these when I don't make any
money sometime in the future. *teehee*

What was your favorite record from 2007?
Carie Underwood's Carnival Ride

How many concerts did you see in 2007?
One! My sister and I watched Don Moen in Araneta. :)

Did you drink a lot of alchohol in 2007?
No.

Do a lot of drugs in 2007?
Just lots of mefenamic acid. :p

You do anything you are ashamed of this year?
As always, yes. :( Like cry while doing something utterly silly like reading the final installment of Harry Potter! :p

How much money did you spend in 2007?
I know a huge chunk of my savings went to buying Grubby!

What was your proudest moment of 2007?
Seeing my grades for freshman year...I passed them all!

What was your most embarrassing moment of 2007?
In Insurance class for our first recit...I was sitting five rows from the front and our prof (who was the former Dean) was running his fingers through the class list to pick out an interesting name to recite.

He roars out my last name.

I stand automatically as if 1000 volts of electricity shot up my spine and everything I own - pens, notebooks, papers and my huge, heavy folder - crashes to the floor.

He screamed, "PATRICIA!"

I slither back into my chair like a jellyfish, too relieved for words as I'm thinking, "YES! That's not my name!"

Too late.

My prof stared at me through narrowed eyes and bellowed "AHA! SOOOO YOU'RRRRE NOT RRRRREADYYYY???"

I then spend the next minute stammering that I share the same surname with someone named "Patricia." As the real Patricia goes up to the microphone to answer the questions about to be fielded, I'm down on all fours, picking up every pen, paper and notebook strewn on the floor as three sophomore classes sit there, all witnesses to my circus and my shaking knees.

If you could go back in time to any moment of 2007 and change something, what would it be?
I wish I could have gone back to the day (rather, night!) of my Oblicon orals and thought of a more interesting example to give my professor as an answer to his question instead of pointing out the stuffed chickens on top of his closet.

What are your plans for 2008?
1. Write and speak more "lyrical" Hiligaynon :p
2. Really do certain things, especially significant ones, instead of just planning to do them.
3. Become less of a control freak. I've been working on that and I'd say that has diminished to a significant extent since I was in high school but I still need to work on effortlessly riding and rolling with the waves.
4. Sit down and take a really deep, meaningful breath. :) Mayla says I BADLY need one.
5. Graduate from making desserts to cooking real food. :p

How are you different now that the year has ended?
I've become more introspective. I've never really been a loner but I realize I've spent more time alone this year than at any other point in my life. Come to think of it, I actually relish those moments when I am with me, myself and I when I can shut the world out an just go for a long, quiet walk or sit in a corner of a crowded food stall with my tocilog and open textbook as Queen blares "Bohemian Rhapsody" in the background.

What are your wishes for the new year?
I wish the year would see me passing all my subjects and I hope my schedule would still be friendly enough for me to spend time with ministry. I'm praying for good health for myself and for my family, especially my grandparents. I'm hoping for new windows to open and new avenues to explore.

Favorite Snapshots

What I love best about having a high-res camera on my phone is capturing anything which strikes my fancy almost anytime and in almost any place. I go through the pictures and go "Oh yeah, that was the day when..." Then everything starts rushing back to me like a kayak going "whoosh" down a river.

When I was a kid, the only fun thing with cameras was the snapping sound which came when the shutter button was pressed. Thank my best friend Sue for dragging me out of the house on one really hot summer day to take pictures. As we stood near the city capitol waiting for a jeep, a group of Aeta children started pulling at our T-shirts with their hands, asking for money. On our way home a little while later, I was astounded when all that Sue could mutter to herself was "I should have taken a picture of those children." It took me a while to understand her but now I do.

The camera lens has become a window between two captives.

My favorite captured moments of 2007, courtesy of my trusty camera phone and Grubby (click thumbnails for bigger versions):

I've always believed that no two
sunsets are the same. Each one
is always a sight to behold and nothing is
spared from basking in its glorious glow.
Taken May 1997 on my way home
one afternoon.

Aslan Marie on one of her naughty days.
She was given to us by my Tita Marie (hence
second name) as a Christmas gift.

"Salt of the earth, light of the world."
Table decorations during our class Christmas Party
last December (Maia's handiwork).

A place I'll always call home.
One of my favorite shots of my
sister and Aslan outside my
grandparents' house.

Dead pig walking.
My dad brought me to see the
2-month old pig(let) he was planning
to roast for lechon during the holidays.
The pig kept on poking her snout
at my leg and when I bent to take
her picture, she stayed still! Needless
to say, lunch the next day was an
unpleasant experience.

The most beautiful things come in
small packages.
A butterfly in the Mambukal Butterfly
Farm, Murcia, Negros Occidental.
Taken October 2007.



Don't let me get me.
A little boy in the airport
who sat a few meters away from
me. He was actually enamored with
the airplane outside.

Eye see you.
Although this picture leaves
much to be desired, I never thought I'd
get this close to a dragonfly but
I did! Taken near the boating
lagoon in Mambukal.

Never too far.
Two herons looking for food on
one really hot day.

Natural little gymnast.
A little sparow tries to do some
scratching while perched
on an electric wire.

Lora thought it would be fun to sneak
into the prisoners' holding area in the
Quezon City RTC. Taken September
2007 during a visit to the RTC for our
Criminal Procedure paper.

Who you calling old?
That's my 82-year old gramps hoisting
a chair on his back while he limps along.
His shorter leg is practically metal.