When I first heard of this question, I found it vague – too general, or maybe, too specific for me to be able to answer in just one snap. Then, after a moment of thinking (actually, it was after few months), I returned to that question again, “how do I write?”

Well, I write with a pen and paper, thinking of words to complete every sentence, adding them together to form a paragraph. Sounds silly? I think that’s how I view writing in the “physical” level. Then, I tried to dig deeper and realized that, yeah, writing isn’t all about that. What lies behind the words matter most.

Now, what am I trying to say here, and what is this post for in the first place? Well, I was actually reminded by Mother’s day. Years back, I used to write a poem for my mom every Mother’s Day. It contains all the feelings and emotions I kept hidden for the rest of the year. All the “thank you” that I forgot to say, all the “I’m sorry” and ” I love you” that I forgot to utter. It was only this year that I wasn’t able to write. Probably, got too busy, but I think it’s “writer’s block” that should take the blame.

——————-

I attempted to write something with my metallic pen,

Yet, no thoughts came out flowing,

I opted to utter those words I longed to say,

Yet found myself speechless up to the end of the day.

——————-

I saw her coming in and out of the kitchen,

Preparing breakfast while feeding the kitten,

I was so touched when despite her busyness,

She still managed to greet me “good morning” with a smile on her face.

——————-

Silly me I almost forgot, that it was indeed her special day,

I simply disregard the thoughts, and in my room, there I stay,

A moment of silence kept me sane,

As a decided to get up and start moving.

——————-

The first thing I did was actually grabbed my phone,

And typed in the words which I cannot say,

“Happy Mother’s Day Nanay,” and pressed SEND

I then went downstairs, and jokingly told her, “Have you got my message?”

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And she just smiled…

During my late elementary and early high school years, my perspective changed. I no longer believed about Santa. It’s just that, I once caught my aunt putting a gift in my Christmas stockings and since then, the Santa-belief has become a bubble that suddenly burst. When I turned a little older, I started to understand what Christmas really means. It’s all about Christ, His love for man kind, about children, and of course, family.

I remembered my college classmates saying that I have perfect family. Both my parents are responsible enough to be able to nurture us with enough love and understanding molding us into better individuals. Financially, I can say that we are stable, having both my parents working. But there’s still something missing. All this time, I’m feeling like an incomplete puzzle not knowing where my missing pieces went.

For my 21 years of existence, both my parents have been working away from home leaving us in the care of our aunts. They’re not OFWs but they were both assigned to places miles away from home because of their job. They only go home once a week or twice a month. I knew they were working for us, but I can’t simply deny the fact that one way or another, I longed for their presence.

When my siblings and I were still too young to understand the world, I could still remember how we were celebrating Christmas. The family was complete. Both my parents were present. They gave us gifts, had bonding moments in the kitchen while preparing food for the noche buena, and even strolled around the city. We didn’t mind if we’re going to get home late, as long as we’re together, that was all that mattered.

Time passed to fast. Now, we are already grown-ups. Mature enough to understand how it feels like growing almost alone. It was also now when I realized how much time I have wasted during those times when my parents did their best to be with us, even just to keep in touch despite their distance.

For several years, we were celebrating either Christmas or New Year incomplete. My father can only be with us either of those Holidays since they were scheduled as to when each of them (his colleagues) will be having their individual breaks. And this Christmas, he won’t be with us only during the New Year.

As years continue to pass, one realization was left to me. From now on, I’ll cherish every moment my parents are with me. I’ll make them feel the love and care I refused to offer them after all these years. Wish me luck…

Photo from: www.smugglersoflight.com

My body clock has almost turned upside-down,

When my dusk started to be somebody else’s dawn,

I’m staying awake all night long,

While the world is sleeping and the crickets sing their song.

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Little did I realize that I should not worry,

For despite the unusualness, the world didn’t turn its back,

There’s no reason to feel so weary,

For Luna smiles at me with the wish of Good luck.

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The darkness of the night has created an illusion,

Seemed like a liquid soap was dropped in a bowl of oil,

To capture that moment has become my mission,

But went unaccomplished when liquid starts to fall in the Earth’s soil.

——————————————————————————————

Luna waved goodbye as she covered herself,

With a blanket of dark clouds, then she began to speak,

Today, I say adios to you my friend,

But tomorrow I’ll be back and stay ’til the night ends.

Way back in college, I was an active member of one volunteer group. Everytime we did community activity, some what if’s kept on playing behind my mind.

What if the one injured happened to be me, will they spend a moment to give me first aid? What if I was one of the victims of nature’s revenge, will I survive? What if I happened to be blessed with a better health, will I dare to donate few CC of my blood for someone else to live? (Oh, by the way, the first what if which I mentioned happened to be one of the most memorable experience that I had. During a training for an organization I suddenly got my ankles injured. When I shouted for help, one of my colleagues responded,“Sheral, first aid yourself!” Good thing they still helped me. )

I was once walking on my way to the office when a cute little boy approached me and asked for some money. Instead of giving him some coins coming form my almost empty pockets, I decided to chat with him while walking. Below is the summary of the answers he gave me for all my questions. I simply hope my memory served me right.

“I am an elementary school student and I’m living with my grandmother. My parents got separated when I was still a baby. This was what my grandmother told me. I came from Lapuz and at night I usually come here (in the city) to beg for some alms from people so that I’ll have some peso with me when I get home. I’ll use the money to buy some food for me and my grandmother.”

After the very short talk, the boy told me that he needed to go for he still had to work. With shoulders down, I headed my way to work as well. Then, memories started to flash back. What was I doing when I was that young? Going to school, playing with siblings and friends, enjoying food and toys? Oh, I was so blessed. If I happened to be in the situation of that boy, I might not survive. I may not be able to right this post at this very moment.

That boy taught me to listen with my heart. To picture myself in that person’s shoes while listening to his or her stories. To empathize more than to sympathize. To understand rather than judge.

That was a very simple encounter with an ordinary boy who might not be able to experience the so-called childhood life because of what life has deprived from him. But, you know what was so surprising? I saw no fear nor sadness from his eyes while I was talking to him. All I saw was hope. May be, hope that someday, he’ll get a tastier piece of cake despite having no icing on top.

(Disclaimer: The picture that was used was a represenation of the boy and not his actual picture.)

“Mistakes are a great educator when one is honest enough to admit them and willing to learn from them.”

I was once surfing the wide ocean of the virtual world when I came across the aforementioned quote. And after chatting with a friend, I decided to come up with this post.

Let me ask you, how many times in your life have you ever said you’re sorry for doing the things that you shouldn’t have done? Did you ever bother admitting you’re wrong after doing all those crap? Or did you ever make an effort of correcting all those mistakes?

Many relationships have been broken simply because one party wouldn’t admit that he or she had made a mistake. Is it that hard to say “I admit, I was wrong?” Will it lessen the masculinity of a man or a femininity of a woman when those words were being uttered? Why is it that it seemed to be easier to say “I hate you” when you’re mad than to say “I’m sorry” and get things right?

Maybe you’ve been drowned with all those questions, and I’m giving you my apologies. I simply don’t get the logic of pretending that you are perfect when everybody else knows that you’ll never be.

I am a normal human being and I must admit that once in my life I also tried to mask the mistakes that I have done. I also tried to turn my back to those people whom I don’t feel like talking to without even trying to find out what the root really was. But when I started to realize what good will admission do to me, I decided to change my perspective. Admitting that you were wrong doesn’t only mean saying I’m sorry. You know what line is usually forgotten? It’s “How would I make things right.”

Awareness is nothing without action as admitting is nothing without the effort of correcting whatever needs to be corrected. Mistakes will always be there as long as we refuse to learn the lessons that come with them. If we will only open our eyes with the realities life has been slapping in front of our faces all these times, we will never be blinded by the false beliefs that we have.

One last question, would you prefer to build good relationships with people around you by admitting and correcting, or live your life alone as you continue regretting? You decide..

How would you define a family? Maybe most of us will say, “It is composed of the mother, the father, and the children. All are living in a house which eventually becomes a home the moment love becomes present.” Yeah, that could possibly be the most common definition of what a family is. But what if I’ll ask you, how would you say that your family (or the family that you see) happened to compose the perfect family portrait no one else has ever captured?

Yet another story built on the street…

While I was aboard the jeepney on my way home, I happened to see a family. The father was holding a plastic-full of groceries while his wife sat next to him holding (I assumed) their youngest son. Two other siblings were sitting right next to the couple, the older son let his younger brother sat on his lap since the vehicle was almost full.

They gave a picture of the usual family which I saw almost everyday in our neighborhood. Not until they went down…

It was only then when I noticed that the father was handicapped. He only had one hand. Maybe an accident happened to him, but seeing this made me realize one thing – physical incapability was never a hindrance to build a family of your own and be able to provide them their needs. That guy was a picture of a responsible father. He was able to have his family intact despite what his body was “missing.”

It’s more than just an overpass. It’s their home…

They were referred to by many as the forsaken race of Aetas.  From them, they said that Filipino race has evolved. They serve as the living proofs that indeed, Filipinos might really come from those curly-haired individuals. But despite this, where do we usually see them now?

Lying on the streetside next to the busy streets of the city, these Aetas found their semi-permanent homes. With boxes serving as their mats for sleeping, they have found their bedrooms on those corners of the busy highway. If they were not there, they might be somewhere on those overpass, begging for alms to feed their family just to make it through the day.

Young Aetas have made the dangerous streets their playground. The jeepneys (and other vehicles for that matter) served as their toy cars which can cause them the danger those kids might not aware of. The passers-by were their friends, giving them unexpected gifts though it’s not yet Christmas. A single penny coming from those good Samaritans might mean one extra day for them to live.

Those street-built stories often go unnoticed. One person might say that he or she has the most perfect family with all their needs being provided by the parents. But earthly treasures can never equal the treasures of the heart. The family I saw on the jeepney and the family of Aetas also have their own stories to tell. They also have their own family portrait which they wanted the world to see but didn’t give a second to stare on it. If I happened to be a part of one those families, would you bother to listen to my story? Think about it…

The moment I got hold of my first own digital camera way back in my second year in college, I started to develop that fascination and love for photography. I’m not that good (as how I asses my self) but taking those shots bring me happiness and satisfaction which is equal to what I am feeling when I scribble those words on a piece of paper. When given the chance, I take pictures of almost anything that interests me – may it be a living or a non-living thing. I took a picture of a stone and built stories behind my head as if it lives. I took a shot of a pen, a gigantic pen, which happened to be taller than the building I was facing (*picture composition).  I captured the rhythm of the dancing lights reflected on Iloilo River at around 7PM. And my favorite subject – people, whose faces and unconscious reactions were being captured.

I was unconscious. Totally captivated by the beauty that surrounds me. I see nothing else but that big picture facing me – full of color and life. Am I an artist? No, I am not. I can’t grab those brush, canvass, and paint just to compose my greatest work of art. Am I a poet? Just a bit. I am no Homer nor Shakespeare who can give unexpected magic to every poem they have written.  Am I a photographer? Just a frustrated one. Trying to capture every scenes the best way I can. If I am no one, then, who am I?

I am someone – a dreamer – a believer.

In every beautiful picture life has painted before me, I am dreaming of a reachable horizon where happiness is never-ending. In every life’s cruelty, I believe that there is something good and magical lying behind it – that the storms all happened for a purpose. That I was created with some God-knows-what-the-reason-is.

The camera lens serves as the eye of every photographer. For every click of the camera, moments were stunned. The hourglass has stopped releasing the sand of life which might mark an end. Silence…Darkness…Vanity…Illusion.

Focus…

Shoot…

Captured.

Then the sand started to pour again. Uncontrollable… Must find a new subject before my time ends.

That was how photography can hypnotized people – living a picturesque life and believing that the earth is merely a big picture. A controllable hypnotism which you can escape if you really want to.

I considered my self as an occasional photographer. I have that passion for pictures but it will never cause my insanity. The moment I got hold of that camera, it feels like magic. I want every picture I take to tell its own story. I want every picture to show how alive the world is – that it is not merely a stolen shot with frozen actions of prepared subjects. Candid shots are better taken than those planned ones. Less pretensions – more reality – more truth.

What else should I say? Yes, I am captured. Captured by the fact that memories can be encapsulated in one shot. Smiles, frowns, unconscious expressions, whatever it may be, no one can escape to the lenses of our camera-field world. Who knows, the next shot will be your picture perfect moment.

Say cheese..

I was having a hard time convincing myself I wasn’t sleepy when an idea came rushing in brought by a colleague at work.

“DARK CHOCOLATES!”

Those words seemed to run like neurons which find every possible way to send the messages of my senses to my (almost) nonfunctional brain. The thought of buying some of it on the nearest drugstore (which also sells some goodies to feed that starving tummy) was the first thing that came in my mind. I felt like, I suddenly had that craving for it. I wanna have it right there and then.

Now, why am I talking about chocolates and ‘sleepiness’ in this post? They sounded so unrelated.  Was the chocolate the cause of my sleepiness or it might probably be the solution?

Let me ask you, what came into your mind when you heard of chocolates? I think that would be “so sweet, that would cause diabetes,” or maybe,”I don’t wanna get fat!”

I was planning to kill some time and finally decided to make a research. And, alas! My favorite dark chocolate have some health benefits which actually didn’t ever crossed my mind (another system malfunction).

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Dark Chocolates Are Good for the Heart

Studies showed that a small bar of chocolate everyday will help keep a healthy heart that might eventually result to a healthy cardiovascular system.

1. Helps lower blood pressure. Studies show that dark chocolates can help lower down the blood pressure of those individuals with high blood pressures.

2. Lower cholesterol. Dark chocolates has also been proven to reduce the level of bad cholesterol by 10%.

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Oh, just crossed my mind. I really wonder why other people say that chocolates can actually trigger something inside us that caused us to be happy. Here’s what I’ve found out (through google):

Aside from the fact that chocolates taste really good, it stimulates endorphin production, which gives a feeling of pleasure (thus causing that happy feeling). Also, it contains serotonin, which acts as an anti-depressant. And, I just found out that it can be a substitute for coffee (though it contains lesser caffeine) for people who are ‘acidic’ (like me.. ) since it contains theobromine, caffeine and other substances which are stimulants.

Oooops, got to go..my bed is already calling me..But wait, do you want to have a bar of chocolate?..

(Source for facts on the health benefits of dark chocolates: http://longevity.about.com/od/lifelongnutrition/p/chocolate.htm)

How hard it is to fight your own battle,

You were the one who started the fight,

But didn’t know what you were fighting for.

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I felt so unvalued, such a worthless fool,

A lot of questions left unanswered, stories left untold,

The reason was simple, no one was there,

That might hopefully listen, to what brought thy tear.

————————————————————————-

I looked out the window pane and stared at the horizon,

Started to ask myself what caused that bizarre emotion,

I continued thinking but found no answer,

Until I had myself fall in deep slumber.

——————————————————————————

When I woke up, I saw my other self — my alter-ego

I asked her the reason behind this pessimistic thought,

Then, she told me that I was got caught,

Got trapped in the darkness I have made long ago.

—————————————————————————

Got back to the crossroads and should decide which way to go,

Learning the art of which instinct I should follow,

Now, I’m finding my way back to the path where I was once lost,

Trying to gain back consciousness, coz I know in my life, I am my own boss.

(Inspired by the story “The Hugging Judge” written by Jack Canfield and Mark V. Hansen from the book Chicken Soup for the Soul.

I was once alone in my room waiting for the wind to whisper in my ears the sound of sleep when I thought of reading one of the books I bought during the past weekend. The book was divided in different chapters having a total of 101 inspiring stories to tell worthy enough for others to know. Then, one particular story caught my attention. It was about a person who was referred to by many as the hugging judge.

Let me narrate to you the story the way I remembered it.

Lee Shapiro, a retired judge, was known by many as the hugging judge. He was usually invited to give a talk during conferences and other related events and has also became noticeable because of the sticker posted on the bumper of his car saying, “Don’t bug me, hug me.” One day, he decided to spread his hugs to people on the streets. He offered a hug to a bus driver (the book sited that San Francisco bus drivers were the toughest and maybe the meanest people in the whole town) and least he expected it, his offer was accepted.

Oh, by the way, Lee always carried with him his Hugger Kit. It contains hearts which he was giving out to those whom he hugged.

One day, Lee’s friend, who happened to be a professional clown told him that they should go out to the home for the disabled and he must bring with him his hugger kits. When they got to the place, Lee and his clown friend started giving out hearts and balloons to the disabled who were there. Until they came to the last person in the row.

His name was Leonard. He was on his mid-twenties and was one of those who had a disability. At first, Lee hesitated to hug him. But eventually, he was persuaded by his friend to do it reminding him that, though he wasn’t as normal as they were, he was still human, just like anybody else in that room. Lee put a balloon near Leonard’s head and pinned a heart on his bib. Then, he hugged him.

Leonard squeled. Making sounds which nobody else but the head nurse could understand. Lee turned to the head nurse asking for an explanation. Then, he was moved by the nurse’s answer. That after 23 years, the was the first time they ever saw Leonard’s smile.

This story simply showed how simple it was to touch and to make a difference in somebody else’s life. It might come in a simple gesture which unconsciously brought happiness to the person to whom you are doing it for. It might come in a form of hug like what Lee did – simple but genuine.

A single hug might help lighten up the spirit of a burdened soul. It’s a simple gesture of showing love and care especially to those who need it most. It might be as cheap as a candy bought for a child to be happy. But the way it could lighten up another person’s day is simply worthless.

Now, would you mind giving out those hugs? Who knows, a single hug you’ve given can make a difference and change the world.