Posts Tagged ‘thoughts’

Just wondering why my old posts are being resurrected by new bloggers, some  have just started blogging.

This is it, pancit. I just reached a total of 540,058 views at the moment. I know some bloggers don’t really mind the numbers but I do. It just means some people still find my blog worth-reading about. Though I have almost reached 3,400 followers  (about a hundred  via e-mails and Twitter), only a very few  probably read what I post.

I love reading your comments and I make it a point to answer them all whenever possible. I love exchanging ideas with friends from  far away places and knowing how they live.  Having you all around makes blogging a joy to do. This is my 2,342nd post for this particular blog.  I wonder how much longer it would take me to reach 3,072 MB space allowed,  there is still a total of 27%  free space.  It is hard to maintain a total of five blogs and this is the only one I regularly update. I haven’t bought a camera yet so my photos at COLORS  are not updated. I rely on my  camera phone and my tab plus other photos regularly sent by Nissa.

BY the way, I love to share these with you. They’re lovely quotes from one of my favorite authors  Kristin Hannah from a book called Angel Falls.

The measure of a man comes down to moments, spread out like dots of paint on the canvas of life. Everything you were, everything you’ll someday be, resides in the small, seemingly ordinary choices of everyday life. it starts early, this random processions of decisions.

Each decision seems as insignificant as a left turn on an unfamiliar road when you have no destination in mind. But the decisions accumulate until you realize one day that they’ve made you the man that you are.

A blessed and happy Thursday to all.



Read Full Post »

We are a big clan.

My  paternal grandfather had fifteen kids in all and dad was second to the oldest  among Tatay’s  kids (we called our  paternal grandfather Tatay and all the rest of his other siblings except my lone aunt who we called Nanang). The first seven were during the first marriage and the second eight kids with Tatay’s second wife. I never knew my paternal grandmother. She died giving birth to their youngest, their seventh child who grew up with speech defect  and cannot speak well.  One of them told me that I look like her, speak like her and even got her mannerism. Maybe that was why I was so closed to them when they were alive. Let’s just say I was one of their favorite nieces.  They are all gone now except the youngest who is now around eighty years old.

When Tatay married again, they had eight kids and the youngest is now as old as I am. I remember Dad telling me that his only sister used to take care of her half-siblings. My two aunts and an uncle live in Spain with their families and the youngest  is married to a Japanese and has lived in Japan for more than three decades now.

I have close to about fifty first cousins  and  so many nephews and nieces with their own families now.  Imagine having so many grandchildren with cousins. I  haven’t met almost half of them except seeing them in pictures. Last February 2011, my aunts and uncles organized a family reunion and it was an amazing attendance with around a hundred family members  including their wives and husbands.  I was not able to attend though because of health problems.

When my aunts  and I meet, we usually talk about our family tree.  We remember those days when Tatay was still alive and my brothers and I would visit them in their home in another barangay in the province.  We remember those days when Tatay was so active in Church. He was a choir member and  a Legion of Mary member too. And I remember those days when we would visit their farm and before we go home, our bags are laden with fresh veggies and some fruits.

Though we are far from each other, we get by through Facebook messenger and occasional texts and calls.  We are connected. We may not often see each  other but the bond is there.

Read Full Post »

A former grade school classmate created a group for our batch. Since I only spent two years with them before I graduated from elementary, I  no longer remember some of their faces. The names are familiar though.  What comes to mind  are those early years spent in our small barrio where I spent Grade 1 to Grade IV. Back then, all of my classmates lived in the same place as we did. Most of us are even distant relatives. We had only two teachers until Grade IV. They taught two classes in a day. My teacher in Grade III and IV was mommy’s first cousin.

Uncle Berning as we used to call him was quite strict when we were in class but outside the classroom, he was a caring, loving  and kind uncle.  When we were kids and when Mom spent some days with Dad here in Metro Manila, we stayed with my  maternal grandmother and an unmarried aunt in the big ancestral house they used to have back then. Uncle Berning had lunch with us every day, from Monday to Friday.  He would take a cat nap after lunch before starting afternoon class.  Since the school is a walking distance from the house, us kids (my cousins, older brother and I)  would run ahead when the bell rings. We never walked back to school with him. We were in awe of our elders and specially our teacher.

I remember those days when some classmates would stay standing for a while when they could not answer  questions from our teacher. I remember the days that we would clean the school yard after class or water the plants before we start flag ceremony. There were always designated cleaners for our room. Gardening was a must for us. We planted mustards, snow cabbage and even some eggplants at the back of the school.  We made simple school projects. I remember making a floor mat  out of coconut husk.

When school ends, we would run to the small wooden gate of the school. We  had no school uniforms and we went to school in clogs or slippers. Barrio life was simple then.  My Mom taught us how to cook rice in a clay  palayok, an unglazed ceramic cooking pot. It was my afternoon routine after class, cooking rice  the primitive way using charcoal or dried branches that we usually gather every summer break.

Nowadays, every convenience is in our hands. We wouldn’t need to labor around a wooden stove to cook meals. There is always the rice cooker ever ready, the oven for some complicated dish and the gas stove for our everyday use.

Those years.

Read Full Post »

♫♪Slow down, you movin’ too fast
You gotta make the moment last…♪♪♪

Read Full Post »

Blue, you said, fits me more

Than any color would do

That canvas called life

Could never hide the truth inside

As you once were, I feel blue tonight.

I chose to be a poet

But you wonder why

My poems never rhyme

Maybe I’ll find the words

That will match the music and the song

If only you were here!

Read Full Post »

Just can’t help but reminisce a little – from some recess of memory.  More than  four decades ago, I was exactly in this same vein and wrote Drops of Ink in a Blue Sand which I adopted as title to my journal entries from way back. My journal is now a tattered notebook and the prints are no longer clear.

24 October ’77-Monday
2:45pm QC

October is a young girl scattering her days with life’s golden dreams, wishing a thousand wishes and dreaming myriads of dreams.

These twenty years of my life are varied hues of green, pink, blue and yellow. I think of my Octobers, this one particularly, which is rapidly melting into my twenty-first……..

But not without a tinge of nostalgia, for after all, remembering and saying goodbye to everything that has been a part is not without its tears. Twenty is a fragile thing, like a crystal glass wherein  your very soul is reflected there. It is tender, a soothing music of late night’s dreams, yes – twenty is a varied hues of green, pink and yellow.

But hope is a resplendent and effulgent thing.  and so, once more, I gather my dreams and rebuild my sand castles, look back at this lovely season which is slowly and regrettably falling into that never-never world where beautiful and pleasant things are laid to rest.

The hurt and the pain I will try to bury deep in the limbo of forgotten things lest I remember and make myself cry again. I will only recall the good and the beautiful, the nice and the pleasant:

* the evening walks along Espana on rainy evenings of August, Gilda’s and Marilen’s shout of “what are friends for” simply because they didn’t bring any umbrella to cover their heads.  the laughter, despite the knee-deep waters and the all too unpleasant smell of buses and jeepneys, the elbow-jerking and seat-grabbing with other students;

* the little talks with Grace, Emmie and Thea about anything under the sun – from Emerson to Merton or from Simon’s “Bridge Over Trouble Water” to the Carpenters.  the poetry sessions with Rey, Tony and Mike.  the little arguments, Rey saying that he never read Kahlil Gibran and Emmie insisting that Gibran is simply superb.

*and that afternoon I deliberately didn’t punch-in my time card only to see a movie with Grace somewhere along CM Recto.  how we cried at the thought of saying goodbye, at the Little Prince’s farewell to his pilot friend and the fox and the Little Prince’s secret, “it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eyes”. how we followed every word, remembering those much-thumbed thoughts and heavily underlined passages of the equally beautiful book of de Saint-Exupery. we left the movie house with misty eyes but filled with new hopes and pleasant thoughts of tomorrow and the next green, pink, blue and yellow mornings of our lives…..

*the cold feet we had in our Speech class, delivering those not-so memorized lines in front of our frowning professor who made us wonder if we got and pronounced the “th’s and the “f’s” right to her over-sensitive ears. and of course, that happy feeling of knowing that you can act after all;

These are just part of the season of my life that I will never forget. Grace, Ailene, Emmie, Thea, Rey, Mel, Fred, Gilda, Marilen, Boyet, Mike, Oscar, Sue, Nory, and Eddie……those seemingly endless names of my equally wonderful friends. Rest assured, I will treasure every moment of our times together.  Thank you Mel for the evening walks, your patience in waiting for a ride with me although you live just a stone’s throw away from UST. You know Rey, I still keep the poems you gave on that red-colored February.  Emmie, I will surely miss your sisterly advice. Grace, what about our daily exchange of letters? Someday, I will visit you at the convent to recall those green, pink, blue and yellow mornings and the thousand wishes and  the myriad dreams we had and will always have with Him. 

And always, I will keep the gifts I received on my twentieth birthday. Of course, there will be other seasons, other places and other green, pink, blue and yellow mornings but this October will always remain tender even if the other mornings turn to gray and the myriad dreams turn to ashes.

One of my close friends is now a nun  while one of them is  now a  priest. Some of them are still my friends.  We still get in touch through Facebook and get to see each other once in a while.

Sometimes it is nice to recall those days, they make you smile and  cry a little, they make you feel young again. The days of youth maybe gone but the memories remain. days to treasure, days to remember.


Read Full Post »

I just thought this is a lovely way to greet you today. The picture is not mine though, it was just sent by a friend.

Happy weekend too. Friday is still overcast. And I don’t have to water the plants. Yehey!  I harvested my first eggplant this morning and there are more showing their tiny faces to the world. I hope I would enjoy harvesting  just like with my bottle gourds. They are still fruiting until now. I am waiting for my jackfruits to ripen.

Done with another lovely book by Kristin Hannah. I started reading The Tattooist of Auschwitz last night, a book by Heather Morris, based on a true story of two Slovakian Jews who survived Auschwitz.

I wonder why I am always drawn to historical books, fiction or otherwise particularly in that time of history which is the Second World War.  I love those heart-wrenching stories of survival, the hope and faith of each person to live a normal life again.

Have a lovely and blessed weekend everyone!

If you wake up in the morning, it is a good day”. – Heather Morris


Read Full Post »

Older Posts »