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Many stories are being told about climbing a mountain; this one's about faith. |
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For your patience during the delay of juding for [Link To Item #1102921] . Thank you!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Appreciation-1985.gif) A question often crosses my mind – how do I want to be remembered? I have so many thoughts on this because, simply, it always crosses my mind. But, you know, I try to treat this as imaginations. I will never know. You will never know – that we are being remembered. Do our heroes know that they're being adored and honored? Rick Warren said, “You were not put here to be remembered. You were put here to prepare for eternity.” Nevertheless, the image of my papa always comes across. He was a simple man with nothing – but everything – to give. “Just be happy.” Despite the scarcity of things and opportunity, he was happy. And he was misunderstood - by me, my siblings and mama. When I was nine or ten years old, old enough to remember those memorable days, he brought me to the center of a mining village. The mine was to us a real blessing, to my boyish mind, it was a gift from heaven above. Dusty road and yellow water, and an English speaking (American) manager, the environment is still inside here. I was proud to hear my papa converse with him. We rode in a truck used to transport lumber to our town. It was my first long trip as a child, and I saw the mountain, the rigorous terrain, and the beauty of God’s creation with the backdrop of a yellow water. My eldest brother was one of the laborers. At salary time, he’d present to mama his pay slip, a summary of earnings and deductions. “Well, my son, better luck next time,” she said with a kiss on his forehead as she stared the contents of the slip. Maybe a few pesos to buy a ganta of rice. The innocence of the place could be pictured in my face. “What are we doing here, Papa?” He couldn’t give me a clear answer. He simply muttered things like he was applying for a job because he was suspended as policeman of our town. The American manager was too kind to accept us, not kind enough to give us a job. And so we walked from that place back to the nearest town, some twenty to twenty five kilometers, maybe more. We trailed a vast wooded area, rivers, up and down, long and winding. An exhaustive, long trek for a ten-year old kid like me. When we reached the first house in town, we asked for food and water. I felt how it was like to be a beggar. Mama kept on nagging: study, study, my child, so you can’t inhale the mountain and the color yellow. And now I know why I have to study and strive like what she said. Life is a very difficult subject, more difficult than the trigonometric principles in college. Now I know why the earth moves and revolves like a spinning ball. It’s because life also revolves and spins. Sometimes you are poor, sometimes rich. I was called Amerkano because as a young boy, I had those features, genes I inherited from my grandfather who lived in the island, and later left for his good, native land after espousing one of the natives. He left a part of his gene to become a writer like me who struggles to coin words everyday. Now I know why I speak good English. A brood of five and all boys was mama’s ticket to heaven; she had her purgatory on earth (to be aggravated by my papa’s drinking). Sometimes, she would just scream in the middle of a peaceful morn. The five brothers didn’t really have peace in the kitchen. My vivid memories are focused on the rainy days of my childhood, so full of nature. How happy we would have been if those drops of rain were real manna of the Jews, because the five brothers always longed for them. I feel nostalgic when rainy days are here, or drizzles outside the windows come at times. During those wet days, we used banana leaves as umbrellas. And tin cans protected us from pouring rain that flowed like water falls on the holes of our nipa roofs. The cans were hung on the ceilings to catch the water when the rotten nipa leaves could not anymore protect us from the pouring rain. High school was full of action, hungry stomach and memorizations. A teacher forced us to memorize history notes, word for word, including periods, commas and question marks. No wonder, she too could do it even with colons and semi-colons. I could memorize long sentences and stanzas of American and Filipino literature. We did it under the shades of coconut and guava trees, reciting facets of world history, word for word, facing the woods at the back of the school. The hollow-blocked fence separating the school and the wilderness looked like a long bridge adorned with young, ambitious "memorizers". College? Less thrilling than high school. I copied one whole article from a magazine and had it published in the school organ, with my big by-line. From that time on, I became the writer and future attorney. After college, I joined an army purportedly to serve my country, but which later turned out for goons and gold. I took with me some wealth I wanted for a lifelong adventure, forgot everything that was left behind. Slowly, my foundation deteriorated, eaten by rats and mice I kept in my subconscious. All the enigma, excitement and endless dreams and ambitions suddenly, to my mind, became positive. Now here in this world of my own – I can call my own – away from the land of poverty I started to build my dream world. A real one. A fantastic recreation of my childhood dreams full of adventures and escapades. How did these all happen? It was just like a dream. The earth, seen from above, is a beautiful stone, a mighty rock, thrown by a powerful hand from an ocean of nothingness. It will be there forever. But to be destroyed slowly, and slowly by you and me. Haven't you imagined yourself a spirit? You can regard yourself as a spirit floating over the universe, watching at the earth, slowly and slowly deteriorating, until it collapses into nothingness. Like a mountain with mines. Like a river with chemicals. Like the air that you breath. Slowly they will go back to the mouth of God. WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF GOD SPITS THEM ALL, MAKE ANOTHER BLACK HOLE FULL OF EVIL SPIRITS? CAN YOU IMAGINE? ASK YOURSELF!!! (This is the introduction - somewhat - to a book about me, of course, and it's like a summary, don't you think? Our life is like an island, there are rivers and seas and mountains, and mines. It has a beginning and an end, and the end seems to be the beginning of another. Don't you think?) |
| Mortals, we're truly mortals. Our body decays, there's no such thing as the fountain of youth. When Pope John Paul II died a year ago (his first death anniversary was just celebrated), we are reminded that everyone (even the pope) dies. We grow old, and that's for certain. Our body goes back to dust. If you feel sick, or something not good in your body, your are reminded of this. This phenomenon tells us that we are going somewhere, some mission, but not a place. Heaven or hell is not a place. It could be a state of our soul where there is no way out. And what should we do? We have to be prepared, always prepared. If not, that "somewhere" will be forthcoming. Now, we're getting older, and that's for sure. Now, you realize time is of the essence. For now, you feel strong, a few precious moments from now, or some days or years from now, you will not be that strong. Can you turn back the hands of time? Only your imagination can do it. But while you're still breathing, try changing your course. Make sure you're going "somewhere" that will last. |
| We have to say goodbye to some things, and welcome new ones. In my years in this world of the humans, I have fairly discovered that I get closed and attached to things and circumstances, to the environment. It's very difficult to depart from or get unattached to something that you have been used to. This also connects to our own mortality. What if there were no such thing as death? Nobody will get out or depart from this world, why? Imagine if you are really attached to your wealth, you will never reach something that you were purposed for. Imagine if God did not invent death, there would have been no heaven. Everyone, and everything, must die, to get unattached to something, some events and circumstances, or to a fellow creature or human. |
| Grasp time, take hold of it, every minute, every second, every bit of time, for there'll be no other like it. In a split second, everything will be completely different. This is one of the wonders of nature, one of the most unique invention of God, other than man - time. You make a step or movement, or just be still, then think, allow your mind only to work by thinking, then after a while, you'll realize everything becomes different. In the other world, when we die, there is no more time. This could be eternity, when there is no more time. We will not anymore be affected by time. Unlike this life, when there yesterday, today, and tomorrow. This is miraculous and very interesting. Go ahead, scratch your head, then pause and think. It's different again. After you scratch your head, some idea may come into your mind, and you say you have to work. Same with situations. Look at your wife, or your son or daughter, or someone very close to you. Stay close, for at another moment, you might not see them again. Pray, pray that time will pass you by. |
| The long drought is gone. The rains poured in so much I almost drowned. Maybe next time I'll long for the drought For the rains have come, never stopped. What will happen to the trees? Will the flowers bloom with much water? A plant can't survived in a pot filled with water. Will man live with water and no drought? Let's see, pamper a baby With love and care, from birth To childhood, to adulthood, Will he live as a man? |
| These past few days, I got some reminders, reminders for the soul, though they came in the form of sickness. I only come to pray, ask God some miracle, and the intercession of the Virgin Mary, only when I'm sick. Maybe, this is normal. But maybe, too, this is God's own doing. He doesn't want me to divert to other things. When I get so immersed with material pursuits, there goes my body, surrendering. But at first, I don't surrender. I don't totally surrender, until such time that I have to lie down and look up, and see Him. That is His way. |
| Yes, success is not what you literally aimed for, but how you felt about it. Success is in the heart. Contentment! Feeling of not to worry over small or big things! Feeling of just being relaxed, sitting under the apple tree (there are no apple trees around), and just thinking of being free. I think that's success. We should stop thinking and striving to the bones to be able to attain something unattainable, just to say you're a success. Of course, striving must be always a part of a writer's quest, to publish his work and be seen and read by others. For me, I feel contentment after I have read something I have finished. That is success! |
| Some good things happened these past few days. An online magazine is offering to publish some of my works on line. It's free but I think this is still positive and very inspiring. My stint at WDC is nearing to an end, I hope somebody will donate some gift points for my upgrade. But if this happens, meaning if my upgrade expires, I'm on my own. Anyway, it was a great time and joy working with WDC. Working, yes, and learning a lot. It's like I was enrolled in online school. Really learned a lot. Thanks WDC! |
| You're in the middle of... something. Your five-year-old comes to you, in haste, telling, "Mommy, mommy, I want to sleep beside you and daddy." "Okay, darling," you say, "but only after what daddy and me are doing." "What are you and daddy are doin'?" "We're pray'n, honey?" In the morning, again you're in the middle of... something. She, your five-year-old, comes to you, this time crying. "Mommy, mommy, why did you transfer me to my bed last night?" You didn't prepare for this, still you answered, "Oh darling, because that's your bed. You've got to be sleeping in your bed, you know." "You're prayin' again?" she asks, still mad. "Well... yes, thanking God for answerin' our prayer last night." "You pray with daddy in the evenin', and in the mornin', under th' blanket, kissin' each other?" |
| A few more weeks, a few more days, and I'll be out. I don't know how to say, but I have to bid goodbye again. My upgrade will expire by the last day of March. Well, I learned a lot from WDC. And I do not want to beg anymore. Enough is enough. My time is up. Just what Enrile said to Marcos, "Your time is up." Everything has an end. |
| This is too late, but I have to update my blog. It might not be too important for blog readers, but it has to be to me. This is a diary. Someday God will bring this up to me, and say to me, "Look what have you done?" Rewinding of the past events by Someone up there to let us learn and know our sins is always a possibility. This is my advice to anybody who may have read this: always count the past. |
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At least, I hope you have the time.
I'm sorry, but I really would've! That was hilarious.