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Many stories are being told about climbing a mountain; this one's about faith. |
![Merit Badge in Appreciation
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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?) |
| It's paralyzed but it hurts. Wonderful! Why? I'm talking of my legs. It's numb, I don't feel any sensation. But I feel pain inside, like the veins and arteries are being pulled or squeezed. Bwahira Madia while still alive. Maybe. This could be a cleansing process. Thank God. But, please help me endure the pain, Lord. |
| It's 12:05 PM, Philippine time. As I write, my tv set, which is just above my pc, is on, as I hear the news that "a state of emergency has been declared by President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo" for the entire country. Whatever that means, is not for me to discuss, as I'm not a lawyer, although I am well abreast of the current events. Being a Christian and believer of the Bible, I just want to "read the signs of the times", as what a Christian ought to do. Are there signs for the end of the Philippines, or shall I say, end of the world? What can I perceive of the following recent events in my country: the Ultra stampede, scores of poor, women and children died; the landslide in Southern Leyte, hundreds are believed dead, rescuers are still retrieving bodies from beneath mud of 40 to 50 meters; past events like natural calamities... |
| I was told to gather the seeds; the fruits later, and it wasn't at all important. It was very important that the seeds be taken cared of properly, planted discreetly, watered day by day, and allowed to grow freely as the sun give its light. But the sun must not be as bright as it should be, otherwise the seeds would die. How the seeds are planted, and taken cared of according to the rules of good and proper planting, will determine the life they will have as real and mature plants. |
| Sitting on my wheelchair for hours, contemplating, and thinking, has given me a different kind of discipline. I call it "capitalizing" - capitalizing on whatever is left of me. There's a lot left in me, talent and skill. They are God-given no accident can take. There's still vast potential and wealth undiscovered inside me. An enormous wealth inside that can turn into good things for me, my family and humanity. My hand - to create, to write, to clasp for praying, to touch, to tap, to point at my head to think and think; My mouth - to praise God, to speak what is beautiful, to praise what is beautiful, and the ugly too; My feet - to remain there, to receive pain to remind me that I once walked and ran, that God also has given me gift to walk and run; My eyes - to see the marvel of God's creation; My ears - to hear God's music. |
| Yes,yes, yo... yes, yes, yo ... I am home for up to three months upgrade. Some anonymous angel donated great amount of gps and all i can say is "yes, yes, yo... yes, yes, yo; a merry, merry, christmas ... ho, ho, ho." Thanks very much to that angel, I promise, as I pray, for more angels to rain on earth. (My bio-block for December 2005 to January 11, 2006) |
| I was grinding on some thoughts, but couldn't think of what to munch on to match my thoughts in the process. I looked around and there I found in the small store that my daughter had set up inside our Internet Cafe, lollypops in a glass jar. I hurriedly took the jar, opened up, and took one neatly wrapped in orange plastic. I smelled it, it was good. Now, I can soar my thoughts to real heights, write them down, to make a fine story. I really just needed this lollypop. I tried to tear off the plastic wrapper of my lollypop, I failed. It was tightly wrapped, a powerful tape was glued to the wrapper that I couldn't open it. My tongue was waiting to lick it. So I put it in my mouth to bite the plastic wrapper, but my front teeth couldn't even rip it. "My God, this lollypop can spoil my story," I mumbled some invectives upon this "diabite". All right, this is what you want, I'll tear you off with my long fingernail, I almost shouted at the lollypop. I struck my left-thumb fingernail on the hard wrapper hoping to finally open it and devour it. Finally - no, I wasn't able to open it - my fingernail gave off. It broke and blood burst from the skin beneath my left-thumb fingernail. "Wha!" I uttered a painful shout. The lollypop was now gored with blood. I couldn't anymore lick it, and my thoughts were gone. Pain covered my ideas. I couldn't write, and I was uttering words like I was facing an enemy. "Murderous lollypop," I muttered. I have to admonish my daughter when she comes - get rid of this lollypops or the kids may break their fingernails. I went back to my computer to write a few words. Now I have my story - the case of the murderous lollypop. |
| Like climbing a mountain, Christmas can really be tiring, what with all the preparations, the overtime work we do in our respective offices, the gift wrappings, the various recreations and other things we do to enjoy the holidays. Then, only to get so exhausted at the end of the long season - your pocket's empty, your body aches, your mind's puzzled of the other things to do. We don't even realize why we celebrate Christmas. Is it only to enjoy? Or are we really enjoying Christmas, all the material things around us, the gifts that last for only a few weeks? Do we celebrate Christmas the way it should be valued? I don't think so. I, for one, only enjoy the drinking, and the outings - these things. Christmas has become tiring, and ... absurd. |
| After a very long time of contemplating, self-pity, egoist meditation (whatever those words mean to you), I finally found my place under the sun, or should I say, God, after placing my life in a fast fast-forward, I am exactly where I am now - sitting on my wheelchair, writing, meditating, and counting my blessings. Yeah, I said simply to myself, where was I all these years? You know - if you only know - I used to cry by myself (all that self-pity), but I hated to be seen by anybody crying. Nothing will happen to this life; it would have been better if I died on that accident; I should have been a successful military man by now if it were not for that accident; I should have killed myself... etc. etc. Those were delirious words that I uttered while I was sprawled in my lonely room, watching the ceiling, looking blankly at the lizards kissing each other. What prompted me to start all over again? No, there was no instant message. No miracle. It was a painful and long process. It was like the Holy Spirit slowly carried me to where I am now - writing these beautiful memoires so that others may read it for inspiration. You, who read and ponder upon this, let me say - God loves you. You may not see me here for long, but I will pray for you that, like me, you will have the courage and the Holy Spirit to guide you. Merry Christmas! |
| "And the moon didn't come And the sun didn't shine But I'm still here and fine." An old rhyme, a new find. Be thankful, says Father, you're still alive. Yeah, it's a fine day. Can't we just lie down, or face the sun - face the day, maybe -and admire life? Shouldn't life be like that? Didn't God make it that way? Certainly! That should be the case. But no, you've got to work. You've got to write. You've got to earn a living. And life, certainly, is also like that. Just be true to yourself. Go on, do what you wanna do without hurting others. And indeed you are living life the way it should be. |
| I really would like to continue my stay with WDC but I can't afford the upgrade. My last upgrade was only a donation from some anonymous good Samaritan. MY worry is this will expire by December the 31st. Anyone who has the heart, and I know there are a lot out there, please help. I simply can't affor the amount. I will surely regret my membership's expiration. My stay here has helped me a lot. It was some kind of a course on line that I've taken, for free. My writing has improved a lot. My English and grammar truly polished through the less than three months writing and reading WDC "products" and materials. THANKS A LOT WRITING DOT COM ... UNTIL DECEMBER 31 WHEN MY UPGRADED MEMBERSHIP EXPIRES. I will continue reading for as long as you let me read your stories and articles. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART, THE PHILIPPINES HERE ALSO KNOWN AS THE LAND OF THE CAREFREE AND THE HOME OF THE VERY BRAVE. |
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At least, I hope you have the time.
I'm sorry, but I really would've! That was hilarious.