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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?) |
| There was in my father a trait that was so enormous that I didn't realize it until after his death. Only now when his smiling and humorous face reckons in my memory that I feel like crying and urging God to revert the miracle between me and my father. He was poor and simple and alone. His mother died when he was very young; his American father left and abandoned them when they could hardly survive, and my father was left to the care of distant relatives. In the strictest sense, he was alone in this world. But as a grown-up man, he was jolly and didn't care for many things. He cared for us, he cared for me and Mamma and everyone in the family. I was already a family man with two children when I realized his care was never fading. I became a handicapped, paralyzed from waist down, when he said the very humanistic and fatherly statement that could never be erased from my heart until I die. "I want to be like you, son." He said those words with all humility and sympathy. I heard him murmur that if he were given a chance to take my place, he would gladly do so. I clearly heard him mumble a few words like this: "If God should hear my prayer, I'll probably be sitting there and you would have been released from the bondage of that wheelchair." Such was a statement that wasn't desperate. Or to conclude that he said it because he was in the twilight of his life. At 63, he was active and with "carabao" strength. He was eloquent when he'd boast to Mamma of his exploits in strength competitions among relatives of my co-patients in the hospital. I was still confined in the hospital when he suffered a mild stroke. That however didn't drive him to my wheelchair. Months after, he acquired cancer, a sickness that gave him a few months to live. When I visited him in his hospital bed, he hurriedly got up and asked me to vacate my wheelchair. While he was crying, I felt strength inside me. I was feeling a miracle. God was touching me. Although I wasn't healed physically at that instance, I was cured morally. My father's death brought me sadness and happiness, strength, but above all, the feeling to live again. Thank you Papa for the miracle. |
| Now, here's another mountain. Some few months ago, July, to be exact, the sixth day - it's already an imprint in my mind - some hilly portion of my life, maybe involving my family - occurred. Although this only involved something material, it affected me specially because it was first-time incident. Jesus warned us to be careful of the "thief in the night". Although He was speaking of the last days of creation, I can also compare this to "my incident" - the one I'm talking about. Robbers took their unexpected entrance in our internet cafe, carting away some nine pieces of computers. For others, it could be nothing, but for me it was worth a fortune. They took something worth more than a hundred thousand pesos - a lot of money for us here. It was a mountain of my life. How we were able to climb that mountain was a big challenge. I personally wanted to just stay home, disregard business and write all the memories, good and bad. Life must go on. Business must go on. I was able to climb my mountain. My family climbed the mountain, the hard, difficult, rough, and steep mountain. What mountains shall we meet in the future, we do not know. But we have to be prepared. |
| I maybe worried, but there's more than one reason to be worried about. MY blog's not filled. My updated membership will soon expire (I already received an email for the warning.) I haven't composed a story in a month. My mind is filled though with ideas. I maybe bursting with ideas. My fingers are too slow to scribble those fresh ideas. And I don't have time to edit. See, stories are inventions. Was it not Thomas Edison who once said that "invention is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration?" So, this may be the reason. I am inspired, but I don't get perspired. I have not produced any sweat to make a story. *** A mountain of one's life. A mountain can be life itself. You have to climb it. Life has to be hurdled. You have to climb life. When you reach the top, well, you've conquered life. When do you reach your own mountain? The answer is - anytime. Anytime we reach our own mountain. And when we have done that, we feel something fulfilling. Contentment. Doing something good is climbing one's mountain. Hurdling tests, performing tasks, following the will of a loved one even if you are hesitant to do it - these are all conquering our respective mountains. You - what is the mountain of your life? |
| I keep reminding this self how short life is. And I keep on thinking what good deed must I do today to keep myself fit, I mean keep my soul fit. Here I am in the middle of business. I say business is good, I mean money is here. I don't have anymore that problem. Although there is not much. Years ago, I was digging in mine tunnels, figuratively that is. I didn't what to do to acquire material things. Now, I have my children to help me. And I have forgotten my soul's everyday food. Sometimes, when I meet a beggar, a thought comes to mind - why does he allow himself to become one? Yes, I tend to blame somebody for his misfortune, because I also tended to blame myself for my misfortunes. Years ago when life was so harsh, I mean I could hardly even eat three times a day, I would ask myself as to what things had I brought to myself. Why was I so unfortunate to not own the things that others had? Why was I born poor? Now, what should I do to thank the Lord for bringing me into this lucky world? If I had to rewind, I could really surmise that the long and winding roads, the tough life that I had, led me into this present state. And I can say that in the road ahead I have to follow what is being dictated by God. I can understand that these are God's words implanted into my soul. |
| I found myself inside - what? - a computer game. I played this game of guns and guns... because that was a revelation of my past, the guns. You play with guns, I could dismantle one in seconds. Finally, fate brought me into this business - yeah, cattering to people who want to play with computers. So, I can play to my heart's content. I created this character with the name Quakdop. You know in my village quakdop is actually the term for bat. A bat is like a glider, but it can soar higher than it. It is very flexible,and its actions are instant. It can stick to a branch for as long as it can, even if it is alreay dead, it can hold on the branch. You can fire your gun on it, kill it for as long as you can, it remains in its favorite branch, but staring and smiling at you. That's my character in this game. I played this yesterday, kept on pounding the enemy. Bratatat...bratatat...pok,pok,pok...bong,bong,bong...bang, bang.. this I found quakdop kept on flying, undefeated, like a bat, my favorite quakdop, grinning and victorious, flew and looked at me, then I discovered something, to my wonderous dream, I found out I really looked like my fave quakdop, my character in the game. I put it off, but in my sleep he remained there - grinning, bearing the devilish face, saying "You killed many ... you're a murderer, a murderer." |
| In September, the hospital was a mess, and me. Who likes bandages, plasters, and people in white - the doctors, the nurses, attendants? It's dejavu anyway. So many years ago - I refuse to count, but out of self-healing, so to speak, I must remember, like self-hypnotism, to erase or, at least, minimize those negative thoughts - I was in a similar situation. Accident! Was it an acciddent? Now, my memory is getting blurred. I like to regard it as an accident, but even in those times, I had doubts. Anyway, an accident or intentional (could it be a choice?) I got paralyzed. Now I am here again in this hospital, for some wound on my left foot that had been there for months, say more than a year. The doctor had doubts. Something serious, he said. No, not me. I don't doubt anymore. Been in this troubled world for years, why should I doubt? |
| Describe your childhood and you remember a place and an experience. It is filled with excitement, but also frustrations. I want to be this... I want to be that. This is my favorite... that is mine. Childhood begins with love experience. We express, admire,love and hate. This all the beginning. And we hope that it can be the beginning of a happy life. We try so hard that we attain what we have expected, although usually what appears is something very sour and hard to accept. I told myself that I shall never fail - in everything, every endeavor, but - oh yes, I did fail. So what happened? Something very dramatic, but frustrating. But God has put some little strength to make us endure this troubled world. That strength is that hope that is innate whatever you are. This is what makes us so different from ordinary animals. We have the strength to go on. And we do have the strength to hope for. |
| Rivers always wind down the sea. When I was a boy, I though our land was a secluded island. There were the mountains and the seas. Rivers come down to end in the salty water. Man lives and dies, but has to go on because is not so sure. Really, it was not. I knew it was a fact but when you don't want to accept it, life is an endless play. We can overcome this phenomenon. We can conquer death. Just dream... dream... and dream. That's what I did when I was a child. But they say, we are pilgrims. Yeah, we journey no end. We cross rivers, climb mountains and sail the vast seas. Because that's what we are. |
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At least, I hope you have the time.
I'm sorry, but I really would've! That was hilarious.