On the left corner wearing white bugs bunny shirt and shorts, I.Q. 1000 (I just guessed coz she talks and reasons out like a 60 year-old woman and she’s the only six-year-old girl I know who can spell words with closed eyes, watches CNN news and very interested in politics), the next president of the Philippines, smart aleck number one…Trisha.
On the right corner wearing pink blouse and tight leggings, computer and IPOD addict, certified “friends” with her countless contact in Friendster, Toni Gonzaga fanatic, the next top model in town, smart aleck number two…Shayne.
Yesterday was such a long day for me. I mean really looooooong. Why? It was the Bugs’ Day.
The two kids bugged me the whole day and drove me on the verge of insanity with their bantering of words, sticking out of tongues and endless squabbles.
With their running nose because of bad cough and colds, the two brawled like cat and dog. Now, could it be because they were being attacked with cold bugs that made them uncontrollable yesterday?
I really have no idea but I knew that I was about to strangle them with my bare hands many times. I implored all the help of the countless saints I knew by begging for their mercy to grant me the endurance I needed to last the day.
Trisha pestered Shayne with her funny faces and her roaring laughter. Shayne on the other hand irritated Trisha by teasing her with her missing front tooth. Both good in annoying each other with anything (and I mean everything) that they could think of just for the sake of making each other ill-tempered.
Ending? Each one would come to me asking me to reprimand whoever.
The time to hear mass finally came (Thank God!). The two excitedly prepared and dressed while making fun with each other.
In the church, I was expecting them to be quiet just like they usually do whenever we hear mass. However, it wasn’t the end yet of my misery.
I was in between of them but they would glance at each other to make funny faces. Shayne would make fun of Trisha’s hair while Trisha would imitate the odd way Shayne sits. They would mumble incorrigible words still irking each other.
In addition, Trisha would look around the church looking for her ex- boyfriend. (She’s the only kid that I only know too who had a boyfriend at six and broken hearted after a week.)
As the mass came to an end, the bugs’ adrenaline finally wears off. Shayne's head was on my right shoulder while Trisha’s was on my left.
Finally, my angels were back…(sighs)
How did I survive? Simple…thousands of inhales and exhales. The result? Long tolerance. After all, patience is a virtue.
(Note: Shayne and Trisha are both my nieces entrusted under my care by their parents)
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A friend recently asked me, “If you are not a teacher now, what do you think will be your profession?”
Now, it transported me into the world of deep musings…
Teaching was not my ambition in life. I always wanted to be a lawyer but got discouraged many times because as one of my sisters candidly put it, I’ll never win a case since I never won an argument with her.
So, how did I become a teacher?
Turning back my gaze to the past, I remember that I toyed with the idea of becoming a dancer… don’t react too soon.
I was in third grade when I was chosen to be one of the dancers in a number presented during the closing ceremony of the school year. I thought I was good enough in dancing only to find out later that my father talked to our teacher to include me if my sister would also be included to avoid sibling rivalry.
Well, had I known then I won’t be on stage making a fool of myself. My classmates told me though that I wasn’t really that bad, thanks for that.
That experience was never repeated except occasional field demonstration where everybody was required to dance and of course when I started teaching.
It might be hard to admit but finally after many years of dreaming I have accepted that dancing wasn’t just really for me considering my stiff body movement. (More of like a robot)
What about singing? Well, I did dream of being a singer too. But then again, I have observed that dogs started howling whenever I open my mouth to sing. Am I that bad really? It’s hard to tell because I became a member of the choir when I was in elementary and even competed when I was in high school.
We even won outside of school competitions. But, to be honest it was only that I didn’t open much my mouth so as not to let my teachers hear my voice because I wanted so bad to be part of the group. Luckily, the choir mentor in high school didn’t make a big fuss out of it because I was one of the top in class and I needed badly co-curricular activities.
My career in singing ended right there and then in high school. My colleagues cajoled and prodded me many times to sing during programs but I was old enough to realize that singing was not just really for me.
It’s that public speaking which I have tried since elementary that always popped out every now and then. I won a number of awards and even became a member of the college debate team.
However, even that I feel like I was not good enough. My confident is very strong when I don’t know the crowd but it dies out the moment I talk with familiar crowd.
So, I followed my sister’s advice to take up education with the hope of pursuing further education in law after I graduate.
Conversely, I enjoyed too much teaching that I have totally forgotten taking up degree in law. I’m thankful though. I know that it’s not meant for me and it wasn’t my calling.
My past experiences molded me to what I am now. I can’t dance but I can supervise practices of my pupils in dancing. I can’t sing but I can sing enough to amuse them during classroom discussion. I can’t argue but I can explain things enough for my pupils to understand daily lessons.
You see, it doesn’t really matter what my dreams were before. What matters now is that I have found my right calling. Oh, I forgot…I was never good in writing. I never won a single award back when I was still studying and it was my greatest frustration.
The path I have trekked maybe brought me where am I now because I no longer remain frustrated. I never won an award so that I would push through to be better. I didn’t become a great writer but I did become a winning coach of great writers.
Need I say more? I have found my perfect profession. Maybe I won’t be a teacher forever but I know that I would forever be thankful that once in my life I became one…
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I was six years old when I first heard the word people power, too young to fully grasp what it means but the memories poignant that I can still vividly remember.
I knew that it was the day liberty was given back to the people after suffering for a long time from the hands of tyrannical Marcos regime wherein martial law was implemented.
It was in a news magazine, Reporter, which I first saw the pictures of Edsa People Power 1 that toppled the oppressive government of Marcos. Former President Cory Aquino was in the front page surrounded by millions of Filipinos.
Men and women including children from all walks of life filled the streets…soldiers and priests holding hands and nuns clasping tightly their rosaries…all marched for truth and freedom…amidst the threat of bullets to silence the truth. It was the time that Filipinos astounded the whole world with the courage to end a cruel administration thru a peaceful revolution.
It also became the inspiration of the second uprising against government’s suppression of the truth. I was in college when for the first time I joined a peaceful revolt in the street. My fervor to be part of the rally was fueled with anger when again the country was tainted with corruption and never-ending list of dirt in the government.
I have monitored closely the impeachment trial then hoping that the truth would come out about the alleged ill- gotten wealth of former President Joseph Estrada. My idealism with regard to the system was ruined when the law makers themselves tried to hide the truth.
The envelope containing the evidences against him was forever sealed when his allies voted not to open it. It was the start of rebellion that ousted him from office. It was a sweet victory knowing that I became part of history which freed Juan Dela Cruz from that kind of leadership.
Many years later, Estrada was arrested and imprisoned (house arrest in a comfortable house) and not long after his life sentence for plunder, he was granted presidential pardon. Now, is that what we call justice? You tell me…
On February 26, the country will commemorate the 22nd anniversary of Edsa People Power 1. A very long time since freedom was reclaimed…
Apparently, with the current situation now of the country, Filipinos are in turmoil again…for the umpteenth times. The administration is facing numerous scandals which many are predicting would be the end of Arroyo government.
As the whole country venerate the time of liberation from the iron hand of Marcos regime, many are plotting the People Power 3. Another revolt to topple the present government…
Freedom and unity has been the main theme of the People Power 1 while healing was given emphasis in the People Power 2. If indeed the plan to overthrow the current regime succeeds, what would be the focus?
Healing, I believe should begin with freedom and unity. With the turmoil we are facing now it’s obvious that we were never healed with the wounds of the past. It continued to haunt us which disintegrates our hope for change.
How then can we make the remnants of the past become the hope of our future? How many revolts more do we need for us to learn? Do we need to have the third people power? Or maybe fourth? Fifth? Endless search for peace and truth…
I am no longer the innocent six-year-old kid during the Edsa People Power 1. I’ve grown and have been a silent witness of how leaders governed the political arena. I am 28 and my idealism was contaminated with corruption, bribery, and countless filth by the system…hope for change is still elusive but my love for my country remains.
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Cradling his tiny body, caressing his soft skin, watching his first step, and singing lullabies as he lays asleep…the profound joy of motherhood.
Every woman’s dream is to have her own progeny- the real essence of being in existence. A small being wrapped in untold elation that enfolds the heart of a mother…
Those innocent smiles enough to lit up a house, the invisible halos that touched the deepest core of a mother’s soul are just some of a woman’s reverie.
Yet, it’s a paradox how an angel could be referred to as “unwanted”. The innocent beings who are supposed to be gifts from above turned out a burden and a dilemma.
I cringe whenever I watch news about babies thrown like a piece of garbage in the trash can. There was this fetus found in the pile of rubbish, a baby left in a corner of a church, a little girl killed by her own father, and other endless stories of cruelty to children.
They are called as “unwanted” when their moms are unwed before birth or when the family is too large that having them means additional mouth to feed. They are unplanned and therefore unwelcome.
Some are lucky enough to finish the ninth month in their mother’s womb. Others are not and lives were taken even before those tiny limbs and hearts developed. Their moan of anguished inside were silence with a piece of instrument.
Their death served as a catalyst of survival for those young mothers who are ill-equipped for “unwanted” babies.
As these people made an evil scheme of ending the innocent life of their own flesh and blood, are they aware that there are souls out there praying and hoping for them to have their own angels yet incapacitated to do so?
It’s ironic that those who can afford and are educated enough to give a good future to their children are also those who are not lucky enough to be given their own gift.
Life is a mystery that one should continue to unravel everyday. There’s a reason and a purpose for everything…
Could it be that a tiny soul is somewhere out there hoping and praying to be saved by a stranger’s maternal heart because his own mother can not do it for him?
As I said it’s a mystery…one that I intend to find out as I continue my journey…
"When agony flood thy soul, look up and let the sun rays cleanse your whole being"
The rain fell in a ceaseless bone- jarring torrent. The deafening sound muffled my weeping as I allowed my grief-stricken heart bled through my tears. I was consumed with deep lamentation as I thought of my future- immediate death or long excruciating death.
Sorrow, fear, dread, anguish, and blinding pain emotionally and physically rocked my body with helplessness as huge rivulet of tears cascaded on my face. My hope, faith and happiness experienced a grand avalanche.
I felt so small and vulnerable as I gritted my teeth and clasped my hands to try to hold on. Until finally, I stopped… not because I felt better but because none were left to shed anymore. My heart ached with unfathomable emptiness as I fell in bottomless dark hollow of loneliness...
It was the time I suffered SUFFERING.
Years passed after that fateful afternoon. Due to my weak condition, the road to recovery was long and arduous- almost like a miracle.
Time crept by and slowly; I had recuperated. It’s still a wonder how I survived that ordeal. Staring at my scars brought by my illness filled me with wonder how I made it through the yonder desolate chasm of the cruel storm that beseeched my way.
The blemishes on my body seemed like a badge of valour for the courage that gave me the will to survive. The wound in my heart whence life’s sweetness reside was finally healed.
Suffering is an emotional state accompanied by negative emotions and severe pain. It usually threatens one’s sanity and without justice causes irreparable injury.
A famous Philosopher once said, “Suffering becomes beautiful when anyone bears great calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility but through greatness of mind.”
What is the beauty of suffering?
As for me, the beauty of suffering was affirmed later on after wrestling with gut- wrenching pain good things came my way and finally, I unwrapped the gift of joy.
It was that unexplainable feeling as I woke up each morning suffused with a new dawn of hope. From its vine, the kindling of bliss sprouted.
It was finally falling asleep without fear, filled with faith that when tomorrow comes, I would still be able to feel the scorching heat of the sun on my skin, to touch the mist of the budding flowers, and to look up at the vast horizon of skies.
Character could not be developed without any complexity. Only through occurrence of suffering and experiencing it in full we can be healed. The upturn felt being enfolded like a plaintive song, the source unknown yet the comfort potent.
The most salient message of suffering is when the purpose is finally articulated. When the realization hit that even the gravest of all afflictions has its reason.
I have suffered through long losing streak of endless cruel jokes but the beauty of it finally enfolded my heart. The purpose was finally uttered to me…that with the permanent scars I have endured I will be an inspiration to those who fell but could not find the courage to stand.
Fight.
