Where Words Are

Have you ever had this kind of day when you just have nothing to say?

People call you writer, and today, you don't know how.

You're staring at a blank sheet, the cursor blinking.

Words are lost.

None is coming out.

None.

So you put everything down, and set out to look for words.

You ask your father, pet your dog, and hug your sweetheart.

You take a bath, listen to music, and go for a long walk.

Words in the sky.

Words in the air.

Words in bells ringing.

There are words in Chai tea and Panini.

Of course, there are tons of words in a bookstore.

But nothing seems enough.

You step in the chapel, your shoes tapping.

You walk, listening to dull echoing.

Closer and closer, you come before Him.

Your eyes upon Him, the Source of all words.

You take a bow, your knee touches the ground.

You lift your head unto Him then sit down.

You see how Jesus is bare, wide open.

His arms outstretched, his body bleeding.

But He is there, dying in glory.

He gazes dearly, adoringly.

Oh, He is filled with love, honesty, majesty!

And in its depth, there are words brimming.

Brimming.

Still You

There is...
a sense of security when I come to You, Lord.

I know that Presence - that caring, accepting, and peaceful Presence I drenched myself in when I felt alone in the convent. I would look at You, and You would look at me as if I'm the only person in the universe.

You created everything, but You looked at me as if I was much more loved. Much more beautiful.

I came to You in my dirtiest clothes, and you welcomed me.

I did come to You in my I-haven't-taken-a-bath-yet state, and you welcomed me.

I approached You without make-up nor with the hair of my legs shaved, and you welcomed me.

I ran to You in my worst - dry, angry, depressed - and you welcomed me.

I've already stepped out of the nunnery.
And still here You are, alive with that Presence.

Everything has changed. Everyone did.
But You, Lord, have not.

You are still who You are.

And You still love me.

God's Surprises

One day you wake up and your arid days are over. 

You smile at the sun, you eat well, and you bounce when you walk.

You're all too happy that you can't find words for it or for anything.

It feels like life's wheel just turned, and you're on top.

And there, in that transition, you realize what can really make you happy.

You get to know that you're not the type who gets ecstatic with promotion or any career success,

that you're not proud of being known by quite a multitude of people,

that compliments no longer get into your head.

There, you get to see what's empty and what's not.

You define what it really means to be on top.

You rename dreams, find new goals, and envision a new life.

Things suddenly become surprising as if spotting a huge shell on the shore,

or suddenly feeling cool with the May air,

or taking hold of a book you thought you wouldn't find in the Philippines' bookstore.

And what's more surprising is, whatever made that has always been within your grasp.

Relationships.

Love.

Homeless

I don't know if you're fond of dogs. 

I am.

I pray for every street dog I see, especially when it's crossing the street.
"Lord, take care of that dog. Oh please, protect it from getting hit by a vehicle."
My eyes then follow the dog until it safely gets on to the other side of the road. I do that, as if staring helps.

My heart breaks for them, you see. I believe that dogs are good by nature. It's how they are created - loyal, loving and even sweet, sometimes. And I think they are adorable no matter how messy they look. They do not deserve the dirt and cruelty of the street.

But they're homeless.

And I hate that somebody deprived them of the warmth of home, of a family. 

One midday, I was looking out from the jeepney I was riding. I saw a street dog, and said a prayer for it like I always did. The jeep continued to run as it should, but as it did, I saw a street child. My eyes fell on the muck in his cheek, the tattered clothes, bare legs and tanned, dirty skin. I reckoned, he was about three or four years old.

I don't know if you're fond of children.

I am.

But I don't always pray for every street child I see in the street.

You see, I am a preschool teacher. I teach kids how to read and write. I love it when we fall during ring-around-the-rosie. I greet them with a hug, assist them when they change clothes after gym, and fix the girls' hair when tousled. Children are pure, good and happy by nature.

I don't know why it's always blame that comes to my mind first.
"This happened to him because his parents are lazy and indifferent!"
But I realized, it doesn't change the fact that this street child is not one of the kids I teach in school, that he's not learning how to read and write, and that he doesn't play ring-around-the-rosie safely. 

I don't know how many hugs he receives each day, or if somebody assists him nicely when changing clothes, or when somebody even bothers to comb his hair.

I thought, this street child does not deserve the dank, angry road.

But look.

He's homeless.

While You're Single, Set Direction in Your Heart

I know you want to be loved. In a romantic way.

Perhaps, you sometimes imagine yourself ambling along the sea shore. While you cherish the sea breeze grazing your faces, you and your lover leave a trail of your footsteps in the sand. Your hands lace together. Sweet.

How about this. One morning, you wake up at the sound of your cellphone's alarm but it didn't annoy you. Instead, you touched the envelope on your screen, revealing your sweetheart's message:

Good morning. I'll see you later. :) 

You smiled and immediately, prepared for later - taking a bath, brushing your teeth, wearing your best clothes. In your heart, you know that whatever the day has for you, it'll be beautiful because you'll spend time with your sweetheart.

I may not know what other scenes you have in your imagination, but I get it. I know why you want to be loved in a romantic way. Either you've been there or not, you're quite sure it'll give you something to smile about, something to look forward to, or perhaps, a reason for waking up in the morning. You may not feel ecstatic about it every day or in the following years, but the love itself will certainly give inspiration. Romantic love is so beautiful. But you see, there's a potential that your life will revolve around it.

Now, I believe that while you (and I) are not there yet isn't the pressing question. Whenever I'm in the waiting process, I always remember that I am still being transformed in the desert. God sees something about me that should be improved, added, or nourished - things that will make me ready for that thing. And being ready means being at my best state of heart, best frame of mind, or best situation fitting for that thing. Probably, every single day we don't have what we want yet, God saves us from disaster.

Here's one way to prepare: develop singleness of heart. I've read about this from Fr. Green's Opening to God. He said that humans have conflicting desires. He suggested a way not to align them or make them accorded, but to be free from them. He said, "We can have many loves in our lives, but only one center, one sun around which all our other loves are satellites." So yes, there may be other loves but those are just (and must be) means to love more that one in the center. If the other loves conflict with loving the center, it isn't true love.

I know some people who, for some reason, cannot fuse the love of God and love of boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse. I tried to explain it in my mind, asked them if they feel like they're doing something wrong or if they have beliefs different from their lover which make them confused, things like that. There is an apparent reason for a "yes" answer, you see. Otherwise, it could either be because they don't know yet who or what their Sun is or they don't truly love the Sun yet. It is a process, anyway. A slow, painstaking process.

I think it doesn't just apply to loving a person. I, for example, have fondness for many things - teaching, arts, writing, spirituality, music etc., and sometimes, I love them deeply that it preoccupies me that I suddenly get snapped from reverie wondering why again do I desire it that much. There's always a question of "Why am I doing this again?" Always going back to the reason, to the core.

The question for everyone is this: Who is that One center, that One sun of your life?
We decide. I want it to be God. I bet you want it to be God too. You see, it is also about vocations.
Fr. Green also said: "Rosemary Haughton said...the married person comes to the love of God through the love of a spouse, while the celibate comes to the love of people through the love of God."

So while we're waiting for romantic love, for realized dreams, for purpose (for whatever that is) to arrive, I guess it's better that we set direction in our hearts. Have that singleness of heart, and let everything we do be for the love of our Sun, our Center - God.

I hope that made sense.

Why Do I Write Again?

I had forgotten why.

I ignored the muse many times this month because I could not find time for writing. It was painful. I let my pen and paper be squeezed at the bottom of my workload, and it took me some pulling out, whittling down and sickness before I got to them again. To my surprise, when I finally got hold of them, I felt like I no longer know how to write.

My writing skills seemed to have deteriorated. Every day I would be in a room full of space, and have a desk waiting. There, I would sit and write. But not write at all. Not a single word appealed to me and whenever any did, it won't be of beauty. It was a huge writer's block. In those barren days, I saw my writing skills molting before me. And it was because I neglected it, left it in a corner, and forgot about it for a long time.

Or perhaps, it wasn't really about my writing skills.

The black ink resembled my mood. Empty papers felt familiar. And the drear blinks of the cursor resounded the rhythm of my week. Man, it was me all along. I wanted words, but they weren't coming because I was pulling them out from a void or an empty cavern. I was the one deteriorating, the one molting, the one who was empty.

Why do I write again? was the question.

I turned to God for answers. Then I talked to people. Then I rested. Then read books. And read books. And read more books. Then finally, I remembered what I have forgotten.

I forgot the joy of expressing myself with art, of creating a world and bringing my readers in it, of listening to people and immortalizing their stories in paper.

I forgot love.

Drifted

I've been walking for two hours now.

No, I've been shuffling. The sky is dark. The streets are messy as always. Cars whiz past beside me with their exhaust puffing out black, dirty - disgustingly dirty - smoke. But I do not care.

I look straight ahead, but my mind's falling - a listless body that surrenders to gravity - in his world. I have found it hard to enter his world, his new world.

For 8 years, we had known every inch of each other. We knew each other's thoughts even before we spoke them. We talked through stares and gestures only we could understand. But things changed as soon as our feet landed on the bigger world, the real world. In our school and university, we would always cross paths even when we didn't like it. But when we finally had the choice, when we started moving in a much larger space and be with a multitude of people, we began losing each other. He began working, and I too. From then on, we drifted apart, slowly vanishing behind the walls of his hospital and my office.

You see, I've never really known his world. And I will never. So perhaps, my mind isn't exactly in his world at this moment. It is in the possibilities. And this path has more thorns.

And It hurts more.

Why She Cried When He Died

I opened my eyes to mornings, knowing you'll be around - probably beside me, still sleeping. Or somewhere in the living room or kitchen, starting your day.

It had just been the two of us, with no child to think about - God's mystery - but at least, with a foster daughter whom your sister sometimes brought to our care. Years made me grow so familiar with every inch of you. You and me. Your skin and my skin. Your clothes and my clothes. Your school of fish in the aquarium and the dishes I cooked which you liked - and of course, our house where many family reunions turned into a blast.

But here you are now, lying behind this glass, in a barong you didn't know we bought you. You're seemingly smiling - even seemingly peaceful - but for me, you have just become beyond reach in all sense. Your body which I've known for years is now solely a vessel, an object that remains still, wilting, turning into ashes. This glass seems to draw an end to us - no more hugs, no more kisses, no more scent that only your body owns.

I am asking, how will I face the following days? Of waking up beside an empty space on our bed, of eating with an empty chair, of keeping empty clothes that would no longer need some washing.

Things will change.

Things have to change.

And life will be new not only for me...
but also for you.

*For my aunt who grieves, and for my uncle, her husband, who reads this from heaven.*

My Safe Place

My father's arms.

It was his arms I slept to, which scent I breathed in every night when I was young. Once the clock struck eight, Papa would turn off the lights, and his three girls huddled toward him in the bed. I remember how excited I was to hear his story about their farm until sleep rolled over me.

"I pulled the marble hard with my slingshot then released it! Poom! The boys ran from the tree then off to their houses!" exclaimed Papa.

My eyes glistened with amazement in the dark. The whole scene was right in front of me. "Why were they hiding behind the tree?" I asked.

"Well, because they were trying to scare me."

"And you were not scared?"

"No. How can I be scared when I had my dog Blacky beside me and God watching over me?"

My sisters, cousins and I were fond of watching horror stories and films, so I used to fear darkness. I did not like the uncertainty of it. I would not know whose hand held my ankle if ever, or if the eyeballs staring right across me were my sister's. So I would curl up, hide in a blanket, and open my eyes really wide.

It was different in my father's arms, though.

It was the safest place I knew.

I Would's

I would fall for you

just as leaves fall from trees in autumn

or sunbeam lands on my windows in the morning.

It'll be patient and spontaneous,

it'll be in the proper time.

I would know you

just as my eyes read unfamiliar words in books

and my mouth tastes new dishes in a restaurant.

You would be there,

and I would be here.

Our limbs frozen, stuck in the ground

but our eyes would see beyond

as our hearts find each other.

I would dream of you,

as you would dream of me.

We would both feel that we could be

though we would know we could never be sure

until we choose to try,

and we won't help but choose to.

Remnants

Remnants.

I am still haunted by the remnants of our memories,

infested by their dusts latching on to my skin,

and blemished by the scabs and scars of my old wounds.

I have been refusing to remember you,

but your image is a fact hidden in my subconscious,

and a glaring truth in my dreams at night.

And now I have to face the remnants,

the pieces of what used to be and will never be,

wisps of the smoke of joys and sorrows,

and a speck of what once was a true love.

Remnants, which I am glad that just are,

for I know that soon,

these dusts will be blown away,
the scars will solely be patches that'll add to my beauty,

and the memories will fade like colors in photographs.

I am sure that soon,
my heart will be again clean and new

for a kind of love that will stay whole forever.

Float Along

Float along the waves.

Beneath you is the ocean of grace

Trust that you'll get to the shore

of the land you will most adore.

Be amazed, be amazed!

Upon the expanse of the sky, hold your gaze.

See through the clouds and pray

to the God who won't lead you astray.

And if the water breaks its stillness,

and the sky becomes a vast darkness,

Just float along, float along!

You'll come to the shore faster and strong!

Oh, float along the waves,

you are on the ocean of His love and grace,

Trust that He will bring you to the shore

of the land where there is something more.

Have your own love story

What is your love story?

Romantic love is strongly attractive. Be it in motion pictures or words, it can capture anyone. At times, it can get too attractive that it leaves you vulnerable to be slain or devoured. Even just a hint of it may be misunderstood and result to aching scratches or bruises. Romantic love is that enchanting.

You can't help it. It's mighty interesting how two hearts find each other in one such magical moment and be but one heart. Likewise, it's marvelous how a heart brings its pieces back together after the great pain of ripping apart. I admit, I too am romantic love's victim. One day, I just found myself daydreaming, directing sweet scenes with a faceless guy. From that day on, I described myself as a hopeless romantic.

Do seeing and hearing love stories from beautiful couples give you a knot in your stomach? Well, me too. But it's not the bad sort, right? I can't tell if it's envy or what. Probably, it's a mixture of "I'm so happy for you," and "I hope I have such a good love story too." It's not that it'll complete me, but I guess romantic love's too wonderful I also want to have one.

The fact is, I don't have one. But after accepting that side of me who is certain would wholeheartedly enjoy a life alone and for others, I decided to look to Jesus and figure out how to fall in love with Him. I've decided to shift all my desire, yearning and energy I reserved (and almost bursting!) for one such person to Jesus instead. How about giving efforts to really know Him through the Word? How about having breakfasts, weekly dates and frequent conversations with Him? Or probably, I could sing and write plenty of love poems for Him. I realized that if I want to, I could enjoy getting creative and serious in my relationship with Jesus, (probably) more than I could with a human being.

Truth is, single or not, you can fulfill your romantic dreams. Yes, it's possible! Start with working on your relationship with Jesus. Look above. That perfectly romantic Lover has been waiting for your "yes."

Friend, it's time to have your own love story.

Good bye, Mr. Right

I'm giving up that one fine morning

of waking up in bed with the guy

my heart would willingly

fall in love with and die for.

I'm giving up the sumptuous breakfast

we’d peacefully have on our dining table,

those sandwiches, fruits and milk

beneath a meaningful conversation.

I'm giving up that great company,

those hearty laughs, hugs and kisses,

those books we'd read in comfort and silence,
and our exchange of wise words.

I'm giving up those ecstatic Sundays

of lifting up our hands together in worship,

of uttering prayers, singing praises

and giving warm embraces.

I’m giving up that wedding ring,

that sacred promise at the altar,

those tears of overwhelming gratitude

and that loving and tender kiss.

I’m giving him up, Lord.

I’m letting go of “Mr. Right”

if he really does exist.

I surrender my romantic dreams to You.

I'm choosing You, Lord.

I'm choosing to have fine days, meals

and promises with You!

I'm choosing the cross and the habit.

Lord, You are my One True Love.

He calls

It hit me like lightning, 

one sunset,

while I was on bed, holding my rosary.

I was talking to Him,

prattling, actually,

and begging.

Then, it paralyzed me for a minute,

my eyes and mouth agape.

It took the form of a song,

that old and very familiar one.

Here I am, Lord

Is it I, Lord?

I have heard You calling in the night.

I will go, Lord, if You lead me.

I will hold Your people in my heart.

Its words struck me deep, as always,

yet this time, 

it was sweet and piercing,

heavy yet weightless,

cold and burning!

But I held on to it,

and savored it in my mouth,

then down my throat.

It felt warm inside.

It went deep beneath my skin,

then into my bones.

Finally, it captured my heart,

every inch of it,

every valve and chamber,

every cartilage and muscle,

every vessel!

Next thing I know,

salty tears were streaming down my cheeks.

It was my longest one minute.

Yes, it hit me like lighting -

His voice.

Trembling, I acknowledged,

"God is calling."

Trust Me.

Trust me.

Trust me in the stillness of everything.

Where there is calmness and peace, there I am moving.

Feel my presence.

Hear my whispers.

Trust me.

How many times should I prove my love for you?

Embrace this moment's uncertainty,

and have faith in me.

I know your heart.

Just trust me.

I love you, child.

Trust in my heart.

I promise, I have great plans for you.

Know that I've been listening to your prayers,

and I'm working on it.

Trust me.

One True Love

Make my words thick with wisdom, Oh Lord,

and my songs of praise taste sweet in my lips.

May whatever comes out from the depths of my heart

be a fragrant scent to Your nose

and to the one You've prepared for me.

May we feel Your warmth as our eyes lock

and our hearts beat with the same passion for You.

Lord, we place our hands in Yours.

I pray that You bring us together

once we both brave the path of Adam and Eve

and abandon all other paths yet not ruefully,

once we're healed enough to touch each other's scars

when we run out of wisdom and strength,

and once we're ready to love each other for eternity

and to love You yet for more than our eternity.

Reading for its sake

One day, I found myself deliberately reading faster than I used to.

I was hurriedly leafing the book's pages, I couldn't absorb the words well enough. I was in a rush to finish it because I was too excited to read the next book in line. I also thought it wasn't good for my writing as the author's writing style was far from my taste. It wasn't stimulating my creativity and thus was uninviting to the muse.

I couldn't afford to put the book away and just erase it in my list though. I wanted to finish it. The fact that it fell on to my hands, it was giving me the chance to know its insides. I didn't want to miss whatever it could offer. It certainly was a good book just as I thought in the other days. But I was in a hurry, and I realized that reading it this way is the same as not reading it.

So I closed the book, kept it and promised that I'll get back to it when I'm ready to indulge myself in its beauty again.

Quintessence

To be loved, my dear, 

may not be the essence of life

for it could be selfishness to think solely

of what the world puts on your hands.

It is rather a need, undoubtedly,

to feel that you're in somebody's heart,

for knowing your worth

can keep you alive.

To be loved, indeed,

isn't the quintessence of life,

for it's often about choosing between 

saving your own skin and sacrifice.
But still, how vital it is!

For it is through receiving

that you learn to give,

it is through being consoled

that you learn to console,

and it is through being loved

that you learn to love.

And that, my dear,

is the essence of life.

You Have Wings

I realized, I have wings.

I wasn't aware until I was forced to spread them to save my life.

You opened the cage then I looked down. The ground seemed so far below me. I looked back at my place and stepped backward. I thought that if you wanted me free, it wasn't possible. I'd fall and die if I'd get out of my cage. I decided to stay for a while but not for so long.

Not long enough 'cause the moment you opened the door, you forgot about me. You stopped feeding me. You stopped giving me water to drink. You never visited me again for chitchats or quick tickles. You never even laid your eyes on me again. I became non-existent. Non-existent to your world, at least.

Because looking out, I could see a bigger world - the vast sky, steep mountains, blue ocean and wide terraces. I wondered, how much could it offer? I was thin and starving. I was thirsty. I was yearning. I still waited though. I waited until I turned skin and bones with scorched tongue and weak heart.

Then one day, I breathed deeply. I knew I deserved to live, to be cared for, to be happy. I looked at the sky. It was calm and radiant. I turned ahead of me, to the opened door. Hey, I was free. Rather, I could be free. What are the possibilities? So with renewed strength, I closed my eyes and bent my knees. Then like a springboard, I jumped out of the cage with all my might.

I jumped as high and far as I could, trusting that something from the huge world would catch me. But nothing did even brush my skin. I felt nothing. Not even a bump. I heard not even a thump. I opened my eyes.

I was on top of everything, almost touching the sky. I was free. Oh, I could fly!

I realized, I have wings.