Daddylo

I remember your toothless grin.

I remember how you used to giggle at the slightest of things.

Do you remember the times when I used to rest my palms on your bald head and call it bolang krystal? Or the times when we mused over your veins that snaked over your strong arms?

Do you remember when you used to carry me on your back and we'd laugh about something only the two of us knew?

I was your first grandchild, and Mommy used to tell me you used to hide me from the youth at church. Do you remember? The youth always barged in the parsonage after their fellowship and you would run me upstairs because you didn't want them to take turns kissing my chubby cheeks.

I was your first grandchild, and I remember you built a highchair for me where I'd happily sit whenever I devour spoonfuls of the experimental porridge Mommylo used to make. Do you remember?

I was your first grandchild, and I can never recall a moment when you didn't play your hand-made ukelele. You said nobody taught you music, so you made your own.


I remember.


I remember the times you and Mommylo would spend the whole day talking about something only the two of you seemed to know. It makes me smile, you know. Then I decided that if ever I'm going to marry somebody, he's going to be a lot like you -- somebody who I could spend the rest of my life with, and still never run out of things to talk about.

I remember how you loved to massage Mommylo's pained legs and how you treated her extra special as if you were still courting her. I remember how the two of you used to whisper to each other as if you were sharing a secret the world didn't know.

I remember how we used to have family devotionals that would last for hours, that Anne would sometimes doze off before we even finish. I remember how we always racked our brains for memory verses whenever you asked us to. Then you'd tell us stories. You always loved to tell stories. I remember. I'd miss them.

I'd miss how you always taught me how to debate and how your eyes sparkled whenever Mommy says I'm going to be a lawyer. I remember the proud smile plastered on your face when I asked for your book on the Civil Code. I remember how you paused when I told you about Bible School. And I remember how you patted my back afterwards and mumbled something incomprehensible.


I remember you wake up early each morning and sing hymns with Mommylo with your raspy voice. I remember how your eyes seem to dance whenever you talk about Jesus. I remember how you used to give me sermons with a singsong tone. I remember how you didn't want me to do the dishes. I remember how you insisted to do it yourself.

I was supposed to tour you around the world, wasn't I, Dad? I'm sorry you had to leave so soon. I'm sorry you wouldn't be able to witness the Lord's plan for me. I wanted you to know first. I wanted to see your smile when you see me following the Lord's will. I wanted to. I even wanted my children to learn from you.


I'd miss you, Dad. I'd miss how your eyes disappeared whenever you smile. I'd miss your smile wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. I'd miss your stubby toes that dig itself through the warm soil you used to till. I'd miss your sandpaper hands that would let themselves rest on my lap whenever you talk to me about the treasures in life. I'd miss how your prominent nose twitches whenever somebody compliments your son. I'd miss your smile -- the sweetest one I had ever seen.


I'd miss how you used to say you love me. I miss you.

You would forever be in my heart, Dad. Someday, I'm going to join you up there. Yes, with the Lord's help, I am going to finish this race just like you. I know if you were still here, you'd have your toothless grin on display again. And I'd love that.


Thank you, Daddylo...for everything. I love you. So much. So, so much.


Love,
Aine

Pampam Falls of Kalubihon

There is more to Iligan than Tinago and Ma. Christina Falls. Believe it or not, in this tiny city of Northern Mindanao lie 23 waterfalls. Although not originally an Iliganon, I grew up here. I thought this was my turf, but I realized that there are a lot of things that I had actually missed.

Only Tinago and Ma. Christina are the most-visited waterfalls in the city. I have been there, of course. I have been to Mimbalot Falls too, though it's already developed now so I suppose it would not be long enough before people would crowd themselves at the place. Somehow, seeing the well-known waterfalls didn't satisfy me enough, rather it was like being starved for weeks and only managed to scavenge a small loaf of bread to eat. Yes, I was still hungry.

Last night, I scanned through my classmate's photos and was delighted to find this folder of photos of us during our trip to the hidden Pampam Falls. This waterfall is located at Kalubihon, a barangay just before Dalipuga and believe it or not, it is much more beautiful than the other waterfalls I had seen around the city. I am not exaggerating. Maybe it's because nobody had plans of developing the waterfall, I do not know.

We had to ride motorcycles that could fit five persons just because jeepneys were scarce in this area of the city. It was Nikko, an acquaintance, who became our tour guide as he had been to the place a couple of times before. He lives at Kalubihon so getting lost never haunted us.

This is me getting behind on the tracks. How could they walk so fast? I was literally panting like a dog when we reached the destination. It was like a five-kilometer walk, I think, from the rocky road (hmm, ice cream!) to the waterfall. Although the trail in the photo seems too easy to walk on, trust me, I had the worst experiences trying to catch up with my swift-footed classmates.

YAY! Looks like I did catch up!

This is dry land. You could just imagine how large the blisters on my foot were after I slipped a couple of times at the muddy area. Do you know how much I wanted to cry and just go home? But I remembered I was a big girl already so I sucked it up and acted brave and strong. Woop!

At last we arrived at our destination. As you can see, the water is beyond clear. It's actually better in person, but whatever. It is certainly beautiful.

Enchanting, isn't it?

Lewey here couldn't wait and quickly took off his shirt and dove for the water. I couldn't blame the guy, though. The water was remedy to the scorching heat of the sun.

Here I am again, who after several minutes, decided to wade in. I didn't bring clothes with me thinking the place wasn't worth a swim, but I realized how wrong I had been. Thank you, Kenneth and Paul for lending me shirts. They're still with me after several months. You don't think they're better off with me, do you?

I reminded myself to always stay close to the edge. There were deep parts that I couldn't even feel the floor, and for those who do not know, I do not now how to swim. You could just imagine how scared I was trying to wade to the other side of the waterfall. I kept on imagining diwatas hiding underwater, waiting to take advantage of my weakness.

Nah, I was only kidding. I did not imagine those mythical creatures, but I was still kind of scared of how deep the water was. I remembered when I jumped off a boulder and my bottom landed on a large rock hard. I think it remained bruised for a whole week.

Ninja-ninja in the water. I love this game. I believe I won here too :D:D Oh, look at my pose, I could be a real ninja. LOL.

If you think Tarzan and Jane were only in the deep jungle, think again. We took turns swinging with that flexible branch I'm grasping on the photo for a whole two hours, I think, I felt like I was this generation's Jane, but only in an over-sized shirt and denim shorts. Yes, this was when my bottom landed on an invisible rock below the water. Ouch.

 A quick shot of Paul and I with our obnoxious Miss Universe poses before we headed back to Nikko's house.

This my friends, is Pampam Falls. It's amazing how God could create majestic spots such as this. Nobody else could have made anything as beautiful as this. Although the walk back and forth the waterfall nearly killed me (I was wheezing!), I did not regret visiting the place. The experience was priceless, and it felt like I had been transported to a different world. Yes, I felt like Jane -- left behind and unaware of the real earth.

Will I go back to the waterfall?

Certainly! But only if someone is willing to carry me on his/her back. Haha. I guess since nobody is willing to, I think I should just resort to working out with my cardio. Yes, walks really are agonizing when you're a girl with an exercise-deprived body.

Next stop, I think, would be the highest waterfall in the Philippines, Limunsudan Falls, of Rogongon. If you want to know what it looks like, here it is:

I read somewhere that Limunsudan Falls is harder to reach than Pampam, but I still want to go there. I just hope I could actually take a swim here, not that I know how. If all else fails, though, it's okay. I heard Rogongon has a lot more less violent waterfalls, so I don't think the future trip would really be in vain.

I know this is a long post...again, but I hope it's okay. I missed posting entries with a lot of photos, so please bear with me. :)

Sawat di khaa, Aine.  GOD bless you. <3

When the World is Screaming "Feminism"

I know. This is a pretty long post. Please bear with me because I actually like this entry. Basaha tanan. Haha.

Simone de Beauvoir, a feminist and an important proponent in literary criticism, argued in her essay, "The Second Sex", that women should wake up, stand up, and change how society has degraded them through the myths that it has created for the people to believe in. Literature, according to her, had always presented females as weak and inferior to men, which is an insult to women, and a motivation for men to view the opposite sex as lesser beings than themselves. This realization not only saddened her, but also made her furious at society and the norms it had set for the people to follow.

Honestly, Feminism's original aim had appealed to me before, especially when it defended the abused women. That was about it, though. Unfortunately, the feminists didn't seem to be contented with this that their objectives had escalated into a movement with more demands. All of a sudden, Feminism was more than just protecting women. It had become a rebellion, somehow, and it honestly disgusted me. There are even a number of instances that Feminism goes over the border of gender just so they could tell the world how women are deprived of a lot of things.

One of the last lessons we took up for midterms in our Literary Criticism class was the Queer Gender Theory. Believe it or not, this is only an extension of Feminism, and, yes, its proponents were feminists. The Queer Gender Theory focuses on how heterosexuality has become a burden in society. I am not really good at explaining things, so to further elaborate on what I am talking about, I think I'd just share my answer to a check-up quiz we had about this theory.

Discuss heterosexuality and lesbian experience according to Adrienne Rich.

Rich argues that heterosexuality abuses women. Heterosexuality, according to her, emphasizes how we tend to make men superior over women, to the point of depriving women of their sexuality and making them objects to men. Lesbianism, then, is just channeling a female's energy to another female. It acts as a rebellion to heterosexuality and showing the world that females are also capable of taking over their sexuality and taking control over themselves.

You could just imagine what I was thinking while writing this. This is when Feminism goes crazy.

It saddens me whenever I think about this and how people want to be over the otherss. They think being superior and liberal is a human right! Feminists think women are not supposed to be where they are right now -- under men. As much as I agree with the fact that some men do take advantage of the weakness of women, I also believe this, Feminism, is just too much. We are supposed to view others better than ourselves. We are supposed to want to serve others. Why are we trying so hard to be up at the top? Why are we trying so hard to be where we should not be? Why do we want to make worldly royals of ourselves?

This also reminds me of the time when the serpent deceived Eve. The serpent coaxed her to take a bite of the fruit that God had told them not to eat. Eve yielded to the serpent, as we all know, because of her desire to be better than she already is. I know you know what happened next. Looking at it, the feminists do have a similar way of thinking.

The Bible says that we should have a heart of a servant, through Him, our Lord Jesus. Either they didn't know that, or they didn't want to. We have to remember that even our Lord, Jesus Christ, became a servant himself. Who are we to complain? Our Lord didn't.

Our professor, who's a guy, by the way, joked about it while we were discussing the theory. He ranted about why females still wanted gentlemen to hold the doors open for them, pay for the bill during dates, pull the chair for them, or carry heavy things for them, when they wanted equality in the first place. Females always cry for equality, yet when the males give it to them even in the slightest of things, they go on saying, "Be a gentleman!" I believe I was the only one in class who shouted, "Hear here!" Being in a class full of females and homosexuals, I don't think it would be easy for me to vent out my belief with regard to this issue.

Honestly, I still do not get how feminists wanted to be on the same platform the males are on. Simone de Beauvoir opposes Eternal Femininity which is a belief that females are bound to stick to their roles being a woman -- modest and submissive. Beauvoir claims this belief to be terribly wrong. I beg to disagree.

I believe being feminine is undeniably beautiful. Being feminine isn't about being weak. It never was supposed to be viewed that way, in the first place. Could you imagine a world when gender isn't a distinction anymore? It wouldn't be as lovely as the Feminists say it would be. Why would you think the Lord created a male and a female? If the Lord wanted the genders to be completely equal in society, He could have just created men. There is beauty in difference. That's why He created females especially different from males. Wake up.

So what if feminists cry to us about being slaves to the norms of society? So what if they want power and we don't? Life is not about trying to be on the top of the ranks. Life is not about seeking for equality in society. We do not need that. The Bible tells us that there is no male nor female in God's love. For Him, we are equal. Even Christ died for all of us -- not just the Jews, not just the males...but for all of us. So the next time the world screams "Feminism" right at our ears, let us just immerse ourselves in God's equal love for us, and all noises and rallies of the world would be barely noticeable.

"There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." Galatians 3:28

xx, Aine <3

P.S. I am so proud of you. You actually finished reading this? Wow. Clap, clap, clap. Thanks. GOD bless you. Read previous posts? I posted two today. Haha. :3

Something I said I'd share

Which writer created the biggest impact in your life? How is he/she set apart from others?


Life is too short. Life is too fragile. Somebody said that life is just a vapor in this earth. It quickly disappears as if it, life, had never been there. But as delicate as it may seem, I had believed with all my heart since I was a little girl that it, too, is just as soft and as easy to mold as the clay the potters spin and shape. My life is no exception. In fact, I had never met anybody who is as easily influenced as I am. Yes, I admit I am stubborn in my own little ways, but I could not deny the fact that even the slightest things in life such as a literary work could push my whole being into an invisible portal. Thus, the change. Thus, my present self.



He is popularly known as King David. For the people who knew his past, they sometimes call him David, the little shepherd boy who struck the giant Goliath dead with a tiny pebble. He had defeated and conquered thousands of nations. He had led a whole kingdom into prosperity. He was revered. He was praised. He was a man after the Lord's heart. King David, for most, had been a king of great power who held a sharp sword on his right hand, and the whole kingdom on the other. For me, though, it was different. All my life he had appeared at the back of my mind as a man holding a pen and a harp. It is no surprise I had pictured him this way. After all, it was not his strength that made me adore him, but his weaknesses that he had humbly spilled on his psalms. He was a writer. He was the writer who shook my whole life hard. It was his works that had allowed my soul to be broken. And it was his works that allowed my soul to be perfected.

David might had not been able to come up with a beautiful novel or had published a best-selling book, but he had touched my life more than the rest of the brilliant writers did. If the writers of today had ingeniously made a new world for the readers to escape to, David wrote about reality. He wrote about life. He wrote about the truth. He wrote about God, and how He holds our lives no matter what circumstance we are in. Just like David, I had also been on the rocks. I had walked through the valley of death, though never alone. Just like David, I had never been alone. David was was the writer who seemed to be every Christian's twin in spirit. Whatever he wrote seemed to exactly what I am also going through at the moment. How incredible is that?

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters."

Unlike the writers who just included the truth and dirt about society in their works, David wrote about "the" solution. Although he sometimes cries about the hardships and achings of life,  light was still evident in his writings and it was never hidden. It was presented like a lighthouse on the shore, and like the brightest candle in the darkest room. And whenever I feel like giving up on the things this life throws at me, David's psalms calm me down and encourage me to stand up once again, turn my face towards the light, and abandon the shadows. If that's not what you call "impact", I do not know what that is.



Clay dries up easily. So does my life could end in just a blink of an eye. This is probably why the world does its best to hurl thousands of things at me with the intention of molding me as badly as possible. Yes. I am still a clay on the wheel. The Potter's hands are still shaping me to perfection. Thankfully, God had placed David in my life and had used him and his works to help shape me the way He wants me to be shaped. He was the writer who I'd gladly say had helped me be who I am right now. And if asked again about the writer who created the greatest impact in my life, I'd still choose David over and over again.






End.

That was the I-don't-know-what-to-say essay I had submitted a week ago. It's not exactly how I would want it to be written, honestly, but I had no time left. I even deleted a whole paragraph just so I could pass the essay on time. :( It's not the best I've written, I know, but it's the one that I had searched deep for, and the one I had prayed to the Lord for, so I believe this is something worth sharing. Thanks for reading. Check out my previous posts if you haven't yet. Ciao, Aine. <3

When it gets serious :"3

This is a random blah-blah I made up the other night. With regard to style, I suppose this is my first shot in children's story, though I don't think this even qualifies for children's story. The style is entirely different from what I had been accustomed to so I suppose it is a children's story in its own way. The intention, however, of writing this piece isn't exactly for the children to read but for us, "young adults", to understand. Whatever. I actually think I made a mistake recently and I have no better way of reminding myself not to do it again than to write something related to it. Enough with my extremely long-ish intro. Enjoy and read well. I mean it. :)

This morning, a large man brings me to a pink room with candy pink wallpaper. He stops and looks at me tentatively. I wonder if he'll speak to me soon. Mama says I should never talk to strangers. Although he looks vaguely familiar, I don't think he'd pass for somebody I really know. The man smiles with his perfect teeth, and hands me two large glass bowls of gums and candy. Only one is mine, he said. The other bowl is for me to take care of while its owner is still on her way. The man leaves me and I start to cry. For a long time I had been staring at the bowls of candy but I do not know which one is for me to take. I want to try them already. The colors pop out from the pretty glass bowls like they are urging me to take a piece. I sit down and lay both bowls on a sturdy table in front of me. After singing my alphabet and reciting my numbers, my eyes resume to staring at the bowls of candy. They both want me to try them, I could almost hear their voices pleading out to me, "Take me! Take me!" I hesitate. The bowl on the right had pink and yellow candies. The one on the left had blue and pink ones. Pink candies! My mouth waters and I check the time. The other girl doesn't arrive yet so I decide to take one candy from the left. She wouldn't mind. This probably is my bowl, anyway. So I take a piece. When the sweet pink candy dissolves in my mouth, I reach out for another one, this time from the right. She wouldn't notice any difference, I proudly tell myself.

When I realize I am still alone, I continue popping hard candies in my mouth until my stomach got sick. I slowly turn about, ready to leave for my mama, but the other girl arrives. Her eyes blink twice when she steps in and she has the most beautiful pigtails that fell on her sides, I notice. She offers me a smile and strides forward. I smile back timidly. As soon as she gets near me, her smile slips off her face and her eyes begin to water. My cheeks flush scarlet. I had nearly finished off her bowl and now my heart feels sorry. I am filled with guilt and shame. And when I see the girl fall to the floor with her almost-empty bowl, I begin to cry too. I had been a bad girl, Mama would be so angry. When I fall beside the girl, I mumble my sorry and she turns to me with the saddest face I have ever seen. "You can't bring it back, can you?" she whispers.

I wake up and smile when I realize it was just a dream. But just before I could get off my bed, I hear my door go knock, knock, knock. My head turns towards it and it opens. Papa slowly slips in my room and he sits on my soft, pink bed. He gives me the longest hug before he plants a kiss on my forehead. Because it's my birthday, Papa says, I would be getting treats. I beam and bounce slightly on my bed when he passes me two equally-sized boxes of candies. Papa winks and tells me only one is mine. He'll come back later, he says. Then he leaves me holding the boxes, as I try to figure out which of the two is mine.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

It's hard to write a story without a dialogue, by the way, especially if you're trying to sound like a little girl. Bah, anyway, I hope there was something you understood with that extremely short story. If you didn't quite get it, it's okay, you could read it again. I actually didn't intend to write it this way. I was originally driven to write a poem that night, but my female brain stubbornly strayed and transformed my idea into something else.

"Two roads diverged on a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both..."

Victory through Christ

"Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1 Corinthians 15:57


"Congratulations to Ms. Codas of Sparta 4 being our touchstone of the month!"

There was a brief moment of silence after I read my professor's text message. Then I let out an involuntary squeal. Twice. I was at Himantayon Avenue, the college's main hallway, and a few heads turned, but I was too overwhelmed to even care.

Our department had announced last June that it would be holding monthly competitions for "Touchstone", and ever since, I had been praying that I would get the title. Guess what. I just did! I could not believe this. When I heard about the results, I felt like pinching myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but instead, I grabbed Lovelyn who was beside me then and shook her back and forth like a rag doll (Sorry, love). I feel giddy until now, actually, and I want to do a set of cartwheels. Unfortunately, I do not know how, so I guess I'm going to stick to just skipping and hopping around the place being a typical girly-girl. *squeals*


The term Touchstone was used by English poet and critic, Matthew Arnold in his approach in literary criticism. His concept used a standard of instant comparison for judging the value of other works. He used great works to be viewed as standards of excellence for the writers today with the intention of retaining high poetic quality. Arnold calls these works "touchstones". In our case, Touchstones were meant to be students who should be viewed as role models or "standards of excellence". Could you actually believe how awesome it sounds?

So this is basically how it works. There are three houses in the AB English Organization -- Sparta, Athens, and Troy -- and each month, each house should choose a representative to go through a series of tests/competitions.The representatives should undergo screenings on writing, speaking, and general knowledge (linguistics, literature, TESL, etc.). The over-all winner would then be hailed "Touchstone", have his/her over-sized self-portrait and autobiography posted on the bulletin board, and be qualified to compete for "Touchstone of the Year" or what we'd like to call, "The Grand Finals".


"Whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." Colossians 3:17


Honestly, I was thinking of backing out when I first learned the representatives from the other two houses were both seniors. I mean, most of the questions were from Descriptive Linguistics and TESL, and I haven't even gone through those yet. What made me even nervous was the fact that from the usual three judges, we had a whopping SIX now. Imagine six people, experts in their respective fields, reading your essay, listening to you deliver your speech, and watching you give wrong answers to the quiz bowl. It was giving me nerves, actually, though I was confident God was with me the whole day. I remained silent the whole time, praying to the Lord that whatever happens, His name would be glorified. Before I had even received the question for the essay-writing, I had already accepted that if ever I lose, that's the Lord's will. I sucked it up -- my desire to win -- and waited for everything to happen.


Essay-writing was not really my cup of tea. I never even knew how to write a decent one until I got in college! We were given an hour to write about the writer who had made the greatest impact in our lives and how he/she is set apart from others. I love it. I love the topic. I was excited for a reason. It was as if the Holy Spirit was urging me to deviate from being an average English major who only had a mental list of English's greatest classic writers. I didn't even know if the person I had in mind would be considered as a legitimate writer, but I just went along with His whispers and decided to stop being skeptical. I knew the Lord wanted to use me there. Right at that moment. I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, fluttered my lids open again, and started writing.



I miraculously won the quiz bowl. Kuya Michael (from the House of Troy), on the other hand, won the extemporaneous speech. The last result to be announced was the essay-writing category. Since each category was given thirty points flat, one of us had to win in the essay-writing category to be the official Touchstone. I didn't even bother to be nervous. I think it was my Linguistics exam that did me. That, or the fact that I knew Ate Harlene and Kuya Michael might be better writers than I am. It didn't matter. There was this peace inside of me that says everything is fine, win or lose. I had a smile plastered on my face the whole day. I was floating in joy, despite the blanks on my Linguistics test paper that I had failed to answer. My essay won, after all. I just hope it was not only the quality of the language that the judges have seen, but the deeper truth within. -- the One that really mattered. I leave the Lord to work in them.


So there. The story of my previous activities had been laid down on a single blog post. It might not be as exciting as yours, but I still want to share the victory that God has granted me through Him. I am on cloud nine. This might not be my wedding day, but this is still an anecdote of my life that I'd gladly place on my storybook of memoirs.

 "Give thanks to the LORD, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done." 1 Chronicles 16:8


Until the next victory post. TTFN. <3


P.S. Thanks for the prayers. I might post the essay any day, as soon as I find my draft. It's missing and I do not know where I had placed it last. Silly, forgetful me. :D

Dead Stars

(Just like what I had mentioned in my previous post, there really are things you easily start that you eventually have a hard time completing.)

The Sandman had not yet visited me, thus drowsiness has no enough strength to pull me down in my unusually uncomfortable bed. My eyes, though red and sore from being up for too long, have no plans of shutting themselves close soon. My back, though aching, is not in the mood to be laid down just yet. I am agitated. I feel like I have something else to tell, despite the relatively long entry I had posted a few minutes ago. There is more to say. There is more inside that I have to spill.

Tell me when it's over. Tell me when you've decided to give up. Tell me when it all vanished like vapor on heated pavement. Tell me if it all faded with the mist. Tell me when they're broken -- the things we used to keep. Tell me if you had already displaced them into something more permanent. Tell me if it's exhaustion. Tell me if it's lost. Tell me if you're on your way again. Tell me when I shouldn't keep on standing at the corner anymore. Tell me if I shouldn't any longer. Tell me when it's over. Tell me, tell me, if all I see now are just dead stars.

This simply screams "Drama Queen!", but who cares? There's more to this than it actually appears. Keep reading. Beaucoup d'amore, Aine. <3

Joy in the Gaps

I do not know where to start. Honestly, my mind is still in a daze. I just got home from an essay-writing contest. As much as I would love to post what I had written, unfortunately, all I have with me right now is the trash-worthy draft and it lacked the concluding sentences (I was the last to submit my paper and I went way past the time limit, hence the final touch-ups directly on my final paper). As soon as I recall what those were, I promise to post the piece here, ASAP.


Believe it or not, I have three pending entries and they had been in my drafts since last week. It's just that feeling when you don't know how to end your work, you know. There really are things you easily start that you eventually have a hard time completing. Life. It works like that most of the time. I hope this explains why I had not been posting as quickly as I had been before.

And due to my disappearance and the feeling inside that tells me I owe this blog a decent post, I hereby proclaim this entry a compilation of my Monday events. Not so exciting, eh?

Aaron and Ben, my seniors, are now officially calling me "Katrina". It was Ben who thought my real name was "Katrina". And after I commented that I actually found the name "Katrina" pretty neat, they decided among themselves to call me that, which I personally believe is pretty childish. I also do not know why, but they had teased me this day like crazy. They teased my hand-writing (which, according to Aaron, looked like chicken scratches), how I cram-studied this morning, how our field trip next week sucked, and how I was to represent our house for Touchstone. Really, they teased me non-stop from morning until evening, which is crazy and annoying in a good way, I admit. We didn't even become friends until today. It's funny how one day could change things.



While I was busy re-writing my essay, Aaron snagged a seat beside me, and surprisingly cheered me on while constantly commenting casually on how my penmanship turned from bad to worse like it was the most natural thing on earth. If that wasn't enough, he even snatched my ID from my desk and stifled a laugh as he stared at it -- my ID photo. As annoying as they can be around me, I think they're pretty okay. They'd make the perfect "brothers" who are supposed to do nothing but ruin your day but still give you a good laugh about it.


After the essay-writing contest that nearly killed my hand, our society adviser handed some of us two thousand pesos for a "little" treat. The streets were ankle-deep in flood already, but do not underestimate how much we could sacrifice for our baby tummies. The water which was probably already mixed with garbage, canal fluid, and spit, apparently didn't stop our group from wading to R. Kelly Pizza House which was only a block away from school. I know, we might had acted desperately already, but as long as we had a whole pizza for each of us, none of it mattered. Leptospirosis didn't haunt us, and it never crossed our minds. We were victors with every slice of pizza we stuffed into our mouths.


This was a Monday worth remembering. There are people I miss, of course, but I had finally learned to be content with what I am offered right now. Although I found several missing spots in my being tonight, I had learned to fill them with the Lord's joy, instead. I met new friends, and I spent time with my other friends -- the ones who needed more attention. Maybe God is directing me to them, the ones I had forgotten. Sometimes, when the world pulls you way under, you tend to want to forget about the things that truly matter, but then, the Lord knows better and eventually lifts you up back again on your feet, and reminds you of what you have to do. And unless you could never learn what He wants you to learn right now, I don't think you could move on to the next phase. Think Super Mario, friends.

"Listen, Aine. Listen. Stop being a selfish and stubborn brat. Listen to Him. Listen."

A return after long wanderings

One good thing about being an English major is being able to realize something new about life every time a new literary work gets in my hand. Take this post's title, for example. A return after long wanderings. This phrase was taken from "The Unbearable Lightness of Being", a novel by Milan Kundera. It was actually written on Franz's (a character in the novel) tombstone. He was a womanizer and spent most of his days with his mistresses. This pretty much explains why his wife decided to have this line on her husband's grave. After the wanderings, he (or his body, anyway) finally went back to the place where he rightfully belonged -- home.

At first, the phrase just sounded too fancy for me that I immediately took my pen and scribbled the words on a piece of paper I had begged from my seatmate (yes, I didn't bring any paper to school). It seemed to me there was something more in those words that I am yet to realize. I was right, apparently. There was more to that line that fitted me and the circumstance that I am in.

"So, where had you been exactly?"
"What wanderings?"
"Where had you returned?"
"Why aren't you answering the questions yet?!?"

Hold your horses, people. I am yet to explain the most part of everything. *winks*



I admit, I had been guilty of being impatient, waiting for the Lord's answers. Or that was what I thought. I never realized I had been waiting for something that had been in front of me for a very long time already. I had probably been too busy complaining and crying my eyes out to the Lord without realizing that He had already placed the answer right in front of me. Everything could have not been this complicated had I taken the time to look around and listen to the Holy Spirit's whispers to me. Despite all these, I still thank the Lord that He had been absolutely patient and faithful the whole bumpy ride.



If wandering meant going elsewhere other than the Lord's path, then yes, maybe I really had been wandering. I had subjected myself to emotional depression without even thinking about it. Experiencing the rocks, I admit, discourage me, which explains why I tend to waver and get side-tracked. I let my tears drown me. I know it's no excuse. There never should be excuses in the first place. The grace of The Lord is infinite so that its light encompasses even the darkest paths we could ever get through in life. His light is forever aflame, that even a thousand excuses are not enough to not see it.

In the Bible, Pharaoh's heart was hardened that it took a number of plagues before he finally yielded to God's words. Had I been like Pharaoh? Had it taken me several sufferings before I learned to let go and let God? These were the messages the Holy Spirit made me realize through my devotionals this week. Every single time, I was being reminded of the Lord's greater power. I thank the Lord for never getting tired of reminding me.

My Father led me back to the tracks. I do not know how many times He had pressed me to listen to Him, but as He keeps on telling us, He never gives up on His children. He never lets us go. He had never let me go. Ever. His love is the "enchanted" chain that could never get broken, and the greatest superglue to my soul. And now that I had listened, MIRACLES happened. Yes. Just like that. It was like God's way of telling me, "See, my child? Why had you been so afraid? Look at the wonders of holding on to Me."


"I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, Who has given me strength." 1 Timothy 1:12

These trials that I had gone through, am going through, and about to go through, I know, are just to rebuke, teach and prepare me for His plans and for the days to come, as we await the Lord's next coming. I still might be in a rocky trail right now, but I believe I am much better than when I had been on smooth pavement. Who else is carrying me in His arms? The Lord makes the rockiest terrains the smoothest path there ever can be. :)


It is clear to me that He has greater plans that I have to patiently wait for. I have no idea what they are, but I do know that whatever they are, they're beyond beautiful. They're perfect.


He called me back. The King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Creator of the universe, and my Father called me back. After the long wanderings, He had helped me return to the place where I was supposed to be -- home. In His arms. In Him.


"Praise the LORD. Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good; His love endures forever." Psalm 106:1


Que Dieu vous benisse. <3, Aine

The Tip, and My Thanks

"Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour." Psalm 42:5

Selfish might not be the correct word to describe the way I am keeping the whole story because I also find it selfish to confess everything. I do not know where I should stand, thus, I remain to only expose the tip of the iceberg.

I have my reasons as to why I refuse to tell the rest of the story. Probably one of these is, as much as I want friends to know the truth, the sympathies fear me. Sympathies are good, I admit, but only as long as they do not remain that way - as mere sympathies.

"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak." Isaiah 40:29 

Only The Lord knows how my story runs. Only He is capable of truly understanding my predicaments. Even I, myself, could not understand just what I am in, when this would end, how I came to this point, and why it had to be me. If I were to put on paper what exactly I am going through, I do not know where to start. Sadly, these things left unsaid would probably remain that way for now - hidden. Yes. I do not understand anything. Everything is hazy. The thoughts are blurred that they intoxicate me. I am not pressing myself to understand, though. After all, there truly are things that are not meant to be understood.  Only accepted. Only to be submitted to the Lord. This is why, the best thing I could do right now is to wait for the Lord to finish writing the script to this chapter. This should be good. Of course. It should be.

Much love,
Aine

P.S. To everyone who knew the tip, I thank you. The Lord knows how grateful I am. I know it's tiring to hear the same story over and over again, but still, you had been patient. Forgive me for constantly badgering you with my situation. Forgive me for not acting like myself lately. I know you have better things to mind, but you took your time. Sorry for the missed calls and unreplied text messages. I had been contemplating. But worry not. I am in Good Hands. Things shall be better from here. Je t'apprecie vraiment, mon amie, mon ami. Au Revoir.

When God says, "Wait."

Lord let me wait for the right time. May I never become too impatient as to spoil the sweetness of the fruit you have been preparing for me.

She plops herself motionless in front of her dull and radiation-emitting computer, staring blankly at the screen, wishing, wishing, she would know what to make out of it - that string of words she knew could be the bomb in her life as a single. She blinks. Her heart is in a monotonous rhythm. Yeah, right. It seems to her the world is taking its time rotating slowly, as if its inhabitants were not anticipating that enchanting thing they all call "someday". Grudgingly, she pans her eyes around the room which eventually fall on the spine of a tiny book which read "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" in bold red letters. It hits her. She turns the corners of her lips upward into a smile and begins to tap the keyboard with conviction. Not bad. This might just be what she should be writing today as her blog's second entry.

The fruits. Their sweetness is dependent on how long they stay on the branches. We all know that. How they are enjoyed depends on how a person eats it. We all know that. We know things about fruits - how they were formed, developed, and processed. Fruits are not aliens to us. We see them on trees, on stalls, in the fridge, on our dining tables, or even on our beds (yes, I have a banana on my bed right now). We know them by heart. By mind. By our stomachs. We may think we know it all, but we don't. On second thought, maybe we do, but it's the realization and acceptance stage that makes it hard for us to move on and grasp reality. What we don't know (or what we don't want to know) is that the truth about fruits could actually be an extension of the truth about us humans. And this denial of the truth keeps us locked in our own deceitful hearts' dungeons. Okay. It may sound creepy and off, but I was trying to make a point. Bear with it.

This little prayer caught my eye earlier and it just sliced through me, like a sharpened bamboo spear, that even we, Christians, had slowly conformed into our impatient and busy world, and had made fast and impatient monsters out of ourselves in consequence.

So, what exactly am I talking about? It's all about the fruits. No, wait. It isn't. It's about our complete submission to the Lord's will. I remember once when I was reading Joshua Harris' I Kissed Dating Goodbye, I stumbled upon a beautiful reminder which stuck in my head ever since. "The right thing at the wrong time is the wrong thing." Until now, it's still in my heart like a hard candy in my mouth. Then, a few weeks ago, I received another reminder through my classmate who took a seat beside me and began sharing something about a guy breaking her heart. They met briefly at Baguio last summer through their National Youth Convention and, although it seemed too early, that was when the guy started showing his feelings for her and making promises he shouldn't have said. Apparently, his interest for her died down as quickly as he had recognized it. Yes. She was devastated. I think she still is.

"Aine, now I understand," she whispered through the tears that had apparently escaped from her eyes, "Just because he's a godly man, doesn't mean he's the one."

My chest hurt. I felt her pain. I wanted to cheer her up and bring back her old self again. But seeing her tear-stained cheeks and pursed lips made me think it wouldn't be as easy as I think it would be. The damage was great. Obviously. I just squeezed her hand and reminded her of the Lord's wonderful plan for her. Her prince was still out there, waiting for the moment when God would lead him to her. It just isn't the time yet. We should, instead, enjoy our singlehood with Christ. That's what we are supposed to do, anyway.

Going home, I continued recalling everything she had told me at class. The pain in my chest has not yet subsided. It still lingered there like a growing tumor. What if that happened to me? Shivers still run down my spine whenever that thought crosses my mind. I believe. I know. We're supposed to know. The heart is deceitful. Emotions should never be trusted. They are fleeting. If we give in to the wrong one who might be in front of us now, how, then, could we ever face the "one" that God had specially chosen for us? What would be left of our hearts? It's scary, really, to reach that moment when you realize you're actually in the wrong tunnel.

To wait is a choice. I could never trust myself. Not my emotions. Not even the "Christianity" label the enemy uses as facade. So, yes. I choose to wait. Not easy, but better. Besides, singleness is a gift. Instead of doing something "about" it, we should do something "with" it. I even try to assess my emotional life every now and then, "How exactly is my heart faring?" These assessing sessions I have once in a while only bring me to one realization every single time (not that I never knew that already): The more I entertain my emotions and feed it, the farther my focus falls. This is a struggle with emotions. My emotions. Even other people's emotions. Of course, it's hard, and you always feel like you're losing, but you never really do, as long as you hold on to the Lord's promises. Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." Isn't this promise enough? I know it is. It is more than enough.

"Too often, people want what they want right now. The irony of their impatience is that only by learning to wait, and by a willingness to accept the bad with the good, do we usually attain those things that are truly worthwhile."

There is still a long way to go. A thousand hurdles to take. A million heartbeats to feel. And just then could I finally say, "I have waited for the fruit to ripen, Lord. I have waited. And now that you have given it to me, I shall taste it at its best."

Hello, Blogger. I come in peace.

Having discarded tons of blogs and diaries over the years, I'm not sure I could ever keep up with another one. After three short entries in the diary I started a few weeks ago, it's officially in suspension, and I'm not mentioning my other one-shot diaries that are now scattered around the house. Thinking about it, I wonder how many piles of adorable notebooks I had wasted  just because I grew tired of them.  Call me lazy, but hey, at least I'm determined to change. The truth is, I'm not really what you would call a good writer. I write, yes, maybe a lot, even, but I never actually regarded myself as good enough. I'm just enough. Enough to get by, which is a shame, of course, for a girl in my shoes. I am trying, though. I will try. My words may not be enough to express the emotions I have within, but at least...they're still words, and they come from the innermost part of that muscle that pumps life all over my anatomy even though its existence is being crushed into disappearance by two other larger organs. Take that. Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly what I really wanted to say but I think you get my point.

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.  ~Anaïs Nin

This is it. Writing is and will be a channel of the thoughts that keep me awake at night. These are the thoughts that constantly nag me for hours through a bad case of insomnia, both in a good way and a bad way, if ever that makes any sense. The deluge of the Lord's revelations and tasks are just so great and overwhelming that they overflow my puny brain. Of course, I cannot just blabber to my friends literally everything the Lord has ever done in my life. Well, I could, but even if I did, I do not know when my awfully long sharing would end. Thus this blog is born with its purpose: to be a channel of the things that I had left unsaid. Simple. Incredible, in an intellectual way. This reminds me of an answer I wrote down in one of our quizzes in Literary Criticism class, by the way.

...writing cannot fully be understood if it is viewed merely as an external representation of speech. The development of language actually occurs through an interplay between speech and writing, and that because of this interplay, neither speech nor writing may be properly described as being more important to development of language.

I do not know if that ever made sense to you, but I was only highlighting how speech can never really be superior to writing nor could writing be considered better than speech. My point? I never said anything about me making a point. Scroll back up and notice how I said that me writing posts in this blog only reminded me of my answer to a quiz. Memory lapses, anyone?

Anyway, I think I badly need to get back to the reason why this blog came to be. Right. The Lord. His grace. His faithfulness, and how the story of Him using me in His plans could never fit my memory.

The Lord is great, loving, and forever patient. Even though times are rough and I find myself on the rocks a lot of times, He never fails to pick me up (again and again) and remind me of His promises that say, "Child, I am with you and will always be with you."

Yes, I am proud to admit, His love makes me a candle forever aflame. Unquenchable. Eternally ablaze. It may not be the best metaphor I could ever present in this blog, but I mean it. I do. And even if I have to post a hundred entries in this blog just to show that, I would. Yeah, maybe I really would. After all, these are just a few of the things in my head that I have left unsaid.