How Did I Know He’s the One

 And if I do well in life, it is because I married the right person.

Your next question is, “how did you know he is the right one?”

Let me answer it the other way.

I dated a handful of wrong ones. And you know they aren’t the one because you struggle a LOT. 

In. Almost. Everything.

For his time. 

For his efforts.

For his loyalty.

For his attention.

For a fruitful conversation.

For his appreciation.

For his respect.

You know you are with the right person (at least for me) if:

1. You receive freely the above. Without coercion. Without bribe. 

Without you having to ask for it.

2. You feel at peace with your choices. (So does the people who loves you.)

When I told my sister Robz about Benedict, she told me the lines I’ll not forget. “I feel at peace when you mentioned him to me.” She just prayed for me that time at Pink Sisters Convent in Tagaytay.

3. The people you love can ALSO see the things you see in him. 

They say that people around you (esp who loves you) will see what you don’t see when you are in love. In my case, the people that I love the most, my family and closest friends, saw the things I love about Benedict.

The way he would pull a chair for me. Open the car door. Moves me aside when we cross the street. And the many simple, chivalrous things. So if you keep on telling your family he loves you and respects you and they DON’T SEE the same, take it as a red light.

4. He includes you in his plans, in his routines, in his family talk, with his friends, with the world.

You have that space in his life dedicated only for you. (And you don’t need to remind yourself or ask yourself where you’re at this point of your life).

5. He sees doing life with you.

And I mean even changing nappies! 

He dreams of seeing your future selves old and gray, with a cup of coffee, on a cold night, at the balcony, the two of you, in a fruitful conversation, looking at a family photograph of your younger selves with your children and grandchildren.

 “Look what we made, Babe!”

Next month, it’ll be a year I married Benedict. I know it’s a long way to go for our marriage. But it seems we’re wed a long, long time ago.

Perhaps because every day, we take each other’s breath away.

Because every day, we’re excited with each other.

Because every day, we both live with the Now.

Because every day, we fill each other’s cup of love, respect, gratitude.

Because every day, we invest in our relationship.

I’m a better person because of Benedict. And I chose to be. 

Every day. 

For eternity.

I do well in life. 

Because I married my God’s best.

“I’m scared, God. But I put my trust in You.”

I was 5 weeks pregnant when I went on bedrest due to spotting. We just happily announced our pregnancy that time but here we are. “I’m scared, God”. Scared to lose this precious gift we prayed hard. “But I put my trust in You”. My prayer would end that way.

Here comes the hyperemesis gravidarum (excess vomiting). Another fearful times when I worry a lot. I cannot keep the food down. How my baby would receive the nutrients she needed? We would go to ER every now and then, and my husband would give me intravenous medications just so I can eat. I didn’t gain a pound for the 1st trimester. “I’m scared, God. But I put my trust in You.”

At 17 weeks, when the rough vomiting resolved, I took advantage of the appetite. We thought that the next trimester would be a “honeymoon” stage, as they claimed it. We found ourselves in ER again, not just for treatment this time but for admission. I have an inflamed appendix which necessitates to be operated. “I’m scared, God. But I put my trust in You.”

Bene, very small at that time, was seen covering her ears during MRI. It was moving to see your child keeping strong. So did I. 

Not a day passed when I didn’t talk to my little girl. For her to keep holding on as we progress on our journey. For her to grow well and that I am here and her Papa, praying for her every night. Benedict would read to her as she’s part of our evening devotional. 

Then the unthinkable happened. I contracted COVID at 26 weeks. Far from full term just yet. I remember that morning when Benedict was embracing me while I was bawling in tears. “Kawawa nman ang anak ko.” But I surrender everything at the feet of the Lord. Despite all my fears when there come a point I felt her move less. “I’m scared, God. But I put my trust in You.”

I was discharged a COVID survivor, COVID negative after 10 days of isolation.

Days rolled and we reached our 34th week. During ultrasound, it was found out she has cordcoil. Is there no end to this? My silent cry. But I keep on praying for Bene. For strength. For willpower as we near our due date. There are countless nights I would rub my tummy just to make sure she is still alive. I would praise heaven when she would somersault in he middle of the night. “That’s my girl!”.

Night before my water broke, Benedict told Bene that she can now go out and see the world. I pre-empted him and said “We have a week still. But if you are ready Bene, then we are.” 

And at 4:20am on June 13, our Bene came out crying strong, whole and whooping in weight (3.005kg!) at 36 weeks and 3 days.

Our journey was like crossing the Red Sea. But God has been (and always will) gracious to allow us to cross the parted sea with raging waves with our feet dry. 

Towards my promise gift. 

Our Emmaus Benedique. 

“I’m scared, God. But I put my trust in You!”

He’s More Than That

“ Your husband is excellent!”

One of the doctors in the conference room commented the moment I sink on the chair. I sheepishly smiled, keeping all these not-the-first-time unsolicited comments from the people we work with. Knowing Benedict who would not brag the things he do, it’s overwhelming that people around us can see and appreciate those things.

Having married to him for months, I was so wrong to say that he was the answer to my prayers...

He would open the door of our home to welcome those who needs his help for their advance life courses. And he would do it in a way that they would really learn. There was a day right after Christmas when he packed fruits from our stocks to give to his patient and to the guards. He would be the one to pity strayed cats (and find them really cute). 

A week after we learned we are expecting of our first child, I was on bedrest because of threatened abortion. “In sickness and in health” came early. I would wake up with food in the table, our living room arranged that there would be no clutters on my way to bathroom. At night, he would put pillow so I can elevate my legs, socks applied on my feet. We would read our devotional and yes, talked to our little one, thanking God for all the pockets of mercies undeserved, yet, was given.

On my 5th week, I started to throw up. I can’t keep my intake down. I’d stay awake all night, in full swing of vomiting. My husband, whose sturdy and oh, always so handsome, would rub my back, wipe my tears and assured me that we are together in this difficult pregnancy. He would slip into slumber, tired not only from the day’s hurdles but also from ensuring that I would be just fine. I saw my man beyond his clean shaven face, eyes glowing in joy and pride during our wedding. It's the same man who would wake up at wee hours to join me in the sofa after cycles of throwing up.

I was so wrong to think that he was the answer to my prayers. He's beyond and much more of that!

Last night, I was watching him dozing off,  mouth agape. He was sleeping in silence. Like nothing could bother him. That's the same feeling he's giving me everytime he would stroke our growing little one in my tummy, kissed me goodnight with contentment. I would sleep then with a full heart. 

I have all that I ever wanted my whole life.

And it's all that matters.

Happy Birthday Benedict!

You are my favorite face of God.

God Heals. One Day at a Time.

We often go for nightly strides around the hospital premises. It was the beginning of the outbreak, a time when everybody has difficulty embracing the normalcy. We would see patients specific to the ward we knew would have limited to prohibited visitors. On few occasions, some of them, out of boredom, we concluded, would wipe their own window. Perhaps to kill time. Perhaps to hasten time. Perhaps, to disrupt time on a standstill. Little did I know that those scenarios were just preparations for the coming storm.

It was Sunday when we received our most awaited documents. On a Monday, Benedict was already in the Emergency Room. How time shifted from a calm sea to the raging waves, I can only clutch my hands in prayer.

The succeeding events wore me down. Being the Supervisor-On-Duty that day and attending to the love of your life, inserting his access, hearing the words I feared for the people I love. “He will be tested for COVID and admission is needed”.

I was brought back to those nights when both of us would think how it must be so difficult up there. Looking down here. It’s happening to us.

On his second day, my fear was fed when he called me and surely, I couldn’t swallow the lump on my throat. “Babe I’m positive”, his words cracking. It was a pivotal moment in our relationship. After all, we were in the middle of our wedding prep. 

I couldn’t count the number of calls I didn’t answer correctly that day, decisions I have to make not only being the Head Nurse of one of the busiest Units of the hospital and relieving for the Supervisory post, and at the same time, caring for the person you least wanted to take care of as a nurse: my Benedict. I pushed his wheelchair silently. Deeply wounded. Him as my patient. I, his nurse. 

I went home that day after God-knows-where I got the strength just to pull off my 12H shift, closed my door and for the first time, cried for the situation I never wished to a worst enemy to experience. 

It’s easy to be grateful when things are easy, when circumstances fits to what we shaped them to be, when we get what we wanted and prayed for. When the sea is calm and the waves are tender, softly washing our feet clean for the remnants of the sands that were once playfully there. I wanted my tears to do the same. That night. When I don’t know how we will keep this ordeal from Benedict’s family. From my family. The people who loves us the most.

I wanted the night to be over so I can see the glimpse of him. When an infiltrated IV cannula is my chance of holding his hand against my gloved hands, wistfully longing that this is just all a dream and that I would wake up with an extra inch of enthusiasm because Benedict is there, reaching for my hands ungloved.  

When difficult blood extraction becomes an opportunity for me to see the sight of him. Eyes weary from fatigue and heart drained. I can only depend on little pockets of mercies, wherever it is coming from.

Him trying to be strong because I’m around. I, trying to recollect whatever strength left because he is around. 

I wanted the day to be over so I can see him from the window waving. Or just merely there. Standing. Just like what we see months back. It’s happening to us.

The only difference is that I’m staring to the window alone, and Benedict, now the patient.

This wasn’t our plan. 

But this IS God’s.

The nights we would walk around and see those patients in the COVID wards were intended for us. God was preparing us in those nights for this bleak moment. It wasn’t the type we had foreseen, but exactly the type God knows we would endure together. 

“My grace is sufficient enough for power is perfected in weakness”. This is my favorite Bible verse Benedict was trying to memorize in one of our evening devotionals.

The days were indeed long and the nights agonizing. How we survived, it’s only by God’s grace alone. 

There’s no skipping ladder. 

There’s no shortcut. 

Carrying the Cross was never a straight path. But when He chose us to bear this cross, He designed it in a way it will be carried by two. By Benedict and I.

Last Saturday was St. Benedict’s day. On the sunny Sunday before the sun beats down, Benedict was discharged. 

3 days after, before we celebrate the Feast of Mt. Carmel, he was tested negative for the virus.

God didn’t only heal Benedict physically.

God healed our impatience.

God healed our doubtful hearts.

God healed our ego and pride.

God healed our sense of control.

God healed our rigid timelines.

God healed our poor ability to surrender.

God healed our limited vision of God.

It was a tedious journey. But at the same time, it was Redemptive. Transformative.

Winging everything we’ve seen and felt, all the terrors and miracles, we are resolved that these, and more, are cathartic to the soul. He was locked up in the four corners of that room, but our lives were open:  

For God to stage His ocean of mercy.

For God to perform the miracles if we allow Him to.

For God to use ordinary people for His purpose.

It was a languishing 17-day journey. 

But we’re finally home. 

God heals one day at a time. 

Dont Be Sorry You’re Single (For Now)

The social media hype has reached that point of no return. Our perception of happiness has been altered in tantamount ways. The Who’s-with-Who, Them-God-Knows-Where-Travels photos, and the list is endless. It’s as if your hashtags are the indicators of how well/bad you go through life. We have developed immunity. And I bet the cure is a gargantuan challenge. 

Right. I know exactly how it feels. Christmas time. Weather is cold. Blinding lights emanating from everywhere. 365 days at hand to completion. And there’s you. 

Very.Much.Single.

I knew so well how it must be felt. I share with your sentiments when asked with that repetitive, eardrum-inflicting pain question: “Why are you still single?”

There’s nothing wrong with you, beautiful soul. Please read that again. 

There’s nothing to be ashamed of from unsolicited comments of your Standards ( though I know how much you would want to zip someone’s mouth).

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

A married friend of mine dropped me a message telling me how lucky I am to be traveling the world. “Buti ka pa buhay single”. That was quite a message that I feel vindicated🤣 I politely replied that our blessings come in different forms and that perhaps, hers is being a homemaker. 

Perspective wise, you don’t know how many people would have wished your solitary life. That “Sana All” has exception. On the optimistic side, yah’ know.

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

It’s the best time to return favors to your parents, to your community, and most importantly, to your self. “You cannot give what you don’t have”.  Understanding fully a particular stage of your life gives you meaning to the next that’s waiting. You don’t have to feel stuck at your Season of Waiting. You can flourish at this stage to be the best version of yourself, no skipping ladder just because everyone else has been in that hashtag! And imagine how much of a giver you can be when you are already in a relationship. 

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

Life is giving you a chance to make sound choices. You are allowed to build those walls (I say so) and see the ones who are brave enough not just to conquer it but to be with the one who built it. That might sound traditional. That sounds kinda off track when cohabitation and One Night Stand are like hot cakes. And being a virgin makes you feel you don’t belong. You were left behind. 

Don’t  be that someone who is just settling because you are scared what everyone is scared about. Raise your market price. You are more than just a single commodity for a cheap relationship shopper. 

Don’t be sorry you’re single.

Your life now is like a jigsaw puzzle. There are pieces you don’t like. Pieces that won’t fit simply because you are in a hurry to fit them all. It’s as if the rope is getting shorter and the puzzle will never be complete. That abyss. That one thing. 

But listen to this: your timeline is not of God’s. Your theory of best is not of God’s.

One day, while Benedict and I are having this conversation, I learned how much he also yearned figuring out what’s on the other side of the horizon. I, on the other side, is also thinking his thoughts. 

Our parallel worlds. 

One that would never meet. 

But who can tell what lies beyond those parallels?

Imagine if I didn’t wait. Imagine if I settled from all the ones I met in my travels and ended up in a shallow relationship just to have something to call my own. Imagine if I jumped to the wreckage just for convenience and thirst for connection.

One day, when all the pieces fit, when the song you hum in your heart is audible enough it drowns your own rhythm, you will thanked those years of Pause. 

Those years of waiting? In God’s economy, nothing goes to waste!

There’ll not be a one second late when the One is right in front of you saying these words:“ I’m glad you weren’t sorry you were single".

P.S. 1

I started this article on a 14C, my coffee turned cold, Christmas tree glimmering at my back. Continued it in Los Angeles Airport during a layover. Benedict, on his scrubs, was calling me.

P.S. 2

Today, as I publish this article, my ring finger looked even better. I just said YES to his proposal.

Indeed,I wasn’t sorry I waited. I wasn’t sorry I was once single.❤️

When God Called the Shot

When God called the shot, there weren’t fireworks. I was in fact, on bed unmake, hair messy, Sunday sunset woke me up from a good slumber. On my phone, one of the weirdest messages I’ve read. 

I’ve been single for most of my life. You know those days when Valentine’s day is nearing. Or one of your friends is getting hitch. And their kids are Moving Up!

But there you are, on loaded census. Facing patient’s complain, counting the days to your next annual leave. There are mornings you will look at yourself in the mirror and say “what’s wrong with me? I’m not ugly, I have the figure, I have a job, I’m kind. But...WHY??” 

And some friends will say, “ang taas kasi ng Standards mo”. (Who can relate to these angst?)

I remember in one of the coffee sessions with friends when I said, “there’s so much love in my heart I fervently wanted to share it”. The question of “with whom” ensues.

The Waiting Game

Being single has given me space to make a lot of mistakes. From kissing frogs that didn’t turn to prince to concluding that perhaps, I was meant to be a nomadic, self-proclaimed gorgeous Tita-of-Bacolod of the family. Those times of almost hitting dead roads of dating-turned-to-thank-you-and-goodbye and back to the reality that my erratic census is one of the many things that will stick to me to the end haha

I consciously decided to make my waiting game bearable.

On Raising My Standards

And how many raised eyebrows on the statement alone? But you read that right.

I don’t think that having a high standard is a sin. For someone who’s going to traverse a committed life, choosing a life partner is not just a goal but a responsibility. To yourself. To your future mini-me.

I have this little booklet moons back and I’ve been reading the things I penned when I was single. 

My nonnegotiables. The things I can’t trade for a partner. TIME, for one. It shed light to what I should look for a man and not to a guy (there’s a mile different, yeah!) 

Being the Right One

I didn’t lock or beaten or drowned myself to work. I became an investor (not only in stock market) in many things. I invested my time improving myself. I read as much as my time can afford. I cultivate the gift of painting when Friday’s remind me how much of a single I am. I write articles to improve my bank of words. And I do travel. A lot. 

The experiences I gained by traveling has helped me find myself in the process of finding the one. Because finding the right one starts from being the right one. I never knew the veracity of this line until that sacred time...

Bene-Ready

10 countries. 

That’s the number of places I was chancing to find the one. The number of chances I hoped to brush elbow with someone to cut me off from the Single Blessedness Spell. But I always go home with the lines “Ganun talaga eh”. “Ewan ko ba pero wala talaga eh”.

61 steps. 

That’s the distance from OR to ICU. The distance that turned my world 360 degrees. I traveled thousand of miles. Conquered airports and languages. Lost a baggage and frequently, with directions. I realized why God didn’t answer those wrenching prayers of mine: I was asking SMALL. Really so small compared to the one He intended to give me. Those failed attempts of finding the one finally made sense.

He was 61 steps away! All along. All these years. Exchanging surreptitious gazes from that distance. 

I was just looking so far.

Bene-Much Ready

”Let me be the answer to your prayers”. 

When Benedict said this, I was so sure God is indeed playing favorites. In my favor. Those tedious years of waiting. Those birthday wishes (I even asked one of my Ate’s to light all the colors of candles for me, lol). Those long nights of praying. Those dark pieces of puzzle. I needed those. I needed the gift of pause so I will be able to appreciate the greater picture of my Season of Waiting. 

It seemed  to be a winding journey for me, but exactly just the right pace for God.

..He was sitting on the stairs waiting for me on that one cold night, the breeze of morning air on my hair,  his smell consuming my senses. Without any fireworks painting the sky, him slightly  daze, I hugged him tight. I hugged him tight it felt all those years of WHYs finally had its answer. Under the dome of that starless sky with the man hugging me back, and on his ear, I whispered “I Love You”.

That was our best 1:53 am of September.

That was when God called the shot.

P.S. 1

Because of reading, I was able to lend him my favorite book in his rock bottom moment (finish it please Babe!)

Because of painting, I was able to give him my canvas as a gift on our first.

Because of traveling, I was able to write his name (on two sheets of paper) on that church and prayed for him there (on my birthday).

Because of writing, I was able to send him love letters (melts his heart every time).

And finally, writing this article would have never been a reality.

P.S. 2

It has always been my dream to publish my journey of waiting. 

Single friends, don’t give up on Love!

..Live for Something that is Bigger than Yourself..

Credit: Prison Ministry

Years ago, my dad was murdered in the hands of a man that has taught me hard lessons on forgiveness. I viewed the world back then as something ideal. That it is incapable of inflicting pain when you make the church your second home. When you believe that prayer is an invisible armor to protect you from the things outside the ideal world. That world turned upside down when at the very young age, I learned to fight my battles in silent ways after the death of my beloved father. Mostly, bringing my anguish to the feet of the Lord. To the bosom of the pierced Hands. It was a lingering question as to why good people has to suffer, having tasted its shadows monotonously. Repetitively. 

Through the years, I learned to consecrate my pains to the One who saved all my tears. Life has to go on, me and my sister as fatherless. I guess, it takes a stronger soul to be better people despite the lashes life has given me. Us. To be a reduced person because of our situations is never an excuse to live a life of significance. Perhaps, an adage I always believe in has been our way of living: Pain can either break you. Or it can make you. 

"I forgive you"

My father's murderer was killed in the same way he took my father's life. It was on the year 13 days after we remembered his 13th death year anniversary. The scar can never be silenced as it left a profound wound. It wasn't a vindication for the whole family. Because we knew what is a loss. We knew what Christmas is, or Father's Day without that person to greet with. We knew what Sundays are without the person preparing that Sunday meal. We knew how it felt  receiving your school awards without the person to pat your shoulder. We knew so well.

And again, the universe has its own way of healing us. It may take time. But that time will always come. The hardest words to say came out easy.

"I forgive you". I closed my prayer with the hardest words from the deepest wound.

I knew.

I was free.

The Pain is making Sense.

Credit: Prison Ministry

Forgiving someone doesn't have to stop with words. It should continue with actions.

My year doesn't feel complete without sharing what pain has made me. Through a friend in Prison Ministry, I yearly share my blessings to the inmates in Bacolod City Jail to bring Jesus' love behind bars. This is not to brag as I always love to cultivate my private life. A life that has to be lived bigger than the things I dreamed of having.This is to remind others who are in the same boat with what I have gone through the past. In the same boat with the inmates who are in prison. 

Many of us are free but are prisoners. 

Of pain.

Of the past.

Of guilt.

Of anger.

Of self-rejection.

Set Someone Free

I cannot judge the people inside the jail. The many "why's" from people who didn't know their story. I cannot judge as some of them are also victims of social injustices. Of dirty politics and the role of money in the justice system of the country. It's not my obligation to see the side of their many wrongs. As everyone has its own story to tell. It's my obligation to do what will Jesus do. 

To love.

To forgive with no conditions.

Because when you forgive, you set someone free: YOURSELF.

Last Christmas, I was content with the family photos back home. Warm. Happy. Unpretentious. A sight to behold.

It was never like that when my dad passed away. It was horrible Christmas to date. No lights. No food. No hint of coming hope. It felt we were all night travelers rejected by the Innkeeper. It was messy. It was depressing. 

Looking back, the plans of God are always just. Always for our advantage. Always for our growth.

We grew stronger as a family. We valued time as you never know what awaits after someone closes the door. And never comes back alive. We said our Iloveyou's like my uncles and aunties and mom are kids, and us, like kids who never age. Our rough edges were smoothed by God's mysterious ways. It was painful. But nonetheless, beautiful.

I live for moments like this. And always for something that is bigger than myself.