..Why You Shouldn't Give Up on Your Season..

You have resisted the tedious and arduous battles. You have tapped your shoulder countless times to affirm your being gifted to stand out good despite of dot dot dot. You emerged victorious from wounds unseen by the world. And yet, there you are. Taken by the waves from the shore of so many stones thinking that your piety has saved you only to be smack back to the shore. Double. How can life be so unfair in so many ways? 

An optimist  can only sigh.

I was on my flight back to Philippines from my short vacation in California and was glad I kept repertoire of that one summer month of my life. Stories that I valued quietly in my heart as I ponder on them whenever life hits hard. Whenever life puts me to the endless "scorching summer feels" I would ask why good people has to suffer. Most of those days of me asking, God is always there. Quiet. So quiet I could hear Him in daunting nights of plea. So quiet I could feel Him in the arid air. 

You see, even an optimist is not exempted from the fair share of what season brings. But why you should endure your season?

Crisis Builds Character.

I hated the days I was learning to drive. My uncle would stop from his chores to help me maneuver the steer. My hands would sweat upon sitting on the driver's seat. We would then saunter the road. The road with so many bumps and turns. I would complain because it's hard driving in a road with crowds and humps. But what do we do if we see humps and bumps? 

We S L O W  D O W N. We take time. We become careful. 

Because a fine road doesn't make one a good driver. It's the difficult paths that teaches us values we never learn from a fine travel. C builds C.

Expensive Wine takes Time.

It was a fine day in  Napa Valley, a long drive from San Rafael California where I am staying at my cousin's place. We arrived before afternoon and plunged our view to the vast field of vines. We went there for the purpose of tasting some of the best wine. Joining the tour of how wines are made, I was delighted and was sure that I was allowed to witnessed this simple yet a melting pot of practical lessons in life.

From growing to harvesting to fermenting to the time wine is put in the bottle, I can only imagine the worst of pain of waiting. Some of the bottles in the underground section of the Castillo de Amorosa Winery was there for more than a decade! From the outside, it seemed that nothing is happening inside those oaks. And I was smirking like an idiot that they could have sold those barrels for  hundreds of dollars. Our guide was so wise I was awaken to my reverie when he said, "the most expensive wine takes time".  

Do you feel like nothing is happening in your life?

Do you feel like you were pruned for nothing?

Do you feel like you are stuck in the oak barrels?

Do you feel like God is deaf with all your prayers?

God musn't have been so patient to make the most expensive wine out of you!

Believe me, I never looked at wine the same way again!

Even in the Dark, God is there, too!

I can't sleep with lights open. So even when I pray, I go under my blanket. I don't know what's so comforting praying that way. Perhaps because my alone time is my time to reconnect with the unseen. To unplugged from the resonating noises of the world. So I would pray in close eyes remembering every name and intention of people in my life in every bead of my rosary. I've been doing that for a long time that one night, I opened my eyes in the middle of my prayer and noticed a single bead glowing in the dark. That single bead amongst the 50 beads of my rosary lying on top of my chest, proximate to my very heart. I tried to close my eyes and open it again. There, among the darkness of my little world under my blanket, there glows the bead reminding me that even in the dark, God is there too!

I take hold of these 3 wonderful learnings whenever I'm on the point of succumbing to life's undulations. When life tricks me and my faith to just give up and stop believing. It's easy to pray when things are going right and we have everything we asked for. But the true challenge in life is to keep on praying when things are difficult and  heaven is silent to the things we are asking for. 

It's winter once again and I would complain how cold the weather is. I forgot that when life puts me in those scorching situations, I prayed for this winter to come soon. 

Life, my friend, is akin to season. There is time for everything. And every season comes with a lesson. I don't know what season you are at the moment. But always endure. Because it's just a season. Always endure. Because seasons change. Only God doesn't. Because only God is not a season.

He is everything!

..The Voyage of Scarred Soul..

The night casts its gloomy air and there she was again. 

Eyes that have seen both the capriciousness and dangers of love and loss. 

Hands that have written her best and worst articles. 

Feet that had traverse the edges and corners of  the world. 

Her mind is neither a sanctum of her dreams nor of her demons. 

She's grounded on the peculiarity of life that being different made her belong. 

On most days,  the color in her palette understands her language. 

Her solitude fits her well the world can go round without her noticing. 

As she puts down the cup of coffee that has turned cold from waiting, her fingers jubilantly expressing her sealed mouth wants to say. 

There she was, the scarred soul. 

The sly smile from someone who also gets tired from choosing a good fight. 

The robust aura that hides the feebleness of her scars. 

She has danced to the song in her head that rhymes with the pace of the currents life is throwing at her. 

Her madness is keeping her sane. 

She wouldn't stop to the melody of  hurt. And pain.

And forgive her for being strong. 

She made a  good tune out of all those broken strums. 

Break her. 

And you'll see beauty in her every piece.

A scarred soul cannot hide her inner light.

That's the light you see when you look at her eyes.

That's the strength you feel when you hold her hands.

That's the comfort you feel when you touch her skin.

She has conquered battlefields you dreaded conquering. 

Her scars, her reward. 

She take glory in them.

She may have died a little. 

Yet, she bloomed again.

So understand that you cannot fully understand her.

Unless you've been a scarred soul yourself.

She takes pleasure in her journey.

For there's no future in the past.

..I Watched the Dead Man's Beating Heart..

“..the first sorrowful mystery..”

I can’t even continue my prayer.

I felt the pang of anguish encircling every muscle of my beating heart. The warmth of that tiny drops trickling incessantly from the corner of my eyes I don’t know if the back of my palm is enough refuge to calm my sobs. The sobs you don’t like to hear yourself it’s been a long while I’m moved to my core.

I am acquainted preparing a critical patient. The adrenaline rush to resuscitate them when they are at the point of crashing and the sigh of relief when you feel the regaining pulse. 

But that night, it was a different preparation.
I was preparing for the experience I will hailed most remarkable being an ICU nurse.
I moved out of the ICU twice as I impatiently waited for time. I breathed the sullen evening air as the cold wind sways in melancholy the flowers in the mini garden of the hospital. Looking at the starless sky, the impending drizzle I suspect will fall anytime, it seemed to be conniving with the restlessness I feel inside. 

Imagining his goodbye to his wife, to his kids, did he ever imagine the possibility that it could be the last? That day when he spoke to them, or his friends, did it occur to him that it will just be all but  a memory?

In school, tests come after the lessons. But in real deal of life, lessons come after the tests. 

I went back to ICU. The clock seemed to be ticking very slow while I am seated not far from the cacophony of monitor’s alarms while my legs are slightly elevated, impatiently wishing for time to further its pace. In night’s oblivion, I have to self-introspect my own deity. 

I thought I was brave enough.
But sometimes, I’m good at make-believe.

We pushed him to OR, my steps heavy as my heart. I’m used to pushing patients to be operated to survive. But that night... There’s something different about that night.

I changed to my scrubs and wore the gloves snugly on my cold sweating hands. 

There he was on the table. Surrounded by the team whose main goal is to save a life. 

The room was then filled with smell of human flesh and bones seared so as the team can see his heart. I glanced at the clock calculating time. T I M E. 

There's no turning back. Of that single heart beat.

 It was wrenching. It was awful. 

Life’s brevity and all.

How we are connected from one another remains to be a grand mystery to me. Watching his heart beating on his open chest, I’m dragged into that abyss, a point of asking how losing one’s life becomes a hope for someone else. That if God is there, watching, why should his children and his wife will be fatherless and husband-less tonight?

“I’m ligating now the aorta”, my fear coming to close.

I watched his tracing fibrillating.

If this is just in a different circumstance, if only, I could have compressed his heart...

The heart of a husband.

 A father.
A brother. 

A friend. 

A person who just dream what’s best for his family...

And when the anesthesiologist called in “flat”, I knew that the night was long. 

And I was part of that night.

I will remember the sacrificial love of someone to the end.

I will remember how one's loss is another person's gain.

I will remember how our life is akin to a thread, it can snap anytime.

I will remember how temporary this body is, and how fleeting moments are.

I will remember that there's no greater love than the love of the Father to His Son.

Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m lucky that compassion is one of my strengths.
Because more often, it has become my nemesis.

When I take off my scrubs that day, physically and emotionally spent, I was cajoled to run my fingers to the tiny beads of my rosary. Offering my prayers of sorrowful mystery, I can only guess that I am made for this...

..a wounded healer watching the dead man's beating heart.

How do you live for that single heart beat? 

..To Really Live at the Moment..

How dependent we have become to gadgets?

I tried to have a good grasped at the start of this article the question that has bothered me the past days. Night before the much needed slumber, I was beneath my comforter flicking my phone screen  while waiting for my limbic system to start doing its job. Unfortunately, it failed that I noticed I was continuously scanning my phone. I rose from bed, distracted of  devaluing my rule of "no screen" at bedtime. I woke up that day and guess what? With phone as my alarm clock. Checking my to-do lists, calendar, the whom-with-who and the endless rants at the start of my day. I felt sick I know there's something wrong. With how I use the gadget. With how I allow social media to intercept with my routines. With how much I allow social media to consume my most valued asset: Time

Coming to duty, I passed by the lobby with patients waiting for their admission, head-down on the phone. I walked past the hallway to ICU only to see a colleague on earphones, head-down on the phone. I was hoping to see a different view in the meeting room that might restore my faith to  humanity. But the moment I opened the door, no one's talking to each other, all heads bent down. I closed the door immediately. Feeling suffocated, I stayed in the hallway and watched people. 

How can I alter a cogent affinity to technology? Is this how languishing the world is? 

I was saddened as I penned down this thoughts for I know the impact seemed to be irreversible. And I'm becoming piece of it.

We were sitting in a coffee shop today and part of that "alteration in patterns" is No-Phone during conversation. We were gathered in circle, mouthwatering cakes served with our choice of coffee and there, looking at each other's wrinkled face while listening and reacting to the one telling the story is a rebreather. Surprisingly, we didn't notice the minutes that turned into hours, the simple connection that carved the night's memories, a breathe of fresh air etched from staring at each other's eyes, and the big zest for life that yes, we can create special connections without gadgets.We went home bagging laughters, full tummy aside (a gross understatement), and hearts lifted  with happiness from authentic conversation.. To really live at the moment is a challenge, but not impossible. 

So tonight, my faith in humanity was restored!

Somehow, part of me is hopeful that there is cure for this great malady and addiction. 

We are special not because we have many followers or our gram has many likes. No dear, your worth is not dependent on that. Your success is not defined by other people's comments. Your strength should not wane the moment someone unfollows you.

You know what living is?

It's going to bed with those old worn big shirt, heart's fluttering not because of the nuisance of wealth, fame and money. 

It's  P E O P L E. 

It's  P U R P O S E.

Afterall, reality is more favorable than the world of filters.

Good night.