..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.

..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.

I Knew Love from Mickey Mouse Watch

Photo Credit: Robz Tan

She is my champion when it comes to selfless giving. She is my constant when it comes to giving without expecting anything in return.

I was a 3rd grader then, fatherless. One day, she brought me and my sister to a small shopping mall. Opportunity like this is a luxury for us. I cannot contain my giddiness watching all the mannequins beautifully clothe in dresses you can only see in TV. Perhaps because we live a simple life, and having enough is more than enough for us.

I stood in front of a glass watching the colorful Mickey Mouse watch. I can’t take my eyes off it I didn’t hear her calling my name. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, she politely asked the lady tending the store how much it costs. “P280”.

“I’ll get two pieces”, she proudlysaid. She was vibrant and young and single. All her money is always intended for our needs when she could have spent it for herself. 

She took a P500 bill from her purse and hand it to the lady. “Kulang ni Ma’am”(Ma’am this is not enough), the quick reply. She glanced at the price tag and see it for herself. “Ahhh, P280 gle, abi ko P80” (ahh this is P280, I thought it’s 80), the soft words came out from her. She handed back the Mickey Mouse watch, my gaze still transfixed while it was returned back to its nesting place. 

“I can’t take one watch. I have two nieces with me. Maybe next time.”

That was the first time Mickey Mouse broke my heart. 

But that was also the first time I realized what equality is. How she would always play fair in giving because everybody should have a share. I grew up with most of the days preoccupied by the picture of that watch. 

When I reached college and doing my immersions, I hated it when she would wake up ahead of my alarm clock. My meal’s ready, uniform well-pressed, my travel bag contained items that comes in two: two sets of towel, two sets of pillow case, two sets of slippers. All to ensure that I’ll never run out of things I’ll be needing outside home. We would then walk together up to the Jeepney station, she on her old worn jacket and cap. The moment she would turn her back from me, I can feel a lump on my throat, my eyes would moist out of so much sacrificial love from someone who dedicated her life to make everything easy for me. Someone who would save Christmas gifts as our "emergency fund". Someone who never bought a nail polish for herself. Her hands, are in fact, wrinkled and battled doing dirty and hard stuffs for me and my sister.

I am now a nurse, and with humility, can buy more sophisticated watch. 

But I’m always humbled by that day when she wasn’t not able to buy me that Mickey Mouse watch. Because she gave me the most precious commodity a Mickey Mouse watch can never commensurate.

Her  T I M E. 

The world is full of  intellectuals. The earth has produced skillful and achiever individuals. The gadgets worn out fast as everyday, another one evolves. The days are fast. Everyone's pacing in their own rights and rhythms. The earth continues to revolve on its axis without anyone giving a damn. On the simple corner of the complicated world, there lies someone who don't know what iPad is, what Macbook Air looks like, what a blog is all about. But in that simple corner of the world is someone who dirtied her hands doing the hard stuffs, keeping Christmas gifts to be an "emergency fund", a graying hair and appearing laugh-lines. There lies someone who knows how to genuinely love, an expert in self-denial and delayed gratification. 

I could have received the highest medals in formal education and she's the deprived one, but compared to me and anyone of us, she's more intelligent. Because she doesn't live with her brain, she lives with her heart. 

And because of that, she's illuminating the brightest inner light. 

The light of SELFLESS LOVE.

I am so ashamed to withhold love. I am so ashamed to deny others of love. 

How could I when all my life, I have seen and felt love.

Inspiration:  Leonor Venegas Tan, single by choice

Profile      :  Aunt of the author

Expertise  :  Lingering Service in Self-giving

Happy Birthday Tita!

My love for you is immaculate.

..Of Broken Heart and Being a Nurse..

She was brought to Intensive Care post-operatively. I was sure that day that I was meant to be assigned to her.
I was just a striving ICU nurse then.

She breathe through the tube that was securely anchored so that everytime I would clear her airways and watched tears falling from her eyes, I won't forget that she's a mom fighting for her newly delivered twins. Her husband would come every morning, exhausted from what seemed only superheroes can endure. Babies in Neonatal Intensive Care, wife in Intensive Care. I forgot to complain I ate cold meal for breakfast that day. Or that I missed the elevator ride. Or that it's already my nth day of duty.
 I was just too shy to complain of the many mishaps happening in my personal life. This world, when we only open our eyes, consists of pains that come in many names. That day, I was able to name one.

I learned that they waited to conceive after many years of trying. While the cardiac monitor keeps on alarming to her heart rate that exceeded the normal, a syndrome known as Takotsubo or "Broken Heart Syndrome", kept her to be under close monitoring in the ICU. Stroking her newly combed hair, I was taken to the time of how Sara and Abraham, in their old age, received the most special gift from God. It must be the most joyous recorded day of their lives. ICU and NICU, aside.

I cannot leave home without the rosary which always occupies the right side of my pocket. I hold it in times I feel down, when I feel small, when I feel life is throwing me a curve ball, when I lift a foot in front of the other but pulled me 3 steps backward, when the undulations are just too much to take it in. That day, I drew the curtain closed, held the rosary from my sacred place, grasped her palm and clasped it with the rosary inside. With shaking hand, I laid my hand on her head, closed my own eyes so that she won't see my welling tears and said the most fervent prayer I never uttered for how many days. I felt her hand squeezing mine, as if I was vindicated that I don't have to be a pious person to do such act. I squeezed back, to affirm that I understand.
That I understand her pains.
I understand her language of hope and her own faith, wherever it is coming from.

In a world that always seek for scientific evidences for almost anything, that secret prayer meeting, of a nurse and a patient, usually lasting for few minutes, was one of the weirdest things I did being a nurse, putting aside what science taught me in nursing school.

She was discharged from our Unit without seeing each other. I was heartbroken how it was an unceremonious goodbye. I was heartbroken that I wasn't able to thank her for the lessons that usually took place in the ICU cubicle. Her painful situation, my teacher, and the nurse, the student.

Since I wasn't able to thanked her well, I decided to serve well with every patient I encountered.

So many times when I would lay awake from exhaustion that cannot put me to sleep, I would wonder what kind of a person I would be if I have been a doctor and not a nurse. Or I settled to be in a corporate world overlooking the metropolitan. When weekends are made to stay late in bed snuggling someone else.

Far from hospital smell.
Far from holidays that are not really holidays in the world of healthcare.
Far from inconsolable cries from people who lost their loved ones.
Far from paraplegic patient who survive the daily struggles of only eyes moving.
Far from watching patient fading inch by inch and wonder how I would bid goodbye when it's my turn.
Far from the daily hazard of being broken-hearted.

There's no one book that can teach a nurse not to be emotionally attach to the patients.
Nor one book to teach a nurse not to love them either.

Because the baffling reality is that...

you can never fully understand the nature of being a  nurse...

... when you never had your heart broken.

Salute to all the nurses all over the world!