..I Can't Let Go of a P250-Worth Shoes..

Once upon a time, we were poor. My family can't afford to buy me a "just-do-it" shoes. One day, fairy godmother heard my wish. The sweat on his forehead are on the verge of falling while his gloved hands reached for the crumpled bills in his pocket; all in the denomination of P20 topped with a P10 coin. I was utterly jubilant to learn that I'll be having a new pair of white duty shoes.

Fast forward.

It was my rest day when I decided to wash my ivory-colored duty shoes. I noticed some scratch, two or more tear on scattered parts and believe me, the soles are so flat I knew it wouldn't much of help to add up to my height. This is the shoes I wore when I first get into the real realm world of hospital work, same shoes when I had a taste of my first salary, my first Code, my first Stat patient for OR, my first shift as the Charge Nurse, to the first day I headed my 19 staffs.

I tried buying new one, but it nested on shoe shelf in peace afterwards.

I walked and sprinted from end to end of the Unit for years, traveled certain parts of the world, saw the clandestine corners of life, wrote 195 articles to this blogsite, passed all my Foreign Exams, and with all humility, blessed enough to pamper myself with one or more pair of "just-do-it" and more shoes. But my feet can only trudge freely anywhere with the only pair that captured my resilience to traverse wherever paths life will lead me. 

The once white shoes now turned into off-white. And sometimes, I'm careful when I run because of the fear that it might give up anytime. 

Rolenkim is wearing a P250-worth of shoes?

I am.

 And everytime I'm wearing it, I can see the face of a man with sweat on his forehead, crumpled bills from his pocket, who believed that someday, today's nobody could be a somebody in the future.

Thank you, Tito Rafael!

P.S.

Seeing those shoes settled at the corner, I was reminded how far I went through life, and how far I'll still be traveling. 

Yeah, no one gets out of this life unscathed.

..What made me say Yes..

(c) Psychologytoday

The long wait was over.

It's been months of planning. Days of meetings. Changes that almost cracked the brain of both parties. Patience tested in most daunting ways.

I finally said Yes.

Not to wedding bells but to the Blue Print of our little kitchen.

It's a dream for me and my sister to finally have our little home renovated.

But that didn't come easy.

We went through a lot of pains. And when I say a lot, that almost costs more than our 6-figure budget.

I'm a type of a person who's cynical with almost everything. And winning my trust is like a jackpot prize in Lotto. So when I say I trust you, you're an instant millionaire (from a non-materialistic point of view). 

It started smooth from planning over a cup of coffee and simple dinner to a point of settling everything to the smallest details. Given my meticulous queries every now and then, my sister and our Architect are just waiting for my go signal.

But the inevitable happened. To cut the story short, it didn't went the way it was planned. Everything was put on hang. I can feel the friction every time Robz and I are conversing. Which is not a normal occurrence between us.

One day, while I was waiting for the bus, I sent a message to my sister. "Yes, proceed with the renovation".

That night before I said my yes, I remember how Robz left her office and all her pending works just to attend with the meeting(s) for the Blue Print. How she sacrificed her weekend serving the ministry for all the tasks I put on her shoulder. How she traveled from traffic jam so as not to missed the flight to Bacolod. How she remained composed with all my nags from end to end.

Is it worth to exchange my relationship with my sister over the dream we both planned together? And what about realizing the plan, yet, losing the person you build the dream with?

I can't afford. 

I set aside my own emotions. How angry and disappointed I was with our Engineer. I'm sure he'll have a torn tympanic membrane with my "soft" feed backs. But I chose to remember what Robz said to me. "Choose peace by loving".

I did.

And the feeling was liberating.

When I get home and would spend coffee in the kitchen, I will not remember the pains of how it was built. 

I'll remember the warmth it taught me.
And the reasons that made me say Yes.

Because LOVE is Learning to Overlook offenses and Valuing the person's importance Explicitly.

Ok, let's restore the tympanic membrane ;)

To err is human.

To forgive is divine.

..Leaning on Sharp Points..

The harsh waves come one after the other as we neared the shore of a nearby island in Calaguas. It was mid day and the sunblock I applied before we left the "safe harbor", I reckoned, is not serving its purpose since my arms resembled a lot like zebra, the obvious partition of white and dark areas. But since I was persuaded that the nearby island is different from the rest of the Island's parts, we braved the waves, like our boat is passing the humps of the road.

My mind, as morbid as it can get, is back on its habit of predicting the world of what if's. What if the waves will turn our boat upside down? All my gadgets will dissolve in the heart of Calaguas. Passport included. My body included. And mom will never be able to see her cute (positive prediction) grandchildren from me.

We arrived safely (I whispered all the saint's names, for heaven's sake) to the mystical place where coconut trees are lined up in a manner that exudes a welcoming embrace, giving a sense of security that all is well. The contrast of pristine sand and gray stones are breathtaking I admit I'm incapable of putting it on my canvas. I noticed that the stones there are more finer, rounded, and smooth while the stones from where we left are more sharper, more edgy, and rougher you have to be extra careful not to cut your sole.

I sat for a moment on one of the fine stones, oblivious to the waves that incessantly slamming the stones. I rubbed my eyes so as not to missed any single chance of being enchanted by the moment. And as the sun kept flaunting its radiance, it made clear to me why the stone I'm sitting on is smoother.
Because the waves there are unforgiving. Harsher. Fiercer. 

In life, every "harsh wave" comes with a purpose. We will never understand the vernacular of Trust unless we came to a point of being lied to: willingly, consciously, and artistically crafted by people you have high hopes to do it the very least. It's harsh. It's fierce. It's like being taken away to the sea, only to be slammed back to the shore.
Imagine how it hurts. Imagine how it cut through.

But imagine, too, if it doesn't hurt. And it doesn't cut through.
Will you be smoother? Or rounder? Or finer?

God knows we'll be hurt. He knows we'll cry tears-buckets of it. He knows we'll be scorched to bits. And it's not a surprise to Him.
Because the finest stones went through the most harsh waves.
Because the people who have "most" in life has undergone "the most" in life too.

Is life so unfair? Lean on the part that hurts the most. Lean on the point that is the sharpest. Lean on the waves that are the harshest.

He makes a finer man out of rough edges.

"The stone of which the builders rejected has become a cornerstone".-Psalm118:22

Goodnight.

..The "Lazaru's Phenomenon"..

Photo taken at Baylon Temple, Cambodia

.."and Jesus wept"..

Everyone was startled when she was admitted to our Unit. Serving the hospital for how many years, it was a surprise when she became the patient. Intubated directly due to decrease level of consciousness, I can still remember her voice when I got an almost close argument with her. 

Pronounced to be unresponsive to any stimuli, it broke everybody's heart.

I remember her when I attended the symposium on Deceased Organ Donation. Talking about brain dead, it's difficult to believe though I am working in medical field, apart from all the discussions of the body's every bone, muscles and nerves, that the person is considered dead if: 1) there's no spontaneous breathing and 2) there's no brain activity. 

Stirring my cup of Espresso, I want to blurt out' "but how about the heart? How could one die if it's still beating?". I could hear my own heartbeat. Probably because of the strong caffeine content of my drink. Or the opposition of my mind to the idea of brain over heart. But the speaker is unstoppable clearing issues of a well-research presentation. "Human being is dead when the brain is dead. Reflexes are present due to lateral circulation."

Reflexes.

I remember their story about her when it was decided that she will be an organ donor. 

No brain activity. Heart beat's due to medicines. Breathing through the ventilator.

Tears escaped from her eyes. 

The eyes that never reacts to light. 

Or to pain.

Her leg moved.

But science says it was just a Reflex.

She died with her heart still beating.

Could it be possible?

Yes.

Happiness dies when one forgets to let go of the baggage of the past, the fear of the future, and the anxiety of the present.

Simplicity dies when we allow material things to define the worth of our living.

Service dies when money takes high precedence over fulfillment.

Hope dies when prayer becomes the last option and not the first.

Relationship dies when someone started to look after her self-interest and not of the other.

Love dies when one forgets why she loves.

Life, then, is slowly drifting away from a beating heart.
That's when we face our tomb.

When anguish creeps and our pain is overwhelming, God, too, is weeping. 

But noticed that Jesus did not stop from there. He did not kneel and roll on the ground and cry all day. He did not saved the tears and put it in the glass and cry again until He fills it.

He was quick to pray to the Father.

He was quick to believe that even in the most impossible, smelly, and darkest tomb, there will come out Lazaru.

Whatever kind of "tomb" you are going through, He is calling you just like how He called Lazaru to life.

"Lazaru, come out".

..My *Selah Moment..

I missed my patients so much. 

I miss greeting them "good morning" at the start of my shift.

I miss feeding them.

Or giving them a bath.

I miss whispering in their ear  how was my day. Even though I know they can't respond.

I miss squeezing their hand in prayer.

Lately, I've been seeing windows. Lots of them.

Probably someone read my article before that says, "where windows are not included in hospital plan".

So they made as many as my eyes can wander.

Since we are not receiving patients yet, it's part of our routine to clean the Unit every day.

I don't mind. Because gloves fit well on my hands. And my nose get used to alcohol even behind face mask.

But every day that passes by without all those I've mentioned above, it feels like my strength is waning fast. I feel more tired. I feel more exhausted I can't understand. I'm beginning to dislike the position I was given to handle and tempted to work instead as a regular staff. Where I can't missed a lot of  things I'm missing.

Oftentimes, when I lay on my tired body on my bed, I would say I'm tired because I served my patients. And that's ok. Because you've done something in a day not everyone was given a chance to do. Many were called, and I'm indeed one of the blessed chosen few.

As I'm wiping the dusty empty bed of the new Unit, I can't help but shed tears. Of the many things I'm capable to do, I always have that One Thing that fills my heart with so much song of gladness. "What's giving you joy?" my sister asked before we parted in conversation.

There was once a man who prayed  to God. "What would make you happy?" To see You face to face, the man replied. One day, God heard his prayer of perseverance. He instructed him to meet Him at the top of the hill. On a given day and particular hour. Along the way, he saw a man whose car broke down. He checked his watch. It's almost close to the set time God has instructed him. But he can't leave the man either. When he reached the top of the hill, he saw no one there. He was so heartbroken he prayed to God why He didn't wait when he can justify why he was late. God said, "I fulfill my promise and you were not late. You arrived in time when My car needed your help. I was there."

Writing makes me happy.

Reading makes me happy.

Coffee makes me happy.

Traveling makes me happy.

Shopping makes me happy.

Even sitting alone makes me happy.

But I'm happier when I serve.

Not on papers.

Not on empty beds.

Not in front of the computer.

Not in the In-Charge's chair.

Because when I serve, I"m meeting God.

I'm greeting Him "good morning".

I'm touching His frail hand.

I can whisper to His ear how was my day. Even when He doesn't responds.

God meets me at my level.

And He's always there.

Service is my Selah moment.

Happy Sunday! =)

"*Selah"-heard this word once and I was so intrigued that I researched it right away and concluded that one day, I'll name my son/daughter Selah, which means, God wanted you to pause and meditate.

..I write just as I love..

Ours don't have a commitment. But I know that through all these years, my heart belongs to only one.

I would akin writing to love in ways only a blogger could understand.

Lounging on the couch, I realized that I could not survive life without writing. Just as I can't survive my day without loving. One day, I sat down and encouraged myself to start an ink but damn, I can't even start a sentence. And to think that I've been doing this underground, non-profitable hobby for years! 

Upon opening my blogsite, I came to check for the first time in forever that I've written 190 articles. Surprisingly, it's not my hobby to count how many pages I wrote or the word count I used. Simply because this site is not for any sort of competition. Much more for someone to appraise its structures and subject-verb agreement. In truth, you can almost find as many errors if proof-reading is your issue. Because most of the time, I'm glued in the couch in the middle of the night, and what you read are the streams of thoughts that ran amok in my long standing irreversible brain damage, haha

I started so poor in words and grammar, but just like anything in life, if you want to get better, then put in the hard work to learn.

Writing demands Time.

Love, in real deal, demands time as well. You can't just say you love writing and abandon the thought of wanting to write. You have to invest time. You have to read to improve your grammar. You have to learn to go back to basics of is/are, he/she, go/went..etc. 

You can't just say the I love you's and leave everything to faith. Relationship deserves pampering. And time, no matter how you convince me, says it all. Because no one will ever waste a second to something/someone that has of no value. Please excuse the News Feed stalking.

Writing has to be felt. Even when you don't feel it.

Commitment.

I'm not the best person to tackle this word since self-mastery hasn't befriended me. Yet. There are times when I wanted to write but I can't. Writer's block. But it doesn't mean that I don't want to write. Probably, I just lack the drive. The stimuli is there. It's not just enough. There's a difference between wanting and saying you cannot. But I go on, until an article is formed out of those reverie. Until I reached  my 190th..and counting. Because I stick to what I wanted.

Lovers can testify to this moment of "lover's block". When you don't feel the "kilig", or those goosebumps whenever he stares at you. But it doesn't mean you don't love him. You just need to go back to the day why you even said your "yes". That's how choosing to love even if you don't feel it.

Write in Nudity.

And I mean it honesty.

I found writing easier than making my Nurse's Notes. Because when I write, I'm telling you my stories. From the heart. With lessons attached if you are a keen reader. As what my secret fan said, "reading your blogs is a heart-warming experience..subtle as a drop that brings ripples of reflections to a day gone by...resolved as a river's rush to inspire streams of hope for tomorrow's vague moments..". You don't have to be the best writer to write. You just have to be honest. And instincts helped me most of the time. 

Same goes with anything that has to do with loving. It has to start with honesty. So what if he knows the worst of your worsts? So what if he was not your first love? Should that matter when he is, anyway, your last? For anyone who accepts the bare you deserves the finest love this world has ever made. I'm telling you, loving becomes an effortless job.

It's dawn once again. My ears are stuck with earphones. His snores, my melody. My phalanges are working while the birds are chirping somewhere. I don't care how time goes by, or how my posture changed from the time I started this article to the time it will be culminated.

All I know is that I write, just as I love.

Goodnight!

..The Tough Love..

(c) Cathedral de Bencao

I refused to be her Preceptor since day 1.

It's not that I don't like her. But I feel that I've given the best teachings to my previous Preceptee  I feel like I'm drained already to have another one. *"Sa inyo daw po ako Ma'am Kim sabi ni Ma'am Claire", uttered the soft-spoken voice. I saw kindness in her eyes I have no way to refuse anymore.

It was Friday, her first day of 12-hour shift. I knew that the girl is trying hard to give her best shots. But it seemed to me that there are so much more from her to give since we are working in a critical unit with critical patients. Tough love, I thought. But she never gave me an impression that it's a mistake deciding and sticking to be an ICU Nurse. She wanted to have her tasks done to the last bits.

That Friday evening, the bus left her. 

I was her In-Charge. 

Days flipped into months. There was an instance that I would go back on Friday just to check on her competencies. And modest to say that I would lay my name on the line so that she will somehow feel that I would want to bring out the best in her. Again, it's the kind of tough love I thought was good enough.

I was surprised when I saw her one day in blue scrubsuits, manipulating a dialysis machine, that girl on the first day I was refusing to teach. I swear, I had my skip beats. I shy away looking at her. She made it through her probationary period!

Some tears are forming at the corner of my eyes. 

I walked out the door. 

I was so damn proud of her.

She reminds me so much of Rolenkim.

He never gave up on me when I was a nobody. He never detested my absolute inadequacies. My worth are on His palms. My life was protected by His mercy. He bent down on the ground, wrote my name on the dust that reads, "My Beloved".

Where can you find a love like that?

I close my eyes.

Even in darkness, He follows me.

Even in abyss, He chases me.

Where can I run that You can't go?

Where can I hide from You?

Where can you find a God who never uses the tough love?

I close my eyes and I gave up on the truth.

He just LOVES me TOUGH!

*Ate Claire said I'll be with you.