of big windows and trees

•Sunday, 26 April 2009 • Leave a Comment

March 15 marked THE day of the beginning of the V word. VACATION. i had it all planned. the first week was solely for cleaning and decluttering. the second week, while i had to report for work, i had the afternoons free for rearranging, organizing and if the money permits, a bit of repainting. the third week was to enjoy the fruits of labor of the 1st and 2nd week, plus the much awaited stress free getaway with the CE girls. the week after that, holy week, was to be spent with the family – to connect, reconnect, revitalize, energize, of course, reflect (which should not only happen during the lent). perfect. i will be happy– everybody will be happy.

it has been a little over 40 days since THE day, and nothing, nothing that i have wanted and planned has come to be.  a nasty nasty virus has hit the household and one after the other, the members were taken without warning. physically drained and tired, it has taken a toll on the spirit as well. unfortunately. pandora’s box has made a leak of it’s stench. relationships strained.  communication unwired. blame, disappointment, confusion and just a heavy blanket of weary hung over everyone else’s shoulders. This ain’t the way it’s suppose to be!!! i yelled, cried and wept to the maker of my tomorrows.  i just refused to wake up to another day of all this. enough. but even before i could claim my enough, my children got terribly ill.  naman. i thought. nope, that’s an understatement. naman!! i grumbled about.  couldn’t i even just have this!?!?  augh. and so, the mother in me,  just had to lay everything else on hold, including my distress to tend to my daughter who was sick and was later on shadowed by her younger brother. they come in pairs i would say.  it was a surprise that we were able to get a room in a hospital where the word vacancy was not oftened.  at 9pm, my daughter was wheeled in and carried off to her slightly inclined bed, feverish and all. my folks who were gracious enough to help me through, said their prayers and bade me, him and my daughter goodbye. soon, he had to go too. i sat on the sofa turned into a make shift bantay’s bed. too tired. too disappointed. much too sleepy. but everybody knows that when you are tagged to sleep in with someone who is sick, that sleep is but a dream. i got up to check on her, gave her a sponge bath, a drink, take her to the bathroom or was awakened by the door’s unlocking or the nurse’s supposed whispering. it’s then 5:30ish in the morning. and with the room’s big window, the morning light crept in. i pulled the curtains to the side. still not sure of what’s out there.  he and our eldest daughter walked in the room to bring breakfast. spoke a little while then left. i freshened up a bit and slouched back into my nook and was finally allowed to take a nap. my daughter woke me up saying she has to pee. so, we went through the whole morning routine. medicines included.  it was around 9am. we discovered that the hospital does not carry cable nor internet services. too disgusted to see and hear spongebob speak our native language,  i told my daughter that she could play with the games installed in my laptop instead.  what to do? what to do? i rummaged into my laptop bag for my pencil case and my journal. i flipped pages and pages of it until i got into a blank page. with pen on hand, i was ready to rant my way through the rest of the morning. i leaned back towards the wall, place a pillow on my lap and then i wrote in big bold red inked letters: W -H-Y.  i scribbled my many questions, complained and demanded for some logical explanation to all this mayhem generously bestowed upon my  already beatened and tired soul. then some movement caught the corner of my eye. i looked towards the window, the big big window and outside were trees. many of them. standing not too far from each other. and they were dancing. swaying from all directions.then all of a sudden everything seemed so quiet. deafening  Dora and boots at the back ground.  serenity and tranquility flooded the room. i could almost hear the leaves rustling against each other.  i’m not exactly fascinated by trees per se, it’s that,  tall and strong as they stand, when the wind blows, they sway. not fighting it off. surrendering  to it…and they seem ok  with it too.  peaceful –even my turmoiled spirit have seemed so. He again, speaks.

this is least to say that i have no more of them days of the big W H Y S. heck, the house is still in shambles, pretty much the way i left it or worse even, i’m the last man standing from fighting the virus, there still are cold nights, words better left unsaid (but too late the hero), my enough lingering —- but as often as i am disrupted and snarled at by all these monsters, i tighten my grip and try as much so to remember and even say out loud –  be still (Psalm 46:10). because as He has promised,  He will restore. ( Joel 2: 25). and so i cling. and i claim.

the view

the view

that you may know

•Monday, 13 April 2009 • Leave a Comment


A Physician Testifies About the Crucifixion

by Dr. C. Truman Davis

About a decade ago, reading Jim Bishop’s The Day Christ Died, I realized that I had for years taken the Crucifixion more or less for granted — that I had grown callous to its horror by a too easy familiarity with the grim details and a too distant friendship with our Lord. It finally occurred to me that, though a physician, I didn’t even know the actual immediate cause of death. The Gospel writers don’t help us much on this point, because crucifixion and scourging were so common during their lifetime that they apparently considered a detailed description unnecessary. So we have only the concise words of the Evangelists: “Pilate, having scourged Jesus, delivered Him to them to be crucified — and they crucified Him.”

I have no competence to discuss the infinite psychic and spiritual suffering of the Incarnate God atoning for the sins of fallen man. But it seemed to me that as a physician I might pursue the physiological and anatomical aspects of our Lord’s passonate some detail. What did the body of Jesus of Nazareth actually endure during those hours of torture?

This led me first to a study of the practice of crucifixion itself; that is, torture and execution by fixation to a cross. I am indebted to many who have studied this subject in the past, and especially to a contemporary colleague, Dr. Pierre Barbet, a French surgeon who has done exhaustive historical and experimental research and has written extensively on the subject.

Apparently, the first known practice of crucifixion was by the Persians. Alexander and his generals brought it back to the Mediterranean world — to Egypt and to Carthage. The Romans apparently learned the practice from the Carthaginians and (as with almost everything the Romans did) rapidly developed a very high degree of efficiency and skill at it. A number of Roman authors (Livy, Cicer, Tacitus) comment on crucifixion, and several innovations, modifications, and variations are described in the ancient literature.

For instance, the upright portion of the cross (or stipes) could have the cross-arm (or patibulum) attached two or three feet below its top in what we commonly think of as the Latin cross. The most common form used in our Lord’s day, however, was the Tau cross, shaped like our T. In this cross the patibulum was placed in a notch at the top of the stipes. There is archeological evidence that it was on this type of cross that Jesus was crucified.

Without any historical or biblical proof, Medieval and Renaissance painters have given us our picture of Christ carrying the entire cross. But the upright post, or stipes, was generally fixed permanently in the ground at the site of execution and the condemned man was forced to carry the patibulum, weighing about 110 pounds, from the prison to the place of execution.

Many of the painters and most of the sculptors of crucifixion, also show the nails through the palms. Historical Roman accounts and experimental work have established that the nails were driven between the small bones of the wrists (radial and ulna) and not through the palms. Nails driven through the palms will strip out between the fingers when made to support the weight of the human body. The misconception may have come about through a misunderstanding of Jesus’ words to Thomas, “Observe my hands.” Anatomists, both modern and ancient, have always considered the wrist as part of the hand.

A titulus, or small sign, stating the victim’s crime was usually placed on a staff, carried at the front of the procession from the prison, and later nailed to the cross so that it extended above the head. This sign with its staff nailed to the top of the cross would have given it somewhat the characteristic form of the Latin cross.

But, of course, the physical passion of the Christ began in Gethsemane. Of the many aspects of this initial suffering, the one of greatest physiological interest is the bloody sweat. It is interesting that St. Luke, the physician, is the only one to mention this. He says, “And being in Agony, He prayed the longer. And His sweat became as drops of blood, trickling down upon the ground.”

Every ruse (trick) imaginable has been used by modern scholars to explain away this description, apparently under the mistaken impression that this just doesn’t happen. A great deal of effort could have been saved had the doubters consulted the medical literature. Though very rare, the phenomenon of Hematidrosis, or bloody sweat, is well documented. Under great emotional stress of the kind our Lord suffered, tiny capillaries in the sweat glands can break, thus mixing blood with sweat. This process might well have produced marked weakness and possible shock.

After the arrest in the middle of the night, Jesus was next brought before the Sanhedrin and Caiphus, the High Priest; it is here that the first physical trauma was inflicted. A soldier struck Jesus across the face for remaining silent when questioned by Caiphus. The palace guards then blind-folded Him and mockingly taunted Him to identify them as they each passed by, spat upon Him, and struck Him in the face.

In the early morning, battered and bruised, dehydrated, and exhausted from a sleepless night, Jesus is taken across the Praetorium of the Fortress Antonia, the seat of government of the Procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate. You are, of course, familiar with Pilate’s action in attempting to pass responsibility to Herod Antipas, the Tetrarch of Judea. Jesus apparently suffered no physical mistreatment at the hands of Herod and was returned to Pilate. It was in response to the cries of the mob, that Pilate ordered Bar-Abbas released and condemned Jesus to scourging and crucifixion.

There is much disagreement among authorities about the unusual scourging as a prelude to crucifixion. Most Roman writers from this period do not associate the two. Many scholars believe that Pilate originally ordered Jesus scourged as his full punishment and that the death sentence by crucifixion came only in response to the taunt by the mob that the Procurator was not properly defending Caesar against this pretender who allegedly claimed to be the King of the Jews.

Preparations for the scourging were carried out when the Prisoner was stripped of His clothing and His hands tied to a post above His head. It is doubtful the Romans would have made any attempt to follow the Jewish law in this matter, but the Jews had an ancient law prohibiting more than forty lashes.

The Roman legionnaire steps forward with the flagrum (or flagellum) in his hand. This is a short whip consisting of several heavy, leather thongs with two small balls of lead attached near the ends of each. The heavy whip is brought down with full force again and again across Jesus’ shoulders, back, and legs. At first the thongs cut through the skin only. Then, as the blows continue, they cut deeper into the subcutaneous tissues, producing first an oozing of blood from the capillaries and veins of the skin, and finally spurting arterial bleeding from vessels in the underlying muscles.

The small balls of lead first produce large, deep bruises which are broken open by subsequent blows. Finally the skin of the back is hanging in long ribbons and the entire area is an unrecognizable mass of torn, bleeding tissue. When it is determined by the centurion in charge that the prisoner is near death, the beating is finally stopped.

The half-fainting Jesus is then untied and allowed to slump to the stone pavement, wet with His own blood. The Roman soldiers see a great joke in this provincial Jew claiming to be king. They throw a robe across His shoulders and place a stick in His hand for a scepter. They still need a crown to make their travesty complete. Flexible branches covered with long thorns (commonly used in bundles for firewood) are plaited into the shape of a crown and this is pressed into His scalp. Again there is copious bleeding, the scalp being one of the most vascular areas of the body.

After mocking Him and striking Him across the face, the soldiers take the stick from His hand and strike Him across the head, driving the thorns deeper into His scalp. Finally, they tire of their sadistic sport and the robe is torn from His back. Already having adhered to the clots of blood and serum in the wounds, its removal causes excruciating pain just as in the careless removal of a surgical bandage, and almost as though He were again being whipped the wounds once more begin to bleed.

In deference to Jewish custom, the Romans return His garments. The heavy patibulum of the cross is tied across His shoulders, and the procession of the condemned Christ, two thieves, and the execution detail of Roman soldiers headed by a centurion begins its slow journey along the Via Dolorosa. In spite of His efforts to walk erect, the weight of the heavy wooden beam, together with the shock produced by copious blood loss, is too much. He stumbles and falls. The rough wood of the beam gouges into the lacerated skin and muscles of the shoulders. He tries to rise, but human muscles have been pushed beyond their endurance.

The centurion, anxious to get on with the crucifixion, selects a stalwart North African onlooker, Simon of Cyrene, to carry the cross. Jesus follows, still bleeding and sweating the cold, clammy sweat of shock, until the 650 yard journey from the fortress Antonia to Golgotha is finally completed.

Jesus is offered wine mixed with myrrh, a mild analgesic mixture. He refuses to drink. Simon is ordered to place the patibulum on the ground and Jesus quickly thrown backward with His shoulders against the wood. The legionnaire feels for the depression at the front of the wrist. He drives a heavy, square, wrought-iron nail through the wrist and deep into the wood. Quickly, he moves to the other side and repeats the action being careful not to pull the arms to tightly, but to allow some flexion and movement. The patibulum is then lifted in place at the top of the stipes and the titulus reading “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” is nailed in place.

The left foot is now pressed backward against the right foot, and with both feet extended, toes down, a nail is driven through the arch of each, leaving the knees moderately flexed. The Victim is now crucified. As He slowly sags down with more weight on the nails in the wrists excruciating pain shoots along the fingers and up the arms to explode in the brain — the nails in the writs are putting pressure on the median nerves. As He pushes Himself upward to avoid this stretching torment, He places His full weight on the nail through His feet. Again there is the searing agony of the nail tearing through the nerves between the metatarsal bones of the feet.

At this point, as the arms fatigue, great waves of cramps sweep over the muscles, knotting them in deep, relentless, throbbing pain. With these cramps comes the inability to push Himself upward. Hanging by his arms, the pectoral muscles are paralyzed and the intercostal muscles are unable to act. Air can be drawn into the lungs, but cannot be exhaled. Jesus fights to raise Himself in order to get even one short breath. Finally, carbon dioxide builds up in the lungs and in the blood stream and the cramps partially subside. Spasmodically, he is able to push Himself upward to exhale and bring in the life-giving oxygen. It was undoubtedly during these periods that He uttered the seven short sentences recorded:

The first, looking down at the Roman soldiers throwing dice for His seamless garment, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

The second, to the penitent thief, “Today thou shalt be with me in Paradise.”

The third, looking down at the terrified, grief-stricken adolescent John — the beloved Apostle — he said, “Behold thy mother.” Then, looking to His mother Mary, “Woman behold thy son.”

The fourth cry is from the beginning of the 22nd Psalm, “My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me?”

Hours of limitless pain, cycles of twisting, joint-rending cramps, intermittent partial asphyxiation, searing pain where tissue is torn from His lacerated back as He moves up and down against the rough timber. Then another agony begins…A terrible crushing pain deep in the chest as the pericardium slowly fills with serum and begins to compress the heart.

One remembers again the 22nd Psalm, the 14th verse: “I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.”

It is now almost over. The loss of tissue fluids has reached a critical level; the compressed heart is struggling to pump heavy, thick, sluggish blood into the tissue; the tortured lungs are making a frantic effort to gasp in small gulps of air. The markedly dehydrated tissues send their flood of stimuli to the brain.

Jesus gasps His fifth cry, “I thirst.”

One remembers another verse from the prophetic 22nd Psalm: “My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou has brought me into the dust of death.”

A sponge soaked in posca, the cheap, sour wine which is the staple drink of the Roman legionaries, is lifted to His lips. He apparently doesn’t take any of the liquid. The body of Jesus is now in extremes, and He can feel the chill of death creeping through His tissues. This realization brings out His sixth words, possibly little more than a tortured whisper, “It is finished.”

His mission of atonement has completed. Finally He can allow his body to die.

With one last surge of strength, he once again presses His torn feet against the nail, straightens His legs, takes a deeper breath, and utters His seventh and last cry, “Father! Into thy hands I commit my spirit.”

The rest you know. In order that the Sabbath not be profaned, the Jews asked that the condemned men be dispatched and removed from the crosses. The common method of ending a crucifixion was by crurifracture, the breaking of the bones of the legs. This prevented the victim from pushing himself upward; thus the tension could not be relieved from the muscles of the chest and rapid suffocation occurred. The legs of the two thieves were broken, but when the soldiers came to Jesus they saw that this was unnecessary.

Apparently to make doubly sure of death, the legionnaire drove his lance through the fifth interspace between the ribs, upward through the pericardium and into the heart. The 34th verse of the 19th chapter of the Gospel according to St. John reports: “And immediately there came out blood and water.” That is, there was an escape of water fluid from the sac surrounding the heart, giving postmortem evidence that Our Lord died not the usual crucifixion death by suffocation, but of heart failure (a broken heart) due to shock and constriction of the heart by fluid in the pericardium.

Thus we have had our glimpse — including the medical evidence — of that epitome of evil which man has exhibited toward Man and toward God. It has been a terrible sight, and more than enough to leave us despondent and depressed. How grateful we can be that we have the great sequel in the infinite mercy of God toward man — at once the miracle of the atonement (at one ment) and the expectation of the triumphant Easter morning.


Dr. C. Truman Davis is a nationally respected Opthalmologist, vice president of the American Association of Ophthalmology, and an active figure in the Christian schools movement. He is founder and president of the excellent Trinity Christian School in Mesa Arizona,


....so tie me to a tree and let the smoke and ash collect, no i won't regret to let love do what love would let....

this guy did it for me. and He never regretted it.

as told..

•Thursday, 9 April 2009 • Leave a Comment

12 years of the good, 3 years of the challenge. the Designer commands, BE STILL,I will make things beautiful in My time

.ring

I’m just following orders. after all, this is His idea.

family part deux

•Tuesday, 24 March 2009 • 3 Comments

she would’ve been 93 years old last March 2.  i wonder what party we could’ve had for her. probably a luau. since it’s summer. and it would be held at our house, by the garden. and everybody would come in their hawaiian inspired clothing. with eukeleles playing in the background and kalachuchi garlands greeting the family as they arrive (except for mom, then she would have an awful asthma attack.  yours would be plastic, ma). lanterns would lighten up the place and a lot of other burloloy to make it more festive and of course a buffet of sumptous food. the menu? pinakbet with bagnet, igado, dinengdeng, rabong, pokpoklo, chargrilled liempo , fried hito, grilled tilapia and chicken, saluyot with ampalaya flowers, aling salud’s pancit, lola cristy’s spaghetti, puto in a bilao, lola cel’s biko, dinuguan, (of which i would put aside for take home before i lay it down on the table. he he he) and papaitan. of course, lola babes would order lechon (that everybody would hope come on time).  a basket of fruits and if  time would permit, the yakult and selecta ice cream vendor. and there would be goody bags for the great grand children. pre-packed in cellophane by santa’s elves which consists of minature once-melted-then-again-hardened chocolates, airline cookie snacks, granola bars and christmas themed M&Ms or Hershey’s kisses. my very talented brother and sister in law would’ve prepare a makapagbagbag damdaming slide show for everyone to oohhh and ahhh about and laugh and tear up at the same time. to which my mala-kuya germs cousin would introduce. a default host in any or rather EVERY family event.  over at some corner you would see the great grand kids deciding on whether to present a song or dance number. impromptu. by orders of  lolo magno. siempre, there would be snapshots and choreographed shots. she, with the children. the children and the in laws. the children, inlaws and grandchildren. then with the great grand children. per family with her. with just the grand children, then the great grand children, where she would carry the youngest of them all being assisted by the eldest of them all. the serious shots and wacky shots. with this kind of party, it wouldn’t be something discreet, sit-down and quiet. we wouldn’t be no ilocano clan if in any occassion of coming together, there wouldn’t be food, loud voices, and a little bit of chaos here and there.

but who’s complaining…..the lechon’s here!!!

thank you,  for the legacy that you’ve started of coming together as family. i miss you, apong. happy birthday.

word of the day

•Sunday, 15 March 2009 • Leave a Comment

retribution

[re-truh-byoo-shuhn]

-noun

1. something given or inflicted in such requital

2. requital according to merits or deserts eps. for evil

3. the act of taking revenge (harming someone in retaliation for something harmful that they have done).

” He swore vengeance on the man who betrayed him”

Romans 12:19 — i claim.

word of the day

•Saturday, 7 March 2009 • Leave a Comment

stress

(stres) noun

A mentally or emotionally disruptive or upsetting condition occurring in response to adverse external influences and capable or affecting physical health, usually characterized by increased heart rate, a rise in blood pressure, muscular tension, irritability, and depression 

and eating the wrong kind of food!!!! AAARGH!!!!!

post ache gains

•Sunday, 1 March 2009 • Leave a Comment

yesterday, i started a new training program. i’ve been warned that it’ll be one hellava workout. i laughed it off at first. but i ain’t smiling no more when i finished. geez, i couldn’t think and answer simple questions! hahah and i don’t even remember the last time i’ve workout and NOT be able to get up the following day! talk about sore.( i was given a head’s up for this though) and so, yeah, i stayed a couple more hours in bed soon after i woke up. but i didn’t complain much. it was, after all a quiet morning. he has gotten up early to ride down hill,  my son was still snuggled up in his pullout.  given that idle time, my mind wandered freely. oh, random thoughts just kept popping up here and there. ugly thoughts, beautiful thoughts. and by the grace vested on me by the heavens, i was able to choose them–delightful.  i thought about how i’ve just recently reconnected with a friend. our exchange of messages were deep, encouraging and comforting, i described it as churros and hot choco on a cold rainy afternoon. however, it had to take one terrible news for us to hook up once again. unfortunately. but then, it is well. my daughter and i share a bond i am sooo proud to have. she trusts me–beyond doubt, beyond fears and failures. we hold hands. and sing the same songs. and we do so, because we have gone through a nightmare together. unfortunately. but then again, it is well. since i was at it. bed-bound in a couple more hours,i guess it was a default that i think about my present status. i pressed on the sculpted arms i though i would nevah-evah attain in my life! i tried to move to my side then i let out an arrrgh, my abdominal muscles groans. i find myself letting out a smile. good for you i remember being told after i complained about the pain. it’s been 7 months of  here and there aches. but like i said, it is well( and i just have to say, ahluvet!) I lay at my back again without a fight and stare at the whitewashed ceiling.  the dawn after all comes, soon after the darkest night; rainbows ensues the storm;  in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him; i am hungry. i am able to stand up to fix myself breakfast….arrrrrgh. (smile)

to remember or to forget

•Monday, 23 February 2009 • Leave a Comment

my mother in law has Alzheimer’s disease.  it has only been diagnosed about 4 years ago, but the symptoms of it were present even before then. ulyanin was the more acceptable term and ‘reality’ for a woman of her age.  but, yes, she has it. and she’s being medicated for it. to slow the progression of disintegration, doctor said.   while many find her condition saddening, I am a bit envious. you see, patients with the disease suffer from memory loss. short term memory loss. what happens now, won’t be remembered in about an hour. talk about living in the now, living in the moment. ahhh… something that can work against you or for you. with this and my love for writing, it would only be a book of good things.  imagine, only being able to recall or remember memories that you want and eliminate those that you don’t. bringing back the feel good and burying the hurt—forever. capturing only the smile and the laughter and never the tears and the ugly cry. wouldn’t that be just G R E A T?!  just a thought. or an ache perhaps.

mama lives in the now every single day. and in that now, my son, Gianco is always part of it. and because it’s an everyday thing for mama, she does not forget Gianco. and she’s happy. she’s captured that. and that’s a good thing, diba? hold on, i should take photos too…

family

•Saturday, 14 February 2009 • 1 Comment

it’s a weekend. and for a change, i decided to stay in. while my laptop was running and logged in to some of my fave sites, i flicked through the remote and scanned the channels for something worth or not worth watching. i responded to a message over chat leaving the channel stuck to a movie. when i bid my chat mate adieu, i leaned back over the pile of pillows and went back to fixating my eyes into moving elements on the tube. it was Steve Martin.  he had just quit his job and goes about ranting over to his wife, Mary Steenburgen, who was fixing the sheets. she then blurts out that she’s pregnant, which upset Martin, and starts to rant all over again…now i have to go to the little league where the little kids are expecting me to be there.  Martin goes. do you have to? asks Steenburgen. my whole life is a have to. snaps Martin back at her.

i got hungry. so i marched to the kitchen and fixed myself a grilled cheese sandwich. when i got back, i was rather amused to see a very different Keanu Reeves in a dorky DUH kind of look. but the scene was rather intense. no, maybe *I* should go. he says as he walks over to his wife, Martha Plimpton. what is that suppose to mean? she asks in a sarcastic way. then Reeves grabs his helmet and walks out the door. i find myself letting out a sigh.

a friend is online and she posted an interesting status which started a chat conversation between us. i would glance back once in a while at the TV screen when my friend would take time to reply to my message. it didn’t take long  before i slouched back into the pillows. it was Keanu again, who was being pulled out from a crashed car that he had raced in. the mother in law, played by Dianne Wiest, brother in law, which i couldn’t believe was Joaquin Phoenix, and Martha Plimpton ran over to the site but then Plimpton backed out. saying she couldn’t. to which, Wiest shook her and said: this is marriage. now get into the truck! she did. and that started the spiral of all the scenes that followed where all things started going well. ang galing because there wasn’t any script to it. just music.  Martin, holding Steenburgen’s belly and smiling over at her. the next scene was taken from a hospital waiting room where the family ( aside from the ones mentioned, includes, Jason Robards, Harley Kozak, and this guy from Honey, I shrunk the kids…i forget) awaits the delivery of another child. and when the news was told,  it’s a girl! still in all music, the camera pans from one side where a father is playing with his 3 year old daughter, to new parents, mesmerized by the sight of their baby in tow, to kids, running around the hallway, to a grandfather handing out cigars to the men/boys,to a couple hugging.  so pinoy, i thought—and remembered how i once woke up to a frenzy of people in my hospital room after just delivering my son into the world. still groggy over the sedative, i could just hear murmurs and see images and colors (i could see a red box….ah, red ribbon). ang gulo. but that’s the way it is, i guess. not only in film. but in real life too. that families, do come together. no matter how messed up you can get. no matter how distant the relation is. as long as you’re in the tree, you’re family. and we come together.  my family has not only done this for me in the births of all my children. but way before i even had them and until now, they come. like what my uncle has said just recently, we’re with you, ta. I have always been with you from the start.

no matter how messed up you can get, boy, my family can love that mess away. foolish is the one who does not concede.

numbers

•Tuesday, 3 February 2009 • Leave a Comment

when my trainer would fix my program into adding plates or weights to what i am currently lifting, i would give a look of –you gotta be kidding look.  thinking that i will not be able to do it.  then i would be told: it’s just a number.  it’s beginning to be my favorite quote. while numbers do say a lot, what really matters is the little secret that you and that number have. you’re the only one who can say if that number, be it an exam score, a weight lost or gained, the number of years in a relationship, has any bearing, significance or life changing good (assuming that everybody would still want to do what is good).

i’ve heard and seen people whine about their upcoming birthday, adding up another year, and how they dread or hate it.  and then i think about people who’ve aged that i admire so much and because of their optimism, i wonder if they’ve ever been in that rut of a feel of aging.

I have just turned 35 a couple of days ago. and i’ve never felt sooo good about turning a year older. i feel great.

it’s not about the number. it’s how you’ve lived in the in-betweens of those numbers that matters.