pagpasiplat

I was finally able to cry last Thursday during our Bible study. For years I had been nurturing a one sided relationship because I was led to do so. In obediece and submission to God, I loved and continued communication even when it fell on deaf ears, or in this case, an empty mailbox.

After the initial shock wore off, I felt peace, knowing I did what I should, even when I thought I probably made a fool of myself.

Death is not only physical. Death can also mean being permanently shut out from a person's life. The worst kind of death though is the absence of God in your life. More than the eternal flames of hell and the worms that do not die is the very concept of life without the Lord that makes death real. Imagine a day of cruelty and think of it in the perspective of eternity.

I loved this man so much that something in me literally died. I just knew that this time it is over and there is no turning back and no matter what else is said, it is not going to work. I thought for a while he was enjoying the attention and actually loved the new form of communication we had. He would post photos, I would appreciate, I would ask a question or two, he would answer in riddles and sunsets... Oh well, I was wrong to assume. The thing is I cannot undo what I have done. He shut himself away too, from the public's gaze.

I will mourn for many days. I know in time this too shall pass and I will be healed and be able to continue loving even when it is not reciprocated. There is freedom to love only when you also have freedom to be hurt. No freedom is absolute without the price of pain.

It's funny that I am a Communication Major and I always have miscommunication problems with people I love and care for. This time, I'm in a rut with my housemate. Well, I adore children, and even if it's not my own, I treat the child as mine. Naturally whatever is needed, I try to provide. I am very permissive as well. For as long as it does not cause harm to self or to others, then I am happy that the child is happy.

My niece is sickly these past few years. She's always having problems with her throat. Usually inflamed from too much sweets, or perhaps the change of weather or what have you.

Anyway, she was acting like a brat one morning and refused to eat. She probably just lacked sleep and her throat was a bit irritated and so, she decided she did not like her food. No matter what the yaya offered, she refused, so, after some disgruntled response and impolite gestures from the kid, I asked her what she wanted. She wasn't answering properly. I was teasing her that she sounded like a cave woman already. Eventually when I offered her some cereals, she relented and ate some.

I was in a violent relationship where raised voices was a norm. Whenever someone raises his or her voice to me, I react, negatively and fight back. I do not usually pick on fights, but once provoked, I do retaliate. That's why perhaps I get into a lot of miscommunication. The tone of the voice speaks louder than words. Even without any nasty word spoken, when the tone changes, then that means war!

I know I should be able to take each comment with a grain of salt and look into the circumstance that triggered such a reaction. The thing is, I also know when my explanation will just fall on deaf ears. It doesn't really matter if they explained it well or not, the issue here is the heart. Are you really willing to listen or not?

I love photographs - old ones, new ones; colored, sepia, or black and white. Technology has provided us with a wide array of format, style and size. In this day and age, capturing a memory and storing it for retrieval is at your fingertips.

My daughter has finally decided to stay in the BA Film and Audio Visual Communication Program in UP Diliman. She's looking forward to the fun of taking pictures and creating visual images. I am excited too because we can actually work on certain projects together. It's amazing how time flies and how easily we now have access to communication and information.

Friends now can chat, long distance without having to pay so much. I remember I used to mail my letters to friends and it usually took about three weeks to a month to get a reply, if they too were as prolific in writing. (Not that some friends write at all, it still depends on the person afterall. It's not something that we all share - this great passion to communicate with words.)

Natasha was drawing the cover of El Filibusterismo last night, for her presentation in Filipino. She's a gifter artist, and we just helped her along when my cousins let her join an art class one summer in Manila. After that, she was painting in watercolor, and oils; smudging craypas and making wonders with the crayons. Her favorite Ninang Janinna gave them a huge crayola set, which the kids loved to use.

Ulrick on the other hand, told me he wanted to play basketball. Well, I said that would be wonderful. I'd be a stage mother and go to Araneta Coliseum to watch my son play. That's my role - to fan the flames of excitement and help my children achieve their dreams.

That brings to mind my own dreams. What did I want to be when I grew up? Well, my fervent wish then, even now, was to travel. After island hopping in the Philippines, I realize how blessed we are as a nation and how wonderful it is to be here. I know most people have greater dreams. My only desire now is to please the Lord in all areas of my life. It's not that I have stopped dreaming. I have learned to be content in all situations, whether in want or in plenty - the best way to live is to praise and thank God in all situations!

It's March 9, 2007 and I am still in Iloilo after 20 years. My parents moved here because the College of Fisheries was transferred in Miagao in 1987. I remember telling my friends in High School every year that we were about to move to Iloilo. The dreaded day arrived when I was in College. My dad had to leave ahead of us in 1986, just a few months after my graduation in High School. A year later, my brother joined him and my mom soon followed. Dad would visit me once a month, make sure I had enough money and ask how I was doing.

My brother James moved with them sometime in 1988 when he worked for the CIDA funded project in Batan, Aklan. I would go to Iloilo once every end of the semester and just for two weeks at a time. I hated the place. We were isolated from friends and relatives and I had nothing productive to do. Besides, I loved going out at night and staying up late with friends.

We stayed in Dulonan, Villa for a year before moving in Miagao for good. My dad told me they also had to stay in Molo for a few months before transferring to Villa. I remember the house in Dulonan, I still see it when I go to the city; I even remember the "wishing well" at the back of the house. It's a good thing the movie "The Ring" was not yet made during those days. I would have been afraid to go to the well.

My first two years in College were at the College of Business - I was in the BS BAA program. A quota course for highly quilified "would be" Accountants. How I managed to pass the course in the first place, I shall never know. I only know that life in UP Diliman is hard, especially in CBA, which is even impossible to cope with, unless you spend most if not all your vacant period in the Library. Oh, I tried asking for help, but the people whom I asked for help were not from UP, naturally, they did not know any better. hehehe.

On my second year, I decided to wisen up and applied in the College of Mass Communication, in the BA Broadcast Communication Program. I enjoyed it immensely. Not only was I not using my brains too much, but it was more like playing and having fun most of the time. We went on taping with Mario J. de los Reyes, write and produce scripts for drama and commercials and so many other things!

I remember we even made a horror movie in the "forest" of La Vista. It was a joyous adventure. In fact, I almost made it to the Dean's list, except that my teacher, Luchi Cruz Valdez gave me an INC when I actually passed all her requirements. So much for my dream of making it to the Dean's list. Well, I got good grades in CMC. I think I even graduated with a 1.9 average, as opposed to my three (3) failing marks in the BSBAa program (Calculus, BA 99.1 and Stat 101). Blame it on my absences. I was getting tipsy earlier than my class.

It's funny how teenagers view heartache. It seems as if the whole world is crumbling and nothing else matters. I was not exempted from such infatuation. I was "in love" with my partner in Comm 3. We had lunch several times, he teased me often, even invited me to join the confraternity, that's even why I even joined the Sorority in the first place. I know it's so silly. And just to spite him, I said yes to one of the "haciendas" (brods, whom the sisses greatly admire for their looks and their intelligence or charm). I chose the most coveted and the highly priced, who really, truly loved me. (or so he declared) Anyway, that didn't work out. It only lasted four days since I wasn't really serious about the relationship. Except that my high school boyfriend was across the Tambayan - he was in the rival fraternity and the brods were not very fond of the idea.

So much for wanting to prove I did not love my partner in Comm 3 too much. It boomeranged on me. Naturally he became friends with my "ex" and the rule is, I'm no longer available...

I quit the sorority - or at least I tried to quit when my next relationship came. It was not because I was in love, in fact, I know it was not even because I really liked him. It was more because I said he would be the last and that was it...

Have you ever promised something and breaking it would mean turning your back on who you are and what you believe in? I did not want to back out on my word. And even if one guy who truly cared for me stood by me all those years - more than a year of courtship and over five years of friendship, I still chose the other. Call it a twist of fate. I was young, impulsive and knew nothing better. I just wanted escape - from ever going back to Iloilo. I thought it was my way out... I've always wanted to run away from home. I was 7 when I first attempted to leave.

The relationship was not all that bad. There were moments of fleeting bliss, feeling loved and loving. My world revolved around the father of my children. He was like the Sun, and I drew my strength and breath upon him. He was all that I needed and that was how I felt. It meant death to be apart and yet it turned to be one hell after another. There were other women, but it was the first one that truly hurt. The betrayal was just too painful to even remember. Now, I have no regrets. It's just as well. I don't hate him. I know he loved me and the children. He just couldn't handle the pressure and the responsibility. I asked him to leave. Not without a fight, but he did concede and never bothered us again.

In time I know his path and mine will cross again, if not the kids' and his. I know also that I have to let the children know he loved them even if he did not show up. They are still vitally linked by blood and heritage and I know that whatever my children will be they would eventually want to know where they have been.

I used to be so afraid about meeting him in the streets. I remember hailing a taxi from the hospital because I thought I saw him just across the street.

Out mutual friend and I never got along after the breakup. He was his best friend and I thought mine too. He simply felt I should have tried harder or at least given him another chance. It was more than five years of hell. I know the wounds and memories are healed. Only by God's grace.

After twenty years, what can I say? My "ex" who was a "brod" tried to win me back and for three months of insanity, I was entangled in a web of deceit and revenge. He wanted to have his sweet revenge for being rejected. He wanted to prove that I was wrong to have jilted him. He wanted to show me what I missed for choosing someone else over him. He thought I married Wilfredo so he also got married. I am glad I was taken out of the mess. Indeed, only by God's amazing grace.

It doesn't end there. I still have momentary death wishes. At times I feel I have lived too long as it is. Only that I know I am still useful, that's why I continue to trudge on and hope for the best. My life is an open book. People can easily see through me. I no longer hide from my past or even deny what I have been and what have transpired. My life is a living proof of God's mercy and love.