‘Wildflower’ and 200 articles after

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“The interest in encouraging freedom of expression in a democratic
society outweighs any theoretical but unproven benefit of censorship.”
― John Paul Stevens

In the 70’s, which was full of thrill, I grew up with the sounds of ‘Wildflower’ over transistor radios, a song that became my daily anthem.  Other than its sentimental and catchy lyrics, the title had me thinking no end.  Perhaps, if I grew up elsewhere and not at the heart of a vast mountain range then I couldn’t possibly relate to its title.

Wildflowers grew abundantly at that back of our bunkhouse; numerous of them and colorful; red, white, violet; some small, others, as tiny as rosary beads and the larger ones were up in the trees, attached to trunks and branches of mahoganies. I could see them spreading at both sides of the road, along with green and wet moss on the walls of mountains, free as beetles flying at night and hovering on amber lights of electric posts. They were decors on edges of stone steps and rock staircases.

While they’re free, wildflowers were never the choice that adorned the center table in our home. They were never hung on the breasts of loved ones, neither were they carried the value of roses as gifts to someone special.  The stars were the crispy tiny sunflowers that were used to hang on children’s neck on graduation day.  I didn’t like sunflowers.  They were noisy and irritating like plastic cups being squeezed, and itchy too, giving me blisters around my neck.

My list of 70′s songs was endless that influenced my appreciation of music like ‘Terminal’, and ‘You’re my Everything’, but ‘Wildflower’ had such an after-effect like after a drink of ‘tapoy’ – a popular rice wine in the mountains of the Ifugaos.

The endless melody of ‘Wildflower’ by Color Me Badd reverberates inside my 10×15 feet room as if the occupant is deaf, which is incidentally only me, and every lyric I needed to absorb.  Like before, I’d love to play it loudly and soften it when I’m about to tap on words that were hard to come by, like this moment for my 200th article.

(With great thanks to WordPress for giving everyone the freedom to express ideas, opinions and hidden experiences – uncensored, raw and honest.)

 

Is life in black and white?

Every man dies. Not every man really lives.
-William Wallace 

After walking my dog one early morning and had just barely a minute of rest my two year old nephew gingerly walked to me holding his pair of rubber shoes.  I knew what he wanted, as he came forward and pointing his fingers toward the door.  He might have heard Abby and me scampered in the stairs.

I said, ‘You eat muna, ha. We can’t go to the street with your empty stomach.’

But I saw his mouth skewed so I obliged to what this little creature had wanted.

‘Ok we will go.’ I said putting down aside the Sunday newspaper I was reading.

I wondered what really was in the eyes of this child.  We crossed the street and at the side we stopped and watched the cars and jeepneys, the trucks, and a handful of people passing through that early morning.

He pointed at them one by one, mumbled softly and then he looked at me.

‘Yes, cars, you want to ride in there?’

He didn’t answer and turned his face back to the passing vehicles.  I stooped to bring my eyes levelled to his. ‘We will pay if we ride. We’ll just stay here ha. C’mon, eat na your food, and beside your Tito is tired na.’

I watched with this little boy the passing scenes of moving objects for a moment.

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Perhaps the little boy was wondering that his toy cars were the realizations of the hard metals that moved swiftly in front of us.

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In the eyes of this child, would he be seeing life in color or black and white?

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Life is really passing through.  While some would not even care the value of life, we stood there for a while and let the passing of  life to the next.

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The little boy, unmindful of the hearse that passed, still have to understand the full meaning of life. He’s just starting while others have gone ahead.

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Always Zambales

Sta. Cruz is always a moving experience like what I had back two years ago…like following the love of your dreams.

 

There’s always a hundred ways and one to appreciate the rustic beauty of Zambales. One need not go as far away as Olongapo because Sta. Cruz has in its own a wealth of scenery, lovely close up images and unique panoramic experience.

This lovely bunch of flowers, untouched and blossoming at the side of the St. Michael church has given me a lift in the early morning I arrived in Sta. Cruz. 

A couple of local folks dropped by to say their prayers in front of St. Michael’s statue.

 

The main gate of the St. Michael church couldn’t be seen at the side of the road. One should find his/her way at the sides of the church, or at the back where the Sta. Cruz Academy is. That’s where the main gate to the church is.

How ironic life is. I had spent almost half of my life in Sta. Cruz, specifically living in its sitio, but only now that I have come to realize the value of its solemn beauty.

The church’s walls are sturdy like the town’s colorful history.  Sta. Cruz is one of the first municipalities of Zambales that was founded by the Spaniards in 1612.

Two years ago I came rushing in into this town after being away for over twenty years, trying to catch up with a group of former classmates and friends, meeting some of them for the first time, and getting to know most of them, some of them familiar by names, but coming back to Sta. Cruz is always a moving experience like what I had back two years ago…like following the love of your dreams.

 

Liza’s Place

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One late afternoon after a heavy downpour that drenched the mines I was caught up with a couple of boys in the grandstand below the gymnasium.  If it wasn’t for the untimely rain that poured on a Saturday in mid November I should have been home and sleeping soundly at the attic until early evening.

The softball game which was scheduled to be played by Section 3 and 4, the usual protagonists, was called off.  The players had gone home, the crowd had dissipated and we were left waiting for the rain to stop while telling jokes and talking about the new movie ‘Jaws’ that we saw the night before at the gymnasium.

Nevertheless, when there was no hope as to when the rain would stop an angelic-looking girl caught our attention. And, like most boys at age 14 would have experienced, I was fascinated instantly.  She was walking slowly down from the curve of the road in front of the gymnasium towards the commissary store and avoiding the slippery rocks and muddy soil so she won’t slip.

I believed she was new in the mines as I hadn’t seen her before.  She could be a fairy from the woods and loitered around the camp, we thought.

‘She must be Liza,’ the other boy said.

‘…the niece of the elementary teacher,’ the next boy had seconded.

As usual I was the only boy in the mines who’s always behind with good news.

She was tall, skinny, fair complexion.  Since then I had been bothered by that look every time I stepped out of home for school, to meet up with friends in the gym or beside the market road, hoping for a chance to meet her.

But she was a rare kind of girl, like a real fairy that disappeared untimely.  And to look around for Liza was like finding the rare kind of chrome ore even with a miner’s lamp attached to my head.

Liza’s place located at the farther row of cabins in Capatazes had been deserted now.  There used to a wide road leading to her place and flowering plants grew abundantly in front of the cabins.  Yet, I couldn’t distinguish between what delineated the woods and the houses as wild flora and trees’ elongated branches had covered the grounds.

Then, as the jeepney honked to move away again in front of an old cabin we bid goodbye to a woman resident after unloading her boxes of goods that were brought in from the town market.  The old cabin’s brick wall was still intact but fading.  Its door was made of wood which was as old as the cabin itself.  I could feel the bricks as cool like still air than they were used to, warm and inviting.

The sun’s orange rays had slightly peered through the trees, and soon, the darkness.  In a matter of minutes we will be at a friend’s home, and it’s time yet to look for Liza.

 

Little things

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When I reached home midnight the other night I realised when I made a call that I lost my joystick.  It must have fallen inside the bus when I pulled it off from the new CP holder that I bought. Now, my worry is where to find a similar joystick for my Xperia that costs more than the CP holder.

I experienced the same situation in the past where I almost came to tears because I couldn’t see the battery of my newly bought Xperia that came with the package.  Perhaps to my excitement it could have mixed up with the rubbish or in the pile of garbage outside the house.

I’m the most organised person (as far as I know of) but these little things are what make me go haywire when I lost or misplaced them.  They are like bee stings that cause the most prolonged agony than the bigger things when they are gone, and, they stick to the memory more than anything else.

As far back when there was no cellphone yet and the means of communication then was the snail mail, I learned the most valuable lesson of not minding the little details.  And as a result, it paid the huge repercussion to me up to now because of the detail that I missed to include.  I failed to write a dash and a letter before the name of the street address of my addressee and it was a blunder that had cost a great the relationship to collapse.

Now, if you ask me what would I remember most between two important things – a new Guess wristwatch or a first kiss on a Valentine’s Day?

My answer is, it depends, yet to me – the one that weighs the greater would surely leave a long lasting impact.

 

Linger

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We were the few that stayed for a while inside the venue of this year’s Christmas party. It was still past 3 in the afternoon but a lot of the attendees had gone home, perhaps others had retreated to their chosen venues to continue the revelry with their close friends.

The gym’s janitor had started sweeping the cemented floor and bleachers, picking up garbage bags and rubbish that were strewn about.  At the far corner of the gym, the caterer was fixing up while, we, at the other side of the gym, the four of us, sat side-by- side together in the bleacher.

The plastic cup of Danny was slowly emptied of rum, and while I, Val, and William,  just waited in case another interesting topic would come about. Paused, sipped and sighed and it seemed everyone had had enough of the day, talked a bit and decided when nothing more left to say to get the conversations going, time to pack up.  Then, one last gulp, tapped on shoulders, and proceeded to the gate toward the murky ground of the park outside the gym.

Five hours ago the City High gym, a reminiscent of the Acoje gym over three centuries ago, was filled with sounds of gongs and laughter, and echoes of children running around, patched with colorful tee-shirts and marked with school batch,  smell of tasty meats and home-made cakes, now ghost-like.  Everyone was thinking differently after. The gym, turned icy cold like the weather outside, foggy, wet after a rain the day before, stood like worn-out host.

And a Christmas party had just ended. Not much fun for middle age man like me, simple show like getting-to-know-you, missing-you and brief greeting like hi’s and hello’s, yet a simple celebration to remember by for days to come. And hopefully, until next year, when different faces would come, expecting to meet, to hug and kiss.

 

Something to give someone this Christmas

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It is always the simple things that change our lives. And these things never happen when you are looking for them to happen. Life will reveal answers at the pace life wishes to do so. You feel like running, but life is on a stroll. This is how God does things.  – Donald Miller

I remember very clearly it was one past midnight I was going down the attic when I almost stepped on five pieces of orange candies on the stairs.  At the foot of the stairs were my father and mother who apparently had been waiting for me to go down.  They knew I was coming because they heard my little footsteps on the attic’s floor. As I picked up the candies one by one, putting some on my pocket and opening one straight to my mouth I noticed that my parents looked somewhat amused.  I reckoned I’d said thank you to my parents, and their response was Santa left the candies.

That moment is still vivid to me: the smile of my father, and my mother’s amused face as she clasped her two arms, and waiting how their baby boy reacted. It was the most heart-warming expression of love I’ve ever known.

It’s Christmas season and a time for giving.  It’s the time to give someone something you truly mean to give and be remembered throughout the year.  It may not be expensive but something that would give meaning to the spirit of Christmas, and above all the gift is something that represents you, the giver.

The five orange candies that my parents gave to me one Christmas time has instilled in me up to now the appreciation of simple things.  I also learned how to pay back something no matter how small, or grand as long as I can afford it.  I may not be the best person that I could be but I make it a point to redeem myself at the most opportune time to appease someone I hurt, whether in thoughts or a slight slip of my tongue.

Who knows? Any time this season the best Christmas gift will come our way from the most unexpected person.

 

How to entertain

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I’m certain that most ‘karubas’ are good hosts but I myself isn’t certain whether I passed as one or not.  Karubas are good neighbors, they don’t care what you have in the table so long as everyone enjoys.  No time to be shy, otherwise you’ll go hungry.

So, it was my turn to become the host.

This was put to a test a day before the Acoje Christmas party where I frantically had to turn my room upside down in view of my hesitant visitors – my three sisters.

‘We’re on our way, were at Sison now.’

Now what, tell me that again, I said to myself.

Goodness, my room was as untidy as ever:  it smell of rotten socks, no large mirrors where they could admire their faces or long curly hairs, no tissues in my bathroom and no extra shampoos in case they’d forgotten to bring their own, and one thing more – I had no chocolates and biscuits on my jars.

‘I hate surprises, you know.’

‘But why,’

‘Well, I’m a very organized person and I want everything planned in advanced.’

‘So, why don’t you be so flexible then? They’re your sisters anyway.’

‘I know, I love them and I miss them. Or else I won’t be their little baby boy.’

‘Are you?’

‘I guess so. I remember, my eldest sister Tessie used to carry me when I was very little.’

‘That’s great.’

‘And my sister Mila, the one whose tears flow like faucet every time she’d learned I don’t feel well. That’s something don’t you think?’

‘True, she’s amazing. What about the other?’

‘Well she’s there when I felt down, giving me allowance back in my college days. And she pinched really hard right at my thigh.’

‘She did that to you (laugh)’

‘Yes I was sixteen then and came home late coz’ of a girl’

‘Lover boy! That’s inconsiderate of you then ha. Still young and having a good time.’

‘I know,’

‘So what now?’

‘Two mats, a bunch of soap, tissues, butter toffees, and grapes for them, and something for father when they go back home.’

‘Lots of goodies?’

‘Yup, credit to me.’

‘Fool!’

‘And one more, could you hand me that one please – that one!’

‘Country scent!’

‘Yes! any question?’ angrily.  And leaving.

‘End of the month will you?’

‘Write it down.’

 

Five popular Christmas carols when I was a teenager, and why I like them

'Teens making Christmas lanterns (Baguio City High School, Philippines, December 2011)

Right click on the link and open a new window, then listen to the carol.

1. Give Love on Christmas Day. This popular Jackson Five hit Christmas song was first released as a single in the Philippines in the 1970s.

I just entered my first grade when this song became popular, but it was until my fifth grade that I learned to sing the song. The song had given me clearer meaning to the words ‘love’ and ‘give’  – that there was no discrimination in giving gifts to people, rich or poor.  Everyone was singing it in the neighborhood including my vivid recollection of a girl who sung the song with so much feeling with her untuned guitar.

2. Feliz Navidad.  Like ‘Give Love on Christmas Day’, this song was written in 1970 by singer-songwriter Jose Feliciano, and, too, became classic in the Philippines, Canada, United State and throughout the Spanish-speaking world.

We used to go around at night and carol the neighborhood, and our night wouldn’t be complete without singing this song. While we twisted our tongues singing the song we never minded at all if it was correct or not. We just kept on singing it like ‘posporo anyoy telisidad.’

3. Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire).  Carpenters popularized it in 1978, but several artists had recorded this song earlier including Nat King Cole Trio in 1946.

Why I liked this one when I was a teenager? For the main reason – I wondered what chestnuts were.  I grew up in an impoverish community where the only nuts that I knew were peanuts, the common peanuts that street vendors sold during fiestas and night movies.

Since then, I wished that someday I‘d be able to see what chestnuts looked like.  More than ten years after, I tasted my first chestnuts.

4. Twelve Days of Christmas.  Bing Crosby performed the song, although textual evidence indicated it was French in origin and first published in England in 1780.

While children do memorize songs as if they’re eating ice cream this song was a bit harsh to me.  In the first place, I was thinking then if I can afford a gift everyday to give to someone.  I learned this too when I was in grade five and my classmates were panting singing it that our music teacher was hysterical listening to jumbled lyrics.

5. Merry Christmas Darling.  The song was written by Richard Carpenter and Frank Pooler and originally recorded in 1970.  It was the number one song in Billboard’s Christmas singles chart and did it again in 1971 and 1973.

There were no emails then. What we had, like guys of my age would know, were the common mails and cards that we sent to loved ones during special occasions like Christmas.  And I remember it took me days to get a reply if my loved one ever had received what I sent.  The joy of anticipation and wishing that you’d be with someone you love on Christmas Day was the message of this song.

What other Christmas carols do you remember in your teen days?

 

Del’s place: Silhouette

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To get into Del’s place we had to cross the road in front of the Construction Department, navigate a footpath at the side of the road down to the foot of the cliff, and finally cross a narrow bridge. The footpath had been there long time ago, a short cut used by miners to save time in reporting to work. It turned out to be a convenient route for residents of Sections 1 and 2 as well, rather than took the longer path via the curve beside the police head quarters. Children would rather use this footpath in coming to school which was more accessible, fun, and risky too.

The footpath was formed into an enormous landfill of sand and soil, and with its whitish surface young boys’ fantasies were stirred and turned the place into a playground where they could slide from the top of the cliff and down to the base.

I, and the two Neptune boys had just passed the footpath, and I trembled like a kitten up in the tree because at times my feet would sink as if I was being engulfed in a vortex of sand. And hearing the whizzing stream flowing at the base of the cliff I thought of going back home. But, I had to climb back a fifty-foot cliff behind me, alone. It was a real creep, and my baptismal of fear wasn’t over yet.

It was my first time to climb the rock staircases of Section 2 one evening in my junior days in high school. The ascending alley to the left of the bunkhouses was badly lit, and that night, I was groping on something to hold on to.

The only objects that I could visibly see as we passed by were the posts of the bunkhouses measuring about three-arm length that were some meters away from me. I couldn’t hold on to them for sure, so, as I stepped on my foot I touched on the steps as well to keep my balance intact.

If there were other paths that were easier to take and a bit illuminated to pass by we could have used it. I wasn’t even aware of which bunkhouse to go to but we’d passed by two bunkhouses and we’re still climbing the dreaded rock staircases in an untimely hour of the night. I feared that anytime I could be shoved real hard by an intoxicated fellow and see myself rolling down like a lanky mahogany log.

I’d been following the profile of the two Neptune boys, their bodies sometimes obscured by the lack of lights. They were used to frequent this place and they climbed and stepped on the steps as if they’re sauntering at the main road. Probably they were like the young boys. Perhaps they grew up too like them sliding down the cliff at the side of the road with their improvised sliding platforms, and yelling at the top of their voices, enticing me to join them.

We finally stopped in front of a half-lit bunkhouse. It was silent, and the dogs begun to bark.

It was fun I guessed playing in the white sparkling sand. And I could see that joy in the faces of the two teen boys, now singing Christmas carol under the floor of Del’s place. It had been that fast, the sliding daredevil young boys grown up into remarkable young teens, and I hadn’t yet enjoyed the fun of playing in the sand, and never was.

 

Take off your life this new year

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Do not run through life so fast that you forget not only where you have been, but also where you are going. Life is not a race, but a journey to be savored each step of the way.
-Neva Thorp

The past year, 2011, as we knew of had brought a lot of trials, sufferings and calamities from all fronts.  Even at Christmas time strong typhoons and floods wreaked havoc to countries who already had enough.  That’s why with the coming of the new year, it gives a new hope and something to look forward to especially for the afflicted.

As a Feng Shui expert said “It’s a good year to improve oneself, take calculated investment risks and to build wealth. The year 2012 holds much promise and may be a major transition in your life. Whether it turns out extremely good, or really bad, will depend on how you ride the mighty Water Dragon!

While Feng Shui is based on scientific means, one should not undermine the power of prayers and faith in the Almighty especially in this time of trials. When backed up by good actions toward other people, focus on goals and perseverance to achieve them, I’m certain that positive results could be gained in the end.

Below is a lovely poem which I believe could guide us all throughout the year:

Do not undermine your worth!

by comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different that each of us is special.

Do not set your goals by what other people deem important. Only you know what is best for you.

Do not take for granted the things closest to your heart. Cling to them as you would your life, for without them, life is meaningless.

Do not let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past nor for the future. By living your life one day at a time, you live all the days of your life.

Do not give up when you still have something to give. Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying. It is a fragile thread that binds us to each other.

Do not be afraid to encounter risks. It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave.

Do not shut love out of your life by saying it is impossible to find.
The quickest way to receive love is to give love; The fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly.

Do not dismiss your dreams. To be without dreams is to be without hope; To be without hope is to be without purpose.

Do not run through life so fast that you forget not only where you have been, but also where you are going. Life is not a race, but a journey to be savored each step of the way.
-Neva Thorp

 

Like feathers on a stormy day

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“People can be more forgiving than you can imagine. But you have to forgive yourself. Let go of what’s bitter and move on.” Bill Cosby

Christmas cards have all been sent.  Queso de bola and spaghetti have all been eaten; the fridge is back to its normal capacity – all but mineral bottles, empty racks, ice cubes, dried fish, and unfinished bottle of blue ice.

Christmas season really and all the way up to the New Year celebrations are both guilty events that make people do and experience the unexplainable.  Not to mention the extra calories that beers and hard drinks could bring into the system, the past holidays also brought a sense of glum feeling, a feeling like when someone dear has gone away after spending memorable moments together.

Those moments were hard to let go.  For several days, the memories still linger inside your senses. I really mean that when I said ‘senses’; sense of touch, smell and all other the senses we knew of since kindergarten.  Take the sense of touch for instance. I knew of people, who after having ‘a kiss and make up’ on a Christmas Day, had their days turned from gloomy to the brightest moments they never knew could happen.

We keep hearing words that human touch, the non-sexual kind of thing, regulates blood flows hence, an excellent therapeutic medicine than Panadol. I guess that makes sense.

It’s not yet too late though to catch up and begin to be nice again, is it?  For all we know time these days fly like feathers on a stormy day. We wake up one morning and we start hearing Christmas carols again.

 

On Silence

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Seldom do we come across a great book like One Hundred Words of Spiritual Benefit by H.H. Pope Shenouda III. Like the book entitled, ‘The Imitation of Christ’ which I began reading years back, but stopped due to my preoccupation with lots of texts that relate to career this book is worthwhile that I’ve read so far in years.

It was just lying in between sheets of foreign showbiz magazines when I found it. It’s bounded with crepe beige paper, and it’s almost the size of adult human palm. It’s a relatively simple manuscript but bearing loads of spiritually uplifting words that anyone would find valuable.

Every morning upon waking up, I would carefully pick a page and open it slowly. And it’s a good habit doing it when the mind is still fresh – as if the words you read would set the tone for the rest of the day. It’s a good companion book other than a novel, or how to’s.

One of several striking passages of the book, although the rests are as equally of the same importance, pertains to ‘exercises on silence.’ Let me share that to you.

Some Exercises on Silence

It is hard for whoever lives in our society to keep silent completely, but he can exercise silence by adopting the following:

1. Short concise answers. If a word or a phrase would suffice for an answer, there is no need to go into extended detail and lengthy explanation; one sentence is enough.
2. To cease talk on any subject. There are some subjects that are not of your concern, therefor do not speak about them, especially matters relating to secrets of others. Also abstain on talking on subjects, which are not your speciality, such as pure scientific or political matter that surpass your knowledge.
3. Keep away from faults of the tongue, such as condemnation, sneering, futile talk, chattering, worthless argument, words of anger and contempt, etc.
4. Avoid starting a conversation except for necessity. If somebody talk to you, answer him briefly; and if nobody talked to you, keep silent unless there is something, which necessitates you to speak, otherwise you might fall into certain mistake.

I found myself guilty at times on number 3, but not always. Perhaps due to the things that don’t go my way, or stresses of work why negative words and action are flying like ceramics banging and breaking on walls. We can change, can’t we?