At a Crossroads

image from: https://www.pinterest.com/ashaela/crossroads/

I’m at a crossroads; and I’m searching my heart for answers, for directions.  It seems totally at a loss of what to do, of what to choose.

I have learned that I need to pray hard and examine all my motives, my pains, my goals – those that really matter.  I have been at this for sometime now.  The road ahead is still dark and my vision still unclear.

I am asking the universe for answers.  I am exploring the different possibilities.  I am considering the impending consequences.  Still no answer…

All I know is that there is a gnawing in my gut telling me I am getting far from the path of my happiness.  I feel lost.   Fulfillment is out of reach.  There is this sadness I can’t seem to fathom.

I have seen success as the world offers it and it does not give me enough joy to fill even my simple uncomplicated heart.  There is this ever-widening void deep within me, haunting me even in my sleep.  It tells me I am not doing what I came to do.  I am not where I should be.  I need to stop.  Look hard at where I’m going.  Choose a road to take – a road to follow for the rest of my life.

In my confusion I remember these lines from ― Brian Andreas’  “Traveling Light: Stories & Drawings for a Quiet Mind”.

“You may not remember the time you let me go first.
Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn’t that far to go.
Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up.
You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:

Today, no matter what it takes,
we ride home together.”

And then I thought of my children,  my dearest MJ and Mahalaleel.  I thought of my husband, always there, always patient with me.  Thoughts of a cozy loving home enveloped me, of quiet talks and laughter, of books and the smell of crisp lovely pages,  … Is this my cue?  Oh God,  help me decide.

I terribly miss blogging…

My head bursts with ideas and insights, my heart longs to sing its unheard songs, my fettered fingers itches to hold a pen and scribble away its cares…

To write or not to write…

Images continually flash across my inner vision like scenes from a film without an ending…They haunt me even in my sleep and most nights I lay awake, tired, spent, heavy-eyed yet awake.  

The images are more vivid now.  I can’t ignore them anymore.  They crave to be carved in a printed page.  Gaunt  filthy faces with  eyes that burn with rage against vicious mocking fate emerge out of the shadows demanding my attention. Unheard voices call to me to write their pleas… their lamentations.  And their silent cry has finally pierced my …

And now I have to make a choice.  To write or not to write…

 

To Meet a King

Sunday, January 26, 2014 – 9:00 a.m.

This date and time has been so marked in the family’s calendar.   What with the scouts in the house set to meet a king; and with scouts in the house I mean my husband, Marlon, and our two kids, MJ and Mahal.  Simply put that means, I will be the only one left out during this momentous occasion.  And the king these excited trio will meet is King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden.

Fast forward to the day and five hours before His Majesty’s plane lands in Tacloban City Airport…

The house was astir so early and everyone was in high spirits and though I felt left out, I was the most excited one of all – what with my kids meeting a king in person – a big story they can tell their children and grandchildren in the future.  They’ll serve as honorary guards in the reception line of H.M. King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden.  And the scouts were all up to the task ahead, uniforms crisp and clean, fresh from the plastic wrapping that saved them from Yolanda’s wrath, faces freshly scrubbed, hair well-combed… they were a sight to see – three scouts in parade dress… minus the shoes!  Why?  Shoes had to be cleaned again and again and again.

I found myself tasked with the tall order of making moldy and storm-surge-hardened black shoes shine to the max, that is if it was possible to make them shine.  These have been washed twice and wiped clean as well but when we took them out of the shoe rack they were moldy again.  So I applied all the strength, patience and  skill in shining three pairs of shoes that must gleam before the eyes of a king.

In God’s grace and mercy after an hour of toiling with brushes and shoe shine polish, there were three pairs of shoes gleaming and ready for inspection of a king.

And though I was left alone to attend to the one and million chores at home, I felt accomplished and happy as if I already met a king.

The Waray’s Invictus

Yolanda brought us to our knees, but our spirits remain undaunted…

For a while the Waray people were reeling from Yolanda’s unleashed devastating power.  We were besieged by fear, filled with pain, crushed by the loss of loved ones and friends, but we will rise from all these…

Many of us will find it hard to recover from our losses and the peace and security that Yolanda stole from us, but one thing is sure we will rise again.

Over the centuries the Filipinos have shown their resilience amidst slavery, oppression, war, and man-made and natural calamities.  Our ancestors have proven this time and again, now it is our turn to do the same.  And we will! The Visayans, specifically the Waray will show the world we are indeed resilient.

As Ernest Henley expressed in “Invictus”  “Amidst the bludgeonings of chance/My head is bloody but unbowed…” 

Literary Criticism

Literary Criticism

Found this great book while browsing the net…very helpful for literary criticism

Kritika 2012: Shaping the next generation of critics

by Michael Carlo C. Villas
Philippine Daily Inquirer

11:43 pm | Sunday, May 13th, 2012

http://lifestyle.inquirer.net/47967/kritika-2012-shaping-the-next-generation-of-critics

While browsing some papers on critical analysis of Philippine poetry I came across this particular article written by a former elementary pupil of mine, Michael Carlo Villas.  Am I proud?  Need you ask?