Japanese boy teaches lesson in sacrifice

I stumbled upon this piece that was published in a Daily. And my heart was shattered to pieces - for I do not know any 9 year old kid who can be as unselfish as this boy has been. After the tragedy, I can finally fully understand why Japan is one of the most progressive countries in the world. Its people, however young, knew what it means to carry their load to help their country move forward. 

That is culture.

***

Brother,

How are you and your family? These last few days, everything was in chaos. When I close my eyes, I see dead bodies. When I open my eyes, I also see dead bodies.

Each one of us must work 20 hours a day, yet I wish there were 48 hours in the day, so that we could continue helping and rescuing folks.

We are without water and electricity, and food rations are near zero. We barely manage to move refugees before there are new orders to move them elsewhere.

I am currently in Fukushima, about 25 kilometers away from the nuclear power plant. I have so much to tell you that if I could write it all down, it would surely turn into a novel about human relationships and behaviors during times of crisis.

People here remain calm - their sense of dignity and proper behavior are very good - so things aren't as bad as they could be. But given another week, I can't guarantee that things won't get to a point where we can no longer provide proper protection and order.

They are humans after all, and when hunger and thirst override dignity, well, they will do whatever they have to do. The government is trying to provide supplies by air, bringing in food and medicine, but it's like dropping a little salt into the ocean.

Brother, there was a really moving incident. It involves a little Japanese boy who taught an adult like me a lesson on how to behave like a human being.

Last night, I was sent to a little grammar school to help a charity organization distribute food to the refugees. It was a long line that snaked this way and that and I saw a little boy around 9 years old. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

It was getting very cold and the boy was at the very end of the line. I was worried that by the time his turn came there wouldn't be any food left. So I spoke to him. He said he was at school when the earthquake happened. His father worked nearby and was driving to the school. The boy was on the third floor balcony when he saw the tsunami sweep his father's car away.

I asked him about his mother. He said his house is right by the beach and that his mother and little sister probably didn't make it. He turned his head and wiped his tears when I asked about his relatives.

The boy was shivering so I took off my police jacket and put it on him. That's when my bag of food ration fell out. I picked it up and gave it to him. "When it comes to your turn, they might run out of food. So here's my portion. I already ate. Why don't you eat it?"

The boy took my food and bowed. I thought he would eat it right away, but he didn't. He took the bag of food, went up to where the line ended and put it where all the food was waiting to be distributed.

I was shocked. I asked him why he didn't eat it and instead added it to the food pile. He answered: "Because I see a lot more people hungrier than I am. If I put it there, then they will distribute the food equally."

When I heard that I turned away so that people wouldn't see me cry.

A society that can produce a 9-year-old who understands the concept of sacrifice for the greater good must be a great society, a great people.

Well, a few lines to send you and your family my warm wishes. The hours of my shift have begun again.

Ha Minh Thanh

Hand waving

Happy birthday to my fave granny in the whole wide world, Iya! 

Here's to a longer and healthy life. I love you! 

Fight!

 

Who honors those we love for the very life we live.
Who sends monsters to kill us and at the same time sings that we'll ever die
Who teaches us what's real and how to laugh advice
Who decides why we live and what we'll die to defend
Who chains us and who holds the key that can set us free
It's you.
You have all the weapons you need,
Now fight!

- Sweet Pea

 

 

Am I happy?

"I am not happy!"

These were my former office mates’ famous words. For whatever reason why she's not happy, I still couldn’t quite decipher.

Her complaints lingered to me still, like a bad dream that I couldn’t shake off myself. And such complaints still sound alarming to me, gave me enough reason to check myself and current state. At 27, I have had my own share of troubles not quite pretty "normal" for people my age (or at least those that I know). Closest friends can testify that I have been such a drama queen, I can parade all my rants  and it'll take a while - bottom line is, I have become a better version me because of all the troubles I went through. Whether I am bound to be someone great or not, I have chosen not to use my troubles as an excuse not to strive to be better.

Over the years, I have learned to accept the fact that things will never work the way I want them to. I mean, no matter how hard I plan for things to be right, at some point they turn left.

I am not perfect and I no longer expect others to move the world for me -such a bitter pill to swallow  but somehow, my old and can be harsh but well meaning few friends made me realize that I cannot be an idealist with certain illusions in my head. I have toned down.

I still aim for the stars, if that fails - I can still reach for the clouds.

I may not have everything (who has everything anyway?), but I am happy with where I am now - being married to a great and wonderful man, a corporate life that keeps me both sane and insane at the same time, set of really good friends and a good foundation of love that my family can give. 

Life is not just about being happy, I believe it is about being great and making sacrifices not for us but for the next.

Am I happy? I asked myself over and over as I picture the faces of all my earthly angels whom I endeared the most. Imagine the silly grin on my face when I heard myself almost murmuring, "yes, I am."

Thinking out loud

Maybe, ours is a nation who is just so used to seeing crooks get off the hook and walk away as if nothing happened. That's why we get chills in our spine and shake our heads in disbelief when other nation would punish those who couldn't follow their law.

 

 

Wife

A wife of noble character who can find?

She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her

and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm,

all the days of her life.

She selects wool and flax

and works with eager hands.

She is like the merchant ships,

bringing her food from afar.

She gets up while it is still dark;

she provides food for her family

and portions for her servant girls.

She considers a field and buys it;

out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.

She sets about her work vigorously;

her arms are strong for her tasks.

She sees that her trading is profitable,

and her lamp does not go out at night.

In her hand she holds the distaff

and grasps the spindle with her fingers.

She opens her arms to the poor

and extends her hands to the needy.

When it snows, she has no fear for her household;

for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

She makes coverings for her bed;

she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

Her husband is respected at the city gate,

where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.

She makes linen garments and sells them,

and supplies the merchants with sashes.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;

she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,

and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household

and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;

her husband also, and he praises her:

“Many women do noble things,

but you surpass them all.”

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;

but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Give her the reward she has earned,

and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

- Proverbs 31:10-31

Stephen said

"While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Then he fell on his knees and cried out, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them." When he had said this, he fell asleep."

Acts 7: 59-60

When Crick clicked

 

 

 Will Ferrell was  never in my top movie actor list but when he plated Harold Crick in Stranger than Fiction, he leveled up a notch and became exceptional in my eyes. This is, at least to me, his best film I've ever seen.

When 2007 kicked off, we were bombarded by all these "must see" movies and Stranger than Fiction is not in that list - at least not in mine. I think it kinda surprised my beau that I was so nudging him that we catch this movie. It delighted him that I did.

The story revolves around Harold Crick, who is so damn good at what he does as an IRS agent. To me, he was like a walking calculator but other people in the story coined him as a taxman and they hated him. I already sensed certain OC-ness when he counts the minor details of his everyday life - like his toothbrush strokes, steps and how his life seems to depend so much on his wristwatch. I am OC too, you know. Though I don't count things the way he did, I almost always pay attention to the minor details in my everyday life. From the windows and doors of my room, the way I wipe my desk to how I want my shoes to sound like as I strut.

All this routine and stuff seemed normal for Harold until he starts to hear a woman's voice narrating a story... of his life. This woman turns out to be Karen, a novelist who is writing a story about Harold and is in the know on how she could kill her story's character. Harold went nuts when he heard the narrator say, "Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death".

He sets out on a journey meeting people who can help him prevent his imminent death. He consulted a psychologist, I think, to help him with his woes. Then she advised him to see someone who is a literature geek to help him find out what kind of story he's in. This literature geek is Professor Jules Hilbert who served as his guide to figure out who the author of this book wherein Harold plays himself. I liked Professor Hilbert because at one point, he somewhat helped Harold better shape his questions or pointed him to the right directions. Brilliant.

It is here when Harold realized the little gems in his life - that people matters as well aside from his routine and wristwatch. He kind of fell in love to his "auditee", Ana Pascal who owns a bakery and challenged Harold so much that she made sure that his day will end up terribly. The moment Ana teaches Harold the kind of happiness that cookies and a glass of milk can bring is something that is so etched in me. Priceless.

I loved this movie to the last drop.

This is a moral tale about how we're connected to others, death and the strong ties between the writer, character and the story. This is one of the very few movies who is so good and intelligent - thought provoking at that.

I like how Karen Eiffel said it, "A story about a man who's unaware that he's about to die. If he knows he is going to die and chooses to die anyway, isn't that the kind of man you want to keep alive?"

Silence

I used to write a lot.

This penchant to write down my thoughts started back when I was in 5^th grade. This habit to write only started after a quite terrible misunderstanding with my Mom.  I had no idea how to relieve myself from frustration so I screamed at the top of my lungs – so hard that no sound would ever come out off my mouth after that.

There were no sounds. Just tears streaming like it was the end of me.

Our household help at the time, Nana Pacing ran to my side for fear that something bad happened to me. She hurriedly checked my pulse, my arms, legs – every part of my body was scrutinized. It was as if, she was looking for clues to justify my painful scream. And she found nothing. No bruises, no scratches, no blood. Just a tearful and saddest version of my face she has ever seen.

No words came out from her either.  She just rendered me a warm hug to console my pained, little heart.

As soon as she realized that she can talk some sense to me, Nana Pacing handed me a black Pilot pen and a neat crosswise paper. She said that when I feel the need to relieve myself from any pain, I should write my thoughts down.

And ever since then, I have been writing. I have learned to put up a happy and brave face even when deep within me, I was screaming in pain. The only weapons I keep were my pen and notebooks. I refused to talk about my pain to anyone, but my diary. I harboured a lot of painful stuff inside me that will later affect my heart – literally.

And then 2004 came – I finally found my voice. I can finally talk about things that bother me without having to hide them from anyone. It was overwhelmingly relieving experience for me.  But something happened to me along the way and I shifted back to a past habit. I grew silent even when I am with people and my thoughts will do the talking for me. I refuse to entrust my innermost thoughts to anyone – not even to someone I will later marry.

Over time, I have realized that my thoughts – be it good or bad or plainly blahs, are my most treasured stuff. It cannot be taken away from me. And someone cannot just simply use it AGAINST me.

Sure, I still smile. I try to laugh more often. Look at the brighter side of things. Crack a joke or two. Say “hi” or break a smile when I bumped into an officemate, a classmate or someone I just plainly knew by face or otherwise. Show off my cheery self.

But you will never know what goes on inside my head the moment I grow silent.

One

Here's being one in prayers for Japan and its neighboring countries, including the Philippines. 

Apathy is

Its true -
The opposite of love is not hate;Apathy is. 

Note this -
You'd rather want me hating you;
Than hearing me say, "I don't care."

Sudden Rush

The past is a disaster
And the future is coming faster now.

What do you say -
Let's go and get a beer.

Glitter in the Air

Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it. Just trust it
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don’t care


It’s only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg
The sun before the burn
The thunder before lightning
And the breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?


Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
You’re whole life waiting on the ring to prove you’re not alone
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?


It’s only half past the point of oblivion
The hourglass on the table
The walk before the run
The breathe before the kiss
And the fear before the flames
Have you ever felt this way?

La La La La La La La La

There you are, sitting in the garden
Clutching my coffee,
Calling me sugar
You called me sugar


Have you ever wished for an endless night?
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight
Have you ever held your breathe and asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?
Tonight

Pakners: Bin and Kuting

He calls me "Kuting"; I call him "Bin". We sometimes call each other "Pakner" as in partner.

My friendship with Bin started in 1988 when I was 5 and collecting Matchbox is already becoming a habit almost impossible to knock into pieces (which explains why I have 183 Matchbox cars today). Bin was the only boy in our school service who has the same passion for collecting Matchbox, Transformers and GI Joe. I loved him for that.

Growing up, we had this secret place - that only him, his 2 cousins and me can enter (or so we all thought). I cried, laughed, tuned, wrote, drew and daydreamed there. That was the place we all lovingly called our H2 (as in Home 2). When we have these "fights" with our parents, H2 was the place to be.

We've been friends for 18 long years - more than half of my life. And like any other friendships/relationships, ours was never perfect but our own little world seemed like it is. When my boyfriend from college and I broke up, he was there by my side even if all I wanted was some space to be alone. I was a complete wreck - bulging eyes and red nose. What can I say, I was brokenhearted. Bin forced me to get out of my room, get a warm shower, eat and drink lots of water "to compensate for all the buckets of tears you've shed". He forced me to face life again. He said that "Its a waste of time to cry over a cheater." I stopped crying after that.

Bin was the only man I know who values me like no other. Although we fought a good number of times and how much we can make each other's day miserable, he never called me names and has accepted me for all that I am and meant to be.

November 2006, I lost Bin to a warm-blooded hoodlum in Cubao where he parked his Dad's car (it is still a puzzle to me why he was using his Dad's car instead of his). The heartless hoodlum tried to getaway with the car but knowing Bin - he will always try not to give in to something beyond his principles. He was stabbed, which later on led to his demise. He was 25.

If Bin's still here, he'd be delighted to see Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles and Transformers on the big screen. I can imagine the smile on his face. Oh, I just know he'd be more than happy to see these! But he's all gone now and I am left daydreaming whatever keeps him busy up there.

***

Wrote this on November 2007.

Sudden flashes of my old friend Bin lingered, thus this post. 

Good 'Ol Days

I miss the good 'ol days.

I miss the days when things seem forever.

Those days when one writes long letters. I miss the feeling of expecting, of long waits for the mailman to serve his purpose, that excitement to read that much awaited letter and the "trouble" you go through as you answer that letter back.

Those days when things seem more formal, personal and appropriate. When you talk to the person in flesh and not through sms.

Those days when you arrange for a meet-up, make a conscious effort to be there on time and prioritizing this over a gazillion of things. No excuses, ifs and buts.

Those days when you do your research - you really research. Go library hopping and burn yourself with all those pile of books and that dreaded smell of photocopied materials. I just have to say this - unceasingly troubling both my parents to buy me books because I just badly need them that particular night.

Those days when you never miss that certain boost and energy you get from all those classroom interaction - of debates, panting and temporary madness.

Those days when you patiently wait for the disk jockey to play your favorite song and you go nuts when he did. Haha. I don't know to you but me and my old friends were like that back then - admit that or not.

Those days when you don't master multi-tasking and nobody cares. I can hear now my former music teacher telling us to - "Focus, girls. Focus!"

For some reason, I am beginning not to like technology. And for someone who studied technology for 4 years in college and with technology attached to my job description, I am really going nuts. I don't appreciate technology as much as I did when I wrote my first line of codes in C language.

One can absolutely argue that life is a lot easier with technology around but I ask you back, does it really?

I look at my siblings and my students, they all want things to be done easily and virtually. While its cool to "talk" online, I think its way a lot cooler if you can talk to that person face to face - no pretensions and not to mention the luxury of watching that person's body language and facial expressions.

Oh well.

It’s just me talking.

Uh-oh.

I am just getting older.