The Written World

Getting a Police Clearance

2011-11-25T20:07:00.002+08:00

Secured police clearance at the Quezon City Hall today. I thought I’d share the requirements and the process. For your guidance.

Requirements:
Photocopy of a valid ID that states your address
Barangay clearance (original and photocopy)
P150 [as of Nov, 2011]

Procedure
Give the photocopy of your ID or barangay clearance to the clerk at Window 1 and you will be given a form to fill out.

Fill out the form.

Proceed to Window 2 where you will be given a piece of paper.

Proceed to the cashier (back of Landbank). Show the piece of paper given to you at Window 2.

Have your finger prints taken.

Proceed to Window 5 where your picture will be taken.

Proceed to Window 6 for the releasing of your clearance.

Check out my other blogs:Brainteaser Photo.Graphic Thoughts Taeng ni Ayat

Good and Bad News Today

2008-12-07T23:56:00.000+08:00

I opened inquirer.net tonight to read some news after trying to squeeze my mind in vain for an article on multilingualism and the use of our mother tongue in education. I had hoped to come up with a really good article on the issue so I would finally be able to post something about it in Bilingual Pen. But after several hours in front of my PC, my computer screen still remained blank, so I decided to give up and go to bed instead. But not before clicking on the news website for some run down of today’s event, which I knew would revolve around Filipino boxer Manny Pacquiao’s win over his much bigger and more famous opponent, Oscar dela Hoya.

So there he was, Pacquiao dominating the site. But somewhere below the victorious images of Pacquaio was a relatively less prominent headline which, nonetheless, shocked me. It read: Actor Marky Cielo Dead. The news story said the promising young actor died in his sleep. He was only 20.

I am not into celebrities, but I know Cielo rose to fame when he became the ultimate survivor of the talent search StarStruck season 3. I had liked him from the start because he looked very Filipino (unlike the faces dominating our television with their Caucasian looks). Though he proved to be very talented, he remained the epitome of humility. And what’s more, he was a proud son of one of the country’s minority groups — the Igorots.

When he won the top prize in the search two or three or four years ago, I had harbored hopes in my heart that Marky would be able to help make our people realize that there is nothing wrong about being a part of a minority group; that with his help, the country’s minority groups will finally be given the recognition that they deserve. Indeed I feel sad that this young man, this young soul who had shown a lot of promise is gone.

Indeed, life is full of turns. And death comes like a thief in the night.

May he rest in peace.

Check out my other blogs:
Bilingual Pen
Bard and Brain
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

Made in China Toys

2008-10-06T22:28:00.002+08:00

With the current massive scare on China-made products, I wonder:

Is it safe to give to my nephews the toys I bought from Jollibee and McDonald's (through their Kiddie/Happy Meals)? The toys these fast food chains give out are made in China. So I am worried it might not be wise to give them to my nephews. What do you think?

I guess, my question is: Can we rely upon these companies (Jollibee and McDo) to ensure that the toys they give out are safe?

Check out my other blogs:
Bard and Brain
Bilingual Pen
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

OFW Phenomenon, Mail-order Brides, Prostitues, and More

2008-10-03T09:07:00.003+08:00

Domestic helpers. Mail-order brides. Exporters of human labor. Phony businessmen.
These are how people the world over have come to know us, Filipinos. And I can’t blame them. For though it’s not completely true that these are what constitute us as a people, it’s not completely false either.

A big chunk of our population — roughly ten percent — are Overseas Filipino Contract Workers (OFWs), many of whom are working abroad either as domestic helpers, construction or factory workers, or health workers. Our OFWs are our modern-day heroes, so they say, because they have saved the country’s economy many times over through their remittances. Without our OFWs, our economy would have long gone under.

And we do have mail-order brides — women who have become wives or girlfriends of foreign nationals through dating sites. I do not think this phenomenon is true only among Filipinos, or SouthEast Asian women for that matter, but our case seems to be out of proportion. Just type in the word “Filipina” in the search engine, and you’d see sites advertising Filipinas as if we were commodities. Being a Filipina, this situation affects me greatly, more so because I cannot claim that the conception that Filipinas are mail-order-brides is entirely false. Many Filipinas have actually taken the easy road to financial security — by marrying a foreign national they met only through the internet, and who they have never met before tying the knot, and someone they don’t — or at least, didn’t at first — love.

And so that’s what our women have come to be known — not just mail-order brides, but brides for sale.

When I was a sophomore student in the university, one of my professors, a tall, young, and light-skinned mestiza-looking woman once related to class one of her experiences in an Asian country during a get-to-know party among international scholars. A friend jokingly introduced her as a European, and everybody believed him. Then this friend introduced her as Chinese, and again, everyone believed him. Then Latin American. Again, everybody believed him. Until this professor told her friend to cut the game out, to tell everyone the truth: that she was a Filipina. So they did; but this time, no one believed them. They thought they were joking. No, it wasn’t because she didn’t look like a Filipina, but because they couldn’t believe there’s a Filipina who would be intelligent enough to be part of that group. They thought Filipinas were only either nannies or prostitutes.

Just recently, a friend of mine who works as a marketing assistant in Qatar told me that if only she had a job to come back to in the country, if she weren’t thinking about how difficult their financial situation back home was, she would have quitted her job. “It’s different here, Sis,” she told me. “They have very poor opinion about Filipinos. They would tell you face to face that Filipinos are stupid, and loose. It’s degrading. But you know what? Sometimes, you couldn’t blame them. There are really quite a number of Filipinas here who are… uhmm… misbehaving.”

There are many other related stories about discrimination and misconceptions about our country’s womenfolk; all disheartening. Though Mary’s sin is not necessarily Ann’s, their common denomination — nationality — make other nationals think they are the same. Logically speaking, this thinking is fallacious, but perception is not the domain of logic. Right or wrong, logical or not, this perception remains, and we shall be viewed through the lens of that perception, whether we like it or not.

We can’t blame other nationals for their misconceptions about us. We do have mail-order brides. We do have women who have become victims of the sex trade. We also have countrymen who have falsified their documents to gain entry to other countries. There are also those who do fishy business. We have women who would shamelessly ask (demand?) financial support from their foreign boyfriends. We have bar girls who do dirty tricks on their costumers. But still, I can’t help but wish that when others look at us as a people, they would look deeper than the skin color, beyond the one-word entry in the passport that reads Filipino. Because while it is true that a number of our people had made mistakes in the past, and are committing the same mistake now, it doesn’t mean we are all the same. We share many things, but every person’s actions reflect the choices he made alone, not the choices his comrades made, are making, or shall make.

That we export labor is a sad thing. But I don’t think it should make me hang my face in shame. And no matter how “lowly” the jobs Filipinos hold abroad, I don’t think we should be ashamed of them. OFWs have gone to work overseas to do the things their employers hate doing, or can’t do. They care for their employer’s elders. They fix their mess. These jobs, though seemingly lowly and menial, are respectable. They care for their employers’ children, while inside they are hurting… hurting that own their children back home whom they left long before they were old enough to memorize their parents’ faces, are left uncared for. And the OFWs wonder, and hope, and pray, that the money they send their kids would be enough to pay for their absences (though knowing full well they it won’t be), that the material comfort their remittances could buy their children would be enough to nurture them until they go back back home to care for them, never to leave them again.

There are thousands of OFW success stories, but for every thousand happy endings, is another thousand of wrecked home and children gone wild. Very sad, indeed. But sadder still is the fact that our government is doing nothing to solve the problem. Instead of creating jobs right at home, our government encourages its people to leave and find work abroad. And to send remittances back home.

Yes, we Filipinos are up for sale. And we’re a bargain. We have medical specialists who work as nurses abroad. Lawyers who work as hotel janitors. Professionals who work as nannies.
Ah, I wonder… I wonder what I’m worth in the international market. And what I’d be doing abroad had I, too, chose to leave.

//Sherma E. Benosa
03 August 2008

Check out my other blogs:
Bard and Brain
Bilingual Pen
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

Surrender

2008-09-14T19:29:00.003+08:00

You hold me
captive in your quiet
stares. Your arms
reaching out
though they are
still.

And as words
keep their silence,
I hear
your soul’s oration
and your heart’s
whispers.

I allow a tinge
of smile to
paint itself
on my lips.

The sun
is most
captivating
when in its softest
shades.

.

//Sherma E. Benosa
14 September 2008; 12:10pm

Check out my other blogs:

Bard and Brain
Bilingual Pen
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

The Face of Peace

2008-08-30T21:06:00.005+08:00

The voice of worry
Whispers
In the ears
Of my jaded soul’s
Fitful attempts
To rest my eyes
From the landscape
Of my broken dreams
In the forsaken sky
Of my busted wings;
Its discordant tune
Humming a boisterous
Music that knows
No melody;
Chanting lyrics
That cut through
The hope that resides
Within me.

I fumble for
The white handkerchief
To throw it
Into the arena
Of my struggles.

But then I get
A glimpse of you
Just lying in your cradle
And suddenly
My lips refuse
To pronounce the name
Of surrender.

You sigh softly,
Allowing me to hear
The rhythm
Of your heart,

Reminding me
The texture
Of the love
You brought
From up above.

The discordant
Music fades,
Now replaced
By the hymn
Of your praise.

I watch your face,
The rise and fall
Of your chest,
Not realizing
I’m being hypnotized
To allow myself
To be hugged
By the calmness
Of your peace.

I fold
The handkerchief
Of defeat
And put it back
To where I cannot
Get it.
I’ve no use
For it now;

My wings
Are fixed once again
To soar towards
The vast sky
Of life’s hurdles.

I bend over,
Allowing myself
To drink in
The softness
Of your sighs.

Then I whisper
Into your ears:
“Thank you, Manman,
For showing me
The face of peace.”

//Sherma E. Benosa
27 August 2008; 10:50am

Posted as a contribution to the Picture-inspired poem challenge at Bilingual Pen.

_____________
Check out my other blogs:
Bard and Brain
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

BrainTeaser has a New Home

2008-07-31T00:34:00.004+08:00

A dream come true for me: my own website... my self-hosted blog.

You are all invited to join me at the house warming of my very own blog: Bard and Brain over at Bilingual Pen.

See you there!

Check out my other blogs:
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

Tell Me Your Song

2008-07-09T14:36:00.011+08:00

I was not originally tagged to do it (I guess my friend Salve is tired of tagging me because I seldom do what I’ve been tagged to do, and on the only one occasion that I did a tag I even changed the rule and failed to tag someone else (rolling eye emoticon here). But, in fairness to ME, that was back when I still did not know I could get out of this little blog of mine and become friends with other bloggers (yeah, I was THAT slow). I thought, "who should I tag? I don't know of anyone who would play along!"

I guess I've changed because now, I can think of more than 10 friends who I can tag. I just don't know the rule as to how many I could tag, so I simply named two friends at the end.

Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn't asked to do this. I just stumbled upon it in one of Salve's friends' blog, which is also now my friend (yeah, I'm a friend grabber, hehehe). I loved the game so much, that I hinted at my new-found friend, Sonnet, that I want to do it. Mercifully, she got the not-so-subtle hint and she tagged me. (Wink emoticon here)

So here I am, doing a tagging game even if I was not asked, bullied, coerced, or forced to do it. But of course, like I usually do, I again broke some rules. But don't worry. I’ve been breaking some little rules for as long as I remember, and this one wouldn’t cause my banning in the blogosphere. I hope. (Another wink emoticon here.)

Here’s the rule: Answer the questions with song titles (your fave songs or songs that you like to play most of the time). No side comments please. Let the song titles explain your answer.

[The rule I broke: Not all the songs listed here my favorites. I researched some! Hehe! ]

1. How am I feeling today? Bluer than Blue by Regine Velasquez

2. Where/when will I get married? Quando, Quando, Quando by Engelbert Humperdinck

3. What is my best friend’s theme song? Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong and Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson

4. What is/was highschool like? Sana Maulit Muli by Regine Velasquez

5. What is the best thing about me? Honesty by Billy Joel

6. How is today going to be? Waiting by Mariah Carey

7. What is in store for this weekend? There’s a Kind of Hush by Karen Carpenter

8. What song describes my parents? Endless Love by Lionel Richie

9. How is my life going? Constant Change by Jose Mari Chan

10. What song will they play at my funeral? As I Lay Me Down To Sleep by Sophie B. Hawkins

11. How does the world see me? A Ray of Sunshine by George Michael

12. What do my friends really think of me? Wind Beneath my Wings by Bette Midler

13. Do people secretly lust after me? Maybe by Sheryn Regis

14. How can I make myself happy? The Voice Within by Christina Aguilera

15. What should I do with my life? Follow you Dream by Sheryn Regis

16. Will I ever have children? Little Girl by Christina Aguilera

17. What is some good advice? Tell Him by Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand

18. What does everyone else think of my current life? Isn’t it a Wonder? by Boyzone

19. What type of men/women do you like? Honesty by Billy Joel

20. Will you get married? I Do by 98 Degrees

21. Where will you live? The Town I Love so Well by Ronan Keating

22. What will your dying words be? Lift up your Hands to God by Gary Valenciano

Ok. I’m tagging Tam because she might think it’s fun and Salve because I know she's gonna do it! Hehehehehe!

_______________________________
Check out my other blogs:
Brainteaser
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

Lamentation of the Dream Un-Winged

2008-07-05T16:21:00.004+08:00

From a distance, Dream watched Man staring out his tiny window, a glass of liquor in his hand. Man was gazing unseeingly at the clouds almost completely concealing the rising moon, sadness hugging him tightly. The soft breeze was sighing, and the crickets were eerily quiet.

Dream’s heart went out to Man, despite himself. After all, they used to be inseparable, the best of friends. A tear threatened to fall down Dream’s cheeks, which he was quick to control. He was surprised to find that it was such an effort to fight off his tears.

“Ah, my friend,” Dream whispered through the air. “It saddens me to see that the bright light you once had has considerably dimmed. I would so much want to comfort you, if I could. But I need comforting, too. Because like you, I am also feeling wretched, for I failed to become what destiny designed me to be.”

Dream paused, feeling silly. He knew Man couldn’t hear him. But then, he thought he saw Man look in his direction, but maybe he didn’t.

After some time, Dream continued with his anguished whispering.

“I feel bad that you failed, because your failure is mine, too. But what can I do? I did everything to steer you in the right direction. I made myself your inspiration, your driving force. I always accompanied you in your youth; I used to sit by your side as you planned your moves back when you still thought that the future looked so bright. Wasn’t I the one who kept whispering in your ears to keep going whenever you were down? I held the torch for you every time you walked along dark alleys.

“We were such a team. We could have reached very far. Yes, I had no doubt about that, especially when you cloaked me with hope and armed yourself with potential. I thought we would soon take off. And I believe we would have made it, if only you didn’t back out at the last minute; if only you didn’t chain yourself and me to your fears.

“You should have let me spread my wings across the vast sky because I was meant to fly, to soar. I was meant to grow up and transform into reality. But you didn’t let me. Instead, you un-winged me. Look at me, look at me. Look and see how shattered I’ve become, with my wings now broken and useless." Then, losing his control, Dream let out his anguish, as rivers upon rivers of tears flowed down his cheeks.

In his tiny window, Man was pitying and cursing the weakling that he was, as sighs capped his frustration, and alcohol was drowning his mind.

Outside, there was still an eerie stillness. The wind was refusing to move, and the leaves were afraid to stir. The crickets had gone to sleep. The moon was still hidden behind the dark clouds, afraid to shine.

Then there was lightning, followed by a loud thunder. But Man was already too drunk to notice. He didn't know it was Dream howling.

[seb/20 June, 2008; 10:46pm]

Check out my other blogs:
Brainteaser
Photo.Graphic Thoughts
Taeng ni Ayat

Let’s Do a Van Gogh

2008-06-29T23:11:00.000+08:00

After Picasso head, Mandy has again discovered another thing that is sure to be a hit in the blogosphere. It’s called bomomo.

Like Mr. Picasso Head, this also lets non-artists to unleash their hidden creativity using lines and colors. Now, folks who cannot even differentiate an oil painting from a watercolor, like me, can become “painters” in the almost-real sense of the word.

I am very excited about this ‘discovery’ because I see a vast potential in it. I can now ‘paint’ images for my poems. You see, there are times when I wish I have pictures that go well with my poems. I do have good pictures, and I use them. But there are just some poems that cannot be accompanied just by any picture. I think, this interactive site solves my problem. I can just make abstract ‘paintings’ and presto! My layout is already perfect.

And what’s more, it’s also fun. I’ve tried it and I couldn’t stop. Hah! I suggest you try it. Better yet, do it with your kids. I’m sure they’ll love it!

What are you waiting for? Click HERE and begin unleashing your pent-up creativity!

Have fun...

[PS: The pictures here are my very first abstract ‘paintings.’ Don’t ask me what they mean, though. ;-) ]

Again, you are welcome to post your creations here. (Please do!)Just use the code below.

Simply upload your creations, then copy the URL. Using the code above, put the URL of your painting at the URL section (red font) and type in the words you want to appear in your link at the green part of the code.

Bannawag Fever

2008-06-23T23:03:00.000+08:00

Long time ago, when we were little kids, Bannawag was a mainstay at home. Dad used to buy Bannawag every week. He would read it first, followed by Mom. Then they would bring the magazine to Abinganan, and Amang would read it, then Inang, then aunts and uncles. It would be after all the elders had read it from cover to cover did it land on our hands.

But the Bannawag fever suddenly stopped sometime when we were already in college. In my case, it’s not because I lost interest in the magazine. The primary reason had been money. I was part-scholar, part self-supporting student; I didn’t have extra for luxury. And Bannawag then definitely fell under that category.

Then, when I graduated in college and found work and could already afford to buy copies of the magazine every week, it was hard to find stores that sold it. It was only late last year that a bookstore near my place started carrying Bannawag. But only lately did I start buying copies of the magazine almost regularly.

But now, I know I will be buying every week. I can no longer miss an issue. Nor do I want to. There are two things in the magazine that rekindled my love for it: Cles Rambaud’s Ti Bassit a Kumpay ni Patay and Jovi Amorin’s Bonete ti Kaibaan. These two are my and my Dungngo’s favorites.

The truth is, Bannawag played a big role why it had been easy for me and my Dungngo to quit iluko.com blogs. It became one of our latest pastimes. We now have a ritual, which is way more fulfilling for both of us. Every afternoon, I would read to him stories from the magaizne. Our favorite, of course, is Ti Bonete ti Kaibaan, but I also read to him short stories. At the end of every story, we would discuss the plot, whether we like it or not, whether we think it’s good or not, and so on. I also read to him poems and other stuff. In fact, I’ve been offering to read to him Harry Potter, but it may take a while before I’d convince him. Hehehee

Back to Bannawag. I wish you’ve seen the smile on my brothers’ faces when they saw Ti Bassit a Kumpay ni Patay. You see, it was our favorite when we were young. In fact, my brother, Mans, is now planning to subscribe to Bannawag. He was just too excited about Manong Cles’ latest komiks, not only because it had been among his favorites, but also because it’s drawn by Jun Lofamia, his favorite cartoonist. As a kid, he idolized Lofamia. I had thought that now that he is older and already an architect, he would no longer think that high about Lofamia’s art, but I was pleasantly surprised to find he still thinks he’s the best. “Just look at the facial expression of the characters in his drawings,” he would tell me. “Nabnabiag!”

Nabnabiag. I guess the same could be said about Bannawag, especially now that it’s got double great reads.

What do you think?

Picasso Your Head

2008-06-17T10:51:00.000+08:00

There is some craze in my ‘little’ community in the bloggosphere about the interactive site, Mr. Picasso Head, where anyone, with or without any artistic inclination, can ‘draw’ his or his friends’ heads with easy-to-use tools.

When it was first posted by Mandy, everyone, me included, had lots of fun doing it. It became an instant craze. But I guess it was another blogger-friend, Michelle, who got the worst Picasso-head bug. She actually drew each of her blogger-friends! And oh, boy! She is so talented that most of her drawings are recognizable!

Michelle also ‘drew’ me and I love her Picasso version of me very much. I think she was looking at my avatar through eyes that highlight what’s beautiful in everyone when she was making my Picasso head (or perhaps all the time), that’s why I came out looking very beautiful in her drawing. I haven’t looked that beautiful in a long while. ;-)

Here is Michelle’s drawing of me:

Cool, isn’t it?

Come on folks, try it too and have loads of fun. It’s something you can do to pass the time, or to have fun with your little kids and even with friends and loved ones who are kids at heart!

And oh, do show me your drawings by giving the links at the comment section. Please....

Here's my very first attempt: http://www.mrpicassohead.com/canvas.html?id=ca5f7ff&skin=original

(PS: Moments after my post, my Buddy, VF, tried his hand at the Picasso Head and look, he's got some artistic talent, too! Wow! Here's one of his drawings of me:

I love his drawings so much. ;-) Now, I understand why he had been pestering me to wear ponytails this afternoon, hehehe!

(Don't you think I should be asking for my model's fee? Not that I modeled for him. But then, it's my beautiful face that's giving him inspiration, right?)

Here's another PS: If you're wondering how to create a link at the comments section, like I'm doing, please use this code:

Simply copy the code, put the URL of your picasso head drawing at the URL section (red font) and type in the words you want to appear in your link at the green part of the code.

Wisdom in Hot Chocolate

2008-06-13T17:16:00.000+08:00

.
Ever thought why contentment seems to elude man? When we get that which we’ve always wanted, we are happy and seemingly content for a while. But soon, we will find ourselves wanting something else. Our needs, our wants, just keep coming. We are never content.

I am sure you’ve heard that to live life to the fullest, we should concentrate only on the essentials. But how do we know which of the things we have, or want, are essential, and which aren’t, when we tend to measure life by the non-essentials that we have?

The following article which was sent to me via email this morning illustrates this point very well.

Wisdom in Hot Chocolate
(Author Unknown)

A group of graduates, well-established in their career, were talking at a reunion and decided to visit their old university professor, now retired.

During their visit, the conversation turned to complaints about stress in their work and lives.

Offering his guests hot chocolate, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of hot chocolate and an assortment of cups — porcelain, glass, crystal, some plain-looking, some expensive, some exquisite — telling them to help themselves to the hot chocolate.

When they all had a cup of hot chocolate in hand, the professor said: “Notice that the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. The cup you’re drinking from adds nothing to the quality of the hot chocolate. In most cases, it is just more expensive, and in some cases, even hides what we drink.

“What all of you really wanted was hot chocolate, not the cup. But you consciously went for the best cups. And then, you began eyeing each other’s cups. Now, consider this: Life is the hot chocolate; your money, job, position in society are the cups. They are just the tools to hold and contain life. The cup you have does not define nor change the quality of life you have. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the hot chocolate God has provided us. God made the hot chocolate; man chooses the cup. The happiest of people do not have everything. They make the best of everything they have.”

So, how’s your hot chocolate? How many of us can say, “it’s very good” and truly mean it?
.

BrainTeaser

2008-06-12T13:15:00.000+08:00

It's been a while since I posted a puzzle. So I thought of re-posting this puzzle I made for my other blog. I hope you like it.

HERE WE GO:

I am looking for a two-word phrase that consists of eleven letters (first word, five letters; second word, six letters). What is this phrase?

Step 1: Finding the letters:

1. The 19th letter of the English alphabet = __
2. The 4th letter in the first name of the current USA president = __
3. The first vowel of the four-letter word that completes this expression: _____ of passage = __
4. The last letter of the word that completes this biblical phrase: Alpha and ______ =
5. The first letter of the word that refers to singers, painters, writers, and sculptors = __
6. The first letter of the five-letter word that means iconic image or symbol = __
7. The letter that is common to the first, sixth, and eleventh months of the year = __
8. The chemical symbol of the number five element in the periodic table = __
9. The first letter in the six-letter English word that contains no vowel = __
10. The most used vowel in English = __
11. First letter in the title of the Shakespearian play whose main characters are Katherine, Bianca and Petrucio = __
The eleven letters are: ______________________.

Congratulations. You are done with the first step. Now, onto the second.

Step 2: Word Play/Arranging the Letters

First clue: From the eleven-letter, two-word phrase I am looking for, the following words can be formed:

(From the first word) The four-letter word that means “drops of fresh water that fall as precipitation from clouds”
(From the second word) The four-letter word that refers to the opposite of “difficulty”

Put first four-letter word here: ______
Put second four-letter word here: ______

Try to guess the phrase. If you still cannot, see the next clues.

Second clue: From the eleven-letter, two-word phrase I am looking for, you could form the word that refers to “that thing you use when you want to remove pencil marks” by inserting the second letter of the first word between the second letter and the third letter of the second word.

Final clue: Verse play

Oh, am I not exciting, and I not fun?
The old love me, so do the young.
The logical and those with clever mind
They seek me, they think I’m fun.
Solve me, find my pieces, watch my trails
I leave clues, I give hints. Come on, think.
Tell me, tell me, what’s my name?

The phrase I am looking for is? _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Extra question: At what stage were you able to solve the puzzle/riddle?

You may answer here, or in my OTHER BLOG where it was originally posted.

//Sherma E. Benosa; 29 May 2008

Mining Issue in NV

2008-05-25T23:23:00.000+08:00

Would you dare destroy such splendor of Mother Nature?
Photo taken at Abinganan, Bambang, Nueva Vizcaya

As a Novo Vizcayano, I may already be a bit too late in speaking up about the mining issue in our province. This is because I don’t know much about the technicalities involved, and I'd rather keep quiet than speak up about something I do not wholly understand. But I have been following the developments of the mining project, and I am not very happy with how things are turning out.

As a backgrounder, our inconspicuous province has been thrown into the limelight during the past few months because of the Kasibu residents’ continuous resistance against Oceana Gold, the Australian firm who has out-bidded other mining companies to mine Dipidio, Kasibu, Nueva Vizcaya for gold and copper. The Dipidio project is a 320 million US dollar project, and is described by Oceana CEO Steve Orr as "one of the highest grade gold-copper porphyries in the world today,” according to a news report by Yahoo News Asia. Kasibu is located east of Bambang (my hometown), and about 200 kilometers north of Metro Manila.

The Philippine government has given the Australian group the go signal to proceed with the project, but the local government and the Kasibu residents are still barricading the site for different reasons. The local government wants to collect taxes, whereas the residents do not want the work to ever proceed, not only because they will be displaced, but more so because they fear that the project would destroy the province’s natural resources.

I am not one who cares much about gold; I do care more about the preservation of our natural resources. So personally, I do not want the work to proceed.

Many of you may not agree with me, but that’s how I feel about the issue. Nueva Vizcaya is not much of a tourist spot because it’s not well-promoted, but it boasts of a beautiful landscape that only the hand of nature could paint. A land-locked province, it boasts of clear springs, green surroundings, winding rivers, mountains and hills and valleys, rice fields and a cave system. It is the place a weary soul would want to go home to, to get in touched with nature, and to be closer to God.

It is the place I go home to.

No, I would not want to exchange the beauty of my hometown to any amount of gold.

Truth vs. Deceit: A Tale

2008-05-19T11:55:00.000+08:00

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Deeply confused and utterly sad, Truth decided to consult with the Lord.

“Lord," he said in a barely audible voice. "I am confused. You said that I am beautiful, but why is it that when I present myself to people, they would not look at me directly, and would rather look the other way? You said I am good, but why can’t I help hurting people? You said that Deceit is evil, but why is he capable of making people feel better, even if there are times he hurt them as well? You said Deceit is ugly, but why do people stare at him with so much awe?”

The Lord smiled sympathetically. He walked over to Truth, and held him by his shoulders. “My child," He said softly, looking deeply into Truth's troubled eyes. "Do not despair. You are beautiful and pure. You shine so brightly, people cannot bear to look at you directly. They either put a veil over their eyes to see you, or use a mirror to get a glimpse of you, not realizing that though these instruments aid them, they blur you, hence they don’t see you in your full splendor.

“You are good; you do not really hurt people, you just crush their egos. Indeed, Deceit is ugly, but don’t forget that he is a master of disguise. He can change his black cloak into a rainbow, so that those who have not seen your grandeur are amazed at how lovely he seems, and they stare at him with great admiration.

“He is evil, because by not showing his real self to people, he dims you. But do not fret, my child. There are those who are brave enough who choose to look at you directly, without any veil, without the need for mirrors. They see you, and they love you. And to them, your beauty is beyond compare." The Lord patted Truth in the back. "Go forth my child, for you are loved.”

Feeling better, Truth thanked the Lord then walked happily back to his world, where he shone and shone brightly, giving light to the whole world. He’s still there, standing magnificently for all of us to see. Sometimes we see him, sometimes we don’t.

Often, we profess our love for him. But... do we really?

//Sherma E. Benosa
19 May 2008; 11:40am

Hymn Within Me

2008-05-19T10:09:00.001+08:00

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There is a hymn inside my heart that begs to be sung,
Waiting for my wobbly fingers to strum
The strings of my soul’s discordant melody.

But my lips refuse to sing the notes
That would pull my soul out of the void;
For though it badly needs to hear the music
It fears the thundering boom of the drums.

So I sit around, hoping for someone to play a song
All the while knowing it’s got to be me;
I wait here, daydreaming for a concerto
All the while knowing my ears have become deaf
To the music of the life around me.

Tell me, how can I sing my heart’s tune
Without first fixing the pitch of my thoughts?
I’ve forgotten my lines, I can’t relate to the melody;
Sing to me, sing to me so that I may remember
That there is a hymn that begs to be sung within me.

//Sherma E. Benosa
18 May 2008; 5:46pm
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Kuliapis nga Ay-ay

2008-05-12T10:56:00.000+08:00

It's been a while since I last posted an Ilokano (my mother tongue) piece here. Allow me please.

Makasiram ti apuy a sumgiab iti kaunggan ni ngata-ngata
Ket puoranna ti simbeng ti panagdaliasat ti agduadua a kararua
Dagiti agkatangkatang a dapan nga inulila ti nailibay a darepdep
Nga indaramudom ti kasipngetan, inadipen nagkaadu a derrep.

‘Di madaeran kuyep a mata ti makipinnerreng iti masakbayan
A tagtagibien aliaw impasngay kalman a di man la nagbalasang
Iduduayyan’ pilay nga agdama a nagpanawan narasi a namnama
Ilallallay saning-i ti dung-aw dagiti umar-arubayan nga aligaga.

Madaeranto ngata ti kired ni Elpis ti bang-i ti espiritu ni Moros
A nangkaras ubbog ni talinaay, nangruros sabong ti kurkuros
Idinto nga agsung-aben dagiti kalman a ramut a baglan ni puot
A dalanen koma dagiti sagibsib ngem inalun-on metten ni pungtot?

Uray la agallangogan dagiti sennay ti nakas-ang a pannakapaay
Ngem saan met a sumngaw dagiti boses ti kuliapis nga ay-ay.

Check out other version HERE. Or, read my other ATTEMPTS at poetry HERE.

//Sherma E. Benosa
09 May 2008; 10:15pm

Only When

2008-05-09T11:12:00.001+08:00

Dreams. They are the fruits we envision the plants we sow would bear. But many of us dream without planting a seed. Some of us do, but we fail to water our plants, to fertilize them. So our plants die. And when they do, we wonder what happened to them, to our dreams. We blame everything. We blame the sun, we blame the rains, we blame the insects, yet we forget to blame ourselves.

//Sherma E. Benosa
09 May 2008; 10:10am

ANNOUNCEMENT: I have opened a photo-blog over at wordpress.com. Unlike my other blogs, this latest baby of mine contains photos. BUt unlike ordinary photo-blogs, the photos posted here contain my thoughts and reflections. Check it out: PhotoGraphic Thoughts.

Dark Thoughts

2008-05-08T22:03:00.001+08:00

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I was having lunch today when someone just dropped off his things (a bagful of sugar) near the door of the diner where I was eating, then went back out to the street, about five meters away from where he left his things, and talked animatedly to someone. I’m a regular at this diner, and I haven’t seen him before, so for some reason, a troubling thought hit me: “what if his stuff contained a bomb?”

The logical part of me thought it couldn’t be, because it just isn’t normal for a criminal to stay close to the bomb when he has every opportunity to leave. But then the other part of me pointed out that there are a lot of suicide bombers, and he could be one. There were other arguments that volleyed back and forth in my mind, that soon I saw blood — my blood — splattered everywhere, my body parts flying as far as the other side of the road, my face unrecognizable. Before that I heard a big explosion followed by loud screams, then I saw blackness, and then there was nothing.

I couldn’t say know how much time had elapsed before I started hearing voices, at first indistinct, until slowly I was able to understand some words.

“Did you see her? She was just here before the bomb went off!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she was eating alone. And now, she’s nothing. Just a finger left!”

“Ow, poor girl!”

At first I did not understand what they were talking about, until I realized what it was. They were talking about me!

Abruptly I stopped eating and handed the server a hundred-peso bill.

“Oh, you’re done? You almost had not touched your food! Didn’t you like it?” The elderly woman who had become a friend of sort, asked as she reached for the bill.

“It’s fine, Manang. I’m just full.” I replied.

“Okay,” she said and walked back in to get some change. As I was waiting for her, the man came back for his things. Without a word, he picked them up then walked off. I started to relax. But it was too late. My imagination had gone too far, and my appetite had been lost.

Ah, darn imagination! Damn dark thoughts!

Winged

2008-05-08T14:30:00.001+08:00

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When we give our souls some wings, they will surely soar, up above the clouds, to the stars, to the heavens, and to dimensions beyond the reach of time. My soul is here, with me, yet it is really gone. It's somewhere beyond the depths of the deepest sea, above the highest mountain, in a plane indefinable by me.

//Sherma E. Benosa
08 May 2008; 2:25pm

Sibling Bonding

2008-05-06T20:35:00.000+08:00

For a Metro Manilan who is always swimming deprived, Laguna (particularly, Pansol) is such a blessing. This place has countless hot springs and resorts, you can literally walk from one resort to another.

For sometime now, my ex-officemates (over at FAME) and I had been so in love with the place that that's where we always want to go whenever we want to de-stress.

Last weekend, my brothers Ogie and Ryan and I decided to go and spend the day there. Ah, it was so much fun! We enjoyed it a lot, even if we were not prepared and we only had jolibee for lunch and some chichirias for snacks.

Let me share some of our pictures and a clip of our video.

Mga Feeling Model

Look Who's the Star!

Sick and Twisted

2008-04-28T02:36:00.000+08:00

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There’s something that’s gravely ailing the world today. And it’s not global warming. It’s our hearts turning cold and unfeeling.

The culprits probably thought it was a good joke, so they took video footage of it and uploaded it in the internet. After all, it’s not often that one would “be lucky” enough to witness an operation to get a perfume canister out of a poor fellow’s anus. But right now, I can hear the “lucky” fellows’ jeers turned into sobs, and see their jeering faces ‘sorrily’ contorted as they scamper away for cover.

I am talking about the scandal at a Visayan hospital where a team of doctors and nurses and (a) nursing student(s) took photo and video footages of an operation done on a male patient who had a perfume canister stuck on his anus during a sexual act. The video footage was then said to be uploaded in youtube for all the world to see (the video has since been removed from the file sharing site after the scandal broke out). But according to bloggers who have seen the video and to some news report, the video showed several people in the operating room jeering as the perfume canister was being removed, making disrespectful comments, calling the canister “baby,” and spraying perfume after the canister was removed. All these while the patient was lying helpless and unconscious.

Before this offensive event, I was of the opinion that there are two kinds of fun: clean and dirty. But apparently I’m wrong. There’s a third one: sick.

I think it’s sick that some people could get a kick from other people’s grave embarrassment. I think it’s sick that some people could actually laugh at other people’s pain. I think it’s sick that the people we turn to for help would extend their right hand to assist us, only to stab us with their left. I think it’s sick that professionals would act in an unprofessional way in times of crisis. I think it’s sick that we would choose to add insult to the injury when we could opt to ease the pain. Ah, yes, the world we live in can sometimes be so sick. (Or shall I say, we can sometimes be so sick.)

Condemn him not

It’s true, it’s unhealthy to use sex toys during sexual intercourse; but if others decide to use them, to engage in different kind of sex, who are we to condemn them? It is their business as it is their lives. It is not for us to judge them. But reading some blog posts, I realized that some folks put the blame on the poor victim, their reasoning being, “things would not have happened if he did not engage in “abnormal” sexual behavior, if he weren’t gay.

That got me a little lost, because the issue, in my humble opinion, is not the victim’s sexual preference, nor is it his sexual behavior. The issue is that the medical professionals involved violated his rights as a patient, as a person.

He went to the doctors to seek help, but what did he get? Sure, the doctors relieved him of the proof of his physical ‘rape,’ but they raped his soul in return, inflicting upon him a kind of pain that no medicine could relieve nor cure; no expert could surgically remove.

And then, as he prepares to seek justice, someone from the Catholic Church comes forward to condemn him. That, I think, is hypocricy to the highest level. The last thing the victim needs and deserves is for us to be moralistic about it, to play self-righteous and pass judgment upon him. His rights, his person had been gravely violated, and the least thing we can do is to help him stand as he struggles to carry the cross that was suddenly put on his shoulders, and not to whip his back as the Judeans would.

Going back to the basics

I will no longer talk about malpractice, about how legally liable the people involved in the scandal are. News reports and many blog posts about the issue have tackled them. I’d rather focus on the basics of human relationships.

The culprits did not just break the code of their professions’ ethics; they broke the very basic code of social ethics: RESPECT. One need not have a medical degree to know if what he or she is about to do is right or wrong. I do not see any excuse why the people involved in the scandal could not have realized that jeering at their patient and taking footages of the operation and then uploading them in the internet was a grave violation. All they needed to have done was put themselves in the patient’s shoe and they would have known what was proper and what was not.
As a proverb, the commandment, “Do not do unto others what you do not want others do unto you” is now trite. And as a code of conduct, it is very basic. But somehow, it is sorely ‘underpracticed.’ To think that practicing it could reduce a lot of wrongs. Ah, humans…

Justice

It would be a long, unpaved road, I know. But I guess the only way the victim would heal is by getting the justice that he deserves. I think he must walk the long and hard road to justice, not just to right what is wrong, but also to set example to other offenders and victims.

I would not be sorry to see the licenses of those involved in the scandal revoked, for though it’s true that we have a dearth of healthcare professionals in the country, we are not so desperate so as to allow these vacancies be filled by abusive folks who might just put our medical system in (more) jeopardy.

Because if justice in this case is not achieved, it will surely hurt our bid for a slice in the medical tourism, for we will not just become known as the country where horrible things such as this could happen, but a country that tolerated such things. God forbid!

Some relevant thoughts

As an ex-medical journalist, I’ve written and read a lot of medical articles, a good number of them dealt with male sexual dysfunction.

According to the literature I’ve read, and to some of the doctors I’ve interviewed, many forms of sexual dysfunction can be treated and managed if only the sufferers would seek treatment. But very few men would actually dare talk to their doctors about their problems. It is hypothesized that it may be a natural tendency for the male to never admit to his sexual incapacities because his sexuality is him, to admit sexual problem is to admit to the world that he is less of a person.

In a way, that hypothesis might be right. But I think that there is also another thing that keeps the male population from talking to their doctors about their sexual problems: the fear, rightly or wrongly, that their doctor might jeer at them at their back. I think — or shall I say, I used to think — that that is very remote, given that doctors have heard a lot of stories about this problem, as sexual dysfunction is becoming very common, especially among the elderly.

But now I am thinking that maybe it’s not so remote after all.

//Sherma E. Benosa
27 April 2008; 10:50pm
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40th GUMIL Convention Pics

2008-04-25T11:48:00.000+08:00

Finally, I was able to attend a GUMIL Convention (GUMIL means Gunglo Dagiti Mannurat nga Ilokano or Association of Ilokano Writers).

I’ve always wanted to attend a convention of the said organization, but it’s only now that I finally managed to. Though I was able to get a peek of the three-day 36th GUMIL Convention in 2004 when I accompanied Dad to the location, I did not register at the time because I couldn’t get a vacation from work. And now, after all these years, I finally did it. (That’s one of the pluses of being a freelance writer; I can always declare a vacation whenever I want to.) What’s more, even Mom joined Dad and me, and that made things even better.

I did not get a lot of photos though, because I was not feeling well at the time. I regret not having lots of pictures now, especially when I realized I had very little pictures of the event. Sayang really. But never mind. Let me just share the pictures that I have.

Contents of this slide show may also be viewed as still pictures at my wordress blog: http://brainteaser.wordpress.com/gumil-1/

An Open Letter to Humanity

2008-04-16T08:18:00.000+08:00

We often wonder about the why’s of life, especially when we are in the middle of a tribulation, whether or not it is of our own doing. We wonder why we have to go through things, why we must suffer, why life sometimes must be bleak, why things we think we can do better without happen.

I’ve asked the same questions, too. And below are the answers I’ve come up with. I hope they make sense.

[Text and image design, concept and layout by SEB]

//Sherma E. Benosa
29 December 2007; 11:10am
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Humanity vs Opportunity: A Short Tale

2008-04-10T11:39:00.000+08:00

Opportunity and Humanity faced each other at the Chieftain Hall. This was to resolve Humanity’s complaint against Opportunity. Humanity claimed that Opportunity was not doing his job, which was to regularly present himself to Humanity and his people, and give them all the chances in life that they deserved.

After proper introductions were made, the chieftain asked the gentlemen to take a seat. Humanity took the chair on the left of the chieftain’s desk; Opportunity took the one on the right. When both gentlemen were seated, the chieftain asked Humanity to speak to formally lodge his complaint.

“Well, Sir,” Humanity looked at the chieftain, then glanced at Opportunity. “Mr. Opportunity here has not been doing his job. My people and I have been encountering all sorts of troubles because of him. His negligence has been hindering us from realizing our full potentials. We’ve been complaining about this for a long time, and we had been reduced to repeatedly begging him to come to us, but he just wouldn’t.”

The chieftain nodded his understanding of Humanity’s predicament. He signaled Opportunity to defend himself.

Opportunity cleared his throat. “I am sorry that Mr. Humanity and his people have been encountering problems, Mr. Chieftain, but I beg to disagree that it is because of my failure to perform my duty. The truth is that I keep knocking at their door but they don’t always open their doors for me. There are times that they would, but they often hesitate to let me in. It takes them a long time to decide whether or not to invite me, that by the time they’d made up their mind, it’s time for me to leave for someone else’s house. So…”

“But how do we know it’s indeed you who’s on the door?” Humanity interjected. “You show up looking differently each time. You just love disguises. How can we be sure it’s indeed you and not a prankster who’s at our door, when many times you’d come in the company of those shady creatures, Deception and Betrayal?”

Opportunity calmly replied, “There are no disguises, Mr. Humanity. I always come to you looking the same way I always do. And I don’t come with Deception and Betrayal. You always see them whenever you open your door because they live in your neighborhood. And knowing that they always spell trouble, I try not to stop them from accompanying me to your house, as long as they don’t hurt me, or interfere with me. It’s your family members Fear and Distrust that often lodge themselves between you and me, so that you won’t see me clearly.”

Humanity looked blankly at Opportunity, not having a ready and acceptable retort. He was afraid of incriminating members of his family if he’d speak further. The truth is that he would always ask Fear and Distrust to accompany him whenever he would open his door, fearing that Deception and Betrayal would hurt him if they’d see that he was alone and vulnerable.

Having heard both sides, the chieftain instructed Humanity to resolve the matter within his household, especially the problem with Fear and Distrust. He concluded that only when this matter is resolved will they see more of Opportunity. Until then, they will always have a hard time recognizing Opportunity when he knocks on their door, and continue not being able to seize the chances that Opportunity always brings.

Apparently, the matter with Fear and Distrust was a deep-rooted problem with Humanity and his people. They always felt vulnerable without Fear and Distrust by their side, that to this day, his people still keep blaming Opportunity for their circumstances, claiming that he wasn’t doing his job, when the truth is that they just fail to see Opportunity when he shows up, or, if they do, Fear and Distrust would stop them from seizing the chances Opportunity was giving them.

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Inspired by a piece I wrote in 2005, entitled Knocking on Your Door. Click here to read it. This is my take on the question on whether or not there are not many opportunities around.

This morning, I have written a children’s story based from this story. I hope it will be good enough for publication in a children’s book. I’m crossing my fingers! :-)

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//Sherma E. Benosa
11 February 2008

Autumn in Summer

2008-04-03T08:40:00.000+08:00

It’s summer; the sun’s smiling brightly

But autumn reigns inside me.
Like a tree who just lost a leaf
Inside me, there is grief.
I am a vast sky on stormy nights
Forsaken by the moon, bereft of stars.

Help me feel I am no tree
And you are not a leaf;
You are a river, and I am a creek.
From different springs, we came together
To flow side by side
But the time has come that we must travel apart.

I flow on by, as I know you would.
Have faith, let us both believe
We will entwine somewhere, someday again.
And when we each reach destiny’s ocean
Trust that we will be one water again, my friend.
Until then..

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For my good friends, Chie, Jing, and Tayns who have left this summer: Jing to join her husband in Canada; Tayns to pursue her MA in Japan, and Chie to seek a greener pasture in Qatar. Good luck to all of you. I am deeply saddened that we must live far from each other, but you are always in my heart. Don’t forget I am just a click away. I love you.

Written at the Relaksasi Spa @ Park Square I while waiting for my turn. The music is calming, and the scent is soothing to the soul.
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Of Hellos and Goodbyes

2008-03-22T00:55:00.000+08:00

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One of the remarkable things that happened this month is that I’ve said a lot of hellos and goodbyes to OFW friends.

The hellos started with the arrival of Manang Imee, a dear friend from Iluko.com, who arrived on March 6, and whom I got to finally embrace the following day. Manang Imee, who lives in Germany, is here for her regular vacation.

Then, on the 8th, a dear friend arrived from Japan. Celestine, who has been a college classmate, is a scholar by the Japanese embassy, and is the first Filipina to be accepted to the Nagoya University College of Letters as an MA student. She is here for a 20-day vacation before she would embark on her chosen journey.

Truly, welcoming home good friends is a very happy affair.

But as it always happens, when there are a lot of laughter and merrymakings, there will also be tears and sorrows.

On the 18th of the month, another dear friend, Jing, who married her Canadian boyfriend last year, flew to Canada to join her husband. We planned a get-together before her departure, but her schedule the days before her flight had been so hectic; she left without us seeing each other.

On the 27th, another friend, Chie, Jing’s sister, will be leaving for Qatar to work there as marketing assistant. I am seeing her tomorrow, and hopefully, on the day before her flight.

There are other goodbyes I will have to endure this month, and in early April. Celestine and Manang Imee will soon be leaving for their host countries. And my brother Ogie, who is often sent by his company to other countries, will also be leaving for the West perhaps this month, or maybe next.

Ahhhh… if there is one thing that doesn’t appeal to me about this OFW phenomenon is saying goodbye to family and friends. I am a grown up, but still, I feel saddened by these separations. I wonder how much harder it must be for children who are left behind by their parents, or spouses who will have to temporarily live separately.

When last month, I tried to visualize how this month would turn out, I had envisioned lots of sunshine. It was, and still is, such a surprise for me to realize that there would be lots of scattered rainfall in the country just as summer should be starting. In the same way that it is such a surprise that I should find myself feeling melancholic when I should be out there basking under the sun.

I wish I could see the good in goodbyes…

Focusing on the positive side of things (i.e., hope for better future) and accepting facts of life (i.e. these things really do happen) can ease the pain of separation. But still, I miss my friends, and tonight, I am allowing myself to feel melancholic about their leaving. I am writing this piece to heal myself of my pain, and to let my friends know how much I miss their physical presence.

There are a few good things in some goodbyes, and I am endeavoring to put my emotions in balance, so that I may see that the goodbyes in these cases are the downpour that precedes the appearance of the rainbow.

//Sherma E. Benosa
21 March 2008; 11:57pm

The Portrait that is the Filipina

2008-03-13T00:07:00.000+08:00

La Madre Filipina (A statue at the Luneta Park)
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The Filipina of today is a life-size, full-length oil painting on canvas. She is a tableau that can be hung and appreciated, with pride or prejudice, depending on who the audience is. She is a multi-dimensional portrait. The background, shaped by the epochs in which she slowly evolved, greatly influences the main element, which is a mixture of diverse yet solid colors.

To fully understand the whole painting that is the Filipina, we need to scrutinize both the background and the main element. The background shows us a dynamic picture of the Filipina of yesteryears. She was a babaylan or katalonan (chief priestess) during the pre-Hispanic period, an active participant of the revolution, a committed member of the suffrage movement in the 19th century, and now a strong force in every sector of the society.1

She has always enjoyed equality with men, and has always sought and received education. That is, until the coming of the Spaniards that underlined man’s superiority and the woman’s limited capacity², thus forcing the Filipina to take a supporting role in society.

She was typecast as meek and submissive, but was she ever really? Even the world-fabled Maria Clara showed glimpses of an inner strength and a resilient spirit — qualities that always came to the fore whenever circumstances would pit the Filipina against social and personal turmoil. She got through the dark ages of her past — her repression and the rape of her soul and spirit by the colonizers — stronger than ever. She took an active part in building the nation, and in becoming what she is today.

The main element of the portrait, on the other hand, is the modern Filipina — her evolved self. Having recaptured her previous role in the society, that is, her man’s equal, she is busier than ever, charting not just her own destiny but that of the whole nation. She has become the country’s chief executive and a commissioned officer in the armed forces. She now holds major seats in the government, chairs executive meetings in offices, launches civic activities, moulds the young, and lords over her internal and external struggles, among others. She has braved foreign cultures in foreign lands, and is braving them still.

The modern Filipina is multi-faceted. Gifted with an open, compassionate heart, she is loyal and unselfish. She values love and friendship, adores her family, and does not mind putting her loved ones’ needs ahead of her own.

Blessed with a good mind, she loves learning and enjoys getting the kind of education she deserves. Social issues and intellectual debates are as much a staple for her as are talks about movies, social events, and shopping and beauty products. She can enjoy the company of logic and common sense, and get cozy with introspection. She can do anything she sets her mind on and can excel in her own field. She is the sail and rudder of her own ship; she knows what she wants, and does her best to achieve it. She knows and speaks her mind and asserts her views, although at times — when she sees fit — she is willing to hold her tongue to give the platform to her husband.

Endowed with a compassionate soul, hers are the hands that reach out to friends and loved ones in need. Her shoulders, strong yet comfortable, are always ready to caress wounded spirits. She may be quick to tears, but as she pours her heart out, an inner strength surges to the surface, and a new resolve comes over her. She has the resilience of the bamboo that allows her to thrive even in the harshest of conditions. She may bend and sway with the direction of the wind during stormy weathers, and she may cry rivers when her existence is jolted by life’s earthquakes, but she never gives up; she strives not to fall.

Bestowed with a happy spirit and shiny disposition in life, she smiles a warm smile, and laughs an infectious kind of laughter. She deals with life with the necessary amount of seriousness, and licks her wounds with good humor.

Being human, she too commits mistakes. She also stumbles and errs. But her weaknesses do not warrant removal of her portrait from the world gallery of respectable and strong women. It should continue to hang there; it is the spotlight that has been focused on the tiny blemish on her portrait for so long that should be finally properly angled so that the viewers may, hopefully, learn to admire the masterpiece that the Filipina really is.

Notes:

1www.kababaihan.org
²(Roxas-Aleta, 1977:13)

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//Sherma E. Benosa;
12 March 2008; 11:01pm
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Philippine Encyclopedia

Filipina

Transparency in an Opaque World

2008-03-12T12:18:00.000+08:00

We are not just black or white; often, we are shades of gray. We cannot not just be one thing or the other. Often, we are both.

Dynamic, evolving… that’s what we humans are. Never static, never the same. Like clouds, we continually move across the continuum that is our life.

Definitely, we are not just a single snapshot. Not even a series of snapshots. But most people think we are. How many times have we heard the comment, “You’ve changed!” with a tinge of surprise as if we were supposed to stay the same forever?

Indeed, it would be great if we were gifted with the ability to see each of us as we really are; to understand our depths, to appreciate both what is inside and outside of each of us.

But humans have limitations. They only see what they want to see. Sometimes, they just see the good. At other times, only the bad. Often, they do not see both. And, on rare occasions that they do, they find it hard to understand the tangled dichotomies that make up each person.

Humans are multi-faceted, multi-dimensional, but with very limited view of the things around them. Often, they do not see the whole picture, and cannot dig deep to fathom what’s inside other people. They see only what they want to see, or what they think they are seeing. Unfortunately, too, they are quick to make conclusions based solely on their perceptions, which are very limited to begin with. So they see others as all-beautiful or all-good, then be shocked to find later on that the others too have weaknesses of their own. The reverse is also true. Sometimes, people are sure that one is bad through and through, not knowing that that person is simply misunderstood.

If only everyone could look at a single thing and be able to look at it in its entirety and view it from every angle possible, then what a better existence we would have. And if only we try to understand every aspect of a thing first, before we make conclusions, then how much easier life on earth would be.

The Rolling Stone

2008-02-27T12:57:00.000+08:00

“Rolling stones catch no moss,” my father always reminds me every time I tell him of my plans to resign from my current job for another.

Dad always supports my decision, but as a father, he feels compelled to remind me of the things I might be forgetting. Often, we would discuss the pros and cons of my plans and end up agreeing. But not before we tease each other at length. The last time we talked about my resigning from my job in 2004, he again quoted that cliché he loves drumming into my head. That time, I answered, “at least they can go somewhere probably better.” Dad simply laughed, and called me “pilosopo nga ubing.”

But now I wonder what Dad would have said had I answered, “Dad, what made you think I’d like to collect mosses?” I guess the discussion would have been much longer.

Mosses for me are a sign of stagnation, of being in one place too long that one accumulated only the things that came one’s way. If I were a stone, I think I would want to be moss-free, to be rolling whenever I feel like it. I see myself as very rough at the start but would become smoother and smoother as I roll along unpaved highways and swim with or against the flow of life’s rivers.

The smoothing process would surely hurt. Like a clay pot that must be spun to be shaped and burnt to become strong, the stone that is me would also be thrust into necessary frictions until I become smooth enough in the eyes of The One shaping me.

Right now, I am still rolling this way and that. And as I do, I hope that the frictions of my experience will help me become a better person. For if not to become better, to be polished and molded into the shape He had in mind for me, what on Earth am I here for?

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I look forward to hearing Dad defend his moss-covered stone. I wonder what meaning he would ascribe to the moss. Hmmm…

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//Sherma E. Benosa
12 December 2007; 11:58pm
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Ringlet

2008-02-20T13:40:00.000+08:00

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Life isn’t a circle; it is a line dotted with circles. The seemingly never-ending cycles, like the setting and rising of the sun, the settling of night and dawning of a new tomorrow, the change in seasons, and the New Years and Christmases and birthdays are actually just events that have the same names and share some characteristics in a linear timeline. After this summer there will be other summers, but this year’s summer is different from last year’s, and those of the years before it; and will be different from next year’s and those of the years thereafter.

Each moment is fleeting and will never come back. We may be gifted with many more moments, but we can never again have the one we now have, or those that had passed, for each moment is different from all the other moments.

I see the year 2007 as a ringlet in my life’s timeline that is now gone and completed — a chapter lived and is now just a part of memory; and the year 2008 as a new ringlet I must try to fill with dots and lines. I pray that the lines and dots I’ll be drawing in my new ringlet will be in accordance with the Master’s specifications.

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//Sherma E. Benosa
04 January 2008; 12:50am
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On medical tourism

2008-02-20T11:29:00.000+08:00

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I sit in front of my PC, thinking how best to ‘attack’ the assignment I had been given. I’ve conducted the necessary interviews, and I already have with me the pictures as well as the literature that I need. All I have to do now is to decide how best to present the topic, in the most reader-friendly way. It should really be easy, as the topic — facilities in our hospitals for medical tourism — has already been narrowed down, I no longer need to think of story angle.

But somehow, I find it difficult to start. At first I thought it’s because my mind is still drained, having just finished the marketing plan I was commissioned to do. But having had a good night’s sleep, it’s quite unlikely for my mind to be still so dried-up. I refuse to let my mind off the hook because I want to finish this article today, so that tomorrow I can write things that would bring me pleasure. So I force my mind to concentrate on medical tourism, but as I do, I realize what’s wrong; my mind does think about medical tourism, but not within the confines of my topic.

‘Medical tourism is an irony,’ my mind keeps shouting. She argues that it’s so ironic that our country offers quality health care to foreigners, but cannot even provide the basic medical needs of millions of its people; and that our best hospitals have the capability to perform the most delicate of operations, as we do have the facilities and equipment, as well as human capability (most of the doctors in our top hospitals are trained and certified abroad), yet our politicians and the rich would opt to have their treatments abroad (Remember Erap’s knee operation? It can easily be done in the country.).

I shake my head, willing it to focus on the good things medical tourism can bring to the country. It will be good for the economy, because it will be bringing in more tourists, and of course, dollars.

But what will make the medical tourists choose the Philippines, instead of our neighbors, what with the negative picture we have allowed our country to have? I still remember the comment about medical schools in the country in Desperate Housewives. And I still have to read a positive write-up about the country in international magazines, like Time and Newsweek.

Sometimes — just sometimes — I can’t help but think that the country joining in the medical tourism bandwagon is a joke. But I should not like to let the cynic in me prevail; I would want to see this industry grow in our country, and for us to have a share of the market our neighbors have been enjoying for years.

But for that to actually happen, a lot of things need to be done. We have to have an objective look at our country and at our selves, determine the things we can improve on, and build on our strengths, which our neighbors lack. Because if all we can name as our assets now are our ‘world-class’ medical service, good tourist spots, and our ‘tender-loving care,’ then we will find that we don’t have much to offer, because our neighbors also have the first two, and the third is slipping away, and in some cases, now comes with a tag price.

(Now that these distractions are out, I think I am ready to write what I’ve been asked to write.
Thank you for reading; I am now signing out.)

//Sherma E. Benosa
20 February 2008; 11:21am

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Collector’s Items

2008-02-12T23:56:00.000+08:00

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There is a game in the blogosphere that has been going on for some time, called tagging, where bloggers tag other bloggers. This is how it works. One blogger would start a topic, usually something about himself or herself, say, ‘three weird things about me.’ The blogger would make a list with some explanations. At the end of the list, the blogger would tag some of his blogger friends. Those tagged are expected to do the same.

I have been tagged many times by my good friend, Salve, but I haven’t done some tagging yet (until now, that is), because I can’t think of someone to victimize, hehehe. But with or without victims, I think I should do some of the games.

First up: three addictions. (Although I am more inclined to call it ‘collections.’ I don’t think I am addicted to anything besides my ‘Dungngo.’ Also, I am listing more than three. Hehehe Pasaway talaga ako. Sowi…)

My Collections

Books. I love books very much. Whenever I have free time, I read. When I want to de-stress, I read. When I travel, I read. I spend a big chunk of my time reading.

As to what I read, well, it varies depending on my mood, but my all-time favorites are those of James Clavell, Paolo Coehlo, Richard Paul Evans, Jeffrey Archer, Nicolas Sparks, and James Grisham, Leon Uris, JK Rowling and Mark Twain.

Of late, I have been buying lots of books, sometimes 3 to 5 titles at a time. My collection is not yet vast from the standard of a real bookworm (just about 200 titles), but then, I started only last year (I used to just borrow books from my friends). I know it would take years, even a lifetime, to build a mini-library of my own, but part of the fun is seeing my collection slowly grow.

Coins. When OFW relatives and friends ask me what I want for pasalubong, I always ask for low-denomination coins. They usually laugh at me, saying I don’t ask much. But I definitely treasure these kinds of gifts (I can’t collect them on my own).

I also collect old coins. I’ve been pestering my grandmother to look for the olds coins she must have kept, but to date, she hadn’t produced any! Huh!

So far, I now have coins from Hong Kong, Belgium, US, UAE, Australia, Singapore, Mauritius.

Bead jewelry. What girl in her right mind would not love those beautiful accessories, especially those made of crystal and glass? I am just into beads that I make mine myself. They’re just so lovely that when people ask me where I bought them, I am always proud to say I made them. :-)

Wedding/debut giveaways. I know they are inexpensive, but there’s something about them that I just love. Maybe it’s because they remind me of friends’ happy times. Maybe because they’re pretty. Or maybe because, like trophies, they are things you can afford to buy for yourself, but won’t (of course).

Ribbons and cords. I find ribbons and colored cords very lovely. I collect ribbons from ribboned gifts, from the flower bouquets my Dungngo sends me, and even from ribboned merchandizes. I also buy from gift shops for the gifts I wrap (Although I must admit, there are times that I would debate with myself whether or not to use the ribbons I’d bought. The ribbon lover part of me would want to keep them for myself. Hehehe).

Other things I like: Boxes, abaca bags/wrappers, and paper bags. When I am given gifts that come with beautiful boxes or paper bags, I am as excited of the container as I am with what’s inside. :-) Yeah… most of the times, mababaw ang kalikayahan ko. Hehehe!

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//Sherma E. Benosa

The Brain Teaser
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IRONY: A COLLECTION OF SHORTIES

2008-02-08T20:11:00.000+08:00

Short Stories of 300 words or less: A Valentine Special

"I Love You"

He is an Adonis, the Kilabot ng mga Kolehiyala in the university. He sees women as nothing but conquests. For him, the words ‘I love you’ mean no more than a means to get to bed any woman he wants. He boasts to anyone who would listen that there are times when he manages without uttering the words.

His life is just perfect; that is, until he finally gets bitten by the love bug. She is everything he has never seen before; the realization of his dreams. Suddenly, the words 'I Love You' have taken an utterly different meaning.

When she accepts his dinner invitation, he feels he is the happiest man alive. He knows he had never been happier in his life. But when he whispers to her the words — this time, meaning it — she just laughs at him, not believing a single word he says. And worse, she confesses she is in love with someone else.

When she bids him goodbye after thanking him for the nice dinner, he lets out a heavy sigh, as tears flow out of his ailing heart. As he watches her leave, he asks himself how it could have happened that just when he finally learns what love means, love turns its back on him. He closes his eyes, wondering if he would utter the words 'I love you' ever again.

Man Hater

“Man hater” is everyone’s opinion of her at work. Not only hasn’t she ever had a boyfriend, as far as her co-workers know, but she also turns down everyone who asks her for a date. She also doesn’t show any affinity toward the opposite sex. But the truth is that she likes Allan, an officemate who has been courting her for three years. He only stopped months ago, after she told him for the nth time to find someone else. No, she has no plans of letting him know of her feelings for him. Never again will she give her love to someone, only to cry in the end, which she is sure to happen. Statistics show that a great number of relationships don’t last, and she has been part of the statistics once. She had loved deeply a lifetime ago, and all she got from that relationship was a shattered heart. No, she’s not going to love again. She’s not going to have her heart broken again.

She was sure she was right not to entertain her feelings for Allan. Until this morning, when she saw him walking hand in hand with someone else. She did not feel the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, but she was well aware of the searing pain that was gnawing at her heart.

Campus Queen

In college, she was a campus queen, not just because of her beautiful face and shapely body, but mainly because of what’s inside her pretty head. Later, when she started work, almost every single man in the company wanted to court her. Everywhere she goes, admiring eyes would follow her. Every other week, she gets a marriage proposal, none of which she took seriously. Until she met Ben. He has everything she looks for in a boyfriend. Good looks, above-average IQ, and compassion. They hit it off immediately, and she knew it’s just a matter of time before he’d court her. When one day Ben asked to speak with her in private, telling her he has something to confess to her, she knew this was it. She noticed the beads of sweat on Ben’s forehead when they were talking face to face. She rejoiced inside. She leaned over, held his hand and encouraged him to talk. When finally Ben opened his mouth, her heart skipped a beat.

“Myla,” he started. “I know Edgardo likes you very much…”

“Don’t worry about him, Ben," she cuts him off. "I don’t feel anything for him.”

Ben’s face considerably brightened.“Great! Look, Myla… do you think there’s something I can do to make him notice me instead?”

The Right Man

Almost all of the people who deeply loved Ella shook their heads and uttered a prayer when she and Anthony walked down the isle. Both her parents cried, which she knew was not out of happiness for her, but for fear of a bleak future which they were almost sure would befall her. Ben was a product of a broken marriage; her father left them for another woman when he was 10, and his younger sister was only 8. Five years later, his mother took in another man. Anthony was left to look after himself and his sister, as the other man turned out to be a beast. It took him 6 years to juggle high school and work as a gasoline boy. He decided to forego college and instead put up a small stall in the downtown market. Ella’s parents had tried to talk her out of her relationship with Anthony because they preferred Marco, the English teacher in the town’s high school who was a product of good family. They were sure she would have a fulfilling marriage with him. But she didn’t listen to them.

Ella looked up from the local paper she was reading at the sound of footsteps coming toward her. It was Anthony. As he approached, Ella studied her husband of thirty blissful years. He now looked much older, with gray hair randomly speckled on his head.

“Aren't you coming to bed yet?” he asked.

“I am,” she smiled up at her husband, folding the paper which was carrying a news item about a fatal car accident involving a man and his second mistress. The man was Marco.

//Sherma E. Benosa
07 February 2008; 7:43pm*

Love Paradox

2008-02-08T01:16:00.001+08:00

(Seven reasons people are so crazy about (and go crazier because of) love

//Text, photos and graphic design by SEB.

Text was written in 2001.

Recognizing Stroke and Heart Attack

2008-02-07T09:42:00.000+08:00

In the morning he was driving to town in his tricycle to visit his daughter and son-in-law. Several hours later, his wife was being told by his attending physician he had very low chances of survival. The next day, he was dead. The culprit? Stroke.

When I heard of the story, I commented, knowing full well how minutes matter in cases of heart and stroke attack, that maybe the man wasn’t rushed to the hospital immediately, that’s why he died on his first attack.

It turned out I was right.

Dad recounted that the morning before the man died, he and the man nearly had an accident along a narrow barangay road, as neither saw the other approaching. Dad was driving his owner-type jeep, and the man was driving a tricycle. It was when they were already very close that they saw each other. When finally, both of them maneuvered so that they could pass each other, Dad said to the other man, “Pasensiakan kabagis. Di ka napasungadan.”
The other man replied, “Uray siak ngarud, kabagis. Di ka nakita a sumungsungad.” The two men saluted each other, and drove off.

Dad recalled much later that the other man’s voice was indistinct, as if it was coming from a tunnel. It seemed the man might already be having a stroke at that time, but still managed to get to his daughter’s house which was about 15 minutes’ drive from where Dad met him. As soon as the produce he had brought was unloaded from his tricycle, the man asked his son-in-law to drive him back to the barrio as he wasn’t feeling well. “Naam-amlinganak sa,” he complained.

The son-in-law later narrated that when he and his father-in-law got to the barrio, the fqther-in-law could hardly walk to the house; he was staggering like a drunk. Later that day, they brought him to a clinic, where they were advised by the doctor to bring him to a hospital where there are facilities that might save him.

At the hospital much later in the afternoon, the man's wife was briefed by the doctor of the prognosis. The following morning, the man breathed his last.

Major killer diseases

Heart attacks and strokes are among the top ten causes of death around the world. Coronary heart disease, which includes heart attack, ranks first; whereas, stroke ranks second (WHO, 2007).

This is unsettling, especially if you or someone you love becomes part of the statistics. That’s why it is becoming more important that we become very vigilant, especially when we are with high-risk people. Studies say that people who are considered high-risk are those who are above 40 (although there are now folks who experience attacks in their late 20s and early 30s), smokers, leading a stressful lifestyle, fond of unhealthy food, and have a sedentary lifestyle.

However, an even sadder revelation is that not many would recognize stroke and heart attack if they stare them in the face, and would not know what to do in case they happen. So I thought, I should compile some information I could find about these, translate them to Ilokano, and distribute them among family members and friends.

Here is the first installment of the things I’ve gathered:

Heart Attack Warning Signs

According to the American Heart Association (AHA), not all heart attacks are strong and sudden. In fact, most are slow, with only mild pain or discomfort. People having this kind of heart attack are not sure what’s wrong, so they often wait long before seeking help.

Here are the signs (Lifted from the AHA website):

Chest discomfort. Most heart attacks involve discomfort in the center of the chest that lasts more than a few minutes, or that goes away and comes back. It can feel like uncomfortable pressure, squeezing, fullness or pain.
Discomfort in other areas of the upper body. Symptoms can include pain or discomfort in one or both arms, the back, neck, jaw or stomach.
Shortness of breath with or without chest discomfort.
Other signs may include breaking out in a cold sweat, nausea or lightheadedness.
As with men, women's most common heart attack symptom is chest pain or discomfort. But women are somewhat more likely than men to experience some of the other common symptoms, particularly shortness of breath, nausea/vomiting, and back or jaw pain.

Stroke Warning Signs (Lifted from the AHA website):

Sudden numbness or weakness of the face, arm or leg, especially on one side of the body
Sudden confusion, trouble speaking or understanding
Sudden trouble seeing in one or both eyes
Sudden trouble walking, dizziness, loss of balance or coordination
Sudden, severe headache with no known cause

Cardiac Arrest Warning Signs (Lifted from AHA website):

Sudden loss of responsiveness (no response to tapping on shoulders).
No normal breathing (the victim does not take a normal breath when you tilt the head up and check for at least five seconds).

When you or your loved one experiences any of the signs above (not all signs will manifest during an attack), AHA advises that you should seek medical help, even if the symptoms are very mild, and seem to go away. The association likewise advises calling 911, but for folks in the Philippines, especially in the barrios where it takes time before an ambulance could come to you, asking a loved one to bring you or the patient to the hospital might be the wisest course of action instead of simply lying down to rest. As they say, better sure than dead.

Personal Note

I have always wanted to write a “premier” about recognizing heart and stoke attacks when I realized my folks are getting old and are now at risk of having any of these attacks. My plan had been to gather data, write, have my write-up checked by a specialist, then translate my article to Ilokano so that everyone in the household would understand it, and hopefully do the right thing when something like this happen. But somehow I always forgot about actually doing it. But having heard of the recent attack in our barrio, I was spurred to action, realizing that I must do it NOW, not LATER. So here is the first step.

If you’d notice, I lifted a part from the American Heart Association website verbatim, as I am afraid of making a mistake in re-stating them. (I would when I am ready to show it to a specialist).

I hope this article would be of help. For more information about stroke and heart disease, I advise that you go directly to the AMERICAN HEART ASSOCIATION website. Thank you.

References

American Heart Association. (n.d.) Heart Attack, Stroke, and Cardiac Arrest Warning Signs. Accessed February 6, 2008 from http://www.americanheart.org/presenter.jhtml?identifier=3053#Heart_Attack

World Health Organization. (February, 2007). Top Ten Causes of Death. Accessed February 6, 2008 from http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs310.pdf

//Sherma E. Benosa; 06 February 2008

Also posted in the IMAGES AND LINES page of my ILUKO.COM BLOG

Life is a Performing Art (Story on Slide)

2008-01-30T13:09:00.000+08:00

Please click the minus (-) sign on the bottom left of the "TV" screen to slowdown the slide; plus (+) sign to make the slides move faster; and the pause sign to, well, make the current slide pause.

To appreciate the story, please start viewing from page one (the page number is at the bottom right of each page).

Frst posted in my iluko.com blog.

“I Do”

2008-01-28T13:51:00.001+08:00

Saturday, January 26, 2008. 5:05 pm. I was still writing like crazy, trying to beat the 8pm deadline for my article. The article was done, actually, but it was a page short. I’ve put everything I needed to write, so I was finding it hard to add more, for although I can be very wordy when it comes to blog posts and other personal stuff, I am very concise when it comes to academic and journalistic writing.

I paused for a while to stretch my arms and to figure out what more I could add to the piece I was writing. I was about to hit the computer keys again when a message popped up in my ym.

“Hi luv! How are you?”

It was from my Dungngo. A huge smile spread across my face. I wasn’t expecting him to be back yet. Immediately, I rang him and greeted him with glee. He explained he was home just to feed his cat, and of course talk to me, but he needed to be back to the hospital where he is receiving treatment in less than two hours. I was disappointed, of course, but I focused on the fact that at least we were able to talk before I was to travel for home that night.

Then the day and time hit me. Without preamble, I said: “Love, I do.” It took him a short time to figure what I was talking about. He let out a sigh before answering: “I do, too, Darling.”

Puzzled? Let me explain.

Last Saturday should have been our wedding day. The wedding march should have started at 4:30pm so I imagine that by the time my darling’s message popped up at 5:05pm, we should already be in front of our family and friends, exchanging I do’s.

There was no wedding march, no friends and folks around. I wasn’t in my wedding dress, and my Dungngo was miles away, still sick, but dammit there was no stopping us from exchanging our vows. We exchanged our I DO’s with only God as our witness, and our computers as companions. But that, as far as we are concerned, is as real as the real thing.

So now, I am married.

Home for a Day

2008-01-28T13:01:00.000+08:00

I was home for a day yesterday. I traveled Saturday night, arrived home Sunday morning, and traveled back to the city Sunday night. (My brother Ogie, who stays with me in QC, went home Friday night). It’s tiring, really. Dad and Mom were happy we were complete as a family (well, almost, except for my Dungngo who is still abroad), although they think it’s crazy that I should be spending more time traveling than staying with them. I think it’s crazy too, but at least, I was able to see them, especially my two nephews.

As is customary whenever one of us is going home, I told every member of the family of our plans to go home a week ahead, so adjustments could be made on everyone’s schedules, and everyone could be home. It’s easier to organize things now, because my brother Iding and his family are now based in NV, even if his projects are in Baguio, Ifugao, and sometimes, Manila; and Ryan, who works for him, is also NV-based. It’s just Kate (Ryan’s wife, and Pau, their kid) we needed to ask to come to NV too for the family to complete. Somehow, my vacation seems incomplete when one member is missing, so I always ask everyone to come home whenever I am.

I was home less than 24 hours, and a huge part of it, I spent sleeping. Still, somehow, I feel I’ve done a lot of things. In the afternoon, we went to the farm and gathered alukon (yum, yum!). I also played with my nephews and took photos and videos of them, and ate good food (steamed malunggay, eggplant, and parda and pinakbet con alukon). Of course, bye-bye time was still hard, but it’s okay. Mom and Dad’s smiles the whole day were big, which makes me feel we did something good just by going home. (Dad enjoys telling everyone who greets us and notes we are all home: “Adda amin dagitay boss ko” with a glitter in his eyes.)

I feel relaxed, too. I’ve had a busy and brain-draining schedule last week. By Saturday, I was already feeling stressed out. Miraculously, my crazy trip back home erased ‘em all. Now, I’m fully energized.

Magazine Cover Girls (Feeling lang...)

2008-01-24T13:36:00.000+08:00

My good friend, Chie (Sheryl), asked me to post these pictures in my blog. She is currently taking Photoshop lessons with Manong Ricco, and these are her practice outputs. She was so excited the other night, saying over and over that she couldn’t believe she had done these.

Good job, Chie! Love yah!

(Above, left) Original picture; (Right) Magazine cover version; (Below) Chie on cover. Ganda niya, 'no?

Below is an additional photo. This time, from FantasiaLand. Gift ni Fairy Chie.

New Name, New Look, New Me?

2008-01-22T01:15:00.000+08:00

My blog just got a face lift and changed identity. Now you ask: Does that mean anything?

The answer is it does and it doesn’t. Let me elaborate.

The main reason for the face lift is that I find the blog’s old look very boring. I had always wanted to make changes in its looks, but it’s only now that I was able to sit down and fix it. The change in name (from “The Wicked Angels Haven” to “The Written Wor[l]d), on the other hand, signals maturation on my part. When I started referring to myself as a “wicked angel,” I was just a child asserting to be myself. It was my way of calling attention to the duality that resides in me; to assert that though I am generally nice and good, I also do not say things that are contrary to my beliefs just because they are what the people around me want to hear; nor do I do things solely because they are expected of me.

“The Written Wor[l]d” was coined almost immediately after I put up “D’wicked Angel’s Haven” in 2004. I had always wanted to create another blog of this title and, in some occasions, had been tempted to change the existing blog’s name to “The Written Wor[l]d,” but somehow I kept deciding against doing it. Until today.

So yes, in some ways, the change in the name and in the look of the blog signals changes in me as well. But not that much, because the content of the blog would be pretty much the same. Attempts at poetry, personal essays and other stuff that I find interesting shall continue to grace this blog’s pages.

Thank you for visiting me here. Truly, this page that I originally intended to be for private use only has evolved to become a place where I can share with friends my thoughts and feelings, my triumphs and failures, and my wishes and dreams.

Thank you for spending time with me, folks!

Almost Me

2008-01-21T11:46:00.000+08:00

When I did a general cleaning of my closet last week, I found, among other things, my two old diaries which I kept hidden someplace where they are most secure. As I leafed through their pages, I couldn’t help smiling at the concerns of my once young heart and utterly innocent mind, telling myself over and over: "Ah, to be so young and so full of dreams! To be so innocent and so hopeful of a very bright future ahead."

Did I say smiling? Make that bursting with sporadic laughter, for from time to time, I would see a line or two that I find so corny and childish. Especially so when I saw what I’ve written at the second page of the newer of the diaries: it’s really the most kaloka of all. No, it’s not a secret about some crush or anything; it’s my Japanese welcome greeting. It’s so kaloka because I can no longer read it (it’s written in hiragana and katakana); and, if not for the translation I’d thankfully provided when I wrote it, I would not even know what it means anymore. Besides my official transcript of records and the cheap Nihongo grammar books I bought, it’s the only relic left of a gone era of my life: the time when I almost learned to speak and write Japanese.

I remember that I was taking up Japanese 10-11 when I wrote the greeting; I was in my first year, first semester in the university. We had not yet touched kanji at the time; hence, the use of hiragana and katakana (I’m sure I would have used kanji — just to show off to myself, because of course I don’t expect any other pair of eyes to see them besides mine — if I had already known how to write in those beautiful characters.)

During the past days, I kept wondering why I can't seem to forget my 're-discovery' of my diaries, especially the hiragana greeting. But I wonder no longer, now that I've remembered the disturbing thought that played in my mind as gazed at that diary entry. When I saw the greeting, I felt sorry that I did not truly learn Japanese; it would have been an asset. Then I realized that I was a piece of an undeveloped potential when I was in college — just an almost. I mean, I almost learned to speak Japanese, but didn’t (Alas, I should not have given up!). I was almost sent to Indonesia as a foreign exchange student, but wasn’t (Damn the Asian crisis!). I almost graduated with honors, but didn’t (Hmmm, should I blame my being a working student or my not studying well enough?).

As I was thinking this, I chided myself, saying: “Stop it!There’s no point crying over spilled milk. Move on. Just look at what you’ve become and be content.”

So that’s what I did. Only, as I looked at my present self, I’ve come to realize this: I am still an almost! Almost a writer. Almost an artist. Almost married. Almost an MA degree holder. Almost, but not quite!

Ah, to be just some kinda. Some sort of.

Ah, such potential; such right start that’s wasted. Well, almost wasted (because I did not end up a total waste, did I? Nyehehehe)

//Sherma Benosa
15 January 2008; 1:40am

As I was about to post the earlier piece (Almost Me), another thought hit me: that if we look closely at ourself at any point in our life, we’d realize that we are both an accomplished and un-accomplished person. There are chapters in our lives that we’ve come to close, but there are also those that we are about to open, or are still trying to fulfill.

There are things in life that we could have achieved if only we tried our best; hence, from this point onward, we should always struggle to pursue excellence. There are also those that we couldn’t, no matter how hard we try because they aren’t for us; hence, knowing we’ve given our best, we must learn to accept that there is a Greater Being that holds the rein of our destiny.

Just an almost? We’ll, that’s not really a sad thing as long as we know we are giving our best shot at everything we do; and that we are able to become “quite” on the things that are meant for us.

A Goldmine of Interesting Information

2008-01-16T14:30:00.000+08:00

Have you ever wondered about the two- and three-letter words acceptable in scrabble as approved by scrabble associations? (Well, I have, because I have been playing a lot of online scrabble with my Dungngo lately).

Have you also wondered about the unusual color terms (and what shade of color they are referring to?)

How about a listing of the lost English words?

Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t; I’m sharing what I’ve stumbled into, anyway. It’s a goldmine of information, if you ask me, especially if one is so inclined to learn about some not-so-common but interesting information about the English language.

Here’s a link to the website: http://phrontistery.info/

Direct links to some interesting information in the site:
Two- and three-letter scrabble words: http://phrontistery.info/scrabble3.html
Lost English words: http://phrontistery.info/clw.html
Obscure color terms: http://phrontistery.info/colours.html

Beadwork

2008-01-16T00:43:00.001+08:00

Lately, I’ve been being drawn (again) into beadwork, which is good, because now, I can allot at least a day a week for this other medium of self-expression.

Beadwork is therapeutic; it relieves me of stress. It also has a lot of potentials for business. Hmmm, why not?

Let me share some of my initial outputs.

Dress designs for me

2008-01-14T10:46:00.000+08:00

It was already past 3am, yet sleep was still evasive. I tried to catch it, but it was slippery, so I gave up the attempt. I could have browsed the internet to pass the time, but I had been online for hours before going to bed, looking for and studying some craft ideas and designs.

I don't know what I've been thinking at the time, but soon, an idea came into my mind. I grabbed my notebook and drew the idea (to think I don't even draw).

Yes, the idea is of dresses and blouses I'd love to sew for myself (if I know how) for summer, and suits I'd love to wear if I were still trapped in the corporate world. My creative self is happy I've turned my back to that world, but the part of me that loves dressing up is, well, not too happy whenever I am in the mood to wear suits, which is very seldom. :-)

Ah, whatev! I know I'm blabbering, and I apologize. Just think it's the result of lack of

sleep. Hehe. :-)

UP Diliman Dorm Razed by Fire

2008-01-10T21:41:00.001+08:00

A sad news to UPians: the Narra Residence Hall, one of the oldest dormitories in UP Diliman, was razed by fire hours after the year-long centennial celebration kick off last Tuesday. (The kick off started sometime Tuesday night; the fire is said to have started Wednesday dawn).

This may no longer news to many, but it was to me about five hours ago. I was cleaning my room when a friend, Arnold, also a UP graduate, sent me a YM. No, not to tell me about the fire, but to talk about wedding bells (his and his girl friend; and mine and my Dungngo).

Then I asked him about the centennial kick off. He said he did not manage to go to UP that night. Then he mentioned about the fire. Waaaa!

I tried to remember what I was doing when the fire started. I think I must already be off to dreamland by then. I remember I finished writing an Ilokano short story about 2:30am Wednesday, and went to bed immediately after shutting down my PC. That must be why I wasn’t awoken by the sirens of the fire trucks.

Ah, so sad. Maybe especially so for the thousands who have stayed in that dorm when they were students. As Arnold, a former Narra resident, said in our YM conversation, “Narra lives in our hearts na lang. sniff. hikbi. singhot.”

Tsk!

Click here to watch the GMA newscast about the fire.

Click here to read a PDI report on the fire.

8 Goals for 2008

2008-01-06T21:07:00.000+08:00

Goal setting, that’s what I do whenever I have time to plan my next steps, especially right before or after I make a jump. I don’t like resolutions mainly because I have yet to meet a person who has actually been successful in making his or her resolutions happen.

One of the things why resolutions don’t work is that many make them just for the sake of having resolutions for the New Year, without the necessary commitment to make them come true. Another one is that, most often, many just list the things they want to change or achieve without identifying the things they must do to make them a reality.

So it’s goal setting I do. The main difference (in my humble opinion) between goals and resolutions is that the former tends to be more realistic than the latter. Also, when one sets goals, one necessarily identifies the things that might hinder him or her from achieving those goals and the things he or she can and must do to achieve those goals despite the barriers. He or she may or may not write the hows, but written or not, these things have to be in his or her mind.

Writing and posting my goals work, not only because I am reminded of them every time I open my blog, but also because friends who have read them ask me how it’s going. My first attempt was sometime in 2005 when I challenged myself to read a number of classic literature in a year. My friends were very supportive, asking me how I was doing (and teasing me about how late I was at realizing I should be reading classics) and suggesting good titles for me to read. Salve even lent me several classics from her extra-huge collection.

There is some sort of good pressure when my goals are written for everyone to see, that there is a better chance that I achieve (most of) them. Also, family and friends tend to align their goals and activities with mine, so as to help me achieve them.

So what are my goals for this year? Here they are:

Finish my studies. This has been mentioned a bit too often in my goals. Sometime in 2006, I actually decided to ditch it, but someone got into the picture and convinced me to finish it. So now, I plan to do the thesis. Anyway, it’s just this kalokang thesis that is standing between me and my diploma.

Travel. This year, I plan to visit any three of these local tourist spots: Palawan, Callao Caves, Boracay, Bicol, Abra or Sagada and any one of these South East Asian countries: Malaysia, Thailand, or Indonesia. You guessed it right: it’s still in accordance with my dream to break into travel writing genre.

Pursue my entrepreneurial spirit. Even when I was much younger, I had always dreamed of eventually owning my own business, although I was not sure I’d eventually learn how to manage a business and I’d have a capital. What’s more, I did not know the ins and outs of a good business; couldn’t even think of what business to put up. But now, thanks to the influence of my brother who set up his own firm with some of his friends almost immediately after he passed the board exams, and of the people I am close to who had successfully crossed over to business, I think I am now ready to try my hand at it. Right now, I have several seemingly good business ideas. I hope the feasibility studies would turn out positive.

Write and publish short stories. During the past three months since I quitted my work, I devoted my time to practicing my writing skills. I think I’ve done enough practice; it’s time that I do real stuff. Of course, I’ll still be writing some stuff for my blogs (how can I not? hehe), but I must devote more time now pursuing my fiction writing dream.

Continue with my self-training on adobe and other graphic programs. And how about learning to do web design? Manong Ricco, who installed Flash in my computer last month, says it’s easy. A bit tricky, he says, but it’s alright once you’ve got the hang of it. Why not?

Get into crafts (besides beadworks which I already am into) and learn some livelihood skills. I had tried to enroll in dressmaking last year, but the class was already full so I was advised to do it this summer. I’ll try to be early this time. I still do some beadworks (yes, I make most of my accessories) but I’d also love to learn candle and soap making.

Become a regular contributor to some national magazines. Besides H&L, of course. I’m already in contact with some, and I hope they’d react positively to my sample works. Sana! :-)

I said 8 goals, but listed only 7. There’s another one, of course, but I prefer to keep it off the visible list for a while. Smile! Hehehehehe

New Year's Gift: An Open Letter

2008-01-02T21:20:00.000+08:00

Dear Humanity,

I know that there are times when you think and feel that you are utterly alone; that no one cares. But that is not entirely true, you know that. Someone up there is always watching you, crying with you as you shed your tears, and whose heart bleeds as yours break into pieces.

He would rather not put you through anything that would make you sad; He would rather carry your load than give so you much burden. If only it weren’t necessary that you must walk on unpaved roads strewn with humps and holes of different sizes and shapes; if only it weren’t important that you must stumble from time to time, He wouldn’t put you through things that would make you — and Him — cry.

But you must go through both good and seemingly bad things, my friend. Like a clay pot that must be molded for it to be shaped, and fired for it to become strong, you must go through different challenges so that you might understand and grasp me. Yes, you must sail on stormy seas so that you'd appreciate better the dawning of a sunny day and the sighting of an island.

I say it again: you are never alone. The Father above has sent me — among others — to be with you always, to walk with you in your every step, to guide you, to help you, to make you stronger, to keep you going.

Look at me, friend, for I am always with you, whether you see me or not, whether you choose to grasp me or not. I am in everything that happens in your life: in your every success and in your every failure.

I am one of the reasons why things happen in your life; the answer to some of your questions. I am the reward that wipes off your tears, the gift that warms your heart.

Come, try to grasp me, my friend. Come, hold my hand.

Do walk on. With me.

For I am,

Lesson

//Sherma E. Benosa
29 December 2007; 11:10am

2007: A Glance at the Year that (Almost) Was

2007-12-28T18:47:00.000+08:00

The year 2007 is about to bid us goodbye. As I open my arms to welcome the coming year, I would want to give the departing year one last hug for having been so good to me, for entrusting to me gifts and lessons I will forever cherish.

As a tradition I have been doing for the past four years, I am taking a glance at the year that (almost) was. This time, focusing on some of the lessons I’ve learned.

--------------------------------
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. —Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I’ve come across this biblical passage countless of times in my life. I remember clearly that it was read to us when Inang Pacing died in 2005 and again in May of this year when Amang Roman breathed his last. The very first time I come across it years ago, I had thought that I’ve understood — and learned — the lesson well.

Apparently I had thought wrong.

Patience is a virtue I sorely lack. Having been afflicted with what I call ap-apura syndrome and having thrived in an environment where the word “deadline” is a tangible presence, I tend to rush things and to be upset when I (or others) cannot meet deadlines.

It’s true I do not make definite plans in my life. I always try to make my plans flexible so that I can easily incorporate changes should circumstances demand that alterations — big or small — be made.

But sometimes, the theory is easier stated than put to practice.

Early this year, a big plan was conceived supposedly for middle of this year. Though at the back of my mind, I had known that changes might be made with regards to the schedule, I had felt so bad when something happened which consequently hindered the big thing from taking place on the appointed date. I had been depressed — and worried — for a while, until I realized it must have happened for a reason.

A re-scheduling was made. But now it is becoming apparent that even the re-scheduled date is not yet the right time.

I have to admit that I am disappointed; I am normal, after all. But right now, as I look back at the months that I have been waiting, I see lessons strewn along the roads I have traveled, all of which clearly spelled out for me not to miss.

I know, the crazy little imp that is me is being taught important lessons I cannot afford to miss.

--------------------------------
His name was always on my lips when I was a young girl. I spoke of His greatness to anyone who would listen. And in my own little ways, I tried to become worthy in His eyes. But somehow, along the way, I stumbled and lost the light He has given me. Then I just stopped. My lips sealed themselves up and His name did not escape from them for a long time. I died.

But He wouldn’t let me stay a living dead. He kept calling my name, coaxing me to grasp the light again, to walk the track He had showed me, and is showing me still.

I am one stubborn child, but soon, my sleepy senses were awaking. Soon, my hands were fumbling in the dark for the light. Soon, my heart was beating into my whole body the blood of willingness to heed His divine call. Soon, I was standing up, ready to follow Him again.

But as I was struggling to make that journey of renewal, I saw a hand reaching out to me. I looked at the eyes of the man who had extended me his arm, and I saw the answers of my prayers reflected there. As we smiled at each other, we just knew we were to make that journey together, so we linked our arms and walked together toward the light.

I learned the man had stumbled many times in the past, and was stumbling still; that he had given up the journey a long time ago. He admitted he didn’t know why he reached out to me, but somehow, he knew he did the right thing. He reckoned it was time that he stopped making wrong turns, and started making the journey right.

I guess that’s what we are now: walking hand-in-hand along the path of renewal which we must trudge together; to re-learn the good things we have known before but must have forgotten; and to unlearn the bad ways we might have picked up in our careless slumber.

And I guess that’s the point of this wait: not just to teach me lessons of patience but also to let us complete our renewal before we make another leap; to make us both closer to Him as we once were; and to teach us lessons too great it’s hard to put a name to them.

Truly, life is full of lessons the human mind cannot easily fathom.

//*Sherma E. Benosa
27 December 2007; 4:25pm

EDITING OUR MISTAKES IN LIFE

2007-12-20T00:01:00.001+08:00

You are doing some minor image editing on your computer screen. There are times you would make some mistake by overcorrecting or undercorrecting something, so from time to time you’d click undo.

Generally, you are happy with how much the image has improved. But as you are about to be finished, your computer suddenly shuts down. You curse the power interruption. Then you curse some more as you realize that you haven’t saved the file!

There are things in life we cannot undo as easily and completely as we would with our computer files. A wrong turn, a hurtful word said to a loved one, a bad move — these we all commit as we walk our life’s journeys, no matter how careful we are in our steps. Once committed, we can no longer undo many of these mistakes, especially because unlike with our computer documents, each thing we do and say has vast repercussions as they involve not just us — the file that we are working on — but also others, the unopened files and computer programs in our system.

So I guess our life’s mistakes are not like our pencil scrawls that can be effectively corrected with an eraser, or errors on our computer works that can be undone with an undo button. But there are effective and reliable tools we can use — APOLOGY and FORGIVENESS. Simply click the APOLOGY button when you have committed a mistake that has hurt a loved one and the words “I’m Sorry” will flash on the other person’s screen. But here’s the tricky part: you have to be truly sorry and you must be prepared not to commit the same mistake again for your APOLOGY to work. Sincerity is definitely an integral part.

When someone clicks the APOLOGY button and the words "I'm sorry" flash on your screen, all you have to do is click back the FORGIVENESS button. It means that you have wholeheartedly accepted the other person’s APOLOGY. But not only that. You also have to click it when someone has sent you back the message “It’s okay. Forget about it,” on your request of APOLOGY. It means that you are also forgiving yourself for your mistake; that you won’t keep revisiting it in the future, feeling so bad having committed it.

And lastly, don’t forget to keep clicking the SAVE button. Going through the whole process of editing — of doing and undoing, of apologizing and forgiving — is useless if you fail to save the LESSON for future use. Let the saved file be a reminder of the healing process you once went through to make yourself better; for you not to forget the lesson; and for others to access and learn from.

//Sherma E. Benosa
17 December 2007; 3:35pm

_________
This piece was written as a response to a question posted by CPascua in relation to my Zooming In, Zooming Out article. He asked: When you tinker with photos, you feel safe and confident coz you have the ‘undo button’. In real life, what are your tools to correct your mistakes?

The (In)Famous Ones

2007-12-14T01:18:00.000+08:00

It’s been three months since I left FAME, but when I saw the guys today, it felt like I’d never left.

I am talking about my ex-officemates, the young souls who made my stay at FAME worthwhile, the friends who made every cortisol-filled moment at work seem less stressful, the friends with whom I shared laughter and tears, and some fun and more fun.

Some have left long before I did; others shortly after I brought home my personal stuff, never to bring them to the office again; while the rest are contemplating of trudging a different road soon. We are now walking on different avenues, but still we are bonded in a way that souls who recognize something in each other are bonded.

I hope the deep friendship remains, even if there may come a time when fate would decide to toss us into different worlds.

"FREELANCE"

2007-12-07T01:08:00.000+08:00

For the past three months, the word ‘freelance’ which I had been using to describe my employment status was merely a euphemism for what I really was: (almost) jobless. For, even if I had several writing assignments, my income was almost non-existent. Pay per article is unbelievably low.

I did prepare myself for this. Even before I resigned from work, I knew it would take time before I would be able to establish myself as a freelance writer. I also knew there would be times I would feel down for not having an income. I had psyched myself beforehand not to give in to self pity when those taunting moments come, but still, when they did, it was extremely hard not to question my self-worth.

May be I could have found a new job faster if I had not laid down the rule before I resigned: that this time, I will apply only in freelance or part time jobs. During the three months I was unemployed, there were several job openings I could have applied to. When I submitted my term paper at the linguistics department of the university last September, I was told the department was looking for a researcher with knowledge in linguistics. Being a linguistics graduate from that very same department, I was encouraged to apply, and I was vastly tempted because I could be sent to other countries for fieldworks, and I could finally practice my course. But it was a fulltime job, so I didn’t.

Then Manang Linda (Bulong) told me that the UP press was in need of a copyeditor. She encouraged me to apply. Again, the temptation was so great. Who would not want to work for UP press? Even my Dungngo who knew of my freelance-only rule convinced me to apply. And honestly, I did contemplate sending in my resume, but eventually didn’t. I stuck by my rule.

There were other openings in companies I would have loved to be part of, but all were fulltime positions, so despite the encouragements I received, I did not apply. To be honest, I felt bad because I see them as doors opening, with a promise of a warm welcome and an invitation for a short peek, which I unceremoniously turned down as if I was already sure I would be allowed to linger inside.

By the third week of November, with still not many prospects of getting regular assignments besides my previous company which retained me as a contributor, I started doubting my decision. I wondered if I jumped off the cliff that was my previous job prematurely. Besides the magazines where I submitted unsolicited materials, hoping they would be published sometime in the future (say, middle of next year), there weren’t many part time/freelance jobs available, and the only company I applied to and where I did an editing exam last September had not contacted me. After two months of hearing nothing from them, I was ready to accept that my application was rejected.

“Love, saanak sa a nakapasa idiay nageksamak,” I sadly told my Dungngo late last month. “Dua a bulanen ti napalabas manipud nageksamak and I still haven’t heard from them.”

“It’s alright, love. There will be other jobs,” he answered.

I sighed. “I know that. But, well, I feel I am not good enough. I mean, I know there are others who are much better than I am, but it feels bad to realize I am not in their league.”

“Oh, Love. Don’t think that way. You are good.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

He sighed, lost for words, so I added, “Sorry, love, but I can’t help it. I am a positive thinker, you know that, and I believe in what I can do. Pero, siempre, I also cannot help feeling down from time to time. I’ve read about how retirees sometimes feel when all of a sudden they find themselves with nothing much to do. I think that’s how I feel right now. A retiree. Except that I am not their age! Waaaaaaaaaaa!”

“Heh! Saan man a ti la ibagbagam.” He said, laughing at the funny sound I made. “Just wait, love. Something will come up. While waiting, aramidem pay laeng dagitay intedko nga assignments mo.”

“Ooooopppps! Wen aya!” I suddenly perked up, blessing him for pulling me out of my ensuing depression. Yes, indeed, I had a lot of things to do. I might be jobless, but my hands were full. During the past months, I was busy polishing my Iluko (Ilokano), busy writing my assignments for Health and Lifestyle, busy trying to write iluko short stories, busy learning poetry, busy revisiting Japanese poetry forms (haiku), busy setting aside my thesis (hehehe), busy reading pocket books, busy writing blog materials, busy doing my hobbies, and of course, busy sleeping.

So though in my heart, I knew I wanted the part-time editing job so much because with it I could work at home on my own time, and of course, there would be regular pay checks, I had accepted that I failed. So I launched my plan B which was to try to become a regular contributor in other magazines. I studied several magazines, took note of the kind of articles they publish, the length and tone of the articles, the magazines’ readership profiles, and so on. I short listed some magazines where I would want to try to get regular assignments. I also started writing travel articles not only because almost every magazine has a travel section, but because I wanted to break into this genre.

I even put into action my plan C, which I will not talk about for the time being. Yes, I think I was beginning to feel desperate.

But last Monday, my dream company — the one I thought did not want me — contacted me, inviting me for an interview. I was ecstatic! During the interview last Tuesday, I learned that their selection process had been tedious, that they gave examinations to hundreds of applicants, that’s why it took them a long time to process the applications.

And today… wow! I feel so blessed. I was again invited to visit them. Not for interview, but for contract signing! All of a sudden, I was pulled out of a dark abyss. My prayers have just been answered. Now, I can say I am indeed a freelance writer-editor without the shadows of the word “bum” hanging over me every time I blurt out the word.

Yes, my ‘bumship’ days are over.

Sherma E. Benosa
06 December 2007; 9:34pm

WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE TURNED OFF

2007-12-06T00:28:00.001+08:00

(A Recollection of and Reflection on a Memorable Interview)

With the way he talked, I had no doubt that his eyes would be boring into mine as he expressed his convictions, and maybe there would even be a challenge in them for me to counter his opinions, if only he could look at me directly in the eyes. But he couldn’t, as he had been totally blind for 15 years.

His name is Ferdie, and it was actually his being a working blind that I sat down with him for an interview one late afternoon. I was writing a human interest story for our magazine, an assignment I chose because I knew where to find my interviewees, and also because I’d been writing purely medical articles for the last two months and I’d been getting tired writing those stuff. I felt the need to write a much lighter story for a change, so I assigned this one to myself.

Sitting next to Ferdie was his soft-spoken and good-looking wife who would smile at me every time our eyes met. The strong bond between husband and wife was palpable. Behind the couple were the other blind masseuses, busy at work.

Ferdie is tall and handsome and looks younger than his age of 35. He is full of convictions which he fearlessly shared with me as his be-sunglassed eyes looked unseeingly at the block ahead.

But it was not just his convictions that I was after. I wanted his story.

********************

The year was 1993 and he was barely 21 years old when his life was altered forever.

He was a security guard on duty when a skirmish broke out in his area of responsibility. He walked to the feuding groups to pacify things, but before he could even reach them, a rifle was shot, hitting him in the face.

Everything turned black, as if the day suddenly became night, and the voices became distant, like a radio whose volume was suddenly lowered, then completely shut off.

Weeks later, Freddie learned that he hovered between life and death for a while, but he managed to trick death and come back to life. Except his eyes; they are now forever dead.

********************

I closed my eyes as Ferdie related to me this part of his story. Then I imagined myself when I was 21 years old. God! When I was that age I just got out of the university, hoping to find job soon so I could help with my brothers’ escalating school expenses, worried sick that if I failed, one of them might have to stop schooling for a while. At age 21, a new chapter of my life was just beginning! I shuddered at the realization.

I sighed. Ferdie’s wife must have felt I was deeply affected by her husband’s narrative. She touched my arm and offered me a reassuring smile. Gratefully, I smiled back at her, knowing immediately that behind her soft voice is an unwavering strength.

The interview went on.

********************

“Noong una, mahirap sa akin na tanggapin na isa na akong bulag. Inabot din ng limang taon bago ko natanggap ang aking disability,” Ferdie shared, adding that he even tried to commit suicide. But when his suicide attempt failed, “naisip ko na baka ito talaga ang destiny ko kasi bakit ganuon, noong mabaril ako, nag-50/50 pa ako, tapos sinubukan kong magpakamatay, hindi pa rin (ako tuluyang namatay)… so naisip ko na baka talagang ito ang magiging mundo ko. Ang maging bulag.”

Having finally accepted his fate, Ferdie tried to find a way to stand on his own despite his disability. He said that it was such a good thing that when he was ready to move on, a radio program was aired about government help for people with disabilities. He jotted down the number the radio hosts read on air, and placed a long distance call to Manila. He was given instructions about where to go and what documents to bring. Within a week, he was on his way to the city.

“Ni-rehab ako… tinuruan akong tumayo sa sariling paa. Nagkaroon din ako ng [counseling session] sa psychologist. Tinuruan (ako) sa home living. Natuto akong maglaba, magluto, maglinis ng bahay. Nag-aral ako ng Braille, abacus, pero sa pagmamasahe ako nag-concentrate,” Freddie shared.

He added that he mastered the art of massage in barely two months (regular training takes a year). Having learned things, he taught at the school for a month, before he got into an on job training, which he also enjoyed. “Kasi may allowance na ako sa school, binabayaran din ako sa labas,” he shared, pride and joy apparent on his face.

********************

I, too, felt proud of Ferdie’s accomplishment. But I learned later that that wasn’t the best part of his story. It was when Ferdie shared with me his and his wife’s romance that things truly became considerably lighter. It turns out that his wife was working at the school where he was enrolled in. They became friends, and then things blossomed into romance which led to marriage. Now, they have two kids, ages 7 and 5.

“Maraming nagbago sa akin simula noong mabulag ako. Mas matibay ang loob ko ngayon. At may mga nagagawa ako ngayon na hindi ko dati kayang gawin, tulad ng Judo. Mas nabigyan ko ng halaga ang sarili ko, lalo na nung makilala ko ang Panginoon…Ngayon, ang pangarap ko, naming mag-asawa, ay mapag-aral at mabigyan ng magandang kinabukasan ang aming mga anak,” he smiled.

********************

I nodded to let Ferdie know I think highly of his and his wife's aspirations for their kids, and of his becoming a better person despite and because of his disability, forgetting that he couldn't see me. His wife saw me nod though, and again, she gave me a serene smile.

As I listened to Ferdie wrap up his story, I thought to myself that indeed, it's difficult to fathom divine designs.

I lingered a little while longer before saying goodbye to the couple. It was not necessary, but we bonded well and I felt they were my new-found friends. I also shared a bit about myself, and answered some of their questions about my work. Then it was time to say goodbye. I shook Ferdie’s hand, hugged his wife, thanked them, then bid goodbye.

Slowly I walked to where I could hail a cab for home, feeling so blessed that I had been given (again) the gift of chance to glimpse at another aspect of humanity.

As I rode back home, I became well aware that I had become a different — and hopefully better — person.

I closed my eyes. No, the world doesn’t end with the turning off of the light.

This recollection-reflection is based on my feature story published in the September-October 2007 issue of Health and Lifestyle titled, “Gaining More after Losing Some.”

//Sherma E. Benosa
23 November 2007; 11:03pm

"WHIRLWIND": Plot Summary and Some Notes

2007-12-01T21:30:00.001+08:00

Finally, I’ve finished reading “Whirlwind,” the sixth and last book in James Clavell’s great Asian saga. Containing more than 1,200 pages, “Whirlwind,” like the other books in the saga (except King Rat), is also a “heavy” read with many interweaving subplots.

I’ve been reading the book since last week, and I just finished it the other night. I could have finished it long ago, but I decided to read the book leisurely so I could prolong the pleasure of Mr. Clavell’s company.

I love to do a comprehensive review of all of JC’s books because I’ve learned a lot from them but it’s not possible at the moment because the other books are with Dad. So for the time being, I’ll just focus on Whirlwind.

With some elements of espionage and religious issues, “Whirlwind” is a story of violence, deception, betrayal and great love at a time when men and women, young and old, had to barter for their lives in their desperation to survive heartbreaking odds. Set in Iran between February 9 and March 4, 1979 during the civil war, the story depicts a time when to trust is to risk your life and that of your loved ones, and deceit is the name of the game.

It all started when the Iranian government was toppled by the revolutionaries, which were composed of people and groups from different political (and even religious) affiliations. With the crumbling of the government, the struggle of the different factions of the revolutionaries to gain power over another started, hence the beginning of a civil war highlighted by summary executions of those perceived, rightly or wrongly, as pro-old government and therefore anti-new regime. During this period, brutal acts were committed by people and groups blinded by their twisted interpretations of Islam.

Trapped in this internal conflict is a British aviation company and its multiracial team of pilots and mechanics. As the old government crumbled, life became hellish for these foreigners. The new regime and most of the Iranians believed that the Americans are the personifications of evil. And, although the other nationalities were treated a bit better than their American counterparts, all of the foreigners had their share of harassments from the Iranians who loathed everything foreign — foreign people, foreign ideas, foreign way of life. One pilot was kidnapped to fly his kidnappers so they could do “God’s work,” another was forced to illegally fly an Iranian official and his family to the country’s boarder, while the rest had been either shot at or harassed in the streets and in their homes or bases.

No one was safe, not even the Iranians, but the pilots would not leave the country. Billions of US dollars were at stake. They knew that if they left, their company would fold. At the same time, two of the foreign pilots were married to Iranian women whose families were rich and influential. But the women’s families, in the end, were more of a liability than help to the couples, because deep inside the other family members was a deep-seated loathing for the foreigners.

So as things changed from worse to worst, the foreigners eventually conceived an escape plan. Highly dangerous and beset with many difficulties, the plan was codenamed “Whirlwind.” The plan was simple: all pilots were to fly their respective planes (the 212s only; the 206s were to be left behind), including all foreign mechanics and some valuable spare parts out of Iran. But to do that, they would have to revert back their registration to British (the planes were Iran registered even if the Iran government hadn’t paid the planes yet), some of the pilots would have to overcome their captors/kidnappers, and outwit their ‘harrassers.’ On top of that, they would have to secure permit to fly (they couldn’t fly without permit) without rousing suspicion from the Iranians authorities, obtain their passports which had been confiscated, and make sure that they would not be arrested in their new host countries and extradited back to Iran. Moreover, the pilots who were married to locals also had a lot of score to settle with their wives’ families, especially because their wives couldn’t go back to the country if they left without papers.

Even with the multitude of what-ifs and obstacles, the pilots were all committed to put the plan into action, except the two who were married to Iranian women. The first wouldn’t leave because he wouldn’t leave his wife behind (though he helped his colleagues in the first leg of their escape), and the second was still trying to outwit and overcome his captors then save his wife at the time of the escape, and therefore did not know of the plan.

With all of its problems, the one sure thing that could make the plan fail is if one or two of the foreigners stayed behind because they would definitely be used as hostages by the new regime so the escapees would go back to the country.

So what to do? Read the book at find out.

Verdict

Even with just its convoluted plot, “Whirlwind” is already a very interesting read. But add to that the political, cultural and religious clashes that James Clavell deftly weaved into his novel and it becomes a must-read. I agree with The Washington Post Book World that “James Clavell does more than entertain… he transports us into worlds we’ve not known… drawing us into a grid of interlocking tales teeming with characters and sweating with action and surprise.”

On James Clavell’s Books

I find it hard to decide which of the books I like best because I love them all. I noticed something worth mentioning though. Where in Noble House, Gai-Jin, Taipan, and ShoGun, I learned a lot about the values, belief systems and thoughts of the host countries (Noble House – Hong Kong; Gai-Jin and Sho-Gun, Japan; and Taipan, China and Hong Kong), James Clavell seemed to have not positively appreciated the Iranian politics and culture. In “Whirlwind,” there was not a single positive Iranian trait he highlighted. Everything seemed negative — the Iranian characters’ twisted interpretations of Islam, their absurd “logic,” and their business ethics and traditions. The only thing that is positively portrayed is the Iranian women’s demonstration in which the women bravely renounced the wearing of chador and demanded that their right to vote be upheld.

But like his other novel, Whirlwind has the James Clavell signatures I so love — convoluted plot and his style of slowly unraveling “secrets” and important information as each chapter develops. Unlike most authors, JC does not wait until the end to reveal “secrets.” What keeps me gripping each of his book until the very end is not finding out the “what’s” or even “why’s” but the how’s”of the story — how the information and motives are going to affect the other characters and the circumstances; how the problems are going to be resolved; and so on. Then I come to the ending feeling like I’ve read several books in one — fiction, history, and sociology, among others.

Ah, James Clavell is definitely my favorite author of all times.

Some Asian Concepts and Glimpses
(Pre-lude to my Comprehensive Book Review)

One thing I like about JC is the strength of his characterization and how well he has captured the idiosyncrasies of the Asian culture. Below are some of the concepts I came across in his books:

Face. This concept is similar to our present concept of face, like when it is used in the phrase, “saving face.” But it seems that this concept has far greater significance in (old) Chinese than our present-day usage. As I understand it in JC’s books (Noble House and Taipan), one loses face when one fails to make another person do what he wants that person to do. Like in Noble House, when Casey spoke a perfect Cantonese to a Cantonese hotel boy (hoping that the Cantonese would be impressed that she learned a phrase of his language within 24 hours or that the Cantonese would perhaps teach her), the Chinese pretended not to understand Casey’s Cantonese, forcing Casey to switch to English. Which of course she did, making the Chinese feel triumphant for having successfully made Casey “lose face.”

One also loses face when one cannot do what he has said he would, even if what had been said was just a slip of the tongue. When one says he would do something, he must do so if he is to save his face, even if that something is ludicrous in the first place.

Joss. Someone was killed in a fire. Joss. You lost in a bet, joss. Someone meets an accident while walking on the street, joss. You missed your train, joss. I do not know how it could be translated to Philippine language, but it seems that joss means “it’s meant to happen.” The Chinese folks in the books (Taipan, Noble House) find it easy to accept bad circumstances because of joss.

This concept, if I am not mistaken, is similar to or the same as the Japanese concept of karma (as used in Sho-Gun and Gain-jin) and to the Iranian expression, “As God wants” (Whirlwind).

Samurais and Seppuku. One thing I loved about Gai-jin and Sho-gun is the glimpse I was able to get of the Samurai thinking and discipline. I find the concept of seppuku much too harsh a punishment for mistakes, and I also don’t like the fact that a samurai’s life and that of his family lie at the whims of his or her liege lord, but I appreciate the samurai tradition of creating death poems and writing or reciting very short poetry to pass the time. In Sho-gun and Gai-jin, I learned a lot about how a very short verse could be interpreted in so many ways.

On Sex. In all of James Clavell’s books, it was portrayed how Asians (Japanese, Chinese, Malay, and Iranians) talk openly of sex, how it is a natural part of living. I was so shocked to find out that it is the Caucasians who had lots of qualms about sex, that it is they who would squirm in their seats when their preferences are asked. (A teacher in high school mentioned this in class before — that Filipinos used to be very open about this topic, that discussing body parts and sex used to be just like talking about the weather.)

On Proper Hygiene. In JC’s books, especially in Taipan and Sho-gun, I learned that the whites used not to take a bath (nyehehehe). They used to think that taking a bath (or shower) makes one sick, so they do it only once a month. They also would not change their clothes, so they stank. Waaaa! In Tai-pan, the Whites learned to take a bath daily from the Chinese; in Sho-gun, the Caucasian hero, John Blackthorn, was forced to take a bath and to change everyday. Then, as he was becoming more accustomed to physical hygiene, he eventually realized that his comrades stank and that they were undisciplined

//Sherma E. Benosa
27 November 2007

"Volcanic" Eruption

2007-12-01T13:52:00.000+08:00

KA-BLAAAMMM!

The volcanic explosion was so loud it woke me up from my peaceful sleep, heart thumping wildly. I looked around, searching for my brothers who slept next to me in our bed but they were no longer in their places. I remembered my five-year-old brother Mans (I was six then) waking me up earlier but I just said okay then went back to sleep.

I smelled trouble. I just knew everyone was already engaged in productive activities. I started to make the bed, although a big part of me still wanted to go back to sleep. But sleeping in is against house rules; everyone is expected to wake up early. The last person to wake up makes the bed.

As I collected the strewn pillows, a thought hit me: how could there have been a volcanic explosion when there was no volcano near us? I searched my mind what made me think that what I heard was a volcanic explosion. Then I remembered: just last week I asked Dad about volcanoes and asked him to describe how strong their explosions were.

Feeling very silly, I decided that the explosion I heard was just a part of a dream. Then cries from outside brought me back from my reverie. They were calling out to me to go down at once.

I looked out the window and saw only my then four-year-old brother, Ogie, standing near the window, half-crying as he was desperately calling out to me. “Manang Jing! Manang Jing! Bumabakan a! Mananngggg!”

My heartbeat doubled. I was really in trouble, I thought. I had woken up an hour later than our scheduled wake-up time. I searched my mind which of my duties should have been done at that hour.

“Agkupinak pay!” I answered back and ignored what he was saying. What everyone else was saying, which I could not comprehend. I just knew they were telling me to get down at once. I wondered what the rush was. I searched my mind: “Ania ngata ti basolko, Apo?” I asked myself.

I continued fixing the beddings, thinking I would be in more trouble if I leave the beddings unfolded. Then all of a sudden, Ogie was already in the room. He took me by the hand and forcefully dragged me and together we got out of the house. Then he pushed me down.

My body ached at the contact with earth. I swirled around, deeply annoyed at my brother, but then he was down, too. He was madder than I was.

“Nagtangken ta ulom. Bumabakan kunak ket!” he said, crying still.

“Agkupinak pay, kunak met!”

He answered back, but his voice was drowned by the noise that suddenly erupted.

BRATATATATATATTATATATATATATATAT!

I stared at my brother, shocked. We were in the middle of gunfight!

I began to understand him, to be overwhelmed with gratitude for my brother for bravely coming to the house to get me to safety. But he told me to keep quiet and motioned for me to crawl to the other members of the family.

It was then that I started to worry about them.

We crawled for a few minutes, until we got to where my five-year-old brother, Mans, who was protecting our youngest brother, Ryan, then one year old. My cousins, Benmar (3), Manong Boyet (7), Manang Babet (9), and Manang Nanet (10) were also there. Inang was also holding Ryan. And Amang was not far ahead, holding Benmar. Mans was both annoyed and deeply relieved seeing me.

“Ditoytayo pay laeng, Annakko,” I heard Inang’s whisper. “Nataltalged ditoy, uray no mapuruakan ti granada dayta balay.”

It was then that I started to cry, realizing my stupidity; how worried I made everyone, and how much danger Ogie put himself just to get me to safety. But Ogie and Iding hushed me. “Shhhh… mayaten Manang. Safe kan. Saankan nga agsangit.”

But I cried harder, until my brothers hugged me.

We waited for hours until the shootings stopped. Then Uncle Nestor, Dad’s youngest brother who has gone out early to check our pagay and was with our nearest neighbors, about 100 meters away, started shouting instructions to us. He told us we should try to go to where he was as it was safer there.

We didn’t know which way to go. Should we cross the ricefields? Or walk on the street? He signaled we use the street to let the shooters know we were civilians. Amang carried my one-year-old brother while Inang held Benmar and beckoned us to go with them.

IT WAS ALREADY way past lunch time when it was decided that we could go back to our place, but not to go inside the house yet. We were to stay only at the front yard.

So that’s what he did. Amang settled under a mango tree, and made banban. Inang helped him. Uncle Nestor was the only one who dared go inside the house and brought out food. We kids played, the horror of the morning almost forgotten by our young minds.

Caught in our game, we did not notice anyone approaching. But as I was about to lift something, we heard a hoarse voice, shouting: “Ni Kapitan?”

Five or more armed men were standing in front of Amang and Inang, their long guns aimed at us.

“Siak, Apo,” Amang replied.

I did not know what I expected Amang to do, cannot even remember what he did and what passed between him and the men, but soon we were serving them food. I remember that even as they ate, their guns were still pointed at us.

IT WAS ALREADY LATE afternoon, and we were still not daring to get near the house when Dad, Mom and Aunts and Uncles arrived, white-faced. They broke down with joy when they saw us, still alive. They were afraid, and almost sure we were all dead. They were extremely happy it was our smiling faces that greeted them, not the carnage they feared they’d see. They relayed they rushed to us the moment they heard news of the “encounter” on our hill, but authorities barricaded the entrance to our barrio. They pleaded the authorities to let them pass, saying all their kids were there, vacationing, but they weren’t let through. “Too dangerous,” they were told.
Hugs and words of love were exchanged. My waking up very late that morning was even forgotten. Everyone was just so happy that we were alive.

But I cannot forget the guns. I look back to that part of my young life and I can see clearly those long barrels aimed at us.

I realize that episode represents my first memory of fear.

TRUST AND DECEIT

2007-11-22T02:04:00.000+08:00

Almost everyone professes to be honest, to value honesty, but if everyone truly practices what he or she professes, then why are there so many lies staring us in the face?

Lies and damn lies — they are what make the world go round. And I’ve been too naïve not to know it. Too stupid to insist on speaking the truth, when the way to getting through the maze of life is to say what people want to hear.

To say things in spite of your convictions.

To flatter people even if you don’t believe in what you are saying.

Why did I let the shell I so carefully built around me be broken by the sweet voice of the angel of pretense? Why did I take the seemingly soft and reliable hand offered to me when every sense of my being was shouting “beware?”

I should have heeded my instinct. “Angels are too good to be true.”

I should have listened to reason. “You love logic; be logical.”

But I didn’t and now I am here. I trusted and now I’ve just been proven wrong. Why did I choose to throw away caution when I knew it is the only thing that is reliable both in good times and in times of trouble?

I should have known better. I should have never lowered my guard.

My whole being still aches from the punches I just received. But my heart hurts more from the betrayal of the one person I thought was a friend.

Ah, I think I have to put on my protective shell once again.

//Sherma E. Benosa
22 November 2007; 2:05am

MEMORY OF YOUR KISS

2007-11-15T15:54:00.000+08:00

Your warmth around me, your breath against my cheeks
Dreamy sighs, racing heartbeats; murmurs of sweetness
Gentle caresses, my name softly escaping your lips
My soul warms at the memory of your tender kiss.

Quiet whispers, your voice crooning to my senses
Feather-light touches brushing the softness of my hair
Your fingers delicately tracing the contours of my face
My heart flutters at the thought of your embrace.

Your body pressed to mine, your lips on my forehead
My spirit responds to the rhythm of the wilderness
I close my eyes, as I drink the breeze of your scent
My soul warms at the memory of your tender kiss.

I reach for your hands, firmly encase them in mine
And bring them to my lips as into your eyes I gaze
There, I see mirrored, my lips twitching into a smile
My heart flutters at the thought of your embrace.

For MCP…

Extended version of a poem previously posted as a 12-liner poem.

//Sherma E. Benosa
14 November 2007; 1:40am

Transient Blossoms

2007-11-13T20:31:00.000+08:00

Evanescent blossoms I chased
And cherished like a goddess
But now that in the vicissitudes of time they’re lost
I wonder: what’s the point of all of this?

Bright dreams had become mere illusory
Shall I wallow in misery?
Transience I was too blind to see
The wheel has rolled, where will I be?

Groping in unlit alleys
Fumbling for something to hold on to
Wishing for a door to open
But will someone hand me a key?

The sun has eclipsed on me
All that’s left is a void that was once me.
I walk farther, farther down the hall
Until the shadows stop hounding me.

Inspired by a sad poem I stumbled upon this afternoon.

//Sherma E. Benosa;
November 13, 2007; 7:20pm

Dumbledore is Gay!

2007-11-06T20:37:00.000+08:00

Like my friend Salve, the thought that Dumbledore (respected headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Harry Potter series) might be gay never entered into my mind, although I always wondered why he wasn’t married. And I also did not read this line by Dumbledore: “You cannot imagine how his ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me,” to mean anything other than deep respect for a fellow genius, for a bright mind. But now, apparently, there is more to it than I initially thought.

The person Dumbledore is referring to in that line is Gellert Grindelwald, a dark, powerful wizard who, in his adulthood, terrorized the wizarding world much in the same way Lord Voldemort was to do decades later. In their youth, Grindelwald and Dumbledore were best friends, until Grindelwald showed to the wizarding community his true color and Dumbledore had to fight him off. Their duel is one of the greatest duels in the history of the wizarding world.

With JK Rowling’s revelation, I now better understand why Dumbledore was very much taken by the “ideas” of his friend and why he delayed battling with him. Being in love sometimes can make some people do stupid things.

Ah, well. I still adore Dumbledore. I think more so now that he is “out!” (And I understand re-reading the whole series is in order! I think I’ve missed a lot of the finer points of the whole series. Arggggh!)

____________________
Here are some more revelations from JK Rowling:
Neville Longbottom married Hannah Abbot.
Hagrid never married.
Snape’s portrait was put in the Headmaster’s office.

Is Snape good or bad? Here’s Rowling’s take:
“In many ways he really wasn't. So I haven't been deliberately misleading everyone all this time, when I say that he's a good guy. Because even though he did love and he loved very deeply and he was very brave, both qualities that I admire above anything else, he was bitter and he was vindictive... but right at the very very end, he did, as your question acknowledges, achieve a kind of peace together and I tried to show that in the epilogue.”

Okay, so there you go.

"Bumship" Report: How Am I Faring?

2007-11-03T14:41:00.000+08:00

It’s been two months since I became a freelance writer. My life has considerably become much simpler and less stressful since I left my fulltime job. In fact, I have managed to see a good part of my province, and I’ve written a travel piece about it. I’ve likewise managed to squeeze into my daily itinerary (which consists mainly of writing, eating, and talking to my Dungngo) occasional walks in parks and aerobics.

How have I fared during the past two months? Let me see.

In the first two weeks I wrote one medical article, though I spent most of my energy relaxing and being with the family, and getting to know more about my home province. I also spent a lot of time with my nephew Pau.

In the last three weeks, I’ve written another four magazine articles for publication (two medical and two travel), finished my term paper (thanks, Dungngo), and conducted some researches on magazines where I can contribute. I’ve also watched a play at Greenbelt 1 and attended an art exhibit at UP Vargas Museum. Likewise, I’ve polished my pen (poetry and essay). So far, I’ve written about three essays, one Iluko short story, one english short story, and several poems. I’ve also made two videos (thanks again, Dungngo), edited my Dungngo’s short story and co-authored a nobe-nobela at my blog in Iluko.com. Right now, I am writing an article and I’ve got another one lined up for next week.

I think I’ve been productive during the past two months of my “bumship.” Only, most of my outputs are for personal pleasure (blog posts for blogger and iluko.com… hehehe). So while in the next two months I think I’d be doing pretty much the same, I’d endeavor now to write more “for publication” pieces. Practice time is up. I think it’s about time I churn out more publish-worthy pieces.

________
I think I’d still try to find a part time job — one that would give me regular assignments but won’t ask me to regularly report for work. (Kung bakit kasi puro full-time ang offer! Waaaa!)

Amang Roman and Inang Pacing:

2007-10-31T20:28:00.000+08:00

IN MEMORIAM

I have always been aware of Death. I have never doubted that he’s real and that he’s such a powerful being, no one can escape his might. I’ve always been aware of the indescribable pain and stark sense of loss that are his marks; and of the bottomless void and utter emptiness that he always carries with him wherever he goes.

But for a long time, Death was just a mythical presence in my mind, like Santa Claus who goes around giving gifts to every child on Christmas, but somehow manages to always overlook our house. I had always concluded that our house was so remote Santa Claus could not possibly find us, which was just fine with me because I was never concerned about receiving gifts from him. I had, in fact, been thankful that our house seemed to have been left out in the maps of the deities, especially whenever I would think about Death. Every time I let my mind wonder about him, I would envision Death having a hard time finding our house and that of our extended family. I would then smile to myself, thinking that somehow we had been tricking Death for sometime without him knowing it.

But not for long. Death eventually located where Inang (grandmother) and Amang (grandfather) lived. One night in December 2005, without warning, he forced entry into Amang and Inang’s door, and took my lovely Inang with him.

It was my first time to see Death up close. He was a gory sight, a horrible presence that sucked up happy emotions and thoughts, replacing them with despair and gloom. I felt awful being that close to him. Still, I tried to stand between him and my Inang and defiantly challenged him not to prey on the weak. But Death knows no dignity. He simply looked down on me, telling me there would be a time he’d deal with me, but not just yet. I smelled his putrid breath as he spoke; it was all I could do not to puke. I stared hard at him, and a chill ran through me. I noticed there was no heart inside his ribcage. He must have lost it some time ago; or maybe it was never there.

I watched as Death walked out of the house, carrying my Inang who was blissfully lost in her dreamless sleep. We knew we were defeated; there was nothing we could do. Our only consolation was that Inang didn’t seem to know what had happened; she looked so peaceful and at peace in her sleep.

The moment Death and Inang left, darkness enveloped the house, but this, we did not readily notice. We didn’t have the strength to go and switch on the lights; we were all consumed in our loss as we struggled to console Amang, who was so calm, having already surrendered everything to the God we prayed to every night. That night, though, life refused to flicker in Amang’s eyes.

My great loss threw me into a bottomless pit I never knew existed. I felt I had drowned or suffocated. My pain and loss gnawed at my very soul and ate a big piece of my being. Every time I felt the need to unleash my pain, I would let out all the water in the overflowing dam of my aching heart.

Then a new kind of fear enveloped me, realizing and anticipating that Death was not yet done with us. He would be back, and in my heart I knew who he would take with him first. Since Inang’s departure, a kind of panic always enveloped me every time I looked at or thought of Amang. So I tried to be home more often and spend as much time with him as possible.

Death did come back, much sooner than I had thought. In May 2007, just over a year after he took Inang away from us, Death showed up at Amang’s door. He neither knocked on the door nor acknowledged us. He just went straight to Amang’s bed and gathered him into his cold, unfeeling embrace. How we shouted at Death to let go of Amang, how we tried to pull Amang free of the unwanted visitor’s powerful grip. But slowly, gradually, we lost. Death had Amang lying limp in his arms, and though they lingered a while longer, they too eventually left; leaving us to mend the shreds of our shattered hearts.

Life went on. We managed to accept our great losses. But life was never the same again for us who have been left behind. Where before I could simply go home and share a laugh with Inang and Amang, all I have left of them now is a memory — so alive Amang and Inang seem, so tangible are their images I swear I can feel them in my arms and hear their sweet laughter. But still, deep within me I know they are just shadows trying to ease my pain.

I will forever be thankful for the good memories that I have of Amang and Inang, but my heart sometimes can’t help but wish for more. The only thing that gives me strength when I think of them is the thought that they are together now — never to be separated from each other again. Death, afterall, is the beginning of a life which never ends. A life that has no place for Death and his utter nothingness.

//Sherma E. Benosa
31 October 2007; 8:35pm

CAVERN OF DEATH

2007-10-31T00:32:00.000+08:00

I first read some updates on the Glorietta blast before reading one of the novels in my collection: a somewhat romantic but definitely political novel (Of Love and Shadow by Isabel Allende) set in a Latin American country on the grip of dictatorship, and this is what I’ve become — utterly DEPRESSED. As the main characters in the novel discover the cavern into which the bodies of the desaparecidos (missing people) were thrown, images of those who died in Glorietta and the skeletons of the dug bodies in the novel kept flashing in my mind. So chilling are the sights I conjured that demons started beseeching me to write this depressing piece.

Echo the strangled moans
Of the shadows lurking
In your bottomless pit
Where dried tears of broken
Hopes walk with the fallen
Leaves of the dreams I
Once nurtured in my depths —

Now dried and breathless:
Just mere remnants of what
Could be that did not become.

Let go of the dark, thick liquid
In your crevice, threatening
To burst anytime and flood
The abyss of your nothingness.
The once-pulsating optimism
That fired at my veins and
Lighted my waking moments —

Now still and lifeless:
Just mere illusion that acquired
Flesh; already beaten and dead.

//Sherma E. Benosa
27 October 2007; 3:37am

Zooming In and Zooming Out:

2007-10-27T03:41:00.001+08:00

Life events and our perspectives

I am no visual artist, but among the skills I tried to teach myself when I was fresh from college and work did not yet demand so much of my time, is graphic design. Armed with some how-to articles I could find in the internet, I tinkered with Photoshop, in the hope that one day I’d be able to create personalized and especially-made cards to send to my friends or some good images with which to decorate my photo albums.

Years after those hours of tedious self-instructions, I would find myself very thankful that I had the sense to make my spare time productive by trying to learn things that, during those times, had seemed daunting (hence, better left to the real artists) and even useless. Not only was I eventually able to create passable designs for simple invitations and even coffee table books for family and close friends, but my little knowledge of the process also tremendously helped me perform my job when I got to a publication where, from time to time, there arose the need for me to know what is visually appealing and what is not.

But that is not all that I am thankful for. There is also something in the process of image editing that helped me better grasp the idea that there is a great design of things, of which we only see a part because of our limited perceptions. Let me elaborate.

There are times when, as I work on an image that need to be retouched or edited, say a picture of a smiling girl holding a bouquet of flowers but whose arm is smudged with few patches of dirt — nothing that simple editing cannot correct — I need to zoom in the object to have a much closer view of the part that need to be edited.

Looking at the object this close and seeing just the part I need to work on, it often seems to me that the part I am looking at doesn’t make sense at all. There are moments when I have a hard time imagining how that particular part is related to the whole object, even if I know what it is, having seen it in its entirety before zooming in the image.

I zoom in the object some more, and it becomes blurry and all the more senseless. It looks like just some pixels or dots thrown in together at random, with no connection with one another whatsoever. At this view, it is hard to connect the pixels and imagine what they might form.

Then I zoom the object out a little, and a little more, and I get a clearer view of the part I am viewing on my computer screen. I will now recognize it as a part of something, although at this view, I may still not see it as what it really is in connection to the whole picture — how indispensable this part may be to the whole.

I zoom the image out once more and, now seeing the whole picture again, I see what the part exactly is, how it is connected to the whole picture, and just how relevant it is. Then I start feeling like an idiot for failing to recognize it and make sense out of it when I was looking at it at “close range.”

There are still times when I find the time to sit down in front of my computer and do some image corrections. But even now, I am still mesmerized each time I get on with this process of zooming in and zooming out, especially when I connect it with the idea I adhere to when trying to grasp life and its many mysteries. Each time I do this process, or think of it, I see some sort of parallelism between how differently we view an image when we see it up close, focusing only on a single part, from when we see it in its entirety; and how differently we view a life event when we are in the thick of it from when we are simply observing it from a distance.

When something happens and we are personally involved, or someone close to us is, it is often hard to see things more objectively. We tend to be emotional and subjective. But when we aren’t involved, we can be more objective and are more able to keep our emotions in check.

There are also times when, as something is happening, we don’t understand what it means no matter how hard we try to analyze the events leading to it. Then, at a much later date, in some mysterious way or another, we get to understand what happened, how it happened, and why it happened. And as understanding dawn upon us, we say, “Ah! Kaya pala!”

So yes, I am thankful that I know a little about tinkering with images. Because with this little knowledge that I have, I understand that like everyone else, I may also have a limited perspective of things. And every time I sit down and work on an image, I am reminded that in many instances, I may not be seeing things in their proper perspective; that all I may be seeing is just a part or several parts of a whole. So I am more open to other people’s ideas —understanding them, analyzing them, testing them — instead of dismissing them outright. And so I write this piece, realizing that all I am presenting may just be a part or an aspect of a whole.

//Sherma E. Benosa
27 October 2007; 2:01am

FOR REAL

2007-10-23T09:36:00.002+08:00

A garden that knows no flowers
A mind devoid of thoughts —

Tell me they’re unreal;
Just some kind of a nightmare.

A pencil that refuses to write
A book that hates being read —

Tell me you’re kidding;
You’re simply pulling my leg.

A heaven that's not home for angels
A sea that harbors no fish—

Tell me they don't exist;
Just myths, some horrid tales.

A sun that shines just for me
A moon wishing for my smile —

Tell me; whisper them in my ears
But only if they’re for real.

//Sherma E. Benosa; 23 October 2007; 2:50am

PAGARIEK KADI?

2007-10-13T12:29:00.000+08:00

Pagariek kadi't bitek ti kaunggak
Ket isemak ididiayam nga ayat
Ta kayatko metten nga agsarday
Nasalemsem a rabii; isem a natamnay?

Ngem kasano no sika ket maysa
A batibat, mangay-ayam kararua;
Sipnget a mangisangbay al-alia
Naruay a samuyeng ken lulua?

Kunaekto kadi lattan iti bagik
Tunggal umapayka iti lagip:

Balay a diak koma pinagnaedan
Tagilako a diak koma ginatang
Sarsuela a diak koma binuya
Aweng a diak koma inggin-gina?

Pagariek kadi't buteng iti kaunggak
Tapno saem ken panaas maliklikak
Ta diak kayat nga aglangeb ti langit
A makipagrikna iti puso a masakit?

Ngem kasano no sika ket maysa
Nga ayat, mangbiag puso a naiwawa;
Ima a nalailo, mangisangbay namnama
Napnuan kaipapanan nga agsapa?

Kunaekto kadi lattan iti bagik
Tunggal umapayka iti lagip:

Napintas a libro a diak binasa
Nangayed a buya a diak kinita
Umno nga addang a diak insayangkat
Napateg a sagut a diak inawat?

//Sherma E. Benosa
13 October 2007; 12:35pm

NANGLIPAT A KARI

2007-10-13T00:53:00.000+08:00

Bay-am nga ipasimudaag
Di pay namurmurayan a bigat
Salemsem naglabas a rabii
Inkur-it dagiti nanglipat a kari.

Kari nga intedmo, napnuan sudi
Linagam a balikas, naumbi;
Kasla nalamuyot a dayyeng
Gayam, manglimlimo a samuyeng.

Bay-am nga iparangarang
Ti nakamirduot a tangatang
Dagensen simmangbay nga agsapa
Intugkel dagiti ubbaw a sapata.

Sapata nga impaidulinmo, nalailo
Insawangmo a sao, nadungngo;
Kas da la namsek a binatog
Gayam, daniw a ‘di makabsog.

//Sherma E. Benosa
13 October 2007; 1:04am

Transparency and Self-betterment

2007-10-10T04:07:00.000+08:00

I believe that it is our responsibility as humans to know ourselves very well — our strengths and weaknesses, our potentials, our purpose. To capitalize on our strengths to become a better person; to actualize our potentials and to use them well; to acknowledge our weaknesses and make up for them, or to correct them if they prove to be something about which something can be done. To know our purpose, to try to understand what we are here on earth for, and to work hard to fulfill that purpose. To try to reach the higher plane of understanding, of living, of dealing with ourselves and with others.

Weaknesses are not a reason for us not to do good, but only a reminder for us to seek guidance when we are faced with things that seem to be bigger than us. They are not here for us to use as an alibi for the mistakes we commit, but to remind us that we have to constantly try to make ourselves better.

If everyone could look at a single thing and be able to look at it in its entirety and view it from every angle possible, then what a better existence we would have. And if only we try to understand every aspect of a thing first, before we make conclusions, then how much easier life on earth would be.

But often, we are already judged even before we have had the opportunity to be known better. By a single word that came out of our lips, by a single act that we did before, by these we could already be judged. People tend to remember us as we were, forgetting that we are dynamic and that, by the time they would look at us again, we may have changed, hopefully for the better. People tend to think of us as photos; still and unchanging. Pity, but often just by the “snapshots” people have of us, they already think they know us well, and that their judgment of us is right.

I agree it might be nice to be transparent; maybe if we were, people would just take one look at us and they would readily have a good grasp of who we are as a person, as an individual. But the truth is that we are multi-faceted, multi-dimensional. Each of our dimensions may be transparent, but when put together, they make a very complicated totality that is us, and so we become veiled. Veiled, but not necessarily wearing pretentious masks.

I like looking at individuals, and wondering what kind of a gem they might be inside. I like peeling things slowly, patiently, layer by layer, my heart filled with wonderment at every discovery I unearth in the process. I like looking at things from different perspectives, recording my observations, yet withholding judgment or making conclusions, knowing that what I am seeing is just a part of a whole.

I am well aware of my weaknesses and I am doing something about them. I know my strengths, and I thank God for being so blessed. I am perfectly happy with who I am, despite my scars and my failures. From time to time I make evaluations of myself, making corrections where I’ve erred. So yes, my quest in this life is to become a better person; and if I could, to help others become better, too. To put to good use the things I am gifted with, and to overcome my weaknesses. Yet I am veiled, not in perspective, but where transparency is concerned. I share myself, but not everything of me. Not for fear I may be misunderstood, but because I am reserving it for the people who would want to come to know me better. It is my way of inviting people to come closer, try to know me more. And to be invited in return, so that I may also learn about them, from them.

I am also transparent in some things, but hard to decipher in many others. One moment, I am somewhat this thing, yet showing traces of other qualities at some other moments. At times I am easy to figure out, at other times I am difficult to fathom. I am veiled, but I don’t wear masks.

To be transparent (or be seen through and through) is a beautiful thing; I will not deny that. But so is being veiled. There is nothing wrong about withholding some parts of us, and showing only glimpses of the deepest recesses of our being from time to time, to the select few, if we so choose. For being veiled (as opposed to being transparent), for me, is not such a bad thing. Not being able to look at things from different perspectives yet making judgments too soon is.

//First posted in Ms. LJ Galleta's blog in Iluko.com

Why We Aren't Made of Glass

2007-10-08T20:59:00.000+08:00

(Excerpts from my posts in Iluko.com during a discussion of transparency and self betterment)

"If we were made of glass, we would easily break. And once broken, there’d be no more hope for repair. And though we would be transparent in good condition, we would become hazy in extreme environment, like when we are exposed to dust, humidity, and smoke. We would be very fragile and won’t be able to withstand great pressure, strong heat, and opposition. We won’t be able to bend. We would be strong and tough, but only up to a certain point.

If we were like glass, we would be easily affected by hearsays and indifference. We would not stand a chance against the much tougher circumstances of life."

'All that Matters': An Uplifting Read

2007-09-30T19:27:00.001+08:00

A young woman who just attempted to end her life. Her father who did not only have time for his family, but actually turned his back on them in favor of his Hollywood career and a younger woman. Her Nana (grandmother) who would not give up on her granddaughter.

These are the three main characters in Jan Goldtein’s debut novel, All that Matters, a story of hope and redemption.

Jennifer Stempler felt she had no more open door to turn to. The love of her life left her, her mother died in a tragic car accident, and her producer father had a new wife and a new-born girl. No, she would not be missed. So she pursued oblivion on the beach near her home in Venice, California.

But oblivion, it did not come. When Jennifer opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the “worn and wrinkled face” of her Nana, the one person she was sure would be deeply hurt if she died; and the last person she wanted to see her in her present state.

But here she was, deeply caring and loving that soon, when Jennifer's choices were narrowed down into three: stay in a psychiatric institution, or stay with her father (whose new wife made it known they wouldn’t have time caring for a suicidal woman), or stay with her Nana, Jennifer chose the last, against her father’s will.

And, though at first she was oblivious to her Nana’s love, warmth, and determination, she was soon beginning to re-embrace life. But just as she was starting to trust, love, and hope again, her Nana dies. With her Nana gone, the challenge now for Jennifer was to keep going on.

Deeply moving, All that Matters shows that deep love truly can move mountains and help lost souls find their way again. It affirms that, indeed, there are doors that are always open for us; all we need to do is look. And that even those that are closed will open, if we only learn to knock.

Let me share some of the quotes in the book:

“Across the street Jennifer observed a driver trying in vain to park her SUV in a space half the size she needed. It was the story of her life. She simply couldn’t wedge herself into a space in life where circumstances out of her control had left her no room.”

Jennifer (looking at something through her camcorder): “You want to see the real world, you have to shut off all distractions. It’s a matter of focus. Most people only think they see what’s going on.”

Gabby (Jennifer’s Nana): “The world isn’t in that damn lens. You’re so busy focusing, only you’re missing everything that matters.”

“Gabby: This rock has seen many storms. Here it stands exposed to the elements, covered with the scars of its past. But one thing that always gave me comfort in coming here—it has not crumbled. It is still standing at the water’s edge, facing the wind and the sea and whatever the future will bring.”

“Sometimes the gifts come wrapped in pain and the other times they hit you smack-dab in the pain when you are totally unprepared.”

“Like the pages she had yet to fill in her journal and like the white surface of the ice beneath her, Jennifer could see her future, as her Nana had said, was intriguingly blank and full of possibilities. It was waiting for her to write it, to fill the pages of her tomorrows with the life she alone could create.”

"All that Matters" Abstract

FREELANCING HOBBIES

2007-09-28T18:40:00.000+08:00

Now that I am free from the shackles of a fulltime job, I can already start doing the things I’ve promised myself I’d do when I have the time. I am listing here the things I want to accomplish (besides work) as a reminder for myself.

Travel. I love going to places. It has always been my dream to see different parts of the country (and of the world?), meet people, experience different cultures, and write about them. For me, travel writing is one of the most enjoyable writing jobs on earth.

Photography. Travel articles will never look good without good travel photos. There is no ugly subject, only lousy photographers. I hope I can eventually cross the line between amateur and pro-like.

Videography. With the advent of photo-editing programs, it should be easily doable now. And with my online tutor (hehehe) to help me, I’m sure I’d soon be able to make loads and loads of good videos. (Hey, please give pointers, guys!)

Dressmaking. No, I am not planning to eventually put up a dressmaking business. All I wanna do is sew my own and family members’ dresses. I hate going from one boutique to another, and not being able to find a dress I’d love to wear. Often, in RTWs, there is one element I don’t like, like color, or button, or the hem, or the length, or whatev.

Writing. I am not talking about blog posts. Not even the magazine type articles that I write. I am talking about fiction. Short story. I hope I could sit down and really write soon.

IN A HURRY

2007-09-23T15:10:00.000+08:00

“Para ho, Mama!” I called out to the driver and immediately got off the FX when he pulled over. He seemed annoyed. “Sorry ho,” I mumbled apologetically, then walked away, not bothering to explain why I had to get off almost as soon as I boarded.

I cursed myself. It’s the third time in six weeks that I’d forgotten something. Last week, I forgot my research paper at the office, and only remembered to check it when I was almost at the school. Of course, I did go back to the office to retrieve it (I had no choice because it was the last day of submission) and missed nearly half of the lesson. I was also marked late.

This time, it’s my wallet I’d left. I would have decided not to go and get it, but I had nothing in my pockets. My only consolation is that I realized it while I was still a walking distance from my apartment.

I checked the time. It was already half past nine in the morning. I should already be at the MRT station by now. I walked faster, telling myself for the nth time to prepare everything I needed before leaving the house. But then, I realized I did prepare my things last night. I was just very much in a hurry this morning that I forgot to put back my wallet into my bag after pulling out a small bill. It must be lying on the bedside table.

I walked faster. But as I did, familiar words rang in my head: “Apay ngamin aya kabsat ta kasla ka la agapura nga ania. Dumanonkanto met laeng dita, patiennak. Madmadi man no apuraem amin a banag. Ad-adu ti mapukaw mo no kua ta madim’ maappreciate ti panagbarom. Iti panagbiag, kasla ka met la agdaldaliasat ket. No agap-apura ka a kankanayon, dim’ maapreciate dagiti malabasam. Ken ad-adu pay ti malipatam no kua! Baka isunto’t mapanmo subsublien!”

I cringed. Those were my words to my youngest brother, Ryan, when he contemplated getting married at the young age of 22. I wondered what he would tell me if he learned I’m also afflicted with “ap-apura” syndrome (though it’s of different form) and how hopeless my case is. “Manang, ti panagdaliasat, kasla met laeng panagbiag ket. No apura ka nga apura, ad-adu ti mapukawmo ta adu’t malipatam. Baka isunto ti subsubliam! Dimo la ngaruden maappreciate dagiti malabasam, sayang pay ti bannog ken pamasahem. No intedmo la koman a nayon ti igatang iti gatas ni Pau-pau (his son), di isu pay!”

“Oy, Sherma, ba’t ka nakangiti?“ It was Rose, my next-door neighbor and a good friend. Already dressed for work, she was just getting out of her room. I felt my face go hot. I realized I had already passed through our gate and I was already standing right in front of my door, stupidly smiling alone.

“Wala girl. I was just in a hurry,” I said, laughing, and ran into the house, leaving her deeply puzzled.

If Life Were a Novel

2007-09-14T18:31:00.000+08:00

I’ve read somewhere that the people we cross paths with were put there by a divine hand, not at random, but very carefully, because they have a role to play in our lives. Some of these people will play significant roles, while others will have a very brief appearance because they play larger roles in others’ lives.

Lately I have been thinking, if the people that come to our lives and the events that happen were plotted by a divine hand, then our life is like a novel where the divine hand is the author, and we and the people that come to our lives are the characters.

For a while, this idea seemed acceptable to me, until another came to my mind: if our life was plotted from the very start, then we are simply acting out a role that has been given to us, and we are merely voicing out words that have been put to our mouth.

At this thought I became restless. I’ve always believed that our thoughts, feelings, actions, and words are ours. Because if they aren’t, then why would we be answerable for them to the very author who has willed us to think, feel, say, and do them? If we are only acting out a role and saying words that aren’t our own, then why would we be responsible for their consequences? With these thoughts, I realized that there is a glitch somewhere.

At first I suspected that the idea that someone has authored our life might be wrong. But I also found it unacceptable for it to be otherwise. After all, if our life depended entirely upon us — on our actions and that of others — then why are there things that are beyond our control? Why are there instances when, even with meticulous planning and execution, things just don’t happen the way we planned them? Why do we get to meet people we had not thought of, and had not even planned to meet? And why were we made to trudge this wilderness, with the family we had not picked to be born to, under certain conditions that had not been our own choosing?

With these thoughts swirling in my head, I came to the very same realization I had come to in my previous attempts to grasp man’s existence: that life is too mysterious for the human mind to fathom; that to attempt to do so would be like trying to put all the waters of an ocean into a hole the size of the human head.

But even with this realization, I still would not want to give up the attempt, not because I think I have what it takes to comprehend heavenly designs, but because I believe that having a picture of what we believe to be the design would be better by far than having nothing at all. After all, we are only as worthy as the value we put to ourselves. Our life is only as good as the meaning we ascribe to our existence.

At the moment, I still think that life can be likened to a novel, with the divine hand as the author, and us as the characters, except that this time, the author is understood to be unlike any mortal writer. Though like ordinary authors, He has chosen all the characters and the setting and has prepared the outline of our story, He has left the details to us — the characters. He has endowed us with the gifts of reason and insight to know right from wrong; giving us different ways on how we can proceed, and presenting us with options. And now thus equipped, he has allowed us to have a say in our story, of which we are both a character and a co-author.

______
The plot that is my life? Let me see. I’ve walked over valleys and plains, I’ve stumbled and tripped over humps many times, and I’ve been swept off by strong winds on some occasions; but I’ve also basked in the sun, sniffed sweet-scented flowers, and walked hand-in-hand with peace and happiness. So I believe I have a good life; my life is a fairly good book.

//Sherma E. Benosa; 29 August 2007; 2:29am

The Traveler

2007-09-11T16:33:00.000+08:00

Unpaved, the path’s long and winding
Curves abound and humps are plenty.
The trek’s arduous, the journey’s taxing
And the trail, narrow, rough and thorny.

You walk still, despite that your lane
Present you no refreshing scenery.
And your companion, a searing pain
Of your fruitless search, your misery.

Then finally you learn to listen
You start hearing your heart’s melody.
Then your eyes, you learn to open
The beauty around you, you begin to see.

You notice the compass guiding you
And the northern star lighting your way.
The open arms reaching out to you
Marking your track so you won’t stray.

Things, no longer do they seem bleak
The clouds that hovered above, now part.
The beams of light you used to seek
No longer elusive, now inside your heart.

You walk on; the journey’s not yet ended.
Beckoning, cheering you not to concede
Is destiny, waiting for you up ahead.
You take her hand; her voice you heed.

//Sherma E. Benosa;
11 September 2007; 1:26am

Bumship photos at NV

2007-09-09T13:36:00.000+08:00

Dead End

2007-08-30T11:32:00.000+08:00

I cannot pass through you
but I can make a way around you.

You deter my progress
but you cannot stop me.

You are the slow-down sign,
the check-your-way reminder
in disguise.

You are the detour arrow
That makes me try another road.

Like a hump,
you stand on my way
so that I may not go too fast.

So I step on the brakes
To re-examine my road map.

And I halt a moment
For a well-deserved rest.

You are a dead end.
But my trek does not end with you
nor am I dead because of you.

‘Coz I’ll find another way.
And I’ll walk on.

//Sherma E. Benosa
August 29, 2007; 11:45pm

One memorable experience

2007-08-27T18:40:00.000+08:00

Johnny Hidalgo, Aida Tiama, SEB, F. Sionil Jose, Jovy Amorin

My first thought when I read Manong Johnny Hidalgo’s invitation to a poetry reading where I was to read three Iluko poems with other Iluko writers at La Solidaridad Bookstore, which is owned and managed by National Artist for Iluko Literature, F. Sionil Jose, was that it would be a good learning experience for me. So I excitedly said yes. I did not even bother to ask pertinent questions about the event.

It was only the following day, when Jake Ilac sent me a text message informing me he couldn’t go, that I learned that the event to which we were invited was an exclusive poetry reading with PEN (Poets, Essayists, Novelists — an association of writers in English and Tagalog) members. It was then that it hit me: I am no poet! And I haven’t done nor watched professional poetry reading before. Could I possibly do it? Slowly, feelings of inadequacy started welling up inside me, but I immediately bottled it, telling myself it would be easy and that I could do it.

My psyching up effort must have worked, for soon I was again excited about the whole idea. That is, until I got another message from Manong Jovy Amorin asking me if I was going to the poetry reading tomorrow. I was puzzled, because in my mind, the event was days away, only to realize that I got the date mixed up. (I thought August 25 was next Wednesday pa.)

I started to panic, because I did not have a poem by any Iluko poet ready, and I wanted to practice a little so I would not mess up. I wasn’t sure if I had any anthology of Iluko poems at my place (I remembered I’ve given some of my books to Dad). Good thing my ever reliable Dungngo is always there for me. He did not only re-schedule his hospital appointment so he could be with me before my performance, but he also looked for short poems for me.

While talking online, I asked Dungngo to listen to me as I practiced. Until now I can still imagine him shaking his head every time I mispronounced a word, or made a wrong intonation. I almost concluded that not only can’t I write a good Iluko poem, but also can’t even read. It took me several tries before he said I was getting better, although he still didn’t think I was doing great. Hmp!

The poetry reading? It was great! No, I'm not talking about my performance. I'm referring to the whole experience. Manong Jovy, Manang Aida and I felt so glad and honored we were invited to the event. We are all looking forward to another one like it. Me especially.

_______
Caption:
Other photo Writers Domingo Landicho, Juan Hidalgo, Jr. and Playwright Malou Jacob;

A chapter lived... and completed

2007-08-26T14:53:00.000+08:00

We’ve finally wrapped up our September issue of H&L last Friday, after all the delays and hassles and nasty stress we’ve been through, caused by the holiday (last Monday was Ninoy Aquino day) and the floods last week which prompted management to cancel work on Wednesday and Friday.

As I watched our layout artist, Manong Gary, save the PDF files onto a CD, I heaved a sigh of relief. One issue down! Then I realized it was to be my last. Suddenly, surprisingly, I was enveloped with melancholy.

I've always known I would feel sad about leaving my friends behind. But the melancholy I felt last Friday was more for the realization that, starting September 3, I will no longer hold the reins of H&L. Another chapter of my life finished. I corked that thought, reminding myself that this is what I’ve always wanted.

Having worked for the company for almost three years, I think I've learned enough for the next phase — my ultimate career goal: to work freelance. Now, I’m ready to move on. I hope.

I do understand that in this new stage, I will be facing a different set of challenges, foremost of which is the fact that there will no longer be regular paychecks. I hope the preparations I’ve done would help me get through at least the first three months of my “bumship.” After that, I should be okay. I should have already settled by December. I hope. I pray.

Publishing Responsibility and Paper Integrity

2007-08-24T12:52:00.000+08:00

(Malu Fernandez and her 'Diva-ciousness')

I initially did not want to write about it because I thought if I do, I’d just make the person in question — Ms. Malu Fernandez, a Manila Standard Today society columnist — become even more famous (she is now a big name in the Pinoy blogosphere because of a controversial article she wrote for People Asia, a monthly lifestyle magazine).

So many hurtful words have been hurled at her in practically every blog where her name is mentioned, that I don’t think I’d be adding any more effect if I also lash at her. So I try not to (although I admit that to be really nice in this case would entail a lot of effort).

What made me decide to write about her any way, despite my initial restraint, is the fact that most of the bashings I’ve read about her infamous article had been directed at her. How about the magazine that published her piece?

If her piece was self-published (meaning, it appeared on her blog), I would have simply called it rubbish and I would have just moved on to another blog. I would not even waste my time leaving a comment on it. But her piece appeared in a glossy magazine, for goodness sake! What were the editors thinking paying for and publishing an article that contains nothing but bitching and whining, and reflects the author’s palpable insecurity?

If the editors of People Asia had been doing their job, the article should have gone straight to the trash can. There simply is nothing in the article that's worth publishing; I wonder why they published it anyway.

The editors of Manila Standard Today are also not blameless. They should have advised Malu against writing her 'apology' which isn't an apology, but a defense of her earlier article. Could they have not known that her statement would further infuriate the public? I doubt it. I'm sure they have foreseen it.

The editors of both publications (primarily People Asia) may say that what they published are solely the author's opinion, not the paper's, but editors can always choose not to publish a piece if they think it would compromise the paper. That's primarily what editors are for, in the first place.

Another reason I decided to react to her "apology"is the fact that in it, she did not really apologize. She stood by her article, calling her piece “funny and witty” and insinuating that those who found fault in it were either simply stupid or belonging to the “have-nots and wannabe’s” [read: poor]. Her original article is already condescending to the highest level you'd think she cannot get any worse, but you read her subsequent statement and you know you'd just been proven wrong. Her "apology" is so unbelievably full of vile.

Before reading her statement, I thought I knew humor and wit, but now I am not sure. And I don’t think I’d still want to be called witty or funny if to be either or both would mean writing rubbish materials. I think I’d rather be a dullard and a bore.

Ay, wait lang. Didn't I say I’d try to be nice?

_____________
Click on the following links: First page, Second Page to read Ms. Fernandez’ piece published in People Asia.

Read Ms. Fernandez' subsequent defense of her piece (published in her Manila Standard Today column): Defense

UPDATE

It looks like as I was posting my piece, Ms. Fernandez was issuing an apology. Please read her apology below:

"I am humbled by the vehement and heated response provoked by my article entitled 'From Boracay to Greece!' which came out in the June 2007 issue of People Asia. To say that this article was not meant to malign, hurt or express prejudice against the OFWs now sounds hollow after reading through all the blogs from Filipinos all over the world. I am deeply apologetic for my insensitivity and the offensive manner in which this article was written, I hear you all and I am properly rebuked. It was truly not my intention to malign hurt or express prejudice against OFWs.

As the recent recipient and target of death threats, hate blogs, and deeply personal insults, I now truly understand the insidiousness of discrimination and prejudice disguised as humor. Our society is bound together by human chains of kindness and decency. I have failed to observe this and I am now reaping the consequences of my actions. It is my fervent hope that the lessons that Ive learned are not lost on all those who through anonymous blogs, engaged in bigotry, discrimination, and hatred ( against overweight individuals , for example ).

I take full responsibility for my actions and my friends and family have nothing to do with this. To date I have submitted my resignation letters to both the Manila Standard and People Asia, on that note may this matter be laid to rest."

If living a life is like reading a novel…

2007-08-17T14:02:00.000+08:00

They say life is like a book that must be read page after page in order for it to be fully understood and appreciated. I agree (that is, if we’re talking about a book of novel, not a reference book). But remembering that I have nasty habits when reading a novel, I can’t help but wish that it isn’t so.

Most of the time, I behave like a normal reader, patiently reading page after page, making guesses as to how the story might end.

But there are times when I would forego several paragraphs or pages that I find uninteresting, and move on. Sometimes, I can completely understand the book even without having to go back to that part I’ve ignored. But there are times when only after I have gone back to the part I missed that I get to fully understand the succeeding events.

There are also times when, even if I’m still in the middle part of the story, I would already turn to the last page, and read the ending. And then, before going back to the page where I’d left off, I would make guesses as to what might have happened somewhere between that page and the last page, that the story ended the way it did.

Crazy, isn’t it?

But that isn’t all. There’s another habit of mine which some friends find annoying: correcting typographical errors. Honestly, I also don’t think highly of this habit, but whenever I see an error in any printed (published) material I’m reading, I cannot help but correct it. Several times I tried to let go of the errors, but my thoughts kept coming back to them that I eventually marked them. Now, many of the books in my collection bear my “finger prints.” In fact, my father’s bible which I am using, a 1982 Ilocano version published by the Philippine Bible Society, has not escaped my “vicious hands.” Tsk. Tsk!

Now, imagine how my life would be if I lived it the way I read books. Disaster!

Good thing that, in this regard, I seem to be better at living a life than at reading a novel. For, though I often anticipate about the future and feel giddy about what lies ahead, and I sometimes look back to the past, I don’t spend so much of my time wondering and being afraid of what the future might bring. Nor do I waste my time regretting an event that had happened in the past, and which I can no longer change.

Unlike a book that can be read whichever way by an impatient — and shall I say, crazy imp like myself — every life event must be experienced in succession. One cannot jump to future events without first living in the now; nor can one live fully in the now without having lived in the past.

And finally, unlike a printed material that can be proofread even after it was published, life is not something that can be revisited again and again so that every slip-up, however small, can be fixed. No man, after all, is sin free. One can only sincerely apologize for the mistakes he can no longer right, and try hard not to commit them a second time.

The Two Faces of Pride

2007-08-16T12:30:00.000+08:00

Pride is a two-faced coin. One face beautiful; and the other, repulsive.

Like the pillar that keeps an edifice erect, pride is that which makes an individual stand tall. It is the resumé that logs one’s achievements and feats; the mirror that helps one to see his worth as a person, as a human being. It is the essence that comes to life with the awareness that, like everyone else, one is worthy... that one has his own talents, capabilities, and potentials. It is that which ushers in self-esteem; for in its honorable sense, pride is self-esteem, and self-esteem is pride.

When twisted, however, pride becomes an ugly face, much like a pretty countenance that ceases to be a sight to behold when contorted. When one becomes too self-absorbed; when one forgets to acknowledge other people’s achievements and feats; when one fails to realize that like him, the others are also worthy, pride loses its beauty. Self-esteem transforms and becomes self-centered, and pride takes the form of arrogance and conceit.

One should, therefore, never lay the coin of pride either tail up or head up. Instead, one should let it stand on balance, so that he would have enough pride to realize his worth, while having enough room for humility to recognize the greatness in and of others.

//First posted at Ms. Leofina Jane Galleta's blog at www. iluko.com, in a discussion of "Pride and Prejudice"

Clogged!

2007-08-14T12:50:00.000+08:00

That's the current state of my mind. Dunno why, but there are so many thoughts swirling inside my head, some of which not at all connected with what I am doing right now. For example, why should the following thoughts

What good is a brilliant idea if it is not actualized?
What good is a good intention if it is not properly executed?
What good is proper execution if the idea was not properly brainstormed? (Or, can an idea that is not well thought-out be properly executed?)

cross my mind while I am editing an article on eye problem? And the worst part is, when I tried to process these thoughts, I realized I was not fit (hopefully, only at that moment) to "shape" them well.

Help!

HARRY POTTER QUOTES

2007-08-13T17:22:00.000+08:00

Muggles who just can't have enough of Harry Potter (like myself), here are a few quotes from the book we so love. Enjoy!

From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Book I)

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” —Albus Dumbledore

“The truth… is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with caution…” —Albus Dumbledore

“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, just as much to stand up to our friends.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” —Albus Dumbledore

From Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Book II)

“It is our choices… that show what we are, far more than our abilities.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.” —Arthur Weasley

“The best of us must sometimes eat our words.” —Albus Dumbledore

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Book III)

“You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no....anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell.” —Remus Lupin

From Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

“If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” — Sirius Black

“I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.... At these times... I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Curiosity is not a sin.... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” —Albus Dumbledore

“You place too much importance on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! —Albus Dumbledore

“It is my belief... that the truth is generally preferable to lies.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy… Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.” —Albus Dumbledore

Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix (Book V)

“The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by an invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing.” —Severus Snape

“Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.” Albus Dumbledore

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Book VI)

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” —Albus Dumbledore

“We must try not to sink beneath our anguish... but battle on.” — Albus Dumbledore.

“People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right. — Albus Dumbledore.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book VII)

Ron: “He [Dumbledore] must have known I’d run out on you.”
Harry: “No, he must have known you’d always want to come back.”

A Lesson in Linguistics

2007-08-09T11:32:00.000+08:00

Ever wondered what the meaning of chorva is? Let's ask Salve.

A CHORVA IN EVERYTHING

Like many others, I thought that the term “chorva” was just invented and added to the rich and still getting richer Pinoy gay lingo. It sounds funny and really gay. I remember using it in one of my IM conversations with a friend, and then she asked me what it means. I told her it’s a universal filler (I deduced my definition from how the term is used); when you don’t know the right term to use, “chorva” comes handy.I found out later on that “chorva” was coined from a foreign word and that my meaning is somehow true. The term comes from the Greek word cheorvamus, which means “for lack of the right word to say” or “in place of something you want to express but cannot verbalize.” Now I’m starting to believe that old man in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, that all words originated from Greek terms! I remember that character in the movie proving it to anyone-“Give me a word… any word, and I tell you, its come from Greek…”

“Chorva” is a very flexible term, too. It can function as noun (May bagong chorva sa tindahan.), verb (I-chorva mo na `yong narinig mo kanina!) or even as an adjective (Ang chorva naman ng mukha!).

So, if you find yourself at a loss for words when talking to your friends, classmates or in any informal conversation, try “chorva”! Who knows, it’s the term that will liven up a boring, rainy afternoon.
___________
Variants of “chorva” are churva, chorla, chuva, chuvanes. If you find other meaning or functions of the term, share it with me, too. CHORVA to us all!

This entry is ripped from Salve's blog. Here's the link: http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/08/08/chorva-in-everything/

The Journey

2007-08-08T12:18:00.000+08:00

Let me re-post my poem "The Journey" which I posted here in 2005. This new version is edited (by me) last month. See which version you like better. You may find the original version by clicking this link: http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2005/04/journey.html

I’ve come to traipse through this wilderness
In search for answers to questions
I don’t quite comprehend;
In an attempt to understand the clues
to all the riddles I’ve come across;
So that I may find reasons to everything that happens.

I may not grasp all;
I may not understand everything.
Still I keep walking —

Singing thanks for the sunny days
and shedding tears for the wailing nights;
Riding the circus of the journey’s roller coaster;
Getting acquainted with the gruesome face
of greed, deception, and betrayal;
Tumbling every now and then;

But still, continuing with my quest —

Until this journey’s got meaning;
Until I reach the finish line;
Until I complete the mission for which I’ve come
and of which up until now I’m trying to understand;
Until the last piece of the puzzle’s in place;
Only then will this soul rest.

//Sherma E. Benosa
July 2003

One important lesson

2007-08-01T12:25:00.000+08:00

I’ve unearthed an article (if you could call it as such) which I’ve written a little more than six years ago. Let me share it…

********************

When I was younger, maybe about 13 or 14, when I first dreamed of becoming a big time journalist, I pictured myself traveling around, writing about posh places and high-profile events, rubbing elbows with noted personalities, and living the kind of life ordinary people can only dream of.

But now that I am a little older, here I am. I have not come close to that dream as I have chosen to pursue a different field. However, I have had a glimpse of the life I’ve always wanted. I have had my share of gimmicks, cool night-outs, and fun; thanks to my friends for showing me around. But I did easily get tired of that kind of lifestyle. I’ve realized that what seemed cool to me as a young girl doesn’t seem so now that I am a young adult. In some ways, it is what I thought it would be but at the same time it isn’t.

Of course, I am still mesmerized by the glitzy world (who isn’t?), but I am now more attuned with low-profile life, since learning an important lesson not very long time ago.

Because I grew up in a very poor family, I’ve always dreamed of becoming rich, thinking that having money makes all the difference in the world. But seeing up close someone so rich that he could call all the shots and change all the rules so easily changed my views. At first, I thought it was cool, because money equals power. Yet, through time I realized that money (nor power) does not really mean much, because at the end of the day, we all want to simply sit back and relax, and share the moment with family and close friends. The rich man had neither family nor friend. He actually had a sister and a brother, but they were no closer than perfect strangers. Their money had pulled them apart. And those whom he considered his friends didn’t think of him as theirs. To them, he was just their boss, and their relationship ends at the end of every work day.

That lesson changed me forever. Years ago I would not even notice the physical changes that unfold before me. My thoughts were always preoccupied with my studies and my determination to get out of the life I’ve always known, so ordinary and hard it seemed that I was willing to exchange it to someone else’s anytime. I was always looking forward to the future, which I have always envisioned to be bright. Now, I notice every sign of goodness in everyone. I get mesmerized at the sight of an old man and an old woman sharing a simple smile. I feel joy at the sight of my friend’s son learning his first steps. I now find myself amused with the squeaky voices of the pupils in a nearby school. I now appreciate every simple act of kindness shown to me. These ordinary day-to-day realities I once labeled as boring now bring smile to my face.

I still want to become a journalist. And as I struggle to redirect my career, I still see myself giving accounts to spectacular events and, more importantly, finding the better side of the things we deal with and writing about them to lighten our everyday existence. Everyday life isn’t really boring, after all.

**********************
Fast forward to present. I’ve eventually gotten into publication, but I have not become a hard-core journalist (that’s what I call people on the news beat). I am now into lifestyle cum medical beat. I’ve realized I cannot do the news because I do not have the courage to cover bloody events and witness mutilated bodies. That’s for people much tougher than me. :-)

Magical Objects in Harry Potter

2007-07-29T12:56:00.000+08:00

The fifth installment of the Harry Potter (HP) movie and the seventh and final installment of the HP book have spawned frenzy among the enlightened muggles (HP fans for those who can’t relate, like “Tatang." Hehehehe), among them, Tayns and Salve.

In fact, Salve has devoted two entries on Harry Potter (one for the movie and another for the book) in her blog (http://www.salvacion.wordpress.com/). Even Celestine who has gotten her copy of the book, but hasn’t read it yet because she is supposed to be busy reviewing for her exams this week, has managed to write an entry in her blog (http://www.celestinerb.wordpress.com/) about how excited she is to read the book (talk about reviewing).

I’ve seen the movie and I like it, but I will no longer write something about it because Salve has done a good job at it. And since I haven’t read the book yet (I’ll borrow Salve’s Tuesday next week), I obviously can’t write my views on it yet. So what I’m going to do instead is feature two of the magical objects in Harry Potter that I like (and wish to have).

Mirror of Erised (introduced in Book 1). The mirror, according to Dumbledore, "shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." He adds that only the happiest of men would see himself as he is when he looks into it.

In one of my entries in this blog, I’ve asked my readers what they think they’d see if they were to look into the magical mirror (Celestine has posted an entry about it in her blog). But I have not answered it then. Let me answer the question now:

I’d see myself hugging the man I love so much, and hearing him tell me over and over that he is alright now… that there’s nothing for me to worry about; things will push through as planned.

The Pensieve (introduced in Book 3). The pensieve is a shallow stone basin with odd carvings of runes and symbols around the edge into which one can store one’s thoughts and memories to relieve one’s mind of too much information. Dumbledore explains to Harry that he sometimes finds that he simply has too many thoughts and memories crammed into his mind, and so he siphons off the excess thoughts and pours them into the basin.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we can also unload our thoughts onto something that can hold them safely, whenever the going gets tough? Then we can just let go of the hurtful memories and painful thoughts that we have. Then it would be easier for us to get moving.

But then again, it may also not be a good idea, for what would we be without our memories — the good and the bad? Aren’t these things help define who we are?

THE POETIC PROCESS

2007-07-25T11:07:00.000+08:00

Recently, I saw a blog of some guy whom I do not know (don’t even remember how I got to his blog: http://nextgr8twriter.wordpress.com/2007/06/05/the-poetic-process/), but whose writing I like. In one of his posts, he talked about poetic process, and led his readers through his way of writing poetry: from his raw thoughts, through several versions.

Because it’s just recently that I really learned to appreciate poetry, I was amazed at how one thought can be poetically said in different ways, in different poetry forms. (With my quasi-poems, I just get my thoughts onto paper and that’s it).

I cannot be as good as that guy, but I did try writing poetry his way. And here’s what I came up with:

MY ORIGINAL THOUGHT:

I fell in love
and suddenly
my dreams —
even the impossible —
came to life.

I fell in love
and suddenly
I lost the emptiness
within me.
Now, I’m alive.

MY FIRST DRAFT:

I fell in love
and finally
the moon and the sun
came face to face
in the same sky.

I fell in love
and finally,
life ceased
to be a garden
devoid of flowers.

MY SECOND DRAFT:

Love whispered
and I saw
the moon and the sun
in amorous embrace
amidst wistful clouds
on a bright red sky.

Love beckoned
And I felt something
in me bloom.
Fin’lly life ceased
to be a garden
that knows no flowers.

VERDICT: Needs more practice. Nyehehehehe

//Sherma E. Benosa
20 July 2007; 12:24am

Random Thought I:

2007-07-20T12:47:00.000+08:00

(“Thank you, Friendster!”)

Why is it that when a friend whom you had not seen for years (and honestly had not crossed your mind for several months) all of a sudden creeps back into your life, you’d suddenly feel you’ve missed that person so badly, that you’d start wondering how you had survived the past months (or years) without sharing a laugh or a sigh with him or her… and then you’d start feeling the void that was created when you parted ways, which you had forgotten about because of your new preoccupations and your new friends, and because you were sure time has filled it up, but now you feel it as sharply as it had been the day you went separate ways?

A dear friend, Agnes, with whom I shared so many things when we were much younger, suddenly showed up at Friendster. I can’t describe it, but when I saw her name pop up in my “who viewed me” list, my heart suddenly did a flip-flop (not the kind that the heart does at the sight of your crush… but the kind you feel when you go home after being away too long). And I had the overwhelming need to hug her real tight and shout (like I used to do when I was still an unruly fresh grad): Tiiiiitaaaaaaaaaaaa Agnesssssssssssssss!

Ahhhh… Having a renewed link with old friends is "bitter-sweet-er". Bitter, because you are reminded of how un-thoughtful you had been to the friends with whom you promised to get in touched with (which, needless to say, you failed to do); sweet, because you are reminded of the good — and the bad — things you’ve been through together; and sweeter because you know it’s not yet late, that you can still re-establish your link with him or her, because it was never really broken... just neglected.

Heart without Love

2007-07-18T12:01:00.001+08:00

A heart that is incapable of loving is like a living body with a dead soul… like a gardener who hates flowers, like a singer who cannot sing any song. It’s like a plant deprived of carbon dioxide, like earth divorcing its sun.

//Sherma E. Benosa
17 July 2007

As I Sleep

2007-07-13T15:52:00.000+08:00

You are the night
that envelops me with peace.

Under your watchful moon
you make me feel safe.

In the company of your stars
you fill my heart with gladness.

Upon your request, the crickets
hum me a melody.

And on your order, the breeze
caresses my face.

All these, as I sleep.

//Sherma E. Benosa
13 July 2007; 3:46pm

ODES TO THE NIGHT

2007-07-12T10:55:00.000+08:00

(i) The night, in its obscurity

The night is —

The wide canvas
upon which the moon’s mysterious smile
is painted.

The rich backdrop
against which the stars’ gleeful dancing
is performed.

Dark, he lives in obscurity.
Alone, he is nobody.

Yet,
Without him —

The moon would lose its allure;
And the stars, their grandeur.

There won’t be starlit skies
under which lovers exchange dreamy sighs!

And I’d be lost —
Wouldn’t know where to find my shooting star!

(ii) Night shift

The night —

He hears
the young mothers’ lullabies.
the insomniac’s nightly cries.
the lovers’ secret sighs.

He sees
the sleeping souls’ dreams.
the crimes every thief commits.
the owls’ flights to the wilderness.

The night —
He is busy.
Tonight.
Every night.

He, too, is on the night shift!

//Sherma E. Benosa
12 July 2007; 1:05am

Oh Salve!

2007-07-10T18:43:00.000+08:00

We’ve known each other since we were in college. I consider her as one of my best friends. I’ve stayed overnight in her place hundreds of times. I've met her family and she has met mine. She is like a sister to me… she and Celestine. I love her warmth, adore her calmness, and respect her mind. I know she is talented. But dammit, how could I not have known she writes good poems?

Let me paste here some of her poems:

i, an island

i am an island
the wind is my best friend
whispering news of far
lands in my ears.

the sea is my lover
singing hymns of promise of forever.
the trees are my knights
guarding me to safety and security.
the flowers are my dames
amusing my solitary existence.
the birds are my constant guests
lodging in my trees for a night’s rest.
the sky is my shelter
lighting my path in dark hours.

i am an island
my best friend has joined other winds
passed me by without a glance.
scampering fast, my lover has departed
singing a song of rage and atrocity.
my knights had fallen in battle
bowing their heads in defeat.
tired of enthralling, my dames had
fled and drowned in my lover’s cry.
to a peaceful soil my guests had ran
in search of better refuge.
my shelter has crumpled down
sending needles of spears into my heart.

i cried from pain,
yet i cannot move
i cannot move—
still an island.

http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/i-an-island/

What has become of me?
Hope has abandoned me
left me drenched in my own tears
drowned in solitude
What has become of me?

Fate has walked away,
Displeased at my ungrateful countenance
Tired, like my trampled soul—
crashed into pieces.

Tell me, what has become of me?

Please save me,
I need your mercy
Hold my hand tight;
don’t let go—

Oh, it’s too late!
You’re late!
I’m drowning,
falling
fast—
zapped into the black hole of nothingness.

What—oh, nothing!—has become of me?

http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/05/30/what-has-become-of-me/

"BUNGEE" JUMPING

2007-07-09T11:12:00.000+08:00

(Reversible Suicide Part II)

Soon, it’s jump time once again. This next jump would be the biggest — and the riskiest — jump of my career. But somehow, I don’t feel as scared as I was in my previous jumps. Come to think of it, I was hardly scared then.

During my previous jumps, I was aware that there was no net to catch me. But I was also sure of the things I could do, of the things I could offer, so I never worried about not landing on solid ground. And solid ground, I always found.

This time, however, I am sure there is a net somewhere — a net that would prevent me from hitting the ground with a loud thud, in case I fail. And this time, I am not in it alone; I am jumping off with dear friends (Celestine, Salve and my brother Ogie). So though the stakes are much higher now than in any of the jumps I did before, the fear of failing still remains alien to me.

In fact, I am already excited. Why wouldn’t I be? As my friends and I come closer and closer to the jump day, the brighter our idea becomes. The closer we examine it for loop holes, the more perfect it seems.

I really do hope we'll succeed, because, more than anything, this might just be my chance to prove that I am right in believing that I need not leave the country to do well; that though the road I’ve chosen is longer and more steep, it too leads there (wherever there is). Or, does it? Hmm...

__________
(Side Story)
On Staying Behind…

It was with the carelessness of a child when I said to myself when I was 10 years old that I will never work in a foreign country, that I will travel abroad only to visit, never to work. I can easily extricate myself from that promise (on the ground that it was made before I even reached the age when I could make sound decisions)but I have always tried to uphold it.

It is not for nationalistic reasons (“the country needs excellent professionals here”) that I chose to stay, although of course I also like to think that by staying here, I am doing something for the country. [But then again, aren’t those who have left the ones saving the country from financial crisis through their remittances? Hmmm…]

I stayed because I’ve decided I cannot make the sacrifice of being away from my family for years. I always had this fear of leaving my loved ones breathing and healthy, though sad of my departure, only to find them cold and lifeless on my return. And, if that isn’t bad enough, how about not being able to see them one last time before they are buried (like what happened to my brother Ogie who was in the US for a five-month training when Inang Pacing died)?

Although it can be said that technically I, too, had not been with Inang and Amang when they took their final breaths, I was able to go home as often as I could before they died. And I was able to spend quality time with them, and store good memories of them to last me a lifetime.

So my reason for staying is selfish really, but going home every now and then, and sharing a laugh or two with the people I love so much is more important for me than hauling money ten or more times faster than I can do here.

Of course, there are times that I feel I should have left too (especially during hard times), but when I am able to tease my parents and pester my brothers and sisters-in-law face to face, when I can hug my nephew and kiss my grandmother, I know I’ve made the right decision.

And with this jump my friends and I are about to make, maybe… just maybe, this issue will be put to rest.

[Although there is a big possibility I will have to spend a few years abroad too… IF… hmmm… ironic talaga ang buhay! Waaaaaaa!]

*If you want to read Reversible Suicide, click http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2006/03/reversible-suicide.html

Reminiscing

2007-07-04T13:52:00.000+08:00

(The Night You Whispered my Name)

The oft-reserved night beamed
The stars batted their eyelashes
And the moon furiously blushed
The night you whispered my name.

The trees swayed to the wind's whistling
The breeze paused, anticipating
And time, how she had stood frozen
The moment you whispered my name.

//Sherma E. Benosa
04 July 2007; 1:45pm

EXCESS BAGGAGE

2007-07-02T15:39:00.000+08:00

A letter that should not have been penned
A song that should not have been sung
A poem that should not have been read
A story that should not have been shared

A promise that should not have been given
A lesson that should not have been taken
An advice that should not have been heeded
A step that should not have been taken

A drink that should not have been drank
A word that should not have been said
A gift that should not have been wrapped
A merchandize that should not have been bought

A trigger that should not have been pulled
A sword that should not have been wielded
A prisoner that should not have been jailed
A risk that should not have been taken

Piled (not too) neatly in one of my closets
Are things that should not have been kept
Crowding my drawers, filling my pockets
It’s clean-up time once again, I guess.

//Sherma E. Benosa
2 July 2007; 2:25pm

SHORT VERSES AND LINES

2007-07-01T15:05:00.000+08:00

Bright Night

The moon
Entertained by the stars
Prays thanks
To the night.

The night
Filled with glee
Invites everyone
To share his canvas.

The stars
Pleased with the night
Each light a candle
The sky is bright.

******

On a withered branch
The pigeon sang…
Spring’s promise.

On a withered branch
The rain dropped…
Autumn’s grief.

******

The sun was feted
Ready to leave
Summer’s gone.

The thunder roared
The clouds march
The rains come.

*****

Extinguished

Light snuffed, laughter exhausted
Mission carried out
Pieces of the puzzle now in place
Nothing more need be said.

*****

My epitaph

She held her head high in life
To death, she bowed.

//Sherma E. Benosa
30 June 2007

The Night Dreams

2007-06-30T15:15:00.000+08:00

The night dreams in his sleep
Of fireworks twinkling
Of a lovely face beaming
A smile lingers in his lips.

The breeze caresses him
Wipes the sweat off his face
Whispers music into his ears
And farther he drifts.

Letting go of his fears
Giving away his darkness
Offering his calm, his peace.
He is not someone to fear.

Those that walk around
Using his darkness for cover
Are the traitors, the ones to blame
Oh, how they taint his name.

His honor befouled
Nothing's left to do but dream
In his vigils, in his sleep
He waits for the sun to creep in again.

//Sherma Benosa
30 June 2007; 4:07pm

Mga anghel ng lansangan

2007-06-22T13:49:00.000+08:00

Kung ang mga anghel
Ay may kanya-kanyang awit
Bakit tila iba ang aking naririnig
Na namumutawi sa mga bibig
Ng mga mumunting pipit
Na sa mga lansanga’y umangkin
Upang doo’y kanilang iparinig
Handog na mga awitin
Sa sinumang nais makinig?

‘Di ba sila’y mga anghel din
Na pinili lamang tiklopin
Ipinagkaloob sa kanilang mga pakpak
At sa lupa pinili nilang manirahan
Upang kanilang awitan
Mga may mabibigat na pasanin
Nang kahit kaunti man lamang
Maibsan pighati ng mundo
Na tila ba wala nang katapusan?

Ngunit bakit tila sa kanilang balikat
Bumagsak dalahing mabibigat
Kung kaya’t sila ang naging tagabuhat
Pighating balak sana nilang ibsan
Paghihirap na sana’y kanilang bawasan
Kung kaya’t tayong mapapalad
Mga dalahin natin ngayo’y magaan
Ngunit bakit bukas nilang mga palad, ni lingon
Di man lang natin magawang tapunan?

Dahil ba tayo’y tayo, at sila’y sila
Mga tunog nating pinakikinggan
At awitin nila’y magkaiba?
Ang musikang sana’y handog
Ninakaw pa sa kanila
Malalamyos na mga munting tinig
Namaos, ngayo’y ‘di na halos marinig
Anghel na aaliw sa atin, nangapagod na
Sino’ng magpapawi hinagpis nila?

Sherma E. Benosa
June 21, 2007
12:13am

Old Photographs I

2007-06-17T15:36:00.001+08:00

I look at old photographs and I am reminded of days long gone, of the happy times as well as the sad times, and of the people who graced my life and with whom I shared a laugh or two, or a tear and a sigh.

I look at old photographs and a smile cross my lips, as laughing and smiling faces greet me, making me wonder where their owners might be now, and if they are doing fine; and reminisce the times we spent together. My smile turns into a grin as I notice how silly we acted or looked then, and I wonder what on earth made us do the things we did, and wear the clothes we wore.

I look at old photographs and a sigh escapes my lips, as I come across the smiling faces of loved ones who had left this world, and I pray for their soul, as I am once again reminded of mortality, of how fleeting life on earth really is.

//First posted in Mr. Rudy Rumbaoa's blog in iluko.com