My Blog

           Morning reminds me of the beginning of life. The world must be braved. Memories crowd like shadows, but flee when pierced by the first grey light of dawn. Consciousness returns slowly, as if part of me is reluctant to awake. Obstacles loom in my path. Each contains a challenge to be overcome and a lesson to be learned. The lesson may only be learned by overcoming the challenge. In the morning I feel like a child trading the warmth and security of the womb for a life of bright light and endless opportunity.

            I am reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed, but I know I must. Lingering memories flash in a muddled kaleidoscope before my fuzzy vision, and I sigh. I make my way half blindly toward the shower, bumping often into half perceived objects. I turn the shower on. The icy cold water running down my body makes me shiver as I shift my feet back and forth on the tiles. I turn to the mirror on the door and perceive a squinting face looking back at me. As I tug at tangles in damp hair, my breath frosts the squinting face. The sound of boiling water echoes throughout the dormant household as I shave away bristling whiskers just long enough to prickle the touch.

            The hum of the kettle stops with a loud "Taaack" and water is ready. I think that everyone in the house must be up by now, as I hear stirrings when I’m making myself a cup of hot chocolate to go with some bread. I trade muffled words with my housemates as they appear in the hall for breakfast. Mouthed rinsed, bag packed, engine started, I pull my jacket closer against myself, and I am on my way to school.

When You Say Nothing At All by Ronan Keating. Every time I hear that song, it gives me goose bumps.

            It was the senior prom of year 2001 and being the juniors, we had to put out a performance for the teachers and the seniors in school. We were required to do it in groups, kind of like the American Idol stage performance. The difference was, you could perform whatever you like, be it a song, a dance, a show or a sketch.

            My group, all 7 people, decided to do a song since we thought it was the easiest of all. No, we were wrong.

            From song selection to music (note and key) adjustments, there was never an easy moment for us. We tried singing a list of songs, but couldn’t reach an agreement regarding which song we were gonna perform. The biggest problem was there wasn’t any good singer in our group.

            Finally, we had decided on Ronan Keating’s When You Say Nothing At All, because that was the only song we sang OK as a group. Other songs, they were just disastrous.

            The most difficult part of the performance was, the performance itself. We had to memorize the lyrics, sing in tune, follow the beat of the music and also, pose and move. To have accompaniment to practice with, we downloaded the music of the song and played it with radio since we didn’t have a guitar or a piano player like any other groups had. Our voices paled in comparison to that of the other groups, but we were getting better as we sang from day to day.

            I practiced my part even more at home. I drove my mother crazy with my constant singing, leading her to demand me to end my practice. She said it was "to save my voice," but I knew better.

            Through constant practice, in school and after school, we warmed to the part and began to nail the song. From emotionless monotone to harmonious singing, we had definitely showed some improvements. Our friends told us we sounded so much better than we were the first time. What a compliment!

            The day finally arrived and after hours of waiting, it was the time of our performance. We had a chance to see all the performances before us, and they were all good. The sketch was funny, the acting was hilarious and the dances were enjoyable.

            Being the underdog, the chance of winning the best performance of the night never crossed our mind. We had no pressure and we were just gonna go on stage and deliver the song to the audience. The stage floor was shiny and the lights were yellowish and glaring. When it was our turn to face the crowd, we stepped forward from the line and breathed deeply. When the music started, we sang, hitting every note. It was a dream - it was one of the best, if not the best time we had ever sung the song. It was finally over, and we were thrilled with our performance and the applause from the crowd. 

            At that moment, I realized that my parents were right. They said it didn’t matter if I won or lost, what mattered was the fact that I had the courage to go up there and gave my best performance. For that, they were proud of me, no matter what the outcome would be. The point was not to be afraid of someone who was stronger or better than you. It was to do the best you could. They also said one might have to work a little harder than the others, but in the end the satisfaction felt inside will outweigh all the hard work, frustration and pain.

            They were right. We won the best performance of the night.

It had been a tradition for my grandmother (maternal) to hand-sew a quilt for each of her grandchildren on their twelfth birthdays. Receiving the quilt was a sign of our growing up into teenagers.

            I didn’t like the quilt when she gave it to me because I thought it was ugly. My grandmother used to make curtains and clothes and the quilt was made of pieces of fabrics left unused. Thus, the finished quilt would be a mixture of colors like a rainbow.

            She knew that I was not happy about the quilt so she said to me,

            “My dear, I know you don’t like it the way I thought you would. But you must know that every stitch in this quilt is stitched with love. If you could count the number of stitches in this quilt, that is how much I love you."

            I traced the stitches with my finger, and looked into her smiling eyes. I could feel those stitches of love that my grandmother carefully and lovingly hand-stitched for months, the stitches that tightly held the patches, border, front and back together. I was speechless and blamed myself for almost missing the most precious gift ever given to me.

            I looked at the quilt again. It was a magnificent quilt of purple and white with beige, pink and royal purple stars.

            "Grams, it was not that bad after all and I actually like it."

             I laughed and hugged my grandmother, whispering thank you in return while I gave her a kiss on the cheek. What I didn’t tell her was that I thought it was the most precious item I could ever have, and it was beautiful just the way it was.

            Not only that, those stitches represented my grandmother’s unconditional, everlasting love for me.

My family is my valentine.

My father is a knight in shining armor,
Handsome, charming and loyal,
Guarding and protecting me all the time.

My mother is a dozen roses,
Beautiful, likeable and tender,
Full of love with a sweet smell.

My younger sister is a box of chocolates,
With different kind of flavors inside,
Sometimes sweet and sometimes bitter.

My youngest sister is a teddy bear,
Tiny and adorable,
Soft and huggable.

And I am a heart-shaped card,
Full of words that can be left unspoken,
But still understood.

I love my valentine.

Often in the evening, the silence in my room will be broken by children’s careless laughter, shrieks of excitement, and occasional anguished cries which separate in the air and drift in muted fragments. When I look out through my window, I will see a group of children playing at a playground, the same playground I used to spend time with my family and friends when I was a boy.

            The playground had been changed over the years and the facilities inside had been replaced by newer and more colorful ones. When I was little, there was a slide in the middle of the playground. It was a silvery metal and on a hot sunny day, the sun would glint fiercely upon its surface, rendering it too hot to climb. It had no stairs, for the challenge is to scale it, and then, exhausted, slide effortlessly to the ground.

            Not far away from the slide there were some white-painted metal horses which never eat or make noise or even breathe. They once took me as far and as fast as I wished to go. I talked to them all the time and they were like my best friends.

            To the left of the horses there was a sandpit where I used to sit on it all day on a lovely morning, constructing an empire of sand, building castles, houses, bridges, and filling my city with real, though invisible characters.

            Thinking back, I had spent some really fun time at the playground. It was the place that I met my childhood friends. It was the place that I fell down and learnt to stand up again. It was the place that I engaged in fights and then realized I was not supposed to hurt anybody. It was the place that I had shared the most amazing moments with my family and friends.

            Many people stopped going to the playground when the huge slide seemed to shrink, and their interests shifted from swings to achieving goals in their lives. They think they would look ludicrous now by spending their time there so instead, they busy themselves with books and music and computer.

            As an adult, you play in a different kind of playground where adult friendships, with their unspoken rules and petty competitions, with their confidences and secrets, have replaced easily won, quickly forgotten, childhood companionships. In adult playgrounds, quiet thought has replaced boisterous games.

            For me, the children playground is simple and fun and you don’t have to worry about anything when you are there. It takes away all your worries and sadness and leaves only to you moments of happiness and relaxation. That’s why sometimes, when too restless and reckless to study or listen to music or to act my age, I will go to the playground and enjoy the moment of the day.

           I grew up next to her. Our tempers rose and fell together; we were best friends. Some of the best times of my life were spent with this friend.

          She was the first thing I saw every morning and the last thing I heard at night for the past ten years. I would run out on Saturdays and be greeted with a warm splash in my face. I didn’t mind - that meant the games were on. I played all day, building castles and draining my sorrows in her hugs where only the fish could understand. I collected the seashells that she generously gave. Each one was a personal gift to me.

          After I left town and went to college I thought I would never have a friend like her to whom I could share my dreams and sorrows with. I was right.

           I went back years later to her whom I loved so much. The memories were still there like it was just yesterday we parted. Tears came to my eyes when I heard her whisper once more.

           I visited all our "secret" spots again. They seemed untouched. I thought she had guarded them for me. I didn’t need anyone else when I was with her. She gave to me what everybody else couldn’t. I experienced inner peace when the she breathed through my hair, a warm breeze filled with a familiar smell and a strange mist, cooling me throughout.

           Her name is ocean. My forever love.

           I overslept this morning and ran out of my house without having breakfast. I stumbled into school just in time to fail a pop quiz given by my fussy lecturer. The day started out awful and only got worse. The lecture went on and on and before lunch time, my stomach had already started making a grumbling protest which drew attention to my seat. Sitting in the lecture hall, my mind was a thousand miles away. When the class was finally over, I went home only to be faced with mounds of homework and a series of chores that needed to be done before dinner.

          The stress had built up to the point where I was about to erupt! Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of one of the things I treasured the most. In a small brown frame on the corner of my desk, there was a picture of me and my friends (Real names altered). I noticed myself beaming, with my chin resting on John’s shoulder. Jill was on my left side while Jane and Jack knelt in front. Joshua and Janet were on the opposite side of John and everyone was wearing a smile as big as mine. We were stepping on the white sandy beach and I remembered the brisk sea breeze that would come and go through the day.

          I looked more carefully at my friends and remembered all the fun times we have spent together–celebrating victories, fooling our teachers, and playing tricks on our classmates. We have laughed together, cried together, and have had the best days of our lives together.

          In the photograph I was surrounded by my very best friends and my world was filled with happiness. I gazed at the picture and the killing tension and stress were slowly subsiding away. I no longer felt sorry for myself, only sorry that for that brief moment when I was about to explode I had forgotten that I am one of the luckiest people alive.

            Child. Teen. Adult. A typical transition of mankind which is eagerly anticipated by the kids, fearfully dreaded by the adolescents and could only be reminisced by the grown-ups.

            The sign of transition: sleep seems hard to come by as you get older. With homework, more responsibility and even a job, you can never get enough rest or sleep. Body moving all day…brain working all day…these are the defining moments you know you are losing your childhood innocence.

            It seems that children want to grow out of their childhood; they dream of being adults. They play games they think could make them feel mature. There’s play money and cash registers, toy trucks and cars, etc. It’s almost as if they’re rushing their lives along. Kids are impatient when it comes to the future. To them, it seems like so much fun, and so far away.

            Teenagers want time to move faster so they can get their license and be able to vote. They are also preoccupied with things that make them look good– the clothes, the makeup, the hairdos, the nails, the shoes… Everything other than that is almost dreadful to them— the responsibility that lies upon their shoulders, the time and youth that are quietly slipping away, and the workload that keeps on increasing like there’s no end.

            Adults could only think back of time of their childhood and teen years, knowing that time and tide waits for no man. It seems that an adult can have whatever they want with the money they earn, but apparently what they wanted the most is none other than to be able to live those years again as a spoil brat or a confused teenager.

            For me, the sweetest moment of life is when you’re in your early teens where your parents still take you everywhere, curfews are set, and sometimes your mom sneaks a love note into your lunch. Once you hit college, you know that everything will affect the rest of your life.

For some, the transition of life is exciting and for others, it might just scary. Whatever it is, hold onto your memories that remind you not to make life too complicated or stressful, and always stay young no matter in which stage of life you are.