Favorite House Spider

My Favorite House Spider

It has four legs on one side and three on the other--perhaps because of some battles (with lizards and/or moths).

Teddy para sa'yo...

Bahala na kung Corny and Cheesy... Sweet and Cute naman... Diba Sha?jeje:)

Campus Shots

Photography

August 6

August 6, 2013

We were texting each other.  Though perhaps I was not the only text mate she had that night, I still could not stop cherishing the thought that she still spent her time listening to me—to my feelings [for her].

I hope I made her smile…

Why not?

They asked me why had I not attended this year’s annual JPIA acquaintance party—thankful somehow that at least some bothered to ask.  Yet, I could not tell my reasons because I myself could not put into words what I wanted to say, to reason out.  Perhaps what I think about parties is different from them and that they will not understand me if I speak my truth.

Now, I will try to write what my heart speaks—as always.

The reason why my friends attended acquaintance party was that this year is their last year in college.  Yes, they wanted to cherish the moment and that is normal.  Some told me that at least in their last year, I could join them celebrate acquaintance party.  However, I am not good in group sentiments. I would rather keep my emotions to myself and write.

For me, parties like this are very deceiving.  Of course, we expect to see smiles—happiness and enjoyment.  These are not the real things.  Memories are not always with smiles showing how important your friends are in a night of enjoyment.  Will this one night of happiness replace the five years of nostalgic experiences that were far better worth cherishing?

Others think that they are nothing to me but it is the complete opposite.  I am nothing to them.  Yet, every moment from the time when we started being classmates all marked in me.  There were times of misunderstandings and selfishness but more were times of acceptance, friendship, and empathy.  Whatever those may be, I know, deep in my heart, that nothing will I ever forget—for everything, I know, helped me become who I am.

Being Positive (A Re-post)

By Vanessa Rhie Bidad

I've been reading through the story of Moses wherein he grew up watching the oppression of his people in the hands of the Egyptians. At that time, he felt certain that he was the one to deliver them from the oppressors. In righteous indignation, he started to right their wrongs. But after killing one of the Egyptians, he fled from the palace where he grew up and went to live in Midian where he worked as a shepherd - fed sheep and tend to them - for 40 long years.

When God led me to this passage, I found myself in Moses. In the beginning, Moses had realized that he was the one to deliver the people, but he had to be trained and disciplined by God first.

We may have the vision of God and a very clear understanding of what God wants, and yet when we start to do it, there comes to us something equivalent to Moses' forty years in the wilderness. In my case, my forty years in the wilderness will have to be the tons of readings I have to do everyday; the nervousness I always have every time the professor enters the class; the failure of not answering the questions even if you had stayed up during the night reading your book. There are a lot of times I felt my eyes weary and my brain drained.

I had the vision of what God wants me to do with my life. But it's as if God has ignored the whole vision. But I am certain, someday He will come back. Just like He called Moses back after 40 years, God will revive His call. Even when I am discouraged and even when I doubt myself, I know for certain that one day I will hear Him call, "I am who I am who sent you." 

He is who he is who sent me. This is how God disciplines. He is teaching me to keep with his stride. Indeed, discouragement will lead to a great personal growth ahead. Kakayanin!

Story: Wheelchair (Assignment 5)

My first month here in Polomolok was new to my senses—the smell of the gutters, the noise from the vehicles, the heat that is much pleasing than anywhere else, and the people walking around doing their stuffs in the market.  As I look into the sky from where I sit beside the road, I could remember my youth.  I could still remember rightly my childhood that I would really wish to forget.

I am Sean.  I was raised in Cebu and we are nine in the family.  I am the only child born with disabled limbs.  Because of poverty and lack of awareness, I was not able to go to school.  In my early age, I was exposed to in street life.  My mother let me help sell buko juice in front of the church.  I was happy—I did not care about the people around me.  I only need my mother to be glad because she showered me with love more than anything and she let me feel it anytime—for her, I am not different.  On my fifteenth birthday, they gave me a wheelchair donated by charity program.  That was the best gift I had ever received in my life.

My mother died a month after.  I could not bear the grief that pained me inside. Days after she was buried, my father decided to give me to his sister in Polomolok—I was forced. He threw me words that hurt me—that I am useless, palamunin, and basura. When I came to my aunt’s house, I was a bit surprised to see how small the house and the fact that her children still lived with her that time.  I thought days would be better with them but I experienced worse things.  They let me sleep outside the house, rain or shine; I could only eat if they were done eating and sometimes, there was none left for me; every day, I hear painful words from them; and the most painful thing, they ruined my wheelchair—my only wheelchair and the only remembrance left from my mother.  All I did was to cry placidly all the time.

One day, my aunt’s children left her leaving her apos to her. My cousins all decided to go with their significant others.  Knowing that my aunt is jobless and helpless, I encouraged myself to go back to where I started—in the streets: this time, not as a vendor but as a beggar.  I gave my first collection to my aunt and she hugged me.  She expressed her gratitude to me by saying an apology to everything she had done.  I had not noticed that time had passed—days, months, years.  We had no news about where my cousins were.  I was keeping money for myself hoping to buy a new wheelchair.

One day, a van came—persons came out and tried to get me.  I was so nervous that I had not uttered a single sound to react.  Inside the van, I kept on asking them why they arrested me; they replied nothing.  Minutes later, the van stopped.  When they opened it, and I saw a beautiful place that, I have not seen before.  There were people talking, singing, dancing, and doing other things, which I could not describe.  There were also many foods, which I enjoyed.  I looked around and saw many persons who are like me, some without hind limbs, some with pollo, and others were senior citizens.  Some were asked to give their experiences and feelings in front of the stage and I was astounded that their experiences were like mine.  There were also some who experienced worse than mine.   Before the end of the program, people gave us new wheelchairs.  I felt my tears run down my eyes when I sat in my new wheelchair.  As I caressed the chair, I remembered the hugs of my mother.  That memory made me cry a lot and the only words I expressed was “thank you...”