Hello Heartsongs

After months and months of just not feeling it, I have become mad about running again. Like really seriously running again.  As in wake-up-at-4:30-AM-run-8-kms-before-sunrise serious.

And look, I'm starting to write again. Not that I ever stopped; my journal will attest to that. What I mean is writing things for all the world to see. These days, I feel like saying things out loud again.

For a while, I stopped doing the things that made my heart sing. It's time to get it humming, yea?

Soul Scribble: Writing Letters In A World of Instant Messaging

I have four instant messaging apps on my phone.

I am connected to all of my favourite people through these apps. It’s absolutely brilliant that I can say hey to anyone, any time, anywhere and they receive it instantly, whether they are 10 or 10,000 miles away. They are especially useful for announcing news and milestones that simply cannot wait another moment.

Why then would I want to go through the trouble of scribbling or typing words on sheets of paper (not to mention constructing them to coherence), taking it to the post box, when one can easily type the things one wants to say on a keypad and send it in seconds?

Is letter-writing an archaic and irrelevant exercise in these days of instantaneous communication?

I should hope not. What letter writing lacks in swiftness of delivery, it makes up for in soul.

In this age of hyper-busyness and multi-tasking, letter writing is an exercise in being focused on a single task, a much needed reprieve for our overloaded brains. I daresay this is not something that an IM interaction can claim. Even if I am in a focused online chat with one of my favorite people, it is so easy to get distracted and save a response for much later, and sometimes, never. The very nature of instant messaging allows us to interact while we are in the middle of other things that need our attention. It’s not a bad thing; it is the way it is. While one can easily switch from one application to another, writing a letter makes you stay put and present.

The other beauty of a letter is that it is essentially a collection of unique character artifacts; the sender's handwriting, her doodles on the margin, her choice of stationery and typeface, how she tells her story, her purpose for writing. It is literally a piece of the writer in the hands of its recipient. It is the most personal keepsake of a loved one one could ever have.

I like to call handwritten letters, ‘love in the mail.’ I feel all warm and fuzzy when I see an envelope addressed to me, one that isn’t a utility bill. Reading a letter is an exercise in being in the present too. One of the most delicious pleasures in life is sitting on the sofa, reading a long and juicy letter from a friend, warm cup of coffee in hand. It almost feels like she’s there having coffee with me.

I start to think about the exquisiteness of how she made the effort to select stationery. How she determinedly set a block of time and space in her busy day, affectionately thinking of me. How she took a trip to the post office to get the letter going on its way. She may even have sealed it with a kiss.

The letter is a very tangible expression of fondness and for correspondents who share a history, love.

I am grateful for the ease of communication and information sharing that instant messaging brings. But I know that every so often, when there is a need for a more poignant connection, I will reach, not for my phone, but my pen - and start scribbling away.

Should I Quit My Daydream?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

It was a question that was irrelevant whilst the mister and I were in the process of starting over in Aussie land.

Two years deep into the move and having managed to break into the workforce and getting into the 9-5 grind once more, I find myself asking that question again.

Is it time to stop?

I recently told a friend that as one-half of a migrant couple whose game plan # 1 was to find steady incomes and build our retirement fund, I was happy to land any stable and permanent work that I could qualify for. I did not need to be in love with my job. 

As of this writing I am 7 days into a role that is exactly that : permanent, stable, doable. All good things. I am grateful. Truly I am.

And yet...

I remember our first months in Sydney, a year or so ago. I was unemployed and so I had plenty of time on my hands. I spent a lot of that time making hand-painted postcards, filling my sketchbook with illustrations and drawings and uploading them on Instagram. I got likes from familiar followers and complete strangers and I beamed. In the absence of a 9-5 day job, I daydreamed. A lot. Could I perhaps do this ... and get paid for it?

I thought, hey, why the hell not? So I decided in my unemployed stupor that what I wanted to do when I grow up was draw pretty things. To make its seem irrevocable, I sent my best friend a postcard (hand-painted of course) declaring this dream.

Shortly after, I was able to find work. As it happens, when you have a day job, there is only so much time in between one work day to the next that you can spend in creative pursuits. This is the reality of a grown up.

The reality of a grown up is that you need money. A good amount of it to feed and clothe yourself and put a roof over your head. A great amount for other shiny things. (A much greater amount if you are thinking of reproducing!)

The reality is, me creating pretty things will never earn me that much money. There's much more to earning a living making pretty things than a dozen likes on Instagram. Time, effort, blood, sweat and tears and a good amount of luck are needed.

The reality of most grown up is that to earn a substantial amount of money, you get a job that's not as sexy as say, making pretty things. Having said that, perhaps what I should strive to be when I grow up is to  someone who takes an unsexy job and becomes freaking awesome at it. After all, the unsexy job pays for sexy things like tickets to the opera, paid holiday leaves, wine, etc.

But hey, it can pay for lessons on making pretty things.

So I say don't quit the daydream. But don't quit the day job either.

The Foreigner on the 470

I take the bus to work. There are moments when I am so aware that I am in a bus full of foreigners - mostly of Caucasian descent. Then it dawns on me - a tiny Asian woman - that in this world, I am the foreigner.

Around 30% of Australian residents are born overseas. Comparing this with immigrant populations worldwide, this percentage is in fact on the higher end of the spectrum. Yet it cannot be denied that this this is a minority - and I am part of that minority.

This does not disturb me. However it does pose some interesting questions about identity. Race and nationality underpin our perception of people (whether we admit it or not). This makes me wonder about how people perceive me and my fellow country kin. I wonder, do I live up to those perceptions?

It's a mildly intriguing subject but I do consciously steer away from dwelling on the matter. There is an inherent danger of attaching attributes to ethnicity. Doing promotes a wall-building, 'you are different from me' mentality and that's just not cool. After all, at the end of the day, we are all just people on the bus, trying to get to work.

Migrant Musings

Greetings my 8 followers!

It is obviously too late in the game to chronicle my first 365 days as a migrant in Australia. Not that I intended to, really. Although, this would seem like the kind of life-changing experience that a blog about "a rocky road life" would devote a series of posts on, wouldn't it? 

The long and short of it is, we are here. Man and wife of Filipino roots - a year and a quarter deep into building a life in Aussie Land. As of this writing, things are moving in a positive trajectory and we are grateful.

Aside from the struggle and success of securing employment and a regular income, there are some more interesting narratives in this leg of the life journey:

1. The way a place shapes the psyche and vice versa
2. The struggle of an introvert in a predominantly extrovert culture
3. The promise of attainable financial freedom and stability
4. The value of keeping connected to our roots
5. Communicating in your non-native tongue

These are the themes of my thoughts as a migrant missus.

Then of course, there is the bit where the natural and man-made beauty of this city we now call home just tickles us pink. The Mister rides to work everyday. Crossing the Harbour Bridge and catching view of the Sydney Opera House never gets old, he says.

Does it ever get old for migrants, I wonder.

Or will I always see this place as a wide-eyed wanderer?

Wherever You Are

How Matthew McConaughey Comforted Me About Mama's Death

Mama was still with us this time last year.

Three months later, she breathed her last. And my heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Her death has bore a hole in my soul that is in the shape of her.

Time has a way of healing a broken heart. Even a heart obliterated by the death of a loved one.
One finds comfort in people and places and prayer. One finds comfort in the thought that she no longer suffers.

One finds comfort in unusual places too.  I did, recently, in the HBO mini-series, True Detective -
starring Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson as partners assigned to track down a serial killer in a dusty Louisiana town.

Matthew McConaughey's character, Rust, is recovering from a near-fatal stab wound in a hospital. Woody Harrelson is Marty. He is present when Rust wakes up from his coma.

This is how their conversation goes:

Rust

Ah, I shouldn't even fuckin' be here, Marty.

Marty
I believe 'no shit' is the proper response to that observation.

Rust 
No, I don't mean like that. It's something else.

Marty
Well, so talk to me, Rust.

Rust
There was a moment - I know when I was under in the dark that something, whatever I'd been reduced to, you know, not even consciousness. It was a vague awareness in the dark, and I could - I could feel my definitions fading.

And beneath that darkness, there was another kind.

It was - it was deeper, warm, you know, like a substance.

I could feel, man, and I know, I knew my daughter waited for me there. So clear. I could feel her.  I could feel, I could feel a piece of my - my pop too.

It was like I was part of everything that I ever loved, and were were all the three of us, just fadin' out. And all I had to to was let go. And I did. I said, "Darkness, yeah, yeah..."

And I disappeared.

But I could - I could still feel her love there, even more than before.

Nothing. There was nothing there but that love.

*   *  *

Born and lived to love, died in love. That's you, Mama. I love you forever.

Fireworks on PowerPoint

Faux fireworks : an easy and fun animation project using PowerPoint. 

Kicking off a year of making nifty things. 

The Year of Grace

2014 was the best and worst year.

It was a year of Love. It was the year that He Who Got Me, got me for good. Oh,what a Lovefest our wedding day was! If all the best days of my life were added together, this day would still trump them all. It was the most brilliant sendoff to the Greatest Ride of our life. 

It was a year of the Leap of Faith. A leap across an ocean, in fact. It was the year we started life anew in a foreign land - far away from all things familiar. But it was a leap that was aligned with Mr A and I's desire to expand our world - geographically, economically, creatively. 

It was a year of Leveling Up. I was quite the monster last year - breaking personal records on the trail and on the road. I unrolled my yoga mat more often and the constant practice led to the achievement of the Headstand. The body stretches and strengthens when you honor it with physical activity, it seems.

But with these loftiest of joys, the Most Unbearable, Heartbreaking Sorrow.

2014 was a year of Loss. It was the year Mama succumbed to breast cancer, breaking my heart into a tiny million pieces. It has been mended somewhat, but there will always be that Mama-shaped hole in there. I take comfort in knowing she's  Home and in everlasting peace but still, I ache for her presence.

It was a year of being aware of Life's Precarity. Life is beautiful and precious. I  am reminded that it is important to be present and grateful. That someday we will face Death and in the end, all that will be asked of us is, Did we love? I know Mama is in a better place because she absolutely did.

Through the heart songs and heartbreak of 2014,  I discovered how beautiful life is, and how death is not the end of life, but a gateway to Eternity. In this light,I would say that 2014 was ultimately a year of grace.

Sub-60 10K Challenge | Achieved!

This deserves a *Happy dance*!

Sweet sub-60 success came a year and 3 months after my last attempt at this personal challenge. 

Truth be told, when I signed up for the Sri Chinmoy 10K Run* it was so I would have a motivation to keep running on a regular basis. I love running to bits, - but I was not immune to the laziness and lethargy that came with the chilly Winter-transitioning-to-Spring weather, plus the bouts of complacency that recreational runners fall into (or am I the only one?)

The Sri Chinmoy Run's appeal was that the route was along a part of Lake Burley Griffin's periphery. And also, 10K was a perfect distance - short enough to not need weeks and weeks of conditioning but long enough to present a physical challenge. 

Signing up for the race did get me into my running shoes, running 7 - 14 Ks three to four times a week. There were good days, when I felt like my feet had wings. And there were bad days, when it was  just painful from start to finish. But even on the bad days, I would always feel a sense of having accomplished something good that day. 

I would think about the sub-1 hour finish, but I did not cling to it obsessively. I did consciously speed up and try to sustain it for as long as I could at certain points of my running route. The intention was to test my limits, and to condition myself for pain. It was a way to sadistically spice things up on the run.

Come race day, I (and Mr A) arrived at the Lake Burley Griffin Ferry Terminal an hour early for gunstart. I had ample time to do a round of sun salutations, observe the other runners, take a wee, and release jitters by jesting around with Mr A. At around 8.50 AM, we were gathered at the starting line and at precisely 9.00 AM, we were off.

It was an excellent route with a good mix of flats and inclines on fully paved paths and tree-lined roads,  with great views of Lake Burley Griffin and its surrounds. 

I was reminded once again, why joining an organized run/race was so different from running on my own.  Reaching the front door at the end of a run versus Sprinting to a Finish Line banner. Each marks the end of pain and suffering, for sure. But the latter makes you want to break dance and break out the champagne! I was reminded once again, why running in a timed race is one of the awesomest things in the world.

Of course, the awesome-fest did not end with finishing this run. It was the fact that I had miraculously broken the sub-1 barrier at last! 

I was in 29th place among 49 Female Under 50 Runners.I don't know where I placed out of the total 134 runners. I was by no means the fastest of the lot. Far from it!  But that did not matter to me. What made my heart sing was that I beat my 10K record by 8 minutes. That certainly deserves a *happy dance*!

Isn't the human body an AMAZING thing? I mean, it's a bag of bones and flesh and blood and guts and muscles and ligaments and juices and electrical signals and cycles - designed to move and breathe and seek pleasure but also able to endure pain. It is capable of doing beautiful things like dance, swim, run, cycle, hold hands, hold bodies and create life!

I was reminded once again, why I run. It is my way of honoring this gift of bag of bones and flesh and blood and guts. That thought should get me pounding on the pavement when there are no races to sign up for. To run is to love my body. To love my body is to honor my Creator. In a way, running connects me to the divine! It's a pain-induced mystical experience wherein the satisfaction is directly proportional to the suffering.

I was reminded once again why runners are crazy people.

As of this writing, it's been a couple of months since that *happy dance* at the Finish Line. Now that the 10K Challenge has been ticked off the list, I believe it's time for a new physical challenge.

A sub-2 21 K? Or perhaps I should aim for sub-55 10K this time?

Bring on the crazy!

*The Sri Chinmoy Labour Day Run was held at Lake Burley Griffin, Canberra. 6th October 2014

Missus and Migrant | Packing Peeves and Reminders of my Roots

Welcome to the inaugural run of the #TrailingSpouseStories blog crawl hosted by Tala Ocampo and Didi of D for Delicious.

This November we talk about our First Voyage as trailing spouses and what we've brought with us, rather; what's in your suitcase?

Please see the end of the post for other #TrailingSpouseStories

*

For the Big Move, Mr A and I only had a total baggage allowance of 60 kg. That may seem a lot – but since he decided to bring his bicycle (15 kg) and his Mac (20 kg) – and that pretty much left us with just 15 kg for clothes and everything else.

I had no qualms about the limited amount of shoes I’d be able to bring, really. I was actually looking forward to trimming down my wardrobe to the bare essentials. Packing for this move allowed me to de-clutter and detach.

What I did find difficult was to leave the packing duties to Mr A.

See, if it had been up to me, everything would have been neatly folded and organized into labelled Ziploc baggies.  But alas, there were no Ziplocs. Mr A’s  packing philosophy involved rolling things up and then stuffing and squeezing them into all the available crevices of the box (which was mainly occupied by the computer) and the big bag (which also carried  the bike).  I had some sleepless nights thinking about how my shoes would be sharing the same space with my underwear.

Even so, I chose not to make a fuss about the whole packing business. To Mr A’s credit, his ability to compress stuff into tiny spaces in record time meant we did not spend our remaining days just packing things.

Besides, I still had my one carry-on bag that was all mine to pack. 

Not that I had too many things to put in a Ziploc. Aside from the travel toiletries and gadgets, these were the contents of my carry-on on that First Voyage:

I call these “The Reminders of my Roots”:

An assortment of letters & cards from family and friends (Ziplocked)
My journal, a dozen or so entries away from being filled up (inner compartment)
A blank journal, un-ruled (inner compartment)
Three small notebooks, for making lists (Ziplocked)
A rosary (front pocket)

In the hope of building a better life and finding my corner of the sky, I was uprooting myself from all things familiar -it was essential that I never lost sight of my truths. It was important that I stayed connected with people and practices that have made me who I am. 

On the whole, I am quite at peace here. This is a beautiful country, after all. And of course, as long as I am with Mr A, I am always home. But as with any transition, the feelings of displacement and loss come.  And when they do, I turn to the things that remind of my roots.  I take out my journal and write things down. I take out my rosary and pray. I write to my family. I message my friends. I am reminded that wherever I am, I am loved. That thought centers me.

Mr A and I unpacked 20 weeks ago. I trust that just as the perceived chaos of my husband’s packing eventually led to shoes and underwear being in their rightful places, so it shall be with our life in this new world.

*

Jenny's story on MyMommyology

Marc's story on Fatherland

Tala's story on Tala Ocampo

Shine's story also on Tala's blog

Nix's story on Driving Spiderman

Glendale's story on My "Kandy" Crush

Tracy's story on Tala's blog

Milen's story on Tala's blog

Didi's story on D for Delicious

Cath's story on D for Delicious

Musings from the Yoga Mat

In pursuit of fitness and the sheer joy of movement, I unrolled my yoga mat and rebooted my yoga practice. 

On the way to my ultimate goal which is the Headstand, I stumbled across an intriguing arm balance called The Crow Pose (Kakasana).

Google "crow pose" and you will generate different techniques from different yoga instructors. One teacher says to flex the heck out of your abs, another says to squeeze the legs against the arms. Start from frog pose, says this guru. Start in downward dog, says another.

It's easy to get confused. But really, it all boils down to what feels right and what works to for your body. As one yoga teacher said, "Find your center."  Each human body is structured uniquely. I have light arms relative to my legs. It was a conundrum as to how my arms could hold all that weight. Through practice, I was able to find the sweet spot where my shins and my upper arms should connect. By tweaking and trial and error, I was able to finally lift up by making two adjustments : squeezing my thighs in and pushing my shoulders away from my ears while keeping my palms firmly rooted on the mat. Inhale, squeeze legs in. Exhale, lift and push shoulders away from the ears. 

                             

Ta-da! I was able to hold this pose for 5 seconds. It was the best feeling. The exact physiological benefits of this pose  escape me at the moment, save for the fact that it works the heck out of your arms, but it was like fireworks for my psyche. I felt that I had accomplished a seemingly impossible task. Nothing is impossible really. What gets in the way, I realized, is fear. In this case, the fear of face planting.    

Everyday, I work on holding this pose a little bit longer. Some days it's easy, some days it's like pushing a boulder up a cliff. But I do feel that my arms,the weakest part of my body, are getting stronger. 

And now I am challenging myself to do other arm balancing poses such as the Side Crow. 

By practicing these poses, I find myself paying attention to my body more. Am I balanced and aligned? Why is this part of my body sore and tight? What part of my body is strong? What part of my body is weak? How do I strengthen it? Which muscle group should I engage and activate so that I can lift my feet off the ground?

I suppose this is why yoga practice is so resonant with me. I do like having conversations with my (inner) self. And when things feel out of alignment  - in asanas and in life - I tell myself to breathe, find my center, and the balance will come.

                                                 

How Did We Come To This?

We, as in, the human race today. I desire to know and understand the history of the universe and humanity.

I am reading Andrew Marr's 'A History of the World' as a primer. So far, what I am taking away from the book is how much of civilization as we know today was formed in the turbulence of war and territorial conquest.

I want to plot the history of my country vis a vis the events of the world at that time. How are we connected?

For we are all connected. And it is all connected. I want to visualize the connections. I want to be able to tell the story of the world, and understand why it is the way it is so I can tell my child/ren. 

The story of the world is the story of us.

Our Oz Visa Journey

Eighteen months of paper preparation, prayers and patience - all for the prospect of a better life Down Under.

March 2012 

G-third takes and passes the IELTS

May 2012 
Char takes and passes the IELTS

June - August 2012 
Research on Visa Options
Research on Skills Assessment process with VETASSESS
Gather documents* for Skills Assessment
*Certificates/Statement of Employment
*Diplomas
*Transcript of Records
*Employment Income Records 

September 2012 
Submit G-third's documents* to VETASSESS

*Authenticated copies sent via DHL

October 2012 
G-third lodges EOI* with Skillselect
*Indicates application for Visa Subclass 190 (State Nomination) 
*Specifies Australian Capital Territory (ACT) as preferred State
*Indicates me as Secondary Applicant 

November 2012 
G-third's VETASSESS results arrive via post : POSITIVE*
*Eligible for migration - Yay!

December 2012
Submit Char's documents to VETASSESS

January 2013 
Char's VETASSESS results arrive via post : POSITIVE!

February 2013
Lodge application for State Sponsorship with Canberra

April 2013
Case Officer Assigned
State Sponsorship APPROVED!

May 2013
Australian Government sends Invitation to Apply for Visa
We lodge Application + Visa Fee

June - July 2013
Case Officer Assigned
Interview with Australian Embassy officer re: status of relationship
Uploaded all document requirements

August - December 2013

We wait and wait and wait...

December 23, 2013
Visa Granted!

May 30, 2014 
Off we go!

A big leap, a big move - scary too! But it is absolutely logical and aligned with our heartsongs and desire for joie de vivre.

Wedding Wows & Woes | The Post Wedding Post

I donned a beautiful white dress, was surrounded by those nearest and dearest to me, drank lots of wine and danced barefoot on my wedding day, just as I had dreamed. It was by no means, a flawlessly executed event. It would have fallen to pieces if not for the level-headedness, on-their-toes thinking of the Groom and my events-savvy Soul Sisters in the entourage.

Snafus and delays aside, a lot of things made the Wedding Day special - the backdrop of a charming venue, the comfortable coolness of the City of Pines, the collective happy energy from our less than a hundred guest list of immediate family and dearest friends, and oh! the toasts and speeches!

But ultimately, it was the Mister's completely unexpected, unabashed expression of love (i.e. his wedding vows) that just blew me and everyone away.

I am over the moon and grateful that I married a loving and soulful man with a good, good heart - who has a flair for delightful surprises! The Wedding Day gloriously marked the first day of a lifetime with my kindred spirit, the love of my life, my travel companion on this Great Ride.

Call Me Crazy But

I have this unshakeable feeling ....

THAT

EVERYTHING

IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

:)

Wedding Wows and Woes | Dispensation Dilemmas

There is an extra to-do on my wedding planning checklist that perhaps a mere handful of brides-to-be are concerned about. This comes from my decision to wed my religiously unaffiliated fiance in a Catholic ceremony. According to Catholic doctrine, such a union is not prohibited but it does require a special "dispensation" from the Church.

This is called the Dispensation from the Disparity of Cult. Basically, it is a written petition that is addressed to the Bishop. Below is the template that was given to me by the Chancellor of the Diocese of Baguio:

Your Excellency,

I, Ms. ______ , a Catholic humbly petition your Excellency to grant a dispensation from the impediment of disparity of cult to enable me to marry Mr._____, a non-Christian belonging to ______ .

PROMISE OF THE CATHOLIC PARTY

I, the undersigned Catholic party, do hereby sincerely promise:

1. That I will take care to remain faithful to my catholic faith; and 
2. That I will do all in my power to have all the children of this marriage baptized and brought up in the catholic faith


_______
Signature

DECLARATION OF THE NON-CATHOLIC PARTY

I, Mr. _____, a non-Christian, intending to contract a marriage with Ms. _____, a Catholic, do hereby testify that I am aware of the promise made by my Catholic partner regarding our forthcoming marriage, and that I am cognizant of the obligation in the conscience imposed upon him/her by those promises.

_________
Signature



_________
Witness

Fr. Manuel, the Chancellor,  was very clear about the procedure :

1. Write a petition for dispensation from the impediment of disparity of worship,addressed to the Bishop of Baguio.
2. Send the petition to the chancery office.
3. Wait for Bishop Carlito's dispensation.

So great! Pretty straightforward, right?

I express mailed the signed petition to the Baguio Diocese one month ago. I have received no acknowledgment from them.

And here's where it gets tricky.

When I told the parish officer at the Baguio church about the steps that I have taken, she presented different instructions for me. She told me the dispensation should be obtained from the groom's diocese. Yes,the non-Catholic groom's diocese. Go figure. Why, one may ask? Because apparently it is he who needs the "dispensation." Say what?

This just did not make sense to me. To my understanding, it is the Catholic party, i.e. me, who would have to request for the dispensation. So against Ms. Baguio Parish Officer's instructions, I took a trip to my parish.

But alas, the officer at my parish affirmed what Ms. Baguio Parish officer said. The dispensation needs to come from my fiance's parish.

I got in touch with the fiance's parish earlier today.

And as expected, the kind young lady who answered my query informed me that the dispensation must indeed be obtained from the Bishop of Baguio, because the marriage will take place under his diocese. 

Oh boy. Here we go.

So now the next step is to relay this information to Ms. Baguio Parish Officer. I wonder what answer she will have for me. But when I go see her, I will bring a printed copy of my e-mail correspondence with the Chancellor of the Baguio diocese.

To be completely honest, I am feeling a little disheartened and discouraged by all this red tape. I just want to get married in the Catholic church. Is that too much to ask?

I'm beginning to have second thoughts about having my ceremony in this parish as it seems that they have no clear guidelines and directions on this matter. If they make things more difficult for me, I am inclined to find a different church. I hope that if it comes to that, I am not too late.

There is still time. I choose to believe in the goodness and generosity of spirit of this particular parish. I will not mope and dwell on these stumbling blocks, but will overcome them with prayer, faith and grace.

Musings # 1080

I just took a sip of coffee, and IT.WAS.SO.GOOD. There are few joys that are at par with a freshly pressed cup of Barako. Mmm-mmm.

(*)

Yolanda/Haiyan came and went, leaving behind a trail of absolute disaster. How frail and helpless we are when faced with nature's wrath. My heart goes out to my countrymen and women who lost homes and loved ones. I will give what I can, however small...

There's A Reason It's Called Coming Clean : A Reaction To Janet Lim - Napoles' Senate Appearance

Working from home has given me the opportunity to watch Janet Lim-Napoles' appearance at the Senate hearing today. I sat through 6 hours of her categorically denying everything and invoking her right against self-incrimination. Oh, and apparently, the woman suffers from a SEVERE case of amnesia.

Frustrating and exasperating, that's what it was. I wanted to strangle her, chastise her, and throw stones at her perpetually scrunched up face. Just tell the fricking truth already!

But I pause before I dwell on the negativity of judgement. Mrs. Napoles' baffling responses to the enquiries got me thinking. What could compel this woman to bear the burden of her lies? Do they not eat her up? Do they not cause sleepless nights?  Does she not see how the consequences of her actions has affected the lives of her countrymen? Does she not want to come clean and get out of the stinking sh*thole of greed she's in?

But as Sen. Miriam Santiago observed, the woman is "frightened". She does not have the moral fibre and strength of character to tell the truth. As she was growing her wealth in the most appalling way, she was slowly killing her moral fibre, demolishing her strength of character, weakening her integrity. Now they are practically non-existent.

Indeed, the truth will incriminate powerful people, the truth will destroy political careers, the truth will put her own life at risk. To her, it seems, these are the heavier burdens to bear.

So Janet Napoles will cling to her lies as she clings to her life.

But what kind of a life would it be?

I Just Have To Say

This is how I feel today. :)