a Merry Christmas...

is hard to have when...

a mother of ten suddenly finds that the new growth in her belly is not baby number eleven but a vicious, monstrous tumor.

a ten year old boy collapses and goes into coma when a blood vessel ruptures in his brain.

a newly-wed couple learns that what was originally thought to be a benign cyst in the wife's ovary turns out to be malignant.

the brother of my dear classmate passes away on the day after Christmas.

the two-year-old baby of a dear friend is diagnosed to have nephrotic syndrome.

the relatives of a middle aged man sign a do-not-resuscitate order for their beloved who is suffering from terminal illness.

the list goes on and on..

year ending

The year is almost ending and incredibly there's a tremendous backlog of things that need-to-be-done-but-have-not-been. Foremost of which is writing, as there have been a handful of things I really wanted to write about-but-haven't.

Secondmost of which is to really, really clean up my room (and house, why not?).

Thirdmost of which is to finish wrapping the gifts scattered in my bedroom. I've been pretty lazy this season in terms of gift-wrapping and gift-giving, being preoccupied with other stuff and all.

Down the list of -most to do is to ponder why my attitude towards Christmas has drastically changed these past couple of years. Getting too old perhaps? I am secretly dreading having to say Merry Christmas to anyone, feeling it to be such a shallow and false greeting, but I actually hear myself saying it without meaning it. Hmmm.

Merry Christmas?

It's kinda hard to be jolly when somebody filched my precious Nokia phone this afternoon at Lee Plaza. It's not just that the phone was expensive, I had pictures and important text messages there.

Bummer.

And Patrick lost his wallet, with all his IDs and ATM cards, perhaps in the bus, on his way from Cebu to Dumaguete tonight.

Arrgghh.

Then my car's thermostat went way, way up with matching smoke coming out of the hood.

-_-

finally, the grassy pics!

here we are!
i'm in the apple green grass skirt, Agong is wearing a blue g.s. while Nini has an orange g.s. Behind Nini, is Connie, in a darker orange g.s.
wheeee!!!


ito pa.
di ba bongga?!
heehee

(more later)

grass on grass

When I was a child, I secretly envied my cousins and friends who went to dancing lessons, mostly because I wanted to wear the fancy dance costumes. But such luxuries were way out of budget for us so I buried my nose in reading free books instead.

Fast forward many years later, when one December afternoon Dr. GCA tells me, "We're going to practice our Hawaiian dance at 5 pm, why don't you join us? Hawaiian is the theme for our hospital Christmas party this year." Huh was the only word I got in before GCA said the magic word, "We're going to wear grass skirts." It didn't take two seconds for me to jump right in. "Ay, moapil ko ana! I want to wear a grass skirt."

And so for the last two weeks, every evening after work, the second floor female consultants have been sweating it out at the Cunningham Hall, "perfecting" our Tahitian/Hawaii-Five-O, as well as our 'exit' steps. Even if our middle-aged bodies are a tad too stiff for the rigors of Tahitian shivers, we went at 'em with gusto and determination befitting our status as consultants and therefore leaders in things noble, healthful, not-naughty and nice.

I have to express my admiration for Dr. Anne Bernadas, our creative instructor and patient integrator of all the suggestions/critiques/bright ideas of her feisty dancers who are so used to giving orders they cannot help but want to "co-manage" the choreography as well.

This here below is My Grass Skirt, laid out on the grass on our front yard, hence the title of this post.

my very own! Aloha!

We are so excited to do our dance number at the SUMCFI Christmas Party at the SU Gym tomorrow. Now... if I can only remember exactly when to shake, bump, turn and pose!

in memoriam

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed

So runs my dream, but what am I?

An infant crying in the night

An infant crying for the light

And with no language but a cry.

Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;

That I, considering everywhere

Her secret meaning in her deeds,

And finding that of fifty seeds

She often brings but one to bear,

I falter where I firmly trod,

And falling with my weight of cares

Upon the great world's altar-stairs

That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,

And gather dust and chaff, and call

To what I feel is Lord of all,

And faintly trust the larger hope.

____________________



Remembering one of our own...

Concepcion Jayme-Brizuela,
a Sillimanian (Creative Writing and Journalism, 1975),
one of the victims of the unspeakably heinous Maguindanao massacre.

Atty. Connie Jayme- Brizuela,
Women's rights advocate