Friday, July 16, 2010

How Angels Fly

It was barely two years ago when I fell in love with a Cherry Blossom Tree. Well, not to a literal Cherry Blossom Tree, but I described the one I thought I fell in love with to that – because of his demeanor, his machismo, his intelligence, his stance in life. With a mindset gearing to the long-term, I thought I really did fall in love.  But it was just a fancy love – tantamount to a thirteen year-old girl next door’s infatuation to a fifteen year-old basketball varsity hottie.

But at this season of change, the thirteen year-old has now grown into a lady, and the Cherry Blossom Tree has shrunk into a shrub. There are no more trees to admire, only people.  The lady has learned how to admire and to Love – grounded in a firm foundation of friendship, trust and understanding of each other. 

At the moment, the lady is just an angel guiding and protecting men and women – and also being guided by other angels. At the moment, she is only wearing the half of a pair of wing – the other half worn by another angel. 

When she meets the angel whose half-pair is akin to hers, that’s her time to fly to the heavens. She embraces the one who owns the other half of her wings and soars to the sky. 

No more trees to look up to, only the heaven to fly and conquer. This is how angels fly.

Confessions of a Fresh Graduate

There came a moment when I did not want to be left staring into the open, because I couldn‘t think of anyone or anything worthy of my free attention.  I loved being occupied and pre-occupied – of appointments, meetings, research, assignments, trainings, favors. That was why I thought I was a student workaholic. I did not want to wake up without any bullet to cross-out in my to-do list. Probably, I thought, I would become a focused and  will-powered career woman after school.

Nonetheless, when I graduated, I found myself enjoying the liberty a freeman.

For 15 years in the academic arena, I wrestled with schools of thought and scientific and mathematical formula gaining me medals that count to more or less 30. I ended my academic commitments with flying colors, giving me a leeway to consider having fun – real fun – which I did not have during school. I mean yes, I DID have fun, but not that kind which I saw in my other friends and blockmates (having a SOLID circle of friends who I could spend my time with without discussing anything important, going to bars and having that so-called “nightlife”, drinking until you drop while having random sleep-overs, etc.). The fun which I had revolved around fulfilling obligations as an officer in my school organizations, doing homeworks and finishing readings for next day’s discussion, and training for debate. I guess the most “teen-like” experience that I had was lying down on our university’s field one late night while screaming to the black blanket of sky with studs of stars watching. 

But there was a lack of appreciation to the privilege given to a supposedly carefree, laughing-to-mistakes teenage lady. 

That was why, when I graduated, I decided to enjoy the liberty of a freewoman. 

I would go for an overnight stay out-of-town in a new friend’s home – with other new good friends around. I would spend late night with my best friend in a coffee shop catching-up about our lives – and other people’s as well. I would go out with new companions for a badminton morning gimik and sit comfortably after, while eating our lunch and waiting for fellows to come around. I would venture into social circles composed of people slightly older than me, listening to their stories, laughing at memories of cartoons of the past like Voltes V and Ghost Fighter, and spending an entire afternoon of various merienda.  

I would wake up early in the morning, jog for minutes and do aero for an hour with my cousin. I would stay up until dawn in front of our computer, chatting with my tita from Canada and other friends who I have not seen for a long time. I would play with my youngest cousin and watch him sing “Baby, baby, baby oooh,” while stomping his right foot and twirling around until he gets dizzy to lean on the wall. I would go out with my brother, at times with my cousin, to play basketball and air hockey in arcade gaming stations and watch the latest films in movie houses. I would speak to my favorite Tita (who also favorites me) about random things – from the simplest to the most serious topics about our life (and love). I would kid with mama while cleaning our house to ease her stress of everyday routines and anxieties. I would talk to Papa like he is just a brother to me, and I, her usual little sweetie pie princess asking for stuffs that now go beyond Barbie and doll houses.  

I would spend a couple of minutes reading the Bible for the day’s Gospel and verses the moment I open my eyes in the morning, and also before calling it a day at night. I would serve God through worship and random acts of love and kindness. 

I would listen to Him by heeding the counsel of my wise angels in the guise of loving people around me. I would serve Him by being an angel to friends – old and new alike. 

I would open my heart to new friends which I seldom do, and open up for a lasting friendship of trust and love. 

At the moment, I am enjoying the liberty of a freewoman. 

Right now, I am left staring into the open. And I liked it because I feel liberty. I can say, “I am free.”

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

A Night at the Plaza Mayor

(written on a Saturday, December 13, 2008)

I sat at the Plaza Mayor grounds, staring at the countless minute bulbs hanging at the Main Building. It was such a beautiful sight: scattered star-like lights flickering here and there, it's as if fireworks have been continuously being displayed at the building's facade. The brighter lights vividly form shapes and pictures which seem to paint the building like an apparition of colors from afar.

I sat there with two of my workmates-cum-close friends. I asked myself: How many seconds are still remaining before I could hitch my last ride towards home? How many times would I, Judy and Wado do this to ease the stresses that we are having? Up until when will the lights of this building endow beauty in the surroundings? Up until when will the lights be displayed to illuminate this place and grant serenity to everyday's end?

Up until when. Up until when. Up until when. All of my questions pointed to one thing: Time is limited, and alongside this limitation is the fact that everything in this world has its beginning, middle and end. I remembered Kuya Alfred (TZZS Headwriter and UPCAT Indie Film Writer) telling earlier during our Scriptwriting workshop, "Ganon naman e... Ang lahat ng bagay ay may beginning, middle and end."

We stood up, realizing that it was getting late. The day was about to end. Two hours and so would be the borderline between today and tomorrow. And so every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

We all walked towards the EspaƱa gate. I waited in vain for a text message that came very late.

And so I called it a day.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Human Fear and Frailty, an Angel's Plea

This morning, I woke up to the sound of Angela Bofill, "What loving you has done to me. I'm not the same girl I used to be." A familiar sentience filled me within, laying open a wound which has long been healed - or is still healing. I feel broken, because I am afraid to be broken again.

It is indeed true that you have to resolve your perplexities before you close your eyes at night; so by the time your eyes meet another light, you would feel relieved, renewed. Last night, I tried, but it seemed I did not succeed. The fear which has been gripping me seems to clasp the veins of my heart. So when I woke up at the sound of a mellow tune, I felt my optimism espouse with fear. Yes, fear. I feel broken, because I am afraid to be broken again.

An Angel's Plea

I have been convincing myself that NO, I am not: falling, fearing, breaking.

Not falling: I am an angel who has just been ousted from heaven, punished to guide mortals and protect them with my robust wings. The sacred rule, I always bear in mind: Angels must never ever fall with mortals. In Angels' Black Book, this must be strictly followed. This, I must obey.

Not fearing: because I am not falling, there is no reason for me to fear. There is only one fear that angels have in common: the fear of falling from heaven. Oh, I have already fallen, what else shall I fear? Way back up above, I have had an agoraphobia: the fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places like markets; also, the fear of leaving a safe place. My agitation is more similar to that of the latter: I am afraid of leaving a safe place. Nonetheless, now that I have left my safe place, I am up to face that fear. And I already am. No more time to run around, beneath, above that fear; time to leave it behind. Hence, I do not fear. I am not fearing.

More so, I have got a powerful army behind me - saints, martyrs, fellow angels, even the legends of Greek mythology. I have my own line of communication with them that remains open 24 hours a day, seven times a week. This is the thing that mortals and angels have something in common: PRAYER, the only open line to Heaven. Thus, I have nothing to fear of. And you, mortal, yes YOU, you have nothing to fear of. Because rocking the Heaven's hearth is only a prayer away. Our names are etched upon the palms of these warriors and intercessors. And, I believe, God hears the prayer even of punished angels. That's how merciful He is, believe me. When you fear, you pray.

No breaking: has anyone heard of angels with broken hearts? We do break wings, but not break hearts. Like mortals, our heart is covered by a membrane known to man as pericardium. Mortals have their own scientific explanation about this; however, what we  know is this: this sac which contains fluid and fiber is abundant in heaven. Like flowers in gardens that can easily be picked, we have it in our own palms. Amazing, isn't? That is why we, angels, have the ability to firmly protect the hearts of mortals, most specifically, those whom we are guarding. To our advantage, we do protect and heal our own hearts.

There is only one thing that breaks our heart: the failure of keeping safe and secure those whom we are assigned to guard. Oh, another fear, atychiphobia: the fear of failure. I fear of failing my responsibility to chaperon, to be an angel. Be that as it may, in my case, I think I am doing a good job. And so I am not breaking, because the mortal who I am keeping my eye on is not breaking

I am not falling. I am not falling. I am not breaking.  I am angel to a mortal.

Despite that, the mellow tune seem to espouse my optimism with fear. Conceivably, I have been a mortal once, who has feared, fallen and has been broken. That is why a wound is laying open again in my heart - which I can hardly heal. From the pain of this wound, I comprehend a familiar voice uttering: I feel I am broken, because I am afraid to be broken again.