2020: Connecting the dots

“You cannot connect the dots looking forward. You can only connect them looking backward.” - Steve Jobs

And connect, they did. 

When you move in God’s favor and grace, things will eventually fall into place. Better yet, when God moves us to His favor and grace, we shall never lack because His power is perfected in our weakness. All the dots are connected by God’s enduring mercy.

This year taught me to embrace life’s seasons and everything in between — including living through a pandemic. When the lockdowns began early this year, I told myself that there was no other time to do the things I had been putting off (sans travel). “Today” finally became the perfect time to do it, because tomorrow was not guaranteed (and never would be). I told my cousins that we weren’t sure if we would see each other again come 2021. All the fears, reservations, and excuses vanished. The things I have been wanting to splurge on, the words I have always wanted to say, the things I have been keeping to myself but have always wanted to share, the love I have been wanting to express and give away but bottling up for fear of rejection. 

Do it now. Do it now. Do it now.

Present, both as a moment in time and a gift, now makes sense. 

Grace, in the form of a new day, a warm smile, genuinely good people, and the smallest acts of kindness, means so much more than ever before. 

I missed nights of meaningful conversations over a cup of coffee or bucket of beer, but I had the most sincere and thoughtful talks over the phone: a 45-minute catch-up with friends, an hour-and-a-half long call about taking chances, a 30-minute work call that turned into an exchange about God’s perfect timings. The list goes on. Not to mention that we also celebrated and shared our milestones via Stories, livestreamings, and snaps of our quarantine birthdays and anniversaries via Facebook and Viber groups with family and friends.

In the middle of all these are answered prayers of some of the people dearest to me: new job, new opportunities, new love, and new life. I find immense joy in seeing them basking in the triumph of their faith and patience after a long season of waiting. 

In a world that witnesses people dying without having the chance to bid their loved ones goodbye, you learn to love without abandon every single day of your life. At a time when our eyes speak louder than our lips, you learn how to read into the depths of other people’s soul — and see that they mean more than what their mouth says. In a world that prides itself in being the first, being the best, and being the fairest of them all, you learn to find peace and solitude in just being human and staying kind.

There are a lot to look forward to. We wait in anticipation of good things and remain grateful for the graces and mercies that are new every morning.  We hope that 2021 brings us into a season of harvest, freedom, and joy. 

“So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

2021. A new dot. A moment in eternity. 

The story of salvation in a pandemic

This wasn’t the year we looked forward to and claimed ours before the clock struck 12 on December 31st. As we looked up the smoky midnight sky sparkling with fireworks all over, nobody noticed a speck of a virus had begun sentencing people to death hundreds of thousands of miles away. Nobody knew we would be holed up in our homes three months down the line when we greeted one another, “Happy new year!” Nobody knew that the year would be happy and gloomy all at the same time.

It came like the proverbial thief in the night. It brought humanity down to its knees and ground the hustling world to a halt. Some said it was God’s way of healing the planet. While the planet healed, people died. Perhaps, Thanos was not completely wrong all along. Somewhere, God might be snapping his fingers to take the people who had had a full life, so that others may continue to live.

When would he stop snapping his fingers to spare the rest of humanity? People intubated, the old left to die, doctors and nurses infected, the frontliners sacrificed. Was this year designed to obliterate half of humanity?

There was something we were missing. Thanos was a villain; God was not. God designed the universe from day 0 without infinity stones to collect and crush. The stones were him all along.

In day x of the creation story, God sent his own son to turn water into wine, feed the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes, cure the paralytic, give sight to the blind, heal the deaf and dumb, and bring the dead back to life.

Then the story of creation turned into a story of salvation. His son broke the bread, drank from the cup of life, and carried the cross to Calvary. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and died on the same, so that we may live.

The story of salvation continued. As the virus ravaged the world and crippled our body and blinded our faith, the son of the living God looked upon us from the cross to tell us that the blood dripping from his wounded body had been healing the sick, while those who were weakened and downed by the disease were crucified beside him to whom he had been saying, “You will be with me in paradise.”

The rest of the world, the living witnesses to the little known miracles of the pandemic, would continue to live to tell the continuing story of salvation for generations to come.

The Weight of Flight

Strong Women, Soft Hearts by Paula Rinehart

This has been sitting idly in my study table for a few years now, basically untouched. During my unholy cleaning of my room on Christmas eve, I found it again—along with a bunch of other books either half-read or unread at all.

I flipped through the first few chapters of this book when Crae gave it to me back in 2012. I was at a different time and mental space, with the younger, idealistic, hopeful me wanting to change the world, touching lives, and making a name for myself (so much for reading about the lives of successful, passionate people in my high school). I didn’t finish the book, obviously, and only read probably a fifth of it.

Eight years later, entering the new year (and a new decade), I found some quiet time to sit down and actually read it from the beginning to end. It felt different—delightful, even—to do so and, in many ways, I relished every word and phrase every turn of the page.

Now, at a different time and mental space, I have had my fair share of trials and challenges, failures and heartbreaks. No denying that God’s bountiful grace also led me to small wins and successes. I made some life decisions that I know made me better, but others turned belly up. Mired in monthly bills, caring for my parents, and saving up for some future big dreams, I have become pragmatic from idealistic, still wanting to touch lives but already finding it not-so-possible to change the world. Somewhere down the road, I lost myself, needing some pasturing—with a dysfunctional compass failing to find its true north.

Finishing this book now is timely. I am far from having a wise heart and a passionate life, but I have come this far—and I am no longer where I used to be. Among the many key takeaways (that also painted a clear image in my mind) is the proverbial butterfly coming out of its cocoon, told this time from the perspective of building strength:

God follows the same pattern in our lives that he has hidden in the secret of the butterfly’s cocoon. A cocoon is not the place of dark nothingness we think. A world of stuff is happening in there. In order to get out, this little creature must wrestle her way. The roll and tumble it takes for her to emerge—to bust her way out—is what builds sufficient strength in her wings to support the weight of flight. Without the struggle of the cocoon, the butterfly would be earthbound.

God knows that the strength that comes from wrestling with our fear will give us wings to fly.

Savoring the last holiday weekend before the official start of work for the new year. I do not know what lies ahead, but God knows. And that’s all that matters. He will grant us the grace to build (and rebuild) our strength and support our weight of flight—as we soar higher. 

2016: In photos

Maganda pa rin ang taon na ito.

Cheers, 2016! ⭐️

2016: An uphill battle

It was as if all paths were going uphill. And when I asked God to deliver me, he did not heed. He did answer my plea; he said, "No." It was pure silence amid the chaos. Winds blew violently over steep slopes. On the yellow brick road, I saw two sets of footprints. 

He was there all along. 

"Carry your cross, and follow me." 

2016 taught me to stay still and just keep on keeping on. Think long-term. All will be well -- especially when you have your family by your side. And never forget that when your knees hit the ground, you touch the sky. 

Thank you, 2016 and everyone who became a part of it. Maraming salamat, Panginoon. On to another year of sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Unti-unti

Unti-unting nauupos.

Unti-unting napupudpod.

Unti-unting napapaos.

Unti-unting napapagod.

Unti-unting humihiyaw.

Unti-unting umiiyak.

Unti-unting nasasabaw.

Unti-unting pumapatak.

Mga bituing nawawalan ng ningning.

Bawat kisap ng mga mata.

Lumalayo sa piling.

Isa-isang nawawala.

Unti-unti.

My piece of cake

You better do your job well.

That's what I told that piece of cake as my friend and I sat down in a coffee shop on a Friday night. Overall, the day went well. But as I wrapped up this day, I felt a pang in my heart that made me feel uneasy and irritated. I could not exactly pinpoint what that was or what caused it, although I think that irritable feeling emanated from anxious thoughts that have been lording over my subconsciousness for months now. 

Or maybe another round of anxiety attack. 

I read on my news feed yesterday a quote that said something along the lines of "it is not reality that makes you feel bad, but the image of what-should-be in your mind" (of course the exact quote was way way better). True enough. That applies most when you set the standard too high and imagine yourself with your ideal picture of what life should be, yet end up doing and achieving less of all. Adding insult to injury are truly success stories of people your age or younger -- of those who have done and achieved more than you do. Worse, they look happy and fulfilled, Call it the pang of envy or the shadow of frustration. Combine both, and you end up feeling tragic about your life. 

Sometimes, I think there is something wrong with how I communicate with people or maybe I am not just good at building rapport with others. I am really not a social person, yet I am in an industry where connecting with people is both a must and a plus. There are moments when I think I should adjust and change -- which I try to do -- but I also ask myself: why should I dare to change when I can just maximize my strengths instead of always, always looking at my downsides and flaws? Either way, there are pros and cons.

Back to that piece of cake. Well, I think it did its job just fine. I felt better -- at least after devouring it. But many questions linger, and I ought to answer them. 

I also owe myself kindness, decisiveness, and peace. Is there any other cake out there that can help me get all these?

That is why

It's early dawn of Thursday. I am in the car - parked in front of the market. My father is buying food stock for the coming days. He is pissed off because a huge trailer truck is blocking the road. 

That is why he just parked the car here - right in front of the market.

We've been from the Baclaran church. For three weeks now, my father has been going there on Wednesdays to pray for a particular intention. I do not know what exactly that is, but I believe it has something to do with opportunities and finances. Our family is weathering a storm at the moment. 

That is why my father is going to the Baclaran church every week to pray for better days ahead.

I almost became an only child 19 years ago, if not for Mama and Papa's faithful devotion to Our Mother of Perpetual Help and the Child Jesus at the Baclaran Church. They uttered a prayer and knocked on the image of Sto. Niño for nine consecutive Wednesdays for a second baby. Not long after, my mother bore my now teenage brother.

That is why my father is back to where he  used to be.

I believe God finds ways to draw you close to Him when you're going too far away and bring you down to your knees to talk to Him. But really, how does He talk to so many people telling different stories, asking for countless things all at once? Nobody can tell.

That is why He is God.

"Lola, hindi po ba Siya nalilito?"

                                               - Tanging Yaman

Angelo

On late night Tuesday, I met a 12-year old boy named Angelo.

We were going out of the office building when we noticed him wandering aimlessly on the corridor. A security guard called his attention, but he did not mind. He exited the building, walked to the ATM and pressed some buttons, and walked some more. He climbed down the stairs and entered a fast food chain. Another security guard escorted him out.

He looked presentable enough not to be mistaken as a beggar, but his actions say otherwise. I approached him and asked him if he's hungry. "Oo, he said." I handed him my friend's sandwich. "San ka nakatira?" He said he lives in Alabang. I asked him where he had been. "Sa Starmall," he answered. The mall is right across our office building. I asked how he would go home. "Sasakay ng bus na hindi aircon. Baka nga lakarin ko na lang kasi kulang na pamasahe ko." He said his name is Angelo. "Eh ikaw anong pangalan mo?" He called me Ate Jam. Then I bade him goodbye.

I walked back to my friend and told her my short chit-chat with Angelo. Little did I know that he was actually following us as we crossed the street. My friend saw him walking behind me and motioned to act like nothing was happening because he would surprise me. Then I saw him.

We walked together with him to the bus stop. We asked him about his family. He said he left home at noontime. "Umalis ako ng bahay. Pinalayas nila ako kasi bakla ako." He was referring to his parents. But he said he is going home to his lola. "Oo, alam niya. Tanggap niya ako," he said.

He said he is celebrating his birthday next week. He jokingly asked what we would give him as a birthday present. "Ito lang ibibigay niyo sa'kin?" he said while holding the sandwich we gave him moments ago. We laughed. "Sige nga titikiman ko nga to kung masarap." He said he will also make one when he gets home. 

We arrived at the bus stop. An Alabang-bound bus loaded some passengers a few meters away. "Ayan na Alabang na bus oh," my friend said. Angelo refused to leave. "Dadaan yan ng Sucat eh," he said. My friend and I waited until another non-airconditioned bus made a stop. "Bye! Ingat kayo!" he said as he sat down  on the bus.

When he left, my friend and I regretted not giving even an additional penny for his fare. He did not beg. He did not ask for anything. He only wanted to talk. And he called me Ate Jam like we had known each other for years.

He left home because he is gay. He is only 12-years old. An adolescent who is just starting to discover himself. 

He left home because he told his parents the truth. He left because he was not accepted in his own home.

May our paths cross again, Angelo. Ate Erika and Ate Jam are praying for you.

Over Milktea

Have you made up your mind?

Yes.

Have you talked about it?

Yes.

To the right people?

Yes.

To the one who will make it happen?

Not yet.

What is keeping you from doing so?

I don't know how to start it. As in a book, the first words are crucial. I don't want to spoil myself.

When will you take action?

Tomorrow.

Are you sure?

I must be.

Meanwhile, here I am, sipping milktea.

Talking to myself.

Either there is still milktea or there's only little left.

Blabbers

They say write down what stresses you out.

The other day, I read on Time that one good way to cope with stress is to write it down. The article cited a study wherein a group of students were asked to keep a journal of what stressed them out at school. After a few weeks, those who did had a higher average compared with those who did not.

Probably that explains why I had better grades when I was in college. Or not.

Either way, I no longer care about college. I used to think that when you're good at school, success is guaranteed. But the world is an entirely new animal. The real world, I mean. It is not school -- or a class -- wherein you study well, ace the exam, impress in recitation, and get a recognition. It does not work that way in the real world.

In the real world, you work hard, wait for two weeks, check out the payroll, pay the bills. Repeat. 

Or so it happens to adults stuck in a day-long job that is sometimes meaningful, oftentimes gratifying, always stressful, everyday repetitive.

Routine. Yes, that's how you call it.

For the past weeks, I've been having anxiety attacks -- or so I thought. I haven't googled yet what having 'anxiety attack' means clinically. But I have diagnosed myself as having such: worrying about the next months, imagining your fears happening in reality, asking why you are not getting what you want, questioning why it seems very easy for others to get what they want, feeling your dreams are too impossible to achieve. And so on and so forth.

Quite tired of it. In my emotion graph, the line is currently going up -- signalling a budding hope amid hopelessness. Probably I managed to convince myself to love my life a little more -- or try once again, at the very least -- because if I don't embrace it, nobody else will.

And yes, relax. The days go on. Life goes on.

And make a decision to never tire trying.

Blabbers

They say write down what stresses you out.

The other day, I read on Time that one good way to cope with stress is to write it down. The article cited a study wherein a group of students were asked to keep a journal of what stressed them out at school. After a few weeks, those who did had a higher average compared with those who did not.

Probably that explains why I had better grades when I was in college. Or not.

Either way, I no longer care about college. I used to think that when you're good at school, success is guaranteed. But the world is an entirely new animal. The real world, I mean. It is not school -- or a class -- wherein you study well, ace the exam, impress in recitation, and get a recognition. It does not work that way in the real world.

In the real world, you work hard, wait for two weeks, check out the payroll, pay the bills. Repeat. 

Or so it happens to adults stuck in a day-long job that is sometimes meaningful, oftentimes gratifying, always stressful, everyday repetitive.

Routine. Yes, that's how you call it.

For the past weeks, I've been having anxiety attacks -- or so I thought. I haven't googled yet what having 'anxiety attack' means clinically. But I have diagnosed myself as having such: worrying about the next months, imagining your fears happening in reality, asking why you are not getting what you want, questioning why it seems very easy for others to get what they want, feeling your dreams are too impossible to achieve. And so on and so forth.

Quite tired of it. In my emotion graph, the line is currently going up -- signalling a budding hope amid hopelessness. Probably I managed to convince myself to love my life a little more -- or try once again, at the very least -- because if I don't embrace it, nobody else will.

And yes, relax. The days go on. Life goes on.

And make a decision to never tire trying.

Ikaw, sinong iboboto mo?

Ang daming nagtatanong sa akin niyan.

I think no one among the candidates has the noblest of intentions to serve you and me. 

Yung isa nag-give way nung 2010 sa presidente natin ngayon. So he's now pursuing his dream because he believes gunning for the presidency is his birthright (*cue tear*).

Yung isa, nung 2010 pa lang din nag-declare na, gusto niya daw baguhin ang bansa. Kasi ganito kami sa... Ayala Avenue at parking building two.

Yung isa gustong ipagpatuloy yung sinimulan nung tatay niya. Natalo kasi yung tatay niya nung 2004 in the same fight she's fighting now, kasi dinaya daw ng bongga.

Yung isa ayaw manalo si atey na flying with colors na sa mga survey bago pa man magdeclare ng candidacy. Ayaw niya daw manalo ang isang Amerikano, kaya sige na nga, go na daw siya para may kalaban (kahit mga 100 times niya sinabing ayaw niya kesyo matanda na daw siya at doon na lang siya sa lugar niya, pero mga 25 times na sinabing pwede din naman pero kakausapin niya daw muna niya pamilya niya).

Yung isa siguro, pwedeng noble yung intention niya. What else will you do after battling (and surviving?) the big C diba? Lalo pa't you've spent your whole life in government. E di make a grand comeback! Pero kasi, baka mag-ala Pope Benedict siya, na sa kalagitnaan ng term, biglang sabihin niyang ayaw na niya. E hindi naman 'to tulad ng conclave na malinis at tahimik ang proseso ng pagpili ng kapalit, diba?

Ikaw, sinong pipiliin mo? Maiging balikan natin kung bakit ba sila nagkukumahog na makuha ang boto mo. Beyond the platforms, look up what lit the fire in their ass kasi it will speak a lot about what they might and may do once they get the most coveted post of the land (na hindi naman bongga ang sweldo pero ang dami-daming gagawin at sangkatutak ang problema, di ba?)

Choose the lesser evil. And vote for the character, not just the promises. Because you can rarely change a character. And well, promises can be broken.

P.S. Sila na lang lima choices natin eh, disqualified kasi si Intergalactic. Sayang.

Halu-halo: Ignoring my feelings

It's Maundy Thursday.

Lent is ending in 3 days. For this year, I vowed to fast from desserts, Facebook and Instagram. For the Holy Week, I eat one full meal a day and just have quick bites thereafter. I've been winning, so far.

And today, it's Maundy Thursday. We're out and about for our yearly Visita Iglesia. We're on our last stop: Chowking. Currently, I'm eating my feelings.

My parents and my brother are eating halu-halo. I'm fixing my gaze on my soup and ignoring my feelings. I'm trying to forget the cold and tangy taste of cold milk mixed with ube ice cream on a very hot night. 

I'm happy with my noodle soup.

Ooops. It's 12:00 mn. That means, it's now Good Friday.

Have a blessed Holy Week everyone!

Stained by Pulag

"May lupa pa yung sapatos mo. Akala ko ba nilabhan mo na yun?" said my mom. 

Before I went to bed Saturday morning, I made sure I washed every little thing I could -- pairs of socks, gloves, leg warmers, bonnets, towels, handkerchiefs. I didn't wash my hiking shoes thoroughly. I learned from newly found mountaineer friends that you shouldn't wash your shoes with detergent, only with shampoo. So I willingly yielded and removed the earth-stains on the sides and the sole. I thought no stain was left. 

Until I saw the marks. I intended to leave them like that.

I want to keep a memory of Mount Pulag in my shoes. It's like a battle scar. A memento of places you've conquered. 

Our view of the summit from the saddle camp after we hiked to see the sea of clouds.

This mountain was no joke: a trek of roughly eight kilometers with steep ascents for five straight hours. The journey was grueling; nonetheless, fulfilling. I remember cursing (in my mind) every step halfway through the hike. We would ask our guide how long it would still take for us to get to the saddle camp -- which was only 30 minutes away from the summit -- and she would say three hours, two hours, one hour. 30 minutes. 15 minutes. Probably the longest quarter of an hour of my life.

After all, Mt. Pulag is proudly standing at 2,922 meters above sea level. The third highest in the Philippines.

The obligatory visitor pose

My acid attack made this climb more difficult. I barely ate dinner during our night at the camp, because all I wanted to do was to vomit. My stomach was churning badly -- similar to how I felt when I was rushed to hospital and found out I had gastritis. The cold wasn't helping either. Our fellow campers from the other group said the temperature even dropped to -4 degrees Celsius through the night. I was chilling. I vomited thrice before I slept. I drank all the antacid tablets I had in my bag and lathered ointment on my stomach. 

But every step, every chill, everything was worth it. Especially when we ascended to the summit and saw the majestic sea of clouds as the sun was rising. It was the most beautiful dawn of my life.

The sun at dawn parting the Earth and the sky as the world eases into another day

Shout out to my friend, Darcey, who took care of me when my acid attack got the best of me. Also, for always bringing extra everything -- sleeping mat, blanket, utensils, etc. She helped me descend the mountain alive and kicking.

Congratulations to Rikki and Nikki for their romantic Pulag engagement. The heaven witnessed your love, and it would surely bless your marriage for life.

Good times with new friends. 'Til the next climb!


Note to climbers: 

• Leave no trace. 
• Follow ALL the rules.
• Stay on the trail -- don't stray.
• Don't make noise on the mountain.
• Respect the mountain as you would your parents, partner, self.

Fighting a robber

"Ang tapang mo," said the barangay captain as we passed by his hall only a few meters from where I was heldup. 

My father rolled down the window on his side. "Napabilib mo mga tao dito, " he added. I responded with a smile. Papa has been asking their help in tracking down the suspect. So far, no clear lead as to where he is now.

After a few minutes, we left and headed home. Papa said, "Sikat ka na dito." I answered, "Sana lang di dun natatapos yun."

I badly want to put that man behind bars because he has the capacity to hurt people -- especially women -- just to get what he want. That's how he earns a living: by stealing. I admit my intentions are 30% revenge. But the bigger part is, at least, to feel safer -- not only for myself, but also for my family, especially my younger brother and cousins.

As I watch the CCTV footage of the incident, I wonder where I got the strength to fight. He was punching me, biting me, dragging me while I was screaming for help and hanging on to my bag. One thing was clear: I was never giving up -- getting bruised and wounded -- with him bringing my valuables home. And so I went home with my fingers and wrist bleeding -- with my bag hanging on my shoulder.

They say I should've just given everything. They say, "Sa susunod, 'wag ka nang lumaban lalo na kapag may dala."  But isn't that giving the evil too much power over the innocent? Aren't we supposed to defend ourselves and, at least, try to keep what is ours? Isn't giving everything away at once a form of consent to how they feed their children?

This is in no way saying that the next time I'm robbed or held up *knock on wood thrice* I'm putting up a fight (again). I'm just saying it's better to arm ourselves and be on guard than to just dole out your things to a robber on the street.

Thank God for the strength. 

Thank you angels for guiding me.

Continue protecting us. 

Shield us from danger. 

Amen.

What has become of us?

Remember the good old days

When we would look up the sky

And dream of what we wanted to be?

When the possibilities were limitless;

We looked as far as our eyes could see.

What has become of us?

Afternoon Sky

A perfect summer sky in November. And mad, dark clouds hovering in the west where the sun will set.

This is what my weekend afternoons look like: sitting on our rooftop, watching the sky turn from a mix of blue with cotton clouds and sunrays to a burst of crimson and lavender at sundown. It's always a sight to behold. There's evidently an artist in Heaven who has mastered the art of sunsets.

A perfect summer sky in southeast and a gloomy sky in the northwest. Today the sky is its own irony. Much like how a night or day looks like for a man stormed with questions on which way to look at and what to do next: run away from an impending rain or turn your gaze to the clear, bright, blue sky?

There are days when the sky shows its many faces all at once. Like today, for instance. A simply magnificent display of life: bright and beautiful and dark and fearful. 

How you look at it, well, the choice is yours.

I will never forget

I will never forget the face of the man who tried to rob me.

When he placed his arm on my shoulder and pointed his hand on my neck. He whispered, "Give me your bag lest I kill you." When he forcefully grabbed my bag until I fell on the pavement while I screamed and pleaded for help. And no one did. 

When, in desperation, he bit my fingers to disarm me. And when he failed, one last pull, he ran away. I was trembling; my heart was beating thrice faster than normal. And when I looked down, I saw blood on my hand. My wrist was bleeding. Another bite -- a deep wound -- by that hungry animal.

Was it too easy to prey on me because I'm small? Do I really look that helpless? Man, looks are deceiving. And you might have thought women don't fight. 

Until now, my wounds have yet to heal. The deepest is still wide open, and doctors say it might stay that way. A mark of a struggle that shouldn't have happened -- because we ought to work hard to survive. It's a mark that will make me remember to always stay on guard and never ever be complacent. Because it's safe nowhere. 

It will never be the same again. This wound may heal, but I will never forget the face of that man. I don't want to leave home these days. Call it trauma or paranoia. It will be more difficult to trust passersby and strangers who I walk with at the MRT, mall, and sidewalks. I see robbers anywhere. You may be eating with them at a restaurant or standing side by side with them at the bus station. They may just be behind you while you are buying your favorite drink at the convenience store. Or you may be making eye-contact with them as you cross the street. 

As investigation is under way, I'm getting information that that guy is just lurking around, freely wandering the streets while his victims are suffering a trauma from his bad deed. Others are saying he's hiding far from authorities who are looking for him. He's been in and out of jail. Two counts of robbery: sentence served. Petty crimes, that's what they call it. But for those whom he victimized, petty is a disturbing, insulting word.

One said his father used to be like him. So has it become a profession in a poor country where more than half are living by below a dollar every day? And so there are families of lawyers, doctors, artists, and engineers. Then, there are families of robbers.

It pains me to think he is feeding his children and family by stealing. By leaving a mark in other people -- in a terribly awful way.

As I type, my right hand is hurting. It's my wound, my open wound, that wants to heal but cannot yet. Because healing takes time.

Here's to ladies -- and even men -- who have fallen prey to robbers. Here's to hoping that the bad men will get what they deserve. That the wheels of justice may spin to our favor. Heaven knows what to do to them. Karma, so to speak.

And that me may forget how they look like and sleep soundly, in peace again.

Five years old

When I smile like this, I see my 5 year old self who is sincerely happy when she has her Barbie and Polly Pocket by her side. Fast forward to 20 years, happiness becomes fleeting and much harder to achieve. 

Ah, the innocence and joy of childhood.