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Posts Tagged ‘family’

We were among those hundred innocent feet

wheeling through the clouds of dusts.  So close

that someone shouted to stop the angry phalanx

from advancing the gates. We were young bloods then.

Brave as a collective force ululating vignettes

about homeless families, starving peasants,

weak indigents, landless tribes,

friends of disappeared and the exiled.

 

We stand like a hundred innocent moths

circling fearlessly around the flame. Ready

to extinguish our fates  for one day of glory.

The cups ready to be filled with the bitter

after-taste of seeking the truth on the matter

of state.  Of politics. Of international affairs.

We stomp them shamelessly beneath our sandals.

We ripped them off from our tattered jeans.

We print them on the plainness of black shirts.

That justice of the land is not blind and should prevail.

 

We debated doctrines. We fight about logic.

We push our pens. We clasp our fists.

We join the caravan. We live our days

marching  vigorous  in the streets chanting

the aged texts  on mass struggles by the red book.

Burning  effigies.  Donning the placards.

We abhor dictatorship. We hated imperialism.

Like waterbombs spouting heavily against our faces.

Like the many teargases  hurled against our defences.

 

We bled when the police beat us out of the line.

Isolated  when we are thrown into prison cells.

Humiliated when subjected into torture chambers.

Discriminated when hunted down in the mountains.

We rise and made each part of our bodies as weapons.

Our  mouths  without strained voices.

Our  eyes  without biases.

Our  ears without prejudice.

Our fists without cowardice.

Our hearts without fear.

 

This is our revolution against the world order.

And the phoenix will rise again and again

among the many moths that have died.

Resurrected and will never be silenced.

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What if I finally embark on a mission to indigenous lands? How can I accept their way of life? Will I accept their culture as superior than I have born with and satisfied with? Will I ever change my way of life and draw some inspiration and become like them-unwary of the stress of the modern life, which to them is unknown?

What if  I am old enough to witness the First Quarter Storm, would I become a community organizer? Would I then be able to stand up for the right of the masses during those dictatorial times or I would rather clam up under the weight of fear and apathy? Would I be willing to be put into prison, or die in a firing squad like a martyr and become one of those missing persons that until now that their whereabouts cannot be found?

What if I become a priest? Can I be able to resist the temptation to marry and forever become celibate?  Would I be able to help others to know God better and make some positive impacts on their spiritual life?

What if I become a social worker? How could I keep the orphans, the old men and women and the widows from seeing life as still beautiful brimming with hope without them thinking of their circumstances? Would I be able to bear not to cry when I am so emotionally attached to their sentiments, their anguish and their fears?

What if I become a nurse or a doctor? How could I be able to be numb on seeing death everyday?  How could I try not to think of pain?  How could I not try to think about the families who lost their loved ones to sickness or a tragic accident? How could I not sleep enduring the hours spent caring and hoping for the  patients would ever live for one more day?

There are just so many individuals whose life are exemplary. Those who are still living or have departed from this world, whose life they have given unselfishly to the best that they can without thinking about personal gain or fame.  They have lived an uncommon life away from their comfort zones. 

The nameless and faceless strangers whom we might meet across the street. Or your neighbor. Or a friend.  We never know, until we came closer seeing their true light. These are the breed of people who dedicated themselves for a cause of uplifting humanity.  The kind of people who is not afraid of being different and dared to be what they are destined to be.

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Before the midnight sky  becomes cluttered by glittering show of the fireworks and the revelry of people shatters its silence,  I am lying here on my bed tracing back what this year the world had gone through.  It would be selfish for me to say,  that I am only too concerned of what had happened to me, knowing that on the far sides of the world, there are also people who like me, are in their silence thinking about the substance of it all.  Time has trodden a lonely and eerie path for some and here, most of us await for another new year to come.

The countdown begins. From the hours and the minutes gone to the last sixty seconds, and its ticking runs out to the finish line.  A tensioned stance that will be eventually released celebrating a new beginning of another year’s end.  And the cycle goes on.

I imagine.  About a child in Sudan begging to be fed.  A man in Chile waiting anxiously for the birth of his son.  An elderly woman in Russia staring blankly into the space in the cold of the night. A bargirl in Thailand sitting silently, waiting for a customer to come.  A seaman in a dock in South Africa, miserably misses his family back home. A teenager in Japan, held in her hands a knife, ready to kill herself.  A woman in Ireland, lying there in comatose in the hospital for a year.  And a father of three in India, unemployed, worrying about work that didn’t come for almost six months now.

There maybe thousands or even more souls out there, who welcomes the new year, not hoping, but filled with fear of how could they struggle to live one more day.  And fear has slowly crept into their being and deafening their enthusiasm to get on surviving.  Everyday, in our waking life, do we care to think about what’s on the other side, when half of the world is still in darkness?

What is the worth of this pondering on last sixty seconds before the clock strikes twelve?  I do not know how to calm down, when the world is on fire of succumbing to its continual decay and destruction.   And the day will come, that survival guarantees only the strong and the able. 

What an escape is there to whitewash with revelry the truth that we are coming nearer and closer into an end?  And all is vanity and a gasping in the wind.   Perhaps with this last sixty seconds, it is a reminder of what things may come.  In an eventuality that all of us cannot deny, where the headlines read that these are the worst of times.

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Today is January 1 of 2009,  I woke up early,  surprised why there are no lights from my windows.  Normally, I see car headlights in the street and lighted windows from the buildings each morning.  Looking at the clock, time seems to have overstepped its normal pace.

I came out of the front door and there the street is heavy with fog.  Ah,  that’s why.  I head out for the carlift waiting for me to take me to work. I sensed the driver is freezing. I greeted him and started to talk about how mesmerizing the fog was. 

What a way to celebrate the new year! One foggy morning with almost zero visibility on the road. And a day of work.  This has been the first time for me to spend new year working and without a Christmas break.

The fog has secretly dampen this special day.  I pulled out the digital camera and started flicking road photographs. But the images are eerily cold compared to what this day actually means and it consistently reminded me that in this part of the globe, western new year is faintly felt.  I just leave it like that.  Like a normal day. Same as others.

My thoughts of new years passed keep me company.  I remember the images of fireworks that glitters in the sky while people are revelling and shouting Happy New Year.  I remember Media Noche I used to share with family and the karaoke sessions. And the many things that make you crave to be there back home.

This one day is a hard one. I am faced with the reality that I am welcoming it here alone. Hoping that sometime, next year I would be there celebrating the holidays with my family and friends, together.  But for now, I should carry on like others braving it through the years. No matter what.

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Counting the hours to another sojourn, I have kept myself busy fixing and sorting the contents of my ever-rattled rathole.  And I have applied the Gung-ho principle to throw away things that for me has no use or maybe it can land as another hands-me down  to expectants. I don’t need this and I don’t need that. Whew! I am thinking,  next time I will try to avoid purchasing things which are to become clutter in my life.  In this kind of lifestyle I am having, always moving and  on the go, I should then minimize the collecting of things which has a temporal value.

Sometimes, I felt that this habit of collecting things that gives fleeting sense of happiness has been a hindrance for me to sprint a little farther than I used to. The so-called attachment to things makes me cringe to the idea that I can’t take them out with me, no matter how I would like them and had them ingrained in my system.

Here are the rundowns of things; will I have to keep them even more? Books ranging from architecture to literature to aeronautical science.  Self-help booklets by Deepak Chopra to Rick Warren.  CD’s and casette tapes of my favorite artists like Norah Jones, Lighthouse Family, Fra Lippo Lippi, Sheryl Crow and Enigma.  Architectural instruments like triangular scales, compasses, and lots of pens and Staedtler pencils ranging from 6H to 6B.

Ah, the poster colors and paint brushes I have them passed on to grade schoolers. The review materials and voluminous books on architectural codes I had them passed on to friends who would take the Board Exam. The receipts, the bills, the photographs, the floppy disks, I had them for safekeep.

And even old clothings, shoes, jackets and pants, I had them passed on to my cousins.  The computer peripherals I had them passed on to my aunt, the webcam and the optical mouse. I am just wondering, what if I could also passed on this entire life? Just kidding. But I do wanted that some vital organs in my body will be  donated in the future. The eyes, the heart, the kidney etc.

I think that this year, I will have to approach life differently with a new perspective.  I will be wise to keep things that are more valuable. That has worth and gives more meaning and definition to life.  I still believe that not a single thing can be taken out, and that what makes it temporal.

After each of life’s episodal twists, we must learn to de-clutter and sort out things to give more room to your inner space.  In that way, we can expect not to have internal overload.  We can have more to enjoy and experience the true things that can make you real happy.

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