11/03/2015

SEEKING ADVENTURE IN NATURE: Climbing Mt. Manalmon



The moon was still up as my mind kept drifting from being awake to drowsy. Still, my body seemed to feel the excitement that I thought I was already sleepwalking. My bag was already packed the night before the adventure. There were extra clothes, foods, two (2) liters of water, candies, slipper and raincoat - recommended valuables to be brought during trekking - inside my medium-size bag. I wore a blue shade rubber shoes and black leggings, that I find comfortable enough to walk, climb and roll wherever the tour guide will be taking us.
The meeting place wa a 24-hour fast food chain. I was with my two of my closest friends in college. It was thanks to them that I was able to go out of my comfort zone. There were already people that arrived ahead of us. At first, I thought we were on the same adventure but later we figured out that they were climbing a different mountain, harder than us. Two young, male Americans came. We were actually older than them, but they were way taller than us. They only wore shorts and sleeveless shirts while our body were almost covered with cloth. And then I wondered if it would be safe to not fully cover your body when climbing a mountain. I put aside the thought and continued conversing with my friends. Eight (8) more adventurers came including the two (2) tour guides and the driver.
Five in the morning when we left the fast food chain, I was getting more excited. We sat in the first row of the van we will be riding to Mt. Manalmon. I sat between my friends. We talked shortly then drifted to sleep again,  recharging our batteries. We had our stop over in Pulilan, Bulacan. The vast greenfield already welcome us, preparing us for our day hike adventure. I was getting pumped up. I ate an egg and biscuits to supply my energy. I'll be needing it all, I thought.
The road became narrow. It was a rough road. Spaces only opened up when we reach the campsite. My eyes watched with awe. Locals watched us as we descend the bridge that connected the land where we took our first step in the mountain. My feet stopped at the center of the bridge as the two sides of the mountain almost meet each other. Trees were like its fingers longing for each other's touch. It was a beautiful scenery, magical I should say. I took a photo, capturing the first scenery that marked my heart.
We had our brief orientation  near the campsite where the locals also live. There were crosses at the side of the slope as we climbed. The marks made me think that someone was buried there. It gave me goosebumps. I never bothered to ask why there were crosses at the foot of the mountain.
Our tour guide brought us back to the other side of the bridge. Little did I know that it was where were going to enter. We trudged to a grassy opening. From there, the Mt. Manalmon loomed before us. The trees on the other side of the mountain were also getting thicker. The trail was muddy because of the rainy night before our climbed. It made the climbed steep and harder. It was an easy trail according to our tour guide but not for me.
Later on, we started ascending and descending to a steep and slippery trail. I often needed to crouch down and dropped one of my legs slowly before descending. Although there were many trees beside it, it was a steep slope I'm going to fell. My parents would not be happy learning that I was injured. The bamboos were everywhere. I can also hear the river at the bottom of the trail. It sounded like one of the application in my Ipad that helps you have a good night sleep. The sound of streaming water was comforting if not for the dangerous trail.
We had to pass by a small streaming river. My rubber shoes were not ready for, but I had to cross it. Paulo helped us get through. We started climbing again and stopped almost in the next campsite because there were also adventure seekers ahead of us so we needed to wait. We drank our water and ate some candies and biscuits.
When we felt we were taking a bit long, we decided to approach the campsite.  The other group decided to start climbing up to the peak while we had photos of the view and ourselves with it. We climbed next to a smooth mountain made of rock. The view was more  enigmatic.  We stayed there for several minutes.
The picture-taking was  longer than the climb actually, I joked. My friends agreed and we laughed.
We continued climbing. It was an easy trail. We waited again for several minutes before climbing to the peak of the mountain. The rock was steep and the sun was brimming us with hot weather. Yet we continued climbing. A tree at the peak of the mountain stood strong before us. There were trees a little below of the peak  where our tour guide and locals that accompanied us took a rest. My mind did not shook from fear of height but my eyes wander in amazement. I reached the top, my first climb. A vast forest was crawling below us. A tall mountain was standing opposite it with its face watching us from the other side. The river crawled up to the next mountain until it was out of sight. Who would've thought that such a wonder exist just a few hours away from Manila. I would definitely continue climbing, I said to myself. And it will never be my last.
Aside from trekking, breathtaking and thrilling spelunking is also part of the adventure. There were no harness, only ropes, to help you explore the cave. You'll crawl to small holes, climb slippery rocks, and walked the edge of the cave where deep holes and protruding rock formations await to those who will fall. Don't worry. It's safe as long as you trust yourself and your tour guides. They are actually fun to be with and they make sure that anyone who ventures inside the cave will get out alive.
Swimming in the river is also a bonus. The breathtaking view and running water is relaxing. Though you need to be careful because the riverbed is a wave of sand.   


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2/27/2013


Behind the steel
I captured this picture in Quezon Memorial Circle for our Photojournalism class. I did not pass it, though I kept it because of the meaning it entails. We might interpret it differently, but what matter most is how you would see this in your own perspective of life or reality.

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HIM


I wonder
Why every second, his sweet smell lingers in my nose?
No matter how long the distance
Whenever we’re apart 
Even a centimeter away
I constantly long for him more.

I wonder
Why whenever I pinched my nose to his cheeks
Or kiss him in the lips
(I always do to ease the pain)
I would still miss him;
And would search for only one scent: his.

Yet, no matter how close,
No matter what I try…
I won’t stop longing…
I can’t stop thinking…

Despite the fragmented answers,
In the end, I will still wonder
Why do I still miss him?
Why does my heart long for him more?
Even how many hours
We clutched our hands together . 


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2/15/2013

EPHORIA


It happened when I was browsing poems about love. My first destination: Poetry Foundation. It sent me an email, its Valentine’s Day newsletter. It’s not for the sake of feeling the day where love is more explicit to families and couples. Reading is just my one way of expressing my feelings and thoughts. I am not romantically in love, but that doesn’t mean I cannot relate to a poem or tales involving cupid.  There’s always love within us, whether it is eros (romance), storge (love for family), agape (unconditional love) or philia (a friendship love).

As I searched for possible poems that could strike my innermost thoughts and emotions, after minutes of doing right click + Open link to New Tab, one poem easily passes to my conscious state of mind. Unconsciously I got attached to it. I kept reading it for several times, savoring its flavor and aroma. Honestly, I barely drink wine, but the emotions and how I pictured every phrase in the poems gave happiness, grief, almost all emotions a person can feel. So I decided to share it in my blog. Others might not feel the way it hit me. It is because we interpret it differently. There are poems to others that think it is merely a poem, but there are others that it is the summary of their whole life, their emotions, and innermost self.

So here it is…
I Love You
BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
I love your lips when they’re wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.

Not for me the cold, calm kiss
Of a virgin’s bloodless love;
Not for me the saint’s white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world’s blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.

So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we’ll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love.

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2/14/2013

UNWIND



Life can be cruel sometimes, or should I say, often. For many reasons, things for me have turned upside down. Everything seemed so well, in accordance to what I really wanted. But just in a snapped or in a mistake I unintentionally made, everything that I worked so hard burst in the thin air to nothing.

Beautiful things were always too good to be true. It felt like they should’ve not happened after all. How come things don’t come out in the right place? Why is everything I did appeared more awful that it may seem?

Am I brooding too much? I knew persons who appeared to be so lucky, so gifted that everything fell in the right place for them without exerting too much effort. It turned out that I am slowly hating myself for being so incompetent. Only two things made me still intact in the basis of normality, God and silence.

For months, it felt like I lost my track, the person who used to be understanding and patient. Unconsciously, I’m learning to keep grudges to the people who hurt me. The more they do not treat me well, the more my wall of pride grew higher and higher. No one wanted to be like this. I wanted to retain the goodness inside me, the patience and forgiveness I used to be abundant with.
As I leave, which I thought first for hundreds of times, I pray that God will give them guidance. 

Despite the times they left me broken, I wanted to thank them for it. I learned to be strong. Abruptly, my eyes opened to the other side of the world that I’m not used to. And from the day I depart myself from their clutches, I hope I will find myself again, and learn to trust and believe to what I can do.

I've been judged, even ignored. Invisible as what I wanted to call it. But there will come a time that I will find myself again and start a new life. With me, will always be my dream for my family and my future. I hope that if that day happens, I’m already a better person, better than with what I am before.  

If that time comes, I will blog again with my progress. No one might read this article of mine. It doesn't matter, as long as my life will try to keep its wheels on the right track. I must cheer up. I must move on. In relation to this article, I linked a blog from The Emotional Life website. I hope it helps. It is titled “12 Ways toMend a Broken” by Therese Borchard. HAPPY READING!

12 Ways to Mend a Broken
By Therese Borchard


Bess Myerson once wrote that “to fall in love is awfully simple, but to fall out of love is simply awful,” especially if you are the one who wanted the relationship to last. But to stop loving isn’t an option. Author Henri Nouwen writes, “When those you love deeply reject you, leave you, or die, your heart will be broken. But that should not hold you back from loving deeply. The pain that comes from deep love makes your love ever more fruitful.” But how do we get beyond the pain? Here are 12 techniques I’ve gathered from experts and from conversations with friends on how they patched up their heart and tried, ever so gradually, to move on.

1. Go through it, not around it.
I realize the most difficult task for a person with a broken heart is to stand still and feel the crack. But that is exactly what she must do. Because no shortcut is without its share of obstructions. Here’s a simple fact: You have to grieve in order to move on. During the 18 months of my severe depression, my therapist repeated almost every visit: “Go through it. Not around it.” Because if I went around some of the issues that were tearing me apart inside, then I would bump into them somewhere down the line, just like being caught in the center of a traffic circle. By going through the intense pain, I eventually surfaced as a stronger person ready to tackle problems head on. Soon the pain lost its stronghold over me.
2. Stand on your own.
One of the most liberating thoughts I repeat to myself when I’m immersed in grief and sadness is this: “I don’t need anyone or anything to make me happy.” That job is all my own, with a little help from God. When I’m experiencing the intense pangs of grief, it is so difficult to trust that I can be whole without that person in my life. But I have learned over and over again that I can. I really can. It is my job to fill the emptiness, and I can do it … creatively, and with the help of my higher power.



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2/12/2013

About INTROVERTS




from Philippine Daily Inquirer; Section: Learning ; Tuesday, February 12, 2013

I just happened to browse this article in the newspaper, and it really caught my attention. 
Introverts are often misunderstood by most people because of their silence. In most cases, they appear that they do not care, but the truth is they are observing their surroundings, and listening carefully to every word a people say. Inside their minds, there lie a restless machine that keeps initializing, analyzing, reflecting the words they hear and the actions they see. So when a man is quiet , it doesn't necessarily mean that they don't care at all. They were actually thinking and considering your opinion, weighing circumstances, and analyzing data. They were in deep thoughts and concentrating the contingency of the possible and the impossible. It is also why often introverts have anxiety or always in a day-dreaming mode because they are thinking too much. 

I'm glad the media  took time and space to publish an article like this, for society to fully understand introverts. I'm afraid that introverts are often misunderstood as quiet and not thinking at all or snobbish. Somehow, the society has the hint that introverts think and analyze a lot, the reason they are silent most of the times. 


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1/28/2013


Someone asked me why I cannot be a bully?

That was the first time someone asked me such question. It was also the first time I asked myself why after several years of being a victim of bullying, I cannot be a bully.

We were riding MRT station, going home from work, my first work after graduating from college. I was not bullied during my college years, though I experienced some indirect bashings. I took it lightly. Of course, they were my friends, and patience is the essence to have more friends. That is how I think back then, even now. But, honestly, their bashings were gravely imprinted on my mind.

Now that my new friend and I became close, we became too comfortable with each other. We started criticizing each other. Not in the mean way of course, but if people would hear us, they probably asked us if we were really friends. She often call me “fat,” obviously, she’s thin that’s why she has the guts to tease me. Being bashed seemed to become a part of my normal life. There are no months that I haven’t heard any criticisms about me, especially on how I look.

If you ask ten people, including me, to line up according to how we look, and based it on today’s criteria of beautiful, I would be the last person in the line. That’s how I imagine myself, a result of years of bullying during my younger years. People barely acknowledge my physical beauty. I am often regarded as unattractive, worst, as the ugliest in our family.   Even my relatives would give me the least attention, because of how I look. I should be agitated and angry at them. Partly, yes, but I use criticism as my advantage.

Thinking of how I was treated back then, especially when people don’t even try to bother to know me more, I taught myself of distancing myself to others, even to whom I am close at (eventually). This is how protect I myself from them. I don’t want to expect a lot from them, especially when it comes to trust issues. It is something that is too much for me to give, moreover, it will take too much pain to be betrayed by the people I regarded as family.

It is not my principle, and will  never be a part of my norm.

So when my friend asked why I don’t want to be a bully, I contemplated on the answer and come up with two things: (aside from not good in saying mean things to others) empathy and conscience. Circumstances told me that I should be vengeful or I should’ve learned how to fight, but unfortunately I did not listen to it, But that is not how I think, that’s not how I fight, I thought.

My answer to her question is empathy. I always put myself on the shoes of others, imagining how they would feel if I bully him or her.  I’ve been there. I know the feeling, although not as exact as his or feeling. But I have an idea, the feeling of what it felt like to be look down because of just how you look. It is the main reason I cannot fight the way they want me to. I have felt the pain. Why should I let others feel it too? It is like a study: when it is done and an error occurred, it should serve as a learning experience. So on the next years and following, it will not happen again, it will not be a waste of time and effort.

Moreover, despite the criticisms of my physical being, somehow, I have at least something to be proud of: It is that I live listening to my conscience, and tried my best to be good at others. At least, in that way, I would live my life at ease.


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12/29/2012

CHILDREN DEVELOP A SENSE 
OF EMPATHY VERY EARLY AND VIA PARENTS 
by Perri Klass, M.D.
Manila Bulletin 
The New York Times Internal Weekly
November 29, 2012 

Growing in an environment where empathy is always conveyed or showed, affects the values of a child. Since where and how we live are  important factors of growing, we must be sensitive in our actions. Child development is a complex thing, and a vital role in the growth of a child, which will be reflected when they grow up. On the other hand, environment is not solely responsible for a children's growth. There are children who grew in a chaotic and mischievous environment, yet still, become a good person. Meanwhile, others live in peaceful and loving neighborhood, but  has a not-so-good or worst character. This means a child's growth must always be accompanied by careful guidance. Well, I believe, teenagers or adults also still need guidance, despite how our society imposed that adults should be the "perfect beings" or the "know-it-all primates," they can still choose bad choices. Everyone still need guidance, or should I appropriately call advice all throughout their life.

Related article BEING ADULT 

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LOWERING DAILY STRESS LEVEL 
CAN HELP IN COPING WITH CRISIS
by Jane E. Brody
Manila Bulletin 
The New York Times International Weekly
November 29 2012

In our generation today, most people are busy, whether it is personal or work, resulting to less amount of relaxation. Stress made us more prone to anxiety, according to Dr. Tamar Chansky. This means that we need to unzipped ourselves and always have a stress-free day. Positive thinking and proper reactions to problems also help in coping with our 'daily anxieties' in life, which mostly resulted from dissatisfaction that are mostly based on our own personal preferences and comfort. In short, our anxieties mostly came from ourselves, and not from the environment. How we handle problems reflect on eventually how everything turns out.

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12/08/2012


Confession of a Suspicious Mind
(Short Story)

I am always suspicious, just like you, eyeing every move and analyzing every word that comes from a person’s mouth. Afraid of what they tell me, I always make sure to hear everything they talk about. Even their gestures are no exception. They are all subjects to my keen eyes. Taking heed on my surrounding is what I always do. Yes, it needs a lot of work to do, but for 10 years of living as such, it becomes my habit.

When I was child, my patrons never missed a day to bully me.  It seemed it became their usually routine, an ingredient to call their day complete. There was a time when I was just walking to home from school. A gang of teenagers older than I am threw me in a trash bin, head first. That day, I went home with plastics still stuck in my shirt. My mom was not home yet. She was at her work, making sure that at the end of the month we have food to eat. I don’t have someone to talk to every time I was bullied. A coincidence, I barely knew. It just happened.
In the end, I chose to conceal it.
Gone are the days when I live peacefully. Anywhere I go, everywhere I go, it happens. These made me lose my confidence, made me think that no one will ever accept who I am. My skin is full of scars. Even my face has a mark, a long stretching embossed line from my left eye to cheek.  It is the proof of the beatings I received from my father. He died from throat cancer. Karma, itself, saved me from his cruel hands. But karma never even thought of the future villains of my life. After that I convinced myself to take revenge using my own hands.
My mother mourned for months. She did not left the bedroom, so I was left alone doing what a mother should do. With no friends or siblings or relatives, I am always left alone. No one knew how I think or how I react to certain things. I’m just quiet like a mute child, but they did not know how my eyes sparkle when I started to think how to make them suffer. The funny thing when I took my revenge, they never knew even a slightest chance that it is I who inflict damage to their life. So when someone conspicuously did something to me, expect my revenge with no chance of achieving justice at all.
Their stare itself tells me how guilty they are, their jaws that clenched every time they lie or use me as an absorber of their anger or issues in life. The words they use, its intonation and the topic they discuss, it becomes my basis that they are an addition to my list of villains – my evidence that they are wicked like the persons I made suffer before. I did it for justice per se.
I am always suspicious. It’s the reason I even stayed at night to watch their every move and every words they speak. I am a guardian that makes them feel to always watch out and never commit any mistake.
I am not the only who have the same skill, which becomes a part of my nature. There are millions of us out there who haven’t yet discovered their unique talent, or haven’t met someone like them, or do not have the confidence to place justice in their own hands.  I am not the only one. I am not the worst, but I am not also the best.

I’m just an observer, a spectator, a bystander or whatever you call it. I’ll let karma finish what I started. Remember that I only watch even though they scream for help or plead to save them. I’m just a spectator who loves to find suspicious persons with apprehensive actions, like the villain that scarred me when I was young. I’m just an observer, a spectator, a bystander or whatever you call it. I did it for justice per se.



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