Finding Home

Fall, I see. What stories there must be behind this painting. With every brush stroke, with every crease of the brows, with every angle the arms guide the hands that make. With every breath taken as colors appear and shadows blend. The joy of seeing, the sorrow of parting. The taking and the giving away. The rising and the falling as leaves do and perhaps people too. And then the sharing and the telling. All in life is a letting go. But first an embracing too tightly knowing what must leave and what to keep. Artist: Rhyl Plaza , Ormoc City

How's your writing?" We were having lunch over at our house and he asks the question. Sir Billy's tone was one of genuine interest. I answer. We continue the conversation. Ma'am Gie marvels at my boys. "Garret's nose is getting handsomer. Morgan has grown bigger than the last time we saw him" We talk about many important things-- plans, dreams, friendship, the respective energies we bring to ou r days, to our relationships, birthday plans. And we laugh. My favorite part when we get together-- we laugh the deep-down- in the- belly kind of laughter. "Why haven't you written about the painting I gave you?" He had asked me the week after he gave me his watercolor painting. I did not have a straight answer at the time. I could not very well ask the Master Watercolorist, "How to write about something so precious? How to write something so valuable as the giving of one's heart or a piece of it at least?" I re

"Millions", I gush at the sight of them. I only know them to be blue, never lilac-colored. The husband says, "Never mind planting this at home. We will come back to the mountains again and again." Kuya Ramil laughs at this. Again, everybody knows I am no green thumb. We go back to their house where the guides are gathering. Newly cooked Balanghoy immersed in Latik is waiting on the wooden table that Kuya Ramil himself built. Kuya Loloy, our guide when we climbed Lake Janagdan in May, had harvested coconuts for us before we arrived. I ask, "Are these from one of the coconut trees that Kuya Loloy said marked the end our grueling descent from Lake Janagdan?" I was already cranky and irritable nearing the end of our climb at that time. Kuya Loloy had to tell me, "Relax lang Ma'am. Smile." And I responded with something that was the complete opposite of what he had suggested. We all laugh at the memory. Kuya Danny then t

Throw caution to the wind. The Universe will answer for as long as your heart is clear and soul resolute. She will move you to places you only dreamed of. My experience in Siargao for half a fortnight has been filled with awakening, revelation and a stripping away of the unnecessary and a cloaking of what is.  And for this I am eternally grateful. While I believe that each place has its own beauty and soul, at the end of every experience, it is always whether or not it speaks to one's spirit.  The morning, quiet. Their voices, quiet. Their dog, quieter. One dances in the corner. And I am just waking up.   October 5th 2017 Lotus Shores     October 5 was Harvest moon. October, the changing of the seasons, the dying, changing, transitions. I was born in the middle of October. And I wonder why most of my life is spent on "in-betweens", neither here nor there, floating, floating like a runaway kite on a full moon night. Harvest Mouth closed

Flowers greet us every time we arrive. Bright orange, brighter than citrus fruits, soft periwinkles, fuschia pink, yellow ones that resemble that giant orb in the sky, blue violets too that remind one of dusk. As I alight from our truck, the wind, cold but not freezing, blows brushing gently my cheeks as if prodding, "Remember me?" The mountain air greets me too. "Ate Nancy, can these flowers grow in our garden?"I asked having not a single green thumb in my body. She is amused at my question. She, who has filled her home with all the above-mentioned beauty. Ping, the 17 year-old guide, who wants to be a teacher spent the week at our home doing part-time work, smiled. She knows there are no flowers like these in our home. There are only fruit trees in our backyard. Kuya Danny, the oldest of the mountain guides arrives. He is around fifty years old yet looks a decade younger, his jovial heart two decades younger. We recall a few months ago how h