Finding Home

"Once upon a time..." our teacher would begin. Our school library had pink walls and a triangular floor space. My classmates and I with our little legs and feet would eagerly rush to the room because it was story time. It was my favorite part of the day. It was all our favorite part of the day.  Our teacher would then open a book filled with stories that took us to various wonderlands and worlds so magical we thought were real. During recess or dismissal time, I remember playing with my friends retelling stories and acting out the stories. It didn't matter whether it was about mermaids or fairies we saw from cartoons or the myths passed on from our uncles and aunts. What mattered only was that it enveloped us in this inexplicable and indescribable kind of joy so much so that we lost track of time.  It is astonishing to know how we circle back to what we truly love. Call it calling or ministry. Call it vocation or destiny. While my work with children in the

"Please don't let this feeling end It's everything I am Everything I want to be ..." Ma'am Gie belts out the first song she says she learned on guitar on the veranda of the place we were staying in. Her voice is effortlessly beautiful. Sir Billy, on the ukelele deftly strums, no truer artist at heart. Meanwhile my elder boy Garret who has autism and who loves music marches back and forth listening. Then he approaches Sir Billy and strums with him. He sits beside Ma'am Gie next. And he goes on like this for quite some time until the song ends. We talk for a while longer until Garret sits on my lap asking in his own way to rest for the night. The first night Morgan, my younger son who also has autism and the birthday boy whose birthday was the reason we checked in at our favorite beautiful place with a seafront view, would walk around the veranda and sit on Sir Billy's lap treating him as if he were his uncle or grandpa. And then moving on

Dear Chika-an, You sweet devil you. You finally came to the city of Beautiful People. Oh how my heart leapt when I saw your tarps a couple or so weeks ago announcing, "Opening Soon at SM Center".  So today the husband and I went and feasted on your dishes that I know by heart-- Pakbet with Chicharon, Bam-i Guisado, Filipino Style Fried Chicken, Ampalaya with Dilis and Cucumber Lemon Pitcher. Your service was impeccable. Our meal was served within 15 to 20 minutes as your no-nonsense waitress informed us. Each bite of every dish was an explosion of home. Ampalaya with Dilis as appetizer was such a treat. Dilis also called "Lansang" by Cebuanos due to its nail-like appearance was just enough saltiness to the tongue. I remember how it was a staple in our home while I was growing up. I especially like your Pinakbet which is my 2nd favorite from your menu. The sauce with a hint of spice that's just right made it such a pleasant experience to my palate. Each veg

Dear Chika-an in SM Center Ormoc, It is a week after our first meal with you and now we are back again. As whenever I go home to Cebu, I now also call you my comfort place. The clouds are looming outside promising the inevitable rain. And though the restaurant and all of the mall is cold with the airconditioning in full blast or so it seems, your atmosphere is warm with "Good Morning Ma'am-Sir's and smiles as bright as the service crews' yellow outfits. Miss Gayle, your manager, greets us and proceeds to seat us. She offers her apologies for last week's Chorizo absence. She tells us Chorizo de Cebu is definitely available as clearly as it is written on the menu. We thank her profusely and tell her we are ready to order. As with the first time, our food is served within the reliable 15  to 20 minutes. The husband and I as usual take in each bite with conversation. We are deep into our stories and even deeper into the tasty Chili Garlic Tuna Belly, the nat

The man stood tall and dignified at the rostrum. Microphone on his right hand, he spoke to us with a sense of honesty and intimacy that can only be described as if there were only five people in the room. As he said the last few lines, there was an unmistakable break in his voice, a holding in of air.  And as he gazed at us, his eyes glistened with emotion. Then applause broke. Inspiration . I tried to explain this concept to our 2nd Graders as I told them Christina Newhard's story of a girl named Amina who could not weave a story in her loom. She tried to find inspiration in the mountains and the sea but still could not find it. And so she went about in the city to find it. "What does inspiration mean?" the students asked me. The closest two words I could share with them that their 7-year-old minds could understand, were "imagination" and "dreams".  Slowly, we  somehow made a connection of how imagination and dreams allowed us to create some

Dear You, What have you been up to?  Getting up in the morning Breathing as I still can Water from the tap Coffee Bath, Dress, Make-up Work.  Storytelling, hands in the air Questions out of nowhere Thank you's I want to be like you's What's the next story? Can it be later and not next week? Quiet, calm Then lunch My son tells me, "Change." The younger one holding his cookie Time to rest Both of them cover me with kisses, holding my face Afternoon rain Thunder as well What have I been up to? Not much. Dear You, This is what you have been doing: Breathing while you can Telling stories Writing them too No matter they are mundane Do not forget It is the small, The everyday acts the simple ones that make everything great. Dear You, Dear you.

The waves sounded like drum beats with sudden, angry movements of a woman's hand. Anger--one that has been kept in. Now it comes out in ragged gasps like buried sobs. Quiet then loud. Clapping one after another like dominoes on sand. "Ruin. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation." Elizabeth Gilbert's words resound in my head. There is no moon. Only stars. Millions of them shone against the curtain of black. The wind blows from the mountains. The colored flags, pale and shadowed in the night danced in the wind.  My bare feet dug into the soft, grainy sand, finding its respite. And while my body can find rest, my mind wanders with the question, "What will I learn this time?" Miss Ailyn tells me, "Gibutang man ko sa Ginoo diri." God put me here. Tears in her eyes, heart on her sleeve, she has done wonders for the community here. There is so much more to the story than what the national TV show, G diaries has show