Finding Home

Shuffle of feet Rustle of leaves Swaying palm trees Dance of tongues Strum of guitar Songs sung off-key but borne from the heart Light rain, gentle sound Sand, grass, ground The Pacific-- silent then loud Walk, wade, swim, dive Meet her majestic crest Hold your breath Paddle, paddle Then rise, glide and fly. Sabang Daguitan Surf Camp Dulag, Leyte

Dear Garret,  On Mother's Day 2007, you were still 2 years old then. It was a quiet day. A lonely one too if I recall correctly. I remember thinking that as a Mother's day gift to myself, I would buy you a set of bible stories. So I would have a chance to teach you some beautiful lessons. Of course at that time, there was already a nagging of sorts in my heart as to why you weren't responding like I expected you to or were supposed to. Your eye contact was fleeting and you didn't like to be touched, just to name a few. But I still continued to read you stories hoping that by simply forign on I can break through your walls.  Now the rest of this story is history. The years have come and gone. Doctors, teachers and therapists have blessed our life. Now some days you say to me, "Sto-wee." In the early hours of the morning or as we retire to bed at night, you hold my face and look at me with a gaze no longer fleeting but with a sustained look I can

Dear Grade 11, I will tell you a secret. In each of those sessions I spent with you I did not exactly plan on what I would share to you. All the words that came out of my mouth came out as water does from a spring. Like one discovers happily in the search of that elusive liquid after hours of trekking through a forest or desert, if you will. Every time I enter the room the energy from your bodies and minds are ever-changing. Ever fluid. Ever flowing. And if there is anything I have ever learned from the will of the Universe, it is to allow myself to be drawn to the strength of the current. Each of you is a force to be reckoned with. Each of you are beautiful in your own way. Each of you brilliant in your own spirit. And as I listened and embraced your energy, the words flowed.  My deepest intention was to let you see what you already have inside of you-- the ability to be awakened to your truest nature that can only illuminate all your darkest corners. I do not know ho

"The masculinity of the piano. The sensuality of the cello. The singular beauty of the flute. How these three created this one beautiful body of music that was not only soulful but created a kind of revolution in the heart..." It is a few days after the beautiful concert and still, the last remaining notes left by the virtuoso pianist, cellist and flutist linger in the spaces of my memory. What started out to be  simple invitation turned out to be something more. It became more of an experience that was meant to be felt by the entire body and mind in a time where music could simply be selected from an app and heard through a blue tooth speaker, where passion can be seemingly plastered on various social media sites with hashtags as long as what a carefully crafted caption could be. The word "witness" comes to mind. The word "presence", too. In a place only just beginning to rebirth the arts, these two are primordial as food and water. But take away thi

The sun is high. A warm breeze fills the air. Sparse tufts of clouds are spread throughout the sky.  It is going to be a beautiful day. I just know it. It is the day of the Hi Sandangaw, A Waray Tale storybook launch. As I alight our vehicle, green and silver balloons intertwined set in front of the glass door entrance complete with hanging vines creating a forest-like entry into the venue greet me along with lively chirpings of "Maupay na hapon!" from our Grade 11 student volunteers. As I enter, Hi Sandangaw stands alone on a wooden book stand beside an arrangement of flowers on the registration table. Amina, Melo and Kalipay are spread out as well. I step inside the room and am greeted by this expanse of white light emanating across the entire space. I would like to believe this is the light of good energy one great story brings. Banig is laid out on the floor complete with throw pillows and a bean bag. In the small stage are two potted bamboo plants on both ends. An anima

"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