Finding Home

"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

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