In a Way, A Missionary

“In a way, you are a missionary,” a friend told me. 

I vehemently objected, because “missionary” comes from the Latin missio, a translation of the Greek verb apostellō, which refers to sending someone out to accomplish an objective. 

The noun form of this verb, apostolos, is transliterated into English as “apostle,” which refers not only to Jesus’ appointed spokesmen, but to “messengers” sent out by the church to other places other than their own to advance the Word. 

“Your books are sent out by your publishers to many places abroad, or they are bought by readers and taken to different places in the world,” he insisted. 

It’s is a stretch, but okay, “in a way.” 

Therese (not her real name), whom I had never met, is a principal in a Christian grade school in the USA. She messaged my social media page that she reads my blogs and books in her Kindle e-reader. “Your book The Teacher in Me is not online, so how may I get a copy?” 

I took the chance to send her a copy, plus two other books that are not available online. Because I have friends in the airline industry, it was easy (not to mention inexpensive) to mail my books anywhere in the world. 

The books reached Therese on New Year’s day. 

Who knows where my other books are really? They were/are “sent out” and  by God’s enabling grace, they will acomplish what we envisioned them to do--to advance the Word.  

"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them inthe name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:19-20 ESV. 

What is Good News?

Topping the bar. Winning an award. Being promoted. Landing a high-paying job. Receiving a fat bonus. Driving a new car. These are ours:  

"Mom, Papa had a small piece of chicken and a bite of pear." 

"Mom, I am sending his favorite TETSU ramen." 

"Ma'am, I bought Sir Tony a small speaker for his phone so he can listen to Elvis." 

He went off the oxygen tank for 30 minutes. 

He sat on a chair for 30 minutes. 

He asked to see Adrian on a video call. 

He asked for a cheeseburger and took one bite.  

His doctor said he can eat anything he wants.

He wants to know if the fire in California has finally stopped. 

He wonders if there is good progress in the war in Gaza.   

He thanks every orderly and nurse who fiddles with his medical attachments.

His three sons communicate almost every hour online. 

His doctors have a GC, where they discuss his condition. 

Each one is a milestone, grace delivered to our hospital room with a view.  It's day 15; we are grateful that the Lord continues to hold our hand. We bow to His will.  

Mother Teresa was the watcher last night and put all my and son #3's mess in place. She cleaned out the fridge of left-overs, arranged our closet, and sorted our laundry.  

Friends and family have been messaging/calling non-stop, encouraging and praying. They ask, “How is he doing today?” but I cannot update them all. Hopefully, this post will, for now. One day at a time. 

We are sorry not to receive any visitors, but that is his doctor’s order, not ours. 

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7 NLT

Encore: A Hospital Room with a View

Who would have thought we’d be spending New Year’s Day (2025) in . . . first, the Emergency Room, and then before midnight, the hospital room with a view?  

It’s January 13, and we are still here. 

The reason we rushed Tony to the hospital three times in 2018, six years ago, is the same reason he is here today: breathing difficulty. (These do not include the fluke in 2015 when we had to rush him to the same hospital, too.) 

This room is called a “suite” in hospital (not hotel) parlance. Its floor-to-ceiling window/facade allows us to watch the traffic below, the school where I teach and some establishments at eye level, and the sky above.

The wi-fi, much improved six years hence, connects us to the outside world and enables us even to conduct online classes. 

I dont know for how long our stay would be. People are like machines. The wear and tear caused by age is a natural phenomenon. Yet when a breakdown happens, we are never prepared.   

But grace flows daily. The nurses, doctors, orderlies, and other staff are caring, solicitous and, I think, consider us family. Otherwise, why would they call Tony Daddy and me, Mommy? 

Although guests are not allowed, it feels like our faith brethren, friends, and famiily are here with us through encouraging messages, notes, goodies. We are showered with and joined in prayers from all corners. 

Son #3 and I alternate as watchers at night. Son #1 help with purchases. Son #2 with my daughter-in-love and grandson make video calls. I have created a group chat where all 3 sons are alerted every step of the way. 

A God-sent gift through CSM Publishing is the writing of my next book,  a devoseries for children, due at the end of February, for launching in September. It keeps my mind off unwanted thoughts. My computer therefore tags along with me when I go home and come back to the hospital. 

How are we doing? Let me echo Apostle Paul in Romans 8:18, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” 

Palawan ACT 3:

 The Long Way Home 

What took me only one direct, painless hour to travel from home to Palawan took me seven circuitous, painful hours to get home. 

For some unexplained reason, my booking from Palawan to Manila was canceled or was no longer in the list of Philippine Airlines (PAL) when the organizers checked the night before my flight. And the only reason they double-checked was because son #3 kept asking me what was the exact time of my ETA in Manila. 

I kept replying, “Same, same.” 

But having the exact-to-the-last-detail genes of Tony, son #3 was persistent. So that’s how the organizers found out I was not in the list of passengers in the last PAL flight to Manila. 

They went to the PAL office to rectify the error, but because it was a super busy time in Palawan, no seat was available. So the best they could do was to book me a flight to Manila via Cebu (4 hours layover). Otherwise, I’d be staying in the Hotel alone (all GTA participants would have left) one more day. 

And so it was . . . one-and-a-half-hour flight to Cebu. Four hours at the Cebu domestic airport for my connecting, one-and-a-half-hour flight to Manila. 

When I got home it was 2 o’clock in the morning the following day!  

Again, grace traveled with me. All through my looooong way home (Dec. 5-6), this verse was my aerodrome beacon, speaking directly to me: 

Palawan ACT 2:

The Job 

At the top of my head when I went to Palawan was, Finish the job. After judging, there had to be awarding. And Palawan was the awarding site. 

I took the last flight from Manila to Palawan the day before. It was swift and painless—an hour of traveling grace.  Early the next day came “the job.” The Gawad Teodora Alonso (GTA) 2024 occupied many parts of the hotel. On the ground floor was the special dining room for the judges and DepEd officers and Exhibit/fellowship areas. On the second floor—the whole ballroom—was where the extravaganza (all awarding programs) was held. 

As early as mid-morning, book signing and non-stop presentations such as cultural dances, choral renditions, speeches regaled the audience of about 400. 

We were requested to don informal or creative national costumes. It was a chance for me to meet as many officers and educators as I could. Everyone was so friendly as though we had known each other for years. I wish I could remember all their names, but that’s a hard act even to young ones. 

The awarding of prizes was grandiose, peppered with more dances, storytelling, and other stage acts. This was, no doubt, the most lavish event I have attended in my life. From the tiny details of the décor to the huge multi-screen beside the stage area, no expense was spared. The works--all glitz and glam. 

I still have to remember clicking my camera instead of rapt attention to what’s happening before my eyes, so I have no pictures that capture the event. All photos here were sent to me by techie friends who seem to have been born with a camera. 

Here are my several seconds of fame–being on the giant screen and marching to our assigned table. Alas, I could not find a photo of me on stage awarding one grand prize. But believe me, I was there for a minute or two.

The program went way beyond the estimated time, but I had enough sleep to carry me through the next day for my flight home. 

To say that the GTA 2024 Awards Night was spectacular is an understatement.  

Palawan ACT 1:

Quiet Send-off, Loud Welcome 

After five years of traveling only to nearby cities and towns (not more than 50 kilometers away), I mustered enough courage to fly to Puerto Princesa, Palawan on Dec. 3 for the awarding of the Gawad Teodora Alonso national winners. 

As one of the judges invited by DepEd’s Bureau of Learning Resources, I felt I needed to complete the job and congratulate the winners personally. 

Tony decided to send me off and also to come up for air as we have been cooped-up at home since the pandemic. He took a photo of me entering the airport terminal. 

I was speechless when I arrived at the Palawan airport seeing a horde of DepEd staff holding a huge streamer, welcoming me. From thereon, it was happy noise all the way until my assigned room at the hotel.  

Since everyone (judges and guests) had checked in the day before or much earlier, they were finished with dinner when I arrived. They welcomed me with wacky poses, then left . . . 

. . . and I had the dining room all to myself. I spent the rest of my time, before turning in, to thank the Lord for His grace that traveled with me. 

Angels on New Year’s Day

False negative I think they call it in Medicine. That was what might have happened when we were sent home from the Emergency Room.

At home, Tony took the prescribed meds and it was downhill from there. He’d pant and catch his breath even with the slightest move. 

January 1, after online/phone consultation with my three sons, my first purchase was a wheelchair. But even trying to sit on it, our patient would pant, like he raced in a marathon.

So we went back to the emergency room. The Lord sent many angels to help us. A friend drove us to the hospital (Ching must have been an ambulance driver in her other life), Pastor Moe personally came to pray for him, Sis Billie kept me company, held my hand, till son #1 and driver Sammy arrived for the  arrangements. His doctor advised that he be admitted.

Within six grueling hours of tests and waiting for results, faith brethren prayed for us, encouraging  messages flowed continuously from kith and kin. Then we were ushered to a room with a view—that includes the university where I teach! This room is also just across the nurses' station and three steps away from hot/cold water and a microwave. 

The nurses (and staff) are prompt and caring. His doctors are thorough. 

And that was how we spent New Year's day. Grace galore with God's angels. For how long wiill we be here? I leave that in God's hands. 

“For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." (Psalms 91:11 ESV) 

Silent Soliloquy

Like Hamlet, I had a soliloquy—but only in my mind: To go or not to go. Our annual clan 3-day reunion, now on its 80th year (and therefore a grand one), would happen in two days.

 

But Tony begged off, “I don’t think I can manage the travel.” 

He had a point: that day he lost his usual appetite for gourmet food; he had insomnia; and a semblance of diarrhea. Nothing serious, I thought, but with his comorbidities, his condition could turn for the worse. 

We were all packed, had paid for accommodations, and set to leave as scheduled. “To go or not to go.” 

I first told son #1 of my secret decision not to go. He protested but finally understood. I was not sure about son #3, who had already worked out final arrangements. 

I told my sister about it, then Mother Teresa, then our driver Sammy—all in confidence. Because if Tony knew, he would surely protest vehemently.  

Finally, son #3 understood as well.  

Without any inkling that I would stay behind, Tony bade us all goodbye as the car drove out of the garage. On the road, I got down, waited a few minutes and rang the doorbell. 

Aie called the decision Solomonic. The next day, Tony’s condition got worse, so we hied to the Emergency Room, as advised by his cariodioloist. 

For four long hours, Tony, Sammy, and I waited for his test results in an isolation room. Meanwhile, I updated son #1, #2, and #3 in a group chat I created for this. When the results finally came, the doctor said we could go home. She had been in touch with Tony’s cardiologist for the prognosis and prescription. 

After paying our bill, we headed home. 

My roommate of 54 years is still feeling ill as we await the New Year, but by God's grace, we were spared from spending the beginning of 2005 in a hospital room. 

Have a blessed 2025 dear friends!  

Noche Buena 2024: Traditions and Additions

Year in, year out, traditions are pretty much what our noche buena is about:  Buying the turkey (“Is it bigger/smaller than last year’s?”), the sausages, chestnuts, and other herbs for stuffing, then preparing it for roasting. 

The turkey is the meal’s centerpiece, spent for by son #1 this year and prepared by son #3 with the help of Mother Teresa. In the last two years, a charcuterie board (gift from our friend Mich) has been a most welcome addition to the table. 

Speaking of additional grace, this year, my sister Aie came to join us. And with her came memories of Christmases past. My late mom would also make time for our Christmas dinner from the province. There was that one merry time when Tony’s late mom and sister joined us, too. All three have gone to glory, but left us with blissful memories. 

Another happy addition this year was the Christmas eve worship, which packed our church to the rafters. It brought together our members’ families (from different places in the globe); it was a glorious reunion of old friends. 

Photos of our age-old Christmas dinner traditions (and additions):  

A dash of this, a dash of that . . . and  
voila!

New Hands, New Taste

Last year (2023), I totally abandoned my roles (AWOL is a better term) in our Christmas preparations.  

It has something to do with my facilitating our church’s women’s Sunday school, where we studied the true meaning of Christmas. My sons say “age.” 

Yes, age—the wisdom of age.  

The Lord dropped from above new hands to take over my roles, but with a new taste.  

I have often blogged about Mother Teresa and how she came into our lives, after the death of Ate Vi, our faithful househelper for many years. 

Last year, she turned our storeroom upside down to look for old Christmas thingies and by herself put them up in her own way, her taste.  

This year, before the calendar hit December, I took her to the mall and told her to point to decor that might look good at home. She pointed, I paid. 

These are Mother Teresa's workmanship—she mixed and matched old and new and the result is, tada! 

I used to be finicky about color, size, placement, quality, motif, etc. Those I renounced, too. 

She is happy; I am happy; the boys, as usual, noticed nothing. 

This is Christmas: 

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” John 3:16 NASB 

Like a Pilgrimage

Since 1998, two years before I left the workplace, my family had been going to the Canyon Woods Resort Club yearly—similar to what pilgrims do. Except that the place is not a shrine; it was our recreation haven.  

A friend’s daughter, who was then carving her career in sales, convinced me to invest in the club. To help her, I bought one share without knowing what the club had to offer. It was her first sale and it was my first investment (paid in installment).   

It proved to be worth the “risk.”  Our three boys had enjoyed the heated pool,  recreation area (all sorts of indoor games), gym, theater, library, spa, clean air, and the beautifully landscaped 220-hectare lot.  

A huge part of our stay in the resort was passing through the breathtaking view of the Taal Volcano.

We brought all our guests and close friends there not just for R&R but for workshops and golf.   

All those travels stopped when a bridge to the place collapsed. The coup de grace was the pandemic. 

When things had gone back to normal, we traveled there again last year. The place has decayed, but we still continued paying our membership dues. 

To take advantage of our privileges, we drove there again in December. “Our last one,” Tony and I said, deciding to stop paying dues. Not because the place is not what it used to be, but more because we both are not what we used to be: now too feeble to walk the sloping roads and distances between places. 

But son #3 was adamant. “I will pay for the dues!” 

I realized that fun memories (while our boys were growing up) cannot be dropped like a hot potato.  Oscar Wilde said it so well, "Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.” And that grace diary is a part of who we are. 

On our way home,  son #1 and son #3 asked the driver to stop by the places (many are already closed) that were part of the resort in days of old. In each spot, they were gone a long time while Tony and I waited in the car. 

Son #3 took my photo with the familiar volcano in the background. I didn’t verbalize what was in my mind, I will not pass this way again. It was not a lament, but a celebration of new things that might come sooner than we think. 

“My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart; he is mine forever.” Psalms 73:26 NLT

Paw It forward

Judge (an askal, meaning street dog), our only pet left after the death of his mother, Attorney II, turned six on Christmas eve.  

He was a surprise grace on Christmas day 6 years ago when the boys and I arrived from a staycation in a nearby hotel. 

His mother, Attorney II, started giving birth the day before. Son #3 assisted her, as she was a first-time mom at age seven. Just before midnight, while we were away, our househelper said Attorney II birthed two more--Judge was one of them.  

My sister Aie, who is spending the Christmas break with us, gifted Judge with a birthday present that she bought from Paw It Forward, a group composed of animal lovers who raise funds to donate to shelters that care for stray and rescued animals all over the country. 

How do they do it? They sell various merchandise, among which are bracelets and necklaces with the logo featuring a black paw and a white paw. This is what we read on the their FB page: 

Every Dog deserves a chance to have a better life

Be the change you want to see in the world

So what did Judge get as a birthday gift? Two paws . . .  

in a dainty necklace that he gratefully and gracefully accepted (he didn’t move when the necklace was being put around his neck) bought from a group concerned about caring for homeless animals, many of which are abused and abandoned by their owners. 

Our beloved Judge was petted to the max on Christmas Day.

Happy 6th birthday, Judge! 

Love Came Down: CHRISTmas 2024

For several Sundays leading to this day, Christmas, our Pastor Moe's message focused on the significance of Christmas—the most glorious day when LOVE came down.  

Of all his slides, I I took a shot of one that encapsulates the unfathomable LOVE of Christ for you and me. 

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” John 1:14 (ESV)

And so we celebrate! 

Judge Not

“Judge not!” We were cautioned in kiddie Sunday school. I took it to heart. But what a relief that it does not refer to judging in competitions. Otherwise, I’d have been cursed countless times. 

Since my first book was published about 22 years ago, I have been invited to judge in writing contests. It is always a rewarding experience. I get to read different writing styles and hear voices from different age ranges.   

The latest one to which I was invited was the national judging (from regional winners) of Gawad Teodora Alonso (GTA2024), 6th National Competition on Storybook Writing. Previously known as the National Competition on Storybook Writing, it is a project of the Department of Education (DepEd) Bureau of Learning Resources. 

The GTA is open to classroom teachers, non-teaching personnel, education leaders, and learners—with special categories for each of these groups. 

Compared to all other writing competitions, where entries are judged as manuscripts, GTA is unique. All finalists are printed as books. That’s why judging had to be a partnership between writers and artists—all 18 of us—most of whom have been long-time friends.  

I had wanted to blog about this day of grace, but we were sworn to secrecy until after the awarding rites. Now that the winners have been announced in formal ceremonies in Puerto Princesa, Palawan, I am free to share with you some of our photos. All storybooks were written in Tagalog and tackled various areas and levels of the Matatag Curriculum.  

It was hard work. How to choose from among so many well-executed stories? We had to agree on winners, but not before hours of bantering and debating.  

Lighted Fingers

My dull nails are not manicured, and my fingers are perhaps some of the sorriest looking in the world, but they are my beautiful tools in putting into words what brew in my mind. 

They are not as fast as my thoughts and they get lost on the keyboard, but I am grateful for they can do what I spend most of my time on—writing. I keep them dizzy daily. 

No longer. 

Not since yesterday. Son #1 gifted me with a lighted keyboard that glows, and glows even brighter in the dark. All the fonts are clear as day!  

I wish I were a touch typist like all the boys in the family, but I guess I took after my late dad. As a lawyer, he did a lot of typing on his old Remington typewriter only with his two sturdy forefingers. 

As my keyboard lights my fingers typing this, I think of light. And I pray that the world be lit with the truth: the saving grace of the Lord Jesus. 

As His second coming gets closer, the world is getting dimmer as prophesied in the Bible. 

Believers need to cling on to what our Savior repeatedly said on many occasions. This is one of them: 

“Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.’” (John 8:12 ESV) 

Through the Lens of a Child

Not many book readers remember the author’s name; only the content remains in their memory.

That's why it is a bonus—an honor, in fact—when kids who read my storybooks remember my name. “Grace D. Chong” is what they call me, because that is what they read on the cover. That makes my heart curtsy with respect. 

Now, when a child remembers not only my name but how I look and imagines how I work, that’s grandeus grace, like hitting the jackpot! 

The mom of a little girl named Jaz (a smart, talented girl who loves to draw) sent me this gem. Through her lens, she sees me avidly writing.  

My thought balloon, “How could Jaz have known that I munch on something while I write?”  

I would proudly name this perceptive girl, but son #3, a lawyer, always warns me about violating the Data Privacy Act of 2012 whenever he sees me blogging.  

But there’s no law against expressing one’s gratitude, is there? Thank you gazillion times, Jaz! 

May the Lord continue to hone your God-given gifts.    

The Gift of Faith and Faithfulness

Call it coincidence, or any other term, but I believe it is grace. 

Our women’s Sunday school lesson-series was on faith and faithfulness. Suddenly, I was invited to speak at a joint-ten-church women’s event (Christmas Fellowship in November!) on—surprise—faith and faithfulness. 

It would have been so convenient to just summarize our lessons for my talk, but I am averse to preaching, as I am not a theologian.  

How best to talk about faith and faithfulness? What words would resonate with kindred souls? 

Again, like another coincidence, I had just uploaded a blog titled, “What Has Made Your Faith Stronger?” My one word answer: storms. 

It was an easy decision; I would share with them one of my life storms.  I had written about this in my book “What, Me Retire?” but not everyone would have read the book and even if some had, a personal narrative makes all the difference. 

I left the workplace because I was coerced and compelled to quit. That is my faith story—leading me to writing books on grace today. Lest I may be misunderstood, faith is not my accomplishment or anyone’s. 

In fact, according to Dr. R.C. Sproul, a well-known Christian apologist, “Faith is not something that is naturally exercised by a fallen human being . . . On the one hand, God requires faith, and yet on the other hand, Scripture says that no one can exercise saving faith unless God does something supernaturally to empower him to do so.” 

God’s Holy Spirit enables the saved to be faithful 24/7. 

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9 ESV) 

Rare as a Blue Rose

What devastating damage the pandemic inflicted on spontaneity! After a three-year hiatus, routines could no longer be reconstructed; normal activities prior to that long imprisonment gathered dust. 

Coffee chats with friends used to be just a text away. “I’ll see you there in 20 minutes.”  

Family visits were unscheduled and could happen anytime. “We’re here; we brought merienda!” 

All these became as "rare as a blue rose," the idiom I like to use for rarity. 

"Did you know that blue roses are now aplenty?" one friend exclaimed when we finally met for lunch after many months of hedging and re-scheduling.   

That piqued my curiosity so I did a quick research. Indeed, the AI generated blue rose above is no longer a dream. Due to the absence of the pigment delphinidin, which give the blue hue, blue roses were (past tense) rare. 

In recent years, however, there has been a scientific breakthrough. Researchers have added genes to roses to make natural blue colors. 

Ergo, blue roses are no longer as rare as I thought. They are now a-plenty and a reality in flori-culture. 

“Ding, dong,” our doorbell rang one day this month. “We’re here!” My sister, one brother and his family, came to visit unexpectedly. And they brought merienda!  

From this day forward, I will stop using the idiom about a blue rose being rare. Because meet-ups with loved ones two years after the pandemic are now aplenty and a reality in people-culture. 

"For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace."  John 1:16  

MIBF 2024!

Whatever date the Manila International Book Fair (MIBF) falls on, the event remains constant. 

It is the happy place of readers and writers. 

It is the setting of excitement over new books or old books newly discovered. 

It is the venue for reconnecting with kindred spirits. 

It s the spot for signing or having books signed. 

It is the site for the young ones and the young once to browse and shop till they drop.

It is close to Eden.   

These photos show more than I can tell. 

Receiving the first copies of my new book, 

Everyday Grace for Kids: 365 Daily Devotions of Drawing closer to God from the CEO of OMF Lit;  

also in photo are John Michael Yu, illustrator of the book and Joan, editor and head of publications 

"Everyday Grace for Kids" is my 9th devotional for children.

At the OMF Lit-Hiyas booth (above) 

At the CSM Publishing booth (below)

"You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."
Psalm 16:11 ESV

Once Upon a Time

In Ilocano, the translaton is: Idi un-unana nga panawen. 

Long ago and far away, my maternal grandparents, who lived next door in one compound, had a subscription of Bannawag (Dawn in English) Magazine.  It was a gift of my aunt’s suitor, whom she later married. No, it was not a bribe.  

A bit of a background: Bannawag features serialized novels/comics, short stories, poetry, essays, news features, and entertainment news, and was founded on November 3, 1934. The first issue had a production run of 10,000 copies and sold for 10 centavos each. It is still in circulation today, 80 years later.  

It was one of my early reading fares every week when the rolled magazine was thrown by the mailman into my grandparents’ porch. I took the liberty of unrolling and reading it before they could. I would alternate Bannawag with the English storybooks sent regularly by an uncle in the US and our Encyclopedia Britannica.  

I had totally forgotten about Bannawag until a dear friend, Luis (a multi-awarded prolific writer in Filpino), featured my book “Dump Truck in My Heart” in Liwayway magazine, one of the Filipino publications he writes for. And memories came rushing back. 

Bannawag is published by Liwayway Publications, Inc.  

So, do I write in Ilocano? 

To my shame and embarrassment, I can’t. It was not taught in school and it was just a weekly fare. But English literature was within easy reach daily. In my time, although we spoke Ilocano at home, English was the medium of instruction and before I could warm up to Filipino in my four-year stay at the University of the Philippines, I left for the US. 

Back in the Philippines for good, I twisted Luis’ arm to teach me how to write in Filipino. But after editing my 5th draft, he gave up, “Grace, I suggest you stick to English.” 

Ket ngarud kakabsat, kastan ti kasasaadko. 

Signing and Singing are Synonymous

“Dyslexic!”

I have been called that—often—by people I spend most of my time with: family and close friends. 

It’s because it takes me more seconds than they do in distinguishing left from right, push from pull, north from south, entrance from exit. 

Sometimes, I also mix up sounds of words. I’d say Dantu Date, instead of Dante Datu (his real name), or Papelmeroti instead of Papemelroti (spoonerism, it is called). 

“Should I be worried?” I once asked a doctor about these maladies. 

She laughed. “You are a writer, and therefore, a multi-thinker. There are too many things in your mind at the same time, making you oblivious to signs and sounds.”

And now this: 

Signing and singing, to me, are the same. Signing my books is building connection with the reader. It’s as though we are being connected by an invisible velcro. And that makes my heart sing.

Sign and sing. 

Sing and sign. 

Sign and sing.

Sing and sign.

Sign and sing. They are one and the same. In my multi-thinking (euphemism for absent-minded?) brain,  they are either interchangeable grace or 2-in-1 grace. And that has nothing to with dyslexia or spoonerism. 

Then sings my soul, my Sav­ior God, to thee:

How great thou art! How great thou art!

Then sings my soul, my Sav­ior God, to thee:

How great thou art! How great thou art!

Stuart K. Hine (1899–1989)