A Date with Eight X’s

The number 8 popped into my head when 8 of my dearest friends, peers from my past workplace (X of corporate name) made time to visit me at home.   

Eight is widely considered special, lucky, and powerful across various cultures, science, and music. Why? It’s a combination of its shape, cultural significance, unique properties in nature and logic. 

In Chinese culture, 8 is considered the luckiest number because it sounds similar to "fa" , which means to "make a fortune" or "prosper". It is highly favored for business, phone numbers, and addresses.

When turned on its side,  8 becomes the infinity symbol representing infinity. In music, an octave consists of 3ight notes. In marine life, an octopus has 8 legs and is known for its high intelligence.

Plus more. 

These are interesting stock knowledge, but 8 became extremely significant for me with the presence of my 8 X's just before Valentine’s Day and Chinese New Year. What a marvelous date!  

The invitation was actually extended to all (around 30) who attended our last X get-together. They endlessly teased me about having a party in my home, which was then undergoing renovation. For various reasons, only eight made it. Amazing eight. 

Laughter. Banter, Memories. Food. A prayer. Joy. Updates—maintenance pills, included. And a highlight: book signing by the illustrator and me, echoing magical moments of some years ago. 

These were documented in photos for when I grow feeble and forgetful.  

 

This verse always rings of grace: "A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need." Proverbs 17:17 NLT 

BFFs: From Daily to Rarely

Time is an arrow. 

Once you shoot it into the air, its trajectory is irreversible. It moves in one direction and never comes back. It momentarily stops at its peak, and then accelerates back toward Earth, because of the pull of gravity. 

Doesn’t time feel the same way? We can’t go back to the past. We need to keep going,  

I was reflecting on this when three of my dear friends and I got together again after a long time. All four of us met in the workplace eons ago, and although we worked in different units, we bumped into each other every single day: hallway, elevator, stairs, canteen, entrance, exit, parking lot, conference room, everywhere!  

Then came retirement—not at the same time; I took mine ahead. But today, after two decades,  retirement has evened out. 

That long-ago time when we were shot into the air, we had maximum speed and energy—young and driven. 

The arrow hit its highest and paused briefly; it descended toward the ground—at a slower speed this time. After leaving the workplace, things became slow—and in our case, rare.  

One rare day, however, we made it happen. 

And what a meet-up it was! The conversation was still as spirited and non-stop as 20+ years ago, but the topics have transitioned from shopping to napping, from high heels to maintenance pills, and . . .you know the drift. 

This has nothing to do with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s famous lines, “I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth I know not where.” Because we know exactly where our arrow fell.    

And when our fallen arrow will decay, I know that for all believers in grace, a spiritual arrow will shoot into the air again--this time, the trajectory is forever, never to waste away.   

“For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be  transformed into immortal bodies." 1 Corinthians 15:53 NLT

A Review: My Beautiful Doll

Nothing delights me more than seeing a little girl blossom into a young lady, and who pursues her love of writing. What proof can be better than her first published book! It is my privilege to write a review in the hope that after this, the next book and the next will be forthcoming.

000 

Many years ago, a seven-year-old girl in line with other kids for a book signing event, was hanging on to my every word about writing books. As early as then, I knew it was just a matter of time before she became an author herself. She devoured books and loved the printed word.

Today, I am thrilled to have a signed copy of her first book!  

“My Beautiful Doll” by Ysabel Vitangcol  (illustrated by Richard Soledad) was launched at the Philippine Book Festival.  It is a courageous story about waning health that eventually leads to death. It is handled with deep empathy, demonstrated by the use of the colorful images of facial make-up, an allegory for beauty.  

The focus therefore is beauty: of close relationships, acceptance of life’s end on earth, and the reward of eternal life through faith in Jesus. Without being preachy and with great sensitivity, Ysabel writes about the beauty of the terrestrial body and eventually the heavenly body--all by grace. 

“My Beautiful Doll,” although about suffering and death, is light, refreshing, and uplifting.

000

Way to go, Ysabel! 

A Blog in the Shadows

Before the Ides of March, which unsettles me, I need to write about it now. That special event has to leave the shadows and step into the light.    

Although the Ides of March is no longer an ominous, dark day but a historical one, I still flinch when I remember how we dissected Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar in my MA class.  He was stabbed to death by 50-60 conspirators (Roman senators) in the Theatre of Pompey.  Twenty three stab wounds to stop Caesar’s growing power is petrifying even today. 

And so, before that fateful date comes . . ,   

During our Chit cub-clan reunion in December, my brothers broached the idea of commemorating Tony’s first death anniversary, Babang Luksa.  Yes, I thought, it would be another chance to bond!   

Son #3 looked up Babang Luksa: literally, it means lowering of mourning. It is a Filipino tradition practiced on the first death anniversary of a loved one, marking the end of the 12-month mourning period. It serves as a cultural milestone for families to achieve closure, honor the deceased, and transition back to normal life. 

Traditionally, immediate family members wear black for a full year after a death. Babang luksa marks the day they discard this mourning attire and can wear colorful clothes again, signaling that the grief period has passed.

Meeting in January on Tony’s death anniversary had nothing to do with all those.  

There is no specific period for mourning. It is unscheduled. That's why this blog is two months in arrears. 

    

Colorful clothes have no season.  

Grief has teeth; it demands to be acknowledged. 

And closure never comes. As soon as I uttered, "I'll move on." my sister Aie snapped in a strident voice. "There is no such thing as move on! Move on means you abandon something behind.” 

Commemorating Tony’s death anniversary was a thanksgiving for God’s gift of life. Ten people (23 more in spirit) worshipped together in a liturgical service. 

John 11: 25-26 (TEV) “Jesus said: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me will live, even though they die; and those who live and believe in me will never die.’” 

1Thessalonians 4:14 “Lord, we believe. Help our unbelief. We believe that Jesus died and rose again; so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have died believing in him.”

2 Corinthians 5:1 “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

Romans 8:11, 35, 37, 39  “. . . If God is for us, who can be against us? Who, then, can separate us from the love of Christ? Can trouble do it, or hardships, or persecution, or hunger, or poverty, or danger, or death? No, in all these things we have complete victory through him who loved us! There is nothing in all creation that will ever be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

For AMEN, we tried hard, and failed harder, to sing the Lutkin’s Benediction with finesse.  

Food (Tony’s love language), prayers, photos and words of remembrance filled the rest of the day.

Listen with Your Heart (Part 3)

Months of combined magnified external sounds (courtesy of my cheap hearing aids) and the internal sounds of tinnitus was no longer fit for healthy living. 

It progressed from punishment to torture. So I decided to take action. Listening with my heart was no longer enough.  

I needed a good listening ear.  

  

Tinnitus has made my ear its permanent address. I’ve tried all means to evict it, but nada. 

People who are hearing impaired are missing out on the words of the world. Help can only come from a pair of hearing aids that costs a king’s ransom—enough to feed a hundred hungry children in one week. 

But missing one of the senses, like a diminished sense of hearing, can significantly affect the brain. My friend, Dr. Cely (Ph.D. in geriatric nursing) warned, “When aural input is reduced, the brain undergoes structural and functional changes, as it is designed to interpret sound, not just receive it. 

So I ran to my EENT who likewise warned me. “Get yourself a good pair of hearing aids soon or else . . .”  He wrote an order on his RX pad. 

Oh-oh. 

I rushed to the Hearing Aid Center that gave me another heating test. Same problem. “Say aloud the third word you hear.” 

You are nervous. “serious?” 

It is Thursday. “Tuesday?” 

I am leaving. “Beaming?” 

     

When shown the prices, I looked the other way, and said bravely, “When do I pay?” (I know all I had to do was ask my sons, but I was loathed to bother them. They have been giving me more than I deserve.) Instead, I dipped into my savings, emptied my walled, and premised myself, “No expenses unless it’s a matter of life and death.”   

“Ten percent deposit and full payment when you pick it up next week.” 

Next week . . .

When the audiologist put them in my ears, the same exact miracle happened again—that first time was when I received my first hearing aids from son #2 in 2016. 

The world came to life. I could hear words—words that I had mistakenly heard.  Dr. Cely was right. I began receiving the correct sounds and my brain started to interpret them awew.  

My brain yelled, “Hey, what happened? Here I was sleeping and now I am suddenly awake?!”  

GRACE. All caps.    

Listen with Your Heart (Part 2)

Several famous books have had sequels written many years, sometimes decades, after the original publication. One of them is “To Kill a Mockingbird” (1960) by Harper Lee. Its sequel, “Go Set a Watchman” was published in 2015, 55 years later. 

I’m in good company. Here’s Part 2 of a blog I wrote 10 years ago. 

Tinnitus (ringing inside the ear) has made my ear its permanent address. I’ve tried all means to evict it, but nada. 

People who are hearing impaired are missing out on the words of the world. But there is help—from a pair of hearing aids that costs a king’s ransom—enough to feed a hundred hungry children in one week. 

My resolve then, since this condition is non-life-threatening, was to shrug it off, especially after reading my late cousin Minna’s gracious comment on my blog, “It is amazing how, even with that tini-tinni 24/7 annoyance, you have managed to listen with your heart, cuz. Always.” 

I did manage for a while, but son #2, a doctor in the US, wouldn’t hear (punning not intended) of it. He knows well how tinnitus can saddle not only the ear but all other body sensations as well. So, as a Christmas gift, he made me pick a pair of hearing aids of my choice, ignoring the price tag.     

  

Suddenly, the old me resurrected. I got back to classroom teaching, facilitated workshops, accepted speaking engagements, could sit at the back row in faculty meetings, and heard every word of our pastor’s message.  

But, ugh, that was years ago. Anything on earth has a lifespan. My ear gizmos conked out during the pandemic. Fortunately, the earth then was quiet. I went back to listening with my heart. 

When the pandemic ended, sounds came back. Listening with one’s heart did not equate with quality of life.  

Are you still with me? This seems to be a saga. 

I bought a pair of cheap (90% less than the cost of my Christmas gift), advertised heavily on social media. It was guaranteed to magnify sound. But it was more of a punishment than a reward. Not good. So what to do?

(Next post, Part 3)    

He Is Where the Joy Is x 365

On day 59 of my Bible (Bible Recap ESV), my Christmas gift from son #1, I noticed that the last words of “The God Shot” is always:  

"The God Shot" is a daily segment, which is a quick overview highlighting a specific aspect of God’s character, actions, or heart revealed in that day’s reading. It spotlights God's attributes, such as His grace, sovereignty, mercy, or faithfulness, in every passage. 

So I turned all the pages of “The God Shot” until day 365, and yes, everything ends with the same words!  

Certainly, lasting joy is found solely in God's presence and relationship with Him, not in fleeting external circumstances. It means He is the source of all joy and that abiding in Him provides contentment and strength. 

Happiness based on happenings is temporary. After the euphoria wears off, happiness speeds away.  But joy is rooted in Christ, and it remains constant even through this US-Israel war on Iran today, escalating every minute, killing innocent lives, wrccking places, and causing fear all over the world. Yes, Joy remains constant even in the midst of grief, guilt, or suffering. 

As I experience day-in-day-out, being closer to God brings greater joy. This is affirmed in Psalm 16:11-

 God makes this joy available in any situation through faith and communion with Him. 

“He is where the joy is” encourages me to look for God’s character on every page of the Bible, every day, despite the grief that barges unscheduled and without knocking.