Earth Hour 2010

My family was in the middle of action (or darkness) during this year's earth hour, not by choice but by circumstance.

We were in Shangri-la Hotel enjoying the gift certificates sent by JB and Gianina (in celebration of her acceptance to the University of Chicago for MBA).

Our pick was smorgasbord at the Circles restaurant.

While gorging and chatting, we saw out the window, just below our table, a crowd of men, women and children wearing black t-shirts bearing "Makati Shangri-la" prints. They were getting ready for the Earth Hour parade. After a few minutes, the lights went off.

At the entrance to the Ayala Museum, across the street, was a dramatic sea of flickering candles. Then the parade began—ati-atihan, clowns, drum and bugle corps, etc. in luminous clothes and accessories—amidst the blinding darkness. I tried to take photos but my camera was not up to the task. The parade was non-stop for one hour, and so was our eating.

The next day, on the front page of PDI was the photo of the Earth Hour parade participants! It was taken at the very same place where we walked, laughed, and heartily dined, in celebration of a family milestone brought to us in the glory of His grace.

Booked

In October last year, I began writing my latest book with approximately 118,000 words, due March this year. It's been more or less six months of relentless thinking, typing, reflecting, and praying, and what do you know? The book is booked.

Meaning, I finally mustered enough courage to send my fourth and last draft to my publisher. All the words have been squeezed out of my heart and soul into stark black and white manuscripts.

For whatever is left of March (four days exactly), I simply want to stretch my tired muscles and rest my aching back and raise my head up to the sky and thank the Author of life for the guidance, 24/7 on every leaf, 375 in all!

As in writing my past books, there were countless hurdles. I fell ill for what seemed like a life-threatening tummy problem. Then my computer crashed. Then my internet connection blinked on and off (mostly off) on the homestretch.

By God's sustaining grace, I am still intact, and smiling.

Please celebrate with me.

(Oh, that is just step one in book publishing. There will be another long stretch of editing and, hopefully, not too much rewriting, and polishing, then lay-outing, then designing, then printing, then proofing, then proofreading, then binding—oh, you don't want to be in on all those details do you? Barring any more snags, the book should be in your hands by September. Or, there is always that possibility it might altogether be scrapped. Pray with me?)

Every Thursday

Every Thursday I don my respectable look (blazer, high-heeled pumps, and a knowing smile) and hie off to the transnational university where I teach. Before or after my two-hour class, I say "hello" to our dean, co-teachers, librarian, and then go out for lunch and coffee with friends.

Last Thursday was sort of different. Our new president invited a few faculty members for discussion of some academic concerns over lunch. We met at the Bistro Lima (called thus because it is on our Lima Rd. campus), which is totally run by our students in hospitality management, and supervised by their professors.

Everything was impressive and impeccable, if I may brag. It's like dining in a special place where one pays oodles of money to get the kind of food and attention that we were served. But the prices are well within this teacher's reach.

Rating: The food, the company, the ambiance, the exchange of ideas and forward plans—A plus.

Thursdays for me are always a treat and a change of pace. This last one was a luncheon of grace.

Faith of a Child

During last Sunday's sermon, one-year-old Elijah (grandson of one of our church members) went straight to the front pew and listened to our minister for a few minutes without moving. It was as though he stood waiting for his share of grace.

This shot reminds me of what Jesus said in Matthew 18:3 (NLT), "I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven."  

The Last Days

In my travels, I always bring a book—aside from my Bible—with me. I am an early riser so after my quiet time, and while waiting for the world to stir and before boredom sets in, there is plenty of time to read. One also has to be armed for those ultimate time-wasters: waiting lounges.

To Bangkok I tucked inside my tote bag Joel Resenberg's "The Last Days" (his second novel).

I was unprepared for what it put me through; nobody warned me.

From a while-waiting read, it became a take-in-two-pages-quick-while-there's-a-lull read. Stopping was like a sin.

That's precisely the reason why my roommate Eli said, "I don't bring a book to any trip."

To say it was a page-turner would be untrue. It was a hair-raising, breath-holding, heart-thumping, pulse-raising page-turner.

The book is a gift from the Christian Writers Fellowship. (Thank you, Yna!) And it is a gift that keeps wanting . . . to grab the rest of the Rosenberg novels.

Rosenberg fans know that his books' best parts are the fast-paced and action packed scenes. But my favorite part, and which sucked the air out of my lungs, was when the tempo went from largo to lento. Page 407, or the last page of chapter 45.

Why? I can't tell you why.

Because friends who read this post and who are planning on reading the book would call me a cheat.

Just a hint though: grace.

 (This was taken at the Grand Diamond Hotel Lobby as I rose to surrender my room key on our way to catch our plane back to Manila.) 

Red Rage in Bangkok

The red flag was up. About one million protesters and supporters of fallen Prime Minister Thaksin were supposed to march while we were there.

Well, our first day was peaceful—and fun. We decided to tackle the shops first, then the sights and sounds the next day. Nine people alternately bumped into and lost each other in a huge mall. Lunch at 3 PM was very Thai, very good.

We capped the day with another luscious Thai dinner in a place called Beach Banana and dessert at Swensen's (I deserve 40 lashes for succumbing to the lure of a scoop of creamy coffee ice cream).

The second day.

There was no second day. Every place worth going to was closed. The red march was ready to erupt. But the eruption was a dud. It didn't turn out the way the organizers touted it to be. Nevertheless, the damage was done to poor tourists like us.

Panic time. Where to find Bangkok's soul for re-telling back home? Where to buy those pasalubong? (coming home presents). The goods in the sidewalk around the hotel were not very promising. No tamarinds, no lanzones, no nothing.

In the nothingness, the gift of company came to the fore. An adequate spin around town. Long stretch of bonding in one of our rooms (complete with two TV sets, a receiving room, and all the acouterments one would ever need), and more gorging on luscious and spicy Thai food in the hotel, plus excited tamping of our colorful handcarry luggage (a gift for each of us from the big-hearted big boss, on top of the whole trip, that is).

At the airport at midnight, we reminisced over our authentic R&R, undiminished by the red heat.

For me, Bangkok is always an interesting place to be. On this last trip, it's where I found the grace of clients-turned-friends.

Could we have postponed the trip to a more peaceful date? We could have, but the fun, the blessings wouldn't have been as unique.

Bangkok Bound

Together with eight of my clients cum friends, I am off to Bangkok. My netbook will be safely left behind so I can soak in the sights, sounds, and shops—all of them grace in another land.    

I am temporarily closing shop. My next post will be, hopefully, about the Bangkok adventure four days from today.

(There is a travel advisory not to take a trip to Thailand at this time because of some unrest, but we can be stubborn.)

Sawadika!

Where is My song?

He was a cute little boy, only about six years old, when he started playing the drums in our church's praise and worship team. At first, we thought he'd bungle it. But he played like a pro, and everyone in the pews were delighted no end.

Vincent is musically gifted. Aside from drums, he also plays the guitar and the keyboard. And he has a great singing voice, too! Sunday after Sunday, Vincent grew up wonderfully before our eyes.

But one day, he wasn't there. Nobody could get in touch with him.

This is Vincent's (now 20) story from the pulpit where he shared his testimony:

I was looking for song that would touch my heart and would make my role in church meaningful. I had played and sung songs for burial, baptism, wedding—but not one song had what I was searching for.

So I decided to stop singing and playing—for three years. 

One day, while in a queue for a tricycle ride, behind me was a mother with her little boy. The boy couldn't talk but he was emitting an eerie sound, like a moan. Alarmed, I asked the woman, 'Why is your son making those sounds?'

The woman smiled and replied, "He is singing!"

"Singing what?"

"I don't know," she said, "but I know he is singing about hope. Someday, in my lifetime, I wish to hear the lyrics of his song. If not, I will definitely hear them when he sings with the angels in heaven!"

 When Vincent got home, he cried himself to sleep. He found his song—many, many songs, countless songs, about hope. Now Vincent sings and plays his songs as a part of our Praise and Worship Team again—with more vigor than ever before!   

Amazing Grace: one of Vincent's countless songs 

The Writing Habit

(I was requested to upload my talk at the Christian Writers Fellowship. Sharing with you an abridged version.)

No generic writing habit exists that can be used by all writers as a template. Each of us has a different rhythm. Some are allegro, some are staccato, some are lento, some are slightly or greatly in between. 

A writing habit, therefore, cannot be mandated. But we can learn from each other. Tonight, I hope you learn from mine. From these personal principles, you may realize that you already have your own—and it's even a better one.

Creative writing, as we writers know it, is not about words or grammar. Otherwise, all grammarians and English teachers would all be writers. I don't remember who said this, but it is a thought I share: "Writing is about heart and soul, about life. It's bringing the unique experiences in our life to the writing table for others to examine their own lives."

Having said that, let's look into the writing habits of some prolific writers:

Stephen King writes 10 pages a day without fail; Ernest "Papa" Hemingway wrote 500 words daily, starting early in the morning; Truman Capote had to write lying down, whether writing in longhand or using his typewriter; and Philip Roth paces around as he thinks, walking half a mile for every page he writes.

Philip Yancey—40% goes toward getting ready to write (research, interviews, travels, and outlining), 20% toward writing (the burden of composition), and 40% toward cleaning up (he enjoys this because he was once an editor); and Max Lucado constantly writes because he is a pastor and has to work on his sermons. He has written over 50 books since 1985.

It is awesome to talk about these authors and knowing their writing habits. Unfortunately, they're different from mine.

Busyness and procrastination—those are two of the biggest battles we writers face. The busyness I have solved by leaving the paid workforce. Now 80% of my time is spent on writing and the rest of the 20% to other things like teaching, reading, book talks, and conducting seminars on creative writing.

Procrastination—well, that comes and goes, with any job, in various forms. And writers are no exception.

By God's nurturing grace, I have picked up Seven Writing Habits (with apologies to Stephen Covey) in the workplace which help me write books today. The advertising world was my learning lab. There I imbibed habits that have stuck like leeches: 

1. Play deaf. As an ad writer, I was in a big room with seven other writers. Imagine the droves of loud people who came in and out of there! I put on imaginary ear plugs, played deaf, and got my work done. Today, I can work in the noisiest of places.

2. Finish everything yesterday. When you asked anyone who gave you job, "When is this due?" he'd say, "yesterday." Work had to be done on time or you'd be 1) penalized by publications or TV networks; 2) lose the account; 3) lose your job. Today, I thrive on deadlines. If my editors don't give me a deadline, I give myself one.

3. Be a vendo machine. In meetings, clients demanded that you'd come up with ideas quickly, or a smart one-liner, like you were a vendo machine 24/7. Today, I always write down thoughts that invade my brain.

4. Begin with a big idea (or concept). Again, writing is about ideas. If you have a solid idea, the words will come. Today, I write words only after I have the big idea down pat.

5. Look at old things in a fresh way. "Expect the unexpected" "Resist the usual" were some of our buzzwords. Practically everything has been said before, so the challenge is to say it in a fresh new way. Today, I continually self-edit, rewriting phrases I've already said before.

6. Write wherever you are, every day. Writing didn't happen only when our hands were on the keyboard. The writing process was ongoing in every space we occupied. Today, I write in my head in supermarkets, book stores, buses, classrooms, etc. every single day. 

7. Do a Creative Strategy. Before any creative work was ever begun, one had to be guided by a strategy. Otherwise, everything was off-strat and trashed. Today, I write down a one-page strategy for every book that I write.

My creative intent has changed. From selling shampoos, toothpastes, and sanitary napkins, I have moved to . . . selling hope. And therefore, I have felt it necessary to change HABIT, a very inert word, into a series of action words, or verbs.

H—Heed your heart, write about what it tells you about hope.

A—Accomplish your daily goal, one day at a time.

B—Break the barriers that block your writing by writing. 

I—Internalize the big idea. Let it swim in your soul, in your core.

T—Trust God to give you wisdom. Every word is for Him and for others to know Him. 

(Some of the attendees: all writers [and editors], including the little ones)

The Child in Us

For five days, grace made me remember the joy and magic of being a child again. The Hiyas School Tour brought me to five grade schools, each with hundreds of children, aged 6 to 12.

They were adorable and fun; they washed away all the frustrations I had over my malfunctioning DSL connection. According to their teachers (who were gracious and welcoming), majority of these children are readers and therefore, they had that wide-eyed excitement to listen to a writer on why and how books are created.

The program format was the same in all schools. But each place gifted me with a one-of-a-kind experience. Children are after all individuals—each with his own unique personality. Misha of OMF would begin by giving away prizes. That got the kids all keyed up. Then a storyteller from the Alitaptap Storytellers Philippines would read one of my books. Percy, Ray, and Waco each told a story in his own unique style as well.

And then the hard part: my talk. It was daunting. As you and I know, children are honest and frank—they'd say straight to your face what they think. I didn't need to encourage them to ask questions. Most of their questions required tough answers.

"Do you ever get stressed?" "Who taught you to write?" "Where do you get your ideas?" "When will you stop writing?" "Can you write about me?" "How old are you?"

Some of their comments were surprising.

"I've been reading your books since I was six years old." " My sister goes to sleep with your devotional." "My mom likes giving your books as presents." "When I grow up, I am going to be a writer like you."

Aside from these photos, I have amassed precious happy thoughts that are the rewards of writing for children, "to whom the kingdom of heaven belongs." (Luke 18:16)

St. Claire School

Poveda College

Hope Christian School

Miriam College

Victory Christian School 

Difficult Days

Writing these past three weeks has been difficult. MyDSL has been acting up. On, off, on, off.

Despite daily calls to PLDT, nada. Some PLDT guys came once to check the problem, and while they were here, the problem seemed to have been solved. But after they left, MyDSL came and went again. It's a miracle I am able to blog at all.

Just when I am about to send an email, pffft. Or when I am about to upload a manuscript, blink. Or while looking up a Bible passage, ooops. In the middle of a conversation on Vonage, dut, dut, dut.

What makes this problem even more frustrating is the very heavy advertising of PLDT MyDSL to entice new users: "Instant connection!" Now, how about faithful users like me?

An OMF Lit School Tour came to the rescue. Instead of fuming and whining before my computer monitor, I went to four schools in a row and shared my experiences as a writer to large crowds of energetic children.

One last school tomorrow, after which I have to attend the Christian Writers Fellowship where I was invited to talk about “The Writing Habit.” Below is the e-poster that the organizers prepared for this purpose.

As I've always believed—grace comes just in time to save one from drowning in the river of difficult days.

Four Kisses and One Heart

I got those on Valentine's Day this year.

But first, let me tell you about one February 14 years ago.

We got caught in a three-hour traffic jam looking for a restaurant without the whole mankind in it. We finally saw one but we waited half an hour, while enduring the overworked air-conditioning units, before we got a table; waited another half hour for a waiter to attend to us; and waited for yet another half hour to have our first dish served.

I tried to shush up three wailing little boys who were too hungry and too irritable from the oppressive heat, plus other misadventures you don't want to know.

Since that year on that day, we vowed never again to eat out on Valentine's Day!

We broke our vow this year. February 14 was a Sunday, which happened to also be Chinese New Year, which we celebrate. And as a matter of tradition, the family always lunches out after the church service.

Our restaurant choice was narrowed down to: 1) a place so unromantic Valentine's celebrators will evade it; 2) a place where the Chinese don't go to for celebration.

The place: Good old Chicken Bacolod. It was not bad at all. We were the only guests. Food was like the grace that comes to us at home through Ate Vi's cooking.

And now, for the four kisses and a heart.

For dessert, the waiter handed over to Tony four freebies: Kisses chocolates for each of us. Tony gave them all to me. "Now you can't say I didn't give you a Valentine's gift," he said grinning.

Then at the small coffee shop beside the supermaket, the rock of my life ordered a heart-shaped silvana and said, "You can have my heart."

Yup, on Valentine's Day I got four Kisses and a heart. Who can ask for anything more?

Heady and Hungry at Hunan

Hunan province is located in the south central part of the Chinese mainland.

Hunan is also the name of a nameless restaurant that serves authentic Hunan food in Makati, Philippines.

I say nameless because you can't find a sign on any of the four square walls of the town house's exterior that says, Hunan. The facade looks just like any ordinary, nondescript apartment door. But as you enter the small area crammed with tables and chairs, the aroma from the kitchen gives you a heady and hungry feeling.

So you sit down and stare at a menu written entirely in Chinese characters. And then you are told that the place's name is Hunan and that they serve Hunan food, shown in photos. Get it?

We got it.

This was our early celebration of Chinese New Year, rather, one of our celebrations of the New Year celebrated for generations by my husband's and children's forefathers. Our chosen dishes didn't disappoint. All of them a bit spicy—but yummy nevertheless.

We had to wash them down with coffee. So to Max Brenner (Israeli chocolate chain with a JC look-alike as logo, and where all waiters are bald!) at Trinoma we went. It was JC's treat. He had received gift certificates from JB and Gianina as birthday gift. He spent them all in one blow.

From China to Israel. That just proves, once again, that grace chooses no culture nor palate.

What a blessed family day it was.

Perry's House

I met Perry for the first time when Tony brought me to a Rotary function. Perry sang the Philippine National Anthem and I was dumbstruck. His voice was a powerful tenor that needed no microphone.

At dinner, Perry was seated beside me and I discovered he loves Broadway musicales as much as I do.

I bragged that I had over 200 CDs of original Broadway recordings. I showed him my list which I kept in my wallet. After scanning it, he started writing titles of what I still didn't have (which he had!). The additional list was four times more than my list, and he still had many more to add but we had run out of paper.

His memory was beyond anything I had ever encountered. He could recite all the musicales that had won a Tony Award, the year they won, and who directed them. Incredible?

And oh, he doesn't stop at musicales. He knows music of every genre in any year and could sing them all from memory! Tony and I run to him for certain songs we could no longer find in music stores.

That was years ago. Since then, Perry has also become a close friend. In my book launches, he gives me a bouquet of flowers, and he never fails to invite me to any occasion held in his house.

His house! That is another story. It boggles the mind. He has collections of everything—from A to Z! Pianos, jukeboxes, eagles, mangers, key chains, CDs (my own collection is now smaller than a lilliputian, compared to his), horses, LPs, laser disks, you name it he has it: in all four floors of his impressive, unusual dwelling place!

I took pictures but pictures don't capture the magnitude of those collections (plural many times over).

Oh, by the way, Perry is also a doctor. A famous neurologist. And a gift of grace.

Full Page of Grace

My books, and how I write them, have been featured in various magazines and newspapers—blessings beyond measure. When one article occupied one-half page in a Manila newspaper sometime ago, I almost fell off my seat. I was ecstatic.

Now, in my shoes, what would you do if you saw your face and your works occupy one full page, in full color?

Please pick me up from the floor; I fell off my seat.

In The Freeman newspaper in Cebu, where I have a bi-weekly column in the Kid Stuff section, I found this:

It was written by the Kid Stuff Editor, Ritchie Salgado, who prefers to be called Tribo. I met Tribo in person for the first time when I flew to Cebu in December for some book talks and signing. We had a long, wonderful chat. And that chat found its way to this page!

Tribo, if you are reading this, I want to thank you for the honor of being featured in your newspaper. Let me congratulate you and all the people you work with for all the work The Freeman does for children.

The “Most Outstanding Newspaper Section" you won in the 6th UNICEF/Phil. Press Institute Child-friendly Newspaper and Journalist Awards affirm your commitment to excellence.

Let me end my post with this verse:

“Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'” Matthew 19:14

Hidden House Treasures

Tying-loose-ends day is how I call those rare, extremely rare, days I can set aside for doing the teeny odd jobs that I put on the back burner.

You're familiar with some of these: a seam in the drapes that needs re-stitching; press releases that need clipping; notes and receipts that need filing; little gift items that need sorting; little plastic bags that need unloading; cabinets that need cleaning; buttons that need re-sewing; a nail mark on the wall that needs painting over; oh, so many more!

So I finally had my long-delayed and much-postponed tying-loose-ends day.

After doing all of the above, I opened my sewing machine cabinet and what did I find? An unusually heavy pouch, the look of which I don't remember.

I untied it and guess what I saw? Coins! Lots and lots of coins!

How or when they got there, who put them there (chances are, it was I), why they were there—well, my mind was blank.

Counting them took so much time because they were in five-and-ten-peso denominations. They totaled over P3,000 (US$66)! I furiously looked for more hidden treasures in that tiny cabinet and found many small plastic bags containing . . . that's for the next tying-loose-ends-day.

The phone rang and the sun had set. The boys came home one after another, and then it was time to thank the Lord for His grace at the dining table.

Obscure Town

My storybook series, Oh, Mateo!, takes place in an obscure town called Umingan.

“Is it a real place?” “Where is that?” These are some of the questions my readers ask.

“It is a real place; and it's the place where I grew up,” is my reply. For Umingan is really on the map. Unfortunately, it is not one of the more popular places which people have heard of at least once in their lives.

In my books, Umingan is the quiet, serene town that I remember—and love. That was before the advent of computer, fast food, cellular phone, and tricycle. It has changed, as did many towns. But in my mind, and in my books, it remains the Umingan of my youth.

With typhoons Pepeng and Ondoy, Umingan was ravaged like it never was before. And suddenly, Umingan had its one brief shining moment. It was half of the front page of Philippine Daily Inquirer (PDI)—in the form of a handmade thank-you card by the students of an Umingan school for the help extended to the town by PDI.

If I may, this heartwarming card might have been done by Mateo, a thoughtful, caring Umingan boy who is grateful for the outpouring of grace at a time of great danger and devastation.

Upside-down Umbrellas

The first thing I did was to let out one loud gasp. Followed by even louder gasps.

The sight of hundreds of white umbrellas hanging down the ceiling of this room of “Le Jardin de Gabriel” (the 23rd floor of Lita's building at The Fort), was breathtaking, to say the least. But then, again, Lita's interior designing ideas always are.

Lita has a book chronicling thirty years of inspired work. While putting this book together with her, I was blessed to see the depth of her passion for her career. She has been born and blessed with eyes to see what looks good—and in this case, gasp-inducing—for any structure's interior.

The huge room allows a beautiful view of the whole of Makati, Ortigas, and of course, The Fort. From the outside, the view of this room is even more beautiful, as though the world turned upside down to catch the grace that poured from the heavenlies.

On my way home after I saw that umbrella room, it rained heavily. Irony of ironies, I had no umbrella!

Firsts

Going over my photos, which I just uploaded to my netbook, I found these two shots which make me, well, proud. They don't really show the magnificence of the actual scenes, as I saw them, but they are enough to remind me of what I actually felt.

Our eyes see more than our cameras; and what my eyes witnessed was the first full moon of the decade in all its shining grandeur, shortly after the clock chimed 12, midnight, January 1, 2010.

Then just a few hours later—while everyone was still snoring, after the revelry at Punta de Fabian, I clicked away at the first spectacular sunrise of the decade!

In both magical moments, I felt and saw the glint of grace.

Three Ooops

We are all dyers—Yay, Rose and I.

We dye our hair. Well, that's pretty commonplace, considering that practically everyone (the young especially) now dye his mop or mane.

But I think we are a pretty unusual (or usual, depending on which age group you belong) group of dyers because we dye our crown of glory for only one reason: to cover the gray.

Aside from this monthly ritual which we do individually, we have also started a ritual of occasionally meeting and exchanging funny anecdotes on the adventures of maturing (not aging) over coffee.

One particular afternoon, we leisurely chatted about what we have in common: the university where we all teach, how grace found us, how our faith is keeping us joyful despite life's occasional rainfall, and our free time to meet again.

Through the first whole hour, we were left alone by our cellphones. No calls, no text messages. The better to chat more and laugh more.

Then Rose decided to call her son who was to pick her up. Ooops, her phone was in silent mode and her son had a text message one hour earlier saying he was waiting at the parking lot.

Yay decided to check hers, and ooops, she had left it at home.

I checked mine and ooops, dead battery! 

What came next was laughter, unrestrained laughter—profound joy in the company if friends who share the same faith, and whose peaks and valleys speak of a God who never fails.

I thank Him for giving me BFFs I could laugh with, and with whom I could share stories of blessings through the years—many, many years.

“Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.” Proverbs 16:31

The Day I Was Put on Hold

Clammy hands. Body drained of blood. Paralysis. Irregular heartbeat. Fuzzy brain. Malaise. Disorientation. Jelly knees.

Did I have a crush?

No, I did have a crash! 

A devastating, frustrating, heart-breaking crash. The hard disk of my trusty desktop (my lifeline) crashed on me, on my first working day of the year 2010! And it came without warning.

I reveled all I could over the holidays and visited my desktop only to check my emails and dawdle on Facebook. The first Monday of the year, January 5, would be my first writing day.

It was early in the morning and I was raring to add another ten pages, at least, to the book I am writing. And then it happened. The screen blinked and wham! I didn't know what hit me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
My life stopped.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It became a series of ellipses (a series of periods—more like it). I was able to reach the outside world only through my netbook, but my files and photos were gone.

JC came to the rescue when he arrived home from work that evening. Using my netbook as CPU, he connected cables here and there to my monitor. In what seemed like ten years, there they were, on my screen, my folders containing my drafts and research materials!

“Your other files will have to wait till I am less busy," he said.

“Can you recover them all?” I asked, turning blue from holding my breath.

“Yes.”

I've never heard a sweeter “yes.”

But for the grace of God, I'd never have survived.

This will never happen again, I promised myself. 

The next day, as soon as the mall opened, I bought myself an external drive. At the moment, these are my new life support systems.

In time, I should be able to save up for the best CPU money can buy.

Thank you to my friends on Facebook, whom I ran to for help, for their advice and sympathy.

"Crying Children" Reviewed

(Big, big thanks to Daniel M. Floresca, 11, for this incisive review of "Crying Children," published in the Manila Bulletin, Fun Page. Another grace in black and white.)

"Do you cry when you hurt yourself or when your big brothers pick on you because you are too small? Well, that happens to me sometimes because I’m the youngest in the family. When I was still small, I would always go to my mom so I can feel better.

"Now, I have little cousins named Belle, who is three years old, and Isys, who is nine months old. I like playing big brother to them when we are together. Sometimes, one of them would cry when my aunts ask me to stay with them for a while. I would always try to calm them down by making funny faces and sounds but those do not always work.

"When I read the story of Mateo in Grace Chong’s book, Crying Children, I could not help but smile because I know what he went through!

"This story is about a little boy named Mateo who was playing with his friend Gadong. They saw from the window that there was a fire in the village where Madam Lita lives. The two friends ran to the daycare center to warn Madam Lita, who was taking care of little children.

"Mateo and Gadong volunteered to look after the children while she went to her house. Teo thought is was the easiest job in the world until one of the little kids started crying. And then another one followed, and another, and another, until all 12 kids were crying.

"Teo and Gadong did a lot of things to entertain them. They did cartwheels and made funny faces with matching funny sounds. None of those worked.

"Soon, even the two big boys were ready to cry too. Teo said a short prayer and came up with a new idea. He sang the lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was small. Gadong played the harmonica. One by one, the little children became quiet and rested their arms and heads on the table.

"When Madam Lita came back, the three of them sang the song again and found 12 crying moms at the door. They asked Teo and Madam Lita to teach them the song so they can also sing it to their children at home.

"This is a very nice story because it showed that older kids can also help out in taking care of little children. I also like helping my aunts look after my cousins. The next time I do, maybe I’ll try singing to Belle and Isys too.

"Features that I like:

- The story has a happy ending
- There are Tagalog and English versions of the story in one book
- The illustrations were really nice
- I got to meet the author of the book!" 

O, Daet!

"O" is for overwhelmed. And "Daet" (Camarines Norte) is the place where I saw, front row, genuine caring and nurturing.

“A regional book launching plus a musicale,” the invitation read. The book is “Flying on Broken Wings” (New Day Publishers), and the musicale was performed by about 120 children with disability—deaf, blind, victims of cerebral palsy, polio, and other orthopedic handicaps; those with down syndrome, autism, learning disabilities; and one with a rare, congenital muscle disease.

And did they perform! As the program progressed, their teachers egged them on in the sidelines, giving hand cues and steps, with proud smiles on their faces. Many of them missed their cues, some just stood there clapping their hands, and some danced to a different drummer. All was perfect!

Then Vhon, aged seven, who is as small as an infant in a stroller—his muscles soft as jelly—sang, with lung power that belied his condition, two haunting Filipino songs. Princess, sightless from birth, sang ballads like a Broadway star, in perfect pitch, accompanying herself on the keyboard.

I closed my eyes and begged God to open the gates of heaven and pour upon these special angels on earth the abundance of His grace. I prayed for their parents and teachers, that they may never, ever, tire to care for and nurture these children so that they will reach their full potentials.

They are all flying beautifully on broken wings, and I promised myself never to whine again about my tummy ache, muscle spasm, and eye floaters.

Professor Rex Bernardo, organizer of the event, is one of the featured PWD in this book. Wheelchair bound, he has shown the world that the only human bondage is one’s mind. He holds three master’s degrees (one from AIM and one from Australia), a TOYM awardee, and recently voted one of Ten Most Outstanding Persons in the World by JCI (the only one from Asia Pacific). A leader all his life, he was born in Daet; and to Daet he returned despite all his laurels from the outside world.

Yes, he continues to live there with his wife and son, with nothing in mind but the progress of Daet and its people.

O, Daet! How blessed you are for having a Rex, a compassionate mayor in Tito Sarion (he was in the audience), and all the PWD whom you are privileged to care for and nurture.

Nine in '09: 65th Reunion

Our 65th annual clan reunion, passionately chaired by my cousin Faith—held from Dec. 30 to Jan. 1—threatened to be our last.

It was grand and luxurious, prepared to be a fitting end to a 65-year-old beautiful tradition (with over 300 clan members scattered all over the world), which has bridged ages, places, and spaces.

We've been feeling the pinch for years. The spiraling cost to mount it (300+ members) was taking its toll on all of us. So on our 64th, we forced the issue, so to speak, and openly asked whether the yearly gathering can still go on.

It was a hard decision. We had to put in place a system through which everyone could voice his opinion, where in the end, we could have a consensus. We held our breath for one year and waited anxiously for the result—analyzed and quantified by an adhoc committee represented by each sub-clan.

Contrary to our dread and fear, it was unanimous: The reunion will continue! Still to be held at the end and beginning of each year, management will be by an Executive Committee.

Our 65th was dubbed "Nine in 09," honoring the nine siblings we call “originals” (which include my mother). Nine adjectives were heaped upon the hosts for this reunion during the evaluation—nostalgic, beautiful, classy, comfortable, luxurious, fun, expensive, unforgettable, and excellent. A special website for nine months teased and updated us.

I have only one word to sum up all nine: grace.

God, who is our collective Center, made it possible for one huge clan to come together in person and in cyberspace (via live feed): to chat again, reminisce again, love again, laugh again, dream again, play again, cry again, honor each other again, hug again, vow to meet again, and worship the God Whom we serve as a clan, again.

Punta de Fabian in Baras, Rizal is a posh resort on top of a mountain. Scenic all around. The sun and moon (blue moon on January 1!), were visible at all angles.

My sub-clan; 13 were out of the country: