Sand Castles

I love kids.

Before, I couldn't stand them. There was a time when I saw them as disasters in little packages. By disasters I mean the kind that end up with either chinaware shattering in a million pieces or those in little swaddling clothes and feeding bottles. Either scenario, it was LOSS, LOSS, LOSS for me.

Interestingly, things have changed. Quite frankly, I would rather spend more time with children now than with most grownups I know. For one thing, kids are quite honest with their feelings. Sure, they may fib about who took the last cookie from the cookie jar, but if you ask them how they feel about things, chances are you'll get an honest answer. Now how many adults do you know do that?

Kids remind me to enjoy the little things in life. Sure, you probably can go out to swanky spots for expensive vacations, but kids seem to have found the secret of having a great time without breaking the bank. When was the last time you got a kick out of riding a swing set? Or struggling to finish melting ice cream in a cone in the peak of summer? Or going nuts in the rain and making the biggest splashes in the puddles? (It's funny that as we get older, we tend to forget those little, but important, secrets.)

When kids like you, they like you unconditionally. It doesn't matter what your annual income is, or what school you graduated from. For kids, all they need to see in you is that genuine desire to be their friend and they will be one to you. Geez, how come it doesn't work that way when you're past 12?

Finally, probably the best reason why I love kids now is because of their amazing recilience. Haven't you noticed how a child may trip and fall then cry his heart out but then in almost the same minute may start running around again as soon as he gets up? Kids are not ones to nurse wounds. They'd rather move on to the next challenge, the next adventure around the corner with their scars and all. Their tenacity and curiosity of things around them never cease to amaze me.

Because of these things and more, I love having children around me.
As time passes, I hope I will just grow older.

But never old.

posted by Grace @ 5/31/2004 12:54:00 AM

Tying Up Knots

23 years of existence probably doesn't carry enough weight of authority to lend credence to the following things that I have to say. (Perhaps my bodily weight could make up for that. Then again, why am I taking stabs at my heftiness when there are plenty of people raring to do that without my help and/or request? But that's another topic altogether.)

The past two entries have been more morose and dark than my usual inane and more often than not, nonsensical, musings. But even self-appointed goddesses of inanities have their moments when they step out of character and turn out to be, horror of all horrors, just like everyone else.

Looking at those two entries, I've deemed it time to move on. Grief can only go so far. Frankly, I've cried and brooded about as much as I can. Any more crying and my tear ducts will declare a shortage and would need to import from neighboring tear ducts at twice their value. (And you thought this government was bankrupt... )

So what better way to close this less than cheerful chapter than with a list of oh-so-typical lessons learned, choc-full of platitudes galore and forwarded-text-worthy foods for thought (or is it food for thoughts?...) Anyhoo, in no particular order:

- Your true friends may not visit you in your times of pain, but they will feel them whenever you do.
- Pride is when you believe you don't have any fault in you. Ironically, pride is about the biggest fault any person can ever have.
- Conventional wisdom: When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.
- Christian wisdom: When you reach the end of your rope, let go. God's there to catch you.
- It takes a bigger person to admit he needs help compared to one who insists he doesn't.
- Don't ask for strength to run the mile. Merely ask for the will to put one foot forward after the other.

and finally....


- Death is not an end, but a beginning.


With that, life goes on. True, sooner than later, one less person will be with me to carry on. But that life lived here had made and touched so much. It'd be a shame, almost a crime, to waste it on sorrow. Finally, as a parting shot, a quote from Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gently into that good night.
Old age should burn and rage against the closing of the day.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I hear you Dylan, rock on.




>> Incidentally, it never ceases to amaze me how much metaphysical debate (if not aggravation) can be generated over a piece of dried chewed bubble gum discovered under a table.




Houston, bring out the good silverware, she's on her way back.

posted by Grace @ 5/20/2004 07:59:00 PM

Stolen Summers (with apologies to Mr. Pete Jones)

It comes in every person's life I guess.

Nevertheless, one always hopes that the bright summer days in one's life remain unclouded by tragedy, bad news and loss.

I am not as privileged this year.

We're counting days as we wait for her to leave for Home. She has said it herself and now she's using the time she has left to leave her "pabilin."

That word takes on a whole new meaning in light of these weeks' events. Pabilin, to me now, are the last words you'll ever say to a person before you leave. Think about it. When you go off on a long trip, you leave instructions and advice to those who'll be left behind. As you go, you hope that those things will be heeded, if not remembered. But whether they actually do or not is out of your hands.

I'll be talking with her again soon and no doubt, a pabilin is due. This would be the last times I would ever see her and it hurts too much. But what is my discomfort compared to her pain? This is her wish. What kind of person would I be if I didn't go? But frankly I wish it didn't have to be this way. I would rather part with her on a conversation that assumes that I'd be seeing her again.

"Sige, tita kailangan ko nang umuwi. I'll be seeing you soon, though!"

I simply refuse to think that these are her last days. Yes, her body's dying but what is that really? It's just a shell. What is really her is her mind, her soul, her spirit. And thank God, those never die.

So what if I'll never get to show her my latest kooky getups?
So what if we'll never go on that shopping spree we've always planned for?
So what if she'll never occupy a seat at my wedding?
So what if she'll never walk through my door again?

As much as I want her to, circumstances dictate I can't. But that's not going to stop her from being a part of my life even after she's gone. I'm losing my tita, my godmother - the one person I could turn to when I can't talk to my own parents. As she prepares to leave, she leaves her pabilin. And I'll take it home not with loss, but with hope. So she'll be gone. But only for a while. I'll be seeing her soon, anyway.

And so, I carry on.

posted by Grace @ 5/13/2004 03:17:00 PM

Seeing things differently

I suppose it's only consistent with my pessimistic character.

While I still DO believe in miracles and the possibilities of such, I have come to a point where I don't think I can ask for one anymore. It is one thing to believe in miracles (or rather NOT DENYING its existence) and another to NOT ASK for it.

The emotional cost is high. Much too high in fact. I just don't see how the plans and the promises we make, whether big or small, can goa against that inevitable outcome which is totally beyond your control. It's investing on something despite the writing on the wall and the gut feel everything will end in a major loss.

Why make plans for something I cannot do? Why make promises I'm not sure I can keep?

The doctors have advised us to keep her in the hospital. They say that at least in there, they can manage the pain and save her the agony of the disease ravaging her. I've suspected the doctors' conclusion ever since she went back in again. But I suppose I chose to ignore it because I was holding out for a miracle. I was hoping it would all be over soon and that we could take her home and that she'd be her vibrant, vivacious self again. I said I was ready to fight, and I did so for a while.

But after I've been forced back to reality, I feel numb.

I wish I could say I feel sad, angry, or at least, disappointed.

But really, I can't say that I do.

This is not to say that I've given up on her. Never.

But reality has to be faced, and the truth is, we're just counting the days until she finally goes Home.

Ironically, it seems to me that it is more kind to expect the worst. At least that way, there are no illusions of grand victories. Adding to that sense of irony, it's more noble to look at Defeat in the face and say, "I've been expecting you. You can do no worse than you already have." At least we've denied Defeat its final laugh.

I've given up on the miracle of a cure and the promise of her restoration. It's pointless and naive to keep on going that way.

But now, I am witnessing a different kind of miracle - one which I had failed to see even as it was unfolding before my very eyes. I am only thankful that I've come to realize it, despite how late it might be.

Everyday that she is with us is a miracle for we get to be with her for one more day.

For one more day
...we get to see her smile.
...we are able to talk to her.
...we get to hold her hand.
...we share our dreams and plans with her and she delights in them with us.
...she continues to build on her legacy.

We get to love her for one more day.

If THAT is not a miracle, I don't know what is.

posted by Grace @ 5/04/2004 02:54:00 AM