Holding Hands (another retro post from A Spoonful of Sugar)

I was updating Little Rich Girl, my "best-of blog," when this entry made me stop, read, blush, stop, and reminisce. This entry was written over three years ago, when Paul and I were barely a year old, and I felt happily strange knowing that, a thousand moons later, everything still applies--and probably more intensely than ever now.

Here's to holding hands, and (of course) to finding that one imperfect hand that fits perfectly into yours.

A Spoonful of Sugar 2004, v.2.5
Holding Hands
by Niña Rica Marie L. Terol


Sometimes we don’t need a helping hand—we just need a holding hand.
~ Nines and Paul

Everyone needs a holding hand, I think—not someone who can push you forward or pull you up when the going gets rough, but someone who can stay put with you even when you’re stuck in uncomfortable situations. Especially when you’re stuck in uncomfortable situations.

You know those days when it seems as if the whole world is against you and you just wanna shrivel up and die? That’s when you need someone to be there with you. Someone who can take the flak and the sh*t with you, someone who won’t run when you’re cornered in a dark alley, someone who’ll take Life’s punches and blows with you. Not someone who’d say, “Awww, baby, I know how you feel… here’s a hug”, but someone who still can’t speak because he got hit and bled just as much as you have.

I’m not saying that people shouldn’t do anything when they’re stuck in a rut, but sometimes there’s a value to just staying put and staying still. With each other.

There were so many times in our relationship when either of us got slapped in the face by Life and found it so embarrassing to be in front of the other. Naturally, we wanted to show only the best sides of ourselves to each other and just retell the painful stories as if they were parts of a distant—even comic—past. But there were moments when we’d just catch each other at that exact moment when Life hit us really hard and we just stumbled and fell. And we just stayed there, immobilized by the pain… shamed by the thought that the one you wanted to shield from all this was right there, witnessing everything in real time.

Sobrang dyahe.

It would’ve been so easy for either of us to just say, “I give up. This is too much for me to handle,” and just run as fast as we can to the opposite direction. Instead we chose to say, “If this is part of being with you and loving you, then I’m taking it.” Not because we’re martyrs and we love the idea of sacrificing ourselves for the other (yeesh….), but because we know that loving the other person means going through Life with them—whatever Life means.

Sometimes, it’s more bad than good. And there’s nothing much you can do.

Except to pray that something good happens soon. And to hold each other’s hand and cheer each other on.

* * * * *

What does it mean to hold hands? Well, it can mean several things.

Sometimes, it can mean just being there for the other person and hearing them out when they need a loving and patient ear. Having the same birthday and being made of pretty much the same stuff, Paul and I have this tendency to yak and whine about the same stuff over and over… and over. Now, if you were the other person and you also had something to whine about, it can get pretty tiresome listening to the other person going on and on like a broken record. But because we respect each other’s need to unload, we give each other that space to whine until we get tired and say, “Thanks for that. Now it’s your turn.” And the whining goes on. (You really just need to do it, sometimes.)


Other times, holding hands can mean resisting the urge to fix things for the other person and giving them enough space to make their own decisions at their own time. Sure, it’s nice to go into “solution mode” especially when you think that the answer is already staring you right at the face, but I’ve realized—especially most recently—that everyone has his or her rhythm for doing things, and there are some things, some decisions that you just can’t rush. Holding hands means not pulling someone up or pushing them forward, but just staying still with that person—no matter where you are, no matter what the circumstance, even if you’re already itching to move.

Holding hands in that way reflects how you respect each other’s individuality and how you trust each other to make good, sound decisions. Of course, it’s always good to ask for each other’s advice, especially when the decisions that have to be made will affect you both, but it’s also nice to just stand back and see how the other person moves. You discover much about the other person that way, and what you learn often amazes you.

“Holding hands” and giving each other space is also a sign of security and stability, at least in the context of our relationship. When we back off and just stay in the sidelines, it’s as if we’re saying, “I know my place in this relationship. I don’t own you… I know your love for me doesn’t depend on this one little thing in front of us… I can’t think for you, so go ahead and make your own decisions. I’ll be here for you no matter what happens after.” No you-should’ves, no if-you-had-onlys, just we’re-in-this-togethers. Even if you end up making a wrong turn after all.

* * * * *

I’m not sharing all these to be preachy or to brag about my super-fabulous relationship. Far from it. I think it’s because Paul and I have gone through a whole lot of hell together that we can now look back and come to these realizations about ourselves and our relationship. As I’ve said in the previous Spoonful, there’s nothing like adversity to bring people closer together.

A romantic relationship brings with it so many joys and pains, so many wonderful moments and unforgettable scenes. There are great days and duh-days, kisses and fights, laughter and tears. No matter what state we’re in, however, I think it’s important to remember something that someone once said: “When crossing the street (or going out into the world), stay close together and hold hands.” (Or something like that.)

May you find that one person to hold hands with, and may you sincerely enjoy holding hands.

(Written: July 12, 2004)

Walks and Detours

There’s a certain kind of grace that comes with walking without expectations, in just letting your feet guide you and allowing your senses to become fully absorbed in the walk itself. It is not walking to burn calories; neither is it walking to be on your way to somewhere. It is simply walking for the sake of walking. This is what I call my “Serendipity Walk.”

When I go on a Serendipity Walk, I ask the Universe to “lead me to whatever I need to see.” I usually start off in a comfortable place, such as in a mall, and then let my feet take me to wherever they feel I need to be (within the bounds of safety and reason, of course). Such walks have led me to great conversations with strangers, shopping finds that I would normally not see on a regular shopping trip, or gems of wisdom disguised as signposts, posters, book titles, shop names, and what-have-you. Of course, such as walk also presupposes that one has the time to walk without expectation, and so I do this when (a) there is absolutely nothing better to do in my to-do list, or (b) I feel that my brain’s batteries are dead and need to be recharged.

Sometimes, though, I find that it’s best to go on a Serendipity Walk PRECISELY when you’re tired and overwhelmed and you just need some space. The act of clearing out a bit of your schedule and just letting all urgencies fly off into the air can be a liberating and enlivening experience.

* * *

This weekend’s Serendipity Walk, done within the confines of Powerbooks Greenbelt, led me to a great find: Paulo Coelho’s Like the Flowing River, a collection of essays and personal musings by My Idol Himself. Unlike all his other best-selling works, this book is not a novel with an engaging character in a mystical place—it is about his life, his thoughts, his experiences; it is like really getting to know the man himself. For someone who loves to writes in essay format (and bare her soul while doing it), it was a welcome treat. The book practically leapt off the shelves and onto my face, calling out to me to “Take me now!” And since it seemed to have been the only copy of that book in the entire bookstore, I did what it told me to do.

That night, after falling asleep while reading the book, words came to me. At first they were like a trickle coming out of a leaky faucet. Then they just gushed out of my head, until I had to wake up, get my notebook, and scribble everything down. And when I was done, my heart was not content until I was able to type the words (for which I had to free up some space in my brother’s cluttered Mac), and send the message out to my friends. Those words formed The Boy, The Man, and The Sky, my first attempt at fiction. It was finished at around 2 A.M.

And since I was so inspired by everything that had happened to me that day, I worked up the gall to email Mr. Coelho about it. (I keep on reminding myself that he is just a human being who receives emails and probably answers them, just like most of us do.) Heaven bless him—he emailed back the next day with some encouraging words. My heart was soaring once again.

* * *

That same weekend, my mom and I had errands to run around town. By some twist of fate we ended up heading into all sorts of traffic deadlocks and detours and, before we knew it, we were terribly late for certain appointments. Our screwed-up schedules were enough to drive anyone mad, but Mom and I believe in the same thing: There must be a reason for it!

And true enough, that same night (again, by some twist of fate), we ended up in my cousin’s house, talking about how to help the new Sangguniang Kabataan council in her barangay with their activities. Anyone who knows me well enough would know that I’m a frustrated SK official. I never really got the chance to run for office back when I was still young enough to do so, and I although I still have my grand notions of serving the public someday (in whatever capacity—or even as President, as my Tickle “Dream Job” result suggests), right now I could settle for helping my cousin do her job effectively. If I can’t be President, then maybe I could be “consultant to the future President,” or something like that.

* * *

In the meantime, my brother was in neighboring Singapore, where he was having a Serendipity Walk of his own. He was fortunate enough to have been part of a school trip that was open only to honor students, and since he has been a consistent Dean’s Lister, he went off on his first overseas trip without Mom or Ate. During the trip, their group went to all sorts of places that would drive my heart mad with excitement: Arab Street, Little India, Chinatown, the Asian Civilization Museum, an exhibition at the Esplanade, a trip to some “artsy” shows, and a photography exhibit. Although he enjoyed the museum and city tour, he said that he was “bored to death” by the “artsy-fartsy stuff.” (And I gasped in disbelief.) But the minute their party walked into the financial district, he described getting “a high” unlike any other. (Yes, my brother gets a high reading the International Herald Tribune and the Asian Wall Street Journal—and he just turned 18.)

So right then and there, he heeded the call of his heart and declared that Industrial Design was not for him. He is now back home, working to shift into a course that would allow him to later on work with banks, financial institutions, or trade groups. It was a gutsy move that would make other kids cringe, but my brother was wise enough to heed his Inner Voice.

* * *

As I end this entry, I shall also be getting ready for yet another Serendipity Walk, which will start in an art lecture in a far-off place (read: Katipunan) and will end wherever it needs to end. I don’t know anyone else who is going to that lecture; I don’t even know why I want to spend a total of three hours commuting and maybe another three or more hours sitting down with people I don’t know, just to sink my teeth into something that I probably might not even fully understand. All I know is that I HAVE to be there, for reasons that will reveal themselves to me much, much later.

* * *

Here's to Serendipity, and to allowing ourselves to be led by our souls. May your Walks be as pleasant as mine have been!

These blogs SOOO know what I'm going through!

For someone wearing different hats, it can be pretty zany just trying to make it through the day, what with the gazillion to-do's and the urgent voices, emails, etc. demanding for your attention. Upon the advice of a good friend, I checked out the blog of Kristin von Ogtrop, who's the editor-in-chief of Real Simple. From her blog, I led myself to other interesting blogs/websites that sooo know what I need to make it through every day.

Here are the ones that I liked in particular:

1. Unclutterer ('Nuff said)
2. Apartment Therapy (I loooove the vintage look. It's something our artistic sensibilities could definitely live with)
3. Happy Mundane (Let's celebrate the little things)

And this one doesn't apply to me yet, but I can sooo relate every time I'm here at my mom's to spend time with Erica (who know calls herself "Little Rica" =))

4. Working Moms Against Guilt

Right now I'm trying not to feel guilty about the fact that I have an hour and a half all to myself. And so I shall read while sipping tea...

Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente

My favorite Pablo Neruda poem ever, read by one of my favorite Spanish artists, Alejandro Sanz:

Poema XV

por Pablo Neruda

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llenas del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mí alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.


Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.


Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PipP2kO2RCA

You may also read it alongside a nice instrumental tune here

Reclaiming An Old (But True) Love

There are some things that we mustn’t ever do—like hold on to something that isn’t working out anymore, pine for an old flame that will never be rekindled, or stay stuck in the past when there are so many wonderful things to look forward to in the present and the future. But there are those times when love is just too strong to ever deny—and when the opportunity presents itself for true love to bloom once more.

Last night, in a place where sunlight filters in through the windows and lights up the courtyards during the day and where night unveils a buzz of activity that is both exhilarating and soothing, I reconnected with an old flame. It was something I had been hiding from these past few months; I flirted with the idea around a year ago, but I chickened out and tried to deny my real feelings. But every encounter would light up a memory so vivid I could almost see, touch, taste, smell, hear, and feel it again. Every reminder of that old life would tug at me so strongly that there was no way I could deny it anymore. It was yet another string of coincidences, another episode of “Seeing Signs” that Mr. Coelho would definitely acknowledge as real. It was in my mind, in my soul, in my blood. And last night, I came home.

Por eso, este diciembre, empezaré a una aventura magnífica que seguramente encende otra vez a las emociones que ha sido guardado celosamente en la profundidad de mi alma. Esta aventura no será de amor erótica—será una viaje encantada sobre los caminos de la cultura española, así como las palabras, los sonidos, los imagenes, y las sensaciones que yo perdía—y después discubrí otra vez. No hay punto en escapar de este camino. Estoy enamorada, estoy apasionada… y nadie, especialmente no yo mismo, puede separarnos para siempre.

After all, it is emblazoned on my skin, for as long as I live, and for the whole world to see, las palabras eternas del gran escritor Federico Garcia Lorca: «Lo que mas me importa… es vivir…»

Living the Dream (a.k.a. 12 Things That Worked for Me =P)

In the previous company that I headed, we had this weekly learning event called Show & Tell. Yes, it was similar to the kindergarten Show & Tell where you had to bring something to class and explain what it was. Our version of Show & Tell required one member of the staff to make a presentation about absolutely anything, and then present key insights about that to the rest of the team. It was supposed to develop creative thinking, confidence, and whatever else a start-up creative firm was supposed to develop among its members.

Sadly for me, that company no longer exists; neither does the "mentor-protege" relationship that I thought I had with my then-partners. But I was unable to unearth my first (and only) Show & Tell presentation from a year ago, about how I, in my friend Carissa Villacorta's words, "made the jump from dreaming the life to living the dream." Unfortunately, the original Powerpoint presentation (which I really loved) is already lost; what remains is this Word version.

Looking back at this, I cringe at some of the examples that I used. It's funny how one year can change so many things. But I still believe in the "principles" that I've outlined here because, setbacks and all, I still AM living the dream.

Thanks to my friend, Mark Ruiz (of WhyNot? Forum, not the "Mark" whom I mention in my piece), whose own speech/presentation in Ateneo inspired me to dig for this from within the deepest recesses of my multiple hard drives. I'll be posting Mark's wonderfully inspiring message here as soon as I get permission from him.Ü

Show & Tell #1

Living the Dream

In her book, Surreality, my “soul-sister” Carissa Villacorta writes: “In New York, dreams come true on a daily basis. I used to be a dreamer, but New York made me a realist. I guess this is where I made the jump from dreaming the life to living the dream…”

I used to dream a lot when I was much younger. I dreamed of being a singer, a Broadway actress, a novelist, a lawyer, a political lobbyist (or a politician), a diplomat in the United Nations, and editor-in-chief of my very own magazine. I used to hole myself up in my mom’s room with either a typewriter (I bought my very own typewriter when I was about nine), our computer, or our videocam. I would write stories, program simple games (the first “game” I programmed was named “Telly”), or animate my Lego toys or my chalk drawings. My mind was always working, always dreaming.

Somewhere along the way I realized that I can achieve anything I wanted, as long as I put my heart and soul into it. My life now is the product of about 10 years of patient dreaming, writing, working, stumbling and then picking myself up, and learning along the way. Like Carissa, I can say that I have made the jump from dreaming the life to living the dream.

What I’m about to share aren’t “secrets for success”; in my book, I’m not even there yet. And nobody can even claim to have the monopoly over those so-called “success secrets.” The truth is, anyone can live the dream—and that’s no secret. What I’m about to share are lessons that I’ve learned about dreaming… and then making them real.

1. Acknowledge your hopes, dreams, desires, and passions.

I’ve been writing for as long as I could remember. Journals, short stories, scripts, reports, newsletters, websites… name it, as long as there was some writing involved, I tried to get into it. So when I was discerning about my true path shortly before I resigned from my last job, I realized that I had to stop denying my true passion and just take the plunge into the writing world already. There have been many ups and downs since then, but I’ve never regretted my decision to be where I am now.

2. Recognize your strengths and weaknesses, as well as trends and patterns in your life.

It wasn’t just writing that I loved. For some reason, I was always thrust into a leadership position wherever I was. At home, I was the big sister and the “little mommy.” In school, I was almost always a project leader or a class officer. Even when we were just playing games, my playmates would ask me to take charge of the game.

I tried to shy away from that role, but I soon saw my purpose for being in charge wasn’t so much to give orders or to boss people around. My mission for leading people, as Stephen Covey put it so well, was to help others find their own voice and reach for their own stars. So I decided to step up and swallow both the good and the bad of being in front and center, because I know that it will serve a higher purpose for more than just myself.

3. Visualize yourself in your desired state—now. Be specific!

I was an extremely grade-conscious student. When I was in college, I used to make a replica of our grade report and input the grades that I wanted to get for each subject. Then I hung it over my bed as a daily reminder of my goals. When that worked, I realized that it does help to write down your goals. Since then, I’ve been making what I call “vision art”—my dreams and visions of myself as depicted in scrapbook art, in paintings, in poetry, and in similar pieces. At one point, I even had a vision wall! (Now I’m working on a “vision article”—a feature article written by someone about me when I’m in my 40s.)

It sounds cheesy, but it does help to visualize your goals. What your mind sees through your eyes, your mind can create through your physical self. (Remember, an architect always needs a blueprint before he begins building anything…)

4. Internalize what you need in order to get what you want.

At the start of each sem, I would make three projections of my grades: a best-case, a worst-case, and a most-likely scenario. Based on those, I knew how to play around with my grades and my allowed cuts in order to get closest to the QPI (quality point index) that I was aiming for. If was weak in one subject, I knew that I had to work harder on the other subjects in order to pull my grades up. If campaign season was coming up (I campaigned for the Student Council four times and won three times), I knew that I had to attend all my classes at the start of the sem in order to save up all my cuts for when I had to campaign.

Knowing what I wanted, and knowing what I needed in order to get there, helped me make crucial decisions at crucial points in my life. Although my chosen example was about school, this applies to me in other areas of my life as well.

5. Learn to see the signs all around you. Remember that there is no such thing as a mere coincidence. Everything happens for a reason.

Now for the mushy stuff. My relationship with Paul is the culmination of a strange and exhilarating string of coincidences. We bumped into each other at the Zen garden of the AIM on a night when I wasn’t supposed to be there and he just happened to be there. I painted a flamenco picture shortly before running into him, and I showed him the painting during our second date, just when he was about to tell me that maybe I’d enjoy dancing at the Centro Flamenco, where he used to play. I asked him if he knew Nicholas Gunn, a New Age flutist whom very few people know of and whose music reminded me of his, just when he was looking for someone who knew Nicholas Gunn and who could lend him the CD. Our moms knew each other and our dads have the same name. We have the same birthday, headed the same project in college, and even took the same minor (Spanish).

Things like these happen all the time, sure, but if they happen in succession—and if they help you in answering something that you’ve been discerning about, then you’d better sit up and listen.

6. Be open to the opportunities that Life will throw your way.

Paulo Coelho, the best-selling author of The Alchemist, wrote, “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” Opportunities are the Universe’s way of conspiring for you. If you know how to recognize the opportunities and see the signs around you, then you’ll have a greater chance of following your true path and fulfilling your dream, your destiny.

But just because the Universe will help you doesn’t mean that you should be passive. Being open to opportunities also means looking for them and being prepared for them. Just as a farmer tills the soil, plants the seed, waters the ground, and lets the sunshine in before he waits for the plant to grow, so must we prepare ourselves so that when opportunity strikes we will be equipped to take it.

7. Discern! Learn to say NO…

Discernment doesn’t just mean saying yes to the opportunities, but also saying no to those “opportunities” that will lead you away from your true path. Just as I was about to take the leap into freelancing, I was referred by some friends to a large multinational insurance firm. I went through a rigorous recruitment process, just for the heck of it, and at 23 was the youngest candidate to be interviewed by the company’s president, a Japanese who needed a translator. I was offered 40 grand basic plus commissions, but I didn’t take it. I knew that I wasn’t meant to be in the insurance industry, so I politely told them that I needed to be fair to everyone concerned and go another route.

When you’re 23 and single and you earn 40 grand, it’s almost like winning the lottery. It was very, very difficult to say no to the offer—especially since as a budding freelancer I had no savings, no clients yet, and no financial fallback. But I knew that I will forever regret it if I didn’t begin my writing career then.

8. BUT… Don’t close your doors!

You need to know when to jump, when to stay put, and when to give others a second chance. The first time Ronald, Mark, and I talked about working together (in 2004) I was being offered a three-to-six-month internship in Singapore—just like Milaine—before coming back to the Philippines to work on the Discover series. They interviewed me a couple of times, communicated the offer, and even set an approximate date for my departure. I had only three weeks to prepare, and I was very, very excited but also very, very nervous.

The three weeks turned into three months, and, before I knew it, the company’s direction had changed. It would’ve been easy for anyone to get disheartened and to discount the thought of ever working with them again, but I told myself that maybe it was the Universe’s way of saying I wasn’t ready for the opportunity yet. I resolved to let us both go our own ways first while I prepared myself to be an entrepreneur. I knew that, someday, somehow, a similar opportunity would surface.

That whole intermission took around two years… so imagine if I had closed my doors then! We wouldn’t be where we all are now!

9. Be willing to work hard and sacrifice for your dream.

The higher the goal, the higher the jump. The higher the jump, the harder the training. The harder the training, the more painful the bruises. You’ll know if something is what you really want if you’re willing to take so much pain just to make it real.

On my first month of freelancing I had no computer at home, just one client that paid peanuts, and, by practical standards, very slim chances of making it in the real world. But instead of pushing myself down, I used my circumstances to pull myself up. I accessed all my writing assignments from the office computer during lunchtime (never during office hours), worked on all my articles by hand at night, and then typed them in the office computer the next lunchtime. I sacrificed food and rest in order to be a writer.

By the time that I had already established myself as a freelancer, my family suffered its worst financial slump ever. We lost our landline, Internet connection, and the car, and there was no income for rent, basic necessities, or my brother’s tuition. I had to push myself harder—working 20 hours a day, every day of the year, seven projects at a time—to pull myself and my family up. In time I was able to triple or even quadruple my income, restore all the utilities and pay for ALL the bills at home (including my brother’s tuition and my mom’s transportation and allowance), and get the projects done on time. Sure, I had no social life and almost turned into a skeleton, but that was the price I had to pay for those whom I loved.

10. Look for mentors.

We go through life (or at least this life) just once, so it’s important to seek guidance from those who’ve been there longer than us. At each stage in my young life I always made it a point to connect with someone who was older, wiser, and more experienced than I was.

At home, I spent a lot of time with my ninang, our next-door neighbor who babysat us whenever my mom was out of the country. I also made it a point to spend as much as I could with my parents (everyone will tell you I’m both mommy and daddy’s girl). In school, I bonded with my sophomore high school English teacher and my college Philosophy, Spanish, and Political Science professors, who all guided me in making very important life decisions. In my early career, I looked to one of the HR managers, as well as to one of the senior executives handling the Ayala Young Leaders Congress, for advice about the corporate jungle. Now it’s Ronald and Mark whom I consider my mentors. [Note: Blast from the past!]

The point here is that there will always be something that we do not know, and always someone who could show us the way. The most important thing is to be teachable.

11. Surround yourself with like-minded people.

“Tell me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are,” goes the saying. It’s trite, but it’s true. Your friends are your lifeline to the social world—they are your connections, they form your network. To a certain extent, they define what you do, where you go, and what you talk about. The friends that you have now will be your clients, colleagues, and peers 20, 30, 40 years down the road. So, be very careful about whom you want to define your social environment for the next half-century or so.

I’ve been very, very blessed to have the friends that I do. My high school best friends are all driven, ambitious women with causes larger than themselves—one works for Metrobank Foundation and another, for the Supreme Court. My college barkada (which includes Candice!) comprised officers of the student council, school orgs, and the school COMELEC. A number of them already occupy important government posts. My work buddies are either certified, award-winning “young leaders” or are spearheading their own enterprises and causes. Everywhere I look around me, people are working to make a difference.

It’s not that you should discriminate against those who are less than stellar. But you need to be each other’s source of motivation—when someone’s feeling low, don’t allow them to stay there; you need to push and pull each other up!

12. Keep on dreaming!

Once you’ve started the cycle of dreaming and then making the dreams real, it’s hard to stop. There are always new heights to conquer, new dreams to pursue. What’s important is for each of us to stay true to our inner selves and to make our dreams reflect our higher purpose—we should never allow just any “dream”(especially the physical, material ones) to take precedence over our true calling, our mission.

I’m a dreamer—always have been, always will be. And for as long as my mind can build castles in the clouds, the rest of me will work to build firm foundations under my feet.

Here’s hoping that you, too, will find your dream—and then live it.

If you’ve read even just a single post from me, then this is for YOU

The great thing about loving what I do is being able to do it for the sake of doing it. Whether it’s early in the morning, or very early (read: past midnight) the next day, I’m always thinking about what to write, how to crystallize an experience, how to share a feeling, how to translate a thought in words. Sometimes, while watching a gig or catching myself in the middle of a moment, a mini-screenplay comes to my mind. I think of how to write certain moments or encounters as short films. When I overhear conversations in a café, I think of how to present them if I were to show them onstage. Even when I watch DVDs, I prefer keeping the subtitles on—I read movies (and try to imagine the screenplay behind it); I don’t necessarily watch them.

It doesn’t matter that I haven’t yet published (or released) a single short story, theater script, screenplay, novel, book, whatever… As long as I’m able to imagine myself working on them and finally unveiling the Author in me, then I know that the dream is alive—and it will someday be reality.

What fuels this dream, believe it or not, are the daily messages that I get from people like you who thank me, encourage me, and egg me on. In the past month alone, I’ve received more emails and messages from people I don’t know than I have in the months before that. They are kind words from people from everywhere around the world who have written to say that they have read my blog or articles and can relate to what I’ve written. You can’t imagine how humbling it is to know that, in some way, my words have become a part of your life.

It gets scary, too, when I think about it. Words carry such weight with them—they are energy actualized, the building blocks of reality. When you say or write something down, you more often than not manifest it in the physical world. So when you write something down that people actually take seriously, you are somehow affecting their decisions and how their lives will turn out. It’s scary to be responsible for that kind of thing. But, then again, I’d really much rather contribute to something good than to not do anything at all.

So what I’m really trying to say is this: THANK YOU—for reading my posts, for taking my words seriously, for responding to me, for encouraging me, for being a part of my work and my life. It fills my heart with so much gratitude to know that, even from my little corner of the world, I am doing something that means something to someone else. What I’m feeling now is something that I’d wish for EVERYONE to experience at least once in their lives.

Petra Nemcova (the supermodel/humanitarian) was right when she said something during a telephone interview I had with her a couple of months back: “I think it’s really selfish to help others. You help others to make people happy but you make yourself happy too. So if you want to be selfish, be selfish and help others. It gives more meaning to your lives.”

So go and be selfish! I’m sure you’ll be as happy as you have made me.

The Gift of Childhood Play

*Dedicated to MERC (Marco, Ena, Rica, Carmela) and Mom and Dad

These days, memories pop up in my head more frequently and more vividly than they used to. Events, situations, incidents, and other occurrences which I’ve marked as “trivial” and have therefore stored on the bottom drawer of my mind’s inner closet resurface and yell out, “Hey, look at me! I’m important, too!” And, indeed, they are.

My memories of childhood play, for instance, are those that show up more frequently. There were those times of creating entire cities made out of Lego blocks, with Little Rica playing the Master Planner. Each time a new Legotown was built, there were the requisite school, store, church, and airport. Every house was built exactly the same way, spaced the same way (and I would count the number of spaces to make sure), and even furnished the same way. The only modifications that “homeowners” could make were whatever gadgets they could fashion for themselves (and, here, my sister was always the winner). The Lego games fueled a fleeting dream of becoming an architect—I loved the metric-ruled precision of it all—and whenever my sister would throw a tantrum over the city being destroyed by our dear old yayas (who would sweep everything away before my mom returned from a flight), I would simply tell her, “Legos are made for building! Let’s just build a new town!” And the building would happen all over again.

My sister and I were a precocious pair, and our house would be transformed into a live version of Nickelodeon’s Fun House or Takeshi’s Castle every time Mom was out. We would fashion obstacle courses out of chairs, blocks, the garden swing, and whatever else we could find. One of my favorite creations was a go-kart that my sister made out of mom’s old luggage trolleys, a small chair, and a cushion. It was a fancy little thing, and we would zip around the street in it. Our yayas would always go aghast over the huge messes that we regularly made, and we were just thankful that Mom was always out so that we could have our little piece of childhood heaven right at home.

In those days, creative play was as important for us as studying, and we would apply ourselves diligently to the next game or the next “project” because they were ways of actualizing talents that we were happy to have discovered. For instance, childhood buddy Mela and I would go around the neighborhood, spying on neighbors and dictating our discoveries into her little micro-cassette, acting like reporters for the “village newspaper.” Of course, since there was actually no village newspaper, we made one ourselves. We also made our own little company, MERC (Marco, Ena, Rica, Carmela) that created made-to-order stationeries and greeting cards. We would sell them to our titas and even deliver their orders via bicycle. Back then, we already knew that customization and great customer service were important in running a good business. We made some decent bucks out of that.

Now that we’re all grown up, I’m sure we can trace some of our recent successes to those days in Tangier Street when play was work and work was play. Co-village reporter Mela is now associate editor of a prestigious international magazine title here in the Philippines. Marco is now an IT consultant. Ena, my super streetsmart sister, is now IT supervisor (and she is mostly self-taught, mind you!). Of course, we all know what I’ve become, and I can directly link all of it to those days of creating stationeries, writing scripts, directing my playmates, and creating programs on the computer.

I’m very, very grateful that I was raised by parents who were very supportive of our innate artistry. They never said “no” to our artistic or athletic pursuits; they were always there during recitals and tournaments in spite of being out of the country most of the time; and they encouraged us to go and discover our talents and strengths. When I was choosing between European Languages (in UP) or Communications (in Ateneo), I never heard “Why that? You will never be rich in that!” from them. When my sister was choosing between Multimedia Arts or Interior Design along with a basketball scholarship (in CSB), my parents rejoiced and said, “Go for it!” Now that my brother’s in Industrial Design (in CSB) but is seriously considering leaving his major to study Flying, the best advice we could give him is, “Think about the long-term consequences of your decision, and if you’re sure of it, then go for it.” We were never punished for being artists at heart, and we were always encouraged to think for ourselves (and create our own solutions).

One thing is sure: when I become a mother, I will make sure that my children get lots of time and space to play and discover their own world. I won’t panic if they come home with bruises and scratches and mess all over their clothes; it will teach them how to take care of themselves. I won’t yell at them if they break things or cover the walls with pastels and paint (but I will make them clean up after their own mess); it will teach them the consequences of their actions. I won’t get heartbroken if they declare later on: “Mom, Dad, I want to be a musician/artist/performer/designer/stylist/model/actress/inventor/scientist/filmmaker/writer.” I will rejoice that they have found something to be truly passionate about, and I will support whatever they decide to get into (even if it’s just plain old accountancy).

I have learned from my childhood that children are more intelligent than we see them to be, and if we give them enough space to experiment and learn from their own mistakes and misadventures they will grow up to be brighter, tougher, and self-reliant. My siblings and I are all products of sweat, dirt, grime, cuts, bruises, scratches, falls, tears, and big, bad mistakes—but we were all loved and accepted unconditionally. So we have also learned that, when do fall and get hurt, we can cry and run to Mommy for some kisses and hugs, but—ultimately—we will have to get back up on our own two feet and face the world on our own. There are certainly no dim-witted pushovers in this family.

Trial by Fire

In spite of all my talk about social networking and “working the room,” I’m actually quite the wallflower. My MO during gigs and performances is to walk in with Paul, find a nice corner where I can comfortably settle myself, order a drink, and OBSERVE people. No matter how comfortable I am speaking in front of large audiences, I usually enjoy myself the most—especially in these situations—when I’m alone.

Last night, however, at a Penguin gig that brought together four of the best musicians in the country (Sammy Asuncion on guitar, Louie Telan on bass, Mar Dizon on drums, and, of course, Paul on percussion), I seem to have undergone a trial of sorts. Comprising the jury were a highly intoxicated but charming choreographer and her cinematographer husband, a fellow writer (our neighbor who just lives a floor above us), a sound engineer, and a screenwriter and his girlfriend. I knew none of them, save for our neighbor, and I had no idea of the sterling credentials each of them possessed at the time they all converged at my table for a chat. All I knew was that it was my first time to have an encounter like this, and I had better not embarrass Paul (or myself, of course) in front of his community.

It started with the charming lady, whom I shall call Lady D, asking me about what I, as a journalist, thought about Manila. I’ve never claimed to be a journalist (because there’s a lot in journalism that I cannot yet claim for myself), so I had to begin my response with a disclaimer—which might have seemed to be very defensive. After my first response, she proceeded to grill me: Compare Atienza versus Lim… What can you say about the Baywalk project? What do you mean by “tourism”? What about the environment? What do you mean when you say “sustainable tourism”? What is a “sustainable economy?” What do you think about our leaders? As a 24-year-old girl (24—woohoo!), what can you do in your own way to save our country?

Her eyes were trained on me, everyone was listening intently (waiting for me to slip, I suppose), looking thankful that they could simply sit back and enjoy the show.

It was probably foolish of me to do so (one should never talk about politics or religion with a group of strangers, especially after they’ve had a drink), but I put forth my views about everything that she asked about—including what I thought of the underground economy and how people should learn to wean themselves away from government and properly sustain themselves. And as it got hotter and hotter on the grill, I could feel myself loosening up more and more, enjoying the barrage of questions and the looks of eager anticipation on my acquaintances’ faces… because I had an intelligent audience, and I wanted to put on a good performance. Toward the tail-end of my self-propelled exposition, I could see the Grand Dame pursing her lips into a smile and nodding her head in agreement.

I had passed.

“I liked your answers,” she said.

“And I enjoyed answering your questions, Ma’am.”

“I could see that.”

Being a performer herself, she saw that I took to the spotlight and enjoyed myself immensely in it. (So why am I working behind the scenes again—someone please remind me??)

That was only the beginning of my evening with these “benevolent strangers”, and before I knew it, I had gone through three more hours of great conversations and a deeper sense of connectedness with these people who understood what it meant to really bring culture and the arts to life. By the time we parted ways, we were the only ones left in Penguin (definitely a first for me), and it was time for everyone to pack up and go home.

More than sharing my ideas and getting complimented for them, though, what gave me a high that night was knowing that I am on the right path. At a time when I was doubting the choices that I had made and the direction toward which I am heading, the Universe once again showed me that this is my art and these are my peers.

When I was still employed thousands of moons ago, I looked at my bosses and colleagues and realized that I did not want to grow up to be like them. This time, I could look at my companions’ intoxicated smiles, their long, unkempt hair framing their faces, and honestly say that I wouldn’t mind growing up to be like them. For, indeed, success to them isn’t measured by how much money their films make or how diverse their portfolio of investments is (if they have any). It’s measured by the lives they touch, the minds they inspire, and the change they bring about through the passionate pursuit of ideas and ideals.

Emerson was right.

The Gaping Hole

Earlier this afternoon, I was checking out some old friends on Facebook when a particular name seemed to call out to me to come closer. It was a dear friend of mine from college whom I hadn’t seen in eight years, and memories of whatever feelings I had for that person played tug-o-war on my chest, telling me to check him out, but then again not to, but then again, go ahead—because, after all, it has been AGES… right?

Right. So I reviewed his profile and saw a glimpse of what he had been up to these past eight years: post-graduate degrees, a wife, a child, an important post in a very important organization. It was close to what I had already imagined him to be back then, until a voice in my head yelled at me: And where are YOU? So far away from where you thought you’d be by now.

Suddenly, I felt tears streaming by the side of my face. I wasn’t crying because I missed the person or felt something strongly for him all over again; I was crying because the choices I had made these past few years presented themselves to me once more—and I’m not so sure I had made the right ones. This guy’s profile was showing me a path that I had once wanted to be on, but somehow, one turn after another led me farther and farther from it, until I’m now at this point where that path already seems like a totally different reality altogether. Sure, I could probably steer myself that way again, but it would alter so many things that now seem fixed. And even as I cried for a reality that I did not get to experience, I also realized that I’m not even sure if I’d still want it if the opportunity presented itself to me all over again.

So at that point, I really didn’t know what I was crying over anymore.

Then, the Universe spoke to me. On the cover of one of my journals that I’ve been rereading these past couple of days is this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. It was printed in big, bold letters, on white font over a crisp black background, that there was no way I would miss it:

“To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch… to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!”

It was a reminder from the Universe to be gentler with myself. There I was again, comparing myself to friends and colleagues—as if I were in some grand competition (as I tend to think oftentimes) to see who would make it to where by when—when I really did have so much to be grateful for. I am very blessed to have a lot of love and laughter in my life. I do work with bright, intelligent people with whom there is a lot of mutual respect and admiration, and I do have the affection of children (especially of my darling niece, Erica). I do get my share of praise and appreciation from clients, editors, fellow writers, and “gatekeepers” who hold a certain amount of influence, and I have successfully and sanely endured the harshest betrayals (that I would not wish even on my worst enemies). I live with art, music, spirituality… these beautiful, intangible things that make life more divine than human. And I know that, somehow, I find ways to make the world a better place. By Emerson’s standards, I have succeeded.

… So why, then, is there still a deep ache in my heart? A yearning I cannot yet understand—an emptiness that I cannot yet name? What is the cause of all this, and what will satiate it? What is this “something bigger” that I cannot yet grasp, but which seems to define all of what I think, feel, write, say, and do right now? Will I ever know what it is? And once it is there in front of me, will I be able to recognize it?