Regarding the Extracurricular & the Camps

Getting involved, in non-school related activities here, translated…

My youngest was headed out early in the morn, because the camp from her major was starting, as a freshman, she is very enthusiastic of all the activities hosted by her major.  I remembered, that, we’d, headed out before light for her last thing too, in the nearly zero degree icy cold floor of the CKS Memorial Hall, rolled around on the floorboards, it was her salsa club of her high school, she was responsible for coordinating a “recital of her younger schoolmates.”

My youngest started dancing from her kindergarten years to date, dance had become, her favorite.  It’s just, that her school teachers mentioned how if she’d worked too hard on her “hobby”, it may, cause her grades to slip, but she’d, asked us, not to worry, “the extracurriculars are important rites of passage, just let them give it all they got for this!”  but, I’d, found my daughter, with that lack, of enthusiasm, turned out, she had, dropped her activities, because she’s still, trying to figure out what she’s good at academically, she’d told us, “I’m more than certain about dance, and anything else, is not good enough for me.”  Until her final year in high school, she’d, transferred from the sciences, to the social sciences, and now, she’s, in the major she has great interests in, communications, and, she’d, danced every day, and now, she’d, gone out early in the morn, for her summer camp activities.

the assortments of activities, not related to the academic…photo from online

My eldest and I, were both into the extracurriculars in our high school years, I’d, gotten involved in two groups, one was for vanity, the band, the other, school paper.  Being in band, I’d, played the trumpet, without much talent, just so I can, put on that marching uniform that made me shine on flag day, and, walking across the podium before the President’s Office.  As for the school paper, it was, where my heart lies, I’d, let my own, writing talents, poured out.  I’d recalled, how hard it’d been that I had, worked, on every topic, how I’d, gone to the shopping marts, to find the old photos, to do the interviews, and published my not-mature-enough writings, wanted to pour all of my doubts of the world, my feeling lost for my future, along with my dissatisfaction toward school, all out in the open.

I can no longer recall how the periodical had, turned out, but, my grades, slipped, and, that became, a F-A-C-T.

I’d found a university that I really don’t hate to study in, but the major I was in, it wasn’t anywhere near my interest profile.  And, by then, editing the periodicals, no longer, satisfied my mind, maybe back then, love was, taken up half of my mind.

And yet, because I’d, lost love, I’d, decided, to go for the president of the club, to let myself, embrace this major I’d, found myself to be in, tired, to learn to be a, leader.  And so, the memories of my college years, were revolved around the freshmen orientations, the camps, the seminars, the book fairs, the competitions.  I recalled all the guest lecturers I’d invited, remembered all the shows we’d put on for the freshmen orientations, recalling that freshman ball we hosted, remembered the singing and skit competition I’d, set up, remembering being in the trainees of the officers of the clubs of the school too, along with how I continued being the team counselor as I went into my senior year.

I’d once not wanted to graduate, because I loved being a student too much.  And, the best memories of being a student, are from, the extracurricular activities, as we’d, entered into the groups on our own, there’s, too many connections there.  Like how I watched my eldest get too excited as she’d, started, editing the footage, like how I imagined my youngest happily, leading the freshmen, because she’s, finally, a sophomore.

volunteer counts too!  Photo from online

Some had found their significant others in the extracurricular groups, like my eldest brother and sister-in-law.  A lot of people found what they truly loved, like my youngest and I.  Recently, I’d, edited a periodical of a bookstore, and, I’d, found my passions there, and that, was when I’d, recalled, this, was what I loved, doing back then.

And so, these extracurricular activities in college, they’d not, only enriched our schooling careers, but it may also, point us, toward the directions of our, future jobs too, and so, don’t be too worried, when your own young got too involved in their extracurricular activities, besides, the university years aren’t about making the grades, it’s about, discovering, who we are!!!

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Raped, by the Silences…

We are raped, by the silences, because, we’re, afraid to tell anybody what had, happened to us, because, if we tell our truths, the outside world will only, ostracize us more, saying, that it’s our fault, that we shouldn’t have, behaved too provocatively in front of that man, that we were, just, asking for it, therefore, we’d, kept our silences.

what we were…picture found online…

Raped, by the silences, we were, because, we’re, too afraid to talk, too afraid for our lives, as well as the lives of, those we loved and cared about, and, can’t even begin to imagine the shame they will feel, if our stories, busted out into the open!

Raped, by the silences, there’s, no way this will, ever come to an end, because, those predators are still, lurking, waiting, for their chances to, attack, and even though, we only come out, during the daytime, sometimes, it feels, like nights…

Raped, by the silences, we were, we were all, victims before, but, I’d, managed to, turn myself, into a god DAMN survivor here, I will, NEVER be quieted, be silenced again!!! what we are now…

what we have the potentials of becoming…picture found online

Raped, by the silences, there’s, nothing we can do, to change the past, change what’s already been done to us (and no, we NEVER enjoyed it!!!).  Raped, by the silences, no we don’t, keep our lips sealed, because what was shameful, wasn’t US, it was, what was, done to us!

What if, the Legalities of Your Marriages, Rests on Someone Like Me?

Uh, this is, what’s, up for “grabs” in the election coming up this weekend!

What if, the legalities of your marriages, rests on someone like me, and I just happen, to be a HOMOPHOBE (not that I am or anything like that!!!), and, what IF, the rest of the majority of the population in this country, ARE just like me, haters of homosexuals?  Then, you, who’s a homosexual, would be, totally, SCREWED!!!

What if, the legalities of your marriages, rests on someone else, other than the two of you, huh?  If you were, born a certain way, you should NOT be made, to PAY for it, that is, how you were born, it wasn’t, your fault, and yet, this voting session is, penalizing those who are, DIFFERENT, with an alternative, SEXUAL orientation, so, how’s that fair, huh?

I mean, I would HATE it, if someone tells ME who I can, or can not love, or marry!  After all, it’s, MY life, my choice, and NOBODY ELSE should have a say in it.

What if, the legalities of your marriages, rests on someone else?  Is that even fair?  And no, I’m still, NOT begging all of you, to vote for or against GAY rights, I’m merely, presenting a “case” here, think about it, if it were you, how would you feel, if someone tells you, who you can or can not fall in love with, huh???

But, I’m still, voting this Saturday, and guess which way I’m voting?  FOR HUMAN rights!  That’s, how I shall, always BE voting!!!

The Sensible & Rational Sides of a Marathon

A more “scientific approach” to running a marathon here, translated…

I can’t really run, but due to chance, I’d had a ton of friends who are, marathoners.

In order to experience this, I’d, entered into my very first, smaller scale, but beautiful marathon around the Sun Moon Lagoon, and I’d, signed up for the shortest distance, the “Fun Run”.  The group of us used brisk walking to replace the jogging; but I’d, still needed to train for it.like this???  Photo from online

On that day, I’d gone to train with a group of visually impaired runners to the riverside.  They’d used a rope, with knots tied on both ends, one end on the visually impaired runner, the other on the seeing volunteers, like the three-legged race, they’d moved forward together.  I’d, followed them closely behind, not long thereafter, there’s, this huge distance between me and them, and, before I knew it, they’d, vanished, into the distances.

I’d continued holding my own tempo, with the cold wind blowing across my forehead, sweating down, it’d felt, really, awkward.  There’s, almost no one else by the riverside pass, most of the times, it was, just me, and every now and then, a cyclist would, speed by me, and then, I was left, all alone.  Most of the time, what accompanied me was, this strong sense of, solitude.

And yet, for the visually impaired to run the marathons, wouldn’t it be……I’d, blurted out, “BORING to even think on it!”

“how can you be bored, by ‘thinking’ about it?” in a gathering, the topic of marathon, it’d, sparked up this debate for the two individuals on each end, they’d told me, a ton of imaginations they had of, marathons.

One of the accompanying runners started as an “intern”.  He’d followed a more experienced guide runner to run with the visually impaired.  On the way there, he was, led by the experienced guide, and on the way back, he’d, led.  He’d spoken, with that disbelief in his voice, “The experienced guide told me twenty kilometers’ worth of stories, and the whole path was only, twenty-one kilometers long, oh mine!”  Whatever she’d thought up of, she’d, told me, to her grandmother, to her childhood, to the flowers by the road, the weather, her job………and a turn, before us, there was, this pass, paved with the shades of the trees, and, she’d started, talking about, Mother Nature, what’s meant by “blue skies”, what’s a “green pasture”, what’s a “never-ending ocean”……she was able to, pull out that horizontal pass, and, through it, led the visually impaired runners onto a journey, like the runners aren’t there to run, but instead, to listen to a tale.

I was curious, why did she talk, incessantly?  Turns out, as the visually impaired runner started running, he’d started cramping, and the volunteer chose to tell the tales, to distract him from his own physical discomfort.  If he’d only told of what they’d encountered on the way, it would be, too boring, after all, ordinary people don’t run too fast, and the scenes, are almost, at a standstill; and this experienced accompanying runner, thought of how to get the visually impaired runner, to enjoy the run as he ran blind………so, this, is how fun running a marathon can be!

And yet, not all the visually impaired runners are, blessed enough, to have a companion runner who’s so full of facts to tell.  I’d recalled that many years ago, I’d, gone to chat with a visually impaired runner of an international marathon on this subject, he was very rational, so was his companion runner, he’d, described the marathons he ran as a “battery cell”.

He’d told me, that running a marathon, it’s, a test of how long the battery on you will last, and, you’d needed to, assigned the energies spent on the way effectively.  He’d made the examples, “If your battery is fully charged, the best case scenario is, you’re able to use it, to finish an entire marathon.  Like how it takes a hundred minutes to run a marathon, then, it would be best, if you’d, used one-percent energy per minute that you run!”  You can estimate conservatively, that you’d only needed fifty percent energy to get to the finishing lines; nor can you, overspent, like as you’re half way through, you’d, used up all your energies.  If you’d run faster, how much energy will be spent, if you run slower, how much energy it will, cost you, you’d needed to, recalculate the time needed constantly, add in your physical strengths, and combine it with the speed to which you’re, running with, and use the exact amount of time, to drain up all the energies you may have in you, to just make it, past the finishing lines………

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!  How much, this, represented life itself!

And so, from this, you can see, that running, is no longer just about exercising the body, you need to make the precise calculations, of how much energy it takes you, and, calculate, and factor in all the possible things that can happen on the roads, which is why running a marathon, is sort of an art, and a science!

Cruel & Unusual…

What, constitute, as cruel and unusual?  Does the DEATH penalty count?  How ‘bout the measures of someone, torturing someone else, then, brutally, murdering the victim, huh?

Cruel and unusual, is from the standpoint of humanity, but, what if, the murder lost, ALL of her/his humanity, while, murdering someone else in brutality?  Then, does the perpetrator, DESERVE an inkling of leniency?

like, this???  Sketch found online…

Cruel and unusual, yeah, I can be cruel, and yes, I can also, be UNUSUAL, in my ways of MAKING you pay, for what you did to me, and it’ll still be, within, the REALMS of the written laws of M-A-N!

Cruel and unusual, you’ve, GOT to be shitting me here!  Why the HELL do the world need to, show you, an INKLING of MERCY, if you’d, shown, NONE to your victims, huh???

Forgiveness Found, with an “I Love You”…

It’s, just too easy, to forgive, when someone says, “I love you”, isn’t it?  But, wouldn’t that be, the other person’s excuse of getting her/himself out of the troubles s/he got in?

Forgiveness found, with an “I love you”, it’s, unreal, as you can be more than one-HUNDRED percent certain, that whatever bad deed the individual is apologizing for, will reoccur, because that, is how it goes!

Forgiveness found, with an “I love you”, yeah, I used to fall for that too (not really, I’d just, allowed people to apologize to me, and just, let them SLIDE, how young I’d been from before, right???), but not anymore, NOT since my DEATH, circa late September to early October of 2008…

So, unless you want to still get STUCK in the vicious cycles of your abuse, yeah, sure, why not, forgive that certain someone for all the done you wrongs, with their poisonous “I love you”!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Succulents

Lessons of life, these small plants have to, offer to us, and, it’s, an important one too!  Translated…

Don’t know when, raising the succulent plants became, a trend.

One afternoon, I was strolling down the underground shopping strip, and, stopped in front of a small plant, and, I’d, suddenly understood, where that sense of healing that people talked about came from.  Those chubby leaves, resembled the paws of the bear, with the lighting, the soft and thin fuzz, made me feel, extremely, calm and collected.

On the succulent plants, as I thought, the images of those potted cute things came.  The healing sensation culture, made the succulent potted plants became a total trend, turning it, into a brand new sort of merchandise, they’d gotten, posted on the websites.  These plants are regulars at the cafés all around, an assortments of handicraft designs of them too, the potteries.  Real and fake, the fake looked, so very, real, and, how easily, human were, saved, in this mixture of what’s real and what’s fake, and, doesn’t this symbolize how we’re, squeezed too hard daily, that we needed to, look toward this small plant, to find our renewed energies?

At this moment, I stood, before the glass window, looking at the bear paw, in the temperature and humidity controlled room, hearing the salesperson tell of how to care for the succulent plants.  Thinking, that, they’re, both succulent plants, and, could it be, that the ghost plant?

wonders of nature here…photo from online…

In my childhood memories, the succulent plants weren’t as precious as these.  It’s a sort of a food, instead of a decorating plant.  This began, with my eldest uncle who’d loved his plants as if, they were, his own children.  Way before the trendy gardening came, my eldest uncle and aunt already, decorated their yard and rooftop, into small gardens.  In my impressions, he was always, living in dirt.  From when I was younger, I’d, watched him digging into the dirt, in the front yard, he’d told me that he was, loosening the soil by the seasons, so the flowers and trees can, grow better.  He’s the kind of man that would, pluck a flower as he trekked up the mountains for you, to taste the nectars.  Once, he’d had me select my favorite flower by his racks of plants, that I can take one with me.  I’d only recalled that I got very excited, and ran toward that patch of flowers, but felt panic all of a sudden.  Having the conditions of selective difficulty, I’d felt, anxious, of the sudden influx of the choices presented to me.  In this heat, I’d, pointed toward that patch of gray off to the corners.  As I walked near, the greenish purple color of the plant, made it look mysterious, the leaves were criss-crossed, like a dream catcher.

My eldest uncle laughed, “You sure do know how to pick them, this is for eating!”, he’d quickly plucked a few leaves off, ran into the house to wash them up, not long thereafter, I’d, stared at the fatty leaf, hesitant, as I, took a bite, that crisp sound, with the sour and stale juice that came onto my tongue, and, as I chewed it more, the taste turned, sweeter, perhaps, it’d, tasted like the unsweetened bell fruit, with that taste of herb to it.  This discord of the appearance and taste, was impacting to me, “It’d, tasted like the bell fruit!”, my uncle’s smile became a squint in his eyes, nodded toward me satisfactorily, “This small leaf, will grow into many flowers, you got the pick!”  He’d placed the leaf into the palm of my hand.  Looking at the fatty leaf, I’d thought, “nice to meet your acquaintance!”, and that was when I recalled, that my very first cultivated plant, was also a succulent.

It’s, quite amazing, the parent plant stayed in a huge garden with the enriched soil, and the high humidity, did it ever imagine, that its leaves were going to, move into the lanai of a building in the city?  But, it’d, lived up to the expectations, the leaves multiplied.  In a couple of years, the small finger-sized leaves, became this, bush of leaves, a small garden.

Weird, how as we aged, we’d gone from a leaf from the ghost flower, into a bear claw crassula?  From when I was younger, I’d believed, that life will be like a ghost plant, with the goal, worked hard, under the sun, and, get enough water, I will be able to, bloom, grow, leaf after leaf, after leaf, and successfully, bloom.  But, the reality was like the wind, slapping you across the face.  And after awhile, we’d, slowly, grown, into a viewing plant that’s, fearful, of getting hurt, used to, hiding ourselves, inside that transparent glass container, trading in our protective colorations, for cuteness, sitting in our, isolated, universes, preserved ourselves.

very different in appearances, but, same in “nature”, with the strong will to survive, in the harshest of all conditions!  Photo found online…

Sometimes, life is like a cruel desert, turning us, into, a cactus.

I’d often forgotten, that beneath that healing image, the cacti, with the needles, are a member of the succulent plants.  From succulent, into prickly, that soft fuzz no longer in existence, replacing them, the prickly needles.  The flesh, through the grinds of the days, became calluses, but, the calluses, the thorns, used their stubbornness, wrapped up your heart that’s, softest and most fragile, most, easily hurt.

Hey, did you ever see a flower of a cactus?  Oh yeah, it blooms too.

I’d once, owned a round and stout, cactus with the shorter thorns.  Days into years, its plain looks made people think it’s, nothing more than a décor. Yet, one spring, it’d, started, budding around, with a small light hidden within.  I will, never forget that morn, as the sunlight shone slanted onto the lanai, and, there appeared, a palm-sized flower out of the cactus.  Bright yellow like a fire burning, but, thin as the wings of a butterfly.  The petals soaked up the sun, golden, in full bloom, shown its deepest, gentleness.

At that very moment, all the memories of pain, walking through all those summers, became, light as a grain of sand.

And so, this, is the lesson that people can learn, from these plants, surely, they’re, not easy to care for, but, if you look after them well, they will, show you a side of life that’s, quite inspiring, and teach you, that weathering through the seasons of life, is something as plain as living from day to day.