Signs

The universe works in mysterious ways.

The other day, I was expectedly sad and blue because of the doctor’s advice. According to her, I had to seek other medical procedures as the normal way of “doing things” looked out of the question for me. This only bolstered my suspicion that I’m a freak. It shouldn’t have affected me anymore. As I said, I’ve already known somehow that I wasn’t “normal.” But to actually have my suspicion, nay, fear, confirmed by a doctor, was like damnation. If the doctor herself knows that there’s no other hope for me, I might as well be doomed.

Anyway, so there I was in the office. I’ve just heard the almost-devastating news (it’s probably not the worst news in the world) and I suddenly feel like bawling like a baby. But I couldn’t, at least, not in front of my staff. I decided to vent my feelings by posting a shout out over at my facebook account. About five minutes later, I checked my account and a message was already waiting for me. A friend, who had probably read my cry of despair, told me that she was sending me something to help me with my problem. It took me all I had to stop from crying. Tears had sprung up and I was pouting very hard to keep my chin from trembling. I could only hope nobody noticed as I wiped away a tear that had escaped.

What really touched me about the whole thing was that the person who sent me that message (and the package) wasn’t really somebody I’d consider a very close friend. We may have shared experiences but I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first person to come to her mind if the word “friend” were mentioned. And that’s just it. Despite the kind of friendship we had, she was the first person to console me in my time of need. The unexpectedness of it all caught me by surprise.

And then, there’s the thing she sent me. The week before, it had already been mentioned to me by another person. She said that this might help me in my quest for “happiness.”

About a couple of days later, I had dinner with some relatives. It was supposed to be another night filled with elderly people catching up and gossiping in their elderly ways. But the couple who sat with us at the table told of a true to life miracle. Their daughter had previously suffered a miscarriage because of a thyroid condition. She was told that she could not conceive until her medical condition had been treated. And so, she did not expect to be pregnant soon. But it wasn’t so long before her mother had noticed changes in her and thought she might be pregnant. She (the daughter) had bought several home pregnancy tests, all of which had shown a negative result. But her mother insisted. You’re pregnant, the mother said. So the daughter went to the doctor and sure enough, she was three months pregnant. Her doctors could not explain how or why this had happened. Whereupon, my own mother-in-law piped, “It’s a miracle.” As I sat there, I couldn’t help but think, there’s something in this conversation that’s meant for me.

I only got the message when I got home. There are somethings that defy science. All you really need is a strong faith, unfailing hope and consistent prayer.

 

9.17.09: Note to self

 

True Confessions

As I grow older, the more I realize there’s more I don’t really know about myself. Revelations come one at a time and, sometimes, at the most compromising situations. At times, it requires a strong sense of self-restraint to hide the sense of surprise as the truth hits me.

Confession no. 1: I’m a softy at heart.
Ever since I’ve gained consciousness, I’ve always thought of myself as a tough girl. Not much could bother me. I’ve once stared at an accident victim whose brains were being scooped up into a plastic bag. I can still remember the distinct smell of blood and brains. But it didn’t even bother my stomach. As for emotions, I used to wonder how actors/actresses can summon tears at a moment’s notice. I could think of the worst and tragic scenes but my tear ducts wouldn’t even flinch. I remember being amazed by my college classmate at how he (yes, it’s a real guy) could shed tears as I asked him if he could cry.

But yesterday, as I was visited by one of my students who came to apologize for unbecoming behavior in class, I realized I’ve got unreasonable emotions, the kind that could probably earn me the nickname “cry baby.” She had begun explaining what moved her to do what she did and her voice was cracking. I looked in her eyes and sure enough, tears were welling up. All of a sudden, it was as if something was summoning up my own tears. I had to stop her before I started bawling right then and there.

Confession no. 2: I can’t hold grudges (even if I want to).
This could be good…or bad. Remember the saying “forgive and forget?” It’s not necessarily right all the time. I mean, mistakes are part of the learning process. If someone has offended you, it’s good to forgive. But to forget that he/she has done that to you would mean you didn’t learn a thing.

Confession no. 3: I actually like Pop Songs
Darn it! I’m thirty years old and I can’t believe I’ve begun to like pop songs. You see, when I was younger, pop songs were acceptable. As I got into high school, I had gotten into the whole punk/rock emo thing, songs with deeper meaning. I used to laugh at a friend who thought the Backstreet Boys were heaven sent — and that friend was a guy. But recently, I’ve found myself tapping my foot to “Nobody.” Hell, now I’ve even downloaded it as my message alert tone. Aside from that deadly song (yes, there has been a reported casualty: one person killed because he sang that song), Lady Gaga’s songs have also found their way into my Ipod. God help me.

The list does not end here. Self-discovery goes on.

 

The good ones always go first

It’s a sad news that greeted me this morning as I checked my yahoo homepage. Patrick Swayze has died at the young age of 57 due to pancreatic cancer. Somehow, this news has affected me more than the death of Michael Jackson. For what reason, I don’t really know.

As far as I can remember, the earliest I’ve seen of Patrick Swayze was from the series North and South. I was forced to watch it as my father borrowed dozens (and I mean, literally, dozens) of betamax tapes (’80’s flashback!) from the neighborhood video rental. It was a story of the  U.S. civil war (I think) and my father was predictably hooked. Almost every weekend afternoon was spent in front of the tv, munching on chips and drinking iced tea while watching canons go off. I was still young back then and I couldn’t really understand the plot. But the one thing that kept me watching was Patrick Swayze. He was just darned good looking, the kind you wanted to take home to meet your parents., even as he shows a hidden tendency to become the bad boy you’ve dreamed of taming. I remember asking my father if Patrick really walked with a cane in real life or if it was just his character. I can’t remember now my father’s answer, or even how the story ended. But I do remember Patrick Swayze.

Of course, to the masses, Patrick Swayze is more popularly known as the sexy dance instructor in Dirty Dancing. But, of course, at the time that movie was shown, my parents forbade me from even uttering the title for fear that it might instill dirty thoughts in me (hah!). It was only later on that I had the chance to see it and learn that he can really dance. It wasn’t the kind where actors where taught how to dance so it could be part of the film. Patrick’s moves were graceful and natural. Not to mention that he had a wonderful voice to match his moves.

And then there was the movie Ghost, very controversial back then. I remember it was shown as an R18 movie and I was still below 18. My mother and I wanted so badly to see it that she told me, if I was asked at the cinema entrance about my age, I was to tell I was 18 (even though I was only somewhere 14 to 15 years old). You can tell the movie is good when your own parent teaches you to lie. In any case, I was tall for my age. Nobody at the cinema entrance even bothered to ask me anything. As we watched, I could understand the R18 rating for the movie but what really struck me was the love story that defied death. And Patrick was just the right actor for the role.

Now, Patrick’s really dead. I wonder if he’s still haunting the streets looking for ways to contact the wife he left behind and to tell her he loves her. Patrick Swayze will certainly be missed. But, at least, now, he’s some place else where cancer can’t hurt him. There, he can keep on dancing.

 

Chris Farley chippendales original skit

R.I.P. Patrick Swayze.
(*Thanks to MAZLABEL4 for uploading this video.)

 

The hope that never dies

It’s that time of the month — again.

Yes. Like clockwork, it’s come again…perhaps to haunt me, showing me the bad lifestyle choices I’ve made when I was younger, the foresight I should have had and yet unfortunately lost. Perhaps this is a testament to the kind of life I’ve led before. And yet I can’t help defending myself. It was such a short while…so brief and so fleeting. I couldn’t have accumulated such amount of bad karma as to merit this… this… how can I even call it?

I’m a freak. That’s what it is.

It’s the same thing back in high school, I thought to myself last night as I stared helplessly into the void.  In fact, I feel like I’ve never left that point in my life. I look at all my classmates and my friends with a look of despair. I’m never going to be like any of them. I’m a freak, period. What’s wrong with me? Everything. I’m fat and ugly, short and stupid. Well, scratch that. I’m not really short…and perhaps not too stupid either. I have, after all, earned a degree coveted by no less than six thousand people, in this year alone. And yet, I still feel like some sort of failure. In the one thing that’s supposed to really matter, I can’t deliver.

It’s that time of the month — again.

Yes. Like clockwork, I’m sad again. No matter how many times I’ve tried to convince myself, told myself, that I wouldn’t give hope a chance, a ray always manages to slip in. Darn it. And yet, everytime, hope ends in vain.

And so, last night, as I watched this person unarguably more disadvantaged than I am in life, I couldn’t help but envy her. Here she was, freak to the core and yet, still normal like the rest of them. She functions like a normal person should, just as God intended humans to be. Here I was, on the other side of the world, having the appearance of a fully functional human being yet deficient in the one thing that matters. I’m a freak even to the freaks.

I tried to stifle the sobs that wouldn’t quit for fear of being discovered. I buried my head in my pillow and pretended to fall asleep. I couldn’t let the husband see what I was going through. Even though he’s accepted my frailties, I’m still afraid he may not be able to come to terms with my deficiency. It’s a paranoia, unjustified and unfair, but that’s how it feels.

Having cried through the night, it was inevitable that I would wake up today as if yesterday never happened. Perhaps I was made to be resilient. Or maybe God is molding me to be one.

Another month is up ahead.

I can feel hope crawling underneath my skin.