Flood

I was asleep on the sofa when the rhythmic pitter patter of raindrops that had found their way through the window and onto my skin woke me. At once the heavens decided that thunder and lightning were just the right mix to liven up the afternoon. And so, I sat up and for a few minutes, just watched the droplets free fall from the clouds and flick the ground one millisecond at a time.

Then from the nook of my mind where I kept the memories of all those bible stories my mother read to me when I was younger, crept out a little thought. The great flood. Noah’s ark. The cleansing of the earth because, as it was phrased in that children’s story book, “men had become far too wicked.”

We all know how the story goes, but let me remind of how it ended. When Noah and his family came out of the ark and built an altar to praise God, our Lord vowed that never again would He flood the earth… which led me to wonder, what If God hadn’t promised? What if there came a time, when once again men had become far too wicked. And in God’s wise judgment, He’d choose to flood the earth again. What if that was happening right now?

Human as I am, I went right ahead and thought of who to blame. I went and searched the world for people I could label ‘wicked’. It’s those darn politicians, I thought, and their corruption and abuse of power. It’s those gangs, and cults, and secret societies bent on world domination. It’s those kinds of people who use drugs, and kill, and steal, (and litter) and do things of that sort. Then I took a step back and checked myself. I reprimanded my hypocritical self because although these people have done wrong, I am not without my share of sins. We all are not without our fair share of sins. Because if God really was flooding the earth right now, and he picked all the Noah’s of the world to keep safe from the waves and the water that would submerge even our tallest sky scrapers, I’m not certain I’d be one of them. If the world had become far too wicked, nobody would have the right to point the blame to anyone else. After all, before we find the faults in others, we must look to ourselves first. And although we’ve all heard that before, sometimes we just need a little reminder, well I know I did.

By the time I finished writing this, the rain had mellowed down. And the thunder kept to himself. And the lighting no longer sent flashes of light across the sky. Because of course, God wasn’t flooding the earth, because He did make a promise. And we’re pretty darn lucky He did.

Nanay Rosa

Yesterday afternoon, we received terrible news. The woman, who helped raise my dad in his youth, and as far as I can remember was a huge part of my childhood, passed away. And under such heart-breaking circumstances too.

I remember her strict rules about using the coaster when you set the glass on the table, or how not to leave the fridge door open too long, or how to change out of my school uniform the moment I arrived from school. And oh how I loathed those rules when I was kid. But I followed them nonetheless for she had this terrifying glare that could pierce into my soul (or at least that how it seemed like at the time). I kind of miss it now. Long after she had stopped working for us, (although she still wanted to,but it just wasn't right to let an elderly woman continue to work as house help), she was still very close to the family. Turning up on merry occasions to greet whoever a happy birthday, or to wish everyone a merry Christmas, or just to say hello and give the children she helped raise a weak, but very loving hug.

What pains me the most is that the last I saw her, she had gained weight and looked very healthy, and we were joking about not having a Christmas present for her. We of course did, and she went home smiling. It breaks my heart to recall how she smiles now because it makes me want to cry.

We aren't blood related in any way but she's grown to be part of the family way before I was even born. And what absolutely kills me now is that the cause of death (pneumonia) would have easily been prevented because it started merely with a cold. But she didn't go to our clinic because she didn't have to money to pay for the fare. Oh had we only known. Writing about her is the only way I could maybe, somehow honor her.

She was one great woman, and I will miss her.

So, I ask you, please say a little prayer for her.

Rest in Peace Nanay Rosa...

Frustrated Writer

I've come to a horrible realization.

Many times, I've opened this page in hopes of writing something new. I think of a topic I really want to write about...and I get half way through. And then, I save it as a draft. I don't know when I'll ever get around to finish them.

So, frustrated as I was looking at my long lists of drafts. Taunted by the blue button beside it that says, "edit post", I realized, when I didn't consider myself a "writer", I wrote plenty. I didn't even have to think about it and it just came out of me. Word after word, phrase after phrase, sentence after sentence, and voila! a pretty good essay or story or poem was created.

And the second I began to overthink everything. It became difficult to create anything at all. Or rather, create anything that I thought was good enough. Because I'm so wrapped around writing something "good", I stop trying altogether for fear I might not be good enough after all. That maybe I've deluded myself into thinking I had something when it came to writing. And that's just a load of...something nasty.
While part of me is sullen and sulking, the rest of me is just screaming to myself, "oh for goodness sake, GET OVER YOURSELF!" and that's just what I plan to do. Because I love to write, why should I stop myself because of some irrelevant insecurity, why should I even care for that matter if I'm good enough now. There's always room to get better. And if I don't try, I'll never get to where "better" is.
Sure, I may not be a nobel-prize winning author, and though I aspire to be, it might not even happen. But all those award-winning writers didn't get to where they are now by sitting at home wailing about how they might not be good enough.

Because, while over-confidence isn't desirable, having none is just as bad.And a writer who's afraid to write has to be a bad joke of some sort. I've found something I love to do, and I'm going to run with it.