"Notes from a Dead House"

...a book by Fyodor Dostoyevsky which I borrowed from the Safa Public Library three weeks ago. Let me share with you some of the morsels of thought that I have noted down...

"How many thousands of days had I to pass like this, and all of them exactly alike!" (Very well said!!!)

"I began to dream of freedom from the first day of my imprisonment. My favorite occupation was counting the days that were left a thousand different times in a thousand different ways... Every convict feels that he is not at home, but merely a transient visitor." (Yet, perhaps the transient nature of life is what makes it more beautiful.)

"The anguish of the first year in prison made me irritable and bitter and I could not notice many of the things around me. I shut my eyes and refused to look. I could not see the good people capable of thinking and feeling in spite of the repulsive crust that covered them on the surface. I overlooked the kind and affectionate word among the jeers, the word which was all the dearer because spoken in sincerity and often springing from a heart that had borne and suffered more than mine." (Yeah, and I used to think that my "sufferings" were unbearable!)

"When I said goodbye, I was not too sorry because I was sure that my head was to stay on my shoulders and continue the journey with me." (Life goes on!)

and at the last chapter of the book...

"My memories of later years have faded somewhat, and I am sure that I have completely forgotten many things. I only remember that one year, which was so like the other, dragged on sluggishly and bleakly. I remember that the long days were as monotonous as water dripping from the roof. And I also remember that only my longing for resurrection gave me the strength to hope and wait. Finally, I found the strength of resignation: I waited counting the days and though a thousand of them remained, it was with real delight that I ticked them off and saw them buried in the past. And when the new day dawned, I rejoiced at the thought that now there were not a thousand left, but only nine hundred and ninety nine. I was alone, though I had hundreds of companions, and came to love my solitude at last. In my mental solitude, I reviewed every detail of my life, sternly judged my actions, and even blessed my fate at some moments for having sent me such solitude... I reflected, resolved, I swore to myself that the mistakes and lapses of the past would never again occur. I mapped out a course for the future and decided to follow it faithfully. A blind faith was born in me that I could and would fulfill it all. How I longed for freedom and cried for it to come quickly. I wanted to try my strength in a new struggle..."

Ah, I feel so grateful that I'm not in prison!

But then, how come these lines have moved me deeply?

Is it because through these written words, an intangible substance within was given its form? Just a thought.

Well, the good thing is...

Now, I find my circumstances more bearable because I know things could get worse.

Ah, there's a better way of putting it--my soul has been purged. Just a bit.

Dazzled

... The Forge ...
... the title of the first chapter of The Forge, a little book I was reading this morning while waiting for my sweet black tea to cool off and while munching the imported Bacolod pastries bought by my sister at a nearby grocery store. It's funny when I think of how I used to take these pastries for granted when I was back home!
Ah, I miss home... and my family.

I chatted with 3 friends who were former classmates in college.
One sent me .jpeg pictures of her group of close friends. They all looked smart, pretty and happy together... so young yet already successful in their career.
Another told me about her life, job and lovelife. She's working in Makati and she's still happy for the past several years with her boyfriend since college.
And my last chat, with one of my close friends in college, reminded me of Kasanag, an Opus Dei Center.
... and what a coincidence! ...Blessed Escriva, the author of The Forge--the little book I was reading this morning--is the founder of Opus Dei!!!

I remember the happy times when we used to go to a school to teach catechism to little kids. I miss those kids. And I miss those memories. And I miss my friends. And I miss college life.
My friend told me she'll be attending a mini-recollection, gospel-reading, reflection, and discussion about the topic of the day in Kasanag... I thirst to join those activities!
Ah, it's good that my tea is cool enough to drink now... I know it won't really quench my thirst. At least I won't burn my lips and throat as I take a consoling sip.

Hmmm... and now, I miss home and my family even more.

Silenced

After a flood of words gush out of my head, my heart, my soul, and typed through the keyboard, onto the pages of this blog, I am silenced.

Content to imagine that my shameful emotions, useless thoughts, and empty reflections
have been documented, and stored in this virtual warehouse,
where I wouldn't dare invite anybody to visit.

Tonight, after reading a book, and after my bedtime prayers,
I am hopeful that I will be able to sleep better and more peacefully.

Nostalgia

It's amazing how I remember everything sweet and wonderful when I feel like I want to cry buckets of tears.

Those moments in a peaceful, faraway town, when I spent my idle time in a quiet chapel
which smelled like a bouquet of flowers on top of a basket of fruits.
Feeling so serene... so quiet... I could even hear myself breathe.

The moment when I visited a monastery and the prayers chanted by monks
brought me to a place I've always wanted to visit but didn't know how
or when.

The moments when I sat among the serene trees
at the garden inside the school campus just in front of the retreat house,
where only the image of Our Lady accompanied me in silence,
while I reflected on my past and imagined my future.

The moments when I stood by the window on the third floor of the school library,
staring at the leaves of trees dancing gracefully with the tune of the soft, cool breeze
inviting me to listen to something so beautiful,
yet inaudible.

The moments when I knelt at the university chapel after choosing the least conspicuous place,
so nobody could disturb me as I listen to the chirping of the birds,
oblivious to all the cares of college life and of the world.

The moments when I stayed in the classroom or walked along the campus corridors during an ordinary tropical rain,
staring at the droplets of water washing the dust off the leaves of trees,
feeling so refreshed... so new!

The moments when I sat alone in the car, hidden from the indifferent eyes of friends and acquaintances,
crying buckets of tears.

Ah!...now I remember. I do know how to cry buckets of tears.

Empty

...and lost.

The ebb of everything has come.

The radio is in full volume yet the house remains so quiet.
Even a pint of triple chocolate ice cream couldn't fill the vacuum.

I miss everybody, but it seems nobody ever misses me.
Why do I have to be so far away?

Hopefully, the climate will improve very soon.
The temperature will be cooler,
the beautiful clouds will cheer me up,
and I shall learn how to appreciate this momentary emptiness.

Colourless

The colourful images of internet sites only emphasize the contrast
Between how vibrant life could be and how bleak my current life is.

Everything is in black and white. And grey.

Is there something wrong with my eyes?
With my heart?
Or with my soul?
Or maybe there's something wrong with everything.

And if it will take much time for my eyes to see different hues again,
I shall pray to God to send me customized, colourful eyeshades.

Nanay

An angel sent down from heaven...
Who loved her family selflessly, unconditionally and truly.
I shall be forever grateful for everything that the Almighty Father in heaven
Has bestowed upon me through her.

The wisdom and guidance,
The wonderful stories,
The hugs and kisses,
The life... and love.