Awards Night at Green Valley High School
Random thoughts. Brooding ruminations. Contemplative notions fired up by my muse. Reactive purgings. Serendipitously brilliant ideas. And sometimes, even tender moments carefully articulated.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
ANOTHER LOST TREASURE It was a balmy Saturday afternoon when the postman delivered the mail. He had been knocking on the gate patiently until the maid walked over to pick up a wad of envelopes from his pack. After sorting through bills and unwanted mail, the maid pulled out an envelope made of fine, almost translucent linen paper. My name was written in dark blue India ink in beautiful cursive. It was from a boy I knew. I was 15 years old.
Nearly every afternoon, at least three boys would come to our house to spend a couple of hours with me. They were not from my school or neighborhood. They had to take public transportation to get to my house which, in some cases, was not a pleasant endeavor considering the sultry heat of Manila, the dust and the crazy traffic on narrow roads. Sometimes, they came with little gifts or trinkets. Most of the time, they came unannounced just for a chance to be with me. Back then, in the mid-seventies, this was how boys went "courting".
Courting. That word is so seldom used in this day and age. It almost seems archaic. But I always had a gaggle of boys trying to win my favor. It was a delightful time.
Cellphones and email are now the de riguer ways to communicate and texting has replaced the fine art of letter-writing. It's a cold and metallic way to curry favor. No one really knows the context of the texts. They're always short and abrupt. Most of all, emotionless. In order to soften the harshness, people can add emoticons---icons that express emotions. It's all so...contrived. I am not sure that my children---especially my daughters---will experience the joy and exhilaration of receiving love letters. It would be such a shame if this were indeed, true.
As soon as I saw the name of the boy on the return address, I was taken aback. Why would he write to me? I never thought he was interested in me. So I took my best letter opener and carefully pried the envelope flap open. I pulled out four pages of crisp vellum paper with hand-written cursive beautifully done with an old fashioned fountain pen.
My dearest one.
His first three wonderful words and my heart already melted. He spoke of wonderful things-- how he yearns for me and how he longs to hear my voice everyday. He described how he feels everytime he sees me and talks to me. He tells me how he treasures every moment with me. He confesses that he took my handkerchief and how it smells of my perfume. He keeps it in his pocket wherever he goes. He tells me I'm the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and that when I sing and play my guitar, he feels as though he were in a trance. He writes about his jealous moments when he sees me talking to another boy or when I pay too much attention to this boy and the other. He reveals his dreams, his fears and his hopes. He tells me that he adores me. And finally, he professes that he is inlove with me.
I remember the beating of my heart as I read his sentences over and over. I purposely read each word slowly, digesting every meaning, every essence, every substance. My knees begin to weaken and I feel my lips begin to tingle. I get dizzy. I mistake my hyperventilating for swooning because I really do feel like fainting. My emotions run high. And then he quotes Jose Garcia Villa:
How could I essay the intensity of my love when silence speaks a more eloquent tone. But perhaps you didn't understand. Remember I came because the gnawing loneliness is there and will be lost until the music is sung...until the poem is heard...until you come to me again. For you alone can blend music and memory into one consuming ecstasy. You alone.
He then ends the letter with an affirmation of his love and longing. I remember how my hands were shaking and tears began to run down my cheeks...not because I felt the same way but because the words he wrote were powerful and earnest. Well, and also I felt a sense of loneliness for him because beautiful as his words may have been, I could not reciprocate his feelings at that time. But he impressed me and I never forgot that moment. Obviously.
These are words that cannot be texted on a cellphone. And these are words that carry only emptiness on email. There is something to be said about a handwritten letter--there is power in every curve, every mistake, every squiggle. At times the pen seems literally heavy. At times, the handwriting is dainty. At times it can be deliberate and at times, wanton. Then there is the choice of paper or stationery. Or ink. Sometimes a scent. There was even a time when placing the stamp upside down meant something.
The wonder of the handwritten note is a treasure of communication and human interaction that is valuable...even priceless during these days of electronic messaging. It is a lost art that I wish would have a revival. But a serious revival. For the sake of the future, I sure hope so.
Nearly every afternoon, at least three boys would come to our house to spend a couple of hours with me. They were not from my school or neighborhood. They had to take public transportation to get to my house which, in some cases, was not a pleasant endeavor considering the sultry heat of Manila, the dust and the crazy traffic on narrow roads. Sometimes, they came with little gifts or trinkets. Most of the time, they came unannounced just for a chance to be with me. Back then, in the mid-seventies, this was how boys went "courting".
Courting. That word is so seldom used in this day and age. It almost seems archaic. But I always had a gaggle of boys trying to win my favor. It was a delightful time.
Cellphones and email are now the de riguer ways to communicate and texting has replaced the fine art of letter-writing. It's a cold and metallic way to curry favor. No one really knows the context of the texts. They're always short and abrupt. Most of all, emotionless. In order to soften the harshness, people can add emoticons---icons that express emotions. It's all so...contrived. I am not sure that my children---especially my daughters---will experience the joy and exhilaration of receiving love letters. It would be such a shame if this were indeed, true.
As soon as I saw the name of the boy on the return address, I was taken aback. Why would he write to me? I never thought he was interested in me. So I took my best letter opener and carefully pried the envelope flap open. I pulled out four pages of crisp vellum paper with hand-written cursive beautifully done with an old fashioned fountain pen.
My dearest one.
His first three wonderful words and my heart already melted. He spoke of wonderful things-- how he yearns for me and how he longs to hear my voice everyday. He described how he feels everytime he sees me and talks to me. He tells me how he treasures every moment with me. He confesses that he took my handkerchief and how it smells of my perfume. He keeps it in his pocket wherever he goes. He tells me I'm the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and that when I sing and play my guitar, he feels as though he were in a trance. He writes about his jealous moments when he sees me talking to another boy or when I pay too much attention to this boy and the other. He reveals his dreams, his fears and his hopes. He tells me that he adores me. And finally, he professes that he is inlove with me.
I remember the beating of my heart as I read his sentences over and over. I purposely read each word slowly, digesting every meaning, every essence, every substance. My knees begin to weaken and I feel my lips begin to tingle. I get dizzy. I mistake my hyperventilating for swooning because I really do feel like fainting. My emotions run high. And then he quotes Jose Garcia Villa:
How could I essay the intensity of my love when silence speaks a more eloquent tone. But perhaps you didn't understand. Remember I came because the gnawing loneliness is there and will be lost until the music is sung...until the poem is heard...until you come to me again. For you alone can blend music and memory into one consuming ecstasy. You alone.
He then ends the letter with an affirmation of his love and longing. I remember how my hands were shaking and tears began to run down my cheeks...not because I felt the same way but because the words he wrote were powerful and earnest. Well, and also I felt a sense of loneliness for him because beautiful as his words may have been, I could not reciprocate his feelings at that time. But he impressed me and I never forgot that moment. Obviously.
These are words that cannot be texted on a cellphone. And these are words that carry only emptiness on email. There is something to be said about a handwritten letter--there is power in every curve, every mistake, every squiggle. At times the pen seems literally heavy. At times, the handwriting is dainty. At times it can be deliberate and at times, wanton. Then there is the choice of paper or stationery. Or ink. Sometimes a scent. There was even a time when placing the stamp upside down meant something.
The wonder of the handwritten note is a treasure of communication and human interaction that is valuable...even priceless during these days of electronic messaging. It is a lost art that I wish would have a revival. But a serious revival. For the sake of the future, I sure hope so.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
That Unexpected Wave
THAT UNEXPECTED WAVE
My father died nearly 18 years ago. He was only 59 years old and until he found out he had late stage liver cancer, felt indestructible. Hannah was barely a year old. She does not remember him at all. And she will graduate from high school in about 10 days. She will deliver the valedictory address. My father would have loved to have been there. I believe he would have moved heaven and hell to be there. Can he do it from where he's at? Can I hold him to that now that he's passed on? For a moment there, I felt out of control. Of course, not.
I find myself weeping again this morning. I feel a lot of emotions. I thought I was past all these. I thought I had moved on. I thought I mostly felt peace about his death, his life, his person. And then an unexpected wave hits me and I feel like drowning again. The wounds open and the salt water stings...again. Old feelings resurface. I am angry that he did not live his life in such a way that he can gifted with time...to spend with his only grandchildren. I feel great sorrow that my children cannot experience his joie de vivre...his talents, his affections, his generosity. I feel cheated that I can't hear him play the piano. I see scenarios in my head--events that he would have loved: playing the piano with my children, having a family jazz band, hearing their music, their creations, their accomplishments. Yes, I am weeping again. For him. For all of us. I find myself crying because I feel frustration and a gnawing sense of helplessness. And then again, anger that I had to be put in this 'place'. And then I wonder if I will ever just forget and move on.
Hannah broke up with Nate two weeks ago and has decided to move on. We thought it was going well... until she found out Nate was going on a date this weekend. She thought she was at peace with her decision and excited about the many adventures that lay before her. She was surprised that this seeming insignificant event would stop her on her tracks and reopen her hurt and pain...and even make her second guess her decision or worse, her own worth. Intellectually, she knows she's past all these and has forgiven Nate for the hurt and pain he caused her. But now she's hurting...again. She wonders if she can just really move on and forget about him...really, really just not even care.
My best friend just found out that her ex-husband and his new wife are having a baby. Their third child together is now 18 years old! Their son's son will be older than his baby. Everybody is hurt. No one can be happy for them even if they should. She thought she had moved on. It's been over eight years since their divorce and she's happily married to the man of her dreams. But this latest event opened up the old wounds. She discovered that there is another nail that she needed to hammer on the coffin of her dissolved marriage. And she thought she had nailed the last one. Now she has to go through everything all over again. She wonders why she feels this way when she's already moved on. She's happy. She's content. But she feels hurt. Can she just get past this now?
After two decades of criticism and judgment from my husband's family, I slowly begin to realize that I can count on this behavior just as surely as I can count on the sun rising in the east. My indignation and hurt slowly and surely through the years begin to evolve as I painfully adjust to the ever consistent harshness and judgment. At first, my indignation and hurt and even anger, festered to the point where physical pain began to manifest in so many different ways. But through time, prayer, counseling and hopefully, constant evaluation of my merits, I realize that I have no control over what others think of me and I decide to let the hurt, pain and anger dissipate into a manageable indifference. I focus on my own nuclear family and concentrate on serving them, caring for them and most of all, loving them with all my heart, might and mind. Slowly, peace takes the place of strife. I realize that forgiving the people who continue to judge me through the years does not necessarily mean that I must condone their actions. And that I don't have to participate and allow myself to be skewered...that it is allowable to withdraw if the behavior damages me without feeling rancor or anger towards the perpetrator. Letting the natural consequences of their actions happen can free us all. And then, just when I think I am finally at peace and impervious to their actions, it happens all over again even when I have retreated and isolated myself. Again, I wonder if this will ever change. This time, I no longer feel offended. Acceptance has finally taken the place of offense. I put everything in a safe place and trust that God will take care of everything. Peace and reassurance is restored in my heart because I know that I am the only one who is responsible for my pain---that I can choose to take offense or simply let it slide another time.
Forgiveness is a principle that we all too often take for granted. We always think that we can forgive and forget. But "forgetting" is not really feasible unless we can induce selective amnesia which is so stupid because that doesn't really happen. Remembering can be a blessing. It allows us to learn. It gives us perspective. And it allows us the opportunity to heal...and forgive again and again. Knowing it is the person we forgive and not the deed gives me a clear perspective of how life can be lived. God does not look at sin with any degree of tolerance but he continues to love us despite our imperfections. Forgiveness does not mean condoning sin but rather, letting go of rancor, anger, judgment and harshness towards the person who offends you. It is not an easy task but it is required of us to forgive. We cannot concentrate on the losses but we can look forward to healing...and hopefully, wisdom and clarity.
There will always be milestones in our lives when the realization or the remembrance of what was lost becomes acute again. Our lives invariably interconnect with the souls of those who touch ours in more ways than we can imagine. At times we sit in our reverie and smile at the bounty of the joys of our shared experiences and at times, without warning or provocation, past yearnings sweep into our hearts like a sudden wave. At times it's just another nail to the coffin of a haplessly exhumed relationship long since buried. At times it's a prick from a bitter past already archived in the far recesses of our remembrance files. And seventy times seven, we take the privilege to forgive again and let bitter feelings that have resurfaced ebb and abate. It is a divine cycle gifted to us...a subtle reminder that choosing forgiveness and letting go of the humanness that enslaves us can render us divine.
Update: After, three crazy "break-ups", Nate and Hannah still have a special 'friendship' going on. And the 'break-ups", as both refer to them, have now been described as 'idiotic'. Crazy. It's been over a year and a half now and they still feel deeply for each other. But she's doing very well in BYU and Nate is doing well finishing up his senior year. Though no one has any idea that there's something special going on-- I mean, NO ONE-- they've just picked up where they left, are still inlove with each other and still communicate regularly. It's like...a secret romance going on and nobody knows about it though they're not keeping it a secret. It'll be interesting to see how long they can keep this up.
I find myself weeping again this morning. I feel a lot of emotions. I thought I was past all these. I thought I had moved on. I thought I mostly felt peace about his death, his life, his person. And then an unexpected wave hits me and I feel like drowning again. The wounds open and the salt water stings...again. Old feelings resurface. I am angry that he did not live his life in such a way that he can gifted with time...to spend with his only grandchildren. I feel great sorrow that my children cannot experience his joie de vivre...his talents, his affections, his generosity. I feel cheated that I can't hear him play the piano. I see scenarios in my head--events that he would have loved: playing the piano with my children, having a family jazz band, hearing their music, their creations, their accomplishments. Yes, I am weeping again. For him. For all of us. I find myself crying because I feel frustration and a gnawing sense of helplessness. And then again, anger that I had to be put in this 'place'. And then I wonder if I will ever just forget and move on.
Hannah broke up with Nate two weeks ago and has decided to move on. We thought it was going well... until she found out Nate was going on a date this weekend. She thought she was at peace with her decision and excited about the many adventures that lay before her. She was surprised that this seeming insignificant event would stop her on her tracks and reopen her hurt and pain...and even make her second guess her decision or worse, her own worth. Intellectually, she knows she's past all these and has forgiven Nate for the hurt and pain he caused her. But now she's hurting...again. She wonders if she can just really move on and forget about him...really, really just not even care.
My best friend just found out that her ex-husband and his new wife are having a baby. Their third child together is now 18 years old! Their son's son will be older than his baby. Everybody is hurt. No one can be happy for them even if they should. She thought she had moved on. It's been over eight years since their divorce and she's happily married to the man of her dreams. But this latest event opened up the old wounds. She discovered that there is another nail that she needed to hammer on the coffin of her dissolved marriage. And she thought she had nailed the last one. Now she has to go through everything all over again. She wonders why she feels this way when she's already moved on. She's happy. She's content. But she feels hurt. Can she just get past this now?
After two decades of criticism and judgment from my husband's family, I slowly begin to realize that I can count on this behavior just as surely as I can count on the sun rising in the east. My indignation and hurt slowly and surely through the years begin to evolve as I painfully adjust to the ever consistent harshness and judgment. At first, my indignation and hurt and even anger, festered to the point where physical pain began to manifest in so many different ways. But through time, prayer, counseling and hopefully, constant evaluation of my merits, I realize that I have no control over what others think of me and I decide to let the hurt, pain and anger dissipate into a manageable indifference. I focus on my own nuclear family and concentrate on serving them, caring for them and most of all, loving them with all my heart, might and mind. Slowly, peace takes the place of strife. I realize that forgiving the people who continue to judge me through the years does not necessarily mean that I must condone their actions. And that I don't have to participate and allow myself to be skewered...that it is allowable to withdraw if the behavior damages me without feeling rancor or anger towards the perpetrator. Letting the natural consequences of their actions happen can free us all. And then, just when I think I am finally at peace and impervious to their actions, it happens all over again even when I have retreated and isolated myself. Again, I wonder if this will ever change. This time, I no longer feel offended. Acceptance has finally taken the place of offense. I put everything in a safe place and trust that God will take care of everything. Peace and reassurance is restored in my heart because I know that I am the only one who is responsible for my pain---that I can choose to take offense or simply let it slide another time.
Forgiveness is a principle that we all too often take for granted. We always think that we can forgive and forget. But "forgetting" is not really feasible unless we can induce selective amnesia which is so stupid because that doesn't really happen. Remembering can be a blessing. It allows us to learn. It gives us perspective. And it allows us the opportunity to heal...and forgive again and again. Knowing it is the person we forgive and not the deed gives me a clear perspective of how life can be lived. God does not look at sin with any degree of tolerance but he continues to love us despite our imperfections. Forgiveness does not mean condoning sin but rather, letting go of rancor, anger, judgment and harshness towards the person who offends you. It is not an easy task but it is required of us to forgive. We cannot concentrate on the losses but we can look forward to healing...and hopefully, wisdom and clarity.
There will always be milestones in our lives when the realization or the remembrance of what was lost becomes acute again. Our lives invariably interconnect with the souls of those who touch ours in more ways than we can imagine. At times we sit in our reverie and smile at the bounty of the joys of our shared experiences and at times, without warning or provocation, past yearnings sweep into our hearts like a sudden wave. At times it's just another nail to the coffin of a haplessly exhumed relationship long since buried. At times it's a prick from a bitter past already archived in the far recesses of our remembrance files. And seventy times seven, we take the privilege to forgive again and let bitter feelings that have resurfaced ebb and abate. It is a divine cycle gifted to us...a subtle reminder that choosing forgiveness and letting go of the humanness that enslaves us can render us divine.
Update: After, three crazy "break-ups", Nate and Hannah still have a special 'friendship' going on. And the 'break-ups", as both refer to them, have now been described as 'idiotic'. Crazy. It's been over a year and a half now and they still feel deeply for each other. But she's doing very well in BYU and Nate is doing well finishing up his senior year. Though no one has any idea that there's something special going on-- I mean, NO ONE-- they've just picked up where they left, are still inlove with each other and still communicate regularly. It's like...a secret romance going on and nobody knows about it though they're not keeping it a secret. It'll be interesting to see how long they can keep this up.
Dis and Dat
DIS AND DAT
Having a child graduate valedictorian from a very demanding school is every Filipino mother's dream. But I didn't really give this much gravitas because of the fact that being valedictorian doesn't necessarily mean that you are the smartest of the smarts. It just means that you worked hard to fulfill the requirements necessary to be valedictorian which is no small feat either. But for Hannah, it was something that she decided she would accomplish from the time she was in junior high...and she did. That is commendable because when Hannah decides to do something, she does really does. That's just the way she is. And I am in awe of her.
Tonight is honors night at the high school and she and a few others will be feted. (She will receive a full tuition plus books scholarship at BYU.) Before the ceremony, she gets to play piano for the last time with the jazz band. Frankly, I am looking forward to that more than the ceremony itself. Her piano playing has progressed exponentially and it's such a pleasure to listen to her improv.
I am looking forward to next weekend when the rest of the kids plus Lucy finally come home. Jordan will still be in London but we get to see him in only three weeks! I'm so excited to make the trip. I really need to plan and map out each day that we will be in London and Berlin. I have yet to do that.
My Mac powerbook arrived today...so did Hannah's. I just barely opened the box and I'm so excited to finally have something to work with when I go to the office.
Saw The Painted Veil for the first time last night. I SO enjoyed the movie. It was based on a novel with the same title written by Somerset Maugham. The performances were stellar and wow....Edward Norton is fabulous. There are several scenes that were just genius and the music was superb. I downloaded the French lullaby that plays at the end of the movie called A La Claire Fountain and began learning the lyrics. This will greatly enhance my study of French. I think learning some simple songs will help tremendously.
Tonight is honors night at the high school and she and a few others will be feted. (She will receive a full tuition plus books scholarship at BYU.) Before the ceremony, she gets to play piano for the last time with the jazz band. Frankly, I am looking forward to that more than the ceremony itself. Her piano playing has progressed exponentially and it's such a pleasure to listen to her improv.
I am looking forward to next weekend when the rest of the kids plus Lucy finally come home. Jordan will still be in London but we get to see him in only three weeks! I'm so excited to make the trip. I really need to plan and map out each day that we will be in London and Berlin. I have yet to do that.
My Mac powerbook arrived today...so did Hannah's. I just barely opened the box and I'm so excited to finally have something to work with when I go to the office.
Saw The Painted Veil for the first time last night. I SO enjoyed the movie. It was based on a novel with the same title written by Somerset Maugham. The performances were stellar and wow....Edward Norton is fabulous. There are several scenes that were just genius and the music was superb. I downloaded the French lullaby that plays at the end of the movie called A La Claire Fountain and began learning the lyrics. This will greatly enhance my study of French. I think learning some simple songs will help tremendously.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)