Darkness and Light

In Your Farm

I have nothing
but a piece of white paper
and a black ink pen.

How do I capture the night
awash in a million flickering lights
from fireflies that will not see the dawn of day?

How do I record the scene of overwhelming awe
of a blanket of golden lights covering the fields of black
overflowing beyond the dark horizon?

How shall I trace each blade of grass silhouetted
only by an eighth of a moon and blurred by the sizzling lights,
what about the flowers and leaves?

My eyes did not see the darkness
nor did my ears hear the quiet stillness
of the night when you were there.

I was only told by our youngest sister,
her words filled with excitement
and longing

For you have been gone for a while.
sometimes I cannot remember how long
all I know is that I miss you.

Everyday I feel the space
you left in that place where the nights are awash in a million lights
from fireflies that will not see the dawn of day.

I see the flickering lights when I open my eyes
and hear the silence of the fading night, it is morning
and you dwell in my heart.

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The Land Where You Once Walked, Where We Now Walk Without You By Our Side But In Our Hearts...

This is your farm, where you once walked. That is the front of the house we called our home, where you spent your days as a teenager and young adult until you moved in with Inday Ched. She was so happy when you kept her company. She no longer felt alone. Then there were six of us at U.P., so quiet while we studied, so noisy while we laughed and cooked popetchka. I was so happy and so proud of you when you graduated from law school. I was there! We climbed to the rooftop at dusk and we saw the sunset. You were there when I left for the U.S. Every time Inday Frey or I would come home, you always met us. When Inday Frey and I went home for Tatay's funeral, everyone had gone home but you waited for us because you did not want us to make the flight home by ourselves. The last three times Inday Frey and I came back you were no longer able to meet us or even see us go. Instead we saw you leave. We miss you so much. Everyday, in fact. We think of you everyday, several times a day. I think of you. I think of everyone. I cannot breathe when I do that. There is a lump in my throat. It hurts just the way it did when I saw you the last time. There are only 28 days this February but it feels so full. It is Mom's birthday anniversary. You and Tatay left in February. It is Inday Ched's birthday. I shall be happy for Inday Ched, yes I will call. And I will be sad because you won't be there. I miss you Inday Leah. Every time I blog I think of you. My heart aches. And you did not see my acorn blog! I know you would have been been tickled and delighted with that. I imagine you would have laughed and giggled. I love you.

I miss Mom. I miss Sammy. I miss Tatay. I miss Nanay. I love you.

Happy Birthday Inday Ched. You are the best teacher I ever had and the most beautiful; you are my favorite, ever! I love you. Happy Birthday!!! I shall eat chocolates for your sake. The things I do because I love you. Hehehehehe!

Ah yes, February is the month of love. Tsup!

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Go Eat French Fries

Good morning!!! Today is Saturday. I have many plans for today. As it turned out, I have not done anything I intended to do. Oh, speaking of "intended." Illustration Friday's prompt is "Intention." I started a new drawing last night. I am almost done with it. It measures 11"x14" and it is not an acorn! 

You see my new layout? And oh, my gosh --- COLORS!!! The new layout is courtesy of my daughter who spent Saturday morning with me. I was in the kitchen drawing, drinking coffee and playing Words with my best friend. My daughter started telling me about this week's school activities. We moved to my bedroom and laid in bed looking at a fashion blog. We were laughing. Then she turned to me and said "Mom, your blog is depressing!" I told her why it was that way and she replied "I know Mom, but you should be celebrating Tita Leah's life, not mourning her death."

My daughter was very happy this morning as she relayed her experiences during the district science fair. "I met new friends!" When I heard that, something awakened me from within. It was a different sort of melancholy. I certainly miss my sister. I don't know how long I will remain sad, maybe forever. Maybe it will be a part of my life from now on but I cannot deny that I am surrounded by life and joy. I started thinking what she would have wanted me to do, just like my Mother who told us before she died that she wanted each and everyone of us to be sad only for a good while but then live and love fully and take care of each other. That is what my sisters and brothers and I did and do. 

Yet somehow, I cannot seem to shake the sadness that dwells in my heart, of losing my sister. She was the brightest, most gifted and the most brilliant among us. She was a fierce yet gentle soul. I see her in my mind, smiling at me. My daughter used to imitate her laugh, the kind of laugh without opening her mouth. My daughter sounded just like her until one day she said, "Oh Mom I cannot do it like Tita Leah anymore." I urged her to keep trying until she got it back. I was relieved and we both laughed. How wonderful is that? My brainy and brilliant sister recalled by my brainy and brilliant daughter through her laugh. My daughter is right. I shall do my utmost in whatever endeavor I set myself to do. Along with my drawing last night, a story came to mind, about journeys and baggage. In my story, the best journey is attained by the absence of baggage. Each of us was assigned a set of luggage when we were born. The goal is to use that luggage, multiply it, share it but use it up for good. It will afford our soul tokens in the form of fireflies that will light the way. Thousands of fireflies to last the journey, however, that journey is set with peril for a little boat can only hold much. So use up the luggage, share it, give it. You won't need it in another life. That's my story and I am sticking to it.  

Life goes on and indeed it requires our attention. My nephew had an emergency appendectomy the other day and my sister-in-law was hospitalized yesterday. There is always something new to mind and attend. I wish them both a speedy recovery. 

Thank you for the tender comments these past days. I may not have responded publicly to each and everyone of them but they are valued. To my best friend, there is a reason why you are my best friend. Thank you so very much for being most patient, most understanding and the kindest.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone, or at least try.

Oh, I almost forgot. The scene above is the sky and mountain range overlooking my sister's farm. The photo on the left reminds me of priorities and fate. Here in the US we fuss over safety with our seat belts and other regulations. This was the road on the way to my sister's farm. I was not able to visit but my sister Freah, did. She snapped this photo of a jeepney ahead of them, overflowing with passengers. I wonder what the regulators in Congress would make of it.

My Sister Who Loved Leaves And Very Tiny Flowers

Errr...sidewalk in front of our walled house.

My mother was a gardener. She filled our yard with so many plants, trees and bushes that our house was not visible from the street. The photo on the left was taken during the early stages of our garden. There were palm trees, mango trees, bananas, an acacia tree, a variety of fruit trees like avocado, santol, star apple, guava, atis, and banaba (cherimoya). We had plots of casava, yams and sweet potatoes; a grove of sugarcane, and of course orchids and other flowering plants. We had vegetables growing among flowering plants. Her love for gardening and her green thumb was inherited by my sisters and the older of my two elder brothers. The younger of my elder brothers just loves taking photographs of trees, flowers and plants. One of our chores was to tend to the garden. My role was to pump the water from the well and carry the heavy buckets of water for my sisters to sprinkle the plots with a can by hand. We did not use a hose. The photo above is the front of our house where I grew up, this is outside the wall and gate (by the electric post). The garden spilled into the sidewalk, er, there is no more sidewalk! Below are some plant leaves and flowers I took of the potted garden in my sister Mercedes's house. These were plants that Leah loved because of their leaves.

I am not so fond of flowers. Oh I mean I love flowers. I love filling my house with flowers on vases. But I love leaves and tree trunks, bark and twigs. I love plants with miniature flowers, in fact the smaller the flower, the better. I actually love weeds with very tiny flowers that may only be examined with a magnifying glass. When my children were young, they thought I looked so weird kneeling in the yard examining miniature weed flowers. They are used to me by now. :)

So I was thrilled when one day, while my eldest sister and I were walking through her potted garden and yard, she told me that my sister Leah loved plants and trees because...

of their leaves and tiny flowers!

(The blue flower is about a third the size of the nail nail of my little finger.)

 Ah, Inday Leah loved wild plants and trees too and flowers. She had beautiful flowers and wild plants and trees in her farm. I never had the chance to visit her farm...

Perhaps, someday.

Good morning! Wake up, It's your Birthday...

Wednesday, June 16, 2010 10:27 AM

Good night Nene Cecil. Thank you for everything. I have two meetings tomorrow, a criminal case in the afternoon, and a deadline for the Supreme Court. Good night.

Happy Birthday, Son and Inday Leah

From the "Shed A Tear" collection.

My mind is agitated and my heart is healing and then breaking and then healing and then breaking.

Today, nineteen years ago, I was hanging from a trapeze. The obstetrician and nurses were running out of options and before they took out the big gadgets and the last option of rushing me to the operating room, they let me hang from a trapeze, the way the Indians did long ago, so I can deliver my baby. It did not work. My obstetrician told my husband that our son's heart and brain waves were strong and healthy, so they were avoiding an emergency cesarean section. They will use some gadgets and do some bedside procedures and if they don't work, then they have to rush me to the operating room. I have been in labor for 17 hours. My epidural anesthesia has worn off hours ago and I finally prayed that I would not die for I would feel horrible  leaving my husband with a newborn. I felt a huge sucking sensation. My obstetrician used the vacuum, the forceps and performed a fourth degree episiotomy that prevented me from sitting down for two months after delivery. My son was born. I was so exhausted I could not even lift my arms to touch him nor turn my head towards to kiss him. My husband said our son was so alert and just looking around. For nineteen years he has put me on the edge. He is the most loving, faithful, loyal and protective young man I know. When he was young, he did not want me to stand in the driveway in the evening because he was worried that people will drive by and hurt me. I listened to him so he would stop worrying. He makes me proud and happy.

Today, he shares his birthday with my sister Leah. True to her word and promise, my sister Leah celebrated Christmas with my sister Mercedes and then her birthday today. I could not call because I could not get an international line. I could not call her because she could not talk to me. She continues to struggle with cancer. 

My heart is bursting with pain. Sometimes tears fall like a mountain cataract because I am so angry that the kindest, most altruistic, most intelligent, brilliant and smartest of my siblings has been deprived of her brilliant mind. I am so sad. Dammit. I am sorry for cursing, but my heart aches. My heart cannot contain my love for my sister. It is the same with my other sisters and brothers and my sisterfriend. It is the same for my husband and my children. So here I am. I am so happy that my son and all of us here have come a long way from the growing pains and yet my anguished mind and my breaking heart is blinding me with tears. 

No amount of squiggling can relieve that sensation. I suppose I should be honored and grateful for I am awake and can write this... my sister cannot.

I really wish that love had real power...


P.S. When my son was a baby, I used to play Ella Fitzgerald's songbooks and I danced to this song while I carried my son and held his face next to mine.