It Takes Him Time

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August 23, 2010. At about 9:30 am, a disgruntled former senior inspector of the Manila Police District boarded and hijacked a tourist bus which carried 21 tourists from Hong Kong and four Filipinos. After almost an hour and a half, six Hong Kong tourists were freed. During noon, three additional hostages were released. By this time, both local and international television channels aired live footage of the kidnapping as the hijacker became more sullen with each passing hour. The drama continued until nightfall. By half past seven, the first shots fired from within the bus were heard and deaths began mounting. Snipers positioned themselves and policemen futilely attempted to break in through the windows and doors. Almost an hour had passed before the hijacker was shot in the head by police marksmen. In the aftermaths of the event, nine were dead including the perpetrator.

Yolanda and the Filipinos

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Haiyan. Yolanda. Whichever the name is, that typhoon has been a great gauge of strength, resiliency, and unity of the Filipino nation.

It was the 7^th of November, 2013 when Yolanda entered the Philippine shores, initially devastating the sleepy town of Guiuan, Eastern Samar. It was night time and the damage it had brought remained unseen, until the dawn of the next day. By November 8, Yolanda crossed the entire islands of Leyte and Samar, with winds up to 315 km/h (195 mph). Along with the furious winds was the gigantic storm surge, waves reaching as high as 5-6 m (15-19 ft). Waters covered the whole City of Tacloban and those who were unfortunate to reach high grounds were drowned and killed. Buildings and churches toppled. Boats and ships were thrown on land. Trees were uprooted and lives were wasted. By November 10, Yolanda exited the country, leaving ruined cities and provinces, broken lives, and a shocked nation.

A Lighted Candle

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Almost five years ago, a year after my father's death, I wrote this sad recollection....

As noisy as it had been, the house is now peaceful. Friends and relatives who came to commemorate with us my father’s first death anniversary had now left. And as lonely as the stillness that enveloped our home are my father’s memories, which a few hours ago, we joyfully shared.

The Road Much Taken

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Nearly two years ago, after a devastating earthquake overwhelmed Japan, I wrote this short reflection....

For more than eight years now, I have been traveling through this road on my way to the office. For this morning, and even for the past mornings, I found it hard to maneuver my motorcycle through this road. The path is really sandy, and along the way, there are humps and holes.

My Father and I

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Two years ago, I wrote this short memorial about my father.... 

Today is my father’s third death anniversary. Three years have already passed but it seems like yesterday. Not that I have not moved on with my life without him, or that I am still haunted with his memories. I simply missed him.

For the Last Time

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Heart-broken and devastated, I wrote this piece three years ago.....

When we love, we give others the power to break us. Even though they don’t want to…

I met her months ago, when the leaves of late September danced to the afternoon breeze. She was so shy to me back then, would hardly smile nor converse. She is beautiful. But her liveliness, her honesty, and her timid gentleness were what attracted me. And the days went by so quickly. I thought the angels wrote the best story for us. Instead, they played tricks.

Stagnation

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Sometimes, we feel we are not moving…

It was around three in the afternoon today. I was traveling alone from Digos City back to my home since my colleague just disembarked the bus earlier. Having no seat mate, I placed my heavy bag beside me on the empty seat. It was cold inside the bus; it must be from the air-conditioning or from the chill wind outside. From my window, I saw angry clouds filling the vast sky. I looked around and still many seats were empty. It must be the incoming storm that limited the number of travelers. Well, it was fine.

Dot On A Painting

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It is like a dot – a single little black dot that stains a picture painted perfect….

There are times when everything seems to momentarily freeze, when your heart seems to stop beating and your lungs seem to pump no more air, and there suddenly lay before you are thousands of snapshots of your whole life. This moment could be anytime in the day – when you are taking a bath, or eating a late lunch, or in between busy hours. Or it could be in the night – when you are listening to old unforgotten music, or reading a paperback, or when you are waiting for sleep to come. Nonetheless, it comes before you know it. And when it comes, it hits like thunder. And you slowly become drained of all possible emotions, like a void inside a shell. Yes, drained of all possible emotions, except for one. Sadness.

Red Leaf

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Through the open door, I watched as the branches of the neem tree danced to the afternoon breeze. Or should I say, as the wind rocked the branches. On a particular branch, near the apex and amidst the immense greenness, I noticed a little leaf, somewhat red. And somewhat parched, and somewhat out of place. If it was located somewhere else, would that branch have swayed differently? Or just the same – the angle, the rhythm, the dynamics, save for the absence of the lonely leaf?