"the brave may not live forever but the cautious does not live at all"
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
the music coming from the house
this is a story shared by paulo coelho through his enewsletter last christmas season.
i was deeply moved by the story and i like to share it with you. here goes:
i was deeply moved by the story and i like to share it with you. here goes:
The music coming from the house
Paulo Coelho
On Christmas Eve, the king invited the prime minister to join him for their usual walk together. He enjoyed seeing the decorations in the streets, but since he didn’t want his subjects to spend too much money on these just to please him, the two men always disguised themselves as traders from some far distant land.
They walked through the centre of the city, admiring the lights, the Christmas trees, the candles burning on the steps of the houses, the stalls selling gifts, and the men, women and children hurrying off to celebrate a family Christmas around a table laden with food.
On the way back, they passed through a poorer area, where the atmosphere was quite different. There were no lights, no candles, no delicious smells of food about to be served. There was hardly a soul in the street, and, as he did every year, the king remarked to the prime minister that he really must pay more attention to the poor in his kingdom. The prime minister nodded, knowing that the matter would soon be forgotten again, buried beneath the day-to-day bureaucracy of budgets to be approved and discussions with foreign dignitaries.
Suddenly, they heard music coming from one of the poorest houses. The hut was so ramshackle and the rotten wooden timbers so full of cracks, that they were able to peer through and see what was happening inside. And what they saw was utterly absurd: an old man in a wheelchair apparently crying, a shaven-headed young woman dancing, and a young man with sad eyes shaking a tambourine and singing a folk song.
‘I’m going to find out what they’re up to,’ said the king.
He knocked. The music stopped, and the young man came to the door.
‘We are merchants in search of a place to sleep. We heard the music, saw that you were still awake, and wondered if we could spend the night here.’
‘You can find shelter in a hotel in the city. We, alas, cannot help you. Despite the music, this house is full of sadness and suffering.’
‘And may we know why?’
‘It’s all because of me.’ It was the old man in the wheelchair who spoke. ‘I’ve spent my life teaching my son calligraphy, so that he could one day get a job as a palace scribe. But the years have passed and no post has ever come up. And then, last night, I had a stupid dream: an angel appeared to me and asked me to buy a silver goblet because, the angel said, the king would be coming to visit me. He would drink from the goblet and give my son a job.
‘The angel was so persuasive that I decided to do as he said. Since we have no money, my daughter-in-law went to the market this morning to sell her hair so that we could buy that goblet over there. The two of them are doing their best to get me in the Christmas spirit by singing and dancing, but it’s no use.’
The king saw the silver goblet, asked to be given a little water to quench his thirst and, before leaving, said to the family:
‘Do you know, we were talking to the prime minister only today, and he told us that an opening for a palace scribe would be announced next week.’
The old man nodded, not really believing what he was hearing, and bade farewell to the strangers. The following morning, however, a royal proclamation was read out in all the city streets; a new scribe was needed at court. On the appointed day, the audience room at the palace was packed with people eager to compete for that much-sought-after post. The prime minister entered and asked everyone there to prepare their paper and pens:
‘Here is the subject of the composition: Why is an old man weeping, a shaven-headed woman dancing, and a sad young man singing?’
A murmur of disbelief went round the room. No one knew how to tell such a story, apart, that is, from the shabbily dressed young man sitting in one corner, who smiled broadly and began to write.
Based on an Indian story.
Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa
Paulo Coelho
On Christmas Eve, the king invited the prime minister to join him for their usual walk together. He enjoyed seeing the decorations in the streets, but since he didn’t want his subjects to spend too much money on these just to please him, the two men always disguised themselves as traders from some far distant land.
They walked through the centre of the city, admiring the lights, the Christmas trees, the candles burning on the steps of the houses, the stalls selling gifts, and the men, women and children hurrying off to celebrate a family Christmas around a table laden with food.
On the way back, they passed through a poorer area, where the atmosphere was quite different. There were no lights, no candles, no delicious smells of food about to be served. There was hardly a soul in the street, and, as he did every year, the king remarked to the prime minister that he really must pay more attention to the poor in his kingdom. The prime minister nodded, knowing that the matter would soon be forgotten again, buried beneath the day-to-day bureaucracy of budgets to be approved and discussions with foreign dignitaries.
Suddenly, they heard music coming from one of the poorest houses. The hut was so ramshackle and the rotten wooden timbers so full of cracks, that they were able to peer through and see what was happening inside. And what they saw was utterly absurd: an old man in a wheelchair apparently crying, a shaven-headed young woman dancing, and a young man with sad eyes shaking a tambourine and singing a folk song.
‘I’m going to find out what they’re up to,’ said the king.
He knocked. The music stopped, and the young man came to the door.
‘We are merchants in search of a place to sleep. We heard the music, saw that you were still awake, and wondered if we could spend the night here.’
‘You can find shelter in a hotel in the city. We, alas, cannot help you. Despite the music, this house is full of sadness and suffering.’
‘And may we know why?’
‘It’s all because of me.’ It was the old man in the wheelchair who spoke. ‘I’ve spent my life teaching my son calligraphy, so that he could one day get a job as a palace scribe. But the years have passed and no post has ever come up. And then, last night, I had a stupid dream: an angel appeared to me and asked me to buy a silver goblet because, the angel said, the king would be coming to visit me. He would drink from the goblet and give my son a job.
‘The angel was so persuasive that I decided to do as he said. Since we have no money, my daughter-in-law went to the market this morning to sell her hair so that we could buy that goblet over there. The two of them are doing their best to get me in the Christmas spirit by singing and dancing, but it’s no use.’
The king saw the silver goblet, asked to be given a little water to quench his thirst and, before leaving, said to the family:
‘Do you know, we were talking to the prime minister only today, and he told us that an opening for a palace scribe would be announced next week.’
The old man nodded, not really believing what he was hearing, and bade farewell to the strangers. The following morning, however, a royal proclamation was read out in all the city streets; a new scribe was needed at court. On the appointed day, the audience room at the palace was packed with people eager to compete for that much-sought-after post. The prime minister entered and asked everyone there to prepare their paper and pens:
‘Here is the subject of the composition: Why is an old man weeping, a shaven-headed woman dancing, and a sad young man singing?’
A murmur of disbelief went round the room. No one knew how to tell such a story, apart, that is, from the shabbily dressed young man sitting in one corner, who smiled broadly and began to write.
Based on an Indian story.
Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa
Sunday, January 11, 2009
my view
sa likod ng bahay sa batangas. ang mt. makiling na tanaw mula sa paliparan. paglubog ng araw sa bukid.
above me. (top left - clockwise) cotton candy clouds in batangas. view from a cab in katipunan. look for the witch. afternoon sky from my window, look for a face. i'm not ready to die -- not yet
today started out as okay.
my daughter wakes me up by crawling over me or pulling my hair which causes me to smile even before i open my eyes.
we did our morning drill. bath. sleep. eat and play.
at times when i have to go grocery shopping,which i did today. i leave her to her lola who is very fond of her. i don't worry much when i'm away because i know she's with people who care as mush as i do.
i'm with my cousin, jessica in this supermarket in landmark that i'm not familiar with but its better than the one i use to go to. they have long aisles that took most of my time so i'm out long enough to really miss my baby.
on our way home, i tried to call my tita to check on my girl and tell her that we'll be home shortly if there is no traffic but my phone just shut off. i told my cousin to just text them and ask how my daughter is doing. they replied that she wouldn't take her milk and wont stop crying.
good thing the driver isn't old, he drives like he is being chased. i'm cool with it at that time.
then suddenly my cousins companion asked what date it is as if something important just happened or will happen. i knew the answer i'm just not in the mood to speak. then they decided to drop by this liquor store like it cant wait. they are walking too slow which never really bothered me before.
i went from worried to paranoid.
minutes after that we are in front of a shoot out that appeared to be a road accident from afar. i thought a tire popped or something but it was a gun shot.
its impossible to go through having cars piled in the middle of the street with its doors open as if the passengers just strike out. then men with guns, long firearms shooting at a guy in motorcycle not too far from us. we couldn't tell if there were any cops. madmen in jackets with guns is all i see and im just seeing, not thinking -- i can't.
i wanted to just run, get out of the car and just get home.
i thought of one person, my daughter who probably felt her mother isn't in the best condition.
we passed 2 dead bodies that night.
and just then, knowing that we are safe, i broke down in tears. i couldn't even talk. i was terrified. it could have been anybody.
we got home, i get to hold my little girl again. thank GOD.
i embraced her and told her i love her as i always do even if she can't say i love you back, even if she can't understand yet.
my daughter wakes me up by crawling over me or pulling my hair which causes me to smile even before i open my eyes.
we did our morning drill. bath. sleep. eat and play.
at times when i have to go grocery shopping,which i did today. i leave her to her lola who is very fond of her. i don't worry much when i'm away because i know she's with people who care as mush as i do.
i'm with my cousin, jessica in this supermarket in landmark that i'm not familiar with but its better than the one i use to go to. they have long aisles that took most of my time so i'm out long enough to really miss my baby.
on our way home, i tried to call my tita to check on my girl and tell her that we'll be home shortly if there is no traffic but my phone just shut off. i told my cousin to just text them and ask how my daughter is doing. they replied that she wouldn't take her milk and wont stop crying.
good thing the driver isn't old, he drives like he is being chased. i'm cool with it at that time.
then suddenly my cousins companion asked what date it is as if something important just happened or will happen. i knew the answer i'm just not in the mood to speak. then they decided to drop by this liquor store like it cant wait. they are walking too slow which never really bothered me before.
i went from worried to paranoid.
minutes after that we are in front of a shoot out that appeared to be a road accident from afar. i thought a tire popped or something but it was a gun shot.
its impossible to go through having cars piled in the middle of the street with its doors open as if the passengers just strike out. then men with guns, long firearms shooting at a guy in motorcycle not too far from us. we couldn't tell if there were any cops. madmen in jackets with guns is all i see and im just seeing, not thinking -- i can't.
i wanted to just run, get out of the car and just get home.
i thought of one person, my daughter who probably felt her mother isn't in the best condition.
we passed 2 dead bodies that night.
and just then, knowing that we are safe, i broke down in tears. i couldn't even talk. i was terrified. it could have been anybody.
we got home, i get to hold my little girl again. thank GOD.
i embraced her and told her i love her as i always do even if she can't say i love you back, even if she can't understand yet.
paranoia attacks
nag taxi ako this morning from robinsons to our home.
taxi driver: saan po kayo?
ako: mindanao ave. lang po.
taxi driver: tsk! (ganyan sa mga comics diba..) ang layo! (nagkamot pa ng ulo)
magkano bigay nyo dun?
ako: metro. pero hindi naman po ako ngbabayad ng sakto lalo na kung mabait yung driver.
alam nyang hindi sya mabait kaya siguro natigilan sya.
kahit bawal mangontrata, iniintindi ko yung mga driver na gumagawa ng ganon. marami silang pwedeng idahilan:
-pagmalakas ang ulan
-kung baha sa dadaanan
-kung panglimahan lang ang taxi at anim kayo
-kung mataba ka,tipong in danger ang taxi nya.
-kung marami kang dala
-kung my dala kang pet
-kung laging traffic sa dadaanan
napakadami kaso sya wala,bastos pa na akala mo uutangin ko sa kanya ung pinatak ng metro, na parang hindi ko sya babayaran.
nagpaikot-ikot sya sa kadahilanang pagiwas sa traffic daw na hindi ko naman nakikita and now im starting to bore myself and i bet you are too. (wala e.. gusto ko talaga ikwento..)
basta, that driver was a real asshole. 217.50 lang yung metro,kung hindi sya nagpaikot-ikot baka nga 150 lang e, binigyan ko ng 250 hindi pa natuwa, 300 pa gusto. kung sinabi nya ng maayos baka ibigay ko pa kaso ang sabi "gawin mong 300! wala pang bente dinagdag mo".
gusto ko syang murahin e, sabi ko na lang -- "grabe kayo manong, irereport ko kayo" , sabay takbo.
bawat pisong ginagastos ko sa araw-araw ay pinagpapaguran ng asawa ko (haha..) gusto kong siguraduhin na sa maayos mapupunta, sa talagang may kailangan.
merong mga waitress, barbero at mababait na taxi driver na bigyan mo ng tip na 20php ay masaya na.
merong isang beses na sumakay ako ng taxi na may mabait na driver, kinukwento nya ang pamilya nya at kung pano nila pinagkakasya maliit na kita nya. (ung mga panahon na sobrang mahal ng gasolina at bigas) binigyan ko ng tip na 50php, tuwang-tuwa na sya. binugbog ako ng "salamat ma'am". i could have given him more if i had more money.
but this ungrateful jerk, bibigyan na ng 30php hindi pa natuwa. saan ka pupulot ng 30 ngayon?
dapat pala binigyan ko sya ng saktong 217.50php at ipinang load yung 32.50php para hindi sumama loob ko.
buti na lang may blog ako.
bakit paranoia: takot ako e, alam nya bahay ko.
taxi driver: saan po kayo?
ako: mindanao ave. lang po.
taxi driver: tsk! (ganyan sa mga comics diba..) ang layo! (nagkamot pa ng ulo)
magkano bigay nyo dun?
ako: metro. pero hindi naman po ako ngbabayad ng sakto lalo na kung mabait yung driver.
alam nyang hindi sya mabait kaya siguro natigilan sya.
kahit bawal mangontrata, iniintindi ko yung mga driver na gumagawa ng ganon. marami silang pwedeng idahilan:
-pagmalakas ang ulan
-kung baha sa dadaanan
-kung panglimahan lang ang taxi at anim kayo
-kung mataba ka,tipong in danger ang taxi nya.
-kung marami kang dala
-kung my dala kang pet
-kung laging traffic sa dadaanan
napakadami kaso sya wala,bastos pa na akala mo uutangin ko sa kanya ung pinatak ng metro, na parang hindi ko sya babayaran.
nagpaikot-ikot sya sa kadahilanang pagiwas sa traffic daw na hindi ko naman nakikita and now im starting to bore myself and i bet you are too. (wala e.. gusto ko talaga ikwento..)
basta, that driver was a real asshole. 217.50 lang yung metro,kung hindi sya nagpaikot-ikot baka nga 150 lang e, binigyan ko ng 250 hindi pa natuwa, 300 pa gusto. kung sinabi nya ng maayos baka ibigay ko pa kaso ang sabi "gawin mong 300! wala pang bente dinagdag mo".
gusto ko syang murahin e, sabi ko na lang -- "grabe kayo manong, irereport ko kayo" , sabay takbo.
bawat pisong ginagastos ko sa araw-araw ay pinagpapaguran ng asawa ko (haha..) gusto kong siguraduhin na sa maayos mapupunta, sa talagang may kailangan.
merong mga waitress, barbero at mababait na taxi driver na bigyan mo ng tip na 20php ay masaya na.
merong isang beses na sumakay ako ng taxi na may mabait na driver, kinukwento nya ang pamilya nya at kung pano nila pinagkakasya maliit na kita nya. (ung mga panahon na sobrang mahal ng gasolina at bigas) binigyan ko ng tip na 50php, tuwang-tuwa na sya. binugbog ako ng "salamat ma'am". i could have given him more if i had more money.
but this ungrateful jerk, bibigyan na ng 30php hindi pa natuwa. saan ka pupulot ng 30 ngayon?
dapat pala binigyan ko sya ng saktong 217.50php at ipinang load yung 32.50php para hindi sumama loob ko.
buti na lang may blog ako.
bakit paranoia: takot ako e, alam nya bahay ko.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
lucky number 1!
i sold marbles as a kid. jolen o holen, marble sa mga konyong bata.that was my 1st business.
my first phone was a nokia3310.
my first guitar was an ugly, sucky, finger slicing, inaamag na red donjon. nauupuan ng tito ko,nabali. i have a new baby now, a taylor bigbaby na maraming nagnanasa.
my 1st year in HS was bittersweet. (chocolate!) bitter kasi nangangain ng bata ung algebra teacher namin, sweet kasi pa-sweet pa ‘ko nun.
1st kiss ko, wholesome naman so i can share it. it was quick and dry. see, completely HS.
my 1st climb was mt. banahaw ng quezon.
1st word ko, malamang 'mama' or 'dede'. tatanong ko sa nanay ko pag nagkita kami.
1st movie na napanood sa sine eh ung rubberman ni sir master michael v.
1st crush ko, bigla naman ako nagblush, (pilitin mo ko.. sige na nga..) --janus del prado. (hihimatayin ata ako..)
1st romance (whoo.. steamy..) ung bato sa banahaw! kailangan romansahin, kung hindi, mahuhulog ka sa bangin.
ito, unang post sa, siguro pang6 kong blog. hindi naman din kasi malayo ang nararating ko sa pagbablog before. mga 4 posts lang tinatamad na ko. (kasi walang nagkocomment.. haha.. pulubi) pero ngayon i doesn't matter if someone will read or even notice this blog. (if you do,lucky you!)
i will keep this blog for me.
no matter how cheesy.
blog, you will be my new bff! (weird..)
my first phone was a nokia3310.
my first guitar was an ugly, sucky, finger slicing, inaamag na red donjon. nauupuan ng tito ko,nabali. i have a new baby now, a taylor bigbaby na maraming nagnanasa.
my 1st year in HS was bittersweet. (chocolate!) bitter kasi nangangain ng bata ung algebra teacher namin, sweet kasi pa-sweet pa ‘ko nun.
1st kiss ko, wholesome naman so i can share it. it was quick and dry. see, completely HS.
my 1st climb was mt. banahaw ng quezon.
1st word ko, malamang 'mama' or 'dede'. tatanong ko sa nanay ko pag nagkita kami.
1st movie na napanood sa sine eh ung rubberman ni sir master michael v.
1st crush ko, bigla naman ako nagblush, (pilitin mo ko.. sige na nga..) --janus del prado. (hihimatayin ata ako..)
1st romance (whoo.. steamy..) ung bato sa banahaw! kailangan romansahin, kung hindi, mahuhulog ka sa bangin.
ito, unang post sa, siguro pang6 kong blog. hindi naman din kasi malayo ang nararating ko sa pagbablog before. mga 4 posts lang tinatamad na ko. (kasi walang nagkocomment.. haha.. pulubi) pero ngayon i doesn't matter if someone will read or even notice this blog. (if you do,lucky you!)
i will keep this blog for me.
no matter how cheesy.
blog, you will be my new bff! (weird..)
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