I had a long weekend; probably not as long as yours (I was in the office whole of Nov. 1, tss), but it's the only full and long weekend I have had in a long, long time. Grateful for that long break, I am.

And yeahbadebadoo, I finally got to read one of the books that keep piling up at the foot of my bed. New York Times Bestseller, Oprah's Book Club, National Bestseller, Nobel Prize titlists for the literature, those penned by authors that some of my book-lover friends loved -- I've started purchasing some really good books for the past few weeks. And if I don't mellow down on 'em books, I probabaly never will run out of something good to read until early of next year.. And perhaps I'll be broke by the end of this year. Hehe.

The latest I have read is a sad and poignant and touching memoir by Adeline Yeh Mah, "Falling Leaves". For two nights, I was curled in my nook until past four in the morning, wanting to reach the last of the pages and not wanting to finish reading it at the same time. Ah, the wondeful world of ink and paper I'd gladly trade sleep with. One of the things about me that will never ever change, no matter how fast the world might be spinning and changing around me:)

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It was also a a Las Pinas-and-Laguna weekend with one of my favorite "foster families" here, the Mendozas. Sheezh, I missed the place, missed the people in there. And I realized, maybe, I have grown too comfy with them that it seemed I have not been to that side of Las Pinas for only a week, when in fact the last time I was ever "home" with the Mendozas was three months ago.

Other than Laguna and Las Pinas, I was also in Divisoria last weekend :) Divi divi divi!!! Golly, I missed the grubby sights and smell of the famous tiangge-an, and I missed haggling with the vendors who are almost always armed with their practiced "mam-naman-last-price-na-po, ang-mura-na-nga-nyan-kami-naman-malulugi" lines. Back in college, we girls and badingdongs in the block would go to Divi and buy all the flip flops, tokong, lycra and spag tees, and bags that our not-so-big then college allowance and savings could afford. And we would have tons of fun shopping and bonding with each other. :)

I was with Tita Len and Vky and we bought Christmas decors and a great deal of huge porcelain figurines for the Mendozas, shoes (13 pairs all in all! GASP!) for Vky and me, some tops, at least a couple of dresses, and some really nice bags you also find in malls and in Greenhills - only more expensive by at least a couple hundred bucks per item.

By the time we left the night market at around 10:30 in the evening, we three were grimy and dugyutin and real tired. But we did not mind, if it were for the enormous packages we were able to haggle and the fun we had the whole time. Hmm, some things really never change. :)

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Last night I got an overseas call from one of my best pals since high school, Albert. Abet who also graduated with honors and who topped the Board for the Interior Design and Abet who had to decline few promising job offers to be one of the fellows in the Cultural Exchange program of some big NGO, and Abet who can be just as nuts as I am. Lucky and bigatin Abet! He gets to visit the whole of Southeast Asia, wonderfully disguised as one of our youth ambassadors (*inggit. teehee.*) and he gets to make cliques within that multi-racial culturally-diversed interesting circle.

But what struck me was the way we were talking on the phone -- no, we were not talking, but we were hollering and chortling and shrieking with joy and excitemnent. Haha, so much for trying to behave like the matured, professional adults we now are. Or, are we? Pffft :p

Ahh, and that's just a third of the many items in my heartwarming "Perpetually Constant Stuff About Me/Us" listing.   =)

And I super had fun admiring their adorable selves and costumes, asking for the name and age of some, striking a pose with some more of them. Now I'm trying to decide who had more fun -- the kids who went home with baskets full of sweets and goodies, or a giggling child-once-more ME. Hehehe.

Happy Halloween! :)

the friendly kiddo in Afro wig - sarap kurutin :)

my fave li'l lady bug :) so cute, gusto kong iuwi. hehe

A mother's reassuring touch, probably acclaimed by the the primal laws of nature as the most potent antidote against all of the world's malevolence.
A dear friend's hug -- a long lingering one.
A genuine warm smile. A beam, a twinkle in the eyes.
Finding promises, albeit unspoken, in that someone's eyes. The quiet comfort in simply gazing at each other.

A lone sojourn; road trips that lead to the beckoning undiscovered.
The unadultered joy in soaking in the rain and wading in the puddles, when everyone else would rather be warm, cozy, and dry.

Then there's all the comfort food you find at virtually every candy corner, pastry house, ice cream parlor, coffee shop, grocery stop.
And then there is shopping, or spas, or any other self-pampering remedy.
Or try sweating it out in the track oval, in the gym, in the dance floor. Bury your neck in a heap of gargantuan office work.

Whatever floats your raft, there is always something you can run to at the end of the day when you've had a tad too much of this mad world, when it seems like all the hallowed forces of nature are conspiring against you. Others call it diversion. Distraction. Digression... Healing touch.

...My healing touch. So where is that most potent healing touch? I used to have a lot. I still do.

But why do I want to just run away now?

Laurels to Arlene Chai (no, not Meredith G), for maybe there really is no comfort in numbers; every lonely person thinks his or her yoke is unique.

They say my lola looked so serene you can never miss tracing that easy smile on her face. It was not until the last day of the wake (the day of the funeral) that I did see it for myself.

For a while, I did not have the heart to look at her; I wanted to take with me only memories of her when she was alive (was alive - I have to start getting used to that). I was glad I reconsidered; that image of her lying lifeless will not erase vivid memories of a lola who saw me through since childhood. And oh, she was smiling, indeed.

Sure, I had an awful lot of crying, but surprising it may be, I had no dark, heavy, foreboding feeling when we buried her. Of course I was downright sad, but by the end of the (funeral) ceremony, I was enveloped by that mysteriously breezy feeling for my lola. Magaan. Reassuring. It was a peaceful moment, and I knew, there is eternal peace out there.

I (we) will be missing her, but I am (we are) getting by. She's off to somewhere way lots beautiful than what we have down here.

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Life is pretty much like a seed that has been given - no, lent - to us. We have to nourish it, we ought to keep it growing. We do not know when it is time to surrender that whatever-has-become-of-that seed, but its fate -- from the time the seed's coatings peel off to the time it grows to a thick canopy -- lies in our hands. And what has grown out of that borrowed seed, that's what matters at the end of the day.

Oh, just some thought. One of the many that pensive and perceptive me had (inadvertently) pondered on these last few days. *Was supposed to add a smiley in here, but that might not be too apt.*

This time, I go home to find my grandma lying in a casket (how I abhor the thought). I go home to pay my last respect, to bury grandma.

The last time I ever saw her was on the 15th of July. It was my Kuya's birthday, and we both journeyed home to be able to spend it with the family. Mama (that was how we call grandma) wanted us to spend the night in that old ancestral house where many childhood memories live up to this day. But we were bound for Manila that Sunday afternoon, so albeit her protests ("lambing"), we promised we'll save the overnight for next time.

But there will be no next time, for grandma left us one Friday morning, shortly before September drew its closing. A labored breathing and some chest pain, and she slipped away just like that.

It's quite strange, hearing people say, "I'm sorry to hear that," and "Condolences," probably because this is but the time I was ever at the receiving end of those consoling words. The first time someone close to me has said goodbye to this face of the world; the first time someone in the immediately family die since I was born. And that does not make the grieving and the gravity of the loss any less intense. But I know, whatever I am feeling right now is not even half of what my Mom is going through.

I try to face the day, but I wonder how much more we will be losing, how much pain there is yet to come, how the human spirit can endure all that. I try to say to grandma, why do you have to leave now, you could have hold on to at least a few more years. Call me selfish for that, but a part of me has also accepted the truth that it was her time, and that she has found that eternal peace wherever she might be right now.

Yes, I understand she had to leave now, but it does not make this sadness any less, for a part of us has gone with her.. And we will miss you, grandma.. :'(

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All at Once.
On my way to Eastwood today, I hardly realized I was pondering on vulnerability, and that it was slowly wrapping itself around me until I have given it a form in my mind. Vulnerability, it's like some strange foreign object got inside your chest, ready to rip and tear you apart. And you wanted so bad to run away.. But from what? The gnawing is from within.

I knew I was off to a place magical and beauteous; but it exceeded my expectations, and I was enthralled by the surprises brought by that cold, cold picturesque northern town.

One crazy rollercoaster ride with Mother Nature. The road to Sagada is in itself a sumptuous visual treat (see picture on the left; shot taken when we had to puill over to change a tire). Mina and I were sitting smack behind the driver, where we had a good view of the verdant infirmity stretched before us. For six hours or so, we were driving through endless patches of lush greeneries and pristine mountain water formations. Falls, rivers, spring, we can see them all from the foggy bus window. And oh, the mountains, I have never seen so many verdant moulds in my entire twenty-two years of existence! And we were driving through clouds, as if to cinch that we were indeed on the road to an earthly paradise. It took my breath away, not just figuratively, mind you.

But the six-or-seven-hour visual treat that is the road to Sagada is definitely not for the faint heart. The road was zigzagged, steep, and pretty narrow. It was so narrow (read: single lane) that I wondered how a bus on one lane and a truck on the other manage to make their way through.

Many times, the bus had to back up to a wider side of the road, so as to accommodate the other vehicle coming from where we were headed. And the road was so treacherous that sharp turns are spaced out every few meters or so (think of a giant isaw). And you definitely cannot miss a bump and a jump on the road; the old rickety bus has seen to that. That, plus the extreme rise and dip in the altitude, and we were off to one heck of a crazy rollercoaster ride with Mother Nature.

And I admit, I did enjoy it! Haha! While Mina was clutching the handles at the side of her bus seat and asking me how in the world I got to convince her to join that sojourn, I was excitedly staring down the pine-covered ravines that mark the end of one side of the road. I should have kept track the number of times I gushed "huwaaw," "ang gaanda," and "i looove it." It was a bus ride to remember for as long as I live.

The ultimate Sagada experience. It was already zooming past one in the afternoon when we arrived at Sagada. It was drizzling a bit, and yes, it was cold. There was no valid indication (save for our wristwatches and phone clocks) that it was high time noon. With legs that felt like Jell-O from the chubibo bus ride, we dragged our stuff to the house (aka inn).

And speaking of rewards, late lunch at the famous Yoghurt House was one such yummy treat. Pasta, pasta, pasta! I just loove their pasta; too generous with the ingredients.(Their veggie mixed fried rice is really good, too). And of course, you go looking for yoghurt when you go to Yoghurt House. 'Twas home-made, and 'twas real yoghurt, and it was but reasonable that it was a li'l bit more sour than the commercial yoghurts we get in the grocery. Super yumm. Benta sakin :) I loved it really bad that on our last night in Sagada, I braved the rains and the cold just to linger over a huge bowl of strawberry yoghurt in that cozy dim-lit cafe (tee hee).

They were excellent icebreakers, them good food, all hundred-percent-pure-and-organic edibles you find only in that mountainous province. After shopping for souvenirs and pasalubong and with a little sightseeing, we were ready for immersion and adventure.

It was hard to get up early in the morning; the idea of dozing wrapped with our comforters while the morning temperature goes way way down in the Centigrade scale was too enticing. But we had to rise early - there are so many to dos and to sees in Sagada. Not surprisingly, we were not able to squeeze them ALL into our barely-three-day stay (tsk. sobrang bitin! hehe).

We trekked and hiked and walked endlessly. There was Echo Valley, where I shouted my heart out from an edge of a cliff. The mountains did call me back, reverberating my jubilant calls (hence, the name Valley of Echoes). Hmm, thank heavens the spirits from the numerous hanging coffins did not take offense of the earthly noise, courtesy of this lass.. :)

We also hiked to Bokkong Falls, which was more challenging, thankyouverymuch to the afternoon downpour that made the trails muddy and mighty slippery. That was the tricky part, trying to secure footing without hurtling ourselves down the ravines and ricefields. We used our feet, our hands, even our butts just to make our way down. The rear part of my shorts was covered and splattered with mud, but hey, that's about the best way to experience what the trek has to offer, isn't it? :)

Spelunking -- or ok, to sound more like the amateurs that we really were, let's call it simply caving -- was the ultimate adventure. Kuya Egbert, our (fantastic) guide to the ultimate Sumaging Cave challenge, gave us much preamble of the once-a-lifetime experience that awaited us inside. On our way in, I asked him, is it alright to sing inside? "Of course, you may very well sing, even shriek your heart out. That makes this experience more intense, more special and more memorable." And that moment, I thought he was the best guide in the whole of Sagada :D

The cave was a bit of a challenge for first-timers. It was pitch-black without Kuya Egbert's lampara, and we busied ourselves finding patches of rocks safe enough for our feet to plant on. A wrong move, and off you go rolling down the steep, rocky obstacle course. But the magic (the magic that was superb rock formations and pristine cave waters and cool unearthly temperature) that awaited us at the heart of the cave was all worth it. ...Ermm, no, simply the adrenaline and endorphine rush of making our way inside, complete with ala-The-Matrix moves, was more than worth it =)

And oh, did I also mention I bathed in the cruelly icy Sagada rains? I did, and it was one of the highlights of the trip. Tee hee. No one was as crazy as I was to get drenched in the downpour :) The freezing outdoor temperature plus the cool icy rains and me in my sleeveless top (had to remove my jacket) and jogging pants, and you get one freezing Roxy under the rain! I was chilled to the bones, but it was very liberating.

And I promise to go back. I knew that days dragged on slowly up the mountains, but I still got disappointed when we finally had to say goodbye to Sagada, thinking it was way too soon. Heck, I was more than happy when we missed the 5am bus by a narrow 5 minutes and had to wait for the 6am bus instead. If it meant an extra hour up there, and if it meant witnessing the sun rise over the looming mountains, I was more than glad that the driver stuck to his scheduled takeoffs.

I left Manila thinking this was not simply a much-needed break; it was also the perfect timeoff for me to be able to think things out, probably mull over making big decisions. But as luck had it, I did not stress myself over those; it was too magical an experience to waste by being too pensive. And besides, it felt as if I was on another dimension the whole time I was there; a different dimension where school and work and all the hustle and bustle of the polluted metro were all hazy thoughts lost in the icy atmosphere. Hands down, I was spellbound by this wondrous nature's masterpiece.

And so off I boarded the bus knowing in my heart that not long from now, I will be back... So long, majestic Sagada. :)

We have been reminded time and again, men are free-willing entities. There is discernment, there is free will, and in the legalese, there is capacity to act. There always is a choice, to be or not to be. And we take full responsibility for all our acts, big or small.

But in the real world, that's quite Utopian, isn't it? For we are perpetually being acted upon by external, divine forces which are rarely amiable.

You want to sail up north, and all the cruel, raging winds blow you to the opposite direction. You often find yourself asking, if things did not turn the way they did, where will I be right now? You brace yourself up, only to find yourself in the middle of a battle armorless and trembling. You make plans, you mark your star, you carve your path, but who says plans work out smoothly at all times?

Probably, it is because we do not really own the life that we have. The future does not lie in the palm of our hands, but in His. We bargain, we struggle, but really, the only best thing we can do is keep our faith. Other than choose and calculate our actions wisely, that is.

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Answers, I need answers. And I am asking for signs. Signs, along with the heart and wisdom to comprehend them all.