Within the past week, I've been feeling shaken a number of times.

Growing up, I've been born and raised on Catholicism. I've gone to a private Catholic school for 13 years and have been sheltered in the same community since then. With that comes the ritualistic receiving of sacraments and going through the motions of things to deepen my commitment. With age, I became more skeptical of things and found disharmony in the separation of religions. I found religion as a more spiritual pursuit--a way for me to become more in tune with my self-hood and used it as a tool for self-discovery.

To have grown up on something since I was born and baptized into it, Catholicism has become a sort of Home to me. I find that with my being away for college, I've become more appreciative of what religion has had to offer me. Every time I attend mass, it reminds me of what I've grown up on, and the values I uphold in it. It brings me back and reminds me of Home.

During last week's Ash Wednesday mass, I found myself sitting in a crowded pool of dozens of other UCI students in a small, heated space on a very hot afternoon. With a guy trying to hit on me to my left, and two brief friends sitting with me to my right, I found myself enclosing myself into my own world, reflecting on everything the priest was saying about the season, and reflecting on my own compassionate nature that has been so apparent before, but has died within me in the academic arena. I remembered Kairos. Love. And Faith in people. I grew nostalgic, and extremely longed to be just as I was at that time in my life.

Within a moment's heartbeat, the familiar sounds of those softly caressed piano keys, recalling a memory of just 14 years ago, came rushing out of the speakers, filling up the entire room. It brought upon a particular poignant feeling that recalls an old memory: My Father.

Just 3 days later, I would be arriving back home for a brief visit to see my family--the family I've long been disconnected with and have lost touch with over the years, due to a tragic incident that happened to my father when I was 4, and almost broke my entire relation with that side of the family. At my grandma's own birthday party that day, I looked into the eyes of my dad's old relatives, and felt a sense of longing within them. The hesitation, the watered, deep eyes, and the anticipated questions and favors in hopes of finding a little piece of my father through the acts, behaviors, and successes of me and my own two brothers, were deeply felt. Perhaps they were still suffering or not, the sight of us, and the remembrance of my father through us, was felt.

Every time I reconnect and have small conversations with a few of my relatives in relation to my dad, I always feel as if there's a sense of loss hope. A mutual feeling that we both wish we could have stayed in touch over the years, because those few old memories were so special, that having cut off good relations is disturbing. Indeed, it is sad to feel you've grown distant from anyone you've felt a strong kinship to, but in this case, it's as if there's no real hope. We both know that the next time we may cross paths is entirely uncertain and can't be gauged.

While attending Sunday mass with my mother and my grandma on my mom's side--what do you know: that same song comes striking into our ears as we prepare to receive the Eucharist. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to race, my breathing patterns becoming significantly heavier, and my voice becoming choked up as I hold back watered eyes that may shed a waterfall in a single crack. I can feel my mother growing suddenly disturbed and quiet, even without a single glance at each other. I cannot even imagine the recall of the pain that must have gone through her in the years surrounding my father's incident. To be reminded of something you've spent more than a decade successfully defeating-- it's as if all your efforts building up those walls for protection are instantaneously broken the moment that melody reaches your ear... and then your heart... and then who knows what else.

These memories and recalls of that song haven't been so apparent nor frank until now. I wonder: Why now? Maybe it's because He wants me to reconnect and rediscover my father. Who he was. What he was. And what he was to my family.

Maybe he is the token to my past that will unlock some sort of discovery I need to find in myself. Who knows? But it may be my mission to find out the story of my father.

Lenten Goals 2012 (Check-in)

Today we finish the first four days of Lent. These can be a warm-up to help us get the feel of this "40 day" season. Take another look at your Lenten plans and possibly make some adjustments.

1. Mind: No unnecessary "I don't know"'s and "I'm sorry"'s. Continue to practice being more direct with wants and to share fondness openly. No excesses and clutter- live a simple living.
2. Body: No ice cream at commons. No over-eating. Be more green in eating. "You are what you eat."
3. Soul: Play guitar at least once everyday. Blog and write frequently. Finish one unfinished song during the 40 days of Lent.

Lent, for me, is all about overcoming the weaknesses I may have in myself. "I've got the willpower when it comes to some things, but I just can't seem to get anything moving in these other parts of my life. It's like I'm paralyzed." What I ask for this Lent, is to heal my paralysis in that I can do something about the parts of my life I want to change. To be a good person, but to also become a better one in my relationships with myself, others, and the spiritual senses, is what I wholly aim for. To hold confidence in all I am, and to not be afraid and back down, is what I hope to attain. If "I am the sum of my experiences," let my experiences speak to something- someone. To be a guiding light, but to also remember the light that brings me back Home- Home is with You.

When I'm feeling down, unexpected surprises seem to bring me back on my feet again. I couldn't be any more grateful.

You are one of the very reasons and my motivation to help me keep on going.... to help me keep on being me: for the pursuit of finding myself through my music, my writing, and my relationships with others. Thank you. so much.

 

It's funny. Ever since I was 12-years-old, I always dreamed of what it would be like to have a Valentine. Romantic dinner date nights, strolling under city lights wrapped up in the scent of roses and chocolate, all with someone you really love... It's a very childlike fantasy.

Last year, I had the rare opportunity to ask someone; but, thankfully, things were already "rolling in the deep" that life took me to where I was supposed to belong at that time of the year. "Scattered in a sea" of uncertainty and living by pleasing others' wishes, I came to terms with myself and what it is I wanted. With all the love, confidence, and belief I had in myself and my relationships with others, my tremendous growth came with me as I went to college. I was focused on me: to further my music, my writing, and my overall status and growth as an individual, as well as making imprints on the lives of those I loved. This was the time for me to live life in the way I wanted to. ...and you can bet that that is how people have perceived me here: I've made no motives to want something else.

I'm not sure how I feel about this year's Valentine's Day. This day, to me, has always been a day that passes with no key special gifts being given or received, or hopes to dream up of. It was a day for me to smile at other couples and dream of the day I'd be in my mid-20s or so with someone to share it with. At these times, I realize just how happy I am being me--single and all. Love, to me, would only come (and I'd graciously accept it) when I feel most ready to accept it.

From a good hallmate friend of mine giving me chocolates in the morning and a bear and a rose at night, with being asked to Semi-Formal (sneakily) in the middle of it all... Why does it all give me such a strange feeling? Why am I not ecstatic? Why do I kindly accept these gifts and invitations with a nice hug, smile, but no felt emotions? Why, when I look at these gifts, do I look in disappointment?

It's the feeling of not wanting to disappoint. The feeling of not being able to reciprocate those same feelings back. It brings me back to what I felt awful about a year ago--how I could care about someone so much, but could never ever have been able to give them those same feelings they deserved back. I'm not sure how to react, and I feel so heartless and cold by not being able to love back, but the secret notion of them expecting something more from me, or maybe just wanting to spend some of their precious time with me to keep them happy--that haunts me. And it brings me back full circle again.

“Being an ethnic and being Filipino, they don’t write roles for you. You need to deliver and have mastery over what you’re doing. You have to show you can be better than the white kids… If you’re a writer, write! If you’re a singer, sing! The best artists out there don’t make it because they’re too afraid and stop. And those who do make it aren’t even the best.”
— Dante Basco

Whether it be the bow ties, the polka-dotted dresses, or the handsome men with handlebar mustaches, it's times like these that remind you just how lucky (and happy) you are to be just where you are.

I admit, I haven't been feeling my best and I've been getting a little burnt out with school, but, I find that it's always been important to refuel your senses (even if it means putting off your midterm studying) in order for you to function at your best. After such a beautiful weekend catching up with two of my very good and dear friends from back home, it's a wonder how reality can come striking at your front door and you are met with overwhelming obligations (leading to missing meals), disconnect from hall friends and fun (with people wondering where you are), and distance from those I've loved most here (with you realizing just how much a home you've built with them).

When I'm at my lowest, I write. I pick up my guitar and purge all of my emotions into it. I pull up my computer, turn on the recorder, and record myself singing covers of songs my poor heart desires. The feeling of hearing how I sound is very uplifting. Some days I go, "Wow, I have so much potential..." Other times, I go, "Wow, you sound terrible! You need so much work! No wonder you don't sing to other people!" Whatever it be, doing this makes me feel most in touch with me. This reminds of what it is I've loved for so long, and what I've enjoyed for so long: that whatever low I am feeling can be uplifted by just a simple act. After all, when you're at your lowest, your creative juices tend to flow the most. Your heart--at this moment--feels the most.


I haven't laughed in a long time. I haven't stayed up 'til 5am in a long time. I haven't leaped my way to the UTC, sprinted around corners and streetlights like a fiend, nor really smiled at people in a long time. It's those moments where I find home again--in myself, and in my relations with others--do I find my way out of the cave again.

La La Land never felt so good since those early spring days. To Tomorrowland!* indeed.

*click to LT4