Ramblings from My Soul

Doing the grocery was not part of my to-do list today. However, the opportunity to do so presented itself while I was in a mall that I rarely frequent. While I was at it, I saw somebody that I know who I haven't seen in a long time. Why is this chance meeting significant, you ask? Because I have always believed that when you meet people by chance and you haven't seen or heard from them from the longest time, the Universe is trying to tell you something through that person. It might sound weird but I think that during the time that both of you haven't seen each other, they've learned new things about life which you could learn through them. Sometimes, in an interesting way, it's the other way around. You may have a message to tell them; a life lesson they could learn from you. There are no such things as "chance" meetings. Hugo Cabret eloquently put it: "I'd imagine the whole world as one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts,...

If today were my last day, I would shed off every pound of unnecessary qualms in my life. I would not heed the disquiets of my mind. If today were my last day, I would embrace all the memories of my life with fondness. I would relish every ounce of opportunity  to hammer on these keys or whisper to the ears of my loved ones how much they matter to me. I would savor every inch of nostalgia from all the moments spent with them. If today were my last day, I would make sure that each step I'm taking is on the mile leading to my dreams and passion. If today I witnessed my last sunrise, I would revel in its profound beauty knowing that within its unfathomable depths lie the wisdom that I am exactly where I should be.

Music has always been an important part of my life. One of the vivid memories I have of it is how I eagerly listen to my parents' vinyl records every Sunday morning when I was a kid. Up until now, I can hear in my mind the crisp static-like sound at the start of every record or when there is a transition from one song to another. My aunt is my biggest musical influence. She stayed with us for a couple of years and she would play the guitar while we were tending to our sari-sari store. During the summer and semester breaks, we would flip over the pages of song hits and song books. Unfortunately, this was during my puberty years. So you can just imagine how often my voice would crack when I sing. Fortunately, my aunt was kind enough not to mind it and encouraged me continue liking music (even if it didn't like me in return, as the common joke would go).    All these fond memories came back to me when I attended Cattski Espina's music appreciation session last October 17...

Before anyone jumps to the conclusion that this is an essay on soft, gooey, mushy love, be forewarned that it is not. But this is going to be a short article on a kind of love that is as grand as any other form of love. It is about love and counseling. I got reacquainted today with the reason why I took up Psychology. I wanted to be a guidance counselor. This might come as unexpected to some of my friends and may even draw a laugh from a few but yeah, I wanted to become one. This afternoon, I was blessed to have been a part of the facilitating team for one of the activities of the Counseling Seminar for our third year students. I realized that the rush that I got was the same high as when I do training. The experience made me wonder where I would be right now if I took that path. Coincidentally, when I got home from this activity, I watched the movie Heaven is Real. There was a line in the movie that struck a deep chord. It said that "The one thing this love requires is to...

Coincidences have a strange way of landing right in front of us. Of all the nights that I decided to watch the movie The Fault in Our Stars, which centers on people coping with their cancer-stricken lives, it was also the night that I learned that my previous mentor, Ms. Gaye Cenabre, just passed away due to the same condition. I haven't been this much affected by the loss of one person. And Ms. Gaye is not even a relative so that should tell you how much I treasure her as a person. I haven't written about any person before and I would gladly make her my first. This article is about regret. Being a person who is into reading inspirational books, I have known about adages such as "Spend more time with the people who matter because you might never have another opportunity to do so." Yet it turns out that I failed to heed the wisdom of this quote. Since the start of this year, it has always been in my mind to visit Ms. Gaye. But this never happened. Busyness...

Untimely is an understatement. No one ever tells you when it will happen. Discovering that one has a penchant for words and the obsession with tugging soul strings was a slow and unromantic process for me.  It started out simply as writing my daily journals when I was still a kid. The pages were filled with endless narrations of what I did and how the day went. There was the occasional bragging of my academic accomplishments (the nerd!), a couple of crushes mentioned, and the childish complaints of a young one who thought that the world was against him. The last one, no doubt, a product of watching too much soap operas.  And then there were the yearly essays in school where the teacher required us to write on formal theme notebooks. At the start of every school year, my eyes would roll as the English teacher announced that the topic for the first formal theme entry was "What I Did In Summer." I might as well save myself the trouble and copy my essay from l...

Only three hours of sleep ought to have weighed my eyelids down. Yet sleep mocks me like an expected visitor that never arrives. I guess this is because of the last lecture I gave to my graduating students. There is this unnerving itch that beckons me to pound on the keys of my computer. Perhaps Maya Angelou was right when she said that there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. So let me make the untold told. Over four years ago, I wrote an entry on my blog which I called, regrettably for its overly grand style, Born to Teach. In there, I outlined the long but interrupted history I had with teaching and how I was led to the academe. I claimed professed my love for teaching. But now, I hate it. I hate it because, come to think of it, teachers are the most stupid bunch of people. Who would spend hours preparing their lessons just to see that look of students that tells us that we've made them understand how to unravel the Gordi...