Do not go gentle into that good night...

This quarter saw a number of known personalities pass away-- the King of Pop, Charlie's angel, the saint of People Power (according to TIME), and, recently, the Johnny who wooed Baby to dance. It saw the loss of a dear friend's father and brought back the memory of my own mother's passing, encapsulated by a reflection on my own mortality.

I will be honest. Death, the emblem of inevitable uncertainty, is one I fear the most. Teasing or coaxing Death never cross my mind lest he falls for it. In the darkness of my thoughts, I stand defiant. I will not die. I cannot die. Not. Just. Yet.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

But. When Death insists, he persists. What's a mere mortal to do but let go? When my time comes, though, I hope he finds me worthy.

Do not go gentle into that good night
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The Good Life

I love the good life and I admit I know no shame in living it, not flaunting it, whenever and wherever I can afford it.

Back in Zamboanga City, the good life is pretty much accessible and affordable. A favorite spot by the river is just a 5-minute drive from my grandparents' house in Pasonanca. The city has more than 10 beaches to choose from, the most famous of which is the Great Sta. Cruz island with its rare pink sand. Food is affordable (mmm, curacha!) and night life is good enough for fun.

It is true that security is a problem which affects the inflow of investments in spite of the city's great potential. For example, the city's economic zone can accommodate BPO companies. After all, chavacanos are easily hired to support Spanish-speaking clients in most call centers in Manila. Also, Sta. Cruz island can be developed for tourism. These days, the city is thriving primarily from the enterprising spirit of Tsinoys and Muslims, who come from Jolo. Don't get me wrong- we, chavacanos, are very proud of our heritage but we have learned to live well with Muslims, Tsinoys, and Visayans.

On the other hand, I fear that too much development can bring about the end of the good rustic life. By then, will I still have that favorite spot by the river?

Sta. Cruz island below. I hate it that I do not have pictures I took of my own city. It's been quite a while since I have gone back home and when I was younger, unfortunately, I took a lot of things for granted. But I digress.

I had musings about mi ciudad de Zamboanga after visiting one of my favorite blog sites, My Castle in Spain by Lala Ema. Lala is French with Malagasy origins who now lives in Granada with her moncherie. The site is filled with pictures of her art (also her work), the terraces of Alhambra, her passions, the majestic views of Granada-- the good life!

I've been following her blog since early 2009 and I was excited about her new site, Un Mariage au Soleil (A Wedding Under the Sun). Her creativity is just all over the page. With Lala taking the helm as wedding planner, Granada could be a perfect wedding getaway.

Check out Lala Ema's blog sites:

http://www.mycastleinspain.blogspot.com/

http://mariageausoleil.blogspot.com/

** For more travels the backpacker way, check out www.ironwulf.net

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

- Pablo Neruda, Nobel prize laureate for Literature in 1971

What's God Got To Do With Aling Dionisia?

I am going to church in 2 hours. I am going back after over 5 years. I barely remember the last time I was inside one, only the feeling that I was cajoled to come along.

My last two entries were on faith and religion (this may be my last for now). I may have come across as a skeptic and as someone who mocks faith in the existence of the divine. I am a skeptic, yes, but I respect those who believe.

Not a few of those who know have asked me what happened. They wondered if I had an experience significant enough to determine this life-changing conviction. Some have thrown in a couple of painful life events. Others were bold enough to suggest the most incredulous psychological trauma worthy of Bruckheimer's CSI.

"Did you stop believing because your mom died?" - Everyone dies.

"Were you abused when you were a kid?" - I had a very happy childhood, particularly during the summer vacations I spent at my grandparents' house on top of a hill, overlooking the rubber plantation which extended to as far as the eyes can behold.

"Were your parents separated?" - They had admirable tolerance for each other's strengths and foibles. Whether or not they were happy I do not know, but my father was there to the end as my mother lay on her deathbed.

"A bump on the back of your head, perhaps?" - One or two, but not detrimental enough.

Really. The only traumatic experience as far as I can remember was the unfortunate chance of catching Aling Dionisia dance on national television, toppled only by her Ginebra commercial with son, Manny. There came then my big, exasperated- "WHhhhyyyyy???"

So what's God got to do with Aling Dionisia? What's believing, or not believing, got to do with painful life events? In my case, nothing.

I do not believe what you believe because one day on a cold morning, I sat staring at a tree, wondering what was inside it, what it was made of. I thought that if I had the tree sawn into half without stopping, would I get to its most infinitesimal particle or would I not get anywhere at all as the tree is cut into half infinitely? Either, or.

I figured I was going to die early so my life would be too short and too precious to be spending on "tree-cutting". I also could not convince myself to believe in something I cannot see, smell, hear, touch, or taste. Even emotions are given life by the five senses.

I sat staring at the tree, longer than I usually would have had. It wasn't tall or big enough but it was the most imposing as it was the nearest to where I sat among all other trees in the area. Its fiery orange leaves were starting to fall off; a few leaves danced to the rustle of the silent wind. I smiled and sighed, and whiffed a blend of damp earth and the dew that settles down on a cold morning. It was beautiful. I felt renewed.

One day I saw a tree on a cold morning and, looking back, it was all that mattered.

I am staying home instead.

O and V's Ridigulous

O and I were listening to a talk show on the radio last night. A letter was read on air and listeners get to text in their opinions and suggestions to supposedly help the letter sender figure out the solution to her problem. The letter sender was a daughter who decided to be an atheist and a rebel as a result of her mom's illicit affair with a priest.

O and I have considerably strong opinions about almost everything under the sun. We almost always never agree on the same things: he likes Vietnamese cuisine, I would rather have Italian; he likes to bask in the sun, I love to stay in the shade; he jogs, I smoke; he adores Kubrick, I find a few of his methods a waste of film; he is a socialist who thinks communism works depending on the context, I think communism is good only on paper; he believes, I don't. But I digress.

O told me of a debate between 2 religious groups. A friend of a friend of a friend of his told him about it. Hence, I doubt the veracity of the story mainly because I do not know how many other friends are involved and the story itself is ridiculously funny it couldn't have possibly happened. Anyway, the debate was shown on a TV channel owned by Religious Group A.

Religious Group A: The Holy Trinity cannot be true. How can one plus one plus one be equal to one??

Religious Group B: The Holy Trinity IS real. The Bible states, "Go forth and multiply." Therefore, one times one times one equal one.

We were having fun being ridigulous. O quipped-

O: I bet he's a Pastor (referring to the topic on the talk show). It couldn't be a priest.

Me: Why not a priest?

O: If it were a priest, his illicit affairs are with "little boys".

Me: That's stupid. (um ok, after I said, "Hahaha!")

The only thing we didn't do last night was actually text the radio show, which, I think, was fortunate for everyone's sake.

Me: Why is it when one learns you're an atheist, the next question is-- "What happened?"

O: They think something traumatic happened in your life.

Me: Yeah. Don't they consider you have a capacity to think, to question?

O: But...

Me: I'm not done yet. It's actually easier to believe again when you stop believing out of a traumatic or hurtful experience. If you eventually come to terms with the cause of the problem...or...if you're healed...you can always go back to believing.

O: "Heal the world. Make it a better place, for you and for me and the..."

Me: Oh shut up.

O never takes me seriously but I persist.

Me: You know what I would tell the letter sender?

O: What?

Me: Shame on you! It's bad enough to stop believing just because your mom is having an affair with a priest. If you decide to be an atheist, do it with integrity. Take control of your life; make it better. Rise above the situation instead of being a rebel. Don't go emo on everyone and everything else. You're not the only one with problems. Children in Africa are dying of hunger and diseases everyday. Hell, some kids don't even know their parents! *snip*

Then I rant about a totally different matter, which is typical of me.

O: You know what I would tell her?

Me: What?

O: We decide our fate. Your mom could have decided to have an affair with a gang lord instead of a priest. And instead of being an atheist, you could be doing drugs right now. So if you really think about it, your mom made a better choice and you made the right choice.

Me: That makes sense.

Methinks the world last night was better off without O and my 2 cents.

Faith

posted by Ayla

*****
I believe in you and me.

I believe in our capacity to do great things. I believe that we can create and destroy. I believe that we have the power to change the world. I believe that our decisions, indecision, and non-decisions actually shape the world.

I believe that love, kindness, and compassion were born when we decided to be selfless. Forgiveness, bravery, and courage sprung when we realized we were free.

I believe that we can do miracles. A sleight of the hand can bring a smile to a child's face. A helping hand can build a family a home.

I believe that when a person goes on a spiritual journey, he actually finds himself, not God.

I believe that if there is such a thing as the divine, there is no need to look up above, or elsewhere. Look at me; see through me. You and I, we are equal.

You gaze in wonderment at stars and search endlessly for beautiful love because that is who you are- a poet, a storyteller. But, not everyone will share your muse.

See this. We are the same yet we are different. That, in itself, is beautiful.

I know of a black man who changed the world in November. I heard of a woman who saved her charge in the middle of gunfire. And I've long read of a man who preached tolerance and died on the cross.

If God is anything beautiful, then I believe he, she, or it exists. He was the black man who became president. She was the brave nanny. He was the one crucified.

Look at me. There is no need to look elsewhere.

Mad Girl's Love Song

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"