Happy Memories

It's been years since I felt happiness. I am happy surrounded by children who adores their funny teacher. I am happy when I get to see my family even for just two or three times a year. I am happy when I get a pat on the back for a job well done by the parents of my students. But I am not entirely happy.

I used to be happy but when things became tougher and I had to face one of the biggest debacle of my life two years ago, I faltered, I became different. There was a choice to leave but I opted to stay. I thought I will go berserk with sadness and insecurities, but I managed to live, irregardless of my failing mental and physical health. I just wanted to free myself, to be free from responsibilities, from expectations, from hurting realities. Still, I am managing to survive.

So I will try to remember some of the greatest moments of my life as a person. The good memories will serve as my haven. It might be a precious bag of stuff or a memorable place where I get to re-live happiness. I think of the happy memories, days that I cherished, hours of exuberance, minutes of stillness that made me smile.

My Italian experience as the sole representative of Thailand is simply bliss. My one day trip to see mangroves in Krabi along with someone I miss is pure joy. My first motorcycle ride around the city proper with a friend is a thrill. The funny conversations I had with a driver in Vietnam is memorable. The parting with my new found acquaintances in Beijing, though sad, is indelible. So is the story with my American friend when we belted songs from Broadway in a piano store many years ago is rich in memories. And so is the joy I get from teaching children for years is incomparable.

If these great moments of my life will make me feel better, then I will hold on to them. When we wanted something badly, we hold on to those memories even for just a second more so as not to lose hope. For every strands of breath that pours out of our being becomes a will to go on... living.

A Great Day!

I don't really attend parties but today's invite was an exception. My student had been asking me to be in her birthday party and when she handed me the invitation personally, taking it out of her backpack one afternoon, I willingly accepted. And after being there, not a single strand of regret.

The party was well-attended by all. What I mean is that all of my students were there. The best part was that all the parents were there too. I felt good seeing them there. I felt great seeing the companionship and warmth each families extend to one another. The parents were happy, the children were exquisitely joyful. They were ecstatic and none was excluded.

Seeing those moments of bonding made me think that my eight months work with these children paid off. Seeing the parents sharing positive anecdotes about school was enough to feel proud of what I do. Most of all, seeing the families happy was enough for me to continue what I do best.

To my wonderful twelve angels, thank you for a great day.

Not Too Much To Ask

One of the biggest challenge in class is to make everyone cooperatively work and play together. Knowing that they are on the young side, the challenge is daunting since we all know that at this age, children thinks of themselves and not yet of others. The sharing and helping grows with age, and with the right guidance and words, it becomes a part of their lives until they leave our care.

Some weeks ago, a student from Chile joined the class and it was great to see her being accepted by the other children. However, there were jealousies as some became more of her friend than others. Then recently, another child from Denmark came to join the class so there will be another challenge to face. It is welcoming to see new faces and making a cohesive group is more likely the goal now for the rest of the term.

But these are children, when they argue, they are resilient and more forgiving and more understanding than adults. I remember having enemies in my former workplace because of some misunderstandings. I left the school without having the opportunity to explain myself or to make amends. I was hurt by many, torn into pieces by some for their meanness and lack of empathy. I was cut by rejection and bled much by unrequited feelings. I was dealt unfairly and discriminated because of my colour. I did not heal from them nor these things were forgotten.

I am getting old, and I had mellowed down proven by the kind words I hear from the people I work with for so many years now. I still have bouts of anger but it is just for some few minutes. I still harbour ill feelings but then I feel remorse after keeping them for some time. I feel betrayed by my emotions when I recall ill moments. I wanted to change and I seek for them.

I wanted to be like the four year old children in my class. One moment arguing about a certain toy and playing the next. No bad feelings but the urge to be together, to be one again, and to enjoy the moment. A simple sorry for hurting one's feelings, a smile to share when someone is hurt, and a hug to give to make someone feel better. I wanted to be like the boy in my class who is always jovial or the girl who always have friends around her. I wanted to have good friends around me. I wanted to be happy.

Perfection

High above my head
swaying majestically

with arms open wide.

High above my head
dancing gracefully
with smiles that never hide.

High above my head

showering lightly

of leaves to fill the ground.

High above my head

dreaming contentedly

of a life pristine and sound.

High above my head

guiding thoughtfully

my life destined to infinity.

High above my head

waiting longingly

a path leading to serendipity.

The tree, a creation.

the clouds, fascination.

God is perfection.

Unsightly

When we look at flowers, we often regard them as pretty when they are in buds and in bloom. We give them as presents for birthdays and weddings, for special occasions or to console the sick and the grieving. Flowers stand for many meanings and they had been the source of inspiration, for poets, writers, gardeners and nature lovers.

Beautiful they may be, it is not the roses that we should be celebrating. It is not the scent of the lilies nor the price attached to the gift. It is the purpose of the flowers, their very meaning, that we should celebrate. Yellow roses for the sick are just roses but the smile of its receiver is unparalleled to its cost. Bright coloured orchids may last longer but the aura of its beauty that makes a house a home is what we should seek.

I plant flowers not because they are pretty. I plant them because they signify life. The bugs that enjoy them and the seeds they carry brings forth a continuing cycle of life in its natural form. I plant flowers because they give me a sense of accomplishment for being able to grow them, and for them to prosper under my care. I plant flowers because they give meaning to my existence, that I am not just a user but also a provider and a caretaker.

When flowers start to wither, they lose their majestic beauty. The fading colour and the browning petals become unsightly and in a matter of a few days, the bouquet of roses or the big bunch of lilies are then shoved into the garbage bin. We have to make sure that we live accordingly, with a purpose, not just to exist but to live a meaningful and productive existence. Flowers become a reminder of life: birth, growth, prosperity and death. Even the withered flowers become a great metaphor of living.

A Beautiful Life

While cleaning up the backyard of dried leaves and broken twigs, I happened to notice this climber that had outgrown and became unruly in its own space. I immediately grabbed some clippers and started to cut down scores of insect bitten leaves. There was one small brown sac of a cocoon hanging from a twig that I saved, just in case a small life was to emerge in a few days.

So one day while I was waiting for my ride, a butterfly was fluttering around the door not in a hurried flying pattern but ever so slow as if it was just learning how to flap its wings. I took out a camera and tried to catch the butterfly as it soared up and down some tall plants. I wondered whether the small sac that I left hanging opened up and if this butterfly was the tenant of such a home.

I haven't seen the butterfly anymore yet there were a number of smaller ones right after that beautiful day. Fluttering whites and yellows can be seen during early mornings and afternoons. Behold the sight of these visitors as they hop from one flower to the next. It is life right at my doorstep.

However, their colouration and delicate manners simply made them victims for the birds that also visit my garden. High above the treetops where the birds perched and chattered, they swooped down on these tiny creatures to feed their youngs. Oftentimes, I would see broken wings or part of a wing lying on the ground. Their bodies being consumed for food. Food chain in action.

When I left the comfort of my own home to seek and make my life, it was difficult. Day after day for three long months, the tears were just my constant companions. It was difficult being out of your own comfort zone what with all the househelp and the best one's own house could offer. But I needed to fly, to soar and to be on my own.

The birds of the world were just aplenty and in dealing with everyday situations, they felt like vultures ready to devour me anytime. The birds of my life were hovering and ready to pound but I learned to escape and protect myself from harm. The birds of my existence flocked within short distances of me as if they were always on the lookout for mistakes, human errors, insecurities, and misgivings.

The butterflies cannot do anything when they were attacked but I could and I did. When I was out cold, I seek for shelter. When I was lost, I looked for a way. When I was miserable, I comforted myself. When I was in doubt, I thought hard. When I was looking, I opened my eyes wide. I was a butterfly with wings so I could soar. I wasn't broken. I wasn't lacking. I was complete and made ready to face the world. And when I look back on what I had done in the past, I smile because I made my life, a beautiful life.

Ongoing

One afternoon as I was watching television, it dawned on me that I have no life. It was a weekend when all through the weekday I was planning to go to the supermarket to get some groceries, to walk to the weekend market to see some new wares and thought of going to see a new movie being shown. However a stomach flu prevented me from doing all what was planned. I stayed put in my home and consumed DVDs.

In the middle of the afternoon, tears started to well down my eyes and then I started sobbing. Looking out of my door, the darkening clouds of a gloomy afternoon was making friends with my feelings. Both were melancholic, almost hurting to the touch. I needed some healing.

I paused what I was watching and headed out to my garden which had been my place of solemnity all throughout. Looking at the unfinished side of the garden of which I was trying to re-design, it made me realized that my life was like what was right in front of me. The empty pots, the creeping roots, the piled up dirt, and the grass and weeds were like the feelings I had been harbouring all these times.

My life is an unfinished one, just like everyone else's. We have things to accomplish or responsibilites to be done. We have promises to be fulfilled and dreams to follow suit. Life is not all beautiful for it is an ongoing process that we must face. The garden I admired for years and the flowers and plants I looked at won't be there forever. I need to work on them and give them what they need.

My life, just like yours, is work. A work that we need to do, following the protocols of survival. My momentary fall to misery will always be there so I need to work on it. The garden won't be pretty by itself, it needed work. I won't be happy everyday but the sudden feeling of lost wakes my mind about the presence of hope, of tomorrow, and of happiness that I'll find. Like when I work in the garden, one day at a time, true happiness can be found.

Patterns

Growing up, we had the tendency to seek someone to act as our role model or someone to adore. It could be a movie star or our teacher, the mums of our lives or a distant relative. Whoever the person was, we make it a point to somehow mimic them, or dream that one day, yes, "I'll be like him/her."

Given the individual differences amongst us, this tendency to mimic others could lead two ways. One positive outcome is a productive life encouraged by the achievements of our role models. Another positive result is the zest to go beyond what our role model had accomplished. Yet copying someone's behaviour when it seemed fun could be damaging as well. For our free choice tell us that one person could be a good model when for others, it's not.

When I walk through the street especially those that were of made of cobblestone, I simply notice the pattern of the stones. Our lives are like each and every stone joined together. I could work well with the people around me and a path for walking seemed manageable through each and single steps. The pattern of my behaviour and yearning in life coincides with the pattern of the person besides me or near me.

Yet each and every stone would have its life. Some get chipped by wear and some gets broken through weak resistance. However, they still hold close together to act as a walkway or a path for others to thread on. When we work with great people, we become great as well. We tend to achieve more and see life as an enormous playground filled with opportunities and great gains.

When we work in an unproductive environment, just like living with someone who has no positive influence to us or working with people who are uninspired, we then survive because we follow a pattern of monotony, going on just to end the day.

Patterns are everywhere. We make them as our guide to grow or we make them as a simple excuse to exist. We should pattern our lives to those that are great, not mediocre, and become productive. We should be surrounded by positive people. We should be aware of our words, our actions and our thoughts. For your pattern in life will simply be imitated by those surrounding you. You do good, they follow the deed. You do bad, it becomes impressionable to others.