Tuesday, September 15, 2015

10 Struggles Only Ultimate Players Understand

1. Chasing after you mark when your teammate lets a break pass through


2. Seeing zero cutters


3. Being surrounded by super fit athletes and getting your self-esteem trampled on

Images from here and here

4. Zombie toenails


5. Swapping spit from sharing Nalgenes


6. Spending a bundle on sunblock...


7. ...but still ending up with weird tan lines


8. Forking out money for league fees, provincial/international tournaments, gear, and Golden Siomai


9. Being judged for ordering extra rice


10. Dreaming of an 8-to-5 job playing disc.


Tuesday, September 8, 2015


I'm struggling with a massive case of writer's block, and a friend suggested that I write something—anything—just to plow through it. And so, as I wait for inspiration to strike, allow me to share something another friend sent me recently.

by Russell Kelfer

Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried;
Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate...
And the Master so gently said, "Wait."

"Wait? You say wait?" my indignant reply.
"Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!
Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?
By faith I have asked, and I'm claiming your Word.

"My future and all to which I relate
Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to wait?
I'm needing a 'yes,' a go-ahead sign,
Or even a 'no' to which I can resign.

"You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe,
We need but to ask, and we shall receive.
And Lord I've been asking, and this is my cry:
I'm weary of asking! I need a reply."

Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate,
As my Master replied again, "Wait."
So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,
And grumbled to God, "So, I'm waiting for what?"

 He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine...
and He tenderly said, "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.

"I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of my love for each saint.
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.

"You'd not learn to see through clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
When darkness and silence are all you can see.

"You'd never experience the fullness of love
When the peace of my spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give, and I save, for a start,
But you'd not know the depth of the beat of my heart.

"The glow of my comfort late into the night,
The faith that I give you when you walk without sight.
The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask
From an infinite God who makes what you have last.

"You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that My grace is sufficient for three.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
But, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.

"So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see
That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though oft My answers seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still...Wait."

I've mentioned a few times before that patience is my weakness, so the universe keeps putting me in situations wherein there's nothing I can do but wait. You know that bumper sticker that goes, "Lord, give me patience...right now!"? So me.

Recently, I was stuck in traffic near my office, and I found myself reflecting on where I was, both literally and figuratively. I looked out my window and saw the restaurant where my co-workers and I would go for a nice-ish lunch when we couldn't go too far from the office. I thought about how mundane my life was, and wondered how long I would have to wait for amazing things to start happening. "This couldn't be it, could it?" I thought. My life just seemed so...ordinary.

And then I thought about myself ten years from now. And even though my future is still so unclear, I knew in my heart that I would look back on these days with fondness, even longing. I thought of Future Me thinking about the silly-to-serious conversations my team and I would have over pork chops and garlic rice, while Just for Laughs played on the restaurant's flat-screen. And I realized that if I stepped back and viewed my life from a different perspective, I would see that, in fact, amazing is happening every day.

It's in the camaraderie that my co-workers and I have developed, banding together through collective stress and working holidays. It's in the moments when I clutch my son close to me and spin him around, dancing as he belts out a made-up song. It's in the times I'm stuck in traffic with my teammates, singing along to a boyband playlist. It's in the Sundays spent under a scorching sun, playing a sport that I truly enjoy. It's in the nights when my son insists on hearing the same story ten times before he goes to bed.

The big, bells-and-whistles events I'm waiting for are awesome, for sure, but I'm realizing life is more about the little things, the everyday. And when I think of it that way, well, it's not a bad life at all.  

Saturday, August 22, 2015

"The storm that shook thy nest taught thee to fly"

A friend sent me this over two years ago, when I was going through a difficult time. I just thought it might give comfort to anyone who's dealing with anything heavy right now.
As an eagle stirreth up her nest. (Deut. 32:11)
God, like the eagle, stirs our nest. Yesterday it was the place for us; today there is a new plan. He wrecks the nest, although He knows it is dear to us; perhaps because it is dear to us. He loves us too well not to spoil our meager contentment. Let not our minds, therefore, dwell on second causes. It is His doing! Do not let us blame the thorn that pierces us. 
Though the destruction of the nest may seem wanton, and almost entirely come at an hour when I do not expect it, though the things happen that I least anticipate--let me guard my heart and be not forgetful of God's care, lest I miss the meaning of the wreckage of my hopes. He has something better for me.
God will not spoil our nest, and leave us without a nest, if a nest is best for us. His seeming cruelty is love; therefore, let us always sit light with the things of time.
The eaglet says, "Teach me to fly!" The saints often sit idly wishing that they were like to their Lord. Neither is likely to recognize that the prayer is heard when the nest is toppled over! 
The breaking up of a nest an act of God's benevolence? What a startling thought!
Yet, here is an old writer who makes it a subject of praise; blesses God for it; declares it to be the first step of my education! I can understand praising Him for His gifts to body and soul; but I lose my breath in surprise when I am asked to make the first stance of my hymn the adoration of His mercy in loosing the ties of home!
Nay, my soul, it is to strengthen these ties that my Father breaks up the nest; not to get rid of home, but to teach thee to fly! Travel with thy Teacher and thou shalt learn that
The Home is wider than any nest!
He would have thee learn of the many mansions of which thy nest is only one. He would tell thee of a brotherhood in Christ, which includes, yet transcends, thy household fires. He would tell thee of the family altar, which makes thee brother to the outcast, sister to the friendless--in kinship to all.
Thy Father hath given thee wings in the breaking of thy ties! 
The storm that shook thy nest taught thee to fly!
God spreads broad wings;
And by His lifting, holy grace,
We find a wider, fairer place,
The freedom of untrammeled space;
Where clearer vision shows us things
The nest-view never brings.
The wing-life is characterized by comprehensiveness. High soaring gives wide seeing! (J.H. Jowett)

I got this after my nest wasn't just shaken, but had pretty much been toppled over. It was the most painful experience of my life. Each day, I would wake up wondering if things were ever going to get better, if the hurt was ever going to end, if I was ever going to be able to say I was OK. (I wasn't even gunning for "happy"--OK was good enough for me.)

After my world was turned upside down, I went to a friend's place, and I just cried and cried and cried. "It was the worst night of my life," I sobbed. After I had a good long cry, friend wisely said, "Well, if you say it was the worst night of your life, then the good thing is, it can only get better."

And things have gotten better. I've learned how to fly. I can't say I'm soaring, but I'm getting there.

So if you're going through something right now, have faith--you're going to be just fine. You'll even be more than just OK.

Friday, July 10, 2015

The Best Musical of the Year

My friend and former colleague Carlo Vergara (of Zsazsa Zaturnnah fame) penned a one-act play called Kung Paano Ako Naging Leading Lady. It was turned into a fantastic musical that has received such rave reviews. Watch the video below to get an idea of its awesomeness.

Kung Paano Ako Naging Leading Lady - THE REPEAT!Na-miss mo ba ang unang run namin? Wag nang mag-alala! Ito na ang pagkakataon mo! Catch the most awaited re-run of the Musical to end all musicals! "Kung Paano Ako Naging Leading Lady The Musical" runs at Onstage Theater, Greenbelt 1 from July 3 to 26. Wag nang magpatumpik-tumpik pa! For tickets, call ticketworld at 891-9999 or visit http://www.ticketworld.com.ph/online/kpanllonstage #KPANLL #LeadingLadyTheMusical #KPANLLOnstage #KPANLLTheRepeat #DalanghitaProductions
Posted by Dalanghita Productions on Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Video courtesy of Dalanghita Productions

You can catch the show on its second run tomorrow night (July 11), 8 pm at OnStage Greenbelt. Tickets are priced at 1500 for orchestra center, 1200 for orchestra side, and 800 for balcony. More info below. Carlo will be there to sign books. :) See you!

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Talking Body

After day 6 of my 30-day yoga challenge, I took off my shirt, stood in front of a mirror, and frowned at what I saw. Recently, I had accepted that I could not out-exercise the way I eat, so I've been trying to make better food choices (and not necessarily always succeeding). I know this is a great opportunity to build up the virtue life keeps prodding me to acquire again and again: patience. Sure, I've been working out more consistently and eating a bit more mindfully, but real results aren't going to come in a week or two.

After turning away from the mirror, I thought, "Life is too short to spend in a body I'm not happy with," and resolved to step up my efforts. I was tired of hearing people tell me that I "have such a thin face." (It happens a lot more often than you'd think.)

But maybe this yoga challenge is making me more enlightened, because immediately after that thought came another: "Life is too short to spend being ungrateful."

My body, for all my perceived flaws, has served me well all these years, and I realized that I hadn't even thanked it for all that it has done for me. So, body, THANK YOU.

For allowing me to keep dancing, and for remaining fairly flexible.

Photo by Felix Angue

For letting me finish a half-marathon, even without sufficient training.

For letting me keep playing the sport I love.

For carrying a child for nine glorious months, and producing enough breast milk (with equal parts difficulty and determination) for 22 and a half months before my son self-weaned.

Photo by Sara Black. Makeup by Omar Ermita.
For being able to do pull-ups, something I haven't been able to do before--not even when I was younger and lighter.

For allowing me to bear the weight of a toddler who's growing fast and seems to be all about the gains.

This gratefulness doesn't mean that I'm about to let myself go--it's just enabling me to see my body in a whole new light. I want to work out and eat right not (merely) because of vanity, but because I know my body deserves to retain its strength and its resilience and its beauty (in spite of--or because of--everything it's gone through: childbirth and breastfeeding and just plain getting older). It deserves to be treated with respect, and it deserves to be loved and nurtured. Just like the rest of me.

Photo by John Paul Santos

Monday, April 13, 2015


Today was tough.

A's yaya resigned last week, and it was our all-around helper's day off, so it was just me and A. Like all toddler boys everywhere, he found numerous ways to give his mother a heart attack--jumping from the top of his slide, climbing halfway up our steep stairs by himself, throwing things in the air that could possibly hit me or, worse, him on the head. He also stubbornly exerted his will and threw a couple of tantrums (he's two, after all, so all par for the course).

At some point, I was so tired from chasing after him, and saying no no no, and (shamefully) even raising my voice. I was in a foul mood and desperately wanted reinforcements. But I reminded myself of two things: 1) full-time moms everywhere had to do this every day, and 2) these days--of spending one-on-one time with him, of him wanting mommy's attention--are going by all too fast.

I stopped looking at all the things that were going wrong, and instead decided to relish this magical time in his life. That change of mindset did the trick. It turned my frustration into gratitude. 

I took him out, so he could expend some of his boundless energy. At the toy store, he spent so long in front of a keyboard with a microphone, and I just laughed as he put on a show for me. 


He wanted to be carried around for the most part, and though my arms were tired, I figured he's only going to get heavier, and I resolved to carry him for as long as he'll let me. When we got home, I set out some dinner, and he uncharacteristically sat in his chair for the entire meal. He finished all the food I  prepared for him, and even managed to feed himself (and the floor).

Later, after he asked me to sing and dance my way through Hi5's house hits (his version of a lullaby), we were lying in bed in the dark as I waited for him to fall asleep. Out of the blue, he said, "Mommy? Love you!" It was the first time he ever said "love you" unprompted. I don't know if two-year-olds even know what that means, but my heart just melted. It made this--this day, the doing-it-by-myself, the exhaustion--all worth it.

Today was amazing.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

A Prayer for Rosemarie

Walking back to the office from dance class, I would normally pass beggars on the street. Shamefully, I've somehow become inured to street kids, blind people holding out cups, mothers cradling babies on a sidewalk. Perhaps it was a conscious effort to put up a wall, because if I don't, I would just feel so incredibly helpless. When a kid knocks on my car window, or a man in crutches holds out his hand as I make my way down the MRT stairs, I feel my heart closing up. Sometimes I even close my eyes. Because I can't take it. I often think that what little I give can't help anyway. Or that if I help one, I have to help everyone else. Or that they're just part of a syndicate.

Maybe this is what happens when you've lived in a developing country all your life.

But tonight was different. As I hurried along on the sidewalk, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, right by the bottom of the stairs of the Boni MRT station, in front of 7-Eleven, was a mother holding a kid in her arms. This kid had an enlarged head due to hydrocephalus (a condition wherein fluid accumulates in the ventricles of the brain). And I don't know if it's because I'm a mother now, or because I recently hung out with a real-life good Samaritan who always does random acts of kindness (hi, Mark), or because I was still on a high from dance class and my defenses were down, but I felt compelled to help. I fished out a bill and put it in their bowl filled with coins. But that just felt useless.

I bought them some bread and water from the convenience store, then I crouched down and talked to the mom. The child's name is Rosemarie. She's 9. The mom (Rosalinda, if I remember right) can't work because she has to take care of her kids. "Sinasabi ng iba na ginagamit ko lang ang anak ko," she said, "eh paano naman ako magtatrabaho?" The noises from EDSA would drown out her voice, but from what I could gather, they would go to National Children's Hospital whenever fluid had to be removed from Rosemarie's head. There are plenty of people who are willing to help (in fact, while we were talking, quite a few handed Rosalinda some bills), but it's the doctors who don't want to operate on the little girl. So there's nothing that can be done. All I could do was meekly offer to pray for them.

I cried the rest of the way back to the office. I kept asking, why does this kid have to suffer? What is the point of it all? Being poor is hard enough without throwing an incurable sickness into the equation. I just cried and cried. And kept asking why. And I hated that there was nothing I could do.

I remembered a book I read a long time ago. It was about a man who didn't believe in God because of all the suffering in the world. A monk took him to see a gorgeous mosaic picture, and the monk explained that there are dark tiles and there are light tiles, but if you put them all together, it is a thing of beauty. The atheist scoffed at the idea of comparing suffering to a dark tile.

I felt that way as I walked and cried, walked and cried. Was this all just part of a bigger picture?

Then I remembered the little girl who asked Pope Francis during his Manila visit, "Why do children suffer?"

And if the pope doesn't have an answer, what hope do I have of figuring it out? He's right about one thing though. I've learned to weep again.

Say a prayer for Rosemarie please. And her mother.