"I see it, I do it, it's done."

So I stumbled upon this productivity mantra online, and, so far, it has been helping me build momentum towards getting things done at home. 

It's kind of funny that I still think about things like productivity and getting things done, but the world doesn't stop spinning even when you're going through life's biggest upheaval thus far.

Besides, if I can hop back on the Wordle bandwagon, I can get back to GTD. Or some fitting form of it.

For now, I'm using the mantra to complete my chores. Hopefully, soon it will lead to completing creative work.

Lucky day

I lost one of the screws of my reading glasses at the clinic where I had my CT scan today. Since I needed my glasses to function, I reattached the temple with a Band-Aid I had in my bag. 

When I got home a few hours later, my eyes were drawn to something metallic in a little pile of dust I had gathered beneath a broom. It was A SCREW! 

Not the one I lost today, but presumably one I lost some time ago. How long ago, I don't know; I've had so many cheap reading glasses and, interestingly, none of those had lost a screw. They had all met their demise by way of my glasses-chomping dog, Tala! 

The only pair of eyeglasses that had lost a screw is the same one that lost a screw today. And that happened last month while I was outside, too. I'm not sure where this particular screw came from. From the fae? From my imaginary crow friend? From God? But my glasses are fixed again! 

Thank you. More, please!

Also, this afternoon's InDrive fare was P143. As I finished fixing my glasses, grateful at the quick fix to this minor inconvenience, my eyes again landed on a tiny white paper heart on the floor. 

I'm claiming it's the universe sending me some love.

Auntie Anna

Like many Filipinos, we have family who have immigrated to the States. By the late 1980s, my mother and her three siblings were split between the East Coast (the eldest boy Justino and the eldest girl Constita) and Southern Manila (second eldest Jesus and youngest Ramonesa).

Justino, whom we knew as Uncle Boy, was a doctor who specialized in internal medicine. He moved to New York for his residency at a teaching hospital in 1969. He lived in Queens and eventually married a nurse of German-Irish descent named Anna Brennan, and they made a home in New Jersey.

The story I was told is that Uncle Boy was smart but shy, and Auntie Anna had to make the first move. I can't know this for sure because I was a toddler when I met Uncle Boy for the first and last time, but I can imagine it, because it was Auntie Anna who kept in touch with us for the both of them throughout the years.

She sent us pictures of their children almost every year, so I felt like I saw Justin, Jonathan, Steven, and Jessica growing up. She wrote us Christmas cards and letters in that distinctive handwriting I've come to associate with American mail.

One year, Auntie Anna gifted us melamine plates with our names on them. This was before Kai was born, so we had three that spelled out "Hilary Ivan," "Nolan Myles," and "Althea Lauren."

We used those plates for all our meals, three times a day, over so many years. As I finished eating, the rice and viand cleared off my plate would reveal my printed name, and I would invariably think of the state-side Riveras.

Uncle Boy passed away before I could visit them in America. He never came home again after 1978, which was also the last time my mother saw him. When she flew over for his funeral in 2013, Auntie Anna embraced her like a sister.

In 2015, we were invited to my cousin Jessica's wedding. I did my best to go, because I wanted to finally meet this side of my family. I had a memorable visit, and I was able to hang out with most of the New Jersey Riveras, including Justin and his wife Michelle.

Auntie Anna was as chatty as I imagined her to be. She recalled Uncle Boy taking her to Baguio. She mentioned the Filipino food she liked, such as the staple pansit and lumpia, even before they were popular.

She told me how much she loved our grilled pork. I assumed she was talking about lechon or liempo, but then she said the meat was threaded in bamboo skewers. She didn't know what was in the marinade, she said, that made it so good, so sweet and tangy.

I realized it was Filipino-style barbecue she was talking about, and I made a mental note to give her a recipe or even Mama Sita's Barbecue Marinade Mix and bottled calamansi seasoning one day.

Unfortunately, while we kept in touch on Facebook, I haven't been able to go back to visit.

Auntie Anna passed away peacefully yesterday, July 2. I am hopeful she was met by Uncle Boy and their first-born Justin. I imagine them having a beautiful feast together, with as much Pinoy BBQ as they can eat and the best of everything else they would ever want and need.

One of my new favorite things: a ring

I received an adjustable cocktail ring as a freebie with a purchase I made from Carousell. I didn't like the color at first, so I immediately tossed it into my To Donate pile, which soon got lost among my clutter. 

I found it again recently, years later, and this time around, the light hit it differently, and I found myself enamored by the vibrant cyan color. I looked closer and noticed that the center stone was framed by tiny crystals instead of what I mistakenly thought were metal engravings. There's also a marking on the band that may be "925," which indicates that the ring is made of sterling silver, a precious metal.

So I did some quick research. While the ring is not that valuable, it's also not as cheap as I originally thought! I really thought it was glass or, worse, plastic!

My quick research told me that, for costume jewelry, sterling silver is typically partnered with cubic zirconia and, at a minimum, lab-grown gemstones. In the case of my ring, it could be a lab-grown spinel made to mimic the incredibly rare Paraiba tourmaline.

Paraiba tourmaline is more expensive than a diamond. One Paraiba tourmaline is unearthed for every 10,000 diamonds mined!

Tourmaline, in general, also shares with opal the designation as the October birthstone.

Paraiba tourmaline is highly favored by artists, writers, and entrepreneurs because it is believed to trigger intense creative inspiration, helping a person take an abstract, brilliant concept out of their imagination and successfully manifest it into the physical world.

I also read that Paraiba tourmaline is considered one of the ultimate stones for self-expression, helping one align their thoughts with their voice.

Let me channel those energies with my synthetic gemstone!

Another plus point is that both cubic zirconia and spinel have a Mohs hardness of 8, making them durable for everyday wear.

Personally, I have come to love this ring because it reminds me of our country's turquoise waters and my deep but forgotten connection with the ocean, being an island girl.  

The sight of blood

I still need to get my blood drawn regularly, as I am still required to undergo a lot of tests. It feels never-ending, and while I've gotten used to it, I still go on a little bit scared. 

Yesterday's blood draw was quick. The tech found a vein on her first try. But when she pulled out the syringe, there was a bit of pain. After bandaging me up, she told me to apply pressure for three minutes and not to bend my arm. 

As my mother and I were walking outside, I felt a thick wetness on the site. I looked down and saw blood. A lot of it. I panicked. What if the gushing doesn't stop? Mommy calmly said to continue applying pressure. That will stop, she said. 

I remembered my grandfather, who passed away when I was 9. One of the stories my mother always told us was about how he would faint at the sight of blood. I believe I got my squeamishness from him, although another side of me is still sometimes fascinated by gore. 

Anyway, I asked Mommy to tell me more about Lolo Lino's encounters with blood. She told me that one time, in Junquera in Cebu, he saw from their window a neighbor getting hacked. He came crashing down on the floor after that. 

My arm bled again after she told me that story. I had to get a second wad of tissues to press on it. But by the time we got home, the bleeding had stopped. We cleaned the tiny little wound that looked huge for a needle, rebandaged it, and called it a night. 

I fell asleep almost immediately. I didn't faint. I'm still alive.

On finding good luck charms

Still in the thick of decluttering, I found these seeds I picked up during a trip to Siquijor years ago. They were nestled in a small pocket carved by the waves on a beachside rock. I was fascinated by their shape--they looked like stone-gray eggs--and when I picked one of them up and shook it instinctively, I was amused to hear it rattle.

I found out today what they are called: nickernuts, sea pearls, or fever nuts, the seeds of the coastal Caesalpinia bonduc vine.

​In our language, they are called ​kalumbibit or ​bayag-kambing.

They usually come in pairs in a pod that cracks open, releasing them into the sea, where they travel on currents, crossing oceans and washing up along beaches.

Apparently, they have medicinal (they are used to treat fevers, expel worms, ease period pains, and many more ailments) and traditional uses (children use them as marbles or as tokens in the board game sungka). 

What fascinates me more, however, is that they are also considered good luck charms in many cultures.

The Aztecs believed they had protective energy. In Santeria, they are considered "curse removers." In India, these seeds are strung on necklaces to ensure a safe pregnancy.

In the Philippines, they are seen as natural tokens of protection and fortune. In fact, they are for sale in Shopee and Lazada as "pampaswerte sa sugal at negosyo." 

How serendipitous that I gravitated naturally towards picking them up. I'll take all the positive juju I can get, thank you.

 

Dream: John Lloyd and Bea

Last night, I dreamed that I was getting married to John Lloyd Cruz and I was Bea Alonzo. We'd been completely in love, so I was confused that, right before the ceremony, JLC was suddenly distant. 

He spent time with his friends; didn't even look at me. I wasn't sure if we should even continue the wedding, but all the guests were there and I was already dressed. 

I thought about talking to him, worried that I'd be legally bound to someone who didn't want me even if he was JLC. Then I considered going with the flow but also being emotionally prepared to question him why he still proceeded to marry me. I would be blameless, I figured, even if stuck. 

I wondered if he loved someone else. But we had been so happy! And his eyes had always seemed sincere. And why hadn't he said anything?

We got married, but he didn't join me in the room later.

Then someone told me why, but I can't remember how. Maybe it was a narrator: You're messy. Your bed is full of cookie crumbs, and he can't stand it. He loves you, but he can't tolerate your being a slob. 

Bea Alonzo swept the clothes and crumbs off her bed. Sniffed her hands. Then she sobbed. 

Prognosis

For Jenny Rockwell

When life is measured
in months, no longer years,
you find your way through the dark,
your knuckles white, gripped tight
around everyone you hold dear.

I think of that photographer
who saw the distant mountain
from where he sat in the city.
From his rooftop, he showed us
what the smog can take away.

We did not know we could see the mountain.
But, see, we only noticed the veil
on that one clear day.

Messianic

 For Jameson

This morning, I read about a dog that died
doing what dogs know to do: run
towards a noise at the door,
to strangers barging in.
He was wearing a bold blue shirt–
dressed with care, no doubt,
by the woman of the house.
But maybe I am wrong: The dog was
not protecting but welcoming,
dashing to the door, expecting
someone coming home,
a wildly open heart
before being shot.

Sometimes I wonder, when I look at the world,
do I pretend not to see
the hiding spider, the wayward ant,
and proceed without caution
because I cannot survive the wave
of the many others that cannot be saved?

Laughter is the best medicine

One of the surgeons who took care of me was a very serious fifth-year resident. He would barrel into the room all business-like without saying a word and just check on my wounds.

You know what broke the ice?

I have a scar that runs from below my sternum to my lower abdomen. It had healed up cleanly, but one part of it had my mother worried. 

I should say that the main reason for my prolonged hospital stay was infection. I had a drain that looked like it was healing, but it suddenly oozed pus, so we monitored each wound closely.

Doctor: Mukhang maayos na. (It already looks good.)

Mom: Pero may part na kulu-kulubot, Doc. Ano iyan? (But there's a wrinkled part, Doc. What is that?)

Doctor, concerned: Saan? (Where?)

My mom pointed.

Doctor, laughing: Pusod niya 'yan! (That's her bellybutton!)

Things I remember from when I was sleeping

It's true, I suppose, that the sense of hearing is the last to go. But I also heard and felt things that my brain translated... differently.

1. People telling me to fight ("Laban, Dat!")

It was different people, with varying inflections. I remember Sherwil the most, and I find it funny now that I also felt her stress. I'm not sure she actually said this (she definitely told me to fight hard: "Galingan mo lumaban!"). But I also heard in her voice a tearful, "Dami ko na iniisip, dumagdag pa ito." 

My nieces Keona and Kiara telling me to wake up because we had to go back to Crosta Pizzeria and I had promised we would explore Cubao. 

My sister Kai telling me she needed my help to fix her CV so I needed to wake up.

2. Nurses checking on me and giving me sponge baths

They often checked my temperature using an ear thermometer, usually twisting it several times to get it in the right position. I wondered why they were sticking their long tongues in my ear.  

I heard voices whispering, with urgency, "Sa pwet! Sa pwet!" I mentally replied, "What happened to my pwet?" This was followed by the feeling of a finger unceremoniously stabbing at my butt area. "It has come to this," I thought, "whatever this is." 

I texted Sherwil--in my mind, of course--just to tell her how invasive being hospitalized was. I wasn't complaining; it was all bewilderment. 

3. Being given the Sacrament of The Anointing of the Sick

I heard the priest's voice, and I thought, "Is this the Last Rites?" Then I thought, "Oh, okay," and leaned into it. It was actually comforting. It filled me with a sense of peace.

(Five stars; I would recommend. Better if you get all three sacraments in one go: Anointing of the Sick, Confession, and Holy Communion. I didn't. The other two were to follow, when I woke up.)

But I also imagined the priest showing me a huge amethyst geode and my thinking, "That's my mother's birthstone." 

4. The visitation of Butch Pang, now a pastor

Right after the Anointing of the Sick, Butch arrived, welcomed by my mother. She didn't know him, but she knows about UP Quill, and he introduced himself as an orgmate.

I remember him saying, "What happened, princess? What happened?" Then he kissed me on the forehead and prayed for me. 

It filled me with so much love that I felt like I was being lifted up by clouds, smiling in gratitude for my small life. Soon, I felt a good, self-compassionate regret washing over me. 

It was like I was looking down at my life. I thought, "Sayang, I should've just enjoyed life and everything it threw my way. I should've been more open, less shy, unworried, more brave." 

5. People telling me they loved me and that other people loved me

I know.

Well, now I know. 

Thank you, and I love you too. ♥️

Seeing Death

It took me a while to tell anyone this because I was completely unnerved: I saw Kamatayan (the Filipino personification of Death) in the ICU. He just stood there, in the left corner of my room, wearing a black hooded robe and wielding his scythe. I was surprised, and "Ngee!" was the word that my brain came up with.

At this point in my hospital stay--after nine days in a coma and major surgery--I was just beginning to understand how close I had come to dying and contemplating how strong my will was to live. I had fought well, I'd been told by doctors and my loved ones, but I remembered nothing of this fight.

And now, here was Kamatayan, in the room with me.

"Is this for real?" I tried to rationalize. "If this is real, then other beliefs about dying must be real as well, right?" 

Beliefs like when one is about to die, family members who had gone ahead would come to get you. But where were Lolo Lino, Daddy, and Uncle Jessie? If I was going, I wanted to be going with them. 

Then, I realized I didn't want to be going at all. Not this way. Not yet. 

To fight, I decided not to sleep that night. And the next. And the night after that. I'd sleep only when there were people with me, during daytime. I'd look at the clock and congratulate myself once the long hand moved past midnight. It was a new day, another day I was alive. Take that, Kamatayan.

When I was afraid, I prayed. I called on God and all of my favorite saints. Even St. Michael the Archangel. I couldn't recall any specific prayers, but I called on all of them, making a litany of their names: Jesus, Mother Mary, Padre Pio, St. Jude, St. Therese, St. Benedict ...

On the third night, I felt a man's gloved hands gently hold my face and heard a kind but assertive and slightly amused voice say, as if I had bugged them enough, "Here's your damn miracle." Then an angel came and covered me with his wings.

Kamatayan was gone. 

A few weeks later, I told a friend what I had seen. She asked me, "Are you sure it wasn't a nightmare?" 

I'm almost always never sure of anything, I've come to realize, if left to my own devices. But these past months have given me the gift of faith. Faith that is sure even when things appear uncertain.

Some time after that, I told another friend. I said I probably was just dreaming, but then I was also lucid and there was this matter of my staying awake. "Well, in liminal moments, everything is possible," he said. "Trust your vision." 

So, I trust. And keep faith.

And now, I can tell this story and laugh because the first thing I said, seeing Kamatayan, was "Ngee!"

'Let us love one another and let go'

Tigers
By Eliza Griswol 

What are we now but voices 

who promise each other a life 

neither one can deliver 

not for lack of wanting 

but wanting won’t make it so. 

We cling to a vine at the cliff’s edge. 

There are tigers above and below. 

Let us love one another and let go.

My theme for 2026: Dare

I haven't blogged in forever, but I've been thinking about what my theme for 2026 would be. I already know it's going to be a year like no other because of my health condition, so I was trying out the word "audacity" but I couldn't shake off the negative connotation, especially for the TikTok generation.

So. I'm choosing "dare" instead. Like, yes, I will dare disturb the Universe.

'Kung papalarin'

Magiging Kwento Ka Na Lang
By Althea Lauren Ricardo

Di na rin mamasamain--
Kung nararapat,
Kung papalarin.

Count it all joy

When I am told to be positive, I instantly think, "Do I have a choice?" But I know that I actually do: It's to choose to stay miserable. 

I used to feel the need to shift quickly, after so many wasted years of wallowing in misery. But now I've developed the capacity to allow myself to shift slowly, to feel the heartbreak--any heartbreak--but not let it consume me, then find ways to feel good again.

This anger is a new feeling for me, and I don't like it. So I am letting it sink into insignificance, like I have everything else that I have held dear that turned into poison in my hands, so I can make room for compassion and forgiveness. 

It is work, but I am teaching myself to love the work, because it is work towards a better, braver, and more loving me. 

Speaking of work, I was scrolling through social media and I found this line from The Bible: Count it all joy. It is part of a longer line that says we should be thankful when we face trials because it develops our faith and patience. 

It reminded me of something Stephen Colbert said in a GQ interview about his own personal tragedy, which he expounds on in an interview with Anderson Cooper: "What punishments of God are not gifts?"

It is a gift to exist, he says, and being grateful for existing means being grateful for all of it, even the things you most wish had not happened.  

Earlier today, I had an excruciating stomachache. I spent a good thirty minutes running to and from the toilet, and, for a couple of minutes, I felt like it was going to be the death of me. 

I'd been miserable the past few days, except for this gift of a weekend, and at the height of my drama, I'd have gladly welcomed obliteration, but now that I was actually faced with it, I was thinking: Please, God, not yet.

When the pain from the stomachache was finally gone, the other pain I'd been navigating was put in perspective. 

I am grateful. 

Count it all joy, Dat. We count it all joy.

'how is your heart?'

Four friends catch up over pasta
By Amy Kay

I’m doing better / they need to run more tests / we’re moving in together / I’m never dating again / how is your dad? / how is your heart? / how are you dealing with the state of the world? / I love your new hair color / I’m on new meds / remember how young we used to be? / let’s build a commune / we can have sheep / and goats? / yes, and dancing / I missed you / it’s been too long / this is delicious — the sauce, the salad / this night / all of it.

Tomorrow I'll be softer

Or maybe not tomorrow. Maybe it will be the day after. Or the day after that. But one day, soon, I will be softer, and I will find it in me to think of you fondly and understand where you were coming from and wish you all the happiness you deserve, plus the happiness I had imagined you would have with me. 

And that would be enough, and I would be grateful.

Ready, sing

Today in forgotten memories that suddenly pop back up: I was probably in Grade 3 or 4, and I was picked by a teacher to lead the singing of the Bedan Hymn at the flag ceremony. This was a totally random selection, but they did often choose students who weren't shy--or so they thought. 

I was super shy (I still am!) but I guess I masked it well?

Leading just meant saying, "Ready, sing," and then conducting the singing. At eight, I had no idea of what really needed to be done much less how to do it. I didn't know beat and time signatures (I don't think we'd discussed it yet in music class), and, to me, leading just looked like waving your hands about. 

So that's what I did. In front of two hundred or so people. 

Most of the other kids didn't care or didn't know what I was doing was wrong, but, of course, there were a few students (who were taking extra music lessons) who told me so, some of them a bit snootily. 

And so did the teacher who had picked me! She, who didn't even check if I knew what to do before she gave me the responsibility.

I used to cringe hard every time I remembered that day, especially when I was still in Bene, where I spent most of my pre-university days. Of course, more embarrassing things have happened in the many years since then, and that memory was filed way beneath all the other things that made me cringe about myself. 

It had stayed forgotten, until today.

There are things that push you out of your comfort zone and turn into those magical "But what if you fly?" moments. This was not one of them. 

But I did learn from that teacher: I learned to do better and check for skills before giving out responsibilities and not to expect people to know things they hadn't been given the chance to learn yet. 

And I learned to remember that the pause between "ready" and "sing" is there because you really need to give people time to be ready.

My theme for 2024: Yes, and ...

It's been a while since I posted. Hello, I'm still around. It's late to be posting about the start of 2024, but, as always, it's better late than never. 

First, I do have a theme for 2024, and I thought of it way before Ariana Grande released it as a single: Yes, and ... I picked it up from improv. It refers to the kind of thinking where you accept what another improviser has said and build up on it. 

I figure this year is the year I tame my overthinking and automatic mental rejection of the unfamiliar. This year will also be the year I teach myself to be more accepting of opportunities that come my way. 

Yes, Universe, and ...