What Am I, Then?

To pretend something you are not is no distinction to daydreaming. One doesn’t have to taste the doughnut to know it is sweet – that’s how reality is displayed obviously. And so wearing a mask – soon it will slip no matter how good we are in shamming– for only a true identity lasts.

“When you wake up in the morning and the first thing you think is writing, then you are a writer.” This thought from an unfamiliar author has inspired me to this day. I was already writing poems, songs, and few feature articles when I first heard it. Since then it’s engraved in my heart. 

I’m afraid all these years have been acting like a writer, professing a philosophy someone has made known – now I am living it up like any fanatics. All I thought was one of them.

And how would you feel to find out you’re not really who you think you are?

It actually feels funny and a little awkward at the same time. It is like living from riches-to-rags or having a labeled life of a trying hard writer. It’s like I’m putting my own self in a pigeonhole. 

Truth hurts, but it’s also a wake up call for dreamers. Last night, I asked my friend a question even if it took bruising ego to hear the answer. As he put truth after truth across, I haven’t wrestled believing that I am not a good writer. From the perspective of a very good writer like him, I agree he has the say. But it doesn’t mean I am not a writer – this is what I believe.

As a person who loves writing – not a good one though – no, not yet – this narrows down on how I define my self. I may not be a good writer or the award-winning type or the one who had published tons of books, my understanding of a writer remains the same – a person who simply writes and can tell between from a reader.

I am not trying to disregard a golden rule or a piece of advice for it’s very helpful in fact, but telling what I believe is just another side of the whole thing.  

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Cambridge Advanced Learner’s Dictionary defines writer as “a person who writes books or articles to be published” but it didn’t emphasize whether that person writes well or not. And so I am a writer since I’ve done the criteria being set.

When I inquired few people today if it takes winning an award or publish a book to be called a writer, they said NO – and so I am writer.

If I had to listen to what my teachers and professors had told me or what my friends had affirmed or what my followers in the blog had posted – then I am a writer.   

As long as I know who I am and who I am not as a writer, then I am not fantasizing.    

If I am not a writer, and if I simply write, what am I then?

Windowpane

Everyone I think finds this single piece of glass in the window of a building enthralling. It brings an unexplainable aura of happiness rather than sadness or mystery. I prefer staying for long hours in an open-space or a glass would do.

I observed in many cases, when going to a coffee shop people are after a windowpane than the food or drink itself. They may pay double for the place like this, but it’s worth paying they say. I do, too, except that I never go the elegant ones – I know some cheap spots that got the same offer. 

 

Wish I had one in my place, but all I have is a window with grilles aside from my veranda. Since I am on the sixth floor, I always leave my backdoor (next to the veranda) opened even at night to keep me updated about my little community.

This is so cool sitting next to the windowpane right at this moment – a huge one enough to see the sky - it’s so refreshing. I am planning to stay here until evening and just chill.

The weather hasn’t been friendly these few days and this kept me from going out a lot despite my vacation. I am so stuck in my isolated room. Thanks to the net because this keeps me attached to the society – here, the near and far places. 

Got options though – whether to sit at the park this gloomy day or see it from a distance without being disturbed. My situation is telling me to skip the breeze of a cold wind this time and enjoy the air-conditioning instead. For as long as I have a mug of coffee to sip and a window pane abuts my shoulder, then it’s alright – I’ll be the happiest person today.

My Australian colleague had worked in our office downstairs which is unattached to the natural environment – not even a hint of sunbeam to see. While I had the privilege of using classrooms with windowpanes – not even a hint of seclusion to feel. Of course, I didn’t take it for granted. When he finally moved to the new office - now with windowpanes to enjoy – his life couldn’t have been happier.   

Someday, if I had to purchase a house my own, I want it with windowpanes – one in my bedroom so I can see when the sun rises or the moon lights – it means time to wake up or sleep. And then I will have one in my office too so I can watch the sun sets – it means time to stop work.

If it takes putting windowpanes for every season and to every corner of the house necessarily, I would not mind doing it. You don’t have to touch every nature to take pleasure in anyway – for even looking at it from a distance brings you delight and a feeling of relief – but not when your house is without a window.

And for a person who is a nature lover – it’s a perfect design for sure. A windowpane can help you tell a story of every living thing before you – even juts by looking – a thousand words to describe aren’t actually enough.

Don’t be indifferent; you still can pray for others when the weather seems wrong or rejoice when the  day is right – just unveil the curtains that cover your windowpanes – your life will never be the same again if you do.

A Stranger

Isn’t it something of an oddity to say that I’m like a creature from outer space? And how can it be that a citizen in his homeland would look at himself as a Martian? For once in my life I was, and that same feeling is coming back again. I owe you an explanation if my mind is running wild again this time – I know.

Like many others of the same side, I extremely believe that people who live in a foreign land get culture shocks or become disoriented from time to time but not in their own homes – or else it’s a different story. I hope this statement rings true.

Maybe it’s just me, but I had this experience in the past – the once – one undeniable reality I didn’t expect and never want to happen again. Voila! It’s occurring to me now.

 

When I went home years ago, I didn’t like what I saw. Except for familiar faces of friends and relatives in the community, I couldn’t recognize everyone in town. The rest were just total strangers to me and so I was to them. I could see how nomads outnumber the original dwellers. I hope I was wrong.

Everyday during my holiday was just weird – the feeling as a tourist in another country and by being home had no distinction at all. I had to adjust a lot of times with the lifestyle and it was like doing it from the scratch, like living in an unfamiliar kingdom.

As always, it’s so fascinating to see the changes around the world that are happening at too fast a pace because of civilization and complex technology, and my hometown is no exclusion to these effects but I don’t understand the feeling of isolation and crankiness whenever I’m home.

I was caught surprised.   

Visiting a church I grew up going was a good example to this bizarreness aside from those unspoken scenarios. I had to be accompanied by a security guard and an elder to see the pastor I know and who knows me too. Whatever good reasons I had, and regardless of my belongingness to this church, they didn’t matter this time. I had to make an appointment like any strangers visiting.

Wasn’t it madness?

How can I not feel this way?

There are a lot of things that bother me flying home – war, bad weather, and other natural calamities, and yet the most destructing is having the feeling of remoteness and alienation. This is how I feel and it kills my excitement going home – how weird!

Have posted my confession about it on Facebook this week; to restate, I said “The warrior is a child – this is how I am today – attacked by anxiousness. I should be happy going home for the first time in years, but my mind is getting wild thinking a lot of cares. I feel like a stranger in my own land, but then I realized if God was with me in these foreign lands, He will meet me in the Philippines and will find grace for sure.”

I hope I’ll enjoy my furlough this time. Wish me joy and happiness because I don’t want to be a stranger!

Guesthouse

There is a guesthouse in one of the alleys in Saigon I know. It doesn’t take a sketch map to find the place – an address alone would do. Fortunately it’s the cheapest among others that a transient can stay for a night or so. But for people who are pampered with every luxury, this isn’t the right place to check in.

I’ve been coming in and out of this hiding place for years – not to seek for political asylum or hide away from people – instead it’s the only affordable accommodation to take advantage to these crisis days. Of course, it’s still expensive compared to the one I know in Cambodia.

Traveling to noisy city like this, you have to buy the tranquility of the night expensively or else you’re going to be awake until the break of day. On the contrary, if the din of the traffic or the honk of cars or the unpleasant sound of life at night is no big deal to you, an inexpensive place is fine then.

Prior to this, I used to have another hideaway in the past, the cheapest deal I thought, but the environment was so raucous to bear including all those earsplitting sounds I could hear. It took grace to be at peace with the world despite the presence of deafening clatters around.

Let me call this guesthouse a cave – once you are in, you’ll be isolated from the busiest and nosiest world – you could sleep the whole day undisturbed except when there’s an insensitive guest who likes banging doors. I am used to it, if not I wouldn’t be coming here again and again until this very day.

Not my favorite place so to speak, but I don’t have to have the elegance of things to experience grace from day-to-day – not if I am a difficult person.

Been around everywhere, and my journey time after time have taught me so much about life – form scarcity to profusion, and from drought to abundance – the extremeness of each is too obvious – Thank God, haven’t slept in the street so far. And my heart breaks seeing many who are truly on the margins. Then who am I to whine about every little thing?

This is no comfy room to indulge, but if safety and simple shelter is what you’re after to, then you’re in. What can you expect for such a low-priced lodging anyway?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t always stay here whenever I‘m in Saigon – only when necessary or when my kind friends aren’t available to host me. If I had a choice, I would rather stay somewhere else or in the outskirt. I am so sick and tired to death of life in the city. This is when I needed more grace to grip.

“What does this rooming house include?” a friend asked me.

“A single bed, fan, TV, and a shared bathroom” I described.

Alas and alack, only those in the same boat could appreciate the blessing! And so, those who have been accusing me of living an elegant lifestyle, I think it is time for you to redefine your portrayal of me or your own meaning of the word itself.

SEE OFF

This phrasal verb can mean three things – whether to send away an unwanted person forcefully or to defeat someone so not to cause harm anymore or simply say goodbye to someone leaving – I am referring to the third description at the moment.

For more than three decades of existence, my day-to-day journey on earth doesn’t only evolve within leaving people behind, and so vice versa. I couldn’t even remember how many times have seen friends or family off. It’s my mission in life I think.

Many people say seeing off can be very uncomfortable. One reason for sure it always involves sad emotion or crying to see someone go away. Most of the time, it’s not easy to move on for both persons – to the one leaving and to the one left behind. Reality check, life is full of bittersweet scenarios.

That’s why I never like the idea when my family or friends see me off. I rather go alone to the airport because it’s difficult to endure the agony of loneliness. In my years of traveling, I was only seeing off by my love ones once.

Last week I was with friends at Phnom Penh International Airport again to see someone off to China. For certain, it wasn’t the first time this year. I might have a strange feeling a bit, but it’s because I’m just a normal being – now so immune to this goodbye stage of life.

In few days I’ll be flying home for the first time in half a decade, and so no one should see me off; I prefer it this way. After all, no matter the distance or longest the time may seem, I will see my friends again. I am one of those who hate to say goodbye.

As usual, I rang some friends and went to their homes to ask for prayers about this trip home – not to say goodbye. They don’t have to see me off specially Facebook is just a click a way.

“See you on Facebook, then!” a friend of mine assured.

“That’s it!” I said.

I’ve read a quote from Richard Bach once before and have liked it since then. It says, “Don’t be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is necessary before we can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetime, is certain for those who are friends.” I understand it’s not easy at times, but it’s very assuring – till we met again.  

Seeing someone off is necessary to many individuals and I’ve done this for countless times, but when it comes to me laving – NO SEEING OFF, PLEASE – my apology.

May we find grace in our daily travel!

Weekdays

“These are going to be unforgettable weekdays” said a co-worker in the field as another day came to an end. I didn’t utter a word, but my silence meant completely agreeing. Those were remarkable days indeed along with non-stop laughter like we never had in months or so – we had fun as if there was no tomorrow.  

Despite weighed down by all our cares, we were enjoying the moments. We understand that every worry is no block to happiness, and so it’s a choice to be joyful nevertheless. Above and beyond, we knew our position before our Father in heaven – for even each sparrow’s counted.

If I had to make a film about this blissful reminiscence, it is when bloopers we did in the making should be seen as an introduction along with the names of cast and crew. This is how worth mentioning each funny mistake we had these weekdays.

“How can I log in on Facebook?” she asked me.

“Unless you close the Microsoft Office Word, where you are right now, and click the internet icon twice.” I said.

Then we laughed at the top of our voice and giggled at our naïve mistakes. It was also good to embrace the character of a child once in a while, and the next thing we knew, we are still keeping creative minds like of a kid in us regardless of our age – whether we’re children of the fifties or the seventies.

So there were also a lot of aha moments these weekdays– discovering new things that are familiar routines to others but aliens to somebody. That is why we must leave space for understanding and more grace for others to see. We do know that there is always a first time for us, don’t we?

According to my limitation and faithlessness, I’d probably wrap up these weekdays as another typical drought – when wallet is empty – wondering if I could survive another week for just a dollar. But I just did!

And there before our eyes we’ve seen the abundance of the One who called us – we feasted each day. We even had to be careful with our diet or else we will gain weight. I don’t want to go to a clothes shop to buy new clothes.

Our cups had never run out of coffee – it was another bottomless provision to enjoy.

To a friend, these weekdays were no ordinary as we tried to post photos of food, faces, and places on our Facebook timelines – not worrying how clichés they may seemed. They aren’t just bulk of pictures but hints and traces of God marvelous ways.

Don’t we deserve good treats for the hard work?

I haven’t felt in years that my testimony, encouragement, labor, prayer, and service are counted that much – only these weekdays – again. And so these days were truly significant in my growth. Thanks to the Creator for bringing friends in my life – old and new.

Bussed Life

It may be a weird confession, but my life has been bussed all these years – traversed to different directions driven by unwanted and desired destinies – an inseparable trip one normal being wouldn’t ask for – not when there’s a choice.

I was born to love bus rides as far as I’m aware. But they weren’t just mere rides, they were open doors which helped me put things into perspective including lifestyles not my own. Then I’ve cottoned on to the fact that I’m not the only one existing – it isn’t just about me.

And now got stories to write if I had to – whether a series of unfortunate events or a moving narrative of my odysseys or amusing anecdotes from this experience or untold rumors I kept for years or thrilling accounts about each trip or simply a chronicle – in this bus rides – when each I thought was just a redundant ride of life.

For many times, I found rest and peace in what others call a crazy ride. I still remember had traveled by bus to far places for a day, back and forth, just to escape pressures and stresses from work. And it was never a long road – it was unwinding. 

My life may have been bussed to many places – restless at times; wrestled with hidden reasons; wondered about each grace; and wandered for countless times – but I had to learn and grow this way to appreciate the simplicity and complexity of my own existence – then I will never be the same again. 

It is in this bussed life, aside from comfort talks, I find my mind works really well – where idea after another pops up the most including those outlandish imagination and out of the ordinary – yes, inside the bus.

Sitting inside the bus with a seemingly inert existence, I’d say, one must never undervalue. It was in this ostensibly passive action – even a glance a way – I’ve come to grasp the life of each farmer; and have come to get the picture of what every culture has to unearth – so much better than not traveling.

The only time I had regret was taking the wrong bus despite options, but even so there was always something to learn, which I’ve already mentioned in my previous postings – mine now is to label it – good or bad. 

Believe it or not, I haven’t actually flown in years. But it doesn’t mean haven’t been traveling around this long. Aside from hitting the road through big and small cities including unfamiliar provinces, I have traveled to four countries as well – by bus and only bus.

A bussed life or life in the bus may sound inexpensive to others, but not to someone like me – it’s my ride of a lifetime. I can’t wait to see what’s in stored the next trip.