Unfulfilled Dreams

“Please, list down in a sheet of paper all your unfulfilled dreams so far.”

It was the given activity for the day to a group of young professionals (including me) during Sunday school – a task which I perceived every successful career person (excluding me) wouldn’t waste time giving a thought.

We did anyway and so discussed what we had in mind. But then let me bring out into the open some of what I had listed back there; written without observing a proper grammar:

• No PhD degree yet
• To become NGO’s adviser or consultant or  director
• Never been to Korea or United Arab Emirates
• To be part of Annual Bangkok Ultimate Frisbee Tournament
• Make my own blog
• Publish a book

And few more which I prefer nameless still – that if you believe in someone’s secrecy. If not, then you really are nosy.   

Two weeks or three after, I got a call from the Department of Sociology, University of the Philippines informing me that I didn’t make it for the applied program.

Few days later, came in the good one – I was admitted to Asia Graduate School (a.k.a. AGST) in full scholarship pursuing Doctor of Education in Adult Learning.

Years after, I was conferred by International Communicators Open University with another degree, Honoris Causa – Doctor of Education in English.

All this time, not even once I’ve browsed back an old journal where I kept my silent aspirations – seemingly unfulfilled – only few weeks ago. As I started paying each listed hope some attention, so reminded me of those ups and downs – now I’m laughing at those monsters of faith; in tears of joy.

Truly, it takes perseverance, hard work, faith, mercy, grace, and prayers. Before I noticed, I was already living my dreams (not everything though). And only one out of these six in the lists hasn’t come true yet – a trip to UAE or Korea.

I am hopeful still about it – in God’s perfect time.

Thank God for all these things!

How do you value unfulfilled dreams?

Well, I leave it to you to answer this question. But if you see me hanging out with dreamers, I pinch them and wake them up. I advocate and educate and encourage youngsters to keep pursuing their hopes in life.

Above all, I suggest dreamers to offer every aspiration to the Author of life – the Creator and Sustainer of every dream big and small.

A Phrase

Back in Saigon since late last night, but no more “surprise” talk although it’s still around appearing. If I talk more about it, then I won’t be able to write something else – about this phrase.

If you aren’t updated with what I do, aside from blogging anyway, furlough brought me here – in a long while – the shortest and the cheapest one worker could have. I’ll be in the city for the rest of the year, not wasting time hopefully, but to enjoy the season and is here for the Annual Asian Ultimate Frisbee tournament.

So don’t wonder if I am stuck in this coffee shop at the moment. That’s what I meant to enjoy my holiday with a cup of hot coffee in my hand. The story happened here as well this early morning.

“Give me your ticket!” she told one of the VIP customers for like three times.

So there I went, trying to be nosy but with an intention to help. Aside from education wise, I think I’m really called for this – to offer help or unsolicited advices.

“Excuse me, ‘Can I have your ticket, please!’ is more polite I think.” I whispered in Vietnamese.

Thank God, she was very receptive and humble, and so it was worth reminding her.  

I’m not saying that she is rude or impolite, but it’s just the proper use of a phrase. Maybe none of her teachers put an emphasis on this one when she still learned the language.

Well, she isn’t the only one, I’ve been an advocate for this small thing called “ethics’’ in years whether in one-on-one encounter like this young lady or a huge group of young professionals and young people.

If you visit those kids in the village I worked for, you’d notice their know-how on the differences between a slang phrase or an informal phrase or a formal phrase. I put so much importance on this stuff because they should know them.

Even Asian like me dislikes being asked “What is your job?” It’s the same initiated feeling someone flicked my ears. These kids know the other way instead “What do you do for a living?” It sounds right, I think.

A phrase is still a phrase – it can drive a client away or win somebody round.

And a phrase is only a collection of both familiar and unfamiliar words – one just has to say it appropriately at the right place, at the right time, and for the right purpose.

Christmas Hints

Each time I paid Saigon a visit, there’s always a surprise in stored. And in these surprises I find myself whether in awe or flabbergasted. Many times, they appeared as a reminder or as a precious lesson to jot down. 

No matter what it was – every time varied – to mention few… from a typical cuisine to exotic one; from a laid back way of life to civilization; from being reserved to outgoing individual; from simple to complex cultures; from a slumber city to a sleepless society – all these amazed me to the fullest.

My recent visit last week brought another unexpected episode I didn’t think of – those Christmas hints I posted on Facebook or paraphernalia decked before time downtown Saigon. They aren’t just mere pictures but sheer reality eventually conceived a new story.

It was still November when I came in this time, at least few days before December, and yet shops everywhere including malls were already in bling-bling and in dazzling colors telling hints for the season.

It was an unusual welcome. Trust me I’ve been here long enough for intuition. This city has never been this eager to adorn attractive stuff and for gilding the night to announce the season.

“Cool!” I said peeping through the bus’s window.

The next day, I found myself taking photos in endless amazement. And from there instilled another question my mind couldn’t wait to know – “What’s behind those Christmas hints?”

I thought and thought carefully trying not to be subjective about it, but my heart was so irresistible for such temptation – to speak out my mind – they’re but pure ads or commercialism – one obvious means only to attract clients taking advantage of the season. 

 Without beating around the bush, this didn’t surprise me at all except for such enthusiasm decking in time for the sake of commercialization with no intention remembering the celebrant.

As I clicked my old camera, and noticed every thing including bits and pieces, I couldn’t help but utter objective judgment – they’re only Christmas hints – in all forms – trying to entice every naked eye with one simple message – BE MERRY and HAVE FUN!

Then in one glance a way, came a surprise which urged me to click more. They are 5 separate words in huge sizes, in gild – FAITH, LOVE, JOY, PEACE, and HOPE – hanging on the glass walls for everyone that passes along Le Loi Street to see.

“This is it. It’s so awesome!” I said as I took one last shot.

Thanks to the one that came up such an excellent idea. I may not know his/her intention for such a concept, yet out of those seemingly Christmas hints expose true messages every mankind should be hearing.    

It was a surprised indeed even from those Christmas hints.

Happy Holidays!

Awful Hour

Tried to finish some errands in time down town Saigon today in hope could catch a bus not squeezing through the crowds. There has been an anticipation visiting good friends who just moved in the suburb area. So off I went to the bus station.  

In few steps walked, the ambiance of the city turned upside down all of a sudden. I didn’t feel so well– it’s like a thin line from sanity to insanity – freaking out in silence.

The sun this time was just so aggressive, and too unkind for its stinging heat – caused almost every person in bad mood including mother earth. It was like sitting around the fireplace in midday.

Those ordinary things I usually paid no attention now have become annoyances. Suffering for an hour was like forever. I couldn’t wait to have it over.

Who could stand a persistent woman selling lottery tickets despite countless refusals? I had no patience for such pushiness – not this moment – it really gets on my nerves – she was just irritating not to understand a simple ‘no’.

Then there they were those nark “xe om” drivers trying to spoil my day. Their nosiness and craftiness drove me even more exasperated. They were just illogical buggers who don’t know who’s who – a bus commuter or a xe om passenger.

Smokers also drove me around the bend. And no matter how I tried to find a smoke-free-zone, just could not find a safe spot – they were all around me. So I had to go round and round under the heat of the sun to evade exposure to secondhand smoke.

But I stood them all in silence, upset though. 

It was already an hour or so waited for nothing and not a familiar bus came. Before I realized, it was actually unnecessary to go to the main station to catch the right bus. It stops exactly at backpacker’s area where I did some errands earlier. I totally forgot.

But it was too late to regret. So I headed back to where I should catch one. In half an hour’s time, there it came – finally the right bus.

“What an awful hour it was!” I whined.

But it was only one awful hour – it didn’t actually ruin my entire day. As far as I remember, good things happened before and after this seemingly appalling sixty minutes or so – a coffee talk with an old friend this morning; a chat on FB with family and friends; a warm welcome from kind hosts (for their time, for the fellowship, for the cash, for the bountiful blessings around the table); an early Christmas gift from a friend who is in Portugal; and more.

Again, it was only one awful hour!

WARNING: DON'T FALL IN LOVE

A madly in love teenager is predisposed to defiance despite constant reminders. So it takes fervent prayer and sensitivity to counsel a client as this. “Love is stronger than a raging torrent!” elders in my time would always say to anyone who’s head over heels.

If this is a metaphor, then I’d still use it for comparison’s sake – a completely in love teenager and a writer who is too attached to his writing.

The tendency is that, if one is very much in love with his piece (an article for instance), he’s also vulnerable to defiance without being opened to any corrections. I was told once – Don’t fall in love with your own writing.

I took heed to this warning since then, without hesitation. If I didn’t, my life as a writer could have been stagnant - the worst mess could have happened.

For this important reason, I remind myself of this pitfall every so often. If I don’t, then I will not be able to see what others see or understand the perspective of others.

What’s the use of a peer?

Well, I leave it to you to think of the answers. For sure, we’re all aware of the existences of these words “edit” and “editor” in the dictionary – to counteract this defying gravity or to remind us simply the danger of one-sidedness.

No offense, but I do see a lot of writers on cloud nine – deeply, incredibly in love with his/her finished product, unpolished. Sad to say, no matter how I tried to be of help, it’s pointless – they are so defiant – not wanting to learn anything.

When people asked me to edit their write-ups, they wrestled with the idea of polishing. The worst, they are afraid of changes. Actually, I was not trying to change the structure, but I was only suggesting possibilities – from grammar to concept and to creativity.

So it’s like having someone around who is madly in love and so unreceptive to nuggets of wisdom. When I told them to do things differently, the next time they write one, it’s the same old thing. That’s the real challenge!

“What’s the point of coming to me anyway?” I asked in silence.

Some of these in-love-writers are great pretenders. They pretend to seek advice or a piece of idea, but actually not. No matter how much important things you laid down to share, at the end of the day, they’re just clanging cymbals.  It’s really crazy!

Sorry about that, but I give further elaboration no more – I only have one intention to bring – like those who told me once – a warning: Don’t fall in love with your own writing.

NOVEMBER TWENTY-THIRD

 “What’s with the date that it keeps coming in reminding?” I asked, and then asked.

Have thought of relevant occasions just to calm this wondering mind, but all these didn’t ring any bells with me. Then, in one last try – voila – it’s actually my father’s death anniversary.

I’m old, but not that old. And so it has nothing to do with agedness. My forgetfulness on this date is just the opposite of denial or anticipation – I had let go in years, and moved on.

That’s it!

Besides, I don’t really observe death anniversary although I treasure dead loved ones and friends for eternity. Sorry to say, this is just the way I perceive people who’ve gone before us.      

“So what’s this about?”

Have asked that myself as well.

So far, a single reason I could compose is the literal explanation aside from one personal revelation. That this date was unordinary day when the Creator took away the presence of an earthly Abba – to complete my orphan status; to be in total dependence on the Father of the fatherless; and to prune me becoming a grown up person above all.

I struggled to understand though, but life didn’t stop being an orphan. The most hurting scenario year after year was to celebrate Father’s Day. That’s when I had to sigh in pain, and in silent tears seated on the bench while others honor their fathers.

It took faith to believe that I still have the greatest Father. That’s when I understood the finiteness of an earthly ones – they couldn’t be around at all times to protect, to provide, to rescue, to comfort , to guide, and to know the deepest part of me – there’s One and only One -  the Father of the fatherless.    

And pruning was required to see each purpose along the way. It doesn’t take psychological analysis to understand a child’s longing of a father. For even animals I think are subject to that yearning. But it was in this pruning I learned to grow independently in human speaking.

Regarding that personal revelation – no thorough biblical scrutiny involves in fact– it is just an interpretation of my own – a sort of reminder to be grateful about to selfless individuals who were  there in the absence of a biological father.

Thank you very much for your examples!

God takes away, yet God gives more. When my real father was gone, He sent three special people dear to my heart – they fathered me in various ways – an adopted father who provided my financial needs most of the time; a foster father who welcomed me in when I was homeless and hungry; and a spiritual father who admonished me to walk in the likeness of God’s image.

They may have played major differences in my life, but they have got similarities in many ways to be honest – one, they’re all the Master’s servants called to serve the needy; two, all of them have compassion for the fatherless; three, each has a deeper perception of the true essence of a father.

Now, the twenty-third of November is just a date I’ve forgotten in many chances, but now I see it a different perspective.

   

STILL IN THE ALPHABET

For years, I really possessed a strong optimistic outlook on language learning beyond cautious optimism. That was always a good start – an attempt having no regret in the end for such spirit.

Getting hold of a positive stance, it pushed me over the limit. And no matter how time consuming each language learned; regardless how complicated the rules in frames; despite how tiring the demand of a tongue twister – I stood the test – it was just a matter of settling the heart and mind encouragingly.

But not on this overwhelming language, the Khmer, in which each character I come across is a strange creature. I am beginning to be pessimistic about it, not to count the numerous whining and complaints.

The alphabet itself is too much, left me annoyed for not being able to familiarize every stroke still. Sometimes, I am tempted to set aside this venture again since I speak the language enough.

“You really have to memorize them to remember well.” insisted a Caucasian friend, also a learner.

“Ah, OK.” I replied instead of defying such an idea.

But my heart is telling me the irony of how I learned things – not memorization or by route. I prefer familiarization or learn it by heart, and then I’d remember them for the rest of my life.

Yet, as I devour myself daily mastering the alphabet, that’s when challenges come disturbing– to name – laziness, less motivation, forgetfulness, less focus, short attention, and all sort of negativism a body could ever feel.  

“I think my friend has a point on this one.” my defiant heart is agreeing.

Now, I am so tempted to give a shot and see what his idea has in stored. After all, no one dies in giving a try.

Still in the alphabet - in my fourth attempt – at least I didn’t give up.

Happy to know, it took years for the locals to master it. And that’s an excuse for not thriving very fast – if only I could.

Sad to say, there are locals still that couldn’t write and read such Khmer alphabet. Fortunately I am beginning to recognize things here – that’s another comfort.

“How old were you when you started learning Khmer formally?” I asked a veteran friend on this particular language.

“Forty plus something” he answered back.

In his super duper accomplishment embracing the language itself, speaking like a local is an eye-opener in fact. So I can still do it.

Today, I will be obedient enough memorizing each letter to prove me wrong. Hopefully, this will help me get through it. I could not wait to master the alphabet and be able to read Khmer words.

Wish me the best!