Your life is a mosaic.

I'm having a hard time organizing things in my head lately. If post-it's could just pop out of my very 'organized' organizer every time I open it, I'd be the most grateful working woman out there.

Balancing your life at 23 is no easy feat (especially if you live alone and has no interest in cooking at all--haha). Apart from the office duties, there are the home duties and sister duties as well. I've been tempted to jump on a plane to my family in Singapore and take a long vacation but I can't just leave my work and my twin (and my poodle and my sewing machine) alone.

I have too many plans than my 10-pound brain can hold. I have too many ideas that need writing down. I have too many crafts and DIY projects to keep me inspired. And there's the occasional travels I want to sink in.

Far too many. Yet I have big faith that, in time, all these goals--no matter how indefinite or disorganized they might seem at the time I realized them and scribbled them in my organizer and disparate sheets of paper--will fall into place together to paint a lovely picture of my life.

We all are capable of creating moments that CREATE us. After all, each life is a mosaic waiting to be formed and transformed into some majestic awesomeness.

I meant to write an insightful blog today.

Max and Shelley, among others, keeping me company.

I meant to write an insightful blog today as I have been feeling well lately. I have been trying to make my stay at home productive—watching DVDs, eating, sleeping, not bothering myself with anything related to work, reading, writing novellas in my mind, playing with the dog, eating again, sleeping gain. Yes, very productive, indeed.

When I woke up this morning, I was determined to make what may be the last stretch of of my bed rest hiatus even more productive by writing something related to a a TED video I saw recently, and writing down goals in this untouched notebook that my sister brought me home from Hawaii ages ago (why do I have so many notebooks??).

In my weeks of total bumming, I could already trace a pattern that is both unfathomable and annoying. The pattern is this: I don’t feel well-I feel well-I don’t feel well-I feel well. Of course, I would hope it could just end with ‘I feel well,’ period. Right?

I would say that I have never felt extreme fatigue and fragility than in those weeks leading to my diagnosis. I’m still thankful that I’ve been communicating with my parents via YM and that my mom convinced me to bring myself to the hospital. Drove to the hospital. Admitted myself to the hospital. Had some initial problem with the HMO, which was later resolved. Committed myself to total bed rest-slash-boredom and needles and tests and juice and cable tv.

That night, my mom flew from Singapore to Manila to take care of me.There is truly nothing like your mother taking care of you. Every food and every drink she gives you…you just can’t say No. hehe

Anyway, I meant to write an insightful blog today but I realize I’m not totally feeling well. There’s this pain in my chest that lingers (and I don’t mean this to be a romantic metaphor, haha) and a neck pain that reminds me of a similar pain weeks ago when my fever first subsided.

Meantime, I leave you with this: La dolce vita! Because life remains sweet despite the pain or sour days we are going through. :)

Right. Will take a rest now. Looking forward to getting my head together, feeling and thinking magical, and writing again.

Slow down, you're doing fine.

Untitled by eflon

Sometimes I feel like I'm driving in this interstate highway, cars speeding around me, the night lights flicker in silent derision--looking down on all these people who always seem to have to be somewhere. So preoccupied that they forget how beautiful the moon looks against the night sky.

It is easy to write about slowing down and taking time to 'smell the flowers.' I can't imagine how many times I have mentioned about 'living in the moment' in this blog. I write about it because I believe it. I write about love because I believe in love. I write about compassion because I believe in compassion. And I write about life because I believe in actually 'living.'

There are moments in life, however, that challenge us to choose between getting ahead and slowing down. Oftentimes, we are tempted to choose the former as it entails professional growth or stability and security. But if it's not your life's passion, is it worth the pursuit?

Perhaps slowing down seems foolish. Taking the time to cultivate yourself and what you truly need and desire will take a while. But aren't all great talents start from a form of practice, which takes hours and hours and hours of more and more little practices?

While I spend a week at home, sick, and praying day by the day, that the next day will not be any worse than the last, I realized that maybe, it was God's way of slowing me down. Of making me realize things that I knew have been staring me down for quite a long time now. Maybe it was His way of telling me to take care of myself first before anything else.

This afternoon, I had the strange yearning to listen to Billy Joel's "Vienna." The lyrics of the song made Mr. Joel sound like a wise old man, softly reprimanding me, and telling me to just take it easy. There are a lot more messages in that song that touched something in me very deeply.

There is much gratitude to be expressed for special moments that touch us, or open our eyes. For music, love, and family. And for the gift of time and freedom.

While I (bed) rest.

Blogging from my iPod. The last time I did this I cursed the app for making me do all the thumbwork for almost half an hour and then mercilessly vanquishing everything...sending all my thoughts into cyber-oblivion. But here I am again.

Blogging thru my iPod. Guess this is the closest solace I've got in my bed. That book sitting on the cabinet two feet away from me beckons but I pretend not to hear. You see, yesterday was officially my third bed rest day after being diagnosed with a viral infection, which, quite frankly, I would like to call work stress. *cough* Since I was bored to death, I grabbed the book and read a few pages. A few pages. Hours later, my temperature soared to 39 again and everybody thinks it's because I exerted extra tiny effort to read. How funny. I just needed something to do apart from drinking my meds every four hours. Or changing my sweat-drained shirt every two hours. Children, you should really take your vitamins. Being sick is a slow trip to insanity I tell you.

Anyway, so I did a lot of meditation instead (well, in between my DrawSomething stints of course). I made realizations and decisions and talked to myself about things needing long, overdue...light. I wouldn't say that I've got everything figured out for myself already. In fact, I've always believed that tomorrow is never a promise.

And then I thought about compassion, kindness. Two things I'm passionate about. Am I a kind person? I would say yes. Although we all have our limits and we cannot keep on helping people who do not even try to help themselves. Sometimes, walking away is the kindest thing to do. Especially when there's nothing left to say. Let them say whatever they want to say about you. Let them paint a negative picture of you. Let them hurt you in conversations spoken in private. Let them curse you. Let them distort the truth to save their pride. Let them save themselves at your expense. Let them repeat their versions of the truth to others. Let them hurt you passively. And then let them display a false front to, again, save their pride. Let them be.

Life is too short to just spend it watching childish shows. We grow up and move on.

Right. Time for dinner. And then meds. And then bed. Again.

xoxo

This, too, shall pass.

Day 052/365-Pink Balloon by contemplicity

When I feel like things have been disorganized in my life lately, I knew I have to fix something. I knew I have to start somewhere. Anywhere. I just need to feel that things are and feel right before I can begin again. It always brings me back to that childhood memory of myself sitting in my brother's room, staring at the blinking cursor of the desktop monitor. No matter how I force myself to start doing that paper, I just can't. Why? Because behind me is a visual clutter of my brother's bed. So...even if it wasn't my bed and it wasn't my room, I clean it. I have to. Otherwise, I'll just stare at that monitor for hours and sulk. And be unproductive. And be a dysfunctional little kid.

So yesterday, I cleaned my closet. It has been in a very lamentable state for months now that if I even dare imagine the Pevensie children opening it, they'd be taken to a land far less magical than Narnia, where they will cry and cry and be miserable all their lives (I'm sorry, children).

Anyway, I cannot understand why I have so many clothes. And this epiphany did not come up just because I saw "Love, Loss, and What I Wore" the other night, which, by the way, was a funny, flattering ridicule to women and their heels, purses, bras, boots, and to just being a woman (Cue in Beyonce's 'Who Run the World' song please, thankyouverymuch). I found all types of sad clothes in my closet--clothes that I haven't touched since I bought them a year ago, clothes from two Christmases ago, clothes that were lost under the heavy stash of other clothes that I also barely touch, clothes that I cannot remember why I bought them, and clothes that I have already outgrown.

Apart from clothes, I also keep some of my personal belongings in my long-forgotten closet--most of these trash which I have convinced myself for years ARE NOT trash.

As I was rummaging through heaps of clothes and 'trash' for hours, I had to face a veritable truth: We keep moving forward. And moving forward always entails some form of fearlessness to finally let go of things we have been holding onto for some time.

I battled (mentally) with myself, responding very firmly to every dissenting thought that came up while I make space in my closet little by little--But this top is the cutest! I bought this on sale! This can't be two sizes smaller than me now, I'll find a way. These souvenirs ARE souvenirs. Who gives away Lacoste? I'll grow into it...someday.

After hours and hours and hours of cleaning and answering 'Whatever' to almost every opponent's argument in that cerebral Debate ('Almost' because some items, clothes for instance, managed to appeal and proved their worthiness to be part of my Clothes-To-Alter section, next to my sewing machine), I have more than half of my closet's contents taken out and more breathing space for clothes that I would really wear and things I would really use.

I don't think I have taken everything out though. There are things in there, which I know might continue to sit in there without use for me, and, which years from now, I would begin arguing with myself again about throwing out---the outcome of which I do not know for now.

Bottom line is, things change. Life happens. Letting go of things that you believed was right for you some time but is now only leaving an unhealthy clutter in your mind is a challenge worth facing. I may never know how my life will turn out in the future, but I'd like to believe everything's going to be alright. The struggles we face, and the uneasiness we feel for a moment from all these chaotic life encounters, will disappear all the same.

After I finished with the day's closet work, as I was about to take a bath, I overheard my sister-in-law speaking to her child, my nephew, Miles. Miles is a cute little angel who hates hiccups and cries and cries when it gets too much for him to handle. My sister-in-law was telling him, in her sweet, low voice, "It will pass, son. It will pass" (Mawawala din yan, anak. Mawawala din yan.)

When I heard that, I smiled. Sitting in the toilet listening to that might not be the best context to get profoundly emotional and insightful at that time but it was a peaceful and inspiring moment.

"This, too, shall pass." Miles may be too little to understand it but when he grows up, he'll know just what his mother meant. Growing up, his parents would tell it to him time and again, and he will believe or disbelieve it the best way he can. But he will learn that everything is alright. And that acceptance--letting go and lifting up one's cares and worries and troubles to life's changing seasons--will hurt for a while but not for all time.

We keep moving forward.

So let's hold onto both comforting and miserable places (and closet spaces) we find. Breathe them in. And when they go, let us open our hearts to acceptance, freedom, and gratitude. After all, everything is going to be alright.