My mind is hurting, my heart is crying and my soul is mourning.....

I have been thinking about heaven lately that I had thought of my grandfather Igmidio delos Reyes who was a role model for me in my pursuit of God.  His love for God as manifested in his untiring meditation of His Word day and night while his hair was still black, then salt and pepper until it all became grey has been deeply impressed within me up to this day..

My big question and wondering  as I lay in my bed while it was still dawn was "When is Jesus coming again?" My grandpa had waited for a long time and then he was gone.  My mother believed in Jesus coming again...and she was also gone.  And yet Jesus hasn't come yet...

I've been hoping then that I won't die, but meet Jesus in the air.  However, will this be fair for the next generation after me?  What about their plans of going to Mars and inhabit it, settle there and make a career and life there?  If Jesus comes now, then it is like all mankind's hope for Mars to be another inhabited planet will be futile...But then what about my waiting for His return?  Will I die like my grandpa, like my mother and not see Jesus return in my lifetime.

The thought of heaven being forever and a long long time somehow created in me a feeling of dejection.  However, I just have to trust His word that He is coming again---that He had to go away to prepare a place for me in His Father's house.  And where He is, there I will be also.

I got up.  Only to find a message in my inbox telling me of someone who became close to me even for a moment passed away.  I felt so sad that even if I was able to perform my tasks at home and at work, I was certain something was not right within me--my mind is hurting, my heart is crying and my soul is mourning. 

While sadness was overwhelming,  God had a way of dealing with my innermost self.  The office called and so I did not have to be sad but I was called to work again.

Yes, my work had been a good distraction.  As soon as I got home from my on-call interpreting jobs for the last two days, I still felt the impact of my elderly friend's death.  The heart-rending cases I became aware of as I did my job in the hospital also had a cumulative effect in my broken heart.

Tonight the son of my elderly friend sent me a picture of his mother in a coffin.  He said that his Mom had always mentioned then that she had a wonderful friend named Lilian---ah that should be me!

 This was so sweet to hear.  I did not know why she sat on that pew with me one Sabbath. Somehow my Mum and I sort of had established it as our permanent seat in church.  

After a couple of years of absence because my mother then needed a high level care until she passed away, I came back to church.

I knew another church member usually picked up my dear old sweet lady friend  to go to church. Why then did she sit across my side and not with the lady who usually gave her a lift?.  Did she hear about me giving up my university job to look after my mother that she became interested about me and asked about my mother? Or was she wishing she'd have a daughter like me as many elderly people I know also wished?  I never had a chance to ask.

When she sat next to me then for the first time, I cried profusely ...

What happened was she did not sit next to me the following Sabbath. Ah... she might have thought that sitting next to me would make me cry and she did not want to do that.  

Yes, she reminded me of my mother because she sat where my mother used to sit in church.  The truth of the matter, however, the first few Sabbaths when I went back to church, I used to shed tears which my eyeglasses hid as I sung hymns in church.  I missed the beautiful alto voice of my mother.  I also shed lots of tears during pastoral prayers while everybody's eyes were closed.  It was not her per se that made me cry---it was the thought of missing my mother. It was the thought that  I was alone then in that pew and this beautiful and kindred- spirited woman one Sabbath cared to sit next to me.  Or was it the Holy Spirit who led there in that pew where I was?

No that she was gone, too--like my own Mum, all that's left with me are memories of her and the brief time that I was able to minister to her and she, by the same token was also able to minister to me.

Once again I remind myself of what Jesus said....

Do not let your hearts be troubled.  You believe in God, believe also in me.

My Father's house has many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I am going  there to prepare a place for you?

And if I go and prepare a place for you,

I will come back and take you to be with me

that you also may be where I am.

You know the place where I am going.

My Words of Remembrance of My Father

Thank you all for being with us during this difficult time of our life.  It is written, Each of us lives for 70 years, or even 80 years if we are in good health."(Psalm 90:10).

Our father  D.Blanco loved life and was passionate about it that God, in his abounding grace, gave him 83 years of good and meaningful life on this earth.

Our father was a man of strong character and commanded respect, not only from us his children,  but also from almost our entire neighbourhood back in the Philippines and also here in Australia from all who knew him.  He was in general, a serious man.  However, I remember one of my first cousins, used to say about my father, "When Tio Del smiles, it is as if the heavens were opened."

As a policeman and being the son of a US Scout Ranger, our father had been a strong disciplinarian.  He expected us, his children, to be good and law-abiding citizens.  He did not want us to ever get in trouble with the law of the land. That's why from the time we were born, he carefully thought  out what names he would give us, most particularly my brothers.  Unlike most boys in or country with names ending with an "o," such as Mario, Alfredo, my brothers names were Abner, Nimrod, Rommel and DÁrtagnan. He said if our names were common and the same as anybody else's. chances are we could become victims of mistaken identity. Also, unlike most of the youth in 1960s who sport the Beatle hair, my brothers were not allow to grow their hair long.

When we were children, my father, in his best parenting effort assigned my siblings and I chores to do around the house and garden. He wrote each of our names in a blackboard with a corresponding chore next to it, noncompliance of which, meant a corresponding dose of discipline by rod or belt. 

Reflecting on this over the years, as we grew older, we realised our father was training all of us 1)  to become disciplined and responsible people and 2) to be mature and to be accountable for our actions.  He always stressed, "wrong choices often result to bad consequences."

Like all parents, our father cared to give us a better life.  I remember those years when we lived in a small house, which if not by God's protecting hand, could have been blown down by a long and strong typhoon called 28 de Mayo," by the locals, and how he , with the support of my mother, built a house of strong materials with 15 foot high ceiling and many wide windows.

I remember also he had set apart one room in our house to become a library because, like himself, he wanted us to read and develop a habit of it. One of the books in our library then was  Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories, which he read to us each night when he wasn't working night shift.  I remember also the many times he sang to us, while playing on the guitar, You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.  You made me happy when skies are grey."

By the same token, I remember the many times he sang to us "Pulisyang Pambansa," at the end of which he would blow his police whistle. [I posted a video with this song as soundtrack and I am also sharing it here:

Yes our father was strict and serious.  However, he had always made time, besides singing to us, to read stories or tell jokes which made us laugh. When we were so keen to see a movie, he watched the film first, scrutinised it, to be 110% sure, the film was good and wholesome to children. The movies that were approved by the board of censor which constituted only himself were The Sound of Music, Chitty Bang Bang and Snow White.

However, the first movie we all watched as a family was The Ten Commandments, after which he took us to a Chinese restaurant where we all ate hot noodles and steam buns.

Besides taking us to Chinese restaurant, he always took us to Max Fried Chicken.  He did not take us to Magnolia House because ice cream here was costlier, but regularly took us to a nearby ice cream parlour called La Filipina where we all ate as much ice cream as we wanted.

When we, all his children grew up and lived separate lives, our Father was still always there to us giving us all the support he could give when we were downcast and or having problems of many kinds. He continually gave us advice and said prayers for all of us.

He mellowed over the years.  He ceased to become the strict father we once had.  He became our friend and adviser. He, as well as our mother, served  as our inspiration to become achievers.  He still said, as he had always said to us when we were kids, there is no limit with what we can do, there is no limit with what our brains can learn. 

Practising this himself, even up to the 83 years he had lived on this earth, our father never ceased to read newspapers, books and magazines to develop himself and keep abreast of the latest world news.  He read regularly the Bible and also thick books on alternative medicine and general knowledge.  Till his death, his mind was as sharp as a needle.

One thing I would always remember my father for,  was his love for gardening.  I watched him work with pleasure and precision in the garden. Up to that time his mobility decreased, still he would work in the garden, bit slow yes, but he'd put all his efforts to walk out in the garden, turn on the tap and sit on his chair while he watered his plants.  

It was amazing that even in his old age, he still planted fruit trees--even if he knew he would not live to see them grow and bear fruit... 

My other siblings have their own words to remember our father.  All of us, however, would say in our father's final life's journey, he will forever remain alive in our hearts

in Johari terms....

Robert Louis Stevenson writes "the cruellest lies are often told in silence."

I became keen on a Tassie guy who interviewed me for a position in the university during the late 1990s.  Although he is an atheist, I found him to be friendly, accommodating, warm and gentle person.  Naturally, one (including myself) would not find it hard to like him.

Even if he was back to Tasmania, I had many times called him because my boss every now and then told me to call Tasmania whenever I had queries about  some stuff in the laboratory. In these calls, I became acquainted with him to know that he was going through a divorce from his first childless marriage and that he had a house in the wilderness,-a huge one, which he was renovating himself. He invited me to come and visit Tasmania and promised to show me around having already bought for himself a Volvo car after I had made the impression I was not keen on sailing with him.

At the same time I was getting to know him, I was also becoming acquainted with other staff in the lab, well enough to believe that he had also invited one of the girls in the lab, too at one stage to go with him to visit. I must have asked him about this but got no answer. His eyes, his body language, were in no way indicators for me to see through his 'blind' window.

Should I consider his silence the same as telling a lie? I would be inclined to, but then he is also a human being like I am. I thought maybe he realised that by revealing to me this secret in his 'hidden' window, would be like an invitational threat to our developing friendship. Or  maybe  like I do, he also wants privacy in certain areas of his life.  Or else, it must be too early in Johari terms, to enlarge the open window.
....
....

I went to Tasmania one year after he had invited me to come. I enjoyed the visit, the 45 minute drive away from Hobart to his house and the beautiful rose he picked from his garden to welcome me. I also enjoyed the drive up to Mt Wellington, as well as the Italian food.  It could have been perfect if he  had bought me the local ice cream for dessert, but he didn't. I kept this craving in my 'hidden' window, so he did not have any idea and hence did nothing to meet this sweet icy cold craving in that chilly autumn evening.

I spent the one day of my visit in a group tour to the Huon Valley with people the majority of who were members of the silver grey brigade and the other days with Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) woman and her family--not to mention that instead of attending his birthday celebration, I attended instead the birthday celebration of a friend of this SDA woman.  I must have concerns staying over at his house.

Whilst he picked me up from the airport and welcomed me with the business handshake, he did not see me off, but got early to the airport to entrust to the airport deskman  my pair of eyeglasses I left in his car. Yes,  I took them off being anxious  of being blown away by the big winds on the summit of Wellington mountain while we were there. Ah, I could not afford to lose my multifocals and transistion lenses--not ever again! after someone stole my bag with the previous pricey ones in it while I was in Parramatta library.

The airport guy was laughing in his eyes, I smiled and thanked him.  In Johari terms, the únknown'  window of this friendship, is not for him to look through and needless to say would  remain unknown to him.

It was my choice to hide it from him as insignificant as he is in this episode in my life--all he knew was I must have left my eyeglasses and my friend gave them to him. 


At least,  I could still see Hobart when the plane take off.

Please let me out of this box!!!!

How can you say it's love

when you put me in a box--so dark, so tight!

I want to get out of this box....

I want to free myself of torment and torture in my mind, 
my heart and in my bones

I do not want to be concealed!

I want to be out in the open

              to breathe in

              some refreshing and
              life-giving
              air!

 Got it?

?

Why am I Lonely?

The following is the content of a loose page I kept in my file for ages:


I found myself once again afflicted with what the doctors considered to be most devastating disease of modern man---loneliness.

Why am I lonely?

I am lonely because I became emotionally involved with the wrong person.
I am lonely because I lost this wrong person suddenly and
I am lonely because I find it hard to live without this wrong person in my life.

I am lonely because it has been hard to wake up knowing this person is no longer in my life
I am lonely because the new dimension he brought in my almost perfect and smooth life is now gone.

I am lonely because I was presumptuous--
He is lost! He needs to have a genuine relationship with God;
He is lost! He needs to find himself and see the real him at a better angle.

I am lonely because I must be presumptuously wrong!
I am lonely because I think this person even if he goes to church must not be a truly converted Christian.
I am lonely because I see him a broken person.

And I am lonely because I just see him as an iceberg.

I am lonely too because I think I hold the universe and as such I can decipher him and change him
And eventually find satisfaction in my brain having accomplished my purpose  in him--that is, to bring out the best in him;
to revolutionise a change in his self-image.
But in the long run--this was long and painful process
I was a failure.


That was yesterday--when I took fancy of 'loving' a person who was my professor, the boy next door, a screen actor, or the choir director at work.  Ah,  all my youthful idiosyncrasies. I liked the feeling of being in love, but at the same time I was afraid to be involved particularly physically as I had a different agenda then--to establish a career.  But then, I think it is so abnormal not to be attracted to someone.  I created stories in my head where I wrote the past, invented today and predicted the future.

Today I am lonely...really lonely.   I lost my only best and true earthly friend--my mother. It has been more than five months ago since she went to be with the Lord but I still cry, with tears in my eyes and arrows of pain in my heart 

.....

The days had been so dry during this spring.  My garden seems to be sad, too.  Or should I say at a lost and confused?  Yes, definitely!  The blooms are scanty, if not scarce.

But then I woke up.  And the heavens were crying with me.  I felt relieved! At least I know the creator of the heavens sympathise with me.

My beloved mama

Click here for a photoshow of my Mama

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaTt-D6LIpc

A Lesson in Love

(Note:  Today is 2 February 2016.  I was surprised I haven't written anything here but posted it.  In my head I know the gist of what I want to say here.  When I went over my posts, I saw at least two drafts of the same title and there was nothing in them, too.  I think it is weird.  I had always wanted to write about this lesson I learned about love.  Anyway, I will have another go this August 2016---the 22nd of which was my big brother's 41st death anniversary).

My Words of Remembrance of our Dear Mother

(The following are the Words of Remembrance I spoke about my mother during the funeral service held at the Blacktown Adventist Church last 13 June 2013.  I was terribly sad and upset about her death that I had to write this.  Usually, I can deliver extemporaneous speeches, but not at this moment when I lost my dear mother---my friend, my best friend. Thanks to my niece Ruth Pearl Custodio for this photo)

There wasn’t anything my mother did not and wouldn't for me and my siblings. By the same token, there isn’t anything in the world I would  not do for her.  This, (speaking before you in this circumstance), however is really hard for me to do. How do I remember my mother?  Let me count in many ways.

.

My mother loved hats.  In all our life together here in Australia, the big issue was where to house her tons of hats.  She had different hats for each season.  The one I am wearing now is her most loved ‘hat.’ That’s why I had always made sure this ‘hat’ could readily be found.

My mother loved flowers. Back in the Philippines, she grew roses and orchids. Here she grew roses, chrysanthemums, and a range of houseplants.  She also grew vegetables.

My mother also loved music and songs.  She enjoyed listening to Philippine classical music called Kundiman. She liked the late Philippine soprano called Sylvia la Torre. She also liked Andrea Bocelli particularly his DVD called Under the Desert Sky. 

She had a great singing voice in her youth that she often did a duet item in the Seventh Day Adventist church she went to with a young man who eventually became my father.

A few months ago, after she came back from Merle’s house, I asked her in a joking tone ‘Mum, Merle told me you were singing a song to her. ..How is it you don’t sing a song for me?’ Straightaway, Mum stopped  while we were walking in the hallway… straightened up her crooked body and sang out loud…Besame mucho…’

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRHF2L-_Hd4&feature=youtu.be

My mother was creative.  With her sewing machine skills, she made beautiful clothes for my siblings and me. She could even turn remnant fabrics into beautiful tops, and also into beautiful and useful household things.  She was also good designer. I remember when I was an IAEA fellow in University of Florida when two American women stopped and one of them remarked, Oh what beautiful dress!.  Where did you buy it?” I did not buy it my mother made it.  She also made costumes in all the drama presentations in my Christian ministry in a different church in early 1990s

My mother also worked like a jet.  When she had a house here, it amazed me how she was able to put curtains on all the windows of her house and even made chair and footstool covers--all just in a day.  When I bought my own house, I had wished to myself I had my mother’s skills.


My mother was a hardworking person.  In her great desire to fulfil her high ambitions for all of us, she engaged in one business after another to help my father support our big family, to build a bigger house and send us all of us to university.  She first ran a cottage industry by employing lived-in machinists to make Ready To Wear clothing which she delivered to a few outlets in the big, busy market place called Divisoria.  She managed two grocery stores in a supermarket in Caloocan City.  At the same time, she also managed a sari-sari mixed store near our house. She also ran a boutique shop in the then newly established Manila Shopping Centre and engaged in recycling business.  She also built dwellings to rent out accommodation to people from nearby and faraway provinces who wanted to eventually settle in Manila.

My mother was a loving and understanding mother.  Unlike my father who dealt with us with the rod, my mother disciplined us using the Word of God to correct us from our wrongdoings.  I believed these two methods of discipline complemented that I could confidently say that all of my siblings and I had grown up well.

My mother was kind, generous and charitable.  I remember all the stormy days when she opened our house to our tenants and even prepared for them hot soup and shared with them biscuits  from our humongous tin of biscuits which she stocked at home.  I remember also that time when our finances were tight and she gave away her last money to the young pastor who visited us.   When I asked in protest why, she said the pastor needed to put food on the table for his wife and his four young children.

Yes, I remember my mother in countless ways, which could make a big book.  But, most of all, I remember

my mother for her big and unwavering faithfulness to a great God whom she talked endlessly.

I could never forget in my youth each sunrise when she kneeled in prayer and each sunset when she led my siblings and I to kneel in prayer to God thanking Him for providing us with our daily bread, asking Him to protect my father who usually worked on night shifts, asking God to protect us from all evils, from sudden death or any natural calamities and also asking God to forgive us from all our sins.

I saw before my eyes God’s great faithfulness to her.  When a really big typhoon hit Manila which was commonly referred by adults in our neighbourhood as Viente ocho de Mayo, 28^th of May in the 1960s, she led my fearful siblings and I who were watching the flood waters rise by the hour to a prayer of faith.  She told us God was merciful and He would not allow our small house then which was similar to a typical Queensland house built on stilts to be carried away in the flood waters, just like those ones  my father watched pass by while he stood by our house which he already tied to the big trees in our yard even before there was flooding.  The rain stopped just a ruler height before the flood waters reached the floor of our house.

For a number of years, my mother and went to this church until her mobility decreased. Nevertheless, she continued to worship God.  I saw her read her Bible.  I heard her sing hymns at anytime during the day or night.  As she was old and frail and could not kneel anymore, I found her praying while sitting down. When she reached her ripe age and found it hard to sit up for a long time in bed, I found her praying while lying down early in the morning, ie because she would not respond to me until she finished praying.

She once told me, No she could not do things for us the ways she used to, but she never stopped praying for us.

When cataract hit her eyes, I read the Bible to her.  I sang hymns to her which she sang along with me, and also hymns which she could not sing by heart.  When her vision became better after two cataract surgery, then we worshipped God together.

My mother loved Psalm 91.  She knew by heart v. 16 in the vernacular...at bubusugin ko siya ng mahabang buhay at ipakikita ko sa kanya ang aking pagliligtas...

Yes, God had been true to His words.  He   would never lie. Through all my mother’s trials, she came out strong.  She pulled through when she had a triple bypass surgery in 1996, left mastectomy in early 2000, heart failure in 2009 and then aspiration pneumonia in 2012.  This did not happen during her recent hospitalisation when she had a minor stroke. The complication associated with diabetes, the atrial fibrillation, high cholesterol and blood pressure took its toll. God had called her to rest. She died in her sleep. Through all the trials and afflictions she had gone through, God had beautified my mother.  It amazed me how people who don’t even know her while she was still alive over the years said how beautiful and cute she was, even the paramedic who came during her last hospitalisation said how cute she was even while she was doing those involuntary jerky moments as a result of stroke. I had been encouraged when she was in the hospital how some kitchen, nursing and general services staff came by to say hello to her or just to see how she was going.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KcCm_8U1oA

My mother honoured God all her life, and God honoured her.  I believed it was God’s plan to send Pastor Daniel whom my brothers and sisters and I have never met to go the hospital to visit our mother.  Just like the good kings in the Bible who had a proper funeral, my mother deserved to have her funeral service to be conducted in a Seventh Day Adventist Church which had remained close to her heart despite her not being able to attend the church for a number of years.

My mother could not see what was going on here.  She could not hear what I am saying.  But her life has been a living letter which we, my siblings and I have been reading over the years.  The Lord planned it this way to serve as a final testimony of my mother's life as she took her last journey on this earth.

My siblings and I and the rest of our extended family praise God for her life.  God has been good to her. Glory be to God.

My thoughts on Love

Love is a word that is commonly and loosely used these days. I have learned that love can be classified as eros (physical), phileo (brotherly) and agape (godly).  To many people, however, love is mistakenly equated to lust.

Sometimes, I find it complicated and confusing to set  apart or differentiate love from all other human emotions. Some emotions, for example, like jealousy, envy, hate or  anger, are sometimes difficult to manage or control.  What about love?

Love, however, is more than an emotion.  It is  a commitment based on will.  It does not depend on one’s physical appearance, performance and possession. This is like him saying,
... even if your hair is everywhere and unmanageable, and not silky and blonde as Kimberly, I still love you. But I  hope you'll go to a hairdresser, though." 

By the same token,  it is like you saying, "because I care about you, I am going to fix myself so you'll be proud to walk with me." 

And in worst scenario, it is like you or him saying "now that your hair is thinning and I know you will soon become bald because of the chemotherapy you are undergoing, I love you just the same.

Love embraces even the worst in the beloved. It holds on-- even when aspirations and dreams fail. 'Even if  you lose your job and we have to tighten our belts, yes, we surely can make it because we'll join hands ... and we will survive.

Love is not to be concealed.,  but rather demonstrated—both in words and in actions.  How can you say you love me when you would not even lift a finger to help me in the lawn? How could you say you'd take a bullet for me when you could not even get up in the night to take me to the hospital?

As I grow in my walk with Christ, I have learned that there is no better way to know and experience true love than knowing God on a personal level through Jesus Christ.

As sinful as I am and deserving to die, God sent Jesus His only Son, to die on the cross on my behalf....  This is love—it is willing to give even to the point of sacrificing what I treasured most."

Love is J..O..Y...- which means setting our priorities straight.  Jesus, Others and You.  In other words, we are to seek God's will in all our interactions with others in every situation at anytime, and this includes even all the mundane trivialities surrounding our relationship with our family, friends and the greater community.

Because I love God, I am concerned for your welfare as I am concerned about mine. Just as I cannot do the wrong thing by myself, I will not in any shape and form do the wrong thing by you... I will give you this Christmas a well-thought gift.  If I do not have the money, I may not give you anything material, but I am giving to you my sacrificial love.  I am going to lop your gigantic jacaranda hoping it will not fall on my head.  If it does, then at least you know that I have proved that your concern is my concern. "

Through Jesus, God sees me as a brand new creation.  The past is forgotten. There is no more condemnation.......  This is love—it is willing to forgive and forget the worst.

 

How many times shall I forgive you? Up to seven times? How many times shall you forgive me? Up to seven times seven? Hang on a second... Is that right?

Jesus said, about forgiveness, I should forgive you not up to seven times, but seventy times seven.  And you should do likewise. 

Through Jesus, I became a member of God’s family.  Like me, you also become a member of God's family.  Through Him, God adopted you and me so we may also share in the inheritance promised formerly only to the Jews...... This is love—it is willing to accept you and me and bring us into the family so we don’t have to feel alone.  His Love assures us we belong. 

In practical terms, it is like you saying...'How about we have a snack together at McDonalds." Yes, because we all have become friends and there is a bond of love between us,  the basic thing we can do is to eat together.  You and neither I, will not want to eat with an enemy, would we?  

One Train Ride...

The sun rays filtering through the corners of the train's window pane were blinding...just like the glories of yesterday? Yes and how satisfying  it was to dwell on them..

How would such thoughts, however,  have bearing on today's struggles and stresses though? Not really much....

Beyond the distant thick clouds I saw seemingly hallways of emptiness and longing, as well as barricades of tears and disappointments.  In a vision I saw my house  lonely,  my  garden weeping...the grasses growing tall yet quickly scorched by the heat of the sun.

I saw life in silent pain............Is this all there is to it?

I had watched the silky oak tree then--grow slowly month after month until it reached its maximum height of 25 metres or so. Through hail or windstorms, it stood unaffected...determined to stay strong... unlike the Canadian maple which just decided to die.  How could it prevail against Eren and his axe?  I could curse Eren if not crack his skull for killing my beloved tree! I wouldn't see a crown of red and golden leaves this autumn nor a crown of emerald green leaves in summer.  I wouldn't have a sea of autumn leaves at all!  It is all his fault!

Or should I blame myself? Well, I shouldn't have hired Eren to dig a hole. Was it his fault if he miscalculated the blow of his axe that hit the primary roots of my maple tree?  Ah,  I shouldn't have aspire to plant a tamarind tree, after all, I wasn't sure if this exotic tree would thrive.

As the train moved along, I saw in my mind the pretty but thorny sight of  the  bougainvillea running along the fence perpendicular to my street. In no time, it filled up the entire fence.  Ah... that was beautiful indeed! The old fence  certainly was a thing of light purple beauty!....until one neighbour (from my own country of origin!) complained! She feared her eyes could one day get prick by the thorns.  And I would get sued... ? Yes,  only if she was foolish enough to walk so close to the fence! Why? of course,  there was about half a meter of pathway she could walk on.... and,  away from my fence.

Then on my mind, I saw the infected wattle tree yet full of yellow blooms leaning more and more obtuse, threatening to fall on the three-stage compost bin my significant other built on my birthday week.  Did he build it because he knew I was crazy about gardening or was it his way of telling me I was still special---after all the storms that have threatened to ruin the beauty of my surrounding?

Just like the microbial activity in the compost bin, things go slowly..in my life.  I could not complain. It is rather difficult to hear the whispers of the stars in the night sky and see what the future holds.     

Reaping a Rich Reward

I have lived in such a way that I do not deliberately hurt anyone.  By the same token, I  have tried the best way possible to maintain peace with everyone. Although, I must admit that in times of provocations, there have been a few times when I lose my control.  God forgive me!

Not that I consider myself better than anyone...because I know I am not. I'm only different.  There are things that people dare  do that I don't even dream of doing, particularly if I could see that these pose risk to my health, my reputation, my safety and most of all, jeopardise my standing before God and all the people close to my heart.  I seem to have my own piece of mind about anything and I tend to stick to it by all means--never mind what other people may say.  I want to be happy with myself that's why. 

I do not exist to please others for the simple reason that I have found it to be one of the impossibilities in this world.  Thus, I believe that one way to feel miserable is to try to please others, if not everyone. Having said this, however, I can confidently say I am not  self-centred. No, not at all (!) Since I became a Christian, I learned that JOY means Jesus first, Others second and You (myself) last.

James said faith without good works is dead. Paul said to work out our salvation with trembling. He also said he had fight the good fight of faith...

Have I not followed in their footsteps? Have I not striven to be like Jesus every step of the way? I definitely have!  But then being a Christian, ie being a new person in Christ, does not eradicate my old self.  I am still the same person who had been afflicted with some kind of manufactured autism, anti-social tendencies, a tongue that cut people into half and the same person who came out of these when Jesus Christ came into my heart.

I could not claim however, I have become righteous except positionally.  It is Christ who made me righteous, who called me into holiness, who sees me as holy. 

Technically, I am not the same person years and years ago.  I have been saved by God's grace.  I have done some good things in the name of God--both to others and myself. 

I have loved myself so that I could also love others. Because I have been patient to myself, I also have been patient to others--though not at all times. I think this is forgivable.  God is not through with me yet. As it is written, I am changed from one glory to another.

I have also been kind to myself,  so I would learn to be kind to others also-- though not at all situations.  I think this too,  is forgivable.  And just as I already said in the foregoing, God is not through with me yet.

I have been not arrogant, either. I know and I have tried not to, despite all the successes God gave me. I regard others, if not better... just to be different from me and thus, deserve as much respect as I do---because my father taught me, as well as my siblings, not to belittle any person.  My father said that  no matter how uneducated or lowly people maybe compared to me, they definitely know something which I don't know. Thus,  I have regarded of equal footing  every one as myself.

Further, I have tried by the grace of God to love everyone with agape love--no matter how I dislike them.  I know, however,  I have failed to do this in many instances. But God knows in my heart of hearts,  I have desired to love them and have tried, even in the poorest way one may view it, to actualise this desire.  And God who is omniscient know I always do!

Is it too much then that I expect to reap a rich reward?  I am not asking for material riches.  All I want is for all my siblings, myself  and my significant other to enjoy life together here on earth---- as it is in heaven.

In this little corner...

I was leafing through the pages of my old journals when i found a piece of paper where I had written an unfinished exposition. I thought I must have written it while waiting for the client or patient while I was still doing on-site interpreting assignments. I read in this paper...as a kid my mother me told she would usually find me in one little corner reading or scribbling while my other siblings were out playing in the backyard. I chuckled and said to myself here I still am, today, in this little corner.
I could have gone out. I have long been kept inside the walls of Lilyland, a modification of Lilianland by which Brett named my property. However, I opted to stay at home. Thank goodness, I did! Or I could not have enjoyed the glorious rhythm of the rain that is falling right now on the Stratco roof of the extension of my house. Had I gone out, I would surely come home like a wet duckling.
Why do I always go in this little corner? I never bothered to know the reason why—not for many, many years.

After minutes of wondering and reflecting, I know now why...
It is only in this little corner where I can enjoy my own company and listen to the deep groaning of my soul and spirit, thereby know myself more. It is in this little corner where I have all the liberty to be me. I do not mean to say I wear a social mask, or any kind of mask for that matter, when I am out there. I never have—not in any shape or form. When I am out there, however, there are norms and standards to follow. Could I just burst out in tear or laughter accordingly as to what my thought processes are, for example, when I am in the congregation of the saints? Could I wear the comfy, sleeveless ruffled-linen purple dress I am wearing now which shows my arms and my neck. Not at all –not because I have not done enough restraining exercises to have the arms of Michelle Obama, but because I am a little bit conservative!
Yes, it is in this little corner where I am most relax, calm, comfortable and free. Where else could I enjoy the music and dance to its rhythm using my own funny steps to lower my blood sugar levels without getting laughed at? Only in this little corner...

It is in this little corner also that I soar limitlessly into heights of spiritual, mental and intellectual mountaintop experiences.

And most of all, it is in this little corner where I can endlessly talk to my Maker and pour out my heart’s deepest desire in tears and in prayers for all the people I love who are sick and hurting.

All i once held dear...

What were the things I held dear? Foremost was my love for the academics. As soon as I had good awareness of what life should be, I'd say I had pursued my dream to be in the academia. Although I believed in God and had a religion, these had not been my top priorities. My highest dream was to be a member of the Academy of Sciences. I believed I was cut out to study, study, and study still and if I would just be persever-ant and diligent, I knew would get there in no time. My efforts were not in vain. I would say I had fairly made a name in science.


That was like decades ago.For a Ph D graduate like me then, there was always the pressure to publish. If I wouldn't, then I was academically doomed. I perish! I'd say I had enough scientific publications, not to mention the countless confidential technical reports I made for chemical companies here in Australia, to be included in Who's Who In the World, and Who's Who Etc.


After I left my career to look after my aging and sick mother, I occassionally googled out of curiosity my name in the internet--Hmm...I was still there. I believed this to be the result of my webpage on dust mites which gained recognition foremost by Discovery Channel School Magazine at the first instance when I uploaded it in the internet. My webpage and sometimes my name in line with big institutes and universities had been cited by different websites of industries as a reference to boost their claim for the effectiveness of their product against dust mites. The number of emails I received through my webpage was huge, sometimes, even clogging my inbox, as the Administrator termed it in one of his emails to me. Among these, which made my ego a bit huge, was from a company in Rhodes Islands offering me some fees to test and eventually endorse their pillow protector against dust mites in the market and also from a radio person in Arkansas asking me if I could be interviewed. Needless to say, I got countless emails from average people consulting me regarding their allergy to dust mites and its allergen. I told to myself then, Ah... I was still alive.


In the beginning of this year,though, I googled my name in a playful mood, and Alas! My name was nonexistent I was unlisted from E-Acarology list of Publications, whatever it was called. I could not remember anymore. For a while, I wondered when I perished....


My rational self however retorted, does it really matter?" Was my career the thing that matter most? NO! Is it my house and my receding bank balance? NO! Is it my family I always hold dear? The answer is still a big NO! One by one they just 'go', like surprised bombshells in my tranquil life. I lost my beloved big brothers, my big sisters, I lost my father...I do not know what the future holds. I do not know whether I will outlive the remaining members of my family or they will outlive me... Either way is a very sad thing. And if I could wish... I wish none of these will happen and we will all meet Jesus together in the air.


I made the video Knowing You using David Bird's guitar rendition. I meditate whenever I listen to it. I also read the lyrics of the song through and through until it occurred to me...


all I once held dear, YES!
all the world reveres,and wars to won ...
All I thought was gain, I have counted lost
Spent and worthless now compared to this---
Knowing You Jesus, knowing You
there is no greater thing,
You're my all, you're the best
You're my joy, my righteousness
And I love you Lord..


How else can I say it? Indeed, there is no greater thing than to know Jesus. I will lose everything, everyone, but Jesus in my life remains. Earthly friends and even my family will fail me, but Jesus never will! No, He never will!

Yes, Jesus is my ALL, my JOY, and my RIGHTEOUSNESS.

Delmar-my You Tube Channel

I did not know I have a channel in You Tube. I believe it was Renren, my nephew who created it using my account. He used to come to my house on a Thursday last year before he attended his next class in the university. He named the channel after my father who passed away on May 10, 2010. I thought he must have truly been missing my father.


Why wouldn't he? My father, whom he called Lolo, had always been involved in his life when he was still a young boy. They were neighbours. When he was really young young, my father used to walk him to school. After school, my father also used to make him snack--two fried eggs with bread, rice or noodles. In spite of a bad leg, his Lolo also never failed to go to his school to see him participate in school sports events or other school programs. Furthermore, his Lolo never missed going to his presentations at the end of school year, after which each time, both of them happily walked home--his Lolo a proud man because his grandson got the Ducks award.

When Renren became a young man, his friendship with his Lolo continued. Since my father moved house, Renren every now and then, had been his frequent visitor. When his Lolo's health deteriorated, Renren became involved in looking after him, being a company to him, sometimes even driving him to the doctor when there was no available driver. He also looked after him and tarried with him at times in various situations when his Lolo became confined in the hospital.

One nice thing Renren does, to my surprise, is his visits to his grandfather's tomb every now and then on his own. On special occassions, he also bring flowers for his grandfather.

Well the above is the backgound to my existing channel which I did not know I have until May 21 of 2011, when I first uploaded the video I made for my sister Daisy for her birthday. In this video, I used as background music my sister's own interpretation of the song, Hahanapin Kita, which I myself love to sing. I posted this video first on facebook and when I posted it on You Tube the second time, I got a strong reaction from my sister. Probably because such video was truly sort of private viewing because people would love to listen more to Anthony Castelo than her. I told her,though, that I just tried uploading video in You Tube as I did not know how to do it then, but know now, of course.

Having quite a bit of fun, I uploaded next the video I made using my brother Art's singing of one of song I often watch on the documentation of the editions we had of the Christian Ministry my family and I organised in the 1990s. In making it, I listened to the lyrics of the song and jotted them down. Art actually missed one phrase in singing the song, I realised it now because I sort of already got a good grasp of the song. But it was not very obvious, though. This is easily overlooked because my brother has got a good singing voice. In fact he was my top favourite singer then next to Joel Navarro.

I was happy I got this channel because of ease in being able to listen or watch my own videos on my tHub tablet. These videos are documentations of the things we did as family using as background music that meant a lot to me. As I eventually learn to create playlists, the more I became a happy You Tube user. I made playlists of my own videos which essentially are my favourite Christian songs, Celebrating Jesus, etc and also playlists of my parents'favourite songs. I also have a playlist which I called For my sisters with much affection, 3 of whict are still private videos because I have not asked my two sisters if they are happy for me to uploaded them. (I posted them originally of facebook). I told to myself WoW! Isn't this real fun--having learned a bit more other features of You Tube.

At the moment, I have uploaded 23 videos, 9 of which are for private viewing. As I have become a You Tube user more, I learned other things...When I look at other channels and see millions views of their uploaded videos, I was sort of disheartened because it would be like a million years and probably the views of my videos will still be just hundreds.

When I recall to my mind however, that my channel has been more for my own enjoyment, I learned to calm down and relax.

I said once more another WoW! Wny, because I got one more interesting thing to do as I enjoy my semi-retiring days. Thanks to my nephew who signed up for me. Thanks also to You Tube!

Listening to my playlists makes my chores delightful.

Remembering Mina

26 November. This was the birthday of my sister Myrna whom we all fondly called Mina.


Mina was the second eldest in our family. Unlike Ate, my eldest sister, Mina was responsible and serious. She was like a second mother to all of us who were younger in the family tree.


I could not forget the day when she did my hair so nicely when I was in grade2. She told me I had to look good because our class was going to have a class picture. She told me to smile when the cameraman finish counting up to three and take the shot. As young, shy and moody as I was, I did not. When I got the picture, she said it was okay and it was not so bad.


Mina's movie idols were Susan Roces and Eddie Gutierrez. She collected photos of the love team and would like so much to go to the cinema to see their movies. However, our father was very strict. He was like our Board of Censor. If we were so keen to see a movie, he first watched the movie himself to see if it was suitable for us to watch. Furthermore, we were not allowed to go to the cinema in the first place, unless he was with us.

One time, however, Mina with my Ate, took me to a second class theatre which showed double program. The movie she was keen to watch then was called Maruja which starred Susan Roces and Romeo Vasquez. As there was another movie, we came home at sundown. My sisters were shocked when we got home because at the door was our father whose face as we figuratively say it was un-paintable.


Ate, began reasoning out, but got a slap on the face. Mina was quiet. When it was her turn to get slapped, she fell straight down to the floor with her eyes closed. Our father furiously lectured to them. I was scared too, but I was young to be slapped and lectured to.


After a few days later when we recalled the episode with a touch of humour, my older cousins said it was surprising because Mina who was the perfect kid, whom they also said was my father's favourite, was in the end not really exempted from the rod. That is, as Mina rarely got lectured to and disciplined.

Mina was not just my big sister but my friend. As young as I was, she shared with me her secrets, particularly about her teenage crush in school by the name of Ruben Perez.


From hindsight, I supposed she also must have wanted to go out with Ruben. But our father's rule was books first, boys last. One time, however, Ruben with his friend Nick who I think got a crush on my Ate, came to visit. Of all days, however, the boys shouldn't have come that day. Why? my father who worked as a mobile patrol police happened to be at home. He regularly stopped by our house anytime he saw fit.

I saw the disappointment on my sister's face when she heard my father who answered the door, told the boys, "No one in his household is sick and therefore, is in no need of any visitors."


Mina survived this heart-breaking episode. After all, she was just a young girl. And she had all of us-- our parents who loved her and we, who were not only her siblings but her friends. Her love for music, singing, drawing, household chores and life put her back on track.


As my parents ran retail businesses and botique, Mina, as well, as my Ate and my big brother Abner, became involved in these. Soon my father gave her a mixed shop to run on her own. The shop was called Mina's Shop and Save Store.

The above is but just a little piece of my huge and fond memory of my beloved sister whom we all lost on 2 November 1979. I wish I could write more... but other things have copyrights in heaven.


This is a video I created in memory of my beloved sister Mina

I thank you Lord I belong to a family

Oh how beautiful is the colour variation of bougainvillea! Every time I see their bracts—white, red, pink orange and yellow, I tend to think of the family I belong to. And when I think of them Lord, I also think of love--because I learn a lot about loving through them.

Am I not blessed to have a mother who trudge one subdivision after another to get me different bract colours of bougainvillea for my genetics class? And could you imagine her catching grasshoppers with me, too and searching for turtle and dead shark?

As for my father, God… did he think I was still 15 years old that he still went with me to get a medical certificate? Why? I was already a postgraduate student then!

Haha! For my father and mother, my siblings and I will always be like their little children in need of help and support.

Lord, it gladdens my heart to belong to parents like them. I thank you forever for them.

And I thank you also for my brothers and my sisters--for Art, Cynthia and Merle whom I go out with to attend concerts and plays and sing praises and share your love to others over plains, valleys and mountains; and also do some crude baking and roasting.

I thank you also for Rommel who runs an errand for me whenever I want to eat Ebisen and for being able to compute my income tax return.

Just the same God, I thank you for Nimrod, my intelligent brother and comrade who talk to me about rockets, booby traps, submarines and the Sinos. Haha! Did he think I want to go to war?

Am I not so blessed? I don’t only have five siblings but more…!! WoW! Amazing indeed to belong to a large family! My siblings are not just my brothers and sisters but also my friends!

Thank you for Mina, Abner, Delmar Jr, too-- Mina who shared with me the little smiles and tremendous pains about life; Abner who skillfully drew for me Magellan, Marcelo H. del Pilar and Gregorio del Pilar; and Delmar, Jr., my bed-ridden brother who taught all of us to be loving and caring. But I tell you Lord…I get so hurt every time I think of them. The thought of their tragic deaths always bring tremendous pain in my heart that I cry, cry and cry….How I wish they were still around!

But then what can I do? But just grow strong and brave to accept things as they are… Life is made of tears, but also comfort and joy...

Lord, I thank you also for Daisy with whom I had shared jackets and jeans, Big Mac and coke and of course basketball games to fight over with when her Motorola team wins over my Crispa. I wish she did not have to fly to Australia because I miss her so, particularly her frowning and crying face whenever my Crispa team win over Motorola.

And I thank you just the same for my Ate. I quarrel with her too! Am I bad? But she was so spoiled!!!! Spoiled by our grandma! How my ears hurt everytime she speaks coarse language! Even then through her worst also shines a little kindness that touches my heart. So I love her just the same, God. You know I do, God.

My family isn’t really that fantastic as you are fully aware, Father. Sometimes we laugh a lot. We sing, cry and pray together. But when we discuss issues in our round table…My! We shout, fight and cry! We do not sound like a family at all! I am sorry to say.

I thank You God because your grace is sufficient, however. After awhile we all can forgive each other and forget about all the fights. Then once more, we are a family again who talk a lot, laugh, sing, eat and pray.

Glory be to You, Lord who binds us together in love and perfect unity.

(From L.R. Blanco’s My Life’s Journal, 1984)

Bare Trees

How could I take pleasure in them?
How could my heart skip a beat as I see a landscape of them?
What is so special about them?

Could it be the backdrop of this blue river
or the blue sky streaked with fluffy clouds?
or their earthly tones and the array of winter flowers
or extensive green grass underneath them?

I think I know--bare as they are yet they paint
a picturesque rustic romance.

Yes, I think I know-bare as they are yet they create
a spiritual solace in my mind and searching soul.

And one more thing...I know when spring comes
they will come alive like me...
when the winter cold is over.

From L.R.Blanco's Strings of Words and Solitude

Myself (1)

striving for victory
over self-centeredness.
*****
a genetic entity.
*****
an outcast full of inadequacies
*****
a loner,
more of an introvert,
prudent in everything
****
saved by God's grace
****
a student of the Bible till Jesus returns
***

To A Beloved Friend

There's nothing much I can remember about you and me.
We've known each other for eight long months,
have gone to places with Christian friends we both love
sung anthems, hymns and praises to God
strolled in the parks under the dome of blue skies
shared nice and bad foods in nearby restaurants
waited for hours for the last bus
laughed at little things and cried over some petty quarrels.

What else have I got to remember?
Nothing more.
This world was not meant for you and me.
If it was--
I could have sung a joyful song,
I could have filled the empty pages of my life
I couldn't have cried alone in the rain
or chased a bluebird and then lost it in bitter despair.

No, there's nothing much between us--
except for that dream now lost in gray clouds.

From L.R. Blanco's Strings of Words and Solitude

Precious Memories

I was sitting on the rocking chair facing the hedge that separates my property from that of my neighbour. As it is autumn now, the hedge is starting to bear orange flowers. I took pleasure watching a lorikeet hop from one flower to another to savour the flower's nectar. I would be listening to some music shortly. I was just catching my breath after doing a bit of gardening despite my sore right hand. I know I must be crazy to be abusing my hand. In the morning, I played on my mother's antique phonograph the records of Perry Como, ie after I asked 'her which record would she like to listen to this time. Hearing Perry Como's I Love You and Don't You Forget It set my mood to do a bit of aerobic exercises. I told my mother sitting on the swing chair by the time Perry Como's record finished, my blood sugar must have gone down. As the sun was on the verge of hiding itself, I opted as always to listen to classical music. I find this quieting the soul and calming the storms of life. I listened this time to the first of the vinyl record in 5 record set of 125 Musical Selections. I felt great satisfaction listening to Handel's Pomposo, Wagner's Lohengrin, Beethoven's Sonata No. 14, Haydn's Toy Symphony... at the same time thanking God for the peace and quiet. As I stared deeply outside through the glass, I was amazed at the pretty sight before me: the harmony and synchrony of the music I was playing with nature --ie the sun filtered through leaves of the hedge, the whooshing wind causing the millions of them dance rhythmically. Even if I could not physically feel the gentle wind as I was enclosed in a glass, I could feel nevertheless the mirth of my surroundings. WoW!!!! As the record spun on the turntable, i dwelt into a deeper meditative state....then I felt an immense sadness within me. Images of our house back in Manila which held precious memories flashed back in my head. Yes, i remember the records we had back home--Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, Mantovani's instrumental music, Mario Lanza and our own Kundiman. The memory of my father came back once more. He was also fond of this kind of music. Funny, I was feeling great satisfaction but sadness at the same time. I wish my father was still around to see the near completion of my building project. I was sad because I could not share with him the sense of fulfilment of having improved the little cottage I bought from my savings a little over a decade ago. At the early stage of my planning to build in 2009, I could see in my father's eyes the same enthusiasm as I had. He was still around when the framework of my project was put up. He even involved himself in clearing and levelling the pathway along the enclosure to the side gate of my house. But then, he got terribly sick, being in and out of the hospital. Nevertheless, he continuously aired his interest in the progress of my project over the phone. The project dragged on and on, not because I ran out of funds then as I had saved for this over the years. Rather, I found it difficult closing a deal with the tradesmen. More so, the contour of their faces scared me. Amazingly, at the beginning of 2011, God led me to good tradespeople and the project came into good shape... Sadly, however, my father was gone to see this. 10 May 2011, it will be my father's first death anniversary. Time flies quickly--i have not even noticed it. It is almost a year since he left this planet earth. I have not felt him gone forever. How could I? My house and my garden hold heaps of his precious memories. As I am aiming my garden to be low in maintenance, I'd say it has to undergo a major overhaul--including the dismantling of the old shed. However, before the tradesmen do this, I thought I better visit it first. I hadn't technically went inside this shed for ages. Surprisingly, I found my father's toolbox in here. Inside this box were his tools--old and rusty. I could have thrown these away as I could not sand the rust away anymore as I did with his chisel, ie with my injured right hand. However, I would not do such a thing even for a million dollar. My father brought all these stuff from the Philippines when he first arrived in Australia. Furthermore, if any single artefact, so to speak, in Jose Rizal's life has been preserved, I would want by the same token, preserve my father's ones. My father was not a national hero, but to us his children, he definitely is---in his own small, unique and detailed ways. I could go on listing the ways he had been a hero in my life, but I'm afraid I do not have a rich English vocabulary to described these.... When he passed away, I have always said and written as well, he lives forever in my and my siblings hearts... Yes, it is true, not only in our hearts but in my house. I put on top of my keyboard his small photo. When I could not fall asleep or else I could not go back to sleep when I wake at 1.30 or 2.00 am, I walk to my study to play my keyboard. My heart bleeds as i play Silver Threads Among the Gold. When I was just learning to play this, he sang along with my poor playing of the piece. He continuously sang till the last stanza even if I was hitting the wrong notes and then chuckled in the end before pat my head. As Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake came to an end, I realised I was now staring at the hedge which was progressively blackening with the shadows of the night. I remained on the chair for a further ten minutes or so. There was perfect stillness around me. From a distance, I could hear my father's happy singing of the song, You Are my Sunshine while playing on the guitar. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...he repeatedly sang this song to us. Such precious memories.... Before I dwell deeply into this nostalgic state, I walked towards my mother lying down on the swing chair. I told her, Mum, it is time to go inside the house before it gets totally black outside. Im going to check your sugar, inject you with insulin and then we'll have our dinner''

Below is a video memoir I made to remember those days gone by...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NY9klFpLbQ