Good Mate

My half-day off yesterday was not meant for resting. I needed to go to the city and pass some important documents to validate my stay. Unfortunately, the papers I brought were incomplete. And, in a way, I was joyful it was.

I called my colleague to ask for the HR's number, so I could ask them to fax me a duplicate. I did not want to end the day without accomplishing something. My colleague happily obliged and gave me the details. I dialed it. I was surprised to hear a guy's voice on the other end; I was expecting a lady's. Nevertheless, I continued with our conversation.

I told him the name of the person in-charge and the urgency of my concern. He understood it perfectly well. Upon knowing the intranet was inaccessible to me, he looked her up. He gave me a different set of numbers. I pressed the digits on my phone, listened to the endless ringing until an answering machine halted the tintinnabulation. I hanged up. I sighed. After spending a couple of dollars for the fare and a million of seconds for the travel, the stars revealed the unsightly. I sat looking glum.

Perseverance being one of my virtues, I redialed. The repetitive response was wearisome. Still persistent and insistent plus all the virtues I could gather, I decided to call the initial number given by my colleague. After two attempts, the same guy's voice seeped through my handphone. This time, I courageously admitted I needed a good soul.

He asked for my surname (he snorted upon hearing it. I realized my name was too Filipino it might have been hard for him to spell out), and asked for the complete name of the person in-charge I was so desperate to be connected with (it turned out he gave me his colleague's number in our first conversation; she and the HR personnel have the same first name). After puling up the record of the correct person, he reiterated the number I thought I was calling. "Is this not the number I pressed?", I sheepishly inquired. He negated. To top it off, he added that it was not even the HR department I was speaking with. My jaws dropped up to the South Pole in embarrassment. He chuckled in amusement. Oopps.

I returned to my abode, all virtues fleeting. But I was thankful. Unaccomplished agenda deflated my being, but encountering a good-natured mate whose sincerity to extend a hand was outstanding elevated my spirit a notch higher from rock bottom. A busy street may be hard to cut in, but in that perfect moment when all the universe conspired against hopes, a small gesture of kindness stands out like a firefly in the wee hours. It topples pessimism. It replenishes exhausted nobility. It repaints the smile on one's lips. It converts the day into a glass. It makes it half-filled. ^^

To go or not

Drowning my time in endless flow of notes and tones. And undertones. It is deafening.

I asked God to imbue me with wisdom to choose the right option. The problem is shouldering the consequences after arriving at a decision. It may shock me, regardless of the option. I crouch in anxiety. 

I talked to my father tonight. He uttered the words that might be a divine sign. He told me to go back home and start anew. Life may be harder, but at least we are together, he said. Can this be God's answer?

The year is wrapping up. God works in His own time; I trust in His good judgement. I agree with my father's invitation, if you would ask me. But I am eager to know God's plan. The future is cloudy; I see bumps ahead. The economy is volatile. I am aging. And I am under utilized.

So long, Dobby

I just finished watching the film, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. I am done with crying. My eyes are not done being red.

He is one of the most memorable characters in the series. A house elf who had been freed accidentally by Harry, making him eternally grateful to him. He saved Harry a number of times in return. But some good things just never last.

Like the hobbits in the Lord of the Rings, elves are unworthy of attention in the wizarding world. They are the untouchables, slavering yet offering unimaginable fidelity as their main purpose. Not that they opted for this status, but for some historic, epical years, their existence was no more than that creature that cleans houses and scrubs floors. So imagine Dobby's gratitude when Harry freed him, a privilege as scarce as the blue moon; he exalted Harry and revered him like a god.

I have read the book once. After tonight, I was inspired to reopen and relive every word in it. I recall weeping over the loss of Dobby the first time I came across it; tonight was a deja vu. The value of someone like Dobby as applied in our daily life has been accentuated. The ones we thought of as lowly and insubstantial can be the ones that will greatly affect us. They literally and metaphorically extricate us. Dobby was considered a speck of dust and was totally ignored by society, but Harry might have fumbled to Valdermort a number of times if not for this minion who addresses himself by his own name. Their bond teaches us to treat everyone fairly, regardless of religion, of societal norms, of physical deformation, of flaws, because all life forms are worthy. Our lives are intertwined; we all need each other one way or another.

"Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf. Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends." Indeed, he did. Well done, Dobby. :')

Bye bye, Wills

So he got engaged. So he is finally walking the isle next year. So broken hearts are scattered everywhere. So depression is the main psychological ailment by hopeful princesses of their own cribs nowadays. So the most eligible bachelor has ended his road to single hood and has taken the right turn towards matrimony. Ah, the greatest form of greed in history!

Prince William's engagement to Kate Middleton has been announced worldwide, resulting in stoppage in the heart rate of millions and billions of lasses that loved him since the beginning. I am not one of them. Two of my friends are. And after reading one of my best pals blog about it, I wondered. Wasted time over wasted love, is it invaluable?

If loving (if not infatuation, that is) someone from afar is a sin, and sobbing over unrecognized affection is madness, then no one is licensed to endearment. The world is a place for lovers as well as hopeless romantics. Romantics who are an epitome of drama and satire over intangible characters, aching and smiling at the diminutive beacon of hope at the thought of their prince. At the mere thought of that special someone. They, too, have the right to love. And be hurt.

Prince William has the right to be happy. He will live eternally with his chosen wife. Half of the world will be ecstatic. Half of it will lament.

For the cherries.

Charismatic Day

The hall was filled with angelic voices. Bodies were falling on the ground. Tears wet the faces. Tongues reverberated in the Upper Room. Praises were uttered from the depths of souls.

I had been to prayer groups. I had an idea of what occurrences were likely to transpire. But sometimes, though inevitable, happenings have a way to sneak in and catch us unprepared. I was shocked when I saw a girl suddenly lying on the floor as if in a trance, eyes all closed, whole physical being in still motion except for her overturned left hand that was doing some repeated actions as if sending a message in Morse Code. No one took notice, and the one who did did not know how to translate it. A few minutes had passed, she regained composure and stood up.

A handful of people had the same experience. Bodies kept dropping on the floor. The sight gave me goosebumps. Their faith was inexplicable that something divine chose them to be the temple. I was in awe.

And in tears. I heard some grieving. The beauty of surrendering everything to the One Above has translated into droplets of liquid from my innocent eyes. And for some odd reasons I myself am not fully aware, while I was seated in my own chair after my part was over, I burst into tears.

God touches every soul in His own divine way. Some felt the need to 'rest'. I expressed my exultation in tears. In my inaudible cries where no one observed and no one perceived, a silent prayer and a silent admiration took place. Amidst different sounds bouncing off the walls, despite being drowned in tongues and series of proclamations, in my loudest whisper and restricted logic, God heard me. He is never tone deaf as I may be. And an invocation has happened on a personal level.

Another tear rolled down my face.

How Much?

How much is happiness? A cone of ice cream on a lazy afternoon is happiness, market price at $2. Dinner with loved ones is a source of happiness, with approximately $50 price-tag attached to it. Movies with friends, $10, prattling over Starbucks, $7, satisfying the craving for blueberry cheesecake, another $7. All these are expenditures. They evolve around dough. So how much does happiness really cost?

Two friends and I visited a resident of an old folk's home yesterday. She was looking desolate; she courageously admitted she was. She stays in a private room solely. She has exclusive access to the amenities inside it, for a high price as expected. The downside: it secludes her from the world two steps outside her door, allowing her solitary existence to devour her, with her consent. It is taking its toll on her.

Immediately upon arrival, we wanted to enter the room to begin the conversation. The initial plan was to sit with her, say the Rosary, have a chat, then go home. I approached the door; she was on the phone. Not wanting to disturb her as the conversation she was having appeared to be of significant value, we left momentarily to visit other residents.

Fifteen minutes or so after, we returned to her place. She was still on the phone. Spending time with her was the only goal for the day, and so as not to waste precious moments, I brazenly knocked on her door. She might not be expecting our visit, but immediately upon recognizing us she put the phone down to entertain her guests. We later found out she was conversing with her niece. I guess our presence was more essential than the one she was speaking with.

We wanted to start the prayer. We took out our booklet, and with Rosary in hand we told her we would commence. But she declined. "Come chat with me instead", she requested. "I am lonely."

The home was three stops away from the bus interchange. The fare was at the minimum, at 0.71 cents per trip. She asked how much we shelled out for the visit; we told her it was insignificant. She insisted finding out the figure; we informed her of the numbers. She was happy to discover that a minimal, unworthy-we-often-disregard-pennies-and-dimes-in-our-wallets, was what it took to get to her place. She needed company. She was delighted to indulge. All it took was a lousy 0.71 cents bus fare to radiate an obscured, reclusive room on the fourth lever of that old folk's home. Her happiness: $0.71 cents worth of company.

A $2 ice cream draws a smile on my face. A 0.90 cent phone call brightens my father's day; he is elated to have heard her daughter's shrilling voice at the other end of the line. Gone were the days when men walked naked, with only the breath of air clothing their bare skin. Days had expired for a free, plucked meal. Spending is part of our daily living. Though at times they bring headaches, the cheapest and the most bargained commodities are the ones that give pure, soulful happiness. Our fare of $0.71 cents has the heaviest weight this week. I can bid double and bet another dollar multiplied thrice, if this may result in a grin on her elongated face. A rare chance for well-spent pennies. Happiness: priceless. :)

Will the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up?

You know what scares me, aside from flying roaches and hyperactive spiders, is the fact that after yelling to the whole of universe how enormous my love of writing is and that I maintain a blog, they finally discovered my hideout and would blurt out, "That's a piece of crap you have there." It makes me cringe.

It is human nature, the unconscious slavery to the concept of being accepted by all. Or at least understood by all. I blabber to close friends, mood swings overwritten. But deep thoughts that electrify from the gray matter in my skull to the silver lining at the edge of my fingers must be produced through writing. And, thus, yukikomai was born.

A friend was telling me that she used to maintain a blog, and that she had (a swarm, I imagine) readers eyeing on her every post. But she halted. I had been posting for quite sometime now, though mainly all for personal consumption and as a means of venting out my frustrations and observations, it never crossed my limited perception that I (maybe) have an audience. The thought that someone I did not force to visit my humble blog has stumbled upon it, read the contents, and ended up confused because my ideas are as clear as the glass window in the middle of a storm makes me recoil in horror. I might have contributed to the paperless, new-age pollution that is evading the world wide web. I cringe in terror.

So I tiptoed my way to Dashboard, clicked on Stats, clicked on Audience, then on All Time, with eyes squinted and lower lip chewed. My eyes widened to timeless proportion when I saw what I saw. Look what I found!

I was expecting Philippines, USA, and Singapore only. But look! It is overwhelming! :)

It makes me want to revisit my archive, revamp my posts, recheck my grammar. It is a dirty business, this blogging. It is eating me whole that I could not be resuscitated anymore. Especially when visitors are like ghosts; not a trace is left behind. I am groping in the dark and have stepped on something sharp. I bleed copiously.

ps: If you are reading me, please make your presence felt. I am as curious as a cat (the ones that don't scratch). 

Thanks for dropping by. ^^