Mi Choza De Nipa

¿Están los amigos para siempre? ¿Están los amigos para la vida?   Are friends for always? Are friends for life?   I’ve always wondered to what extent a friend can be a friend. We always find friends wherever we go. We have them at home. Our family is first and foremost our circle of friends. We have them at work. We have them in the community , be they our neighbors , or folks who have the same hobby as us , or people who have the same interests , or simply anybody we find ourselves comfortable with.   So what are friends? And to what extent are they our friends?   We’d always choose to have a special friend out of the multitude. And this special friend know more of us than the rest. And vice versa. But again , up to what level , both sides?   I’ve always admired my wife’s ability to sense extreme closeness , and to introduce a certain gap and distance. Her reason? Shouldn...

I just happen to remember this quirky way of how folks in the military do their training for secondary students. Or maybe just a particular person who happen to be doing the training , not really something of military origin.   In a classroom , the guy starts shooting down one student after the other with all sorts of questions.   Come to a point , he’d ask one fearful volunteer , “produce water!”   In fear , or plain necessity , or seemingly equal stupidity (stupid answer to a stupid question) , the poor boy would either do spit up on the ground (spit believed to be once water that was earlier drank) , go to a corner and piss on a can (also believed to be once water that was earlier drank) etc. , etc.   Now comes the more stupid question: “Can you drink water?”   If you answer no , you won’t be drinking for the whole period of initiation.   If you a...

There’s always been the mystery and wonder how people in all places and localities got to have their particular language and vernacular. And although we find similarities in the different language and dialects, it is the differences that make each one peculiar and unique.   My Irish friend complained about losing the differences – which, to him, is tantamount to losing his peculiarity and uniqueness as an Irish. He’d live and die being an Irish; he is very proud of it.   I am, too. Not that I am an Irish, but by every right, a Filipino, am very proud to be my own unique race in the SEA continent. But I do find that the local discrimination is disturbing, that you are despised, naturally, if you are not a Manileño, but a probinsiyano. If you are a GI (genuine Ilocano) or an FBI (bull-blooded Ilonggo), or from anywhere else other than the city of Manila , you tend to get all the cruel look and contempt from these city people. Not that I...

Ever wonder why sometimes days are simply non-vibrant, and simply dull? And just some days, everyone place just seems to be a madhouse, no exception?   Well, it is the somethings in the ordinary plus the somethings in the not so ordinary plus all the other things in all the different and varied colors and hues of life that make it extraordinary. To live in either extremes, all excitement and hurriedness only results to a tired and exhausted life; to live also with no challenge and movement causes no growth.   I’ve learned to welcome rest when the dull days come, and to face up to the task when the challenges arise. And in-between, I try not to hurry out, or to pull strings for the next plot. And only when it is necessary, then I’d create my own diversion – either a sudden burst of activity, or hibernation. But only then, to be ready for the next extraordinary event in my life.  

Here’s a bit of Phil history, lifted from an existing website.   Click here .  

<!--[if !mso]> <![endif] --> Here is the other English translation of “Mi Ulitmo Adios” which I’ve come to know earlier, and like better. My Final Farewell Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost! Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best, And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost. On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight, Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed; The place matters not-cypress or laurel or lily white, Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight, T is ever the same, to serve our home and country's need. I die just when I see the dawn break, Through the gloom of night, to herald the day; And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take, Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake To dye with its crimson the waking ray. My dreams, when life first opened t...

My Last Farewell Farewell, beloved Country, treasured region of the sun, Pearl of the sea of the Orient, our lost Eden! To you eagerly I surrender this sad and gloomy life; And were it brighter, fresher, more florid, Even then I’d give it to you, for your sake alone. In fields of battle, deliriously fighting, Others give you their lives, without doubt, without regret; The place matters not: where there’s cypress, laurel or lily, On a plank or open field, in combat or cruel martyrdom, It’s all the same if the home or country asks. I die when I see the sky has unfurled its colors And at last after a cloak of darkness announces the day; If you need scarlet to tint your dawn, Shed my blood, pour it as the moment comes, And may it be gilded by a reflection of the heaven’s newly-born light. My dreams, when scarcely an adolescent, My dreams, when a young man already full of life, Were to see you one day, jewel of the sea of the Or...

Mi Ultimo Adios por Jose Rizal y Alonso Adios, Patria adorada, region del sol querida, Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestra perdido Eden ! A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida, Y fuera mas brillante, mas fresca, mas florida , Tambien por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien. En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio Otros te dan sus vida sin dudas, sin pesar; El sitio nada importa, cipres, laurel o lirio, Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio, Lo mismo es si lo piden La Patria y el hogar. Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora Y al fin anuncia el dia tras lobrego capuz; Si grana necesitas para tenir tu aurora, Vierte la sangre mia, derramala en buen hora Y dorela un reflejo de su naciente luz Mis suenos cuando apenas muchaco adolescente, Mis suenos cuando joven ya lleno de vigor, Fueron el verte un dia, joya del Mar de Oriente Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente, Sin ceno, sin arrugas, sin mancha de rubor. Ensueno ...

Here’s another one, again a very old question, but is still relevant, even today.     Once saved, always saved?  

I’ve come across this booklet while doing some routine surfing. Turned out to be valuable.   Read on.   Predestination or Election?