For the third time around, let’s make a brave bunch of kids extra happy this Christmas!

For two years, we’ve given the Hematology and Oncology patients of the Philippine Children’s Medical Center (PCMC) extra smiles by presenting them with gifts containing art materials and books, and by distributing balloons for Christmas. We were also able to put up a face-painting booth especially for these brave bunch of kids during the Christmas Party hosted by Project: Brave Kids. All of these were made possible by the combined efforts of many people.

This year, we still hope to give away art materials (drawing books, crayons, pencils, etc.) so that these children will have a way of taking their minds off of the life-threatening illnesses that inflict them such as Leukemia, Thalassemia, and Tumor.

We also wish to add a treatment kit to the now traditional gifts we give them. The treatment kit will include a bag, bottle of alcohol, pack of cotton balls, plaster, gauze, etc.—all of which will be useful in their regular visits in the hospital, the place that has become their second home.

With your help, we can once again come up with 150 gifts (art materials and treatment kit) which we can distribute during the Christmas week.

If you wish to share cash or anything in kind, you can contact us at kids_happy@ymail.com.

Merry Christmas!

--From the family and friends of Nichi, a brave kid, turned angel

Twas a Sunday when I felt Normal again

For a few months now, I've been spending my Sundays unconscious--trying desperately to catch up on the chronic sleep deprivation brought about by the lifestyle I chose to embrace. I say "trying desperately" because I am aware that one cannot really make up for lost...well..err sleep.

Sunday has become a day of rest to indulge in my hedonistic ways, if not laziness.

But this Sunday was different. I woke up. Sat in front of the TV for a few hours. Cleaned my room--well most of it--let's just say I was able to get rid of a few clutters and much dust. Dust which I abhor by the way. I was able to go to the mall to have my eyeglasses fixed. (Clumsy me dropped my poor eyeglasses on the floor causing one lens to pop.) Went to another mall to buy a couple of shirts. (Loved it!) Got home to do a household chore. Found the time to do my personal laundry--by "personal laundry" I mean my personal clothing which I wouldn't ask anyone to clean for me. And finally, clean my finger and toe nails--a must-do which I sacrifice every time my weekend proves to be short.

I felt like were a normal person again.

Paano ako natuto mag-Ingles?

2 words: Sesame Street

Mula spelling hanggang pronunciation, sa Sesame Street ko nakuha ang basics.

At ngayon 40 years na sila. Ilan pa kayang mga tulad ko ang natuturuan nila?

Yes, may pagka-ginulo ng Sesame Street ang kultura ko bilang Pinoy but just the same, ang intervention nito sa edukasyon kong sinagot ng telebisyon worked to my advantage. Bilingual ako ngayon.

Sina Big Bird at Snuffy, Cookie Monster, Oscar the grouch, Grover, Maria at Luis, pati na yung typewriter na panay ang pag-aaksaya ng papel at mahilig mag "niw-niniw-niniw" at iba pang dabarkads sa world's most famous street ay tumatak na sa akin the right way. (It is important to note na, although I regularly watched Sesame Street, Batibot was always there to take care of my Filipino education on TV.)

Nakakatuwa.

Eto ang cute na "intrusion" nila sa Google:

And so here's how it goes...

If my life were a tiny room, the part of me which I devote to my family and myself is the sole furniture inside that tiny room--a locker perhaps. The rest of the room is that part of my life spent at work.

I'd like to believe this happened by choice.

Not some kind of a curse.

* * *

A few days ago, I was thinking of a quote which may just as well be used as my epitaph,

"If anything happens to me, let it be known that I was happy."

Because I am.

* * *

Then I get hit by a thought that made me think.

"What wrong did I do now?"

Days of the dead for the living

Undas has become my least favorite holiday. It all started 3 years ago when death became more real to me than it originally was.

The first time I had to face my brother's "pad" on the first of November--until now, I can't find a euphemism for "tomb", thus the word "pad"--I felt a sharp knife stab my heart. I could not stop the stream of tears from flowing.

Nichi passed away on a July, roughly four months prior to the most painful November first of my life. For that long, I tried to make myself believe that Nichi was just on vacation somewhere far.

Seeing the name of my brother on the slab of black tile mounted among other black tiles with names of unfamiliar dead people sealed everything. It was a slap on my face. Harsh and true.

Three years after, the pain is still there. Staring at his "wall" with the silver inscriptions of his beginning and end, of his face, of the flowers we wouldn't normally give him if he were still his old active self--it reminds me of what I've lost. It makes me wonder what he would have been like if he were still around. How he'd be dealing with his classes which he attended by heart. How many more friends he'd be gaining, given his congenial personality. How many songs he can sing. All of which will remain a mystery. Unanswered. Perhaps forever.



This is in memory of Nichi...the eternally 13-year-old boy who will forever stay alive in my heart.