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I’ve always been a fashion lover. When I was in high school, I used to design clothes at the back of my notebook when I found the lesson or the teacher too boring. Although I loved drawing haute couture stuff, in reality, I like to wear the more comfortable pants, shorts and polo shirts.

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Devastating. This is the only word I could think of as I watched the horrendous aftermath of Typhoon Frank that swept the Philippines last week. Destroyed homes, power disruptions, food and water shortages in provinces like Iloilo marked the fury of the storm. But of all these, Frank showed the full force of his wrath with the sinking of MV Princess of the Stars in Sibuyan Island, Romblon. Only a handful of the more than 800 passengers on board survived the tragedy.

As I watch on TV the family members of the passengers of the ill-fated vessel, I can’t help but empathize with their grief. Those faces that are at all at once hopeful and yet hopeless, expectant yet resigned, mirror sorrow in its most profound form. Not knowing what has happened to a loved one, whether a child, husband, wife, nephew, niece, uncle, aunt, grandparent or friend is still alive or already dead is perhaps the worst form of torture imaginable. How could there ever be closure for them?

Having lost my father recently, I understand the importance of holding vigils, saying prayers and finally, of laying him to rest as vital in the bereavement process. This period somehow eases the initial shock of losing someone so dear, and these ceremonies, if they so be called, smoothens the transition of letting go, and of ultimately accepting the reality of death. I am by no means done with grieving. I don’t think one can ever be “finished grieving.” Perhaps, only time can assuage the pain that death brings. But my only consolation is that deep in my heart, I know that my father is in a far better place, and this helps me a lot in being able to go on with my life.

But what about those whose family members are still waiting for news of their loved ones aboard MV Princess of the Stars? The agony of not knowing where they are, the torture of not being able to give a proper burial- these intensify the feelings of grief a million times over. I can only pray that God give them the courage and the faith to face this trial in their lives. I also hope that the shipping company understands and takes to heart the needs and requests of these relatives. The news on TV features them complaining of their requests going on deaf ears, of not being given sufficient information, of being left in the dark.

I hope that Sulpicio Lines doesn’t treat the passengers on board their boat as mere statistical losses. Everyone on board that ship was once a flesh-and-blood member of a family. He or she had dreams, had loved, had cried, had trusted the shipping company’s judgments enough to travel in the midst of impending storm. Thus, the concerns of their loved ones must be addressed and heard.

Frank’s wrath has subsided for now, but we are left to grapple with the devastation and ruin that he brought on us as a people. Let’s take a moment to say a little prayer to those who were lost in the storm, holding on to the faith in our hearts that though their families may not see them again or may not have the chance to lay their bodies to the grave, God has already brought the souls of those who had perished to the tranquil seas of their Heavenly Home.

Is it possible for the Bible to give clues as to where the next oil reserve is? Zion Oil and Gas, a Delaware corporation formed in 2000 apparently thinks so. Headed by their Founder and Chairman John Brown, a Christian Zionist and New Covenant believer, the company believes that verses in the Bible such as those found in some of the books in the Old Testament point to where a staggering 484 million barrels of oil await discovery. Brown believes that he received the calling to explore oil in Israel in order to give the Jewish people the aid necessary for the Restoration of the Land by “providing the oil and gas necessary to maintain their political and economic independence.”

In fact, one of the activities of Zion Oil and Gas is sponsoring Christians United for Israel’s (CUFI) ”Night to Honor Israel”. In a press release, the company says:

DALLAS–Zion Oil & Gas, Inc. (Amex: ZN) of Dallas, TX and Caesarea, Israel announced today that it will sponsor the Night to Honor Israel banquet at the Third Annual Washington-Israel Summit of Christians United for Israel (CUFI). The Summit will take place in Washington, D.C. during July 21-24 and the banquet on Tuesday evening, July 22. Pastor John Hagee, Senator Joseph Lieberman and Israel’s Ambassador to the U.S., Sallai Meridor, are scheduled to speak at the banquet. It is expected that John Brown, Zion’s Founder and Chairman, will be interviewed by Pastor John Hagee during the Summit and that the interview will be broadcast on the Daystar Television Network during the Night to Honor Israel. In addition, CUFI will broadcast a video about Zion at the banquet’s pre-event, and the banquet’s proceedings will be telecast by live-feed over the Daystar Television network.

John Brown, Zion’s Founder and Chairman, commented today, “Zion is proud to be a part of the CUFI Washington-Israel Summit and to support CUFI’s educational and public policy work in support of Israel.”

Zion Oil & Gas, a Delaware corporation, explores for oil and gas in Israel in areas located onshore between Tel-Aviv and Haifa. It currently holds two petroleum exploration licenses, the Joseph and Asher-Menashe Licenses, between Netanya on the south and Haifa on the north covering a total of approximately 162,000 acres.

NOTICE: Zion Oil & Gas has filed a registration statement (including a prospectus) with the SEC for the offering of its securities. Before you invest, you should read the prospectus in that registration statement and other documents Zion has filed with the SEC for more complete information about Zion Oil & Gas and its offering. You may get these documents free by visiting EDGAR on the SEC website at www.sec.gov. Alternatively, Zion Oil & Gas or its underwriter will arrange to send you the prospectus if you request it by calling toll free 1-888-TX1-ZION (1-888-891-9466). A direct link to the prospectus in PDF format may be found on the Zion Oil & Gas, Inc. website at http://www.zionoil.com/investor-center/investor-relations.html.

For more information on this company and their Joseph Project, please click on Zion Oil and Gas Website where you can also request a free info package by mail.

What happens now? This is the question I always ask myself now that my dad has already been laid to rest. People around me say that life doesn’t stop with death, that there are a still a lot of things that those of us left in this mortal world have to occupy ourselves with, that there are still people who need us. Relatives and friends remind me that I still have a daughter who is only two years old who is dependent on me for everything. And I know that.

Despite this, however, there are moments when I simply can’t move or do what needs to be done. Grief can be very crippling and though I try so hard to let go, part of me seems to want to hold on to the memory of a father who lived so bravely and loved ever so deeply. This might sound too emotional but I know that nothing will ever be the same, that a part of me has died too.

Writing seems the only release for me now. But this I can’t even do without shedding a tear, and I feel so tired and drained at this constant sorrow that hangs over me everyday. How does one cope with such loss? What happens now? Will I ever heal? These are just some of the questions that I ask myself during these trying times. I only pray that God and Mama Mary will give me the strength to go on living. I need that very much.

We always hear the saying: “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” It is usually meant to warn us against making hasty judgments on people, places, events or even things simply because of how they look on the outside. While this is good advice, it is still a fact that human as we are, we make judgments based on appearances and what our senses can perceive. Thus, we are also responsible for making sure that we put our best foot forward so that we don’t also get judged unfairly.

It is also the same with preferences for food and wine. Labels that catch the eye and appeal to our sense of aesthetics are given preferences over those that do not. Good labels spark the interests of customers. Label World is a company that produces labels on a wide scale for large businesses like wine and food companies. They have new, more versatile pressure sensitive labels for wine labels that help wineries distinguish their collections. Their labels are also auto-applied, allowing wineries the flexibility of speeding up their production process.

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My father passed away in his sleep last June 7, 2008. He was only 56 years old.

When I was given a second chance at life after being diagnosed with late stage thymoma, living life to the fullest, treasuring every minute in this world became a priority. I didn’t want to entertain the thought of dying. After all, I was spared from it, and I never really thought anyone I love would leave this soon. However, my dad’s peaceful repose brought an end to all that. Nothing could have ever prepared me for this sense of helplessness, sorrow and grief that accompanies his passing. He was a healthy man- he played basketball regularly and never really complained much about his health. He lived life to the fullest, and didn’t give any hint that he was about to go. Thus, his passing came as a shock to most everyone of us close to him.

My dad was a courageous man. He always encouraged us to get a degree, saying that he had nothing else to bequeath us except an education. I graduated magna cum laude because of him. He loved so deeply, and though he had his share of heartaches and heartbreaks, he continued to love nonetheless. He had principles, too, and he stood by them to his dying day. But it was his integrity that I will always cherish and pass on to my daughter as she grows older. He valued hard work and honesty and exemplified these traits exceptionally while he was still alive.

I am still trying to make sense of his passing, and I am certain that part of me will always yearn for his presence. But I know and I feel deep in my heart that my dad is now in a better, richer, more beautiful place that God has prepared for him in Heaven.

I don’t like to say goodbye, for I know that death is not the end of life but a beginning of something greater. Rather, let me bid my father words of sweeter reunions in God’s own time: ‘Til we meet again, Daddy! I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH.

The motorcycle. Ah, what an indispensable modern-day convenience! Compared to four-wheeled vehicles, it has its own distinct advantages. For one, it’s cheaper by a long shot. Those of us in the upper level of the poverty line can at least afford to buy or loan one. It’s also more economical to use. With the rising gasoline prices nowadays, a fifty peso tank refill can at least get us to the market and back (albeit when I was in college, it used to get me all over the place for three days). Last but not the least, the motorcycle is traffic-resistant. With a skilled defensive driver, the single MC can easily swerve past rows of cars, easy rides and pedicabs jammed in our narrow city streets, and get us to our destination faster with time left to spare. Indeed, the motorcycle combines the ease of a bicycle and the speed of a car in one sleek and useful package.

Yet, with all its virtues, there is one thing that the motorcycle sorely lacks: It does not protect its riders from the elements. Heat, wind, rain, dust and smoke—the brunt of all these have to be borne by its riders. Add to this list suicidal street dogs madly dashing through the highways, drunken or otherwise stoned pedestrians and/or drivers, and reckless or imprudent drivers in general, who make life miserable and downright dangerous to the majority of decent and courteous motorcycle-riding public in this city.

Things being already as they are, we who ride our single MCs everyday have to deal, and our coping mechanisms have resulted to some rather peculiar scenes from the motorcycle:

1. The Masks. I don’t recall the Dumaguete motorcycle riders in my youth wearing masks. Back then, masks—whether they were surgical types, gauze ones or the wash-and-wear kinds—were only worn in hospitals. Not now. The increasing number of vehicles plying our city streets and the growing incidence of smoke belchers have made masks a necessity to the MC riders, especially to those of us whose lungs are too weak to take on all the pollution.

2. The “Hand” Mask. In the absence of a mask, the hand shall suffice. It looks quite peculiar at first, but on hindsight, I think this position not only makes for protection from dust and pollution, it also makes for safety: The backrider covers his or her own mouth and nose with her right hand and uses his or her left hand to shield that of the driver’s, leaving the driver free to maneuver the vehicle.

3. The Arm Gloves. Sunscreen just won’t do. The more enterprising entrepreneurs noticed darkened arms of the poor motorist since they are the body parts most exposed to the sun’s heat, and decided to make arm gloves. They look like regular gloves, except they’re longer (arm-length) with open ends at the knuckles (perhaps keeping the knuckles unwrapped helps motorists retain their grip on the throttle). At sixty pesos, they sell like hotcakes not only to single MC drivers, but to pedicab drivers as well, who only utilize one glove to protect their exposed left arm. Those without arm gloves improvise by inserting both arms into long-sleeved polos in much the same way that doctors would when they touch babies inside incubators.

4. The Overturning Umbrellas. When it rains, motorcyclists can either seek shelter and wait when the downpour stops before continuing their journey or go on regardless of the shower. The more prepared of us, however, readily open the handy umbrellas we’ve brought along. Most of the time, our tight grip would prove no match for the fury of the wind, which would cause our multi-colored, multi-sized sunshades to overturn, resulting in a rather comical scene of a man (or woman) fighting with an umbrella to the delight of other riders and pedestrians.

5. The Motorcycle Raincoat. Raincoats come in all shapes and sizes, but the most ingenious ones are those especially made for motorcycle riders. A long time ago, single MC riders had to contend with getting their lower extremities wet when the rainy season comes around. That was when raincoats were still cut a tad too short at the knees. Now, however, they are cut long enough at the front to protect the driver’s arms and legs from getting wet. Others are big enough to “hide” the backrider.

All cancer survivors know that fighting the Big C is never easy. We are like soldiers going to battle, never knowing what the outcome may be. Yet, it is essential that no matter what the future holds- whether it be life or death- we still must continue to live life to the fullest. I’d like to share this quote which I found from the LA Police Gear website to my fellow cancer survivors in the hope that they won’t lose hope in their continuing battle with the Big C:

“It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy course; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.” THEODORE ROOSEVELT (Paris Sorbonne,1910)

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DUMAGUETE CITY- The torrential downpour this week turned an otherwise mundane spillway in Bagacay into something of a tourist spot. My husband and I were making our way towards the Hypermart when we realized we could not get across because the overflow, well, overflowed. The heavy rains had so increased the water level that it flooded the road and caused torrents of brown, muddy river water to gush down at incredible speeds, rendering it impassable to most motorcycles, pedicabs and any other two-to-three wheel contraptions known to man.

To most that is. Because there were not a few brave souls who dared to cross the raging surge, and their attempts, successful or not made for a rather entertaining show to those of us who watched. Some adolescent boys also earned some dough pushing these bold riders to safety as their vehicles stalled in the middle or near the end of the violent flow. The fearless (or perhaps they were practical- turning back means more gasoline, and thus more money spent) drivers who dared the tide also employed different tactics just to make it through. There was one pedicab carrying a full load of passengers whose driver decided that accelerating all the way was the key to a successful cross. Other motorcyclists thought that going slow as one traverses the tide and then accelerating near the end in order to get the their vehicles out of the water was a better idea. One man on a bicycle mulled over his situation and thought that carrying his bike and wading across was his best option.

Many of those who revved up their engine and accelerated from start to finish ended up getting stuck near the end. Those who went slow at first, and then going full throttle near the end had better chances of not stalling, while the man who decided to carry his bike and wade across successfully made it through with his pride and his bike intact.

That scene on a rainy Tuesday afternoon reminded me about the gushing torrents of trials and ordeals that we face in our journey through life, and our responses to them. When faced with troubles, do we hurry through- anxious to get out of it as fast as we can-and curse whoever we can for allowing us to suffer? Or do we tread the waters cautiously, carefully feeling the way, allowing ourselves to immerse in the problem and learn a lesson or two from it?

One of the pamphlets which I got from Carmel Church in Lipa, Batangas is entitled Suffering: How to Make the Greatest Evil In Our Lives Our Greatest Happiness by Fr. Paul Sullivan,O.P. Contrary to the notion that suffering is evil, he writes that “suffering is not simply an evil, for no one suffered more than the Son of God Himself, more than His Blessed Mother or more than the Saints. Every suffering comes from God [because] nothing happens to us without His wish or permission.” Fr. Sullivan believes that God allows people to suffer “because He is asking us to take a little share in His Passion… God suffered all the dreadful pains of His Passion for each one of us. How can we refuse to suffer a little for love of Him?” If borne with the utmost patience, he said that suffering becomes the gold in our lives, bringing out all that is good in us. “Those who have suffered are usually the most charming people.” The key, he says, to graciously bearing all our sufferings whether they are trifle ones or major agonies is to “accept them with serenity and patience. What really makes suffering difficult to bear is our own impatience, our revolt, our refusal to accept it. This irritation increases our sufferings a hundredfold and, besides, robs us all the merit we could have gained thereby.” Besides, God does not allow us to suffer alone. If we ask for help from the Almighty to bear our sufferings, then He gives us the strength to bear our troubles. Fr. Sullivan shares the experience of one doctor who published an article in the secular press on the power of prayer. The doctor claimed that: “Prayer is the greatest power in the world.” He further shared: “I and my colleagues frequently see that many of our patients, whom we have failed to cure or whose pains we have failed to alleviate, have cured themselves by prayer. I speak now not of the prayers of holy people, but the prayers of ordinary Christians.”

This doctor’s proclamation reminded me of my oncologist’s reaction three years ago when he noticed vast improvements in my cancer after only my second chemotherapy. He asked me if I prayed, and when I answered in the affirmative, he nodded his head and said: “Pagpatuloy mo ‘yan. Mahal ka ng Diyos.” (Just keep on praying. God loves you.) Fr. Sullivan also urges his readers (as I do) to ask the help of the Blessed Virgin Mary in our times of suffering, saying: “God gave her all the immense graces necessary to make her the perfect Mother of God, but He also gave her all the graces, the tenderness, the love necessary to be our most perfect and loving Mother.” Certainly, the intercession of the Mother of God is a very puzzling, if not difficult, concept to accept for some, but from one who has experienced the power of her miraculous intervention, I can only say that Our Blessed Lady loves us immensely.

We all have our personal overflows to cross everyday in our lives. Whether we choose to step on the gas and accelerate all the way to the end, or go slow, immerse in the tide or carry our bikes and wade through the turbulent waters, we can be assured that God, like the adolescent boys standing by the overflow, is ever ready to help. Their only difference is, God doesn’t ask for pennies or anything in return. He only requires our faith.

We all suffer from skin and hair problems at some point in our lives. Pimples and acne may only be physical growing pains, but they can also be the cause of deeper psychological and emotional scars that affect not only our confidence but our quality of life as well. (I should know, I was once pimply as a kid and at 29, I still have to contend with zit outbreaks every now and then.) Thankfully, in this modern day and age, hair and dermatological problems are now easily addressed.

Lakeview Dermatology is one such dermatology clinic which specializes in laser acne treatment, Restylane treatment, hair removal treatment and other skin treatments. They even have photodynamic therapy for severe acne. What’s more, they also have a variety of treatment alternatives for superficial basal cell carcinoma (BCC), the most common type of skin cancer in humans. Located in Chicago, Illinois, they also offer cosmetic, medical and surgical treatments and is led by Dr. Eugene Mandrea and Dr. Steven Mandrea.

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Every parent waits for the time when their little one utters that first word. The day they say Mama or  Dada is a cause for celebration, and to the more sentimental of us (me included), the date, time and place gets recorded in the our sacred baby books. We make a big deal of every mimicked word, every comprehensible utterance, every understandable expression. And when our children don’t start mumbling those precious words by the time the guide books say they should, we start to fret and redouble our efforts to read, talk and teach them every word we feel they ought to know. Truly, a child’s journey into the word of speech is both an exhilarating and gripping experience for any parent.

Since my daughter was born premature under the most unsuitable of conditions (she did have to contend with radiotherapy, chemotherapy and large doses of antibiotics in the first trimester of pregnancy), I am perhaps, more anxious than most mothers regarding her growth and development. When her first set of teeth didn’t come out until she was nearly two years old, I panicked and began seriously wondering if modern science had already invented dentures for toddlers. Only when her precious whites miraculously popped up one after the other just a couple of months before her second birthday did I start to relax. Naturally, when she didn’t start to mumble intelligibly (for her age, that is) when she was about one year, I panicked and began giving her lessons which went something like this:
“Baby, look at Mommy.” (This would necessitate cupping her face to make her look at me.) I would then point to a picture in her book and say: “This is a cake. Say ‘cake’.” To which my pupil would simply reply with a defiant nod of her pretty little head and a surprisingly strong push away from me, and to whatever it is that got her attention. I got so exasperated that I would carry her back to bed, determined to sit her down until she said “cake.” My husband, perhaps alarmed at my seemingly irrational behavior, had to tell me quit it. Of course, she wouldn’t say cake or cat or apple or whatever it is that I was teaching her because she wasn’t ready.

I realized that learning can’t take place if the child isn’t prepared—mentally, physically, emotionally. Comparing the progress of one child to another does not do good to the child and to the parents. It merely pressures the child, takes the fun out of learning, limits their exploration of their environment, and gives us parents undue stress when we should be enjoying every little facet of every tiny bit of information our children absorb as they grow.   

But now, oh how she speaks! Just a year later, she can say not only cake or cat or apple, but cow and duck and fish and bird. She can command me to “dwo pish” (draw fish, that is), her dad to “dance,” and us both to tell her an impromptu (those extemporaneous speaking contests we participated in college were useful, after all) bedtime story—in which she decides who the characters are—whether it is Mr. Cow or Mrs. Duck or Mr. Fish. She tells us if she doesn’t like a movie being played, whether she wants to see the MariMar or Michael V’s dance videos, and when she wants to wash her hands or take a “showel” (shower, that is). And when it rains, she expects us to let the poor chickens inside the house when she says, “’icken showel luoy” which basically means, “poor chicken-she’s wet”. To make caring for her more convenient, she can tell us when she wants to potty and if anything hurts.

It is wonderful, this gift of toddler gab, truly what every parent awaits in the progress of their young. And it never ceases to amaze me as I listen to my little girl how someone so little could speak so much.

We make decisions everyday. Things as trivial as what to eat, drink or wear all have to be decided on. Of course the more serious ones like where to go for college, what career to pursue or when to settle down absolutely have to be thought over and eventually have to be resolved. Come to think of it, we have to keep on making decisions every single moment of our lives—unless, of course, we encounter situations or are placed in circumstances that are totally beyond our control. Accidents, for example, belong to that sphere far beyond the reach of any human power. They are unexpected, undesigned and often unfortunate occurrences which involve embarrassment at the least and death at the most. Sickness, too, when they come, especially when you’ve kept away from vices and have lived a generally healthy lifestyle before the diagnosis hit, also belongs to that realm that leaves one bereft of that capacity to make decisions. We hear of individuals who don’t smoke getting lung cancer and transfusion patients contracting infection from AIDS-contaminated blood. It’s completely out of their hands and most of the time, it’s unfair.

Yes, at that precise moment when these mishaps strike, we are left completely helpless and at the mercy of the whims of a very cruel fate. But once the shock has subsided, it is reassuring to know that the power to decide has not completely left us. We can and still have to deal with the aftermath. After all, once placed in such conditions, we have no other choice but to deal with it—and dealing with it usually involves a hefty lot of decision making. For instance, when I got sick, a lot of things had to be decided on: To proceed or not with the treatments, to go home or stay in Manila, to curse the high heavens and blame them about my plight or pray and psyche myself up to beat the cancer. The decisions that my family and I made were not easy ones. They were even quite painful. But what is life without pain anyway? John Patrick in his play The Teahouse of the August Moon wisely puts it thus: “Pain makes man think. Thinking makes man wise. Wisdom makes life endurable.” Every resolution that is of consequence in our lives involves pain as decision-making is by nature a tortuous, agonizing process. However, when we know that we’ve considered all the pros and cons, weighed all there is to reflect on and prayed about it unceasingly, then the decision, no matter how tough, can be made with peace of mind and heart.

It takes courage to make sound judgments. Sometimes, it’s even easier to not accept the reality of the situation, bewail our fate and simply just give up. But the men and women worth their salt make it their choice to be face life head-on. The decision to live a courageous life amid all of life’s battles can be a conscious choice. And how do we do that? Victoria Lincoln in The Arts of Living has an answer that we can ponder on:

“Courage begins when we can admit that there is no life without some pain, some frustration; that there is no tragic accident to which we are immune; and that beyond the normal exercise of prudence we can do nothing about it.

But courage goes on to see that the triumph of life is not in pains avoided, but in joys lived completely in the moment of their happening. Courage lies in never taking so much as a good meal or a day of health and fair weather for granted. It lies in learning to be aware of our moments of happiness as sharply as our moments of pain. We need not be afraid to weep when we have cause to weep, so long as we can really rejoice at every cause for rejoicing.”

In one of my columns, I wrote about how nothing compares to country living. I cited fresh air and the laid-back atmosphere as veritable pluses to rural life. Two months later, I’m beginning to realize that my hometown isn’t as rosy as I want it to be.

For starters, I was expecting the same kind of atmosphere I grew up in—and I mean real fresh, clean, good old country air. I love to motorcycle around the city, you see. The rush of air that greets me has a rejuvenating effect on my senses, calming and at the same time clearing my mind. Now, riding a motorcycle seems more of a bane than a boon for my health and my senses. Now, it has become a stressful breathing experience. Can you believe we actually have rush hours here? I mean there is actually bumper-to-bumper traffic at seven o’clock in the morning and five o’clock in the afternoon in almost all areas of the city. The only advantage in riding a motorbike is that you can swerve your way around the three and four – wheeled contraptions queuing one after the other, like dull metallic objects in a bizarre procession. But the disadvantage far outweigh the thrill of swerving around vehicles: Breathing toxic carbon dioxide emissions from these automobiles is simply too much for my poor convalescing lungs. You might ask why I subject myself to such torture. Well, life has to go on and I won’t allow myself to get cooped inside the house. For instance, I like going to the beach to relax and take in the scenery. But before I even get there, I’ve already ingested tons of toxins on the way! If the traffic is anything to go by, Dumaguete is getting way too urbanized for our own good. Whether you have cancer or not, breathing uncontaminated (if at all possible) air is vital for our own health and well-being.

Then there’s that simple matter we call customer service. What has that got to do with anything, you may ask. You see, when your nerves are frayed because you’re sick, the least you need is arrogance from a store, office or hospital staff. Customer service here has a long way to go. In one of the stores here in the city, for example, I politely requested that the organic soil I bought be packed separately from the Christmas decors but the salesperson adamantly refused, jamming everything in one bag. I kept on reiterating my request but he simply did not put it in another bag. My voice had grown ostensibly higher now, but there was still no response. Since I could feel my blood pressure skyrocketing, I decided to drop it. That’s simply rotten, don’t you think? I guess it would have served that person right had I made a big deal out of it and called his superior but when you’re tired, you really don’t want to sweat the small stuff. Then there’s the time at the drugstore where I was shocked to hear the pharmacy assistant (that’s the politically correct term, I suppose) lecturing/grumbling to a senior citizen who expressed his shock at how the price of a medicine he had bought just a week ago had gone up. A simple explanation would have sufficed but no, this one had to threaten the old man (in very rough Visayan terms): “Keep on doing that and I won’t serve your order!” And I thought the customer is king. You can just imagine how taxing it must have been to be treated like that when you’re buying medicines for a sick loved one. Lucky for her, the customer did not holler out: “Call your manager!” I certainly do miss the kind of customer service I get in Tokyo, Bangkok or even in Manila where basic courtesy is practiced and ultimate customer satisfaction always the main goal.

And what about the laid-back peaceful atmosphere? Well, we hear rape, vigilante shootings and robberies here and there. Years ago, I could go home way past midnight and the only thing that scared me was a wakwak sucking me lifeless. Now, there is that fear of all-too real danger from the bad elements in society.

Don’t read me wrong, though. Dumaguete will always be home to me. That’s why I’ve come back. I know it’s useless to pine for the city of my childhood to re-emerge. But certainly, there must be a way to go urban without sacrificing our physical and emotional well-being. Respecting the environment and respecting each other ought to be the cornerstones of our quest for a more progressive and healthy society.

I’ve worked for as long as I can remember. Doing part-time jobs as a radio DJ/newscaster, student assistant in the Registrar’s Office, and English tutor to Koreans where I lived, provided for my allowance from high school all through University. Needless to say, I joined the workforce right after graduation. Thus, when the Big C came knocking on my door while I was infanticipating about three years ago, there was no other choice but to take a much-needed break, devote myself to my baby and go back to my first love- writing.

My cousin, who also runs his own site at www.theonlinematrix.com, knew about my condition and my passion for writing, introduced me to the concept of blogging, and earning money from it at the same time through Payperpost. Now I’ve heard of blogs before, but I didn’t know that one could actually earn from it. I was more than interested- after all, it was hitting two birds with one stone: I could earn by doing what I love and still take care of my daughter at the same time. He offered to set up my site and with my write-ups www.infiniteperspective.net was born.

Payperpost is an online community that pays bloggers for blogging. Their advertisers are willing to compensate bloggers for their opinion on various websites, products, services and companies. Once you have registered your blog with Payperpost and then have it approved, then, you can start searching through a list of Opportunites, posting your blog about that opportunity, submitting it to them for approval, and then ultimately, getting paid.

I am still a newbie in this whole blogging business, but I’ve already learned to harness the power of the Internet, other than using it for email and research. With my blog, I do hope to reach out to more people and inspire especially those who are battling cancer, to fight the good fight. I would encourage those who have a story to tell, those who seek to inspire and uplift, or those who simply love to write, those who want to earn without leaving home, to explore this world. If Payperpost pays bloggers for writing about what they love, then that just makes blogging a whole lot better.

Adversity is a great ally. I’m not referring to it in the masochistic sort of way—after all, who would want to go through the rough road if an easier choice were given?  But it is a wonderful helper to have along especially if you need to scrutinize people without rose-colored lenses. It is when misfortune comes along that the bonds that hold family and friends together are tested. It is when times are difficult that human kindness and compassion are most genuine.

I always thought I had many friends who were always concerned for me. I also thought that I had many close relatives who would stand by me no matter what. When I got sick, I realized how wrong this perception was. It’s quite funny now that I think about it: When Big C came to visit me, people who I thought were for me, went bolting out the back door! It wasn’t my loss however, because God, with his inexhaustible supply of goodness and mercy, gave me others who truly cared about my welfare. I’d like to refer to them as God’s hands—men, women and children who extended and continue to extend God’s miracle of help and healing into my life.

Without these wonderfully supportive family and friends, my spirit would have succumbed during my twenty-six days of confinement. Let me explain. The fight against cancer or any other debilitating disease for that matter, is not merely physical. It is as much a mental and psychological battle. The mind is a very powerful tool for healing—I believe that before any therapeutic effects can be felt physically, the power to live, to survive and ultimately overcome the disease must first begin with the mind. The resolve to fight must come from within. Without them, I would have resigned myself to the thought that there was no hope at all. Their constant presence lifted my spirits when things looked exceedingly grim. And despite the initially pessimistic prognosis, they responded optimistically. In order to get all the treatments I needed, they took it upon themselves to source out funds. Their response to my sickness was not fear or surrender—it was to face it head on at whatever cost. When you have that kind of support system, summoning the resolve to get well comes easy.

Doctors are integral to any curative process and I was fortunate to have medical consultants whose hands were sanctified by God to administer the medicines that would benefit me and my baby. All of them collaborated to map out the best plan of action for me and I’ve never been more grateful that Maria Carmela and I were placed under their care. When people hear my story, the most common remark made is “You’re lucky you had very good doctors!” I don’t think it was luck—I believe God purposely employed them to do His work of healing me so I can find my way back to Him.      

Then there were my previous students and their parents who mobbed the hallways of the eleventh floor of the Medical City just to show their support. Despite the fact that I was quite a strict mentor—a “terror” teacher—they shed tears upon learning of my disease and then later on, rejoiced with me when my baby and I made it through.

From far and near, people offered hope and encouragement. My mother-in-law and sister in-law, my siblings, some aunts, uncles and cousins, old friends, colleagues, bureaucrats, even people who I have not even met from lands far away, heeded the worldwide call to be God’s hands for me—giving support in any way possible.

When a potentially fatal illness strikes, you can expect those around you to either be very concerned or very indifferent. In the early days of my continuing battle against cancer, individuals had the audacity to suggest that it would be better for the baby to be aborted because the chemotherapy might bring forth a deformed infant! Some of my closest kin have even come close to quashing all hope of my being restored to full health. Others simply kept their distance.

Indeed, adversity is a great ally. It brings out what is authentic in people. In the end, when individuals allow themselves to offer the Almighty’s wonderful gift of human compassion and tenderness to those who need it most, then are they fulfilling a most divine mission: that of being God’s hands in a world so wanting in prayer, faith, and miracles.#     

 It’s so easy to thank God when you are at the top of your career, when you are happily married to a loving husband, when the pregnancy test yielded positive results and you know that in nine months you will be blessed with your first baby. When you have all the good things, praising an ever-loving God is easy. But what if you have to stop working because you got sick? What if the possibility of a miscarriage stares at you right in the face? What if you suddenly have to face the thought of leaving your loved ones behind as dying becomes a real possibility? Will you thank God then?

 I was a 26 year old happily married teacher expecting my first baby when I was diagnosed with Stage IV Thymoma—a rare form of cancer affecting the thymus gland. (Normally, the thymus gland disappears as a person grows older. In some uncommon cases, it doesn’t. It grows and becomes malignant). Though faced with a very uncertain future, I continued to trust the goodness of God. Amazingly, the blessings came pouring in. You see, when cancer came knocking into my life, it did not bring with it demise. Rather, in one of God’s miraculous paradoxes, my cancer brought with it life.
 
By the time I was diagnosed, the mass had grown so big that I had developed all sorts of cardiac complications. As a result, my heart was having difficulty pumping blood throughout my system, making my pulse rate go up and my breathing laborious. As if that wasn’t enough, the MRI Scan also showed that the cancer had metastasized to the lungs and other nearby areas. Chemotherapy or radiotherapy had to be administered soon since lying in bed had become very difficult. I had to sit on the chair in order to get some sleep. However in this position, dizzying and vomiting spells constantly plagued me. My baby was in no better condition either as there were days when I had spotting—a sign that not everything was going well inside my womb.

Under those circumstances, radiotherapy was seen as the best possible alternative since it offered the best chance of shrinking the large mass in a short amount of time, thus affording me some relief. Taking this course of action meant the risk of losing my baby.  My little angel had to receive the treatment with me with only a thin abdominal lead shield placed over my stomach to protect her. But we resigned ourselves to the stark reality of losing our firstborn. We cried our confusion, but trusted God nonetheless—hoping against hope that our little angel would make it through. And she did. Chemotherapy followed soon after. My baby and I were given six cycles every twenty-one days. Still she continued to hang on and fight the good fight with me. 

However, when a congenital anomaly scan was about six months into the pregnancy, we were in for more bad news. Fluid had filled my baby’s heart. My doctor explained that this condition could result to fetal death. Despair set in, but we continued to pray. About a month later, a follow-up ultrasound revealed that the fluid had diminished and my baby was thriving well!
 
At eight months, I delivered Maria Carmela via Caesarian section. For a premature baby weighing only 1.55 kilograms at birth, she had a lusty cry that woke me up from my anesthesia-induced sleep. My fears of a deformed baby were put to rest when the doctors held my beautiful and complete baby girl close to me. Amid the ecstatic exultations of my doctors inside the delivery room—“She has such a wonderful cry! She’s our miracle baby! Do we have a camera?”—I knew that God’s hand was again at work.

Although a month premature, Carmela was placed in the incubator at Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of the Medical City for only twelve days. Now, a healthy baby with a ready smile, Carmela is a constant reminder to us that despite all the seemingly insurmountable odds, God is there. He is only a prayer away. With all these marvelous blessings, how can I not get down on my knees and thank Him? At this eleventh hour, when Big C came to visit, I got my faith back. #       
 
   

Filipinos love celebrations. In Dumaguete alone, we have barely gotten over the Buglasan mania and preparations for the city fiesta are already in full swing. With December just around the bend, Christmas also smells wonderfully close. Of course New Year follows, then Valentines and then …but I’m getting ahead of myself. You do get the picture, don’t you? Fiestas and celebrations are part and parcel of the Filipino (perhaps, even the human) psyche. We just love festivals!

But we don’t have to wait for fiestas or special family occasions to come around so we can party. Life is reason enough for a toast. In fact, I’ve noticed that the more I found reasons to celebrate, the more life gets placed in perspective. So what really makes life worth celebrating?

Family comes first in my list. I savor every precious moment of my daughter’s infectious laughter and my husband’s firm resolve. Of course, when it comes to family, I must not forget to mention Jewel, my “eldest daughter,” whose canine loyalty is far more precious than any material possession that I have.

The next best thing to family is food—especially Italian fare. Savoring very creamy and cheesy pizzas and pastas have become a very precious treat. And now that it’s also imperative for me to eat lots of fruits and vegetables, I’m giving my taste buds a workout with varied tastes and textures. Everyday is a fiesta with sweet lansones, chilled watermelons and would you believe, steamed okra dipped in salt and vinegar.

Then, there are pictures. With the invention of camera phones, priceless moments are captured easily and printed just as quickly. Photographs capture that once-in-a-lifetime instant when a face cannot look exactly as it did at any other time, when a first step was taken, when the triumph of a victory or the pain of loss is as genuine as the day it was felt. When I look at the photos I have of my daughter—from the time I first held her in the delivery room up to now—I always find a reason to celebrate.

I always get a kick out of people whose eyes narrow and jaws drop whenever they see me. So on my list, I always find a cause to celebrate when I see old acquaintances and yes, even relatives, who disbelieve that I’m still alive. Sometimes I even get the feeling that others wish me dead just to prove what they want to believe. So I celebrate everyday of the life that the good Lord has given me so that I can continue to proclaim how wonderful He is and how truly effective Mama Mary’s intercession is. Of course, the jaw dropping gets pretty hilarious sometimes, so a bash is always in order every time that happens.

Last but not the least, I find reason to celebrate in everything that Life throws at me. The joys, fears, uncertainties, sadness, anger and grief—all sorts of emotions and sentiments that make this existence colorful and vibrant are more than enough for a toast. Dreams fulfilled and dreams yet to be realized, the everyday struggle to either succumb or fight—all these scream for a celebration. Because despite all of life’s punches, it’s still good to be alive.

“To have faith is to be sure of the things we hope for, to be certain of the things we cannot see.”
Hebrews 11:1

My daughter is my greatest blessing. Bringing her out into the world amid all the odds was a feat that I can only attribute to God’s miraculous grace. Cancer and pregnancy don’t really go well together and undergoing both chemotherapy and radiotherapy—both mainstays in the cancer treatment program—significantly increases the risk of birth anomalies in the fetus. It could only be through God’s extraordinary blessing that our baby girl was born whole and healthy, with the Newborn Screening showing normal results. Adele Pillitteri in her book Maternal and Child Health Nursing explains: “As a rule, women can receive chemotherapy in the second and third trimesters of pregnancy without adverse fetal effects. Radiation therapy, in contrast… puts the fetus at risk throughout pregnancy if the fetus is directly exposed.”
I started receiving both treatments during the first trimester of my pregnancy. When you take that into consideration, you can understand why this case is a medical miracle. Now that I am convalescing, I know that my continued health and that of my daughter’s hinges on God’s providence alone. Human as I am however, there are times when I succumb to worries that God might not continue the miracle He started.

Yesterday was one such day. The news featured an adolescent boy with leukemia whom the news channel’s foundation was sponsoring for chemo treatments. The reporter also interviewed a physician who revealed the causes for this type of cancer. One stood out clearly in my mind: A fetus’ exposure to radiation early on in the pregnancy. My husband, who was happily playing with our child, stopped laughing and simply held our baby close. Exposure? My daughter had more than exposure! She had tons of radiation and x-rays she’s probably bionic!

Dr. O.P. Jaggi in his book Cancer: Causes, Prevention & Treatment reveals that from a scientific standpoint, studies have shown that x-rays and radioactive substances are well-recognized causes of cancer. Nineteenth century mine workers in Czechoslovakia who were exposed to radioactive substances developed lung cancer. A lot of inexperienced technicians working with x-ray machines in the past developed leukemia and skin cancers. Many Japanese who were exposed to the atomic bomb explosions likewise developed leukemia and other cancers.

Then I remember that my oncologist had given me a straightforward answer about a year ago when I asked what my daughter’s chances are of “inheriting” the illness. “If she gets it, leukemia might manifest itself in her adolescent years.” He did give the assurance that this was highly unlikely yet should it come to pass, by then medical science should already have rendered chemo obsolete and found a complete cure for the Big C.

There is nothing for us to do now but strive to give the best possible care for our precious little girl. Because we are treading a very uncertain path, we know that only God’s firm grip can see us through. We have been given a reason to pray.
When I shared this possibility with my mother, her answer was more basic: “She is God’s gift. God’s angels protected her, Mama Mary sheltered her, and Jesus blood washed away all traces of radiation that she received. God won’t allow her to get sick—now or ever.”

Such trust, such confidence. Yet such is faith. I would do well to follow her example.