Change is good. - Mam Faye

Jamelle Ann spun on 10:28 PM.
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I am loving Holy Week. I own my time. Family Talks. Hang-outs. Friends catching up.

Now, I am working on a project for myself. I miss being seated in front of my study table and staring at the blank wall where I have posted plans and dreams as a student, daughter and friend. Some I have fulfilled, 1/3 of which I have failed to do so. Nonetheless, as Robin Sharma optimistically puts it, "There are no mistakes, only lessons in life." Vividly, from the uncontrollable flush of events that has sprouted uncountable responsibilities and pains come the greatest lessons that are bound to be carried in my luggage of commitments for a lifetime. Thank God for the mentors, friends and family who have been witnesses of all of those seemingly insurmountable struggles which have made not only me, but comrades and fellow dreamers as well, grow towards full growth and maturity.

I realize that I am not a public person. By nature, I am private. True enough that I have a big bubble that conceals me from the vast universe of pretensions and connections. It is in this bubble that I stock my dreams which are to be realized in time - when the bubble has grown enough to explode its goodness brought by the owner's willpower and discipline. In the meantime, I am bound to reflect on the 1/3 lessons that I have acquired from the past occurences.

More importantly, the letters that I am engendering from the dreaming girl who has awaken from nightmares and good dreams. From the butterfly that I have drawn - which I will be posting on my blank wall that I am facing right now - I am about to write my plans and dreams for my present and future.

Dreams that have been concealed by nightmares. But not really. I have my fair share of both good dreams and nightmares. But I have overcome the nightmares because of my good dreams.

It my luggage of commitment where the essentials for survival are packed and managed. I have collected more than enough to start anew.

Jamelle Ann spun on 2:24 PM.
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I was browsing through my Tita's CDs when I found Kris Aquino's songs of Love and Healing in the middle portion of her file. With Kris' fresh aura against the soothing blue background on the cover, I opened the album. On the left side were the lyrics and the Goldilock's brochure, on the right was imprinted a verse from Ecclesiastes titled Everything has its own time. The verse was inspiring: it added up to the positively pushing force that I have acquired after reading Robin Sharma's The Monk who Sold his Ferrari.

A time to be born,
and a time to die;
A time to plant,
and a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
and a time to heal;
A time to break down,
and a time to build up;
A time to weep,
and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn,
and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones,
and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace,
and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek,
and a time to lose;
A time to keep,
and a time to throw away;
A time to tear,
and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence,
and a time to speak;
A time to Love,
and a time to hate;
A time for war,
and a time for peace.

- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Truly, everything on earth has its own time and its own season.

A time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted. Soon, we would discover the reason of being where we are right now. Whether we have been bound to move on from a tragedy, stuck on the same ground because of gridlocks, gripped by a past that has been continuously haunting or pushed forth by the promise of a good future, we have been placed on a certain spot on earth where we are destined to be. This spot where we have been lodged on would be the place where our plants have been preconceived to grow.

Just as bamboo trees would take centuries to grow, so is man whose intellectual, emotional and spiritual capacities would entail years to mature. Duties would cause pressure; setbacks would pile up causing worries. But all these have been all part of our planting.

I know that I have been planting - this would still go along way. And I must enjoy these moments of planting because it was during these times that I have been enriched and fashioned towards the goal which I have been destined to achieve. The goal that I have set for myself - my real purpose - has been fast approaching. Nevertheless, "The journey is as important as the destination," as Mam Faye put it. Robin Sharma furthered, "Enjoy the special moments that everyday offers because today, this day is all you have." And so I must not question today's challenges and surprises, I must simply enjoy everyday of my life. After all, I have deemed it to be enjoyable. The time to pluck what have been planted is soon to come.

A time to break down, and a time to build up. Tears have been crafted to fall from the eyes because it has been one of our bodies mechanisms to excrete dirt from one of its most vital senses. It would be tantamount to exuding dregs from our body in order to build it further for its survival. There would be time to break down into tears to build up not only our emotional capacity, but physiological as well.

How many times have I burst out into tears in front of friends because of feeling weak amidst heartbreaks? Remarkably, a couple of times. True enough, Love is my weakness. No, Love was my weakness. Because of being able to surmount that great pain after being left hanging in the middle of falling, I have been able to unearth my ability to face great pain... and to transgress it as well. I have been broken; ironically, though, it has built me up.

A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together. I have a theory: some people need to turn their back on crafts that they truly love to discover what their true PASSION in life is. Turning your back on something would entail risks; likewise, entering onto another realm would also be a risk. More so, if the realm would be contrary to what you think your passion is. In the middle of achievements and appraisals - however fulfilling it might be - you could still feel a sense of incompleteness because you thought you had not engaged yourself with things that you have loved to commit yourself. It would be like licking on an ice cream when all you ever wanted is to melt chocolate in your mouth. At the end of the day, you would want to go back to your realm - your PASSION.

I just did. I have thrown away opportunities for public speaking, debating and writing and have been convicted into management responsibilities. Yes, I have learned, but the lessons have not been totally parallel to what I have truly envisioned myself to become. The lessons have been related, but not TOTALLY relevant. There have been times when I want to go back to intensive trainings and screenings; be that as it may, regrets do not have a room for a dreamer and a believer. I must now look at my cup as half-full instead of half-empty - disregarding the hovering space above the condensed liquid which could've been filled with more words, ideas and speechpower. Which could have been, but have never been. No, not never been. Because I have been trained in one way or another. And yes, I CAN still gather my stones together. After all, the new realm which I am now attempting to penetrate into is directly abridged to my dream.

A time to seek, and a time to lose. Planning and aiming have been ways of seeking. On the other hand, inability to comply with your plans and aims has been sure paths of losing. But one must not end in losing. There would be a time to seek, a time to lose, and a time to seek again.

A time to tear and a time to sew; A time for war, and a time for peace. Amongst my most favorite text messages was this: Sometimes, if a string gets too tangled and messed up to solve, it's better to cut it out to start a new one and save the untangled part. For relationships to grow, time and space must get in the way in order to test bonds between people. For friendships to develop further, brawls and misunderstandings would need to occur. At the end of all of these, stronger and better interrelationships would spring forth. People would learn to reach out and bend knees to sew torn affinities; peace would resurface after every battle and war.

A time to Love, and a time to hate. But hating would just be minimal, because for a heart that has been continuously seeking for peace and happiness, Love would always reign. As Paul has stated it in his letter to the Corinthians, "Love never fails." Hence, we must have more time to Love because Love makes the world go round.

Everything on earth has its own time and its own season. Just as the sun would cast its rays of hope in the first quarter of each day, the clouds would grow thickest in the middle of the day and Cherry Blossoms would spring new leaves in autumn, one's fulfillment of aspirations and finding of true Love lie at the heart of the world's golden stopwatch. And that golden stopwatch has been owned - no less - by God. On his palms have been written the seasons of our lives even before our conception.

Jamelle Ann spun on 9:44 PM.
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I absorb the sounds of my keyboard - hear tap-tap-tap-tap - as I painstakingly rediscover the trails of my brain when translating my thoughts into words. While reading my past entries, I am amazed by the great style and bull's-eye point that I have been able to come up with in the process of coagulating my feelings into a single theme. Repeating phrases, shallow yet figuratively-used words, uncorrupted thoughts and concentrated ideas. Each element has had contributed to the ooomph factor that I have felt in reminiscing the happenings of the past. I give myself a tap on the shoulder.

I haven't been into writing for months now. That is why I am feeling nervous for my upcoming OJT that would probably entail me writing news. Literary writing has now been laborious for me - talk about rusts on my fingertips and molds at the portion of my brain responsible for articulation. What more journalistic writing! The two vary GREATLY in style, length and content. That is why I am now trying to rediscover the path that I traverse onto when transcribing the abstract codes of my mind into words decipherable by men. Or decipherable by me alone.

Because when I write, I enter a kind of trance that transliterates my humanly tendencies into impulses understandable by angels. I leave the busy world of papers and sit on clouds with comfort and ease. I ascend on the stairs leading upwards and knock on the Heaven's door, uttering, "This is the wisdom that I have learned. I will proclaim it through the gift that you have endowed upon me." Furthermore, I ask, " Am I making my Daddy smile behind this golden door? " I hope I am

I want something back. I want to regain the continuous flow of thoughts that makes me not stare at my monitor for a long time. I want to bring back the incessant pushing of keys on this board of letters, numbers and symbols. I want to reacquire the feeling of entering into a state of trance and echoing the voice of my heart which is only possible in silent speeches - deliverable by eyes and decoded by written words. I want my Passion back.

I do have it. But I want it intense. Noble. And true.

For the reality that I have been looking forward to for a long time is emerging on the horizon.

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Tap-tap-tap: my keyboard is talking. Tap-tap: I give myself a tap on the shoulder. Tap-tap-tap: knocking on the doors of heaven for the dream that I've been living for.

Tap-tap.

Jamelle Ann spun on 10:40 PM.
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Jamelle Ann spun on 8:37 PM.
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Beneath the Starbucks' umbrella, amidst the darkness of MOA, we sat at our metal chairs with Jezza's thesis occupying our table. It was Earth Hour, the mall's big lights were shut off, and we were holding our phones to illumine the paper that we were supposed to read.

Jezza, a high school friend, asked me to have a run of their thesis to look for corrections and possible loopholes to be solved. I suggested MOA to be our meeting place. So I met them - with Angge (her thesis partner) and Achie (a high school classmate and childhood friend) - at Mang Inasal. When the fasfood chain was already being packed with diners, we decided to go out and look for some other venue where we can continue our night's craft. A convenient coffee shop was the place-to-be.

Beneath the Starbucks' umbrella, amidst the darkness of MOA, we sat at our metal chairs with their Thesis occupying our table. Achie and I struggled to decode every sentence's meaning despite the the absence of proper lighting around. Sentence construction, paragraph-place switching, theoretical framework: corections were just minimal. I enjoyed reading about relational aggression and emotional quotient. Their paper hypothesized on the possibility of a correlational relationship between the aforementioned concepts - their variables. True enough, one's performance in the workplace could probably be hugely affected by how one's environment interact with him/her. This interaction with fellow workers and colleagues - one's interpersonal relationship - could either increase or decrease one's emotional intelligence (or emotional quotient). "An interesting study," I thought.

The thesis duo went inside to buy some snacks and frappe. In the middle of serious reading, Achie asked "Ano na yung ikekwento mo? Dali wala na sila." Achie hasn't changed yet. She was still the same kwento-dali-tapos-secret-lang girl I used to know since childhood. With a gleam of smile, I shared with her my going-ons in school and at home. My "social-lovelife" (quote, unquote) and my current businesses in school. Likewise, she also shared the present not-so-good condition that she and Len (with two blockmate friends) have been experiencing in their class.

In the middle of relational aggression and emotional intelligence matter-loading, with the stories that we have partaken together, I realized: the way we (high school group) interact with our friends and blockmates this college has been highly affected by how we have related wih each other when we were still in white blouses and blue jumpers. We have been crafted by the culture that we have subconsciously made while we were still together: a competitive and standard-oriented clan ever-ready to put up a fight and defend one's stand with regard to any intellectual thing. Being branded as the creme-dela-creme for 10 years, we have instilled our fair share of standards and values that have been collectively molded by the "star" group. Whether or not we were understood, we didn't really care. What we have always cared about were our work, our process and our output. Period. Nothing more, nothing less.

Beneath the Starbucks' umbrella, amidst the darkness of MOA, we sat at our metal chairs with our friends' thesis occupying our table. The thesis duo treated us frappe and cinnamon. Thus, while further hampering on the significance and framework of their interesting study, we were siping on the rich-man's coffee and munching on the rich man's bread. Their study were backed up with emotional intelligence scales and relational aggression measures which made it more interesting to read. Minutes later, I finished giving my insight; Achie decided to still bring the paper home to review it again. Angge's sundo came. We bid goodbye to her; the three high school classmates were left.

By that time, lights were already turned on, and so we were able to vividly examine each other's faces after months of not seeing each other. At 10 in the evening, we came up examining each other's lives and way of living.

Beneath the Starbucks' umbrella, amidst the darkness of MOA, we sat at our metal chairs with our own theses on Life and Love occupying our medium-sized circular table. Earth hour had ended, friends' hour has started.

Jamelle Ann spun on 6:42 PM.
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My ice skating date with ABDP will be the last. My last moments of close proximities with you.

My 2nd sem grades for this AY aren't good.

My parents' trust have been compromised.

I'm nervous for OJT, haven't been into newswriting for years.

Hay. Naiiyak ako. :'(

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Jamelle Ann spun on 12:22 AM.
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