Kilig

I'm hard-pressed to come up with an accurate translation of kilig; the closest perhaps is "a rush or thrill that overcomes one's self after something phenomenally terrrrrifffic happens," frequently taking you by surprise (one does not normally seek out the kilig sensation, it just, well, happens). And it is usually equated with the warm-melted-butter-down-your-back feeling of romantic affection or that overwhelming burst of joyous adrenalin that makes you want to jump up and down a talkshow host's couch.

Sheer, unadulterated, inexplicable happiness that won't let up. Kilig.

Honestly speaking, I've not had that sensation too often in this century; the last time I really got kilig over a guy was in 1993. No kidding. That's how bad of a cynic I'd become: sure, I'd be interested in this guy or that one and vice versa in the years that would follow, but I would never allow myself the luxury of kilig.

Now that all that cynicism and emotional baggage is off my back, I've been having one kilig moment too many. It feels like I'm in high school again. And sometimes, it doesn't even have anything to do with any guy.

It's the exhiliration - or the freedom of allowing yourself to be exhilirated - by a phenomenal event, or a phenomenal person. Or by a phenomenal God who you know is right there, enjoying the kilig moment as much as you are.

A God who gave me exactly what I was asking for, for exactly the purpose I needed it, even after a day of mini-frustrations. I still want to jump up and down whenever I think of last night's unexpected blessing - and unexpected kilig. Phenomenal. All things are possible indeed!

And of course, the more common relationship kilig: a more mature kind of kilig, as a sister-in-Christ and I agreed over a loooong Sunday lunch. The kilig that comes from who a guy IS and not what he DOES to or for you: after all, what are you left with once a man stops promising the moon and the stars or whispering sweet nothings or sending flowers? But a man can't just as easily stop being who he is, e.g., someone with integrity, conviction, compassion, a deep relationship with God, courage, etc. That perhaps, is how we should choose the men to love. And to be kilig over. Right, Amats?

Then there's that random run-of-the-mill kilig that you can't help experiencing, even in this day and age, even at this age! Like when someone you like (e e e e...) looks particularly cute today. Or when, after more than a decade, you talk once again to that last guy who made you kilig in 1993...and not sound like a gushing schoolgirl for once. Because you are now a mature, sophisticated, attractive, accomplished woman with the world at her feet, a fact Mr. 1993 immediately becomes aware of (consequently treating you accordingly, at long last). And it doesn't even matter that once you put down the phone, you revert into that gushing schoolgirl, jumping all over the office in her 3-inch pumps, frightening the artists, and reveling in ...kilig.

Yeeeeeha! :-)

Aftermath

Whatta whopper of a storm.

Were it not for the devastation it wreaked and the lives it took - human and otherwise, including those great old acacias lining University Avenue - it was, all in all, a spectacular experience. I've always loved this kind of weather, especially when I'm safely indoors and above sea level (my QC neighborhood is fortunately high and dry in that aspect). It's always a good excuse to carbo load on hot arroz caldo and take marathon naps, to order out for lechon manok (apparently 10,000 other QC residents had the same idea) and to just idle around by candlelight until somnolence overcomes. And, when all else fails and it's 1:00 a.m. and sleeping in your own sweat is the furthest thing on your mind (marathon naps, remember), there's always the guitar to practice plucking on. Not to mention the Bakang, a nocturnal creature who is predictably up and at its prime in the wee hours, wheedling human beings into a hedonistic evening of wine, women, and song (actually beer, badings and bakangs, and Bogart).

And then there are always those conversations with God, in the quiet of the night with no one and nothing else to disturb the unspoken exchanges between your heart and His, with the reassurance of His steadfast love as the last thought before falling asleep. It's this time in the silence that the wisest of choices are made and the sincerest heart's desires offered up, and, in that solitary moment before slipping off into unconsciousness, true peace.

"When the oceans rise, and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm. Father, you are King over the flood; I will be still, and know you are God." - Reuben Morgan, Still

Yeba

"Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep... wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky he is to have you.... The one who turns to his friends and says, 'that's her.'”
- Sam Wilson

Space

Just when I was writing about clutter, the extraordinary happened.

Three days, one evening, and life suddenly becomes unrecognizable. Magnificently so. Words cannot describe it, although it seems like the words have been pouring forth from me since this all started.

Significantly enough, just when I was starting to drown in clutter.

A cluttered desk. A cluttered car, a cluttered room. Even BC, my retreat away from it all, was building up clutter.

Cluttered self-expression, cluttered writing. A cluttered schedule, a cluttered set of careers. Cluttered relationships. A cluttered mind. A cluttered life.

Then, in one breakthrough moment, Hiroshima happened. It had to take an atom bomb experience to blow all that clutter to smithereens.

And, when the dust had settled...

SPACE.

A beautiful blank canvas to work on. Nothing to cover up or fix or paint over. An infinity of possibilities. A future you choose, a life that is entirely in your own hands. And my Faith still wholly intact, and, praise God!, healthier than it's ever been. Just like I'd been told.

This weekend was all about my favorite things. Conversations. Communication. Integrity. Humanity. Love. LIFE. And, the one thing I never thought I lacked - for how can you really be aware that you have none of it - SPACE.

I love my life; I can say that now. And I'm now living the life I love, the kind of life my Father promised His children - full and abundant. I'm being loved, and finally loving the way He meant me to love, because, after this weekend, I finally GOT IT.

Space. Extraordinary. I'm going to share with you the countless wonderful possibilities I've been creating in that fathomless space, very soon. My life is new, and this blog is, too. For while I am a work in progress in this life, I am already whole, complete, and perfect in my Maker's eyes.

Thanks, Alan, for making that space a possibility for me, and for making that stand.

To God be all the glory. Amen.

A Whole New Life

And a whole new tenor to this blog :-) More very soon.

To God be the glory!

But earnestly desire the higher gifts. And I will show you a still more excellent way.
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful;
it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.
For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect;
but when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.
So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
(1 Corinthians 12:31, 13:1-10,13 )

Clutter

Right before New Year's, every year, I undertake a major "spring" cleaning project of closets, cabinets, and all that jazz. I get rid of stuff I don't need, want, or care about, and my life, at least for a month or two, is clutter-free.

But stuff builds up, ever so quickly. And I find myself burdened with much of the same stuff I thought I'd gotten rid of; worse since New Year's comes only once a year, by the time it swings around I'm drowning in stuff. In clutter.

Had a nice long phone conversation tonight about clutter with someone who I don't think even knows I write about these things. I told him that I hit upon the solution to my "mess" a couple of years ago, through a serendipitous chapter in a Christian philosophy book on, of all things, simplicity. That's the life we should all strive to live, stripped of all but the bare essentials. To me, those basics are God, His Church, and the people I choose to love. Let's include specifically that "whoever"-I-choose-to-love-and-wake-up-next-to-for-the-rest-of-my-life.

Plain and simple, isn't it? We tend to complicate God's plans with our own hang-ups and issues and whatnot, but His clarity and simplicity cannot be discounted. He loves us so, He would love us to love Him so. And to love others the way He does. But most of the time, we forget the simplest of His instructions.

Anyway, going back to clutter. We're blessed to be able to determine, through our individual freedom, what kind of situations we will or will never put up with; what kind of people will extend our limits; what kind of friends are worth standing by in times of turmoil. To some extent, I've begun to put my foot down when it comes to events I'd rather not be at, or occasions I do not approve of - whoever can do whatever during those opportunities, but the consequences should be borne.

Life should be plain and simple, black and white. Yuck and Yahoo!, the way I've been contemplating it. At this point, I'm thoroughly disgruntled, frustrated, fuming, and indignant at some people (some person?) who I thought could have made so many fabulous somethings out of their - his - life but instead choose to idle away precious, God-given time on whatever. Well. Like I told that someone (advice that apparently continues to be ignored), a life without direction is no life at all - a life frittered away to nothingness. And yes, idiot, you know this is you because you yourself told me, once upon a time but very recently, that you're a loser. And yes you are, if you choose to believe in this kind of defeatist doctrine that people like you insist on perpetuating. Truly indeed, you ARE a loser if you choose to do be one. Remember that once upon a time, I told you that I have no friends who are losers; and if you choose to be a LOSER, consciously and willingly, then you are definitely no friend to me. Sorry, but of you wish that, keep as far away from me as possible - that kind of loser-dom is pathetically contagious. Stand in the corner, exile yourself to East Timor, or something.

Patrick...

...Victor Ramon Arcenas Segovia, just because I mentioned who my longest-standing best friends are somewhere in this blog (or the other one?), doesn't mean that you're less of a superduper best friend to me. Longstanding La Sallista best friend, since June 1986! "Love" of my juvenile life, darling baby boy of Tita Perla, Daddy of my godson Page, hubby of my kumareng Ge...golly gee, you know so much about me that I should probably have you liquidated.

But he's one heckuva handful. Bonggapang, you'll always be one of my dearest, best friends, even if I hardly ever see you anymore. You know we're always there for each other despite that...'cause that's what friends are for. *Mwah!!* I love you!

Fool For You

My good friend and little "sister" (Dr.!) Clairebear introduced me to the expressive songs of Nichole Nordeman when we were together in the worship ministry. Ms. Nordeman's songs are extremely tricky to sing, much less to play, but her music is truly worth listening closely to. One of our favorites is this song I always sing in my head whenever someone I'm eager to talk to about God and the Good News is just as eager to challenge my faith. I no longer engage in "argumentative debates" with non-believers as before, because I now know that faith cannot be argued into anyone - it is purely a mysterious product of God's grace, granted in His own time. But I also pray for the grace that my own faith not be shaken, whenever others start to question it.

In fairness, Clairebear a.k.a. Bubbles actually did sing this song during one prayer meeting. Keri!

Fool For You
By Nichole Nordeman

There are times when faith and common sense do not align,
When hard core evidence of You is hard to find,
And I am silenced in the face of argumenative debate, and
It's a long hill it's a lonely climb.

'Cause they want proof,
They want proof of all these mysteries I claim
'Cause only fools would want to chant a dead man's name
Maybe it's true, yeah but....

I would be a fool for You, all because You asked me to.
A simpleton who's seemingly naive
I do believe, You came and made Yourself a fool for me.

I admit that in my darkest hours I've asked what if,
What if we created some kind of man-made faith like this,
Out of good intention or emotional invention,
And after life is through there will be no You

'Cause they want proof of all these miracles I claim,
'Cause only fools believe that men can walk on waves.
Maybe it's true, yeah but...

I would be a fool for You, all because You asked me to.
A simpleton who's seemingly naive
I do believe, You came and made Yourself a fool for me.

Unaware of popularity, and unconcerned with dignity,
You made me free -
That's proof enough for me.

I would be a fool for You
Only if You asked me to,
A simpleton who's only thinkin' of
Your cause of love
I will speak Jesus' name
If that makes me crazy, they can call me crazed
I'm happy to be seemingly naive, I do believe,
You came and made Yourself a fool for me.