A WordPress Experiment

If in case you're interested... it's mine, too.

http://fiftyshadesblessed.wordpress.com

Update

I've been too lazy to write anything for this blog since I last posted here.

So the second semester has just begun. Shorter period of time to be spent in heavier-than-heavy-metal subjects. One happy note, though--this would be the last semester I'd be spending as a college undergraduate. God has got me this far by His grace, and for that I'm more than grateful. Despite difficulties of all kinds (especially financial and personal), I can say that I know I'll finish this race in victory. Of course, I can't say that I have been able to do everything on my own.

My "primadonna" muse, as one classmate of mine describes her, has been bugging me since my second short story. Now it's another novel that I'm not sure if I could finish (In both two decades of my existence I was only able to finish one 13-chapter novella). And I'm not even sure if I would want to finish it. Like my second short story, this novel is very psychological and erotic. As much as I want to publish it online, I can never risk the conscience of people who might read it and get disappointed and/or angry with me since I'd never, ever written any sensuous literature piece until I had written my first "sensuous" poem back in third year college (because of a personal problem). Bugged again by one old addiction, I decided to give writing my new novel a try--I really needed an outlet for all my self-anger and guilt, especially now that I seem to procrastinate in trying to fight it. You know the feeling when you try preserving your relationship with God (of course, no one does it perfectly--but God himself! Maybe I've just been insisting to have my own way) but then you fail--and most of the time, intentionally? If you do, you might understand.

These days I've just realized that I've been too OC. I always wanted something to do--shopping, fixing things, doing school projects, whatever--and when I don't have anything to do, I feel quite restless. Is it because I'm stressed with my problems? Not really... I just find it weird because I am naturally a lazybutt. And even if I'm OC, I still choose what stuff to do, so you have no choice but to let me do my thing if I don't feel like doing my homework! :P And in speaking of being OC, I feel like creating a WordPress account (again), but then I chose not to because that would mean leaving or deleting this blog. I can't bear deleting some good posts here.

Honestly, I feel like I'm being worse everyday :'( Pray for me if you care.

And anyway, I'm sorry for making this a hodgepodge post--and for the em-dash and parentheses abuse.

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Now playing: Underoath - Unsound

Ours is a Hostile World: On Lemony Snicket's "The Hostile Hospital"

I hope I gave Mr. Snicket justice here =D Another project in school.

Lemony Snicket
The Hostile Hospital (A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book 8)
HarperCollins Publishers

Dear Reader,

Before you throw this awful book to the ground and run as far away from it as possible, you should probably know why. This book is the only one which describes every last detail of the Baudelaire children’s miserable stay at Heimlich Hospital, which makes it one of the most dreadful books in the world.

Of course, not even such a blurb would deter readers both young and old from flipping the pages of each book in the phenomenal A Series of Unfortunate Events (SUE in the paragraphs to follow). Even when I knew all along that this “tridecalogy”—a word which here means “a thirteen-book series”—by Daniel Handler, err, Lemony Snicket  features a downright unfortunate over-all plot, it has never been unfortunate in capturing my bookworm’s heart, though I must admit that I had only been able to read two of the thirteen books, thanks to my illustrator uncle who gave them to me as belated Christmas gifts.

Describe yourself for the upcoming yearbook.

Name: (Of course, it's my real name.)
Affiliation: Member, The English Club

This wannabe musician, voracious bookworm and aspiring yet somewhat lazy creative writer loves eating, and the fact that she couldn't get fat no matter how gluttonous she would try to be. With mood swings like the weather, she finds bliss in solitude--and in Spencer Chamberlain, whoever the heck he is.

Just felt like posting.

Memoirs of a Practice Teacher

An update since I last posted here (When was that? I can't remember...):

For the first half of this year's semester, we had our Practice Teaching subject. I was assigned together with six other classmates to teach in this school in Cubao, Quezon City.

I got to handle third year regular-section students under my cooperating teacher (right, beside our college supervisor). She has been one of the best teachers I've encountered in my life, and she's been so nice to me I can't thank God enough for her.

I never expected that I'd be able to perform well during my practicum, since I had only one teaching experience prior to the Practice Teaching period. I was overjoyed not merely because of the positive remarks and friendly criticisms of our college supervisor and my CT but because God has really helped me from my deployment to my Grand Demonstration teaching.

Back in high school, I thought of taking up an Education course not because I really wanted to teach but because I had to be practical. I wouldn't be able to earn much if I stuck to my original dream (and still I dream of this) of being a writer, so I thought of teaching other students to write (as well as read and speak) in English fluently. But as the rest of my high school years passed, I got to observe and love some of my teachers in different subjects, and so, I got inspired to become just like them.

Months before I became a college student, I had really decided to take up Secondary Education, English major--I felt that it was God's calling for me. I took entrance exams in two different colleges and I ended up passing the PNUAT, not to mention my eleventh spot in the Top 20 PNUAT Passers by God's grace. So college went on... and during my first three years, there had been times when I felt like shifting to another course or transferring to another school. I was questioning God: "Has it really been Your will or was it my illusion?"

In one of those depressing moments I happened to stumble upon the Facebook page of Saosin guitarist Justin Shekoski (who is also a guitar tutor) and I saw three words that struck me no matter how simple they were:

I love Teaching.

I wondered whether I'd love teaching the way he did...

But during our quarter-long practicum, I had this inexplicable joy in my heart every time I got home from school (not from studies, of course, but from work), no matter how stubborn the students had been or how hard all the teacher work was that day. When I told my mom about this, she told me, "It's really for you." My CT would confirm it weeks after my last practicum day.

On our Grand Demo day, I was real anxious because I felt like my dry run for my demo lesson had been literally dry--maybe because I hadn't been able to practice everything I had to practice at home those days because of paperwork and procrastination in my part. I was tempted to be discouraged about our upcoming demos. But at the moment I walked to the classroom where my demo would be held and prayed to God for help, a line from August Burns Red's "Redemption" came into my mind:

Be my strength, be my voice, my glory.

I had been kinda weak that time because of a weird sickness involving nausea/vomiting and appetite loss I had the previous night, so the line was... perfect for my situation. That line became my very prayer. And I couldn't thank God enough for his really being "my strength... my voice, my glory" not only for that day but also for all the practicum days... for all the days of my life.

And yeah, after four rough yet fun years in college (the next semester will be our last), including the three equally rough yet fun practicum months, I could say this with Justin now:

I love Teaching ;)

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In speaking of teaching, I wish all teachers a Happy World Teachers' Day! May God bless you and continue to use you as vessels of wisdom and knowledge to all your students... and to everyone around.

Recognizing God

Genesis 35:1-7, 9

1. God invites us to recognize Him (v1).
2. We lay down what needs to be laid down before coming to God (v2-4, 7).
3. God blesses those who recognize Him (v9).

Jacob had just made peace with his twin brother Esau and God called him back to Bethel. He ordered his whole household to "put away the strange gods that are among [them], and be clean" (v2). Upon arriving at Bethel, he built an altar for the Lord, and He blessed him.

Jacob recognized God's mighty hand in what had happened between him and Esau. It was God who made a way for them to be reconciled (Genesis 32-33). God had also helped him with his problems with his father-in-law, Laban (Genesis 31). He was humbled by the grace God had shown him. Jacob had been true to his name: a deceiver, supplanter, one who takes by the heel. He hadn't been that good. But God had rescued him even from the problems he himself had caused. In our text, Jacob comes back to thank God for everything.

Since the place where they were commanded to go was "the house of God" (the meaning of the name Bethel), Jacob commanded everyone with him to make themselves presentable to God, as said in verse 2 of the text. God is in His 'house' and He is God over it (hence the name El-bethel). In what Jacob and company had done, they recognized God as the Lord of the place--the Lord of their world, the Lord of their lives.

Because Jacob gave God the credit due to Him, God had blessed him (v9-12). Jacob was renamed Israel--a prince with God (Genesis 32:28, 35:10)--and was given the same promise God had made with his grandfather Abraham and father Isaac (Genesis 35:11).

Recognizing God--in joy or in pain--opens our eyes to God Himself, His blessings and His will for us.


April 9, 2012

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Image credits to Daily Reflections.

Secrets and Regrets

A song fiction--and the second short story I've finished so far.

I.

His bright brown eyes stared at the smoke rising from the bonfire in the middle of the spacious, newly-mowed backyard shadowed by an old tall mighty oak tree which lush emerald-green leaves indulged in the warmth of the early morning sun. The silence in the place was broken only by the soft shy rustle of the leaves blown by an equally shy breeze, the chirping of a bird or two, and the crackle of the flames as it consumed the things that he had once held dear—and once had held him dear.