The Words

In the spring of 2002 Sharon Prest, a digital instructor at Andrews Univeristy gave us an assignment in one of our Ethics courses. A extreme sport enthusiast and photographer she gave us a compeling shot of the words Je’t aime scrawled on a cracked and bullet ridden wall. She then asked us to write a short fiction piece inspired by the impact of the photograph. We had 15 minutes. This is what I wrote.

If I say it, will she understand how much it will take out of me?

The first time I saw her was through bars that contained and parted us. I was leaning on the streat; she was looking at some fruit. The bars were there to keep robbers from breaking into the street market on this generic corner in the middle of a generic european city. They did little to protect me from the attraction that began with a glance.

Her skin was the colour of caramel that coated her slim yet sculpted frame. Her hair was the mane of an African lion: Wild, untamed, yet carried with the grace of feminine royalty. Her eyes scrutinized the pepper she cradled in her hand with the refined knowledge of a generation of wise would-be chefs. The way she looked over her proud nose past lips of subtle fire, spoke of a confidance that was born of a lived life.

I stood transfixed and she soon parried my stare.

"If you’re going to continue to stare for much longer, you’re going to have to at least help me find the right one."

She said in an instantly recognizable accent that spoke of studies in a little villa in New Zealand or on the club scene in South African.

"Even that isn’t free."

I felt the colour rush to my cheeks and suddenly I was 16 nervously fumbling over how to not trip into my highschool crush in the lunch line. You know the one. Somehow you became Lothar King of the Neanderthals and even if she gave you a second of her time, you’d always managed to go idiot in that same instant.

How could I tell her I was a photographer and that I had the sudden urge to take her picture and add tangibility to an even now cherished memory? How could I tell her that with all that I had experienced and all that I had captured in the last three months, a moment of pure beauty was a welcome relief? And how could I tell her that seeing her brought air to the starving lungs of my belief that there could still be some good in this world?

"I’m a photographer."

She turned and looked me over and went back to caressing the pepper.

"Well then hurry up and do it then…"

Pause. I wasn’t sure… did she mean… me… camera…

"I have to warn you, " she continued, "there are plenty more sights and people you’ll see here. A lot more interesting than me. So take one and lets get some food, I’m starving."

She took my hand and started leading me down the street.

"And then let’s go find those sites and those people for you…"

Three weeks later we lay across from each other in a hammock on a balcony looking over the street below my hotel room. I digress, as across from each other as her hip would allow mine to travel. The sounds of the street did little to disturb our sanctuary. Our solitude.

"I have to go." I whispered. "It’s what I do."

She got up and walked to the railing and stood there, unwavered in the breeze hinting from the alley’s passageway. I studied her form being sculpted by the caressess of the fleeting gusts that passed through the folds of her sheer dress.

I stood up, walked over, and buried her in my arms.

Her neck nuzzled into mine as she reached up to take me and I felt her lips brush my ears.

"Tell me before you go, "her voice for the first time wavered. "Or else I can’t wait for you."

That night I studied her in the moonlight as the hours passed. I hadn’t said the words in many years. The last time I said them I had only begun to undersand what they truly meant. Was I prepared to say them again?

With me leaving would they have the same meaning when I returned? In all the craziness I had seen around, was it even woth attempting to live up to them again?

This morning as the sun rises on the grain of paradise I have left behind, a bleary eyed figure will step on top of the world and look down at the street. She will be more beautiful than that rising orb of light. And on a bullet kissed granite wall across the street, painted in large letters, are the words.

The words we should all say someday and really mean it.

Daughter of My Mother's People

After 2 weeks of blog incognito, I am finally writing a new entry. Things have been kind of crazy at work with me getting a lot of front desk experience culminating with a day spent at the Budget airport location which is the busiest location in the system. That experience alone has upped my confidence and I would believe competency at that aspect of the job. And we all know competency = sales = more money! One of my contracts along brought in $700 + on top of the rental cost which made my boss super uber happy!

In other news, I finally made it out to Banff on a solo trip this past weekend. I must say that I am even more in love with it than I was when I first visited in 2005 for my college buddy’s wedding (Blanche and Eddie). I also got to take the Nissan which was weirdly cool to take “my car” on that trip. Man how far we have come!

I want to thank Vilma for hooking me up with the suite at the Fox Resort. Ynah for making me feel at home with the all the local Flips. Reeza for inviting me to her birthday party. Sharmane, Joe, Ja Jan ad Je for starting it all. Jill, Ate Daisy and Tita Ledia for supervising. And of course “Mary” Tes: your smile wins me every time!

I didn’t realize how much I missed hanging out with my parent’s people till I got to spend time with these wonderful folks. There are a lot of Filipinos in Banff who are connected to the booming hospitality industry. They’ve developed quite the reputation of being hardworking and industrious… definitely something to be proud of. In a way I feel I’ve found a lost tribe of WBFM members. (Those of you who know what I’m taking about are probably members too. I love and miss you guys so much!)



So Lily rocked it at Janice’s wedding! I’m proud of my little sister and all that she has faced and overcome. But probably the most important accomplishment she has done and is still doing is being a mom to my nephew Calvin. On a side note, I’m still laughing about how some people need to just live their life decisions and not drown them out with the bottle. Suck it up dude, we all have too at some point! I know I am out here and that crap will just slow or destroy what can be a positive process. But I’ll leave it at that.

Oh yes and Chris rocked it while chillin with NKTOB! I'm so happy for you and you totally are with that celebrity status vibe.

Anyway I’m focusing on December and taking what I’ve learned about my body and really applying it in the next few months. I want to close out the year feeling like I made significant progress in my health goals. With God’s help it all possible.

Stay tuned… The saga of Romil is far from over.

Fear is the mind killer...

Fear is the mind killer
I will face my fear
I will let it pass through me

I am a desert creature.

I really like the Dune series by Frank Herbert for the preceding lines alone. In less then 5 lines, this master epic writer has summed up the essence of overcoming negativity in the human experience characterized by self doubt born of fear. The final line suggest that ultimate obstacle in our way is indeed ourselves. In the end self realization and identity are thought to be foundation of a safeguard against the invasion and crippling effect of fear.

Some have said that the hypocrisy found in the church leadership has caused them to turn their backs on it. My response is: as long as any form of earthly human influence is present, even the best of us have the seeds of the worst evil within us. Such is the human condition. Hence no earthly institution, no matter how divinely blessed, is completely immune from negativity.

Where are the threads that unite these seemingly disjoined thoughts? Well if self realization and identity are the safeguards against fear, what do these processes reveal? I suggest that no matter how self-aware you become, and even though you make significant improvements to your ability to master all aspects of your existence, you will still realize the need for a higher power in your life. There is no escaping the human condition. I would even suggest further that all existing human life needs this higher power.

Pride, a byproduct of fear, shuns the idea of dependency. Independent existence devoid of need of anything outside of oneself is looked on as being ideal and anything less is weakness. But what if the opposite, and I believe this to be truth, is true?

Again Romil, what are you getting at? Simply put. No church will ever save you. No man made institution can. If there is any saving to be done, and there is, only God can.

But since we are created in the image of God who is a social being… and here is where things once again become cyclical… because He is a social being… hence our creation cause the Big Dude was lonely… we do benefit from the existence of a church. Just like a hospital is ultimately not a very pleasant place to be during an outbreak of a horrible disease… it may not always to be pleasant in the church… but it is the best place to be when we need to be close to the cure source.

And sometimes our earthly vision is so poor that the only reflection of God we see is the one he places into those who exists around us…

The randomness of my reflection

leave splashes of realization.
Here.

There.

Everywhere.