I've kept diaries... erhm, journals all my life. I remember that my first was a Christmas present from my Mom. It was floral and scented and with a metal lock. With just a page or two left, I realized, nobody in my family dares read what I've written so I got rid of the lock and got another simpler type.

Day after day, I filled the pages with my thoughts, with my heart. I progressed from scented diaries to plain ruled journals to now, old unused notebooks or even loose scratch paper.

Only those who have maintained journals know the feeling of acquiring piles of notebooks over the years, of seeing them gather dust in one corner of your room, of watching their pages turn crisp in a quiet portion of your bedside drawer, of seeing the passing of time as you grow up. But all of us, whether we've kept diaries or not,  know the familiar feeling when we turn to an old journal page.

My first entry was December 1998. My first real crush. The very reason I wrote. I was filled with worry then. I just entered high school and he was already on his way out. I enumerated all the times I bumped into him along the building corridors, when I saw him stand in line to buy his lunch and even the painful day I saw him lay his head on another girl's lap. I felt I lost my heart. The next pages of my journal was overflowing with passion to be better than "the other girl." Even at a young age, I was already willing and ready to fight.

I never got close to him. I am sure he never knew me or even my name. Perhaps my face would not even mark a memory in his high school life. I didn't mind. Becuase as I got myself a new journal, I fell in love.

I fell in love with a boy my age. For two years, equivalent to two and a half journals, I spoke about him and my heart that went with him. The first time my hand was held. The after school lull time. Long hours over the phone. The music we danced together and the exams I helped him pass. My first boyfriend. My first heartbreak.

We broke up a week before Valentine's -- I should have gotten flowers and chocolates that day. I should have received a Dolphin bracelet which he gave to another girl on our JS prom night, the following week. My journal witnessed the tears. It accompanied me for many awfully sleepless nights. I counted years before I got over him.

I stopped writing for a long while. I allowed them to rot in the far corner of my bookshelf, with the aches of my innocent heart.

My days and nights were quickly filled with and by UP -- friends, organizations, researches, activities. I met people to talk about my dreams which I thought were already big then. I would write once or twice a month, on loose pages of my class notebooks.

A new person came and gave me a reason to get my new diary. Yes, I did fall in love again. And broke my heart, worse this time. My journal knew that what I was going through are experiences not fitting for an 18-yr old. It knew the several times I was emotionally violated, my only desire for a closure, a clear end. I counted hundreds of days and hundreds of journal pages strengthening myself.

I grew stronger. My journal stood a witness to that vow I made to myself. I gave my heart a rest. But not my writing. Even with a lot of pages left from my journal, I got rid of it. I threw it along with the unsent letters, with the gift twinings, with all the memories that came with him. I got a new one for the better, wiser and stronger me.

My whole notebook was filled with insights of a young woman. They were rough but impactful. Grammatically erroneous but certain and unwavering. They overflowed with days of physical exhaustion from school. There were names of people who touched my heart by merely breathing. I told stories of men who attempted to take my heart but weren't able to. I was tough on them and the grand vision I had for my life was tough on me. Stories of a man I almost gave my heart to.

But I got saved. On my third year in college. That grandest day of my life wasn't in my journal. My own thoughts weren't worthy to be written side by side with it. I kept that moment to my heart. And stopped writing journals for a while. The new life I had and the advent of blogsites made me lazy to write in longhand. I was filled with new feelings, emotions that were stronger than anything I felt before.

And then I fell in love. My journal found love again -- a love that came with a hope that I can be seen through to forever. But it didn't last. It was only after several pages of the familiar words of pain, of longing, of letting go and moving on that I learned that I had a heart that was then unripe. Unaware of the great destiny I should fulfill.

My heart learned. Grew up and old. Over two years, I have become a totally different person. From old aches and worries, I wrote of revelations and insights from the One who loved me first before anyone ever did. Who made my heart whole and gave it desires that I never knew before. A journal that many times witnessed me through nights of brokenness was a companion in the nights I faithfully took Him on His promises.

My pen no longer knows how to write in grief and bitterness. And although one may find a loose page of pain and loneliness, it gets drowned in pages of hope, of compassion. I still long for love, for excitement and thrill. But it's no longer the kind that breaks my heart in the end. It breathes His name and shares the destiny our hearts are bound to fulfill.

My long nights are filled with drafts of preachings, of discipleship lessons, of learnings from books. Now, I hold a journal that houses a picture of a woman who has finally fully embraced her heart's purpose.

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Epilogue: There are only two emotions that old journals evoke -- It's the pain that comes from regret, from missed chances and broken dreams. It's the pain of hard heart that even a deep punch can't move; or the gratitude that comes from a heart of an experienced adventurer who knows there are still new lands to discover.

Be certain that when you open an old journal, it's the latter you'll feel.

 

Beginnings can be scary for me. Although they can be filled with excitement, anticipation and hope for what is to come, they are still uncertain. Tomorrow can break my heart. Tomorrow can melt my most valuable property. Tomorrow can claim the person I love most. Tomorrow, I can end.

Tomorrow, everything can be all together different.

So I rest all the uncertainties of tomorrow on the hands of my Maker.  

Manny Pacquiao can be MMFF's Best Actor awardee and this land's leader by 2010.=)

I can lose everything I have. I can burn and die over and over. The oceans can freeze and boil us to extinction. The world can crumble to the dust where it all began.

But I will sleep sound each night. I will stand in peace in the middle of turmoil. I will find joy in all despair. I can be still. I know He is God.

There is no better security than that.

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Psalm 46:10 -- Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."

I will not be the person who kisses ass, literally, just to get someone else's approval. I will not frown if I work hard into the night and another gets and claims all the credit. I will not cry if my good work is not commended.

Though it is sure nice to hear it from people, I will not run after every "Good job!" uttered. I will tell the truth even if it means I will be the bearer of bad news. I will not sweeten people's lives by showering white lies. I will never subject myself to an authority who pushes me to lie.

Tell me, I will not succeed in this industry with my convictions. I will not go far. Tell me whatever.

But I know who to please. My calling as a woman is loud and clear; I stand undaunted as my Master's servant.

Not to any person,  nor to any institution that I will bow down for their and my own glory.

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Exodus 23:24 Do not bow down before their gods or worship them or follow their practices. You must demolish them...

This is the story behind the first time I flew a kite.

Someone messaged me through YM: what? hindi ka pa nakapagpalipad ng saranggola? I know for many people my age, at one point in their young lives, they flew kites. But I consider my childhood as one that was sheltered. So I grew up never attempting to fly one. 19 Sept I blogged about the things I want to do before I die. I had been having a hell week then. I had not been feeling well. It was so easy to be drama queen (who still made sense). One of my happy thoguhts was to fly a kite. On the night of the same day, Dan sent me a text message. Reserve your Sept 29. surpreesa. Like what I said, bad day. bad week. And we had not had a decent talk for

two weeks (I think). He was busy with shoots and lectures. I was busy with work. I simply replied, Anong meron? Dan: Sept 29 is decreed Jaja's kite flying day. Jaja: (big grin) NO. I was in a bad mood.

But a few hours after, it sank in me. Dan was preparing something for me -- something he knew that would make me happy. So really, I had no reason for a bad mood.

The following week, I just bugged and bugged Dan about the kite. The color, the size, where to fly it. And all that kite flying jazz. We wanted to make our own kite. BIG. and ORANGE. Let me say this. He prepared.

It was raining hard on Sept 29. From morning 'til night. Non-stop. SAD. It felt like it was not meant. Dan said, we still have the next Saturday.

Oct 6
His brother Ezra asked if we could pick him and his friends up at the airport. They came from Boracay. And we did. On our way back, it was raning hard again. SAD part 2. I wanted to cry. But Dan kept on telling, hindi uulan sa UP.

And it never did. To my surprise, it was a rainless, and very windy afternoon in UP. It was the afternoon we prayed for. It was the afternoon I so badly wanted. It was the afternoon I ran on the grassy fields of CMC for the first time and flew a kite. That very moment, HAPPINESS was spelled K-I-T-E. The Lord orchestrated the circumstances of the previous two weeks for Dan to spell it for me.

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Pictorial. Dan wanted to bring a photographer friend along. He planned to have photos of us taken while flying the kite. But they were all busy. Thanks to Val. He volunteered to join. =) Dan and I were able to have photos together.

"To address the growing concerns about online-gaming, Level Up! Philippines (LU)—the country's first and leading online-game publisher, launched the Level Up! Honor Roll program, which seeks to promote responsible gaming among student-gamers."

I got that from one of the press releases of Level Up! Good move. No to students who are only good at firing guns but do not even accomplish their homeworks. The write up goes on with,

"In conjunction with the Honor Roll program, LU also has 'Unplugged,' a parent empowerment program that grants parents the opportunity and authority to block their children's game accounts or limit their playtime to acceptable hours."

I really commend Level Up! for this initiative, because a parent's influence strongly affect a child's habits and discipline.

I sure admire a student who's good with games of strategy, who's adept with new technologies, whose time is well managed and who's doing well in school.

How about a child who does not curse while gaming, in public and more importantly in private? Where does a disciplined mouth fit? I see and hear a lot of young boys do this. P*tang i*a's all over. Over and over. And aloud. Shouting those words at each other. So I ask again, where does a disciplined mouth fit? Given, cursing is annoying. Highly annoying when it comes from a mouth that does not even fully understand the meaning of what he has just uttered.

I say, BAN all those words in gaming shops. BAN. A conduct that computer shop owners should help enforce. No more PEOPLE (so this includes adults) who, only in excitement, can not discipline their mouths.

The news release by Level UP! ends with "The key towards a healthy gaming lifestyle is responsibility." I add, responsibility includes that for one's mouth. For I'd rather see a child who's average in academics but clean in mouth and deeds than an honor student with a mouth flowering with p*ta's.

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Find the whole article here.

It was just tonight's certain mood that made me want to write these. Well, actually, I had thought about this many times before, and it excited so much so saddened me, but never scared me.

Knowing one would have only a year left in his life is grace, when people die without them doing the things they would have done, telling sorry's and I love you's they would have said, going to places they could have gone, if only they knew, or at least felt, it is time to go.

So here's my list of what-to-dos and what-to-accomplish if I had only a year left. READ: I am going to be realistic. I wouldn't list things as if I were in the movies. No riding gondolas, no touring of Paris. Nothing I cannot afford (as of this writing.)

•    I will fly kites. I've never flown kites. I've never even attempted. I always watched. So before I die, I'm going to fly a kite on a windy afternoon. It's going to be a big one – mighty, so to speak.
•    I will go shopping til I drop. Literally. Only that time, I will not do it for myself but for the people I will leave behind. Because you see, as I will be asleep waiting for the coming of my Lord, I wouldn't need much. Unlike you who'd be working so hard living minute after minute, day after day, I believe you will need much more than I will do.
•    I will lead more than one discipleship group. I will share to as many people as I can how unlimited the goodness of my God is. I will bless as many as I can with my life's testimony, because even in the minute of my death, I will breathe His grace. Countless seeds will be planted and they will be part of the great harvest.
•    I will write a short but powerful book. I will immortalize my ministry, that decades after my passing away, the Spirit in me still shines.
•    I will mount a big Kids' Day. I will do what I love to do – teaching children. (It's really great that when He endows one with a gift, He gives a heart to fuel it.) There will be outpouring of the Lord's love for the children through me, as I know I will not be able to have my own given my limited time left.

Whew. I think this is a yearful of a life. With these big things I want to do, I don't think I can fit more activities as the flesh so desires. Except with this one last.

I will fall in love again. Yes I will pray for it. I will be with someone again. I will take care of him, prepare his meals, arrange his things, pick his outfits. I will argue with him, watch the stars, pray for and with him He'll let me sleep on his shoulders because I'll be physically tired after all my activities. For all those times it will dawn on me I just might not have any tomorrow, he will not cry. He will show his strength and hold my hand. And when I go, he will tell the world how great our love has been.

It is not scary to die – only when you know that as you lived, you stood in the center of God's palm.