It was a balmy night in Krabi. The air was light, and it felt good against my skin. I was sitting alone in the comfort of my room completely immersed in the world of the book I was reading; I was savoring every minute of the moment. I had felt weightless in the confines of … Continue reading Try Jesus
September. The first -ber month of the year. It marks the beginning of the Christmas season in the Philippines — a tradition that I really enjoyed while growing up, and now, long for as an adult. It was the month I looked forward to enter each year even more so than December.
I used to anticipate the obvious and lighthearted shift in the atmosphere anywhere I went in my hometown when the first day of September arrives. Everyone appeared buoyant and optimistic about life. Radio stations would air Christmas songs that were loudly played in jeepneys (a public transportation in the Philippines). Homes and, yes, malls were lavishly decorated with Christmas ornaments and trimmings.
And Christmas lights! They were my favorite. Christmas lights in different shapes and form emitting a variety of hues were ubiquitous; the spectacle was a pointillism of colors. At night, I would be sticking my head out of the jeepney window staring at stunning displays of these dancing lights on the road mesmerized by it all. I remember feeling my heart bouncing up and down in bliss as I carefully watched them showing off. Continue reading “Christmas Lights”
Gently, yet uncontrollably, tears started to fall from my eyes as the words, “He is jealous for me,” began at the background while I was watching the documentary, Nefarious: Merchant of Souls. The acute pain and the overwhelming weight of evil I felt in the stories of women sold and sexually violated reverberate in my ears. Words flee me in attempting to paint the affliction that these women bear everyday in their lives. I choke with fear and anger for how this could be present today, and yet it is. The reality of being treated like animals daily endured by thousands, maybe even millions, of women in the world is incomprehensible.
Wounded to the very core, I cannot look the other way. I needed to do something. I must do something. Praying is what seems to be the first thing I can do. Then, writing about it to declare war against this brutal assault on God’s children. Continue reading “He Is Jealous For Them”