I dreamed a dream

Did the title remind you of something? I bet it did!  It’s one of the songs in Les Miserables, a very meaningful song which has already touched so many.  But if you think its magic has put only those who have seen the musical in a trance you’re wrong, because I dreamed a dream has awakened many more souls through a rendition by Susan Boyle. Find out why and how.  Here’s the song with its newest sensational singer:

There was a time when men were kind,
And their voices were soft,
And their words inviting.
There was a time when love was blind,
And the world was a song,
And the song was exciting.
There was a time when it all went wrong…

Please click on the link for a Youtube video of the song by Susan Boyle:

I dreamed a dream in time gone by,
When hope was high and life, worth living.
I dreamed that love would never die,
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.
Then I was young and unafraid,
And dreams were made and used and wasted.
There was no ransom to be paid,
No song unsung, no wine, untasted.

But the tigers come at night,
With their voices soft as thunder,
As they tear your hope apart,
And they turn your dream to shame.

He slept a summer by my side,
He filled my days with endless wonder…
He took my childhood in his stride,
But he was gone when autumn came!

And still I dream he’ll come to me,
That we will live the years together,
But there are dreams that cannot be,
And there are storms we cannot weather!

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living,
So different now from what it seemed…
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed…

On my birthday

Have you experienced receiving birthday greetings on two separate dates? I did!

I frequently get birthday wishes on February 28 and March 01. Sometimes, I even receive greetings at midnight of February 28. If you’re confused about it, it’s because I am a leap year lass.

This year, I traveled more than 2 hours and 27 years back in time to make my natal day more meaningful.  With my family, I went to Iting, a farm at the boundary of Zaragoza and San Antonio, Nueva Ecija.  My mom’s father inherited it from his parents but it was foreclosed by a bank, so we acquired it only through a public bidding.

The road to the farm is not what president GMA would acknowledge as a result of her government’s “farm to market roads (FMRs) project”*.  During the dry season, the less than 10km of tunnel-like path is dusty and bumpy.  On wet season, it is a long winding road with hundreds of puddles, making the farmers’ lives miserable as transportation expenses are more than one half of their probable earnings.  This has been the situation even when my Tatang (grandpa) Miguel was still a child; but since it holds priceless memories of our family’s heritage, I still insist going there while my mom and the farmers like her try their luck on farming.

As mom supervised the farm-helps to prepare the fetilizers for application, I recalled how my grandparents made ends meet just by tilling the soil and taking care of ducks during their time here.  I also heard the giggles and laughter I shared with my siblings and cousins as we bathed in the “patubig“.  It wasn’t a tiled pool.  It was made of mud.  Nontheless, neither one of us noticed its simplicity or blandness, if you would call it.  Instead, we remembered the joy and love that emanated from the reminiscences of family togetherness, childhood innocence and contentment.

Right then and there, I understood how my grandparents managed to survive with nothing but the basics of life in this faraway farm.

* link is taken from GMA News.tv

On love and writing

It’s the love month and perhaps you’d think I’d write something unnaturally romantic about love. Well, that’s what I thought, too, but I ended up doing it in a rather unusual manner.

A pile of old cards caught my attention. It was a thin pile tied by an imaginary red string holding a small piece of paper that bares this thought “packed together by love”.

Slowly, I untied it and examined each card with mixed emotions. They are already old, the latest being 10 years old; but I still knew what they are and where they came from. That fact made me feel hesitant for a moment or so. What else would these invoke?  The least that I wanted to happen was to bring back reminiscences of yesterday.

True enough, a tinge of sadness coursed through me as a parade of memories passed by – a vivid show of what was and how it affected my life, how it punched holes in my heart.  Suddenly, I realized that a piece of me was also carved  into the memories each card created and that transcended me back in a time when love, like writing, was a very personal pre-occupation.

More than a decade ago, lovenotes don’t arrive on text messages which may cost a peso each or cheaper when one has an unlimited subscription.  Instead, they arrive eloquently written on stationery or card bearing the intentions of the sender.  They don’t come instantly, either!  Each letter waits no less than three days before it reaches its destination.  As it seemed, back then, LOVE was really spelled T I M E.

Pinpointing another difference, the cards I found didn’t fight hard to remind me of true love and a mere “show”.  The details on the pages called to mind that an infatuation would be scribbled either on a plain card or a very elaborate one, but the words put into it are good enough to mean “Hi, just sending a card to say I am here.”  It would reflect that someone’s giving you an attention, but only as long as a minute or two – the time spent for the missive.

On the contrary, love would be penned on a thick card which has more room for greater expression of one’s thoughts and emotions.  It tells stories of day-to-day, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute sentiments of its sender that would make you feel you’re a part of it.  It would, as the writing show, let you feel you are very special as each card comes not only once but sometimes twice a week; or twice a month during very busy days.  Quite a proof that lets you believe you are thought of countless times, 24-7.

I received both types of cards in my younger years – a few are infatuated ones, but many showed not only pure love but also devotion.  Looking at it now, I feel that I am so blessed to have been loved by so many; but far more blessed because in my heart those love were kept and cherished, thus making me the person I am now.

Going back to the pile of cards, I stepped on something and I heard someone cried “Tata, Pooh…”  It’s Arvid, pointing to his stuffed toy while asking me for a hug.  Now, that’s what an exceedingly wonderful love is!

Happy love month, everyone!