Tagtuyo Parang isang poso sa Marso Nakakapasong hawaka't Kailangan ng isang tabo, dalawa Uubusin pa ang balde Para lang buhayin, sunduin ang tubig Sa kaibuturan ng dating latian Umaasa pa ring mawisikan O kaya'y mahimasmasan Dahil malayo pa ang tag-ulan

Some mornings our love is like udon that expands when left too long on the table.

Eat, Jog and Stay

Food here in Singapore is ubiquitous and as inviting and encouraging as the grass. I was jogging on this patch when my nose caught an aroma. Even in this woodland, the smell of great food will haunt you. 

Good morning Singapore!!

This morning, I was woken up by roars from heaven.
It is going to rain hard was my first thought.
Rain here pours almost every other day.
Always hard, though short.
Just enough to keep the grass green.
Just enough to bring that familiar aroma out from the soil.
Just enough to make you feel at home.

Babang Luksa

Today I can feel my thoughts flowing again through my fingers. 

At last, Mourning has passed and Joy has returned to my written life.

  

21

It's been a long time since I wrote something. In a blog. In a letter.

I used to write long letters, long emails. But now written words haunt me. I seldom write because my fingers are tainted not anymore with laughter but with an unconcealable sadness.

I remember one of my bestfriends reminding me that we haven't talked about my sister's death yet. That was very long time ago. That was when the wounds were still fresh. They still are.

It has been 4 years since Xybel died. And tomorrow is her birthday. Tomorrow she will be 21. Again. Just like last year. And the year before that. She remains 21.

I used to want to grow old. I couldn't wait to have white hair and wrinkled hands. I couldn't wait to host family reunions in December. I couldn't wait to see my siblings as grown-ups, as grandparents themselves. I couldn't wait to meet them in the future.

Now I would have to grow old without her. I am afraid that the years will keep us farther and further apart. She would still be 21 when our grandchildren are about the same age as her.
I am saddened by the fact that they would not know a Lola Ambel. I am saddened that life can still go on even without a Xybel.

Yes, written words haunt me. Because they reflect the sadness in my heart. Because I still cannot confront that sadness. Because I am still there at her wake, wondering where she really is and why the name outside the funeral home was hers. I am still there in the past when she first turned 21.

I do

"I, Albert, take thee, Zarah,
to be my lawfuly wedded wife
through sickness and health
for richer or for poorer
Till death do us part."

Last year, I heard this vow twice.
The first time was practice.
The second time was real.
The first brought tears.
The second, grace.

But before I, again, get drowned by the intimate details of the wedding, let me first share with you photos taken before, during and after the ceremony. Have fun!!

Prenuptial Pictorial



Wedding Preparation



Nuptial Mass



Wedding Party

A time to heal

We are 10 brothers and sisters.

Zarah (Tiyi)
Yasmin (Mimin)
Xybel (Ambel)
Wylmond (Emond)
Veverle (Ele)
Ujane (Uja)
Tristan Edmund (Tantan)
Surewin (Uwen)
Reyk Reuchlin (RR)

Qyle John (Kael)

There will always be 6 girls and 4 boys in the family. There will always be 10 of us. Because 10 is perfect. Anything less is incomplete.

I haven't talked about Xybel's death 3 years ago yet, somebody pointed out.

Yeah.
Written or spoken word have finality in them.
And my grief is still randomly hopping among the 4 earlier stages except acceptance.
Because the 5th stage will make her death final.

Acceptance will render the 10 imperfect.

I have 5 sisters. 5 above the ground. 5 dealing with life. 5 calling me Manay Tiyi. It will remain that way. Until 4 becomes the acceptable half of 10....