Wings Of A Nightingale

Anxious With Anxiety

Is it just me, or does this happen to other people? Is it normal?

What I’m saying is…have you ever experienced feeling a tight knot, a fist-like pressure on the pit of your stomach, days before you are scheduled to speak in public? And, the feeling intensifies accompanied by cold sweaty palms and your heartbeat is in concert with your breathing, minutes before you stand in front of an audience? I call it “physiological anxious state of being”.

I don’t know about you, but I still go through this predicament, especially if the scope or topic that I am to speak about is outside of my area of knowledge or comfort zone. Although it does not grossly affect my thought process nor my concentration, it just feels…weird. Of course I prepare. Who doesn’t? I have this 2×4 inches cue cards with scribbled pointers or punch lines often highlighted with yellow-colored marker that I hold on to, like a security blanket, to channel me to the right course of my message.

Speaking in public is not my best suit. If I could get away from it, it’s Hallelujah moment for me. But of course, this seldom happens; actually, it never did happen because a big part of my job is to be in front of my staff during meetings, or in front of colleagues when I make presentations relevant to the scope of my career/profession. At least, I am within my area of expertise and through the years, have amassed the ability to present it, with effective transfer of information. So, just let me speak anything related to my profession, my job, and I think I’ll be fine.

It is a different story though, when I am in front of a big crowd, standing at the podium, and speaking about something else. There’s where my “fight-or-flight” physiological reaction comes in. I have to muster all the courage and determination that I could build up and, as soon as the adrenaline soars up, my nerves calm down. And, when it’s over, I am the first one to congratulate myself (of course silently) for yet another hurdle outwitted.

I am in awe when I listen to those who have the gift of fluidity and self-expression (or could it be considered a talent?), and are comfortable facing and talking to an audience. One particular person whom I admired and wowed me, was author Elizabeth Gilbert when I saw and heard her speak at ICAN’s (Institute for Career Advancement Needs) Women’s Leadership Conference. She has that ability to draw me into the core of her message. Fluid, spontaneous, and she could hold her audience to full focus and attention. No notes or cue cards, or tele-prompter…it all came from within her; just like a wi-fi downloading the data in her brain at a high-speed, then funneled and transmitted to her audience.

So as you may want to know, I am a person whose pen and hand works faster than my mouth and vocal cords. That being said, I mostly prefer to sit in one corner of a room, or a bench at the park, or a secluded place in a coffee shop, with a pencil and a yellow note pad as my faithful ally, while I transform what is my head into words, phrases, sentences, and paragraph. You just have to read it.

Each one of us experience different levels of anxiety and go through various mechanisms of coping. If and whenever we come face to face with our internal demons or geniuses, it’s entirely up to us how to deal with it.

-Lark-

11.26.2011

Lezo…In My Heart

     As I stepped out of our front door, out into the still dark early Monday morning, I was met by a chorus with a staccato tune of crowing roosters, accompanied by the towing of the century old church bell, signaling that the daily mass at dawn will soon to start.

     With a mug of instant 3-1 coffee, I sat on my favorite wrought-iron chair in our terrace, and in my aloneness, serenity enveloped me. I could feel the gentle touch of the early morning air brushing my face; I could smell the distinct freshness of the early morning breeze filling my lungs.

     Soon, the first rays of the sun will permeate the horizon, and in the seemingly deserted street in front of our house, town folks will be seen passing by, to start their daily routine: rush to work in the fields, or to whichever place they go to find their day-to-day means of livelihood. Each one of them will wave and flash a smile at me as they pass through. These town folks…simple people who very well know how to tend their farms and working animals, find happiness and contentment in whatever they raise to sustain and maintain their modest way of life.

     Soon, I will hear the voices of children from afar; filling the air with excitement, while they share various stories with their friends as they leisurely walk in groups, going to the only public grade school in town. A surreal recollection crept over me…about four decades ago, I was on their same shoes. My first lessons in life, which started as an ember, was taught and learned from my humble home, from school, and from my friends and neighbors. And, as years go by, the spark became a blazing desire that light up my vision of the future.

     Such a happy and carefree childhood memories, I always keep in the purkinje fibers of my heart, and from time to time, I still feel that urge to bring out the key to unlock its chambers, let my emotions trickle, while I reminisce those enchanting moments when I was growing up in a town, where everyone share the same spirit, the same emotional language, the same goal in life: that is, to better ourselves in whatever path in life we want to trace.

     Only in Lezo, a small town in the province of Aklan, far away from the rat race of a busy and urban life, that I have experienced the real meaning of simple living, yet content; but with a touch of desire and hope for a better and bright future.

     I have driven and traversed so many highways and byways, been to distant places, but my heart never stops to bear me to the path that makes a U-turn. Going back home is what I look forward to and recapture…the simplicity of life, then and now, in my beloved hometown.

-Lark-

10.25.2011

Seven Days

“Where am I?” As I opened my eyes, I was looking up at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. My still confused and sleepy brain was trying to recall how I landed in this place. A few more blinks and with the humming sound of the air conditioning unit in my hotel room, took me away from my confused state, made me fully awake, and brought me to reality. My mind went to a soliloquy, retracing the previous incidents that transpired, and why I am here, now.

One week ago, I received an unexpected overseas call from my niece that my aunt, Sister Mary Ignatius, a catholic nun of the Order of St. Paul of Chartres, is in the hospital. There was no exact information that I could extract from her, why my aunt was taken to the hospital, except that she is in serious condition. My aunt, whom I just visited four months ago, was rushed to the hospital and I have no idea as to how serious her medical status was.

That night, after I received the call, I could not get myself to sleep and before the break of dawn, I reached to a decision: to file an emergency leave from work, and fly back home to be with her. Five days after I got the news, my daughter Waye Marie and I boarded the Philippine Airlines from San Francisco, California and flew directly to Iloilo City, Philippines where she was confined at St. Paul’s Hospital.

Lying on her hospital bed, with eyes closed, she looked so frail, pale, and listless. Bags of fluids and blood hang on the poles near her bed, dripping through tubings, feeding to the veins in her arms. I felt a heavy pressure in my chest, and my heart missed a beat, while I look at her in this situation. I tiptoed towards her bedside, tenderly stroke her forehead, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Hi…It’s me.” Almost a whisper, these were the first words I was able to utter. Her eyelids opened slowly and looked at my face. For the longest time that I could imagine, she was staring at me…and then, I heard it! “Mila”…she recognized me, she said my name! And then, drifted back to sleep.

Every day, for the most part of my waking hours, I stayed by her bedside. I made sure that she was comfortable and pain-free. Once more, when she was awake and a bit strong, we sang together, the song “Tree”, the song I used to sing with her during my last visit, four months ago. Will this be the last time I will be singing this song with her? Will we be able to sing this song in the future?

On the day that I was to leave, she was still clinging on to her dear life. I did not want to go, but my vacation time was up. How I wished I could stall the ticking of the time…how I wished I could pull back the hands of time, back to the first of the seven days that I spent with her. I kissed her goodbye, and said “I Love You”. She said: “I Love You”…

Every step that I took, away from her bed, out of her room, and along the hospital corridor, my vision was blurred by unshed tears. My heart seemed to have been ripped apart when I boarded the plane that carried me to a thousand miles away.

Sister Mary Ignatius, SPC…

For sixty years, she has been the “Bride of Christ”. For fifty four years, she has been my ‘Tree of Life”.

I don’t know when will be the time that she will finally meet her Creator, but I will always remember exactly how she molded me…Who I Am Now.

-LARK-

09.11.2011

September To Remember

Picture this –

Europe…September 1996

It’s been almost 2 decades ago. Or, was it only yesterday? Every time the month of September comes, my memory rewinds, back to the 15 days that I spent in Europe when I joined a pilgrimage tour.

Riding on a tourist coach bus, I was awed as “God’s beautiful Europe” unfolded in front of my eyes. Cerulean sky with small patches of white thin clouds met with the horizon. Along each side of the seemingly never-ending highway, sheep and cattle grazed leisurely in the meadow, unmindful of the noise of the passing motorized coaches and cars. From Luxembourg to Belgium, to France, we travelled.

Our tour started in Luxembourg. We stopped by the Hamm Military Cemetery to have a firsthand look at the burial site of US Gen. George S. Patton, along with the hundreds of American soldiers; their final resting place in a foreign land.

Visited the churches and religious shrines in Beauraing and Banneux in Belgium, and in Lourdes, France where documented Marian apparitions of the Blessed Mother Mary took place, centuries back.

In Brussels, the bronze statue of  The Little Boy “Mannekin Pis” urinating in a fountain basin, was one of the famous attractions that we never failed to visit. There has been so many legends about this statue, but all the same, never leave Brussels without seeing the little boy.

I sat foot on the soil of Bastogne, where the Battle of the Bulge took place; the largest single battle fought by the US Military. I was kind of experiencing an eerie feeling while standing in front, looking up at the tall and imposing 5 point star-shaped McAuliffe Memorial monument.

In Normandy, standing along the beachfront, I could picture in my mind’s eye, the American soldiers fighting the famous and lengthy Battle of Normandy, which ended up to the restoration of French Republic. Our trip went on to the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel, in a rocky tidal island in Lower Normandy. This was the seat of the Saint-Michel monastery. It still retained its original structure and survived through the centuries since the 18th century.

In Rouen, the capital of Upper Normandy, I pictured out the young Joan of Arc riding high and mighty, leading the French soldiers during the so-called Hundred Years War. I had the chance to set foot on that exact place where she had her last breath, when she was executed by burning her to death. She was beatified in 1909 and canonized as a saint in 1920.

And then…Lourdes,France. A peaceful community nestled in a valley between the Pyrenees bordered by France and Spain. We spent 2 days in Lourdes, to commune with thousands of devotees to have a personal and emotional healing, and spiritual renewal; to recapture the experience of the young Bernadette Soubirous, when the Blessed Mother first appeared to her on February 11, 1858. Inside the “domain” i experienced peace; as if I was in a different world. A world so simple, where the protective mantle of  someone great and loving, enveloped me. If I could only choose to live there, I would have. Perhaps, this was the same feeling shared by everyone who had the chance to enter that sanctuary, all through these years, this pilgrimage site is and will be the cornerstone of Catholic faith.

Final destination…Paris, France! Oh, the beautiful and gay Paris. The city was bustling with Parisians and tourists from all parts of the globe, enjoying the sights of the Eiffel Tower, the Louver museum, and the Arc de Triomphe. Not to forget the Sacred Heart Basilica of Montmarte (Sacre-Coeur), and the Notre-Dame Cathedral.

But most importantly, as my own personal pilgrimage, I vowed that I will never leave Paris without visiting the Chapel of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. And, I did! This place has a special affinity to me, because I was born on November 27th, the same date when the Blessed Mother Mary appeared to St. Catherine Labore, on this exact place (Rue du Bac, Paris), on November 27, 1830. As I entered the chapel, I was so overwhelmed and could not contain the happiness I felt in my heart, for this once-in-a-lifetime experience. Where can it be to end this trip, but Paris!

As our pilgrimage tour came to its end, three of use: Frank, Terry, and I, composed the lyrics of a song “The 15 Days of September” (to the tune of The Things We Did Last Summer). The lyrics laid out in a nutshell, the unforgettable experiences we had and shared during this awe-inspiring trip.

“The 15 days of September, we’ll remember, all life long”.

-Lark-

9.1.2011

A Remarkable Journey Of A Lifetime

It took me so many times to write, re-write, and re-write this article. Somehow, I just could not find the right way to start it, and I could not seem to get my thoughts organized. Perhaps, it was because of that overwhelming emotion that I felt in my heart; of a realization that, without a speck of a hint, I had a very rare, once-in-a-lifetime chance to spend some valuable time with a special person.

I visited her, just one time, on the last week-end of June 2011. I went to see her in her “home”, as a visiting nurse; she, being my patient. Her “home” was a plush Retirement residential facility for seniors, where she has been living comfortably for over 15 years. She is a soft-spoken, good-natured 96 years old lady.

My one hour visit was just a routine nurse-patient interaction. She was sitting on her recliner chair while we talk. After a while, she slowly stood up, walked towards the restroom with the aid of her walker; saying “No. I’m OK”, when I offered my assistance. I was so amazed by her self-determination to do things for herself.

Aside from checking her vital signs, asking questions relevant to her current condition, and scribbling notes in my small writing pad, there was no significant event that happened (or so I thought) during my visit. As I assured her that her medicines for comfort are available and will be given to her routinely and as needed, I said goodbye. She waved goodbye, and with a broad smile on her face, called out “thank you”.

Two weeks after my visit, I learned that she passed on, to meet her creator. It was also during this time that I learned more about her, through on-line postings on her website.

Who was she?

What was so special about this lady?

She was Ruth Silnes, Author and Artist. At 96 years old, her mind was still clear, with an ever innate drive to keep on learning. She started to write and illustrated her first book: “Keeping Ahead Of Winter 4100 Nautical Miles Inside America” when she was 70 years old, and published it when she was 88 years old. Two other books came after: “Naptime Secrets” and “You And The Arts”.

I was awed as I learned so many more about this extraordinary lady. To me, she was a true legend. An epitome of a person with a great mind that never stopped learning, a heart that never stopped loving, and  gifted hands that transformed something ordinary to extra special and beautiful.

Her remarkable life’s journey through the world of Arts and Writing will continue to live on, in the hearts of those whom she touched.

Thank You Ruth, for touching mine.

*Special thanks to Sandra Stone (Ruth’s daughter), for allowing me to post this article.

-LARK-

07.20.2011

Against The Odds

Until my friend told me about this book “The Spirit Catches You And You Fall Down”, I have never heard of the word “Hmong”. No offense intended and pardon my ignorance…but, at first, I thought “Hmong” (when it is just pronounced without looking at the spelling), is the short term for Mongoloid, a genetic chromosomal defect: Down’s Syndrome.

Out of curiosity, I was tempted to consult Mr. Google. This is a new discovery for me…and it is worth my time researching and learning about their cultural history. The Hmong are Asian ethnic group, particularly from the mountainous region of Laos, China, Thailand, and Vietnam. When they fled out of their homeland and were uprooted from their centuries-old culture, they tried to co-habit with the people living in the Western world. But until now, I still say that Hmong culture and religious belief is difficult to understand. It is hard to determine or perceive how much was caused by cultural barriers. It must have been arduous for them too, to adjust to and embrace the western culture, which is entirely different from what they know.

This particular book that I read, revolves around a Hmong patient and how medicine and medical care in the western world collide with the Hmong’s religious belief and culture.Contrary to what doctors learned in medical school, no doctor has been taught and prepared to practice cross-cultural medicine, especially in dealing with the Hmong.

As I was reading the book, I came across on some of the Hmong’s delemna…their personal opinion of doctors and other medical professionals. I could not help but think and ask myself: Is it really true and happening? Do we (including myself, being a nurse), treat people equally according to their need, and not being blinded and judgmental of who and what they are? Are we so stock-up with what we righteously think what is best for them? Do we disregard their own personal belief and feelings, that we push so hard to have them comply with the standards of medical practice?

There would still be so many unanswered questions; so many frustrations; so many anger; so many disappointments and misunderstandings, because when we attempt to reach out, we seem to stop dead on where we are, and it is a challenge to cross over the unknown barrier that distinctly identify Hmong culture from the rest of the world. I hope the younger generations who have successfully adopted the Western way of life will bridge this gap.

By nature, the Hmong are historically resistant to authority. When they feel that they are being stripped of their autonomous power, they either fight back, or retreat. Their resilience make them outwit whatever adversity that comes their way. They just want to be themselves. And, they deserve to be understood, accepted, and respected. Hmong might be different in so many ways, but they are human beings, just like you and I.

(Author’s Note: Some words or phrases included in this article was lifted from the book “The Spirit Catches You And You Fall Down”.)

07.16.2011

I’m Telling You This

When I was very young, I wanted to be like the famous Philippine movie actress Susan Roces, when I grow up. But I could not get myself to cry on cue. Moreover, I could not project a beautiful face when I’m crying. So instead, I ended up to be a Director of Nursing.

Why am I telling you this? It is because, as we grow older, our priorities in life change. Our ambition and career vision gets even more vivid and focused. This is the factual reality of life. As a saying goes: “the only constant in life is change”. Everything changes. Our weight, height, body structure, marital status, job preferences, location, mental and emotional capabilities, even our daily outlook in the kind of situation we are in.

But…the one sure thing that could never change in me, is my being an Aklanon. I have spread my wings and flew to different distant places, adopted and followed different cultures, even became a citizen of another country. But, just like a homing pigeon, I always fly back to Lezo, Aklan, my nesting ground, where I first learned how to chirp, hop, and flop my wings with confidence.

050311

Proud To Be An Aklanon

     We share a common bond: Aklan and me. First, it was on  the same year that we became independent – 1956. I say independent because during this year, I was born and became a free person, separated from my mother’s womb; likewise, Aklan was bestowed upon its sovereignty as a province, from Capiz. Secondly, I came to know a  man whose vision is to promote the Aklanon dialect through his literary works to be recognized not only in Aklan but to different parts of the globe; likewise, Aklan recently reconized his efforts and honored him as one of the outstanding Aklanon in the field of Culture and Arts. This is not a concidence…I would rather say, it is a predestined fact.

     This realization just struck me like a lightning rod, while sipping and savoring my morning coffee, on this second day back home from my vacation in Aklan. How come I missed this link while I was still there? How come it did not spark a light for me to connect the dots of these important scenarios? The only reason that I could think of is, perhaps I was so pre-occupied with so many things that I focused my mind into while I was there.

     If it was a strike of luck, indeed I was one of the chosen few who was able to witness and be a part of this significant once-in-a-lifetime event. April 25, 2011 was one of my lucky days.

The venue was the ABL Building inside the Aklan Provincial Capitol complex. I could not contain the happiness I felt, being in the same place with  important and distinguished persons like the congressman, the governor, the vice governor, and the award recipients, to name a few. To top it all, I shared the same table with a fellow Lezonian, Mr. Mel Cichon, a poet and creative writer par excellence, who was one of the six honorees to receive an award; and Arwena Garcia Tamayo, my high school classmate and a known Aklanon poet/writer.

As I listened to the names of fellow Aklanons who were given an award in recognition for their outstanding contribution to make Aklan a proud province, my heart seemed to burst with pride and joy.

I have no doubt in my mind that Aklan, with yet so many future sons and daughters who will shine in their own field of endeavor, will continue to prosper. And, every year, more outstanding Aklanons will be recognized.

I am an Aklanon in thought, in words, and in deed…and proud to be one.

Lark

050111

Only God Can Make A Tree

     On this warm April morning, as I stayed  with her for almost an hour at Mere’ Monique Home, my beloved aunt, Sister Mary Ignatius, kept on singing repeatedly, the poem “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer.

She is now 82 years old. We held hands. Her hands, now with traces of wrinkles, are the hands that used to hold me steady when I was learning how to walk, the hands that held on to my arm when we crossed the street, the hand that held a pen to write me letters of wisdom. One by one, I touched her fingers. These fingers, I still could vividly remember that at one point in time poked my dimpled cheek, or traced the form of my face. Unknowingly, tears started to form at the sides of my eyes and trickled down to my cheeks. All the bottled emotions overflowed, as I sang with her.

It has been 4 years since I last saw her. Much as I wanted to visit her more often, the distance from where I live, is a hindrance. But every time I get the chance to take my vacation, I always find time to  visit and spend precious time with her.

As I look at her, I cant help but ask myself: “where did all the time go?” I could not help but turn back the hands of time. She used to be a vibrant person, a nurse and a Catholic nun, whose whole persona emanates a bright light that serves as a guide and inspiration to everybody. This special person, very dear to my heart, who played a salient role in my life: my guide, my inspiration, my role model…is now helpless and dependent with all her needs. She is just so lucky that she is being tenderly cared for by her congregation, the Sisters of St.Paul de Chartres. And, she seems happy where she is now.

Yes, indeed she is that “Tree”. The only tree that I  know…so strong, so sturdy, so deeply rooted and nurtured by her Christian faith; a tree that looks at God all day. She had her time to spread her leafy arms, and cuddled the nest of robins in her hair. Because of her undying Love and Obedience, she is my  Tree of Life.

Lark

042911

…and Good Morning To You, Too!

     Every single day, we just don’t know how every situation unfolds. Some days are good, some days are…not so good.

As it is a common practice of courtesy in  our facility, when we see a new face, be it a visitor or a family member standing in the front lobby seemingly waiting for something or somebody, we usually ask them “have you been helped?”  so that we could direct them to where they want to go, or who they want to see. Almost often, we receive a positive response. A smile to express their gratitude, and the words “thank you” make our hearts burst with a sense of fulfillment, knowing that we are able to make their visit as wholesome as possible.

This morning, was one of those not so good days.

As part of my morning routine before going to our daily scheduled stand-up meeting, I made my initial rounds to check on our residents and staff. Everything was in order. No report of unusual incidents within the past 24 hours.

When I passed by the front lobby, I saw two people, a man and a woman, sitting on the sofa. Both of them were dressed in formal clothes, as if they were on their way to a special gathering. With a nice smile and a cordial tone of voice, I approached them, and said our usual mantra: “Good morning. Have you been helped?”  The woman looked at me,  scanned my whole stature from head down to my feet, and answered: “Yes, we’re just waiting for my Mom. She’s being dressed up and getting ready. We’re picking her up to attend a funeral service”. I was glad that the staff took care of this important task of preparing our resident, and getting ready for their family occasion.

But then…the mood of the day turned 180 degrees, when the lady added these words: “Make sure to let everybody know why we’re here, coz you are the fifth person who asked that!” I was taken off-guard, but still managed to smile, and answered: “Ok” then turned to walk away.

“Duh!”

-Lark-                                                                                                                                                        03.31.2011