A Different Kind of Christmas

“One travels long distances not solely for large gatherings, but for something more intangible. I have always gone out on a limb for love.” ― Jennifer Ball 

Matthew and I traveled 500 kilometers to celebrate a different kind of Christmas. Far from our usual boisterous Christmas with my siblings and nieces and nephews, we opted to go to Laoag, spend time with two of my dad's siblings, one of them a cloistered nun in a convent, and a cousin and her husband who were here from overseas. It was truly a beautiful and refreshing time as we all took that time to get to know each other beyond facebook updates and chats. 

The convent will always feel like another home to me. Ever since my aunt entered in 2008, Matthew and I have probably visited about 5-6 times and we have always been welcomed with open arms. The smiles, the hugs, always make you feel like you are part of their family. 

The last time we saw my cousin Meredith was in 1984 and she was this tiny. Now she is married with a kid on the way and it was truly about time to get to know them. Also in this picture is Meredith's mom, Tita Veca and my aunt, now nun, Sis Josefina. 

Driving up North was well worth the memories of spending Christmas with them. We played tourist on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, with Matthew and I playing guide as we took them around the Ilocos Norte countryside.

Matthew and I have been to most of the places we visited but everything becomes different when you see it from the eyes of those who haven't been there before. Everything feels new, everything fresh. You appreciate everything all over again.

More than anything, I am really thankful for the time I got to spend with each of them. The time with Matthew on the drive to and from Laoag was more than just an adventure it was truly a wonderful time to talk, a time to just be with each other. This boy of mine is no longer a kid I can tag along, now the roles have reversed. I appreciate the time off he got and his willingness to do the drive. 

The time with Peach is always, always wonderful. She is an aunt so close to my heart. The passion to travel, to do pocket trips, to learn, to explore, I got from her. 

The time with Tita Veca is a chance to really get to know her. She has spent most of her life in Canada and rarely gets to visit. This was a chance for me to build a relationship with her that distance had taken away from us. Facebook has somewhat shortened that distance the past few years but it is still different to really get to build a relationship with her in the flesh. 

The time with Meredith and Rich is refreshing. We get a glimpse of a cousin we only saw in photographs and the life she has built now with her husband. It is refreshing to be able to bond and build a relationship with them. At the end of the day, no matter how long it is between visits, or how far apart we are, we are still family. There is that intangible bond that ties us together, that bond that makes you feel like you have known each other all your lives.

The time with the nuns is always moving. The Christmas Eve service with them brought me to a place where I truly felt peace. A place that touched my soul and brought back wonderful memories of Christmas past. Christmases when both Mom and Dad were with us. Christmases of my childhood.

The best gifts I received this Christmas were not gaily wrapped under a tall tree. They were wrapped in the lives of the people I spent it with, wrapped up in memories I will cherish for years to come. 

Anchors

"I'm single, footloose and fancy free, I have no anchors. Work, friendship and self-improvement, that's me." Joel Edgerton

This is me, except that I HAVE anchors. I have people in my life that keep me grounded, keep it real. Whether they know it or not, they have encouraged me, pushed me, challenged me, kept me on my toes, held my hand, and guided me through my journey. 

Chelo, who has weathered so many of my life's journeys with me, call them "A Janssen in my life". A term coined to somehow understand how they have impacted my life. Only a few get that title. A very select few. 

Janssen Morados. We easily transitioned from being friends to him being my boss and pastor simply because he never stopped being a friend. I am not sure if he ever knew that I looked to him for strength, sought him out for comfort. With him, I can let my guard down. I allow myself to be raw, to be vulnerable. He ministers to me without him even knowing it. He ministers by just being him.

Excellence is not a mere goal to him, it is a lifestyle, it is who he is. And he always challenged me to be that too. Ok is never ok. He always knew what buttons to push to get my creative juices flowing. He made me believe in my ideas, made me think out of the box and do cartwheels and handstands while at it. 

When things get tough, I always ask myself: How would Janssen handle this? How would he want me to respond to this? In whatever road I take, whatever season I am in, I will always, always look to him. 

Sean Mahar. In the three years I have known him, he has been constant. My constant. He has been through this major soul searching journey with me. He has been holding my head up, egging me on, not allowing me to quit. He gate crashes my pity parties and makes sure that I snap out of it. 

He is a knight of the old kingdom. Not one of those in shining armor out to sweep you off your feet, but a gallant one who will slay dragons and fight battles for you.

There are more than 8,000 miles separating us but it never really mattered. Location is just trivial. He is always with me as I am with him. He is never far from my mind.

Keith Schulstad. This gutter swearing, cranky, old man is a sweetheart. His gruff exterior is just for show. He has a tenderness in him that is so endearing, you see it in the little things, in the way he worries when you're sick, in the way he panics when you don't pick up a call straight away. 

He is demanding and territorial. Though he doesn't expect you to be at his beck and call or be underfoot, he elicits that response. He is very appreciative of every gesture, every response. It is very encouraging to always be appreciated and to know that your efforts are not in vain. He is thoughtful and gentle. He will always take your feelings into consideration in every aspect.

He is my boss, but now, he is also my dad. He has filled the void in my heart left by my dad's passing. He is my dad all over again.

Ariel Yonzon. Where do I even begin? He waters my soul with witty comebacks and humorous remarks. He refreshes me with his sensitivity and gentleness. With him, I can let my hair down and know that I am not judged. I can speak freely, without pretense or guilt. 

He can see through me. Through my moods, my responses. He knows when things are not right in my world. I don't know how and why, he just knows. AND he believes that I deserve better. Hearing it from him makes me believe it, too.

Unbeknownst to him, he fans a flame that sparks a forgotten desire. I look to him for passion - for the craft that I have tried to forget. I look to him for pleasure - for discourse and banter. He is, a beautiful mind.


Anchors. They are my anchors. Men who keep me at bay. Men who show me the greatness of my Father's love and mercy. Each of them a facet of His love. 

Sticks and Stones

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

I grew up hearing this childhood ditty, grew up trying to believe it was true. I have always tried to pretend that words never hurt me. Of course it did. All I did was make myself shrivel up inside by pretending I was tough, by believing it didn't hurt. 

My weight has always been the subject of ridicule. There are times it was done blatantly, sometimes in metaphors, most of the time in jest. Often, I grin and bear it, take it with a shrug. I can no longer count the number of times I have been asked how I could be related to my siblings, or the number of times they gasp in shock when people see a picture of my siblings. I heard snide remarks, snickers, giggles. I took it in. I take it in. But it doesn't lessen the fact that it hurts. It stings. 

People think I am this confident person ready to take on everything, but they are so off the mark. Very few people, the very close few, see how insecure I am. How very unsure of myself. If you listen to ridicule most of your life, you will think and believe it is true. I didn't make the mark. The mark bestowed by society on what was accepted and embraced. 

I know I am more than what I look like. I know I am worth more than that. My boss actually spoke to me, after overhearing something and told me that I was not hired because of what I looked like. I was not kept on because of what I weighed. I was hired and retained because of what I can do and what I was capable of doing. He also told me that maybe I am being ridiculed about my weight because there was nothing else they can find fault with. 

"Ridicule is the tribute paid to the genius by the mediocrities" Oscar Wilde.

In a society of impressions and appearances, I know I will still have to grin and bear it but it doesn't mean I will believe it. I know that after all this time, I should learn to just shrug it off. To actually think that society will be more sensitive will be asking too much, so it has to be me. I should do the adapting and adjusting. I should and will not let it bother me. As I hope it doesn't bother others too. 

The Long Road Home

"Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it - memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey." Tad Williams

I have been lost. Lost in the jungle of responsibilities, day-to-day trivialities, and in surviving. That was me, just surviving. I wasn't living. I was just going through the motions of waking up, going to work, head back home, and end the day. Day in and day out, it was just that. I forgot who I was. 

I took stock of what I had, who I was the past month, and I wasn't happy. I knew this wasn't me. This wasn't what I dreamed of when I was younger nor something or someone I really wanted to be. I needed to find myself and the "home" I lost and I have always wanted.

I know it will be a long trek but I know it will be worth it. I have notebooks of memories pointing me back to where I am supposed to be. I have friends cheering me on while I walk this journey. I have a God who never let go of my hand no matter how many detours I took. I know that soon enough, I will find my way back home. 

The Reality of Being Alone

"Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion." Joseph Conrad

People say loneliness is a state of mind, to some extent it is, but oftentimes it is difficult to ignore the quiet and slow torment that eats you up inside. If it were easy to shrug it off, I would take that route. But even if I fill myself with so many activities, at the end of the day, it is right beside me in bed.

This is not about being married or being part of a unit. This is not about being a mom or being a sister. This is about being so used to hiding inside myself that I thought I was better off being alone. Hard as I try to reach out, there is always something that stops me. Shame? Maybe. Guilt? Could be. All I know is that this is my reality. There are but a handful who know the inner depths of me. A very chosen few. It is nothing more than self preservation.

I belong to a loud, boisterous family. Does not matter. There has always been a part of me that held back. There will always be a part of me that will hold back. Too many things that happened in my childhood just wired me this way. I am forty years old and it is pointless to point a finger and blame someone for this. In an ideal world, I would have moved on and used this to spur me and become stronger. I think I have moved on but be stronger? I am not certain. 

There are certain truths that make me go on. The knowledge that I am loved. The truth that I am wanted. Those are the truths that keep me moving forward. I am desperately working to make this reality a past. It is part of this new journey that I undertake. Life is too short to be scared of the dark, too short to allow a quiet torment eat me up alive. 

I am forty and I want to live. 

The Beginning of a New Journey

"If life really begins on your 40th birthday, it's because that's when women finally get it… the guts to take back their lives." Laura Randolph

I don't finally get it, it is more, now, I have the liberty to do it. My son is grown, working, there is finally time to explore and start dreaming my dreams again. I start this journey a bit late, but I started everything else early, so I think its just about the right balance. 

There are do many things I still want to do. Travel, write, photograph. Well before the term bucket list became famous, I had a notebook of lists of the places I want to visit. Places where I want to photograph the perfect sunset and the places to photograph the most refreshing sunrises. I still have that dream of writing a book. I have seen a few of my friends do it, some of them even twice and I am so envious! Soon, I hope, I will get the guts to write it and share something so raw for the world to see. 

This is the beginning of a new journey, now I take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and face the trek I have to capture my dreams. I will risk, I won't hide behind motherhood, hide behind my job, or hide behind a set of false burdens. I will step out in faith, believe in my self, and reach for the stars set out for me. I know there are a few with my name written on them, it is about time I claim them. And just like what Hugh Hefner said:

"Life is too short to be living someone else's dreams."