I was rummaging through my closet in search of a shirt to wear to my dinner date with the Girlfriend. Without much thought, I pulled out the pink (“salmon,” actually, but it looks pink to me) polo shirt. While I was putting it on, I realized that this was the same shirt, our retreat commemorative uniform, that I wore around this time last year when I was marooned with co-workers in a bus at the height of Ondoy.

Has it been a year?

To my shame, I can’t even remember the exact date now, and it took a shirt to remind me of that sad day. But for many Metro Manila dwellers who had lost much—the lives of loved ones included—to Ondoy’s flood waters, every day can be a constant reminder. May the Lord continue to be merciful to them, and may their sadness continue to be dimmed by the light of our loving acts.

coffee praying

Still bleary-eyed, I prepped the coffee maker to produce some caffeine luv for me this morning. When I opened the cupboard I realized I’ve run out of brown sugar. Should’ve bought some at the grocery last night. I like sugar and cream in my coffee, and that probably makes me less of a coffee lover because I hear that the true-blue ones enjoy their cup black. I’m not that exciting. I like my cup sweet and creamy.

So now sipping my sugar-free coffee (thankfully I still have creamer), I take deep breaths, and shoot up half-formed prayers to my Father — for a smooth and God-honoring Book Fair run, for extra-grace for my hardworking and dedicated team, for the Great Author to be foremost today, for many people to come to our booth at the Fair, for joy as we work, for my eyes to be completely rid of all irritation, for words and wisdom for a writing project, for Daphne’s safety as she negotiates rush-hour traffic…

Somehow I rest in the thought that the little that I have, pray for, and do, when placed in the wonder-working hands of the Father, can have eternal ripples. I taste sweetness this morning not from my mug of coffee, but from the truth that my Father hears (even my random, oftentimes me-me prayers) and is at work to reveal His glory even more (even through me).

Good morning everyone.


Woke up with—not one, but two!—burning, itchy, and teary eyes. I have been nursing a rebellious Right Eye the past few days and was actually hoping things would start looking up today. But Left Eye just couldn’t be left out of the “fun” and insisted on joining the pity party. So now I feel discomfort in both eyes. I still can’t wear my contact lenses. My nose bridge (it’s there, really, take a closer look) now has reddish dents, heroic marks from bearing the weight of nerdy-thick eye glasses.

I was hoping to get to the early morning service today, and later in the afternoon kiddie-party with Daphne’s family as we celebrate the fourth birthday of little Bastian (whose smile and twinkly eyes make you feel like a superhero). In between, I hoped to do some word-wrestling on a writing project because yesterday was blah and my word count has not risen significantly while my writer’s morale took a nosedive. Plus I got hit by a plastic bottle of lotion falling from the sky. But that’s another story.

From the looks of it, I’ll be spending this Sunday quarantined in my little corner of Mandaluyong. The Gurlpwend called to check on the “red-eyed mister” and listen to him whine, whine, whine—in a very, very manly way, of course. I’ve fixed myself coffee and toasted pandesal, trying to make peace with my lot.  Although I didn’t make it to church, today can still be a day of worship. And I pray to God to not just heal my sorry eyes, but to open my spiritual eyes to get a fresh glimpse of His bigness today.