Dolly de los Reyes

Love is saccharine; and then, it can be a bitter gourd. At one moment, it bathes you with sweet nothings. In time, it then cascades into a flowing river of milk and honey. Multi-colored flowers smile in delight, butterflies dance in exquisite patterns, and the birds echo one’s declaration of love in that tranquil, captivating melody. Loving and being loved is such a blissful journey towards Eden. At another time, a threat approaches speedily. Like a roaring lion, it lunges to devour love’s sweetness. Thunders clap and lightning strikes, now seeing the opportunity to plant fear , distrust , and hopelessness . At a quick glance, Eden has turned into a fiery place with gloomy, hovering, stormy clouds and winds threatening destruction. The serpent has stricken, and the hearts grow black as coal. When will love be restored? Where is sunshine? Where is light? The once tender voice has grown cold, and what used to be yours is slowly being taken away. That gentle care has been forgotten, or ma

If I had but a day to live… I would recall that I did not shop ‘till I dropped. I would recall that I did not sing like a nightingale. I would recall that I did not party for hours and drink wine and liquor like a pro. I would recall that I did not dance my best, and would pop, lock and drop. I would recall that I did not laugh my heart out. I would recall that I did not smile the sweetest smile. If I had but a day to live… I would recall that I did not write all day and put on paper all that I had to say. I would recall that I did not scribble, doodle, and draw like an artist. I would recall that I did not read and reread the blog that I so dearly cherish. I would recall that I did not edit works that were entrusted to me. Oh! I would recall that I did not write short stories for children. I would recall that I did not read life-changing novels… all the brilliant works of Paulo Coelho, James Patterson, Mitch Albom, and CS Lewis. If I had but a day to live… I would recall that

Democracy, have you had a taste of it? Our heroes had fought hard for it. FREEDOM! EQUALITY! Amidst blood and torn flesh, they had conquered the enemies and had tasted victory. The warrior’s blood had been passed by my ancestors to me; I haven’t smelled of it, but I have been living in it. Spanish regime, Japanese conquistadors, American colonialism, everything had been won over, though lives were sacrificed and visions of Paradise were not achieved. The right time came, and the Filipinos set off into making an independent nation. The Philippine Presidents were believers of democracy, influenced by the American defenders of human rights. The shout for equality became more intense, until democracy was served in a golden platter. In the beginning, it was the best form of government, where all citizens were equal, where everyone had the right to put a leader on the pedestal of power. What was heard was the voice of the majority, in that case, the masses, the majority of the poor to averag

“I am not excited,” I told my partner, Rina, who was going with me to Subic, Zambales for a seminar on Formative Assessment. It was pretty plain for me, ordinary. When I learned that we will just travel by bus on our way to the Phoenix’s main office in Quezon City, I felt burdened. Well, it must be the fact that I dislike riding on public vehicles if my destination has something to do with the school. Anyway, so after two hours of travel, we arrived safely at our destination and headed straight to Travelers Hotel and Event Center. The hotel seemed so refreshing and alluring, I thought. After getting our room key, we unpacked right away and decided to have a walk. What are we supposed to expect there? Nothing much really, so we ended shopping in Duty Free. Any significant thing following that? Pictorial! The boredom and lack of enthusiasm slowly diminished. One pose after the other. Capture! Dinner followed, and rest…rest….rest. What about me? I grabbed a book of Paulo Coelho titled

“Do you care about our class at all?!!!” I asked my pupils, almost pleading, half-shouting. This class has become a nuisance, though I wouldn’t admit that. Well, I’ve been blessed to be with these extremely sweet angels at other times, who would somehow get possessed along the way and would end up wounding a teacher’s heart. Oh! That could be an exaggeration; but yes, they do break my heart. At first, I wouldn’t really mind a series of complaints hurled against my advisory class. I could discipline them, almost effortlessly; so, there must be something else going along in every subject teacher’s journey in my pupils’ self-made haven. But eventually, my eyes have witnessed what has been considered misconduct in the norms of the school; my ears have heard the loudest of shouts saying, “Keep quiet!” (Note: 80% of the population inside does this, so imagine your eardrum breaking out), and my throat has been harassed whenever my signals won’t work (often when they don’t notice me watching

"As a painter or writer, you have to walk even dangerous waters in order to succeed more than the others."  - Frank Hilario Two weeks have passed and I haven't written any article yet. I missed writing, and I deeply sensed it; the circumstances were just too much for me to handle. And so I reclined on my self-imposed "busy state." Inquisitiveness led me into the blog site of a highly-respected man, Frank Hilario. I came upon his blog on a painting genius, whom he likened to a budding writer – full of dreams and full of hopes, but nevertheless realizing his dreams and seeing them come true. Reading further acquainted me with the man behind the paintings, Paul Hilario, the son of Frank Hilario. The latter's writings were written by a genius; the former's paintings were surreal; yes, these people are real. I talked to myself. I asked my heart. I conversed with my imaginary sage. All of them asked me how I was. I fell silent. All three guided me into this

I have met a lot of people, godly, saintly, and the like. But this one's life-changing, simple yet unmistakably unique. It had been quite a while since I last joined a singles' group. Then one day, I said "Yes" to God's invitation. He brought me into this group of entertaining and comical individuals, yet with hearts full of love, nurturing, and care. Needless to say, I enjoyed my first meeting with them. That magical paradise God brought me into is now a cherished place in my heart. These wonderful people have continuously made wonders in my heart. It isn't ordinary to be part of such group, yet God had wowed me again with His most present gift. My friends, my sisters, my brothers...my angels. My new loves. In such a short span of time, you've made your way into my heart. Now my heart's wide open and my arms amply stretched to give you more space in this precious life of mine. Mere words are never enough, for your love simply overflows in my heart. E

( For Wayne and me to keep) A giant Christmas tree adorned with lights and decors. Friends, couples, families clothed with smiles and cheerful laughter. A bay transformed into a haven of mirth and glee. I was there, squeezed in the growing multitude of people. I could feel the smile on my face as I felt my muscles tense. Nothing could be so relaxing than physically seeing two almost impenetrable realities – the gladness made manifest by the angelic voices of the choir echoing through the wide expanse, and God’s marvelous piece speaking through the waves that crash through rock borders, dancing stars in their full splendor in the night sky, with the gentle moon daintily showing traces of its features shaped by universal forces. Awe filled me and I simply thanked God for everything. A surge of peace flowed through my being as my hands were clasped by two gentle hands, both belonging to my Master’s personal gift to me. I turned to look and was caught unprepared with the loveliest mirrors

“Get out of my life!!!!” I was standing on a platform. Tears streaming down my cheeks. Hands bound on metal chains. I couldn’t make out the shape of the room; it was pitch black. I was accompanied by the deafening silence, and the still humid air made my breathing more laborious. A sound. No. It’s a whisper. Shhh, is that what you hear when metals clank. What? I thought it was a faint laughter. Were they talking about me? A nerve-wrecking shriek! Hands! Those hands were reaching out to me. That special aroma lingering through my nostrils. I would have loved to own that thing. But, no! I abhor the feeling. Something was going on in my body. My heartbeat tripled. My veins popped out. My body was without flesh. I was rotting in front of me. Just when I was about to believe that I had become a corpse, I opened my eyes and found myself in a highly-illuminated space. From afar, I saw a door left ajar. Curiosity won, and I peeped. And lo! That was the most enormous screen whose size I n

Taare Zameen Par (Every Child Is Special) was a 2007 movie directed by Aamir Khan, script written by Amole Gupte, and produced by Aamir Khan Productions (Wikipedia). It's about a boy who can neither read nor write. A friend of mishaps. A teacher's nightmare. Ridiculed. Despised. Misunderstood even by his roots. I wouldn't dream of having a pupil like that. If I'm unlucky enough to have one, it surely will be a pain in the head. On second thought, it will be a pain in the heart. I never realized how a child lives in his own world until I watched this movie. There certainly are a lot of things going inside a child's mind, those that we don't understand as adults. Comprehending everything that a child does is synonymous to studying a whole new course of human behavior. What adults see as shades of gray, such a child sees as dancing luminous objects. This movie changed my perspective. Not that I don't know how to teach. It's just that sooner or later, I mig

SEPTEMBER 21, 2012 – I woke up earlier than usual. The most awaited field trip had come, so I was excited somehow (the pupils were, I bet). Past 6:00 am, I was still in the house (departure 6:30 am), so I hastened my steps and made it to the bus on time. There, radiant smiles and smiling eyes greeted me; dimples and rosy cheeks welcomed me. Oh, how beautiful! “Good morning Titser Dolly!” they chorused, coupled with heart-warming hugs and offers for me to sit on the jump seat beside them. What a pleasant way to start the day! After a few minutes of waiting for the last pupil, off we went to our destination, Tagaytay City. Along the high way, pupils had the opportunity to take a glimpse on the different scenery. I remember one pupil utter a disgusting remark when we passed by a colony of informal settlers, contradicted by a boy who somehow understood how helpless these people are. Here comes one talking about his family’s rest house along Dasmarinas City, and the rest had their persona

A glittering spectacle of diamonds stares at me. Fingers faintly shaking. Lips quivering in unfathomable ecstasy. What great delight! Holding my glittering fingers up high, his eyes meet mine. Lovely! I slowly opened my eyes to see reality kick in front of me. Lo! The ring vanished! Okay folks. This is actually just one of my favorite daydreams. I often visit this enchanted place, where hearts dance in pure mirth, and where lips collide in untainted bliss. Seriously speaking, I really just can’t wait. “What does that mean, Dolly?” I NEED a ring. I WANT that ring. I’m DYING to have that ring! “But what for?” It is because of him. The symbolism of that ring is so special that waiting for the right time seems forever. I just find it difficult to respect the sacrament of waiting. Gross! Why can’t I just wait? I CALLED him, and when he picked up the phone, I was at a loss for words. I ended the call. So he dialed my number, and when I answered, he told me the words that had always melte

He was your ideal man. He was a highly paid officer in an insurance company. He was a black belter, and was a very intelligent man. These qualities won him my mother’s heart - my elegant, fair, and tender mother. He lived a great life. Vows were exchanged in front of God’s altar, and they cherished that moment dearly. Three lovely angels came into their lives, and they all lived lives showered with love and care. They were a happy family. Then one day, worldly desire crept into his heart, gradually nurturing the secret admiration he had for that fresh, young, lovely office worker; he enjoyed the sight. The family was in peril, dramatic changes were slowly felt. He had a new favorite song titled “Please Release Me.” He often went home drunk, with a lady’s shirt kept in his waist bag. Affection eluded him, and the little angels often gaped with innocent eyes. December 1990, Christmas. He asked permission to go out somewhere, said it was very important, and will soon be back. Mothe

GREAT teachers are real, aren’t they? Do you see them everywhere? Have you been lucky to have crossed path with these individuals? Stories of teachers touching the lives of the young sprout like mushrooms on a fertile soil. Books, magazines, and the Internet spread the word, reaching out to more souls seeking inspiration from their daily life. But, could there be something more moving than personally experiencing this? Fourteen years ago (I was in Grade 6), I was given a chance to be with this teacher; on the contrary, I also was with that teacher, the opposite. This teacher brought joy to my heart and planted wisdom on my soul. Excitement filled my being; boredom I never felt. Until she taught me how to write, and write I did. The land of experiences she brought me into shaped my character, and I started to write. The trophies and medals I won in the various schools’ press conferences were just the bonuses, for I had found my gem. She did the same thing with the others that came

“Why are there bad people?” I asked a 3 rd grader in one of my English classes. “It is because they do bad things,” was his immediate answer. “Why do they have to do bad things?” I probed. “Maybe it is because they really want to have or do something. But for them to acquire or experience it, they have to pass through the process of being bad”. He responded with much confidence that you’ll think this 9-year-old boy already had a glimpse of what life is at present. I had been so upset before I asked him that question. I needed to vent out my frustration. I desperately wanted to say uncouth remarks to someone but I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t have done it if given a chance. What an unhealthy way to live the day, hearing with bleeding ears made-up stories against me. That was the least I wanted to hear but in my every move, it seems that speckled eyes followed me. Why did I have to ask this innocent child? It was a fraught attempt to see the world in a different view. A child lives in th

It was barely three months when I experienced a loss, or to be more appropriate, a failure. I remember myself eagerly applying for a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. Optimistic as I was, I faced my doubts squarely. Come examination time, my mind just turned blank. I was groping for words, desperately trying to extract the creative juice my mind could best offer. Well, it didn’t come out that way, and true enough, I flunked the written examination. Well, you must have imagined the disappointment I’ve been through. Looking back, I was used to winning and achieving what I wanted. My numerous triumphs in various areas in my life led me into believing that I was favored by God. I was a consistent honor student (#1); trophies and medals I brought to my Alma Mater for competitions won; and the beam of pride I continuously marked in my humble parents’ eyes. I continue dreaming. My friends and acquaintances look up to me. They regard me as someone atop them; someone so blessed and fortuna

Experience teaches you the hard way. Very hard. I remember the life I had ten years ago. I was a fresher in college then, taking up Bachelor in Secondary Education major in English. Things changed somehow when I turned 18. I shifted to General Science as a major. Since then, everything became smooth-sailing. That's what I thought. I would always admire my group. They called us young scientists , intuitive and adventurous as we were; we always proved them right. My future was set then. I would rise to the top; I would do better than my batch mates; I would enroll in post graduate courses, and be one of the best science teachers in the country. When I was absorbed by my Alma Mater, I stood grateful and happy for helping me take the first steps towards my dreams. I was good. I’d often receive positive feedback and thumbs up from my mentors and school head. My board rating was high and most importantly, my students learnt from me. I didn’t see it coming. When I transferred to my curre

I grew up with the promise that I’ll abide in God no matter what the cost. At an early age, I learned to love Him and long for Him. It never occurred to me that things will change somehow. I’ve witnessed the not-so-good transformations of some people around me. Angelic faces turned devilish. Hearty laughter turned into malicious giggles. I even had a glimpse of what we call “immorality”, not to mention the turmoil inside my being. Growing up wasn’t easy then. It was a struggle. To remain unstained. To be pure. To be holy. Later did I realize that I had it all wrong. So I attended seminars, recollections, retreats, and a series of spiritual formations. It was then that I matured, gradually, painstakingly. I learned about the real meaning of spirituality and yes, it is a lifetime lesson. As long as we are here in this world, we are never exempted from the spices that life has to offer. How should one be spiritually mature then? Or when does one become? Is there any other living bein