Unique and Very Special Art Work

It's not the art of photography, nor of editing photos...

not the art of capturing smiles...

not this kid's scribbles on the wall...not the art of balancing.

No, he is not dancing.

But see the writing on his wear...
"born to be an artist."

a unique blend of God's works and man's...a collaboration of God and Mom.

we make them artists just like us...masters in the art of living.

we give them love, we show them life.

we use different media to splash genuine smiles on their faces.

we laboriously choose the right words to hear music from theirs.
we mold them with our hands -

culinary arts for their bodies

art of touch for their souls...

more than the basic senses we use.

it's also heart, soul,

a genuine smile.

we leet them see that we love life.

and so we see our masterpiece.

in the life of our children.

their bodies, soul and spirit growing,

blooming, unfearing, unbroken.

for others to behold

and for our honor.

for our joy.

this good life is the kind of art that satisfies.



(have been missing some creative adventures...painting, writing really good stuffs, baking, music, etc. and watching my boys realize they are the ultimate result of my creativity, and to them i express my love, they also reflect my love for life and even my hate sometimes. they are the most fragile and complicated and yet the best form of art...a mother's work. and i pray for sometimes we do not know what life brings...i pray that my best work and effort will not go futile nor will the cruel part of humanity affect or infect them. God help me. For now, they grow and i grow. And we go on loving.)

Missing Chelz

Chelzedeck was my best friend, actually one of my many "best friends". There's a best friend whom i call big-sister best friend, one is a group of "soul sisters" best friend, another a group of college friends turned mommy-buddies best friends, and so on....but Chelz was my only male-slash-sister-best friend who believed that he is a woman trapped inside a (handsome) man's body.

Recently he wrote me something that stirred up those memories with him and words we have exchanged, shared, and experienced together. This was actually a comment on my friendster blog:

I can relate to this poem/prose…i don’t know how am i going to give my reply,or am i required…anyway, i will let just myself be,
i can relate to the rummaging of the past,
memories of friends, girlfriends and ex’s…
somehow the things you’ve thought were useless,
and has been trashed, finds beautiful meaning…
you find yourself becoming a history teacher,
perhaps and archaelogist, digging remains of a lost culture…telling them to students/readers,
that it is important to relieve one’s past,
for one’s past affects the future,
that without it, we would never be here…
somehow it is important, that is why we need historians, artist and painters ,
to re-express the things we so long have trashed,

and i’m glad that “You” still write, and recyle,like archaelogist , putting muffled pieces of yesterday, telling them as if the just happened an hour ago…


that was Chelz, talking...voice transformed into image. i can imagine him so animated, creative and seemingly unwanted by the elite, snobbish, pseudo-intellectuals.

Valentines with Kids

He was holding Leaf, trying to entertain our hyper-active one year old while i was trying my best to keep Sami who was so amused by the lights from running towards the stage.
It was a Valentine's party for couples, entitled "A Night of Love and Romance," a dinner concert. We were entertained with love songs and some "quotes" on love. We were the only couple with small kids in tow but for me we were the most romantic couple...


I took this photo while the song "How Did You Know" (our song which also played during our wedding) was being sung and after he mouthed "I love you" to me.

I think it's the presence of children in a marriage that helps spark up romance and not otherwise. One just need to have the eyes of love to see that.

Wedding vow, Wishes, Wonders...

I wrote this vow for an aunt who will be saying her "i do", take two :) come August (inshallah).

"the road i have treked to reach this place haven't been easy
but meeting you along the way sparked a way for me to find a better meaning
and purpose in life.

you have been a friend providing wise guidance whenever i need it,
offering a strong shoulder to lean on,
giving company during both good times and bad.

life cannot be lived alone
love cannot to be kept nor withheld,
and though we are already in the autumn of our lives,
it is still best to walk with a hand to hold
as leaves fall and until our winter sets in...

so as i embrace the future with you today
i pledge to stay by your side,
i commit to share my life with you,
be the woman God has molded to love you
the way He designed,
grow with you in mind and spirit,
and create with you a trail of lasting love
that will be a blessing to our children
and to those who look up on us.

this i promise with faith in the One and only Author and Giver of love
-true, perfect, and everlasting."

I wished i have written a vow as beautiful as this for my own wedding. It's a shame that as a Wedding Planner i was never able to plan my own wedding as well as i did my clients'. Even my mother who has been a caterer for almost 20 years now could never seem to serve her own family's table nicely.

This is a strange thing...

policemen having children becoming criminals,
caterers who cannot promptly provide food to their hungry husbands/children,
wedding planner-bride having own wedding a disaster,
musicians who cannot teach own kids the basic so-fa syllables,
and ghost writers forever remaining ghosts
too dead to their own eulogy.

Like a Christmas Dream

A blurry little Christmas photo...seemingly filtered like in a dream, only this one's real. Happy, alive and free. Good food, good conversations, music, singing, laughters, and friends. It will be cherished for a lifetime though it lasted for a moment. It was a gift. It was a dream.

Chestnuts Roasting and So am I

Had a happy Christmas followed by these thoughts two days later:

"It is truly better to be a servant in one's own country than to be a princess imprisoned in someone else's castle."

Raw, Naked, and Honest

I crave for freedom, even a teeny bit like letting my hair down, uncovered in front of other people.

Waking up in darkness as emotions rush out of me in the form of tears almost turning into blood. Is this what happens when someone is squeezed inside a life-size shaker for a long time?
Forced or compelled to be who she is not...

I crave for freedom, even just to go to a grocery to choose goods i want for my pantry, diaper brands i want for my boys.

If everything happens for a reason, this eventful non-event in this kind of life is still groping for definitions for its being.

Take away someone from a zone of discomfort and put her inside this shell, see if she survives scarless and unwanting that place she once deemed painful. She will be scathed and surely long for air no matter how stale, as long as it is air.

I crave for freedom, even just to be myself - outgoing, routine-and order-freak with regular lazy days - without being judged.

Stuck in a rut twenty four-seven; post post-partum blues or plain mood swings? Whatever these are, anybody "refined" this way will feel worse and might even kill.

Am i really being refined in this fire? Am i resisting change? How can i not when i am regressing and not progressing?
Perhaps i cannot see the progress yet?
Or perhaps this kind of "refiner's fire" is telling me to run and not endure?
I may be made of another kind of gem but not gold...

I crave for freedom, even to talk freely, express myself - in my own language without trying hard to be understood and to understand a response.
I crave for time, a few hours a day to learn something new, without interruptions or worrying about my boys.

I crave freedom, even for my boys...
the freedom to run around under the sun, in an open field or a lawn...to explore, to trip, fall and stand up on their own even with a harmless cut on a knee.

I crave for a safe and happy place for them, to see them regularly spend quality time with their grand parents - no screams and shouts, just gentle touches, laughter, horsey-rides, cookie treats, or simple conversations - real attention given to them.

I crave to see them play with their cousins without hitting or being hit or pushed, without falling off tv sets or tables...i want them to play with toys, to be amused, to be curious, to learn...

I crave to give my boys the best of me - a mom they can be proud of...and even just for now, a mom who is strong and free enough even to take them out by herself.

My boys may be my home, but this is not my country.
This is not my kind of country, not entirely my kind of culture, not entirely my kind of beliefs and practices.
I want to be where i can be who i want as well as who others want.

I crave for freedom, to laugh shamelessly even like a hyena, to sit, walk, talk, and smile a certain way i find comfortable, to talk or joke about anything concerning my past or future and still be loved.

I crave to be around people who really know me inside-out.

You wake up in the morning tired, you sleep at night exhausted. You only have one kind of hope and that is Home. Where you are human, where women may not be amazons but know the value of time and people. Where you see the sun, the trees, the sky, the seas...where you can chase dreams unceasingly...where you can plan and fulfill even just a quarter of it...where you can contain all your loves in your heart and in your life.
Where you have all the time and time has all of you.

Life is short, one should not live like this.
Oh have i almost come in full circle, now am suspended, sliced into a half-moon, half-lunatic.
Is this what happens when Wondering Wander Woman is caged for a long time?
The unspoken social norms here have made me build an invisible prison around myself.

I crave for them here to see me as i am so i can go in peace for i know they will never understand nor can they accept that person.

I crave for something i cannot give myself.
Freedom will have to wait.

I long for someone to satisfy these cravings. Apparently, there is only one person who can give me this. If he does, i am pretty sure that the girl he adored the first time he laid his eyes on her will resurrect before his very eyes.

For now, i can but only write.
True Freedom will have to wait.