Post Winter Olympic thoughts, or why I’m envious of Virtue and Moir

It's past midnight, my most potent time of the day. Every one in the house is asleep including the dog. I have Van Morrison singing in the background. The man's music is cool and soothing, like camphor. He keeps me company as I read the introduction of The Art Of Personal Essay, a two-inch, two-pound … Continue reading Post Winter Olympic thoughts, or why I’m envious of Virtue and Moir


Tubes and Hospital Bed

This last week has been the hardest. Never have I experienced more physical pain or emotional strain. I've been in the hospital for nine days now. I have a huge incision that runs across my mid-section. Right now it has infection. They've already removed the tumor in my pancreas and, surprise, surprise, the cyst in … Continue reading Tubes and Hospital Bed

I need surgery, they will cut open my belly

Diagnosis is now official: pancreatic tumor and ovarian cyst. Doctors wouldn't know if the tumor is malignant or benign until they get a sample. I flew back to Manila last October sixth. Medical practice in Dubai is not as advance as it is here. I don’t want to be their guinea pig. Plus my parents are … Continue reading I need surgery, they will cut open my belly

Scans and diagnosis part II: thoughts on doctors, nurses, and the whole shebang

Doctors are masters of half-truths. They don’t tell you the whole thing. Their sentences are always careful and calculated. The silence is awkward and deafening when they’re reading your radiology report. I try to judge their honesty and trustworthiness based on their word usage, tone of speech, and the way they treat their nurses. I am most worried for the things they don’t say.

Love, Dad: Pres. Reagan’s letter to his son before his wedding

Some men feel their masculinity can only be proven if they play out in their own life all the locker-room stories, smugly confident that what a wife doesn't know won't hurt her. The truth is, somehow, way down inside, without her ever finding lipstick on the collar or catching a man in the flimsy excuse of where he was till three A.M., a wife does know, and with that knowing, some of the magic of this relationship disappears.

Why I Left My Comfort Zone For The Desert

My pink and white suitcase sits quietly in a corner under the stairs, a looming reminder of the things to come. I'm leaving next week. If all go as planned, I'll probably build a life there, not permanently, but it all depends on His Majesty. What's for sure is I'll be away for months. I … Continue reading Why I Left My Comfort Zone For The Desert