Resuscitating the Dream

“I am working here to buy myself a spanking new professional camera,” said my friend four years ago when asked why he decided to work in a call center immediately after college. I remember him talking about quitting his job thereafter living his passion as a free lance photographer. Four years later, he is still in the call center and he is not one professional camera richer. He bought other things: essential (and frequently non-essential) stuff for his boarding house, new clothes, expensive coffee and nice shoes. He frequents both the ukay-ukay and greenbelt in between his night stint as a CSR.

I remember him back in college. I remember his sheer talent for photography. I remember his eye for light, color, texture and balance. I remember his gleaming eyes while he talks about photography jargon. I remember us admiring the photos that he took. I remember admiring his adept talent and how he could do justice to my photos despite my not photogenic self. I remember how he loved his art. Though I am a photography ignoramus, I know he has some god-given talent.

I am not sure if his dream died a natural death or was just pushed to the corner of his mind. I am not sure if he was just caught in the middle of the survival frenzy ironically occurring in our humdrum lives. I am not sure he was just afraid to venture into a drastic change. I am not sure he was just afraid to disturb his placid life. I’m not sure if he is just procrastinating.
He could well provide for his need and some of his wants now. Maybe this was his dream. Or maybe not.

I thought about my own dreams. My dreams with death wishes... I remember myself of dreaming grand things for myself. I thought about fabulous things that could happen to me. I was positive about my capabilities. I was positive about living my dreams. Well, those dreams are not shelved to accommodate some urgent and important things.

I was inspired by a passage from Paulo Coelho’s book Like a Flowing River. In the chapter Statutes for the New Millennium he said that, “6. Every human being has a personal legend to be fulfilled, and this is our reason for being in the world. This personal legend manifests itself in our enthusiasm for the task. 7. One can abandon one’s personal legend for a time, as long as one does not forget about it entirely and returns to it as soon as possible.”

I’m glad I was able to read that passage. Maybe it’s not too late for my friend to buy his camera. Maybe it’s not too late for me to live my dreams as well.

Hailstorm

Then he touched their eyes and said, "According to your faith will it be done to you" - -Matthew 9:29 (NIV)

Familiar stories at the children’s Sunday School usually harbor around unbelievable things that happened in the Bible. Dead men rising from their tombs… Blind men receiving their sight… Water into wine… Ordinary men and women with extraordinary faith having extraordinary things unfold before their very eyes.

I never thought I would need that same faith. I never thought I would pray earnestly for a miracle.

My dad started to get sick January of 2008. All his vigor and zest seemed to fade in the photographs carefully placed on our shelves. A few months after, his MRI results read the presence of a brain tumor. He had to be admitted for the excision of cerebellopontine angle tumor. In other words, they needed to open his head to take the tumor out. It was like a weeklong Maalaala Mo Kaya special in our house when results came out. I felt I aged for 5 years in a week’s time.

Dad was operated on June 19, 2008 at The Medical City, Pasig City. It was a long seven hour wait. There was an outpour of love and pledges of prayers from family and friends. Through God's grace, he was able to survive his first operation, removing 95% of the tumor (since it would be too dangerous to remove everything). He was conscious hours after the operation. I was able to chat with him inside the ICU that day. I was confident that we will be out of the hospital days after. The unthinkable, however, happened the morning of June 20.

A day after his 1st operation, dad had internal bleeding. The whirlwind of events I remember vividly inside the NeuroICU was like an episode of the TV series House. It was nerve-wracking to see the monitors blinking and buzzing, doctors and nurses utter consonants while doing their thing. In a few hours, my dad was ushered from the NeuroICU to the operating room again. Dad has to be operated again. I felt numb. Minutes were like hours as we waited for the results.

Hours later, his neurosurgeon, Dr. Gerardo Legaspi told us that my dad survived the 2nd operation, removing the remaining 5% of the tumor. The blood acted as a shield, protecting the brain. Another miracle indeed! 17 days after practically living in the hospital, we went home with my daddy, alive. We were relieved that the tumor was not cancerous.

Just when we thought the ordeal was over, dad’s recovery went downhill. He talked less, forgot names, forgot how to write & sign. He can’t stand and walk without assistance. He can’t sit upright for long or even attend to his basic needs. We frequented the ER.

After the results of a CT scan, we braced for another hurdle. Dad had post hemorrhagic hydrocephalus and was advised to have his 3rd operation. According to his neurosurgeon, he will be implanted with a permanent shunt to evacuate the fluids that accumulated in his brain. Ventriculoperitoneal shunt… Now that sounded scary.

Gearing up for yet another operation was emotionally taxing. He was operated for the 3rd time at The Medical City on October 30, 2008. As we were again summoned in the OR conference room hours after, his neurosurgeon told us that Dad survived the 3rd operation. God awed us with another one!

Days after the operation, dad was recovering remarkably. Little by little, he started to talk and joke. He recognized us. He later told us that he thought he just woke up from his 1st operation. He thought he somewhat went out of the country. More than 4 months of memory was erased from him. Days after, we took that familiar road home.

Dad was brought back to us. Now, he is continuously recovering. He is still having therapy sessions because his facial nerve was affected. Nevertheless, he could now walk, talk, write, play chess, attend to his basic needs, and even do the dishes!

Looking back, no matter how dark and dreary the travail was, God’s blessing was a hailstorm. I saw how He sustained us in ways I never thought possible. We were made recipients of the love, prayers and support of family and friends. I saw how he amazingly used people and circumstances as channels of His blessings in His perfect time. He provided for our needs liberally, ranging from carton boxes to neurosurgeons.

Indeed, each day is a showcase of His power. Each day is a platform of His love. Each day is a glass case of His miracles.

Comfort in My Strangeness

Strange exaggeration is a product of the vividness of the mind.

These are minuscule moments of enlightenment that are frequently taken for granted.
These are vents for ideas that come like thieves.
These urge writing on high grade tissue paper or at the back of official receipts at odd places.
These are electronic version of seemingly important, mundane and trivial musings.