They whom I hold dearest

About a week ago there was some slight furore among the writers in our office. The management will open an email support team and the application is open to everyone. All you do is to submit an essay the person you value most in your life, and three sample email correspondence, and then they judge if you're up for the job or not.

This is the entry I submitted:

(I didn't get the post, but even then, I think the essay that came out of me, I feel, is a winner.)

They whom I hold dearest
by Rico D. del Rosario

Shall I be sentimental and say my Dad, Engr. Rene C. del Rosario, Jr., is the most important person in my life? Or must I be devoted and describe my darling daughter, Dana Keziah, in doting detail? Should I be patriotic and talk about the Philippine hero, Dr. Jose Rizal and his self-sacrificial contribution to the nation? Or be romantic and extol the virtues of my wife, Marivic? Shall I assume the stance of the political activist and talk about Ninoy Aquino and his legacy to Filipinos? Must I put on the manner of the religious and idealize Mother Teresa? Yes, I can do all these things, and yet still be left wondering: who really is the most important person in my life? Just how does one answer such a question?

I take a path most familiar to me--a path, that is, sadly, has become unpopular in our times. This is the same path I take whenever I am graced with the opportunity to launch myself onto the stage. I choose to answer the question with honesty. And my honest answer to that question is: MYSELF.

My self is the most important person for me. It is my self that I force out of bed each evening and marshal to face the first cold splash of water in the shower. My self that, coming home from work tired and sleep-starved, chooses to play with Dana in her latest pretend game. It is my self that tries his best to be a strong and gentle husband to Veck, cherishing her trust and nurturing her dreams.

It is my self that braves the hour-long bus ride from Malolos to Cubao, and then the train ride from Cubao to Makati. It is my self that takes step after step on my lean, slow legs to Net Plaza and take calls. It is my self that immerses himself in another human being and portray him truthfully and faithfully on the stage.

But what is self? Is it really that important? I sit down in meditation and observe my breath. I cross my legs, straighten my back, close my eyes, and try to sit still. I observe my body and try to remain aware even as my monkey mind races on, flitting from one thought to another, buzzing with ideas about the world, my latest QA markdown, the amount of rice left in our Kyowa grains dispenser, the rising price of milk. The question remains, "What is the self?"

My mind meanders to the past--what this advisor said about me in a snide remark and how I was too dumbfounded to retort. How I was bullied in high school and loved Literature like mad. How Dana and Veck looked exactly alike fast asleep last night. I remember my grandfather proudly showing all the neighbors a small blackboard where I wrote the alphabet and the numbers 1 to 100 when I was four. I remember my Dad weeping when I told him I flunked college, and how terrible I felt. And my Dad weeping again during my wedding and how wonderful I felt. I remember how Dana was born all purple and wrinkly, screaming and kicking, with the umbilical cord coiled around her neck.

My mind flies to the future: which auditions to go to, what dates to file my vacation leaves, which plays and concerts to watch or let pass.

Is this who my self is? The sum of my past pains and future aspirations? Is my self husband? father? son? brother? financial services advisor? colleague? writer? friend? artist? What do these labels mean to me? Does my name hold the clue to my identity?

My hands open up to heaven and I ponder the Filipino word for fate: kapalaran, which has palad for its root word. Is my destiny etched on the lines of my palm? Do these crisscrossing lines define who I am?

I cannot wait for an answer to arrive. I simply continue to breathe in meditation, paying attention to my breath, my aching back, my itching ear. I see that all I am is body parts and fluids, made up of organs and cells, that are made up of molecules and atoms. An atom is the building block of matter, which is, physicists have discovered, to be nothing but a form of energy.

So that is all that I am to science. A manifestation of energy in the here and now. A physical body that has breath and mind and passions and instincts. I am a wonder, but not unlike all the other common wonders of nature: plants, animals, objects, human beings. I am at once both miraculous and ordinary. What is self, then, when there really is no self for the self to define?

I have my breath, my pen, my mind, sheets of paper. I write about how I take pleasure in cuddling my daughter and hearing her laugh as I tickle the nape of her neck. How we watch Annie the Musical on DVD for the nth time and sing along to "Tomorrow" together. I lie next to my wife and we talk about her hopes, worries, dreams, fears. Without my wife and daughter, my self has no sense of being. I long to be home every time I'm at the office. I long to be with them, each day becomes a happy reunion whenever I arrive home. They are whom I hold dearest in my life.

My self is both large and small. In the end, my self belongs not to me at all.

Waking up along EDSA

Walking that short strip of EDSA--
that strip between the corner of East Avenue and the MRT station,
that I used to walk daily for years--
I suddenly noticed it.

The way the sunlight fell from the east at an 8AM height,
the smell of people's colognes mixed with hurried sweat;
as I guzzle on bottled soy milk peddled by a taho vendor.

The streetsweeper MMDA did a great job getting litter off the street.

Suddenly I'm hungry for the deep-fried crablets and tortang talong and tokwa,
the softdrinks in iced chests,
the eyes of strangers on their way to work or death.

I long to understand the graffitti on the wall.
Last night's rain washed away the stench of urine but not the acidic discoloration.

The barker with lop-sided eyes sneezed.
I was grateful to catch that moment: I may never see that again.

Living now in Malolos, had to be miles away, an hour a half bus ride away,
to notice what I once took for granted.

BB rules

Veck spoiled me big time this weekend. First we saw god of carnage and had a great time at the theater.

Then she bought me a new BB after I cracked my old Nokia. So I'm self-imposing these rules on my BB use:

a) No going on social apps when with Veck or Dana
b) No going on social apps when with a friend who wanted to meet me to talk
c) Blog / post only when alone and during spare time

That's it. Those are my rules. My BB has to have its proper place in my life. It is a tool. It has its use. I can't make it central to my life.

July 15 is National Carnage Day

We saw Yasmin Reza's God of Carnage today at the Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium. I was with Veck, and our friends JM and Patty, Jeff and Geli, Louise, Liz and Dannie. For some of them, this was the first time they get to see Lea Salonga to perform live in the theater!

Of course, AFLS (Manila chapter) was in attendance, too. It was fun to see again Jacq, Betsy, Jeff, Edcel, Jojo, Anna, Noel and Tin.

We saw four musical theater superstars on the stage tackling a straight play: Lea Salonga, Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo, Adrian Pang and Art Acuna.

We had a lot of fun watching the show. I know all of you theatergoers out there wouldn't want to miss this production!

Afterwards, we took pictures with Lea. Lea said she wasn't accustomed to seeing me with a beard. I said I was trying to look older. She said, "Good luck with that!" Haha! Well, Lea doesn't look like she's in her mid-twenties!

Afterwards, Dannie suggested we eat at Marciano's, and we did. Veck and I had Autumn in New York salad, which had calamares and shrimp. I loved it. We also had eggplant parmigiana, and the waiter educated me that you don't pronounce the 'a' sound in parmigiana. We also shared the pizza.

What a weekend that was. We just got a BB for me, plus the play, plus eating out. Yikes! I'd have to take some OT work so that we don't dip into our savings because of these extravagant spending! But anything for theater!

Oh, I hope I can step onstage again!

Congrats to the cast of God of Carnage! And to Tin for a sold-out show! Woof! Woof!

Grace calls

To make ends meet as an artist and family man, I took on a job at a call center. I have been working for this company for about seven months now, and I am actually enjoying it. I am thankful for it because God uses this job as a channel of His provisions for us.

Anyway, I do want to talk about my call center job a bit. I was thinking how I can integrate my core values of truth and integrity on the stage and in life into corporate job of dealing with customers over the phone.

Now customers would not always be nice or jovial or at least courteous. Some would be righteously or wrongfully frustrated, rude, uneducated... They complain, grumble, vent out, or worse, mumble. (I have bias against lazy speakers.)

Usually, when I get a less than pleasant customer, I just switch off. I build a wall. I distance myself. I become passive-agressive. I get filled with thoughts like: "Oh, God. I'm not your psychiatrist. Nor your parent. It's not my fault you got low EQ."

Anyhow, this attitude of mine is not going well with my scores at work. I know I can do better and engage the customers in a friendlier manner, but if I do that to every person I talk to I'd be depleted! My energy reserves would dry up.

So, I was thinking a lot about this, and how I'm so passionate for theater even though I haven't always been treated right there. And how, when this call center company is treating me right, I'm not giving them 100% of what I give to the theater.

I was looking for a sense of integration. Then it hit me: Grace. Grace. I don't deserve it, but I received it. Grace. If I can dispense grace to every caller, treat them not as I think they deserve, but as grace would treat them, then I'll be better off.

And since God is the Author of grace, if I connect with Him, branch to the Vine, then I'll never be depleted of grace reserves.
I think I ought to appropriate this grace through prayer. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever" (Psalm 23).

Admitting my fears

I woke up from a bad dream earlier this afternoon. In it, I lived alone in a cramped flat, not at all the spacious home I share with my wife and daughter. The room is badly lit, as if shoved into a dark corner of a tenement building where little sunlight can seep through. There were cabinets set up everywhere, making the whole place a labyrinth even in its crampedness.

I was in one of the inner rooms when a stranger with dyed red hair appeared. I felt insecure, invaded, threatened. I knew this person had malicious intent: to steal, maybe? To murder?

I tried my best to hide a wall but when I looked, there we were, staring at each other through either side of a small glass paned window. His left eye was completely white and blind.

He stood there, motionless, as if trying to watch how I'd react. His defiant stillness was almost mocking my apparent lack of courage. He slowly turned to walk away. That's when I ran. I wanted to catch him. But he was out before I could get to him in the labyrinthine maze of the small room.

Then I woke up.

The dream led me to thinking about my worst fears. What are the things I am most afraid of? Would it be the safety of my household? That someone in the middle of the night would break in and harm my family while I was away at work? I keep telling Veck to keep the porch light on through the night but she's so stubborn. Is it the fear that Dana would go through the same horrors I did when I was a teenager?

Then I realized what my real fears were. I am afraid Veck and I would have a quarrel so bad she would pack up and leave. That I'll never see Dana again. I am afraid Veck would find another man. And worse, be happier with the other person.

I'm afraid to live alone, a once-married man, and suddenly wrenched out of my most precious relationships into a lonely bachelorhood. I guess, in this way, I am afraid to be my Dad. My Mom left us when we were young. I was afraid history would repeat. I guess pain seared in the hearts and minds of the very young do last a lifetime.

They say it's good to face your fears. To embrace them. To accept them as part of who you are.

A close friend of mine will go under the knife on 29 July this year. They found a cyst in her ovary and they have to take it out. She's had this same operation before. But that doesn't make things easier for her. She said she's afraid to be put to sleep during the surgery. I asked why. She said she's afraid she won't wake up.

My friend is a single mom. Her son is two years old. Suddenly I'm glad I don't have to be onstage on 29 July, trying to pretend to be happy when in the back of my mind I'm thinking about the operation.

Buddhism teaches we're all impermanent. Christianity teaches that Heaven and earth will pass away, but not God's Word that says we were created for eternity. In between impermanence and eternity we all live our lives through the sorrows and suffering and senselessness of our fears, imagined or real. Arthur Koestler said, "Courage is never to let your actions be influenced by your fears."

Oh, rejection!

Well, here's a small heartbreak.

I'm not doing Tj Domingo again after all. Jmee Katanyag of the Philippine Educational Theater Association (PETA), sent me an sms message earlier today telling me they chose a different actor to do the role. Oh, boy. And of all things I was thinking of my friends who already reserved tickets. How disappointed they would get. I didn't even think of my own disappointment.

But I guess, that's that. About a week ago I received an sms from Aaron Deniega, our SM, regarding rehearsal schedules. Just like that, I was back in the loop again. Norbs Portales III even texted me, "Welcome back."

I was out to buy Tj a new bag and some new shirts, as what I used in last year's run are old. I applied for leaves from work. I did some promoting and got friends to watch it. I read through the script again and tried to recall the lines and some of the steps. And then boom! They're not getting me.

Any theater company has the right to choose which set of actors they want to be in their show. But this just bums, can I say? Yeah, this bums. What a letdown. They chose a different actor to do the six shows (I was set to do only three) and what does that make me think? PETA doesn't want my services.

It would've been more decent if I received a call, but no, an sms should suffice. Makes me think twice about auditioning for future productions, much less supporting their shows. This just bums.

I wonder if I just got a slice of how Jesus feels when we choose other loves before Him.

My friends were, naturally, indignant. (Thank you! I love you! Real friends are hard to find and I got a chestful!) They sent comforting messages. And there'll be other plays. Theater lives on. Theater breathes. And I'll continue to breathe.

Sally Field is quoted to having said, "It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else's eyes." And there is wisdom there for every true actor and artist. Too often we judge ourselves by others' accolades/reviews/remarks. This injury, I think, warrants another round of TAW.

What I am thankful of is that I was able to text back: "Parang ayaw ko na magPETA." This is light years ahead of me. I can't believe I actually said that on my own behalf, but I did. And I'm glad. That was a gut feel reaction and I took the courage to express it. It wasn't meant to manipulate or change any present circumstance. It was to free what I truly felt inside.

When you feel people passed you over

Genesis 47.23-26
Then Joseph said to the people, "Look, today I have bought you and your land for Pharaoh. I will provide you with seed so you can plant the fields.24 Then when you harvest it, one-fifth of your crop will belong to Pharaoh. You may keep the remaining four-fifths as seed for your fields and as food for you, your households, and your little ones."

"You have saved our lives!" they exclaimed. "May it please you, my lord, to let us be Pharaoh's servants." Joseph then issued a decree still in effect in the land of Egypt, that Pharaoh should receive one-fifth of all the crops grown on his land. Only the land belonging to the priests was not given to Pharaoh.

Exodus 1.8-11
Eventually, a new king came to power in Egypt who knew nothing about Joseph or what he had done. He said to his people, "Look, the people of Israel now outnumber us and are stronger than we are.10 We must make a plan to keep them from growing even more. If we don't, and if war breaks out, they will join our enemies and fight against us. Then they will escape from the country."

So the Egyptians made the Israelites their slaves. They appointed brutal slave drivers over them, hoping to wear them down with crushing labor. They forced them to build the cities of Pithom and Rameses as supply centers for the king.
(New Living Translation)

If you find yourself in a situation where people whom you have greatly helped in the past has forgotten your contributions, you feel neglected, taken for granted, take comfort. It has happened before. To the best of us.

Just go to your easel, your journal, your guitar or drums, and create, create, create! Out of the pain of neglect, create. Through your art, remember, help others remember, and then let go. It is a lesson in detachment. You have this moment. The past is past. Today is what matters, and from this moment, you have your breath, and you can create.

Your unique story

And just like that, I finished (re-)reading Genesis today. This time around, however, what hooked me were the lives of Jacob and his son, Joseph. This blog entry is not about their lives, though. This entry is more about your unique story.

I was talking about this with Jeff at length one day. I asked him if someone has shared the Gospel with him. He replied, "Yes." I asked him to tell me what the Gospel is as he believed it to be. He said one time when he was in Baguio with a friend, a young man giving out fliers came to them and said that God created only men and women, not third sex. I thought, "That's not the Gospel." So I told Jeff, "Can I tell you what the Gospel is?" He nodded.

Somehow I used the story of Adam and Eve as the springboard of the Gospel story. I told Jeff about God's love. About Creation. About His relationship with Adam and Eve. About their fall, and the fall of mankind. About God's promise to Eve for a son who will crush the head of the serpent.

I went on to tell about Abraham and God's promise to him and his wife that He will give them a son, and how Abraham believed God completely. God fulfilled His promise when Abraham was 100, and Sarah gave birth to Isaac when she was 90.

I told Jeff about Isaac, and Jacob, who wrestled with God and whose name was changed to Israel. I went on to tell about the people of Israel. I wanted to tell him, too, about the stories of Joseph, and the Hebrews' slavery in Egypt, but I got too excited. I told Jeff about Moses seeing God's back and hearing Him say His name. I told Jeff about Gideon, the coward turned victorious warrior. I told him story after story until I came to Jesus.

I told Jeff about Jesus' perfect life, His relationship with the Father, some of the miracles He performed. I told him about Jesus fulfilling all the prophesies pertaining to the coming Messiah. I told him about Jesus' death, and what it meant for our justification. I told him about Jesus' resurrection, and what it meant for our sanctification.

I told him about Peter walking on water. Saul the murderer becoming blind, and then seeing again with the eyes of his heart. I told him how Saul became Paul, the missionary. I told him about David who wrote song after song after song for God. I told him about Hannah, who prayed to have a son, and God granted her request. Samuel was one of the greatest prophets of Israel. I wanted to go on and on about Elijah. And Ezekiel. And Jeremiah.

It was then that I realized something. I told Jeff, the only things common to all these people and true Christians is that God loves them, and that they came to a point in their life that they surrendered to God's magnanimous love, and placed their full faith in Jesus, the way Abraham placed his faith in God. I told him about Jesus knocking on the door of our hearts and wanting to be our closest friend (Revelation 3:20).

I told him about the many metaphors of our relationship with God: Potter and clay, Shepherd and lamb, Father and child, Husband and bride.

But then everyone's story with God is always a unique story. It never repeats. No one else walked on water. That was just between God and Peter, something special for them. No one else heard God whisper after the thunderstorms and earthquakes and fires. That was just between Elijah and God. God never repeats. There are common underlying themes, but the plots, He creates a new, unique and special relationship with each one.

I went on to tell Jeff about my special, unique story with God. How God saved Veck, Dana and myself from Ondoy. And that's just one story. I told him about my special song for God: "Blessed be Your Name." I told him, God has a special plot for his life, too, just something between himself and God, if only Jeff would allow himself to totally abandon himself to the love of God expressed in Jesus Christ.

Each one of us has a unique story. An intimacy shared only between you and the Creator of the universe.

William 2012!

Ron Capinding's William is back on stage! Gawad Buhay winner for Outstanding Play, Outstanding Ensemble Performance, and Outstanding Original Script, William is the story of familiarizes young people with the beauty of Shakespeare’s works and re-invents the Bard using rap rhythm and hip-hop beats.

Directed by Maribel Legarda, William touches on themes of adolescence, parents’ unconditional love and friendship and promotes respect for teachers and classmates, and advocates love for reading and appreciating literature—Shakespeare or not.

That, and I'm part of the cast. So please watch! Limited one-weekend-rerun only!

Watch William on these dates and times. Schedules in bold are my performance dates.

July 27, Friday, 10AM.
July 27, Friday, 3PM
July 28, Saturday, 10AM
July 28, Saturday, 3PM
July 29, Sunday, 10AM
July 29, Sunday, 3PM

See you at the Theater! For ticket information, visit PETA online.

Before this eats me up

I am inspired very much by what Gibbs Cadiz wrote about the late Mario O'Hara. Gibbs showed Mario as having zero ego, which is, as evidenced by his prolific life, the key to prodigious creating.

More and more I see how egocentric actors bring ruin to any performance. Anytime one's looks/talent/career becomes more important to him than telling the story of the play and the character as truthfully as you can, then you're lost. It's a comon trap, but a vicious one.

I remember Dr Anton Juan holding up two ideals in the Theatre: Simplicity and Clarity. Both ward off egotism. Both lead to Truth and Art. I struggled against this during my rebellious student years, but now these are the very standards I pit myself against each time I am given the opportunity (privilege!) to stand on the stage.

I once worked with an actor with a huge ego. If I were to post a litany of the many grievances "actor" has caused me I'd be writing a book. So let me just choose the ones that fellow actors would understand. I remember one time we were rehearsing. This "actor" kept stepping in and out of the rehearsal hall whilst we were trying to run the traffic of a scene. When I pointed it out, "actor" said: "Shut up!" Way to go for courtesy. Whatever was "actor" doing stepping out? Oh, I know, flirting with another actor s/he has hots for.

I refer to *it as "actor" because I don't want to shame that wonderful profession with *its misbehavior. You try your best to get in an audition. When you get in, you do your best to deserve the role given you. This "actor" does not deserve to be called the same title we attribute to the likes of Ian McKellen, Judi Dench, Lea Salonga, Gary Oldman, Mario O'Hara.

At another time, during a show, this "actor" began saying I was changing the blocking and hurting *it on the stage. I know I wasn't doing anything unusual, except that I know how careful "actor" is with how *it looks on the stage. *It doesn't want to look less of a celebrity on stage. In short, "actor" is more concerned about ego than the story of the play.

"Actor" began throwing a nasty tantrum backstage, and spreading lies about me to the other actors, thus creating negative energy backstage. At another scene, "actor" pushed me back on my tummy... something *it wasn't supposed to do. I was caught off guard as this wasn't rehearsed that I almost doubled over and fell off the edge of the stage.

Then "actor" changed *its blocking so that at one crucial moment, my fist would land on *its head instead of safely away just as we rehearsed.

I was so pissed off. In the meantime, I kept to myself, quietly, as all around me, all of "actor" and *its gang of cool upstart wannabes talked behind my back and conspired against me. Instructed by Spirit not to defend myself, I kept quiet and prayed constantly.

During intermission, the stage manager had to call for a company call. He was hearing all sorts of negative talk and accusations against my person over the mics that were pasted to our heads. These talk was generated by none other by "actor" *itself. The stage manager wanted to know what was going on. So the "actor" laid it on, really thick, all the reasons why I am evil and unprofessional. In the meantime, Spirit within me said, "Don't defend yourself. Be quiet." So I said nothing. I knew I was just victim for the day, the battery for *its self-serving schemes.

Finally, the sound designer and one of my closest friends approached me secretly and said, "You are the bigger man. You are the better person. You know what to do."

I hate it when my friends are right, but I love them for their courage to come to me and be forthright with it. Loyal friends are gems.

I approached "actor" and told *it the last thing I wanted to say. I said, "Sorry." I hugged "actor." And "actor" did the strangest thing. "Actor" hugged me back and began brushing *its thigh up and down my crotch, as if to feel my size. Oh, God! I knew it. This guy wasn't sincere all along. This person isn't even human.

I quickly disengaged myself and thought, "Well, that's the end of the matter, I hope. I hate this person and I hate his gang of stupid posses."

Then the production manager called us both on a meeting after the show. "Not again," I told myself. The production manager wanted to hear the story for herself. And on and on again the "actor" droned *its sorry self-pitying story of how I abusive I was onstage. I was seething inside. Again, Spirit whispered, "I got your back. Don't say anything in your defense.

The production manager then turned to me for my side of the story. I didn't say anything. Then she said the most surprising thing ever. She turned to actor and said, "What you did was wrong. You were extremely unprofessional. How dare you spread all sorts of rumours over the mic about Rico? How dare you raise up negative energy? If you have a problem, you approach the right channel. You talk to the person, and not to other people who are neither part of the problem nor the solution."

I was dumbfounded. And extremely grateful. I knew the meaning of grace. The production manager turned to me and said kindly, "If you encounter any problems, come to me."

Wow. And yeah, I'm writing it now because this story keeps repeating in my head and maybe I just need to let it out. Maybe I need to let someone out there, my invisible readers, the true story. I told my wife about this and she was so angry. I love that. I told another friend. That was good, too. So now, I'm telling you.

I shouldn't care about ego, and should be wary about "actors" who care for nothing else but their own. There are actors like Mario O'Hara and other countless giants who selflessly served in the Theater. That's the kind of Actor I want to be like.

One time, after a show, this "actor" complained mercilessly to an usher about a student in the audience who, *it claimed, was not paying attention to *its monologue. "Actor" had this student called to the stage door and said stuff like, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to stand there and say a line? And you have the gall na bastusin ako?!"

That student got so traumatized. She told her teacher that she never wanted to see Theatre shows ever again. The teacher asked why. When she found out what happened to her student, the teacher reported to the principal. The principal was so angry she pulled out 4500 students who were scheduled to watch succeeding shows.

Ego is the enemy of the Theatre.

Dana's favorite game series: Bili Books!

Dana plays a lot of pretend games. The ones she likes to repeat a lot are scenes from the musical Annie. She would march around mimicking "It's a hard knock life... for us... It's a hard knock life... for us... No one cares for you, a snitch... When you're in an orphanage..."

That would be my signal to do a Carol Burnett and say, "You're hiding something from Miss Hannigan behind your back!"

The cutest scene is when she tries to sing Molly's part in "You're never fully dressed without a smile." I guess she's at that age when they want to mimic almost anything they find interesting.

So, this is another blog entry about a game Dana invented. She calls it "Bili Books." She gathers all her books together in a small bag that has the top open. She fills the pockets on the sides with all sorts of pencils and pens. Then she declares, "Bili Books!"

I am then supposed to come over, choose a book I want to read, and point it out to her. It doesn't matter which book because she almost always inadvertently chooses the book she'll lend out anyway. Haha! So even if I point at say her Counting 1-2-3 book, she'll say, "Oh, you want to read 'Bath Time'?"

Then you'll have to mime handing her some coins. She'll gladly accept them as if that's the whole reason she set up her bookstore in the first place. She picks up your book 'choice,' then proceeds to stamp it. She'll get a pen, one after the other, and point it at the book, sounding each one with a loud "Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!"

After she goes through all her pens, she happily hands over to you your book which you should commence to read in front of her. But before you can finish reading it, she goes, "Time's up!" You'll have to hand the book bag to her. She stashes it back in her bag and then announces, "Bili Books!" For another round of this game.

We repeat the whole thing several times, and I tell you, I don't get tired of it.

Yesterday afternoon, I needed to sleep, and Dana just set up her shop. Veck said, "Let Daddy sleep! He has work tonight." But Dana wouldn't have any of that. She wanted to play with her Daddy and play she would. Veck threatened to bring out the dreaded hanger for spanking. Dana rushed to her mommy and said, "Friends... Friends tayo... no spanking, please."

Oh, it's too cute! So Dana says, "Sad si Dana. Angry si Mommy. Friends lang."

Veck says, "Okay, but you let Daddy sleep. And if you sleep, too, Mommy won't be angry anymore."

"Opo! Dana is happy!" I heard my daughter say. I think they exchanged hugs at that point but I wasn't sure. I drifted off to sleep. I woke up to my phone's alarm and saw Dana sleeping soundly beside me, using the crook of my arm for her pillow.

What to do when you've cough

I am sick and I am beginning to worry about it. This is a true signal that I should take better care of myself. I've skipped some pill dosages, been drinking two glasses of soda every day during lunch, joining the gang for smoking. Sigh. And a show is coming and I don't want to get any sicker.

So, I intend to take better care of myself. In an hour I will go to the drugstore and buy cough medicine. There's one brand called Colvan that always works for me, although I don't like its side effects. It makes my head drowsy and my throat tight. But better that than let this cough linger.

I will, however, tell you some great home remedies that work wonders.

Water. Drink lots of it. Ideally we all drink a liter a day. Drink more when suffering from colds and coughs.

Yakult. I don't know why it works, but it does. I think all the good bacteria in it kills off the virus. Try it.

Fruit. Any excuse to pig out on apples, pineapples, grapes, oranges, mangoes, or whatever your favorites are is good enough! Eat fruit even when you're not sick!

Unsweetened fruit juice. The sugar in most canned or bottled fruit juice will irritate your throat more, so to get your dose of vitamin C, choose unsweetened.

Rest. Get lots of it! Don't party too much during an illness. Avoid things like alcohol and smoke. For the time being.

Hot broth. The steam from hot broth seem to loosen tough sticky phlegm. While you're at it, soak in a steam bathtub or take a leisurely hot shower. Inhale that steam. It's good for you.

Prayer. Some sort of quiet time and meditation helps heal the body and the soul.

Now let me go take a dose of my own advice. I'll write soon when I get well.

Second half of 2012 Resolutions

Okay. I'm gonna be tough on myself. Here goes:

1. Quit smoking.

2. Drink more water, less soda.

3. Drink hot tea during lunch.

4. Write my morning pages; go on a planned artist date each week.

5. Read some Bible passages each day.

6. Truth, honesty, simplicity. No place for ego.

7. Watch more theatre.

8. Audition more.

9. Be honest to God in prayer, in everything.

10. Work-out every other day. Be it body weights or yoga.

11. Do breath and voice work daily, which means the exercises in Patsy Rodenburg's The Actor Speaks.

12. Share the gospel to at least one friend this year, to whom I've never shared it before.

13. Pray for that person's salvation and wait upon God for the perfect opportunity to share the gospel, and just go for it!

14. To listen intently to Veck and Dana, to be present with them.

15. To forgive myself if I miss anything in this list.