my mother’s faith

to my dearest mother
to my dearest mother



Despite losing Papa, you remained strong for us all. I am very proud of you. Your strength holds us all together. There’s so much to say about who you are, how you’ve fought for life and how you brought us all up. My children will inherit your love and your examples.

I love you Ma.


worry box

what's in your worry box?
what’s in your worry box?

What’s in your box? Fear of acceptance? Need to belong? Aim for perfection? Are you tired of being criticized? Does your pride overpower your ability of being modest? Are you afraid of commitment? Do you sometimes wish that others be put to blame instead? Have you quit on trusting? Have you stopped caring?

Does your attitude in life lead you to being positive? Are you ashamed of your past? Are you haunted by your own shadow and guilt? Is your disposition firm or affected by others? Does your behavior define your inner self?

I do, I am, and yes I have them all. And I feel tired. These uncomfortable feelings make me sick. I want them all out in the open. For I have decided once and for all; that I must change.

All of us have a list of goals. But these things in our box seem to work against our way to achievement. If in all your life you fought for and considered others, maybe it’s time you tell yourself, that “It’s not always about them; at one point it should be about me”. Goals are achieved only; if we are ready to conquer our fears and worries.

What keeps you?

faded footprints

who cares about my rights?
who cares about my rights?

In one of my project researches; I came across an old man, about 64 years old; I can tell by his looks that he just had a long and tiring day. In his right hand was the rope to control his cow; in his left hand was a crumpled paper bag, with some tiny vegetables; some of them overflow and I noticed that the sizes were irregular so I asked, “what are those for?”  “oh, these are for my children” he replied. He couldn’t help but say “I know you are wondering why I chose these for my family, yet I am a farmer” I smiled at him; and gave him a soft pat on his left shoulder.

As I walked with him, he told me the story of his farm, the way he works from 4:30 in the morning till sundown and that the harvests he had; produced him a teacher and a soon to be -engineer. He has 5 children; 3 of them still in grade school. The best of his produce her wife sells everyday, not in the market because they could not afford the space lease. Her wife would walk with a basket in her right hand; and another balanced over her head, 8 kilometer walk; everyday. We talked about life. How easy it was then; how hard it is now.

As this fast paced life chokes him; when asked about his rights, he replied “no one cares”.

The embarrassment choked me as well. I am not a politician nor a somebody who can give him solutions. Solutions that not only he longed to have.

As we look around; we see hopeless looks defined through various expressions on faces, we smell the ghastly scent of frustration, we sense the heat of anger. This is a universal trauma, but who cares, who really does care?

I asked the man if he could get involved by sharing his thoughts; he said “nobody would listen, I have no right to speak my mind”.

He gets tired and gets hurt everyday. Because nobody told him he has the right.

He does not know that in every piece of his harvests, he pays taxes. In every thread of his sweat; he is not only raising his family; he is part of the growth of the community. But nobody told him, because as he said – nobody cares.

We pay taxes everyday, our children does not know that they do too. In every centavo we give them, part of it goes to the government. In every peso or whatever currency we get our wages,  after the long and tiring work; percentage has already been deducted to pay our rulers, our supposed leaders. Yet look at where we are.

The footprints of those who fought for our freedom; the footprints of our culture, the footprints of our history.

No one preserved; so our children could learn and be led by them.

The leaders that we have; our tiny voices that could have been heard through them; all eaten by corruption, all buried in shame.

Leaders come and go;

others remembered, some forgotten,

one thing they commonly did

was to formulate promises

and in the end

accept the shame of its compromises.


main photo credit:
Shashank Kapur

caption by: dgad