I am a person who welcomes change on a daily basis. This 2015, I have learned so many things: nothing is permanent, life won’t give you what you expect, and if you hold on to the little sands in your hands, you might not be able to move mountains. Since I’m rapidly on my way to being 30 in the next hundred days, my immature, fragile and child-like self is forcefully propelled into being an adult. It’s an insane transformation; I am still stuck into confusion whether I should be this or that, but while I can’t determine who I am now, I can say I am better than before.

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But sometimes, I look back at myself and then smile at that person. She has been beautiful. She was a lot afraid; anxious, most of the time. But she had a big heart. She was content with the little things, that surprisingly, she was slowly given something greater. If I was a different person, I’d like to embrace her and tell her I am proud of what she’s done.

Now, I feel I’m braver. I’m ready to be soiled and ready to crush things with my foot. I am also reckless, and it is not until today that I realized I have played with things I deemed harmless. I forgot my gear.

Thus, an apology.

About Bitching A Bit

It has been clear to me that the more I feel experienced about things, the more I feel I can bitch about it. Earlier this morning, I taught kids a song for their next Sunday performance. Nothing new; I’ve been doing this since what, 2008 and probably earlier. But something triggered my raspy side. Maybe it’s because the kids sing like they think they knew the song. It’s shirking and provocative, really, listening to them shouting at the top of their lungs, ahead of the notes, trying to look like know-it-alls.

My stricter side got the best of me and we repeated the song over and over, stopping whenever I hear someone making a mistake. Call me terror! Call me B!

But as I am writing this, I realized that none of the kids know how to actually sing properly. All of them are self-taught, trying their best to accompany the music, warbling the words. This is a new experience for them. Sure, I let them taste a bit of my sour supremacy, but then I feel touched that this is an opportunity for them to just enjoy.

I still remember days when I just allow one or two practices for the kids. Three is too much. Not only am I worried that they’d be satiated with the whole practice, but the joy and heart won’t be there. It’ll be forced.

And so, I want to learn to balance both:  to teach the kids the right way, and let them have fun doing so. After all, a good teacher is all about a meaningful experience. Nothing in this world is all about logic; most of the times, it’s striking the right chords in the human soul.

That is what I want to do.

See you next Sunday, little lovelies.


The Weekend Closing: Celebrating the doors we need to close to get to the ones we need to open.