tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27021862772261746892024-03-13T06:55:40.632+08:00nella's journeysnellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-92119176251016112942012-11-01T15:04:00.001+08:002012-11-01T15:09:06.246+08:00Remembering the souls<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a_azXETBer4/UJIfDE736HI/AAAAAAAABHU/EX9xaMXoAtw/s1600/IMG_6342.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a_azXETBer4/UJIfDE736HI/AAAAAAAABHU/EX9xaMXoAtw/s400/IMG_6342.JPG" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>at Ormoc Memorial Garden</i></div>
<br />
<br />
When I am dead, my dearest,<br />
Sing no sad songs for me;<br />
Plant thou no roses at my head<br />
Nor shady cypress tree:<br />
Be the green grass above me<br />
With flowers and dew drops wet;<br />
And if thou wilt, remember,<br />
And if thou wilt, forget.<br />
<br />
I shall not see the shadows,<br />
I shall not feel the rain;<br />
I shall not hear the nightingale<br />
Sing on, as if in pain:<br />
And dreaming through the twilight<br />
That doth not rise nor set,<br />
Haply I may remember,<br />
And haply may forget.<br />
<br />
- C.G. Rossetti (1830-1894)<br />
t,</div>
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nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-34163227416262250112012-11-01T11:34:00.001+08:002012-11-01T11:44:56.620+08:00Moon over the river<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SwhA_olH6hk/UJHt0aMxqbI/AAAAAAAABHA/WG5K7o3nNzs/s1600/P4060147.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SwhA_olH6hk/UJHt0aMxqbI/AAAAAAAABHA/WG5K7o3nNzs/s400/P4060147.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
There will always be colors in nature<br />
that will never be captured by the camera<br />
yet will forever remain in our minds<br />
made perfect in the passing of time.</div>
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nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-12583665993828255102011-07-06T09:50:00.002+08:002011-07-06T22:18:02.514+08:00An exhortation<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xLfu6xbUSYE/ThO_wPk0i9I/AAAAAAAABDo/ymgOry98jlg/s1600/tabuk%252C%2Bkalinga.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xLfu6xbUSYE/ThO_wPk0i9I/AAAAAAAABDo/ymgOry98jlg/s400/tabuk%252C%2Bkalinga.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Father's Exhortation to His Children</span><br /><br />Ye are the temples of the Lord,<br />for ye are dearly bought;<br />and they that do defile the same,<br />shall surely come to nought.<br /><br />Possess not proud in any wise,<br />build not your house too high,<br />but have always before your eyes,<br />that ye be born to die.<br /><br />Defraud not him that hired is,<br />your labor to sustain;<br />but give him always out of hand,<br />his penny for his pain.<br /><br />And as you would that other men<br />against you should proceed,<br />do you the same to them again,<br />when they do stand in need.<br /><br />And part your portion with the poor,<br />in money or in meat;<br />and feed the fainted feeble soul,<br />with that which ye should eat.<br /><br />Ask counsel always at the wise,<br />give ear unto the end;<br />refuse not you the sweet rebuke<br />of him that is your friend.<br /><br />Be thankful always to the Lord,<br />with prayer and with praise,<br />Desiring him in all your works<br />for to direct your ways.<br /><br />-<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> a poem by Robert Smith</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-90773455690043051532011-04-05T10:48:00.004+08:002011-04-05T11:35:26.129+08:00Sunday at UP<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qVsn14H8_IE/TZqN43Y-9gI/AAAAAAAAA8U/rdOD7jaBNhk/s1600/IMG_6036.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qVsn14H8_IE/TZqN43Y-9gI/AAAAAAAAA8U/rdOD7jaBNhk/s400/IMG_6036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591937895414822402" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://localhost:1684/210885d2fe5722d09f3e871adc39aa3a/image/9ed8077e66717689.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://localhost:1684/210885d2fe5722d09f3e871adc39aa3a/image/9ed8077e66717689.jpg?size=400" border="0" /></a></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"> </div> This is how it looks like on Sundays at the University of the Philippines (UP), Diliman, Quezon City. Leisurely walk, jogging without the fumes, <em>isaw </em>at the side, no vehicular traffic amidst acacia trees that shelter the ground.<br /><br /> Me and my niece, Rae, walked from the house to UP for an hour, then another hour around UP. Our walk ended at the school's shopping mall where creamy shakes and <span style="font-style: italic;">Rodic's Tapsilog</span> felt tempting. It would have defeated our purpose of shedding off some weight if we succumbed to it. I guess fresh fruit shake of mango and lychees was okay. Anyway, i will just get myself bigger pants next time. :)<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VChKGluH51k/TZqEhoCLMXI/AAAAAAAAA8I/9k-JfdMAICc/s1600/IMG_6041.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VChKGluH51k/TZqEhoCLMXI/AAAAAAAAA8I/9k-JfdMAICc/s400/IMG_6041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591927600550982002" border="0" /></a>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-28303670990800671342011-01-16T22:19:00.001+08:002011-01-17T07:48:45.888+08:00theotokos<div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TTL-lWyvl3I/AAAAAAAAA4c/NrTLhHFzI-4/s1600/IMG_5500.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TTL-lWyvl3I/AAAAAAAAA4c/NrTLhHFzI-4/s400/IMG_5500.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(My first icon paintwork).<br /><br />I went to a place that felt like home<br />to learn and discover something new.<br />I did not realize that the process would challenge me<br />to face my own fears, limitations and insecurities.<br />With the fellowship of those others who journeyed with me,<br />I learned to muster myself<br />and just did what I had to do.<br />Thanks, guys.<br /><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-75056959266076117502010-06-30T10:17:00.000+08:002010-06-30T10:17:21.772+08:00just thinking...<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TCqpL_BgggI/AAAAAAAAA2g/diPd4chL_cQ/s1600/DSC01638.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TCqpL_BgggI/AAAAAAAAA2g/diPd4chL_cQ/s400/DSC01638.JPG" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-7815217490744122082010-06-10T21:53:00.000+08:002010-06-10T21:53:34.019+08:00missing trees<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TBDuWqzFy8I/AAAAAAAAA2A/sKNBKIHTsV0/s1600/IMG_2499.JPG"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TBDuWqzFy8I/AAAAAAAAA2A/sKNBKIHTsV0/s400/IMG_2499.JPG" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-46625447470860323802010-06-07T23:56:00.001+08:002010-06-08T00:27:30.342+08:00a rare saturday afternoon<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TA0Wl43sGoI/AAAAAAAAA0w/u2NciOcaaoc/s1600/IMG_2524.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TA0Wl43sGoI/AAAAAAAAA0w/u2NciOcaaoc/s400/IMG_2524.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px;"> </div>One day mama told me to plan and prepare lunch in celebration of the feast of San Isidro Labrador which we believed was also the fiesta at Coob. She said it was a good time to eat lunch with those who have been helping us at the farm all these years.<br /><br />That Saturday we went to the farm and placed all the food and stuff on an improvised table. The people came. They wondered and asked what the occasion was. We told them: it's the fiesta of Coob!<br /><br />They laughed and told us that <span style="font-style: italic;">it was</span> four days ago.<br />Hehehe.<br />An honest mistake.<br /><br />Anyway, we all ate and had a relaxing afternoon that day. A rare day.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/TA0aIjm90sI/AAAAAAAAA08/rmYmZvcfPTE/s1600/IMG_2498.JPG"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /></a>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-20391005020218051922010-04-08T23:26:00.004+08:002010-04-09T10:33:16.043+08:00autos<div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S731ppK5VfI/AAAAAAAAArs/zWGOKDt5vlc/s1600/frolics+2010.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S731ppK5VfI/AAAAAAAAArs/zWGOKDt5vlc/s400/frolics+2010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />This was at the school's car show. There were other cars there, as well as monster trucks. I don't know which vehicle won but that Spongebob cutie caught my eye as it's one of the favorite cartoon characters of my baby nephew, Yo.<br />That's Fr. Benigno Benabare, O.S.B. from the Abbey of Our Lady of Montserrat, Mendiola. A witty ninety-ner. :)<br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-68447052875577773412010-04-08T23:01:00.001+08:002010-04-08T23:05:48.390+08:00a quote<div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S73vzxDQU0I/AAAAAAAAArY/sMJdXFoxsXg/s1600/20532_104254636267289_100000482584201_115751_1668815_n.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S73vzxDQU0I/AAAAAAAAArY/sMJdXFoxsXg/s400/20532_104254636267289_100000482584201_115751_1668815_n.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><em>"I expect to pass through this life but once.<br />Therefore, if there be any kindness that I can show,<br />or any good thing that I can do (to another human being),<br />Let me do it now<br />for I shall not pass this way again."<br /></em><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">- William Penn</span></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-43450362028853339672010-01-24T18:02:00.007+08:002010-04-09T07:38:04.992+08:00... thank you<div style="text-align: justify;"><a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S75nMLfI0NI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/ECp0H5qHtYQ/s1600/Tolosa+2009.jpg"><br /></a><br /></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1wappd7sEI/AAAAAAAAAdU/BqDOAkmqOm4/s1600-h/Tolosa+2009+109.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; clear: both;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1wappd7sEI/AAAAAAAAAdU/BqDOAkmqOm4/s400/Tolosa+2009+109.jpg" border="0" /></a> Early morning walks with papa at the pacific side of Leyte.<br /><br />Little did I know that summer of 2009 would be the last series of walks I would have with papa before his stroke last July. I am truly grateful for his passion for the serene beach of Tolosa that makes us spend most of our vacation hours there rather than inside the secure and comforts of home. We practically grew up along that beach.<br /><br />Little did I know, too, that those walks would make me become more aware of the moods of the pacific ocean that is calm in the morning, moderate in the afternoon and turbulent at night.<br /><br />When Orvill Raines wrote about his impressions of the early morning mood of the pacific in Leyte, he never knew that the few marvelous glimpses of the calm pacific would just be a fleeting moment in his life as he would later fall victim of an air attack in 1945. The way he described it made me feel I was actually looking at what he was seeing that time.<br /><br />Orvill wrote about the calmness of the early morning pacific in one of his letters to his wife which is now compiled into a book titled Good Night Officially. He spoke of the pacific as something that looks like a mirror in the morning, very pacifying. No wonder it is called Pacific.<br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S75nMLfI0NI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/ECp0H5qHtYQ/s1600/Tolosa+2009.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S75nMLfI0NI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/ECp0H5qHtYQ/s400/Tolosa+2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457913257359102162" border="0" /></a> When I came to know that through Orvill, I became more aware of the moods of the pacific that I would often just sit on the fine sand and watch it especially in early mornings and late afternoons. Images of naval fleets darkening the horizon, the bloody beach of 1945, the campsite of the American troops, people waving happily at those foreigners who freed them, my mama (in her early childhood years then) and her sisters hoarding chocolates given out by the troops, especially from someone called Dale Thornton, one of the American soldiers serving in Tolosa, Leyte, would come alive as I linger at the seaside. Somehow spending quiet moments at the beach of Tolosa brings me back to those people who struggled for freedom, living uncomplicated lives and being very much grateful to those who have helped them.<br /><br />This may seem late but I would like to thank Mr. Thornton for taking care of mama especially at that time when she was very sick. We really do not know much about him but mama's fond memories of him gives a picture of a kind person who missed his family, especially his sister who seemed to resemble mama at that time. Most probably he may be dead by now but still we extend our gratitude to him for his kindness. He's a true hero for us. Thank you.<br /><br />Daghang salamat.<br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S75nMLfI0NI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/ECp0H5qHtYQ/s1600/Tolosa+2009.jpg"><br /></a><br /><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-81109042044235583572010-01-24T07:29:00.000+08:002010-01-24T07:29:36.856+08:00life never ends<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1uGX-IjJFI/AAAAAAAAAbM/Q76TuFbb2eY/s1600-h/Tolosa+2009+013.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1uGX-IjJFI/AAAAAAAAAbM/Q76TuFbb2eY/s400/Tolosa+2009+013.jpg" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-48023169293893341372010-01-18T11:29:00.003+08:002010-01-18T11:44:03.564+08:00getting a closer look<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1PXKpA7P3I/AAAAAAAAATk/6P_hcpD9A_M/s1600-h/IMG_2083.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1PXKpA7P3I/AAAAAAAAATk/6P_hcpD9A_M/s400/IMG_2083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427918553719979890" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1PVoPYRbEI/AAAAAAAAATc/eBjTKyxclvE/s1600-h/IMG_2090.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1PVoPYRbEI/AAAAAAAAATc/eBjTKyxclvE/s400/IMG_2090.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Taking time out to see more closely some of the little things that I oftentimes overlook.<br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-17793509774903030142010-01-10T07:21:00.014+08:002010-04-16T11:34:50.963+08:00Kalinga<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1CYtXQaBCI/AAAAAAAAATU/oGe8MO9yVxI/s1600-h/IMG_0089.JPG"><br /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1CXt84g6aI/AAAAAAAAATM/G3ojWc658gE/s1600-h/IMG_0087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1CXt84g6aI/AAAAAAAAATM/G3ojWc658gE/s200/IMG_0087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427004366674520482" border="0" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S0kPmBjTk5I/AAAAAAAAARk/kxhjxUuvxPo/s1600-h/IMG_0080.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; clear: both;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S0kPmBjTk5I/AAAAAAAAARk/kxhjxUuvxPo/s160/IMG_0080.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />These pictures were taken from inside the bus while going to Tabuk, Kalinga. Kalinga is a northern province of the Philippines that is known for its rice terraces. Even if we did not go to the rice terraces, we got to taste its organic brown rice that was locally grown and manually milled.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Kalinga</span> in tagalog refers to caring like how a good parent takes care of a child. Its meaning is so endearing that its root word was adapted to name a government center that caters to the problem or problematic Filipino youth: Lingap.<br /><br />Growing up with this definition of kalinga, it may come as a surprise to you that the meaning of kalinga (pronounced as kaling-ga) in the mountain province means the exact opposite. It refers to head hunters.<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1CYtXQaBCI/AAAAAAAAATU/oGe8MO9yVxI/s1600-h/IMG_0089.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S1CYtXQaBCI/AAAAAAAAATU/oGe8MO9yVxI/s200/IMG_0089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427005456085812258" border="0" /></a>The people in the northern province of Luzon used to be warring tribes that went after each other's heads, literally. For this, the Igorots, who were enemies of the Kalingas gave them that name.<br /></div><br />So, kalinga up north means head takers, while kalinga down south means "head keepers."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><br /></a>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-1048842114368633712010-01-10T06:38:00.001+08:002010-01-10T06:46:21.063+08:00untitled<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S0kFbR8YEfI/AAAAAAAAARc/-kV_bvctxRc/s1600-h/IMG_0037.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S0kFbR8YEfI/AAAAAAAAARc/-kV_bvctxRc/s400/IMG_0037.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-52347040088186094572010-01-03T15:17:00.001+08:002010-01-10T06:45:10.725+08:00another year<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S0BEqU0kxaI/AAAAAAAAAP8/hK9QCC8uVD8/s1600-h/May20091.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/S0BEqU0kxaI/AAAAAAAAAP8/hK9QCC8uVD8/s400/May20091.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-1199896930936548062009-12-31T22:26:00.001+08:002010-01-10T06:50:43.476+08:00frying<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szy0vaXccYI/AAAAAAAAAPw/nOw3jZzjlQ4/s1600-h/nagluto+sa+gabii.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szy0vaXccYI/AAAAAAAAAPw/nOw3jZzjlQ4/s400/nagluto+sa+gabii.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>My sister asked me to fry the luncheon meat as the kids will not eat the <em>paksiw na isda.</em> When the kids saw I was opening a can of Spam, they gave me an ear-to-ear grin and waited eagerly for me to finish frying. If there is anything I detest about cooking, it is frying. It's like there's a missile attack from the hot cooking oil that sends me cowering off for cover. Also, after frying, there seems to be more oil out of the pan than in it which means more time for cleaning is needed before I get my own dinner. I forgot that Spam is already oily and can be fried in its own oil. That way, I wouldn't have been under attack.<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-66858779249721550182009-12-31T22:09:00.003+08:002010-01-10T06:47:37.409+08:00Budbod<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szywi1wuQdI/AAAAAAAAAPo/Z-S83QN_qJ8/s1600-h/nagluto+sa+gabii1.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szywi1wuQdI/AAAAAAAAAPo/Z-S83QN_qJ8/s320/nagluto+sa+gabii1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Budbod: glutinous rice wrapped in banana leaves. The process for making this is quite tedious but it's worth it. From cutting, cleaning and heating the banana leaves; selecting, hacking, grinding and pressing the coconut; cleaning, soaking and cooking the <em>pilit</em> <em>or malagkit</em> (glutinous rice); to its scooping, wrapping, tying and recooking until done... yes, it takes hours but as I said, it is worth it.<br /><br />By theory, I know how it is done. But by practice... I can help. But as to actually making it myself... it's bound to be a disaster. </div><div style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-4369135731491037382009-12-31T21:54:00.002+08:002010-01-10T06:48:15.232+08:00Chak-chak's pix<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzytGY9hy-I/AAAAAAAAAPg/FPlO8debfl4/s1600-h/kids%27+pix2.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzytGY9hy-I/AAAAAAAAAPg/FPlO8debfl4/s400/kids%27+pix2.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><p align="center">at home </p><div style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-28444432871293797422009-12-31T21:40:00.003+08:002011-01-17T14:52:55.525+08:00kids<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szyp4Qk94SI/AAAAAAAAAPY/Wl7lGtbVI7s/s1600-h/december+2009+ormoc2.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szyp4Qk94SI/AAAAAAAAAPY/Wl7lGtbVI7s/s400/december+2009+ormoc2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Kids grow up so fast. The last time I saw these kids, they all seem to look so chubby. That was about 5 months ago. Now, home for the holidays, they look leaner and taller. But they are still the mischievous, naughty, playful yet sensitive kids that I know. I sometimes wonder if the next time I come to visit home, they will all look so grown up and act like grown ups - being more shy and "diplomatic" as they become more sensitive to grown-up moods. It is evident that we do need to grow up. But still, life would be more interesting if we nurture that child-like character in us that never ceases to wonder and embrace life with open arms.<br /><br />This reminds me of a story I heard back in my high school sophomore year.<br /><br />There were three friends who won a free Safari trip. Upon reaching Africa, the first one complained of the heat, the smell and the sight. The second took a glance, shrugged her shoulders, yawned and said, "Ok, this is Africa." The third, upon seeing Africa for the first time, exclaimed, "Ahhhh! I am finally here! I can't wait to see what is in Africa!"<br /><br />Throughout their 5 day stay, the first one kept on complaining about the services, the people, the facilities and anything that came across her way. The second always looked around with an air of indifference, not minding about what was going on, not caring to know more, thinking that everything is the same and uninteresting. The third, on the other hand, was always curious to find out more about the land and its people, their ways and preferences, their music and everything else. She knew that this trip was a once-in-a-lifetime offer and may not be duplicated anymore. She talked to the people, tasted their food, observed attentively the animals in their habitat, learned simple survival rules in the wild. But in spite of her lively and ever-curious attitude, she remained polite and good natured. Because of her goodness, she was well liked by those who met her.<br /><br />Finally their 5 day stay was over. They went back to their homes and were met by their friends and family.<br /><br />Each was asked a similar question, "How was the trip?"<br /><br />The first complained endlessly. The second let out a yawn, shrugged her shoulders and in an uninteresting tone replied, "It went well." The third smiled broadly and described with much <span style="font-style: italic;">gusto</span> her experiences in Africa. Everyone listened attentively to her and they felt alive and interested to visit Africa upon hearing her.<br /><br />After we heard the story, we were asked, "Which character do you like best? Why?"<br /><br />Definitely, most of us liked the third traveller. Later, I came to realize that the three characters are in us. But I wonder which among these three characters are more evident in us.<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-50342453914770388982009-12-30T09:57:00.002+08:002010-01-10T06:50:05.026+08:00a flower in mama's garden<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzqznK61QXI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/tweBXsp9alo/s1600-h/IMG_1854.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzqznK61QXI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/tweBXsp9alo/s400/IMG_1854.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Mama likes to see flowers in her garden. When we were young and had no garden hose yet at that time, we would run to and fro from the faucet to the garden with our pail of water and watering cans. The garden was too spacious for me that I would often detest "watering time." Because I did not like the job, I did not appreciate the garden that much. It's different now that I am older.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-7005567881987595092009-12-30T09:45:00.004+08:002010-04-16T12:15:50.592+08:00Breakfast in Tolosa<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szqw0U7ImQI/AAAAAAAAAPI/1WVECkKN1qQ/s1600-h/Tolosa+2009+021.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/Szqw0U7ImQI/AAAAAAAAAPI/1WVECkKN1qQ/s400/Tolosa+2009+021.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />This is a typical breakfast venue at the house of my aunt where everyone goes out to the garden and eat. Here you see mama, auntie meling, uncle sixto and papa. That unused plate is mine.<br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-21759276518264434232009-12-29T13:48:00.002+08:002010-01-10T06:49:43.473+08:00ang pagluto og paniudto<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzmYMLTi2EI/AAAAAAAAAPA/nCAN0pOeoZk/s1600-h/kids%27+pix.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzmYMLTi2EI/AAAAAAAAAPA/nCAN0pOeoZk/s400/kids%27+pix.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>Dili lalim magluto og 3 ka putahe sa sulod sa 2 ka oras lang labi na kung kana siya dinuguan, eskabeche og linat-an nga ribs. Samut na kung ang tinae limpyohanan pa, ang bukog frozen pa ug ang isda nga lutuonon wala pa miabot.<br /><br />Mao na na ang nahitabo gahapon. Pero maski sa sobrang kapuliki, mihunong sa ko para pagkuha og picture. Hehehehe. Pilipino jud: picture-picture.<br /><br />Dili ko mosuwat og recipe diri. Basaha nalang ninyo sa recipe book.<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-30798913295701824252009-12-29T13:08:00.002+08:002010-01-10T06:51:05.836+08:00sally's pix<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzmO2fpbqfI/AAAAAAAAAO4/S1f9bsBvzbw/s1600-h/kids%27+pix1.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzmO2fpbqfI/AAAAAAAAAO4/S1f9bsBvzbw/s400/kids%27+pix1.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2702186277226174689.post-77925750299178852342009-12-28T09:05:00.006+08:002010-01-10T06:51:34.799+08:00playing with waytee<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzgF3BMaswI/AAAAAAAAAOw/imPrJbPtzmo/s1600-h/May2009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 214px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420088594311852802" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzgF3BMaswI/AAAAAAAAAOw/imPrJbPtzmo/s320/May2009.jpg" border="0" /></a>Before Papa had his stroke last July, he used to play with Waytee.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Five months later, I still find him and Waytee getting along pretty well.<br />There has always been a dog in the house ever since I can remember.<br />Each dog having a character of its own, just like people.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzgFSwDxTGI/AAAAAAAAAOo/3jxD7MvN_AA/s1600-h/december+2009+ormoc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 214px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420087971236891746" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Ue8ykxnkTR8/SzgFSwDxTGI/AAAAAAAAAOo/3jxD7MvN_AA/s320/december+2009+ormoc.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div style="text-align: center; clear: both;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>nellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15566134954193826483noreply@blogger.com0