Living my 3rd life from last year

I almost died twice last year and many times figuratively while doing the things I love- running and advocacy.

What a way to start the year?

Since we’re at it. I looked back at my 2015 and realized how blessed I had been. I received countless blessings in many ways- the loyalty and love of old friends; and the acceptance and care of new ones. A new job where I get to do what I’ve always loved doing which is development work and advocacy with the bonus of being surrounded by intellectually stimulating and inspiring people. I was able to get back to running and joining races despite my Hashimoto Syndrome with the add on of winning an ultra marathon, being with the Powerpuff Boys in team races, qualifying for the Milo Marathon and an ultra- trail race.

 

I also got the chance to revive my former life of writing poetry, blogging and being in touch with music. My family of course has always been my anchor and my source of proper perspective, support and unconditional love.

With all those, I’d like to zero in on I guess one of the biggest blessings one could receive- the chance to continue exploring this journey that is life and escaping death.

In retrospect I realized that I’ve had two near-death experiences and many of the sort in a figurative sense or close to it like being hit by a wild car while running or falling off the cliff while doing a trail run, choking, heart break, hopelessness.

 

PLANE CRASH- ALMOST

Before the APEC summit, I had to go to General Santos for an official assignment and I thought that I had the good opportunity to miss the deadly traffic in Manila but little did I know that I’d be brought closer to a real kind of dying.

The first bad sign which was less unusual was my flight being delayed for hours. It was a sigh of relief when I finally got on the plane until after 30 minutes when the old lady sitting next to me grabbed my hand and cried loudly out of fear after we felt like hitting a gigantic wall and our plane drastically descended.

I could hear screams, cries, prayers and exasperation from the passengers. It was like the longest five minutes. I pretended to be strong for the woman who seemed depending on me for confidence but deep inside I was dying in fear. I stopped myself from crying even if I was overwhelmed with anxiety and surrender. In those few minutes I uttered probably one of the most meaningful prayers I’ve made. I asked the Lord for forgiveness, thanked him for everything and prayed for my family and friends. My mind wandered as fast as my heartbeat. I imagined how it would be if I go, of who would take care of my family and the Christmases I’d miss. I realized that fear and sadness were a dangerous concoction. It’s like a bitter cup of coffee brewing inside my chest that coursed through my veins. When the chaos had settled, I heard a cry again, the woman beside me telling me that she didn’t want to die for the sake of her grandchildren… then I cried.

DEADLY DEAD MAN TRAIL RUN

The second wave at death one was the Dead Man’s Trail race. I should've taken the name of the event as a warning. Let me clarify that the organizer was not in any way at fault with what happened to me. They’ve organized the race very well and made sure that all of us would be safe. It was all me. I was an irresponsible runner. I brought a head lamp without checking its batteries, wore a pair of shoes that I knew wasn’t designed for a trail run and didn’t get any sleep the night before.

 

It was a spur of the moment decision to join the race. A friend of mine who was registered got injured one week before the race and asked me to join instead. I got excited and said yes. I thought I could take my time and enjoy the race; that I’ve done other ultra-trail runs anyway so I should be fine.

I got in the race area floating due to lack of sleep. Since we were a bit late and I still had to get my race kit, I wasn’t able to listen to the instructions and reminders. For someone who has no sense of direction, it was the best formula for a disaster.

The race started. I was running at a steady pace with my flickering headlamp. The road was rough but was manageable until Km. 10 when I couldn’t see anything anymore. I had to wait for some friends who might be willing to adapt me and share their light with me until the sun shows up. I found Benj Termulo, Bong Bernadez and company. They were kind enough to run with a parasite runner. They helped me survive that ordeal.

So there was morning. I kept on running. I’d meet and run with a few runners in some parts of the route but practically ran all by myself most of the time. I was doing ok until I got lost the first in countless times in the entire race, the major one was making a four-km loop! J I still remember the reaction of the marshal being so surprised seeing me twice in that same part of the race.

The race was very unpredictable. It would get really hot or would rain, ridges were slippery, I fell badly on a rock while crossing the hundredth river J (felt that way), could not eat anymore due to acidity but I continued. I was determined to finish until it was dark and it snatched all visibility and courage I could muster. It happened when I was going through an unbelievable slope with nothing you could hold on to for support. I was sliding. I’d use my old Nokia phone’s light to check the route ahead of me and move, stop and check again and move and so on and so forth until I decided to stop somewhere and wait for friends who were still behind me.

It was pitch black, the silence was creeping and the thought of dangers that could possibly happen was lethal. I could die there, I knew it. If I made a wrong move and fell off the cliff, I’d be gone or it could be of dehydration since I already ran out of water and had to get from the river I wasn’t even sure was clean or the river with the water level rising and current intensifying could just sweep me away.

It was a moment when you could not cry because you’re too afraid and focused on how to get out of being stuck. Worry was an understatement. Maybe that’s only applicable to the breakfast meeting with our Country Director no less the following day and my presentation needing some revisions.

I met my friends and felt relieved but we got lost too because of darkness and because some of the ribbons that should have served as our guide were taken by some locals. When I saw the organizers along the way, I cried. It was the only time I did because I knew I already could.

Tears can be suspended I realized. Fear and sadness can be expressed in various ways that are not necessarily harmful.

These two instances made me love life even more and live it to the fullest; to be the best version of me, to know what would truly make me happy, pursue and fight for it; to value what’s given me no matter how big or small; and to treat everyone with respect.

I became more grateful of the gift of running; of people around me; of the job I have; of the chance to help others through my job; of the freedom I enjoy; of the gifts I was granted; and of life itself. 


The way to stay alive is to never lose hope and that strong determination to fight despite the difficulties and pain we face on a daily basis. The uncertainty that existence offers can be our source of anxiety or a reason to be ecstatic and see the unpredictability as something exciting. We rise and fall. It's about taking calculated risks.

Life is short and random therefore I try to make each moment count so that if anything happens anytime, I’d have no regrets.

Let there be more “oh wells” than “what ifs.”

Happy New Year! YOLO!

 

 

 

Fangay's Confession, Rebel's Reflections

It’s been almost seven months since I became a Rebel; since I became a fan girl; since many things have changed; since I transformed to someone I never realized I’d be. Today I took time to reflect on how the experience has been and realized many things which I thought I could summarize in a few words. Being a rebel has proven how life can be full of delightful surprises; that life can be random and there is no template to being happy or dealing with a difficult situation. It had given me a breath of fresh air and led me to discover the other side of me that I never knew existed but I loved.
 

It started when my Mama asked me about The Rich Man’s Daughter over family lunch. She said it’s a good show and I should see it. That promotion was brought up in between talks about heartbreaks and moving on. It registered but I wasn’t so excited but checked it as soon as I got home.

The days were dark when I started watching TRMD. Post-arguments, I’d settle in one corner, watch the show that opened the door to my escape from the excruciating daily struggle to hold on which in no time had to go. Before I could wallow in depression and count the tears I shed, I found myself pre- occupied with enjoying TRMD and RaStro. It represented the agony I was experiencing and somehow turned my eyes to looking at the beauty of love rather than focus on the pain which was part of loving but I didn’t have to be lethal as how I’d usually handle it. It stole the chance for me to embrace sadness.

I remember my family and friends who were so worried about how I was dealing with that huge change and were so surprised with how I’d be all smiling. Some of them either doubted my sincerity in the relationship, the truth in the rumors or thought I was just pretending to be happy.

I couldn’t blame them. I didn’t expect that quick recovery as well and I could not attribute it to anything else but the fandom. The show of course started it all and had been a huge factor in the moving on journey but it eventually became more about the fandom – the kind of deep and shallow conversations; the fun, the talent, the solidarity that I witnessed and proud to be part of.

I was able to brush aside negative text messages and posts because I was busy participating in the twitter party that my Daddy initially thought was a real party that I do every night to overcome sadness. He called, was worried of me going out every night since my Mama told him I was in a party regularly.

I had to explain it was just a twitter party of the fandom J 

I never felt being alone even if somebody left and something was gone.

I never realized I’d be so drawn to celebrities and to a show or that I’d spend so much time and enjoy being in a fandom. It’s something that never occurred to me; a strange thing that I was glad unfolded.

Being a Rebel was fresh. I used to be skeptical about meeting people online, more, that these virtual encounters could lead to meaningful friendships but the fandom proved me wrong.

I’ve met Rebels, comfortably talked to them online even if I haven’t seen them yet considering that their DPs didn’t show their faces. It was natural and when we met in person, the bond just got deeper. It may sound weird to others but in the fandom, there is connection in the way we rejoice and mourn over the same thing; how we’d argue but also unite when necessary. It’s real. We had the same dreams and that dream transcend differences in age, social status, political views, etc.

Thank you Team Bahay for the logo

 

If we were a nation, we’d probably one of the most developed ones because we look at the same direction, work towards the same goal and are willing to disregard conflict, offer and share our gifts and talents; laugh when necessary and just do anything we can for the sake of the goal, RaStro and the fandom.

I can go on and on talking about this wonderful experience of being a fangirl but to cap this off, I’d say, I like myself better now and a bug part of it is being in the fandom.

Thank you RaStro, thank you Rebels! J