My Blog

              i am misjudge by a father of my classmate…Her father  accused me of being a lesbo. Not true! I act boyishly but i am not a lesbo! her father thought I am his daughter’s bf? hahaha,,,funny! no oh! but what makes it worse is her father misjudge me because of my residence! According to him, my location is where the nasty peoples live which mean i am a nasty person! hell no!! shocks! True, i live at such place but it doesn’t mean i am one of them!huhuhu…i am totally offended!

Sorry dear classmate of mine!

Lesson taken!

you can never make yourself beautiful,for someone can see through you! true or not! 

everyone has their different perception of you!

accept such critics for you to get aware of someones judgement of you and also for your own improveme

nt!

Dirty Hands by John P. Delaney S.J.

I’m proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough
and knobby and calloused. And I’m proud of the dirt and the knobs and
the callouses. I didn’t get them that way by playing bridge or drinking
afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the well-advertised Good
Samaritan at charity balls.

I got them that way by working with them, and I’m proud of the work
and the dirt. Why shouldn’t I feel proud od the work they do – these
dirty hands of mine?

My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truckdrivers and street
cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel.
They are not pretty hands, they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But
they are strong hands, hands that make so much that the world must have
or die.

Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all
the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored
knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. I’m proud of my dirty
hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such
hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the
hammer and the saw and the plane. His weren’t pretty hands either when
they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, and wielded carpenter’s
tools. They were workingman’s hands – strong, capable proud hands. And
weren’t pretty hands when the executioners got through them. They were
torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from
them, and the edges of the wounds were raw and dirty and swollen; and
the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute
appeal for love.

They weren’t pretty hands then, but, O God, they were beautiful –
those hands of the Savior. I’m proud of those dirty hands, hands of my
Savior, hands of God.

And I’m proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God!

We Have Become Untrue to Ourselves! By Felix B. Bautista

With all the force and vigor at my command, I contend that we have
relaxed our vigilance, that we have allowed ourselves to deteriorate. I
contend that we have lost our pride in the Philippines, that we no
longer consider it a privilege and an honor to be born a Filipino.

To the Filipino youth, nothing Filipino is good enough any more.
Even their Filipino names no longer suit them. A boy named Juan does
not care to be called Juanito anymore. No, he must be Johnny. A girl
named Virginia would get sore if she was nicknamed Viring or Biñang.
No, she must be Virgie or Ginny. Roberto has become Bobbie; Maria, Mary
or Marie.

And because they have become so Americanized, because they look down
on everything Filipino, they now regard with contempt all the things
that our fathers and our fathers’ fathers held dear. They frown on
kissing the hands of their elders, saying that it is unsanitary. They
don’t care for the Angelus, saying that it is old-fashioned. They
belittle the kundiman, because it is so drippingly sentinmental.

They are what they are today because their elders – their parents and
their teachers – have allowed them to be such. They are incongruities
because they cannot be anything else! And they cannot be anything else
because their elders did not know enough, or did not care enough to
fashion them and to mold them into the Filipino pattern.

This easing of the barriers that would have protected our
Filipinism, this has resulted in something more serious, I refer to the
de-Filipinization of our economic life.

Let us face it. Economically speaking, we Filipinos have become strangers in our own country.

And so, today, we are witnesses to the spectacle of a Philippines
inhabited by Filipinos who do not act and talk like Filipinos. We are
witnesses to the pathetic sight of a Philippines controlled and
dominated and run by non-Filipinos.

We have become untrue to ourselves, we have become traitors to the
brave Filipinos who fought and died so that liberty might live in the
Philippines. We have betrayed the trust that Rizal reposed on us, we
are not true to the faith that energized Bonifacio, the faith that made
Gregorio del Pilar cheerfully lay down his life at Tirad Pass.

"Hurt"

Seems like it was yesterday when I saw your face

You told me how proud you were but I walked away

If only I knew what I know today

I would hold you in my arms

I would take the pain away

Thank you for all you’ve done

Forgive all your mistakes

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do

To hear your voice again

Sometimes I want to call you but I know you won’t be there

I’m sorry for blaming you for everything I just couldn’t do

And I’ve hurt myself by hurting you

Some days I feel broke inside but I won’t admit

Sometimes I just want to hide ’cause it’s you I miss

You know it’s so hard to say goodbye when it comes to this

Would you tell me I was wrong?

Would you help me understand?

Are you looking down upon me?

Are you proud of who I am?

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do

To have just one more chance

To look into your eyes and see you looking back

I’m sorry for blaming you for everything I just couldn’t do

And I’ve hurt myself

If I had just one more day, I would tell you how much that

I’ve missed you since you’ve been away

Oh, it’s dangerous

It’s so out of line to try to turn back time

I’m sorry for blaming you for everything I just couldn’t do

And I’ve hurt myself

By hurting you

"father, this song suits us best…this is dedicated for you… i miss my father so much…hope to dream on him"