At Least One More Before 2017 Ends!

Good evening readership! A thousand apologies for the holdup since last month. Unfortunately, work and school took over for the second half of 2017, and I couldn't update any content on this blog, subsequently.

I owe y'all another big update. I've recently finished my first online semester with George Mason University, and that frees up time to write more in spite of what little time I have left until 2018 starts (along with the next class I have to take in the spring semester). In addition, I've successfully uploaded my application for graduate school; please keep me in your prayers for that.

I've got a ton of new adventures coming up next year, by the way...

On the last week of January, I'll be going on a trip to the Philippines to visit family. It'll be the shortest time I'll be spending in my island home due to work, but I'll be sure to make the most of it! As an added bonus, my penny-pinching self decided to take the cheapest flight home, resulting in the 15-hour, home-bound layover in Seoul; that might make for an interesting blog post.

Currently in development is a trip to Pittsburgh. I'll be visiting the Byzantine Catholic Seminary there for a personal tour/retreat there. More to follow...

Short as it is, that's all I've been up to so far. I'll be rolling out more writing sooner than you think! See ya!

Persons of Interest! #6: Sergeant Roman O. Briones, USA, Ret. (1919-2002)

I haven't done a POI post in a while, but I'd like to give a shout-out to a family member today.

That's him circled in red. Maraming salamat to my Silva cousins back in the Philippines! :D

Meet Roman Ona Briones, my great-uncle. He was born in the Philippines in 1919 as the United States was recovering from the First World War. He enlisted in the Philippine Constabulary sometime prior to the U.S. entry into World War II. Shortly after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the Constabulary was incorporated into the U.S. Army, and Lolo (that's the Tagalog word for grandfather) Roman found himself assigned to an military police unit.

With the Japanese invasion of the Philippines, Lolo Roman participated in the defense of his homeland, seeing action in Manila and Bataan. He was later taken prisoner and was forced to undergo the Bataan Death March. During his imprisonment, he contracted malaria, and--to my surprise when I was checking his records--was released by the Japanese as a civilian, apparently "discharged" from military duty. However, for him and many other Filipinos, the war was far from over.

When the opportunity presented itself, Roman Briones became a guerilla fighter and resumed his fight against the Japanese army, eventually surviving the war to see the liberation of his homeland. By war's end, he made the rank of technical sergeant (a sergeant first class in today's U.S. Army) and earned four awards. He continued his military service in the Philippines shortly after the islands were given their independence and ranked up to first sergeant prior to his retirement. Afterwards, he lived out his retirement before he passed away in 2002.

I heard about Lolo Roman shortly after I myself had enlisted in the Army Reserve. A cousin of mine mailed his records to my house; from those records, I read his story and saw all his achievements during his service. Although I never got to know him, I now appreciate his service and that of all who served during arguably the world's greatest conflict to date. As we observe Veterans Day, let us all find inspiration and hope in the sacrifices our veterans and current service members have made.

Refresher Week!

I get to relax for once!

As I sit here awaiting Game 3 of the 2017 World Series, I reflect on a remarkably productive week. I decided to arrange my agenda into a schedule for once (I know, I was ridiculously disorganized up until this point. I'm surprised I've made it so far in that state). It's amazing to see how one little change could relieve so much stress over daily errands!

I'm more or less caught up on my online classes and I'm anxious to get this semester over with. At the same time, I'm doing some finishing touches on my graduate school application and I hopefully will get that in by early November. I'm excited to begin a new chapter at my old university.

I'm starting to get the hang of adulting a bit. I'm slowly but surely learning to handle my own resources and prioritize my errands. I'm actually becoming less worried about the money in my pocket, and I pray I never let that become my idol. Quick shoutout to my parents for helping me on the way for the past couple decades!

I had a blast going to a couple of Halloween parties this week. I decided to use an old costume idea from a few years ago:

They said I could be anything, so I became an internet meme...

This morning, I went to Confession for spiritual refreshment. In addition, I called up the vocations director for the Melkite Eparchy of Newton, Father John Azar. More to come in later posts...

In summa, I loved this week. There wasn't anything significantly bad about it, and I feel much better than with previous recent weeks. It's a bunch of little things, but it's a bunch that made a positive impact. It's the little blessings that God rains upon us each and every single day.

"Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." --Matthew 6:34

Falling Roses

I woke up this morning and checked my news feed. First item I see is a post about a mass shooting at a Jason Aldean concert at Las Vegas. At work, I watch news coverage about this tragedy; it pained my heart seeing the footage of gunfire erupting onto the crowds. With more than fifty dead and hundreds more wounded, today has shaken me to the core.

I mourn those lost, and I extend my sympathy and prayers to their loved ones. To save a portion of your life to be with those you love only to witness them being taken away is senseless and outrageous. It is absolutely unfair for that joy to be taken away.

As I sit in my room writing in silence, I reflect on the movement of the souls present on that day. Joyful souls celebrating with those they loved. A disturbed soul moved to inflict death and sorrow. The joyful souls turning to fear and anxiety when the pain is wrought. And brave souls pouring in to protect the helpless.

In the midst of sorrow and rage in the aftermath of the attack, I stress that we do not forget the love pouring in that night. I want to extend thanks to the first responders who came in to provide safety and security for the victims; these are people to look to as inspiration. In spite of the darkness covering that event, there were people who came to serve as beacons of love showering hope upon everyone. From first responders to those calling in and praying to ensure their loved ones' safety, many acts of love were committed that day in response to the gunman's singular act of hatred.

I'm not writing to debate gun control or any issue related to this. I reflect on the trial of human suffering; in spite of the worst that can be brought out of humanity, it can never truly quench the good that can come out of those willing to sacrifice for others. In the midst of tragedy and suffering exemplified by the recent hurricanes and last night's attack, never lose your focus on the good, little as it may seem.

"I will spend my heaven doing good on earth. I will let fall a shower of roses." --St. Therese of Lisieux

I found it fitting to use this quote from St. Therese, as her feast day was just yesterday. In her short life, she committed numerous little acts of love that nonetheless impacted her family, her congregation, and ultimately, the Church. Her "Little Way" serves as a model for those who might think their little good cannot overcome the evils in this world. As long as there is commitment to Love, hatred and evil cannot conquer us. In the midst of evil, let fall your roses.

Thank You, Chester.

I was driving back home, with my phone hooked via AUX cord, and this song started playing:

I haven't delved deep enough into Linkin Park's music enough to consider myself a fan, but, in light of Chester Bennington's passing (as late as this post may be), I wanted to share how this particular song brought closure to one of the darkest chapters in my life.

Waiting for the end to come
Wishing I had strength to stand
This is not what I had planned
It's out of my control

A year prior to the release of Linkin Park's A Thousand Suns (the album in which this song is found), I was facing multiple struggles in my first semester of high school. I couldn't maintain consistency in my studies, and I was struggling to make passing grades in a couple of my classes. To make matters worse, I let myself become the victim of bullying and harassment; I was making an idiotic spectacle of myself in front of my peers, no matter how many times I tried to stand up for myself. It was only the first semester of my freshman year, and I was already being caught up in the storm of high school drama.

What was left when that fire was gone?
I thought it felt right but that right was wrong
All caught up in the eye of the storm
And trying to figure out what it's like moving on
And I don't even know what kind of things I said
My mouth kept moving and my mind went dead

The breaking point came towards the end of that semester. I had been chatting with a classmate on Facebook regarding one of the students who had been bullying me, but misunderstandings led to argument, and it escalated to the point where I, in a fit of uncontrolled rage, sent online threats to peers who I suspected of sympathizing with the bullies. At that point, I felt like the world was falling apart and collapsing on me, and that decision threw me into confusion and self-doubt. I regretted my decision and deleted the filth I had posted up, but the deed had been done.

Soon after, the incident had been reported to the school, and I was subsequently withdrawn from the student roll, a de facto expulsion. The story spread to the other schools in the area; I had to move to a new district, as my family feared backlash from students who heard about this. In addition, I had to be placed in psych rehab for about a month before I was considered fit to go back to school.

I was completely shattered by what I had done, mentally and spiritually. I quietly contemplated suicide while I languished in a sea of regret and helplessness. I didn't see any reason to keep going in life; I felt forever marked by this sin I had committed.

So I'm picking up the pieces, now where to begin
The hardest part of ending is starting again

Thank God for a wonderful family I was born into. My parents, in spite of the gravity of the situation, never gave up on me. They worked their butts off finding a new school for me and constantly kept me in their prayers, taking me to see Jesus Himself in the Adoration chapel at St. Catherine's in Glenview. Whatever friends I had left after the incident encouraged me to move on, maintaining my resolve to reform and strengthen myself.


Of all the regret and despair that had flooded my mind during my freshman year, I still had some residue of in spite of successfully finding a new environment to thrive in. "What if it happens again next year? What would I do then?" I still had more questions even after that issue had been resolved (on the surface, at least).

It was then that I stumbled onto this song while I was watching a couple of music videos on TV. The message from Waiting For The End struck deep into my heart. I wasn't alone in struggles such as what I went through. There is hope even in the deepest pitfalls of life. Life in general will be hard and trying, but you can push through, with the added bonus of a support group.

It's been almost eight years since that life event, and I still feel the effects, though in a different light. Though I had been broken down to the core, I found an opportunity to grow and learn from my mistakes. I have a more positive outlook on life; I carry my crosses, but I know it doesn't end on Calvary. Am I still struggling? Of course I am, and life will drag on with such, but at least I know I'm not alone and that I can always reach out for even the tiniest spark of hope.

For those of you who may be struggling right now, I hope this little piece of mine helps, shoddy as it is. If you or someone you know may be contemplating taking your own life, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255; that one call could turn the tide of your life.

To conclude this post: Thank you, Chester. Your music saved this life and countless others; may your work continue to impact lives around the world.

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No Such Thing as a "True Copy"

While I was studying for my digital humanities course this semester, I came across an interesting article entitled, "Building Meaning in Digitized Photographs". It feels a bit strange to write about an academic work in a casual blog like this, but what I read had me thinking about a personal issue many of us have encountered at least once in our life.

Cutting to the chase, the author, Paul Conway, talks about the implications surrounding the digitization of images. Conway brings to question whether or not these digital copies are true and equal to the analog originals from which they were taken. He then draws various examples of different copying methods and analyzes how "true" these copies are to the originals. In spite of advancements in digitization technology, Conway concluded that digitized images were--to some extent--altered copies of their originals and thus never the "true" originals.

The reason why I'm bringing this article up is that it relates to the idea of the role model or the "idol". We all have had people to look up to as examples on how to live our life. "I want to be like them!" "I want to be selfless as her!" "I wish I could be as talented as them!" Questions like these race through our minds as we think about the people we admire. It's a good thing to look up to exemplary people such as our family and friends, but when does one take it too far?

As much as we can copy the good deeds we witness (and I pray that we continue to do so), we are not meant to copy another one's life to the smallest detail. Our interests may not be the same. I might be called for one thing, and you may be called to do another. You cannot force yourself to conform 100% to someone else's lifestyle in the hopes that you can do exactly what they do; you will inadvertently have a different experience and perspective from what the other has, no matter how detailed your "equivalent" is.

Besides, if everyone lived out their lives the same as each other--like the society portrayed in Lois Lowry's "The Giver"--where is the dynamic beauty of diversity and originality? Life wouldn't be as motivating and adventurous if you knew how it was going to turn out based on what you've seen in others. You have your own story; you have been authored by the Author of Life Himself, with the next chapters hidden away for you to write out by your choices. The world is a library of books coming and going, and you have a chance to write the next inspirational best-seller for generations to read. You can cite from past works, but your work must be your own. It is the newness of your impact that makes the difference. Pass on the ideas, but make it your own in your place in your time; that will be the epicenter of your works.

"...I saw that all the flowers He has created are lovely. The splendour of the rose and whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. I realised that if every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness and there would be no wild flowers to make the meadows gay." --St. Thérèse of Lisieux, "The Story of a Soul"

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Energy of the Embrace (Original Prose)

Today's post will not be broadcasted as widely as with recent posts, as this is a personal, but not secretive, matter to get off my chest. This is a piece from my life that is very intimate, but I will make this available for reading on the blog for you.

Today's one of those days again. Everything seems to have fallen in place, but it doesn't seem that it's just that that has fallen. Before me lies a book with my name on it; in my hand, a banged-up but still functional pen. Blank pages still comprise a majority of the work before my eyes.

A familiar shadow--a familiar soreness--creeps up on me as I contemplate the next word, the next page, the next chapter. What more must I write? How much story is left for me?

The cast of our story. Who am I, first of all? What am I? Where am I? Why am I? I seem to have formulated a partial picture of what my purpose, my calling is. I have gone through much in the years leading up to today; laughter, tears, that whole shebang. But for what end? How will I know the end-all of this? Is there some result to be achieved now or in the future? What will be my impact? Am I even going to make an impact?

And what of the others? Those who have gone before me have played their parts and have affected my journeys and directed me to places where I had never imagined I would go. There are those who still affect me to this day, whether positive or negative, but how long until they disappear? Will some stay until the end with me? There are many today who I zealously want to keep, even when it looks like it is their time to leave. Who is yet to come? Tomorrow will decide that question.

Are the next few chapters simply regurgitated material from past work? Sometimes I feel like it's the same thing over and over again, as if each successive chapter was a crappy reboot of the previous. What is the point of all this? My spirit is dry and I yearn for refreshment. I want something bright, fresh, new; something to reinvigorate me. I want it, but I don't know where to go or what to do.

This dryness has placed me once more in a state of isolation. I can communicate with others, yet I still feel like a fish out of water; I don't feel the connection, that burning, passionate, zealous love I have for the other. It's like those prison phone counters you see in the movies; they're there, but you're not there, instead locked away from the energy of the embrace.

That's it. The Energy of the Embrace. The fuel tank in my heart has been almost emptied at this point. I've been so caught up in the bustle of my life so far in this world that I forgot to rest and revive myself. I've been emptying myself out into outlets that did not reciprocate enough for me to realize the potential of the life I have been given. I need more. How do I obtain this Energy? Who am I Embracing?

Then I recall a voice too often ignored throughout my book.

I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Of course. A simple, but profound answer to the various questions I've been asking. I've heard this so many times, yet I forget it so much. He is the one enough for me. He is the Energy I need to boost through the days.

This is My Body.
This is My Blood.

Strength for the journey. What was it that an angel said to Elijah one day? "Eat, or else the journey will be too much for you." I haven't been eating my meals much; that is, I eat, yet I don't let the nourishment get to my heart. I accept it physically, but am I letting my spirit get nourishment too?

The alarm clock goes off. Sunday morning. Typical morning routine, then get in the car.

Parked. I open the doors of the church and walk in.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Go time.