echoknowmix

            The things I could say for my father aren't that many, and from that I could say he had a fun and entertaining childhood.  He told me of things , gave my curious mind some answers, and yet, there was always something else that made Papa so... special, I guess, is the appropriate word. Papa was always the joker, lightening the mood with witty words and situations.  He lightened the heart, too, and always cared. He would lighten the mind, too, for as long as you ask him a question he could possibly answer, he would always break into witty answers. Papa was practically an immortal lightbulb for all I know. And while I still can’t decide whether it was unfortunately or fortunately, the light went out in the dead of the night of September 11, 2011 – seventeen days before he could possibly enjoy the day he was brought to this world.  Seventeen days before the day we would have celebrated the day the little lightbulb was bought. It still hurts to look at his co

We often run out of words in describing people who are nearest our hearts.   More often, when we are to say something about our mother, tears are likely to come out first rather than words.   This is because it is our mother whom we owe a lot.   As Edwin Hubbell Chapin said, “No language can express the power, and beauty, and heroism, and majesty of a mother's love.  It shrinks not where man cowers, and grows stronger where man faints, and over wastes of worldly fortunes sends the radiance of its quenchless fidelity like a star”.    Such is a touching tribute to a mother.   The following is my compilation of quotes from notable persons which to me characterizes the best women in the world – mothers.   This is my way of saying : “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY” to the great mothers of the world. 1.        A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert

“A New Beginning”                  In a room with people you’re not quite acquainted with, you feel a little unnerved.  It didn’t feel quite right to celebrate the merry holiday without the hugs and kisses from your family.  You wanted desperately to be with them right now.  You have never craved so much for a motherly kiss, a fatherly hug, a sister happily handing you presents, or a brother reluctantly confessing his thanks.   It hits you like elephants from the sky when you remember that they ‘re in a place  you can’t  call them back, and it hurts so bad. Destruction is all you see now.  What used to be proud buildings standing with a sense of duty are now the sad two broken pieces of what once was.  What used to be laughing, smiling, happy families are torn apart with cut strings of what was their life cord.  What used to be a healthy beating heart  is now the pitiful shards of those who used to live lives with love.  What used to be a living breathing person with feelings

When Facebook was first created by Mark Zuckerberg in early 2005, it was much different than the marketed one we know today.  It was only known by a few workers who bragged about it, and even less used it.  Now, statistics show that 85 per cent of the world’s population have a Facebook account, making Zuckerberg one of the richest and youngest billionaires in the world.  The hype has spread to the younger generation of the 21 st century.  But the question is: should we let them? It has been confirmed by the users that the social networking site is prone to hacks, intrusion of privacy and misleadings.  Several have “friended” people they do not know, and many more have posted their own celebratory pictures and, others, lewd photos.  Constructive and offensive opinions about the homosexual community, the President, blacks, Muslims and a whole lot of issues are also posted.  This has led to controversy, insults, legal battles and worse, suicides.  These things are to be censored

Writing  is an echo of the soul as conceived by the mind.  It is a fluid expression of ideas designed by the eloquence of the words.              The tragedy of today becomes general and universal stimulus to writing.  The problems of the human heart in conflict in itself can make a good writing simply because its agony and sweat is a worthy material. It speaks of who we are as humans in a world that we live in.             Good writing speaks of the truth.  A writing  lacking in truths about love and honor, pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice is ephemeral and doomed.  As borrowed from a Nobel Prize Winner, William Faulkner, “a writer writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and worst of all,  pity without compassion.; his grief on no universal bones, leaving no scars; he writes not of the heart but of the glands”.             Writing is not only an avenue for the writer to express his ideas,

Smooth, dark ink had echoed the thoughts on paper.  It was mostly nonsense and gibberish; all in all, not very interesting.  The restless writer had no care for such mundane technicalities though; those were not very important right now.  For a moment, he was alone and content.  That’s all that matters. The notebook would’ve screamed, surely.  Pages were torn and hastily scribbled, crumpled and as worn out the cover was, it was surprising that the little journal had not yet tore itself to pieces.  A bit pitiful, yes, but the young owner had  paid no heed. “Well, it’s still good, isn’t it? “  He had once said.  “Why would I replace it?” He never did.  It was four years old now, and the navy blue notebook has been affectionately dubbed  “Josh” by the boy.  His parents had been slightly  worried, but he waved them down.  That was that. So he wrote. He wrote everything.  Experiences, places, people that existed only in his mind – he wrote them all.  He wanted to be an a

          I knew Palawan for its tag as the Philippines’ Last Frontier and a source of oil and natural gas in the country, as well as the hub of many white-sand beaches. Recently, I again marveled at its treasure being the home of one of the world’s natural wonders, the Underground River. Due to financial constraints, my longing to personally experience the natural wonders  in Palawan simply remained in my mind. However, through an unexpected whip of good fortune, my eleven-year old daughter won the top award for feature writing in the 2012 Regional Schools Press Conference (Elementary Level) in Bacolod City, and so I had the chance to accompany her to Palawan for the national finals. At last, Palawan is no longer an illusion but a reality.           Though the trip entailed quite a heave of money, I tried to scrimp my budget to enjoy such an unexpected trip to Palawan. Indeed, I was bewitched by a display of nature of the Province. Trees abound that made the place cool and fresh-smel

This  is a little too much, you heavily assume.  What with the unnerving wait  and the saddening blasphemy of being in a room with competitive souls eagerly hungering for the very same prize you desire just as much as them.   You have brought nothing to satiate your thirst, or anything to entertain your ever-wandering mind.  This is a little too much, you heavily assume, as you write your petite insecurities on a blank sheet of paper filled with azure lines. For writing things down on a piece of a white rectangle lets the imagination run free, doesn’t it?  And you can’t help but notice yours is skipping and twirling around with its face against the blowing wind. You don’t mind the presence of the others.  Actually, you ignore their entire existence as you pick your ebony-inked pen.  The first words become sentences and the sentences become paragraphs and you don’t care that much just as long as you write and let your spirit wander as said. You’re in your own little world

To Grin at Hello and Smile at Good-Bye The hotel was positively majestic yet not that overbearing to look at.  With the sun marvelously glowing gold; the sea arrogantly showing off its waves at how big and gigantic they are; the sky not wanting to be outdone by being as blue as possibly can be; the Bacolod Pavilion Hotel beautifully matched the backdrop. I heaved a heavy sigh of admiration as I stared at it, and grinned before pushing through the glass doors. I was here, finally, at the City of Smiles - Bacolod City. After getting checked in, moving luggage, switching rooms, moving luggage again, getting comfortable and playing Monopoly with Jem and Rexie (as to which the latter later won), Mr. Fuentes pulled us out to have a grand time eating lunch and strolling around at SM City Bacolod.  I was a bit disheartened by the lack of good books, but I was happy I even got here anyway.  I laughed a lot that day, twirling Jem around in the public eye without a care in the world. “Tom

The sun gloriously shining above our heads; the most luscious of green leaves curiously swaying out and about with the swift commands of the wind; the sea just sparkling blue and green and maybe even both with its beauty; you and your friends or your family just hanging out and laughing with mirth…Maybe there are tears just threatening to fall with all this joy, who knows? All you know is, summer has begun and just to rhyme and snicker about later, it’s going to be a whole lot of fun. You’re fresh out of school, got this paper in your hands, a few awards, and you think your parents are proud. They’re smiling at you anyway. At one point your dad turned around and said, “You alright there?” And you just nod and grin because if your interior emotions were showing on the outside people might think you were crazy and just not right in the head. You think you wouldn’t care anyway; I’m rejoicing here, and is that in the slightest bit wrong? Everything is suddenly ten times funnier