I want my Pigs, Not Jesus

Mark 5:15-17
“When they came to Jesus, they saw the man who had been possessed by the legion of demons, sitting there, dressed and in his right mind; and they were afraid. Those who had seen it told the people what had happened to the demon-possessed man—and told about the pigs as well. Then the people began to plead with Jesus to leave their region.”

Sometimes we don’t want Jesus to do his thing. When Jesus does his thing, sometimes it creates tension. The people wanted things to be as they were: the mad man, still crazy and their pigs, safe.

“We don’t want you Jesus. We want things like how they were. We want our pigs. And for that crazy guy- we would have preferred him crazy still. We’d put up with his drama, so that we can still have our pigs.

Either you want to settle with pigs or let Jesus do his thing.

Be honest, but not too honest.

I used to think personal narratives, stories born out of your own journey, or testimonies if you will, were free to be shared because they were mine and I’m ready to do so.

But, some have made it known that it is not wise, or because i’m ill informed about my own stories, or because others feel offended (which I don’t know why.). Just be vague, be indirect, beat around the bush, so the story is a safe one.

My own intention is to give encouragement so people who walk a similar path can also see that they are not in it alone because there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Maybe I sound like I want people to know i’m a hero. Or maybe i share out of pride. Or maybe when i say (for example), i did not eat today the implication is because you who are listening did not feed me. Or maybe i’m just an immature 40 year old who can’t make head or tails about what is share and not.


I hear others sharing their journey. They are ok. They applaud. They rave.

Maybe it’s because others are more financially stable. Or because they have good jobs and a good career built as a foundation of their story. I assume this is the case.

I’m someone who values raw and real life stories. Because I want to know what you struggle with, not the victories and successes. I want to know your failures, not how you aced the test. The bruises, wounds, rage, emotions; the things that make me know you’re human. And how through your humanness, you survived and managed to climb upward. I want to hear real stories, not fairytales. Leave that to story books and movies and Netflix.

I don’t actually speak or write a lot about my journeys. Maybe because of that, when I do mention and make know, people assume all I talk about is myself.

I have stories of my journey I want to share, but I can’t because my testimonies are cringeworthy (to some people).

Be honest, they say, but not too honest.


I’m on twitter and I’ve been on it long enough but I’ve not been able to find a good function for it. But I wanna try to find a way to use it. Probably integrate it somehow with the blog since I’m still finding time to sit down and write. Anyway, here’s something I was reflecting on. Sort of like a reflective statement. I guess twitter can be a tool for me to help me in my public communication but coming up with these brief one liners.

Do you have a twitter account? How do you use it?

Talent is not everything

The world likes to be wowed, and I guess all of us do; being mesmerised by flashes of brilliance and swept away by charisma. We’re all awed by talent. We even have shows that focus specifically on talent.

But, one thing I’m learning now, once my infatuation fades with this thing called talent; it’s not something that holds. It’s not a sturdy foundation. If we build ourselves on talent and charisma alone, we wont make it in the long run. We’d just be one hit wonders. Remembered today, forgotten tomorrow.

Add talent with discipline. And then as discipline kicks in consistency would be the thing that fuels passion.

If I see talent now, I’d hold back the real applause until I see some discipline and consistency. But most notably, humility.

My cracked iPad screen

Gee, it’s hard not to feel frustration fuming. Even when I consider myself a person who takes good care of things especially the ones bought with the produce of my sweat. I think that term seems irrelevant in our modern day and age but you get my drift.

(Back then to the thing I was talking about) It broke.

Just a line but an unmistakable one, that I try to brush off with laughter, with tilting, with consolation, and to some points thinking it was just one of those nightmares I would eventually wake up from.

Too bad.

It’s still there.

And yes, it’s not the end of the world, and yes I’ll eventually choke up enough money to replace the cracked screen. Mishaps like these, one could almost definitely find a solution.

You only lose money or probably some viable documents. Or pictures and apps (but if you’ve synced them in the cloud then they’d be still there). See. Nothing to it. Though I’m still in technological mourning.

But it’s different with the breath of life. When you meddle with life on a knife’s edge, I’m sorry but there’s no solution in trying to feel the physical warmth of love again.

wondering perfection

It has been awhile but I penned this last Friday. With a few adjustments of course.


the beauty of perfection, if there ever was and is such a thing,
feels like death,

but looks and is shaped like, pure gold,

the inner will lead, the process of tilling,
of refining,
the outer,
into wonder.

Pause and gratitude

I have to say that I’ve not been writing much for about a month or so. Sometimes transitions in life work that way. 2011 has not been a friendly year for me, but come it’s execusion, the new year beckons new possibilities and challenges. That’s the only normality we have to live by anyway. There would be transitions in writing as well I guess. It’s been a revelation really, posting poems I wrote. They usually only make their way on shreds of paper or mostly in the privacy of my note books. But posting them on the blog has been exhilarating. A big thanks for those who have read them. You all are part of my recovery, reading comments of the stuff I posted has been good for my soul. I’ll probably post some reflections reminiscing 2011, but I’ll leave that for later.

There has always been a place for me to sit and be
To gaze upon lands of possibility
In the quiet of serenity
I escape to lands more real than dreams
And although it seems
That I would mostly walk in time alone
We share a common bond
The nameless and faceless
The named and revealed faces
I breath
And so do you
I bleed
As we all do
When you extend words adorned in beauty
They become to my heart sweet embraces
Until there are no more words to bathe concealment
All that is left to say
Yet never in an endless stream
I covey my humble gratitude
My breath has not been swept
Lost forever to the wind
There must be more
I can sit with you now
This playful grin.

Pre-book judgement

my, my, that looks like a thick book
over a million pages
with billions of words stranded together.

it weighs a ton
no, no, that’s just an understatement
i’d say, “The weight of the world.”

inside are just words
they don’t mean anything
besides the exercise of reading
puts good people to sleep.

if i threw this
at a pedestrian on the street
when he’s not looking
you will hear sirens
you will see medics.

and like all books
they are handy
only as paper weights.

and this is how
sometimes we pass judgments
on people
before they are given the chance
to prove themselves.


“Forgetting” is not something we can do. The more we try to forget, by doing something, we end up remembering what we try to forget. But if we let what we try to forget fade slowly as it keeps on reminding us, like it always does, in time it wont hurt that much. Some will disappear (probably). Some will still remain but not hurt that much.