Trapped

The lift must have sensed the fear inside of me. It slammed quickly and remained shut forever. It tarried for yet another lifetime to come out of my wilting sanity as an offer of rebirth. The process was scary and painful.

The unnerving thing about me is my natural tendency to self diagnose. I am a self proclaimed claustrophobe. Many moons ago on my way to Brighton, the train decided to stop in the middle of nowhere for nearly half an hour. It was a packed carriage with all the windows locked. It started with a trickle of sweat running across my forehead to a bout of nausea as I panicked to find a space to dunk my head for free-floating oxygen. I must have ignored the yelps and profanities of people as I hurried myself towards the space right at the back of the train. Inside my mind was that dictator trying to keep me in focus but I could see my arms flailing around defying my will.

The tube getting stranded in between stations is a nightmare. In this situation, a montage of horrible movie scenes including the part of getting buried alive would play incessantly until a lump chokes my throat. It’s panic 101 where I don’t get to learn a thing. I just aggravate myself. In the past, I got stuck in the lift a few times. A friend of mine had to yank it open when I started hyperventilating, sucking most of the viable air out of the other passengers. They must have thought I was a wimp but most of all, selfish.

I was on the fourth floor of Borough Wing (Guy’s Hospital) when the slothful self decided to take the elevator. It was the end of the day and the least I could do was teach my legs a trick called stride. The lift was an easy option. I got in and pressed the “G” button. It was only when I could see my own reflection that I realised my aloneness inside the transport. Reason started to get overwhelmed by that force that haunted me for years. A minute inside was twice longer than forever. I had experienced a whole gamut of emotions more than thrice Streep and Hepburn acted on films. Banging on the door, it gave in and impetuously, I walked out muttering malediction of an acute degree.

I haven’t learned my lesson. I blame a portion of my past that has got to do with this. I castigate such indolence. Now, get that bloody lift a regular mechanical service it deserves!

I'm (still) busy

Do you want to die a grape or a raisin?

I had this conversation about death with Bo as we walked along the cemetery on our way home. It was a rather picturesque panorama as the sun kissed the tips of brick houses as it started to set. Trying to avoid the traffic along Finchley Road, we opted for the longer esplanade. The temperature that was dipping below zero was just a complement to the roseate twilight reflected across the cathedral guarded by barren cypress trees. Remnants of the heavy snowfall from last Monday were still visible along the walkways. I have always loved the winter. Talking about death at this inopportune time as I filled my senses with physical entrancements made the question about death, vaguer... swathed with ambivalence.


The conspiring stillness of the graveyard and

the barefaced fleet of frost or

the uncharted peace beyond the graveyard,

eternal freezing or plain unknown

magnify and aggravate

my understanding of death.

(rian 07/02/09)

Few months ago, I mouthed security and self satisfaction that death no longer appealed to me as an element of vanquishing. I thought in my lifetime that the tide had swelled upon me and washed away possibilities worth achieving. It was then that I said death wasn’t a carrier of scythe but an overreaching hand of acceptance and self limitations. I was ready.

Approaching the gateway was another story. I couldn’t wait to download the photos of the very recent memories of such repose. The sun had set allowing the chill to linger on and I was, for the very first time, not ready for an answer or an argument about death.

Inferno

During my last holiday, I asked my mother about the voluminous photo albums I left for safekeeping years ago. She mentioned that it (paper pics) hastened the fire that ravaged our house into oblivion. Jokingly, she added that those stacks of photo albums caught fire first and eventually snapped onto the sunflower-curtains and appliances. Since that incident, my family steered clear from that property for years. Mother being superstitious added that the place had nothing to offer but bad luck.

Out of curiosity, I summoned my mighty guts to ask my parents to accompany me to the decrepit and charred site. On our way, my mother’s litany about the unfortunate mishaps the place had proffered these past years could be summed up into a 4000 word essay. Seeing the place, such vivid and animated monologue was truly enough to justify the singed exterior, with blocks of foundation still braving the incessant tirade of its bitter fate. To the far right stood the tower where my brothers and sisters would sneak a gin or two for that merriment until dawn. It is seemingly proud despite its skeletal appearance of wires and broken hollow blocks. In all that caustic display, the metal gate proved strong and welcoming.


Trying to analyse the sequence of events and the trauma of the raging fire just gave me headache. I thought it would be better to drink that “SAGO juice” being sold across the street. Remembering few of the salvaged items from the house, my mother directed me to the cabinet where she pulled out the lone photo album of my remaining touchable memories. Scanning the album brought back an upsurge of wonderful memoirs of people and places that used to inhabit my brain. Out of impulse, I stacked them away despite my mother’s protestation.

I just pondered for a while. It is never too late to keep files in your USB sticks or anything similar.

Jessica in Flesh

Just like the thick glasses you see emblazoned on the covers of her previous books, she was sipping coffee at Manila Diamond hotel, The Cake Club, Rockwell wearing her trademark seventies inspired reading (more like, writing) glasses framed in zebra prints. We were 10 minutes late. Jay, my friend who happens to be Jessica’s on-off social friend, arranged the tete-a-tete after knowing that I am a fan of Miss Zafra myself.

As we flew right off the escalator towards the plush habitué, I was getting ready for the lashing. It’s embroiled into my system that Jessica Zafra, the tigress (which is perhaps what her cats see her as- I mean this as a compliment) would offer me a mouthful of superlative highfalutin monologue that I’d get lost either watching her utter those direct strikes or transcribing the meaning of each vociferation. However, she opted for the professionally casual gesture of unaffected and polite cold approach of “it’s alright, coffee is good here” after our profuse apologies.

After settling in, I ordered black coffee which caught her watchful eyes. “I like my coffee black but I didn’t have dessert today so I went for a bit of milk”, she whispered under her breath. Few minutes and we were talking about Joey Gosiengfiao, the movie director. Conversational tidbits:

Rian: Jessica, do you mind signing this book for me.

Jessica: Hmm, this is an old issue. Book 8 is already out. Go and get one.

Rian: Really? But National Bookstore staff told me that this is your latest book.

Jessica: Well, they are lying. See? The national bookstore is just there. Go get the latest one.

Rian: OK.

(I walked hurriedly and asked the staff of the bookstore for J. Zafra’s book. The lady, staring at me weirdly and blankly, pointed me towards the stack of books of Jessica. Still, the book 8 was out of sight. Few minutes of browsing and Jessica appeared in the midst and in a straightforward tone, admonished the staff for something like, poor organisation or stacking issues. Eventually, out of reprieve, she turned to me and signed the book.)

Jessica: Alright then, let me sign that. I can’t believe how this bookstore hoards my stuff. (For Ryan, to read in the fog)

Rian: That’s strange. You can actually sign your name backwards.

(I’m sure she mumbled something to justify such a quaint way of scribbling ones signature.)

Nearly an hour later, my sisters got bored of touring Rockwell and appeared behind me. Having another appointment later that afternoon, we concluded by exchanging pleasantries. After shaking hands, she left with her plastic bag and diary which she was scribbling earlier. My gaze followed her as she stepped onto the escalator until she disappeared from our sight.

Reverberating in my mind were her self-redemptive words of existence. “It is best to speak in English when you are trying to communicate with people, you know. If you are short, maitim (dark –skinned) and ugly, you have to show them that you speak this language to assert yourself”. I realised that this country must have been static for years since I was in total agreement with her on this one with regards to pinoy mentality. Brushing that thought aside, I was brought back to the fumes and eternal honking of cars in Edsa by the bumper to bumper traffic. There are a lot of other things unchanged since I left my homeland. Good thing, I have this book “Twisted 7” to keep me preoccupied.

Now, which article should I read first? I need something with expletives flying and verbal barks that kill.

My Usual Suspects

I am going home and surely, my family haven will be my retreat from the Western chasm. Just one more passing of Christmas Eve for the nth time and the freezing predicament will be supplanted by that of Eastern air. I am not entirely sure about the idea, but home is home. I have grown accustomed to the biting wintry December but a change to a lesser layer of clothing is something I look forward to.

Then, you have the usual suspects during that once in a blue moon sojourn to Manila. Perhaps people move on and amalgamate with life’s tribulations and triumphs. A year could see one with myriad of infinitesimal journeys that could influence virtues and blatantly, a lifestyle. However, there are those who move on, yet honed by life’s experiences, stay true to their nature as good friends. By the saying “quality over quantity”, the last time I spoke to one of them was nearly a year ago, just before the falling of condemned satellite over my head. But, as a testimony to great friendships, time stood still and longing’s effervescent.


Profiling Michael is finding the beginning, middle and end of infinity. This is sounding hyperbolic but the minute you stack him up with a pin on your bulletin board, you already forgot the reason for finding him. You start to question your own existence. I remember those University times when I’d be off to the cinema with Nelson whilst Michael would be stuck leading a study group for those who failed Anatomy and Physiology as well as Microbiology. Innately, I felt guilty but the rampage of titillating films at the movie theatres was reliable to forget mental angst. Seriously, I can come up with a gazillion of reasons why Michael is the epitome of indistinct personification. I sometimes wonder if he’s an evolved specie of mankind. If ever he is, I’d call him, “homosalien”.

Nelson aka Butch is one of a kind. He’d be happy to point out the hilarity of your own demise and the failures of your being. Whether intentional or not, you’d feel that he’s always there every step of the way just in case you mess it up yet again. Intuitively, I actually see Nelson as an alarm clock, the red bleep, the blue code, a prophylaxis (an ounce of prevention) or the “to do list” pinned by a fridge magnet. There’s that persona about the Editor-In-Chief(s) where they thrive like that of X-Men’s Rogue. It still confuses me even at this juncture but fascinatingly, a delight to deduce the character through their writings. There was a time when I looked at his body of literary works and felt abased by its grit and dynamism. I told myself not to venture on Filipino Poetry and since then, I never ever did.

Renee is pure fun. I have vivid recollections of how he used the word “pout” during our Second Year back at Uni. Instinctively, his keenness of observational behaviour proved to be as sharp as scythe. I remembered not making him angry for fuming was his greatest ally. He made the lashings too artistic and beautiful. If Madonna’s an embodiment of an oriental physicality, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Renato milking it to glory. I still do not know why he hates fish though... must be the fins? the scales? the exopthalmic eyes? He must have been traumatised by the repetitive bedtime storytelling of “Jonah and the Whale” during his preschool days.

There are a lot more of them back home. Now, all I can do is open the floodgates of resplendent and piquant memories of my youth. I guess, this is the right time just before dementia sets in.

The last days of 2008

This is going to be the last post of 2008.

Such certitude is something of a personal sentiment also expressed in any other forms like this TMF program counting down the best of 2008 in music. This year saw an ocean of bands and single acts of distinct sounds. Subjectively, my life is my music. Different tones and amplitudes ruled 2008.

Unless dying is an option to a healthy physical being, then it’ll surely cap the height of this year. Optimistically wishing, I hope that is not the case. I am unperturbed, having the sense that I’ll survive the remaining days of 2008. Few more days and celebrating New Year will rise to crescendo as family gets into the picture. Perhaps the best way of battling chronic affliction of social upheavals and indignation, seeing my family will ease the burden of long term individuality. The main difference it affords is the unconditional conditions of belongingness. It will be a continuous and unabated sermons but most of the time, they probably are security statements reminding me that I am not alone. I am very excited.

Actually, that is an understatement.

Something in the Water

The weekend’s washed away and puddles ruled the side street mocking the shoppers avoiding them like a plague. Oxford Street on a Saturday was a grand day off for everybody. I sometimes wonder who’s manning the minor and major establishments that make a nation. A mere metre distance took nearly an hour to traverse. On my way to point B, I had to fend off the pointy bits of the 1001 brolleys aiming to blind me. I was happy I got through it unscathed.


Waiting for Janette outside Topshop just opposite the Oxford Street Tube Station was a good chance to do a bit of rubbernecking. Despite being late for nearly an hour, rain and rushing bodies provided the needed entertainment. I was planning to strangle the woman but the funny incident of that man falling on his bottom into the puddle was hilarious that I forgot about her punishment. I just smiled and I bet, just carried on smiling which this woman pondered about with immense bewilderment.Earlier, as my back comfortably resting against the glass window of the shop, I mindlessly clicked on the web. Having an unlimited download (though debatable) on my phone, checking my facebook account whilst waiting for her majesty was the socially accepted option. A notification just reminded me of a friend request. It was Butch (a nickname but not literally meant, right???). I had a long conversation with Mike (a dear friend from Uni) few nights ago and getting to foster communication with the two just happened to be right bliss.

On my way home, puddles were getting deeper and rushing cars created tidal waves out of it, to much chagrin of the fashionista puffing away malodorous fag fumes. Reaching home saw me multitasking to a hearty meal and X Factor viewing. My Alexandra Burke won it and Beyonce was stellar. It’s nearly midnight and the raindrops, still beating against the window. The weathergirl was right for once although she uttered another bout of downpour this Sunday. Whether she’s spot on or not, I really don’t care. There’s something good in the water.

Sorry Barbra, rain is welcome on my parade.

Life's Balancing Act

Few months seemed like a breeze. It was an array of rather good challenges.

Today, I felt better after accomplishing something new for the very first time. Having attended the training for Web Setting at work, labouring all afternoon to set up the department’s Web Page was worth the late traipse along the cold stairways of Guy’s Hospital to the tube station. On my way down the tube, the busker was serenading the passersby with his haunting rendition of “White Christmas”. With the chill and atmosphere of holiday season, I was struck by the fast approaching time of togetherness. Suddenly, my past came back and bitch-slapped me. It’s nearly a year since I drowned.

At least, Christmas 2007 is on its way out.

Fierce

Musical engineering at its best comes to the fore in these days of musical promotion extravaganza. This minute, repetitively blasting through the airwaves happens to be the shaking, gyrating Sasha Fierce. Fact is, we mere mortals could only dream of lapping up the shadow this Sasha Fierce leaves behind. She has been a permanent fixture on our telly that I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s covered Timbuktu as well in one of her innumerable appearances. Admirably, it translated to sales. She’s just had a number 1 single in both sides of the Atlantic with “Single Ladies” and “If I were a boy”. Her album placed high in UK and number 1 in the states.


With that success rate speeding through like a bullet, I feel no qualms for Sasha Fierce headlining every occasion there is on this planet. Getting to number 1 is no longer an issue of who sings well or who has the best video ever but is now according to multitudes of factors. I am no longer surprised when a talentless twit beams a wide grin for reaching the top of the charts for another forgettable cover version or a parody of something “right now” and famous. That is why, Sasha in stilettos shimmying on stage is a delight to see. Generally, I am not a big fan of the booty shaking diva but to give credence to a claim that Sasha is fierce happens to be the right thing. Trying to see the impact of the video for “Single Ladies” on Youtube magnifies the effect of visual creativity of this production. My hips sway at the thought of it, in fact. Although packed in modern packaging and sound, Sasha Fierce is an epitome of old school glory. Singularly, I say TALENT. I don’t blame Kanye West for exclaiming that Sasha is a "f___g living legend". Honestly, I won’t go there. I am happy that people still recognise a real deal.

I have been blabbering about Sasha and I’m sure people devoid of social considerations would fail to understand this. If Beyonce and Sasha Fierce are two different entities, Beyonce should be truly worried. The good thing of it all is that we get to take two in one. In these times of crises, getting another one for free is a brilliant proposition.

I just hope Sasha won’t be doing the tour of “Christmas Lights Switch-On” around the city of London this holiday season. On the other hand, I really don’t mind. I wonder how she looks like in person... I wonder if she wears the cyber-glove when she eats.

Working Sunday

Most people hate any type of written material when they have to do it themselves. Essays for one make some of my friends go nuts. You wouldn’t hear the end of it come Monday morning at work. On the other hand, I have so much respect and adulation for someone who tirelessly and laboriously toil day in and out updating his UKMIX blogs. Sometimes I wonder if he has time for other important things in life like food. Or maybe, he eats just to live and not living through the pleasure of eating. But then again, he looks happy to me and most of all, satisfied.

Like Bozo, this weekend is just all work and no play. All I’m struggling to find is the same motivation that he has to make these paperwork revisions more interesting. Trying to smile and maintain a high level of enthusiasm as I rummage through the web for answers could be short lived. You have your emails and social networks you once in a while get tempted to browse and few minutes of it usually lead to being hooked and totally absorbed. Procrastination gets the better of me.

Sat across the silent working man, I quizzed him how he sustains this intensity and ardour as he endlessly “copy and paste”, types comments and analyses music blogs. He said in one word, “love”. I gather that he loves doing it thus making it more productive for him. Certainly, we all know that when you love doing what you are doing then it truly shows. The end product is a true self expression and reflection of understanding of a certain subject matter. A click of the “enter” button in google and you’d see a million evidence-based explanations for this. Yet, I still struggle finding it today. I know that I love teaching but the accessories that come with it (or before it) could be overwhelming. This is the part where my weekend seems like a blip in comparison to the rest of the week.

In fairness, the Christmas tree is up and I have vacuumed the whole house. I haven’t missed the main meals and they’re not even microwaveable stuff. In fact, this piece of writing will end up in Facebook however, I am still trying to find time to do revisions and create lecture notes about “haemodiafiltration”, “complications of HD” and “NMC Guidelines for Documentation and Accountability” not to mention understanding the innumerable policies and protocols related to this new job.I may sound like a whinging, whining loon but surely, I will find the way to put things in the right perspective. While waiting for providence, allow me to put my feet up and watch repeats of “X-Factor” and “Strictly Come Dancing”.

I promise to read up on those mentioned notes at 10 pm out of necessity.

So much can be said about things playing havoc around my life. Thankfully, the positive challenges posed by life’s vicissitudes outweigh symptoms of burn-out. I have the promenade walks to thank for.

After a day’s mental drain-fest, I’d sit on this wooden bench that must have witnessed tired and weary souls over the years. Long time ago, it was this bench that gave me one of the best options to take during my tumultuous journey.

Hey, Mr. President

I had a busy day.

The last thing I was expecting after work was the massive Underground delays. I was enervated. With the miserable goings on with and around me, I thought “The London Lite” and “The Londonpaper” would be the nice diversion for my hapless soul. I was hoping I’d see columns after columns of Hollywood gossips in the first few pages of the newspapers which I admit to devouring with so much gusto after a grueling day of mental activity at work.

Squeezing myself past the hoard of determined bodies inside the Northern line carriage was a major achievement but to actually race against the shrieking ladettes for the lone seat was an olympic feat. Sat down amidst the turmoil of the evening’s rush hour, I was pulled back to that reality of Obama’s historic victory. Instead of underwear-flashing celebrities and juicy gossips from here and across the Atlantic, all I could see was the American flag.

At this time, reading minute articles was a struggle. However, I thought I’d give it a try. The man next to me was a stinker so I donned my focus-blinkers and started reading. I was halfway through when I felt the warmth and strength of his words. I was moved by the speech. I thought, only Nadal could give me goosebumps. Barack Obama certainly did and I’m sharing it to all, right here, right now.

Hello, Chicago.If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.We are, and always will be, the United States of America.It's the answer that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change has come to America.A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Sen. McCain.Sen. McCain fought long and hard in this campaign. And he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader.I congratulate him; I congratulate Gov. Palin for all that they've achieved. And I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead.I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart, and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on the train home to Delaware, the vice president-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.And I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last 16 years the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation's next first lady Michelle Obama.Sasha and Malia I love you both more than you can imagine. And you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the new White House.And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother's watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight. I know that my debt to them is beyond measure.To my sister Maya, my sister Alma, all my other brothers and sisters, thank you so much for all the support that you've given me. I am grateful to them.And to my campaign manager, David Plouffe, the unsung hero of this campaign, who built the best -- the best political campaign, I think, in the history of the United States of America.To my chief strategist David Axelrod who's been a partner with me every step of the way.To the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. It belongs to you.I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington. It began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston. It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause.It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep.It drew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on doors of perfect strangers, and from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized and proved that more than two centuries later a government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from the Earth.This is your victory.And I know you didn't do this just to win an election. And I know you didn't do it for me.You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime -- two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century.Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us.There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after the children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage or pay their doctors' bills or save enough for their child's college education.There's new energy to harness, new jobs to be created, new schools to build, and threats to meet, alliances to repair.The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there.I promise you, we as a people will get there.There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president. And we know the government can't solve every problem.But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it's been done in America for 221 years -- block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night.This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were.It can't happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other.Let us remember that, if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers.In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people. Let's resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long.Let's remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House, a party founded on the values of self-reliance and individual liberty and national unity.Those are values that we all share. And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your president, too.And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand.To those -- to those who would tear the world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright: Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope.That's the true genius of America: that America can change. Our union can be perfected. What we've already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight's about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing: Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons -- because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America -- the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination.And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change.Yes we can.America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves -- if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America.

New York Tales

A profusion of tales define (or trying to) New York.

However, no matter how many times the backdrop of skyscrapers, lights and the vastness of Central Park appear to titillate senses either in movies or any other forms of media, we are always hooked into gazing at its grandeur.I saw a friend's photo recently and I felt a twinge of envy. She was dwarfed by the valiance of Times Square behind her.

I remembered how it was few years back during autumn's beckoning. It was beautiful.