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CONTENTS 3 WOMAN OF HOPE
VARIOUS HOME 10 JODHPUR 6 THE PINE TREE 8 THE AT HONKONG’S CALLING CHEST
SWEET 12 HOME HOME
IN EGYPT I AM IS WHERE 19 13 SWEET ABODE 16 HOME HAPPY AS A THE HEART IS MIGRANT
21 MIGRANTS 23 THE PURSUIT OF BALANCE OF PROFESSIONAL AND PERSONAL LIFE
24 THE HOME
28 ON THE VALIDITY
IN MY DREAM
OF MAINSTREAM AND ALTERNATIVE HISTORY
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Finding My Purpose as an Immigrant By Anarita Reyes
Each one of us who is living abroad must be motivated by 3 important things. The faith that we have in God, our hope that we can make things possible, and the love and compassion that we offer for our family and people around our community. We are always warriors because we fight for what we believe, we hope that we can do great things, and we love responsibility that is given to us. 3
In 2003, I left the Philippines and moved across oceans embarking on a series of new journeys in the United States with only two dollars in my pocket and a giant leap of faith. As I reflect on my journey as an immigrant who has experienced homelessness and a mother of an older son with severe autism, learning disability and non-verbal that are so challenging. I think of so many amazing people who supported me by way of so many acts of love and solidarity that have brought me where I am today. I want to share my journey with people who might identify with my story of hope and resilience in braving it all and standing tall throughout all the hardships. I, along with my husband and first born son, have lived in San Jose Family Shelter as an unhoused family through the support of a NonProfit Organization. I've experienced the struggle of joblessness with times where I filled out nearly fifty applications to various different jobs, oftentimes I'm bringing my older son with me, and I was denied several times because of inexperienced, rawness, and lack of familiarity with the flow of work. And Still I persisted, I worked at the flea market, as a teacher assistant, and I didn't stop there. I planned big, I dream bigger, and I continued to work through the
obstacles. I enrolled in school and earned three degrees which helped me develop further. I graduated as Magna Cum Laude through determination and smart work. I was hired as a Site Director in the Child Development Program With its enriching and nurturing mission. I also volunteered to give back in my Community in San Jose, California by the way of my church serving alongside families throughout Eastside San Jose who, like me, needed support and resources. I offered a giving heart, taught catechism, and advocating for the nurturing and care for the children, especially those with special needs. As an extension of my work, I have also served within the Alum Rock School District with their Advisory Committees and Superintendent Parent Advisory Resource Council (SPARC) throughout several years. Currently, I serve as a Commissioner of Library and Education in City of San Jose District 5. While I've received several awards and recognition for the service that I do in my community in the City of San Jose and Santa Clara County. It is a humble act of love for my community, education, and children that continue to inspire me to offer my perspective and experience in those spaces.
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My supportive community has helped me to continue my legacy being an Inspirational Author and Speaker of my two books, Woman of Hope" Finding my purpose as an Immigrant'' and 2nd book, "365 Days" Year of Purpose, Year of Positivity and Year of Prayer. For whatever I earned from my books, the contribution I supported to my family and friends in the Philippines. During the Pandemic, I began to help create and organize FIL-AM SOUTH BAY COMMUNITY GROUP to help our ASIAN and Filipino communities in the bay area to support their local and small businesses to survive while sheltering in place. Being an Early Childhood Education Director of Programs in my School where I worked I believe that life is not always about us, it is about inspiration. It is by setting an example to others where we can break the chain and cycle of helplessness and loss of hope. Success is always about satisfaction: we strive and thrive yet we remain simple, humble, and satisfied. I have had ambition that drives me to do more and act more. That ambition is rooted in solidarity and community, and now that I am seeing the fruits of my labor, I will continue to persevere with peace, with joy, with no pressure and with a commitment to serve with love, dedication, and zeal. I am always rooted with hope and believe in God's blessing in our lives.
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The Story of Pauline Grace By Atemnkeng McRawlings Lekeaka It was a cold afternoon. The sun had awakened from its sleep, shining a spear through the clouds, striking the village into warmth. The birds whistled through their work, a rhythm of peace carried by the wind, and the streets were like bees on a nectar rush. Left and right, was the peace taken away by the hunks of the heavy metals rolling away on their rubber legs, spraying their black smoke into the air. Rush hour was what they called it. The old bell, structured in the village square, covered in a red and brown coat of iron. Its shine, lost to the times. It felt abandoned; cobwebs had formed around it. I could see a spider warming up to the fly caught in its web. Putting my hand on it, I saw the thickness dust; sedimented over the years, each with a history eager to tell. Long has it been since anyone has heard its voice. Mother said it was the watchman of the village, always eager to alert all with ears. Once rung, its ringing voice would have field the air; the birds and even the worms would have heard it. I always wondered why it was silent. I remember the smell of bread, baked from the bakery down hill. Like a magnet, it pulled the noses of anyone who passed by, drawing their wallets out of their pocket once their tongue touched the crust and their teeth bit into the warm softness, comforting every taste bud that lost a gem. Hmm. I spent all my silver around the bakery, making my mother vexed in disappointment. The old carpentry was where my father worked. Slaying the day, with a hammer and a nail, beating the wood into submission. His eyes turned red whenever a stream of sweat flowed into it, forcing him to pause with a napkin. Unlike his eyes, his body needed more than a napkin. Dripped in sweat, his shirt had to retire from his skin. His beautiful aroma had turned into a thick stench, even the flies couldn’t stand a chance. Turning the wood into chairs, tables, and cupboards, how much pity I had for him, as he found no rest but Saturday, the Sabbath, the church, for the Lord rested on the seventh day. It was morning. The bell yelled out, and for the first time, I was trapped in a trance. Its voice so beautiful and I wondered who had rung it. Gazing at it, I was suddenly pushed to the ground. The air suddenly filled with fire and smoke, I wondered why.
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The village lost its rhythm. From right to right and no longer left to right, was a stampede. Thunderlike sounds came from the hills, roaring down at us like a LION on a hunt. Mother’s hand, I held tight. Running to the woods was the only way out. The village, engulf in flames as canons unleashed their anger on everything innocent. Mother told me the war had finally forced the bell to cry. Into the woods, we fled, chased down by a wolf of soldiers looking for food. Father pulled me unto his back as we crossed the river. Telling me to hold my breath as we got into the deep. Mother not to far, held his hand, squeezing as if an orange was in her hand. We made it to the north bank and in my hand was a fish I held on during the crossing. We ran into the greens. Looking far back, father saw none, but fog and we rested in a cave for the night. Father made fire while mother prepared the fish for a roast. In his eyes, I saw disappointed feeling his face with tears. A first I have seen of dad, and my heart fell into darkness when he refused a bite from the fish for our sake. The sun refused to escape the blanket as it was ashamed to greet us. Father, far from us, screamed to the winds, like a balloon in misery. All I did… was, watch as he broke down into prayers, calling on the Lord for forgiveness and mercy. And I asked the Lord, “Why have you forsaken us?” Mother, drying our wet clothes around the fire and trying to savage whatever we had taken. When Father returned, we packed up and moved west. Days came and went, thieves came and went, birds flew by and whistled, and we kept on walking, swimming, and running from soldiers, but the cold got the best of me. Finally, we found a Pine tree, covered in scratches left by those who have walked through this path, some fresh and others old. Then Father left his mark, and we camp around it. I didn’t know why, but he said the Lord had found peace with him. As night stroke the hour hand, a hunter found us and woke us up from a sleep too deep to remember and led us to a village hidden in the mountains.
In his eyes, Father found comfort. I felt his heart coming into a rhythm of peace. The worries that had filled my eyes vanished into nothingness and mother carried me on her back, comforting me into slumber. The hunter took us into his home, his wife and children welcomed us. Giving us a spare room and some herbal tea. Calling us for diner, Father, after days of fasting finally had to break it. In the Lord’s name, he gave praise, and we feasted the night away as Father narrated our tale. By morning, the sun had awakened from its sleep, shining a spear through the clouds, striking the village into warmth. The birds whistled through their work; a rhythm of peace carried by the wind into our hearts. The hunter allowed us to stay as long as we wanted until Father found work. The village, with open ears, allowed us to speak and took us on a tour of comfort. Though not home, this is home form home
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Anne Maureen Medrano Esperidion Home is not a mere infrastructure where shelter and protection are manifested, it is a sphere where tenderness, caress and affection resides. Tears are being held and grieves are being composed as I am about to stage my feet away from my home for twenty four years for I will take a chance to find greater opportunities outside the country. I flew to Hong Kong with heaviness in my heart and worries are messing around for it is my first time to be away all alone and will be living in a new and too different place. Adaptations and adjustments wrestled with me each day and my longing to be with my family hurdled my way to moving forward but I am too thankful with my employers for they warmly welcomed and embraced me as part of the family. the respect, love and care were shared and so with misunderstandings and some Petty fights were present yet at the end of each day our bond remained tuck. With their kindness and warmth little by little I blended with them, the culture and the way if living here in here Hong Kong . I slowly had forgotten about my homesickness. My employers family is just one of the homes I got to be lodged in since I came across also to a circle of friends in which our differences in culture, dialects, ages and beliefs didn’t bothered us to get along and developed our friendship into a family of not related
by blood is in them. I found a shelter where I could run to shield myself from the storms and turbulences I had and a home where comfort, safety and cherished are at free at times I am troubled, blue and feeling all alone. It is in them I feel peace and belongingness for they accepted my flaws, stains and shortcomings also took me in their hearts with all my pasts and supported me on my ups and down. They made me happy when homesickness attacks that always reminds me that we are family and we are one home. I also settled our family and love ones in the group of writers and poets where there’s no discriminations, belittling, mockery and degrading but only helping and uplifting each and everyone. In them I got back with my firs love-writing. We built a home for all migrant writers to inspire and be a motivation to each and every one so we can at least lessen the pain we are battling into because of missing our home in our own countries. And of course I feel at home here in Hong Kong for this place offered a lot of opportunities, chances, adventures, people, and vistas that indeed helped me to be at peace, secured, relaxed and be joyful. 8
It opens door for kindness, compassionate and affectionate towards others. It helped me to overcome my fears and worries also aided me to moved on from heartbreaks. Likewise it is where I learned to mingle and mix with other people, it is here I opened my real me and freed myself to the person what others used to tell I was. It is where I found my new families in platonic connections (employers , friends, poetry group and Co ofws) who filled in the absence of my family (my forever home), it is a space that made me feel homed because of the warmth I am receiving from these people and who embraced me despite of our residential status and often times give us the security and care. Indeed Hong Kong had been my home for almost eight years and I am grateful to it . I am in great gratitude for Hong Kong made me feel safe specially during this pandemic season, they made sure that we are all be extended with their support and medical needs. Yet there’s no place like our own home, our family we left in our country for their love and care are eternal. Their presence in our lives is the most precious treasure we had. The genuine and firm welfare plus the undying defense resides to the persona of our family and love ones.
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Madhuri Kulkarni
It's nearly 24 years that we relocated to Bangalore.. but the bond we still share is because of the memories of that particular Sun city of Rajasthan, India...my favourite Jodhpur... 10
Being a staunch Kannadiga.. I didn't know much of Hindi when we started our wedded life at Jodhpur.. His office was located a few kilometers away and without transportation he used to ride a bicycle.. I would be alone at home. The owners were very loving people... Our first stint was the house at Rai Ka Bagh... Though far from office.. it was close to the centre of the city.. Sojati Gate.. Every evening we would walk to that place... With no friends.. I would frantically search for familiar South Indian faces.. One such day in March 1992.. we met a family and they turned out to be from my town.. we were thrilled.. They introduced us to the Kaveri Kannada Sangha where we met many more families.. By that time, we had shifted to PWD Colony... Making new friends is my all-time hobby... So our owner and another tenant became good friends of us soon.. A year later...we shifted to his office residential area.. The atmosphere there was a bit different.. Our neighborhood was full of his colleagues and most of the ladies covered their faces... I was used to wearing dresses and never covered my head. Their weird looks put my heart racing but then... as days rolled by.. we became the best of best friends... The company we shared was such that.. it was not friendship but family... I learnt many things from them.. be it cooking different dishes, knitting.. etc..
I always feel we have spent the best part of our lives there … But I should say.. these people are most hardworking.. Our other Kannada/non Kannada friends visited us every now and then...and vice-versa. Get-togethers, picnics, festival celebrations... Uff... I always feel we have spent the best part of our lives there .. Most of our friends returned and settled at Karnataka.. but then the essence of Jodhpur doesn't seem to fade... We are a set of people who can enjoy every segment of life...anywhere and everywhere.. My recent visit to Rajasthan confirmed the same .. We were welcomed in grandeur.. The same undercurrent of love, warmth, joy...was experienced when we stayed with our friends. Their grown-up children, daughters in law, sons in law too showered the same affection.. The special delicacies..Makhaniya Lassi, Mirchi Vada, Shahi Samosa, Maava Kachori...can never be forgotten.. We relished them yet again.. the wonderful taste still lingers on my tongue.. The shopping at National Handlooms, the visit to Mandore Gardens, Mehrangarh Fort was overwhelming... The 24 year gap had never been in our path of friendship...We visited all the places which we used to go around when we were newly married...So many changes in the city. Flyovers, underpasses, etc...but the Goosebumps I had when I stepped on the land of Jodhpur. Is something which can never be forgotten.. Bidding adieu was difficult. I promised myself that I would visit Jodhpur again.. I should say we are blessed to have a Home Away From Home.. 11
Daniel Miltz When I left home as a young responsible adult it was my time to adjust to the world of responsibility because I wanted independence from my family and to learn to be self reliable. Living beyond home can be both convenience and inconvenience. One way to decide between both living styles is to compare them on your differences and similarity point of views. Moreover, in order to balance your time for daily routine, you have to plan for your foods shopping day and estimate your own consumption. As a consequence, living at home can be different in living condition compared with living away from home.
By the way, living away from home does not mean you will feel less convenience and less lively. In my opinion, adaptation is the key; that is, to stick to your most important values that according to things or situations and changes those things that you believe they can be improved yourself. The last difference is finance. People who live away from home have difference in financial status from people who live at home; thus, people who live at home might be better in financial situation from people who live away from home. So in terms of 'Home Away From Home' in conclusion, living far away from home can be difficult at the beginning, but once you have got used to it, it can be highly interesting. Even unconsciously, we take hold of it. Home brings us memories, memories that we want to hold on up to our last breath. It plays a big role to our development, as a child and as a person fully. To be away from home makes us feel empty or incomplete in a sense. But, having a home is part of ourselves which becomes a foundation of who we are today.
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Afrose Saad
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Lara was a cute girl, wanted to make dreamy earth for her parents. She belonged from a very poor family. Her mother was a house keeper and her father was a caretaker. They lived in a little home. When she was very young around 4 to 5 years, she could realize some things. But that was not a matter, her parents always said, " You're the princess. You don't need to worry. You don't need to stop your hobby. You don't need to think. Just enjoy your life like others. You will make us proud, one day. May God bless you all times." After hearing all things, she was going to do her daily chores : playing, reading, drawing, gardening, writing etc. Nobody knows, what is hidden in her deepest mind. Time was passed. She was a teenager. But she was very strong and could see that was not so clear. Her mental age was like an elder. From the very beginning, she wanted to help her family. So she tried silently. And one day, she got a letter from a NGO to work as a PROJECT ASSISTANT. She was so happy. At the viva board: Board- Are you ready to move with us? Lara- Yes. Board- Your family? Lara- I will manage. Board- Okay. Then come tomorrow. You will support our new program- "Lovely Abode" Lara: Thank you so much. Lara was so happy . That day was the starting point of her dreamy lane. At homeMom--- I want to talk with you. Where is Dad? Dad--- Hello, my sweetheart! Are you looking at me? Lara--- Hi Dad. Love you. Me too.
" You're the princess. You don't need to worry. You don't need to stop your hobby. You don't need to think. Just enjoy your life like others. You will make us proud, one day. May God bless you all times."
Mom and Dad, let me tell you one thing- I have gotten a part time job. For this , I need to move on for some days as a project assistant. Mom shouts. Are you crazy? No. Dad also says--- No dear. It's not the perfect time for you, to see the real world. I have said- Pls Mom and Dad, I have learnt so many things from our lives. I'm not a little child but as like as you, according to mental age. I want to go. The project is lovely abode and I will really enjoy that. Just give your consent. Okay! But mind it, if you face any distress just quit without any hesitation. Thank you so much, my sweet parents. Lara's new life from distant home--- Lovely Abode is starting with a new hope. There are few persons. She is the most youngest. Everyone likes her passion. They are ready to go to a mountain valley. There are few people.
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Lara's duty is to take each people's perception about their lives, family, home, dream . She is discovered that most of them are passing time with very difficulties, but still they are smiling. They are enjoying each tiny thing. They feel so proud about their lives. They love all. They decorate little home as that's the paradise. What a gracious touch! Each day Lara is writing abut her feelings. All comes about her home. She is far away from home. She is living lavishly but still she can feel, that shabby home is the best one. That cheap cot helps her to make sweet dream. She can't sleep here--- though it's so cozy and comfortable. Her mind seems so mournful. But she tries to reflect her home here for the peaceful moment. There's some children, who play in a big place like a playground. There are some greenish aura from the plants they have made. It helps her to recall the sweet childhood. She is enjoying this moment heartfully.
She can feel the real essence of happiness. It comes from the core of heart from any site. Here people are so poor, still they never forget to smile. They love to be here. They don’t want to destroy their lives. One thing, they want is to get the fair decision from others. They want their products will get the genuine value. That's all. They are happy. After the end of project, Lara has come back home. She is cuddling her Mom and Dad, tightly. Mom--- I love you so much. I miss you. Dad--- I'm so happy to be here. It's my paradise. My Sweet Abode is my home. When I was there I tried to see the reflection of home. They stayed with me like yours. They helped me to understand. They told me like you- don't take loads. You're so young. But you're doing so good. I feel as you're in front of my eyes. I was missing you but their words help me to regain your feelings. I feel comfort. Home is the most wonderful place. We can go anywhere but we can't escape our lovely abode. It is hidden in deepest mind. Away from home, it comes as a cascade to drench soul and tries to make a same panel of that sweet home, which is your best treasure. So far from your origin, still can touch the essence of love. People are ready to move from their own place for life's urges. There may need to stay a long times. Then it's essential to portrait their sweet home with lovely memories, for energize them, with a beautiful 15 mind.
SUDHA DIXIT
My real home is India. Despite being replete with many problems, India is my comfort zone. Most problems, here, are due to over population and poverty. Still, we have the kind of culture which is unique. The human interaction, here, is best in the world. Nowhere else we find the care, kindness and concern for family members specially for elders, as we see in India. 16
All over the world, joint families have ceased to exist. The idea of ‘old age homes’ is a Western concept. But, due to job requirement or some other considerations, young people, here, do move away from joint family – like going to cities or overseas; yet in times of need the whole family comes together. Besides we get care takers, paid companions and servants (rare in Western Countries) to help us out. This trend provides job opportunities to poor people, necessary in an over populated country. But as I said that children do go to far away lands. My daughter, too, got married and settled in Australia. She invited me to Perth. I was delighted to be able to visit a foreign country; that too Australia. People, usually, go to US or European countries. I wanted to explore different avenues. Australia is closer to Antarctica. Hence, it’s seasons are in reverse order. Here December is hot June is very cold. So, I planned my trip in March. My visa allowed me to stay in Perth for three months. Well, that was enough; at least better than the conducted tour that shows you places in touch and go manner. I reached Perth. Perth is in Western Australia. Almost half of Australian continent is W A, meaning Western Australia. A vast expanse of land. Large houses with pretty big lawn in the front. Flowery plants encircling the green carpet. Single storied bungalow, having inner courtyard with swimming pool and lush garden. I loved the absence of high-rise buildings of other foreign countries.
In many areas the buildings do have double stories too. But no skyscrapers. Only exception is the CBD, where umpteen offices are located. CBD and some market places have some four or five floor buildings. The township is very well planned. Every residential area must have a school to cater to the children living in that area. People choose to build or rent a house with a particular school in mind. There should be a hospital so that people don’t have to go to far off place for treatment. A library is mandatory. It serves not only students but also bibliophiles. A market place is, obviously, necessary. Thus, that particular township is self-contained and selfsufficient. I wish my India could, also, have this kind of planning and all facilities. But then India has various means of transport to take people to far as well as nearby places. This facility is not available in most foreign countries. People, there, use bicycles, motorbikes or cars. Those who cannot afford private vehicles use public transport. The problem is that one has to walk up to bus stands or railway station. Many people, especially old folks and people with fragile health, find it tedious. On the whole, I found people, even old ones, pretty healthy. Walking is a good exercise. The quality of food stuff keeps them fit and fine. They do not have joint families out of choice. Even older people prefer to be independent and alone. 17
They may be alone but they are not lonely. This is because of their life-style. Since the continent is surrounded by sea, water sports, fishing are very common activities over there. Whenever I took a stroll, I saw houses with one car, one trawler and a boat in the garage space. Australians love to go out and explore interesting places. The trawlers are fully equipped with things necessary for living. Weekends are not supposed to sit at home. So, the market s are open till late at night, so that people can buy all items they want for their outing and leave on Friday evening. In this way they get to enjoy their Saturdays and Sundays to the hilt and come back home to attend the Monday duties. I have seen people, in wheel chairs, moving around freely and easily. I love this place for its spirit. Living there, even, for three months only, taught me a lesson how to enjoy and live life meaningfully. Each and every region, on earth, has its own culture and style of living. We learn from everyone. We Indians may be culturally and spiritually rich but we should not undermine other’s cultures and traditions. Their way of dressing is different but it suits their weather and climactic differences. Because of the proximity of sea, fishing is their normal sport and sea food their staple diet.
The vegetarians should not frown on them. There are thousands of beaches, hence girls wear swimsuits or bikinis. After all they cannot swim or do water sports in jeans or gowns. People accept it as their culture and a way of life. I have not seen a single man, young or old, ogling bikini-clad women; as some Asian men, who live in land locked regions do. I love the sense of nationalism and patriotism in those people. I have been to various wineries and orchards where you can pick items kept in different packages with price tag on them. Nobody supervises you and everybody pays the relevant price. People don’t dream of cheating. I love the feeling of liberty, the sense of freedom and perception of being able to be myself wherever I visited. Away from my cherished India, in Perth with my daughter, I realize that any place that fives you a sense of fulfilment, peace and serenity becomes a home away from home. The air and atmosphere, the greenery, colourful flowers and yes the very different vegetation of Perth, its tallest trees fascinate me. Its kangaroos and unique bird, actually the unusual and extraordinary flora and fauna keep the tourists spell bound. It’s a bewitching home away from my beloved home,
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Maid Corbic I have often thought about how I can cheer myself up when I don't feel like it, and I am aware that my world is still far away somewhere, among the shackles of the glass and the journeys from the trail on the ground that is always swept away by a sandstorm. I often looked for myself, but I could never find it successfully, so as a young person I said early on that the world is grumpy and that no one today is a true friend except myself. But one day, all that changes when I realize that my place, my ideas and imaginations are still more persistent and that I, as a young person, can offer to be proud of myself. It is still time to realize that the other part of the house is a small place, a hut in the Sahara. That desert gave me a feeling of freedom when I was not at home, because I often travelled as a migrant from one place to another to find my sense of existence, but my heart was deepening. I didn't understand the meaning of life because it was as if one of us was running away for no reason. I considered myself a madman and a weirdo because I was just looking for the existence of all and to offer a happy makes in some of my thoughts. But it was as if the meaning of life was fleeing from me because I did not understand that life can and can be very good only if I continue to be aware of myself and procrastinate with myself. Yes, I travel miles away from home.
My flight was chased by people ready for war, so I feel best in the Sahara. Sand and the sun, like two rainbows, my good things, have always been with me in good and evil, but I also thought that nothing should stand in my way if I dream of the most beautiful epochs of my life to be more arrested than ever. I knew that I was far from happy there, that people accepted me as a migrant, because war is something that no one can understand until it happens to them. Or maybe, but on the other hand, it seems to me that people do not understand that the meaning of existence is to continue to build my dream and the ideal of life in a way that bytraveling through space I understand some ideals of my life and I still do not know how to turn away from that.
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But I still know that my desert is my good friend, who still does not want me to leave this place full of meaningful love for the attention that is given to me almost every day because, with the people who enjoy it, I am now the happiest. They, along with me, protect me from being a bad man and from never giving up on sleep, so that one day I will return to my home. Because I know that the purpose of what I do is only for the benefit of the moon, and people only understand the chosen ones some of those things that have been experienced even far away.
But the most beautiful thing is that I have long-term friends regardless of being a migrant, because thanks to them I am a happier and better person, and I have reason to live again with free lungs and look forward to the new sun that gives me energy every day to follow a dream. I always imagined.
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MIGRANTS’ VOICES Bernadith Dela Cruz Life of migrant workers is very difficult. Leaving the family back home. Struggling from homesickness. A mother leaving her kids, a father leaving his wife and kids, is a very painful Bernadith De La Cruz experience a migrant worker will have. Unless otherwise, the place acknowledge citizenship that later on migrants can gather all their family members with them altogether. Specially life of a migrant domestic helper without own room and only sleeping in corridors or on the sofa in the employers’ living room or in the kitchen. Some only have 4 to 5 hours sleep and some only have 3 hours. Some don’t have enough food but working 5 in the morning ‘till 12 midnight or 1 in the morning. Some don’t have reasonable hours of day off and some don’t have day off at all. The reality that most people don’t realize it really exists to the lives of a migrant domestic helper abroad. But despite of all these struggles and sufferings as a migrant worker, especially migrant domestic To love is a choice. It is a feeling and emotion that we treated badly by their employers, they workers arewe resilient and motivated enough to reach their choose to feel towards another person. A decision goals made. Same as with the decision and choice ofin life. To provide food and shelter for their family, to send their kids to school, to give their holding on into something or holding on into a feeling family a good life back home. The happiness is to towards someone. see their family back home Proud ofliving you a comfortable Some people love but choose not to hold on, depends life. anywhere and to a person’s own choice, own decision, own situation Are you a family of a migrant worker? Did you whomever you to them? Didboth you ask of why they need to let go instead of holding on. regularly send messages are with. how they are in their workplace? Or are you just Talking about love, I will give you some hint based on talking to them when it is time for the salary my own experience. because of remittance? Are you aware that they Givingthat you sometimes time Remember your self- worth always. miss home? Are you aware they despite of her/his How to determine if your partner valued your felt selfsick but can’t stop working? Are you aware daily and was alone that they sometimes hectic get illness worth? schedules. dealing with it? Are you aware that they are very prone of stress and depression? Please don’t forget to communicate regularly and let them feel that they are loved despite of the distance and that they are cared and important as a family. For me, migrant workers are considered as unsung heroes. And this poem below is dedicated to all migrant 21 workers around the world.
MIGRANTS’ VOICES
Living and working abroad seems nice and beautiful to hear. People will say, migrant workers have a lot of money, rich, having nice houses and cars, have businesses, etc. Living abundantly and having Give you freedom to voice all the pleasures in life. Well, out your opinions. all of these are but hearsays.
Introduces you to his/her family.
Bernadith De La Cruz Brave and strong In homesickness they sing a song They are bullied and often accused wrong But with bravery, easy for them to get along Migrant workers are warriors They break all the barriers Even in a far away land they became worriers But their strengths are their victories In the midst of unexpected ugly phenomenon While working abroad, it is common Massive determination is out and grown The warrior in them serves as their rainbow crown Woe to you who underestimated them deeply For you do not know what they've experienced discreetly They keep it by themselves to avoid stress completely And let their family back home live happily Warriors we can't compare to anybody Their bravery and strength exposed fully They have this determination molded uniquely I am a witness of their warrior shield woven neatly Salute to all migrant workers That in hardships perseveres 22
INDIAN PERSPECTIVE TANUSHI SINGH
THE PURSUIT OF BALANCE OF PROFESSIONAL AND PERSONAL LIFE As a child I couldn't wait to grow up and become an independent working woman. Little did I know childhood and adolescence are the most carefree and precious days of my life. If only the adults could tell us kids that as adults it is such a struggle to find and fight for the balance between living and surviving our days and that almost everyday the line blurs between survival and revival of our inner flame. Seize the day is easier said than done . To not worry is not possible and as you grow up you realize how much are we essentially living and how much are we breathing to simply get by. As children, it's about exams and school and college struggles, which actually seem inconsequential when we grow as adults and face the real world problems. To strike a balance between professional and personal life is a life long journey of knowing what to hold onto and what to let go. How to prioritize our commitments towards our family, towards our work and towards society at large. After marriage and children the shift of priorities is natural and suddenly all the dreams we saw as a young girl or boy seem not as significant as they did once. Spending time with family and understanding the essence of small joys is crucial to knowing how we must not let the daily grind of survival change the person we are. Beneath the roles and responsibilities that come with loving our families, we are also built with intrinsic needs and desires and we must not be apologetic about them. Sacrifices are great but not at the cost of your own mental and physical health. This is where the balance needs to be understood. How far are you willing to adjust with your needs in your family or work without forgetting your own needs? Do you recognize the voice that keeps repeating and reminding you about who you are and what you love? Are you living your dreams or living as per some one else 's needs. These are vital questions to live a happy and meaningful life. So in the end, the crux of balancing your professional and personal life can be understood through this quote “It does not matter how long you live, but how well you do it.” Martin Luther King Jr 23
A PIECE OF MEMORY By Marites Ritumalta
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I heard my mother’s voice calling us from the kitchen, it was dinner time, the blurry site of the surrounding inside the house was like walking in clouds, but I remember clearly what it like, the floor was so shiny, the house had an elevated part with two rooms and floor made of totally furnished wood, dusted and cleaned by my mother, the stair was cemented with steps so shiny just like the floor from below, a few strides from the living room with yielded wooden chairs, and a small table on the center, facing them was a big black and white television. My Dad came in the door, my brother ran in also after separating himself with his mates from strolling somewhere on the neighborhood. And my sister’s slim feature walked from the small living room; she had been sickly and skinny as I remember.
But she had been loved by my parents from the day she was born. I stepped down from the upstairs after hiding the fireflies I caught outside in my room. Our house was built on a hilly part with path going to a rough road that leads to our school. The front of our house had two grown serisa with sweet small ripe red fruits. I always love to climb to it and pick its fruits. 25
I remember the green grasses towering when it was rainy season and the aroma of the rice ready to be harvested while watching them at the window on the living room. I remember the scary old lady from our neighbor passing by our house with net filled with caught frogs from the field...
The nights had been magical when its summer time, as I would always want to watch the stars in the sky, they were so big as if they can be reached by my tiny hands.
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The simple happiness that created joy in my young heart hearing the crickets outside the window from my room, and my sleepy eyes while staring at the lamp hanged near the door. The morning always brought excitement as I eat my mother’s tasty cooked breakfast, and going to school with plans in my mind to pick cashew fruits along the way, I am so excited because I know the unripe fruits from yesterday were ready to be eaten... Although my brother and I always fight to everything and my mom often scold me because of my tardiness. Those voices, from my Dad, Mom, Brother and Sister, still echoes in my mind, longing and hoping that I could hear them again.
I dreamt of the home when we were still residing there, when the stars seem so near and the fireflies are glittering outside my window pane….
How long has it been? The simple and happy home built by my parents had been ruined, not even a trace from it could be found from the place it was built. I would sometimes pass to this place and try to hear their voices. But it was barren, only in my dream I can still hear them. I and my siblings have built our own homes. But I wonder, if like me, they also have dreams…
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ZALDY CARREON DE LEON JR.
History is written either scientifically or artistically. Some histories turned out to be myths and legends of the old and ancient past. However, some legends and myths turned out to be true stories according to historians validated by archeologists and scholars. In the tradition of writing, some writers were so critical about details like that of Josephus and most of the Romans and Greek writers. If you'll read the writings of Plato especially his Lives, or compare them to the writings of Herodotus, Nearchus, Megasthenese, Plutarch, Arrian, Strabo, Pliny the Elder, and Ptolemy. A more "scientific" way was done to record their works. Thus, achieving historical writing through citation from previous works of their contemporaries and firsthand accounts and chronicles. On the other hand, another writer of history like Xenophon,may have been classified differently as his work is written in a clear fashion but whose relevance of the history he was writing cannot be evidently seen. Xenophon’s mode of writing history, and his understanding of the purpose of history and its place among human inquiries, differed greatly from his historical predecessors. In this way, history seems to be of an alternative means, at some point, since lack of citations or proofs delimits an understanding of his writings.
Yet still, he is one of the greatest three historians of the ancient world. But if there is a right way of historical writing, the great Herodotus' way may be imitated. What has he done with his works? He chronicled events that happened during his lifetime, but he also reported events that happened long before he was alive. Thucydides, by contrast, wrote only contemporary history; that is, he was a first-hand witness of sorts to the events he describes. There are other modes of writing but in all of these modes, education is important. Reading, reading, reading should never be a choice, it is a must. The nature of history may be based on physical evidences, written texts, and oral traditions. None of these were "chismis". Physical evidences are hard facts that made a historical writing positively true. Dinosaurs, old civilizations in Turkey, Africa, the Mesopotamia and the fertile Crescent were all hard evidences. For example, Gizepi Tepe were around 12,000 years old according to radiocarbon dating. Are these technologies branded liars? Now, there are alternative histories like that of the Egyptian Sphinx which the Egyptians themselves do not know where it come from or when it was built. Mainstream scholars dated them in the time of the kings, but alternative scholarship and research tend to antedate the Sphinx over 20,000 years (+/-?). Their conclusion was based on the research that there were water corrosion on the Sphinx. These may happen when the place is much more humid. Are human species able to do it? Now you'll doubt the mainstream. But it is like this: in law, one is judged until proven the guilt. 28
These two stories from scholars are contradictory to each other. Some says Anunakis or gods from heaven aided human species as slaves in building the pyramids. Some says UFO contacts were present during those times. But the mainstream scholarship states that slaves from various nations were ensnared to work on it, as portrayed in the film "10,000 BC". Among the civilizations that pass history orally were the Jews. Some of the people were able to memorized long list of genealogies and stories were laid in that approach. Homer is said to be blind. But how come his works were written? The prophet Mohammed had no written text but the Quran, sacred book of our brother Moslems, were written in that approach ; that is, in a council, Islamic scholars and those who heard the prophets were called to write what they have heard in the teachings of the prophet. The same with Jesus Christ: the Gospel were written based on the memory of those who heard and have seen Jesus Christ. Are these men a myth or a legend? Of the Metamorphoses by Ovid; the Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus; the Medea by Antigone, and the works of Sophocles. Are all these just creative and not works of higher order thinking. Of the Iliad and the Odyssey by Homer; and a more recent Troilus and Cressida by Shakespeare. Many works can be written creatively. But I opposed that these were chismis. Mainstream or alternative, the purpose of their works are settled.
The Buddist sutras, the Gilgamesh, the Hindu texts, of Zoroaster, and other texts were written as if by divine inspiration. Read these books at the sacredbooks.com. Some were historical writings that modern scholarship has proven correct. But most parts were not yet proven. These are not incorrect information. Remember, people writing in the past conceal truth through hidden messages and parables. These were not understood easily by most people because the exegesis to these stories must not be superficial but spiritually-deep. Those that are consumed by the modern stigmatas cannot understand these ideas. Take the story of Jonah or Job, or the stories of Buddha at the Dhammapada. There were unwritten histories but it does not imply that written histories were not right. This is not a chismis. In the scientific community, the exegesis to this thought-process is called "historical perspectives." On Ecclesiastical history and secular history's contradiction. It is not a contradiction of facts because evidences were not presented. Remember the dictum that the presence of evidence does not assume a presence of evidence; or the absence of evidence does not assume the absence of evidence. Time intends to put things on that right places. They assume that the Bible is not a historical document but only like scrapbooks compiled by some Medieval monks. But until the Tischendorf. Thus, Lobegott Friedrich Constantin Tischendorf was a German biblical scholar. In 1844, he discovered the world's
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oldest and most complete Bible dated to around the mid-4th century and called Codex Sinaiticus after the St. Catherine's Monastery at Mt. Sinai where Tischendorf discovered it. Are these chismis? Consider also the book of the Prophet Isaiah which speaks about the prophecies on the birth of the Jewish Messiah, textual critics states that it is a 10th century (?) Jewish forgery. Not until the discovery of it in a jar along with other Gnostic scriptures called Nag Hammadi that silenced the mouth of these "scholastic" gossipers. Stipulating on the facts which are not written, alternative history, is one thing that made histories colorful and worth researching. Armchair scholarship cannot accomplish an effort with this, they really need to search, search, search upon bulk and piles of secondhand references and rare and antique Ian firsthand accounts. A historian is wise enough to see the consequences if they follow the side comments of a reality than follow what has happened actually that can be rightfully connected to another boulder of a history. Why replace the written with the alternative if it does not connect to the general line of related incidences? My library contained about 400 books on histories from natural to divine history. Some books contradict the main and general history. Though it happens, it cannot rightfully replace the majority knowledge because it will undress histories to make adjustments. For example, the Bible, when we contradict it with the Book of Barnabas will make the Bible flawed. But is the Book of Barnabas or the Gospel of Thomas written truthfully than the inspired writings of the Scriptures? If we say that the Scriptures as a historical document is a chismis, where would you get the nerve to say it? My library also contained curious literature like that of the histories of the ancient civilizations, secular writings of Josephus, the centuries of Nostradamus, or the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Are all these ancient and historical people saying the truth? Have you ever read the histories of great civilizations written by Thucydides or Xenophon? How about Josephus' wars of the Jews or the Antiquities? Have you ever relate the Book of the Dead to the Scriptures? Or read Sapphic and Homeric poems and relate them to histories? These books are full of perspectives. For example, the Marcos and Aquino rivalry. Who is the saint and who is the devil?
Asking this question will instantly glorify Aquinos as saints and heroes. But have we seen the alternative stories, and heard the side of the Marcoses? Is this chismis? Not at all. That's historical perspective. Now, having written history as part of cultural mapping. Alternative stories and anecdotes are affairs of a historian. This is not an affair of anybody who does not read as much histories as possible.
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Commenting against these written histories reducing these as chismis is a big innocent remark. Whoever say history as chismis contradicts the scholarship done to research on facts and all the integrity that fueled the honor of every historians. I'm a historian. I've collected the books as evidences of realities. I've read them many times during my studies. Sometimes, I doubt history but I cannot say these are wrong, my doubts are just empowered by higher order thinking and not conclude my inability to discern history or stories as chismis. To wit, too much existentialist thought is risky in understanding truth. Your opinion in history is unnecessary especially when your understanding of historical "flaws" are just chismis. Next time, read texts and not just scripts: historical texts are actions recorded by ink, movie scripts are creative power of light, camera, and action. Take two. History repeats itself in various ways from separate times. But history, my goodness, has no take twos. I wrote this not as an answer to the showbiz personality's nag on history but to enlighten my dear friends on the meaning of Mainstream and Alternative histories, which are obviously not chismis. Those who critic history must support themselves with loads of references and not a load of mouthful but ignorant words. History is worth bringing back to the classrooms from elementary to college. Taught in Filipino language. Once again, if you have not understood these historical nuggets, you are not allowed to comment on things you don't understand. Concentrate on your field of expertise. If we lack knowledge, pray that God give it to us. Humanity can be defined as a respect for other humans. Have we thought of it before saying history is like chismis? And have we understood the meaning of our statements? The grammatical statements of "History is chismis" versus "History is like chismis" are grammatically different, but philosophically the same. If spoken as is, proofs must be given. If opinion lurks, it is invalid. Thus, humanity is like a crown of gold, it is given to human, not to monkeys. Second, humanity is a crown of gold, it is given to human, not to monkeys. What is the different? If we defend ourselves based on grammar, we are like a research panelist who concentrate on technicalities without knowing the result of the study, which is more important. If we defend ourselves philosophically, bagging humanity, ask ourselves first, have we been humane to the historians who burn their brows to write their accomplishments? The former is a direct statement; while the other compares and is an independent and indirect statement. The nature of the first phrase is that the subject is directly stated as the object. This is not the grammatical case for the second phrase: it states that the subject is like the object. This second statement determines that the subject is not the object but is like it. Now, grammar delimits the idea but by consequence of reason, the statement seems to absolve the nature of the latter as if the subject is the same as the object.
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Welcome to the August 2022 edition of Poetry Planet Book Publishing House. This issue focus to the feeling of being at home in a place away from the real home. Writers from around the world express their ideas and stories about the given theme. Continue to subscribe for more viewpoints about life and literature! Editor
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