I’m kind of there. I’m past the big three-oh mark, and I’m not anywhere near where I thought I would be at this point, but that’s done, and this is what I have. I’m at the point where I’m just getting rid of all the excess baggage so I can move lightly to the next chapter. The way I see it: being stuck is an option, not an endpoint.

But it sure is hard to move out of a rut. It’s like finding out you stepped in quicksand. I like how Bear Grylls said that we move sideways and on an angle away to get out of quicksand. So there is hope. And so the best way to get out of a rut is not by the most linear of ways, but rather, sideways and at an angle.

Here’s what I’ve been doing to move out of my rut:

Learn to say a phrase in another language. BBC offers free language courses online (Greek, Portuguese, Chinese, German, Italian, French and Spanish—take your pick). So far, I’ve been making progress with Cebuano, and I can say “would you like some bread” in French, and “THAT’S TOO EXPENSIVE” in Spanish. I’m still trying to figure out how to say something in Gaelic, but we’ll get there.

Set new goals. I suggest you aim for the small, mundane ones. In my case, I went for “clean out my closet,” or “sing Michael Jackson’s Rock With You” to a paying crowd, or “sing with a string quartet” (thanks for this, Manila String Machine) or learn how to read waves so I can surf or jump off a waterfall:

Yes, that’s really me. Timestamp and the swimsuit to prove it.

Try something strange. I did this by trying out jivamukti yoga in the Legaspi Park on one sunny Sunday morning, and I even tried my hand at hitting the daily jackpot at foxybingo, or finishing a Sophie Kinsella novel every Saturday. Alright, maybe I haven’t been doing all that well with the Sophie Kinsella books, but it sure does entertain me to try and start.

And you know, maybe, just maybe, by doing all this, I’ll wake up one day and find myself out of my rut.

Maybe.

And even if I don’t, damn, but isn’t life fun?

Most people took one look at that poster and went, “Ailene who?”

That’s a good question.

Typically, women who do talks on beauty are former beauty queens, fashion models, or have ships-launched-on-account-of-face-value portfolios like Helen of Troy. Beautiful Women, photographed a million times over, and who can make a sack look sexy.

Typically.

But as a line in that movie Almost Famous goes, “who puts such a high premium on typical?”

Apparently, we Filipinas do.

For years, we’ve just accepted that we’re too small to be beautiful, too slender, too large-nosed, too awkward to be beautiful, too brown to be beautiful, too fat to be beautiful, too chubby to be beautiful. And we’ve sucked it up and swallowed it down like medicine. But what if it isn’t medicine, but poison?

And that’s what this talk is about. It’s not so much a workshop as it is an honest-to-goodness, heart-to-heart talk about why it’s so hard to accept the fact that we ARE beautiful. Why we’re so scared to be beautiful. Why we’re so defensive about being beautiful.

Because I think you’re beautiful.

I think every Filipina is an amazing, beautiful, strangewonderful creature of strength and grace. I also think that some of us have been shortchanging ourselves. If you’re going to lie to me and tell me “it doesn’t matter if I’m not beautiful: Well, this is me looking into your eyes and calling your bluff.

If beauty doesn’t matter, then why does it hurt so much when people criticize our looks and call us “ugly?” Why does it matter so damn much that a man finds us pretty?

The kind of beauty that Hollywood and fashion tries to peddle on me is the kind that fades FAST. It’s the kind that needs all the synthetic/fake help that it can get, and I don’t want to talk about that kind of beauty.

I want to talk about the kind of beauty that lasts, the kind that spills over like a bubbling fountain inside you and wraps people up in all these good warm feelings, the kind that makes you feel amazing inside your own skin. The kind that gets better as the years go by. The kind that makes you shine like a jewel.

Tell me, when have you last felt incredibly comfortable in your own skin?

If you’ve been having doubts about the current standards for beauty, if you’ve been wondering why you’ve been working your ass off to be sexy and beautiful so people can accept you, if you’ve been having little voices in your ear whispering “hey, I think we’re beautiful,” and wondering if you’re schizophrenic… if you’re the kind who’s just tired of people telling you you’re not enough, you’re too much, et cetera, maybe you’d like to drop by?

Don’t worry. I won’t make you do painful things on Monday. We’ll just talk. We’ll bring out the little cuppycakes and pass around coffee (or if you think you need something stronger I can arrange that), and I’m going to remind you of truths that you already know. That you’re beautiful and amazing and that all our Filipina sisters are equally beautiful and amazing.

We’re going to start redeeming beauty. What do you think about that?

If you have ever seen Boracay’s white sands back then, it was so powder white it was like being coated by warm snow. If you try and stare at the sand when the sun was high above, you’d seriously see spots for several hours. And how fine was it back then? It was like drifting your hand through a beach made of flour.

Being Boracay pre-1998 as my reference for “pristine,” I then now use that word to describe the emerald green island that is Calaguas (located an hour or so away from Paracale, Camarines Norte, Bicol, Philippines).

At least, up until this year we can still call it pristine.

Calaguas’ waters are so clear that I’d say it was visible up until 20 feet. Only some meters away from the shore and it’s already 12 feet deep, but the waters are so still and clear that you can see your shadow on the ocean bottom. (I finally did something I’ve been wanting to do since I first came to this island in 2008: just take my clothes off and jump in as soon as the boat slowed down enough. And I love my friends and my sister for just smiling at me when I jumped into the water, for throwing the GoPro into the water with an “Ai, catch!” and telling me that they’d meet me on the shore with my stuff.)

This may be the last time in a very long time that I’ll be coming to Calaguas. I’ve been coming here at least once a year since 2008, and it’s already so different from the first time I saw it in Oh-Eight. The island is showing wear and tear from those really smart people who thought that putting up a mobile bar, a loud sound system, and lining up the boats so that they could shine their lights a la Boracay beach was cool. In Calaguas.

How come nobody ever told them that was not the best idea in the world? I’m all for modernity, and I am a big fan of partying… But we need to know our limits. And last night, I could feel Calaguas blurring the lines of those limits between modernity and Boracay-rate destruction. I would appreciate a decent bathroom in that place. But there is such a thing as noise and light pollution.

I couldn’t see the stars anymore from the beach. I remember before that as soon as night falls on Calaguas, the sky would look like a big star-studded black blanket, and if you close your eyes and lie down on the soft, springy sand, all you’ll hear is the sound of your breathing, the ocean, and the stars. Last night, I tried to do that, and it was utter failure. There weren’t any more stars. The lights they set up made the beach look like some amber-colored thing instead of the glowing silver beach it should’ve been if only they let the moon did its job. Instead of the ocean and my breathing, all I could hear was a bad remix of some top 40s, a slightly decent (if unsteady) rendition of some “acoustic” songs, and yelling. In the morning, when I woke up at 6AM for a swim, the beach was already dotted with pedestrians.

Hurrah, Calaguas. You’re only five years away from destroying yourself like Boracay.

Look, if we’re Filipinos, then Calaguas is ours. Do you really want it to go down the way of Boracay? Please, please, I am crying out to anyone who can read this: don’t turn Calaguas into Boracay. If you’re going to develop it, fine. But please let it be a place where I can bring my children to and say “Look, baby. See the stars? Yes, baby, Manila Bay used to look like this! (Back around the time when Intramuros was actually a city, maybe.)”

We’ve been so irresponsible so many times with our islands, let’s not let this one go to waste. One day, we’ll look back and we’ll think, “wow, what have we done?”

It is possible to mix modernity and keep the environment safe from our destructive habits. Let’s figure this out, come on.

1. I am disappointed, because I was in faith and expecting God to do great things in my life, and well, I’m still all blah..
2. I am disillusioned, because I was in faith and expecting God to do great things with me, and well, nothing.
3. I am tired with life in general, because like the Word said: a hope deferred makes the heart sick.

I thank God for my spiritual family, who has stood with me and prayed with/over me, and just reminded me about God’s promises (how it’s sure, how it will come at His appointed time, etc) and how abiding in God produces much fruit (is the only way to bear fruit). Only problem was that I was at the point where my questions ran along the line of “Lord, I’ve been digging and digging and digging, and where the heck are those pools of water that you promised will come? I’m tired and I’m hungry, and I can’t drink dirt.” I’m at the point where I KNOW my dream is dead. I know that I’m 30 and I’ve watched everyone else, even the people I trained, overtake me with their own dreams and they’re atheists. I’m at the point where my question is: “why am I bothering with all this again when You, God, so easily take everything away from me anyway?”

So I’ve been listening a lot to preachings about disappointment and what-if-God-did-not’s and how to deal with God taking things away.

There’s the heartbreaking, all-too-real story about the Shunammite woman and her son, and how Elisha blessed her by prophesying about her child… and she had the child. And then the child died. And she rushed away from her child’s dead body (without even telling her husband that the child had died, just an “it’s alright,” when her husband asked why she needed a donkey) to Elisha and all she told Elisha was “Did I ask you for a son? Didn’t I tell you not to raise my hopes up?” (2 Kings 4:28)

You see, that’s what I was asking God. “I told you not to raise my hopes up. I was FINE being mediocre and invisible. I was fine.”

But God an answer for that (of course), and the answer to that particular question was that you can’t really get a good resurrection without a very real death. And in my case, how can Jesus ever make me new if some things never died? In Haggai 2, the prophet says that those who touch the dead are unclean, and yet God still longs to bless them. What a God.

Then again, God doesn’t always raise people (or dreams) up from the dead. Take John The Baptist. Totally upright man of God, kick-started Jesus’ career, and shooed Jesus in straight to a willing and ready flock. What happened to John? Got thrown into prison AND then beheaded. Jesus didn’t show up to take John’s head from the plate, reattach John’s head to his body, maybe spit in the gap and go “walk and be free, John!” No miracle there. John stayed dead. Did John ask for that, you think? Did John work his butt off so that his ministry will end up with his enemies gloating over his decapitated head? What was the point again, being the voice in the wilderness for the real Messiah when the Messiah Himself didn’t BOTHER?

But even here God had an answer for me: John didn’t look to anyone except GOD for his affirmation and/or his reward. I was so caught up in the whole “promise-of-good-things” and so used to being affirmed (because isn’t it such a “Christian” thing to “affirm,” *irony here*) that I’d totally forgotten that when I accepted Christ and His calling for me as His daughter, my prize was and is hidden in CHRIST. People can never give me what I’m looking for. The perfect salary will never give me the satisfaction that only He can give me. The husband I’m waiting for can never satisfy all my inner, deeper hunger. (Gosh, if I forget all these things I’m writing down somewhere in the future, please hit me over the head with it.)

I would like to have Abraham’s faith from now on. The same faith that had him bring his son Isaac up to Moria without even questioning God and going “Really? You promised this kid to me, and now you want me to kill him?” He didn’t say anything. He just told his son, the one he was gonna sacrifice, “The Lord will provide.” And unless the Bible was hiding something from us, we didn’t know if God whispered to Abraham “But really, just between the two of us, I’m just testin’ ya.” Abraham went and surrendered.

And now the parable of the workers in the field is so real to me right now. God gives. Period. There is no qualification there that says He gives more to those who work more or less to those who started at 3PM. He doesn’t give according to what I strive for or what you strive for. He gives. Out of His abundance He gives, and it’s futile if I try to measure it with my own standards or against any human kind of measurement.

I remember that at the start of this year (which was really only just fifteen weeks or so ago), my faith goal was to be a servant to all. To pour myself out. But see, if I can’t even give up the potential of a dream, how much more can I give up the fulfilment of that dream? If I can’t give up this small, tiny hope… how much more can I give up the fulfilment of that hope? How can I pour myself out when I cling so tightly to the things inside me, that God gave to me in the first place?

God gives and He takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I picked a sermon series randomly (based on the artwork, actually) and, without meaning to, found myself listening to a series on  how most Christians are in danger of ruining their lives – in danger of wasting them. (Here’s the link.)

lso, and I knew this was the Spirit talking into my life, one of the verses was John 12:14. Which is one of the verses that the prayer and fasting guide that I’m following right now has asked me to memorize.

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.”

That makes no sense to me. I’ve memorized it and it meant nothing to me. So I am grateful for this Elevation series if it meant shedding light on this mysterious verse. Because, really? Greater works than Jesus, actual Son of God? Was Jesus speaking in a parable again?

So he departed from there and found Elisha the son of Shaphat, who was plowing with twelve yoke of oxen in front of him, and he was with the twelfth. Elijah passed by him and cast his cloak upon him.

I know how Elisha feels. I feel like I’ve been staring at the butt of a farm animal, not even second in line, but 12th in line, part of a production line, and not a leader at all. And honestly, if someone like Elijah so much as hit me with a cloak, I’d take that as a welcome change from the mundane as well.

It doesn’t help that everyone seems to be doing something with their lives. Like I’m waiting for my life to kick in, you know. Everyone’s getting married, or having babies. When we have get-together dinners, it’s with nannies and babies and nappies, and 80% of the time is spend running around after children or trying to shovel in/clean up food from the baby. Or my old business partners or the kids who interned with me now have their own businesses. My cousins have moved out, and I can’t even afford a P3000 rent. It doesn’t help that all of my ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers are happily engaged or married right now.

Church wasn’t helping either. There was the pressure of setting up my own small group and being in this seminar or that singles talk, or the pressure of making sure that people show up for rehearsals on Sundays even though technically nobody should remind them because they’re the ones who made that commitment, right? I was getting annoyed that we were the kind of church who is more concerned with teaching female music team members how to put on make-up rather than give them practical tips on why and how to live sparkling, beautiful lives in the limelight. Oh and I know everyone means well, but after three months of being asked “how’s your small group” I just felt like punching the wall with my head. As if setting up my small group was the only way to evangelize to the nation. (I know it isn’t, and I know all the answers… but cabin fever was beginning to make me feel like that.) I also didn’t appreciate it when people would ask me questions like, “but why do you travel, Ailene? Are you running away from something?” And when I would point them to my blog entry on how I was built with this passion to travel, they wouldn’t bother to read it. Which makes it seem like they’re very quick to make judgements of me, not necessarily be quick to understand and accept me.

I know that none of these things matter, really, not in the long run, not in light of real death, not in light of eternity. That these are small things, but these small things were beginning to feel like annoying little pebbles stuck inside my shoe, and as Robert Frost said, “I have miles to go before I sleep.” Ever tried walking more than 50 meters with pebbles in your shoe? Yep, annoying. It also felt like I was trying to conform to people’s expectations of who I should be rather than what God says I already am: a holy nation, a crown of jewels in His hand, His inheritance, salt and light to the world.

And that’s what the next seven days are for, really. I’m trying to get rid of these small mental pebbles, these world views and attitudes that are sticking in my craw.

There was always one lesson that my yoga instructor instils in me every practice: this concept of sukha (gentleness, softness, surrender… technically it means happiness) and sthira (steadiness, firmness, nonmoving, that tension between movement and nonmovement).

It has always seemed to me that my walk as a Christian is a balancing act between surrender and steadiness. And if I am on a tight rope, high above the crowd, but still surrounded by such a great cloud of witness, well, it’s alright. I am caught up in the arms of this wonderful God who is loving, merciful, kind, and above all: faithful, a solid rock.

At least it should be alright. I need to remember why I was passionate about all this.

Steven Furtick, in this sermon that I’m listening to, describes Elisha’s call as “an invitation to deeper surrender.” And I understand now that I am panicking against this invitation. I am scared to surrender more deeply, to be taken under. (Can I still breathe in such depths? Can I dance in such strange heights?)

So I don’t know yet. It’s only been the first day. I am still excited at the quickening awareness of God all around me.

If you’re reading this now, then you’re alive, and I need to tell you: don’t wait for tomorrow to make recompenses or to right a wrong or to love someone. Do it now, while there’s still blood pumping through your veins and the breath on your lips is still hot and real.

Look, you’ve heard a million versions of what I just said, probably even said better. But I’m serious. Don’t wait for the shit to fall before you actually get around to living life fully.

Yesterday, I realized I’ve been such a shallow, self-centered bitch lately. I’ve been thinking all these thoughts. How maybe I should put distance between him and me (“what if he falls for me or if I fall for him and our timing’s off”), how to deal with my walk with Christ by separating myself from the “unyoked” (“I really need to live that set apart life”), thinking that I should just leave her alone (“if she doesn’t wanna talk to me, I’m not gonna force her to”)… and all these thought processes are just downright idiotic when placed against the reality of death. Really, Ailene? Don’t make up with her now? Yeah, well, you’re dying. You really wanna die with that on your conscience?

Yesterday was the biggest wake-up call: I don’t have the luxury of time. Rent was right. “No day but today.”

Yesterday was April Fool’s and it was the worst kind of joke when I lost one of the dearest men in my life. The ironic thing is I haven’t seen him since Oh-Nine and I didn’t even make it to his hospital so I can see him one last time.

When I got on the bus, my phone rang and it was the sad news: he was gone, and suddenly I was rushing to be in the same building as his corpse, not to be with him. I cried loudly in the bus; I didn’t care any more who could see it. There was a six-foot-hole in my life all of a sudden, and nobody else’s corny jokes will do.

I thought of all the things Chad and I have gone through: Worshipping our God together. Being in ministry together. Discovering our music and calling. Knowing that I didn’t even have to worry about the little things that came with making music, because he was there… No, they were all there. And we can worship God together and the sound of our worship was a strong, mighty roar. The bittersweet thought that felt like a dagger under my skin: never again will I worship that way with him from this side of the veil.

And that’s when the shoulda-coulda-wouldas started. I should’ve forced myself to go to his gig at least ONCE. Freaking made time for it. I should’ve showed up for the Christmas parties. I should’ve forced them all to have dinner with me and deal with the awkwardness then and there.

There was comfort and love when I got there. Jen’s fingers intertwined with mine, the warm hug from Gmae, the steadiness of Dane. Talking extreme sports with Aaron, and Floyd’s hug. Teng being a strong man, and Eboy’s comfort. There’s so much history between all of us, with all of us, and that for me is just a testament of how far God has brought all of us.

Nothing like death to bring up the ferocity of love from deep inside us. No matter how far away I wander, no matter how much time and space I put between us: the bonds that bind me and my Alab family are real and true and run deeper than anything I can ever understand. I love them all so much. And when push comes to shove, my Alab family will shove back. When you need a pillar of strength of comfort… well, here they all are. A temple of worship full of pillars of strength and comfort.

Nothing like death to make it real that this life is meaningless without a Reason, a Source, a Hope.

I know for a fact that when we worship together, tonight or tomorrow, and despite all the crap we’ve put ourselves through, the sound of our worship will still be a mighty force. And from somewhere, across the veil of this mortal life, Chad and Dha will be worshipping with us.

Around this time last year, these dogs were still fighting dogs, until they were rescued a week and a year ago from today. The dog fights were broadcasted online by a syndicate ran by Koreans. These eight Korean syndicates are now scheduled to be deported next month. The dogs were rescued (although, sadly, not all of them survived) and are now healing and being rehabilitated in the Center.

Me and Snowflake. Hee.

It was overwhelming going through all the cages, and every time I approached a group of dogs, I can see them already wagging their tails, almost falling over as they shook with excitement at seeing a visitor. I can’t remember exactly how many dogs I met, but it was the same process over and over again as I walked through the Center. A careful closed fist to a pitbull, their cautious sniff, holding their gaze as they assessed if I’m worthy of their attention, and then the humbling relief I felt when they’d press up against their cages so I can sneak my fingers in and rub them through the bars.

Yep, you guessed it, I cried a lot.

Me and Jade. My legs make her look massive.

I knew, before the day was even half-over, that I’d end up formally putting my name down an an adopter. Even that feels like such a small thing to do, though, because at the most I can only adopt one dog, and there’s over a hundred dogs in the Center that need love and affection.

I just can’t understand how we could force innocent animals to kill each other for our amusement. What kind of twisted mind do we have that we’d cruelly transform a gentle and loving animal into fighting machines? I feel like I should apologize to pitbulls in behalf of all humankind: we are not all such cruel people.

I had the chance to walk some of the dogs today, too. A favorite is Jade, a beautiful blue pitbull, and everywhere we went she found treats and lots of hands to rub her down. Then there was Glory, a sweet pitbull who complained when I was rubbing her head, and pushed my hand down until I found her belly. She can be belly-rubbed forever. There was Goldie, a beautiful sweet pitbull who was being taught how to sit. I loved the energy of Carbon, the spoiled-bratness of Carmela (who, when she got tired, just laid down and refused to get up; they had to carry her back), et cetera.

I also met Julian, and more importantly, his Brutus. Here was a man with a young daughter, five pitbulls and an Aspin. Brutus, one of his pitbulls, was one of the first dogs to leave the Center. Brutus looked like a massive ball of happy fur and when he arrived, and I’ll never forget his rockstar attitude as he went up to every person with a confident doggy grin, and body bumped each one until we reached down to rub his flanks. We asked Julian how it was like to integrate Brutus with the other dogs, and Julius shrugs like it’s the world’s easiest thing to do. Ruby is another rescued dog that’s been adopted. You can follow her story here.

I know that some people are concerned about how pitbulls would adapt with other dogs, but with time, training, and consistency, I’m sure it’s possible. It’s a little bit like how you would integrate any new dog with your other pets.

When I posted about my decision to adopt a pitbull, I got a lot of feedback from people who said that pitbulls are bad, they have a mean temperament, and are hard to train. But maybe the surprising thing was the amount of support I got from people and families who have had pitbulls. “Best pets ever. Love them forever,” was a comment I received in Instagram. Based on what I saw (and rubbed and petted and walked) today at the Center, I know pitbulls now to be wonderfully sweet. These 164 ex-fighting-dogs were more interested in getting a rubdown then fighting. If you think about it, they should have been done over, ruined forever because of their fighting days, but instead, they welcome each visitor with a doggy grin.

If you’re interested in learning more about the Save The Laguna Pitbulls movement, click here. You’ll find more information about donating (they need LOTS of dog food every day, if you can only imagine), volunteering, and adoption.

Another friend I made on top of the pitbulls, in the form of the lovely Sofia.

In one word, Hillsong United’s Zion is: beautiful.

Now let me break it down for you.

Musicality

There are no complaints. I appreciated all the musical details about Zion, even the cheesiness of A Million Suns. It’s about time that the worship music scene got the memo on how the rest of the world has been in a relationship with electronica and it’s time for us to catch up. There were moments when I felt like Hillsong United took all the elements I love about Miike Snow, Phoenix, Bag Raiders, Sleepwalk Circus, Explosions In The Sky; put them in a blender, and then started tagging worship lyrics to whatever came out of the blender.

I’m not complaining.

Of course, I realize that the electronica feel may not be for everyone, but remember Best Friend (also not the world’s best album name, but hey, it worked)? Remember how everyone was like, “oh wow, this is fantastic, but I don’t know how I’m going to play this in church, it sounds like it may be too loud, and electric guitars are, you know, “rock music”… ohwaitcrap, we can play it in church!” Of course, for some churches it took about five years to actually playing songs from Best Friend, but they got there eventually.

John (youth pastor at Joy Christian Fellowship in lovely Intramuros) and I had this conversation where he said, “It may be that we are on a different musical wavelength than those who listen to normal worship music, but I can still appreciate “singability by the group” as a valid criterion for setlist selection.” To which I say: just look at the kids who dance and sing along to Foster The People and Avicii. We just need to stop looking at worship music from the lens of Mighty To Save and Chris Tomlin, even though I feel like Zion was the love child of “Found” (from the album “Mighty To Save”) and anything by Brooke Fraser.

I’m also glad that there are no obviously sad or happy songs here. You know how churches automatically lump happy/fast songs into “praise,” and the slow and solemn ones into “worship?” There will be some churches who will go, “wait, which one’s praise? Which one’s worship?” And I will happily answer them with “all of it.”

Mood, flow, production, all those other details

One of the things that I always appreciated about Hillsong United albums is that it’s one chunk. One must go through the entire album, and in my case, whenever I get a Hillsong United album, I try to schedule a quiet night in my room so that I can both appreciate and worship with it. Listening to Zion was like unwrapping a beautiful book and reading a story. Even better when you have the CD in your hand, and you go through that gorgeous inlay with its hipster-ish landscapes.

It’s better if you listen to the album while looking through the inlay, because then you’ll realize that it all fits. It’s a good enough substitute to simulate that experience when you’re traveling and you’re listening to this really good song, and everything (the sunlight, the movement of the car, etc) clicks and it’s a magic moment.

Of course, just like any journey, there are dragging parts and maybe even an awkward transition somewhere… but it does not take away anything from the album.

Did I mention that the inlay is gorgeous?

Lyrics

And because this is a worship album, extra attention towards the lyrics. Hillsong has gotten some criticism some years back because of the intensely personal angle of its worship songs, as some churches would rather take a more Godly point of view when they’re worshipping. All valid, of course. Congregational worship is, just like individual worship, as personal to that group of people as it is to that individual worshipping. We all have our quirks and preferences. So for some congregations, they worship through hymns, while others worship by jumping up and down and yelling key phrases like “ALWAYS!” Or “GOD IS GOOD! ALL THE TIME!” For some congregations, a strict criterion would always be Biblical basis, while others are fine with Bible-based interpretations of faith. Now before anyone goes on to debate about this, just shelf it for now and let’s go back to Zion.

I appreciate the defiant and strong hope that is steeped deep in each song here in Zion, a battle cry that goes with our daily Christian walk. I appreciate that while most songs are not blatantly Biblical, it always comes from a point of view that seems to come from a deeply personal relationship with this beautiful, powerful God. The songs acknowledge the strangeness of God, marvelling at His holiness, and nakedly honest about the frailty of life, and how we rely on Him.

Again, the landscape scenes in the inlay make some more sense to me as I listened to the album. As with me, I worship more when I see the mystery of His creation unfold before me. Just look at this world, just take one good look, and see if it does not compel you to sing loud praises to God.

Songs

I already wrote at length about Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) here, so you already know that’s one of my favorites.

I also love Up In Arms, which is quickly becoming my battle cry these days. Just look at this line: “Your love has got me up in arms again and this hope won’t let me go.” Makes me want to grab my sword and just go slay bears and lions, and maybe a Goliath or two.

Stand and Wait is another favorite. “I will stay should the world by me fold, lift up Your name as the darkness falls. I will wait and hold fast to Your word. Heart on Your heart and my eyes on You.” Enough said, yeah?

Worship Factor

Ailene: But I think I like it this way, the fact that it’s not something I can sing with a congregation. I put this on when I’m worshipping and it feels like they’re singing the anthems of my heart.
John: This album, while it may create conundrums in the traditional worship churches (never mind the conservative ones)– they write the songs of my heart.

Now let’s give away some CD+DVDs.

We have two Zion CD+DVDs here that need to go to their rightful owners. Here’s how you’re going to assert that you are the rightful owner of that CD+DVD.

What you need to do is find an old photo or take one of a landscape/scenery/anything that goes along with Philippians 4:8. Put your favorite verse on it or a line from one of your favorite worship songs on it, like so (think Overgram):

To make things less complicated, we’re only going to run this through Twitter and Instagram. Which means you have until 11PM (Philippine time) on Sunday, March 31, 2013 to upload that photo on Twitter and Instagram and then tag us, @TheAilene and @JohnHofilena (that applies for both Twitter and Instagram). Don’t forget to put the hashtag: #ZionIsMine.

A couple of neutral people and a representative from House Of Praise will pick three of those photos based on: creativity, originality, aesthetic niceness, cuteness, and again everything according to Philippians 4:8.

We ship to anywhere. Really.

Addendum: April 8, 2013. WE’VE GOT WINNERS!

Sorry it took a while to announce this, I was out and about last week and when I got home we didn’t have Internet. Heh. After our unbiased judges went through all the photos, the #ZIONISMINE winners are:

1. Stef Juan - http://instagram.com/p/XUEExIxckE

2. Jamie Flores - http://instagram.com/p/XTmstFmNGB

3. Angel Fernandez - http://instagram.com/p/XJmcHNl1uS

These three will be receiving Hillsong United’s latest album, Zion, by mail. Yes, it’s the CD+DVD one. Will be sending everything out this week. Congratulations, guys! And thanks for all the healthy participation!

There I go, not the world’s best athlete or the world’s most enthusiastic swimmer, also with not that great a sense of balance, on a flimsy fiberglass board double my size, in the middle of a somewhat deadly ocean,* facing some child-sized waves.** And I am trying to ride a wave back to the same shore that I struggled for half an hour to paddle away from.

When it does happen, when I do catch a wave (or when it catches me, I’m still not sure about this, actually), it is exhilarating. There are not a lot of things that can match riding waves. Maybe standing up on a moving roller coaster can top it. I’m not sure. I’ve never been allowed to stand up on a roller coaster, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

I have always loved using surfing as an analogy for my faith. Without faith, how else will I be able to ride out all the waves that come with this crazy season called life, no matter my emotional weather or spiritual situation? Not really depending on anything else except my flimsy life skills and hoping (against all hope) that there’s a God out there who can still the waters whenever He wants to… But where’s the fun in that, right? If He didn’t stir the waters up, I wouldn’t even be paddling out to meet waves head-on.

Faith lets me dance above the stormy waves of life, and this same faith lets me ride actual waves safely back to shore.

That’s one of my favorite brothers, who tried to teach me how to read waves while he was hung over.

Eight-year-old me is always a little aghast at this. I hated the ocean up until I was 21 years old. Eight-year-old me never saw this future in any of her projections of 30-year-old Ailene. I was the kid who made sand castles on the shore because that meant I didn’t actually have to get into the ocean: the saltwater stings my eyes, and then there’s the matter of the sand. Getting rid of that crap was annoying as heck. Let’s not mention the fact that I nearly drowned twice during family beach trips.

Me trying to surf is the most impossible scenario in my life. I know nothing about the water, I have never been an athlete, and honestly, fat Ailene, surfing? Who the heck do you think you are?

And even after a year of weekend surf trips (total number of hours spent in the water: less than 20, I guess), I still don’t know anything about this sport that has picked me more than I have picked it. I can barely tell which wave I can ride on, and am more frustrated than successful when I try to catch my own waves.

But I try.

And sometimes I catch a wave and ride it back to shore.

Probably one of my favorite things to do. I dunno, it’s kinda relaxing, putting wax on the board.

Don’t worry, I won’t do a “just like Christianity” analogy here. But it is just like Christianity, isn’t it?

When I heard Hillsong’s Oceans, I knew I’d struck gold. Whoever wrote this song must be a surfer. Because, heck, the first line alone goes, “You call me out upon the water, where feet may fail.”

That’s totally not me. And yep, photo taken by another brother.

And that’s always how I feel when I’m standing there on the shore with surfboard perched precariously upon my head. If you know nothing about me, and you just saw me like that, you’d think that I’m trying to read the ocean. No, I’m not. What’s really going on in my head is “OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD WHY AM I NOT IN BED.”

But there’s a pull, a tug that reaches deep into my chest and propels me forward. (Usually this pull is something more tangible, like Sheryn and Vince yelling at me to JUST PADDLE, AILENE. Or Lovely wading out already, about four feet ahead of me, just naturally assuming that I am behind her. Or the Zambales crew… well, you get the idea.) And I find myself paddling out into the ocean with that heavy-ass board, reaching for the line-up so somebody can help me catch my own wave.

My walk as a Christian is like that. There I am, worship leader or marketer or presentor or singer or employee, standing with all the weight of my responsibilities perched precariously over my head. And they see me strutting to take the mic or smiling and reaching my hand out to another person, but what’s really going on in my head is, yep, you guessed it: “OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD WHY AM I NOT IN BED.” The truth is that I’m an introvert and public speaking was an acquired skill that is probably a talent, but I always find myself in situations that assume that I am an outgoing extrovert who loves to talk to people.

But there’s a song from deep within my heart that will not let me go, and I realize that it is probably hope. Yeah, I know that sounds cheesy, but if not for that hope, I’d settle for, well, this crappy boring mediocrity called life and live as if from paycheck to paycheck, instead of seeing life as a series of adventures before the next chapter which is death. There’s a song inside me that says I am not alone, that I am never alone… and guess what, that line’s in the song too.

It’s so uncanny.

A photo I took on my first trip ever to Capones Island in Zambales. Have not stopped loving this province since.

Let me go back to my first sentence in this blog, that surfing is the most tangible expression of my faith. I don’t know what else to compare my faith to, if not for this most physical of expressions. Walk upon the water, you say? Well how about I just paddle out to the next wave I see and ride it back on a fiber glass board, laughing? Isn’t this what we Christians were built for? To dance upon stormy oceans? To walk on water, not necessarily unafraid, but definitely sure that a great God is enjoying us as we play on His creation?

“So I will call upon Your name, and keep my eyes above the waves.” As in surfing, this happens a lot to me in real life. Marketing is not a very friendly career path. In fact, most of the times it loves blindsiding me with its own riptides and undertows, taking me under for months at a time, and leaving me bruised and battered.

But I agree with the song’s prayer, which echoes my heart’s cries every night: “Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me walk upon the waters, wherever You would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander and my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior.”

My prayer is something like this every day. Dare some more, Ailene. Aim higher some more, Ailene. Take back some more land from Fear, Ailene. Occupy this space, Ailene. Ride that wave, Ailene. Go to that unknown place, Ailene. Speak to strangers. Love those who hurt you and reject you, Ailene. Love those who dropped you from your life, Ailene. Give to those who never give anything back. Give and give and give, and empty your cup, Ailene. Be blessed, Ailene.

What a strange sport surfing is, and if that’s the case, what a strange life Christianity is. Neither should be fun or exhilarating, but it is. I’m not even remotely close to surfing, and in many ways, I’m not sure I’m living life to the fullest… But I try.

And it’s always a beautiful experience.

So whoever wrote this song, I need to say thank you. Thank you for putting into song everything that’s in me when I think about faith and surfing.

Oh, I’m giving away three CD-DVDs of this album by Hillsong this weekend. I’m just figuring out the mechanics.

____________________
* I’m probably not kidding about deadly ocean. Zambales has always been known for its not-swimmer-friendly seas, and this is due to the deadly combination of riptides, undertows, and sink holes and…
** Child-size, if your child was an adult leopard, yes.

What was I talking about?

Right. Making a list of noteworthy local musicians for my pleasure. (Disclaimers end here.) Last weekend, I made it a point to really sit down and really really listen to the albums and tracks that have been gathering mold and dust in my desktop.

People can say whatever they want about OPM, but here’s what I know for sure: I’m never going to not be surprised by local Filipino music. So much goodness here. If I sound excited every now and then, well, how can I not? This is homegrown stuff. Don’t give me any of that Billboard 100 songs to review. I already got some good stuff right here.

You ready? This is a long list. But don’t be intimidated. There’s just too much awesome local stuff.

Robin Nievera

“Hassle. Ang galing.” Those were my first thoughts while I listened to Robin Nievera’s album “Nightmares.” I suggest listening to it with a pair of decent earphones: you need to hear it inside your brain. My New Yorker friend swears that it has a winter in Central Park feel. I swear that it is the perfect music that describes Metro Manila right now, in this century, in this year, in this month.

The thing about Robin, though, is that every one knows him as Martin Nievera’s son. There’s nothing wrong about this as Martin is such a lovable guy, but it does put Robin in such a tiny little box and all that talent should not be put in a tiny little box. Yes, I’m calling “Martin Niever’s son” as a small box for the musicality of Robin. First time I ever heard him play was with Wagyu, and back then  ”WOW.” Mind officially blown.

I didn’t have any expectations about this album, though. Which is probably why I’m so bowled over. There are no nightmares here, despite being called Nightmares. Just beautiful guitar-driven melodies and Robin’s handsome voice.

Favorite song from this album? Hands-down, “Alison.” Try this: listen to Alison, then close your eyes, then think of warm, sunny tropical days, a hammock, the faint burr of a car driving past, maybe the sound of the ocean crashing somewhere to the left, city lights.

As Gandalf said to the Fellowship in the mines of Moria: RUN, YOU FOOLS… and download his album. (If Gandalf didn’t say that, he should have.)

Up Dharma Down’s Capacities

This be the much-awaited third album of indie darling Up Dharma Down. The launch was at Esplanade in the Mall of Asia premises, and admit it: you thought they wouldn’t be able to fill it up. Admit it, as well: we were all surprised at the number of people who showed up and weren’t able to get in… on top of the number of people who actually bought tickets in advance. Kudos to the band for a great show. Danced the entire time during the launch. Sang when I could. Well worth it.

This is probably the happiest that Up Dharma Down has ever sounded. I’m excited to hear the new riffs, I love where they’re going with that music (just take a listen to Night Moves), and that single, “Turn It Well,” is a killer. Stuck in my head for days. Now when I’m going on road trips, I can’t NOT listen to Turn It Well. And every time I go down Guadalupe at night, I hear Turn It Well.

Let’s not even get started on Indak.

Rizza Cabrera

Lately, just one of the most unique voices around. I met her at a Soulchild production and was sharing a table with her until Julianne called her up on stage. Nothing could have prepared me for the jam that happened. This girl got soul. Her very voice got soul. You could close your eyes and you could feel soul just sitting on Rizza’s shoulders singing loudly at the top of its lungs. Just that much soul. So it is with much joy and pride that I point you to a three-song EP of hers.

That voice, right? That insanely beautiful voice. Can’t wait for the full album. But more than that: can’t wait to catch her live again, and then, hopefully, with a full band.

Sheila and The Insects

What a pleasure to watch these guys play. You see, there’s not a lot of good rock acts that I can sit through more than four songs of. It’s not their fault, my ears just can’t take much of the grit and loudness that comes with a rock show. (Age showing here, I know.)

But last Friday I was in Cebu for work, and when I found out that SATI was playing Handuraw, how could I not go, right?

I’m glad I went. Not only is Handuraw’s food still comfortably good, SATI was still excellent. Tight, clean guitars, flawless transitions, and that voice! I can’t count the number of times that I interviewed Sonic Boom bands and they would point me to Sheila and The Insects as their influence. My dad, 13 years ago, was the first one who told me about SATI, and I thought he was nuts until he forced me to listen to the album. It’s been thirteen years, but Sheila and The Insects is still, by far, one of the tightest rock acts in the country.

Anyway, SATI is touring in Singapore right now. I get to download a song because I went to the send-off show at Handuraw. Such a sucker for freebies.

Sky Dive Academy

One of the more memorable conversations I had with their front man, Jethro Sandico, was right before a Sky Dive Academy gig in Baguio’s Kalye Luna.

Ailene: Haha! Alam mo yung mga nagpapaka-cool na rapper na gumagamit ng zip code or area code?! Hahaha! Pa’no kaya kung taga-QC ka? 632!
Jethro Sandico: *silent*
Ailene: Or yung mga East-Coast-West-Coast na yan… Hahaha!
Jethro: May kanta kaming may Baguio zip code.
Ailene: Oh.

I try and make sure never to miss this band when I’m in Baguio or when they’re in Manila. They’re good enough that I don’t mind scheduling trips to Baguio around their gigs.

I mean, they’ve got a horn/brass section. That alone is a great reason to watch them. But then their main man is a classically-trained bassist (with not little skills) who raps. RAPS with a horn section! I know for a fact that their lead guitar used to play some heavy metal stuff back in the days. “They sound like a Tagalog Diggable Planets laced with Miles, ” my friend said. There’s a hint of the Roots, a hint of old school hip hop, plenty of jazz, and definitely their own thing going there. Here’s how tangible their impact is: I sent over their demo to this up and coming new magazine in Cebu for a listen, and within the afternoon, the band was booked for a Rhymefest in Cebu this May.

They’re that good. You shouldn’t believe me just because I say so, though. Here’s a video, and here’s the link to their EP. You’re welcome.

Skydive Academy – Dwelling from Skydive Academy on Vimeo.

Soju

I cannot believe that it took me this long to see these guys play live. I know half of Soju from Salamin, of course, and I’d have to be deaf not to hear people praise them to the ceilings before, but it took their drummer’s cute “stay for our set” to make me stay up late on a Tuesday night just to catch them live. (Thank you, Eo, for insisting.)

It won’t be so far-fetched to say that this band is now one of my favorites. Purely instrumental rock, very technical stuff, and very sincere. What’s not to like? They totally need an album so that I can abuse it all day long. I remember thinking during their set that if Soju and Time Lapse Consortium would do a show together, it would be one of the more awesome shows in the world.

Carlos Choi Band

Before I knew Carlos Choi, I knew Still. They visited Full Cup way back in the days when there was still a Full Cup in Intramuros, and I remember that night as one of the best nights. We were all touched by Carlos’ testimony, were blessed by the music, and I never really forgot about Carlos. In 2011, when I was told that we were going to Dumaguete for an extreme sports/rock concert/Christian thing and asked me for Cebu-based Christian acts, I all but shouted “Carlos Choi!”

You see, it’s hard to find local contemporary worship music that’s on par with Hillsong or Chris Tomlin. Not that it’s necessary in worship. After all, not all churches have “praise and worship,” and not all churches that have praise and worship like Hillsong/Chris Tomlin/Planet Shakers for Sunday mornings. But I’ve never been quite okay with the idea that even our worship music is imported. One of my heart’s burdens has always been that we start singing our own songs, written by Filipinos, that reflect the heart of our own churches. There is no lack of talented musicians here in the Philippines… but that’s such a long subject and merits its own blog entry.

If you’re a Christian and you’re looking for contemporary worship music that’s a blessing both spiritually and musically, I highly recommend getting The Carlos Choi Band’s worship album. It’s just wonderful. And if you’re in Cebu next Saturday, do me a favor and join them for worship when Carlos launches their album?