Tech stuff have lessons too

WARNING: The entry below will be very hard to read.


This is a lesson on wants.

Last week, as Ii ws cleaningmy keyboard, an activity which for years I’ve evaded doing, I accidently pouredout alcohol on  some of the spaces. Th liquid slowly seeped ionto the keybvord skelton ttht  I didn’t know it was my keyboar’s last remaning moments. And because it’ th nnioversaryoff our church, I had to immediately turn on the laptop to edit ssome of th finl video aniomattions I was preparing for the service that afternoon.

When I turned on th laptop and klyed in th password, some of the letters were tripling up as I tryped them. It was excruciating as I  hd to guess a  couple of ties how many letters  got typed in and how many were tto bb erased.

I should have taken that a a signal of my impending pain.

Only aft getting inn did I rrealise I migthave poured out alcohol into the keyboard. I immediately turned the laptop off aand switched on the eelectrcif fan to dry the inside up.

Acording to legends and  personal experiences, when liquid enters your  hardware, just leave to try for a long period, probably for days, before yyou turn it on again, and it worked well for y ipod, which was included  in one off the laundry pins inside our washing machine and came out al suddy and sparkly clean. I lefit to itself for two months.

In my case with the laptopo, I was very patient nd turne it on after  30 minutes.

Annd whjen I used  my  keyboards, the formerly tripling letters were unresponsive nd I  had to resort to reminiscing to movce on. I  never imagined how hard life is without an “e” or a “y” and most especially,the  function of ENTER.

Andd for, one week has to pass by before I could get my hands on a porble  keyboard ttached to y laptopp’s usb port. This is typerwritten without much revisions to rmind myel that I havce been tking mykeyboar  for granted. I seem to have forgotten how essential kebords are. I havew ben prying for a replacement and for days, I told myelf that shoud the replacement arrive, I will finish on some articles I have working on etc. But ow tht it is here, I stared aat th monitor blnkly never r knowing which to dso first. This is insane.

Lesson: Never take anything for granted and never deire for something when you’;re still not readay for it. Cox when it comes and you’re not ready yet, it will all be a waste o time. Like this.

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Summer Rains and Vegetables

Summer Rain

It’s summer. That’s not news. It’s raining during summer. Now that’s news. I don’t know about you but choosing which of my long-sleeved turtlenecks to wear in May is kind of weird for me. And walking barefoot on flooded highways makes me cranky, especially if I could be swimming in a beach somewhere outside Manila.

Lately, it has been raining. It’s May, a summer month, and we just experienced our second typhoon. Second. It’s May. From January to May, two typhoons came already. And May hasn’t come to its mid-month yet.

Having been an environment junky, I’ve often formulated my own versions of the weather phenomena. I’ve always known myself to be science-leaning and thought that by reading some random articles online through what I deem to be reliable resources, I can go my way and formulate litanies. I’ve read in the US Environmental Protection Agency website that changes in “land surface can have important effects on climate.” Hmm. My link-y brain goes like “So the increased deforestation in our rural areas and their conversion to villages for the rich can be blamed for rains during summer?”

That’s it. Just to have something to rant about during one of my bored bouts of too much brain activity, I now come up with a stand on the conversion of agricultural lands to villages.

Forget the expensive houses. Forget security. Forget the urbanization of rural areas. I need heat when it’s supposed to be there. I need sunshine when it’s legal to demand one. Give the healthy soil to the vegetables. We have no right to live on it with our multi-million mansions.

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To the man who did and does it again: Pacquiao da man

CNN's news report on Pacquiao's latest victory

He fights like a madman. He conquers the ring like a king. He's swooned over by ladies and men alike. He sings. He acts. He drinks beer. He is the best pound for pound boxer in the entire universe (given there are no Pacquiao Venusian counterparts). He currently holds a seat in the House of Representatives. When he tweets, people go nuts. He speaks better English than your seatmate. He has a loyal family et al. Anything that has to do with him and his face and his knuckles and his shorts sell like diamond in sporting houses.

He is known all over the world even with those who don’t have TV.

And he’s a Filipino.

Just in case you don’t know.


Read more on Pacquiao defeats Mosley on CNN.

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Welcome to my world (or wires and sound)

Wires that make me happy (colored after our church's motif)

I've always hated wires. The mere sight of wires, especially the uncoiled ones that look like my hair without mousse or oil, makes me uneasy.


So being the head of the technical team in our sattelite church breaks all my limitations as a person. My love-hate relationship with wires dates back to my college days when one of my roommates was our university's tech person. He would (yes, we were shamefully coed in our condo) create his works-of-art in a space in front of the airconditioner and solder wires and metals to death. We would choke in the process (we do not open our windows that much because we felt that the ac was made for functioning 24/7). After his midnight work, which was done not for a school project or org program, he would leave everything he used lying on the floor. His "workstation" will be littered with electrical tapes, small cut wires, long wires, plastics, soldering iron, and sometimes the remains of his creation if it survive his experiment.


And I, being the lone responsible person the house (hehe), would clean up after him. Anyone assigned to clean for that day would often leave the workstation alone, so I was the only one brave enough to wander in 
its territory.

My (Our) beloved mixer - I took this even before Ktn's photo ha

It wasn't trauma, it was a perverse past. The wires remind me of twenty minutes of hunchback-ing the floor with the small walis tambo we bought in Baclaran on the week we first moved in. Our walis was the miniature one used in cars, around 24 inches tall, so sweeping brought in terrors of backpain and discomfort.


God has ways of breaking our limitations. When called me to the tech ministry, I was not only challenged - all the sound spinning lessons I have in my head were done only in my head - but I was also humbled. When God said I can do it, I knew I could do it.


So I studied and re-studied a lot about the tech world. I subscribe to online newsletters, listen and watch audio-visual techniques until I can function well in the ministry and eventually teach other people to learn it as well.


I was empty, and God started to slowly fill me up with what He has in store for me.


I have not reached the highest excellence in the ministry He has entrusted me yet, but I must say, I've grown to appreciate how He guides me. He is a loving God. Glory to Him.

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