I'm on a desert, we're all on a desert. And life here is tough.

But we've got GOD.


Deserts are hot, dry, and seems to extend so far that we might feel the way out is hard to reach. We walk and walk to find an oasis, but even that could be a mirage. And if it was real, we cannot stay there forever. We need to get out of the desert. That hot and tormenting place. We want to feel cold again. To never fear the thought of skin cancer. Or to never have dry lips again. The comfort of our homes. Cozy and comfortable. Go back home. That is nice.


But even though we need to travel amidst a desert just to go find a treasure. We know we can overcome the torture because amidst the desert, everywhere we are, there is God with us. He is capable to comfort us, to give us cool clouds to cover our heads from the heat, to give us water when we feel dry, to guide us to the way, to our destination.


If you believe that you have God, then the treasure is already reserved for you. Just be sure to look for it. Be patient and be strong. And the treasure awaits you.

THE DESERT SONG

by Hillsong

This is my prayer in the desert

when all else within me feels dry

this is my prayer

in my hunger and need

My God is the God who provides

This is my prayer in the fire

in weakness or trial or pain

there is a faith proved of more worth than gold

so refine me Lord through the flame

I will bring praise

I will bring praise

No weapon formed against me shall remain

I will rejoice

I will declare

God is my victory

and He is here

This is my prayer in the battle

when triumph is still on its way

I am a conqueror and co-heir with Christ

So firm on His promise I stand

I will bring praise

I will bring praise

No weapon formed against me shall remain

I will rejoice

I will declare

God is my victory

and He is here

All of my life

in every season

You are still God

I have a reason to sing

I have a reason to worship

I will bring praise

I will bring praise

No weapon formed against me shall remain

I will rejoice

I will declare

God is my victory

and He is here

This is my prayer in my harvest

when favor and providence flow

I know I'm filled to be emptied again

the seed I've received I will sow

I love you God ♥

Me | I Did This

I did this to myself. If I fail, it will be because I deserve that punishment.

Last night, I said to myself, I'll sleep first before I study. I closed my eyes and the next time I opened it again, it was already 6:30 am. Although, I knew the time as it passed, I put my mobile phone on alarm in 1 hour intervals. And when it did rang from 11 pm, 12 am, 1 am, 2 am, 3 am, 4 am, 5 am, to 6 am. I turned the alarm off myself. I did not snooze it, I turned it off. And yet, it felt like my slept was so short. I did not have dreams nor nightmares. Nothing. It is true that sleep is a luxury for us medicine students. If you deserve to be rich.

For us poor, useless, lazy, and , sleep is a punishment. You wished you hadn't slept. It is now that I only realize what punishment sleep is. Sleep can be either a reward or a punishment. For me, I had it the scary way.

So the rest of the day went on with a practical exam and theoretical exam on Histology. The pracs - as we like to call the practical exams - was easy. I felt like I could have perfected it. But the unprepared me was prepared to have a hard time. Histology was my confidence, and yet, I could actually take a removal exam on it, or worst, I could fail it. I hope not.

Then the theoretical exam was next. First item on the exam, I couldn't even answer directly and surely. I was sleepy not even halfway to the finish. I was sleepy even though I already slept so much. So it came through me, for a person such as a sleepy me, feeling that addicting pain is a sign of being clueless. Literally.

Going through the answers, I would do my best guess. Shade here and there. I was so eager to pass the papers. More shading here and there as the thoughts of Enchanted Kingdom, tomorrow's CFM exam, money in my bank account, my new pen which I bought because I forget to bring one, and more sleep came into my mind. It was so ironically funny thinking why I have such thoughts, although I do not feel fun at all. I even say, "God, help me. I know it's to much to ask and I don't deserve it, but it would be nice if You help me even though You're punishing me. Still, I'm being punished so, as always and all the more at this moment, You'd still have Your way."

Nonetheless, 1 hour after receiving the brown and white papers. I went out thinking, "at long last!"

Walking and eating afterwards with the dabarkads, as I heard the answers of most of my classmates, and their discussions, I thought to myself, "Wow. We have the same answers."

Then, as if God himself was speaking into my ears, I realized, "Even without your efforts to study, I can still let you shade the correct answers, even if you didn't thought much about it, or analyzed it. With just my help alone, you would pass any exams, easy or hard, long or short. Even with just my wisdom alone."

Yes, if I rely only to my own strength and wisdom, I cannot do anything, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much effort I put in. God is giving me an opportunity to do something, something that matters, something is better than nothing. His strength alone can support the whole universe. His wisdom alone created the Earth. If I couple His strength and wisdom with faith, obedience, hard work, and perseverance, surely, I would attain the highest marks any other genius could. Aren't I His child already?

Faith in God's help, character, promises, and love.

Obedience to God's words and commands.

Hard work to make me do my best, not second best, but only the one best I could ever do.

Perseverance to not give up doing my best, resisting temptations, and believing in God.

He supplies with me with all I need, now, it's up to me to do my part of the contract of His promises. If I am punished to fail, I did this to myself.

Literature | On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning

Found this in Bernadette Cid's (1C Med President) FB note. Lovely and sad.


On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning, from "The Elephant Vanishes" (1981) by Haruki Murakami and translated by Jay Rubin

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harajuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible influenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.