Pre Retirement:
Goal - Pleasure with Business
Post Retirement: Watching life
No goal
This formula can only happen when you panic less. The more you try to breathe, the more you get suffocated!
Pre-retirement was business 12 hours a week, pleasure was 28 hrs a week. When business tries to mix with pleasure during pleasure hours, then I decide to transform business to pleasure. It isn't always easy but it takes practice to master it. You can ask me how but there is only one way: decide not to sabotage your plan- no self-inflicted pain, no self-flagellation, nothing that will diminish my creativity to turn work to bliss.
Post retirement is a conversion of hours of pleasure to hours of "work". After mastering the art of pleasure with business, work becomes pure pleasure, and pleasure becomes more gratifying.
Presently, I am indulged in the pleasure of observing, data gathering, assessing, reviewing some pertinent past, listening, laughing, getting annoyed, watering the pechay outside my kitchen, picking lime, guavas and macopas and discovering...
Discovering the freedom and boldness in using flat brushes in my watercolor paintings have brought me "kilig" moments. "Kilig" moments for me is when something new titillates your senses- the way a baby would react to a new taste like the tartness of green mango or ripe tamarind.
I am also presently involved in making a survey on people's behavior and the patterns by which I may predict results.
Lately, I have also been experimenting on manifestations: what comes without even looking for it!!!!
One must know what one wants- and it has to be something you must have thought of or wished or prayed for... then forgot.
So I work the long hours of the day till late at night sometimes. I am an observer in activities involving teachers and young leaders, as of late. I met my mentor a few days ago. I am reviewing my notes which are mostly the basis and framework of my "project" and I read a student's letter of nostalgia and reminiscence of her vivid and innocent experiences of the past and the future.
With her permission, I am posting her letter on this blog. One of the things I do now is enjoying some of the moments that bring fulfillment whether I looked for them or not.
Gabby Ballesteros and her beautiful letter on my page...
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Goal - Pleasure with Business
Post Retirement: Watching life
No goal
This formula can only happen when you panic less. The more you try to breathe, the more you get suffocated!
Pre-retirement was business 12 hours a week, pleasure was 28 hrs a week. When business tries to mix with pleasure during pleasure hours, then I decide to transform business to pleasure. It isn't always easy but it takes practice to master it. You can ask me how but there is only one way: decide not to sabotage your plan- no self-inflicted pain, no self-flagellation, nothing that will diminish my creativity to turn work to bliss.
Post retirement is a conversion of hours of pleasure to hours of "work". After mastering the art of pleasure with business, work becomes pure pleasure, and pleasure becomes more gratifying.
Presently, I am indulged in the pleasure of observing, data gathering, assessing, reviewing some pertinent past, listening, laughing, getting annoyed, watering the pechay outside my kitchen, picking lime, guavas and macopas and discovering...
Discovering the freedom and boldness in using flat brushes in my watercolor paintings have brought me "kilig" moments. "Kilig" moments for me is when something new titillates your senses- the way a baby would react to a new taste like the tartness of green mango or ripe tamarind.
I am also presently involved in making a survey on people's behavior and the patterns by which I may predict results.
Lately, I have also been experimenting on manifestations: what comes without even looking for it!!!!
One must know what one wants- and it has to be something you must have thought of or wished or prayed for... then forgot.
So I work the long hours of the day till late at night sometimes. I am an observer in activities involving teachers and young leaders, as of late. I met my mentor a few days ago. I am reviewing my notes which are mostly the basis and framework of my "project" and I read a student's letter of nostalgia and reminiscence of her vivid and innocent experiences of the past and the future.
With her permission, I am posting her letter on this blog. One of the things I do now is enjoying some of the moments that bring fulfillment whether I looked for them or not.
Gabby Ballesteros and her beautiful letter on my page...
If you're reading this, I guess you know me. Female,
Filipino, USED to go to HEdCen.
'HEdCen?' you may be asking. Holistic Education Center, dearie, don't forget it. We're what you would call a 'private school', or a 'special school'. I mean, what other school lets five-year-olds touch a constrictor snake, and teaches Physics in Grade One?
Yeah, life was hard there, and my classmates were douch es sometimes, but loyal to the very end. This may seem melodramatic, but they were family. Juju, Raffy, Gail, Pat, Cheskie, Kylie, Theresa, Anakin, Aaron/ Sarah, and the others, though I still haven't forgotten you guys.
And then there were the teachers. All helpful, all kind, not always understanding, but that, my dear friend, is human nature. They preformed as best as they could, and though they got angry at us many times over the years, we knew that they cared.
But those times are past, and the gang is breaking up. We finished Grade One to Grade Six; that was the aim of many of my batchmates, myself included, before we were transferred to other schools.We'll meet new people, some are even going abroad!
Now, let's be a bit more grounded in reality. It's a truth that perhaps someday, I'll forget their names, their faces. Let's be realistic; we're only in Grade School, after all. Won't affect us much if we forget about each other. However, like a castle in which you are knighted, I'll at least try to remember the experiences.
Yes, THOSE experiences. Remember the invisible ink pen, the Sci Expos, the experiments, the field trips, the cleanups of the Tungtong River? The tears, the scoldings, the sadness, the sermons? But it will most of all make me think about the LAUGHTER. For we, as a batch, brought a little laughter into the world; engrained it in each of our hearts, minds, and memories. Perhaps even our teachers' hearts and minds, too.
I say the dreaded thing: We WILL drift apart, we WILL leave someday, and we WILL grow up. A transition from childhood to adolescence, a journey that we started to take the moment we said goodbye. Childhood is a dream; a dream that we must all wake up from it journey into another. However, though for now I am uncertain, I think we'll cross paths again very soon, for time is but a minute and but a eternity in a dream, is it not?
Now that you mention it, life there in HEdCen was a dream in itself; pure bliss, yet the time spent there went so fast. Honestly, I thought Grade Six, my time at HEdCen, would last forever and a day. Turns out, it went by faster than I thought. Now it's high summer, and more than a month since I left the grounds of HEdCen as a student for the very last time. I'm pretty sure the grass is withering from all this heat, though.
I used to cry when thinking about HEdCen and the fact I was leaving for good. Now, I think I have accepted it, no matter how sad that may be.
The mango tree right outside my window is what I'm looking at while I type; it is a veritable ecosystem in itself. The mangoes, though not yet ripe, are heavy and large, bending the tree over the roof. Meanwhile, a large vine curls around this tree's trunk, splitting into many tendrils at a point and covering the length of this tree, intersecting at various points all the way to the great blue sky. Perhaps we're like that, or perhaps I am merely feeling nostalgic for it already.
No matter. We go our separate ways, that's for sure. But maybe, just maybe, we're still growing together around the tree trunk of life, separate tendrils, yet crossing each others paths once in a while. Acknowledging each other but silent, all the way until we are together again at the very top, where the earth meets the cloudless blue sky.
'HEdCen?' you may be asking. Holistic Education Center, dearie, don't forget it. We're what you would call a 'private school', or a 'special school'. I mean, what other school lets five-year-olds touch a constrictor snake, and teaches Physics in Grade One?
Yeah, life was hard there, and my classmates were douch es sometimes, but loyal to the very end. This may seem melodramatic, but they were family. Juju, Raffy, Gail, Pat, Cheskie, Kylie, Theresa, Anakin, Aaron/ Sarah, and the others, though I still haven't forgotten you guys.
And then there were the teachers. All helpful, all kind, not always understanding, but that, my dear friend, is human nature. They preformed as best as they could, and though they got angry at us many times over the years, we knew that they cared.
But those times are past, and the gang is breaking up. We finished Grade One to Grade Six; that was the aim of many of my batchmates, myself included, before we were transferred to other schools.We'll meet new people, some are even going abroad!
Now, let's be a bit more grounded in reality. It's a truth that perhaps someday, I'll forget their names, their faces. Let's be realistic; we're only in Grade School, after all. Won't affect us much if we forget about each other. However, like a castle in which you are knighted, I'll at least try to remember the experiences.
Yes, THOSE experiences. Remember the invisible ink pen, the Sci Expos, the experiments, the field trips, the cleanups of the Tungtong River? The tears, the scoldings, the sadness, the sermons? But it will most of all make me think about the LAUGHTER. For we, as a batch, brought a little laughter into the world; engrained it in each of our hearts, minds, and memories. Perhaps even our teachers' hearts and minds, too.
I say the dreaded thing: We WILL drift apart, we WILL leave someday, and we WILL grow up. A transition from childhood to adolescence, a journey that we started to take the moment we said goodbye. Childhood is a dream; a dream that we must all wake up from it journey into another. However, though for now I am uncertain, I think we'll cross paths again very soon, for time is but a minute and but a eternity in a dream, is it not?
Now that you mention it, life there in HEdCen was a dream in itself; pure bliss, yet the time spent there went so fast. Honestly, I thought Grade Six, my time at HEdCen, would last forever and a day. Turns out, it went by faster than I thought. Now it's high summer, and more than a month since I left the grounds of HEdCen as a student for the very last time. I'm pretty sure the grass is withering from all this heat, though.
I used to cry when thinking about HEdCen and the fact I was leaving for good. Now, I think I have accepted it, no matter how sad that may be.
The mango tree right outside my window is what I'm looking at while I type; it is a veritable ecosystem in itself. The mangoes, though not yet ripe, are heavy and large, bending the tree over the roof. Meanwhile, a large vine curls around this tree's trunk, splitting into many tendrils at a point and covering the length of this tree, intersecting at various points all the way to the great blue sky. Perhaps we're like that, or perhaps I am merely feeling nostalgic for it already.
No matter. We go our separate ways, that's for sure. But maybe, just maybe, we're still growing together around the tree trunk of life, separate tendrils, yet crossing each others paths once in a while. Acknowledging each other but silent, all the way until we are together again at the very top, where the earth meets the cloudless blue sky.
Ta-ta!
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