glancing at my gallery

My first keystrokes should be directed at tapping the keys that will make me retrospect--look back on the year that was. List realizations, recollect adventures, admit mistakes. Initially, I thought that my weakness (read: bad memory) will get the better of me. How could I possibly remember the twelve months past when I'm sometimes having trouble remembering where I left my jacket five minutes after taking it off? Ah, my blog.

Thank God for allowing me to use this space in the cyber universe to erect memorials in the different places of my life. Glancing through the titles of the seventy-plus posts I have written, I make this observation: My most meaningful writings are those wrapped in metaphors. Because sometimes to describe things as they are is too plain. Or risky. Or simply, just not enough.

And so as a word painter, I spent more creative energy than I usually spend, used bolder strokes on my canvass making these paintings. Revealed to you what my kite was. Warned you about the land of what-could-have-beens. Challenged you to wear your words as you do your clothes. Shared how I've been learning to forgive by writing on stone and sand. Revealed how tentative dancer I am if life were a dance.

But wait. Lest you think I'm always an introspective, mood-driven artist, I'm fondly recollecting blogs I wrote with a silly grin on my face. Bragged about my spelunking experience in the Sagada cave. Told you I was kinda Chinese that could be attributed to many things, my love for tikoy in particular. Relished with delight my surprise for a friend who adores a singer. Shared to you how one day felt like my day.

This new year, I'm joyfully anticipating making similar paintings and then some. Will continue to not love in slices. Still ask my heart to trust God. Keep on learning how to have more Mary than Martha moments. And hopefully, the next coming months will see me finding my own alabaster jar. Because this is what I've been wanting to do. To love God more, myself less. To constantly remind myself that I am not the center of my universe (because if this were the case, then I pretty much have a tiny galaxy).

To all of you who deliberately visit my gallery, thank you. Just by dropping by--and not just by accident--you're making me feel like Picasso. Your time is a valuable ticket. As long as God gives me the colors, I'll be splashing shades of His grace. I can't guarantee that what's on the canvass will always be good but I can promise that it will always be real.

May we all have a colorful year ahead.