Bottled ※ Brain

My copy of Alice Munro's A Wilderness Station: Selected Stories, 1968-1994 arrived in the mail three days ago. It was literally through the mail—the PhilPost, not through FedEx or LBC—just around the time when I had come to terms with the real possibility that the parcel may have been burned in the Great Manila Post Office Fire . The postal man rang the doorbell and thereupon caused Paul to welcome him with a bark, jolting the neighbors who were perhaps resting after their morning ritual of sweeping dead leaves on the street. The Il Postino  ( a great Italian film, by the way ) brought the secondhand—rather pre-loved—copy from Thriftbooks, via Amazon. I had placed the order last March but I was repeatedly notified that the delivery was going to be late, as in most cases with secondhand books. I have pre-loved, loved, and will post-love this copy. (I imagine that Kuya John D, who was initially lukewarm towards Lola Alice, will be amused at my ghastly play of words.) Alice Munro del

I love the imagery of transformation to Christlikeness that the apostle Paul allows us to behold in 1 Corinthians 3:18. For such is the goal of the Christian life: to be more like Christ. The transformation is enabled by the Holy Spirit, who indwells every believer and pushes forward the process of sanctification. But there is another sense in which the believer must exercise spiritual disciplines, trusting in God for strength and wisdom, to reach that end. In this passage, Paul alludes to the fact of our incomplete knowledge of God's glory, as if saying, "God is infinitely more glorious that you can ever think or imagine." I love the translation of the New King James Version here that I had to rewrite it using a Blackwing Palomino (Pearl) that Sean and Hannah gave me.  I therefore begin this Sunday by reminding you of the exciting prospect for God's children. We will behold His glory soon, and each day brings with it experiences, interactions, problems, and joys that

In the morning, you can hear birds singing in the front porch. These creatures do not have a care in the world. They enjoy making nests and playing around before high noon, when they would rest under the shade. Why worry about life, then?

Pure, child-like wonder along the shores of General Luna, Siargao Island, Surigao del Norte. 

Last night, Manong asked, "Did you hear about Tim Keller?" Tim was one of our favorite preachers. He was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer. He had been doing fairly well and had even published a book in the interim. Until recently, the cancer had made a comeback. A Twitter update mentioned that Tim was transferred to hospice care.  This morning, I wake up to the news of Dr. Tim Keller's passing . I mourn the loss of a friend and mentor, although I never got the chance to meet him face to face.  I've been listening to Tim's preaching on my long drives to work. I follow the Gospel in Life podcast and listen to at least two episodes weekly . I can recite to you the opening and closing spiels, even the short commercial segment that interrupts the preaching. Tim's exposition from the pulpit, recorded from many years ago when he was senior pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church, mined the inexhaustible riches of God's Wo

I'll be a panelist/reactor in tonight's virtual multidisciplinary tumor board organized by the Cancer Commission. I'm a firm believer of multidisciplinary management: it improves and facilitates care. Tonight's case is challenging. I look forward to the group's consensus. The amazing Dr. Myra Maduramente, gyne-oncologist in General Santos City, will be moderating. If you're a healthcare provider and you have time to spare, please drop by. 

What I'm grateful for: This phrase is taken from Rebecca Baumgartner's piece on gratitude . I love how the words are perfectly strung together here. A "lovely' rainstorm, the "breaking up" of the "scorching heat"—what a sight for the tired, parched soul living in the tropics. In case you're wondering: that's the handcrafted Banwa pen inked with a Parker Quinck blue-black. The notebook (Shenshi stationary) was a giveaway, but the cream-colored pages soak the ink beautifully.

Here's an elegant fountain pen handcrafted by Nonoy Vallejo, an Ilonggo craftsman who specializes in wood . His works were on display during an oncology convention. The pen has a medium iridium nib that writes smoothly. The body and cap are made from a 100-year old molave wood repurposed from an old house in the city. His charming wife is from Tacurong, Sultan Kudarat—which is almost an extension of Marbel.  Kasimanwa ko . They lived for a few years in Davao. I fall for stories like those and bought pen right away.  I asked Nonoy about his motivations for making fountain pens. His wife loved pens and calligraphy, but the pens manufactured abroad could be expensive. Why shouldn't he make one to please his wife? He was good with his hands and had a knack and interest in woodworking. He gradually learned the craft of fountain pen making. I suppose he made his wife happy and, figuring there was a market for these pens, decided to start a business.  His pens, which bear artistry, hi

In Iloilo these past days. Lots of things to be said about this beautiful, charming city: the wide roads, clean streets, safe bike lanes, and bustling community beside the river. It bears an uncanny resemblance to my home. The food, the surnames, the language. Like most people in my hometown, I trace my roots here. Had an extra day to spend. Met Tito Bert and Auntie Hearty who took me to Baptist Central Church in La Paz district. Lunch was in a quiet restaurant in Mandurriao.  Took a nap in my hotel room. Sunday naps are refreshing, wherever you are in the world. Joined Ahmad, Brylle, and Cy—new, promising medical oncologists—on a DIY walking tour in the late afternoon, when the sun was less harsh. First stop:  Jaro Cathedral .  Couple hanging around the courtyard.  A family doing a tour.  My companions were Brylle, practicing in Tacloban City. He was my intern when I was training in Internal Medicine.  Ahmad, from Marawi City, was also