More About Me
je m'apelle sarah marie. j'habite a manille, le +63.
MANAGEMENT: CALCARRIE'S INTERNATIONAL MODELS PHILIPPINES
My little Tali 🐝 @ Casa de @ceratoots. (at Tali Beach)
When I was a child, we traveled the world and I would stare at the stars from beaches, snowy mountain tops, flying through fields on the back of my Father’s motorbike.
Maybe I imagined you then.
Either way, you are more beautiful than I ever thought you’d be. You are all the best things in me, and even better things on your own. You have the brilliance and internal gold to paint possibility onto anything. Anything. It’s possible. With you.
Peace of heart and mind, my love.
Lightness in life, and weight in being. Always, an open mind.
May your life be delightful and deliberate, and our laughter and conversations run until my very last dawn. And then you, my light, shine on.
Happy 8th Birthday mi hija, meine kleine Schatz, my little Kaya Koala Bee. Ich liebe dich.
My favorite doll to play dress up with. 😎
#tbt it’s all for you. going to take some risks so you can live a beautiful life. i hope i do you right. 👧 #kayaysabel
#tbt #omg #mymomsdress #kitatattoo
Realized again firmly today that no matter how much TV has been a part of my happiness, there isn’t a thing left being produced locally that’s a match for me to host. Now, to create it or let it go. That is the question.
What I’ve heard so far: @changeclothesph is accepting clothes donation drop offs AND selling pre-loved items (including my Nike SB’s), my favorite DJ’s are playing, @proudrace has a sample sale up to 70% off, @kayaysabel wants to host a segment, and I might just #GetSassoned. Sabado na.
A small offering to those in the throes of participating in relief ops. Secondary Traumatic Stress and Compassion Fatigue are real. Take care of yourself so you can continue to care for others.
Thank you to KD Macalinao for the graphics and @opsafe for the info.
Full article can be found at: http://opsafeintl.com/2010/01/9-steps-to-avoid-compassion-fatigue-without-failing-to-care/
And although he probably didn’t intend for it to, @darienbirks’ latest creation sums up how I feel about the country coming together to help our brothers and sisters hold on. Keep at it. The typhoon was the strongest to ever hit land, but not as strong as the love behind a helping hand. #bangonpilipinas
When I was about 11 years old, I kept an emergency backpack on standby, filled to the brim with my favourite things - little trinkets, odds and ends (which was difficult to have packed away because I’d always want to use them) - and important things, like a sweater, my journal, coloured pencils, band aids, and a Swiss Army Knife. It was when my parents started fighting a great deal, and my decade-old mind pieced together the potentials of my Mother’s personality with the precariousness of possibility, and felt that any moment could be the one we’d have to make a run for it.
That moment came around two years later after a long night of petrified watching of adults knife-wielding, chasing, outside, inside, around the house, bone chilling threats, slammed and lock doors, the horror of hearing keys that fit, “Eight three seven zero six four five”, I repeated to myself. The number of the guard house, though the phone cord had been ripped from the wall when one of the adults had come crashing into the room and tripped over it; me holding the other end, cowering in the deepest possible corner of the bed, covering my six year old little brother with my oversized t-shirt wearing body. They could have hurt him in the melee and not realised, their eyes weren’t working, they were wearing glazed hatred glasses and their voices were too loud for them to be able to see anyway. I can’t be sure my eyes were open either. I thought I was screaming but maybe I wasn’t. After all, that was the night my voice stopped coming out.
We left at three thirty-seven that morning, stealing away through the side gate, my heart in my throat, my insides wanting to keep covering my sibling - my backpack missing my journal. You can try to be prepared but life has a funny way of throwing all your fine tuned plans out the window.
They tried to use it against each other in court later on, my journal. Pages photocopied as evidence. I think I’ve told you the story before. It’s why years went by and I refused to write.
I bring this up for a few reasons today.
One, I somewhat heavy-heartedly relinquished a wonderful opportunity to blog on a popular website, after both the Editor and I realised I wasn’t cut out for the job. I needed to pound out something on my computer to see if my soul and my words still worked; to cross check my ability to be honest and imperfect, and not the “celebrity” people want me to be.
It’s also a good exercise to force myself to remember what I promised I would never make my daughter go through, and so I write with the intentions of defining purposefulness and deliberate living.
And finally, I was sitting in the middle of my bed, cross-legged, thinking about the unpredictability of life - how you think you’ve got it all sorted out, then your courage does things the rest of you isn’t ready for and you find yourself half way out the door in a night shirt. The fire alarm went off while I was in my underwear the other day, and I once had to walk to the school playground for a fire drill in nothing but a towel, post swimming lessons sometime back in Primary School in Hong Kong. The point is, I looked around at my things - so many things - and wondered what I’d take if I had to pack another backpack and run away.
And my answer was the same. A few little knick knacks, some odds and ends. A sweater, my journal, something to draw and write with, and my Swiss Army knife. A phone number in my head of someone I think might be able to save me someday.
Me, last night, minus the paper bag. *groan*
"Be true. Don’t lie to others. Get it together. Be positive. Be smart. Be strong." - Post-It notes from a 7 year old. #kayaysabel