I start my day with a little prayer coming from a long and pleasurable sleep, waking up every morning and thanking God for another chance to become human again and better myself with the coming day’s challenge. I take either of my two pure breed dogs to walk around the village to welcome the morning sun basking in front of a wide rice field that are always embraced by the morning dew. I usually take Mielle, my beagle as my walking buddy rather than Halle Bury (as in “libing”) my pitbull: its physically exhausting to take Halle for a walk because of her size and her reputation as a pit-bull which scares the hell out of passers by. As my dog pee and pooh simultaneously, I stare at the green blanket of verdant vegetation and wait for the first streak of sunlight peeking from the clouds, hoping that my day would be meaningful and worthwhile even if I am alone 70% of the rest of the day.

As the morning mists disappear and replaced by country smog coming from burned hays, me and my dog head back for home to do the morning chores:

I tie Mielle and Halle in the basketball court in our front yard, clean their kennels, prepare food for my 7 canines (2 pure breeds, 3 cross breeds, and 2 “natives” to be precise), and feed the barking and howling beasts strategically stationed all over the different points of our compound.

I water the plants which includes numerous variety of orchids, different colors and species of roses, lilies, xenias, cactus, euphorbia (sorry, don’t know the spelling) and many other flowering plants which escapes my memory.

I then wash the dishes, bathes and dry the dogs only to tie them once again in the court, taking my bath, and finally eating my breakfast.

I finish all these chores in the blink of an eye; from 6 am, I end my endeavor at 9 am.

From then on my clock stops. I take my book, and read up to 12:00 noon. Depending on my stomach’s appetite, I stop reading for my lunch break. I do the cooking and watching “Game knb” all at the same time. Usually I finish preparing my lunch at the middle of the gameshow, which features the â??atras-abante portion”. As I eat my lunch in front of the boob tube, I munch, crunch, chew my food, and laugh at the stupidity and lack of common sense of some of the contestants, which are made more obvious to the viewer’s by Aquino’s irritating facial expression and one-liner comments.

As I finish my meal, so does the show of Aquino end with a shout of “game na!â??

Instead of watching the next show that earned my ire, I take my nap. Sleeping during the afternoon is more rewarding than watching Willie Revillame exploit every human emotion imaginable in every contestant and forcing each participant to cry even if there are no tears rolling down their cheeks. For me, it is an emotional abuse and very degrading on the contestantâ??s part. Itâ??s like you have to look stupid on national TV before they hand you your prize money. Another senseless show that is hidden and wrapped in the guise of charity. In reality, exploitation and profit oriented. I dare make a judgment: those who laugh at Revillame’s offending jokes are dim witted like him!

After my nap, which usually ends at 2 pm, I return to my usual review of my nursing subjects and end it at 5:30 pm. from that point I grab my watering can, shovel and a pair of cutters and do my routine watering of the plants and trimming of the foliage. Then off to the kitchen to prepare (this time) my dogs’ dinner. Out of my seven canines, Mielle is the most spoiled and useless dog of all. He does not bark nor bite any strangers. He destroys and tears every plant life and rubber slippers he sees, and spent all his day sleeping. When he has the opportunity to escape his cage, he runs back and forth from our house to our neighborhood. This is the reason why I put him in his kennel. But despite his shortcomings, He usually compensates his weaknesses by an irresistible affection and charm to his master. A slimy and yucky lick from Mielle removes all the stress and boredom of living alone.

After the flora and fauna had their abundant shower of water and dog food, I join the sun’s setting by cooking my dinner, which eventually is interspersed with the routine viewing of â??Pangako sayoâ?? (I canâ??t believe I have wrote this down) and TV patrol world. I only watch Pangako sa’yo (defensive!) out of mere curiosity. Aside from the intriguing fact that it was shown and translated throughout the world as far as Africa, the mimicry of the story to that of the Marcosâ?? caught my attention. It was when someone told me that the soap’s gist was fashioned from the Marcosâ?? power hungry ideals, did I start to watch it. The only thing that entertains me in that soap is the insanity and â??Imeldificâ?? mayhem of the Governor’s wife, the Governor’s moronic decision making, and the trying hard acting of Hermosa’s deranged and retarded foster father.

After the show, which up to now I cannot seem to reconcile myself on the fact that I do follow its story, I eat my dinner watching the day’s news. (I really have no choice). After the news, I switch off the TV and get back on my review. I could watch the next program in line, but I opted to shove them off. Watching Aquino wave her hands saying the spiels “deal or no deal” is too much for me in a day .

Instead of watching the TV, I turn the leaves of my book, read, and read until the wee hours of the night. Before ending my review, I wash up and do my hygienic routines, go to my room, switch on my lampshade and read the day’s issue of Inquirer or the latest book I am reading until I finally feel the presence of the sheep.

Many already asked me the same question over and over again: “Hindi ka naiinip, solong solo ka jan?” (arenâ??t you bored, youâ??re all alone there?) My only answer is a big “NO”.

During the first week after Pudra and Mudra (my term of endearment for my mom and dad) went to the U.S., I was miserable but in control.

During the second week, there were flickers of sadness.

The third week I began to have the hang of it.

And on the fourth week, I started to enjoy the life of a totally independent bachelor (hermit as others would sarcastically say).

Of course, in between my very busy day, there are many text messages and landline calls from friends and the world over. All having the same messages of either “Kumusta ka na?” (How are you doing?) or “Punta ka naman dito” (Come over here). But my answer has always been one and the same: “Iâ??m good” and “I can’t”. As much as I want to, as much as I need to, I cannot.

I could say I am stuck with the responsibility left by my parents and my current review, but everything I am doing right now is neither a mere coincidence nor a grave deliberate punishment by my parents. It is my choice.

My parents never told me to stay inside of the house forever or lock myself on top of a tower (panjeet, panjeet, throw down your hair!) nor did they told me to never have a good time with friends from time to time. It is my own choice to stay home and gain the peace of the countryside.

For seven years since I left the seminary, my peaceful haven transitioned from that of a chaotic and noisy milieu, which the world offered me. In the seminary, I found peace. Having so many bouts of personal and emotional dilemmas inside the formation, I was still able to reap the Joy and Peace of the solitary life. However, different from what I had in the seminary, I was alone metaphorically. But physically and emotionally there were brothers, surrogate fathers and prospective girlfriends around that four walls which seem to reduce the burden of loneliness and longing for human contact. But in my case right now, Iâ??m literally alone, with limited human contact 70% of the day, but Iâ??m enjoying the solitude Iâ??m having. Choosing to be alone is a threefold purpose for me:

(1) A training when I leave for abroad (crossing my fingers)

(2) A discipline for my review to focus and avoid losing concentration gained from distraction and pitfalls of dependency and complicated relationships.

(3) And an opportunity to once again peek inside myself and evaluate the life I had as a nurse and the life I would be facing in the near future.

I am testing my limits. I once confided to a surrogate father from my capuchin formation my situation of being alone, and the only thing he said to me was “don’t worry; you’ll get the hang of it”. I was expecting a little bit more of an encouragement but I realized that up to now, he is still teaching me to stand on my own feet. He knew me very well that even years of not seeing each other, he could tell that I can make it on my own. Having that full and unshakeable trust of the Priest in me for years have been my constant challenge of putting myself to the limits and conquering my self, which he always tells me to do.

Now I am alone. Home alone to be literal in fact that only plants and dogs are my only companion 24/7 of my time. But I’m blessed for having friends who never gets tired of contacting me wherever they are even if my only words for them (no matter how hard they try to invite me) is the familiar “I can’t”. Some understand and some do not. But the bottom-line is, even if I seem to be alone, Iâ??m not.

Aside from “séance-like” communication with friends, cousins were with me. They visit me during weekends and sleep over to accompany me in this 1,300 sq meter lot.

Living alone is a choice for me. Though I am already having the hang of it, the hardest part of the day is when I go to sleep in my bed and have nothing to do but to wait for drowsiness to come by. It is the time when I remember all my friends and miss their company. It is the time when emotion sinks in, and any kind of repression and suppression proved useless.

Some friends thought that I do not care anymore or even think that I am avoiding them. But the truth is, Iâ??m longing for human contact during this difficult time when all sounds disappear and all lights vanishes in the void of the night. But like what I always tell them, this is my time to fulfill my dreams. This is a now or never situation. And time has come for me to turn a new page in my history, not here, but far beyond the seas abroad.

As a playful, happy and melancholic person rolled into one, I tend to miss old friends. Close to my heart or not, its human instinct I bet. Time will come that I will soon rise from the hibernation I am having.

As a self-proclaimed gardener, I used to light up whenever I see new twigs branch out and new leaves sprout… its like the world is telling me that there will always be hope. As the seeds of flowering plants that I sow die beneath the earth that covered them, new life grows.

I have to die and challenge myself in order to see the new growth in me. And all the loneliness that transpires during my sleep are all taken away the next day by an affectionate lick of my dog, breeze of the country winds and the sprouting of leaves, twigs and flowers telling me that in death there will always be life… the life Iâ??m aspiring as the next phase of my journey commences.