The Power of Numbers

Normal Number of Sleep Hours from Mon-Friday: 40
Number of Hours Slept Since Monday: 19

I'm becoming really good friends with 4am.

Radical Gratitude

As some of you may know, I am working on a collection of essays about my recent voyage to the Philippines. Each essay explores a different perspective of my learnings and meditations. This is one of those essays and is entitled, "Radical Gratitude."

There is a sweetness to life that I wish for all to experience someday.

A sweetness of age when wisdom falls into your life after years and pain and triumph and effort.

The sweetness comes in waves and, like the tide, overpowers even the sturdiest stance.

There are few times in our lives when we have the ability to truly experience gratitude. A grace that articulates a clear perception of one’s blessings, gratitude comes only with time, when one’s ability to receive is matched by the comprehension of such rare gifts.

Few days can you wake up and fully grasp the miracle of life, its ability to carry on despite death, disease, corruption, and sin. Life, in all its glory, steals my breath when I open a window and smell the warm air slowly nuzzle into the quiet blades of late summer grass. I am grateful for that smell.

Few days can you laugh over the inevitable (and perhaps even necessary) complications of life – a late appointment, a flat tire, the needles of rain – and move forward in gratitude for simply being alive to witness one more embrace from a loving sister, one more soft kiss from a spouse, and one more conversation with an aging mother.

There is a truth to life that often hides in the folds of activity and bustle: gratitude is experiencing life twice.

Gratitude is what softens us and makes us vulnerable to the fragile reality of our mortality. It deepens our sense of time to where each second becomes an impassable opportunity to open ourselves, to unwind from secrecy, guilt, and unbind ourselves from the hinges of the past. Gratitude is forgiveness, humility, and delivers exhilarating purity.

A natural drug, it propels the mind to see the heart of each act, the true intention of another’s actions, and eradicates insecure bravado and inflation. Pure thanksgiving moves our feet to the side, bows our heads, uplifts and affirms our very self-worth.

I would be nowhere without family. I’d be stunted without friends and for reasons I cannot fathom; I was blessed with the abundance of both. The miracle of each person and their ability to love me quiets every thought in that contemplation. That simple equation of love begets love is the most undervalued lesson in our social development. How had I forgotten that? Love begets love, gratitude begets tranquility.

I intend to live the rest of my life with radical gratitude, a notion that often gets misdiagnosed with expressing thanks. Radical gratitude, a state of perfect spiritual vision, befuddles the temptation to take stock and inventory of one’s personal bank accounts and plans for acquiring more. It leaves the eyes trailing upward and gently taps me when I have enough. In that small prayer it becomes clear that I often have too much; too much for one person to enjoy in one lifetime. It is the only light that uncovers the finest lines of human detail. The clarity of those blessing tastes as sweet as a caramel apple in autumn or strawberry lemonade at noon. It smells like a sleeping baby’s cheek and sounds like rustling green leaves perched high in the clouds. It is as fleeting and weightless as a dandelion’s remains, as delicate as a ballerina’s en pointe, and as vast as the cascade of dark violet mountains. In every crevice of the earth and every inch of our mouths, it waits to captures all of us with its power. It waits to put to rest all of our needless bitterness and folly, banter and noise, bends and fragmentations. It waits to heal all of our questions and brokenness and builds the bridge to voice the words left unsaid, the love still left to do.

Radical gratitude is one’s rebirth, a divine reverence of life.

If You Don't Understand the "Ratcho" Name

It's time for a new look!

Also, if you're puzzled as to why we call ourselves the "Ratchos" - don't forget about this story:

Click here for an explanation why...

I Knew It Before...

but I am just reminded that I am married to THE most amazing person.

He's made this experience complete with the most amazing homecoming.

Manila to Tokyo to Chicago to Cleveland

Jetlag is overtaking my life.

I feel like i need to eat dinner. It's 5am.

Memories of the Philippines

I'm leaving for the airport in about 16 hours and packing is a small hurricane of suitcases, strewn clothing, and random wooden crafts that I believe will all fit in 2 suitcases.

A part from the million memories I have of this transformative experience, I will always remember opening the door in the province of Legazpi and seeing this in front of me.

The Philippines has always been a country of disarming surprises.

Two Days and then...

I board Japan airlines.
Switch to American airlines.

And hope to the good Lord that all the ridiculous amount of pottery and handicrafts I bought aren't damaged as I try to transport everything across the oceans and into Cleveland, Ohio.

I leave Monday, August 25 and travel for 24 hours and arrive on Monday, August 25 - gaining back the day that I lost on June 19th.

9 weeks ago...how they go by in a blink...

Nick - gas up the car, I'm coming home!

Baguio City, City of God

There's no real way to describe the place from where I am blogging.

First, I am in Baguio City [BAH-gee-yoh], Philippines. About 5 hours (oftentimes more, depending on weather) North of Manila, and the hometown of my mom. I traveled Thursday and will depart tomorrow, Monday afternoon. Baguio is, by far, THE most breathtaking place I have ever been. When I came up on a bus, I saw a sign that said, "Welcome to the City of God."

City of God, indeed.

This is what you need to know about why I have labeled this place the most spectacular place on earth:
1) It's a city IN the mountains, which means you have
a. cooler temps (think San Francisco)
b. air that, literally, smells sweet
c. slower pace of life
d. less expensive living
e. smaller city feel, everything's 15 minutes away

2) It's my mother's hometown, which means I have
a. met my mother's side of the family who I had never seen face to face
b. visited my Lolo's (Tagalog for "grandfather") burial spot where I have never been; a grandfather I never met
c. visited the houses where my mother grew up
d. bawled like a big baby at places mentioned in a-c

My cousin Renzie has won in the Cousin Olympics, my fictitious race to determine who is the greatest cousin to me, including both the Factora and the Fernandez sides of my family. Here is why Lorenzo Fernandez wins:

1) He picked me up from the bus terminal (huge points when you're the first person you relieves you from a bus terminal)
2) He's an opthamologist who specializes in Awesomeness and does more generous and near free eye surgeries for the poor than is humanly possible
3) He drove me all around this grand city and kept bringing me to places he knew I would love (aka art galleries and craft stores)
4) He and I just met roughly 48 hours ago and I feel like he is my long lost twin brother who knew I would love Bulalo with vegetables (hot soup)
5) He showed me ancient pictures of my mother when she was still single and sporting short skirts and boots. He threw his arm around me, "You probably didn't know this, but your mom was a hottie." I can't believe that I'm writing this, but when I saw her photos...dear Lord, it's true: MY MOTHER WAS HOT.
6) He's got a sense of humor like mine: harmless but dry, teasing without malice, often without overkill
.....
and last but not least
7) He freaking gave me an eye exam to fit me for new freaking glasses that are freaking red (something I've always wanted) and I freaking hugged him till he nearly turned blue

When we parted today, I hugged him and my arms seemed to lock together. I couldn't let him go. Meeting and loving family is a blessing, but is difficult when you know that they are, literally, halfway across the world. I am so proud of all of my cousins and am so proud to have the blood of these amazing folks who are doing such incredible work and refuse to be anything but humble about their accomplishments.

Baguio brought me home. I feel more at home here than any place in the Philippines. I got it all wrong before: I should have come here for weeks and visited other places for four days. I could spend lifetimes in this city. It's that beautiful.

The City of God. The City of my mother.

My cup runneth over.

Sad Face

Moving out in 30 minutes.

Eigh, the tears won't stop.

Back from Paradise

One of my beliefs about life is that there are only a handful of things that we truly love. "Love" as a word is overused and exploited. We say we love ice cream sundaes. We love fast internet connections. We love no traffic in the morning.

I try and intentionally use the word love. I reserve it for people closest to me and, now, for one other place:

BORACAY ISLAND.
[BOR-AH-KIE]

Does the phrase Tropical Island mean anything to anyone? It does for me now. I just returned from, arguably, the most beautiful island beach in the world and I was nearly crying on the plane. After six weeks of intense learning, emotional rollercoasters, and transition, spending three days on a perfect island is quite possibly the greatest idea in the history of vacation ideas.

I hate to be so short, but I am e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d. As wonderful as Boracay is, getting there is quite the process. Taxi, plane, van, boat, van, walk...then voila, the most perfect place in the world to unwind. The taxi ride from the airport was another harrowing experience of swerving into the oncoming traffic lane and then playing chicken with an ENORMOUS bus that could flatten the Statue of Liberty.

Tomorrow is the last day of the program and I need to spend some quality time with the family I have made out here before we all separate.

More on the Boracay trip soon!