Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
For comments, inquiries, corrections and feedback, contact admin: alexzita5@gmail.com
~
March 28, 2025
Today, I stand at a crossroads. It is possible that I will be discharged from the hospital, leaving behind the confines of this room where I have spent an extended period. Though I have moved around within the space—getting up for the bathroom, shifting positions—I have not yet taken the opportunity to walk down the hallway, largely due to the precautions placed on me two days ago. The nurse, concerned about my stability, has been hesitant to let me attempt it, fearing I might falter.
Yet, I walked into this hospital on my own two feet. On the first day, I walked despite slight unsteadiness, without any loss of balance. But then, something shifted within me. Fear took hold—fear of hypertension, fear of a secondary stroke, fear of a heart attack. ‘Dr. Google’ reinforced my anxiety, warning that such events could occur within three months post-stroke. And so, I immobilized myself. But I know that recovery requires movement, gradual but deliberate. The swelling in my brain should subside within five days, and by then, healing will begin in earnest. In my profession, I never discharge a patient until they can walk at least 200 feet. Now, I must take my own advice. It is time to start, carefully but with purpose.
The challenge is compounded by my worsening sinus congestion, a lingering effect of past nasal drip exacerbated by my time in this room. Movement must be slow and deliberate—I cannot afford recklessness. The key to recovery is pacing myself, listening to my body, and honoring its needs during this acute phase. My focus now is on essential self-care: rising from bed, using the bathroom, changing clothes. Perhaps today, I will attempt a simple wash, but showering remains an ambitious goal for another day.
My primary objective is simple yet critical: make it from this hospital to the car, then up the three steps into my house. Rest. Check my blood pressure. Monitor my blood sugar. Relax. Sleep. The brain, already assaulted by this stroke, must not be further burdened by unnecessary exertion. It is not wise to push through when my body signals the need for rest.
A fundamental realization has emerged from this experience: it is time to slow down. The compulsion to get up, to walk, to test my limits—these impulses must be tamed. The word "must" has no place in my vocabulary now. In my profession, I have always encouraged patients to pace themselves. Now, I must heed my own advice.
This anxiety, this relentless drive—these are lifelong patterns I have built. I have lived under the weight of obligation, always thinking ahead to the next task, the next goal, the next achievement. But life is not meant to be a relentless pursuit. Look at the animals—they move when necessary, then rest. Even Rocky, my faithful companion, plays only when he feels inclined. For the most part, he rests in his corner, as nature intended. The older an organism becomes, the slower it must move. That is the natural order of things.
One discipline I must now master is the art of stillness. "Be still, and know that I am God." I have spent my life placing God on standby, treating Him as a presence to call upon only when needed, rather than as the guiding force of my existence. That thinking must change. My survival, my well-being—these are in His hands. If I am meant to live, then let it be for the purpose of enjoying the fruits of my labor, as He intended.
What, then, is true joy? Is it found in the admiration of others, in social media validation, in meticulously following the rules of health? Or is it in the quiet moments of meditation, in reading great books that bring comfort, in conversations with God? I believe I know the answer. Joy is in stillness, in communion with God, in the simple pleasure of reading and learning. Social media, with all its illusions of importance, no longer holds the power it once did. Gone are the days of anxiously tracking likes and views, of seeking validation from a digital audience. There is no real gain in it—only vanity, a fleeting illusion.
This hospitalization and my decision to leave my job have granted me a newfound perspective. My purpose now is simple: to live as God intended, to find contentment in the present moment.
Ecclesiastes 5:18-20 resonates deeply:
"This is what I have observed to be good: that it is appropriate for a person to eat, to drink and to find satisfaction in their toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given them—for this is their lot. Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart."
This passage encapsulates my new philosophy: let God take the lead. Let Him guide my steps, my thoughts, my path. My task now is to relinquish control and embrace the peace that comes with trust.
Despite this newfound clarity, anxieties persist. This morning, my worries fixated on insurance issues and out-of-network doctors. Discharge logistics remain uncertain, and in the past, I would have let such concerns consume me. But today, I choose to surrender these worries to God. Our relationship, one that has endured since I was 14, remains my greatest source of solace. Friends and family may come and go, but He is always there, ever-present, ever-accessible.
I look forward to my days of rest. To waking up without obligations. To lingering in bed, conversing with God over morning coffee. To a quiet existence filled with reading, writing, and creative endeavors—when my body allows. Perhaps I will embrace the slow, contemplative life of a retiree, sitting at a café and watching the world pass by. It may not be my usual style, but I will adapt. The goal is simple: to live in alignment with my body's needs, to maximize joy, to cherish the blessings I have been given.
No longer will I exhaust myself for the sake of others. My body is my priority now. Stillness, relaxation, and quietude will be my guiding principles. No more chasing after social media validation, no more unnecessary exertion for the sake of appearances. The stress, the anxiety, the constant striving—it is all behind me now. I once thought I found happiness in these pursuits, but now I see the toll they took. I have heard the stories of people who lost themselves in the pursuit of digital validation, who sacrificed their well-being for content creation. I was never that extreme, but I, too, lost precious time to distractions that did not serve me.
The stroke was my body’s final warning. For years, I pushed myself too hard—early morning writing, hours of exercise, long workdays, additional activities like fishing. From 4 AM to 3 PM, I was constantly on the move, believing it was all necessary. But it was too much. My body endured until it could no longer keep up with my demands.
Now, it is time for a cool change.
Home at last, I feel the difference immediately. The nasal congestion that plagued me in the hospital dissipates. Yet, exhaustion sets in. My blood pressure spikes—anxiety’s cruel trick. The moment I step into my house, my mind shifts into worry mode. It is automatic. But what, truly, am I afraid of? Perhaps it is time to consider sleeping aids. Melatonin, maybe. Watching television. Anything to keep my mind from feeding the monsters it creates.
Sleep will not come easily tonight. Perhaps I would have been better off in a nursing home, surrounded by people, never alone with my thoughts. Did I take my blood pressure medication earlier? My anxiety is real, and I must find ways to manage it.
Today has been the most active day since Monday, when I naively attempted a three-mile walk despite my symptoms. Thank God I went to the ER. Now, after three days of being mostly bedridden, my body is reacting to sudden mobility.
The first priority is rest. In the hospital, I could sleep easily, comforted by the knowledge that I was in good hands. Now, I must learn to find that security within myself. Anxiety is my greatest enemy, but with God, I do not face it alone.
2025-03-30 15:47:06
popong
In my youth, the Lord had to place a lid on my life to prevent me from making mistakes that could haunt me in adulthood. Now, here I am, retired—relatively confident, yet still guarded in how I manage my resources. I constantly calculate my expenses, from the handlebars I installed for safety at home to the collapsible seat I bought for fishing. Groceries and daily necessities are well within my control. But then, there are the unpredictable expenses—the ones that remind me that no amount of planning can fully prepare us for the unexpected. Jim has been unable to work for weeks now, leaving his rent unpaid. Meanwhile, the lease on my rental property is set to expire, with no certainty of renewal. Then there’s the stock market, shaken by the whims of a single man, adding another layer of uncertainty to my financial stability.
This morning, my walk was shorter than usual—just over three miles. I also resisted the urge to overindulge in fishing, a newfound passion that, while exhilarating, has taken a toll on my back and hip. The pain, lingering and persistent, has forced me to adjust my routine. With fewer workouts, I find myself with idle time, a dangerous vacuum that my mind eagerly fills with unnecessary worries, daydreams, and distractions. News from my hometown, social media posts about my hobbies, and my attempts at learning Spanish all swirl in my thoughts, keeping my brain occupied but not necessarily fulfilled. YouTube has become a rabbit hole of intrigue and fascination, but too often, I catch myself lying in bed, overwhelmed by discomfort and unproductive contemplation.
Retirement is not the unbroken stretch of rest and stability I once imagined. My body weakens, my mind wrestles with distractions, and I find myself failing in ways I never anticipated—misprioritizing my time, allowing myself to drift into mental noise, and sometimes, simply surrendering to inertia. Loss, I’ve come to realize, is not just about financial setbacks or physical decline; it is also the sudden shifts in routine that disrupt the sense of stability I once relied upon. Fishing, for instance, was a lifelong dream, something I envisioned as a peaceful and fulfilling retirement pastime. But the unexpected consequence—hip and back pain so severe I could barely rise from my chair—was a stark reminder that even joyful pursuits can have costs.
To mitigate the strain, I made adjustments. I purchased a collapsible chair to relieve the stress of prolonged standing and awkward sitting postures. When fishing from the Intracoastal wall, I had been twisting my body unnaturally—an innocent mistake, but one that my aging body refuses to ignore. It is a lesson I must heed: be careful with how I engage in my newfound joys, for the body is no longer as forgiving as it once was.
Yesterday, I debated whether to try a different park, one less crowded than my usual spot. At the last minute, I decided against it—extra driving time and potential traffic were not worth the trouble. Instead, I returned to my familiar retreat, pleasantly surprised to find it quieter than expected. The old man, who is usually a fixture there, was sober and amiable, making for pleasant conversation. I also noticed a homeless woman, one who has lately become more friendly towards me.
I tread carefully in their presence, observing from a respectful distance. In the early mornings, they remain quiet, some still asleep on the grass, others wrapped in their blankets along the boardwalk. I know better than to visit later in the day, when alcohol and drugs take hold, rendering them erratic and unpredictable. Yet, they have never disturbed me. If I find myself unsettled, it is only because I choose to place myself in their presence. Gone are the days when I sought social acceptance, when I craved engagement with everyone I encountered. I no longer need the validation I once did, and that, in itself, is a liberating realization.
With my pain subsiding, I am eager to return to my usual pursuits. Reading, blogging, programming, and practicing Spanish should once again take precedence. My physical routine will remain a priority—walking, fishing (with caution), and weight training. Meditation has been a consistent anchor in my life, and I am determined to maintain that discipline. My body, for the most part, seems content with the physical upkeep, but my mind still needs work.
The world outside my personal sphere continues its chaotic march. Politics, both in the U.S. and my homeland, is once again at a fever pitch. Trump, ever the showman, stirs controversy as he maneuvers for the spotlight. In the Philippines, the former president faces justice for crimes against humanity. These events capture my attention more than they should, pulling me into the vortex of debate and speculation. Yet, I cannot ignore the broader lesson: the world is being shown, in stark relief, the consequences of misplaced priorities.
Americans, lured by grand promises of wealth and security, have elected leaders who amass fortunes yet deliver little in return. They were sold a dream—instant prosperity, safer borders, better jobs—if only they purged the government of inefficiency, taxed imports, and expelled immigrants. But reality is not so simple. Now, faced with rising unemployment, a stock market in decline, and the looming specter of recession, many are beginning to realize that wealth does not trickle down by sheer will. The irony is striking—some who once aspired to innovate and create now clamor for jobs as landscapers, farmhands, and factory workers, as if reversing global trade and outsourcing could magically return them to an era that no longer exists.
This misguided pursuit of material success, the belief that financial gain equates to fulfillment, is a folly as old as time. The Lord’s wisdom, written across generations, teaches otherwise. Wealth is neither good nor evil—it is the love of wealth, the obsession with it, that corrupts. True fulfillment lies not in amassing riches but in nurturing one’s talents, in pursuing knowledge, in crafting a life of substance rather than illusion. Those who build their identities on wealth and power will one day face the inevitable: all that is accumulated will slip away, as fleeting as a whisper on the wind.
For my part, I remain at peace with what I have. I observe, from a distance, those who measure their worth by the size of their assets and the reach of their influence. I see them cling to their wealth as if it were a permanent fixture in their lives, unaware that the tides of fortune are as fickle as the seasons. In the end, it is not what the world gives us that defines us—it is what we choose to hold onto and what we are willing to let go. And as I move forward in this chapter of my life, I choose to hold onto simplicity, to embrace the wisdom of restraint, and to let go of the illusions that bind so many to a cycle of endless want.
2025-03-17 01:25:20
popong
The Mild Stroke of Ramon Santos
March 28, 2025
Today, I stand at a crossroads. It is possible that I will be discharged from the hospital, leaving behind the confines of this room where I have spent an extended period. Though I have moved around within the space—getting up for the bathroom, shifting positions—I have not yet taken the opportunity to walk down the hallway, largely due to the precautions placed on me two days ago. The nurse, concerned about my stability, has been hesitant to let me attempt it, fearing I might falter.
Yet, I walked into this hospital on my own two feet. On the first day, I walked despite slight unsteadiness, without any loss of balance. But then, something shifted within me. Fear took hold—fear of hypertension, fear of a secondary stroke, fear of a heart attack. ‘Dr. Google’ reinforced my anxiety, warning that such events could occur within three months post-stroke. And so, I immobilized myself. But I know that recovery requires movement, gradual but deliberate. The swelling in my brain should subside within five days, and by then, healing will begin in earnest. In my profession, I never discharge a patient until they can walk at least 200 feet. Now, I must take my own advice. It is time to start, carefully but with purpose.
The challenge is compounded by my worsening sinus congestion, a lingering effect of past nasal drip exacerbated by my time in this room. Movement must be slow and deliberate—I cannot afford recklessness. The key to recovery is pacing myself, listening to my body, and honoring its needs during this acute phase. My focus now is on essential self-care: rising from bed, using the bathroom, changing clothes. Perhaps today, I will attempt a simple wash, but showering remains an ambitious goal for another day.
My primary objective is simple yet critical: make it from this hospital to the car, then up the three steps into my house. Rest. Check my blood pressure. Monitor my blood sugar. Relax. Sleep. The brain, already assaulted by this stroke, must not be further burdened by unnecessary exertion. It is not wise to push through when my body signals the need for rest.
A fundamental realization has emerged from this experience: it is time to slow down. The compulsion to get up, to walk, to test my limits—these impulses must be tamed. The word "must" has no place in my vocabulary now. In my profession, I have always encouraged patients to pace themselves. Now, I must heed my own advice.
This anxiety, this relentless drive—these are lifelong patterns I have built. I have lived under the weight of obligation, always thinking ahead to the next task, the next goal, the next achievement. But life is not meant to be a relentless pursuit. Look at the animals—they move when necessary, then rest. Even Rocky, my faithful companion, plays only when he feels inclined. For the most part, he rests in his corner, as nature intended. The older an organism becomes, the slower it must move. That is the natural order of things.
One discipline I must now master is the art of stillness. "Be still, and know that I am God." I have spent my life placing God on standby, treating Him as a presence to call upon only when needed, rather than as the guiding force of my existence. That thinking must change. My survival, my well-being—these are in His hands. If I am meant to live, then let it be for the purpose of enjoying the fruits of my labor, as He intended.
What, then, is true joy? Is it found in the admiration of others, in social media validation, in meticulously following the rules of health? Or is it in the quiet moments of meditation, in reading great books that bring comfort, in conversations with God? I believe I know the answer. Joy is in stillness, in communion with God, in the simple pleasure of reading and learning. Social media, with all its illusions of importance, no longer holds the power it once did. Gone are the days of anxiously tracking likes and views, of seeking validation from a digital audience. There is no real gain in it—only vanity, a fleeting illusion.
This hospitalization and my decision to leave my job have granted me a newfound perspective. My purpose now is simple: to live as God intended, to find contentment in the present moment.
Ecclesiastes 5:18-20 resonates deeply:
"This is what I have observed to be good: that it is appropriate for a person to eat, to drink and to find satisfaction in their toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given them—for this is their lot. Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart."
This passage encapsulates my new philosophy: let God take the lead. Let Him guide my steps, my thoughts, my path. My task now is to relinquish control and embrace the peace that comes with trust.
Despite this newfound clarity, anxieties persist. This morning, my worries fixated on insurance issues and out-of-network doctors. Discharge logistics remain uncertain, and in the past, I would have let such concerns consume me. But today, I choose to surrender these worries to God. Our relationship, one that has endured since I was 14, remains my greatest source of solace. Friends and family may come and go, but He is always there, ever-present, ever-accessible.
I look forward to my days of rest. To waking up without obligations. To lingering in bed, conversing with God over morning coffee. To a quiet existence filled with reading, writing, and creative endeavors—when my body allows. Perhaps I will embrace the slow, contemplative life of a retiree, sitting at a café and watching the world pass by. It may not be my usual style, but I will adapt. The goal is simple: to live in alignment with my body's needs, to maximize joy, to cherish the blessings I have been given.
No longer will I exhaust myself for the sake of others. My body is my priority now. Stillness, relaxation, and quietude will be my guiding principles. No more chasing after social media validation, no more unnecessary exertion for the sake of appearances. The stress, the anxiety, the constant striving—it is all behind me now. I once thought I found happiness in these pursuits, but now I see the toll they took. I have heard the stories of people who lost themselves in the pursuit of digital validation, who sacrificed their well-being for content creation. I was never that extreme, but I, too, lost precious time to distractions that did not serve me.
The stroke was my body’s final warning. For years, I pushed myself too hard—early morning writing, hours of exercise, long workdays, additional activities like fishing. From 4 AM to 3 PM, I was constantly on the move, believing it was all necessary. But it was too much. My body endured until it could no longer keep up with my demands.
Now, it is time for a cool change.
Home at last, I feel the difference immediately. The nasal congestion that plagued me in the hospital dissipates. Yet, exhaustion sets in. My blood pressure spikes—anxiety’s cruel trick. The moment I step into my house, my mind shifts into worry mode. It is automatic. But what, truly, am I afraid of? Perhaps it is time to consider sleeping aids. Melatonin, maybe. Watching television. Anything to keep my mind from feeding the monsters it creates.
Sleep will not come easily tonight. Perhaps I would have been better off in a nursing home, surrounded by people, never alone with my thoughts. Did I take my blood pressure medication earlier? My anxiety is real, and I must find ways to manage it.
Today has been the most active day since Monday, when I naively attempted a three-mile walk despite my symptoms. Thank God I went to the ER. Now, after three days of being mostly bedridden, my body is reacting to sudden mobility.
The first priority is rest. In the hospital, I could sleep easily, comforted by the knowledge that I was in good hands. Now, I must learn to find that security within myself. Anxiety is my greatest enemy, but with God, I do not face it alone.
2025-03-30 15:47:06
popong
Popong 23: Life Adjustments
In my youth, the Lord had to place a lid on my life to prevent me from making mistakes that could haunt me in adulthood. Now, here I am, retired—relatively confident, yet still guarded in how I manage my resources. I constantly calculate my expenses, from the handlebars I installed for safety at home to the collapsible seat I bought for fishing. Groceries and daily necessities are well within my control. But then, there are the unpredictable expenses—the ones that remind me that no amount of planning can fully prepare us for the unexpected. Jim has been unable to work for weeks now, leaving his rent unpaid. Meanwhile, the lease on my rental property is set to expire, with no certainty of renewal. Then there’s the stock market, shaken by the whims of a single man, adding another layer of uncertainty to my financial stability.
This morning, my walk was shorter than usual—just over three miles. I also resisted the urge to overindulge in fishing, a newfound passion that, while exhilarating, has taken a toll on my back and hip. The pain, lingering and persistent, has forced me to adjust my routine. With fewer workouts, I find myself with idle time, a dangerous vacuum that my mind eagerly fills with unnecessary worries, daydreams, and distractions. News from my hometown, social media posts about my hobbies, and my attempts at learning Spanish all swirl in my thoughts, keeping my brain occupied but not necessarily fulfilled. YouTube has become a rabbit hole of intrigue and fascination, but too often, I catch myself lying in bed, overwhelmed by discomfort and unproductive contemplation.
Retirement is not the unbroken stretch of rest and stability I once imagined. My body weakens, my mind wrestles with distractions, and I find myself failing in ways I never anticipated—misprioritizing my time, allowing myself to drift into mental noise, and sometimes, simply surrendering to inertia. Loss, I’ve come to realize, is not just about financial setbacks or physical decline; it is also the sudden shifts in routine that disrupt the sense of stability I once relied upon. Fishing, for instance, was a lifelong dream, something I envisioned as a peaceful and fulfilling retirement pastime. But the unexpected consequence—hip and back pain so severe I could barely rise from my chair—was a stark reminder that even joyful pursuits can have costs.
To mitigate the strain, I made adjustments. I purchased a collapsible chair to relieve the stress of prolonged standing and awkward sitting postures. When fishing from the Intracoastal wall, I had been twisting my body unnaturally—an innocent mistake, but one that my aging body refuses to ignore. It is a lesson I must heed: be careful with how I engage in my newfound joys, for the body is no longer as forgiving as it once was.
Yesterday, I debated whether to try a different park, one less crowded than my usual spot. At the last minute, I decided against it—extra driving time and potential traffic were not worth the trouble. Instead, I returned to my familiar retreat, pleasantly surprised to find it quieter than expected. The old man, who is usually a fixture there, was sober and amiable, making for pleasant conversation. I also noticed a homeless woman, one who has lately become more friendly towards me.
I tread carefully in their presence, observing from a respectful distance. In the early mornings, they remain quiet, some still asleep on the grass, others wrapped in their blankets along the boardwalk. I know better than to visit later in the day, when alcohol and drugs take hold, rendering them erratic and unpredictable. Yet, they have never disturbed me. If I find myself unsettled, it is only because I choose to place myself in their presence. Gone are the days when I sought social acceptance, when I craved engagement with everyone I encountered. I no longer need the validation I once did, and that, in itself, is a liberating realization.
With my pain subsiding, I am eager to return to my usual pursuits. Reading, blogging, programming, and practicing Spanish should once again take precedence. My physical routine will remain a priority—walking, fishing (with caution), and weight training. Meditation has been a consistent anchor in my life, and I am determined to maintain that discipline. My body, for the most part, seems content with the physical upkeep, but my mind still needs work.
The world outside my personal sphere continues its chaotic march. Politics, both in the U.S. and my homeland, is once again at a fever pitch. Trump, ever the showman, stirs controversy as he maneuvers for the spotlight. In the Philippines, the former president faces justice for crimes against humanity. These events capture my attention more than they should, pulling me into the vortex of debate and speculation. Yet, I cannot ignore the broader lesson: the world is being shown, in stark relief, the consequences of misplaced priorities.
Americans, lured by grand promises of wealth and security, have elected leaders who amass fortunes yet deliver little in return. They were sold a dream—instant prosperity, safer borders, better jobs—if only they purged the government of inefficiency, taxed imports, and expelled immigrants. But reality is not so simple. Now, faced with rising unemployment, a stock market in decline, and the looming specter of recession, many are beginning to realize that wealth does not trickle down by sheer will. The irony is striking—some who once aspired to innovate and create now clamor for jobs as landscapers, farmhands, and factory workers, as if reversing global trade and outsourcing could magically return them to an era that no longer exists.
This misguided pursuit of material success, the belief that financial gain equates to fulfillment, is a folly as old as time. The Lord’s wisdom, written across generations, teaches otherwise. Wealth is neither good nor evil—it is the love of wealth, the obsession with it, that corrupts. True fulfillment lies not in amassing riches but in nurturing one’s talents, in pursuing knowledge, in crafting a life of substance rather than illusion. Those who build their identities on wealth and power will one day face the inevitable: all that is accumulated will slip away, as fleeting as a whisper on the wind.
For my part, I remain at peace with what I have. I observe, from a distance, those who measure their worth by the size of their assets and the reach of their influence. I see them cling to their wealth as if it were a permanent fixture in their lives, unaware that the tides of fortune are as fickle as the seasons. In the end, it is not what the world gives us that defines us—it is what we choose to hold onto and what we are willing to let go. And as I move forward in this chapter of my life, I choose to hold onto simplicity, to embrace the wisdom of restraint, and to let go of the illusions that bind so many to a cycle of endless want.
2025-03-17 01:25:20
popong
The Mild Stroke of Ramon Santos