Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
For comments, inquiries, corrections and feedback, contact admin: alexzita5@gmail.com
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January 14, 2025
Genesis 5:21-24
21 When Enoch had lived 65 years, he became the father of Methuselah. 22 After he became the father of Methuselah, Enoch walked faithfully with God 300 years and had other sons and daughters. 23 Altogether, Enoch lived a total of 365 years. 24 Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.
Yesterday, I fulfilled my goal of walking in the quiet park. I usually jog or walk, but I didn’t notice a branch hanging overhead and hit it, causing my right leg to suddenly bend at the knee. Bam! That old sharp knee pain followed. This morning, I’m still walking very slowly, but thankfully, the pain is subsiding.
I probably should stick to walking, especially when entering a nature preserve. There are hanging branches, uneven terrains, stones, grass, and other obstacles. Natural preserves usually lack paved paths.
It’s interesting how today’s message aligns with my situation. The passage talks about walking faithfully, which feels appropriate as I work on maintaining or even improving my health through diet and lifestyle changes. At this stage of life, health is my priority. There are no more responsibilities, whims, vices, or hormonal drives costing me money and physical well-being. All I need is consistency in my current efforts and, with God’s blessing, perhaps I’ll enjoy a few more decades.
It’s amazing how a biblical passage can resonate with real-life events. Hurting my knee while jogging seems like a nudge to focus on walking instead. It’s no big adjustment—my jogging is barely faster than my walking pace anyway. Sometimes I’m tempted to speed up, but now that my knee is sensitive even to minor provocations, I know I need to be more careful.
I’ve also started managing my internet and social media usage more effectively. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my posts aren’t as engaging as those of people who take social media seriously. Instead, I’m rediscovering an old but cherished hobby: blogging. Writing blogs, articles, and stories aligns with the skills I’ve developed over the years. Social media feels like a distraction—a fleeting diversion that doesn’t bring a meaningful audience. Nor do I intend to showcase my aged self to gain subscribers; that feels egotistical, narcissistic, and hedonistic.
I’ve started to embrace my reality: my relative insignificance to the wider world. And I’m fine with that. I no longer expect much from others or feel the need to meet their expectations. Right now, I share what I enjoy seeing, record those moments, and post them briefly. Afterward, I return to my books and ideas, finding joy in reading and writing. That is my current source of fulfillment.
Writing and meditating have saved me from so much. Without these personal pursuits, I don’t know where I’d be. I’ve tried other avenues for self-fulfillment, but most options don’t suit my solitary lifestyle. Friendships have come and gone; travel feels lonely; charity work has been unpredictable, often heartbreaking. And at my age, with diabetes, hypertension, and high cholesterol, vices only hasten demise. Rekindling family relationships isn’t as feasible, as most of my siblings, like me, are nearing the end of life. Community participation only stirs paranoia in me.
So, I focus on what brings me peace: meditation, exercise, and intellectual work. Occasionally, I help people like Steve and Jim. Steve is battling drug addiction, while Jim, though in recovery, remains on shaky ground. I pray they both find stability before I’m gone. Steve is working toward rehab placement, and I stay in this house partly to ensure Jim stays sober. His ex-wife, a troubling influence, sometimes tries to pull him back into their old destructive lifestyle. I hope Jim can resist her for his sake and for her three children’s future.
This sense of responsibility feels like a purpose God has given me, even if I didn’t realize it at first. I’ve spent my life being needed, and when my own time of helplessness comes, I pray the Lord will be there for me as well.
In this season of retirement, I reflect deeply on my life. In my youth, poverty and struggles pushed me to work hard. I succeeded in improving my life and helped rebuild my family financially. Once they stabilized, I turned to rebuilding my own life, seeking fulfillment. That journey brought me here, with the realization that my life is not separate from the billions who have lived, struggled, and passed unnoticed. Embracing that truth makes life simpler to accept.
I find peace in pursuing what brings me joy—reading, writing, and meditation. These activities have been my saving grace. They’ve kept me grounded, creative, and resilient, even in isolation. For as long as I can, I’ll cherish them, trusting that they align with the purpose God has set for me.
In the end, all I can do is walk faithfully with Him, just as Enoch did.
2025-01-16 12:41:46
popong
Acts 15:36-41
Disagreement Between Paul and Barnabas
36 Some time later Paul said to Barnabas, “Let us go back and visit the believers in all the towns where we preached the word of the Lord and see how they are doing.” 37 Barnabas wanted to take John, also called Mark, with them, 38 but Paul did not think it wise to take him, because he had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not continued with them in the work. 39 They had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company. Barnabas took Mark and sailed for Cyprus, 40 but Paul chose Silas and left, commended by the believers to the grace of the Lord. 41 He went through Syria and Cilicia, strengthening the churches.
---------------
Even the saints had disagreements, but that just shows how human they were.
I am glad to wake up at this time with a refreshed body and a quiet spirit. I still think of home, especially when I get messages from the family—whether it’s about my land taxes being paid or my niece sending me an old picture. She recently sent one from two years ago: a snapshot of me sitting on a swing during my last vacation. Back then, I was so looking forward to retiring, and now here I am, retired.
Yet, I wake up with an old habit of anxiety—something I acquired from years of daily toil. The years of driving, working, and dealing with endless crises have left their mark. I still wake up fearing something non-existent, as if I subconsciously crave something to worry about, even when there’s nothing wrong.
I still check Facebook out of curiosity, though I’ve stopped posting. I feel embarrassed forcing people to see snippets of my life, like a reality show no one asked for. I used to waste time checking reactions to my posts. I’ve come to accept that I’m a private person at heart, not suited for the constant public exposure social media demands.
Does sharing my life publicly even matter anymore? I don’t think people my age are particularly interesting to others, except for a quick glance to see how we’ve aged or to catch a rare life update. If I were popular on Facebook, maybe I’d feel compelled to post more, but that’s not the case. For me, it’s not fulfilling.
Over the past two years, I’ve become more active with social media, posting reels, shorts, and even dabbling in TikTok. I realize now that these platforms encourage sharing thin, one-dimensional slices of life. While I may view these moments as memorable, for the platforms, they’re just data. Data is the new currency, and companies that hoard it dominate the AI-driven world we live in.
Where does that leave me, someone who once actively participated in these platforms? My posts gave me a fleeting sense of reinventing myself, but I’ve realized they didn’t show the full picture of who I am. It was a curated version of my life, offering false satisfaction.
In contrast, storytelling offers a fuller representation of life. A blog, unlike a reel, can capture the depth of my experiences and reflect on them meaningfully. That’s why I’m returning to writing. Recording my life’s journey through words is the closest I can get to documenting my own space-time on Earth. It’s more fulfilling than scattering fragmented moments across the Internet.
Social media may be convenient for sharing highlights, but it lacks the continuity and dimensionality of real storytelling. Even if Big Tech were to return all my data—photos, likes, and posts—it wouldn’t truly reflect who I was. Writing allows me to reclaim my narrative, one that’s richer and more meaningful.
I’ve also realized that data, when used ethically, has enormous potential. Anonymous medical data, for instance, can revolutionize healthcare by identifying trends and improving treatments. However, the objectives of most corporations are driven by profit, not altruism. If only businesses prioritized people over profit, the world could benefit greatly.
Today’s tech culture has traded the inventiveness of the past for profit-driven motives. The great inventors of history created out of passion, not for billion-dollar payouts. The pursuit of profit now overshadows the pure desire to innovate.
I’m not against technology or profit, but I believe they should serve humanity, not the other way around. Technology shouldn’t rob people of their potential or distract them from pursuing meaningful goals. Yet, that’s exactly what happened to me in recent years. I indulged in social media, wasting time that could have been spent writing, reading, or simply thinking.
I miss the days when bookstores thrived. I used to spend hours at Borders, sipping coffee and browsing books, surrounded by people. Those moments felt real and enriching. Now, much of life feels fragmented, lived in a virtual world conjured by smartphones.
If I were to review my life’s timeline, there would be a segment where I lived more in the virtual than in the real world. I might regret the missed opportunities—the books left unread, the connections unmade, and the stories unwritten.
For now, I choose to reclaim my story. Writing allows me to express my ideas, capture my experiences, and leave behind a legacy of words. It’s my way of showing that I was more than just a piece of data in someone else’s dataset. I was a person with a life worth remembering.
2025-01-14 16:22:35
popong
Popong 17 / Enoch
January 14, 2025
Genesis 5:21-24
21 When Enoch had lived 65 years, he became the father of Methuselah. 22 After he became the father of Methuselah, Enoch walked faithfully with God 300 years and had other sons and daughters. 23 Altogether, Enoch lived a total of 365 years. 24 Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.
Yesterday, I fulfilled my goal of walking in the quiet park. I usually jog or walk, but I didn’t notice a branch hanging overhead and hit it, causing my right leg to suddenly bend at the knee. Bam! That old sharp knee pain followed. This morning, I’m still walking very slowly, but thankfully, the pain is subsiding.
I probably should stick to walking, especially when entering a nature preserve. There are hanging branches, uneven terrains, stones, grass, and other obstacles. Natural preserves usually lack paved paths.
It’s interesting how today’s message aligns with my situation. The passage talks about walking faithfully, which feels appropriate as I work on maintaining or even improving my health through diet and lifestyle changes. At this stage of life, health is my priority. There are no more responsibilities, whims, vices, or hormonal drives costing me money and physical well-being. All I need is consistency in my current efforts and, with God’s blessing, perhaps I’ll enjoy a few more decades.
It’s amazing how a biblical passage can resonate with real-life events. Hurting my knee while jogging seems like a nudge to focus on walking instead. It’s no big adjustment—my jogging is barely faster than my walking pace anyway. Sometimes I’m tempted to speed up, but now that my knee is sensitive even to minor provocations, I know I need to be more careful.
I’ve also started managing my internet and social media usage more effectively. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my posts aren’t as engaging as those of people who take social media seriously. Instead, I’m rediscovering an old but cherished hobby: blogging. Writing blogs, articles, and stories aligns with the skills I’ve developed over the years. Social media feels like a distraction—a fleeting diversion that doesn’t bring a meaningful audience. Nor do I intend to showcase my aged self to gain subscribers; that feels egotistical, narcissistic, and hedonistic.
I’ve started to embrace my reality: my relative insignificance to the wider world. And I’m fine with that. I no longer expect much from others or feel the need to meet their expectations. Right now, I share what I enjoy seeing, record those moments, and post them briefly. Afterward, I return to my books and ideas, finding joy in reading and writing. That is my current source of fulfillment.
Writing and meditating have saved me from so much. Without these personal pursuits, I don’t know where I’d be. I’ve tried other avenues for self-fulfillment, but most options don’t suit my solitary lifestyle. Friendships have come and gone; travel feels lonely; charity work has been unpredictable, often heartbreaking. And at my age, with diabetes, hypertension, and high cholesterol, vices only hasten demise. Rekindling family relationships isn’t as feasible, as most of my siblings, like me, are nearing the end of life. Community participation only stirs paranoia in me.
So, I focus on what brings me peace: meditation, exercise, and intellectual work. Occasionally, I help people like Steve and Jim. Steve is battling drug addiction, while Jim, though in recovery, remains on shaky ground. I pray they both find stability before I’m gone. Steve is working toward rehab placement, and I stay in this house partly to ensure Jim stays sober. His ex-wife, a troubling influence, sometimes tries to pull him back into their old destructive lifestyle. I hope Jim can resist her for his sake and for her three children’s future.
This sense of responsibility feels like a purpose God has given me, even if I didn’t realize it at first. I’ve spent my life being needed, and when my own time of helplessness comes, I pray the Lord will be there for me as well.
In this season of retirement, I reflect deeply on my life. In my youth, poverty and struggles pushed me to work hard. I succeeded in improving my life and helped rebuild my family financially. Once they stabilized, I turned to rebuilding my own life, seeking fulfillment. That journey brought me here, with the realization that my life is not separate from the billions who have lived, struggled, and passed unnoticed. Embracing that truth makes life simpler to accept.
I find peace in pursuing what brings me joy—reading, writing, and meditation. These activities have been my saving grace. They’ve kept me grounded, creative, and resilient, even in isolation. For as long as I can, I’ll cherish them, trusting that they align with the purpose God has set for me.
In the end, all I can do is walk faithfully with Him, just as Enoch did.
2025-01-16 12:41:46
popong
Popong 16/Storytelling
Acts 15:36-41
Disagreement Between Paul and Barnabas
36 Some time later Paul said to Barnabas, “Let us go back and visit the believers in all the towns where we preached the word of the Lord and see how they are doing.” 37 Barnabas wanted to take John, also called Mark, with them, 38 but Paul did not think it wise to take him, because he had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not continued with them in the work. 39 They had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company. Barnabas took Mark and sailed for Cyprus, 40 but Paul chose Silas and left, commended by the believers to the grace of the Lord. 41 He went through Syria and Cilicia, strengthening the churches.
---------------
Even the saints had disagreements, but that just shows how human they were.
I am glad to wake up at this time with a refreshed body and a quiet spirit. I still think of home, especially when I get messages from the family—whether it’s about my land taxes being paid or my niece sending me an old picture. She recently sent one from two years ago: a snapshot of me sitting on a swing during my last vacation. Back then, I was so looking forward to retiring, and now here I am, retired.
Yet, I wake up with an old habit of anxiety—something I acquired from years of daily toil. The years of driving, working, and dealing with endless crises have left their mark. I still wake up fearing something non-existent, as if I subconsciously crave something to worry about, even when there’s nothing wrong.
I still check Facebook out of curiosity, though I’ve stopped posting. I feel embarrassed forcing people to see snippets of my life, like a reality show no one asked for. I used to waste time checking reactions to my posts. I’ve come to accept that I’m a private person at heart, not suited for the constant public exposure social media demands.
Does sharing my life publicly even matter anymore? I don’t think people my age are particularly interesting to others, except for a quick glance to see how we’ve aged or to catch a rare life update. If I were popular on Facebook, maybe I’d feel compelled to post more, but that’s not the case. For me, it’s not fulfilling.
Over the past two years, I’ve become more active with social media, posting reels, shorts, and even dabbling in TikTok. I realize now that these platforms encourage sharing thin, one-dimensional slices of life. While I may view these moments as memorable, for the platforms, they’re just data. Data is the new currency, and companies that hoard it dominate the AI-driven world we live in.
Where does that leave me, someone who once actively participated in these platforms? My posts gave me a fleeting sense of reinventing myself, but I’ve realized they didn’t show the full picture of who I am. It was a curated version of my life, offering false satisfaction.
In contrast, storytelling offers a fuller representation of life. A blog, unlike a reel, can capture the depth of my experiences and reflect on them meaningfully. That’s why I’m returning to writing. Recording my life’s journey through words is the closest I can get to documenting my own space-time on Earth. It’s more fulfilling than scattering fragmented moments across the Internet.
Social media may be convenient for sharing highlights, but it lacks the continuity and dimensionality of real storytelling. Even if Big Tech were to return all my data—photos, likes, and posts—it wouldn’t truly reflect who I was. Writing allows me to reclaim my narrative, one that’s richer and more meaningful.
I’ve also realized that data, when used ethically, has enormous potential. Anonymous medical data, for instance, can revolutionize healthcare by identifying trends and improving treatments. However, the objectives of most corporations are driven by profit, not altruism. If only businesses prioritized people over profit, the world could benefit greatly.
Today’s tech culture has traded the inventiveness of the past for profit-driven motives. The great inventors of history created out of passion, not for billion-dollar payouts. The pursuit of profit now overshadows the pure desire to innovate.
I’m not against technology or profit, but I believe they should serve humanity, not the other way around. Technology shouldn’t rob people of their potential or distract them from pursuing meaningful goals. Yet, that’s exactly what happened to me in recent years. I indulged in social media, wasting time that could have been spent writing, reading, or simply thinking.
I miss the days when bookstores thrived. I used to spend hours at Borders, sipping coffee and browsing books, surrounded by people. Those moments felt real and enriching. Now, much of life feels fragmented, lived in a virtual world conjured by smartphones.
If I were to review my life’s timeline, there would be a segment where I lived more in the virtual than in the real world. I might regret the missed opportunities—the books left unread, the connections unmade, and the stories unwritten.
For now, I choose to reclaim my story. Writing allows me to express my ideas, capture my experiences, and leave behind a legacy of words. It’s my way of showing that I was more than just a piece of data in someone else’s dataset. I was a person with a life worth remembering.
2025-01-14 16:22:35
popong