Tuesday, January 07, 2014

Salt







__
Be a salt.
Be a light.
Don't forget to smile.

Simple, almost childlike in cadence—but packed with a wisdom that speaks across galaxies and generations.

Salt. So small. So ordinary. And yet, without it, even the richest stew tastes hollow.

"You are the salt of the earth," said Jesus in Matthew 5:13—a verse that, at a glance, sounds quaint. But in truth, it’s one of the greatest callings ever given to humankind.


To be salt… is to preserve what is good in a world slowly forgetting.

To heal, like salt on wounds—not always gentle, but always necessary.

To awaken dullness, to draw out flavor—in people, in conversations, in life itself.

Salt is humble. It dissolves to serve.

It disappears in the soup, but without it, the whole pot is pointless.

Salt does not seek praise. It seeks purpose.

Just like us, when we’re at our best.


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And what of light?

“You are the light of the world,” He said next.

Not a spotlight. Not a flash.

But a steady glow that helps others find their way.

Light doesn’t shout. It shines.

Even a flicker can shatter darkness.

Even a candle can warm a cold room.

__
Be a salt.
Be a light.
And in between—don’t forget to smile.

For a smile is the bridge between salt and light.

A smile is the salt that seasons a heavy silence.

The light that softens a harsh moment.

It’s a small rebellion against bitterness, a gentle defiance of despair.

In this vast universe—spinning stars, roaring oceans, and celestial storms—salt and light seem laughably small.

But so are we.

And yet, the same hand that scattered galaxies asked us to be these very things.

So be the salt in someone’s bland day.

Be the light in someone’s long night.

And smile—because you carry the recipe of the universe inside you.




~Mac

Friday, January 03, 2014

If Walls (stranger, elusive you are)


I felt the tear drop
Telling me of the unsaid things
It's the un named sadness where sadness doesn’t belong,
Nor happiness can identify.
It's the grey thin line between the two
That neither can scope

I call not emptiness
Somewhere deeper, but not deep enough
I call not even boredom
Somewhere shallower but not close enough
I can't place it in words

It comes when everything is so still
It comes when the music of the past played

Suddenly bringing flashes of longing
But nowhere nor no one to long to

It's strange...

If only these walls can talk
They'd know what I'm telling you
But in words it can never paint the picture

Probably, sometime soon
It will come to me

Afterall, it's a journey to discover


~ macdeuz (lifted from my OneNote)

a dedication to someone beyond compare.


Stuck in a Moment

A man without weaknesses serves only to make everyone else conscious of his own imperfections.

They say perfection inspires people. But in truth? Perfection can alienate.

There’s something quietly unsettling about a person who appears to have it all together, all the time. The perfect speech, the perfect posture, the perfectly timed responses—never a hair out of place or a doubt in their eyes. And while we might admire them from afar, we rarely feel safe around them. Because somewhere deep down, their flawlessness makes us painfully aware of our own.

This brings to mind Tennyson’s timeless observation: “He is all fault who has no fault at all.” It’s one of those lines you skim past in a book, then find yourself haunted by a week later. Because the truth it carries is not just poetic—it’s piercing.

Let’s be honest. We live in a time where curated perfection is the default. Social media is our highlight reel. Filters blur imperfections, captions are edited for impact, and our stories are stitched to show strength, not struggle. It’s no wonder we end up feeling like everyone else is thriving while we’re quietly falling apart.

But here’s the thing: the most magnetic, respected, and deeply loved people I know are not the ones who seem flawless.

They’re the ones who dare to be human.





I once worked with a team leader who, on paper, was everything a manager should be—sharp, professional, driven. But what set him apart wasn’t how good he was. It was how open he was about what he wasn’t.
In one meeting, he admitted he didn’t know the answer to a problem we were facing. He could’ve faked it. He could’ve danced around it. But instead, he said, “I need your help figuring this out.” That small act of vulnerability didn’t make us lose respect—it earned him tenfold more. Because in that moment, he wasn’t just a boss. He was one of us.

We trusted him—not because he was perfect—but because he was real.

It’s the same reason why we gravitate toward people who laugh at themselves. Who admit they’re still figuring things out. Who cry at movies, mess up during presentations, forget birthdays, and text “sorry, I fell asleep” at 2AM. Their cracks make space for our own. Their openness gives us permission to breathe.
To be human.

And that’s what so many of us crave—not to be impressed by someone, but to feel connected to them.
Maybe the most powerful thing we can do isn’t to showcase our strength, but to reveal the places we’re still growing. Maybe leadership doesn’t require bulletproof confidence, but quiet courage to say, “Me too.”
We don’t need more flawless people. We need more honest ones.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve been trying to hold it all together—know this: Your imperfections are not a liability. They’re your invitation to connect, to relate, to be real.

People might admire your wins, but they’ll remember your honesty.

Flaws are not stains to hide. They’re threads in the fabric of our shared humanity. And in the end, it’s the threadbare places that bring us closest.


Let them show.



~Mac

Friday, December 27, 2013

Simple Things In Life

5 Simple Things in Life (That We Always Overlook Until It’s Too Late)






We often spend our lives chasing the big things: promotions, milestones, vacations, applause. But in the quiet spaces in between — on a Tuesday morning, in the last spoonful of your mom’s adobo, in the sound of rain tapping on your window — you start to realize: the things that really matter are often the ones you barely notice.


Here are five simple things in life that carry more meaning than we give them credit for — with stories to remind us why.


1. The Warmth of Home-Cooked Meals
When you’re young, you take it for granted — the way sinigang smells on a Sunday, how someone always remembers to cook your rice just the way you like it. You think food is just food, until you live alone, reheating leftovers in silence.
I once met an OFW in Riyadh who told me she hadn’t tasted her mother’s cooking in 8 years. She teared up talking about how even just the smell of garlic sautéing in oil could bring her back to her childhood home in Laguna.
Food is never just food. It’s memory. It’s love served warm.





2. Texts That Simply Say, “Kamusta?” (w/o asking parang mangutang opkors hahaha!)
It’s so easy to scroll past a name in your inbox, thinking, “I’ll reply later.” But one day, that person might stop sending messages — not because they’re mad, but because life happened.
A college friend once messaged me out of the blue: “Kamusta ka na, tol?” I almost didn’t reply — I was busy, tired, stressed. But I did. That same friend passed away two months later. That text became the last conversation we ever had.
Sometimes, a simple “kamusta?” is the bridge that keeps us from drifting apart.


3. The Sound of Laughter — Especially Your Own
In hard seasons, you forget what your own laughter sounds like. You get caught in deadlines, responsibilities, unpaid bills. But then someone cracks a joke that isn’t even that funny — and suddenly, you’re laughing with your whole chest again.
Once during a brownout in our area, the whole neighborhood came out to the street — no WiFi, no TV, just old-school kwentuhan under candlelight. We laughed so hard over old stories that we forgot we were sweating in the dark. It felt like time travel.
Laughter is the sound of life reminding you: you’re still here.


4. Being Remembered — Even in Small Ways
I once had a co-worker who always brought me kape when I looked stressed. I never asked, she just noticed. It wasn’t the coffee — it was the care.
One day she transferred to a different company, and the first morning without her, I stared at my empty desk and felt the absence loud and clear. Being remembered — even by someone who owes you nothing — is a gift.
Never underestimate small acts. They linger longer than grand gestures. And yes, totally -- she gifted me a book from John Maxwell, all the more i get to remember her generosity.


5. The Quiet Moments No One Sees
The five minutes before sunrise. That random moment in traffic when your favorite song plays. Sitting beside your lola as she sews silently, just being in each other’s presence.
We always think life is about “what happens next.” But it’s also in the pauses. The quiet. The in-between.
I once asked my grandma what her favorite moment in life was. She said, “Every time we just sat around the table. No noise. Just knowing everyone was home and safe.”
That stayed with me. Ugh!


The most profound things in life rarely come with fireworks. They slip into your day in soft gestures, shared silences, and memories you don’t realize are golden until they’re gone.

So today, check on a friend. Call your mom. Laugh like your bills don’t exist. Hold someone’s hand. Taste your food slowly. Smile first.


The simple things in life aren’t small — they’re everything.



~Mac

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Duolingo App

One of the best apps. Downright 5stars, I just downloaded the latest update although the release has been a while.

I've been learning Spanish before and I think I get to rev up again my skills.




Happy Holidays to you all!!!

- MAC