Good Day, Wow wee has time just flown by. This summer I spent my time re-writing my manuscript for the editors. My book Viktor, Into the Light will be out sometime in the summer of 2020 and I am delighted to share this exciting moment in my life with you. I am just thrilled that my dream is on the precipice of coming true! Publishing one of my books and having it made into a real book is so exciting for me.I have waited 40 years for this moment in my life and now it is finally happening for me! This is just wonderful! The whole experience of writing Viktor has been quite magical and inspirational. Since 2014 I have written 5 books, with Viktor being my first for publication. I hope you all have something exciting going on in your lives that just brings you pure joy! Have a wonderful time dancing through life. Look for my book; it will make a great gift for someone you love. Thank you for your time! God Bless, Julie Ann

I don't think I ever felt so strong while feeling so incredibly vulnerable. I tried to hold back the tears behind a forced smile. I couldn't allow myself to break down. I had to be strong for him. He needed me. They needed me. I needed to be their rock. Being away from my oldest son tore at my heart, but I knew I was where I needed to be. I knew he was safe with my parents. Seeing my youngest in an incubator cage hooked up to wires and tubes made me sick. I did everything I could to keep him safe. I was supposed to provide him with a warm and safe place to grow without worries for 9 months, but my body wouldn't let me. My body failed me and it almost failed him. I honestly try not to think about it. Whenever I picture it, I get nauseous and start to cry. It took me days before I could really talk about it. The pain. The blood. The lights. Watching the nurses rush to prep themselves and me for surgery. Being strapped down. Doctors and nurses calling out directions in loud and rushed tones. The pain. Wishing they would just put me under. Wishing it was over. Then came the reassurance from a nurse's comforting hand and I was out. The pain was gone. Or, at least I thought it was. Suddenly, I felt everything again. The cold table underneath me. The straps on my arms and legs. The doctor pushing on my stomach. The gas mask against my face. I could hear those rushed conversations and the beeping of the alarms. I could hear and feel everything but I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. They were about to cut me open and I could feel everything and I couldn't let them know. I was told I stayed pretty calm as I told the nurse it was time. I don't remember calm. I remember panic and pain. I could see the fear in my husband's eyes. The worry that he may never see his wife again or meet his son. I could hear the hesitation in his voice when he was clarifying my wish of “baby comes first. If it comes down to it, save the baby first.” I said this during our first pregnancy as well, and he agreed, but being in the situation where he might actually need to make that decision was a different story, one he was having a difficult time wrapping his head around. He tried to stay calm and not let me see him worry. He went through the checklist. “You want to be cremated, right?” “Yes, and the baby comes first.” “And allow family and friends to say goodbye first?” “Yes, and the baby comes first.” “And then planted with a tree?” “Yes, and Milo comes first.” He looked at me in a way I could never put words to. It was as if by agreeing to my request out loud he was damning me to death, that he was closing the book to my life himself. He eyes screamed while his voice calmly agreed, “and Milo comes first.” His green eyes sparkling from the tears he was trying to hold back. Swollen and red around the edges. Stinging. With a sudden jerk, I hear the words “here we go” as the nurses roll my bed out of the room. He walked with me until he was told he couldn't go any further and our hands pulled apart as I was wheeled in for surgery. The meds had seemed to be helping but part of me knew it wouldn't last. “What if as soon as these meds are done, it starts again?” The nurse reassured me that shouldn't be the case, but it was. Within a few hours after that last drop of magnesium, the pain started again in full force. Then came the blood. A lot of blood. The nurses seemed to stay calm, at least in front of us. But I knew. I knew there was no stopping it. I knew it was time. I needed to call my mom.

I am on the other side of 35 now and the mother of three awesome children. My son is an amazing person. He is a non-conformist and at times very caring and at other times, he's your stereotypical teenager. He is an artist at heart and I love him fiercely. He is strangely thoughtful and has been this way. At 6 or 7 years old, he surprised me with the questions, “what is love?” and “where does love come from?” Once, right in the middle of his homework assignment he said “Mommy, it must have been hard for you”. Not knowing what he was talking about I said “what are you talking about?” He said “Your mother dying when you were young”. He was wrong. While I am sure my childhood was different than the average person's since you weren't around, I never really dealt with your absence at that age; I began to process it when I was an adult. As a child your death was never something the family spoke about. We just went on living. We moved in with daddy and kept the play button of life on. I went to school, did what was required of me and moved on…until the teenage years. Daddy was a different kind of parent than you were: he favored the strict dad approach and I was very limited in the places I could go. As a result I did a little sneaking around and did some things I probably shouldn't have. But there is nothing I can do about that now. I didn't think I was worse than the average teenager at the time but I certainly wasn't the best. I only had a couple of close friends at the time and I don't know if that was a good or bad thing since she wasn't really the most sympathetic or sensitive person. But she's who I had, and I am grateful for her. Daddy got married to a woman I admire and love very much. She is one of the kindest people I know. She was definitely the motherly type but different than you, which is probably a good thing you know? If she seemed like she was a replacement for you maybe we wouldn't have gotten along. She was a worrier, always worried about other folks having what they need and often neglecting herself. I can't recall one bad experience with her. You were a different kind of mother; I like to think I somewhat take after both of you, you know? You were a creative, a poet who loved music and danced with me and sis all the time. I remember spending nights by granny listening to ‘Lady in Red' on my Walkman, smelling freshly baked bread in her oven. Those were much simpler times. It's been a bit more complicated in my adult life. I miss you most now because I am struggling with being a grown-up. Somehow, I feel like I don't understand what it means to be a woman because you were not here to teach me the rules. I don't know how to balance being a mom and a wife. Heck, I don't even think I am doing the being a mom thing right, and now that I have a teenage step-daughter and my 4 year old, I feel like I may not be preparing them for life as a woman. Sometimes I think that not knowing was an advantage for me but at other times I feel like life would've been easier if I would just follow the rules and conform. Would I want to teach my kids to conform to societal rules? Probably not, but I do think life would be easier if I could find that sweet spot between conforming and doing my own thing…I believe that is where life becomes easier to navigate. Either way, I suck at the balancing act of working full time, (full time and half actually) and being a mother. Not just a mother but a loving mommy that has the energy to play with the kids and clean and cook wholesome foods and not feel like I'm losing my mind doing that and forsaking my own desires to be who I truly am (which is not always kid friendly). I do not believe I am defined by this thing called being a mother and feel profoundly selfish for even having the thought of being something besides that. Realistically, I know you were more than a mother, but I suppose that is all I saw, and you seemed happy that way. Why do I struggle with that? I am most bothered by not being able to ask you for advice. It sucks that I can't sit with you as an adult and have a conversation with you, something I enjoy doing with daddy and my step-mother. It disturbs me that you will never hold any of your grandchildren and they will never know what you smell like (I still remember after all of these years). They will never know the awesome person you are, and they will never truly understand why I am so bummed out every mother's day and every August 28th (yes, I still remember your birthday). I'm not ready to leave my kids, but I am sure looking forward to seeing you again. I just want to talk to you. Take care of yourself. I hope you read this letter. With love, Your daughter.

The most beautiful moments of my life are the ones nobody sees. God has called me to see the sacred in the ordinary. From ripe, round, unbearably red strawberries in a simple pottery bowl to spindly curvy palm trees arching into a perfect Hawaiian sky or speckled-belly puppies lying on their backs under a hot Georgia sun, if I choose (and I do choose) to see with my heart as well as my eyes, I get to watch the common transform into the holy. I am one girl, one woman, one daughter, one mother. I have lived this incredible lifetime of memories, choices, gains and losses. Sometimes I wish I'd accomplished more: written my bestselling book, won the Pulitzer, made more money, acquired more possessions. I wish I'd become famous for something meaningful, helped to eradicate a disease, saved a life, or invented something really, really cool. In those times, when I'm thinking that way, I feel a little foolish. What is my life about? Why was I here? And, in some cases, what was I thinking? But, God reminds me. He made me with one purpose: I am here to bear witness. And I take that charge seriously, with great reverence and gratitude for that which I am privileged to see. Like the connection between my daughter, a homeless man and me in front of a Costa Mesa diner. A disheveled man with bright blue eyes in a sun-beaten face, whose name is Kevin. Who connected with my brand newly 26 year old daughter Zoe and me. The one who said, "I was just wondering what to do about dinner" when we offered him a burrito, uneaten, with a clean fork, knife, napkin, and a gorgeous fruit juice. I looked at him and took him straight into my heart. We will never see each other again but Kevin is a part of me now and I am a part of him and that is because God showed him to me, and me to him. Our hearts met because we could see. Like the nights - so many of them - when I leaned, exhausted after a long shift at the hospital, and stared down at my three daughters, sleeping in their little beds. I drank in the sight of them, lying there with their tousled hair and the innocence of sleep dusting their beautiful small faces. It was hard, lonely and scary being a single mom but every time I looked at my girls, my heart cracked wide open and new strength flowed through my tired veins, giving me life to keep going one more day - for them. Like when my parents' house was leveled by a tornado and I watched my 82 year old father searching through rubble for pieces of the 70-year-old train set he's had since his father gave it to him when Papa was 12. That strong man, that beautiful heart, that frail body, bent and weak after twin heart attacks, a stroke, and heart surgery less than a year ago...his will, his courage, his beauty shone like a bright light over all the broken bricks, splintered wood, uprooted tree trunks. Like the way God made me a Pied Piper of animals, mine and other people's and strays. I love them all the same. Ruffy, the tiny toy poodle who became my love, the son I never had, the husband I should have had! Ruffy, who became my dearest companion for the next eleven years til he died at 18. I think Ruffy is still with me. How could he be gone? I feel his presence. I loved him then and I will love him always. Thank you, Dillie, for being his first mom and for allowing me to be his last. And Molly, Beau, Dearie, Goldie, Sadie, Peter Criss, Lily, Sophie, Nahla, Ollie. To every animal I have ever seen wandering the streets, I pray each time that you will be safe, fed, protected. I give you food if I can. I love you. I see you. I see squirrels darting, raccoons scooting, deer leaping across roads and I pray to God for you to make it, and for you to live long lives, free from hunters and fast cars. You matter because I see you. We are all living souls. Like the one who gave life to me, my strong honest God-fearing mother. I watch her raising her grandchildren. She is 74 years old. Every morning she gets up and takes three kids to school. Every night she stays up late, getting clothes washed and lunches ready. I see you, Mama. I see your tiredness, your fear, your weariness and I also see your surviving spirit, your strong beating heart, your wisdom that goes on forever. Like the beauty of humanity: people making human chains to save one dog, a woman giving her life to save her child's, people of faith sacrificing for their beliefs, one homeless man giving his coat to a homeless child. This life is a gift to us from God. That's what I believe. You don't have to believe that way. One thing we all need to do, though, is find a way to bear witness. If we don't, it will go away. And we, as a people, will have lost out on an entire universe of honest, simple, ordinary, common moments that are actually magical, beautiful, wondrous, glorious, sacred, and holy.

THE LAST FIVE YEARS For thirteen years, my husband and myself asked my widowed mom to move in with us. We knew she'd love our cozy Florida home. Mom always declined mentioning her many reasons. One reason always exasperated me. “You father is in every room of this house. He built the kitchen cabinets; he rewired most of the rooms; he put in the half bath in the basement. He's done so much. How can I leave it all behind?” I always replied, “Mom, if your house was destroyed by fire, would you forget dad?” “Never!” she'd reply adamantly, “He's in my heart.” However, she would still obstinately, refuse our offer adding, “I'll leave my house when they take me out feet first!” We visited her as often as our pensions allowed which came down to twice a year. Mom would fly down to see us once a year, that is until her health began to fail. In 2005, she was diagnosed with macular degeneration. It would be matter of time until her sight was gone completely. Walking was now an issue. Mom had a wonderful neighbor who would take her to church every week and together, they'd go to dinner following the religious service. Dianne would take mom grocery shopping and help her pay her bills. Yet, despite needing this help, mom wouldn't move. Her reasons began to change. “I won't be a burden to my children.” To which I'd add, “So, it's ok to be a burden to your neighbor?” Then the unthinkable happened. It was 2011 and we were visiting mom for Christmas. My husband was finishing up a few repairs in the basement and I was tidying up the dining room. Mom said she needed to use the bathroom but decided since my husband was working on the one in the basement, she climbed the stairs to the second floor. As she approached the stairs to descend, she missed a step and in a small ball, bounced on every step on her way down where her head hit the newel post. There was blood everywhere and she couldn't move without severe pain. I dialed 9-1-1. The EMTs loaded mom in the ambulance and allowed me to ride with them. My husband followed in our car. Mom was not just lucky that day, she was blessed. Her only injuries were a laceration in the back of her head that required 7 staples, a broken foot, and a few other bruises. It could have been worse, much worse. My husband and I discussed the latest situation and agreed that now was the time to bring mom home. She no longer could live alone and with or without her consent, she was coming home with us. The problem we now faced was that she could not be able to tolerate a two-day drive to Florida. We decided that my husband would leave within two days for Florida and I would stay with mom until she was stable enough for a plane ride. Ten days later, we received the confirmation from her doctor that, yes, she was now stable enough for the trip. I called the airline and made our one-way reservations. Then I called my husband and gave him our flight information. My son and his wife spent every day with mom and me helping me take care of mom and beginning the task of clearing out her personal possessions. We packed her necessities and my son agreed to have them shipped to Florida. My son and his wife bought a transport-wheelchair which would make things easier for both of us. When the time came, we helped mom into the wheelchair. My son and a few of mom's neighbors carried her and her new wheelchair out of her house – feet first! I told her she got her wish. It wasn't until mom began living with us that I noticed her memory wasn't the same as it had been. I took her to the doctor and had her tested. The diagnosis was the onset of dementia. Mom lived with us for just over five years, losing her memory with each passing day. Another thing I found was a lump on mom's back. Should I have had it scanned? Mom was 90-years old. My doctor and I discussed the issue and decided we'd leave it alone. Mom's memory grew increasingly worse and by 2016, her communication was gone. She could hear us but couldn't respond. We read magazines, books, the newspaper. We'd turn on the TV to a science channel. She loved science and thought she'd enjoy it. I still gave her a pedicure each week and bathed her every other day. I often wonder if she every really knew. I hope so. Then, in October of 2016, the lump in her back ruptured internally causing sepsis to ravage her body. Mom died 2 days later. While it's been very hard emotionally on me, I try to find comfort in believing that she's no longer in pain, her memory is back and somewhere in Heaven she's once again, dancing with my dad. At least I know that the last five years of her life, she wasn't alone. She had company every day. For a while, she laughed and enjoyed life in Florida. She even once said, “Why did I wait so long?” While it still saddens me to not have her with me, I will always cherish the time we had together. In my heart, I know she did too.

It took nearly a week for me to grasp the words for depicting my thoughts on the paper. Few things make our life embellished in such a way that we are unable to define them. I realized this fact after getting spliced to the one who becomes my reason for living. This is a relationship called blessing gifted by God enfolded with love, care, understanding and much more. I still memorize the day when I was inquired about my plans for getting married during the initial interview for my current job. I replied hurriedly: “I don't want to be a caged bird with clipped wing”. Today a slight glance on my answer makes me giggle. I still remember the unforgettable golden journey of my life with my soul mate. The scorching Sun of August with 54 degree in Dubai has spruced my life tome with lots of vibrant moments. Each instant was constructing a precious memory filled with his saccharine presence. Within a month we discovered the beauty of the desert land covered with glass scrappers and the marvels of 21st century. I loved the Big Bus ride with its briefing service about the places we were visiting one after other. We decided to take our meal while hunting for the best cuisine after getting exhausted on the first day of our excursion. On the way towards the restaurant, as we entered to the foot wear outlet I asked him unpredictably: “what are we doing here?” As we were planning to take our meal first, he said to get the pursuit sneakers for me, so that tomorrow I will be able to walk properly without any throbbing. How come he knows that I am not contended in these shoes? You make me whole; my heart whispered….It is care with no judgments. We had the best dinning outs right from Palm Atlantics to the cruise dinning's ---.Each cuisine was giving a divine taste because they were amended with the fundamental ingredients of his love and affection. There were two fascinated things I wanted to try at least once in my life, since my child hood: One was to hover like a bird on the sky and other one to swim like blue face angel beneath the sea. I still remember the paragliding at Jumeirah beach. It was my first ride of paragliding with my beloved one. That moment made me speechless because he was adventurous to do those things that I was enthralled for. How come he knows that I was dreaming of all this... I enquired to the God… I felt like whatever I was asking to God it was all diffused in his mind. The more we were flying up the more I was feeling like I am the luckiest wife on this universe, undeniably. Next morning another surprise was ready which he shared while holding my hand: “Let's explore something new!” I asked him surprisingly: “Like what?” He said, “Let's go for swimming”. I was astounded and the only reply which I would be able to give was my tight hug with thankful expression to God. I still remember my first dive while holding his hand and heeding to his instructions in the glinting blue wavy water of the pool. I took a long breath and came out of the water with the feeling of freedom and success while leaving all the fear factors behind. I can't believe I have done it. You drive me mad, I embraced him tightly while yelling with pride and contentment of a dream comes true. A relationship of trust with no ifs and thens. I kept all the precious moments of our trip in my mind to be recalled specially when there are any pros and cons for silly things… A self-reminder when a voice comes from my heart that “I am blessed”. He is the one who adjudicates me more than I evaluate myself. He guides me before I slouch down. He always emboldens my every single effort for doing something new and crazy. He is the one who can read my silence if any discord arises. I adore you and my love for you has grown by leaps and bounds by every passing day. I am chasing to filch the magical words for extracting my feelings towards my partner. Everything gets a side except his love and devotion. Life is beautiful and is the biggest blessing I am rewarded with. Life is not about hunting for Mr. Perfect, It's about enjoying it with the one who makes it perfect! I got mine whom “I love so much” and suggest you to adore yours.

A year ago, the Philippines faced a devastating terrorist attack in the Islamic City of Marawi, Lanao del Sur. This attack came to be known as the “Marawi Siege”. It went on for months ending in November 2017 when President Duterte announced the city's liberation. Days after the siege begun on May 2017, in a volunteers' group chat of our NGO, we were asked if we're available to join a peace mission in an evacuation center located in Lanao del Sur. The slots were filled immediately and although I fiercely wanted to join the said mission I didn't have the opportunity. Nevertheless, I did what I could to support the team. Yet, even now, as Marawi begins to build its city, there is still a piece of me that wishes to have been part of that peace mission, to have been able to bring joy and support to the children of Marawi while the siege is ongoing. Weeks turned into months and Marawi City was liberated from the terrorist group but it left part of the city, near Lanao lake, completely obliterated. Back in Manila on March 2018, I was asked by my friends if I'm available to join a month-long peace mission in Mindanao; I had mixed feeling about it. I felt like this maybe a blessing since I've already wanted to resign from my job, but, this may also be a test, to see if I am brave enough to resign from my job without another work lined up when I get back from Mindanao. Add in the fact that volunteering is my passion and the feeling that I'm wasting away in the office helped me reached my decision. Turns out, I did have the guts to resign without another job lined up and the trip really was a blessing. The peace mission was a blessing due to a number of reasons. First, I was able to live in Mindanao for a month and immersed in their culture and lifestyle. Second, I was able to see the battle ground or what we like to call “Ground Zero” in Marawi City from afar. “Ground Zero” is still prohibited to civilians because the armed forces is presently in the process of clearing out the areas of undetonated bombs and IEDs. Lastly, I was able to act as a support to the children of Marawi, at least for those in the group I facilitated in. The peace mission we conducted in Mindanao was in the conflict areas of Maguindanao and Marawi City. We taught the children and their parents peace education. In Marawi, I was given the chance to act as lead facilitator for one of the 10 groups. Together with me is a member of the “Hijab Troopers”, they are women soldiers who wears white hijab. Our group was composed of 3 boys and 4 girls, all coming from 4 different schools. Despite being strangers, our group was able to form a bond like that of a family. I was their big sister who helped them with their activities such as writing and drawing. But, there was 1 kid who was extremely shy. He would not answer my questions (that were spoken in Filipino) and at first I thought that he could only understand Maranao so I asked the other kids to translate for him, but he still wouldn't participate in our activities. In that case, I told him that it was alright if he doesn't share his thoughts but if he wants to share then his new friends can translate for him. During the 2nd day, as I was observing all my kids, I felt elated on the fact that everyone is bonding, they maybe strangers yesterday but now, they've accepted each other as friends. I also found out that the shy kid can understand and speak Filipino well but he adamantly refuses to share his answers in the group. Accordingly, after an activity where everyone had to share their drawings, I went to him and asked him to share his drawings to me, he started telling me the reason behind his drawings and I felt like I was going to cry at that moment because finally, I was able to get through his walls even if it was just a little. Indeed, those 3-days were the best but they were also the most exhausting. Handling 7 kids is draining emotionally and physically. It made me really appreciate the kindergarten and elementary school teachers all over the world for their limitless patience and energy in handling hundreds of kids in their career life. On our last day in Marawi City, we visited an area near Lanao Lake where “Ground Zero” can be observed. The only word that came to mind when I saw it was destroyed. The battle ground area was completely and utterly destroyed. The whole area was colored gray by ashes. Mosques that were once magnificent now had huge gaping holes in them and houses that were home to thousands of Maranaos were reduced to piles of rocks. As I watch the scene before me, I felt anger and the thirst to find out the answer to my questions, “why? Why do this? What did it accomplish?” And as our group continues to hear the stories of the Marawi Siege, one person shouted “look, there's a rainbow” and as we all turn to gaze at the breathtaking beauty of the rainbow, I said to myself “how ironic.”