is this your name?

HEIDI MENDOZA

Forename: Origin: German (Root: Adelaide) Meaning: Noble One

Surname: Origin: (Basque) habitational (locality) name from several places in the provinces of Arava and Biscay called Mendoza, named with Basque mendi ?mountain? + otz ?cold? + the definite article -a.

50% of the letters are vowels. Of one million first and last names we looked at, 2.2% have a higher vowel make-up. This means you are extremely well envoweled.

Backwards, it is Idieh Azodnem... nice ring to it, huh?

In Pig Latin, it is Eidihay Endozamay.

In ASCII binary it is... 01001000 01100101 01101001 01100100 01101001 00100000 01001101 01100101 01101110 01100100 01101111 01111010 01100001

Your personal power animal is the Honey Badger

Your 'Numerology' number is 5. If it wasn't bulls**t, it would mean that you are adventurous, mercurial, and sensual. You seek growth through adventure and different life experiences. Although you are a critical thinker, you can sometimes over-ponder an issue.

People with this first name are probably: Female. So, you are constantly overcharged for beauty products.

According to the US Census Bureau, 0.088% of US residents have the first name 'Heidi' and 0.043% have the surname 'Mendoza'. The US has around 300 million residents, so we guesstimate there are 114 'Heidi Mendoza's (in the US, that is).

CHECK YOUR OWN NAME HERE

from both sides of the fridge

The other night before going to sleep, I found this folded note on the bed:

"Dear Mommy, I am sorry for not getting the singing competition. But I will do better next time I promise. Gela"

I smiled, folded it back and planned to store it somewhere. Now I remember the right spot for it.

Well, I like to think we are a regular family. And like a regular family, there is a different kind of altar-bulletin-control board that we keep. It is in a very strategic location, since it is where everyone converges when hungry. Yes, like any other mobile and active household, we adore the refrigerator. More specifically, its walls.

To hold current unpaid bills, personal reminders, perfect quiz scores (those less than that just end up posted in notebooks), school schedules, subdivision notices - the fridge walls can also display art works, original comic strips, juvenile literary attempts and love letters. Can you imagine the challenge to those little magnets?

"Happy B-day Mommy. I love you. I wish you can have fun. Love, Nika"

"My Day. My day was great. It was hard and the Civics long quiz was so easy I mean very easy. And now I will have tutor at the end of class I mean after the last subject. See you."

"To Mom and Dad. Hi guys. How are you? I am fine. Hope you are having fun. Hope you like this letter. Do you like it? Thanks for your love to me. Thanks for enrolling me in Saint Mary's School. Love you. From Nika"

"Don't go please. I will miss you Mommy. Why do you have to go?"

"I miss you Mommy"

"From Nika to Dady. I love you."

"To Mom. Welcome home Mom. Welcome back Ma. I missed you all morning. Please promise to leave a note when you go next time okay. Love ya all day. See ya later alligater. I hope you will like this letter. Love ya with all my heart. See ya. From Annika."

"Dear Dad and Mom. Thank you for being good to me and for caring for me. Thank you for supporting me in my assignments and for loving me. Your daughter, Angela"

Inside those refrigerator walls is food. The pretzels in the bag. The eggs for a hasty breakfast on a lazy Saturday. The red wine to calm a night's flighty nerves. The sweet ham, the peanut butter, the apples.

Yet outside is another kind of fare that feeds the heart. And without the worry of unwanted calories, it fills you. It fills you to the brim.. then it overflows.

how creative are you?

TAKE QUICK IMAGE QUIZ HERE

the half of a pair

It's the month of December and my only brother is getting married within the week. Yes, it's December again and the time to celebrate my wedding anniversary as well. Whew marriage!

Being married for me does not indicate being bound. Rather, it is the string that holds me strongly when my kite reaches and flies for the sky. It is the anchor, and the comfort after an MBA school night's ride from the rain.

But being married is taking your role as a half of a pair. Simply put, it means sharing spaces.

It is his blue towel and my white towel side by side in the rack.

It is his sandalwood and my white musk bars together in the soap dish.

It is his two blue big pillows in the left side of the bed and my two white big pillows in the right.

It is his golf bag parked below my badminton bag near the main door.

It is his Polo Ralph Lauren Blue and my Bulgari Omnia Crystalline both forgotten in the bedside table.

It is his khaki pair of Crocs tumbled along with my 18 good pairs of sandals.

It is his "The Temple and the Lodge" and "Recon Marines in Vietnam" paperbacks gathering dust beside my "Atlas Shrugged" and "The First Wives Club".

Being married is my small-sized pink gym shirt inside the hamper, and his large-sized t-shirt on the floor tiles, just a few inches short of landing in that same hamper.

Being married is staying together under the same roof while facing different laptop screens. And it means him taking trips to Duka Bay for a branch visitation or me flying to Manila for a project proposal writing workshop - and for the half of the pair who is left, to realize that seeing only one toothbrush in that cup, and the surprising space in the master's bathroom sink, just does not feel right. Nor enough.

It is that warm thought of being a part of someone else. A saved reminder tucked somewhere inside you.

mirrors from polished bricks

To a disciple who was always at his prayers the Master said, "When will you stop leaning on God and stand on your own two feet?"

The disciple was astonished. "But you are the one who taught us to look on God as Father!"

"When will you learn that a father isn't someone you can lean on but someone who rids you of your tendency to lean?"

- One Minute Wisdom
Anthony De Mello

a hundred hearts

When I was still in high school and have never fallen in love,
I accepted that I have a hundred hearts of different sizes.

Each of them has a special role...

In my heart of hearts they stay,
waiting in silence for the right time.
As they keep watch they do not pale nor get tired.
They knew that the magic moment will come.

Thus I grew, and I learned to understand.
I learned to give a heart for each of the ones I love,
my family and those near and dear to me...
and I have learned to give even to strangers
who have become my friends.

I also learned that if I give a heart,
I will not feel a loss nor an emptiness inside.

And most of all...

I learned that if I pick one and give it out,
I may or may not receive one in return.

But the very act of giving is the gift itself for me.
And I was never afraid to give out my hearts.

So if the time will come when you decide
to give out one of those hearts... do.
Then watch it grow everyday.

Just remember this though..
once it is given away, it is not yours anymore.
And the one who holds it now can do anything with it.

For they can just leave it alone, and pretend it is not there at all.

I have a hundred hearts inside me.

Photo credit: Leanne_Eddie

what's with the failure to listen?

Everyone hears the class bell to announce recess, the car horn to signal the arrival of a date, or that saccharine song from the movie Enchanted. But with instructions, I think listening must take a further step. It is not only receiving the message, but paying attention and heeding the message too.

So what's with the failure to listen to instructions?

Annika and Angela turning a deaf ear on me when I call them to bath is inevitable. But what is most irritating is the apathy of a group of people who disregard caution for their very lives and safety.

The airline attendant's calm voice in the public address system prompts everyone to remain seated when the seatbelt sign is still on. At that reminder, almost twenty people would remove their seatbelts. The voice continues to say that cellular phones should remain switched off - and as if this is the cue, you could hear the Nokia melody as mobiles are switched on. And the voice finally reminds the flight to only remove their carry-on baggage from the overhead compartment when the plane has finally come to a complete stop. Five would stand up. And a burly man would actually nudge your shoulder as he reaches up to open the compartment directly above you.

I mean, what's with the instructions being read backwards?

I had the chance to travel six times by air for the past month, and I've seen that this is most evident among Filipinos. And I think it has nothing to do with economic status nor educational achievement. Because the offenders, in a quick profile, are well-dressed, educated, professionals or involved in business, and not first-time flyers.

Could it be that the very act of defiance is simply most attractive?

Flight attendants should be replaced by drill sergeants. Just my opinion.

autumn in japan

Trying to capture our joint experience in the ENCI-1 Training Program for Chambers of Commerce and Industry in Japan. Being the fourth in our team was one of the best times I ever had.

For Teri, Vic and Jake. Yours always, Heidi



Soundtrack:
Final Fantasy Tifa's Theme
Everything by Michael Buble

waiting for the next move

I love to blog. I really do. But I just cannot blog for these past days!

The characters and links of the edit feature are in Japanese! In my inspired pomposity to show off my very basic blah blogging skills to Vic, I opened this in Tokyo last month and look what happened.

I have emailed Blogger but I guess it never reached tech support. But do they really reply to calls for help? I am just so grateful that I've hit some buttons right tonight - hence, I've come this far. But I've deleted my links, and boy, will my friends wonder where I've dumped them!

I've actually waited for some time, thinking and hoping that my space in the blog universe will clear up and go back to English. Only to find out now that it's still in Japanese characters.

Oh the waiting. I should know.

The Christmas greens waiting for me to pluck them out of the box so I can set up the whole tree. The paper waiting for me to finish its last five pages. The big luggage I brought to Japan and the small luggage I brought to Davao both waiting to be cleaned out completely. The spare luggage waiting to be packed for Cebu. The visit to the doctor and the laboratory test waiting to be completed.

I wait for the girls to listen. I wait for the ride. I wait for a phone call. I wait for a higher pay. I wait for a kind warm gesture to tell me that I'm welcomed back.

I can imagine the raging emotion in a waiting line for a delayed plane. Where everyone, like my blog editor, speaks Japanese.

Now that's a classic.

thoughts in scraps of paper

When the moon smiles from the sky...
during one of those unnamed nights...
a miracle happens.

Silently
Softly...
without any parade.

And under the moon,
man lifts up his eyes
towards the dark expanse...

And tries his best
to give a part of himself...
so like the moon...
he may shine.

In his found light...
he calls on another
to put forth
her own brightness...

That together...
they shall burn...
like the sun.

- scribbled in Tokyo in the middle of a lecture,
on the 12th day of training