Welcome to my blog! My name is Psylocke Gaffud Antonio. I am 24 years, 3 months, 1 week, 6 days, 20 hours, 32 minutes, 50 seconds old (whew!) and I have a great mom, a cool dad, and a cute sister. I learned HTML & JavaScript when I was 7 years old and have been coding stuff ever since. I'm now building my PHP skills by helping develop MAJ, the software that powers this blog.

Oops, click here if you are looking for sites about Elisabeth "Betsy" Braddock AKA Psylocke, the X-Men's "Asian by way of Britain" telepath whom I was named after. Otherwise, enjoy!
Christmas Countdown

131 days before Christmas!
Below the Line
Sunday, Jan 14, 2007, 5:15 PM
We had our exposure today in Mandaluyong City. Our batch mingled with different schools' scholars, sponsored by the SSJ Foundation during their formation.

During our sharing activity, the mediator of the group borrowed a pen from one of the members. The girl handed a gel pen to the woman who said in turn, "Wow, sign pen!" with an amazed look on her face. That instance deeply moved us into some sort of reflection.

In our school, almost every student owned at least one G-Tech Pilot Pen, one of the most expensive writing materials. The refill costs a lot, too. Some who, as they say, get bored with it simply throw it away though still half full with ink.

One mother shared that she earns a hundred pesos in a day, which is less than enough for the needs of her family.

These sign pens of ours cost almost a hundred bucks -- an amount which, in their situation, is to be stretched, budgeted, and spent sparingly.

We were also moved by the materials that they use for their assignments. Instead of the colorful fillers that we have back in school, the scholars use the back of old calendars.

Their shelter was an even more nudging matter. We visited the house of one of the mothers present. The path there was a very narrow one, with lots of bystanders, drunkards, and gamblers on the side. The ground was wet because of the running water from their "laundry area", the road. We weren't able to see the inside of the house for it was too small for all of us to fit in.

Why did we ask for more when we've had more than enough while others have none at all? Why is it easy to keep on eyeing that piece of rad clothing behind those transparent dividers but so difficult to take a look into our fellow countrymen who are suffering right before our very own eyes? Why do we still have to wait to see these people living such lives before we become thankful for ours?

I suddenly realized how grateful I must be to God. Truly I am. We're very fortunate to have enough or even more in each day that He has given us.