Post Secret Perspectives: Soldiers

Happy 21st + Awesome-th Birthday, J!

   Best friends are like bras; close to our heart and always there to support. With that in mind, we would like to take this time to celebrate one of the most important brahs in our life, J. 

     Like our lingerie collection, there are many shapes and colours to J that are worthy of getting to know and loving in their own right. There is the no-nonsense, white cotton blend bra: practical,logical, dependable. J is able to temper passion with pragmatism, which makes her a kick-ass advice dispenser. Freaking out about whether to stay at a stressful (albeit well-paying) job, or take a risk and travel abroad for a bit? Dial the 818, and J'll break down the pros and cons for you, all the while being supportive. 

     The animal-print bra: magnetic, dynamic, and oh so fierce! C'mon, there's no denying that J is one gorgeous babe. Beauty and brains, the whole package. Whether dressed down in jeans and a tee, or dressed to the nines in night-out attire, she is stunning. She has a natural magnetic quality that draws people in to her and makes them want to get to know her. She and R met at a Gender Equality class, and according to R, she knew right then and there that J would be a great friend. Same goes with me, when we met in Tibetan Buddhism class. J's inner beauty comes out like a disco ball that lights up even the darkest, dankest tunnels. 

     There's the sheer, lacy pink bra: sweet and innocent. This is the nurturing, tender side to J that most people, for some reason, don't really bother to unearth. They don't get to see this side because they're too busy being hung up on the animal-print bra J, and boy is it ever their loss. J's the type of friend who'll pack sugar-free candies in her purse, in case her rebellious diabetic friend gets a sugah cravin'. She'll sit there for hours --iPhone battery life be damned--to listen patiently to her friends unload their burdens...without judging. Not too many people can make sense of me when I'm full-on  snotty/bawling and speaking in languages other than English, but somehow she does. You see, J listens to beyond the words and straight through to the emotions behind them. And so in moments wherein I go "waaaah, miss him...wahha... why... sniff,  daddy have to die? waaaah.. hurts, gaaaaaah," she knows exactly what to say: nothing. J understands that there are just some things that have to be dealt with through silence and time. 

     And then there's the corset: feminine and powerful=100% woman. One of the things we love most about J is the fact that she is who she is. She, R, and U taught me most about what it means to celebrate womanhood. Womanhood is not just about the femininity, the virginity, the sweetness, the ability to give birth, and all those other stereotypical gender stereotypes. To be a woman is to have strength and vulnerability, sweetness and sassiness...sometimes at the same time. To be a womanist or a strong woman means that you do not restrict yourself to societal norms, and to love yourself even if you don't fit the mold. J, like a corset, makes those around her see the beauty and the strength in themselves...beauty and strength that although can't be seen by others outside, is there underneath...like your own little secret. 

     We may have met by chance, but we are in each other's lives by choice. To know J and to have the privilege of seeing the many layers of complexities in her is a blessing. There's more to her than meets the eye. In a world of Fruit of the Loom underwear, J is definitely La Perla. 

In closing, dearest J, we leave you with one of our favourite quotes from childhood: "If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you."  Mischiefketeers Luv, R and L

The Price They Paid

Jose Protacio Rizal, "Mi Ultimo Adios"

¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida,
También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el día tras lóbrego capuz;
si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente,
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor
Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
¡Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir!
¡Salud! Ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un día
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría,
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja a la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave,
Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave, 
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave,
Deja que el ave entone su cántico de paz.
Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos;
Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mí alguien ore,
¡Ora también, oh Patria, por mi descanso a Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por ti que veas tu redención final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio,
Tal vez acordes oigas de cítara o salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.
Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido.
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré.
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido,
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.
Mi patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós.
Ahí te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.
Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día;
Adiós, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría,
Adiós, queridos seres, morir es descansar.




English translation below the cut: 

Queen Lili'uokalani

"The people to whom your fathers told of the living God, and 
taught to call 'Father,' and whom the sons now seek to despoil and destroy, are crying aloud to Him in their time of trouble; and He will keep His promise, and will listen to the voices of His Hawaiian children lamenting for their homes."