There's a song I always remember every time I hear the word Guardian Angel - Kermit's Rainbow Connection. Its sound's childish, I know, but a long time ago when I still believed in angels, I always thought angels lived in rainbows.

Why are there so many songs about rainbows? And what's on the other side.

It was then decided with that song in mind that my next pit stop towards finding meaning and touch was the toy giving mission among pediatric patients in Metro Manila.

Back then of course, I didn't understand Kermit when he said that rainbows are visions and only illusions. And I guess after biology, philosophy and my travels with nihilism and existentialism, I am proud to say that I still do not understand him.

Who says that every wish would be heard and answered when wished on a morning star?

So I concentrated on what can be understood and described in detail. Wishes. Dreams to a certain extent. And since we all wished for something when we were children, I concentrated on that longing for better toys and bigger G.I Joe's.

What I found was something that cannot be described - a child's smile.

I wished for so many things under the star every night. Better grades. Becoming taller and more good looking. Wishing that I will have my love returned. And although I never got them, I am grateful that for that brief Christmas moment, I made a child smile.

Someday I know, I'll find it - the rainbow connection. The lovers. The dreamers and me.

It was after Christmas when I received a call from Dr. Philip Cruz to join the toy giving mission among pediatric patients in Metro Manila through an organization called the Guardian Angels of America.

A ray of hope flickers in the sky

And like most volunteers, I actually came for the free toys. It was a selfish motive I know and yet when I saw Winnie the Pooh's bouncy friend, Tigerr, I wanted to get one for myself. That is of course until I met Rachel - the girl in the picture.

A tiny star lights up way up high

It is a typical story and you probably heard it before. No money. No nothing. Brought in the hospital for cough. Diagnosed with some sort of blood carcinoma after the laboratory tests. Sad story. Typical sad story.

A silent wish sails the seven seas

I think she must have seen my Tigerr because she was staring at it. So I eventually gave it to her - the most cherished of all the toys I had that day.

The winds of change whisper in the trees

She smiled a little. Half grinning but enough to make her father notice.

And the walls of doubt crumble, tossed and torn

Her father thanked me and I went on giving gifts to other children.

This comes to pass, when a child is born.

I suddenly remembered that Christmas is not about me. It is about them.

I bet you have it too. Promises we dare utter so as to pass the board exam or have a love fulfilled. It's human nature that when face with an insurmountable task, we retreat and pray with our most frail gestures to the God of small things.

And so it was with great humility that I bowed my head and prayed. Promised that I would visit their graves. Honor the past, honor God if they would help me pass the board exam which I did, thankfully.

Of course, if I failed, it would have been another story. Curses would have been hurled. But I did not. And looking back, knowing the stress of studying for the medicine board exams, those prayers actually gave me the confidence to do the seemingly insurmountable.

So dedicate again this ode. For the new year and the years ahead. My simple thank you, to the great spirit of my ancestors, and least I forget, to the God of small things, for helping me, no, for making me a healer of sorts.

It will probably take me a lifetime to understand where this path will lead me but all I need to know, all I ever needed to know, is that this is the one for me.

Although I have been staying in Manila for quite sometime now, I have never ever been to Quiapo. So when AMDA and Manila Chinatown Lions Club invited me to a medical mission in Quiapo, I said yes.

I don't know if you can hear me. Or if you're even there. Yes, I know I'm just an outcast and I shouldn't speak to you

Armed with my stethoscope and positive attitude, I took an FX and stopped by what was the most magnificent edifice, old as manila itself, the venerable Quiapo church.

Still I see your face and wonder. Were you once an outcast too?

What followed was the demise of civilization.

God help the outcast hungry from birth.
Show them the mercy they don't find on earth.

I should have just prayed in the church or the nazarene then again I was always inquisitive. Always wanted to know the stories of these people. Disease. Death. Because I wanted to help.

I ask for wealth. I ask for fame. I ask for glory to shine on my name.

Or make people need me.

I ask for love I can possess.

But the stench was deafening. And I can only pray that the one day we spent there was enough to give them a blessed Christmas.

Please help my people. The poor and downtrod.

Away from their worries. Away from their sad stories.

God help the outcasts. The children of God.

Descamesados is a fascinating word. It means poor. Lowest of all. Most vulnerable. Most unspeakable.

Beyond redemption.

In a medical mission last December 13 in pandacan, I saw her. She was one of them. Lowest of all. Most unspeakable. A child whose eyes could not hide the pain and the struggle - the most impoverished. And yet there is something haunting in those eyes. Something grand.

Mother claimed she had yellow colored sputum and fever. Temperature noted at 38 degree centigrade. There is a reddish discoloration on the anterior chest wall probably a birthmark. Symmetrical chest expansion, no retractions, lung fields are harsh.

I started her on amoxicillin 250mg/5ml, weight times MKD times 5 divided 250. Gave her a prescription of carbocisteine and paracetamol for the fever. It was afterall the only available drug in the medical mission.

A yes the birthmark. I knew it looked familiar. Reminded me of Lisa. She is just like Lisa you see. One of my addictions. And those eyes. How can I forget them? They have the very same eyes.

So unsure. So scared. So angry.

If only I could her that everything will turn out fine in the end. If only I could tell her that I am always going to be there for her.

Lisa does not understand too. She is just like my dark cherub. She does not see that every time I watch those eyes, I also see her.

There's a story in this picture. One of innocence I suppose. Surprisingly though, this picture also reminded me of something else. Something about my childhood.

Boystown is a residential care facility for the underpriviledged male children from 8 to 18 years of age. Honestly speaking, these are the children nobody, not even their parents bothered to care for.

It is this facility which is my next pit stop towards finding meaning and touch.

His name is Jason - the boy in the picture. And his story was just like any of them. There is sadness in him. Loss. And yet for someone so young, there is also happiness and joy. He showed me his matchbox, excited, telling me that he had a small spider who died after losing a game. Then just like that, I remembered what it was. What it felt like. Yes, losing my first spider. You see, I used to play that game.

A long long time ago.

So there it was. Jason and my first spider reminding of something I almost forgot.
I have come so far from playing with spiders. I have lost a lot of battles and won a few. But just like Jason and his spider, I've learned to cope with losing.

Time will come when I will no longer remember Jason or this facility. He will be just another patient whom I will treat, and I will be just another doctor who will treat him. So before I forget, I want to dedicate this prose for him. I want to thank him for reminding me what it was during friendlier times.

I want to thank him for making me believe that a young boy who once played with spiders can actually become so much more.

This is not a story. Or something profound like a poem. Still there is a need to post this. An Eyeball of doctors and for doctors held last September in Serendra somewhere in the Fort. Don't ask how I got there, I was just dragged there by megamom.

So I was just there sipping tea with megamom who, I have to add was so nice since she virtually sponsored our eyeball courtesy of Abbot of course, when I realized I was actually doing something good for the community, albeit it is an online community.

You see when I first started this blog, it was suppose to be only for my dark cherub. For her to realize how much she meant to me. How I was willing to give my life, my entire existence for her. Unfortunately, she never saw that. And I finally realized she will never see that. So instead, I wrote about about my other addictions hoping that others may understand what I went through. Hoping that others may understand that in the end, love is no more than an addiction.

But it was fascinating that I also met interesting people. Through my search for meaning and touch, I met doctors who write and see medicine more than what it is.

Like the seafarers of old who see beyond the horizon.

And in a way I am grateful that my personal essays, addictions, and insecurities can actually be a bridge to meeting these extraordinary people.