Ika of My Heart - Chapter 1

 

 

 

Story Chapter 1

"My Lord, please make my Iko change."

Almost everyday, Ika goes to church to plead God for her alcoholic husband to change. In her mind it plays like a movie how he used to be. 

Iko was a romantic man when she met him. He loved to bring her roses and chocolates. He was very sweet, kind, funny and most of all, good looking with his brown eyes, short hair, brown skin and medium length. She meant height. Then she chuckled to herself every time she remembered his face when she told him he was too short for her. Well, again, she meant height. Ika was taller than him.

It is Monday afternoon. After having lunch and washing everything, she left the mini store to her twins of fourteen years old, while she took her turn to rest. They have a small store of varieties, from candies to basic home kitchen needs. A business they managed to establish during their fifteen years of marriage.

After ten years, she stopped working from an office related job and Iko continued with his painting jobs. Unfortunately, he lost it just a year ago. It caused him to change. He said that companies would not take him anymore because of his old age. It despaired him a lot.

On the other hand, he would not let Ika get back to work again. He wanted her to stay home. It did harm his ego to send her to work. She did not have a choice but to stand him when he started to turn his desperation to alcohol. He became a drunkard. A big problem for her.

After praying, she looked at her watch. Time to go. She took a deep breath and got up from the church's chair. There were few people inside.

She walked her way home. It was just two hundred meters away. Two blocks. She arrived at their mini store which was in front of their bungalow house, as it  used to be their front lawn.

The store was big enough for a mini store, where shelves were all around against the wall. Customers could not come in. They could only ask what they wanted and attended through the opened window of the squared size store. Outside of it, there was a small table with six chairs, where men like her husband and friends sit while they're having their beers, cans of beers as they join themselves to have their happy hour.

She entered the right  hand side entrance of the store. Her twins were ready to get back to nearby school. Both were in second year high school. They bade her goodbye, giving her a kiss on her cheek. Then she asked them for their father.

"Where is your father?"

The girls looked at each other with a sad face. No one responded to their mother. They just turned their looks outside the window of the store. Then their mother followed their look.

 

 To be continued...

Ika of My Heart - Chapter 2

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

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Dear Readers

 This is a personal acknowledgement of  all readers of The Pen and The Pen 2.

The Time has Come!

It has been my greatest pleasure to have you come with me up to this point.

THIS IS NOT A GOODBYE!

Once you stop seeing posts from The Pen, it will only mean "a pause". Like a vacation? Yes. Again. This time a real one.

The Pen has already done several scheduled posts, except The Writer Series 11, 13 and 15, even before the start and through the month of November. Series and other posts were already done and finished.

Besides the new title post, No Hablo Español, I have added another one, "Readers Shares", plus the love story of Ika of My Heart.

The Pen and the writer, our protagonists will continue writing for you, but offline.

For how long is the pause? Unfortunately I can't tell.

Maybe if you have your email given in the "Subscribe" label of the site, it will notify you once a new post is done. It is not a pay-to/paid subscription to my knowledge. I, myself, am a subscriber.

Besides, some unexpected behavior from the Blogger have disappointed me. Just like today, November 29, as I edited this post, I have found out that links of series round one I have included in the Round Two series were resulting to nothing once  you tap them. I am so sorry about that. But anyway, I have edited them again and hopefully you could read the First Round Series first, before continuing to the Second Round without you going around the block.

As soon as my issue is resolved, I shall return!

Be assured, I will.

THANK YOU.

Merry Christmas! Happy New Year 2021!

 

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

Pixabay by Pexel

 

 

Another addition to my lists of Acknowledgement is Pixabay from Pexel, where the new images I am using for Round Two of The Writer Series came from.

Pixabay is my favorite among Pexel's contributors of images on its site.

 

 

Besides being beautiful shots taken, it is worthy  of acknowledgement. They gave additional meaning and warmth to my titles.

I have others as beautiful as the ones above. But I have used them for other sites before, like Facebook.

That's it. If you have come to like The Pen, it has not been just the efforts of the writer and The Pen, but from others being acknowledge here as well. 

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

 

 

Round 2 (SBTS 4)

 

 

 

 

Babied 2

Believed 2

Survived 2

 

The three series were written on the same day. On the afternoon of November 16, I was thinking how to continue the rest of the series. In between cookies being prepared by my son, the stories of each series came flowing to my mind. All I had to do was to write them. Maybe it was the magic of the cookies. 😊 

 

Cartas de Amor

Victoria

They were both written long time ago. They were kept in my first Google account's documents. Cartas de Amor was first shared in Facebook, as it was dedicated to a person dear to me. 

 

 

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

Survived 2

 

 Round One : Survived 

Round Two:  Survived 2

 

She was typing the last part of her interview report about the teenager who survived a human trafficking, when an incident came back to her mind.

"I was a victim too."

She said to herself. 

Closing her eyes, everything that had happened when she was at the same age of the girl flowed to her mind.

It was her boyfriend then who intentionally wanted to deliver her to human trafficking for prostitution. She did not know that he was part of the trafficking by posing himself as a prospective lover to young women looking for a boyfriend to show off with their friends.

He was a nice looking, charming and romantic guy. He made it a point that any wishful dreams of young girls dreaming for a prince charming would find them in him. And he did it without much effort. Besides, all expenses paid by the organization. She was one of the many that fell for him. 

Remembering those, she still feel stupid.

Unfortunately for him,  his father was a journalist himself and even a detective.

"Be careful, my sweetie, with your acquaintances."

Her father reminded her almost every day. He noticed his father's strongest interest when she started to talk about her boyfriend. She would not want to remember him, not even his name.

The writer stopped on what he was writing.

"Well then, Pen, we would not have a name for the boyfriend."

He looked at his pen and talked to it. Then continued writing his story.

"Don't worry Dad, I will get you up to date. I never told him you knew about him."

She trusted her father and her father knew it when she told him those words of assurances.

Later on, she did not realize that she became her father's bait to the bad guys. When she found out, she got upset with her father and she almost gave herself away as a willing victim.

The day she was about to be handed to the organization of the human trafficking, she was riding in her boyfriend's motorcycle. They were running fast as they were being pursued by her father in his own motorcycle. They slided as they turned a street corner where a woman from a residence threw water with soap to clean a closed street for any vehicle as there was a road sign of construction undergoing. Her boyfriend ignored it and went in.

From that accident she almost lost her life. She was in a coma for a month as her head suffered injuries. The boyfriend was able to escape death as he left her after she was flown to the air by the impact. Both were wearing a helmet, but she lost balance and her boyfriend got back to his feet quickly. 

Once again she covered her face crying hard every time she remembered about her father.

"He died because of me."

She blamed herself. 

Her father became more decided than ever to learn about human trafficking and searched earnestly for that boyfriend until it costed him his life. The boyfriend was found and sentenced, but the organization still exists.

She would have wanted to die when she woke up from the coma, but her mother and brothers guarded her day and night till she left the hospital.

Gradually, with medical, psychological and spiritual help she had been able to reestablish herself and live a new life.

"I will die doing this father, I promise."

She wiped her tears and went back to her work. 

The writer stopped since he felt the pen getting zigzag with its writing. He looked at it as if trying to read it. A question came to his mind.

"What does she mean?"

The writer smiled and put down the pen.

"The woman reporter wanted to continue with his father's journalism work and maybe investigations."

He responded. Then as if having a crazy vision, he imagined the pen putting itself back to the pen holder. Without him knowing it, it did! Something he did not see as he already rested his head to his chairs headrest.

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

 

 

Jessica Alexa Bayonito

 

 

What is...

By Jessica Alexa Bayonito

What is spring without water?

What is a vineyard with no vine?

What is life without You, Lord Jesus,

Without Your heart in mine?

 

I am but a dry, parched wasteland

Who longs for the pour of rain

My cries at night are worthless

My labors are in vain

 

The enemy tried to kill me

To blind me with his lies

To quench the fire inside me

Right in front of my eyes

 

But Jesus, You came to give me life

A life to live in full

A hope to life eternal

In a world so sad and cruel

 

So I will choose Your way, My Lord

I'll hold on to what's proven true

Who am I without You, Jesus?

And what is life without You? 

 

 

  (c) lexxxabayonito

 

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Victoria

 

 

La Pobre Victoria en 50 Años

 

Cuando tenia 10 años

Su hermano de 5 años

La molestaba siempre.

Todos la decían:

"Déjalo, es chiquito."

Cuando tenia 20 años

Su novio de 15 años

La dejó por otra.

Todos la decían:

"Déjalo, es varón."

Cuando tenia 30 años

Su marido de 50 años

La maltrataba.

Todos la decían:

"Déjalo, es el hombre."

Cuando tenia 40 años

Su suegro adinerado

La despreciaba.

Todos la decían:

"Déjalo, ya es viejo."

Cuando tenia 50 años

Su hermanito en la carcel

Su novio en psiquiátrico

Su marido en cementerio

Su suegro en geriatríco

Ella se decía sonriendo:

"Déjalos, ya pasó."

Victoria mira fijamente el espejo:

"Eres entera. Los dejaste a todos."

Se dio vuelta y les dice a la gente:

"Me acuerdo de cada dolor. 

  No los olvido."

Ellos se la dicen con bronca y amargura:

"¡Eres mala! ¡No perdonas!"

La vida es como una rueda que da vueltas.

Las vueltas son las que dan la vida.

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

 

Believed 2

 

Round One: Believed

Round Two: Believed 2

 

Jesus brought him to that nice Home for the Aged.

Matthew, that little angel he fortunately met outside the church while he was an old street beggar, went looking for his father after he lost him inside a nearby grocery market store.

He invited the little boy to sit beside him. They talked until his father found him seated by his side by the church's entrance ladder. After giving him a hundred dollar bill and thank you, they left.

That same day, Jesus came. He was the grandfather of Matthew. His son, Peter, had sent him to take him to their own Home for the Aged.

The writer, like his other series, was trying to remember what series he wrote about this old man.

"It was BELIEVED. The Writer Series 8."

A whisper again, like before, answered his question. Then he continued with the story. 

It has been a week since he arrived at the Home. He met other people, made friends and lived happily with everyone. He had not heard anything from any of the three. Until one day, he received a call from Peter. 

What was a good to him turned out to be a bad for Matthew and his father. Peter called his father, Jesus, to pick him up, Jeremiah, by the church and take him to their Home for the Aged. After he put down the phone, they were bumped by a car escaping from the police cars behind them. The impact was so strong, the car of Peter made turns until it hit a street wall and Matthew died at that moment.

The old man cried and cried as he knelt in front of the tomb of Matthew and his grandfather, Jesus. Matthew was buried two days later after the accident. Her grandfather was just buried three days ago. Peter was hospitalized for a week. It was Jesus, who buried Matthew, but the pain of his death he could not stand he died of heart attack. It was Peter who gave his burial after leaving the hospital. It was his father's instruction to call him, his father's founded friend, as he was described to Peter. So Peter called him that day and later on explained what had happened from the beginning.

He went to the cemetery for the burial of Jesus, without the knowing of his family. He wanted to visit his heroes. He called them his heroes as they were three people that have changed his life. One still lives, but two have gone. After everyone left the cemetery, he approached the tombs of Matthew and Jesus.

It was hours that he stayed there crying and feeling guilty as if it was his fault they were buried. Then, it started to rain, and he did not even realize it. Until his attention was called by someone. A small voice.

"Hello there!"

He turned around and at his back, a little boy was seated on top of a tomb a few meters away from him, with his legs crossed while seated. He could not see his face clearly as it was raining and beside that he was half blind.

"It is raining! You can get sick!"

The boy in white shirts and shorts continued talking while stretching his legs to stand. His blond hair was the only strong color he could see.

He ignored the boy. He just stared at the tomb of Matthew, remembering him when he shouted those words.

"Yes, I believe!"

Then he cried again.

He felt a small hand on his right shoulders, but he did not turn around.

"Do not feel guilty of anything. Nothing was your fault. Everything was part of the Father's plan. Just believe God."

He turned around. There was no one beside him. Instead, that boy who talked to him before was walking away waving his hand to him.

"Let's go."

That voice came from a man on his left side.

It was Peter. He seemed that he saw him hiding from them and came back for him.He came beside him and he did not even realize. Then he turned his look again to the boy on his right side. He was gone!

He was helped by Peter to stand on his feet.

"I promised my father that I will take care of you. He left knowing you will be in good hands. I am sure Matthew would want the same. He was the one who told me you need help."

Peter talking to him softly on his ears. The old man's tears came down again, as he was hugged by this good man, son of Jesus.

"Have you seen the boy?"

He asked Peter. Peter looked at him with a question in his eyes. He looked around them.

"The boy? Where?"

That's all he said before adding more.

"There's no one here beside us."

Peter's response made the man understand something..

"Yes, I believe."

He repeated the words of Matthew as if reciting them. He gave a deep breath and exhaled whatever pains he had inside. He finally was able to smile again. So they left the cemetery.

The writer, once again, was happy with his ending. So they both rest themselves, him and the pen.

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

Jessica Alexa Bayonito

 

 

 

You Care For Me

By Jessica Alexa Bayonito

 

 

You went from God to man, in all humility

You came so in darkness we'll find a way to flee

You came down from Heaven so I'd be set free

You came for me, Jesus. You came here for me

 

You chased down my heart, no matter what the

cost

You are my way back so I won't be lost

You found me, Lord Jesus, when I thought I'd

never be

You came for me, Jesus. You came here for me

You've taken the bruises, the hurt and the pain

You've taken the torture so I won't have to again

You gave up Your life on the hill of Calvary

You died for me, Jesus. You died here for me

You've conquered and won, death has lost its

sting

There's no one who's greater than our Risen King

One day You'll come back, Lord, in glory for all to

see

I'll wait for You, Jesus. You'll come back again for

me!

 

 

 (c) lexxxabayonito

 

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Cartas de Amor

 

 Querida Persona,  

No puedo describir qué he sentido exactamente cuando me enteré de tu destino. Creo que he sentido la tristeza de haberte perdido. Las lágrimas empiezan a mojar mis ojos. Mi garganta empieza tragar salivas amargas que no se de donde vinieron.

¡Quería llorar!

Conociste el momento más triste de mi vida. Fuiste una de las personas que lo han presenciado. Has escuchado de mis labios las penas y sufrimiento que he pasado. Hemos compartido nuestros pensamientos y creencias sobre nuestras vida.

Una vez más, senti un dolor familiar aunque no tan profundo como los anteriores. No sé si debo sentirme mejor o peor por las diferencias. Yo sé que la razon se debe a que solo ha pasado tan poco tiempo para llegarnos a querer una a la otra tanto como mis amores anteriores. Pero sé que he llegado a apreciar los momentos de pequeñas charlas con mucho sentido que hemos compartido. 

Extrañaré tus manos extendidas siempre dispuestas para ayudar sin esperar nada a cambio. Extrañaré tu sinceridad y companía. La verdad, has logrado tener un lugar en mi corazón.

Una vez más la vida me muestra la otra cara de la realidad que nunca más podria ignorar. Nunca podemos ser dueños de nuestros destinos. 

No llegué a saber mucho de tu vida. Pero si llegué a saber como has peleado para vivir la vida aunque, a veces, como me has comentado en alguna de nuestras charlas, que parecia que no valiera más la pena vivir. Es verdad que parece injusto. 

Fui testigo de tus esfuerzos para mejorar tu salud y tu ser. 

Fui testigo de cómo lo has logrado con toda determinación y fuerza de voluntad.

Fuiste un gran ejemplar aunque estoy segura que ni te imaginarias que puedas ser así.

Fuiste una inspiración que me hizo escribir esta carta. Sólo espero que lo sepas aunque sea por magia o una forma divina.

No tengo más opción que respirar muy profundo y esperar que el aire lleve el dolor.

¡No quiero llorar más! 

¿Acaso no tuve lo suficiente de antes? 

Bendice a la niña que te ama mucho y con su dulzura nos dice que te recordamos con alegría. Con toda razón, las lágrimas solo profundizan los dolores que sentimos. Es sólo una forma desagradable de recordarte. Tu salida es sólo una entrada al otro mundo desconocido. El mundo donde nos guste o nó será  nuestro destino cuando llegue el momento.

Para ti con todo mi amor...gracias por haberte conocido,

Yo

 

 

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

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