Lorie Therese Locara’s Resume and Portfolio

In Search of Depth

Pride Goes Before a Fall

In life, the greatest handicap is FEAR; The hardest thing to do is to BEGIN. The most useless asset is PRIDE. The scariest thing to do is CHANGE. And the greatest mistake is GIVING UP. -ate jeanifer’s friendster shoutout

Yeah. I should know that pride is the most damaging of all vices. The ego should never be fed. Self esteem and confidence are important, but they should be balanced by humility. A talented man deficient in humility is just another wasted being on earth.

Why? Remember that there will always be another man smarter than you are. You don’t have the monopoly of the most convolutions in your brain. You do not have the monopoly of knowledge to put in in your excellently-convoluted brain. In this world, King Solomon was right, nothing is new anymore. Anything that has been done has been done.

Yeah, they didn’t have Internet then. Yeah, they did not have these beautiful things called computers then. But in essence, everything’s been done already. Human nature is the same all throughout the centuries. We are base creatures. We are basically a ball of wants. A ball of self-exaltation, or its converse, insecurity.

So really, you think you’re hot stuff? Let me get a needle to burst that ballooned head of yours. YOU ARE BUT A PERMUTATION OF SOME OTHER PERSON.

Yes, God delighted in creating us, delights in our uniqueness. But i believe that He wants us to know our place in the cosmic ecosystem. He wants us to know who we are in Him.

He once told me that before Him, i am just a bonsai.

A bonsai is a beautiful tree, right? All the twists and turns in its branches, the character of its bark… The most beautiful bonsais are old trees that are less than a foot high: wear and tear, experience, character, beauty and wisdom distilled in a minuscule thing.

So why are we bonsais before God? Think of His hand molding your branches, pruning you, creating you to be a thing of beauty… On a minor scale.

Why minor scale? Because, we are not meant for exaltation. He values us, but we were not meant to be exalted. The only one worthy of exaltation is God: the Father, the Christ, and the Comforter.

And soooo… Still think you’re hot stuff? Oh pooh. Someone out there is better than you. And what’s way better about him is: he doesn’t flaunt it.

I like being God’s daughter. I know i am a worthwhile being in His sight. And i don’t need to prove it to anyone. Coz i derive contentment and my esteem in the fact that i am a valued creature in His sight.

The servant is the man that Jesus values. The boastful are those He shuns. I may have my attitude, and i must admit, that i experience a lot of whipping from God, but you know, i realized that self-exaltation is futile and empty. And it never satisfies. Coz you are never assured that you really are whom you trumpet yourself to be.

But when you search for your identity in Jesus, and as He brings the gold in you to light, you’ll see that you don’t need to exalt yourself anymore. Coz you just radiate, as a result of the polishing by His hand.

And so, i won’t apologize for bursting your bubbleheaded belief in your talents and abilities. I’m a sadist, and i revel in giving people pain. But think of it as my public service to you. Pride displeases God. So you might as well run to Him broken, and He will be the one to make you whole, and eventually to make you shine.

I just loooove bein a sadist. :p

Sisa La Mujer Loca

Sisa.. When you hear that name, what do you see in your mind’s eye? What images does that name evoke? Sisa. She used to be a loving mother. A servile wife. A human being, just like you, like everybody else.

When you look at me, what do you see? Do you see the dirty hair? The disheveled clothes? The wild gleam in my eyes? Or do you see the soul behind the nonperson in front of you? Do you wonder, through all these, if there was a human inside? A human, with a soul, who was sane, just like you?

Look at these hands. Scarred by the toil of a woman who loves her family. Look at my feet, calloused from all the walking a mother has to do to find food, to farm food, to make sure that her sons are well. Do they look different from yours?

You see my chest rise and fall. I breathe the same air you do. I eat sardines. I eat boiled rice that I farmed myself. I would have fed my children a special meal of duck leg and dried meat, but alas, my husband got there before they did. So tell me, am I different from you?

But now you see that I am nothing more than this wild gleam in my eyes. You see that I am nothing more than my disheveled hair. I am nothing more than these scarred and bloody limbs.

Perhaps I will be resigned to my fate. I will be nothing more than the mad laughter, the cries you know so well. Perhaps I will die, nothing more that a specter of the woman I once was. A hollow shell of what looks like a human being, set apart by the howls of anguish that emanate from within. Perhaps, I will die at the hands of the men I despise the most… The Guardia Sibil! And even then, I will be nothing more than… Sisa la mujer loca… Crispin? Basilio?

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