Alex Maskara
Thoughts, Stories, Imagination of Filipino American Alex Maskara
Welcome
~
Ephesians 1:3–6
Praise for Spiritual Blessings in Christ
3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. 4 For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love 5 he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— 6 to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.
Popong found himself adrift in a sea of modern distractions. The buzzing, flashing world of social media called out, a siren song tempting him away from the quiet corners of reflection. It was a typical Sunday morning in his life, a day meant for rest, yet the insistent question nagged at him: What should I post today? His thumb hovered over the social media app icon, poised to plunge him into the endless scroll, the barrage of opinions and curated images. But something made him pause. A whisper of intuition suggested a different path, a turn inward rather than outward. Perhaps, instead of seeking validation in the digital realm, he should acknowledge the quiet victories, the personal milestones that often went unremarked, even by himself.
Yesterday's struggle with the ancient ASUS laptop came to mind. It was a humble task, not one that would garner likes or shares, but it was his. He had wrestled with the stubborn machine, its innards refusing to cooperate. The SSD upgrade, meant to breathe new life into the aging device, had initially presented an infuriating series of roadblocks. The first attempt at cloning the drive ended in failure. The new, sleek SSD remained stubbornly invisible to the system. Countless retries followed, punctuated by moments of frustration and doubt. Just when he thought he had conquered one challenge, another loomed. He discovered that only a fraction of the new drive's capacity had been recognized, leaving hundreds of gigabytes of unused potential. A frantic search for free, reliable partitioning software ensued. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he had merged the unallocated space, completing the upgrade. A wave of deep satisfaction washed over him, a quiet triumph in a small corner of his world.
The late-night hours spent hunched over the laptop had been a fog, blurring into the present. Now, as the new day dawned, he was eager to return to his ordinary rhythm, to the small rituals that grounded him. While waiting for the final software installations to complete, he had briefly engaged with social media. But this time, he had approached it differently. He treated his posts like fleeting thoughts, casual conversations tossed into the digital air. He understood now that most people consumed content mindlessly, their eyes gliding over the screen, their minds elsewhere. He refused to be held captive by that dynamic. His goal was to share, then detach, to let his ideas drift without clinging to the hope of validation.
The silence of his early mornings was precious. It was during these hours that he felt closest to a sense of inner peace. He spoke to the Holy Spirit, a silent, unwavering listener who offered no judgment, no interruptions. These conversations, often accompanied by a strong cup of coffee, were his most cherished form of meditation. They helped him untangle the knots in his mind, to quiet the anxious voices that clamored for attention. It was a time to recenter, to remember what truly mattered.
His relationship with technology had begun long ago, in the nascent days of the internet. He remembered the excitement of his first PC, the thrill of hearing the modem’s screech as it connected to the world. Each morning, he would eagerly check his AOL inbox, the messages flickering onto the screen like tiny miracles. That era had ignited a passion within him, leading him to pursue a second degree in IT. He dreamed of blending his love for storytelling with his fascination for computers, envisioning a future where he could create new worlds, new tools for expression.
The reality had been different, of course. Those grand ambitions had morphed and matured, taking on a quieter, more subtle form. He still tinkered with tech, but his enthusiasm was tempered by a newfound awareness of its potential pitfalls. He had learned to set boundaries, to limit his screen time, recognizing how easily it could deplete his energy. The desire to create remained, but it was now accompanied by a deeper questioning. Why do I go online? What am I searching for? Is it simply a way to escape the silence?
Meditation had led him back to the present, to the tangible world. He made a conscious effort to spend time in nature, to feel the earth beneath his feet. Silence had become a refuge, a place where he could reconnect with himself. After his morning quiet time, he ventured to John Prince Park for a long walk. The exercise cleared his head, washing away the digital cobwebs that had accumulated over the previous days. The lake breeze made the Florida heat bearable, though the swarms of gnats were an unwelcome presence. He watched as young runners passed him, their strides effortless. I used to feel like that, he thought, a nostalgic pang in his heart. Invincible.
A trip to Publix followed. He noted his changing relationship with food. Gone were the days of indulgent comfort eating. Now, he prioritized healthy choices, limiting carbs, and increasing his vegetable intake. His bulk purchases of fish, though economical, had led to a monotonous diet. He hoped to find more variety, more inspiration in the kitchen. Back home, he felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. He had spent his day well. He had walked, he had saved money, he had resisted the pull of aimless scrolling. Social media had not held its usual allure. He knew now that a few posts a week were sufficient, that he didn’t need to perform for an audience. Fewer people engaged with his content these days, and he was strangely at peace with that.
He thought back to the early days, to his excitement at discovering Linux, the joy of building his own computers from spare parts, the sheer exhilaration of learning. The internet had once felt like a vast, unexplored territory, full of promise and possibility. Now, it seemed more like a stage, a place for carefully curated personas. People chase followers, not fulfillment, he mused. He hadn’t learned to code for likes and shares. He had learned to build, to create, to understand. The web had transformed from a frontier for thinkers to a carnival for performers.
In this new chapter of his life, he found himself drawn to older, more solitary pursuits. He recalled his childhood notebooks, filled with stories and poems that he had never dared to share. Writing had never been about fame or recognition. It had been a refuge, a way to make sense of the world. The computer, too, had originally entered his life as a tool for writing. Now retired, and with little to show in the way of tangible achievements, he felt no regret. Instead, he felt a profound sense of release. Anonymity had become a comfortable cloak. His work no longer needed to impress, it only needed to be true.
Yesterday’s laptop upgrade and short reel on knee exercises had felt productive. Today, he had meditated, walked, and returned to his personal diary. He toyed with the idea of turning these entries into fiction, sharing them on his old blog, even if no one read them. Later, perhaps, he would revisit his abandoned Node.js project, the one he had left untouched since 2021. It would be like starting over, but this time, it would be for himself and for the Spirit who listened in the quiet spaces of his heart.
2025-06-08 21:05:48
popong
It was 10:30 PM on the night of May 29 when Popong finally decided to retire for the day. The room was dim, the only light coming from the small desk lamp that flickered every now and then like a tired eyelid. He scribbled one last note in his journal—a quiet thank you to the Holy Spirit—for what he described as a fruitful and restful day.
Earlier, Popong had meditated and even wrote down the thoughts that came to him during that stillness. He remembered the clarity he felt during his walk in the park, nearly four miles under the gentle morning sun. Later, he found himself back home, resisting the pull of scattered distractions by reposting an old book review—an act that helped him reclaim some sense of order from the chaos of a too-open day.
“I mustn’t fall into the trap of disorganized living,” he told himself. That trap often came in the form of social media—particularly Facebook. So, he drew a line. No more constant posting. Instead, he’d focus on video editing and blogging, letting his quiet YouTube channel speak without the noise of likes and shares. His health blog too—he wanted to write more personal pieces about lifestyle and wellness. Even good nutrition as a path to balance.
“Use your gifts,” he whispered while leaning back on his chair. “But don’t trigger the paranoia.” That was Popong’s mantra now. Use what God gave, but gently.
He had recently retired from his profession and still wrestled with the transition. There was a part of him eager to contribute again—perhaps by starting educational projects, maybe another site, maybe something that fused his wisdom and experience with practical purpose. But fatigue got in the way today. His body kept pulling him back to bed. He wondered if it was his erratic eating, or perhaps the long, internal argument he constantly had with idle time.
His thoughts shifted again—to laptops. Always laptops. He had been eyeing a refurbished MacBook Air but paused when he saw how dated they were. “They look sleek,” he muttered, “but they die quietly after seven years.” He knew that story too well. So instead, he shifted toward a lightweight HP with a decent CPU, old but serviceable, running on Windows 10. “For video projects,” he reminded himself, half-convinced.
He still ached from a fall the day before. His right foot had caught a tree root. The next thing he knew, he was flat on the ground. The embarrassment didn’t sting as much as the realization: he couldn’t correct himself mid-fall. He lacked the reflex, the balance, the awareness.
And that worried him.
“I should dance more,” he thought. Maybe indoors. Maybe in the gym. Walking outdoors, while noble, had turned dangerous. He is getting less focused, more complacent, easily distracted through his routine.
He remembered something else: a long-ago mistake at work—treating the wrong patient because of complacency. The memory embarrassed him even now. But it also served as a quiet alarm. Repetition dulls the edge, he thought. Even in routine, one must stay alert. Just because you’ve done something a hundred times doesn’t mean you won’t falter on the hundred and first.
He closed his notebook and turned off the lamp. The room fell into silence. Just outside, the wind moved the branches slowly, like a lullaby. Popong settled into bed, hoping that tomorrow would bring another day to rise, write, and walk—maybe dance—and give thanks again.
2025-06-02 11:56:30
popong
Popong Sunday
Ephesians 1:3–6
Praise for Spiritual Blessings in Christ
3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. 4 For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love 5 he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— 6 to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.
Popong found himself adrift in a sea of modern distractions. The buzzing, flashing world of social media called out, a siren song tempting him away from the quiet corners of reflection. It was a typical Sunday morning in his life, a day meant for rest, yet the insistent question nagged at him: What should I post today? His thumb hovered over the social media app icon, poised to plunge him into the endless scroll, the barrage of opinions and curated images. But something made him pause. A whisper of intuition suggested a different path, a turn inward rather than outward. Perhaps, instead of seeking validation in the digital realm, he should acknowledge the quiet victories, the personal milestones that often went unremarked, even by himself.
Yesterday's struggle with the ancient ASUS laptop came to mind. It was a humble task, not one that would garner likes or shares, but it was his. He had wrestled with the stubborn machine, its innards refusing to cooperate. The SSD upgrade, meant to breathe new life into the aging device, had initially presented an infuriating series of roadblocks. The first attempt at cloning the drive ended in failure. The new, sleek SSD remained stubbornly invisible to the system. Countless retries followed, punctuated by moments of frustration and doubt. Just when he thought he had conquered one challenge, another loomed. He discovered that only a fraction of the new drive's capacity had been recognized, leaving hundreds of gigabytes of unused potential. A frantic search for free, reliable partitioning software ensued. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he had merged the unallocated space, completing the upgrade. A wave of deep satisfaction washed over him, a quiet triumph in a small corner of his world.
The late-night hours spent hunched over the laptop had been a fog, blurring into the present. Now, as the new day dawned, he was eager to return to his ordinary rhythm, to the small rituals that grounded him. While waiting for the final software installations to complete, he had briefly engaged with social media. But this time, he had approached it differently. He treated his posts like fleeting thoughts, casual conversations tossed into the digital air. He understood now that most people consumed content mindlessly, their eyes gliding over the screen, their minds elsewhere. He refused to be held captive by that dynamic. His goal was to share, then detach, to let his ideas drift without clinging to the hope of validation.
The silence of his early mornings was precious. It was during these hours that he felt closest to a sense of inner peace. He spoke to the Holy Spirit, a silent, unwavering listener who offered no judgment, no interruptions. These conversations, often accompanied by a strong cup of coffee, were his most cherished form of meditation. They helped him untangle the knots in his mind, to quiet the anxious voices that clamored for attention. It was a time to recenter, to remember what truly mattered.
His relationship with technology had begun long ago, in the nascent days of the internet. He remembered the excitement of his first PC, the thrill of hearing the modem’s screech as it connected to the world. Each morning, he would eagerly check his AOL inbox, the messages flickering onto the screen like tiny miracles. That era had ignited a passion within him, leading him to pursue a second degree in IT. He dreamed of blending his love for storytelling with his fascination for computers, envisioning a future where he could create new worlds, new tools for expression.
The reality had been different, of course. Those grand ambitions had morphed and matured, taking on a quieter, more subtle form. He still tinkered with tech, but his enthusiasm was tempered by a newfound awareness of its potential pitfalls. He had learned to set boundaries, to limit his screen time, recognizing how easily it could deplete his energy. The desire to create remained, but it was now accompanied by a deeper questioning. Why do I go online? What am I searching for? Is it simply a way to escape the silence?
Meditation had led him back to the present, to the tangible world. He made a conscious effort to spend time in nature, to feel the earth beneath his feet. Silence had become a refuge, a place where he could reconnect with himself. After his morning quiet time, he ventured to John Prince Park for a long walk. The exercise cleared his head, washing away the digital cobwebs that had accumulated over the previous days. The lake breeze made the Florida heat bearable, though the swarms of gnats were an unwelcome presence. He watched as young runners passed him, their strides effortless. I used to feel like that, he thought, a nostalgic pang in his heart. Invincible.
A trip to Publix followed. He noted his changing relationship with food. Gone were the days of indulgent comfort eating. Now, he prioritized healthy choices, limiting carbs, and increasing his vegetable intake. His bulk purchases of fish, though economical, had led to a monotonous diet. He hoped to find more variety, more inspiration in the kitchen. Back home, he felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. He had spent his day well. He had walked, he had saved money, he had resisted the pull of aimless scrolling. Social media had not held its usual allure. He knew now that a few posts a week were sufficient, that he didn’t need to perform for an audience. Fewer people engaged with his content these days, and he was strangely at peace with that.
He thought back to the early days, to his excitement at discovering Linux, the joy of building his own computers from spare parts, the sheer exhilaration of learning. The internet had once felt like a vast, unexplored territory, full of promise and possibility. Now, it seemed more like a stage, a place for carefully curated personas. People chase followers, not fulfillment, he mused. He hadn’t learned to code for likes and shares. He had learned to build, to create, to understand. The web had transformed from a frontier for thinkers to a carnival for performers.
In this new chapter of his life, he found himself drawn to older, more solitary pursuits. He recalled his childhood notebooks, filled with stories and poems that he had never dared to share. Writing had never been about fame or recognition. It had been a refuge, a way to make sense of the world. The computer, too, had originally entered his life as a tool for writing. Now retired, and with little to show in the way of tangible achievements, he felt no regret. Instead, he felt a profound sense of release. Anonymity had become a comfortable cloak. His work no longer needed to impress, it only needed to be true.
Yesterday’s laptop upgrade and short reel on knee exercises had felt productive. Today, he had meditated, walked, and returned to his personal diary. He toyed with the idea of turning these entries into fiction, sharing them on his old blog, even if no one read them. Later, perhaps, he would revisit his abandoned Node.js project, the one he had left untouched since 2021. It would be like starting over, but this time, it would be for himself and for the Spirit who listened in the quiet spaces of his heart.
2025-06-08 21:05:48
popong
The Night
It was 10:30 PM on the night of May 29 when Popong finally decided to retire for the day. The room was dim, the only light coming from the small desk lamp that flickered every now and then like a tired eyelid. He scribbled one last note in his journal—a quiet thank you to the Holy Spirit—for what he described as a fruitful and restful day.
Earlier, Popong had meditated and even wrote down the thoughts that came to him during that stillness. He remembered the clarity he felt during his walk in the park, nearly four miles under the gentle morning sun. Later, he found himself back home, resisting the pull of scattered distractions by reposting an old book review—an act that helped him reclaim some sense of order from the chaos of a too-open day.
“I mustn’t fall into the trap of disorganized living,” he told himself. That trap often came in the form of social media—particularly Facebook. So, he drew a line. No more constant posting. Instead, he’d focus on video editing and blogging, letting his quiet YouTube channel speak without the noise of likes and shares. His health blog too—he wanted to write more personal pieces about lifestyle and wellness. Even good nutrition as a path to balance.
“Use your gifts,” he whispered while leaning back on his chair. “But don’t trigger the paranoia.” That was Popong’s mantra now. Use what God gave, but gently.
He had recently retired from his profession and still wrestled with the transition. There was a part of him eager to contribute again—perhaps by starting educational projects, maybe another site, maybe something that fused his wisdom and experience with practical purpose. But fatigue got in the way today. His body kept pulling him back to bed. He wondered if it was his erratic eating, or perhaps the long, internal argument he constantly had with idle time.
His thoughts shifted again—to laptops. Always laptops. He had been eyeing a refurbished MacBook Air but paused when he saw how dated they were. “They look sleek,” he muttered, “but they die quietly after seven years.” He knew that story too well. So instead, he shifted toward a lightweight HP with a decent CPU, old but serviceable, running on Windows 10. “For video projects,” he reminded himself, half-convinced.
He still ached from a fall the day before. His right foot had caught a tree root. The next thing he knew, he was flat on the ground. The embarrassment didn’t sting as much as the realization: he couldn’t correct himself mid-fall. He lacked the reflex, the balance, the awareness.
And that worried him.
“I should dance more,” he thought. Maybe indoors. Maybe in the gym. Walking outdoors, while noble, had turned dangerous. He is getting less focused, more complacent, easily distracted through his routine.
He remembered something else: a long-ago mistake at work—treating the wrong patient because of complacency. The memory embarrassed him even now. But it also served as a quiet alarm. Repetition dulls the edge, he thought. Even in routine, one must stay alert. Just because you’ve done something a hundred times doesn’t mean you won’t falter on the hundred and first.
He closed his notebook and turned off the lamp. The room fell into silence. Just outside, the wind moved the branches slowly, like a lullaby. Popong settled into bed, hoping that tomorrow would bring another day to rise, write, and walk—maybe dance—and give thanks again.
2025-06-02 11:56:30
popong