28th of December, an idea cracked the tranquil surface of the ocean of an unmotivated man. Like a tiny ripple, and like any other ripple seemingly conceived out of nothing, it incrementally gained pace. Slowly its visage is saved from the pit holes of obscurity.

Entertaining the vague idea, although yet clear, the man put it in writing to obtain an artist’s sketch of what it looks like. Minutes dragged into hours, and slowly the idea was pulled out of the blurred fringes and into the dawn of possibilities.

An idea to establish a non-profit organization basically promoting a casual brand of voluntarism was brought into the light; clear but still a heap of volatile uncertainty. The man realized that alone he stands no chance against the aroma of the seductive apathy; that no matter how noble, if it remains just an idea, it is but a wisecrack in the melodramatic theatrics of human demise.

He contacted friends, proposed his gargantuan idea and allied with the gods of persuasion. Who would turn down a plan as noble as this? Many were introduced, but few claimed the necessary audacity to face the unsympathetic winds. As more and more heeded the calling (the calling of everybody whom only a smidgen hears), the hope streaked brighter and brighter. Until one day, the rebels who took arms and no longer remain seated planned to convene to materialize the yet tangible idea of an assembly for anyone for voluntarism. The few volunteers are rewarded even from the thought of reaching out.

January 2, and the most tumultuous mood right after a joyous celebration is pervasive. January 2 was the set date for the volunteers to meet up, collate and juxtapose ideas to build the foundation of a yet conceived assemblage of commoners. The heavens were crying from the massive task that threatens to belittle our objectives. It was cursed with a biting chill, but the volunteers stopped at nothing. The meeting was pushed through.

The atmosphere warmed as the enthusiasm of everyone present loomed above each other’s heads. It was clear that the idea moved everyone to halt their own battle of indifference. The willingness of everyone to push through with the idea sparked the inception of a materialized idea. As the scaffold was slowly founded from the ground up, the visage of the idea that was once hanged in relative obscurity was fleshed out.

And as the day bequeathed its temporary throne, although hastened by the looming clouds, an idea that was once just floating amidst the ocean of the ignored, mushroomed with in the minds of those who testified that indifference is a disease.

We wanted to be a solution to the problem; not a solution to end the suffering of our brothers and sisters, but a solution to eradicate indifference by offering the common people the chance to extend their reach without fear of ridicule or critic. For if your cause is noble, it should not remain inside the c upboards to decay, but should bloom.

Kibo, a Cebuano term for a solution to a problem became the name of our organization; an assembly of simple people whose names are not donned with prominence and imminence. Whose pockets contain only their own hands, but considered it not to be a hindrance for voluntarism.

Kibo was once an idea; an idea that brought together a band of common people to channel their personal causes to something as noble as an action. Kibo became the platform, the stage to call others to flock, to stand for something good, something better to placate the sufferings of our brothers and sisters. Kibo sees the world, someday, where everyone is each other’s volunteers.

*Interested? For further information about Kibo, click on the link and register an account --> Kibo
*Want to sign-up as a member? Be a Kibo, download the membership contract here-->Membership and fill up. In order to become a member, a 100p membership fee is required.

As the thick smoke ascends towards the never-ending sky, and the warring display of fluently periodic bangs and blasts sulk as it slowly approaches its extinction, the anticipated merriment nears its slumber. Luck, in one night, becomes a phenomenon. It plays Santa Claus in an hour, as it enters and exits households. And as quickly as it enters is as quick as it goes. In this reveling of nights, luck is synonymous to hope.

10 minutes before midnight, and the built-up pressure generated by memories of long ago celebrations gradually emanates through a socially-contorted face. The anticipation of a neglected paradox, an end and a beginning, crawls upward for attention. I headed outside, prepared to witness an annual display of irrational, yet joyful spending. And as minutes drop off the flag, I buckled my imaginary seatbelt, grab hold of an imaginary popcorn, and tilted my head upwards to obtain a more vantage view. My heart beats together with the claps of distant fireworks. I reckon it was excitement, but I realized otherwise. As the sharp scent of smoke pierces through my system, my body kicks in overdrive and prepares itself for a fight or flight response. I have been in a duress battle between asthma, and once a slight symptom pops out, all else follows. I remained vigilant amidst the scare of an enduring torture of breathlessness. I have to fight this necessary dispute so I won’t miss the illustrious display of magnificence. As firecrackers take its last flight towards suicide, its transient lights leave onlookers both in awe and fright. The once philanthropic midnight sky has become a battlefield of many wishes.

And as 12 struck the bell, the once mesmerizing sky of faint sparkles and twinkles became a spectacle of transient lights. The midnight sky during New Year always has been psychedelic. As streaks of golden combustion rises up, one always expect a finale worthy of a standing ovation. I am in awe of how illuminated the sky was. The atmosphere, moreover, is broken by periodic artificial thunders brought about by a powdery concoction. The patch of road where I was currently standing was once silent. But during this time of the year, silence is a commodity one is keen to avoid. It’s the pandemonium that is a priced thingamajig during this incipience. The happy kind of ruckus breaks the boundaries of social status; everyone is seeing the same sky, everyone is hearing the same thundering explosions, everyone is offered the same opportunity of a new start.

But in all this exaggeration and an inefficacious narration of an awaited climax, the scent of frugality is putrid. It overpowered the scent of burnt black powder. The street was not as loud as it was. The sky was not as illustrious as it was. The celebration is left hanging, wanting for more. But none saved the haphazard revelry; an anticlimactic end to a new beginning. And insofar as I can vividly recall, the barrage of noise, the bombardment of ephemeral lightshow, and the uninhibited welcoming of hope, is amiss in this year’s attempt. The one single sight that left me holding my breath was a sky lantern floating by the smooth breeze. It was unadulterated, pure and simply an eccentric sight amidst the background of flashing lights. Sky lanterns carry wishes and bring it to the sky. It was a floating paradox; a peaceful medium unperturbed by a variety of commotion. And wherever that lantern decides to land, it will surely etch an emotive memory. Perhaps I’m going to fly one myself during such time or other appropriate events.

And as the explosion and flashes weakened, I gone back inside, took a seat, and contemplated. What is truly beautiful about this night? Gone are the bygone days where you literally get deafened by the commotion of revelry. And amidst the anticlimax, I felt a sense of hope, an anemic feeling of contentment, but contentment nonetheless. I forage through the canopy of possibilities and found three likely candidates that induced such a feathery feeling.

First is the awe and joy etched on the faces of the children that partied on the streets. It was a genuine, uncorrupted sense of happiness. The bliss on their faces is breathtaking. It captured the true essence of a fresh hope in one single moment in time. Their flawless awe is a study in contrast: a serene sight brought about by a frightful pandemonium. Second is the moment bringing out the lost youth in everyone. I personally was an innocent victim of an innocent murder of childhood. Back in the heydays, when the ruckus was much more earthshaking than today, my ears was covered by a huge headset to muffle the noise. I was placed as far away as where the commotion was in order to avoid the sharp scent of dying firecrackers. A whiff could cause me my life. An asthmatic kid, I was able to see the wondrous display of light in a body-contorting place, I was able to hear the explosions in silence. But during this night, when I am now able to make things more special, I ignored the troubles lurking beyond the now. And by doing so, I found my lost youth. I felt the child in me surfacing; fighting its way up against a concrete slab of social proof. I would have shouted if not for my inhibitions. I would have jumped. But I did not. But I was satisfied to have to feel the child in me. The child in me that was suppressed long ago is but alive, gliding atop the sea of induced maturity. I am a child, always has been.

The third and last candidate for the feeling of contentment was the feeling of family. The feeling that wherever you may go, whatever you may do, and whoever you may become, you still have a place to come back to, a room where you will be assured to belong; a feeling that no matter the mistakes, you will still be accepted and believed in. And that amidst the languid sense of family, it will perpetuate till you ran out of breath, by asthma or by death. It’s always going to be there, all you have to do is search.

2010 is gone and has now become a memory, vivid or otherwise. 2011 has just begun. I have been inappropriately gifted during this bygone year; given the love of my life. 2011 is an uncertain year. An era of misty tomorrows. But I am continually hopefully. Steadfast in my belief that amidst the scare of armagedon, as long as I have her in my embrace, I am secure. Thank you for knocking on my door, entering my universe, and choosing to stay. If it will be forever, so be it. Forever may be but a figment of thought, but you are not. You are real, and that makes forever matter less. Forever will always be by your side, and may 2011 be the start of our journey towards that forever.