Sick Speak

19 06 2008

I wanted to smother him with a pillow. My fingers were itching to grab one and push him down with it until he breathes no more. His anguished and most of the time angry screams have fueled that murderous rage in me.

But I couldn’t.

He, in his condition, managed to get drunk and hurled expletives my way because I had the nerve to throw away what was left of the local rhum.  He went on to say that I studied in UP only to achieve nothing in life.  He said I do not have greatness, something that UP people are thought to achieve as they go head on with the world.  And in my sleepless state with one client backing out on me when the bills are piling up, I gripped the corners of the bed mattress opposite his angrily.  I kept telling myself that it was the alcohol and the illness talking but he got to me.  In that very instance, I wished he would die an instantaneous death.  But there were no thunderbolts and he was still morosely glaring at me albeit in silence now.  So I pictured grabbing the pillow that reeked of dried urine so I could kill him with it.

But I didn’t.  I couldn’t.

Regardless of how frustrated I was or how extremely helpless I felt, I couldn’t bear to kill him. What was there to lose? It’s not like he still earns a living. He doesn’t feed me. He is no fun anymore. He can’t even be a great soundboard. And no he no longer gives his solid opinion on things. But I can’t. Couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

Because despite everything, he’s still my father. He may not be a perfect dad there is and his shortcomings pretty much eat up all the good things that he etched in his life’s record book, he still biologically makes up a huge part of me, and well, politically, socially, emotionally and spiritually too, I suppose.

My father suffered from a major cerebrovascular accident three years ago. We lowly lifeforms call it a stroke. It paralyzed the right side of his body and severely affected his speech. I know of a lot of people who got over something like this. There are others who even taught their functioning body parts to do most of the job. Some practically rose from the ashes to become newer and better versions of themselves.

But not my Pa, my sweetpeas. Nah-uh.

Like most men, my father took this turning point of his life lying down, literally. If three years ago he cursed at his Creator, the world, everybody else and whoever was in the room, or cried and lamented at how this new chapter of his lifebook took a turn, I would have understood. But he didn’t. He took it with an eerily complete submission that those who know him pre-stroke would swear that it is an absolute 180-degree pivot. I wasn’t surprised though.  Delayed reaction, it may seem, but I can’t help but suspect that this is just an act of a scheming con artist because a year or so ago,  the old Pa seems to have resurfaced sans the mobility and the paralysis-free physique—the result was an  irreverent sick old man whose angst came in completely asshole proportions. The old cunning bastard is back—screaming and kicking, if only humanly possible for him.  Manipulative as hell, an emotional blackmailer extraordinaire. It’s hard to explain but despite all these, there’s something about Pa’s ways that still makes him difficult to unlove, to me at least.

Years before D-Day, he became somebody different. You see, my father used to be the typical macho, brusque, rugged, sly, shrewd, man-of-the-streets kind of guy. He’s the rebel without a cause poster boy. Well, it’s never always a case of “without a cause.” He comes from rather extremely complicated family not that it’s fair to blame it all on the family all the time but for lack of something better to justify it with, let’s just take that. Also, his childhood was a textbook case for shrinks.

I’m only human and while I don’t want to use it as an excuse, there are simply things that sometimes I don’t get to take the wheel of. I get pissed off when he screams in seemingly perfectly scheduled unholy hours past midnight. I get that murderous urge when he calls on residents of hell to take him out of his misery and whatever else unthinkable. But at the end of the day, he’s still my father. He played a huge part in my childhood, some of it really bad but some were actually happy moments and quite preparatory for when I had to face the real world (like, right now?). As I always tell my nephew every time we have one of those aunt-to-nephew heart to heart talks that only those who have an awesome aunt-to-nephew closeness like we have can ever have, one can only blame his/her parents for whatever rough-ups he/she has had in his/her lifetime for so long. Despite all the Freudian analyses about how our parents are the root of all evil (and then some) in our lives, I believe we have that thinking and discerning capacity that eventually lets us decide which route to take as we get a bit older.

So my father isn’t the model dad.  I’m no model daughter either.  I do love Papa not only because there’s so much about me that I can only thank him for but because not everything about him is his undoing and if I take it all out in him, my children, if I ever get to have my own kids somehow, might do the same to me and I don’t want that Not that one or the other matters because in this life, regardless of the kind of relationship that we have, he’s another human being and no matter how awful some people might have been in their lifetime, no one deserves to be disrespected.

I guess I can only pray.  For acceptance, for strength, for faith.  For my Ma to be stronger.  For her to live longer because I sure can’t face this alone.  It’s one of those moments when being unmarried is a curse—gives me no excuse to opt out.  I don’t go to church anymore for reasons that I have yet to precisely point a stubby finger on, but I do talk to God, and bless him, I believe he knows where I’m at where he’s concerned.  I guess in times like this, it helps to have something to cling on to.  Something.  Someone.

Not A Political Statement

22 03 2008

“Love is a human experience, not a political statement.”

Wow!  In this day and age, such profound words from an amazing and gorgeous young lady are a breath of fresh air.  There’s hope for this planet after all! 

Anne Hathaway IS something else.  She’s the recipient of this year’s HRC Ally for Equality Hero award. 

Coke Anyone? Juicy Tales from the Online Rumor Mill

15 03 2008

If you haven’t heard/read about it yet, then you must have been nursing a Jun Lozada fever still.  For some who have been fed up with all the heady (no pun intended) theatrics, the latest catfight online is a welcome distraction.  Beautiful release, Ms. MacLachlan? 

I’m talking about the whole Brian Gorell vs. Delfin Justiniano “DJ” Ocampo and the whole “Gucci Gang” hooplah that overpower the much hyped about Sergio-MariMar wedding, Lobo’s much-awaited transformation, Leo San Miguel’s not so surprising surprise, and the widely monitored Clinton-Obama race.  As Le Superstar Fabuleux Bryan put it, it’s “bigger than the Edison Chen scandal in Hong Kong.”  That’s quite something considering the last one’s really huge too!  I almost forgot Governor Spitzer’s major mishap!  Move over Ashley, we’ve got a new star.

I actually just stumbled upon it by accident.  A few clicks here and there later, it unfolded before my very eyes.  It’s sad for shallow gossipy me to have missed the Comments section of the now uber-popular resurrected blog but what I have read pretty much gave me a clearer picture of the whole hubbub.

Let me try to sum up the now much talked about scandal.  Brian Gorell, a man from Down Under, created a blog in (dis)honor of his ex-lover Delfin Justiniano “DJ” Ocampo Montano II.  He dissed the guy and his friends because the ex-boyfriend allegedly still owes him $70,000.  He said in his blog that he won’t stop until he gets his money back.  Now what’s shocking, other than the staggering amount of money, is that the blog talks bad about people move around in Manila’s party scene far more frequently than the rest of us mere mortals.  They, the Gucci Gang, according to the blog, are the young set of the Manila alta sociedad.  I’m sure you’ve heard of Celine Lopez (Philippine Star writer and daughter of former solons Albertito and Emily Relucio-Lopez), Marcel Crespo (Lopez’s ex-fiance and Mark Jimenez’s son), Wendy Puyat-Hotung (a swimwear designer), Tina Tinio (a L’Oréal executive) and Tim Yap (another party animal and entrepreneur).

Everyone loves a juicy tale.  Well, not in huge doses and snorts(!) but every now and then, we lurvvv it.  Schadenfreude after all, is a guilty pleasure.  But this one’s wild!  Not only does it talk nasty of a love affair gone sour, it also talks of the massive and reckless use of cocaine.  If it were to be taken in without question, it will definitely crush to pieces what remnants of reputation these people have left.

A few days ago, the blog was closed but it went live again sans the comments section because apparently it got nuked because of that.  Not that they can’t touch it now.  I mean anything is possible ’round here.  Hell hath no fury than a woman (and the like) scorned indeed but by golly, it gets really uglier by the minute!  Brian Gorell is HIV positive, by the way.  He said so himself.  He claims to have given up his farm in Australia and a lover of 20 or so years.  But he’s back there.  I am not sure how he’s getting on though.  I have one word for him.  Thailand.  The others?  I’m not really sure.  All I know is that they’re getting their share of the limelight one at a time.  And I’m sure they don’t like it this time.  I wonder if ABS-CBN will run this story if this blows.  Or PhilStar.  Tim Yap has been very visible in GMA but I don’t think he’s got that kind of power on the news and public affairs turf.  Gorell said the blog will close as soon as DJ Montano pays up.  I wonder when he’ll post the Western Union receipts.  That should somehow make a case.  This drama marathon is addictive in coke-like proportions!  LOL. 

Sniff.  Snort.  Aaah!

Before the blog closes again, you can check it out here.

Qué horor! Qué barbaridad!

Of Politics and Genealogy: US Edition

7 03 2008

My friend, Todd, never runs out of interesting genealogy-related posts. So I grabbed another interesting one. Everything after this sentence is taken from his blog.

US Presidential Family Trees

There is always a resurgence of genealogical interest every election season in the United States. In the past, genealogists believed that the presidential candidate with the most number of royal connections, ergo the “most royal” of all the aspirants, almost always wins the election.

Another angle to look at is the diversity of the family connections of a presidential candidate. This early on, using the references of online genealogical databases, let us examine who among Hillary Rodham Clinton, Barack Obama, and John McCain has the political, social, and royal pedigree.


Barack Obama, one of the two Democratic contenders for the presidency, is perhaps, among the three candidates, the most genealogically diversed. His bloodline consists of Luo (Kenyan), English, German, Irish, Welsh, and smattering of French and Dutch ancestries. His pedigree shows different groups of people spanning several generations from different places. (Click here to see his pedigree chart).

Obama’s Kenyan ancestry is sketchy, and is traced only through the male line. (Click here for a diagram of his Kenyan ancestry.) Much of his known family tree is through his maternal side, and it is here that we find many interesting relations to the senator.

Obama could count at least two royal ancestors: William I “the Lion”, King of Scotland, and Henry II of England. He is related to at least six US Presidents: Jimmy Carter (half 7th cousins three times removed), Harry Truman (7th cousins three times removed), the 2 George Bushes (10th cousins once and twice removed, respectively), Woodrow Wilson (husband of Obama’s 6th cousin five times removed), and James Madison (3rd cousin nine times removed). He is also a ninth cousin once removed of Vice-President Dick Cheney. He has several relative lawmakers and Supreme Court Justices, as well.

But Obama’s ancestry is not limited to political personalities. He is a 7th cousin four times removed of renowned artist Georgia O’Keefe, and his eighth cousin once removed, Elizabeth H. Richardson, was married to novelist Ernest M. Hemingway. Another relative is Gordon B. Hinkley, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Theodore N. Vail, founder of AT&T, is a sixth cousin four times removed, while banker JP Morgan is a 7th cousin four times removed.

Other interesting relations of Senator Obama are actors: Margaux Hemingway, his 9th cousin; Superman Christopher Reeve, a 7th couin twice removed, and Katharine Hepburn, a 7th cousin thrice removed, and Brad Pitt is a 9th cousin. Even Justin Timberlake is Obama’s 11th cousin! A truly interesting approach to American politics.


Interestingly, Senator Clinton’s ancestry is also as colorful as Obama’s, though not as diverse as his. While Obama’s relatives include people from the arts, politics, banking and finance, business, the Mormon church, and even royalty, Clinton’s are more concentrated on two areas: politics and the arts. (Click here for Clinton’s pedigree chart)

Her political relatives include Prime Ministers Pierre Trudeau and Jean Chretien of Canada. Other than these two popular Canadian politicians, most of Hillary’s more popular relatives are from the entertainment industry. Shania Twain is her 9th cousin three times removed, Celine Dion is her 10th cousin once removed, Alanis Morissette is her tenth cousin, while Madonna and Clinton are 10th cousins. Three very interesting notes on Hilary’s genealogy: her royal antecedents are supposed to be the Kings of Navarre, but there are no exact evidences for that; she is also a 10th cousin of Camila Shand, the Duchess of Cornwall and wife of Prince Charles; and, finally, actor Jon Voight is the husband of Marcheline Bertrand [and father of Angelina Jolie], Hillary’s 9th cousin once removed.


McCain’s antecedents are not as glamorous and diverse as Obama’s and Clinton’s. In fact,John McCain’s genealogy (for the time being) has only been traced to reveal two interesting people: one, to King William I “the Lion”, King of Scotland, who is McCain’s direct ancestor, and Laura Bush, wife of President George W. Bush, who happens to be a sixth cousin of Senator John McCain. (Click here for McCain’s pedigree chart).

In a world where political victories and losses are not as easily predicted as surveys are paraded and believed to be, looking at a candidate’s ancestry sometimes tells us who among the candidates is the strongest.

It is interesting to note that Obama and McCain share a common descent from King William of Scotland, and that Obama and Clinton are relatives by affinity because Obama’s cousin, Brad Pitt, married Angelina Jolie, the daughter of Jon Voight, Hillary’s cousin.

The fight between Hillary and Obama will be long and hard, considering that both have strong royal bloodlines and, while Obama have many US Presidential relatives, Clinton’s two Canadian Prime Minister cousins Trudeau and Chretien are two of the modern times’ most influential. And, between them are [sic] a plethora of singers and actors and actresses, each of whom have made an impact to the world.

Whoever wins in the Democratic race will ultimately face McCain who, while not having as many famous relatives as Obama and Clinton, certainly has the right relationship to incumbent George W. Bush, as well as also a royal descent from William of Scotland. It would seem that this November would be a face-off between Obama and McCain, both of whom are related to the Bushes and both sharing a common descent from King William of Scotland.


This article is based on several online genealogies of the three candidates, the most comprehensive of which is

Of Politics and Genealogy

4 12 2007

I grabbed these two blog posts from my friend Todd’s blog.

The original titles of the two separate entries are: RP Politics: A Family Affair and Tangled Webs of Families and Intrigues respectively.

They’re a tad too long for those who do not have the patience to read stuff like this but instead of separating these entries, I decided to enter them as one, hence the length. I find this very interesting. I hope you will too.

RP Politics: A Family Affair

In 1898, Emilio Aguinaldo declared the Philippines an independent and sovereign state and became this nation’s first president. A century plus three years later, his cousin, Gloria M. Arroyo, rose to the same position when Joseph Ejercito Estrada was toppled from power through the event known as People Power II. As it happened, Erap, too, was Gloria’s relative. In fact, in a complicated and Byzantine manner, almost all of our former leaders were related to one another, in one way or the other. Allow me to extrapolate.

Emilio Aguinaldo’s first cousin’s, General Baldomero Aguinaldo, great-grandson was Cesar E.A. Virata, the first and only Prime Minster of the Republic of the Philippines.

The Virata family, through marriage, is connected with the Acuña family. One Acuña married a scion of the Roxas family. The product of this marriage was former President Manuel A. Roxas, whose son Gerry Roxas was a former Senator and whose grandson, Mar Roxas III was a Trade and Industry secretary and currently a Senator of the Republic.

Also, due to his dalliance with Juanita McIlvain, former Miss Universe Margarita “Margie” Moran Floirendo just happens to be President Roxas’ granddaughter.

“President Manuel Roxas’ wife, Trinidad de Leon, was the daughter of former Senator Ceferino de Leon. Sen. De Leon’s brother, Jose, married Dona Narcisa “Sisang” Buencamino, one of the most successful movie magnates in her time. Narcisa’s first cousin’s son was Philip Buencamino, who married Nene Quezon, daughter of President Manuel Luis Quezon.

Further, another scion of the Roxas family was Margarita Roxas, whose marriage to Antonio de Ayala produced Trinidad de Ayala. Trinidad later married Jacobo Zobel and started the legendary Zobel De Ayala family.

Some of the minor branches of the Zobel de Ayala family married into the other aristocratic families of Manila. The Aranetas, Ayalas, Elizaldes, Prietos, and more. Through the Roxas family’s connection with the Aranetas, former Tourism Secretary and beauty queen Gemma Cruz-Araneta is also related to Pres. Roxas.

It must also be remembered that Gemma Cruz’s paternal great-grandmother was Dona Maria Rizal, the sister of our national hero, Jose P. Rizal.

Gemma Cruz’s mother, Carmen, remarried Mr. Angel Nakpil, the nephew of Julio Nakpil, composer of a version of the Philippine National Anthem, who in turn was the husband of Gregoria De Jesus, the “Muse of the Katipunan.”

Gregoria de Jesus was also the widow of Katipunan founder Andres Bonifacio. Similarly, two of Gemma’s first cousins, Paz and Maria Cruz Banaad, married Bienvenido and Roberto Laurel, respectively, relatives of former Vice-President Salvador “Doy” Laurel, son of President Jose P. Laurel.

Two branches of the Araneta family further married presidential daughters; the first one being Juan Miguel Arroyo, whose second cousins are Aranetas. He married then Ms. Gloria M. Macapagal, daughter of President Diosdado Macapagal. Of course, GMA is now the country’s Chief Executive. The second to marry a presidential daughter was Greggy Araneta who married Irene Romualdez Marcos, the youngest child of President Ferdinand Edralin Marcos and Imelda Romualdez. The Araneta-Marcos marriage further stretches our already complicated family connections.

A maternal grandfather of Marcos, Don Fructuoso Edralin, was a cousin of Gen. Antonio Luna and his brother the Filipino national artist, Juan Luna. Juan Luna in turn married Paz Pardo de Tavera, of a rich and powerful Spanish-Filipino family.

Ferdinand Marcos’ grandfather’s sister, Crispina Marcos, married Hilario Valdez. Their daughter, Angela Valdez, married Ambassador Narciso Ramos, father of Fidel V. Ramos, also a President of the Republic. Narciso Ramos, after becoming a widower, married Alfonsita Lucero, whose father’s maternal family, the Birondos of Argao, Cebu, married into the Almendras family of Cebu and Davao.

Alfonsita’s fourth cousin, William Birondo, married Kukit Tecala, whose uncle, Pedro Tecala Sr., married Sofronia Almendras. Two of Sofronia’s siblings married into political families. Her brother, Paulo Almendras, married Elisea Durano, the daughter of Demetrio Durano and progenitor of the Durano family that has ruled Danao and Sogod, Cebu for many years. A prominent member of the Durano family is Ace Durano, a former representative and now Tourism Secretary.

Another cousin of Alfonsita, Dr. Procopio Lucero, Jr., married Gliseria Gullas, sister of politicians Jose and Eduardo Gullas.

Still another fourth cousin of Alfonsita is Hilario Davide, Sr., whose son is Hilario G. Davide, Jr., a former Chief Justice of the Philippine Supreme Court.

A son of Paulo was former Senator Alejandro Almendras, whose marriage to a Bendigo of Davao City connected them to the ruling families of Davao: the Banggoys, Palma Gils, Lizadas, Nograleses and others. The current House of Representative Majority Leader is Prospero “Boy” Nograles from Davao City. Senator Almendras’ brother, Josefino, married Rosita Dimataga, the sister of Leonila Dimataga, who in turn was the wife of President Carlos P. Garcia.

One of Sofronia’s sisters was married to an Osmeña, thus linking them to the family of President Sergio Osmeña. Most of President Osmeña’s male descendants have become senator, governor, mayor, Representative, and councilor at various points in time and his family remains the premier political dynasty of Cebu: Tomas is the current mayor of Cebu City; other members of the family who held or are holding political offices are Jing-Jing, Emilio “Lito”, John, John-John, and many more.

President Osmeña’s half-sister was Doña Modesto Singson-Gaisano, the matriarch of the affluent Gaisano family of Cebu City. Modesta was a progeny of Don Pedro Gotiaoco, whose other descendants include Atty. Agusto Go, President of the University of Cebu and Honorary South Korean Consul; John Gokongwei, Jr., a great-grandson of Don Pedro Gotiaoco and the owner of Cebu Pacific, Robinson’s Mall, JG Summit, and many more; and the Sy-Gaisano family, who operate chains of shopping malls all over Visayas and Mindanao. A grandson of the brother of Don Pedro is Andrew Gotianun, who owns FILINVEST Group and East West Bank.

Imelda Romualdez’s marriage to Marcos also brought in many famous personalities. Imelda’s daughter, Imee, currently a member of the House of Representatives, married Tommy Manotoc, whose mother was related to a wife of Genny Lopez, whose own nephew Beaver married Jackie Estrada, daughter of Pres. Erap Estrada.

Her own niece, Marean Romualdez, daughter of her brother Gov. Alfredo Romualdez, married Thomas Pompidou, the grandson of the French President Georges Pompidou.

Imelda’s first cousin, Senator Danieling Romualdez, married Pacita Gueco of Tarlac. In an ironic twist of fate, Pacita Gueco happened to be the first cousin of the Senator Benigno Aquino Jr.

Of course, the Aquinos themselves have allied with many political families, and a scion of the Aquino clan was Senator Eva Estrada Kalaw, one of the Philippines’ very first female senators.

Ninoy’s marriage to the heiress Corazon Cojuanco also allied his family to another political dynasty. Corazon Aquino, after her husband’s heroic death in 1983, later became the country’s first female Chief Executive. Her maternal family, the Sumulongs, have also produced several lawmakers. The Cojuangco family, on the other hand, owns one of the oldest-existing haciendas in the country today, and the Cojuangcos control many of the country’s business enterprises.

Two Cojuancos, sons of Cory’s cousins Ramon and Eduardo, respectively, married (sic) Rio Diaz (Charlie Cojuanco), sister of former Miss Universe Gloria Diaz and Gretchen Baretto (Tony Boy Cojuanco). Gretchen’s sisters are Claudine and Marjorie, themselves married to actors. Cory’s niece, equestrienne Mikee Cojuangco, married Dodot Jaworski, son of basketball legend and Sen. Robert Jaworski. Senator Jaworski, on the other hand, married Susan Bautista Revilla, daughter of Sen. Ramon Revilla Sr., whose son Bong Revilla was a former governor and Senator. This connection, no doubt, extends this family tree to most of the country’s movie personalities.

Clearly, this Byzantine illustration of family connection is proof of the intricacies of Philippine politics. In this short presentation we have already linked no less than 12 of our 14 Presidents, one Prime Minister, two former Miss Universe winners, several senators and many other personalities, political or otherwise. We have even connected our “Philippine Family Tree” to a former French President! Imagine what further research into the other family trees could reveal?

Philippine politics, undoubtedly, is a family affair.

Tangled Webs of Families and Intrigues

What do President Arroyo, Ping Lacson, Erap Estrada, Imelda Marcos, Danding Cojuangco, Ace Durano, and Nerissa Soon-Ruiz have in common other than all being involved in the Davide impeachment, one way or the other? Well, they all also happen to be related to each other, in one way or the other.

President Gloria Arroyo, alleged to be behind the Davide impeachment, is married to Mike Arroyo, of the infamous JOSE PIDAL CONTROVERSY, whose own grandfather, Jose Maria PIDAL Arroyo, married a Lacson, who also happens to be related to Senator Panfilo Lacson, whose KURATONG BALELENG case has been reoppened by Davide. Mike is similarly a second cousin of Aranetas, whose one member, Greggy, is married to Irene Marcos, daughter of Imelda Marcos, also having recently received a negative SC ruling on her SWISS ACCOUNTS. Irene’s sister, Imee, married Tommy Manotoc, whose mother is related also to the wife of Geny Lopez, whose family has recently also received a blow from the Supreme Court because of their MERALCO RULING. Another Lopez, Beaver, married Jackie Ejercito, daughter of deposed President Joseph Estrada, whose ouster was legalized by an SC ruling declaring GMA’s presidency constitutional in 2001. Meanwhile, Imelda’s first cousin, Danieling Romualdez, married Pacita Gueco, first cousin of Ninoy, whose marriage to Cory Cojuangco made related him to Danding Cojuangco, another recipient of a negative SC ruling, this time on the COCO LEVY FUNDS. He is similarly related to Rep. Teodoro, his own nephew. Imelda’s marriage to Ferdinand Marcos goes on to relate her to FVR, who was Marcos’ 2nd cousin. FVR’s stepmother’s, Alfonsita Birondo Lucero vda. de Ramos’s, fourth cousin William Birondo married an Almendras, who is in turn a cousin of Ace Durano, a signatory of the impeachment rap against Davide. Another fourth cousin of Alfonsita, James Lucero, married Nazarena Soon, the sister of Nerissa Soon-Ruiz, another impeachment signatory. It seems really astounding that all those involved in the Davide impeachment are related, but what’s more astonishing is that they are all also related to the man they are trying to persecute. How? Well, FVR’s stepmom is also the fourth cousin of the embattled Chief Justice, both coming from Don Agustin Cristobal Bayot of Argao, Cebu, who is both their great-great-great-grandfather.

Who says genealogy is boring?

Giggles and Flirtation

2 12 2007

I used to actively chat via mIRC when I started out in college.  I guess it was around the time when the now extremely popular IRC client took its babysteps too.  Then came ICQ (an oronym for I seek you) but I never really liked it for some reason.  It was around that time when I first created my Yahoomail and Eudoramail accounts.  Looking back, I can never really believe how far everything has gone.  During that time, sending SMS was limited to the rich kids.  But later on, mobile phones have become almost an extention to our body parts.  Even the families who could barely eat three square meals have at least one. 

When my father’s aide asked permission to buy a cellphone, I had a long talk with him.  I told him that while I don’t have anything to do with whatever he does with his life and his money, we definitely hope that buying a gadget that would test his priorities, would not affect his priorities.  He came here from a far-flung barrio where his father would beat him up if he couldn’t hand over a few coins to buy booze.  He came here because we need him as much as he needs us.  My father is paralyzed and because old men are the most hard-headed patients in the world, he has never recovered from his stroke.  He has become totally dependent to the not-so-young boy for even the simplest of things—from scratching his back to feeding him—to the messiest of them all, like wiping him clean after defecating, sponge-bathing him, and doing covert ops just so he could eat ice cream in the middle of the night when my mom specifically told him not to and so many other things.  My dad, even when he was in tiptop shape, has always been a handful.  That’s where I got most of my traits, I guess—his gene pool.  So anyway, we all know how it felt like when we first had our first ever mobile phone with SMS capabilities.  I kinda expected the changing of ringing tones, message alert tones, the horrendous volume, the non-stop-I’ll-trip-over-but-I-dont-care-just-so-long-as-i-can-finish-this-message thing, etc.  Because I am nocturnal, I get really hot-headed in the morning a few minutes before I sleep or when my sleep is interrupted during the day.  And because he had his message alert tone changed to some pop tune, the darn phone pumps up the volume non stop after lunch when everybody in the house is asleep for siesta, including him.  And because I’m a light sleeper–that depends actually on the kind of noise–I always get to be the one who hears the alert.  After three consecutive messages, I rush downstairs and try to find the darn phone and lo! and behold! it’s right near the landline phone in the living room.  So I looked for the owner of the loud phone.  And my, oh, my, the good boy is in deep slumber, with his mouth wide open as if waiting for manna from heaven to fall.  So there I was, fully awake after around just 3 hours of sleep after almost 36 hours of working.  In a very bad mood.  I make it a point never to do anything when I’m all angry and pissed.  And so I tried desperately to go back to sleep.  So sleep I did until around 7PM which made my head hurt real bad.  I don’t like sleeping till around that time because it always makes my head hurt like hell.  I went back to work and downed a whole pint of vanilla ice cream.  God, that was heavenly.

And so one day, I called him and asked him to sit down for another one of my attempts at diplomacy.  So I said…I understand how it is to have a new phone and to be new in the SMS arena but if could just put his phone in silent mode when he’s in Papa’s room, that would really be great.  Or he could leave his cellphone in his room so it won’t disturb anyone if he doesn’t want to change the alert tone. 

A few hours later, I heard the phone screaming mercilessly.  So I called him and asked him what’s going on.  He had the volume set to 5 so he could hear it even from Papa’s room.  Now, isn’t he wise!

So anyway, our houseboy has expanded his vocabulary, thanks to text education, to a few more English words.  He has also acted like a male dog in heat.  He has since become (and became) the boyfriend of almost all the housemaids in the subdivision and in the nearby bakery. 

Much to my mom’s utter disgust, of course.  But I try to tell her that I understand.  It’s so easy to flirt over the phone, online and even over the good old snail mail—pen pals anyone?  We all have different worlds and for people who do not have to think of anything else other than waking up and serving his bosses, I think he deserves whatever surge of lust or something like it that he’s been indulging to these days.  SO LONG AS IT DOES NOT AFFECT HIS WORK.  Well, there have been lapses but I think things have been addressed pretty clearly and I am keeping my fingers crossed that nothing bad will happen.  What is a little concession like that for days of peace and order!  If it makes him happy, then it causes a chain reaction.  Happy employees are more effectively productive and that means happier employer.

So, now, let’s go back to moi.  I once had a two-year relationship with a guy I met online way back in college.  Well, make that three.  The other two were merely sinfully wonderful and memorable flings so they don’t really count as relationships but just for the sake of statistics, let’s count them in.  There’s something about exchanging naughty and teasing comments with someone who’s not physically near you that makes things a whole lot more, er, tingly. 

When the cameras were integrated into mobile phones, my then boyfriend asked me to send him “sexy” pix and he returned the favor.  Since I was in a semi-long distance relationships, the ooohs and aaaahs over texts and later phone calls sufficed.  Then with the advent of more modern tech, um, simultaneous indulgence of self-help developed cult-like support online.  Sad to say, it has degenerated the nature of flirting and harmless chatting with strangers. 

I traverse the long and winding information superhighway every day and because of that people constantly ask me what cybersex is, or if I’ve met someone online who will whisk me off poverty in the Philippines to some sugar-coated gingerbread house in the land of milk and honey or somewhere far from this Pearl of the Orient.  Well, I can explain in a very clinical and academic way what cybersex is and how it is done but in terms of chatting with someone who will eventually become a special part of my life, the answer is a resounding, eeeeeenkkkkk! 

NO.  As a single (Asian) female, I do get into those moods when I feel like I really want to be with someone.  My former landlady tells me I’m on NPO for now—medical practitioners, go figure—and for someone who had been not on NPO for a collective and straight seven or so years, it’s quite hard.  They say you don’t crave for something that you haven’t really tried.  Well, I have and so I crave.  But despite being a cosmo girl who understood Carrie’s consternation at the prospect of losing her Manolos to a “shoe-napper”, I think my quick tumble in the hay days are over.  I am not into that anymore.  Well, if the opportunity presents itself, why not?  But I have made my circle so small that even I could not turn around that easily.  So what opportunity are we talking about?  I’m not complaining, mind you.  But the thing is, I meet people online.  From work, through blogs, through wherever.  And while I am a natural tease and flirt, being asked for a cam view and for something to start a few minutes after you even say hi, is a tad too weird for me.  After a long hiatus from chatting, I tried getting into one of those chatrooms in Yahoo and jeeez, people seem to talk in one language and all they ask and talk about is sex, cams and cums!  Whatever happened to friendship and getting to know you while we flirt occasionally without really meaning anything much?  It’s just me getting all cheeky and clenched butt. 

I remember one masseuse who’s a friend of my mom.  She’s quite talkative—a trait that I really do not appreciate while getting a massage.  But when conversations turn green, even in my half-awake, half-asleep state, my ears still perk up.  So anyway, she just got widowed and so she’s been the brunt of jokes about looking for an “American” (the word is enclosed in quotation marks because sometimes we have this penchant of calling all foreigners American) husband.  She said she tried chatting but she gets uncomfy when the guy that she chats up with shows his dick right out and asks her to show her boobs or slit in return.  So she makes up excuses about not having a cam and all that jazz while she and her relatives watch while the “American” on the other side of the internet touches himself till everything limps down and the guy excused himself so he can “dry off” and “clean up” that usually means going to the bathroom or grabbing a roll of toilet paper for some. 

While I do not want to sound prissy, this simply does not turn me on.  I don’t know.  I get turned on by witty conversations that are peppered with flirtations and naughty innuendos but being other than that, I can always get into the part and just type some “motivational” lines for the other party. 

Needless to say, I’m not on a serious quest to find someone who’ll treat me like a princess and not for anything else.  When I’m 30 and I’m still not “in a relationship” as Friendster puts it, I will panic.  But only for a moment.  I think I have a healthy enough self-esteem to know that it’s not being in a relationship that matters—it’s in having fun while we can in a way that we will have fun indeed.  Perhaps, I still have unresolved personal issues to take care of and I think I will not make a good partner until I iron out whatever ugly wrinkles there are in my shirt. 

I have recently been getting proofs how big a liar my ex-boyfriend is and his audacity of continuously denying so many things even when I know what the real score is have been such huge downers lately.  Well, there’s work.  It gets me down but not emotionally so occasional online flirtations with people that I don’t really know, help big time.  Well, I’m choosy.  I don’t like wimps and younger guys.  And I have very little time.  So when I do get into that kind of mood, I’ll go for knights (or badass chicks!) in rusty armors while I wear my French maid’s costume.  Don’t get me started on how to use the feather duster!  LOL. 

But well, I miss blogging and even if I’m not making any sense, I am quite happy that I have blabbered a thought too many somehow. 

Oh, and I’m not in THAT mood right now, with over 70 web pages to revise, I don’t think I can afford to let out even a lusty sigh.  So, a piu tardi! Molto grazie! Ciao! 

Free Fallin’

22 10 2007

A pingback today brought me back to good ‘ol dormdays in UP.  There’s this band, The Bridge, whose members (there were just three of them then, I’m not really sure if they’ve added a few more to their team) are the type who would make any “girl” giggle—brooding look, silent, very talented, seemingly shy, lanky, unshaven, in jeans, husky, husky voice!—you get the picture, girls!  Well, they didn’t have that much of a following but in our dorm and theirs, they were already celebs in their own right.  One of my closest friends had a huge crush on one of their lead vocalist that there were moments when we really stalked the guy! Then I developed a huge crush on his cousin, who was also a major role player in their band.  In UP Fair ’98, they gave an undies-snapping rendition of Change the World by Eric Clapton.  They figured in so many other gigs in UP and in the small but popular bars near UP (70s Bistro, Freedom Cafe, Ora Cafe–those were their names then).  Their favorite song, or so we thought, because they used to sing it a lot, was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ Free Fallin’ and man, what a song.  I mean we, women, are drawn to bad guys who are full of angst and a soft spot somewhere.  So, check this out:

“Free Fallin’”
Free Fallin

By Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne
Copyright © 1989 Gone Gator Music (ASCAP)/ SBK April Music Inc. (ASCAP)
All rights reserved. Used by permission.

She’s a good girl, loves her mama
loves Jesus and America too
She’s a good girl, crazy ’bout Elvis
loves horses and her boyfriend too

It’s a long day livin’ in Reseda
there’s a freeway runnin’ through the yard
and I’m a bad boy, ’cause I don’t even miss her
I’m a bad boy for breakin’ her heart

And I’m free, I’m free fallin’

All the vampires walkin’ through the valley
move west down Ventura Blvd.
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts

(Repeat Chorus)

I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I wanna free fall out into nothin’
Gonna leave this world for awhile

(Repeat Chorus)

Working My Arse Off

21 10 2007

I’ve been unusually busy the past few days.  I do manage to go to sleep—the kind where my body just surrenders itself to the bed and then to slumber—at around half past five in the morning, at least for the past few days.  As if programmed by a Wake Up button, my system automatically reboots at around eight in the morning and my arm automatically extends itself so my hand could grab my phone and check the time, which is of course, always a few minutes shy of or a few minutes over eight.  Then I squint and look at my notebook’s screen to see how many new messages have come in while I was catching a few winks.  I can now make out from a 6-meter distance when I have an important message.  Usually if the new messages were folders filled with paperwork, they’re usually already a meter long up my desk but since they’re just in my inbox, I could say that I can measure them by the inches from afar and they’re always around six inches.  So I creep up to my chair and try to force myself to really wake up.  I check the e-mails, answer a few of them.  Ignore the YM messages and write on the whiteboard the things that I need to finish in a few hours.  And then I slump my still tired body to bed. 

I don’t go back to sleep.  My mom would come in after a few minutes to say that if I will eat at all, food’s ready.  And I would grunt in response.  Talk about ugly sounds. 

So I stay where I am until the image of my whiteboard embeds itself into my memory lane.  Just plain work waiting to be finished.  Sigh.  So I wash my face, brush my teeth, gargle oral antiseptic, change into my house clothes and go down to wave at my dad whose door is always open—he’s hardly mobile due to a cerebrovascular accident (CVA) more commonly known as stroke so he’s always in bed—play with the dogs, clean up their mess, check the beetle, stand motionless by the door and stare blankly at nowhere until my mom asks me something, head back to my room, slump back to bed, take a shower, change into a fresh set of clothes and whatever else—not necessarily in that order. 

But I guess I can’t complain.  In November last year, while I was living my own life, my brother, who I haven’t spoken with for over a year because of our personal differences, patched things up with me, or so I thought.  Well, he needed my “help” because he felt something physiologically incorrect in his body and he didn’t want to alarm anybody else so he went to the person that he knows rarely gets “alarmed” over any emergency–ME!  So, I took him to a hospital in Cebu, got him one of the best doctors whose specialization covered his “illness” and so after that, we became “close” again and he went back home with the assurance that he’s ok.  Then came December.  My sister had a general checkup in May and was given a clean bill of health but in July, she felt a lump in her left breast.  In August, she had a fine needle aspiration biopsy and was advised to have a frozen section biopsy because of suggestive mammary carcinoma, or breast cancer.  Typical of us Filipinos, they put it off.  When I learned about it, I went home and almost dragged her by the hair so she could have that biopsy.  True enough, she had breast cancer and after two days, she had a radical mastectomy leaving her breastless, well, at least in the left.  So until April, I accompanied her to her chemotherapy sessions.  The biopsy after the mastectomy was great.  It showed that all cancer cells were removed during the surgery but she had to go through chemo sessions just to be doubly sure that the chances of recurrence won’t be that high. 

In March, my boyfriend of over five years and I broke up in a very life-draining way.  I suspended the mourning period until my sister was not with me in Cebu because I believed that I could mope and cry my heart out in due time.  And that’s what I did for a whole month from April to May.  Then I packed my things and headed back home to “forget” and to start anew.  And then my sister, who’s a nurse based in NY, announced that she’s coming home for a short short visit.  And since no one at home cared enough to clean up the house, I did most of the scrubbing and whatnots on all fours, contacted carpenters, plumbers, etc to fix everything that needed fixing.  July came and so did my sister.  Then they left. 

Needless to say, the freelancer moi gave up a lot of projects from November up to around July this year.  So I started to contact my old clients and checked if work was available.  I also placed bids in some freelancer haven of a website to get new projects.  Work started to come in slowly in August and September and now, God is good, I’m swamped.  So yeah, I’ve been really busy that I couldn’t even find time to flirt that much anymore.  Jeez!  The only time I get to touch myself even, is when I take a bath or after I pee!  But like any other woman, I don’t really feel that lacking. 

So yeah, I don’t make sense anymore.  But I needed to write something to keep me sane.  there you go.


17 10 2007

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time—
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,

I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been sacred of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You—-

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

Sylvia Plath

TV Series–Episode ONE

6 10 2007

I don’t have patience for TV series.  I forget schedules.  I can’t take cliffhangers.  And so what I do is forget about something I really like and when it’s all over, I get the DVD of the whole season and watch episode after episode until I get pissed because a cliffhanger at the end makes me want to teleport to the future just so I can see the next season. 

In a way, this is the reason why I like series that have already marked the end of their run.  Friends, Sex and the City, The Sopranos, Alias, Gilmore Girls, and many others.  Well, if you haven’t seen CSI from season 1, then it’s also good.  Bad if you work for a company or for the government because I remember calling in sick on a Monday night just so I could finish the last 4 episodes of the 4th season three years ago after going at it straight for almost 3 days. 

I love the SHOWTIME series The Tudors.  Not only because my mom infected me with that fondness for anything that involves monarchy, but because I looove Jonathan Rhys Myers.  He was with Scarlett Johansson in that Woody Allen movie, Match Point. He’s not the conventionally good looking guy but he is HOT!  Well, I am drawn to sexy sexy bad boys who have personal issues–he’s an alcoholic.  Hehe.  And having a looooooot of sexy scenes in both Match Point and The Tudors doesn’t help.  LOL.  Which is why, I can’t wait for the second installment. 2008 is inching up way tooooo slow for me.  Peter O’Toole is set to join the cast, which makes it all the more interesting.  Thing is, every time I see Peter O’Toole, I remember his scenes in Caligula and even if Malcolm McDowell topbilled that movie, I remember O’Toole more.  I even had to watch that sick movie again when I realized that Helen Mirren was in there.  Jeeez.  Hehehe.  I mean that movie was ok but, man, that was really just sick.  I respect people’s sexual perspectives and their “methodology” but that movie was really disturbing.  But then again, I think it had lots to do with Malcolm McDowell as well.  He always makes movies and TV shows unforgettable everytime he figures in them. 

I also love Grey’s Anatomy because Meredith Grey is clumsy and funny and real.  And because I am in awe of doctors.  I want to be one but I can never be one.  Ugh!  And of course, who wouldn’t love George O’Malley! Unless of course, you can’t separate the character from the real-life actor and you are a homophobe.  I am also wowed by Addison Shepard.  She’s the poster girl for glam.  I can’t wait for Private Practice, Grey’s spin-off, to officially go on air and wrap up the first season at least, so I can watch the whole season uninterruptedly.

I am hating CSI (Vegas, Miami and NY) now because I can’t wait for the new seasons.  Sigh.

I also like Rome.  I love anything that’s historical, which is why I also like the Korean TV shows Jewel in the Palace, Jumong and Hwang Jin-i.

I love a**holes who play lead not only because I like the ATTITUDE! but because they justify my being a bitch in a way as well.  LOL.  And that is why I love Boston Legal, the awesome spin-off of The Practice, and HouseAlan Shore reminds me of Napoleon Chotas, the lawyer of Constantin Demiris of Sidney Sheldon‘s The Other Side of Midnight and Memories of Midnight.

More of this later…

Rape It or Leave It

5 10 2007

As I said, I wanted to write some more about this after having been triggered by Snooky Serna‘s shocking disturbing revelation made me have one of those rare me-times.  I remember a few friends—girl friends.  In one way or another, they experienced the worst physical and sexual assault any woman could ever get—they got raped.  And much as I hate to think of it this way, I think I did too. 

One of the reasons why I was a huge fan of the late Raul Roco way before he became too “mainstream”, was his gender advocacy, and his landmark bills that later on became laws remain very helpful to every woman in the land.  Well, at least on paper.  He was the main man behind the amendment of the rape law in the Philippines—by making the definition of rape broader and ultimately changing it into a crime against persons from being just a crime of chastity.  The amendment to the provisions of the law already included marital rape, and both wife and husband may now be charged with rape. 

I’m not a lawyer.  I am not an expert on laws, implementing rules and regulations and any other legalese.  But I know one thing.  In this country, sexuality is governed by a lot of factors—social institutions like the Church, chauvinism, and most especially the culture of silence.  And because of that, violence against women is kept behind closed doors and bit lips. 

Back in UP, I hung out with a few girls who were really fun.  And fearless–or so I thought.  One of them once went out with a guy who still figures in the Philippine primetime TV.  This happened sometime in the late 90s.  After dinner, the guy drove the car around and parked in a dark secluded area.  They then started to make out.  After a few minutes, the girl stopped and asked him to stop as well.  Baffled, the guy looked at the girl and raised one of his eyebrows.  He told her to stop playing games and get on with it because he has another appointment in an hour.  The girl struggled and attempted to get out of the locked car (um, power locks were not really super common then, well, at least, not in our school!) but she couldn’t.  Not only was the place as black as the guy’s perineum, she didn’t know where they were and no one was in sight.  And so, she let him feast on her unwilling body.  The guy drove her home after that and they never saw each other again.  The girl kept it to herself until it became too hard to contain so she told us.  But made everybody swear never to say anything to anybody. 


1)  Though sexually “emancipated” we never knew that we should go to the hospital right away to get a rape kit.  And much as I was awed when Catherine made an improvised rape kit in one of CSI‘s episodes, that’s not really admissible in the court of law in the real world.

2)  The Anti-Rape Law was not yet a law. 

3) Telling people that you are raped means your reputation is torn into pieces.  In this part of the world, the victim is the one at fault for giving the suspect a MOTIVE!

4)  People would not believe her because she didn’t have any tangible evidence.  She didn’t have witnesses.  And she willingly went out with him to the point of even making out with him. 

Date rape is what it’s called but do people come out and sue their assailants?  Or even their boyfriends?  No.  Some tried to.  The Subic Rape Case is perhaps one of those but I can only speculate.

Another incident flashed in my mind, well, at least the story as told by my friend to me.  It was so graphic that I can’t help but get mental pix.  Influenced by the Kama Sutra and porn, her boyfriend told her to take him from behind.  While it’s not something really new, the girl wasn’t really into it and so she refused.  She tried to guide him, errr, lower (her back was to him).  But her boyfriend forcibly went into his preferred slot without any lube! Not only was it extremely painful, it was against her will and she couldn’t do anything because she was in a position where she couldn’t just run away and she was butt-naked in the guy’s bathroom.  The guy had his fill and took a shower.  She went out and dressed up.  It’s not at all like a movie scene where the girl cries in the shower after a rape sequence.  The guy apologized afterwards and as one’s youth can sometimes be one’s personal nemesis, my friend forgave the guy and although they never did it again, she found it so hard to forget the pain.  A few months later, she caught the guy cheating on her with one of their blockmates.  The nerve!

My ex-boyfriend and I used to tell each other that we should “rape” each other every now and then, for the kicks and well, the kinks.  And we used to, every now and then.  But it’s different when you “want” to be “raped” from being raped or even forced to do something that you can’t regardless of whether or not it’s sexual in nature. 

The best part of the Anti-Rape Law in the Philippines is that people in power who use that “power” to make you do the things that you don’t want to do can be sued and possibly get jailtime.  The worst part of the whole experience is when you can’t even do anything to stop it, and even when it has stopped, you can’t even talk about it…

Not even blog about it.

On Singlehood and Aging

27 09 2007

I am 27 years old. 




Happy?  Getting there. 

Getting married?  No. 

Batang Buotan started the whole talk about getting hitched.  Now I’m thinking about the whole getting married rush that somehow resembles that of Christmas shopping. 

It started early the other day (um, noontime in most people’s world), when I remembered that my cousin passed the nursing licensure exam and I haven’t even bothered to congratulate him.  Since we don’t really exchange messages, I texted his mom, who, when I was in college, acted like my other cool mom.  I congratulated her–remember the TV ad that says, “dahil napalaki akong mabuti, dapat daw pong kilalanin kung sinong nanay ko!” sensya nag di sakto. 

Me: Mommy, ngayon lang po ako nakapag-text, sowee.  Congrats po, may nurse na kayo.  One down!  Hehe.

Mommy: Tnx, anak!  Yep, LA made it!  Nw binubuno nman revw NCLEX, hirap dw! Nov nxt yr, owen nman, civ. engg.  Eldest imee grad na?  Sbay kc cla LA ngcolege.

Me: Di pa po.  He transferred po kasi from UP to San Carlos then shifted pa from Bio to ECE, which is a 5-year course.  His younger sis po malamang sa March ga-graduate.  Nurse din po.  Kaya po yan ni LA, I’m sure.

Mommy: Ah ok.  Eh u ok klang? Wen kasal mo? Atend ako! hehehe

Me: La pa rin po akong naloko, mommy, after that stormy stormy 5-year thingie that I got out of.  Besides, I’m holed up in my room 24/7.  Si Mama lang palagi kong kausap.  I don’t go to their room that often eh kaya I don’t get to talk to Papa that much, although nag-gu-goodmorning ako from outside every time I wake up.  Hehe.  Chaka,  would you really recommend getting hitched?  Sus! Manonood na lang ako ng Startalk!  Hehe.

Mommy: Gud choice nt getting hitched just find right partner and loving loving only. Take care, love you.

Didn’t I say she’s cool?  She’s a general’s daughter who has seen a real toro in the 80s together with other St. Paul kolehiyalas.  Hehe.  I super love her. 

Anyways, I have always told my mother, since I was in high school, that I would never get married.  Three weddings happened at in succession sometime between 1992-1995 in the family.  There’s five of us.  Our eldest brother got married a hundred years ago before 1992.  So that leaves moi as the sole single member of the family.  I always tell my mom that I would never get married but live in sin for life. 

But you see, things don’t always go as planned.  People meet people.  Some of the people that we meet become our friends, some even become “more than friends” with us.  And when we get into relationships, we can’t help but think about the future.  My last boyfriend and I were headed there–or so I thought, no, that’s what he made me think even when we were first starting to profess love for each other (yuck!).  Five years and a few more months after, I finally realized that we were never going anywhere and the relationship was built on very weak foundations–fights, sex, alcohol and utter immorality.  I’m not a prude but my sensibilities do get offended every now and then.  And so I let go.  Well, I planned to.  I never realized that letting go of something that you have nurtured and gotten used to for half a decade is so hard.  They said that it takes at least two months for each year that you’re in a relationship to get over it when it’s over.  That gives me four more months.

It was not the wedding that I looked forward to, although I’d be lying if I’d say that I didn’t want to walk down the aisle in a fabulous white (or cream-colored) gown with a very long train.  But most importantly, I looked forward to “settling down” with my partner in a place that “we” own, and to buying things together, and perhaps starting a family together.  Gretchen Barreto said, “What she had was a wedding, but what I have with Tony is a marriage” in response to Lani Mercado‘s wish for her to “have a marriage” with Tonyboy Conjuangco in the height of their word war early this year.  The ceremony is not THAT important indeed.  While I’m not really for La Greta that time, I understood her. 

So there.  I’m not in a hurry and my relatives know better than to ask me about whos and whens.  My mom kids me about it but I never felt it was ever necessary to catch the train.  I can always walk, or wait for the next lifetime.  Even if it’ll take me over 10 years to get over my life-draining breakup, I’ll go through that.  And if somebody else comes along, and when I’m ready for a new relationship, I’ll make it sweeter the next time.  But never will I rush into getting married.  Annulment in this country is very expensive and if divorce gets adopted into the Family Law, I would not want to go through the ordeals of courtroom drama. 

One thing’s for sure, I will never get wed for the wrong reasons–financial, emotional, psychological, social, moral.  I will get married when I feel that I am ready–financially, emotionally, psychologically, socially, morally.  As a woman, I remember what Uma Thurman said in Oprah, when she talked about her painful separation with Ethan Hawke.  She said that women must be financially stable and independent because the hardest part about being in a relationship is when you can’t let go because you won’t know if you’ll be able to support yourself.  Much as I’d love to marry MONEY, I don’t want to be left wanting when it’s all gone and washed away. 

But well, as my aunt pointed out, I’ll just find the right partner and loving loving only!

Ang Kabayo–The Sequel

27 09 2007

I remember one story that my mother (and my father, and my sisters, and my brothers) told me about a Boy Scout camping-related incident that happened sometime in the late 60s. 

You see, my siblings are lucky because they went to school together, with only 2-3-year intervals between them.  Not only did they have one another then, they also had tons of our relatives so you can just imagine all the fun that they all had. I was born a million years after everybody left grade school.  

So one time, my eldest brother finally broke into the initial stages of getting into the world of men–as a cub scout.  He belonged to the same troop as one of our cousins.  One of the highlights of getting into “scouting” was going camping.  They excitedly went about with the preparations and one of those involved creating a troop flag.  My dad is the best go-to guy for logistics but when you need art, he’s awfully useless, so they went to the next “man”–my uncle.  He was my mom’s cousin and he could draw very well. 

For some reason, fathers get really excited when their sons get into the Boy Scouts.  I’m not very sure of this but in our town, it’s like a rite of passage.  My mom used to be really active in the local chapter of the Girl Scouts in our town when I was a kid.  She’d told me hilarious stories of the crazy things that they did over overnight camping and whatnots.  She was around 50 when she stopped going to GSP meetings. My other older sister, Nang Maya, had her share of GSP stories.  My other sister, Goyen, (we have a 12-year gap between us) was a multi-awarded girl scout in grade school.  She had that sash that was full of badges.  She’s the only one in the family that has that.  And it was really complete.  I remember looking at her picture when I was a kid and wishing that I’d be like her too.  The dream ended when I couldn’t even catch up with my groupmates when they’d run really fast after they filled their bottles with water when we were asked to fetch some.  I suck at outdoor activities big time, save perhaps for flirting.  LOL.

Going back to the story, my uncle was very excited for his son.  So he bought a new white sack–the one that is used for rice, not the kind that they use for flour–and a black permanent marker.  This happened in the late 60s, ok?  The son, my cousin, asked his dad, “Pa, drowingi mig kabayo, kanang nawng sa kabayo gyud. [Pa, draw us a horse, the face of the horse.]“

And so my uncle did so.  It was as if some surge of energy enveloped him and he happily drew a beautiful portrait of a horse’s face.  it was complete with the mane and all the other details.  When he was all finished with it, he gave the sack to his son.

My cousin said, “Pa, suwati dayon sa ubos ug Goat Patrol.  Kanang dagko tanan. [Pa, write Goat Patrol right below it. In capital letters.]“

Ten Things I Hate–Tagged

23 09 2007

Dokie tagged me and since I am new to social blogging, I’m actually giving this my time of day.  Hehe.  I used to be a blogger in recluse so…

It’s supposed to be about ten things that I hate so here goes…

FOOD: Leftovers from YESTERDAY!

FRUITS: Rambutan.  I hate having to go through so much trouble just to eat a little part of it only to go through the same trouble of opening it and eating so little again.  I mean, yeah, you can actually just squeeze it all out in one sweep then help yourself to seeds disguised in a thin film of not so heavenly goodness.  Where’s the fun in there?

VEGGIES: I’m headed towards a healthier diet so I can’t think of any veg that I hate. 

PEOPLE: Holden would scorn these people alongside moi–phonies!  Hypocrites.  I can think of so many things to describe people that I hate but they all lead to this one word–hypocrites!  Especially those who are connected to anything religious.  I don’t have anything against honest to goodness believers of various gods, in fact, I admire those who proclaim their faith for all the world to see and hear.  But only to those who really mean and live by what they preach.  Ok?  Nuff said. 

I specifically hate gay and philandering priests who hide under their cassocks!   Jeez! 

I also DON’T LIKE girly-girls.  Well, at least not right away for some.  I’m not boyish and yeah, I say yuck and eww every now and then but I hate the cheerleadery girly-girly-girls who act like they’re god’s gift to men and that other women are yucky because they’re not like them.  I have girly girl friends who are really the real deal but there’s less than 5 of them–the rest? They’re like the rest of them!

Judgmental fools who feel like other people are low-lives because they do some faux pas.  Those goody-two-shoes who give shoes a bad name. 

One more thing, I hate people who complain a lot without doing anything to contribute to make the world a better place. 

EVENT/SITUATION/INCIDENT: I hate being talked to the moment I wake up.  I also hate being rushed into doing something or going somewhere.  I hate being rushed.  PERIOD.  People who know me, and love me, know I’m perennially late so no one bothers me with it.  That’s one reason why I refuse to work in the corporate world anymore.  And no, I don’t want to work in the government.  I know I can get away with being late, even being absent for a million days, but I can’t live with myself if I would be in that situation.  No offense to the people in the government service who work their as*es off just to make our lives a tad easier but no, I’m off-topic already!

And I hate parties where I have to dress up, unless I’m in the mood for it, which is uber-rare.

TV SHOWS/MOVIES: Still Breathing with Brendan Fraser.   You know those movies that make your head hurt a lot but you can’t sleep through them and you can’t even get out of the theater, or turn off the DVD player, as the case may be. 

I also hate really scary movies–well, only when I watch them alone. 

Wowowee–the host, the format, the dancers, the phoniness.

PBB–I used to loooove Laurenti Dyogi but he can’t help but go mainstream and then downstream. 

MUSIC: Novelty songs that refuse to get off my mind.  Those songs that you hate but out of the blue you hear yourself sing–lyrics memorized and all?!

HOUSEHOLD CHORES: Picking up after others. 

THINGS AROUND THE WORLD: Not things but people.  Things don’t just happen.  They become so because of people who manipulate everything for a myriad of selfish reasons.  I don’t have anything against people who do things for their own gain but if involves stepping on others’ toes, that’s something else. 

One more thing–APATHY.  It’s a disease that’s growing faster by the millisecond. 

THINGS ABOUT MYSELF: I have a bad temper.  My mother told the househelp when I came home after a five-year hiatus (read: attempt at independence), “when she’s good, she’s really good but mess with her and you’ll see hell coz when she’s bad, she’s really bad.”

I rarely forget bad things that people do to me.  I can easily forgive and when I do say I feel fine about things, I sincerely do so.


Falling in Love

12 09 2007

Sometime in 1997, a paper that had obviously been held and read by too many people was passed to me by a roommate in Sampa. It contained a very long letter-like prose about falling in love. It moved me and opened my eyes to so many things about loving, letting go and acceptance-cheesy as that sounds. Unfortunately, I never got a copy of that paper. For so many years, I looked around for it. I was never able to memorize a single line in it so Googling it never proved fruitful.

Ten years after, I found an already yellowish wad of torn pages from Kent Nerburn’s Letters to My Son. The prose that I have been looking for all these years sprung from the pages. This time, I will never let it go-although I had to return the wad to a friend. Read on.

It is a mystery why we fall in love.

It is a mystery how it happens.

It is a mystery when it comes.

It is a mystery why some love grows and it is a mystery why some love fails.

You can analyze this mystery and look for reasons and causes, but you will never do anymore than take the life out of the experience.

Just as life itself is more than the sum of the bones and muscles and electrical impulses in the body, love is more than the sum of the interests and attractions and commonalities that two people share.

And just as life is a gift that comes and goes in its own time, so too, the coming of love must be taken as an unfathomable gift that cannot be questioned in its ways.

Sometimes, hopefully at least once in your life – the gift of love will come to you in full flower, and you will take hold of it and celebrate it in all inexpressible beauty. This is the dream we all share.

More often, it will come and take hold of you, celebrate you for a brief moment, then move on.

When this happens to young people, they too often try to grasp the love and hold it to them, refusing to see that it is gift that is freely given and a gift that just as freely, moves away.

When they fall out of love, or the person they love feels the spirit of love leaving, they try desperately to reclaim the love that is lost rather than accepting the gift for what it was, then moving on.

They want answers where there are no answers. They want to know what is wrong in them that makes the other person no longer love them, or they try to get their lover to change, thinking that if some small things were different, love would bloom again.

They blame their circumstances and say that if they go far away and start a new life together, their love will grow.

They try anything to give meaning to what happened. But there is no meaning beyond the love itself, and until they accept its own mysterious ways, they live in a sea of misery.

You need to know this about love, and to accept it.

You need to treat what it brings you with kindness.

If you find yourself in love with someone who does not love you, be gentle with yourself. There is nothing wrong with you. Love just didn’t choose to rest in the other person’s heart.

If you find someone else in love with you and you don’t love her, feel honoured that love came and called at your door, but gently refuse the gift you cannot return. Do not take advantage, do not cause pain. How you deal with love is how you deal with you, and all our hearts feel the same pains and joys, even if our lives and ways are different.

If you fall in love with another, and she falls in love with you, and then love chooses to leave, do not try to reclaim it or to assess blame. Let it go. There is a reason and there is a meaning. You will know in time.

Remember that you don’t choose love. Love chooses you. All you can really do is accept it for all its mystery when it comes into your life. Feel the way it fills you to overflowing, then reach out and give it away.

Give it back to the person who brought it alive in you. Give it to others who deem it poor in spirit. Give it to the world around you in anyway you can. This is where many lovers go wrong. Having been so long without love, they understand love only as a need. They see their hearts as empty places that will be filled by love, and they begin to look at love as something that flows to them rather than from them.

The first blush of new love is filled to overflowing, but as their love cools, they revert to seeing their love as a need. They cease to be someone who generates love and instead becomes someone who seeks love. They forget that the secret of love is that it is a gift, and that it can be made to grow only by giving it away..

Remember this, and keep it to your heart. Love has its own time, its own seasons, and its own reasons for coming and going. You cannot bribe it or coerce it, or reason it into staying. You can only embrace it when it arrives and give it away when it comes to you. But if it choose to leave from your heart or from the heart of your lover, there is nothing you can do and there is nothing you should do.

Love always has been and always will be a mystery.

Be glad that it came to live for a moment in your life.

If you keep your heart open, it will come again.

Nerburn, Kent. Letters To My Son

I Like For You to Be Still

11 09 2007

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.

Pablo Neruda

If you’ve heard Glenn Close recite this in Il Postino, you’d understand if I say—goosebumps.

Still I Rise

11 09 2007

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust,

I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air,

I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shameI rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fearI rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

Maya Angelou 

This is just one of the reasons why Maya Angelou rocks! 

Of Porn, SPAM and Penis Talks

10 09 2007

Everyday, I delete thousands of e-mails in my SPAM folder.  I never thought how big a market men can be until I REALLY looked into my thousands and thousands of SPAM. 

Gadgets, pills, therapy–everything from nearly-believable to totally out of this world–that are supposed to cure penile problems from erectile dysfunction to small penises to premature ejaculation.  Gosh!  I know some women are quite insecure about their breasts and I know men can launch a thousand years of war just for their manhood and its biological symbol.  But I never thought their market is way bigger than women’s considering that there are more women than men on earth–and Mars–or wherever else! 

Now I wonder, with so many porn sites and flicks featuring well-endowed, and sometimes, extraordinarily well-endowed (I’m talking about knee-length well-endowed, and I don’t mean socks!) men, are those who belong to the supposed stronger sex group feeling the pressure? 

I don’t want to be coy and say I haven’t watched smut because I have, and in my line of work, I have been commissioned to review adult sites far too many times that I had to reformat my pc everytime I do it because of spyware.  I got my first taste of porn movie when an ex-boyfriend invited me to watch it with him.  Of course we never got to finish it.  But out of curiosity, I watched the whole thing on my own.  I’d be a big liar if I’ll tell you that I never felt anything.  But that’s just it.  Usually when watching porn, you only get a slight reaction the first time you watch it.  It was never something that I would want to watch over and over again.

Then came the advent of modern technology–spycams, webcams, all those eye-in-the-hole things–one of the main reasons why I never liked checking in!  I used to go out with a guy who covers himself in a blanket everytime we get down and dirty for fear of seeing his butt in the bangketa one day!  The saddest news that has reached me so far was that of one of the girls in the Dumaguete scandal.  I was really bothered by that because I remember laughing to one of the girls because her name was written on her panties for the whole world to see.  I’m not sure if she was the one who killed herself or if it’s true that one of them really killed herself.  But it was really sad because they trusted those people.  It’s not like the sex scandals these days when the people involved know what’s happening.  The funniest for me is the Dipolog scandal, I’m not even sure if it’s in or from Dipolog but the guy looks really funny.  Um, not funny funny but funny!  Hahaha.  I can’t explain it!  And the girl looked quite fine.

Ok, my main reason for talking about porn is because I noticed that most men that I know–ex-boyfriends, boy friends, relatives, etc–prefer Filipino porn.  I have always wondered if it was about the size!  I know American porn can be really boring and Asian (mostly Japanese, Thai and Indian) can be bizarre!  I saw the pinoy scandals that invaded the corporate world’s networked offices before, way before IT became uber-strict, thanks to Friendster.  But they were not exciting because they somehow were imitations of foreign porn, which make them really boring too!  The thrill was in being one of the many who “saw” the this and that scandal.  So I haven’t really seen a true-blue Pinoy smut. 

I saw the pene-movies in one of my Film classes in college but they were something else!  They were NOT titillating but were enough to keep you from falling asleep in a very cold and dark room in the basement of the main college!  The pene-movies that were named so because they showed the actual penetration came at a time when the Philippines was in its darkest political years.  They say that when “bold” movies abound, the government has something to do with it because people are by nature, escapists so when the going gets too tough, we watch movies that take our minds off the stranglehold of the government on our lives. 

Going back to the size issue…I know women talk openly with other women their breast issues, butt issues, even going-down-hang-ups and all that.  Do men do the same?  I mean do they also talk about their phallic concerns to the point of showing one another their penises?  I know two guys who did that but they were super drunk and they were in one of those pahabaan ng ihi sessions. 

But really, the market is reaaaalllly big! 

Now this gets me thinking–if I were to think of a business, it should be something that would cater to men.  I have always liked boutiques and spas but I think I’m missing the bigger slice of the pie.  Most of my clients are male.  Most of my arte clients are females.  Most of my generous clients are male.  Most of my kuripot clients are female.  Now we’re getting somewhere.  I have a huge smut collection.  That could be a start.  I was planning of throwing them away coz my nieces and nephews might accidentally watch them–not that I want to block their sexual emancipation but I don’t think they’re ready for the kind of collection that I have.  Well, Malena, Amelie, Antonia’s Line, Ora Pro Nobis, Tuhog, Selya, Ligaya and other artsy sexy films are different.  They’re of a different league. 

Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet XVII (100 Love Sonnets, 1960)

9 09 2007

This is perhaps the most loved Pablo Neruda poem.  If someone would read and offer these lines to me, I would definitely melt. When the time comes when I’ll find someone that I’ll feel so strongly for that I’ll want to offer this poem to that person, there’s a huge chance that he–or she—is the ONE.

I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

My X Company–in Memoriam

1 09 2007

While doing my routine for the day, I got an e-mail from someone who uses the name of my most-esteemed hero, Andres Bonifacio, highlighting the alleged irregularities of a certain Canadian-owned, US-headquartered, Cebu-based publishing services provider. 

I am not one to dwell on anything negative–yep, that’s my mantra so if you’ll be seeing that hereabouts more often, don’t say I didn’t warn you.  I have had my share of really painful memories while working in my former company but the thing is, we were given choices, to leave and be free from all the migraine-inducing chaos, or to stay and bear what the hazards of earning an average of fifty grand (err, in pesos) MONTHLY there are.  I chose to leave.  It wasn’t an easy decision to make but I had to do it because it was a matter of principle.  I turned a deaf ear on the office politics and the in-house grapevine because I didn’t want those to get in the way of my work.  But people can be really vicious.  I think I have gotten used to that now.  And so I left.  I suffered financially and emotionally because of it.  For months!  And the rumors didn’t help.  Wolves in friends’ clothing devoured me like there’s no tomorrow.  But what I suffered in silence while I was in the company was far worse so I continued to keep mum.  People who knew me then would never believe I kept mum. 

But hey, two years after, I’m still here and I’m happier so I guess I made the right choice.  There are times when I still wish I was still there.  Because for someone who has become so disillusioned with the corporate world, I still genuinely believe in my former CEO’s vision.  True there were err–not-so-regular breach of protocols but I’m in no position to really judge anything that I’m not privy to.  If this happened 6-10 years ago, I would have been in the streets with my comrades.  But you come to a certain point in your life when you just want to be selfish for a while.  After all, you deserve it–I deserve it. 

I feel for my former colleagues.  I feel for those whose career paths have been largely realigned.  I feel for those who got hospitalized because of the depression that movements in the company caused them but I will never ever malign people who have been once a huge part of my life–not even if they malign me first.  I’m not exactly a devout Catholic so yeah, I believe in cosmic justice.  In time, I too, will have my sweet retribution.  In the meantime, I will just sleep.

At Home at Home–NOT!

19 08 2007

And so after almost five years in Cebu, I have come “home” to Ozamiz but not quite.  You see, I’m not a native of this place and while my parents call it home now, I still feel like a stranger, an outsider, a sore thumb–a very sore thumb!

Since I arrived in the first week of May, I have only gone out of the house less than 10 times.  Uh-huh.  While I’m a homebody by choice, I can’t help but feel lonely somehow.  Oh yeah, I love talking to my mom and bitching at the househelp every now and then, but I do miss my friends.  I don’t have friends here, poor me. 

So please, befriend me, flirt with me, make love to me, have coffee with me, I beg of you.  LOL.  Seriously!

Closing Cycles by Paulo Coelho

19 08 2007

Paulo Coehlo’s Closing Cycles has been overused in blogs and e-mails but this is something personal for me–having gone through something like it myself. So please indulge me.

One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through. Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters – whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished.

Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents’ house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden? You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened. You can tell yourself you won’t take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that. But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister, everyone will be finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.

None of us can be in the present and the past at the same time, not even when we try to understand the things that happen to us. What has passed will not return: we cannot for ever be children, late adolescents, sons that feel guilt or rancor towards our parents, lovers who day and night relive an affair with someone who has gone away and has not the least intention of coming back. Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away.

That is why it is so important (however painful it may be!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home. Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts – and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place. Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them. Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood. Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else.

Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the “ideal moment.” Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back. Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person – nothing is irreplaceable, a habit is not a need. This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.

Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life.

Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust.

Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.

Chronicles of She-Who-Mourns Part 2 (Republished)

19 08 2007

May 02, 2007

I can say that I am out of mourning now. Well, at least by an inch.

i am ready to move on. literally. i will leave the city that has borne witness to so many joys and sorrows that my not-so-simple (sorry for the term, even i cringe at the thought of using it) love story. for good.

it’s a closed book. not just a closed chapter. yes, the wound is still gaping open and no amount of suturing can keep the flesh from saying hello to the world. but like any other wound, this too shall heal on its own. and the waiting period begins now.

but i do miss him. big time.

Chronicles of She-Who-Mourns Part 1 (Republished)

19 08 2007

April 06, 2007

It’s funny how life can be so recalcitrant most of the time.  Just when you decide to do something about it, it drags its sorry butt and makes everything so goddarn heavy. 

I’ve taken refuge in the shell that I have built for myself eons ago–my self. People find it hard to believe that I am a solitary animal (yeah, oink) and that I prefer the lifeless company of my own shadow.  I do love the seemingly never-ending futilely suppressed laughter in the unholy hours past midnight, couch potato sessions till dawn, and gossip-swapping marathons that last till time becomes nothing short of an abstract idea with my friends.  And I do love the warmth and the it’s-ok-i’m-here-assurance that my family’s embrace and sheer presence offer.  But there are simply things that I have and need to go through on my own. 

And this is one of those things…


19 08 2007

(this was posted in Friendster on Apr. 2, 2007)It’s hard. It drains every ounce of what I’m trying to convince myself as a life.

We went through this before. It lasted for almost a year. I even got into another complicated relationship just to get over it all. But we got back together. Everything else, common sense and conscience, fell into oblivion.

Now it’s finally over. It’s the right thing to do. And for the first time in my life I’m totally devastated. Serves me right for having taken relationships lightly since time immemorial. God, I’m in pain and I can’t even pick the right words to describe it. I’ve been wanting to blog it all out just to make it a little bit less painful. But I’ve been robbed of words or even thoughts. It hurts like hell and I can’t find anything to rub on it. Bawling my eyes out doesn’t even help.

For weeks, I’ve successfully convinced myself that I’m a zombie. Until now. Until I’m all alone and the truth just hits me right into my stomach. And it’s excruciatingly gut-wrenching. A million and one times I’ve considered slashing my wrists, taking all those pills, drowning myself with alcohol and whatnots. There have also been hell-hath-no-wrath-than-a-woman-scorned moments when I have plotted a gazillion of ways to hurt back. But I’ve no strength left and all I want to do is just sleep. Because sleep takes away the pain somehow.

My mom’s a huge help. She lets me be. She knows I’m not ok and she knows why but not entirely why but she lets me be. And she’s my only thread of sanity. Everything else is just nuts. And I’m a basket case.

It’s been a month now and somehow I hoped it was going to be at least an iota of an ounce better. But no, and I’m starting my sentences with conjunctions. I’m not ok and I’m on the outside limits of not ok. And it feels like it has just begun.

I didn’t want to stay. I left. I chose to leave. It’s the right thing to do. It’s supposed to make things a whole lot better. But it doesn’t. And I’m not happy. Far from it.

And I just want to be alone. The coldness of my solitude keeps me warm. I am warm. I’m not really sure. I can’t tell one from the other.

my mother kicks butt

19 08 2007

This is a repost from our family portal. Reading this again makes me think, “I sound like a stage daughter.” Is there such a thing? I’m not sure. I just know that whatever mama felt when I joined contests (err, not the ones that involved wearing swimsuits, i’m afraid. too bad, eh?) and the pride that swells up her everytime I win anything, or just do well, it was pure bliss. I know. I feel it now. She doesn’t play the playstation or drink booze with me or talk about sex (that’d be the day!), or look like Princess Diana, but she’s COOL! Not all daughters get to be this lucky. This was written sometime in Feb. 2007.

i have finally beaten my mom in a game of chinese checkers. if we host a mini-olympics on chinese checkers in the family, my mother would most likely come out victorious, hands down, any day. by a mere move, i finally got a win in one of our nightly sessions over skype. yep, we play online because she is in ozamis and i am here in cebu.
you see, there’s really nothing extraordinary about moms beating their own kids in board games or in anything at all. they do that all the time. but then again, my wiz of a mother is 69 years old. err, yeah, even her age is a bit funky. :D she was schooled in a small town far down south and for most of her life, led a very laidback existence until my papa sort of “retired” from his tough cookie, i’m-the-master-of-this-house-so-beat-it role a few summers and springs ago. things have taken a different route from then on.

however, i have always thought of her as someone really cool. although when she first got her own cellphone, she had to place price stickers on the keys because they were too small for her bad eyes. i remember one time when we were exchanging SMS and we were in agreement all throughout when all of a sudden she said NO. because i was in a hurry, i called her to ask why she changed her mind. in a very nonchalant manner that only my mother could muster, she said, “oh, i couldn’t locate Y, so i just said NO instead. N and O are easier to locate.”

mama is funny that way. like me, she’s a walking contradiction. she is very passionate about so many things like eating on time and going about in a rush. in barely a few winks, she shrugs off the seemingly important events of the day like lunch, for example, to watch her favorite korean soap. oh, and she argues that she really doesn’t have time for any nonsense. hehe.

going back to my original musings, i just want to smile and dedicate this first post to the woman who has shaped the person that i am now–-whether you like it or not, ma, hehe–-my mother. for the enigma that she is, and for the many times that she has shocked so many people when she admits that she chats with her kids (old kids) and grandkids through YM, MSN, Skype and tagboards! and well, she beats all of us in chinese checkers, dominoes, the original checkers, chess and many others. she sometimes shows off an air of braggadocio and says she gets really bored with beating all of us. and take note, she does this while watching her favorite evening soap on a local channel. hehe.
my mother has set the bar way high in motherhood. and from where i stand (or sit) no one has ever come close.

not even for a mile.


19 08 2007

I was ‘sweeping’ my inbox when I came upon my buzzie’s email. Hay butch, you really have a way of making me smile… Maybe it’s because of your piñot. Hehe.

Thanks for the friendship, bastos as it is.

This came at a time when the world was at a standstill.. or so i wished.

—–Original Message—–
From: butch [mailto:butch@**********.com]
Sent: Tuesday, April 06, 2004 3:01 PM
To: Moi
Subject: Re: pssst….

so? is he here? do you have to leave because of that? do you have to revolve your schedule, your time, your feelings and all that mushy syet around him? do you have to go on depressed mode because the “love of your life,” the “light of your world” has dimmed and there’s nothing you can do? is that why wa na’y point to stay here? is that why you’re closing your eyes to the rest of the world? because you’re wallowing in despair and self-pity?!

pagka shallow.

you have a life, for crying out loud! you have us; you have mama janice, alvin, mars, barsy the super-mutated autistic boy; you have laedee, joe the slayer, louie my antithesis (and hopefully not my soul mate); you have your boardmates; you have me and joyce!

you have so much to do and so little time. stop wasting your time diha and start living your life the way you want it (read: single, enjoyable and fun — don’t join any charismatic group or any other group of that nature. they’ll only make you more depressed.).

come on! God made the world in six days and rested on the seventh day (i’m not sure where i’m going with this, so hang on…) you made beautiful music with tiger. now the music is gone and all the notes have gone flat. so what do you do? shut yourself in your room and stop making beautiful music? no. God didn’t stop creating after Adam. He made Eve. After tiger, there’s no other way except up. better things. more melodic music. more exciting and enjoyable things to look forward to.

sakto man sila. you should always look back to your roots to see how far you’ve come. but there is a point where if you keep looking back, you’re not going forward anymore (are we still on the same page….? nagkagubot na akong mga analogies….) and that is not good.

sorry ni-burst ko like this. your friendship is treasured a lot in this part of the world. going off the deep end won’t help anyone. unless you want to erase out memory of you. sorry……

I’ll Never Fall In Love Again

19 08 2007

this song’s funny. from someone sour-graping about love… it makes someone who just got out of a life-draining relationship like me smile.

I’ll Never Fall In Love Again
by Mary Chapin Carpenter

What do you get when you fall in love
A guy with a pin to burst your bubble
That’s what you get for all your trouble.
I’ll never fall in love

Oh.. What do you get when you kiss a guy
You get enough germs to catch pneumonia.
After you do’ he’ll never phone you.
I’ll never fall in love again.

Don’t tell me what is all about’
’Cause I’ve been there and I’m glad I’m out’
Out of those chains’ that bind you
That is why I’m here to remind you

What do you get when you fall in love
You only get lies and pain and sorrow.
So’ for at least until tomorrow’
I’ll never fall in love

Out of those chains’ that bind you
That is why I’m here to remind you
When you fall in love
You only get lies and pain and sorrow.
So’ for at least until tomorrow’
I’ll never fall in love again

Ohhh.. I’ll never fall in love again
Ohhh.. I’ll never fall in love


19 08 2007

I am falling
In a world of menial blessings,
Only silent screams
Uttered, never spoken
Heard by the unwary
To fall on deaf ears;
Words decay
Like a feast for the dead.

I am falling
Unseen, but felt
Beauty conjures only sadness;
Like a thorn
In silver poems
Missing its mark
I bleed still

I am falling
Away, I try to pretend
I am going thither
Still I fall
Wings rendered useless
The pride of failure
In me remains
Stubborn not idle

I am falling
Like the other wind
I reach the bottom
Only to find out
I am all alone.

From my old bloggie…(Feb. 11, 2004)


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