Your boss almost fired you for a delayed article. With a gossip gay seat mate, spreading the office atmosphere rumors that you're still on the job for selling your soul (to the said boss). What a day!
But not enough drama, you stepped out your office cubicle, went straight to the elevator, pressed the down button. Ding! You hopped in and in just a few floors to the ground… it stopped.
Thank God! The maintenance in the office quickly responded. Finally, you are out of the office building—praying “no more tragedies”. Then, it rained so hard just before a jeepney stopped before you.
That’s Ok. It’s almost home anyways. Home sweet home is home safe home. Then, just after your very first leap of your house door, you stepped into something followed by a very loud quack. No it’s not a duck… It’s Laila’s rubber duckie with a rushing little Laila to hug you.
Laila—that’s how I dreamed my future daughter’s name to be. I love kids. In fact, it lands on my top 10 goals to have a child of my own. I adore them. There’s something about their innocence that makes everything feel light and easy to be with them. Spending time with them makes me remember a lot of my childhood too. It’s like I’m that little child again.
I want to be that child again… where dreams feels lot easier to be achieved. The child who thinks the most dangerous thing in life is to fail periodical exams. The child who dreams of becoming a journalist. The child who is scared of her parents more than anything in this world. That child who refuses to sleep alone. The child who needs a hug, a helping hand. The child I was before: free.
I never find studying at UP cool. For me, those who study there are of two things: genius and crazy. In my UPCAT way back 2004, I was able to pass a quota course, not in Diliman but in one of the UP campuses. But I didn’t consider the idea of studying there. I was quite lost at that time and not exactly sure if my chosen course would really work for me.
I enrolled at the Manila Times School of Journalism(Now The Manila Times College), preferred it over UP for it offers a three years jam-packed journalism course with ojt from day 1. I never thought that I’ll go gaga over journalism, like a little kid begging for a lollipop. That time, I just used the 3-year-course for some soul searching.
And believe it or not–I found my soul there, it became my home, my air, my love. Being there opened up a lot of opportunities for me that I believe even UP won’t open up for me. I have to say that I owe to The Manila Times School of Journalism, to The Manila Newspaper and to The Manila Times-Barangay News… mostly of what I am now. If not to them, my career won’t blossom as it is now.
When I finished studying, I went to the States for a vacation. With three years of full studying and only five weeks(3 weeks for enrollment every trimester, 1 week for xmas and 1 week for holyweek) vacation in all those years, I know I needed a break. I went to US to finalize my decisions, what prize to eye.
During my vacation there, I realized that I wanted to try a different way with Journalism. I’m good at news, I believe I am, so I decided to hit another target. I decided to try my luck in grad school. Right after my vacation, I considered two school and guess what, I’m now crawling after UP. But with the fascinating course description of MA Creative Writing with UST, I drooled for it more. I passed the exams and interviews in the two school. When I try to remember things now, I choose UST over UP for it doesn’t demand as much work experience as they demand in UP. Again, I preferred to be somewhere else over UP.
Grad school in UST was smooth. I know in my heart it was something I really wanted, wanting it like a diabetic patient needing insulin, until now. I love UST it’s just I have “deep” personal reasons why I’m delaying my course there. Also, with the workload and work schedule I have now, it will be lethal.
So do I have any other choice than UP now? For sure UP Alumni, students and fanatics would raise eyes brows with my statements. I won’t mind if some would say, “Man, who the hell is that girl to say UP is just an OPTION and a CHOICE? UP is the way to go.”
So why UP now? If you ask me, I don’t know either. Maybe that’s how playful life is no matter how you run away from your dreams and no matter how you lie about it… Truths will be revealed. Yes, I always dreamed of being a UP student. I may not spill it my undying love for it but deep down, crystal clear, as a Filipino Citizen– I always dreamed of studying at the University of the Philippines.
It's the 1st of July... Oooops! 36 minutes already passed. Again... from the top.
It's the 2nd day of July, typed three thoughts but deleted it, for it will just hurt more. I love you... I still do. Should I delete it again for the 4th time?
There are two extreme reasons why I blog: I'm extremely happy and extremely lonely or angry. How come it feels extremely nothing now?
Like a new year, I should welcome the other half of the year, happily with full of hope and love, even my heart is bleeding right now. Another emo post and yes, it sucks.
Loving you... it's like being in a labyrinth--trapped, puzzled, lost. Trying my best to find my way out, only to realize that I keep coming back to you.
Painful. The pain and confusion is never-ending, be it the reason to give up. But the more I give up, the more I hold on. The more I give myself reasons to give up, the more fate gives me reasons to stay for awhile, wait. Like a week ago, I never thought you would put some corny 3 words and 8 letters in one of your gift cards before. That you hold my hand before I hold yours.
Why do I have to realize it just now? I've been loving you all these years, six years to count. I never thought you loved me before. Have you? Why do I have to see all the proofs now? Why?
I seldom pray for myself. Most of the time, I pray for my family and friends; Praying that my younger brother won't get sick again, praying for my older brother to finally finish school, praying for my father to be safe at work, praying for more blessings for my mom, praying for my lola, praying for my relatives, praying for my friends' happiness, praying for cancer patients. Praying for others. The last time I prayed for myself was last April, about my dreams.
These days, I found myself always praying for you. Usually, my prayer begins with wishing you'll pass the exam, then followed, by hoping that you find your happiness. Along with that, I also pray that if we are really not for meant for each other, I hope it ends all my holding on now. In times I become desperate in forgetting about you, I ask God to give you the girl to settle down with... for me to be free.
But I'm free and single. Like you. That makes it even more painful. Are you waiting for me to find him? As I wait for you to find her? For us to truly let each other go?
Are you like me, that whenever I see the way out of the labyrinth, I bang my head, turn around endlessly and pretend to get lost just to stay a bit more?
Are waiting for me as I wait for you? Are you my better half?
He stands about 5’8” tall, dark and handsome in anyway. Very strict and perfectionist, won’t sleep ‘till jobs are done. He treats me like a princess, my brothers are his knights, captured my mom’s heart like a king—YES! He is my father.
I never said cheesy stuffs about my father. I used to hate him, to the extent that I would rather have another father than him. Of course, he is a good provider, gave us more of what we just need. But there are a lot of things I didn’t like about him, about how he leads our home… He runs the house strictly; we have rules from the moment our eyes open in the morning and till we close it at night. His style of discipline can be summarized with thick leather belts, curfews, and orders. The bruises and wounds will fade and the pain will heal in time. But the fear will always be there. Every step comes with a rushing heartbeat. Every day is another day in hell.
Thank God he wasn’t at home every single day. He is a seaman; he takes 3 months off every year, 9 months in the ship with mom joining him for 7 months there. Every year we are lucky to have a father for 3 months and a mother for 5 months. (My sentiment of the latter is of another story.)
But that’s how my father is, when we were younger… As we grow older, Dad’s military laws subsided slowly. He changed. There are no more bruises to heal now but sometimes, rare times, his words cuts our hearts that takes a lifetime to heal.
I never thought that I would be able to forgive my father. After long years of hating him, here I am getting closer... I told my mom I already forgiven him but there are low times that I ask my self, “Have I forgiven?”
Have I? Perhaps, yes and no, not yet… but getting there. I will open my heart to truly forgive my father. He is a good man. He loved my mother so much. He sacrificed a lot for us... and, in the coming years, I promise to take my turn and sacrifice for him
Did I mention that he never bought an extra expensive, high-end gadget for himself? That’s my father—strict at times but always firm, strong yet caring for our family. He loves us. We love him. Happy fathers day!
I’m the complicated one. I do things the hard way. Like if someone tells me to define how beautiful a flower is; I’d say, “It’s starring at the mirror a hundred times and not getting tired.” When one says, “JUMP,” I would skip, twist, bend, and kneel, before JUMPING. I prefer doing things the complicated way. Man, I’m not a masochist. I just prefer things that way.
It’s been awhile since things became hard for me. I enjoyed it at first, but for the past weeks, I know I wasn’t anymore. I like challenges; it’s one of the many reasons why I keep breathing. I use to have a weird way of solving problems… to solve a problem is to make a bigger one, a new one that’s 3 times complicated than what I’m facing.
I want to be known as someone without fears, except for heights and amphibious creatures. But today I realized the meaning of giving up, of stopping. It came to me like a calling. I accepted a comatose patient needing oxygen.
I’m quitting. Yes, for the first time in my life, I’m 100 years sure quitting. I told my mom about this and the usual; she wanted it more than To be continued….
What about marrying on 25? That is 2 more years from now... Or not.
Oh my I’m growing old!
oOooOooOo
Hair: pony tailed.
Skirt: checkered, length—above the knee [a sister’s act]
Bag: pink, rolling.
Accessories: 1 piece of gold 18k heart earring, lost the other one that day.
Height: about 4 litters of coke put on top of each other
Likes: stuff toys, Barbie, Polly Pockets
Hates: when parents leave or the distance of the school gate to classroom [its like two to three blocks away]
I was an early bird ever since I was a kid. The distance of my house to the school is about 5-8 minutes away when riding a car, tricycle or jeep. I never experienced walking miles just to attend school, yes I’m lucky.
Every single school day, I woke up 5:30 in the morning, with no help from any alarm clock. But thanks to “Alas Singko Y Media Na’s jingle” for waking me up.
Talk about early. In my early life, I always think about the future—most of the time when I’m traveling or walking. I used to think ten years in advance…. Away from the present… only to find out that later on I would have more flashbacks of ten years ago.
Walking on my way to class, I’ve been thinking about how it would feel like working… how easy it would be after school. And, now I realized things are lot easier before.
Now, everything is a routine. Work-home-work and sometimes with a twist gimmick but all’s predictable.
Who would’ve thought that after studying for more than 15 years, I would want to study again? I’ve been missing home works, periodical tests, lectures, terror teachers, mean girls and everything about school.
I’m 22 years old, turning 23 on the 23rd of June this year. Whew. So in two year, I’m going to get married. And more likely it won’t happen. But retiring on 35, dying on 50 could be possible, that’s if I’m not married and don’t have kids… so should I think about adoption now? Forget it… I think too future much.
I believed there are only two genders, male and female. The gays are females and the lesbos are males. For me, genders are placed in the hearts, not in the body.
When we love, it’s the heart that beats. When we think, most often it’s the heart that thinks. When we dance, it’s the love of the heart for dancing that dances.
There are only two genders for me… But tonight’s the first time I wished that God didn’t create gay people.
Gays hates discrimination and for the first time in my life I was discriminated by a group of gays. Saying, “You’re a girl, you don’t belong.”
In a world of two genders….Why can gays be girls and girls can’t be gays? Why gays can belong in a girl’s word and girls can’t belong in a gay’s world? Why?
There’s a thin line between being a gay and a girl…. But we all feel the same. We love boys the same. We dress and act the same. Our hormones, cells, shoulders might slightly be different but our hearts beat the same.
And for the first time in my life, I wished that God didn’t create gay. So that the thin line between us would just disappear, all the same, all equal, all loving and where everyone is gay.
Ten years ago… piles of holiday school tasks was on my study desk. Cramming, for Monday was its deadline.
- make new years’ resolution. Check. - Math problem solving projects. Check. - English Writing composition. Pending. What is it about: “Who will I be ten years from now?”
If I can see the future then…
I would have written, “I’m probably sitting. Typing my very 1st blog this year rather than… “I already graduated in college. I have a stable writing job. I’m able to support myself and repay the kindness of my parents.”
I would have written, “It’s the 1st day of work. I’m really sleepy. The holiday vibe still lingers in me. As if I never worked at all.”
I would have written, “Here I am writing my new years’ resolution… thinking, wond‘ring, praying that this time it will be resolved.”
I would have written, “Here I am developing CD-ROM activities for kids like me.”
I would have written, “Here I am… looking back at my life what I was doing the same time 10 years ago…”
2009 was a very fulfilling yet sad year.
The 1st quarter was full of job hunting. On the 5th month, I was accepted to my very 1st office job(take note this isn’t freelance baby!) The 5th month went easy. I love my job. My bosses are nice. I found new friendships in this company. The 6th month was the lowest point of my year. My grandmother died. No one expected it—a cardiac arrest. The 7th month was hard… dealing with pain and great lost. Adjusting. Work is light and easy. I love what I’m doing minus the online products sorting(me hates it). The 8th month… sad month… my partner in work left. I was transferred to another department. 9th-10th I couldn’t remember anything remarkable at all…. Wait there's Rocky and Jamie’s 1st date. 11th month… family gathering at the cemetery…. Halloween. 12th month- after so many years, Papa celebrated his birthday again. Then… Christmas… Then New year.
How come when I try to remember things about the previous year… there’s only two things I remember clearly… I got accepted in my very first office job and my grand mother died in this year.
Should it always be the happiest and the saddest? Should it always be like that? How about the other memoirs? How about when I smiled and felt Christmas is here again?
I would have written, “I’m probably jotting down the achievement of my previous year”
I would have written…
“Christmas and New Year was way different now than the previous years…. Ever since my grand mother died it was way different.
There’s sago, there’s gulaman. We have pastries and pasta. Lechon was on its way. The traditional menu of menudo and kaldereta is all set in the table. And for the 1st time in my life, we don’t have UBE for our Christmas Eve and New Years Eve.
Symbolizing something was lost and missing.
How does one make ube? I don’t know the matrix. Maybe it was made of gabi? I have no idea. I never made one.
The only story I know behind it was… when one cooks it, she should stir it every now and then… making the arms, hands and shoulder ache of endless stirring. I also know that it is very soft when it’s hot and as it cools it hardens. And, oh, it’s also topped with cheese.
My grand mother cooks it for us. Every year she cooks it the morning before Christmas Eve. To ensure its freshness… that can last until new years’ eve.
It may not be the star of our Noche Buena or Media Noche but not having it this year makes me realize it’s not the ube that’s missing… but the one that makes the ube for us.”
