around the corner

Grateful to the Universe

2018-07-24T02:26:00.000+08:00

Funny thing when you look back. You don't think anything changes from day to day. But years pass and you know nothing stayed the same. This sounds familiar, I may have written those lines years ago. Only proves that it's true, doesn't it?

A few days ago, I finally got something I've always wanted to have. I've wanted it for so long and so bad that on the first night, I kept waking up and checking if everything was real. It was. It is.

Sometimes the Universe deals with you in comical ways, it rarely makes sense. And sometimes, the taste of irony is so biting that you don't know what you got until it's farting in your face. Happened to me, and I can't complain.

I'm in a good place right now. The Universe shoved that to my face as well. I may have spent futile days thinking that the world was unfair that dealt me with underhanded cards. But in the end, even I got to say, the world is generous, and this human is grateful.

J. Pyo

2015-12-12T03:16:00.002+08:00

I've never known him to be a sad person. Nobody ever did. Of all my friends, he was the one that had the biggest smile, his zest for life was that of a chid's - always excited and vulnerable.

In the years that I've known him, from early college through adult life, we have considered each other to be best buddies. From his first heartaches to my first flunked subjects, from dwindling allowances to crazy drunken nights, we stood by like eternal youths - just always there, going our way with the tides. A few years from college, when he got married and I wasn't invited, I didn't talk to him for a year. When he and his wife separated, I told him it was cursed from the beginning because I wasn't there when they wed. He was one of the first few whom I told I was a lesbian. And he asked me in his incredulous disbelief, "Are you sure? I always thought you had secret feelings for me!" Crazy bastard.

Work took him to far places but we stayed in touch through the years. We would see each other during vacations and try to catch up on tsismis and random memories. But most of the real conversations we've had in recent years was done online. I work nights and because of the time difference from where he worked, this works out pretty well. We have had the most profound discussions on how to shave his private parts properly. He also shared how his dream of owning a piece of farm has slowly come to fruition. We've had incessant debates about why he hasn't found a permanent relationship yet. And we've also discussed just how serious we are in getting him to be a sperm donor for my partner sometime in the future.

In the last few weeks before his death, the conversations became a little quiet. It wasn't unusual - we've had episodes of random busy-ness that we attribute to work or other trivial things, but we've always gone back to the chatroom when it was time to breathe. He never came back online again. He never breathed again.

I've never known him to be a sad person. But maybe I'm using the wrong adjective here. Maybe it was beyond sadness that got to him. Or maybe it was not even that. They say he left a note. Oh what I would do to know of his last thoughts.

Did I really know him? Did I abandon him in some way? Could I have done anything? I'm sure these questions ran through not just on my mind, but on all the people who loved him that were left behind. Its been a few months, but there are occasions such as tonight when I find myself itching to chat with my best buddy, and I am filled with pain and grief just remembering how easy it used to be. Life was never complicated, he used to say.

To this day, I still have not understood what happened. Maybe I never will. And the biggest irony of all is that the only person who can make a complete explanation of it all has now decided to keep quiet forever.

B

2015-10-21T07:05:00.001+08:00

There are all sorts of friends in this world. As antisocial as I might have become today, I can say I have had my fill of many kinds back when I was younger. Back when I was wilder. Back when I was friend -lier.

I won't be talking today about the kinds of friends I have or have had. No. But I will talk to you about the kind of friend I was. The kind of friend I am. And the kind of friend I want to be.

I was a party animal. Fun was when I was around and when my friends were with me. We went to the rowdiest bars where we out danced everyone on the dance floor. We guzzled up beers like there was no tomorrow. We sang the loudest karaoke and drove the noisiest car in college. And we got picked up by the police a few times for breaking a rule here and there.

We skipped classes just so we can drink coffee under the rain.

We told stories late into the night, night after night - every single night. And we talked some more into the day just because the world was about us and no other else.

We drove into the future like the wind was behind us.

And yes, it was a short span of time, just a measly couple of years in college. But the memories we had then, have lasted a lifetime.

Today, we are mostly scattered around the world, but some things have remained. We talk about nothing and everything. Or chat, if I were to be technical about it. We still laugh at each other.But more importantly, we still laugh at the world together. Most recently, we have been crying together. Missing old friends. Grieving for lost friends.

Sometimes we chat and couldn't continue not because we don't have anything to say to each other but because we know the other one is sighing somewhere. Or breathing, just letting things be, feeling each other's presence from halfway round the world - in silence.

Sometimes I think that these are signs of times. We've grown. Do I mind? No. because we've grown together, and sometimes, that's all that matters.

They say if you've been friends for at least 8 years, chances are you'll be friends for life. I don't need that statistic to know that I have found the friends I will keep. It has been quite a road, filled with joy and madness. When we counted memories with thorns and flowers. Life has been good, despite all its shenanigans.

Thank you.
I'm sure my proud, haughty friends know who they are.

Maybe. Maybe Not.

2015-09-29T04:27:00.002+08:00

Sometimes I lay in bed in the wee hours and stare at the clock facing my bed. I watch each second turn into the next and this goes on for a bit of time until I get sleepy enough to want to go back to lala land. Most of the time, I drift back off, but on other occasions, I let the ticking seconds guide me into the sunrise.

Every weekend these last few months, as soon as my body feels it has rested quite enough, it wakes my mind and tells my eyes to stare at the clock. Every weekend.

Its not a bad thing actually. I even look forward to it sometimes. These days, everything is just so good that I can afford to spend a few good hours each week just savoring the quiet buzzing in my head. As of late, I have been in a state of balance wherein things, places and people are moving by at a pace that I want them to. The birds are chirping in my window. The sunlight passes through my curtains in just the right angles. The music is both rich and quiet in my ears. And my heart has been calm. The mind is quiet.

This piece of corner has been witness to a lot of ups and downs of this writer. At the moment, this one's a plateau. Do I prefer it any other way? Maybe. Maybe not. Remember that line I used to always say about movies and ice cream? Maybe I really shouldn't always be asking too much about why I have kept on searching. Maybe the movie and ice cream are enough. Maybe. Maybe not.

At Work at 3 in the Morning

2015-02-25T03:43:00.006+08:00

This is a product of a boredom. I should be doing something else.
I want a job that can challenge my mind.
For about 3 years now, I have been sitting each worknight, staring at my screen with sheer boredom.
Zzzzzz.
The quick brown fox jumped over the back of the lazy dog.
Dog lazy the of back the over jumped fox brown quick the.
Why am I wasting my life in this craphole? Yes, I have a job that pays the bills, for services I may not even need if I didn’t have to work. See what I did there?
I work to earn my keep to continue working. It’s a very, very nasty cycle.
I just want to go home and watch TV all day. Or maybe sleep the whole day.
Yeah, I should sleep more often. I never get enough sleep these days.
I wake up every day so I can spend most of it wasting away.
Now my weekends are a different thing altogether.
My Saturdays and Sundays are sacred. Aside from myself and family, I do not want to spend these 2 days with anyone else.
You think I should quit my job? Yes, most definitely. But do what? I've never done anything else. And nor do I know anything else that pays as much.
Aah, grown-up problems.
I wish I could just quit everything right away and not endure the consequences.
Or maybe if I had a remote control that would let me pause myself while everything and everyone else around just goes on. You know?

Usapang Lolo't Lola

2014-10-25T06:22:00.002+08:00

I'm a martial law baby alright.

Pinanganak ako 1979 at nagkamuwang ang isip noong panahong umuwi't napatay si Ninoy Aquino sa Pilipinas noong 1982.

Pero hindi ko idi-discuss ang martial law dito at hindi ako magiging pulitikal dito sa post ko na to. Sa ibang panahon natin paguusapan ang love and hate relationship ko sa mga Marcos.

Ang 80's, on a more personal note, ay panahong lahat ng mga mahal ko sa buhay, mula lolo, lola hanggang apo (sa akin at sa mga kapatid ko at mga pinsan) ay buhay at kumpleto pa. Nawalan ako ng lola noong 1987. First time ko yatang makakita ng labi ng patay nang malapitan noon. At hanggang ngayon, 27 years later, tanda ko pa rin kung paanong me humaplos sa aking malamig na hangin habang papalapit ako sa unang pagkakataon sa labi ng yumao kong lola. 9 years old lang ako noon pero doon ako nagsimulang maniwala sa after life.

Matagal-tagal din na naging biyudo ang lolo ko. 23 years din bago siya sumunod kay Nana sa kabilang ibayo. Ngayon, parehong pares ng lolo't lola ko, wala na. Ang paborito kong "lula" na kapatid ng lolo ko, namahinga na rin nung nakaraang taon lang.

Naisip ko lang, dumarating pala sa buhay yung marerealize mo na hindi ka na "apo" kasi walang nang tatawag sayo ng apo. Maiiwan ang pagiging anak, pamangkin, kapatid, pero apo, nawawala yan kasabay ng pagkamatay ng mga lolo't lola mo.

Bakit ba paraang nahipan ako ng hangin at biglang nagsulat ng ganito? Wala naman, nakakamiss lang magkaroon ng lolo't lola. Parang pag kasama mo sila, walang mali sa mundo, walang masama. Yun bang alam mong kahit makatulog ka ng walang kumot, meron at merong magtatalukbong sa yo kahit gaano na kalalim ang gabi. Yung pag naghanap ka ng halo halo sa hapong tirik na tirik ang araw, alam mong me mahihingan ka ng bente na walang kasamang pagalit.At yung pag nagbabakasyon ka sa probinsya, alam mong me nakaantabay sa pagdating mo at laging nagmamadaling salubungin ka? Nakakamiss.

Malapit na ang All Soul's Day. Hind ako makakauwi ngayong taon, katulad ng iba pang taon at All Soul's Day na lumipas. Hindi ako madalas dumalaw sa mga puntod ng lolo't lola ko. Pero sa isip? Lagi ko silang kausap, magpa-hanggang ngayon. .

Usapang Trabaho

2014-07-09T00:36:00.000+08:00

Nakakatamad magtrabaho. Masarap tumambay na lang sa bahay at manood ng TV magdamag. Inaantok na naman ako. Naghahanap ng magagawa dito sa opisina. Magpapanggap na busy at may katuturan ang ginagawa. Ilang oras na naman kaya ang bubunuin ko ngayon?

Bakit nga ba ako nagtratrabaho? Maliban sa simpleng rason na kelangan ko kumita, wala na akong ibang maisip na dahilan kung bakit kailangan kong pumasok sa trabaho araw –araw. Mahirap bumangon kung di mo alam para saan at para kanino mo ginagawa ito.

Minsan iniisip ko kung nasa tamang industriya ba ako at tama ang pinili kong karera. Sabagay di ko naman talaga to pinili. Nagkataon lang na ito ang trabahong naghihire at nagbigay sakin ng magandang suweldo nung mga panahong kinailangan ko nang magtrabaho. Sa nakalipas na 9 na taon, itong trabaho ko ang naging buhay ko. Pero hindi dahil ginalingan ko o naging magaling ako sa ginagawa ko. Ang ibig ko lang sabihin, dito umikot ang buhay ko – kumikita ako para mabuhay, nabubuhay ako para kumita. Ganun lang.

Sa siyam na nakalipas na taon, halos hindi ko ipinahinga ang sarili ko. Pinakamatagal na siguro ang tatlong araw na bakasyon na madalas, itinutulog ko na lang. Pambawi sa ilang gabing kulang sa tulog dahil sa trabaho. Minsan, umuuwi ako sa amin sa probinsiya, pero kung nataong wala pang sweldo, hindi na lang ako tumutuloy. Don’t get it wrong. Hindi ako inoobliga ng magulang ko na magbigay sa kanila. Kung tutuusin, mas may kaya sila kaysa sa akin. Pero alam mo yun? Pag umuwi ka na di ka man lang makabili ng kahit ano para sa kanila o yung tipong di mo mailabas man lang sila, parang me kulang yung bakasyon mo. So ayun, pag wala akong ekstrang pera, di na lang ako umuuwi.

Sa haba ng mga taon ng pagtratrabaho ko, hindi ganun kalaki ang ipon ko. Di ko nga alam kung ipon ba ang tawag doon sa sobrang liit. Wala din akong kotse at lalong walang naipundar na bahay o lupa. Minsan inisip ko na lang, di ko naman kasi kailangan ng mga bagay na yan. Wala naman akong anak na kailangan pag aralin at suportahan, aanhin ko ang malaking pera? Nakatira ako malapit sa pinagtratrabahuan ko, at mahal ang parking sa building ko, hindi praktikal bumili ng kotse. At dahil wala naman akong pagpapamanahan ng ari-arian ko, aanhin ko ang lupa’t bahay? Ang dami kong pwedeng ibigay na rason para i-justify lahat to. Pero minsan nakakainis pa rin na wala ako ng mga ito, kasi sa maraming tao, eto ang basehan nila ng pagiging successful.

Kapag me nakikita akong lumang kakilala, mapa-kaibigan man o pamilya, “O kumusta ka na, asan ang bahay mo?” “Uy, mukhang successful tayo ah, ilan ang kotse mo?” Alam mo yun? Minsan ako na ang umiiwas na makipagkita sa mga lumang kakilala.

Hindi ko alam kung bakit ko naisulat ito ngayon. Siguro dumarating lang talaga minsan sa tao na nagtatanong kung bakit niya ginagawa ang ginagawa niya. Wala naman kasi akong ibang ginawa kundi magtrabaho sa nakalipas na 9 na taon. Minsan baka sa kakatutok natin sa isang bagay, di natin mapansin ang mga mas dapat pala nating pinagtuunan ng atensyon at panahon. Ayokong magising na lang isang umaga na matanda na at nagtratabaho pa rin dahil yun na lang ang alam kong gawin.
Kailangan ko na muna magisip ng mga susunod na hakbang mula dito. Kung anuman ang mangyari, makikita mo.

Chewii, My Little Man

2014-03-28T07:05:00.003+08:00

My little furry man. I seriously couldn't imagine life before we got him.

These days, it doesn't matter anymore if we stink of lamb meat and chicken half the time - just because that's all Chewii ever eats. It also doesn't matter that we rush home every single day after work so this canine gets fed on time and gets his share of walking exercise in the morning. Traveling outside the city becomes an event that needs big planning each time whether or not we're bringing him along. Waking to go to work has become more than rushing to the shower and getting clothed because we have to heat his broth and soak his kibbles.

You'd ask, has life become more difficult?

Oh no, life has been more lovely and beautiful - fur, licks and all. :)

On To The City of Pines

2014-02-20T03:09:00.000+08:00

Tomorow, I will be going up to Baguio for a much needed R&R.

Baguio has always held a soft spot in me, as like all other people who have been smitten with the city's magical lure.

I only wish I wasn't going to Baguio with all other million people going up for the Panagbenga Festival. Nevertheless, I still feel excited.

KG will be going with me and we have a lot of activities lined up. We havent been really to Baguio as a couple so this time, it will be like just the 2 of us, a million other tourists withstanding.

Baguio feels like Elbi to me sometimes. I don't know why. Well my mom went to college there and based on the stories she tells us, she had the time of her life there. She used to date PMA cadets and her bestfriend actually got married to an officer who later became the country's Chief of Staff. My mom would tell us stories about how much her allowance was back then. She would say that our late Nana was very generous with money and she got around 20 pesos monthly allowance. Uh, okay, how much was 20 pesos worth then, anyway?

Well, mom says, a bottle of coke cost around 10 cents. A pair of Levi's was 7 pesos. A tray-full of eggs was 25cents. So I do a little math in my head, and santa banana, my mom must have been rich!

When I went to college, my monthly allowance couldn't have afforded me a pair of Levi's. Sure, I always had money then, and it was always easy to ask for "advances" , but I didnt have any of the luxury stuff. Maybe except for the Alcatel cellphone my parents gave me plus the extra loads they sent me soon after. Looking back though, I wish I had the discipline back then to have spent my allowances on more meaningful stuff. I splurged a big part of it on parties, booze and cigarettes. I wish I had chosen to spend for a class ring instead. Or maybe a yearbook. I don't know, I just feel sometimes that I wasted an awful lot of money on useless stuff.

This weekend, when I go to Baguio, I will make certain that I dont do so much of the tourist-ty stuff. No more buying mundane stuff that you can buy at every little tiangge across the Philippines. This time, I want to invest on the things that matter. The ones that will last.

Will post about the Baguio trip soon!

Kowtabol Kowts

2014-01-10T00:43:00.001+08:00

Movie fan that I am, I sometimes exert an effort to get lost in movie histories, behind the scenes, and yes,famous movie lines. I came across these memorable lines from Filipino movies and I couldn't resist posting them. As you will notice, I didn't add the usual lines you'd most likely find in other blogs. Enjoy!

Nora Aunor & Vilma Santos in Danny Zialcita's T-Bird At Ako

Nora: Bakit? Sino ka ba ano ba'ng ipinagmamalaki mo? Katawan lang 'yan! Saan ba galing 'yan sa putik?

Vilma: Putik nga ako pero kahit ganito ako nagsisimba ako kahit paano. At ang sabi ng nasa Itaas ang sala sa init sala sa lamig, iniluluwa ng langit, isinusuka ng Diyos!

Nora Aunor to Miguel Rodriguez in I Can't Stop Loving You

"Ito ang tandaan mo Jeffrey Carbonell, babalik ako sa itaas at pag nasa itaas na ako, duduraan kita!"

Maricel Soriano to Nida Blanca in Saan Darating Ang Umaga?

"Wala sa damit, wala sa kulay ang pagmamahal. Nasa puso nasa utak!"

From Patigasan ang Labanan:

(Bella Flores to Paquito Diaz)"Diligin mo ng suka ang tuyo kong lumpia!"

That's it for now. I will add more to this when I have more time to dig. ;)

Riding Into The Unknown

2013-12-19T03:01:00.000+08:00

I brought Gulliver home 3 weeks ago.
Gulliver is a 2-wheeled folding bike fully intended to accompany me in my pursuit of leisurely travels. Gulliver’s travels – get it?

I have always loved riding bikes for as long as I can remember. Even when I didn’t know how to ride it. You see, I never owned a bike when I was young. Nor did any of my cousins. I was also not allowed to play with the neighborhood kids. So I never learned how to ride a bike properly. Such was my longing to ride a 2-wheeled vehicle that one time, in 6th grade, I think, one of my guy friends brought his brother’s scooter to school. I borrowed it and hoped that if I drove fast enough, the wheels would balance themselves on their own. True enough, I didn’t fall sideways, but I did zoom straight into an open water canal.

This was an anecdote that one of my old teachers loved to tell her class from that point on. You see, while I was driving into my imminent fall into the canal, my teacher was on the 2nd floor, teaching another class. She claims she saw me in slow motion through the large windows at that time. And for the love of me, she was panicking, gesturing wildly as if having a heart attack in front of the whole class. Funny story.

I eventually learned how to bike. Serendipitously. I was taught by near-strangers who I happen to be stranded with because of a cancelled practice for a school activity I no longer remember. I remember it was a drizzly afternoon when I asked this obscure classmate to allow me to mount his bike and if he be so kind to push me. I don’t know, maybe I just really looked desperate but soon enough, this boy asked 2 more people to help half-push, half support my weight while I pedaled incessantly. I flew that day. In hindsight, that was probably one of the most memorable moments of my life.

After that, I had an on and off relationship with riding. There’s this ride down a hill towards a national highway with busted breaks. Another ride with a backrider who crashed with me 4 meters into the ride. An adventurous encounter with a goat. And then there’s this beautiful sunrise ride back in the old hometown of my father.

If I had my way, I would have been riding all my life. But life happens when we’re too busy working and that’s another story I will tell one day.

Anyhoots, Gulliver has been out with me for about 2 consecutive weekends now. It has been quite exciting to finally rediscover the backends and alleys of Makati again. I have been visiting parks too, and in an instant, I was back to my old years. During my ride breaks, I have this special area in this park where I just sit and tilt my head to soak in the morning sunlight. I stay there for 30 minutes or so and sometimes just watch a group of people doing yoga a few grassfields away. Sometimes I catch a wink or two. I am planning to bring a mat and a book next time so I can have myself a pretty little picnic there. I ride on Sundays so there normally isn’t a lot of noise around, even in Makati. And so I have been hearing the leaves rustling in the wind again. And yes, (my sisters will tease me about this), I have been smelling my favorite scent in the world -- newly cut grass, again.

I have been telling KG how much I feel so alive and young lately. I’m not sure she knows that I attribute this to my rekindled love of biking. This time, I hope that I get to be more consistent in taking Gulliver with my travels. My siblings are I are going home to Ilocos for Christmas. If there’s enough room in the trunk, I just might be able to bring Gulliver to visit the Ilocos mansion.

More Gulliver journals coming up, you betcha.

When It's Over

2013-08-13T05:27:00.001+08:00

When do you say it's over? How do you know the chains that have held you back for so long have finally broken?
People take years to forget. Some take a lifetime. The lucky ones take a second - and yes, they are lucky for they do not feel the pain of the past. But nor do they feel the wonder of it either -

I have not been good at forgetting. When I was younger, I would not go to sleep until I've memorized all my school notes from the previous day. Every little detail mattered to me. I never had difficulty with my classes (until I learned how to party, that is --but that's a different story) because I'd always remember my professors' lectures. Words and images would stick in my head and will take years to fade. These days, whenever I'd meet old friends and family, we spend hours reminiscing old stuff - most of it are re-told by me. Many times, over and over - until the stories becomes an extension of myself. And I would feel like I was back in the day and I'd tell the stories as if it were just happening at the moment - emotions, and all.

And so during times like this when I'm confronted with a vague memory, I think hard and I think deep why it has been forgotten. I have come to realize that some of my melancholic memories have been reduced to snippets. Not because they were painful, you see, because I'm a sucker for mellowdramas but mainly because I didnt want to remember how special these were.
I no longer want to remember how special these memories were.Because at some point, I became the only one considering it special any more.

Memories are woven thoughts and feelings that form images in the mind. Brittle and raw. Fading and unfading.

I have been gifted with a memory so good that I remember every little story I heard when I was a kid. Every song I listened to on the radio thru the decades. Every character and plot of each book I've read. Every family member's smile and voice. The way the each grandparent sounded when they called my name. The smell of my father's shirt right after he comes home from work. The contents of my mother's office bag. The smell of my pencil case every June when I've just bought new pencils and erasers. My sister's breakfast table stories. Everyone I've loved in one way or another --

I remember you. And the things we did, and dreamed about. I remember the things that mattered to us. But I stopped. I tried forgetting. And I became so good at forgetting, sometimes I don't even feel like I was even there. I'm not sure why I wrote this. I'm not even sure if I'd try to start remembering again. I know I should - this is the only way I can capture how beautiful my life has been. Beautiful, yes, but not without pain. And I can take that. I can take the pain. But knowing and feeling that I am now the only one feeling fondness for these memories is more than I can bear.

Memories unshared are just stories. And stories can may as well be forgotten.

Getting Old

2013-03-13T08:50:00.001+08:00

These days, I almost never visit this site anymore. Unless I am feeling extra moody or utterly bored, I usually veer away from these blog that is a house to a lot of juvenile musings and rantings. I don’t want to be mis-quoted. I used the word, juvenile – not in an effort to mask nor justify all the hatred and negativities of my past entries, no sir. But as a way to come to terms with myself, and to finally accept that this once young girl has now become, well for lack of better word, old.

Now let’s not be too harsh on the word old, yes? Sometimes being old is a good thing. Try not to think about gnarled hands brought by rheumatism. Stop thinking about senility and Alzheimer’s disease. Do not even start on those adult diapers which, at some point will have to stop being funny. For a while, let’s forget about putting an age to being old.

Let’s think about quiet mornings with soft breakfast conversations. Let’s talk about humming in the balcony while watching the dust dancing in the dusky sunlight. How about finishing work on time every single day and coming home to a dog who never stops wagging his tail? Or maybe a lazy stroll at the grocery, finding thrills and mysteries at the vegetable and milk lane? And how about waking up in the middle of night and re-reading old novels while drinking milk?

There so much stories to tell these days about me finally slowing down my pace. I never actually noticed things were changing, but one day I realized I wasn’t rushing anymore. I laughed more and talked less. I was finally living life as it should.

A couple of days ago, KG and I were about to go to bed and I was at that point of losing consciousness when I turned around and startled her with a seemingly nonsensical question. I asked, “What did we do to deserve being happy?” She didn’t say anything. She just smiled and hugged me and said goodnight. What she didn’t probably realize was I got all the answers I needed right there.

These days, I sigh more not because I feel tired but because I enjoy breathing so much. I wake up in the morning trying to take in the smell of the air and thinking, “What a nice day this will be.” When I walk my dog, I talk to him too, not because I want to teach him new tricks, but because I want him to know the sound of my voice when I’m not reprimanding him. Sometimes I still talk to myself, not unlike the past – but this time, I just talk and not argue with my inner Jing.

I meant this entry to be short and sweet. I just had a sudden urge to write after blog-hopping tonight. But I am just so full of good stories to tell. I feel so much happiness I’m just about ready to burst. For a change, this blog is being written in smiles.

My Corner

2012-10-26T11:54:00.000+08:00

In the last few years, I have been more of a reader than a writer. A lurker, more than the star of the show. I'm sure you know what I mean. In the past, I have always had this innate thirst to be the center of everyone's life. I wanted to matter, no matter what. I had that. And I thought I had it all. But at the end of the show, I realized, it was really nothing but that - just a show.

These days, I find comfort in being on the side. I've learned to enjoy to watch life go by. I feel no insane pressure to change the world. I have no need to make a mark. I am simply watching the world - as it should be seen. Naked and raw. Vivid and...unchanged.

Little by little, I've come to realize that the cause of great disappointment and pain is wanting too much, giving too much, and hoping for too much. It's not so bad to take each day as it comes, you know. Not bad at all.

Today, I find great joy in watching a dried leaf soar up when a big gust of wind scoops it up. I find it hilarious to spend hours with my dog and I just staring into each other's eyes. A new recipe which I perfected on the first try is an accomplishment. Waking up, and then having the luxury to sleep right back is one hell of a miracle for me. I am one with myself. I am at peace with my world.

I'm living my life. And I'm living it well. Not many people can claim that. When I'm older and life, for one reason or another may turn for the worse, I will make sure to look back here. I know I will find my way back. This is my road back to my corner. My own.

Same Old, Same Old

2012-08-22T09:16:00.000+08:00

I've been through this once before. And maybe it's true when they say that practice makes perfect, because this time, I feel more at peace - or maybe numb. Same thing.

I'm starting over again. Yet again. Can I go through this again? I have only myself to blame. Same old, same old.

I don't know what's wrong with myself. Maybe I've fallen in love with the idea of growing old alone too much. I have envisioned myself to be an old, pathetic, melancholic woman who will live the rest of her life reminiscing about her wonderful, colorful history. Aah yes, history. That would be all there is at the end of the road. Same old, same old.

Chewii's First Birthday

2012-08-08T11:03:00.001+08:00

We celebrated Chewii's Birthday last August 4. Friends and family alike came over to join the fun.
I was supposed to start a photoblog for 265 days starting last May. Better late than never.
So let's start this with this photo.

In the picture with me is Chewii's mommy, Kay. Nice family pic we have here. :)
The night was awesome, filled with lotsa fun and running. With Chewii's dog guests, whaddaya expect? :p

The Muse Visits

2012-03-29T07:49:00.005+08:00

My muse visited me last night. She has been fleeting and evasive as of late, and her sudden pop- in actually surprised me. And yes, as always, my muse was, is and always will be a pleasant surprise. She comes and goes and never really stays. An interventionist, my muse, that’s her.

I don’t think I have ever talked about her here. I’ll try to do it today. Pardon the shallow words I will be using my dear muse. You don’t deserve these trivial and petty sketch that I will do of you today.

As all writers and artists (which I like to associate with and consider myself to be one, thank you very much), I have my quirks, moods and temper that even I cant seem to understand. Much less control, if you know what I mean. When I write, I have to be in a particular mood which is beyond words to describe. As if in a limbo, strange emotions mix together to make me feel something like a combination of being thrilled, poignant, exultant and animated. Everything happens in a reflex. Writing becomes automatic. Sometimes I feel like its my fingers doing the thinking. In engulfs and swallows me whole while it stretches me thin at the same time. At the end of it, I would feel spent yet satiated. These, among all others are what my muse does to me whenever she visits.

Other writers talk about having writer’s block. I’ve had my share of that too. I define it as the time when my muse refuses to reveal itself. She hides in the cupboards. She veils herself beneath my curtains. And she holes herself under the bed. During these times, no matter how hard or pathetically I beg her to show a glimpse, my muse holds back. She remains stubborn and strong -willed, uncompromising and selfish. And I end up staring at blank walls and white screens – numb, unfeeling. Zombified.

So you see, my muse and I have a love – hate relationship. It has been this way for so long that I wonder if I would ever get to keep her for good. On most occasions I have almost given up on her. It seems like for the longest time, I have been chasing her and I have come no closer in capturing my most elusive inspiration.

But you see, last night the muse visited me. I was on my way to work, and just a few seconds before I stepped inside the cab, I had the sudden impulse to write. I didn’t have anything in mind, nothing concrete really. But my muse egged me on, not wanting me to lose the momentum. She wasn’t very patient, and during the 5 minute ride to the office, she has threatened to run off yet again. I couldn’t afford that. I could let her escape this time, after such a long time of waiting. So when I got to the office, this post was the first thing I did.

She’s left now. So end of post. Until then.

Weekend

2012-03-17T09:12:00.004+08:00

Weekend.

Today, I give myself a break from the rat race. For a brief respite of 2 days, I am gonna forget about my meetings, my reports and all the stress I get from studying charts of accounts and financial hullabaloos. Today, I am gonna breathe slowly, and forget the world outside my little corner. Today, I live.

Weekend.

I will play with my dog. Dance with KG.

I will write one piece of literature. I will sing.

I might do a little bit of cleaning (very therapeutic!).

And I will cook a dish I've never cooked before.

Today, I live.

I will not mind if I don't take a shower.

And I will probably miss to floss my teeth.

At least for the next 2 days.

I will sweat it out and release my energy - just because I want to feel spent.

And make it up by sleeping for 10 hours straight.

Its the weekend. And I intend to squeeze every bit of it to live and to feel alive.

Have a wonderful weekend people.

365 Project: Planning Stage

2012-03-16T10:25:00.004+08:00

I've been writing here since 2005. This blog has been a testament to my little corner of life on this Earth for the last 7 years. And yes, lately - more than lately actually - I have been ignoring this little piece of garden for uh, lots of reasons. Dont start asking. I will not be able to answer your questions in one seating.

In the meantime, let me sidetrack.

I'm not entirely sure how I'd go about this, but I am going to be starting my own 365 project. This blog will be revamped to give way to a photo blog that will document my existence for 365 days. It will just be in time for this corner's May anniversary. Watch out for it.

Bogas 3 Sneak View

2012-01-16T13:02:00.001+08:00

These words that youread aren’t really words.

In these last few years of quiet, words have become a bit more than what they are. They have become voices – those little whimpers you hear when the going gets too rough. These words, too, have become laughter, melodic and warm – a bit like hot cocoa on a very cold, rainy night.

Oh but most importantly,these words – These words that you’re reading have become echoes. Soft echoes
in time that have stayed and remained. As if in an empty wide cavern that used to be so full and busy, all that lingers now are the traces of what was once there. Of what was once been.

I remember a trek maybe about fifteen summers ago in the deep Sierra Madres of Cagayan. There was this place called Callao Caves which was partly a tourist spot, partly ruins. The entrance of the cave has been converted into a chapel, and is always filled with people, mostly Catholics. Further down the path though, where it is darker, steeper and most likely dangerous, is the part which is not open to public. I remember getting lost in this dangerous place.

I wasn’t scared, and no I wasn’t exactly rearing to go back to the chapel which had somehow stifled my naturally-adventurous spirit. Instead, I plunged head-on, not knowing where each step would take me. After the initial up and down bumpy walk, I remember coming into an open space, which is lit by natural sunlight from a large hole five meters above me. The ray of light cast glittering dust directly to where I was standing. Suddenly, my surroundings became more quiet but instinctively alive. I could hear the drop of water from a stalactite 3 meters away! And the
leaves, yes the rustling of leaves from way beyond the hole above was very soothing to my ears. The very air around me seemed to have energy from within it. It was one of those split second moments than can evoke emotions to write
poetry or to make a painting.

I literally envision my life with the Bogases to the old feeling I had in that cave.

My life with the Bogas people was life full of contradiction. I’ve said this once, and I’ll say it again – it was a short time of driving free, the times when we counted destruction with thorns. We felt life, in fullness and in freedom, one part of life filled with madness and joy.

After everyone has left, I didn’t feel as much fire in friendship any more. I was not interested in having tight knots with people because in my heart of hearts, what was the point when everyone’s leaving one way or another. Of course I was wrong then. Life moves on inevitably and those that desperately cling to their past almost always drown in the miserable truth that the past is exclusively history. And so as I counted the months that led to years, and then to a decade, I was absentmindedly also trying to move on from life I had with the Bogases. My friend Mabelle will shake her head when she reads these lines I’m writing now – she will of course say, “We’re still here, alive and kicking” as the cliché goes. “Nobody changed, you know”. And for sure, I’d say, “Things change, people change, that’s the stark truth, who are we to dispute reality?” But us being us, we’d also most likely let our thoughts hang without necessarily agreeing with each other. And that’s the beauty of what we have now. I guess we’ve just learned to accept all that has happened without questions. Things were more difficult to understand in the early days. And one of the people who most likely felt it the hardest was Richard. If you’re wondering why it had to be him, don’t ask. Just look back. I’m sure you’ll get the answer you’re looking for. Just try to remember.

Remember.

This is so hard to do these days. Our get togethers have become rare and far in between, sometimes taking years before the next one. And when we do have it, I have always hoped to maybe talk about the old times, maybe laugh and reminisce about the old ways. But rarely does this happen. We do a little update here and there. And mostly it would be about people other than us. So these days, I end up knowing more things about the people we know, instead of each other. I don’t complain. Being together, albeit infrequently, is always better than nothing. Again, acceptance. Life goes on.

And so I write this 3rd book not in an attempt to talk about our past. As fiery, feral and colourful our past lives may have been, that is now almost exclusively history. Almost. In this fast and busy world we’ve embraced, echoes of the past are heard during quiet nights. But echoes are not stories – just memories. So what I intend to write is what happened after. What happened after Los Banos? What happened when people began leaving? And what happened to the people in this next life chapter of the Bogas people?
Read on.

Tonight I Write About Tata

2011-06-09T01:01:00.006+08:00

Tonight, I write about Tata.

Tata was my last living grandparent. A little over a year ago, Tata passed away quite unexpectedly. I was here at the Metro when it happened. But my mind, over that entire week was with him.

Tata has always been sort of like a sentinel for me. He, in my own humble opinion, was my old man who I thought would never grow old.

He did.

But back in the older days, I have fond memories of Tata riding his bicycle, going around the old town. He is quite well known in the old neighborhood, and I can only surmise that this is because he was once the owner of the only restaurant/grocery/store in the old neighborhood. Tata used to own an old carpentry shop too. He had, in his employ a number of people who were then my playmates as a kid. I had waitresses as my yayas then. His carpenters were at my beck and call whenever I needed anything built - from small wooden chairs to mini tables as my playthings. My sister and I shared a small nook at the corner of the shop where we would build our little own world of made of wood, tools scrap metals. These days, one of my favorite scents remain to be the smell of fresh wood shavings. Looking back now, this might have been because this scent remind me of my youth when nothing and no one can touch me. Who could ever? My Tata was my sentinel - he stood guard for me, from all the possible harms that could hurt, down to the little scratches I got from playing around in his shop.

As a kid, I was a handful. I was spoiled rotten by my late Nana and by all my titos and titas. Whenever I would have my share of spanking from Papa during my younger days, I run to Tata's bedroom, and that was the end of my punishment. I would stay there until the late hours, watching PPP (Piling Piling Pelikula) and Box Office Hits from the old, yellow telly.

On most mornings, it was Tata's task to buy pandesal for the entire family. Even after our family has moved to another house, Tata, would always drop by riding his bicycle to give our morning ration of pandesal. He had also taken upon himself to get the previous night's trash so he can throw it in the dump site. This has been his daily morning ritual for as long as I can remember.

During the later part of his life, Tata has slowly become thinner and more sickly. His once stocky built has shrunk to a frail old man, yet he remained handsome, strong jawline and all. Despite his rheumatic joints, he continued to tower above us all, wide shouldered and well-postured. Tata remained his quiet, dignified stance, never bullying nor oppressing. He was a loving grandfather who never got mad, never demanded, and never imposed any rules.

It's been a little bit over a year since Tata has passed away. It isnt true when they say that time heals. When we lose someone we love, we are never, ever the same. And yes, we will be scarred forever. Time, however, has a way of making us feel better. Yet, the scars, however thin and light they become, will always be here.

Tonight, I write about Tata. Tonight, I feel my scars. And yes, over time, I have felt better about all that has happened. But I remember. And I know I miss my old man.

One Crappy Entry

2011-06-07T04:43:00.002+08:00

It's 4AM and I'm staring at this almost blank screen. What to write, I ask myself. I lit a cigarette to help jumpstart my pondering process. And I've been hitting on long drags but the mind opts to laze around today.

The words in my head are all jumbled up. I have a couple of things that I want to write about but I find myself getting lazier and lazier with each letter I type on my keyboard.

So I keep on staring at this screen, wondering if I could ever muster anything to post today.

For now, this crappy entry will have to do. I vow to write something more substantial tomorrow. I hate this feeling of not being able to express myself as easily like I used to.

Maybe I should stop stop thinking too much for a bit.

Mid Year Question

2011-06-02T07:37:00.003+08:00

Mid year review for 2011--
This year is full of surprises. A lot of changes has happened over the course of the last 6 months. I must admit, most of these has left me panting and astonished. Let me not get into the boring nitty gritties of my mundane life. (But) So far, I've left my old boring job for another boring one. In the last 6 months, I've also been more docile(!) in terms of handling altercations. I might have been feral and ferocious in the past, yes. But lately, I have been surprising myself because I have become more laidback and...yes, docile. I dent exacly know what changed. If, in the past, I found great joy in debating and trying to prove I'm right, these days, I just keep quiet and let other people believe what they want to believe. I have become more detached, but not apathetic. I still care about what's happening around me, but I have become less controlling. Good thing? I dont know. One thing that scares me about all these is the possibility of me becoming jaded. Could it be? Have I grown so old that I no longer find passion and intensity with the world around me? I dont know, but being 30 seems like an awful lot early to feel old. Something in me has gone astray, but I still cant figure out what. I've said this before and I will say it again - I need to feel passionate about something..anything. During the last few years, I have stopped, little by little, doing the things I love. I stopped writing. I rarely play the guitar anymore. I've stopped going out with friends. I don't feel as excited with my job anymore. I rarely ever paint and sketch. What stopped me from doing all these? That is the question.

Life's a Bliss with K

2010-11-25T15:23:00.000+08:00

Ninety days from my last post was when I stopped being lonely.
About 8 months ago, I've learned to let go of old hurts and pains.
About 8 months ago, I've started looking at life through rose-colored glasses again.
It was utterly unexpected, yet awesomely thrilling.
It was, is a sweet, sweet ride to oblivion, where I was fully well aware of being alive and...
...being loved.

I never thought happiness can stay.
Life in this corner is a bliss.

Zombie

2010-02-05T17:38:00.000+08:00

I woke up one morning and I was a zombie. I need to feel passionate again - about something. Anything.