I promised BWL not to burn my Hong Kong flat…I don’t remember promising anything else. Relax, the gaping hole was not something I did. The repairman had to change the pipes because I broke the water heater (and the space heater, and the kitchen fan).
It is too early.
Too early for me to think things I could put off till later.
I think Girlie caught my habit of waking up too early as she is up and busy now in the kitchen prepping breakfast. The only catch is I get to listen to some cheesy music that I have to constantly bite my tongue. The music just sang the word “over” five times consecutively— and it made me stare at the screen for bewilderment.
The first rendition of the word “over” was quick and smooth, then the next one had this prolonged stretch in the second syllable, the third hada different inflection, fourth, a repetition of the third, and in the fourth, the singer made it possible to say “over” in more than the two syllables it needed. Deym!
I will force myself not to count the word “baby” in the song. But judging from the first two stanzas, the song is bound to have a lot. Why is “baby” so common these days.
And why the heck would you want to call your partner that?
Why is everybody overlooking the fact that living with a baby is like living with a drug addict.
They cry for nothing, fight over nothing, they are warm and cold in an instant.
They steal your food, your money, and time.
They encroach your private space and is not apologetic to ruin your schedule.
And the reason they get away with all these is that they are cute.
And cute is ok for ten years old and below. Continue reading
Do what you love…for me, is a bad career advice.
How many times we find ourselves saying it to other people?
How many times have we been fed with that cliche?
Too many to count, I guess. It has become an integrated part of our growing up.
Our seniors would often highlight their success by saying they have succeeded because they are doing what they love. Don’t believe them. They are successful because they are good at what they do.
And no, they are no more lucky than you are.
Thing is, we are complicated, multi-faceted, and our interest shifts as time goes by.
We do not only love one thing.
We love a lot of things. Continue reading
Fast Facts about Cebu (http://cebu.islandsphilippines.com/)Often called the “Queen City of the South” and the Seat of Christianity in the Philippines, Cebu is the country’s oldest city. Exploring Cebu City, one encounters a rich historic past. Cebuanos are extremely proud of their cultural and historical heritage, a legacy which has endured thru the centuries from the time the great explorer Ferdinand Magellan first planted the cross on Cebu’s shore.
*palahubog – glutton for alcoholic drinks
they fly too fast.
they taste so sweet…
and they often warm the soul or leave us cold…
so goodbyes become so hard when preceded by such an experience…
goodbyes don’t really matter without those experiences.
as farewells are not necessary between people who treat eachother as strangers.
Even enemies, as they say goodbye to eachother feel a sense of nostalgia and a loss of purpose especially when they’ve hated eachother for a long time.
…you cannot see because of the the flashing lights…
And so many people are waiting to take your pictures.
Roses are being thrown at your feet with the crowd cheering your name.
They want more, they crave for more than what’s being offered.
They clap their hands in a rythm, seducing you to again give the performance of your life……but when the bulbs die down.
After the people have left…
After you’ve become tired of the noise and the laughter.
and after the stage has been cleaned…
you go back to your own little self- euphoric for a moment
but definitely deafened by the silence.
You ask for sleep but your mind gives you no rest.
You clamour for the bed, but its emptiness gnaws at your soul.
Your tandem has left…and your not on the stage anymore.
The phone rings.
You pick it up.
And somehow, that call transcends the distance…
but its not enough –Never enough!
And like the crowd that cheers…you hum the name you long for.
You sing a melody and missing his company.
You dance in loneliness…all the while making yourself sick by sending blank stares at the blank walls.
You are not sad.
But you are not overjoyed.
You are suspended…until the phone rings again.
She instantly became a star when she decided to loop her neck a cord and died and she was only 12 years old.
She decided to take her own life because they were poor and her parents are always fighting . Before she died, she asked her mother let her work in the factory, the same place where her mom’s a worker. She was scolded so she went him –hurt, sad, and possibly confused.
When she died, they found her diary and inside it, they were able to read a part of her tormented soul. It’s been a month already since she last attended school, she wrote. They don’t have enough money for food and transportation. She wrote she wanted to be a nurse. She wants to be the one to bring her family out of poverty.
Another entry was about her feelings towards her parents when they fight
How can one so young, feel so old?
Where can one so young get enough courage to take her own life?
I am a mother, and this type of news really makes me uncomfortable. When I saw it on tv, I immediately remembered my eldest daughter. Ever since her father and I called it quits, I’ve noticed a certain maturity in her. I would catch her looking at our wedding pictures and she would look so sad. She’s still the vibrant little girl she was but she’s started to have outbursts, she’s more stubborn, and there are moments where she is just quiet. I’ve always brushed this aside, hoping that one day, I could explain to her why. She is just a kid. I missed her suddenly.
Being able to understand and acting out of understanding are two different things…
Just because you understand, doesn’t necessarily mean that one is rational in answering such understanding. A kid may understand, but they may not know how to deal with it. In the sad case of this twelve year old girl, she answered it by taking her own life because she understood how hard their life is, how poor they are, how mean circumstances are…that and more.She knew…but that alone didn’t drive her to suicide. Not knowing how to deal with all of it, is the real culprit.
So many things have shown her that life is hard, unfair, and cruel…but nobody was there to convince her that life can also be beautiful and that it should be cherished.
She didn’t knew the value of living, no one taught her.
And as a parent, no matter how busy we are, no matter how depressed we are, that is one lesson we should try to teach, no matter what.
A simple pat.
A simple praise.
Having a composed demeanor.
We mold them not only with what we say to them but with the type of life we live. And thus, to effectively teach them how good life can be is to show them how to be grateful and happy with little things.
But how can we make them face life and at the same time retain their innocence? I am also looking for answers. I am struggling myself. It’s a double edge sword…and I might die bleeding.
I’m your typical girl.
I am brown-skinned, I have a long black mane.
I wear casual clothes – usually a V-necked top that extends around 5 inches below my knee, jeans, flip flops or sandals…usually these days, I wear my havas coz they are comfortable.
I have my big purse, the kind that looks as if I’m stowing away from home and my mobile phone on right hand.
In some days, I look tousled — as if I just got lucky last night — where I have that sultry look where a secret grin is almost concealed…a grin most likely because I’m sharing a private joke with this gorgeous man beside me.
And the moments we’ve shared are all worth its weight in gold.
Not only does he make me laugh, he brings me food when I’m in the mood to eat pizza and nothing else, or he would spoil me with ice cream if he thinks the time is right. He cleans my place if it’s too messy…He brings me the latest lip gloss that will soon eventually become my favorite until he brings me another one.
We stare at each other’s eyes and faces while we stifle our giggles.
we do little hand signals that drives us to blush.
He touches my face, he whispers funny little nothings.
just about anything a great relationship can give you.
He is the perfect man — for that next hottie to pass by.
You see, he is my gay bestfriend.
And no matter how good looking he may look- fact remains that we both prefer the same sex.
Relationship with a gay friend, especially with a good looking one is the ultimate friendship with the opposite sex.It is a friendship where boundaries need not to be vague as there is no line to cross in the first place.
His number is the most dialled and texted number in my phone.
I see something good, I have to tell him.
I lost my purse, my phone, my heel broke, I’m stranded, I have no money, I found a lottery ticket, i forgot something, my ear hurts, I have a bad hair day ….everything — he must know…
I go to his place often or he stays at my house for sleepovers.
We have a favorite restaurant.
We ogle men at the gym.
It is, in many ways, overwhelming. One fatal mistake most women do is they start to compare the men they meet to the fag they so love. And most often than not, the men end up short.
Men are clumsy, they are insensitive, and they hate shopping.
Most often than not, the emotional support you get from them is a grunt and his span of attention is as long as that advertisement running on tv.
Most of us women who has a gay bestfriend wish to have a relationship with men that reflects the one that we have with our fab fag. Someone who can understand us when we rant about how the weather makes our hair dry, or how our officemate is trying to ruin our work, or how we find the shoes of Carrie in Sex and the city just irresistible. Someone who knows the value of a sale. Someone who would go crazy over the next johnny depp film. Who stops to watch baseball to accompany us to the theatre –and that is a tall order…and something that we might not want if served in a silver platter….and besides…our gay bestfriends would trade the giggles he’s having with us for a great night with another gay lover.
End of rant.
Do you know that shot that you’re supposed to give your child to boost their immune system? what do you call that? ( insert name here ) yes that…well, my mom, decided that i can skip that shot and the shots to follow…the only shot i got was a tetanus shot.
I got it when the wound i got from a pedicure got infected and my big toe was swelling like a tomato– and I’m terrified of needles. They had to have three male nurses chase me to have that injection — i was already 21 then 0.O
Fear of needles is something i got from my mom. In her fear of needles, she decided to not get me my shots. Come to think of it, when i had my four molars taken out…she left me at the dentist with our neighbor looking after me, while she is outside the building…doing…i don’t know…pacing i guess…
so here i am, one cough from someone passing by, and i get sick.
a little drizzle and my temp would go up.
Someone sniffing, gets me sneezing in no time.
maaaannnnn….it’s so annoying, especially when you can’t breathe and you have a gallon of ice cream in the fridge. why, oh, why does it have to be meeeee?!!!!