Detoxify Now

My life is littered with a lot of junk - stuff that don't really matter.

Sometimes, I often wonder why it's like that. I did not set out to make it like this. I used to have plans for myself. However, I am wondering if those plans matter?

What matters in life? What counts? I think I should have settles this questions a long time ago. But, it seems I have never even unearthed a single mystery of it. 

If it's all about God, then, I am a sore looser. I have a love-hate relationship with a formal religion. I don't go to Church as often as a Christian should. My prayer time is sporadic at best. But, I do have a healthy conscience and it eats at me often.

If life is all about family - then, I don't know where I am headed. I have my siblings, my mother and father and my grandparents and some cousins but my anti-social attitude turns them off a lot. During family gatherings, I am often left alone, to my own devices, probably because I make them feel uncomfortable (who wouldn't, I often feel uncomfortable around myself).

If life is all about doing something significant for your neighbors (i.e. your work/profession) - well, I am at the bottom of the food chain. But at least, I love what I am doing. I love teaching. I just need to sort out my philosophy regarding my kind of teaching. I was able to find meaning and significance in my work. All other areas of my life are working out oddly.

So, what is life all about?

I know, theoretically, you would say life is about God, about family and about doing something significant for your neighbors. At this point, I think life is really ALL about God, and our relationship with him. And now, I am seeing how pointless my existence is because He is not in the center of my life.

My life is cluttered with sin, pain, vices, regrets, hurts and anger. Deep inside, a raging animal is screaming at me to GO and DO SOMETHING. But what am I supposed to do about it? What should I go out and do when I have to fight, tooth and nail, for my own survival?

Set your priorities straight. How easy for you to say when you dump most of your priorities upon me, right? 

I know my priority. It's God above all else. I am just not doing anything about it. Because once I did, I will leave this disturbingly technical, materials and senseless world I am inhabiting right now. I can't serve two masters at the same time. I know right now I am not serving God with all I am. I have set him aside for something else. Something pointless, meaningless. So, who am I serving?

That's why I need to detoxify myself of this material, selfish, worldly things that clutter my life. But how do I go about it?

Detoxify now. But how?

Target: Tim Tebow

I am not an NFL fan nor am I a sports enthusiast. But I like stalking certain types of human beings.

For 15 years, I occasionally stalked Prince William, until he married Kate Middleton. Prince William was the embodiment of a childhood fantasy - becoming a princess and living happily every after. Reading his mum's biography discouraged me though. Along with Prince William were Jose Rizal, Mateo G. (before he became famous), Josh Groban, and  many others.Two years ago, I have been a Demi Lovato fanatic and still is even after her fall from grace. She was able to soar up, like a broken phoenix anyway. Last year, I discovered Joel Houston and Hillsong United.

And through him, I learned who Tim Tebow is. I don't care about NFL as I have said. I do not even know what it means, honest. National Football League? (fingers crossed). But, a young man who is into Jesus, is intelligent (no brain damage yet?, oh yes, I have heard the football=brain damage joke in movies) and has a great body too is fascinating and entertaining. Makes you want to go dig deeper. Why?

My reasoning is simple. I want to believe that God makes beautiful people not just from the inside but the outside too. I want to prove to myself that beauty is not only skin deep. I want to believe that persons in that kind of limelight are not shallow ponds but deepwells of wisdom too.

We will see won't we? For one so young (he's 24 right), he is prone to all sorts of beautiful experiences and temptations that may or may not rock his spiritual foundation.

Well, the crap above is from the point of view of the good girl. The bad girl in me wants to be fascinated, titillated, and shocked by the possibility of corruption. Oh well, wicked me.

If he is indeed not a phony but a true blue whatever he wants to present, good for him. If not, he will be just one of the many disappointments I have uncovered along the way. I can always go back to Joel Houston. I have not yet uncovered any dirty secrets online about him and I have been watching for 4 or 5 months now.

Demi Lovato has disappointed me in a way but she has earned my respect. She has tried to live a life in this broken world, a life without the pretensions of a goody-two-shoes image but a decent one anyway.

But these guys, we'll see.

It Was Mohan, actually

My sisters and I were listening to Boys Night Out or the Boys are Out Tonight (whatever, really) at Killerbee when this really odd thought struck me.

I would love to dissect Mo Twisters mind.

Killerbee is a newfound radio station. Oh, I am aware that Magic 89.9 has been in existence na for a long time but, what I mean is I had not stumbled on the station until about a year or so ago.

I was not a radio junkie ever since I heard stupid dirty jokes on air and bore mainstream music that just keep repeating again and again (Hey, I don’t even like them). I find listening to radio quite boring and tacky. I stick to books and a decent playlist.

I don’t need to hear stuffy DJs talking to themselves on air. I have enough of deranged lunatics’ talking nonstop inside my very own brain thank you.

But, Killerbee is absolutely different. Hey, they speak fluent English man. It helps improve listening skills and aids aural comprehension as well. In fact, we tune in one Killerbee the whole day. Just so my younger siblings would get used to spoken English. Just like bearing DVD watching all day, so they could grasp English vocab and ideals as well.

Another thing, Good Times with Mo is absolutely untacky. I adore it. Mo’s mind is more twisted than Jessica Zafra’s. Really.

And he is such an interesting personality. I cannot really recall Mo’s short stint in the show business industry. I was never interested in such things. I only get perked up when I hear morbidly tragic things like deaths and accidents (like what happened to Richard Gutierez).

But I did hear about his too upfront and sometimes too tactless persona.

I was a bit prejudiced when I first tuned in one Good Times with Mo (my youngest sister is a total Killerbee fan. She forced us to listen to it all day and all night long). Before I heard his views and his ideas and his quirky concepts at life, I thought Mo was a conceited little DJ who just wanted to mess up peoples life for a cheap thrill.

There was more to the guy. (Eureka)

When you listen to him with Grace Lee and Mojo Jojo on air, he just sounds like a crazy kid who sees things in a far different point of view than we do. There are points wherein I totally disagree with him but boy, he really has no pretentions.

He is rude and frank and quite arrogant on air but on Mo, that is forgivable. He can get away with all of it. I guess being “bad-assed” is actually a role he loves to play and it suits him to a T.

But there is sometimes an odd side to the big boy wonder with the get real philosophy that is quite touching.

I mean, I would not have liked him if he were that bad and that ordinary and that regular. (I never went for regular guys anyway. I always went for the “interesting” ones.

I really would love to dissect his mentality that’s why I keep listening to him.

The Boys in Boys Night Out are interesting in a superficial level but if you really want a meaty sensible discussion, listen to Mo. I like his odd ideas that just pops out of the blue. He makes you see new things in old concepts. I like that a lot. He knows what he is talking about and when he does not, he is not hesitant to admit it.

He could be a little hardheaded at times especially if his views are questioned.He does not like it when others try to make any corrections to what he has stated or mentioned.

Oh, I guess I just missed listening to him. He is sick and has been hospitalized since Monday.

A Fat Girls Dreams

I am fat. That is the one obvious thing about me everyone will see at the outset of a meeting.

I don’t know what goes in the head of the rest of the world and I don’t know what goes on in mine at the time of a meeting but its usually “Oh, can’t we just get over this?’

It is pretty difficult, being fat I mean.

In fact, being fat is actually the most impossible situation a woman could be in.

Let me tell you about what I think about myself being fat:

I have insecurity issues. A bunch of them. Being fat has made me felts inadequate and too shy and just too aloof and a bit uncaring about my looks.It also made me defensive and a little bit impossible to live with at times.
Because of that, I have automatically armored myself with certain unbreachable mechanisms to protect myself from rejections. People who really do not know me well see me as a little bit standoffish and snobbish at times.
Aside from that, I became too much of a mental kind of girl. I went overboard with trying hard to be everything in the brains department.

The only time I was able to honestly engage a man’s attention was when I was chatting through YM.

I guess I became a little spontaneous and flirty in real time. I had a long time chat mate, an Indian guy who is about 28 years old.

I told him I was fat, upfront. And I told him I was not after any romantic involvement. I mean,I just wanted to chat awith a guy, I don’t get to talk to interesting guys in my work.

Guys never throw me a second glance. They would flock around other girls who are more… never mind. All I could offer a guy is interesting conversation (and some wonky criticism if the mood strikes me). I guess, I really fall short of entertaining and fun.

I never had anyone interested in me. No one ever paid me any more attention than maybe to ask what time is it or whether I have an assignment for the next class or so or …

Well, there was one swell kid back in college, a political science major who was probably bowled over by my intelligence . I mean, id like to think so, since he was my classmate in a Philosophy class and he never really paid me enough attention until my report where they (his other polsci classmates) ganged up on me, intent on destroying my cool with their probing questions. The class discussion went a bit mad then since everyone got so involved arguing over things I was merely pointing out at first. Thinsg which they questioned and I defended with my usual fire (which only comes out when I get to talk about things I am passionate about).
At the end of the class, he went up to me to apologize saying that he hoped I did not take his questioning personally since he just wanted to blah-blah (I went frosty mode again, I mean he is an equally interesting creature and I did not want to fall so I need my block in palce). I told him it was fine and that I understood.
But, when it was his time to report, he kept looking at me for confirmation. It made me feel a little bit odd and on the spot (since a classmate was a little bit taken with him too), so I went out to buy a coke and pass the rest of the class in the canteen (like I usually do).
When I returned., the class has thankfully ended and I was free to “lock and load”.

Oh well

Right now, I do not really care what other people say about me.

I guess I got so over the idea of trying to fit into people’s conception of who and what I should be that I have stopped being myself.

I wanted to be a model daughter so I did everything that my mother asked me to do. In the end, I was not able to stop her from doing something destructive which has made all of us suffer. I listened to her for the last 23 years of my life and for that one single year I asked her for something, she refused to even hear me.

I wanted to become a model teacher and served my alma mater. It was not the money at first. It was the brimming idealism of a teacher who honestly longed to serve. But, the administration made sure I would loose even that. Because of politically and nepotistically minded people, I lost myself.

I wanted to become a model daughter so I did all I could for my siblings only to realize that no one really cared. Oh well, what are younger sisters for. They would not listen. It’s just like I am not even there.

Now, I wanted to be myself. Now, I am doing the things that I wanted to do in the first place. I spent most of my summer at the blank, blank university for my master’s degree in English language teaching. I spend most of my free time in the library reading. I spent the other spare time huddled before a computer downloading songs and other relevant info. I spend other free times watching movies, sleeping, eating o just thinking.

Because now, I have stopped caring.

I don’t really care about my application for a national item at school. I mean whatever. The whole thing sucks. Who knows, I might find something more lucrative.

I don’t really care about what people will say about me. I will just do my job and they all can go to wherever they want to go.

The Truth About Heaven

My mother used to tell me that if I ever got married, my husband would probably leave me.

Well, she’s probably right.

I was often accused as a cold fish ever since I have grown up and learned how to block pain and hurt from consuming.

Old friends used to think I never really cared about anyone. Even my family has remarked about the certain distance I placed between myself and the rest of the world.

I even heard someone ask one of my friends kun ano ako nga klase ka amiga because I spent most of my time away from my closest friends.

I heard that too often that I have started to believe them.

Until tonight that is.

What happened tonight? I stepped on a growing gecko(not sure of the term, basta, it’s a big baby lizard with a large head and a small body). I felt the odd squishy thing under my slippers and realized it was not just an ordinary ribbon or cloth but something live.

I made the mistake of looking down and checking it and looking straight through its eyes. Oh God. The eyes have bulged and it looks as if it was crying in pain.

I felt bad, guilty and I kept saying sorry. I did not mean it at all.

I realized that I can actually feel. I strongly empathized with creatures that are weaker than myself. That is why I avoid them as often as possible.

Pain suffered by others (especially animals) affects me deeply. I don’t know why really. I see the pain-filled faces and I think about the lives they led before and the lives they would lead after if they survived.

Another example is the death of my dog. I actually felt unhappy of the experiences he would not have now that he has died. He never learned how to lick a hand properly and he does not know how to piss as a male dog should. He also has not spend a lot of time outdoors because we were very protective of him.

One afternoon, on my way home and while riding a jeep, I passed by a wriggling form of a very small brown puppy by the roadside. I thought it was playing by itself, enjoying whatever piece of string is attached on its claws. Then, I realized that the dog has actually been hit by a car and was writhing in pain.

I was unable to hold back a gasp and all the way home, while on the verge of tears, I kept thinking about the little dog.

Nobody knows this about me but I care too deeply. Far too deeply than any ordinary human is capable of handling. That is why I have to put a lid on my emotions. Not because I am afraid of getting hurt but because I am afraid of what those feelings can do to others and to myself.

I was once a very possessive friend, a very jealous daughter and sister and a very keen person. When I have friends, I longed to possess them wholly and totally. I want them with me all the time.

Now, people often find me more alone than with someone. Now, I no longer know how it feels to be with anybody.

I am uncomfortable in the presence of persons who expect me to smile, laugh and talk with them all the time.


I have become the very reverse of what I once was before.

I once told a former teacher that one of the reasons why I fear any relationship with the opposite sex is that my kind of love would destroy a weaker man. I am not exactly a strong person.

In fact, some may term me weak. Unfortunately, I have abnormally strong passions. I just don’t reveal them.

My Bestfriend

Adel is one of the most precious friends I have ever had. But, she never called me her bestfriend and I believe I agree with her.

Because I see her in the same manner. We have a strange relationship, you see. One that is personal and philosophical, close and distant at the same time. Adel is both my mentor and my friend. She has become the source of most of the inspiring ideas and philosophies I have come to appreciate when it comes to leadership and managing people.

She would probably make a good HR manager. She is good with people.

But, Adel is not my bestfriend. She is one of the best of the friends I have (and I have few to start with).

But, since kindergarten, I have only had three bestfriends.

The first one was my kindergarten classmate who attended a private elementary school (that’s why we got separated). Mae Ann (as I recall her) is a nice kid but when we grew up, we did not even acknowledge each others existence in any special way at all. I guess we grew indifferent.

Then, when I was in Grade Three, a classmate spent the whole recess talking to me about crushes (that was the first time I encountered the word). We became bestfriends eversince until she had to leave for another school two years later. I had negative memories of her since she teased me a lot and made fun of me. I could not take the jokes.

When I was in Grade five and I was assigned to throw the trash to the school dumping site, I “met” my dearest, truest, bestfriend.

We were on our way when we started talking about a guy (who happened to be our mutual crush at that time). He was her seatmate and I uncannily revealed how much I liked the guy. Since then, Geramie and I became totally inseparable.

Geramie is one of the dearest friends I have ever had. She was always there.She never leat me down and she was always kind to me. She was the kind of friend who always took your side no matter what (and I am usually wrong).

If Adel was of the sort who helped me find my true self and make the right choices, Geramie was there to pick me up when I fell and to cheer me up when I am mostly down.

I tried to return the favor. I guess the kind of friendship we had was solely based on comforting and cheering each other on.

If I was not totally honest with some feedbacks, I reasoned it out with the line: She does not need any more critics. She just needs me to be her bestfriend. We talked for really long hours about how we felt and how we are and how we dealt with the problems we faced.

After high school graduation, Geramie had to leave for Samar and we never had any contact again.

But then, Geramie would always be my dearest and most selfless bestfriend. No one can ever take her place.

Job Hunter’s Ordeal

For three years, I have written three application letters to the same institution where I applied as a secondary school teacher. I guess, in these letters I have written, you will see the changes that happened to me.

Here is the second letter I wrote:

April 28, 2008

For a long time, I have nurtured the ream of serving my alma mater and sharing to my fellow %^&*#hons the treasure-chest of knowledge I have diligently collected over the years.
The very reason that I took a bachelor’s degree in education lies in the heart of the school where I graduated from. I had great teachers and a great training and I wish for the next generation of %^&*#hons to experience the same excellent education I had. Failing to serve where my love for education blossomed is almost synonymous to not heeding my mission and my calling.
I am (etcetera) and I graduated with a (whatever) from (wherever) last March 2006. I was awarded a Proficiency in English Award (Secondary) and Outstanding Student Teacher in English Award (Secondary) by the same institution.
In the same year, I took and passed the Licensure Examination for Teachers with a rating of 85.60%.
I have come to apply as a (whatever). I am very willing to come for an interview at any time you find convenient. I can be reached at this number: etc.
Thank you very much.

I was almost desperate at that point. In that letter, I was almost begging the school to take me in since I was so damn willing and eager to do anything for that dream. A dream which was nipped in its bud before it has even had time to flourish.

April 13, 2009

I would like apply for a post of Communication Arts Teacher (English) in your school.

I earned the degree Bachelor of Secondary Education (English) from (where I graduated)last March 2006. I graduated with a General Weighted Average of 1.49.
I took and passed the Philippine Licensure Examination for Teachers (PLET) on the same year with a General Average Rating of 85.60%.
I have served as a Secondary School Teacher in English I, this year, under the (blank,blank,blank)Local School Board.
Enclosed herewith is my resume which outlines my education, references and other pertinent information.
I know I have what it takes to help the school achieve its aims and ideals. I am also very much willing to learn and work hard if I am granted the opportunity to work in this school.
May God bless you.


To those who know me well, the letter sounds (or reads) so unlike me. It sounds bold, and brash and really confident. It also is direct to the point and seems very, very sure of himself (or herself).

Well, after three application letters sent to the same school (which happens to be my beloved Alma Mater), I guess you do get tired of trying to impress them with all your flowery words and credentials and your desire to truly serve it with all your heart and soul.

I have grown weary of waiting and the school has mad me feel very little, very tiny, very small and very insignificant.

Nanay and I also had a really weird argument over my lack of interest to prepare my application letter. She told me to have my certificates photocopied but I was not interested anymore and I don’t really know why.

I guess the two year experience has disappointed and disillusioned me. It will really take a miracle to bring back the faith I lost in the power and vision of teaching.

Heavenessence : What’s left of me…once you take everything else.

An old college friend once told me that I have a tendency of giving my justification and rationale in the middle of a lecture. Sort of writing the significance of the study in the chapter for the review of related literature, when it comes to research.

Well, I guess, she is right.

And I think the reason for that is because I usually realize the significance of my actions only while I am doing those actions.

The problem with someone like me is I tend to overanalyze things. I would get thoroughly distracted by a matter or a decision I have to make and I would try to churn it up in my brain. When I could find no objections or I have successfully blocked all objections, only then would I start acting.

The reason, the enlightenment, comes while I am working on it or after I worked on it. As a college professor once said to me, there are persons who have foresights, insights or aftersights.

I guess I am in the last category if it so exist. If not, I may be offbeat.

For years, I have been searching for meaning. I wanted to know the whys, hows, whens and wheres of the whos and whats. I unconsciously went in search of knowledge and wisdom and after years of searching, I haven’t come any closer to the answer.

In fact, until now, I do not know what I am looking for. Everything else is still a blur of wh and h questions.

Who am I? Why am I here? What am I doing? Where am I going? Where was I from?

Questions I could not answer until now.

There are a lot of answers depending on the philosophy you subscribe in or the religion you aspire to or the faith you believe in.

But, what if there are no philosophies, no schools of thought, no religion. What becomes of us? What becomes of me?

A heaping mass of unidentified confounded creature.

What a sorry existence.

If you take away everything else, what becomes of us? What becomes of man?

But then, is there really anything else aside from what?
Questions.

I need my coffee, I think. Sugar-saturated.

A Secret Side

I am an immature reader.

I guess that is one confession I am a bit embarrassed to admit since I am a literature student and my college professors used to frown about the kind of pulp fiction I am addicted to.

For the literary purist, I am the stereotype of one who preferred lower class reading materials over the realities of life.

I guess pain and reality and unhappy endings sell well to lit critics but I have never really fancied littering my reading relaxation with such pieces although I do study them for analytical purposes. I just can’t bear drowning in on them when I am supposed to have some bit of R&R.

Well let me share my reading list with you,

My Elementary days used to find me reading Sidney Sheldon stuff back to back. I started out with If Tomorrow Never Comes then I went off to Bloodlines and something about diamonds and mines that I cannot remember anymore. There was the Sands of Time and something about mirrors. It is no longer as clear and I no longer enjoy Sheldon as much as I did in the past. Sheldon books remind me strongly of old closets and antiquities, I just don’t know why.
Then, I turned to Tagalog pocketbooks, the really highly inexpensive ones. They were not as sophisticated as the ones we have now where you get to pick a series which suits your tastes. There was Helen Meriz, Maia Jose and several other Cinderella stories where the rich guy marries the poor girl and they lived happily ever after.
When I was in first year highschool, I went nonfic reading biographies and autobios of people. There was a Marie Antoinette book, a George VI one, A Catherine of Aragon story and the one about Princess Diana written by Andrew Morton. That was the reason why I got such low grades when I was in the first year. The tagalog romance novels I have been reading also ate most of my rest time as well and I barely have time to do anything else.
Then, when I was in second year, I gave up reading pocketbooks for a while and focused on my studies to catch up with what highschool students of my age are supposed to learn. I read the textbooks cover to cover and I did all my notes and studied my lessons. Emerging as top of the class by the end of the school year could not compensate with the boredom, damn it. I missed my books.
By the third year, a rent-a- bookstore has opened up in our small sleepy town where no one has thought of ever selling books because they do not sell well. I was so grateful to see a lot English pocketbooks for rent at 8 to 15 pesos for two days. I went book-berserk and found out that I actually loved reading medieval romances and historical lovestories (the pulp types, not the classics). I was into harlequin, zebra and mills and boon. I would miss recess for days and I would walk to from school to home just so I could rent my books. Since my mother disapproved of my habits, I often sit in front of a brook on the way home for hours on end and would go home when it was already inexcusable for me to stay on.
In college, I was into a lot of textbooks and treatises and serious literary works but I never gave up my passion for pulp romance. I could not. It has seeped into my blood. Along with Macbeth, I read Jayne Ann Krentz and Julie Garwood and a lot of other nonsense. Along with the poetry of the great, I read Anne Rice, tried Stephen King (and hated him) and went off with J.K. Rolling and Tolkien and Vanessa and Rose Tan and Arielle and Sofia, and Edith Montelibano (shocking Edith)….

I was a mad, indiscriminate reader. I read Coelho (introduced by Mae Sheilou and Adel), Dan Brown (courtesy of Adel), Bob Ong (what madness Adel), and a whole lot of crap I had not fully digested. I was also into Michael Chrichton, John Grisham, Jeffrey Archer etc.

But, I have always detested horror stories and ghost stories. I abhorred them which to most of my friends were quite abnormal of me. I also did not went through the whole Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy’s series phase.

And, I had not thought I was into intrigues, conspiracies and detective type of novels until I come across a romance line in one major publisher.

But this summer, I am so into it now. I absolutely loved detectives and agents and CIA’s and psychic heroines and odd out of this day sensation plus terrorist battles and the like. Coupled with romance, they just seem so palatable.

Have I Ever Been In Love?

(The Account of a Pocketbook Love-Nut)

Mood: Reflective
Music: Little Wonders by Rob Thomas

The answer is no.

Why?

Well, you have to have a clear definition of what love is before you can answer that question. The question is similar to the question, Have you really lived?

I am in a philosophical mood today because it is 5 in Sunday morning and I have to accompany my sister to take her SATT at WVSU. I also have to check my results for the M.A. Ed.

What is love?

Reading a lot of romance pocketbooks really ruins a person’s proper perspective of love and life. I guess I got a nasty overdose of romances recently and I have come to understand that those books are actually out of this world-modern-day-fairy-tales and like fairy tales; they are so untrue and focused on an overabundance of clichés.

Oh well, they are entertaining and rather enervating.

Well, to a pocketbook junkie like myself, love is:

ü A never ending love-affair
ü A rare, overwhelming emotional upheaval that turns your world upside down
ü An exciting roller-coaster ride
ü A happily-ever after entanglement with a single man
ü Is possible only with a rich, handsome man who is always caring and understanding
ü Starts with clanging bells or a bang

My teacher’sin highschool used to warn my mother about my propensity to read English romance pocketbooks (mostly harlequin/mills and boon titles or zebra romances or whatever there is basta mabasa).

They told my mom that my reading interest would get me knocked up and before she knows it, I would turn up on her doorstep with a baby in my arm.

Boohoo.

Well, Ma’am, I am twenty four years old now, a college graduate, with an odd career path, while working on a masters degree and very much unpregnant and unattached… and yes, I am still reading my romances and I have a growing collection at home that sort of frightens my mother. Very sorry to disappoint and dash your I-told-you-so dreams…

In fact, in a wondering voice, my Mom said that my reading kept me absolutely out of any possible and pissible relationships.

Why?

Reading made me lazy. I spent most of my time tucked on a comfortable chair reading a book. It also made me fat and has thus made me the anti-social that I am today.
A classmate said reading made me set impossible standards about men and relationships that sort of turned me against the real word.
Reading pocketbooks and seeing life convinced me that the kind of love I want and need for myself only exist in the pages of books. As one character in Home Alone 4 said, everybody’s parents now get divorced. Whew. She was so right!
Reading satisfies me. I feel no need to seek things out since I could read them anyway. I cry with the characters, fall in love with them, laugh with them… In fact, favorite authors have become like friends to me.

I used to wonder if the old maids I koew turned to reading as comfort for the lonely times they have. I did not realize that reading has turned them into what they are.

Of course, I still want to get married someday and have a family of my own. But, if it will not happen to me, I know I will not feel sad and bitter.

That is one things I promised I will never be, a bitter, self-pitying old maid. I have a lot of things to do and I would be glad to have the freedom to do them too. If my prince never arrives…that is.

Bye, Blogger

Blogging is a whole new world for me. I have been keeping journals for almost forever (that, students, is an example of a hyperbole).

It started when Ma’am Martinez (now, Mrs. Devicais), required us to submit a journal. It was then that I discovered how beautiful it is to continuously keep stock of everything that happens in ones life.

I have been keeping diaries since I was in the first year and I met my first ever real crush. I wrote every encounter with him in one notebook which started at the beginning of the school year and ended on his graduation. I burned the blasted entry when I found out that he was getting really chummy with another girl.

Anyway. Blogging has become an extension of my very personal thoughts and feelings. It has become a sort of outlet for my raging emotions (yes, I am no longer a teenager but I am as hyperactive and as emotional as they are).

I was quite hesitant when I started blogging last year. But then, I got uninhibited as time went on. I even met some of my students in this world in cyber existence.

Aside from that, thru Adel, I found a very mood-lightening blog. I do not personally know the person behind the posts but every entry guarantees a smile and a chuckle from the readers.

When I found his blog on Adel’s list, I was intrigued. Who would not be?

When I started reading the posts, I got totally hooked and fascinated. Nakaka-adik, kun si Aries pa pahambalon.

I am so glad Adel found him from somewhere. Every time I go online, I have something to go to, a guaranteed sort of happy place for me.

However, I read from his last post that he plans to leave blogworld (should it be blogspace, blog universe or blogdom?)

That is very sad.

I am going to miss reading his posts. Miss listening to the odd music. Miss reading about his funny activities and his funny experiences and his odd reactions. I would also miss the extremely animated aura I can feel every time I read his blog. The plurk part, basta, everything guid.

I wish I could hook on to something as funny as that boy in that blog.

Most of the blogs I read are depressingly bland, or totally pessimistic or absolutely in the i-hate-this-world-i-live-in mode.

This boy who is yet to have a name…and a face (a faceless, nameless blogger boy) taught me that you can actually have fun and make fun of yourself inspite of and sometimes because of yourself.

What a way to live.

I just feel sad that I would no longer have a happy place to hang out in.

To My Uncle Gene and His Wife

They have been gone from the family fold since I was old enough to understand about allotment and such.

Gene is my grandmother’s son who is a seafarer. He was one of the more successful siblings of my mother when it comes to financial status.

Now, he and his family are living somewhere in Cavite and had not been in touched with my lola for years now.

Tito G., has a wife who was once in the nursing field but has contentedly settled herself as wife and mother to four kids or so (I really do not know).

When I was young and Tito G was yet unmarried, he promised to send me to Med school since I have specifically wanted to become a doctor.

When I was in elementary, he married his wife and I was flower girl in their wedding. I hated the green dress I wore in the wedding though. I stood out like a sore thumb.

Anyway, when he got married, he become engrossed in family life.

Now, tito no longer sends allotment to Lola. Lola has already retired from her dried fish selling ventures in the public market and is now living off her SSS pension and that of my Lolo’s.

Lola was clamoring about the difficulty of having to keep both ends meet decently. In fact, I would not have posted this if not for her carping just this morning.

The money that my other seafaring uncle sent her all went to the medical bills and expenses of her daughter who dies of aneurysm two years ago.

Now, she is trying to fit her daily expenses on a very tight budget. She also has a son, my uncle, who is not normal (abnormal?).

My Uncle’s wife sent Lola a letter telling her of how her husband was so angry about what my lola did. The wife said that Tito G. learned from a fellow Ilonggo seaman that Lola was selling her land in Quartero and in Passi.

Lola was so angry with the accusation. Of course, she wanted to sell it. She had offered to sell it since that was her personal legacy from her own parents. But, at this day and age, who would buy a piece of land beside an unpredictable river?

Then, my uncle said that the people back here are living in an immoral manner (must be referring to the two youngest girl and boy in the family). Lola was angry again because of what he said.

Lola said that for Gene to make any opinion about such things, he ought to come home and ask the person’s concerned. He should not just believe what is being said. There is a grain of truth in my Uncle’s accusations, I guesss. But, he should not have treated his own siblings in such an offhand manner.

Anyway, that has always been the problem with my mother’s family. The lack of communication. It makes them easy prey to the evils of gossip and destroy whatever good relationship there could be.

That is the one thing that my mother has drilled into my head agaion and again. She always tells me that I should personally talk to my siblkings if there are problems. She also told me that I should put my family’s welfare first especially since I am the eldest.

She groomed me to become unlike any of her siblings who sowed contempt among the family. She wanted me to turn out like my Lolo who was the fountain of wisdom and love in the family.

Lolo was the center of his family. The one that held the threads together. When he died, the family completely unraveled and relationships have gone sour.

Mild MAdness

This is a live one.

I am actuallywriting in a totally stream of consciousness (or is it unconsciousness) manner.

We had our debate last Monday. It was the first open to the public debate of the club and it was a totally harrowing experience. I nearly lost my cool.

Seeing someone else loose her cool threw me off my boiling tantrum. I had not counted on seeing a more childish behavior than my own so when I saw someone I expected to take control of the situation lost her own cool, I stopped, stared and told myself to relax.

I saw what an uncontrolled temper can do to an already strenous situation. I saw the utter dejection on the D'babies faces. Its as if cold water was thrown all over me.

I told myself to keep my call. I humbled myself that day and I tried to act maturely and responsibly.

The results may not be wha I wanted it to be. But at least, I am not blaming any one else for whatever failure there was.

No. God allowed it all to happen. I did nothing. Just played my part.

What I Wanted and Several Disjointed Thoughts

We would like to express our outmost and heartfelt gratitude to the selfless assistance that everybody has extended to us to make this venture possible. To the Passi City Local Government for lending the ordinances, to our donors for the inherent charity, to the teachers for their valuable advice and cooperation and most of all, to God for, guiding and lighting our way. May Your will be done and may we be purveyors of Your wisdom.

Every small job, if done well, means a lot.
- from Bee Movie

This is what I wanted to post on a programme I was preparing for a school activity.

Oh, yes. I do know I sound pretentious. When my supervisor read it, I was almost sure he cringed at what I wrote. Well, the worldly me did squirm.

I mean, it was so coreless and so lame and so unliterary. I was trying to overwhelm my readers with hair-raising, nerve-wracking and spine-tingling adjectives. Yeah, definitely ewe material.

I can’t help it, eh.

Somehow, I wanted to offer all the work I did for this program to God because He made it all possible and I wanted to make it more meaningful. I also wanted to do something for Him because He gave everything to me.

(Sigh) I shouldn’t have gone into teaching. I mean, teaching is fine but the monetary value that the government gives to all the works I do everyday of my life confounds the entire issue about this mission thing.

When I was in college, I did see teaching as a lifetime mission. Something I would do not because of the money it entails but because of what I could give and share to others.

But, when your on the job, everything gets distorted.

My D’Club babies were muttering about all the things they have to do for class.

I wanted to laugh. Hehe. (I laughed!)

That is not yet the tip of the iceberg guys. You are only seeing the tippest top of the tip. (Whatever that means).

When you get to college, things will get more difficult (but more fun especially if you were able to pick a college tailor-made to your needs and your personality). When you graduate (if you do graduate, that is), things will go downhill steadily (unless you jump down a ten-storey building first).

A job is not exactly what other people color it to be. The real world is a bitter place to live in. Because by the time you leave college, your parents will no longer be obliged to protect you from the harsher realities of life and living.

And there is no one to turn to.

No one except God.

I know how it feels to be abandoned and to be ignored and to be embarrassed. I know how it feels to fail, to lose hope in someone, to be disillusioned and to be let down by the people you expect to lift you up.

I also know how it feels to be hated, be misunderstood, be blamed. I almost went crazy once because of severe disillusionments. I contemplated suicide several times (not good and definitely not advisable) just to get even with the people who let you down never really realizing that you are committing the most sacrilegious act of all-letting yourself down.

I know how success felt, how triumph tasted, and how to be on the edge of a cliff with your fingers almost touching the balloon of your dreams only to feel a soft wind blow it away from you just when you loose your footing and down you go.

But all throughout those dark and ugly days of my life, God was there. Blessing me daily. Never letting my hand go.

Did I fell from the cliff trying to reach my dreams? No. Down I went but his strong hold on me held me back. Back into the haven of His arms, His protection, his unconditional love.

God’s love is unconditional. He is always there and He never lives you. He does not just lay in wait to get your next salary and disappear when You need Him most. He shares your darkest hours, allows you to run loose awhile to give you time to realize that your pursuits are actually pointless without Him.

Success has always left me feeling empty and hollow. Unfulfilled.

Now, I know why that is so.

I felt hollow because I only succeeded in terms of the worlds standards but I did not reached Gods higher plane and definition of success.

What I do for the club is a response for the worldly need to be loved and accepted. That is why when I did not feel loved and accepted, when the craving was not satiated, I felt dispirited. Now, the drive is different.

I want to offer everything I do to God… whatever it is. My teaching, my debating club works, ALS, my everyday work.

I feel the longing to do something for God not because He needs me to do something for him. Not even because I have to, to make Him love me. Whatever I do or not do, He would love me and that would never change.

But, I wanted to do it because I want to show Him I love Him too.

That is why I am contemplating becoming a nun.

Several teachers made the comment that I just might qualify for it. Even my own mother made derisive remarks about my nunnish tendencies. I can’t blame being reticent, reserved and nun-like. Yes, I like wearing long skirts, what is wrong with that. I also wear pants anyway.

Yes, I like being covered from head to foot, so what? I just don’t see myself as a cheap commodity for everybody’s consumption (but being fat makes clothes selection difficult). I like staying at home… going out is expensive and I have compulsive buying tendencies. I never had a boyfriend. So? I read pocketbooks, romance novels with scintillating sex scenes and several erotica (yup, several by Ann Rice, actually, though I would love to collect Anais Nin’s work). I even have a membership in a black forum which has a portion for rated literature (it had an ugly effect on my senses, honestly).

By the way, reading porno lit from that forum made me realize how sin can actually affect ones relationship with God. It makes you feel that you have sinned and thus is not worthy to come in contact with anything holy, thus creating the distance between you and God.

It was an ugly existence and every time I am tempted to open my porno vault (I still have them, hehe) I beg God to help me, to never let me go.

I have just renewed my relationship with Him and the world makes it difficult to do keep it. I love God. I do not want to hurt Him but I know I hurt Him everytime I succumb to the temptation to open my P vault, scream at my siblings, hate my mother, backstab some friends, hate myself, and indulge in suicidal fantasies…

Yes. The world makes Godly contact difficult with UFO issues, evolutionism, hedonism, materialism, the internet, CD’s and DVD’s . Now, I understand why they are called the tools of the devil.

Who Are YOU?

I was talking to myself in front of my grandparent’s very old mirror one night. That was a year ago.

My Uncle was staring up the ceiling probably counting cobwebs and wondering why I was staring at myself. (My Uncle is a 40 year old less than normal person who has not left home for ages and Lola is the one who takes care of him).

My sisters were outside watching TV while my brothers were playing with the neighbors. Nanay was off somewhere (can’t remember where) and Lola was doing the usual chores outside as well.

In my Lola’s room, I stood before the long mirror reflecting a visage I had not really looked at for many years.

When I was a young harridan, I never bothered combing my hair in front of the mirror. I would just snag a hairbrush, dash out of the house and comb my hair while riding a tricycle to school.

I started powdering my face only after I saw my younger sister do that and I started using colognes when my sisters bought their own colognes and I could borrow from them.

I never really looked at myself in the mirror since I conceived an odd plot about mirrors being dimensional doors to other worlds.

When I was a kid, I often stare at the mirror for a very long time, not to look at how pretty I am (I am pretty, in a way. I had a classmate who was once obsessed with that childish face, that is why I had to rub her off my person). I usually looked at the mirror to stare at my eyes and then, I would start getting dizzy and ….

When I first read encounters of the Fourth (was it fifth?) kind, I suspected myself of being abducted by aliens since I suffered from memory gaps and blanks. There were periods in my childhood that I do not have any recollection of.

I do not know why, really but there were points in those younger days when I could not string a coherent memory of what happened to me. There were some very vivid recollections of conversations I had with older people but I cannot really recall some points and aspects of my student days especially those points when I was in Grade I and Grade II.

There were gaps also to my memory record of events which happened to me in the later part of my third grade in elementary and the later part also of my fourth grade.

The gaps stopped when I reached second year highschool. That was when I stopped staring at my eyes in the mirror too.

I started using compacts last month and found out that looking through your eyes with the use of a compact does not have the same hair raising effect as looking at a mirror, especially old ones.

My Lolas mirror, unfortunately, is an old one which she bought using her first savings as a hilot. My Lola believes that her abilities came from creatures she calls her and our families ubay - whatever that i.

The mirror was as tall as I am and hile staring at it, I saw another person staring back at me.

The girl in Lolas mirror was very fat and very rumpled. She was weaing a tattered housedress (the reason why she often refuses to leave the room). She could have been pretty if she were not that fat and unkempt.

Whoa, I thought. Who is that? Was that one of Lola's spirit guides? I turned around to look at where she is supposed to be standing...

But there was no one. Hehe. Ako gali to.

It was me. Drat. I did not know I am that ugly. I allowed time and the world to control me, as a person and as a being. The real me inside is no longer visible outside.

I am this fat, overindulged creature who refused the world's advice to slim down because she was too busy burying her nose in tomes.

When I had the chance to lift my nose out of books, it was to see that the pretty little girl child I once was, is no longer around.

I have grown up into this shy and self-demeaning creature who saw herself as inferior to verybody else.

Then, I stared hard at the mirror. where was that little girl everybody adored? Was she a figment of my imagination? Was she taken away by the fairy creatures and replaced by this horrible looking witch.

I stared hard... and found her. Deep inside the eyes of the ugly witch.

Politicking Mood

Written on a bland Sunday morning right after laptop was powered up and I have not yet drank my usual sugar-saturated hot coffee (that is why I am going to be a bit vitriolic here)

My little component city under the Philippine skies have existed for a long time. Granted that it has been a city for only several years, it is still no excuse for how it governs the precious residents that live in it.

When I passed by the Christmas Capital of our region, I was shocked to see a strange building illuminated by the festive lights of Christmas.

I was not able to recover from the fact that this municipality has a Municipal Library, Museum and Archives.

Yes, I was not able to enter the place and checked out the local artifacts. However, I still cannot deny the fact that it has provided for an infrastructure that would house the intellectual treasures of their town.

While we have a building portion for our City Information Office.

Huh?


Municipalities and Cities, according to the Local Government Code of the Philippines, should provide for the maintenance of a public library.

And what does our beautiful city have?

An office.

Duh. We have enough offices here to fill two cities.

What an insult. It sort of shows that the residents of this particular place is not interested in books or are too immersed in the economic and fiscal department to ever wonder about the glorious world of the arts and humanities.

I felt cheated. I am aware that several municipalities here in this region have public libraries. I mean, we are supposed to be a rich city. So why can’t we provide ourselves with a Public Library, Museum and Archives?

I am so freaked out about this.

And when I checked the local governemtn code, I found out that a whole book is dedicated to fiscal and financial matters.
Another huh.

I was supposed to be looking for some provisions about the moral duties of a local government to its constituents and what did I find?

A whole book on fiscal matters, taxation, real estate and bidding.

What does it show about human nature, huh? That because of our greed we cannot be trusted to regulate the funds using our conscience.

Soulless trapos.

And you know what, I really need to wipe up the table now so I could leave this space clean and dry.

Trapos are good for that. Keeping the slates clean.

I just hate politics!

Jayrick's Case

Jayrick is one of the members of the Debating Club whom I got to know through several contests trainings and seminar-workshops.

Jayrick is fun to be with but I often feel that I am being measured against something. He is observant and when he does not speak much, I feel nervous. (But he is fun to be with especially when he interacts with Rey and Katrina).

Tall, lanky and serious. Those were my first descriptions of Jayrick. Lately, I realized that he is more than just a three-dimensional model of the stereotypical school geek.

He writes well (he has great command of the language) and thinks well. His journal (I was lucky enough to be allowed a peek) was really wacky without being tacky. The humor, though a bit, self- deploring, was quite funny and interesting in a literary way.

Aside from that, he can bake and he sort of feels insecure over that. (I do not know how to bake and I am a female).

He is the editor in chief of the school paper. I thought he deserved it out of sheer talent. I did hear some odd feedback by one teacher I know and I think that we, the teachers and advisers, are the ones who should make sure that the children we are tasked to mold knows the problem and how to solve it.

I wish I had the guts to inform her (the teacher) that. I mean, in the D. Club, Jayrick appears to be one of the most dedicated members. He, in fact, has worked hard for a lot of things for the club.

Was I mistaken on this? I think that he just needs to know that he is being relied upon to do something and that he will always be guided by his mentor.

Anyway, these kids just need to know not only what to do but how to do it as well.

I discovered that one common error among us teachers is that we tend to assume that the students know what we mean. I forgot that being a student actually puts one in a difficult position.

Jayrick is one nice potential that Passi National High School should recognize. No one should call it luck that he struck gold once. It is a milestone in his life and ought to be appreciated.

He may not have won major prizes now but I am sure that he can tell you he won much more than that.

There is no such thing as loosing. If you don’t win, you learn.

I have been a life long learner (yeah, you can say looser). But at least, I won much more than the winner did.

I may not have won much back in highschool and later on in life. But I won this place in time and space that allowed me to meet the likes of Jayrick.

To close this post, here is a quote from a movies I watched recently. (It is not a new movie but I tend to watch movies released years later).

Remember, life may lead you where you least expect, but have faith that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
-from the movie “ Snow Buddies”