Secret Dirt and Bad Habits 3

So things got worst.

I found out about the Prince and his girl Kate Middleton. I found out how heartache feels after I saw how sweet they are together.

I have nothing against Kate. She seemed a sweet girl and my Prince seems to be in love with her. In fact, I grew quite selfish and desperate at one point last year where I sent a sort of note or post to one website about the Prince and his Kate.

I believe what I said there was that the Prince was too young to even contemplate marriage at that stage...that he ought to see more of life...that people change or whatever crap I manage to type in back then.

Then, a month or two later, I found out that they sort of cooled-off... oooh, what joy! and then, blammm... I mean, I started wondering... what kind of guy would drop a girl whom he has been with for more than 3 years? Someone unwilling to commit that is...

I started feeling sorry for Kate. I started hating myself for wishing that the Prince would leave her and think things over for a while. I started feeling sad and unhappy and I started doubting the goodness of the Prince.

I finally realized-I did not know this guy. Who is he? What was he really like. I started noticing the difference in the way he looks in his photos.

He used to smile with a sweet innocence and shyness. Now, his smiles are pretty, I don't know, pretty fake...unreal, untrue...but they are so unlike the smiles I fell in love with.

Now, his smiles never reached his eyes.

He and Kate eventually made up as we all know and I decided to give the whole thing up and start looking for Mr. Ideal (my ideal that is, they do not fit the world category at all).

I did find an ideal but, sadly, he was seven years my junior..

I thought I was so over him. I was able to keep his files under lock and key for more than 3 months. I have given him up to marital bliss with his Kate. I prayed they'd have a happy time of life despite the ugliness of our world.

One day though, I was not able to help myself. I started surfing the net about him and found several unfortunate news about him and Paris, other blondes and biking trips...

Now, I am wondering, what happened to the Prince? The young prince I so adored, the one who sent tissues through the bathroom door for his crying mother, the one who wanted to be a policeman so he can protect his mom, the one who had the shy and innocent smile... my prince of hearts?

I can't believe that a merciless, heartbreaker Cassanova would replace him. We have enough handsome heratbreakers nowadays.

And now, I learned one thing again, courtesy of my Prince William experience... you can never really tell who or what one person is.

And sadly, for me, who always wanted to unearth mysteries and learn things, I want to learn more about this Prince. I want to know what he thinks, what he feels, what is he really like?

What is he like? Is he the Cassanova he is now? Can I still find my little shy Prince lurking somewhere in the shadows of the heartbreaker and ladiesman he is?

He must be... he should be....or what are dreams for?

Secret Dirt and Bad Habits 2

I do not know how to start this, too. I mean, I have already encoded Part 2 of SD & BH but due to power failuer, I was unable to save the changes.

Anyway, when I talk about my hauntings, and my bad habits, I was actually referring to the odd fascination I developed about the fame, power and prestige of the Prince I was talking about. He was handsome, he was rich and he was on top of the limelight.

What made me like Prince William of Wales (yes, I was talking about that near-balding Prince of the British throne in Part 1) is the picture I had of him. The first picture of the shy and innocent looking 15 year old boy and later on the sensitive-looking picture of an 18 year old or something young man who was sort of looking for a frim anchor in a rocking world.

Since I came from a less than priviledged family and my parents had to scrape dirt for a living, I cannot afford to buy magazines about him. I had to content myself with the occassional newspaper clippings that I can get from my grandmother who uses them as wrapper in her dried fish selling business.

It was funny, really. I would cut out the picture and the article and compile them on a folder labelled "My Elusive Dream". My bestfriend who also fancied the Prince (and who could afford the mags) would show the magazines to me. I stared in fascination as the mags tirelessly featured him and his family, what they do, how they live, what are the latest mess in their lives and what women would eventually made it as Princess of my Prince. I've met words such as the vamp for the first time, and I started thinking, "Wow, the world is not all about running after some geeky classmates who'd make fun of ones ponytails or pigtails."

I got hook with England and the United Kingdom in general. I studied London in a pocket guide I bought from a second hand bookstore. I got totally crazy over historical romances set in medieval and regency England. I fell in love with Scottish and Irish heroes in those romances thinking of them as the Prince .

Then, I grew up. I made my bestfriend believe that I was so over Prince William because I did not want to hurt her feelings. I could always treasure my Prince in secret. I have my Journal to share the feelings with anyway. Besides, I like learning more about him from my bestfriend. To torture myself, I would help bestfriend conjure up fantasies about her and the Prince.

Then, when my bestfriend and I parted, I owned up to the feeling, again. And once more, I haunted the library fro more information about United Kingdom and England. I found history as a reliable and entertaining source.

3 years later, I met up with another classmate who was also a self-confessed William fan ( William is very popular in the Philippines, hehe). We did not exactly team up, I mean, we were not that close and once more, I pretended that I was over him (why did I keep doing that?).

During our class graduation ball, I even wrote a class prophecy featuring lovely classmate and Prince as a couple. I even read that in front of the whole class (yeah, I was so duh).

I tried forgetting Prince William when I reached college. I had a degree top finish and I had a lot of thinbgs to learn. But, William has left his indelible mark upon my person. Through him, I discovered a lasting love of English literature (and literature in general), a fascination with English history ( and history in general) as well as an interest in the world.

Through him, I learned that I am not the only person who existed on earth and that I really have a lot to learn to prepare myself for whatever repsonsiblity lies out there for me.

I went through college with the Prince as a sort of inspiration. Everytime I fell out of crush with several college guys, I would turn to my elusive dream files and dream. Then, I would find another man who would fit my criteria and I would hide my files of the Prince.

This became a pattern. When I would feel sad and loney, I would talk to his picture, the one where he was wearing a tie with duck images on it, and where he looked so like MY Prince.

I was unhappy. I never had a boyfriend. I grew really fat (obese)actually and I made myself believe it did not matter at all since I will never be able to meet my Prince anyway.

It was bad. After college, I thought it would all get better.

Tsk.

Things only got worse.

Secret Dirt and Bad Habits 1

I do not now how to start this one. This is one issue that I have always kept to myself.

I am a superficial idiot. Yep. Superficial in a sense that I fell in deep fascination with a guy so-out-of-my-league for about 10 years now.

As a child, I was pretty unromantic (in an innocent manner). I never believed in fairytales and princes and princesses. I mean, I just knew they could never be real.

I grew up in a very practical household where hugs are so rare I have become allergic to human touches. I never played with barbie dolls and I never owned a teddy bear. What I had where my strictly followed-up coloring books with all the spaces numbered accordingly. Number 1 for red, 2 for blue, 3 for green and so on and so forth.

My mother strictly watched over every phase of my education. She bought me tapes to help me speak well, sing well... my doting grandparents sent me to a ballet school hoping that I would grow up into a little ballerina who can twirl around for them, I even joined the school band where I played the xylophone and started to long for piano lessons which was never realized (alas).

And I discovered the beauty and wonder of reading. I read a German airlines mag, I read my mothers college books and I read everything I could get a hold of.

One of the magazines that my mother used to subscribe to was a Christian mag. I loved the comics portion. The drawings were so fascinating. I mean, they were just like the Japanese cartoons we were not supposed to watch.

Unexpectedly, that was where I found the spectre that haunted me for most of my life right now. The spectre that became an inspiration and eventually a bad habit to break.

I found a prince!

Damn, at 11, I honestly believed that princesses, pirnces and kingdoms never existed. Ghost probably, spectres maybe...but a prince. Hell no. Frogs exist. Not princes.

But there he was, smiling a shy toothy and endearing smile... a fifteen year old kid who was so fascinating... He was featured in the Youth for All Seasons portion and I thought...tsk, sayang. He's already dead.

I mean, I thought he was featured because he died heroically. ( I am a Jose Rizal fan and I believed that you should only be featured in mags if you did something really great and that you died doing it...hehehe).

I cut out the picture, his skecth and copied the article. Wow, a prince. A dead prince but a cute one, anyway.

Then came the shock. My dead prince was actually alive.

Hell. He was the living son of a princess who passed away in a car accident in Paris. And I thought, Huh? A princess also exists...err, used to exist?

I grew curious. I did not know that my world actually extends to a wider network of land and seas and systems. My world is not just limited inside the four walls of a boring classroom, with sseven awe-and-fear-inspiring teachers taking charge of everyday lessons.

I found out that Britain existed. That the monarchy is a real form of governement and that a globe is useful.(At least, twirling it aroung and in pointing out Britain everytime social studies lectures get stale and boring.)

I also found out that I am not the only person with a beating heart. That a bestfriend can also love (er, its really not love, honest) the same person.

Well, this bad habit haunted me everytime and until now, after 13 years, it is still haunting me.

Time for Sale!

I don't really know. I may just be lazy but I realized one thing after a very long, long time.

I hate what I am doing.

I am a teacher in a public school here in my sometimes-not- so sleepy-hometown. The school I am teaching in is my very own Alma Mater where I first learned that life has a pattern.

I am not yet a regular teacher but at least I am receiving a regular salary once a month from the local government.I have been teaching here for almost 15 months now and I have seen a lot, heard a lot, learned a lot...but sadly, I also lost...a lot.

When I graduated last March 2006, I was not the regular graduate. I was bitter yes. Bitter in a sweet way.

However, I had so much hope for the future. I had so much idealism, enthusiasm and optimism inside I was almost bursting with it. They were the remnants of my college days, the ones I kept inside for safekeeping.

During my first year, I was so full of IT. I thought I could do everything and no one, not even myself, can stop me. But I was so wrong.

It took me only a year to lose my enthusiasm and some of my ideals. At least, I wised up enough to understand that I need to tuck my ideals somewhere deep inside me so as to preserve it from total destruction.

I thought that after another five months, I have nothing more to loose to the system. But, it is know killing my optimism. I can feel the invisible force of the system strangle the little baby of optimism I hold within.

And, I also realized, lately, that I was actually losing something more important...something that no amount of money can ever buy back for me:Time.

For P60.00 an hour, I sold my time to the system I used to hate in college... I allowed it to take from me the chance to grow and spend my time the way I want to...for security and comfort, I let a portion of my life flit away from my grasp.

For what? So that when I retire 50 years from now, I can enjoy my time without any worries because the government will pay my pension every month? And what use will I be then?

A Teacher's Confession

When I was a student, I never had many friends.

A college acquaintance used to wonder what kind of friend I am because during our spare time, I tend to wander around the campus on my own or I would leave my so called friends for a comfortable hour spent reading in the library.

Another classmate told me I should stop burrying myself in books. I think she was right. The more time I spent with books, the lesser time I spent with people. But, I told myself that it is only through reading that I get to understand hman nature.

However, the more I learned about human nature and the more I understand about man's duality, the less able I am to communicate my thoughts with them-real time.

My sisters told me I had the uncanny ability to scare people away with just a look or a carefully aimed word.

I did not realize how true it was until I woke up one day and realized that I was actually all alone in the crazy world I built for myself.

I had no friends and no one could understand me.

But, when I became a teacher, all that sensitivity was actually awakened. I could not believe the amount of love and care that I actually feel for my students.

It was so different. And now, I realized why that was so.

In our Philosophy of Man class, a classmate asked me how I tell a person I love him or her without saying I love you.

My answer: I want to share my thoughts with you.

hen they asked me why : I said that the best gift I could give to another mortal is to share my love of learning with him or her. To give them a fragment of the knowledge and understanding I worked so hard to acquire over the years. And, in so doing, I uncannily attach myself to the person.

The measure of love I feel for another person is equivalent to the time I spent sharing my thoughts with him or her. It may take me an hour or less but what counts is how much of myself I give at every meeting.

And, I give so much to my students. So much of myself that, after the end of the day I feel fulfilled. As If I have already done my human duty, my task to mankind for the day.

I love my students. I may be undkind to other human beings. I maybe less understanding to other adults around me... but I always love my students.

(Semantic Warning: I have my own meaning for the words:my students...)

Nature's Wild Concerto

We woke up to the tune of a howling wind. The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof lulled my siblings back to sleep but when water started to slide inside (the boy beside me is singing noisily and the oother boy on my right is sneezing lustily, Oh God ! Save me from internet cafes!!!), I knew I had to wake up.

Nature has taken its periodic concert to a grand scale. Supertyphoon Frank(the boy is dancing, he is so irritating!!!) unexpectedly turned into a hideous weather monster. The people in my happy community was not expecting the wild course it took.

We were so used to the usual rain trickle and flood threats as well as several uprooted trees and the common riverside evacuation but not this.

I mean who would have expeted a flasgflood or a landslide that would actually carry a house with it. Or who would have imagined an overflow of such an awesome magnitude.

Frank left the stage with a standing ovation but none of the audience desired an encore. My God (the sneezer sucks!!!)

When my sister and I went out to see things, we saw a river of mud and several ruined houses as well as water-ransaked homes and business establishment.

My mother said we were actually lucky. The businessfolks are all suffering great losses. Sacks of rice are now sold at 12 pesos. But, none intends to buy the things since theyr are good and ruined already.

Tsk. What a pity. Im sure they are regretting hoarding all these business things now. No one can make use ofd them. I guess, this was nature's way of reminding man that he really has no place n the grandiose scheme of things.

The world is all about the gigantic phenomena of life and we happen to be little insects who got in the way of creation by chance or by the whim of some great phenomenon itself (who knows , and at this point, who cares).

Well now, Frank was really fasinating. It reminded me of A god who created the world for his own fancy. Frank came to entertain that same God and the humans who stopped to watched and listen.

That morning, my siblings and I stopped, watched and listened. We heard Frank's grand orchestra playing and we saw the tree's dancing in a rhythm we never saw them dance before. And we thought, man has no place in this world.

Man's creation does not fit this beautifully harsh world. The caves of long ago actually looked more inviting and safer than the skyscraper's of today.

And again, we thought, Frank was beautiful, more beautiful than any human's deserve to see him.

Something New

The school year started with an almost inaudible gasps from my old pair of sandals. It said, "Your world, Ms.B, is about to collapse!" (Bright, sandal.)

A day later, my world, indeed, took a nasty turn and collapsed. Without me in it, thankfully.

As a volunteer secondary school teacher in my very own alma mater, I have learned to expect the unexpected.But that was during the first semester in my first year, which was just last year. Now, I have learned not to expect anything. (Stop that thought, Ms.B. It is ugly and very censorious of the d*mn*d system.)

Last year, I handled several loads with double preparation (not much, really.) I was able to intrude into the lives of 770 students (give or take a hundred). I handles three third year classes in the first grading, two second year classes, five fourth year classes and another five third year classes in the last semester.

I stayed for an average of two months with any of these classes. (whew) And everytime I leave our house, I get accosted (that's OA) with some student's unknown faces.

I had to smile everytime an unknown face calls me Ma'am. I promised to myself before that I would never disappoint any student. (Now, I'd rather take that promise back).

This year, however, my load is lighter and easier. I have to handle five first year English classes but pone of those class is held outside the campus.

After my 2:40 class in the main campus, I have to commute to one of the northern (I'm not sure if its northern, daw western,e.Never mind) barangays to teach in a barangay chapel.

The Division has recently opened a high school in that barangay and for its first school year, it has a total of 45 students, with zero buildings and a chapel which the breeze (and the rain) can freely penetrate.

Second day of school and I broke one of the old pair of sandals I owned. Hopefully, the local school board will give me my salary by the end of the month so that I can buy a new pair.

Back of my brain voice: How about the books of your siblings, dear daughter.

Oh, well. I am a teacher. What else can I do?