Cloying Sweetness

I watched as she approached the couple sitting on the table beside me. She smelled of floral shampoo, floral lotion, and floral perfume – all sweet and gentle from afar. As she sat several chairs away, her scent floated towards me. Cloyingly sweet. Unbearably overpowering. Heady. I wish she’d go away soon, I thought as I furtively covered my nose.

Sundays and Coffee

It was an adorable afternoon at Starbucks. An elderly man sitting far across me was napping with mouth wide open while his middle-aged companions were quietly reading the papers. He awoke when his daughter (I think) nudged him awake with a question.

A little earlier, I left my jacket on one of the tables, intending to reserve that table. Upon my return from ordering my drink, however, I found a man with a screaming yellow shirt and a very out-of-bed hair style sipping mango juice on my “reserved” table. Very weird man. He placed my jacket on the seat. As I got my jacket and transferred to the table in front of him, I was quietly wishing some very mean things upon him, like indigestion and hair loss.

Unable to open my laptop with its non-existent batteries and nowhere near an electric outlet, I read the papers. The yellow man reached for a newspaper behind me. He was, however, obviously either extremely bored or his mind wasn’t really into reading the Sunday paper because he was staring at a space on his left as I watched him from the corner of my eye.

All around me, people are either leisurely waiting for the hours to pass, fathers lounging around waiting for their family, children running around, worried nannies running after their wards while the mothers chatted, students studying, a few others, like me, typing away.

Such a quaint afternoon. It was, all in all, a relaxing Sunday afternoon as the elderly man slipped back into a light snooze.

The Snotty And The Simple

I was walking down the corridors of Powerplant mall yesterday when I encountered a group of young adults loitering around. I glanced at them, a clique of rich kids. Nothing unusual as Powerplant is the mall of choice of the upper social class. They were all dressed in the same way. All made-up and snottily cracking each other up, wearing fashionable clothing, dirty sneakers, and aviator sunglasses. Very cliché, I thought. Every one of them reminds of a peacock. All puffed-up and pretty, with a pea-sized brain and an Almighty-me attitude.

I went to Market Market shortly after that. Surprisingly, as I was eating my very late brunch at a fast food joint, a group of young adolescents walked in. Females, this time, all model-thin and walking the walk. Brushing past by, they sat down directly in the table beside mine. They then proceeded to chatter away, pretty rouge-tinged lips pouting, legs dangerously exposed by shorter-than-short shorts as they sat crossed-legged. I knew they were, obviously, not as rich as the ones I saw earlier, but the same feeling permeated from them – that of a peacock spreading its colorful tail to outdo others and attract potential mates.

Amazing how snottiness can transcend social class. All deliberately pretty façades yet I don’t remember any of their faces.

Hide Me

I'm like a tightly closed bud of a flower,
hidden layer by layer of wonderful surprises.

I'm beautiful, I'm brilliant, I'm funny and witty, I'm fragile and sweet, I'm vindictive and loyal, I'm sensitive, I'm a complete enigma. And I'm hidden. Hidden from you and everyone else.
Find me... like I found you - unpolished, rough diamond beneath a pile of fool's gold.
Discover me... like I discovered you - slowly and with great enjoyment as i watched you shine.
Cherish the moment you uncover me like a child who eagerly opens his present on christmas morning.

I am hidden so you can find me.
Find me soon for I am buried beneath all pretty baubles and trinkets.
Hopefully, you are not blinded by all the glitter and sparkle for I am plain and dull.
When you find me at last, do not lose sight of me.
I am hard and edgy from the hiding. If you treasure me, polish me with care until at last I shine like a tear from your eye. And I will be yours forever.

Happy after once upon these days

Needing the diversion of a "feel good" movie after weeks of depression bouts, I watched several movies including the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I find myself once again drawn to the songs. "These Days" by Chantal Kreviazuk (Leaving on a Jet Plane, that Chantal) struck me. It eloquently and beautifully conveyed what i'm feeling. I need my bestfriends. I miss them. I want to say these very lines, "Make me a storybook and write me away from here I need a different now." If that were possible, I'd wish for a different now. And i'm certainly willing to "lend you my tears
if I could borrow your smile."
I remember that we used to be that for each other, shoulders to cry on, staunch defenders, loyal-to-a-fault friends, keepers of our hearts, sisters of choice, bestfriends for life. I miss them and days, long ago, when we were carefree enough to believe in "happily ever after." If i could bottle up those years of blissful youth, i would have drunk myself to oblivion with those. To friendship...

What's this life anyway
What's it to you and me
What's it to anyone
Who are we suppose to be

Make me a storybook
And write me away from here
I need a different now

Where we can
Wear each other
For a while and I'll lend you my tears
If I could borrow your smile
And we'll get through tomorrow
Some other day
Happy after
Once upon these days

There's four roads to anywhere
Four ways to everything
We were unbreakable
We spoke our destiny
Lets take a moment now
Oh and go where we never go
Lets make a new world now

Where we can
Wear each other
For a while and I'll lend you my tears
If I could borrow your smile
And we'll get through tomorrow
Some other day
Happy after
Once upon these days

Then one day we'll find
when we're looking back at this time
Wondering how we've come so far
From this and when we close our eyes

What's this life anyway
What's it to you and me
What are we doing here
And who are we suppose to be

I'll take a better world
Oh I'll take anything
I'll take our a little world now

Where we can
Wear each other
For a while and I'll lend you my tears
If I could borrow your smile
And we'll get through tomorrow
Somehow today
Happy after
Once upon these days
Once upon these days
Once upon these days

Not my Song

A friend asked me to look for this song. I listened to it but it's not me. I, however, would like someone to sing me this song.



On The Side of Me - By: Corrinne May

I'm not the easiest person to love
I'm often the one who lets things go unresolved

Yet you choose to be
On the side of me
On the side of me
Yet you choose to be on the side of me
On the side of me

I'm not too proud of some things
I've done in my life
The skeletons in my closet
Are too big for me to hide

Yet you choose to be
On the side of me
On the side of me
Blessed Charity
You're on the side of me
On the side of me

Everyone needs a friend to hold
When it's cold outside
And there's no place to go
Everyone needs a friend to hold
All alone I cried
There was no place to go
I remember when nobody cared
But you

I'm not the easiest person to love
But you, you've opened your heart to show me what I'm worth

'Cause you choose to be
On the side of me
On the side of me
What a mystery
You're on the side of me
On the side of me

Everyone needs a friend to hold
When it's cold outside
And there's no place to go
Everyone needs a friend to hold
All alone I cried
There was no place to go

I remember when nobody cared
Nobody cared
But you...

Yeah you choose to be
On the side of me
On the side of me

Silently, I Love You

I love you.
I love you really.
I can’t say it but in jest or with great embarrassment. So just like me. Prideful and annoyingly proper.

I silently say it, you know. In my mind, I can hear myself say it.
I love you.You’re not here to hear it.
More than I can say with words, I love you.

But I have a peculiar way of expressing it. I’m sorry. You will probably never hear it from my lips.

I love you. It’s a little too late, but I love you. I really did love you.

It hurts still, the agony of losing you. I lived my life taking for granted that eventually I’d take care of you as you took care of me. We made plans; plans that I would someday hope to fulfill – even without, because we made them. Because I promised.
The wretched grief. When will cease?

Happy Birthday. Rest in peace.

Every Time I Think Of You, I Die A Little

Last night, I was worried. Tita Fil, my yaya, was hospitalized. She was suffering from diarrhea, dehydration, and severe leg cramps. My father, my Tiya'y Tin, and our neighbor Joy Joy went with her. I was frantic when my mom told me this. She said not to worry because she was ok, just low potassium.

5:30 this morning, i woke up to the buzzing ring of my cellphone. My mother was crying on the other line. At first I couldn't understand what she was saying. But her tone, her crying, the panic in her voice told me the one thing i never wanted to hear. "Ta, wala na si Filma. Wala na si Tita mo Fil." Everything else was a blur of sounds and anguished cry. My mind couldn't seem to function. I was in shock. I knew what was happening, I knew i should feel something, do something. But I seem to have lost myself. Lost all kinds of thoughts, lost all kinds of feelings. I couldn't even cry a tear.

I got up, went to the bathroom, drank water from the mug, sat down. There was an awfully empty space. I felt like i was living a nightmare. I knew it was happening but i couldn't seem to wake up. Like i was trapped in another body, the only thing i could do was stare into space.

I did my laundry. I tried thinking of her, tried squeezing out a tear. Nothing. Just numbness all over. I got out my laptop and researched for my thesis. I remembered hearing my mother saying something about me going home to see Tita for the last time. I debated whether it was worth it, not finishing my thesis and going home to attend the wake.

I stared for hours on end at the computer screen until my roommates were up. I was just quietly watching the screen. Not a word, not a glance, nothing. Today was the mass for the repose of Tricia's dad who died on monday. I thought, "I should go to mass. I should also offer a mass for Tita's soul."

So i went to school, telling my roommates on the way there what happened. I went to Garyn's office, then, to Fr. Lito's office to give her Tita's name. I wrote on a small piece of paper: For the repose of the soul of Filma Villan. I went and heard mass.

I ate lunch with friends at the caf. They were jolly and laughing. I couldn't even swallow my food. I could barely move my limbs; i felt so very heavy. I tasted nothing.

When i got back to LSAC, i received a call. My mother was crying again. This time, i cried with her. She told me that Nino went to Tita's room (the room i shared with her) and Tita only kissed him. I told her that I couldn't go home. I can't. I can't see Tita lying there and pretending that she was asleep. I can't bear it. I have never been fond of looking at anyone's remains. I talked to my wawa, i told her the same thing. By that time, i was bawling in the hallway, uncaring who walked by. She told me that all Tita wanted was to see my graduate. She wanted to come to Manila for my grad, to slaughter all the livestock she raised to prepare the dishes for my grad party. She wanted to see me pass the Bar. She wanted to... There was so many things she wanted to do for me and for my brother. Wawa and i cried. Papa talked to me, told me that Tita never expected to die. Her blood sugar was 270. Her lower legs were in paralysis. She couldn't feel her legs. The last thing she said was, "To Periong, habuli man bi tiil ko kay katugnaw gid. Habuli liwat kay natugnawan ko." She never expected to die. She called for a hilot yesterday. Instead of getting better, the blood clots went to her heart. She died 5am today.

I don't want to go home. There won't be welcoming hugs from her, no welcoming kiss, no welcoming dish, no welcoming surprise stuff she'd bought for me. No, I am not going to see her for the last time. I would rather remember her alive and well. My last memory of her will be her wishing me a safe trip back to Manila after a hug.

She was my bestfriend. My first one. My second mother, my playmate. She was my secret-keeper, my secret-giver. She quarreled with me; she made me understand; she taught me my values. She was the mediator when i quarreled with my parents or with wawa. She'd make my pajamas, mend my clothes, make my favorite dishes. She'd encourage me, dissuade me, and persuade me. She'd spoil me and she'd take my side. She left all hopes of having her own family and stayed with us. I will miss her terribly.

There are so many things i've wanted to say to her. Thank you. I miss you. Stay, don't leave me. I'm sorry. Happy Birthday. Happy Mother's Day. I love you.

Tears are running down my cheeks, my running nose is making me breathe through my mouth.
I feel nothing. Just a deep unfathomable void where my heart should have been.

Twix

I've been craving for Twix Caramel Bars since it's been unavailable in the local market. I've looked everywhere and nothing... So i was kind of depressed and in search for a substitute to satisfy my sweet tooth.
When Ces got back for enrollment, she went to school looking for me and Mel. Grinning, she handed me a bar of Twix. "Pasalubong ko sayo," she said.
OH MY GOSH!
My face went all slack and erupted into a great big smile.
THANK YOU!
Moments like these are precious to me.

The Baguio Adventure

April 28-30, 2008
Baguio Trip - Melodie, Patty, Hazel, Ana, Pepe, Joan, Arman, Leah & Meliecar
The Plan was set, the invites were out, the rsvps were in, the accomodations were ready, and the fun awaits. Thanks to Arman we had a very comfortable RV for our transpo. Thanks to Patty, Pepe, and Arman we had skilled alternate drivers for the uber long drive. Thanks to Pepe we had super affordable accommodations at the NFA Staff House.

Day 1:
Lunch at Tokyo Tokyo, PowerPlant by 1pm. Left for Baguio by 1:30pm. The drive was long and exciting. I got the best seat because i'm car sick during long drives. Arrived at 8pm. Late dinner at SM, Baguio. Had chicken sisig shared with Lec. Arrived at the NFA Staff house by 9pm. The van slipped while going up the side of the mountain to our cottage, which made all the girls scream like, well, girls. We immediately got down from the van only to be greeted by pitch black night in the middle of the forest. Made our way to the cottage only to find out that there was a stair pathway on the other side. Pagkatapos ipilit iakyat ang van! Sheesh, we could have parked the van below and trekked up. Scary cottage, scared occupants! Not every one had a good night's sleep. Dawn brought the much awaited sunlight to chase away the bad dreams and the ghosts of the night.

Day 2:
Breakfast at Ganza Restaurant, Burningham Park. Toured the park, sipped on strawberry taho and took pretty pictures. Went to Wright Park, watched the horses (and smelled them, too!), climbed the stairs.
Went up, and up, and finally reached the top. Stopped at The Mansion and took crazy, wacky pictures. Trekked back down to Wright Park.

Lunch at Little John's, Camp John Hay. Made our way to Mines View and Good Shepherd for a pasalubong shopping spree. Rode on towards PMA. Went up the tree house, watched the trainees doing drills and running around, climbed tanks, took funny pictures.

Dinner at Don Henrico's. Went to the grocery for late night snacks and a bottle of Tequila Rose.

Day 3:
8:30am. Breakfast at Jollibee. Went to La Trinidad, Benguet. Tasted Strawberry ice cream, wanted to pick strawberries, bought strawberries and veggies. (Strawberry fields forever)


We climbed our way up (while counting 230 steps to the altar) to the Lourdes Grotto in Benguet. Had lunch @ Dencio's, Camp John Hay after we played in the playground.
Went down from Baguio via Kennon Road. On the way home, we decided to visit Manaoag. We asked intervention from the Lady of Manaoag. I was trully awed by its beauty and sanctity.
With pouring rain, bumper-to-bumper traffic, and impending sunset, we went home to our normal everyday lives. The adventure may have ended but the memories (and the pictures) are beautiful reminders of forged bonds and shared joy.