Prelude to Dimentia and Alzheimer's at 23

...or just call it a pure manifestation of being a scatter-brained 23 year-old.

When I left our apartment unit this morning to transfer to a unit of a fellow Filipino teacher several rooms away, I was so confident that I left the latch unlocked since I brought the keys with me (talk about common sense).

After about five hours, at around 3:00 in the afternoon when the heat of the sun was clicking hot, I went back to our unit only to find my room mate sitting on the floor just outside our unit's door, trying all her might to stick closely to the wall since the sun's rays was already creeping at a fast rate towards where she was seated.

I looked quizzically at her, thinking instinctively, "What is she doing there with her books and laptop outside our unit, is she in her proper mind to work in there?" And to my great horror, I saw the latch locked, with no way to find an exit since there are also wires connecting the gate to our rooftop. Plus, the room of our apartment is already locked because she also thought that I kept the gate opened. So she was there for almost 5 hours, sitting under the heat of Thailand sun (which I tell you can cause anyone serious heat stroke), with no supply of water and definitely, no food with her.

So talk about MAJOR carelessness and being a scatterbrained and I would just pop out from nowhere as a living example.

Just to be sure, the next time any of you would entrust to me any latch and keys, think again. And think really hard.

Mishaps and Anecdotes: Cast Away from Home ( In Thailand for the first time!)

Our plane took off from the Philippine soils at around 9:30 pm.

 And even though I've been living away from home for the most part of almost 7 years, it will be my first time to leave home without going back every weekends and it will be for a very long, long time.


I and my companion arrived at Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok at around 12:30 am, 1:30 am Philippine time. Upon touching the grounds of Thailand, a warm rush of homesickness instantly hit me with the full realization that I'm outside my comfort zone, I'm away from home.

We had to walk like for almost a kilometer from the arrival point to the immigration area. The escalator -like ramps were a big help, or else we'd be walking ourselves to complete exhaustion at 12:30 in the morning.

After buying for each one of us a 123-call sim card and contacting the persons we had to contact, our first in a series of mishaps started. We had to inform the non-English speaking Thai taxi driver to bring us to Morchit Bus station which will bring us to the northern part of Thailand where our school is located.

Taxis are lining up just outside the arrival area of the airport. Our first attempt in communicating with the non-English speaking taxi drivers also paid off in the end.

A thirty minute taxi ride gave us the opportunity to take a glimpse of Bangkok with all its majesty and glory at night. With the incomprehensible Thai love songs being played in the radio, and the occasional attempts of the driver to communicate to us in English, I and my companion dared not to speak or talk except the occasional mutterings of observations, since we were still in the process of grasping the idea that we were indeed in Thailand.

Bangkok at night.

If I record the accounts of our arrival in Thailand in words, it will be a compilation of funny anecdotes and ghastly mishaps. So here's the pictures that would do the talking instead.

At 1:00 in the morning, deprived of sleep and food, we were aghast that the bus going to Chiang Mai is still available at 7:00 in the morning. The ticket seller got a bit irritated when I had to ask her several times of the details---it was just an equal effort though from both of us to communicate to each other.

Our double-decker bus finally arrived at 3:30 pm. This bus features onboard Thai movies and songs and also serves free snacks and drinks. It has a comfort room at the lower deck of the bus.

We got stranded in this waiting shed for more than an hour with both our cellphones' battery empty of charge-----we couldn't contact anyone plus we were in the middle of a highway with by-passers who couldn't understand us whenever we ask directions, not to mention that we lacked sleep and food!

We were still lucky because beside the waiting shed is a police station. So we got help from a very kind Thai police who let us use his phone to call our contacts.

Despite the seeming mishaps, we still found it a wonderful photo opportunity moment and a great source of future travel anecdotes.

Loving Them With Their Wrongly Spelled Notes and All!

When I left ISA last March 2011, I also said goodbye to teaching kids, I mean really small kids probably, forever.

I can clearly imagine how I was three years ago when I was a wide-eyed, idealistic, fresh-out-of-university-life education graduate. I thought I was so prepared on shouldering the responsibilities since I slaved over studying the concepts and the theories and philosophies way back in college. But I was wrong, so wrong.

with Mikayla (the BIG TIME hugger) during the Buwan ng Wika

So imagine my horror when I was also assigned to teach Grades 1 and 2. Those little, cute, cute kids can suddenly turn into little monsters, all 25 of them or so in a classroom---complete with their tails and fangs and those tridents.

These tiny creatures can sometimes turn into little monsters inside the classroom---it's an enriching experience that all teachers must witness their transformation.

Loving them despite the heartbreak that they cause you is a great yardstick as a teacher.

So, I came up with an idea. I couldn't possibly turn them into little adults----that would be stealing their childhood from them. So, I made it the other way around. I, their teacher, became a kid again for them instead.

A solar eclipse was happening in the middle of my discussion so they had to go out to witness it for real using x-ray films as improvised viewer. It was a blast for them!

Making faces is allowed. Unleash the inner you!

They took all their games seriously during the sports fest yet it was filled with fun and  innocent competition.

Our science class is sometimes turned into playing time when games are infused with their lessons.

They can get smeared and dirty during activities. Here, we planned a fruit salad party in our lesson about mixtures!

I learned from them perhaps more than they learned from me.  So  in return, I love them all ----even with their wrongly spelled notes and all! =)

Finding LOVE in the streets of Lampang...=)

Who says one couldn't find love in the streets? Well, literally speaking, that is.

It was a Friday afternoon and we were walking in the sidewalk going to Toronto, our favorite eat-all-you-can Western inspired restaurant here in Thailand when, by chance, we came up with this big sign in the middle of their "plaza".

What's ironic is that, these past few days, I'm lamenting over the fact that perhaps one person will never, not ever know that I'm pining over these unrequited emotions so to speak and nursing my bruised pride.

So at the very moment when I thought I've lost just a bit of hope on love, a great reminder was thrown at me instead.

Believe in omens they say. I found mine on the streets of Lampang.........

So for the moment, I'll just keep on being mushy and dopey-faced over love. A little bit of madness is always permitted when it comes to love. Who knows next time, it's not only a LOVE sign that I'll find on the streets. By that time, I hope it'll be for real.....=)

I've finally slowed down...

....oh well let's just say that, I've slowed down a bit. I think that's more appropriate.

This thought keeps on bugging me for several months now. There are moments when I would ask myself "You're slowing down, so what now?" 

But what is ironic is that despite the doubts of changing my course and definitely, my pacing, I'm completely overwhelmed with the feeling of calm knowing instinctively that I am at my proper momentum and speed at the moment------not the overly "go-getter-too-idealistic" that I was years ago and definitely not the type who is "too-idle-to-do-and think-about-anything-in-particular-so-I'll-just sit-here-and-wait-if-what-will-happen-to-my-life-in-passing".

I think all of this change in pace started 2 years ago when I made a conscious effort of walking more slowly,since I am a terribly fast walker and I was just punishing no one but myself, and I decided to give just a bit of rest to my ever non-complaining, ever reliable pair of legs (which slaved for almost four years way back in college. NOTE: this requires another write-up.).

Surprisingly, what started out as a "walking reorientation" led to a major life-pace change (which can be traced again from the fact that I seem to loose track of  just about anything and end up somewhere I did not plan to be in the first place. Voila! Talk about life's surprises.). It also made sense because at that moment, I was already too tired of all the stress and drama, and definitely the useless competition that I have seen for twenty years (or so) of also being too competitive, causing all those stress and drama to myself and to others as well. So at that point, when people my age are just starting to learn the "art of mindless competitions" a year  fresh out of college, I was at the exact point of giving it all up. 

But let me just make it clear, I wasn't and I couldn't, not even if I try, give up my dreams or my goals. It's the rushing to get there that I gave up.

Speed could make everything pass in a blur, take it from someone who knows, someone who's been there. 

With my current pace, yes, I may arrive just a bit late to wherever I am getting into. But I am holding my time and I refuse to set it in anybody's time zone or standards. 

Plus, I just remind myself, I have the advantage of clearness of view which speed could seem to diminish.

One Mute Celebration---- 1389.6 Miles Away

Where did you get the idea that it's only the downs in life that should be shared, huh?




















In between the brief silence of

the monotonous, dragging sound of

the clicking of the keys…

In between the minute spaces

of the letters of “U” and "n” for “UNIT”

in my unfinished syllabus…

In between the predictable

ticking sound of the worn-out wall clock

at the strike of each second…

In between all of these and all 

that does not allow (supposedly) of

respite for fond thoughts...

You always,

always,  spot (without your knowing) the spaces and the in betweens

to stir my emotions

knowing that I should just put these happy

thoughts and words (for you) to sleep,

knowing silently that

you will never understand, not ever-----

that it’s not only

the "downs" in life that should be shared,

but the "ups" as well……

The Yielding of the Narra Tree and the Fact That You Never Pursued

(to you, who never gets to read any of the numerous poems which are supposedly for you, but who instantly left)

Been listening to the cacophony

of the mechanical saw that

sadly, defeated the narra tree

that have seen many summer days,

defying its scorching heat

with its minute yellow blooms

that often replace the duty of the wilting grass

to give color and life to the embracing earth

at the front side of our yard.

The sound which bores itself

into my ears, moving inwardly,

drilling into my brain,

threatening to shatter it,

is in fact,

a blessing.

For this day which is meant

to be spent lamenting over

the fact that you came

and left as a shadow

(which I just realized the other day)----

that when you found out that

you're not yet about to lose yourself into the intoxicating smell

of the opium that is my emotion (and yours as well)

but to first, break an ivory tower,

cross a bridge, ride the roaring waves,

crash among the stars, you left------

was spent instead to bear the galling sound

of the saw machine, and distracted

me from tending and nursing

my bruised pride

(good, if it's just really in fact my bruised pride).

So along with the yielding of the

narra tree to the traitorous claws of

the saw which bruised and ripped not

only the fibers of its trunk,

but its quiet dignity and almost a decade of history,

I am quietly rejoicing,

for I was spared from yielding

to the pains of the claws of your retreat

which actually bruised and ripped out

the quiet dignity of my apparently,

unrequited emotions (for you) and

more than a decade of our assumed history.

16th of April

364 days, and I wonder how

some one and 1/2 day less

than a year

could be enough...

how could it be enough

to still the yearning to gaze

into your eyes,

and trace the maze

in your head

how could it be enough

to still the hunger

to rub against your mind

and hold every ideas

you've ever had

you have no idea about

the times when in the midst

of the silence that we waged----

you really have no idea

about the times when

I wished that the sky would

just give up

give up, and let the

stars come falling, crushing,

spinning down

and never stop

yet my voice of reason

would always laugh

right out at me....

and maybe it should

but still, it would not

have mattered

if you asked

me.....

if you asked me,

to leave my usual painfully straight path,

to fix your bleeding face,

to bring you back some grace

it would not have mattered

if you asked me

if I have seen your

honor somewhere

to let me take you into my bare arms

and make you whole

to let me break the curse

and make you well

I would have done that

I could have held you altogether,

broken pieces and blasted pride

and all

if I could just break my own bubble

of fear and heal your own fears

then I could make you know

how much i  have needed you...

needed you to finally,

allow yourself to

lean

on me.

MY NOVEMEBER EXTENDS 'TIL NOW

You promised

under the scorching heat of the April sky

to bridge the span of

miles of blueness

on the eighth

circling of the Moon's silver orb...

You promised

in between the distance

and the steady, monotonous clicking sound

of the gadget that momentarily makes this

distance bearable

to replace the lashing cold

whip of the the cruel monsoon

of that eighth circling of the Moon

with your emanating presence

So when the biraho grasses

yielded their whiteness,

making my wait almost ethereal,

I was delighted with the fact that soon,

it's going to be November....

yet, the eighth circling of the Moon

since the day that you've given your

promises passed....

...but I'll just extend my last year's November 'til now.

Sirum

 'ya hinugyaw ka mga

balhason nga bata nagpuno sa

kagina lang, mahipos

nga gawang,

nga gulpi man lang

gin-lamon kang pag-agi

kang mabugnaw nga huyop kang hangin,

kag gin-islan kang sagitsit kang mga

sapat-sapat sa ibabaw kang puno

kang akasya

samtang 'ya adlaw nagtugro

kang ana urihi nga

haruk sa lupa,

kag gulpi ginpilas 'ya ana nga dughan

agud magsabwag

kang tam-an kapula nga

dugo, nga hinali nagbuhi

sa kagina lang,

tigumatayon nga

panganod.

2 o'clock of today (...and the rest of the 2 o'clocks in a lifetime)

Trample the soft-winged,

butterfly that flutter

past the sun-dried Earth

'til its satiny feel

meshes with the

cruel raggedness

of that not so long ago,

life-giving clump,

which death has found

through the scorching kiss

of the Sun

Add on the weight,

crush 'til drops of

pigments from the

dried-out veined wings kiss

the vastness of brown

lending, surrendering

the reds, and yellows, and greens

that once glinted

in all majesty with the

very kiss and golden touch

that betrayed it

to death

and once there's none

to squeeze in any more,

scoop the wings and the Earth,

no longer separate,

not anymore different entities,

no more distinct character,

but tightfully clumped

perhaps, eternally meshed

in which one's end is the other's own,

one's texture is the other's own sense of feel,

in which the other's beginning is both's start

squeeze, 'til the scent,

intoxicating in its pureness

extends into the seemingly inexistent air,

'til both color and scent,

and texture diffuse into the

air's vast expanse---

'til there's no more, 'til every part

and everything that defines both,

vanishes, gone...

but very much, equally,

particle by particle

fills the seamless expanse.

Remember the last time you flew that paper plane?

To pre-school and elementary teachers and also to HIGH SCHOOL TEACHERS WHO HAPPEN TO TEACH IN THE LOWER GRADES ON THEIR FIRST YEARS OF TEACHING. Mine is in BIG letters. =)

The steady, subtle grinding sound
of the old air-conditioning unit
was like that of the blaring of a horn
on my already overly sensitive ears.

The sound, on normal occasions
would be totally unnoticeable, but then
blame me, for it's like a repeating ancient
mantra----bringing my senses into overblown sensitivity.

It's below 20 degrees, and yet sweat, slowly glides on my brows,
trickling down to the sensitive spot in between the shoulder blades.
The discomfort only heightens, for beneath the well-manicured nails
are hands which become damper and clammier by the minute.

A smile is forced, pasted, for without that extra force, the painted lips
would be left to shiver, and the unsteady jaws would lead to
a set of chattering teeth, ready now, to impress
with the well rehearsed speech from last night's wake.

It's going to be our first day... together, so there's no room for mistakes,
ready now, let me break out the words first,
that would bare my soul to you,
one ( a second ticks), two (let there be two), and...

Puffed out that long held breath, that almost made
my nails turn blue, from lack of air (how can I even forget to breathe?)
This is the perfect time to utter those first words, and yet...
a paper plane on the loose, a cry, crayons on the floor,


The fact that it happened at that perfect moment, made me rethink about my luck.
It altogether broke my hard-earned focus,
A shout from the back, and the screech of the poor, battered armchair,
the perfect and pristine scene, now turned into shambles.

Was I suppose to keep mum? Or project that timeless stern look?
What was it again in the books? Hey, I already even forgot the principles!
Blood rush. Now, I already know what it feels.
And I wonder, I just truly wonder...

I'm boiling, my insides are stewing.
Can you even see the smoke puffing out from my nostrils and ears?
Can you even spell red? For that is the present color---scarlet red,
not only of my cheeks but of my nose as well.

I'm a living chimney, a volcano about to erupt
when out from nowhere, a toothless grin from you was like
that of a thrust of a pailful of water
on a gnawing flame.

And I wonder, was that a glimpse of a 7-year old innocence,
or a charm so cunning, that was perfected at such an early age?
If so, then I'll have to prepare for our days together ahead,
It's not going to be a smooth one, there's a battle to be waged.

For four years of burning my butts in studying the books,
Mastering the principles and rules, that's where I'm good.
I have learned several tricks, not just one or two.
I've perfected that tight upper-lip act, reserved only for sages like us.

But how am I suppose to maintain the composure?
When your world is a 180 degrees away from the way I live mine.
Your own version of a line, is not the straight one that I expect. For you say,
isn't a straight line way too boring, when a squiggly one could be more fun?

Remember, I kept on repeating, a frog is either brown or green,
but you colored yours pink!
____________ forbid, in all my anatomy and zoology courses,
no professor ever mentioned about a frog that is pink.

But how can I point at it as ignorance? When, with your
all-knowing eyes you said, that in your story books, there
are yellow, violet and even red frogs! And what fun would that be
for a princess to kiss a frog that is brown?

You know, sometimes I think it's just your astute humour,
'til I look at you and see that edgy seriousness.
I once clearly said that some plants cannot be eaten,
a very good example is a cotton plant.

But you raised, not the left nor the right, but both of those arms,
saying you know one edible cotton plant.
I squeezed my brows together, without words,
hoping mentally I can channel these words: “stop now, or forever be sorry”.

But I can't bring you to a halt, before I know it
you said: “But cotton candy. Yes, that can be eaten ma'am.”
I was about to give you a piece of my mind that would black those big brown eyes,
but I bit the words back the moment I saw the quiet determination in those very same eyes.

You always keep me on my toes, so I'm always ready in case you ask
“Why is the sky blue?” or “Is there really a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”
But I was nailed on the floor, when you asked from out of the blue :
“But how about the babies, how are they made ma'am?”

If you were in my Bio class, I could have easily given you a detailed answer
from the moment of fertilization to the mixing of genes, till you claim “I'm having a brain freeze!”
But how will I explain it to a 7-year old kid, yet you saved me when you said,
“Oh I know now, babies are made out of love ma'am.” How can I argue any less?

I taught you honesty, I even said to speak your mind.
And there were several moments when I realized
I did not only taught you to memorize the concepts of honesty,
but to live with it day by day.

Remember when I curled my hair, and you had a first-time glimpse.
I was walking along the corridor, when you shouted,
“Oh, are you wearing a wig ma'am? You're really wearing a wig!”---I wanted to duck in a nearby table
You just spoke what's in your mind, so how can I tell you to just shut up?

Or the moment I cut my hair so short, and amidst a mob
you said: “Oh you cut your hair! You look like a gay ma'am!”
Isn't that honesty in its pure innocence?
But what's amusing to accept is that, it's at the expense of my sanity.

A lot of times I would have cried my heart in front of you,
when you can't explain a topic we've discussed a million times,
Or the moments when I already know the feeling of wishing to be swallowed by the ground,
when my lungs would run out of gas, and still you would go about in the classroom to tap dance.

I also get jaded, you can't blame me, I'm human
though sometimes you would think I am superman.
At moments like this, I would look back...
you, who brings me so much pain, are also the one who can take it back.

The day when my hands were caked with chalk dust and ink,
why, you looked at it intently, saying what beautiful hands do I have!
Then you went about, got your colored pens
and marked your hands just so we're the same.

Or the day when I got mad at you, and gave
you a piece of my mind or two
You ran to me, near to tears, declaring you're sorry
telling me, you love me just the same.

From the blind idealism, the years spent thinking that the
world can be changed and be brought to perfection,
'till you realize the fact that it's actually not the case,
that the world can take care of itself.
But it only takes a toothless grin,
or a wandering paper plane
and it's your life that would be changed
while the world perfectly stays the same.

Ibasol lang sa Subay

Karun, mayami na man 'ni ang
akun ulunlan samtang ikaw,
mahamuok sa katulugon
sa init sang kupkop
sang kahagugma.

Buas, ang mga mata nga
wala nakahalok sa katulugon
magapalamanog liwat.

Ang mga subay 'bi mo!

Indi bala gusto nila sang mga matam-is
nga butang?

Ambot gani kun ngaa gina-amag
sang mga sapat nga 'ni ang
kaalat sang akun mga mata
sa tagsa na lang ka gab-i.

Ang Pagbiya

Nagtarabo ang yab-ok
sa aragyan nga aton gina-panawan
Ang maramig nga hangin ka Nobyembre
nagapanalupsop sa akon tul-an.

Ginpirit mo guid takun nga maadto sa taramnan ka tubo,
Hambal mo, palantawon mo takun ka mga biraho.
Sagad mo kabutong ya akun alima,
Ginpirit ko man nga magdasig-dasig panaw.

Kanami gali kananda lantawon!
Hambal ko pa, daw snow sanda sa marayo.
Nag-utoy-utoy timu ka kadlaw.
Daw naham-ut ka guid sa ginhambal ko.

Ginhangkat mo takun dayun nga maglagsanay.
Nagdalagan man ko eh, parayo…parayo.
'ya mga biraho nagaharapay,
Gindasig ko pa gid, 'ya pagdalagan.

Nag-aralay dun 'ya akun siki,
Duro dun man 'ya akun nga gasgas
‘hay ya matarum nga dahun ka biraho
nagasag-id sa akun panit.

Gin-agwanta ko lang ya kahapdi ka akun mga pilas
kag 'ya pangaralay ka akun siki.
Sagad takun ka dalagan parayo, ‘pay sirum dun, waay ko man
lang angud nakit-an bisan 'ya landong mo nga naga-lagas kanakun.

Samson

You struck the lyre
drowning me in the
depths of brown
and tints of grey….

Your music as
always stirred
ghosts, memories
...nostalgia


I clung to your
distant hum
like a forlorn lady on
the seashore, waiting
for my warrior lover
to come home after
years of voyage.

I sway, eyes closed
with my diadem
made of garnets
and sapphire,
my flowing robe
of silk, clings on
my naked, sunburnt
skin.

You struck the lyre,
with intensity,
beguiling me to dance
faster,
sway faster,
unleashing music
with you.

Stillness…

I tore my gaze away
from the depths of
your glittering brown eyes,
almost black.

The strings of your
guitar broke,
music stopped.

Your eyes now, pleading
dance, create music
with you.

I could not.

My soul is burdened
with words, instead.

Pabaylo-baylo

Hakusa ako,

kag sunod itikwang...

Ano guid man bala?

Nalamigan ka
guid man
ukon nainitan?

Talk to Me About the Glint of the Moon in the Colored, Broken Glass----The "Don't Talk To Me" Status Series

 It all started with my post in facebook last August 18, 2011 which goes: "Don't talk to me about about how the moon shines so brightly. That is very clear to me. Talk to me about how the beams of moonlight glint in the broken, colored glass".

Then, nang Adel, always thinking of zany yet insightful ideas, suggested to add more posts which start with "Don't talk to me about...".

And though there are some modifications in the structure and concepts of the posts, yet it altogether creates an atmosphere of freedom as to be able to tell somebody, or the society, or perhaps one's self of what you really want to hear instead of bearing with the mutterings that the world offers you.

There are some posts here that direct the statements to more recent political and spiritual issues yet, most of the posts are about matters of the heart and personal issues. For isn't it most difficult to say that you want to hear this particular thing when it involves the tugging of the heart?

Perhaps, one of the most difficult thing to say is "Don't talk to me about that." Thus, at that moment, we gave the fear of saying it to rest and went on with saying, "Instead, talk to me about..."

So here goes the compilation:

• "Don't talk to me about love. That is very vague  to me. Talk to me how the strands of my hair brush your shoulders."---Adel

• "Don't talk to me about films or movies, or its plot and characters. They are obvious visual cues. Talk to me about why there's a cat crossing in the background, a fly on the rim of the cup, seven butts of cigaretted on the floor."---Adel

• "I'll talk to you why he wanted her, left her and now pretends not to know her."---Adel

• "Talk to me why she got scared when he looked into her eyes and held her hands and sang her songs..."---Maia

• "Don't talk to me about forgetting you. I can. Never. But talk to me how I can forget these feeling for you."---Adel

• "Don't talk to me about how you receive such little love. That's a distant song to me. Mine is unrequited."---mine

• "Don't talk to me about budgets and funds. It's clear we can't have it. Talk to me how you spent it."---Adel

• "Don't talk to me how I look great in your shirt and boxers. Talk to me rather of how I, no matter what size or shape, would never fit in your life."---Maia

• "Talk to me about how every book I read relates to your own life stories."---Michael

• "Don't talk to me how I took you out of this plane, out of this space and time. Talk to me rather of how I felt more like freshly washed pillowcases smelling of Tide and Downy, or like the constant humming of a TV that's always on, or like the comfortable fit of your torn, dog-nibbled rubber slippers."---Maia

• "If you must, by all means, talk to me of funny things because humor is the only thing that saves us from our true selves."---Maia

• "Don't talk to me about feelings. You have none."---Cleah

• "Don't talk to me of alibis. I know and use a lot of them. Talk to me why you said you were sick when in fact I saw you with somebody else last night."---Cleah

• "Don't talk to me about the roaring of the waves or the crashing of the stars that I make out of your emotions. Talk to me instead of that silent whisper that promises more of being constant, of lingering, of being rooted...in here."---mine

• "Don't talk to me of so many people you've lost, or of so many chances you've left not taken. Talk to me rather of how you could bear telling me that when all that I ever am and I will be is a chance you will  never ever take."---Maia

• "Don't talk to me of how much you missed me or why you love me or why we--- I am here and you, there. Apart. I don't need your words. Talk to me instead with your eyes and your hands and your mouth. Talk to me with your soul."---Maia

• "Don't talk to me about Christianity, and how you believe in it. I do not want to hear about it. Talk to me instead about how you live it."---Heaven

• "Don't talk to me about how I could fall into the same emotions for you again. Talk instead of the fact that I could never fall into it because I never got out of it in the very first place."---mine

• "Talk to me. Just do. Pretend you aren't imagining how I would feel in your arms and how creamy I'd look in the morning with sheet marks on my face and your scent in my mouth."---Skin Loriega

J

As of 10:30 Today, While I'm in the Midst of Fixing Papers to be Checked, I Realized That:

1. I'm a hoarder----from old documents, to empty pens, to old notebooks, to old visuals. And it sometimes pains me to get rid of them even though I perfectly know that they are of no use to me anymore. So I better  start reminding myself that IT'S BETTER TO GET RID OF THEM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE BECAUSE TRAVELLING LIGHTLY IS BETTER THAN HAVING A BURDENSOME LOAD. Now, I'm talking figuratively.

2. I will never be systematic, no matter how I try so hard to be. So my working place will always be a poetry of "chaotic space".

3. There are some things that you have to give up trying. Like painfully pronouncing "villus" and "saliva" when you've repeated it for the n'th time and all you hear are the incomprehensible muttering of "Willus"and "SaliWa"....deep breath.

4. That I cannot escape from writing no matter how long my writer's block episodes may ask for extensions.

5. Coffee is always the best "upper" when you're about to drool from too much drowsiness early in the morning.

6. Climbing up into the 5th floor of the building makes me dread Tuesday mornings. That climbing up causes me asphyxiation and going down is better. Can it be interpreted figuratively?

7. ....and even though my paperworks are piling up in my desk and I have a dozen of papers to check and to record, and a couple of presentations to finish, I can always, always, find an excuse to jot out or scribble notes---some make sense, but mostly, does not.

I Think You're Just Afraid of Heights

And I'm writing this knowing that you'll never get to read this. And this might also be the big reason why I'm writing it here. 




You came at the point when I'm in the intersection of saying goodbye to my doubts forever and into embracing the courage to finally take the the risk, the big leap.

You gave me a lot of my "firsts"----having somebody who listened, really listened and then ask for some more; smiling uninhibitedly without painfully pretending to be so mum about the emotions that you stir in me; I, asking questions that I normally ask to rest; I, expectantly waiting which I normally not do.

I even had to cross out one of the items in my list of wishes because you, unknowingly granted it to me: for somebody to find the courage to step into my comfort zone and my home and to talk to me, talk to me and let me know that you wanted to be welcomed despite your insecurities and seeming doubts.

The moment you admitted that I'm your preschool crush while you sheepishly smiled, that was sweet. Amusing even, that I really mustered all my strength not to laugh hysterically at your fond expression.

And that was that.

As any mushy, feel-good, sappy movies go---you left without even a single warning that you have to.

Was it because you  found out that you have to climb an ivory tower first? I can't help me being there. But don't you know that it is all an unconscious front to be able to bear with my waiting. That was the part that you weren't able to unravel.

So for the moment, I'll just enjoy the view here on top. I'll just wait 'til the time when somebody will pass, somebody who would be courageous enough to climb the ivory tower, minus the long golden hair. I don't know how he'll do that. He must have to be that tactical.

Plus, I am certain that not everyone is afraid of heights.=)

My Name Has Become Your Word Substitute..

When you often use the first two letters of my name as a substitute for your Hiligaynon word "haw", do I even cross your mind for that very brief second when your fingers cross the distance between keys "a" and "u"?

My Summer has Officially Ended

 (This has been posted last May in FB but I just want to have a copy here. You see, this is about some of my most favorite people in the world. This is a bit mushy, so consider yourself to be forewarned.)

So long Summer!

          ...and though it is still so clicking hot that just by exposing the tip of a single strand of your hair to "Miss Sunny Sunshine", you'd surely be in grave danger of having a heat stroke any moment, I am officially ending my summer TODAY.

          Officially ending my summer is not without a great hesitation on my part. We all love summer---and I especially LOVE summer for numerous reasons that my "twisted" sense of self gratification requires. And though my reasons are as mushy and as shallow as anybody can perceive, I'm sticking to them anyway....=)

          I LOVE summer because I don't have to wake up 5:30 in the morning and go home to as late as 8:00 or at most 10:00 in the evening for school works. I LOVE summer because I am not forced to wash my own clothes or else worry that I don't have anything to wear. I LOVE summer because I can stay awake to as late as the wee hours of the morning---everyday. I LOVE summer because I don't have to bear with having a cup of coffee and a stale biscuit as my complete breakfast. I LOVE summer because I can stay at home with my pyjamas on for the whole day. I LOVE summer because my mood is perked up by the thought that my shoes is not going to be wet if I decide to go somewhere for the whole day (who loves having their shoes and feet soaked, anyway?). I LOVE summer because of the fiestas. I LOVE summer because it gives the young people a wonderful opportunity for the bittersweet summer love affairs. I LOVE summer because I have all the reasons to be lazy.

          These are just starters. But most especially, I LOVE summer because that means  I get to spend two days with some of my most favorite people in the world (no comments are allowed in this)---two days out of town in which I'm allowed to be as crazy as i can be and no one will say that I am crazy because we are all crazy anyway.

          And because of this yearly event that I don't even know who among us conjured the idea in the first place, I got the chance and the opportunity to know some of them better. And knowing them through this yearly summer get-away  means rediscovering them not under the microscopic but impressionable curiosity and state of mind of a high schooler---which I tell you, can really twist what's real. This is knowing them several years after high school and loving them anyway for all that they are and all they they've become.

          These are  what SUMMER has made of you in the way I deem of you:

          Leomel is the the short-cut for the warning "stay away from him if you don't want to laugh not only your heart but including your stomach out". We all love him any way for that though he believes otherwise. He doesn't mind looking funny or crazy and when you're inside a 2 -meter radius away from him, you wouldn't mind looking funny or crazy yourself. Life would be a little bit less perked-up when he's not around.

          When Macky's around, you don't have to worry because his presence would mean everything is in control. I don't know how he does it, but it's just like that. He wouldn't mind traveling for miles to get to spend just several hours for friends or self-proclaimed extended family.

          Do not be misled by Sim's silence. Beyond his impressive CV and credentials, he is a truly unassuming person. He is silent, no doubt. But in the middle of the silence could be some  shocking stories and ideas coming from him. And when he starts talking, it means talking for a long while.

          Joan is the one whom I am acquainted with for the longest of time. But despite those years of acquaintance, I only had the chance to get to know her better recently. She's firmly grounded and she can speak her mind without any qualms.

          Who makes plans and then leave us for hours waiting for her? But since, she's part of the group, she's always forgiven and we just have a good laugh about it. But just at moments that we least expect it, Sheyl willl pop out, with her "miss two goody shoes" self which we all love but we always make fun of, making any moments all the more better.

          Johnalee might be our "self-proclaimed" mother of the group but being with her can be an enriching experience. Her stories and experiences can be a source of many great laughs and learning moments.

          Jay, I just found out recently is truly a chatterbox. Why did you mislead all of us of your silence way back in high school? She has strong opinions about everything. She's fun when she's sober but she defines the term "fun" when she's tipsy.

          Lorenz is the ultimate hoodie wearer, if he knows what I mean. His ideas and opinions over different matters are something to look forward to. And oh, I failed to mention----he owns facebook. Take a look at his comments and you'll get the idea.

          Karl A., bless him for he can tolerate all the noise that we make considering that most of us are female. He laughs easily over our female twisted sense of humour but when it's drinking session time, no matter where you hide, he surely has a bottle with your name written all over it!

         Cherry is the ultimate "it' girl. She has a lot of stories to share and what tops all of it is that she has a big laugh to push all of us to laugh some more again. Drinking 'till the wee hours of the morning is not a problem---what with the stories and the laughter and the dances that she would surely insert in between.

          Beauty---whoever gave her that name----I'm sure is basking over the idea  everytime we  call her that. Who doesn't want to be "re-christened" with that name anyway? Her shrieking voice even though during normal conversations are already to be expected, but since eveyone's doing the same anyway, nobody is really complaining. We just love to share stories, and with her giggling around, we surely wouldn't be lacking of those.

         Javie, with no one to disagree is the ultimate life of the get togethers. She dances and sings like a pro 'til the wee hours of the morning. With her singing and dancing, you might wonder how she got drunk so fast when she doesn't seem to drink at all.

          It's funny to think that I just learned to appreciate the pleasure of sitting in the city plaza (which I firmly avoided before) and sharing stories over 10-peso worth of fishballs and a bottle of coke just now, now that I'm already twenty-three. Bessy, influenced me and most of us of  the pleasures of having simple joys in life. And the additional bulge on my already overweight eyebags are all because of the movies and dvd's that she generously shares to me.

          Chal and I share our ultimate love with books. She is an unassuming person, but again, do not be misled. Half of the funny anecdotes and experiences that I know are courtesy of her. Aside from the love of books, I don't know if she'll agree with me as an Aquarian (a  sign that we again share) that we can be absent-minded and scatterbrained most of the time. When she is hooked about a certain issue or fad....she is certainly hooked.

         Most of what I know about Fatty however, is through the years of sharing a room way back in college. Again, do not be misled by her strong character for beneath is a person who, if she finally believes that you can be trusted, then she'll trust you all the way.

          With all these written, I'm officially ending my summer.

          So long summer!

You See, I'm On A (Mid)Quarter-Life Crisis!

I've finally rooted the cause of the occasional irritation and the often unexplainable and erratic changes in my behavior.

I'm having a quarter-life crisis-----and I happen to be a full-pledged teacher.

This is not a great philosophical idea. That's a fact. But if you're one of those persons who would often find connection and meaning in simple things and try to express them in the simplest way possible, hoping that it can create a more significant random of thoughts and ideas, imagine my relief (in my often exaggerated manner!) when I came up with this realization.

Moments before realizing this, I was too scared with the possibility that maybe (just maybe) I was really not meant to be a teacher and the signs are just surfacing after three years of teaching experience, right after college---that I was just too blinded years ago by my passion to change the world (we all go through that stage) and my strong idealism. I am even close to hyperventilating at times, when I imagine myself stuck in this profession forever, growing old into a bitter teacher ---and to think that I dread the idea and concept of the dull, ancient “Miss Tapia”.

And if this really would have been the case----so, what of me now?

Call it rationalization or being egotistical, or whatever you may want to call it. But I just want to reiterate: I was really relieved. In fact, truly relieved, when I realized that if most complain about midlife crisis, in my case, I am suffering from quarter-life crisis and what magnifies it is that I happen to be a teacher.

It is at this stage in life when my goals and priorities are unclear and yet, I have to remind my students to set short-term and long-term goals to direct their priorities in life.

I advice my learners to make wise decisions but I often get confused when I have to make mine.

I constantly give activities to hone my students to act maturely beyond their age when discreetly, I once in a while long to go back to a time when responsibilities are not too many and I don't have to be accountable of a lot of things.

I once presented the idea that there is a reason and purpose for everything but I share senseless stories and laugh crazily 'til my stomach hurts when I'm among old friends.

When I lecture and appear like a pro on time management, I cringe inwardly (with a clean, unadulterated kind of guilt) for all the weekends when my work are piling up and I go around clowning with family and friends, sharing the latest town gossip, or staying 'til the wee hours of the morning mooning over some mushy Korean telenovelas.

Questions must always be provided with answers when I have a lot of unanswered questions myself.

I try as much as I can to give solutions to my learners' problems and concerns when there are moments when my problems are left hanging and I even have this great desire at times to run away and hide from them.

I have to encourage them to nurture their talents or find something to spend their excess energy into when the time left for me amidst all the deadlines to beat is only enough to keep my sanity--- that I could not even really go back to the sheer pleasure of being able to write and be published.

I present these great ideas about love and life which I share with them when sometimes, I get pessimistic about life and love.

I can go on...

...and on

...and on about the duality of the life that I'm leading at the moment.

It may sound like I'm a hypocrite or a complete fraud (when parents get to read this, they might immediately want to pull out their kids which are in any of my classes) but you can only truly understand what it is to be in this stage when you yourself are in it. I can't escape from it. I can only deal with it. And besides, it does not bother me now.

All I know is that I'm at the stage in life (and everyone goes through it, though in different forms) when getting confused is normal; when I set goals and priorities now and most probably change them the next day or the next hour; when growing up, I mean really growing up, means going through the excruciating moments of bearing the outcome of wrong decisions, or having to stand up to a cause all alone.

However, all of these are magnified because I am in a profession in which I need to guide and direct lives when I myself needs all the guidance that I can get; a profession in which I have to let students see and nurture their dreams when mine becomes blurry; and a profession in which I have to give so much of me while being expected to need so little or even nothing in return.

So I may grumble occasionally.

Get confused.

Get scared.

Be anxious about nothing really in particular.

Become the worst company on most days that even those who love me to the most extent will have to grasp for reasons why they continue doing so.

Appear as if I carry the burdens of the world.

Make a lot of mistakes, and make them again.

I will most probably be the living definition of the term “grumpy”.

Worse, wonder at times of why did I even become a teacher.

JUST LET ME BE.

But don't get me wrong. I'm supposed to be where I am now. I could not even think of another profession that I would like to spend the rest of my life into.

As I said, this is just a phase in life---very much and yet, more worse than the awkward moments of teenage. Very much soon, I'll finally grow over this and I'll finally be myself again---a little bit different, but a whole lot better.

So if I am not myself now, I really can't put the blame on anybody or fully to my self even.

You see, I'm on a quarter-life crisis. But I'm very much, and will always stick on being a teacher.