I Think I'm Growing Up.

There are days when I crave for songs the way a pregnant woman craves for a specific kind of food. Last night, I lay in bed tossing and turning cause I wanted to listen to Jose Mari Chan's Beautiful Girl. Unfortunately, I don't have it on my iPod.

Life is the unsteadiest thing in the world. Like they say, the only thing constant here is change, but somethings, these changes are so drastic, we don't even have much time to catch our breaths and estimate the damage. loss, or gain.

It's been a happy week for me. I got to talk to my mom on the phone, and it was like nothing went wrong. We had our Pastor and church mates over this afternoon and held a mass in our house, and then my sister and Yeyey and I went out to buy some snacks outside. On Friday, it's St. Jerome's feast day, so there are a lot of booths and stalls set up along the highway, selling sweets, fruits, snacks, clothes and toys. I used to be so excited for September 30 when I was little.

The only thing I worry about right now is that everyday, I keep hoping our family is able to hold it together for the day. Sometimes, we just get into these little arguments and they annoy me. It seems like my aunt can't speak a word without actually sneering or yelling at us. My sister likes spending time in her room and complaining about things, whining to my aunt, and my aunt always sneers and tells my sister not to talk to her like that. you know, I just think we can all try to be a little nicer to each other. But I pretend that I don't care cause I'm scared that this family might just burst at the seams out of the blue, and things will never be the same again. Although this set up isn't perfect, it's not so bad.

I want to do something productive. Something charitable, even, but I don't know where to begin. first of all I don't have any money. Second, it's not like I live in the city where everything is walking distance. I wish I'm good enough to deserve the things I'm being given everyday that I always take for granted, like good health, food, a family, and then some luxuries not everyone can afford, like the internet and stuff like that. I wish to be good, period.

I think I'm finally growing up. Forgiveness doesn't come hard for me now, and I'm growing to be more of a thinker and less of a talker. I think, I'm growing up.

I'm growing up... I think.

Be Kind

I'm bound to cut a friendship short today. I don't know if I can even say that, since it never realy felt like I had that particular person for a friend, but still.

I'm not one to pretend that I like someone when I don't, but I'm decent enough to be civil with them. I don't get why people find it so hard to do that. Why do we always feel like we need to put other people down before we can start feeling good about ourselves?

I'm talking about bullying and being judgmental. A book I've read recently, Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult tells a story about a teenage guy, Peter Houghton, who went on a shooting spree in his high school, killing ten people and leaving 19 others wounded. Peter was a victim of a lifelong, day to day bullying.

I think everything we do leads to another circumstance.That's why we have the words destiny and fate in the dictionary.Think of what would happen if someone set a building on fire. It would affect the lives of the people who own the building, the people who work there, the people who passed by it, the people who would see it on the news, and the person who lit the match, thus affecting every single person around all of them, even indirectly. That's what bullying does, too, except there's no fire, only a crushed self esteem. There'll be no one shouting for help, only a victim's supressed feelings. There are no charred walls and collapsed ceilings, only a broken heart.

I don't want to sound all saintly and good, because I'm not. Sometimes, I have those moments, too, when I'm being mean and can't help but notice someone else's imperfections, but when that time arrives, I just remind myself that calling someone fat won't make me thin, and calling someone ugly doesn't make me beautiful. It certainly doesn't make me feel beautiful.

It makes my heart hurt when I witness someone giving dirty looks to a couple because they're both girls. It makes my skin flame with irritation when people make fun of someone who's gay. We don't even know how his father might be hurting him in the confines of his own home for his sexual preferences. That classmate you call geek, that someone "totally uncool", that "friendless loser", that "fat bitch", that "ugly duckling"? They all have their stories to share. Stories that might change your life, if only you will listen. Bullying is no laughing matter.

One quote I've read somewhere says, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." I don't know if those were the exact words, but no quote could have said it any better. If we only stop for a while, before we say anything hurtful, and reflect on that phrase, I think the world is going to be a beautiful place, the way it was meant to be. I hope we can all just try to put ourselves in someone else's shoes and instead of pointing out a person's flaw or imperfection, smile and focus on the many beautiful things about them. We all need someone, anyone to make us feel accepted for all the things we are and all the things we aren't. Be that person for someone else. We can save lives.

Shuffle.

I used to like this song
it reminded me of you
of the parentheses in the corners of your mouth
when you smiled
when you
made me want to jump
overwhelmed by your presence
from the ledge of tall towers
tall buildings
tall trees
deep pools

your eyes, your half moon eyes
used to look at me as if I was
the answer to a complicated question
you've been asking yourself for years
but then
I wasn't
I never was
and you didn't take long to figure that out

I used to like this song
you made a prettier version of
because I might not like it
but I did
I liked everything about you

and as randomly as you came
just like a hurricane
after hundreds of days
of longing and wondering
it played
when my iPod was on shuffle.

Enter the Exit Music...

One thing I've learned from attending a funeral today is that it doesn't matter what your relation to a person is; it doesn't matter what your opinions of them are; it doesn't even matter how you feel about them. When they die, all it takes is a flash of melancholy music triggered memories, and you'll cry.


When I was little, my mom and dad would fight, and my mom and I would go to her house in Talavera to cool down. I was so small, I used to clutch to a rag doll for dear life, and people scared me. There was this one particularly big man there. He always had a knife in his hand, and always, they'd mess with me, saying I was brought there to be slaughtered. I always cried.

She used to clean my ears and invite me over for lunch when we became neighbors. She once disdainfully said I was growing up being rebellious, and that I was hard headed. It was true, but it hurt me nonetheless. Ever since then, I decided not to like her anymore.

She was my grandmother's sister. Through the years they'd grown apart, pulled away from each other by jealousy, envy, and false accusations. She once hired someone to kill my grandmother. As soon as I heard of this, I told myself I'd never forgive her.

Today, I joined the procession of people who laid her to rest. People who didn't bother wearing white or black, and stuck to floral prints and red shirts. People who never cared what kind of person she was, what she was willing to do in exchange for a happier life. They'd whispered in the past, once or twice, about her personal life, the things she must have been regretting. They think studying what floats on the surface is enough to say you know a person well, but they're all wrong.

She wasn't a saint. The last time I saw her, she was all skin and bones, and I was scared. Still, I touched her hand to my forehead, a sign of respect for the elderly in my country. Cancer had eaten away at her physique and left us with an unrecognizable person, not speaking, not moving, not able to fend for herself. She had her fair share of mistakes and wrongful doings, and most of them have been aimed at my family, but today, watching her children grieve her departure, it was a struggle to blink back the tears.

I've learned, as I stood there feigning indifference, that I never hated her. My heart has been coated with dislike, but I've realized that in spite of all of those things I resented, she's a mother. Her children are hurting because she had provided them with the love they needed and deserved.

When I see her in my mind, she's still that healthy, cigarette smoking woman I've been so used to seeing. It's been a hard battle for her, but it has ended now, and much to my relief, she'll find peace.

Every once in a while, I get into these random bouts of depression and sit down with myself, thinking about what's going on in my life.

Today, my aunt told me that my other aunt in Manila is working for Globe Communications, selling SIM cards. Globe is one of the most well known telecommunications company in the country. And then this other aunt of mine said, "That's good. When she's settled, maybe she can help you get a job there."

I know I should be working now. At 20, I'm jobless and I spend every single day inside the house, talking to the same people, watching the same TV programs. Every. Single. Day. I'm miserable at best, and there's nothing I want more at this moment than to have a job so I can at least earn my own money and stop being a burden at home, but there's a catch, I don't want to stay in Manila and live with my aunt's family. They're nice, especially my cousins, but I don't want to feel like a visitor all the time. If I'm to work anywhere, I want to live on my own and hold my time in my hands.

Honestly, I have no idea where my life's headed right now. It's really almost shocking how one single mistake changes one's life forever. I wish I'd studied harder. If I had, maybe I'll be in the US right now with my friends, or in Singapore...Somewhere, anywhere...Moving, working, living. Not stuck in this small town,waiting for my fortune to play out.


Regret, as they say, is a bitter pill to swallow, but I'm sucking it up cause I know it's all my fault. All I need right now is one more chance to push myself to the limits, stand on the edge, feel the wind in my face, and tell myself that finally, I'm free again.

Serendipity.

I've been single for so long now, and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon. Being like a prisoner in my own house, there's just no way I'm going to meet someone who'd sweep me off my feet.

Instead, I spend all the time I have watching movies and making black out poetry. I never liked blackout poetry, only because the idea of dashing through someone's work to mold the words into your own preference makes me cringe. But I must admit, it's kinda fun.

Most of the time, just like everyone else, I wish those things in the movies would happen to me. It's so easy to lay on your back, nursing a tub of melting ice cream, wishing you'd happen to be in New York, buying a pair of gloves. It's almost impossible to scribble your name and contact information on a book cover and wait for that other person to somehow find it. If I wasn't such a hopeless romantic, I'd even call it stupidity.

The problem is that I myself believe in fate, and more often than not, I rely too much on it. I tend to forget how subjective destiny can be. Oftentimes, I just shrug my shoulders and say if it's meant to be, it will find its way. This goes to explain my lone status today. I'm not one to settle down and say, "Ah, this is it, finally." Frankly, the man I'm supposed to marry could be standing in front of me right now, and I wouldn't be able to figure it out. If he's good, I'd want him to be better. I never just stop and become contented with the way things are. I always strive for more.

And so I push myself to the limits, grab a pen, write my name on a book, and expect him to find it. In my mind, if he's worth it, he'll be back with it in his hands, no matter how long it takes, no matter the hardships and challenges he has to go through to retrieve it. If he doesn't find it, then it's not meant to be.

I know I have to change my views if I am to be happy. After all, I've come to realize that life's not a movie. You don't get to sit side by side, naming constellations together. No, those things are too good to be true.

Life's harder. Life's life.

And So I'm Sailing Through The Sea.

Just finished reading the whole Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella today,excluding the one entitled Mini Shopaholic. I've yet to have a copy of it.

I feel like I'm being pried further away from my life each day. I'm snappy and I get annoyed easily,and although I know this shouldn't really concern anyone, (my family and myself included), I feel like something's wrong with me...but who can tell?

I want to be skinny. Shamelessly skinny, so I could wear those awfully small but cute shirts they sell in the mall and actually look good for once, not that I have any money to pay for them, of course, but still... I just want to be ok again, so that I'll feel pretty, and my aunt wouldn't have to knock on my door all the time, reminding me to eat. She really does that and it gets on my nerves most of the time, and I don't even bother hiding my annoyance. Because it's annoying.

I think I'm going to be rich someday. If only that day could come sooner than later, then I'll be free to buy whatever I want to buy at the moment. I need some space to breathe. I want people to look at me the way they used to. I used to be beautiful in their eyes. Now, not so much. Because I've gained weight. Because in this society, not being  fatally skinny means being fat.

Seriously,one question. Is this what my children will grow up to when the time comes?

The Wound. The Scar.

There are times when I'm in the middle of a happy place and suddenly, my heart just starts sinking beneath my chest. Lower, lower and lower till I swear I can feel it at the the very soles of my feet.

I don't know if I'm asking for too much. I grew up living my life with my grandmother, with my aunts, and there are more than enough times when I feel, when I know, when I can tell myself for sure that I can't ask for anything more than that, and that doubtlessly, this is the only life for me.

There are those few rare moments though when my mind wanders in the middle of the night, or at daytime when I spot a couple leading their kid by the hand, when I feel like asking myself, what if?

What if my mother wanted me, just for once? Not to be cruel, there are times when she does like me. I'll even go as far as saying there are times when it seems like she loves me. But then again, do we expect a balloon to hold the air inside forever when we blow it up? No, we don't. We know that at some point, it will have to fly away, or just inflate itself or something out of the blue the next day. It doesn't stay still for anyone, and that's what my mother's feelings for me are like.

Sometimes, it feels as though she regrets ever having me for a daughter. It's one of the toughest feelings in the world, longing for someone's acceptance and feeling like no matter what you do or say, nothing will ever be good enough. You will never be good enough. You start wondering if things would be a lot better if you'd done differently. If you'd listened to her when she asked you to buy a garlic clove when you were five, and not come back with a jar of vinegar instead. You start asking if she'd love you if only you stopped wrapping yourself up in that stupid yellow and purple polka dot blanket, pretending you were a beauty queen, when she asked you to. Maybe you shouldn't have asked that they exchange you and your sister's names, even tough it was impossible, just because you thought hers sounded better. Maybe you should have been more like your sister. If you were, would she like you then?

Too many questions, and all they do is add to the pain. All I can do is cry myself to sleep most nights, a girl of 20, endlessly asking why.

Changes.

I logged on to Facebook today. One of the few disadvantages of having a Facebook account when you're someone like me, someone who basically has no life, is seeing the people you grew together with finally becoming what they once said they wanted to be, while you're stuck in this snow globe, surrounded by pretty things, but this time, you're on the inside, looking out.

While horizons of possibilities stretch out for my friends, here I am, waiting for my future to unfold. I'm never one to wait on people, never one to wait for things. Had I not made one single, stupid mistake, I would be walking that road with them.

Don't get me wrong. I love the life I'm living. My family always gives me whatever I want, but somehow, I want to be able to stand on my own. I want to be that kind of girl who lives on her own, who has a job, who has a circle of friends to go out with for drinks on Friday nights. I want to have to face deadlines, cram for reports for the next day, make hard decisions. I want to live, and this jealousy is killing me.

It's depressing o look at old photos and see yourself with your friends. With youth scribbled on your faces and dreams sparkling in your eyes, that glimmer of hope you once had. It's hard, remembering the laughter you've shared, the words you said before the camera flashed. It's hard, knowing that they're all over the world now--- in Singapore, making their dreams come true, dreams that once included you; in their alumni school, teaching; at home, tending to their husbands and kids. Everyone's rowing their own boats, and you feel like you're lost at sea.

Despite this, I keep telling myself that it's only a matter of time. I have no idea what the future holds for me, but I know that if it's taking this long to build, it must be something pretty.

Oftentimes, wonderful things don't come easy.

Thursday, Hurtsday.

There are those moments in life when, one particularly gray Thursday afternoon, you'll step into the shower and cry.

Loss is a word that should be illegal for a dictionary, or any person to find synonyms for. After all, it's not something any word can describe. I even believe it's just called loss so people would have an easier time expressing how they feel.

It's annoying how life hits us sometimes. One day, you feel like you're on top of the world, like a kid on the longest slide, enjoying the air in your face, not realizing that sooner or later, it will be over. And then there's reality, right at the very mouth of that slide, waiting to swallow you whole. You won't even have time to scream.

Loss. Longing. Is there a difference? Is one wound deeper, more painful than the other? Loss, I think, pertains to something you once had. Longing, on the other hand, is wishing you've had that very thing, which then brings you to experience loss.

Sometimes, I want to pinch and peel at the scabs of my wounds, just to see if my skin is healing itself underneath. Sometimes, it's already whole again. Most of the time, I'm left bleeding for the same reasons.

My tears feel prickly in my eyes. I wonder, if I jab at my stomach hard enough, if the words I can't say will spill out of my mouth, just like the most previous meal does when I feel like I don't deserve it. Just like it does when I remember that feeling of elation, so heavenly, like there's a star caught in my throat. It used to feel like walking barefoot on grass---falling in love did. I wonder if it still feels like that now. I wonder if butterflies will still lurch in my stomach when someone else regards me as no less than beautiful, like they do now when I think of the last time. I wonder why, after everything that's been said and done, I'm still here, waiting. Like a best friend perched on the front porch steps of the guy she's loved all her life, waiting for him to crawl back to her arms, if only for a little while. I wonder if one day, I will just wake up and tell myself that it's over...that it has been over, all this time.

It's like slipping on a puddle of black tar on the floor, and holding on to a live wire for dear life. Both hurt, one more dangerous than the other, but you hold on to it anyway.

Why?

Because no matter how hard you try to talk some sense into yourself...

No matter what your mind says...

You know. Your heart knows. It's the only thing that keeps you standing.