I love...

... seeing your eyes light up with happiness whenever you see me;

... how you want to be with me so much that you started reading on how I can go to the US even if I told you my mom is working on that;

... when you called me up on your layover in Germany and spent twenty-two dollars just to talk to me for two minutes;

... spending hours just hanging with you and talking about anything;

... when we would plot about the chaplain;

... the respect you give me that you never asked for anything but willing accepted everything that I gave;

... hearing your southern accent even if you’re cussing;

... watching you sleep so peacefully;

... that you don’t take me for granted and you give to me as much as you receive;

... the heart warming memories we’re slowly building together;

... when you took the courage to have something I told you to get translated by Filipinos at your FOB,

... and asking them later on to translate something to Filipino what you wanted to say to me.

I love also...

... you being patient with me the night I drunk dialed you in Kuwait

... knowing that you are so happy with me its like you want to shout to the whole world how much I mean to you

... when you supported me as a friend when I was having a difficult time with Tim

... that you were honest with me and told me what I needed to hear when things got more rougher between me and him

... your patience everyday that I was at work and couldn’t talk to you

... the way you surprised me sending me bouquet of white roses a few days before Christmas

... it when something quirky I said or did makes you laugh because I know you’re not making fun of me

... that you enjoy my naughty side as much as my behaved side

... how you called five people just to find out Canada’s country code so that you can tell me that your internet went down and make sure I’m not pissed

... that you’ve always been candid to me even if I asked the most difficult or soul-baring questions

... the way you take my breath away and make me gush every time you say something really sweet to me

... that you never put me aside even if you are with your kids, you bring me along the ride and the laughter

... when you ask about different aspects of me and even going to long lengths to learn Filipino.

I loved...

... how you changed your Facebook relationship status

... that you always believed a person like me existed and you never lost your faith on it

... when you sing. Even if they’re country music

... and you sharing the country music you love especially when they remind you of me

... when you patiently assure me (even if I’m being silly) when I got teary eyed when we talk about morbid things like your death photo

... that you include me now in your plans and dreams

... the way you charmed me by just being you

... your strength and humbleness you instilled in me knowing how difficult and big your sacrifices are serving your country

... that you see yourself not unique in that area and never bragged about it

... that you try so hard, despite the distance, to reach out to me and let me know I’m in your mind and in your heart

... knowing you put my picture on your phone so that you can see me anytime you turn it on

... when you told me I’m everything you’ve ever wanted

... that I’m the first and last (adult) person that comes in your mind as you wake up and go to bed

... when you told me that you don’t want me to belong to you because I’m not a piece of property,

... instead you want me to be with you and be your best friend and lover and equal forever

... that your attraction to me is beyond the physical aspect.

I'm loving...

... looking forward to spending more time with you and discover more beautiful and wonderful things about you,

... and making the list of the things I love about you get longer.

But most of all I love...

... being loved by you,

... and how much I love loving you.

HELENA:

How happy some o'er other some can be!

Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.

But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;

He will not know what all but he do know:

And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,

So I, admiring of his qualities:

Things base and vile, folding no quantity,

Love can transpose to form and dignity:

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;

And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:

Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste;

Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:

And therefore is Love said to be a child,

Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,

So the boy Love is perjured every where:

For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eye,

He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;

And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,

So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.

I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:

Then to the wood will he to-morrow night

Pursue her; and for this intelligence

If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:

But herein mean I to enrich my pain,

To have his sight thither and back again.

Dear Timothy,

It would seem silly that I am writing you this letter while we are actually chatting in messenger. I dunno but for some strange reason I felt the urge to write you a letter, or at least near a letter as I’m not writing this by hand neither will I lick a stamp to send it to you in Seattle.

I meant to give you a love letter. Where promises are suppose to be made and undying vows are to be professed. Aren’t love letters suppose to be like that... tug the heart strings and make people somewhat nostalgic. But see, I really haven’t written any love letter to any one in my life before so I think I will fail on the heart string tugging and nostalgia. Now just thinking about that is making me nervous. The same kinda nervous I feel whenever you ask me if I want you. I feel my breathe catching and my heart pounding like a little girl caught telling a very big lie. Except, I am not telling a lie. It’s the enormity of how much I want you that makes me jumpy.

My attempt to even tell you how much would fall short. I would never be able to detail how much I want you. And while I am physically attracted to you, I am equally attracted to you. The every inch of you. I am attracted to things that capture your interests, and those that enthrall your imagination, the people who have helped you become who you are, the people you’ve touched with your being, elements that challenge you as well as empower you. And the more I know you, the more I want you. It is like an unquenchable desire in my heart that only grows more each moment I discover a new aspect of you as well as stress that which I already know.

It’s strange actually, how pieces fall in their proper places when we talk and spend more time together. How we’ve both felt that being together is like breathing...so effortless and so natural, is astonishing. And while at moments we have experienced the difficulty of arguments and fights, even when we do it, it’s not something that cuts us up and wounds us. How the desire to resolve the issue, how we honestly exchange our views without so much theatrics and drama, how we even forgive or let go is amazing. You are, the singular person in my life, who is able to somehow speak to me and read me without even trying.

I do not know how long you and I will be together. But I know that even if time is not something I can be certain of, I can show and express to you how much valuable you have become to me every moment. I want you to know and accept that despite the distance, the spaces in our togetherness binds us stronger. Despite the differences in our nature, we fill each other with more wisdom and understanding and care. Despite our mutual affection for one another, we are becoming better by not tying each other down with the past and fears brought by it.

I have no promises to give. No vows to profess. I simply want to reaffirm what we both already know. So maybe this isn’t really gonna be much of a love letter. But thank you. Thank you for making this relationship different from all the others. Thank you for being a wonderful partner and lover. Thank you for being the man that you are. I give you my trust as I accept yours. I give you my loyalty as I accept yours. I give you my understanding, as I accept yours. Because how I see it is we are standing together yet not too near together as to shadow another.

~D

I do not normally write people’s names in my posts. I wanted to protect their identity. I felt that if it was done to me I’d feel someone just pulled my pants down in front of everyone. So I usually hide them behind some alias of some sort. And when I do hide them behind an alias most times I myself can’t figure out who am I talking about (yes, that’s one of my oddities).

But right now, I will write of a person and use his real name. After all for every rule, there could always be an exception and I choose him to be the exception. Let me assure you that this person knows I blog, even if he has no clue what the URL is. He knows I am writing of him, even if he doesn’t know what I write about. Why I use his real name is not some enigma. It’s just there can be no other name that can substitute it. Do not get me wrong. I tried to think of a different alias, and even tried to use one of his own but it does not fit rightly on how I view him. There is no harmony and balance achieved unless I use his name.

So that’s the way it’s going to be whenever I will write of him. There will be no other replacement. For his name itself is perfectly suited just the way it is.

If love does not know how to give and take without restrictions, it is not love,

but a transaction that never fails to lay stress on a plus and a minus. ~ Emma Goldman

Even as early as children we are taught to be competitive. It is instilled by our parents to get the highest marks, the first pick in soccer, to win in every sport or contest. And we try as much as we can to do it to please them and gain more favor in their eyes. But there are moments we lose also. While there are parents who will not tolerate losing as they equate this to a form of failure, some parents try to console by saying its only a game and the important thing is having fun. As children, we try to agree but deep inside we can’t wait to get back and play again, compete again, prove them wrong again, come out as a winner again. After all isn’t that how we all came to be where we are at now, survival of the fittest.

As we transition from childhood to adulthood, our sense of competitiveness doesn’t die. It only gets honed as we move from the playgrounds to the rat race. We become more cunning and more cut-throat. Now it’s not about having fun but winning and getting what we want whether it’s the next raise, the office with the view, the latest steal, or even an argument.

But in reality, when all the chips are down, it’s not about who has the bigger score but how we played the game. We know this but often forget while in the middle of the game when only the number of goals are counted. So we end up shoving people, stepping on them, hurting them and then justifying shit happens like the pain we cause others is some freak of nature or natural calamity that only God can explain.

As I ran the treadmill today I tried to reassemble the events that transpired earlier with the fight I had with someone. I knew it was my fault, I knew that as much as I will try to justify the way I treated him I knew I was only trying to convince myself and poorly at it. What started as a casual banter soon became a competition for me. I wanted to be the one holding the power in the relationship which is not really good for me neither am I qualified to. As I looked down the treadmill screen and read 3.48 miles, I felt my body was still pushing itself when usually I would be somewhat tired already. It was adrenaline, I reasoned, even though I knew deep down it was a cocktail of anger, guilt, and regret that was driving me to run more. And it was fear that was keeping me from stopping. I knew that when my legs stop moving I would have to come home and face the answers to why I did what I did, but it was the greater fear of the consequences of what I have done that was keeping me on the treadmill.

But like all games, there are time limitations. I can only run so much and had to eventually get into the decision round. I suppose when we’ve brainwashed ourselves to think that there are only winners and losers in a game then it does get difficult for us to accept decisions that do not favor us. I knew that I was going to lose this one no matter how brilliant my plan is. I can never justify what I have done, and even if I could (which is so unlikely) I wouldn’t be able to live with myself because I know I’d only try to deceive myself and him. But then when you really think about it, does it really matter who wins an argument when the cost of winning means losing the person you’ve had an argument with? And when you think of it in those terms, does it really matter that you’ve lost when you’re actually winning a human being, saving a relationship, growing in understanding, becoming a better person...

To humbly take the decisions of a lost fight or to accept the consequences of our poor judgement calls are necessary pains. Somehow by confessing to him that it was my over-competitiveness that caused the frakkin’ mess earlier made me realize my weakness and turn it into strength. After being such a bad player today, I also realized that when you want to be in a relationship with someone it means not being in competition against that person. After all, it’s not a relationship if one strives to win something by defeating the one you are connected to.

What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

“Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.” ~ Mary Schmich

No, Miss Schmich. I was not blindsided at 4 PM on a some idle Tuesday but at 7 PM tonight. I became a victim of a guy indecently exposing his pecker and so close to being a victim of sexual assault. By the time I have published this my hands would’ve stopped shaking, the angry tears stinging my eyes have stopped falling, my breathing would be calmer, my body would be an image of serenity again. But like all things seen, everything outward will contradict the turbulence happening within. The chaos in my mind, the fear that beats in my heart, the hostility that would continue to course through my veins.

I was seventeen when I was raped. I told my father and he replied that I had it coming. My naiveté made my entire ordeal my fault. I believe there was some part of it that was true. Until now I think that if just had a decent sex education or made myself aware of the depravity of man I would have prevented what happened to me. Even if it took some years for me to move forward I was able to. Now I’m guarded. Now I am responsible. Now I do not put myself in situations that would compromise myself. You will never see me intoxicated that I cannot drive or bring myself home. You will never see me wear provocative clothes that will solicit a guy’s unwanted lust. You will never see me in places “unsafe”. I wasn’t worried, but I promised myself I will no longer be the accused when I am suppose to be a victim of a crime.

It is not fair that within ten seconds of your life everything that you’ve worked for the last thirteen years will be ineffectual. It is not fair that despite the fact that a woman is just sitting at the bus stop wearing jeans, a shirt, a winter jacket and a cap she will be in danger of rape. It is not fair that because of that single incident I would feel paranoid over every place and every guy. It is not fair that a man can scorn a woman’s gender. It is not fair that any person could bring me close to self-loathing again for being a woman.

I do not feel “lucky” that the bus finally came before you had a chance to put your filthy hands on me. I do not feel “better” calling the cops and having to retell them what you did to me. I do not feel “safer” just because I am in the confines of my house. You may not have touched me but I felt the danger of my life as you stood above me while I look up to see you holding your willy with your left hand and your right hand reaching to grab my head. You may not have penetrated me but the wildness in your eyes as lust consumed any form of reason in you burned my being. Your hand may not have reached me but the momentary aggression I felt towards the police officer who blamed me seemed like you did. You may not have touched me but I feel every inch of me violated as worse as being raped.

I may not be a rape victim based on the judicial definition of the term “rape” but it doesn’t make any lesser the trauma I am going through.

I know chivalry is somewhat extinct, it has grown old as the medieval times the word has come from. Young people don’t court one another anymore. The damsel in distress does not get saved. And most of all we don’t write love letters.

But this one is intended to be a love letter. But I think if you ever read this you’d categorize me as one of the many crazy bitches you’ve dated and give me an “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. For starters, you don’t exist. Let me rephrase that... you do exist, I’m just unaware of your existence. Somewhere out there you are living life and one day you and I will meet, fall in love in time, and be like those fairy-tale books with a picture of a prince and princess together and the words “happily ever after”. This is what my future tells me. Or rather what I am suppose to believe in. The kind of love that constricts your heart and give you a stomach full of butterflies. The kind of love that lasts all seasons. The kind of love that you just can’t get enough. The kind of love that triggers your jaded belief because it’s 2009 and times have changed dramatically. Young people don’t go through the process of starting a relationship naturally. Nowadays things have evolved to drunken (and sober) one-night stands. Start a relationship while still in one. Stubbornly staying in a toxic one. And most times people just opt to cohabit and test the waters, even throw a kid in the mélange usually unplanned. We try to salvage broken relationships and delude ourselves things will go further and improve in a stagnant one. As if these aren’t stupid enough, people marry and divorce so fast even if it’s been quite clear that shacking up, having a baby, or getting a diamond ring are just band aids to deep rooted problems that end up festering and damaging us more. Everyone makes poor choices at times that should have taught us to know better and wise up. But more often than not, we simply repeat our past.

Maybe I do have an old soul as what some people say. Some part of me is old-school and a bit ancient, but it seems everything now is rushed and prematurely forced. We have a quick fix for almost anything, we can have instant meals, and technology is helping us get from one place to another faster. Everyone is running a race, going where is something I have not figured out. We want to get going now, experience things now. And while there is nothing wrong in seizing the moment and living life to the fullest, aren’t some things suppose to happen naturally or even effortlessly? Look at the leaves that change with the passing of seasons, or a baby developing to a toddler or the passing of the day from sunrise to sunset. Don’t you think that there should be some sort of progression in a relationship as well? We jump into bed with someone before we form a friendship with them. And despite the knowledge that such “relationship” is devoid of any foundation we still push forward hoping it will work out still. Which of course is futile as things man builds without a sturdy foundation are meant to fall apart. We’re ensnared in this vicious cycle and try to avoid getting hurt by evading the problem or running away from it like a game of dodgeball. But it seems to me that I am getting hit more and hurt more and benched more. And with each defeat I find it harder to pick myself back up. I’ve grown tired already and lately I’ve been wondering if all this energy I invest on this love crap is worth it. The sardonic side of me knows nothing lasts forever so why bother to continue playing. I should be smart. Play safe. Stay guarded.

I am not erotophobic neither am I frigid, but can we slow down a little. Let me wrap my mind around exactly why you want to be with me and not the bajillion other girls out there. Part of me secretly feels disdain everytime you just can’t wait to get my clothes off when I am wanting to know first how your day went and share some laughter with you. I feel nervous and pressured everytime you talk about getting me to bed. I may not always understand why a guy needs to cover bases so urgently when there’s no World Series to win. I hope you won’t find it emasculating that I want to know you more first. I am not playing hard to get, I will sleep with you and do so with passion when it feels right. I can just ask you to “go with me” on a torn scrap of paper 6th grade-style, or if you like you can just read the signs. Don’t worry, it will be loud and clear. I will show zero interest in other people. I will set aside what I am doing if you need my help. I will show genuine interest in the things you love. And the most obvious sign, I will just ask you if you want to despite the thundering beat of my heart. Well that and the radiant love sick look on my face the moment you walk in the room.

I believe that one of the best parts of having a someone is letting them know they aren’t just anyone. It makes me happy when your eyes sparkle with pride and your face light up, especially knowing I am the reason behind your pleasure. I will not just do the things you like how you like it, I will do my best to evolve as you evolve. I will go the extra mile to show to you how much you mean to me and keep it fresh and exciting even after the beginning of our relationship passes. So please accept the note I leave on top of your shirt as you get off the shower to get dressed for work. Don’t be frightened when I tell you we need to talk because I simply respect your opinion and have a desire to know what you think. Please accept my offer to give you a massage after a hard days work. When I ask “why?” please don’t think I’m being subservient, I actually want to understand you more. And if for you defying the laws of nature isn’t necessary for me to rekindle the feelings that a budding summer romance possesses, I will still reciprocate and echo the passion you feel for me and this is something I will do constantly. With today’s standard of disposable relationships being the norm, my effort should speak volumes.

All I ask is that you recognize these gestures and not take them or me for granted, as I promise to never take you for granted. I know that I come off as intimidating and challenging, but despite my tough exterior I am sensitive and have soft side like all women. Because my heart has been broken in so many places already I find myself getting hurt more easily because of the pre-existing cracks on it. I know I will come off disinterested and guarded. Believe me when I say that I am not doing this to deliberately hurt you or undermine your interest. Don’t take it personally, it’s just who I am. I have good reason not to trust men and their shady ways. I’ve been lied to, deceived, taken advantaged of, led on, and belittled just to name a few. As much as I know that it’s unfair for me to make you “pay” for the errs previous men before you have made with me, please be patient and understand that they have left questions in my mind and my heart is something I protect the most. Despite the fact that I may keep you at a certain distance until a certain level of faith is formed, I hope that you will discover every aspect of me and my world. Because the truth is I wish nothing more than to trust again, this time in you.

I love cooking. I’ve loved cooking since I was a little girl trying to make Adobo (the Filipino dish not the Spanish one) for the Colonel who I thought would love me if not look at me more if he enjoyed my cooking. He didn’t love me more neither did he look at me more unless I did something awfully wrong for him but that didn’t wane my love for cooking.

Right now I am using Journler to work on my blog drafts and compile recipes I’ve cooked and plan to cook. Using this app to compose the next blog entry is very useful but on the other hand, writing recipes isn’t. It’s quite difficult to find recipes even if I can tag and categorize them or use the ala-spotlight search bar. I figured I am 80% online when I’m at home and often telecommute I might as well start a blog on this as well. Something for my own selfish reasons. :D

I’m quite wondering though how to write things that I do originally make because I honestly don’t use measuring cups or spoons. If there is anything I’m good at it’s knowing just by looking if what I’m cooking lacks something or is already perfect. I suppose I can use a measuring spoon... and I write that with a furrow on my forehead.

Anyhoo, accept my apology ahead of time if I will be posting less(er) as I work on a new project... what to name it is yet being figured by me and Kitty Kat. Okay... I lie, she’s doing the figuring out of the name by herself! :D

By now every Filipino must've known that former President Joseph "Erap" Estrada has placed his bid for the 2010 presidential election. And while most of the local population may have taken this news with disdain and scoffing there are Filipinos who took this with jubilation. He is, after all this time, still their icon for hope and prosperity.

As most of you probably know already, I don't vote. Voting or even following the Philippine politics is like watching a crack addict shoot coke over and over. You'd think we'd be wiser by not putting into the highest office a guy who doesn't even know basic laws of economics and claims to address poverty. You'd think we'd be better by focusing on healthcare, education, environmental sustainability instead of condoning the congressmen fighting over who gets the biggest pork. You'd think we'd be more shrewed questioning why a mayor who's been holding office for more than a decade has not even made any significant improvements in his town. How they have the balls to run for office, how they can manage to sleep at night, how they can have the face to run for office again and again after being caught of crimes such as corruption, murder, or just plain incompetence is beyond my limited brain.

If there is anything consistent in the Philippines it’ll be corruption. Not only is it consistent, it’s also prevalent which can be experienced by everyone. Put aside (if you can) the red tape at government offices, the pay off given to cops and public officials, the countless people they’ve abducted and murdered because that person was against such public official, put those things aside for a moment. They’re actually extremes. Extreme compared to these: every public works construction has a signboard with the smiling face of the president and large print that such project was made possible by of his/her Excellency, books purchased for public school students but are left rotting in warehouses, floods high and low that occur because of a non-existent sewage system, crime scenes compromised because latex gloves are even insufficient, going to a public hospital most likely means you’ll end up dead, need I say more? Even as I write the last few phrases I feel anger coursing through my veins as I remember the headlines that have affected the Filipino people even when I was living in the Philippines.

The missing funds, excesses of politicians, self-aggrandizing of the military, or even the arrogance of the family by the legislators or any government official maybe something difficult to tolerate. It’s how they are able to win over and over, well... that just makes my brain shrink smaller than an my eyeball. We hope it doesn’t happen, we hope that the voting public will be more discriminating, we hope that the sacrifices of our ancestors and rotting heroes would hold some value in us, we hope that the memory span of the collective people will be longer than the 10 minute speeches that promise to provide education, end poverty, start jobs and livelihood programs, save the world. We hope for change and a better system. And it’s not the desire for certain things to happen that we lack, it’s the honorable candidates. When you are made to choose which apple to pick we pick the best, but if your options are all bad... how do you pick? We can’t demand for better options neither do we get a refund.

Carl Sagan once said, “One of the saddest lessons of history is this: If we’ve been bamboozled long enough, we tend to reject any evidence of the bamboozle. The bamboozle has captured us. Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back.”

I am not proud that I don’t go to the polls to cast my vote, but I cannot decide which is more difficult --- looking the other way or choosing the wrong one and paying the consequences for an entire term. I am tempted though to register so I can vote on 2010 mostly because I am alarmed by the possibility of an ousted president jailed for corruption will win again and be the next president of the Philippines. But as I am undecided the deadline to register will most likely have passed before I would have made the choice. I know I am not any different from those people who sell their votes to the highest politician, or those who pay bribe money, or those who watch the news then avoid the problems plaguing my country by flipping channels. Honestly, it is hard to love a country or even have an ounce of belongingness to a place that never really fostered a sense of heritage.

Yet I hope. Even if hoping is outwardly impossible because one hopes for too much. Maybe instead of seeing the corrupt politicians as bastion of prosperity they will for once question what has have they done with the previous years they were sitting in office. Maybe next year’s election people won’t be fooled twice.

He got back in touch with me the way he usually does, unexpected. And because he comes back to me at the moments I least expect it I’ve grown wary of it when he does. Not that him being in my life has not made me grown observant, because I am observant by nature. But the fact that he does not get in touch with me unless he has a problem has kept me on my toes. And now that he has gotten back in touch with me after months of nonchalance towards my state of well being made me more than wonder what sort of trouble has he gotten himself into.

Rewind three years ago. Or was it two? I don’t really recall. All I remember was that he and his dirty little secret was revealed in a sensational way it was sort of like a scandal. After five years he finally admitted he was still in a relationship with his last girlfriend, they had an abortions (or was it abortions), and the girlfriend is currently pregnant with plans of suing him because he tried to break up with her. I got the phone call that had me without second thoughts buy a one way ticket to where he is and deal with a problem I didn’t create. And while he claims it’s over the mess he had created was way too much for him to clean up we had to step in and act like gangsters threatening and almost counter suing her family. Like a real sister, I took his side even if I didn’t want to. Like real sisters, me and Tanduay Girl had to step up for our brother even if I want him to own up to his own misconduct. And like real older sisters, we bashed the bully who tried to coerce my brother into unwanted marriage even if I want him to have the balls to be responsible and grow up. That’s how we’ve always been, the knights who saved our baby brother’s bad ass. That’s how we’ll always be, the disposable airbags that will save him at the point of painful impact.

I will lie if I say I don’t mind. In a small way I do. Or maybe a big way. I don’t know. All I know is that if he doesn’t talk to me then he is fine and dandy. And if he does talk to me he wants something like money, protection, a lie. And so forgive me if I dread talking to my brother, because as much he’s blood I seriously want to bang his head on granite just to make him feel how insensitive he is of his family. I don’t hate him, that’s the truth. But to say I love him, that is wishful thinking. But I do tell myself that... I love him. Because maybe I’ll eventually do. Because maybe I do, I just don’t feel it.

Jealousy was the only reason that came to my mind when I tried to analyze my aversion towards him. I was jealous of his gender. I was jealous that he had both our parents’ adoration. I was jealous that he had his life handed to him on a silver platter. Jealous that he had the best that my parents’ money can buy. Jealous that he can get away being bad so easily. Jealous that he can be stupid and my parents would be amused. All he had to do was be himself - mean, selfish, moody, arrogant - and he would still be accepted and loved. Then I ran away. I ran from all the negativity that I was plaguing me and tried to shape who I am and what I want to be. The next time I saw him the green eyed monster was no longer in me because I saw that despite his seemingly “blessed” life he will make humongous screw ups that will be hard to recover from. And without gloating I write now that I was right.

That was years ago. Now he says he’s in a better relationship, he says this woman is far far better than the crazy ex girlfriend who stabbed him with a pair of scissors, he says that he has introduced her to our father. And when he said the last part I knew why he is talking to me out of the blue. The Colonel is livid and my brother wants me to pick sides, he wants me to take his side again and protect him from the pain of my father’s wrath and the scathing words of my father’s pietistic judgmental belief. But it’s not going to happen. Not anymore.

It’s not that my brother deserves what is happening to him now neither is it because my father is right. But I do know that he has to be able to learn to fight for what he wants, for what he believes in, for what he thinks is right. And when he has fought for it and he ended up hurting because what he fought for is not good for him he still has to learn to clean up his own mess, stand up and move forward. Basically, he has to learn to grow up and be a man. In the real sense of the word.

Because he got away doing so many wrong things and he was given so many good things he is now paying the price, when he broke my parents’ hearts it doesn’t even seem possible to patch things up again. I should know well, I’ve been there and done that. He came to me for comfort and advice. I have no comfort to give. There is no easy way to take the brunt of pain once you broke someone’s trust. Once you break it you can only hope and pray that the person will trust you again. And winning that person or those people’s trust maybe be close to impossible, almost exasperating, and even if you deem yourself trustworthy again you may not still be or anymore to them. But if a person is worth it, if you tried, if you really cared about them then all the hardship of proving your worth, the discomfort of piecing the trust you’ve broken, and the shame of owning up to the heartache you’ve caused will be worth it again. I should know this well enough, because I’ve been there and done that too.

And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain."

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Sometimes even the best of us makes reckless decisions. Bad decisions. Choices we pretty much know we’re going to regret the moment, the minute, the morning after, maybe even weeks later. Maybe not regret regret because at least we’ve put ourselves out there despite the risk of rejection. But still ... something inside us decides to do a crazy thing despite it turning around and biting us in the ass. There are some people there who are more altruistic and learn from other’s mistakes. But the rest live their lives the best they could but still end up making wrong turns. Like me.

It’s stupid really why despite my ability to foresee the probable consequences of choices I still opt to do the bad. Denial, avoidance, and overcompensation are the tools I’d used the past few months. And now look where I’ve gotten myself into, a damn black hole sucking all my joy rather than the bliss of heaven.

Thirty one days has passed now since I’ve told the truth and thirty five days has gone by since I’ve last seen him. And while emotionally I am tired of being miserable, I can’t stop myself from counting the days and it’s taking a lot of will power not to bash my head on the wall just to silence my mind. I mean come on! How long do I have to beat myself over and over for what I’ve done to him? It’s not that I want him back. Okay that’s not entirely true. I do want him back. I do want him to forgive me and take me back even if I have to earn his trust until I die. But that’s not the point. The point is that I haven’t entirely forgiven myself nor am I finished with the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression because clearly with all the agony I am feeling I am nowhere near acceptance. Clearly the internal wrestling of my emotions is not over, yet. Please, somebody, crash into me so I can get amnesia or at least hand me the bleach so I can pour it in my brain.

I wanted to have the chance to say this to his face... “I’m sorry. I was trying to prove a point. I was trying to be right. I ended up putting you in a dangerous situation. I know you say that you get over pain easily. But you got hurt and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” But then all those lines are just lines in my head. I have no intention of saying it aloud. Whatever for? I know myself well and I know him well enough to determine when is the most appropriate instance to shut my mouth, suck up all the gooey words, swallow the tears and let things be. Why bother saying I’m sorry when I’ve said it more than once already and the cold shoulder is enough to tell me I’m not forgiven, I’ll never be forgiven.

But my mind just won’t let up. The apology speech surface and resurface like those critters in the arcade game of Whack-A-Mole and sadly I’m not fast enough to clobber it and so it keeps on surfacing and resurfacing. Sometimes I hear it in my head so much it sounds already like a prayer. As if by mentally saying it over and over things will go back the way it was and we’ll be okay or I’ll wake up and be relieved to discover that it was just one long sad nightmare. So, yeah, I’m still bargaining and in denial. I know I could’ve set the balance more favorably for me, but then that’s just another form of deception. And what will the truth amount if it’s still covered in a lie? One way or another our karma will eventually make us face who we are and make us responsible for what we have done. There is no escaping.

I hope the regret would stop festering in my heart, I hope that the time will come when my mind would stop making a U-turn to his face or his name or even the anticipation that he will get back in touch, and I hope all these and more will happen soon. I’m not complaining. What goes around comes around. Everything that is happening to me now is not unexpected. Everything that I am going thru is not unfair. It just ...evens the score.

I meant to blog. I have four different topics all drafted in my iPhone but I can’t seem to finish it. I point my finger disapprovingly at my ADHD but the truth is not about me getting easily distracted, it’s me not knowing how to end it. Despite my lack of creative prose I have an eye for aesthetics. I love beautiful people, beautiful objects, beautiful places, beautiful music, beautiful anything. And for me beauty is not about perfection but the ability of a person, place, thing, event, composition to withstand time and season. Classic. Timeless. And so for me to type words just for me to finish a post is unacceptable. I can’t even bring myself to publish something I will not enjoy reading over and over much more reading it once. I ask myself why would I write words unworthy of my or other people’s time.

I do not dream to be a Pulitzer winner. But I dream of being able to write my thoughts coherently and despite other people not agreeing to it people will understand. I do not dream to be an accomplished writer signing autographs. But I dream of being able to grow in mind and my writing will reflect it. I do not dream of convincing people of what is right and wrong. But I dream of being able to stand by my conviction of right and have the courage to fight for it.

And so the four drafts sleep patiently in my iPhone. Maybe I’ll be able to finish it and publish it. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll write a whole different thing. One thing is certain though, I will write something worthwhile again. Something classic. Something timeless. Something I’ll stand for up to the last period.

William Shakespeare famous monologue from the comedy As You Like It starts with the lines, “All the world’s a stage and all men and women mere players.”

In a way he’s right except life does not hand you a script for you to rehearse nor does anybody give an applause when you finally bow out. There are no retakes but you are expected to do things right in the eyes of your fellow men, your standards, or God’s. But it’s not really the parts we play that I am have been musing about lately, it’s more of the music.

If the world’s a stage and we are mere players, what music would be playing?

Bach’s Solo Cello No. 1 in G Major Prelude would be the music that would best describe my life. Melancholic. Turbulent. Hopeful. Every time I listen to this classical I hear the story of my life. Each of the arpeggiated chord is like each event in my life that has struck me down, pulled me up, pushed me forward, made me stand still. How I started out naïve until I became angry and spiteful for all the adversaries in my life until I experienced grace and being forgiven and the slow rise to maturity and living up to my name “Love” started happening. It’s still happening. I’m still evolving. So the part at almost the end of the prelude where the notes crescendo like one victorious triumph has not happened yet. But I feel it coming soon.

At the stage of my life when words fail but my emotions cannot remain silent I let this music play to let my emotions unravel and for a moment refresh my soul.

Secrets, everyone has them. No matter how candid you are people keep secrets. I don’t know what the reasons are, but usually it’s rooted from deep-seated fears and insecurities. But there are also some things we do, think, or say that sets us apart and makes us unique. And then now and then a trend happens in the internet or specifically in Facebook/Friendster where you answer a list of questions. I’ve read those notes, those posts, and those shout outs. And while some questions have almost gotten me to copy and paste it with my answers and tag it to my 197 “friends”, I haven’t really done it because I find the entire process meandering. Since the questions listed in these posts are posed in a hypothetical manner I find the answers shallow and irrelevant in my desire to know that person more. I still want to quench people’s curiosity of the real me, so I made my own list. Of course if you know me, you know I am not much of a follower and most times do things differently.

Everything you will read here is true, whether if be funny, sad, painful, shocking... it’s all me. If you view me a lesser person or a lesser woman after reading it, I can take it. If you view me much the same or more *insert compliment here*, let me know please so I can thank you.

1. I find it easier to trust others than myself.

2. But at times I am quick to judge people as well.

3. There had been one point in my life when I shaved my head.

4. I had been cheated on before.

5. It was at that point when my cheating ex shook me so hard and my head banged on the wall that I became physically violent.

6. I've learned to master being apathetic rather than get angry because of that. Even if I can justify it as protecting myself, the thought of me enjoying shooting him with a gun that moment horrified me.

7. I've always felt the odd one in my family. That feeling was so strong that when I was six I asked my mother if I was adopted.

8. I have no baby pictures. My older sister has a special baby album, my brother has special baby albums, my youngest sister has so many putting it in an album is impossible.

9. I'm still afraid to ask my parents why I don't have baby pictures. It's what they say that I fear.

10. I long to find my half-brother and build a strong relationship with him.

11. I was proposed to twice. The first one I said no. The second one I said yes but did not push through, obviously.

12. I sleep naked. Unless my sister sleeps beside me.

13. I'm messy. But like most messy people, there is order in my mess.

14. When I say "I love you" I don't expect the person to say "I love you" back.

15. I say "I love you" even if I know for a fact my love is unrequited.

16. Dancing on top of my bed wearing only undies is my way of relaxing.

17. I love challenges.

18. But I'm learning to be smart which challenges to accept.

19. I can smoke a joint, but only if I want to. Which is rare.

20. Out of the handful serious relationships I had I only introduced one guy to my parents. It was embarassing to reveal to them after a month that we broke up because he was cheating on me.

21. I gave my graduation speech in Filipino even if I'm more fluent in english.

22. I'm afraid of having babies. I fear being worse than my mother as a mother.

23. Despite my fear of raising children, I want to have some.

24. Only once did I cry because of frustration with my boss.

25. I've learned that God does not say "because I said so" when I ask Him "why".

26. I feel shame that I can't put my faith in God the same way a kid trusts her dad.

27. Break ups and boys don't make me cry anymore.

28. But beautiful love stories do.

29. I've lost some friends because of owed money they didn't repay and refuse to account for.

30. I have the gift of discernment.

31. Many times though I didn't heed it because I often give people the benefit of the doubt. In the end, my initial perception had always been correct.

32. I get angry when people whine and say they had no choice to justify their wrongful actions.

33. I had begged to be loved once. I lost my self-respect and decided no guy is worth losing my self respect for.

34. I had never been bothered by what people think of me. It's what I think of myself that matters most.

35. I don't believe that you can learn to love someone.

36. Neither do I believe in love at first sight.

37. I am fond of many places but I don't have any one particular place I can consider "home".

38. Finding out I acquired herpes was the hardest phase in my life.

39. Revealing it to a guy I really like is the most difficult.

40. Before writing #38, only my family and four other people knew about it. It was a my dark and twisted secret.

41. Writing about it now is like being released from bondage. People will tattle or be disgusted and some will pity and I can’t have sex anymore. But it’s not the end of the world.

42. I'm a kid at heart.

43. It wasn't until my older sister went to university that I felt a strong desire to bond with her.

44. I used to cut classes so I can pursue my job as a dj.

45. I believe that everyone is superficial as much as everyone lies. They just vary in degrees.

46. I used to hate that my older sister is always right.

47. Saying "I'm sorry" is not easy for me.

48. But when I say it I actually mean it.

49. There are times I get tired of being a strong person.

50. I cheated once in High School. Shame was there. But pride has kept me from repeating it.

51. The fact that I’m a very good liar scares me.

52. Being single and not in a relationship does not bother me. The people who pick on my being single and not in a relationship does.

53. Talking to me condescendingly pisses me off.

54. Cello is my favorite musical instrument.

55. When someone tells me a secret, I forget what they shared so I won’t tell.

56. I am grossed by snakes. I will not buy or even touch anything that looks like snake skin. Even if it’s an imitation.

57. I am anal-retentive about my cooking. Telling me how to do it when I don’t ask for your advice is one of my pet peeves.

58. The last time I watched a horror movie I hyperventilated.

59. Oftentimes, I had always been mistaken as a hooker when I was working at the call center.

60. I don’t eat breakfast.

62. I would rather have cold juice in the morning than coffee.

63. I eat like a guy but my body does not give justice to the copious amounts of food I ingest.

64. Music is an integral part of my life. So much that there is always a song in my head and I can’t help myself at times to sing it aloud.

65. For a time I dabbled on theater.

66. I am not a registered voter in the Philippines. I find the politics there too dirty and the politicians deceitful that I will not waste my time, energy, and trust on those scums.

67. I am not homophobic.

68. I don’t say “I love you (too)” unless I mean it.

69. I’ve always been passionate in helping people.

70. Despite my competitiveness, I don’t vie for the medal or glory. I derive pleasure from outwitting the competition.

71. I used to dislike my name.

72. It’s the challenge of the job or project that drives me, not the salary and never the praise from my superiors.

73. I have to put a lot of effort in focusing on what I am doing because I get distracted easily.

74. Even if I’m drunk I can recall events and conversations that happened during my drunken state.

75. I am very good with my hands (yes, that statement is very very loaded).

76. It never concerns me when people say I look older than my older sister.

77. I used to be very depressed when I was a kid that at one point I almost committed suicide.

78. I can admit that therapy worked for me.

79. I am very loyal to my friends, but also frank.

80. When it comes to my family, I walk away when they say mean or cause me pain rather than fight back.

81. For everyone else, I would give them a piece of my mind.

82. I don’t ask ridiculous questions like “Am I fat?”or “What are you thinking?”

83. I still giggle.

84. Me dying young is more appealing than old, wrinkly, and being incontinent.

85. I appreciate it when people correct me if I’m wrong even if how they say it sometimes stings.

86. I can’t tolerate incompetent people.

87. Like everything in this world I believe nothing lasts, including love.

88. I stopped playing tennis for some time because I was afraid only my right arm will be tone and muscular. Silly, I know.

89. I get bored with men who don’t know what a “conversation” is.

90. When a guy says I’m hot the first thing that comes in my mind is “I know, tell me something else” I don’t say it though because I know men first appreciate looks.

91. Self-righteous Born Again Christians has turned me off from religion.

92. Despite having a lot of gay friends, my gay-dar is broken.

93. I’m not a perfectionist, I am detail-oriented.

94. I am very good at accounting.

95. I am not a writer. I can’t string words into eloquent sentences as my younger sister. But I write because that’s how I process my thoughts.

96. My spoon, fork and knife has to match when I eat.

97. I have only felt hatred to a singular person in my life. My rapist.

98. Despite the many hurts inflicted on me, I can still absolve people from the hurts they’ve given.

99. I am an optimistic realist. I hope to get and keep something or someone I really really like, but I won’t feel any spite if I don’t.

100. I keep on learning, relearning, and unlearning. It’s how I become better.

101. Writing this post is the hardest I've written so far. Maybe it will be the hardest I will write ever. It dredges very painful memories, reveals my darkest secrets, shows my vulnerability and the emotions I felt then are coming to me now like I felt them the first time.

I watched Sesame Street when I was young. Besides learning Spanish, Mr. Snuffleupagus is not just Big Bird’s imaginary friend, and Miss Piggy has a serious case of narcissism and bipolar disorder, I learned about decision making. There is a segment where a little boy was holding a helium balloon and was voicing his thought, “If I pop this red balloon, it will make a loud sound. If it makes a loud sound, it will wake up my sleeping sister. If my sleeping sister wakes up because of the pop, she will start crying. If she starts crying, my mother will get angry. If my mother gets angry, I won’t get milk and cookies for my snack.”

How elementary the producers and writers made decision making seem. What they failed to teach was how conflicting emotions will combat in your heart and mind. Even if we are raised right or our principles are well driven in our being, there will be instances and situations when our moral compasses will alter and we would make loathsome, undignified, and disconcerting choices. And there are also situations when our moral compasses are aligned or realigns and we make principled and well-founded resolution. But whether we choose what is right or choose what is wrong or choose what is wrong but then correct it by choosing what is right we go through a singular emotion that is not all the time warranted. Regret.

It is quite natural to feel regret when we do the wrong thing. But why is it, when we do the right thing, a part of us regrets it? The desire to take back what we have done, do something, do something else, or not do anything at all shakes us. I find it ironic that even if we do it or not do it (the right thing) we still experience regret. And when doing the right thing matters the most and to reverse the decision is

I am not overly concerned how one deals with their regrets. There is no right or wrong for answer for that. Okay, maybe there is, but I am not in a position to judge what is right or wrong in that arena. However, I am more bothered why we feel it even if we are doing the right thing. Ideally, when we choose to do the right thing we should feel a sense of triumph, maybe somewhat smug about it. But remorse?! That emotion seems so out of place.

When you think about it, doing the right thing often means sacrifice rather than gain, inconvenience rather than ease, being alone rather than well-liked. Sacrifice, inconvenience, loneliness all seem like a steep price to pay for the doing (or not doing) and saying (or not saying) what is right. Yet there are times (and I hope “all the time”) we do what is right despite how much it costs us but to feel regret on top of it is overwhelming.

My life has been roomful of helium balloons which most I’ve popped making me unworthy of milk and cookies. And while I enjoy milk and cookies, I do not live for them. I am not saying I can’t help but pop the balloons and cause a racket or make people hurt and cry. I am saying as much as I would prefer a life without remorse, I brave it and pop the balloons that I must.

Whether I choose right or wrong, I have weighed all the risks at all it's angles and as much as I know I will hurt more people and more of myself by choosing what is wrong or what is right, I choose either simply because the question "what if..." looms in either direction and what that question looms, I've resolved not to live in regret because of that. I would rather have regrets about not doing what people said or think should be or should not be done rather than regret not doing what my heart has led me to and be inconsolable with wonder of what my life would be like or had been if I only just been myself. It's a hard choice to make. A strenuous code to live by. Often times I've pained more than I've pained others. But I am driven not by selfishness nor anger neither am I moved by depravity.

Over the years of making choices I am slowly able to accept the pain that comes with it gracefully, cherish the joys timidly, and resolve the regrets with humility. Hopefully, when the time of accounting is upon me, I can say with confidence and conviction that if I had to live my life over again, I’d do it all the same.

If thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love's sake only. Do not say

'I love her for her smile—her look—her way

Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—

For these things in themselves, Beloved, may

Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—

A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!

But love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.