Feeling Good

With hair set on curlers, a new top and  a favorite pair of slip-ons I drove to church and arrived 10 minutes before it started. I listened quite endearingly as the mass went on for about an hour.

Then I dashed off to the grocery for a quick errand and returned home just in time for dinner. As I change to a more homey garb, I looked at the mirror and felt good at the reflection I just saw.

Perhaps, spending time preparing for Sunday mass just helps you feel good about yourself.

Have a good week ahead. I hope to have a good one too.


Off She Goes

Screaming in the silence of her thoughts. Pallid in the wake of everything that surrounds her. She runs. She scrambles. She feels the presence of a maelstrom brewing. Cries resonating from afar continue to haunt her, the farther she runs, the nearer she hears. 

Ruins of the past flicker. And all the more it reverberates….RUN! RUN! RUN!!! She leaped and bellowed real hard, hoping that all these exist only in the deep recesses of her consciousness. But no, it is hounding, hunting her like a pack of hungry wolves.

She halts, then heaves deeply. Soon she feels she’s falling, free-falling while everything else is numb.

Then there’s silence. Her much needed silence.

Freedom finally becomes her.




Lost and Found

The internet never cease to amaze me. Ok, if you find it too cliche-ic, sue me. At least I found something to blog about before this li’l ‘ol turf gets buried to the eternal ho-hum world.

Aside from providing the information you need with just a few mouse clicks here and there, you get to find your long lost old chums in elementary and high school years, or you find yourself being hunted by some ghosts from your past. And I mean these “ghosts” whom the last time you remembered seeing them was when you wanted to hit them with a hefty thwack on their face. Ok, it’s a bit of an exaggeration but the thing is, you never thought that an ex-flame would find you again, of all places – thru Facebook. If I am to give credit to Facebook, it’s how it re-connects people who wanted to get re-connected; likewise, I discredit it for enabling people to track you down by a few kilobytes’ run or so. 

Anyway, after finding a number of people from my adolescent years and realizing that ex-flames sometimes do rise up from the dead, I’ve discovered a handful of recurring behavior that I find quite odd :


  • I’d mentally measure the poundage they’ve gained through the years by simply scanning their photos. If my estimate is more than my extra weight, well hell ya, I am relieved. At least, there’s more of them who are plus-sized than me. 
  • I’d take note if they have changed their surnames or not. Well, why not? It’s an assurance that I am not the only single woman standing in this world! Like, welcome to the club dearie!
  • Sometimes, I would silently comment how much older they looked than their age. So I admit, I can be shrewd at times. So sue me again.
  • Oh and I’d scan “the-ex’s”  profile for pictures of the wife. I get curious to see the one whom they ended up with. Then I see only imperfections – too fat, too dark, too old….hah! I’m prettier as always…hahahaha! Bitterness. tsk.

Tsk.tsk.tsk.  Me-is-bad. Me-is-rude. Me-is-bitter. 

Hey, I’m sure you’ve acted this way before. C’mon.

Playing Good Samaritan

Earlier this afternoon, as I am on my way back to the office after a client meeting and while waiting for my cue to turn right in a street somewhere in the Scout area, I heard a knock on my window. I turned around to see a family trio, standing next to my door. Alright, with the vicious crimes going around and hold-ups even at high noon, I have the highest probability that you’ll tell me where my common sense is and that I am downright stupid to roll down my windows and speak to the three strangers. But I did. Without thinking.

The man, carrying a boy was close to tears when he said his son has dengue fever. They’ve got no money to bring the poor child to the hospital blah, blah, blah…asking for financial help. Since I was blocking the street, I said that I would pull over to the other side and instructed them to follow me. Long story short, I reached for my bag, took my wallet, and realized that I only had two 500 peso notes inside. Without thinking, I took one and handed it to them. I saw genuine gratitude from the way they looked at me as they hurriedly walked away to bring their son to the hospital.

Okay. Everything happens for a reason. There must be a reason why of all cars and of all people , I was the one waiting in that secluded street and they were there walking helplessly around the corner. 

Two reasons: maybe I was bound to get duped today and there goes my 500 bucks, if those people are indeed typical swindlers disguised as an indigent family in distress. Or maybe, as my instincts tell me, they really need help. And my 500 peso at least saved a child’s life. 

Whatever the truth is, I will never find out. And since I have no way of figuring it out, I would rather believe that they are indeed telling the truth. Somehow, it feels good to play a good samaritan after all.

And who wants to voluntarily give five-hundred-freakin’-bucks to a bunch of strangers??? Yeah I know, only stupid people do. 

All in a Day

I took these pictures in one single day. It amuses me how, by just looking around and taking shots (thank God for camera phones!) you’d realize how bizarre, frustrating and (at one point) infuriating it is to live in our beloved country.

Amidst the scorching heat of the sun, and the seemingly endless wait just to get hold of the government subsidized rice….throngs of fellow third world citizens greeted me as I opened our house gate going to work earlier this morning.

Then on my way to work, this “numbered” government plate on top suddenly cut my way. What’s more infuriating is, the vehicle is an SUV, which automatically translates to at least a million peso robbery from our taxes. And to add insult to injury, an equally identical car passed by with an equally “numbered” plate. So make that at least two million off our taxes. Yeah right.

Then after a long day at work, my colleagues and I decided to drop by at a nearby grocery store. So picture this, it’s rush hour, there’s limited parking space, every single vehicle is grappling for a parking space – only to see this. What the f__k! A car occupying two parking slots! And believe it or not, there were two security guards in bicycles roaming around the parking lot! How on mother earth did a moron get a way with this?!

Tsk. What a day indeed.

When Speaking English is a Must

I watched the controversial Q&A portion of Bb. Pilipinas World winner Janina San Miguel over YouTube tonight. I gasped and nearly fell off my seat. The grammar police must have had a grand time watching her with all the “aahhhs” and “uhhms” and “errrs” as she stutter in-between grammatically incorrect, incomplete, unfathomable sentences for a period of two minutes.

As expected, the event landed in the newspapers and the World Wide Web in less than 24 hours. People call her a moron, doubting if she really deserves the Bb. Pilipinas World crown to the point that the standards set up by the pageant organizers are already in question.

And yes, I’m guilty. I laughed hard enough when I watched her fumble and lose her bearings while being scrutinized by throngs of condescending crowd. Classic, it really was. But then again, I came to ask myself, does having a “seamless” grammar and an articulate English tongue would earn you the highest seat in human intellectual hierarchy?

Which is worse? A Filipino born and raised here, with perfect English skills, but could not even speak or comprehend a simple sentence in our native language? Or a fellow countryman who speaks “carabao” English but is a master of the Filipino language?

I am not perfect in my English either. I am not even a convinced grammar police. I write English as an exercise to hone my skills, and to further boost my confidence in using the universal language. But I never dared forget to write and speak in Filipino as well.

Maybe, Janina San Miguel should have answered in our own native language, by doing so, she may have expressed herself perfectly and freely, and most probably gain the nod and the approval of the madlang people. Oh well, rooms for learning are aplenty. There’s always a “next” time.

“Ang hindi marunong magmahal sa sariling wika, daig pa ang amoy sa mabahong isda” – Dr. Jose Rizal