And It Was All Yellow

New Year.
New Layout.

My Roll of Excellent Reads

Two days ago, we had our holidate at Paseo de Sta. Rosa. I decided on the date place, so, I had to consider of course my own convenience. As expected, I came first for it’s an hour and a half drive from my place, and a three-hour ride from his.

I thought of doing something prolific while waiting so I entered the bookstore, very predictable. I had a book in mind, The Master and Margarita. I read it in a magazine and added it in my list. I looked for it and was about to pay for it when I stumbled upon Lois Lowry’s Messenger. Of course, I put the other behind and paid for the last copy of the Messenger.

Reading the rundown and reviews about the book on its back cover, I had a feeling that reading it would draw out the same anticipation I was feeling while reading Lowry’s The Giver.

But then, he came sooner than later so I had to put the book out-of-the-way. Only last night did I finally have the chance to flick through it, and as estimated, I did not let loose of it, until the very last page.

The Giver is somewhat identical to Socrates’ (was it his?) conception of Utopia as printed in Plato's The Republic. In the book, the author demonstrates a believed to be perfect place, which she also emphasizes that could never exist.

In the Messenger, the author recounts the cruelty thundering back and forth due to the community’s greed and individual’s earthly desires. Yet, she stresses that there’s still hope despite harshness.

I greatly recommend these two books. And to those who do not have a Christmas present for me yet, try giving me the other book, Gathering Blue, and that would be highly appreciated. Hehe.

The Christmas Feel

This year’s Christmas is the best of all, since that first one when I stopped being thrilled over big boxes under the lighted Christmas tree; when I stopped skipping from house to house with a tiny Disney bag across my body that matched up with my holiday dress, which I aimed to load up with brittle bills; and when people stopped being crazy about me as a little kid.

So really, Christmases are for kids only.

I stopped looking forward to the Christmas day since I am no longer getting cash or even a package from the elders. Plus, wearing brand news from head to foot is no longer necessary since shopping for new wardrobe is something I do weekly, and dressing up is a daily act.

But then, this year’s Christmas is certainly worth remembering, aside of course from the fact that I am this holiday’s dishwasher (since our helper sailed back to Mindanao and will be back next year) and babysitter (since my two nephews’ yayas had just left for their texmates-boyfriends).

Prior to this year’s, after Noche Buena at around 10 pm, we were dumped under our sheets already. But this Christmas is a little twisted, the good kind of twisted.

We attended the Mass at 7pm so the little kids would not doze off. We then had the traditional Noche Buena at our house with the whole family, with my siblings’ own families. We drank wine. We sang and danced the night away. We opened gifts. We took a lot of pictures. We were just laughing and sighing while waiting for the ticking of the clock that would declare that it was Christmas day already.

Christmases are for kids only.

Let me modify that, letting the words Christmases and kids stay in the sentence.

Kids make Christmases real Christmases. I thank my four nephews, our four little angels for bringing back the Christmas spirit, for bringing our family closer.

my brother's kids, Jm and Baby Rhon

my sister's Kuya Mylo

my sister's Baby Xavier

And I thank God for blessing me with a wonderful family.



Happy Christmas everyone;)

My Best Friend, Who Has Always Been

Hunting down the friends left with me all through the years, I can, without a doubt, say that they are not so many. Sadly. Of course there’s no one else to point the finger at, but me. I tend to just be in sync with the rush of things. I find it hard to cling to something when I am swiftly surged away.

Gratefully, there’s this someone who remains at the top of the the-best list after all the many years that passed.

We are not the kind of best friends who enjoy a slumber party during weekends, who regularly have a trip to the movie house when the newest chick flick is shown, who exhaust our free time meeting up at the mall and giggle together inside the fitting rooms, who treat each other for ice cream once in a while. See, we are not the ordinary best friends you would run into.

We see each other at least once a year; we hardly ever exchange text messages. But, when we do, it feels as if no time was used up without one another’s presence. We never even update each other when we get together, yet, staying beside her feels like I have always been a part of her.

She never closed her doors for me, even if in times when she expected me to, I didn’t show up. Yet, when I find myself in her doorstep, I do not need to knock, for before I even lift a hand, she is already there, welcoming me with open arms.

I owe her the best friendship of my life.

The Paradox in Me

One of the exercises we had in my Interpersonal Communication course last semester determined each one’s personality.

Phlegmatic, a Peaceful Phlegmatic is what I am. It said that I am more of a watcher and a listener and I seldom do the talking, which is more of a fact than not. I also do not have the tendency to give unsolicited advice to friends, which is a good thing. Nonetheless, here comes the weakest spot, it also said that I can be apathetic about a lot of issues and concerns. Guilty.

Another exercise revealed our conflict resolution styles, and surprisingly, mine is Competing.

It was surprising since it, in one way or another, goes against my Phlegmatic personality. But, I could not approve more. I become assertive when I feel the need to be. And when my competing side breaks the surface, my consideration of relationships draws near the ground . As long as I have arguments and justifications to present, I do not heed whoever I speak to.

I seldom speak, so whenever I do, it means that I can no longer keep up with the rush of brain waves and emotions. I seldom speak, so whenever I do, it must be something burning. I seldom speak, so whenever I do, I want to be heard and understood.


Others said that having two opposing natures is constructive. Though in my position, it is not always the case. There are times when these two natures with two voices rumble on at each other, and I am left disarmed and helpless.=s

A Pledge to My [hardly any] Readers

Since I am aware that everything I write is being published in the www, through this site, guaranteed that I am giving other people the consent to react and comment on whatever I write.

I am responsible for whatever I write, and I am accountable for whatever upshot my writings can bring about.

Needing an Escape

It’s mid-December and I only have one entry still.

My days are extremely occupied with works that should be dealt with first; and this is in-line with my attempt to do better this semester. Although as early as now, I am a bit off course already.

While my body is slowly wearing out, my mind never runs out of things to write about. Good thing, I scribble them down every time for fear that these thoughts would sneak out eventually.

I had a few shots of going into details and complicating them through this blog, but obviously, nothing’s a success.

Looking at my list of themes and topics to write about, I spotted something. Lately, I have been practicing a lot of hating.

Rude and offensive jeepney drivers, bad-mannered garage sale hunters, a friend turned arrogant and social-climber, a grammar error prone pretending to be smart and trying her hardest to be noticed, a self-seeking and ill-bred project head - are leading my list. I hate them so much that I wanted to write each an entry.

Hating is something I would never want to do everyday. It’s not something I do that I get pleasure from. I don’t want to hate, as much as possible. Or, I keep the hating to myself usually. Yet the part of me that is in-hate right now is blaring and screaming.

The hating is eating my whole body up. One of these days, I wish I can after all write them down, and hopefully, the hating will flee from my system.

Red and Green Gift Wrappers and Gold Ribbons

As a small kid, I looked forward to the Christmas holidays because of the idea of Santa Claus. I too, like you, was tricked by my parents on believing that he was existing; and having a fireplace with a chimney in the house, which I later realized was fake, made it all seemed factual at that moment. I received the grandest gifts from Santa – Barbie dolls, Polly Pockets, Flying Dancers, pink bike, doll houses, and my favorite Junior Notebook, which I would be willing to swap over my laptop now. Hehe.

Not long after did I, like you too, uncovered the truth behind the big man with the white beard, who said nothing but ho-ho-ho, routing through chimneys at midnight, and putting each nice kid’s gift under the tree or on his bedside.

So I stopped getting thrilled towards the Santa Claus mystery, and started shifting my anticipation towards exchange gifts and kris kringles. However, no offense to the givers, but I really was never lucky on both. I did always get gifts I least expected I would get, and even gifts I never imagined one could get to give to a kid. I had a collection of socks, hankies, face towels, angel figurines, piggy banks, and foods. These may really be of earthly use, yet of course, no one could expect me to feel even a bit of delight upon opening them. All kids want stuffs of no earthly use at all. Same with others, I would want a toy for myself, even if it was a boy toy.

Fixating about what gifts to receive on Christmas was unhealthy, so I stopped. While growing up, I finally was able to grasp the idea that it is really better to give than to receive; and that became my new obsession.

Today, I am overjoyed when making the list of people I will get gifts for. I am overjoyed when shopping in malls and bazaars with the list in my one hand. I am overjoyed when wrapping those gifts with colorful papers and ribbons. All these, I gladly and contentedly do without minding what I will get in return, or whether I will get something in return.

In high school, I would wait the whole year for the Christmas Party. During Christmas parties, I would carry a couple of big paper bags crammed with gifts for friends. I would classroom-hop to give their presents with free big hugs. As I recall it today, the feeling was just irreplaceable.

However, I spotted that lately, my list has shrunk in. It is pretty disappointing and saddening because I aged and my list should be lengthier.

But then, at least I can get track of people who have really stayed with me through the years, people who have really kept in touch, and people who haven’t stopped caring. And I offer this Christmas to those people. I will seize this once a year chance to make them feel appreciated and loved.

To those who are new in my list, I wish that you allow me to put your names in there for all the Christmases that will still follow, and not just for this one Christmas in a lifetime.