One Take

We are often asked whether we would accept if given a chance to turn back time, not that it is possible, but you know, just for the heck of it. Surprisingly, all the others would not bow to it. Whenever I read or hear such response, it makes me wonder because I am one of those few who would willingly agree to wind back in many points in time.

I would take all chances to ace that exam, to dump that guy, to accept that opportunity, to say that thing hanging on my mind, or to shut my mouth. I would erase everything undesirable and take in all the enviable. I would arrange all things to my advantage, and for the triumph of my life plans.

Did their lives turn out to be so perfect that they did not need to change a single thing? Or did their lives come out as how they wanted them to be even if they did not always do the right things?

Then, I guess I'm damned...and doomed.

I always wish life can be more like a movie. You know, because you can always go back to every scene and cut the unwanted, up to how many repetition is needed until a scene becomes flawless so it won’t do harm to the movie as a whole.

In real life, we can’t do that. The times passed can never be reclaimed. Sadly, I am living no movie, and I am living the real life instead. I have to make every scene clean and perfect the first time, or watch it passes right in from of me, faulty and flawed.

In real life, there’s no extra roll of film; we should learn the script, by heart.

Biggie Deal

Weight has been really an unbelievably big deal for women. Blame it on the media; media is such a mind control.

I used to not give a shit to my weight. I did not care whether my uniforms would need repairs and adjustments due to some inches picked. I did not care whether people could see my flab shaking for my slightest moves like waving an arm or even lifting it. But now, I’m afraid I’m one of those women who are left with no other choice but resist the curse of being fat.

I still don’t want to be a Nicole Richie or an Olsen twin, but when family and friends start picking on my weight, I just get annoyed. Sometimes, even people I hardly know would detect that I have really reaped some pounds. How much more annoying is that?

I was miserable, that no Tyra Banks could make me feel pleased about myself, and my weight for the most part. So, I would start depriving and starving myself from the moment I wake up. Though, at the end of the day, I would dine all I want without caring whether I would gain twice as much.

Now, it gets me thinking. Do I feel miserable because I’m fat, or because people say I’m fat?

Speechless

Finding myself in a situation wherein I am asked of what I think and feel about an issue and not giving any satisfactory answer is not funny anymore.

I know I do not own a superb and beautiful mind. But, there are a lot of things that keep on running, circling it, all the time. I always have my very own arguments about almost every issue. Then, when I am already asked, I cannot seem to articulate them. That’s why I end up emerging as one of those apathetic and spoon-fed people.

I cannot seem to give straight answers to people, yet it doesn’t mean that I am thoughtless and uninterested. I think I lack the skill of thought organization, thus I suck at word manipulation.

I need practice, a lot of it. Tsss.

Stuck on You

In writing, when you start knowing and learning more, rereading your past pieces makes you feel like you are no more than a mediocre. You suddenly want to scrap them off and ask yourself why you have kept such poorly-written shits.

This is how I feel about this blog for the past weeks. I have long been thinking of posting an entry once again but scanning through my previous posts, I hear myself say, ‘I could have written this better.’, and, ‘I should have used this word than that one.’, and, ‘I can’t believe my mind had smoked out such idiotic and shallow thoughts’. Once again, I considered discarding this blog and start a bare and fresh one.

Good thing, I changed my mind. I am keeping this blog, not just to save myself from shame, though shame is such a heavy word. It’s also nice seeing me improve my writing, and even my thinking, overtime. Plus, I believe that learning how to write is never-ending. So instead of casting off old blogs and putting together new ones every now and then, I will just maintain this and laugh at myself every time I figure out how crappy my writings were.

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;)