30 July 2009

Study in Sepia

Artwork: Sans (Female) - Eric Fortune, 2009

i sit,
i wait,
i am coming so
to falling

the landscape
is bleak
is grim
is grey - is...
is neither
is nowhere

not quite
like the

not quite
like the

not as
as the
deep, deep

but there
is no
starlight nor

i rise
i walk
i trudge
in the
barely more
than a

is this
all i
am now?

is this
the grand

i see
no hope,
no reason

is it just
me ~

or have i ~
am i ~
dead to
the world?

29 July 2009

On Being at the End of My Tether

Artwork: Rose Red - Nicoletta Ceccoli, date unknown

All I said was hi.

But there was no answer. Is it so wrong to greet someone?

I can't help being the way I am.

But I hate it when people make me look like the villainess, the monster of the piece.

To say that I've been crying for the past couple of days wouldn't be an understatement because it's the truth.

If my siblings hadn't told me to go home last night, I would probably have not gone home anymore.

I don't know who to trust or who to turn to. I pray and there are no answers. I ask and the answers come into conflict with each other. People tell me one thing to my face, then say something else behind my back.

As for the book I just put online? I guess I am a pretty worthless writer; everyone says so. And the person I dedicated it to probably hates me now. He's probably disgusted that a fat, ugly older woman with romantic notions actually likes him. Oh, dear...

(For all I know, siniraan na siguro ako sa kanya ng mga mutual acquaintances. With friends like those...meh, you all know the rigamarole.)

I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know if it's because I still haven't fully recovered from the flu, that I currently have a cold and am trying to soldier on best as I can, or if it's because I'm finally losing it. I want to rest, but people tell me not to.

My brother and the few people I can still call friends tell me not to give up, not to lose hope; to stay strong despite the odds.

But tell me: what does one do when everything already seems lost?

27 July 2009

Sweets for Stitching (NOT Eating)

My sister stitched these inedible goodies during the summer and they really piqued my interest.

So much, as a matter of fact, that I ended up buying three more kits. Isabelle had the ones for dimsum and sushi; the one for the basket with assorted breads stayed with me.

I've already started on my kit, but haven't really made much headway because of all the stuff that seems to be claiming the bulk of my time. I'd blame the fact that I've always been more than a little clumsy with needles and thread, but I'd be lying because I do cross-stitch from time to time.

Still, soon as I get some free time to actually do some sewing, I intend to get a few good stitches in and - eventually - finish the darned kit.

And maybe - just maybe - start on another one...

24 July 2009

A Case of the Blues

This is how I feel most of the time...

funny pictures of cats with captions
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23 July 2009

It's a Frightening Thing...

...when you check out your light-of-love's latest pictures and discover - to your surprise, shock, and growing horror - that you're now sporting the same hairstyle.


10 July 2009

Joyeaux Anniversaire, Mon Amour

Artwork: The Rebirth of Beauty in the Midst of Conflict - Joshua Field, 2008

here's to
here's to

may your
be filled

the rain,

the pain,

your life's
on rapid

(it's up
and running,
i surmise)

for friends,
for clan,
for colleagues
keen -

(oh, and
don't let
them say
too mean~!)

the man
you are,
the man
you'll be;

and perhaps -
perhaps! -

a place
in your

here's to
here's to

Author's Note: The title means "Happy Birthday" in French. I wrote this for someone's birthday - which so happens to be tomorrow!

06 July 2009


Artwork: "Lemon Aid" - Jeff Battocletti, 2009

i feel
like i've
been drained:

my brain
is like
a sponge
of every

the people
around me
to suck
last ounce
i have.

i won't

if the
of my
dries up -

- they'd
the drought.

02 July 2009

On Throwing Away Bad Memories and Keeping the Good Ones

Artwork: I Found My Aura - Shana Robbins, 2005

One of the things I'm currently trying to do to keep myself from going completely bonkers is to throw out practically everything that gets me down, to purge myself - and my personal space - of just about everything related to the worst times in my life.

I've already done this several times in the past and it has involved the burning of old diaries filled with painful memories of a wretched adolescence, the banishment of old yearbooks to the storage room below stairs, writing off exes as good as dead whilst all of them are very much alive.

As much as I can, I try not to join my family whenever they go to Pandacan on Sundays. My paternal grandmother and the rest of the motley crew in the old house can bicker and backstab each other for all I care, but I refuse to be dragged into their dramas.

I've tossed out retreat letters that were written for the sake of saying "Oh, I sent EVERYONE in class a retreat letter." I've ditched snapshots of faux friends - the snakes and vipers all burned.

A few memoirs, however, have been kept.

One such item is the very last handwritten letter I received from the best friend who died; it's dated sixteen years ago, October in our freshman year in college. She was at UP-Diliman whilst I was at PWU-Manila. The letter was a response to one I wrote to her a couple months before. I told her that I was enjoying myself at my school, that I could breathe easier and feel freer; quite a change, I said, from the stuffy environment we had at Benedictine Abbey. I asked for her advice on what languages to study; at the time, I was learning to read Greek and Japanese on my own and was planning to cross-enroll somewhere to learn either French or Italian. She, on the other hand, spoke glowingly of the UP campus in Quezon City and how she, too, was enjoying her new-found freedom. She wrote of her then-boyfriend and how they were getting along quite swimmingly. She told me she'd opted to go for psychology as a course and that it was going to be her pre-med (turned out to be pre-LAW, instead). We missed each other, of course; how were we supposed to know that we would only see each other again after seven years and that - alas! - would also be the very last time?

There are the postcards I sent to my parents while on that long-ago tour of Europe and North America with my maternal grandparents and one of my aunts. I have to laugh at the innocence of my words, my child's scrawl declaring my first taste of steak (it was in KL, well-done, and I didn't like it at all), my wonder at being in Disneyland for Donald Duck's 50th birthday, how excited I was at having seen Pope John Paul II in person in Rome. I read them and remember being in the pilgrimage town of Lourdes on my mother's birthday and how my grandfather told me to tell the Blessed Mother to send blessings to my Mom. My postcards are mixed with the ones my elders wrote to my parents and I see how much they all loved me despite the fact that I was quite the brat at times.

"We bought chocolates in Belgium," says the missive from Brussels, "and Ritzie [my home nickname] is really enjoying herself. She has saved some for the babies. [my younger brother and two cousins]"

The hourglass that was given away as a souvenir when I graduated from high school still sits on my desk at home. I suppose I could have smashed it in one of my fits of temper, but I guess I kept it with the old adage "This, too, shall pass" in mind.

The anime stuff accumulated during my fangirl phase was gradually given away to friends with an artistic bent. Magazines, comic compilations - I've passed them on to my sister and some of my former students at Mapua. What I HAVE kept, however, are the ones that matter: first editions of Mamoru Nagano's "Five Star Stories" manga compilations in both English and Japanese, and signed prints given to me by manga artist Yuu Watase when she came to Manila in 2000. And no: I have no intention of giving THOSE away.

I have kept no pictures of any of my exes or long-ago crushes. Seriously: what would be the point of keeping a rogues' gallery? It'll only give me a headache! (I have pictures of the current apple-of-my-eye, though; but that's another story...)

I make it a point to give away things sent to me by the cousin I hate the most. For one thing, she just forces things on me to make herself look magnanimous. For another, I'm actually allergic to all the stuff she gives me.

I know I can't get rid of all the emotional baggage overnight and I have also realized that removing the PHYSICAL - the tangible - part of my worst memories has been helping me cope with my bipolar disorder.

To everyone who commented on this post, thank you; your encouragement REALLY means a lot to me and I'm sorry if I've been getting everyone worried. I'm taking small steps to finding my place in this world; maybe I will find that place - that specific PERSON - someday.

In the meantime, I need to clear my spaces - and, yes, bake another huge batch of cookies whilst I'm at it.