tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30187846732824063732011-07-31T06:02:09.526+08:00little life storiesDeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.comBlogger361100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-40794363556804097202011-05-03T19:51:00.000+08:002011-05-03T19:51:35.521+08:00

Break away from the tranceOf this love-hate-love danceSo I can breatheAnd you can retreatBoth momentarily un-spunWe circle, we glide Coasting side by sideReminding me to remind youNot to fuck up your cueHollering egos of the misalignedAs you step back I rememberThere’s no other I’d rather bother to smotherMinus you, alonenessWithout me, wordlessnessSolitary is my disorderSo I’ll waitTill you’re

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-36598362233027082062011-04-15T02:02:00.001+08:002011-04-15T02:03:52.385+08:00

Much as I’d like to say that it had been a great 15, if I were not to lie, to me it seemed all about not knowing if we’ll get there. Like if you’d consider our marriage to be a some sort of a journey, both with the same notion of a destination—such as creating happy family memories for our kids—we somehow had been given different maps to that X that marked the spot. So on one hand he thinks we’re

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-63902136436619735992011-02-23T23:17:00.002+08:002011-03-22T15:18:39.198+08:00

Sleep, as some of the other things in my life, has escaped me again last night. Blame it on the coffee, which I took because I wanted to finish some serious work. I did, I was serious about it. But my bed called me—it played some wayward tune and couldn’t ignore its teasing. Oh no, I’m gonna give in! So I folded up my machine and went on to heed the call of dreamland. Or so I thought. I spent the

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-3753911664462685712010-09-14T19:46:00.002+08:002011-03-24T21:13:35.358+08:00

I write—as I try to begin making sense of days, weeks, and months devoid of chronicling life’s little stories. My journal has been untouched for weeks. And even when I do begin writing thoughts down, pen on hand, my head spins as I confuse one occurrence over the other. Crazy times, that’s what 2010 has been all about. Work-wise, it’s all about filling up my black work notebook with checklists

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-78085714059616723402010-04-06T00:09:00.004+08:002011-07-04T13:19:30.333+08:00

I have always found great comfort in words. Strung together to create meaning, they are here to help me beat unhappiness, offer relief amidst these seas of uncertainties. I often celebrate in it, gush when praised, redden around the edges. Yes, I’ve learned to have pride in my words. Because to me, and perhaps a handful few, they’re true. I write, not even sure where the page will end, as

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-89237789713697075872010-03-08T00:02:00.002+08:002011-07-04T13:20:16.430+08:00

Having grown up in a household full of people, I can’t help but feel a tad lonely these days whenever night falls and there are only four of us in the house. Don’t get me wrong—I love it when we’re all tucked in and settled for the night, especially after a great evening meal of salad, macaroni soup, grilled pork with corn sidings, and a pitcher of ice cold tea. In Sto. Rosario Street—the

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-63565438773413060542010-01-07T15:03:00.004+08:002011-07-04T13:20:54.618+08:00

A little after New Year’s Day, I hatched our first project for the year: do a weekend garage sale at my mom’s doorsteps. I figured since I’m on this eternal quest to clean up our mess of a house, it’s best to dispose things while making some cash on the side. It also adds that oomph to the visit at my mother’s, a rare occasion, so better make it extra special. I whipped up a list fast enough,

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-70094709959412443432010-01-03T01:36:00.003+08:002011-07-04T13:21:19.358+08:00

It’s the new year and as the occasion calls for musings and such, I’ve thought about the things I’ve lost of late. As with any other average person, I do not delight in losing anything. Oh, I’ve misplaced the most trivial of things—a receipt essential to bookkeeping for our biz, a purple jacket I absolutely adored, a tiny hair clip with six pink Swarovskis that I’ve always thought was the

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-31821331958401426402009-10-05T23:32:00.005+08:002011-07-04T13:22:53.885+08:00

Thought I’ve seen the moon tonight Mute as a promise In this darkest of nights I conceded as it sloshed my brains And caused my thoughts to train Thought he asked me from behind the gloom To be his bride and him my groom Forgive our crime Us two of a kind Mumbling, fumbling in this sliver of time Thought I’d nudge it, stoke it, break its ice Teased it, honey Will you ever be so

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-40773404124590548152009-08-31T02:10:00.011+08:002011-07-04T13:23:09.540+08:00

I now have way too much of alone-time in my hands. I have longed to be this, pined for my new now. But I suppose people are really social animals and I now more than ever miss the company of girlfriends—someone to talk to about make-up and clothes, to compliment my new pair of funky earrings and shiny magenta shoes. It’s not that being connected via the Internet will not do—having IM is

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-22374233893040642662009-08-17T21:42:00.007+08:002011-07-04T13:23:27.661+08:00

I have given in to life’s little pleasures today. I’ve never been good at compartmentalizing. As visual a person as I am, I cannot create a backburner in my head—to leave a stewing pan of what-ifs, must-haves, and to-dos. I always need to stir the brew now and to get a taste of it now—so that I know if it needs to be seasoned now. You get the point, fellow obsessive-compulsives. But

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-12784904385491673582009-07-16T21:56:00.007+08:002011-07-04T13:24:02.047+08:00

My mind is blank As the beginnings of this sheet And hopeful fingers fumble for words ripe and sweet It began with admiring the cloud-filled dome Which greeted me by way of rain at home It stained purple, it gripped my fret Strung a raw chord as I danced a misstep And just above the horizon It hovered, a 360-degree view Bright as sheets washed on a sunny day so blue It

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-1414775637596364332009-07-05T23:39:00.007+08:002011-07-04T13:24:21.788+08:00

In a span of a month, I had managed to get myself out of the fast-paced corporate world, and suddenly having all the time I want to spend on anything that my heart’s been meaning to do. Isn’t this what I’ve been pining for in the last few years? It’s strange to finally be able to sleep in on a weekday afternoon, stay up until 3am, and then not be worried at all of being late for work. I had

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-91317948412557575852009-06-03T22:12:00.004+08:002011-07-04T13:24:45.762+08:00

It is June 3 and unbelievably, half a year has already passed. Wasn’t it just some time ago that I promised entries that would give me some 52 posts to show for? I told a friend that time took the super warp speed lane some busy interchange and left me eating its mega zoom-zoom dust. It’s not bad, its taste. I just feel that it would have been better if I had time to savor its nut nuttiness. Or

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-23154812837519394402009-05-15T00:10:00.006+08:002011-07-04T13:25:05.251+08:00

So here I am in an attempt to get back the knack of writing again and it’s not that I’ve stopped. I’ve filled my journal with page after page of the mundane details of my life called April 2009—which day I cleaned my nails, what hour in the day did we do our third grocery for the month, which Saturday I pestered my neighbors doing videoke by first taking on Julia Fordham’s Invisible War and

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-20986314311619432022009-03-03T22:29:00.006+08:002011-07-04T13:25:23.150+08:00

Must there always be reason to write? To concretize thoughts into words, written, encoded, inscribed, carefully put together so that they can roll off your tongue, feel soft between your lips and gently echo what is in your head? I guess for me, the answer will always be a resounding, yes! I’ve had so many things that I’ve been meaning to write about. However they all must first swim in my head

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-26721988302565338492009-02-06T00:40:00.008+08:002011-07-04T13:25:58.582+08:00

So it’s been 14 months since I’ve been…diagnosed with CKD. It stands for chronic kidney disease, the end stage of which sounds even more terrifying: chronic renal failure. The first word alone, means never-ending; renal just doesn’t sound right, like it’s not a real word at all; and, failure just spells catastrophe. And as much as I now talk about it on a lighter note, one year after I went

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-81720309845622711052009-01-21T18:48:00.005+08:002011-07-04T13:26:25.158+08:00

Last Saturday, I saw five of my long-time friends: Cecille, Lizet, Myra, Niña, and Shieldeen. I haven’t seen these girls for a year, but there are just some friendships that never change. I’ve become closer to these folks (including Abi, Arlene, Cielo, Lea, and Mirza) back in 1989, when our worlds were rocked by Milli Vanilli’s I’m Gonna Miss You and Madonna’s Like a Prayer, albums which served

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-81767109520486264612009-01-10T01:29:00.008+08:002011-07-04T13:27:02.676+08:00

Fifty-two times, I am committing to blogging—to writing down the week’s highlights, to musing about everyday goings-on and life’s inspirations, to digging from among my web of foggy memories which I always find to be a delight. This week, as what any normal person does (yes, sweetie, we’re not as weird as we think), I’ve thought about outlining my goals for the year. It begins with, as I’ve

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-61629132646611640932008-12-31T01:16:00.005+08:002011-07-04T13:27:28.609+08:00

Has Time gone its own way again, not bothering to ask me if it’s ok not to be around? It’s never ever been my ally, anyway. And my ever loyal fans: Full Schedule, Adrenaline and Panic kept me company thru thick and thick. So, Time, screw you. I had pined for you, but you’re never there when I needed you most. I have been so busy at letting myself think about, “is there a meeting in my calendar

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-42476596620480436522008-11-19T00:31:00.010+08:002011-07-04T13:27:47.604+08:00

One time, during my early years in elementary school, we were sent home with a form from our guidance counselors that requested our parents to identify the traits which best described their daughter’s character. Reading through the document, there were words even a child in kindergarten would know—hard-working, thoughtful, friendly—but there was one word which then had been a big word for me:

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-5452990832557345292008-10-17T00:13:00.008+08:002011-07-04T13:28:02.754+08:00

…Was the place where my sisters and I grew up in. Outside, it had then a green metal gate, with its pedestrian entrance permanently shut so that we had to unchain the bolt that locked the garage gate when we have to enter the house. It was marked by a bougainvillea tree, with flowers growing profusely during summers, which fell just as soon as we finished sweeping away its purple-pink blooms.

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-89643776838623718442008-09-16T21:56:00.006+08:002011-07-04T13:28:17.664+08:00

It’s been a few weeks after my birthday and I usually feel nostalgic at around this time of the year. It’s a perfect time to think about how the year had been, which days had been spectacular, which had been like a long, dreadful nightmare. It’s an occasion to be thankful that I’ve survived yet another one. I remember back in 1998, I had felt so low during my birthday that my anthem then had

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-48637881336268052242008-09-10T22:56:00.006+08:002011-07-04T13:28:35.611+08:00

Consider these to be prerequisites of a best-est best friend: She is most probably somebody whom you’ve known for the longest amount of time—say, 16 years—long enough for a child to have finished high school. If friendship that has lasted for 16 years is a child then, you’ve probably seen it through its toddler years, teething and all, to kindergarten with its petty fights over spilled milk, all

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-81978657534778121842008-09-02T19:27:00.003+08:002011-07-04T13:28:55.480+08:00

I have been searching for “it” since my birthday has rolled around. What it is, I have no clue. It could very well have been a long forgotten childhood memory or something more tangible like bright, new sheets or a fabulous summer dress that makes you feel all giggly and billowy. It may have something to do with my house. I look around our place and figure that I need a good two weeks to sort

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-36356504852890799022008-06-19T19:09:00.011+08:002011-07-04T13:29:10.634+08:00

His name is Francisco and these things he shared with me. His rule had been KISS: “Keep it simple, stupid.” He tackled things as straight as the flight from Manila to Bicol. If you beat around the bush with him, he’d wrinkle his forehead in mock disbelief and you end up looking for more words than what was required. He had devised ways and means to get to the final point fast, like when he

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-77326558965253291242008-05-07T23:39:00.008+08:002011-07-04T13:29:29.384+08:00

If you had managed to take the time out from your busy schedule today—to smoke, smell the roses, take a breather, stroll some wayward path—you might have happened to notice what a glorious afternoon it was. A little bit after six p.m., I took five minutes to step out of our office, where my hands had been freezing from the cold and where my ass was being poked by the huge rivets which were the

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-79223781950154313392008-04-30T01:55:00.013+08:002011-07-04T13:29:46.308+08:00

With 32 years behind me, there are five roles I am proudest of. ∞ I am mother to two of the most beautiful creatures on earth. Li, whom I used to call Eskimo Linus because he was handed to me from the nursery wrapped in a chunky bundle, is my eldest son. He is going to be 12 years old this year and is the handsomest boy I know. Being born at a time when a baby isn’t exactly part of the plan

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-33078760864381888042008-03-28T19:49:00.007+08:002011-07-04T13:30:03.523+08:00

The sofa in our living room is the biggest piece of furniture we own. It can fit all four of us—husband, wife and two kids—with room to spare for maybe even two more folks. It’s also probably the oldest piece that we have. Inheriting it eight years ago from my Uncle B and Aunt C when we moved from my in-laws’ house to one we rented on our own, that chunky thing easily became one of the comfort

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-8092966862793525332008-03-10T01:20:00.006+08:002011-07-04T13:30:19.664+08:00

Last Sunday, we purchased new fishes and a five-gallon aquarium to fit them in. We got two black Fantails: Crow and Goh. They are both gorgeous, like sleek, masculine cars. We also got three egg-shaped Pearlscales: Mirinda, the orange-colored one; Tigger, who's a bit identical with Tiger; the last two silvery-orange with black spots. Mirinda, Tigger and Tiger are always seemingly hungry.

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-47897726373347748162008-03-04T22:43:00.007+08:002011-07-04T13:30:36.790+08:00

Egotistical me, borrowing from Philipp Keel's All About Me. I keep a diary. I sometimes like to cook. I don't exercise regularly. I sometimes sketch while I am on the phone. I have read a book in the past month (Carrie Fisher's The Best Awful). I don't replace the toilet-paper roll immediately. I like crossword puzzles. I want to visit the Eiffel Tower. I have a secret that I have never shared

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-71030804988707741572008-01-04T00:20:00.003+08:002011-07-04T13:30:56.459+08:00

(Wrote this some eons ago for my mom). My mama came from a small town somewhere in Laguna. She grew up in Paete. Whenever I mention this is my mother’s hometown, I find that folks are generally familiar with the place. Most people know of it as a place rich in the arts, woodcarving, paper mache and lanzones. My college friends knew it as part of the syllabus in Humanities class. My husband

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-87344047650848190532007-12-20T22:38:00.003+08:002011-07-04T13:31:13.057+08:00

It has been a few weeks since I've started on this doctor-imposed diet of reduced protein and salt. The general rule is just merciless: no pork, no beef, no chicken, no seafoods, no cheese, no milk, no potatoes, no bread, no bananas. And let's not forget the happiest part of it all: no taste at all. During the first few days, it had been quite painful. It seems that the more you crave for

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-28562595694388389602007-12-14T19:19:00.005+08:002011-07-04T13:31:31.969+08:00

From the pages of the book All About Me, which I bought a couple of months ago, let me borrow Keel's words to inspire this entry. A color you like to wear: Mostly black, now and then pink Regardless of size or circumstance, an animal you would like to own as a pet: Maybe a real cow? A flower you would like to grow in your garden: Wild ones Your lucky number: I think it's 13? A smell that

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-69564883402456659492007-12-06T23:27:00.004+08:002011-07-04T13:31:47.176+08:00

I had intended to find time and commit myself into writing regularly, precisely the reason for this blog. But life always seems to get the better of me: it's always a tad faster than the leisurely pace I have accustomed myself to. Writing is only one of the many things in my long list of to do's. And the longer I procastinate, the longer the lists - yes, LISTS - get. Aside from things I really

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3018784673282406373.post-17757947117532385822007-10-14T00:38:00.008+08:002011-07-04T13:32:02.221+08:00

"Someday, I will be somebody." This is what I told a med school student suitor some hundred years ago when he asked me what I wanted to be someday. I had, at that point in my life thought I wanted to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or an engineer. To be somebody with an all-important title attached to her name, so that I can be Doctor Dee or Attorney Dee or Engineer Dee. I was out to create an

Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07457358093737167786noreply@blogger.com0