Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Pokeball* Tales

I just moved into my new place and I feel like there's something weird going on. There are mornings when I wake up to find some of my stuff rearranged. Like that time my bed arrived. I had this small fan that sits on the floor and as such, when I'm on my bed the wind would barely reach me. I remember thinking about whether I should put the fan on top of a box or on the bed then decided to just leave it on the floor, since it was a cool night. The next morning, I had a mini heart attack when I woke up with the fan staring at me, perched neatly at the edge of the bed.

Then last night, I swore I put my front door rug at the foot of my bookshelf, since every time I open the door it gets pushed to the side anyway. When I woke up this morning, the rug was by the door again, straight and centered.

That, and a lot of little things, like pens I leave lying around somehow making their way back to pen holders (I'd have to insert at this point that I'm not the most organized person in the world. My mom had called me a snake countless of times on the account of me leaving my skin, er, clothes, where I took them off), leading me to the conclusion that either:

1.) I'm living with a Monica-poltergeist, or
2.) there's an OC-Au who wakes up in the middle of the night to fix out-of-line knicknacks.

Either way, it's cool living with an invisible (and free!) caretaker. Wish he/she/it/other Au takes care of the laundry, too.


Call for Donations:

I have this awesome stretch of white wall that's begging to be filled with pictures, artworks and what-nots. If you have something tangible out of your talent lying around, I'd be happy to adopt. =)

Friends are welcome to drop by, but if you're planning on a cookfest, you'd have to bring your own equipment. Haha. So far I only have an induction stove, a pot, a frying pan, a knife, a cutting board, and flat ladle whatchamacallit (will just edit when I remember haha) for frying, and oh, I have no table or any semblance of it. I have no qualms eating on the bed tho :)) For entertainment, I have my tiny laptop and the aforementioned white wall. A projector would do nicely for a movie marathon (bring speakers, too!).
So far, I’m rocking this living independently thing, though I still get thrown in a loop when I need something commonplace like salt and discover that I have none. In my mom’s house (which is just across the street, thank goodness), things magically appear when you need them, and the fridge usually has what I need. Haha :))
*Raphael christened the place, on the account of me being a pikachu**, which is incorrect btw, because at 4’11, I’m actually a hobbit. Hmp.

Friday, October 23, 2015


I have freckled cheeks that bear pimple scars and I'm not
asking you to see stars where there should be scars.
See my skin for the embattled place that it is,
and like it just the same. I have small eyes
that are always smiling, but you have to remember
that sometimes they tend to squint in anger,
 or turn round in surprise, or overflow with tears,
or be just two blank parts of my face. It's easy to forget,
but remember,

I have pale lips that are sometimes chapped or dry.
I am not asking you to kiss them, or even like them
all the time, but in your mind
do not superimpose rosiness where there should be paleness.
Sometimes, it's easy to imagine beauty when it's not there
And easy, too easy, to believe the image
you've drawn in your head.
Just don't forget

That I'm me, regardless of who you believed me to be--
Don't ask me to be that version in your head.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Second Quarter Travels

Pundaquit, Zambales

Company outing, and woah, Anawangin is so different from the 2008 version that I remember. Of course, I can hardly expect that it'd remain the same after becoming popular, but it was still very unsettling to see how much it changed. 

I had fun with office-mates; there were lots of jellyfishes; and we didn't go to the lighthouse which is fine by me. Stopped by Meatshop (a steak place) and duty-free shops on our way home.

Iloilo, Antique and Guimaras.

This is a triple A trip (with Edmund and Manix). Highlight would be ancestral homes, island hopping, hot kawa bath and super yummy food. Seriously, I'd do the trip again just for the food. We had legit La Paz Batchoy (Netong's), old school coffee from an old school coffeeshop in the heart of the market (Madge's), molo from an ancestral home and so much more Ilonggo food. 

Guimaras was a winner, and the kawa hot bath in Antique was a novelty, but something I won't be trying again soon (because it's just that-- a novelty).


I lost my phone here, and that's all I can remember about this trip. 

Haha joke lang.

Welll, Calea cakes take centerstage ( I seriously eat 2 slices per visit), the ancestral homes in Silay was super awesome and interesting, and I made friends with a  group of kids in Victorias. It's easy to get around the place (but print your maps!!! I lost my phone while following something on Google maps. A guy on the back of a speeding motorcycle plucked it out of my hand.)
My favorite thing about the whole trip. 

I'd go back (with a group, preferably), because I wasn't able to visit the Ruins in Talisay, and I wasn't able to go on a tour inside VMC. I still had lots of fun, despite losing my phone. Promise. 


Sorry for the super tamad post. I wish I get my blog spirit back, the one that used to write about a five day solo trip in excruciating detail. >.<

Saturday, May 23, 2015

The Tale of the Green Dot

Five days after you learned my name, a notification arrives. "He has added you as friend."

And almost immediately after your face pops up in my screen, with a "hey."

Five days. "Hey."

Shakespeare, you are not.

I rolled my eyes, typed my own innocuous reply. "Hi." Smiley face.

And thus starts, a story we are all familiar with.

The "hey" became the precursor for  your unsolicited observations delivered into my inbox.

Hey. I had the best dinner in this breakfast place.
Hey. Traffic is crappy this morning, as usual.
Hey. This movie's the best I've seen this year.
Hey. I hate raw carrots.

I've always replied sparingly. I've given myself a budget of words: reply only to every other messages. Ignore as much as I can. Take my time answering, to make it appear as if I have better things to do with my time.

I've made up a game for two of us, and the rules were there to protect my heart.

Because I can see where this is going, and to tell you the truth:

It was scary.

But you seem to be playing a different game. Your messages arrived at odd intervals throughout the day, as if the floor you're walking on is filled with landmines of my name.

How appealing it was to think, that even the littlest thing reminds you of me.

Like a moth to a fire, I inched closer and closer, discarding my walls, discarding my rules.

Like a bird to breadcrumbs, I followed your sentences with question, followed up on your banal declarations. I asked why you hate carrots. I asked what do you do when the traffic's horrible and there's nothing else to do but curse.

I asked what are your dreams now?

And hey became sentences became paragraphs, the banter stretching on late into the night. Soon the conversations were peppered with cat pictures and funny stickers. Soon there were opening greetings (good morning! stickers) and closings messages that were more like ellipses rather than periods, sweet dreams in exchange for your good night, "you too" in response to my "sweet dreams", a snoozing character in response to your "you too", a picture of a peacefully sleeping baby in response to the sticker and so on and so forth until sleep claims one of us and the last person awake sends the final retort for the night. For weeks I've slept with my phone clutched in my fingers, waking up to a good morning sticker from you, because you always woke up first.

It was  addicting, crafting narratives for you.

And then (oh you know where this is going...)

The paragraphs became uneven. On my side it was still flowing as usual. But on your side, the barrage of sentences were shortening into words as if throttled. The words were disappearing, four letter words crumbling into a curt single letter. K.The stickers that were once just salt and pepper to the feast of exchanged ideas have taken center stage. It was like being fed fast food fare after a long period of nourishing diet.  There was no warning. There were no explanations. I was left fumbling after the rope that you've used to wrap me around your little finger have suddenly gotten slack.

I tried to go back to my rules (remember? reply as sparingly as you can. stick to your budget of words) , tried to pull back in the hopes that rope will become taut and tug at you, capturing your attention once more. I watched the green dot beside your name more religiously than I care to admit. I throttled my own paragraphs, afraid that my stories had suffocated you.

But the harder I tried, the better I was at trying to appear casual, no matter how well-timed my messages were, it was all for naught. Even the 'ks' disappeared after some time.

I counted the days that stretched silently between us. The green dot was just that, a dot, but it held so much sway on me.
I counted thirty days until I could not take it anymore, and rules be damned, my trembling fingers typed three letters into the message box.


But you know how this ends.

It ended

with the four of most deflating letters to be ever grouped together



Monday, April 27, 2015

2015 First Quarter Travels

Just a run through because I've became super lazy since last year. Huhu. Hoping this blog gets a breathe of new life when my laptop arrives. Anyway, here's a quick run down of the places I've been to since January 2015

Dumaguete (January). I've meet the famous sea turtles and had a nerve-wracking boat ride, but I'd say that the most memorable aspect of this trip is food. HAHAHA. I love Dumaguete's university vibe, and the colorful restos that dotted the city. Also, that sans rival is really to die-for, but no, I'm not lugging 14 boxes home again.  Here's an Xperia created video (that isn't very good hahaha sorry) for that trip:


Thursday, March 12, 2015

The Best Kind of Friends (1)

I have friends

who took a nibble out of the first ever french toast I made
fought their gag reflex
and warned me:

Too much of a good thing, specially cinnamon, can break a well-intentioned toast.

And you'd think they'd be wary of the next thing you "cook".

But they braved
the first ever quesadilla batch--
a food frankenstein of some sorts
you brought the next day, and raved
about it as if the french toast never happened.

The best kind of friends are the kind of people who are generous of their second chances.

who would tell you upfront
where you went wrong


who you'd never be afraid to cook for.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Saan ba nagsisimula ang kwento ng pag-ibig?

A/N: Found this old note in my files, dated Oct 16,2014. Fun read! :)

Saan ba nagsisimula ang kwento ng pag-ibig?


Nakita ko siya, sa unang pagkakataon, sa isang corporate tree planting, of all places. Sabihin na nating mapanghusga akong tao, pero wala sa itsura niya ang kayang lumuhod sa lupaan at magbungkal-- maputi, matangkad, maayos ang gupit... ang linis-linis.

Kaya siguro siya nahagip ng mata ko. Out of place kasi.

Pasimple akong sumunod sa kanya nung isang linya kaming naglakad patungo sa site. Hmmm. Malapad na balikat, parang ang sarap sandalan. Kaso suplado... o tahimik lang? Kahit nginingitian ko, yung ngiting pabalik, tipid pa. Di ko tuloy matanong ang pangalan.


Ang bagal ng lapag ng elevator, ang daming empleyado, huli na ako... hay, ano bang bago sa araw na 'to?

Nakasiksik rin sa wakas.

"Pasuyo naman po sa third floor."

Pamilyar ang likod na 'yun ah. Teka!

Naglakad palayo, pabalik sa lugar ng di pagkakilanlan.

Ikalawang pagkakataon, dahil ba sa hina ng signal, universe, kaya di niya ako narinig?


Sa kwentong tumatakbo sa utak ko. Dalawa kaming bida, pero ako lang ang may malay. Ako lang ang may dayalogo. Kwentong-pag-ibig nga ba 'to-- kung hindi magtatapos sa pag-iisa o pagkabigo? Kung ang kwento, katulad ng tunay na buhay, kahit na tinatakan na ng "the end" ay di naman talaga natapos. Kwento pa ba 'to?

Hindi ko alam ang tamang sagot, pero baka sa dulo?

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Of all the June 1s of our lives

The first half of the year feels like a mix of a wonderful dream and a nightmare, and like most of my nighttime visions, the memory of which is slowly slipping from my mind.

Was there really a time that you were a touch away?

Looking back, and looking back rationally, all the things you did that I've shared with my friends in giddy retellings had been lackluster. They weren't enough. Took me so long that realize that this particular story isn't about me, or that you weren't the main character.

I've been waiting for a closure, for a chance to ugly-cry in front of you and admit that I've been careless enough to jump into a pool that was already draining away, to ask you all my whys and hows and 'were-those-things-real' question and I realize that that's not going to happen. Whatever they say about pride, mine is rock-solid. There is this Au that always tell all these million other Aus that to feel something deeply is cheesy and disgusting.

She may be harsh, but she is right. Some things-- and people-- are not worth the feels.


Sometimes, all you need is a June 1. Thank God that is all I need.

Monday, January 26, 2015

In Retrospect

We were told: Write about what you know, and I realize, beneath my denial, that what I know is you.

And this:

You will never recognize yourself in my words, no matter how well I describe you, because who I wrote about is the you I have embellished. I had fallen in love with my made-up you, only I didn't know then. Imagine my heartbreak when the smoke cleared and I was left facing a stranger. All this time, I made you up. And I fooled myself.

Know then, that I have written about you, but it wasn't you.