pictures from Jas' 7th Bird Day Party @ Kiddy Playscape, SBFZ
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Letting Go (A Short Story)
Once upon a time... doesn't always end with And they lived happily ever after... In fact, on many occasions, a love story ends before the conflict is resolved, before the prince rescues the damsel in distress.
Maybe the problem with me is that I'm no damsel in distress... but I am in distress, especially now since my proverbial prince has placed me in distress. It has been three months since our last big fight-- an ugly one wherein I was throwing everything at him, from my bag, to my cellphone, to even my left shoe. He stood there taking all the blows, like the handsome brave prince charming braving the wicked witch. But he wasn't a prince, and at the moment, he wasn't the least bit charming-- or maybe he was the fact that he was TOO charming that was the problem in the first place.
Sometimes moments went by unnoticed since then. I recall watching movies, eating dinner, playing Wii with him--I even recall sleeping together, waking up alone, or rushing out before he wakes up. I recall many times in which we could have talked but just merely launched into something to do, something familiar and comforting, something to distract us that we were falling apart.
In the future, I hope that you and I will get to sit on this bench again with what seems like a familiarity only present among two people who have once thought they'd be each others' forever. But right now, for that to even be plausible, we need to let each other go.
In a few minutes I will still be sitting on this spot with tears on my eyes, grateful that it was over quickly. That the ugly words came fast and it ended there. I will imagine setting an imaginary defibrillator kit next to me, absurdly proud of myself that I didn't try to take back my words, and didn't try to shock back to life our now nonexistent relationship. I wiped the tears streaming from my face and stared at the cheery warm sun, who seems to mock me. Taking one last steadying breath, I will stand up and walk away-- away from the bench that became witness to you an I becoming an "us."
Three years ago, we sat on the bench facing each other eating slices of cold pizza and stale beer, happily celebrating. We even marked our presence by carving a heart with the letters X+Y inside, laughing at the joke that the letters weren't our initials. We called each other X and Y since then, and fought because we both wanted to be Y. Now that bench becomes our love's gravestone, a silent reminder of what we had to give up to move on with our lives.
In a few years from now, you and I will bump into each other in the rain. You were getting some watermelon slices for a girlfriend I don't know you had, two months pregnant with your first born. I will feel a tiny twinge of jealousy at the prospect of you finding your special someone before I do but dismiss it, give you an awkward hug and wish you all the happiness in the world.
Six months from now, you and I would see each other on the MRT and wave hello without any sarcasm. You will be standing with your new Y, and she will be pretty and tall and thin and I will be secretly relieved that I wasn't the one clinging onto your arm for support.
A year from now we'll see each other on the ATM queue, and I would be with someone who I hope would be my forever, who makes me coffee in the morning, and who texts like a jejemon just to piss me off. You will be raising your eyebrows in apparent curiosity, and as I pass by you, you will whisper, "Oh my Darla, oh my Darla." And I will blush furiously knowing you're mocking my new guy because he looks a lot like Alfa-alfa from the Little Rascals.
Three years from now, I will see you inside a mall we used to frequent before carrying shopping bags filled with party supplies while being pulled along by a beautiful little girl. And I would grin at you and say, "I always knew you were a pushover for pretty girls..." You will laugh and hit me with one of the bags.
In four years, we will finally get to talk on the bench. You will say that your marriage is on the rocks and I will offer you my sympathy. You will say sorry for cheating on me and I will say that it doesn't really matter anymore. I will say that I haven't been in love since you, "Alfa-alfa" didn't last long but I'm not unhappy. I'm writing again and listening to love songs doesn't hurt anymore. You will ask me if we could have made it work, and I would honestly answer, I don't know. You will rush back to pick your daughter from school and I will sincerely wish you well.
Six years from now, we'll unknowingly sit next to each other at Church, hold hands awkwardly at the Our Father. I will remember that you and I had on many occasions heard Mass on this very church-- how we never really let each others' hand go throughout the whole service. You're there with your daughter and wife and I'm there with a guy we both knew from college. A guy who never kept me waiting, who makes me laugh, who is my husband, the father of the soccer player kicking my insides into mush.
I will remember the day we broke up on a sunny day on a bench not far from here-- relieved to not feel any regret, happy that we let each other go before our love turned into hate, before any chance of this situation becoming any more awkward than it already is.
After holding hands, you squeezed mine briefly, and I knew that we would never regret that our story ended, that we would never be sorry that we loved each other, once upon a time.
Maybe the problem with me is that I'm no damsel in distress... but I am in distress, especially now since my proverbial prince has placed me in distress. It has been three months since our last big fight-- an ugly one wherein I was throwing everything at him, from my bag, to my cellphone, to even my left shoe. He stood there taking all the blows, like the handsome brave prince charming braving the wicked witch. But he wasn't a prince, and at the moment, he wasn't the least bit charming-- or maybe he was the fact that he was TOO charming that was the problem in the first place.
Sometimes moments went by unnoticed since then. I recall watching movies, eating dinner, playing Wii with him--I even recall sleeping together, waking up alone, or rushing out before he wakes up. I recall many times in which we could have talked but just merely launched into something to do, something familiar and comforting, something to distract us that we were falling apart.
In the future, I hope that you and I will get to sit on this bench again with what seems like a familiarity only present among two people who have once thought they'd be each others' forever. But right now, for that to even be plausible, we need to let each other go.
In a few minutes I will still be sitting on this spot with tears on my eyes, grateful that it was over quickly. That the ugly words came fast and it ended there. I will imagine setting an imaginary defibrillator kit next to me, absurdly proud of myself that I didn't try to take back my words, and didn't try to shock back to life our now nonexistent relationship. I wiped the tears streaming from my face and stared at the cheery warm sun, who seems to mock me. Taking one last steadying breath, I will stand up and walk away-- away from the bench that became witness to you an I becoming an "us."
Three years ago, we sat on the bench facing each other eating slices of cold pizza and stale beer, happily celebrating. We even marked our presence by carving a heart with the letters X+Y inside, laughing at the joke that the letters weren't our initials. We called each other X and Y since then, and fought because we both wanted to be Y. Now that bench becomes our love's gravestone, a silent reminder of what we had to give up to move on with our lives.
In a few years from now, you and I will bump into each other in the rain. You were getting some watermelon slices for a girlfriend I don't know you had, two months pregnant with your first born. I will feel a tiny twinge of jealousy at the prospect of you finding your special someone before I do but dismiss it, give you an awkward hug and wish you all the happiness in the world.
Six months from now, you and I would see each other on the MRT and wave hello without any sarcasm. You will be standing with your new Y, and she will be pretty and tall and thin and I will be secretly relieved that I wasn't the one clinging onto your arm for support.
A year from now we'll see each other on the ATM queue, and I would be with someone who I hope would be my forever, who makes me coffee in the morning, and who texts like a jejemon just to piss me off. You will be raising your eyebrows in apparent curiosity, and as I pass by you, you will whisper, "Oh my Darla, oh my Darla." And I will blush furiously knowing you're mocking my new guy because he looks a lot like Alfa-alfa from the Little Rascals.
Three years from now, I will see you inside a mall we used to frequent before carrying shopping bags filled with party supplies while being pulled along by a beautiful little girl. And I would grin at you and say, "I always knew you were a pushover for pretty girls..." You will laugh and hit me with one of the bags.
In four years, we will finally get to talk on the bench. You will say that your marriage is on the rocks and I will offer you my sympathy. You will say sorry for cheating on me and I will say that it doesn't really matter anymore. I will say that I haven't been in love since you, "Alfa-alfa" didn't last long but I'm not unhappy. I'm writing again and listening to love songs doesn't hurt anymore. You will ask me if we could have made it work, and I would honestly answer, I don't know. You will rush back to pick your daughter from school and I will sincerely wish you well.
Six years from now, we'll unknowingly sit next to each other at Church, hold hands awkwardly at the Our Father. I will remember that you and I had on many occasions heard Mass on this very church-- how we never really let each others' hand go throughout the whole service. You're there with your daughter and wife and I'm there with a guy we both knew from college. A guy who never kept me waiting, who makes me laugh, who is my husband, the father of the soccer player kicking my insides into mush.
I will remember the day we broke up on a sunny day on a bench not far from here-- relieved to not feel any regret, happy that we let each other go before our love turned into hate, before any chance of this situation becoming any more awkward than it already is.
After holding hands, you squeezed mine briefly, and I knew that we would never regret that our story ended, that we would never be sorry that we loved each other, once upon a time.
Friday, September 10, 2010
2-0-1-3 (a short story)
It was a sweltering hot afternoon. One in which Rue would have gladly spent inside one of the nearest mall sipping a strawberry shake while playing Plants Vs Zombies on her iPad.
Sigh. Her iPad.
She gazed longingly at her newest prized possession, having meticulously saved her allowances, babysat her numerous boisterous cousins, tutored helpless freshmen in Chem 17, and begged her mom to augment the rest--pledging to postpone marrying until she pays her back. Her mom gave her a noncommittal shrug-- as if challenging her to prove that she can remain unmarried for the next couple of years-- which in itself is odd especially since she hasn't had a boyfriend since high school. FYI, the high school boyfriend, Tommy, doesn't really count because he was secretly trying to make Rue's best friend jealous. His plans eventually backfired and resulted to Rue's best friend's passionate admission of her romantic feelings for HER.
Rue gently ran her hand on the cool surface of the iPad wishing it would somehow come to life by merely wishing it to. This act brought her back to her current situation and for the nth time this afternoon, rolled up her fairly thick STS notes and hit Mike squarely on the head. He merely smiled, still immersed in his STS reviewer.
Mike, Michael, Mikee, Michaelangelo-- the sole reason why her life isn't, as of the moment, entirely her own...
Rue silently cursed Mike for installing PVZ on her iPad yesterday, then finished the damn game within the same day, while she was rushing her Biochem lab report.
Mike who, upon learning that she almost flunked her last STS exam has imposed review sessions together every Saturday until the next exam on this humid corner of the library.
Mike who her mother apparently suspects as her boyfriend--and thus the reason why her mother doubts her ability to remain single for the near future. Not that she could blame her mom, he is pretty much boyfriend material: he's always polite in front of her, seems like a nice kid and is even good looking enough--that is if you ignore that his head is much too big for his body or that his eyes are not the same size-- not that Rue particularly spent a lot of time analyzing his face but they have spent a lot of time together since becoming lab partners four semesters ago.
Fast forward to the present: Mike who has placed a pass-code on her iPad so she couldn't sneak a quick game whenever she went to the ladies room. She has tried every familiar and plausible four digit combination-- his birthday 0-3-1-1, her birthday 1-0-0-6, his parents' birthdays, anniversary, the last 4 digits of his and her student number, and so on. So far, she hasn't been able to even glimpse a single zombie on the lawn.
She imagined placing a bright red Cherry Bomb under his chair and wait for the fruit to dramatically expand and eventually explode, bits and pieces of Mike flying everywhere. Maybe she can even use his severed arm as a paperweight. She snickered like an idiot.
This small stifled sound got the attention of a couple of girls on a nearby table, looking at her if she has, as it seemed, gone insane from reading blurred STS reviewers. Rue had a weird feeling that the girls were somehow sizing her up, as if deciding something about her.
Feeling like an amoeba under a microscope, Rue unconsciously swiped at her errant bangs, now clumping with sweat. After a couple of seconds of muted noises from the girls, one of them finally stood up and approached her.
She turned towards her but then the girl bent over and whispered in her ear, "Hi, can
you give this to Mikee?"
She handed Rue a folded piece of yellow paper.
Rue stupidly stared down at it and had an irrational urge of crumpling it into a ball and throwing it on the girl's perfect face. She oozed of sweetness, from her pink headband to her pink nail polished toes to the perfect smile on her pink glossed lips. Rue battled a sudden wave of nausea.
Rue was about to say, "Give this to him yourself, he's right beside me..." but the girl has apparently skipped her merry little way back to her table. Then they all began giggling with themselves.
With wide eyes and apparent disgust at the lewd manner in which she was about to participate in the giggly girls' little conspiracy, Rue tossed the paper on top of the reviewers Mike was currently studying.
Hearing Mike unfold the paper, Rue got back to her reviewers, disgusted that she had been staring at the same page for an hour now.
Another annoying round of giggles from the next table interrupted her, followed by shushing noises from the other occupants in the library. Rue mentally tuned everything out and daydreamed about planting a sleeping Doom Shroom on the giggly girls' table, putting a Coffee Bean on the mushroom, and waited as it wakes up, smiles evilly, and blasts the girls and their table-- leaving a sizable crater on the tiled floor.
Rue smiled wickedly to herself.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug on her ponytail. Turning towards Mike, she was met by a pair of surprisingly warm lips.
For what felt like minutes, Rue froze, thinking "WHAT THE F---" But then the instinct won over and she began to tentatively kiss him back. It was hesitant and awkward, as all first kisses usually are but then like all first kisses, she felt as if her whole body was tingling with anticipation.
Mike ended the kiss a moment later--staring into her eyes, brimming with happiness.
Rue wondered what her face looked like at the moment... Happy? Shocked? Confused? Scared shitless? Because as of the moment, she was feeling those emotions all at once.
"Took you long enough, Bru." He said, rumpling her soppy bangs affectionately.
Rue slapped his hand away, hating that nickname. He used to call her Bru whenever she nagged him during their semester as Chemistry lab partners. He said that she looked like
a witch stirring the beaker steaming with evil concoctions. She usually snapped back that maybe if he was more helpful rather than standing like an idiot then they would be finished more quickly.
But then he would laugh as he went back to the reagents--after getting the wrong stuff yet again, saying, "But then we won't be seeing so much of each other, Bru."
"Why did you kiss me?"
"Your note pretty much begged me to kiss you," he replied, eyes twinkling merrily.
"Hu-whaat! That wasn't from me! It's from little miss Strawberry Shortcake over there with her posse," Rue stammered, turning and pointing at the group who, at the moment looked like they were placing Cherry Bombs under HER chair.
He looked over at her table and shrugged indifferently, "That's Sachareen. She's an orgmate."
"And her note asked you to kiss her?!" Rue asked in a loud whisper, quite appalled that even the girl's named sounded sickeningly sweet.
He looked at her sheepishly, "In quite a few words, yeah..."
Rue suddenly reached out and tried to grab the opened note across him but Mike easily swiped it away.
He crumpled the paper and held it away from her reach. "Uh, I don't think so Bru."
"Well, why not? She gave it to me, I could have easily read it before passing it to you."
"Well apparently they taught you manners at Hogwarts, Bru."
Rue felt steam coming out her ears as she sat down on her chair and pretended to read her notes again when a new thought occurred to her.
"Hey! You know my handwriting! How can you think I wrote that damn note?!"
For a moment, Mike was lost with words, and after a few moments of undignified stuttering, he finally gave up and just gave her a caught-in-the-act grin.
Despite feeling manipulated and violated by her best friend, Rue conceded and smiled back at him. He placed a tiny kiss on top her nose and lightly tapped her forehead with her forgotten STS notes.
Grabbing the stack of papers from him with a laugh, she proceeded to seriously study for the first time today.
It was almost sunset when they decided they had enough studying for the day--well, their grumbling stomachs pretty much confirmed it.
Rue glanced at Sachareen's table, surprised that she hasn't realized they already left.
As Rue began to stash her mountainous review materials inside her backpack, she saw the yellow note peeking from Mike's folder.
Mike. apparently paying attention to her actions, pulled out the note and handed it to her, before standing up and stretching.
Opening the now crumpled yellow sheet, Rue began reading silently:
Point your lashes down
And you can picture my face-
I'm smiling...
Open your mouth, speak with your heart
And you can see my soul-
I'm waiting...
Place your arms around my waist
And you can embrace my uncertainty-
I'm shaking...
Press your lips against mine
And try to catch me
I'm falling...
She looked up at Mike and he was looking down at her, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
Standing up on shaky legs, Rue tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.
Smiling wickedly at Mike, she asked, " So what's the pass-code on my iPad?"
He laughed loudly and was surprisingly not sushed by anyone, because everyone has apparently left, unnoticed by the two. A librarian merely gave them a stern look.
"2013. I figured by then you'd be able to pay your mom back for lending you money, and then finally, we can get married," Mike answered slinging my backpack over his own bag.
I grinned, feeling like one of those gyrating sunflowers, emitting balls of bright sunlight around me.
THE END
Friday, March 26, 2010
Mariposa: A UP (Love) af-FAIR
I just heard this song over the radio and it brought me back to a special night under the stars on beautiful February evening. I was resting my head on my then-boyfriend-now-husband Ryan's lap after riding the effing octopus inside the University Fair. We were seated on one of the benches near the Main Library. It was our first UP Fair together as a couple (I can't believe how corny that actually sounds) but it was THAT special then. And there I was, stupidly dizzy and yet somewhat giddy that I was spending some alone time with him. The song Mariposa was sung by Sugarfree on stage (and at the time, I was oblivious to why the song was entitled such!). And my new boyfriend suddenly winces and glances back to the mass of people near the stage. He sheepishly admitted that he actually wanted to see the band up close but I was too dizzy to go back. We just held hands and listened from afar.
Looking back at the moment, I am reminded of the many times that happened to us--that we wanted different things but still managed to compromise, that no matter how much shit happens, we manage to muddle through somehow.
Looking back at the moment, I am reminded of the many times that happened to us--that we wanted different things but still managed to compromise, that no matter how much shit happens, we manage to muddle through somehow.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
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