tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-281967182024-03-22T04:23:43.478+08:00Riding the StormAs my soul journeys through time... and back to you!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-28642298531236865102019-03-19T00:37:00.000+08:002019-03-19T00:37:49.540+08:00The Road I Came to Travel ... Yet Again!After a decade....<br />
<br />
I walk this road again. I see love in the same person. I don't think it will ever end. He is the exact same love that will never ever die in my mind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-17804164687042136122008-03-04T01:17:00.006+08:002008-12-13T05:46:51.167+08:00My Precious...<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqYBnJEVHkcdZUrMrfCGl7Whyv8_DIrqcqGGrkEds9jzf0D-m3z78CI5hUtBtEfrlQ5CBRB4CRciKiAkqXofko6P7lJLbg-gtPw8Q0_MRq0o44EBQK1tyj-2Uuywhy0runwHLqA/s1600-h/a+jade+world+in+the+hands+by+cecile+c.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjqYBnJEVHkcdZUrMrfCGl7Whyv8_DIrqcqGGrkEds9jzf0D-m3z78CI5hUtBtEfrlQ5CBRB4CRciKiAkqXofko6P7lJLbg-gtPw8Q0_MRq0o44EBQK1tyj-2Uuywhy0runwHLqA/s320/a+jade+world+in+the+hands+by+cecile+c.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173586216345704018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:78%;" >A Jade World in the Hands<br />by: Cecile C.</span><br /></div> <br /><br />I have something in my hands. Something that made me stare blankly at a photograph on the wall for quite a long time. They were our tickets to the elephant and air balloon rides when I was on a holiday with him in Siem Reap.<br /><br />I sniffed them hoping I could pick his scent again or even see his fingerprints in them. Then I looked at the dates on them and felt just like being there again. While I scrutinized the ink smudges that concealed some of the details of the tickets, I zoomed back to all those moments that I have shared with him there and hope it would just replay itself again in my life.<br /><br />It was my first time on an elephant and even my first time on an air balloon. I could not describe my happiness that I giggled and laughed all through the rides. It wasn't just the thought that I have never ridden those before but also the thought that he made it all happen for me and he was there to experience it with me.<br /><br />He took so much videos of me and now I keep viewing them and regretting that I never held the camera instead so I would have more views of him now instead of my ever drab self. %^$#!<br /><br />I am lucky to be able to hear his voice in the background though. And all throughout that tour, I noticed that he never even failed to warn me to be careful in doing anything. He never forgot to remind me to be extra careful in climbing the elephant's back. And I also could hear him asking me to recline so I would feel more comfortable in that chair. There must be a word for that chair mounted on the elephant's back that I am not aware of. ..But what the heck! All I could think now is how caring he was.<br /><br />Perhaps he never realized that there are a lot of things about him that I consider great and that everytime I think of them, my heart just melts so instantly. He might not even know that he has always been so sweet to me for that might be his nature really, but I wish he knows by now that be this so or not, I still appreciate every single thing he did for me.<br /><br />He is the sweetest man I have ever known and the only one who really knew how to pamper my soul. Every story he told and the way his lips moved when he spoke, were music to my heart.<br /><br />I wish he knows that if ever there would be a time when he would feel so unimportant, he could always think of how beautiful he is to me and how important he is in my life. I wish he knows that I think nobody else could ever come close to my heart but him. It doesn't matter who I am with and where I am... I will always treasure him and his memories like a priceless jewel that belongs to me.<br /><br />You belong to me ... <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Jade B. Fraser</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-1608856550967052872008-02-19T00:01:00.001+08:002008-02-19T00:03:13.393+08:00For Jade<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Coming In and Out of Your Life<br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">by: Barbra Streisand, OST Prince of Tides</span><br /></span><br />I still can remember<br />The last time I cried<br />I was holding you and loving you<br />Knowing it would end<br /><br />I never felt so good<br />Yet felt so bad<br />You're the one I love<br />And what makes it sad<br />Is you don't belong to me<br /><br />And I can remember<br />The last time I lied<br />I was holding you and telling you<br />We could still be friends<br /><br />Tried to let you go<br />But I can't, you know<br />And even though I'm not with you<br />I need you so<br />But you don't belong to me<br /><br />Chorus:<br />Comin' in and out of your life<br />Isn't easy,<br />When there are so many nights<br />I can't hold you and I've told you<br />These feelings are so hard to find<br />Comin' in and out of your life<br />Will never free me<br />'Cause I don't need to touch you<br />To feel you, it's so real with you<br /><br />I just can't get you out of my mind<br />But I can remember the last time we tried<br />Each needing more than we could give<br />And knowing all the time<br />A stronger love<br />Just can't be found<br />Even though at times this crazy world<br />Is turning up-side-down<br />You'll always belong to me </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-5132294501002814072008-02-17T02:45:00.001+08:002008-12-13T05:46:51.578+08:00What lies beyond...<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0iwkpDn0AEaw3DE7m9HAMucF_K6KztW5dd-PvWpfYgmVD5AjoSH7URyfDRtP-lu0-Xf4e9fKntheG2eHOZ5gbFrLbvWUoisxCmaJqW8QifddkzLLo51ux4gEtEJAxKtwVUfG9A/s1600-h/swan+loch+by+lusobrandane.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0iwkpDn0AEaw3DE7m9HAMucF_K6KztW5dd-PvWpfYgmVD5AjoSH7URyfDRtP-lu0-Xf4e9fKntheG2eHOZ5gbFrLbvWUoisxCmaJqW8QifddkzLLo51ux4gEtEJAxKtwVUfG9A/s320/swan+loch+by+lusobrandane.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168336174726244290" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SmvmGyw7Ngo/R7c5LC5b57I/AAAAAAAAAbE/hxfGAp2Pd4U/s1600-h/swan+loch+by+lusobrandane.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SmvmGyw7Ngo/R7c5LC5b57I/AAAAAAAAAbE/hxfGAp2Pd4U/s320/swan+loch+by+lusobrandane.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167661959350052786" border="0" /></a> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" > Published as "Swan Loch" <span style="font-style: italic;">by Lusobrandane</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span></span></div>Do you ever have an idea of how much I wanted you to be back in my life? Do you know how much I pray that my confessions in this blog would melt your cold heart's anger towards me? Do you know how much I cry every single night whenever I remember the last words you uttered to me that totally destroyed my dreams in a love that I so much believed in?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">What do you want me to do now, my love? How much blood in my tears do you want to see before you stop hurting me?What have I done that made you punish me in this manner? Why did you make me love you so much so that in the end, you would just desert me?<br /></div><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>Now all I am doing is talking to my pages just to release these emotions in me. I am talking here as though I am expecting these pages to read themselves and actually do something for me just to ease this pain that I am feeling now. I am talking here as though you would be listening and you would be doing everything just to let me know that you are there and that you still love me as you have always said to me.<br /><br />Do you know that I refuse to believe that you have left me? I do not want to accept the fact that you no longer would listen to my soul's language. And I do not want to know that you no longer care about how I feel. I refuse ... but I could feel the sting of reality<br /><br />Whenever you called me lately, I would be dying to really pick up and listen to your voice. But I couldn't bear the thought of you angry at me for reasons I did not and still don't understand, so I opted to just put my phone on a mute mode and stared at it and cried bitter tears till I saw the batteries die down. When it started to go off again while I was doing something, tears just instantly flowed down my cheeks for I knew I could just tolerate as far as my ringtone and not your angry voice. When you had to send me those messages, I had no choice but to let him read it for me. and I felt more pain when I heard your words out loud from his lips. They were the words of a total stranger.- someone I never knew and loved. They couldn't be ones coming from you, so, I opted to think.<br /><br />My soulmate has died. And every single day I cry and ask the skies why my man was taken away from me when all I had was him to make my soul happy. He was every reason why I liked listening to all the songs in my ipod. He was the language that all together expressed the soul that is in me. Because of him, my soul danced to rhythms inaudible to everyone else but me. Now all that he is, is a ghost that has returned to haunt me in the harshest way.<br /><br />The happiness that I have felt while he was there for me, is something that is very difficult to explain. I can have everything I need now but without him, I am not thoroughly happy. I am very happy to have even just a little taste of him, if it is given that really couldn't be mine. He is the only one who can make my heart beat so wildly underneath my ribcage and nobody has ever made me feel exactly this way. .. He might be trying, but so far, he doesn't come as close :o(Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-35656056915005829512008-01-27T05:15:00.001+08:002008-01-27T05:19:25.559+08:00ConfusionI went through all his e-mails to me again and while reading them, I didn't know whether I would laugh or cry. Those letters just make me crazy.<br /><br />His words seemed so real. He many times repeated how much he will never leave me because he believes so much that we are soulmates. How did he come up with those declarations if he only was lying to me all the while? I cannot understand anything now.<br /><br /> I am totally lost!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-42195027101448440492008-01-22T19:04:00.000+08:002008-12-13T05:46:51.826+08:00Twilight<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTriRGfPnAMzqt1YuY-Vw4q7vN5g9BwMx9eVAZgFa8LY7AgJyaUo9uWZSh1-MOgVrvghAH6rlSNqiDFnCWnxcVczpC606aowCCi1J3TFmtM7Xt8bC6wjXhjoA0i3tafF8NEFeaWQ/s1600-h/into+the+twilight+by+bama+wester.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTriRGfPnAMzqt1YuY-Vw4q7vN5g9BwMx9eVAZgFa8LY7AgJyaUo9uWZSh1-MOgVrvghAH6rlSNqiDFnCWnxcVczpC606aowCCi1J3TFmtM7Xt8bC6wjXhjoA0i3tafF8NEFeaWQ/s320/into+the+twilight+by+bama+wester.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158625091745907730" border="0" /></a><br />This will be the last month that I shall be seeing those two places that held so much beautiful memories of him and I. I will no longer be able to check whether they have forgotten to turn on the red and yellow lights on the hotel signs or not. He will no longer find me in the same place where he thought I always would be in.<br /><br />I went to the rooftop for a coffee break with my fellow workmates in the evening and all I could feel is the sadness of having to say goodbye to everything I have come so much to know. The air was a bit cold up there and from a distance, I could see how the red sign of Citygarden glistened with the stars and the full-moon above it. I won't see that same scene anymore<br /><br />I no longer hope that one day he would come and find me. He won't do that. Or if the winds change his mind and he would seek for the familiar path that he thought would lead to me, he will find out that time has put so much distance between us and it won't be easy at all to follow the trails to my door.<br /><br />But my heart shall endure all of these... all because of one love that is lost in a pitch black and forgotten worldUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-52916517711566757632008-01-13T15:44:00.000+08:002008-12-13T05:46:52.088+08:00Lost and All Alone<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMuPRBaNU48_-nVMHjBQRGmK5GkVSrrCeqfDx3VM8ZeyPN50-Odi816pdsN78wcBSlbOFLqW4uDYUe_s5sHFnerYtBC8aQSgLXqOQrHVb7oI3cfLqFIILG8F8umQAJdlksDg1Fw/s1600-h/la+ballade+of+lady+and+bird+by+mieke+vos.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMuPRBaNU48_-nVMHjBQRGmK5GkVSrrCeqfDx3VM8ZeyPN50-Odi816pdsN78wcBSlbOFLqW4uDYUe_s5sHFnerYtBC8aQSgLXqOQrHVb7oI3cfLqFIILG8F8umQAJdlksDg1Fw/s320/la+ballade+of+lady+and+bird+by+mieke+vos.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154864752190682546" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:78%;" >Photo published as " La ballade of lady and bird" by: Mieke Vos</span><br /></div><br />I was sobbing in the early morning the instant I woke up, because I dreamt of him. In my dream, I seemed to be watching and enjoying a sports game at the park with my brother and our friends and I suddenly had to go home with him. I remember how the house did not look like our one in the province. It seemed that we were at my grandpa's old house. I was alone with him and as we were about to engage in our passion for each other, Allain, a friend of my brother hollered from outside the window (if only I could kill him for this). He was asking me where my brother was and I had to pull my dress up again to quickly attend to him. My love- his eyes never left my face and they gazed at me like slaves, they followed as I went to speak with Alain.<br /><br />Then I don't know how my brother's friend disappeared from the scene. I suddenly had to wake up, as if from a long afternoon's nap. It was already dark everywhere... and he was no longer there. I stood up and ran everywhere to find him. I checked all the rooms that were there, but I could not see him anywhere. Then I went out to the porch only to find myself locked in. My Honey, how sweet of him to have left me secured while I was sleeping, I thought. Then I saw something stuck to the door latch. It was a note from him. I quickly reached for it for I wanted to know where he went so I could go and follow him. I could sense the yearning in me to see him as I was trying to read it. He only left shortly while I was sleeping but I felt as though I haven't seen him for years. The note- it looked like a map with a brown background. It seemed like a leaflet that one gets from an Australian restaurant like the Outback. On the front page, I recognized his handwriting. It said: <span style="font-style: italic;">My Sweety, Zha__ ___ __ .</span>.. and I could not read anymore the words that followed. But I picked the sense that he went back to where we left my brother and his friends. I turned to the back page of the note and all I could see is a map encircled in red. I think he was trying to tell me where exactly I could find him. I ran to the gates but I couldn't unlock it. I was crying while trying to bolt out when I saw my mother outside. I asked her where my brother was for I thought that my honey might have went to see him. But my mom said my brother was already home for a long while. I sat and cried in disappointment for I knew I wouldn't be able to find my honey at all.<br /><br />I woke up to this dream in the middle of the night and all that crept in my mind is the reality that I am now alone. I need him so much and I am only crying in vain now for I know he will no longer hear me.<br /><br />Dreams like this kill me slowly everyday.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-48874778770547663222008-01-12T19:01:00.001+08:002008-12-13T05:46:52.255+08:00Beauteous Feature<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVech5B97AKgbMvCkYl3qw-8VgtNZI3lDwJuIqJHqGdRJmNorDz8ZX91OPTmc428S9e-qMNcJkIl4rF73LWChcG-b1jNWjsry3RgmDc2FHixTtWYvO9R4rKX7NsYrxUYP3_aJAA/s1600-h/Hands+by+humble+nailbanger.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVech5B97AKgbMvCkYl3qw-8VgtNZI3lDwJuIqJHqGdRJmNorDz8ZX91OPTmc428S9e-qMNcJkIl4rF73LWChcG-b1jNWjsry3RgmDc2FHixTtWYvO9R4rKX7NsYrxUYP3_aJAA/s320/Hands+by+humble+nailbanger.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154551954017482114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">A lifetime of hardwork</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">published as "Hands" by Humble Nailbanger</span><br /></span></div><br /><br />I clearly remember the shape of his hands. They were much just like mine in terms of size. It's not that I have such big hands, it's just that his hands were small and pretty- much like a lady's. I remember how they trembled everytime he reached for anything and how warm and loving they were when they had to run through my entirety. I miss them. I long to touch them and feel them on each of my cheek once again! I want to see them with my golden bond of love in one of his fingers. I want to hold them in my own hands ... as they grow old and wrinkled with age!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-36203252309042272352007-11-03T01:41:00.000+08:002007-11-03T01:58:20.959+08:00Stargazing<p class="MsoNormal">I gazed unto the dark horizons trying to figure out what’s happening in my life. I have been a very enthusiastic person about love but as the years waste away the moments of my life, I just realize how futile it is to not understand the language of the world- Love. What is love? Why do i live just for it?<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><o:p></o:p>I have a very simple dream really. I wanted to have my own family- a complete one with a husband and children who would love me very much too and think that I am very important. I dream of being a busy person who comes to work everyday and goes home to a family who needs my attention. I wanted to look everywhere and see all the simple joys in life that only being with them could bring me. I want to wake up next to my husband every single morning and hear my children say their prayers at night. I want them all near me every single moment of my day as long as I am alive. It doesn’t matter if I don’t have much to spend on fancy things. I don’t need an extravagant lifestyle that seems so ordinary to people with so much money. I want something no riches could buy- I want true love. And I want to be with them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>I think making lemonades on a very hot summer day is the best I could do together with my family. Seeing my children trying not to laugh even when their Daddy’s cake looks funny will be life’s best spectacle for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Seeing him deliciously munch away every pasta, casserole and roast I made is something I can not afford to exchange for anything else in the world. Hearing him snore next to me and finding my children cozily tucked in bed on a stormy night is such a reward that I would rather have than a plaque for being a punctual employee in all weathers. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>But where is he? Where is the man who would be the foundation of my family that I love so much even when they don’t yet exist? Do my dreams not make him happy enough to forget everything just to be with me? </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-58743088764512600192007-10-24T01:26:00.001+08:002008-12-13T05:46:52.456+08:00Muddy Pools<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3v-slKUxzJ3rj-P__50kTmVJKmkB_O7BeHBFBrvYV06yc423omRUElr5FfInF6iG51GAja4QubBxwsDxXlOQOpCXwiNHYgxiXQe-NLL3_JG-N4RK-NNJNVGCgVeYmI5ynihybmA/s1600-h/childs+play.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3v-slKUxzJ3rj-P__50kTmVJKmkB_O7BeHBFBrvYV06yc423omRUElr5FfInF6iG51GAja4QubBxwsDxXlOQOpCXwiNHYgxiXQe-NLL3_JG-N4RK-NNJNVGCgVeYmI5ynihybmA/s400/childs+play.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125180078051665186" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"> </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">I never liked dolls when I was little. Unlike the modern kids of those times, I never wanted toy kitchens, plastic kettles and plastic veggies. But I liked cooking ! Sautéing and steaming were my favorite activities as the world’s youngest chef. And because I did, I would steam or sauté everything in site. I fried the jackfruit that my grandma brought home from a friend's house and steamed the green mangoes my brother stole from my neighbor's backyard. I even sautéed dragonflies and flowers, mosses and snails all together. I did not eat them but I was curious to see what happens to my ingredients in my little earthen saucepan all the time. I don't remember how they smelled but after I thought they were cooked, I served them to my Uncle's guinea pigs. In the morning I would wait for Marlo (my 9-year-old undertaker cousin) who would build guinea pig caskets for the ones that died of food poisoning. They had hundreds of guinea pigs, so it did not matter much to them when they lost one each and everyday while my cooking career was at its peak. Of course his parents wouldn't know why they died.</p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: left;"><br /></p><div> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">He would recruit every single cousin of ours to join the mini funeral and there would be the "criers" too (usually Richel, Jaquie, Michelle, myself and Marjorie). Each of us brought flowers. And those flowers usually had "mommy tails" because the moment we picked them from the gardens, our moms would be right at our backs with leather belts or native brooms. After we got our sentence, the little criers became real wailers.</p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">I remember playing "burglars" with my cousins too. With this game (which we were seriously into during that time) Eugene, Marlo and Erlindo were the masterminds. Our target- the small variety store in front of our house!</p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">We were never given much money during those days. Its either, our parents did not have one to give us or they didn't like the stuff we traded for the 5 cents. Jeez! We all liked plastic balloons and powdered chocolates and oranges. The plastic balloons were the jellylike thingy stuffed in small aluminum tubes that we squeezed unto the edge of a small straw and blew to make plastic bubbles. They cost 5 cents that time (sooo expensive) and we usually ended up with just one tube each. But we always wanted more, thus the birth of the "burglar" idea. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">The plan was, I go in the store and talk to Manang Linda (the storekeeper). She would always be in the kitchen cooking dinner by 2pm and we knew she always followed her routine so we were sure that there wouldn't be anybody in her store by that time. I would go straight in and pretend to drop plenty of coins into her wooden coin box. She would come in rushing to ask how much I placed in the box but before she did I would already throw all the plastic balloon tubes out of the window. Marlo and Eugene would be in the other side waiting to collect the loot.</p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">“I placed four 25 cents in, Manang Linda. That’s 1 peso”. Then she would ask me what I wanted for it.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p><br />I walked out of the store with a big grin on my face and a hand full of sugar-coated candies. I also had 2 cherry gumballs that all my girl cousins and I used to color our lips with. As I joined the members of the operation, I think I felt proud that I was able to do my part well. I console myself now by thinking that I must have possessed the Robinhood characteristic during that time.</p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"> </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">I had so much fun as a child and so many memories I won’t forget. I wish sometimes I was back in the past when nothing mattered to me but playing all through the day. I learned a lot while playing and I wish my daughter has the same chance to discover things while playing just as I did. I definitely insist that she does not need to sauté or steam or even do the role of Catherine Zeta Jones in her movie “Entrapment” to learn what I have learned. Shish! With today’s technology, I don’t think my childhood idea of fun will produce the same outcome these days. Whew, now I’ll need to find out what exactly my daughter is doing. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-75621733415388173822007-10-22T19:26:00.000+08:002007-10-24T00:39:39.578+08:00"Places That Belong To You"<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">" This is such a beautiful song that speaks out my soul's language. Hear it, my love. This is for you!"</span>-- <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Prairiewinds</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:85%;" >O.S.T Prince of Tides</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:85%;" >Sung by: Barbra Streisand</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><br />Mornings, evenings</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Days that hurried past</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Dreams that should have lasted</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Moments, hours</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Slipping by as we told each other secrets</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Somehow I'll never let go of the memories</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Something always seems to remind me</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">of how it was... of what it was, WHEN it was</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">... all that was</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Laughter, love songs</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Footsteps that I hear make me think you're near me</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Poems, pictures</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Letters never mailed</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Boats that never sailed</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Remember that even though we can't be together</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">We're more for having loved one another</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">We share the sky</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">We learned to fly</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Someday, when someone else's arms are around us</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">When time has put some distance between us</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">The years will come and show how memories come and go</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">They ebb and flow like the tides</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">There are quiet places in my heart</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Ever since we've parted</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Gentle, tender</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Traces of a song</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Places that belong to you</span><br /><br /><object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tgjgWZFpIrY"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tgjgWZFpIrY" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-69106723502243091422007-09-24T14:44:00.000+08:002007-11-09T19:01:19.438+08:00Grief<p class="MsoNormal"><em><span style="font-style: normal;">You are walking towards a ravine and you can see how the misty horizons sculpted an endless cycle of nimbus blob above your head.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The angry winds start to blow from all directions of your life, north, south, east and west of your life!</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">You suddenly cannot decide which way you want to go for everything before you seem to present the same lot.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The glimmer of hope fails to show itself in the silver linings of the clouds.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The earth forgets to snap out of its winter hibernation and the cradle of your childhood fails to send itself to the summer solstice of your days.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The rain trickles down on you but the prophet of doom sheltered in your head never gets drenched.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The frost sets in as the day ebbs before your eyes.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The gray sky switches off to a sudden pitch black and all you have is the memory of the last sunray in your lids.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The temperature starts to consume you like crocodiles in the murky ponds of the everglades.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">Then you feel the coldness pricking the most delicate membrane of your soul</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The pain is so excruciating … but none of your sonorous cries bring the exact words to describe the sensation.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">Then comes a blue bird…yet it’s so dark you don’t notice it</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">But you can hear the melody of its wings flapping away the vicious chain of reckless pain in your heart.</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The winds turn into a funnel of angry demons slowly disintegrating like dandelions in the air.</span></em><i><br /><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">Your world is at a halt!</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">No darkness, nor brightness</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">No coldness…no numbness!</span></em><i><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">The goldsmith’s silence engulfs the voices inside your head completely.</span></em><i><br /><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">You cease to exist … according to your own eyes.</span></em><i><br /><br /></i><em><span style="font-style: normal;">Stillness follows …nothing.</span></em><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-10844189103817263872007-09-06T23:13:00.000+08:002007-10-24T00:33:56.472+08:00FragmentedEverytime I start to write, I just realize that I have a long way to go with all my reminiscences. I am overflowing with memories of the past that I think there wouldn’t be enough room for anything else in my head unless I am able to put all these memories into writing. I want my thoughts to be safely transferred to another database aside from my own head because I now feel like I am one heavily fragmented drive that needs a total disk cleanup. I know I just need to make a space for other things in my life but when I finally get the urge to write I end up disheartened by the possibility that I may only draw enough set of ears to hear my stories, but none of those may necessarily be his. And there might be few pairs of eyes that can read this right now… but my soul’s thirst remains impossible to quench because those of whom this is written for remain blind.<br /><br />So why do I need to write? What do I write about if telling about the past entails a lot of work and may not prove to be a palatable fair to you who reads this blog now? My answer is simple – this blog exists because I would like him to find me here. .. Not now perhaps, but someday.<br /><br />When he finds me here, I want him to be able to keep track of my thoughts again. I want him to view every single time frame that my soul goes through since the last time we saw each other. I want him to be able to read my stories so that when one day I no longer come to this place, he wouldn’t think of very shallow reasons for my absence.<br /><br />I don’t want him to feel lonely just like how I feel every single moment I think of him. I don’t want him to regard the mornings as a force that draws us a day farther from the last moment that we were in each other’s arms like I do now. I want his soul to not feel desolated. I want him to know that I will always be waiting for him somehow…someday.. somewhere!<br /><br />I pray that his soul’s inherent aptitude lures him to my pages. And when he gets here… he will make me sense his presence in a manner that he has always been good at.<br /><br />This is for you, my love! … as I have always promised you in my silence.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-54024594182656097442007-08-31T19:10:00.000+08:002008-12-13T05:46:52.839+08:00Woebegone Thoughts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosjxnSEkbRAbjisNn-sONR3I-hbI65UfqjZRjygtxb1b7C2DA7oZKvWPTpVJZlvbSP7HTlNi4g5_KFsBt78szJ0GRH0QZbnftpmrF-ryuFH6tpKJ4uSl6g3RrENTKaIrmWG0BpA/s1600-h/332955008_fee987a492_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosjxnSEkbRAbjisNn-sONR3I-hbI65UfqjZRjygtxb1b7C2DA7oZKvWPTpVJZlvbSP7HTlNi4g5_KFsBt78szJ0GRH0QZbnftpmrF-ryuFH6tpKJ4uSl6g3RrENTKaIrmWG0BpA/s320/332955008_fee987a492_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141793337339940498" /></a><br /><br />I used to like writing diaries more than I do today because unlike the usual purpose of keeping track of what transpired during the days that go past, I wrote ones, so for him to read. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I knew he would diligently wait for my diaries and would constantly quest for more as that was his only way of knowing who I am, what I think of and how I think of things. I sensed that he found my daily confessions very amusing and that they instantly became his daily cup of tea. My diaries were his life… so at least till my writings started to disappear in the mist of his original path.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Now my blog spot is a dark and empty hollow…One terra incognita bereaved of all the splendors of a bestselling book. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Without my only avid reader, my thoughts remain shallow and lost in a world of ill-defined words. In his absence, the empty space in my heart grows wider every single day… and so does the empty space between my lines! </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28196718.post-21461698063501112342005-03-05T21:24:00.000+08:002008-12-13T05:46:53.098+08:00In My Isolation<div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifH17vuxWa5WE5SC7s10z-xAU5j9wMfHzB2KjK-AP_qgMaJ6vZCz3jORxQO3bCkx4cq0_S8D_SSkVIvwceAJV6trz4JqO8-2cee7utpl4MAM9pkRBDW1NifMk2_uubG3OmpyQD8A/s1600-h/my+sunctuary.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038835267151527522" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 341px; height: 269px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifH17vuxWa5WE5SC7s10z-xAU5j9wMfHzB2KjK-AP_qgMaJ6vZCz3jORxQO3bCkx4cq0_S8D_SSkVIvwceAJV6trz4JqO8-2cee7utpl4MAM9pkRBDW1NifMk2_uubG3OmpyQD8A/s400/my+sunctuary.jpg" border="0" height="300" width="341" /></a> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:Arial;" ><br /></span></strong> </div><div align="center"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">From my favorite window at work, I gazed upon that familiar structure across the street- a tall hotel building that held all the memories that altogether made me mad, happy and sad for years. It hasn’t changed a bit. It still gets its red insignia illuminated at around 5pm. Sometimes the keeper would tend to forget about it that by 7 pm I still wouldn’t see the lights on. When I don’t, then I take it as sign that the stars don’t spell out luck for me through the night – meaning I will be alone with him in my thoughts and in there he would be like a stranger who totally wouldn’t care about what I’d say and would entirely be oblivious of what is going on in my heart. It is like talking to someone who is in a deep coma. ..It is like talking to him now.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">We used to stay there in that building, and the last time I ever was in it was two years ago. The last time was different from any other times when he had to go. He left earlier than usual and I had the feeling that I would never see the interiors of the building again or ever be in a nice warm bathtub with him there running his fingers gently on the fringes of my shoulders. </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">He makes sounds like that of a boar when he’s asleep. It all depends upon his sleeping position really. When he’s on his sides, he still sounds like a bore, only with a silencer that doesn’t work really much. It is when he’s on his back that I could smile sweetly to myself while looking at things from a very positive and sweet perspective- His very masculine nasal sounds make me feel his real and tangible presence throughout the night. His noise has become my security blanket. I started to realize that after all those days that I have secretly spent with him. I even have developed a secret habit of not wanting to sleep before I hear him snore. I now can even smile when i remember how his self-created sounds jolted him out of his sleep. I felt contented and safe when he snored and I should say he always left me a trace of his presence even in his journey to the subliminal world. … I wish he took me with him there and made me stay forever!</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">He had to catch an early flight to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Vietnam</st1:country-region></st1:place> (no he is not a Vietnamese) and according to him, he had no choice but to leave me there so I could get more sleep. Only I did not. My eyes were swollen in tears and my mind drifted farther into the past where I wish I could go back so I would be able to tweak a little bit of events that made everything turn out to be this way. </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">He adored me, and whenever he saw me cry, he made sure he wiped away my tears literally without a word. But his eyes would always show the pain of having to see me in that state. I said everything I wished to say to him, but until now my heart refuses to believe that my words have very well translated the language of my soul that would have probably changed his mind about leaving me. </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">He left me in a very subtle manner. He kissed me and hugged me and told me he was gonna see me soon. The process in which he had to say goodbye always appeared normal to me. It did because I have always comforted myself by believing that we were normal lovers who lived far apart from each other and knowing that soon enough we will be together again. I dreamed dreams a normal lover would dream of with them came my expectation that he would think the same and feel the same. I cannot answer questions that have something to do with whether he really cared about being with me or not. It is simply too hard to tell. I couldn’t see any promising premise to which I could base my joyous conclusions from, at this time... and maybe not anymore. I couldn’t… because he has stopped thinking the way he did when he first came across my path in life. </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="font-family:arial;">He was my rag picker. He was the ears that listened to me and the dictionary of my soul. He lived happily in a world I have created for him and he couldn’t wait to have more of me every single moment of his days… but t</span><span style="font-family:arial;">hat was years and years ago </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-family:arial;" align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-family:arial;" >...and that time will drift farther into the forgotten realms of yesterday … at least for him ...but never for me!</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0