From Mother to Daughter

You can never forget me
The memory of my maiden love
Shall haunt you till the end of time
Every young flower, every new dawn
Will always remind you of me

The language of my eyes
Shall hover above every neon light
Every star-twinkle, every candle flame
It shall always longingly linger
In the after-glow of the setting sun

The prayer of my heart
Shall pervade every evening breeze
It shall drown out the murmurings
Of other hearts, the songs of
Other lips, I shall ever forever echo
In your mind

My mother wrote this poem when she was around my age. She wanted to pursue Journalism, but studied Economics instead. While reading through a notebook full of her own poems, I realized that she still took the time to do what she really wanted to do while doing what she had to do.

I admire a lot of women, and wish that I would look like them, sound like them, and be like them. But the woman that I admire the most is my mother.

I Spy With My Little Eye

Today I’m going to share something I wrote in my old notebook back in 2001. I had a phase wherein I was obsessed with spies and detectives, so I pretended to be both. It all started when I watched the movie Harriet the Spy. Although my entries then were harmless enough, my game of spying and observing unsuspecting neighbors could have easily developed into something creepy. Looking back now, I’m very thankful that I did not become a stalker (or did I? JUST KIDDING!).

Here is an excerpt from my ‘spy’ notebook:

I've solved the mystery, but I’m really curious to know why the small, flat, thin, and orange storybook was in my auntie’s room! I guess I didn’t find it odd during that time.

I’m not trying to willingly humiliate myself nor am I thinking that what I have written were golden. It’s just a funny way for me to look back on how much I have changed as a writer.

Hey Mom and Dad, Remember the Time You Left Me Alone in the House?

“You don't remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.” - John Green, An Abundance of Katherines

When I was little, I remember waking up alone in our house. It was a hot afternoon, and my hair was plastered down my head with sweat. Still feeling wobbly, I slowly got out of bed, dawdled to the living room, then wandered off to the kitchen/dining area only to become conscious of the fact that I'm all alone. I tried to check if my parents were on our backyard, but all the doors were locked, and I didn't see anyone outside as I pressed my face on the glass window.

I have to give credit to my four-year old self for not panicking or crying in that instant. I was even delighted because I realized that I had the whole house to myself. No grown-ups and no rules, just think of the possibilities! I could eat everything I want, run around, and jump on the bed, 'twas an impromptu party.

It was a blast sprinting in and out of the rooms until I caught a glimpse of a religious statue, which was fixed on the wall. A tidal wave of fear overcame me and I can no longer take my eyes off that holy sculpture. I was no longer running around, but my imagination was running wild. I thought it would step down any moment and seize me for being a mischievous child. Everything went downhill after that.

I started crying hysterically. I wailed and bawled and shrieked. The gleeful child who had a fleeting taste of so-called freedom was gone, and was replaced by someone trying desperately to get herself out of the house. The key to my escape was literally a key, and I couldn't find it anywhere. I searched every corner of the house, including the overhead cupboards that were off-limits to my small, unsteady hands. What happened next was a blur, but I remember rubbing a bar of soap on a doorknob in my feeble attempt to open the door.

The funny thing about this particular memory (and our memories in general) is that I remember the trivial details such as clinging on the soap like my life depended on it, but I can't recall how I miraculously survived. I can't even remember my parents' explanation. To this day I have no idea where my parents went that afternoon, and what had gotten into them when they thought it was okay to leave me home alone.

The Many Things the Internet Tells Me To Do and What To Do With Them

I'm sure you're quite familiar with those lists that excessively circulate social networking sites. Most of them are inspiring. Some can be amusing. However, others are downright baffling. While some are written to make us think, others are not to be taken seriously. I'm guilty of sharing and pinning a few of such lists myself, but I quickly realized that I'm not too keen on taking some of the suggestions to heart.

Don't get me wrong. There are a lot of helpful websites that offer loads of information about one's particular interest or dilemma. I don't mean to disrespect or ridicule them in any way. Furthermore, I don't intend to offend people who concoct or share such lists because I believe that it's a matter of personal taste and preference.

I still appreciate lists that give me ideas of places to visit when I finally get to travel, books and films that I can devour, and dishes that can excite my palate. The ones that got me shaking my head are those that enumerate the signs that I am indeed a human being, the must-haves for 2014 (or else the year wouldn't be perfect), the goals that I should have accomplished before I turn 30, and the pointers that I should follow to be a perfect friend/life partner/daughter.

Of the countless things the Internet tells me to do, I decided to do nothing. I'd rather stick with my own bucket list, and put a tick on every item.

Don't Be a Stranger

I have a confession to make. In my current and previous relationships, I can't help but let my significant other be the center of my universe. Thus, I'm heartbroken to say that I have become a dispensable person to others, especially to my friends.

I don't blame them at all. I consider myself a bad friend because I'm almost always unreachable to them whenever I'm in a romantic relationship. It doesn't help that I don't like to pry too much into the lives of others. The latter might not sound like a bad thing, but I realized that it reached a point wherein I've become a snob.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but all I know is that this passage from Wuthering Heights (written by Emily Brontë) stirred something inside me:

“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be, and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”

I'm in love with an amazing person, but I don't want to be a stranger to my own family and friends anymore.