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.

You Are More Than Your Numbers

“Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters... They ask: "How old is he?" "How many brothers does he have?" "How much does he weigh?" "How much money does his father make?" Only then do they think they know him.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The Little Prince was first published in 1943, but it's not surprising that these words by Saint-Exupéry still ring true today. It saddens me that most of the time, people (myself included) are too concerned with numbers. Numbers that pertain to paychecks, waistlines, zip codes, years spent in school, age that one should marry, and so on. However, who can blame us when we have to bring food to the table, help our families, prepare for when we have our own families, and survive in this crazy world (and under the scrutiny of other people).

Personally, I think we cross the line from being perfectly understandable to being completely annoying when we judge others based on their "numbers".  Sometimes it starts with playing a seemingly innocent rating game with our friends. You know, the one wherein we rate our friend's date from 1 to 10 (8 for being cute and smart, but not tall enough for our taste).

Then, before we realize it, we proceed with measuring the guy based on how high he is on the career ladder, how fat his wallet is, and whether he owns the latest Audi A4 or not. I'm well aware that love is not enough to pay the bills, but when did wealth and status become more significant than values, principles, and compatibility?

All of these may sound cheesy, especially in this dog-eat-dog world. I guess I'm just hoping that we get to hold on to the inner child in each one of us, the one who can see an elephant inside the boa constrictor instead of a hat.

In a State of Wanderlust

I'm consumed by wanderlust. I have always wanted to travel. It's more than just the destination, but the journey itself. Unfortunately, I neither have the luxury nor the opportunity to do so. I have only ever traveled by land, and the only time I got to ride a small boat was for an hour-long journey to a secluded island. Believe me, that sounds better than it really was.

Lately, I feel as if my chest is about to burst open whenever I see images or videos of random people documenting their touristy moments or latest adventures. I'm not exactly envious of these people. The feeling is more of an overwhelming desire to drop everything and go somewhere far from where I am right now. It just gives me "the feels".

I'm dying to fly on an airplane or sail on a ship (Okay, dying may not be the most suitable word for those). I want to soak in different cultures, and meet new friends. I want to taste unusual flavors, and explore unfamiliar places. I can already hear the exhausted sighs of jet-setters as they argue that traveling is not always as glamorous or fun as it seems, but it's still the ultimate dream for someone like me.

Writing For Writing's Sake

Confucius once said, "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life."

I love to write ever since I can remember. I enjoy leisure writing, but now I mostly do it for work. I decided to create a blog to revive my inner wordsmith; the one who writes not only because she needs to pay the bills, but also to pour out her thoughts.

Don't get me wrong, I value my job. I know how hard it is to find work that is both convenient and challenging (if you know what I mean). I just feel that I need an outlet, wherein I can write without worrying about deadlines or revisions. A place in cyberspace in which I can be me.

Having said that, I have to warn people who might stumble upon this blog that it will be full of rants and raves about life in general. Don't say that you have not been warned.