A truth can be expressed in a million ways, much in the same way that a star can be defined by words, by math, in terms of age or of brightness or of how many light years away it is, in longitudes and latitudes.

In the same way, we may define love/friendship/luck/god in different ways. A glass can be half full or half empty;  the gas station a mile away or a mile nearby. Eventually, what may matter more than our definition of things is WHY we define them in that way.

How we look at the world will reveal a lot about us, especially about what is to happen. That’s because hope is ultimately what you call the distinct line between the lucky bastard and the bastard who thinks it will never happen. And while other people call it hope, some call it perseverance. Either way, it’s a will that can not be shaken by the fiercest storm. This stubborn will yields results eventually; after all, so many things around us would never have been if their inventors stopped believing after the hundredth failure.

“Argue that there is a fence around your yard, and sure enough you will never venture out of it.”

i trace my dreams on blue waters

and it rains on my face while i hold my clay

the sky knows my secret

and maybe i like how it hides the sun from me

my last breath will drain away

perhaps my demons will agree

but just show me how it ends

before i do

my music is fading with the breeze

but don’t take my hand

 

please don’t take my hand till i know

who shall play my music when i’m gone

please don’t take my hand till i know

who shall miss my music when i’m gone

Tell You What now has its own blog page! Here’s the new blog for the novel:

Click here: Tell You What

Die, death, dying. All those words seemed surreal to me the first time they actually came to mind. Now, they have settled comfortably at the nooks and crannies of my consciousness, waiting, lurking. Those words were no longer strangers to me.

In fact, the first time the bald doctor mentioned them, I did not flinch. I just sat there, looking at him, thinking he has probably gone berserk from looking at x-ray films way too long. Must be the fumes that did it.

“You see those two sections of your heart? They have stopped communicating altogether,” he was saying. “Your heart no longer beats the normal lub-dub way. Dub isn’t following lub anymore.”

“Well, I’m not following you.”

He sniffed. “You’re dying, Jane. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But your parts are no longer working the way they should.”

Silence. Well, that was me looking at him, trying to figure out how x-ray fumes could drive a person crazy.

He wrote something down. “Take this, twice a day. I’ve also written down what symptoms you should watch out for.”

I grabbed the piece of paper, thanked him, and left the hospital. I could hear an ambulance making its urgent way towards the emergency room and saw the medics waiting with jaded eyes. Heard a disembodied voice on the speaker calling out to some Dr. Lorenzo. Felt my arm brush against the cold, tiled walls near the exit.

I knew it. I knew I was jinxed since the moment I was born. There I was, not having had the greatest sex of my life yet, and I already had a “best before” date.

As I was nearing my apartment, I could hear Jeremy pawing feverishly at the door even before I took my keys out. I opened the door to a petulant cat, mewling as if to complain about how boring his day went. “You think you had a bad day? Wait till I tell you about mine,” I said, stroking his white head. Jeremy looked at me with his blue eyes, probably assuming I was going to take care of him till he would be too old to care.

It’s been ages since I opened my heart to a breathing, living thing. And on the day I decided to do so, fate made up her mind that I shouldn’t live long enough to do it.

I crumpled to the floor. I was sobbing uncontrollably before I knew it. During the short stroll home, I’ve already made peace with the fact that I was going to die. But who would take care of my little Jeremy when I was gone?

To Be Continued

“Have you found Jeremy?”

I slumped deeper in my seat as I played with my food. “Nope.”

“You’ll find him.”

“No, I won’t, Mae. You know it. I know it.”

Mae has always been an optimist. I honestly don’t get how people fool themselves into thinking that positive thoughts get you positive results. What a load of crap. There are about 12,000 men who die everyday while having sex. See? That’s what happens when you think positive way too much.

I lost Jeremy three days ago. And everytime I thought of him, I remembered how piercing his eyes were. He would stare at me while I worked, always waiting patiently whenever I was busy. I would find him staring at me sometimes in the morning when I woke up. Yes, that’s how I’ll forever remember Jeremy: his staring eyes.

But before you jump to conclusions, let me tell you this straightaway: Jeremy is the name of my cat. And if you’re a dog lover, go to hell. Your dog probably chased Jeremy and killed him in a dirty alley.

 

My friend Mae fished for change from her rather short skirt. “So I get that we don’t look for Jeremy today.”

“I’ve wasted enough time trying to look for him. If I spent that much time looking for a date, I’d probably have a husband by now.”

Mae snickered and winced at the same time. “You’re so grumpy, you know that? And you look sleepy, too.”

“Can you stop calling me names of Snow White’s dwarves?” I looked at Mae and shook my head. “I just don’t get it. The door was locked. The windows weren’t open. There was no way out of my room. How could Jeremy have escaped? I just couldn’t figure it out.”

Mae shook her head. “You and your closure issues.”

Yes, closure is very very important. People actually commit suicide just because they don’t get the closure they need, you know.

Maybe that was why the thought of Jeremy made me want to bang my head on the wall. I couldn’t quite get over the fact that my cat was gone because I didn’t have any idea how he did it.

I knew it, I should never have played hero in the first place. Two months ago, I was buying a can of soda from the convenience store when I saw someone hurl a plastic bag out of the car. I did a double take when I saw the bag move on the pavement. As I moved closer, I saw a little white cat with blue eyes trying to paw his way out. It stopped as it saw me. “Miw,” it said, faith and hope mirrored in his staring eyes.

I stepped back gingerly. I hated cats! I went back inside the convenience store.

Minutes after, I was walking out with a bag of cat food in my hand. I didn’t know what had gotten into me that day but one thing was certain: that kitten was going to have a better day than I was. Cat food plus cat in hand, I went home that day knowing I was the chosen guardian of the wretched creature.

I named him Jeremy. But then, you already know that by now.

That same afternoon that I took Jeremy under my wing, I found out that I was dying.

~ To Be Continued ~

People have different facets. It’s so hard to set apart the good from the bad because nobody is completely evil and nobody is completely good. However…

… It helps to know who you’re dealing with. We all have our quirks and our little favorite sins. But there are people who are capable of so much more than I can even bring myself to think of, let alone do.

Well, don’t get me wrong. God knows I’m no angel. But whatever horns I have, they have long been kept in check.

You sow what you reap, right? Let’s see.

but it is not till dawn that the sun pretends to love me

not till dawn when the light starts to discern

that i am searching for more than brightness

for brightness blinds my eyes, hides my soul

 

and it is not till dawn that darkness becomes shy

not till dawn that the shadows understand

that i am looking for more than refuge

for refuge defeats my will, vanquishes my spirit

 

it is only at the break of dawn

that my heart starts to beat again

it is then that the reign of gloom is almost over

but the brilliance of day is not quite there

 

and the love that i have

for the one beside me

overcomes the shadows

overcomes the brightness

 

and the one true thing that holds sway

of my heart, of the shadows and brightness in my heart,

are his eyes that open slowly

to tell me the truth about dawn.

 

--Stef (2005)

Sometimes, I feel like I don’t need to read novels anymore. All I need is to go back to my archives and my life reads like a whirlwind of mini stories: plots and subplots, protagonists and antagonists, horror, comedy, suspense, and drama.

Are you part of this story? What role do you play? Or have you sauntered into my blog, not knowing how or why?

Exactly one month from now, it will be my birthday. Who will celebrate it with me? Will I celebrate it at all?

Perhaps I should just keep mum about it. That way, I find out who really cares. I don’t need a big number; I just need a real one. :)

In the meantime, I have one month to set things straight, make choices, and convince myself that I don’t have to push people away anymore.

Must stick to the list. Must stick to the list.

I had another lucid nightmare last night.

It seemed so real. In my dream, I was visiting a public highschool for a reason I can’t recall now. It was time to go home but I forgot which way was out.

I asked the kids around me where I was supposed to go. Each student had a different answer. I had no choice but to try all of their suggestions. This kid in a ponytail told me to wait by the highway for a jeepney, which I did. Surprise surprise: the jeepney made a u-turn and headed back to the school.

Another kid said I should walk down this short footpath to the road that led to where I lived. I did as he said, only to find out the path led back to – wherelse? – the school.

Over and over, whatever I did, I found myself back in the school. It was like a geographical vacuum, sucking me back in.

It was getting dark and the students were about to go home. I didn’t know how to get out. I couldn’t find my way home. I was on the verge of panic.

Thank God I finally woke up.

What on earth did that nightmare mean? Even spookier were the familiar faces I saw there. Faces who looked too painfully familiar. Oddly enough, none of them were in my highschool.

I’ve always had lucid nightmares and I’m quite used to them. Sometimes, I know that I’m dreaming and I can control where the dreams go. It’s like having your own puppets live out your dreams in your dreams, so to speak. But sometimes, I get nightmares that scare me to my very core. Just like last night.

Here’s a pseudo-Gestalt-inspired self-realization question: do you sometimes wonder who dreams about you?

After a day of venting my heart out, I decided to get a move-on. I’m going to take the pro-active route, starting with a haircut. Yes, I know, it’s superficial. But it doesn’t take much to make me smile (and ain’t that a good thing?).

My patience has been restored, my tolerance rebooted. Feeling like my old self again, I realize something that’s life-altering. No matter how good some people try to be, there are just some things they can’t do. Even the simple task of listening seems to be something that doesn’t come naturally to a few poor souls.

Things are clearer now. Disappointing, but yes, the clarity was what I wished for. I wanted nothing more.

It’s no big deal, because you’re no big deal. See? I handle reality like I was born to do it.

I need to lie down. And to seriously forget that this world has people in it. People who keep disappointing me. People who keep pushing my buttons.

And I don’t even know I have buttons!!!

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. What happens then? Do I cry again?

I’m seriously upset. I’m making up a happy universe, allowing myself to believe that people care for me. I’m giving everybody else a hard time, making sure they stay within arms reach but never too close. I’m so afraid to feel happy again that I’d rather be alone.

Thank God nobody reads my crap. Nobody has to see how vulnerable I am now. Everybody feels I can do it, that I’m some superhuman alien who can make things happen.

I don’t want to be rich, to be powerful, to be on top of the world, to be anything anybody wants to be. Been there, done that. I’ve had it all – I’ve seen the world from the eyes of a person I no longer recognize. Now, I’ve dressed down to a simpler me and I like myself better. Is that so hard for anyone to understand?

I just want to be happy. Yet here I am, drowning in my own I-told-you-so’s, feeling rather stupid. I. Am. So. Stupid.

I need a drink.

There are SmartConcept agents going around town selling promo (discount) cards for Figaro. The promo cards are real and valid at all Figaro branches. Unfortunately, the agents selling these cards are doing a lot of low-brow schemes to sell them – and Figaro doesn’t seem to give a damn.

Someone I know bought one of these discount cards because the SmartConcept agent promised him free Wi-Fi access until the end of the year. This guy verified this fact several times with the agent before he finally purchased the discount card for PhP399. Other than the free Wi-Fi that the agent promised, the promo card included a lot of freebies, such as free pizza, free coffee, free tea, and many other great deals.

 

Too good to be true? Well, it was. You see, the agent’s pants were on fire. Having discovered that he’s been had, the guy who bought the discount card complained at a Figaro branch the next day. Figaro’s official response: “The agency must have misunderstood; please contact them for your complaints.”

Hookay. First of all, Figaro is affiliated with this agency. The discount cards are valid. If the agents made false claims OR if they will claim they’ve been “misinformed,” isn’t Figaro still supposed to be helping customers iron out these issues instead of asking them to do so on their own? Instead, Figaro is not interested in doing anything with these complaints. Shouldn’t they be actively seeking out these agents who are obviously ripping off a lot of Figaro customers?

Well, maybe Figaro simply doesn’t care about their customers as long as they sell the discount cards and make money. I’m so disappointed because I get the feeling that if this had anything to do with Starbucks, this wouldn’t be happening.

Note: I am not affiliated with Starbucks. This is not a paid article.

I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help myself.

It’s so easy for people to believe something, especially if it’s flattery. Praise people and they immediately become your friends. Faking sincerity is, therefore, an art that I want to master.

How about you? Have you fallen prey yet?

It’s such a big mistake – big – for people to assume I’m on their side just because I talk to them, just because I listen. But yes, I choose to be good, for now at least.

People think they know me. If they really knew me, they’d know how I want my coffee. Or if I preferred dawn over dusk. Or whether I’m a dog or a cat person. But even if they knew absolutely nothing about me, they still feel I’m a friend. Okay, I shall let them assume all they want. I will smile a tolerant smile, nod a gracious nod. I will let things happen. As long as I don’t get mad, nobody gets hurt.

As long as nobody gets all fresh with me under the assumption that I shall be receptive, then I won’t bite. I hate people who assume too much too soon.

You have been warned: I am not a pushover. Do not assume that I like you just because I smile back.

Another diarrhea of words. Followed by a blank mind.

Staring at my notes, a question pops to mind: how much adrenaline can a person synthesize in one day? Sadly, I have forgotten. All the things I used to know are leaking out my ears. Maybe that’s because I’ve allowed my mind to go dull. In fact, I haven’t picked up my reviewer to study as regularly as I would have wanted. I have been too busy wallowing in something unexpectedly saccharine.

So, there I was, staring at my reviewer. Nothing seemed to sink into my befuddled brain. Concentrate, dammit.

It was hard to focus when all I was counting on was adrenaline. Maybe I should have gotten myself another cup of coffee, but that would have made me sleepy. Don’t ask.

How unproductive. I closed my notes. And then –

I had a migraine-inducing flood of thoughts. Somewhere in my sea of confusion, I saw things – oh things! – that shall never be erased. Questions, stares, quips. Too many words in just a split second. For a short moment, I forgot I was in a public place. I gasped out loud.

Holy jeepers creepers! What was that? No, I wasn’t losing my mind. I was perfectly sane. Too perfectly sane, in fact, that I knew reality was starting to slap me in the face and beat some sense into me.

Okay, I was awake. I was ready to listen intently.

So many men have absolutely no idea how to please a woman. But it’s not like it’s always the men’s fault; after all, women always fake it. So how on earth are men supposed to learn?

 

 

It’s just funny how men “think” they know what to do in bed. They think that size, length, and girth matter. They think that a woman will get the same pleasure as they do from the same things that they do.

 

And women, oh women. They lead men into thinking that what they are doing is right. Nobody has the guts to say, “Um, that’s not doing anything for me” or “Maybe you should try doing this instead.” Instead, us women always aim to please.

 

Thing is, a man who strives to please you instead of just himself is a keeper. Not because he’s good in bed (well, okay, maybe that’s a factor to think about), but because it means he’s thinking of you, too. He cares enough to even give a damn.

 

But in the end, it’s up to the woman to set things straight, to teach a man how to be a man in bed. We all owe it to ourselves. :)

1. Begin

2. Beguile

3. Beflatter

4. Befuddle

5. Behold

6. Berate vs. Beshroud

7. Befriend vs. Beware

Food I keep craving for on an almost weekly basis:

1. avocado shake

 
2. spinach dumplings

3. palitaw 

4. leche flan  
5. bibingka with salted egg

 
6. pinapaitan

 
7. binuburan
8. langka
9. lechon manok
10. binatog – My strongest craving as of late. I gotta have this!!!

I am no denial queen; I just don’t see the point in admitting half-truths.

I am no idiot; I just like making mistakes so I can learn from them. I thought I was unstable; turns out I am the most stable person I know.

For the longest time, I knew where to go. I had my inner compass, I had a map, I had a plan.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I had a plan. It started out as a vicious scheme, a plan to destroy someone. A scheme to get even. After all, I break people for a living. Then, something happened to turn things around.

All thoughts of my scheme turned to mulch. I became both speechless and word-crazy. Everything changed. Not that I was surprised that it did.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t even know exactly how I feel. I don’t like it that there’s a stranger in my chest trying to tell me things I’d rather not listen to for now. Stranger, leave me be.

Stranger, stay. Yes, definitely, stay. And one day, I just might stop talking in riddles.

I am not much of a story teller. I don’t have a way with words. I stumble from one sentence to another, mumbling most of the time, half wondering how to speak my mind. But yes, I do have a story to tell.

Unfortunately, it’s not one of those fairy tale stories with a happy ending. My story is bleak, with some happy stuttering moments at the most. But the ending is definitely not happy – nope, far from it. Maybe that’s why it took me some time before I finally decided to tell it.

You see, I’m dying. And it’s not even going to be some dramatic death where the ones I hold dear get to say their goodbyes before I breathe my last breath. No, it’s nothing like that; it’s actually going to be a lackluster “expected surprise.” The doctor sat me down last week and told me in not so many words, “You are on borrowed time. Sooner or later, your heart will stop beating, and that will be it.” And one day, someone in my building will find me face down on the floor with my hair in my own vomit.

See? What an anti-climactic way to go. How so not Princess Di. I wish I could just die trying to save someone from a burning building. Wow, that would be great, with my picture on the 7 o’clock news and on the front page of the morning paper. But noooo, I have to die like a music box that someone forgot to wind.

And where death exists, so does gossip. “Maybe someone wanted her dead. She looks like she has enemies.” “I heard she’s always coming home late at night. She’s probably one of them druggies. Good riddance.” “The goddamned cleaning lady said she’s always alone. Maybe she committed goddamned suicide because she’s so goddamned miserable?” Ah, yes, juicy gossip. Life – and death – wouldn’t be complete without it.

Not that I won’t get to enjoy my life… or my death. Yes, in case you’re still wondering, I actually die in this godforsaken story. But that’s not the gloomy, forlorn ending I was referring to in the beginning.

Maybe now you’re wondering, what ending is worse than death?

Well, I can answer that with a name: Jeremy.

And no, this is not a love story. Or haven’t you been paying attention?

To Be Continued

4:30 am. I walk through the market, amazed at how early some people wake up to earn a living. Even more amazing is the fact that this market has been right beside where I’ve been staying all this time.

There and there. I see what I need. I know what I want but I stick to my list. My lists have not betrayed me – at least, not until today.

And right there, in the middle of a bustling early morning market, the totally unrelated lesson sinks in: I shall stay away from the hot pot that burned my fingers.

When you’re walking down a pretty road and a goblin steps out of the bushes, what do you do?

It’s been a while since I wrote in riddles. Loving how people can’t decipher what I mean, I go ahead with another post that’s “riddled with riddles.”

Anyhow, the said goblin in my little story asks me a question I can’t answer. I’m stumped! I wrinkle my forehead, trying to think, think, think of the answer.

Why do goblins ask such ridiculous questions? All I wanted to do was pick flowers by the road. But the wretched goblin pops out of nowhere and opens his mouth, revealing his crooked teeth.

The goblin asks, “Are you ready?”