the fasten seatbelt sign is on

10 and 9. Those are the number of times we've moved houses and the times I've moved schools, respectively. The number of times I've been on airplanes I've lost count, as well as the number of times I've had to introduce myself to a new crowd. My life has been full of introductions. A new introduction presented itself when Princess called and said she was leaving for Canada.

"You're leaving me?" were the first words I blurted out. I didn't really know what to say. When I was going to the US, I was totally depressed. I wasn't excited about new life, starting over, yadda yadda. No. What I wanted was to stay. What I was wanted was to keep my life the way it was and be happy. What I wanted was to never move again, end of story. Except it was never the end of any story and I had to start over again in a foreign place. And now that Princess is moving, I feel for her. I feel sad that she's not going to be able to see her friends when she wants to as she normally does. I feel sad that she's not going to be able to just book a flight and relax in Boracay. I feel sad that she's going to miss out on our niece's life. I feel sad that she won't be able to just take a jeep to the mall and window shop all she likes. And most of all I feel sad that nothing is going to be the same anymore.

Jokes that made you laugh before would make you cry on the spot. Clothes that were comfortable before would make you feel alien and naked. Foods that used to keep you company would make you feel homesick and alone. Nothing is familiar when you leave familiarity with your friends and toys. I wish I could say that it's going to be better, that sooner or later you'll be fine and happy again. It does in some ways. But there's a void that you avoid because that's where everything you were and had is.

Moving is a trying experience. It has an emotional roller coaster mandatory for everyone. But moving is moving forward. Where your past and future become your present. Where every thing is new and exciting. I'm blessed that with every move my family is still there, a room away, a phone call away, an email away, a video chat away, a prayer away. My bestfriend once said that even though we never see each other we are still under the same blue sky. As cliched as that sounds, I find comfort in the fact that we are connected by God's love, under the same blue sky.

Princess, I know you're going to okay. Just think of the place you're going to as a bigger Cebu. You're going to be just fine.

with these hands

When I look at my hands I always remember what my eldest sister said, "Artist hands." Long, thin fingers, unmanicured. Scars on on finger, two moles on another. I like my hands. We used to have a family friend visit us on the Farm when I was younger. I remember her teaching me how to color. That is my earliest memory of liking art. When I grew up I always asked my parents to buy me coloring books and crayons. Crayolas and coloring books were there in place of dolls and dresses.

I was never a girly girl to begin with. So dolls still scare me to this day. Another cousin of mine, Kuya Steve, is a great artist. I remember when we visited in Manila I would go to his room just to look at the paintings on his walls and even on his ceiling. He made me draw a vase of flowers once but the Crayola coloring me just looked at the pencil and blank piece of paper like it was alien. I attempted to draw but it ended up looking like an abstract piece. It still makes me laugh when I think of that.

Highschool crept up and my parents no longer thought coloring books were appropriate for me. I got distracted by computer games but I still liked pastels and watercolors. One time though, a teacher wanted the whole class to draw him a horse. A horse. Not everyone in our class has seen a horse, they were all city kids. And even if I knew how a horse looked like I couldn't draw one to save my soul. A stick figure horse was unacceptable. But lo and behold, this one guy was an artist. So our classmates commissioned him to draw a horse for every one of us. He saved us all, with his artist hands and his horse.

I became really envious of him. Not that I wanted to save the class with horses. No, what I wanted was to have his artist hands so I wouldn't need someone to save me because they can conjure a horse on paper. So I started drawing again, and asked my parents to buy me sketchpads and pencils. My sister Darlene also encouraged me to draw since she was really good at drawing, coloring, painting...okay, she was good at all kinds of art. And I wanted to be an artist too, innate talent or no.

Fast forward years later, I have artist hands, after all. What I lacked was practice. And now that I stopped drawing, my art looks like stick figures again. I look at my hands now and know what they are capable of doing. I look at my hands and wish I can draw every single day. I seem to have lost my muse. I know that is not true, what I lost is my first love. Art is and will always be my first love. So now that I'm back to rank Amateur, all I can do is draw and draw and draw until art comes back to me. You accept art in whatever form because art will come to you however it wishes.

the f word

I don't really like cursing or swearing. I usually make up my own phrase or sentence to express my frustration. And I do have lots of frustrations. Especially when I drive. Yeah. Just, yeah.

So it goes like this, five minutes into driving on the 101 freeway bound home, this dark blue two door car cuts in front of me, nearly missing a van from his lane. I ignore the car since Arizona drivers tend to be insane anyway. And it's not like honking will change anything. But then a couple of feet away, he (yes, he) decides to stick out his arm out the window and raise his middle finger. Yes, that universal F sign that was spontaneously invented to replace verbal use of the word. Surprise, surprise, it caught on. He waves his smug sign for a couple of seconds before putting his arm back inside. So who was the sign aimed for? Me? Maybe. For some other driver? Probably. For all of us? Highly likely.

I raise my eyebrow at that and stop myself from thinking of ill of him. Too late though, a sick smile has already spread on my lips as I think avidly of how morbidly ironic it would be if he suddenly gets blindsided out of nowhere. Or he suddenly rear ends the car he was now behind. Ah, the possibilities. I only sigh though as I watch him exit off the freeway and go his merry way.

I wasn't really mad at the guy. For the life of me I can't think of why he would do that and if it was indeed aimed at me. Only God and him know. But still, isn't he concerned that if he did that to someone else the person would probably chase after his car and shoot him? I mean, Arizona is one of the states that have a lot of road rage incidents. And I would not want to encourage anyone with anger management issues to blow my brains out. I have enough of seeing people reported on the news who got shot after angering a fellow driver.

I was thinking that God would deal with that idiotic asinine of an ass, but then as I exited Thomas Road, I felt foolish enough to just ask God to forgive me and that addled brain half-bake. The next time I meet another dullard dumdum on the road, I will stay clear of their path lest I catch their dumbass and foolhardy manner. After all, some are born stupid, some achieve stupidity, and some have stupidity thrust upon them. But stupidity is not passed on by ancestors but it is their own hard-worn accomplishment. Kudos to you, driver of the dark blue two door car. May you always have bliss. Since ignorance of stupidity is bliss.