A portrait of what was being said

'SYTYCD' Top 8: Melissa & Ade's Contemporary Performance @ Y! TV

There's so much beauty in this piece. For all my loved ones who battle cancer, and the rest of us who are right alongside them, you have so much strength, and you have our strength too.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley.

something there that wasn't there before

I still remember the first time I saw Beauty and the Beast. It was movie night with my family; I was young and happily tomboyish. We watched it on the VCR (completely ancient now) and that was when I realized that despite my tomboyish attitude I was a romantic.

I reacted awed at Belle, wanting to have my own adventure too; equally disgusted with Gaston, and his drunkard minion. And then there was the Beast. The Beast was one part daunting and another part amazing. Daunting in the sense that he was a beast, easily could maul you apart, amazing in the part that he was human underneath all the fur.

What made me discover my being a romantic was not their love triangle. It certainly wasn't the part where Gaston proposed to, well, himself. Nor was it the part when Beast gets rid of Gaston once and for all. I cheered at that part though. But it was the part when Beast surprised Belle with a library. (A library, you say?)

Yes, a library. What's so romantic about books? It wasn't about the books. When Beast gave Belle a library it was like giving Belle love. Belle loved books. Her love for books was greater than the ridicule she faced daily from the villagers who thought she was different from them. Beast gave her the library because it would make Belle happy. I think loving is like that. It's giving or doing something for a person knowing that he or she would be happy about it, or that that person would love it. I'm not saying that we should go and give the people we love a library (thank you, though, if you give me one) but we should desire to make that person happy. Just go and love the person.

I'm equating the act of Beast giving Belle a library with love. Ridiculous? Maybe. But I'm a romantic remember? So in the meantime, while I sit here and listen to the soundtrack, I'll wait for my own library.

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.

Lessons from our backyard

For the past six weeks my Dad has been with us here in Arizona. In the last couple of years, six weeks is not the longest we have been together, but six weeks weighs more than a year's worth of Skype video chats, sparse cellphone conversations, and at most, bi-weekly emails. I have never thought about the strangeness of this situation a lot. Since it's not like I think it is strange. Not seeing or talking or hearing from my Dad daily is as normal as my hair tangling up like a wretched hairball. Both are certainly unappealing, though hairballs are generally more disgusting. By unappealing, I mean that daughters usually want to know how their father is faring and vice versa. In my case, I DO want to know how my father is faring but again, in my case, that's just not always been possible. There was that one simple hang up with us not being in the same house, or even in the same continent. Good news, we're in the same planet.

I have (as you mostly are all probably aware) always been a daddy's girl. My mom and I are close but my dad and I just mesh better. As cliched as being a daddy's girl is, I think it's enjoyable. Most of the time, anyway. My dad is a military man, a math man, a straight forward and loyal man, a Bible man, a generous man, a well respected man. Not in that exact order but he is certainly the kind of guy you want with you when your car breaks down or when you are lost in this crazy Twilight Zone kind of place. Being with him again has reminded me and shown me that as smart mouthed and sarcastic I am most of the time, I still need my dad in my life. Especially since I usually keep everything to myself to the point of bursting my figurative innards.

Ever since I can remember I have always tagged along with my dad. Driving with him to Manila or taking the bus back to the Farm, I have always been by his side. Most of our conversations were conducted on the move or during nap time when I was trying to make him sleep so I could play. One time when I was four and my brother would not let me join him and his friends play, I went to my parents' room and sat beside my dad. I was clearly sulking so my dad asked me what happened. And I just told him, "I wish I was born a guy, then I could do whatever I wanted." My dad just laughed at that and replied, "Not every thing's going to be okay if you were a guy. That's why God didn't make you that way." I just humphed and stayed quiet. When I was five, I told him I wanted to be an assassin when I grew up. My eldest sister looked at me then at my dad when he calmly said, "That's not really an easy profession, why don't you choose something else?" My sister wholeheartedly agreed with him.

There were many instances of me saying some random thing to him and he would respond in a straight forward manner, despite the amusement or astonishment to my sentiments. I have always felt that he was not talking to me as a child but as a person. Once, we were parked somewhere and just sat there watching jeepneys when I noticed the signs painted on the sides of the jeeps. I asked him, "So where is 'Vice Versa' located in Cebu?" He was silent for a couple of seconds before responding, "Vice Versa?" I nodded as he started saying, "It means it also goes the other way around. It's not a place in Cebu." And with that, I sat silently, and we burst out laughing. There goes my English classes.

The past six weeks, he's been taking care of our backyard. My dad's first love is planting, and plants love him too. So my mom has given him the task of planting new plants and flowers in place of the ones that have succumbed to the desert heat. The plants which have been withering before are now basking on growth since my dad started caring for them. Another project he was tasked to do was to replant the uprooted tree on my aunt's backyard. He took me there one afternoon with his shovel, his ropes, a couple of stakes, and my car's jack. All the while I was angsting over what my mom told me just hours ago. He did all the talking while tying up the tree, talking about his childhood and how my grandfather gave him a job in the farm. I sat on the loose rocks and listened to him talk of responsibility and the hardship of sacrifice. In the end, we prayed and he asked me if I was hurt by what my mom said. I tried explaining but all he wanted was a Yes or No answer. I said yes, and he replied, "Ok. It's okay to tell her you were hurt."

I've learned a lot from my dad, and I'm still learning. I've learned that it's okay to say what you feel, and that you should. I learned that driving a car should only be done when you are sure of what you're doing. I've learned that math will not eat you alive, and that anything can be learned if you are willing to. I've learned how to really plant a flower and not see it die in two days. I've learned how to cement bricks, the difference between cementing and plastering, and that if you get cement on your hair you can wash it off as long as it hasn't hardened yet. I've learned that gardening and watering plants are relaxing and enjoyable work. I've learned that taking a break can be relaxing and enjoyable too, especially after you really worked hard.

My dad is a great influence in my life, and by great I mean in intensity and ability. I went back to Philippines one time to figure out if I should take Nursing or not. My mom wanted me to, of course, but she wanted me to decide. My dad gave me a verse in Psalm and I decided on Nursing. "Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." Despite the fact that Art was my first love, I decided on taking a risk with Nursing because of my dad's confidence and support in me. And in times when I doubt myself for my choice, I remember that verse and feel better again.

I had a conversation on the phone once with my dad where he was asking me if I missed him. I thought about it for a second before I answered, "No." He was clearly taken aback by that and replied in a hurt voice, "Oh, why don't you miss me? Why did you answer no?" I just said, "Well I don't miss you right now. And you told me not to lie." My mom had to explain to him later that I was just an abnormal kid and did not think normally. The truth is I miss him everyday. But I just don't think of him so I don't miss him so I don't think I miss him. It's not logical but that's just the way I cope with not seeing my family. For me it's not absence making a heart fonder, but out of sight, out of mind. But when I do say I miss someone, I really do miss them. Cross my heart.

So when my dad goes to San Francisco tomorrow, I may not get to say goodby to him at the airport. Or I may forget to email him in a week. But I think it's safe to say that I will miss him even as I bury myself on schoolwork and reading. Lessons from our backyard go from mundane to enlightening, from poignant to silly, and from father to daughter but the answer to "Do you miss me?" will always be "Yes," from now to forever.

beasts of dysfunction

I'm your typical good girl. The funny, quirky, nerdy, goody two shoes. Though with a good deal of sarcasm and fondness for being random. I obsess about getting the grade for my classes though I'm a bit lazy to study. I rarely get scolded by my parents. I'm too boring socially for them to worry about me getting wasted or trying out meth or some other high inducing drug. I'm too introverted to be seduced by going out with classmates I barely know and hanging out. I can hear you saying "You need a life." Hehe, not really. I like how I am and quite comfortable with my life. So what's the point then? You can already see that this is going to turn into a big, raging, hormonal rant, don't you?

No matter how perfect I desire to be I cannot ignore that I am still a beast of dysfunction. This is not a 'pity me' statement. Since it is the truth, after all. I believe that no one is perfect, not one can be. Despite push or pull, whether you devote your life to be one, perfection is just elusive that way. What I wish though is the freedom from being expected perfect. Perfection is not demanded but it is quite implied. Like a humongous dragon breathing down your neck, filling your lungs with smoke with your every inhale and possibly a crunchy meal next. I know that a lot is expected of me and my knowledge of that just annoys me.

I am the youngest child and youngest daughter in our family. Yes, those two qualifications are important. Growing up, my older sisters were already in college while I was still in grade school. I rarely saw them but I rarely failed to hear tales of their flaws or at least what grave mistakes merited a public rant from my parents. Disappointment laced their voices when they would share what my sisters did wrong. And I guess that sticks to a kid, it's one of those childhood sentiments that clung to you. I was always told, "Wag mong gayahin mga manang mo." (Don't be like your sisters). And my mind asked what exactly were my sisters? One married too early, and another didn't finish college but worked instead. I do not fault them for doing what they did. I saw them as independent people who made their own choices. I admit I was angry at my parents too, saying we were Christians but driving their children away. It did not make sense why we were that way.

I remember once when my brother and mother had a fight they both cried. I remember watching TV and having my back to them so they did not see tears on my face. My brother did not want dinner so I went to his room and lain their beside him. I did not have to look at him to know that he was crying. He was angry and hurt that they were thinking him ungrateful. He said that he did his best and he graduated from the academy for them. I did not say anything and just asked if he was going to eat. Appeasing him was unlike me when I did not want to choose sides. I love my parents and my brother, they were family. And family to me should not take sides.

I was not like my sisters, I grew up dependent on my parents. I still have the childish habit of holding on to my mom's shirt tail like a child would (although he being annoyed by it is a bonus). My father frowns when I hesitate to talk to other people as I try to shrink into myself. I believed my self to be not smart like my sisters, not talented enough, not pretty enough, not good enough. I am not like my brother, I do not have ambition. I do not have goals for my self. I do not have the initiative to do what I need to do. By being like them would I fail my parents too? By being myself would I remain mediocre?

I no longer wanted to be a child. When I was a child I was powerless, unable to voice my opinions. I experienced this when my mother told my sister to pack her things and leave our house. She was being sent away. I remembered following her to the room we shared and asking her if it was my fault she was being sent away. I told her that I would behave myself and not fight with her for the remote control if she did not leave. But she just shook her head and answered that no, it was not me but she had to leave. It was then I accepted that I could not remain a child anymore. Being a child was naive and pathetic so I grew up.

I cannot ignore the flaws and scars my family have. I tell my sister that my parents are different from their parents. They can only stand being with them for three days and no more. My parents when with my siblings turn into harsh critics which embarrasses me. This blog is not one sided, my parents are not the only ones in the wrong. A relationship is a two way street, they say. I believe that. I try and tell myself that if we weren't so self-absorbed then perhaps we could all reconcile without having to resort into having a three day countdown. Sometimes I am in the receiving end of my parent's harsh words and I admit that it still makes me feel small and weak. Whoever said words could not never harm should rot in a pit of verbal massacre. But I do not dwell in them anymore, especially when I did do something wrong. It's just so easy to cling to being hurt and angry. That just tires me out.

I will just continue to be myself, borrowing backbone from my sisters and ambition from my brother, and advice from my parents. Maybe by being me, I'll be free from being perfect. And that way I will be happy.

Sensible Sounds Kindly Shut Up.

I'm done taking my pre-requisites, all I need is one co-requisite, and an application packet and I'm set. All I need to do is wait for my application to be processed and hopefully be accepted in the Nursing Program this year. So why am I dilly dallying?

I'm 19. I'm considered a grown up. Heck, I am grown up. And yet, I still twiddle my thumbs and bury myself in the land of Lala. Does anyone else have the same problem? Many times I wish for a How To Manual or An Idiot's Guide to Growing Up. Please. No matter how mature you get you still quake in your dolled up shoes when you have to go through something new. I guess that's one of the rules.

The first time I was in a plane was a domestic flight to Cebu. That wasn't so scary since I was with my parents. And the naive me was yet to know that Cebu was in the Philippines. The next plane rides were more fun and was just routine that now I can board a plane alone for international flights. And no, Arizona is far from the Philippines.

The first time I was in school was me being too young to remember. All I can remember is learning to write in short hand and being annoyed since my penmanship sucked. Maybe it's because if those black, jumbo pencils. Now I can attest that I know how to write in cursive but it still sucks. I've been to nine different schools since and being a college student, like all the previous levels still has both pros and cons. The only difference is my classmates are not of my race and I actually pay attention in class to the point of being called a nerd.

The first time I drove a car was with my mom in the Farm. She wanted me to learn so she let me take out our van for a drive. It wasn't that nerve wracking since it was an automatic car. Later I would learn how to drive a stick shift, or a manual car. That was harder and earned me more frustrated lectures from my dad and annoyed glares from my older brother who expected me to learn in a day. Suffice to say, that wasn't an easy process and three years later I'm still an amateur in parking and avoiding curbs.

The first time I drove myself to school via the freeway alone in my car, I was gripping the steering wheel so hard. I was tense and unable to fill my lungs with enough oxygen for survival. I arrived in school with ample time to shake off my trembling limbs and prevent tears of joy from leaking. Driving home was better, I was gripping the steering wheel less, and I could breathe easier. All in all I survived and now I can drive with one hand and half of my brain memorizing previous class lectures.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I've taken many single steps, and I guess It'll take time when I can run to my destination. I'm still a frog in a well, I don't know how great the ocean is. I guess wanting to grow up is different from actually being a grown up. I can say it's freakier and more troublesome but it's not something I can avoid if I want to reach my goals. Years ago I didn't know what I wanted to be, and now I am wanting to be something. Move forward, that's all I can do. Mada mada dane (You still have lots to learn).

10 years later

I was 8 when my parents sat my brother and I down to talk. It was somber that night in our small living room in Cebu. My brother and I were thinking to ourselves what the talk would be about, did we goof up that day? But no, it was about our eldest sister. She was going to get married. We youngsters stared at my dad like he spouted some nonsense and was just kidding. He wasn't. And the next days were a blur of taking a flight to Manila and staying near my aunt's place.

I realize now that even then that was an alien occurrence. Marriage was usually a happy, joyous occasion with a big flourish preparation and an even grander celebration. But my sister's wedding did not happen that way. I remember being held by my dad as we sat on my aunt's couch. I remember crying, and stomping my feet. I remember being heartbroken and inconsolable. I was being a child who wasn't getting what she wanted. And what I wanted was keeping my sister in our family. I wanted her to remain ours.

I smile now when I recall hating my brother in law even before he was officially and legally my brother in law. I remember being in the farm with him and playing Mortal Kombat and Mario with him and my brother. All the while I was wishing and cursing him away from my family. It was childish and petty but it was me experiencing my world shift and tilt off course. But I remember him smiling at me as if knowing and understanding how I felt towards him.

In the end, I was dressed in a simple white gown befitting a sole flower girl. I remember holding a basket full of petals and scattering them on the carpet as I walked by. I remember sitting in front and frowning as my younger cousin found it amusing that I was in a dress. I continued frowning as I felt itchy in my dress and it turned into glaring as I felt my heart stop and pound at the same time. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I clenched my teeth in despair.

In front of the pastor was my sister on her wedding gown and her husband to be standing side by side. I remember looking on but soon averting my eyes so they wont' notice my obvious glare. I remember learning that even when nerve cells are anesthetized they still feel pain but cannot send that information to the brain, so we don't feel the pain the cells do. I felt that there was a scream bubbling in me but I knew that it would not be heard even if I opened my mouth, my brain remained numb. I was afraid that I would ruin her day for her. I was fearful of being scolded for being a brat. But I was even more scared that she would be forever lost to me.

I remember her teaching me how to read my Filipino textbooks and correcting my homework. I remember her being afraid of mice and anything that crawled. I remember her singing during church, she had such a great voice. I remember her driving the motorcycle too fast and ending up crashing it in a ditch. She was really sorry for endangering us due to her desire to speed. I remember being conned into getting money for them from my mom's purse. I remember being introduced to her highschool friends and being told that I was her cutest sibling but until I was older she held that title. I remember her going away to college and seeing less and less of her. I remember her visiting in Cebu, finding the dialect amusing. I remember being in South Cotabato with her and our family for a vacation. I remember wishing they were just there in Cebu with us. I remember being told she was getting married. I remember wanting to beg her not to marry. I remember wanting to cry and ask that she not leave our family. I remember wanting to ask if she was leaving because she no longer wanted us. I remember being heartbroken that I no longer had my big sister.

10 years later I sit here and write about it. I realize that I had begged them all to stay. And they wished they could but it was not possible. However, I am still their baby sister, they say. I am content with that. I wrote this for feeling nostalgic, for her since her birthday is nearing and I have still to get a card. I wrote this for us, for me being born on the same month she was. I wrote this for closure for that little girl who experienced her first heartbreak when she realized that nothing is forever. I wrote this for being on good terms with my brother in law, who sucked at playing the villain who stole the princess. I wrote this for love which is shared greatly in this family.

Happy birthday sister, you are loved always.

nov4

It's 2.45pm. I'm waiting for 4pm so we can go and bring Mama to the airport for her flight to the Philippines. Her vacation.

I'll have the house to myself for about two weeks. I have lots to do: pay and mail bills, start her car every other day, take out the trash every Mondays and Wednesdays, retrieve the dry cleaned couch covers on Wednesday, water the plants inside and outside the house, and of course, still go to school and church. ;)

This is like the every other times in the past that I've been alone. But hey, at least this time I can go to Tita and Tito's place right across ours. I'll be sleeping in their place and go back here in the morning. And on the 12th, a holiday, I'll spend the day cleaning this house for Thanksgiving prep and finish up another lab report due on that Wednesday. I'll be procrastinating, I'm sure. So I'll be busy, keeping myself busy.

Although it makes me sad that Mama will be alone on Christmas. It makes me grit my teeth, but that's just how we are. Maybe, in a few more years I'll get used to it... Maybe. I'm too old to be crying and stuff anyway :) Yeah right. I'll never be too old. I just think sometimes, what if they're not there anymore? What would it be like without their phonecalls, emails, greetings? Or when you answer the phone expecting to hear their voice but it's someone else? Or setting up a family reunion without them in it, ever? They're no more. Just nothingness. That would suck. It bothers me.

Instant Plant: Just Add Water

I'm not a plant person. Sure, I appreciate plants. I like plants of all sorts, I'm just not that dedicated to them. I can plant, water and fertilize just fine but I'm an impatient person (when it comes to plants) so I expect them to grow in a 24 hour span. I know, poor plant.

During highschool, we had gardening. It was part of our science classes. I absolutely dreaded gardening. It pained me since I knew that A LOT of plants would die under my watch (or lack thereof). That is sort of pathetic of me since my family has a farm and I grew up planting with my siblings and my dad. Thankfully, I passed my Science classes and highschool. I think my teachers pitied me or something. LOL. But thinking of the poor, defenseless plants that died due to my stupidity and impatience bothers me. *guilty conscience* I wouldn't want to tell my dad about that since I know he would be mortified to say the least.

This piece was written since I bought orange daisies today. I like daisies and the color orange. That aside, I bought a plant, didn't I? And I absolutely do not want this plant to die just because of my impatience. I really need to remind myself that plants are living things too and therefore have needs like I do. Plants DO NOT grow in a 24 hour span but it takes them days, weeks, months, and years unless they die, of course. I really need to be (MORE) patient when it comes to plants. My lolo would turn in his grave if I let this plant die. *faints*

Please plant, don't die on me.