Friday, October 27, 2006

For You


There comes a time in a woman's life when you have to make choices. The most important one is the choice to get married. Some women prefer a career first, maybe set up a "nest egg" before getting married.
Some, intoxicated by love, jump into marriage without even thinking. Others get married to escape their parents, while some get married because of duty.

Different reasons, different excuses. But all scenarios can have a happy ending if you're married to the right man.

Life is funny. We don't really end up marrying our own version of Mr. Right. Instead God gives us someone who is right for us.

THANK YOU for giving me my happy ending.

Happy Birthday sweetie.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

He's getting married (Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer)

This made me cry :(

TODAY, I will attend an execution: my own. I will watch it with both eyes open and I will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never love him like I have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken.

I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I saved his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with five older brothers and a hellion of a sister, ''Totoy Cardo'' was a piece of cake.

Oliver was so overcome with embarrassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck that from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued. As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those two front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair, and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood.

The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if that's the best or the worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. It used to drive me nuts that he never let me out of his sight.

When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out in the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed methrough the school corridors. Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things left in school. When I reached home I was told that I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which I did) and to wash my face with my blood (which I didn't do).

Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door. I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmennorhea, I found out that Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me.

Nobody had ever fought for me before that. And when you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, you tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then.

When we were in high school and I found out that the school's heartthrob and one of my most ardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that I ran. When I didn't graduate as valedictorianand I got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didn't even mind that I barfed all over his dad's car (which he borrowed without permission).

When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything. When my dad followed my mom less than a year later after a heart attack, he was there again. By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with me--not when Oliver had a black belt.I didn't know how to define our relationship.

I didn't know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one.

We did all the things that couple did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other we never said ''I love you'' or whatever serious couple told each other.

As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements. I didn't mind. After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know that love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak.

I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me a lecture on safe sex. And I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl. But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears.

What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Don't blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self-defense course. But I did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man? I could not believe it! I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take mesome place where we didn't know anybody.

No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked in the School for Martyrs, I couldn't, for the life of me pretend, it didn't happen. I couldn't pretend he didn't hurt me.

I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before. We didn't talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever I would see him. I wouldn't take his calls. I wouldn't see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living.

Hate and I became good friends.

"God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them," somebody once wrote. I didn't want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one cliches that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken themselves.

Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third--so hurt and broken up inside. My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding.

Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair. Frankly I don't want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I haveto bathe and prepare and put on that atrocious peach (it's not even my color!) gown.

I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isn't behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so that she will know both of our love.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Who the hell do you look like?!?! :)


just wanted to write....

Ignorance is bliss, they say.

When you're in a relationship with someone who treats you right, you would think that everything is great. Unknowingly, that same person who treats you like a queen, has actually cheated on you 2 or 3 times. But being the great person he is, he has never left you for these girls and continues to love and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. You never find out about these other girls. Even now that your relationship is over.

On the other hand, we have this someone who does not treat you as well as you would like, but has been absolutely faithful to you and loves you very much. You two are totally in love.
I wonder who I'd rather be with?


The 1st case would make me look like a TOTAL idiot. Having no idea that my so-called perfect boyfriend was actually a DOG.

The 2nd case would make me look like a STOOOOPID martyr, so insecure that I don't have the courage to fight for what i'm worth.

The person i'm describing is actually someone i know VERY WELL (wink wink). He used to be case number 1, now he's case number 2.

My question is, has he changed for the better?... hmm...

Tuesday, October 17, 2006


Words really cannot describe how I feel about my kids. I love them to death. To the brink of obsession! Ok, that's scary. I'm just trying to show how intense the feeling is. Anyway, this is the latest pic of me and my baby. Taken by my hubby. :)

final interviews

Doesn't it seem harsh that a person's life is sort of in your hands when doing these things? I know how important a job is to a person, and having that much power to affect a person's life is really scary.

But of course you have to be realistic. At the end of the day, it's a business, and you have to take care of that business. You have to get people that you know will work with you in acheiving goals.

I hate parasite agents who just jump from call center to call center. To them, their job is just a meal ticket. That, if they have enough money, they won't go to work or just slack off. Milk the company for whatever it's worth and apply at another call center again to do the same thing.
Haaay. What do these kids want to do with their lives? I know they're young and want to have fun... but I had fun when I was young too but I didn't fuck up my job.

Ok, I'm ranting now. Didn't mean to do that at the start of this blog. I guess I see a lot of potential in young people that is totally wasted.

Sigh. If only we could see this during final interviews... my life would be SO MUCH EASIER.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Let there be light

Sometimes, life gives us dilemmas we think we can not survive. Although at the back of our minds we know it's only temporary, I usually say, "That's nice, but what about NOW? What do we do in the meantime?"

We're now in the last stages of our "dilemma", and i'm seeing the light at the end of the dark tunnel. Although we're not there yet, we're close, and I can't wait. In the meantime, I thank God for all the support we've gotten from both our families. Without them, our problem would've been unbearable and traumatic.

Here's hoping it doesn't happen again, right Jerome? :)