This waiting game is getting me sucked in this paranoia of oblivion. The what if’s are just at bay. I am not flipping out. There’s this part of me that keeps on saying that something is beginning, something is changing.


Over the past weeks, counting the days, being oblivious of time trying to let my mind off of my expectations and imagining the urban life I will endure again feels like at one point that I haven’t done anything at all with my life. Nothing happened. Nothing is happening. The time I have had my last job until today was like it just happened a few months ago.

Sometimes, I even still feel like having just graduated from college. Readying to face the world for my taking. On the other hand, I am at this race against time burying into thinking what could, should have I done in the past. The regret of unburdening myself to figuring out my exit on these gaps I myself have led on comes up whenever I try to resolve something. I might have not taken myself seriously but who does really. The intention of being serious is out though I have this pensive and serious look in my face. I am not just good with small talks so either I am taken as a snob or a bore. In all of these, I just know what works for me and what I can care less.

True enough, we are our own’s worst critic.

I know what I want now and I am keeping myself to doing just that. I sometimes tend to go in a bubble but living in the now is my banner. Accepting for a fact that memories create what we are to do next. Either good or bad memories, all of it happened entirely in the past. As much as we want to not consider it, what we see today and what will happen tomorrow is more than the reason not it. Cliche, mental but true. It happened and is happening in all of us. It is a constant push and pull. No other way.

So,that’s where I stick myself up because no matter how much of life we’ve been through, when we rebuild and choose our way to resiliency we have those memories and we can always start anew.




Replete Of Memories and Banter

IMG_0785Actually, having you as a brother is like dining out in an all you can eat buffet because you are everything that you are and sometimes you got all these mixed up decision. I will be talking about food now, I mean you. Sorry, food is something that’s so relevant with our relationship as brothers, you know. In all of this I know this post will warm you heart and kind of fill your stomach, brother.

While you are annoying and a good companion at the same time I can’t lie to myself that I enjoy being with you. Being the youngest sometimes you normally whine, fuss over small things but at the end we all fall to leniency and complacency in treating you. Maybe because you are the youngest and the family puts up with you no matter what. The bunso (Filipino for youngest sibling) magic.

I pride myself of having you as my brother because somewhat I’ve become parental over you. I’ve seen you grow and babysit you whenever Mama isn’t around during weekends. I’ll put you to sleep. Make sure too that you’re groomed, fresh and cleaned. We bonded over home cooked meals and we were all so happy about it we gained more of our slender younger selves. Until now all things about food is just music to our ears. We just love to eat, don’t we?

Realizing how time has passed and you finishing college this year and passing as a registered master electrician is but a feat. I am proud of you dear brother. I pray that you stay grounded and reach for your dreams or do whatever you want. As we share and exchange memories of our childhood and when sudden banter of nonsense observations or boredom kicks in between us, think always that I will be your older brother willing to take it easy on you. You hear me out sometimes, you ask me of what I think of things sometimes. That is what I like about you. You just blabber. And you know it annoys me. I knew then that you were just being silly and a tease. It will never change between us.


Come on let’s go for a walk or jog around.
Happy Birthday!
Shall we have pancakes or eggs and bread after we walk
or jog?


Talks Over Soda and Potato Chips

It has been 9 years when my paternal grandmother passed away. Last October 24 was the exact day she left us. I am giving her this post to remember her, to give her memories a whiff of life through here.

lala ting

Lala Ting

Her voice in mezzo-soprano sometimes sounds annoying to me when she speaks out of excitement or sudden bursts of frustration and anger consumes her. She really is bold when she expresses herself. I grew up seeing her animate over matters of concern between her and grandfather and her children, including my father. She exercise a lot of assertions on whatever stuff that gets her involved. She is lively and aggressive at times too but very lenient and patient to us, her grandchildren. She often enjoys sharing a bag of chips and carbonated soda with us in the afternoon after coming home from school. It becomes our quality time to listen to her stories of random things with her voice kept at minimum.

Lala Ting is what we call her. Lala is a derivative from “Lola”, Filipino for grandmother. Ting is derived from her name Matea (pronounced as Ma-tee-ya). She has one elder brother and younger sister. I am fond of her sister, Lola Elena. Unlike her, she has this happy disposition. She evokes warmth and friendliness. Wearing such a sweet smile on her round face always. My Lala Ting is dear to me. She could be stern sometimes and a disciplinarian but I did learn a lot from her on behaving properly.

I enjoy accompanying her when she unexpectedly plans to visit the farm and it’s not nearby. Walking long distance is the most grueling part of the trip after commuting via bus. So she makes sure that we are on the road before the sun rises or else walking under the heat would be daunting or unbearable during the dry season. In all these short trips I would accompany her, I learned patience. I got the hang of walking and carrying her other bag filled with some groceries. We do stay for a couple of days at the farm especially during the harvest season and she anticipated me making a fuss of the meals prepared at the farm hence some groceries are brought during this trip.

I learned to take care of myself. I learned to eat vegetables and appreciate whatever is served on the table. I learned how to keep my arms steady when she reaches it for support when we cross the river or the curbs of rice paddies. She really doesn’t talk much when we walk and I like her when she’s quiet like that.

I realized that she exposed me to these short travels that I harnessed more of my independence and never feared the hassle of traveling, in turn I looked forward to reaching more places. If only she was still alive she could have envied my few travels to places she would love to go to.

Lala Ting died in the morning. I haven’t had the chance to speak to her the day before she died. She had just come home from the hospital then and according to my parents was that she’s gotten really weak. I was really busy at the university during the week she was hospitalized. I was tied with the finals as I accomplish more academic stuff before the semester break. I felt bad soon as I heard that she has left us. I wasn’t expecting that she’ll pass that morning. The day I was already free from school. And to think that the night before I was filled with high hopes that I’ll be able talk to her in the morning to ask her how she’d been. But no talks over sodas and bags of chips happened, not ever will.

While she was still warm I rushed to her side to pay respect, to kiss her hand and speak to her in mind. I love you, Lala Ting. I miss you. Thank you.