Tagged by Cookie, and although I am not really that much into numbers 1 and 2 and just a little into number 3, I welcome number 4:
~~Begin Copy~~This is the easy way and the fastest way to :
1. Make your Authority Technorati explode.
2. Increase your Google Page Rank.
3. Get more traffic to your blog.
4. Make more new friends.
Rules :
1. Start copy from “Begin Copy” until “End Copy” to your blog(for bloggers paste on the “compose” not the “edit html” part in posting blogs so it will be linked automatically).
2. Put your own blog name and link.
3. Tag your friends as much as you can, the more the better!
1. Picturing of Life2. Juliana’s Site3.Hazel-My Life, My Hope, My Future.4.Jeanne-The Callalily Space5.Starz in De Sky6. My Charmed Life7.Denz Techtronics8.Denz Recreational9.Life’s Simple Pleasures10. My Blog11. Because Life is Fun12. In This Game of Life13.Scribbles of my Life14.Changing Lanes 15. anna 16. joytoy 17.Surviving deployment18. The Deviant19. All I want is Everything20. Shadows of love, fate and destiny21.Tasteful Voyage22.A mom’s note23. Bittersweet Collide24.Jackie Simplypinay25.Jackie’s Everyday Life26. Parisukat27. Heart of Rachel 28. ScroochChronicles 29. Anna's Tasa
YOU’RE NEXT~~ END COPY~~
Tag, you're "it" Buday, Josh, Karen and Rowena
May 12, 2008
May 11, 2008
My Mother, My Self
People—particularly those who know my mom—always tell me that I look like her. That I have her—ahem—grace. Only that she is more beautiful. And more sociable. And more this and more that.
Growing up, I used to really resent the comparison. Especially during those neurotic years when I thought my Mom was always after my neck. When I thought she wanted me to be her clone. How I used to really hate it when she’d walk into my room to tell me that this wasn’t the way a “lady’s” room should look like. There may have been a lot of times when I told myself that I wouldn’t be like her.
But the years away from home made me look at things from a different perspective I learned to take the comparison for what it was: a compliment. I began to see my mom as a woman of strength, a woman of faith. So when I find myself obsessing over the bathroom tiles and the creased bedsheets, I really, really know that I am my mother's daughter.
Now that I can stake a claim on motherhood, I find myself wishing that I am more like her: patient, well put together, competitive. A supermom who can juggle home, work and play and still find time for a lot more. More than anything, I wish I have her faith. I look at my daughter—whom friends refer to as my mini me—and I realize that motherhood is a matter of faith. It is a matter of giving a child an anchor from where she may draw strength and freedom so that she may soar.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! And although I didn’t get your hair (and got your hips instead, ha ha), I thank you for giving me the two things I treasure most: roots and wings.
Growing up, I used to really resent the comparison. Especially during those neurotic years when I thought my Mom was always after my neck. When I thought she wanted me to be her clone. How I used to really hate it when she’d walk into my room to tell me that this wasn’t the way a “lady’s” room should look like. There may have been a lot of times when I told myself that I wouldn’t be like her.
But the years away from home made me look at things from a different perspective I learned to take the comparison for what it was: a compliment. I began to see my mom as a woman of strength, a woman of faith. So when I find myself obsessing over the bathroom tiles and the creased bedsheets, I really, really know that I am my mother's daughter.
Now that I can stake a claim on motherhood, I find myself wishing that I am more like her: patient, well put together, competitive. A supermom who can juggle home, work and play and still find time for a lot more. More than anything, I wish I have her faith. I look at my daughter—whom friends refer to as my mini me—and I realize that motherhood is a matter of faith. It is a matter of giving a child an anchor from where she may draw strength and freedom so that she may soar.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! And although I didn’t get your hair (and got your hips instead, ha ha), I thank you for giving me the two things I treasure most: roots and wings.
May 7, 2008
Lies My Yaya Told Me
Up until I knew better, I had a yaya who thought up answers to everything. Nilda, her name was, and she fancied herself to be the next Nora Aunor. (She was a Noranian of the diehard kind, stopping just a little short of hexing Vilma Santos.) She had ready answers to my endless questions. She also had outrageous views that, alas, I took for bible truths.
And so it was that I believed that “not for hire” meant “not for long distances” [“harayo” is Bicol for “far,” and Nilda insisted that “not for hire” literally meant “dili pwede sa harayo.”]. I also believed that “Bumbays” were scary people who particularly feasted on children that didn’t take naps, and that Coca-Cola was a concoction of soy sauce, water and Superwheel. Naturally, I steered clear of Coke.
But if there’s one childhood myth that I held on to until reality bit, it is this: that nuns and priests were not like us lesser mortals. That they were special. So special, in fact, that they didn't need to eat "real" food: they could live on the communion host alone. They also didn't have to take care of themselves or to look good or even to brush their teeth.
So when, during a kindergarten outing, I saw Sor Sonia eating a sandwich, I was really, really floored! With something close to shock, I realized that Nilda was taking me for a ride all along. Eventually, she ran off with her “Pip,” and probably had a dozen “Maria Leonora Teresas.”
Thoughts of my childhood yaya came back when, at a grocery line, I stood behind a youngish priest. When it was his turn, he looked around, gave me a sheepish grin and piled his purchases. There, on the counter, were six boxes of whitening soap.
So much for Nilda and her myths, huh!
And so it was that I believed that “not for hire” meant “not for long distances” [“harayo” is Bicol for “far,” and Nilda insisted that “not for hire” literally meant “dili pwede sa harayo.”]. I also believed that “Bumbays” were scary people who particularly feasted on children that didn’t take naps, and that Coca-Cola was a concoction of soy sauce, water and Superwheel. Naturally, I steered clear of Coke.
But if there’s one childhood myth that I held on to until reality bit, it is this: that nuns and priests were not like us lesser mortals. That they were special. So special, in fact, that they didn't need to eat "real" food: they could live on the communion host alone. They also didn't have to take care of themselves or to look good or even to brush their teeth.
So when, during a kindergarten outing, I saw Sor Sonia eating a sandwich, I was really, really floored! With something close to shock, I realized that Nilda was taking me for a ride all along. Eventually, she ran off with her “Pip,” and probably had a dozen “Maria Leonora Teresas.”
Thoughts of my childhood yaya came back when, at a grocery line, I stood behind a youngish priest. When it was his turn, he looked around, gave me a sheepish grin and piled his purchases. There, on the counter, were six boxes of whitening soap.
So much for Nilda and her myths, huh!
April 24, 2008
Things that Made Me Go "Ewwww"
I am not a sucker for love stories. True, I devoured Sweet Dreams and Sihouette and Mills and Boon and Danielle Steele before I knew any better. But then I realized that love stories are all variations of the same plot (you know, the boy-meets-girl, the riding-off-into-the-sunset and the living-happily-ever-after stuff). And I learned soon enough that real life isn't a love story. That life is, in fact, a string of stories good and bad.
The "unromantic" that I was, I had an ever-expanding list of things that made me go "ewww."
1. Roses on Valentine's Day
2. Sappy love letters
3. Cheesy lyrics
4. David Pomeranz
5. Moony, "adoring" looks
6. The damsel-in-distress drama
7. Sharing a room and a bed and a bank account with someone
8. Holding hands for reasons that have nothing to do with safety
9. Making up after a fight
10. The Wedding March
Four years of wedded (can't say it's all) bliss--and a three-year-old that has her dad's eyes--and I take back everything on my list.
Happy anniversary, Paparu! And without racing to the medicine cabinet for a dose of antihistamine (or for the barf bag), I can truly, truly say that I'm glad you found me. :p
The "unromantic" that I was, I had an ever-expanding list of things that made me go "ewww."
1. Roses on Valentine's Day
2. Sappy love letters
3. Cheesy lyrics
4. David Pomeranz
5. Moony, "adoring" looks
6. The damsel-in-distress drama
7. Sharing a room and a bed and a bank account with someone
8. Holding hands for reasons that have nothing to do with safety
9. Making up after a fight
10. The Wedding March
Four years of wedded (can't say it's all) bliss--and a three-year-old that has her dad's eyes--and I take back everything on my list.
Happy anniversary, Paparu! And without racing to the medicine cabinet for a dose of antihistamine (or for the barf bag), I can truly, truly say that I'm glad you found me. :p
April 23, 2008
Ooops...
I did it again. Been “postless” for quite a stretch now, that is. I don’t know, but humidity has a way of sponging whatever creative juices I might (still) have. For the past two weeks, my days—and nights—have had a zombie-like drill: creep out of bed at 6, settle into the daily grind at 8, crawl back into bed 13 hours later. The routine, and the precious hours of mothering an overactive three-year-old, have left me with little time for things requiring some degree of creativity. And before I knew it, it’s been two weeks…
There’s this other thing that got me, well, occupied, these past days: earning “Master Detective” status in Big Fish Games’ Mystery Case Files-Ravenhearst. I am no arcade girl, but I do like computer games that are a little laid back. Like Text Twist, Zuma, Tumblebugs and the Mystery Case Files series. MCF-Ravenhearst’s plot may seem like a trite attempt at horror, but then we’re not talking Nobel Prize anyway. (And as they say, it’s the going there, not the getting there, that matters.) What I like best is figuring out how to open the elaborate locks. Makes me feel so much like Nancy Drew, he he.
My eyes are shot from picking out clues, and Ravenhearst is feeling more of a routine. I woke up this morning to a refreshing April shower. And guess what? I’m not stewing anymore…
There’s this other thing that got me, well, occupied, these past days: earning “Master Detective” status in Big Fish Games’ Mystery Case Files-Ravenhearst. I am no arcade girl, but I do like computer games that are a little laid back. Like Text Twist, Zuma, Tumblebugs and the Mystery Case Files series. MCF-Ravenhearst’s plot may seem like a trite attempt at horror, but then we’re not talking Nobel Prize anyway. (And as they say, it’s the going there, not the getting there, that matters.) What I like best is figuring out how to open the elaborate locks. Makes me feel so much like Nancy Drew, he he.
My eyes are shot from picking out clues, and Ravenhearst is feeling more of a routine. I woke up this morning to a refreshing April shower. And guess what? I’m not stewing anymore…
April 8, 2008
Living with Loss
Today marks the first death anniversary of a friend’s daughter. That the girl—who was ten—died on Easter Sunday remains one of life’s many ironies. My friend H has since picked up the pieces, and I am in awe of her strength.
This beautiful verse is for H, and for those of us who continue to live with, and live through, seemingly insurmountable losses.
A Psalm About Grieving
Choir 1:I turned to the wind
who howled and sighed
the whole time I was healing.
Choir 2: I turned to a tree
who had lost its leaves—
she knew how I was feeling.
Choir 1: I turned to the rain
who was in tears
for I too felt like crying.
Choir 2: I turned to the earth
who understood
what it meant to live with dying.
Choir 1: I turned to a thistle in a field
I could see
she too was lonely.
Choir 2: I turned to a rock
who knew how hard it was
to be one and only.
Choir 1: I turned to a blade of grass
because there were bonds
I had to sever.
Choir 2: I turned to the sea
who returned to me
and taught me about forever.
Choir 1: I turned to a mountain
who seemed secure
and I asked for strength and endurance.
Choir 2: I turned to wildflowers
in a wood
and they gave me some assurance.
Choir 1: I turned to a friend
who sat with me
until she had to be leaving.
Choir 2: I turned to Shaddai
who stayed with me
and helped me through my grieving.
This beautiful verse is for H, and for those of us who continue to live with, and live through, seemingly insurmountable losses.
A Psalm About Grieving
Choir 1:I turned to the wind
who howled and sighed
the whole time I was healing.
Choir 2: I turned to a tree
who had lost its leaves—
she knew how I was feeling.
Choir 1: I turned to the rain
who was in tears
for I too felt like crying.
Choir 2: I turned to the earth
who understood
what it meant to live with dying.
Choir 1: I turned to a thistle in a field
I could see
she too was lonely.
Choir 2: I turned to a rock
who knew how hard it was
to be one and only.
Choir 1: I turned to a blade of grass
because there were bonds
I had to sever.
Choir 2: I turned to the sea
who returned to me
and taught me about forever.
Choir 1: I turned to a mountain
who seemed secure
and I asked for strength and endurance.
Choir 2: I turned to wildflowers
in a wood
and they gave me some assurance.
Choir 1: I turned to a friend
who sat with me
until she had to be leaving.
Choir 2: I turned to Shaddai
who stayed with me
and helped me through my grieving.
April 6, 2008
A Year of Blogging
I am known for changing course mid-flight, for disconnections and reconnections. I pick up hobbies and interests and lose interest midstream. I have tons of unfinished projects and unfinished businesses, sentences and essays begun but never ended.
So when I started blogging a year ago, I wasn’t sure I’d reach this far. Or if I’d go somewhere at all. I just wanted to write again. To ramble on, in fact, about everything and nothing.
It’s been a year—and two days—since that first entry. A year and two days of finding joy in the blogs and lives of others. Of discovering kindred spirits and reconnecting with old friends.
It’s been a year of waking up in the middle of the night, of purposely ignoring "official" deadlines, to blog and bloghop.
Yes, it's been a year. And I look forward to more.
So when I started blogging a year ago, I wasn’t sure I’d reach this far. Or if I’d go somewhere at all. I just wanted to write again. To ramble on, in fact, about everything and nothing.
It’s been a year—and two days—since that first entry. A year and two days of finding joy in the blogs and lives of others. Of discovering kindred spirits and reconnecting with old friends.
It’s been a year of waking up in the middle of the night, of purposely ignoring "official" deadlines, to blog and bloghop.
Yes, it's been a year. And I look forward to more.
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