starting all over

People would be so glad if they are in my shoes right now. I was given by my loving parents a second chance in life, and even if it WILL cost them thousands and thousands of their hard earned money, still they provided me with this opportunity.

I have just started my 2nd semester in Law School. I never did imagine that I’ll end up choosing this kind of profession. Well at first I really wanted to take marketing communications in one of the top businessness schools here in the country, after that I’ll try my luck with lawschool. But of course, with just the one flick, everything changed, and here I am, still up at 3:00 AM, studying for my Criminal Law II exams.

I know that this is my second chance in life and I have never wanted anything so bad in my whole life. And I am not and will not be bound to ruin this.

However, I also need to sacrifice a lot of things. Still, I need to work just to pay my phone bills. I dont want to be a burden to my parents, so with my meager salary, I try to manage everything– from phone bills, room rent, books, allowance, etc. But I’m cool with it. I haven’t been responsible as I was before, though I still dont know how to manage my accounts. He He He. I know, and guilty as sin, I am a spendthrift.

But this is just a step for my brand new life.

of a lost rosary and keeping a Parker Pen

I just noticed recently that whenever my heart plummets to the pits of hell, I have this unconscious habit of keeping small things near with me, not like an amulet or something, but some kinda useful stuffs like a notebook, a small crucifix, or even a pencil.

And I can’t leave home without those things. I really have to make sure they’re in my bag or else, i have to go back home and retrieve my epektos. It’s like when you’re used to wearing your favorite necklace or your ring everyday, and suddenly you forgot that you left them at the sink and you left home without them. And then you have this queer naked feeling the whole day.

I know my choices are quite weird: a small wooden rosary, a mechanical pencil, a starbucks journal, and even the petal of a rose that I got during a mass. And during those times that I had those stuffs, I felt complete. Before (four years ago actually), I never went to bed without touching my rosary or even writing at my journal. I guess it helped me during the hardest times. But then, when the good times came, I just shoved them in the air. I found my rosary hanging at Papa’s car while my journal, well of course I have hidden it from my younger sister’s prying eyes. But I wasn’t writing or touching any feel-good-thing. Because I think I was happy.

Actually, right now I feel that I’m quite okay after all the damnest things/ events that I’ve been through these past months. (It is not just the matters of the heart, but of life as well.) Even though I have a work that sucks, no gimmick nights and elbi friends, away from my mares and my “loving and caring” housemates, I have managed to find some light (yes I see the white light dear lord!).

But I still cling to some small stuffs like my books (which I unfortunately sleep with due to lack of space), my first Parker Pen, and my starbucks planner 2007 (got it from him) which I converted to a journal.  And I never leave home without them, sans the books of course. 

I now faithfully write at my journal (writing actually helps, and it’s pyschotherapy), manage to keep the same pen for almost five months (yes, I consider it an achievement), and actually read good literature (instead of self help books about relationships or a bitch-in-the-making book).   

Maybe those small stuffs that I keep are the bits and pieces of my old self that I desperately cling on for some strength or whatever superpower they may give. They’re not just things. And I think I have shed them some life because of the strong emotions that I have imprinted on them ( parang ghosts actually hehehe).

And I’m going to keep them. Even if i become perpetually happy.

of writing poems and forgetfulness

I haven’t been writing much poetry since our break-up. Transforming my demented feelings into words and immortalizing every memory through poetry, hence makes myself even more miserable. I should be writing stories for children, poems or even fulfilling my daily task of blogging. But I really just can’t write.

Quoting Jessica Zafra, writing is a pyschotherapy, enabling you to heal yourself whatever pain you are suffering from.  It gives you the power, your pen as the magic wand and transfroms your feelings into words, just as Cinderella’s fairy god mother dressed her with the dandiest gowns.

 I should have written more even if I’m not bored or lonely.

Manny My HERO

In my DREAMS!

The Pacman rules the Philippines. And even the hearts of the Filipinos. In every knock down, the whole Philippines is also celebrating his glory. And if he ever fails, or lose a fight, we Filipinos would assume that we are CHEATED. So much for adoring PACMAN.

But winning all those WBC watchamacallit titles, that still doesn’t count him in as a hero, nor he deserves to have a piece of dirt in the Libingan ng mga Bayani to shove his bones in.  I think, he doesn’t deserve to be called a hero, because the noun HERO for me is not just a mere word, it is something sacred. A word that transcends a whole personality.

According to the Merriam Webster’s definition of a hero, a hero is a mythological or legendary figure of divine descent with great strenght or ability. Call me stupid for taking this literally, probably Manny Pacquiao is some descent of the maligno (for he even looks one albeit the Belo thingy), having all the great strength and the CHARACTER! All together now: THE CHARACTER! which will probably falls on my stupid standard for a hero.

Manny Pacquiao will never, never be a hero. Probably the right term would be an Idol. Similar to those gold and carved statues worshipped by the pagans in the bible. He can be worshipped, but he can’t be a hero. For he doesn’t even sacrificed his life for the betterment of the people, well, for the sake of those dirty politicians and of course, his pocket.

If then, he is a hero, then shoot me.

Bosom Maladies

Among women, one of the leading causes of death here in the Philippines is breast cancer. My neighbor, the mom of my childhood friend, had a mastectomy (removal of breast). My college adviser also had breast cancer, but she is a survivor. Almost every woman I know had breast cancer or had a malignant cyst in their breasts. My mom has malignant cysts and my cousin had her cysts removed when she was 23.

Actually, breast cancer doesn’t run in the family, we have a history of nervous breakdowns and some psychological problems on the mother side. But then again, I still fear that I might suffer this deadly disease. My left breast is suffering an irritating pain. It’s not that very painful though. It’s like your left breast is carrying something heavy and you can’t make it move. See, I’m pressing my left breast now and it’s quite hurting. I’m having a check-up next week.

I don’t want to die. Of course, no one in their right mind wants to die. Though I admit that there were some instances that I’ve toyed with the idea of killing myself but not really DOING IT. It’s just what you call “emo” moments. Hell, I have a life to live. I haven’t gotten my revenge and avenged my heart. I want to have children and give them names. I want to travel and spit at America’s soil.  I still want to meet that someone who’ll rescue me from my absymal life.

My life is just starting. And I know that life is always, and it never fails to be shitty. But I want to live.

Lunatic and Limbo

Okey. This is the ultimate boring period of my existence. I’m blogging right now because I have nothing to do in this godforsakenoffice.  And mind you, my dear readers, I’m working with an advertising agency and we’re supposed to be one of the busiest people walking on earth.  Duh-uh! face the reality my dear bosses and slap yourselves. We don’t have clients. All together now: WE DON’T HAVE CLIENTS.

Actually, the company that I’ve been working with is a has-been in the advertising industry. It is family owned; the mother and the father are both presidents, the son, with no back ground on fine arts, who is just a researcher back in college, is the Creative Director.  Back in the 70s, they have these well-known TV ads, and they’ve even had one famous comedian as a talent in one of their commercials.  And their office was located in one of the prime buildings in Makati. But fame and money isn’t everything.

My dear bosses, please pop your bubble. We are now living in this dog-eat-dog world and please, please admit that we really need to have a good account manager and a professional creative director.

Please, wake up for this company’s sake!