Love in the Time of Instant Noodles

In this era where technology is as fast as a blink of an eye, everyone seems to be always running out of time. Move quick, then good, you are ahead of the race. Lag behind, and you’ll get trampled upon.

This is the reason why we are all crazy about almost anything immediate. Marketing dudes need only to put ‘instant’ or ‘fast’ in their products or services and voila! It could mean lots of moneybags.

Forget about exercise! Lose weight instantly with these pills.

Do you want to earn money in an instant? Let’s have coffee and talk about it. Power!

We insta-print your photos, t-shirts, tarpaulins, and whatever, while you wait!

Oh, how we want everything in a snap. Products should be delivered fast, or else they should be free. Want to show your newly painted nails to the world, right now? There’s Instagram to the rescue! Even decent meals are replaced with instant noodles, just to have time for more important things, like Facebook.  

This should not be the case in love.

***

We were not friends in an instant. I can't bear his smell after a typical play day, and how he finds much happiness in torturing grasshoppers and dragonflies. The feeling was mutual, though. He would later confess how he despised my messy ponytail, crooked teeth, and geeky glasses.

That was when we were seven. Puberty came, and made things much worse. We found new friends in our new schools and barely talked with each other.

But one day, just like how Harry Potter got his letter from Hogwarts, there was just this one ordinary day, which turned magical.

We were together in our yard. He brought some bread for merienda. “Masarap diyan, pancit canton”, I said, so I went to the kitchen to showcase my three-minute expert cooking skills. We ate and talked until it was time for dinner.

As I write this, my brain is being a hard drive, retrieving all the tiny details about that day – the white-collared shirt he wore, the metal ring that was on his thumb and not on his ring finger, and the highlight: our raucous laughter as we read a love letter that was too grammatically incorrect, even MS Word will give up spell-checking it.

The best things in life are indeed, unexpected. That day, I knew that something beautiful began, and it was too beautiful that I don’t want it to end, so I willed it to be very slow, to savor every precious minute of it.

And to cut everything short, after that day, came so many other days that we just felt so comfortable and happy being with each other.

Our friendship, little by little, bloomed into love. But there were also some setbacks. Our parents firmly ordered we should graduate first. We were that generation that could only choose whether: A.) Argue with parents then leave the house permanently; or B.) STFU and follow orders. A was not really an option by the way.

So, at the time when our college friends were drinking their first tequila and exchanging animated stories of their latest carnal adventures, we read our textbooks and studied for our exams. I wrote essays and got anemic in shooting short films, while he tinkered with his calculator and cursed Calculus. 

We did not totally understand our parents that time, but looking back at it now, I am just really glad we listened.

2010, we finally marched with our black togas and got our diplomas, which were the passports so we could finally be ‘legalized as a couple’. After graduating, we shared the stress of job hunting and acing interviews, until we landed our first jobs. It was a great period of adjustment, but we managed.

Then came the joy of giving a little back to our parents from our own pockets, of exploring new restaurants to dine in, of finally buying stuffs we like (aside from those we need), of lazy afternoons at home spent by playing scrabble or learning guitar together. All those years, we allowed things to unfold on their own and learned to appreciate every moment. We ‘just chilled’ – as how kids of today would put it. And how very beautiful it turned out to be.

Ours is a love that patiently waited. We upheld our values although people considered them as ultra-conservative bordering into jurassic. In the midst of shocked looks, raised eyebrows and “Imposible naman ‘yan!” exclamatory remarks, we remained faithful to each other and to our values. It was a mutual choice, albeit a hard one.

Years later, pressure came from people who really can’t contain themselves meddling with other people’s personal choices. “Hindi pa ba kayo magpapakasal? Tagal niyo na!”, were words we often heard towards our 8^th year of being together. We did not give in though, because we have already carefully laid out our future plans.

And then, when the time was right, or so he thought, he kneeled and gave me a ring. On that very moment, I said “Yes” in an instant, but it was a yes that was build up and cemented by so many years of love, patience, hard work, and commitment. It was not a spur-of-the-moment yes just to be posted in Twitter, but a yes shared by two people, a yes to a love to be kept alive.

Now that we are married, you guessed it – people are still rushing us, this time, to have kids. But we still believe in living our lives one step at a time.


There is something inexplicably beautiful, even magical, in taking things slowly.

Writer's Block

Gaya ni Ricky Lee, malaking palaisipan sa akin kung totoong may writer’s block.


Totoo kayang dumadating sa puntong pinagtataksilan ng sarili niyang sining ang isang manunulat? Na nasasaid ang utak at ang sensibilidad?


Bilang writer, hindi ko alam kung totoong dumating na ako sa puntong ganoon. Basta ang alam ko, napakatagal ng panahong hindi ako nakapagsulat. Huminto ako, sa hindi ko malamang dahilan. Marami na akong naisulat, pero sa paglipas ng mga araw, mas dumami ang mga hindi ko naisulat. O kung naisulat ko man, hindi ko natapos. O kung natapos ko man, nasa Recycle Bin na ng laptop ko ngayon.


Hindi ko talaga malaman ang dahilan. Dati, makakita lang ako ng nanay na nagpapasuso ng sanggol sa jeep, o ng mamang naninigarilyo, nakakabuo ako ng konsepto. Dati, sapat ang mga simpleng pagkain sa Chowking o pagsakay sa bus para ma-obserbahan ko ang galaw ng mga tao sa paligid, at i-konekta ‘yun sa buhay. Dati, kaya kong humugot ng inspirasyon sa gitara, sa pandesal, sa nakakaantok na lecture ng teacher ko sa Geometry at kahit sa bagsak kong quiz sa Physics. Dati.


Madalas kong itanong sa sarili ko kung ano ang nangyari sa akin.


Hindi ko naisulat kung anong pakiramdam ng maghanap ng unang trabaho at mabigo. O ang saya ng niyayakap ka ng mga preschool students at binibigyan ka nila ng drawing nilang lagpas-lagpas ang kulay. Ang unang abot ng sweldo kay mommy. Ang eksaktong detalye ng pagkakasuot ng mahal ko ng singsing sa daliri ko.


Marami pa akong nilampasan lang at hindi isinulat. Masaya. Masalimuot. Magulo. Nakakaiyak. Morbid. Pati mga walang kwentang alaala – na dapat sana naitala ko, pero hindi ko nagawa. Kaya nilampasan na lang ako ng panahon.


Dati, nagsusulat lang ako kapag masaya ako. O kapag excited. O kapag kinikilig. Pero dumating ang panahong naghubad ng maskara ang buhay at doon ko nakita – hindi patas ang mundo. Tatawa ka pala ngayon dahil iiyak ka bukas.


Dati, nagsusulat ako para mabasa ng mga gusto kong makabasa. Para manalo sa mga contests. Para makakuha ng medal at ng cash prize.


Dati.


Ngayon…


Siguro nga, pinagtaksilan na ako ng sarili kong sining.


Ngayon, kapag nasa Chowking ako at dumalaw ang ideya, balewala na sa akin. Nawala ang dati kong ugali ng pagsusulat sa likod ng resibo o mga karton ng French fries. Hindi ako makakuha ng konsepto sa mga simpleng bagay gaya ng dati kong ginagawa. Ngayon, takot akong magsimula sa pagsulat dahil ayokong dumating sa wakas. Nakatanim sa isip kong sa tagal ng panahon huminto ako, nawala ang husay ko.


Tinamad ako. Hindi na ako magaling. Kinapos ako ng style. Wala akong oras. Mas maraming dapat intindihin at unahin. Wala namang makakabasa o pupuri sa mga isinulat ko.


Pero lahat 'yan alibi ko lang.


Kailangang mahanap ko muna sigurong muli ang sarili ko. Kailangan kong magsimula sa wakas. Hayaang masaktan ang sarili para maging malakas. At ikulong ang sarili sa lungkot para sa pagdating ng tamang oras ay lumaya at maging masaya.


Alam ko naman ang solusyon, pero hindi pa ako handang gawin.


Unti-unti, pupulitin ko lahat ng nakakalat na papel sa paligid at nagtataeng bolpen. Unti-unti, mapapalitan uli ‘yon ng mga sulating maipagmamalaki.


Darating din ang oras na ibabangon ako mula sa pagkadapa ng sarili kong sining.

Wanted: Perfect Hire

Updating one’s resume is a good tool for self-evaluation, so after adding mine a few cent’s worth, I re-uploaded it on a job search site. Before I log out, a tab which read Job Matches tempted me, and I gave in. I’m not really actively seeking for a job at the moment, so I thought I could just go on salary checking.

But lo and behold, I found a pain in the eyes.

A multinational and a leading company in its field (as it claims) is looking for a Marketing Officer. I scanned through the requirements. 3 years experience in Marketing? I have that. With a driver’s license? Just renewed mine. Pleasing personality? A big check. But I got to the bottom and all of the preceding three qualifications I know I have became garbage.

On the last line it read: REQUIRED SCHOOL: UP, ATENEO, LA SALLE.

I lingered on that line for a bit before I closed the window. Then, I opened a new Word document and started typing. So many cry out against racial and religious discrimination, even gender biases. Someone should write about this too.

This is also D-I-S-C-R-I-M-I-N-A-T-I-O-N. Here is a silent crowd being singled out by Human Resource practitioners or maybe even business executives of top companies. Here are applicants who may be the best, but second-guesses if they should hit the apply button because they are not from Ateneo, La Salle or UP.

I am one of them.

I knew this sick reality does exist, but companies before were a bit discreet. A candidate may still get a shot for an interview, and if the recruiter finds out that he or she is not from the ‘Big Three’, that’s the time the papers go to the shredder. But today, it was so easy to splatter biased words on a job search site. “Required” School? They didn’t even have the tact to use “Preferred”!

The University I graduated from is not perfect. But so are UP, Ateneo, La Salle and all other colleges. In fact, no school is. There will always be broken chairs, leaking aircons, terror professors, misplaced records, and inexplicable tuition fees. Even top-ranked universities and international schools have their own flaws. That’s what I thought of when I was in college. I didn’t dwell more on what my school can offer me, instead I worked hard to prove that I have something to offer my school – my talents, capabilities and values. For what would happen to a student who makes it to Harvard, but haphazardly studies because he thinks being in the best school in the world is enough? He would be a sore failure, both in grades and in life.

Bottom lines? Being in the best school is not good enough for the following reasons: 1.) That school does not exist. 2.) We all should know that it is not the school that solely maps out a student’s future.

I review that job ad over and over in my mind and this scenario comes to life: a recruiter telling an eager, talented, and highly qualified applicant “Just wait for our call”, but at the back of his head are the words “You are perfect for this position, if only you were from UP, Ateneo or La Salle”. Or perhaps: “Where on earth is this college? You’re education’s irrelevant if you didn’t graduate from the Big Three. And the worst: “Sorry loser, your parents can’t afford sending you to prominent schools, so get out of here”.

It is very ironic that we are so vigilant to demand an apology from some foreign TV host who said Filipinas are domestic helpers or from a best-selling author who wrote that Manila is the gate to hell - but here we are as a people, discriminating each other.

Reality slaps. But it’s high time that students from the “Other” universities make that slap real hard on all biased employers. I am putting out a call. Fellow graduates from universities and colleges branded as “Others”, let us show the workforce that we are equally capable and equipped. Let us make them realize that it is not the school name that makes or breaks an aspiring professional; it is what the student has in his mind and heart, that he will use to bring about positive change in the organization he wishes to be part of.

Though we come from schools tagged as “others”, let us prove the corporate world that we are not just among “the others” whose papers go to the shredder, because we too, can be the perfect hires.

Life and Math

REWIND:



WHEN I was still in school, studying, I developed a phobia in Mathematics. I am not even aware if there is a scientific term for that condition. Just the sight of numbers and signs gave me headaches. But if circumference, cosecants and standard deviations enter the scene, my, that’s brain freeze. I know in my heart that if I start a Facebook group for people who have the same sentiments about Math, I’ll get millions of likes.



It is easy to say that I hate Math, but I don’t. It’s just that we’re in a “complicated” status. I don’t know why, when, or how. I just figured that out when I failed to make it to the honor’s list because of Trigonometry, which eventually endangered my scholarship grant, as well as my chance to finish high school.



So, why am I struggling in Math? I made this crazy theory that because I am fairing well with words, maybe that’s the reason why I’m not good with numbers. Maybe these are two different talents which are chicken feed to wizard kids with superior intelligence, but no, not to an ordinary student like me.



My Statistics teacher contested my premise. How can you possibly understand a Math problem if you’re vocabulary is poor? She was right; however I’m not ready to wave the white flag yet. My argument was simple: you don’t need the Pythagorean Theorem to write an essay.



My terror for Math continued, not surprisingly, until College. It became a significant deciding factor. I chose a course which has very little to do with computations. I did what I loved best for four years: writing, reading, speaking, and performing. I said goodbye to Math.



But like a pledge of love, Math never said goodbye to me.



It is still there in my competency exams before getting my dream job. Sequence, percentage, fractions, simple arithmetic. I experienced the same devastating feeling of submitting a test paper which is 90% guess, only this time, I accepted that the grades would affect my career, not just my report card.



PLAY:



NOW that I am still in school, working, I am surprised to find out that my phobia in Math is still, ever existent.



I proved that one day when I was tasked to write about the culmination of a special academic program in our school, the Abacus Mental Math Arithmetic. I thought that my role was clear, that is, to get the facts, then write. My nightmare began when the teacher dared the audience for a challenge. He randomly selected ten members of the audience to give him four-digit numbers, which he wrote on the board. He then proudly announced that two of his best students who just completed the Abacus training will mentally compute the output of those numbers as he announces the mathematical operation. Afterwards, he handed me a calculator and said, “Miss, kindly compute also and let’s see if the answers will tally.”



He began. 2,143 plus 8,265, times 6,277, minus 4,568, plus 1,655, and so on. His students were just staring at him, while I was hyperventilating, my familiar dread for numbers creeping in. Yes, I have confidence with the calculator, but no, I don’t trust myself.



And it happened, as I was expecting! When the two students flashed the answers they wrote on their white boards, they have exactly the same answers, which is thousands away from mine. I can’t help but laugh. The audience joined me when the Japanese instructor remarked, “You were nervous!” 



Hello, Math, we meet again.



FORWARD:
 


MATH has become a great challenge for me then, and until now. It almost cost me my education, hindered me from passing my job’s qualifying exam, and dampened my self-confidence. But I chose for it not to.  Once, my Geometry teacher quipped, what is life without Math? I raised my eyebrows at that rhetorical question, never understanding it before.



But now, phrasing it differently, what is life without challenges, indeed?



Challenges are rulers. They straighten our path. We may past by the most zigzag roads of life but they will always move us back on track, stronger, to reach the end of the path.



Challenges are compasses. They further develop the circles of our being. Remember the five personality spheres? They test our vigor, wit, and faith. They unleash the beauty of human emotions and intimacy of human relationships.



Challenges are pencils, with erasers. They are a reminder that most things, especially the not-so-good ones, are temporary. We have the power to sketch and map our plans, as well as the right to commit mistakes and do some erasures.



Finally, challenges are calculators. Without us knowing, they multiply our faith in ourselves and a Higher Being, divide our reservations, add our strengths, and subtract our weaknesses. (My Algebra teacher will be so proud that I remembered the MDAS).



So what is life without Math? It’s a boring life without challenges.



And what is life without challenges? It’s like entering a Math class without a ruler, pencil, compass and calculator.



We won’t learn.




***

This article is dedicated to all my Math teachers from Preschool to College. However, four of them will always be dear to me - Ma'am Jocelyn, Ma'am Juna, Sir George, and Ma'am Edel. Thank you po for being patient with me. :)

Sappy

For almost 20 years now, we’ve slept together. But I never even had the chance to record how loud you snored, nor check out the exact time you would shout because of your cramps. I will surely miss your kicks and elbow punches too. How am I supposed to get over that?

At this point I am collating pictures for your wedding video, and I am laughing and crying as I scan our photos. ‘Time flies’ is an understatement. It’s more of ‘Where did all the time go?’ Cliché as it may sound, it seems like only yesterday when we were wrestling each other, then I got injured, so you tried your very best to treat my fractured arm with a bottle of Efficasent oil. That’s the day when I knew we will always be partners in crime. I’m sure gonna miss that and all the other crazy stuffs we tried to ‘patch up’. Insert a sneaky smile here.

I used to be excited about the day you’ll get married. Well, don’t get me wrong because I still am. It’s just that, as May 24 draws near, I realize everything I feel is mixed up. I’m excited for you and your husband-to-be but nervous I’d be left alone. I’m happy you’ll finally start this whole new chapter but sad because you’ll be more of a wife and a future mom, and probably less as my sister. Crap, that sounded selfish.

I started the stupid countdown and now it became a painful reminder. I remember posting in Facebook some ‘40 days to go before the big date!’ status. I thought I could keep you locked out for those 40 days and command you to spend each time with me. Movies, spa, french fries, I’m sure we’ll never run out of things to do. After all, I thought I deserve a sisterly bonding. Like the old days. Henlin noodles on the 20th floor of PBCom, tiangge shopping, ice cream and fraps during stopovers, videoke singing until we’ve exhausted all Aegis songs, pizza deliveries on lazy afternoons, tickle fights, Maskman episodes on YouTube, and in between all of those are the conversations, both the short and the long ones, which really brought us together.

But we’ve both gotten mashed up by the preparations. The list of things to do grew longer, and our time got shorter. Honestly, sometimes it takes a lot of my patience to juggle your wedding preps with my work, but I find an indescribable joy in doing so. Forget about all the events I organized for people I don’t even know. Your wedding should be and will be the most epic and historic. I thought I owe you that. Because:

You are my idol. When you graduated Cum Laude, I made a vow to do the same. And I did, thanks for your push. Then you started your ‘banking career’, got promoted thrice, and brought home your first car when you were 25. Even when you graduated recently with your second degree, I could have taken a leave from work just to clap as you march, if only I have a reserved seat. I will always be your ultimate fan, clapping loudly, cheering wildly, and eyes shining brightly with happiness every time you’ll reach a milestone.

You are my best friend. It would take me a hundred times this space to elaborate on that. With you, I am not afraid to be who I am. Almost everyone thinks and expects me to be ideal, successful, and strong, but you are one of the few who knows the stupid, crazy, fearful and weaker side of me. Thank you for teaching me that life is simple, but people are complicated.  

You are my sister. And I love you very much. I loved you even when I hated you. I hate you because I can’t actually hate you. (I hope that made sense.) And although sometimes we are being compared, by a lot of people, in a lot of things, thank you for always reminding me that I am uniquely me. And because of that uniqueness, I am loved.

For now, I’ll get back to editing your video. I know we still have to send out the invitations, pack your souvenirs, and rehearse for the rites, but let’s take everything one day at a time. That is probably what I should have done years ago, when we still got all the time in the world: to cherish each moment I have with you. Now I feel as if I’m racing against the hands of the clock. But don’t worry, I promise that even after you marry, we’ll make more moments and memories. Promise me, too. 

Sad and happy – that’s exactly how I feel about your wedding, sis. 

How very sappy.

Partner in Crime, Spa Buddy, Resignation Letter Writer, Defender, Mentor, Fashion Consultant, Best Friend, Sister.

Caught in the Middle

Below is my very first article published on a national broadsheet, The Philippine Daily Inquirer's Youngblood section.

***

CHRONOLOGICALLY SPEAKING, I belong to Generation Y, the so-called millennials. We were users of Walkmans, beepers and Windows 95 and suddenly thrust into the amazing world of Skype, iPads and 3D films. So I suppose, like the Australian singer Lenka said, I'm just a little bit caught in the middle.


I who grew up with Cedie, Princess Sarah and Batibot. In fact, so significant is the impact of the adorable Pong Pagong on my life that I learned to eat kangkong (swamp cabbage) so I could be his friend.


I was one of those who had the privilege of hunting for fireflies, dragonflies and beetles during vacations in the province. I usually placed them in a large glass jar to show off to my friends, and then set them free to maintain the balance of nature, as my mom said.


I rummaged through libraries and got calluses from copying notes for research assignments even with the advent of the Internet. Most of my school reports were creatively written on manila paper, for it was only during college that I became friends with PowerPoint.


I was able to listen to very good music which were immensely different from the ra-ra-ra-ra-ra songs of the present. I loved the simple, realistic Eraserheads as much as I appreciated the Beatles. Talk about lyrics being more important than rhyme.


I played siyato and agawang base with my equally soiled playmates under the scorching heat of the sun. Laughter coupled with fights, scars and smelly shirts - the memories will forever be etched in my mind.


Yes, I am one person who, more often than not, would like to go back to the past whenever I can afford to slow down a bit.


Maybe I was really caught in the middle. E-books are becoming popular, but I still favor reading a paperback on lazy Sunday afternoons. PSPs are everywhere, but I think children would do their fingers a favor by playing more proactive sports. I would love my nephews to read with Kapitan Basa rather than memorize all the Pokemons in the world. Family get-togethers are a better idea than peering over someone else's online profile for hours. And with all honesty, I believe that students will learn more about their lessons if they could do away with the copy-paste practice.


I do not want my generation to be known as spoiled, but the immense power of technology often makes us vulnerable. Most people want to seize all its advantages and refuse to assume responsibility for their actions. This is the reason we have students who graduate with insufficient knowledge; why most children prefer playing Dota to eating dinner with their families; why the Cyberworld is full of hackers, maniacs and scammers; why pop songs are punctuated with the f***s and sh**s; and why half of the world's problems are unsolved, if not aggravated, by technology. We only have ourselves to blame for not accepting, or refusing to accept, the responsibility that come with using this two-faced commodity.


I call upon my fellow millennials to take advantage of the angelic rather than the monsterrific face of technology. There are zillions of simple ways to do it. Like teaching your sibling to read and understand the assignment he Googled. Like installing useful, educational applications on your cellular phone rather than loading it with scandals. Like getting yourself a good book to read. Like planting a tree as your penance for your massive carbon footprint. Like volunteering for a good cause such as teaching younger kids, or better yet, starting your own cause. Or, perhaps, weaving your thoughts in a write-up like this, sending it via e-mail, praying that it would get published and hopefully ring a bell to all generations and set them off to action.

May mga Kwento sa Ulap

NOONG ELEMENTARY AKO, madalas akong sumali sa mga poetry competition. Alam mo yung poetry na sobrang sukat ang bilang ng syllables at kailangan super rhyme? Ganon. Mapa-buwan ng wika, buwan ng nutrisyon, united nations, at whatever, join ako diyan. Madalas naman may medal ako.

Si Mommy ang unang nagturo sa akin kung paano sumulat. Kaya isa sa pinakapaborito kong tula na isinulat noong Grade 6 na na-publish sa school organ namin ay ang “Figures in the Sky”. Tungkol ito sa amin ni Mommy.

Cartoon by Jonathan Burrello and J. C. Stephens

  

When I was still very small,
Mom will say to me and call
Come little sweetie on my side
Let’s play figures in the sky.

That’s a game I won’t forget,
Seeing clouds all over my head,
And when I see a fluffy cloud   
To it my eyes, focused and set.

What do you see? She’ll then ask me
A cloud, a dragon, what should it be?
With open eyes, I will reply
To me dear mom, it’s a butterfly.

What a good laugh we’ll have then
Seeing butterflies… till when?
And then a blow, here comes the wind
Our butterfly, nowhere to find.

Pieces of clouds scattered now
We try to figure again them out
A friendly cloud will surely show
Our figures in the sky that glow.

Madalas, kapag nalulungkot ako, o kapag tamang traffic lang at late na ako, nase-stress, or on the way kami pa-out of town, madalas ko pa ring tinitignan ang mga ulap. Bumubuo ako ng kwento! Hinahanapan ko ng shapes! Kuneho, nanay at bata, ibon, pusong abnormal, kandila, bibig, leon, kung anu-ano pa. At nakakagulat, tuwing ginagawa ko yon, may kung anong magaang na pakiramdam ang lumalambong sa puso ko. Pakiramdam na balang araw, maaabot ko ang mga ulap (literally at figuratively), at magiging masaya ako.




Sayang at hindi na masyadong nakapagsusulat ngayon si Mommy. Nagka-diprensya kasi ang mga kamay niya at siguro ay ayaw niya naman magsulat gamit ang keyboard kaya ganun. Pero sino bang niloko ko? Alam ko kung anong totoong dahilan. Wala na siyang panahong magsulat ngayon ng tula, at ng magaganda niyang kwento, dahil inagaw na ng pagsusulat niya ng schedules ng seminars niya sa kalendaryo, ng mga computations ng budget namin sa bahay, ng paglilista ng mga prospects at orders ng food supplement na bumubuhay sa amin ngayon. Inagaw na nila. Pero ang isang ina ay sanay maagawan ng panahon sa sarili niya maibigay niya lamang sa mga taong mahal niya. Salamat, mommy. Umaasa pa rin akong hindi mo makakalimutan ang sining na itong pareho nating gusto, at habang nagsusulat ka pa rin sa diary-turned-scrapbook mo at nagi-istapler ng mga memorable na resibo, aasa pa rin akong patuloy kang magsusulat ng masasayang alaala.




Dahil sa ngayon, matapos ang napakarami ko ng naisulat para sa kung saan-saan, tula, essay, articles sa website, thesis, raket na book review, isang linya sa Inquirer front page, isang quote sa Panorama, at isang Youngblood article, Salamat, Mommy… tinuruan mo ako kung paano magsulat… inudyukan mo akong magkuwento hindi lang ng tungkol sa mga ulap… kundi pati sa lahat ng mga bagay na nasa ilalim nito.