Cold days

I’m not planning on writing a long entry today. I just want to update a little. So, it has been raining pretty consistently these past few days and it is so cold! Cold days make me want to cuddle and eat hot noodles. But my boyfriend is outside of the country (LDR sucks) and I cannot just go out and eat noodles now that I am carefully watching what I eat in order to lose weight. That’s it for now, just tested writing an entry through my iPhone since I had just downloaded the WordPress app today. Previously using my Samsung S6 and my laptop. Will post interesting (I hope) rantings later when time and inspiration permits 😉 Ciao!


Short hair, don’t care

Guess what I did to my hair…

I’ve permed it! Nah just kidding. I am too busy and too lazy to be warranted a kind of hair that is very high maintenance. So to cut a long story short, I cut my hair short. Aaaand here it is:


Okay, okay I know my photo editing sucks. I had those stickers over my shirt since I’m wearing a brand shirt from my company and I don’t want their name to be in here for obvious reasons.

Now what about having short hair? Well, having short hair means I just have to “wash and wear” it. Less hassle, more time for me to do whatever it is that takes up most of time on mornings (ergo, sleep). Shorter hair also means that I would be finally free to totally forget for the nth time where did I left those goddamn hair scrunchies that I need for my previously long hair to attain even a hint of organization during office hours.

And the next best thing: I change my hair color to, wait for it, ash blonde. Hehe I feel good mouthing those words, so again: ash blonde. Haha okay enough. So, we visited CUT Salon for my hair since we have a branch near my work place. This particular hair salon has many branches all over the Philippines and they can be seen in almost every city so it is quite convenient. I was initially wary since I always see their staff walking around town with shocking hair colors and styles and I always thought to myself, “wow these men and women really mean business when it comes to hair”. I was apprehensive since majority of them where a little on the younger side and when it comes to hair I believe that the older your hairstylist is, the greater your chances are of being in good hands. Anyway, that’s just what I thought. So there, I had my hair cut first and then had it colored. While waiting for the dye to set, I also availed of the manicure services. The experience was fun as salon visits go, not exceptional but I am glad that the guy who handled my hair is genuinely concerned for my hairstyle and even gave me tips on how to maintain my new hair color.

Also, I just remembered, their haircut service is only Php 30.00! You guys that was the cheapest I could find anywhere! The salon interior is also quite nice as I found myself weirdly drawn to Thai inspired designs they had incorporated on the space. Overall, it was a quite pleasant experience.

Anyway, this post is not sponsored and CUT have not in anyway influenced me to write favorably. It’s just that for an average girl, like me, who is not that particular with super expensive salon treatments, I think there is a value for money in these chain of salons. Anyway, whatever floats your boat.

That’s it for now, no photos on the place as I am very busy fussing with my hair to even take out my phone. Will be writing more tml or the next day when I will have my rest day. Ciao!

House on the Lake

During my college days, I spent my days reading through old editions of Reader’s Digest. I had mountains and mountains of those little booklets. I got them pretty cheap around P15 sometimes P25 each from a used book shop at Freedom Park. I was voraciously reading issue upon issue and I was pleasantly surprised with the worlds I had discovered buried on those yellowing pages. I can finish one issue in a matter of 4 to 5 hours. I think I hoarded enough volumes that had it not been for the fire, my collection may have occupied an entire room in our new house.
So anyway, I had amassed quite a large collection of short stories and anecdotes that kind of speak to me directly, the kind that breaks my heart a little and draws a tear or two. So I’m gonna share that one particular article here. I hope I had done enough justice in honoring copyright laws.
Here goes.

House on the Lake
By Mike Royko

When the two of them started spending weekends at the quiet Wisconsin lake, they were young and had little money. Her relatives let them use a tiny cottage in a wooded hollow a mile or so from the water.
He worked odd hours, so often they wouldn’t get there until after midnight on a Friday. But if the mosquitoes weren’t out, they’d go for a moonlight swim, then rest with their backs against a tree and drink wine and talk about their future.
One summer the young man bought an old motorboat. They’d ride along the shoreline, looking at the houses and wondering what it would be like to have a place on the water. He’d just shake his head; these houses cost more than he could ever afford.
Years passed. They had kids. After a while they didn’t go to the little cottage as often. Finally her relatives sold the place.
Then he got lucky in his work, making more money than he ever dreamed they’d have. Remembering those weekends, they went back and bought a cedar house on the water. The place was surrounded by big old trees, and the land sloped gently down to the shore. It was perfect.
They hadn’t known summers could be that good. In the mornings he’d go fishing before it was light. She’d sleep until the birds woke her. Then he’d make breakfast, and they’d eat omelets on the deck.
They got to know the chipmunks, the squirrels and a woodpecker who took over their biggest tree. They got to know the grocer, the butcher who smoked his own bacon, the farmer who sold them vine-ripened tomatoes.
The best part of their day was dusk. She loved sunsets. They’d always stop to watch the sun go down, changing the color of the lake from blue to purple, to silver and black. One evening he made up a small poem:

The sun rolls down
like a golden tear
Another day,
Another day

She told him it was sad, but that she liked it. What she didn’t like was October, even with the beautiful colors and evenings in front of the fireplace. She was a summer person. The cold wind wasn’t her friend.
In November they would store the boat, take down the hammock, lock everything tight and drive back to the city. She’d always sigh as they left.
Finally spring would come, and when they knew the ice on the lake was gone , they’d be back. She’d throw open the doors and windows and let in the fresh air. Then she’d go out and greet the chipmunks and the woodpeckers.
Every summer seemed better than the last. The sunsets seemed more spectacular. And more precious.
Then one weekend he went alone to close the place down for the winter.
He worked quickly, trying not to let himself think that this particular chair had been her favorite, that the hammock had been her Christmas gift to him, that the house on the lake had been his gift to her.
He didn’t work quickly enough. He was still there at sunset. It was a great burst of orange, the kind she had loved the best.
He tried, but he couldn’t watch it alone. Not through tears. So he turned his back on it, went inside, drew the draperies, locked the door and drove away.
Later there would be a “for sale” sign out front. Maybe a couple who loved to quietly watch sunsets together would like it. He hoped so.

Mike Royko wrote this memorial for his wife, Carol, after she died in 1979. The longtime Chicago newspaper columnist died last year.

From Chicago Sun-Times (November 22, 1979)

The Start

After a lengthy waiting and a lot of back and forth thinking, I finally decided to create this blog to channel my pent-up writer emotions. I admit I am not very good with my words yet as of the moment but I am looking forward to share and to translate into words the things that are happening in my life, the things I am passionate about and just everything that comes into mind. Since I was little, I maintained a number of diaries albeit crude ones, and record my pent-up emotions in the pages. I remembered one particular notepad. It is the kind that has the springs at the top portion, you know, the kind that people (Cebuanos at least) uses to write someone’s money debt to them haha. I dunno if you can imagine what I am describing right now, I am so bad with adjectives. Anyway back to the note pad, it was kinda small, no, tiny even and there is a drawing of the Disney princess Belle of Beauty and the Beast in the cover. I think I bought that one from a local educational supplies store at Carbon or was it given to me by my mom? I don’t know, memory’s a little bit wonky since that was a very long time ago, maybe 6 to 7 years ago.

I was a freshman college student then when I started writing on that notepad. I wrote every single thing about my love life then, which is pretty unsurprising since I am like, what, 16 or 17 that time. So there I was, pouring my heart out in the pages about my crushes, my friends, and every little, juicy bits of drama in being a vivacious college freshman. Things I would not even dare to tell anyone, I was freely writing all of them in that tiny diary.

So to make this ranting shorter, I forgot all about this tiny little diary that holds my secrets rantings and self-convos. Even the characters and the persons I had discussed and fussed about on those pages are long gone from my life, drifted apart, others I won’t even touch with a ten foot long pole if I happened to have one. I just lost interest in it and I do not know whatever happened to it.

But then, one day while I was sorting through all my mom’s stuff in her room, I was absolutely mortified when I saw that little booklet/diary/note pad among my mom’s things. It was in her bag. In her most used bag when she goes out to collect payments to her debtors and customers in her little RTW and money lending business. Then it dawned on me. Maybe she saw that book and thought she could use it as it was intended to be, a listahan sa utang (ledger of sorts or a record book for all you non-Cebuano speaking people).

All the entries I have written and all the nastiest darkest secrets I have shared through the pages of that little book came flooding into my mind and I think I moved like lightning-fast to get the book and to get the hell out of my mom’s room. I was sweating bullets because, hello! Who would not be if they discovered that their MOTHER has read their diary! That was a very, very private part of me in there people! Even though most of the entries where just silly girly things and just your normal boy-girl encounters and anecdotes, I was traumatized. I am a mostly silent person when it comes to opinions and thoughts (though not in the classroom, I tell you, I am an insufferable Miss-Know-It-All in any academe). I find it easier to just pen my thoughts because, let’s face it, paper has more patience than people.

So from that incident, I was very reluctant to create a blog even though I was exposed to the internet and blogging way earlier than most people because I was one of the chosen few who got to major in Computer Science during my junior and senior high school. I say “chosen few” because they literally have to draw lots from 500 to 600 students for the 10 persons that would be able to use the only 10 ancient computers that our school was blessed with. I was literally jumping with joy when I saw my name posted under “Computer”, when my friends where listed under “Drafting” and worst, “Foods”. I have nothing against Food majors by the way, it was just a dorky and funny major way back because you have to use your own money to buy ingredients for “pan de sal” and if that is not enough sacrifice, you have to sell it to your classmates who would in turn make fun of your baking.

So back to blogging. I was reluctant because I feel like when I write, I give a little of myself. Every finished manuscript is like a part of me from some point in time telling a story to someone, even though that someone might just be some nosy classmate or worst just a piece of paper (in cases when I absolutely refuse to let anyone at less touch my diary let alone read it). I feel like I am baring a very vulnerable part of me that anyone might just easily judge and make fun of. Even in my social media accounts, like Facebook or IG, I am reluctant to share any word craft, any feeling, even majority of my opinions for fear of being judged, of being shunned.

But as they say, with age comes wisdom. I am older, busier, more stress-prone. Being an adult has its downsides. When I started working, I also stopped writing. I was too caught up with the hustle and bustle of being  a responsible adult that I completely forgot about my passion. I was too hungry for recognition, for a place in the corporate landscape. I was a rookie trying hard to prove my worth. And then came the stress and depression. I had no fool proof way to combat the bad feelings and burning out. I tried some things, heck,  I even tried coloring mandalas in adult coloring books just to have at least a sense of calmness and catharsis. But sadly, the mandalas where left in my dresser, still in its plastic covering. In a stroke of genius, I decided to take up writing again. And this time, I will not be doing it in a notebook. The wisdom I was talking about was the wisdom to not be ashamed of what you are. Of what you write even if it is full of grammatical and spelling errors and are very long winded. The wisdom that, you know what, people might not actually visit this blog and won’t even bother to read this very entry. I am a little excited and a little restless. I am finally writing. I am finally letting my voice be heard. I am finally writing and not caring if people might read this or not. I am writing because I finally had the wisdom to be fearless.