Warning: More Whining (Do not read!)

May pagka-tanga lang siguro ako. Well, in fairness ‘di naman to the highest level. Meron lang sigurong konting diperensya sa attention span. Nung nasa Leyte High pa lang ako, enjoy ako sa T.H.E. namin na drafting kaya siguro, sabi ko Landscape Architecture na ang kurso para sa akin.

Ok pa naman nung four years sa Diliman, pero after nung thesis namin nag-decide akong magtrabaho na. Nag-warla kami ng Tatay ko at na-award ako ng husto. Anyway, nung naghanap na ako ng trabaho, sa Call Center pa. Tatanggapin na sana ako sa Palafox, isang architectural firm, pero super na-silaw ang lola sa sweldo sa CC sa Makati.

Nang magsawa na ako kaka “City and State, please?”, nag resign ako para mag-aral uli sa Tacloban. First two years ng Nursing ok pa- Dean’s Lister pa palagi. Pero eto na naman, nawawalan na ako ng gana. Dati na-imagine ko pa na gusto kong magtrabaho sa US pero ngayon hindi na. Besides, sabi ko pa ilang mga estudyande pa ang ga-graduate na kapareho sa degree mo? Pareho kayo ng trabaho, pareho ng mga binasang libro, pareho lahat. Boring.

Nagsimula naman akong magsulat (siguro nung una dahil imbyerna ako sa bago kong environment). Di ko alam exactly kung paano nangyari pero isang araw, nag-print ako ng hardcopy ng ilan sa mga paborito kong articles sa blog (baka kasi biglang mag-crash yung laptop ko or ma-virus at least may copy ako), tapos hiniram sa akin nung isa kong kakilala. Tapos ang isa naging lima, naging walo. So tinopak ako at nagprint ako ng 80 copies, at so far, less than twenty na lang yung natitira ngayon sa bahay.

Baka naman bumili yung iba kasi kakilala ko sila o kaibigan, pero isang araw tapos sa school naglalakad ako sa kalye nung makita ko ang isang babae na di ko kilala na may dala-dalang yellow book. Yup, yun yon. Tapos merong nag comment sa friendster, at may nag-approach na sabi mabuti daw may gay lit na sa Leyte. So sabi ko, siguro pag binigyan ko yung mga profs sa ibat-ibang universities at colleges sa Tacloban na di naman ako kilala nila personally I might get an objective review. Marunong daw akong mag-sulat sabi nung isang taga UP Tac (if that was a good or a bad thing ewan ko lang) ok din yung feedback sa EVSU.

Wala akong alam sa mga technical chuva, at sobrang dami kong typo. Kapag nag-sulat ako usually walang regard sa mga technique na yan. Wala naman sa aking nagtuturo, kaya ayun feeling ko hanggang dito na lang ako. Malay ko, baka imagination ko lang itong lahat at wala pala talagang potential to build on.

Gusto ko sanang seryosong i-pursue yung pagsusulat kaya lang una ko nang napili yung Nursing at haler, two years na lang. Yun nga lang, leche napaka-demanding ng time at kahit sana man lang nakakapagsulat ako kahit once a day pag busy hindi na. Sawa na din ako sa kaka-study sa kursong feeling ko ay ‘di para sa akin at ang dahilan ko na gustong makapag-trabaho sa US ay napakababaw. Ayoko namang bumaba yung grades ko kaya, super comply pa din ako. Leche, baka nga hanggang dito na lang muna ako. Haay.

Fairytales are Dangerous

At such an early age, people are brainwashed. Children are told tales that were probably written by someone high on crack. The stories have little to do with the truth and they tell you the same things: find a guy, get help from fairy godmother, get rescued by the guy from some evil matriarch, and live happily ever after with your prince charming.

Come on. Why does the princess always need a prince to rescue her? Couldn’t she just have gotten a good education, built a career and empowered herself? Or perhaps found a lesbian lover and decide not to marry? It sounds ridiculous but at least it’s closer to reality.

Snow White and the seven dwarfs? If they kept it real, the beautiful princess would’ve had the midgets court marshaled for just being within ten feet of her. As for the evil queen: press charges for trespassing. Slam the door on the bitch’s face. She should also consider dumping the prince for a hunk with a bigger penis. A girl’s got needs, baby.

Fairy godmothers? The only fairies that exist are those in the fashion and movie industry who would offer career advancement to young men in exchange for sexual favors. Enough said.

The biggest lie of course is this: happily ever after. They don’t say that there is a possibility that your boyfriend will cheat on you and then give you a venereal disease. That your parents could decide on separating after many years of marriage. Or that you’re going to get screwed over a lot of times and may never have a chance to find the love of your life. Perhaps those fairy tales should come with a warning: may cause delusions in adulthood.

They are not all bad though; I do like stories about courage and overcoming obstacles, and those that promote values like honesty and friendship. Teaching kids about manners, hardwork, and doing something meaningful with one’s life- now that sounds like a better plan. And of course, there are some lessons in life and in love that we do need to learn on our own.

EB

He undressed hurriedly and looked almost comical. Like one of those Bugs Bunny cartoons where Bugs wears a costume to taunt the little guy with the moustache, then speeds away leaving the clothes.

He was tipsy, and had a hard time removing his belt. My fingers felt for the buckle and helped him undress. He was quite drunk. I on the other hand, drank only enough beer to lower my inhibitions, but my mind was a sharp as it could be. I could remember every detail of his condo: mattress on the floor, a divider which held the large TV and Playstation, and the bathroom door just opposite the kitchen.

Ok, I told mysef. His clothes are off, and now it’s your turn. Don’t be self conscious, you look great! Stop storyboarding the whole scene. Stop looking into his eyes, damn it!

His hands held my back and we were kissing. His hair felt nice on my fingers. I massaged the back of his neck a little.

Remember, this is just about tonight. You are not going to marry the guy. I reminded myself. So I dove in.

He was quite athletic. We did it standing up, sideways, supine, prone- you name it. Minutes later, he was already softly snoring. I pulled the covers up to look at the guy beside me.

This EB thing has really gotten old, I told myself. The usual line they say afterwards is that, “We should see each other again.” And then close the door on you. I know the routine- this is the nth time I’ve done it with someone I’ve met over the internet.

It upset me before; how guys get intimate with another person then just walk away like nothing happened. I’d usually have this quiet time in the nook of his arms just thinking if the romance could go further. How could they do it? Have sex and not have this emotional attachment?

His lips were bow-shaped. It made him look cherubic. Did I really think I’d find the love of my life over the internet? He stirred, and then opened his eyes.

“It’s late, I have to go.”

“You can sleep over.” He said.

“I have an early day tomorrow.” I started putting on my clothes.

“Ok then.”

I looked at the yuppie in front of me, and felt no usual pangs of separation anxiety. I smiled and walked to the door.

“Call me sometime.” I said, and meant it. This one’s a great lay and I wouldn’t want to miss out on that cute butt. Anyway, another chatter also wanted to meet up with me this weekend.

I closed the door and walked towards the elevators. Congratulations, I told myself. You just had sex like a man.

Don't Go Changin'

Date: April 25, 2008
Mood: Melancholy
Soundtrack: Madonna’s Something to Remember

Kanina baga diri maupay an akon pamati. Waray ako sakit, baga maul-ol la ha dughan. Basta, bagan gusto ko na mag-iba hin kurso kay dire man ngani ako matrabaho ha ospital. Pero dire man gud ito simple kay sugad hito dire na ako pwede magskwela ha gawas hit Tacloban kay waray upod ni Nanay. Syempre damo na gihap an nagasto nira Mama ngan Papa- ha tuition, mga libro, etc. Ngan han iba nga tawo nga nasuporta ha ak nasiring hira “sayang”.

I had been wanting to change my blog skin for a while now, but being HTML/ XML illiterate was the biggest hindrance. I searched the net for hours on end for the perfect template- don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t looking for anything fancy like a hologram or something. I wanted something clean, largely white, easy to navigate, easy to maintain, and something that would load quickly even on dial-up.

I found one, very striking yet still minimalist. Went to Edit HTML in Blogger and uploaded the template. Out of nowhere, a notice said: The following will be deleted (and the list of widgets and text followed thereafter), before the save button. I clicked save and then previewed the new look. Shit, all my widgets disappeared- and the most important thing was the links page. *&$#!!!

My friends, fellow bloggers, paki-remind na lang kung meron akong makalimutan. I’ll be reconstructing everything (I’m currently using a template that blogger provided) so bear with me. On another note, I’m kind of pleased how it looks- so austere and lacking my usual “pagkabiga-on” lol! The blog’s original purpose have been fulfilled, and I’m ready to move on. I feel so grateful to all my fellow bloggers- they played a large part in inspiring me. Its always a hoot to check the archives and read the stuff I posted ages ago. My oh my.

"Devastated Narcissist Careening Towards a Dismal Future"

“Did you see God? Was she mad at me?”

- Jack from the series Will & Grace

The test for me on whether a particular career is suited for me is simple: when I wake up in the morning, do my eyes shine with excitement and anticipation as I plan the day ahead, or do I dread opening my eyes and face the long hours working in automation?

Just before I handed in my resignation in my previous job in Customer Care, I had already been strongly considering one of my options: to switch careers and get into Nursing. Everyone was doing it, and by everyone I meant my parents, my brother, two of my closest friends, my nieces, nephews, cousins, and everyone between the age of 16 and 46 in my second and third degree relations. And so I gave in, even with the nagging feeling that somehow Nursing was not for me. I was too busy imagining my life abroad in a few years time: financially stable with a fancy home, nice clothes, a fast car, and endless opportunities for travel, replete with vivid visions of The Statue of Liberty, Big Ben, and snow falling on some maple-lined park.

But alas, the road was not paved with golden bricks as I have imagined. It was burdened with disasters from the beginning: when I took the entrance exam, I mistakenly used black pen instead of pencil, despite the large sign on a table that said Get you pencils here. I called the Guidance Office days later to inquire about my error, thinking that my exam had been invalidated. Jimalin Apar, then a counselor (she later headed the office, prior to leaving the school for her Master’s Degree in Diliman under a UN scholarship) answered my query.

“Ma’am, I read the first part thoroughly before answering and I was looking for the instructions saying use HB pencil only, but there was none. Naturally, I thought black ballpen would be acceptable.” I said rather defensively.

“It’s ok Mr. Hinunangan, I checked and you actually had the highest score in your batch.”

I paused. “Oh, ok. Thanks then.”

I took it as a sign from God. But my problems had actually just begun- during the first week at orientation I learned tattoos were forbidden. The problem was that I had three, all of them I got back in 2002. That in itself was an odyssey: writing a formal letter to the Dean and the Clinical Preceptors, with promises to have it removed. Until now, I am still in the second treatment of laser removal, and they have not and will not completely disappear.

The change of environment came as a shock to me- a true blue maroon blood, who was used to total freedom in Diliman, was suddenly in a strict Catholic school. By my second week I had a disagreement with one of the professors over how she ran the class- she treated students in a condescending manner complete with remarks like “Class, insults in College are ok”. I marched to the Dean’s office, armed with a pen and three pieces of bond paper, and wrote an inflammatory letter (I don’t remember the exact words but I believe it said something like “how dare this woman treat her students this way, blah blah… she should not be allowed to endorse her crooked perspectives to young minds!). The following Monday, I apologized for acting so rashly. What a way to make a first impression.

To me, it felt like I was having withdrawal symptoms from work. I would suddenly wake up at midnight, as I normally did to prepare for my early morning shift. I would crave my meals at odd times, and sometimes I would just decide to be absent because I was depressed that I wasn’t working anymore. They never said changing careers would be easy.

Another thing- I was back in the closet. A lot of fellow students ask about my personal life- mainly why I wasn’t married or why I don’t have a girlfriend. That was, of course, until I came out. Blogging wasn’t only the instrument of my “emancipation”, it also became an outlet for me.

After our brief Literature class, I was hooked. I rediscovered the joys of reading, and of writing stories. Nursing school for me, had become nothing but a blur of activities: PRS, lectures, reports, quizzes and exams. The only time I’d come alive was when I was in front of my laptop. The most significant things that happened for me that year was creating this blog and releasing my book.

So each day I’d be on autopilot: go to school and do “the nursing thing”. I have come to re-evaluate what I really want. Seems silly to me now that the only reason why I took the course was to move to the US. It is too late for me to make another detour, so I promised myself I’d just finish this. It just kills me how each day in school the only thing I think about is when it’s going to be over. I usually give 200% to whatever I do, but this time around I really feel it isn’t for me. But of course, I’d keep on going.

I remember a funny incident when a Clinical Preceptor told me, being a perpetual class officer: “Motivate the class”. I almost laughed in sarcasm. Oh dear. I can barely even convince myself to put on my uniform. Once, I was told by the former moderator of the Council of Leaders (who already resigned from the school to teach in Manila) to run for President. I simply told him I had other priorities already, and that the whole student leadership extravaganza was more appropriate for young ones who would benefit the most from the experience, not a 27 year old guy who already worked as a team manager and was in a process of a reluctant career change.

Can’t wait to see how this one turns out.

May Fever

‘Tis the (fiesta) season for us Filipinos and preparations for May events such as Santa Cruzan and Inter-Barangay Basketball Contests occupy the minds of busybodies in every community. Inevitably, all these boil down to one matter of concern: funding (we are in the Philippines, after all). To an ordinary citizen such as myself, it means a flurry of solicitation letters and envelopes all begging to be filled with crisp peso bills.

One particularly warm and humid day, I found six envelopes on the divider. Wait, didn’t we just give money last night for the Santa Cruzan? It turns out it was for a different purpose. I read the print on the back: “Most Popular Teenage (sic)”, and below it, the name of the contestant.

Most popular teenage what? I asked myself.

Most popular teenage mutant ninja turtle?

Most popular teenage minion of the antichrist?

The organizers didn’t even bother to correct the error. They could’ve just said “Most Popular Teen” or “Most Popular Teenager” (maybe they just missed the R). I know this type of competition- they are not like the usual beauty pageant wherein the contestants undergo some sort of screening and do the whole shebang: interviews, talent portions, and question-and-answer portions to test their intelligence and poise under pressure. Nevermind the beauty requirement too, because it isn’t necessary.

It goes this way: months before the “pageant night”, the contestants give solicitation envelopes to every single person she knows in an effort to get a “vote”. The title of course, goes to the contestant who raised the biggest amount. Perhaps they should consider changing the name to “Most Number of OFW Relatives” or “My Folks Own Most of the Businesses in this Town” contest.

The night of reckoning: everybody is gathered in the town square (where else?) as they wait for the winner to be “crowned”. But usually by comparing the ITR of the contestant’s parents and relatives, you’d already know who it is.

The contestants march on stage (with a cardboard-and-styrofoam backdrop, complete with tacky glitter paper) to strut their stuff. Cue music. A Vanessa Williams song released circa the eighties booms from the speaker.

“Sometimes the snow comes down in June…”

And the girls walk around the stage trying to look graceful. Unfortunately, with the thick make-up that could put drag queens to shame, and dresses hurriedly sewn by a myopic sastre, they only succeeded in looking like a grotesque lineup of Disney princesses gone bad.

With smiles frozen on their faces, the emcees announce the winners.

“Third runner up is contestant number 5!”

Jeers and hoots from the audience.

“Miss so and so, escorted with (sic) Mr. Businessman will pin the sash.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Official will award the trophy.”

After the litany of supposedly important people giving the awards, the winner is finally announced.

“Most Popular Teenage is… contestant number 2!”

The audience cheer wildly. Old ladies nudge each other, just look at her! I heard her dress was even brought from Manila, said one bystander, proud of the bit of information which made her appear as though she knew the winner personally.

The winner, daughter of a local businessman, tries to look surprised. She conjures her face to give the Oh, I won! look. But of course, she already knew a week ahead. The girl’s parents garbed in their best clothes and decked in all their gold jewelry, beam as they walk upstage. Ah, the coronation of Most Popular Teenage.

Clap, clap, clap.

Not my Day

Date: April 23, 2008
Mood: Irate
Song: Smack my Bitch up

I arrived home in a huffy state because of two reasons: first, our household help (who is prone to histrionics and Demi Moore-type tearful outbursts) had gone AWOL and was not replying or picking up when we try to get in touch, and second, my brother sent money via XOOM without giving me the secret word (ergo the money cannot be claimed).

If only Gavin was old enough so he won’t desperately need as much looking-after as he does now at one year, if only I wasn’t always busy with school, if only Nanay didn’t need as much assistance because of her age, I would have fired her sorry ass. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not entirely incompetent- in fact, she does her chores well. But the drama has to go. She has the uncanny ability to look trustworthy, stable, and dependable to my parents when there are here, hence they think she is a “gem”. Little do they know of the gossiping, backstabbing, and all the backtalk. This AWOL is the last straw, if you ask me, but then again I’m not the employer and it’s not my money paying her. I have no “say” on this.

Situation two: there I was in Cebuana Lhuilier calling my mom and all the phone numbers my brother had in Japan (three cell phones and a landline). I had the option to claim XOOM at either BPI or Equitable Banks (though it is not advisable because of the long lines) or Cebuana Branches, which are numerous in the downtown area. Option two is less desirable because I was wearing my uniform and all, and being in a pawnshop, people must think “Oh that poor guy, he must be pawning off everything he owns tsk tsk.” And so I filled up the forms, ducking and praying no one would see me and then this happened:

“Sir, an secret word?”

“Tubol.” (Waray readers, I suspect are now laughing. Non-waray readers, ask someone) I said in a hushed voice.

“Kulang pa, Sir.”

“What?”

“Kulang pa an secret word.”

“Does it have the word Dimple?”

She shook her head.

“Kuya?”

She shook her head again. It was like a gameshow, and I was on the brink of losing.

I called my Mom in the US. “Ma! Can you call Ted with all the numbers you have? I’ve tried calling all his mobile numbers and none of them work.”

So the next 5 minutes were spent trying all of Ted’s number. Finally, I decided to try the landline number.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello?” A female voice with an American accent answered.

“Ted?”

She put the phone down.

Bitch!

Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

“Is Theodore there?”

“I’m sorry you have the wrong number.”

Good thing she hung up quickly, because the next words that came out of my mouth were a slew of obscenities in Waray.

“Bulikatimiroy nga yawa ka!”

I forced a smile. “I’m so sorry; I’ll just check my e-mail and come back later. Maybe my brother sent me the details.”

“Is that your kuya?”

“No, I’m his kuya.”

“How come your younger brother and parents are abroad but you?”

None of your business bitch.

I smiled thinly before turning my back to her to head home.

“It’s a long story.”

Nicotine (Excerpt)

He waited till the plane was just a mere speck in the pink sky. It was dusk. The hairs on his forearms stood as he felt the first chill of the evening air. The talahib swayed lazily, oblivious to the turmoil of emotions that racked his heart.

He craved for a smoke. His hand felt the bulge of the crumpled half-empty cigarette pack on the pocket of his shirt.

“Shit.”

The big vein on his forehead started pulsating, marking the onset of one of those bad headaches he got. Like a thousand hammers beating on my skull. He thought. By now the sky had darkened to a deep purple hue, and he had not moved an inch since he first stood there. He crushed the cigarette pack with his fist and tore them to bits with his fingers.

Like a madman, he suddenly squatted to retrieve the torn cigarette bits on the damp grass. Just a whiff! He collected them on his palm and sniffed it. Ah! The sweet smell of tobacco entered his nostrils. The pounding seemed to lessen each time he took a sniff. He buried his face on his palms and inhaled deeply.

There was no moon that night, only the electric lights of the nearby houses of Fisherman’s Village illuminated the nightscape. The bay near the airport brought a taste of saltiness in the air. Miguel stood up and wiped his hands on his dirty jeans.

He slowly started his way back to the road, stumbling clumsily in the dark.

New Pup

Para sa Isang Manlalakbay

ni NTG

Minsan sa isang buhay,
puso ay mabibighani
Kung di man mapapasaya,
sana'y di magdadalamhati.

Kung ikaw man ay isang manlalakbay
na napadayo kahit pansamantala
sana'y iyong alalahanin
damdaming iyong napipinsala.

Ang pag-ibig ba'y ganyan,
minsan dulot ay lungkot?
Minsan nama'y sa isang ngiti lamang
napapawi ang pagkasalimuot.


Sa aking mga paggugunita,
mayroong isang manlalakbay
Pagbabalik ay pinakahihintay,
pag-ibig at puso ay nakasalalay.

How Thadie Got His Groove Back

Part 2: Dorm

It was 30 minutes till my Statistics Finals in Diliman and I needed to take the edge off. Some people would drink, some would meditate, I on the other hand (excuse the pun), decided to do “the thing”. I tiptoed to my small room at the end of the hall.

It was still early in the morning, and I could hear the soft snores of my dorm mates. I glanced at the hallway one more time before gingerly closing the door.

Click! The sound of the lock as it slid into place. It was quiet enough to hear the neighbor’s TV from my closed window. Some sort of morning show on. Crap. With my movements as slick as a hot knife through butter, I unzipped myself and lay on the bed.

Ok. Think of the hunky Law student two rooms down the hall. Remember he always walks around in his underwear?

I started to touch myself.

Oh yeah, I remember that afternoon when he slept with his door open. That was some feast for the eyes… Wait till I get my hands on that-

Without me noticing, my pace was getting quicker and my elbows started banging on the wall.

“So close, so close…”

“Shit!” I noticed the time: 10 minutes till my exam begins. I fixed myself hurriedly and ran all the way to the venue which was in the Law building.

Surprisingly, I was able to answer most of the questions (yeah, considering this was take two shhh!) with ease, and I finished ahead of time. I submitted my paper to the proctor and left.

Maybe it was because I fantasized about my lucky charm- my Law student dorm mate’s crotch- that I was able to do well in the exam. Hello, the venue was in the Law building too! I giggled to myself.

The guys were having the usual Friday boozefest when I got home later that day. I was about to refuse (as I normally did) when the landlord’s son invited me to join, but he suddenly pulled me to the center of the group.

He put his arm around my shoulder.

“Pare, narinig ka daw nila kanina nagja-jakol.”

Me, looking incredulous: “Excuse me?”

I put on my purest I’m-a-lamb-and-I-am-wholesome look to profess my innocence. Good thing I was saved from further inquisition and embarrassment when another dorm mate chimed in. He said his maid once caught him jerking off at home, and told his folks.

“Wala yan!” Another ones relates his own story.

The embarrassment was now gone. I picked up my first gin-pomelo drink and raised the glass.

Cheers, guys.

Coming Out to Mama

Fijarme Libre!
(entry dated May 2007)

“With exception of my brother, who was not at all surprised, I haven’t really come out to anyone in my family yet. Being in a conservative, Catholic family, that sort of thing is not even talked about. My sexual orientation is like a pink elephant in the room; no one is allowed to talk about it, yet everyone can see it.

It’s almost laughable how they think I’m enjoying my bachelorhood, and not getting hitched early like my brother did. They wonder sometimes when I’ll finally bring a girlfriend over. My father even went as far as giving me tips on getting a house for my “future wife” (more of these especially when he is drunk). At one point he even had three girls (who were daughters of his kumpares) come over to the house to meet with me.

That setup didn’t work out for two reasons: 1. I would never consider dating a girl, and 2. I was much prettier than any of them. I know my Mom senses it already, as much as my cousins do. They even try not to use the words “bading”, or “bakla” in my presence because they think I might get offended. I appreciate their efforts, but what I do want is to just put it all in the open- and get over it. My sexual orientation does not define who I am completely…”

And finally I came out to my family today:

Thad (I gave her the book first): “I was planning to send it to you in the US but it was expensive to have it sent via Fed Ex.”

Mama: “That’s alright.”

Thad: “So what do you think?”

Mama: (smiles)

Thad: “What do you think of me dating (guys)?”

Mama: “It’s ok. I don’t know with your Dad though…”

That simple. Then I told her everything- about my formerly secret life, the guys I date, and pretty much everything that I hid. What a relief! By this time my Tita and cousins were in the upstairs living room joining in the conversation (they also received copies of my book), my Tita said she was proud of me.

Of course I saved a copy for my father. Mama will bring it with her to the states, if he disowns me (hindi naman siguro, but I know he will be hugely disappointed in me, his first born son) or whatever, I’ll totally understand. On the bright side, continuing the bloodline won’t be a problem- I have two straight brothers and a nephew to do that job. But hey, who says I can’t father a child?

As for my father’s side of the family (extremely patriarchal and “macho”), I gave them a copy of the book as well. (I tell you, there’s nothing like using a book to come out hahaha!) The work is done baby, I’m free! Honestly, I don’t care so much how it’ll all turn out with them- I hope they’d be considerate of me but if they don’t like me… well, they probably never did so that’s fine with me.

I’m freeeeee!

Boneyard of Lost Promises (Excerpt)

(this short story will also be included in the second book)

The hot wind blew fiercely, carrying with it fine bits of sand. The landscape was barren, with but a few sand dunes to interrupt the large expanse of flatness.

Armando felt bits of sand enter his eyes and mouth. He tried shielding himself from the hot sun with his tunic. He could feel the soles of his blistered feet burn as he walked.

“Excuse me.” He tried speaking with the others walking alongside him.

He could not see their faces; they wore black tunics which covered their bodies except for the eyes. They walked as if they were in a hurry to get somewhere, but all he could see were only miles of nothingness.

“Excuse me.” He insisted.

He tried to block the path of the person behind him but all he got was a flash of anger from a pair of eerie, almost shining eyes. The figure moved past him without a word, and disappeared into the moving crowd. He felt his skin burn. His sweat felt like drops of acid in his eyes. Where am I? He looked around the wasteland. The figures seemed to pass by him like a black river.

“Where am I?” He said aloud. But the wind only drowned his words.

I Can't Make You Love Me

Blooper

Stern CI: “What are the layers of the skin?”

Nervous Student: “Uh, Epidermis, Dermis…

Stern CI: “And?...”

Nervous Student: “Epididymis.”

Afterthought

Once upon a summer, I had all the time in the world and all I did was post one entry after another. Not only did I get to raise my point (regarding you-know-what) and entertain (somewhat), I also got to satisfy my inner exhibitionist. I’m in a slump nowadays. Check the entries- they have been dwindling in number since February.

This year I hoped to finish the second book (and perhaps get a real editor and publisher for the first book), but at the rate we’re going at school- it seems like nothing but a far-fetched dream.

Ok, the real problem isn’t just the time. It’s the pressure. After the eliminations at school (that painful part where people get cut off if they have an unsatisfactory GWA- so far three sections have been removed), the administration decided to group students according to grade point average- and all Dean’s Listers in Section A. Fun.

The first two years of Nursing, I made time to do the things I really love like travel and blog. I would do crazy things like in the middle of Finals week I would stay up late to make an entry or decide to go on a spur of the moment trip to Samar to take pictures of the ocean. I got a 1.69 GWA, which was decent enough. However, my laid-back approach won’t work this time around. Summer classes had begun and it’s Dean’s Lister vs. Dean’s Lister.

Ding, ding, ding!

Round 1, FIGHT!

I have also had a lot of things that happened to me which I promised a certain someone I won’t blog about it. I’m keeping that promise.

I’m in a strange territory in my life right now. Getting the BSN degree is something I’d commit to for sure, but there are a thousand questions I’m still asking myself. After finishing, should I go back to my old job? Being a Team Manager had been one of the jobs I’ve truly loved. Should I apply as a nurse abroad? Work in a Cruise Ship (a job I’d wanted to try)? Apply for Med School? I’m no longer that fresh faced young adult with a lot of options. Only a soon-to-be 30 yr old has been Landscape Architect, has been Team Manager, wannabe writer, and soon-to-be-Nurse.

Secretly I want to quit for a year and just try my luck as a writer. That, of course, is something I’d never mention in front of people. Shhh… Now’s not the time to make another detour. I know that, but I still keep hoping I’d get a chance to really see if I could really make it.

I guess life never makes it easy. After all, where’s the fun in that?

Calicoan Island

On the way..

Gavin and his ipod

"It's laundry day."

Gavin doing his best Pacquiao impression."

In hi Pjs

Banging on the mirror at the hotel.

Gavin and his Mommy.

My brother (a year old in this photo), see Gavin's resemblance to his Dad?

On a tricycle.

In a laundry basket...

Nanay, serene at 82.

Aww Gav and a puppy.

This was at Crystal Beach.

Mama, my brother Ted (who is in the US Navy), and his girl Dimple.

Me holding a dead baby shark (and Gavin looking on).

Playing in the water.

More playing in the water.

Time to test the Olympus waterproof cam.

Nice beach!

Yeah!

Gavin, Tito Thad and Tito Ted.

Ted boy.

Sand bar.

Agnes, Thad, Ted and Dimple.

Ted swimming.

There I go- bandages and all.

Walang katapusang pag-pacute.

Dimple and Ted at Calicoan Villa.

Gav and Mommy.

Magkano ang pasahe?

On the sand.

Freshly caught fish tapos sinugba.

Tito Thad and Gavin.

.. dozing off a bit.

Trying the oars.

Mama and Gav.

at Sulangan church..

Octopi.

Fresh fish.

Nanay takes a dip.

Mama.

Gav learns to float.

Gav and Mommy Agnes.

Nay, anong klaseng langoy yan?

Me again.

Abercrombie underwater (bandages have come off but I need to shield the area from the sun so I just wore my t-shirt)..

Chillin..

Heading home. Ahh an endless summer = ) I love Samar!