Nothing lasts.

Nothing. Nothing lasts. Nothing ever lasts.

I have heard this cliche before. I know what the meaning is. But it didn't really sink in. Nothing lasts. Ok. So what. Big deal.

But it really is a big deal.

A week ago, a zit popped out of my zit-free face. I freaked out. It is not just one pimple. There are five of them now, to be exact, not including the small bumps that are almost pimple but really aren't (I hope they aren't). They were popping out, one by one. I almost cried.

Don't read me wrongly here. It is not that pimples are a big thing to me. It's just that I never had this much at one time. So this was a big change. And that's when it struck me. Nothing lasts forever. Not even my pimple-free face.

When I was still in the Philippines, I always wondered what would happen to my life. It was redundant then. I would always call up a friend at night, ask her what would transpire in the future, as if she holds the key. She would just patiently repeat her forecasts to ease my worries. And it did. But when the next day came and ended, I felt the need to call her again. I needed to listen to her prognosis.

I was still pimple-free then.

When I got here, I finally apprehended how big the world is, how tremendous the opportunities are, and how much I would be missing had I stayed home. Sure my spider veins have increased rapidly, so has my set of friends. I missed home; I was welcomed by a second one. Pimples are cropping up, but I'm still handed compliments. Despite this flaw. Despite all my other flaws. I have never really known how flattery feels, until I got here. It's good to hear them verbalized by someone else's lips.

And now these pimples. According to Newton's Third Law of Motion, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. I guess these pimples are a minute "reaction" to pay for everything life is letting me experience. And just like Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare, the pimples signify both a tragedy and a comedy.

And I know I'll say goodbye to these pimples in no time. ^^

A little is big enough

Another experience. Another bucket full of tears.

The book, Have a Little Faith by Mitch Albom, is a comparison between two men. It is a story of contraries. Of two contrasting roads. The amazing part of it is that these roads are somehow intertwined, despite diversity, traversing one path. Both lead to one holy goal.

And, just as what Reb said to his daughter before departing, "Remember the memories.", I too shall remember. The realization, the truths I have neglected, the reason for being..

I won't forget.

Wishing.. wishing.. wishing..

Life is like a box of chocolate, according to Forrest Gump. You'll never know what you're gonna get. But it seems like I always, always, get the same thing. It's always been the same flavor. For me, it is.

Or maybe because I just screw things up. That simple. If being me means screwing up, then, I am a hundred and twenty percent guilty. I am a living messer of things, if there's even such a word.

In fairness to God, when I asked for someone, He gave me potentials. This year was a bit fruitful. But after introducing it, He leaves the rest to me. I guess that's when the problem starts. When He starts leaving the rest to me.

My friend said life is like a game of chess. And I make the blunder moves. Wrong decisions. Wrong things to say. Wrong reaction. Have I lost the skill? I used to be part of the chess team in high school. I may not be the best, but I fared well. Has it rusted over the years? Now I even defy the touch-move rule. I am forced to execute these bad decisions, contend the wrong things I said, and feign the wrong reaction, because I have touched the piece already. Until it results in stalemate. I'm wishing it's stalemate. A platonic stalemate is better than a total loss. Right?

I guess I had better stick with Snow White and her song. Tonight, after praying to God, again (and I hope He still heeds after all of my failures), I will sing-a-long to Snow Whites' lullaby. "Someday, my prince will come..." No more frogs, ok.

And no more blunders (fingers crossed!). =3

Hit

It was finally 2pm. Work day has ended. I was happy. I was looking forward to it. But my excitement was short-lived.

Surprisingly, and I was surprised myself, I was able to finish my responsibilities at around 2pm. Our branch closes at 1pm; I finished everything, balancing and day end duties, at 2. So I strutted to the pantry, all the way to a small room where I could change from my uniform to my home clothes. I brought a t-shirt, jeans and white shoes. I was excited to wear my t-shirt. It was no ordinary one. I bought it from the Manila Ocean Park when my mom and I visited it last October. This was the first day I would be using it. Aside from the fact that the design is amazing, it was a special shirt for me because of the memories my mom and I shared that day. It served as an emblem. I was cheerfully striding with the biggest grin on my face as I leave the pantry.

But my smile faded when I entered the back room.

It has been a tradition for me to bid goodbye to everyone in the branch before I totally walk out of it. I said my farewell to everybody, wishing them good weekend in my most exhilarated voice. But my enthusiasm died down when one colleague, looking at me bewildered, said, "You look like a Filipino maid."

You look like a Filipino maid.

My friend was told by her client that she was so thankful to her Filipino maid, because when she got sick, the maid attended to all of her needs in the hospital. The maid hardly went home to eat appropriately, or to bathe, or to have rest. She just couldn't leave her employer alone, even if it meant she had to take her sleep at the benches of the corridors of the hospital, while the employer's children were all resting soundly at the comfort of their homes. The maid did this with no complaints. No complaints at all.

But my colleague talked about maids, in general, like they are the outcasts of the world, oblivious to the fact that without them, she may not function properly. The world may not function properly. Unless it starts scrubbing the floor, nursing the sick, reading the kids storybook, and loving, really loving with no complaints, the most precious ones. And respect reciprocated as the only consolation.

Until then, the rest of the world may be outcasts themselves. Without even knowing it.

Feeling blessed ^^

I know. Despite all my whines and unhappy remarks, it is still something I should feel blessed.

When I went home to the Philippines for a short vacation in October, I almost did not want to leave again. I dreaded each day that passed, each leaves that fell. Each moment counted. Each laughter cherished.

Someone told me I should be thankful for my current post. I have a job a lot of people would love to have. I felt elated when I got this job. I was jubilant. But after months of homesickness, zero social life, and work stress, especially work stress, I plunged into eternal damnation. My rants started.

But things are turning around. I know the reasons for feeling blessed now. I always did. I just forget sometimes. Sometimes things happen because we need reminding. Well I do.

And I feel blessed again. =)