Uncle Saint

In a busy world where both work and life evaporate rapidly, a growing aging society is a prominent fact. Countless numbers of homes are founded to aid the elders. We visited one of them today.

Eleven people spending time and recording the last of their memories in an almost shabby space they call home. We came to visit them for Christmas. This home is different from the ones we frequent; the inhabitants are destitute.

I arrived in haste. I left my office at a quarter to the appointed time. I reached the place an hour past it. The home was located in a public housing in the heart of the city. I was not aware of its presence until today. The residents were responsive; most of them spoke English. The best part was, not a whine was uttered.

After games and gifts prepared were over, I approached each one for the second time to extend my Christmas greeting and to bid goodbye. Smiles were glued on their faces immutably as they were accepting our small tokens. I was one by one grabbing their hands and shaking it, until I came across this particular man. 

We exchanged greetings, myself and him both beaming. Then he said something so sincere it moved me to tears. "All the best for you". All the best for you. When all the best in the world should be showered to him for all the sacrifices and heart wrecking journey he must have gone through, he wholly transferred the prayer to me. All the best for me.

The sun is setting, mine is burning. God has gifted me with marvelous blessings and miracles. The uncle, without any sign of envy or lamentations or remorse, free from material gifts that come and fade, stated the sincerest, shortest prayer my heart has ever heard. I know it floated in small upward steps. It traversed past the clouds into God's listening ear. God's delicate attentiveness hears the deepest prayer.

All the best for him.

Zz

It has been a busy week. I reunite with my pillows and dreams at one in the morning almost everyday. Tiring, yeah.

I met some friends today. I did not plan to take part in it. I intended to go shopping on my own for tomorrow's Christmas party, go home at eight in the evening, and be engulfed by the softness of my cushion when the clock strikes nine. None of it materialized. My night was more meaningful.

Though misanthropy entices me at times, experiencing time elapse with good conversation and hearty cackles make me forget. I am extrovert and introvert, depending on mood. It was a lonesome evening by choice; I caved to a good company. It was a good decision.

Now my clock whispers one in the morning. I am wide awake and sleepy at the same time. My head has decided to retire for the day, but my fingers insist on typing. My laptop sneaks in a weaker truth. It is left with three percent power. I am shutting very soon.

All I Want for Christmas Is..

Apart from my two frontal teeth, that are still intact by the way, I have in mind a list (and a long one, mind you) that I will transcribe on a paper and origamise into an aerial transport. Sealed with a kiss, I will then, with brutally powerful force, along with my pumping heart and transforming soul, send it soaring into the blue skies. The totem will reach the addressee in the North Pole come hell or high water, by hook or by crook. by blood or by tooth. It will land safely on its doormat, the addressee will pick it up, and thus, the beginning of wisdom.

What do I have in there? Not a hard one that St. Nick could not provide. :)

1. Health for my family (You can do this, Santa! :])
2. Meaningful endeavor for me.
3. A watch that I spotted in one of the malls in the city some months ago (While stocks last!!)
4. A Blackberry Storm (This is final. I won't fall for you, Iphone 4.)
5. Shoes from Mitju and tops from Mango (The simplicity of my desires.)
6. A life of gratitude.
7. An extension of humanity with understanding increasing by ten levels, impatience buried six feet under.
8. Acquisition of one virtue a day.
9. Establishment of a deeper relationship with God.

My christmas wish list has turned into New Year's Resolutions. Haha! And it ain't that long!

Oh well. :)

HO! HO! HO!

It's the 8th of December, 2010. A little toss and turn, and waking, and blinking, with some Christmas shopping in between, and whoala! HO! HO! HO!

I saw our office roster for this cycle today. I have already envisioned myself bouncing with joy as I pull my luggage and strutting my way from the domain of our international airport. My family awaits with the biggest simper, stretching their arms to the longest width possible readying to engulf me in their warmest, most flaring welcome. Upon seeing our schedule today, I was astounded to realize that this is just two weeks away. It is so happening!!

Christmas last year was spent apart. I celebrated the birth of God with friends, my home away from home. So imagine my excitement now that time is being pulled gradually into a merry Christmas, with me swaying with it gleefully. There is no place like home. And surely, there is no better place to celebrate the most joyous season than with the people I work hard here for. It's a merry HO! HO! HO!

Sweet and Low

The wasted fact that it is 1123 in the evening and I am still uninvited by my enticing bed and pillows makes me want to draw myself closer to the only thing that keeps me sane: my laptop.

I have been to places, in the world wide web that is. I have taken my daily dose of current events about the place that I live in now and my hometown. I have updated my ever-welcoming Facebook page. This particular site has always been a priority in my cyber life. Not a chance is let to slip without a peak at it, no matter how slim it might be.

I was very low today. So low I dared not talk to anyone in my work place. I was demented; all that glow in me had been sucked out, replaced by a dark cloud and a heavy rain. It felt like being trapped in a quicksand. I was struggling to emerge from it, but it keeps on swallowing me whole. And I caved. The only legacy was a tear of hopes and dreams. But even that miniscule part of me thinned and evaporated. I am left with nothing.

I miss home.

Rapunzel. A Tangled Tale

The name Walt Disney remains unfazed and as impenetrable as the Great Wall. Trumpets of new film outfits with promising offers bellow with might and thunder, shattering every mirror of opportunities against one another. But today, Walt Disney has proven itself to be millions of light years ahead of any of these novices. The reason: RAPUNZEL.

It is an old story inflamed with a new twist. Some ingredients in the recipe has been retained; it is still the same once-upon-a-time fairytale with and-they-lived-happily-ever-after ending. But the middle part is the surprise. I guess action stunts are a necessity in most films nowadays. Rapunzel walks away from her timid and bashful personality. She sheds off her skin to display an unorthodox female of her era. Who would have thought she can kick ass like Elektra did?!

So he is not the prince charming we all hope she will be linked with. There is scarcity in princes now since Prince William is tying the knot. The name is Flynn Rider, or Eugene Fitzherbert to people he trusts. It does not sound so majestic, if you would ask me. But I guess Rapunzel has been introduced to the fact that true love is seeing through someone, acknowledging that someone's true persona, and then accepting every tiniest bit of it. Even if he is not the prince we, girls, dream him to be. Even if he is just a 'thief'. Not that Rapunzel has options.

In our world where being attached to a 'royalty' is every girl's real-life fantasy, Rapunzel teaches us that love is found in any circumstances, in any embodiment, in any character. Love blooms if we just let it. It is the new age fairytale. Gone are the days of a prince saving his princess from a fire-breathing dragon. A knight is long gone along with its shining armor. They now afloat on the river and no one bothers to even recognize them. Now is the time for love taking any shape and any form. For love sprouts from within.

That makes Rapunzel a very interesting experiment. And that is what makes Walt Disney a true scientist of enigmatic timelessness. It is enduring. He is enduring. He still makes my jaw drop in awe the way he did the first time I saw Mickey Mouse on TV. He still makes my heart stop. And cry. And yes, sing.

It's a Masquerade Party, Facebook Style!

An attack of nostalgia is happening. It is clouding the whole of Facebook community. And it is spreading rapidly!

There is a deadline: by the 6th of December, in the year of our Lord 2010, all human visage shall perish from the face of the social network to be replaced by their caricature counterpart that pigmented their childhood. Yes, it is the new era of masquerading!

To show support for the eradication of child abuse, a post of unknown source has been endorsed by friends of friends of friends, heaving with it the philanthropic cause. Inspired by this great thought, hundreds, if not thousands, temporarily forgetting celebrations and poise, immediately changed their primary pictures with no hesitation. The result? A tsunami of childhood memories, happines, and life's simplicity!

Reminiscing followed. Everyone grinned at the recollection of a particular cartoon. Imagination started to work. It excavated long time experiences that had been pushed to the deepest subconscious. Oblivion began to recognize light. It stepped out into exposure.

I am Nicholas D. Wolfwood ^^

Vivid and sepia quality of memories are being uploaded to Facebook. They compose a collage of colorful juvenescence. Once again, Facebook has proven itself to be an effective way of reaching the hearts of souls. It started as a cause, turned into reminiscences (with wistfully authentic music in the background), and now a phenomenon. At least for those who believe in it. For those who embrace the beauty of salad days. And for those who are in a tug-of-war with the kid in them. It is a masquerade! ^^

Good Mate

My half-day off yesterday was not meant for resting. I needed to go to the city and pass some important documents to validate my stay. Unfortunately, the papers I brought were incomplete. And, in a way, I was joyful it was.

I called my colleague to ask for the HR's number, so I could ask them to fax me a duplicate. I did not want to end the day without accomplishing something. My colleague happily obliged and gave me the details. I dialed it. I was surprised to hear a guy's voice on the other end; I was expecting a lady's. Nevertheless, I continued with our conversation.

I told him the name of the person in-charge and the urgency of my concern. He understood it perfectly well. Upon knowing the intranet was inaccessible to me, he looked her up. He gave me a different set of numbers. I pressed the digits on my phone, listened to the endless ringing until an answering machine halted the tintinnabulation. I hanged up. I sighed. After spending a couple of dollars for the fare and a million of seconds for the travel, the stars revealed the unsightly. I sat looking glum.

Perseverance being one of my virtues, I redialed. The repetitive response was wearisome. Still persistent and insistent plus all the virtues I could gather, I decided to call the initial number given by my colleague. After two attempts, the same guy's voice seeped through my handphone. This time, I courageously admitted I needed a good soul.

He asked for my surname (he snorted upon hearing it. I realized my name was too Filipino it might have been hard for him to spell out), and asked for the complete name of the person in-charge I was so desperate to be connected with (it turned out he gave me his colleague's number in our first conversation; she and the HR personnel have the same first name). After puling up the record of the correct person, he reiterated the number I thought I was calling. "Is this not the number I pressed?", I sheepishly inquired. He negated. To top it off, he added that it was not even the HR department I was speaking with. My jaws dropped up to the South Pole in embarrassment. He chuckled in amusement. Oopps.

I returned to my abode, all virtues fleeting. But I was thankful. Unaccomplished agenda deflated my being, but encountering a good-natured mate whose sincerity to extend a hand was outstanding elevated my spirit a notch higher from rock bottom. A busy street may be hard to cut in, but in that perfect moment when all the universe conspired against hopes, a small gesture of kindness stands out like a firefly in the wee hours. It topples pessimism. It replenishes exhausted nobility. It repaints the smile on one's lips. It converts the day into a glass. It makes it half-filled. ^^

To go or not

Drowning my time in endless flow of notes and tones. And undertones. It is deafening.

I asked God to imbue me with wisdom to choose the right option. The problem is shouldering the consequences after arriving at a decision. It may shock me, regardless of the option. I crouch in anxiety. 

I talked to my father tonight. He uttered the words that might be a divine sign. He told me to go back home and start anew. Life may be harder, but at least we are together, he said. Can this be God's answer?

The year is wrapping up. God works in His own time; I trust in His good judgement. I agree with my father's invitation, if you would ask me. But I am eager to know God's plan. The future is cloudy; I see bumps ahead. The economy is volatile. I am aging. And I am under utilized.

So long, Dobby

I just finished watching the film, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. I am done with crying. My eyes are not done being red.

He is one of the most memorable characters in the series. A house elf who had been freed accidentally by Harry, making him eternally grateful to him. He saved Harry a number of times in return. But some good things just never last.

Like the hobbits in the Lord of the Rings, elves are unworthy of attention in the wizarding world. They are the untouchables, slavering yet offering unimaginable fidelity as their main purpose. Not that they opted for this status, but for some historic, epical years, their existence was no more than that creature that cleans houses and scrubs floors. So imagine Dobby's gratitude when Harry freed him, a privilege as scarce as the blue moon; he exalted Harry and revered him like a god.

I have read the book once. After tonight, I was inspired to reopen and relive every word in it. I recall weeping over the loss of Dobby the first time I came across it; tonight was a deja vu. The value of someone like Dobby as applied in our daily life has been accentuated. The ones we thought of as lowly and insubstantial can be the ones that will greatly affect us. They literally and metaphorically extricate us. Dobby was considered a speck of dust and was totally ignored by society, but Harry might have fumbled to Valdermort a number of times if not for this minion who addresses himself by his own name. Their bond teaches us to treat everyone fairly, regardless of religion, of societal norms, of physical deformation, of flaws, because all life forms are worthy. Our lives are intertwined; we all need each other one way or another.

"Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf. Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends." Indeed, he did. Well done, Dobby. :')

Bye bye, Wills

So he got engaged. So he is finally walking the isle next year. So broken hearts are scattered everywhere. So depression is the main psychological ailment by hopeful princesses of their own cribs nowadays. So the most eligible bachelor has ended his road to single hood and has taken the right turn towards matrimony. Ah, the greatest form of greed in history!

Prince William's engagement to Kate Middleton has been announced worldwide, resulting in stoppage in the heart rate of millions and billions of lasses that loved him since the beginning. I am not one of them. Two of my friends are. And after reading one of my best pals blog about it, I wondered. Wasted time over wasted love, is it invaluable?

If loving (if not infatuation, that is) someone from afar is a sin, and sobbing over unrecognized affection is madness, then no one is licensed to endearment. The world is a place for lovers as well as hopeless romantics. Romantics who are an epitome of drama and satire over intangible characters, aching and smiling at the diminutive beacon of hope at the thought of their prince. At the mere thought of that special someone. They, too, have the right to love. And be hurt.

Prince William has the right to be happy. He will live eternally with his chosen wife. Half of the world will be ecstatic. Half of it will lament.

For the cherries.

Charismatic Day

The hall was filled with angelic voices. Bodies were falling on the ground. Tears wet the faces. Tongues reverberated in the Upper Room. Praises were uttered from the depths of souls.

I had been to prayer groups. I had an idea of what occurrences were likely to transpire. But sometimes, though inevitable, happenings have a way to sneak in and catch us unprepared. I was shocked when I saw a girl suddenly lying on the floor as if in a trance, eyes all closed, whole physical being in still motion except for her overturned left hand that was doing some repeated actions as if sending a message in Morse Code. No one took notice, and the one who did did not know how to translate it. A few minutes had passed, she regained composure and stood up.

A handful of people had the same experience. Bodies kept dropping on the floor. The sight gave me goosebumps. Their faith was inexplicable that something divine chose them to be the temple. I was in awe.

And in tears. I heard some grieving. The beauty of surrendering everything to the One Above has translated into droplets of liquid from my innocent eyes. And for some odd reasons I myself am not fully aware, while I was seated in my own chair after my part was over, I burst into tears.

God touches every soul in His own divine way. Some felt the need to 'rest'. I expressed my exultation in tears. In my inaudible cries where no one observed and no one perceived, a silent prayer and a silent admiration took place. Amidst different sounds bouncing off the walls, despite being drowned in tongues and series of proclamations, in my loudest whisper and restricted logic, God heard me. He is never tone deaf as I may be. And an invocation has happened on a personal level.

Another tear rolled down my face.

How Much?

How much is happiness? A cone of ice cream on a lazy afternoon is happiness, market price at $2. Dinner with loved ones is a source of happiness, with approximately $50 price-tag attached to it. Movies with friends, $10, prattling over Starbucks, $7, satisfying the craving for blueberry cheesecake, another $7. All these are expenditures. They evolve around dough. So how much does happiness really cost?

Two friends and I visited a resident of an old folk's home yesterday. She was looking desolate; she courageously admitted she was. She stays in a private room solely. She has exclusive access to the amenities inside it, for a high price as expected. The downside: it secludes her from the world two steps outside her door, allowing her solitary existence to devour her, with her consent. It is taking its toll on her.

Immediately upon arrival, we wanted to enter the room to begin the conversation. The initial plan was to sit with her, say the Rosary, have a chat, then go home. I approached the door; she was on the phone. Not wanting to disturb her as the conversation she was having appeared to be of significant value, we left momentarily to visit other residents.

Fifteen minutes or so after, we returned to her place. She was still on the phone. Spending time with her was the only goal for the day, and so as not to waste precious moments, I brazenly knocked on her door. She might not be expecting our visit, but immediately upon recognizing us she put the phone down to entertain her guests. We later found out she was conversing with her niece. I guess our presence was more essential than the one she was speaking with.

We wanted to start the prayer. We took out our booklet, and with Rosary in hand we told her we would commence. But she declined. "Come chat with me instead", she requested. "I am lonely."

The home was three stops away from the bus interchange. The fare was at the minimum, at 0.71 cents per trip. She asked how much we shelled out for the visit; we told her it was insignificant. She insisted finding out the figure; we informed her of the numbers. She was happy to discover that a minimal, unworthy-we-often-disregard-pennies-and-dimes-in-our-wallets, was what it took to get to her place. She needed company. She was delighted to indulge. All it took was a lousy 0.71 cents bus fare to radiate an obscured, reclusive room on the fourth lever of that old folk's home. Her happiness: $0.71 cents worth of company.

A $2 ice cream draws a smile on my face. A 0.90 cent phone call brightens my father's day; he is elated to have heard her daughter's shrilling voice at the other end of the line. Gone were the days when men walked naked, with only the breath of air clothing their bare skin. Days had expired for a free, plucked meal. Spending is part of our daily living. Though at times they bring headaches, the cheapest and the most bargained commodities are the ones that give pure, soulful happiness. Our fare of $0.71 cents has the heaviest weight this week. I can bid double and bet another dollar multiplied thrice, if this may result in a grin on her elongated face. A rare chance for well-spent pennies. Happiness: priceless. :)

Will the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up?

You know what scares me, aside from flying roaches and hyperactive spiders, is the fact that after yelling to the whole of universe how enormous my love of writing is and that I maintain a blog, they finally discovered my hideout and would blurt out, "That's a piece of crap you have there." It makes me cringe.

It is human nature, the unconscious slavery to the concept of being accepted by all. Or at least understood by all. I blabber to close friends, mood swings overwritten. But deep thoughts that electrify from the gray matter in my skull to the silver lining at the edge of my fingers must be produced through writing. And, thus, yukikomai was born.

A friend was telling me that she used to maintain a blog, and that she had (a swarm, I imagine) readers eyeing on her every post. But she halted. I had been posting for quite sometime now, though mainly all for personal consumption and as a means of venting out my frustrations and observations, it never crossed my limited perception that I (maybe) have an audience. The thought that someone I did not force to visit my humble blog has stumbled upon it, read the contents, and ended up confused because my ideas are as clear as the glass window in the middle of a storm makes me recoil in horror. I might have contributed to the paperless, new-age pollution that is evading the world wide web. I cringe in terror.

So I tiptoed my way to Dashboard, clicked on Stats, clicked on Audience, then on All Time, with eyes squinted and lower lip chewed. My eyes widened to timeless proportion when I saw what I saw. Look what I found!

I was expecting Philippines, USA, and Singapore only. But look! It is overwhelming! :)

It makes me want to revisit my archive, revamp my posts, recheck my grammar. It is a dirty business, this blogging. It is eating me whole that I could not be resuscitated anymore. Especially when visitors are like ghosts; not a trace is left behind. I am groping in the dark and have stepped on something sharp. I bleed copiously.

ps: If you are reading me, please make your presence felt. I am as curious as a cat (the ones that don't scratch). 

Thanks for dropping by. ^^

Two weddings and a movie

Two weddings. One movie. One day.

The first one was my friend's sister's. It was lovely. She was lovely. The ambience was soulful. I ate a mouthful and indulged on some, until I had to adjust the belt so I could breath. Gluttony is my top sin today.

The second was also memorable. It was my first time to attend a wedding that orchestrated rock music. I was mesmerized by the husky and deafening vocals of the singers. It was one hard rock song after another. And the theme of the wedding was black and white. The metamorphosis of this event, courageous yet effective.

We booked a movie after the weddings. We dined in after. As we finished our splendid food, Love is All Around Me, a song from the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral, permeated in the background. Yeah, it was all love that surrounded me today, the love of God to top it all. I am 29, a step away from the mid-point of my journey, and a soulmate, a quarter of a foot away from my embrace, is awaiting. I could hear a faint sound of bells ringing and cymbals clashing. 

Dreams are imminent. :)

Vanity: A Crime

• OBSERVATION
• Evidence #1: Zits popping out like mushrooms out of nowhere, thus smearing an untainted visage in years. A tear was shed.

• Evidence #2: Veins invading flawless legs and proliferating. They have branched out, defying any cheap form of annihilation. Pillows are wet with tears.

• INVESTIGATION:
• Fact A: A friend of mine never had pimples her entire life, except when she started working that stress led to emergence of zits. I asked her if it affected her lifestyle and morale, causing depression and anxiety that may have led to misanthropy, and she uttered, with all innocence and sheer undoubted spirit, no evidence of vanity in her skin and bones, a big, gulpy NO. There was never a minute she was saddened by this extreme change. NEVER AT ALL.

• Fact B: Another friend who used to be very conscious of her physical fitness had turned into plumpness after delivering three wonderful kids. She was recounting to me, in a synopsis, how she looked almost scrawny but three babies after she wandered off from the measuring tape and concentrated on child-rearing. She lost consciousness of it; her hour glass figure stumbled behind her and is now history. And she was narrating this to me with no stain of regret whatsoever. All she was wearing was her big, gulpy SMILE.

• HYPOTHESIS:

It made me wonder. Some crack open their piggy banks for vanity. Rivers of tears are shed. Millions of currencies are expended. Why? Because we are a visual people. Beauty lies on what is perceived by the eyes. A flaw is impermissible. Vanity is elevated into being the highest form of satisfaction. But is it, really?

Every beauty magazine exudes perfection. Perfect ovally-shaped face, perfect pouty, seductive lips. I was qualmish about imperfection, but who is perfect? "Only Barbie is," my friend told me. I was living a satisfied life, my hair is straight (it had never been, thanks to new technology), I am gaining weight (it suits me, by the way), until I turned around and noticed paths of bulging blood vessels behind my legs. I freaked out. I yawped. I weeped.

Vanity should be sued for moral damages. It can kill. It kills moods, outlooks. It hinders a normal living.

But that was the old me. The new me vows to crush Vanity. I am still affected, I might still gather information to resolve issues, but harboring the losses rather than the gains, I vow to diminish. "One virtue at a time, " someone said. Replacing a vice with a virtue, replacing vanity with optimism, considering from a happy viewpoint, letting logic preside over succumbing vanity, makes the world go round. It waters the plants, permits the sun to shine, outstretches arms aiming to touch the blue skies, with vision taking sight of what is ahead instead of what is behind. "I was ranting not having enough shoes, until I saw a man without feet", a truth from somewhere.

• CONCLUSION:

Vanity is dead. It died with the punks. :p

Water, Anyone?

So the line was long. It formed a snake figure curling within the poles. A good three feet more and it had reached the door.

We prayed for rain to pacify it. I guess it was not time for it. Instead of water pouring, a heavy downpour of people kept on replenishing those who had stepped out of the hall. I took a deep breath.

No promise of rain shower was evident, but the weather outside was neither sunny. I could see the reflection through one of the rooms' door, it was all gray. I was still optimistic, the rain was the value of the X in the mathematical equation. The only reason for a momentary pause. The sun cooperated, I was grateful.

But no rain occurred.

Today was busiest. I did not even have the chance to wander and let water out, nor let it in. All morals thinning, face still grinning, I was still conversing with the person in front of me when this particular friend of the person I was serving expressed solicitude verbally. I missed it. He repeated. I thought he was pertaining to himself. He was not. He was referring to me.

Rain shower may not have befallen, but concern from a stranger was enough to stop the chaos, put the hall in mute, and let peace govern me. Solace stretched in majestic minutes. He said, "You don't even have time to drink water."

While some were protesting, he was appreciating. The statement was enough to water and revive me. Despite tribulations and mayhem, the world is still a beautiful place. 

The Name Game, and Help, and Tonsils

It is 9:30, sighed by my Motorola. I was shaken to awakening by an invisible hand at 8:50. I could not return to hibernation after.

I stood up, carried my lovely Mac, and headed to the common room. I took a bag of mini Toblerone from the fridge. There are still three mini bars inside. The past days have been Toblerone for breakfast for me prior to my actual one, and I reckon it to be the cause of energy flooding in my veins into my arteries. My days were dynamic, I grinned from ear to ear to my clients. The culprit are the Energy Bars.

So I devour them despite my tonsils' complaints. I have been ingesting sweet victuals, McDonalds' Chocolate Fudge, Hershey's Reese's Peanut Butter Cups for the past days. Yesterday was a Prima Deli Chocolate Mousse Cake with Strawberry on top. It was meant for the October birthday celebrants courtesy of the branch. I chomped a chunk. My tonsils bleat.

And today is my usual Toblerone. They now wiggle inside my tummy, and I am still famished. I have an appointment at 12 noon. I need to consume a substantial meal at 10:30. But everyone is still traversing in dreamlands. I am dependent on their flair for cooking. Help?

30

Time is gold, or so they say. Treasure the minutes and seconds as they are due to expire. Once gone, they are irretrievable. Time is the most splurged and the most implored.

My friend told me once that upon reaching thirty, time swifts by. The sand in my golden twenty-ninth hourglass hastily passages through its narrowest section. It will scream 'Time's up' sooner or later. Before the last bit of sand occupies the microscopic space, I need to face two grueling options: to let it breeze right through me like an arrow hitting an apple from afar, unnoticed, or savour its sweetness and bitterness with squinted eyes and twisted mouth, salivating. Hmm.

It has been three days since my birthday. I have been pulling hours and days to hasten them, but I had not realized that by doing so, I am skipping the most valuable in-betweens. Missed conversations, missed appreciation, missed smiles. Missed hellos and missed goodbyes. Nature taking its course but slipping my keenness. I do not mind missing deadlines, but missing bellow of laughters and whispered small talks equates to missing a pricey day in one's life.

And it has been three days since my birthday. I guess this would be my most documented pre-birthday, my thirtieth. Thirty is a big number. It is a big leap of faith and a small step towards betterment. I will be forwarding to a new phase of my life, thirty. If the average life expectancy is sixty to seventy, thirty becomes the climax of one's journey. It breaks or makes it. It alters it. It imbues it. Life does not begin at forty. It commences at thirty.

"Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving," according to 13 Going on 30. Thirty, Flying, and Still Trying, I say. What differentiates me from my comrades is my persistence and my muses. Procrastination is a venial sin. What lies ahead can be trod graciously. 

And so my preamble begins. :)

Plan B

Plan A: Fall head over heels over a significant other. At the age of 25, strut down the church's aisle, pacing while melting to meet the man of my surreality. He is patiently waiting at the altar; a smile beautifies his calming face. He is the only love among all the hate, the only one allowed to enter the gates and slay the dragon. The union is unforgettable that only tears can attest. It is the most significant of all days.

Reality: At 29, here I am, loveless. 

Plan A: Conceive kids at 27. A brood of three boys compose a lovely home. 

Reality: At 29, still childless.

I understand that most plans fail to materialize. Meet that special someone at 23, blush at the sound of his voice pronouncing his never-ending loyalty and love. Get engaged and be bound for perpetuity. Blah blah blah.

I spoke to my mom on my birthday. And my mom, being the wisest mother that she is, uttered verbatim, "You're already 29. Better find someone and get married before you turn 30." I was dumbfounded. How is this mathematically and scientifically possible?!

Inspired by my mom's great insights, 

Reality: At 29, a revised and improved Plan B is unveiled: If after five years my current state has never appreciated, maybe a significant other I can overlook. If I cannot obtain a love of my own, I might as well have a kid of my own. There are a lot of babies in need of a good home. It is an opportunity to alter someone's future and blossom my plight in the process.

Not a bad idea, eh? I don't think my mom will be impressed, though. :)

Thank You

When I am in my most vulnerable, you shoulder me. When I have dwindled, you rekindled me.

I am aware of my commitments, but I choose to neglect them at times. A stone is thrown at me; I throw it back with might. I proclaim my love for you, but I am aware you detect lip service. Everyday is a struggle for me, I know you consider my efforts against all others.

And now you have given me another year to be a witness of your profound love. I wholeheartedly accept to be the embodiment. I will falter. I will stumble. Forgetfulness will succumb me that I will cave to my limited perspectives. But I know you would understand. You have always understood. I never understood your continuous abundance of graces, it overflows my cup. I am a frail being. Yet you see me as I have never been seen before.

I woke up today, breathed your gift of air, and as I was walking to work I looked at the world from your vision. It is indeed a beautiful life. I thank you for lending it to an undeserving me.

Thank You for everything. :)

Jya

So I stole a moment of bliss again yesterday. My eyes met his presence. I took a deep breath.

I laid my eyes on him again, after an eternity of less than a month. The last time was an agony. Yesterday was a beautiful release.

This would be the last time I am laying it down in writing. Love is a sheer passing thought. It is like a wind blowing in a magnificent field; it stays momentarily, then it perishes. Eternally.

They say true love comes once in a lifetime. I reckon mine has just elapsed. Soul mates, if they exist, are a replica of our true self. Mine tiptoed past me, because I blinked for a millisecond. That was my unpardonable, vehement, mortal sin.

And I am letting go. It was a stainless goodbye. We greeted each other by kissing on the cheeks; we bid farewell the same way. It was the most poetic of punctuating a temporal fantasy.

I feel better. :)

M

M is for May Day

that was my day

M is for Marshmallow

that I felt on that day

M is for ice cream

I Melted with ease

M is for Moreover

moreover, I breezed

M is for the Moonshine

that glided in snow

M is for Mobile

my feet had its glow

M is for Manic

when I saw him there

A shadow was forming

another with flair

M is for Hopeful

I scrambled my letters

I panted and ranted

my scream unwanted

M is for Morose

the senses mislaid

M is for Mournful

a breath disarrayed

M is melancholia

the battle now lost

M is for May

forever not sought..