Change’s Child

Miss those early morning lines we make for the flag raising (find your height!). Miss those childish teasings. The backpack. Once we thought pimples were the world’s worst problem (even boys did); and those love letters given or received, along with the promises in them, would make life rosy, forever. Oh high school.

And then we started growing up, and see ourselves in a new light. To stay alive, we discovered we have to be tough. But let’s not lose the child within. For life may not always be rosy, but when it’ll be, it’s still best to experience awe like that of a child.

And so we remember those times…

…and bring them along, as we shape our lives.

Perk

After days sans sleep and stresses—who says I can’t pluralize(?!)—of composition writing and all those final presentation powerpoint-ing, not to mention the upcoming winter exams, and other -ing, -ings(yes Kat, 日本語:Japanese’s bloody), at least, Paulo Coehlo has given me bliss. And what bliss it is.

Paulo Coehlo’s The Witch of Portobello is online, for free (’til March 11, 08). To those who haven’t, go read it now.

To my neon girl

The last time I saw you give in was when you really cried so hard, you didn’t even make any sound and were tearless. But I knew you cried really hard—you wept, bled—then fainted.

I was in shock. That was probably the first time I saw somebody lose consciousness, and the only word I knew how to name it was death. I didn’t know of fainting, of unconsciousness; I thought you died. And it broke my heart to see you lying there, while people struggled to regain your consciousness. Some thought of the abaniko fan as the ultimate solution, while others who remained calm enough, thought of calling the ambulance. Thank God you opened your eyes before it came. Now, after just looking at you lying there, not knowing what to do, after all being silent while these things were happening so fast, it was my time to cry. At first I cried because you came back (I really thought you died), and then I continued crying because I was afraid you might close your eyes again. Thank God you didn’t.

Enough of the drama! Right? I know you have had enough.

But I just want to say how much I love you. I know our ideas are always on the opposite tip of the rod; and I know that sometimes I hurt you by defining what should be and what should not be. But really, how had I dared? I only have the faintest idea of how much pain you had to carry with you for years before you finally fred yourself, haven’t I? But really, I love you.

You were branded as the black sheep. But maybe they thought of you that way because you have used your freedom extraordinarily wild that not one of them dared to try, simply because they didn’t have that amazing strength—like yours—to even keep their knees from shaking. You should know I’m I have been proud of you.

What else did they call you? Ah, the cheerleader who kissed her boyfriend in front of the provincial capitol building. And when I asked you about this? You just laughed; said it was true. Now I know why you didn’t bother to explain, because you’re sure that later on I would understand by myself that you are a romantic. Because hey, I am one too. And yes, when we want to kiss, we do it anywhere. They also called you the most academically-unaccomplished among your siblings. Because you didn’t graduate with honors? Who cares? You are way a lot better with people compared with them. That’s why it’s easy for you to do business. Haha, your business talk is sugar, and spice, and everything nice itself. One thing more, they graduated with honors, but who can do brain-numbing math the quickest? Not to mention articulate the most fluent of English? Hey, it’s not them, but you.

Now, let’s talk about that neon thing. You know very well that from the very first time you told me that neon green is your favorite color, I was against it. “Neon green is so cheap, just choose other colors. Have pink, or yellow, or gold, whatever, but neon green.” Now, I want you to know that if neon green makes you happy, then I’d be glad to paint a picture of you when I get back, all in neon green acrylic. That’s what I’m gonna do neon girl.

So, neon girl, just wanna go a bit dramatic again okay? I’d really wanna tell you that you’re such a strong woman. The last time you showed you’re weak was when you fainted. I was horrified then, but I’m glad it happened. I guess your body submitted to everything painful that moment, but with a vow not to be defeated again. And so since then, you’ve always been that beautiful, skimpy shorts-strutting superwoman. Since then you have always been the opposite force that softens my days when I handled them too tightly. You’ve always been the smart joke-cracker, that even in the most dreaded of times, I could expect an aching stomach when you’re around.

They say we’re really opposites. But I have a little secret to tell you: we are in a lot of ways alike. I get you now. They didn’t understand you because your perception of things is just higher than theirs. You enjoy freedom. And even if you “over-enjoyed” them sometimes, you were always ready to face the consequences. Maybe because you have experienced how it is to fear, to really fear, and to be devoid of freedom, that now you have a higher appreciation of everything pleasant. You’re never afraid to make mistakes, that’s what you are. And for that, I’m proud of you.

Don’t worry, you’ve taught me a lot. A lot than what they—or you—think you have. And when I get back, I guess I would really, really understand your ways better. But there’s one of your declarations that I have to disagree with: that your name’s “pang-bukid”. It’s not. Angelita means ‘little angel’ right? And even if a lot of people would disagree—even you—I think you truly are an angel.

Okay, enough of the drama.

To my one and only neon girl, may you enjoy this additional year of your life. Enjoy your special day! Happy birthday neon girl, happy birthday mom!

Love you.

If the world were to die

When does an annoying baby squeal silence the world and give hope again? When babies have become history of course—at least for the realist—and a miracle for the optimist. To save yourself from this rather ambiguous retelling of how precious life is, watch Children of Men instead. Stars Clive Owen, by Alfonso Cuarón.

Trailer here.

“Once the sound of the playground fades, despair sets in.”

on the bed’s other side… smiling

I don’t really feel well these days. If I should paint what I feel, gray would dominate. Not that gray is an unpleasant color, it’s just that gray resembles the crawling passage of days that I so, so feel right now.

But to look back a couple of days ago, I can’t help but take note of the little kindnesses I’ve been given the opportunity to experience:

・Grace (Japanese language classmate) giving me a piece of banana she originally brought for herself after telling her I didn’t have breakfast just to get in time for my class that day.

・My roommate telling me he doesn’t want to have a new roommate (it’s mandatory to change roomeys in my dorm, for wider “socialization”, sensible in a way), because “you’re a good roommate”, he said. And adding, “I would never forgot [forget] you”. “ほうんとに (oh, really)?” I replied. But thanks, Tsuyoshi.

・Ate (big sis) Bebe and kuya (big bro) Ferdy preparing Chopsuey (veggies in creamy soup) and tuyo (dried fish)—all Filipino food, for me and Katrina one afternoon. Good conversation. Laughters. And after tidying up two plates of rice, to which kuya Ferdy called “kaing-mason“, I was already in blissful cloud nine. Ate Bebe: “Mas masarap talagang kumain ‘pag may kasama (Eating’s more delicious with company)”.

・”Close your eyes, you might be afraid of bicycles, too.” -notice on my bike’s seat (parked it outside the library, along the pathwalk, which is a non-parking area *blink blink*). The message aims at protecting the visually-impaired, keeping them from accidents caused by irresponsible, no-parking area parkers like me. The notice’s a kindness—opened my eyes that I’m fortunate to see, and reminded me that I have a responsibility to those who do not.

・My Japanese language teacher appreciating the improvement she’s noticed in me, especially my composition writing. It just feels great to be appreciated for an essay you worked really hard for. Especially if that essay’s about your family.

Okay, for a recap, let’s do the color-the-things-mentioned game: banana-yellow, roommate-yellowish (haha), tuyo and Filipino friends-tan aka brown (louder haha), note on my bike-white. Now, where’s gray?