CURTAINS

Leaves withered 

On the drought land

Grass refused to grow some more

Pungent smell of fruits laden on the ground

Pavements mistless and no slime

The night called for a cold one

Promised to gnaw on her wrath

To throw enough spoil of her angst

The old sight never to happen again

The moon shadows the lifeless trees

Buildings abandoned

Properties left to oblivion

Lifeless

Futile

Then heard the guttural cry

One lost soul

One regretful mourning

When nothing was left

When no one to turn to anymore

Then came regrets

She came from a pit 

She knew well

Her comfort

Her life

Her everything

Yet, after death descends

She was left alone

To see the misery

The lost world

Because she hid herself

To the confinement of her world

When she realized she could walk

Could talk

Could run

Nothing was left

To share the world with her

Futile

Useless

Lifeless

Wasted. 

  

FRAGMENTS

Life is a matter of perspective

It's how you see yourself in 

A big loop of chaos

Your choice

You stay in the center

Be part of the whirl

Or be the peripheral

Onlooker

Lookout

Your mind would bend

Your heart would listen

But somewhere

Stuck in between 

There's that choice

To go along

Or stop

Or disappear.

-------

You stood

You laughed

You sang

And danced the tune

You conformed

With what is right

You acquiesced

The truth

You are bound

Yet again

You have your choice

Once

Once

Just the same

Decide

Be firm

Give yourself

A chance

To live

Happiness

Just like

How you want it

Not because it should be.

---

 If I am that

I could have

But I am not

So I won't

I have been

And look

What was?

What is?

What will be?

Void. 

NUANCES

Tweet, the bird says
It spreads its wings
But not strong enough
It tries to walk but feet
Feels like goo
It opens its beak some more
And tweet it sounds
Eyes dilate
Ears alert
Yet the bars
In its front
Spells the truth,
Caged.

-----

He didn't stare
He gawked
He smiled
He said lovely things
He never promised
He tested the water
Warm
He soaked his foot
Feet
Knees
Until totally
He was submerged
Yet when he looked up
He was alone.

-----
I am fine, said the ant.
Let's walk
Let's crawl
Let's see the sunlight
Let's feel the breeze
And the wind
Beneath our limp feet
Hold on
Is that water?
Hold me
Let's run
Don't let go
Hold still
Climb up
Hold tight
Oh my!
Don't
Don't
Why?
And the ant cried.

-----
If it's complicated
Think
Think
Think
And think
The brain works to its full maximum once it is pressured!
It has to free logic and reason or else heart will take over
And most often than not,
Disaster!

Random

I am but a butterfly
Flying lightly
Sipping nectar
Kissing the petals
Smelling the pistil
Dancing the wind
Beneath my fluttering wings.

I am a bee
Busy humming
Sniffing the scent
Of buds
And flowers
Of a very good morning.

I am a caterpillar
Crawling the green
Hugging the stem
Touching the dews
Sleeping in the hollow
Of the new blooms.

If only I am a bird
With the wings sturdy
As steel
I will soar up high
And be oblivious
Of my present predicament.

But no!
I am just a moth
Dreaming to be not
Wishing to be another
Oh there's the fire!
Would it hurt
If I will rest for awhile?

Bitten

I envy my childhood. 

Whenever I look outside the pouring rain, reality struck me that I have indeed a happy childhood. Deprived with some luxury maybe but I was contented back then until I savor all the glory of my sweats, hardships and the fruits of my labor. Not easy but it somehow elevated my life from the usual. 

My daughter mirrors the what-I-always-wanted. She might not have everything but she has something I didn't have before. But my laughter rang in my ears. Memories were so vivid and dancing under the full moonlight. No qualms. No heartaches. No stress. No anxiety. 

Growing up is not easy especially if you think life is unfair but if you live within the center and what should be, you will live by, but I did not.  I grabbed on the peripherals. I escaped the reality and tried  creating surreal world. Rusty cliche it may seem but suck it up! Reality ferociously bites! 

The more I wanted to live with comfort, the more the responsibilities leveled up. I hope it's not too late. I have to slash on everything. Give up something. Step backward. Start from square one and be realistic.

I hate being so cynical.

I want everything to be just simple.

Just like my laughter when I fell from the roof of the Health Center. My cry and guffaw and the salty taste of tears when I flipped backwards riding a swing soared upward.  My loud heartbeat when I had to hide my big bruises from being knocked down by a pig when I run at the same time the swine run and blocked my step with the rope. The way I cried when I was washing my scraped knee after catching my foot with the jump rope. The adrenaline rush of hiding from my mother when I was told to nap and after she succumbed to slumber, I sneaked out of the house. After everything, I was scolded, yet, everything was back to normal. 

Unlike now, my daughter does half of my adventures but after the series of whines and rants, reality slapped me, I have a mountain high of responsibilities, liabilities and duties.

So, this is how life rolls, huh? If only I knew, I should have stayed somewhere.  I should have chosen to be a butterfly instead but even metamorphosis takes series of changes. Cycle. 

Indeed, children are miracles. Childhood is something to be cherished and put into scrapbook. Soon enough, my mini-me will be doing the same. It's up to me how to change the cycle of her life. Sacrifice is well written in every palm but I could make something that would somehow smoothen the path of my kid as she grows up. 

It pains me knowing I can not be there forever to provide her a worry-proof world but I have to start the change now that will encourage her emulate whatever her parents have achieved.

As I look at her, hearing her soft breathing, how I envy her carefree childhood but all I can do is to keep her away from vicious individuals who can pollute her pure heart. She might know a thing or two her friends do not but she is still as young, careless and dependent as a 9 year old could be. 

How different our childhood together but just the same, I envy my childhood my daughter mirrors half of it. She is my reality check, my what-ifs, my could-be and my wannabe. 

Life may presently suck but whenever my child looks at me with adoring eyes, hugs so tight my jugular could snap, wet kisses like having water squirting my face but it will never be the same 10 years from now. 

For now, I will lock these memories inside me for eternity as long as my mind permits along with my happy childhood. 

Oh, I just miss my parents all the more especially when I want to dance with my father again.. 

A Mother's Fight

If only I could wrap my kid with bubbles.
If only I could take all the pains.
If only I could swallow all the challenges.
If only I could gather all dangers.
If only I could stash away all the worries.
If only I could create a paradise for her.
If only I could build a castle with servants.
If only I could garner all the awards for her.
If only I could shape up her confidence.
If only I could put her on the pedestal.
If only I could guard her from gossips.
If only I could push out all sickness.
If only there's no hunger.
There's no emptiness.
There's no tear.
There's no bruise.
There's no heartache.
There's no longing.
If only I could scribble her love story.
To provide her the brightest future.
If only life is fictitious.
I would write my daughter's life,
And dictate a happy ending.
If I could just summon the world to be fair.
I wish, I really could..
But age is not counting down.
Death is inevitable.
But I can just show her how much I love her
She is the reason of my breathing.
The most worthy fight.
But I also have to let her explore,
For her to learn
To stumble and rise.
Despite my fear,
I have to let her go,
To make her stronger,
To build her compassion,
To be empathic.
So that someday,
My if only,
Will be her own..
On her own.
Stronger.
Braver.
Bolder.
I also need to fathom
If I am doing it right.
I wish I will still be here someday,
To see my daughter,
Weave her own reality.
If only..

PEARLS

(Delayed posting--this was supposed to be posted on the below-mentioned date)


This is a story I always have in my heart.

Apart from my family who grabbed half a portion of my heart, these people have swept my feet with their sincerity and love.

I always have self-esteem issue.

I grew up thinking I was inferior and nobody liked me. I marginalized myself oftentimes and when I went to college, I was cloaked with uncertainties. I surrounded my heart with barrier no one could penetrate not until I was introduced to a world of diversified personalities and pure hearts.

We were all sixteen years old, one was younger by short breath and some few steps advanced yet we created our bubbles together. At first, I only allowed myself to be at the margin, an awkward stage when I was battling with confusion with the friendship offered. Friendship is no stranger to me, I have a few back in high school but this was the moment I could go on naked and show up my scars. I was never judged, I was never shown superiority although the inferiority issues came from me not from these people.

I never believed that a lot of people would learn to appreciate me. I thought only my family would successfully nestled in my heart (they had no choice anyway), but lo and behold, these individuals offered me a variation of affection.

I fought with my own demons, above all the culprit was my pea-sized self-esteem.

I waltzed with differing emotions and tried to welcome strangers to a place where there was no turning back.

I laughed. I got drank. I made stupid mistakes. I was heartbroken. The first time, I realized that growing up was not that bad.

19 diversified thoughts. 19 hearts. 19 souls. HB was born.

Regardless what others would call it. Whatever criticisms would be spilled out, my nerves will always have stings and will ooze out love for these people.

Today is a gloomy and wet Saturday, July 21,2012. 15 years ago, HB was conceptualized. No contracts, no rationale, no objective, no ulterior motives. Only, we had planted a single seed that sprouted and grew up into a tree that shaded the whole of the Earth. The love is bigger than anything else.

I am the strangest outcome of that simple concept. I struggled a lot. I forgot myself. I drifted away, yet,I am still here. Circuited back to the core of friendship.

I acquisce, I am the most emotional and vocal about these feelings because I owe this group a lot. I am in debt of these people how I have graced my own world. Cried with me. Encouraged me. Knocked me out some wits when I dumbly decided on things. Applauded my success.

Thank you is not enough but for now, that's the only word I can wrestle out of my emotionally stricken day. Thanks a lot HB! And cheers to a wonderful 15 years of friendship.

HELICOPTERS & POLICE

Parents will always be parents, no matter what.

When I was growing up, I was a victim of politics in school. My mother told me that during my preschool, I was supposed to land on 5th place of honors students. My mother didn't wear make up and fancy clothes, not even friends with my teachers. She wore dress she was comfortable with. She didn't care about the fashion sense of other mothers who hovered in school. Simply, because all she cared was my performance in my class or was the tuition fee paid equated my knowledge acquired in school?

I ended up on the 8th spot during the graduation ceremony of my preschool. My mother was frantic but kept mum about it. Futile emotions.

On my first grade, I represented my class for Math Quiz bee and other bees but my parents didn't back me up. Lesson learned from my preschool, they did not want to be tagged as parents who patrol my school. In other words, they sent me to school to learn, to excel and that's it. I brought home the bacon and my father would usually brag about it to his friends and family. But other than that, nothing more.

Nowadays, I get pissed with some parents bragging about their kids' achievements, maliciously. Sometimes, some of them intentionally boast about their children and overshadowing your own. Time Magazine had published one article last year about Helicopter Parents. They are the kind who hover their children and eclipsing yours, too. They are push-overs, goal and output oriented and who feel so antsy with their children's school performances.

I thought this happens only here in the Philippines, with the kind of experience I am dealing with, with the two schools of my daughter. I even thought, it must be the Filipino culture of 'pee-squirting contest' but hey! This is a global epidemic.

A friend of mine in Canada presently experiences the same. And some others who I must say have the same personality as mine, who happened to be, I-know-my-kids-capability-let's- wait-after-college, but then again while at the plane of this current journey, it is too nerve whacking and angst-sucking attitude especially from strangers who open their mouth just to brag about their children and yours is just a mediocre.

I may happen to have a child in her elementary years but this occurrence enveloped most the populace. Aside from Helicopter parents, there is what you call, Police Parents. They guard the achievements of their children, push them to excel while sniping on other parents' moves. You should not surpass their children's performances or else, they will go gaga over it and find another fault to talk about you. They are insatiable. Green eyed monsters and always thirsty of recognition.

Two things why HP and PP exist. One, they have been hovered and policed while growing up, and they are trying to pass on the scythe. Or, two, they are losers who got mixed up with great genes, and find their children the best rebound materials to tell the world: I won! You suck!

These kind of people primarily exist on host. They are like parasites, feeding from unsuspecting hosts. While you smile and look at them straight in the eyes, you are one friend they need, but once you turn your back, you are the best appetizer to their gossip-hungry monsters.

There are different parenting styles and there are different kinds of people. Even identical twins are never the same, after all. Why not try to bring up a child from your home the best way you can, the way you wished your parents have brought you, that way this world will be a better place to live in. You don't want me hovering and policing you and your child, do you?

Parents will always be parents but we can always be better parents than ours, not compare to other parents of our own generation. Parenting style evolves from previous ones just like technology. And one thing, let's mind our own business, suppress insecurities and stop pointing at others' parenting mistakes, it only shows off the color of your bones and own insecurities.

Let the children enjoy their youths. We may not be fully aware, but who your children in school, how they deal with their teachers and classmates are the reflection of how you deal with them at home. Do you want another you? Or you want to give your child his own identity?

The choice is all yours.

TROLLEDEMANILLE

I am not sure if the spelling above is right. I have turned to trash the persistent garbage who had been bugging my blog.

This is my private domain so whatever I write here are my own thoughts, my words and my own trash, not yours, faceless nuisance!

When you want to say something just to insult me, approach me in person and do not spit here. I have been looking for you all over the net and you are unidentified, meaning spam! No! Spam is expensive, you are not even a meat loaf but a rubbish!

I have not moderated posting of comments on this blog before, thinking, people will be well-mannered enough to use appropriate language.

What's with you and the 25 pesos worth of publication in Quiapo? For sure you are not one of them. They are artists, not faceless vermin gnawing languidly on filth.

I am not supposed to mind you but using the same foul language you have there and calling me nasty words, I can consent no more.

I am using this medium to pour out my emotions and you happen to came across this and you got fascinated, now it dawns on you, you can not write even just a full 5-sentence paragraph and you are calling me names? YOU ARE PATHETIC HIDING YOUR SCARRED FACE WITH AN ALIAS!

This person happens to be calling me names and swearing in Tagalog. What's with you? You are crossing boundaries you are not supposed to.

I don't have talent in writing? Yes, you are right probably but this is not for you to decide should I stop or not. I respect, you are practicing your democratic right but be very discreet not to flaunt your identity in public because I can actually test democracy on you too!

Quiapo artists selling their works at 25 pesos are better than my writing, yeah I believe so! But this is no profit generating publication, mind you. THIS IS MY PERSONAL BLOG WHICH HAPPENS TO VACUUMED THE GREEN MONSTER OUT OF YOU!

I don't hang around Starbucks, if you ogle over those people who have pennies to spare on expensive cup of coffee, wait until someone leaves a half emptied cup and devour on the remaining sips. That way you'll stop dreaming how it tastes like.

Try Seattle's Best, UCC and Coffee Bean, some writers burn cash there and be careful they have auto-shredder, they might pick on you as useless.

This is what it uses, "It" because it refers to neuter, faceless, unidentified object, not a person, not even animal because I own two dogs who happen to be humane than this monster. http://trolledemanille.livejournal.com/ --- Try to search. 

Mark as bug, spam is exorbitant to refer to this coward.

Apology for the outburst, readers.

Well again, this is my blog. I do post responsibly until I came across this dung that contaminated my whole demeanor. 

Next time, I'll be executing more refined behavior but I'll be carrying a rustic double bladed dagger with me.

POSSIBILITY

I have been in a multifaceted emotions these past few days. I am trying to look back and see where I am already at. I have achieved a lot but I know it's not enough.


I have a lot of aspirations and one of those is to be happy. I am not saying, I am not but the happiness that would spring from the inside. Where no one and nothing would brag you to wake up every morning and a smile should linger on your face for no reason at all.


Study shows that, early 30ish is the moment where you really look at yourself as someone elevating from where you were 2-3 years prior. Where are you? What have you achieved so far? Have you stepped up the ladder of success or you have been on a plateau for quite some time now?


I have always asked my purpose. I know what I need to be done and what I have to do. I need to reinvent myself in order to avoid being a moth to the flame. 


The opportunities are widely spread, you might already have stumbled upon it once and you have not recognize it's already for you. I have disregarded all the glory of being where I should be. I enjoyed the comfort of my present zone and I just thought of it as a contentment. But am I? 


Contentment is all in the mind, you might say. I have been into that logic for a while and fought for my previous choices. Of course, once you put your decision into something and it appeared you got the wrong one, you tend to shield yourself from any regrets and blames. But try to analyze deeper, are you really happy?


Happiness should not be a by product of success but it should be a precursor to the latter. If you are wearing happiness on your sleeves then most likely, your goal for the day will undoubtedly blend in to your achievements.


It is tiring to wake up one day and you feel you need to rise because you have obligations.  Why not try to wake up because you are tired of lying down and your system kicks you to rise and paint the town red.


The question of contentment lies whether are you happy or are you already burn out?


Before the flames die down, before the sun sets, before the light goes out, I have to repair the damages and patch the holes the boredom has triggered.


Life is a multifaceted emotions, you just have to choose your hue. 


I am not keeping my fingers crossed, I have the Sovereign Force to pick one for me.


I am ready to glide on an arch of a rainbow, once I selected the wrong one, I have an array of options on my foot. 


Happiness is a state of mind, yet you really have to make the right choices. 


When it seems a dead end, right or left might not exist but there will always be a U-turn to correct whatever erroneous decisions you have executed.


I am.




*image from funnbee4.blogspot.com

I thought so..

2011 was not a good year. I was on the other side of the see-saw but I was at the higher end. You think, I am fortunate? Yes, I also thought so. But gravity pulls object to the ground. As much as I want to defy the force, I can't. You can just turn your back from a magnet but never from the power of the Earth's inner core.

I fell. Hard! Ouch!

Then I thought, I would just rise and walk away but no! I stumbled once more, then another then another.

My knees were scraped. Painful but I never cried out. What for? I'm brave! No one should know I was bleeding. Put a make up on, masscara to curl lashes, smiled and picture perfect!

That's the best I've got! Pretensions!

I took all the blow. I was like a hermit crab, oftentimes, I could hide. I could crawl and hide.

Forces wrecked my hiding place.

I was left naked, vulnerable and bruised.

I run to climb a sturdy tree to realize it was just a shadow of a burning bush.

My pretense collapsed.

I am alone.

In this dark alley, I have no one.

The glimpse of 2012 sent me hope.

I clawed my way up.

I settled at the highest peak.

I became my own master.

I am strong, you lean on me.

I am tall, climb up on me.

I am brave..

No I am not!

2012 is already halfway, is there still hope?

I nod.

Tears

Heavy rain pour outside
Feels like it comes
With my aching heart
I am staring at the ceiling
But gazing past the white painted wood
I am in this position
Six hours, almost
I am not bored
I just realized
I have been so active all my life
I got tired
And now I owe myself
This rest
Blank stares
And empty mind
The rain water keeps on
Pounding the window pane
Calling me outside
I look up to see the dark skies
I whisk the cover off me
And slide out of bed
As I open the door
The wind kisses my cheeks
Telling me it's always alright
To have fun in the rain
And I let go of the tears
For so long have been kept
I wail and mourn out
The ennui I have inside
Tomorrow promises
Another day.

Somewhere in Between

I am fully aware that I am doing complicated plots for my YA Fantasy.

At first, I just started with a young love sweet love drama. As I tranced along the romance genre, I realized I needed a little twist to make it exciting.

So what's next?

Let's put a distance in between the two lead characters. After which, let's try a love tragedy or with subtlety, let's garnish with a love triangle emphasis. Hola! My nerves never got the tingling experience. Not even giggle over it. Nah!

And then I entered a multiple personality disorder which happened to be morbid by the end of my thought. I can not kill one persona just to give way to another. This is not Heroes!

And then fantasy evolved from somewhere.

I always love fairy tales.

And so Kendra and Josh emerged from the pit in between Inception and Vanilla Sky.

Got a handful of reference books to make it factual.

The story supplied the existence of another world governed by human emotions-fed butterflies.

Then there's a hint of Dante's Inferno and the wonder of mother's love.

And I am stuck.

Somewhere.

Despite I am doing an installment of a romance Romantic Bones, I still do a lot of research on the sides. Running errands for work, family and a sprinkle of spices on top of a complicated life.

I love writing and I intend to do this despite a busy schedule.

My brain capacity is more than a gazillion gigabytes yet it malfunctions a lot.

I realized, stress can kill. I have perfected blocking migraine especially if it's stress related attack.

Sleep.

A day does not offer 48 hours. All I have to do is balance, prioritize and enjoy each hour.

I write in between errand and driving.

Nicholas Spark had written The Notebook when he was still working in Pharmaceuticals.

Lauren Oliver wrote Before I Fall while going to work commuting. Whenever she got time, she wrote.

Veronica Roth started Divergent when she was in College and just published recently.

Those are just few who abounded the publishing world with grace.

Passage will be out this 2012 (keeping fingers crossed). I can not meet June for the 1st part. Passage will be a Trilogy though I hope I'll be sane enough to finish the whole of it that I will not be dragged to the fantasy world.

Reading thoughts-provoking fiction is an excellent escape, I am also skipping time with my writing.

I am living somewhere in between reality and fantasy or more inclined to the latter.

Insanity is at the next curb.

KISS and TEASE

I am seated somewhere with my writing gadgets with me.

I have an installment romance novel I have engaged myself to write a chapter or two each day. Whenever I finish to run an errand, I stay in the car for 30 minutes before going to another scheduled business call. I have two options where to write the draft of Romantic Bones, I have my Blackberry for continues typing since its in QWERTY keypad or typed freely on the iPad.

They are mere gadgets, yes, might be a status symbol to some, yes! But they are my best companions for my writing ambition.  I didn't buy them for the reason of flaunting them but to be my tools, rather. It really works.

I work as a Radiology and Interventional Specialist with Bayer Philippines. Basically my job is running around. I spend more time in driving rather than sit somewhere. After meeting my objective with the people I need to call in a certain outlet or hospital, then I go. Oftentimes, 15 minute talk is the longest conversation I could manage unless we are talking about books. But being a salesperson, my day is either bagging the sales or better luck next time. There are several factors that affect my job yet I really have to find something that will boost my potential and never be burned out.

My previous blogs already shouted a lot about my aspiration to be a writer. Who of his right mind doesn't want to be published? You seeing your name written on a blackboard ignite your interest, how much more seeing your name on the shelf or most sought in Amazon or other sites.

First, I signed up in this blog just to pour out my emotions yet being human, we thirst for recognition. Let's face it! We do not acknowledge that often but pat on the back can really pull you out of your misery and suicidal tendencies.

Then I started getting feedback that I was doing well. Not excellent but well. That's a good start!

I have a pending YA Fantasy titled PASSAGE and on my 40K words already but I have research to do and need to polish the novel very well. It's hard to proofread while writing is ongoing because I tend to change plots and never finish altogether.

The novel has already run for 6 months and I am still halfway. Am I doing it right? Do I really have to research? Why don't I write everything I want since it's a fantasy and be done with it but no!  I need to do a lot of reading to make it something realistic. Something that already happened to a reader but he had never tried to analyze. I wanted to connect with my readers as something like a missing link of a Tiffany chain.

I love Suzanne Collins and Veronica Roth and how they had played with my thoughts and stole me my beauty hours. It will be so ambitious of me but I want to have that same effect with my readers. That connection between the reader and the protagonist/s. YA Scifi/ Fantasy is thoughts-provoking and anxiety drivers. You tend to over analyze things and live for a while with the what-ifs.

It is not impossible yet it is a long run but every lap starts from a single sprint.

Currently, in between work and my YA Fantasy, I write a romance novel titled Romantic Bones and publish one chapter each day or if time permits, two chapters.  I do not have the whole manuscript ready. I write everyday, plot depends on the continuity of the novel but I post once I am done with 1k-2k+ word counts.

From Blackberry, I would copy and paste the novel to Gmail and send it to my Gmail account (BB does not publish once a document have more than 1700 word counts, my theory. I was always having a hard time.) From inbox, it will be another copy/paste to Wordpress, proof reading, insert photo and ola! Published!

I am just having difficulty with Romantic Bones since I share it on Facebook, which is basically read by family, friends, church mates, classmates and conservatives, I am very keen on the intimate scenes. I can not even write maturely because I am thinking I might be offending somebody.

Moreover, I am also conservative in upbringing so I am torn between a writer who expresses whatever I want and a writer who does not want to go on explicit romantic details just like what I want to read from Romance Novel.

Every time I end my chapter, I see to it that it leaves me a smile and something to giggle with.

Nonetheless, I don't think all I can write is a kiss and a tease.

Peeping Hole: ENLIGHTENED

Peeping Hole: ENLIGHTENED: WHY? Sometimes, this simple question requires diversified response.   I do not consider myself a writer yet, in the since of being pub...

ENLIGHTENED

WHY?

Sometimes, this simple question requires diversified response.  

I do not consider myself a writer yet, in the sense of being published or tagged as one. I am a hobbyist. And I really love writing just like loving eating a spam. Not often but addicted. 

As you might read from my previous blogs, I am an aspiring writer from the land of English as the second language.

Writing a YA Fantasy and my choice of discussing a bit of science is quite intimidating, ambitious and tedious especially I have multiple of duties to attend to. But I have came to a point of redefining what do I really intend to do.

1) I love writing. Yes, I have mentioned that.I always share my works through Twitter and Facebook regardless I get feedback or not and I feel good about it. I am satisfied with the fact that I really could write something. Not everybody is given that talent to write, I am not so talented though but I have that gift.

2) I am always afraid of  rejection, and even I might be so openly admitting it, that I am prepared to accept it, I am not. My self-esteem is just flourishing inch by inch. Not unless I'll see my name on the list that I will probably say I am a step higher than I was formerly.

3) I am not a call center agent nor from a well verse family who speaks Spanish or English all her life. I use language which I am comfortable using and I write in English language better off than speaking. But, but.. Writing in full texts, aiming a 60K word count novel is very ambitious. I use Google a lot, Wikipedia, thesaurus and all available references online. There were times that you have to translate Filipino sentences to English with some mixed up. It tied me. Sometimes, I feel like having an infarct in my brain. 

4) I didn't abandon my YA but I have taken a holiday writing it. I have ceremoniously sworn I will finish it by June but seems like it would take me longer. I have ongoing research for the novel, I intend to make a trilogy and I really stabbed my Excalibur deep down to a protruded stone in my neighbor's backyard.

5) I used to write romance when I was yet inexperienced and naive, presently, that genre is still strumming up and down my nerves and as a filler to my idle YA holiday, I am writing an installment love story titled Romantic Bones published through my wordpress blogsite.

6) One big struggle is having that desire to invade Amazon and other publishing sites for my first novel and succeeding ones yet I am stranded somewhere.

7) Criticism is like dropping lemon to a wound. Good to cry out. I easily fold once bruised but I think I have to be strong for my dreams to come true. Two things: criticism to shatter you entirely or pieces of that pebbles to make patches to my crackling confidence. It hurts being chastised but looking at the glass half full will surely push me to fill the other half. I am a dreamer and I have to wake up.

8) As much as I want to focus with my writing, I can not though the happiness it brings me once I am done with a piece is very heart warming just like watching Something Borrowed over and over again. Freeing you from the restraint of who you really are. This is what I love but...


9) Mina Esguerra, a published author, I considered a mentor, had invited me to write an article for a new blog they are brewing. I was in awe and still am.. It may not be glued on my face but the smile never leaves my heart. That is one pat on the back.


10) It is simply a hobby but some of my loyalists told me to make it public. And I am here. One good thing happened yesterday was our Pastor invited me to write for our Church Journal. Oh.My.Goodness! I write. I am good but can I really do this? But for the love of God, yes I will. I will be seeing God's grace once my talents unfold for His glory. I think, I have to glorify Him with this talent first before I can probably grace the world. Just a thought..*wink*

Yes, I am writing because I believe I can do it. I do not see it as something I can earn a living from but to share this God given talent I have locked up for long. 

Why?

Simply, because I can!

SUPERWOMAN

Meet Digna.

She is 57 years old and a widow.

Her husband left her when all their children are already pursuing the outside world out of the confines of their home.

So timely that she did not have to think of school and household expenses, allowances and how to feed hungry mouths.

Digna met her Prince Charming when she was 22. 

Barrio girl Digna was smitten by a buoyant and persistent 29 year old man with an expensive smile, knelt on his knees to have the most sought 'yes' from her.

Rogelio, the prince charming, came from a well-off family with a promising business but due to circumstances, the business collapsed and left them empty handed.

They started their lives as a young couple when Digna turned 23. 

They lived  a simple life. 

They managed a humble beginning on their own.

They lived in a parcel of land favored by Rogelio's parents.

Their love blossomed and gave them 5 children, 3 princesses and 2 princes.

Having a big family had not faltered the couples faith to bridge the necessities to live. 

Digna handled the finances well.

Rogelio who had pursued to start his own business in the public market with a minimal capital had put enough food on the table.

He attended the business while Digna tended the kids.

Due to demand of the gradually growing business, Digna had also spared some time to help her husband.

The kids were left on their own.

Soon after Digna's siblings helped with watching the kids.

The couple had taught their kids to be self-reliant. 

Their kids went to school without school service or nanny to start with.

Family budget was so tight and primary goal was to feed seven mouths including some of the relatives.

Digna managed to squeeze finances well though she wasn't able to provide the whims of her children especially her girls.

With scarcity of resources, their children had finished schools with flying colors. 

Rogelio would always brag the achievements of her children.

Their 2nd and third children had to leave for college 4 hour drive away from home.

Digna was in deep financial debt without her husband's knowledge to support her children's collegiate needs.

Rogelio was so principled and proud that he had sent all five of his children to college with only his business to support to yet he was not aware that Digna had business on the sides.

Being a mother, Digna couldn't afford her children going to school with smiling shoes and torn bags contrary to her husband who only saw full plates and blinded with other stuff.

Digna was the ever present parent  during her children's school recognition and graduations.

Digna emerged as a strong woman. 

She would fight against what other people would say about her children.

She stood her ground well with full battle gears when her family's at stake.

Sometimes hearing her reason was not so cleverly spoken yet a very heroic remarks shielding her children.

They neglected the fact that as they were growing old, their children were also growing up.

They never thought that their children would someday leave their homes, would turn their backs and start a family of their own.

Soon enough, they were chasing grandchildren.

It shocked them at the beginning but the new addition to their family had given them a joy to behold in their ageing hearts.

As their children was busy growing up, they were already growing old and Rogelio, so robust and strong was hit by an illness that collapsed on the family.

Digna managed to stay strong and composed while tending her ailing prince charming.

Rogelio who had been a strength of the family, a pillar and a gem crumbling in her hold.

He had thrown unreasonable tantrums and irritable complains yet Digna paid him with patience, understanding and selfless devotion.

Their children saw all the drama.

The love of a wife to a sick husband.

For six months, Digna had forgotten herself yet she managed to be a double faced woman.

A wife and a mother.

While her children needed her to be supportive and strong, she coped with portrayal of such characters.

I am their 2nd child.

I saw how mama had been so strong despite her world was already collapsing on her feet.

I saw her consistently changing her disguise, from strong to supportive to super woman.

A daughter could not look up at any other woman with a mother filling all the blanks.

She didn't give me abundance yet that insufficiency taught me what I really need.

Strong-willed, supportive, selfless and devoted wife and mother.

A woman who offered her youth to her prince charming and her family.

I may have questioned her authority several times, compared her to some of the mothers I have known but being a mother myself now, I could attest that I have a very good mother.

Children might always neglect their mother's sacrifices while they are growing up but who she is will always reflect on what becomes of her children. 

A mother's love will always be our shining light that will guide us until that light will fade to its horizon.

Not everyone is given a chance to be a parent, but everyone is given a chance to experience a mother's love.

To my one and only SUPERWOMAN, Digna, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

WRITER UNLEASHED

I always knew that I have some inkling to write. Though, lack of exposure had always pulled me back to my shell whenever I tried crawling out of my hole.

Grammar, choice of words and readers' acceptance were always my biggest fear. I have always told myself that i should just write to express myself rather than impress my audience. 

Then I realized, I shouldn't be doing a novel but a journal instead.  

Challenges were posted everywhere. 

When I started twitter, I never regarded that as a medium to get ideas from published and aspiring writers across the globe. 

I found myself on a sidewalk of the publishing universe. 

I just thought of the world as a 4X4 box with small players on it. I came from a small place and favored a few that was why I regarded myself as one empty cap of pen. Useful yet useless at the same time.

Growing up had opened my eyes to the vastness and opportunities the world has to offer. I never thought I would be able to smell the winter but I did. Yet, urge to write was suppressed because new surroundings had converted my desire into something of forcing myself to belong in a bigger box at first.

I squeezed myself to be in the middle. Dance through the lime light yet I felt so lost and bewildered. 

The world would never feed me of something I always wanted to ingest but rather provide me an array of circumstances where I could strengthen my backbone and harden my knees to walk extra miles. 

Sometimes, chances were seen as opposing pillars but passing through had given me enough notions to gnaw on. 

I had created a surreal world once I stumbled on crashed stones. Bleeding, I functioned as if I was not. Bandaged, limping and broke, I defied gravity. I never deprived my imagination the depth of hollowness. I escaped the reality as if it was just normal. Everybody was so busy fixing their beds while I had been elsewhere  hosting a party for the bees and butterflies.

I lazied around the flower bed. Sang with the hum of the crossing wind and hopped with grasshoppers in the meadow. 

My father was dying and everything had collided. 

Did people see my smile falter, never! Did they see me shed tears, never! How could they? I am my fairy's reality. I had put up so much and I had defied gravity when it tried pulling me to the core of pain, anger and emptiness.

Everything turned into grey. I headed a narrow and winding tunnel. Camouflaged with a feign bravery I walked through the unknown path. Grabbed an unknown hand and never let go. That hushed voice promising a deliverance of tranquility. 

It was a tedious journey. I had scraped myself several times, I stumbled yet someone offered to carry me.

Before long, there was that pin size light at the end of the darkness. I succumbed myself to a sprint and chase the glow. As I approached, I caught myself panting, drenched with mixtures of sweat and tears. 

I was awakened by a soft tugging. And a certain thought was nagging me to go on. As I rubbed the sleep away from my tired eyes, I felt the tears damping my arm where I have laid my face onto. 

I was seated on my kitchen table. With plates turned upside down. Cold food and half emptied glass of water with a pea size cube of ice.  The computer screen registered a few lines of what I had written before I yielded to slumber. 

Six months past already and I was still struggling to finish the book I started last November when I tried escaping the dungeon of depression.

I needed to finish the book for that will surely free me from the depth of emptiness. 

My father died before Christmas. 

The bells chimed softly and tagged my heart gradually out of misery. 

Writing is one channel I realized I could stay clear of dejection. 

I run around the box and found I could barge myself out. 

It is a vast universe.

I lacked the knowledge and protocol of what to do. I just knew I have to spill out the wild fantasies that I have caged somewhere in my consciousness. 

I was so vocal about being serious with my writing though nobody knew, it has been my therapy and escape (now you do). 

A publishing workshop was offered locally and I gave 5 hour of my one Saturday.  

A newly integrated company called Bronze Age Media organized the workshop.

I realized, there will always be people who would selflessly lend other people their knowledge on something outside Google, Wikipedia and social media. These fellows who will boost others' confidence. Unknowingly, these people have touched lives and one of those was mine. 

I am seeing a new light. 

The encouragement and inspiration were something to hold on to. 

The knowledge that dreams do come true.

From the book I am currently writing, a YA Fantasy/Romance/ Psych, I do a lot of research to give the story a sense of reality and to touch others' lives. I just aim to make others' dream and to give them a clearer picture of themselves.

I visualized Kendra David, my female lead character as someone who will answer all the questions that I have about life.  The idea of having fairies and their presence in our everyday lives, acknowledged or not, and the power of love.

I am currently working on a title: PASSAGE and last night, it occurred to me that I wanted to tell a story some more involving Kendra and thought of doing a Trilogy instead. Conceptualized, plotted (I didn't do plotting before but thanks to the workshop, now I do) and I already have the titles for the 3 books. PASSAGE, PATHWAY and BACK DOOR. 

Reality will always bite me to the core but I am managing through the love around me and the encouragement from my family and friends. 

I believe in the power of imagination. I write everything that comes to mind. I have note pads with me always or type it in my BlackBerry. Bullets. Raw. Ideas. And yes, I am writing a novel.

There will always be people who never falter to give out support, solicited or not. 

Yet, I am always afraid of rejection but now I have grafted myself a thick skin to lessen the blow.

PHEROMONES

It seems males couldn't really resist the invitation once a female emits pheromones.

There is that certain area in the brain which acknowledges this desire to have the release and send male into a riotous androgynous collision.

I have recently and currently watched that happen right under my nose.

I have two male dogs, a Shih Tzu which turned 3 years last March 9 and a 6 month old Golden Retriever.

The Shih Tzu was already betrothed for the next heat of our neighbor's female Shih. We have feasted on that idea and prepped our boy for that rendezvous.

It seems our boy knew about that life changing encounter soon to take place.

Dogs' mind work a fraction like a human does. They have the same competitive quality and the hunger of belongingness yet their level of consciousness is just higher than plants and lower than humans, apparently.

When Peeta, the Golden Retriever arrived home, Kevs, the Shih Tzu showed jealousy and anxiety of having another male dog in the pack. Kevs peed everywhere, marking his territory, a dog's way of letting the newbie know, "This is my house, my pack, I am the alpha male here"

Since Peeta is a large breed and higher in maintenance's cost, I see to it that both their needs were on top of my priorities.

Having a dog is like nurturing a child.

One day, I came home carrying a Dental chew bone primarily for Peeta since he was on the teething stage of his puppy-hood. I cut a small portion for Kevs and the latter had guarded his share with a bulwark. He then showed aggression whenever Peeta came near him judging the bigger dog might steal the bone from him.

He fought, snarled and defended his territory under our dining table. He manned the perimeter with his possession securely hidden at the back of one of the dining chairs. Kevs even clawed Peeta and drew the Golden away yet since Peeta is still a puppy, he didn't seem to care and thought that the Shih was just playing with him.

A very pure and sincere unadulterated trait of a pup like a child.

Until such time that ants had also marched up to share the goodie that I decided to throw the bone away.

For the first few weeks, the Shih seemed to be very territorial. He just observed Peeta while stretching and lazying around. Peeta was just a pup, what did we expect?

Time and time, the Shih outgrown his indifference with the newbie since Peeta had tried protecting him a lot of times when they are taken out for a walk. Kevs, given his size was always bullied around especially by the Aspins, a common mixed breed dog, that just roam and wander about the area.

So, discrimination also happens with these creatures. But since Peeta joined the pack, the 15-pound, heavy boned Golden Retriever served as Kevs' "muscle" having both dog and human groups cautious as they walk along and take a stroll. Mind that Peeta is 6-month old and still a puppy but never looked or barked like one.

A couple of weeks ago, a neighbor offered his female Shih for betrothal to our virgin Shih who only hit stuffed toys.

The rendezvous will soon transpire in a month's time.

Three days ago, I arrived home and only Peeta welcomed me while Kevs was tied at the kitchen door. He was panting and tongue was out as if he came from a long walk. Peeta was looking so relaxed so I decided something was wrong with the Shih since Peeta eyed me like saying I-have-not-run-in-the-park yet.

After dinner, Kevs was tailing Peeta wherever he went. He was like a fly hovering over a poop. Yes, very persistent and consistent. Fortunately, the Golden didn't see it as annoying but a playful act instead. Probably, something was lifted from Peeta's chest with the acceptance of the older dog.

And then there was this disturbing occurrence. While Peeta was lying on the couch, Kevs joined him panting. Then Kevs tried riding Peeta. We tried to laugh at first.

After another day or two, Kevs behavior had alarmed us.

There is a female Shih living near the park where the two dogs usually walked. The female Shih is actually in heat and it had brought our boy into some frantic demeanor.

Kevs now perceived Peeta not a newbie, not even a brother but someone he could find his heat released on. He rides on Peeta whenever and wherever could.  Peeta on the other hand found Kevs behavior to his advantage and play with him.

Disturbing behavior, yes, yet it is always the hormones that send them to consciousness that this is not just a male world.

Female and her pheromones play crucial role in this world.

Try asking yourself this question, in this world, what is the first role of women, pheromones or not?

Male is not male not with the male hormones, female will always have the advantages. Whenever, wherever.

Today, the female in-heat-Shih is not yet knocked down yet a lot of male dogs are panting like our boy.

Was I talking about you, no, I was referring to animal kingdom, was I not?

(Image from eHow: Pheromones)

CLIFF HANGER

It is not an easy journey. I succumbed to a challenge and it seems I can not sustain yet I am still hanging and ultimately moving forward, inch by inch.


Probably, what holds me somewhere is the fact that I really wanted to make this first novel in full English a blast. I started with just a lengthy post in FB conceptualizing a not-so-traditional love story of two young hearts. Separated because of circumstance and after 5 years reunited. The guy for luck of better words to say it, somehow, denied his feelings to this girl who has been head over heels infatuated with him. The story was narrated through third person's perspective, for me, to be able to jump from head to head and not to limit my readers through one story teller yet I felt there were some kind of complications, or it's just me. I do not plot, I just write freely. 


I always love story-telling, you could read about that from my previous posts. Due to evolution of needs, wants and desires, my writing skill was soon forgotten though at times I really wanted to brag about it but due to lack of exposures I had kept that little talent lurked somewhere. 


Then, there was a challenge posted by Rochelle Melander, a 26-day novel writing challenge. My dormant writer self was awakened and aroused. I dared myself to write a novel. In English this time. English is not our primary language in our country and we do not converse straight English at home so this is a very big challenge, indeed.


I thought I was just going to write a non-traditional but still a boy-meets-girl-conflict-resolution-happily-ever-after novel but one afternoon as I'd explore the vastness of my imagination, I caught myself researching on multiple personality disorder. Then, I realized, it will be some conflicting schizophrenia type and so I trashed the idea and explored some more. As I typed, I came to one kingdom of butterflies and I researched on metamorphosis. I came with the idea of unconscious and subconscious and how they work. Also there's the existence of some religious elements, thanks to Dante's Inferno. Then as I read back, I had already reached 6 chapters with 25K word count. 


I just don't know if I was still on the right track or not. I visited blogs of some published writers and I subscribed with Paul Dorset's. His blogs on tips for aspiring authors were really big help. 


I intend to write this first novel up to 60K word count and yet it seems I have so many ideas I want to discuss though I am also aware that as neophyte as I am I need to offer a shorter first novel until such time that I already have created a name in publishing.


It's not easy. 


I have complicated plots and I am really contemplating to finish the novel by June. Lorna Suzuki once said, "it's good to have a timeline" and yes! I will really finish what I have started. 


There were days that I couldn't write anything and I felt so dumb though ideas were spilling from my active mind. Writer's block? I just couldn't understand that concept. Probably, it was due to some conflicting emotions that I have. There was a time my novel was stuck to Chapter 7 for 2 weeks. Not moving. Nah-duh! But published authors and aspiring writers in Twitterverse were very helpful enough to guide me get through with that gap. Thanks to James Jackson for the words of wisdom about finishing a book: "Write everyday. A thousand words are not bad and even 100 words are still considered a progress." Not verbatim but same thought.


Anyway, the bottom line is that, there are a lot who aspired, published and now successful. We may not came from the same skin but everyone of us was given a special talent. Mine is raw and yet to be cultivated. I once succumbed to one's challenge, I didn't meet the 26 day requirement but hey I still have extra 26 days this month and another in June. Yes?  


I just need a pat on the back and good words to feed my soul because I will always have that feeling of hanging on a cliff. 

FAITH

Seeing the long and winding road
Telling yourself to go on
You are dragging your tired and soiled feet
Sink to the soft sand and withering grass
You fall on your knees
You struggle to get up
Yet your body deny you the strength
Harrow and anguish 
You weep and lament
Looking at the clear blue sky
Blinding light and scorching heat
You summon your core up
You manage to stand on one leg
A smile softly lingers
You gather yourself up
Just to sink back
Face down to the dirt
Kneeling with hands clasp together
You look up once more
And gaze bravely
At the blazing sun
You move your lips for a few
Tears fall down your tainted face
And a word escape your lips
The audible sound of "Amen!"

FRAGMENTS

SECLUSION

Staring blankly

Seeing darkness

From the corner

Of the secluded tree

I finally understood

The essence of a companion

I should have called up

Someone to borrow his ears

Yet everyone was to his oblivion state

I’d rather sit and wait

Just like old days

If only I made choices

Precisely the way I imagined

Then now I’ll be somewhere else

Singing a melody

And cradled by a Prince,

Who sings the tunes for me.

REVERIE

I maybe small, I maybe plain

But all else I knew are from deep within

I am scarred and raw

Yet wanted to start anew.

I stumbled into a dark filthy alley

Struggled to free from the shame and mockery

I stood up, craning my neck high

No one could tell if I was just hiding a cry.

I walked passed a busy street

Wearing a stiletto of confidence

I smiled timidly and I nodded just once

I was shielded with a fake self-assurance.

If only I didn’t fall back

And consumed all the dust

If only I regarded myself high

And didn’t just blinked and sigh.

I maybe small

But I am not plain

I fight back now

Yet I am still cowardice.

Blinded at a standstill

But I’ll stand on my ground

I’ll be fighting my way out

From the harshness of where’ve I been.

Yet if only I can free myself

From the restrain of uncertainty

If only I can put the world inside my hand

And let butterflies dance to be free.

If only, I can open these eyes to the truth

If only, I can use my mouth to speak

If only, I am capable to fight just like what I’ve thought

But I can not, I am just a delusion.