..just a trivial blog..

In a restless world, I often find myself amidst the crowd of faceless people. Whenever I'm too exhausted and fed up, I just walked away.. retract myself from the many masked-people whose true identity I can hardly fathom. Some are wearing faked smiles to hide their innermost pains. Some are wearing robe of  confidence to overshadow their weaknesses. They project a sunny aura hoping that their looming ways wont be noticed. I understand them fully, because I once belonged to a crowd of faceless people.

I recalled the days when coffee shops are my resting place, spending with a cup of cappuccino waiting for the sun to set and hastening the sun to rise hoping for a change with what tomorrow lies. I recalled the windy afternoons when I'm driving towards the length of the peaceful uphill proximal to our home. The long rays of the setting sun atop the glistening sea  is so melancholic it made me stopped at the side road at the hilltop watching its majestic farewell.
..I just love my personal space then.

What I want to convey is that sometimes, I'm just too tired being restless and sometimes, faceless. I just wish for a day where everything is pacing in slow motion when I am not in  a hurry to do the things I deemed only are temporary. I just wished to be in a  place where everything are orchestrated for a harmonious living. It's one of my trivial wish to live in a farm on top of the hill..away from unnecessary drafts of life.. There, I can only hear the loudest sound of my peaceful soul..Seeing the greenest grass, breathing the freshest air, watching the brightest sunrise and the crimson sunset..My kids would be playing then at the wide ground under the full moon waiting for the falling stars to come while I am preparing their meals and soothing my husband's tantrum when he comes back from all days' work.
.. All the superlatives exist there...

But since I am wide awake, this is definitely not a dream..Just a trivial article for a daydreamer..
I am relieved..
I just breathed...

..I'll wait until you're home..

I was so uplifted with the stranger I met on our ward a couple of days ago. He was the son of one of our debilitated patients. Seeing his vibrant face playing along our corridor gave me a sense of longing to have someone like him which probably prompted me to write this one. It might be really early to figure out a promising future, call me crazy but that what makes me sane..

My little one,

 As you know, you are always in my mind. So one day, I visited a woman to checked me up. I was afraid of the pain I'm feeling in my tummy, which in the long run will be your temporary home. She is called an OB, a specialist for precious creature like you. I was relieved when she told me that I don't have to worry much and was rather advised that I should  have you soon.

As I watched that little stranger playing at my workplace, I am thinking of you. Yes, I have been conceiving you in my mind even before you are conceive. I'm wondering how would it feel  your first kick on my tummy..Or if you will have a strong umbilical cord like I used to cut when I was exposed to Delivery room..And when you're out, I wonder if you will recognize my eyes that longed to see you..if I run my fingertip over your little nose..my hand might be shaking then.. or how it is smelling your flimsiest delicate skin..or kissing those tiny soles..

.I have so much in mind to teach you; just don't ask me why the image on the concave part of the spoon is inverted no matter how you hold it right. I swear I'll be having an intracranial hemorrhage thinking for a plausible answer.

We would be reading together, even if  I'll be hearing only mumbles from your  salivating mouth while you are holding the book upside-down..I'm excited to think if you will  also like vanilla icecream.. oh, I'll whisper in your ear why it's my favorite.We would paint together . And even if you are only making crooked lines and circles, that would be the best masterpiece I'll ever treasure. I cannot promise to be the best mommy in the world but I'll make sure I can be your bestfriend. By the way, I have already a name for you. But I need to consult it first with the man. Don't be jealous sweetheart, you will eventually call him "Dad".

So while you are still far away from me, I will always be thinking of you..

Take good care my precious one because you are my ultimate dream..

and because you are my soul's desire, I will wait..

I will wait until you are home..

right at Mommy's arms..

I'll see you soon,

-Mom

..an old mail made me cry..

There is nothing much spectacular this heart's day for me except that I received my early ILOVEYOUs from my mom and the rest of our clan. I'm buying time waiting for my limbic system to take its job. While doing so, I scanned through my yahoomail finding anything that will  aid me to doze off. I was reluctant to click across a familiar mail. I was surprised to see that it was still there for how many years now..funny that it appeared to me this dawning of Valentines day. As I was running my gaze upon it, I felt a vague familiar jolt in my stomach.The same jolt I felt  the day he laid his eyes on me when I was still wearing my pink skirt uniform.
I was about to terminate reading it because it started to elicit dreadful memories..dauntlessly though, I kept browsing..

..In a moonless sky, I had the flashback of my inevitable past....
those words,,those promises..
I remember  how a hello turned out to be a hippy love story,.and how it led to a parched unsaid partings..
I remember all the "FIRST'  a young girl could only see in a wishful thinking; and the dusked LAST of its ending..

..I found myself in an abyss, tears welling at the brim of my lids I can't help to keep it from falling..
..I sobbed until I wish I was not sobbing anymore..
..because how one will not shed tears if the sender happened to be..
 your ONE GREAT LOVE...

..sojourn..

The sun seemed to refuse coming out of the solemn sky while I'm riding on the bus one cold morning. It's my habit settling down near the window shield. While we are trudging the stretches of the lazy road, the building that was once only a skeleton I noticed, is now a huge empire almost inextricable from heaven. I may have been so busy with perplexed things that had it not been due to the impulsive stoppage of our neophyte driver I won't be able to give a gaze on it. On another interruption, this time, by a slow motion of traffic flow, my vision came across the lined palm trees. I wondered when it appeared to be there since the place was all occupied by desert sands. Oh, maybe my world was suspended the time they were rooted there, I mumbled.

In one of the books by Paulo Coelho in which he was in search of an ancient sword, not only had he found the sword itself but the innate strength he never thought he contained.

When I decided to take a detour in my career a year ago, I thought I was just looking for something different in my life..or to challenge my protected wall.. Living independently, I realized that I came to know myself better: what I wanted, what I needed, the passions I blatantly disregarded because other people's needs are my priorities.

The bus stopped. We arrived at the usual destination. I might be doing all the travel everyday but there's one thing that made it different this time. My eyes are more open now, sensitive to the milieu, my mind, my being..they are all compose for abeyance or transformation..

..because now I do not label myself as a tourist..

..I am a PILGRIM.

..I'd still want your love letters..

When I was still a pretty kid (ahem), I always look forward for the sound of the motorbike of  Lolo Baskis. He is the postman designated in our village. Lolo Baskis as I fondly recalled always wore a cap as old as his age. Though the parts of his motorbike I feared would torn apart as he jumped it start, it was the reason why I always have in my hands the letter from my mom. I remember how opening those small packages brought excitement and thrill. Maybe that was the start why I have an inclination in reading as a pretty kid (ahem ahem)..
Back then, we would go on weekends together with my Auntie at the telephone booth so we can have a talk with my mom which lasted less than the time we would fall in a queue. No shadows of cellphones and internet connections and Skype and Facebook are but foreign terms in Webster's dictionary.

Now  that I'm a grown up and well, still pretty (as my mom would always tell me and I believe so), I seldom receive letters anymore..except those of course from our loyal letter senders: Baciwa, Ceneco, Globe and HSBC. While having a chat with a good friend, I told him that it's tough being far away from your comfort zone and that if he could send me a letter. He gave me a crispy laugh as crispy as lechon kawali..He said why I'm asking for a letter when he could message me anytime in FB and yahoo. I answered that there is something in letters I could not find by just reading an email.

Unfortunately, in my how many months that turned out to be a year here in barren land, I haven't yet receive even a scratch paper despite of my consistent plea for a letter. Since I am a concoction of optimism and pessimism, on the optimistic side however, is the hope that one day I'll meet Mr. postman..younger than Lolo Baskis definitely!