Entries for July, 2005
July 4th, 2005
Wake Up Call Posted in Love and other Disasters Crash landed to bed Friday night, I was hoping for long, blissful hours of sleep. I had said goodnight to family and friends, dimmed the lights and lulled myself out of mental activity with Jewel's foolish games playing and replaying in my head. I was a thread away from deep slumber, somewhere between being half awake and jumping off the cliff to neverland, when my cellphone started ringing. I would have ignored it but the fact that I live apart from my dad and kid brother prompted me to think that it might be an emergency. Groggily, and without even bothering to open my eyes, I picked up the call. I felt the color drain off my face when I heard the voice on the other line. This must be how Ebeneezer Scrooge felt like when he was visited by the ghost of christmas past. My pulse raced and my heart thumped inside my ribcage. How did you find me? After five long months, why bother to look for me? Flashback to the days when sun cellular's 24/7 still worked. Regardless of how late I turned in the previous night, I would promptly give you your six a.m. wake up call. Deep sleeper that you are, it would normally take me 30 minutes to an hour to rouse you from sleep. This daily ritual equalled to bonding time and bedroom talk rolled into one. Given your unpredictable schedule and field assignments, its impossible to tell when the next text message or phone call would be. These wake up calls are our only time to talk about everything-- plan the next date, bitch about work, laugh at crazy stories as the faint morning sunlight streamed through my window. No, we never exchanged I love you's at the end of every conversation. You weren't the lovey-dovey type, you would always tell me, just like you weren't one who believed in exclusivity and commitment. What were we then? Very good friends who treated each other really well, you said. In other words, Friends with Benefits. (This meant you were free to play the field and at the same time act like an ogre whenever a guy showed the slightest hint of interest in me. Remember that one you were sorely jealous about? I hate to break it to you mahal, but he's gay and was always laughing behind your back for being so obviously miffed at him.) Wake up call after wake up call was made and concluded. Several months after I felt this freedom in the form of tears stinging my eyes. Mr. No Commitment, the elusive bachelor, got hitched but not to me. That was the end of the conversation, I had just become a dropped call. Flashforward to 11 pm Friday night. For the life of me I could not understand why you went to great lengths to look for my new number. Why you were suddenly so concerned that you have disturbed my peaceful sleep and robbed me off precious rest "Sorry for the wake up call, I just wanted to see how you've been". Oh, so you and girl are now an uncouple. Is there no one to wake you up at six tomorrow? "Yes I'm doing well, thanks for the call. But it's late, I'm afraid I would have to let you go now. Oh, no it's okay, you didn't wake me up." Click. I didn't lie. You can't wake up someone who's no longer dreaming. 6 Lived to Tell
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July 5th, 2005
Don't Quit Posted in Author Unknown When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, | |
July 6th, 2005
32 Flavors Posted in by: Ani de Franco | |
July 7th, 2005
Kampay Ng Mga Anghel Posted in para kay Angel 24/7, Kiko 7/7/05 Minsan kang dumaan **maraming salamat sa alaga kong makata para sa imbitasyon na maging bahagi ako ng Pinoypoets, sa suporta at sa lahat ng mga payo at paalala. God Bless You Francis! | |
July 8th, 2005
Araw-Gabi Posted in **isa sa mga love kong songs ngayon. May remake si Regine pero parang mas feel ko yung lumang version. Iba talaga kapag guy yung kumakanta para kang hinaharana. Haaaaay! Sabi nga ni Ani...Pak lab! Di biro ang sumulat ng awitin para sa iyo | |
Undoing Posted in Love and other Disasters A year ago, a really close male friend told me that my sweetness would someday lead to my own undoing. I know he meant well, but back then I just shrugged my shoulders and brushed the comment aside. However, last night I think I heard his statement echoing in my ears. Haay Luther, hindi pa rin ako nagtatanda! Sometimes I do not understand if I'm the one at fault or circumstances just aren't right? Its just that its happening too often for comfort I'm seriously thinking of changing who I am. Sawa na po ako sa issues at sa chismis. Lagi na lang...kahit saan ako mapunta, kahit kanino. Mapa may-asawa, may girlfriend o kaibigan. Nalulungkot na ako at naba bother. Nami mis interpret nga lang ba ako or is something really wrong with my actions and actuations? I'm grasping at straws as I look for answers. Sabay buntong hininga. Angel's LSS: Araw-gabi by Regine24/7 Reading List: My poem Wisteria Differential Diagnosis: Introspective | |
July 11th, 2005
Paalam Kidlat Posted in Love and other Disasters The famous "who knows, lightning could strike?" quote has been removed as a stickied entry from this blog. Chatting with Ani and Jowjow over coffee and a mad downpour last Saturday, we were treated to a lightning storm. It just kept flashing and slashing away at the sky. If lightning strikes so often, how come I don't see it? Hay Ani, palagay ko tama ka. I should start praying with open eyes. Hindi ko na aantaying kumidlat. | |
July 12th, 2005
Still I Rise Posted in **I've risen from the ashes and smoldering embers. Fire purifies. Thanks be to God! You may write me down in history Maya Angelou | |
July 13th, 2005
The Tale of the Cracked Pot Posted in **Nobody's perfect, but our imperfections make us interesting. A water bearer had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said. The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you've watered them. "For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house." Remember: Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are, and look for the good in them. Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape. Remember to appreciate all the different people in your life! | |
MY POEMS: Posted ...Step, anywhere you go is yours.... Jorie Graham, Hybrid of Plants and of Ghosts | |
July 14th, 2005
Walang Paalam
Posted in *hindi nagtatampo ang tula at wala siyang pinipiling sinapupunan na magluluwal sa kanya. Sadyang may oras o panahon na panandalian siyang umaalis, tulad ng pag-ibig, minsan kailangang hanapin o hintayin ang kusa niyang pagbabalik~angel24/7 WALANG PAALAM Tula ang iiwan mong alaala, mga salitang naipunla sa aking pagkatao kusang sinibulan ng anyo at hubog kumislot, huminga Buhay ang mga katagang nailimbag punumpuno ng saya at luha sari-saring kulay mga yugto ng iyong buhay naitala sa sukat at tugma Huhugutin mula sa balon ng gunita muling babasahin nanamnamin ang himig sa bawat titik at hahanapin ang init ng haplos ng matalinhaga mong diwa habang ika'y wala Walang paalam sa isang makata. | |
July 15th, 2005
STOP COMPARING Posted in by: Bo Sanchez We live in a pathologically dissatisfied world. And I'm going to tell you why. Because we love to compare. Go around the world and discover that people aren't happy with their bodies. Filipinos want to be fair-complexioned like Westerners, and so buy bleaching stuff. Westerners want to own bronzed bodies like ours, and so purchase tanning lotions. Those with moles have them removed, while those who don't srategically implant beauty spots. Some people want to shed a few pounds to look like Ally McBeal, while others want to gain some baby fat to look like Drew Barrymore. When are we ever going to stop and simply be happy with how we look? We live in a sick world. I tell you. And that sickness is comparisonitis. Take a look at wealth. When we drive our old Toyota, it really suits us fine. We feel blessed in fact when the rain pours outside and we feel snug and cozy on its faded upholstered seats. But the moment we see our own officemate (or neighbor, or buddy, or cousin, or brother) drive his sleek sky-blue, four-door, four-wheel-drive Rav4, we automatically feel like third class children of God. Next time we drive our bumpy, noisy, rusted, dilapidated Toyota (notice how all the defects come out all of a sudden?), we feel deprived, dispossessed, pariah, debased, and only a little higher than the insects of the earth. Listen carefully. Bill Gates' total assets are worth $60 billion. Tht's more than the GNP of some small countries. Tiger Woods earns $80 million simply by smiling on TV in a Nike shirt. And the stars of the sitcom Friends are paid $50,000 per episode! My point? No matter how hard you work, there'll still be some people who will be richer than you are. And there'll be some people who will be more beautiful, have more sex appeal, have more boyfriends/girlfriends, and have more problems. Try it for once. Stop looking around. Don't compare! Don't compare her nose with your nose. Don't compare his wife with your wife. Don't compare his salary with your salary. Don't compare her breast size with your breast size. Don't compare her kid's report card with your kid's report card. Don't compare his prayer group with your prayer group. Don't compare her/his cellulite deposits with your cellulite deosits. Stop comparing and start living and you'll be happier with your life. This is crucial: The most difficult thing in the world is to be who you are not. Pretending and trying to be someone else is the official pastime of the human race. (I don't think dogs and cats and cows and horses have this problem). And the easiest thing in the world is to be yourself. Be happy. Live! There must be a reason why God made you tall or short or fat or thin orbumpy all over. Love who you are! | |
July 18th, 2005
A LETTER FROM JESUS Posted in Dearest Friend, I was with you yesterday when you couldn't pray no matter how hard you tried. Don't worry; I couldn't care less about a lot of words. What made me happy was the fact that you gave me your heart in trying to do something that you felt would please me: you gave me a little of your time, and that's what really matters. You re not the only one who finds it hard to pray. Everyone does including myself! Do you remember how, in the Garden fo Olives, I sweated blood because of the agony my prayer caused me? You have never experienced anything like that, but sometimes you feel just about torn in two. No matter. You make me so happy when you spend a period of quiet time with me each day. I watched you struggling to find a new spare minutes of the day: I saw you pushing back a hundred "important" things that just had to be done. Your mind was left as busy as a city street, and truly I wondered if you would get to our rendezvous. I was thrilled and happy when you did. Just to have you with me is all I ask. During the rest of the day, perhaps you might be able to involve me just a little bit in the things that which interest you; as you work at them, speak to me about them. Another time, when maybe you could turn to me, is when you listen to the TV news. Speak to me about the people, places, places and events that are mentioned. Don't forget that I care for them; I love them and I want you to do the same. Lift them and their needs to my Father; ask Him to turn eyes of compassion on them and to ease their burdens. Find me in those people and try to see each one as a special and unique facet of the divine beauty. I do! I glory in the work of my Father's hands, and the Holy Spirit calls constantly to Him from their hearts. Maybe we can use even the TV to come a little closer to each other. Anyway, I hope so. Your Friend, JESUS | |
July 19th, 2005
Across The Universe Posted in *rainy day song of an angel in need of hugs Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, Jai guru de va om Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes, Jai guru deva om | |
Haiku Princess Posted in Kiko, 7/19/05 (for Angel24/7) Hi! | |
July 21st, 2005
My Cup of Chicken Soup for the Day Posted in The Great Dill Deal By The Reverend Aaron Zerah My parents, God bless them, lived through the Holocaust as children. After coming to America in 1947, my father labored in a sweat shop so that they could start a fruit and vegetable stand. Their childhood experience did not include cooking lessons, so my parents only learned to cook as adults in America. My father's single culinary accomplishment was making hard-boiled eggs, and even those he usually mistimed. My mother easily outdistanced my father. She could, when pressed, cook seven different meals - but in reality, there were only two she made well: spaghetti and meatballs, thanks to the patient Italian grandmothers in our neighborhood, and a great pot of chicken soup. As she had access to all the vegetables in what was now our store, she would toss unusual ones, such as parsnips and parsley root, into the mix. But what distinguished Mom's chicken soup from any other I've tasted was one special ingredient: fresh dill. Mom always made her chicken soup at the right time. Rarely did she make it for someone already sick; yet she knew instinctively when you needed some as preventive medicine. Somehow she also knew when hard times were coming. When a slew of salesmen would arrive, all demanding payment, there was a soul-soothing pot of chicken soup. Let the refrigerator break down, the tax man call, the employees leave without notice! We had chicken soup with fresh dill and we would be okay! Many years later, my parents' store on Long Island burnt to the ground. They had no choice but to give up the retail trade and concentrate on building their fledgling wholesale produce business in New York City. They did so with their customary passion, and in a few years were doing pretty well. They specialized in carrying unusual and gourmet items - including fresh dill. One winter, primarily for their health, they took a vacation. My brother and I flew to New York to help run the business while they were gone. It just so happened that in the second week, a freeze struck the South and virtually the entire fresh dill crop was wiped out. Demand for dill was enormous. You could practically hear the screams of distraught mothers from a hundred miles away. Serendipitously, my brother and I had connections. We had lived in California and we knew the few dill growers there. In a matter of hours, we had arranged a stream of air shipments of dill to New York. We had the only dill in town, and although the supplies were still small, we made thousands upon thousands in profits - from dill! When my parents returned from vacation, tanned and delighted to have missed some of the nastiest weather New York had seen in decades, they were especially happy to hear the story of the Great Dill Deal. A few winters later, my brother and I had a business that was getting into real trouble. We became very worried, forgetting that business has its vicissitudes (the one big fancy word my dad knew and consequently used often), and that business isn't the only thing in life. One afternoon when we were feeling especially downtrodden, a package from our folks arrived, sent from their new home in the Dominican Republic. There was no letter, only a beautiful, custom-made wood plaque with a hand-carved message: NO BIG DILL. And you know what? After that, it really wasn't. | |
July 22nd, 2005
Lavender Water Posted in A spray on linen sheets, pressed sweetness passed on to dreams Light floral notes tucked under pillows, scented letters remembered in sleep. Stephie 7.22.05 | |
Word Alchemy Posted in It's been weeks since I last posted a real entry. Its almost 7 pm and my temples are throbbing from too much reading, too much thinking and too much coffee, and you would probably think I've gone mad when I say that inspite all this, I'M HAPPY! Ya see? Infinitely better.  Good job!Just received that message from my Manager, Chinie Hidalgo Diaz, erstwhile known as the "Blair Bitch" (after the series of poetry books she came up with). She has sinced mellowed down and turned her attention to cooking up ads and promos for our direct mail company. She is my boss, and for the last three nightmarish weeks, my mentor in writing copy to sell. I used to hate my job, in fact I came close to quitting about 12 times in the last four years for a myriad of reasons. My training as a journalist and passion for literature made me unreasonably proud. I looked down at copywriting and convinced myself that I was well, too good for this kind of stuff. That was of course before my present day situation. Now that my Dad no longer works and my brother started college, I felt like I had my back pressed against a steel wall. And while I have job offers, some of them I know I would truly enjoy, the reality of a hefty paycheck every 15th and 30th of the month pulls me out of dreamworld. I had two options: shape up, or ship out. I chose the former, but it was the hardest thing I ever did. Swallowing my intellectual pride, I emailed my manager and asked for help. Help to be trained in the rudiments of copywriting, to be given impossibly long tasks and writing exercises on top of my workload. That and a request not to spoil me or patronize me as I go about the learning process. In short, edit my copy until bleeds...until I bleed. Three weeks of overtime, brainstorming, reading and practicing...I get this email. The copy is for a split test offer for a Spanish client. I nailed it after three tries. Nothing to be proud of, no monumental achievement, but for me, it means something. I could not change the circumstances I was in, nor could I change the way things and people around me behaved....but I had the power and the choice to change how I viewed my circumstances and how I dealt with people. Learning to write is a very humbling process, but a rewarding one. It made me realize that the old adage "happiness is a choice" is really true. I thank Pinoypoets for my renewed enthusiasm. Had I not experienced what it was like to be a child---learning to walk in cadence with, and stuggling to connect and understand the language of poetry---I would never have dared to "immerse " myself in writing marketing copy. I am now able to write haiku and senryu, a couple of which have been picked up by Simply Haiku, an online journal managed by a foreign haiku master. And I started trying my hand at these Japanese forms less than a month ago. Thanks to Jheric Saracho , my kuya, for the encouragement and support. Life is good and beautiful. I still get more than my fair share of trials and obstacles, but at least I am always able to smile through them. Nowadays when people commend me for my writing, I no longer feel unworthy. I think I finally found it in my heart to believe that writing is my personal legend. To paraphrase a quote from Paolo Coelho's "The Alchemist", when you want something bad enough, the whole universe conspires to give it to you. Makdum I was born to write...and now I know I have the power to turn words into gold. | |
July 26th, 2005
Hanging the Jersey Posted in "...and it felt so good I wanna do it again!"~Buses and Trains Had I been 19 and a fresh graduate, I would have sung that line to sum up last Saturday's experience. But in a few months I'd be pressing the 27 button and I know it's time to relinquish the throne to someone else. I'm officially hanging my "tomadora" jersey today. Not even a month has passed since I posted an entry entitled "Hang Over" lamenting my inability or lack of experience in the aforementioned subject when lo and behold! It came when I least expected it. I was, for all intents and purposes, truly and utterly wasted. I will never forget the night I lost any concept of time, space and matter; and the same night Angel24/7 and the gorgeous Pepperalla became soul sisters over pitchers of Zombie and Jed Maddela's soothing voice at Tapika in Katipunan. Thanks to my daughter, birthday girl Ani for keeping close watch over me and taking me home. To Jowjow, I am still blushing tomato red from embarrassment, but I think I'll live through it; Xam and Pol for letting us crash in on what would have otherwise been a quiet evening; Edz for bringing more good cheer and Kiko for being Tatay at Bantay Salakay all in one. Hehe. Just Kidding! Yes Pepperella, no more pretty pink stuff next time. | |
July 27th, 2005
Umiiyak Na Naman Ako Posted in Tanghaling tapat. Nag uunahang pumatak ang luha ko sa nakabukas na pahina ng notebook. Sumusulat ako ng tula at pula ang panulat na gamit ko. Eto ngayon, basang basa ng luha, kumalat ang tintang pula sa papel. Isang lawa nang pula, nilamon ang mga linyang nais ko sanang isulat. Paano ko tatapusin ang tula ngayong iniwan na ako ng taong naghatid sa akin sa panulaan? Pasasalamat pa naman dahil napili akong PP poet of the month for August. Dahil sa'yo kaya ako nandito, dahil tinugon ko ang paanyaya mo na muli kong pakinggan ang tawag ng panulaan. At ngayon eto? Sana hindi dito matapos ang pagkakaibigan natin. Sana hindi dito matapos ang pagmamahal mo sa tula at sa buhay. At sana mahinto na rin ang pagpatak ng mga luha ko sa pahina nang di matatapos na nagdurugong tula. | |
July 28th, 2005
Downpour Posted in And rain fell. Without warning, the sky let out an angry torrent of angel tears, much like the ones I've been meaning to shed but couldn't, or won't. I refuse to bleed water, no, not this time. The situation merits much more thinking than weeping. And so I take it out on paper and ink. Crying my heart out through poetry...an outpouring of emotions and a downpour tears. Be a dear, double click www.annestephie.blogspot.com and hand me some Kleenex. | |
