Month: June 2013

I Never Left Them

A night out with my girls

Beer Night with my girls a few hours ago. Nine of us and no one brought a camera. Yeeeesh!

Well, I forgot. We had two guys with us tonight.

Well, I forgot. We had two guys with us tonight. The other guy took the photo. He failed to inform his wife of our little get-together. Haha

I never told my friends the real reason I left the corporate world. I used to wear that gray uniform (fourth lady from the left) with them and then I suddenly tossed it away, along with my four-inch heels. I used to be a supervisor like them and we handled different departments.

Though I always knew they had an inkling, I also knew they would never be able to ask me straight up the real reason as it went beyond personal and the pain was too much to even be discussed over bottles of beer.

I had shared in one blog entry (which I put to private mode because I suddenly felt uneasy again sharing it), I put up greatly with how two even called me stupid once. They said I was full of shit and that I needed to gather my wits. Why would a career woman leave a “sought for” position in one of the largest companies in the country just to stay at home, right? Yeah, I kinda got that, too. I was stupid. 

Then again, maybe I wasn’t and I would explain one day why.

The more important thing for me tonight – something which I told them – is that though I left my job, I never left them. And I will be joining them over beer and billiard whenever they want me to.

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Yeeeesh. I have to put up with red spots again when I wake up tomorrow.

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I Used to Belong

I used to belong with the wind and I flew.

My wings had been spread and I knew what to do.

But I trusted then, none but the falsest sides.

And ended up doubting myself; I did nothing but hide.

I used to belong with the oceans and the tides.

I rode each surface and I rode it with pride.

But then I wobbled and sat quickly so as not to slide.

And ended up choosing the easy way to swim and stride.

I used to belong with the earth and was strong.

My heart was dug deep and I was never wrong.

But then I swayed, in a moment of prong.

And ended up brooding; I had forgotten my song.

I used to belong with the flames and I blazed.

There was nothing in the heat that could keep me away.

But then I started burning my skin and I splayed.

To the truth I had mistakenly averted my gaze.

I used to belong to myself and I stood high.

I was someone I believed in, even when they all sighed.

Was that my bitter end? I got wounded and almost died.

No. I shall get up in a second to yell again my battle cry.

Betrayed

Flynn Rider (Eugene Fitz Herbert of Tangled)

Flynn Rider (Eugene Fitz Herbert of Tangled)

Am I just supposed to still,

When my heart falters at the pain I feel?

Am I just supposed to listen,

When I know my doubts have been proven?

 

At what scale am I to measure

The limit of how I am supposed to take pressure?

At what cost do I have to suffer

When I have done none to cause disaster?

 

Do you think it fair that I muffled

Each cry just so you won’t have to struggle?

Do you think it best that I just hide

The fact that I caught the thousand times you lied?

 

Then fine, I take pride and leave you be.

Please go and don’t come after me.

If by chance, one day, you see me walk by.

Look away, you’ll get hurt; you’re not worth a ‘Hi’.

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Haha, sorry.

I just think that’s how the man in this poem would look like once his girlfriend left him.

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Sweet Menage

It tickles; it burns;

For whatever purpose my tummy churns.

That sweet delight under the blue moonlight;

My heart rips to a million pieces for turns.

It satiates; it elevates;

My desires, those which I cannot even sedate.

A first, a second, a third; I could not reckon.

I just know; I feel; I slowly begin a flection.

Be still; be quiet;

Keep my secret as it does create a riot.

Just hush; don’t make a fuss;

It’s just me, a man, a man and a plus.

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Sorry. Was reading a romance novel the whole day.

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A Shade Fucked Up

I talked to a friend at Skype this dawn. After three long years I had spoken to her again seemingly vis-à-vis. We had to laugh at how chubbier we had both grown to be and laughed even more as we still believed ourselves to be the most wonderful creatures on Earth, not to mention the sexiest. We had fun in our way, the way we remembered it since college.

She asked me how I was and I told her I was missing my husband and that it hurt so much. She laughed at me, saying it was my fault for not going to Dubai in the first place while a lot of my friends had been begging me to come. Leaving my country didn’t appeal to me that much now. Leaving my hometown didn’t appeal as much either.

Yet what caught my attention wasn’t at all the fact that she had grown older and more mature. After all, in our group, not only was she the one lacking in height, she was also the most childish-acting. What caught my attention was that she suddenly stopped speaking, tucked a lose strand of her black hair and forced a chuckle.

Then she had to turn sideways to show me a bruise that resembled a hand across her left cheek.

Imagine the shock I had to go through. We had often warned her in the past about being too in love with the idea of love, giving herself fully to all her relationships without minding the consequences each might have on her very self. But this was too much.

She finally revealed to me that the man she was in love with now, father of her son, man by her side when she vowed eternal love, was actually a sadist.

I had to laugh first. There shouldn’t be anything of such in real life. Should I just take that as she said it was and believe that Christian Grey was a man walking in a different color and in a different suit and was actually married to one of my friends?

I mean, I’ve seen his pictures with her. I’ve seen how they cuddled close in each and how he had sent her flowers each anniversary and each affair that passed the year. I’ve seen how ruggedly handsome he was and how capable he was of taking care of my friend.

But as she went on and on about how her marriage now was at the brink of a divorce because of another woman, I guess I was right to not take it as a living ‘Fifty Shades’ story.  Because apparently, the man wasn’t a calm and reserved hero out of bed. He was a sadist. Period. He was just a shade fucked up. He was a sadist in every way she could imagine. She could not even go to details telling me about it without forcing a smile and shrugging her shoulder.

She was begging me to come to her. She had all the friends she could ever want there but just needed one who would be there to hold her. But come on, it wasn’t easy to come to someone’s aid if it meant having to go through a lot with the immigration people. I wanted to come to her and hold her as she needed. I told her I really would if I could.

Yet that wasn’t the question here. So if I came to her and comforted her and made everything seem okay, what would happen next? I asked her if she would run to him should he decide he’d worn out the first mistress of their marriage and missed his wife. SHE SAID YES. She said she would run to him anytime.

It would be easier for me to accept her answer if the man was actually every bit of prince charming and of noble hero, even as he was a sadist in bed. Anastasia fell for a sadist. Isabella fell for a vampire. But I really could not compare her relationship to those two wonders. It simply wasn’t possible.

It’s funny how love worked. The man always had his hand across my friend’s face every stupid chance he got and yet my friend loved him dearly.

Call her stupid. Call her fucked up. Call her every demeaning word there could be for how much she was in love for the wrong man. The right word was just a matter of opinion.

I call her a heroine in her own right. She was fighting a battle she knew how, keeping to her marriage vow no matter the cost. Be it for her or for her son, it didn’t matter. She was going to fight for it until perhaps she had worn herself out and probably just say everything failed. She was going to do it. I feel it so.

My advice to you – I hope you are reading this – love yourself first, darling. And it would never hurt as much.

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Just re-posted this entry

Baptized in the Name of the Lord

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It is better to be the child of God than a king of the whole world. — St. Aloysius Gonzaga

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On June 22, 2013, a member of our family became a new member of our church. My two-month-old niece, Allison Kaydenne, daughter of my one and only sister, was baptized at St. Lorenzo Ruiz Parish Baptistery as a Roman Catholic.

We had her baptized for one purpose – so she would be a child of God.

Of course, with that one purpose alone, we believe my niece would: 1. be cleansed of the Original Sin; 2. receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit; and 3. be instilled of the three virtues of faith, hope and charity.

These were the very reasons my sister and I were baptized in the same way when we were infants, ourselves.

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We are a family of Catholics. From our great great great grandparents and I believe down to our great great great grandchildren, the fact that there is one and only one God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit is rooted in our faith.

DSC_0205Growing up a catholic isn’t that much different from a person of any other religion. I woke up each morning with the sunlight on my face as I prayed. I went to a catholic school until high school. I went home at night to dinner served by my grandmother and we sat around it as a family to dine after blessings. I went to church with my family every Sunday to receive Holy Communion. I prayed the Holy Rosary to the Blessed Virgin Mary or said my novena to a saint if I needed intervention. I prayed again before I closed my eyes for my slumber. I grew up with all these practices in my soul, and more.

While many of you might say there was a heck of practices you read differently and that I was lying when I mentioned everything was the same, I still believed there was nothing to compare. After all, I also always believed in my heart that it wasn’t the religion that would save me and my soul when I died. It was my faith. It was my faith that I have a God and that I will be with Him when I returned this life I borrowed.

A Maiden’s Yearning

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The long cold night has done me worse

I feel your skin but then I burst

I open my eyes, my pain I nurse

I see nothing again but the world in reverse.

I stretch my arms; there’s nothing beyond

My bed is empty; my pillows a pond

What for do I need this body to respond

to silent pleas…

If to emptiness my heart is to succumb?

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photo from midlidecrisses.tumblr.com