Oops I Did It Again

After a long wait I finally found the time to revised and published the third installment of five autobiographical books I have written more than twenty years ago and hid in a shoe box inside a closet. I did not do it for money or fame but for future reference. For safe keeping. Time is running out and I want it to be out there before it’s too late.

You can find it here. As usual, there is a picture widget on the right side of my blog and if you click the image it will bring you to my author page. Check it out when you have some time to spare.

The book is about Michael and his journey of becoming a man and meeting the love of his life and future wife. But life is never been that straight forward and seldom obstacle free. The woman he set his eyes on is not only married with two kids, she is also his teacher. Can Michael bridge the gap of age, education, background and social status between them? Can true love really conquer all?

Why don’t you find out?

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Haters Gonna Hate

“They will hate you if you are beautiful. They will hate you if you are successful. They will hate you if you are right. They will hate you if you are popular. They will hate you when you get attention. They will hate you when people in their life like you. They will hate you if you worship a different version of their God. They will hate you if you are spiritual. They will hate you if you have courage. They will hate you if you have an opinion. They will hate you when people support you. They will hate you when they see you happy. Heck, they will hate you while they post prayers and religious quotes on Pinterest and Facebook. They just hate. However, remember this: They hate you because you represent something they feel they don’t have. It really isn’t about you. It is about the hatred they have for themselves. So smile today because there is something you are doing right that has a lot of people thinking about you.”

― Shannon L. Alder

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Another Milestone

I realized something the other day while I was looking at my growing collection of succulents; I’m enjoying being on my own.

I know I told you already that I am a loner and prefer solitude than being in a crowd but there is some difference; before, I crave to be among people I have nothing to do with. I love to meet new acquaintances – preferably in far away places so I can run away if it becomes too much and strangers become too close – I love talking to random people, exchanging ideas and watching them doing their things as long as they don’t follow me home and insist to be my friends. Before, I resented being isolated. I was constantly homesick. I wanted to experience again the life I had before; the fun, the chase, the adventures, the thrill of discovering new people, new places and new things. I hated being settled, peaceful, grounded and (more or less) secure. To me it was boring, unimaginative, dead.

I still enjoy meeting people and going places and discovering new things but it is not a must anymore. At the end of the day, I am happy to be home. In fact, lately, while exploring new frontiers, at the back of my mind, I can’t wait to go home. I can’t wait till I am again inside my four walls where I can be alone and peaceful and safe. Safe from expectations, safe from demands, away from the prying eyes and prejudiced judgmental people. I can be whoever I want to be no one will force me.

Before, I charge my battery somewhere, the more peculiar, weird, bizarre, the better. These days home is where I recuperate and I get my fix from peace and quiet and safety my place offers. I don’t want complicated situations anymore. No more dramas, no more unnecessary commitments, no more pretending, no more catering to what society expects.

Today I realized another thing: I don’t have the urge anymore to control things. 

Before, I want everything the way it supposed to be, in my head. I got into a panic when things are not in their proper place and things don’t happen the way I expect and my weight is not 46 kilos. The moment the scale shows one or two gram more I will get so nervous I will go into crash diet and see to it that my weight is back on track within three weeks.

Now, I am 10 kilos heavier and have love handles all over the place but I can stand it. I don’t get agitated anymore when there is a glass on the kitchen counter or a cup somewhere in the living room and there are clothes that have to be ironed in bed. Mind you the glasses and cups and clothes will not be there for long, but they can stay there for a few hours till I find the time and urge to remove them. I can go out now without straightening everything till my house is picture perfect. In short, I’m learning to let go.

I’m learning to let go of my paranoia as well. I can stand open windows now, doors too. Dark days don’t make me think of everything evil and I can take a bath now when I’m home alone and even dare to go into my dressing without locking anything that could be locked. The knife I still keep but I forget it’s there sometimes. I take it as a positive sign and continuing improvement of my mental health.

I don’t know if I’m really getting better or would really get better or I just resigned to my situation. Could be also that I’m just getting old and tired and lost my appetite for anything that rock my already shaky constitution and learning the value of restful and quiet uncomplicated existence.

Who knows…

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A Milestone

Yesterday after not speaking to me since she got married, that was three years ago, my daughter called me to say that she’s pregnant. I’m not surprised. I know from my son that she and her husband were trying to conceive. I’m happy for her. 

She told me that I was the first to know. I’m not surprised with that too. It reminds me of three weeks ago when I was talking to my son after his musical/theater performance and he said that while he was presenting and singing up there he was worried if I was going to like the show or not. He thought I would find it banal. He was happy when I said that what he/they did was memorable. He hopes for the same effect when he finished writing his first book he said.

I know that my relationship with my children is far from ideal and we hardly see each other, but it is touching to know that they still value my opinion the most. Out of thousand of people watching my son’s performance, what he was worried about was what I was thinking. My daughter could let her father or anybody know first but she have chosen to call me instead. That means a lot to me.

In the past, they accused me of being hard to please and economical when it comes to giving compliments, but in my defense, I only give credit where credit is due. I don’t want to give or encourage false hopes when in reality there is none.

I know I will never be the mother they prefer to have and I doubt if I’m going to be the best grandmother but this is me. My grandchildren will know me like my children have known me_ honest straight-forward maybe harsh but fair. I hope they will appreciate the person that I really am because I am not planning to change myself for the sake of acceptance.

Let’s wait and see… 

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Butterfly Effect

I was watching the movie the other night (out of nothing better to do) and I realized that I have something in common with the lead character; an urge to make everything the way it supposed to be, in other words, __ perfect.

He traveled back and forth, back and forth to the future/past to set everything straight, often resulted in more disastrous events. In the end, he got it right but who knows what will happens next.

His actions remind me of myself when one time out of a strong desire to iron a crease that was barely there I burned a new Michael Kors coat. And that wasn’t the only mistake I made trying to make things right. I killed plants that way. I ruined a couple of my paintings and sketches, scratched for real the paintwork of my laptop trying to eliminate imaginary scratches, and dozens of other little things with catastrophic effect. 

I have an image in my head and I cannot rest until I am satisfied that everything is the way it supposed to be,__perfect.

Unlike other “psychological” issues in my life, this one I can trace back to my childhood. To a mother who married someone beneath her out of necessity and missed opportunities to better her life resulting in trying to live her dreams and regain her chances through her children particularly me. Good wasn’t good enough. No margin for errors, punishments were a must, encouragement/support/compliments/help unheard of, and speaking back and speaking your mind were a big no-no. Like I said in one of my posts, she once tied me around a foot of a big table whole night without supper simply because I failed to recite “Our Father” prayer in English. 

I grew up to be a perfectionist and expect no less from others. I cannot tolerate mistakes and stupidity especially from myself. I am my own biggest critic. Before anyone else has criticized me, I have already criticized myself. And often times than not when looking at myself, I cannot find something positive.

Like the lead character in the movie, I will gladly sacrifice myself, my own happiness/health/life if it means good for those I hold dear. I know the consequences of this action. I know them all too well. I suffered them all my life and some of them are still lingering making my existence an ordeal. But we all got choices and what matters the most to us is what really matters the most—that what we most value is what is most valuable to us so to each his own. 

Like the film Premonition, I think what Butterfly Effect (the movie) trying to convey-aside from every action no matter how little or insignificant has consequences- is we can’t change destiny. We can only alter the course but not the result. We will get there no matter what. It could be via a short or long way but eventually, we will get to our destination so, stop avoiding the inevitable and try to make the ride as enjoyable as we possibly could.

See You next time.   

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Guilty I Am

Remember the time I wrote an article about feeling guilty whenever I eat? Well, that is not the only thing I’m feeling guilty about.

I feel guilty if by the end of the day I have nothing to show for it. What I mean is I have an immense urge to always create and do something I can’t sit still for more than five minutes. I feel guilty if I’m not doing anything. I feel that it is a waste of time to sit and relax while you can do a million things instead. Not only I want to create I also want a proof of my labor. A tangible proof. Something I or someone else could admire and cherish. Something beautiful, something creative. If I don’t have it when the day ends, I feel worthless and guilty.

Again, I don’t know why. 

No one told or taught me to feel guilty if I’m idle. If ever, I don’t remember. The reason behind this is probably the same one why I don’t indulge in idle remarks or mere social chit-chat__ it’s pointless. If you want to say something, say something meaningful, remarkable or unforgettable. Say something kind and true and always meant it. Don’t say anything for the sake of__ just saying something or because you think someone wanted to hear what you’re about to say or just placating a person for whatever reason. And for God’s sakes don’t talk about the weather! And don’t start your greetings with “How are you?” if you don’t really want to know the answer to your inquiries or don’t have the time to really listen to the other person’s woes. Don’t say anything out of politeness. If you have nothing truthful or substantial to say shut your mouth and walk away. 

What else I’m feeling guilty about?

Cleaning and tidying. 

I’m a very clean person. I’m keen on hygiene. Not only personal hygiene but about everything. No, I’m not Mysophobic, just clean. And on top of it, I hate clutter. I cannot stand glasses, cups or anything unnecessary on the kitchen counter or coffee table. My espresso machine and water cooker are in the cupboard and only going to be out when needed. No shoes on the hallway and no coats either. People often describe my house as something that jumps out from the pages of a lifestyle magazine. My mother-in-law said my house is clinically clean. My daughter once remarks that it seems nobody lives in my place and one state agent told me that you can eat on the floor of my abode.

Of course, it isn’t true.

I just cannot rest if my house and garden are dirty and cluttered, but clinically clean it isn’t. There is dust everywhere. My house is a dust magnet. I can wipe the table clean and when I turn around, the dust has already settled in. And there seems to be always something on the floor. Mostly strands of my hair which is by the way so noticeable against the light tiles. No, my house and routine are ordinary. Just like me. 

I think I’m going to leave it here before I get totally carried away and say something irrelevant to the topic (as if I didn’t do just that) or something I might regret later.

See you next time?

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My Home Found A New Owner

He was the man I loved for so many years. He held up my universe inside his pocket and picked up the stars so he could light up my night. I wanted to believe that he loved me too. Because he said so, in whispers, in screams, in his sleep, in his songs, in his eyes. For so many years, I let him invade my heart. He let me love him in my own selfish ways. We have so many misunderstandings we took a few days to settle and solve. And we have past mistakes that came up whenever we argue. He barely understood my own language but he studied it so he could see which part of me was vulnerable to hold.

If we are going to talk about endings, then probably that thing has been overused and was scratched too hard I felt numb. We broke up and we got back again. We stopped yet we started again. We paused yet we decided to keep going.

Yet, all endings always had its own severe ending. The one that makes you realize that it won’t come back. The one that makes you ache for silence because you know he won’t reach out. The ending that we all fear.

But I tried to move out and tried new places, without him. Without his shadow. Without his smile and grips and his voice that calms me down. I tried moving out and started collecting scattered dust until I could have my new universe again. I searched for him in someone else’s eyes and voice. I looked for him in someone else’s skin and smell. But I realized he was the only one. He was one of a kind that no matter how many times he hurts me, I could still take it. No matter how many times he forced me to leave, I’d still run as fast as I could in his snap of wave and flash of a smile.

I realized he never holds my universe rather he became my universe. That every time I hear the words love and pain, his face will appear crystallized.

Yet he found his new world.
He found it in you.
Now that you’re with him, you got to understand that he’s unpredictable and changes so often. But as long you could stay, please do.

I might be the girl he had as his dreams form. I might be the girl he got to watch his all-time favorite movies and the first who heard the songs he wrote as he strummed his guitar. I might be his first love as what he called it but you’re with him now.

And you will have him in ways I could never have. I am now a part of the past that will one day be forgotten.

Yet here you are, the one he sees spending the future with and the rest of his life with. The woman he sees growing a family with and pajama cuddles and morning coffees and the hand he’ll hold while traveling the world. The woman he sees sharing the same water bottle and beer-stained kisses, and teases under blankets or the hair he’ll play in his finger and the head that rests upon his chest when you sleep.

And he still has me,
more like a memory,
a past,
a lesson,
a told story,
an ending example.

But he has you,
more like a dream,
a vision of wedding aisle,
a wedding dress,
a mother to his children,
a body he comes home for,
a rocking chair,
a future.

He looks at you
the same way

I see him.

So please,
take care of him.

-Mica Meñez 

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Among My Souvenirs

There’s nothing left for me
Of days that used to be
They’re just a memory
Among my souvenirs
Some letters sad and blue
A photograph or two
I see a rose from you
Among my souvenirs
A few more tokens rest
Within my treasure chest
And, though they do their best
To give me consolation
I count them all apart
And, as the teardrops start
I find a broken heart
Among my souvenirs
I count them all apart
And, as the teardrops start
I find a broken heart
Among my souvenirs.
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