Tag Archives: dream


What if I get a chance to restart my life what would I do differently?

I will be less naive and forgiving. I will avoid toxic people and will not let anyone abuse me in any way. I will pursue my chosen path career-wise or otherwise and will not succumb to the demand of my family to be their meal ticket. I will not get married and have children. I will travel the world and take better care of myself and will not sell myself short anymore. I will not buy myself a life sentence looking for my rainbow connection. And most of all I will try harder to learn to love myself before it’s too late.  



“Intuition goes before you, showing you the way. Emotion follows behind, to let you know when you go astray. Listen to your inner voice. It is the calling of your spiritual GPS system seeking to keep you on track towards your true destiny.” 
― Anthon St. Maarten 

How often do you ignore a dream, dismiss it as fantasy and then see echoes of the dream around you the following day? What if a dream were the forewarning of what will become your reality; if you are being told within the world of a dream what may occur in the near or distant future, but your mind mangles the truth and information so much that you discard it as fiction?



There was a time that my poison of choice was screw driver later replaced by margarita but that was a long time ago, I seldom drink alcohol and I never particularly enjoy them so I wouldn’t call them my magic elixir nor I can say real green tea is the concoction that can cure all my problems. There is a mixture of things though that can elevate my spirit and somehow can soften the pain of my everyday existence. To borrow a passage I have read somewhere in the internet I would say something like this:

City life is not for me. Malls and pubs are not for me. I don’t want to live my life in a place rushing from place to place and surrounded by people on all sides. What I want is a house in the countryside with a wrap-around porch that I can go sit on in the morning with a cup of coffee. My feet would be bare and my hair would be down and the only sound for miles would be the wind blowing through the trees. The rest of the morning would be spent baking in the kitchen with the radio playing in the background. I would spend the afternoon tending to my garden. And in the evening I would settle down in my rocking chair with a book, or go outside and star-gaze with a cup of tea. And even though there wouldn’t be a soul or town for miles, I would never feel so fulfilled.

That’s it, this would be it. I would not bake though (I am a good cook but I can’t bake) and not in the morning because I never been an early riser insomniac that I am and I would replace coffee with green tea rocking chair with a hammock and the evening tea with a glass of red wine but for the rest, this is my ideal set up.



I want to live simply. I want to sit by the window when it rains and read books. I want to paint because I want to, not because I’ve got something to prove. I want to listen to my body, fall asleep when the moon is high and wake up slowly, with no place to rush off to. I want not to be governed by money or clocks or any of the artificial restraints that humanity imposes on itself. I just want to be, boundless and infinite.


via Goodreads


Go back in time to an event you think could have played out differently for you. Let alternate history have its moment: tell us what could, would or should have happened?

Given another chance, I would not obey the wish of my parents to marry for money even though it means being disowned. I will run away, follow my own path, choose a career I personally want for myself, stay single and never have children.  I will travel the world, have affairs, and never let any man set foot in my industrial/artsy/minimalist steel and concrete with reclaimed wood for added warmth self-renovated loft with huge balcony/garden overlooking  the city. I will grow old with myself and save me the trauma of a relationship/marriage that was doomed right from the start. 

Given another chance, I will be me. The real one. The one that never had a chance to emerge and develop. The one who can fly and carries magic within herself…


The never ending complicatedness of simplicity.

My eyes are heavy, can’t hardly stay awake. My dream world beckons to me telling me to give in to the desire. That pure feeling of absolutely nothing… ahh, pure divinity! Darkness takes me, and I find myself wandering in circles. The clouds part, the sun sinks and the stars unveil themselves…My ‘night’ has fallen.

And though I can feel your presence grow ever stronger, ever nearer…I can never reach you, for I am too lost in my dreams. Nothing else matters, not you, not me, not my sanity. Just let me be free, innocent, and careless. I desire simple things; however, to some this may be hard to understand, the never ending complicatedness of simplicity.

~ Stardust 1035



When I was young I thought that thirty is the end of your life. You cannot possibly want something more when you reached that number. You’re old, finished, done with; the only thing left to do is to wait for the inevitable. When I was young, I thought thirty is palliative. Literally.

Now that I am fast approaching the afternoon of my life, I found out (in a hard way) that you never stop feeling simply because you get older. Years don’t diminish the desire to be loved, to be wanted to feel beautiful; it doesn’t take away the urge to feel connected and the longing for intimacy. The only difference is you want quality instead of quantity. Taste improves with years of experience. Preferences change. You can compare and know what’s best; you know exactly what you want.

Funny thing is (not that I am in that situation already, but I know it will come, another one of those inevitable) beggars cannot be choosy (and so they say) the offers are a lot less than when you are in your prime. Magazines are full of articles that say women in their 40’s onwards are invisible. Must be or otherwise, the titles won’t say: “How to still get noticed when you reached a certain age.” Or “How to turn back the years and get attention again.” Things like that. Very depressing. As if the only way to regain your rightful place in the hunting ground (or in any field for that matter) is to possess a magic wand and let those accumulated years and its consequences disappear and be young again (no wonder cosmetics surgery is a booming business) which is impossible. No amount of power and money can turn back the time.

But enough of that. Let’s concentrate with what matters and that is: getting old in a relationship that saddled you with desires that can never be fulfilled, expectations that can never be met, longings that can never be satisfied, an emptiness that keeps getting bigger and bigger each day it is threatening to swallow you up. Another inevitable? The fact that no one can live like a ghost albeit your former self. The amount of nothing is nothing and sooner or later you will look for what you need elsewhere. Maybe you will never find it but it is better to try and fail than just sit there and wait for something to happen…



Wishful thinking

I will fall in love someday.

I will find the one who can make my body sings my heart melts and my spirit soar. I will feel like a woman once again like I used to, I shall smile run shout sing and dance in the rain with so much abandon. There will be sunshine, long glorious days, passionate nights and tender evenings. There will be endless caresses tight lingering hugs sweet murmured and hot kisses. I will dream the lovers dreams wake up contented go through my chores with springs on my feet knowing someone is there for me loving knowing understanding sharing the same feelings. Together we will explore what life got to offer discovering testing proving tempting the fate supporting each other all the way learning experiencing enjoying the roller coaster ride. He will be my rock my anchor my friend my saviour someone I could trust learn depend and lean on. He will be my lover my teacher my mentor.

He will be my home…



…there is that place again, a stretch of white sand beach backed by low limestone cliffs. On the top of the cliffs, there is a winding road leading to nowhere. Along the beach, there is a group of houses, five in total standing side by side.

These dwellings are separated from the water by a long stretch of medium height fence made of dried harvested saplings. Next to it is a concrete path connecting the houses. These habitats are more or less alike; each has a balcony facing the ocean, you enter it from the left side.

Once inside, you will find yourself in a make-shift kitchen under an extended portion of the roof with hard packed dirt as floor and a bamboo counter which contains nothing but three pieces of rocks placed in a triangular position for cooking.

A set of bamboo steps will lead you up to the balcony. If you stand with your back to the water, there is a door directly in front of you which leads to a small sitting area. The bedroom and the bathroom are next to each other at the back of the property; one has to negotiate few steps down to gain access to these two rooms for they are built considerably lower than the rest of the house.

The first humble abode is occupied by a single man who owned a motorbike one could rent to go to town. He used to work abroad and has an easy smile and a nervous but sunny disposition.

Next to it is the house I seem always coming home to because I ended up there a lot. I sleep there as well.

The third one is owned by a young dark beautiful woman with two children, a boy of few months old whom I adore and love, and a girl of about eleven. Her man works on a fishing boat and comes home only occasionally. The woman seems to like me a lot for she always talks to me about anything and everything.

She has two close friends, an older cheaply made sexy loud woman who is married to a military man and often eyeing me with undisguised curiosity, and a very handsome young educated nicely dressed gay man who talks with a clipped accent and bears an unmistakable good breeding and upper middle-class background. He looks at me with quiet interest.

Next to this is a shop managed by an elderly couple with a spinster daughter who is timid but has a surprising habit of speaking her mind on rare occasions when one less expects it.

The father, who is also the chief of the whole place gives an impression of the only one in the whole neighbourhood who truly understands what I’m all about and often corrects anyone’s wrong assumption which is mostly bordering on accusations born out of ignorance.

The mother, on the other hand, likes me for the simplest of reason: she likes everybody who doesn’t rub her the wrong way.

Others inhabitants of the place who are by the way always grouping on the front of the shop are still faceless but familiar presence.

The last residence is a small restaurant (If one can call it like that) they sell different kinds of food in pots sitting side by side on the front of an open window. There are a couple of tables placed randomly inside and outside; one can eat a meal there if desired. I do mine because apparently, I don’t cook.

The mother and daughter who own the establishment is a friendly pair and always go out of their way to provide what they think my favourite dishes are. I show my appreciation by consuming whatever they have to offer and always thank both of them politely.  

Five hundred meters from this small community, standing apart and alone is the most beautiful native hut I’ve ever seen in my life. It is bigger too. The whole construction is made of varnished bamboo with a red tinge in it. There is a hammock hanging on the balcony where I sleep sometimes. A boy of around eleven lives there (I thought at first and for a long time) all by himself.

I’ve met him one afternoon I was walking along the stretch of sand (a habit I seemed developed since ending up in that place) and saw him pulling a small blue boat out the water. The next day, I found him sitting on the steps of my house waiting for me. He was carrying a plastic bag which contains a laminated photograph of his mother who died giving birth to him. She looks exactly like me.  

Farther in the distance where the beach made a sudden turn to the left is a group of tall boulders huddled together as if protecting each other from the forces of nature. Under them is a cavity one can take shelter from the rain if necessary. I know I’ve been there already with someone. But the person is still shapeless in my mind. Maybe later I could remember more….

I dream about this place over and over again for a year now, and I cannot understand why. Sometimes the events are always the same. But other times, not. Some occurrences are missing from the previous occasions and other ones replace them. There are nights that other characters have been added and the plot becomes darker, more dangerous and sinister; but often times the place and the people are tranquil and it is sort of a refuge for me, somewhere I could go to if I feel lonely, sad or threatened.

I often wonder if this place really exists or I am just recalling it from a distant memory. Could it be a product of my imagination born out of wishful thinking and hidden longing to be somewhere else? I don’t know…


But who’s going to dig the tunnel???

When I was about eleven-twelve years old, I dreamed of having my very own house, and since my taste that time was not yet refined and my knowledge of the world somewhat limited; it will and shall be none other than -a nipa hut. At least that’s how it started. A beautiful cute one bedroom place made of bamboos and grass.

While I was lying down each night pretending sleep so my father will not tan my hide, the blue print of my precious was taking shape in my young mind. There it was, the house, sitting in the middle of a small garden surrounded with gorgeous greener than green plants and multi-coloured flowers. Rare wild orchids (which by the way I hand-picked myself from far away jungles and mountains during one of my so many dangerous adventures and quests) were hanging lusciously in the cozy balcony making love with the wind.

But wait a minute… I’m all alone, I need to protect myself, I’m a girl after all (therefore more prone to danger than boys ha ha) and brittle bamboos and fragile grasses will not do the trick. How about sandwiching bricks between the outer and inner walls? Well, that is seems a good idea. And since I’m at it already, how about reinforce my fort? I am living a dangerous life after all.  Okay… bullet proof windows would be suitable, so nobody could touch me in my sleep. Talking about sleep… how could I know that someone is sneaking at me while I was deep in my slumber? Think! Think! Okay… surveillance cameras! Monitors at the foot of my bed, control panel on the headboard for easy access, done! I could finally sleep.

But wait… what about escape in case of emergency? I bolted upright! I have to design an escape route if it happened to be that my enemies managed to get inside! (or better, before they can get in) A tunnel, (heading out to the sea – I don’t know why the sea! -where my what-ever-means of escape was park ) the entrance hidden under my bed which by the way can flip over to be replace by an identical bed so nobody would notice that I was gone. That would certainly buy me sometime to head somewhere far. Okay, that would do it. I will sleep now, over and out.

But who’s going to dig the tunnel? I could not possibly do it all by myself! And since I’m not an engineer and nowhere near an architect, someone has to design and build it for me. That’s a bit dangerous no? I have to keep it a secret, nobody must know it exists! Or otherwise I will be in great danger! And the only way to keep it hidden is… if I get rid of them all! That’s an excellent idea – if I am a seasoned m-u-r-d-e-r-e-r, but since I’m not and never will be (I hope) I better give up the idea of building my precious.

And that is why (folks) I didn’t end up living in a cute and simple, peaceful nipa hut… (sigh)