Tag Archives: writing


That’s me when I have already made up my mind. Yes, I have an iron will but only when I’m sure of my right. Sometimes I’ve been asked how I get through the divorce, how I processed the whole thing and I’ve read about people who had hard times with the transition from one life to another, the guilty phase, the loneliness, the doubts, the anger, the heartbreaks, and I can’t say I can relate because I can’t. I never get through all these. Maybe because I made sure that before I close one chapter of my life I always see to it that it is truly finished, that I already did all in my power to make the relationship works often to the point that I let people walk all over me. 

It takes for me a lifetime to say quits but once I heard that tell-tale click in my brain, nothing, and no one can change my mind. They can die before my eyes, literally and I will not even bat an eyelash. Once I get over something, I truly get over it. I am not the one to play hard to get, it’s either I’m in or I’m out. I have no patience for guessing or chasing games, that’s for children. Say what you mean and mean what you say and stand and stick with your decision once you decided and suffer the consequences. We’re adults for God’s sakes. That’s (one of) my motto. 

I’ve been accused of being a hard bargain simply because I refused to play or follow the rules. My mentor (who by the way said to me that every time she was in for a meeting with me she not only mentally preparing herself for the confrontation the night before she literally bracing herself, holding her desk with both hands before I came in the room because she knew by experience that whatever I was about to say will guarantee to blow her away) told me that I go on in life like a horse with blinkers, that once in a while it will do me good to consider also other people’s perspective. But then again she doesn’t really know me. She doesn’t know (and I didn’t tell her- I’m not good at depending my myself- if someone thinks or says I’m a whore then so be it. Everybody is entitled to their own opinion. What is the point of telling otherwise when they are already made up their minds?) that before I come to a decision, it means I have already considered other options, weighed and compared them to mine, deliberated their significance in the big picture and then come to conclusion. 

True I decide fast but never in a hurry. And once I’ve reached my decision, I am resolute. Uncompromising indeed.

How about you? Are you relentless?



No words can put anything or anyone in the box attach a label to it and stay politically correct than typical. It’s a form of expression that is open to interpretation. Like saying everything and nothing. Nothing that can incriminate you in the court of law or anywhere and still pass judgment. Everyone can fill in the blank as they wish but nothing anyone can trace back to you because you actually said nothing. In just one word one can express one’s distaste and disapproval and a whole lot more, everyone will understand, no need to add more. If you say ‘typical’ it says all.



That’s the word to describe everything that surrounds me these days. Let’s start with the weather. After it tricked the plants to sprout early and flowers to bloom outside the season, it decided to play a cruel joke of freezing them all back again. I wonder what spring will be like without the usual colorful arrays of the usual which signal the changes of season. Last year was bad enough when all of my spring flowers died before they even had a chance to open. I remember looking at my pergola laden from top to bottom with dead wisteria bloom. And my Hydrangea! I had to cut them to the ground, poor babies. Their leaves all turned brown after a few nights of freezing temperature. The last time I remember being this cold was 25- 30 years ago. It’s minus 17-21 degrees in the daytime for crying out loud. Could we still pretend global warming doesn’t exist?

And my fast declining health… that’s another dim prospect. Don’t worry I will not bore you with the details. Enough to say that between now and two years if it will not slow down I will be in a wheelchair. The only thing that keeps me standing still is sheer will. Most days I seriously considering to end it all because of unbearable pain. If I will not wake up one of these days preferably tomorrow, I will be grateful. That’s how bad it is.

And when your health is in jeopardy then everything is in question. It’s a snowball effect. A vicious circle. Your life as you know it will never be the same again. I’ve been through a lot from the moment I was born. Circumstances that most people will not even dare to imagine but I didn’t mind because I said to myself when the going gets tough that as long as I have myself and I’m more or less okay, I can crawl out from the deepest pit of hell and start all over again; which I did countless times but this time, how can I when I can’t even properly move. Not fair.

What else is dim in my life? 

I am still not on speaking terms with my daughter. My son, I didn’t hear for quite some time now. I refuse to talk to my best friend of more than 30 years despite her pleas to see me. She sent me letters and cards, there were phone calls too but I don’t want to saddle her with my troubles. In fact, I don’t want to see people these days. I am still not ready to show them my current status. I’m too proud. I rather they think that I’m a bad person than take pity from anyone. I’m crazy that way.

The only light in my fast becoming dark cold world is D. He goes out to work in freezing temperature without complaining even though he doesn’t have enough sleep most nights because of massaging me for hours. He shops food after work, clean the house on weekends and provide me within his means everything I need and a lot more. He said yes to everything I decided to do no matter how strange it may sounds, put up with my irks and quirks and look at me lovingly even though I must be a picture of a nightmare. Thank God for little mercies. Only I don’t believe in God. Not anymore. Without D, my universe will not be dim but dark. Pitch dark and I have no means and strength to crawl out.

They say life throws challenges and every challenge comes with rainbows and lights to conquer it. But then again they also say: 

All shadows of clouds the sun cannot hide
like the moon cannot stop oceanic tide;
but a hidden star can still be smiling
at night’s black spell on darkness, beguiling…

I think it’s enough for now. Till next time?

A woman participates in a candlelight vigil in support of women safety in Mumbai


My ex-husband said that in order to be with me he had to continue tearing down walls and slaying dragons. Tasks that he thought once he conquered my world would be over and done with. Which reminds me of something my only brother once told me. That in order to be close to me one has to be upright and noble or otherwise one would never even glimpse a portion of my shadow. I am/was not aware that I’m doing these things they are accusing me of. For me, I’m just being me. Nothing more nothing less.

Yes, I have my requirements. Haven’t we all? 

Money status looks education background and upbringing matters but they are not important and not the way to impress me. 

True I would never consider having to do with someone who is attached married or taken but only because I don’t want to hurt the feelings of others.

I admit I will never never have a relationship let alone marry someone who is widowed divorced or separated. In my eyes, if two people terminated their union it means it takes two to tango, it will never be the fault of just one party, it means both of them did something terribly wrong. I didn’t escape one hell only to land in another. Carrying my own emotional baggage is heavy enough, I don’t want to be with someone who is equally if not more laden. No thank you. Only single needs apply.

Also true that I prefer non-drinker non-smoker than those who do. My ex- smokes, and drinks (he doesn’t have any limit in these areas and all fatal consequences don’t scare him away from his habits) in our twenty years of marriage, I didn’t kiss him with open mouth. Not even once. 

I rather be with someone who can carry a decent conversation and can follow me on any topic than anyone who looks like Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt (both I dislike) I believe in romancing the brain first before moving further anywhere else. I like someone who can teach and introduce me to new things and can lead and propel me to new horizons. I also insist that he could swim competitively or at least better than me. You never know when he might necessarily save me from drowning. With me, those situations are not far off.

I can list a lot of things more but these will do for now. They are my main requirements. Everything that falls outside these categories is negotiable. Except gambling. No gambling with money in my neighborhood. And tattoos. No tattoos either. Not even itchy bitsy teeny one. Piercing too. Lots of materials to write on and do your own art. I draw a line on using bodies as a substitute for canvas. 

I guess I will leave it here or otherwise we are in for a long read. See you next time?



Suspicious? I’m downright paranoid! Here is a very good example how dubious I am. And here and here. And that is only the tip of the iceberg. If people can read what’s going on inside my head… What my ex once said… I’m not fit to go outside. But he meant totally different from what I’m talking about. Remember, this is the guy who once told me that I was fat short and ugly (he’s right of course) that no one aside from him would want me and I could not survive out there on my own. Then when I already left him and he was trying to convince me to come back he told me I was beautiful. Which is which? Maybe he finds short fat and ugly women beautiful. But my replacement is tall, not fat but well-built and alarmingly looks like me according to his now dead aunt. I’m getting sidetracked again. This post is not about him but about one layer (let’s call it facet, sounds much nicer) of my character or is it personality… I think I will lie in a hot bath full of those essentials crystals that supposed to do wonders for my aching joints and muscles but I have yet to experience if the claim is really true. Perhaps I have to put a whole lot, a bottle lot in the water for it to work. Anyway TGIF and see you on Monday?



Meet Lizzy. She’s a survivor.

Once upon a time, there were a lot of them. There was Tommy, Abigail, Lucy, the gypsy triplets Scheherazade, Esmeralda, and Aurora, the English one Emily, Annie the country girl, Mollie the baby and a lot more but I have forgotten their names already.    

Out of the 27 pieces of antique porcelain dolls in my collection, she alone escaped the wrath of my ex-husband when during one of his drunken episodes he decided to murder all of them using a screwdriver. He stabbed them one by one right in the face. One doll I found his weapon of choice still buried deep in one eye. Luckily he passed out before he could damage my beloved Lizzy. The reason? He got none aside from his opinion that I loved the dolls more than him and spent more time in their company than in his.

It reminds me of the time he flushed my goldfish down the toilet and let out my parakeets in the middle of the winter, killed the giant pothos his late grandmother had given me, removing the leaves one by one until there was nothing left but the climbing pole for exactly the same reason: They took so much of my time he said. Well, it’s all water under the bridge now. 

Lizzy’s face neck and chest together with her arms and legs are made of porcelain and the only doll in my collection who has movable joints. I love her big innocent sorrowful chocolate brown eyes, baby limbs, and pouty lips, her traditional attire too. When I finally had the courage to walked out from the hell house, I took nothing but the clothes on my back and Lizzy. 

You can read the rest of our journey to freedom here.



I wonder if emptiness (of all sorts) is part of growing old. For some people, it is a simple matter of empty nest or retiring from a job or perhaps losing a partner. For others, it is more than that. Having worked near them, I happened to know that the favorite topic of elderly people is discussing who are not around anymore among their peers and family members. The conversation eventually leads and always ends up to the unavoidable examination and exploration of their own mortality and how much time they have left.

Another thing which fascinates me about older people is the interesting phenomenon of seemingly (or actually) falling (madly) in love in their last years of existence. I can tell you with conviction two events which I had observed from close by quite recently. One is about the grandmother of someone who is dear to me. She is well in her eighties already. A no-nonsense woman who doesn’t mince her words, stubborn and argumentative, she is the last person I thought would lose her head over someone who is not only young enough to be her youngest grandson but also sleek and in my eyes fake.

He was her nurse at the beginning but soon escalated to be the center of her universe. His visits were the only thing she was looking forward in her day to day life, so much so that she started cooking dinner for him, buying him gifts, phoning him dozen of times a day, tracking of his whereabouts and she associated his daily tasks of giving her baths with mutual attraction she even bought new sets of lingerie each week and never failed to tell to family members in details how he undressed and held her and how tender and careful he was, how tall, how handsome how kind, you get my drift. 

During family gatherings, she reserved a prominent seat next to her for his apple of the eye she even did it at the “coffee table” after her husband’s funeral to the chagrin of her own children and grandchildren who are by the way opposed and scandalized by her unusual behavior. As it happens, authorities found out that the nurse is guilty of malpractice (together with his mother- talking of apple not falling far from the tree- involving money from his patients) and was sentenced and convicted. Even before it happened and there were already talks of his professional misconducts, she defended his virtue and integrity with her life and she still does even he is proven guilty already. What a love (or obsession) can do.

Another case is my very own mother. When she was alive she fell in love with one of my boyfriends (a very fine example of a tall dark and handsome and a body to die for but for some unknown reasons didn’t work for me) and like the old lady above was thoroughly smitten with the boy in his twenties. She was in her seventies that time, energetic and more alive and more supple than I could ever hope to be. When we broke up my mother cried for two weeks straight and refused to leave her bed. She never cooks again after that and often neglected not only her own personal hygiene and appearance but also of her quarter. I was flabbergasted and still is whenever I think about it.

I wonder if this strange phenomenon is unique only to these two cases I know or happens to most if not everyone and what are the factors, the reasons behind these incidents. It is the void, the cavity, the emptiness of growing old and being alone realizing it is their last chance they are trying to fill or it simply happens? Are they trying to create a focal point in their otherwise bleak existence to brighten their darkening days and have reasons to wake and stand up every morning? A last effort to feel and experience what was to take to their deathbeds? I don’t know. But whatever it is, I hope it will not happen to me. But in this life, you never know… 



I’m always on time, contrary to what the world says about our sense of punctuality. We are so famous for our habit of tardiness (along with equally famous mañana habit also known as the love of procrastinating) that we’ve been given a term for it — Filipino Time. Americans coined the phrase in the 1900’s because they were annoyed by our lack of respect when it comes to honoring appointments by coming on time. Tardiness is widely practiced in our country in all walks of life and generally accepted as part of our culture. I, myself don’t understand it and cannot tolerate it from others but what is my wish compared to those of the majority.

Besides, I can’t say that patience is really one of my virtues. I even have trouble waiting for the bathtub to be filled with hot water I rather take a shower.

When it comes to appointments or even a simple family visit (their places or mine) I will have a difficulty sleeping the night before, thinking all sorts of scenarios, all about what could go wrong. Meetings stress me out to the max sometimes I really believe it would cause me a heart attack. Funny thing is, you can’t detect any of those inner turmoils the moment itself. I’m cool as a cucumber (and I’m not pretending) being an extroverted introvert – I know how confusing it is for people so to give you some idea what I’m talking about allow me to directly quote an article I’ve read on the net:  Everyone expects an introvert to be shy and reclusive. And we can be, but extroverted introverts also like to get out there and mix ‘n mingle. When we’re “on”, we are sociable and friendly. When we’re “off”, we hurry home to recharge in solitude. Even though we spend way more time introverting than following the crowd, people only see our outgoing side. They don’t realize that our social batteries are drained very quickly and so forth and so on – I manage social gatherings pretty well and can enjoy them up to a certain degree. Beyond that, lights off for me.

But like I said, detest it or not, I’m always on time. And if something happened in between that hinders me to be punctual, I see to it that I let those who are involved know that I will be late or will not show up at all plenty of time beforehand.

What about you? What are your views about punctuality?


Daily Prompt:Tardy 


It’s in in the business world today_ to be agile. Especially in IT. They have agile consultants functioning as coaches, managers, facilitators, and everything you can think of. I should know, I am married to one. Mind you I have yet to see his agile side and managing capacity at home. His facilitating techniques and coaching methods think it is still early days. He must be good. They will not pay him a lot of money if he isn’t, will they? Maybe it’s me. I can’t follow conform or be govern. Unless I see that the methods are working and the leader is worth following. So far, I’m still waiting for some signs. I wonder how much more time must I wait. My time and patience are running out… 




You will learn a lot by absorbing and observing.


It’s essential. It’s life.


It will come in handy sometimes.


It will help you to understand.

… art.



It will add value to your existence. Broaden your horizon and enhance your perspective. 


It will make your life a lot easier.

Life is a never-ending learning process. Don’t be stagnant.

(Sleep deprived thoughts of a paranoid insomniac- January 15, 2018, Monday Belgium)


Daily Prompt: Study



In all forms.

A guarantee to evoke my wrath. 

I’m a champion of the underdogs.

Though I am not always aware of it.

Others brought it to my attention.

They say injustice never failed to get a reaction from me.

Maybe they are right.

I can’t stand anything that has to do with abuse.

That and stupidity.

In all forms.

voodoo-spells3 (2)


In my country of birth, we have a folklore that goes like this:

One day God was feeling lonely he decided to create something in his own likeness so he set up a fire and started fashioning humans from clay. Satisfied with what he had made he proceeded to bake them in the fire. While cooking, some urgent matter called his attention back to heaven and he forgot all about them. When he finally remembered it was too late, his first batch of images was burned. He decided to keep them anyway and that’s how the black people were born.

Not giving up easily, God decided to try again. This time out of fear he removed his group of new sculptures from the fire a lot earlier than he supposed to do so he ended up with underdone figures that were barely colored. Again like the first group he keeps them. And that’s how Caucasian people came into being. 

A firm believer of the saying third time’s the charm, God decided to try once more. This time he stayed close to the fire eyeing his creations like a hawk, turning them around ever so often so it baked evenly on all sides. When he was satisfied with his work and thought he could not do more or better, he took them off from the fire. And there it was, a batch of perfectly baked golden brown likeness of him. And that’s how we, Asians came to exist. 

What do you think folks? Isn’t it a brilliant story? Take it with a grain (a bucketful if necessary) of salt. It’s only a folklore. I bet each country has their own version of it. 



Another year came and went. It is gone before I can get used to it. Life seems to be passing (me) by quickly and at the same time days seem to be getting longer. You got that when you’re alone. I guess.

Here we are standing on the threshold of another 365 days of blank pages waiting to be stamped on with our personal stories. Last night I thought: What could I do differently this year? Maybe I could venture out of my cave more often, be neighborly, do some courtesy visits to my guests, especially those who take time to pass by my space. Learn to market myself better, be more active in social media, join groups, participate in prompts, be a part of (blogging) communities, in short: be everything I’m not. 

I will definitely try to be more mobile and occupied, resume my interest in being out in nature instead of gallivanting around cities (being alone most of the time I thought it would be a change if I could be around people I have nothing to do with) buy less of those things I don’t need, concentrate more on experience instead of material possessions, be more adventurous and daring like I was before. 

Yesterday while on the road (to buy another succulent for my growing collection acquired out of nothing better to do in these cold, dark months and I thought I can’t garden outside why not do it inside) I decided to record my dreams and all those doomed scenarios that are always playing in my head 24/7. I read somewhere that the best way to forget things is to put them on paper. Perhaps if I write about them, maybe they will disappear and lessen the bursting pressure in my head.

Maybe I will make peace with my daughter. In second thought, better not. She crossed the line. There is no way back. Besides, she made it clear countless times (which I chose not to hear in the past among so many other things I ignored when it comes to her) that she doesn’t want me to be part of her (every day she said) life. Now, her wish is granted. 

I vowed to enjoy life this year. Try not to worry too much, take things as they come and chase every silver lining out there. In short: Carpe Diem.

To be continued… 

I’m hungry.


Daily Prompt: Conversation