1. There are some things I wish I have known sooner. I’m already 21 but there are situations when I naturally act like a 16 year old who just got out of high school. Gross? Don’t worry, it makes me gag even.

2. 21 marks the coming of age here in New Zealand. I loudly celebrated mine three years ago with my family, friends, and admittedly, some of the people who I met for the first time. Never knew that three years after my 18th, I would be celebrating another coming-of-age bash here last December with some folks from a bible study I attended until almost three months ago. It was pretty intimate. And it warmed my cockles.

3. It’s a little bit funny: I spent the first 20 years of my life being sheltered from some bad jujus my mom did not want me to experience. Only to find out that once I turned 21, every little thing that brought me closer to real pain and suffering would bombard the naive me. I know, it’s just some of the emoshitty musings that have been living inside my head all this time. But I’m still lucky. I mean, many people have always have it worse than me and they’re still happy, alive, and kicking.

4. Which goes to show that I have to stop whining and maybe start keeping my mouth shut.

5. Or maybe it’s that moment when hormones start acting up like they’re the HBIC this month.


Lessons on Life (LOL) 1

1. I don’t care. LOL sounds better than LIL (Lessons in Life, that is). It gives justice to what life really is. If someone plays tricks on you, you tend to laugh, right? It makes you LOL, right? Or I am just plain messed up sometimes (or most of the time truthfully), right? I hate to admit it but life has a funny way of putting things in perspective. LOL.

2. Calling a 21-year old woman a girl is the most offensive way to call a woman. God, someone’s trying to be mature here yet people see that woman as a girl still. Frustrating, yes. Insulting, yes. Calling her a baby doesn’t even help either.

3. Oh, by the way, there’s no point in using third person anyway. That girl in number 2 is me. Can’t hide myself behind a person in third… person after all.

4. But yeah, how can you be mature if you don’t act your age? My messed up tendencies start to act up again. 

5. How to be vulnerable? If someone knows the answer, kindly enter your comments below. I’ll gladly appreciate it. Free of charge yan. Promise.


Lessons in List

1. I suck at keeping relationships. I’m too lazy to keep my communication lines open. Now that I think of it, maybe I’m still living in my own bubble where it’s just me, myself, and I trying to enjoy life from day to day. Sounds sad and oh-so emo (pwedeng pang Red Horse nights ang peg) but true. 

2. I’ve always got to try. Try a different sport. Go back to drawing. Write some more. Love a tad bit more. Move my ass somewhere outside my comfort zone. I’ve got some to lose and more to gain (hopefully) anyway. Oh well, I can’t have all the things I want in life anyway. That, and I still have a life to live anyway. 

3. I have to tuck my ego somewhere in the depths of the ocean. It doesn’t hurt listening to others, wherever, whenever.

4. Everything will be okay. There’s no problem if there’s a problem, as what I’ve seen somewhere in one of the Asian dramas I’ve watched recently. 

5. I guess I should watch more movies and series and try to filter what’s “Oh wow, that’s so true. I’m gonna take note of that. I guess this series is not trashy after all” from “Does that even happen in real life…” stuff. 

To Golden Girl


Hello, I colored my hair yesterday. I’m now supposed to wear my shoulder-length hair with a shade of brown. But after checking myself in the mirror, I’m not so sure anymore if I got the right color.

I could have been at home with you, hearing you say something like “Anak, I’ve told you many times that coloring your hair might prematurely give you strands of gray hair,” or “Anak, black already looks good on you. You don’t listen to me anymore,” in your authentic, somewhat archaic  Southern Tagalog tone and verbosity. Then probably, you’ll tell Papa to help me dye my hair afterwards.

You’ve always known my hair problems from the roots. You try to patiently pull them out, strand by strand, hoping that I’d come to my senses eventually. Case in point: that pixie haircut I suddenly got after thesis continued sending me to hell and back. You made me vow NOT to get that haircut again next time. The conversation ended with your exasperated sigh, resigning to the fact that my hair would grow long again anyway.

You’re always like that, with my problems about life, school, friends, family, love, and everything else in between. I stumble here and there. But you’re standing on the background, patiently telling me where I could have gone wrong, even if sometimes, it falls on deaf ears. It’s a bit funny how you’ve known me to the core. And it’s even funnier when I realize I don’t have to tell you anything just to sense if I’m having a hard time fighting my personal battles – you’ve already laid out a plan on how I could slay the villains myself. But you trust me enough to let me plot my own strategy or the lack thereof.

It’s my first time living a continent away from you. I’m wandering in a place where it’s now spring time, flowers are abloom, and the number of sheep and cows is still enough to fill a city. A part of me convinces myself that I’m here to grow up and start being on my own. A part of me still finds it amusing how strong you are to let me go and leave me to my own devices. I still don’t know how it feels to let go of her daughter and send her off far away, beyond her reach.

But for the life of me, I don’t think I can put into words how you really felt. There’s a tinge of longing, a sting of uncertainty, and heaps of worry.  I’ll boldly say this but I think I’m starting to understand how paranoid you feel whenever I’m out of your sight. I wanted to be independent, yes. But hearing you say, “OK lang iyan Anak, ‘wag kang ma-de-depress” over the phone makes me want to go home and hear those words from you in the flesh.

You’ve been incessantly telling me to just go back home since you left me here in Auckland more than a month ago. You still do, right at this moment yet you’re still egging me on to do better, be stronger, and just keep pushing my luck.

For that, I don’t feel like I’m alone… save for your birthday this year.

I’ve always seen how happy you are singing the karaoke and catching up with your family, friends, and loved ones every time we celebrate your birthday. With how things are starting to work between us now, I know I should be contented celebrating your day from the corners of my flat. But true enough, it still falls flat. I wasn’t there to see how you started your day as a 50-year old family woman, who has gone through a lot, who had a lot to give, yet she gives some more to her passions, and a lot more of her to her family.

I know I’m trying to convince the world that I’m now all grown-up who finds numbers sentimental. Maybe I got it from you; I’ve always looked forward to seeing you blow 50 candles (le gasp) on your birthday this year. It’s a beginning of another decade of something new, fresh, and sassy for you, yet I’m not there to see how you’re going to take things in stride. But I know you can do it. Ikaw pa? 🙂  What’s in a number, really? I’ll be able to personally see you blow 72, 83, 95 or more candles anyway.

Happy 50th, Mama!


Your fun-size, wide-eyed baby.

Nothing fancy

You know who you are.

Don’t give me that guilty, I’m-trying-to-look-innocent-and-pacute smile you always do when a) you’re late, b) you don’t show up, or c) you’re trying to sneakily steal some food while your target/victim is looking in the other direction.

I know your tricks, and you can’t fool me any more. I know now that to leave my food unguarded and unprotected for even a split second is tempting fate. I know that when you pretend to be interested and ask me questions, your hand is casually reaching across the table and grabbing whatever can be eaten. And I know that within a matter of minutes, you’d have already eaten and drank your breakfast/lunch/dinner from whatever plate is nearby, regardless of who owns it.

I learned this the hard way when you stole Wicked Oreos from Jee and me, to which my first reaction was: HDU MY…

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