Thank you, 31!

I just turned 32.

I realized 31 had been an eventful year for me. I laughed, I cried (a lot),ran, travelled, skimped, splurged, made new friends, made enemies, made money, and spent it. I guess I survived 31.

I have a lot to be grateful for. Big things, small things, they're all the same. I lived on God's gift and blessings and I want to say thank you.

Thank God I am alive.

Thank God I am 32.

Thank God for my Mom and my brother, the two strongholds in my life. I guess it's true what they say, a mother's love is unconditional. This amazing woman has loved us through our best and our worst.

My brother, my brother who makes us weep with pride. The exact opposite of me. With all his achievements, his ideals, his respect and passion for the law, his love for the women in his life, I thank God for him.

I am not a big fan of my father. I don't talk to him. But for what it's worth, thank you for giving me life. You are part of the reason why I am what I am today. I am far from being perfect, but I think I'm awesome! :)

My family, my great supporters. We have had our differences, but I know in my heart of hearts, they love me.

My friends.

My bestfriend through the years. My protector, my shield, my friend, my nemesis, my shrink. Thank you, for just being there.

My Casa 401 girls. You keep me sane everyday, and when I'm not, you let me be. I know you know I am bipolar. But you seem to take a great hold on me. Thank you Casa, you work wonders. You are my chicken soup to my very disturbed soul, you are my Prozac, my tranquilizer, my drug.

My law-school and college and high-school friends. Evidently, I am not only bipolar, I am also neurotic. Not clinically, just self and friend-diagnosed. You keep reminding me of that fact about myself whenever you get the chance. Thank you, at least I know I am accepted that way because you still talk to me.

It's been an eventful year. Wanderlust was a great influence in my life. It didn't matter whether I had money or none at all. I had been the good escapist with the itch for travelling. Hakuna matata! Thank you seat sales, you rock!

I've always wanted to be a sexy star., you know, like some scantily-clad starlet gyrating her teeny-tiny hips and washboard-abs on some noon-time TV show while young and old men swoon, pant and drool and gets a hard-on. Haha! I'm kidding! I've wanted to lose weight so this year I tried running. Bless the Ayala Triangle Garden where my running career started. I found my other great love. I loved every minute of running. Drenched in sweat and stinky as hell, it doesn't matter, all I know is that I am happy when I run.

Oh and since I am ambitious, I've also joined some fun races and fun run. Of course I didn't place, my legs aren't Navalta's, they're just mine.

Sure enough I lost some weight. But no, I still can't qualify for those noon-time or gag shows. My age does not permit me to do so. Haha! But I'm telling you I can dance, and I'm hot when I dance. Chubby or not. Capisce? :p

My job. I don't really wanna talk about my job except Thank God I have one. And I've met some friends through my work. Ne-va-da babies, you are dear to me.

This year I had also been a Facebook junkie. I found new friends. Oh oh and here's the big part! I also got unfriended because I TALK too much! Well pardon me if I speak my mind, I just have a hard time shutting my trap when I want to make a point regardless of whether I am right or wrong.

I also missed acting. I was once good on the stage wayback in school. I wasn't only good, I was once great.I don't know if I'm still good at it now. It's my fault, I never really pursued it. It was all about the money. I know I will regret it for the rest of my life. But I will always love the theater.

I also discovered two things about me. I'm a flirt when I want to, and I'm very jealous and territorial in all things. And I don't like it about myself.

I also made some enemies. You just can't please them all.

I had an interest in photography, but photography and my bank account had no interest in me. Pffft!

I had also been smitten for a while, and then it was gone too soon before I could even blink an eye.

But it's alright, I had lessons learned.

1. know the difference between being friendly and being flirty.

2. If you don't, don't be afraid to ask. Study.

3.know when lip-service is being given. don't swoon over it.

4.it's true that things may not turn out well for your bruised ego, but it's ok. Put on a quick smile for the camera. One, two, three, say SHIIIT! :) no I meant Cheese.

5.Forget about it and now at least you know. And then pray that you never lose faith in man, woman, love...especially MEN.

I still want my tattoo. But I'm afraid! ;p

To my friends who will be reading this, there you go, you say ah-ha! You know me, what I can't say out loud, I write about. You may or may not agree with the way I put things but that's ok, we don't always have to agree with each other. Thing is, I know you love me. :)

So there, that about sums up my 31.

Help me, stay with me, laugh with me,laugh at me, cry with me, cry over me,fight me, fight for me, hold my hand, hug me, drink with me,drive me crazy, drive me wild, run with me,run beside me, pray with me, talk to me, care for me, love me as much as I love you, at 32.

Happy Birthday Sisa Girl, Betty Boop, Gege! Long live the Bitch! :P

BOOB-Tube Boo-Boo'es

I went shopping yesterday. For someone who is not a big fan of shopping (except when it involves shopping for food!),I had quite a nice time buying some stuff for running. I needed some dri-fit running shorts, socks, and a sports-bra, you know the bra that would work wonders and support my very, verrrreeee flat boyish chest.

So why do I need to talk about my non-existent chest? Well for one, it's just breasts. Two, I'm shameless. And three, yeah, I'm just really shameless.

So I picked one, medium-sized, but this sales-clerk looked me over, wise-ass and all, and bluntly said "No Ma'am, small ka." Not because I was small or of petite frame, but because them babies are just really, well, small. Maybe, extra-small would even do? Haha!

I took no offense for it. I am not under the illusion that my babies would ever be a Nicole or even a Pamela. They're just well, mine. :)

You see, not that I like wearing low-cut dresses or tops. But if it's there then I'm ok with it. I don't ever have to feel self-conscious, my bra can do the peep-show for all I care! Because no matter how hard you stare at it, my cup size won't ever grow big overnight. No matter how long you ogle, a cleavage won't ever pop-out to tease your dirty imagination.

They're just breasts. No big deal. Well, yes, some starlets would probably drop their skirts for anyone who would sponsor their boob-job, transvestites would blow big bucks to get them done or through the pill, and I think that's great. They're happy that way, plus the fact that their men are happy that way-you know, filling them up, I think.

And then there's the entertainment industry which sells beauty and vanity to the highest level. People, especially men, may snicker, jeer, guffaw or ogle, but what the hell, what do we care? It's their boobs,and it may be spectacular! So I say, you go girl!

What about those women who are stricken with breast cancer? I know of some friends and family members who were stricken by it. It had to be removed to prevent the cancer cells from metastasizing. I feel for them, and I admire their courage.Losing a breast to cancer will not make you any less of a woman.

What about women with small breasts, like me? Oh well, Like I said, there's not much to see down there. Accept it. If you can't, get a breast implant. If you can't afford a breast implant, drop dead. If you're too scared to get it done, shut up.

But as for me, I'm gonna have to live with my breasts and my small-sized bra. Oh and in case you were wondering, no I didn't buy the sports-bra. Ha.Ha.Ha. :)

SPEECH...POWER!!!

I love my friends. I know their faults, but still I love them. But there are limits to loving a friend. There are certain rules, both written and unwritten, where you set boundaries. There are certain ideals where you don't meet eye to eye. You may fight about it, but then you make up afterwards.

A few days ago, in one of those social networks, I stumbled upon a video posted by a friend on her wall. It contained a video of a harelip cleft palate child who was singing. Of course, his speech can not be understood. The person responsible for uploading the video wrote a disclaimer. It said that the video was not meant to harm or mock the child, but merely to showcase his "talent." Bull.Shit. I am known to be feisty and emotional among my friends. I do not deny this. When I saw that video, i was outraged. How dare that person. Shame on him. I don't know why my friend posted this on her wall. I can't read minds. But it was insensitive, tasteless and tacky.

I feel every child who has gone through or is going through the pain of being ridiculed in public because of their speech defect. I was that child too. I remember, way back in gradeschool, I used to go home to the arms of my Lola crying and weeping my 10-year old lungs because my schoolmates and my neighbors tease me "ngo-ngo" and mimic the way i talk. During parties, I get treated like dirt, I get the ugliest gift best suited for the ugly girl. I don't get to join the chorale, because, of course, who would understand "ing-el Ells?" Everything changed when my Mom enrolled me in Speech Power. I was that mousy, shy, scared little girl who had no self-confidence when I got in the program. Two months after, I came out a different person. I was still shy and scared and mousy, but my speech improved a lot. From then on, I spoke to my heart's content, 1000 words in a minute, 5,000,000 words per mile. Haha! :)

So there, I feel you, babies.

And in my own way, I will champion your cause, our cause. I won't stay quiet when we get ridiculed. It doesn't matter if I lose a friend for it, because, maybe she was never a friend in the first place. I will fight them, come hell or high.

Smitten: A War

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity."

-- Gilda Radner

The thing with me is that I am totally dense when it comes to relationships and men.Yes, I did go to school with boys, rode in cars with men, drank and cursed with them but I am still at a total loss when it comes to their kind. So yes, I don't know when to take them seriously, and when to say it's all a game.

I didn't know that they can make you feel like the sun shines and sets on your ass one minute, and they can make you feel like an aging junkie the next. Yes, without a warning. I didn't know that they can pay you lip-service like a hustler one time, and then drop you like a hot potato the next. Yes, without a warning. And just when you think you are beginning to fall into that trap, bam, they're gone in 60. Yes, still without a warning.

Or maybe it was all my fault. I had this picture in my head of a lovestory that was more meant for the big screen than in real life. That i had these illusions that maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance. I don't even know how it started or why, but "our" story ended so bad...it ended when it has not even started.

Fine, my bad. My fault. I should have known the written and unwritten rules. Rule number 1: Never take a player seriously lest you want a broken heart.

But do let me be juvenile for awhile. I've been itching to say and throw spiteful words lately I just might die if I don't get to say it. I think a man would really prefer to be with someone with a pretty face and a warm hot body than be with a smart mouth and a witty brain. I mean, really, if I were a man I would do to. There'd be a soft cushion to lay my head on, rather than an overthinking brain, right? Who wants to go to bed with a brain and have clinical sex with it? Certainly, not even I would. If i were a man, I would want to go to bed with endless smooth legs. But come to think of it,sooner or later, one way or another, you're gonna have to have an intelligent conversation or at the very least a decent conversation with a woman. You know, a conversation that wouldn't have to include a "wahahaha", "jejeje" or a "toinkz" in between every sad pathetic sentence.
It is kinda sad to lose over someone who you think is beneath you. Ok fine, I am being an intellectual and social snob. That's because I am. Plus the fact that I am hurt. Fine, there, I said it. I am. I have a bruised and crushed ego that wouldn't accept the fact that I've been fooled. And here I am, vulnerable as a lamb, claiming to be smart, when I, clearly am not. FUCK. ME.SHIT.

Next time, oh no, there will be no next time I hope. I hope I'd be smarter than my age. You know, one who wouldn't swoon over a sweet word and a sweet smile. Lesson learned.

Sabi nga ni Bob Ong:
"Hindi porke't madalas mong ka-chat, kausap sa telepono, kasama sa mga lakad o ka-text ng wantusawa eh may gusto sayo at magkakatuluyan kayo. Meron lang talagang mga taong sadyang friendly, sweet, flirt, malandi, pa-fall o paasa."

Yes...my bad.

Maria Goes to the Market

12-18 Wish List:



1. go to Baguio and have the most delicious breakfast at Cafe by the Ruins

2. one more Coach bag (yes, I'm a Coach whore)

3. Dslr

4. a new phone would be nice

5. run 10k, baby!

6. go back to Sagada. will do spelunking all over again, pottery and try Bob Marley *wink

7. try surfing in La Union (though i'm a scaredy cat i can't swim i'll just summon enough chutzpah)

8. run 21k would that be too much to ask for?

9. Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel

10. get soaked under the rain and then an iced-cold beer after

11. dance till the break of dawn in some bar where nobody knows me, till the sun is out and the bartender asks me to leave!

12. a hot steaming cup of brewed coffee at 6 AM 12-18

13. hear mass at the Quiapo church

14. new pair of running shoes...oh oh and sportsbraaaaaaa! :)

15. take my first photoshoot in my dreamland... Quiapo.(filth and snatchers be damned!)

16. Saisaki eat all you can (see, i'm very low-maintenance!)

17. a white baby t-shirt that says Bitch on the front and says "Goddess" at the back

18. you, whoever you are. :)



wishful thinking lang naman e... :)

UR SINGLE?! WHY?!

I'm glad some people understand what it's like to be single in a crowded room filled with couples, married or otherwise in a relationship, meaningful or not. It's not easy being under scrutiny like you're some bull frog under the microscope. On and on it goes, yes I'm single.I wish i could tell you it's rather complicated, but I hate to break it to you, it's just not. It's single period. So please leave me alone...

So yes, I'll just as well lay it all down to you. We're everywhere. The lonely cashier behind the register, the buxom girl-next-door, the policewoman giving you a bust, the nun, the smart starry-eyed fool in the elevator, the actress, the whore, the cigarette vendor, the career-oriented woman, and the list goes on and on...

It does gets lonely too, but some are just not willing to settle down while some won't settle for anything less.Sometimes it does hurt when you wonder on your own, could there be anyone out there who'd want to hold your hand, give you a squeeze, throw you butterfly kisses, and take all the pain away. Oh believe me, the pain can blind you. But sometimes it's a conscious choice. For what it's worth, they deserve my respect. Different strokes for different folks...

So yes, we're single, not lepers. Don't try to help by fixing us up with so and so. Don't give us empty promises that prince charming will come and claim us in his white horse. Don't patronize. Don't call us names. Just try to be decent, try being our friend. We're fun!Well, at least we are, when we're not bitching around.:)

And this I pray, I hope single won't be such a lonely word, not in my world.:)

SINGLE,30,BROWN,FEMALE

The best gift I received on my 30th birthday was a sound advice from my cousin, Mark. He said this with all the force he can muster,”when do you plan to have fun and take risks in your life? When you’re 70 and too old,wrinkled,dried-up and myopic?” Ah yes,when?

Classic example of a day in my life. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a sleeveless blouse,or a tanktop,lest a tube,or a short skimpy skirt. The horror of it! Imagine it, a boxer’s arms trapped in mine,the chest of Oliver Twist,and the thighs of a Hulk!Horrible!(sends shivers down my spine to the tune of Queen!)

Another. I am the classic case of the budding spinster. Spinsterhood,ergo,doomsday! I would rather sit my ass on a chair, read a good book and lose myself in translation. There I am, off to tra-la-la land!God knows how many times I have ditched and stood up my friends because I was too lazy and negative about going out. I would say yes,and would say no in a new york minute. What does Katie Perry have to say with this? Well,you’re hot then you’re cold,you’re yes and you’re no,you’re in and you’re out…

And another. Travel. Lord knows how i’d love to see the rest of humanity and the world. But the bleached whale inside of me is overpowering the temptation of leisure.
But wait,let me explain.

Let’s put it this way…

The mirror has two faces. One was a familiar face, the other a stranger I don’t know. One was self-assured, the other with low self-esteem.

What Mark said was true. So I looked at myself ,bare of everything essential to me , no dressing gown to wrap the body that I didn’t want, no books to hide from the world- and what I saw I didn’t like. I saw me. I saw a 30 year old “girl”, nearing the twilight of her life-lonely, and well, just lonely.

I have so many reasons why I won’t and can’t do the things that are just,well,ordinary. For starters, I’m just too busy, too lazy, too old, too stingy, too poor. What I forgot was that there are simple joys in life.

So, I have decided, and I want to, just to be kinder to myself. I will only be 30 once and I’d like to make the most out of it. This year, I will try to love my arms like Pacman does with his. I will not be defined by the circumference of my thighs. And for what it’s worth,what I lacked in cupsize I made up with my wit and charm!Haha! And if I have to wear a short skirt, I will. For after all, a friend once said that a short skirt is not an invitation,rather it is a woman’s liberation. I will not be demeaned by nasty criticisms and unsolicited advice, people be damned!

And I will go out and loosen up a bit. I do not want to start when I am old and be called a 50 year old party girl. That is a D for desperation, and T for tacky. In fact it feels just great to be my old self again. The one who thrived in attention, who was funny with a one-liner,the one who sings the blues away , and dances like crazy, the one who knows a good book but wouldn’t trade time with family and friends over a paperback.

Wow. I haven’t realized. Somewhere along the way, I lost that side of me. Somewhere in between the madness of lawschool and earning a living, I lost that girl in me. Oh well, must not regret…

You may disagree, or totally disagree with me. That’s fine. But this is my monologue, my share of vagina monologue, and this is how I feel. I know what I am, I have no illusions of what I am not, I respect my limitations and responsibilities. But I also know that I have a life.

I’ve said it before. I will only be 30 once. I will only be single and fabulous once, well, hopefully not always!:-) Tame me when I am 70, but not just yet. My life is beautiful, 30 is beautiful. Yes, 30,not dead!

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF A CHILD/BITCH

I could hardly see the man’s face hovering above the woman. But that face- with the curly black hair, lips parted and eyes wide shut were all too familiar. The woman’s face was beautiful, sexy eyes , any man could drown himself in it.

The two bodies were intertwined. They were dancing in total abandonment- no shame,no inhibitions, just unadulterated passion.

And then, I woke up. My mouth felt dry, and there were beads of sweat on my forehead. I cried, I cried hard, I almost wept.

The man was my father,the woman his mistress.
And believe it or not, I was 11 years old.
You might wonder, what kind of child dreams of such graphic, detailed,obscene,and vulgar dream? Well, I was that kind of child.

This child saw everything. This child was brought by her own father to his love nest where he kept his mistress and his children. This child was introduced to them, they were introduced as her aunt and cousins. This child spent a few weeks with the royal family, ate their food, slept in their rooms, looked them in the eye and swallowed all their rotten lies. This child saw her own father take care of his girls, while this child craved for love and attention, and then some. This child was taught to never tell, and this child fell for those lies hook,line and sinker. This child witnessed her father’s betrayal, and it almost broke her apart.

What business does an 11-year old have to have those dreams? I don’t know. All I know is that I have died a thousand deaths everytime the dream comes.
The night I saw it all was the night love died inside of me. The night I saw it all was the night I became an angry little girl. I didn’t know such anger could exist…
And then I grew up. Or did I? I must admit, there came a point in my life when I hated men. To me they were all alike,suckers who will bleed women high and dry and toss them aside like ragdolls when they are done.

Lo’ and behold, I was such a loser. the greatest betrayal came thundering in without a warning. It took me by surprise, hitting me right between the eyes it nearly knocked the breath out of me. I betrayed myself. Sold myself to the devil for a price called love. I fell inlove. That crazy giddy feeling that gets you when you least expect it. I hated myself, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how hard I fought the feeling,the more I fell. Reality bites, I was not made of ice after all.
But the thing about unrequited love is that it sucks-big time! That man wanted the Girl from Ipanema,and well, I was just a girl from a sleepy old city called Tuguegarao. How could I compare with that? There was just no way in hell he’d feel the same way. So I stopped, put my chin up, walked with my usual swagger and was the angry girl all over again. On and on it went-”men are dogs…blahblahblahyadayadayada!”

The truth is I am scared. I don’t hate my father anymore. Hate is such a strong word. I am more indifferent now, I just can’t feel anything for him anymore. Does that make me a bad daughter? Yes, but it also makes him a bad father.We’re even. But the scary part is that no matter how much I distance myself from him, or the memories of him, the truth keeps on hitting me in the face. I keep on falling for the wrong kind of men-HIS kind-scoundrels and womanizers.
Come to think of it, my father has the last laugh after all. Maybe, it is fate’s way of saying , “screw you and your sanctimonious ass, because no matter how much you deny it, you are still your father’s daughter.”

I have gotten over that man. I helped myself. Maybe there is someone I’d like to get to know more,the fool that I am. But I am teaching myself to be cautious. I just can’t take another blow anymore.

So this is me. Maybe this sad truth made me the way that I am today. I’d like to pass the blame on my father, for making me like this. But I refuse to do so, he has no hold on me anymore…
But please,indulge me. Just one question. Tell me, daddy, am I broken?

SUGAR RUSH

I woke up today with a heavy heart. My head felt like the Twin Towers just exploded in it. My feet hurt. I’m just too heavy my own feet can’t seem to carry all that weight. (Nag,nag,nag yourself!!!)

I took the shuttle going to the office. I was still grumpy. Well, I’m always grumpy in the morning. Not till I have my daily dose of vitamins- brewed coffee!!! Ah, the simple joys in life.
I had pancakes and coffee at Mcdonald’s. I sat there, quiet and pensive. Then they started playing an old funky Christmas song. “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock!!!” It was like a burst of sunshine in my gray gray gloomy day. There I sat in Mcdonald’s Ayala Avenue, with a big smile on my face, my spirits buoyed up,singing along- I wanted to sing at the top of my lungs, tapping my foot- I was dying to dance and rock and roll! Hahaha! It was 7:00 in the morning, and I was thinking , I could be Mariahfreakin’Carey or Rifreakin’Hanna!(sigh) The God’s must be really crazy!

This is a good good morning! I feel good about myself, I feel good about the people around me. This morning there will be no sadness, no worries, no fretting, no tantrums,no whining. I will smile like a retard,laugh at corny jokes, ignore the annoying people. And yes, I will not think of him so it wont hurt…I owe it to myself to just be happy, silly retard happy!!!
To anyone who may stumble upon this blog, try to be happy today. Happiness is contagious. Put a grin on your face, think of ice-cold beer, a bar of your favorite chocolate, a slice of oreo cheesecake, or the lingerie your wife will be wearing tonight, or your 13th month pay, the toothy grin of your baby, or a simple text message from a loved one that says “i love you”. Think of happy thoughts. Think of hope. Think of a better tomorrow.

There….are you happy now? I am!

RUNAWAY

I am bored. Bored beyond relief it is making me think of things I shouldn’t even be thinking. Thinking of these things makes me worry like a mother hen. Worrying makes me feel and look old. In fact, I think I am the oldest 29 year old on the planet.

I have a job, thank God for that. To some people, my job may be mediocre and unimportant. But to me my job means security-it puts food on the table and the clothes on my back. It means saving my sanity from a life that is too boring and uneventful.

But I have to be honest. I want some more. This is not what I want from life. I want and want and want, sometimes there is a gnawing feeling inside of me it almost burns. So many things I want to do,so many things I want to see and experience. I feel trapped. It makes me wonder, am I just another whore in a business suit with two degrees under my belt? Am I willing to sell my dreams and ambitions for something that is uncertain? But if I go after my dreams, quit my job, live on my terms, who’s going to pay my rent, the bills, and other obligations? Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that I am a big help to my family. I love the fact that I have regained my self-esteem with this job. I was just wondering…

The clock is ticking. I don’t have much time.

But I am praying, tomorrow will be mine. I may be too old, too fat, too jaded, but I’m still hoping tomorrow will be mine, all mine. Dreams, they don’t die first. It’s the spirit that does. And I, most certainly,am not dead.

UNLOAD THE ANGST

It happened at the women’s comfort room. There I was putting on lipstick, giggling like a schoolgirl with my girlfriends. And there she was, combing her short hair having small talk with us. We were all in a playful mood- whispering the latest gossip, talking about the latest movie, money and men. In that order, I believe.

Then we hit paydirt. Of course we talked about relationships. Who was dating who, who was doing who. It was fun listening to them talk about the men in their lives. But it was no fun at all when the joke turned on me when they teased me for not having a boyfriend for the past 29 years of my so-called existence. Oh yes sirrreeee, I belong to that club.
Wait! This is the fun part!

Maybe I was a nitwit, maybe I was stupid. Ugh, I’m not really sure?! But I didn’t know that asking someone why she’s never had a boyfriend could turn into the War of the Roses. I meant no offense, nor malice when i asked her that, because I, for one, was similarly situated. Ha!ha! It went on like this…
gege: bakit di ka pa nagkakaboyfriend?
girl:ay ewan ko, basta ako by choice, ewan ko sayo!!!
This was said with a lot of sarcasm and maybe, jest. Well, excuse me for asking, but there was no need for sarcasm and claws, your bitchiness!
So you think a catfight followed? No, not my style. I just stood there, my face burning and a smile plastered on my face. I was humiliated. Those cruel words were like a knife cutting my heart to pieces. I said nothing, but I wanted to scream and hurt her the way she did me.
It felt awful. I felt so unlovable, undesirable and insecure. It was like saying shame on you, you’re single and it wasn’t even your choice, you poor unfortunate soul! She made me feel like I was crap, pus and a fungus. So maybe I was being a drama queen. Tell you what, I am, and I don’t care.

It hit me, was what she was saying true? That the reason why i never had a relationship is not because it was my choice, rather, it is by chance? Big Question, WHAT AM I, A WALLFLOWER?!
Few months passed by, I was still that wallflower- single, fabulous with my hymen intact.:)
Gossip is free. I heard she had a boyfriend.
Gossip has wings. Her man-trouble, did not fall upon deaf ears.
There she was, her high and mightiness, spilling her guts out. Her choice? Turned out to be not such a good one for her. Heartbreaker, one wouldn’t wonder what else was broken.
I am not here to judge anyone. What people do behind closed-doors isn’t any of my business. But I won’t be a hypocrite, maybe I am capable of that too. Maybe, maybe not.
I am not happy over the tears she cried for that man. She did not deserve to be treated that way. Every girl deserves better than to be treated so shabbily by a man she adores, respects and loves. But a part of me felt vindicated. She made me realize that single-blessedness or virginity, although the two concepts are non-sequitur, weren’t such a lonely word.:)
I thank God for that moment when I kept my composure, lest a confrontation would have ensued. I thank God for giving me that choice and that chance to just wait up, he will come along…

Oh, cut the crap! Who am I kidding?! I’m still angry that’s why I am writing this down. So what’s my point? Well, the point is, payback is a bitch. And a parting shot, F@*# you too, sweetie!!!

A NOSE JOB

There is that pretty little pert nose that is adorable, there is that long straight aristocratic nose that looks down on you. There is that big round nose that smells every scent a hundred miles away. There is that thin pointed nose that is proud of the face that belongs to it. There is a good nose, there is a bad nose. There is a poor nose, there is a rich nose.
What’s with the face anyway? Or should i say, what’s with the nose anyway?
I’ll tell you. I was born with a condition that is called a hare-lip cleft palate. In Tagalog, “bingot”, in the streets “ngo-ngo”. It sure ain’t a pretty sight. And to add insult to injury, speech is impaired. I had a twang. Not your old American twang, mine was a nasal-twang.Hah! Lucky me!!!

Growing up with such a facial deformity was not a breeze. I lived with the taunts, the odd-stares, the pitiful glares and the nasty humor that goes with it. Was I ashamed? Yes. But I was also furious-of the fates, of the pity and of the insensitivity. Nobody had the right. I thought to myself, I am a goddess in my own right.

I was in college when I first had my nose done. Rhinoplasty. There was this wax-like material placed in my nose. After the surgery, I looked nice. Not Julia Roberts nice, just ordinary nice. Then by some tragedy, luck wasn’t on my side. Less than a year with my new nose, I had an infection. My surgeon had to remove the implant. I was crushed. Bye, bye lover!
Two years passed, I was already in lawschool. My mom, who would move heaven and earth for me wanted me to get a nose job again. I was scared, but I was hopeful too. So I got one.
My new nose and I were perfect for each other. We were inlove. It was long and straight and expensive. Then like a love story gone bad, history repeated itself. I had an infection again. My surgeon explained that the tissues and the implant weren’t compatible. There were just too many wounds inside due to my countless surgeries since the day I was born, the tissues were not responding well to the implant.Or something like that. Then he dropped the bomb. My nose and I had to break up. The implant had to be removed. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying! We had not even celebrated our 1 year anniversary, and now he wants us to split up? I had one of the best surgeons in the country, and he couldn’t save me and my nose! Just like in break-ups, I was in denial. Crash and burn.

I was no stranger to surgeries. I flirted with my surgeon in the operating room a few days after I was born. I dated my anaesthesiologist when I was still a babe in the woods, held hands with my nurses while they fed me through a tube. So who was afraid of needles? Certainly, not I! But during the procedure for the implant removal, I was sweating like hell, I almost peed my pants. Cold hands, cold feet and a broken heart. I felt no pain, but I was dying inside. Not for the nose that I love, but for the dreams that went along with it. The dream of a normal life where I wouldn’t be stared at or ridiculed. Call it vanity, but I just wanted to be and feel like any other girl But I was and am not any other girl. I am different, always have, always will…
I am 29 now, going on 60. There are days when I couldn’t fathom why we weren’t meant for each other. We had so much fun together, and we cried together. And just like any man, he left. But there are days that I’m just thankful for my good old nose that has always loved me at my best and at my worst. Yes, my good old nose, far from being perfect is a perfect gentleman, my leading man, my knight in shining armour, my hero.

So what’s in a face? It’s not just the nose. It’s everything that is being said by the eyes, everything the lips is mum about. The face tells a different story, a story both human and divine.
I have had the nose job of all nose jobs. But then again I realized my time with him was merely bought and borrowed. Who I am and what I am now is not defined by my nose.There is more to the nose and the face than meets the eye. There is a person too.