The Busy and The Beautiful

I guess my smudgy title says it all.

Momel dear (and all my blog peers), I promise to go through all your new posts as soon as my HP IPAQ scheduler says I'm free as fuck.

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Anyway...

I stumbled upon a

a. good
b. very good
c. OMG very good
d. life changing

(it really depends on:
a. your reading comprehension
b. how fucked-up your life is )

read by Carlo Ignacio. And I'm really keen on sharing it to all.

Are you really happy?

not always about you

it's not the best year-end, but it could be worse.

it's fuckin' right what these new age people say, count your fuckin' blessings! speak of gratitude! samoans, sumatrans, flooded marikina residents don't give a shit if your stupid boyfriend left you. why do you date a low life whose sense of worth expires with his fitness first membership anyway?

stop whining dear. it's not always about you.

anyhow... here's funny man greg roasting joan rivers...maybe a punch or two will crack you up a bit.

re-education on prayers

my eyes are swelling as i type. of all the things said about Tita Cory, her unwavering faith impressed on me more than anything else. i promise to say the rosary more often. while some cynics (just as i was a few minutes ago) frown on repeated prayers, i realize now that solemnly repeating your prayers is equivalent to standing your ground and repeatedly reminding yourself that a divine force will take your side as long as you take his when a marching enemy storms your way. i believe that is what made Tita Cory a woman of strength and a woman at peace with her self.

Tetris

My bed is starting to get crowded. Bert bought me a croc stuffed toy to accompany my caveman teddy.

I have a small bed. Good enough for just one person and good enough for me—in Port Moresby anyway.

I wonder how Ces dozes a non-alcoholic night away when she’s got an entire outback of space in her king-sized bed. I’ll find it daunting if I were her. Hell, every toss and turn is a reminder that there’s no one to nudge and grumble “move over fart!” at.

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A few weeks ago, I had dinner with Ces.

Struggling with her chopsticks, she asked me: “WHEN will I be truly happy?” I wanted to tell her to visit the furniture shop. But I didn’t wish to go all too cynical before my tempura. I faked a sigh instead.

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An ex told me that happiness is a state of mind. I didn't understand what he meant. I was 16 going on 17 then (21, if you really want to know the truth).

I gather that happiness doesn’t come in one she-bang. Not in one lump-sum. It comes in pieces. You have to see to it that each piece will make life bearable, a bit like a game of tetris. Bricks of assorted shapes trickle one after another for you to sort out. Sometimes you get the easily maneuverable pieces and sometimes you get the tricky odd-shaped ones like the crosses, T's or the L's. You just have to be smart about it to score points.

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After the dinner my phone rang and it’s midnight-caller/stalker on the other line, offering his bed for the night.

I sighed (this time it’s genuine), wished him a good night (not) and for the nth time refused his offer.

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That night I slept in my small bed with caveman, croc and a 100 unread pages of Sharon Creech.