Scenes from my so-called life

In a panic Layla blurts out, "My wallet and my phone! They're not in my bag!" Guilly looks at her and taps her on the shoulder to reassure her, "I'm pretty sure  you just dropped them and perhaps they  slid below the seats," he says. "No, you don't understand. Losing the phone is fine. It's the wallet I can't lose," Layla says. Guilly looks at Layla quizzically, "If you're worried about your atm and credit cards, you can just call the bank and have them cancelled. I know IDs would be a hell to replace, but that could be done too," Guilly tells her. "Guilly, I appreciate your concern and positive attitude. But it's not those things. Something far more important is at stake. You just don't understand," Layla says. Meanwhile, in a place farther than Tagaytay from Boston Street, Krys checks the cabin of their Starex for any mess or empty water bottles left in the cup holders. She notices a phone a

Hello, Nans! Quick confession. I forgot that it was your death anniversary today. It was only when I saw the “On this day” reminders on Facebook that I was, well, reminded.  Sorry... :) So,  I forgot that today was the day you left. But I remembered you.  I remembered that I dreamt of you the other day. We were in Pansol. We were riding a motorcycle together, and I was driving.  When I woke up I thought that was a hoot, and far from the truth. Because you told me before that you would disown me the moment I get a motorcycle for myself.  Well, Nans, it's been eight years. There have been many times I've been tempted to buy a motorcycle, but there's still no motorcycle in the driveway. I forgot that today was the day you left. But I remembered you.  I remembered the way you would playfully stroke my back, especially when you're trying to get me to run errands for you. And you would add, “Sige na, anak.” in that paawa/pakiusap tone that you have. And it w

As promised, Tita Rosa Maria Jaranilla, sharing this here. Hello, Life. What story do you have for me? Choose to write your story. Let it not be that things pass you by. You, dearest, are the author. Shape your reality. Write every chapter to your liking. When overcome with negative thoughts, change your mind. There are so much good and happy things around you. Dwell on those instead. Love. Even when it hurts sometimes, despite of it hurting sometimes. Choose to love. Love God and love yourself—so much that you feel loved exactly the way you want to be loved. Your happiness does not come from outside. It comes from within. It's the same with love. Love, at all times, especially when you don't feel like it. That's when loving will be most fulfilling. Pray. Because there are going to be plenty of experiences you won't understand the moment they happen. Pray and trust that they happened because they needed to happen. Be flexible with your plans because, ultimatel

“Hey, I'm here!” (Sent. Seen...) “You're early! Too early. I'm still in the midst of a horrendous parking lot that is called EDSA. I'll be a while. But I'll make it by 7, I promise. Sorry. :(” “Enough talk. Get off the bus, and walk! I'm starving. And yes, I know that rhymes.” (Sent. Seen...) “Haha. Well, how could I have known that a miracle would particularly happen today and you would decide to actually arrive early? Give me 5 minutes. I'll sprint there.” *Smiles.* “Really? Chide me about punctuality? You're not exactly helping your case here, sweetie. You owe me dinner and coffee!” (Sent. Seen...) “Am I digging a deeper hole? Haha. But I so adore seeing that pout you make when you come late. And since you beat me there, I'm guessing that's off the table. And yes, I am quite aware that I owe you dinner.” “You do know that you'd probably get here faster if you'd stop typing messages and actually run. And correction,

It's certainly been a while since I was last able to listen to some good indie OPM. What's my excuse? Well, there's that I have decided to focus on my career for the past 5 years, and that I don't get to go to gigs as often as before. And yes, I admit age and the love of precious sleep have something to do with that as well. So my exposure to the Pinoy indie scene had been quite limited of late. I acquainted myself with the international indie scene instead (thanks to Spotify). And while I would have loved to rekindle my relationship with indie OPM, I thought I've gone too far out to return—add to that I don't know who to look for anymore (most of the bands I know have gone on to other endeavors). So, thank you, Diamond, for guiding me back to the current Pinoy indie scene and pointing me to the right direction(s) on Spotify. Much, much, appreciated. Now, Diamond has eased me in by recommending three of her current faves. My assignment? Just l

In the Toastmaster Storytelling Manual, Advanced Speech Project 3: Moral of the Story required me to write an original story that gives, well, a moral lesson. This is the story I wrote and, more or less, delivered. Once upon a time, on a small island called Symphony, there lived a girl. The girl's name is Sassy. Sassy Samba. The island of Symphony is known to be the home of people blessed with musical talent. Symphonians, as the people call themselves, are all adept at playing string, percussion and wind instruments—violins, cellos, drums, cymbals, flutes, trumpets—the island is a veritable orchestra. Sounds fun! Sounds awesome! Well, not quite. At least not for Sassy. See, for Sassy, living on Symphony was not actually very harmonious. For all other Symphonians, Sassy seemed like a misplaced note on a measure, a tad off tempo, of a different tone. Or just plain weird. Now, it's not as if Sassy can't play any of the island's instruments. Like any other