I could not resist the temptation of opening those drawer slots. In the tips of my fingers, I knew, without immense force, I would be able to open them one by one. I looked around the room as if i have not inhabited the tiny space for fourteen years--yet I have not. The faded country green paint that the painters patiently brushed against the rough walls the summer of '96 started to peel off, which reminded me I've been gone for too long. My smell already blended in with the succession of the seasons and vintage through out the years. Drawn pictures of houses remained pasted; it seemed as if they were fading away as well, along with the cheap, hardware pigments. I was glad to be back yet nothing seemed to have stayed the same. The same story goes outside of those four walls. My grandmother, the woman who was there, strong like a bamboo plant, not swayed by much of anything, has aged drastically; I had to talked loudly and stayed to her close-by as I thought to myself "at least she still remembers me". The once artistically tended garden in the front yard rottened like no one had cared. The town altered, right before my eyes, so small and lifeless, where neighbors kept to themselves, and dogs stopped barking. It was not at all negative, however; I guess I was looking for reasons not to stay. I was mulling over bitter thoughts of the place which sheltered me until I was fourteen. I didn't like the idea that the stimuli of the people I loved, the places I used to ride my cousin's bike to... had moved on--with or without me.

Everything is changing. I am missing. People are moving. I remain nostalgic and I write.

Labels: nostalgia

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I was the little girl with a throbbing heart. I know they could not hear it, but my heart beats millions of a horse skip in the race track. The first time I got separated to my guardian, I thought I would stay in that place forever. I sat quitely behind my desk; the other kids have their mothers with them and I felt different that I had none. She left me for the market, she left me for a better life, she left and all I felt then was the unrecognizable melancholy of the tiniest soul. My heart kept throbbing as if it was about to burst out of my bossom. I remember cradling my chair, telling myself, like I tell myself now, that everything will be all right. I could see sympathy in her eyes; it did not let it bother me for if I did, I would have devastated their happy dispositions. Even then, I already knew what embarassment was and for some twisted reality, I did not want any of that, any of it... She told us to practice writing our name--"not outside of the lines, inside the lines," she said. My motor skills were unrefined; I wrote like our family dentist, with the slanted l's and the squiggly g's yet I've always wondered how he understood his when I could not comprehend mine. As days go by, spending my time in that little space with all the letters surrounding, danced to me like in Cartoon Network, my handwriting became more like a work of art for a 4 year old. Nobody was there to hold my hand and help me wrote my name. While the other children had tremendous help from their moms, I sat there with a throbbing heart, faced downward, concentrated on my pencil and lined paper. Although I cried my way home to my grandmother's house that hot day in June, I was happy I wrote my name without anyone's help.

Don't you wish achieving something so inadequate and making you deliriously happy was that easy again? Where is your inner child when you need it?

Photo Credit goes to me.

Labels: childhood, FICTION, inner euphoria, lost, nostalgia, unfictioned

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I wish I was home for the holidays. To hear the laughters of the family I am too fond and familiar with. To sleep at night in a humid weather and wake up in the morning to experience the same heat. For a moment here, I thought I did not know what "home" is anymore. Although the sadness I am feeling as my heart get crushed, and crushed some more reminded me how wonderful it would be if I was home in the shelter of the people that know me well...the place...that regardless how far out it is compared to my current living situations now, would still inspire me to live life be. Where tomorrow would be another day and the rain might bring in a colorful companion with him, to ease the gloom and the pain that it has brought.

I am nostalgic. Some days I wished I was a 5 again, able to run behind my Nana every time Jason tormented me with his sword stick...and some days I just wished she could hear me crying and tell me "kanim deta itlog mo tapnu tumakkil ka pay"(eat your eggs so you will grow taller)--and everything will be alright.

Growing up as a spoiled kid, I am handling my current situation, "adulthood" as I may put it into terms, just fine. But I don't think eating the lemons directly out of the tree instead of making lemonade first is the ethical thing to do. Life is bittersweet and I hoped when I wake up tomorrow morning, I am completely in a different setting with unicorns pooping rainbows, trees growing broccolis I can eat right off the branch and an over abundance of sunshine rain to shower me with reserved happiness. But of course, I can never have everything I want. So maybe a mug of coffee and a day off will do.

P.S. I think I am BACCKKK, with my mouth shut (this time haha) and my brains wide open for more stories and renditions of my wonderful time spending it all on at the PP, and then more.

**Jason is my very sneaky cousin. At a young age, he was very manipulative and ruthless. I heard he has grown out of it though. I don't believe it and just have to see it for myself.

Labels: back, life, living la vida loca, nostalgia

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