It's Twilight, That's Why

"And if, by chance, that special place that you've been dreaming of leads you to a lonely place, find your strength in love." -from "The Greatest Love Of All" written by Michael Masser and Linda Creed-

I was raised in fairy tales. From what I could remember, the people around me had always done their best to protect me. I grew up thinking the world a good place and this, perhaps, was what made me fodder for the wolves.

And when I went out on my own, I found out that people and places and things weren't at all as good as I was taught they were.

And so I broke. Into pieces. And I wished that I'd been shown the blacks and the grays as much as the pinks and the whites. I cried and mourned for the self that I saw, scattered in fragments across my eyes. I realized: They were wrong. Love was not all.

But it came to pass that what gathered me back into wholeness was the love that I knew I always had, the love I realized I had never lost, the love that the people who loved me had to show me was there, all along, so that I would find the strength to keep on wanting to be whole.

In the end, it was the belief in goodness which I thought had betrayed me that saved my life, after all.

Dad, Mom, Ma, Earl, Otom, Jackie, Kim, M -- Thank you for the love that keeps me going each day.

I'm so senti today. Been crying at the slightest provocation (like hearing "The Greatest Love Of All" after a million years).

It's twilight pa.
Hay.

Let's Talk

A and I have been "talking" via our blogs, she having written a post about what she would tell her 16-year-old self should they get the opportunity to have a conversation. Tough chance, I know, but still, it's a whimsical and very pretty thought.

This got me thinking about my 16-year-old self and here I am, trying to think up things I'd say to her should we ever have the chance to meet.

I'd probably tell her:

1. to take her writing post at the school paper more seriously;
2. to study, study, study, especially the Math lessons she'd taken for granted for so long;
3. to quit whining about the trivial, frivolous so-called "problems" she's facing daily--there's much, much more to come and she'd better save those tears for when they'd really need to be shed;
4. to listen to her mom and dad--they're right, most of the time, didn't she know that?
5. to go out some more and not confine herself to her room, much like the hermit that she was;
6. to smile more, laugh more;
7. to throw away those over-sized shirts and start buying girly tops;
8. to sing, sing, sing;
9. eat all the 3M palabok she can possibly eat because she's gonna miss it horribly when she's older and far, far from home; and
10. to stay a child for as long as she could because adulthood will last ever so much longer and by then it'll be too late to regret not having stayed a kid when she had the chance to.

She probably wouldn't listen, though. She'd be too far away, too caught up in her stubborn little shell of adolescence.

She's one to dig her heels pa naman.
Hay.

My Lola's House

Reading this post from The Cat's blog blew me into a nostalgic swirl. Spirals of memories of my Lola's old house in Albay where I spent my early childhood put a sentimental spell on me and I found myself traveling way, way back in time, when I lived each day one at a time (adulthood makes this concept virtually impossible, won't you agree?).

I remember writing about that very big, slightly worn and very charming old house in one of my journals (which I can't seem to find, darn) and raving about the loquacious chickens milling about with their chicks and the resident turtle inching his way with an upturned nose, never minding anybody's business except his own. There, too, was Queen, the dog, who was immortalized in one of my pictures which my dad took when I was a toddler in diapers, with pink curlers on my already wavy hair (what was my mom thinking?), my lolo, Papa, beside me, smiling that perpetually benevolent smile of his. It was from Papa that I discovered who Robin Hood was. My brother and I usually spent siesta on his hammock, listening to his stories.

Let me remember to tell you, too, about the mornings, when I would wake up to the smell of frying tocino, longganisa or badi (dried fish), which my brother, Earl, used to be really crazy about. The tocino and longganisa later made way for bacon. For lunch, it was cocido, or adobo, or mechado or afritada, or escabeche. Mama (my lola) made it a point to cook the best meals for her grandkids and her cooking is one of the things I miss fiercely. Mama's food was priceless. There, she poured out her love and her heart.

Come to think of it, that grand, old house was Mama.

The last time I passed by the place, though, I saw nothing but tall, green grass.