First day of work. Boy meets girl.

Girl falls head over heels. Confesses feelings for boy. Boy feels the same way...almost. Girl gets boy's attention. Boy gives her the credit. They talk rarely, but they talk sweetly. Whenever their eyes meet, it's magic. Never touched each other's hands. A simple pat at the back feels electric. Lips never met. Body language, never obvious, but turns each other on. Whenever boy is away, girl feels lonely. Whenever boy is around, she feels happy. A gentle smile sweeps girl away from her feet. His melodious laugh gives girl the shivers. Girl is in love with boy.

One day, boy approached girl. Asked her if she wants to go steady. Girl cannot believe her ears. Says yes. Together they were...for a while. Happy memories in each other's arms...and beds. Holding hands. Lips joined together in a kiss. Possessive hugs. Skin on skin. Feeling heaven in each passing day.

But...boy got cold. Girl asked why. Boy confessed what he felt, and girl cried. Tears flowing down like wild raging waterfalls.

You want to know what boy said?

"You've been the most precious thing that life has given me. But I wanted to be in this relationship just to test my sexuality."

Ouch. Just crossed my mind. Can a relationship actually turn like this?

I can see myself alone, staring at a starry night, lying helplessly in my own pool of blood.  I can see myself alone, in fields of green, with death walking silently beside me. I can see myself alone, staring blankly, while bleeding myself to death and no one can hear my deafening cries.

I know it's bad for a suicidal freak like me to share my artistic view of death. When I was young, I was never afraid of blood. How can I be afraid for I am attracted to it's deep crimson red? I grew up seeing red all around me and eversince...it attracts me.

Whenever I bleed, it reminds me that I'm still alive. It reminds me that I can still feel pain, despite the pain that I'm going through. Whenever I feel deep anxiety, jealousy, possessiveness...it always triggers my need to bleed. Despite this smiling face is a fragile heart. Rather, a broken fragile heart. I can't help but ask myself why I always picture myself alone. Why I always hear myself talking alone. Why I keep all these emotions locked up inside me.

I know I can't die yet...Someone needs me. My little one needs me. What I want is peace...peace from all the pain. Peace from all the people around me. I admit that there's something wrong with me, and that I need a shrink. I just want peace...and an antidote from the venom of death.

As Dindi lays a-sleeping,

The floorboards are a-creaking

Tiny feet are pattering,

Tiny wings are fluttering.

"Hush! Hush! Not a word or a peep!

For you see, the child is deep in sleep.

Watch your step, and please don't run,

Let her dreams take her to a world of fun!"

So fairy dust they sprinkled,

Tiny bells they tinkled.

As they took her away,

To fields of gold where she can play.

Dindi danced around and around,

She sang and clapped to the merry sound.

A crown of daisies they put on her head,

And adorned her dress with colored threads.

They lent the girl their fairy wings,

And their trinkets of magical things.

Higher and higher Dindi flew,

And her hair became damp from morning dew.

"Alas! The sun is about to rise!

Soon, we will hear the rooster's cries!"

So fairy dust they sprinkled,

And tiny bells they tinkled.

Dindi slowly opens her eyes,

Smiles and slowly sighs:

"It was all so pretty, what a sight!

I play with fairies every night!"

For my lovely daughter, Dindi, who I believe plays with fairies...or angels. She always laughs and smile whenever she sleeps.

I thought that not finishing college or completely not going to college is okay...I guess not.

Honestly, it's taking it's toll on me. I didn't know how important going to college is. I guess it's all my fault. I never took college seriously. I cut classes, I dropped subjects and went instead to malls or my friend's house. I went to a school run by the local government of Pasig. Where there is a maintaining grade average and you need to be as prim and proper as you can be. It's hard when you're not interested with the course you're taking. And if you're asking what I took in college, it's the course that was popular in 2006 and is still a popular choice today...yep, it's Nursing.

I hated the course. I hated Math and Chemistry, and the course is overflowing with mathemathical problems and chemical problems. Back in high school, the school I went to is not that good either. We lacked books, some of the subjects (particularly math and chemistry) were only taken once a week. Yes, only once a week. That's so stupid. The hardest subjects are only taught once every week. I cannot blame myself why I'm so afraid of math and chemistry, because I never fully understood them. If I was armed with adequate information, I should've spoofed my Math and Chemistry subjects back then in college. One thing more I hated, is I never had the feeling that I'm going to be a nurse. The care, the concern all the whatshiznits.

But now, I felt like going back to college again...but how can I go back to college when I don't have the time? Or the money? Since I dropped out of college during my second year, I entered the call center industry and promised myself that I'll go to school again. Unluckily, I got pregnant by some asshole, and out came my lovely baby girl. Since then, my attention is all in my daughter. I pushed the idea of going back to school deep in the recesses of my mind. I concentrated on giving my daughter her needs, milk, diapers, vitamins, clothes, and other baby stuff. 

I started envying the girls that though got pregnant in a young age, still managed to finish college. I started blaming my daughter's dad. He promised me that he'll take care of Leona and send me to school, but it's all an empty promise.

I really want to go back to school. I feel dumb, uneducated, and I feel that there were a lot of stuff I missed that some people know. They raise their eyebrows and ask me was I absent on the day that was taught? I feel ashamed of myself. Both of my parents are college graduates...but how about me? Forgotten and forsaken.   

Hindi ko ma-gets ang usong-usong beads na tinitinda sa kalye ngayon.

Iba't-ibang kulay. Mura lang, 5 piso lang. Kailangan mong ilagay sa tubig...teka, TUBIG? WTF?!

At oo, kailangan mong ilagay sa tubig para lumaki siya...at maging mukhang transparent na sago. Hindi ko alam kung ano na namang puamsok sa ulo ng mga chekwa at bigla na lang silang nag-imbento ng beads na lumalaki. Kaloka. Pero dahil patok ito sa mga batang igno (kasama na ako dun), pinatulan ko na rin.

Ayan ang resulta...medyo natuwa naman ako sa outcome. Nakaka-relax din namang tingnan kahit paano. Maganda rin namang design para sa kwarto. Pero mas maganda sana kung yung assorted na kulay yung nabili ko, di ba? Mas exciting. Hahaha...

"You should have made the conversation more exceptional." says Karlo, the Language Audit-guy.

How do we make conversations more exceptional? How do we make it more interesting, not boring? Do we have to change our voise tone once in a while? Should we always smile? Should we always look at the person straight in the eyes?

I am the silent type. I have the habit of making you talk first before me. This has always been one of the problem my family always points out to me. They always tell me I'm too silent, that I'm too reserved. I'm friendly, yes, but I always allow my friends to blabber on while I listen intently.

It's quite strange, because my mom is one talkative person. I must have inherited this from my dad...a man of few words. I have to admit, I am my dad's exact duplicate.

It's quite a pain in the ass whenever they tell me I'm too silent. What the heck do they want me to say? I'm just not the type to butt into conversations...nor ask what the talk is all about. I find it quite impolite, lest they let me join in their mumblings.

Problem is, it's affecting my work. Whenever the QA gives me my evaluation, I always get marked down for courtesy and enthusiasm. They always tell me that I should be more conversational. That I should always sound enthusiastic to the subscriber...so I can make all my calls exceptional. I just can't ask the subscriber how was their day, lest they ask me first. I don't know how to act friendly towards a total stranger who helps me maintain my job. I totally suck at sales. I can sell, yes, but only if the subscriber really needs it.

It's really hard. I don't know where to start the change. It's just not natural for me. I feel totally weird.

Minsan, bigla na lang pumapatak ang luha mo...pumapatak ng walang dahilan.

Pumapatak dahil may sumagi sa isip mo. Hindi ka na makapag-concentrate. Hindi mo mapigilan ang pagpatak nito. Kung anu-ano na ang pumapasok sa utak mo. Mag-iisip ka na lang minsan, sino ba ang dahilan kung bakit ito pumapatak. Ang puso ba o ang utak? May sarili bang utak ang puso, o may sariling puso ba ang utak?

Tuwing pumapatak ang luha ko ng walang dahilan, may iniisip din ako ng walang dahilan. Mga thoughts na kabaliwan kung tutuusin. Mga thoughts na hindi mo alam kung sino ang gumagawa. Bigla na lang pumapasok sa utak mo ang kalungkutang hindi mo mawari kung tunay o kathang-isip lang. Kalungkutan na unti-unting sumusugat sa puso mo, at unti-unting pumapatay sa utak mo. Kalungkutan na hindi mo mapigilan at bigla na lang matri-trigger ang luha mo na lumabas.

Kung titignan ng ibang tao, para kang baliw na bigla na lang umiiyak. Nang walang dahilan. Nang walang pinagmulan.

Narinig ko minsan ang utak at puso ko, nag-uusap:

Puso: Ikaw na naman ba ang nagsimula ng lahat ng ito?

Utak: Aba, ewan ko. Ikaw ang nakakaramdam, tinutulungan lang kitang mag-isip.

Puso: Hindi yata tama na ako na lang lagi.

Utak: Ikaw naman talaga. Hindi mo kayang pigilan yang nararamdaman mo.

Puso: Hindi mo rin naman kayang pigilan yang iniisip mo.

Utak: Tama na. Huwag na tayong mag-sisihan. Nagtutulungan naman talaga tayo. Pag may nararamdaman ka, ako ang nag-iisip para sayo.

Puso: Sa tingin mo, pag lumunok siya ng band-aid, didiretso siya sa akin para matakpan ang sugat ko?

Utak: Malabo atang mangyari yun. Ikaw mismo ang makakagamot sa sugat mo.

Puso: Pero tutulungan mo ba akong gumaling?

Utak: Oo naman.

Alam kong nag-uusap sila kung anong gagawin. Kung paano ako patitiglin sa pag-iyak. Sa pag-iisip. Minsan, hindi ko na talaga maintindihan ang sarili ko. Ang labo. Para akong sinasapian ng espiritung baliw. Hindi ko malaman kung saan ako susuot. Para bang pusang hindi mapaanak. Kasi, kahit maraming tao, bigla na lang pumapatak ang luha ko.

Lalagyan ko na lang ng rubber stopper ang mata ko para hindi na basta-basta tumulo ang luha ko.

Ever since Francis M died, I can see more people wearing his shirts, singing his songs and visiting his sites.

I can't say that some of these people are real fans of the master rapper, but some of them became fans of the master...because when he died, they knew more about him.

They recently found out that he's a talented person. More than a singer, he's a photographer, a painter and a dad of 8 children. Honestly speaking, I am not a real fan of the master. I know some of his songs, and I appreciate it, but I am not a real fan. I barely know anything about him. I don't know the name of his children. I don't know the shows that he was in. I don't know the name of his albums. What I know is, he's the greatest rapper in the Philippine music industry, and that's enough for me.

****

My fellow batchmate in Convergys lent me her Haruki Murakami book entitled, Kafka on the Shore. I must say that it's one of the most beautiful books I have read. When I say a beautiful book, it means that I can't remember putting the book down. Talking cats, fish falling from the sky, soldiers unaged since WWII, Murakami's imagination runs wild.

It's splendid how the writer intertwines the characters in the story. You'll never know what will happen next. The writer I believe, had his book translated in the English language. It makes me want to learn the Japanese language, so I can appreciate Murakami's work in his native tongue.

All in all, I think that I'll be buying his books...all of them. I am smitten by his style of writing, and how he fluently put into words what his imagination dictates. Japan has a spot in my heart...and so does it's writer, Murakami.