Until Next Time

It's been a while. If not for a friend, I would have forgotten that you exist. I'm sorry for that. I know I'm not very consistent when it comes to communication. And yet, here you are. You're still here. You're still waiting for me to give you the time of the day. But I did miss you. It may not seem like it but I really did.

I will not promise that I will be here from now on. I refuse to make promises that I know I probably will not keep. Besides, you know me. I never run out of excuses. So I won't. It would keep me from hurting you. It would keep me from hating myself for my inability to keep my word.

But what I can promise is that I'll come back. I don't know when but I promise, I will. Until next time, my friend.

Isang Gabing Madilim

I've never been so frightened in my life. Not even when I thought that Sabel, the resident ghost in our house decided to make her presence known to me by clamping her cold, cold hand on my forearm. Not even when I read or watched a horror movie and I can't sleep after. Not even when I ran after a maniac who was firing his KG9 on full auto to no one in particular. 

During those times, I was nervous, I was pissed. I was scared. But in a nervous and laughing at myself after kinda scared.  

The other night, I felt fear. Bone-deep fear where blood rushed to my head and I suddenly felt cold. 

It was a hot night and since I live alone, I picked up this habit of roaming around my house in nothing but my undies. I was busy sorting my stuff. Suddenly, I heard the leaves rustling outside my window.

I would have dismissed it if only the wind blew. But it didn't. I told myself that it must be my imagination. Right after I told myself that, I heard a whisper. A distinct, raspy whisper from outside my window that sounded like how I'm only in my undies. 

Now, I know how it felt when people say about blood running cold. Did I think of putting on some clothes? Hell, no. I jumped out of the bed and grabbed my gun and my flashlight. 

I peeked outside but did not see anyone. I checked all my doors and windows, peeking outside for any sign of a person. 

Seeing no one, I put on my robe and texted Ate Jette about what happened. And then I heard someone calling out from outside. At first, I thought it was my landlord. But to be sure, I peeked through the window first. 

No, it wasn't my landlord. It was this guy na nakasabay ko sa trike almost a week ago. My first thought was how the hell did he found out where I live? 

He introduced himself as some Congressman's nephew. If I would be kind to lend him twenty pesos for fare. 

I wanted to yell at him if I looked stupid enough to open the door and hand him twenty pesos. I told him that I don't have twenty pesos and can't he just ask from his friends? He even told me not to misunderstood his presence there. 

Why would you knock on a stranger's house and ask her for money? At frickin eleven in the evening? Besides, was it just a concidence that there was someone whispering outside my window earlier and then suddenly he knocked on my door? And he expected me to understand? He's gotta be kidding. 

I updated Ate Jette about what happened and gave me the phone number for the guardhouse. And she invited me to sleep at her place. But already paranoid, I considered the thought that he could still be outside, lurking or something. 

So after placing breakables on all my window sills, a precautionary measure just in case someone tries to break into the house through the windows, I called the guardhose, told them what happened and if they would kindly accompany me to Ate Jette's house. 

When the guard arrived, I narrated what happened and that was when I found out  creepy man's name, thanks to him identifying himself as the congressman's nephew. 

Did it end there? I hoped so. But it didn't. 

Yesterday morning, I walked myself home from Ate Jette's place. I stripped down as I was about to go and take a bath when I heard the same raspy voice outside my bedroom window. I grabbed my gun and tiptoed. My, my, guess who's back. Naked and jerking off. Asshole. This time, I was pissed. Really pissed that I opened the window, aimed the gun at him and yelled that I am going to shoot him. He grabbed his pants, mumbled an apology and quickly left. I'm sorry, my ass. 

I went to the security after and reported him. Apparently, I wasn't the first complainant. He'd been doing that for a while. Security said they'll talk to his parents. Ugh. He's not a kid, demmits. He looked like he's already on his late 20's to early 30's. 

Too bad there's no law in the Philippines against peeping toms and lewd behaviour. I can sue him for trespassing, though. 

So, the lesson of this story. Be paranoid. But I swear if he comes back, I'm gonna make him bleed. 

Ain't No Quake or Typhoon Strong Enough Against Pinoys

Just a few weeks ago, October 15, 2013 to be exact, the earth shook causing massive destruction and loss of life in Bohol and Cebu. 

The areas hardest hit by the 7.1 quake were up to now, still struggling to get back on their feet. 

And then November 8, 2013 came along with what was touted as the world's strongest typhoon in recorded history, Super Typhoon Yolanda. 

While I believe that the government and the people did what they could do to prepare for the coming of Yolanda,internationally  known as Haiyan, destruction and casualties cannot be avoided with a typhoon this strong. 

Some towns are still completely isolated. Communication and transporation routes 

are still down in directly-hit areas. And in the coming days, the death toll will rise as more information will come in. 

Thankfully, with the help of many people and institutions, relief and rescue operations are underway. The prayers from all over the world help, too. 

It would take a lot of time, a lot of effort before we will be able to get back on their feet.  

Come what may, we will get back on our feet. After all, aside from the amazing hospitality, Filipinos are best known for being reselient. 

Sabi nga nila, the Filipino spirit is waterproof. And quakeproof. 

 

Bed Woes

Not that I'm not getting any shuteye. It's just that I'm not getting enough. Not to mention that I'm not on a real bed whenever I managed to get some zzzzs. Most of the time, I'm on a bus seat, a chair, on the desk and pretty much anywhere except on a bed. Sigh. 

Always

I was an awkward, chubby, nine year old dragging a bag full of clothes in the hospital lobby. I heard Mama’s screams from the end of the hallway. I ran to where you were, the pesky old and heavy bag tangled with my short legs with every other step. I stopped by the door and stared at you. You were looking up at the ceiling. I could see nothing but the white of your eyes and your pale face while Mama screamed at the doctors to do something.  You just laid there as life crept out of you. And I just stared.

It’s been eighteen years. I still can’t forget.

I've lost count how many times I have stared at your picture and begged that you come and get me.  I wanted to be with you again so badly. I still do. I still want you back.

You are missed, Papa. You are loved.  Always. 

Pops

An FB friend posted how she was spending quality time with her dad. How her dad scolded her for taking a picture of the food they were about to have for breakfast.

I was envious. I will always be envious of people who still have that time to be with their father. To argue with, to talk with, to whine to, to complain to.

I didn't get that chance. My father went too soon. Now, I only get to talk to him in my head. And I seldom do so because every time I think of him, talk to him, I become a melting goo. 

Sometimes, I wonder if he would like the person I grew up into. Is he proud of me? I'll never know. What I know is I would surely be a different person than I am now had he been around. 

I miss him. There are times in my life that I badly wished him back. Because no matter how old I become, I"ll always need my papa. Always. 

Every now and then, I stumble upon people who can't wait to get rid of their fathers. I had a classmate in high school who went to the trouble of telling anyone who would listen that his father died leaving him an heir to a farmland in Davao. Then, a man came to school to talk to the principal and teachers about his declining performance and interest in academics. That was his father. 

I wanted to strangle him. How dare he? I kept wishing my papa was still alive to give me hell about school and boys and everything else that comes with a father's love and protection.  And he conveniently 'killed' his. I hated him for doing that.

It is indeed true that some people never   appreciates a person or a thing unless they're  forever out of their grasp, nothing but memories left. And memories are not quite enough. We just make do with what's not enough because it's the only one we have. 

Sinful Sloth

I patted my stomach, as if doing so would stop it from grumbling. Yes, I know, my dearest tummy boarders, you need to be fed. Let me just drag nyself out of the bed. 

Ugh. Agh. Grrr..

Nope. Not working. I'm still sprawled on my back, my eyes staring at the ceiling. Another growl. Louder this time. 

I sighed. I should be somewhere else, doing something else. My eyes are drooping. It can't be helped. 

Guess my lazy ass will have its way with me.