I came from a family of superstars: Potpot the little beauty queen (part 1 of 4)

Potpot at 3.5 years old after the church thanksgiving

I remember about two years ago, in one of our exercises in Psychology class, we were asked to draw a family. When I showed it to my teacher, he said, "You're still the baby girl, aren't you?" And I just smiled.

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Losing grip vs. Letting go

DISCLAIMER: For those expecting this blog entry to talk about love, well, guys, sorry. This post isn't about that. (Or at least, not about that ANYMORE.)

I have a disease. It's a little unusual and it's an indication of something worse--immaturity (but it's arguable).

I have this tendency to get attached to something or someone so easily that by the time I should let go, I actually restrain myself from doing so. I always tell people that I HAVE moved on but in fact, the thought haunts me every night and I am having this weird feeling of pain and discomfort--like there's a pea in my bed and someone's stabbing my chest.

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Pausing for a minute on life

First off, I tagged YOU because one, we had recently talked about this, I just have some further thoughts about it, and I’d like to know what you think about it and two, I think you won’t mind reading through my random thoughts (please? :-)).

Growing up has suddenly not become my thing since I reached 18. I found myself being obsessed with my childhood pleasures; toys, cartoons and children’s books. Maybe because I have read and reread and reread The Little Prince over and over again. (I haven’t gone back to my Peter Pan reading yet because of that). Maybe because I have over saturated my self from watching The Sound of Music almost 10 times. (I think I said 8). But nevertheless, I have not lost track of my age, nor what I should be doing and thinking about right now—career, life, future.

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Just another bad day

Last Friday was just another bad day.

I woke up at around 4 am, waiting for my mom’s call to get up and get ready for the prayer meeting. But when she called, I knew exactly we would not be able to attend the prayer meeting.

I got a towel to cover my self and ran toward the nearest neighbor who owns a car. In my mind, I was praying that nothing will happen between my run until we finally reach the hospital. I was yelling at the doorstep of my neighbor, asking for help, pleading that they move a little bit faster so we can bring my pop to the nearest hospital.

Mom carried pop to the vehicle and off they went to the hospital. I changed my clothes, got my phones, a scarf, a wallet, our keys, and rode the bicycle to the village’s gate and hailed a jeepney. By the time I got to the hospital, the same procedure was being done—suctioning fluids from my father’s lungs, injecting dextrose and setting up the life ventilating system (respirator) and getting the oxygen tank ready.

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I won't pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars anymore

because my birthday's about to come, giving me a license to wish (ehem, ehem). :-)

And for more license to brat around, I have created a wishlist for the benefit of those who are still thinking of what to give me. (Guys, you still have a month, for those earning their living, well, that's two pay days for you. Peace!)

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