tears for a lady

like all the girls from dragon mansion, she, too, had her foibles. but i can never forget the generosity. the Gap jeans. the night she accompanied me to a christmas party in 1999 along lacson street in bacolod and letting me stay the night in their alijis house. she could dance with the best of them. she could not just sing but sing well.
but most of all, motherhood was her calling. i was looking forward to have a glimpse of her basking in the delight of that calling. i still couldn't believe that she's gone. that hers is a life curtailed. my heart is truly breaking.

numb

i'm so sad, i can't feel. i can't even comprehend my thoughts. i feel just like staring into a wall. numbness overwhelms my minute frame. grief cuts us into pieces, bit by bit. life suddenly doesn't have any meaning. retrieving answers to what could have beens, what might have beens sucks. really sucks.

crash and pain

our pc crashed last week. as i was in the midst of constructing something academic. i was almost reduced to tears. well, almost, as the tears fell last night when the pain in my hands were so severe that i couldn't open our front door for two hours and i was left outside our flat lumbering at three in the morning. the other half was at work, dealing with blood and more blood, in a scathingly distressing liver unit.

i could have asked the neighbors upstairs for help but it was three in the morning on a monday night. there seems to be some mysterious underpinnings on the type of work those girls do. i don't ask questions. i don't even know their names. very miranda hobbes. but it was cold. i don't thrive in the cold. my hands gets castigated in temperatures below 10 degrees.

it took more than two hours but my knight as always, came to my rescue. he left his unit amid call bells buzzing and cvp lines pulling and let me in. we don't live just next door from work, it's actually a thousand miles. it was sweet from my babe.

my hands are still sore. ugly and sore. i'm late on that academic paper. my life isn't even organized for flying home next week. i also have to go through portsmouth at white hart lane on sunday. for the non-fan, that's tottenham hotpurs' next match. it would be nice to see sol campbell up close. after that, the paved road to formality for a ring on the finger. but right now, i need to get this so-called academic thing out of the way.

adieu to my last german

one of the reasons michael schumacher is retiring from formula one is the lack of space. he gets a humongous trophy every fortnight. except last year 2005, when a force named fernando alonzo came into the picture and was the one collecting the trophies. but more than a decade prior to that and again this year, it was schumacher. and where in the world does he store those heavy products of hard work ? there could a be an enclave somewhere in europe. and it's size, is not a room of its own but a mansion in beverly hills.

as the ultimate glory-hunter, the german is my escape from the dreary, poverty-driven life that i lead. his earnings of $2 million per race isn't bad. he's worth what, £300 million? a wife, two kids. an equally rich brother that says, "we're not close growing up." though ralf could always tap big bro as mechanic, like he did when he was cutting his teeth in kart racing. there's their dad, their only surviving parent that had bumped into some bad investments with michael's money. schumi's retirement was always on the offing but now that it's here, it feels so unreal.

schumacher is the all-controversial formula one driver, seven-times world champion. i couldn't even recall all his scrapes, the latest being in monaco this season, when he devised a spin to block the track and hinder rival alonso's odds for taking the pole position. there was the 1994 damon hill incident which forever sullied his name and a repeat in 1997 when he was trying to slam into david coulthard's car in a bid to win the title didn't make him appear that lovable either.

but despite all the lingering questions from detractors such as damon hill (obviously) and keke rosberg, formula one will surely pine for schumacher's competitive presence. being german, his driven, single-minded, win-at-all cost attitude didn't attract fans from the holier-than -thou assembly. "he's such a blatant cheat like that "hand of god," icon, diego maradona." relying on their brilliance alone, schumacher and maradona are already very good. but somehow, their dark sides appear and glide through their psyche. and the morality police are not happy, to say the least.

it has been so much fun watching schumacher the last ten years. he's my roger federer. which proves that all good things come to an end. there are still a few races left this season. it would be a delight to see ferrari's number one navigate one last overtaking strategy. then to set sail to other oportunities, like pulling a magic johnson in business. and not a yevgeny kafelnikov in the poker circuit. although unlikely, it would be something if he could play poker on tv, just for a glimpse of a driving legend that is michael schumacher.
(photo from askmen.com)

September 17, 2006