super presents

presents of our
dearest daughter, on camera.
from us, family and friends.
happy new year!

simply saccharine

The year swift through like the fastest of hurricane,

and my baby transformed into a little lady right before my eyes.



Our lives revolve around our tiny highness ; our schedule, the chores, our utter joy. It has been exhausting. I have to pause and ponder about how she makes our existence much more meaningful, much more fun.

I would have preferred to write more, read more, cook more perhaps but the routine with the high chair and when the weather is brighter and sunnier, the pram, takes precedence over blogging concerns. I'm not much into social media. I don't share much pictures on Facebook. I'm not in Instagram. I don't moan on Twitter. As I have written before on these very pages, family and friends can always text or email me for communication purposes.

The toddler years do not take long. They're such sweet years, especially after spending time with our resident sweetness.

Christmas Tree

Merry Christmas!

punishment of the season

My cough had been bad, in addition to running high temperatures several times since September. Waking up in the middle of the night pyrexic and knowing you have a running toddler to soothe and nurture for hours and hours on end despite your rough state of health, is heartbreaking. I blew my few days off being ill. The cough debilitated my existence.

I don't like going out. The highlight of my days is usually commuting to work and back. It's sad I know. I blame the weather and the microbes that proliferate when the environment is moist. There are also encounters with people who have been out and about in the winter gloom in close proximity of the population. So here I am, just needing some rest, needing a bit of reprieve from the stress. How to accomplish that is still very much a mystery.

social media highs (and lows?)

Some people tweet or uses Facebook and Instagram a lot. But I like words in paragraphs. Photographs may speak a thousand words. But they're easily reproduced even by our chosen clique.

In my school days, there was no Internet. I had to join the school paper to quench the thirst to write. There was also the opportunity to pick the minds of authentic thinkers. To discuss pages contents of our paper with the editorial staff during meetings was pretty cool. It was fascinating to converse with the student writers. Although I haven't seen most of them maintain a blog now. Or I'm just unaware of their many ventures.

Maybe Facebook is great. It's convenient for emails. Instagram, I like lurking on celebrity pages. Although it eternally leaves me gasping for more profound thoughts and half of the slebs followers are bashers. On Twitter, people tend to over tweet. If tweeting can replenish their souls every five seconds, that's fine. I can follow sports in real time on Twitter or the Miss Universe pageant. For my entire opinion about Twitter though, you can easily text/ email me if we're friends.

Facebook, Instagram, Twitter in essence, provide opportunities for friends to comment. There would be more folks who maintain account in either of the three social media platforms than Blogging. And we like it when there's a response to our postings. As if we're essential to their lives. We're Sally Field winning our second Oscar. Our mission in this world is to be liked.

winter, dec

It has been dark, wet, stormy, nippy. I've been sick, my little girl's, the hubby. It's definitely not a charm coughing my way to a weakened, debilitating existence. I cannot do any chores. I was merely lying in bed and get siphoned into a snarky feeling of discontent. I should do more, save more, read and write more, iron the pile of clothing that's taunting the very basic core.

If only the cold, overbearing autumn, then winter, doesn't let me down, I would cross stitch or learn to crochet or decipher the code to comfort.

the stories, the snootiness

"Because you're poor, when calamity strikes, you're rendered incapacitated and at the peril of tragedy."

That is what actually the West utters about the Philippines Typhoon Haiyan experience. I can feel the derision on the Tube. It wouldn't happen to the Empire, they have the sturdier, listed structures (yeah). Planning permissions are needed for construction of any kind. My husband doesn't need to elucidate his thoughts. As I was back reading the news alerts, PAG -ASA or even Joint Typhoon Weather Center in Hawaii didn't illustrate clearly the definite storm surge that was going to hit land, specifically in Tacloban. They only said signal number one in the Visayas days before, upgrade to signal number four on the day itself (when the wind speed and the surge are on their deadliest) and Manila would experience residual rains. We were used to typhoons of the past (trees are usually uprooted) but they were not strong enough to topple every wooden property and blow away roofs made of dainty, cheap materials or 35 feet or more of water surge and wind speed so quick and strong. It was The Three Little Pigs in real time with a huge flood. Even if you had a very modern house, if it was not very high, chances of drowning was huge. If the warnings and paths were issued accurately, every resident of those affected areas should have boarded the C130 days before.

Houses and buildings made of concrete are more expensive to construct than the Bahay Kubo. Majority don't even have the plot of land to build a humble abode, the word is informal settler. Counting all the factors involved, lessons are learned but tell that to the victims who lost entire families. How do you appease hunger and a broken soul? How would you ever recover?

The politicians even played politics in the aftermath, just because they can, the nerve. If there was immediate response to the disaster, a descent into lawlessness would never happen. The government with their helicopters and satellite phone should have moved quickly.

Yet, the international community have been really helpful. A colleague from Africa even commented on the amount of aid  extended to the Philippines. Well, RP always thinks the US of A as kindred spirit, so the US Marines are really helpful with logistics.

This calamity hurts, makes one humble. Other countries can only give aid and stare at our plight and they continue with their very commercialised Christmas traditions. We take stock and reflect of those people who are experiencing nightmares, my fellow Visayans, and we should help in whatever ways to our Kababayans.

you said, you have problems?

It's a devastation that is not only close to home. It is home.

There's a colleague who had a family who didn't eat for days. We have Tacloban, a provincial capital being reduced to wasteland. Lives are lost.

I know strong winds. It's a staple in our lives. During the many hours of blackouts during the most catastrophic of typhoons growing up, all I could think of was, "please, don't blow away the roof, if the roof goes, what will become of us?" But as time goes by, the winds are getting fiercer, more menacing. When I rang home a few hours ago, there's substantial damage to our roof that needs repair.

But order is still in Bacolod, it's not as bad as in Leyte. The hubby was talking about our infrastructures not up to scratch. We should not live in wooden houses. Yes, because in a country where most people live below poverty line, the first thing we secure is the most expensive of materials for our shelter, brick and stones for every one. Forget about food, forget about water, forget about clothing, forget about the minuscule salary, forget staying alive.

But despite the hardships, the fatalities, we take stock about our lives and have this will power to be grateful and also to help out in every little way possible. Just imagine yourself losing loved ones, starving and wrestling with mosquitoes and a sense of helplessness.

One day, we won't have shanties in the Philippines. We won't have floods? When a super typhoon is about to hit, we will evacuate every single individual who live in wooden houses and let them stay where? Hotels? Shopping Centres?

As of now, we lend a helping hand, make a contribution, in whatever form.

from the Christmas list to make up

I've done my Christmas list for this year. If only I could skip the ritual of gift-giving and not shower a single soul with presents, that would be refreshing, not a tedious parade of obligation upon obligation. But with me, I only bother to those in my list, the nicest, the very friendly not necessarily leaves attached to branches of my family tree.

What I like about Christmas are the carols, the endless melody of songs about Jesus, not particularly Santa Clause. A time of reflection, to take stock about the routine and evolve into a better person. No, that would be quaint. Lets bring on St. Nick and the Christmas cards. Let's party?!

But Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the wrapped objects of desire. So here's hoping that despite the very limited funds, we should be giving more than receiving. Not that I would be deluged with presents from the kindest of souls but I hope not to accumulate any more items that would be relegated to the most obscure corner of the dresser. I can't have any more make-up stuff, be it eye-shadows, blush-ons, the likes. Foundations, I have to think about deeply. Lipstick, it depends on the colour. I know there are loads of beauty blogs, delving profoundly on the intricacies of the perfect eye-shadow. I've never indulged in the timeless routine of painting my face. I don't feel revolting without one, as the others who can't face the public without layers of powder on their cheeks. Or I just don't simply bother. I'm such a dork.

Nonetheless, I have to commence on face painting to utilise the collection I have at present. Some are gifts, others are bought with the purest of intention, a set of lip liners was from a direct selling brand with a desirable packaging, still untouched since time began.

But lotions, bubble baths, parfumeries, are more than welcome. My skin breaks out on some brands. Maybe someday, my arms would be smoother as it's hard to clear hideous rashes on my epidermis from one particular bubble bath. Or it could have been the water from our previous residence.

As for the list, the tiny tots get first dibs, presents to the kids are the same as giving to their parents, my by-word during time of recession and yes, at least I remember.

winds and prams

Windy, blustery Monday morning, with falling trees, flying debris, as someone who woke up to typhoons after typhoons in the Pearl of the Orient Seas, I've never seen wind that sweeping, clocking above 90 miles/hour, and we pushed a pram amid the wrath of nature. What were we thinking? We could have waited until the wind slowed down a bit rather than risk our sweet daughter in her stroller being swept by the tempest, the fury of the storm. The wind became still later in the next hour and we surveyed the broken branches of trees on the road. There was a few minutes delay in the Tube but at least we got to the destination in one piece. It would have been more prudent to have waited a bit longer indoors but certain order of things are followed to the letter and it doesn't allow reprieve, even with falling trees blocking tracks.

kindness, to commemorate

from jan.

Biko with a sprinkle of custard?

I'm grateful.

No wonder I don't like seeing the figure on the scales or my reflection on a full length mirror.

so fat, so far

I reading a write up about a prominent lifestyle journalist doing triathlons and it jolted an epiphany at this very juncture. I eat a lot. I don't exercise. I have a siesta twice a week. My blood pressure suffers in the process. Although I haven't checked my BP for such a long time.

I carbo load -- such a sucker for ice cream, cakes, pastries, bread, rice, cookies. I would gobble each of the Great British Bake Off creations. I don't even bake. I cook (not on a daily basis). But bake. I have to take some lessons from Jan (she, who went to Cancun) on how to operate a mixer. Gluttony is a deadly sin, thinking of the bad cholesterol and the onset of diabetes by merely consuming rice.

But

I like carrots.
I have mostly arguments with salad when I know that green, leafy vege is not the enemy.

wishing warm

I wish I have more free time these days. I wish I could write loads and loads of text, fill this blog to the brim. And travel to just one more G8 country. I wish I don't snooze as much as necessary.

I wish I could read more fiction and essays. I wish I could write more fiction and essays. I wish I was able to plot my schedule more cognisant to my dearest baby's needs for curiosity hours. Let's request.

with age, comes wisdom?

As such, the writers, of glossies with snippets I ear marked earlier and the opinions above are those of maybe, Gen Y. It shows by reading between the lines. Affirmations that the world is turning a new leaf and every commodity has an expiration date. Was it only yesterday I was waiting in vain for the Del Valle couple to discover the contents of Gardo's diary? Now, the original Mara is in her thirties and her market and demographic is growing older with her. Youth, it seems, equate power. Although when I was younger, I have to ask permission what movies, what shows to watch, not to mention being dependent on my parents for food, clothing and shelter. Of course, young slebs fans are not only concentrated on the youth market. But those in their twenties, with time to spare and fresh graduate money to burn can indulge in the shows and endorsements of their peer group, an age bracket I find utmost difficulty relating as I continue to reach old age with related body aches and milestones. But the genuine talent, who doesn't need the trappings of outside beauty to sparkle, will push aside trends and continue to rise through the heap of wannabes and maybes. In the long run, good looks fade, wrinkles appear and a younger version of an old star will dominate the entertainment scene.

the empty October

We're almost in the middle of the month and I'm still trapped in the hectic pace of the race. The little one picks up cough, colds, bruises in the nursery pass them on to us and we're nursing illnesses, in a way.

Actually, it's the hubby's stirring passion for camaraderie that lets the flesh down through going to football matches, meeting up with friends one full weekend then dropping off baby in the nursery the next day segue way to work and late afternoon daddy time to work again the following morning. The weekend screams at WHL or away games ushers the virus and transferring them to me.

It's altogether uncomfortable, painful, this bed bound state. My head is about to explode. Since the weather attacks with vicious implosion and I have to be alert at all times, I'll cancel the social aspect of my routine, as if it's not already vanished from the existence. The Christmas do for whatever reason would be nothing but faint hope. The omnipotent forces wouldn't allow extra time off during the holidays and January and February are not very friendly months. It's all down to planning. Will I lose any more friends as I run for cover and avoid the hoopla of the holidays? I'm not sure. Those besieged with kindness would be able to understand. As for others, I'm not that unmissable.

Notes

Just for my reference.

livened up the proceedings

with a picture of food.

I'm supposed to trawl the web, to read the opinion pages of news papers but I don't have a signal in the cafeteria. I can't check Twitter. I can't read anything. Tomorrow, in another day of marching to the Nursery, I'll bring my magazine, although my copy of Vanity Fair is heavy, I'm strapping my toddler, instead of using the pram.

In this day and age, it's a nightmare to drag small children across zones in London without a car. We're car-less, without a private mode of carriage, on the edge of poverty. Can't drive. Can't manoeuvre past walking distances without utilising public transport. When our child screams in the trains or buses, people look in disdain. I was trying to dig deep and remember if I was ever scornful towards buggies in buses and I reckon it's the other way around, those pram-pushing mothers behave with a sense of entitlement. That's my space, get out. From within, they scream, "I breed, therefore I am."

Being such old hag, I feel the opposite. That is why these days, if I can manage, I seldom use a buggy. Imagine tube stations without lifts? How to navigate the stairs with a stroller? Wait for a stranger to help? I find that awkward, both ways.

harmony

The procrastinator within my psyche urges me to lie down in bed, relax, not to do any chores, after seven in the evening. Besides little daughter wakes up early and getting to bed before the clock strikes ten should be good. But.

As I said, I have chores, especially those I couldn't do when my cutie is awake. Like ironing for hours, or merely tidying up, moving from room to room, picking up morsels of messiness.

I thought I should be good to read or blog. But not quite. I try to keep up with the current issues, formulate opinions. We need to think in this world.

Basically I've come to grips with the topic of differences -- war, peace, cultural and lifestyle divide. Some simply couldn't accept that we differ in beliefs and religions. Some gets too greedy, or nonchalant. Some wants too much power. We live in the same planet despite economic disproportions. Shouldn't we at least co-exist without hatred? Isn't now the time to find balance between countries and entities?
tbc.

hoover then laundry

Peppa Pig likes the word boring. "A vase is a boring present for grandma and grandpa Pig, " she says. While I often use the word to describe myself. Although it takes a lot of time and patience, it seems there's no room in my life to socialise. Hoovering awaits, the laundry is piling up, the photo books needs to be laid out with trims and baby hues.

But...

I get sidetracked. By activities I should do after I've done all the chores, such as tinkering on my mobile, looking at the crap that's on twitter, all the rubbish. It's mightily hard to iron while a toddler is all awake and has no fear to touch any thing she fancies, like a hot iron. So I wait till she goes to sleep. By then I'm super tired.

theme

these are such lovely presents from auntie vanessa. we gave alexandra a tiny fairy book with sounds. in return, we got a myriad of items. some people are just too kind.

home made

there are so many ways we can do with sushi. thanks to my efficient hubby. time to indulge in my fondness for this food art.

no twists, no turns

photo credit

 Huwag Ka Lang Mawawala has been over for more than a week and I'm wondering about an alternate ending. The shortest Judy Ann Santos soap ever left me gasping for a little bit more polish to the development of its lead characters. But television is a writer's medium. They control the reins and if they want to make an advocacy out of Eros and Anessa then we should have seen a far better presentation of women empowerment. To make it more convincing, it would have been prudent to shatter the chemistry between the two leads from the beginning rather than the wooing and cooing amid the photogenic backdrop of the asinan.

As it turned out, Eros became the villain du jour during the finale week, pushed towards the loony bin after the denouement at the rooftop. He reminded me of the Piolo Pascual character in Esperanza The Movie. I get his dad Romulos' ( Tirso Cruz III is so damn brilliant) inducement but Eros' kind of wavers with his emotions.  He loves, he beats up the mothers of his sons, he's a good father, he pounced Anessa's brother Leandros to smithereens.

As for Anessa, she stood her ground with her martial arts skills, maybe that's a good thing for the so-called advocacy  bad for that bit of romance. In another storyline, she could live happily ever after with her son's father. But for now, it's curtain call to 10 weeks of streams with plot by plot coverage on twitter and instagram uploads from some cast members that is only all too prescient for the ordinary viewer.

the long grass

reading rubbish up to this point, that's the existence. i won't really call them rubbish, they're quite useful, it's mostly about the Filipino soap, hklm, it's finishing tomorrow, so no more dashing with the chores when i'm about to go to work. twitter has been really helpful this time. there were a few trolls in the comments section of you tube and Facebook, bashing the lead stars. can't please every single individual on this earth.

like the blog, i don't update much on twitter, i don't have many followers. the ones with millions of twitter followers are celebrities. i'm no sleb. i don't even have a thousand friends who matter. the tiny circle is just fine.

facebook meanwhile is such an assistance for all types of friends and family. I'm not posting any thing on the FB wall either, not for a long while, it'll change soon though, bit by bit.

the very young, the ones born decades or much, much later than me are quite adept in incorporating social media into their lives. while i could just untangle my link to the web without tears. that's the beauty of not being able to afford a typewriter during those years of term papers and writing assignments. it was harder to go through life with the messy hard copies and broken finger nails but we survived.

these days, it's all too quick, i'm on my phone, blogging and about to check twitter.

a craving, for siesta

i don't know if it's just the physiology of getting older but i find myself craving for loads and loads of siesta hours these days. a little snooze at midday is all i need to recharge and revitalise the dwindling energy.

but at this point, siesta is more often a dream, when not at work, the few quiet moments when little girl is asleep for a bit longer is few (or never?). the routine revolves around preparing my beautiful girl's solid meals, feeding her and making sure she doesn't enhance any more of her climbing skills. I'm on alert during her every waking second.

so baking, (like polishing our process of making ensaymada) or learning to knit is relegated to the list of future hobbies. if jan is kind enough to bring us another of her masterpieces (the ensaymada pictured above) when she comes to visit, that would be fantastic. she's fab.

perhaps if i promise to minimise if not utterly eliminate time wasting, like reading rubbish in the gossip pages, on the web and social media, knowing that tidying up takes hours, I'll feel refreshed, no need for a few minutes of daytime sleep.

love piaya!

thanks to ofie and her mr. ramos.
the delicacy.

sun screen

summer is almost done. thank goodness (?). although I have affinity towards the light, I'm not comfortable with tons of people in the streets, such an unsociable pariah i am, the antithesis of all the significant people in my existence. yes, I'm a recluse.

now, we're headed towards layers and layers of clothing ( i didn't feel that at 22 degrees earlier under the intense heat of mr. sun). my main coat has been dry-cleaned. the coat ordered from china is nowhere to be found urging me to never buy from e-bay again. i'll reconfigure my jeans, skirts and the handful of dresses, start the sessions of yoga and dancing to shift some weight. but first, a siesta or a lie-in wouldn't hurt. yes, a sprinkle of wishful thinking is comforting.

too fast? rush to the finish

as a judy ann santos fan, I follow/consume her every project. my world stops when she has a soap (as the hubby pointed succinctly) that's only every three years since '07. in ysabella, i rooted for ysay to end up with albert amarillo, that didn't happen. in habang may buhay, we know who was her principal partner but jane losing her life to a rampaging diminutive doctor? the main character dying in the end was innovative but gladys reyes on a killing spree? it's still mind-boggling.

huwag ka lang mawawala, meanwhile, is fast-paced. by the third episode, anessa is married to eros. by the week's end, she's a battered wife. well and good. i can also ignore a few holes in the storyline (whatever become of aling demetria heart condition?, etc). it's mainly eros' motivation that is perplexing, his temper and violence is downright opposite of that guy who made a romantic proposal by stopping a bus. he has no balls to stand up to his father, so he's violent? I'm lost in the psychology of human behaviour. how could he point a gun to a woman who made him happy? i thought anessa and with his wealth as back up, is the love of his life? he vowed to make her pay for putting him in jail, but wasn't he guilty dealing with smuggled diamonds, which she witnessed?

in the highlight scenes, eros not trying to find his wife in the streams, in the kakahuyan with the baby in tow is quite odd. leaving anessa for dead, not knowing the fate of the mother of his child? he might as well pull the trigger. although the smacking, the gun-toting tactics leading to the river shots are also confusing.

for the women empowerment theme, anessa's emotions are consistent. she's tough but she also has fairy godmothers to help her recover from a gunshot wound, learn Krav Maga and get a degree. in real life, fairy godmothers don't usually exist. yes, women should flee from abusive marriages and sometimes, the stories we hear and read, are heartbreaking. if only we could eliminate all the rage that makes men monsters.

as for performances, it's a given that the senior stars are excellent. judy ann santos has the power to control her tears (a drop shines like a diamond) so she's beyond mesmerising (I'm biased). i'd rather watch KC in tweetums roles (you can always show depth without playing an antagonistic part). but she's ready for deeper, meatier portrayals. sam milby oozes appeal despite playing a character with no backbone.
how will the writers rehabilitate eros in the end? if at all. why not stretch this series into 12 weeks? because judy ann has to give way to the young stars of today? i very seldom watch performers below the age of 35. with the advancement in viewing habits, time is precious commodity and I'm just showing my age.

high speed bike chase

in the slums. in the heaviest of Manila's traffic. the only reason I seek the Bourne Legacy (haven't seen all the previous Bourne films) because a few shots used my country's capital as a glorious backdrop. and movies sell more than documentaries. and blockbusters sell to the favoured denomination, of the portion of the global population who don't require to think, but just to watch, observe and follow. however long it took me to decipher (i'm a slow learner) that RP may not yet boast of elegance in its various metropolis. but when it comes to natural landscape, chicken barbecue and warmth of its guest relations committee, we're the sweet icing.

as for Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz, the film is too light for their range. but hope they enjoyed the views in Palawan (the closing credit scene in the boat).

uv days

I'm sleepy and tired, most of the time and since it's summer ( not any other July but heat wave July) a few select souls add aggravations like screaming within the realm of life and the courtyard, merely because it's the essence of their personalities. If they're kids or squalling brats, it's fine (grin and bear it?), if they're adults, I'll just remember it's winter soon and these flesh-bearing mammals would rather stay indoors.

and the parties. all the planning. cooking and tidying. should we do quiet for next year's celebration? venture on a voyage? how do people turn 40?

loving the presents!

happy 1st Birthday, my sweetest!
13 July 2013

it's a joy

Photogenic. In this age of Instagrams and the likes, a gorgeous garden is something to behold. The pretty pink rose above is from the green thumb of a colleague ( I forgot to ask permission to publish her name).

Gorgeous.

We're doing a countdown for our gorgeous gal's first birthday. She would be totally clueless of the celebration of her milestone but a picture paints a thousand words (pinch the cliche). At this point, her folks are still waiting for her first in a series of syllabic queries. Princess Sophia, Peppa Pig, Minnie, Daisy are still trying to capture her attention. Just waiting to grasp and seize, the love of learning.

invites

our prep wasn't that much but too many for only three guests. in actuality, it's more expensive to go to sushi restaurants or travel and book hotels than mapping out a do without paying for the venue. as my baby shower last year fell on my birthday, i thought why not recreate the sparkle, let's conduct a dry run for baby girl's first birthday using my 39th natal day as gauge. this time. three.

if my fair weathers are the gauge, then it's kind of bare and sad. but then it has to be with like-minded people, kindred spirits and the likes, or there would be frozen shoulders all around. however, the enemies would refuse by the mere thought of just going near my vicinity.

but i still ordered too many empanadas. someone who does like seeing food wasted ( just think of those who are starving), i'm now stuffed on carbs. it means, i have to stretch, move and shake.

eddshrinker cup 2013

team Ben -- 6
Dicko -- 2
Dazza -- 1
Chicko -- 1
Stubbsy -- 1

team Dave -- 4
Dan -- 2
Wayne -- 2

Goal of the Match
Dazza -- free kick ( team Ben)

Man of the Match
Jason (team Ben)


--for Edd--
one of the nicest blokes ever.

hope it doesn't rain

but the weather forecast says otherwise. the whole week, on my birthday on Thursday, during the summer solstice, it's going to be wet. as if the winter wasn't already freezing.

while last year, it was hot, sun shining and my baby shower guests screaming for electric fans. but we cannot actually create throwback Thursdays on any given day. rain it is, and just bask in the cooler air, my get together invites.

two years ago, after gallivanting at Tate Britain, there was also rain in the afternoon when I turned 37.

as I stand on the threshold of another decade ( 40 next year, how cruel), do I feel old? some people my age, are already grandmothers and I still feel youthful yet hoping I have learned my life's lessons. I want a few laments during the day. but as the people we hobnob and cross paths with do not come with handheld controls, that's quite hard.

baby girl and her cuddles though permeate warmth.

June, for solstice

the first of the month has come and gone, that's the hubby's birthday and no celebrations although he'd rather be in the company of his faux friends for merely four hours. while on my birthday I'm going to have a tea party minus the tea. I'm not a fan of hot drinks. I sip hot chocolate at a coffee shop once or twice a year. mostly, I crave cold beverages, without alcohol. boring. death-defying boredom. if you see me guzzling blue drinks, it means i hate the company.

my birthday is a prelude to my baby's first. checking i could tick my list properly with a menu and a guest list. can't believe tiny little baby is turning one. she's running well for her age. eating well. prettier than her mummy? she has a more aquiline nose. but every individual on earth has more aquiline nose than me.

fly high RP

searching for inspiration on how the dear old motherland would excel, i recalled Ryan's friend, thought of my maternal grandmother and the great aunts, tried to observe the gamut of my friendships, read and read some more. some of the guys amongst my Facebook friends have deep philosophic political opinions (c'mon ladies!). during my school years, the girls got the highest grades and win the top student electoral posts and all other positions, go to places (literally). now the ladies just want to be mothers (harder than anything).

I'm talking politics because it's the key to empowerment. Enacting laws to change the status quo like the RH bill, passing legislation like mandating big business to end contractual employment to their staff, providing social and health benefits, pushing the citizenry to work harder, promoting good government that the rebel forces would just die a natural death, vanishing red tape. but in hindsight, despite moments of grave hunger, we don't wallow in depression. we thrive with our happy spirit. living in the catacombs does not shatter the disposition.

however, there is that leeway to polish the gem. work only, no parties? trimming the excess baggage is not that hard.

continue to innovate

saw this article from my tita wan's Facebook page, an article from The Economist and I know it looks good. but thinking above and beyond, I long for the days the RP no longer have to rely from the diaspora, the diligence and fortitude of a myriad of overseas workers providing for a unit of society. numbers and ratings are good. but we are standing on earthquake-prone grounds. as long as our workers search for greener pastures beyond our shores and our level of comfort is not yet competitive with the leading economies, life would continue to be a struggle for majority of the population. how to bridge the gap with the G8 nations is the topic of discourse. a world and future; where the Philippine educational system is on top of the totem pole, where our universities are the Ivy League and Oxbridge of the present; where our power lines are hidden in underground cables; where we observe risk and safety measures in our construction sites; where slums and poverty may not be non-existent but becoming obsolete; where the bread winners, the movers and shakers are not subsisting on paltry pay.

however at this point, as our countrymen in Taiwan are fearing for their lives and we face discrimination in whatever country we go, it's time to saturate, to find ways to improve our lives and slowly reach the plateau, it usually starts with a creative idea (to continue).

trajectory

whenever i come across Amalia Fuentes' name on an article, my mom instantly comes to mind. she was such a huge fan of the former movie queen that she kept scrapbooks. i spent hours staring at those artefacts as a youngster and i've never seen anyone more radiant than the Amalia in those pictures. those scrapbooks probably got lost in some shuffle and i'm still trying to figure out how exactly they vanished into oblivion. but as the images are kept in the recesses of memory, the positive and negative side of any Amalia news, are most welcome. because of the acerbic public persona, she's the antagonist to Susan Roces' protagonist. sweet is best? sweet is stale?

blooming May

i have no time for all the activities in my imaginary list. it remains imaginary until i find a moment to write an actual list. first, i need a nap. or for the baby to sleep for an hour. or a little bit of help from time to time. the heavy lifting in all scopes of living seems a little bit much, an all too real entity in the quest for the necessary self-esteem.

nothing wrong with downtime, none at all.

trolls?

when i last posted a comment on JZ's blog ( ages ago), it wasn't published. it was about the link between show business and the old Etonians and Oxbridge hybrids. it wasn't derogatory, the author just thought it was a contrasting opinion and it might smudge the essence of her piece. but trolls not moderated properly for this celebrity's blog? poor girl. her theme is very light, mostly travels and food. it's refreshing to read articles from mainstream media personalities. most slebs probably litter their writing with dangling syntax. we'll never know because we seldom read their columns or blogs not slashed mightily by well-intentioned editors. they're mostly performers but a little bit of good blogging would add gravitas. this young lady sings, acts, compose songs. she has style. she is on a daily noontime show (which I have never seen). she has more than a million twitter followers (fewer than most of her contemporaries) but compared to the rival which most of the acerbic curmudgeons identify (would love to say the B word), she is not masa and in the social media age, that not even megastars are spared from haters (come to think of it, just an online article provokes anger), she gets hit by arrows and extremely sharp knives. yet, she doesn't make patol (speaking like ate Shawie) or stoop to such low levels.

true talent

these are tita two's creations. they're gorgeous. they look so beautiful for this page.