Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett are both dead. :( They would always be remembered for their contribution to the entertainment industry. Who actually hasn't lived with Jackson's music or adored Fawcett's do?

 

For 25 years, I've sent a couple of letters to Mama. But I have never made one for you. I would talk with Nina in Yahoo Messenger, and I would exchange text messages with Alman. But I never dared to talk to you unless when you're the one who's going to pick up on the other line. 

 

It's ironic how I wasn't really able to tell you how much you mean to me, and yet how you are so generous of showing it to your first-born daughter. I would never forget those many times that you've defended me from Mama or how you always tried to save me from deep embarassment. I hated you every time you did that, because it made me feel like I was inadequate. Looking back, though, I completely understand what you did. You knew that I knew that I made a mistake. It's enough. It's time to bring me back to my two feet with your and Mama's help. 

 

Pa, I grew up without having you around for most of the time. I remember how when I was eight years old, you left us to work someplace far. You didn't turn your back to look at us again the moment you stepped out of the door, not because you didn't want to but because I knew that the parting hurt you the most. I also didn't want to see you cry, because it would definitely break my heart into a million pieces. Even if you're afar, you've showered me with so many letters that I never get tired of reading, even until now. I remember how you bought me a gown for my first kiddie pageant and decided to iron it, only to realize that you've burned holes into it. Nevertheless, you still exerted effort to give me the most decent gown available. You seldom come home, not because you're too tired, but because we're growing up. You'd rather sacrifice your time with us than not give us money for food and education. 

 

I admire how you love Mama. I can hardly count with my fingers the number of times you've fought with each other. In fact, there was a time when you decided to leave us. Yet your great love for Mama always brings you back to us. You may appear to be stiff for most of the time, a man with pride, but at the end of the day, I know you're the one who makes the 

first move to say I'm sorry. 

 

Pa, I miss my childhood days, when we'd travel--just the two of us--from Boljoon to the city and back. It was always a pleasant ride not because I see a lot of things, but because I feel secure with you around. I remember the way you'd let me sit on your lap, or the way you'd let me rest my head on your shoulder when I'm deeply tired. 

 

Now that I'm married, I'm wishing that I have spent more time with you. I wish I had not grown up so fast and pursued other things immediately. Time flew so fast, but then I know that I'd always be a Papa's girl. It will never change. 

 

Love you, Pa. 

 

 

 

 

 

But I'm really getting tired of all this b******t. And I'm so stupid to even think that things will change someday, and we can be the best of friends--even just for the sake of your closest friend. 

I don't want to be friends with any one of you. In fact, I'll crash you out from my memory, as if none of you ever existed. 

All of you just pushed me to become better. And from now on, I'll truly mean what I say: I DON'T CARE!

A pen in hand

I broke my heart into million pieces

But let them be, for a moment

I am strong. I can make myself whole.

But not this time–yet. Not this time.

Loneliness is eating me

Gnawing my insides till I become numb

And the only thing that I breathe

Is pain, so excruciating.

What’s left to cry? What’s left to believe?

Yes, I am dying my own death

With a pen in hand, I watch my own heart

Bleed, broken–shattered.

Anyway, I'm pretty excited since I have two shirts coming. One is from a Manila shirt designer. He creates great E-heads shirt. Since we were not able to make it to the concert, we'll consider the shirt as our memorabilia. God knows when the nex time is for this band. 

I also bought a shirt for Iggy. It's my form of moral and financial support, as he battles leukemia. I pray to God that he will be healed physically and spiritually very soon. 

Oh, I also bought two books for my sponsored child in World Vision. I don't know if I'm allowed to say his name here or anywhere else. I hope to see him very soon. :-) He's doing well in school. At Grade 2, he can speak English well, but I'm hoping these two story books will enhance his English more. 

On May 28, Bernard and I will be celebrating Earth Hour. It starts at 8:30 and ends at 9:30 p.m. Hope everyone gets to support this simple cause. 

I felt bad because until now I'm still trying to figure out on what to give to Isabel and Mark. I do have an idea, but I hope I can carry them out well. 

My ears hurt. I just had two more piercings, and I can feel pain when they are touched. I just removed them because I could not properly lie on the side. Hopefully, though, I would still be able to place back my earrings. Isis and I are set to a new adventure sometime soon. 

Finally, I have a new project coming up: my home. I am pretty excited on the so-called interior decorating that I'm going to do. Somehow, I am creative, though I cannot really transform my concepts to sketches. What I did is just write them. 

I also know where to go next year for my birthday :-)

Class Portraits (by Jonathan Ubaldo)

People--

They parrot around,

indulged in their business,

talking and walking,

as others groom themselves

mirrors they bring while combing their hair.

Another one, 

He sings

at the top of his voice

while fixing his eyes

on a girl--who's smiling back,

consciously flashing 

her most captivating smile. 

The triplet in the corner--

They laugh, then silence fills the room

and their eyes would meet

exchanging mischevious glances

as the kinky-haired

starts to chuckle.

A girl on a ponytail--

She sits alone, yet never stops to chatter,

I feel she needs attention.

Later on, she sits beside a friend

And asks her about a math problem

while singing her heart out--

release me let me go.

The spikedhead--

In front of me he sleeps

probably tired

after skimming a book

while a bright-eyed lad

lies on his back on the table,

seems strumming

an imaginary guitar

dododooo,

nonchalantly he's on his vocal chords.

On the left--

My unusually helpful best friend

struggles on his pen,

extracting every bright idea

out of his head.

he looks down

on the old photographs,

and looks up--

as if praying for

an apt line and

write it on paper

then someone asks him what he's doing--

he replies with a sly grin. 

Still, 

Two pairs of girls

are fixed on their paper and board

as they blabber endlessly--

what lies beyond those talks?

(Sorry, wala nakuha sa pag print.. hehe.. fill the next lines please)

These and all,

They create

an unlikely orchestra--

a comical symphony,

the daily classroom scene,

that I would surely miss.

Soon.

In all my twenty-five years of existence, I only knew one. She was smart, beautiful, classic, someone I really look up too--and we're not friends. She doesn't know me. So I was intrigued.

Her e-mail would tell you that she had a very sunny disposition, and I would definitely love to be her friend if she wants me to, but there are some issues I want her to address first:

1. She calls me a "he." Simply put, I terribly feel she's using a special template and that she forgot to edit it. It could also be that I look like a boy in my picture, which I'm sure I don't. I could just be a random buddy, which I don't like either.

2. She wants me to click on a link. I say, "For what?" I didn't bother to even read what the URL says, but a quick look caught the word "dating."

3. She's not real. So I thought this only happens in Friendster. It seems like Multiply is started to be a home for robots, fraudsters, phishers, linkers, and a whole lot more. 

So, Marlene, sad to say, we're not meant to be friends. 

Second, if I ate at the other, which is filled with young and hip La Sallians, I will look like batang yagit, or batang kalye who can afford. After all, what I wear inside the room is what I wear outside. Simply put, my damit pambahay can hardly put up wiht the Abercrombies, Von Dutches, Bayos, and Levis, to name a few. 

But when you're hungry, you're hungry. You just have to look past all the insecurities, which I actually did. 

Not if I allowed my fear to take over, I would be starving and then become the grouchiest person in the world. I also would not be able to taste my favorite cheesy beef steak with adobo rice, which is definitely yum-yum. 

Morale of the story: just do what you need to do. 

And as corny, cheesy, OA, jologs, and kadramahan as it may sound, her music used to be one of my favorites and, in fact, I've cried through some of them. After all, how can you not when somebody's just telling you how stupid you are when it comes to loving? 

And this reminded me of Rico Yan and Claudine, who used to be my favorite on-screen and off-screen partner even before the former died and the latter married somebody else.

Nostalgia, it is!

Those were the days, when you really didn't have a lot of money in the pocket, and there's not much think of but how to get home (make sure that you have at least 2 pesos). The rest would then go to lugaw and lumpia, which were best taken after CAT training. 

CAT training then reminded me of the officers' program, which compelled me to wake up at 4 in the morning, so I can be at school at 5 or 6, just in time for the morning exercises. Back then, I never really thought that I could jog 10 rounds, roll over mud, crawl under small chairs, perform 50 or more drop like a log or jumping jacks, or pass on a candy or bubble gum without using your hands. There was Cielo running after us with a broom in hand, just so we could finish all the rounds we're supposed to do. 

I could vividly remember the walk from Talamban to Liloan, passing through steep inclines, quarries, and what could be the longest road in my life: Casili. I remembered Marlon's hand on mine, but there was no malice then. It helped me get through the heat of both the sun and the uniform, not to mention the growing calluses underneath my boots. We talked about our loves, which were so young then--but for us, it was already deep and so magical. 

CAT training brought me back to good days on the school field. There was no playground, but the vastness was ours to explore. In fact, I would like to believe that it had served a witness to a lot of our struggles, joys, and pains. There, I saw Bernard cry for the very first time because he felt something was unfair. Kareen Joy and the rest of the group would gather around for a Bible study. The days when we would plant small trees, forget about them for a while or leave them eaten by goats, and then plant them again. How about when the guys climbed the roof, only to be stoned by Sir Demiao, thinking they were cats? Or how Keith answered Maam Baguio that it wasn't really a cat but a bayawak? Or how Nando would say sorry for his deed but would not promise that he would not do it again?

The field was where 2 small platoons would perform the drills, in preparation for a tactical inspection that never happened anyway. Our tactical officers back then thought that we're just too small. After all, what can you really expect from a throng of less than 30? But the number doesn't really matter. We knew then that we we're strong, capable, and very happy of just beign part of a very good high school life. 

After CAT trainings every Wednesday, a lot of us would then troop to the public market for a bowl of lugaw and 2 pieces of lumpia.