The not so bad things of the past

When I’m sick, I have the tendency to go through my old stuff. Today, I found my old doodles that I did during my otaku (anime additction) days. I remember being fond first to the sentai series (Bioman, Maskman, Shaider, etc). My Fridays nights are filled with the line up from ABS-CBN’s primetime shows (X Men, Power Rangers, Melrose Place, Beverly Hills 90210, Baywatch). Since Friday night is the only time I can watch TV as much as I want, I make sure I don’t miss this line up.

In anime, I remember being fond of Voltes V, Daimos, Princess Sarah (and all the ABS CBN morning line ups) and, yeah, there are the latter animes—Yuyu Hakusho (Ghostfighter), Rurouni Kenshin (Samurai X), Fushigi Yuugi and Vision of Escaflowne. And during this time was the peak of my fondness for doodling. I used to like designing clothes because I’m always fascinated with prom dresses featured in Seventeen magazine. But, as I grew older, I shifted to more structured type of drawing – anime.

So much has passed, I remember that time giving up this hobby because I always have this eye for perfection. I easily get frustrated when I can never get things right. I tried doodling my favorite characters, and when my end product doesn’t look like them, it frustrated me a lot. I had a lot of insecurities to the people around me, it discouraged me, and I thought, I’d draw a few pieces the last time and stop. That’s it. I also can’t afford to keep a hobby while trying to get decent grades in UP. I’m not as smart as everybody else. So I picked up my pens for the last time, popped my favorite CD (that my bestfriend gave me) and drew, and drew. And drew. These were my last pieces.


Rurouni Kenshin’s Kaoru Kamiya. *Sigh* I like how I drew straight lines back then, because, frankly, I can’t draw straight lines well


Rurouni Kenshin’s Kenshin Himura. I remember I can’t draw his eyes so I had to resort to this. I can’t remember the meaning of the Japanese characters I included. It looks so long ago, I regretted even folding the paper into two.


Card Captor Sakura, one of my sister’s favorite anime. I also like how “clean” and cute the anime looks like. Kerobero’s head looks a little eggy, though.

It looks basic to someone who knows how to draw, but to me, looking at it now, 13 years later, these were precious pieces. Because I knew I put my heart and soul into it and this is the best pieces I’ve made (I wish I could do an Amorsolo or even a greater painting, but because I decided to stop pursuing this hobby, I could only be proud of this). But I feel proud of myself now because I realized that talent may not fade, but you need the skill to do it again. It’s like if you have a creative talent, even if you stop drawing, you will just express it in other forms. Like right now, I try to design science-based communication materials, and sometimes I would still be fascinated with something beautiful to my eyes.  I realized some things never fade. So I tried to draw again, and here’s how my skill was, 13 years later.

After 13 years, I picked up my pen and tried if could draw again. It could be a start.

After 13 years, I picked up my pen and tried if could draw again. It could be a start.

While I was drawing this, my fingers were shaking as I attempt to grip the pen right. I was shaking, and had not direction where my shading would go, but it was a nice try, I guess. After this, my left hand was aching maybe because I gripped the pen too much and I drew too heavily on the paper. Actually, there were some pen bleed on the next blank page.

I admire people who do not get emotional attachment to things, or music, or anything that would link them to their past. I know some friends who are like this and I admire them being amiable and not to hold grudges of the past. A friend told me that he is not attached to things given to him that’s why when I give him things, it doesn’t stay long with him. While I, the ever sentimental, I try to keep all the memorabilia of a certain memory. Because, for me, as the name itself, it brings back the feeling, if not the memory , associated with that thing.  As for me, I always come back to my memory box, reading all the letters and looking at doodles given to me by friends. It brings a lot of memories back, something that’s irreversible and  intangible; but these pieces reminds me of who I was, what was it in my past that I loved before that I decided to throw away (like doodling, art, and everything related to rendering my emotions). Years ago, I decided to throw these away hoping I’d be better, but, I always go back to this, and I miss the feelings that I associated with the pieces of memories I now hold in my hands. I miss some things that were part of my past.

There are some things I miss about my old self, and there are things I like about my new self. I still have to find that silver lining where the link between the best of the old and the new me would emerge and become the person I envision myself to be. A carefree, loving person who is not afraid to take risk and be fearless of the unknown, strong enough to wield courage to emerge victorious in moments of despair, a woman of grace who can be rational but unselfish, a child who finds pleasure in life’s simple joys, and always hungry for new wisdom.

Maybe, if I draw again, then I might discover something new and beautiful about me.



Today was one of the days I felt deeply hurt. More than the mood swing; a simple banter could really hurt, especially when coming from someone who, by the rule, should be the last one who would cause you pain.

I’m trying to make sense of things as I know how lonely it can get for someone to be out there somewhere, struggling alone, away from home.  Maybe it gets too lonely that sometimes, it hurts already; it hurts seeing people happy. Seeing the people you love happy–moreso, it hurts to see their world go on as usual without you. It hurts when you know you are missing and yet the people you miss seem not to miss you at all.  It hurts a lot that the hurt becomes a host of insecurity…slowly spreading into the heart then the brain hemisphere and causes you to say something…something random, unintentional, yet hurtful.

I was one of the prey. A perfect prey for uninentionally hurtful tactless remarks. The ever tactful, sensitive me- who can tolerate a but clueless as to when patience will snap. A lethal cocktail of personality. And I was the ever, eternal victim…and I never learned, I never knew how to adjust.  And so when the damage was done (err…spoken), I resorted to nothing but questioning myself and faith all over again…just when I have put my self in place and started to find the balance again. Decades of conditioning myself to embracing what may lie ahead has become a million-dollar ugly question again: what could be wrong? Then a reinstatement: Something must be really wrong. Then a reiteration. Yes. There IS something wrong. Immediately, the walls start to break down mostly in the following order: Confidence, self- esteem, love for self (and I am not talking about selfishness); until my emotions are stripped raw in the palm of Goliath, ready to be crumbled into pieces… I’m a shattered shit, until I find time and ways to pick myself up again.

They say the best people to love are the difficult ones. And I knew that I shouldn’t be vulnerable to such people, my defenses should be greater. This has been a fact I’ve lived for all my life. But then, through the years I have lived on to this reality, I seem to have never, ever got myself into accepting these personalities wholly.  Sometimes I even ask: have they even thought of ways of loving me, so I can give them the best love that they wanted me to give them? and this is one ugly question I don’t want to dare ask, but when my walls are shattered, I find myself asking this.

Now I’m done asking, I tell myself next “Maybe I’ll just try to understand more…” but the incessant attempts and herculean effort makes me afraid as well–afraid that in my attempt to wholly understand and accept, I am starting to cut some strings as well…to remain rational. and the moment I become completely rational, emotions will be completely stripped off; all the ties cut off. I hope it won’t happen; I am still holding on to the tie that seriously binds. Happy times still outweighs irrational, insensitive remarks. I would still like to hold on to that–for now.

Love being a good, but not the best thing.

“Being in love is a good thing…but it’s not the best thing.”

I always have the penchant into poignant love proverbs.  Maybe it’s my cynical quality that draws me into the bitterness of these statements; that no matter how love seemed to be so good in the beginning, as what my former classmates, Father Sisoy explicated, “It’s tragic.”

And so when Father Sisoy saw this, he was up with the challenge “What is the next best thing, then, Rei?”

Suddenly, I felt the need to grope for ultimate wisdom.  What the heck. What is, indeed, the next best thing?

In the first place, how was I to know that love is such a good thing?

Recently, I had this strange longing of being with someone special.  I wanted to see myself finally settling down, and then having kids of my own.  Yes, they will be that cute little ones who will always take my blue away.

But then, reality easily sets in.  A colleague who’s trapped in the web of extramarital affair, a friend who has relationship problems, along with other, a friend who treats you like an living diary about her love life, that you know every detail of their fights, petty to big ones.

Now I was asked the next best thing about being in love, I don’t even know what love is, to begin with.  All I know is that, love is a humane feeling.  It traps us, blinds us, and stays with us like a chronic disease.  It doesn’t have a lifespan, and the more complicated it is, the more difficult it can be cured.  In my own case, it makes my day, but also ruins it with the same intensity.  I’ve had my share of being in love in the most fleeting moment and man, it sucks. It indeed, was the good thing, once you find yourself out of this hellish thing, but resentful when you’re trapped again.

I wonder then, what is the better thing after you have gone wasted and back and all those almost resentful tasks?  Father says it’s the being of love. For love is not a fleeting moment or a feeling, it is a state of being, it is us.  It says who we are.

I wish I could grow and be mature enough to face these difficulties that I encounter, so I can be capable of loving someone.  I wish I could love someone, not just with the idea of love. Not with the butterflies; or the pleasing discomfort one may bring to my heart when he would acknowledge my furtive glance. But with someone, whom I would dare to give my best shot, be the most unselfish being I could be, while being me.

Or simply, love someone without fear.

Probably the most painful, but liberating feeling. I wish someday I could do this.

A new home courtesy of wordpress

This is my new blog. I plan it keep it low key, because I plan to make this as repository just about anything–from sheer idiosyncrasy to ignoramus intellectual bouts.

Abi, My best friend, prodded me to create a themed blog. It took me almost a year to think about what theme would it be; finally, I decided to just make it as a personal notes of my journey, as every moment in life is worthy of being laughed at, cried over, and pondered on. No matter how mundane it is.

I’ve written hundreds of letters, and thousands of random thoughts, some may need serious grammatical editing; some can be called pwede na survivors. But the most important thing is, this is my life, how I view each facet of it.

My mood may change from cynical to cheesy. That’s C and C for you. Blame it on my typical cancerian trait.

But I assure you, this is my heart writing typing the words straight out of it.

I am now 28, there is no reason to be afraid of some things, that I was afraid to do/tell, and this is the redemption of my 27-year struggle with silence, or words left unsaid or feelings left unexpressed.

Life is too short to keep some things on your own. You cannot keep your secrets in a box like Pandora’s. So before anything grand or weird would pan out from it, let me do this gradually.

I hope I can live up to this new found courage.  So, bear with me.