To each his own

I’ve been pretty busy lately. You see, I revived my hobby and plan to make a profit out of it. I have a number of things in mind that scream to be put in paper, but, this old hobby kinda slumps me at work. I’m not complaining, though. But, sometimes my creative mind won’t reel to its direction and I space out. I end up watching reruns of Charmed, Charmed again, and Monk at 9 am, 10 am, and 2pm respectively. My hubby says that maybe I’m bored. Could it be that since I’ve been jobless for a while I’m looking for other stuff to keep me busy?

We’ve constantly had discussions on this. Fortunately, I always score. I’m the only person capable of saying that I’m bored-to-death indeed. Haven’t we all learned to tap into our senses to confirm our feelings? And I stand up to him and say NO, I’m never bored. I only get bored when people talk nonsense or when there’s zero thing to do. I don’t. I’ve plenty of books on my shelf waiting to be read. I write. I do my regular mani and pedi in front of the TV while engaged in interesting movies. I check the net for inspiration for my handmade accessories. And, yeah, my beads are there to keep me busy. So, I have many diversions. Unlike this person I know who complains about boredom all the time. I wanted to tell her to quit ranting. She has a kid to make her preoccupied. When the kid’s at school, read a book for two hours then pick him up after school. By then, she may have acquired a number of new terms she didn’t know until she forced her way into reading. Oh, I forgot, she doesn’t read and she also doesn’t have a hobby. Poor girl!

I’m just lucky that despite my absence from the dog-eat-dog world, I’m able to see the light in things. My resignation from my last job was months in the making. I had to resign from a sadistic boss. And now I am in peace and at peace and boredom is the least of my problem. I guess, it’s also who I am since I’m more an introvert and enjoy my time alone. Don’t get me wrong, I still go out. I’m no hermit or monk or whatever else you can call me. I just enjoy being with myself… that is all.

To each his own.

To a dear friend

My dear friend,

I've known you for a short period of time; I wish it wasn't the case. But, for what little time we spent, you've been generous enough to open your heart regardless of what my post-judgment of you may turn out. The whats, ifs, and buts during our short conversations revealed the complexities of your thoughts, the strength in your character, and the compassionate heart you have. I also wish we had more of that.

Unbeknownst to you, I would always ask hubby how you are---more about your state of mind and how you are holding up in the romance department. Do you remember that our last exchanges were about finding Mr. Right whom you said was still stuck in traffic? You see, mine was too, then made a U-turn, and forgot to come back. Glad he didn't or else I wouldn't be married to my Greatest Love. Yours will come too. And when he does, don't fight it. Don't go looking for Mr. Right, or Mr. Perfect, or Mr. Ideal. Instead, wait for your one greatest love. 

There could be many Mr. Rights depending on your maturity, change of times, or even changes in the weather (you'll know what I mean), but your greatest love will come only once. Hence, listen carefully to your heart. 

Remain strong, steadfast, and smart as you embark on a new journey to a better you. You mulled over your decision long enough to know that (hopefully) you made the right choice. And who's best to say that you'll be happy other than you, right? So, if along the way you find yourself dissatisfied, unhappy, or even unappreciated by others, go back to first base and think again why you were there in the first place. The wise says we are accountable for our own happiness and vice versa. 

Here's wishing you the best in life and the best of everything that is to come. I really pray that you fall in love again, but wiser and empowered. Love yourself first, that's the golden rule. 

God bless on your mission.

See you around.

XOXO

I forgot about the Popcorn

I forgot about the popcorn hubby bought for me
Sitting prettily on top of my TV
Facebooking and blogging were the culprits not me
I forgot about the popcorn terribly, terribly.


Forgive me, hubby, for the popcorn I forgot
But, tomorrow I promise to eat it
Munch and finish it
Even though it's already makunat.

Sleepless Night

I jumped to bed last night earlier than usual so I can also get up early to catch the worm--they say early birds catch the worm, right? I did, however, get up too early before the worm crawled out of the soil. Sleeping at 10pm and getting up at 3am… what’s with me?

I kept tossing and turning hoping that my wandering mind will stop and allow me back to dreamland. I waited but it never came until I could no longer shut my eyes because it hurt soooo much to pretend to be sleeping. However, I was too lazy to even get up and do something like read a book or watch tv to help me go back to sleep. I even tried to recall some tips on how to sleep soundly hoping and praying that it’ll work its wonders on me. I counted sheep (flocks would be more proper) and catered to happy thoughts so I can hush-hush again. But, the time spent were wasted for anymore slumber.

So, I had no choice but to get up at 7am dead tired from lack of proper sleep. Then, I suddenly felt a strong empathy towards my husband who has been forever doing night shifts and affords five hours of sleep a day, seven on a good day which is rare and the funny thing is that he hardly complains and even able to gather the zest he needs to start his day or night for that matter. And to add more to my injury, here I am ranting about the lack of sleep when other people have bigger problems than I do. I should be thankful I even get sleep or get to sleep on a bed and a roof over my head. Ergo, I think I should do some hair pulling and cheek slapping adding one more whack on my head while I’m at it for being ultra selfish and dense.

Define ME

I am a product of both artists. My father a musician and my mother a culinary expert, yes, to her that is artistry.

I grew up thinking that I would be like my folks. For which I got a lil of both and some of their idiosyncrasies as well. There were times I found myself strumming my father’s guitar and in between fidgeting through my mama’s sliced tomatoes, onions, and the likes.

As I write this, I guess this should’ve been my introduction whenever people ask me to introduce myself, a common request from teachers/professors in high school/college every start of the school year/semester. This should’ve been easier to say than racking my brains with flowery adjectives and highfalutin words to impress my audience. And maybe I should’ve worn a disclaimer on my neck saying: What you see is not what you always get. Then let them guess endlessly for all I care.

So, I’m an artist or a wannabe. A linguist or because I want to believe I am. I am a kitchen master or because my husband thinks so. I am overweight but people think I am not. I should've been a Rockstar and an Iron Chef. Oh, and I am gullible too.