human nature

Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such?

Edgar Allan PoeThe Black Cat (short story)


First shot


Finally, the famous soju has graced my tongue, throat, and belly. Mmmm~ It didn’t taste as bad as I expected. Actually, this particular brand is a bit sweet, with a slight apple taste. My friends told me some are totally bitter and strong, so next time I drink soju, I’ll be looking for this brand. Thanks to my loves, the Junko gals, for urging me to still follow yesterday’s plan despite my headache. Lol. You guys!

Well, I needed the drink anyway. I’ve been craving for it since Friday, since my heartbreak of letting Tita go, dad leaving, and generally all the stress which have built up till now. I’m not too keen on drinking as much as smoking, but I indulge myself to a little bit of intoxication when the craving arise.

Moreover, I needed the company of my favorite people in the world. For once, I was able to vocally share some of my sadness albeit short. I had to stop because talking about a painful thing out loud urges my tears further. I love my friends and family, but my tears are exclusively for my eyes only. I can’t handle drama, even if I’ll be the star of it.

Anyway, I really appreciate them listening. It’s reassuring that there are sympathetic ears around me. 🙂

Oh my dad…

Grown ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever be explaining to them.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince (novel)


This quote of the day was chosen in lieu of my father’s departure, again.

In several hours, we’d be taking him to the airport, have the usual goodbye quips and hugs, while I keep everything I want to tell him to myself, as usual. 

I actually intended to write him a long letter (which I have not accomplished) expressing my impression of him as a father to me for three months, my observations of him as person, and properly extending my gratitude as a daughter who, though ever enthusiastic to object his ideas time and time again, learned a lot with our short stay together. I also want to assure him that I do love him as my father and I do respect him (though to be honest, this area needs boosting) as one despite my bitchy attitude sometimes and my silence whenever he shares his woes. I wanted to make him understand that I’m the awkward child in the family and he can’t do much about that anymore.

My father and I have a brittle relationship. I say this even if it’s a one-sided point of view because he’s confident there’s nothing wrong between us. Sadly, that’s not true.

In a parallel universe, I’m probably a very sweet daughter who can dance the waltz with her father and look up to him with sheer admiration and appreciation. In reality, I am tight-lipped around him and I always have to browse through a catalog in my head of possible topics to start despite my apparent aversion to small talk. As family, this isn’t natural.

You see, my parents separated when I was two years old. Once they settled their relationship as separate single parents, I only got to be with my dad on weekends, a family member’s birthday, and Christmas. As the years progressed and I got busier with friends and had an active social life, my time for family naturally digressed, more so with my father who lived in a different city. With a sudden, horrible turn of events, he had to escape to another country. Our communication was aided through fiber optic wires and a monitor on weekends and special occasions, which to all it’s good intent, never really helped much to strengthen my emotional connection to him.

Throughout the years, I suppose the image of my father had been pretty bleak. He was nice because he worked hard to get to our good side, he never failed to give us what we want (if we negotiate hard enough) and provide what our family needs financially. However, I strongly scowl at his pride, his never-ending public outcry of how his problems are always worse than his, and his not-so-subtle hints of begging for pity. He’s also the type of man who mocks the sincerity of a monogamous man.

(That, I proudly announce, have commented as bullshit to him in one of our better times together. See?)

There’s a saying that you can’t teach old dogs new tricks. Yes, agreeable, but my father refuses to be old, so it’s an invalid argument when he tells me to shut my trap whenever nag at his ever irritating ways. More than once, I told him that even with our dilemma with Tita, the shift in our family setting, the money problems, etc. he should have taken the chance he had with me and my brothers to get to know us better, even with the short time. Surely, if the big C problem never happened, then everything would never have happened. Fine, that would have been preferable of course, but I think I would never be able to spend more than a month with him, actually living with him and getting to know his good and bad side, getting to know him better if all these never happened. I would never have bother to learn how to cook rice and some dishes properly if he never forced me, or the things I should have been concerned in the house if he never came here to our aid. It’s sad that he spend most of those three months sulking at the pile of problems left for him alone to solve (I object because we were always there to help him, he just never trusted us enough to believe that we are capable of properly helping) and how our attitudes does not suit his taste, questioning our ripe characteristics. Like the kids he left for the states years ago, he expected us to follow all his decisions blindly just because he is the adult, the father.

However, it’s not like that. It’s not easy letting a person waltz into your life with the label of a father after being without each other for so long and instantly glorify the situation without thorns that have grown pricking us in the process.

We have grown so much, isn’t he proud we can defend our opinions so well? Isn’t he proud that even in our own flawed way, we’ve somehow survived society unscathed and still smiling? We can joke about the sad times in the past because we’ve accepted it and we have moved on. Sadly my father occasionally mulls on the times he was never there for us, the graduations and birthdays he missed, and seemed to have never defeated the guilt no matter how many times we assure him that we were never angry at his departure and that we are fine, we’re happy, we’re coping.

Although I guess that can be sad as well. Your family coping well even without you. Well, if we don’t have a choice, we can’t really do anything about it, can we? So just…move on with life and enjoy the present and the future! I wish at least 30 percent of my positiveness rubs on him. He seriously needs to change perspective.

Well, after three months, I’m happy to note that I have became closer to my father. I have a better image of him, and I’d love to visit him abroad in the future. I will miss him, but I think there’s still a lot of things we have to work on. Things we have to work on without each other. I love my father, but he gets on my nerves so much, I’d have to prevent potential family drama initiated by my imploding grief.


Dear Daddy,

It’s been nice, well, more than nice living together these past three months. We’ve had rough days and relatively relaxed ones. All those memories I will remember more vividly as they were made in my later years compared to my apparent happy childhood which is a haze to me now.

Always take care, and I love you.

Till next time. 🙂



To nobody’s “business”

Whatever the reason is, it is never a good thing for anyone to say “hurry up!” to you when you’ve just clearly announced your business in the toilet. 

Especially when said business requires concentration… massive concentration. It’s just plain rude.

So to no one in particular–father,eherm–please do not annoyingly holler at us to speed up our business whilst in the john’s because it’s not your digestive system which will suffer later. Moreover, it is evil to deny release.  


If the world ends while I’m taking a dump, I’ll hunt all the toilets in the world and scare the crap out of everybody’s asses who chooses the same cubicle as I would.


Such is Life

It has been five months since the whole dilemma began.

Mid-September I received a message from my younger brother, seemingly distressed (and as usual, helpless) that his mom, my Tita Marie (stepmom), felt sick. I immediately visited her, interrogating on her possible past health issues and her then current complaints.

What a supposed visit turned into weeks of unplanned stay-overs because from then on I was suddenly the matron of the house in charge of bills, budget, and food; the personal assistant responsible for setting appointments with doctors and getting Tita to laboratories for endless “necessary” exams; the mediator between family members who were suddenly concerned, visitors who were suddenly friends, and suddenly the highest in-charge of the family business.

With Tita’s worsening cognitive functions and as the responsible child with the most time in her hands (being I work from home), I had to take in all these novel roles with closed eyes.

For a while, I felt like a zombie because I wasn’t exactly sure if what my decisions were correct or wise, I simply acted according to how the time needed me. Apparently, I was the only one in my family willing to sacrifice to help, so with my head high, I just did what I had to do.

Mid-October when Tita was officially diagnosed with Lung Cancer Stage 4 metastasis to the brain. Her apparent impaired memory, motor, and verbal skills were due to the lesions developed from the mass in her lungs, which has progressed to its advanced stage without any of us knowing, including her.

For all we know, Tita was the last in our family to get sick. She is always lively, on-the-go type of person, a bit workaholic, consistently on a diet and working out, the likes. She did smoke on some stressful occasions, but not really enough for her to develop lung cancer. We suspected that it was second-hand smoke. With 12 years working in a small canteen and tired, stressed taxi drivers–puffing countless sticks of yosi–as our biggest patrons, it could have been that. It is also possible that her overworked body found a way to tell her to slow down. It seems jogging at 2:30 AM followed by an exhausting trip to the market to stock our canteen, then straight to bathing, a short nap, and the rest of the day working at the shop is not the best combination for a healthy lifestyle. I quite suspect the long-term effect of those popular slimming pills she took in the past, too.

I felt very sorry for Tita because I know she didn’t want to slow down. Not when I barely had the time to visit (I am infinitely guilty of this), Jom finding quality time to the comfort of his friends’ company, my older brother having his own family, and my dad on the other side of the world, she could not slow down. If I were her, I wouldn’t. I’d be very lonely. I wouldn’t want to slow down because then I’d notice how alone I am, and how eerily, depressingly silent a 3-storey house can be.

At the same time, I felt very sorry for myself. Though at some point, I mulled over the thought of whether I have the right to pity myself when I’m not the one who was sick, yet I couldn’t help but cry at the end of the day, finished with everything that had to be done, accomplished forms and my own work, that I felt so…alone.

For the firs time in my entire 25 years of existence, I felt so lonely.

I’m a person partial to changes. I love the idea, but I’m not entirely confident that it suits me, or how well I can handle it.

In the five months wherein everything transpired, I may have changed drastically. I experienced living away from my mother and realizing how dependent I have been to her emotionally and physically despite my claim to being independent; learning that 20,000 pesos is not such a big amount of money if you start deducting payments for bills and food alone; being more knowledgeable with medical terms and hospital processes, dealing with two-faced “professionals” and being more open to alternative medicine; and handling real-time emergencies like blood and excrement all over the place while maintaining a presence of mind to call for help and not breakdown in anxiety. They were things I didn’t give a toss before, nor was I every welcoming of the idea of knowing them until I had to.

There were sleepless days laced with worry over Tita’s health, whether I’d ever be able to go home, how long will the agony last, why I have to sacrifice career opportunities and personal time, or why I had to do everything by myself. Although my dad kept his support and my younger brother ready to follow my instructions, just one day, I hope somebody takes the burden from me without questions and let me breathe, give a pat in the back and say: “You’ve done enough for now, go on and take a rest.”

In these trying times, I couldn’t appreciate the thank you very much, I wanted physical help. Because taking care of a 5 feet 7 inches woman, weighing 140 lbs was so not easy for a small woman like myself who has a bad back and quite on the heavy side, as well.  Well, at the end of the day, I guess I did it for love.

Tita is like a mother to me. Literally, she is my second mother, but I think in terms of spoiling and support, she was never behind my biological mother. It’s also fascinating that she and my own mom are friends. I know, it’s kinda awkward, but it’s really not. The awkwardness only transpires once my father enters the picture. Anyway, I’ve known her since I was five years old. I remember my dad telling me one weekend that there will be a woman coming to his house with a baby. When I saw them and my dad introduced her as my “Tita Marie” while the baby she was holding was my younger brother, I just shrugged and said, “Talaga?” (Really?) with amusement and apparently, acceptance. During summers, I’d spend my vacation in my dad’s house with her and my younger brother, she’d share to me various stories, have an impulsive movie/coffee/shopping date, and made me feel like an only child. Yeah, she loved to spoil me because I was the only girl and I didn’t live with her. Well, I also like to think that I was the kindest child and definitely the only one who understood her as a woman. When I told her I wanted to go to Japan and that I’d need her help, she didn’t ask me why, she just nodded and smiled a bit, asked how she can help and proceeded with the perfect Japan story of her in her 20’s, trying to survive in Japan. While my mom is a bit clingy and overprotective of me, she’s the mom who pushed me to try new things while I’m still young. I am infinitely lucky to have lived with two mothers.

Tomorrow, my father and I would be taking Tita to Caloocan where her mother and brother reside. From then on, it will be their responsibility to take care of her. It’s not because we’ve given up on her, but my dad has to go back to the US to earn money for my younger brother and expenses for the house and Tita’s needs, while it’s been too long since I’ve been home. I also need to get out and find myself a new job because it won’t be long that my part-time job at home drive me crazy. My mom needs my attention too now that her health is also in the hazard zone with asthma, high blood, and borderline diabetes in the mix. We’ve tried our best to find someone to take care of Tita, but there’s just no one willing. We can hire a private nurse or caretaker, but we just don’t have the funds now to secure one. In the end, we have to pass the responsibility to her other family. It’s gonna be tough, but I hope they show the same kind of love, care, and patience we’ve given to her since. Not because you’re family mean that you’ll be treated like one.

I’ll miss Tita so much. Even in her cognitive-impaired, bed-ridden, diaper-dependent state, I still enjoy her company. I know she has not given up the fight when she can still understand my joke, out of the blue comment on my never-changing weight, and that she’s still prettier than me even without hair. She’s still the same woman I treated as my own mother the moment I met her 20 years ago.

I hope they treat her well, I hope they treat her right. I hope they understand that she’s not stubborn, you just have to find a way around her. I hope they have the patience of a saint because it’s never easy taking care of the sick. I hope they never forget that she’s a woman who loves us all and still craves for attention even if she doesn’t remember how to.

It’s only a matter of days when I’ll go back to my own house in Makati, and I can keep everything behind me. Of course I’ll have to visit Tita once in a while too, and lord knows how much I’d have to teach Jom now that he’d have to live by himself. Nonetheless, I’d have less responsibility and I can go forward to start a new job, some new hobbies, meet my friends more often, spend time with my Mom everyday when I don’t have work, so I should be happier.

At the same time I am not.

I feel like I’m leaving a very important chapter of my life which, despite all it’s bad memories, I have learned to live with. I’m not happy that I’d be separated with my family, and our weekends will never be the same. It won’t be the same when I can simply swing by my Dad’s house to find Tita working her magic in the kitchen, asking me if I’ve eaten something, Jom trying to mask his glee (I know!) that I’ve visited by bickering with me, the only lambingan we know, and then video-calling with dad to share some trivial stories in our lives while trying not to get into each other throat (that’s just the way we are). It’s painful that we can’t go back to those kinds of days anymore, and I feel that it’s too soon. I’m not ready for these kinds of changes at 26, no matter how much one should have learned at that age. I thought we’d have this kind of family drama when I’m in my 40s.

Sometimes I feel that life had not been fair. Although more often, I feel that life, the universe which holds all the answer, might be staging something big for me.

Last year, before all these began, I asked for my life to change. Yes, I said I’m partial to it, however, since my life had been a vicious cycle of disappointments so far, I asked someone to bring me something different. And just when I thought wishes aren’t true, it slaps me in the face with a smelly trout and with a smirk saying, “There ya go, bitch.” But you, whoever you are, I didn’t ask for a disease! SIGH.

Anyhow, I learned a lot from this event like I am such a fucking positive person, nothing can make me cry except my own self-pitying self which I’d purge the minute it’s detected; that I have a serious-non-panicky face even in face of people dying or blood coughing; that I can only tolerate my father to such an extent, and that if we live together for more than 3 months, I’d eventually be in jail for murder; that I prioritize my family more than anything else (yes, even if I get annoyed by my father constantly); and that I’m capable of patience, sacrifice, and small talk with people I need to be acquainted with for help.

Problems of these kinds put things in perspective. It’s hard to appreciate the present fully, but try to do so because you’ll really miss whatever you now enjoy when it’s gone. Appreciate the small things, be grateful  for them. Do not mull on the problem and feel sorry for yourself, instead find a way to still find the strength to smile while trying to solve it. Go slowly, steadily and find your way back up.

That’s life. Such is life.


“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life:  it goes on.” ― Robert Frost

Lorde – Royals (African Tribal Masquerade Cover) Alex Boye’

My younger brother’s interest to Lorde’s music somehow rubbed on me. Though her song “Royal” is still missing in my playlist, I do like the song very much. Anyhow, my friend linked a video of a cover song for the much celebrated song from the animation movie, “Frozen”, with some African beats into the mix. It was wonderful. I clicked the other video suggestions for Alex Boye, and boy oh Boye, you got me dancing like whoa on my seat for this cover! I love it so much I have to share it!

From Istanbul (hopefully, with ♥)



To My Fellow StoryMOOCer,
I live in Istanbul where two continent meet. Everyday I change continent to go to my school. While I cross over sea, I get to see those views which I wanted to share with you. Hope you’ll like it.

Begum Erginbay

This postcard was waiting for me when I arrived home this afternoon. I thought that it was from a fellow postcrosser, so I initially felt really ashamed for still not being able to send mine. To my surprise, it’s actually from a “classmate”, a fellow StoryMOOCer. The postcard was part of our last creative task in the MOOC (Massive Open Online Course) The Future of Storytelling from which I joined last year.

. The task was to mail three postcards to different StoryMOOCers with a simple story (because one of the main goals of the course is to inspire us to create stories and share them) or whatnot. Unfortunately, I never got the addresses which I expected to receive after I registered mine. I’ve been waiting, but I never got a follow-up mail from the StoryMOOC team following the last about the peer-grading program. Maybe I messed up with something? I got busy so I wasn’t able to participate in the peer-grading. Perhaps the addresses were waiting after completing it? Oh, now I’ll never know.

Moreover, it’s a shame that Mr. Begum didn’t include a return address in his postcard, so even if I want so much to correspond with him, I don’t know how to mail him! Nonetheless, I’m just so happy with the postcard. It has a beautiful design and a more beautiful story behind it. It’s possible to cross a continent and travels by ship everyday! So fascinating!

Sending mail the traditional way is surely quite an effort, but I don’t know, I am probably in love with it. 🙂

Expectation VS Reality {ESL Edition}

In the five years that I have been teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Korean and Japanese students, never a month passes when I am not spared the question:

“I have been studying English for (insert number of months), but my English is still very bad. Why don’t I speak English perfect?”

And always, always, I feel sort of annoyed at their farfetched expectation in learning a second language, at the same time I feel sorry that I have to, have to tell them the reality of it.

Allow me to share you my understanding of my students regarding this matter.

I’m not gonna preach because learning language could be different for everybody: some people have the gift of gab, picking up language a breeze; some are relatively unfortunate to need the use of the language at a later age in time, making the process of information…well, not so instant.


In my years teaching ESL, I have handled them all: kids with zero English, adults with zero English, students with more advanced vocabulary than I handle in daily life, and some with the practical skills but needs more for a certain goal.

The last of the bunch are the ones who usually pose the question above because as an Intermediate student, you get frustrated the most. This English level is the median between the beginner stage (wherein you can dismiss the expectation of excelling instantly and mostly rely on being spoon-fed with direct translation from native language to English), and the advance stage (wherein you already have confidence to express yourself in the language and with minimal and never-mind errors). As an Intermediate student, you have enough skills and knowledge of the language but struggle with the use of it, it’s like the puberty stage of learning. It’s in this level that most students, if they begin taking ESL classes as a beginner, start getting tired and impatient of progress. As a teacher, I can only assure them they are learning though not in the pace they expect.

Most of the time, I encounter this kind of confrontation/conversation/inquiry from students:

Student: Why is my English not good yet? I have study for 3 months. English is so difficult. I take lesson everyday, but I still do not speak good. Why is that?

You have to understand that for ESL teachers, this is not a good sign for the school/business. We have to assure students that they are in good hands, that they are getting their money’s worth. Though I’d be scolded–probably–for being too direct to my Korean/Japanese students, I tell them what’s wrong. As a “teacher” / “tutor” I feel compelled to encourage them studying the right way I know.

Me: Okay, after our (10/25 min) class, do you continue studying at home or on your free time?

Student: (laughing awkwardly) …no. Sometimes I am too tired from school/work, I have no time to study. Only this.

Me: (inwardly sighs) Well, there you go.


I’ve read an article that stated it takes about an average of 7 years for an ESL student to be fluent, this is of course in terms of conversational and academic. So wanting this be good in speaking a different language and not belonging to an intensive course for 3 months is BS. If it’s possible, then that’s a very small demographic.

Me: Do you speak in English when you get the chance in your country?

Student: No. I’m shy.

Me: Oh, but you have to try! Are there any foreigners in your office? Or other students who study English?

Student: Yes, but I am afraid. They speak very fast and I speak bad English. It’s very embarrassing.

You see?

My advice in anything (whenever somebody asks for my service) is sharing them what I have experienced. It’s no different in learning English.

I always share that aside from being naturally interested in English as a subject in school (and this is no bias because I loved Filipino too), my parents loved Hollywood films and TV series, so I grew up having no choice but to absorb the language. My mother has always listened to a certain local radio station wherein they spoke English 90% of the time, so I’d have that with breakfast as well. My loves reading magazines and books, but they were mostly English ones. I somehow found myself reading any labels in product containers, too. Of course, there’s the upper hand that I live in a country wherein English is much of a native language as Filipino, but that’s just my point you see. I’m a product of my own circumstance, however, I sure as hell I put a lot of effort to get to my level.

Choosing to learn, to be fluent in another language requires interest, devotion, love for it, be in a relationship with it. You have to be ready to face it, leave it when needed, and come back to it, again and again.

If honesty isn’t such a difficult liberty, I’m sure most of my  students would probably scoff at me and say, “Easy for you to say, you’re very good in English already.” or even “You’re lucky, you’re Filipino” (most of them hold back their honest opinions, it’s a socio-cultural thing) whenever I tell them that in learning English, or any kind of language for that, we have to ask ourselves what we want from it and accept the circumstances and consequences that comes with the learning of it.

I realized that some of my students don’t even know what they want or need from the language. I mean, some just want to travel and communicate comfortably, but they go the distance of learning business English and even take TOEFL practices/exams. I’d say, take a conversation class at least three times a week, study basic grammar an hour everyday, watch plenty of English movies (use subtitles in the beginning and practice without it once), join international chatrooms, get a penpal, etc. because these are suitable for the goal of a traveler: to communicate in comfort with foreigners.

I myself am struggling with Nihonggo (Japanese language). I am a beginner student who has completed 4 months of studying. To evaluate myself, I think I’m an Upper-Beginner now. I easily picked up the formal lessons in grammar and vocabulary due to years of exposure to Japanese media and readings. Some people ask me why I am studying Japanese if I don’t intend to work in Japan anyway, well, the answer is simple I just want to be able to watch my favorite Japanese shows without subtitle in the future. If my core skills increase and time and opportunity allows me to use this skill in more practical areas like work in translation, then that’s a lovely perk! So despite my initial reluctance to learn Business Nihonggo, I think it is useful. In a country like Japan wherein the use of language is as reflective as the way you dress, then this is for survival.

I learned that every language has its own characteristic and functions according to its society and culture. This is something which I hope my students would also try to understand regarding English, though complicated as the two languages have so much difference in both form and character.

Anyway, my journey into learning Nihonggo allowed me to have a better perspective of my students because like them, I struggle, I get frustrated then lazy when it gets difficult, and I lack the time to self-study when other life concerns get in the way.

Nonetheless, overall, our relationship with language is a lifetime because as it evolves, we have to catch-up with it, be patient with it, be positive with our devotion for it. Indeed, learning a new language can be extremely vexing, but what is one emotion compared to the whole world beyond what language can allow us to reach, right?

It’s a very enlightening experience so far, this whole deal with language and people. How fascinating.

How very very fascinating indeed.

…some of my happiest funniest times have been spent in offices. Perhaps because the work was mundane, even the tiniest of distractions become wildly hilarious and wonderful. Actually, I’d say that 90 percent of my doubled-over-gasping-with-laughther-laughing-so-much-that-you-can’t-breathe-and-you-think-you-might-die laughing has occurred during slow days in offices.

Miranda Hart, Is it Just Me? (memoir)

I agree.I miss the office life. Nothing beats a routine job better than chaos with co-workers on breaks.

The Origin

This is an entry of my dear Senior Citron Pedro Voyage, my lemony companion. He is new to the internet, well, basically to the world of humans, do give him a “hola!” when you have the time. 🙂

The Lemony Life

ImageI am Citron therefore I am Lemon!


Do you see what I did there? Citron is French for “lemon” because, yes, my dear reader, I am half-French. I iHola! to you because I am also half-Spanish. Good genes, yes?

However, I do not know how I come about with my ancestry, but my creator, Seniorita Michella I believe has an afiliación with them. Or I dare think she likes French and Español chicos, I don’t know. Anyhow, my full name is Citron Pedro Voyage. It is nice to meet you.

Can I get to know you? Yes? Okay.

I will do my introducción first. Okay, here we go.

I am a free soul who loves to meet new people. Seniorita Michella has introduce me to her other friends in her house and they welcome me so warmly. I am very happy. In the past, you should know, is…

View original post 338 more words

Some people

Image…can make me so cross.

Seriously, I don’t get angry easily, I don’t even get annoyed so much unless you do something which I think is very unfair and you say something very unreasonable.


All circuits are busy now, please try again later.


I’d allow you the liberty to demand if you’ve been helping out, but no, you suddenly pop-up when it’s convenient to express your unfair judgement of the situation. And really, you have absolutely no right to react and interfere in a situation you have made apparent that you don’t care by being absent most of the time to a problem which you should have been involved with months ago.

Fuck you. You call yourself family but you don’t act like it. You’re all mouth.


I would say that 01.09.2014 is a good day oh yes, indeed.

Late in the afternoon I met up with Pam and Jaimy (former co-teacher and former student, respectively) at MarketMarket/Bonifacio High Street. It’s been a while since I last saw these two, especially Jaimy! She’s my very very first Korean student whom I’ve handled face-to-face so she’s very dear to me. Bonuses are of course that’s she’s super nice and even if she’s innately shy, she doesn’t mind my loudness. She’s bungisngis when you get to know her better. I’m also happy to note that after one year and four months of staying in the Philippines to study English, her skills have tremendously improved, and she doesn’t even notice it! It was wise to resign then. If I never left that school, she never would have changed teachers because Koreans are loyal like that. I think the teachers handling her now are doing a great job. She’s now more talkative because she can understand us better. I’m just so happy to note this~ ❤

Meanwhile, I sort of coerced Jaimy and Pam to help me find a postcard which I’ll send to Russia for my Postcrossing contribution.



They’re not very unique, but I think fitting for an entry to this new hobby. Well, if it does develop into a hobby. Soon enough I’d start snail-mailing a penpal, too. And that would be for another entry. 🙂

Anywho, while browsing through the postcard section of MarketMarket’s National Bookstore, I stumbled on this:


In the beginning, I thought it was a misplaced postcard because it wasn’t in a plastic, kinda dirty, and just plain out of place with the whole Philippines theme of the postcard rack. Until I was in line to pay for the postcards did I realize that it’s not actually one, but simply one of those cards sometimes between the pages of a book which serves as advertisement by publishing companies. Since my postcards were so generic, I wanted this monkey-boss-designed card to be a postcard so much that I just held onto it.

(You can say that I meant to steal it.)

Upon realization, despite my original intention to steal it, the card apparently, maybe, fell off someone’s book, another person mistook it too as a postcard then put it on the rack. I saw it afterward and took it. More of a finder’s keepers case. Since the owner is anonymous, it’s not stealing, just taking something when no one’s claiming.

And so, I have not stolen anything since 1995. YEY!

On another note, my planner is busier than I actually am:


I know it looks like the next promising face of chaos, but I am more at home with this than a pristine page with nicely structured hand-writing. I swear.




Okay, last week’s episode just made me bleh, though it was funny it just didn’t feel like the old The Big Bang Theory where the mix of humor, science geekiness, and romance were balanced. I somewhat feel that season 7 put too little attention to the science element and focuses too heavily on the personal relationships. Of course I rejoice on the Sheldon/Amy progress, but I hope there will be a progress on the science as well since the show was primarily established on that image.

So yeah, lately this feeling has left me a bit unappreciative of the humor as well, but then this episode happened.

I swear, I couldn’t stop grinning throughout!!! I started feeling soooooooooooooo sorry for Amy because Sheldon was being a jerk on their Valentines date then this scene happened.

I just melted into goo. *SIGH*

After four years of waiting, all the fanfiction written, the discussions and theories and analysis within the fandom, our collective sympathy for Amy, then this effing kiss happened.

In Tumblr, there’s a #SIK tag which I totally didn’t get for a while when I realized that the SHAMY (Sheldon/Amy) fans have been counting down the episodes when Sheldon would initiate the kiss. 

Do you get it? (Let’s assume you’re a smart one.)

Yep. Before this Amy had been alone initiating any kind of physically intimacy between the two of them. Actually, if one by-passes the glory of that scene that happened, Sheldon was pressured by the situation of Amy being annoyed at him and admitting that she did sort of schemed the whole vintage train atmosphere to get some romance. Basically, this whole thing happened still because of Amy’s doing. However, if you think more romantically on it, Sheldon would never kiss anybody if Amy never happened.  

Yeah, I definitely love this pair. They are, indeed, one of my truest OTP. 8D

(and now I sleep.


Yep, read

then sleep.)