Letters to Morla: Dude, Seriously

My dearest Morlalu,

No, you are not the only one feeling like crap. I feel you ma sistah!

“1. My transcripts are still being held hostage by the University of San Agustin.”

Why? Did you try to get them? I though you intentionally stalled acquiring them. Haven’t even surrendered my I.D. yet.

“2. I am not conventionally attractive.” & “3. I am skinny as hell, and people keep reminding me.”

Do not get me started on that bullshit. Pardon my french.

If I give you a compliment, will you take it? I’m gonna give it to you, not because we’re friends, but because I mean it.

There are so many kinds of pretty, and you’re one of them (me and Donna too! Hehe). I’ve always envied the way your eyes look. How even sloppy eyeliner makes it look good. Those eyelids, I like that shit. You have prominent cheekbones… mine haven’t been visible since… ever. You are slim, not skinny. AND… for someone who’s slim, you ‘re quite gifted in the chest area. What else could you ask for?

Sure, you’re on the light side, but not undernourished. You can eat like a pig and gain little weight. You’re living my dream. You don’t have much problems buying clothes (I love your fashion sense nowadays). If another person gives you shit again, just be like:

Regardless of how many pretty traits you have, the shouldn’t matter that much. You’re better than that.

“4. I still have no idea what to do with my life.”

Neither do I. Though I do have some ideas, and guess what, you guys are in it.

Ye Olde Pub is still on my top list. I really want it to happen, man, I really do. I can almost picture what it looks like. I want it to have books for our patrons to read, freshly brewed coffee, Khea’s pastries and cakes, beer, flowers in old mason jars, house plants in vintage tin cans, tea, wood pallets as shelves, black and white photographs… and so much more.

Hopefully, this can be part of your dream too.

I’m not exactly enjoying my job, either. Being a secretary isn’t all bad, it pays the bills, but… you know. That’s why I want Ye Olde Pub to happen.

It’s okay to feel crappy from time to time. Just know you are definitely not alone. Besides, you seem to be in a good place in your life. You’ve been travelling more often, visiting new places with Rico, and becoming a fabulous blogger! I love The Bookworm Vintage!

So remember…



If you have any ideas for Ye Olde Pub, shout them out! Let’s make it come true!


Eye for an Eye?

Just when everything seemed right with the world, things began to fall apart.

I know I’ve been gone for some time, at first I was merely busy with work (piles of paperwork left and right) then something  bit more dramatic distracted me.

Once upon a time, around seven months ago, I hurt him pretty badly. I thought I was going to lose him. Rather than keeping my shame a secret, I decided to let him know… nobody deserves to be left in the dark.

I was ready to take it all, all the curses, all the shame. I was ready to do anything and everything he wanted to make it alright. He said he forgave me and that we can move on. Needless to say I was the happiest girl in the world. Being given a second chance was bliss.

Though I was forgiven I punished myself everyday. I was not able to forgive myself. Sending him money from my own pocket even though it was against my parents’ wishes, staying up late/waking up too early just to match his time, even bought him a new phone (sure it’s just a Cherry Mobile, but hey). I became a “Sugarmommy,” something I always feared of becoming.

I thought everything was finally going back to normal. Until 7th of December, in the middle of a working day,  I received a Facebook Message from a girl who shall be henceforth known as “Jejewhore.”

Jejewhore: May I ask a question?

Me: Who are you?

Jejewhore: Are you still together with “The Lamp”?

Me: Why do you ask? Who is this?

Jejewhore: I’m his girlfriend.

Me: I find that hard to believe. Coz obviously I’m his girlfriend, for the past four years.

Jejewhore: We’re gonna be celebrating our first anniversary on January.



motherf*ckin JANUARY.

I gave him a call, hoping with all my heart that it was some sick prank that got out of hand.

As I was calling him, I checked out Jejewhore’s FB page. Waddya know, PHOTOS of him and her. Great.

He told me he knew the girl, but denied (of course) that they had a thing. It was very hard to believe him with the picture haunting my screen. Pictures that were, by the way, taken in his house… his family’s house.

I’m not even gonna mention how much I spent on phone credit. Our conversations consisted a lot of crying, swearing, and silence (very wasteful on phone credit). At one point, I made him choose… me or her. My heart pounded, my eyes were swollen, my soul was shouting “Pick me. Of course he’ll pick me.”

Him: I’m not gonna pick anybody.

The silence that followed was deafening. He sounded so… uncaring and cold.

If it was some sort of revenge of his, it would’ve been easier to wrap my mind around it. Somehow, I feel like I deserved it. But why didn’t he end it when he was satisfied with his revenge? He said he had forgiven me. Why did he let it go on? And why since January? I haven’t even left the city back then.

Why did you let it go on?

Why didn’t you tell me?

It would’ve hurt, but it would’ve been more bearable if it came from you.

Are you happy now? Are you happy now that you got your revenge? What do you want me to do now? Forgive you the same way you “forgave” me?

Is that how you want to do this?

An eye for an eye?

My broken heart in exchange for yours?

Letter to an “Old Friend” : Forgotten Credits

In the event that you stumble upon and see that I’ve used your photos on my header…

Not bad, eh?

Just add in your “Things-That-B*tch-Tinay-Did-And-I-Will-Not-Forgive” list. Or does it go by another name?

You did give them to me. And I won’t blame you if you want them back so you can delete them or whatever.

But do know that I love these shots. It made me look good & decent, thanks to your good eye & photography skills.

We had so much fun doing this, and I’ll never forget it.

Who knows…maybe in a couple decades we’ll be okay. It’s highly unlikely, but… meh… maybe.

Letter to my Parents: Sometimes I Forget

Dear Mama & Papa,

First, I would like to say how great parents you are.

As a Filipino family, we don’t adhere much to traditions like the “mano po,” or using “po” & “opo” when Khea and I talk to you.

People who hear us converse think of us as rude and disrespectful and make comments like “Ay? Parang barkada lang ah? Sino mas Matanda sa inyo? [Oh? It’s like you’re just buddies, eh? Which one of you is older?]” (Yes, I’m looking at you, “Manang.” )

I kind of hate it when they comment. They don’t even know what they’re talking about. There were dozens of times where we thought of trying to develop that habit again, like when we were kids.

It kind feels weird though. I mean, not coz we don’t want to, it’s just… you and Mama raised us differently, taught us manners differently. It may not be as per the traditional Filipino Family, but you raised us as best as you could. I’d say we turned out pretty well.

We may not use the “po” and “opo” quite as much… or make “mano po”  but everything we say to you is out of honesty, respect, & a surprisingly deep friendship that most children can only dream of having with their parents.

I know there are others out there who display politeness in their words but don’t really mean it. I’d like to think we’re just being practical and frank. We say what we mean and mean what we say. I really love that you are not just our parents, but our best friends as well.

But, I do know that sometimes… we tend to get a little overboard with our closeness. Sometimes, I forget that you are our parents first, and friends second. I’m sorry if sometimes I get so cranky with my tone of voice or actions.

Also, I’m sorry if sometimes I seem to be pushing you away and demand so much space using my “need for independence” as an excuse. Sometimes I forget that while I’m growing up, that you and Mama are growing old.

You didn’t adhere to typical Filipino norms on how to raise your kids. For our family to live abroad, it’s kind of a factor. But… like I said… you raised us well.

We never went hungry.

We always had clothes.

We had great education.

You treated us not only as children who should always do as you told us, but as equal human beings who should give and receive respect, regardless of age, gender, race, or status in life.

Please know that, you are the coolest & most amazing parents a child could hope for.

Sometimes, I forget to tell you that.

I guess, it’s high time we remind you.

Chicken Curry is Ruined Forever

Chicken Curry is Ruined Forever

Mom’s chicken curry has always been one of my favorites. Today, she decided to surprise me and my Papa, so she cooked chicken curry for lunch. I put some on my plate, the usual parts (two drumsticks and lots of potatoes), and stopped. I put my plate down, rushed to the bathroom… and cried.

Living on my own in the Philippines, I had to rely on the cooking of others, mainly carenderias since I cannot cook.

My favorite carinderia was Sta. Ana’s, which was near my university. It’s chicken curry is the closest to my mom’s version. Other than that, it was one of the first places I ever hung out with Rico and the rest of our beloved IT group of friends.

I loved Sta. Ana’s… not only because of the food… but because of the memories. I remembered Chicken Curry the most because it was delicious and also it was what “he” ordered almost every time we ate there. There were times when only he and I ordered it while the others opted for variety. It was like a thing we shared (just in my mind). Like how our conversations… no matter how it started… always end up with “poop” or how whenever we play World of Warcraft, at some point, him, Rico, and I, take a bath together…  each in our own homes (Thank God).

He and I haven’t spoke since March 2013. Actually, that doesn’t count. The moment he had that psycho as a girlfriend, everything between us changed (WTF happened to BROS BEFORE HOES?!).

Bros Before Hoes

What’s worse is you ruined chicken curry for me! I can never look at that dish the same way again. I’ll always hear your voice saying “Ma chicken curry lang  ko ya [I’ll order the chicken curry]” every time I will see that dish.

Chicken curry is ruined… forever.


I Am Not A Sugar Mommy

Filipino families are complicated.

Unlike those of the western cultures where they can leave (if they choose to) their nests upon reaching 21 years old, do whatever they want. Ours on the other hand, as long our beloved parents walk this earth, “we be they bitches” until further notice.

I make it sound so unbearable.

Let me clarify so I wouldn’t sound like an ingrate.

I am now 22 years old. I am an adult who should be able to make her own decisions… deal with the consequence… the whole shebang.

As every working Filipino, I am obliged (though my parents say I’m not when truly I am) to help my family. I don’t mind at all and I’m happy to help. I promised them I would.

Mom says I can spend my money however I want because I earned it. Though with that signature Filipino Mom guilt-enducing voice.

It's a bad meme, I know.

It’s a bad meme, I know.

Now what I want is to spend the rest of my money however I want.

I buy 3 pairs of shoes, she doesn’t bug me.

I buy a 100 SR face powder, she doesn’t mind.

I try to send a few bucks to Aladdin and BAM! Mom gives me the Eyebrow Lift of Shame.

In most cultures, the man is supposed to be the provider. I get that. So the thought of me sending money to my boyfriend (Mom’s extra emphasis on not-your-husband) is utterly unacceptable.

Ta-Da! Another horrible meme!

Ta-Da! Another horrible meme!

I totally understand. But its not like I’m obliging myself to send him money on a regular basis. I just send some if I have a few extra bucks. If I knew he didn’t desperately needed it (which he does), I wouldn’t bother myself and spend it on a new pair of pumps.

He doesn’t even ask for it. I just want to do it. I want to feel that I have the freedom to do as I choose. Whenever we get into this issue, Mom makes me feel like I’m a lovesick Sugar Mommy. And I hate it.

I have the means to help someone who matters to me a lot. But a cultural norm is making it so difficult. Just because I’m a woman. A woman is the receiver. Blah blah blah.

A man can go all sugar daddy on a girl and no one bats an eye. But when a woman does it, Moms be like

ImageI know that my mom is just concerned and wants what’s best for me. She thinks that I might spoil Aladdin and turn him into those men who prefer to sit at home while the wife does all the hard work. That I’m buying Aladdin’s love.

If Aladdin had even the slightest potential to be like those men, believe me, I would know.

I really wish Mom would trust me… trust that my womanly instincts are still working.

If men can be providers and not be judged… so can women (Feminism, YEAH!). So please Mom, have a little faith in your daughter. And no, I won’t actually be his provider till I die. We will provide for each other when we get there.

And you, Papa, and Khea will always… ALWAYS… be my first priority.

I just want you to trust my decisions a little bit more.

Goodbye, lil bump.

Today, Papa is going to surgery. It’s nothing too severe, thank God, but it’s still pretty nerve-wrecking. Poor Papa couldn’t sleep last night. He’s so adorable.

Papa has this soft lump on his right elbow. Here’s what it looks like. (Image from Google)


I dunno why, but the first thing that came to mind was the C-word (Thank you internet).

After his MRI scan, we managed to kick out the dreaded C-word from our heads. It turns out he had Olecranon Bursitis or “student’s elbow.” Actually it has a lot more names asides from the two I mentioned.

Doctor said that a simple procedure which mostly involves a small incision and suction ought to kiss that lump good bye.



That’s him about twenty minutes before being taken to the OR.

It’s been about an hour and a half. Nurse just came in to say they’re about to finish with Papa.

Here’s to Papa’s speedy recovery. 🙂