0 colección de flores

0 Smoke and Vodka

"In times of uber depression, have a little puff and a little drink to ease the pain, feign laughter and hide miseries..."
It is not an addiction, it's something I cling to whenever am down in the dumps.
My friends know me better. I do not smoke just for the fun of it, but to alleviate and release the pains and anxieties that I have inside that words can not describe.

1 Making a Baby

Got this one from a friend (maybe she sent it knowing that I really wanna have a kid of my own...)

MAKING A BABY...

There is not one dirty word in it, and it is funny.

The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to
use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day
the proxy father was to arrive, Mr.Smith kissed his wife
goodbye and said, "Well, I'm off now. The man should be
here soon."

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby
photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make
a sale. "Good morning,Ma'am", he said, "I've come to..."

"Oh, no need to explain,"Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed,
"I've been expecting you."

"Have you really?" said the photographer. "Well, that's
good. Did you know babies are my specialty?"

"Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come
in and have a seat".

After a moment she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we
start?"

"Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub,
one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And
sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really
spread out there."

"Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out
for Harry and me!"

"Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every
time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot
from six or seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with
the results."

"My, that's a lot!" gasped Mrs. Smith.

"Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd
love to be in and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd
be disappointed with that."

"Don't I know it," said Mrs. Smith quietly.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a
portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top
of a bus," he said.

"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.

"And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when
you consider their mother was so difficult to work with."

"She was difficult?" asked Mrs.Smith.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park
to get the job done right. People were crowding around
four and five deep to get a good look"

"Four and five deep?" said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with
amazement.

"Yes", the photographer replied. "And for more than three
hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling
- I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached

I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began
nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in."

Mrs. Smith leaned forward. "Do you mean they actually
chewed on your, uh...equipment?"

"It's true, Ma'am, yes.. Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up
my tripod and we can get to work right away."

"Tripod ?"

"Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on.
It's much too big to be held in the hand very long.

Mrs. Smith fainted!!

1 I

And then it was just me and I…

Awake. Counting sheep. Thinking endless thoughts and racing with words running in my head crazily that I just can’t figure out what to say.

Sometimes I wish I know how to hate, know how to scream and to get mad. Guess what, I only know how to cry, to keep silent and painstakingly handle pain.

And just when I thought I can smile… then again I was wrong.

0 Noah's Ark

I sat
Hyped
In this ride

I am seeing
From this square frame
Portraits of the outside life

A man selling dailies
A kid with jasmine leis
A mother with a kid
All for the grace of a dime

And even inside the confines
Of this four-wheeled coffin
Still are sights to behold.

The pilot blowing his horn
Road his home; memorized
Bottlenecking

His co-pilot
Nails long; hands gripping his coins tightly
Keenly looking for Judas not pay

The lady in black,
Rows ahead of me
Surrendered in the deep
Undisturbed of pits and hard breaks

A baby wails in unison with the croaky FM music
But the sounds turned indistinct
When the box started to fly

Different faces at stream
Studious, oblivious, but mostly religious
Calling out His name, of martyrs and saints
Offering their lives bound into the unknown

Minutes more
I
Sighed in relief

Espela the bus went
Thanks to the HighestRed letter day is still mine.

0 Stuck

stuck in this abyss
my solitude disturbed
you came to say hello
the moonlight saw the love that was in our eyes...
a promise we made, sealed with loving kisses...
'twas sweet, 'twas forever.
gone is the blue moon
end of the line
was where I am left
your eyes spoke eternity no more
torn was i
living in a lie
passion was gone
our mess undone
to pick the pieces would mean rekindling lies
stay i want, while this heart dies...
what you call this heart of mine
dumb? vulnerable?
definitely, one thing i know
stuck
for feeling this
for loving
for assuming your mine...

0 Here I Am

I am now trying to start my life all over again. Thank God I already landed in a job that I will never stop me from learning. Okay, so am not yet working in a magazine rubbing elbows with hot celebs...but with a boss who is SOMEONE over the land of milk and honey is big deal. Plus I have cool office buddies, an office location towering the business district, the bay and is close to "heaven." Yes I still follow my own bundy clock (my boss will kill me for this...)

In weeks time, am going back to the portals of my Alma Mater, contemplating the works of Em Griffin and his colleagues as I venture the world of Masters in Communication. Kewl!

Still, am the same old providing daughter (bwahahaha!) who is a coffee addict, a rascal and someone who enjoys freedom. Though am still tied into some emotional tangles, I know I'll get by.

And maybe, make this blogging a habit... this seems to be fun...

One day, am gonna sit my ass, gather my thoughts and succumb to the hopeless romantic in me by publishing mushy, gooey stories. (hey, I miss that...)

0 Nostalgia

I've lost my motivation...this is not me.

I used to be hyper with work...an ultimate workaholic. But now, I don't seem to do things right.

Everything's a mess...

My stats...sched...home...life...

Before, no matter how boring things seem to be, I'm able to achieve it. I'm meeting the standards, even exceeding it at times. Now, things seem to be really, really slow. No matter how hard I try to push my self, I am left at ground zero. Maybe because I know my mom does not agree with my work...that subconciously, it has been affecting my system. Maybe because at the back of my mind, I am still longing for something...yearning for my passion.

Before, I though that it is great grabbing the opportunity since I could still practice writing--in fact it can improve my syntax.

Now I realize, I was wrong.

Nothing beats:

- the freedom from bundy clocks and eight/nine hour shifts.
-the freedom to get to decide which thing to do first.
-the sweat building on your temples as you race under the sun for the perfect subject/ the perfect story.
-the feeling of being pressured and excitement ( imagine coming up with a half page article in 3 hours. This includes research and all)
-the happiness and pride you feel once your work gets published under your name.
- the feeling that even if you are not greatly rewarded financially, and the task is physically draining, still the emotional reward is more than what you can contain...

I am...in hurting nostalgia.