my love affair with books

Fin’lly, giving up on David Nicholls’ novel amout Ems and Dex. Two days ago, it finally found its burial ground. In between Angeles Mastretta (Dianini's "no occasion" gift to me) and a pyramid of my growing collection.

In the bus tonyte, I started catching up with Jules and Bryce … scanning the pages of Flipped, after parking it to give way for something Brit. Realizing that so far only Helen Fielding’s humor made me LMAO on the floor via Bridget Jone’s Diary, and my idolatry of Joanne Harris is because her mom’s French ;), Esquivel is Mehicana, McCourt Irish, Kundera is Czech, while Robert James Waller and Lizses Forscyte Hailey and Gilbert are definitely Americans, Master Paulo Coelho is from Brazil.

I still gonna watch the film, though .. . wont miss Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess for the world :) … EMD kiddows gave good raves, given their open biases on K-Pop … I’m taking their seal approval for this one.

Excuse me for my French, but, in its written form at closed to a thousand bucks … I waited for the climax … or may be some punch lines and of course those hard hitting one-liners here and there … never got there really. Nah …

A book that doesn’t bring your senses to another level and dimension and eventually fails to live up to its promise as usually explicitly mention in the introduction and at the back cover with all the blah blah blah blah … is like a bad relationship. Looks appealing in the beginning, engaging in a few months, but that’s it, that’s all. That kinda book makes you wanna sue the publisher for the short change, that kinda relationship leaves a bad after taste.

I’ve got Rebie’s pink little teddy :) in between the pages, my name scribbled on it … I was a little done with Bryce … Julianna’s turn … fascinating girl.

BTW, Wendelin Van Draanen’s from Chicago :)

I’m still hoping, like Interview with A Vampire. Chocolat and Like Water for Chocolate, in pages and in film, equally commendable, this Flipped.

This one’s look like a salad bowl to me … but di ba, I’m a writer with no rules …

I don’t a give shit, I suffocate from structures …

Nobody can stop me from sharing my favorite lines … I’ve got two … (LOL)

Chet Duncan on that Baker girl telling his grandson, that Loski boy … “Some of us get dipped in flat, some in satin, some in gloss; but every once in a while, you find someone who's iridescent, and once you do, nothing will ever compare.”

and that blue eyed boy with hair that smells like watermelon … Bryce. After flipping, now no more Juli, and jusz left talking to his silly self …

“The way she ignore me was a constant reminder that I've been a jerk.”

My 2011 would have been perfect ...

Yeah I know … what can I say … even when he walks around with Yahweh in his name … He gave love a bad name. He made second chances smelled like rotten eggs. And treated childhood memory like a decaying piece of carcass. And women like doormats … where he can conveniently wipe off his sadness and frustration accumulated for the last 42 years of his so-called life.

Be careful with men like that brandishing their wares innocently like baseball bats. As if they were just going to a game but we’re actually out there to cheat on their equally miserable wives (c'mon you know, you can't cheat on fulfilled happy housewives ... thriving on a satisying, and still happy matrimony ), lure unsuspecting batchmates to some kind of promise as they push their way to prove their manhood at 42, virtually will do.

Remember, 30 years ago, what was left in that memory was a young boy, too bad he came back a monster. And what does it make of you … of us … but some clumsy little sluts (LOL) … all suckers for love! I am brave nuff to face that guillotine. I deserve that chopping board! This witch deserves that bonfire!

It is sad, that even when I have found someone, I doubt and I fear, knowing that in this world, there exists a boy who walks around and wears God’s name in his forehead yet serves another master and love another (s). Like a big dirty bad wolf in sheep’s clothing. And you'd miss the cunning one, and jusz see all the wool. It can be tricky ... but I was jusz plain stupid. Yun lang yun.

(See what a small talk can do to me :), early Monday morning, my rest day from work… it feels like … a dormant volcano suddenly transforms into anything blitzkrieg. Jusz exactly how swift and unapologetic he ruined that kind of peace in my life some 8 months back.

Sometimes I wanna say I wish him happy. But that’s me being nice. But this time, I don’t like nice. Nice sucks! He’s not gonna get a gift box with pretty ribbons on it. I don’t want that for him. He doesn’t deserve it! Yeah, right, where he lives everything is big … and that humungous karma resides not only in his house but in himself. He deserves that!

If there’s any consolation in this story … Joel Ilagan is finally out of my life. (For real. And for good.). It's not cloud nine, but it feels like I am so close to God ... I hear His breathing, and feel His loving hands touching my face. Joel Ilagan's memory still brings tears in my eyes, not for anything cheesy :) .. but because it is a lifetime reminder that somehow makes me hard and unforgiving to myself ... it is so punishing that ... honestly, until this very day and until only God knows when ... I still hate myself to the teeth, to the bone ... for being careless, and stubborn and foolish, and bring upon myself, and upon my daughter, and my friends, and everyone else who truly loves and cares about me, clear and present danger.)





***I have not written anything yet about my “last year”. My usual, ceremonial, rundown of my previous year. A fulcrum of all thngs recently passed. I got swept away. Right now I still am paying dearly for it, for so many reasons than one. This sums it all. My 2011 would have been perfect … until he destroyed it like why should he care!

So I tell God, people like Joel Ilagan should come with a label, that blinks and reads, like a warning sign.

my love for words

until these words dressed up what used to be a string of catatonic boxes ...
it felt like some kind of perpetual dread
train rides ...




Y de pronto, no estás. Adiós, amor, adiós.
Ya te marchaste.
Nada queda de ti. La ciudad gira:
molino en el que todo se deshace.

At bigla kang nawala. Paalam, pag-ibig, paalam.
Nakaalis ka na.
Walang iniwang bakas. Umiikot ang siyudad:
parang gilingan na dinudurog ang lahat.

And suddenly, you are not there. Good-bye, love, good-bye.
You already left.
Nothing remains of you. The city turns:
It is a mill where everyhing falls apart.






In memoriam of Ikot Poetry project of UP Quill some years back. Kudos to this Promotional Reading Campaign. Hurrah to all voracious readers and "hippie*" writers ;)

Thanks to God Antifornicator (sextonfurnival) ... Instituto Cervantes, the DOTC, above all, my gratitude to the the dead and the forgotten ... a poet's ashes immortalized ... tattooed in moving walls of steel.

suddenly back to me :)



*Hippie, a noun to many, an adjective to my friends Arnold and Jonathan, their way to describe, my raw, stubborn way of writing. This writer's refusal to learn the conventional techniques in the four cornerstone of a university ... primarily because she gets a bit constipated with rules .

Writers and artists ... they have no rules. (pun intended.)