okay, I think I won't be able to answer the first question, since I haven't had any similar experiences yet, but If I were to share about it, I'd say to let me have my own free will; I have the right to choose who I want to marry, who I love and who I want to spend the rest of my life with.
In case this happens to me (I do wish not), instead of spending my life tied up with the person I don't love and I don't want to be with, then what's the point of marrying him/her in the first place right? So yeah :)
Next, like what I said, It's not possible for me to marry someone I don't love, then the essence of being married is not there. You marry someone because you love him/her, despite the imperfections. If getting married was just for convenience and practicality, then a partner in life is not you're looking for. I wanna get married to a person whom I'm sure of spending the rest of my life with, I want to make her feel special on our wedding day, make her feel that her imperfections are the reasons why she's perfect for me. See, the idea of force marriage is unlikely to happen to me, my parents are very much supportive with who ever girl i choose just as long as she respects them and love me.
this blog is getting a bit cheeesy haha so yeah, I think I answered the questions ;)
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I still love you Amado :p
Dear Amado,
First of all, I’d like to say sorry for not being able to read your letter, I’ve been out of the barrio for quite some time now and it’s just now I read your letter. It saddens me to hear that your mom died, please do accept my sincerest condolences.
Amado, many things happened since you left, I was left clueless and do not have any idea where to find you, I felt so alone when you left. I don’t know what to do, like there’s no reason for me to live and move on with life. But I guess God was so good to give me strength to overcome the sadness and the depression it brought me.
I keep on wondering when will I see you again, I miss those times when spent together, but I know I can’t be stuck with the past forever, I need to move on, I need to fix my life, since I now have a child and there’s another one coming. Sorry if that was a bit of a shock.
This letter won’t be long, to answer your question, yes I still love you. I keep on thinking about you, and I rally do wish things went different from what really happened. Well, now you know… I really hope to see you again....
Tinang
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
gonna make a difference
hmm... the moment Makota mentioned the topic of our blog assignment, he was the first person that popped up in my mind. Michael Jackson.
“The King of Pop” that’s what he was known for.. In an interview done to commemorate his death, Kenny Ortega said that Michael Jackson is not just the king of pop - he’s the king of everything. The world was his playground, at a very young age, he started to travel the world; country by country, heck I don’t even know how and where to start if I talk about his childhood or rather, his life.
But it’s not about about the fortune, the chance to travel the world, or the fame he’s getting (until now) the reason why I chose Michael Jackson, I chose him, because he used his talents to contribute in making this world a better place; He wrote songs the speaks of peace, forgiveness, and love; he loved every human being in this world - even those who threw trash at him. I wanted to be like this guy, I wanna discover what can I do to help change the world and make it a better place, (which I think MJ did), I wanna use my talents in expressing how I feel, and influence others.
As a performer myself, I admire MJ by the way he treats the stage as his home. When you see him up on stage, he would perform his heart out, he would dance like nobody’s watching, and sing like there’s no tomorrow and no breath to take. Now-a-days, an artist - to be able to present a good show, he/she needs awesome lighting, great back-up dancers and all those fancy stuff; but Michael Jackson was way different, just give him a spotlight and a mic, and that’s all you need, He is the show, through his actions and steps, he expresses every word of the song, you can feel the message he wants you to feel. As a performer I wanna be able to that as well, it’s not about the money nor the fame and fortune, they just come along the way and just a small token, but just to be able to do what does and be able to do what I really love is enough of me.
Too bad he’s gone. back in high school I was one of the people who hates him and believed in all the rumors about him - harassment case, the gay issue and many more - but after I watched a documentary about him and researched about his life, he turned out to be the most kind hearted person in the world, a man who wanted to experience childhood, to be able to play with friends, have pets, and go to theme parks. he wanted to change how the people views the world, to have a more positive outlook in life, love everyone and be gracious to the Almighty.
There are more reasons why I wanted to this guy, to be Michael Jackson, it’ll be a looooong blog for sure, this is just the introduction lol..
“The King of Pop” that’s what he was known for.. In an interview done to commemorate his death, Kenny Ortega said that Michael Jackson is not just the king of pop - he’s the king of everything. The world was his playground, at a very young age, he started to travel the world; country by country, heck I don’t even know how and where to start if I talk about his childhood or rather, his life.
But it’s not about about the fortune, the chance to travel the world, or the fame he’s getting (until now) the reason why I chose Michael Jackson, I chose him, because he used his talents to contribute in making this world a better place; He wrote songs the speaks of peace, forgiveness, and love; he loved every human being in this world - even those who threw trash at him. I wanted to be like this guy, I wanna discover what can I do to help change the world and make it a better place, (which I think MJ did), I wanna use my talents in expressing how I feel, and influence others.
As a performer myself, I admire MJ by the way he treats the stage as his home. When you see him up on stage, he would perform his heart out, he would dance like nobody’s watching, and sing like there’s no tomorrow and no breath to take. Now-a-days, an artist - to be able to present a good show, he/she needs awesome lighting, great back-up dancers and all those fancy stuff; but Michael Jackson was way different, just give him a spotlight and a mic, and that’s all you need, He is the show, through his actions and steps, he expresses every word of the song, you can feel the message he wants you to feel. As a performer I wanna be able to that as well, it’s not about the money nor the fame and fortune, they just come along the way and just a small token, but just to be able to do what does and be able to do what I really love is enough of me.
Too bad he’s gone. back in high school I was one of the people who hates him and believed in all the rumors about him - harassment case, the gay issue and many more - but after I watched a documentary about him and researched about his life, he turned out to be the most kind hearted person in the world, a man who wanted to experience childhood, to be able to play with friends, have pets, and go to theme parks. he wanted to change how the people views the world, to have a more positive outlook in life, love everyone and be gracious to the Almighty.
There are more reasons why I wanted to this guy, to be Michael Jackson, it’ll be a looooong blog for sure, this is just the introduction lol..
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Divided by Two - truth told
The story starts the same...
...
“Don’t you think they should at least have gone to us and said: Look here, you! We are putting up this boundary, see? You keep to your side of these markers and we will keep to ours, understand?” Belle asked.
“Do you really think that?” I asked.
“Yes, I do,” Belle said. “Distinctly, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I said. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, then,” Belle said, “think about it. You can start thinking about it now.”
I wondered why now the words kept ringing clear to me. Then I felt and sensed that the piano had been stilled. Suddenly the night was silent, suddenly the air was still.
I rose from the lounging chair. I left my favorite book and went back to the bedroom. “Belle, where’s my favorite book?” I asked.
“It’s in the drawer near our bed” Belle answered.
As i opened each drawer top to bottom, on the second drawer I saw these notes and letters addressed to Belle. I kept quiet as Belle keeps on talking and nagging about the neighbor’s project. I opened the letters and found out that it all came from the mathematician next door.
“what’s all this? why do they have this? sweet words, conversations...” I asked myself. I browsed through all of the letters and notes from the mathematician while Belle was still in the sala “talking to me”. After seeing all the notes, I returned it inside the drawer and got the book on the 3rd drawer, then I went back to the sala and sat back on my lounging chair. I acted like I did not see the letters and continued to calm Belle down. The mood of reading the book was gone and I just placed the book on the small table next to my chair. Belle is still talking.
“They haven’t divided the lawn fairly,” Belle said.
“You mean the halves are not equal? The halves are not halves? I asked.
“What’s the matter with you?” Belle said.
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked. “Isn’t he a doctor of mathematics or something? A fine doctor of mathematics he’s turned out to be if he can’t even divide by two!”
“What’s eating you?” Belle asked.
“Maybe he should have brought a survey team with him and used a transit, a plumbline, and a pole,” I said. “Maybe he could divide by two then. Maybe he could even divide by ten.”
“Don’t tell me,” Belle said, “Tell him. Tell them.”
“For crying out loud.” I said.
“Go ahead,” Belle said. “Go over. Tell them off. Tell them where to get off.”
“Get off, Belle,” I said. “Get off them.”
“If you won’t, I shall,” Belle said.
“Get off me,” I said.
“If you don’t, I shall,” Belle said. “I shall right now.” She started for the door.
“For crying out loud, Belle,” I said. “I don’t know them well enough to speak to them. I shall write them a note.”
“All right,” Belle said.
I took the typewriter was under our bed and started to compose the letter for that mathematician. Belle didn’t know that what I typed was telling the mathematician that I know their (Belle and the mathematician) “affair” and asking if he could come here in the house. I did not date the note, nor signed it. it was a simple note, just like the ones they used to send one another behind my back. Talk about childish style eh?
I sat up erect in my chair and watched him head bob up and down as he walked out to Finchshafen road. When he turned up the road and I knew where he was going, I stood up. I walked up to the screen door and watched him walk up the concrete walk to the porch steps. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. I looked down through the wirescreen at his upturned face.
“goodboy” I said
“you said you wanna talk?” he asked
“yes. come in” I answered
“No,” he said. “I’d much rather talk to you on the street.”
I know this guy is shaking and scared of what I might do to him. But I remained calm and quiet. He was also quiet and didn’t utter a word. There was pure silence. We walked down Finchshafen road. I looked at him. I had never spoken to him before. He considered a long time, long enough for me to be able to look back at the house to see if Belle was at the window watching.
When he spoke, his first words were: “Have you and Belle been fighting?” It was not only words, it was also the way he said them: my left cheek was twitching so badly it was almost spastic. He had spoken so softly and in such a low-pitched voice I barely heard him. It was as if he didn’t wish either his house or my house to hear; as if we were conspirators both and we were plotting a conspiracy together.
“Fighting?” I asked. “What about? What for? What are you talking about?” I sought his face for the guilt that could only be the mirror of the guilt in my own.
“the letters...” that’s all what he said.
“yes! I know about what;s going on between you and my wife! I found the letters!” I shouted, not even thinking that the other neighbors might hear what we’re talking about.
“Don’t raise your voice,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I raise my voice?” I asked.
“Don’t shout at me,” he said.
“I shall shout at you if you please,” I said.
“I want to end it, but your wife won’t let me, that’s why I’m having a wall built. My wife is getting suspicious and I don’t want to lose her, so building and putting up the blocks was the only thing I thought of to prove to my wife that I really really love her” sacred, the mathematician explained.
Belle wasn’t on our porch when I looked; I didn’t hear her go down the porch steps, down the concrete walk, out to and down Finchshafen road. I didn’t feel Belle around until I heard her voice rising shrill and clear and above the snarl of our voices. She was standing beside me and before him and shouting in his face.
“Belle!” the mathematician said
“I know everything about you and this mathematician Belle!” I told Belle.
“No... it’s not...” Belle uttered “NO! you lied to me!” I immediately followed.
“I’m leaving you... If that’s you like, then I’ll leave” I said
I left the two alone and ran inside the house and took some of my stuff, I took the car keys and got in the car with a few clothes inside a black bag. As I drove away, I can still see in the rear mirror Belle and the mathematician. Belle was kneeling down, crying. While the mathematician tried to be strong and just looked down at Belle.
I found myself spending the night in a motel a few miles away from home. I went in my room, placed my black bag near the bed and lied down to think and reflect on what just happened. My phone then rang, it’s Belle calling.
end.
...
“Don’t you think they should at least have gone to us and said: Look here, you! We are putting up this boundary, see? You keep to your side of these markers and we will keep to ours, understand?” Belle asked.
“Do you really think that?” I asked.
“Yes, I do,” Belle said. “Distinctly, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I said. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, then,” Belle said, “think about it. You can start thinking about it now.”
I wondered why now the words kept ringing clear to me. Then I felt and sensed that the piano had been stilled. Suddenly the night was silent, suddenly the air was still.
I rose from the lounging chair. I left my favorite book and went back to the bedroom. “Belle, where’s my favorite book?” I asked.
“It’s in the drawer near our bed” Belle answered.
As i opened each drawer top to bottom, on the second drawer I saw these notes and letters addressed to Belle. I kept quiet as Belle keeps on talking and nagging about the neighbor’s project. I opened the letters and found out that it all came from the mathematician next door.
“what’s all this? why do they have this? sweet words, conversations...” I asked myself. I browsed through all of the letters and notes from the mathematician while Belle was still in the sala “talking to me”. After seeing all the notes, I returned it inside the drawer and got the book on the 3rd drawer, then I went back to the sala and sat back on my lounging chair. I acted like I did not see the letters and continued to calm Belle down. The mood of reading the book was gone and I just placed the book on the small table next to my chair. Belle is still talking.
“They haven’t divided the lawn fairly,” Belle said.
“You mean the halves are not equal? The halves are not halves? I asked.
“What’s the matter with you?” Belle said.
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked. “Isn’t he a doctor of mathematics or something? A fine doctor of mathematics he’s turned out to be if he can’t even divide by two!”
“What’s eating you?” Belle asked.
“Maybe he should have brought a survey team with him and used a transit, a plumbline, and a pole,” I said. “Maybe he could divide by two then. Maybe he could even divide by ten.”
“Don’t tell me,” Belle said, “Tell him. Tell them.”
“For crying out loud.” I said.
“Go ahead,” Belle said. “Go over. Tell them off. Tell them where to get off.”
“Get off, Belle,” I said. “Get off them.”
“If you won’t, I shall,” Belle said.
“Get off me,” I said.
“If you don’t, I shall,” Belle said. “I shall right now.” She started for the door.
“For crying out loud, Belle,” I said. “I don’t know them well enough to speak to them. I shall write them a note.”
“All right,” Belle said.
I took the typewriter was under our bed and started to compose the letter for that mathematician. Belle didn’t know that what I typed was telling the mathematician that I know their (Belle and the mathematician) “affair” and asking if he could come here in the house. I did not date the note, nor signed it. it was a simple note, just like the ones they used to send one another behind my back. Talk about childish style eh?
I sat up erect in my chair and watched him head bob up and down as he walked out to Finchshafen road. When he turned up the road and I knew where he was going, I stood up. I walked up to the screen door and watched him walk up the concrete walk to the porch steps. He stopped at the foot of the stairs. I looked down through the wirescreen at his upturned face.
“goodboy” I said
“you said you wanna talk?” he asked
“yes. come in” I answered
“No,” he said. “I’d much rather talk to you on the street.”
I know this guy is shaking and scared of what I might do to him. But I remained calm and quiet. He was also quiet and didn’t utter a word. There was pure silence. We walked down Finchshafen road. I looked at him. I had never spoken to him before. He considered a long time, long enough for me to be able to look back at the house to see if Belle was at the window watching.
When he spoke, his first words were: “Have you and Belle been fighting?” It was not only words, it was also the way he said them: my left cheek was twitching so badly it was almost spastic. He had spoken so softly and in such a low-pitched voice I barely heard him. It was as if he didn’t wish either his house or my house to hear; as if we were conspirators both and we were plotting a conspiracy together.
“Fighting?” I asked. “What about? What for? What are you talking about?” I sought his face for the guilt that could only be the mirror of the guilt in my own.
“the letters...” that’s all what he said.
“yes! I know about what;s going on between you and my wife! I found the letters!” I shouted, not even thinking that the other neighbors might hear what we’re talking about.
“Don’t raise your voice,” he said.
“Why shouldn’t I raise my voice?” I asked.
“Don’t shout at me,” he said.
“I shall shout at you if you please,” I said.
“I want to end it, but your wife won’t let me, that’s why I’m having a wall built. My wife is getting suspicious and I don’t want to lose her, so building and putting up the blocks was the only thing I thought of to prove to my wife that I really really love her” sacred, the mathematician explained.
Belle wasn’t on our porch when I looked; I didn’t hear her go down the porch steps, down the concrete walk, out to and down Finchshafen road. I didn’t feel Belle around until I heard her voice rising shrill and clear and above the snarl of our voices. She was standing beside me and before him and shouting in his face.
“Belle!” the mathematician said
“I know everything about you and this mathematician Belle!” I told Belle.
“No... it’s not...” Belle uttered “NO! you lied to me!” I immediately followed.
“I’m leaving you... If that’s you like, then I’ll leave” I said
I left the two alone and ran inside the house and took some of my stuff, I took the car keys and got in the car with a few clothes inside a black bag. As I drove away, I can still see in the rear mirror Belle and the mathematician. Belle was kneeling down, crying. While the mathematician tried to be strong and just looked down at Belle.
I found myself spending the night in a motel a few miles away from home. I went in my room, placed my black bag near the bed and lied down to think and reflect on what just happened. My phone then rang, it’s Belle calling.
end.
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