tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67191399891016096472024-02-07T19:21:05.781-08:00thinking outloudmy thoughts, my feelings in wordslittleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.comBlogger209125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-28140228328897682832014-11-04T06:16:00.000-08:002014-11-04T06:16:08.069-08:00Happy in Spite. Despite. Hello! I have just gone through five long months of the souls away from this blog which means I've made both stellar and mundane other things to while away time and boredom.
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At first I missed <b>Thinking Outloud</b>, but then I became used to it not being around. Then I got lonely. Then I got lamebrain. Then I became a sewer, a carpenter, an artist and a designer. Really, idleness sometimes pushed you to become creative.
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Anyway so many moons have past since then and I'm still here. I'm forming a new life with and without my mother and I need tidbits, pieces of her, little precious stories to patchwork my sails so they continue to soar.
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<i><b>July</b></i>. It was the first time in seventy three years that my mother has not been on planet earth for her birthday. I knew it would be a hard day but I did not know that every second of every minute of that entire day would burn my soul.
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On her birthday with my sister, we went to visit her at the cemetery. We had to. From memory, my mother was always the one who will reach out, the first one to see a sick family member, and the first person to mediate in siblings’ fights. An uncle tagged her as the missing link. Yeah, that’s her. Not everybody appreciated her, but she showed a good example if only people are more discerning.
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Then came <i><b>August</b><b></b></i>. I escaped my dirty laundry and went to <i>St Joseph’s College</i> in Quezon City to take a licensure exam.
<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45yMEVzXdnACG6O561RMGEsHrCGpSfdaYLmocxZsdidNEnuc2c1dZiSocMJgzIFWFL69h4hKqHYWH9qeRuM2m8iGW1IaLZotof5IMQfu1VqgHhgeZde0KnykNjNnGxMhif8zc-ZTCUv4/s1900/blog+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45yMEVzXdnACG6O561RMGEsHrCGpSfdaYLmocxZsdidNEnuc2c1dZiSocMJgzIFWFL69h4hKqHYWH9qeRuM2m8iGW1IaLZotof5IMQfu1VqgHhgeZde0KnykNjNnGxMhif8zc-ZTCUv4/s620/blog+pic.jpg" /></a></center>
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Were you there?
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As I walked across the convent looking hallways of the school, I had a huge gulping lump on my throat. It dawned on me that this was my defining moment. For once, I forgot my mother and my children. I was taking it so personally.
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For wanting to change career, I decided to take the Licensure Exam for Teachers. Hah! It felt like I should have done it before. The place was packed, with people almost half of my age. But it was one of the few things I would never regret doing. Because after 51 days, this internet news came.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXzPQ55x5_LcH2KBr-WCWxhAAh6S9mrRIQItWqF9re001oCiwnGnYF-Yt7pAIZtci9BCbBEqMZgbM8ZpMYPX2usJktAWNkS1dWFc5Dk5-OuwQk6aPJw8G2HtcfLjvuhAb2UvU8gR8zTM/s1600/blog+pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXzPQ55x5_LcH2KBr-WCWxhAAh6S9mrRIQItWqF9re001oCiwnGnYF-Yt7pAIZtci9BCbBEqMZgbM8ZpMYPX2usJktAWNkS1dWFc5Dk5-OuwQk6aPJw8G2HtcfLjvuhAb2UvU8gR8zTM/s620/blog+pic2.jpg" /></a></center>
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I felt so special, I posted it on my Facebook right away.
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Here's a thought: us humans are just works in progress, that's all. That's cool. Let go and let God do his things for you. Oh and when I say "you" I actually mean "me." Death and success hardly came in pair. But you just have to trust in his mighty ways, believe in what he will and will not change in your life.
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Next up, if you are a newly LET passer like me, congrats you made your point, now go and find a real job.
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I also want to thank my family for being happy when I am happy and sad when I am sad. For Hubs who never left my side.
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I also want to thank you, the person reading my blog right now who I probably don't even know and will never meet. For continually coming back here to read, for sending me comments, thoughts and messages. When I don't blog for a while you even know it's because there's even no words to say how I am. But I kept coming back - and even though I hate certain things around blogging I'm glad I kept writing. It's weird to be such a personal blogger - I used to be so private online. But that all changed when mother got cancer in 2009 and she kept it all secret. When Big Things happen to us, there's a need to tell it, share it, ask for help and tell the whole world.
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And to all my pains and successes, to Lord Almighty, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
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<br></br>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-74092615520162292492014-04-26T02:42:00.000-07:002014-04-26T02:42:04.169-07:00This.is.like.my. job. now. Today is a Saturday. I don't count the weeks anymore, I count the months. I never want to count the years. Years is too long without nothing to do. Losing a job isn’t very glamorous. You’re bound to do house chores, tending naughty kids and waiting for husband to come home. But that's life - in all it's gloriousness, confusion, darkness. That's life.
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My eldest is going to be 10 tomorrow. He used to fit in romper suits and play with nails and suck on a dummy and now he has started to get a little less clingy with me. I had to teach him how to tie a tie. We're not there yet, but we're close. Often I look at him and cry from love, especially when he was a baby but also especially lately when suddenly all of us in life seem so fragile.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguT4qR_lCCFbG7Hu__m8skbq9drYyrOvBudlA7CH208DORnjV1oL9NUozmNTzhGaK881RNzjfaei4W_EZ1YMEIMWRZP_eX-BpY4Z8wtvtKRsMKsyYqTXcaAiVxiKtjRL8wg7VRGYa-GII/s2600/ash.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguT4qR_lCCFbG7Hu__m8skbq9drYyrOvBudlA7CH208DORnjV1oL9NUozmNTzhGaK881RNzjfaei4W_EZ1YMEIMWRZP_eX-BpY4Z8wtvtKRsMKsyYqTXcaAiVxiKtjRL8wg7VRGYa-GII/s420/ash.jpg" /></a></center>
He plays every games with his friends. And still cried if he lost. One time he went home crying because a clown wouldn’t let him win. And not too long ago, he bagged most of the prizes in a birthday party. He was beaming with pride. Yes, he's naturally competitive.
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I ask him what the current crop of girls are like.
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<i>"Ahhh, dunno ma I'm not interested in girls at the moment."</i>
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I told him I <i>*bet*</i> they're interested in him and we both laughed.
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And I remembered how tiny he was as a baby, how I'd stand at his door during daytime naps waiting for him to wake up because I missed him.
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<br></br>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-55117836419007287872014-04-08T18:06:00.000-07:002014-04-08T18:06:14.795-07:00I Need To Be FixedHey. How's it hangin'? I'm doing ok. I lost my mother last November. Guess what, I lost my job this month.
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I keep telling people that I resigned, that I got tired of 12 hours of commute and office work. That it is tiring, boring, repetitive. Truth is we were picked, chosen, listed down, singled out and decided on. All 11 of us. I jokingly called ourselves Deep Ocean Eleven. We were in deep pit. Like the movie.
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The first thing I did when I got home was tell my husband to feed me while I am out of job. He laughed hard. Really, I can't wait to get out. I'm nervous about doing things differently but I'll just do them a day at a time.
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So right now I'm doing a lot of handwringing, questioning, working things out, cramming myself to get a new job. I may be some time. Consequently, my whole system is affected. For how can I explain my constipation, urinary tract infection and hairy armpit? People have already gently told me I need to start getting over this and just, no. No I do not, thank you.
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There's been a lot of lying on my bed. The days go pretty slowly around here, and if I don't find things to do I feel yuck. I'm reading books but I wash clothes pretty much of the week. I wonder why the bin never emptied.
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I'm incredibly sorry for such a blurty blogpost but there it is. Hopefully if I just write it and publish it will help me let some stuff go.
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Like what this picture is doing to me.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rg-Y7EcLmvLs061-jTmtSDDD4mOhHbBnif63pEPx9B5FkHSDoencTeGxAZ3Pdf42WSSvyaoR2SnYpzZhQL8keVEjRVk9i7nFZ4ObhJ0IDwIix9lFLk7A_pQdnuJZjvIVxTGE9vlJHMA/s2600/yana2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rg-Y7EcLmvLs061-jTmtSDDD4mOhHbBnif63pEPx9B5FkHSDoencTeGxAZ3Pdf42WSSvyaoR2SnYpzZhQL8keVEjRVk9i7nFZ4ObhJ0IDwIix9lFLk7A_pQdnuJZjvIVxTGE9vlJHMA/s620/yana2.jpg" /></a></center>
<center><i>A pat on the back saying "Ma, it will be okay"</i>. </center>
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How on earth does anyone get through idleness?
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<br></br>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-63443357848848581402014-03-05T01:40:00.000-08:002014-03-05T01:40:06.191-08:00Tough LoveI read somewhere that grief is born the moment your loved one dies. It's been over three months now that my mother died. And exactly like a newborn baby, grief needs constant care and attention and tending. You just can't ignore it.
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She left November last year and I thought I was okay with it. I didn’t feel anything. Who cares who will be the next person to die?
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But things are different lately. Coz I miss her at this time. And nobody knows. At this point I'm not sure if it's depression or grief.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkljdTCkC4SzwXOA1h-5X1RChBaAj4BI98_PamDgBKKct8IggR2FX5M9fPkJMu4CxNuZq1PCTKvbdh7RK-z8sjnVFeUMTo6MVMBbL48uuJKK8QJyMZ9ul76fElw6UemxpwCux9daogeU/s2100/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkljdTCkC4SzwXOA1h-5X1RChBaAj4BI98_PamDgBKKct8IggR2FX5M9fPkJMu4CxNuZq1PCTKvbdh7RK-z8sjnVFeUMTo6MVMBbL48uuJKK8QJyMZ9ul76fElw6UemxpwCux9daogeU/s620/pic.jpg" /></a></center>
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Grief is part of my life now. It just is and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm not going to stifle it or compartmentalise it. This may mean I'll be feeling it until I'm eighty. I'm gonna feel what I feel, with no right or wrong. Grieving doesn't mean I'm not still living, weeding, parenting, recovering, doing Valentines, cooking meals, cleaning the toilet. It just means that all of those things are harder.
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I am turning 40 on June and the older I get, the less I understand life. I don't know if love is worth the pain. I don't know anything. When one plucked the roots, the whole plant will be gone, leaving a bare space where it once stood. So we plant some other seeds, see if they take. Really, we won't know what stays or what fades away.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvG0C1BQ0Q5vZ6YX2jqrlVU1kfgwFctNQxQZTeNV11X2luMrGCkG0kUO_ieHo8FreqZkNpCwGKoRg2NOksQepuJxjEDh7WrnYr_ZD2vkLstuzu8swMT7L2lPIS7u5AnvtgUkJctOoi2E/s1900/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvG0C1BQ0Q5vZ6YX2jqrlVU1kfgwFctNQxQZTeNV11X2luMrGCkG0kUO_ieHo8FreqZkNpCwGKoRg2NOksQepuJxjEDh7WrnYr_ZD2vkLstuzu8swMT7L2lPIS7u5AnvtgUkJctOoi2E/s620/pic1.jpg" /></a></center>
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I just thought I'd let you know that my crying for her is done in private.
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It's primal and unlike any cry I've ever cried.
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<br></br>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-58959127653220147422014-02-12T00:32:00.000-08:002014-02-12T00:32:27.169-08:00How To Deal With Your ExesExes aren’t that hard to spot. They are EVERYWHERE. In order to deal with them, you have to understand what they are going through, where they are coming from. Because all they need is love and understanding.
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JUST KIDDING.
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Exes expect that everybody loves them. They have this sense of self-worth that if they are loved, they think they deserve it and if they are hated, they think that other person is just insecure or intimidated. Because what is not to love? In their own world, they are perfect.
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Some exes think that they are the prettiest thing their parents have ever created.
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Sometimes I wonder if pets roll their eyes when humans baby talk them. because when I hear girls baby talk their boyfriends, I roll my eyes. However, its okay to baby talk husbands. Husbands are wives’ first born, right?
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Well?
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So okay. I'm not gonna assume that you are having some sort of woman trouble. No, not at all.
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And because I know that most men don't understand women AT ALL, I decided to write about “<i>The Boy That Never Was”</i>. So yeah, Katy Perry.
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So let’s say you crossed path with an ex accidentally. And you had a bad separation. Like he dumped you for another girl. Ouch.
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For a starter, these kinds of people deserve a high-five.
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In the face.
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With a hammer.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlt4Bpby6YIWm3oQHeoR7N21KlKXQxqNdHtddkot8kYBzsUiod7VdKvGiinE6T-RBE6DVrbuJ0H2cmgXJzCYjD5CKdPhfU-HDG_aKW7-n0GUKHZSewVFrvXo-7SxNMWTSD1ORq8ZAlTA/s1900/vhong.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlt4Bpby6YIWm3oQHeoR7N21KlKXQxqNdHtddkot8kYBzsUiod7VdKvGiinE6T-RBE6DVrbuJ0H2cmgXJzCYjD5CKdPhfU-HDG_aKW7-n0GUKHZSewVFrvXo-7SxNMWTSD1ORq8ZAlTA/s720/vhong.jpg" /></a></center>
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Well, yeah okay, I exaggerated a little bit.
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When you see Ex coming your way, don’t chicken out. Say hello with confidence. Don’t quiver. And please don’t start the conversation with.. “do you miss me?”. Please.
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Give him a serious look. Or something.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3O4V3E6N9c6o34OmIHNnyD6bSiWwe8TQRo4m4HuGTQhfTYJ8JMlxCYSUHWqmf-pEUPQ87iv6QLIch9sJysvUBpczw07AVyL0jgLToMQxdDbVylOTIeODAnp_dEUes-jWHsq0PWB-3ss/s1600/blog+pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none"src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3O4V3E6N9c6o34OmIHNnyD6bSiWwe8TQRo4m4HuGTQhfTYJ8JMlxCYSUHWqmf-pEUPQ87iv6QLIch9sJysvUBpczw07AVyL0jgLToMQxdDbVylOTIeODAnp_dEUes-jWHsq0PWB-3ss/s320/blog+pic2.jpg" /></a></center>
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Stupidity is a crime.
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Now. What if you are the type who likes to avoid social interaction, especially when Ex is involved? And what if you have to see Ex every day because he goes to your school or you work with him?
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This probably should work.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExrLueXHjJfQ3JszvtSuhYigdg1jHgmEiRfA4h-rMUvgfY8tAg_D9VIORwnJdeLTPswg9H-s_E1-CVC9VQk2_0m3mZsEJqtvnvhWBvjTXGA9LyM9CnK20aTp-jYqMd9oORt_Tgp2BY54/s2500/pic3.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none"src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhExrLueXHjJfQ3JszvtSuhYigdg1jHgmEiRfA4h-rMUvgfY8tAg_D9VIORwnJdeLTPswg9H-s_E1-CVC9VQk2_0m3mZsEJqtvnvhWBvjTXGA9LyM9CnK20aTp-jYqMd9oORt_Tgp2BY54/s1020/pic3.jpg" /></a></center>
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Make more loyal friends who are willing to go to jail with you. And be catchy all the time. Even if you’re just gonna go to the next table. Wear sexy, borderline Gaga clothes that it would drain the color of your face. I know, I know it's gonna be hard. Wearing clothes that are 10 sizes too small takes some getting used to, but you have to sacrifice! You need to prove you are okay after the break up. Even if that was 10 years ago.
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This or get a life and move on, for heaven’s sake.
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Ten years ago is soo history.
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And I believe if fate meant you to be together, you’ll find each other in the next life.
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You are you and he is your son haha!!
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Okay. I'll stop right there.
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<b><i>♥ Happy Valentines! ♥</i></b>
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littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-58777052931817423092014-02-10T00:41:00.000-08:002014-02-10T00:41:26.966-08:00What Happens When I Get Behind On ChoresLike laundry.
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As long as I have reasonably clean uniforms for the kids, socks & unders for the hubs and a clean bra for me, I'm usually good.
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But it never occurred to me that I would run out of panties.
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I have 10,000 pairs of underwear. Some are fun & lacy. Some are thongs. Some coordinate with a bra. Others like the bloomers that I stole from mother. Imagine a full panty with a pocket to hold sanitary napkin in place. I know no girl would own up to wearing it.
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But most of what I have are comfy cotton briefs.
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Last night after my shower, I opened the panty drawer and. . . . . .chirp chirp chirp.
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Nothing. Not a thing. Not a thong. No boyshorts, hipsters, g-strings or briefs.
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In normal circumstances, I would go without. But it's fright week. I need unders.
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I had NOTHING. Just a giant pile of dirty laundry. I would never wear dirty underwear. Ok, I would. I totally would. But the laundry was especially dirty with wet towels and everything. So I couldn't even find any not-too-dirty ones.
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<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdrvCumnR9NaKMzf5mPnhTM70MbLwMAMt13paqZtF7fQjpl52BDpd7Cfevg5CvuvvR5lbgV8LfUNXeT-rAbFlLzfa5JzpWpfzpbw6NtKkXt1YgNgGcjQCP8E5_ByBBvi2ngpl9VazGJE/s1600/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdrvCumnR9NaKMzf5mPnhTM70MbLwMAMt13paqZtF7fQjpl52BDpd7Cfevg5CvuvvR5lbgV8LfUNXeT-rAbFlLzfa5JzpWpfzpbw6NtKkXt1YgNgGcjQCP8E5_ByBBvi2ngpl9VazGJE/s320/pic2.jpg" height="400" style="border: none;" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If Miranda Kerr could wear this.. I could too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
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I had to borrow from Hubs.
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And Hubs has 2 choices: tighty whiteys or colored briefs with bacon waistband. Tight whities weren't gonna do it for me because they wouldn't hold my . .. um . . products in place.
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I knew boys were different from girls. I had no idea HOW different.
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They have the whole keyhole thing goin' on. Because they are too lazy to pull their pants down when they pee. Know what else? The leg holes on T.W.s are tight. I mean -- no elastic. What the...? How can they wear these?
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And there is about 8 inches of fabric between the legholes. Their legs are NOT that far apart. I know they need extra fabric to cover their extra parts, but I had NO IDEA that there was so much fabric down there. Finally,the waistband? Definately not designed for girls. Well, maybe for Miranda Kerr. But for girls with hips? Nope.
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So today, I am catching up on my laundry.
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<center>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIiNKlBzhf0_9EjPND1nPjgvZhx1Q7SYx9u1HlqCs8xxyumL0cbTyVFNUH3cMwNaWm_KNguhwkWCaU1s8auNY10bpVpzbsTypeM-153dL-yVn31Jne_CTHQpn2oodEoxcjQGma5sacKEI/s1600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIiNKlBzhf0_9EjPND1nPjgvZhx1Q7SYx9u1HlqCs8xxyumL0cbTyVFNUH3cMwNaWm_KNguhwkWCaU1s8auNY10bpVpzbsTypeM-153dL-yVn31Jne_CTHQpn2oodEoxcjQGma5sacKEI/s320/pic.jpg" height="320" style="border: none;" width="320" /></a></center>
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Cotton briefs first.
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littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-86712742923819577862014-01-13T22:29:00.000-08:002014-01-13T22:29:52.038-08:00Some Things Are Harder Than You ThinkWomen are not as complicated as you guys believe. Oh well, there are times that we are hormonal, over-dramatic and sensitive.
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But everyone goes through this at some point, whether you're a guy or a girl. So it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Because you know what? It's normal for people.
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When I am by myself, I eat a family block chocolate, one leg propped up. I pluck armpits hair. Talk to the world and wait for it to talk back. I swear, ruminate, despair and answer all the questions in my head. And I talked so fast you’d swear I am schizo.
<br></br>
But when I am out in the society, no one could suspect. Like I will ask you super nicely if I can iron your clothes, feed your dogs or cook for you out of politeness or well meaning impulsiveness.
<br></br>
People close to me know I talk to a laptop. I don’t know but every time I start opening the computer, I would start talking like a robot, “start now, start now, now, now…!”
<br></br>
And as I have mentioned here before, I am quite a multitasker.
<br></br>
I have the tendency to do many things at once.
<br></br>
Okay. So for instance, last Saturday morning, I thought of cutting my children’s hair. You see I hate the long sideburn. So I cut them. No, really. I did. And nobody cried.
<br></br>
That's while the washing machine was running.
<br></br>
Yesterday, I planned about revamping an old black dress into a peplum blouse. You know those DIY’s flying around in the internet? I am somehow inspired. But then I forgot everything about it.
<br></br>
Of course I did. Also, I don't have a sewing machine.
<br></br>
So yeah. That's how my brain works.
<br></br>
Uh. That's all. Just thought I'd share.
<br></br>
::
<br></br>
<i>Oh I made something for a very close friend. Hi Margj! She’s 40 on Saturday and because I'm super sweet, I made this card for her. </i>
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bm1zuwTyyRFHuV0_8PybXVttvOL7O4U12iNb5GdwiUzMmEZuX7nIdp-FJCl-Y-mzP052ig5_uPBn04TvtVmlRju7aJlracT5sqamjzLs7CkQh6ISyIlhIKWUo4uhIrzgKyNj_adP5lU/s2600/margj+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bm1zuwTyyRFHuV0_8PybXVttvOL7O4U12iNb5GdwiUzMmEZuX7nIdp-FJCl-Y-mzP052ig5_uPBn04TvtVmlRju7aJlracT5sqamjzLs7CkQh6ISyIlhIKWUo4uhIrzgKyNj_adP5lU/s420/margj+pic.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You are halfway to 80. Way to go!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-79246571636674371292014-01-08T19:39:00.000-08:002014-01-08T19:39:15.883-08:00Starting the New Year RightI feel like I just blinked and its the start of 2014. Already?
<br></br>
But I’m not here to talk about how your Christmas went or if 2013 was brilliant or awful.
<br></br>
Resolutions? Nah. All I wanted was a longer vacation, longer time to watch TV or read books. I kind of clung to them like a raft. I was so lazy the whole vacation to think of what to do. Not an ounce of energy to even wrap gifts. I should be cooking and cleaning, but I was trolling Facebook and Candy Crush.
<br></br>
But that’s just 5% of the problem. If you think being lazy is the problem. You’re wrong.
<br></br>
It’s the cold, crisp, and chilly almost arctic feel in the morning.
<br></br>
Did you see the news on TV? the deep snow in US midwest?
<br></br>
Never mind the blizzard in New York. Mind the strawberries dying in Benguet. I thought I was seeing snow. Who says we don’t have them here?
<br></br>
So that’s what tied me to procrastinating.
<br></br>
Well. That and other thousand things.
<br></br>
Okay, so it is not really the weather alone. The other thousand things, if all summed up, is equivalent to well procrastinating.
<br></br>
Assuming that while some of you may not have a problem playing dead to the world, there are also some who think there are better ways of dealing with things like this.
<br></br>
So what to do?
<br></br>
<b>First</b>, put your laptop down. Get to real work people!
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_Izbde0h0VgXp7icmmPVCmzhfOR2sIUaenu2OvEfEAEWFFtBWqbujqLn1o1_Oref2Z9-GN2qd5MkAd-jAx6HnXq-jtI2PmZplGN1dT9MpMczo8rsScQvmEOk22WIpx-7yD7WjspUp74/s1600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_Izbde0h0VgXp7icmmPVCmzhfOR2sIUaenu2OvEfEAEWFFtBWqbujqLn1o1_Oref2Z9-GN2qd5MkAd-jAx6HnXq-jtI2PmZplGN1dT9MpMczo8rsScQvmEOk22WIpx-7yD7WjspUp74/s320/pic.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px;"><i>Hi! can i order a Big Mac, but without the cheese, lettuce, </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px;"><i>tomato, buns and patties and just get a pasta instead?"</i></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Because you are a part of civilization. No matter what kind of job you have, do it. Even if you have to deal with a hundred of hot-heads, eccentric or just plain stupid people every single freaking day.</i>
</blockquote>
<br></br>
<b>Second</b>, deal with reality straightly.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FkdHaUVWWW0OFKxE9fxpy89zAcqLMo9VURpd1lMKnoCcI6PwBC8kqcG1mqpJBxzbivYbYn5iTAu8Z_7FugvEOx0Dz8GsdNBxZuvXZiDr0_ej_S7GMo29GA7lJxZJDkPTfr3xIQcVNbU/s1600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: -webkit-center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FkdHaUVWWW0OFKxE9fxpy89zAcqLMo9VURpd1lMKnoCcI6PwBC8kqcG1mqpJBxzbivYbYn5iTAu8Z_7FugvEOx0Dz8GsdNBxZuvXZiDr0_ej_S7GMo29GA7lJxZJDkPTfr3xIQcVNbU/s320/pic1.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You're going to break with me anyway. <br />So yeah its the fat.."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>If you have gained those ugly fats and bulges because of overindulgence this holiday, get out of bed. Take the huge blanket off of you and hit the gym. Stop self-pitying.</i></blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Third</b>, take a new hobby. It’s always nice to discover new things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tMbhwNm2xmL2lDo3NMhB9D4tE9IscqpVNHpbQhnz9YFcMfSvdPSCbKAwHha02sgMm5aEYnucX_VWHp0eWrlXs8ASb3oww6sNCcYZayOVsCaF8KP9G8R-luiUIBR-JrEguF7HNuTrTUE/s1600/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tMbhwNm2xmL2lDo3NMhB9D4tE9IscqpVNHpbQhnz9YFcMfSvdPSCbKAwHha02sgMm5aEYnucX_VWHp0eWrlXs8ASb3oww6sNCcYZayOVsCaF8KP9G8R-luiUIBR-JrEguF7HNuTrTUE/s320/pic2.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They do this before the PIZZA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<center>
</center>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<center style="text-align: justify;">
<i>The Shaolin monks are always on the height of their physical and mental condition. That means on any given time of their day they can do a finger stand, perform complicated weapons maneuver and break your neck. So again put down that laptop. Okay?</i></center>
</blockquote>
<br></br>
<b>And lastly</b>, if you still have a lot of money from your ninangs and ninongs and spending it is starting to become such a burden, you could give, like, HALF of it to me. I won't complain. It's like charity. You'll all feel awesome.
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLp3eA2uHo3AkYt-SvannPaMoQk0ebLm1-LwuEjAOp-g-CIkINPjEUlFtGRByUA-UMJMZmKhlTqwsCUnatEpWWj_5jIH5Fbi17ekC3GfzBy6kJDMTsLh_cFhyAveeC2OAQiS6_yECahXc/s1600/pic3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLp3eA2uHo3AkYt-SvannPaMoQk0ebLm1-LwuEjAOp-g-CIkINPjEUlFtGRByUA-UMJMZmKhlTqwsCUnatEpWWj_5jIH5Fbi17ekC3GfzBy6kJDMTsLh_cFhyAveeC2OAQiS6_yECahXc/s320/pic3.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I won't deny I actually hoped for her.<br />Net worth: 16.5 million</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br></br>
<i>Therefore if you need tips on something, or advice, or you want to ask anything, e-mail me or leave it in the comments. I’ll probably help. We’ll see. </i>
<br></br>
::
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littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-51385576921334895002013-12-03T21:38:00.001-08:002013-12-04T00:42:26.712-08:00Because Thank You is Too MainstreamI immediately went back to Bulacan few hours after my mother died. That week, I was reeling into slight depression already. I guess nobody knew. I am good at hiding feelings sometimes. Because I think that what we should do ... get on with things, answer questions, go through the motions. Then fall apart at appropriate times.
<br></br>
I let them out now. Can't help it. I'll be letting this out for a long, long time. Maybe even always, and that's alright by me. Lucky grief comes in spurts, in, out. Or else the bereaved would never get out of bed.
<br></br>
I saw her inside the white coffin covered with silk. Still not embalmed. She looked as if she was only sleeping. Not wooden or waxy like others. This time I could face seeing her because it was the last chance I’d ever get. Her forehead was wrinkled as if frowning; and her hair still flat and oily like the usual.
<br></br>
Death is such a freaky, scary, cloistered thing in our culture. Yet it happens every day. I think you can now buy tickets to watch a funeral and then see as the body gets set alight. Tickets. Like a show.
<br></br>
We had a wake with her friends, oh my god <i>her friends!</i>. So many. And every last one. Friends from childhood, neighbors, acquaintances, coworkers, churchmates. And so many more. You can really see the mark of a man through her friends.
<br></br>
Thank goodness for people like them to help guide us through the very worst times of our lives. My mother’s siblings, my own siblings, my family.
<br></br>
I wish I could repay your goodness and love.
<br></br>
So to all who are going through the same experience, be strong.
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::
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZlVK6_ONTc_a4SYnToAFZkcX9hhzSmFK3QIgIR0kHW32DSHmUYG7O6FMmBuEKzptuHeIZEB39Jqki14NgDQ3Ld0JIUqX24vojur7th1CCcy0nEa4moFsIeBvFkZzXu3Fu3YxZcQM4RI/s2600/pic1.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZlVK6_ONTc_a4SYnToAFZkcX9hhzSmFK3QIgIR0kHW32DSHmUYG7O6FMmBuEKzptuHeIZEB39Jqki14NgDQ3Ld0JIUqX24vojur7th1CCcy0nEa4moFsIeBvFkZzXu3Fu3YxZcQM4RI/s420/pic1.png" /></a></center>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-22834584868603360612013-11-21T01:45:00.000-08:002013-11-21T01:45:33.380-08:00You Will Be Missed ForeverExactly one week today, on a Thursday, my mother’s sufferings finally ended. She was laid to rest beside her parents’ grave in an old cemetery.
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In know our lives go on. We will smile more, laugh more. Love more. But we will never stop missing. We will never stop loving.
<br></br>
Looking forward to a day of peace and healing.
<br></br>
I pray that this coming Christmas and all the Christmasses to come, you all feel your mother’s presence with you more strongly.
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZP1xDfWC_BHjON1B2znF3PTzprSILAR1y0p-sfs70leFUP2EgftBgVHT19fsmnLFYs_FxXIJAIr9cKyVEr7Tm58ahpxubRDhsZT5nzoTS2HaHb59WzZ0UA3dwC6QuIyi4ZsZuOAChzs/s2600/pic+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZZP1xDfWC_BHjON1B2znF3PTzprSILAR1y0p-sfs70leFUP2EgftBgVHT19fsmnLFYs_FxXIJAIr9cKyVEr7Tm58ahpxubRDhsZT5nzoTS2HaHb59WzZ0UA3dwC6QuIyi4ZsZuOAChzs/s520/pic+(2).jpg" /></a></center>
<br></br>
::
<br></br>
<i>My mother is dead</i>
<p></p>
<i>But she is not gone.</i>
<p></p>
<i>And I love her like she is alive. </i>
<p></p>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-9194791898235974342013-11-04T02:23:00.001-08:002013-11-04T02:23:58.184-08:00When The Day Is Long and HardMonths previously, I was trying so hard to go against sadness. I know I was teetering toward mild depression hence my slight effort to start Christmas early in this blog.
<br></br>
Mother is sick and is now seriously ill. Already on Valium.
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Many times I sat in my bed late at night absolutely scared about what to do.
<br></br>
Went to see her many times this week. The first time I couldn't touch her but the second time I loved her and hugged her and told her how much we adored her. I wiped her face with a tissue and felt her arms and legs and feet, knowing it may be the last few times we will ever see her. The wrinkles, almost wooden skin, <i>is she dying inside?</i> yet SO beautiful. Such a strapping person. Always have guests around to see her, even by person I never met in my whole life.
<br></br>
I'm not praying for miracles anymore. But I have a husband and two beautiful kids I adore just as much as I adored mother so I'm sure I'll keep going. Still I need everything that I can get because my mother is now counting months, may be days. Weeping and keening, and then this strange silence. I don’t know. Valium would not tell me.
<br></br>
::
<br></br>
<i>I found this poster and it made a lot of sense to me.</i>
<br></br>
<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPXQOQfpyRmP4q0mw5qflTeLbfj4ZlCkCoJf8VUQqgCr8Y3DGS2xFMxiurCmv21z4VDDbDLE-UUtRim03d5eA8PCuTWckIFmyb61s-a7DQi2B2g8CKzHWqrDVbLEf49GZA5BPc3ReJaU/s2600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPXQOQfpyRmP4q0mw5qflTeLbfj4ZlCkCoJf8VUQqgCr8Y3DGS2xFMxiurCmv21z4VDDbDLE-UUtRim03d5eA8PCuTWckIFmyb61s-a7DQi2B2g8CKzHWqrDVbLEf49GZA5BPc3ReJaU/s620/pic.jpg" /></a></center>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-72496893483793784802013-10-03T02:49:00.000-07:002013-10-03T02:49:25.352-07:00How to Deal With Your Instinct to Maim Those Politicians?Have you ever watched the news? I try not to cause it’s so depressing but sometimes I see it. Look at them all so tough and defiant against their charges and allegations. The nerve of these people.
<br></br>
Bad senators, congressmen, judges, commissioners, barangay tanods aren't that hard to spot. They are EVERYWHERE. In order to deal with them, you have to understand what they are going through, where they are coming from. Because all they need is love and understanding.
<br></br>
JUST KIDDING.
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These people expect that everybody loves them. They have this sense of self-worth that if they are honored, respected, prioritized and loved, they think they deserve it and if they are hated, they think their critics are if not heretics, are simply low-life lying morons.
<br></br>
Well?
<br></br>
The best way is to stay calm. You can bring them back to earth. Just have faith.
<br></br>
Or something.
<br></br>
So let’s begin.
<br></br>
Just because our public servants are restless souls, they are often hallucinating that their lives and time are more important than ours, which is why they get traffic escorts and back-up vehicles, want expresses through airport immigration and other similar conveniences. So I thought why fast forward the future and...
<br></br>
1. <b>Prepare Them Advance Tombstones</b>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuT3BDQNjVm07kVTskjBJet3MAjfz5KmK0CBO5iqqXgaQ3c2j0arbsaeVeio7TAXKZnTg52x9_1W9yM-dM5taI8TgSkzc8eqpAcaVvgZTkZcF2AvkhJJ4FMkFw6RUwRDRgliuhmONVHKE/s1600/tombstone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuT3BDQNjVm07kVTskjBJet3MAjfz5KmK0CBO5iqqXgaQ3c2j0arbsaeVeio7TAXKZnTg52x9_1W9yM-dM5taI8TgSkzc8eqpAcaVvgZTkZcF2AvkhJJ4FMkFw6RUwRDRgliuhmONVHKE/s400/tombstone.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Avoid putting <i>"R.I.P" </i>or "<i>In Loving Memory Of"</i> on their tombstone. Seriously? That is so 10 years ago. Give them some credit man! Be bold! Have them carve,<i> "Wanna come with?"</i>. Better yet, have them write BRB or Be Right Back. Aside from its undeniable frivolity, this will remind our politicians that their powers and privileges do not necessarily mean an easy access to heaven. Saint Peter might send them elsewhere.
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2. <b>Summon a Ghost During a Senate Speech</b><br />
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<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJnUWMkXCiqcTVz5AsdeqVtV_B5a5J2i5akrzklOuF-8LsV_VLzJAvilDbKGuzzTojwKlaILWNCd3-MsbgIhodRP6RlKTMaYGUjDPUC5-CULIsCw2bhSWPujM0dJRbrMW0_kyRfOI6Fs/s1600/pic10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJnUWMkXCiqcTVz5AsdeqVtV_B5a5J2i5akrzklOuF-8LsV_VLzJAvilDbKGuzzTojwKlaILWNCd3-MsbgIhodRP6RlKTMaYGUjDPUC5-CULIsCw2bhSWPujM0dJRbrMW0_kyRfOI6Fs/s400/pic10.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember <i>Tosho</i> of The Grudge?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
There is a saying that some ghosts are harmless and friendly. However this one is no Casper or else this would be useless. This ghost will be summoned during deliberation or privilege speech. The ghost will go to the public official and whispers mean things to him and only he can hear him. It can cause so much anguish and pain. Notice how he will become an emotional wreck right after the speech. Well, he can try to convince himself that his eyes are just irritated but we will know that's not true.</div>
<div>
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<div>
3. <b>Sack them in a Life-Sized Condom</b></div>
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZZ4qdo1_SXJTVzMjC8IRCrsXrRTeZ2UfashfqMCBrZDIX_Q4JEnmO7SjQ7-tF-AVllN-MXLFYqmrSmKTlauggKWORiEL_7vqE1cq4e3Jm3xhseTnm5Bi3MLq4N8YtDapNi3Er3rBayw/s1600/blogphoto.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" style="border:none" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZZ4qdo1_SXJTVzMjC8IRCrsXrRTeZ2UfashfqMCBrZDIX_Q4JEnmO7SjQ7-tF-AVllN-MXLFYqmrSmKTlauggKWORiEL_7vqE1cq4e3Jm3xhseTnm5Bi3MLq4N8YtDapNi3Er3rBayw/s400/blogphoto.png" width="600" /></a></center>
<br></br>
Every time they lie, steal, plagiarized, or spend millions for as inconsequential as burgers to as grandiose as a wack-wack mansion. Now there is a chance to effectively shoo away their nonchalant appeal for material things, lust included. Isn’t that once upon a time, God’s natural punishment was depriving them of erections? Such a frightening scenario, especially in a religious society that worships a God who does not believe in condoms and birth-control pills.<br />
<br />
So when life gets tough, my dear readers, don't lose hope.<br />
<br />
There's always a way.<br />
<br />
Again, you're welcome.littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-6611114191013106052013-09-30T00:04:00.001-07:002013-09-30T00:04:21.234-07:00A Day At The Park<br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyday I tell myself about being stronger. And then the universe laughed at me and decided to test that theory-.</span></i><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The eldest boy had a school excursion yesterday. And I thought no one should be left behind, so we took the trip the three of us. Suddenly I found myself plunged into a good day that turned hellishly tiring. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">First we went to see the kidney stones of <b>Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo</b>, our country’s first president. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was there, put on display at Kawit, Cavite. There for everyone to see what a hundred-old kidney stone look like. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The trip went on awesome and fascinating.. </span></div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRRZHVXDpdH1AjAdnXwmECI-3P3jJquwHkYcnh0MW0DMPkecoBEQX3ReV60ArSx5Cj8bGDwzJbeyEOPNxrL0Q-6FuO3C-FP-Ld89xRVphYhHhSXKu4J4mM8wjqxgV0s6xKXHmaW0xzeI/s1600/2013-09-29+07.58.09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRRZHVXDpdH1AjAdnXwmECI-3P3jJquwHkYcnh0MW0DMPkecoBEQX3ReV60ArSx5Cj8bGDwzJbeyEOPNxrL0Q-6FuO3C-FP-Ld89xRVphYhHhSXKu4J4mM8wjqxgV0s6xKXHmaW0xzeI/s640/2013-09-29+07.58.09.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basically here's this amazing man, who five minutes beforehand,<br />
I thought was just ordinary guy on a horse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I’ve long held a fascination with old things – in particular its history and the stories of hardship, hope and tragedy that hide behind walls, windows, doors and secret passageways. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Inside the mansion was eerie but because it was packed by noisy kids (and adults), the feelings were more awe-inspiring rather than otherworldly.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdjvJeGrvSofEyrlcTC1qL_Z7We1IJ8XJ-4IHESQeaGqQAWYpndF48OKENajuTaNlELxtexPcCq0HjoladNgN4XjNzU4HUNX8QRHe-Lk3A5e4sijqGfbwmj79wOUeiElmlGGSpLRexcE/s1600/2013-09-29+08.00.33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdjvJeGrvSofEyrlcTC1qL_Z7We1IJ8XJ-4IHESQeaGqQAWYpndF48OKENajuTaNlELxtexPcCq0HjoladNgN4XjNzU4HUNX8QRHe-Lk3A5e4sijqGfbwmj79wOUeiElmlGGSpLRexcE/s400/2013-09-29+08.00.33.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I huffed and I puffed back up all the stairs. Had to stop three times because I'm dreadfully unfit. And hugely overweight. But I did it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PADDxG02t2qUipB8pGgUmfGLb4e-RB3eRgZNXUdGkonx6KtoF6SY_d-hVTN8EFXvwycyUuqfaKJe2nxwUuLmaAexatbbsPsgzTxAg-LxTNbG3gp-oTqvH0dGNIzivmi13ljv-2sbax4/s1600/2013-09-29+08.18.29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PADDxG02t2qUipB8pGgUmfGLb4e-RB3eRgZNXUdGkonx6KtoF6SY_d-hVTN8EFXvwycyUuqfaKJe2nxwUuLmaAexatbbsPsgzTxAg-LxTNbG3gp-oTqvH0dGNIzivmi13ljv-2sbax4/s400/2013-09-29+08.18.29.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one is spooky enough. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 15.75pt; margin-bottom: 12.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333;">We continued
the trip to the Manila Ocean Park. We walked our legs off, continued to trudge around,
being amazed on all their new attractions. Ladies, remember to wear a strong
bra on the Megarider. It's a roller coaster ride inside the park.... very rickety. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 15.75pt; margin-bottom: 12.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">And then we set foot at the Trails of Antartica. Brrr!</span><br />
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"></span><br /><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2VcAbdKc9X2UkAZw4oSsIp0KVj_x8eE2P_28bWQV4zswosfIdoQyzJJkjB481Cfosqr1U0E-1hByPX26uVGZQ-ig531UsfF7oemqm1PNocVGPdDu5oFYX2rflkbF73yrIJ8_Zlc1Fw8/s1600/2013-09-29+14.08.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2VcAbdKc9X2UkAZw4oSsIp0KVj_x8eE2P_28bWQV4zswosfIdoQyzJJkjB481Cfosqr1U0E-1hByPX26uVGZQ-ig531UsfF7oemqm1PNocVGPdDu5oFYX2rflkbF73yrIJ8_Zlc1Fw8/s400/2013-09-29+14.08.14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<i>Son, these are real penguins...not ducks</i>"<br />
<span style="line-height: 15.75pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: red; font-family: inherit;">Official Christmas Photo, Manila Ocean Park 2013</span></div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglY4xWvDD6-USTjQlBTvERO9KPaqrcjD1X-oBQ4h2ZGc63Isaqj6IOqcQ2HJVgZ0qgc9m3Sw9ALArShJeXZen11KkaL5srqQos2BnjYNd4wyBrsxnB4Nn2vCFdoYGZpGwgHMeznBxzdEQ/s1600/2013-09-29+14.23.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglY4xWvDD6-USTjQlBTvERO9KPaqrcjD1X-oBQ4h2ZGc63Isaqj6IOqcQ2HJVgZ0qgc9m3Sw9ALArShJeXZen11KkaL5srqQos2BnjYNd4wyBrsxnB4Nn2vCFdoYGZpGwgHMeznBxzdEQ/s400/2013-09-29+14.23.34.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7k_vTY3al9bIES8ugoyIvsegFWA7zHqRb855bKxW0JOErFu9pWeqkEDYFPEq-em_ijljyXF4RlxUlMupgoOgIrc12SBNlbu-gKI-MTLUAVn4ZWK6oOVihyphenhyphen_e9CQhge75LuPG7Aia8ddk/s1600/2013-09-29+14.25.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7k_vTY3al9bIES8ugoyIvsegFWA7zHqRb855bKxW0JOErFu9pWeqkEDYFPEq-em_ijljyXF4RlxUlMupgoOgIrc12SBNlbu-gKI-MTLUAVn4ZWK6oOVihyphenhyphen_e9CQhge75LuPG7Aia8ddk/s400/2013-09-29+14.25.18.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 15.75pt; margin-bottom: 12.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Next: Birds of Prey!</span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 15.75pt; margin-bottom: 12.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The kids
cheered at the large birds flying overhead and they were all so happy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So very
off-the-cuff, spur of the moment happy. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievXXHNVK1RJvgOC5CVnChzyUdGDd0JfNcJVYncOcRL7zX6V0gnjfFEQuWFqEfTgIEeRwzJdPoSlCH-wxuhgKoslDQvjthBXVqPUqbCwuogtQjSf7biCsQ1fBXnTkED-uiWCcrLwqpvuE/s1600/2013-09-29+14.43.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievXXHNVK1RJvgOC5CVnChzyUdGDd0JfNcJVYncOcRL7zX6V0gnjfFEQuWFqEfTgIEeRwzJdPoSlCH-wxuhgKoslDQvjthBXVqPUqbCwuogtQjSf7biCsQ1fBXnTkED-uiWCcrLwqpvuE/s400/2013-09-29+14.43.01.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrO45YTCpSpBcHRb_mf9ws92wA6LjhKjp-Tm_d8-2nS22wwDJWqnaOvLd7wWYzsRqiReINnMrqopFTlk1IMMWzaWndDnHdDpc1tjx96Ie9sa6PPgwFnfjh9NhIuZ670aq8i1ekplkW_ME/s1600/2013-09-29+14.43.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrO45YTCpSpBcHRb_mf9ws92wA6LjhKjp-Tm_d8-2nS22wwDJWqnaOvLd7wWYzsRqiReINnMrqopFTlk1IMMWzaWndDnHdDpc1tjx96Ie9sa6PPgwFnfjh9NhIuZ670aq8i1ekplkW_ME/s400/2013-09-29+14.43.32.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4eOOYV7CcqCWcjkvl5YNgRDlSVVjN04uMMInj0qlFxVsALh2q0OyIwWUhdQLDE49I8Ax9LGJ8cEt8MeAWMmV4c_tu3W4xVgu7aKHRKnChdL4j0byDyaXG-jtNNdE5Zk61GMMubx8RC1A/s1600/2013-09-29+14.50.07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4eOOYV7CcqCWcjkvl5YNgRDlSVVjN04uMMInj0qlFxVsALh2q0OyIwWUhdQLDE49I8Ax9LGJ8cEt8MeAWMmV4c_tu3W4xVgu7aKHRKnChdL4j0byDyaXG-jtNNdE5Zk61GMMubx8RC1A/s400/2013-09-29+14.50.07.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s like being inside the bird cage of Jurassic Park.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The whole trip was amazing. I'm happy that, as parents, we were able to let our children feel amazed, be informed and experienced these kind of activities.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was all up-lifting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Except that it burned my budget for the next week.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">::</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">How about you? when was the last time you took the kids out?</span></i><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-63469262076334740832013-09-11T20:25:00.000-07:002013-09-11T20:25:06.686-07:00Zamboanga Not A Good Place..For Now..That's pretty much what everyone is walking around thinking at this point, right?
<pr></pr>
<i>(Overseas readers: we have a falling out in Zamboanga and a lot of people are jaded as hell.)</i>
<br></br>
Truth is, the Philippine peace council got knifed in the back by the MNLF, I haven't really been bothered to keep up with all the latest news. I've purposely not read articles and watched TV about because ..... it's all so disheartening.<br />
<br></br>
<i>What is disheartening?</i><br />
<br></br>
This.
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqQI5H6TfoArJ1Ne1YIyUmaSFEdu9IBILu1yt8dNlyD-1fIq0Pul_evH0OXjxzVFXeNpgbqGI3YOHO4N_89CbwGxEYmf37aZPgXp6Tn9fdCb6gii4NVlrNbE4WR6GrKQV3yX5xi_icLc/s1600/pic4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvqQI5H6TfoArJ1Ne1YIyUmaSFEdu9IBILu1yt8dNlyD-1fIq0Pul_evH0OXjxzVFXeNpgbqGI3YOHO4N_89CbwGxEYmf37aZPgXp6Tn9fdCb6gii4NVlrNbE4WR6GrKQV3yX5xi_icLc/s400/pic4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids roam free, fending for themselves. Often dirty, no shoes, no schools. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlrLVej3EbUpf_uC1zzHlGysJVMoyhX0LtMWVSNgmUj4A6rFEJjzUVpQuwxoay04EhmNtfVDpw8gUscn6a99jr9My-41EEq-9QawI4GLuhtc-phNIqx-ZvaWYusmO0Sh8StN_eOn_GJw/s1600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlrLVej3EbUpf_uC1zzHlGysJVMoyhX0LtMWVSNgmUj4A6rFEJjzUVpQuwxoay04EhmNtfVDpw8gUscn6a99jr9My-41EEq-9QawI4GLuhtc-phNIqx-ZvaWYusmO0Sh8StN_eOn_GJw/s400/pic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">People fleeing to evacuation camps. <br />
Not sure when to have a normal life again. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5NWrQqLBEfMmc-CU_7cwzxvuvMameYwkT6mNU8Ti60UO1HL7bMawjienDNqWH_bV0sWmtnwczoysP-OMARyk1gcazexucnlfrQagISuhTQs_YbOZHx4NnLleQIvknGNi7BB4Nhv6_mo/s1600/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5NWrQqLBEfMmc-CU_7cwzxvuvMameYwkT6mNU8Ti60UO1HL7bMawjienDNqWH_bV0sWmtnwczoysP-OMARyk1gcazexucnlfrQagISuhTQs_YbOZHx4NnLleQIvknGNi7BB4Nhv6_mo/s400/pic2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Armed men are commonplace. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFJxAM0fnuGC1clPZeXO99VN59ayb_YPPpCWEU_OsHGQAEpuqm-rfEuWJG8mDruUNfofAizuXJiEl_PW8m01RtYcYgcz8jLK2grItbUhTDuHwy6Rq3_zUcZ45o6temYT1IAsq6_36im4/s1600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFJxAM0fnuGC1clPZeXO99VN59ayb_YPPpCWEU_OsHGQAEpuqm-rfEuWJG8mDruUNfofAizuXJiEl_PW8m01RtYcYgcz8jLK2grItbUhTDuHwy6Rq3_zUcZ45o6temYT1IAsq6_36im4/s400/pic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't buy any food. Most stores are closed. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br></br>
Sometimes we look for meaning and there is none.
<br></br>
Whoever started it probably don’t have a family.
<br></br>
I believe in free speech, good policy, good government, and a fair go. Schools, hospitals, the elderly .... the vulnerable in our society NEED to be taken care of.
<br></br>
So - the person who is killing the peace talks don't realize the benefits of a true freedom. Sometimes we don't know that we are eaten alive by our broken principles and false honor.
<br></br>
I hope whoever is in charge will take good care of our people.
<br></br>
Philippines is one of the best countries on earth. And I hope it stays that way.
<br></br>
::littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-87605471033319440642013-09-10T02:58:00.000-07:002013-09-10T02:58:44.908-07:00Where I Turned Into A Saw Slaying Monster. Kind Of. I have many kinds of anger:
<br></br>
<ol>
<li>The kind that I forget after 10 seconds.</li>
<li>The kind that takes a day to sink in, which is very frustrating especially when, the moment it sinks in, it's not relevant to talk about anymore</li>
<li>The kind that makes me create imaginary arguments in my head in which you will win and I will hate you more.</li>
<li>The kind that makes me want to make you realize how stupid you are by using extreme sarcasm and snide remarks that you probably won't even understand.</li>
<li>The kind that frustrates me a lot that it makes me tear up. </li>
<li>The kind that makes me want to go Super Saiyan on you. </li>
<li>And the kind that makes my blood boil up inside and make me want to secretly take a picture of you and post it on the Internet because I will probably hate you forever. FOREVER. </li>
</ol>
<p></p>
And do you want to know what makes me that angry?<br />
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNSewJdia79b1hbfDIJBkGb_nGrxPLkuytneUv3nE-3eUVXybwBXauBb_xc5Qm7Ang3XRQVGwTywNEGLTh47agFWJ9wHRm7mNFsBqDc3apd0upGwNO92aZ6kVQD0cIaDoy4yCnUUtQsb8/s1600/bitpic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNSewJdia79b1hbfDIJBkGb_nGrxPLkuytneUv3nE-3eUVXybwBXauBb_xc5Qm7Ang3XRQVGwTywNEGLTh47agFWJ9wHRm7mNFsBqDc3apd0upGwNO92aZ6kVQD0cIaDoy4yCnUUtQsb8/s400/bitpic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wait. Okay. Not that angry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
PMS.
<br></br>
If you have been reading this blog for a length of time, there are two things that bother me every month: bills and monthly period.
<br></br>
I know its not normal for most girls to get crazy-angry when PMS-ing. But compared to the random mood swings and cramps and headaches and body pains and frustrations and that feeling where you want to strangle everyone who says something stupid, staying sane is probably the worst when the red flag is up.
<br></br>
So this is why I want to discuss ways to get us girls out of trouble when its the time of the month.
<br></br>
Here they are..
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxyca5YlYYp2_Gcv5aeBYHIG2Pe9GCbzM1yAwIK5GykmsGGBfRsFfYESocHSKacmRv7BTEeyitUWKKm9C8G0fUQhVB3XWuMfxZyi8dYKlMCNIUaiogCbj5pHDjWw1rmmhSOsLKkvvG_Q/s1600/bitstrip3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxyca5YlYYp2_Gcv5aeBYHIG2Pe9GCbzM1yAwIK5GykmsGGBfRsFfYESocHSKacmRv7BTEeyitUWKKm9C8G0fUQhVB3XWuMfxZyi8dYKlMCNIUaiogCbj5pHDjWw1rmmhSOsLKkvvG_Q/s320/bitstrip3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Eat. Follow your cravings. We're a lot peaceful with full stomach.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqff-_m2HmvDcn-vZRDsO_lGkhvrjEtyeyVDEZjZaPnHMgm5iWb_T0ytR1p04LXJxGpdCuxzqG_Q7Q903kx1zMLc9foR0lZmGxdfjGrquj27M4Sb-4qJyL4iCBtBfzP5G62vLRizR_MhI/s1600/bitstrip4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqff-_m2HmvDcn-vZRDsO_lGkhvrjEtyeyVDEZjZaPnHMgm5iWb_T0ytR1p04LXJxGpdCuxzqG_Q7Q903kx1zMLc9foR0lZmGxdfjGrquj27M4Sb-4qJyL4iCBtBfzP5G62vLRizR_MhI/s320/bitstrip4.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Go to the gym. Exercising and sweating bring you a sweet<br />adrenalin rush..</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOCQ3p7LNoIDc8ec6WtCgwAiARmuFliqJ-DXtnfEQ4WEd-B-71UPuPWgh6Zs9i3rk5cT4nQVTpOyXcz_YPX7GVSQdHm75zATCKDsoGtIPwMWQsHkCa38N5dlPUaIxMZc_SovScePZ4p4/s1600/bitstrip5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOCQ3p7LNoIDc8ec6WtCgwAiARmuFliqJ-DXtnfEQ4WEd-B-71UPuPWgh6Zs9i3rk5cT4nQVTpOyXcz_YPX7GVSQdHm75zATCKDsoGtIPwMWQsHkCa38N5dlPUaIxMZc_SovScePZ4p4/s320/bitstrip5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Find a hobby. Dance, sing, shave someone's head, twerk. Whatever!<br />Anything that turn you back into peace-loving, delicate<br />butterfly that you know you are..</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br></br>
Lastly,<br />
<br></br>
Don't eat sugar for breakfast. Because as the day goes on, you'll get more hyper.<br />
More hyper than you already are in the morning.<br />
<br></br>
So there.
<br></br>
I hope I helped.
<br></br>
You're welcome
<br></br>
::
<br></br>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-84680504076390377752013-09-04T23:48:00.000-07:002013-09-05T00:51:45.586-07:00Dear CancerYou suck!
<br></br>
You used to scare everyone silly, but we are not afraid of you anymore.
<br></br>
You didn't get my father. You didn't get my aunt. You didn't get my other aunt and you're not gonna get my mother!
<br></br>
She is eating healthy & then you know what she did?
<br></br>
She smiled for a photo & posted it on FACEBOOK.
<br></br>
<center class="separator" div="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcP4T4DibqyrNbeOnJXVi97lQ4plZCTM4rAI-SLYFs5VtOgSlbbHZY1y6yjwJNgvhUH9J2pglniBjVeyPdyWWVBIjHm6YwUAuoTgmbF9yFNIWszXR9ESozpeYlfG7oCN21BNwe6jgC0AI/s1600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcP4T4DibqyrNbeOnJXVi97lQ4plZCTM4rAI-SLYFs5VtOgSlbbHZY1y6yjwJNgvhUH9J2pglniBjVeyPdyWWVBIjHm6YwUAuoTgmbF9yFNIWszXR9ESozpeYlfG7oCN21BNwe6jgC0AI/s400/pic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother at the right, with her sister</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
So there.
<br></br>
You can try to beat us all you want, but we know how to fight. And we will keep fighting.
<br></br>
You might as well just go away.
<br></br>
And never come back.
<br></br>
::
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-66712186553372754482013-09-03T20:06:00.002-07:002013-09-03T20:06:25.026-07:00Talk About GiftsI've had so many gifts.
<br></br>
But none as great as. . . .
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8Fm6lTRh2k5u0XwB_FIPKTUWZiW3a1d3P_R8VxvuQAWlT1_-KqwJYxpuzmfxmcKKPzAj2cZB9jxKeojlr5WEFMeugqOYPaxWIixlUgqWMRrXDzMSR6cEHTNSRZhJN6hsAy-QvLZ8OuY/s1600/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8Fm6lTRh2k5u0XwB_FIPKTUWZiW3a1d3P_R8VxvuQAWlT1_-KqwJYxpuzmfxmcKKPzAj2cZB9jxKeojlr5WEFMeugqOYPaxWIixlUgqWMRrXDzMSR6cEHTNSRZhJN6hsAy-QvLZ8OuY/s400/pic2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lian, 9 & Yana, 4</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
I can't take any credit. To God goes the Glory.
<br></br>
::littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-27496853855832312552013-08-30T00:55:00.001-07:002013-08-30T00:55:23.704-07:00Hello SeptemberI'm relatively happy to wave August goodbye, with its seasonal thunderstorms and floods, and memories of hospitals, and one too many stresses of the here and now.
<br></br>
I’m waving it farewell in order to welcome the start to one of my favorite times of the year:
<br></br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><i><b>**Christmas**</b> </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(which is a September - January affair for me).</i>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGI5ireHdcGQh5Mx-lwj2Ld1fR8AUqcZhSY1qYbyPL3BrwTpRYd3UXWtEJ0vGZxJWdsd00PKEFQYm3YgQE3SMJLF1wpRiNRWB02s1Qu2DZUTtcwyts-F_G97lZV6Lbvoh7r7Nxz1MQLE/s1600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGI5ireHdcGQh5Mx-lwj2Ld1fR8AUqcZhSY1qYbyPL3BrwTpRYd3UXWtEJ0vGZxJWdsd00PKEFQYm3YgQE3SMJLF1wpRiNRWB02s1Qu2DZUTtcwyts-F_G97lZV6Lbvoh7r7Nxz1MQLE/s640/pic1.jpg" style="border: none;" width="640" /></a>
</div>
<br></br>
September is the ideal time for thinking anything shining, shimmering, splendid. So as I sit, trying to ram knowledge into my brain, my mind tends to wander to more delightful things. But this blog is officially welcoming you the best holiday season ever!.
<br></br>
And such as what I want to do this December:
<p></p>
<blockquote>
<i>*Treat mother to her favorite place<br />
*Have a picnic in some beautiful gardens<br />
*Watch live TV show<br />
*Make no-bake goodies as Christmas give-aways<br />
*Visit bazzars and night markets.<br />
*Eat at Banchettos in Pasig.<br />
*Sleep in a hammock<br />
*Go to the zoo and look at penguins. </i></blockquote>
<br></br>
I'm sure more things will pop into my head as I think about it...
<br></br>
Christmas to me is always more than just the 25th, it's the run up to it.
<br></br>
So, there. I give up. I'll keep my anticipation, thank-you very much, and you can keep
your problems. I don't want them, they’re bitter and thoughtful.
<br></br>
::littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-52974027225090865862013-08-29T02:43:00.000-07:002013-08-29T02:43:20.925-07:00Where I Screamed My Head Off
People are way too serious about death. I am serious about death. It hurts, it's unfair, it's scary as hell, it's despiteful, all that's true. But sometimes the only way to get through it is to recognize the ridiculous in the horrible. Because what will it all matter in a hundred years. Because life is silly. Because we're all just temporary. And because what else can you do.
<br></br>
I say a lot of times that while I am hopeful and a great believer of God’, I am also a realist. I don’t do fantasy or make-believe. I know cancer. Not all of it though but I know it’s alive and vicious, will go to remission for awhile but fired back at an instant.
<br></br>
So while I am at where I am at, I could use some breathing space, right?
<br></br>
So my house looked like this last Monday.
<br></br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UWTgO2vyolsq8QEGnaLxZEbojFvFENDxYG96vNxofjvOjIfE0721aNW5g-24cpbuApx8OgRdanxUDhgMdPB8tyiWeNDvBmu2XBp9b6RBkBZUMox5ObZV3mvkIZ9tdt6S3Gp1a-7_m-Q/s1600/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UWTgO2vyolsq8QEGnaLxZEbojFvFENDxYG96vNxofjvOjIfE0721aNW5g-24cpbuApx8OgRdanxUDhgMdPB8tyiWeNDvBmu2XBp9b6RBkBZUMox5ObZV3mvkIZ9tdt6S3Gp1a-7_m-Q/s400/pic2.jpg" style="border: none;" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet the audience: a son, daughter, few nephews, nieces, <br />and a bunch of neighbors's kids. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br></br>
<blockquote>Me: What the hell is going on in there?
<p></p>
Kid: <i>Ma, manood tayo ng Conjuring</i>
<p></p>
Me: Is it okay?
<p></p>
Kid: ….
<p></p>
Me: **covers all the mirrors**</blockquote>
<br></br>
So I’m sitting there next to my little girl with pillow on her face. I even saw the beginning of it but I had to ask again and again if the ghost will appear yet. Now, normally my philosophy about everything concerning ghost movies is "If I can't see it, it's not my problem."
<br></br>
But of course, my older nephew leapt at the opportunity to regale us with the plot of the movie. <blockquote>"Well, you see, they moved in that creepy house and that's where the dog would back all day. Before she will be discovered dead the next day. You can see where the tapping is heard, all because that’s where the killing happened..." </blockquote>
<br></br>
Half an hour later, we were all screaming. I think my uterus ruptured, or my eggs cracked. I don't know.
<br></br>
Once everyone was able to calm down and stop shrieking, after a few seconds of silence we would burst into screaming again.
<br></br>
Now I can't stop thinking about that cellar scene. It’s where the possessed Carolyn out to get the child and Patrick Wilson with his Elvis-like flip haircut and sideburns, is stuck in a hole saying his exorcism rites while Vera Farmiga’s Liberace-style collar ruffles is lulling her to think of their best time as a family.
<br></br>
So there.
<br></br>
I feel like I could be a good movie critic, though, because while other critics will give you intellectual point-by-point breakdowns on things like story arc and character development, I base my evaluations on emotional impact alone. Did I laugh? Did I cry? Did I sink into a near-death phasmophobia or extreme fear of ghosts and require six months of bi-weekly visits with a psychologist afterwards before I could sleep through the night again?
<br></br>
<i>Oh I love you and hate you, Conjuring. </i>
<br></br>
You scared the hell out me.
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-1056623369343821822013-08-22T21:18:00.000-07:002013-08-22T23:36:56.245-07:00AFLOATYou might be asking how I am so I thought I would tell you.
<br></br>
I am better than yesterday. Thank you.
<br></br>
I think I have visited more than enough hospitals this year, seen few hospital beds and met handful of people, which is good for an introvert like me. I am not shy. I am just big on privacy, personal space and a firm believer of not talking to strangers. So the nurses and doctors I’ve met? You people are amazing. We should give one day in year to honor you.
<br></br>
The past month has been beyond hard. The worst was the weekend before last. But mother is doing well on Letrozole and B-complex and some vitamins. She now laughs a little, speaks livelier and eats healthier. Recovery road is a long travel. And she needs all these synthetic pills, and our constant love and support to live longer. It is expensive, tiring, stressful and depressing. But we need to choose to stand back up again in life. One foot in front of the other is sometimes the best way we can manage.
<br></br>
We did indeed go see her every weekend and every single time we see her, we walk off somehow feeling enriched and better ourselves. She is okay, we are okay.
<br></br>
There's a quote by somebody famous about how, we must not be afraid to share the hard times in our life. Something about poets heralding the darkness, because if it doesn't get documented, how will people know we got through? That <i>they</i> can get through as well?
<br></br>
So. That's where I'm at. I'm ok enough to log on to my computer and upload some photos and write some words, so that's something. I miss the days of just coming to blog and offloading like I used to, without worrying that some people I love will die, and that bad things will still come one day.
<br></br>
At this point I don't care. It's night-time and it's raining. Tomorrow is a whole new day.
<br></br>
::
<br></br>
<i>This verse has kept me alive. I think about it and it made a whole world of sense. </i>
<br></br>
<i>Isn't it?</i>
<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CSuBtrG8Ge6pVrYS-vr2w5bA6psZbnhU0ZzOUY4VV_nGTMm-8DWGOh325HyX1_8hZOXT7Af8O2cDTehsAEbihT9PiSqXXwrGxMoQeydbJbKQCNHwfq-yFNNgqGf1GFnpIxfaJyYWcYw/s5600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CSuBtrG8Ge6pVrYS-vr2w5bA6psZbnhU0ZzOUY4VV_nGTMm-8DWGOh325HyX1_8hZOXT7Af8O2cDTehsAEbihT9PiSqXXwrGxMoQeydbJbKQCNHwfq-yFNNgqGf1GFnpIxfaJyYWcYw/s720/pic.jpg" /></a></center>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-35667956991033692432013-07-22T19:14:00.000-07:002013-07-22T19:14:23.976-07:00Drifting AgainFour years ago we began. I suppose we never really ended, chasing the cancer cells through surgery, the terrible promise of Tamoxifen, and hospital visits again and again. Mother found her own way around the cancer there. The journey changed. The path became less clear and more muddled. It's strange in a way. Side effects of breast cancer. The trouble is dealing with that, with knowing it and living in it, walking around each day with that settled on your soul. The adjustment is not pleasant.
<br></br>
In many ways, I'm not sure what to expect.
<br></br>
A day when the thoughts are closer to the surface, when my memory of her good health is more easily accessible and the road to recovery is a little clearer. But it's still just a day. I cried, but not as much as I might have. There is no clarity, at least not anything new. Some days I feel strong, some other days even the shallowest drama on TV would bring me to tears.
<br></br>
She is in a hospital again. Doctors extracted the fluid out of her right lung. No big deal. Root Canal would have been longer. And more painful I guess.
<br></br>
<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtys-kZuCPT-u271nvJ_d5f_wxxCBbfduUSoXi-OukyauAsTTzO4nqsbwjk0V6JqD3XZOnTHk3yoOmx1537XW2zQTtcgPP-PcsbI6m0TR_97r4m747azgTB1wWNQLKx7osmexJW-mTvU0/s5600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtys-kZuCPT-u271nvJ_d5f_wxxCBbfduUSoXi-OukyauAsTTzO4nqsbwjk0V6JqD3XZOnTHk3yoOmx1537XW2zQTtcgPP-PcsbI6m0TR_97r4m747azgTB1wWNQLKx7osmexJW-mTvU0/s720/pic.jpg" /></a></center>
<br></br>
But the day passed on too slow. Again. I’m counting of all the days until she is out of the hospital.
<br></br>
I know better to expect revelations. I know better than to expect anything at all on a schedule. It's been four years and I know that there will be more years to come. I know in the end it will settle. Not settles in the sense that it's ok, or not horrific in some way, but settles in the sense that it is not actively debilitating when it happens. Loss of any kind, especially the loss out of order of someone you love, is not a wound that heals. Closure is an impractical and misplaced goal. Mother is not a torn ligament or a broken bone, something a surgery and a few months of rehab will set right without further ado. You live with it. Your only choice is how you choose to do that.
<br></br>
<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HclsmGQCT12b95gaSjnPlWTMBg598TZ4q3aU1uqGrHxPOeCh6995vROEYam-m2iMfmRsxZRfVK7bulxeAaEdlKzDbdJcC6cV_72_rCNeTfGrQbh3UnVzClK79pHTVpxTijvD2Wlh7Z8/s5600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HclsmGQCT12b95gaSjnPlWTMBg598TZ4q3aU1uqGrHxPOeCh6995vROEYam-m2iMfmRsxZRfVK7bulxeAaEdlKzDbdJcC6cV_72_rCNeTfGrQbh3UnVzClK79pHTVpxTijvD2Wlh7Z8/s720/pic1.jpg" /></a></center>
<br></br>
Some people don’t know any better. Once they knew about mother, they give us the "cancer eyes." These were the eyes people, from hospital staff to strangers, would give us when they found out mother’s breast cancer. Pity, mostly. The looks I get from these acquaintances are very similar "condolence eyes." Like cancer eyes, I have little patience for them. That's not to say I do not appreciate people feeling bad about what happened to her. Of course I do. But pity does not interest me. To me, that undermines the experience. I prefer sympathy, or empathy. If people want to talk about her, I'm happy to do so. People have told me they were sorry and added something, talked about it. If they're just going to say the words for the sake of saying them though, I'd rather we skipped the formality.
<br></br>
<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZZ-1em-d1DkLTCQJAXDcqrfmz2oX_gdt5ySvBwOAlmA0iKM1tyoz6IsalLeJm1TYdKS0O7913Z1JzHxWPuSunYksBVNnXZbE8X2HFC2w8VQQc3qwVjE4_Nu_ZMKTzwSmlBHfTXsBJXk/s7600/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZZ-1em-d1DkLTCQJAXDcqrfmz2oX_gdt5ySvBwOAlmA0iKM1tyoz6IsalLeJm1TYdKS0O7913Z1JzHxWPuSunYksBVNnXZbE8X2HFC2w8VQQc3qwVjE4_Nu_ZMKTzwSmlBHfTXsBJXk/s920/pic2.jpg" /></a></center>
<br></br>
I know this may sound harsh, that people just want to be kind. I know they're trying and do not mean anything by it. Still, I think it's important to recognize what's good to say and what's not. So I suppose I'm trying to say that. I am glad when people talk about her. What I am not interested in is people saying something just for the sake of saying it. Or mocking it. I did not notice it before, but I do now.
<br></br>
<i>::</i>
<br></br>
<i>Thank you all for your continued thoughts and prayers. </i>
<br></br>littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-45317969424193166672013-07-17T01:09:00.002-07:002013-07-17T01:09:46.130-07:00That Was Never a Comedy For Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9-2ABcZ0L_6h0KY7Bl97Q4tg5ZFGbtCr-994tAAZ4xmFLD2fKkMGQT4Y4b7MDlnWgpwCo-3ckxcK5wrny8JuDSIums74waYS9fR-lONHDwdTBNQg4Tyiu-yRRZRby9RF_8RKyNaGoks/s1600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" align="right" style="border:none" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9-2ABcZ0L_6h0KY7Bl97Q4tg5ZFGbtCr-994tAAZ4xmFLD2fKkMGQT4Y4b7MDlnWgpwCo-3ckxcK5wrny8JuDSIums74waYS9fR-lONHDwdTBNQg4Tyiu-yRRZRby9RF_8RKyNaGoks/s320/pic.jpg" /></a>
I broke down in tears Sundays ago.
<br></br>
In front of my church friends; was literally sobbing and was crying my heart out.
<br></br>
I came to church in my old self. Living a normal life and just trying to work stuff out, be present as a parent, a sister, a friend while holding my self together, doing the very best I can. You know, finding beauty in things.
<br></br>
But things were not good lately. We have been stressing out due to mother’s condition.
<br></br>
I wasn’t in the best frame of mind, but I did come anyway. We’ve been MIA for 2 Sundays already. Sometimes if I ignore how I feel and just do the things I need to do, I come good.
<br></br>
But there was no coming good.
<br></br>
Between his and hellos, I told them that mother is not doing good, water was leaking in her lungs.
<br></br>
And then came the singing, the hand-shaking and the preaching.
<br></br>
The last thing I remember, the preacher, whom I know personally, told in the pulpit, in front of many, that people gets easily downed and depressed
<br></br>
<i>“Because their mothers are sick”</i>
<br></br>
In a mocking, amusing and comical way.
<br></br>
I thought I heard a few laughed with what supposed to be a joke. What is more difficult, he said the same joke one more time.
<br></br>
But that was never a comedy for me.
<br></br>
I was hurt so badly that I wept.
<br></br>
I came to his wife crying. I told her I was hurt. Said it was not a good joke.
<br></br>
I've never felt so scarily low, for such an extended period of time. I unravelled to the end of the string. It was such a relief to not pretend anymore. But then people can be so insensitive sometimes, they don’t know.
<br></br>
I don’t know too. It was 2 weeks already. My head says its time to move on. But my heart tells it needs more time to heal.
<br></br>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-49668773294615038812013-07-04T00:27:00.000-07:002013-07-04T00:27:58.001-07:00Selfies, Anyone?Now on Instagram and Facebook, and probably any where else in the social media.
<br></br>
Selfie photos.
<br></br>
A singular image where face is at the center, and an outstretched arm amputated by the edges of the frame. That, and the perennially awkward gesture of pointing your camera/cell phone at a mirror.
<br></br>
You can say many things about the Selfie, a.k.a auto-portraiture, or better yet, ego-photography: that it is the ultimate symbol of Narcissism. You assume that people are so desperate to see your face.
<br></br>
Now, everyone’s an artist. Everyone’s a photographer. In the same way that everyone’s a filmmaker, everyone’s a chef, everyone’s a goddamned food critic or movie reviewer. Everyone’s doing selfies, from Justin Bieber to the Obamas. We’re all guilty of it.
<br></br>
Twenty to thirty years, it would have been unthinkable. It would be deemed a waste of precious Fujicolor or Kodak film. Certain generations remember how they would weep upon seeing a number of damaged/useless/out-of-focus-blurry frames at the photo shop.
<br></br>
But today, there fly mindless shapshots of anything: Lunch plate, shoes, toes and cuticle, dogs, starbucks cup, etc.etc.
<br></br>
Now, let’s sample on our selfie celebrities and tell me who is more vain and desperately insecure.
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP-TRNk6aFXAtJYWd_ieh7UGD1ZiFJ8He1oWul1QASR2iaK7c6BNJ2c-M2TmjNKE4Fg9aUBJzFLud74u5r7sAW2gvhU-PW8DGFZyuBjOtk6aKFZwDaLm60ucLuY4wBWEJTUP4twBEH1A/s500/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP-TRNk6aFXAtJYWd_ieh7UGD1ZiFJ8He1oWul1QASR2iaK7c6BNJ2c-M2TmjNKE4Fg9aUBJzFLud74u5r7sAW2gvhU-PW8DGFZyuBjOtk6aKFZwDaLm60ucLuY4wBWEJTUP4twBEH1A/s400/pic1.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Mirror on mirror shot</b>: "Jeez, crazy bad hair day, but I am still cute"</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5fbOPEImRDFH8R7HqkosNXAjtp64tQb9Cx6eQ72fwJt6kAaO22DDBGHC3e6cf-QoK2m3x_uLIb57Pll-QxWhNugtmKFPg2yofZf1RIQQlQrxOIiW1QXoo_TexP8OwygUx-Y3Adhweps/s500/pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5fbOPEImRDFH8R7HqkosNXAjtp64tQb9Cx6eQ72fwJt6kAaO22DDBGHC3e6cf-QoK2m3x_uLIb57Pll-QxWhNugtmKFPg2yofZf1RIQQlQrxOIiW1QXoo_TexP8OwygUx-Y3Adhweps/s400/pic2.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Duck Face</b>: Suddenly, I got embarrassed at the thought of a selfie picture. </td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8XEskLcK2dv7a4g4iFParwEm3nGQFUj_TJnIKHgHLuI9GxlrOf_d21zgay-ebq_AznOLByBi7jrxoa-zNGjCZfWdpIWwkAFp1XOLCiJ0G5TwAdCdcuzBA_LN3sQzDyg-WEkBNgZypZk/s500/pic5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8XEskLcK2dv7a4g4iFParwEm3nGQFUj_TJnIKHgHLuI9GxlrOf_d21zgay-ebq_AznOLByBi7jrxoa-zNGjCZfWdpIWwkAFp1XOLCiJ0G5TwAdCdcuzBA_LN3sQzDyg-WEkBNgZypZk/s400/pic5.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Photo-op with another celebrity</b>:" undeniably a fan"</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5AxoLs7XKdwSUbHfzJlNWk1xqqdtbcDzJbs7yAkX5UNagDN5tOEQLPTPlNIdTkB0P2zYM-SttiyVrNKmaFJWrajYdUvsArjK2vFFPSTb5FfYikRgsWeHg9qzGOR9fzuInSSC_EQHxM4/s275/pic7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5AxoLs7XKdwSUbHfzJlNWk1xqqdtbcDzJbs7yAkX5UNagDN5tOEQLPTPlNIdTkB0P2zYM-SttiyVrNKmaFJWrajYdUvsArjK2vFFPSTb5FfYikRgsWeHg9qzGOR9fzuInSSC_EQHxM4/s400/pic7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Posing with a boyfriend looking very much in love</b>:"Still not over your ex.."</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLL0wEqAj3tpt1WdMpy7El_KwDR-VMG9hEMPgVsOlTeB1tw5rzjfo-RaYvdySQ3Q1Sx_1wsP_KpQpKgGrEH8GHIJEcqmaA9Do1yGcCctaSVmPCyWD6Rb7-gTgVbXMfkgzEotiWz2EQUiI/s210/pic4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLL0wEqAj3tpt1WdMpy7El_KwDR-VMG9hEMPgVsOlTeB1tw5rzjfo-RaYvdySQ3Q1Sx_1wsP_KpQpKgGrEH8GHIJEcqmaA9Do1yGcCctaSVmPCyWD6Rb7-gTgVbXMfkgzEotiWz2EQUiI/s400/pic4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ad-lib Shot</b>: "I-am-so-busy-and-cool-I-can't-be-bothered"</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
<center><table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUD4mjt1umxNrtPXUxge0bS6bu5HcwxBvROnPifJ_6flNdwg3XBrQmJkeIHo4kcBdQfM013PhBZgdL64phWfFLLAUlikQtXgOKVR-zEmXLv65LBfMM9QMTMna7I9j94ivFVziOPrwTvNg/s225/pic56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUD4mjt1umxNrtPXUxge0bS6bu5HcwxBvROnPifJ_6flNdwg3XBrQmJkeIHo4kcBdQfM013PhBZgdL64phWfFLLAUlikQtXgOKVR-zEmXLv65LBfMM9QMTMna7I9j94ivFVziOPrwTvNg/s400/pic56.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Staring at nothing</b>: "How deep.."</td></tr>
</tbody></table></center>
<br></br>
::
<br></br>
<i>Do you do selfie too?</i>
<br></br>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-38410782637604605022013-06-26T03:18:00.000-07:002013-06-26T03:18:32.251-07:00Barefoot Contessa<i>Sidenote: Do you know the show? It is one of my favorites. However none of it is about the show.
</i>
<br></br>
______________________________________________________________________________
<br></br>
Felt like I was trapped. Can’t move. My heart was beating so fast I can hardly breathe.
<br></br>
Its one of those moment that you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing when it happened.
<br></br>
Once again I am forced to wonder if I am the universe’s favorite plaything or whatnot.
<br></br>
Why don’t I give you a little back story.
<br></br>
<i><blockquote>You all have to imagine me standing at a tiled flatform of Buendia Station, and whistling Itsy Bitsy Spider. I’m surrounded by a lot of people, some nice, some really really bad. You know, pushy and all. I tell you inside it is like a sauna where air is so thin, you could almost choke on your own saliva.
<br></br>
But because I’m a masochist, I continue riding it.
<br></br>
Anyway, the train arrived. We squeezed ourselves as the door began to open. People are good at first, making a narrow line to make way for exiting people. And then they started to go narcissistic, pushing others so they can have their little spaces under the sweaty armpits of a guy in a sleeveless shirt.
<br></br>
I was pushed in all direction. Thought I had a broken metacarpal, a dislocated joint and a torn ligament.
<br></br>
All was calm until I felt shoeless. Suddenly it’s the hard floor, gone is the soft sole of my crocs gray flats.
<br></br>
The next 5 seconds was critical.
<br></br>
Should I go back for it?
<br></br>
To cut the chase, went back for it, because I can’t walk without one shoe. Found an extremely kind Security Guard to help me scoop it from the ground, and silently laughing at myself for that experience.
<br></br></blockquote></i>
Now I know what Cinderella must feel like.
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border:none" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nL2e2hL53kt1RfA_liEZwg0VFSkgm_XvCi9aLdxgF2ZgXbeh97qoZXbgcZOWwiu4Ztlw33o3LZt5mHWC30RJxtn5jMi1eG5H5ES2ZGfo0VB1sSKRdITb0ty_y9xsuATVvekFikavEN4/s1600/pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7nL2e2hL53kt1RfA_liEZwg0VFSkgm_XvCi9aLdxgF2ZgXbeh97qoZXbgcZOWwiu4Ztlw33o3LZt5mHWC30RJxtn5jMi1eG5H5ES2ZGfo0VB1sSKRdITb0ty_y9xsuATVvekFikavEN4/s400/pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not ready to let go of you yet..Hinde ka pa bayad!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6719139989101609647.post-78466430407010895992013-06-23T23:30:00.000-07:002013-06-23T23:30:24.361-07:00Moon Like No OtherLast night, while we were watching TV, the earth’s celestial neighbor appeared 14 percent larger and 30 percent brighter than normal. The biggest and brightest full moon of the year—called the <i>SUPERMOON</i>—graced the Philippine sky 7:32 pm.
<br></br>
It loomed larger on the horizon next to trees and buildings.
<br></br>
However it hid behind rain clouds.
<br></br>
Chances or not, could it be the reason why I am not happy?
<br></br>
<center>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" style="border:none" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMdIF-1GO-Ks_ekRVEBLc4gPQ5RZIGHP52X0nOoSb88G7ZM1F-EGAY7doylEnBdv-wI1qJAmrWT2K1nuFnNuRd5Ui3_oUobW50gU3lNADLsTdkseFSC8mZdkrUjbWZvoUH4hYtQbMT7Y/s1600/pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMdIF-1GO-Ks_ekRVEBLc4gPQ5RZIGHP52X0nOoSb88G7ZM1F-EGAY7doylEnBdv-wI1qJAmrWT2K1nuFnNuRd5Ui3_oUobW50gU3lNADLsTdkseFSC8mZdkrUjbWZvoUH4hYtQbMT7Y/s400/pic1.jpg" width="600" /></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
<br />
<i>Has the moon ate all up the good times and return with the bad times that is cancer?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br></br>
Back in 2009, my mother was diagnosed with Stage 2 cancer. The next three years appeared normal. Until last month. She was sent again to the hospital for Theocentisis. A half liter of fluid was extracted from her lung. She is literally drowning. But she does not know it. She said she felt nothing. It appeared Cancer has metastised.
<br></br>
She grew up in a farm house in Calumpit Bulacan, said it was both tough and easy.
<br></br>
<i>"Noong araw, walang tamad. Lahat may ginagawa sa loob ng bahay, kalit maliit na bata. Mahirap ang buhay, pero masaya. Naglalaro hangang tawagin na kami ni Ina dahil gabi na. Ngayon puro computer. Nakakaawa.”<b></b></i>
<br></br>
I cannot agree more.
<br></br>
Today everything was kind of off-centre and wrong.
<br></br>
I worry so much, that the circumstances and stress surrounding her cancer has somehow affected her, and affected us. Though she softened a bit. She was no longer cursing when the youngest had tantrum. She leaves that already to us.
<br></br>
I know the panic will wear off one day, and we are left to live our lives like normal people.
<br></br>
Life is short. Do all of the wild and precious things you can possibly think of. Now. There won't always be time.
<br></br>
In the meantime ..... we're here to learn and grow and evolve, as much as we can. Be kind, man. Give of yourself to your family, and friends, and others. There's a saying that's been drummed into my head over time - you've got to give it away to keep it.
<br></br>
::
<br></br>
littleyanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13424312687788904753noreply@blogger.com4