https://www.istorya.net/forums/blog.php?108041-Memoirs-of-an-Amnesiac en Mon, 18 May 2026 08:37:33 GMT vBulletin 300 https://www.istorya.net/forums/images/metro/blue/misc/rss.jpg https://www.istorya.net/forums/blog.php?108041-Memoirs-of-an-Amnesiac https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2869-How-to-Break-a-Woman-s-Heart-in-Five-Easy-Ways-%28And-Other-Fragile-Musings-from-the-Cheatbook%29 Sun, 02 Jul 2017 07:43:54 GMT So you met this really interesting woman. She's smart, funny, and yeah, interesting. You are not really attracted to her, but she sure does share the same tastes with you (food, movies, books, etc.). You then start to share text messages. You started to desire her. But, here's the catch! You are in a committed relationship and plans to get married real soon. Your ego fights between keeping her and telling her about the whole truth about your relationship with her and lose her or let her believe there is something between the two of you and keep her. Because you are a player, you decided to keep her. After all, she sure knows how to while away your time.

Your commitment with your partner starts to get real deep. Your commitment with her also gets stronger as you explore a lot of places together. You are in a quagmire. So, how do you stay as a player and then slowly break her heart without her knowing it (because you still want to believe that you're doing her a favor by keeping her and protecting her)? Here are proven tips from the Cheat book:

1. Get married first. You love your partner so much and you don't want to lose her. Don't worry, the now "other woman" won't have any chance to know anyway. You're not a real player for nothing. Just don't forget to take off your ring whenever you have dates with her.

2. Shower her with gifts and quality time. You really don't have to do this often. Besides, you have really no intention to get really committed to her. Only when she expresses that she's really tired from work and she badly needed a diversion will you practice your craft, that is---conjuring up little surprises that you're completely sure will make her swoon and win her over.

3. Make false hopes and empty promises with her. Every man knows just exactly what a woman wants to hear: unique proposals, babies, dream home, growing old together. However, you are not just any man. You are a MANIPULATOR. So you know just how to say and what to say to a woman. Now, she's really trapped in your mess and you're dragging her with you.

4. Tell her you love her. This by far is the biggest and the most effective technique there is to break her heart. When you also couple it with these: "Thank you for accepting me for who I am." and "Thank you for always understanding me." you are sure to have her heart, plus you'll get to have her soul.

5. Lie all you can. Lying like rice is somewhat unlimited with you. You must continue with your scheme until she confronts you with it and shows you pictures of your wedding. Plus, she'd be fortunate enough to have a friend tell her as he was a witness to the event. That friend happens to know her. Boom!

But here's an additional tip, when you are really caught off guard and have no possible way out, go back to number 4. Tell her you're madly in love with her and you can't stand not having her in your life. Or better yet, ask her to be friends with you, even after the scheme you did to her. That will surely make her have you back. (That is if she's really so gullible to begin with. But, she's not smart for nothing.)

So yeah, these are your surefire ways of breaking a woman's heart. Easy peasy, lemon squeezee. You'll have to be careful with karma though because if you started your married life with lies, there is no way, this won't happen again. So, good luck on this!

Disclaimer: No woman was hurt in the process of writing this blog. Oh, there was one, but she's starting to heal now. She thinks some guy is a total jerk to even be wasted with tears. She's even stronger now. Thanks to him... ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2869-How-to-Break-a-Woman-s-Heart-in-Five-Easy-Ways-%28And-Other-Fragile-Musings-from-the-Cheatbook%29 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2663-Wooing-the-Vote Thu, 28 Apr 2016 03:14:58 GMT Like a white elephant in my own living room, I avoid all talks about politics and the elections. When everybody else is ranting about it in the social media, I wait for the day that the election advertisements would stop airing. Why? You might ask. I’m fed up. With all the talks about* “daang matuwid.” * All the six years of waiting for things to change. I wonder why only when elections are forthcoming would there be loads of road projects needed to be done. I would wonder why roads that were, well, “decently passable,” suddenly got scraped and in their place are road signs of “sorry for the inconvenience”. In a highly traffic congested city like Cebu, this is not a welcome sight. I’ve had enough. Of promises that I know only have a short period of getting accomplished. Expiry dates run up to only the election day. When the candidate gets elected in office. After that, things are still the same. I keep wondering why despite the talks about “good governance” or whatnot, I still could not put my trust in a kind of government that favors sisters arriving in government choppers, just because she’s the “highest taxpayer”. Since when has integrity been equalled to the amount of tax one puts in? I’m tired. Of red tape and senseless bureaucracy. I’ve witnessed this firsthand in our city hall. During elections, they always say we come first. But this isn’t true. We don’t come first. We come third. First is themselves, then their families, then us. Talk about the loathsome nepotism that still plagues most of us. I’ve seen enough. I could probably think about the most common catch phrases there are thinkable. Name it. All the candidates have it. They use the ordinary citizen as backdrops, appeal to the most poignant of emotions, target the latest issues and pick on each other in order to get themselves the popularity ratings they so wanted. You just watch them in debate platforms; with the way they banter and bicker, you could already sense their ulterior motives. It’s all the same. No matter who you put in office. Whether that person promises to improve the peace and order situation in six months or so, whether that person is under the incumbent government, whether that person projects a clean image by always wearing white, whether that person is smart and eloquent in debates, it would still not matter. It is in the system. Unless somebody makes a radical change in changing the system and everyone cooperates, only then will change occur. I’m still hopeful, though. Every six years, (Thank God it’s just every six years!), I cast my vote on a candidate that my conscience (that little voice that keeps saying this guy is worth it!) dictates me. My vote may have been against what my family believes in. It’s all right. We don’t let the differences in our opinions as to who should be the rightful person to sit in office get in the way of our relationships. I still haven’t lost hope in a country that I so love and cherish as well as serve. How I wish politicians would stop doing what they are doing now! If only they were more transparent about their services, they need not advertise about them. If only those services would be made more available and convenient for everyone, then there is no need for empty boasting. It’s because I’m not buying any of their crap anymore. Like a white elephant in my own living room, I avoid all talks about politics and the elections. When everybody else is ranting about it in the social media, I wait for the day that the election advertisements would stop airing. Why? You might ask.

I’m fed up. With all the talks about “daang matuwid.” All the six years of waiting for things to change. I wonder why only when elections are forthcoming would there be loads of road projects needed to be done. I would wonder why roads that were, well, “decently passable,” suddenly got scraped and in their place are road signs of “sorry for the inconvenience”. In a highly traffic congested city like Cebu, this is not a welcome sight.

I’ve had enough. Of promises that I know only have a short period of getting accomplished. Expiry dates run up to only the election day. When the candidate gets elected in office. After that, things are still the same. I keep wondering why despite the talks about “good governance” or whatnot, I still could not put my trust in a kind of government that favors sisters arriving in government choppers, just because she’s the “highest taxpayer”. Since when has integrity been equalled to the amount of tax one puts in?

I’m tired. Of red tape and senseless bureaucracy. I’ve witnessed this firsthand in our city hall. During elections, they always say we come first. But this isn’t true. We don’t come first. We come third. First is themselves, then their families, then us. Talk about the loathsome nepotism that still plagues most of us.

I’ve seen enough. I could probably think about the most common catch phrases there are thinkable. Name it. All the candidates have it. They use the ordinary citizen as backdrops, appeal to the most poignant of emotions, target the latest issues and pick on each other in order to get themselves the popularity ratings they so wanted. You just watch them in debate platforms; with the way they banter and bicker, you could already sense their ulterior motives.

It’s all the same. No matter who you put in office. Whether that person promises to improve the peace and order situation in six months or so, whether that person is under the incumbent government, whether that person projects a clean image by always wearing white, whether that person is smart and eloquent in debates, it would still not matter. It is in the system. Unless somebody makes a radical change in changing the system and everyone cooperates, only then will change occur.

I’m still hopeful, though. Every six years, (Thank God it’s just every six years!), I cast my vote on a candidate that my conscience (that little voice that keeps saying this guy is worth it!) dictates me. My vote may have been against what my family believes in. It’s all right. We don’t let the differences in our opinions as to who should be the rightful person to sit in office get in the way of our relationships. I still haven’t lost hope in a country that I so love and cherish as well as serve.

How I wish politicians would stop doing what they are doing now! If only they were more transparent about their services, they need not advertise about them. If only those services would be made more available and convenient for everyone, then there is no need for empty boasting.

It’s because I’m not buying any of their crap anymore. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2663-Wooing-the-Vote https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2469-Kid%C2%92s-Play Sat, 28 Feb 2015 15:37:34 GMT School bus service always gives us teachers more chances to interact with students especially outside the classroom. One particular afternoon among all those outside-classroom interactions had left a great impression on me. That afternoon, we (the teachers) started sharing about our childhood games. We were all filled with nostalgic reminiscences about all those games. We even remembered each game and how they were played. Just then a student remarked, “Your games are tiresome, teacher. Today, we have Clash of Clans. All we need to do is sit down, swipe, and click.” After the child said this, I was filled with sympathy for the generation that only gets motivated by graphics, whose imagination is limited, whose every encounter is built on social media tweets, blogs, and shares (and not real-time ones), where everything has to be done with nanosecond (or faster) precision. With a sigh I shared with the teachers (and the students who were listening intently) how our games (that were built on resourcefulness and intensive interactions with nature) have developed us as individuals. In our games, we have an “it,” that kid who unfortunately gets to be connived at in games, but we never bullied him. In fact, bullying was not a word among us children before. Everything was all part of the game. When the adults see that we have been undermined, they quarrel but for us kids, we’re friends again come next game. Right now parents go for lawsuit after lawsuit for their kids getting bullied. (Oh well, I must say some of those are really legitimate.) Fortunately, none of us ever committed suicide for being bullied. There was no electricity wasted, no eyesight impaired, and no parents worrying about us getting obese because we only stared at the computer monitors, iPad or tablet screens the whole time. There was only sweat, huge amounts of it and parents whose neurons get wasted because we played too much and forgot to do our chores. (Yes, we do our chores because we all couldn’t afford a yaya. Besides, that would mean we are a lazy sloth and none of us wanted to be called lazy.) With water, slippers, and even electricity posts, we can already conjure up games that are guaranteed to not only be physically stimulating but also highly thrilling and requires strategizing from our young minds. We have friends we share jolens, lastikos, pogs, stationeries with, and some other kid’s toys that are already extinct these days. We climb trees, even when the adults dissuade us from doing so. No amount of scars incurred from climbing and sometimes falling would deter us from climbing. This shows we all love a different perspective on things and we never seize to grab it. We also learn leadership and choosing sides. Our summers are not filled with trips abroad but with a whole lot of summer fun, more like a rite of passage to a new phase of life. We gain friends and lose them but not over connivance in computer games by forming alliances and truces. We learn to respect every game and the players in it no matter which part of the country our origins may be. At the end of the day, when we go to our homes, no matter how defeated we may be in one game, we always remember that the next day’s another day. Even when we get to do the same things all over again, nothing compares to having to experience all the fun and laughter with our friends. Yes, we never had Clash of Clans. The kids of this generation would probably sneer at us for being so backward. But we are better persons who are able to overcome and learn from adversities in life, something that can only be learned through sweat and relentless resourcefulness. School bus service always gives us teachers more chances to interact with students especially outside the classroom. One particular afternoon among all those outside-classroom interactions had left a great impression on me. That afternoon, we (the teachers) started sharing about our childhood games. We were all filled with nostalgic reminiscences about all those games. We even remembered each game and how they were played.

Just then a student remarked, “Your games are tiresome, teacher. Today, we have Clash of Clans. All we need to do is sit down, swipe, and click.” After the child said this, I was filled with sympathy for the generation that only gets motivated by graphics, whose imagination is limited, whose every encounter is built on social media tweets, blogs, and shares (and not real-time ones), where everything has to be done with nanosecond (or faster) precision.

With a sigh I shared with the teachers (and the students who were listening intently) how our games (that were built on resourcefulness and intensive interactions with nature) have developed us as individuals. In our games, we have an “it,” that kid who unfortunately gets to be connived at in games, but we never bullied him. In fact, bullying was not a word among us children before. Everything was all part of the game. When the adults see that we have been undermined, they quarrel but for us kids, we’re friends again come next game. Right now parents go for lawsuit after lawsuit for their kids getting bullied. (Oh well, I must say some of those are really legitimate.) Fortunately, none of us ever committed suicide for being bullied.

There was no electricity wasted, no eyesight impaired, and no parents worrying about us getting obese because we only stared at the computer monitors, iPad or tablet screens the whole time. There was only sweat, huge amounts of it and parents whose neurons get wasted because we played too much and forgot to do our chores. (Yes, we do our chores because we all couldn’t afford a yaya. Besides, that would mean we are a lazy sloth and none of us wanted to be called lazy.) With water, slippers, and even electricity posts, we can already conjure up games that are guaranteed to not only be physically stimulating but also highly thrilling and requires strategizing from our young minds.

We have friends we share jolens, lastikos, pogs, stationeries with, and some other kid’s toys that are already extinct these days. We climb trees, even when the adults dissuade us from doing so. No amount of scars incurred from climbing and sometimes falling would deter us from climbing. This shows we all love a different perspective on things and we never seize to grab it. We also learn leadership and choosing sides. Our summers are not filled with trips abroad but with a whole lot of summer fun, more like a rite of passage to a new phase of life. We gain friends and lose them but not over connivance in computer games by forming alliances and truces. We learn to respect every game and the players in it no matter which part of the country our origins may be.

At the end of the day, when we go to our homes, no matter how defeated we may be in one game, we always remember that the next day’s another day. Even when we get to do the same things all over again, nothing compares to having to experience all the fun and laughter with our friends.

Yes, we never had Clash of Clans. The kids of this generation would probably sneer at us for being so backward. But we are better persons who are able to overcome and learn from adversities in life, something that can only be learned through sweat and relentless resourcefulness. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2469-Kid%C2%92s-Play https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2468-On-Kissing-Frogs Sat, 28 Feb 2015 15:32:54 GMT “Yuck!” This was what one sixth grader told me when in class I mentioned about how one lady in a fairy tale kissed a frog and it magically morphed into a prince. Well, apart from the disgusting nuances that idea would have orchestrated in our minds, we all actually (while struggling through puberty and pubescent mood swings), believed it with all our hearts, sans the reality that kissing frogs is never romantic. Hans Christian Anderson (that writer whose love relationships were always unrequited) must have retold this tale or may my children’s literature professor forgive me for citing it wrongly. Another fact that is also quite questionable is that do fairy tales really have to be so magical? Yet for the life of me, this has been ingrained in my psyche and had been the well meaning dogma that I must admit I quite adhere to when it comes to getting to know and loving someone. In science class, we learn about the life stages of the frog and even had to play with tadpoles that are bred in water puddles after a long rain. We knew they are not a sight to behold. First they appear to be fishes with those two hind legs. Small wonder we scoop them with our hands and cook them like we do with fishes. Then, we realize that later they look rather hideous with their front legs. Their tongues range from being sticky to poisonous, that is, depending on their breed. Their diets consists of anything smaller than they are (or maybe bigger) and they love frolicking on water lilies or lotus plants. Not quite attractive. But why are princes compared or allegorized as frogs (OMG, of all amphibians!)? For some reason, do animals somehow resemble human counterparts? I only have these musings in mind. For one, princes don’t become princes overnight. In chivalric times (where knights in shining armors thrive), princes, like all those that are worthy of the throne, need to overcome challenges and prove their worth (like frogs growing legs for locomotion). They sit on lotus pods and water lily leaves, waiting for who knows what, probably a maiden that would soon believe in them. What is it that propels women to kiss the frogs in their lives? To continue to believe that behind that rather ugly exterior is a prince waiting to be brought out into the open? What makes them risk and shove and throw caution to the wind when it comes to loving? No one ever assured them that the frogs will turn out to be valiant princes. But they do believe with all their hearts. To the erudite mind, this is quite foolish. But maybe loving is about risking appearing foolish. I don’t kiss frogs, well, not literally. But I do believe that behind every man’s ugly exterior is a soft and tender heart. This is probably the reason I understand women who still give the man in their lives (no matter how long they have waited) a chance and room for growth. However, I’m not sold out for martyrdom. That’s rather too noble and tenuously borders on stupidity. What I’m trying to point out is, whether it applies to men or frogs, everybody deserves to be believed in, to be given the chance to grow and commit mistakes and learn from them. To be given the option to fall without prejudice on their worth, and to be understood that they too have knees which they are most likely to bend when the load tends to be very heavy. To be appreciated for all their worth—assets and liabilities included. Kissing frogs is a huge leap of faith. No wonder those who do turn out to be lovely princesses. “Yuck!” This was what one sixth grader told me when in class I mentioned about how one lady in a fairy tale kissed a frog and it magically morphed into a prince. Well, apart from the disgusting nuances that idea would have orchestrated in our minds, we all actually (while struggling through puberty and pubescent mood swings), believed it with all our hearts, sans the reality that kissing frogs is never romantic.

Hans Christian Anderson (that writer whose love relationships were always unrequited) must have retold this tale or may my children’s literature professor forgive me for citing it wrongly. Another fact that is also quite questionable is that do fairy tales really have to be so magical? Yet for the life of me, this has been ingrained in my psyche and had been the well meaning dogma that I must admit I quite adhere to when it comes to getting to know and loving someone.

In science class, we learn about the life stages of the frog and even had to play with tadpoles that are bred in water puddles after a long rain. We knew they are not a sight to behold. First they appear to be fishes with those two hind legs. Small wonder we scoop them with our hands and cook them like we do with fishes.
Then, we realize that later they look rather hideous with their front legs. Their tongues range from being sticky to poisonous, that is, depending on their breed. Their diets consists of anything smaller than they are (or maybe bigger) and they love frolicking on water lilies or lotus plants.

Not quite attractive. But why are princes compared or allegorized as frogs (OMG, of all amphibians!)? For some reason, do animals somehow resemble human counterparts? I only have these musings in mind.

For one, princes don’t become princes overnight. In chivalric times (where knights in shining armors thrive), princes, like all those that are worthy of the throne, need to overcome challenges and prove their worth (like frogs growing legs for locomotion). They sit on lotus pods and water lily leaves, waiting for who knows what, probably a maiden that would soon believe in them.

What is it that propels women to kiss the frogs in their lives? To continue to believe that behind that rather ugly exterior is a prince waiting to be brought out into the open? What makes them risk and shove and throw caution to the wind when it comes to loving? No one ever assured them that the frogs will turn out to be valiant princes. But they do believe with all their hearts. To the erudite mind, this is quite foolish. But maybe loving is about risking appearing foolish.

I don’t kiss frogs, well, not literally. But I do believe that behind every man’s ugly exterior is a soft and tender heart. This is probably the reason I understand women who still give the man in their lives (no matter how long they have waited) a chance and room for growth. However, I’m not sold out for martyrdom. That’s rather too noble and tenuously borders on stupidity. What I’m trying to point out is, whether it applies to men or frogs, everybody deserves to be believed in, to be given the chance to grow and commit mistakes and learn from them. To be given the option to fall without prejudice on their worth, and to be understood that they too have knees which they are most likely to bend when the load tends to be very heavy. To be appreciated for all their worth—assets and liabilities included.

Kissing frogs is a huge leap of faith. No wonder those who do turn out to be lovely princesses. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2468-On-Kissing-Frogs https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2420-Zoning-Out Mon, 27 Oct 2014 08:37:38 GMT Having taught for almost a decade, I have a fair glimpse of almost every kind of personality that comes in and out of my classroom. Modern psychology has acquiesced to what leading psychologists have categorized students with.

During my student days, there were only two kinds of students: those who are "bugoys (the naughty ones)" and the "buotans (goody-two-shoes)". It was imperative that if you don't want to be in the first category, you have to behave so much so that you'll get a high grade in GMRC (Good Manners and Right Conduct, that is), a subject that needs no studying but a lot of conforming, sensitivity, psychology sometimes (as you would need to psyche up a teacher's mood and temperament for the day), and a hefty sum of all the traits and virtues from the Bible, patience, self-control, kindness, and others. I was not educated in the private school, but I remember very well up to this minute in the public school (without having subjects as Religious Education nor Bible) how I learned about my final destination in case I still do not behave---to the place where it is eternally hot and unending gnashing of teeth. We had Catechists (because I was raised in a Catholic family) who would perennially talk to us about being and doing good in order not to go to the world of he who must not be named.

There were no grading systems, no assessment tools, no specific evaluation procedures, just human estimation as to how we behave during class. It was very subjective.

I don't remember how in my young mind I was able to even come up with a model of "good and acceptable" behavior. I just knew I need not do the "don'ts" and I'm fairly safe. To my young and innocent mind, it is bad to make the teacher angry, to make a statement you would regret saying after. It is wrong to steal because you would go to hell and it is hot there.

At present, there are a lot of behavior and learning disabilities. Most of us educators could identify the manifestations as when a student tends to be a bit "off" from other students. Then our guidance counselor recommends "an assessment." The teachers of old never seize to amaze me as how they were able to make remediations or interventions in order to modify behavior.

It is ironic sometimes that the more we tend to understand student behavior problems, the more there are cases of students tending to commit suicide and end their lives. More than just learning the subject matter, the best way to teach and connect the subject matter to students' prior knowledge, teachers at best need to know how to properly "process" students with behavior problems.

One particular student in my class, Dina (*real name withheld), now tends to stare out the window for some reason. While discussing poetic devices in the poem we read, my mind wanders to what Dina thinks and why she isn't mentally present in my class. Is it about her classmates? Her family? Her friends? My lesson? Or something I said made her zone out?

Oh, how I wish I could just put her in two categories. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2420-Zoning-Out https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2390-Falling-In-Love-with-Subtitles Tue, 29 Jul 2014 08:04:03 GMT "Ma-Anhing 'Kag Sayo" (You'll soon depart from the face of this earth). This was my friend's pun about the Korean way of greeting (an yung hoseyo).

It used to be that I hated Korean novelas. They are difficult to read and understand. What with all the subtitles and all the ways they've been custom-fit to be understood by Filipino viewers. The actors' mouths don't seem to match their dialogues and my, they speak Tagalog so much better than we do, don't you think? It was when a good friend of mine wouldn't stop pestering me about why we should dine in a Korean restaurant and why it means the world to her that we drink soju, the Korean wine she has often seen in the Korean novelas she has been obsessed with last summer. She even almost starved herself trying to learn how to use chopsticks in eating, because as she says, "This is how they did it in the Korean novelas." To me back then, she was too giddy about something that I know isn't what one should concern oneself about. I mean there are more pressing issues like global warming, poverty, unemployment to think about. Or so I thought.

One Saturday she just made me watch a few episodes and my defiant self was already picking on some English flaws in the subtitles. This I did while my friend was so seriously caught up with the story line. So, I just gave it a benefit of the doubt and started getting interested with it. Soon, I found myself asking her for more titles and all she did was laugh me off. To her I was a sore loser for even hinting that Korean novelas were a flop in the first place.

I am a sucker for films with a historical edge to them and so this one Korean novela title really got my attention. Despite my busy schedule, I try to squeeze in weekends where I get glued to the laptop screen, either laughing, crying, or getting mad at Korean actors. Sometimes I would detest the actors for their seemingly flawless skins, as if they were angels that fell from heaven. Whether I used to find it odd that men wear longer bangs than girls do and sometimes curly ones at that, didn't matter to me now. The men actors are so fashionably inclined that sometimes I set modesty aside.

Unlike our local telenovelas, I find myself puzzled over what's next. The plot is totally unpredictable, although I see some patterns coming and dropping every now and then.

For me, a good story should at least have a good resolution, whether they are considered to be a happy ending or not. The Korean novelas I've watched so far achieved what I had always expected --downright realistic interpretations and conclusions.

At the end of a rather busy day at work, I look forward to turning my laptop on for another episode of a Korean novela where the protagonist gets turned down at work, confused about love and its intricacies, is desperate for love and sad about the departure of a loved one. I forget about worries and get caught up in a different world where people celebrate the first snow and love walking under cherry blossoms.

Though the subtitles may seem to be somehow absurd at times, I cling on to them, rather than listen to gibberish speech and funny actors garbling and cursing. I live off episode after episode. When my day ends, I sometimes continue seeing them in my dreams.

This, for me, is like falling in love. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2390-Falling-In-Love-with-Subtitles https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2388-Seeing-a-Ghost Tue, 29 Jul 2014 07:22:46 GMT A rather radical friend of mine had only one thing in mind. If he could in his human powers (if ever there is one), summon a ghost to appear right in front of him, then he would give up everything he has. While most of us would even cringe, have goosebumps or nerves that wouldn't stop standing on ends at the thought of a ghost, there he was inviting principalities that he didn't care would even welcome his paranormal invitation.

I've had my own share of fright and incomprehensible fears whenever I subconsciously encounter them in my sleep. I have no physical goosebumps nor hair-standing-on-end encounters. Mental paralysis and gnawing suffocation fogs my brain whenever stress and worries get the better of me. The encounters cannot be avoided but I have learned over the years to slowly handle them.

But this blog post would not be about ghosts. Nay, rather I'd like to talk about what I have always mused about.

Love. They say it's like a ghost. Many talk about it, but few have seen it.

I have always wondered about how each person could actually specifically like one person in particular. Was it imprinted in our brains while we were still in our mother's wombs that we would get attracted to this and that shape of face? Would the mindset of a person contribute to the attraction? What if we don't see them? What if we see them and yet we don't find an attraction? Such thoughts pervade my usually introspective mind.

Like some instinct, when we see the object of our affections, hear his/her voice, get angry at his/her little idiosyncrasies, hate his/her actions, we actually enhance that same attraction or whatever one calls it. We might have our ideal men or women, even visualized how their faces would be. Tall, dark, and handsome. Long-haired, skinny legs, petite or voluptuously built. Such and such ideals fill our mind.

There might be polarities and not attractions the first time. One might not like the way she has worn her make up or her nose-harassing perfume. Or his shoes do not fit his outfit or he talks nonsensical things.

But somehow in that thread of a moment something sparks---fear. The fear of attraction and getting intertwined with it is often what besets a mortal being. Attraction could be so fatal that it lets one drop everything that he/she has held on for so long. It makes one do impossible things, sometimes paralyzing ones (emotionally that is).

We cringe; we cower under our comfortable blankets. It's that same feeling we have when we see ghosts I guess. We feel a gnawing fear that someone has finally caught us off guard and would be soon bewitching us. Then we succumb to the fear and look for ways to finally get a hang of being held by it. It's when we fall in love.

I guess I have seen a ghost some months ago. A rather attractive and caring one who never gets tired about my unending worries about work and family. He doesn't feed on me as normal ghosts would but he likes feeding me with his love and care. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2388-Seeing-a-Ghost https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2365-The-First-Time Sat, 31 May 2014 15:23:38 GMT When I was young, there is only one thing that motivated me about the opening of classes. Those are the new school things my parents would buy me. In my little innocent and naive heart, the smell of new pads of paper, the factory scent of cheap bags and shoes, plus newly sewn uniforms resembled that of one drug addict's reaction to "fly high" (I can only surmise because I swear I've never even tried sniffing nor taking any prohibited drugs. Well, maybe rugby, but I don't smell it when I'm hungry.) Looking back now, somehow I think the reason they didn't buy things that are durable and could last years was that I could have the "feel" of how it is to have things the first time. (This of course is besides the point that they could only afford the cheap ones that don't last for years.)

It is probably human nature to want to try things, especially the first time around. We go on expensive trips to try how it is to set foot on a foreign ground. We challenge ourselves on different adventures just because we think that "it will never feel the same way the second time around." Often, we go through great heights even to the point of embarrassing ourselves in front of people just because we crave for the "first-time feel." A friend of mine who probably never visited any KFC branch in Negros, begged for us, her new-found friends in Cebu to take her to any KFC branch. So we indulged her and brought her there (complete with a selfie and goupfie of the whole experience). To most of you, this might have been very hilarious but for my friend, the experience was worth a try.

It is just unfortunate though that we don't have the same "adventure-feeling" for other areas in our lives, especially those that deal with what we feared most. We often do not like to risk. Our adventurous selves are curbed to the corner when we speak or decide to love, find a new job, or even answer a teacher's question (especially so when we are talking to our seatmates).

I like to try a lot of things. I have my personal bucket list before I reach 40. I love eating and trying new types of cuisine despite my history of allergies and reactions to certain types of food. I have only recently experienced how it is to receive a dozen roses from my significant other and I told him not to give me anymore the second time or the third time because I want to keep in my memory the feeling of how it is to receive the first time. When someone talks to me about trying out something new, I am always for it. Except of course the prohibited ones. I'm talking about wholesome stuff here.

Trying out things the first time around gives me a certain kind of relief that though I may have to experience them over and over again, I will never forget the feeling they gave me the first time.

Just like my school things. They may get to be written on, filled with scribbles and my teachers' marks of "Do great next time!", "You are a Pro!" or (the worn out) "Very Good!" or my crushes' names, made into paper planes or reduced to a tissue paper in the fields when we couldn't find something to wipe our behinds. They may get soiled, filled with dirt and mud as we trudged the uncemented roads leading to our school, get torn as we climb Bayabas trees before heading home, or handed down to (unfortunate) siblings for next year's opening. Nothing beats the feeling of having them the first time (despite the changing of the rainy season and the coming of drought).

So here's to welcoming the new school year with a lot of uncalculated risks because life should always be lived like it's the first time. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2365-The-First-Time https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2364-When-You-Love-A-Woman Mon, 26 May 2014 14:56:48 GMT I would often hear people say that "Behind every man's success (or failure) is a woman." All over history, we can always glean on personages who are either influenced or disturbed by a woman, causing them to succeed triumphantly or to fail tragically.

It is inarguable therefore that despite women's quirkiness, men are in fact bound to get attracted to them. In the writing parlance, this is often referred to as the "femme fatale" or (as wikipedia puts it) women's seductive or ensnaring quality that often lead men to compromising and dangerous situations.

I've always been ranted about how unpredictable women are. That it is far from possible to even understand what goes inside their fancy brains. That no matter how much you try to understand them, your mind would be like that of a landscape filled with words and phrases and in search of an idea.

Take for instance, when you shop with them. You wonder why it takes them too long to even figure out which one to buy when the designs are just the same. When they do get to choose one, if they really like it, they would at first choose three. Then they let you pick one. The thing is, they never really liked what you picked. They just wanted to know what your choice is. This after they have embarrassed you for tagging along boutiques and shops only for women.

They can be as melodramatic as the trending teleserye. When their hormones are gone berserk, they could actually be upset for the most trivial of things. They ended up not knowing why they did in the end.

And oh boy, when they get mad, they could be as fierce as Godzilla. You better be hoping they are not holding any of your precious gadgets as they are bound to throw them at you.

Their memories are the most amazing ones ever studied about the human civilization. Their memories never fail them. They remember the most minute of things: from your mother's birthday to the days your dogs need their shots. They even remember all the mistakes you ever made and when you did them. Like an old record, they always remind you about your mistakes, as if you are the most corruptible and irreparable mortal that has ever existed.

But when you do fall in love with a woman. This is another story.

You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She's not perfect, you aren't either. And the two of you may never be perfect together.

But if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold on to her and give her the most you can.

She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break--her heart.

So don't hurt her. Don't change her. Don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy. Let her know when she makes you mad.

And miss her when she's not there. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2364-When-You-Love-A-Woman https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2352-Glued-to-the-Tube Mon, 28 Apr 2014 16:04:43 GMT According to a local research, children in the younger years (say like 4 years old and below) who are frequently exposed to TV at such ages are likely to develop speech problems. I don't know whether this research is conclusive and comprehensive for this matter but I do agree that exposing oneself to the tube especially when one has not formed judgment faculties in the brain (being immature and young with a sponge-like brain) may hold true. The brain is such a complex organ that anything (as in anything) could happen.

I remember growing up with a 14-inch Phillips CRT TV with black and white resolution. That was the vogue then. LED TVs were not in every house's vocabulary. My father placed it inside a makeshift box which I could imagine would be his own creative version of a furniture where appliances such as a TV could be safely kept from the harsh elements of rain and humidity. The programs were all delayed. The most one could ever make up for cartoons were from Walt Disney's Mickey Mouse and Friends. The word "LIVE" does not even exist. During that time, we were one of those lucky ones in the neighborhood who had access to a tube.

TV watching was equated to a curfew. No more TV after 9 pm, all to the dismay of our neighborhood friends who would gather like congressmen in a quorum (ready to pass or amend a law) come 5 pm every afternoon with our wooden jalousied windows as their tryst while they watched, "Tour of Duty." Back then Eat Bulaga was still in Channel 3. (That was before they reportedly had a huge strain with the channel sups in Channel 3). It was always a noon-time show (now with the exception of the Ryzza Mae Show before it). There was Kwarta o Kahon before Pera o Bayong.

Like a movie theater with screening schedules, the box where the tube is placed closes at 2 pm come summer time to pave the way for good old siesta. My father's philosophy was that, "TV watching will always have its time. Physical growth couldn't wait." In exchange for the tube, my father's abigon (local term for radio, spelling not sure) would soon have its turn. Our aural stimulus is never without stimulation as we listen to radio actors, telling exactly what they are about to do, complete with super convincing sound effects (from a door opening to water pouring incessantly from a faucet not to mention the gunfire and noisy stabbing, "Ania, dunggabon taka!" (Here, I'll stab you!)

Pre-elementary education back then consisted of going to daycare centers where kids like us would await the still-hot "lugaw" while enduring our teachers' (whom we didn't care were licensed or not) discussion at the end of the day about the noisy alphabet and Si Bantay, the dog who had a hard time barking.

We then go home, have lunch and wait for the box to open once again as we get mesmerized about black and white gory bodies thrown in battle and soldiers who wait for a chopper to pick them up, signaling the end of another episode.

I have fond memories of those times. I don't know hold old I was. Probably old enough to even begin to make sense about things. But I knew TV watching came with regulations (you know like MTRCB and their SPG ratings?). Although the box was not locked, we understand that no lock or key would deter the permission we needed to ask in order to watch it.

Something parents of this generation should seriously be concerned about. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2352-Glued-to-the-Tube https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2351-The-Way-You-Make-Me-Feel Mon, 28 Apr 2014 15:19:48 GMT Whoever was it who said that even when one reaches 90, in some instances in one's life, one never loses his/her being 12, 18, 20 (and so on and so forth) may have been right.

My significant other often jests about how childish I could be when I stare like a giddy starstruck fan girl of KathNiel (You know the teen age love team that's making huge crowd gathering wherever they go?). He argues that I'm too old for such things. My defense? "So what? I'm acting my age now. My 16 year-old self is kicking." My two-year-old me would often crave for Cadbury and I go feed that child inside (anytime the need arises). Sometimes, I let the 18 year-old lady who just debuted her entrance into the cruel world take over me as when I make impulsive, uncalculated risky decisions and find myself baffled about the next step. At other times, I think I let the 90-year-old (future me) embody me as I let things pass and take their turns and just go with the flow. As a teacher, I seem to act older than my age, thinking ahead, never missing blind alleys and quick curves (this being that I haven't gotten married and do not have the slightest idea about childbirth pains).

I know we can be whoever we want to be, in whatever age they seem appropriate. Though people close to us may think this odd and peculiar about us, we know, they have long ago embraced this uncanny behavior that actually complements us. We are given the liberty to embrace who we are deep within. For people close to us to appreciate this is really one major feat to hurdle.

The thing is, I hope that we know just when to "act our age." We need to look at the norms society exemplifies and take it from there. It is not a good sight to be eating chocolates while discussing in class or dealing with business clients, isn't it? This is where discernment and common sense comes in.

After all, whoever was it who also said that "Age is just a number in the calendar,"may have eaten chocolates by now. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2351-The-Way-You-Make-Me-Feel https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2350-i-Write Sat, 26 Apr 2014 14:43:28 GMT Several researches have pointed out that writing is therapeutic. That just as speaking (as another form of expression) is effective, nothing disputes the fact that writing is way better. One understands that in writing, there is permanence and blatant criticism.

I am my personal critic when it comes to writing. One student once challenged me, "Teacher, you are so up and about dissecting our works, I have never even read one that you wrote." My little ego was challenged and so (luckily I still have software copies of them) I gave him the link to my blogs. He stopped questioning my authority since then.

I have several reasons why I write. There are things that fill my mind that I would want to let go of. I write because I needed some way to express what I feel about something even when they don't make sense. I write because I don't argue. I write to explain myself because I am always misunderstood. I write to let time pass by. I write because some things inspire me or fire me up that it would be too painful to take them all in without sharing them. I write because some things disappoint me or that some things are way beyond my control. I write because I hurt and there is no other way that could help me heal besides wrapping the hurt in between feel-good words (that in no way I knew would even matter). At other times, I write because I want to conceal what I really feel inside and I don't want people close to me to feel worried. But most of the time, I write because I am happy.

Yes, I don't hang out in the forums and you can call me self-centered. I don't care at all. Arguing is just not my thing. I guess I pick my own battles and care so much whether I win or lose in those battles. (Besides, I don't have all day to wait on people's comments and replies. Seriously? I have nothing against the people in the forums.)

I write blogs for the purpose of expressing myself not so much as to gain recognition or sentiment with or from anyone. You can write your comments underneath as free as you want. The world will still be a better place if you haven't read my blogs.

I could have sung but that's not me. I write and will choose to write even when the world seizes to become a habitable place. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2350-i-Write https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2347-The-Hard-Way Mon, 21 Apr 2014 15:35:57 GMT As a child, when distant relatives come to the house to check on us, my parents would often refer to me as the "hard-headed one." I remembered that with the hard skull I had, my father (in a fit of anger) would hit it with any hard things his hands grasps: a spoon, a plastic cup, what-have-you. Miraculously, they never injured any part of my brain, and would disintegrate right before my crying face (the spoon was an exception). I was stubborn and it occurred to me that as much as that phase in my life had been difficult for my parents, it had been worse for me.

Things were always too difficult for me to grasp. It took a lot of physical hurt for me to really be able to understand it. After I've shed a tear and probably nursed my injuries, there, like divine enlightenment, I begin to understand why I went through what I went through. Of course, my parents talked me into them. But I guess learning them the hard way had their greatest impact than when my parents just repeatedly warned me about them.

Most of you probably are like me, subliminally choosing to learn things the hard way. Despite the warnings, we constantly plunge into things and situations that we think we shouldn't get involved with in the first place. We knew we're trudging on deadly turf but we venture into them anyway. We also knew we hated the pangs of regret but for the life of us, we couldn't wait until lessons smack and slap us right in the face before we ever learn from them.

When we were young, our motivations for behavior are based on what our parents brought us up with--on rewards and punishments. When we grow old, the responsibility of behaving is placed on our shoulders. Our mistake. Our call.

Growing old is tough. People shove maturity issues on our everyday plates like tasteless omelettes, ready for devouring. Like jail bound mortals, we take them in, as part of growing up, that came as rewards or drawbacks of having your own driver's license, a job with a meager income, a limited purchasing power and failed relationships, among others.

No matter how circuitous lessons and insights come in our lives, we never get to learn them until we painfully do. "No pain, no gain" as one commercial puts. We do follow it, like a mantra of our everyday existence. (Can I see nodding heads?).

We are from the school of hard knocks. And learning should never be easy with us as far as we are concerned. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2347-The-Hard-Way https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2346-Through-the-Knife Mon, 21 Apr 2014 14:52:56 GMT I have a preconceived aversion toward knives. I know I shouldn't be blaming the poor kitchen utensil. I do use it to cook but I have been very careful in using it since the time I first learned they could cut through and lacerate (if I may use a medical jargon) on one's skin, more so with one's life.

Upon the advice of my surgeon, I went through thyroidectomy, a procedure done on my goiter. With subsequent tests--a biopsy, an ultrasound and thyroid panel--my doctor and I decided it was time to remove the cystic lump. At 25, this was not a very easy decision. Although my doctor had assured me that he had done so many procedures (as the one he would do to me) and they had been successful, deep inside me crawled in this nagging thought, "The chances of me waking up right after the operation is high, but what about the risks involved?" I had expressed to my doctor my need to be able to speak because I am a teacher and I need my voice. He said he would do all he could not to damage the voice box. The procedure was expensive and I was just glad I was able to pool in my resources in time for the operation. I figured that since I will have them open me up, they might as well check if the other thyroid contained the same deadly mass.

So with my bag filled with all the things I needed for the operation, I walked into the emergency room just as if I was checking in a hotel, except that I was there to be treated and not to relax. I was alone since my family had to be at work at that time. I was not dying but I knew I could use a lot of moral support.

Since I was totally healthy (I had no medical aberrations whatsoever that would stand in the way of the operation), I was admitted immediately. My doctor was clear about what will happen in the operating room and made mention that there will be other doctors, too who would scrub in as his consultants. The operation was scheduled at lunch time the next day so by 5am I was not allowed to take in anything. My dreaded part of the whole experience came when the surgery gurney was brought in along with my gown.

I was prepped for operation, lying there like a helpless pig about to be butchered (or so my imaginative mind had conjured) and all I could think about was what I did the last 24 years of my life. Had they been wonderful years? Could I say goodbye to the next 24 years if I don't get to wake up after the operation? What significant things have I done for the world? How will my friends remember me? Fear gnawed through my flesh like a scalpel waiting to incise, lacerate, and cut and all I could muster was to cry as I looked at the worried yet reassuring faces of family and friends. For no one could exactly say what one feels when one decides to go through the knife--uncertainty, inevitability, perhaps?. Like the many things in life, I know that was one I would have to trudge on my own, no matter how strong the moral support.

The gurney became what I conceived to be my death bed as my anesthesiologist warned that I would soon lose consciousness. Like death, the operating room was cold, deadly cold. So I told myself as the last visages of light in the room closes in on me, "This is it." After that I slept with a dreamless sleep. I woke up six hours later, groggy and with an uncoordinated brain. I knew I put on a smile that night. I survived the surgery and made it through the day.

So what did I learn from that experience? Uhm, life is short. No matter how much you try to prepare for it, it still is short. That's why it's good to seize and grab every opportunity to change, to be better, to make a difference in people's lives. Second, you only get one shot at life and if you're ever lucky enough, you should make use of the opportunity to make significant changes in your life with the second life given to you. Third, at the death bed, it's not the achievements that matter, it is the relationships that you kept.

It's been six years since that fateful hot April morning that I went to the hospital. I'm healthy (not that I am experiencing major medical problems at the moment) and still the hyperactive me. I knew I should see my doctor again for annual check-ups. I'm relieved that I wouldn't have to pay so much trouble with medications.

Although I still use a knife for paring and peeling, I find myself putting it back on its sheath after I use it, what with all the morbid thoughts it tries to make up in my brain.

I've been through the knife and my life has so changed since then. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2346-Through-the-Knife https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2345-On-Role-Models Mon, 14 Apr 2014 16:36:11 GMT Growing up I realized learning need not be from oneself alone. There are practically so many things to learn. It would take a lifetime to learn them all. I was advised that in order to do this one must have three sets of friends: an older one to gain wisdom from, one with the same age to exchange wisdom with, and a younger one to impart wisdom to.

There was always somebody I looked up to when I want to achieve something. Someone I place on a pedestal for such and such character. I personally liked self-made adults. Back then, the words "self-made" were in vogue. You know those kinds who struggled through difficult times but were successful later in life? I rarely hear these words from the younger generation now.

I count on my peers for what's new. I was a normal teenager, trying to fit in. But I was always perceived as an outsider looking in. It didn't matter to me then, neither does it now. I realized one doesn't need to fit in. You need to carve your own niche somehow.

I love sharing to the young. This is what I like the most about---imparting one's knowledge, having the full courage to say, "I've been there and done that!" And mind you, the young could teach us so many things, with all their fresh and unadulterated idealistic minds.

When life seems difficult to understand, I search through the gems of wisdom I learned from these age groups. The challenges and difficulties I experience might not be the same as theirs. But I look at a parallel world somehow and figure things out from there.

The trouble with the youth these days is that they stopped talking to the adults. They are so helplessly engrossed with their peers that they lost the sense of having a role model. It's important that you have one so the trouble might be bearable, knowing that someone else had passed through the same path and was victorious. The transfer of learning is very much effective.

I fear for the younger generation--the next-in-line youth. Their challenges are greater than what they were during my time. The advancement in their mental capacities are so abrupt that their emotions are failing to keep up.

The adults seriously need to do a lot of role modeling. ]]> shey0811 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?2345-On-Role-Models