Contemplating on it, I must say he’s absolutely right. Communing with all forms of life, in simple terms, actually helps us realize a more lasting kind of those attributes I previously mentioned. The more you think highly of yourself – the more you miss your “innate” connection to everything. And yes, ego has this really bad habit of disguising itself as a truth.

I went to the woods because
I wished to live deliberately,
to front only the essential facts of life
and see if I could not learn what it
had to teach and not,
when I came to die,
discover that I had not
LIVED.

-Thoreau

hi·a·tus – noun, plural -tus·es, -tus.

Mabuti na lang at sa panahong ito ako
Ipinanganak na babae.
Hindi ko kailangang manahimik
Kung kailangang magsalita.
Hindi ko kailangang magsalita
Kung nais kong manahimik.
Hindi ko kailangang ipaliwanag
O hindi ipaliwanag ang bawat pagpapasiya.
Hindi ko kailangang sumunod sa inaasahan
Ng lahat, tulad ng pag-aasawa.
Kung mag-asawa man ako’y
Di ko kailangang magpasukob,
Hindi ko kailangang matakot,
Kung dumating ang araw ng pagkabalo,
O kailangan nang makipaghiwalay.
Hindi ko kailangang magkaanak ng labis
Kahit kaya ko itong panagutan.
Hindi ko kailangang malugmok sa lungkot
Sakali’t hindi ako magkaanak.
Kung kailangan kong gampanan
ang pagiging ina at asawa,
Hindi ko kailangang humingi ng paumanhin,
Hindi ko kailangang panawan ng talino at lakas,
Hindi ko kailangang kalimutan ang lahat,
Hindi ko kailangang itakwil ang sarili,
Hindi ko kailangang burahin
Na isa akong tao,
bago isang babae.

But if I am to choose the best musical era – it would be the 80s! All the songs then were good and heart-melting, the kind that you’d love to sing through and through. Timeless.

I was in grade school from mid to late 80s. It was a time when I had fun watching MTVs of The Jets, Paula Abdul, Starship, Janet Jackson, Rick Astley, Lisa Lisa, Whitney Houston, Klymaxx, Prince, Wilson Philipps, Madonna, Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, and a lot more. Perhaps it was also the same exposure that made me learn singing by heart. My aunts used to wonder why it seemed easy for me to register any song’s lyrics inside my head.

There’s one foreign singer I particularly liked. Her name is Elizabeth Wolfgramm, vocalist and member of defunct band The Jets. Recently though, I found out she was only 12 when she recorded “You got it All” that hit number 1 on the Billboard Adult Contemporary Charts and landed number 3 on the Pop Charts. Some says her voice resembles that of Anita Baker, only brighter. I must agree.

Whenever I listen to their songs, I feel like my 9 years old self again.

Health advocates will probably castigate me for this, but I still find myself swearing off to using pure palm oil in any way conceivable.

Palm oil contains zero cholesterol and is fortified with Vitamin A. It’s perfectly good for those wanting to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

Research likewise shows that it is many times richer in beta-carotene than carrot. FYI, beta-carotenes act as anti-oxidants and can combat several types of illnesses such as Alzheimer, dementia, cataracts, arthritis, heart ailments.

When hubby started manifesting signs of hypertension, we also decided to be more careful with what we take inside our body. That included choosing palm oil and other vegetable oils in meal preparation. My children love to eat fried chicken, fried hot dogs, fried fish, fried eggs, oh – everything ‘fried’ actually.

However, with all the benefits mentioned – I couldn’t imagine how palm oil manage to mangle my sunny disposition each time I use it for frying. It gave me a collection of frying injuries on my arms and hands. That would’ve been forgivable. Burns heal quite easily on these areas. But recently, it created an ugly map on my forehead, nose, and upper lip! Hurts real bad. Thank God I have a nourishing cream. The searing sensation momentarily stopped yet the marks have darkened.  I think it’s about time I try other vegetable oils, particularly those that won’t ruin my day. More frying injuries like this and you’d see a global map scattered around my poor face. Heavens, I didn’t wish for the whole universe to be engraved on this face! (chos!)

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(Click to listen to Ariel Rivera’s “Photograph”)

Without batting an eyelash, I’d say Fulghum is one of best inspirational writers of our time. In fact, I’ve been re-reading three of his works that I raided from my younger sister’s closet last summer. Couldn’t help but nod at the veracity of his words. Sometimes, I get carried away. I often have my own insights and nuggets of wisdom scribbled in my blue-colored notebook. But not as good.

Lately, my high school batchmates have been organizing micro-reunions left and right. Pardon me for the word. I used ‘micro’ since the number of people present weren’t quite that much. However, there’s a big one going on in 2014. By then, we will have graduated twenty years from HS. A classmate and friend exclaimed – gururang na kita! (yaikks, we’re old!). Lucky for our generation because we’re in a time and place where the Internet has revolutionized social communication. Instant feedback became a buzzword. One type away and you’re off with your cliques for your much-awaited ‘get together’.

We actually are having virtual reunion each time we communicate over at facebook, may it be through comments, birthday greetings, or simple “hi, how are you …”

As a prelude, some already started posting scanned pictures of momentous events: of girls and boys in dainty uniforms, of memorable field trips and CAT stints, of JS Proms and retreat/recollection events, etcetera etcetera. I was keeping tab of it, and guess what, 2 days after the publication of photos – comments soared as high as 300 plus! Getting old, indeed we all are. Hahaha!

Rummaging through all these memories cemented my notion that life will always be a weird mix of tribulations and blessings. There are happy times and there are painful events as well. These two co-exist like husband and wife.

Looking at the photographs, some smiled at the recollection and some have had their sutured wounds re-opened. On a personal level, I can say that my life (then) tipped on the other side. It was, to borrow a line from a George Clooney film, a “cocoon of self-banishment”.

Friends were only a handful and that was intentional, even pre-planned. You know how adolescent years can be painfully tumultuous – it can eat you alive if you aren’t spirited enough. You grow up entertaining unknown fears. Need I say that at that age, I already exhibited some form of existential angst. I was always embarrassed to tell people where my address is for fear of being laughed at (kasi naman I lived in the remotest part of the earth!), I was always questioning the dichotomy of rich and poor (and why I can only afford a ‘pink’ chit which is just enough for a teeny-tiny piece of cassava cake, while the others line up in glee at the school canteen to gulp cans or bottles of soft drinks and munch on those crunchy,oh-so-yummy junk foods!).

It was due to said reasons that mingling with classmates became somewhat difficult. We may all look the same on the outside because of the uniform we’re wearing but there’s a huge difference in a deeper, stricter perspective. Similarly, my young heart tried to block infatuation as though having one was tantamount committing a deadly sin (which I found out was soooo unhealthy,see, I married early in the process). I built a wall to keep my distance and fortified it with my stone-cold demeanor. Tough on the surface but deep within, I was crumbling piece by piece. There were a few who tried to smash and hit the barrier I built. And sadly, I found out just recently – they’re GONE forever.

How can I forget? (Warning: this is the first time I am making all of these ‘top secrets’ public. Please bear with me.)

One boy used to insert pages after pages of love notes (written in flawless English, mind you) on my sophomore books , accompany me extra hours during Wednesdays (because that’s when my group’s assigned as the class sweeper), do errands for me, and walk with me after school. His name brings to mind a few things: his black leather jacket and the folded, black umbrella he carries around and shares with me when the sun’s too hot or when its rainy. He was a transferee who speaks rapid English (but converses in broken Bikol – Tagalog) and who excels academically. On most occasions, he would sit in front of me with his face propped on shoulders and declare his ultimate blackmail: if you don’t say yes now, I will never ever talk to you again. Nervous and stupid, I tore all the lovely letters then set them on fire. If he only knew how I almost contemplated on saying yes. But I was only fourteen and was doubtful of his sincerity. In short, all his efforts were put in vain. When we reached third and fourth year – we were no longer in speaking terms. It seemed like we no longer existed. We graduated without uttering a single word and it still puzzles me up to this day. Why? (Pareho ba kaming sobrang taas ang ihi? )At one point, I want to reverse my decision but it was too late.

The other guy pursued me in my junior – senior year like a stalker! Like a man on a drunken stupor, he would gaze at me endlessly inside the library (I frequent the library in fourth year because it’s only a few steps away from my classroom). Even if I was an ugly duckling, I felt pretty with the attention I get from him. Anytime there’s a chance, he’d glance at my direction any way I was. He would always offer to walk me home although I was so sungit and was shooing him away. What do you expect from a sixteen year old spinster-in-the-making? One time I was surprised that he visited me at home. No one braved doing so. My sister, not used to seeing boys, laughed hard at the way I carried my self throughout his presence. Eh kasi naman, naglalaba ako nang dumating sya. I was lost for words. And so was he. I kept pinching my nose. He kept staring at me. Eeeeek, it was super awkward. And just like guy number one, we did n’t become ‘us’ .

I can only heave a sigh knowing I will never be able to see them again. Maybe in the next lifetime, who knows? But wherever they are right now, I hope they are at peace. Oh they’re both genuinely kind – God must be hugging them in heaven right now.

As for the fun part, there were aplenty.

The first time I had petty fight with a classmate was in freshman, after I masterminded cheating at an exam. Imagine that! I wasn’t really good at it otherwise, I wouldn’t have been easily caught. Amateurish! LMAO. In third year, my kikay side was set to full-gear. I grew my hair longer and stayed longer at the restroom too, armed with my reliable comb and baby powder! Thanks to the pretty and equally-kikay classmates I was with at the time. At about the same year, I also had a major fight with my best bud who was a gay. Being Little Miss Conservative, I think I confronted him for pinching me all of the time even in public. He was so enraged we snubbed each other during the months that ensued. And oh, best of all — I enjoyed seeing my name on the honor roll, well except when I flunked Physics! Duh! (I pleaded to Sir Dialogo but he was deaf lol)

You know why I used to downplay this whole thing ? Partly because I thought high school was the LONELIEST event of my life. Now, as I revisit my old self –boy, was I so proud to have survived that particular stage. I have learned that it takes sheer grit in order to cross the bridge. And the truth is, my high school life could have been more enjoyable had I known that seizing the day does wonders. You only achieve it when you don’t dwell too much worrying over silly, insignificant matters.

Anyhow, happy or not, I still do not regret what happened in high school, how I spent four solid years with my SCLS family – the nuns, my former teachers, and my batch mates. No matter how many buildings get erected and demolished with the passing of years, no matter how many students and teachers enter and exit the school gates, our footsteps will forever be etched at the faculty room, the corridor, the school canteen, the nuns’ quarters, the principal’s office, the library, the gardens, the stage, the class rooms,the side benches, and at the old bahay kubo(s). It’s all these things that makes 2014 worth waiting for. It’s all these things that makes the heart overflow with excitement ! See you guys then.

At night when sleep becomes next to impossible, I can’t help but wonder if I am a distant relative to Dyesebel’s. There’s something quite peculiar about me that makes me want to believe I was a mermaid in past life. No, I haven’t grown fish scales all over my legs nor have I developed a fish tail for that matter. And no, I am not contemplating on building a home underwater, close to Nemo and friends.

I am referring to a condition I have yet to find a name. And I have been dealing with this for as long as i can remember. My feet always feel hot, more so when I’m about to sleep at night that the only solution would be to expose them to water and air. How? When it’s time to hit the bed – I make sure that they are wet and the electric fan’s  pointed directly at them. Otherwise, I won’t be sleeping at all. Oh, it didn’t help that I have ginger-toes, thanks to my paternal grandpa for the genes!

When the weather gets too cold, say a super typhoon is raging, or a hotel air conditioner is set at its coolest temp -  I cover my body from the waist up. I swear. The lower half has to get “enough” cold if only to put me to deep slumber. My feet, just so you’ll have a mental picture, have all its veins jutting forward. You bet how unsightly it is! What with the daily torture it gets from me. They’re not meant to be displayed. In fact, if a beauty expert would ask me right now what body part will I choose to be pretty-fied, I’d gladly volunteer them!

Back in my childhood days, I remember washing and dousing my feet with water fresh from our water pump. It doesn’t matter if I was tired from walking home to school or vice versa, or if I had just removed my shoes. Anybody in my position would be relieved of the irritatingly hot sensation. Honestly, it can drive me nuts!

I made a little research and found any of these could be the culprit. The results showed they were most probably health-related.

1. Hot feet at night is one of the symptoms of diabetic neuropathy. However, I don’t experience loss of foot sensation as is the case of those with this ailment. There are times when I get cramps though. Further, one with diabetic neuropathy can have these symptoms: tingling, numbness (severe or long-term numbness can become permanent), burning (especially in the evening), pain. Okay, so one out of four symptoms.

2. Hot feet could be a symptom of hyperthyroidism. Hyperthyroidism is the medical term to describe the signs and symptoms associated with an over production of thyroid hormone. Thyroid hormones are responsible for achieving a healthy metabolism. Bug when overproduction happens, the whole system mess up. Could it be hyperthyroidism then?

This burning sensation really gets to my nerve but the fact that it can have implications on my state of health, I might start being serious and have a visit to a doctor or something. How many of you have a similar condition? I would love to know.