sweet as a eucalyptus, terrible as a tempest
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"¿Que pasa, Dora?" Dad would greet me.
I bring my new baby with me everywhere now, in a backpack, and my dad's been calling me Dora the Explorer ever since.
Mild shock, at first. Daddy knows Dora. And he tells me off for staying glued to the cartoon network, nickelodeon, and disney channels. It's just a proof that he's been watching too much morning television.
***
So Dora got Miyuki into an accident last night. Miyuki's right signal light's been smashed to pieces, all because of a stupid speeding SUV who didn't give way. that was at about past 7.
then Dora went to choir practice and as she got off the parking lot, she hit her head on the beam. good thing it was cushioned. this happened at around 730.
then Dora went into the church kitchen to rest a bit before the practice started. and she couldn't drink coffee; she was too depressed.
then Dora scratched her palm on the door post as she was leaving the kitchen.
Dora whined to her choir mate. Boy, am i having a bad luck streak tonight! First I hit my car, then I hit my head, then I scratched my palm!"
"Oh, forget about it, it's all over now..." choirmate said.
"...Because they come in threes!" choirmate said.
Funny, Dora didn't realize that. and she must hold the record for shortest time for badluck streak. it was all over in less than an hour.
busybodying, Filipino style.
sometimes irk compels one to stick her nose in other people's business in a way that no one other than the Filipino people will do. tell me if any other culture will give a damn about this:
today, the washerladies - mother and daughter tandem - came. their job is to wash the week's dirty laundry, obviously, plus clean up the house. and do other domestic troubleshooting, like mending clothes.
long after they've left and as we were eating lunch, our neighbor, fondly called tiya or aunt, came a-knocking, asking for some thread to sew one of the pants hanging outside to dry.
we wondered, mom especially, what she needed the threads for. the daughter washerlady already did the needed mending.
a few minutes later, tiya comes back with the said pair of pants. Exhibit A, your honor. "Look at the terrific job your lady washer did."
She points to the big, ugly, rudimentary stitches in bright red thread, conspicuous against the dark brown pants.
"If you have threads of another color," said tiya, almost pleadingly, "i will sew the pants again."
She exits, and outside we could still hear her ranting. it was so amusing how something so none of her business annoyed her so much she just had to offer her services.
the pants in question was my dad's. and he says wryly, "well, what can you do, my wife is inutile."
mom laughs. how was she supposed to know the washer lady used red thread?!? common sense.
mom can't help it too if she's so tailorically challenged. i haven't seen her insert a thread into the eye of a needle in my entire life. though she claims to have studied dress making in her youth.
okay tiya, she said. i'll give you your thread. don't worry, you'll have a lot to stitch.
hey i mean, since she's offering...
i am actually in debt.
i have not enough to pay my income tax
and i still owe my mother a substantial amount for my laptop.
where did all my money go?!??!
i haven't been spending anything but on gas and coffee.
i want to cry.
in fact i'm already crying. tearless.
***
this is unacceptable.
***
well, mura lang naman my utang, less than US$100. but that leaves me flat broke.
***
still unacceptable.
***
echoing note to self: ugly,zitty,stupid and poor. can anything be more depressing?
oh my gahd!!!
my tax is so huge. why is my tax huge??? where is the love for poorer than mice citizens such as i?
but still i pay the correct taxes. and i exercised my privilege of suffrage
that earns me the right to rant about the state of affairs in this country and i'll do that! soon!
soon as i fix things...
argh. poor and ugly. and stupid.
what could be more tragic? sniff.
i hate jaywalkers.
...when i'm driving.
otherwise jaywalking is fine with me as long as it's done properly. proper jaywalking is crossing the road while causing as little inconvenience to motorists as possible. that means, while standing by the sidewalk at the middle of the street (because you're too lazy to walk to the intersection, hence the jaywalking), to wait for the red light so that the cars line up to halt. and then you cross. and then you stop in the middle of the road, look to your right to make sure there's no car coming from the opposite traffic, and then finish the crossing.
so you didn't bug any driver, and you didn't risk your life. that's proper jaywalking and i'm a proper jaywalker, i'm proud to say...most of the time.
sometimes though, one zones out, and realizes she didn't wait for the cars to come to a full stop. but some are gracious, knowing they are about 2 seconds from stopping anyway, they'd stop for me. so i cross halfway, but luck runs out, and none of the opposite traffic would give me way. there stands my thin frame, my eyes almost shutting to wish i wouldn't be caught in the middle of two-way traffic.
i came out of the ordeal still alive to blog. but my butt almost did not.
i suppose it's time to admit - to acknowledge - that i have a "nice" gluteous maximus, as the person who made me so self-conscious about it calls it.
before that, i was completely unaware of my butt. but now, it's just...it's so almost become everything.
i have my share of loose and body fit clothes. what people do not know is that i rarely shop, and most everything i wear are given to me by my mother. i'm not a fashionista, i just wear what i can grab. and i don't really dress up; i just get dressed. and i love soft fabrics because they're cool and easy to move in, but they tend to amplify the problem area. the thing is, whether i wear denims, or skirts or, whatever...even the yukata...they're still so very there. loose clothing doesn't help. though i haven't tried wearing a habit. or what do you call the indian costume.
the other irritating consequence of the inexplicable special attention to my butt is that i've become a butt watcher. now, when i people watch, i go...this person has no butt. why are you wearing that? you have no butt to pull it off! if that ain't perverse...
okay, so people watching, and the survey results yield that i don't have the exclusive on nice butts. so many others possess the same quality buns, even nicer ones i'd say.
so the question remains:
what is the big deal with mine?!?!!?
hah. i know what you are.
You're my practice pad.
it's a cloudy yet sunny breezy summer afternoon. i am semi-blinded by the glare of the sea reflecting the sunset's rays.
it's hustly-bustly outside. engines a-vrooming and the noisy potpots are perfectly ignorable natSOTs (natural sound on tape).
last week, i discovered that this place is a hotspot. and that i can surf for free.
****
To do:
1. fix my life
2. re-find my self.
****
i've been meaning and failing miserably to turn this blog back to its original mood. i was never one to wear her heart on her sleeves. but i've found out that was only because there was never any reason for me to. and when there was, there i am, lost soul for all to read. how... one of the crowd.
who should i blame for being so hopelessly lost? first i was only emotionally lost, but then, at least, i knew what i stood for. woe is me who has died but won't be buried until fifty years after.
****
it's been almost two years and i haven't watched B's work. i'm so very sorry. soon i promise!
