Horror Helper

our maid is a major drama queen. every week she has another sob story. one after the other. it doesn't work on me though. i am not emphatic. actually i am extremely cynical.
but it does work on my mom. she has gone softer with age. i remember when she was younger, she wouldn't even lend her sister money for her niece's tuition. because as she said, it was my aunt's fault that she doesn't have money. she puts it this way "para kasing butiki, yumayakap sa dingding." somehow she make sense.
according to our maid her dad died yesterday. i don't know though. it's been the second death on her family since she has been with us. and she's been with us less that 2 months!
in between deaths, there were also unfortunate events a fight with a daughter in law, in which she unknowingly cursed the girl and her grandchild causing them not to be able to walk and having to go home to undo the curse then there was also her niece who she first said was a paragon of virtue with evil spawn for bosses that turns out to be the other way around.
Maybe she isn't really a drama queen after all. she is the spooky lady.
Her life is so morbid.

first entry....

bought a new notebook, here is my first entry.

- i am afraid of the blank sheet. tabula rasa phobia of some sort.
- for one thing i have a bad penmanship that ruin the cleanliness and prettiness of the page.
- i've read through my friends blogs on friendster. it's surprisinng to find who among them have depth.
- or maybe what i find as depth could only mean a lot of free time on their hands.
- or boring jobs with fast internet access.
- blogs are great. you can blab about anything nobody else really care about.
- i am writing all these inside the bus. obviously it isn't moving as you can see in my handwriting.
- the truth is i just bought this notebook and just want to know if the pen will glide on it.
- yes it does.
- i have given up on journals. am not the the type of person who can take responsibility in chronologically dissecting my everyday.

if i started believing you

if i started believing you
then one day
i would think
that i was the devil
who tried to corrupt
your little mind.

if i started believing you
then one day
i would realize
that i was the witch
who had bewitched
you to sin.

you want to paint the picture
of the little boy lost.
you like to think
you were better than most

if i started believing you
then one day
i would look back for sure
and see that you were the savior
that i was waiting for.

but you were such a little lying creep
you try to blame me everything
even in your sleep.
you cannot take care of your little bitsy self
and now you blame me but
also ask for my help.

Disappointed

i am a tad disappointed. finally, i saw your wife. not that it should be anything to me, but i really found it disappointing to find out, she's normal. Well, it's my fault. I have concluded in my head that you should have married someone
a) drop dead gorgeous
b) intellectual
c) artistic
d) or a combination of all of the above.
so don't be surprised that i am somehow shocked with her mediocrity. Ok... maybe she's great. maybe she is really a rocket scientist just have a tendency to smile stupidly in front of the camera. and i'm not doing women's lib a great favor berating another women but pardon me, women scorned tends to be judgmental. and maybe, just maybe, i still feel like a woman scorned.

so what if it has been nine years and a couple or more relationships after. and you turning into mr. nice guy on me with picket fences and 1.5 children and dogs? well, maybe you have always been these things or what these things are like when they are in their 20's but... i thought...

well, shit i think a lot. maybe that was the problem.

my little tabula rasa

little tabula rasa
baby in my belly
can you really hear me?
what do you think
in there
how's life in there

my little tabula rasa
baby in my belly
do you ever worry
what do you in there
how is life in there?

a bus life

bus rides alone
with just my thoughts
in the middle
of anonymous faces,
parade of cars
and billboards
passing through my window.

This is my life.

hours and hours
sitting with strangers
sometimes
with strange smells,
engaging with idle
talk
with senior citizens
like donkey
asking
"are we there yet?"

this is my life.

sitting still
as the bus
bounces from city to city
to the great suburbs
of my destiny
and young lover's
kissing in front of me
and i chagrin
on their stupidity
not knowing
tomorrow
they'd probably
be writing
bad poetry
about each other.

choking on memories

how your name
can command me
to choke on memories
of sundays
in bleachers
and long conversation
where i end up
remembering nothing.

i am gone
again
like a 17 year old
on crazy short skirt
buying attention
by showing skin
and
amazing boys
with
my book learnt
basketball.

your name
and i am lost
crazed
maimed
here on my chair
writing verses.