Feeling Like it's 6 feet under and Then Some

Sometimes being single sucks!  I love my freedom.  Not that being in a relationship will take it away from me but who knows.  I'd have to admit that just when I meet someone, my brain cells go crazy whenever freedom and I are concerned.

I make such a futile effort at romance and love and sometimes it just sucks.  The one thing I definitely want to get out of it is a child or children.  But how can one have a child out of a relationship?  I can't have one with myself can I?  Craziness strikes again.

I'm a member of an online dating site. I've been one for a few months now.  My daily routine is to check the list and see who's interested.  I send a heart - like it does matter.  lol.  This is getting to be a really big joke.  I see my friends and classmates' pics on Facebook with their kids and I'm all sad that I still don't have my own.

I make stuff for the kids in the compound where I live - art stuff, drawing, painting and what not. I go swimming with them, I go to the park with them.  You name it.  But lots of times, I just think that it's all a waste.  I'm happy doing it don't get me wrong.  But wouldn't it be nice to be making stuff for my own kids?  Am I even making any sense today or do I sound like some insane lady who belongs in an asylum?  Bad thoughts!  Go away.  It makes me feel really blue.

My Own World

"Never blend with 'uneducated' people."  I've heard that a lot while I was growing up.  I used to take great pride in being schooled at a private school for girls, raised in a conservative family and had almost everything at my fingertips.  To most, it would appear I had the entire world.  I walked with my head held high and my shoulders even higher.

At 21, I thought to myself I could make it on my own and left home. It's not something I regret.  Leaving home was the best thing that could have happened.  I learned so many things  - most of all, I learned to care.  I learned who really was 'educated'.  In my 'rich' world, being educated meant staying in school until one got a degree.  I left home without earning that degree.  I couldn't wait to get out and explore on my own.  But I'm proud to say, I'm living in the real rich world of experience.  I learned how to depend on others, to appreciate what I have, to appreciate everyone.  Status in life, wealth in life is of no importance.

I know people who look down on the street cleaners, on the carpenters, on the people who help us at home.  Where would we be if we didn't have them.  Would we clean and build our own houses.  It's ridiculous how I used to look at them with shame.  I now look at people who look down on them with shame.

Mom said I would never have someone as good as she is if I left home.  She said that life would be very difficult.  Yes, the latter was true.  But I didn't just get someone good.  I met and lived with a lot of good people.  When I was too proud to go back home, I had a struggling mom with 5 children open her arms wide and welcome me, I had another mom with 5 beautiful kids too who made me feel part of their family.  I had so many people welcoming me with open arms, and open hearts.  Some didn't have enough to feed their own family but they welcomed me all the same. They didn't care where I came from.  They didn't ask where I studied or didn't tell me who I should mingle with.  They advised, they cherished, they prodded me on to my dreams.  They weren't family because they were more than that to me.

When I came home a few times after that, I always felt a desperate need for mom and my sister to understand that I was happy.  I thought I'd prove myself.  But guess what?  I gave up.  The size of my wallet will never measure up to theirs because it's just what it is.  I can't have a wallet full of wads of money but at the same time, could I live with an empty heart?  I've struggled to make them understand and see the beauty I've seen.  I'm not just a name that my children will see on a corporate desk or a picture that may hang in the hallway of some corporate building.  My world is truly a world away from theirs.  I don't mind because I truly am happy where I am.  I've learned that having less is truly having something even more.  I'll never be rich.  I realized that a long time ago.  I never want to be rich if it means having to hold my head high and look down on other people.  I want to have nothing to do with that.  Education doesn't stop after one graduates. I find myself learning a lot of new things even at 36.  I'm learning the more important things in life.

It's Never the End

Today, I took the first step in letting go.  I changed my relationship status on fb to 'single'.  I un-friended him. It was painful but it was a needed pain; a pain that could salve the hurt of waiting for nothing.

For the nth time, I'm moving on from an online relationship to single blessedness.  I can name a lot of reasons why a long distance relationship let alone a virtual one isn't really going to work.  Like all relationships, I felt in my heart it was the right one.  That was in 2010.  More than 2 years later, here we are at nothing.  We haven't spoken in more than a year so it doesn't count up to those 2 years.  We may have said so much in the beginning but everything just stopped.

To top it all, I haven't lost hope.  I can think of a million reasons why I'd hate myself; a million reasons why I think men wouldn't even want to look at me.  But I've found, a gazillion reasons to just say, 'what the heck!' and move on.  I want to linger.  I want to ask what went wrong.  But you know what?  I've asked myself that so many times and I never had the answer.  I don't want to torment myself and say that it probably was because of something I did.  I'm pretty sure that was one of the reasons.  But do I really have to beat myself over the head over it?

I know I'm strong.  I've known since I was 3 and was left in a monastery by my 'parents;  I  knew at 6 when I felt the first blows of a leather belt against by behind and legs; I knew during and after all the countless beatings from leather belts, from bamboo canes, from parachute belts, from 1x2 blocks of wood, from rubber tire strips, from newspapers rolled up and bound together to cause pain, from fasting and solitary confinement that I was going to overcome the pain and be strong.  I was strong and stayed silent when insulting words against my person were said.  So what if someone breaks my heart? After everything?  It hurts.  I learn.  I am vulnerable for a time from the pain but then I learn I can also move on. I can also smile and lift my head high and say - there will come a person who'll treasure me for who I am.  Not for what I can give.  I'd rather live for that moment than feel down in the dumps forever.

I'd probably still meet people online.  I can meet people elsewhere. It's not about forcing myself into someone else's life but how to discover how 2 people may not be able to live each other's  lives without the other.  One thing's for sure - it's not the end of everything else just because I chose to stay away.

To My Sister Who May Never Get to Read This...But Who Knows.

This is my sister, Maryrose.  She's the one seated on the right with glasses on.  She looks almost happy and I wish it were true.  The question is, is she? I came across this picture somewhere in the vast land of technology.  I knew it was her!  Looking at it, I was overcome with overwhelming sadness.  After all we went through when we were kids, this was just as far-fetched from the truth.  I want to believe she truly is happy.  But I keep thinking to myself, how many times we posed for a picture - smiling because we were told to?  The stupidity of it all, was that we gladly did it.  We all just wanted to grab every bit of happiness we could have; save them, keep them, treasure them, and remember them.

I haven't seen Maryrose in almost 25 years.  She is 34 or 35 years old now.  I am writing her this letter hoping that she may get to read it someday.  Who knows?  Stranger things have happened.  I don't know how I'd really feel if I came face to face with her one day.  What would we tell each other?  So this letter will probably do it.

Dear Rose,

Don't ask how I came about the pic.  I am very creative as I'm sure you will remember.  I am hoping that you really are in a happy place and that you've found yourself.  I'm miffed that we couldn't be together.  Remember the first time we planned to escape?  We almost did it, had you not stuck your head out of the tall grass.  How foolish we were then.  The big wide world would not have been kind to us back then.  We knew nothing of the life outside those high walls.  Oh - back then, they still had wired fences.  Now, your home is 45 hectares enclosed in high walls, complete with electric wires.  An Alcatraz in itself.

How funny that I live out here.  I pay an outrageous fee for my humble home, utilities, transportation and what not.  You name it!  But you know what we don't have in common?  Freedom.  I wish you'd really know what it feels like to make your own choices; to choose what you'd want to do, what you'd want to eat, what you'd want to wear, etc.  I don't have a palace, nor do I have hectares and hectares of land.  But it does feel like it because I'm free.  This is what makes all the difference. I've never wanted to ever look back.  I'm glad I took that first step.  Well make it the nth step because we planned to escape so many times.  So the last one before I left was my leap of faith and surprisingly - my leap to freedom.  I say that because I climbed on a 8-9 foot wall (it could have been higher) in the dead of the night and jumped to I don't know what.  I literally didn't know what I was jumping on to. I was lucky to land on grass.

Funny how they probably told you I was dead.  Surprised?  I heard that story so many times.  What in heaven's name possessed those people to brain-wash you into thinking that?

If by any chance you come out of there still alive and whole - bodily and in spirit.  Look me up in Facebook. The world out here is a lot different.  It isn't what I thought it was when I first came out.  Oh and by the way, I hope you've learned to speak a bit of Tagalog.  I didn't.  I went to school and my classmates and friends barely wanted to speak to me.

Even if we were not together all those years, you caused me a lot of grief.  It wasn't your fault though.  I've been worried sick about you.  There was this story going around that you were crippled for about 2 years because you'd been beaten bad.  What did you do that was so horrible to ever merit something so harsh?  Do you know how many times I thought about you and wondered if you were even alive.  I wasn't about to sneak in just to see for myself but it was a tempting thought.

Mom has been looking forward to meeting you.  She has always wanted to see you.  I don't know if they ever allowed you to see her or if she was ever allowed to see you. Remember, how we cried so hard when she left when we were kids.  Too bad, dad isn't alive to see you.  He passed away 14 years ago.  He would have spoiled you to death and I would have been so jealous of you just like when we were kids.

Ha!  yes - I remember when you used to be so mean when we were little. We were both mean but you were a lot meaner.  I hope you've learned to be gentle in spite of the horrors you've lived through.  One thing I'll tell you is - that place can either make or break a person's will, a person's sense of well-being.  It can make one utterly sensitive to the people around him or her, or it could just do the opposite.

Mona?  She's another story and I'm sure you have lots more to tell.  After all these years, just mentioning her name is like bitter medicine in my mouth.  I wonder if you've learned to care for someone.

When we were younger, I'd care less if someone was punished in my place.  I just had no love lost for anyone in there except for one other person - Jennifer.  Sigh, the years are going by so fast.  Pretty soon you'll grow old.  I hope you grow old with good memories.  I know I will.

So little sister, if you ever get this letter - I'm trying to find it in my heart to let you know that I care for you. If you need to reach out to someone, if you finally wake up to reality, you'll probably be as creative as I can and find me.

Love,
Marie

Musings on the Road not Taken by Robert Frost - written on Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Musings on the Road not Taken by Robert Frost

This poem has always been one of my favorites. More so now that the underlying message holds true value for me. I was in 4th year High School. I can still recall how Mrs. Mary Anne Eala (everyone's fave English Teacher) nurtured our love of literature.

*****************************************
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
*************************************

This has a lot of significance for me because that's what I did. I took the road less travelled. In this culture where most would rather stay at home and enjoy the comforts of having free food, free lodging, etc. I chose to live on my own at 21. 13 years later, I still have no regrets. It has not always been easy.

When I look back at how difficult it was and how I had to rely on my friends for help I cannot help but be humbled. This is what keeps me content. When at times I feel that I need more, that I am discontented with my lot in life, I look back to the time I left home with almost nothing except my clothes, my bit of cash and no idea of where to stay. Stubborness does have its rewards. If I would be given the chance, I would have done it all over again.

Clan of the Cave Bear - Book Review by Jean Auel - written on Saturday, June 19, 2010

I came across a comment for Jean's Clan of the Cave Bear where there were a lot of questions about the authenticity of the historical facts she had in the book. It surprised me as the spine of the book clearly states it's a work of fiction. So why all the negative comments? 
Personally, I think this book and those that followed may not have done justice to historical facts but it did give light to a lot of facts that are still predominant in a lot of societies today. Like in the case of how most cultures view women and what their roles are in society. It is a beautiful story of one woman's survival to find her own niche. 
This is a moving saga about people and relationships. Here, Jean takes us back to prehistoric times and sweeps us up in the story of Ayla. She is left orphaned at 5. Left wandering in search of her parents, she comes across the "clan". She is adopted by Iza, the clan's medicine woman and her brother Creb, the Mogur (Shaman). Though they try their best to teach her their ways, Ayla instinctively knows she is different. It definitely is a gripping story.  I not only read this first book but all 5 books.  This is a long read - 495 pages if you read the soft bound version. But it's definitely a page turner. Breath-taking and definitely entertaining.

This was written on Saturday, June 19, 2010 - from one of my other blogs

I came home at around 11:30 am today. I slept at the office for about 3 hours as I had no sleep the previous day. I didn't want to ride the bus going home and fall asleep only to wake up in some part of the city I wasn't familiar with. So to play safe, I slept off my fatigue first. 
The sleeping quarters in the office is not exactly your haven of rest with comfortable beds in an air-conditioned room. We just moved to the new one about 3 weeks ago so everything is temporary. Our sleeping room looks like we were in the rescue center where the mattresses are strewn every which way and you get to sleep on one on a first come first served basis. I count myself lucky because I always get one when I come in at the most opportune time - 3 am or 5 am. I still count myself lucky if I don't have someone else's feet beside my face when I wake up, or wake up because of someone else's snoring. So it's all good really. 
There was nothing much else to do. I came home and was really thinking of helping Jessa to clean up the house, wipe the windows, clean my room and all. But it all just seemed too much. So I went straight to bed and woke up at around 9 pm. So much for a Saturday evening. But that is what weekends are for anyways right? Rest. So I guess I will put off the cleaning until tomorrow morning. This way I will refreshed. I will go back to bed again once I'm done with all the blogging. 
I am quite new at this thing. I've never been one to enjoy blogging but I enjoy reading other people's blogs. But I guess this is a good way to keep things in a journal. I used to enjoy writing before and haven't had the time to do so. I normally write the old fashioned way. I think I had about 4 or 5 journals done when those got destroyed by last year's storm (Ondoy). So it made no sense to re write those..like I could remember all. I'm sure I've written many things down during my spur of the moment moods. 
Nowadays, I wake up or go home and log in to Yahoo messenger to see if my honey is online - which he hasn't in about a week. I guess he is has difficulty again connecting to the internet. So I will try tomorrow.
Yesterday, Tita Nelie and I went shopping for stuff for my bathroom. I have a very small one by the way. Like 2 by 1.5 feet I think. I can just picture myself kissing the wall while I take a shower. It's a joke of course. But it still is very small for me. I guess I could compensate if I had a few of the comforts I should really see in a bathroom like a simple toilet seat with a very small toilet, a showerhead and all. Next project on my list is either my living room or dining room. I just hope I don't tire of the design in a short span of time as I will really save up to decorate my small space in the next few months. I am thinking of having a zen like design for my living room. At least, I really get to relax when I come home.

So I guess this is back to bed for me for now.

On Chardy - Written on Saturday, June 19, 2010

On Chardy...

Someone else's death is always something one can ponder about. The death of an older person is somehow always easier to accept than that of a younger person. So when I got a text message that Chardy had passed away on June 16, 2010, I was actually on a bus on my way home, I suddenly burst into tears. Previously, I received news that he was confined due to some complication to appendicitis. 
My friends and I had never really had the chance to go visit him for a number of reasons. But the most difficult thing to accept was how young he was. He just turned 24 in May of this year. I will always remember him as a very jolly person. 
My stint with him was back in 2008 when we were still working in Ameriprise. Me with the Brokerage Service recovery Group and he, with the Online Data Capture group. Our groups sat adjacent to each other. And our days were filled with a lot of laughs. 
Needless to say, our jobs weren't the easiest. We worked like accountants, working to process cases, computing, analyzing and then computing again. All who work in this kind of job will have to agree that no matter how challenging a case may be, we could all be smitten by fatigue or just plain drowsiness as we worked the graveyard shift. But with Chardy, he made it easier for us with his jokes, his light banter on sex and anthing he could talk about under the sun. He had a very uplifting personality.
I've always been one to easily laugh at even the smallest things. Chardy did just that. He made me laugh, he made me smile. He made everyone happy. This is the way I will always remember him.
After a few months, we moved separate ways. But when I met up with his friends we would always mention something silly he did in passing. Just like the time he drank Clorox - I believe, because he was just simply tired of life. How could a happy person be tired of life? 
I guess he had problems of his own just like everyone else did. But he hid it well. From the little that I knew of him, he was a very industrious person. 
He worked very hard in school and did very well, got hired by our company, which wasn't the easiest to get into and even got assigned to our account - a financial one at that. And I guess he did well on his own. He did have a penchant for calling in late to work or unscheduled absences but he was never outright rude and definitely did not have an attitude problem. So it was just so sad that we lost him.

So here I go, thinking about my life and assessing it once again. I have my quirks, yes. I know I am not always all that my friends and workmates think me to be. But I am human. It makes me ponder about how fragile life really is and how one can be called to Him anytime.

I will soon be 34 years old. What else could I say for myself. Have I done enough good deeds. Have I made some people happy. I know I have hurt some people in the long run. And I hope to atone for those little by little - my mom, some of my other friends. I have to always work at being a better person.

So this is it Chardy. Thank you for making so many people happy. While I was talking to your mom yesterday, I could tell she was very very proud of you. You could not be anything less for her. You were perfect, just like any other mom will think of her son or daughter. But it was different for you. She recognized all your efforts to study really well. You were her hope. But most of all, you made her happy. I realized where you got your bubbly personality. It was from her. She was so easy to talk to. She made no qualms that she had money and at times would tell us how difficult it was to see you through, her doubts about paying your bills, where she would get the funds to pay all. But in the long run - God provided. So don't worry Chardy dear. I hope I will be able to help in my own way. People will help your parents I am sure of that.

So rest in peace my friend.

Sun - written on Saturday, June 19, 2010

Nothing beats the aweful summer heat in the Philippines than enjoying a weekend at a modest hotel with a swimming pool. That's what I just did on May 30-31, 2010. I had gone swimming about twice before and never really thought about buying a new swimming outfit. But being the let's just say the thrifty woman that I am, I thought it wouldn't hurt to wear the same outfit to yet my third swimming spree. Mind you! If I had a swimming pool in my home, I'd probably swim laps everyday. Laps? Not really.

I've always loved the water hence swimming. I am not even close to any average swimming athlete. I can barely even cross a 50 meter pool without stopping for a breath. But I never really cared. So much for the summers my parents enrolled me in swimming classes. The most I really got out of those was learning how to float on my back and to dog paddle. The only thing being important was to float.

'Forgive me"

I honestly don't know where to start.  My life has been one long journey of learning how to forgive.  I can't forget the past but I am learning how to forgive.  It isn't an easy journey to make.

I've been hurt many times over but I am learning that I can also forgive.  I was born and raised in an era where one could not even dare speak up to parents.  But I have.  I've been brash, I've been bitter I've been everything I'm not supposed to be.  I've have fallen short a million times.  My very first reaction is to always point the blame at someone else.

I've always expected my parents to say, "I'm sorry, I forgive you too." But that's never happened.  I grew up expecting that they would do so one day.  It was difficult for me to realize that they never will and now it doesn't matter anymore.  It doesn't matter.  We've fought so many times, I can't count.  We've exchanged many hurtful words.  I don't know when I'll be able to face mom and say, "I'm sorry that I hurt you."  Like she always says, I'll never really know what's she's lived through and I know very well that part of the life she's lived has been one of love and she's loved me the best way she could.  So why is it so hard for me to let go? Why is it so hard to forgive other people as well.

I vowed to myself that one day, I'd be able to face my children and accept the fact that I'm not perfect.  I've asked forgiveness from other people except my family.  Why is it so much easier to do that with other people and so difficult to do with people you truly love?

Would you believe it?  A friend's 3 year old son taught me the value of forgiveness.  I can't even begin to describe the absolution I felt.  Why was it so easy for me to kneel on one knee, look him in the eye and say that I was sorry that I had hurt him? Children do not harbor hatred.  There is no past and there is no future in their minds.  There is only the now. The little boy looked at me questioningly and simply said, 'it's okay Auntie Marie' and gave me a real tight hug and a brief kiss.  His simple gesture broke a wall of defense in me. I had carefully built that wall and he tore it down with a simple, 'it's okay.' How much more beautiful can it ever get.  Since that day, almost 12 years ago, I have tried to do the same thing.  One thing's for sure - I am no longer shy and no longer afraid to admit I'm wrong.

I'm not completely over everything. I still have a long long way to go and it may take many more years to get over my horrendous past.  I can't let go and I want revenge on the people who've hurt and abused me.  I'm talking of other people - not my family.   My mom is the least of my worries.  Any hurt I thought she gave was just in my mind.  I'm still hoping that in time, I'd be able to hug my mom back and just tell her that I love her and ask for forgiveness.

When will all this misery end!

I signed up for this:
PETITION: We want the French, Mexican and United States Governments to stop anyone using puppies and kittens as shark and alligator bait. Together we WILL put an end to this!
*****************************************************************************
I signed up for this not just because I'm fond of animals but because it's just wrong!  If animals had voices, what would we hear them say?  My heart bleeds when I see stories and pictures about cruelty to animals and to children.  It's as perverse as it can get. Why????

The picture that came with this was one with a dog that had 2 large hooks pierced cleanly through his snout.  This dog didn't look like a castaway.  It looked like a cared for animal.  I don't really care if it was cared for or not.  No animal, whether a stray or not, deserves any type of cruelty from us humans.  From what I've seen so far, I despair and think that it's us humans who've become more like animals in our way of thinking and in our actions.  I am ashamed to even think of myself as human if my entire race thinks nothing of cruel acts.

I once had someone ask me why I cared so much for dogs, cats and other animals.  They don't have a heart.    My retort, that's what most think!  But why can dogs and cats love so fiercely? Why can they forgive and forget even if we unintentionally hurt them?  Why do they still trust us even if some intentionally hurt them?

I took care of 2 dogs who were almost at death's door.  They came to me, literally skin and bones.  That was what was left of them.  One was Greg.  The other was Mushu.

Mushu was a pup who my driver almost ran over on my way home because he was sprawled out in the street.  I stopped him just in time.  I jumped out of the car and ran to where he was lying and nudged him with the tip of my shoe.  He didn't react and I thought that he was dead for real.  When I picked him up, he moved a bit.  I carried him, fleas, bruises and all.  I later learned that some tricycle driver had run over him and literally fled the scene.  His owner had no funds to bring him to the hospital and left him to crawl around in pain. It pains you to read this?  READ ON!

There was not a part of his body that was not covered in fleas.  He was literally black with all the fleas and ticks.   To add to that, he had this wound on his thigh from the tire that ran over him.  I rushed him to the nearest vet clinic.  His condition, I was told, was "hopeless" and  the interns told me to make him as comfortable as I could because he could just die anytime. They couldn't really help him and my bills from the looks of him would just soar unnecessarily.  I was almost in tears.  I can't even begin to describe how sad I felt.  I know some people would think me crazy but they can say all they want for all I cared. Die?  I knew it was true but I didn't want to give up.  I went to a pet shop to buy him food plus flea and tick spray, and vitamin B for his muscles.  I was going to nurse him back to health even if it killed me.  I was not going to let this pup die!

After a week - he could crawl on his own.  He was crawling but he was a lot stronger.  After a couple of weeks he was even better.  He was the reason I rushed home from work every single day.  I would greet him and he would come crawling to me.  I brushed the little hair that was sprouting from his skin, exercised his legs and just cuddled him so that he'd feel loved and cared for.

On the 3rd week, I came home and was so startled to hear such a loud and long whelp. Dear Lord in heaven, it was my Mushu, greeting me.  I was stunned.  He never made a sound during the 1st couple of weeks and I thought he would never ever "talk".  He was on the road to recovery after that.  After a time, he could wag his tail (it was paralyzed) , he could walk better, and he loved to wait for me to come home. He grew into a beautiful dog with light brown and shiny hair and had the sweetest disposition.   I had him for 3 years.

That's the story of my Mushu.  We both were through so many ups and downs - you name it!  He became a mischievous dog, eating even my paints and all.  He was on death's door another time from licking something rusty.  Boy!  But it was love that made him stay alive for as long as he could.

He made me very happy from  August 2007 until September 2010.  He grew up to be a beautiful dog and a lot of people said he looked like a labrador and was as big as one.  He left as suddenly as he came.  But I am sure he has a good place for me up there in doggy heaven and remembers our happy days.

Ghosts of the Past - Part 3

Mona - I'd say she'd be my nemesis.

Who was to say, that someone with so angelic a face would be capable of inflicting the most cruel pain.  We had our arguments of what 'cruel' really meant. She almost spat in all of our faces when at 8 and 9 years of age, we were in the early stages of rebellion and accused her of cruel acts.  She would hiss at us and lash out with her all powerful leather belt - "you all think I do this out of cruelty?"  We all thought and felt she did. She was clearly on the road to self denial and we were paying the price.   How we hated how she'd swing at us and not even care what part of our body she'td hit.  She loved hitting us in places that were hidden from the public eye.  But yes, to get back to the topic of cruelty, everything she did to us - fasting, having us memorize passages from the Psalms, Proverbs, the Book of Solomon, etc, were all acts of love.  Even when we were black and blue and bleeding, to her, it was still an act of love.

I don't even remember how she came to be part of our lives.  I just remember her being there.  I remember how   at the very start, she wouldn't really hit us with anything but would not let us talk to each other.  We were 4 or 5 year old girls and boys.  Imagine how difficult that was for us.  One word, and she'd bend our fingers and our arms at unnatural angles and tie it in place until our joints became black and blue.  This was how she instilled fear in all of us.  The way she bent our arms behind our backs, it hurt so much and the more we cried, the tighter she'd tie us.  We had no choice but to just shut up.  We didn't really want to wait to know what happened if we didn't keep quiet.  For all we knew, she could have broken our fingers and our arms.  This was a method of punishment she enjoyed and it was the start of many more horrors.

Mona, grew up in one of the affluent families in Manila.  Her parents were from the old rich families. She, along with her siblings studied in private schools.  They lived in a private and well guarded subdivision.  I don't know why she became the monster we knew her to be.  I keep thinking to myself just how horrid her childhood may have been for her to think of all the abuse she dealt us.

Ironically, I studied in the very same school where she studied so many years ago.  I grew academically, spiritually, psychologically in the love and care of the Assumption nuns.  They knew about my past and just like me, they were literally dumbfounded that a student of theirs would commit such cruel acts.  There was nothing in the curriculum that could have even hinted at the kind of life or the kind of treatment she gave us.  All that had nothing to do with what we learned in school. I guess, it will always be a mystery to me.  That's why I always think that there must have been something dark about her childhood  that made her the way she is.

Tobi Wobi (May 4, 2002 - December 24, 2011) - blog created on December 24, 2011

Tobi wasn't my cat.  He was my friend's cat.  But I loved him like my own.  We visited a friend's house with no intent to bring home any pet.  I was listening to my friend talk with her classmate when there was this cat who kept purring and rubbing himself against our arms and legs.  Needless to say, we  caught our breaths and were enthralled by his cuteness. We brought him home with us. That was September 4, 2002 and he was only 4 months old.
He was loved, he was cared for and he was spoiled!  He was a cat's cat and a dog's cat.  He ruled the house.  The first few days, he learned just how to poo in his very own litter box made out of a discarded cardboard box with crumpled newspapers.  Smart kitty!
I loved the way he would sit right plop right smack in the middle of a paper I was writing or a book I was reading.  It didn't matter to him.  He knew full well we would never respond in an angry manner or push him away.  My friend and I kind of joked about pushing him away or whining that we didn't want him doing it.  But deep down, we loved how he sat right down and looked up with his big google eyes and our hearts would simply melt.
He's gone yet I still think about him a lot. I think about the time he used to sit right in the middle of the street and meow like we were never coming back.  It always broke my heart to hear him cry like that and I'd run back to him, scoop him up, hug him and kiss his little nose.  He loved it when I did that judging by his loud purrs.
I thought back too to the time he got lost and my friend and I searched for him for days.  We printed out posters and offered a small reward to anyone who would help us and return him.  He came back home after a week.  He never left after that.  I guess he had his day filled with adventure but it wasn't the type he wanted ever to have again.
I just miss him so bad :(