Keepsakes From Our First Hellos

As for my first visit, I got these sweet little keepsakes from two sweet little girls.

A paper purse from Maya, and popsicle stick bookmarks from Ava.

Sunday afternoon was all about playing, chitchatting, and of course, eating.

Turned out I had two new little friends.

I remember a few lines from Ava:

"Maya, don't be shy. She's a friend."

"Oh, you're good at drawing!"

"Are you leaving now?" "No, not yet." "Yaaay!"

"Mickey, can you bring Ate Myles again?"

Later, on the way to the bus station, I asked little Ava:

"D'you wanna keep these (the paper purse and the bookmarks)?"

"You can have'm. When you see them, you'll remember me and Maya."
"Alright." (smiles)

Sweet words make a lovely day! :)

Not fresh. And not so ordinary.

It was a lovely day to begin with. Flowers bloomed at the tickle of soft rainshower, their colors bathing in raindrops and sunbeams. It seemed not so ordinary, but not necessarily extraordinary, with a long line of flower stalls snaking down the grove. If it wasn't the girl carrying a bouquet of reds or whites and colors, it was the guy seeming to not know how to bring the flowers in such a way that no one would notice as if anyone would care.

Oh, right! It was February 14. You know. Lovely day.

Somehow, I knew the day would also be special for me because I had been told; no need to be surprised. But I wasn't up to dressing up like I was to celebrate with everyone else. I put on a plain white shirt, a pair of micro-mini shorts, and red sneakers, which came along with a carefree mood, unmindful how Valentine's Day would go and end.

The day had been planned anyway: we would have to spend it together, period. The details rested in the hands of spontaneity.

But I had to admit that one moment of surprise. He brought flowers for me: four reds, one yellow, all in a basket decorated with three little whites. All made of paper. Origami.

At first, my mind was like, "Flowers? On Valentine's Day? For me? Peculiar." I'm never used to it because I'd never wished for one, because I find the scenario too common, or somehow compulsory. So again I was like, "How do I handle this?"

"How do I handle this sweet piece of art from this man who looks totally masculine with his cigar, and who tries to be a little sweet without having to do so?"... "Stick to the status quo." So all I managed was a "Thank you." And a hug. And a smile that was trying hard to shut that bubbly mind up. Yeah, I heard everything I had to say...in my mind. He didn't have to know. After all, he knows now.

He'd said enough with his artwork, even without the note that was supposed to stick on the other wing of the paper basket: It's not a matter of quantity. It's about the quality of time we spend together. Or something like that though.

Indeed, a surprise happened because I wasn't prepared for that he-got-me-flowers part, and that made my day a threesome of kind: strange, sweet, and special.

And the "flowers"? Not fresh. And not so ordinary. Just the way I like it.

Sidebar: My favorite part of the day was when he asked me to choose what flowers for his baby sister's bouquet. I made a triple-tone of lavender, pale gold, and white Malaysian mumps. And without a card or a note, but a little prayer, "Hope she likes it."

What A Girl Wants

More than fashion and everything I need to state it; other than a girls circle to count on, I want someone I can trust.

Because I want to tell some crazy little stories about my not-so-short life. The troubles and how I laughed at them; the joys and how I cried for them.

I want to share what I've learned from watching people, friends and strangers, and while things, small and big, happen in their lives and make up their faces. And I want to share what I believe in. Some sane, some silly - things I say about almost everything I see. I want to share how I do things. This way, that way, and the details for some.

Crazy little stories, life lessons, and personal beliefs may not be too much to worry about. But truth of the matter is they will last and grow in amount as long as life can go. I want to share how things were with me, how things are, and how they'll be.

So I want someone I can trust. Someone with whom I can be the way I am, as he is to me, without having to put stories into words, so fabricated. Because 'trusting' ain't just about storytelling and listening...or sharing secrets that are supposed to be kept until they're secrets no more. It's rather about making stories, life stories.

Well, I don't always see the point of trusting, but I realize the point of loving when I start to trust. That's cliche, but unfortunately, not everyone knows it. And not everyone believes it because that's one good cliche on love. People rather say, "You be careful." But I've passed judgment, and now I'm rather careless as if it's needless to keep what I had to learn. In the very first place, what is there to mind? I have who I want, and Amen to that.

One time he asked me, "Bakit ka naniniwala sa'kin?" Simple, "Kasi gusto ko."

Yes, it's what I want.

*I don't speak for all girls, but at least for my kind and for whoever agrees with me. And I'm only a little bit typical.

Boys, Girls, and Chances

Not in all, but undeniably in most relationships, there's this chunk of time called period of infidelity - a word, which literally sounds beautiful, but whose meaning's never been in any way pleasing. It's been there like a curse cast to bring love to damnation. Amen to this scary intangible thing, yes. It could rob anyone of his or her faith, trust, love, and innocence.

Yet, something must have been left to make people reconsider, forgive, and forget like nothing happened. And there are three possibilities as to what happens next.

First, there must be a reason to save the relationship. Second, there would be a way to save the relationship. Third, there could be a chance to save the relationship.

A chance, there could be. Or two. Or three. The fourth would be what enormous effort...and risk. Suicide, they call it.

I'm no pure feminist but let me lay the limelight on my gender, and on the more common situation. If for example, a boy cheats on a girl, what could chances mean?

• If the girl considers a third chance after having been cheated for the second time, she is crazy for the boy. For cases like this, I force myself to believe in this "crazy little thing called love" or this "crazy, stupid love". But no, it's not about the last word. A third chance is just crazy...and stupid.
• If she considers a second chance after being cheated once, she loves the boy. Maybe she believes in second chances, and in "love is sweeter the second time around", and in "one more chance". It's crazy. Okay, not that stupid.
• If she doesn't consider a chance, she loves herself. It ain't crazy; ain't stupid. Just an unforgiving sanity.

Simply something like that. So how many chances would you spare?

Step 1: Wordplay

Because there are things not even your smarts could understand. Not without a pen and a paper, or a screen and a keyboard. Not without the wordplay.

There are times when you want to elaborate, but you couldn't without the wordplay. And there are times when you want to feel for everyone and everything, but only if you've done the wordplay.

Not with your friends, nor your best friend. Not even with someone special. Because you just want to do the repartee and the punning with yourself; because there's this language only you yourself understand.

Then, you find a pen and a paper...or your diary. Or log into a blog account. Scribble. Doodle. Tickle the keys.

It's not that you don't want to talk with other people, and share. It's not that you're too private a person. Well, it could be.

I don't know.

As for me, I write because there are things I don't understand. I write because I want to understand. And the first step to it (as I believe so) is "simply" talking to myself. Simply, the wordplay.

"You happy? Yeah, scary. Scary? You know, happy beginnings. They're cliches. So what? D'you really have to care about how you started? People say... Ain't about what they say. Right. So, you love him? Next question. Whaaat? Not now, please. Besides, do you really need to ask that? Yes. No, you don't. Oh, yes, you love him now. Be careful what you believe in, baby. I might believe so too."