Baby Attack!!!

I'm Feeling This Song

I HATE THIS PART
By: Pussycat Dolls

We're driving slow through the snow on 5th Avenue
And right now radio's all that we can hear
Now we ain't talked since we left, it's so overdue
It's cold outside but between us it's worse in here

The world slows down
But my heart beats fast right now
I know this is the part
Where the end starts

I can't take it any longer
Thought that we were stronger
All we do is linger
Slipping through my fingers

I don't wanna try now
All that's left's goodbye to
Find a way that I can tell you

I hate this part right here
I hate this part right here
I just can't take these tears
I hate this part right here

Every day, seven takes of the same old scene
Seems we're bound by the laws of the same routine
Gotta talk to you now 'fore we go to sleep
But will we sleep once I tell you what's hurting me?

The world slows down
But my heart beats fast right now
I know this is the part
Where the end starts

I can't take it any longer
Thought that we were stronger
All we do is linger
Slipping through our fingers

I don't wanna try now
All that's left's goodbye to
Find a way that I can tell you

I hate this part right here
I hate this part right here
I just can't take these tears
I hate this part right here

I know you'll ask me to hold on
And carry on like nothing's wrong
But there is no more time for lies
'Cause I see sunset in your eyes

I can't take it any longer
Thought that we were stronger
All we do is linger
Slipping through our fingers

I don't wanna try now
All that's left's GOODBYE to
Find a way that I can tell you

That I gotta do it
I gotta do it
I gotta do it

I hate this part
I gotta do it
I gotta do it
I gotta do it, oh

I hate this part right here
I hate this part right here
I just can't take these tears
I hate this part right here

Everything Goes In

And there it goes. My hand went it, then my wrist, then my shoulder. Now, his hand went in, his finger, then his thumb, then his wrist. Everything went into his mouth.
Next went the chicken. The multi-colored chicken went in, head first then wings, then tail.
Next that went in was the tiger, a black and orange striped tiger. The tiger went in claws, fangs, and all.
Then the red masked man went in. He was holding a sword and shield but all went in.
Tweety Bird went in too. Sylvester could not catch him, but he went in.
After him, Spiderman went in. Spiderman in full costume could do naught but go in.
Next went Doramon. The little blue alien went in. Not even his extraterrestrial powers could save him.

Well, what would you expect from a 3-months-and-3-weeks-old baby? Of course everything that goes into contact with his mouth, goes in.

beautiful things

i love beautiful things
i love the rain
i love a hot coffee when it rains
i love the stars
i love the moon amidst the stars
i love the night
i love the middle of the night
i love the grasses
i love the grasshoppers on the grasses
i love the twilight
i love the dawning of the light
i love the sea
i love to go skinny dipping in the sea
i love music
i love everything that goes with music
i love landscapes
i love paintings that depict landscapes
i love the wind
i love it on my face, the feel of the wind
i love dreams
i love to stare at nothing and dream
i love the written word
i love the book, the paper,and the pen
i love love...it is supposed to be beautiful
supposed to be...

Tattoo

It was September 7, 2009 or 9-7-9 or our 29th monthsary. The Goo Goo Dolls told me that I had to bleed to know I’m alive. So to commemorate that day, I decided to feel all the pain my relationship brought me. I got a tattoo.
I had my doubts but I was already sitting on the chair and the tattoo artist—Ming-ming’s hand holding the gun was already only an inch away from my skin. I wanted to say, “Wait!” but the needle touched skin and it was too late. It was either finish it or finish it. There was no choice; the only other option was to go around with an unfinished tattoo, which was no choice at all (of course).
So I let the pain run its course. Well, anyone who went through childbirth would definitely survive it. There was no competition, not even close. But pain is pain and I wanted to feel.
I sat there unmoving, letting the needle run through my skin over and over again; the black ink mixing with my blood. I had to concentrate really hard to recall why I decided to do this to myself. At times I really feel stupid. Everything that has happened is due to the choices I made, so there is no one to blame but me, myself, and I. "When will I ever learn?" is a good question that I have to tattoo in my mind.
After an hour, it was done. I got marked. Like my Cebuano ancestors before me, I too am now a pintados. (Good thing my blood type is O plus; I don’t have to worry about blood donation and such.)
I’m hoping that every time I’ll see this mark on me, I’ll remember that the choices I’ll make could either bring joy or pain. Think twice or a million times over before deciding. But then, maybe I made a wrong move again! How could this mark remind me when it’s at my back? I’d had to look at a mirror to see it. Tsktsktsk!Spring, get a grip! Lest people will see you walking around with your head full of tattoos!

Found Yah! Rosas ng Digma at Ang Tugon

Rosas ng Digma

Sumibol sa isang panahong marahas
Bawat pagsubok ay iyong hinarap
At hangga’t laya’y di pa nakakamtan
Buhay mo’y laging laan
Namumukadkad at puno ng sigla
Tulad mo’y rosas sa hardin ng digma
At di maiwasang sa’yo ay humanga
Ang tulad kong mandirigma

(Refrain)
Ako’y nangangarap na ika’y makasama
Taglay ang pangakong iingatan kita
Ang ganda mong nahubog sa piling ng masa
Hinding hindi kukupas, di malalanta

Ang kulay mong angkin, sintingkad ng dugo
Nagbibigay-buhay sa bawat puso
Tinik mo’y sagisag ng tapang at giting
Sa langara’y kislap ng bituin

(Repeat refrain twice)

Gaya ng pag-ibig na alay ko sinta


Ang Tugon

Ika’y paru-parong nangahas lumipad
Sa dilim ng gabi pilit na umalpas
Pagkat hanap mo’y ningning at laya ng bukas
Sa aking mundo’y napadpad
Katulad ng iba ay nagmamahal din
Kahit malayo ay liliparin
Upang pag-ibig mo’y iparating
Sa rosas ng iyong paningin

(Refrain)
Ako’y nangangarap na ika’y makasama
Taglay ang pangakong iingatan kita
Ang ganda mong nahubog sa piling ng masa
Hinding hindi kukupas, di malalanta

(Repeat refrain)

Gaya ng pag-ibig na alay ko sinta

Emote-ING

The sands of the hourglass keeps falling
The clock keeps ticking
Time keeps running
I stare at it not seeing
Just watching
But not really seeing
The shades that are black and white, monotonous, boring
Inside concrete walls sitting
And sitting
Waiting for nothing
Doing the motions again and again constantly repeating
Now lying
Looking at the ceiling
Still it’s black and white, unmoving
Sleeping
The colors burst forth, hear voices laughing
See lips smiling
Feel rain pouring
The heart is beating
Eyes flutter open, it’s black and white again…nothing is stirring.

Happiness is a Choice

We’ve reached that point wherein I had to tiptoe at an early hour of the day carrying my baby on my arm, while carrying a handful of other stuff on my other arm; tiptoeing off away from the house, away from my husband.
The taxi driver asked, “Why this early?”
My reply was a hallow laughter.
I just came home from work. I had not slept yet, I could not sleep. After hearing the bomb he droped yet again (I've heard so many already), I felt so helpless and hopeless. All my efforts have gone to Hades. Nothing I ever did mattered. It is frustrating but I had it coming. I fell for the man that could have been and not for the man that really is.
Well, I had to break free. A life is at stake. Not my own or his, but Nathaniel’s.
I love Nathaniel with every fiber of my being. From the moment I heard his first cry upon giving birth to him; I have sworn to protect him with all that I am. I am ready to protect him even from his own father.
I have to be strong. The last thing my mother told me, when we were able to communicate a month ago, was “Be strong.” I am trying to be strong. I really am. Well, I have not break down yet…but almost there. I’m not really sure how long I would still be able to keep it all intact.
All I think of right now is that I have Nathaniel and that’s enough.
Happiness is a choice and I choose to be happy.

My passion, my love, and my confusion.

Whenever I try to write, my hand freezes on the keyboard for a full two minutes before I can come up with any concrete thing to write. It’s either I’ve become too lazy or too rusty…or I’ve just ran out of things to say. Writing has always been the outlet for my emotions but lately even when very tragic things happened to me, I haven’t been writing. There could only be two plausible reasons for this, either I’ve found another outlet or that I have blocked my emotions.
Maybe an observation given to me was right, that I’ve grown numb.
When I was young (not that I am old, it just felt like eons ago), I used to really feel things bone-deep. But feeling or letting my emotions have their way took so much of me. Somehow, I had to protect myself or else I’ll be hanging myself in no time. It’s not that I’ve really grown numb, it’s just that I made myself become numb. Let me show you how it is like for me to feel. I’ll let loose my emotions for a while so you can understand the depth of its run. Now, listen…
My eyes see too much. I don’t just see what most people see but I see what most people have so triumphantly blocked from their sight that even if they try to dig in deep within their conscience, they still would not be able to conjure up any images. What do I see?
She is not just a child selling you Sampaguitas. She is a child that carried the flowers in her hands and hope in her heart that tonight she’d be able to sell it all so she can bring home a huge amount (which is not really huge) so there would be food for her and her siblings. I could see that she made her way to the streets with only her torn slippers as shield against the long journey and the cold concrete road. I could see in her eyes cynicism which does not fit her tender age. And I could see her future, dark, bleak, and dreary.
He is not just a child roaming aimlessly at the streets and inhaling rugby. He is a child who grew up without ever experiencing love. I believe, even almost certain, that he doesn’t really understand the meaning of it. I do not see his coarse manner as deplorable, I see it as something he had to develop to survive in the harshest of jungles. I see him growing up into…no, I could not see him growing up. I refuse to see. If I try to see more, I’m doomed. Let’s just look at another picture.
They are not just a homeless family. They’re a family whom people call lazy but really, they just lost hope. The parents die a little each day knowing they could not feed their children even if they too don’t eat. They can’t provide the basic needs of their children, no shelter, no food, not even clothing. That little kid sleeping beside his mother on the street without mat, without blanket, without shorts was just as big as my baby. Maybe he wasn’t as young since he could already sit up by himself, but he was so tiny, he was just as big as my 3-month-old baby. It breaks my heart.
I’m stopping now or else I’ll be rambling about the injustices that the powers that be impose upon the wretched of the world.
When I let myself feel, I feel too much that it not only drives me to feel pity and do charity but it drives me to feel pain and revolt.
Now that I am tied to the responsibility of being a mother and wife, I have to curb my emotions. Right now I’m working for a foreign capitalist company; I have to feed my son and help my husband. This is not where I really want to be, this is not what I really want to do with my life, this is not what I believe I live for…but I love my son with a love that only a mother can give (well, I am his mother). So, instead, I re-channel my emotions, I pour it all out towards my son. Not that I’ll be spoiling him; I’m a firm believer of the saying that goes: “Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind.” I’m willing to teach him a lesson even if it would be the hardest thing that I would have to do just so he would grow up to be a man—a real man.
Speaking of a real man, I’m beginning to suspect that I have two sons: my baby and my husband. In some ways he is a man…maybe…uh! But in more ways, he is still a child. Sometimes, I have to ask the question: “Is he really seven years older than me?” At first, I thought he was responsible, strong, reliable, and has firm good values… I used to think that he really loves me and cares for me…but he did something that hurt me deeply…not infidelity or something like that, but still it hurt me and the people I love (although indirectly), like my son and my mother. When you speak of love, you would never do something that could hurt those you love or do things that would make them suffer or drive them away. When you love someone, yes, you do make mistakes but you don’t repeat it over and over again. When you truly love someone, you would move heaven and earth just so that person you love won’t suffer or get hurt. When you truly love someone, you would even fight your own demons; you try to be the best you can be just to be deserving of that person you love.
If I let my emotions run deep, if I cease to be numb, it might result to a broken family…but I love my son so much…ironic, right? Because I feel too much like loving my son so much, I’m blocking my emotions so that I can’t feel pain so that I can keep my family intact.
These are just rumblings of a confused soul.

My Angel

Before seeing my angel, I thought I knew what happiness was...but I was wrong.

Nothing compares to the feeling of giving birth to your angel. You carry him (my baby's a boy) for nine months. Every night you imagine what he may look like.

People would think you're crazy. You're all by yourself and you'd talk to him, sing to him, while having this huge grin on your face.

Every time he kicks, you'd go gaga and declare that he'd be the world's greatest soccer player!

You'd suddenly know all about vitamins and minerals. You'd drink your milk everyday. You'd stop drinking cola, lessen your sweets, and eat the dreaded bitter gourd!

When you reach your ninth month, you can't help but pace and anticipate his arrival. You'd start imagining everything that could go wrong. You'd start to doubt if you'd survive the labor pains. But you desperately want to see your angel.

And then the time comes.

You go to the hospital, go into the Labor Room. The doctors bombard you with questions, some a bit embarrassing. Then the pain starts to go crazy, then unbearable! You grab at anybody nearby (because they won't let that husband of yours in!). You want the pain to end. You punch the walls and scratch the doctors (I left scratch marks on my doctor's arms!).

Then, the baby's head can be seen! The doctors rush you into the Delivery Room. You want to get it over with! You want to push! But the doctors won't let you push yet. They haven't set up yet! But for you, the seconds seem to be hours. The pain is excruciating!

Then they allow you to push. So you push and push! Then you hear your angel's first cry! It's music to the ears! The pain is gone, you're exhausted, you can't feel the pain anymore. All you can hear and see and think about is your angel.

I laid eyes on him for the first time and I couldn't even begin to express what I felt. There seem to be no adjectives that could describe how I felt. Happiness, joy, bliss, delight, delirium, ecstasy, elation, enchantment, enjoyment, euphoria, exhilaration, exuberance, felicity, gaiety, geniality, gladness, glee, jubilation, laughter, lightheartedness, seventh heaven couldn't describe what I felt.

The nurses brought him near me and I was able to hold him in my arms for the first time. It was surreal. A moment ago, he was inside me, I couldn't see him let alone touch him. Then he was in my arms, I could see his beautiful face, and hear his sweet cries.

Every mom would say their baby is the most beautiful baby in the world. So I say my angel is the most beautiful and precious gift I ever received. I can't stop saying "I love you" to him.

I tell him that I love him not less than ten times a day! I stare at him even when he sleeps. I hug him and kiss him all day long. He smells so good! Even when I'm at work I can't help but picture him in my mind and imagine all the facial expressions that he is now capable of.

Every second of every day, I rejoice at the miracle that is my angel.

My baby's name is Nathaniel Paul Angelo. And I love him with all of my heart, with all of my soul, with all of my mind, and with all of my strength!

P.S.
When you'll have your own child, you'll understand what I'm saying.