A Sentiment I Shared on Percy Bysshe Shelley’s FB Page

It’s a Facebook group I had joined not too long ago and nowadays there’s no other FB page I religiously follow and view. There are a few members who, like me, believe Mr. Shelley is the secret co-author of the Frankenstein novel. I haven’t had the opportunity to read the controversial book “The Man Who Wrote Frankenstein” although I wish I could. The current woke culture, however, wouldn’t hear any of it and thrashed the idea Mary Shelley indeed got enormous creative assistance from her husband. Below is my comment in a thread several days ago.

“I share the same opinion Percy Bysshe Shelley contributed heavily not just to the plot but to the writing of Frankenstein as well. And that he deserved recognition for his substantial input. The fact that he wanted Mary to get all the credit for the novel made me think highly of him even more. He might be known only for his poems, yes, — which were brilliant and exceptional, nevertheless. Percy is one of a kind — yet very much underrated.

Mary Shelley’s account of the novel’s birth in her intro (if we refer back to it) for Frankenstein is of no dispute to me. Her disclosure, too, she wasn’t alone and received appreciable counsel during the writing stages of her masterpiece was revealing enough. The extent of Percy’s contribution we would never know — Percy and Mary took it to their graves. The bestowal of Frankenstein’s sole or full authorship to her was also Percy’s choice and that settled all the issue, imo. I have read all his correspondences and a handful of Mr. Shelley’s biographies including articles from his detractors. They could say some things against the gifted poet. One point, though, they couldn’t challenge: Percy had been a highly supportive husband to his wife’s talents.”

An Odd Dream of Wanting the Baby

Earlier during dawn today I had a dream. In my dream I have a baby. It looks so much like me when I was that tiny. Delicate, fair-skinned, and oh so beautiful… like a newborn angel from above. I hold her in my arms and embrace her with all my heart. The feeling within is an indescribable heaven.

Something unpleasant is happening though. She keeps slipping away from me. Because my brother’s current live-in partner keeps taking and hiding her away. They want my baby for themselves — even though they already have a daughter of their own. And it’s my mother (who wouldn’t want to see me happy, I guess) who is inciting it all.

But I want my baby back and I’m dead set on claiming her — whatever it takes. While I’m trying to get to her, my mind, however, is weighing in on how I’ll be able to take care of my very small child, realizing the heavy responsibility and the hardships I went through as a mother before. Yet I’m determined and would stop at nothing to get hold of my beautiful baby again.

Then I woke up. The sun was shining bright outside. But I felt a little sorry that it was just a dream. How odd. Considering I’m not really fond of children. Not to mention I also dearly miss both my parents these days. There had been one or two similar baby dreams in the past. This time I want to write it down so as not to forget.

In honor of Falco and a typhoon gone too soon

My job as a “gambling agent” (not exactly, although I operate a game of chance which is classified as, uh.. ok, gambling) still isn’t allowed under our Modified ECQ. I remain quarantined. Not that I’m complaining. I’m not in any fashion fascinated by my means of livelihood — I do it merely for the money. And with what we’re going through in these times, I doubt if my occupation is going to pull through our current predicament. I try not to worry about it. Tomorrow will take care of itself.

Maybe after things had fallen apart, I could turn myself into a middle-aged street dancer and wait for pennies to drop in front while I do my moves. Right, like a panhandler. Oh, you’re allowed to laugh — I was kidding. ☺️

Yep, I’m doing one of the things I love best again. And I’m dancing to the beat of my most favorite rapper this time — the late Mr. Falco, from Vienna Austria, who was super cool and ultra talented. His other mega hits were Der Commissar and Rock Me Amadeus (another preferred dance song of mine).

Last Friday, a powerful storm swept over Metro Manila. It was quite refreshing. Cool strong winds I had let inside my small apartment through open windows. Hard rain fell the whole afternoon. But everything subsided a couple of hours before midnight. Gone too soon… Not a fan of the hellish summer season, I wish rainy days would come by more often.

My flicker, instagram, and tumbler accounts are full of selfies. To somebody who barely knows me and would run across my sites, they would undoubtedly deem me the ultimate narcissist endlessly battling midlife crisis. Not that I’m denying it. You already saw my videos and noticed I’m not at all a looker. I grew up hating almost all my photos bcz there was nothing I could do with my physical flaws and imperfections. Then came the celfones that could do magic. With them plus the aid of filter, I look so much better. Wow!.. My sister keeps telling me to stop applying Skin Smoothener. I’m like “Oh c’mon…” Nobody can stop a lady in her 50’s from doing what she wants now. Besides, I really like the illusion I create with my pics. So… 😊

I upload my videos on my flicker too: https://www.flickr.com/photos/142280843@N02/ — in case my videos here aren’t working properly.

I didn’t want to include this coz I looked funny but I love what the electric fan was doing to my hair (like a slow mo). 🤩

Dance with Me

The isolation is taking its toll on me, I guess. Not feeling so good today considering our government doesn’t seem to know how it’s going to handle effectively the new “Modified Extended Community Quarantine” starting May 16. We are getting confused here. To add to that, I failed to fall in line the day before to avail of the small cash giveaway by the government for groceries which is a one-time opportunity after our 2-month lockdown.

Trying to drive away the blues and keep my frustration down, I watch UTube until my head hurts. Then I decided to just dance. Maybe the physical activity would help.

Thinking about it, the quarantine has been beneficial because I also learned to do basic planks and beginner’s yoga.

I don’t know if my dance video can be seen outside my country. I read there are limitations. I’m gonna publish this to help lift up my spirits anyway. Two short videos bcz I changed shirts. Tired of seeing myself in my long-sleeved dance uniform all the time. The song “Dance with Me”, a favorite of mine, was by Peter Brown from the late 70s.

If the videos have zero visibility, then go to my flicker account. I posted them there as well. Though let me warn you, my flicker contains purely selfies of mine. 😃. Drat, I do feel awful today.

Full version

Morsels from Past Romances

ECQ (Enhanced Community Quarantine) here is going to end very soon and I doubt if I can secure time again to be able to write after lockdown gets lifted on May 16. I’m trying to write down what I can especially in these times when nobody’s sure what’s gonna happen in the days to come. Whatever befalls me, I’m at ease knowing I’ve at least chronicled as much as I could in this blog. Besides (in case I survive the pandemic), my scripts here will provide some sort of cushion when I start forgetting everything by reason of senility. 😀

Since I’m having difficulty drawing inspiration to generate a lovely piece on the subject of my romantic history, I’ve decided to simply recount a few of the memorable moments and brief descriptions of the rogues who had touched my heart. Here we go:

First Love: We were sitting side by side by the stair window on the fourth floor of our university building while in deep conversation. He was on my left. We paused talking for a few seconds. He slowly edged closer and gently placed his hand on the side of my right hip. We resumed our exchange though his hand remained in that position for the rest of the time. It was an intimate moment that just felt good.

Our big date was at the Luneta park. We ate cheeseburgers at a cafeteria in the Chinese Garden. We took a stroll, sat down in front of Manila Bay and talked till nighttime.

Never permitted him to kiss nor touch me, even though he was the one taking out his wallet within the duration we were “on”. He once stole a kiss on my cheek and I went apoplectic. Poor guy. Crazy me.

When I was having a hard time during enrollment and there was little he could do to help me with the school procedures, he kept buying me little snacks throughout the whole afternoon.

Our teenage relationship could’ve blossomed into something more precious and beautiful if I had given him the chance. I didn’t. Because I thought I was too good for him. That he was gearing up to become a civil engineer failed to register on my lame brain.

A year after I broke up with him, he came over to ask for a reconciliation. I laughed at him — and coldly left him on the street. Yeah yeah, I treated the boy badly. A year later, I ran across him holding hands with a girl in a pretty blue dress, and she was way way more beautiful than me. No jealousy on my part but… I looked so plain then and felt so ashamed. 😀

Second love (first major love actually)

We met at work — my first job. He became my boss shortly after our affair began as I requested him to absorb me to his department. We lasted four years. Highly toxic. He was many years older than me. A womanizer… yet lousy in bed. Too bad — considering he was my first lover. Oh there were good times. Friendly and extrovert, he’d take me to social meal gatherings, meeting up with his fellow managers and long-time associates. All I could manage to do was sit down and munch food during their discussions. Now I understand why he would string me along: To show me off to his pals.

Third love (became my husband)

A year older than me. Sweetest romance. The best lover I’ve had. (I already wrote a post on the father of my son)

Fourth love: So much younger than me. Good-looking, he was also the exuberant and talkative type. We lived together for a few months and he regularly played board games with my son. The young dude was good in bed.

Okay, I’ll stop right there. The next ones were either insignificant or not serious. On top of it, the level of assholerism was staggering. Not really worth writing about.

There. Finally, I was able to pop up a post regarding my romantic past. Item on my list checked.

sunset view from my bedroom window may 5 2020

Lessons I Learned in Life – 2

Discipline is the key indeed to a finer life.

I wasn’t the dynamic type who could perform mounds of tasks or accomplish half-a-dozen set of goals in short durations. Being a night owl has made things more challenging, especially in the morning as I normally have to drag myself out of bed to start my day.

I’m a little lazy, I guess. But one thing I’m not, for sure, is being an undisciplined person. If I were, I wouldn’t have saved enough funds to go visit Europe three times. I have better money sense than most people: My earnings are quite minimal; I can, however, control my spending.

I love food and drinks and am not at all picky. My sweet tooth (for chocolates, in particular) requires tons of self-restraint. Yet I’ve never been obese. My siblings (not to mention my late mom) have had to deal with weight and health problems because they could neither discipline themselves to eat more healthily nor do exercise.

My brother was the typical guy who had let his d*ck shape his destiny. Now he’s trapped with a young female partner and a four-year-old daughter — at the age of 52. At a time when he should be enjoying his life. His financial standing is shaky, he doesn’t appear happy (I can tell by the things that come out of his mouth during our conversations) and he resents me for the freedom I enjoy.

I told my sister, “He thinks I’ve had it easy? Why, did I have anything to do with his womanizing and all the poor decisions he made in his life?”

This is not to gauge I’m leading an ideal or a more charmed existence. My brother couldn’t have said it better through his assessment, “at least I wouldn’t be alone at old age.” Still, he’s constantly upset and regularly feels he’s getting the short end of the stick.

I’ve been well aware my future is bleak. I stuck with my decision, nonetheless, to remain single. Which, I believe, is better than ending up with a partner who couldn’t make me happy and who’d eventually become a burden.

My father appraised me for being mindful of what’s good for myself and what’s not. Even so, he got concerned I’d have no one in my sunset years and told me, “Get someone, accept anyone. Even a tricycle driver.”

“Papa naman,,,” was my reply (in Tagalog).

Take note my lack of discipline during the times I was in a relationship. Can’t count the number of times I lost control. How mortified I felt for my deeds in the name of love. That could be one of the major reasons I was able to stay away from the complexities of romantic liaisons in my actual existence here. Save for the burn out, no man around seems interesting anymore.

I’d rather fly solo than take the journey with just anyone. A concept not easily understood by many. I had always been determined to claim this precious period where I could delight in my prerogatives and relish the privileges I still carry.

I consider myself that much disciplined.

I’m having a great quarantine time though I
miss my weekend strolls.

Lessons I Learned in Life – 1

Nothing in life is guaranteed.

I thought I was a good mother because I gave my best. My son and I were inseparable for more than 20 years. I nurtured him singlehandedly and he was the focal recipient of my unequivocal love and attention the whole time.

Never did I suspect in our earlier years together our strong bond would turn out to be an illusion of mine. That he would leave (for good) right after I returned from my first European trip — a trip I had begged him to join so he’d be part of the realization of my dream — totally blindsided me. There had been no doubt in my mind my son and I would love each other forever. How dead wrong I was.

Which leads me to the next lesson:

Do not underestimate how money factors in the obliteration of even the most loving relationships. This one is a little sad as it has wiped out a long-term quixotic notion I’d held that Love Conquers All. It’s happened everywhere around me. Ditto for my own experiences.

There was this unforgettable scene from a mafia movie where a moustached  man in formal wear in all seriousness asked Christian Bale, “Do you know what’s the most important thing in this world?” He proceeded to answer his own question by shouting “MONEY! Money is everything in this world!”

There’s substantial amount of truth to that (If we’re gonna be truly honest with ourselves).

Religious people are happier than the non-religious.

Maybe I’d wish I were the religious kind. My country is placed prominently among nations with the greatest number of organized religions. None of my family were spiritual beings while I was growing up. Now my elder sister at this stage in her life is a full devotee as a Catholic; and half-agnostic half-atheist that I am, her fanatical demeanor gets over the top occasionally for my taste.

No, neither do I feel unhappy nor inadequate on account of my pious affinities deficiency. Nevertheless, people who belong to a religious community appear more elevated in spirits and surer of their place on earth.


Too much, you think? Hey, I’ve already seen so much and experienced a lot. I may be a dreamer, an idealist, a sentimentalist. But I’m not dumb. I wouldn’t be dubbed miss Smart, miss Sharp, and miss (very) Wise a handful of times by different folks both in my real and virtual departments for nothing.

To think I’m just warming up for this blog post… 🙂

Taken from my bathroom window April 29 2020

Virtual Loves and Fellowships

This is another post I’d been meaning to write for a long time. My online world is of equal worth to my actual existence because  in this sphere, you interact fundamentally with your heart and mind. The blogland grants us liberty to temporarily forget our advancing age and be straightforward in the articulation of our essence outside of time and distance.

Nowadays I write without brooding about what my readers would think. Not that I really have readers. As far as I know I have no more followers. Such cognizance is crucial to my freedom of expression and fearless disclosures.

I had learned so much from my erstwhile WordPress colleagues as a blogger. All had been influential to my writing aspirations. In spite of that, there’s some resentment at including my first blogpal named John Hyland from a long time ago. Good writer, too, but the sordid fact he sent me dick pics (one or maybe two with fluids [Que Horror!!] to my extreme disgust) through email out of the blue (without warning) scarred me for life. Listen, I’d heard nearly all men do it online. JFK Jr. had indulged in some kind of public exhibitionism to boot, I just read some weeks ago. The young Kennedy, however, was a demigod physically so it was easy to forgive him. But JH the blogger was way too old to display his “pride” — so it was a sore to the eyes.

As I said, all my blog buddies have been integral in my journey here and my growth as a blogger. Everyone was valuable. The ones with the most impact, however, were Bb, MrMary, Parttime Fortune Teller, and M. MrMary, Parttime Fortune Teller, and M were more like baby brothers or older nephews to me by virtue of their youth.
Now if you may allow me slight categorizations:
The kindest one: Mr Mary, who could write stylishly and (very) intelligently. Best blog buddy I’d had. Second is Parttime Fortune Teller.
The one who could write most beautifully and intensely: M.
The most popular: Bb — humorous; clear and oftentimes elegantly eloquent; though usually bland.
The intellectuals (brain power not in this order): MrMary, M, WS.
The sweetest: Well, okay, it was JH, but Eeew… (when the dick pics come to mind).

Special Mention to these ones whom I had the pleasure of meeting and knowing: Omar Upegui from Panama (good person/pal as well as quite a fine writer), WS (highly proficient in several areas), SeanB (the poet), MrJohnson (smart and funny), Eric of Susserative Aspiration (another splendid emotional prose writer), JohnHayes (excellent writer, too), Marty, Doobster (funny and popular).
On the female side: Heartbreak of Invention Josephine James’ (not her real name) metaphorical writings were exceptional and unforgettable, ntexas99 (kind and amazing woman), Chichina (passionate writer).

Most of them, unfortunately, have already closed shop.

The final dot has landed in place

Deep inside, there’s relief the blog is gone. For almost a year that it remained dormant, it got in the way and merely cluttered on my list of other Tumbler sites. And though it’s been inactive for long, it served as a reminder — or the thread that, to a minimal extent, bound me to him still.

The magnitude in which I wrote the “letter to asshole” was intentional (Note: No, the term asshole wasn’t included anywhere in my missive to him). Pretty much like a few cases in my past, I had to do something extreme to push to the very edge something that wouldn’t be healthy for my well-being in the long run. Making sure there will be no point of return when the dust has settled.

I repeat, there never really was a friendship, as he would like me to believe. I reckon he reappeared recently perhaps for the bits and pieces of verses he could use for his work-in-progress sonnets that I’d been willing to dole out to him before. Most probably, he was plain bored and needed variation whiling away time.

But I can’t write ardent verses anymore. I can’t keep on waiting for him anymore. I don’t want to hear the words “Be patient with me”  one more time. I’m fed up knowing he’s been chatting simultaneously with other ladies during our brief conversations.  I don’t want to walk on eggshells anymore. I can’t stand his grouchiness or grumpiness anymore. I can’t endure his chronic sadness anymore. I’m just sick and tired of all the BS.

In essence, I can’t afford anymore bestowing unremitting love and care to people who can’t give back in more or less the same degree what they received from me .

Yet I can’t help feeling rotten. Because in our last chat he made it appear it’s all my fault — and that made me feel I’m the bad person, again. I was open for a more polite and amicable end but he sounded livid, switched the tables, and slammed me to make me feel like the fool.

Sheesh. Men…

I won’t be dropping by his Tumbler anytime soon. 

OLB blog is now dead and buried. Honestly, I don’t miss it.
The final dot has landed in place.

I have only myself to blame

I know, I know… He shouldn’t have been allowed entry into my virtual life again in the first place. There’s nothing equal to a man’s shabby conduct towards you to whack your self-respect and makes you want to hop into some therapist’s couch for three day-long sessions. But since I have no money, this invaluable blog is good enough. I’m glad mr.poet-cum-librarian cannot follow me here.

To continue: Stumped and stunned by that blog entry, I started writing “the letter” to mr. a%4h#le (which I ended up posting below). In all respects, I’d been nice towards him throughout the week. So how uncharacteristic of him to post such a thing. Oh yes, the attack to a cherished special dimension of my existence was upsetting to me.

The letter was sent to OLB — the blog only he and I had been sharing. There was no denial from him I was the target of his Clarita Estes’ entry. His response undeniably manifested of his resentment over my appeal he doesn’t comment on my posts — besides his recent realization I ain’t the erstwhile online gal of former times. Moreover, he was livid by my fore referring to men critical of unattached women while covertly begrudging their own marital status. I might’ve crossed the line, I guess; in view of the fact he wouldn’t let anything in his virtual realm tap on his actual personal life. Quite identical to how I feel upon his intrusion and disparagement of my parallel universe.

In truth, I repeatedly wanted out and be beyond the grasp of his tentacles. I stayed as far as I could and didn’t seek him at all, believe me. Out of the blue, he would message me about missing my friendship, lamenting of his perpetual sadness, and would give every indication over his fondness for my written enunciation and interest in my writing progress.

Regardless, there was never a friendship in a real sense. He simply couldn’t be there for me. Why then did he accord a tiny amount of time to me for two years?
Artists’ constant need for variety, for one. Second, he could’ve ran out of chatmates every now and then between moods of boredom and melancholy. Third, he said I was a wonderful storyteller and he did like my compositions. Allow me the treat to believe that. ha ha.

Anyhow, I could detect by a mile I didn’t belong to his A-list of online associates (he disclosed having a close circle of artists friends, writers, etc.). Hence, my “you couldn’t accept me as a friend” line. He was often in a rush during our conversation and was more absent than present. Again, a whacking thump to my esteem as I sort of bewail my inadequacies such as not being young enough nor intelligent enough nor artistic enough to merit his fellowship. In addition, “Be patient with me” had turned into his never-ending mnemonic. One time he got agitated, he made it clear our association could only prevail on his terms.

Sometimes, too, I wonder if he enjoys pushing my buttons. He went on with insensitive deeds he already knew could disappoint me. What do you call somebody who takes pleasure in hurting people’s feelings because it serves as a substantial boost to their ego?

Hey, in fairness, he’s not a bad man. Without question, he isn’t as dreadful as my other blog pals from yesteryears. Uh, by no means is he the sweet type of guy. But the librarian that he is, he has provided me some few poetry files and links, Percy Shelley’s archives among them. He’d given around half a dozen dot-dot advice throughout my poetic attempts on top of it all.
Just the same, he’s a typical man. Not that apart from all the rest.

Alright… No need to reprimand me. Yes I deserve what I got. This time I vow never to commit the same mistake, ever again.

Btw, he did finally erase our Tumbler blog OLB last night.

+++++ to be concluded ++++