most beautiful people on the planet

The norwegians. I’ve seen other citizens from half a dozen places on this earth yet the unadorned physical good looks of the Norway inhabitants I consider exceptional. It amazed me to see young women working as security guards and waitresses who looked like movie stars. Mere clerks at airport booths are hunks with flawless, a bit reddish complexion and perfect facial features that literally took my breath away.

The thing is, they aren’t polite or kind. Most of them are rude. I guess their looks and the affluence of their nation made them that way.

Still, if I have to choose which country I would like to live in forever, Norway it is — if only for the best-looking natives in that magnificent land.

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I took this cute image somewhere in a beautiful place in Norway last year. 
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I Wonder Who

My stats show somebody from the Philippines keeps on dropping by my blog regularly. I hope it isn’t any of my former colleagues at my last job because it’s not fair that they continue to be engrossed as to what’s going on in my daily existence while I don’t give an ounce of attention over any of them. Sure a few are still somewhat connected to me on FB although I’d unfollowed them all because their affairs just don’t interest me.

I don’t mind if I have a follower who’s a complete stranger. Whatever I write here won’t be much of an issue to him or her.

What if that consistent visitor happens to be my son? Oh well…. He ‘kinda told me off in one of his recent text messages about my hidden resentment towards him. When I read his note, my mind was like “wtf, you expect me to be happy and proud of your unconscionable demeanor towards your mother for the past three years?” Of course I know he’s been reading my blog — he was the one who set it up in the first place. He’s probably checking periodically if I’m still alive. He still has a hard time believing I’ve lasted this long on my own.

I visited and talked to him during the height of the dreadful crisis last month. Because I wanted him to at least do the right thing and pay his last respects to someone who had loved him dearly. Mind you, the brat was once more so full of himself to think about other people other than his ego and imagined hurt pride. I can’t believe I raised that huge of a monster.

During our text messaging and especially in our last conversation face to face I kept telling him I love him. It’s true — he’s my child. The 22 years we’d been together 24/7 cannot be erased; even though it’s become clear he doesn’t love me. The boy who grew up with me — despite losing him eventually — still remains in my heart.

He’d definitely condemn me again if he reads this post. I say, “Dear child, it only proves you are not a De Leon — which I am and truly proud of. You are a Mamaradlo; only your father’s blood runs deep and pure in you.”

I gave him instructions (what to do) when it’s my time to pass away. Cremation and no funeral for me. Not surprising if he ends up tossing out my ashes wherever (although I hope it’d be in some beautiful sea 🙂 ). His inexplicable indignation no doubt he will hold on to.

I’d been a good and responsible mother; that I can uphold until the end of my days. May I be able to live many many more years to rejoice on that fact and take delight with what’s left in my life.

 

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dinner after hearing mass on the 9th day. Feeling terrible; not motivated to make myself pretty.

the best self-help book ever

Dale Carnegie’s “How to Stop Worrying and Start Living“: I read it more than a dozen years ago; it made a strong impact on me. I’ve been reading it again due to recent circumstances and still consider it the most helpful of all the books designed to assist one in the most trying times.

Just had a gathering with close relatives and immediate family members and all I could think of was what motormouths those people are. You literally won’t be able to get a word in. It would’ve been ok if they had been uttering anything sensible; but they talk nonsense, are religious fanatics and even believe in ghosts. It’s almost impossible to receive consolation for your grief and feel ease from the emotional burden around them. How stressful it is to be in their company.

Rereading Dale Carnegie’s opus offers more solace. It’s also excellently written, provides true stories of both the famous and non-famous who were able to conquer their inner troubles, and every advice is simply practical and true. According to the author himself, which I heartily agree with, there’s nothing new from the lessons he imparted, yet many of the messages and real tales compiled only serve as a reminder of things that have been repeatedly tested and proven faithful to the facts of life.

Some of the most memorable points for me are:

I stood yesterday. I can stand today. and I will not permit myself to think about what might happen tomorrow. p.286

Accept and cooperate with the inevitable. Face the worst that can happen. Acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune.

It is so. It cannot be otherwise.

To be wronged or robbed is nothing unless you continue to remember it.

Don’t fuss about trifles. Don’t permit little things–the mere termites of life–to ruin your happiness.

When I was tempted to feel sorry for myself, I kept saying to myself over and over, “Now listen, as long as you can walk and feed yourself and are free from intense pain, you ought to be the happiest person in the world. No matter what happens, never forget that as long as you live. Never! Never!

Makes  a great deal of sense for folks like me who’ve arrived at this phase of our lives. What a gem of a book.

what do i know

Funny how so many things about life still keep on surprising me. More than a few have deemed me smart, very wise, sensible–even though I lack the right amount of intellect and spunk to become exceptional and rich.

Born in the mid-60’s, turned out a loner and a social misfit most of the time, went to college, held a number of jobs, got married at 26 years of age, had a baby, became a single parent (on and off) soon after, struggled for years raising a child by myself, had hoped for the rainbows to rise in the end. And I thought I’d already earned all the wisdom and knew the lessons of the world.

Now I only feel taken aback as to why some things culminate the way they do. What happened between me and my son? How could I have lost almost everything at this stage of my life?

Maybe I’m just in a state of shock these days — losing my mother all of a sudden, tragically. Guilt can be such a heavy burden. For someone like me who feels and thinks too much. Life sucks.

Rest in peace, mother

My mother unexpectedly died in the ICU section of the hospital yesterday morning. Complications from her liver and kidney problems. It had been shocking watching her condition dramatically deteriorate in a matter of one week.

Even though we weren’t close, her demise was painful  to me; she is my mother after all. I realized I love her, too — something deep inside I tried to deny when she was alive because I could feel she neither really love nor have concern for me.

I’m having difficulty sleeping and my gastro acidity whatever issues has been activating again. I already miss my mother — no matter how tumultuous our relationship had been in my growing up years. I’m deeply sorry, mommy. May you rest in peace.

Happy Birthday Dearest One

You were slowly taking your own life by drinking liqour every two minutes that you were awake during your final years. A decision or move of yours I strongly couldn’t consent on but you said you wanted to go: you were tired of fighting. It was no longer worth it. The rest of the family thought it was ok. You were reaching 90.

I didn’t know what to do, or how to help you as I helplessly watched you waste yourself away in the remaining months of your existence. Traumatic and painful. Plus I was stuck with my responsibility to my kid and my jobs and everything had become overwhelming (I keep repeating myself I know). The more I sought any slice of momentary happiness that would somehow come my way. Mostly, I’d been a selfish bastard. The ticking of the clock stopped for you at exactly your ninetieth year.

A female blogger I once followed had written it’s all about setting aside whatever pain you carry so you can get on with your life. Very true. More often I just don’t want to remember.

Writing about you is still hard. That it took me at this point to realize you were the only one who has ever loved me — in spite the fact your love wasn’t as much I had hoped for. In spite of the fact I owe everything to you — how I’d been blind to the reality you’d already done and given me enough.

Love of my life, I will keep on asking for your forgiveness for the rest of my life. It’s all I can do until the very end.

Happy Birthday, my dear father, wherever you are.

my autobiography 4 – Bud Impressions

Nothing much occurred that could be adjudged astounding befits as part of my early childhood and pre-pubescent memories. Father would come home at night, usually every other day or thrice a week — and right before he’d walk into the living room, his three small children would playfully hide somewhere shoulder to shoulder. As soon as they were found, they’d lovingly sing “Oh My Papa” in unison.

Some nights we’d be having drawing contests and Father would judge on the best art piece. My bond with my favorite playmate — my younger brother, who looked up to me and followed me around — I also held close to my heart. And there were incessant modern dance practice and occasionally Hawaiian hula in preparation for clan parties on our mother’s side which took up a good deal of our weekend schedule.

During our brief Caloocan city stay, there was this time Papa didn’t come home for several days that brought about a vision of my mother crying by the window in the evenings as she was worried he might never show up again. Until one night when we heard the familiar car honk and we successively, for a considerable moment, all jumped for joy. It turned out Papa had suffered from appendicitis and underwent surgery. The three of us ended up (deep inside awkwardly) kissing the stitches on his tummy — I forgot who made us do it (Mommy, for sure).

Father was forever tinkering on some particular car he had bought and intended to sell for a nice profit; several mechanics and car painters came to work for him throughout his long term as a car dealer. And I remember how any of us would open the gates of our house, without any apprehensions, to mostly total strangers whom we viewed as potential buyers of the newly-spruced-up vehicles parked in the garage — something very dangerous to do in this day and age.

The fact that two of my half-sisters had won a couple of prestigious beauty pageants here plus being the younger sibling to a beautiful talented eldest daughter of our family gave rise to a feather-brained illusion within me that if I tried harder I might grow into a lovely swan too someday. Eager to earn my father’s pride and attention, I exerted over bosom-expanding and leg-shaping work-outs, side by side with extremely stupid exercises (illustrated from a pricey pamphlet I bought) which were supposed to add inches to my vertical measurement. Alas, my height got stuck permanently at 5’1 — in comparison to my sister’s 5’3. Well, in hindsight, my early childhood insomnia could be the only one culpable for my inadequate stature 🙂 .

Source: nordicsublime, Tumbler