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 – 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

Profiling this lady from Manila

Nothing earthshaking with regards to my existence and life story. Everything about me is simple, average, mediocre. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I can’t bring myself to lie or commit any type of fraud. Maybe I’m basically a good girl because of my decent upbringing — but, mind you, I am no angel. Am I a disciplined person? I can consider myself so — because undisciplined is someone I’m definitely not. My rebel character, however, springs up every now and then as I am moderately notorious for being a nonconformist.

I got married to a master electrician a couple of decades ago, a union which lasted on and off for unbelievably ten long years. We had a son whom I raised singlehandedly until he reached the age of 22. When this only child of mine got a job five years ago, he left home and never came back. We haven’t reconnected eversince.

How do I describe myself? Painfully shy and quiet, honest, sentimental, loyal, sensible, skeptical, stubborn, thrifty, broken and, imo, deeply flawed. Also sometimes cold-hearted with people (by reason of blistering life events) but, most of the time, I’m truly soft, sensitive, vulnerable. I used to be so self-conscious of my bashfulness and whatever eccentricity I’ve had. I wish somebody had told me it’s okay to be different. That you can conduct your oddness with grace and pride.

There’s a tendency for my written expressions to become melodramatic especially when they touch on matters of the heart. Even so, my belief remains that exceptional poems and prose have stood out for the justifiable degree of drama they exhibit.

Many people have deemed me a strong woman. Deep down, I’m not. I’m a baby in the middle of physical pain — and I’m bloody fearful of losing my independence and financial self-reliance. How I wish I were tougher like the handful of women I have admired.

You think I’m a cynic? Perhaps so. A famous author, nonetheless, asserted people who have been cited for their cynicism are actually deep thinkers who possess razor-sharp observation when assessing situations. Isn’t that a bit encouraging? 🙂

A small number of things I believe in: Romance-wise, I hold faith in the existence or reality of soulmates, in love that lasts till the end of time, in faithfulness, storms of passion, kindred spirits. The younger me had consistently nurtured a few ideals about love; yet the older me today doubts her capacity for this four-lettered word. What do I really know? All I can say is that I sure have suffered from feeling too much and allowing my heart to rule over my sensibilities.


Aging has been a painful phase for the eternal girl in me. How can I feel old when my heart keeps failing to recognize the march of time?

Religion is also a never-ending thorny issue in lieu of my need to believe in a Higher Power so it can help me endure life’s hard knocks as well as ease my sense of isolation. Lamentably, atheism seems more suited to my way of thinking.

That both my parents played favoritism among us siblings scarred me for life. I was the quintessential daughter who couldn’t measure up to her beautiful elder sister.

In school, I had been fond of the subjects Art, History, Astronomy, Law, Philosophy, P. E., and of course, Literature. The following, btw, were the awards and recognitions I received during gradeschool years: Best in Reading and Writing, Best in Language, Most Polite (my mother taught us her children to always greet our teachers), Most Industrious (I regularly stayed after class to arrange back the chairs and put things in order around the classroom — something I enjoyed doing).

My loves: reading, writing, traveling; dogs and cats and indiscriminately, all animals; dancing, rainy days, breathtaking scenery of landscape and nature, pretty malls. I love looking up at the sky morning, afternoon and night. The moon in whatever shape and shade has found a fervent lover in me.

My likes and interests: exercise, hard-action flicks (minus any revolting graphics), milk tea, Coca Cola, food and drinks that have chocolate in them, pasta, funny guys who make me laugh, humor among plentiful things and situations, clouds, libraries, bookstores, alleys and balconies, elevated trains running across the sky, mountains, snow, falling rain; the colors pure white, light brown, soft red; cool weather, musk scents, astronomy. So far, a few of my most favorite authors and poets are Richard Jackson, Albert Camus, Fernando Pessoa, e.e. cummings, Kenneth Rexroth.

I don’t mind doing housework, several chores I find relaxing such as washing the dishes. I like being organized. Yet I have this frustrating habit of not putting things back in their proper place.

My hates: summer at its peak, loud blabby women, bugs (especially the big flying ones)

A couple of my minor regrets: First, not keeping a diary. Second, not learning how to ride a motorcycle: I fancy women bikers as ultra cool.

I would want to live forever not just because I’m afraid of death but because there’s so much in life to cherish and hold on to.

In my next life, I’d be a female librarian, a musician, a versatile actress, a great poet.


Another all-time beloved song. Everybody likes this old classic. My most favorite version is this highly dramatic rendition by The Four Tops.

I will take the wine while it is warm
and never let you catch me looking at the sun
But after all the loves of my life, you’ll still be the one.
I will take my life into my hands and I will use it
I will win the worship in their eyes and I will lose it.
I will have all the things that I desire
and my passions flow like rivers in the sky
And after all the loves of my life, you’ll still be the one.”

something personal – 1

In my nearly ten years as a resident of wordpress, I’ve aimed several times to write about my romantic history because love and liaisons with men occupy a dominant portion of my existence. To this day, I’ve written only a single post on my ex-husband, and managed very few minor mentions of previous boyfriends, and that’s it. I simply couldn’t motivate myself to reminisce and compose pretty pieces on dudes I couldn’t care less about anymore. But if you ask me how things are concerning the jerk who is presently the apple of my eye, half a dozen full posts definitely won’t be enough — if I’m not feeling mortified revealing the current motions of my heart.

There’s something odd in me when it comes to love. It’s hard for me to play games — I can never get the hang of it. I feel better when I leave it to the guy to have the final say as to the state of our relationship or connection. Whenever it’s my call, I feel miserable. It’s an inexplicable nature of mine.

When I get sick and tired of a man’s bullshit, I do things that would make him quite uncomfortable so he’d skedaddle like an imbecilic skunk. Really. And the best way to freak out any guy is to give a hint as to my wish that I be the only one in his heart. Or when I keep stressing to him how much his presence means to me. The expected reaction could be very funny. Such imbeciles.

Very direct here this time: I like good-looking men. Or men who at least were good-looking when they were young. I was brought up by parents who put looks and wealth as the two most important things in life. So I’ve had a lifetime struggling with disposing the mentality that my success is measured only by my beauty and my financial capability. Oh and let me add fame to make it a trinity.

— to be continued (by adding more to this post later bcz I’m busy working right now yet the need to write sth is becoming an urgent matter) —

June Musings

That I have no one else to really talk to in my physical realm is true. Stepping into this virtual world has always felt like a holiday – a respite from the grating realities of my earthly existence.

Here in my country, I’ve had difficulty finding people who are like me: highly enthusiastic about English and writing, deeply introspective, more of an iconoclast, and free from religious shackles. None of my family members or relatives share my pursuits. To boot, acquaintances and personal connections at work I have very little in common with – as my means of livelihood is totally unrelated to my passions in life. It’s on the internet, specifically the blogsphere, that I met people who were interesting to me.

In here, I occasionally seek refuge and a little warmth and the feeling of home. I don’t have the standard life of having a family around. I’m at this stage where I simply focus on the things that still sustain me and elevate my well-being.
The blogland is where I truly enjoy the privilege of running with stanzas and verses of my own whenever I want to– in spite of the fact coming up with the proper metaphor is an arduous undertaking. No doubt my strength is more on prose. Still, my poetic endeavours have been gratifying – because it’s somewhat new, something I haven’t given real attention to in the past. My pitiful lyrical attempts could also be traced back to my half a dozen skimpy silly lines several years back, as romantic verses have always been my preference when penning poetry. Besides, I’m a proponent of the writing tip that one should accord more precedence to feelings than words.
People around me, including my own sister, have been puzzled as to how I could go on after my son left. In my mind, I am profoundly convinced I am my father’s daughter. In the sense he and I were constructed of sturdier stuff compared to most average beings. No, I take that back. My father had been the real McCoy. There were days I wouldn’t want to rise up from bed and I don’t believe I’m as industrious as he was. Even so, my vow is to keep putting my one foot in front of the other. Because I am still bent on finding out how far my trudging steps will take me – while appreciating everything good that’s been left.

Loneliness is something I don’t want to process much in my mundane condition anymore. I guess it has since become deep-rooted I can no longer tell whether I’m sad or not. Too many losses, griefs, and afflictions I’ve had to set aside to be able to go on living. I’m simply determined to make use of whatever’s left until everything ultimately slips away.

In the event I’d get hit by a bus while carrying on with my daily humdrum tasks, I’d be at peace knowing my words, no matter how struggling and unskillful they are, would have their resting place in here.

luthienne, Tumbler, Noirefontaine, Belgium (2018)

Needn’t Explain Myself Really

A long time ago, a bestfriend hinted that maybe I don’t know how to love. I was a bit hurt by that. But I made it my business neither to verify nor dwell on that notion about myself. There were more important things to do. Her remark has lingered to this day.

No wonder it would take another dimension for me to find a certain happiness I can’t fully explain. Where there’s love, care, and specific matters of the heart. Does it matter if it’s real or not? I’m here anyway and I’m being sustained by it all for a while.

Anything, anything that would spur me to fill up a few blank pages. No, not just anything or anyone. Something, somebody with some substance and merit — regardless that he’s a third-rate version of you talent-wise. And I can’t believe I said that. But I tell it like it is.

Explanation not necessary, I know. Something in me still feels like saying “sorry.” We’re not in the real world anyhow. I’ve learned to be convinced by that.

source image: patreon | print

…My one true love remains myself.—

Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

I’m not complaining, am I?

Every day of my life, I attend to a job I don’t care much about. I deal with people I don’t have much in common with. For two months straight now.

Oh I’m doing fine. Sometimes I sleep six hours straight because I was dead tired after working the whole day. That’s good, getting enough sleep… Also, I can pay my bills with a little more ease these days.

I am emotionally dead, though. That’s how I feel. And I miss my secret online literary life here. My few favorite sites/bloggers on FB, WordPress, Fox News, and many others. I have no time to read anymore.

I just have to write something tonight. And I should remind myself over and over to rely on music to feed my soul (I tend to forget when I’m too busy). My favorite songs never fail to resurrect the girl in me from a long time ago. That makes me…happy.

Yet I’m feeling sleepy…. so goodnight for now.


I was barely eleven when I fell in love with Paul Davis’ original masterpiece (this is live version).

My all-time favorite song to this day.

I hadn’t sent him the last ones

He embodies genuine kindness. He also encouraged me to write and for that I am grateful and will always remember him with fondness. I wish I had sent him the last of the poems I wrote for him in the past few weeks.

image: sweet-thoughtt, Tumbler

I know whereof I speak 
in harness to all that I seek
his scent, his touch, his sigh
one light, my heart, one love

image: zalam

What do you remember on that day?
“His blue eyes that speak of a good life and his few regrets.”
What was he like?
“Cool and gentle as rain. Dawn and dusk in one.”
And if you came face to face with him again?
“I’d thank him for the grace that I’d given him my all.”

wilderswil, zwitserland, dec2017

What bone in my body has forgotten you?
Locked in your essence I’d spurn any rescue
from a dream that once I had called you mine
What bone in my body has forgotten you?
When I carry this tattoo – etch of your smile
between fragile and strength, timid and wild 
What bone in my body has forgotten you? 

apoetreflects: “ “There is some realm where feelings become birds and dark sky, and spirit is more solid than stone.” —John Gardner ”

My train of words will carry all the tender
and supreme ways I wish to love you,
without any permission nor discourse
as to reasons I can’t renounce you. 

Image may contain: flower and text

Mortal as his servant, angel from beyond
I ask myself: “Has he ever been mine?” 
It’s a quarrel from afar that tore us apart 
when all I’d ever wanted was his heart. 

Image may contain: ocean, sky, cloud, outdoor, nature and water

There’s a dream that smiles when the sky sparks over the coasts
when i’m lost in wonder why his deep blue eyes are central to my pulse
So the evening has turned cold, the night rain starts to pour
the dialogues within my heart begin to soar. 

oh my heart

I don’t want to write him back. I can’t be another one on a long string of pearls. But I miss him. I hate love…

You’re still in it. You’ll always be in it. No, not literally. But in your heart. Nothing ever ends, not if it’s gone that deep. You’ll always be walking wounded. That’s the only choice, after a while. Walking wounded, or dead.

Julian Barnes, from The Only Story

Yes yes, Mr. Barnes couldn’t have said it better.

I should just look forward to go traveling again. Even though I have no more money. 😀

musings on a very hot busy summer day

Beware: Stark honesty ahead.

I keep on saying I like men in general. I admit though the self-centeredness could get so appalling at times. All the males here basically wanted their egos to be constantly stroked. It’s tiring sometimes but I enjoy the patting most of the time. It’s what we women are good at.

My current apple of the eye, although generally a good man, is someone who seems to be basking in his social media fame over the attention he gets from very young ladies and, uh, girls. Imagining about it, considering his age, makes me go “Eew” but, you know, I need the inspiration and I won’t be able to write anything nor be productive if I dwell on such an unpleasant reality. (Of course my insecurity is apparent right this moment — what middle-aged woman doesn’t feel this way?) We are all flawed. And I am being judged no doubt too by the people I’ve interacted with here who’ve been surely disappointed by my foibles and mediocrity.

I’ll be totally honest in saying I’m glad to have found him and I like “loving” this poet cum librarian because he’s not really a mean person. His FB friends (duh, I looked at his profile) had expressed the man has got a golden heart — how refreshing, for a change. Because I’d had it with intellectuals who were frighteningly insulting and verbally abusive.

I also need this kind of distraction…badly. When I lie down to sleep at night, I remember the ones I’ve lost — especially the most recent one. I miss her despite the fact she didn’t love me. And I’m reminded of how I could have been a better daughter to her — which I chose not to be, because she had hurt me so much. I don’t have a golden heart, yeah…

I’m enjoying both the poetry readings and my piteous poetic attempts, to boot. I guess I’ll be staying in this realm for good. Reading and writing. With or without the men. Brokenhearted or not, I’ll find a way when the time comes my present “love” is not worth being my Muse anymore.

Anyway, these have been my sentiments and ponderings as of late.

in Wilderswil Switzerland last December. Up close, I don’t look that young: Of course I use an app to erase a few lines; I’m now in my 50’s, fyi. But people say I’m still beautiful –face to face–in person, and I fucking believe it. Hah! 🙂