Otto Wambier’s Tragic Case Broke My Heart

Image result for images of a younger Otto Warmbier

Quite so. The boy was only 22 years old; three years younger than my son. Otto didn’t deserve the kind of fate that was handed to him. I can only imagine how terrified he must have felt last year during the process and his trial and the days that followed after receiving his sentence. The most vile, trashy news site which is published heartless reader comments that even blamed this poor young man for his choice to go to North Korea and committing the mistake of taking down a banner to take home as souvenir. Many Liberals expressed similar thoughts while displaying their appalling demeanour toward the issue. How low could these people get.

I have very little compassion for the K citizens, whether they belong to the North or the South. I know their real nature as I’ve dealt with these type of beings for 10 long years. What little respect I’d previously held for the Obama administration, due to its inaction, completely dissipated as well.

My deep condolences to Otto Wambier and his family. My heart feels heavy every time I think about this unnecessary tragedy.

Final pictures show laughing Otto Warmbier days before arrest in North Korea

Life is a River According to Doug

An FB acquaintance who I’ll simply refer to as Doug has linked a blog post on his Newsfeed relating about his current tussles over external forces such as family drama, financial complications and feelings of social isolation — which unexpectedly has triggered sudden suicidal thoughts. Moved by sympathy, I wrote a response:

Thank you for another honest, wonderful blog piece attesting to our difficult struggles whenever life sends us those strong uncontrollable waves. It’s kinda late but I hope to acknowledge your earlier FB post about the mountains beckoning including your resolve to explore their secret places, crutches and all — which I find inspiring. You seem blessed with spiritual faith, inner strength, and the love of your family; may the thoughts that try to break into your spirit wear off soon, Doug. Admittedly, I lack abundance in terms of doctrinal beliefs and kin support, so people around and even I surprise myself at times how I’ve managed to have gotten this far in spite of sustaining heavy personal losses in recent years. They fancy me sort of durable when the truth is I’m a mere chicken who’s afraid to conk out on life  . Also, I had mentioned to my past downhearted co-bloggers the merits of Ginseng and vitamin supplements which helped assist me during a mysterious depression nearly a couple of decades ago. Getting out of the house does wonders, true; rain or shine, I hope to be able to keep on doing it, even if I have to crawl on all fours  .
His Reply: Thanks for your kind thoughts. I believe most people on Facebook who feel that I’m negative assume so because I discuss difficult topics. I try to be uplifting and upbeat, and I believe that I accomplish that. I can’t change my circumstances, but I can change how I deal with them.

I have not found vitamin supplements or ginseng helpful to alleviate my depression disorder, but if they work for you, that’s great to have in your tool kit.

Love your attitude! On all fours, indeed!

I didn’t realize that you blogged. Where? I’d like to check out your writing.

Me: For me, there’s nothing negative about the fact you don’t mind pouring what’s in your heart and mind here every so often. I can only delight over a certain amount of Trump memes and cat photos on FB  . As you’ve said, we all have the means to search for other coping strategies that’ll fit us, if ingesting supplements don’t work for you. The commitment to “show up” and determination to play it out to the end are what truly matter.
Just between you and me, I don’t think I’d want him to drop by this blog and read my soppy stuff and candid disclosures. I thanked him for showing interest to “check out my writing” though and told him to give me time to take down the embarrassing details first before I forward the link  (Both my palms on face) . Of course, it won’t happen ever. I still have some shame left within me. 😀

The Disgraceful Exit of a Princess

This blog will also serve as the official repository of my thoughts on news and certain issues — even though they originally appeared on my FB .

On Carrie Fisher’s Final Toxicology Report:

I won’t deny my disappointment as well upon learning she hadn’t been able to put her drug use behind her — after all those years. Commended for her mental acuity, writing smarts and independent spirit, she most likely possessed the right faculties to combat her addiction or at least stick with an extended, more effective rehabilitation program. Whatever psychiatric affliction she had had could’ve been brought on by her long-term dependence on such illegal narcotics, imo. Her heavy drug use started very early — at the tender age of 13. Previous articles and interviews of her could only point to the fact she behaved like a privileged brat who blamed almost everyone for her circumstances — she even refused to talk to her mother (who had raised her singlehandedly) for 10 years, imagine that.
I live in a country that has lately been seizing worldwide attention because of our leader’s controversial war on drugs. Although I was brought up in a sheltered environment which rendered such illegal stuff too terrifying to welcome as a chunk of my existence, it doesn’t mean I didn’t commiserate over specific cases — I tend to feel some sympathy for pill-poppers who couldn’t easily withdraw from painkillers by reason of their physical ailments. But we’re talking of Carrie here who’d been found with mere recreational substances — cocaine, heroin, and ecstasy — inside her system. 
If ordinary people could find the resources and strength to survive their personal travails, why couldn’t she? How could she have allowed the hungry beast of addiction to devour her life?
Millions of others have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder; something that can be managed through certain treatments. It’s my belief such a malady shouldn’t justify nor end up side by side with dope stories.
Carrie Fisher almost had everything yet she threw it all away. How sad.

‘Coz We’ve Become Desperate For Change

John Oliver, I can understand your need to spice up your monologue on your talk show. But seriously, you can’t be that clueless. Why don’t you come over to the Philippines and have a look and experience how things really are around here? Foreign press is quick to attack politicians in our land who aren’t of the same mold as their ideal traditional ones. Maybe they don’t get that crime and instability have remained as impediments to our progress for the longest time, and the divide between the rich and the poor has always been large and abominable.

With it the probable burgeoning of another dictatorship and the cropping up of death squads in wiping out the very dregs of our society, you mention? Listen, we’re willing to take the risk. Honestly. As to the front-runner’s jokes and remarks the western media find highly offensive, they’re inconsequential compared to our hunger for change we’ve no problem letting go of them.

I’m still of the opinion the Philippines is beyond salvation. Yet our desperation for something different in the government or for a sincere public servant to bring forth hope is currently supplying us with this much perception.

In concurrence with the millions of filipinos who picked a (hopefully) fresh type of leadership last Monday, I’m pleased with the landslide victory of our country’s soon-to-be Chief Executive. Congratulations to my new president Rodrigo Duterte.

kudos to the last man standing

Will he make it to the White House? Probably not. But as of the moment, I am in raptures — a far cry from the times I felt apprehensive Trump wouldn’t likely make it as the GOP nominee.

Pure common sense. In the beginning, sixteen contenders must be annihilated in a matter of months. As the series of debates manifested of his lack of genius not to mention of sophisticated parlance which, in contrast, his rivals enjoyed being uppity about, he resolved to continue wielding an unprecedented style that reflected his authentic persona, astoundingly eliminating political correctness in its wake. Things turned rougher and rougher; a vicious battle fought wherein he swatted left and right and squirted toxins — until all his opponents dropped dead like flies or bugs. One by one. :-)

They might gripe all they want over how it was contended yet the protocol of awarding the prize at the end of the contest to the victorious competitor must be upheld. Hence, forswear the fuss and bestow the nomination. Quick.

The Donald as the last man standing. Truly my kind of guy.

Image: Donald Trump


I Believe In Divorce More

The past week had me glued to Yahoo News Updates on the Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner divorce – an uncoupling that had been sending waves of disbelief around the globe; Not that I’m a fan of the couple, even though I liked their chemistry on “Daredevil” — the love story was cute 🙂 . (I also watched Elektra by the way: I’m a sucker for female action movies, regardless of the number of imaginary believe buttons I’ve had to push)

The Affleck-Garner union was something we had conceived would go the distance. Both husband and wife project angelic faces and images after all.

But as they say: When seasons change, the snowman melts.

People grow and evolve. Feelings fade away. Although marriage permanently works for some, it does not for most of us. Marriage is really nothing more than a piece of paper; That I’ve come to believe.


There is no divorce in the Philippines. It’s a rotten circumstance we have to deal with here. We are a fractured culture on this area as the privilege of an average filipino to gain freedom from a previous marital oath remains practically impossible to obtain. It manifests of a very wrong system – because the government and the Catholic church have always been intertwined. Therefore, the no-divorce policy is something we may be stuck in for eternity.

Annulment of marriage is our sole method for the liberation of a couple from a legal bond – which takes lots of money and a long time to procure. So you can just imagine the millions of adults here who have moved on in many different ways after the dissolution of their marriages – but have nonetheless felt trapped by that lawful contract from a former nuptial.

The father of my son and I were wed in a quiet civil ceremony some twenty two years ago. Our wedded alliance didn’t work out. We’ve had no communication for more than ten years now and I have no idea what has happened to this “ex-spouse” of mine. So technically, yes, I am still a married woman. My case, however, is merely a dot in the millions of filipino women who have been separated, with children, and have had to deal with its various complications.


Probably the most dreadful ramification I got to face for not having undergone a lawful separation process is the unpleasant-sounding surname I am compelled to keep – for good. My original surname is always music to my ears — how I long to have it back — but only through informal ways am I allowed to use it.

No chance divorce would be pushed in Congress given our dense politicians who carry supine standpoints on just about everything. The nation gets saddled with incessant troubles that could press on for generations to come, while its citizens over and over are left on their own to roll with the punches.

So, bottom line: In paper, I’ll remain tethered to a previous vow made to an ex-husband…until the day I die. Worse, one or two weird conditions might have prevented me from ascertaining my true status: I may already be a widow and don’t even know it when I should. Hu hu hu…what a misfortune.

To Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, and to all of you out there who can avail the divorce course of action, do consider yourselves a great deal more blessed. Because nothing is forever.

Reasons, Aims, and Bunkers (of this blog)

It was my son who set up this blog – this blog which would constitute the testaments of my being, both present and bygone. It was my hope my son would read its contents down the road so he’d come to know better the woman who had raised him, warts and all. Now that a fresh horizon has spread wide before him, it seems neither time nor interest on his part is going to allow that to happen. Thus, the stardusts from this side of my heaven are all mine to catch. This blog could only serve me — I might as well run wild and free in it. It’s a never-ending pleasure marshaling my thoughts, my feelings, my history, and seeing them crafted in words thereafter.


I am not your typical blogger. For more than a month late last year, this blog went underground because I kept hopping over to a popular site to comment regularly for fun. Yet I felt uncomfortable for the attention my blog might attract – from just anyone. Yes my favorite bloggers’ stories and perspectives thrill me; belonging to a community, however, is another thing — I came to realize ages ago — as it hinders my aim for freedom of expression here.


What’s the difference between you and me? Chances are, I know you more than you know me. The touchstone for my commentaries I made in your site could be a lot sounder — because I did read the huge mound of stuff you had earlier sent off to the ether.

One or two of my most recent commenters, neither of whom had even bothered to read my pieces, tried to cut me down by shoving me into a category they seem to look down on. There was sudden movement on my Stats (around six hits from probably different viewers) for one day. I will never know what else they could have said against me on their blogs. It’s something I have no plan to dwell on.

I stand by my every conviction — now and forever. I have held out these views even before I had chanced upon any of your blogs. It’s never been about anyone in this blogosphere. It’s no secret and no shame on my part admitting the things I write circle around me.

And neither your raves nor sympathy has ever been obliged. That had been made clear by me repeatedly. In as much as no smokescreen will be necessary — I have long grown tired of the people who can’t accept me for who I am, for what I am.


I am no angel. For all I know, I may still be paying for my sins of yesteryears. Life could, furthermore, be penalizing me for feeling deeply.

I have less and less to lose as time goes by. The two most important people in my life have already slipped away. But I choose to keep staring at my fears and griefs in the eye, sans the succor of precarious diversions or any substance that only offers ephemeral ease. In the same strand I’ve no intention of losing my grip on the remaining good branches left. That’s how I deal with my personal storms. That’s how I value my life and myself.

The zero hour will soon find me and pummel me to the ground. Until then I remain as the kind I’ve always been known for.

As one of the last men standing.


I am for aye a fervid fan of Burt Bacharach’s beautiful melodies. One of my favorites, April Fools, makes me muse over my affection for writing and this blog. This blog which I had considered giving up in many a recent time — but that the sentimental fool in me just wouldn’t let go.

It’s a song that begins with the words “In an April dream…

…little did we know, where the road would lead.

Here we are, a million miles away from the past, traveling so fast now…

No need to be afraid. True love has found us now.”

Tiny Thoughts On Not So Small Matters

Let’s not kid ourselves. We are not that special. Writing is something 98% of the world’s population can do given enough time, training, and experience.

Wedded Bliss is overrated. Save for being married to your soul mate. I still have to meet a long-time married couple who don’t constantly complain about each other and feel that they are stuck with their mates.

Very amusing. Try throwing them a bit of attention and they are quick to assume 1000 things that would make you roll your eyes massively in repeated fashion.

Every white person seems proud to declare his or her being non-racist — until a non-white starts making an assertion or express an opinion. A deed that they think is a privilege granted solely to their kind.

Pretty much for losers and social misfits, and those who have loads and loads of time on their hands. Yeah right, we’re all pretty much (secret or self-confessed) misanthropes here. 🙂

Kicking the bucket to boot. Still the greatest equalizer.

This Is My Home – I’m Here For The Long Run

Even my bloglife is a series of hellos and goodbyes. A blogger who used to figure prominently in my resolve to improve my writing skill some two years ago just decided he’s retiring from his regular postings on WordPress. It took me several months to click open his blog again. Things have changed. But I felt I had to Like his final entry. That much I owed him, in spite of everything.

Recently, I’ve started reading a woman blogger who writes with metaphorical flourish. She reminded me of one or two other female bloggers who uses figure of speech in their writing. The thing is, after reading what this woman had to say, I always ended up thinking, “What a wacko.” Not to mention her belligerence seems to be up in the air all the time. Other than assessing her writing style, there’s nothing much to gain from her blog. And I’ve neither time nor interest to spar with someone like her.

Look, we blog citizens here are under no obligation to anyone. I pretty much don’t get why bloggers, especially the petty women, get up in arms when you do not comment or click Follow as a corollary to visiting their sites. Accuse us of stalking, lurking, whatever. Aren’t we all in this realm? (She previously admitted to being one herself.) There’ll be no consignment on my part, FYI. Unlike most, I’m not here for powerblogging, nor to make money, nor to seek anyone’s approval, nor to merely get attention. If she doesn’t like sharing her blog to others, without strings attached, why not simply take it down? (Just like what I do once in a while whenever privacy weighs more to my sense of well-being.)

It’s much like commitment — which I found out doesn’t work for me here. I need my freedom.

This is why I’m sticking with categorically following blogs of the opposite gender (using only Google bookmark). It’s breezier to have them around.

To commemorate my four years of reading and writing through the comfort of this site, I’ve come up with some word play as a writing exercise. My blog serves as my memoir and journal. Although there’s always considerable discomfort in exposing the contents of my heart and mind, I’m in for the long run.

Serving as my personal time warp — in a transition that never seems to end.

Stuck in a world of crude expressions, colored insights, opinions on the run.

I, however, am trapped in the rapture of words forever.

Still thoughts seeming fresh and fair,

Like the specter in the concrete

the sunshine with the rainbow.

Even when hopes proved false …

From the faint white line

promising of no wit nor eloquence

I’m returning to the land of unstructured narratives,

where messages are misread

manifesting little shame in my emotional constitution.

And a placid existence that tries to reject despair.

So I will write by the candor and strength of my discontent,

slandering traditions,

with a gush of fantasy here and there.

Sustaining what’s left through the perpetuity of words,

I’m here for the long run.


Reflections Upon What Brought Me To The World Of The Classics

No matter what my place of discontent, this is how I envision myself in a few years’ time: An okay-looking gal carrying ample experiences and some writing dexterity that will enable her to write competently about life, love, her self-willed sentiments, and diverse meditations on Jane Doe’s quotidian existence.

There’s no hunger within me to turn in a best-selling novel someday or become a prolifically accomplished writer in the future; my imagination isn’t that fecund, my creativity too run-of-the-mill. An Arcadian repository of my narratives, thoughts, and sensations is everything I intend to leave behind.

Lumbering through WordPress for a little more than three years now, I’ve had interesting encounters with a small number of bloggers here because, you know, I just don’t follow blogs, I really read them. I sometimes happily convert myself into a devoted fan of the blogwriters that got me hooked, yet things don’t go heavenly smooth all the time. Let me cite an example:

The past year I’ve got a sudden hankering for perusing The Classics. Why? Now there’s a story I’m obliged to tell my readers – in which one or two lessons can be gleaned from – before it gets lost in the mists of time.

Several months ago in my blog universe, there was this blogger who quixotically alluded to unicorns that could save mountains, and to the beautiful flowers that secretly bloom in darkness. Moreover, he could easily whip up admiration with his amorous verses and incisive discourse about life’s crossroads in the abstract. He’s, for the most part, a dreamer. He made certain, however, his real identity would remain a well-guarded secret, unless you seek him out privately. Which meant that other than this Mister Romantic Poet’s splendid writings, there was nothing else you could find attractive about him: One more kind of co-blogger best kept at arms’ length.

Enter this Canadian lady who introduced herself to me during my most difficult times early last year: A new divorcee who had been feeling out of sorts by reason of her new status. She seemed to be extending her blogger hand to me in goodwill – which engendered my fondness for her because she was being nice and understanding. She always looked pretty good in her gravatar photos. And oh, she has a distinctive narrative style to boot and writes like a true pro. Amazing woman, I believe.

Most of my blogger pals have been male. During that time each of them seemed to have checked her out by clicking her comment link on my blog, as substantiated by My Stats page. Did I mind? A bit – to be perfectly honest with you. Call it a woman thing on my part.

Mister Romantic Poet started Liking her entries. Much to my astonishment, he even went back to her maiden post where an interlocution manifesting of lucid flirtation took place. Ah ok, it’s a free world in here – no ground for me to feel slighted; although to reiterate once more, it’s a (Filipino) woman thing. Bear in mind the fact Mister Romantic Poet wasn’t even my crush then. Did my favourite (another) blogger pal – the one I liked the most – check her out and officially visit her site, too? Yes, he did…to my heartbreak (Silly silly me from time to time 🙂 ); which brought about the abrupt end of my association with her. Something that, in retrospect, I kind of regret…because men are never a good reason enough for the extinction of any female connection.

Back to Mister Romantic Poet who had profusely praised my lady commenter in the course of their inceptive conversation: Honestly, my consternation upon reading the exchange between them couldn’t bring me to regard him in the same manner afterwards. As if an infection had penetrated deep into whatever sterling estimation I had consigned to his persona before. Despite that, it paved the way for his revealing question to her which would subsequently refuse to fall from my memory: “Did you happen to read a lot of classics in your past that made you write this good?”

Aha, Bingo.

I’ve already forgotten my lady pal’s answer. But that particular query has stayed prominent on my mind for ages. Yeah yeah, it’s too late for me to catch up on the classics for the refinement of my writing skill. It won’t change the fact my literature in my younger years had been limited to Mills&Boons, idiotic women’s magazines and sundry articles on Hollywood gossip. Still, whenever I go to a bookstore these days, I can’t prevent myself from dropping by the Classics Section to browse. The books occasionally go on sale. My growing collection has aggregated to ten now and I have finished reading most of them. It’s worth engrossing oneself in a world where the likes of Thomas Hardy, Victor Hugo, George Eliot, Hermann Hesse and the Bronte sisters are in preponderance. How I wish I had started much earlier.

Perhaps I ought to thank Mr. Romantic Poet for all this. Unfortunately, he has long closed down his lovely blog.

One of my ideal libraries. Charming…