Ang Pagligo, Baw!

In all of the days of my being a student, the hardest time of those, assuming that everyone has the same perception with mine, is when you need to take a bath every time you go to school because it is a must that you look fresh and neat, at least. And if you don't, each of your friends will start to tease you on how smelly and dry you can get, eventhough you are definitely not.

Really, I think that's just too inhuman. And the worse scenario? is when you tried all your best to look fresh and clean, that includes almost an hour in the shower, minutes of scrubbing, shampooing and soaping, and still, when you enter the office or the classroom, the first question  to ask will be, "Ryan, did you take a bath?"

Taking a bath is one of the things that I usually forget, not that I have memory gap or something close to that, concerning that I was a teenager a year ago. But really, a single, tiny droplet of water falling down to my skin on an early morning bath sends chill all over my body. In an instant, it would make me regret that I decided to take a bath, leaving me freezing on a particular spot inside the bathroom, like a statuesque whose eyes are focused on the rushing yet silent water.

When I was young, my mom taught me a technique that whenever I find bathing difficult I can use to. She would grabbed my arm and tell me that I'd be ugly if I don't take a bath. That I would smell really really bad and my teachers would dislike me.

She would pick up the kambo from the balde , half filled with water, while me beside her would start to becoming numb, readying myself for the war of the waters. With the thought that she would pour all the water upon me, I'd hugged myself and close my eyes, hoping that she'd be gentle with the water, soaping, and shampooing.

But instead of pouring it all over my head, she would raise my right arm while her right hand soaked in the kambo. In a while, she would sprinkle a handful of water to my kili-kili (armpit). Then, I'd be happy knowing that my body was finally ready for the bathing.

Powdered Milk and Biscuits

I always believe that immortality isn’t real, and if there is, only God possesses that power. All people need is to spend enough time with their families because life isn’t forever. And sooner or later, one beloved may just pass away and the last thing you could ever do is just to offer a can of powdered milk and a box of biscuits.

It was a cold afternoon. After a long ride from Dumaguete, I finally got off the bus. I ordered a pack of sliced bread from a local bakeshop, and eyed my phone for the time. It was five o’clock. I needed to hurry. After a few minutes, I finally arrived at my grandpa’s little kubo. I fished a 50-peso bill from my wallet and gave it to the habal-habal driver.

It was a native house my mom built for him. My grandparents could no longer understand each other. My mom built a house for my grandma, too, ten meters away from my grandpa’s, so that they could have their own place to stay, at peace. Perhaps, they have outlived love and their age ravaged the promise they’d exchanged in the altar.

Theirs was a life so simple. Their houses were covered with trees, plants, chickens, and cows. I always visit them from time to time. I always go there to grab a glass of my grandpa’s fine coconut wine. And the last time I saw him, he was still in good condition. He could even manage to climb a 20-feet coconut tree at his age of seventy plus. He always offered me a drink. That was the good thing about him. He never ran out of coconut wine because he has got plenty of coconut trees.

“Lo, kumusta na man ka?” I asked upon entering the dim-lit room. He was looking at the window and I was sure he didn’t hear me, or even noticed me. He sat on my Winnie the Pooh sofa. I gave it to him when I went to college because I realized that I could no longer avail to sit on a kiddie sofa at the age of sixteen, even if I still liked it because it could rotate at 360 degrees.

“Lo?” I called again, louder this time. Then, he turned his head towards me. Surprised, he said in a soft manner, “Uy dong, ikaw diay na?” His sincere smile made my heart jump. Though it was hard for him to move, he leaned closer and hugged me. Perhaps, he missed me. I missed him, too. My grandparents have been always good to me. I was their favorite.

I have noticed that his skin has turned yellowish-white, so pale. He seemed to have no blood flowing through his veins at all. He smelled so old, too. I also wondered the last time he took a good, long bath. Or perhaps, he could no longer do that because he was tired and could no longer walk by himself. He was so thin, and when I hugged him, he was so puny, just like a child. I kissed his forehead and we sat down.

“Kumusta na man ka dong? Dugay na man kang walay anhi-anhi,” he asked.

“Gwapo giyapun.” He smiled as quickly as I gave my answer. “Busy man gud kog skuyla lo.” Then, I pulled a plastic bag underneath my chair and placed it in my lap. I showed him a can of Bear Brand, a bottle of Efficascent oil, a pack of sliced bread, a plastic container full of biscuits, and a box of vitamins – Vitamin C and Vitamin-B complex capsules.

“Ako diay ning gipalit para nimo lo,” I said, smiling at him. I told him to drink two glasses of milk everyday, morning and night. I also encouraged him to take the vitamins because it would help him recover faster.

He just nodded, and then looked away. “Gikapuy na man ko dong.”

“Ayaw ana lo. Mawala imong ka-gwapo ana. Pa-hospital man daw ta ingon si Mama. Ugma dagway.”

He shook his head, “Kapuy na man. Diri na lang ta.” He called my aunt and asked her to give me something to drink.

“Dili raba ko magdugay lo. Muuli rako dayon run.”

He paused for a while. He looked down as if disappointed. We were silent for a couple of minutes. He looked so weak. He was as fragile as a child inside his mother’s womb. He had lost the strength of his early years.

“Pero mubalik rapud ko sunod Sabado lo,” I said in assurance.

He looked up and said, “Ato na lang timplahon ning gatas dayun mangaon ta.” I nodded. The truth was that I was full. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings anymore. We had a nice talk after that. I told him to be strong, and assured him that he would be okay. I promised him that I’d come back, too.

At seven o’clock that evening, I went back to Dumaguete. I have felt a sense of relief. I had encouraged him to take the vitamins and medicines on time, and he was attentive to that. I couldn’t wait to come back. I was happy and at the same time sad because it was not so long ago when the two of us were planting Kamatis seeds together. The seeds were my birthday gift for him. He has a green hand. He was always good at taking care of his plants. He was a natural farmer.

My phone beeped. It was a message from my aunt. I checked the time and it was nine o’clock in the morning. I stood up, grabbed a shirt and realized that I was still sleepy so I went back to my bed. I remembered my trip the other night, and I was hoping that a few days from now, grandpa would be fine. I took my phone to read the message: “Dong anhi niya diri. Patay na man si lolo nimo. Gipangita baya ka ato ganiha. Bag-o pa jud.”

Note: This is a true story. This story was published in the Features page of the Negros Oriental State University Weekly Student Publication under my pseudonym The Soulhunted. My grandfather, Keliano Gantalao, passed away on November 2011. I wrote the first draft a day after his death. May this story touch your hearts.

Three Kids and Me

It was Saturday. My two nieces, Faith, 13, and Ezra, 7,  both from Cebu, came to see their sickly father. While watching Tangled at Star Movies, they asked me this one. I'll just translate our conversation in Tagalog.

Faith: Kuya ry, ano ba plano natin ngayon? (She held my arm and did some lambing-lambing while Ezra came over and sat on my lap)

Me: Marami. Pupunta tayo ng Robinson. Tapos kakain sa Jolibee. Tapos maglalaro ng counter strike. Tapos kakain sa KFC. Pupunta sa boulevard at pag-uwi ay manonood ng The Count of Monte Cristo.

Faith: May pera ka ba?

Ezra: Oo, nga. May pera ka?

Me: Akala ko kayo ang may pera?

Faith: Wala. Liar mo naman kuya.

Me: Dito nalang tayo. Haha.

But these kids overpowered me and made a tiny hole in my pocket. We ended up at Robinson's and went to a computer shop after.

The Universal Language

Finally, a young woman approached who was not dressed in black. She had a vessel on her shoulder, and her head was covered by a veil, but her face was uncovered. The boy approached her to ask about the alchemist.

At that moment, it seemed to him that time stood still, and the Soul of the World surged within him. When he looked into her dark eyes, and saw that her lips were poised between a laugh and silence, he learned the most important part of the language that all the world spoke-the language that everyone on earth was capable of understanding in their heart.

It was love. Something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. Something that exerted the same force whenever two pairs of eyes met, as had theirs here at the well. She smiled, and that was certainly an omen-the omen he had been awaiting, without even knowing he was, for all his life. The omen he had sought to find with his sheep and in his books, in the crystals and in the silence of the desert.

It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than of anything in the world.

He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. Because, when you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city. 

And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning.

Note: This is an excerpt of Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist, a New York Times bestseller , sold over millions worldwide and was translated into 65 languages.

Cheating and Everything

"There is no optical instrument in the world that works beyond the marvel of our eyes," says our teacher in one of her class discussions this early January.

The word problems were already written on the board. Each of my classmates had already crossed their fingers, muttered a short prayer, hoping that they would pass the exam and that the Holy One would forgive them to a sin they haven't done yet.

The subject was Optical Physics, one of the staggering seven physics subjects that is included in my prospectus, along with three basic and four advanced Mathematics, and two basic and three advanced Chemistry courses.

I was the only third year student in the room since all of them were already in their senior years. In other words, I have experienced being 'out of my place' every time our class commences. They have created an impermeable bond that I myself can't enter.

Our teacher said that she only wants to see a calculator, a pen, and a piece of paper in our armchair. Since I am a law-abiding citizen, I followed her instructions obediently and started solving the problems. Though I don't want to admit this, I was also confident that I could get some answers from my seatmates because they are my seniors.

Then, suddenly...

"Ryan! Psssssssttt... Do you have answers?" Then, another one. "Ry! I can't answer this. Help me. Give me some sample answers so I could get some idea." Then, I was like, "Holy Cow!" My world fell apart. First, it's because my supposed to be 'source of answers' has turned out to be a pool of irresponsible students. Secondly, I badly needed to acquire a good score in that exam so that I can get a grade higher than 84-85.

Since I've got no other choice, I started to take the exam seriously and started solving the questions religiously. And when I say religiously, I hoped that God would give me back my mathematical genius. Perhaps, genius is just an over-statement so just please bear with me.

Number one. Yes! I knew the answers to the two unknown variables. I smiled and felt happy about it. Then, they asked for my answers and I gave it to them. Number two. Yes! I was  able to answer it as well and I was sure about it. I shared my answers again. THE MARVEL OF THE HUMAN EYES. Number three. SKIP. Number four. SKIP. Number five. Maybe! I wasn't sure about my answers. So I went back to number three and answered it, hoping that I could at least answer it by chance or luck.

I answered the essay question somewhat perfectly. How are rainbows formed? Rainbows are formed when rays of light are in contact with gas or liquid in the atmosphere. Therefore, we can assume that rainbows will never occur unless there are raindrops in the atmosphere. The ray of light will pass through each droplet of rain, causing the ray to scatter and form different colors, like a spectrum that consists of blue, purple, red, orange, etc. This effect is also known as 'Rayleigh Scattering', named after the Nobel Prize Winner, and English physicist Lord Rayleigh.

Then, I passed my answered sheet. Thank you BRO sa wisdom! Astig ka talaga! Kung wala ka eh siguro wala rin akong naisagot! Patawarin mo ang mga klasmeyts kung nagkasala! Kasi alam mo rin na ganun ako paminsan-minsan.

Staring at You

I was sort of hoping,

That you would come along,

Like the answer to a prayer,

And the music to a song.

Like the kind of thing that happens,

At a special place and time,

That will change our lives forever,

Like a fantasy of mine.

The fantasy was there before,

I ever knew your name,

And now that I have found you,

We will never be the same.

So, pardon, if I look at you,

Forgive me if I stare,

At the fantasy I knew before,

I saw you standing there.

For I was always hoping,

That you would come along,

Like the answer to a prayer,

And the music to a song

Note: I didn't write this poem. I stumbled upon this literary art in the web and realized that this is something worth sharing. Unfortunately, this poem doesn't have a title and the writer's name revealed herself only as Rachel.

Wacky Midnight Thoughts

The man is the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes...

I tried my best to sleep. I buried my head in the pillow for an hour, and in the next few minutes, I tilted my head one-hundred eighty degrees and faced the upper deck of my bed. The lights were out and nothing here made noise except the monotonous whirling of the electric fan.

I grabbed the laptop of my roommate and has decided to write about the things that make me unable to sleep. I have many reasons why I can't sleep. I have thoughts that make me a zombie. Sometimes, I wonder if this has something to do with any negative psychological behavior. Sometimes, I wonder if I am half vampire or if not, half Lycan. Things like those can hardly sleep at night. I mean, they literally don't.

Throughout the years, I have formulated bizarre habits on nights when I can't sleep. Habits that would give anyone the impression that I am crazy or simply just a jerk. First, I'd open my eyes and think of marriage, and if ever it is possible to  get married at the age of twenty seven, or if the girl that I am marrying to is still available at that time. With this, I'd think if she and mom would become good friends, but I am very optimistic that the two of them will click. My mom is nice and for sure my wife would be as nice as her.

Second, I'd think about building a house, and how big or small it should be and what colors should I choose to paint the walls. Should I hire artists to paint mural arts in it? Third, I'd think about my mom and would ask myself if I can still afford a new house for her and my sister in the future. Fourth, I'd convince myself that I shall buy my wife a car for her own safety; I'll give it to her as a birthday gift.

Then, after all those wacky thoughts are gone, and if I am still unable to sleep, I would stand up and face the mirror. I would stand there for a while and appreciate all the wonderful things in it. HAHAHA. Once the self-loving is done, I would raise my two hands and start doing shadow boxing. BANG BANG BANG. I'll watch myself in the mirror again. Then, shadow boxing. Mirror. Shadow boxing. Until I get tired. I've done all those things a while ago. I'm tired so I gotta sleep now. zZzZzzzZzzZZ....

Slippers and Feet

"As the game progressed, I found out that neither one of us were an adult or a kid. The boundary between childhood and adulthood has been breached, somewhat intertwined. Our hearts were one with the little monsters we played with. I realized that my age and my happy childhood memories are not parallel to each other."

When I was fourteen years old, I had a temporary perception inside my head that college students were taller, smarter and more mature. That’s why whenever senior BS Education students from a certain university go to our school for their practice teaching, I had high regard for each of them. The same goes with all other college students, too.

But when I became a college student myself, and very recently just surpassed my teenage years, I have realized that I’m no mature nor any grown up wannabe. I have realized that I still have a lot to learn; that I still need to find out more not just about myself but the people around me. Most of us, if not all, still need a little tweaking to mature. And we sometimes wonder what it feels like to be a kid once more. Oh, sure you do!

On a one cold midnight last December at the moistened grassy grounds of the freedom park, when everyone was deeply asleep because they have an early morning trip back home.  I and my college student friends decided to do something to determine if any of the exceptional skills we had in games we played during our childhood years remain. The games of Shakay, Dakpanay and Dodge Ball were on the list.

So, there and there we played the games as if we were pupils in elementary who were very oblivious of the things around us; we ignored the passersby as if they didn’t exist, wiping the sweat with our own shirts, while being barefooted on the slippery green grounds. It was hilarious. It was a night a college student could never imagine happening.

But that wasn’t the last.  On the very Christmas day, I played with an 18-year old college friend a game that was supposed to be my favorite, a game where I hailed myself champion, kayoko or kayokok. There were only two of us who were adults and the rest were a bunch of kids.

As the game progressed, I found out that neither one of us were an adult or a kid. The boundary between childhood and adulthood has been breached, somewhat intertwined. Our hearts were one with the little monsters we played with. I realized that my age and my happy childhood memories are not parallel to each other. That even at the age of twenty, you can still be a kid whenever you want to. You can pick up a fight when someone messes with you. You can dream of Santa Claus, Doraemon, and fire away Eugene’s ray gun. You can shout and yell at the topmost floor of a building. And of course, you can secretly keep a puppy love of your own and be happy about it.

There is nothing wrong in dreaming or thinking of being a kid once more. And there’s nothing wrong about expecting maturity from ourselves either. You just need to live with the two because it is not all of a sudden that maturity will crop up. It takes time, and sooner or later, in a moment that you are least expecting, maturity will show in the future decisions you will make

.

What I’m saying is, go to the freedom park. Get your friends. Wear a loose shirt. Take off your slippers and run like a kid who just recently been freed from the grasp of his parents.

Note: This article was published at my regular column space at The NORSUnian, the Negros Oriental State University Weekly Student Publication (NORSU).

Summer Days at McDonald’s

Sometimes, you just need to say what you want to say. Because in either way, the two of you won’t get elsewhere but only closer to the truth – That you feel the same way and you can’t live without the other — The Salamander

The glass window cracked open, and she came in. I watched her as she glided gracefully towards me, and at that moment, I thought she was the most attractive girl in the world. She walked nearer to me, maybe a few meters or so, and I found out that there was a gentle thrill in my heart that only happens every time we meet. It was a mixture of inner emotions that every man rarely experienced unless he is deeply in love, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t know if there is love or what I feel for her is just mere friendship.

“Hi,” she said, and I made sure that our eyes would meet. She grinned at me for a moment, and gradually it turned to a beautiful smile, the one that meets the corners of her ears. I nodded, not because it was the only thing I could do. It’s just that I’ve got no words to say. Then, I smiled back. I looked at her eyes again, and they sparkled like fine emeralds in the sand of time.

And again, since the first time we met, as she caught me looking at her like that, I wondered if she knew what I was thinking. I wondered if she knew that I think she was beautiful. I wondered if she knew that I think she had been always very feminine, and attractive to me. And I also wondered if she was even aware of her looks.

We were always like this last summer. Every other day, if I have a vacant period from my summer classes, we would meet at McDonald’s. It was our escape from boredom and our only way of enjoying what summer could offer.

“So how’s your day,” she asked me as she fished two sticks of thin-sized potato fries from a cartoon box. I said my day was fine and that I hate it when the sun is too hot. She nodded, too, because she prefers walking under the rain than staying outside under the heat of the sun.

For a while, she turned her head slowly from left to right, as if searching for someone. Eventually, she looked at me and drove her eyes to a girl at her left. “She’s beautiful,” she said. I nodded again, and glanced at the girl she was referring to. The truth was, I didn’t find the girl pretty because she was there in front of me. For me, she was the one who was beautiful. Then, I looked at her.

“What?” she asked.

I smiled, “Nothing.” Then, I pulled a set of hand-outs from my bag and started reading the important things I need to remember for my exam the next day.  With a surprising tone, she asked, “Is that really you?”

“What? I’m a goody-goody student now.” I continued reading the hand-outs with my hands. In a while, I heard her laughing. She didn’t believe my first statement. “You see, I want to pass my subjects. That’s why I’m studying.”

“I know. But that’s just so not you.”

“I’m hurt.” Then, she laughed again. Sometimes, I wondered why all the things I said to her that have sense was funny or was it just me that looked so funny every time I utter adult-like statements.

I turned the next page and have realized that none of the things I’ve read sunk into my brain. She’s a good distraction after all. “So, how’s your love life?” She seemed surprised with my question. Actually, it’s not the first time I asked her something like this.

“You asked me that the other day. Have you forgotten? I said I’m not into love. Anyways, you should get one. You’ve been single for one and half year already,” she shrugged.

“I know. I don’t want to get any. I’m enjoying this.”

“Enjoying what?”

“This. You and me. Here in Mcdonald’s every other day. I love this. I need no girlfriend.”

She did not respond. I held my bottle of coke that I ordered earlier and sipped some. It was not in a few minutes that we talked again after a couple of young so-in-love couples came in. “See that?”

“Gosh! Their teens. They don’t know what’s love. They’re just hopeless romantic,” she snapped.

“Of course they do. What’s wrong with you?” I said. Her smile turned into a frown. She shook her head and said it’s nothing. I nodded and signaled him to continue eating her potato fries.

I scanned my notes for the next chapter lessons. Yet again, I couldn’t focus. I sometimes wondered why she couldn’t get me. Why she couldn’t, at least, get the idea that I like her. Why she couldn’t define what I meant when I look at her.

It’s been so long a wait, I guess. I need to ask her now. “You free tonight?”

“Why? You’re asking me for a date?” she giggled.

“Yes, because I like you. Don’t you know that?”

She was silent. She fished another stick of fries and sipped her soda. I was nervous. I could feel my hands involuntarily shaking by what I have asked. I didn’t mean it but I like what I did. I tried to look up and find her eyes, but she just kept on looking down, as if thinking for something.

The chair cracked a sound and I could see her getting her bag, might getting ready for an exit. I knew it was a bad timing. I shouldn’t have done that. She stood up and shove the chair back to its proper place. This is goodbye, I thought for myself.

“See you at eight o’clock, then.” she smiled and walked away.

Note: This story is a general work of fiction. This story was published in The NORSUnian, the official weekly student publication of Negros Oriental State University (NORSU). I purposely wrote this story to entertain and to give a good read the students of the said university.

A Narrow Walk

A bell is no bell 'till you ring it. A song is no song 'till you sing it. And love wasn't put there in your heart to stay. Love is not love until you give it away...

It was 5:30. My class has just ended and I have decided to go home right after. But of course, I did some checking to some of my friends's blogs first in our publication office. I just read them and rarely leave a comment.

Then, I started walking down the stairs and traced the university pathways. After exiting the main gate, I put my ID inside my backpack and walked again. This time, I played with my Lock and Lock Tumbler. I waved the tumbler by its sling using my index finger. I usually do this in elementary, while waiting for a tricycle along the highway.

Up above were clouds so dark. I knew it's gonna rain soon. But I still had to march the narrow sidewalks. I knew I had to walk fast but I saw someone unexpected. My past love. I had to walk slower, she, too, did the same. We started looking from afar yet were very aware by each other's presence.

I need to smile...Should I? I'll give her a smirk, maybe. I said to myself. But she's no longer the girl I fell inlove with. She would smile at me even from afar and made sure that our eyes would meet in an instant. But this time, she looked the other way around as soon as we exchanged smiles. I felt too plain, no spark. It was like a string was never attached between the two of us. It was like we never existed to each other's lives. It was like I never knew her at all, never even met.

She turned into a pig. She gained weight and everything about her beauty is gone. She looked so homely, nothing special, unlike before when she was still a head-turner. She's now kinda fat. No offense to her, really. I'm just saying it. It's all I can say. Hahaha.

But it's not about her really. It's about love itself. How many times do we have to kiss the wrong lips? How many times do we have to hold a hand that doesn't fit ours? How many times do we have to dream with someone but only to get disappointed in the end? Why do we have to fall inlove with the wrong ones at the wrong time?

But there is something good in waiting. YES. There is something good in waiting. HE is planning it all out for all of us. We all have our own share of love story. We just need to wait. I kissed dating goodbye two and a half years ago. I am waiting patiently. I'm waiting for someone and praying for it, too.

The Mad Clown

Once in a while, I have sent a series of group messages to some of my friends on first week January. Here's one of those messages:  The church is where the holy spirit is. It still is. People are not all  alike, and all churches are not alike. But there will be one somewhere near you to suit your temperament. Like a tree planted by the rivers of water.

So, that's the message. And here's what they had to say about it.

Friend # 1: Who is this? Ryan? Is this you?

Friend # 2: Yawa! Ikaw ni ry? (Holy Shit! is this you Ryan?)

Friend # 3: Mutuo pud diay kag Ginoo Ry? (I didn't know you believe in God Ryan)

Friend # 4: In Jesus Name! Na-demonyohon ka bai? ( Are you demon-possessed?)

Friend # 5: Kuya Ry? Ikaw ba 'to? Parang hindi eh.

Friend # 6: Ga.GM xa bai!

Friend # 7: Asa ka tig-simba Ry?

Friend # 8: ......................................

Friend # 9: O hindi....

Friend # 10: hahahaha...new year's resolution?

Friend # 11: What the fuck! Hahahah

Friend # 12: Hahahaha...Dili bagay.. Undangi bi...

It didn't end there. I, for an instance, became the laughing stock of the market. It became an issue at dinner time with my DotA friends. It also became an issue in the office last night. Lesson learned. If you want to initiate changes around you, make it a subtle one. That no one will ever notice.

The message was not intended to be a joke. It was a test. Then, I was right. I did expect these reactions from them. When I got into my bed, I asked myself, "Am I really that bad?" Well well, it's fine. I gave them a good time anyways, something to laugh about.

A Cheap Gorilla

Watching your daughter being collected by her date feels like handing over a million dollar Stradivarius to a gorilla -- Jim Bishop

Yeah. I also have the same feeling with this Jim Bishop. Who is he by the way? Anyways, I still don't have a daughter but I have a younger sister who is very dear to me. And I always keep on telling her to stay away from boys. "Men are all the same," a famous cliche from a heartbroken woman.

But really, we are not all the same. I mean, we were but things have changed now. I'm old enough to know what's good and bad. I was once a boy teen myself so I know how they think. They are hot-blooded mammals. A skin to skin touch would develop into something fiery. I don't want to think about it. I just need to remind her about these things from time to time.

Pepen and Buknoy

Two little monsters were watching at me as I behaved myself in the sofa, watching television. The TV show was Disney's Tangled and though I have watched it a couple of times already, I still love it. I like the crazy version of Rapunzel and her out-of-this-world prince charming who has a heart of a culprit.

Pepen and Buknoy, sons of my two cousins Marigen and Ralph, both three years old or so, are the two little monsters that I am referring to. They are my cute little nephews who live with their grandmother at Manjuyod , Negros Oriental. That means their Lola raised them since they were infants because their parents need to work abroad.

Here they go. 

(Left is Buknoy. Right is Pepen)