The color of Monday is not blue. Apart from its color, another good thing about Mondays is that it gives one the luxury of taking off from a clean slate. For most, it’s a commencement of another dreary, week-long existence. Though there may be a tinge of truth to that statement, however thinking about it this way compels one to miss-out on the other colors that Mondays offer.

Cheers to all the Mondays of my existence! 

An affair to remember

Image borrowed from devianart.net

A thousand stars smiling down on you and a handful of them dancing all around you – won’t that be something?
Indeed it was!

And then there she was with her lovely two-piece swimsuit. She was making gentle ripples on the surface as she was wading through the waist-deep sea. Her complexion was a stark contrast against the enveloping darkness. She was wearing a smile on her face and her black long hair was casting a sexy silhouette swaying in the dark ether.

Her strides were as graceful as grace can be.

And then we were side by side. She was standing in amazement at the wonders of the heavens and I was standing in awe at the scene unfolding.

Surreal. Magical.

Then I felt a certain warmth all around. It was the kind of warmth one would not notice instantly, the kind of warmth that brings comfort amidst the rather emotionless cold of the sea, the kind of warmth that I supposed can only be brought forth by some magic.

She felt it, too.

She giggled. And without a feeling of remorse she said, "Umiihi ako."

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My hand is having sex with her hand!

Surprising?

Let me put it subtly.

Holding hands is like having sex with the two hands involved. Erotic as it may seem however it is by far more romantic as it is erotic.

Palm against palm. Fingers brushing against each other. Nails gently rubbing the soft web that links each finger. One finger sensually making small circles on the surface of the other. As the action progresses, it generates warmth. Warmth that brings more warmth to the two bodies that own such feeble hands. Dampness begins to settle as the two hands continue the interlocking symphony. But instead of abating, the two innocent yet knowing limbs proceed. And they do so with only one thing in mind – to let the other know how precious the heart who owns such delicate hand is.

A Letter

Here’s a letter my dad posted as a comment on my previous blog a week ago. I’ve asked his permission to post it here as well. Kindly read on.

A Letter I’ll Write My Son, Jet, When I’m 60

Dear Jet,

I’d like to ask a favor. For my Birthday, Christmas, or Father’s Day, I don’t want another shirt. Or three pairs of socks. Or a bottle of whisky or brandy. Or rubber shoes.

Take a good look at me. My face has more wrinkles now. I’m getting old and these “things” don’t give me the joy that they used to. Do you want to make me happy, son? Stop giving me things. Instead, give me your presence.

Now I know you’re a busy man. Grown up and important. You’ve got a million things to do. You’ve got your own priorities. I understand, son. I really do. But once in awhile, do drop by or even just a text, and tell me you remember me.

I’ll be in ecstasy, if you bring me out for lunch (maski ako ang taya). Or bring me in any place you want — just the two of us (maski ako man giraray ang taya). Let’s talk about everything and anything. I’d like to laugh with you again. The same way we did when I used to bring you out, pasyar sa downtown maski mayong kuarta; when you were tiny enough that I could carry you in my arms when you slept through a movie; and when your favorite topic of conversation was about WHAT IS MOSS? and Cartoons and lots of questions. Oh Jet, I miss you so much.

I want you to know that every so often, I open your room and your cabinet. In it are your clothes, things. And in case you didn’t know, I still like looking at our old photo albums. In these old photos, I see you as a shy good looking child hiding behind your mother’s skirt. I can still vividly remember your picture taken during the Search for Ms. & Mr. Kiddy Garden. You were wearing a white tuxedo, though, I can’t remember know where I got the money, wheew, that’s P800 bucks jet. Hehehe. I see you blowing candles on your birthday cake. When you cry, I carried you in my arms and wipe the tears flowing down on your cheeks. Remember when you played in the monkey bar at the Manila Zoo? Oh your mommy and I and even your sister, nini, were so worried and afraid when you fell but change it with laughter, when we you’re okay. Why we laughed? Well, because when you fell, your eyes were so big and rounded.

Reminiscence rush over me like a river. My heart swells with pride as I think of you. Oh, how proud I am that you’re my son.

But you know what, son? Looking back all these memoirs makes me feel old. Very old. I’m struck at how unforgiving time is. Yes, it flies. And time will continue to fly ever so swiftly, and one day, I will be gone.

But mark my words, Jet. Each day, in Heaven, I shall watch over you. My love will continue beyond the grave, beyond the boundaries of heaven and earth. My love for you will remain forever.

Son, I’m still here. With you. While I’m on planet earth, once in awhile, give me your presence. When you were 7 years old, you used to shout, “Daddy, I love you,” and instantly, I’d get a lump in my throat, my eyes would moisten, and my chest would be filled with warmth.

Jet, after all these years, you’re a grown up man now. But nothing has changed between us. Tell me those words again, “Daddy, I love you,” and instantly, I’d still get a lump in my throat, my eyes would still moisten, and my chest will still be filled with warmth.

Noy, let’s make an agreement: No matter how corny it gets, let’s not stop hugging each other. The older I am, the more I need those hugs. I don’t want a shirt. I want you, son, even if it’s just a few minutes of your time.

Love,

Dad

PS: Why did I write this Letter? Just to let you know, I’ll be 50 next year. I’m still 14 years away from 60. So why write this letter? To remind myself the most important things in life.

At the end of the day, I’m wealthy not because of the money in the bank but because of the love in my relationships. I’ll never be happy in life if I’m not happy in my family relationships.

I urge you to always put your family first. This is your most important wealth!

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A piece lifted from Mitch Albom’s “Have a Little Faith"

“when we spoke a few weeks ago, I asked you what you thought about your parents.  Do you remember?”

Sort of, I say.

More laughter.

I asked you if you felt they were perfect, or if they needed improvement.  And do you remember what you said?”

I freeze.

“You said they weren’t perfect, but. . .”

He nods at me. Go ahead.  Speak.

But they don’t need improvement? I say.

“But they don’t need improvement,” he says.  This is very insightful.  Do you know why?”

No, I say.

More laughter.

“Because you are willing to accept people as they are.  Nobody’s perfect.  Not even Mom and Dad.  That’s okay.”

Written 07.08.2010

I don’t like this feeling.  I detest more what I think is happening. 

I’ve been reading a lot of books lately and that should somehow help in my transition to the academic life.  But more than helping, I feel that the books I’ve grown accustomed to reading makes it tasking for me to absorb the technical readings we are required to digest.  Quite ironic, honestly speaking.

I’m not even sure if this makes sense but I think the way the books I’ve read were made made me soft.  Now that I’m beset with advanced readings, I’m suffering from information indigestion.  Wish I could just go to a drugstore and ask for an over the counter remedy.  L

Of Thermal Mugs

Thermal mugs are time capsules.  Or at least it serves the same purpose for a brief moment.  Similar to time capsules, thermal mugs allow one to hold onto a moment and try to keep it as it is for as long as circumstances may allow.

Freshly made coffee is best enjoyed while still hot.  Thermal mugs provide an opportunity for such.  But like all fleeting moments, keeping things unchanged is something that can only be done briefly.  Status quos are always meant to change.