Ink overflowed

Ink Overflowed

I have a nostalgic visit of Guimaras Island tonight. Well, if one can realize how sweet Guimaras mangoes are compared to Mexico’s mangoes I just had, then it is a walk down memory lane. Thanks to Ate Christine who gave me a box of mangoes from Mexico, I was able to once again make a yummy mango float. Grrr, now i start missing Iloilo and Guimaras again and of course the company of friends that made those places truly a magical one…
Which bring me to the thought of that movie I watched recently- Mr. Magorium’s Emporium. The Emporium , owned by a 243 year old eccentric man , is a magical store. It is not a toy store but a magical store. I do believe it is a magical store, because i just believe it is a magical store. If you believe it is a toy store, then it becomes a mere toy store. I guess what I am trying to say is that , we are what we believe we are.
Now can you realize there is an unrelated pattern in my thoughts? Youre right, because like Mahoney in the movie, i lost that light within me and seems can’t turn the next page in the book of life. Spring is coming soon and how i long that it will touch my soul too. I feel like I’ve been in this winter for so long. I miss the old me. But the “old me” is not anymore the “new me”, right? I can’t fit anymore in this chapter. I need to turn to the next page , where the “new me” is the one in-charge. I am not a kid anymore , that’s why my parents have to leave the ship already.
The chapters continue, regardless whoever flips it. A prayer to the Writer— May i be part of HIS happy ending too….

Melancholy + wine=murky-worded blog

What I like about blogging is that it  captures prized  memories that might come handy when new events in life requires you to recall it.  I’m posting here an entry I wrote when I was in so much grief about the passing of my parents. I wrote this in one of the darkest hours of my life , that even some of my friends can’t understand it, unless they are acquainted with grief.

October 10, 2011

What is it like?


Today is another blue-sky day, yet another day closer to  winter. The leaves have changed their monotone colors and have started evolving into a fire dance. Gone are the days where the wind brings in a symphony of humdrum songs from the ice cream truck and giggles of innocent children in the street. The parks have called it a rest and succumbed to the silence of the beaches and woods till spring comes in their midst. Oh the fall indeed ushered the great winter and such passage is a perpetual mystery.


Everyone around me is silent and the leaves seem to be sleeping. Where are the deers that pay visit in my backyard and brave the evil plans of humanity? The trains are still in a far away land and their sounds will yet wake me up in my slumber. Or will they be delayed? I am aware that what I perceived as happening is unreal. The world is moving on, without any thought of a destination. Everyone I guess is living, with a pretend  purpose in their cups. They have beliefs of immortality, thus they creep into whatever crevices they find themselves jovial. No thoughts of consequences, nor what ripples it can cause in the river of life. No guilt to answer to or shadows to fear for. Their road continue without end . Free, yet bounded by self and the vulnerability of being alone in a wide and stark desert.


I envy them not though I am one of them. I desire for the life of those who are immovable when death calls them in . They live their life the same as before whether misery ushers them in its hall of tears. They have found adventures in the prose of daily  life and only them have embraced the exquisite beauty of poverty . Nothing can shake their footstool . Each of their moment is a chance for weaving their tapestry of eternal life. Why can’t I not one of them?