And voila!
A moleskine notebook!

Yeah, I’ve been dying to get my hands on them but the stores don’t ship to this side of the world. Luckily, a friend’s relative is coming home this Christmas so ta-da!

I don’t know with you but I do believe in getting yourself your own gift. Really girls, it would save your boyfriend and or husband a bottle of Tylenol if you just go ahead and get yourself what you want rather than die in the attempts of giving hints, subtle hints, strong hints… hahaha! Trust me; hints don’t work on the male species. And the best Christmas gift… only you know it.

So what’s with the notebook? The artiste in you would agree with me that even genius needs some inspiration and what better way to inspire you than quality acid-free paper… for your thoughts and sketches.

Yes, you read it right. It has always been my fantasy… to live like that girl in Ricky Martin’s song. She can make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain. She can make you live her crazy life ‘cause she takes away the pain… like a bullet through your brain.

I want to be the pill that cures it all and f****s them all. Woke up in New York City, in a funky cheap hotel. She stole my heart… must have slipped me a sleeping pill.

I remembered way back in College, I was so mad, dejected, feeling ugly because the guy I had a crush on admitted that he likes my roommate. So during our acquaintance party, after numerous shots of tequila, I joined in the crazy dancing of Livin’ la vida loca. We danced and danced that if Martin was singing live, he would have gone hoarse. We then went to another place to drink some more. I drowned more Vodka and the room reeled.

He was waiting for me when I got home. I was swaying and he looked at me disapprovingly like I am the epitome of my bad girl image. I felt so victorious for I knew he was thinking that I was making out with some college frat boys and drinking alcohol by the keg. Hahaha! Years later, I married that man. I was stifling laughter while we exchanged vows. It was the judge’s fault. He winked at me when he got to the ‘til death do us part, part.

Shake me… I don’t know why I am recalling episodes in my life alongside pop music. Yeah, I was about to write something about Buttercup and singing in the UP grounds while the lord high banana of the most dense walked past us. We were also singing shagiddy while the librarian screamed at us from the library.

Last song syndrome: Bread’s I can’t find the words to say goodbye.

In my recent obsession with oral hygiene, I got a dental mirror with light, tongue scraper and dental hook. The dental mirror proves handy in brushing the kids’ teeth. Santi is more ready to open his mouth if you flash the light on him. His pearlies are a little mis-aligned and I worry that he would grow up with my set of problematic teeth — over bite and bunny-looking buckteeth. Una’s are nice, he got hers from her father’s side of the family. Well, what can I say.. genetic engineering is not so common during my day. Duh! The tongue scraper, Santi thinks it’s some kind of a toy cellphone and would carry pretend conversation with it.
Is it too early to teach the kids to floss?

When can a pre-occupation be considered unhealthy? My concern over my children’s health and hygiene, my nagging fear of getting STDs from toilet seats, cold bugs from doorknobs, and if I can have my way, I’d lobby for the creation of all types of vaccines — dengue, malaria, sore eyes and what-have-yous… I think they are valid concerns. Yeah, I won’t talk about the sanitary wipes and alcohol and handwashing… it will bore you all.

We read books to bond and not so they will learn their ABCs and 123s.

What about this new trend of raising super babies? That’s one thing that I attribute to the power-deranged yuppies of my generation… and no, I want my kids to grow up normal. I am not keen on raising the next Einstein. I just want my babies to turn out alright, well-adjusted and capable of feeling emotions: happiness, sadness, anger, fear but are readily disposed to being happy. And I want them to feel that they are loved and valued.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

— Pablo Neruda