There Was a Boy And a Girl

He says: "You are my sunshine."

She says: "Don't you know I am only shining because of you?"

Chapter 1: The MEETING

She met him in the most unlikely circumstance. Two outlanders from two different coevals at one point crossed one rainy Sunday afternoon. He brushed her aside. She detested his demeanor. What a good way to start first base.

From the corner of the eye, he silently followed her motion. Between nibbles, she discreetly heeded his blabs.

" What a very intriguing woman..."

" He sounds like a good man..."

As the modern pulley lifted the pack back for hibernation, she thought another ordinary day has gone by. But she was wrong. His was just starting. Few minutes passed and a knock was heard. It was him.

An invitation she did not decline.

An answer he did not expect.

A good laugh they shared. A long night they burned.

One date led to another. One visit promised for more.

And their story begins there...

Makeover

It's now 2:24 AM in my clock and yet I still do not feel sleepy. I'm afraid I'm starting to become insomniac.

Anyways I was bored, and since I didn't have anything else in mind to share this night, I thought of changing my blog layout. The older one looked too plain to me. I got sick and tired of it in less than a week or so. Hehe! I was browsing some templates over the internet and found one I kind of liked. Then I made a few tweaks in the code- a little this and that, just to give it a personal touch. I'm still not thru with this though. But I really gotta sleep. Will just finish this off in the next days.

How'd you like the new look? Ferocious? No? Damn.

** Lights out. ms.teacup dozes off.

Home is Still Where The Heart Is

"It is that place that you wouldn't want to bid goodbye at the end of your visit... that imperfect place perfected by its flaws..."

And so I have been looking for a decent apartment for weeks now. Geez, I never anticipated that it would be as hard as it was before. I'm supposed to be a pro in crib hunting already. I've been living in this little crowded city for more than five years now and have had nine boarding houses/apartments to be exact. Yes, I'm an NPA. No Permanent Address. Sure there were a number of available flats that I have checked on recently. But they were all either too far, too small, too dirty, too hot, too unsafe, too noisy, or too expensive. I just needed a place that I could call my own. One that would just appeal to my taste. One that could really awe you from afar, and more so impress you the moment you are in. I needed something I could call my "home". But then again, what is really a home?

I know a humble house in a not so far away island. It's not the kind that most people would dream of owning. It's not painted. It's not tiled. It's not fully airconditioned. It does not have big rooms. No fancy furnitures. No high-end home entertainment systems. No 24-hr security. It's not so tidy. It's even unfinished. But yet again, it's a place I keep visiting every month.

It is that place where happy and excited eyes welcome you. It is that place where stories during your absence await you. It is that place where real food is served infront of you. It is that place where you don't feel alone when you are sleeping. It is that place where the sweet sound of laughter awakens you. It is that place where a big bright sky embraces you. It is that place that you wouldn't want to bid goodbye at the end of your visit. It's that imperfect place perfected by its flaws that I call my real Home. That place where I always long to stay. Where I can be with the people that I truly care for and love. The people who, I know, will always care and love me in return. Come what may.

I do not know where else my feet will take me in the next days or years to come. But one thing is for sure-- That no matter where I am or will be, my heart will always remain in that sweet little abode I call HOME.

Hate it when I get homesick.

My friend named Misery

Misery is never a good companion. It cuts you from within, pieces to pieces to the most unrecognizable manner. Once, you wake up and see a stranger agaze through that mirror. Then you realize you lost the person that you once was before. Unknown to you, that the day you embraced Misery into your life, you have officially committed to letting decomposition seize your spirit.

It corrupts your every being. It dictates your thoughts and eventually your addiction. Like a marionette, you dance to its tune. Like a brainsick mortal, you laugh to its scorn. It grants you the reality of make-believe. For a memento it scars your soul. A scar so deep that pulls you into a blackhole. There is no escaping anymore.

You can succumb to the hues of darkness that blind you. You can redeem and subdue your traverse fears. That morbid death you concede shall be your shameless defeat. That mended core shall be your brand of triumph.

Misery is an uncommitted friend. For right there in one corner it awaits again. Till you give in. Once more.

unsung hero

So much has been sacrificed for this demented belief.

Mind unfolded;

Heart conceded;

Soul bared.

And yet sometimes it seemed never enough.

Questions rise;

Uncertainties become realities;

History efface.

What ever happened to worth?

When will efforts claim the least, minuscule recognition?

-

Angels Gone Proles

A colleague of mine is having his birthday next week and he plans of celebrating it with the less fortunate kids in Tabor Hills. I'm planning to join him to share a few of my blessings too. Then I remembered I created one article about three little boys who, at a very young age, had to beat the sun just to earn a few coins for the day. I dug into the site where I had it posted to share it with you:

05.10.07
My First Entry

"I was all fine being just a reader in this thread and had no plans whatsoever in sharing my own escapades. But this day is different. I felt I needed an outlet. I just couldn't keep this to myself.

On my way to work this morning, I saw three little 'magbobote'. Three little boys who I suppose are still around 6 or 7 years old. When I walk, I am not the type who stops and smells some roses. I am like an arrow, aimed straight to hit the bull's eye. But not today.

My attention was caught by a sound of bottles, busily arranged by three little boys in three big sacks. What I saw next nearly broke my heart. One of the little boys-- ragged, soiled, barefooted; decided to stretch his back a bit, wiped his sweat, and was enviously looking at some children (of his age) nearby happily playing. His eyes looked tired. He looked hungry. I suddenly saw a shy smile coming out of his face. Yes, must be a smile of envy. A smile wishing he was there with those kids, shouting & laughing around. Then he picked up more bottles, and went on with his work.

As I kept walking, I couldn't help but turn and look back at them. Pity. Do they go to school? Where are their parents? Aren't they suppose to be having fun & enjoying the summer? Where have their feet taken them? Do they ever feel that fate has been cruel to them? Tsk tsk... They are too young to be working. They are robbed of their childhood.

I realized too late that I should have done something for them. I should have offered to buy them a juice or anything to munch on. I felt bad that it never occurred to me the moment that I saw them.

I've always had a soft heart for children. For these so-called little angels. And I regret that I missed the chance to be their angel this time.

Will I be seeing them once more? Maybe tomorrow? Or day after? I don't know. But I hope I will.

And I'll make sure I have my good deed in hand when I hear bottles tinkling again."

----
One friend, after reading this blog, advised me to submit this article in a newspaper. But I never got the chance to do it.
And I haven't met again those three boys since.

Tea, anyone?

At last! A blog of my own. After months of concept-thinking, hours of changing blog names, and even more hours of setting up the layout, finally, I've created my spot. My own virtual literary nook.

It's been a long while since I last put all my thoughts into writing. Something that I have always loved to do but seem to have disregarded with time. Sure, I do have my little blog in one social networking site, but I don't always have the urge to keep it updated. Except probably when I am highly emotional. Perhaps it's the thought of letting out your whole self to the entire world. It's like undressing your whole being for everyone to scrutinize. The spotlight, be it good or bad, is something I am not ready of. Gone are the days when journals are considered a private thing. When it was just between you and your paper. This I didn't quite understand at first. But the writer in me is itching to keep those mental juices flowing again and my pens scribbling. This time though, it's just my fingers and my laptop. But hey, we gotta keep up with time, right?

That being said, in this blog you will read the cerebrations of my alter-ego ms. teacup, her life, and the world through her eyes. I'd squeeze in some quotes, reviews, tidbits, and perhaps some poetry of my own. Just anything and everything under the good ol' sun!

So please. Do come by my table.

Sit back, relax.. and let me offer you my cup of tea.