Streaks of Light

Archive for the ‘thunderstorm’ Category

How can some people stay insane inside their brains for a really long time?

Repetitive wasted thoughts. Runnin cycles every 3 seconds, wanting someone to listen to them when they don’t even deserve to be listened to and just waste other people’s quiet time?

Man, I’m taking a break and I don’t need to know what your brain is like, what your opinions are, I couldn’t care less. Damned if you can just shut up for 1 whole minute I swear this moment would be perfect.

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Yes, blame it on me.

All on me. 

I took everything you threw at me. All the nonsense, stupid remarks I got in the past, what? 8 years? About my job, how from the first few years, you were all in a state of denial that your daughter was growing up. Desperately trying to latch on her last few years of “childhood” (childhood at age 21? damned.) 

You don’t even know what I do in the first place. Both of you. So please, after 8 years of running through the same old lines, can both of you just SHUT UP? 



Your overprotectiveness smothers the life out of us. Maybe that’s why some of us don’t even have backbones to begin with. It’s just too much. And then you ask why isn’t _____ as aggressive as I am. Duh. You might want to try to look in the mirror. You might just catch a glimpse of the culprit.

I just didn’t allow myself to get sucked in by your overprotectiveness. Call me stubborn, disrespectful to a point, even arrogant, but I WILL NOT ALLOW MYSELF to sit in a corner while you contently bask away in all your fears. 

You chose your fears over my freedom, so stop putting the blame all on me. 

“The driver stayed up late last night, he didn’t get some sleep.” I KNOW. We were with the driver trying to find a way out of the maze that was fort-after-the-concert. Do you honestly think I wanted us to get home at 1am last night? Do you think I wanted to work up until 1am the following night? Do you think I love being showered with guilt every time I reach home and see everyone already asleep? My god. You don’t trust me enough, do you? 

And so, after a series of unnerving dialogues, you now conclude that I am just plainly inconsiderate. Oh wow. That’s really nice, coming from a person whose sense of consideration stems from getting approval from everyone else and never from herself. Wow. Just wow.

Two weeks ago, Sarsi gave birth to two puppies. One died in still birth and the other lived.

He was a very cute and plump pup. Everyone loved him. Because Sarsi is already 12 years old, she couldn’t provide the puppy with enough milk. So it was me and my sister’s job to prepare canned mother’s milk. She, on the day shift and I , at night.

Since I was always arriving late at home, I could stay up a little while longer until 4am every night.

Feeding time came at 2-hour intervals. So I had the 12 midnight, 2 am and 4 am covered. By that time, 6am was already my sister’s shift and I would get 4 hours sleep and be off to work the next morning. It was physically tough and especially hard that very week at work too. The whole creatives team had to stay up and cram great stuff to reach the deadline. I was drained physically and mentally with only 4 hours sleep in between to recharge my brain and body.

It was dreadful.

And it was easily forgotten, every time I held the puppy and fed him his milk.

He was really cute. Over the course of the week, we noticed how his ears were forming, how his closed eyes got more defined, and how his lips were blackening. The little one was growing in front of us. He really was. He was a really cute puppy.

It was on a thursday, just last week, that we decided to call him FUDGE. Also, linked to a forward excuse to call him “fudgie-wudgie” sometime in the future.

But it was the 2 days after, that changed the puppy’s course, inevitably.

It was 4pm, saturday, the clan’s mooncake festival. After celebrating at my grandparent’s house, we went home to find a sickly puppy. He didn’t look right, I tried to wake him up, he would yawn and then go back to sleep. He didn’t seem right. Nothing did. I tried feeding him, he didn’t want to be fed, he kept pushing away the bottle. My sister decided to bring him to the vet. And when she got back, the vet told her that the puppy was experiencing belly gas (kabag). And he would be alright. We only had to burp him and keep him warm.

Thinking that the problem was minor, as stated by the vet. We went out. Both my sister and I went out to dinner, separately. Then my brother called and told me he was sending the puppy to another vet, because he still wasn’t eating and something’s not right.

An hour after, the puppy died.

He was diagnosed with over-hydration and was supposed to be incubated, but it was too late.

We were all too late.

I am furious at the first vet. They were just too lazy to actually bother and even made us believe that we weren’t caring for him right. If they had been able to diagnose him properly, maybe he would still be with us now.

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It was more than a month ago when I came to work that day, angsty about an incident at home. Engulfed in my own thunderstorm, I finished unpacking my laptop and looked up.

I saw Mike, my officemate holding up a tiny good morning sign. 

It made me laugh. ^_^

Beautiful rage.

If only, it was that easy to let you go and bite every idiot’s head off. 

The past weeks have been stressful. And it was on one thursday morning that I was pushed to my limit, way too much and staged a walkout. 

It was, liberating.

It was the first time, in a very long time, I felt really free.

No idiots to defend my work to, no stupid false deadlines, no bitches who act as though they are god’s gift to the world, no responsibilities, none.

Just me and freedom, sharing a beer during lunch.

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I am quietly freaking out the past few days. 

Right after my best friend’s wedding, it climaxed.

Post-wedding trauma I think would be a great name for it. It’s something all the bridesmaid, especially the maid-of-honor gets after a long day of preparation from the wedding.  From the phone coordinations to the actual hands on running around in inched heels (for someone who loves sneakers that’s a mighty big deal) 

The wedding was a success, they loved the avps, and they loved everything else that came with it. The bride got feedback from people texting her they had loads of fun even for a simple wedding. All the rushing about in heels made a difference.  

But it’s not just a physical thing.

That’s easy. Easy as calling the sky blue on a great day. 

What gets to me is the mental part.

That leads to the emotional part.

That further leads to the part where I get myself into more trouble because the emotional-part is heightened by watching movies like 27 Dresses a day after the wedding. Damned.

The part where you starting thinking about the people who asks you “when are you getting married?” before, during and even after your best friends wedding. Where you either reply with a REALLY polite smile, brush it off, or snap back with a remark like “I really like being single,” but is actually wishing you could snap back with a witty remark like “Not yet, because the sex is better.” Just to shut them up. Top that with a conversation my dad and sister had, when asked what if “big” sis got married? and the reply was, “She should, but I don’t want to pressure her.”

Plus, the fact that you’re the only one left in your group who isn’t married off and each time you’re introduced to a grandparentish person, he or she would throw a comment and a short interview and then drop the deal-sealing line “Ok, I’ll look for someone for you” (in chinese) AS IF, you asked them to go and find you a husband. AS IF, you in your own way, couldn’t find one yourself that’s why you needed “wisdomful” help from the elderly. 

AS IF, marriage is the END ALL BE ALL of my existence. 


I still can’t help but feel…what if they’re right? What if, I’m the one stuck in my own handmade world, thinking otherwise? Thinking that I’m not in a rush, thinking that I don’t really care if a wedding happens in the next few years or not. Only lying to myself that I’m not in a hurry. Deadma na. 

And getting that intense feeling that you’re not wedding material because, one, you’re afraid to commit that deeply due to external factors that may affect your lifestyle; two, you’re afraid he’s really never going to propose because he doesn’t believe in weddings at least the way you do and he already told you so; three, there’s no one else who’ll help you plan your own wedding when you’re the only one left in your group of friends who is single, just in case the “he” in number two changes his mind; Four, you are not wedding or marriage material. 



April 2021

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