Good girls finish first, Ugly ducklings have more fun!

(Inspired by Chei and written in October 2005)

A rationalization in the first degree! For what I hope will be my reward for not putting physical attractiveness in the top of my list on how to have a meaningful life.

But let's face it. Those who have external cutaneous superiority reap all the advantages in this world. Psychological studies attest to this. And I would be a traitor to my profession if I didn't agree with this assertion. Empirical data shows that they get higher grades. They get better jobs. They get higher pay. They can bully us and get away with it. They have someone else always do the dirty jobs for them. Etc, etc, etc!!!!!!!!!

Until all the tinsel lose their sparkle! Until the foundation can no longer hide the spots and the hairpieces, what is no longer there. Until the fat cells take over their worlds. Until people who were bitched upon learn to bitch back.

But those of us who chose to build our self-esteem on our talents and earned our friendships by being nice-nice (as Al put it), will always have what we rightfully deserve. Our glow will come from pride at what we have accomplished with hard work. Even when we're doddering at 80, there will always be someone to hold our hand. We will ignore the wrinkles at the corners of our mouth because it will be the smiles and laughter that caused them that we will remember.

YouTube - Light of a million mornings

Full Moon

Taken on March 30, 2010 from the window by our staircase. Supposedly the second full moon of this month as there was none in February. So it's another blue moon in a span of 3 months (last time was in January). They say this event happens only every 19 years!

In Trellis...before Check Republic!

Thank God for my lunch buddies! Our hour-long or so inanities keep me sane!

Finally got to watch CINEMA PARADISO the other night. Whew! If I was enamored of its music before, now my head is still reeling from sheer beauty of the film!

Pogi!

Every time I decide to get a haircut, it seems to get shorter than the last time before. When I got this one, it was because I wanted a new look that would be fuss-free. I had gotten tired of my hair which had grown out without thought to my lack of time for careful grooming. (And to think that was only a couple of months ago!)

In my lifeline, I am at the point that I am learning to discard things which have been getting in the way of making things simpler for me. There is so, so much to do that I have only enough time to do what is more important. So between primping a less-than cooperative hairstyle and catching up on sleep or my reading, I will definitely choose the latter. I have gone beyond using my hair as a way to glorify my femininity. Because after 5 decades, people most certainly know my gender and the state of my sexuality even without the usual embellishments!

But I also realize that the length of my hair has been always a symbol of my need for asserting my independence. As a child, I was "forced" to have short hair. The female adults in my family reasoned that because I was grossly underweight, long hair would leech the nutrients from my already emaciated frame. (Okay, I exaggerate!) Every trip to the beauty parlor (as it was called then) to have a haircut or have my straight hair curled  was always a reminder of how powerless I was. When I reached adolescence, no force in the universe could coerce me to give in to my mother's and aunt's demands for the pixie or page-boy hair-dos. I let my hair grow long with a vengeance! By the time I graduated from high school, I think I must have had waist-length hair. What joy!

In the ensuing years, I had complete control of the length and style of my hair. No more pleasing my mother who wanted it short. No more pleasing my father who wanted it long. But for most part of my adult years, I kept pretty much to a length that I could tie up into a ponytail. Shoulder-length was the bravest I could go.

I also hated my straight and limp hair. So a yearly ritual was perming its ends so that my lifeless hair would have some "body". I think that it was only in my late 30s that  I decided that enough is enough. No more perming and shorter than shoulder-length hair was permissible. Not only had I embaced that straight hair was okay but I also discovered a side of me that I never knew existed. Both required courage to accept and this realization marked the beginning of a life-changing journey.

Many times over the years, every time there is an emotional upheaval in my life, I have cut my hair short. Maybe to punish myself in the biblical sense ( as in wearing sackcloth and putting ash on my face. Ang layo yata!) or better, to spite those who prefer to have my hair a certain length. Maybe cutting is more radical and definite compared to just washing out people or problems out of my hair? Maybe also to make me feel and look better after dealing with a devastating event? I don't know!
 
So I have come full circle to where I was in my early years. The length of my hair is no longer a symbol of subjugation that it was but is now an assertion of my individuality and my independence of spirit. I will not promise to stop using it also to define my quarrels with the world. But for now, even if I look pogi I feel beautiful and chic as well. And that, at this very moment, is all that matters!

3 Reading stories

Story #1: Nancy Drew

      I was addicted to the Nancy Drew stories when I was in Grade school. It was my obsession to read all of the books in this collection. Not being able to afford to buy them, I would just wait for my aunt to give them to me as pasalubong from  the US or I would borrow them from my 2nd cousin, Gelene, who had, it seemed to me then, all the titles listed in the back of every volume.

      Not only did I want to read every Nancy Drew adventure ever published, I also wanted to read them as fast as I could every time I got hold of one. So that when I was in the middle of one and it was lights out time,  I would continue reading under the kulambo using a flashlight.

     DId I get to read all of the Nancy Drew books? Nah, adolescence got in the way. I was introduced to other reading fare. And they became my next obsession. (See Story #3)

Story #2: "Ghost Story"

     My aunt who used to live with us before she moved to the US, had a collection of fiction that she kept on two shelves inside her bedroom. When I inherited the bedroom, I sort of inherited her books too. As I was still in grade school, the titles of her books didn't hold much attraction for me except for one entitled "Ghost Story." I don't remember the story now but what I will never forget is how I scared I was while reading the book. So engaged was I in the story that I actually covered myself with a thick blanket to protect me from the ghosts who might come for me! Oh, did I mention that it was the height of summer then? Brrrrrr!

     Years later, when my aunt died, I also inherited her books on Psychiatry. Again, they are of limited use to me who is more into social rather than clinical psychology. But when I look at them in my office cabinet, I remember my aunt whom I loved so much, and I am assured that it is but right that her books are with me.

Story #3: "Mills and Boon"

     It seemed like everyone in my high school class read these romance books. Some classmates went so far as to read them during class, risking the ire of teachers if it were discovered that behind the opened textbooks were the hard-to-put-down pocket books. And so not wanting to be left out, I joined the fun. Now, those stories led me into the world of poor, naive, lovely heroines initially ignored, but eventually wooed and won by strong, dashing men. I so identified with the ladies that I would be alternately shedding tears or swooning unashamedly while losing sleep (and study hours) over them. Hay, kilig!

     I, of course, knew even at that age that these were just modernized fairy tales. The stuff that never happens in real life! But that didn't stop me from reading every volume I could borrow from a classmate, Chato,  whose mother was a rabid consumer of these tomes. I think I only stopped reading them when it became embarrassing to be still hooked on Mills and Boon books at the ripe, old age of 17. (Much like when I quit bottle-feeding at age 5 because my Kindergarten classmates would have found me such a baby. But that's another story!)

     Yes, I had entered college and it was time for more serious and sophisticated fiction and non-fiction. That would have been in keeping with what the intellectuals in my university would supposedly be reading. Unfortunately, the only things I managed to devote hours to during my college years were the prescribed textbooks and assigned class readings. Alas, only because of my English literature class did I manage to slip in a novel or two.

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     My obsession with books continue to this today. In shelves at my home, you'll find my collection of fiction books from when I was a child . The non-fiction books occupy shelves in my office. But under my bed is a box and a basket filled with books I have yet to read. Their topics range from the spiritual to the mundane. I have recipe books there along with self-help books and volumes of poetry. Magazines that will help me design and decorate my retirement home abound there too.

      And speaking of retirement... guess what I plan to do then? Why, open and savor all those unread books under my bed, of course!

YouTube - Pablo Neruda : I love you in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

YouTube - IL DIVO - ADAGIO

YouTube - SJCHS Batch 1973

Thanks to the hard work and thoughtfulness of our high school classmate, Evangeline Hernaez-Legasto, we now have a digital copy of our high school yearbook. You're awesome, Ivan!

I like stress-free Sundays! And Mondays, Tuesdays, and ...

Some Highlights of CSSP Week 2010

Pictures from the Parangal and Turn-over of the new CSSP FC