Favorite Mistake: Is there a mistake you’ve made that turned out to be a blessing — or otherwise changed your life for the better? Tell us all about it.

I always thought that less was more, and always tried to Keep It Short and Simple.

So here goes,

She was the best mistake I’ve ever made. Go figure. 😉


When I Break My Silence

Antique Antics: What’s the oldest thing you own? (Toys, clothing, twinkies, Grecian urns: anything’s fair game.) Recount its history — from the object’s point of view.

I can still remember the first day we met, it was a Sunday, you had your church clothes on. You, together with your family, were casually strolling when you passed by where I was in the mall. We instantly shared a strong and deep connection–sparks flew. I knew then and there that nothing else in this world could ever compare to your eyes looking deep into mine.

Days passed by like minutes when we were together. We would spend a whole day just curled up in a corner, with you listening to the story I’m telling. There would even be days when you would rather listen to me instead of doing your homework.

But those days are long gone. When I no longer had a story to tell, when the story I was telling you has reached its end, you left me, alone and unwanted anymore. I have been sitting in this shelf ever since, collecting dust, and comforting others who end up in your library. I see you with a new one every now and then, but I know better; that your new one is always just an addition to your collection, nothing more and so much less.

How We Never Happened

Fair warning. This is not a story with a happy ending, definitely not a feel-good read either.

Still reading? You were warned.

This is the story of how we never happened.

The clock says it’s already six in the morning as the alarm goes off. Classes has just resumed from semester break, it’s a new semester, time for another day in the university. I’m barely going through the motions as I absentmindedly take a shower, brush my teeth, get dressed, and drag my feet to class–a student’s basic routine. After an hour and a half of lecture delicately intertwined with doodling, dozing off, and playing a game or two on my phone, the class was over. I quickly race to the faculty office to check if I had been given a slot, under the instructor’s prerogative, in this particular subject that not everybody particularly wants to have but needs to have.

“There’s no more slots left in my class, hijo, you’re gonna have to wait and see if anyone cancels”, said the instructors I went to. With a heavy albeit optimist heart, I slowly leave the office, found a place to sit, and just marinated in my thoughts. “The silence of this solitude is just too deafening”, I told myself. No amount of booze nor drunk storytelling could even begin to fill the void she left me with. It’s been months since but I still feel nothing, and that’s what’s bothering me, of how I am bereft of a grand purpose, how I seem to be wandering aimlessly.

Then you walked by, words could not even begin to grasp how perfect you were that day, with your flowing dark auburn hair and your cheerful smile, it was just what the doctor ordered. You moved me, unknowingly. I would check with the instructors more often just because of the small probability of running into you again, of seeing you again, even though I didn’t know your name.

At the end of the first week of class, as I sat in my last class for the week, waiting for the instructor, I noticed a familiar face in the front, yours.

Sadly, that’s just it. That’s all this, whatever the hell this is, will ever be.

And this, this is the story of how we never happened.

The Death of Romance

A Lost Art: This week, tell us about a lost art: one that you know, one that you miss, or one that should be lost for good.

Here’s the thing, I’m a hopeless romantic. I knew that since the day I realized how different my perspective on love was compared to my friends. To me, love, in its entirety, is an art form, it is an expression of one’s emotion, similar to dancing, and yet so much more profound. But even with all this grandeur of love, it saddens me beyond compare how love has become the way it is now.

You know how it is — or how it used to be, boy meets girl, girl takes boy’s breath away, then boy arduously tries to court girl and sweep her off her feet until he finally does — and that moment would have been a moment of moments.

But now? Look at what we have done to love. Look at how diminished the word has become, how it has been flayed and mutilated, how something so sincere has been mindlessly labeled as ‘creepy’ and ‘stalker-ish’. They say that the love I describe only happens in fairy tales and movies, but they fail to understand that that love, the romance I have yearned for, used to exist and was once well renowned, it was just somewhere along the lines of a generation’s rite of passage that that romance got lost in translation. And it pains me.

JakeCrystal of Mars

Longing for Gravity: You are on a mission to Mars. Because of the length of of the journey, you will never be able to return to Earth. What about our blue planet will you miss the most?

Not a thing, not a single thing, just the persons, the people who I have come across, the people whose lives I have touched and has left an indelible mark on my life as well. Those are the things I will miss the most.

Admit it, it’s seldom that its the things about a place that we miss whenever we move, most of the time, it’s the people, the faces, the names that we would miss the most. And more to the point, humans, well, homo sapiens–if you subscribe to the idea of life on mars, are the most exclusive component of our blue planet–which ain’t so blue anymore, sadly.

This Masquerading Host

Unsafe Containers: Which emotion(s) — joy, envy, rage, pity, or something else — do you find to be the hardest to contain?

Anxiety. Whenever, I’m about to do something of astounding importance, be it a first date, a job interview, or even an exam, my palms get sweaty and cold. But boasting aside, I find it quite easy to mask my emotions, whatever emotion it may be, however, it is only anxiety which elicits a physical response.

Honestly, I see myself as a clown, or a person in a masquerade, in the sense that you would never be able to feel, or even see, the truest and deepest emotion I feel unless I choose to tell you. I’m an introvert disguised as an extrovert, and you would have no idea.

This is My Resolve

A True Saint: In 300 years, if you were to be named the patron saint of X, what would you like X to be? Places, activities, objects — all are fair game.

Okay, this was a tough one. What would I want my legacy to be? I would probably want to be remembered for always having fun — having a good time, always. Ergo I would want to be named The Patron Saint of Steadfast Fun.

Sounds legit, right?






If It Ain’t Broken

The idea that the weather and people’s moods are connected is quite old. Do you agree? If yes, how does the weather affect your mood?

Of course. Growing up in a tropical country, weather not only affects an individuals mood but the lifestyle of the people as well, especially those who depend upon natural resources for their income. In my country, sometimes the weather does not simply affect people–it dictates upon them. So until now, that old idea–that weather and people’s moods are connected–still works.