Painting Black: November 2005

Thy will be done

At the end of the day, it’s easier to blame myself for things that have gotten out of control. For two straight weeks, it hovered and loomed over like some dark cloud. I constantly castigated myself for not knowing well enough. I couldn’t even ask for help because I took hint from the very person I rely on that help can’t be offered this time around. I felt so alone. What made matters worse was the mix of subtle and overt message he conveyed that I should be able to stand on my own two feet. I wish I knew all the answers to every question in this world, let alone what she did that blew the whole thing out of proportion. But it’s easier still to blame myself and so I did. By the time I made the whole thing work, I was so exhausted and was feeling bad about myself. My conscience tells me it was a big enough problem when I found it and that if there’s one thing I should feel, it should be self-respect for finding a solution that saved it. God, I’m being too hard on myself, again.

This morning, while pondering about the hurdles of the past weeks, I thought I heard somebody whispered in my ear to let God worry about my problems…cast my burdens upon him. I could be thinking it subliminally, but I also believe in Divine Intervention, and this must be it. Then, as if loads of weight has been lifted off me, I felt light and calm. It’s now my mantra, and whatever happens, I know God is with me and all I can say is, God, Thy will be done, and I’d gladly accept.

Spilling beans

I'm good at keepings secrets but now I have decided to openly join the bandwagon of weight watchers. Darn those Brooke Burk with a slimming machine and Daisy Fuentes doing Pilates infomercials.

It may not seem so but weight has always been my problem since high school. I was bulimic at age 14, that I self-diagnosed only in college, being a Psych major myself. I was never really big and was never overweight, only too obsessed about becoming thin, and never wanting to be called chubby. The episodes of binging and purging ceased for good but I was the classic example of “tabain.” My weight has always been yo-yoing. I had become as thin as I can get only to blow up to a few extra pounds outside the maximum ideal weight for a bundle my size. It’s tiring and it can also get quite embarrassing.

I haven’t had the courage to weigh myself lately. My BMI says I’m weighing normal but I can’t seem to wriggle myself back into old jeans and it’s frustrating. This morning was actually my first attempt to try diet pills. I’m pretty eager to know if xenical will work for me. On second thought, it better should because I don’t intend to spend several hundred bucks per week for nothing. I should be on the program for at least 6 months. Results are promised as early as week 2. I hope I can say goodbye to bulges soon, hopefully.

Diva Mode

Call me witch, greedy, full of myself, I’ll take gladly. Just don’t force me to like her, to share anything with her. I will never like her. And I am sorry that I’m not making an effort pretending that I like her. I hate how she speaks, she is loud and uncouth. I hate how she eats. How loud should she chew her food? It’s repulsive. I hate how she ransacks my things and use them without uttering a word of permission. I hate how she acts and thinks highly of herself thinking she is “saved” because of her religion. Who is she fooling? For apart from religion, she is no different from everybody else, she’s even worse than most people I hate!

Wild thought

I calculated my Body Mass Index and the BMI calculator says my weight is just normal for somebody my size, yet something tells me that I’ve gained a gazillion pounds. I don’t move as fast and I am mostly lazy to do anything. I probably need exercise but I do not have time..err..i do not feel like moving a finger, there. And so the million peso question looms. Should I take diet pills or should I not? I’m eyeing for a popular brand but I found out that it’s quite pricey even in comparison with my mom’s maintenance meds. Literature says they are safe. The pill just sits in the stomach, does its thing there and after that, it is released as waste and not absorbed by the system. Sounds easy. Leo says no, I say why not? I am tempted, wickedly tempted this time.


Just as I am all geared up for that much-awaited 2nd installment of the long weekend, my phone broke! Just great. Went to Smart to surrender it for an old 3310 service unit. Argh! So unfair!

Ode to the faithful departed

They say that when children die, they do not grow. Nice was only five then, our dear little angel. We didn’t think she’ll be taken from us a few days before her birthday. Still we celebrated it, we felt we had to or we would have died of loneliness. The celebration was just as gloomy as everybody had expected. Everybody had puffy eyes and it went without saying that we all missed Nice terribly. Mama even bought the cake that Nice begged her to buy for her birthday. It was painful seeing her quietly hide the pain…and Papa, too. But we all pulled strength from the fact that Nice will never have to suffer the pains of blood transfusion and the heinous rounds of chemotherapy. Yet, Nice was the bravest person I know. She had learned to be brave at a very young age, for instead of crying and fighting off the nurses, she submitted docilely to them, just screaming “Jesus, Jesus” when it really hurt just as what Mama had told her to do. She fought her disease and she fought it well that God would have been very proud of her. But we understood that it was best for Nice to be with God than to be with us and suffer the things her little body never ever deserved.

We visited Nice at Manila Memorial. It was almost six when we got there. The whole place was bustling with people and merchandise. It was more like Christmas in November. It helped that we didn’t bring a car. The rented tricycle was better at snaking through the now narrow streets, made narrower by heavy vehicle and foot traffic. Mac, Shery and KM arrived ahead of us. Already, they made themselves a comfortable place on the grass. At the sight of them, Gabby ran towards her Tito Mac and played with KM. It was nice to see the kids having fun. Just like what Nice did a few years back before leukemia got her. She would have been 17 by now, on the 11th of this month, to be exact. And then it hit me. For so many years now, I long for the care of a big brother. I want to be loved by a big brother just as I have loved Nice as her big sister.

I used to have a kuya until May of 2001. They said it was a failed robbery. The knife went through his rib and caught a good portion of his heart. At the force of the stab, he dropped to the ground and was dragged a few distances away in the effort to conceal his body in a grassy lot. Somebody phoned me at around 2:00 am informing me that Kuya was rushed to the hospital. Another call, and the voice hesitantly announced that we lost him. I must have screamed at the loss and shock that I awaken my father from the other room. I was especially attached to my kuya and breaking the news to my parents made it all more painful. Even then, I had to delay my grief because Mama had a heart stroke and she shouldn’t be hearing news as bad as the death of another family member. But with the needed support provided to her, mama was able to accept the news with minimal repercussions to her health. Still everybody did not cry openly for it was sure to badly affect her and worsen her condition. Kuya’s remains were buried in the province. He left us then with 2 boys, a two-year old and four-month old infant.

Time heals all wounds, they say, just as memories fade in the coming and passing of time. Ours were healed, I sense it. More so, the addition of new children in the family made an innocent repair to make the hurt forgotten. And without the hurt, fond memories of Nice and Kuya surge and dwell in the heart and the mind making them as alive as they can be. May these two people that I loved dearly rest in God’s arms forever.

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