Kahapon bumiyahe ang aking kaklase
Hindi na nga kami nagkita
Late ako nagising as usual
Isang saging ang almusal
Tapos basa ulit ng libroNaalala mo ba nung college tayo?
Hanga kami sa iyo dahil sa abs mo
Cool pa ang curly hair mo
Guwaping ka rin, kakaiba charm
Pero never ka mayabang
Like ka namin
Boys and girls
Kahit yung mga in between
Mabait ka kase sa lahat
Grabe ka rin ma in- love
Naging close tayo
Sa Guidance and Counseling
Natuklasan ko galing galing
As in galing mo sa advice
Samantalang ako, tameme
Malapit na sa sampung taon
Na tayo ay nagkahiwalay
Lost contact pero okey lang
Included ka sa cool group ko
Fond memories lagi sa iyo
Destinasyon mo ay nandyan na
Alam ko na okey sa alright ka
Nauna ka man sa amin
Naiwan mo naman pamasahe mo
Pamasahe mo sa bawat isa
Parents mo, classmates
Girlfriend, barkada
Puso mo, amin na ang sukli
Nice trip PJ, Hagibis Edwin
Hindi ka namin makakalimutan
Isuyo mo na rin kami kay JC
Berks mo na siya diyan sa heaven

Matagal din akong hindi nakapagsulat. Hindi sa katamaran, nawalan lang ako ng inspirasyon a.k.a nawili akong maglaro ng Wii. Nakakahiya mang tanggapin pero certified addict na ako dahil sa pula kong mga mata at masakit na hintuturo at hinlalaki.

Mga mababa lang ba ng IQ ang sumasabak sa pagtuturo? Sa palagay ko hindi. Actually putsa! lintik! Pusang gala! Hindi lang dapat may utak ka. Idagdag mo na rin ang pasensya, pagiging aktor/ aktres, impromptu speaker, motivational counselor at ang paglangoy pa sa dagat ng sistema ng edukasyon.

Magiging katapusan na ng mundo kapag mawawala ang mga guro sapagkat:

1. Wala ng magtatangkang magtalik upang gumawa ng baby kase wala ng teachers. Simple? Oo naman.

2. Malaking batok sa ekonomiya ng kahit na anong bansa. Kami yata ang may pinamalaking pondo.

3. Ang matitirang guro sa mundo ay si Bush. Mantakin mo!

4. Wala ng propesyon ang mga tao. Lahat tayo ay magiging tambay na.

5. Ang tanging role natin ay humilata.

6. May computer at internet pero saan manggagaling ang mga impormasyon. Mula kay Socrates hanggang kay Ms. T (naks!) ang lahat ng kaalaman natin ay galing mula sa ating mga guro. Mabait man o masungit.

7. Hindi magiging makulay ang high school life kung walang mga guro.

8. Ang mga madre at pari ay mapipilitang magturo! Huwag please no!!! Tingnan mo na lang ang nangyari sa akin.

9. Ang mga bata ay magiging brats. Brats na hindi alam ang mga kulay sa paligid at kung paano ispell ang kanilang pangalan for vandalizing the walls.

10. Walang eskwela ang maitataguyod kung walang mga guro. Kung wala ako, walang trabaho ang aking boss. Hmmmm. okey din pero nah, kailangan ko pa rin ng pambayad sa rent.

Wala na akong alam na propesyon. Marunong akong magtupi ng t shirt (pwede siguro ako sa Gap, Old Navy o Banana Republic). Kahit ano pang panlalait ang gawin ng iba diyan, taas noo at paa pa rin ako dahil ako ay isang guro.

Sa Martes ay graduation ng aking klase. Pagtatapos ng taon sa kindergarten na puno ng pagsubok, pakikipag- away sa akin at tagumpay na ang pula ay hindi berde. Sampung buwan kong inalagaan ang mga uhugin, makukulit at kadalasan ay nagpapatawa sa akin. Ipinagmamalaki ko sila sapagkat sa kabila ng kanilang kakulangan, nagkaroon sila ng lakas ng loob na matuto at maniwala na maganda –pa rin ang buhay. May mga araw na lumuluha na sila dahil napaka- strikto ni Ms. T at karamihan naman ay ayaw na nilang umuwi. Habang nag- eensayo para sa presentasyon, naiiyak ako sa kagalakan habang nakikita ko silang umaakyat ng entablado. Habang kinakanta nila ang "Because I’m Big" gusto ko silang yakapin na parang nanay na kailangang tanggapin na lumalaki at ngayon ay magtatapos na. Bilang isang guro, mas importante sa akin ang makitang grumaduate ang aking mga estudyante. Katwiran pa ay mas masaya ako kumpara nung nagtapos ako mula sa graduate school. Sa araw ng pagtatapos, nakahanda na ang aking damit, sapatos at pabango upang maging saksi sa tagumpay ng aking klase. Sa auditorium man nila tatanggapin ang kanilang mg diploma, sa aking paniniwala ko ay daig pa nila ang graduates mula sa Ivy League.

 Malapit na ang Father's Day. Natapos ko na rin sa wakas ang librong magiging handog ng aking Tiyo sa kanyang asawa sa kanilang anibersaryo. Buong kagalakan ko itong ginawa dahil tungkol ito sa isang magulang na sadyang mapagbigay. May mga ilang pagkakataon na napapag- isip ako dahil ang mga salitang "faithful, responsible, concerned, present" ay wala sa bokabularyo ng pagpapalaki sa akin. Sa aking opinyon, unique lang ang aking mga magulang. Pag- uusapan natin ang aking ama. Pinili ko siya dahil padadalhan ko siya ng allowance sa araw ng mga lalakeng tinayuan at nagdonate ng sperm cell. Sa ibang panahon na ang aking nanay, hindi kasya ang website na ito kung siya ang pag- uusapan.Ang tatay ko ay galing sa mahirap na pamilya.

Siyam silang magkakapatid at dalawa lamang silang biniyayaan ng brains ni Lord. Ang iba ay nabigyan ng talento sa "golp" at pasensya na maghintay sa paghulog ng bayabas. Cute ang tatay ko, in other words short at maitim pero ang mga mata niya ang kanyang greatest asset. Marami rin siyang naging girlfriend (hanggang nagyon) at dahil na rin sa kanyang Napoleon complex, ayun nagpagulong gulong para maging ace player ng tennis, bowling, ping pong, golf puwera na ang basketball. Nakatapos siya ng kolehiyo sa UB sa pamamagitan ng pagiging part time custodian at tag- gawa ng term paper ng kanyang mga kaklase. Sadyang matalino si Popsie at sa kanya ko nakuha ang aking writing prowess. Magaling siyang magsulat ng love letters na hanggang nagyon ay kayaman ng aking mudraka (aka momsie). Sinunod ko ang kanyang sideline at nagpabayad din ako ng 50 pesos para sa isang original na love letter noong asa college naman ako. Natanggap siya bilang auditor sa Pines Hotel hanggang sa lumipat siya sa BPI. Sabay ng kanyang pag- angat, sabay rin na lumayo siya sa amin. Ang mga kapatid ko ay puno ng galit sa kanya pero ako ay ambivalent. Okey lang kung andyan siya, okey rin kung wala. Bata pa lang ako, dedma ako sa mundo. Mahirap nung wala siya kase ang nanay ko naman ay nagsungit sa amin. Masasabi kong lumaki akong gamit ang sarili kong utak, paa at kung minsan ang aking pwet. Lumaki nga ito dahil sa kakapalo. Kaming magkakapatid ay may iba ibang types ng defense mechanism sa absence ni Popsie. Ang kuya ko, balanced lagi- gimik at aral pareho siyang magaling. Responsable pwera kapag hinihika. Ang Ate ko naman, tahimik, nagsungit din pero siya ang pinakanasaktan. Ako na bunso ay "buong sunod sunuran" sa mga aral na ibinigay sa akin. Sinulat ko pa nga sa aking language notebook, 100 times pero mga 10 beses ko pang nagawa. Kaya nga love na love as in sobrang love ako ni muder. Bukod kay SMB, girls din ang kinawilihan ni popcie. Eto namang mga girls sige kahit mukhang lolo na ang aking tatay, lapit pa rin para malibre ng tagay. Bago ako umalis, ilang babae na rin ang nakasagutan ko sa text at nahagisan ng ashtray. Sa lahat ng pagtataray ko, walang sinabi si Popsie, alam niya kaseng babaltan  ko ng buhay ang kanyang mga kulasisi kapag nasalubong ko. May mga kakulangan siya na hanggang ngayon ay kinaiinisan namin pero sa huli, Tatay pa rin namin siya. Sabi nga ng aking kapatid ko, "Maka- ama ka kase kahit ano pa ang inis mo, love mo pa rin si Popsie." Siyempre paborito niya ako at never niya akong pinalo. As in never. Sa kanya ako mas malapit dahil mas magka- uri kami. Ang mga sumusunod ay namana at natutunan ko kay Popsie.

1. Smile mula kay Mayor hanggang sa Janitor. Ito ang lagi kong tinatandaan. What goes around comes around. Mr. and Ms. Friendship kami ni Popsicle.

2. Ang friends ay mahalaga pati gimik. Contest kami kung sino ang mas late na umuwi sa amin. Ito siguro ang dahilan kung bakit maraming puting buhok ang nanay ko.

3. Mag- aral lamang ng isang araw bago exam. Ang test ay hindi mo buhay. Sinunod ko ito, okey naman. Genetically smart kase eh.

4. Ingat habang nagmamaneho. Bago niya ibinigay ang kotse, bilin niya ito pero siya naman 3 case na ng beer, galing pa rin mag- drive. Ako kahit hindi nakainom, kaskasera. Need for speed ang motto ko.

5. Huwag magpakasal dahil in rebound. Ayan kase Popsie, hindi mo hinintay ang love mo bumalik galing amerika. Haay! Buhay. Sayang, soulmate pa naman niya.

6. Magpapayat ka naman anak. Nung payat kase ako, nakadisplay ang picture ko sa office desk niya. Nung lumobo ako, biglang nawala. Ngayon siguro ididisplay niya ulit.

7. Wala kang mapapala sa galit. Init ng ulo okey huwag lang maging middle name mo. Si Popsie always cool. Gusto ko siya kse hindi siya mabunganga.

8. ENJOY LIFE kase baka mamatay ka bukas. Yan ang pilosopiya ko pero may savings na itinatabi. Kailangan kong turuan si Papa na mag- ipon.

9. Tawanan mo lang ang nanay mo este kapag may problema ka. Sinunod ko ito noong nasa Dagupan ako. Naloka nga ako sa kakatawa. Buti na lang sinundo mo ako Papa, "Thank you forever."

10. Huwag maglagay ng sobrang make- up o magmumukha kang kabuki. Lagi niyang bilin, hanggang sunblock lang ako at lipgloss. Swerte na kapag sinipag akong mag- mascara. Natural beauty, mala- safari ang beauty ko siguro.

Miyerkules ng hapon, nakaupo ako sa harapan ni Dr. Pulpol. Code name niya ito dahil hindi ko mabigkas ang kanyang Indian name. Natapos din ang sangkatutak na mga blood tests, poop tests at urine tests. Isang timba na siguro ng dugo ang kinuha sa akin at sa bawat pagkakataon, mga planeta ang nakikita ko. Hindi ko habit ang bumisita sa duktor at mana ako sa Tatay ko na as long na hindi pa lumalabas ang aking bituka, okey pa. Kaso nakakalimutan ko na tumatanda na rin ako kasabay nito ang mas lalo kong tumatatalas na isip. Isang pruweba ay hinahanap ko ang aking contact lens, nasa mata ko na pala. Anyhow carabao, napilitan akong magpaduktor dahil sa mga sumusunod:

Rejection again
Across my face
In a mole's hole
My butt is sore
So is my ego

A pinch of hope
Dash of confidence
Then walk again
Head help up
Perhaps fall again
But the hell I care

I will try another publisher.....

Tumambay ako kanina sa Starbucks kasama ang aking katrabaho. Para kaming East meets West dahil Caucasian siya with blue eyes, 6 feet tall and long blonde hair. Ako naman ay may dark brown eyes, 5"4 feet at long black with red/ magenta/ brown highlights. Habang nilalamon ko ang aking pangalawang mint cookie, bigla niya akong tinanong, "Ms. T how many times have you fell in love?" Mabilaukan ba ako!? "Hmmm, let' s see. Maybe 3; perhaps 4. No, I think it's 5." "How do you know that you are in love?" Isang malaking halakhak ang sinagot ko sabay sabi na "When it comes to a question like that, I am not the person to ask. If I tell you, you'll just get confused cause until now, I am still confused." "Come on, you got to share just a little. I want to know how Asians love?" Sa isip ko lang "Ginagago mo yata ako, Hello kapareha din kita magmahal. It is either nakahiga, nakatuwad, pagilid o nakasalpak sa dingding." (Sorry nabasa mo na ito, konting pollution lang naman sa utak mo). Tumawa siya at hinampas hampas ako. Sa laki ba naman ng kamay niya, nalagyan yata ako ng latay. Umuwi ako at habang nasa 6 train, naisip ko ang history ang aking love life. Para akong baliw na nangingiti na lang habang nililista ko ang mga pangalan ng mga lalake sa buhay ni Hazel. Handa na ba kayo?

(Para protektahan ang mga taong sangkot sa aking love life, iniba ko ang mga pangalan. Halimbawa ang Ding ay gagawin kong Dong. Okey ba?)

Addicted to Victoria's, Inc.

I have a confession to make. It may sound irrelevant but since I have no serious topic to write about, I chose to write about my panties. I am addicted to Victoria's Secret panties. Yes, my panties will be the meal of the site today. Since I came from the "Pearl of the Orient", I have been buying panties from Victoria's Secret on a regular basis. To estimate the number I have, I own at least 160. My boyfriend gasped in horror as I revealed the number. He looked at me like I committed one of the deadly sins like gluttony but I firmly believe that a woman should never be seen with a underwear that is hole infested or worst rag like. He further accused me of being a Victoria's Secret parasite and threatened to hide my VS Angel Card. However, there is no intervention that will cure me of my addiction. I have varieties such as the boy cut, low rise, high rise, bikini and the thong. I stopped buying the thongs since I felt uncomfortable with just a string and a ribbon on my butt. To add to the matter, it gives a sensual rubbing when things get too tight. Perhaps this is the reason many women wear thongs. I gave up on them since I felt bare and I don't want anyone staring at me squirming on my subway seat. I counted them while I was doing my holiday cleaning. I was surprised but I know there are others who own more than I do. However,the topic of women's panties to men may be ridiculous (except for those who have a fetish for it), I realize that "not having enough underwear" for a woman is a fact and it is important. It defines us from men who pride themselves of having at least 5 boxers or briefs. Almost all of them do not care if they have worn it twice. On the other hand, women feel empowered by these panties. Call me absurd but I know that wearing one even if you are as fat a blue whale or as thin as a pole, you somehow feel sexy everytime. You may wear a frumpy get up but underneath is a satin underwear with lace and ribbon trimmings. Feels like a Christmas tree and a vixen, right? For me, my reason is more sentimental. When I first came to Gotham City, I did not have enough money to buy anything from Victoria's Secret. All I can afford was the dollar panties from the Lot Store which unfortunately are slightly irregular. Wearing them was hell since it would bunch up on the other side and grip like an Anaconda. It was one of the signs that I was struggling like the Israelites during the Exodus. Add this to my having only $19 to survive for three weeks, a room fit for Stuart Little and worrying about the skyrocketing interest of my loan. When things got better for me, I paid off all my debts and I got paychecks in a steady stream, I started buying panties. What started with 5 for $25 VS panties turned into an empire, well sort of. Seventy percent of them are in red since I love the color and I have at least 20 VS brassiere. Yesterday as with all Sundays, my boyfriend and I were strolling in 86th street. We bought DVDs on sale from Circuit City and Best Buy as if we still have space for more. We were heading back home when I noticed the Pink Sign on  the VS store. Semi- Annual Sale! Hordes of women flocked. My feet were itching to cross the street but my boyfriend said "Stay!" He would not let me go and defended that he was just "saving" me from further expense. Well, I lost the battle but I have time to retaliate. Maybe on Friday, I will sneak an attack and buy a few underwear, I will try to so desperately.

In two straight days, I have broken two watches. Both are of high importance and value to me. They were both given by my boyfriend and I have relied on them through countless times. One is a Betty Boop watch and the other is Sigmund Freud. Just having these watches show how bipolar my personality is. I love Betty Boop same as I like the Care Bears and I love Freud as I am a believer of his psychoanalytic approach to explain human behavior. I firmly believe that we are still controlled by our Id but life, beautiful as it appears has been plagued by Ego. It is commonly known as everyday shit and we act according to what is required and expected of us. However, the lost of both watches continues to devastate me. They are not completely broken but the thing is (absurd as it may seem to you), I have formed a connection, a relationship with them. Call me a little off the handle but I am proud that I value what is given to me by others and I have the habit of baptizing my things like they are newborn babies. My boyfriend said it will be alright to ask for an exchange with Freud. I agree with him but it is not the same Freud I had. He was the only reliable "person" I counted on during these two weeks of endless poop from work. He gave me time, made it faster and guided me as I swim in the oceans of piranhas from Monday to Friday. What is the relevance of my broken watches to this piece? I am not sure yet I still continue to type for writing. Many will say, writing is therapeutic especially when one is going through a crisis. Wait a minute, my life has been made from crisis. Some resolved, others impending and most inevitable. Then writing is my drug, my crack or my "Lucy in the Sky." I judge that this piece is my most confusing to date. The author's mind is filled with endless thoughts plus the past fourteen days have been full of shit like I feel that I am constantly working in an ass community. Everyone tries to poop on you, and you try to avoid the stink but in the end, you realize that all that you believed and fought for is just pure shit. I teach because I want to make a difference alongside with having a decent pay to cover my rent and Gap expenses. I do not love children, I care with all I can offer in a day. There is a big difference. Love connotes acceptance no matter what. Caring is a step further since not all children are cute and behaved. Most in my field are snot filled vases, bruised and beaten plus hungry and behave like dogs on the street. If it is just simple love, I would have said "I love you" a million times and that child has been miraculously taught. However, caring for a child that even their parents dislike them takes more courage, effort and valuable time. I cared for my students for eight fucking years (excuse my language) and everyone of them who spent a year or two have realized that they have worth. Inspite of what they lack, they excel on what they can do. I do not accept failure and no excuses. Maybe this is the reason why I feel so bad when the institution you work for, whom you thought shared the same vision for your class is the biggest shithole. I am honestly disheartened and utterly exhausted. It is only four months that I have started another journey with 12 children (count the 4 who are illegaly in my room which total to 16 childen, sometimes 18 and usually 21 on a really bad day). I feel that I am losing a battle which I am not even supposed to be in. Somehow, I still find a flicker of hope (?) , bravery (?) and bitchiness (!) to still report for work. I guess the only thing I can do is close the door and try to fulfill the role of an educator. It may "stink" so bad outside of room 102 but I try to transport these children in a flower fragrant laced place. They just learn to their hearts' content without any unsolicitated shit from the main control room. It is enough that their beloved Ms. T will be dumped with tons of b*shit but at least she still smells like a Macy's Catalog.

What is the connection of Alanis here? Again, I have no clue. It just so happens I have her album on the player and the song, "You live, you learn" is put on continous play unconsciously by the author.