I can't stand house help.
Sure, I love what they do: sweep the floors, wash the dishes, make your beds and sometimes cook up a meal. But other than that, I despise them.
It's nothing personal to be honest. I have no grudges towards any of the helpers I've previously had. But most of the time, they don't last. The last time there was one present in my house was eight years ago, and she didn't last long.
Here's the thing. Their job is to keep everything clean, make sure nothing is a mess. So with that said, they're constantly on the move, arranging things, touching your stuff. And I don't like that. I don't like leaving a room with a book on a table and coming back to see it gone(alright that's exaggerated, but you get the point).
You see, I think most of them believe that whatever can be moved, stored, and hidden should be moved, stored, and hidden. Whatever's not a piece of bulky furniture is a mess. Like, I know it's a mess but at least I know where my stuff are!!!
One time, a helper stuffed a stuff-less stuffed animal in a drawer because she thought it was a rag. That was quite traumatizing.
Aside from that, I don't like being around a lot of people. Home is where I get to be my ultimate ugly self and the only people who are allowed to see me at that state are my family. So having a helper around is quite uncomfortable.
I honestly believe that househelp is one of the best things that can happen to a household,but for people like me, I'd rather live in a pig sty than be with a stranger.
Showing posts with label 2014. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2014. Show all posts
Saturday, 23 August 2014
Monday, 11 August 2014
100 Things to Write About: Birthdays
Birthdays never really end up the way I plan them to be.
Your birthday was no exception. I was planning to celebrate it by myself,
probably eat a slice of cake and mope about you not liking me. Basically the
same things I was doing in your past birthdays.
This year was different, though. It’s not that I didn’t want
to celebrate your birthday, or that today wasn’t special. It’s just that today
felt ordinary, and I was rushing in and out of classrooms to bother about
feelings that should have been dead long ago.
I take this as a sign from the universe telling me that you
are no longer worth the cheesy blogposts, tweets, or the poems that I write.
Maybe this is finally the time where I realize that I am finally over you
because suddenly your birthday does not feel like a holiday.
So congratulations on being nineteen and travelling around
the world and being ridiculously handsome. But I guess I’d have to congratulate
myself too. I guess, probably, I’ve moved past you.
This calls for some cake.
Tuesday, 1 April 2014
The Summer Checklist
But seriously, I can't live without lists. I need paper dedicated to list-making (like the one in the picture) or electronic documents in bullets, just to see which task or object must be accomplished first.
And with all that said,I'd like to tell you that I have made a list for summer.
"What? A list? For summer?"
"But summer should be about unplanned events! Summer should be something quirky and spontaneous!"
Uh, thank you for your inputs of what summer should be, but, uh, no thanks. The Summer Checklist seems like a good omen for summer, in hopes that I fulfill most, if not all, listed in the list. The List is important because if you're like me, most likely, if it's not written down in a list, then it doesn't exist and it's not going to happen.
So here's the list, in no particular order.
- Get sleep. Get lots and lots and lots of sleep because when school comes you won't have any.
- And drink a lot of water too.
- Speaking of water, head to the beach. Or pool. Whatever floats your boat.
- But don't forget the sunscreen because although it may look like a tan now, it may end up being skin cancer in the future. Protect, protect, protect.
- Read a lot. Read everywhere because this is the only time you can read without worrying about having a pop quiz about it the next day.
- And probably do a little summer cleaning. This means throwing out everything you don't want. If you're considering of throwing something out, then you should throw it out.
- Get a job. Or make a business. Just do something to earn a little something.
- Rediscover yourself. I bought a coloring book. This summer is going to be pretty exciting.
- Do not think about your grades. I repeat, do. Not. Think. About your grades.
- Watch a lot of TV series because who has time for that when school comes? Not me.
- Make a summer playlist. If you don't have an idea, you can take inspiration from mine.Breath Me(Four Tet Remix)- Sia, Lights (Shook Remix)-Ellie Goulding, Settle Down (EMBRZ Remix)-The 1975,Only See You- Janet Labelle, Buzzcut Season- Lorde,You're the Best- Wet, I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys
*most of the content of this post is dedicated to me, tbh. Much apologies if they're not to your liking
Saturday, 8 March 2014
The Doors We Close
Today, I did something that I always thought I'd never do: I locked myself out of a house.
I was just going to the neighborhood store, to get something to eat while doing schoolwork. With some cash in my pocket, I locked the doorknob and closed it behind me, only to realize that I forgot to bring the keys with me.
The shock hit me like a cold wave. I turned to the door slowly, and prayed that everything I did for the past ten seconds didn't happen. Twisting the knob, I held my breath. Clunk, clunk. I was shut off from the inside.
Good thing I have a relative who lives nearby, otherwise I would have been staying in front of the house for the whole day. The thing is, the experience was some sort of metaphor for me. It made me start thinking of the many 'doors' I have closed and locked in my life. Oftentimes, these doors are relationships and opportunities, some doors being open, as they are always present in my life. The doors that are closed are relationships that need to be rekindled, and those that are locked are the ones that I can never return to.
There aren't many open doors in my life. I have a tendency to close each door as soon as I see another one open. I'm not good at keeping friendships alive, I'm not good at catching up and all that jazz. Once people leave, they're closing the door to my life. Sometimes it stays that way.
Sometimes, the doors we close are the ones that we just open for a moment, and seeing that behind it isn't what we want, or what we expect, so we close them immediately, not giving it a second look. The doors remain closed, and what lies behind them are never fully discovered because of a nasty first impression, or because they just didn't make much of an impact. Sometimes, when you're looking for something, they hide behind that closed door, waiting for you to find them, to open the door and pick them up. To say something as silly as 'Found you!' and lead them out. But the door stays closed and we end up looking for things that aren't what we were looking for in the first place but are good enough (although the thing with good enough is that it's never good enough).
Sometimes, the doors we close get locked up for various reasons. Sometimes, we lock them on purpose, or by accident, or we are locked out. We lock them up, never to return to the room it leads to, hoping that what it contains never gets to you. Most of the time, these locked doors are conscious choices, thought hard about and mentally debated. But sometimes,these doors happen by accident (like what happened to me today). When you realize your mistake, you turn the knob, hoping that by the nth turn it becomes unlocked. Or you bang the door and scream, thinking that whoever is in the other side can hear, hoping they open the door, knowing that it was a mistake. And maybe, in a desperate attempt, you break the door, thinking that everything will be OK. But it's not because there's obvious damage, and shards and splinters all around. Yeah, it's open. But it's not the same anymore. You tell the person at the other side "I'll fix it" but you both know that the 'fixing' isn't going to do much, and then you realize that maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe you should have kept the door locked.
Oftentimes, the doors we close are by choice. Some are good decisions, and some are bad. But the thing about these doors is that although you have closed and locked some of them, there are a whole lot of open doors waiting for you. It's basically up to you whether to keep them that way.
I was just going to the neighborhood store, to get something to eat while doing schoolwork. With some cash in my pocket, I locked the doorknob and closed it behind me, only to realize that I forgot to bring the keys with me.
The shock hit me like a cold wave. I turned to the door slowly, and prayed that everything I did for the past ten seconds didn't happen. Twisting the knob, I held my breath. Clunk, clunk. I was shut off from the inside.
Good thing I have a relative who lives nearby, otherwise I would have been staying in front of the house for the whole day. The thing is, the experience was some sort of metaphor for me. It made me start thinking of the many 'doors' I have closed and locked in my life. Oftentimes, these doors are relationships and opportunities, some doors being open, as they are always present in my life. The doors that are closed are relationships that need to be rekindled, and those that are locked are the ones that I can never return to.
There aren't many open doors in my life. I have a tendency to close each door as soon as I see another one open. I'm not good at keeping friendships alive, I'm not good at catching up and all that jazz. Once people leave, they're closing the door to my life. Sometimes it stays that way.
Sometimes, the doors we close are the ones that we just open for a moment, and seeing that behind it isn't what we want, or what we expect, so we close them immediately, not giving it a second look. The doors remain closed, and what lies behind them are never fully discovered because of a nasty first impression, or because they just didn't make much of an impact. Sometimes, when you're looking for something, they hide behind that closed door, waiting for you to find them, to open the door and pick them up. To say something as silly as 'Found you!' and lead them out. But the door stays closed and we end up looking for things that aren't what we were looking for in the first place but are good enough (although the thing with good enough is that it's never good enough).
Sometimes, the doors we close get locked up for various reasons. Sometimes, we lock them on purpose, or by accident, or we are locked out. We lock them up, never to return to the room it leads to, hoping that what it contains never gets to you. Most of the time, these locked doors are conscious choices, thought hard about and mentally debated. But sometimes,these doors happen by accident (like what happened to me today). When you realize your mistake, you turn the knob, hoping that by the nth turn it becomes unlocked. Or you bang the door and scream, thinking that whoever is in the other side can hear, hoping they open the door, knowing that it was a mistake. And maybe, in a desperate attempt, you break the door, thinking that everything will be OK. But it's not because there's obvious damage, and shards and splinters all around. Yeah, it's open. But it's not the same anymore. You tell the person at the other side "I'll fix it" but you both know that the 'fixing' isn't going to do much, and then you realize that maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe you should have kept the door locked.
Oftentimes, the doors we close are by choice. Some are good decisions, and some are bad. But the thing about these doors is that although you have closed and locked some of them, there are a whole lot of open doors waiting for you. It's basically up to you whether to keep them that way.
Saturday, 15 February 2014
I Still Think About You
I still think about you even if I tell myself that I don't anymore, which is a bummer because if my brain doesn't listen to me, who will? I've tried hard to stop, to be honest. I close my eyes every time I pass your school, so I won't end up analyzing the features of every male dressed in a student's uniform, looking for your signature features. I hid the class pictures you and I shared, and I'm this close to blocking you from Facebook (which is a pretty bad move, because everybody will know that I'm trying to forget about you, and I don't want them to think that way even though it's true).
I think the problem about forgetting you is that I don't know where to start. Most people tell you to cut off connections right away, because that's where it all begins. Like taking out weeds, where you uproot them because without their little capillaries of life sucking out all the minerals from the soil, they'd shrivel and die. The problem about forgetting you is that there are no roots to uproot, no direct spot to target. The part in my brain dedicated to you is very abstract, where the lines are blurred and the colors are smudged into different colors. You don't know where it ends, much less where it starts.
So I still think about you, even though it's poisonous and sad because I know you barely think of me. I still think about you and your stupid green shirt, and the way you lost weight over the year. I still think about why I never said the things I wanted to say, and why I don't feel remorseful for not saying them.
You're there in the rain, when the weather is gloomy and gray. You are there in flash floods and little rusty tricycles. You are there in little notebooks with cheap padlocks.
You are still there.
And maybe, to start not thinking about you, I have to accept that you will always be there. Maybe accepting the part that you will never really go away is the first step- the fact that you may be significant now, but in a certain time, you may not be.
You are a part of me in a sense that most of my pubescent years were dedicated to you. And in order to start another stage of life, your part has to end. It may be slow, but I'm getting there somewhere, somehow. And one day, I won't be thinking of you anymore.
I think the problem about forgetting you is that I don't know where to start. Most people tell you to cut off connections right away, because that's where it all begins. Like taking out weeds, where you uproot them because without their little capillaries of life sucking out all the minerals from the soil, they'd shrivel and die. The problem about forgetting you is that there are no roots to uproot, no direct spot to target. The part in my brain dedicated to you is very abstract, where the lines are blurred and the colors are smudged into different colors. You don't know where it ends, much less where it starts.
So I still think about you, even though it's poisonous and sad because I know you barely think of me. I still think about you and your stupid green shirt, and the way you lost weight over the year. I still think about why I never said the things I wanted to say, and why I don't feel remorseful for not saying them.
You're there in the rain, when the weather is gloomy and gray. You are there in flash floods and little rusty tricycles. You are there in little notebooks with cheap padlocks.
You are still there.
And maybe, to start not thinking about you, I have to accept that you will always be there. Maybe accepting the part that you will never really go away is the first step- the fact that you may be significant now, but in a certain time, you may not be.
You are a part of me in a sense that most of my pubescent years were dedicated to you. And in order to start another stage of life, your part has to end. It may be slow, but I'm getting there somewhere, somehow. And one day, I won't be thinking of you anymore.
Wednesday, 29 January 2014
An Excuse for Inactivity
I haven't written for about 6+ months, which is kinda weird seeing how this blog is almost a year old and barely has ten posts in it. So much for being a keeper of everything that's changed.
I've somehow convinced myself that if I got a journal I could make it a more private way of holding my thoughts. I did get one though, and I even wrote on the first few pages. I haven't added a new entry for about three weeks. I don't think that's very good if I'm making keeping track of my thoughts regularly as a New Year's Resolution.
The thing is, I keep telling myself that I'm just being lazy. But there are times when I do take an hour to sit down and put my journal and a pen in front of me. Nothing comes out. I pick the pen, open the cap, and flip to a blank page, but the pen doesn't come in contact with the paper. Is that laziness? I don't think so. I've already put it out, but I'm still hesitating to bring out whatever's in my head.
I've considered a lot of things that have given me this writer's block- probably stress, or maybe I'm too tired. It's only recently that I've admitted to myself that I'm afraid of putting my thoughts down.
Probably it's funny, how putting down how you feel can be so frightening. It's supposed to be therapeutic, so it's not supposed to scare you, right? But the thing is, I find it scary. The thought of immortalizing the dirtiest, darkest parts of you on a piece of paper or on a blogging platform is probably one of the biggest things that can make my chest feel heavy and make me squirm in my seat. Maybe it's because when it's all in your head you can convince yourself that you've confused your feelings with your imagination-probably with a TV series or a depressing book. When you write it down, there's no turning back. You've verified and acknowledged that these feelings are real and that they exist somewhere deep inside you. You cannot deny it- it's in your nature no matter how hard you try to hide it.
I'm not sure if I should apologize or not, and if I do to choose to apologize, who would it be? To my readers? To myself? I don't really know a lot of things anymore. I'm at this point in my life where I don't know where I'm going and who I want to be. I don't really know who I am anymore. I've lost track of the goals I've set in mind, and I'm not sure that my thirteen year old self would be proud of me.
So much for keeping track of everything that's changed.
I've somehow convinced myself that if I got a journal I could make it a more private way of holding my thoughts. I did get one though, and I even wrote on the first few pages. I haven't added a new entry for about three weeks. I don't think that's very good if I'm making keeping track of my thoughts regularly as a New Year's Resolution.
The thing is, I keep telling myself that I'm just being lazy. But there are times when I do take an hour to sit down and put my journal and a pen in front of me. Nothing comes out. I pick the pen, open the cap, and flip to a blank page, but the pen doesn't come in contact with the paper. Is that laziness? I don't think so. I've already put it out, but I'm still hesitating to bring out whatever's in my head.
I've considered a lot of things that have given me this writer's block- probably stress, or maybe I'm too tired. It's only recently that I've admitted to myself that I'm afraid of putting my thoughts down.
Probably it's funny, how putting down how you feel can be so frightening. It's supposed to be therapeutic, so it's not supposed to scare you, right? But the thing is, I find it scary. The thought of immortalizing the dirtiest, darkest parts of you on a piece of paper or on a blogging platform is probably one of the biggest things that can make my chest feel heavy and make me squirm in my seat. Maybe it's because when it's all in your head you can convince yourself that you've confused your feelings with your imagination-probably with a TV series or a depressing book. When you write it down, there's no turning back. You've verified and acknowledged that these feelings are real and that they exist somewhere deep inside you. You cannot deny it- it's in your nature no matter how hard you try to hide it.
I'm not sure if I should apologize or not, and if I do to choose to apologize, who would it be? To my readers? To myself? I don't really know a lot of things anymore. I'm at this point in my life where I don't know where I'm going and who I want to be. I don't really know who I am anymore. I've lost track of the goals I've set in mind, and I'm not sure that my thirteen year old self would be proud of me.
So much for keeping track of everything that's changed.
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