I can clearly recall the first time I received flowers. I was in kindergarten then and I got freshly picked roses from one of my classmates who claimed to have a crush on me. I naturally said thank you and smelled it. I remember frowning after sniffing the pretty little thing because it didnâ€™t smell in any way nice. Fast forward to high school, I got my first flower bouquet. They were of all flowers, yellow and white roses. While I did not bring them anywhere close to my nose, I walked around school with a very wide grin, parading the beautiful gift I just received. Continue reading
To some people including myself, hearing â€œI miss youâ€ is far better than hearing â€œI love you.â€ The sheer thought of having someone long for you or that you consume his every single thought even if you have just part ways is just incredible. If you are on the other side of the boat though, you for sure know that the aching feeling of wanting to see or hold someone is just unbearably hard to translate into words. Continue reading
While Filipina women today frequently send flowers, the great majority of gift flowers purchased are still made by men for their new love pursuits, their girlfriends, for their woman, other woman, whomever. Any way you look at it – women love flowers – the commercially universal symbol of love – that and diamonds. They love to receive them, look at them, show them off to friends and co-workers, and display them on their desks for all to see. I see it all the time. I used to do it myself. Of course that was when I was with a more devoted partner. Continue reading
I stared at the text message on my phone for a while, thinking, how indeed? My boyfriend and I had earlier made spur-of-the-moment plans for dinner. Now he finally made his presence felt shortly past midnight, when he called to say that he had forgotten and had let himself get dragged off by his mates to a boisterous going-away party. Throughout the night I had gone past annoyance when he didnâ€™t pick me up from work, to anger when he wasnâ€™t answering texts, to worry when he wasnâ€™t picking up his phone, then back to anger when I hung up on him. Continue reading
I dated an artist, not so long ago. And by artist, I mean progeny to a legendary professor at a top University of Fine Arts in the Philippines, borne from a long line of artists, surrounded by a myriad of friends, all of which are artists. In short, the stereotypical artist.
When we first met, our discussion stumbled upon what we believed to be greatest art works of all time. We went from Daliâ€™s painting of â€œThe Persistence of Memoryâ€, Matisseâ€™ â€œFlowers of St. Henriâ€, Cezanneâ€™s painting of â€œStill Lifeâ€ to American Pop-Culture portrait paintings. For a minute the artistâ€™s name escaped both our memory banks. At that time we found it comical to forget, amongst others, the central figure of Pop-culture, household name to our generation. And just like in the movies, as if on-queue we blurted out his name in chorus, â€œAndy Warholâ€.Â That moment, sparks flew and the rest was history. Continue reading
I was able to save more than two hundred dollars in my recent travel to Kuala Lumpur from the Philippines. Instead of boarding up for the week in a cheap hotel, I discovered the week prior to my leave that an old friend had migrated and taken an expatriate status in the Bangsar area of Kuala Lumpur, one of the better-looking districts of Malaysiaâ€™s capital. Continue reading