June in December...

Two days before Christmas, I busily packed my things at the office, and hurriedly stuffed my big paper bag with gifts my agents gave me. I checked my watch and my bus was scheduled to leave three hours from now. I will be spending a week-long Christmas vacation in Baguio.

As I began to log off my computer, one of my co-workers V approached me and said: "June died.." her voice trailed off. Instantly, my world fell apart, I sat there for hours contacting friends telling the news that he have been on a motorbike accident that early morning and he did not survive the crash, I stared at the carpet shaking. I remembered June inviting me the day before with his teammates on a drinking spree but I declined the offer because I was needed someplace.

June was always the agent who came in late, often giving me an apologetic look as he logs in for calls. He was always sweet like a little brother asking me anything specially about his job. He would make me laugh and he'd always get my little stuffed toy off my computer so that he could play with it.

I called my mom telling her that I couldn't make it for Christmas. I mourned deeply for June's loss and I was depressed for days. It was the worst Christmas I had spending it with a block of ham and looking at the colorful parols hanging on the outside the streets in Manila.

After a few days, I went to his wake and June's mother held my hand tight as tears streamed down her face. June had that impact on me. He gave me strength and meaning to my leadership and I treated him as a friend. My team was my second family and looking after them was my pride and joy.

I have learned to grieve for a loved one in the worst way I know. I forgot how it was to exist in this world and that days would not stop if I had let my own life to rot. Slowly, I noticed that the sun seemed brighter than the usual and I started coming out of my shell, I will always love my June and I know he would have been happier if I let his memory go and enjoy life everyday. After his death, I came to know the good in everybody, that no matter how bad they can be, there is that genuine part of them that they will share to their closest circles. I learned that everyday is different than the rest and what I have done will be part of what I have become - I may not be able to go back to the past, but I still have a chance to make up for it. Chances are endless and treat one as if it is your last. That's why I am here - to make a difference.

Thank you, June. For coming to my life and for making it matter. You gave me reason to think that there is so much love to give as I have for you...

monday blah

Although this morning had been a wonderful start of the week (because B had been texting me nonstop today), work just drags me by lazily. My mind wanders to what I should get my family for christmas. Then I am (dreamily) wanting to be Kristine on Phantom of the Opera for our Office Christmas Party.

I talked to my good friend CeeCee via IM, and we've been reminscing about our Coney Island days in Baguio. After class, we would buy ourselves eskimo rolls at Coney Island in Session Road and buy colored cotton candies specially during Fridays after class.

I've been through a lot with CeeCee and she taught me wonderful things and welcomed me as a friend when my family moved to Baguio City. Even as kids, we knew that life would never be an easy road for all of us.

It was last July 16, 1990: the earthquake struck Baguio and the world stopped. The apartment that me and my family lived in had uncertain cracks everytime the earth shook. And near the apartment was a junkyard filled with really old cars. We would squeeze ourselves in a van and sleep when night fall. Those were hard and trying times for us and for Baguio. CeeCee and I shook at the horrid thought. We lost teachers and loved ones. The only thing that we did as a city was to move forward and rebuild our lives.

As I write this post, I shake my head, thankful that I am alive to this very day and to experience life's ups and downs. Then I sigh, thinking this is the hundred plus mondays that I will go through...

a little piece of chocolate

Whenever my Aunt Fely would come home from London, she bought us boxes of chocolates wrapped in pretty gold and red tin cans. It came with a moist-proof leaflet with pictures of the little chocolates and its flavors. But being the most impatient person to wait on specially sweets, I took one pretty little shell-shaped chocolate and popped it in my mouth. I threw it up easily as I had popped it in, the syrup poured out hurriedly and I tasted a bit of rhum or was that cognac?

My mom always tell me to take my time and choose what I want in a lot of things. But I hardly listen to her. Sure, I can wait in line for a few hours til I could finally get my class cards for my college enrollment or sure I can wait for a few extra minutes til my favorite food is cooked to my liking but what she really meant was having to decide on my own without being hasty.

My bad decisions pulled an overwhelming mix of heartbreak, confusion, anticipation, hurt and grief. It even involved a lot of people that I dearly love including my parents. But that's what being an adult is for. I thought parents will always be responsible for all the faults I did. But one way or another, growing up has to take place in the most unexpected turn of events.

But now I know how the game is played. I have learned that taking things slow is as beautiful as enjoying life. One little piece of chocolate at a time :)

moving House

I am finally moving to my new home - Blogspot! I had several journals lying around for the past few years and I needed something that I would be comfortable having all my blogs sitting pretty, having tea time, basking away for my future readers to chance upon (insert confident smiley here)
I call it "My Shoebox Journals" because since I was in grade school, I keep notes, letters, pictures and excerpts from things I learned from. These precious things are kept in the most unfashionable shoebox that I could find and when I feel empty, I go through them and I would feel so loved all over again.
This goes out to all those whose hopes and dreams are kept stacked in a box and waiting for it to burst open by eagerness and courage. These are the things in my life that will keep me grounded for as long as I can remember.
My shoe box is officially open...