S&S Reruns: Got to Write

Today we're picking someone up from the airport, someone who's going to start her new journey here. Enter nostalgia attacks from my first year here. Enter an S&S rerun posted here: http://mariscribbles.com/2009/08/27/got-to-write/



My fingers are sore, my eyes are getting droopier and droopier, and tiny pimples are starting to sprout on my cheeks and forehead. And it’s half-past one.

But I have to write. I've got to write. Or else this flow of words will come to a sorrowful halt.

So let me type away. Type away about what? Well, what else do these fingers type about?

Life. Love. Leaving???

Sounds like Shiela.

But those are rather nice topics.

So here goes.

Life. Buhay. This Wednesday, I was able to pay the Philippine Embassy a visit. I went there with some Filipino friends and because of some circumstances, we actually paid the embassy two visits. One in the morning and another in the afternoon.

So there was a waiting period in between the two visits. Guess where we spent the waiting period? At KLCC. At the food court.

But no, we didn't pig out on the stuff sold there. We just simply sat down. And did our own thing. While waiting.

The person I was with that time did some budgeting. I did some people-watching.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a stalker or anything like that. But our spot at the food court faced the park which was one or so floors down. So what else could I do but watch the people there?

There were these Koreans (or Chinese, or Japanese – I’m not really quite sure) taking some pictures of themselves with the towering KLCC towers as their background.

There was this guy walking briskly carrying some sort of briefcase or laptop bag.

There were these men in rubber boots walking all over the pond, scattering stuff over the waters.

There were tourists, locals, Caucasians, Asians, old people, young people – all there but all living their own lives.

It made me wonder. What were their life-stories? What made those Koreans come to KL? How long were they staying there? And what of that man? Where was he heading? What was running through his mind as he hurried across the park? Well he sure was a stark contrast to the rubber-booted men. Now did those men do the water-walking and stuff-scattering to feed their families? Or did they do it for the mere fun of walking on water?

So many lives. So many different stories. Made me think about my own life story. Made me think about those of my friends. Made me think about yours. So tell me. What is your life story?

Love. Pag-ibig. Storge, Philia, Eros, and Agape. I’ve written about storge, philia,and agape. I have written some stories about love of the romantic kind. But never talked about it directly. Never really shared my thoughts and experiences about it in a direct manner either. Well, not in this blog anyway.

And I’m not going to. Write or talk about it directly, I mean. Let’s settle for funny stories and metaphors for now. :)

Time will come when I would cut the metaphors and write it straight out.

Leaving. Pag-alis. Parting is such a sweet sorrow. But that’s life. You have to deal with goodbyes. That’s love as well. One popular high-schoolish quote goes like this: “If you love someone, let him/her go. If he/she comes back, he/she is yours, if he/she doesn’t he/she never was.” Or something like that.

So why this note on leaving?

Well, because this blog ends here. My fingers, my eyes, and my pimples can’t take it any longer. And now it’s half-past two.



I've been rolling that word round my tongue for the past few days. Plethora.

It sounds like a very pretty word. It popped into my mind while I was inside a coffee shop, surrounded by a plethora of nations. What sounded like a trio of Iranian BFFs were seated on my right. A group of Chinese Malaysians were a couple of tables away. The woman who served me looked Indian and a Malay couple moments ago had come in, ordering coffee topped with enough whipped cream to send anyone into a diabetic shock. The previous week that I was in there, some students from Africa occupied most of the space. Plethora.

Back home, people's eyes pop out when they see a white person and Koreans are some of the few non-Filipinos scattered about. Here, foreigners are a usual sight. Plethora.

I'd probably use the word more often if the stress was on the "thor". It sounds much dreamier, doesn't it? PleTHORa. But oh well. PLEthora.

S&S Reruns: Warm Socks Feel Like Home

Another rerun. It's so hot right now in Malaysia but I'm excited to wear warm socks again. Be going home soon! Yey! Originally posted here: http://mariscribbles.com/2010/10/06/warm-socks-feel-like-home/

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Warm socks feel like home. They especially feel like home when they are worn under big rubber shoes. The combination shields my feet from the wetness of the sporadic “ber” rains. They save me from all feeling of squishy-ishy discomfort. They spare me from having to ride buses and trains with wet and freezing cold lower appendages.

Warm socks feel like home. Wearing them to sleep during these chilly “ber” nights sends me back to my room in La Trinidad. There I have a huge collection of long woolly (and well worn) socks which have always been useful when the cold months rolled around.

When I wear them and wiggle my toes under my Za’ba blankets, I feel like I’m not in Malaysia. I feel like my Mom would come knocking on my door any second, forcing me to get up.

Warm socks feel like home. But more like Home is my Resting Place who constantly shields me from every storm, who tells me when I’m all squishy and uncomfy that “Everything will turn out fine and dandy.”

More like Home is the Warm Embrace that covers me from head to toe, thawing away the coldness of my heart and bringing me back to the very Place where I belong.

Back to Him. Because He is my very Home.

When all is said and done, after nature and the whole work and acad load have all poured down, after the nights’ and the situations’ coldness have all passed, we would always find ourselves looking for… yearning… wanting to go back to that Home.

Well. He is our Home.

English VS Manglish

An officemate ninja-d the one afternoon last week and someone asked me, "He went back already, ah?"

Without missing a beat, I replied, "Yes, went back already."

Omigosh. I've gone Manglish.

If you understood that we were actually talking about someone who had gone home, congratulations. If not, let me present to you a short but useful list of English to Manglish translations:

  • English: Going home?
    Manglish: Gong back?
  • English: I'll drive you.
    Manglish: Follow my car.
  • English: There's no rice.
    Manglish: The rice is finished.
  • English: Dine in or takeout?
    Manglish: Having here or take away?
  • English: Oh you're sick? Poor you.
    Manglish: You sick? Pity you.
  • English: You're happy, aren't you?
    Manglish: You're happy, isit?

Languages are so weird and funny. That's all I can come up with, so far. Stay tuned for another edition after I get myself into more Manglish conversations!