9 Months

Had I been pregnant the past 9 months, I must have given birth to a lifeless baby by now. When an office friend hinted my predicament sometime in June of last year, I already knew it was coming. I must have felt it ahead of time - way before they could personally say it to my face, which by the way, never happened at all. Yet, it still caught me offguard being told there wasn't any extension anymore. Or was I just trying to be melodramatic? Whatever! Surprised? I don't think so.

Fast forward to 9 months. Well here I am, still jobless and overweight. Yes there were minimal projects in between. Trivial actually. But somehow these mini projects helped me get by with occasional showers of drama, of course. Tears, both claiming joy and misery, never dried up unattended. Even friends from the former office have been intentionally avoided as well. I don't know why. I suppose it had something to do with the untimely demise of my finances, as we all need to pay for something somehow each time we meet up. Or it could also be just keeping away from them for the sake of moving on. And there's more. The former boss was cutoff from all forms of social media. Thank heavens I was finally able to do that. Yahoo! The former boss even tried to get even by making up stories, funny unbelievable stories of my alleged conflicts with the unknowns. Hah! Sounding like an old record stuck at Side A, huh! Haven't you heard of "there are B-sides to every story"? Obviously you have not.

I have sent out feelers to companies looking for skills or talent (if you can call it as such) comparable to mine yet to no avail. Must be the age. Must be the test of times. Sigh. 

So what do I do now? Get some sleep, dream away and pray just a little bit more? Implore may be more appropriate. Go ahead. Go on. Meanwhile, let me just wipe away these familiar tears.

Good Friday

(Silot Bay photo grabbed from cebudailynews.inquirer.net)

Some bad news on this year's Good Friday. While we were in church a little past 4 in the afternoon, my nephew Jolas got a call from a friend and was told that another friend drowned while swimming in Liloan. We hurried back home upon hearing the bad news so he could go see the dead friend's remains at Rolling Hills. When Jolas got home later, my sister-in-law and I asked a lot of questions like what really happened, where did it happen, how did it happen, who was with him when it happened, what about his parents, where are they from and perhaps everything else us women can think of. Jolas' short answer was simply "he jumped off from the (infamous) Liloan bridge and never ascended back from the deep water". And that was it. Oh men.

Tidbits: 15 March 2016

15 March 2016, KFC Fuente Osmeña

A Middle Eastern looking medical student walked-in in this fastfood chain I was having breakfast at, ordered his breakfast, mumbled "samoka oy!" as the crew took a while to clean up his table, opened up his notes to study aloud, tinkered onto his celfone, turned to me and asked: "Excuse me Ma'am, is there a difference between this picture and my face now?" Wa ko ka-gets dayon kay nakurat ko so I asked him back "I'm sorry, what do you mean?" "I mean is there a difference on how I look? Do I look smaller in this picture compared to my face now?" Well he did look smaller in the picture so I honestly, though safely, answered "You look smaller in the picture, or I don't know, maybe it's the hair you have right now?" He looked a bit confused but said thank you anyway. I got confused, too.