Munchquin

I am now ending a chapter of my life and starting a new one...

http://munchquin.blogspot.com

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before.

The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new."

~Rajneesh

The Naked Wife

Unlike other people, television is not something I would consider a necessity. In my opinion, TV is evil in the sense that it spaces you out, distracts you from doing more productive things, shows you commercials that can make you order a remote-controlled blender or a garlic press in the middle of the night, and prevents you from communicating with your loved ones. Broddy, on the other hand, deserving of the presidential seat among the cult of TV addicts, lives and breathes television when he's at home.
Which brings us to the annoying antics he does to entertain himself when we moved to our own apartment just recently, yet to purchase a flat screen TV, much less cable access.

Bored with reading a n old book he found in my library, he got out of bed, wore my glasses, put his hands behind the small of his arched back, stuck out his tummy, copied my matter-of-fact facial expression, and said, "Hi. I'm Nat. I'm a doctor. I'm Nat. Take a bath. I'm Nat. Brush your teeth. I'm Nat. Should I make you coffee? I'm Nat. I like my Enfamama. I'm Nat. Stop it. I'm Nat. Can I have a hug? I'm Nat. Can you pay attention to the road?"

Despite the hormones of pregnancy and the pride I inherited from my dad, I couldn't keep a straight face. Even with the 9 inches of height, shorter hair and almost a hundred pounds that my husband has over me, the resemblance was uncanny. It was one of those simple but unforgettable moments that made me feel grateful that we didn't have television yet.

Broddy and I have been together for a year, 3 months of which we were already married.
He's come to be the only person who has seen me at my hormonal monster mode. And although unfathomable to most people, to him I'm an open book. Naked and exposed.
He says I high-five like a dweeb.
He knows I'm sneaky in the sense that I pretend to forget to wash the dishes on purpose if someone was coming in the morning to clean the house.
He thinks--or rather, knows--that I'm only pretending to know my way around the kitchen... which is why after the first time I cooked for him, i never wanted to again. After all that heartless snickering I could hear from behind me while I pan-fried my ground beef, I didn't want to make the effort anymore. Having a husband who's a chef does have its disadvantages.

I know him as well as the back of my hand too. But I dare not write down the nasty habits I'm privy to, because if I do he might just murder his own wife.

I love talking to my husband because he makes me laugh. He's a comedian and a klutz, and he's endearing like that.

And if we'd get less moments like this if we get a TV, then I'm hiding the cable application form for as long as I could.

(c) Natalisms 09162011

Wallflower

You don't look at me the same way anymore

Like the wallpaper on the bathroom wall.

It's the little things that count

But it's also the little things that miss your attention.

When something becomes routine

we take things for granted.

You wouldn't notice if I took just one step back.

After all

Air is only important when there is none.

Crutches

Sometimes, we measure our lives by finding what we've always hoped for and dreamed of. More often than not, we find ourselves disappointed in the process, and wonder how come other people have it so easy. Friends tell us we just have to be patient, this too shall pass, and soon we'll meet that one person that's going to make it all worthwhile. But with each failed relationship, each goodbye, each time we go out trying to forget, and each time we remember, we feel that all-too-familiar sense of hopelessness that eats up at us slowly. For a time, we become bitter, jaded, cynical and pessimistic. So we hang onto those people we hold dear to our hearts. Those people who never left us, offered us a shoulder or an ear, and dropped everything just to be there. Our relationships may fail us, but our best friends never do. They help us get through the worst of it, and serve as our crutches when we're too pained to rise up, walk and go out into the world again. With their help, we surprisingly get over it so fast, and we wonder if we're just used to the pain, or we've become experts at recovery. But then maybe it's because we've grown up, and we've learned not to cry over spilled milk. After all, everything happens for a reason. The universe conspires to give what is best for us, and maybe that person wasn't it after all. What else to do but hope for the best. There is, after all, no harm in living life to the fullest, whether we're single or not. Whatever comes, comes. And when it does, we should make the most out of it. We should love as if we've never been hurt and dance to the music as if no one's watching. If we end up disappointed again, we all know we'll get over it one day soon. After all, our best friends will always be there to lead us through it all over again.

(c) Nat Casuela 09022010

Best Friends' Day on Election Day

"Zombies are coming," he said in a deep, slow monotone as he clicked away on his mouse, staring at the screen of his laptop with an unwavering expression.

I look up from my books and glare at him, uselessly, since he was too focused on his game to even glance at my direction.

I should have known:
spending a day at Chili's with my books and Noel with his laptop = spending a day at Chili's with my books alone.

So today is Election Day.

Noel and I--best friends with strong, passionate and opposing political views that don't matter since neither of us are registered--decided to make it one of our impromptu Best Friends' Days. Minus the alcohol (@#*<^&?! liquor ban!), Best Friends' Day is basically the same as all the other Sundays I spend with him: with me staring at my books and pretending not to wish I were the one playing Plants & Zombies on the other side of the table, and Noel with eyes only for his laptop.

So why do I keep spending days like these with him, you may ask? Why suffer while he tortures me like this, clicking on his mouse endlessly while I highlight my books and try to tune out the irritating guttural "gamer" sounds he does?

Because Noel is one of the few people I could sit across from, in comfortable silence, without pressure to make conversation. Because he's one of the two people who would spend the day with me at Chili's during the liquor ban. Because just to cheer me up, he would look for a good angle, and take a pretty photo of me when I'm down and at my ugliest. Because he's the only other person I know who knows The Little Mermaid's "Part of your World" by heart, and would sing it with me at the top of our lungs just for kicks. Because no matter how much weight I've gained, how many mistakes I've made, how emotional I am when I'm PMS-ing, how obsessive-compulsive I get, he would spend time with me even when I know he has much more exciting and better things to spend his time on. Because he knows me inside and out, and he can finish my sentences and even say things he'd know I would say before I'd even think it. Because he loves me for whatever I am, and for whatever I may represent in his life.

And for that, I love him too.

Happy Best Friends' Day, Squid!

Missing Nancy

It was a gloomy day.

It looked like twilight in the morn, hinting at a slow drizzle, as several lazy clouds drifted together in a congregation.

The ocean was gray, reflecting the skies above, and the waters were clam as night.

The smell of rain was in the air, that of cold damp earth lingering with the scent of morning dew on grass.

The beach was almost completely deserted, with a few seagulls revolving around a moldy, rotten boot that found its way to shore.

There was a child, alone, sitting on a rock by the water, beside a sculpture that looked like a sandcastle from days past, deformed by the tide and wind.  A deflated balloon lay on the ground beside her, its string still attached to her thin, scraggly wrist.

She was in a dress, the kind that parents make their children wear on special occasions, with puffy short sleeves, a pink sash for a belt and layers of lavender silk and satin skirts.  It must have been a pretty dress, except now it was smeared with dirt and peppered with sand, and skirts all tattered and torn, just like the rest of her seemed to be.  Her long hair was in tangles, and she held in one hand a tiara, still shiny as if it had just been bought today.  Her shoulders were slumped forward and her back was turned to the sea.

She was crying in silence.

She wiped her tears with her her hand, smearing more grime onto her face.

She stared hard at the tiara she held, tenderly rubbing the fake rhinestones on it with a handful of skirts until they gleamed liked stars.

She lifted the tiara, very carefully, onto the oily, filthy tendrils on her head.

She put her chin up, like a real princess, just like her mother used to tell her.

Slowly, she stood up and walked barefoot towards the water, leaving footprints that will be forgotten, because of the ebb and flow of the tides at sea

(c) natalisms 05032009

Flightless Dove

My heart brims

With questions left unanswered. 

I am trapped in an elevator car

Watching the world pass me by

Longing for the wind on my face and the clouds behind me. 

 

I am destined for greatness.

But my feet are planted firmly on the ground

By those who hold me down for selfish reasons.

My guilt weighs heavily on my soul as I wish for wings to fly

For they know not what they do.

They know not what they do.

 

Have I found you yet

Or am I losing you more by staying?

Tears stain my chest

As I feel that all too familiar want of air

 

I weep like an abandoned child.

The world is happening around me

But I dared not move

Because who would remind me of myself

When I fail to remember?

 

I stay for all the wrong reasons

And pretend today never happened

For they know not what they do.

They know not what they do.

(c) natalisms 04212009

Cheshire Cat

He was walking backwards, and he didn’t know it.

The marble tiles glowed blue and sprouted a black flower with every step backward he took.  He was wearing red Chuck Taylors with yellow laces.  In a weird sort of way, it complemented his checkered trousers.

She watched him from the shadows, with a handcrafted piece of clothing in her hands, embroidered with erotic images from the teachings of Kama Sutra.

He seemed to be thinking about something intensely, with a painful expression comparable only to those trapped in a medieval torture house.

She stood up, approached him quietly from behind, and gave him a tap on the shoulder. 

He jumped out of his skin when he felt a burning sensation emanating from her index finger.  He turned around and saw her, wearing a pink sundress and a corsage on her left wrist.

“Cayenne pepper,” she laughed, looking at her finger. “I have a small bottle in my bag.”

He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“I like it with fried chicken balls.  It’s a daily staple,” she shrugged and waved the topic away.  “You always walk backwards when deep in thought?”

“I’m sorry but do I know you?” he said in a tight, irritated voice, in mid-back-stride.  He looked at her from the top of her head to her bare feet, and stared longer than was necessary at her missing left big toe.

She imagined stuffing a piece of foam into his mouth and celebrating the rest of the night in a luxurious bed of sheets made out of human skin.  She looked at her painted fingernails instead.  “We've never had the need for names, but we’ve already met,” she said as she bit onto a hangnail.  “Several times.”

“Where?” he asked, his stance relaxing a little.  He seemed more curious than miffed now.  He tilted his head to one side and looked at her pale face.

“There’s this map I made while you were asleep.  It has places you’ve been to before, but I don’t quite think you remember.  You always wake up confused and you end up forgetting.”

“You’re not making any sense,” he shook his head and closed his eyes, as if trying to make a migraine disappear.

“I don’t have to,” she smiled, showing a missing front tooth.  “This is my dream, not yours.”

Indulge Me.

After having a hundred encounters with airheads who spend countless hours talkin' about themselves without even realizing you never said a word, I vowed to never place another person in that same situation of torture I've always had to endure.  I promised to talk about myself as minimally as possible (unless I'm talking to my best friends, of course).  

But then Noel, being the deliciously vain creature that he is (and rightfully so), decided to hop onto the bandwagon of self-absorbed strangle-worthy individuals and make a shout out for me to join him

Dare I say "no"?

Ten Years Ago:   

Damnit, this was... give or take...15 pounds ago.  

I was 15, in my first year of Physical Therapy, and cutting almost every class with my two closest friends then, Dennis and Carlo.

At about this same time that year, Dennis and I, along with our other friends Berzo, Melanie and Jerson, decided to go up to Cloud 9 in Antipolo.  As was the usual case, Dennis' car broke down, on that road you have to go through to get there (the one with the 75-degree angulation).  Since none of us knew how to jump-start a car in reverse, we had to run up that steep road while pushing his car. In heels.  Of course, we never got there.  We went to LIMITS instead.  Old school!  WOOHOO!

Five Years Ago: 
I think this was about the time I met Noel (or was it 6 years ago?).  I just came out of a bad breakup, depressed and looking for a reason to be happy.  Toni introduced him to me out on Starbucks  6750.  We all took a table outside, and talked about this and that.  During the course of that conversation (dressed in an exotic tunic, may I add), he looked at my palm then at my innocent, vulnerable superstitious face, and told me in a serious Madam Auring voice that there were gonna be a lot more men in my future, but I should be careful because I'm gonna get pregnant at the age of 21 (WHATTA MONSTER!!!!).  Of course that didn't come true, but that traumatic warning took a lot of fun out of my "formative years".  

One Year Ago:  
Clerkship (senior year of medical school).  We were on our Community Medicine rotation.  We had to spend a month in some faraway rural godforsaken ghost-ridden hospital where we weren't allowed to go out.  We had to take baths in moldy mushroom-y shower cubicles (I swear it, mushrooms were sprouting on the doors), taking care not to make contact with the filthy walls and catch fungal infections.  We had to sleep on old hospital beds (who knows how many people have died there and what kind of bodily secretions have touched its surfaces all these years) that creaked during the night even when you weren't moving.  The only good things we looked forward to each morning when we woke up were the after-lunch naps, the 4 o'clock fishballs, and our outdoor makeshift whiteboard-projected movies where we could smoke and get drunk while watching horror flicks on the big screen.

One month ago: 

Arvin and I went to Hi Street and we bought my own skateboard!

I named him Jude Law.  

Tee-hee!

Five Snacks: 
1.  Chocolate-covered macadamias

2.  Ruffles - cheddar cheese / sour cream n' onion

3.  French fries

4.  Snacku 

5.  Uhm, beer.

Five Songs I Know All the Words To: 
1.  Solu Music feat. Kimblee - Fade

2.  Roc Project feat. Tina Arena - Never

3.  Deepest Blue - Deepest Blue

4.  Musiq Soulchild - Don't Change

5.  Of course, like Noel, Part of Your World by Ariel of The Little Mermaid (we already have a recorded duet of this, to be out on the market come December)

Five Things I Would Do With $100 Million:
1. Buy a building and build a company that employs at least 500 of the disabled.
2. Distribute a monthly free magazine that promotes Filipino art, literature, culture and nationalism.

3. Buy my parents a farm with a really big house and lots of rooms where all their future in-laws and grandkids can stay every weekend (and a big kitchen where some gourmet chef will be doing all the cooking).

4. Give my baby brother the amount he needs to start his own law firm

5. Hire a bunch of scientists to find ways how to make me permanently thin without having to diet or moving a single muscle to exercise.  Heehee.

Five Places to Run Away To: 

1.  The beach

2.  My room

3.  Good Earth Roasts, Rockwell

4.  Our house out of town

5.  Any place where Toni / Noel / Arvs is.

Five Things I Would Never Wear:
1.  Cheap shoes

2.  Ruffles

3.  Fake jewelry  

4.  Fishnet stockings

5.  Someone else's underwear

Five Favorite TV Shows: 
1.  The Family Guy
2.  Conan o' Brien

3.  Sex & the City

4.  Spongebob Squarepants

5.  Anything on Discovery

Five Greatest Joys:
1.  The beach

2.  Patients who get better and appreciate the fact that you had a hand in that

3.  Finding out I lost weight without making an effort to do so

4.  The last minute of 34-hour hospital duty

5.  Cinema One

Five Favorite Toys:
1.  Barbie (tee-hee!)

2.  My pink & white striped Blankie (took me 18 years to sleep without it)

3.  Jigsaw puzzles

4.  Minesweeper

5.  Presently, Jude Law (my board)

The Anatomy of Melancholy

I waited for the sun to go down while burning to a crisp.

I know I shouldn't have worn a jacket, but it don't matter.  It don't matter, just like you said, thinking it was better than showing everyone the flaws you didn't use to see.

So I back up into the shade and drank the coffee I didn't like, secretly punishing myself for the fact that I meant to change but didn't.

I wanted to renew myself.  To find a refreshing non-surly disposition that doesn't bring you down with me. 

But there is and has always been something.

Something wrong.

Something lacking.

Something out of place.

Something that made me less of who I've always wanted to be.

Less of who you've wanted.

Could it be everything I ever did?

Could it be the decisions I chose to get where I am or the things I let you do but didn't like?

I've tried both ends of a rope that keeps on breaking like a thread each time I pull on it.

When two worlds collide, either of two situations can result:  a sonic boom of stars and fireworks, or a conflict of interests.

It's the little games we play and thoughts we never shared because hurting the other was the last thing we meant to do.

So I bask in melancholy while waiting for an epiphany, in any form that I would recognize as hope for salvation.

With coffee in hand and a cigarette in the other, I put on my earphones to drown the rest of the world away, losing myself in the solace I find where I can think thoughts you never want to hear.