“just when did you start collecting pugad baboy?!”

batccai (read: bat-chay) asked me, half-surprised and half-amused, through YM yesterday.

“the first time i read one of its issues a long time ago, i’ve been wanting to collect it. it’s one way of preserving my sanity. it makes me laugh, amidst crises” i answered.

“but you only have one copy!,?” she blurted, teasing me like july did.

“i got two now!” i said defensively. “i will have more if you’ll give me some issues of it! hahaha!”

it’s not that only PB keeps me sane. it’s reading that keeps me sane. it seems a growing passion for me. thus, during the christmas and new year breaks, i indulged myself in books, to at least free myself from the pressures of family and work.

thanks to Kuya Thads for letting me borrow his:

BAKIT BALIKTAD MAGBASA NG LIBRO ANG MGA PILIPINO? by Bob Ong; and

NO ONE WRITES TO THE COLONEL by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

i still have to finish

THE AUTUMN OF THE PATRIARCH also by Marquez; and

THE DHARMA BUMS by Jack Keouac

i promised that i won’t limit myself to reading novels. next time, i will buy (or borrow) books that would practically help me, like PREGNANCY AFTER A LOSS by Carol Cirulli Lanham.

***fyi: ccai ccai is one of my close buddies and my partner-in-crime way back in college. we used to delve ukay-ukay along san pedro street, ate skewered grilled banana outside our campus, bantered with classmates in between classes, and played volleyball and kickball during intramurals, among others. she is now in dubai, in search for greener pasture. she’s presently working in the logistics department of the al youssuf company.

whenever i see babies, see pregnant women or hear about pregnancies, or walk through the baby and maternity departments, i feel happy and resentful at the same time.

i thought i was well-over the miscarriage tragedy. but i still have trouble coping up with certain reminders of it.

fifty-four days have passed since i convinced myself that i did not have control for anything that has happened. that i can only control how to deal with it, taking things lightly, that it was just alright, that it won’t happen again. that was how tough i thought i was.

after crying the whole night after i and my husband left the hospital, i promised myself that it would be the first and last time of shedding tears. after all, there’s nothing we can do about it.

the baby was gone. long before i can quite feel him or her inside me. at ten weeks, we saw no trace of him or her aside from the blood and meaty (placental)  tissue discharges.

worse, because some of those who are close to me haven’t seen or held the baby, they have had trouble understanding the depth of my sadness. of which, i have to understand.

i thought that i’m ready for another pregnancy after the loss. but i’m having a hard time convincing myself to take certain tests that my obstetrician/gynecologist advised me to. even though i want to know the real cause of the miscarriage, i’m also afraid that the results would tell me i would have trouble conceiving the next time.

can i take it all over again when it happens? will i ever come home with a healthy baby?

a lot of what ifs, and i don’t want to go through that terrible thing again.

In 2001, I was one of the millions of Filipinos who called for the ouster of former Pres. Joseph “Erap” Estrada. I should be happy with the Sandiganbayan’s verdict at his plunder  case. But, not quite.

Why? Because of them:

I will only be satisfied, if and only if, Mrs. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and his underlings like (ret) Gen. Jovito Palparan will be convicted for their crimes against the people. If I have to choose, they deserve more to be put behind bars for the close to a thousand victims of political killings excluding abductions and other forms of harassment.

Erap took only money. Arroyo and Palparan took lives.

sure, bananas‘ jason mraz is del.i.cious!

but, for moi, this one is even more yummy!

this is our moment
this is our time
this is our chance
to stand up for what’s right
we’re not looking for charity
we’re looking for justice

- Bono

 found this today at my friendster account…

Being the eldest of the brood of three, I find family obligation not tedious, but difficult vis-avis the socio-economic condition of our country.  i find it not entertaining as it requires sacrificing other important things. 

but, meeting the expectations of my family is truly fulfilling.

Rogelio R. Fabros R.N.

tnx sa prayers…

— Roger, 26 Aug, 807pm

This post is dedicated to my very good friend, Roger, who successfully passed the 2007 Nursing Board Exam. Congrats tol!

I snipped this from the results:

—-

Jer, this is late I know. But it’s my way of saying, thanks for treating me and Jeff @ Karlyn’s last Saturday. Busog gyud kaayo mi sa steak-ala-pobre! perteh!

My Lakbayan grade is C-!

How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan!

Created by Eugene Villar.

the reason why I was out for several days…

yes! the wanderer was on an trippy island mode.  but it’s not some kind of a devil-may-care trip, mind you.  i spent the whole time thinking about life and the future.  so much has happened that am having a hard time fixing my decision.  but, for now, am taking things by stride.  hope i can get through.

japanese words and names interest me.

maybe, it’s a result from watching too much japanese metaseries during my childhood years. i can still remember watching magmaman and ultraman with my brothers and cousins. back then, we were so amazed with the heroes named misaki and hayata, respectively, as they fought and won against the villains.

looking back, i realized how low-tech the characters then compared to the cartoon heroes at present, and my all-time favorite x-men. but that’s another story.

aside from misaki and hayata, I was also hooked with the creation of the japanese manga artist naoko takeuchi — sailormoon, especilly her beau, the handsome tuxedo mask.

and yes, who would forget the creation of tadao nagahama, a japanese animation series — the super electromagnetic machine Voltes V? and the classic robot astro boy?! the latter a creation of the “god of manga,” osamu tezuka.

indeed, i was and still am an anime fanatic. which leads me to carrying the name michiko magusaka for this blog.

but, apart from my penchant with japanese names, michiko magusaka is more of a result from finding slash creating names for moi and mi amore’s would-be baby.

michiko is the japanese word for beauty and wisdom. and magusaka, well, we’re quite not sure if it’s in the japanese dictionary. but the word stands for something that is priceless, relevant and sacred for moi and mi amore. the word which we want to keep to ourselves…

Today is the third death anniversary of my dearest grandfather.  Below is what I wrote, last year, at the time that I so missed him…

—–

it’s a lazy Sunday late afternoon. the ash-gray sky is pouring out rain. 

I’ve just finished reading the book Dash gave me six days ago. am about to start reading another book, the one that Mi Amore gave me a month ago. 

yet, I can’t simply ignore the “magic” that rain brings. especially on Sundays. it’s the time that I mostly get senti, about anything, especially when I am in my secluded room. maybe, Dash was right when she told me last week that I’m kinda emotional person. and I know I should not let myself dwell with such feeling for it really affects my work. for am feeling indolent. no output. more than a month now… 

well, going back to the rain, it drenched me with the memories of my grandfather. my mother’s father.  I miss the times that he opens the door for me every time I come home late. and he did it without questions like where I have been or what I have been doing. he lets me in, satisfied with the thought that at least one of his apos is finally home, unharmed. for my grandfather finds it hard to sleep when all of us are not yet home. 

I also miss the times that he rebukes me, in a damn good subtle and tactful way, for the kind of principles I have. we may view life in a totally different way, yet, he gave me the kind of trust and confidence that my other cousins (and even some of his own children) did not enjoy.   

I miss the times that when am short of money, he was always ready to lend me a few bucks. enough for a day’s transportation budget or whatever.

 I can still remember that when I was still small, I would wrestle with my other cousins, trying to beat one another, only to be the first one to welcome him at the door.  it was a very fun, childish game. and we did that every time grandpa comes home from work. because, for the winner, it also meant a prize (like money, candies, etc) from him.  

I miss seeing grandpa in the living room. when he just sits at one corner, reading his books. for he loves reading. I may share the same passion with him, but I only discovered it when I reached 20-something.   

I miss grandpa’s practical jokes. I miss him reading us fairy tale stories. I miss him betting lotto. I miss him lighten the situation by cracking jokes every time grandma nags when there is a problem. 

the memories are still fresh, deeply embedded in my heart. grandpa is already dead.  more than a year now. he died of complications, old age. it was I, my mother and brothers who took turns in attending to him while at the hospital. the pain of a dying man, the man we loved dearly, we’ve witnessed.      

two hours after I left the hospital, the last time I was on his side, I received a text message from my brother. a message that speaks of the painful inevitable. why did I leave the hospital early? I should have been there. during his last breath.  

yet, grandpa did not let me see him die. perhaps, to savor the good memories and the joy of living. perhaps not to dwell much with longing or pain. perhaps to go on and beat whatever things we have to beat. and not be indolent for there are lots of things we still have to confront. perhaps.. 

outside, the rain has stopped. it has drenched me with painful memories. 

but I love it when it rains. especially on Sundays.