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…

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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.