tickledpink

I will always be proud of the English Drive. But back then, somewhere along the line, one
or two articles were often bypassed and sentence construction became
extraordinary. Nonetheless, the benefits
far exceed the downside – students are more comfortable with the language and
are not intimidated by speaking in public. Today, it’s an easy ticket for many alumni to call center jobs. Still, memories of “Louisian” English are precious.

 (*Translation provided, when necessary.)

Louisian1: Why you’re absent this
morning ‘bay?

Louisian2: Very heavy the traffic
in the highway. You have test in
English?

Louisian1: No, very lucky
you. We only discuss.

Louisian2: What you discuss
about?

Louisian1: The one the chapter
two in the Little Prince.

Louisian2: What club you will
enter? Me, I will enter the basketball varsity.

Louisian1: Ah, bad that ‘bay. Always practicing. No good that.
You finish your project already?

Louisian2: Yes, yesterday still. (O, gahapon pa.) You?

Louisian1: Better you, you
finish. (Maayo pa ka, nahuman ka.) Me, I make it but it’s very ugly.

Louisian2: How come ugly?

Louisian1: Because… what’s that…
um… can I speak in vernacular? I cannot language it. (Dili ko kahibaw unsaon pagsulti.)

Louisian2: Okay but lower your
voice only.

Louisian1: Kuan ba, nabali nako
ug papilit.

Louisian2: Ah, don’t worry. You
again it ‘bay. (Usaba lang bay.) Then just pass it tomorrow.

Louisian1: ‘Bay, I don’t have money already. You pay already the P50 you
borrowed.

Louisian2: Wait, I’ll go to the
c.r. first. I’m very urinating.

Louisian1: You proper there ‘bay! (Pagtarong diha bay.) I’m serious. You pay already!

Louisian2: What I will pay? I
have no debt to you.

Louisian1: Liar you! Why are you
very boastful? You borrow money last last Monday.

Louisian2: Why you make story
about me? What you want? Outside? (Unsa
imo gusto, adto ta gawas?)

Louisian1: Box you there! (Sumbagon tika diha.)

it’s a tiresome occupation, this
business of caring. when taking one day at a time gives you the creeps… when
you’re used to meticulous systematic planning of your thoughts, actions, and
reactions… when you run through every possible scenario in your head… when you
think of the third step before taking the first… you eventually turn into a
mechanized contraption, one that’s bound to conk out when the most miniscule of
parts short-circuits notwithstanding devoted upkeep.

it’s when you realize happiness
is not bound by perfection, by actual events conforming to your expectations.
it’s when you realize happiness is in riding the waves of uncertainty; in
embracing the unknown. it’s when you realize happiness is in the spontaneous;
in letting events and emotions take their natural course. it’s when you realize
that for all your caring, you’ve missed out.

*inspired by a happy day with my wolverine

i learned to crochet in grade 6. i’d be forever grateful to mdm. cortes, our HELE teacher. she taught us the basic stitches and then doilies and table centerpieces… now, it’s my hobby, although, i get to do it rarely now because of the demands of school. this summer, i finally had the chance to spend days crocheting..

thanks to experimentation a few years ago, i now know how to crochet purses simple designs but very functional…

this was the first purse i made. now my brother uses it..hehe

a variation of the first design. my sister used it.

i made a round purse, too…i gave it to my cousin.. i’ll post the picture later.

the latest..

this summer, i tried to learn how to read crochet patterns but they only give me a headache. i like it better when i look at ready-made crochet projects and figure out for myself how they were made. kinda like "tinamban" style. so, when i went to a department store, i took a picture using my cellphone of a croceheted summer outfil that was on display. the salesgirl scolded me and threatened to report me to management but i just said sorry and walked away… no big deal
because i already have the picture..hehe…. out of that "illegal picture" i learned to make a bra top. and from a ready-made design on the internet, i figured out the stitches, combined them with the bra top and voila.. this is my proudest creation…

i also made a tube top for my baby cousin. my aunt made the skirt.

the last project i made last summer was a table centerpiece made from scrap thread. i reused leftover thread and thread used for projects that i had discarded.

i first made little circles then connected them to form a 6-petaled flower…

then i crocheted them together… this looks nice when put under a vase because the outer petals stick out clearly

faint-hearted: lacking conviction or boldness or courage; "faint heart ne’er won fair lady"

but i’m not talking about that kind of faint hearts. i’m talking about the other kind.. the kind that drops "dead" just about anywhere they please.. i’ve been evolving, over the years, to become a faint heart. hehe…

i first fainted one late morning years ago. fresh from sleep, i was on an errand to the sari-sari store a block away, when, while waiting for the lady to attend to my purchase, i felt my world grow dark. i asked the lady to call our house for help. my grandmother (i think) and some cousins rushed to my aid. diagnosis: breakfast not yet taken.

next came a couple of faintings at church. the first time, my mother had time to take me home, but not before i lost consciousness while crossing the street… the next, i sensed that passing out was inevitable, so i rushed out of the church. outside, a small crowd looked on as they resuscitated me to consciousness. my family kid me that i’m "evil" for always fainting at church. sorry to disappoint the antichrist crusaders, but there’s a more logical explanation. our town church is old and beautiful. it’s unique, being one of the few churches in the philippines that faces the mountains. but it isn’t ventilation-friendly. the windows are set high up on the walls. the small electric fans barely make up for lost oxygen. diagnosis: church windows are faint-prone.

it seems my "faint heart" wanted to move to more exciting, more public locations. the store near our house and the town church were too boring, it seemed. so the next time i fainted, it was across san miguel corporation, along one of the busiest sections of the city highway. i was waiting for a jeepney when i felt the symptom: cold sweat on my forehead. i frantically searched for some helpful souls and found two - a couple selling bar-b-q in front of the scorpion bar. for lack of a better medication, she used the gas for the bar-b-q and applied in on my stomach and back. it was an old remedy, she said. it worked. diagnosis: lunch taken at 1030 am and missed afternoon snacks.

since then, i’ve been admonished to bring white flower always and to eat on time, and a lot. i’ve been free of faintings since - until two weeks ago.

on my way to school, on board a jeepney, i felt the sypmtom again (cold sweat on my forehead). i disembarked in wireless. stood along the street while waiting for wenbert to fetch me. puked along the street. and when i felt knees wobble and my sight grew dark, i asked for help inside a warehouse-like store selling rice and more. they were helpful but cautious. they wouldn’t let me in the office for fear that i was some "front act" for a robbery gang.

to all who are "not yet faint-hearted", it’s no fun at all. so learn from me and eat on time. remember, it’s no fun at all. unless, you faint in the arms of johnny depp …hehe:)
 

I guess I’ve developed the habit
of running into colorful characters in the city. First there was that cranky,
dumpy, rich spinster-y fart that had an ego the size of a shopping mall (see
post: I was attacked by a rich old fart). Yesterday, it was a wrinkled, broke
Aussie bloke.

I was on my way to school two
hours past noon. I was in the front seat
of a jeepney that was waiting for more passengers. Then this old foreigner,
probably seventy-ish going eighty, climbed onto the passenger seat beside me.
From his accent, I guessed he was from “down under”, but I asked him to be
sure. I deduced he was broke – (1) he
was taking a jeepney, not a taxi (2) the bag he was carrying was as old as he
was, dirty, and with broken straps hand-sewn in brown thread (3) he carried an
ugly purse that was attached to his belt through a garter that he claimed was
“dirty – Pinoy style” and (3) he was staying at a cheap hotel downtown.

He was chatty – talking about how
warm it was and that he had just taken a swim in Liloan. It would have been rude of me to ignore his
ranting. Lest this tourist take another
bad impression of Filipinos, especially Cebuanos, I politely responded to his
queries – was I going to school or work? I said school. What was I taking up? I
said accountancy. How many years into my
course was I? I said I had just graduated and was taking review classes. Where
was I from? I said, actually, I live in Liloan. Do I know the priest there? I
said some of them, not all.

He said he had asked the priest
if he could take a swim in the beach behind the Liloan church. The priest was accommodating and even let him
shower in his personal rest room. I told him he had just received special
treatment, because normally, that beach was off limits to locals. Then came the expected, he started makings
passes at me. First was a hearty laugh
but with a moderately strong pat on my knee. I almost squirmed in my seat. Then the old guy probably underestimated me and thought I was one of
those desperate Pinays ready to jump into the arms of any fair-skinned alien
(stating facts, no offense meant; I have an aunt married to an Italian, another
to a Swiss and two cousins married to Swiss nationals). He asked, Do I like to
swim? I said, no, I can’t swim. He said, I could teach you to swim. Amused, I said, no thanks. He said, if you
want to roam the city, I can roam with you. Laughing out silently now, I said,
no thanks.

I wasn’t offended by his
proposals – decent on the outside, but otherwise inside. I was just concerned
(embarrassed, actually) how the two of us – chatting in the front seat of a
beaten jeepney – looked like to the rest of the world.  He, an old foreigner, and I, a young Pinay.  The normally 10 minute ride felt like
eternity. And feeling the long hair on
his arms brush against my arm, I wish I had taken a taxi.