Sara and Michael

to budding writers out there…ever watched a film or read a book that simply inspires you to write some random prose? the lines keep playing in your head…just lines..no narrative of the story..just feelings into words…here goes….

I will never understand why I would fall for him.  Even when in the brief time we shared,  all we did was exchange long intensive stares, short conversations and that one meaningful kiss.  Is it possible that in such momentary time, he would mean the world to me? That I would risk everything just to set him free. 

I remember that kiss we shared.  It came from out of the blue.  Even in that bleak place, in a place that has been a witness to human suffering, the most tender, bittersweet moment happened to me.  Our eyes locked in a powerful stare and he leaned, almost with haste and urgency, and captured my lips with his own. He did not move to hold me, like the men who kissed me before, but at that moment, he held my heart and soul as his own.  I remember moving to touch his face, and held that breathtakingly handsome face in my palms.  I gazed into his hazel eyes and in that moment, after the longest time, I felt loved. 

But it was a wrong kind of love.  I was in that same boat before.  And that tiny boat capsized and I find myself sinking  into the depths of that deep warm lake.  I knew I was drowning but the wamrth was just so tempting..and heartbreaking.  I fell in love with him.  Even when I did not intend to. 

I have to save myself…..

"Wait for me…It won't always be like this,  this room, in this place…"

No, I refuse to be trapped again.  Trapped in a moment that will go nowhere.  I have just started rebuilding my life after it crumbled.  Now it's crumbling all over again because of him.  Where is this going? Where is he taking me? It seems where we're going is a place with no future, no light, where the only natural consequence is me ending up a completely broken soul. 

Yet…..yet now..all my heart desires…..

Is to be with him. 

"I’m asking you to make a mistake! Not hurt anyone, not steal anything. Just…forget to lock up. Leave the door unlocked when you leave tonight. That’s it. Please.

I was part of your plan. Was it all an act?

At first, yes. I needed to be here. But then I wanted to be here. With you. And it’s killing me to know that you’ll never believe that."

Tell me how could I believe? How could I when a part of my soul is filled with the fury of being used and another part of me wanted so much to believe in your love? Finally, the lake suddenly turned cold and I continue drowning…sinking into a point of no return. 

Spinsterville and That One Great Love

From out of the blue, my mom asked me a surprising question as we sat at McDonald's enjoying a light snack after walking all over Robinson's Galleria shopping. 

"Aren't you worried, you don't have a boyfriend??"

Woah.

Let's put it this way.  My mom and I hardly venture our conversations towards my personal life.  Almost never actually.  And NEVER when it comes to my love life.  But I do not blame her.  If you have a daughter who's turning thirty-five and well on the road towards Spinsterville, even if your daughter has her own career as a lawyer, you'd be a little worried. 

I have been reflecting on this question all day. Reflecting.  That's what I have been doing lately, reflecting.  Age does that to me.  My mind goes to the process of griping, facing realities and setting goals.  It can be very frustrating though and I always find myself being a bitch about it and stop the process altogether, pop in a DVD, read a book or go-online for reality-diverting forum posting.

But seriously…….

Am I worried?

Actually, I do enjoy my solitude.  I love basking in my own "sick, sad world".  It may not be as exciting as others, but it's MY world.  And I am pretty much smug about the individuality I created for myself.  I love the freedom of my solitude and the options before me for the choosing. 

Okay…reality check McBeal…you still want to be married right?

Of course I do.  I still want to spend the rest of my life with someone.  I still want my soul mate to come knocking at my door. I still want the love of my life to finally make his presence known.  He seems to be taking his time though. I bet he refuses to ask for directions. Men!

But seriously…here's who I actually want…

Has to be a man. (Sometimes, I wished I was a lesbian since the Earth is inhabited by more women and if I were one, for SURE, I'll be having relationships left and right.  But I'm not built this way, and that's another blog entry altogether) And I'm not looking for the drop-dead gorgeous Wentworth Miller or Gerard Butler type. I just want one who is pretty to look at (at least in my eyes), who dresses well and is neat and clean. I want a guy who is intelligent and a great conversationalist, whose interests are as multi-faceted as I am. I want one who makes a pretty decent living,  one who is passionate about life and love. One whom I am compatible with intellectually, emotionally and physically.  And finally, one who makes me laugh.   

In short, I want the man who has me as the love of his life as he is the love of my life. 

Yes, people. McBeal is still hoping for that ONE GREAT LOVE. 

I will not settle for anything less. And if some people would think I have a warped sense of reality by seeking such a tall order at my age, then so be it. If I don't marry the love of my life, then…

Spinsterville  it is.

Jamie and Paul

If in the future and if by chance I do get married, I want a marriage like Jamie and Paul Buchman of Mad About You.  I want a husband with whom I will have fun with, have long conversations, bicker about life and make maddening love with. Like all women, I want a soul mate.  That was what Paul was to Jamie. 

Jamie and Paul is my ultimate married couple.  I loved the way they really loved one another.  There was this memorable episode of MAY where if I remember right Paul was confined for an operation.  I chanced upon a site where these memorable lines were quoted.  That was by far, one of the most profound scenes in US TV.  

In the episode, before the operation, Paul gave a speech to Jamie:

Paul:  

"I just wanna say something to you.

"In a universe that is like ninety-nine per cent dissapointment you are the one sure thing. You are the proof that life is good. You are my life."
 

While Paul was sedated, Jamie held his hand and gave this wonderful speech:

Jamie:

"Oh my god, don't ever die. 
'Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and make the face of heaven so fine that all the world would be in love with night.'

"And I'll tell you a secret. When we got married, I couldn't imagine still wanting to be with anyone all this time later. But I do. It's a miracle to me. You are a miracle. You've made me happy. Which is something I never, ever thought I'd be." 

Sniff sniff tissue please, Luis.

McBeal Answers Pivot’s 10 Questions

Just recently I was channel surfing and chanced upon an episode of Inside the Actor's Studio hosted by James Lipton.  I've watched several episodes of this show before and there's a portion of it, I'm quite fond of.  It's the part where he asks his guest actor Pivot's 10 Questions.  I googled it up and learned that these 10 questions originally came from a French series, "Bouillon de Culture" hosted by Bernard Pivot.  The questions are very interesting..and though I am not a famous actor, I shall sit here and answer each of them.

What is your favorite word?
Sex. Coitus. Fornication.  "Sex" is a lethal word.  Say it in a sentence and it will either evoke laughter or pique one's interest. And it is amazing that a lot of things revolve around this three letter word.   Relationships, commerce, cultures, popular entertainment, politics.  It's more than just two people fornicating.  Perhaps Freud was correct in theorizing that everything is related to sex…like penis envy and the four psychosexual stages of development.  (People say I'm orally fixated.)

What is your least favorite word?
Corruption. I hate what it means.  I hate it when I have to deal with it in this coutry called the Philippines.  It's the end all and be all of the Filipino existence.  It explains why a Christian country rich in natural resources with a populace well high in its literacy rate cannot succeed. 

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Creatively…the best works of the greatest creative minds in history.  I gaze at photos of Michelangelo's paintings of the Sistine Chapel, Pablo Picasso's Guernica and Luna's Spolarium and I become awed at the power of their artistic gift.  I read the poetry of Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, Christina Rossetti and Emily Dickinson and I am moved to tears.  I watch Steven Spielberg's Schindler's List, one of the greatest films of all time, and I feel proud to be part of the human race.  I love Art in all its forms…it separates us from animals.  To create is purely human.  Creativity is the concrete manifestation of the human soul. 

Spiritually…the power of prayer.  I have already proven in my life that if you pray real hard, God will give what your heart desires.  And I did that when I was preparing for the bar exams.  I prayed like I have never prayed before. I claimed what I hoped for.  And though I am not religious, God gave this gift to me.  He made me a lawyer.  I know I prepared hard too and really worked to become one, but it was with God's grace that I succeeded.  With prayer you would really know that He ACTUALLY exists. 

Emotionally….Love and Kindness.  Show me an act of love and kindness and I'll cry torrents.  I remember crying in this one scene from Schindler's list where Ben Kingsley's character held up the list and said:  "This list… is an absolute good. The list is life. All around its margins lies the gulf."  

What turns you off?
I have high tolerance level for the human race.  But one thing I cannot stand are all forms of prejudice on race, sex, and other forms of discrimination. I believe in the creed that "All persons are created equal".

On the lighter side, body odor is the way to turn me away.  

What is your favorite curse word?
Fuck, the best mono-syllabic curse.  *laughs* But come to think of it, if you exclaim the word in the throes of passion, it's hardly a curse.

Putang Ina, the best Filipino curse.  I may use Fuck or Shit and not really mean it.  But if I utter "Putang ina"…in it's entirety, it means utter hate and disdain.  The recipient would know that he has done a deplorable act. 
 
 

What sound or noise do you love?
My nephew's voice. I love his laugh.  I love when he voices his opinions.  Even during the times when he can be totally annoying, I still find his voice adorable.  He is the sweetest person in the entire world.

What sound or noise do you hate?
The squeaking sound of  a person rubbing styrofoam. Need I explain? 
 
 

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Be Oprah Winfrey. And then I'd invite Wentworth Miller for one-on-one interview (Promise Went, I would not ask the "tattoo" question but I will ask Pivot's 10 questions though.) and a private tour of the Prison Break set.  They would not refuse.  It's freakin' Oprah!!

and…..

 Oscar-Award Winning Actress.  I wish to trade places with Meryl Streep for a day.

What profession would you not like to do?
Factory Worker.  Like a person who chops heads off chickens for a living. 
 
 

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Welcome Mcbeal. You're finally home.
 

Ode to Loneliness

my soul drifts
as minutes pass me by
into the sadness
it bleeds
as my sanity runs dry

my heart searches
for the presence of you
into the darkness
it bids
my blithe memories so few

my mind wonders
on questions and speculations
into the unknown
it dwells
on countless suppositions

my being longs
for the words i dare not tell
within my own prison
it mourns
with tears that never fell

my spirit weeps
for your face i long to see
into the realms of regret
it speaks
of a love not meant to be

*just some poetry I wrote last summer..depressing I know.

Breathtaking

Wentworth Miller's photo from the Entertainment Weekly photoshoot sure does take my breath away. I simply loved the laidback theme, Went dressed in a tux with the tie and several buttons undone and holding a coffee cup.  The way he pressed his long, candle-like fingers to his shaved head, he does it so elegantly. Yes, there is overwhelming ruggedness with that shaved head and five o'clock shadow on his jaw, but those piercing eyes speaks of a creative soul, a learned man.  Sigh, it's obviously I am so smitten.  Brilliant, handsome men with brooding stares, witty sarcasm and innate kindness are my weakness. Went fits that to a T.

Aside from those evident gorgeous looks, what attracted me so much to Mr. Miller is his intelligence.  Princeton grad…Impressive.  And he majored in English..Darn..favorite subject…I could just imagine us sitting in a sidewalk café in France while we debate the works of poets and novelists. I'd give an arm and a leg just to read his short stories and that screenplay he wrote.  What a gifted, gifted man.

Too bad he's a celebrity. What are the odds that I would get to meet the guy.  Zilch.  Much as I am smitten, that's just the fan in me speaking.  Men like him belong to a different dimension. A dimension of the popular, glamorous and unreachable. One thing fascinating though, he used to be one of us…one of the ordinary populace. Since Wentworth and I are almost the same age, I'd like to think when I was growing up, and in high school, somewhere in Brooklyn, New York is an obscure Went, doing his homework. But it is inevitable, a gem of a man like him does not stay obscure for long. 

Thus, here I am.  Mcbeal the Wentworth Miller fan, gawking at his dreamy photograph.  Dreaming and wondering what it feels like to meet such an exceptional person.  It must be utter, starstruck magic. 

I could only heave a long sigh and be in dreamland just one moment. 

Until reality sets in.  

Falling for Mr. Miller

Went…Wentworth…Wentworth Miller…

Just typing your name makes me giggle like a schoolgirl doodling the name of her crush at the back of her Trapper Keeper. Just the thought of those smoldering eyes, the way they stare back at me from across the television screen makes me go weak in the knees.  I close my eyes and that baritone voice fills my ears, its masculine timbre makes my heart skip a beat or two.  I read he used to sing in an a capella group back in college, I bet that voice is heavenly.  It sounds so heavenly even when he speaks.  I perched my cheek against my hand and stare dreamily at his pictures, entranced by his chiseled face…

*Sighs*

After watching Season 1 of Prison Break…I have unequivocally fallen for Wentworth Miller.

Damn you Mr. Miller, you've cast a spell on me.  You've invaded my life with videos, photos and endless articles about you.  You've eaten up the space in my pc's hard drive…and all because of that darn show where you pristinely performed the role of structural engineer turned con Michael Scofield.   I'd marry you in an instant.  Or go to bed with, have your baby.  If I was an American and had the beauty of Angie Harmon, I'd hunt you down and flirt shamelessly with you.  I might even exchange my career as a lawyer and be your stalker. 

Nyahahahahahahahaa….but seriously. *laughs*

Isn't he just divine? It must be those hypnotic eyes which color I can't put my finger on..they're a cross between blue, green and hazel. But one thing for sure, that stare is so lethal it could disintegrate any woman to smithereens. He claims he's just an average guy…I might contest that…He's close to perfection…Handsome, with that tall leanly muscled body I go for, a seductive voice, and a creative brain with an Ivy League education.  Waaaaah, the man's gorgeous and I can discuss poetry with him. What are the odds?

If only I could get a sample of his DNA and clone him.  *evil laugh*

Sunday Evening Blues

I don't know why.  But ever since I could remember, I never liked Sunday evenings.  Perhaps, it must be the prospect of an entire workweek ahead of you.  Plus the fact that I did not get to spend my customary lazy Sunday afternoons, snoozing away in my bed and do practically nothing.  Call me shallow, but I do cherish the times that I slow down and rest.  Cause it seems for most of my life, all I do is work, work, work.  I feel like a machine.  And as I do the routine of preparing for work for nth years now, I feel like a zombie. no spirit, dead inside. 

As I write this down,  a realization swept over me.  I don't have to feel this way.  This crap is all in the mind.  I shall start the day tomorrow with a new lease in life.  Tomorrow, as they always say, is another day.   

Willing My Life

On September 14, 2006, I will be turning 35.  35….I feel chronologically old, yet my soul feels perennially young…like an evergreen.  Yes, I have lived half my life, evidently.  Yet still, deep within the recesses of my spirit, I felt I have not lived at all.  I have not tasted life. 

And so it is time..time to take my life by its horns and control it as it dances with the ticking of Father Time.  I have finally, though quite belatedly, decided to LIVE, LOVE and MATTER in this world.  As the old cliche goes, life is too damned short.  I will not make the mistake of looking back and regret what I did or did not do. 

I WILL myself to CHANGE.  

I WILL myself to be HAPPY.

Crazy About Hendrich

From the moment I laid eyes on my nephew on February 20, 1999, I was instantly crazy about him.  One look at that wrinkly newborn, one whiff of that infant scent, I was hooked. 

Hendrich is my twin sister's son.  And modesty aside, I honestly think he takes a lot from me. We have the same chin, that's adorably pronounced even with our chubby cheeks.  We both have engaging smiles and gorgeous eyes that could tame anyone.  Plus, the child has a penchant for the arts, sketching and painting, which he got from me for sure since the artisitic talents his parents have are limited to stick figures. 

Yes, I admit. I spoil the child. Hey, I'm the cool aunt not his mom! All he has to do is smile, give me a kiss and I do his bidding.  The brat does not realize the power he has over me.  Perhaps, he does, because everytime I go home he expects 'a surprise'.  He opens the gate, gives me a kiss and a dreamy enthusiastic smile and says "Surprise?". And no, he does not stomp and whine if I fail to bring home something.  He just sighs this little sigh of disappointment and smile, saying 'It's okay?" Which just breaks my heart a little and I wish, just for a moment, that I should have passed by Mister Donut and buy those little bite sized chocolate donuts he loves.

I often find myself watching him sleep.  The child in slumber is like an angel.  He looks so peaceful.  Oftentimes, I lean my head and take a sniff at the corner of his neck which is heavenly.  He still smells like a baby even if he's seven.

As I write this, he sits on the bed beside me, watching Disney Channel.  He looks up and gives me a smile and he winks.  And I find myself overwhelmed by his innate cuteness! 

I request for a kiss and a hug. He obliges  with one of those tight hugs around my neck and a smack on my lips.

Heaven. Absolute heaven.