Category Archives: Cheesy Bites

The Pluviophile

“Rain, tears, rain, tears, 
Melding in torrential fears: 
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.

Rain, tears, rain, tears, 
Married under sceptic jeers: 
‘They’ll never last.’ Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue….”

Just awoke in the couch after almost ending a book (which was in its last page) the night that was. While it still rests down on my chest, I was supposed to leaf through that single folio of few phrases when our roof sounded like deafening drumbeats. Ambivalent, I suddenly thought of a) the Bad News, that this might be what our newly-equipped forecasters have divined yesterday and cautioned us to heed or b) the Good News, that classes will be (un)fortunately suspended for a day or two again.

Aroused to senses, it occurred to me that I can indulge myself to several things I dearly wanted which then resulted to me disremembering one of the might-be-climactic-moments of my reading.

And so, there I was, interrupted.

Like any other cold mornings in the little attic where I’m roomed in, I rose up and subsequently rushed by my time-turning window, fetal-positioned. Yes, it seemed to be the zoopraxiscope (the first movie projector) of my own film reels that takes me to different scenes of my existence.

rainy-day-windowThe gloomy clouds freed thumb-sized droplets of rain accompanied by fulminating roars of ferocious thunder. For most people I know bad weather turn their days as blunt and gloomy as experiencing the rotating blackouts here in our metro. Admittedly, I belonged to that number then. Heaven’s downpour unconsciously detaches me from what the world has to offer. It’s like I am widowed from being united with myself, my thoughts, feelings and whatsoever. I usually feel secluded and enjoined with the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary, especially when I’m close to drowning in the River of Styx five years ago (read my ‘Metanoia’ post). Both literally and figuratively, I fear of being drowned by it in my own emotions and certainly, it always leaves me diving into a puddle of tears. Feeling detached, it seems to immerse me in oblivion, pushing all the negativities I could relate with, the reason why I came to despise everything about it. I was a pessimist not until it unraveled a new fancy and changed many of my perspectives.

“Hey Sir, cheesecake later?” she invited as I’ve seen my phone blink with such message pinned on.

Without any doubt of accepting her call or even grabbin’ a bite that time, I sent my approval in no less than a sec. It was a definitive “Yes” on a lazy Sunday afternoon. In spite of having talked for only a few times since we’ve known each a week back, there was no way of faltering around.

Oh my God, is this the thing they called fate? Well, the next best thing to heaven for me is this rich dessert having a firm custard-like texture, made with cream cheese and topped with a jam-like blueberry mixture. I love to crave for cheesecakes since the day I first knew how to make one and now she’s also into this hunger? Such thoughts gradually circumventing at the back of my mind.


Prepped in a fancy dress outfit, she went inside the car after I offered her a hand. My insides were actually throbbing to the fact that I don’t actually know how to get there; I was just confident in pretending that I can get us through it. After a series of intellectually-guessed turns, Voila, hello cheesecake cafe!

stock-footage-two-lovers-holding-hands-and-kissing-under-umbrella-in-the-rainIt started to drizzle when we decided to get out and run inside. Before, it used to ruin my moments, but then again, without realizing what the reasons were, it’s as if the universe conspired to bring me to that fleeting moment. I could easily believe that it was the forever of the while. As the spoonful of sweets reached her mouth, I was painting a beautiful picture inside my head.  People say when you’re in a date (which we never realized we were on), it’s certain that one is into you if he or she cannot consume what has been prepared. And it did happen for BOTH of us. Well, you’re thinking what I’m thinking then.

Inching down the stairs outside, with the drizzling earlier becoming stronger, I paused for a moment, staring at her. “‘twas a hell uva crave. You know… this cheesecake thing,” I said finally.

“…which we both love,” and immediately whispered to myself. “Thanks!” I added.

She hugged me, but the umbrella I’m trying to open made it hard to hug her back. I could feel her on her tiptoes. Her arm leaned on my shoulder and then her mouth was right up against my ear and said, very clearly, “I. Will. Love.

Craving. Out. With. You.”

The rain started to pour a little more. That feeling where you want to paint a smile as much as you could, plus the rain which made you wanna snuggle the cool side of your pillow. That feeling where everything’s like a sequence of a movie, where you two did some takes and when it’s on its final, you see everything in slow-mo. The rain. The leaves dancing. The imaginary senti background music playing. Just Perfect.


From Rick Riordans’ series that were made to life in silver screens down to unleashing the childhood in us through Disney’s music, we both encountered the magical moments set up by the lambent rain.

“Well, it is better read than watched onscreen,” she concluded after seeing the demigods for real far from the imagination and the things we read (another commonality to note there).

We were striding one of the metro’s central business districts under the night rains on our way home. The rushing breeze scared her and while squeezing ourselves under the shade of a single umbrella and wrestling against the wind currents, she slid her right foot on a greasy path which consequentially made her bent on her back. I caught her with my left arm, and me losing my equilibrium as well, swiveled towards her facing the ground with our noses an inch apart from each other. For seconds I robbed a stare at her half-closed 20/70-visoned eyes, sparkling, as it reflected me who was caught ‘daydreaming’ in broad night light. And again, we were as though on cue on-cam, shooting the romantic scene of our forever amidst the pouring rain.



Indeed, to borrow what the alchemist had said to the boy, “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.”

“Crap that two-hour traffic! It’s past eight o’clock and we’re really late this time!” I yelled in rage after we went out of the car and scuttled hurriedly to the theatre complex.  Nikki, the one hosting the show, journeyed back the crowd to some special Disney memoirs, a sort of opening intro I guess, when we arrived in the scene. Thankfully, we made it just a little less in time.


Left LSS (last song syndrome[d]), we left the hall filled with childlike bliss in our hearts as we strolled outside and looked for a place to dine in.

8394522635_fa859d835f_z1“The. Best. Night. Ever,” she clearly proclaimed in glee under the moonlit tree. Until, the same thing happened (like two meetings ago) from above. You know what I mean. Wink*

 Running soaked with hands held tight together, it’s as if it’s a can-you-feel-the-love-tonight-in-a-magic-carpet-ride heck of a feeling that very moment…worth cherishing, something I hoped would never last.


Sometimes, what we thought of a nightmare before will bring us an opposing blissful feeling today. This is how life plays its role on every phenomenon. A thing never holds and stays only as to what people destined it to be. It constantly changes, so as our feelings towards the simplest occurrences here on earth.

Just like the rain. It enthralls me now; it soothes the very roots of my being providing a kind of fantasy I’ve never imagined. The drops that hold the fondest of all memories. The pitter-patters that sound like music reverberate the voices of people oh so dear. One that could take you back to your yesteryears and unleash the child in you as you take a plunge under the heavy rain together with your co-cutie comrades. One that could bring you to your memorable dinner with the entire family sipping some creamy hot “champorado” (sort of a Filipino-style chocolate rice porridge). One that could relive your sweetest romance while taken aback, frozen nose-to-nose with the one you love.

I want to listen to the rain and take out a fragment from my memory lane. Whatever it brings, I just want to hear the same music and play the same zoopraxiscopic scene again and experience forever like how  it should supposed to be.

Now, I am back to the couch and flipping the last page I left unread:

“Rain, tears, rain, tears, 
Simple love with lacy cares, 
Their intercourse will ne’er refrain
From rain and tears and tears to rain.”

So was the Pluviophile – a lover of rain – which I have become.


Never say NO

“No”, very close-ended yet I have known, it must be your best scorned word.

“No, I don’t like this.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I guess it won’t work out, so no for now.”

NO. How’d you like hearing it? It seems that this very word paints a thousand pictures of senseless, dissatisfying rebuttals to almost every argumentative situation. Why does it stick on my thought and scare me as if I’m Atlas carrying the burdens of the planet?  Why does it bring a cementing feeling of being static for one moment making you in complete desolation and dormancy?

I say No“No” is your worst nightmare. It is my nightmare. When these two letters combine and produce a sound as one, it resembles a world defunct, demised and devastated. This stretches out into something we never imagined to foresee, reserved on very rare occasions where we can be of no choice but to mouth it out.

Why are we too frightened to be thrown back with such kind of precarious syllable?  I have quite understood it lately when my three-year old cousin never tires to reply no in all instances. Usually I will wake up early in the morning with that as my alarm as she yells such despicable word whenever she’s invited to take a bite or something.

Nobody likes the word no, especially children and adolescents. “No” means disappointment, “no” means not getting what you desire, and that’s exasperating and disappointing for everyone. It is a powerful word, quick on the lips, easy to say.

I thought back that time when you were with me. I just came back from somewhere after months of hibernation. We were enjoying the night cruising together our dreams at the same sea, typical moment where we press those pads waiting for our phones to illuminate back with your name after a reply from the other. And somewhere in the midst of the usual sweet texts, I stumbled from my seat to where I was, not expecting what that was becoming.

“Yeah, I care for you dearly and value you, but I guess..” and as the clear words played kaleidoscopically in front of me, it paralyzes me, “…No… I don’t love you anymore.”

For one second it paralyzes you, and then another and so on. It paralyzes you from those dreams you’ve built together with someone, from promises that you can’t keep and relationships you think and would want to end. This two-letter word gradually cripples your veins that carry the deoxygenated blood from your body going back to your heart making you frail enough to struggle for your life. You slowly hunger for air as inch by inch that word blocks your brain’s respiratory centers, squeezing you tightly to losing your breath until you become despondent. That crippling moment collapses your entirety and assures significant echoes of rejection, resounding and reverberating to every corner of your ears. Yes, it’s all because of this…NO.

Sometimes, I patiently waited for a response. Desperate, I constantly never surrendered in making pleas asking for second chances which could be possible any moment then. With images of your smiles and laughter along with the memories we’ve created, I filled my mind with bliss to divert the pessimism it generates. I carefully waited for that single beep, but it still implies that “NO” conquered the scenes. Everything that entails saying the word connotes disappointment, a ravaging imminent rejection that can hardly be opposed. Once you said it, it ends the world.. your world.. our world.

“Would you like to go out or something?”

“No” is like an ends without the means in times when you ask questions like this. In other words, telling it places you in the oceans of disempowerment, confusion, and fear without any rational and respectful explanation. Oftentimes it may mean TO STOP, but that’s only to impede any forthcoming perplexity somehow. More likely it will always bring you to a halt in all issues, a lifeless signal that reminds you not to add up some more. It must be understood as it is said because usually it doesn’t come along with further reasons. It is profound, direct and undisputed. And to quote again, it coasts you to a world defunct, demised and devastated.

Your nightmare might have saved you from deep sleep.

Mine geared me to a complete comatose, paralysis.

Now what is it about ‘NO’ why I despise it the most? Maybe it is the depiction of reality that it can be modified no more. Maybe it’s about the culmination of those foreseen visions where you suppose to paint colorful dreams especially with the one closest to your heart.

Or worst, just maybe, it‘s about something absconded that will never be yours again.

Oh no! <facepalm>


Twitter Hashtags

Years back, when this twitter was born and came into scene, never did I imagine getting hooked into it. “Duh, that’s only for stalkers and bashers following and despising their idols, respectively “- and here’s what I made up my mind then. Not until I learned how it affects my routinely, boring life. Twitter spiced up those blunt, passing moments. Twitter proved it’s worth tweeting sometimes.

Hopping into my home tweets yesterday, something confronted me on the left pane of the screen.  It was like tons of stormclouds carrying heavy rains (just in time for the cold weather) mashed down my being when I was left hanging for a series of seconds thinking of what I can respond to that simple trending hashtag behind.  That moment seemed to be in synergy with my current dull mood. Radically, I’m pushed by my inner self to be upset, knowing that this would just rewind some good old memories that can barely happen again as of the meantime. It may be the doomsday one has ever expected.  It may be the most disappointing feeling of unanswering the one-million peso jackpot question of a game show. It may be the “worsest” way of welcoming the New Year indeed.

One year had passed after I’ve walked on my own path. It’s been one year already since I learned to grab a bite in places I never used to be with solitude, engage to malling and buy stuffs my way, and simply sit on the benches while others’ hands tightly grasp those of their partners and sway during a long walk. Blame Kühbler-Ross for his DABDA grieving process and my bipolar nursing professor as well. Your ideas truly lifted my spirit now and made me the contrasting figure of The Script’s single: The Man who can‘t be moved, I guess.

They tease me. And I can’t deny the fact that some thoughts linger deep down my senses. More often than not, when such things came into scene in front of me, I’ve somehow had regrets, especially when parting became the reason of us being happy in our own ways. But no, I came up with it so as to focus on our own tracks and personally, to chase my dream (but not that she wasn’t a part of that) to become one of the best fascia-slicers in town. I suppose that made me courage the cowardly dog then, and that hurts. The fact of yielding and deciding hurt more than being stitched. Relative to the gist of this post, I collected some tweets with such hashtag and I opposed to almost every thought I’ve read.

#WhatHurtsMost being catheterized”  – Tsk. But that may be tolerable.

#WhatHurtsMost Stepping on a lego”? – Poor you, I have a high pain tolerance.

#WhatHurtsMost Paper cuts”?  That is a so-childhood-fear!

But hey, I guess this one’s made me accompanied:

#WhatHurtsMost Being broken, it’s like you don’t want to get out of bed, don’t want to talk to anyone, and get mad at everything.” – Exactly. High five to that*

The firsts are always the ones most enduring and the one that can withstand the test of time, despite everything, in spite of everything. More than any superficial pains one could undergo, this may be the worst thing we can ever experience. Recognizing the fact that you were hurt is as patching things up towards acceptance providing you with serenity and inner peace.

That simple twitter hashtag that popped out may have caused agonizing mementos of the past, but then again I am grateful to what it brought for me.

Now #WhatHurtsMost for you too?

Dancing in Synchrony

 It happened on a usual day of summer, well everyday for me’s just like the ordinary maybe. But it is during these customs where I dunno but some things come and change the ‘typical’ in it.
        It was the 17th. Going through the dark, I found myself inside my favorite white-collared polo embraced by a silky black suit perfect to be called agent K of my own. I braced myself after I brought it in the middle of a midnight ball. The whole scenery was majestic. Everything seems to be in perfect reception. What welcomed me initially was the castled façade which seemed to be the one like in fairy tales. The hall was fully robed with elegantly dazzling red curtains. Flashing lights of various colors made it kaleidoscopic as the gleaming party ball revolves atop. The ambiance was soothed by cool renditions of classic music seeping through the abyss of every guest’s heart. There was harmony and soon a right track in the air.
         But I do not dance.
         To count, I have never asked anybody yet to pair up my lumbering feet the whole time being. Solitude was my company all my life and during those times where sweet music envelopes the atmosphere. I lived with it for years and together I grew up accepting it as a never-rebuffing truth that I can’t dance, though I also hoped to learn it someday, at the right time, as fate may set it for me.
         Learning to dance is never easy. It comes with great confidence and a valiant heart to achieve the right step at a right beat of the tune.
         This is what I think is true, and to this I held on for ages. Sometimes, I wonder, maybe the heavens above deprived me of that skill or it could be that I wasn’t there when it showered that knack to dance. I envy those who could perfectly do the moves, those who could execute steps so well, those who could instantaneously perform the routines flawlessly without ever doubting a move or something, especially those who could be in synchrony with someone else’s feet. How could they do that?
         Puzzled, these thoughts pooled down again on my neural network while I was already there on a table grabbing some tempting fondant cake matched with a glass of aged red wine to partner with. I am busy munching on some sweets and having a drink just to divert myself from being solitary that moment. When the romantic music commenced on playing, the lads came to fetch their princesses for a unified sway, signaling that the ball indeed was on its highlight. Tables from tables went empty as everybody left two by two’s. That very moment then gave me the feeling of isolation, of rejection, of being out of the crowd, different from everyone else.
         While those two feet became four in the midst, there were mine staying two on the ground.
         It has never been easy. All the time I let this fear of standing up and sharing myself with somebody else devour my youth making me stuck and shabby to where I was. It was as though I am engulfed by the world. Those lovely duos in front of me teased my insecurities. Their every sway and turn and step was like pounding earthquakes trying to collapse my feeble soul, my weary heart. I wasn’t depressed; I was screwed up.
         With me despising the thought that I could almost be left alone, I detached myself from seat and explored the venue. Inching halfway next to the main foyer, I saw dainty strides from afar. My stream of thoughts halted, my chambers pounded inside my chest and it was like everything came to freeze in front of me. The dull, young night was turned brighter. The leaves on the trees rustled into a music, playing the ‘Destiny’ theme.
        I lived a dream.
        Finally, I have learned to stand up and offer my hand which she selflessly lent me as well. The whole night was magical. My two feet became four as well. Just like in fairy tales, I made myself a prince charming to that beautiful sweet princess I met. She’s very cerebral, perfect to a Neutron like me. Commonalities made true that this might be done by fate indeed.
        When you dance, don’t step on your own. Learn to be in synchrony with the feet you’re dancing with.
          For almost three years, my foot steps towards her foot’s direction. When I thought that I could never do a dance, now I guess I may be wrong. I learned ballet’s adagio, supporting her in turns and balances of our act. I perfectly made the theatrical’s drop, where even her body comes in contact to the floor, there am I partially or completely doing the support to her weight. We ‘SWINGed’, ‘SALSAd’, ‘RUMBAd’, and ‘TANGOed’ all those happy times we’ve been together. Sometimes there are a few slips along the routine. There may be flatfoot occurrences within the dances, but still we tend to catch up with the beat and revive the rhythm of our music in the end. From jiving into a disco, a boogie woogie even risking into cakewalks and showing a “swag” to swaying in the midst of romantic dances, name it, we’re all in those together.
        I savored every moment we learned each step, each dance. However, just like in fairy tales as well, the midnight clock struck at 12 early this year and put everything to a halt. We got tired of doing it together as of the moment, I believe. But deep with our every memory, there still lingers a thought that we both swayed to help each one become the dancer of our own music, of our own lives.
      That ball has already ended. I danced, I shared, I learned and went in love…to the sweetest music life has to offer. We may not dance the way we did before now, but at least we still can. And by the way, it’s my first, but that would always be a special routine I would never ever forget.
         ‘Til the next beat of music!