Archive for ‘All Me’

20 March 2014

One day

by misslampa
Bliss.

Bliss.

Note to self: don’t fret.

One day, it’ll dawn on you that you’ve been inexplicably drunk-happy quite often in this life.

That you’ve been giddy like a kid about nothing in particular, while you’re in the middle of nowhere, with no specific someone to hold responsible for your smile.

I know you’ll bless the day you realize you’ve known true joy, and on the occasion of this year’s World Happiness Day, I wish that day will be today.

And every awesome day after that too, of course. :)

 

 

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9 June 2013

A Wonderful Kind of Messed Up

by misslampa

It’s hell season in grad school once more, and just when I think I’ve gotten the hang of it, the extreme sleep deprivation starts to mess with my head.

 

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I’ve been doing this to myself lately. It’s been fun.

 

Take yesterday, for instance. I don’t know how I managed to lose my way as I was walking home from the uni. But I did – and in broad daylight at that, pfft. Instead of turning left on the street where my house is, I turned left on the street before it and groggily walked all the way to where my house would’ve been if I were on the right street. Then I looked at the strange Queenslander* which was there and went,

Hmm, that’s odd. Where did my house go?

I stared at the house for about thirty seconds and took a good look at the other houses in the area before it finally dawned on me that I took a wrong turn.

Ha! That was funny. And stupid. In equal measure.

But what really got me convinced that I’m losing it, though, was waking up this morning to vivid snippets of a dream I had about my very own wedding. I saw the face of my groom and those of my parents and closest gut friends. It was big and festive but informal. My wedding gown didn’t have a trail, and he looked dapper in a barong Tagalog. There was no photo booth and wedding souvenirs, but we served red wine and steak to all our guests. My mother’s face was radiant. I remember mentioning in my thank-you speech that ours was a whirlwind romance, but I said yes because I feel like I’ve known him for a very long time.

It was that vivid, that real.

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Daydreaming is best done under a red pine tree. It just looks better.

Now that freaks me out big time because I don’t remember ever dreaming about my wedding – unconsciously or otherwise. I dream about taking long and lazy train rides and getting a PhD and teaching in Africa for a year. I dream of watching the northern lights dance before my very eyes and getting fit enough to run a full marathon one day and yes, even finding true love. But weddings? Never.

Which is not to say I’ve written off all possibility of ever getting married. I hope to, but thinking about it just doesn’t come naturally to me. I’ve been told that’s uncharacteristic for a woman, but it’s really just the wedding bit I don’t daydream about. When I think of finding love, I imagine enjoying insightful conversations about the mundane and the profound over coffee. And exchanging private jokes on long and tiring road trips. And watching fireworks and sunsets and fireflies in comfortable silence.

So you see, it’s really just the wedding. Perhaps it’s my fear of commitment that has rendered me incapable of dreaming about getting married. I automatically equate weddings with forever, which I then automatically imagine as a painfully long time to promise to someone, more so if he turns out to be the wrong one.

Until now, that is.

So maybe something has changed? And I am about to break free? And I am on the verge of believing that weddings are grand and glorious and all that?

Of course, it could also just be the result of pulling too many all-nighters in a span of three weeks. So perhaps I should skip sleep some more then? I think it would be wonderful to get used to this wedding-dreaming, messed-up version of me. :))

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*a type of architecture usually found in Queensland and parts of New South Wales, Australia

17 March 2013

The Look of Love

by misslampa
Giddy and grateful, definitely. But in love? Whatever.

Giddy and grateful, definitely.
But in love? Whatevs.

 

At no other point in my life have I been told this often that I am sporting the look of love.

I don’t remember exactly when it began, just that people started pointing it out some time last year. There’s something about my aura in the pictures I post on Facebook, they say. Or something about my eyes when I remove my nerdy specs. Or something about my smile. And before I can even say a word, they follow up right away with query after query about this supposed someone who’s bringing this something  into my aura, about this guy who’s putting this something on my face.

They don’t use those words exactly. There are way too many somethings in the last paragraph, and of course, my friends are more eloquent than that.

So for the most part, they skip all the polite inquiry and just repeatedly accuse me of being in love.

And I, for the most part as well, just laugh it off. Then I attribute whatever it is they’re seeing to whatever I feel like saying at that moment – from living in a foreign country to getting enough sleep or even having better makeup skills.

It’s  one habit I’m starting to get good at, actually, which is why I was surprised when reading this bit on a message thread with my MA-classmates-turned-friends got me to shut up:

 

We are all different now… Donna has the look, hair, eyebrows… as if she is coming into a romance.

Here are some of my friends from the uni. Hieu is the pretty girl in a pink dress.

Here are some of my friends from the uni.
Hieu is the pretty girl in a pink dress.

 

It’s not the simple yet poetic phrasing that got me, I think, but the fact that the words came from someone who does not know me as well as everyone else who has been insisting all this time that that look on my face is the look of love.

Ha! It’s funny how we sometimes choose to ignore feedback from the universe until it’s delivered through someone who knows close to nothing about us.

Granted, Hieu’s not a complete stranger to me and we’ve actually become quite good friends. We’ve taken a lot of classes together and talked about life at and outside of grad school. But apart from classroom teaching and the English language and good food, she doesn’t know a lot about what and who I’ve loved in this lifetime. She’s not privy to what and who I’ve stopped loving, and more importantly, what and who have a hold on me still.

 

Because I can’t accuse her of prying into my affairs or insinuating something about my past or having an agenda, I’m left with no other choice but to listen and consider if there’s truth in what she’s saying.

So in the wee hours of this quiet Sunday morning, I stand in front of my bedroom mirror and stare at my reflection for a good five, ten minutes, all the while thinking of my other well-meaning friends who have dared to ask that one thing I don’t even dare ask myself these days:

 

"What and who has your heart, Donna? What and who do you love?"

“What and who has your heart, Donna? What and who do you love?” Ang hirap naman! (That’s such a tough question!)

 

I don’t have the answers just yet, so it’s a good thing I don’t feel such a strong urge to know them all at this point.

Likewise, I still don’t see that something which is supposedly in my aura or on my face. But at least, for the first time since it has been pointed out to me months ago, I’m starting to believe that it’s there. Ü

 

 

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Short but sweet thank-you’s go to Dee, Nasime, and Chris who took the pictures I used for this post.^^