adventures in neverland

the lawn is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return gently at twilight, gently go at dawn, the sad intangible who grieve and yearn..                 -- t.s. eliot,  to walter de la mare                as kids, we used to listen to ghost stories from our older sisters, brothers and sometimes from our cousins when they were at our house for special occasions like fiesta. usually at night when we were about to go to sleep. my two younger sisters and i would have bed sheets ready just in case the story became more scary that we have to cover ourselves with them. &&&&&& but childhood stories are no match to the real thing. the following are my ghostly encounters. read and weep. chos! &&&&&&& my first encounter with a ghost happened when i was twelve years old. i just arrived from a high school christmas party and was walking alone to our house. it was around ten in the evening. i could feel that someone was fo

"at first i was afraid, i was petrified.." life is full of twists and turns. they are scary because most of the time, nothing prepares us for them. ******* who would have thought that less than a year into my new job, i would resign? i thought that when i came back to hong kong last december (after packing my things exactly a year earlier), i would be in a job that will be my last until i retire. i wanted it to last this time. so i worked doubly hard, even harder than when i started in my journalism career nearly twenty years ago (when all i wanted was to be lyk my hero and idol ninoy, be a journalist and report what's happening in the country, be able to contribute to the public debate on issues that affect us all). oh yes dahlins, i was once an idealist. what can i say? i was young and wanted to help uplift the country after more than twenty years of devastation under martial law. ^^^^^^^^^ but things happened. and here i am. in a week's time, i

one stormy sunday afternoon, while the rains were falling heavily from the sky, blanketing the whole city with dark clouds (punctuated by the scary, ear shattering thunder), i was looking at pictures of cute basketeers. trying to keep my mind occupied to fight boredom. no, i know nothing about the sport. i haven't played it, not even once. i just don't like the idea of going after one ball, running from one end to the other, while trying to grab the ball from the one holding it, or prevent him from taking a shot at the basket. it's totally, lyk, boring. what makes it exciting, of course, are the cute, sweaty, muscled guys roughing it up inside the court, outmachoing each other. but i noticed that through the years, the jersey shorts have become so unsexy - loose, long and unshapely. totally unlyk the days of jaworski and atoy co, when it was really short, fit and sexy: the better way to display those long, shapely, smooth or hairy legs. i luv! now that's

i'm feeling the beat. falling in luv with them again. i always know that i was born in the wrong generation. i should have been one of them - the mad ones. ". ..the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,  but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.."                                                                                         - jack kerouac, on the road. i feel them. their disillusionment about life, the rules, the morality, the self-righteousness of the few, and the arrogance of the privileged but shallow, vapid, even empty and soulless ones. i feel their wandering souls, the endless curiosity about things, people and places, the nomadic lifestyle. bored? let's hop into that car and drive across the country, feel the wind, sun, dust, mist, o

(this is a very emily post post. pardon my pretensions, but i just want to get it all out. triple chos!!) nowadays, crass trumps class. people everywhere are forgetting their manners, leaving them hidden in their homes (if they ever have them in the first place). showing off (and flaunting wealth) has become the norm, not the exception. trying hards and wannabes are outnumbering the real ones. fifty shades of grey is outselling one hundred years of solitude. trashy gossip celebrity magazines and blogs upstaging time and, ehem, the new york times? %%%%%% what's going on? are we headed to the great apocalypse? is judgement day just around the corner? remember what they say, whom the gods would destroy they first make them mad or something. why do some nouveau riche insist on using ipad to take photos? it's just so tacky and an unnecessary display of wealth. what's wrong with the good old, handy camera? why do some people have to wear all those expensive logos (

lately, i have become even more forgetful. sometimes, i would even forget what i ate for lunch. most of the time, i just forget to have lunch. not because i am busy (though most of the time, i am), but simply because i forget all about it. god knows how many times i have stood at the doorway of my former apartment building because i forgot the code at the main door. (good thing that in my present building, we have this card that serves as a key to the main door. no need to punch those codes that change every two to three weeks.) i have also spent a lot of money to pay a professional locksmith to open the door at my flat simply because i forgot my keys inside. &&&&&& whoever said that growing older is fun must be joking. or totally delusional. no honey, age is not just a number. or a state of mind. it's a whole lot more. it means having slower metabolism, so you gain weight easily. don't tell me i need to exercise or go to the gym, because as

i luv films about growing up. about how teeners and tweeners struggle to fit into the adult world. experience life with raging hormones. first luv. first crush. first sex. first smoke. first heartbreak. fitting in. going against the flow. rebelling against the establishment. hating parents and all symbols of authority. being lost. bad skin. pimples. wandering and wondering. the gap years between having a job, paying taxes and having a family and well, uhm, death. that's a very short time, mind you. you know what i mean. &&&&&& my teen-age years were a fog (no pun intended). i don't remember much of it. what can i say, i am old. i also don't  remember much of my twenty's. it went so fast. when i woke up, i was already depressed and celebrating my 30th birthday (i felt old and thought death was knocking) at a friend's posh mansion in greenhills. my best friend baked me my favourite banana chocolate cake, her maids prepared the sumptuous d

(warning - heavy cliches ahead. fasten your seatbelt, this is going to be a bumpy ride!) in a month or so, a new journey begins. i don't know yet where the stars will lead me. but i am open to all possibilities. i'll be a stone in the river, going with the flow - easy, gentle, smooth and with a little prayer in my heart. i am not religious, i am spiritual. i believe in god, or a higher being out there, benevolent, forgiving, loving, just, whose steady hand is ready to catch me if i fall. @@@@@@@ no, experience does not teach us anything - it just makes us stronger. it's the oil that keeps the wheel rolling, the fuel that keeps the fire burning. along with faith. faith that someday, everything will fall into place and the stars will be well aligned. i no longer  have any ill wishes for those who have wronged me. i choose forgiveness. i choose to travel light. of course they will pay for their ill doings, but it's not up to me. somewhere, someday, we will all ge

it was way past midnight and i was a bit drunk after a few glasses of reds, whites and roses. as usual, i was restless in bed. sleepless. i was changing channels, trying to find a show that would help me sleep. i hardly watched teevee, but i needed some noise to help me battle loneliness. that small, dark, smelly room was adding to my depression. it was one of my bleakest and most dreary moments (music from maalala mo kaya). i was jobless, running out of money. worse, i was indecisive (couldn't make up my mind where i should head out next and what would i do next. making a decision is one of the toughest aspects of being an adult.). i felt so alone. i felt as though my friends (even the very few closest ones) were avoiding me. not wanting to hear my drahmahs anymore. who would? right? &&&&&& more surfing, then i finally settled on channel two. good old reliable network to put me to sleep. and there it was. a feature about the nuns in a monastery, some

there it was, said beautifully, even poetically by the headline: " circus comes to comelec ." only this time, most of the those in the audience are not happy. they are not clapping their hands. they are not getting their money's worth. on the opposite side, the clowns never had it so good - you can see it in their eyes, dreamy, shiny, lyk  debutantes waiting for their princes to take them to their first ball. the picture that accompanied the story showed most of them beaming, smiling, some waving, giving a thumbs up. they were a mixture of everything that had gone wrong in the country,  the recipe for a bleak future, so a lot of comments that accompanied the news item said. most of the commenters were indignant, angry, even hopeless. no doubt decent people, most of them are, trying to make a living, breaking their backs, sweating blood, so to speak, just to give their families a decent life, send their children to school, ensure their bright future. simple, basic,