The Girl with the Sunny Eyes

“Go ahead,” she said,
“Do whatever you want with it.”
The things that take her mind,
The girl with the sunny eyes.

She's so much like me,
The way she hides her dreams.
So much like me,
The way she trusts her dreams.

“Go ahead,” she said,
“Take a seat or take my time, instead.”
“Everything you see.”
I don’t know if she ever sees me.

Love lead her there,
To the world I know so well.
Love lead her there,
This girl that I know so well.

“Go ahead,” she said.
And she wrestles with sleeplessness.
She’s lost her sense of time,
The girl with the sunny eyes.

And life is such a bumpy ride,
Oh life, I might not make in time for life,
It’s been a lonely ride,
This life.

It seems I’ll never get it right.

I Watch the Angel from Behind

I would watch the angel from behind,
The angel would watch me from there.
The angel would not let its wings bloom-
In front of me, so I go on pretending-

That I don't really want to see its wings.
But I so terribly want to see those wings,
I dream about those wings every night!
I lie awake, dreaming, everytime.

The Ever Present Past

There is this face of the Singapore weather that just seems so familiar I would dare give it a hug and shake its hand if given the chance.

The streets are wet, the skies are grey and lazy just keeps fading in and out of peoples faces. It has been raining on and off since yesterday and this morning's wind brings back memories of childhood. I close my eyes while waiting for the bus and a picture of a 12-year-old me sitting beside the front window of our humble old house in the Philippines fades in with soothing clarity. I look through the window and the heavy rain greets my eyes with anger that seem more comedic than fearsome. I listen and I hear the raindrops batter our ever dependaple rooftop and the sound seem more symphonic than noisy. I turn my head to the left and I see my little brother staring out the window as well, engaged at the swaying coconut trees on the other side of the road, inside Joey's front yard. I take a deep breath and I feel the storm and all its grandeur. And I smile, I can smell mother's sweet chocolate porrige. And I suffer.

I suffer because I can't go back to that place anymore, I won't feel the walls and rooftop fight valiantly to protect me, I will never see the storm cringe in frustration as it realizes its shameful weakness against our mighty little fortress. But I delight.

I delight in the memories, they are always here, they remain in my presence, vivid and untoucheable. They have transitioned into fact from legend. The past is ever present.

I Think I Want to Buy and Sell Hand-Made Toys. Or Not.

I Think I Want to Buy and Sell Hand-Made Toys. I opened an eBay account recently to post a collection of bags that my wife bought from her hometown, Bicol, the Philippines. It has been a week and I've had no offers so far. But I'll have to admit that having an item listed on a market is fun, a better word would not come to mind.

Last Saturday, after my day's course at a Singapore Institute, I went to Cash Converters and found this old hand-made toy tractor that was selling for a very attractive price, that's according to my non-existent experience in the second-hand toy market. It looked interesting to me, I guess it would, especially after spending my recent week nights watching The Pickers, Pawn Stars, and Kings of Restoration. I talked to one of the store keepers and he agreed to sell it to me for S$3 dollars less than the list price. I was delighted!

I cleaned the little thing up as soon as I got home, took photos and posted it on eBay right away.

Or Not. When my son got home from the playground, he's face lit up when he saw the little toy and grabbed it by instinct. I have a feeling he won't be letting it go any time soon.

Here's my eBay, if you dare:

http://www.ebay.com/itm/261276484083?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649