As I browsed through my high school friends’ profiles on social networking sites such as Facebook, ancient photos of forgotten teenage times, old crushes and foes, barkadas and the like I felt the awesome feeling of being the same old person again. The younger, teenage girl full of wonder and angst and excitement and expectation and questions and amazement and melancholy and zest. All at the same time. Who could have thought that that timid scrawny gal is now a nurse independently working abroad? Who could have thought that skeptic girl who loathed church people is now a church person? Only God knows.
I remember I had a crush on a guy in orange polo in Acquaintance Party and I had this excitement whenever I’d got to see him again in university. I miss that feeling, the exciting life of a youth and I wonder how eventually that chapter of my life lost its luster. Wow, I sound so old. I’m twenty six and crushes for me now are fiction characters. I feel so old ’cause looking at those photos flashes of wonderful memories filled my soul like before and I began to reminisce, notice how swiftly time flies. Like how airplane flew dragging me here.
I stopped blogging when I started working abroad. I am too busy is understatement. I can’t even finish a good book. I can’t even have an eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. I can’t even watch or read news about my beloved homeland. Now I am trying to manage my time though hard. When everything changes my fond of blogging sometimes sleeps but never dies. But I am afraid that now I can’t properly edit my blog posts as needed so bear with me.
Eight months more and my two years of stay here in the desert is over. I’ve learned a lot and I can say that I doubt if I am still the same person they used to know a year ago and counting. Some things permanently changed. For better, I hope.
Hey. Been a long time and that old person in that selfie photo I took five months ago now seems unfamiliar to me. Her eyes are now more weary though she doesn’t read graphic novels for months now and she doesn’t watch TV anymore. Her English grammar is getting poor and bad and hideous because people she speaks to everyday do not understand good grammar. To err becomes a habit, a bad habit and worse, a way of life. So I want to practice proper use of English speech again by blogging. Thanks.
This is how they talk. Beware.
Natives: Now I will learn you to bake cake.
Me: Okay. (WTH)
Natives: You know cooking?
Me: Yeah, I know a bit.
Natives: You like coffee or tea? Do coffee or tea.
Me: Thanks. (Whatever)
Natives: After eat, you go now.
Natives: Mama go? (He meant did Mama go out?)
Me: Yeah, go. (I really meant is ‘Yeah, Mama went out’.)
There are much more cringe worthy. These are just the minimal mistakes. But we communicate well though I sometimes loathe myself after contemplating how shameful I sounded like. What a disgrace to all of my English teachers since kinder. I need to apologize for succumbing to normalcy. We shouldn’t always blend in or fit in a wrongful world.
Once upon a time, my four-year old niece brought home a wandering male kitten from market. The kitten was unpleasant, bald and disgusting. After our dog Negi gave birth to her puppies, that ugly kitten tried to unite with those cute puppies like his lost siblings. Because perhaps of mother’s protective and nurturing nature Negi adopted the kitten and breastfed him. From then on, that kitten believed that he was a puppy but couldn’t bark. He didn’t learn to ‘meow’ because he really deluded himself that he was a son of a dog. He grew a little and still very filthy unlike real hygienic cats who lick their fur all the time to look neat. We had a bigger cat then, his name was Pussy given to us by a pal. One time we brought the untidy kitten upstairs where Pussy usually stayed and the grimy kitten got scared of the new environment and abruptly rushed downstairs to his usual dwelling. But one day we were amazed by what we saw, Pussy and the unsanitary kitten were together. Pussy was licking kitten’s grubby fur and the kitten finally contemplated his true identity. To be a genuine feline he must loathe smelly dogs, befriend his similar race and frequently should cleanse himself by licking deliberately and thoroughly and Pussy taught him those.
We called the kitten Little Pussy because he and Pussy were so alike but when Little Pussy eventually grew up some more he got bigger and fatter. He loved to ingest everything seemed edible especially junk foods. We started to call him Marshy from the word marshmallow because his tummy was as soft as a marshmallow. Marshy forgot his feigned mother Negi and his fake siblings. He lived with Pussy who regard him as a little brother. We loved to see them together, dozing off, licking each other’s physique, eating in the same plate and playing.
Until Pussy hasn’t arrived home. Marshy lost his appetite and got thinner as time went by. He perhaps already realized that his big brother would never come back. He is now the only cat left with us. To get over he oversleeps. Cats feel sad too. I believe. I believe that they have hearts that also can be broken. Cats know how to love because I feel his affection for us and also long to be loved by someone that understands them. Cats understand friendship.
With breed or without, cats are awesome and only cat lovers will understand that.