slow kiss goodnight

Love is stories that will never be told.

Love is a slow kiss goodnight.
It is anticipation.

Love is an imperfection in yourself not bothering you.
It is acceptance.

Love is passing up the opportunity because the time isn't right yet.
It is patience.

Love is a back massage that starts above the hairline and ends around the innersoles.
It is exploration.

Love is not having to say, "Lets make love", because you know what the other person wants.
It is understanding.

Love is being given an honest chance to say no when you thought you were committed.
It is consideration.

Love is saying the perfect phrase to make a solemn embrace dissolve into giggles.
It is humor.

Love is being told, "Stop and I'll kill you."
It is desire.

Love is reviewing the damage to your living room and realizing
personal effects are strewn in a clockwise pattern from the front door to the bedroom.
It is abandonment.

Love is seeing what your lover really looks like for the first time.
It is truth.

Love is knowing what time it is and not caring.
It is joy.

Love is the arms around you tightening their embrace.
It is ecstasy.

Love is telling a person, if you have to leave, you will let them sleep,
and being told they would rather be awakened.
It is tenderness.

Love is waking up to find the subject of the dream you were having asleep on your shoulder.
It is where fantasy meets reality.

Love is being there to wake your lover....slowly.
It is sensuousness.

Love is belatedly knowing why you bought a king size bed three years ago.
It is practicality.

Love is two people only taking up a third of the king sized bed.
It is closeness.

Love is knowing you gave the extra set of keys to the right person.
It is trust.

Love is saying goodbye and knowing you'll be back by mutual consent.
It is faith.

Love is stretching your arms and discovering the real meaning of the word "sore."
It is a lesson in human frailty.

Love is opening up your medicine cabinet and finding your toothpaste turned into a pretzel.
It is adaption.

Love is sitting at the window, looking out, and remembering who you were with the night before.
It is reflection.

Love is hearing the weather forecast for a winter storm,
and wishing you could spend it in bed with your lover.
It is loneliness.

Love is stories that will never be told.
It is personal.

Love is a slow kiss goodnight. 

XOXO.

getting mad at alex

I am torn between another episode of the Secret Diary of a Call Girl and heading to the shower to get myself ready for work. I cannot choose between the two evils, therefore, I write.

Billie Piper as Belle de Jour

In the last two episodes that I have seen, it's all about how a woman loves a man and how he decides to leave her in the end. Isn't there somewhere a point where a man is capable of the deed called "compromise"? They just do things that you would fall for and just let you...fall. That's it.

Apparently, there are so many things that they can do to lure women to the trap. She gets tangled with the little display of affection and his huge need. They have the tendency to project that they need  partners - in the real sense of the word - - - and women don't? Well maybe not as much as they do. As always, they can be excused.

How easy it is for them to find faults and all the ways to leave. May it be ego, politics or religion, all seem to be a valid reason to say goodbye and some do not even take a glance back at the dream that they have shattered.

All these seem unfair, but purposely I guess, that's what we are made for. The victory is in picking it up altogether...again.

not a practical magic

Not because of the magic, spells and encantations that I am having a re-run of a 12 year old flick, Practical Magic. For some unknown reason, I am not able to play Faith Hill’s “This Kiss” on my player and I just feel like listening to even just a sound clip of it. Hanging around for halfway the movie made me realize that it’s not just the song… I missed my all time favorite. I missed hanging around with two gorgeous witches – Sal and Jilly Bean…

Sally said that she wished to fall in love with a man who’s got one eye green and the other blue. Such a man is less likely to exist. What does a little country girl know about genetics, anyway? If that man does not exist, therefore, she will not fall in love and die of a broken heart.

Just like her, “I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.”

Yet, there isn’t any safe side. Time will roll and the world will never stand still just to be a spectator to a love affair. If it did, then, time and the world has long stopped ticking and revolving. And so will love. - for it evolves with the world and it copes with changes. Just as I once loved only me, then him, then we.

And the most practical amongst the magic, is that: when I get tired of loving one day, there will be warm little embraces telling me, “Mommy, it’s gonna be okay.”

terima kasih, SKYPE!!!

Being a Training Officer for Customer Service mainly requires you to practice most of what you preach. One of the many first things that I say in my training sessions is that, "You can overdo a "PLEASE", but never a "THANK YOU".

Just as I was longing to hear his voice and see his face, the world has given me some priveleges. If this is an overdo, then what does it matter for someone who is overjoyed? I just wanna say:

THANK YOU, SKYPE!!!

what faith can give hope

My Dearest Hope,

Three things will last forever--faith, hope, and love--and the greatest of these is love.
- Corinthians 3:13

When you said, “…because you’re not here…” It was a shot through my heart. I may be far, my dear, but I am ALWAYS where you are.

When mom brought you home as an infant, I already knew from grandma that I will be having a sister. I never liked the thought of it. It only means one thing. - sharing of attention and affection. I had always been a jealous and self protective kid, since I don’t have our parents around. That time, dad was still I med school and mom is building up her career so I had to live with our grandparents, having their hovering in full. I had no choice but to take on the role since I cannot let you stay inside mom’s tummy forever.

Anyway, as a part of the bargain, I didn’t have to be big sister to an infant who cries a lot at night for long hours because it was more of an enticing thought to be finally living with mom and dad. It was your turn to be left behind with our grandparents. Honestly, I have never taken the big sister role seriously.

Not until our little brother came along. That was the time that I really felt so responsible, mainly because I had to make his lunch when mom and dad is away. That is also the time we started living together. We used to be rivals. As they say, you were the “pretty one” and I am the “smarter one”. How I coveted you title! Remember those times that I don’t want you to tag along when I go out of our apartment? I used to be the cutest little girl on that street until you came to live with us. I accepted my title as the “smart one” when you could not even memorize your age and dad is having a hard time telling you that you are not “two years old, but already four!” It was an entry question for your pre-school. At that time, I wanted to lend you my brain so you could get into Kindergarten. Haha!

You grew up just as smart. In your own way, you did even better in school. We started being friends because we can’t get rid of each other. From rivals, we became allies. We would hide our clothes in a spare closet just in case we run away from home because we can’t take it anymore when our parents play favorites with our oblivious little brother. We would wait outside for two angels to just take us away.

People often see me as the outspoken one. I am the one whom they expect to do the most hideous things. You, being meeker, are expected to live a straighter life, according to the standards of society. At 16, you ran away from home and wrote your goodbye letter to mom and dad, they said those were my words (Yes, because you made me translate it in English, but those were your own!). I got really blamed, but I never told them where you were hiding even if I was the one who brought your stow away clothes to your school. I knew that I if I didn’t help you out, you will do it anyway. I wanted you to be safe so I became an accessory.

We are so much different in many ways, I know. I say the things I do and do the things I say. I am more visible. You, on the other hand say yes, but will do the opposite, and that makes you more stubborn. By heart, we are so much alike. We love for as much as we could. The Pharisees and the Hypocrites conclude that I am the predecessor of all of your mistakes. Yes, I made quite a handful, but I never encouraged you to tread the lurid grounds. In fact, I wanted you to always be on the safe side.

…but you are a very good stubborn.

You are smart and you are going to make it through just fine. I can not and will not tell you what to do. As I have said, you have me by your side now and always. I may not be a good example of a sister but you know that I am protective of you. Sometimes, all you’ve got to do is tell me. I may not give you the resolution but we can spend some time to laugh it off over donut and soy milk and pray hard during the silences in between.

I love you, Pya.

Standing by,
Faith

at war with freedom

You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead
-Revolution, The Beatles, August 1968

Long before I was born, people already fight for “freedom”. Many in the history books since grade school, we are required to read how a particular war came to be and how freedom is gained through violence. Yes, many have I studied and in my life, I too, had little wars to battle.

My dad is a big fan of war themed motion pictures - from men fighting in their g-strings and bow and arrows, bayonets and rotating M-16s. He is a Judo-Karate third Dan Black belter and a collector of hand guns. He would bring us to an open field and teach us – his girls – to fire one of his weapons. When we call home nowadays and asks for him, mom would say he could not be disturbed because he is still in meditation doing the Kata war dance. Perhaps, because of this, our house has three kinds of locks on the main door and other security devices installed. He said those measures are necessary so as to be always ready for any war at bay. If there’s fire inside and dad isn’t home, we sure would be toasted!

Yesterday there was a shoot out just a few steps from my apartment. My cousin who was there at the time took photos and posted it on Facebook a few minutes after it happened. There was a pool of blood on the road and I imagine walking by it on my way home later that night. The slain bodies of two hold-up gangmen laid there until after 9pm. Those robbers struggled for their freedom, but in a subdivision inhabitated by retired and inactive military officers, they got themselves voluntarily to the slaughterhouse. Good thing their bodies were taken right before my coming home time.

All these violence, for “FREEDOM”. It just so costly.

But what is freedom? Is it ultimate? Is it subjective? What does it breed? Chaos or peace? Is it theoretical? How practicable is it? These may be dormant questions, but when you begin to think about saving for your children’s future, it could be just as bothersome.

in the name of the law – freedom is a right
“No person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law, nor shall any person be denied the equal protection of the laws.” –The Philippine Constitution, Art.III (Bill of Rights), Sec. 1

How ironic it is that there is a law to ensure freedom and this was fought for – by the legislators who were hopeful about the changing times. I am glad that as a Filipino, I am encompassed by such.

In other countries, they too have their own lawful scope and view of freedom. When I travel to other places, I have to make sure that my moves are within the range of my right as a visitor in their land. Therefore, my so-called freedom shrinks the farther I get away from Philippine jurisdiction.

in the name of nature – freedom is survival
“You are my butterfly and refuse to set you free.”
-Shannon Hale

For its species to thrive, the butterfly’s metamorphosis has to be completed for it to be able to spread its wings to survive. Its wings gives it the capacity to get away from its predator, in as much as it gives it the freedom to choose where to go. In the animal kingdom where we all live, we could not discount ourselves that we need freedom to be able to flourish.

Naturally, we are born to struggle and fight for that freedom. Along the way, we have to kill and flee from predators to secure ourselves.

in the name of love – freedom is slavery
“Man has the urge to seek a source of authority and control upon reaching a freedom that was thought to be an individual’s true desire.”
-Erich Fromm, Escape from Freedom

In his most debated work, Erich From cited that although we are free, there is an innate need in us to be enslaved by someone else, therefore we seek to belong. There is no more oppressing feeling than the feeling of isolation and loneliness.

Given this theory, could it justify why we stay in relationships even though sometimes it hurts?

I began to imagine myself without him. I can go through every boutique in the mall without anybody telling me, “There’s nothing we need there, Honey…” I can go to an all night karaoke with my girlfriends without feeling guilty. I can post sexy profile pictures on FB, FS, MS, Orkut and etc. I can sleep late and even gulp Maggi Savor when I want to.

With all these freedom debates and other mind boggling questions, all I want is to go home and watch a good movie, listen to some Norah Jones or talk about it over coffee with someone.

Again, I began to imagine myself without him: Free and having coffee alone. I can’t.

All these compromises to escape freedom. It is just priceless.

no reservations

"I like to have a martini,
Two at the very most.
After three I am under the table,
after four I'm under my host."

-Dorothy Parker

People rush during Christmas sale. It is the busiest season in the world. Kids drool at the thought of Santa’s sleigh full of yummy goodies and toys. Reunions here, there and everywhere and of course, the gleeful carols. This is his favorite holiday.

Many mistake it as mine, too. I have a Facebook survey, questioning how much people on my friends’ list know me. I asked if they know my favorite holiday and if I remember it right, it was only my sister who knew that my favorite day is Valentine’s day. Majority said that I love Christmas. Yes, I too, I enjoy Christmas.

Although the day has direct connection with Saint Valentine having his feast day on the same date, both highlights love as the driving force for man to live. That is why in my heart of hearts, nothing beats the enchantment of Valentine’s Day.

When I saw the tent floating on the lake, I asked the resort attendant of that table is reserved for someone. As he answered yes, I knew it wasn’t for us. When I saw the lovers approaching their reserved floating table on a kayak, I wanted to get an eraser and take them off the scene.

There I was whining on the pool’s bar with my back on him, while he was making a conversation happen between us. He knew I wanted that table the moment I asked the attendant how much it costs to have something like that set up. Finally, I gave up staring at the now occupied table and asked for both of us to leave the premises before I could do more damage to my brain with my silence and almost falling tears.

How can I give justice to my flip out coiffeur? My eyeshadow would definitely be highlighted with a candle light as it matches my dress. We went all over the city for a table for two, but most people are out for occasional dinner…and there was none. The last flicker of hope died when he suggested my hated fast food chain’s take out!

I could speak no more.

How could I not understand? All week he had work. With his new boss around he had to compel with all that is required. He already told me beforehand of his lack of preparation for this event and he is just naturally, the not-so-sweet guy. But of course, dialing a dainty restaurant for a reservation wouldn’t take much. I felt guilty for my unsaid demands.

As if it was meant to be, we went back to the resort’s coffee shop. A waiter led us to a table, with rose petals, crystal goblets and wine glasses. Before the Tiger Prawns were laid down, I was already swarming him with all the hugs and kisses in the world!

Just as it is, Valentine’s day is reserved for me.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

justify the beauty in the beast: the third party goer's replies

Seeking all sides, I have to get into another’s shoes. It may not fit me perfectly, but surely somewhere along we feel the same way, because we all love. This time, here’s from the viewpoint of the third party-goers. Yes, they were not invited, but that does not mean, they have nothing to say. These are the pieces in trilogy:

gonna write a classic
(it was over, but no regrets)

The one ending of an illicit affair that everybody had been waiting for. a broken heart with an uncertain future. Bitter of everything and everyone – as they rejoice and celebrate my defeat.

It happened to me. It turned out to be the most hideous and promiscuous thing that I have ever done, not to consider the least Catholic. But how can I be somebody else’s mistress?

A perfect question, with no perfect answer. Most think that it could not happen. It must not happen. But it did. And with the consequences of loosing my heart and beginning to be disillusioned by love, I get knocked down.

It is tiring to fight for what is yours. How much more if you fight for what is not yours? Exhausting. The effort wouldn’t take any part…and chances are just a stroke of luck. And there isn’t a lot like that that in the world. If there is a real luck for sale, I wouldn’t ask for wealth or fame. You know exactly what it is.

I have been wrapped by tradition. All my life, living by the dictates of morality and getting by life the ‘normal’ and conventional way. The matters of the heart are the least of my concern…especially when I was brought up learning how to count cash first, than getting in touch with my feelings. it was more of my mind over matters, and it was only late I have discovered that i have such a foolish – very foolish – heart.

Indeed, this one is a classic. For after I weep, there are more to follow. More years thinking about the things that had been and more smiles…for I am still priveleged.

Only the elite can get a chance at love like this.


his wherefore
(he keeps her, she keeps him)

Kept woman. hmnnn…

The idea of such never came to mind until the time I became one. Then, curiosity seeped in. Aside from what is depicted in the movies and read in books, it is always an interesting role to play.

Other’s say that being a mistress is synonymous to prostitution. All the while, I thought so too, but hey, – there is a great distinction. both are for sexual lavishes of the man, but being a kept woman, she has EXCLUSIVITY. The man provides for his mistress in the same way as he provides for his wife. Sometimes, even more.

In the modern times, this is not always the case. She is most likely to have a job and is financially independent from the man. The tightening of morality, has in fact, created a greater desire for a man to have a mistress.

Over history, the nobles kept their women hidden from the public and denied to their legal wife. Mostly, these women with whom they spend borrowed moments with, are the ones where they experience real love. It is with her that he experiences how it is to live life without inhibitions.

Wholeheartedly, I have assumed the role. Gradually embracing the responsibilities, it is an honor every time he stands by my doorstep and enters my turf. From that moment on, he is no one else’s but MINE.


i am the other woman
(her letter to her)

I hate you.

But you hate me more. I cannot blame you for despising even just the mere mention of my name. And i do not dare mention yours, either. Our rage for each other is mutual. Both our pride and envy eats our guts to face the truth that we cannot have him totally for ourselves.

You exhausted all your means to communicate with me. You have even used the foulest language a woman could speak. You speak ill of me to your friends and others who didn’t even know who i am. You introduced me to them as the other woman, and yourself as the rightful owner.

Sadly, I dispute your claim. “Una ka lang niyang nakilala…(He just met you first…)”, but he is still at the liberty to choose who to love and be with. You may be committed with each other, but haven’t you noticed the empty ‘I-love-you’s’? You only hear the things you want to hear and you never heard what he is not saying.

Being the other woman has never been my ambition in life. I am now. The moment that I decided to accept this fate, I can already feel your pain. (Not all mistresses are heartless, my dear.) It is torture. I feel the hurt, yours, his, and mine. That is too much to bear at times, and I resort to the same illusion as you have. I, too, pretend that you don’t exist. But we both exist. And we hate each other for that. We both love him, though – each in our own ways. Whether or not I will get the same fair share of loving, I do not demand. I will be content of whatever he could give, with all honesty. I prefer this, than seeming to have all that is only apparent.

You brag about your victory, of how you toppled my over with humiliation and defamation. Go ahead. You have all the right to do that. I understand because I accept my faults. How about you?

For now, you can claim the public.

I will savor my private glory.


******
reposted from one of my oldest blog, published in September 2007

i don't love you ain't easy

"You can't force love, I realized. It's there or it isn't. If it's not there, you've got to be able to admit it. If it is there, you've got to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love."
— Richelle Mead

For many things that I have read about, this is the truest.

I sleep late. When I sleep earlier than 22:00 hrs, the tendency is that, I am awaken by the silence of the wee hours. Reading until my eyes grew really tired has become a habit. It works for me, with the exeption of last night.

Siblings always have this weird connection with each other, I believe. I know that right now, my sister is in battle with her emotions. In our recent chats, she told me that she wanted to get out of her marriage. For so long now, I know she does. She told me that she had fallen out of love for her husband. The problem: two adorable boys.

When we were younger, I have heard mom and dad argue many times. Some of them aren't even arguments at all. They were fights. At one time, I asked mom to leave dad. So cruel for a nine-year old me to say, but as I can see, their relationship is no longer working out. Mom could have taken her chance when she had the opporunity. Yet, the pride of keeping a family no matter what was too much that she would rather live with someone she does not even like anymore.

Social dictates and the kids. Those were always the reasons, when they shouldn't be. Of course no man is an island, but feigning love to keep situations socially acceptable is living a life of imprisonment. What authority do I have to say this? Been trapped and I know exactly how it feels like.

The decision to break free is never easy. Yet, it is how we are supposed to live. Whether or not people will agree with me on this, but once you cannot find love where you are anymore, find it. Break a heart and free yourself.

i fear your growing up

When I saw my sister online, I had to tell her the good news. I got my Hotmail account back from the hacker virus, and I will be able to go online on both old and new messenger accounts. She, too, had something to share.

She told me that she witnessed a crime...helplessly. The guy seated beside her was stabbed and was beaten by gansgsters. Must be an ongoing gang war, she said. It was an almost full jeepney waiting for more passengers so it can leave the terminal. With the crowd of passengers anxious to get home, aside from getting pickpocketed, everything seemed safe. Yet, you can never tell.

They young man was seated right next to her and was grabbed by the neck out of the jeep. Half of his body was still left beside my sister when one of gangsters stabbed him with some kind of a "samurai". Really gory, and bad thing is, there were no policemen on the site. Of course, my sister ran to find safety and was not able to look back. She didn't even know what happened to that young man who used to sit so peacefully beside her, perhaps thinking of his future. I told her that someone else, had to take care of that. What you have to be thankful for is that, you were not hurt in any way.

As a mother of two adorable boys, she is now faced with a greater fear. I advised her in conclusion, "Train up your boys to be responsible men and pray hard that no violence in the world will harm them. Protect them by getting them equipped with knowledge, wisdom and most of all, love."

For I will do the same.

wolfella and the broken glass slipper

It was not the first fairy tale that I have ever heard from my dad. As I can remember, the first one was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Amongst those that he tells at night, the primer would always be "Cinderella." I have always been so fond of her and her stepsisters, and of course, the prince who saw her beautiful despite the soot on her face brought about by sleeping by the furnace. (Her name is Ella, but since her dad died, her wicked stepmother casted her out of all the decent bedrooms in the house to sleep with the cinders to keep the fireplace burning during the cold nights.)

According to Wikipedia, the oldest publication record of Cinderella's tale dates back 1634. Because of its worldwide impact and universal theme, many versions followed. When Cinderella stories made it to the cinemas, I had another favorite. In Ever After, Dougray Scott as the Prince and Drew Barrymore played Cinderella in the 1998 version of Charles Perrault's 1729 story. Yes, they lived so happily ever - but how about after?

As a child, I listen to my dad's stories. It was clear to me that his objective is for me to drift to sleep early so he and mom could have their moments together. What he does not know is that I just close my eyes to get rid of him too. When I hear the door shut, there begins my own fairy tale. I would pick up where dad left off. I become Cinderella. All of those, were of course, normal.

On an afternoon before I gave my new trainee KC's assessment for the course that I have just delivered, I asked, "In fairy tales, why are there always dragons to kill and wicked witches or stepmoms to thwart? Why aren't there scenes where the newly crowned princess gets to beat and whip the whore (black and blue until her eyeballs drop!) who tries to steal the affection of the prince? After all, the princess is no longer "the oppressed"?

Will the fairy godmother intervene? Will the prince stop flirting with the damsels of the court? Will there be another feast after the incident? Will the glass slipper land broken on the prince's face? I always wonder about these things when I was five, but I now that I don't wonder about them anymore, they become more real - - - well, not the dragons and the stepmoms, though. I just wish some fairy godmother will intervene before I take the whip and beat the hell out someone's eyeballs.

Yet, fairy tales must end with an "ever-after". It is with reality that Cinderella has transformed into a big bad wolf.

he carries her bag!

Been aching to blog this during the weekend! Bad thing though, the USB port's broken and when I got to the office on Monday, there are just a handful to prepare for the new batch of trainees.

The most practiced act of chivalry is man's gentleness to women. It means pulling out the chair for her, opening the door and carrying her luggage. Modern culture is not so kind though. Since the time women fought for their right to suffrage, chivalry half died. Instead of being a duty, it became a chosen necessity. Not anymore as an act of courtly love, but more of an impressing display of strength not to provoke competition.

I have grown fond of my independence. If he cannot pick me up, there is no point in whining and being such a prick. I can always get a cab. Yes, because of chivalry, men have spoiled women. At the stomp of a feet, she can have him running wild. For me it seems like a powerless power. So fleeting, that at his one touch it will go away JUST LIKE THAT.

Most of all, I hate to see men carrying their girl's bag. Not when it is a big luggage and weighs like two of them. But a handbag with all her "kikay kit" and all? Duh? When I see such, I raise an eyebrow. He makes her so "helpless"!

After having lunch at the nearby mall, Beyotchie and I decided to try on out newly bought nail polish so we hurried to the exit for our ride home. We were caught in human traffic, since malls get really crowded during weekends, much so with the inventory sale going on.

Our path is being blocked by two oldies on sweet date. Then, we halted to give distance. We didn't want to topple the seniors just because we we wanted our nails polished. I was smitten by how sweet they were. They were like looking at each other's eyes and he brushes her hair as he tells her to hold on to him. He was so afraid of loosing her among the youthful crowd. When he looks at her, no one could be much more beautiful. It makes me want to take the next flight home - - -to hold on to his arms to get the same kind of loving gazes.

Then I saw the old he carrying something. He carries her BAG!

...Now, I want to take the next flight out and let him carry me, instead.

blue moon: saw me standing alone

One of the all-time favorite flicks that I share with my sister Hope is Selena's life story. We would sing "Dreaming of You" as though there were no tomorrows. As siblings, we love to share our common interests with each other, just as Selena and her brothers. Aside from its tragic end, I have always appreciated Selena's version of "Blue Moon/We Belong Together" and searched for Vidal Brothers' version of it. The melody is soothing. Makes me wonder how it is like to see the moon turning blue. What really is "Blue Moon" to me, anyway?

I was on my way to work late morning on the last day of the year. On my mobile radio, the news said that it is going to be blue moon tonight. A rare occurrence of time and nature...and on a New Year's eve! Spending the countdown of 2010 with my cousin in the half empty apartment building, its quite a treat to have something to look forward to, somehow.

Our great grandma said, that whoever you are with when the blue moon rises will be the one that you will spend the rest of your life with. Perhaps, not literally though. (Here I go again, justifying the distance ;-)) She might mean that, the person you have in your heart on a blue moon is the person you will be with forerver. For some, this is one of those things that I have in my superstition's box.

Blue moon is a term that people from long ago have coined, not because the moon changes it color from pale yellow light to blue on a particular night, or a result of some ancient voodoo or something to be scared of. Instead, it is the appearance of two full moons in a month. Usually, there is only one, and it used to happen only once every 19 years. Therefore, in one lifetime, one could only witness a few.

There is no blue moon to occur in the next three years. The next spectacle happens to be on my birthday, August 2, 2010 and August 31, 2010. From then on, there won't be any until July 2, 2015 and July 31, 2015. For as long as I can lift my head and see the sky on those triumphant nights, I will see it.

I feel just lucky to know that I can see it up above the sky, and keep in my heart a love of my own.

“…Blue moon, you saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own
Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer
For someone I really could care for
And then it suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms could ever hold
I heard somebody whisper, please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold…”