My Pink Pouch
is a war zone.
Cradle
of tools,
weapons,
swords.
A warm host
that welcomes even
spits
from prowlers
that clings and
seeps
on its supple
wall.
A self-lubricating
battlefield
where intruding
warriors
politely salute
to its smugness;
point
the bantering.
prickling
spindle
like an edgy guerilla;
and
surrenders
in jade
before its pulsating
redness.
My pink pouch,
however,
lured
one sturdy soldier
home.
KSP
The only disadvantage when you grow up in a home where you constantly see your father ever faithful and sweet to your mother as if he’s canoodling with her for the first time is that you can’t help but long for the same affection from your partner. How you wish to get the same attention and would often result to wondering if, by any chance, your partner will be as loving as what you’ve witnessed at home. It’s awful to compare but women in a relationship, whether we admit it or not, aches to be thought of and noticed even beyond our man’s lenience for saccharine moments. And the more unexpected the attention you get from him, the sweeter it becomes.
I have seen my dad furtively creeping behind my mom as she cooks us lunch only to attack her with hugs and kisses that would make me go, eeoowww and make faces. At her ugliest household look, she would complain with a silly smile as if she did not appreciate my papa’s harot. And being an absentee father because of his work abroad, he sees to it that he makes up for everything he missed in mama’s life. He would spoil her more that he spoils us and would follow every whim she utters like the caprice she has for beauty products, jewelries, clothes and accessories. Despite my papa’s poor taste in fashion and trend, he’d still make an effort to provide her such fancy. Not that he’s being guilty for his 10-month absence yearly but it is really my papa’s loving and compassionate nature that makes him as awful sweet as he is even up to now. My sisters and I have been witnesses of a relationship akin to a never ending honeymoon stage that has been nourished by years of proper communication and well-spoken love.
I envied my mom.
How I longed for the same touch my mom felt. All along the qualities I saw in my papa became an unconscious preoccupation causing me to set idealism and certain standards for a guy to possess. It was like a curse that has manifested its way to my relationship with the boyfriends I’ve had. If it’s me being too jealous of my mom or my partners being too cold for a warm and touchy person as I am, I don’t know. Or maybe it’s this unwarranted and naive craving for the kind of relationship I got accustomed with as a child because even to us, his daughters, papa’s always been available and caring. Even my sisters apparently share the same ideals as mine when it comes to choosing boyfriends, but who can blame us, it feels terribly good to have security in a relationship.
I know I’m sounding too Freudian again, connecting what’s in my past as to what I am at present and what I feel now but my point is, me asking for even the littlest amount of affection and love is not as artificial as your Havaiana’s sole. It’s my nature.
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Ang balingbing ay isang uri ng prutas na maraming anggulo. Kumbaga sa 3D, mahirap gawan ng animation pagka’t iba-iba ang pwedeng maging perspektibo. Pati sa lasa, sagana ito sa halo. Mapapa-pikitmata ka sa halong asim at tamis ng malutong nitong balat pero ang totoo’y MAPAKLA ang balingbing. Malilinlang ka lamang sa hugis nitong bituin at tila matamis na katas. Ang balingbing ay nakakaloko at nakakalokang prutas. Gayon pa man, paborito at hinahanap hanap natin ito, hindi ba?
Ang balingbing, tulad ng prutas, ay isang uri ng tao na bukod sa maraming anggulo ay ang gulo rin. Di mo malaman kung saan at kanino sya pumapanig. Karaniwang nagiging sanhi pa sya ng trobol at samaan ng loob kasi paiba-iba ng perspektibo, detalye at bersyon ng istorya. Matamis ang tabas ng dila kapag kaharap mo na kaya naman hahanap hanapin mo kasi akala mo’y nakakuha ka na ng kakampi. Pero si balingbing ay nakakalinlang pala. Maasim ang mga binibitawang salita kapag nakatalikod ka na. In short, MAPAKLA.
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Minsan naiinggit ako sa katangahan ng tanga. Sa sobrang tanga, di inaabot ng utak nila ang mga problemang hinaharap ng ating mundo at buhay na karaniwang inuusisa naman ng mga mahilig mag-isip. Ang tanging problema lamang ng isang tanga ay kung ano ang susuutin nilang pamporma sa araw na ‘to, kung ano ang isusunod na joke at kung saan kakain pag nagugutom na sya. Badtrip sila pag malalim na bagay na ang pinag-uusapan, sabay walk out, kasi para sakanila bakit naman kelangan pang magpa-lawak ng utak ang isang tao kung pwede namang mag-party, mag-laughtrip at magjoyride na lamang. Karaniwa’y dinadaan na lang nila sa halakhak at stupid jokes ang mga usapin kasi hindi nga sila maka-relate, walang mai-share at di gets ang topic. Wala sila halos paki sa edukasyon at pagpapayaman ng kaalaman kasi para sakanila, ang eskwelahan ay isang lugar lamang na kung saan pwede silang magrampa, magpasikat at magpa-kyut para makarami ng kaibigan. Naisip ko tuloy, masarap din siguro maging tanga kasi di mo kelangan mag-isip ng kung anu-anong komplikadong bagay na minsa’y nakakabigat pa sa dibdib. At dahil nga sa di alam ng tanga na tanga sila, naisip ko, okay din sigurong di mo alam kung ano ka sa paningin ng tao. Di ka mako-conscious kumbaga. Sa tanga, wala ring pressure kasi walang expectation sayo ang ibang tao kasi alam nilang tanga ka. Walang hasel.
Kaya kung gusto mo ng hasel-free na buhay at mga tulalang sandali, tayo na at maging tanga! Marami pang makikipag-kaibigan sayo kasi mas madali kang mauto! Wow!
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Marahil ay magtataka kayo kung bakit nasa isang pahina lamang ang dalawang topic na ito? Kasi po, ladies and gentlemen, ang tanga at balingbing ay bagay na magka-tandem. Perfect besprens. Habang nagpapaka-tanga si tanga, wala syang alam na binabalingbing sya ni balingbing. O di ba, hasel-free!!!
Bagay? Bagay.
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