The Holidays and Depression

For the first time in forever, I have started playing Christmas songs.

The holidays makes me depressed, you see. So this is a big thing for me. So monumental that I can only heave a sigh of relief.

My depression around the holidays started a long time ago – ever since I can remember – maybe I was 9 yrs old. When my tumultuous family life consumed me and changed my view of family, holidays and reunions forever.

My Mother married young. She had me when she was at the peak of her acting career, when she was just starting to shine and finally realizing what she really want in life after being the second daughter in a family of 9. She finally found her voice after trying to raise it for so long to be heard among the other 8 siblings she had.

But then, she met my Dad. A military man who was a Mama’s boy, womanizer and later on – an alcoholic.

And so creating a progeny of such a background, I grew up in the scrutiny of relatives, strangers and a bevy of household help.

I dreaded the holidays – the meeting of all relatives where they see you once a year and judge as you try your best to look happy in Christmasy red attire – all bows and lace and prim and proper.

I never realized the whole reason why I was not happy about the holidays. Christmas songs made me sad and weepy, come Christmas eve and I am full of dread.

But now I know. And even though I am not there yet – I still feel sad and weepy sometimes, I do play and listen to Christmas songs now.

And that’s a start.

About Goddamn time!


Unbreak My Heart

I recently had a heart-breaking moment so devastating that I am still raw from it all.

It involves being disrespected, disregarded and ignored. And it hurt like hell. I was bawling my eyes out as big, fat ugly tears streamed down my cheeks.

I tried to numb myself as I proceeded on with crafting and locking myself in my craft room but the feelings kept creeping in as I remember the hurt, the deception, the feeling of being the least of priorities.

I am trying my best to get through this but it is so hard.

How do you erase the bad and live your life, how do you manage to trudge on?




I have just been coming to the realization that I have been so clueless, so selfish in the past that I am in awe as to how the people around me stayed with me. How were they able to withstand my selfish behaviors, my childish whining, my incessant nagging? They must be pretty good friends, good people. And I know that I am lucky.

Come to think of it – I have always wondered how I have lapses in my memory. Some are hazy and blurry and some I don’t remember at all. Could it be my sense of self-preservation? Knowing that I did wrong before, trying not to dwell in the past and just moving forward the best way I can.

They are slowly coming back now – the memories of the past. The wrongdoings, my flaws, my faults. And I have a lot of people I should be apologizing to: my parents, my friends, my siblings, my exes and even innocent bystanders somehow connected to and was in my life.

How do you apologize for something that happened a long time ago? Do they still remember? Had it been one of those “I-am-dying-so-I-have-to-tie-up-loose-ends” scenario, it probably would make more sense. But to come up now and see these people and reconcile, might be difficult, if not impossible.

Maybe if I blog about it and look back when I am ready, then at least I will have a guide to go by. A bucket list.

And so that’s what I decided to do in the coming days – write about past memories that somehow crept back in.

Begin the Begin

When I was younger, I had a diary where I wrote down everything that happened to me on a daily basis – what I did, what I felt, who I was with and how the day ended. Until the day I found out that my Mom read all my diaries.

She didn’t tell me outright that she read them. She made subtle hints, teasing me about some things and “knowing” certain things that I have worked so hard to hide.

I used to write poetry. Random words that, to me, makes sense. I poured my heart and soul in my poetry. Letting the words that I cannot otherwise voice out, be heard on paper. Although didn’t let anyone read it, just the fact that it was there – written in ink and for me to read back to – was comforting.

And one day – I stopped.

Life happened.

Embarrassing Moments



I don’t know if it is part of being middle-aged but I find myself thinking back on the past events in my life. Moments that makes me cringe, makes me blush and die from embarrassment now that I am looking back. Did I really mouth the words that a bride was supposed to say at my friend’s wedding while I was seated in the front, at the altar where everybody can see me? Um, yes, I did.

Was I really totally unaware that my pants were ripped as I was sitting cross legged on the floor, talking to people, underpants seen? The people who were looking into the window and giggling as they saw me should have been a sign, but no, I proceeded on until I accidentally brushed my thigh and looked down to see my turquoise granny panties displayed for everyone to see.

Did I really break up with my college boyfriend via a Dear John letter because I gave in to peer pressure? My college boyfriend of 3+ years was okay in the end but his family has basically shunned me and I am forever persona non grata in their eyes. 

These are just some of the things that just randomly flash through my memories, like movie montages that suddenly appear in the middle of a movie.  

But I was young then. And foolish and naive and didn’t know any better. 

And I did what I thought was the best thing to do at that time, during that situation. 

But it doesn’t make the memories go away. And the past is in the past but I wish there was a sieve, an off switch button in our brains that will make these kinds of memories go away. 

Until then, I just have to deal with the cringe-worthy, face-palm embarrassing moments of my past. 


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New Year’s Resolution

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It’s the start of a new year and a lot of people are making their new year’s resolution: lose weight, stop smoking, work harder, etc. 

I do not make new year’s resolutions. 

Not because I know that it is destined to fail nor is it because I do not want to put undue pressure on myself, I just don’t care. If I want to make a change, I do not have to wait for a new year, maybe a new day. 

However, I do vow to write more now. 

I have been wanting to write for so long now. There are days when I have the words formulated in my head, just wanting to come out. 

And so here I am. With a vow, not a new year’s resolution – to write.