random | What's your story?

Book lovin’ babe

Aren’t just there moments in your life when you finish a book and you sigh and think, “I want to read that again.”?

That’s the power of a book. And being an eighteen year old girl who has read more books that the hair follicles on her hair, I know all about it. Funny thing, I first loved writing before I loved reading. Maybe it was because we didn’t have a proper bookstore in our city when I was younger. All I had were my mother’s monthly Reader’s Digest, and a few Sweetvalley High books. But once I got into college three years ago and two bookstores opened up in the city, I piled up on books. And when I discovered e-books, I read more.

Addicted? Yes.

But one day though, I’d love to read my own book like I’ve never seen it before. Like I just bought the book for the heck of it, forgetting that I even wrote it.

Now that I’ve read 600 or so books, I’d love to read more. So I’m going to try and do some book reviews. Free books for my opinion sounds like a great idea.

Another reason I’m going to be a book blogger is that I’m taking a pause from posting my stories and poems online. Every writing competition seems to require that every entry has to be unpublished, so I’m going to take a break for a while. But fear not! Whenever I get published, I’d post it here immediately!

Here’s my new blog, Book Lovin’ Babe! I’m still working out the kinks 🙂

Now off to more reading!

Care to recommend me to author’s who’d like to get their books reviewed? 😀

Longer hair, courting soulmates and sweet videos

Helloooooooooooo!

If you’ve been a reader of my blog, you may have read my post when I first started writing Courting my Soulmate in my January 6 post. So first, I’m going to update you on my hair! Definitely longer than the last time, isn’t it?

Anyyyyyywayyyy.

I’ve published my second book on Wattpad! Yes, COURTING MY SOULMATE! Since January 6, I’ve written 24 chapters already, and I’m loving it so I thought I could just post it! There are times when I’m lazy as a Snorlax(pokemon) when I write, so I sometimes need feedback. So I’m posting one chapter per day. The best part? It’s FREEEEEEEEEE. So if you’d like to read it, download the app on your phone or you can read it online. Click HERE. (could this sign be any more obvious?)

Synopsis:

When you’ve been waiting thousands of years for your soulmate, you never would want to let her go once you spot her. For Arthur, he knew he was head over heels when he finally saw the woman he was meant to be with. He’d try to conquer angels and demons, strict Filipino fathers, and even try to forget Olympus was his home, all for this girl. For Victoria, she knew she was falling for this Greek guy-and fast. But with Death and the heavens wanting her back, she tries to flap her wings away from Arthur as fast as she could.

I’ve also been addicted to love videos on YouTube. I mean, I rarely act like an emotional teenager, I am just eighteen after all, but when I do act like one, I got gaga!

So here are some videos that are GUARANTEED to melt your heart. If it doesn’t, well, okay. (pouts and goes away)

Their wedding.

Baby on the way!

Baby is here!

Yes, they’re from the same couple. It’s just not fair to show you one video. You have to see the three of them. <3

SURPRISE ANNOUNCEMENT!

In celebration for posting Courting my Soulmate (and I’m just in a great mood after watching these videos), I’m selling my 1st book, Less Than Three, for $0.99 on Kindle! That’s a WHOOPING savings of $4.00! Hopefully by the time you read this post, the new price has been implemented. So again, Click HERE to buy my 1st book!

SURPRISE ANNOUNCEMENT #2!

I’m working on my 3rd book. That is all. 😀

The fed-up hopeless romantic’s letter

Dear boyfriend,

You know how I feel about you.

You know how my eyes sparkle when I see you. You know how I can’t help but smile when you stare at me. You know how I get dizzy when you kiss me. You know how weak I get when you hug me. You know how I feel giddy every time you tell me you love me, and in return I can’t help but tell you how much I love you back. You know how I can’t help but melt whenever you’re around, even though I’m mad at you. How I can’t help but fall in love with you every moment. You know that I’d do anything you want in a heartbeat, no matter what the consequences would be.

Even when I don’t want to do it, I do it anyway because I like seeing that smile on your face. God knows how I want you to always smile. And yet, all I’m asking from you is time to be with you, and you always have reasons not to do so. I have to demand it, like I’m at the lowest of your priorities. You like to take advantage of how I feel for you, in more ways than one. You make me chase you, then you make me feel like you were the one who was doing the chasing. You rarely do anything for me anymore, aside from loving me the way you do. If you still love me that is.

Someday you’re going to miss how one look from you and you’d see me practicality floating for you. Someday I’d float for someone else,someone who isn’t you. Someone who would REALLY drop everything for me. Not just dropping because he can, but because he has to. Because he wants to be near my side the moment I ask for it. And when that time comes, I won’t even remember what it was like to be in love with you. Please don’t wait for the day when our forever becomes a never.

I’ve never been this demanding; so I hope you think this through.

Always remember, I love you. But enough is enough.

Girlfriend. <3

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There’s a Filipino quote, “Pag ang tanga nauntog, lagot ka.” (When someone stupid awakens from their stupidity, watch out)

Kind of fiction. Written by me, maybe for someone. In my 3-year long relationship, some days are better than others.

The dark subconscious

I rarely go to this part of my subconscious.

Mostly because people won’t understand. Heck, I don’t understand it.

People always said that writers went to places where they’d weave their stories from. Beautiful creative places where they could make a hit story with just one wave of their hand.

J. M. Barrie. got Neverland.

I got darkness.

I usually get myself busy so I don’t have to travel to the darkest place of my mind. I read, or study, or do chores-anything to take myself away from this place. I surround myself with people. But when I’ve been stuck in a hospital for five days, it does things to me. It takes me there.

Then the bad thoughts come.

I get suicidal thoughts. Lots of them. Sometimes I’d hold my breath just to see if I could die. I don’t. I don’t usually know why I want to die. I just know I’m not scared of death. I just want to end everything. To end trying to be better when this is all I’ve got. To end trying to please people when I really just want to be myself. To end being trapped in a world where everything was messed up, and everywhere you went there was always more cons than pros. To end being a burden to almost everyone. To end everything. Yeah, that sounds nice.

I slowly get insecure, thinking about what a bad writer I am and how I’d never get famous. How I’d die because I got sick all the time. How I’d never reach my dreams, how everyone secretly hated my writing. I get jealous of younger writers getting their work recognised without even trying so hard, while here I am looking for publishers and agents and people who’d get my work. Everything I’ve achieved has been done with me trying so hard. Nothing ever comes easy for me.

I sometimes remember the times when I got bullied. They’d say bad things about me, and it was easier not to care. But when you bully yourself, you slowly eat yourself inside out. You see all the things wrong about you because you know yourself more than anyone else.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this, but I needed to get this out. To get rid of these terrible thoughts that hinder me from finishing my book, from emailing publishers and promoters, hindering me from reaching my dreams. I do want to get there. I do. But I want to do it my way, because I’m too stubborn. Sometimes I just want to do away, anywhere. Just to see if I could do things on my own. Everyone says I should profit from my writing, but I don’t want that. I write for the sake of writing.

I would cry silently, something I’ve mastered through the years. I cry, making sure I feel every aching pain. I let it out, because when I don’t I hyperventilate. I have the need to talk to someone, but I don’t know who to trust. I’m just afraid that everything will backfire.

This usually comes when something triggers a part of my subconscious that I’ve long decided to keep hidden. Or when I get rejected. Or when I remember something that keeps on happening to me. I hope I don’t scare you all, but I just wanted you to see another side of me. Another side of this struggling writer.

That people aren’t always who they seem to be.

Why write?

Write a hundred books. Make love with a thousand words. Touch millions of lives.

“And the Nobel Prize Award for Literature goes to, Le-an Lai Lacaba!”

Everyone rises up, their shiny gowns reflect on the spotlight that has been focused on me. After 50 years of being a writer, at long last I’m finally here; the first Filipino to receive this award. I rise up, my limber 60 year old bones are now shaking, but the smile on my face is still plastered on tight. I look at my husband and I squeeze his hand as I am ushered up the stage. And to think, 50 years ago I was a sixth grade elementary girl who started making stories in her diary. And now I’m here, in front of everyone who have read all of my works, and who have helped me up when I was down.

Crush-inspired stories. A small princess diary. Teacher issues.

“Le-an! Are you not listening?”

In that moment I look up at my teacher who looked angry. Oh wait, she is. I slowly sneak my diary in my bag, but my teacher catches sight of it.

“What is that?” She demands.

“It’s her diary ma’am where she writes stories.” My best friend quips.

I look at her angrily, the way she betrayed me like I was nothing to her.

“Let me see that.”

My heart leaps into my throat. I shakily give my diary to her, knowing fully that I wrote bad things about her inside. She takes it and walks to her desk, keeping the diary in her drawer. I looked down at my feet, feeling ashamed. It’s true that I wasn’t listening to her, but it was only because I got inspired on writing. Who am I to resist the calling of making a novel about me and my crush? This reminds me, he really looks cute today. Ugh, my diary! >.<

It was graduation day when she gave my diary back to me, and I have given up writing since that time. I felt so ashamed at what she did to me, doing it in front of class and everything.

“Ms. Lacaba, here you go. You’re a good writer for someone who’s eleven years old. But next time don’t make me the villain in your stories okay?”

I didn’t know what to do in that moment, so I just smiled and took the diary into my hands. Little did I know that my teacher would become a headmaster at a school in Thailand six years later. So maybe that was a sign.

Bullied little girl. A “class diary”. More crushes that left me crushed.

Everything is such a daze. No one wants me to be a part of their group, and I stopped hanging out with my best friend’s barkada because I was treated as an outcast. I hear them calling me names, talking about me behind my back. I don’t even know what I did. And so I write here in the corner, thinking of reasons why no one liked me. I write stories and poems about how it would be like to have real friends.

For a whole year I try impressing them, but the most hurtful moment that showed how much they despised me was when my teacher made a mistake in announcing that I was in last rank. They all cheered or something. Then when my teacher took back his words and said it was their friend in last rank, it was like they hated me more. I didn’t know how to deal with these people. High school sucks.

In sophomore year I began writing a novel in my diary again. At least I have friends now, with whom I show my stories to. But they weren’t only interested in my stories that were written at the back of my diary. They also wanted to read my actual diary. It was no big deal for me. Everyone knew who my crush was, even my own crush. So I let them be, I let them read my deepest secrets. I don’t care because maybe this way I would have more friends. Would you be my friend?

My crushes are somewhat cute. But every writer needs a muse right? In my case an escort. So I accept every guy whom my heart beats for. I know I sound like I easily like guys, but I have standards. Sometimes. Anyways, there is this one crush of mine whom I’ve been crushing for most of my high school life. But he became a bit of a jerk ever since he knew I liked him. He was kind of my friend during my “bullied” days, but now he just is a snob. I push myself into crying at times, just so I could write something about pain and suffering.

An unexpected victory. Finding out my weakness. More ideas to write.

My hands are shaking and sweaty. My face is hidden from sight. My constant mantra is “Please let me win. Please let me win.” My arm is on a chair and my head is rested it as if I was sleeping. They’re announcing the winners of the DSPC Feature Writing contest, and I feel so numb.

“In seventh place, in sixth place, in fifth place, in fourth place.”

My name hasn’t been called and they’re already in the top three. My heart is beating wildly. All my schoolmates have won a place for the regional competition, and my category just had to be the last one to announce. I keep muttering my mantra, as my friends pat my back. This is it. There’s no way I’d get into the top three. I look up just as the emcee announced the first place.

“In first place, Le-an Lai Lacaba of STCDCFI!”

OMG. Was that my name? The next thing I knew I was being pushed unto the little stage with my schoolmates jumping around. Next to me were six other winners, and I was standing in first place. This is it. This is my calling.

Oh no. They want me to write about the RSPC Pageant last night. I don’t know anything about pageants! I did attend it because I was required to, but I never thought they’d choose this for a topic! My head is swirling with so many things and ideas that I couldn’t put anything on the paper. The next thing I knew time was almost up and I had to hurry up. I wrote what I could, hoping for the best. During the awarding day, I knew I wouldn’t get a place. And I didn’t. I learned that my weakness was writing live performances or anything that I couldn’t make up. So I learned from that.

They say it doesn’t count on how high your position is, what counts is how many times you lift yourself up after you fall. So as I tried to recover from the RSPC fiasco, I picked up the pieces. I wrote about the little things in life, I wrote poems and short stories and tried to make a novel. I never wanted to stop writing, in hopes that someday I’d be one of the best. I’m going to get there someday, somehow.

A new school. Same type of “friends”. Different inspiration.

Entering college was just like entering high school all over again. I had no friends because it was like I was absent during the day that they all became friends. Although there wasn’t any bullying anymore, I still felt alone, tagging along from one barkada to another. I never really got attached to anyone. And so my “loner” instincts kicked in, and I found myself writing in the library, during class at times, and at home. I just wrote whenever I felt like it. I never felt like I belonged to anything anyways. So I belonged to myself.

During those loner times, there was someone who inspired me. He’s my current boy friend now and my best friend at that time. After a long time, I had an escort for my novels. I began to write love stories again, and the problem of not being close friends with anyone faded in the background. I began to take what I could take, and just let the good times roll. I tried walking on my baby feet as I staggered to the world of college life, and I’m still staggering every time I stand after I fall.

A new opportunity. Facing my fear. It was in the genes after all.

When my mom started to write for a magazine, I was ecstatic. She wrote beautifully, and her words were carefully chosen. I was excited whenever I saw the latest issue of the magazine, and planned to write for the magazine someday. Little did I know that it would soon come true. I got really excited was when she appointed me to cover national star’s concert. I looked back on the RSPC competition, and I challenged myself into writing something that wasn’t fiction. And in the end, I felt really good about myself because I impressed my mom.

A few months after that, I was called into a meeting for the magazine. Turns out, they were planning on making a junior writers team, and I was appointed leader! I knew there were responsibilities and tasks, but I was up for the job. My bucket list of working for a magazine was ticked off as I faced a new challenge.

And as I write this essay at twelve in the morning, I smile to myself as I look back at all the things I’ve gone through. I never realized how much I pushed myself to get back on the horse. I realize now that the best way to achieve anything is not to mope around and do nothing while you’re lonely. My motto is: when lonely, write! The best things in life come unexpectedly, and you better be ready with a pen and paper.

Almost one year later. A published book. Book number two on the way.

I’m finally here. After all the grueling and tiresome nights. After reading and editing till I was sick of it. After printing the copies to read it again. I’m finally published.

I have stumbled, and fallen. But I always knew that I was meant for this, I knew I had to endure them all.

After surviving the world’s biggest storm, I have stood up, dusted off the dirt, and wrote. I have written till I couldn’t, I have written till I was worn out. And now I’m done, my work is out there. With my blog and book in hand, I feel taller, though I’m only five feet tall (since I was 15).

Everything’s the same, yet a lot has changed. I still have the same escort, the same one who got me really started. One more year and I finish college, then it’s off to the real world. My younger siblings are now taller than I am, but I still get to boss them around. I am rarely lonely, I have my characters with me, just bursting to get out.

And now I have a new motto, one I will surely live by till the day I die. Write till your heart runs out of ink.

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The first part was written almost a year ago. I’m proud to have come this far, to be where I am today. Tomorrow is still another world to tackle, but at least I lived today.

Less than three is now available on Kindle! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IAJURRO

And the 14 ebook giveaway expires tomorrow! Enter here! http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/share-code/NGY1MzE1MGJiYzgxNWZhMGExMWZkMWFmMjdlOGFkOjA=/

Romana Angeles Lacaba

My mother.

Eighteen years ago, I was just a little baby the size of one litre of coke(i’m not kidding). I was a first born to my mom and dad, a first grandchild too. One day, my grandmother looked at me and said, “That baby looks terrible!”

My mom looked at her straight in the eye and said, “However insults my daughter will have to go through me!”

I always laughed at the story, knowing how protective my mother was from the very start. She’d always try to help me with my bullies, although as I grew up I didn’t tell her about them, ashamed of being a tattletale. She always gave me warnings about what to expect from the world, and if she could stretch her arms around us four, she’d likely do so to protect us.

My mother.

She raised four kids with my dad miles away on a boat, trying to work a better job than he could find if he was in the country. He would come home every four months, stayed for two, then left again. Though he did lend a hand or two in raising us, especially financially, my mom is my greatest hero.

My mother.

As the eldest, I was always mom’s right hand. I’d be the one she’d count on for errands and such, doing what I could to help. Though sometimes I’ve failed, I always try to do better the next time. I was naturally a perfectionist, trying to impress my mom by doing well in school. She never fails to show how proud she is of me, from buying me a beautiful dress when I got into the Honor Roll, to giving me a huge dictionary when I decided to be a writer. She always did her best for us, so I always tried to do my best for her.

My mother.

Soon enough, I got a lot of traits from her. She’s a writer herself, and I was always in awe with what she could conjure. As an English teacher and taking Masters in English back in her twenties, she was someone who was harnessed with words and developed her way of thinking. She also has this presence that I’m slowly following. Whenever she goes into a room, people always notice her, always in a good way. She had a way on how she carried herself, and I always wanted to do what she did.

We have the same taste with music, movies and ultimately celebrity crushes. Both of us could easily get what the other would think when a song from Michael Buble is being played, or when the movie “The Notebook” is on. We’re both sappy romantics in the end, crying with the characters of the movie.

My mother.

She’s always there to motivate the four of us. From my writing, to my brother’s musical inclinations, to my middle sister’s speaking talents and to my youngest sister’s dancing. She’s always flexible, always having a piece an advice for us to work on and improve on. She’s a writer, a singer, a speaker and a dancer after all. Where else would we get our talents?

My mother.

On her birthday I don’t have much to give, but this blog post dedicated to her. I have a lot more to say, but these are the important parts. She’s someone who showed me to stand up for myself and to believe in myself. She’s someone who wordlessly smiles at me and I’d feel it, I’d feel that she’s proud of me and loves me unconditionally.

Mom,

You’re the best, and always will be. Happy birthday!
Words would never be enough to describe how thankful I am to have you.

I love you,
Ate Yani.

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Who else would I name as the editor of my book?

Less Than Three

I’d never thought I’d see the day,

When I can write a blog post and say,

I’M PUBLISHED!

Yes! At long last, I am published! I have self published my book, Less Than Three on Lulu. Words cannot begin to describe how happy I am that I got it out there, and I can’t stop making doing my little dance. Here’s a little preview of my book, finally OUT and FOR THE WORLD TO SEE!

There is an open secret

between us humans (mostly women):

we love love stories. We feel giddy with

every character’s “I love you” and

we feel heartbroken when the story unfolds

and the lovers weren’t meant to be.

Less Than Three is a collection of short

stories written in less than three thousand words,

by a young adult for the young adults

and adults with young heart..

Follow the stories of the characters

from puppy love to true love,

as they conquer obstacles and fight for

what they believe in.

Non-fiction to fiction; inspired by real life stories,

Less Than Three is written

for those who aim to have their

heartstrings tugged and pulled.

It is for those times when you

just want to cuddle up by the fire

with someone you love,

or when you’re alone in the coffee shop.

Love after all, is Less than Three.

Less Than Three is now available on Kindle for $6.99! Click here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IAJURRO
It is also available on Lulu, a soft bound book, $12.60 at 10% discount till February 10.http://www.lulu.com/shop/le-an-lai-lacaba/less-than-three/paperback/product-21435906.html

My hands are now shivering with delight mixed with nervousness. I’m going to be noisy for the next few days on social media, so watch out! Please do share this around! <3

P.S. Get a 10% discount if you grab a copy! Til February 10 only!

Remembering him

There was a sense of anticipation in the air. It was a cold Sunday night, and the stars were just starting to shine.

Everyone was asked to keep quiet, though the kids didn’t know why. Everything was changing, although everything was the same. Inside the 30 year old house, the furniture was moved. The TV was upstairs, and the couches were moved to the porch. Lights flickered through the room as the lights from cars reflected onto the mirrors. The adults was gathered in the living room, though the kids stayed outside. The front gate was open, and from time to time I looked out, hoping to see the white van already. My heart was jumping wildly, as if I have been running for miles. As I walked back towards the garden, my younger sister approached, and with impatience in her voice when she asked me:

“Ate, when is Lolo coming home?”

Her innocence almost made me cry, and fought the urge to tell her. The tears were brimming, and I wiped it away, trying to be strong for the young ones. As the eldest grandchild, I wanted to be brave. Though I was still shaken, I tried to distract myself. I looked around the familiar surroundings; the broken window, the little plants and the dogs that guarded the gate. Nothing seemed amiss; everything was still the same way as every day. But when I got inside the house, everything was drastically changing. It felt more and emptier every time I looked at all the familiar things. It came to a point that everything was strange. I tried to shake off the feeling as I walked towards my mother, her face stiffened and her eyes tired.

“Ma, is it on the way?”

She merely nodded, and continued to distract herself by talking to my aunts and my Lola. They were all seated in their places on the old dining table, and there was that one chair that no one dared to sit on. Hushed voices were around, but within me I felt alone. The deafening silence grew, and I began pacing the empty living room. I knew that in a few moments this place would be a sight of pain. I walked again to the gate, and then I saw a white van. I saw the name of the famous saint on the front of it, and my heart pounded again as I knew it was the right one. My uncle also saw it, so he told everyone to go into the house. The kids became excited, as they came to me and kept asking if Lolo was finally home. The van backed up, and the kids were shouting

“Lolo! Lolo!”

My heart was shred into pieces when they stopped shouting. There was that deafening silence again, as a white coffin showed when the back of the van opened.

“Ate…”

My youngest sister said with her voice cracking. She looked around, her eyes lost in translation. My other sister had tears brimming and I held them close. They finally understood. The three of us were crying, holding each other close.

As the men in white set up a stand in the living room, with all their decorations and flowers, I started to calm my sisters down. And when they carried the coffin, I prayed my hardest that this just wasn’t true. I kept blinking my eyes, hoping this was all a dream. As everything else subsided, a few minutes later I stared at the coffin. As I sat there and watch him, he looks like he is sleeping; there was peace in his face. No more tubes sticking down his throat, no more tubes injected in his hands. There were no more tears of hardship.

I feel like he isn’t even dead, like when I go to the store I would find him cooking in their kitchen, then I’d hug him real tight like I always did when I saw him. Then I’d kiss him on the cheek, scream good morning then I’d leave the store with him going back to his work. I sometimes imagine that when I open the door to their house I’d meet him, or that he’d get mad at me for not closing the door again. I imagine being able to massage him whenever I could, then hugging him tightly whenever I saw him.

As the days dragged on, people came and went. They all said that they always remembered my Lolo smiling, like he was always happy. Everyone agrees to this, that in some point of their life, my Lolo was a part of it somehow, like he was there to help them in some way. They all laughed, though there was grief all around. No one cried too much, and his presence was everywhere.

Every story became a piece of a puzzle, a piece of a time how he treated everyone. Every time we remembered him, we would end up laughing, with his wisecracks and jokes. And as I remembered his final moments with me when I slept on his bed in the hospital, I smiled. I remembered him combing my hair with his fingers, thinking I was asleep. I smiled remembering that moment when he realized I was crying, he said through the tubes that were in his nose:

“Don’t cry. Stop crying.”

He didn’t want us to be unhappy, because he has done so much to make us happy. And that’s how I realized, that my Lolo not only found the fountain of immortality, he basked in it. He shared it with people, secretly giving them a sip of what he had even when he had nothing. And now as I write this, with tears streaming down my face and my hands shaking, I know he’s here, wiping my tears. I smile remembering and realizing the best lesson he taught me wasn’t taught verbally. I learn it by reflecting on his life, by letting me see the little pieces of the puzzle of his life. He taught me everything that the others only dream of. He taught me that the secret of immortality is to leave everyone with a smile on their faces.

——————-

Written almost a month after he died, two years ago. 🙁 It’s still great to remember him though. 🙂

Pixie cuts, courting soulmates and going home

So there are three things I’d like to discuss with you today. Okay maybe four. Or five. Let’s just see where this post goes.

Pixie cut and saving shampoos

So last Sunday I got a pixie cut. Almost the same one I got three years ago. And so, I have created pros and cons of having short hair.

Pros:

You save on both shampoo and conditioner. I mean, you don’t have to put so much effort on cleaning your hair when it’s this short!
It’s easy to style. You can just handcomb it and voila! You’re good to go.
Less heat. This was my primary reason when I decided to get a cut. With my hair going below my breasts, it was getting hotter when I let it lose.
You stand out. My professor once told me when I had my first pixie cut that it made me stand out.
No more bed hair!
Save on hair ties and scrunchies! The thing with long hair is that you have to have a scrunchie wherever you went in case of emergencies, ei, you had a bad hair day. Now I don’t have to, so there are less chances of losing them to my bottomless bag.
Look fierce. No more explaination.
Look younger. It really does take years off your face.

Cons:

You’ll be mistaken as a tomboy, or a boy. This is why I like wearing dresses and shorts. This isn’t really a problem for me, since I’m so girly at times that I gross myself out. I am a tomboy a bit, but not so much.
People you know make fun of you. For example, my lovable brother, who has taken it upon himself to call me “bro”. Grr.
Nothing follows.

Courting my soulmate

Since my 1st book is still waiting for publishers to nibble it, I’m working on my second book, my first whole novel. I’ve never written anything like this. If you check my Wattpad account, you’d see that I haven’t finished any story. I’m the type who wants to write in one sitting. So a whole novel will be challenging, and I love my plot so far.

Target: 1000 words or 1 chapter at least per day.

Self-publishing

I gave myself my own deadline: If I don’t get any answer by any editors by the end of January, then I’d self-publish it. I do still hope it doesn’t go that far though.

Going home

So on January 10, I will be gong back to Tacloban for good. With classes starting next Monday, I have to. So there would be less blog posts, even none at all since I don’t know the strength of the internet, plus we would be using a generator since we still don’t have electricity at home. So, phew. It’s a big change indeed.

Hope all goes well! 😀

Let’s end this with a weird photo shall we? Like my blog’s FB page? Puhlease? https://www.facebook.com/dimperfectprincess

Moving on and other distracting things

The past month has been anything BUT smooth. With the storm unfolding more than it should, I’ve been going through a lot of emotional rollercoaster. If you read my posts these past weeks, I’ve been on a serious note. A bit of down if I may say so. And in reverse to the famous discovery that explained gravity: what goes down must come up. So let’s have a bit of good news shall we?

I made my blog’s Facebook page!

It may seem small, but I really have always wanted to make my own page. So when I reached my 100^th post, I thought, what the heck? It is still in the works, as I am the only one managing it. Like it here and get updates of my blog, and a few random musings from me. Imperfect is Beautiful Facebook Page

I am pages away from finishing my book!

With fingers crossed, I hope to finish it by the end of next week. Around December 20 perhaps? Just a few more sleepless nights and a bit of trimming here and there and it’s all done!

No more nightmares!

Ever since Haiyan struck, I’ve been having these nightmares of either drowning or failing to save my family from the storm. So far, I’ve had none of these this week. It’s an achievement!

Just getting through everyday.

With the world as it is, I think it’s important to learn to appreciate the little things. I’ve always appreciated them since I’m little too (Just 5 feet, hands like a ten year old girl, size 5 shoes) And with random thoughts like mine (imagining how my fictional character would react if her French fry fell to the ground)(probably going to eat it still), I think it’s useless to just mope around and be depressed. It’s a beautiful day everyday, whether it’s raining or snowing(for you guys in the west), something great is bound to happen. I feel like I’m so old with all the things I’m learning and talking about, that I forget I just turned eighteen!

November was a month that I’d rather forget, yet remember every detail vividly. It had shown me more than I could ever comprehend my whole life. We are now moving on from this tragedy and hoping for a better tomorrow.

I remember a sort of motto that I used to say when I was in high school. Everyone teased me about it, but I still think it’s awesome. SMILE ALWAYS!