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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. 🙂

Thirty minutes

“Our valued costumers. The store is about to close in thirty minutes. Please be guided accordingly.”

Despite the overhead warning, I walked aimlessly in the mall. I had time to kill before my boyfriend met with me outside the mall anyway. I glanced at the familiar stalls, my hands swaying beside me. I began to count all the little cracks on the walls, and how many lights flickered. It was surely an old mall, one that stood since I was a kid.

I thought about my life, the way I never seem to get a break. I was stuck in the cliché dead end job, with the same boyfriend since high school. I was soon to turn to quarter of a century year old, and yet I had the enthusiasm of an eighty-year-old woman who saw death coming near.

A small hand slipped through mine, lacing their small fingers with mine. I immediately stopped walking, and looked at the little kid. She smiled at me, her yellow headband almost falling from her head.

“Where’s your mom?” I asked her, crouching down to her little height. She was about three or four, her dimples showing as she smiled again.

“Mommy.”

She pointed at my nose, and repeated saying “Mommy” two more times. She even covered her eyes then said “Mommy” when she uncovered them.

I looked around for anyone looking for a kid, feeling sorry for the mother who lost her little girl. No one seemed to be looking, so I led her to the costumer service counter.

“I think this girl is missing.”

The woman looked over the counter to look at the kid, who only waved at her.

“Ma’am, you had this kid with you when you entered the store.”

My heart immediately froze, as I turned my head toward the kid. It was only then when I noticed how she looked like me.

“You have twenty minutes before the mall closes ma’am. You should slowly make your exit.”

She smiled at the kid once again, before resuming to face her computer.

“Mommy.”

The kid began to pull me, but I was too dumbfounded to move.

Who was this kid?

And why did she look like me?

“Mommy. I pee.”

I let her lead me toward the bathroom. Halfway towards it she made me lift her up, which I robotically did so. She kissed my cheeks, making a cold shiver travel down my body.

“I wove you Mommy.”

She hugged me around my neck, as I got us near the bathroom.

“You have ten minutes before closing time ma’am.”

A saleswoman told me when she saw me going into the bathroom.

“The kid wants to pee. It would just be a moment.”

The saleswoman smiled when the kid began to wave at her as we entered the bathroom. I didn’t know what to do when we got in. I never wanted to be a mother ever since I could remember, so I awkwardly let the kid down to find a stall for her to pee in.

“Mooooommy.” She called out, pointing to one of the stalls.

There were empty stalls around us, and she wanted to use the one with the ‘out of order’ one. I remember it has been out of order for years.

“You use the other ones.” I told her.

She refused, pointing toward the stall again. When I told her no, she began to throw a tantrum.

“Mommy! I pee!”

I gave up and tried to open the stall, which was surprisingly unlocked. I felt the room grow colder when I saw the familiar surroundings of the stall. My hands were shaking when I saw oblong shaped meat like in the middle of the toilet bowl. I remembered the excruciating pain of removing a virus from my uterus. I remembered deciding to do it in a place where I never thought I’d go back again.

And when I saw the kid climbing on the toilet bowl and waving at me as she turned to blood, I blacked out.

“Valued costumers, the store is closing. Please exit the mall immediately.”

————————————-

Boo! Scared yet? Fiction is love!

A Taclobanon’s week

I have immersed myself in Tacloban since we came home last Saturday. And here’s my daily routine since the super typhoon Haiyan/Yolanda sashayed into our lives.

SUNDAY

We wake up early, and try to cook and eat in the darkness. Since there is still no electricity and most of the malls have been slaughtered by the hands of man and nature, there are no more places to spend the “Family Day”. We spend it at home, as we make constant repairs to make our home at least look normal. Then we go to church, have dinner and hope to go home before dark. The streets are still unlit, making the usual driving a hassle as we try to avoid bumps on the road. When we reach home, we instantly feel sleepy, as there are no other ways to occupy ourselves. We fall asleep before eight.

MONDAY – FRIDAY

Since I have school, I wake up earlier than normal, and try to cook by flashlight. Once everyone is finished, I take a bath in very cold waters, since the weather has been very gloomy. Then the war for a jeepney begins. Since the storm, Tacloban has lost 50% of it’s public utility vehicles, making the daily commute close to impossible since a lot of us struggle for a ride. Once I do get on a jeep, there is that twenty minute ride, where we pass by Anibong, the village where five boats still stand over houses. When I reach school, after paying twenty pesos(from the normal 15) for my ride, there is the scene of destruction. And with the rain pouring hard, classes are postponed.

So when I don’t have classes, I go to the downtown area. And everywhere, I mean everywhere, you’d see the destruction. Broken windows, roofless buildings, pulverised cement and overturned vehicles. It is really a heartbreaking state, especially for someone used to seeing Tacloban in it’s full life. Now, it looks half dead. There are businesses open, yes, but some are overpriced, and there are a lot of scarce things. There are some streets that have been energised, but not all.

When you try to buy pork, fish or veggies in Tacloban, they’re not only expensive, but you also have to cook them that very day. Since there are no refrigerators (since there isn’t any electricity), you have to cook the food to preserve them.

For those sending packages, you have to wait at least 3 days before claiming them at the post office.

Hot food is a rare commodity, which explains why you have to fight for your favorite kind of bread.

Everything has a LINE. And not just any line, a very long line. To eat at a restaurant, there’s a line. To withdraw from a bank/ATM, there’s a line. To get your package, there’s a line. For relief goods, there’s a line. To get into a hospital, there’s a line. It just shows how abnormal everything is.

When I go home, which is before 4pm, I try to catch a jeep again. And when I do, it’s another ride through Anibong, to the places that were severed by the storm. And when I get home, I try to cook in the dark again, hoping that I wouldn’t cook the food rare or burnt.

SATURDAY

Since it’s the weekend, we all try to do our little own thing. For me, it’s trying to find a power source (since everything needs electricity these days) so I could write on my device. That means going to downtown again.

All this in one week, not to mention the non stop rains and the flooded roads.

The Taclobanons proved themselves to be survivors of this world record storm. If things are hard two months after the storm, what about the first few weeks? They had so little, and had to battle for the survival of their family members and themselves.

The world seems to slowly forget about the city that was once in full bloom, uprooted in three hours. I hope you don’t.

To read more about the Haiyan/Yolanda experience, click here: http://dimperfectprincess.blogspot.com/search/label/haiyan

Getting back to Tacloban

I’m back home.

It has been two months since Haiyan, and slowly Tacloban has begun to rise from its ruins. The news has died down, but the stories continue.

Sometimes I feel like I am in a foreign place, a place I need to rediscover. It is a heartbreaking reality, but it is something that I must face, and something the people of Tacloban have been facing for the past few months.

We went to Cebu a week after Haiyan to escape the horrors that seemed to haunt us in every corner of the typhoon ridden city. And now that we’re back for good since I have school this January 13, I feel like the horrors never really stopped. From the view of an eighteen year old girl who grew up in the city by the Cantabato Bay, it is a city bruised and left for dead, reviving itself.

And now I have decided to immerse myself into helping those who were not as lucky as I was. In the bible, I always remember that I was taught that if I wanted to give something to the poor, I should give with my left hand and never let my right hand know what I was doing. It meant that when I do something good, I shouldn’t tell others. But in this case, I need the help of the people who can donate and give what they could for the people of Tacloban.

I have already volunteered for a local charity in Tacloban, I still have rice runs for OATH, and now I will share with you Help after Haiyan.

This organization who added me to their group had a unique story all on their own. You can find their website here. http://www.helpafterhaiyan.com

Their goal is to reach 100,000 likes on their Facebook page by February. When every like can be worth 1Million, it’s worth it. So I’m sharing their page, with the hope that you will help them in this endeavor.

https://www.facebook.com/HelpAfterHaiyan

Read my experience of Haiyan here : http://dimperfectprincess.blogspot.com/2013/11/meeting-haiyan-first-hand-experience.html

You can read more at the “Haiyan Experience” tab on my blog.

Just thrice

I’ve only seen her thrice.

When I first saw her,

With her nose in between a book,

She was snobbish and rude,

Her eyes stuck to boring pieces of paper.

Instead of interesting old me.

She once danced on stage,

Not as graceful as a swan,

but she was the only one who stood out,

out of all the little ducklings.

She held my hand once,

dragging me to the lab.

She pointed out the scribbles on the table

where I wrote with my name.

She huffed and puffed about being clean,

while I stood there,

my eyes wandering to her lips,

how sweet it would be to close it with mine.

When she left to get a towel,

I stood there dumbfounded.

I’ve only seen her thrice,

but that was enough to fall in love.

—————

Although fiction, it has been inspired by someone’s status I saw preHaiyan. I just remembered about it now 🙂

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

Giving hope through OATH

One of the things that a human being shouldn’t lose is hope. For Haiyan survivors like myself, it was something that we were in dire need of. We were fuelled by the thought that help will come, that soon we would be saved. I was lucky enough to find hope when my family temporarily moved to Cebu. But how about those who were left behind?

To those who have read my Relief under OATH post, you’d know that I’ve had the pleasure of helping the people of Buri, Palo through the generous hearts of foreigners. The people of this town were left roofless after Haiyan and were neglected by the government for some time.

We chose those who needed help the most, for example, Mr. Arturo. He was left with a house filled with trash and his roof was missing, but he did not lose hope. This inspired the people of OATH to do what they could to help.

Last December 29, he was close to tears when he saw the roofing materials donated by OATH. He was finally going to have a home before the New Year.

(please turn on caption for translation)

He was very grateful, as he kept holding on to my arm, shaking it as if to make sure that it was all true. “I’d finally get to build my home.” He said.

Hope is a given right to people. Without hope, there would be no thought of tomorrow and the things to come. We gave these people hope that 2014 would be better, and their faces were priceless. OATH have given rice to a total of 40 families and have given roof materials to a family of 10. There are still more to come, as we hope for more help from the others.

If you would like to help OATH give hope to the people, every thought counts. Whether you are sending prayers or financial help, it is a form of hope. We have to remember that even when the news have died down and have moved on, this people are still in need of help. We cannot stand on our own, as we are crippled and barely standing.

Send help through OATH’s bank account below:

Account Number : 140083300011

Account Name :

O. A. TRUST HOUSE INC

Beneficiary Bank: Philippines National Bank (PNB)

Address of Beneficiary Bank: Gil Puyat, Makati Branch

Country : Philippines

Swift code : PNBMPHMM

2013 in a blog post

This year has been a literal roller coaster.

Between world breaking typhoon devastating my hometown and finishing my book, it was one hell of a ride. Let’s recount those dates, the times where I have cried or laughed so hard, to the moments I was filled with disappointment and chased my dreams.

January

January 28 – My grandfather’s first death anniversary. Definitely a big low. We were very close, as in “I’d walk into our store screaming ‘Good morning’ just to put a smile on his face” close. It was surreal to go through a whole year without him, but since he always appears in my dreams when I miss him, I know he’s always there.

February

February 14 – This is downright the most romantic thing a guy has ever done for me. But then again, he’s the first guy who I celebrated a anniversary with.

March

I got to dance for THE VERY FIRST TIME, SOLO, in a public place. It was a hobby, something I did because I just wanted to. And the funny thing is, I always get stage fright. But then I think, “So what?”

April

My brother graduated high school! Isn’t that awesome? Now I feel old. -.-

May

I got published! In a magazine that is. This is a first, together with snagging an interview with our city mayor.

June

Plea, pirouette, and close. I love dancing, more so when I get to have some fun!

I got serious with my blog around this time. Though I could never point out when I really started, I consider this month a time when I really focused on writing.

July

I got my first acting character for my Theatre Arts subject. I was a pregnant woman. I shocked people in our school by running around with a big blue belly that kept peeking out of my shirt (a blanket).

August

50th blog post!

September

I became a godmother. To a very cute little girl.

October

October 4- I became 18!

November

November 8- The day everything changed. Our City was ravaged by Haiyan, leaving us in pieces.

December

December 14 – I got to help survivors like me, through the generous hearts of the people from OATH.

December 16 – Finished my book! And I have sent it to the publishers. Fingers crossed!

And now as I feel the excitement of the new year, I could only be filled with hope that everything will turn out better than before. 😀

Here are other pictures of my crazy year:

Getting looooonger hair. 😀

Joining a dance contest

Having fun with friends

Getting published on thickjam

Getting published for the second time in Espejo Magazine

Whew. Those were a lot of memories. I guess 2013 was one of the good ones. Now happy New Year to all of you! And I hope that you enjoyed this year as much as I did.

Let’s finish with a dramatic picture from moi. 😀

The Perfect Christmas

Curses were exchanged, followed by screaming and pointing of fingers. My heart lurches to the ground, my small box that I wrapped myself feeling like a hundred pounds. He began to throw her a look, a disgusted one, something I was used to seeing. He began to blame her for all his problems, as I shivered outside our house.

Snow began to fall, the white flakes sticking to the tears that have managed to escape my eyes. I turned around, walking aimlessly toward nowhere. The neighborhood was quiet, and inside you’d see families together, sharing meals and gifts. Everything felt like a stupid trick, one I was not willing to play in. I began to think why some people were blessed with children but treated them like a curse. Why someone was blessed with a family to go home to, yet acts as if they have nothing at all. It was a twisted world, and no one seemed to notice.

“Back so soon?” A man said as soon as he saw me.

In the middle of my musings I got as far as the town, where the shops were closing.

“I want to return this.”

I showed him the small box, something I once hoped was a symbol that we might act like a family again.

“You can’t return that little lady. Not when you’ve already wrapped it.” He pointed out. I huffed, feeling dismayed that I can’t even get my money back for something that made me feel useless. I began to walk away, hoping that by now they would be asleep.

“Hey. If it really means something to you, we can unwrap it.” He called out. I turned around to meet a kind smile, something I haven’t seen in a long time. He opened the door for me, and turned the lights on. The buzzing of the lights soon filled my ears, as we began to walk through the aisle of his store.

“Let’s see what we got here shall we?” He said, taking a seat at the cashier’s booth. He took the box from me, delicately opening the tape and wrapper.

“Can’t I just take the money and go?” I said impatiently.

“Hold on. We have to make sure that it’s all in one piece.” When he finally got to the box, he opened it and peered into it. “Ah. A snow globe. For the boyfriend I suppose?” He was smiling at me, and something in me wanted to just look away.

“Look. It’s in one piece. Can I go?” I began to gather my things, not caring about how many lunches I had to skip to save for the gift.

“It’s a blizzard out there. You sure you want to leave?” Surely enough, the snow began to fall in a steady pace, making it hard to look at anywhere. “I can make you hot cocoa.”

I couldn’t resist the offer, especially since I haven’t eaten since yesterday.

“Thank you.” I said. The warmth of the cup was most welcome, as my teeth were clattering with the cold. I held it towards my face, letting the steam heat my cheeks. It was served in one of those decorative cups, with whipped cream on top.

“Here’s a seat.” He pulled out a chair from behind the counter, and placed it beside me. “And your 50 dollar return.” He placed the money beside my arms, and I smiled at him in silent thanks.

Silence soon covered us, like a blanket of warm solitude and comfort. It was alien to me, yet I liked the feeling of sitting across someone who didn’t pull you down.

“I guess you can’t go home yet. The road is covered in snow.” He commented after a while.

I felt relieved, cause now I had a reason not to go home immediately. “I’m sorry if you didn’t make it home because of me.”

“It’s alright. Better actually. I live alone, so it’s nice to have someone to be with on a Christmas night.” He took a sip of his drink, humming in appreciation of the taste.

“So where are you from?” He asks. My mind wanders to our house, if it was now silent or still echoing with voices full of venom.

“Four blocks from here. The one with the red roof. You?”

“Just upstairs. It’s mighty lonely there.”

I nodded, not knowing how to continue the conversation. My cup was halfway through when he asked something I hoped to never have to answer.

“Why did you return the gift? You bought it like two hours ago. I saw how you wrapped it outside my store.”

I simply shrugged though, knowing that I didn’t have to answer that to a stranger.

“Can I go now? The weather seems to be letting up.”

He nodded, and soon he was closing shop. “If you want another cup of cocoa, you know where to go.” He said as we parted ways.

I made my way home, dreading to see them still fighting. When I got near enough, I peaked at their window. They were still at it, bickering like a couple of inmates. They haven’t even noticed that their dear daughter hasn’t come home yet. I began to run away, as fast as my feet could carry me. I needed to talk to someone, anyone. I found myself again in front of the store, just as he was going up to what he mentioned as his apartment.

“Hey!” I called. He turned around, and he smiled when he saw that it was me. “Want to spend Christmas with someone over a hot cocoa?”

He walked down the stairs, and inserted his key to the shop. “I sure would.”
—————-
Fictiooooon! Merry Christmas!