My Thoughts Exactly

Most people who meet me for the first time would assume that I am one of the dopest, friendliest, goofiest thing they have ever seen. Nope, that is the stuff of fiction.

I am not a sociable person. I mean, since when did cat people ever become outgoing and sociable? Except Taylor Swift, perhaps. She needs to be because of the nature of her business. The girl is not a pop star, she’s a bloody businesswoman who seems to have worked out all the kinks ( of her hair and) of the music industry.


Enough of Tay-tay. I have stopped stalking her both in social media and Google search. I am just tired of her entrepreneurial voracity and insatiable thirst for distinction, really. And I am stark mad that she didn’t include me in her girl squad. (You know I am kidding, right?)

So what I know about sociable people is that they are like Taylor Swift who likes to be friends with and well-liked by everyone, except that they might not like cats. (Hah. That is the last time I will talk about her, my apologies. It’s hard to get over someone I used to love.) Also, sociable people like to meet lots of people. Obviously. (They might also prefer dogs over cats.) I think they like to build their connections and have these ultra self-empowering goals, which I don’t want to find out because it’s none of my business. Or maybe they are born to be Mr and Ms Congeniality’s. Like when they were barely a year old, they smiled at the camera, at dogs and even at that suspicious brown mound on the ground that looks like cat turd. No, I am not kidding. It’s fun to be with this group of people.👌🏻

I don’t like large crowds and the Barbie and Ken dolls of the world. (Read: superficial.) I choose my friends (and I like to think they chose me, as well). I choose people who I perceive to be smart and real. I like folks who don’t need everyone’s validation and I don’t like people who don’t choose sides. Yep, I don’t like the Swiss. (Except Toblerone, of course. Everybody loves them.) You gotta choose, buddy. So, are you a cat, or a dog person? 👊🏼

I like being around a small circle of friends. But there are times when I like to keep to myself and, even when I am with them, I like to wander inside my thoughts, thinking that I am somewhere else doing something else. Most of the time, I imagine sitting on a rocking chair, reading a nice book, with a cat on my lap. Yep, I know it’s so Alessia Cara singing ‘Here’. 


(Ooops that’s not Alessia. And I’ll pass on that headdress.)

If you think I am being arrogant just by writing all of these, be reminded that you can exit my site anytime, sweetie.

Of course, there were those times when I wished I was different. Don’t we all? I wished I was friendlier, funnier, easier to be with, less complicated and more free-spirited. But I like to think that I have come to terms with my individuality and that’s something because I don’t need to try hard. Really, the easiest thing ever, is to be yourself, to let others see the real you because it’s so hard to pretend. No hesitations, no holds barred, heck, no make-up or designer clothes. And no Camera360.

The first time I meet people, some seem to want to be friends with me (or am I just assuming things here? Please enlighten me) maybe because I am being funny when I talk about real stuff however bland or skin deep. Perhaps they would assume that I am bluffing or whatever and so a few weeks or days or months after, they would begin to think that I am bloody serious. A few would like me even more once they get to know me but most just wouldn’t know how to deal with this five foot zero inch shit and so they would walk away and this little shit wouldn’t care because that’s none of it’s business.

I like real talk. Man, I am plain honest and straightforward, sometimes you will think that I am sugarcoating my words or sometimes, I am dissing you straight in the face because that’s how I roll. Okay, sometimes I do filter my words just a wee bit the way I use a few photo filters to play with the light on my photos but I would tell you exactly what I need you to understand the way I would show you the zits and blemishes on my face because that’s how I roll. I believe in speaking out to make a difference to the world (yep, the world) so don’t be bloody sensitive when I speak the truth and I know it hurts the most but let’s just get real and get it over with.

Okay. You can stop right there and let’s breath real deep together.

One of my work counsellors told me that I am one of the realest, bravest and strongest people she knew and she said that was good because I knew what I wanted. My principles are intact, which means that I am hard to be influenced by other people who are on the other side of my fence. She said these are the makings of a good leader.

She didn’t tell me about the other side of the pancake, though. You know, the burnt one. I know that she knows that I already know. I know I can be complicated sometimes or perhaps, most of the time. I can break things up before you can say sushi. If you know what I mean. This other side might stop me from getting what I want, or even deserve. It might not get me up through the corporate ladder, might not get me the likes and hearts in social media. But you know what? I don’t need those types of validation from others who don’t matter much in my life. No one shouldn’t.

But we have our differences and while I think that no one shouldn’t want, shouldn’t work so fcuknig hard, shouldn’t be so fcuknig desperate to receive other’s validation and acceptance, some people just don’t think the way I do and it doesn’t mean that I am right and they are wrong. It could be the other way around and, who knows, both.

*First photo is not mine, I just found it in Tumblr. Whoever owns it, please let me know so I can give proper credits.

The second one was taken from

The third one is my son’s photo. Lol. Texts on photos are mine.


Why Some of my Facebook Friends Annoy Me Sometimes 

No, I’m not a devout Catholic but I was raised as one. No, I am not active at church but I do get irked by people who constantly make fun of the Church’s rituals.
When I was younger and didn’t know any better, I made fun of the other religious sects and their rituals. I didn’t get why, during worship, their pastor or leader would start rambling in a sing-songy voice and the whole flock would raise their hands and wave them in worship and start crying in anguish and it would go on for like thirty minutes, afterwards, they would calm down and start whispering gibberish. I laughed when some members claimed that their church is the right church, that they are the chosen ones and that everyone else will go to hell, like whatever they do or have done in the past, heaven will accept them because of their elitist assumptions. This is the worst kind of thinking. I still don’t get all of it.
You guys who call yourselves  Christians and not Catholic’s (though Catholics are technically Christians, there remains a distinction, mainly the considerable size of the latter as opposed to the tiny numbers that make up hundreds of otherChristianchurches). You will say that you believe in the goodness of Christ but you don’t know why. Shame on you. It’s about time you realize that salvation doesn’t come in the form of the religious organization which you belong to. It’s about time you stop that feeling of exclusivity because you know what, your contemptuous feelings against the Mother Church just reveals how desperate your leaders are. They want to beat the numbers so they lie. The Roman Catholic is one of the largest, if not the largest, religious communities in the world and nope you can’t change that, not in a million years.
I get why your leaders had to break away from the Roman Catholic Church. Yes, I do. There are rituals and beliefs that they don’t agree to and that is good and that is normal. That’s okay. Their followers follow suit. That’s fine. But those who believe that their group is the One especially those who, in the past, tried to convince me that I will not be ‘saved’ if I don’t join their group, that Catholicism is evil, well I tel you now, dogs who bark a lot feel threatened. Just shut up and chew and swallow that insecurity or I’ll shove it down your throat.
Brother, Sister, I accept you whatever your religious group is as long as you stop being such a goddamn bully. If you need your group to feel privileged or anything to that effect, then you’re not pulling off that religious shit the way you’re supposed to. You are not getting it because either you are brainwashed (brainwashed people are dumb), or close-minded (dumber, still). There is no elite religious group, certainly not yours. No way is better than the other. Having a group or having none, that don’t have much difference except that for the latter they don’t have the urge to have this sense of belongingness, don’t feel the need to adhere to methodical rituals because at the end of the day, we all fall asleep and, if we don’t die in slumber, we wake up. We’re different but still the same , get it?
Stop fooling yourself and shut up.

Cat Ladies are Not Crazy

I don’t mind getting pigeonholed into the crazy cat lady stereotype. So what if people are not amused with my cat stories and my cats. These furry felines are pretty cute, much cuter than most people I know anyway so that fact alone should suffice.

So, when exactly do you call a lady a cat lady?
I asked Herson and he said, a cat lady is a spinster who takes care of a cat/cats (not necessarily a cat hoarder) the way she would treat her own child.

I am not a spinster. Too young for that. I call my cats my babies though.. says a cat lady is a single woman who owns many pet cats. It also states that cat ladies have been associated with “romance-challenged (often career-oriented) women”.

I have Herson and the two kittens. I am not even career-oriented.

On the street where I live, there’s this lady who feeds all of the cats in the neighborhood. I see her do this at dusk or early in the evening, when I am on my way to work (I work nights). She looks old, perhaps in her 70’s or 80’s, wears long dresses that reach past the ankles. She beckons the cats, “Miyaw,” with her baritone voice and feeds them out of a plastic bag full of cat food that she carries on her right hand.

That, I believe, is the very definition of a cat lady. I wouldn’t be surprised if I learn that she has dozens of cats in her home.

According to Wikipedia, a cat lady may also be an animal hoarder who keeps a large number of cats without having the ability to properly house or care for them.

I only have two cats, two adorable white felines with black spots on their back. I post photos of them on my Facebook and Instagram every now and then.. Okaaaay, I sometimes post like five photos/videos a day, no, not everyday. I ask Herson if he thinks I am posting too much. He says no at first with that knowing smile on his face so I ask him again and he says yes, you post quite a lot, while assuring me that no I don’t have to stop posting just because. Does that make me a cat lady? I don’t know. He says no but I am not quite convinced. Oh, well, it’s not the worst thing in the world, what with wars going on in the Middle East and hunger and terrorism and the refugee situation in Europe and singlehood in your late 20’s and China bullying its way into my country’s disputed islands. No, it’s not the worst. And I really don’t mind.

There’s only one instance (I think) that pretty much suggests that I am a cat lady. It was when I thought of buying a car for the sole purpose of bringing my cats with me during travel, so that they won’t be left on their own. They matter that much. 😹

But please I am not a cat lady. Not yet anyway. I would never put my cats ahead of my family. I may humanize them from time to time, feed them fancy cat food and peach-mango pie, but they still are these furry, selfish creatures who don’t really give a shit about everything that’s going on with the world as long as they get enough feedings in one day. As long as they have someplace comfortable to sleep. As long as they have their humans to pet them whenever they want to. And I really don’t mind. I can be selfish too and I sure love burying my nose on my cat’s soft, warm belly whenever I want to. It’s worth the trouble of hand-scooping their poo (with a plastic bag, of course) from the litter box. Worth the abandoned fancy scratching post, the money spent on fancy cat food and litter. Worth the ruined clothes or shoes or books and cardboard boxes and broken coffee mugs.

One thing I learned about being a hands-on cat owner is that, although mostly independent, cats don’t want to shit on their litter boxes until you clean after their last dump. No kidding. It is also true that cats nearing adulthood become very picky with food, become lazy and take more naps and cuddles.

While I am writing this in bed, my Panda walks (that mega slow walk) towards me and squeezed himself between me and Herson, purring loudly like an old fridge: a clear indication that he is hungry. He starts nibbling on my little finger and rubbing his cheek on my hand. I stroke his head, his back, his spine, his fluffy fur. I touch his delicate belly and feel his heart beating. He continues to purr. This.

You know what, I really don’t mind being called a cat lady at all.


I like the sound of raindrops outside the window, pattering on the roof. I like the cold. On days like this, I like to think that I am one of those people who think that their sole purpose in life is to find that one person, their soulmate, their one and only, their better half..
I like hearing the purr of my cat, its’ soft and warm body against my left rib cage. Outside, it’s cold, the floor is cold. The cat– he likes being cuddled when it’s cold. And on days like these, I don’t like to sleep alone, because who does?
I like your arm circling my waist. I like the sound of your breath when you are asleep. I like the feel of your breath against my nape. I turn around and kiss your lips and you are asleep.
No matter how much I have wanted to eliminate the idea that I am a hopeless romantic, I must admit that a couple of genes are stamped with that label. Yes, I have wrote about that before, and I will write about it again. I am a hopeless romantic. I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore but this I am certain of– I believe in love. Of course I do. That’s why I am in love with you.
This is what I have always imagined my life would be– lying in bed with my cat and the man I love..



In it’s simplicity, 1 is the grandest of all numbers. One means number one, like, “You are my number one!” You are my number one man, my hero, my comforter, my Panda, my shoulder to lean on. You are my one and only, my love, my bestfriend.

We are not in the habit of counting the hours, days, and months. But today.. Today, let’s scratch that. Because, today we turn one. How great is that? 😄

Same Sex Doomsday


I am merely considering the possibility that the entire human species might get wiped out of the earth because procreation stops because everyone goes against nature. Everyone goes homosexual.

When I heard about the US Supreme Court’s ruling making same sex marriage a right nationwide, I thought about some friendhappy mostly because it means a lot to all gay people out there and I have a lot of friends and cousins who are in same sex relationships. Although here in the Philippines, we need to revise the laws to allow that to happen. Still, it’s a huge thing. It’s a big start that caused worldwide celebration.

The ruling changed the universal concept of marriage as the union of a man and a woman for them to meet the vital need to conceive children. Gone are the days of the caveman and the cavewoman who, apart from hunting for food, acted out the important instinct to procreate so that the entire human species will continue to proliferate.
Of course, we still do– couples who would like to conceive children continue to copulate to procreate. But most of us millenials (Generation Y, born between the 1980’s to the 2000’s) avoid having kids as much as possible.  We don’t want added responsibility. For now. We want to become financially stable first. Others have selfish reasons like not wanting pregnancy to ruin their bodies. Perhaps someday but not now. Some just don’t want to have kids. Period.

And of course, according to a study, a whooping 20% percent of the US population are part of the LGBT community. I wonder what the statistics is in the Philippines but I know for a fact that their population is not small. Herson tells me that maybe someday there will be a technology that will allow same sex couples to procreate. Perhaps in the future, lesbians would be able to inseminate and gay men would be able to conceive. But what if that doesn’t happen? What if everyone in the future can not bear to be in a heterosexual relationship? And what if in 1,000 years, the entire world becomes not even LGBT but a homosexual community?

That’s how I came up with the weirdest doomsday theory. I know we have enough of those– zombie apocalypse, alien invasion, climate change, robot uprising, pandemic infections — the possibilities are endless. We are the most paranoid specie in the planet. But I am not acting out of paranoia. I am not narrowminded. I am not mocking gay people out there. I am merely considering the possibility that the entire human species might get wiped out of the earth because procreation stops because everyone goes against nature. Everyone goes homosexual. I am not kidding and I am not being funny or anything. What if?

Just kidding. I know my doomsday theory is perhaps the result of seeing my male cat wooing another male cat (Panda is gay! 😁). Let us all be happy. Gay or not, we know love will always win. 😉

His Words Are

One of the perks of being in love with a poet is that he writes about you, and he is okay with you writing about him, too (even if you write like a high school student.. I do 😁.) Since you share the same fondness with writing, you get creative with words. There are so many ways to say “I care about you”, “I am thinking about you”, “I love you”.He knows all the right words to say– the most unconventional ones, most especially. He doesn’t rely on phrases quoted from novels and movies. His words are completely his own.When a poet is in love with you, he will write a post similar to this one. He will tell you that you are beautiful even when you are at your ugliest and are on the midst of some acne issues. He will tell you that you are the first thing in his mind when he wakes up, and the last before he goes to sleep. He will let you know he loves you everyday in ways he finds simple but is extraordinary for a girl like you.One thing I am certain of is this: when a poet starts drawing inspiration from you, it only means one thing– this poet is in love with you. 🐼