Metamorphosis

Once, I was a very small cylindrical egg, laid on a leaf that my mother has chosen for me. I didn’t know anything about the world. I didn’t even have an idea of how I would look like, and what my purpose for living would be … until I hatched.

And I was so ugly, with wrinkles all over my body. Ever so slowly I learned how to crawl on the leaf that cradled me. I also learned how to eat of it.  Call me ungrateful, but that was the way I was supposed to live then. To absorb nourishment and become stronger. To prepare myself for the next stage, which I heard was the hardest.

Pupa. That’s what I am right now. Everything is dark, but I can feel the change happening inside of me. The pain of waiting is nothing compared to the excitement of what I am about to become. Something beautiful. Something of great value.  It’s about to happen any moment now... 

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The hiding is over.

I spread my wings and dance with the wind.

~

A response to Wordpress Daily Prompt: Celebrate Good Times

The Tweak Fairy

I am the Tweak Fairy, a Love Specialist. You probably haven’t heard about me, but I’m positive we’ve met once or twice in your life. You’re not supposed to remember so don’t try.

I know Cupid is the famous one, but know that my job is very different from his. What he does is make random people fall for each other. Based on our study, the probability that a Cupidized love will last forever is only close to 45%. This is because hitting a heart with a charmed arrow and forcing it to love is not really the best foundation of a strong relationship. The heart will always yearn for its rightful pair.

Now, what does a tweak fairy do?

I create what you people call coincidence. I make serendipity happen for the right people. Remember when they say that there’s no such thing as coincidence? It’s true. Everything is bound to ensue.

Now, if an event is not going as smoothly as planned, I come and tweak the situation in order to maintain the order of things. And I am about to start a coincidence here at the Hearstrings Cafe.

Right now everything is still, as it always is whenever I wave my tweaking wand. No a trace of movement or sound. Only the crisp aroma of coffee and cinnamon remains, and I love it this way. Stillness is my strength.

 I walk soundlessly towards the table I’ve been watching for hours now. 

You see, I know a yearning heart when I see one, and it is the easiest to tweak. Creating the littlest opportunity, like simply setting the eyes to the right sight, is enough to make the yearning heart quicken. The case I’m in right now is the exact opposite.

The heart that no longer yearns is the hardest to tweak.

The people sitting at the table in front of me are Christof and Leidy. They are old friends who did not have the opportunity to see each other in the last fifteen years.

Leidy married Theo, a random dancer she met at a friend’s party, all thanks to Cupid. I was supposed to intervene but Cupid put me in a trance with his charm. That’s another story.

After giving her three beautiful children, Theo left her for another woman – his first love. And after her tears have all dried up, Leidy swore to not give love a chance again.

Christof, on the other hand, never married. He became so immersed in his writing career that left everything here for fame as a playwright in Paris. He made love with countless women, but none of them was able to touch his heart. He never gave love a chance.

On this fine day, Christof decided to visit the homeland he missed and here he found Leidy, sitting alone with a cup of jasmine tea while reading a tattered book. The Great Gatsby.

They were beyond happy for this serendipitous moment and I thought everything was working out.  To my great dismay, Leidy was back to Gatsby while Christof just stirred his coffee after a few hours of catching up.

This is not how it should be.

Without an intervention these two people will just part ways again, carrying their whole yet lifeless hearts with them. Leidy would find fulfilment in her children while Christof would find it in his plays. But in my integrity as a tweak fairy I won’t let that be.

They are made for each other. I just need to give it a little shake.

So now, while everything is still, I take Leidy’s book from her hand and place it on her lap. I move one of her hands over the book, and the other I place halfway on the table. I reach for Christof’s free hand and place it gently over Leidy’s, and on their joined hands I wave my tweaking wand.

~

A response to Wordpress Daily Prompt: Standstill

Subconscious

Delirium.

I never asked if you can drive a bicycle, but in this dream you were riding one. I was standing in your way and you stopped, handing me a red hand-made greeting card. It was surprising because I know you are not a card person. It was the first card that you ever gave me, even in dreams.

I opened the card and saw pictures of me glued artistically on the left leaf. It was flattering that you printed the photos from my social networking accounts. That was very sweet, sentimental, resourceful, and even then, I knew I was just dreaming.

On the right leaf was a message, telling me that it is not true that I mean nothing to you. That I am someone really valuable and you can’t afford to lose. You asked me to stay by your side.

But there is a whole world of difference between being valued and being loved…

In the same card you also wrote a warning about the men around me. You said that though they may all seem to be good and nice on the surface, in truth, they all just wanted to take advantage of my kindness. “I promise to protect you from them,” you said.

But were you able to protect me from yourself?

And then there was another card. I could sense that you were hesitant but you gave it anyway. It was a wedding invitation. You’re marrying some woman I haven’t met.

Now I can finally let go of you.

The dream shifted and I was sitting on a pew on your wedding day. I watched her walk with grace down the aisle, her loving smile directed to you.

I woke up just before the part when you’re supposed to say “I do.”

~ 

A response to Readwave Writing Challenge: Dreams

Baking in Paper

I’m not familiar with the kitchen. If there’s one thing that I really wish I can do, but can’t, it is cooking, or baking, or anything related to it.

But I have, however, tried to bake a cake in one my short stories way back in 2007. The scene was about a girl who asked her brother (a boy her mother adopted and is secretly in love with her) to teach her how to bake in order to impress a hot suitor who was to visit that night.

Was the cake any good? Here, let me share it with you:

~*~

  “Found it! Banana cake… page 64…”

INGREDIENTS:

4 ounces butter, softened

3/4 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed

1 large egg

2 to 3 bananas, mashed, about 3/4 cup

1/4 cup buttermilk or sour milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 scant teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg

“So you’re actually serious?” He was looking at her as if she had grown three heads.

“’Course I am! I’m wearing apron… see?” Her brother could be thick sometimes.

“And I am not…”

“Then wear one!” She rolled her eyes. Really thick sometimes.

With a sigh, he obliged and wore the blue apron she specially prepared for him. “Do you have everything you need?” He asked while tying the apron’s back ribbon.

“Don’t know, you check…”

He gave her a you-are-hopeless look and took the recipe book from her hands. She just smiled sweetly.

“Where’s the baking soda?”

“Oh it isn’t there?” she asked, pointing at the neatly arranged ingredients on the kitchen table.

“Will I ask if it’s there?”

“Why so irate? Just wait here, I’ll ask Nanny Rita,” she said and left the kitchen.

Heat oven to 350°.

“The oven’s ready.” He said when she came back with the baking soda. “Why the sudden interest in baking?”

She gave him a shrug. “’Cause I think it’s high time to learn new things. Anything wrong with that?”

Her brother looked unconvinced. “So you start with a banana cake? You should have experimented with pancakes first. ”

“Duh, no challenge. Besides, pancakes are not baked.”

“So? You said you just want to learn new things. You haven’t even touched a frying pan!”

“Ohhh…. I can so get a frying pan right now and hit your head with it.”

Grease and flour an 8- or 9-inch square pan.

He was brushing butter on a pan when he looked at her. “What are you doing there standing? Do the same so you’ll learn. Put that apron to good use young lady.”

“I will, just watching how you’re doing it.”

In a large mixing bowl with electric mixer, cream butter and brown sugar.

Beat in egg, milk, vanilla, and mashed banana until blended.

They prepared their own banana cakes. She was occasionally peaking on what her brother was doing, and she was having difficulty in keeping up. He slowed down when she voiced her complaint.

Pouting at her mixing bowl, as she added her mashed banana.

Combine remaining dry ingredients and spices.

Stir the dry ingredients into the first mixture until moistened.

Spread in prepared pan.

“Hey… what did I do?”

“Piss off.”

He announced this little “who baked the better cake” contest to make fun of her. He loves teasing his sister partly because she looks too cute when upset.

After pouring the mixture on his square pan, he dipped a finger on the spared butter and wiped the grease on her cheeks… “Oops!” He grinned at her and ran for his life.

Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until cake springs back when lightly touched with finger.

He wiped the butter that seemed to cover his face with his apron, glaring at the giggling girl beside him.

“You started it…” she said sweetly, cleaning the grease that found its way to her hair.

“Yeah, yeah.” he said as he remove the apron from his head. He then smiled.

The oven beeped and she rushed to check on her masterpiece.

“Hey, slowly. It’s hot.” 

He helped her place the cake on the table, and then it was his turn to put his pan in the oven. When he turned, the girl was staring happily at her first creation.

“Ready to have a bite?” He asked.

She contemplated for a while then said “You first.”

“Me? Why me? That’s your cake.”

“Please?”

Knowing that he is powerless against the puppy-eye technique, he sliced a small portion of the square cake. 

She turned her back on him as he placed the piece in his mouth, covering her face. And there was silence.

Long silence.

He waited for her to face him. “Well?” she asked tentatively.

“You go try it.” He said keeping his voice normal, not wanting to disappoint her.

As soon as the cake slice entered her mouth, it escaped.

She looked at him sadly. He sighed.

“Hey it’s not that bad…”

“Yeah right…Shut up…” she was almost crying.

“Why so depressed? We can always bake again. Tomorrow, if you like.”

“That won’t do…”

“Why?”

 “That was for Stuart…”

Silence.

“He’s coming tonight…I just wanted to impress him with something I made…” she said, her voice breaking.

“Then impress him some other time.” He rolled his eyes.

The oven beeped for the second time. The girl stopped fretting and smiled wickedly as an idea came to mind.

“Looks like I’m serving yours instead…”

“And pretend you prepared it?”

“Yes!” She squealed.

Frost with a cream cheese frosting

or sprinkle with powdered sugar.

~*~

A Response to Wordpress Daily Prompt: Practice Makes Perfect?

Because I'm Brilliant

I’m not the most active of students. I’m one that usually sits at the back corner, as far away from the professor’s searching eyes as possible. It’s not that I’m not prepared for class or anything, it’s just the way I am. The quiet listener by the classroom door.

I’d say I’m smart. I am in love with both words and numbers. When they say that those good in Math are bad in English, my inner pride would swell in the fact that I’m an exception. And not to brag or anything, I also love the Arts.

So, why I am saying this? I just want to establish the fact that I’m a brilliant person, at least in this page, because people don’t see it right away. Especially not in class, where all I do is sit and listen and take notes, and where I don’t usually get the good grades (because though I do most of the group papers, I let my team mates report the whole thing for the sake of contribution, and so they get the spotlight.) Which is not fair, because again I say, I am brilliant. Just not brave enough to show it.

Now, if you’d ask me what a great teacher (or professor) is, it is this – someone who can see my brilliance by just looking, and then make an effort to help me show it.

I feel very blessed to have met some.

First was my grade school choir teacher, who discovered that I can sing the alto part very well. This event marked the beginning of my love for Music. Years later, during my teens and early twenties, I broke out of my shell and began singing in front of huge crowds. And no, it’s not karaoke.

Second was my journalism teacher. She handpicked me as one of the writers for the school paper when I still had no idea that I could write. From then began my love affair with literature.  I never missed a book review and I wrote poetry on every leaf of my notebook.

Third, was my high school Math teacher, who would call me when no one’s raising a hand. I’d then write my solution on the board and be surprised that my answer’s correct. She was the only teacher who was actually sorry that I did not get a medal during graduation. Her faith in me gave me confidence to pursue a degree in Statistics. Yes, I was able to finish the course, and this time, with a medal.   

I will not forget to mention my parents – my first teachers, my first believers. Not only did they encourage me to give my best in everything that I do, they have also imparted in me something very important – faith.

Because of the excellence and the values they have instilled in me, I never got tired of learning. Which is why it is not surprising that right now, as I’m about to finish my MBA, I’m already planning on taking another course.

When asked why I keep on studying, I just reply with a smile.  Saying “because I’m brilliant” would not give the right impression no matter how true it is. But seriously, my answer is this:

 I want to be great, so I can impart this greatness to others too.

The same way my teachers did.

~

A Response to Wordpress Daily Prompt: We Can Be Taught! 

Knife

“We have given our hair to the witch, to obtain help for you, that you may not die tonight.” I replayed my sisters’ words in my head.

“She has given us a knife, see, it is very sharp.” My hand’s grip tightened on the object that would seal both our fates.

“Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince… either he or you must die before sunrise.” I see the first red streaks in the sky and I know I must hurry.

You die, or I do.

As I draw back the crimson curtain of your tent, I see you sleeping with her head resting on your chest.

That should have been me.

I feel my chest tighten, the invisible knives under my feet coursing deeper into my flesh.  I walk closer not minding the pain, as I have been doing since the day I decided to give up everything for you,  and with a soft kiss on your brow, I try to say goodbye.

I glance at the knife I have been gripping, a token of my family’s love, my sisters’ sacrifice. I left them for you, but still they gave up the beautiful hair so I can have my tail and voice back. So I can come back to them. Indeed, love is about sacrifices.

Is my love for my family strong enough to stab your heart?

I hear you whisper her name in your dreams. I forget how to breathe.

If only you knew it was me. I was the one who saved you when you were drowning. It was my face that has haunted you all this time, not hers. It was me, my prince. If I have only kept my voice, I would have told you how I rescued you through the raging waves. I would have told you how much I love you.

I still love you now, as I watch you sleep with your bride in your arms.

I lift the knife and my hand trembles. I must do it now before it is too late. I must kill you now, and my suffering ends. Or will it?

Will I be living a good life with my sisters while knowing that I destroyed the man I love and would ever love? Will I ever find the heart to sing when I get my voice back? Will I swing my tail and not remember the little feet that danced through the pain for your smile?

Will I be able to smile again?

I feel tears escape my eyes and I run.

I give the knife one final look and throw it far from me into the waves.

The water turned red where the knife fell.

And then I’m gone.

~
A response to Wordpress Weekly Challenge: Dialogue
Based on Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’

How To Lose Your Boy Best Friend

You’re a girl and you’re best friends with a boy. Here’s a list of what you must NOT do to keep that BFF status:

One, fall for him.
I know you hear a lot of stories about women getting married with their best friend, and Jason and Colbie’s ‘Lucky’ is your jam, but dear, it should have been obvious that you are best friends with that guy because he wants you to be his friend. Not lover. Not someone to cuddle on a rainy day. Not anything. Unless of course you fell for him first before you became BFFs. If that’s the case, then you’re hopeless.

Two, ask him who his other best friends are.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Honestly? You’re the best friend, not the girlfriend. So what if he does not realize that the word ‘best’ is an adjective that should pertain to a singular subject, it’s his problem. Don’t be jealous of them, it will freak him out. Unless you’ve already committed mistake number one. If that’s the case, then you’re hopeless.

Three, tell him you love him.
You’re watching too many movies. If he says he loves you back, don’t get your hopes up. The phrase would most likely be followed by ‘because you’re my best friend,’ and you’d feel the humiliation of being friend-zoned. Have some regard for yourself, let him say it first. Unless you believe that life is short and you should be honest about how you feel, then you’re hopeless.

Four, open his facebook account.
He needed you to send an important email so he gave you his password. After sending the email, you suddenly became aware of the power that’s in your hands and tried using the same password on his FB account, and voila, you got in. You check his chats and realize not only that he has other best friends, but also a handful of girlfriends. If you got heartbroken after this incident, then you’re hopeless.

Five, tell him you accessed his facebook account.
 Are you out of your mind? This is relationship suicide. You think he’ll forgive you and understand why you did it because you’re BFFs? No dear, this is friendship over. If you’ve reached this level of craziness, then you’re hopeless.

Now, if you did all five, congratulations! You lost him.

There will always be exceptions to every rule though…

 Like my case.
xx

A response to Readwave Weekly Challenge: Instructions