little big ones

on a regular saturday lunch together at home, here's one funny conversation we had with the kids.

dadi : so nixon, what do you want to be when you grow up?

nixon : i want to be a... starts with the letter 'A' *here we go again with the famous guessing game*

dadi : astronaut?

mami : aeronaut?

nixon : followed by letter 'R'

dadi : argonaut?

nixon : no! an Artist!

*dadi and i exchanged glances with a smirk(?) on the face*

dadi : why do you want to be an artist?

nixon : so i can have my own collection to sell for the kids.

i think what he meant to say is, he's going to have a fundraiser for the kids by selling his collections. he got it from watching higglytown heroes, and the guilty character is yubi.

dadi : how about you noah, what do you want to be when you grow up?

noah : i want to be a daddy! *ayun, i think i'm gonna faint!*

dadi : *grins* why?

noah : because i want to be like you daddy!

OMG!!! na-speakless ako! Alert alert!!!

shapes

the thought has never occurred to me... that this moment, this instance will happen in my life. an instance when i have to make a decision to stop the line. i'm not ready, i'm not sure what will happen, i don't know if i'll ever be brave enough to mean it, to make it happen. but i have to...

it came to a point that drawing the line to fulfill the circle will have to come to an end. when it has arrived at a corner where continuing the line is painful already and creates agony, the only thing to do is cut it.

maybe its time to draw another line, in a separate sheet... in a pleasant stationary, where new circles can be drawn again. new and colorful ones that will erase entirely the hurt and regrets.

hugging the rock

*this book was given to me by dadi rak... he was very fond of it. he was all smiles when he handed it over to me. these are the lines from the 1st page...*

No Room
When my mom decides to run away from home
she packs up her car
with all the things that matter most
to her.

Her guitar
and some books
all her CDs
her clothes
her shoes
Grandma's music box from the fireplace mantle
and the quilt from the bed she shares with Dad.

She jams plastic grocery bags
filled with soap and shampoo
between the small spaces
left in between things
and tied a couple of suitcases to the roof.
At the last minute she
throws in a few dishes
some towels
and a potted red geranium
that guards the front porch.

Dad tells her not to pack stuffs too high
so she can still see out the back window
but she ignores him
and shoves her pillow
between her guitar case and portable TV.

By the time she's done
there's no room left for anything else.
No room left for Dad.

And no room left for me.