Delectable Dee

I was still stifling yawns making my way to the breakfast table while filtering out noises to ignore and sounds to tune in to. As the usual daily habit in the house, my mom turns on the radio for news while everybody else is frolicking to and fro, getting ready for the day's events.

I heard the commentator on the radio rattling on about the tragic calamity resulted by Frank. Then the radio commentator moved on to a further subject at hand, still related to the typhoon. Apparently, Sulpicio Lines of the Princess of the Stars will not take part or do anything  pertaining to recovering of the sunken ship because the "insurance money" paid by their insurance company isn't enough to compensate the expenses if they will try to excavate the ship. Needless to say, they will just let the ship rot in there. Along with the still trapped dead bodies of the people and the 10-metric ton toxic chemical Endosulfan.

I almost choked on my bite of spring roll.

Endosulfan is a very toxic chemical use for agricultural purposes. It's so higly toxic that its use is banned in 17 counties. If Endosulfan contaminated meat are consumed by humans, it will prevent the human central nervous system from working properly and causes hyperactivity, nausea, dizziness, headache and convulsions. The chemical has also been linked to birth defects and deformations.

Now, since Sulpicio Lines is refusing to take responsibility of the matter at hand and has resigned to letting it stay in the sea, then no doubt in a much sooner time that we will all know, we will be eating poisoned fish and harming our marine life, which already as is, teetering at the brink of ruins.

How can they get away with things like this? Even if the government will take control of the situation, financing the excavation of the sunken ship, in all aspects of responsibility, what's the government got to do with it? I mean, really? The government can hardly afford to feed the people, plus the calamity stricken victims...much more spend money on something that totally off its responsibility.

I'm personally not pointing an accusing finger at Del Monte. I am appalled at Sulpicio Lines for washing their hands off their responsibility. Clearly they have NO care nor respect for the environment and the people they'll be affecting.  Money seems to be everything that matters to these people. Greedy bastards.

If I'll have the last say in the matter, I'll make sure they shoulder all the expenses on excavating the ship and her toxic content. That or I'll have their shipping line closed. They have no right making a living, skimming through the waters they clearly have no compassion for.

It is an insult to people's wit for their lawyer to claim that the shipping line didn't know that they have a toxic chemical on board the ship. I suppose they're suggesting the idea the they don't check every cargo being loaded to their ships. And who's responsibility should that be, then? I mean, really, 1 + 1 can't be that hard, right? Even a kid can know such basic equation to responsibility. If you carried it, you  answer for it. Had you not wanted that kind of responsibility, you should have not agreed to the shipping of the said cargo. Dumbass.

Money, money, money. Their greed is appalling. I hope when they burn in hell, every money they've crookedly accumulated fuels the fire. Do they even have souls, still?


I blame you for the loss;
for the hunger unsatisfied.

I am surrounded
by strewned discarded half-thoughts
confetti-like in a graceless fall;
every bridgeless gap
bleakly sneering at me.

The words,
they are empty,
driven by greed
of a destiny deprived.

The desperation.
The insatiability.
The empty pots of gold.
The stolen forevers.
The lose-ended knots.
The rotting flowers
of trusts betrayed
and covenants defiled.

Forgiveness is lost,
discarded to nothingness
along with the unspoken
clumsy good byes;
ill-willed and final.

You have died
and your death,
it left a taste
bitter and sour.
A bit of both and none at all.

My thoughts curl to think
of your name touching my lips.
You don't deserve it.

you linger.




"Why must you feel the need to hide?" she asked. "Are you still constrained about letting out what you truly feel? I've been reading your everyday rants for the past five years."

"I don't want you to read me." I said.

"What do you mean? If you don't want people to read them, then why publish them?"

"That question answers your question earlier, spot on!" and I tried to contain a familiar smile behind the screen.

"But you're not stopping. You're merely just hiding...even running away." she protested. "If you don't intend to come back again, why not just shut down your site?"

"I wouldn't ask you to forget a first kiss nor the memory of his first breath when it caressed your nape. How can you suggest something so revolting and forbidden?"

"I don't understand you."

"I know." I said, my thoughts swimming with the memory when we first met in person, two years ago.

"Why would you write when nobody will read them?" she asked (and rather densely, I thought).

"Because my dear, I don't write for people to be entertained. I write because I am."

I cannot, on most times, understand why she couldn't understand my reasons. Maybe my reasons were similar to hers when she once told me to stop "stalking" her just because I accidentally stumbled upon her "secret site". I had no idea it was hers.

She's been "reading" my life religiously for the past 5 years now and I, hers. Yet, I have come to know her during the time and I find it rather quite disappointing to know that reading is all that she's been doing all these years.

I don't want people to read me. My life is not a book. I write because I want to claim the right to tell the story of how my life is, in MY own eyes, and how I felt like, while living my life. As an egotistical writer, I must admit, I love to hear feed backs about what people think of with what I write but as a soul, I don't need someone to tell me I have a good way of stitching up words.

My words, they are a refuge, an attempt to define the undefined, to reach what cannot be reached, to breathe out what chokes my heart.

I write because I live. And because I am not a master of time. I grow old and I forget. I am emotional and I feel too strongly about things a little too much, at times. I write because I know life is fleeting and I want to remember. Amongst all the other things, I write because I am a confused girl with longings and wild vivid imaginations. I write because more often than what I'd like it to be, my heart is much, much bigger than my mind and I cannot contain everything at the same time.

How easy to lose sight of passion and life when along with them, embraces longing and dreams. How easily are our visions blurred.

We could both be looking at the same picture and yet have very different focal views.


Patience is a very trying word. So is forgiveness.

Tell me, how do you imagine patience must look like?

I've learned before that there are several kinds of patience. The patience I pray to develop is the kind of patience God bestows upon us. I think patience and forgiveness come hand in hand. Forgiveness is the thread that holds patience together.

I see patience as this net or cloth that breaks our fall. When we lose our foothold, when we slip, when we err and fall down from grace, patience, strengthened by forgiveness breaks our fall.

For what is patience without forgiveness? I don't think one could exist without the other. So, if one imagines patience to be this long, brittled and stretched rubber band that's about to snap, then I guess the heart was hurt too severely that forgiveness is currently unavailable, hence patience is numbered.

I am forever grateful that love cannot be depleted. And that love is strong enough when it is good and pure. I cannot imagine where we all would be if not for love.

Having said that, I am happy to have finally come to terms with some unfinished business from the past. I have lost a friend and for that, I am sad. Sad is an understatement, even. But I am at a loss for words and perhaps, it is better that way.

I don't want to say good-bye. Good-bye is so final. I still secretly hope that we'd both once again see things in the same light and we can agree and laugh and exchange I Love Yous.

This dance has finally ended but perhaps, the song will play again someday. It would be nice to remember things at their best. When I was your muse and you were a friend in its truest sense and more.

I accidentally broke the stone-carved jewelry holder.


I hate it when I've started writing on a thought and then somehow, would forget about the point I was trying to build and end up not knowing where or how to begin again. I find it really frustrating.

I have this poem I wrote about three years ago and until now, I still haven't finished it. I just couldn't find the right lines to end it. I seem to have exhausted every brain cell I have. I have scraped the bottom of my emotional barrel and came out with nothing. Well, nothing in a sense that the lines I came up with were mediocre. It is one particular poem I really love and it's exasperating when the words elude me.

I shall tackle the problem someday, when kissed by the cunning words, instead of fleeting teases, I shall write in graceful inspiration again.


  ..a wish that hides in the heart,
 and nobody knows it but  you.
Love is blinding.
 An eternity in a single moment.
A religion worth dying for..."
(Billy Bob Thorton, Bandits)


Can you still remember how the world stopped when I told you ours was of dreams broken people hope to embrace?

You said, "I know." in that confident tone you only use when talking with me.

I trusted that you knew. I thought that you knew. I even believed that you knew.

But you didn't, did you?

No, you never did. Because how can you ask me to not love you when you know from there springs the hope and happiness of my soul?

Would you rather rob me of my Eden, where sanity is one with madness and chaos fiddles melody that only you and me understand? Why would you silence the language that understands beyond unspoken words and reticent laughters? Why would you opt for blinding greys than iridescent burst of colors?

But despite the pretentions and the stolen longings for freedom, I also saw some truths in you and you always did make my soul happy and secure...even with your coated lies of pregnant hopes and unsolicited dreams.

I could not hate you even if I wanted to. I just miss you so much. I'm lost without your friendship. I am forgetting all the pain and the hate.

I realized that the only way for me to be truly happy and free is to remember you at your best - when you loved me with all your heart.

And because I love you, I wil let you go. Go to where tragic souls of lovers denied bathe in an eternity of dreams. Go to where radiance serenade the cherry moon while time dances with hope. Go to where love is never forgotten, preserved at her best in blissful memories, both of vivid yesterdays and of ones that never were.


I love reading old letters. I don't know how many times I've said that here, but I just do. I find letter to be too precious. They're like virtual records of personal conversations.

They're tangible and they're prints of pieces of the other person's heart and mind. It's visible, unlike spoken words that clings on to sultry breezes too easily and eagerly. They can be clutched close to one's heart, literally. They age, like us and if kept in care, gracefully, too.

Now, I'm wondering how a heart could change so soon, even before stains could start to creep their way on to the corners of these pages, after promising me forever. They used to comfort me. Reading them made me feel understood and valued.

I really believed that you did. I still don't know what went wrong.

Your words are poison. Your letters, toxic. Slowly, I am shaking you off. One little step at a time.


I can have a thousand reasons listed down to the dot why I have every right to do what I have decided I needed to do. I could gauge you against the usual measure for friendship and you will be found terribly wanting.

For so long I have been haunted by the herculean questions,"why?" and "what ifs" and enough is enough. I am only grateful that love cannot be depleted. But perhaps, this is one of the rare moments why I am momentarily, whole-heartedly appreciative and dignified of my carnality.

This is one selfishness I will embrace without any guilt. I am celebrating this new-found sense of self. I am no a prisoner of the past.

I guess, to every measure of patience, there is a breaking point which prompts one to wake up and and say, "I deserve better than this." I know there is no such thing as freedom being free so at the expense of dying yesterdays, I am saying adios!

For the habitual line-stepper in you, I rejoice the unlacing of shackles. Long over due, too. Things may at the start look bleak but, hey! Life is what we make of it and I intend mine to be a stunner.

Watch and see how I am when I'm free!

Happiness is but a realization away.

*Picture not mine.