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Monochromatic Makati


The towering skyscrapers came into view as I rode the cab to DBP tower. The hotel where I staying was a mere 2.2 kilometers away, exactly one academic oval in UP diliman, yet it took me 20 minutes and 100 pesos in hopes of making it to the 7:30 am call time.

I arrived 7:35.

Traffic from Quezon city to Makati during the Monday morning rush is inevitable. Thus, I chose to stay the night in a hotel near DBP tower, the venue of our meeting. My view from the 14th floor gave no obstruction to stars that twinkle in the night sky, and no, I am not referring to the literal stars in the sky. The lights of the cityscape twinkled in contrast to the pitch black landscape. Headlights of cars zoomed past my sight.

I slept with the stars peeking through my curtains.

The magic of Makati at night slowly turned grey as day began to break. Approaching the tower, women in high heeled stillettoes, and ill-fitting skirts rushed along the sidewalk. Men with half-done ties followed, much like ants in a colony, only without a path to follow.

I wore my bright pink blouse coupled with black slacks, and 1-inch heeled shoes. I looked at my reflection against the building window, and thought, it looked good, mature and “business”-like.

Imagine a cartoon where color is literally drained from the scene, and a single character on the screen remains to have color. That was me.
I was that speck of color against the monochromatic shades of grey.

Suddenly, a dash of color enters my peripheral vision. My kids (students) huddled in one corner, and I approached them with pride. They came on time, dressed the part, and adorned with excitement on their faces.

We greeted each person who asked us questions with smiles that matched our enthusiasm, only to be replied with a stern nod.

By the time we reached the 12th floor, the color from my kids faces vanished, confidence gone. They were assigned cubicles and computers to work on, and I left to explore the city.

I came by to pick them up at 5 in the afternoon. By then, they were dead tired. Their faces pale, just another face in the sea of colorless faces.

With my bright pink blouse and smile on my face, I say goodbye to the stars that hold much promise because of the the monochromatic life the city offers.


Announcement: Wattpad Account

Hello dear readers! 

I have an announcement to make. I have, just recently, discovered the joys of Wattpad. My friend’s story actually got published through this website, so I got excited, and started reading and writing. This is the only account where I use SpoonfulsofConfidence as my pen name, other than this wordpress account.  

By the way, you may be wondering why my username is only ‘spoonfulsofconfidenc’. It is because they have a maximum number of characters to be used for pen names. It looks weird, I know. But, just to let you know it is still me. 

I would also take this chance to thank you for reading and taking a look at my blog. It really means so much to me to have someone listen and read my thoughts. For that, thank you. 

I wish you a Happy Holidays!

Much love,

Company loves (My) Misery


I find establishing friendships with me is something so simple. Tell me a secret, and I tell you mine. After that one conversation, I am at your feet. I would never leave you nor find fault in you. Whenever we fight, I would find myself begging for your forgiveness. All you have to say is ‘okay’. Do it to me 10, 15, 30 times, I would not mind at all. Believe it! I would follow you to the ends of the earth, just make sure I get home by 10 pm. 

Not only am I at your mercy, I also have something with me which everyone desires– love. Yes, I come bearing the gift of love! Not for you, but for a person worth admiring. You see, I, like any normal friend, would have a person I admire. Alas, my relationships always end up being one sided. Soon enough, I would find my friends happy with the person I admire– more than the time spent with me. With that, they live happily ever after. The End.

See? I think I may be cursed. Cursed to have friends who would reach their happiness in the company of my misery. What do I do? I do nothing. After all, I am but a friend, and I choose to stay that way. 

Perfectionism as an Ideal Self


Perfection. Impossible to achieve, yet why do I strive so hard to attain it?

Nowadays, I am always depressed. Ever since I became an officer (which was around June), I was never happy. I could not remember one day when I felt complete happiness. Every single day I am stressed. I get into arguments and misunderstandings with almost everybody. After doing so, I desperately try to take back every word I said (which was impossible).

One once said that you can never please everybody. It’s true. I realize that only now. I reevaluated myself, and realized that I did try to please everybody, so I stopped. I stopped being the perfect little girl everyone knew. I disagreed with them instead of saying yes all the time. I defended myself and my side. I spoke up, shared my thoughts and opinions. I was full of life in doing so, but after that it felt wrong. I regretted every word I said after every debate.

Every time I get into an argument, it hurt. I felt like I lost friends, despite it being work. I thought, like me, my friends knew how to separate work from personal relationships, but I was wrong. They couldn’t. I was (am still) alone.

I tried to go back to the perfect girl I was, but I no longer can. I wanted to be friends with everyone again. But relationships were broken, difficult to fix.

I realize now that I only tried to please everyone because I am trying to please myself. I want to be someone who is popular, someone who everyone likes. I desperately try to fit in with everybody, a leader of something. I had set perfection as my ideal self, only realizing  that it is something impossible to achieve. The pain of knowing a dream is never going to be fulfilled is something painful.

Now, I do not know what to do. Everyday, I am depressed. This has brought me nothing but misery. What should I do now?



About Me Series: Tomboy


I may be a girl, but I am no girly girl. I am a tomboy.

Well, my degree of being  a tomboy does not verge into lesbianism, but other females might think I am (sorry for the word) a slut.

Just because I enjoy hanging out with guys does not make me a wh***. With guys, everything is so simple. I feel confident around guys. I can talk to them for so long, and not feel awkward at all. 

I have the most fun times when I am with guys. I guess they are much better listeners that girls are. I could go on and on about my problems, and they would still be listening. If I ask them suggestions, they give some, as proof of their constant attention. Sometimes, I ask them about their problems, and they just ask me to continue talking.

Guys are also much stronger than girls, and I feel safe around them. Sometimes I find their gestures like letting me get in first or accompanying me until I get to the bus. These little gestures make me feel special. Something I do not feel often with girls.

When I am with the girls, I always need to look presentable. I have to dress up nicely or else I would really look out of place. As opposed to a time with guys- a loose shirt, shorts and rubber shoes is the perfect outfit for an afternoon with them. 

Being with the guys gives me a new understanding of how their mind works. Though I admit, there are times when the conversations get awkward, especially when they begin talking about girls. 

Somehow when talking to girls, I would always feel left out. The maximum group of girls that can be involved in a conversation is three, and I am always the fourth. I seem to can;t find a group that only has two, so I can be the third member (in college).

In high school, I found a pair of girls, and soon, I was able to join them perfectly. I have another group in high school with six girls. If we were engaging in conversations, soon enough we would break into smaller groups of three. 

Strange isn’t it? How I am a 100% female, yet unable to comprehend the female mind? How I feel so much more comfortable around guys than with my own kind? 

Disclaimer: The guys and gals I talk about in this post are the people I met. This does not generalize to the entire population of the earth.

Defining Success


Whenever my parents see me and my brother laze around the house, they start talking about their “successful” high school classmates. They tell me about their classmates who were always on the honor roll who are, as they say, unsuccessful. While those who were not so smart, were already successful.

So first, I would like to justify as to why I laze around. These past few days were the beginning of the holidays. Thus, we do not have classes. What do they expect me to do? Study? Well, that’s it for that point.

The more important part is defining success. My parents think that success is having money. Those who were “successful” were those who have high paying jobs somewhere overseas, and those who were not, were somewhere in the country with a higher-than-average paying job. Funny how they think that even having a job would seem unsuccessful. I would like to meet one person who is “successful” and is confident enough to say thay he enjoys what he is doing because not a lot of people can do that.

Also, my parents would often compare me and my brother to the high school classmates of theirs who always had high grades. I think it is not a very reliable conclusion to compare simply because we have not reached that age yet. How can they compare their success with ours if we have not yet even reached that point in our lives.

So, the deafinition of success varies from one person to another. Some people think that being successful is having a lot of money. Others, such as myslef, view success as simply being a happy. My patents do not think they are successful, but I do not think otherwise. They were able to raise two very smart children and are still raising onw today. They are able to put a roof over our heads, as well as send us to school with money in our pockets. That I think is one od the was to define success. It is being able to make a difference in the world for the betterment of it.

tweet tweet


Today, I made a twitter account, which I still do not know the purpose of. Therefore, I edited some works, so that my friends would be able to read this blog without wondering who the people I am talking about are. Anyway, I still hope you would be able to enjoy this blog. I am really busy these days, and would not be able to update soon. Anyway. Until next week. By then, maybe, just maybe I would not be so busy anymore. Wish me luck >_<

Social Experiment: Results


Whenever I would see a person sitting on a wheelchair in the mall or any place other than the hospital, I would secretly follow them with my eyes. That’s it. I would not even think of why they were there. Just stare at them. And after a few minutes, I would simply forget about them, as if I never saw them.

So, when I first heard of the assignment, I was really excited. I have always wanted to conduct a social experiment, and with this I am able to do so. And in result, I gained a new perspective, standing behind a chair with wheels.

Right after church, my brother and I went to the SM North Edsa to conduct the experiment. I was looking forward to it at first, but when I was about to start the actual project, I felt shy and nervous. Looking back, I don’t know why I felt that way. Why was there anxiety? Was there a need for it?

I got the wheelchair from the stall near the main building. Then, I went to meet with my brother at our rendezvous point, near the bathroom in the first floor. He also looked forward to the experiment, and volunteered to sit on my behalf.  When he sat, it became more difficult to push and turn. After a few minutes of walking around the first floor, I got used to it. We walked for some time, but the people around doesn’t seem to care though I did  see a few heads turn as we passed by, with rather puzzled faces. They moved out of the way as we walked, and that’s it.

When we tried to go to a different floor, we needed to ride the elevator. It was alright, but riding in the elevator made me realize how bulky a wheelchair is. A number of people can fit inside an elevator, but with a wheelchair, it gets even fewer.

The floor we walk on seems so different when I pushed the wheel chair. It was much smoother and easier to push in the block, but when I went out to the sky garden, I needed to work a little bit harder when pushing. These are the fine details I do not notice when I walk on my own, but for a person helping someone with the wheelchair, it makes a big difference.

Entering a store is a lot harder. Stores do not have much space to move around. With tables piled with clothes in the middle and shelves hanged on the sides, it was very difficult to try to squeeze in a wheelchair inside, especially one with many people.  I didn’t try to enter any store with the wheelchair, afraid to bump and break anything inside.

After about an hour, I dropped my brother off and said goodbye to one of the most useful devices ever invented.

Overall, the experience was very exciting and meaningful. I learned to appreciate more what I have and can do. Not everyone has the same ability as I can, to walk, jump, and run. They have to struggle to go find an elevator, without even having the option to take the escalator or the stairs. Their movements are bound by the four sides of their chairs, and they have a hard time doing things on their own. Without the assistance of others, they have a hard time trying to experience even an ounce of entertainment and leisure.

On the other hand, I saw the immense change on how typical people view persons with physical disabilities. Though a few people did turn their heads when we passed, but their faces showed no disgust, or any other forms of discrimination. Times have changed the views of people towards them. They snow show, respect, care and compassion, unlike before.

People with disabilities are people too. They have right to go out and have fun, to not feel discriminated when they do, just like me and you.

Age is not just a number


Sorry, I wasn’t able to update due to the lousy internet connection.

Anyway, a few days ago, I went to the mall, and a guy was handing out a flyer for a house. As always, I rejected the paper from him. When I was walking away, he called me and told me he had just one question to ask. He said, “Are you over 21?”

I instinctively replied no. When I turned my back, I can’t help but laugh. Me? 21? Wow, I must have looked old to be 21. What bothered me was that I thought I looked young. I wore a pair of jeans and a yellow shirt. Despite my lack of fashion sense, a lot of people say I have a baby face 😉

Currently, I am 17 years old. He could have mistaken me to be 18, but 21? Wow! 

I am the youngest among my peers, therefore I had developed this complex about my age. I sometimes wished to be older, to be more mature, but when that man asked me if I’m 21, I was bothered. What did I look like to be mistaken by such a huge number. Did I look old despite my age?

When he asked that, my whole perspective on age turned 180 degrees, I have always wanted to appear older, but I realized a lot after that.

See, age in not just a number. Attached to the number is the whole stereotypical package. For example, when you find out a child is around 4, you would be using a high pitch voice and asking “Hi? How are you? How old are you? Do you go to school?” with a huge grin on you face.

But if you find out someone is 40, the conversation would be something like “So, are you working right now? Where? What do you think about the 2012 elections?”

When speaking to someone older, there is reservation of words and respect, while speaking to someone of the same age knows no limitation. 

The way people treat a person is different just by knowing this number. Stereotypes arise, and limitations are set.

For now, I’ll enjoy being 17, and maybe wear clothes befitting my age.