Tomorrow, November 30, will be my 37^th week of pregnancy. Finally my baby is ‘full term'. I will then be waiting for his arrival, to see his face, feel his soft sweet smelling skin, the smile, the yawn, and the many adventures we will be lurching thru. It's been nine months of having this seemingly unusual feeling of carrying a human being, moving on its own, not under my control but God's, like an alien hovering in my gut, waiting to exit. Yet it was quiet amazing to get excited again and be thrilled, to recollect and restructure my life according to what has now been laid...this second pregnancy.

If you thought this was easy, you're wrong. My mood swings were terrible, from grin to grouch then back to grinning again. Shaun has to put up with me and try to be patient. So allow me to jot down this circus-like episode of my womanhood, fresh from my memory before a blanket of flimsy clouds cast over my mind making this extraordinary experience hazy.

The Grouch

I had a horrible first trimester due to a debilitating hyperemesis gravidarum, or the so called "morning sickness". My tummy's tone often wobbled from nausea to vomiting with a considerable amount. I lost weight, and felt tired. I hated taking medicines because it made me sick. I'll just threw up my gastric contents. Yeah, yeah...I know I have to consume it. They said nausea and vomiting gets worst every pregnancy. I don't know. Medical books didn't tell me so. More, the feeling and suffering is an unfamiliar territory. Maybe I missed my OB class watching movies at Victoria during medschool (bisto ang bisyo). Or fell asleep during conferences (ikaduhang bisyo). Hmmm, still my review class for the boards had not prepared me for the so called tales of the oldies (try daw sa aklat ng albularyo).

This year was supposed to be a truckload of activities. There's the long list of conventions (especially Palawan), the Talikod scuba diving, the CDO wild river rafting, the 60^th SPH celebration, Alumni homecoming, Friends' weddings and now the several list of Christmas parties. I have to bear the anguish of staying home while my colleagues were enjoying the fun and adventure. I have to put up with the disgruntled look from those who invited me as a team in dance numbers/competitions (yehey, got an excuse). And I have to accept the misery of ugliness despite concealing the intractable change of my looks by make-up of course! So, this is a year of refusing invitations, and I have to be content in lingering in Marco Polo or Insular as a get-away (maayo na lang, ingon nila).

So what was it with my looks? This progesterone, well, this hormone raging inside my body, is the one responsible for my emerging new beauty. Suddenly, from a plain Filipina I have become a mestisa. Yup! Mestiza Africana., in other words, NogNog! Hahaha! Black is the color, from my armpit, to my neck and up to my face. And as I am waxing a bit emotional every morning in the mirror, my husband would simply and starkly say I looked like an ‘Ata' and with my disdainful stare, he would again say ‘no,no,no, gwapa na Ata' or much more ‘princesa sa mga Ata'. Then we'd laugh our way out from my struggle to self-preservation.

The forces of nature just wouldn't stop yet! I watched my fresh young skin across my belly stretched into an enormous mound, the tissue underneath breaking, leaving a permanent scar, you call it stretch marks. As my ballooning abdomen grows, I have difficulty looking at my feet and touching it to apply a dab of lotion. So I have to ask my husband to give an extra hand in applying lotion from my thigh down to my feet. Of course, the ‘touch-me-not' rule may suddenly conform into ‘touch-me-sometimes' (bigaon ay). Then, it was such an ordeal to cut my toenails . I'd rather rush for a pedicure or leave it as is, just out of laziness to bring on a little effort. And talking about laziness, I hate picking up things from the floor or the ground, even to bow down is an effort too. So I have maneuvered the dance step of picking things with my bare foot. Use my toes to pick it, swayed my leg backwards, reach it up from my toes to my hand. Easy! Better yet, I would ask somebody to pick it up. Hehehe..

As I reached my term, I get bloated, from my face down to my hips and toes. I feel like a puffer fish in a puffed state, knocking everyone who gets in my way, good thing I'm not poisonous. My tiny fingers are stubby that even Shaun's wedding ring won't nearly fit now. My swollen feet are aching from my new shoes getting tighter. I kept on buying a bit larger shoes, knowing it won't fit later so occasionally borrowing from my mom would be fun. Fun because you wouldn't have to think of giving it back.

And now I got the funny nose. In between my eyes, I could almost see the ‘alae nasi' (nasal wing) flaring as I catch my breath, enlarging steadily like a fertilized Del Monte tomato (or Dole, depending on your brand of ketchup). My lips have become fuller and thicker, somewhat pouting, but never like that of Angelina Jolie. Mine is a lips of an indigenous Malay race. Good thing my hair doesn't go kinky! If I could only walk through corridors with a paper bag covering my head and two holes for my sight, I would. Then I wouldn't have to put up with people who gave remarks like that of the little red riding hood commenting to the grandma wolf ‘oh, what a big nose you have!'. So what, I would say, it's the wonders of life. From a goddess-like demeanor to turning into an unsightly figure, then hoping to become ‘fit' again, this is the art of humanity. Well then, I just have to convince myself to keep a positive outlook in living the day of today, period.

The Grin

But after all this sulking moments, is what's worth the wait. I have always been fascinated with my baby's movements. He'd greet me everyday dancing inside my belly like clockworks. Aside from talking to him, I find myself indulge in the guessing game of every body parts I get to palpate when he produces a bumps and hoops. Sometimes I'd felt his tiny hand, or his stumping feet, a large bulge may mean his back or butt, and sometimes, I'm so sure he got hiccups.

.

But nothing excits me more than having a proud daddy preparing for his baby's first world exposure. The sight of Shaun counting mittens and shoes, securing feeding bottles, looking for an extra small diapers, and baby's get-up gear upon discharge and many more (which I have not done on this second pregnancy), made me realized I've never been most proud of him that day. Aside from working his brains in creative designs accepting more than one project at a time lately, in preparation for my C-section financial cost, I know my babies and me will be just fine. And I've never been much happier. I've never regretted the day I have chosen this man to marry.

Pregnancy is one of the wonders God has gifted humankind. And it's a privilege to have this exciting acquaintance on each woman and each expectant daddy's too. The roller coaster ride towards motherhood, and fatherhood, is bumpy, full of loops and unpredicted turns. Sometimes we tend to give up our own personal pursuit and plan anew.

I know I may have written too much on grouching, but what I have gone through is just temporary. Shaun and our kids are my stable variable. They mean the world. Time will fly, and suddenly, our sons will grow as a young adult, ready to soar into the world, each with a unique journey towards a great adventure.

Hence, I'm here, grinning now. As my husband would like to say it, "let's get this over and done with." So we wait..... and ready to say "Welcome to the world, our dear baby!"

"Literature is the art of writing something that will be read twice, journalism what will be grasped at once." (Cyril Connolly, British journalist)

I have my own way of writing my literary folio. I do not have any particular criteria in composing my blogs to start with, nor have undergone some rigid formal education in journalistic skills as a fortress of knowledge. So spare me. I do not wish to be a writer of any tabloids or news magazines for that matter, nor wish to win and become a famous blogger.

But what I do have is a fervent mind rich in nerve-wracking experiences, from unique adventures of failures and success, of losing and winning, of hating and loving, of fears and hopes, of frustrations and satisfactions. Maybe, I am something of a dreamer. Perhaps, I breathe life into a dream, but both feet glued to the ground of reality, striving to achieve maturity to balance idealism and realism. I don't know. All I know is that I treasure my vivid literary imagination. Thus, I believe that putting these into words is an art, believing that anything is possible for art's sake. So allow me to scribble down my thoughts in a spur of the moment, may it be a bit drafty, or a bit flashy, for each moment may pass, never to be recovered.

Often, I used to break away from the standard and customary writings making my audience gawked in disdain or blankly awed by the words and phrases I used. But like movies, heroes and villains clash. Some people never get tired of their silliness, spending time crusading against those who stray from their standards. My article was once blogged as "pretentious mixing up of words to become high sounding phrases only ends up awkward......so brazen yet so terrible." Whether this blog was intentionally meant for me or not, I feel guilty. Perhaps to them, I am an embarrassment in the blog world and ooh what a high standard to be imposed in such a mediocre site, when I have seen far more terrible blogs.

My adoring husband, Shaun, who noticed my disenchanted confidence, just gave a chuckle and jokingly suggested to have my blog submitted to Ninang Gail, if that's how the trend now goes for just a blog. He could not be serious of course. So I let out a hollow laugh. Ma'am Gail, as she's popularly called, is one of the coolest writer and editor in our locality. A nose bleeder in writing too, which triggered my nosebleed blog (but then of course, she's not part of that minute populace I've been discussing all about). It was my husband's way to keep me going, to encourage me to write more of our family, him, egan, and my profession, not just creating some counter-attacks from those who embraced the wicked pleasure from bullying. So now I'm back into blogging again after a few months of silence. He carefully screened down my friendster "friends", and turned the settings into non-viewing to non-friends, in the hope that no stalker shall penetrate the deepest recesses of my blood-brain barrier. I don't usually mention my Shaun's name in my blog rants for he is too wholesome to be stained, but this one deserves his credit.

Still, the trivial pursuit of ordinary literary writings is terribly interesting. I will write what I want to write, the way I learn to write it. I am not perfect and the world cannot forgive those who pretend to be one. Hence, call me unconventional, a deviation from the mean, different from the conservative, and that of which can be detrimental to the health of those who are stereotypical. I don't want to create fury amongst the beaten but i do acknowledge the testimony of those who are weary. Perhaps chained to their obligation as a writer by profession, where words are counted and pages selected to fit a few. But yes, I am blatantly bold and shameless over my articles because I do not wish to live to be broken by those who are drenched in bitterness. The best way to deal with my journal is to offer decency instead of cynicism, because our wit is not enough to outsmart this cruel world.

So go ahead, read on... Love it, or hate it. It is fun to see how my stories end to your senses. Throw in more coal and keep the fire burning!

What you think of me may not be what I think of myself. But it's ok. We are all entitled to our own views and who am I to insist my mind over yours. After all, we are what we think we are.

I have a lot of "friends" in this cyber world. Some are my old time friends or classmates, previous workmates or just plain acquaintances. Some think of me as plain and simple Anna, or some, the other way around. Indeed, you don't know me that well, or you don't know anything at all.

Let me guess... you wonder how I put regard on myself so you're reading this blog. Perhaps, sharing my thoughts of how I feel who I am may help you decipher the inner me, without, of course, trying to be close to me. Now that's the beauty of the internet, you can stalk from afar. But you don't need to prey on me, I'm an easy slay. Read my blogs and you'll see me, slowly stripping naked.

I always ask myself, what's it to hide? They say that we be careful writing personal blogs. I always watch my words on it. I don't resort to name-calling nor posting inflammatory remarks, you know, the dolor, rubor, calor thing (ooops, medical people knows this). But more than being careful with words, I mind my manners. You don't know who read your blogs, right? We are being watched all the time.

So go on and probe me, read my views and agree with me, or contradict against it. If you want to scrutinize, I hope you refute the writings and not the writer. It's fine with me. Ok?

TANSAN is derived from my real name. T stands for Teresa, AN for Anna, and SAN for Santos. Though it should be ANTSAN because my first name is Anna, my friends in medschool juggled the letters until this name sounds beautifully in their pinnacle. Yes, medschool. That was first year, 1995, and thanks to Chilay anyway.

My friends thought that the name Anna was too ladylike, the name Teresa was too holy, and Petit ( my pen name back in college editorial years) was too cute. They thought TANSAN best fit me, though in tagalog it meant bottlecap, in any other way it is just light, jolly, funny, boyish. In other words, they never thought of me as holy, cute and lady like (well, the way i drove my volkswagen made my classmates believed i'm a boy who underwent sex transplant).

At first it was just a joke. But everytime they started calling me in that name, i gave them a violent reaction, and the more i have a reaction to that name, my classmates (the boys usually), enjoyed naming me repeatedly until we passed 1st year, 2nd yr, and 3rd yr. Worst, the name was carried on to our residents during clerkship days (4th years) and during our internship.

I can't correct them when they call me TANSAN, our residents, our superiors, (Should i tell my boss to call me Dr. Santos?). So the residents passed it to the consultants, now my colleagues. From then on, i already accepted that in the medical field i will be Tansan, so unique that anybody looking for it will find me right away because nobody was named that except me.

I LOVE MY NAME!! THANKS classmates....

Have you ever felt a writing depression? No, not really a blogger’s block, but for whatever this is called, somehow, Jan and Dee’s awards made me hold on to blogging. James often told me that bloggers are basically nice people who will help their co-bloggers achieve their full potential. That there will always be somebody who would take side on you. Now I understand what awards are for, it’s an appropriate abracadabra to ease out, to breathe in and boost your activity. With much profound gratefulness over such a generous act, thank you Jan and Dee from my bottomless heart.

Did I say bottomless? Sorry, I can’t find words that best fit a ‘cardiac anomaly’, might as well be accused of playing with words again. Plus the fact that doctors don’t blog that much, who else would understand if I choose a medical term? Alright, they do blog, about the JNC or the ASCOT, the new drug, the latest randomized, case-controlled or cohort studies. And it bores! In that sense, you might as well get epistaxis without thrombocytopenia or blood dyscrasia.

See, even my computer complains that I’ve misspelled it, highlighting the unfamiliar words in red. “What duh?! You don’t know that?”, I retorted in disbelief. I’d rather have such a high expectation for a machine that doesn’t even talk, than a person that talks like they knew everything. But yes, I get the message. Let’s talk layman.

I have once lost that zeal to blog. I marveled at the spectacle of the colorful emotions of the bloggers’ world and I feel I failed to catch-up. And I hate to be a failure. The blogosphere is trendy and plugged-in, hype and wired, and bloggers are parading one blog post to another, yakking away in full shrill, and generates excitement without shrieking. No, I don’t feel like there’s nothing more to write, nor everything has already been written. To tell you the truth, I have a million moments worth a million of letters and a thousand of words to be written, but time is not bias on my side. There are touching stories of people and patients I have encountered, waiting to be told. Knowing you have a whole bunch of these stagnant ideas quietly positioned to unearth but can’t, isn’t it depressing? Even the search key didn’t help me interact with bloggers who are doctors, doctors who are bold enough to express their being human; search cloud gave me foreign doctors with a medical Q&A site, tedious and self-absorbed. I don’t need the academic bull shit I know I am well equipped of, readers don’t want experts, if they do, they would rather go search for it in academic journals.

So before I could feel that I don’t belong here, or prescribed myself with Prozac so to be “blog”-productive, here comes Jan and Dee’s awards. Jan who is a blog addict for a few months now, allowed himself to be seen naked by his readers. Oh, don’t get me wrong. His posts, unabashedand influential, have inspired many bloggers including me. On the other hand, Dee, the lawyer, who took her time off for an extra-legal vigilante-style crusade against global warming, share’s spontaneous feelings and thoughts in a natural manner, like her campaign to help save mother nature. Perhaps these two have a strong sense of a shared destiny in blogging.

If I could only place my first blog awards in my parents’ family recognition table, I would! Haha! That’s how I am in ecstatically twisted mood. Mom and dad would’ve wondered where the heck I have gotten this one again this time. Even if I’ll explain it, the blogging world is like a galaxy away. Nah! Never mind.

So why do I love blogging? Even if sometimes I feel that I have just wasted my time over a blog? Simple, it’s because we share. We share the same interest of wanting to share what we have with others, with limitless boundaries except the art of writing. Art after all, is a better teacher than textbooks. And there’s a lot more, but that will be another post, in another day…or weeks, or month maybe, depending on my bias time.

So I pass these awards to all of Jan’s active followers, who made me hide in the cyberspace for a while…in awe and admiration.

Ok. Now I’m tagging the first 10 blog readers who get to view this! I don’t like to name names, so no pressure.

Not just God, but I believe in the Holy Trinity and I don’t care if we can’t explain it in logic. I know I have no time to pray in long litany, and I feel guilty about it, but despite that, I am a firm believer of the catholic world; deeply rooted.

Seriously? As in Grey’s Anatomy type of seriously? Hmmm. Allow me to answer this in compartmentalize manner:

A.) Career-wise, not really.
Although my old time friends were awed, I don’t think I’d cheer. There’s still too much to consider, like taking up sub-specialty. Medicine is a dynamic learning, we are forever training. Everybody is moving forward and I have to catch-up or I’ll be left behind. I’d rather be delayed in blogging, at least the cyberworld doesn’t leave you, right?

B.) Love life and Family life, Yes, I am happy.
I am seriously, contented with Shaun, Egan and Guillan. But I am not a housewife material, I am a goal-oriented working mom and am willing to work my butt off for them. My husband has to remind me to stop and pause for a while. Then I have to tell myself from time to time that ‘if I can’t be a tree, then be a bush, but be the best bush’. Sounds familiar huh? I’ve been carrying that quote for a while. Since high school. But still, I hate to be an underachiever in this competitive field though I keep convincing myself that there will always be those who are better, and I just have to wait for my time and never rush up.

My Lolo Diego who died many years ago. I was his first grandchild and I was lavished with love and attention. I used to run into him and hug him. I longed to do that right now and hear his words of wisdom, his wit and care. He wanted me to take geriatrics, I chose IM instead, and he had never seen me finished off the training, he died during my residency at 95 years old.

No, I find it too intimidating or easy.

Nope, never heard of this until my college years, over a movie.

Yes, still. And I don’t think of it as being too far off from reality. I like believing in Santa, it keeps that child in me, not necessarily staying immature, but growing up in a jolly way. It was in grade 6 that I discovered Santa was a make-believe defense of the grown-ups, so we behave ourselves. Quite too old to discover the truth huh? I’d like to pass the tradition to my children because I find it challenging writing to Santa gifts I wished and promising never to do bad things again. What a laugh it could have been as a parent, wouldn’t it be nice to do the reverse role? I’d like to try.

hmmm Yes, and hell too.

Nope. I don’t think that’s possible. There has to be a close encounter, like a small talk, over a cup of coffee or whatever.

Yes. I hate to break the news that this person is a hopeless case, or in few moments now, days/months maybe, he/she will die. But as I am trained to prime the ones who will be left behind, to prepare themselves on the big possibilities, sometimes I remind them that God is still the great healer, not us. So yes, sometimes, in the medical world where I am in, there’s still a miracle, some unexplainable things that cannot be found in our textbooks. I’d cross my fingers for that. The Lord our healer gets the final decision, not us. Doctors are just caretakers of his creations.

Yes, though I need constant reminders

I was always a cry baby even on strangers we tried to rescue during my training days. At least now, I can control myself and hide my emotions during codes at ER. As days went by, I got used to accepting deaths. I fear I might turn into stone exhibiting that detached affect during CPR, knowing you are at the spotlight of the hysterical crowd of relatives.

No, why would I be? I’m a good girl so far.

Break my heart first and I’ll break yours big time you’ll never forget. This one I have always asked the Lord to please spare me, as I am weak not to seek revenge. I’m still working on this stupid character of mine.

What? Hell, no! I have saved somebody, yes. I have seen deaths most of the time during my residency, but I was never been pointed as the culprit of death. Of course, we intend to save lives.

No. I wish I’ve learned karate, but my piano teacher was against it. And my parents were too overly protective, they might as well give me a bodyguard.

Almost; the moment when mom went so strict, but I never did. I was silently rebellious but obviously obedient. She was right, as I realized it later in my life.

Yes, sun glasses, many times. I still have 20/20 vision and I’m not on contacts

Hesitant. Who would like a trouble maker? At least he could still think first and be logical than jumping over.

Relationship, I’m a deeply committed girl. At least, in a relationship, you knew somehow, there’s a direction. If you love being hooked-up, whether you are tied down to someone but never deeply involved, you’ll both end up in nowhere one of these days. People who are afraid of commitment are either coward and irresponsible, or still in search of someone else. Those who are in search for so long might grow old not getting married, looking for the qualities they once have one time in their past.

Sensitive, I think most girls would like that. Wouldn’t it be good to recognize that you are angry, jealous or sad, without putting you into embarrassment? Men loves it if you are sensitive to their needs, especially when dealing with their insecurity and ego. They love to be felt needed, and important. Next time, be sensitive to your man if you don’t want them to be loud and bold, like telling you how their crushes approached them, or how their ex-GFs did stuffs those days, or how he thought he was being fought over with, or how he thought he was one of a kind unforgettable by many. Their being loud sometimes is brought about by your insensitivity over his insecurities in life.

Arms are just for show. Touching the stomach’s grooved muscles feels sexier. Yes it is hidden unless you’ve taken the shirt off, but isn’t it exciting and thrilling what surprise awaits you?

I like both. Being romantic may not last forever, but being spontaneous is. It is always romantic at the start of a relationship and romanticism may last for several years, 3 years or so maybe. After that, corny stuff may not be amusing anymore. That’s when creativity and spontaneity has to take place, or else, you might end up in the arms of someone else.

Taller, because I’m short. Especially if you are already discussing children, consider the genes. Good thing my husband is tall.

Definitely the eyes. I love my husbands eyes, I’d kissed it everyday. During high school days, my crushes were the chinitos. And I’ve been crazy over Romnick Sarmenta at one time. Yaiks! now i think he is so baduy.

Yes I haven’t got enough, yet. I’m thinking maybe infectious diseases, endocrinology or diabetology. When? It now depends on my family. As of the moment, I’m still feeding my baby, up till he walks on his own. Sigh…plans do change when you’re a mother.

I already am, and proud to be in that position. I am the type of person who could tell the world ‘Hey! I’m married!’, rather than the “sshhh…” it out.

Already have two sons. Though I wished I have a girl, I think its enough. My world became more colorful and full of life when my children arrive, each one have different style and talent, yet both are able to love you in their own way. Nothing could ever replace that, even an offending blogger couldn’t topple that down.

My kids and my husband to wake up, prepared breakfast for them is already set at the dining table.

Make my usual rounds, go to my clinic, spend time with my family afterwards.

Rico Blanco, I really love this man. He is so extraordinary. He could compose sensible songs, play musical instruments, and could sing quite well too.

Baguio, and got sick there too. And I couldn’t forget the turn of events that happened thereafter. When I recovered from sickness, I immediately went to Los Banos Laguna to be enrolled in UPLB, because I got admitted in BS Bio. But my overprotective moif truth be told changed her mind due to that sickness. Even if my cousins and aunts lived there, she sent me back to Davao. But of course, I’m happy because I met my husband here in Davao.

Grade 3, Jayson... I used to pick him up during the “farmer in the dell” activity. Am I too early to have a crush?

Japanese spitz dog named Dollar. I’m a pet lover, dogs and cats, maina bird that talks, and fishes too, but Queenie, will forever be in my heart, that half-breed poodle I have in college.

Kindergarten Alphabet Contest…, the photos are still with me.

5 yrs old. I remember using the “walis tingting” in the pierced sites, oh mom.

The permanent one? None. But I always like to have one, so I used the temporary tattoo that my kid used to keep too.

Yes, every now and then. (I hope my husband won’t read this, lol)

If you’re a doctor you need a phone, even when you sleep because you have to be on-call 24/7. A handy camera will do for documenting uncommon cases but that I don’t carry around too much except on outdoors.

I believe jumpers are seasonal trends. It all ended up in my closet. Jeans are my best collection, dependable even for years. What’s not dependable is the size of my waist and hips that varies in years too!

During my younger years, I like loud music, banging my fingers on a keyboard. Nowadays, I mellowed down and listen to soft rhythm. So I like the environment to be quite. Tumatanda na ata ako.

How could I forget this line? I have once written this to a beleaguered soul one foolish rotten night. Perhaps, in keeping up a front, I defensively protect myself and try to squeeze my way out of that particular jam. Had I foreseen the gravity of complication, I should have cast the white flag and scream to the world to quit it and live their own shortcomings.


I was stoned in shock when this 4-word line was passed on from one person to another, reused in their testi/discussion board, like secretly conniving for some allies in the open world. Classic, isn't it? It is indeed tempting for them to distort the angst, or misconstrue the story. And in that futile hour, I stood desolate, helpless even.


Let's face it. The world will never get rid of bullies. Some people are much harder than steel, they never reach their melting point. If by chance they can hurt you, they will never stop mocking you even if the past is as far as 6 years ago, ebbing away. Perhaps, blinded by their stupid notion that they were the ones that were stepped upon, when in reality, it was just their baffled mind playing tricks on them. A mind, hovering with colors of false hopes, yet in actuality, nothing is really uttered, not even a promise.


I have seen this kind of effort done in bold strokes through well-written letters, pretending to be a fly-in-distress, who ought to be pitied, taken cared and protected, almost pleading for attention despite being aware of someone's present commitment. And when this being have been forgotten, appearing crushed by the pain from unreciprocated passion, a torrent of vengeance from a dysfunctional family came rushing to wreck havoc, hurting people along the way, especially those who were barely innocent and fragile. Whose rights have been stepped upon, really? After all this mockery from five "phooeys" and counter "shoot-outs", I could guess this one was never sorry to have shattered the trust of a delicate being by one's acts and still has internal conflict unresolved.


Despite of it all, I was in my most diplomatic tolerance then, and am in my maximum perseverance now. I have not gobbled half-baked pies, those were served whole, rather than a vengeful throng of lies from half-truths and half-imagination.


True, I may have revisited my past too, waved hi and hello, and fired a couple of unresolved inquiries just to put an end on wondering, which I could not have done bravely have I not moved on.


Our wound may be deep and painful. And traces of our past plus the slash of heartbreak takes a long time to heal. Worst yet, some scars remain forever. But in my experience, no one should ever expect gain from loving a person. Should we fall, we still have to move on.


The world is our roadmap, the "road is our catwalk", we may not know what route we may ride into, but we know where we are heading to. So, move on. I just hope their healing process have not transformed them into a bitter and antagonistic person.